Comfort Food Isn't Always Southern

My husband grew up on comfort food, though not the Southern cooking kind. His parents were British, and so he grew up on roasts and boiled veggies, casseroles, potatoes, and the like. If it could be boiled, it was. To this day, his mother's pork roast is something he asks for when we go to visit.

I had to do something about this.

One of the first things that I did when we got married was introduce him to proper Italian cooking, though again, not the Southern kind. My family is from a town about two hours east of Rome (albeit they left 103 years ago) and we are decidedly northern. I did not realize that pasta with a pesto sauce was not a traditional Thanksgiving dish until I was married and had my first Thanksgiving with my husband's family.

And so it is with pesto that I made my husband a "foodie." And it is with pride that I say that today, his birthday, when he could ask for anything in the world to eat, he specifically asked me to make Salmon Pesto Pasta.

Yes, pesto is the new comfort food. My grandmother made pesto by the bucket and would freeze it in ice cube trays, pulling out a cube or two when we would show up unexpectedly for dinner. If I could turn basil into a perfume, I would do so and wear it daily. The smell of the basil and garlic grinding together in my Cuisinart is one of the happiest smells I can think of. It is spring, summer, fall and winter. It is refreshing when hot, and comforting when cold. It is quite possibly the perfect food.

All ye naysayers, do not balk at me about the quantity of cheese and oil in a perfect pesto sauce. Let's not mention my grandmother's secret ingredient of cream. Moderation is the key to life, and a little pesto once in a while will not kill any one of us (except possibly those allergic to pine nuts). So, I am happily about to head to my kitchen to make my husband his special birthday dinner, so that he can find comfort in both my cooking and in me.

Just sittin' on the porch swing...

I have never considered myself a hot weather person, which is why my obsession with lemonade is so surprising. I've been to the South, in the summer even, and the combination of hot and humid just doesn't sit well with me. Curly hair goes to frizz, powdered face to shiny. While this look suits many women, in my mind, I'm not one of them.

And yet, whenever I go to the library or video store, I find myself migrating towards those stores of Southern comfort- To Kill a Mockingbird, Cold Sassy Tree, Steel Magnolias, Fried Green Tomatoes. The people of the South just seem so strong and able. The women don't take guff off of anyone, and I wish deep down to be that confident. I want Maya Angelou to be my next door neighbor, the Designing Women to decorate my home, and Emeril Lagasse to cook me dinner.

I began toying with lemonade recipes several years ago, and now it's become kind of an obsession. I've tried lavender, mint, chili peppers, and cinnamon. I've made it plain and with milk- yes, milk. I am always on the lookout for amazing lemonade recipes and delicious treats that go with a nice cold glass of it.

So, I sit here in the middle of May with my sweater on, because outside where I live it is blustery and cold despite the bright blue skies. I don't have a porch and I don't have a swing. I dream about those warm summer nights after a hot summer day, sitting on a porch swing with a glass of lemonade, and I write this, my first blog post ever.

Here is to all things cozy and relaxed and to a good glass of lemonade.