use real butter

I think NaBloWriMo is sucking the creative juices from my brain.

I usually plop down and crank out a post lickity split, but today… I’ve been writing and deleting and writing and deleting all afternoon. So I’m giving it one last go and that will be it.

During my recent funk I was having a heck of a time trying to muster up the excitement to cook or bake something and blog about it. You would think I could food blog in my sleep at this point. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, I just knew I felt dissatisfied. Once out of that downward spiral, I tried to figure out what the problem was.

I think it was the culmination of various physical ailments coupled with expenditure of all remaining energy on visitors and travel for an extended period of time. Basically, I was getting zero creative input. I wasn’t able to keep up with my favorite food blogs, read my cooking magazines, flip through cookbooks, brainstorm ideas. Oddly, Art Culinaire arrived right at the time things began to settle down for me. Like a spark, it reignited my inspiration.

**Jump for more butter**

Plenty of good things to bandy about on the blog today. For one: sushi, which is always a plus for me. More on that in a moment.

I spied some incredible looking mammata as I left the cancer center this afternoon. I had my camera with me (it goes just about everywhere I go) and was able to take a few shots from the parking lot before it dissipated. We get a lot of these in the summertime down on the flats – all of that atmospheric instability makes for gorgeous cloud formations. It made me recall something Tom told me recently, “the best camera is the one you have with you.” So true (what I would have given to have had my camera in my lap instead of in the backseat of the car when a bobcat crossed our path a few weeks ago driving home).

Typically, fast food is shunned in our household. Typically. Unless we are driving down I-70 after a big day of free-heeling pow (translates into: telemarking deep, fluffy snow) and are desperate to stoke up on grease, sodium, sugar, and more grease. When it comes to fast food, my personal favorite is the Chick-fil-A sandwich – a chicken sandwich I grew up eating in southern Virginia. It lived in every mall in the South.

Last year, I toured Sydney for four days while Jeremy dorked out with an international team of astronomers – a group that makes even geologists look fashionable – in Alice Springs. I can’t say I have ever experienced a more incredible eating tour of any city, thanks to my dear Kell. We ate some seriously fancy shmancy food. I also had my token spud meatpie at Harry’s Cafe de Wheels in Woolloomooloo. I love saying Woolloomooloo as much as I love typing it. Woolloomooloo, Woolloomooloo, Woolloomooloo. As part of my inaugural effort to eat all of Sydney, Kell and Jerad took me to Oporto to experience what they claim is Australia’s best fast food sandwich: a chicken filet sandwich with a chili ginger sauce (piri piri). Instant love, I tell you.

Imagine my surprise and elation when a package arrived for me a few weeks ago postmarked from Australia. I love my Kell, because she randomly purchases everyday delights from her lovely (and hot – did I tell you how bloody hot it is in Oz?) island continent nation, pops them into a bubble-padded envelope, and ships them to my post office box in the hills. That and she has a wicked hilarious sense of humor. Anyway, this package contained the precious of precious sauces: