RecipeMuncher

Last night I had supper atop a glade in the middle of the Missouri Ozarks. The October evening was unseasonably warm, the sun hanging low above the surrounding oaks and cedars, the dog splashing in the creek at the bottom of the hollow. (That’d be the ‘holler’ if I lived in Mizz-ur-ra, not Mizz-ur-ee.) Over a small Indian fire, we cooked buffalo steaks, toasted whole-grain rolls, and (...)