So before I share this recipe, which I found literally years ago, I need to tell you where I’m sitting. Well it’s not actually the where that matters, and it’s not the view either, oddly enough. It’s the smell. OMG!
Like many of my stories having to do with food, this one starts with my dad, Chef Ira. Pretty much anyone who knew him could tell you that Chef Ira was in the habit of buying enormous quantities of supplies for the farm. The grandchildren took particular delight in this habit of his; my mother not so much. But be they foodstuffs, baked goods (I’m looking at you Marie, Amy, Jimmy, and everybody my dad loved at the Italian Bakery in Flemington, NJ!), meats, paper goods, party supplies, kitchen appliances (think: apple spiralizer), or feed for the animals, he liked it big and he liked plenty of it. Continue reading