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Making homemade pasta sauce is an experience.  I will not lie to you - it takes time.  If all you want is a quick sauce to cover your weeknight noodles, go with Prego. It will undeniably save you hours.  But if you want to spend an afternoon dancing around in a tomato-splattered apron, sipping red wine, and singing "Hey mambo, mambo Italianoooo," go the authentic route.  Not only will you feel like an absolute boss magically turning tomatoes from your garden into creamy sauce, you will have the unique pleasure of tasting a simmering spoonful right from the pot and getting goosebumps because it tastes so good.  

 
 

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If you have shopped at a grocery store or scrolled through any form of social media this summer, you have likely seen the Not Your Father's Root Beer prominently displayed, whether it be at the front of Hannaford's beer aisle or in the selfied hand of a friend who has jumped on the bandwagon.  Now I'm not a jump-on-the-bandwagon kind of girl, but an ale that tastes so much like real root beer that people can't tell the difference? It sounded like the perfect concoction to pour over ice cream.  For my sister Rachel's bachelorette party a couple of weekends ago, we decided making ice cream floats out of it was a must. 
The verdict? The floats were delicious (what's not to love?). But did the NYFRB taste exactly like a refreshing bottle of IBC? Sadly, it did not.  And after one float, we were so full we didn't need to eat dinner. 

The remaining bottles have been sitting in my fridge ever since. 

What does one do with leftover beer once the thrill of ice cream floats is gone? Pour it all over meat and throw it in the CrockPot, of course. 

 
 

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The scent that wafts from the oven when these muffins are baking is what I imagine heaven will smell like.  Every batch fills our small apartment with memories of sleepovers past at my grandparents' house and Sunday mornings growing up in our log cabin.  My mom always made them before church, and I remember the smell being the thing that would wake me up and drag me out of bed.  The recipe was originally my grandmother's, and then my mom adopted it and made it her own. Now that Ethan and I are all grown up (kinda) and in our own place, we have reinstated the Sunday morning blueberry muffin ritual.  And it is not below us to eat the entire pan.