Hemingway-Pfeiffer - grace grits and gardening

Strawberry Goat Cheese Thai Basil Crostini

September 27, 2013 By Talya Tate Boerner

Foodie Friday

made with Strawberry Fruit Spread from Hemingway-Pfeiffer Museum

This is a great brunch appetizer, snack or dessert.

Toasted Sourdough

Drizzle of Olive Oil

Berry Jam

Goat Cheese Crumbles

Thai Basil

Thai basil is a peppery, anaise-flavored version of basil with smaller, deep green leaves and purple-hued stems. The flowers make a nice garnish and are edible as well.

Thai Basil

For this recipe, regular basil or fresh sage works great too.

talya

Grace Grits and Gardening

Farm. Food. Garden. Life

It is very hot and dry here…We have had an abundance of fine fruit so far this season. Cherries, berries, plums and early peaches but the dryness is affecting the apples and everyone’s disposition.—Mary Pfeiffer, July 1933 (in a letter to her daughter Pauline and son-in-law Ernest Hemingway in Key West…)

Empty Nest

June 13, 2013 By Talya Tate Boerner

Our nest is empty. I write.

photo courtesy of morgueFile

talya

6-Word Memoir (assignment at Hemingway-Pfeiffer Creative Writing Retreat)

For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn. – Ernest Hemingway (6 word memoir)

Television

June 10, 2013 By Talya Tate Boerner

Yesterday I returned from a one week writer retreat. One week of retreating into my writing with like-minded people.

No television.

No traffic.

No laundry.

No cooking.

No responsibility except to write and even that was optional.

Yesterday I returned with fresh focus and stories to scrawl on paper before they disappear.

Yesterday I returned to the ATT Uverse man. He worked on our spotty cable connection. “In all my years, I’ve never seen this problem before,” he said. He looked all of twenty-five.

On a Sunday night he worked changing out remotes, checking lines, switching boxes, and adjusting cables while the Spurs handed the second playoff game to the Heat.

This morning as my first cup of coffee brewed, the morning weather forecast resonated into the kitchen. “Sunny with a high of 95 degrees.” The weatherman’s voice boomed.

The floor vibrated under my bare feet.

I never watched one minute of television at my writer retreat.

I never missed it.