It’s well passed the time of year when holiday shopping begins, but if you’re a procrastinator like me, odds are you have a few people left to check off on your gift list. (Or all of the people. I’m not judging.) In order to help you out, I made this gift guide with 10 gifts for every type of person you have to buy presents for! Well, maybe not every kind of person– I don’t have time for that. But lots of kinds of people, and we’re going to keep the title anyway. But wait! There’s more…
I have somewhat of a torrid love affair going on this season with the classic pork and apple flavor combination. Sure, it’s been around forever, but for whatever reason, something about the sudden chill in this year’s air has got me thinking in one direction. (Hint: it’s a direction that involves an entire apple grove and pig farm.) By the way, when I say “it’s been around forever”, I really mean forever. Or at least dating back to the 1300′s. I’m a little late to the game, apparently.
But despite centuries’ worth of pork and apple recipes, I have never in my life had apple butter ribs. Or had never, I should say, because obviously once I realized that I’d never tried them, I was dead set on making them. I should also mention that I had never tried apple butter in the first place, but, I mean, it’s called apple butter. There was absolutely no chance that I wouldn’t like it.
Instead of going out and buying apple butter, I decided that I’d make it myself since I just so happened to have 10 pounds of apples laying around from when I went apple picking with James.
Speaking of which, why is it that every couple who has an apple grove within a fifty mile radius of them feels the need to go apple picking in the fall? As someone who did go do this, I have to say that I don’t know. I really don’t. I think it’s some kind of unwritten rule to do something in the fall that is supposed to be fun and cute, and couples can wear flannels and take pictures and do some little romcom-worthy things and giggle together, or whatever. But apple picking really isn’t that much fun, as I began to realize after ten minutes or so at the grove. You get there, and you pick the apples, and then you think, “Now what? Are we supposed to take pictures with the apples? Should we laugh as we pick an apple? I can try to use my other hand to snap a picture of both of us on my phone but the sun is glaring and I can’t open my eyes that wide and I keep cutting him out of the picture…” But wait! There’s more…
For me, football season has always been about the dips. In fact, when I was just getting interested in cooking, I made a few trays of dip for a Super Bowl party at my years-later-to-be-boyfriend’s fraternity house, and he even just recently reminded me of how kick-ass it was and how quickly it was devoured. Now that I think about it, that might have been one of the first times he ever went out of his way to talk to me. (He’s kind of shy, or introverted, or whatever you’d like to call it, but if he’s already opening his mouth to yell at football players in between shoveling down half a tray of dip, he’ll also use it to genuinely thank you for your delicious contribution.) You could say our relationship is owed to a football season dip. It wouldn’t have much truth to it, but you could say it if you wanted to.
But this isn’t about my relationship. It’s about football season, dips, and how everyone will suddenly think you’re the one of the greatest human beings to grace the face of the earth if you make a good one. (I’d even venture to say the same holds true for any party or event you attend.) But wait! There’s more…
For 22 years of my life, I avoided blue cheese like the plague. I don’t know why I refused to try it. I don’t know what made me decide that I’d despise it. All I know is that, for the large majority of my life, I deprived myself of one of the most enjoyable flavors I have yet come to know. It was wrong.
It was so, so wrong.
Luckily, after college (and after living for four years with the biggest blue cheese fanatic you’ve ever met), I started working on this blog, and I began to eat a lot of foods that I previously disliked. You might already know that if you’ve read about my new appreciation for steak, or mangoes, or burgers.
Yes, I once even disliked burgers. Now, I pile a ton of blue cheese onto my burgers as if to make an obscene gesture in the direction of Past Morgan’s poor taste. I have come such a long way since those dark times.
Ever since my trip to North Carolina, I can’t get two things out of my head: one, I really miss my cousin and wish we lived closer to each other (cue “d’awww”s), and two, I am developing an unhealthy obsession with pulled pork.
When I say “unhealthy obsession”, I mean that I’ve been finding ways to put pulled pork into every meal imaginable. In the past month, I’ve put pulled pork in breakfast hash, on nachos, in chili, over rice, in lettuce wraps, on pizza, and in tacos. I had a dream that I made a pulled pork cocktail, and that was when I knew the madness had to end. Not before really pondering whether or not I could make pulled pork infused bourbon, though. But wait! There’s more…
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