Hark!

Growing up, I remember being with my brother, exploring the microscopic world of bugs and dirt in the postage-stamp-sized backyard of our family's Chicago home. My mother would ring this beautiful clanging dinner-bell to call us in for dinner. The sound was somehow this mix of excitement, anticipation, and mystery. It was better than just hearing our names yelled, although I'm sure sometimes she did that, too.

Sometimes, if I was in helping with (or distracting from) her mealtime preparations, I was allowed the honor of ringing the bell to call father and brother in, too.

Relating these stories to Phil, I told him him we'll need a bell sometime to call in our own littles (and it would probably come in handy for calling him, too). To me, it was family etiquette - a gracious summons to yummy treats.

"Didn't you grow up with a dinner bell?" I asked my Lancaster-raised Mennonite-rooted partner.
"No." He stated flatly.

Well, friends, it's time to resurrect the dinnerbell.
And heed the call.

This blog is thanks to Ooble, who has inspired me to organize my recipes in blog-form;
and to my Mom, the original dinnerbell-ringer.
It is dedicated to Sigrid & the bump (who will debut this summer), who are my inspiration & motivation for meal-planning & healthy cooking;
and to my beloved adventure partner, Phil, who always challenges the way I think (and cook).