Introduction

My mother was the eldest of 14 children, born just before the great depression, and a talented cook. I was her youngest, but she settled on me to teach her skills to. She said it was my sense of smell and taste. I think she just figured I would be the last leave and she would get more dinners back on her investment.
And I loved the kitchen and everything in it. To my young wondering mind, the oven was a magic box, knives were a mystic link back to mankind's earliest inventions, the spice rack and measuring tools were an everyday chemistry set, and my mother was a fount of special knowlege with cookies hidden somewhere. She let me turn cans of food into a drumset . . . and then put them away, experiment with kitchens cleaners . . . and scrub her counters, even fill different sized jars with water from a teaspoon. Later on in life at school, I excelled in math, science, chemistry, and I was the lead drummer in the school band. Ahhhhhh, sweet mysteries of childhood.
In this blog, I will talk about life, food, liberty, good ale, companionship, dining, and most anything else that crosses my mind while I smoke my pipe.