M.C.'s Birthday Dinner

I realize that I am supposed to be writing about Georgia adventures—like antiquing in Madison and the three lovely Lake Oconee houses we spent time in last weekend. But that’s just going to have to wait because I’m in charge here, in case you haven’t noticed. And I want to write about food. (Go ahead, snap those jaws shut. I know you’re only feigning surprise.)

Specifically, I want to write about MC’s birthday dinner. MC, in case you didn’t know, has also been referred to as the Lovely Miss E on this here blog. She’s the mother of the equally lovely Auntie R and the mother-in-law of Uncle H. In honor of her birthday, we celebrated a lovely dinner on the deck yesterday evening.

There was steak, of course. (That’s MC’s favorite, in case you’re wondering. And Uncle H made wayyyy too much.)

And sweet potatoes, roasted in the oven. (I usually do fries, but I think I'm sold on the chunks now instead.)

Plus mushrooms, sautéed in a whole lot of butter and garlic. (They were delish and I am pretty sure I ate this whole bowl full. Seriously. I can still feel them in my stomach.)

And MC’s famous rolls (which, by the way, I made quite some time ago and still have not shared with you—bad Julie).

And white asparagus.

Yes! White! I’d heard rave reviews but never actually experienced white asparagus before. And man oh man am I glad I did because it was good. Particularly drizzled with butter and lemon. Yum. (Keep in mind, however, that if you happen to make it, you have to peel the asparagus first. You don’t have to do that with the green stuff.)

Then, for dessert, I made strawberry rhubarb pie. Uncle H loves it and so if rhubarb is in season and I’m in town, it has to be on the menu. (But because it was MC’s birthday, I made it with Splenda instead of regular sugar for her, which really is just as good. And I had extra pie crust so I “wrote” her initials in crust on top of the pie. Still, Uncle H was the one who ate most of it.)

While we were finishing up dessert, the driver arrived to take My Mom and I to the airport hotel. But because we were in the south (you know, the place that coined the term southern hospitality), the driver couldn’t just sit in the car and wait for us to come out. Uncle H actually called him in advance to see if he’d eaten yet because, if not, we had plenty of steak for him. Alas, he had eaten. So instead, when he arrived, Uncle H invited him to the back deck to enjoy a piece of pie with us before we took off. He accepted the offer for the pie and company on the deck and was, I think, thoroughly entertained.

Ah yes, southern hospitality at its best. It’s a wonder I left.

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