As Dutch as Apple Pie.

Most early mornings have looked something like this, as seen from our kitchen table:

It's been a couple of years since I lived in Seattle.  I know, deep down, that I love the rain.  I love to skip around in it and let it cleanse and refresh my face and spirit.  I love the dragon-scale sheen of silver it imparts to all it touches.  It's taking a little while for me to be convinced of that.  Rain here makes me want to Drink Tea and Bake/Cook Stuff.  

Amelieeeeeeeeeee...

Don't look at the shoes, Amelie... just look at meeeeeeeee...

 As a plus, we've been eating very well in the last two weeks... I would venture that we've eaten more home-cooked meals in the past two weeks than we did in a typical month in Chicago.  And wasted far less food.  Our refrigerator is very small, and we have no freezer, so we do grocery shopping on an every-other-day basis and take care of leftovers.  Thus far we've supped on two blended soups (Broccoli-Leek and Sweet Potato-Apple), Split-Pea soup, Cod soup with potatoes and chorizo, Gouda-Onion bread, and a meatloaf with roasted rosemary potatoes.  We've done a couple of casseroley things with pasta and leftovers.  And appreciated various wines throughout. 

Po-Ta-Toes.

The most dangerous baked good to emerge from our toils has been these "Pop Tarts," filled with Ginger-Rhubarb jam purchased from the Sunday Market at Westergasfabriek.  Note the meticulously fork-tined borders.  That handiwork is all Ed.

We have a half marathon this Sunday.  We're tapering like the pros.

Last week, I met with a new Dutch friend in Westermarkt (not to be confused with Sunday Market in Westergasfabriek) for apple pie and koffie.  Appeltaart here is a whole 'nother beast from American apple pie.  Call me a traitor, but I prefer this version.  The crust is about a half-inch thick, crumbly, and semi-burnt with brown sugar.  That's all I need to know.