All my cooking lately has been... roast chicken, roast chicken, roast chicken. Don't forget the potatoes.

Delicious, but does not make for interesting writing. (Or that interesting eating. But it has been rainy and almost cold here. Roast chicken is good. And really crispy roasted la ratte potatoes, cut small so there is the maximum proportion of schmaltzy crispness to creamy insides, is heaven.)

I have been shaking things up a bit with a pretend first course, which we eat while dinner is cooking. It is usually something like a baguette cut up and topped with something- lately goat cheese, fruity olive oil, and cracked black pepper. Because we seem to always have leftover goat cheese on hand.

(Also, sometimes I think if I told my younger self about my adult life using sentences like "we always have goat cheese lying around" it would sound much more exciting than it turned out to be. My younger self had a very low threshold for what met her concept of a glamourous life. That, and I would not tell my younger self we ate that goat cheese while in our pajamas watching The Flavor of Love.)