Growing up in Savannah, I spent my summers combing the beach at Tybee, crabbing off my grandparents’ dock, and sailing the Wilmington River. It was idyllic and sun-kissed, but most importantly, it was largely unsupervised…With all that time on the water you’d think today I’d be an accomplished poissonnier. I am not.
Author Archives: B. Armstrong Creative
where should we go for chicken tonight?
This is the daily question I ask any hungry stakeholder within earshot of my kitchen. It’s a mashup of idioms, born from the old college dining hall quip, “what’s for chicken tonight?” But it carries the promise of exotic flavors, moderately experimental cooking techniques, and a brief but unsolicited sermon on the chosen cultural destination du jour.
not everyone likes capers…
At some point I asked Sous Chef to retrieve a giant jar of capers from the pantry. He obliged, but muttered, “You know, not everyone likes capers,” to which I gleefully added, “But not everyone matters.”
the older I get…
This month a pair of viral foodie trends nearly got the best of me, so I had to reinforce my inner dialogue with a hearty dose of Mother’s “I’m so sorry, I can’t.” Of course, this was only after I fell for the Thai curry frozen pot sticker casserole.
fine, I’ll do it myself…
Grinding my own burgers has prompted a major shift in my culinary habits. I can never go back and according to some people, I cannot seem to shut up about it. For me, cooking is like life and I think it’s glorious to seek enlightenment. If that’s too woo-woo for you, simply try to be curious. And if all else fails, go for awareness. Be aware, be human. And grind your own meat.
creatures of habit …
Call me a traditionalist, but my relationship with the Buffalo wing is moored to a specific time and place. As a closeted creature of habit, I downright refuse to dissociate this food from those memories. From a culinary standpoint, I think the most critical benchmark is texture, regardless of size, presentation, or flavor – I shouldn’t have to specify my wing order as “extra, extra crispy.” Nobody wants a soft, gummy wing casing when a stubborn, sauce-embossed crunch is the whole damn point.
a mac & cheese metamorphosis …
My adventure cooking began slowly that spring, although the blog didn’t take shape until over a year later. Those early months are documented by poorly lit photos, unaccompanied by any snarky commentary. At the time we needed excitement and pizazz, hence all the international and often obscure meals that showed up on my social media feeds. But in between those exotic moments was a deep desire for comfort food – a meatloaf, some buttery mashed potatoes, a roast chicken, and of course, macaroni & cheese.
chickens and eggs…
A proper chicken recipe can be the perfect foil to the anxiety of choice – simple and affordable but with all the flavor and decadence of haute cuisine. For this post, I chose Poulet Gaston Gerard, a quintessentially French comfort dish with a charming, but inelegant origin story born from setback and recovery. I’d say it’s perfect for any volatile economic climate when you want to pretend that everything is fine.
the devil in the details…
This lively plate is packed with tandoori chicken smothered in a serrano mint sauce, spiced succotash, jasmine rice, and a red lentil curry called Masoor Dal. And don’t forget the mango chutney and buttered naan. Yeah, we really, really adore Indian food.
gratitude and bread…
I’m going to wind my way toward baguettes vis-a-vis yet another lengthy, formulaic self-awareness journey: first an introduction to my frame of mind, next a little story, and then some resolution in the kitchen. It’s been 8 months since my last post so you sort of have it coming.
Foodishness 