Memorial Weekend

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My life has whizzed by me yet again. Every week I think I’m going to write something and then before I know it, another month has passed and I find myself up to my elbows in flour and coconut oil and buried in Mommy duties. Here I am at last. Making a bold attempt to squeeze just one more thing in before bedtime; just one more thing before I miss another month … or another year.

Bare with me. I am in the process of re-envisioning what Fresh and Raw is all about and how it should be organized. I wanted to start my victorious re-entry into blogging with an entry about the Cafe. Starting at the beginning with the fleeting dream we only conversed about while sitting in our favorite Vegan restaurant five years ago, to waking up in it – a full fledge operational Cafe, Bakery, and Coffee House. That story will come but I don’t think I’m quite ready to tell it. In the mean time I have found myself in the midst of something so much bigger than I had imagined and It only seems fitting that Fresh and Raw be a bigger presence and change to fit that vision. I know now that it is much more than just a resource. It is the tales of my life, my family, our cafe and my ever evolving love for food. There are all equally important to my life and purpose. And now about our Memorial Day weekend. Better late than never.

You should never ever think you have cooking all figured out because someday you might find yourself in the kitchen soaking almonds for a fresh batch of almond milk, pickling your first jar of cucumbers and making fresh strawberry chia-seed jam.

Or maybe even cooking your way through the pages of your most recent favorite cookbook after you’ve spent a day running around the Children’s Museum of Phoenix and cooking dinner for an 18-month old who never wants to stop eating. I feel like I’m in Julie and Julia and someday I might even go as far as writing Angela Lidow to tell her that her cookbook, Oh She Glows has inspired me. At first I think there is something wrong with me. I have a million things to do and instead of doing them I’ve made another list of food to make. The list still lingers: brew tea for a new batch of kombucha, make chocolate sauce for the ice cream sundaes and raw macaroons for Will’s lunch for the week (as of now his favorite next to grapes). I think someone finally hit the power button.

I know I’m not crazy when I find myself (in my few precious hours of relaxation) sitting with my son at the cafeteria table of the art museum snacking on organic green grapes and an almond butter and fresh apricot-honey jam I made a few days before.

Or when I’m enjoying a portobello burger with a kale hemp-seed pesto and sautéed walla-walla sweet onions; all harvested from our garden the same morning. Or making popsicles on an already too hot summer’s day, out of freshly juiced watermelon and cucumber from our FarmBox and enjoying grilled vegetables in a mango-peach marinade Sean just happened to whip up for our Memorial Day BBQ. No I’m not crazy. My son will grow strong and healthy. My family will be thoughtful and appreciate what the world has to offer us. I enjoy the beauty of my food. It was made by my hands and every bite is nourishing.

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