rosemary

It's a sunny day in January . . . Pacific North West. I'm not complaining. The kitchen doors are open, time to air out this place and plant myself in a chair on the deck. Dogs are welcome, noisy kids NOT. Husband wanting lunch - NOT either. I'm going to sit and not move. Air myself out too if you want to call it that. 

It takes a bit to clear out enough of the tinnitus from the incessant humming of my PowerPC G4 mirror door - yes that noisy beast - to notice the whir of hummingbirds buzzing their fly-by snack-bar. With that I mean the 3 foot high, 20 foot long rosemary hedge planted around said deck that I'm sitting on. They, the hummingbirds, could care less that either I, the dogs or the cat are watching them. They're having a feast. And that, feast that is, is enough to get me to be done with sitting and be up with a basket gathering rosemary blossoms for a feast of my own. Well, our own - I'll be sharing. 

This is what I'm thinking here. If the hummingbirds are so excited about the blossoms of my rosemary that they aren't even bothered by a stalking, drooling cat, then they have to be onto something. Honey of course. I can smell it now. Lot's of honey. There are plenty of blossoms for a flock of hummingbirds - if there is such a thing - and my little family of 4. So in my basket they go. Four cups before I get tired of picking; they're kind of small.

I think ice-cream or sorbet will be the thing to make. Or maybe both, be good to know what tastes better. Eggs and cream can enhance the flavor or overpower it. I'll know tomorrow.

It's hard to sit down when you get inspired to cook. Cooking? It's ice cream making, it's freezing. Well, it still involves some cooking.