Alisa. 37. New Hampshire. Married for almost three years to this wonderful, funny, smart guy. Previously married. Went through in-vitro fertilization to have my five year old magical son Keegan. Stepmother to the charming Isabelle (6). Gushingly in love with our baby boy Harper(1). Policy Wonk and dreaded bureaucrat. Lover of fine cuisine, honeybees, truly romantic moments and the underdog.
Curried Beef Short Ribs

Note: I found this was more realistically four servings.

Finishing this dish with lime zest and juice brightens its rich flavors.

Yield 6 servings (serving size: about 3 ounces ribs, 2/3 cup rice, and about 2 1/2 tablespoons sauce)

2 teaspoons canola oil
2 pounds ...continue reading

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War Stories

I have had a couple of requests to explain the presence of gravel. It's not too terribly exciting but here goes.

When I was eight we lived in Virginia and I used to ride my bike around the corner to another neighborhood where my best friends lived. This was no ordinary bike. It was a pink Huffy Sweet Thunder, the only girl's dirt bike at the time. Needless to say I thought I was the sh*t, the stuff and the deal. That never ends well. It gets a little hazy but I remember being in front of my friend's house racing my bike around and some how ended up on the ground. I might have been avoiding a car because I remember a station wagon being involved. Anyway I split my elbow open and there was lots of blood. My friend's mom was a nurse or something and she cleaned it out and patched it with some butterfly closures. After that it became a scar which grew progressively smaller over the years. Around the time I went off to college something surfaced under the scar and attempted to work it's way out. I thought it would do it on it's own but it didn't and then it disappeared again. This happened several more times and I got used to my piece of pet gravel. Then it moved farther down my elbow against the bone and became uncomfortable when I leaned on it or bumped it. It had to go. So it became one of the many things I brought up at my physical this year. Yesterday that problem was solved.
I wish it was a cooler story like the one for the scar on my forehead (went downstairs in a box painted like a police car when I was five), the scar on my ankle (skateboarding incident with my boyfriend in Italy when I was twelve) or the scar on my knee (sea urchin spine from a night dive in the Red Sea that I then had to put urine on). But really if I never go back to the doctor for a foreign body removal then I'll be happy.

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