I met a witch when I was 15.
At least I think she was a witch.

The spring of my sophomore year, my debate team took a field trip to Boston to debate at Harvard.
It sounds more sophisticated than it really was. In actuality, it was just an excuse to go on a really cool trip. And, since my debate coach’s dad and step-mom lived there, I’m pretty sure it was an excuse for her to have the school pay for her family visit.
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I started crying at IKEA today.

Though I did spend 45 minutes in the curtain section, analyzing the many merits and disadvantages of velvet vs. tweed vs. linen, panels vs. tabs vs. grommets, translucent vs. opaque, navy vs. brown vs. ivory vs. orange vs. white, my tears were not due to exhaustion or sensory overload. At least I don’t think they were – by the end of it all, I may have been ready to cry at anything.

The real culprit was a simple exchange between mother and daughter. You know that silly little food court on the way out of IKEA? The one with the amazing cinnamon rolls and soft-serve ice cream that even the most extreme of the Cross-Fit fanatics can’t resist? Yeah. Well, the mom and the daughter took one sniff look at those ooey, gooey cinnamon rolls, looked at each other, grinned, and made a beeline for the counter.
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My cooking buddy called the other day with the greatest news ever.

“Did you get your mail today?” She asked.
– Yes…. (Where could this be going?)
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This is one of those keep it simple, stupid silly recipes.

I’ve tried Cuban Pork Chops every way possible.
I’ve butterflied them and stuffed the goodies inside.
I’ve flattened them and rolled the goodies within.
I’ve baked them with the goodies on top.
Each of those methods was good, but not great.
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Though I love hearty entree salads, I have a hard time serving them.

A salad for dinner? It just never seems like enough.

I guess it’s the country girl in me. You know the type – when a country girl asks ‘what do you want for dinner’ she really means which slab of meat do you want. She’ll figure out the rest from there…

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