started it all
Last Friday night, I returned to Chicago after a three-week work trip. To say that I was glad to be home would be an extreme understatement. I missed my husband, my city, my kitchen, my food, my easy routines. I spent the weekend reacquainting myself with all of these things, reveling in them and appreciating them all as though they were brand new. The weather was pretty uncooperative, but that didn’t stop us from walking miles and visiting the farmers’ market (opening day in Lincoln Park!) and churning ice cream and sliding a bouquet of peonies into a mason jar.
It was a spring weekend to make up for the several that I had missed while I was away.
eggs, two ways
First, thank you so much for the comments and emails and kind words about our exciting news! It was such fun to share the news here, and to hear from so many of you. It makes me miss this site even more, which is unfortunate timing, since things are a little crazy around here lately. Aside from the whole baby thing (the proof of which is growing by the day!), work is a whirlwind and is about to take me out of town for a few weeks. I’m thinking the solution is this: I’m going to shake things up a bit here, and do a couple of photo-focused posts. Today, it’s eggs two ways.
on the way
I have a good excuse.
For weeks, I’ve been meaning to tell you about this hot fudge sauce, which is decadent and thick and glossy and everything a hot fudge sauce should be. The recipe has been on the docket since Valentine’s Day, in fact. I had a post planned, half drafted in my head. I intended to come clean that my annual protestations about Valentine’s Day were something of a hoax. For several years running, I’d posted a chocolate dessert in honor of the mid-February holiday (“holiday”?), so there was no denying that I was on board for at least one part of Valentine’s Day: the chocolate part. That would be the post’s title: “The Chocolate Part.” I quite liked that.
this month, too
With February upon us and January behind us, I think I can finally bring you a recipe that is truly a beacon of health, without running the risk of appearing to be a New Year’s resolution cliche. With grains and greens and beans and citrus, this soup is certainly January fare. I would know. I ate the soup for lunch and dinner umpteen times last month.
Of course, as you know, I also ate bowls of stovetop mac and cheese and slabs of lemon cake in January. So, right, no resolutions here.
and always
Every January, I end up on a citrus tear. I’m not much for resolutions, and January is far from my favorite month (I grew up in Minnesota, and I live in Chicago, after all), but I do love the sunny spectrum of citrus that shows up at the grocery store this month. Weekly, I haul home a heaving bag of ruby red grapefruits. Each morning, I top segments of their tart flesh with yogurt and granola. A pair of clementines accompany me to work every day; a crate of the little orange guys rarely outlasts the stretch between our weekly grocery trips. Less frequently, but still dependably, I get hankerings for key lime pies, the urge to make a citrus-hued curd, and an inexplicable desire to squeeze blood oranges until my hands are stained with their brilliantly-colored juice.
And always, there is a lemon cake.
what felt like moments
It’s been quiet here, for too long. Christmas and Hanukkah slipped by without a hello, or a recipe. The new year rang in without a word. We’re a ways into January, now, and the site has remained dormant. Still and silent, like an early winter morning—one that’s been blanketed in a fresh coat of sparkling snow. The same cannot be said about my real life, the offline one, which had been consumed by work. I emerged on Sunday after a major deadline, and I’m slowly readjusting to a more normal pace of life.
It’s been nice.
almond poppy seed biscotti
After a busy couple of months, I was just starting to think that I wouldn’t have much time for holiday baking. But that’s when the urge to make these biscotti hit. I was in the mood for a not-too-sweet cookie with crunch, and one of my favorite combinations (almond extract and poppy seeds) leapt to mind. The dough came together in a flash, and I multi-tasked while the biscotti underwent their double-bake. In no time, I had a tin full of festive, poppy seed-flecked cookies, redolent of almond.
With the biscotti behind me, I’m feeling less sorry for myself and my lack of time for holiday baking.
these busy weeks
I have so much to say, but no where to start. When I’m at a loss, I usually retreat to the kitchen, so that’s what I’ll do now, and I’ll tell you that today, my kitchen was a hub of productivity. We’re hosting Thanksgiving this (this?) Thursday (this Thursday?!), and I’m in full-on preparation mode. Today alone, I dispatched several sticks of butter (pie crusts, resting in the fridge, awaiting their fillings; buttermilk biscuits, frozen hockey pucks at the moment, but flaky rounds, with any luck, come Thanksgiving), mixed together a batch of ice cream (bourbon-vanilla bean, of course), and baked up a thin pan of cornbread, destined for stuffing, after a nice few days of drying out.
Thanksgiving, I own you.
a piece of me
I cooked what felt like a million things over the weekend, and I’ll eat almost none of them. Instead, the dishes are stashed in my parents’ freezer—a stockpile for my mother’s recovery from back surgery, which will be slow and tough for her, but (by god!) she will not be hungry.
On Saturday, I chopped and simmered and stirred all day, making a spectacular mess with which my sister tried to keep up (she’s a saint). I was on my feet for hours and hours, at my mother’s stove, her counter, her sink, using her knives, her pots and pans, her pantry ingredients. All the while, she was in bed.
profoundly right
After a week’s worth of 70- to 80-degree October days, I’ve finally settled on the perfect solution for this unseasonal weather.
It’s this: Pumpkin Ice Cream.
With bourbon, naturally.
There is something deeply odd about wearing flip flips for a stroll through the crunchy leaves that are quickly lining Bucktown’s sidewalks. Likewise, I’m having a hard time reaching for my sundresses over my sweaters. And all I want to eat is the produce that peaked a while ago, leaving brussels and gourds in its wake.