Oh joy, another new Portland food blogger to crush on (there's been a rash). I love Deep in This Pear mainly for Megan Howse's hilarious writing. Although she goes into long and frank detail when it comes to the recipes (first sample quote: "I'm going to include the measurements in the body of the walk-thru. Hopefully this will make this blog an actual tool for cooking and not just a self-congratulatory and/or self-deprecating Malkovich door into my kitchen doings."), it's too sweet and meat-y for my tastes. Still I love her approach (and if you're into gooey carbo-loading comfort food, you just hit pay dirt) which this 'graph from her "about" page effectively synopsizes:

I cook to work shit out. While I confuse my frontbrain with speed of light knife movements and spooning flour into a dry measuring cup, I allow my underbrain to really let loose and explore the endless dark in there. I delight in making a terribly elaborate casserole to think out a serious moral dilemma, or because there was a sale on cream of chicken soup. It's not always an overbubbling outcry of personal elation or demon exorcism, but, you know, sometimes it is. Life is food and food is life. A lot of the parts of both of those things suck, but there are some things that shine through the bullshit and become pure beacons of bliss in your memories and tummy. or whatever. So here are some of my favorite recipes from some of my favorite memories, and also some truly fantastic ways to fall off the wagon.

On bread bowls and carb binging:

The thing about a bread bowl also, is that it can be difficult to locate out in the wild. Some bakeries will have them. Some grocery stores will actually carry the precise 4.5 ounce country or peasant rolls that this recipe originally calls for. 4.5, my ass. If you are really in it to win it, you will go to the weird soup station in your grocery store — the one where you can purchase any number of bland and boring pre-made soups with enough sodium content to brine an entire hog. Soups either boxed up and ready to go, or hot in a deep cauldron of murky sneezes, in case you have to have your gross hot soup right the hell then and there. Find that place, and you will also find the Bread Bowls. A whopping 6 ounces of tangy sourdough, lovingly wrapped with a golden twist tie, because this a special occasion of destruction and everybody wants to look nice.


She's just getting going (seven posts since May), so you can get in on the ground floor.