What is Marriage: Gin Rosemary Lemonade

Apparently this is the week I abandon all former waltzes with vegetarianism and cook things in bacon fat, because I can, and because it proves my southern heritage in a way that no paprika-roasted chickpea ever will.

I'm okay with it. Things feel a bit more sluggish than when my diet is plant-based, but have you ever tasted potatoes fried in bacon fat and turned into summer hash? It's indulgent, comforting, and delicious. This week has been a respite from an otherwise frantic summer - a husband and wife taking refuge from the professional rat race, and instead, cooking meals, watching thunderstorms beside our dog.

The Day I Met My Match

Herbie's first days at home

My dog is a mini me. I don't know if I knew that the second I saw him or if it happened later, but I think it was the first. After visiting every shelter in Baltimore County in August 2009, it seemed impossible to find a dog that was an acceptable size for my tiny apartment. That apartment was amazing, by the way, on the corner with a view, and incredibly peaceful. At the shelters, there were so many boxers and pitbulls. Some of them broke my heart, but they wouldn't have had the room they needed with me, plus let's just face it, I wanted a living, breathing stuffed animal. One day I was visiting the Balt City SPCA for the 10th time, and there was a new dog, a small one: mangled, terrified little Herbie with huge eyes and a teddy bear face. Love at first sight. Really. We looked at each other and knew. There was an understanding. He said I think you could love me and I said yes I could. He had literally just arrived, been given up by his owner, and he was windswept and disoriented to prove it.