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Recently I noticed, while going through my camera roll, just how many food related photos my family has taken lately.

People often ask who cooks in our family. They want to know if I’m eating chef prepared meals every day. My husband is a chef after all.

Unfortunately for me, for most of our life together, he’s been missing at the dinner hour. I’ve had to make do at meal time without him. He usually cooks a lovely meal at least once a week, but most days we eat simply. Here’s a sampling of the photos we’ve taken in the last month and half. My kids seem to have inherited the “love to cook” gene so several of these photos are of things they’ve made or preparations they’ve participated in.


Add to these photos the ones from my posts on Eritrean food and the winery, and you’ll know what we’ve been up to lately. 

So now, my kids and I are contemplating what we should bake for the holidays this year. Remy suggested a new chocolate biscotti recipe.

What have you been cooking lately? What are your favorites to bake for the holidays?

Check out wanderfood wednesday for more food stories!

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While strolling the streets of Tokyo, we happened upon…

An urban rice paddy! Kids held rice plants carefully…

And worked up their nerve…

For this!

Can a day get much better?

Check out Photo Friday on Delicious Baby for more fun travel stories!

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One photo, a thousand words

Flowers, anyone?

The day we landed on St. Vincent happened to be Remy’s fifth birthday. I don’t remember my daughter having much interest in flowers before we moved to Petit Byahaut, but once there, she became obsessed with them.



I couldn’t blame her. We were surrounded by a myriad of amazing tropical flowers. She would watch with envy as Mary changed the floral displays on the restaurant tables with each meal setting. Remy often got her turn to do the flower arranging.   

Occasionally, Remy would get to choose and clip the bougainvillea branch we’d place on the bed of newly arriving guests.


When we walked thru the rainforest, she collected all the fallen fig flowers she could carry.

And the gorgeous peach-colored hibiscus growing next the bathtub was impossible to resist.

When we left St. Vincent, she didn’t leave her new love of flowers behind. It has remained firmly a part of who she is.


When she’s got a camera in hand, this is what she photographs:



So Remy is 11 now and her interests are in fact, broader than flowers. Do you want a peek into her room? I snapped this photo today (she said she didn’t mind if I shared it).


It pretty much sums it up, doesn’t it? The spindly plant with the red petals in the back is the poinsettia she bought at Christmas and can’t bare to part with. 

I often wonder if Remy would love flowers as much as she does if we had never moved to the island. We’ll never know.


I love this picture. I know Remy’s hair is in her face and both her and Simon’s eyes are closed, but this picture tells a thousand words.

Simon has his eyes shut tight because he doesn’t want to have his picture taken and he thinks we won’t see him if he can’t see us. I’m embarrassed to point this out, but do you see the red spots covering his legs? We’ve been on the island for just a few weeks and we haven’t yet learned the best way to protect ourselves from the mosquito-like no-see-ums. I’ve already been scolded by ladies in town for not taking better care of my children. Remy’s legs are covered in white Calamine polka dots but Simon would rather go without.

The necklace Remy’s wearing, she chose and bought it with money she got for her birthday. It was the only one of its kind–white plastic pearls with a teardrop shaped pearl pendant–on a tabletop of red, green and yellow wooden bead and shell necklaces.

The cooler in the bed of the truck holds ice cream, the two boxes on the bench are cases of booze, the sack of rice and Simon’s yellow and orange life vest rest atop more boxes full of groceries. We just paid 20 Eastern Caribbean cents for the black plastic bag to carry the fish we bought at the open air market.

The two men in the background who were passing by at that very moment—they are St. Vincent. One man in khaki pants, collared shirt and dress shoes. The other in dreadlocks and a beard, cut off pants, barefoot.

And Brian’s in the driver’s seat wondering, Why the hell does she have to take a picture now?

I was going to take the photo several minutes earlier, while Brian was inside Gonsalves Liquors, making the last of our purchases for the day. But then a construction truck too big to fit down the road started yelling to me to move further over so they could pass. So I started up the truck and moved it over, but it wasn’t far enough, the men yelled. I carefully moved over further as they continued directing, until the front right wheel dropped off the road into the concrete drainage ditch. Then the men were really beside themselves. With much theatrical drama, all six of them got out of the truck, and pushed the Ford Ranger back onto the road. And as Brian exited the store, he was met with great disapproval of his wife’s driving ability.

But besides his annoyance about that whole scene, he’s looking at his watch, counting the few remaining hours to plan a menu and prep for dinner and decide how many staff to keep for the night. It’s afternoon and we have no idea if there are yachts in the bay which will determine how many guests we’ll have for dinner. We have to get back, he thinks.

I’m not sure why I had to take this photo then. I was still shaken up after that driving incident. Probably, I had the camera with me, and thought it an opportunity to snap a shot of a day running errands in town. I didn’t know it would tell so much more.

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