I had a lovely long weekend, dedicated to some household projects and immense cleaning. With the boy in Vegas for a bachelor party, our roommate visiting friends in Houston, and everyone else I know "down the Cape", it also included some forced very much needed "me" time. If you're not familiar, "me" time means: walks to get XL iced coffees with extra espresso shots, blasting WFNX as loud as possible and singing along, and lots of breaks to play with the dog.

In the end, I didn't get quite everything done that I was hoping, but the house looks significantly cleaner and less cluttered, which does wonders for my mood as soon as I walk in the door. I also did my first ever furniture re-hab! Which was a lot of fun and really gratifying. More on this to follow.

By the time the boys were back in Boston (equip with cowboy hats and wrestling masks...?) I was more than happy to grill up some food and enjoy our improved homestead. Wasn't the most relaxing weekend, but being productive sure makes me calm for days to follow.

So, Operation: Learn How to Use the New Camera is in full effect.
Starting with signing up for a class in a few weeks that will teach me the basics.
And, in the meantime, just taking pictures of anything and everything. And mostly, the dog.

I took advantage of the last hour of sunlight today to take Ozzie to Castle Island, a quick cruise down the street from us, in South Boston. Castle Island is the final stop in the string of beaches that line the east side of my favorite Boston neighborhood. Southie gets a bad rep (and it's about to get worse in the eyes of America, when TLC and the masterminds behind fucking Snookie set up shop), but on a sunny, late Spring afternoon, I beg to differ. There's something about having a beach shoreline and a city skyline in your peripherals. It's a lovely place to be.

We duel to the death for bacon scraps.

Okay maybe not the death.
But only because I got my way.
And I was distracted by a noise. And then a nap.

Every summer, Matt's family spends a week on Lake Michigan. We're talking not only immediate family-- his twin brother and his mom and his nieces and whatnot-- but also extended family; his mom is one of eight siblings, so the amount of cousins he has between the ages of twenty and forty are beyond count, at least for me. In true midwest fashion, they are the most endearing, accommodating family I have ever encountered, and I look forward to this annual trip immensely throughout the year.

Last Thursday morning, Matt and I are walking to the T-- a touch behind schedule, as usual, and neither too talkative until the last sip of coffee is gone from our respective to-go cups-- and he asks if we have any obligations for the weekend.

I am, of course, our calendar-keeper; I don't expect a guy to remember things like impending weddings, tier-two holidays, or other events we are committed to attending. And it seems, as of late, one of us has been dragging the other somewhere every weekend. But last Thursday, as I'm furiously pushing the button to get a "walk" signal and cross the street at Andrew Square, I shake my head with a smile.

Last night, after cleaning the holy hell out of our kitchen (we are not grown ups.) I realized I was starving, and we hadn't a protein in sight. I quickly remembered a year ago, around this time, when I was thinking about starting to blog about food, I made these delicious quinoa patties that I had seen on Seven Spoons. I was thoroughly impressed with not only the patties but myself; the timing of the whole thing, the meticulously poached egg perched atop the beautifully browned quinoa patty. I was beginning to realize, more and more, that I enjoyed cooking, thinking, and, later, writing about food, and I wanted to seriously give it a go.

Twelve months later and I feel like I am finding a rhythm with the whole thing. Despite just really starting to get serious with this blog in October, I have cranked out over a hundred posts (albeit Ozzie is responsible for his fair share, as well) and I see the pageviews slowly starting to climb. It's a lovely feeling, knowing I could have maybe brightened someone's day with a photo or a story, or that I could potentially be responsible for what is going on your plate. If you're reading this, wholeheartedly, thank you for stopping by. Absolutely thrilled to have you.

Anyway. On with the noms.
Last night I decided to make do with no protein and whip up some quinoa patties similar to those I referenced (only with an addition of chick peas!). With plenty of produce still on hand, the accompaniments worked perfectly, and nearly stole the show. Without further ado:

We moved my house to the backyard so I can entertain all my guests this summer.


Al fresco Alpo, bitches.

The other day, I came across this question, about good marinades for grilling, on one of my favorite blogs, Ramshackle Glam. While I had nothing original to chime in regarding marinades, I did suggest author Jordan try my favorite kabob option: grilled mango. She did (and even told everyone!), and loved it as predicted. In the meantime, I began fantasizing about my own impending grill purchase, said mango, and the almighty initial question: best meat marinades for grilling?.

We bought a new grill on Saturday.
The boys picked it up, set it up, and left me a surprise inside:



Iced, ayy?
You assholes.
Anyway.

Recently found myself in New Orleans for work. Saw the interiors of a lot of meeting rooms, but also a few many bars and restaurants. This included one dive bar, where locals were having a crawfish boil in the street, and dumping said crawfish into a big boat for friends and strangers alike to try. I couldn't resist. This, along with an authentic fried oyster Po Boy, made my week (and the drinking in the street, live music everywhere, bars open till absolutely whenever aspect damn near destroyed it).

Some things you should probably know about me:

Finally back with a "recipe" (we use this term pretty fast and loose around here, as I am certainly no chef) and it is for something I had never prepared before! While I've had pork belly a few times at restaurants (most recently, confit'd in a taco at Five Horses Tavern in Davis Sq), I had never come across it at the grocery and, consequently, had never attempted to cook it myself.

Until, of course, I made a trip to my recently discovered obsession, the Chinatown grocery, the other day and there was a big ol' slab of pork belly, just waiting for me to take home (for under $3. Okay).

After work on Monday, I was going to try to braise said pork belly as many recipes called to online, but I quickly realized that would make for a 10PM (or later) dinner, which is sometimes fine, but I was starving. Instead, I decided to take my man out for dinner, and plan on slow-cooking the pork belly all day on Tuesday. I looked for some recipes online--and then just decided to wing it.

The end result was this absolutely delicious melt-in-your-mouth hunk of meat that paired perfectly with pan-fried noodles. Next time you find yourself with a big piece of pork belly, here's what to do: