For reasons that I don’t quite understand, this blog is feeling more and more like a confessional. Sure, I’m resting on a cushy Aeron chair instead of a hard wooden kneeler. And I’m staring at a computer screen into the digital abyss instead of through a confessional screen into the face of absolution. The sounds of NPR or Pandora Quick Mix, not the church organ, float about the room. The room, which is bigger than a rest room stall, is not shrouded in darkness. Instead, it is bathed in bright sunlight. So if blogging is my confessional, does that mean cooking has become my religion?
Forgive me my sins, for I have been touched for the very first time…by rhubarb.