Mrs. D and Chopper Dave met during a production of Sweeney Todd. They have yet to determine what impact this fact will have on their culinary fate.

… As soon as we see the list — goat cheese, sherry vinegar, prosciutto, green garlic — he’s talking pizza. For about five minutes. Then the brainstorm hits. A new creation, half quiche, half frittata. That’s it! We’ll make a Quittata! …

… I don’t remember much about what we planted — other than I know we had pumpkins for Halloween, giant sized late summer zucchini, and I always begged to have at least one or two sunflowers to harvest (though I was challenged getting to the seeds before the crows did). I remember spring time when I was no more than five or six, doling out seeds, running from hole to hole with the hose, impatiently checking for sprouts, day in and day out. …

… Comfort foods (or so they say) have everything to do with two things: childhood memories, and that sweet/fat combo that acts as an instant stress-reliever (well, at least until the next trip to the scales). Mac and cheese, chicken soup, a big dish of chocolate ice cream…

… (Then there’s the furry thing. Ew! The leaves are furry — I can’t eat that! Well, that’s never stopped anyone from eating anchovies. Actually, I take that back. It’s stopped me from eating anchovies, but that’s beside the point.) …

Molasses. Color me strange, but I really like the stuff. Maybe it’s those fond memories of home baked gingerbread cookies at Christmas time and me sneaking a spoonful straight from the bottle, or maybe it’s just the label with that grand old rabbit …

… Trouble is, my notion really was loony. As in (and I’m quoting Chopper Dave here) “This is a harebrained scheme and it’s not going to work.”

But trouble with that is, I’m the Peter Quincy Taggart of harebrained schemes. You know, never give up, never surrender? That’s me. …

… Front Street Ale House, our main default, sits just a block away from the ferry dock, overlooking the port of Friday Harbor. On the off season, it’s a great place to sit at the bar and jaw with the bartender (and the assistant brewer who’s there more often than not), and collect our all-the-time happy hour discount by wearing our “bar wear” — two quite stylish Front Street baseball caps. (The bar wear, I should note, extends to boxer shorts, though I couldn’t tell you if patrons are required to drop trou to get their discount.) …