From where I sit in Nashville, it's is a balmy 80+ degrees right now. Neighbors are sitting on porches, people are biking down our street and the sun is turning everything this gorgeous golden hue. It's so easy to love…
We interrupt this regularly quiet Friday night to share ten moments from the day today. (If you’re looking for a recipe, might I direct you to this morning’s Brussels sprouts salad post?) My friend Sarah participated in this photo project two months ago, and, since I’m a sucker for documentation exercises of any kind (365 Photos? A Day in the Life? A Line-a-Day Journal [doing it now]?), I promptly set up a phone reminder to join in. Launched by blogger Rebekah Gough, this project involves taking photos of ten moments, one an hour, on the tenth day of each month. Other than some short descriptions, I’ll let the photos speak for themselves. You guys. There are so many moments that make up our days.
No burying the lead in this post, folks: I’m nuts about this Brussels sprouts salad. I want to tell you I almost cried when I tasted it, but then I’d have to tell you how my brother almost rolls his eyes whenever he hears me say that. “Yeah, that tortilla soup you posted is good,” he told me a few months ago after he’d read about it here and then tested it at home, “but it’s not like I cried about it.”
My brother thinks he’s very funny.
I saw that brother—and my mom and my dad, and my in-laws, and Tim’s cousins, and his aunt, and his sister and her family, and his sweet grandma Emily, and my dear friend Jacqui—last weekend, in the midst of an epic few days in which Tim and his brother, Nathan, and I drove five hours to Ohio and five hours to Chicago before Nathan flew back and Tim and I drove eight hours home. We left Friday and came back Tuesday and, writing this now, I almost can’t remember what day it is, let alone where I’m sitting as I type. But before we left, inspired by versions of this I’ve seen everywhere from Shutterbean to Gluten-Free Girl to Instagram, I made this shredded Brussels sprouts salad.
Although Tim’s lived in Nashville almost four years longer than I have, we both consider ourselves transplants—he from Ohio and me from Illinois. As born and bred Midwesterners, we can tell you this town’s a whole lot bigger than Dayton and much easier to navigate than Chicago; the weather’s nice, especially this time of year; and, mostly, the food’s fantastic, with locally sourced ingredients aplenty. Because it’s almost summer travel season and because we get emails so often requesting recommendations for the area, we thought, in today’s post, we’d take you out and around our Nashville, which tends more towards food than the music scene, and show you some of the spots we like best.
Today’s post features one of those ideas that, before you try it, sounds crazy and needless and hard; but that, after you try it, becomes brilliant and easy and so simple, you can’t believe you waited so long to give it a go. Tim and I have learned how to make homemade almond milk recently and have since done it twice in the last few weeks. Each time, it’s amazed me—I mean, literally, had me staring at the towel I’m squeezing like a cow udder, in total disbelief. In case you relate in any way to my innocence in the almond milk realm, this post is for you.