No Place Like Home

Last weekend, A and I went to D.C. It was nice--historic buildings, ancient art, great food and wine, and even better friends:

The Old Post Office 

DOJ Building: Makes me proud to be a lawyer. 

But I am of the firm opinion that there really is, "no place like home." And the Bluegrass really is home:

Home.

Our neighborhood hosts Jazz in the Park every Tuesday night in the summer. So A and I packed up our dinner, and headed up the road for dinner al fresco. 

I believe that picnics should be casual but elegant. This doesn't mean that they are time consuming or expensive. It does mean that they should be delicious. 

I stopped by our local bakery for some prosciutto, brie, and a baguette. Our fridge yielded some leftover pizza toppings (a.k.a bacon, herbs, and scallions), which I tossed with frozen peas to make a quick pea salad. 

This salad is delicious and a cinch to make: juice one orange and whisk with 1/3 C. of olive oil, 1 T. of Dijon, a few T. of white wine vinegar, and Kosher salt and pepper.  Pour this mixture over a bag of frozen peas that has been warmed slightly. Add cooked bacon, scallions, and whatever fresh herbs you have around. 

I boiled a few eggs, threw a few gherkins in a bowl, cut up an apple and some melon, grabbed some marmalade, and chilled a bottle of wine.

And dinner was served:

There really is no place like home.