The problem with trying to write regularly on a food blog is that it presupposes you always have something to say. And that you’re always trying something new, or at least new to the blog, and that something has some merit in being shared. And for me, that’s not always the case.
An egg mcmuffin with cheese and a salad is a tasty treat for dinner, but hardly worth a post on its own.
There was yet another attempt at a respectable rice pudding that doesn’t involve a pint of heavy cream and lots of egg yolks, but I have not yet arrived at the One True Pudding, so detailing the ‘certainly edible but not yet there’ attempts is also not an effective use of blog space.
I’ve made mapo tofu a few times with the same recipe, but a lot of my changes to it involve swapping out what’s asked for and substituting the various brown pastes that have been hiding in the back of the fridge for a decade. And while obviously I’m okay with how it comes out, it’s not exactly a method I can or should advocate to others.
There’s actually kind of a funny story about the first time I made my own crème fraîche. It’s a very straightforward concept and seemingly impossible to goof up… except I sort of did. It’s supposed to take 12-24 hours, but it took me almost a week and involved adding all kinds of cultured dairy products to finally get it to set. Why? Best I can figure out is that my house was too cold – it was February and my oil burner is more than half a century old and, well, it took forever.
The second time, of which this is a photo, it only took a little longer than it was supposed to. Both times, however, it was very tasty.