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There is a simplistic beauty when cooking from the fall garden.
Local new potatoes, fresh rosemary, 3 pats of heavenly amish butter, sea salt, onions and garlic and chicken stock; all swirl together to make a heavenly brew.
And, the aroma – clear, clean, a brisk twang as one walks by.
It is tempting to lift the pot, allow the pungent steam to caress the face of passersby, as we lust for the chance to drip golden goodness down the chin,
Slurp the last drop of even the deepest crystal bowl,
Scraping the bottom, yearning for more…

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