Love is peeling their pistachios.
2011 was the year of the sweetcorn sweet chilli (sweetcorn-chilli?) frittata. It sizzled often, there on the pan. More of an egg flattie really. It was so simple, never needed anything else. Consistently good; no other breakfast could better its pleasures.
2011 was the year of the sweetcorn sweet chilli (sweetcorn-chilli?) frittata. It sizzled often, there on the pan. More of an egg flattie really. It was so simple, never needed anything else. Consistently good; no other breakfast could better its pleasures.
Nuts made an impact. The protein-packed goodness of bite sized endorphin-releasing crunchiness (fact) accompanied me through many a day/night/morning breakfast bowl. The almond, that has left me unsatisfied before, made a comeback. The brazil. The buttery Macadamian. ... The cashew fell by the wayside. The peanut was overshadowed years ago.
Crunchie Oats. We've been through this.
Citrus french toast was created in Lubanzi, on a mountain perched over the sea. Fresh orange, dried fantasia
2012 has been promising yet not altogether . So far it has given me harira in a carpet shop. Prickly pears and amazing uttered under my breath. Chocolate cookies from a glass cookie jar sprinkled on top of Greek yoghurt and honey ice cream. Fresh figs from the tree.
