no, really... it's the perfect margarita

For some reason last night, I craved a fresh margarita. My encounters in the past with homemade margs was never very successful and usually involved a tall neon-green bottle of high fructose corn syrup laced with preservatives and food coloring, and completely void of actual lime juice. 

My friend and I both purchased retro-looking juicers a couple of weeks ago, and since the big orange-arugula bomb of '09, I hadn't really used mine. 

So, one simple-sugar recipe, six limes, and about two ounces of tequila later... things were looking up. 

Since I teased 181 of my closest friends with a Facebook status saying I wouldn't share my recipe, but really just wanted to get them all to read my blog (hah! got you! captive audience!!), here it is. 

These were so delicious, and deceptively potent, that Ryan--who when I started this recipe exclaimed, "You don't have to make me one"--tasted mine and then requested his own. When the last lick of salt and the last drop were gone from his glass, he requested another.

So, here it is. My absolutely perfect margarita recipe.  

Simple Syrup

First, get some simple syrup going. I used 1/2 cup of water and 1 cup of sugar. Place in small saucepan on the stove, and cook over low heat, stirring occasionally, until the sugar is dissolved. Turn heat up very slightly (from a 3 to a 4, for instance), cover, and let simmer for about 5 minutes. Set aside and let cool. 

Fresh Lime Juice

To make two margaritas, you'll need the juice of six limes. 

Delicious Tequila

I am no connoisseur, so I just buy whatever I can afford. Up until this point, we weren't drinking much tequila. Now, we will likely keep the bar stocked. For these, we used Sauza Gold. 

Splash of Orange Juice

Traditional margarita recipes call for Triple Sec. My liquor cabinet is not well-stocked, so we were out. However, I figured upping the tequila just a bit and adding OJ would do the trick. Pleasantly surprised. 

Garnish: fine kosher salt and a lime wedge.

Per margarita, use equal parts of the ingredients. We have a 2-oz shot glass, so ours went like this:

In a martini shaker full of ice, pour:

2 oz simple syrup

2 oz fresh-squeezed lime juice

2 oz tequila

splash of orange juice to taste (I used about 1 oz)

Shake to your heart's content, and pour into a garnished glass (you can pour with or without the ice; we liked it very much without the ice). Take the first sip slowly--this is as fresh as it gets, so it may take you by surprise--and then enjoy with responsibility. Or with reckless abandon, whichever suits you best. 

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soup night: a weekly hit

I never used to buy bacon regularly. For the most part, the deli drawer in our refrigerator had a big, bacon-less void in it. But ever since the lentil-bacon soup success, the thick slices of salty pork have been a mainstay on the grocery list.

And soup night, this time around, has stuck. I've stopped worrying so much about exactly what kind of soup to make, and have instead been relying mainly on my own intuition. So far, my intuition has done pretty well. And what's made these weekly soup adventures all the better is the homemade chicken stock that's stockpiled in our freezer. I must say that making my own stock has opened up the culinary world to me. The flavor of homemade stock is unmistakable; not to mention the boatloads of money I'm saving by making my own organic stock rather than chunking down $2 or $4 for a quart of the store-bought stuff. Of course, there's also the healthy upside of missing out on all the preservatives and excess sodium... What's not to like?

But I digress... I'll tell you more about stock very soon. The real story here is that I want you to understand how simple it is to make delicious soup every week, on the cheap, on the whim, and just on time for dinner.

I've taken many cues from my beloved Bittman and various cooking blogs, but my "recipe" is not so much a recipe as a method. Without further ado, my soup method. (W.I.P.)

The first step is to create a base for your soup. Lately, my base has been bacon. I like to crisp about 4 slices, roughly chopped into 1-inch pieces, in the Dutch oven over medium heat. Turn the heat on before you toss the bacon in the pot; throw one small piece in there and when it sizzles, add the rest. If you're not using bacon, create a base with cooking oil or butter.

Once the bacon is almost crispy, add about half of a chopped onion, and 2-3 cloves crushed garlic. Don't add any liquid yet unless the bacon is browning too much on the pan; if you need to deglaze, add just 1/8 cup of your stock. Deglaze if desired, let the liquid evaporate, and continue sauteing the onion and garlic--about 5 minutes total. The trick is to keep the bacon crisp; this will add to the overall texture (and flavor) of your soup. (The last time I made soup, Ryan had to "soupervise" to make sure I didn't undercook the bacon.)Once the bacon is crispy, and the onions and garlic are translucent, it's time to deglaze. This time, add about 1/4 cup of stock and scrape all the delicious little bits off the bottom of the pot. Once most of that liquid has evaporated, just about 1-2 minutes later, dump in your other vegetables. We really enjoy carrots, celery, and potatoes. Generally I use three carrots, three stalks of celery, and two small potatoes (peeled or not, whatever you like). Be sure to save your scraps to make stock. Dump the cut veggies into the pot, and add about 1 tablespoon of olive oil to give a boost of flavor. Cook just about 5-7 minutes, until the potatoes gain a little color. Once you're happy with the texture of your veggies, and can smell all the flavors meshing together and complimenting one another, it's time to add the stock.

I generally use 4 cups or more per pot of soup, but once we eat two bowls from the pot, there's hardly any stock leftover. So maybe 6 cups is a better approximation. It's really up to you, though... how soupy do you like your soup? 

Once you add the stock, you can also add lentils (these take about 40 minutes to cook), brown rice (takes 20 minutes to cook), or pasta (about 10 minutes to cook). You want your soup to simmer for about 40 minutes, so add your legumes or grains accordingly.

For this pot, since I used plenty of potatoes, I didn't want to add any other type of starch. Instead, I dumped in a can of chopped tomatoes with green chiles (not drained), and added a few dashes of tabasco sauce and white wine vinegar for a kick. I'll admit, this was 100% improvisation; the last time I used tomatoes the soup did not fly over so well.

But this was different. The kick with the green chiles and tabasco sauce made the soup almost like a vegetable gumbo... A healthy sprinkle of salt and pepper, and this pot was ready to go. That's why it's important to take chances and get creative with soup night: because when you try something risky, chances are it will turn out delicious.

I made two-ingredient biscuits to go with our soup, and they were fantastic (and easy). Instead of buttermilk, though, I used dried buttermilk and water. Next time I think I'll go with just regular milk, but these biscuits were fluffy and slightly sweet and even better heated up the next morning and topped with butter and jelly. What's so satisfying is that they're quick to make and easy to gobble up right out of the oven. If you don't have self-rising flour, just add 1 1/4 tsp of baking powder per cup of all-purpose flour. Good luck! Feel free to share your soup successes and tips, too. I hope from here I'm able to branch out into egg-drop soups, or even curries. But I'm not ready just yet. 

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chalk it up to lessons learned

I can’t remember exactly how he put it, but Ryan said something to the effect of... he expects me to mess up sometimes. My learning curve and success rate have been on a steep incline in the kitchen, happily, but I am far from mistake-less. Which brings me to Tuesday night’s pink slip.

During my grocery shopping, I picked up a head of cauliflower for the sole purpose of roasting it. I’d heard from many people how delicious roasted cauliflower is, and couldn’t wait to try it. Besides, I get excited about any reason to use my favorite baking dish—a red 9x9 Le Creuset. I found a promising recipe for which I had every ingredient, including fresh parsley from the container garden. Not to mention, I’d just furthered my kitchen accessory collection with a retro juicer and could squeeze some fresh lemon juice.
Do you see where this is going yet? Yeah, but you don't know all of it.

Trying to make this a meal, I wanted to use up some whole wheat couscous and the leftover arugula from dinner the night before. Enter a recipe for orange-scented couscous, and then my brilliant idea to wilt the arugula in at the end for a splash of bitter green to compliment the sweet orange.

It sounds like a pretty good meal, doesn’t it? Fresh herbs, delicate orange zest, simply roasted cauliflower...

Well, let’s start with that. I prepped and photographed and plopped it in the oven at 450... Only to, about 15 minutes later, hear a strange POP! from the vicinity of said cauliflower in the oven. Fearing the worst, I slowly opened the oven door, and gained confirmation. My beautiful, perfectly square, singular Le Creuset dish was cracked down the middle. No warning, no distress signals, no last rites... Just sudden death. Without muttering one curse word (or shedding one tear), I reached in and carefully grabbed both very much separated sections of the dish. I picked up the head of cauliflower, whose destiny still lay in the delicate balance between it’s totally gonna be delicious and this is so not gonna work, dropped it in my equally red but not as cute red stoneware pie plate, and back in the oven it went. Finley was... let's call it suspiciously annoyed. Meanwhile, Ryan called on his way home. “I’ve had a minor kitchen setback, but it’s not so bad,” I told him, at which point I was dipping some leftover rosemary bread in the olive oil and sea salt at the bottom of one of the halves. At least I’m resourceful.

Onward, I thought, to my fresh orange zest and juice and couscous. It smelled wonderful, and probably would be fantastic maybe with some saffron (I’ve never had saffron, but for some reason I think it’d taste great with this) and not with arugula. But I dumped the arugula in anyway. Pretty! Ryan, standing behind me by then, wrinkled his nose at the thought of a savory orange dish. I’d forgotten that he’s not a fan (remember orange beef night?). Orange and chocolate? Awesome. Orange and couscous? No way. The timer signals that it’s time to take the cauliflower out of the oven, again, and I was happy to see that at least one of my stoneware dishes made it through the night unscathed. I set the table and plated the food... And we took one bite of each and decided: Unworthy! The cauliflower was still tough, though burned on the tips and completely void of any moisture at all (so I have yet to successfully roast a vegetable—WHAT IS THE SECRET!?!?) The oh-so-thought-out-orange-arugula combo was nauseating. Ok, it’s not that bad, I think, and direct Ryan to reach for some soy sauce. It’s just not working. I can’t decide whether to laugh or cry, so I leave the room. Ryan chooses for me and laughs; I re-enter the room and announce, “Let’s go get food, but we have to do the drive-thru because I’m in my pj’s and I’m not changing. And you’re buying.” Fin's part of it by this point, and wants to come with us. Ten minutes later we return with Cokes in styrofoam cups and piping-hot nuggets and waffle fries. For dessert I smother a banana with Nutella and sprinkle leftover orange zest on top, which makes for a surprisingly fantastic sweet treat. Of course, not wanting to break my budget for the week, and having ruined dinner, here’s what I scrounged up for lunch the next day... This just goes to show that when one dinner plan doesn’t work out, it’s not the end of the world. It’s just another little pink slip for the collection. And maybe a sub-par lunch at your desk the next day.

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oatmeal in a muffin tin

Remember my tease about the delish banana oatmeal muffins? This is it, folks.I happened upon this amazing recipe about two weeks ago, and can't stop thinking about it. This simple, healthy recipe resulted in little tiny cakes of sheer moist banana-y goodness. Not to mention, fellow food blogger Half Baked had a great remedy for the absence of oat flour: just pulse rolled oats in the food processor until the meal resembles, well, flour. Ta-daaaa!

Holy cow, you must, MUST, MUST try these delectable muffins. There's just no reason not to try them. They're easy, they're healthy, and they're tasty. 

Of course, I can't make anything that easy... Having only one muffin tin, and wanting to finish these all in one baking batch to save energy and time, I put a few muffin papers in a cake pan and filled 'em up. Not bad, eh?

These smelled so good while they cooked, and I couldn't wait to try one. Neither could Fin. I can't even think of anything else to write about them other than... they're just good. So bake them. I froze half a dozen and took them to my grandmother... I'm hoping she enjoys them as much as we did!

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a proper breakfast

One morning in January, when I had the day off and Ryan didn't, and I couldn't fall back asleep and the kitchen was begging to be dirtied and I just couldn't keep my hands off a new recipe, I made scones. 

And we haven't been quite the same since. You see, I never knew what having a scone really meant. The only time I'd ever, in my life, had a real honest-to-goodness scone was at my friend Ellen's house. She, being one of my highly cultured friends, made homemade scones with whipped cream (and having never eaten an honest scone before, I had to ask what the white fluffy stuff was) and strawberry jam, and Earl Grey tea with cream and lumps of sugar. 

So when I stepped out into the scone-making world, a bar had already been set; and I had to clear the bar, because no way was I going to disappoint myself, or the bf for that matter. That's when I reached for both Bittman's book and the Joy of Cooking: this is what I'd call scone research. 

What makes a scone a scone, you ask, and not a biscuit? Two words: heavy cream. Also known as sweet glorious nectar of the gods, don't you agree? Yes, my friends, heavy cream gives scones their decadent yet simple, lightweight yet filling, country-biscuit yet hi-falutin-pastry-like feel. 

The recipe I used went a little something like this (adapted from How to Cook Everything): 

2 cups flour

1 tsp salt

4 tsp baking powder

2 tbls sugar

5 tbls cold butter

3 eggs

3/4 cup cream

• Heat oven to 450. Mix the dry ingredients together in a bowl, reserving 1 tablespoon of the sugar. Cut the butter into bits and either pulse it in the food processor (easier) or rub the butter into the dry mixture with your fingertips (messier and more fun). Make sure all the butter is thoroughly blended in before you move on. 

• Beat 2 of the eggs with the cream in a large bowl. With a few swift strokes, combine them with the flour mixture. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead only 10 times. The dough should stick a little to your hands. 

• Press the dough into a 3/4-inch-thick rectangle and cut into 2-inch rounds with a biscuit cutter (I used a glass tumbler). Put the rounds on an ungreased baking sheet. Gently reshape the leftover dough and cut again. Beat the remaining egg with 1 tbls water and brush the top of each scone; sprinkle each with a little of the remaining sugar. 

• Bake for 7 to 9 minutes or until the scones are light golden brown. 

• Serve with fresh whipped cream and local berries. Over and over again. The next weekend, Ryan's parents were coming into town and spending the night with us. I asked Ryan if I should make scones for them. "Are they going to be exactly like the ones you made last week?" he asked. Apparently I'd set my own scone bar. Thankfully, when I made them for his parents, they were just as good as the week before. Here's hoping that they'll be just as good from here on out.

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sweetness overkill: cake balls!

Please know that yes, I giggled the entire time I made, and wrote about, these cake balls, because sometimes I get stuck in eighth grade all over again (and so do you). I emailed this to my parents before blogging, and my mom suggested calling them "Red Velvet Truffles;" my dad suggested "Cake Spheres" or "Earth-like Cakes." I like both suggestions very much, but to humor my inner 13-year-old, I will call them BALLS. Sorry 'rents. Love ya both. My friend suggested calling them "Red Velvet Cajones" and getting it over with. Still laughing from that.

The stars aligned this week when Valentine’s day recipes, my friend Nicki’s birthday, and an urge to bake a new recipe collided into the perfect circumstance for: Chocolate Covered Red Velvet Cake Balls.

Yes. You read that correctly. In the last week or so, I’d been seeing more and more recipes for these pop up. Nicki happens to love red velvet cupcakes, and I (until last night) had never made red velvet cake before. Opportunity, don’t you think?

I scoured the web for the best red velvet recipe. The idea of using a box mix was in the back of my mind; but then I saw that the cost for one box (not including all the pantry staples needed for it) was almost $7. Not to mention, the box was full of preservatives, partially hydrogenated oils, and even the dreaded high fructose corn syrup. Nicki’s worth the $7, for sure, but why give her chemical-laden sweets when I could whip it up from scratch? (Ok, ok—there’s Red No. 5 in my recipe...but c'mon.) This is the Sustainable Diet blog, after all. So Nicki’s recipe was treated with unbleached organic flour, organic butter, local farm-fresh eggs, and even all-natural organic cocoa. Mmmm. I finally settled on this recipe, which was adapted from the Lee Bros. Southern Cookbook. Of course, I FURTHER adapted it by leaving out, either by accident or by purposefully omitting, the orange zest. Though I think next time I’ll include the zest, because the flavor would likely compliment the icing AND the chocolate.

For the icing, I followed the Joy of Cooking’s “fastest method” for cream cheese frosting. Into the food processor went:

• 8 oz. Neufchatel (some sense of "healthy")
  
• 6 Tbls. unsalted butter, cubed
  
• 2 tsp. Mexican vanilla
  
• Approx. 2-3 cups confectioner’s sugar
  

This took literally 30 seconds to come together into a beautiful, rich, creamy frosting. Then came the fun part. After the cakes cooled, I cut them into chunks and, lacking another large mixing bowl, tossed them into my stock pot. I busted out the potato masher, spatula’d in the frosting, and went to town mashing. Once the icing was incorporated, I shaped the cake balls, making about 30-40 two-biters, and stuck ‘em in the freezer. I like to call these the naked balls. Teehee! You know you giggled. They look a little like meatballs, don't they?I prepped my chocolate-covering area with a brown paper bag and parchment (having learned something from my caramel incident). The spheres, after freezing for about 30 minutes, were nicely set and were very easy to dip in chocolate. I found that using two forks is the BEST way to do this--no special equipment needed. Two-thirds of my batch went into dark chocolate chips, and the other third were dipped in white chocolate chips. I drizzled them with the remaining chocolate, and... Voila! Chocolate-covered red velvet cake balls!! Are you blushing? Stop it! My mom's right--they do look like truffles... This took about 3 hours from start to finish, and dirtied literally an entire dishwasher full of dishes, and then some. Something I’d maybe do next time on a Sunday, and not after having a couple of beers at my cousin Callie's birthday party. :)But they were well worth the effort, albeit I’m only able to eat one in a sitting. Talk about sweet overkill. Mmmmm.... The best part? Thinking I’d been so original in my planning, another colleague had brought Nicki the SAME THING for her b-day. The same morning. Unveiling her chocolate-covered delights only moments before I had.

Apparently we run in the same blog circles. :)

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Sneaky, sneaky!

To make up for tricking Ryan the other day, I decided to try some different cookies. Lately I’ve been on a baking kick, trying to hone my skills in the oven. I’ve also fallen hard for organic rolled oats; they’re healthy, hearty, and tasty to boot. They can be dressed up to the nines, or cooked simply. (And just you wait for the delish banana muffin recipe coming down the pike.)

But let me preface this by telling you that only a couple of days before I made these cookies, we’d given Ryan’s sister, Lynsy, the Deceptively Delicious (and highly controversial) book for her b-day. We thought it’d be perfect for her young picky eater, but I really liked some of the ideas and thought I could incorporate more veggies into my baking.

So, back to the evening when I made these cookies....

I’d again confessed that I felt like making oatmeal cookies. So when Ryan caught me in the kitchen grating carrots, he shook his finger at me. “You know, you can’t sneak vegetables into food for me like you could on a little kid. I’m not gonna fall for it.” I wasn’t trying to be sneaky, I assured him, I was just trying to make miniature, oatmeal cookie versions of one of my favorite desserts: carrot cake with cream cheese icing. Once I was given the blessing to proceed with my vegetable-infiltrated cookie baking, all was well. I whipped up a simple recipe and these flew off the cooling rack just as soon as I could ice them. We ate ‘em all, and didn’t share with anybody. Sorry friends. :) I’ll make you another batch.

Oatmeal Carrot Cookies with Cream Cheese Frosting

For the cookies (I halved this recipe just for me & the man, but have included the full-size recipe here):

3/4 c. butter
1 3/4 c. flour
3/4 c. packed brown sugar
1/2 c. granulated sugar
1 egg
1 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
1/4 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. vanilla
2 c. rolled oats
1 c. shredded carrots

In a large mixing bowl, beat butter on medium speed for 30 seconds, just until softened. Add half of the flour, all of the brown sugar and granulated sugar, egg, baking powder, cinnamon, baking soda, and vanilla; beat until combined, scraping sides of bowl occasionally. Beat or stir in remaining flour. Stir in oats and carrots

Drop dough by rounded teaspoons 2 inches apart onto cookie sheet lined with parchment paper. Bake at 375 degrees for 10-12 minutes or until done enough for you. Cool, then top with cream cheese frosting. Makes 4 dozen large cookies.

For the cream cheese frosting: (adapted from allrecipes.com)
8 oz neufatchel cream cheese
1/4 cup butter, softened
1 cups sifted confectioners' sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

In a medium bowl, cream together the cream cheese and butter until creamy. Mix in the vanilla, then gradually stir in the confectioners' sugar. Store in the refrigerator after use.

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something old, something new...something in the freezer needs to be used.

One of my goals this year is to expand into other culture's foods. I've got Italian, Tex-Mex, and American foods down, but I lack experience in Chinese or Japanese foods (to name a couple; I also need to learn Indian, French, Irish, African, etc.... cuisine). Lately I've really been craving the spicy, salty, cheese-less combinations often found in Chinese food. This means lots of trips to P.F. Chang's for lettuce wraps and crab wontons. 

So the other night, when I looked in our pantry and saw the makings of orange beef stir-fry, I was thrilled. We had broccoli and carrots, flank steak from my dad's farm in the freezer, and brown rice, oranges, and chiles. Sounds like the beginning of a great dinner to me.  Happily, Fin watched as I grabbed the carrots from the fridge. She's a carrot fiend (must have great eyesight) and can't get enough, even if it's in the form of peels. Now, it is with trepidation that I approach any new Asian-themed recipe, because I am still a complete novice at the techniques and tricks of the trade. I love using the wok, but, um, just don't do it right. Maybe it's the electric coils on the stovetop... but I have a feeling it's just me.Here's the problem, I think: there was too much liquid in the pan to just sear the beef. I used (and followed very closely) Mark Bittman's recipe for orange beef stir fry, but something about the beef wasn't quite right. I probably cooked it too long, with not enough heat, so it got tough. Nobody likes to try and choke down tough meat, but overall I think the dish turned out on the better-than-average side of the scale. That's at least what I think; Ryan isn't a big fan of orange in savory dishes, so this one's not on his favorites list. :) 

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good ole country BLT

A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of spending an afternoon with my mom. When our schedules allow, it is wonderful to have time together to do a couple of the things we both love: cook and talk. It's always therapeutic to go home, and now that my mother's garden is flourishing with every variety of vegetable that can grow in black Texas dirt, the therapy is even stronger medicine.

My mother also has a wonderful knack for buying things at ridiculously low prices. I'd call it thrifting, but it seems so much classier when she does it that I almost want to assign it a more glamorous name. After I went on and on about how much I love my bread machine, she insisted upon getting one, in her own way. Not two days later, she called to tell me she'd found one at her favorite shopping venue, St. Vincent de Paul's Thrift Shoppe, and was curious to see if it worked. But for $3, really, not much would be lost. So part of my mission that day was to coach her on bread machine basics (on a dime). Since her bread machine was still in question, I brought a loaf of warm white bread to her house that day. She crisped up some bacon, sliced the last of the winter tomatoes, and had me go out to the garden to pick a spiky-leafed lettuce with a very peppery flavor (it wasn't arugula...). She whipped up some garlic aioli and warmed a pot of turnip soup (also from her garden), and oh... my...

Nothing--I repeat--NOTHING is better than a BLT straight from the garden, with extra-crispy bacon and crusty homemade bread and homemade garlicy mayo. Yum. I wish it weren't lunchtime as I write this, because I am beginning to drool.

To make the perfect BLT, here's what you need:
Thick slices of homemade buttermilk bread
Garlic aioli (try this recipe, but feel free to sub pasteurized egg whites for the eggs)
Fresh lettuce mix (a variety of crispy lettuces will bring more depth to your sandwich)
Thick slices of farm-fresh tomatoes
Several slices of crispy bacon
Salt and pepper to taste

Mmmm.

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finally, something just for fin

My sweet Fin-Bear. I know she only wants to help, what with her incessant nudging, pressing her sweet heart-shaped nose into my thigh while I chop, flip, saute, or mix; what else could she possibly be thinking? Certainly she's never thinking only of herself. "Mom, are those steaks for me? Since I've been such a good girl and only chased one big buck today?" "Moooommmmmmm, you're cutting up that carrot just for me, right?" Yes, my dear, sweet Fin. I love her. But more and more, my cooking episodes are peppered with only sometimes-patient exclamations: "Get outta the kitchen, babe. Out, out. OUT!" So after reading this recipe for gourmet dog biscuits on a new favorite blog of mine, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to do something nice for Finley. Because you know that even after the trouble she manages to get in (did I mention the buck???), she certainly deserves more than just store-bought, regardless of how organic her current treats are...they're not homemade. And boy, did Fin know what was going on. Not just because I kept saying, "I'm making you something, Fin! Aren't you excited?", but also because I had to prop the oven open with a wooden spoon. And let me tell you something: this is NOT a posed pic. She snuck her sweet little self into the kitchen to take a peek. I was actually worried that the rigged oven door would snap shut on her. Catastrophe averted.Perhaps the funniest part of this whole afternoon was that earlier in the day, I'd mentioned to Ryan that I wanted to make oatmeal cookies. While I was making a mess of the kitchen, Ryan was napping. He woke up, waltzed in, and grabbed a cookie off the counter. He tilted his head one way, then the other, eyeing the suspiciously flat, dry pastry with its flecks of green. "Are these cookies or dog biscuits?" I took a bite of one. "Try them," I urged. He was reluctant. I suppose I would have been, too, if I'd been hoping for decadent oatmeal cookies and gotten... a dog biscuit.

But Fin? She loved 'em. And so did her best friend Bella. 

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