I feel like it’s finally fall! For reals. Because it’s cool and it’s cloudy.
Unfortunately, it was also very wet and rainy, so Seth and I weren’t able to go to a local apple orchard like we’d planned. I was so looking forward to walking Edgar through the pumpkin patch and splitting an apple cider doughnut with Seth (plus, all the Instagram photos ops? Hello! Live for them!).
There are two types of people in this world: those who have had a proper Wisconsin fish fry and those who haven’t.
Today, I’m appealing to both of those camps.
We’re doing a traditional beer battered fish (my fave, seriously. Forever and ever.), but we’re changing it up a bit. Instead of a slice of buttered rye bread and pickle on the side, we’re turning them into killer tacos paired with tangy coleslaw and tender microgreens.
It’s filled with pink screwdrivers, a pink level, a pink tape measure. It used to have a pink hammer too, but I accidentally busted it in half last year.
This little tool bag has served me well over the last eight years. My mom gave it to me my freshman year of college – stating that I shouldn’t be away from home without a way to fix things. She got it in pink because she loves me and I love pink.
I have carried this bag with me ever since. Through every move – across state lines and back again. I had it with me in South Carolina, it lives in my coat closet now. It stayed on a top shelf in my apartment junior and senior year of college.
It was there, and it was then, that it was frequently borrowed by my neighbors. I was the only girl on my floor – the three other apartments being occupied by males and their male roommates.
At first, they mocked the pink tools – their petite size and their “feminine” hue. Then, little by little, the knocks on my door increased.
“Can I borrow your hammer?”
“Hey, do you have a screwdriver?”
“Wait…are you baking?”
That last one was unrelated to tools and home improvement, but it happened nonetheless. Inevitably, the scent of whatever I was making would waft across the hall and into the other apartments. They’d come over for a few brownies or a slice of cake or warm cookies.