I like the romance of a picnic.

But I also like to break the rules. So my picnics usually stretch beyond fried chicken confines. Because there are a lot of great choices that are perfectly suited to eating outdoors, slouched up against a tree with both hands held in front of your face, inhaling the experience of really good food served in a simple manner.

But picnics are more and more rare in my life. Maybe it’s the big city where I live, maybe it’s my age or our big city schedule. Maybe the ground is just further away than it used to be, but I don’t eat outdoors nearly as much as I should.

It seems half my childhood meals were enjoyed on a blanket, even if that blanket was haphazardly strewn across the lawn behind our suburban Michigan house. Could these memories stem from the simple fact that air-conditioning was a luxury not yet enjoyed by our family? Could that be the reason I associate summer with outdoor dining?

Another day, another bunch of mint

I have a friend; she is from the North of England. We go walking in the hills with our dogs pretty regularly and in the course of walking and talking we got around to mint.

I told you when I get stuck on these ingredients it's all I talk about. But this friend is a good sport and was willing to share some of her memories of mint.

It seems her father was a bit of a cook. Maybe not the main cook in the household and maybe not what we might consider a gourmet today. But, evidently he made a heck of a mint sauce. He served it with lamb and it's one of those wonderful memories from her childhood that we all have of our time growing up.

Well when someone says "North of England", lamb" and "mint", all in the same sentence. My mind goes straight to mint jelly.