Even after over 5 years in Seattle, I still suck at drinking unsweetened coffee.
It’s not just black coffee I have trouble downing, but cappuccinos and lattes as well if they don’t have any kind of sugar or syrup. I mean, it’s not as bad as with black coffee, if someone hands me a good latte, I will absolutely drink it. I just still prefer some sort of sweetener.
The thing that has changed over time, is my pickiness with flavoured coffees. Flavour used to be the only way I would down coffee, hazelnut coffee being my original gateway drug.
I now think hazelnut coffee is kind of gross.
And I love hazelnuts.
I don’t understand it, I just know I hate it.
Do you know what springerles are?
I had never heard about them, even just in passing, until I started to date Trevor. He grew up with Springerles and has always loved them dearly.
They are an extremely simple, anise flavoured cookie. They only have 4 ingredients, but have a few tricks to them that make them something special.
I’m about to share with you, Trevor’s grandmother’s recipe.
Siiiiimplyyyyyyy haaaaaaaaavingg…. a WONDERFUL CHRISTMAS TIIIIIIIIIIIIME….
Okay. So those are all the words I know to that song.
And maybe I’ve been randomly breaking out into that song since December started.
CHRISTMAS IS THE BEST.
I am here to release my secrets on MY PUMPKIN PIE!!
*cue dramatic music*
I know. Big deal.
Except not really. Let me explain.
I have been having a hard week.
Just… a lot of things. A lot of things going on.
I feel like I start every post these days with “OMG SO MUCH IS HAPPENING WHY IT DO THIS?”
This year is just my year of funk. Funk like the stinkiness, not like the music.
The music would be way more fun.
But it’s okay because tomorrow I will be face deep in thanksgiving foods.
I’m really good at drowning my sadness and stresses in food.
Once upon a time, there was a little girl who loved chocolate.
She loved it in cookies and cakes, in brownies and tarts.
She would eat in any way she could get her grubby little hands on it.
Sometimes she would even eat it illicitly out of the cookie jar. (Sorry mom!)
Then one day, someone told her she could eat it for dinner too, without getting in trouble…
in a mole sauce.
But she soon discovered it was all a trick! For mole sauce was not sweet, and to this little girl, actually tasted like mud.
There’s that saying, “American as apple pie”.
Does that mean I’m breaking some sort of international rule if I make apple pie for Canadian Thanksgiving?
I sure hope not because I made apple pie for Canadian Thanksgiving…
It’s probably cool.