tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14065816.post3462061729573657075..comments2023-08-09T04:53:47.459-05:00Comments on Driving Miss Dallas: That's chicken feedMiss Dallashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16831133768123027451noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14065816.post-41692181700726257932008-08-05T18:41:00.000-05:002008-08-05T18:41:00.000-05:00Darn. It told me Blogger was unavailable. So wha...Darn. It told me Blogger was unavailable. So what was I saying?<BR/><BR/>Greeks and food, yes.<BR/><BR/>My grandfather was always able to whip up a feast from whatever happened to be in the kitchen, and he always sang while he worked. <BR/><BR/>My oldest friend's mother in London always has the fridge stocked, and it's always fresh, almost as though it grows in there. She is an expert at making you eat more than you thought you could.<BR/><BR/>And although my parents are less Greek than yours, the kitchen was the heart of our home. Friends often sat in there on stools at the counter, rather than in the dining room.Oliviahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04014351759393921274noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14065816.post-14689684939476999462008-08-05T18:38:00.000-05:002008-08-05T18:38:00.000-05:00Oops I lost my comment. Testing....Oops I lost my comment. Testing....Oliviahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04014351759393921274noreply@blogger.com