If I wrote here that there was beauty in the mundane, you'd be wondering what I've possibly ingested that made me so poetic on a Thursday, of all things. I would be agreeing with you, because I've only had one cup of coffee from my brand new French press thermos, which is beautiful and perfect. I'm obsessed, but the fact remains: I did not indulge in a second cup, so there is no way I'm capable of waxing poetic about beauty in every day objects.
Instead, I'll tell you about white whole wheat flour, which I purchased in my likely-to-never-end crusade to make my kitchen as healthy as it can be. I am the kind of person who likes to have extra of everything, and as such, rarely has to put a lot of thought into when I'll run out of flour. Which, through a series of events too long and boring to be described here, leads me to the other day, when I pulled the last bag of flour and discovered that it was indeed white whole wheat.
Though this flour makes pretty sad cookies, it actually makes lovely pie crust. It's earthy and rustic, and it's perfect for the pot pie (chickenish or not) that you didn't know you were craving. Grab the recipe here, and cook yourself a thing of hearty, homemade beauty for dinner (no, you're not buying a pie crust; shut up). Do yourself one more favor, and grab the book Riverine by Angela Palm. It takes the entire genre of essay, flips it on its head, ups the ante, and does all that while managing to be entirely captivating.