Posts filed under 'Breakfast'
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.
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.
one season or the other
We visited the Green City Market on Saturday morning, and I was struck by the duplicity of this time of year. Depending which way you looked, you might’ve found yourself in one season or the other. To your left, there’s a pile of sweet corn, pale green husks and flaxen silks stacked high—and it speaks of deep summer, of double-booked BBQs, and boat rides, and baseball. Straight ahead, there’s a table of peppers of every hue—and they speak of late summer, Labor Day, and long, savored days. But then, to the right, there are crates of apples, small and tart, telling of the autumn to come, multi-colored leaves, and thick sweaters, and mugs of hot cider.
Our feet, in other words, were in two worlds: one lingering in summer, while the other stepped into fall. In light of this, I’ve been trying to straddle the seasons. Burgers followed by apple crisp, for instance. Or a peach pie, preceded by a hearty stew. But, really, I’m trying not to let summer go, to send it off too soon. So, while the weather might call for butternuts and brussels, my mind is still dreaming of some perfect summer meals gone by.
has my heart
The last few days of cooler weather and earlier sunsets have me nostalgic for the summer that’s all but slipped away. For long nights on the deck. For meandering walks through the neighborhood. For fireflies and hoses and ice cream on a Wednesday evening. There was all of that this summer, and there was a perfect weekend in the northwoods, too. One I won’t forget soon.
Kevin and I drove from Chicago to the south shore of Lake Superior, to meet my family for a night of camping. (Note to self: camp with my parents more often. Their version of rustic is one that I can definitely get behind.)
Then we went into Minnesota, up along the north shore of Lake Superior—the shore I know like the back of my hand.
on a road trip
Kevin would be in L.A. the week before the Fourth of July. So, we set our sights on a road trip up the coast over the long weekend. Kevin picked me up at LAX, and we drove north along the coast, where the endless blue Pacific slipped from the pristine beaches of Malibu, studded with surfers and life guard stands, into golden, rolling hills and rugged coastline.
Our first stop was Big Sur, and we got there just in time for sunset. An orange sun slid down through the trees and over the ocean, and we ate at Big Sur Bakery, on the front porch, with a votive candle flickering between us.
still manages
Well, I’m here to report that it worked! The kale-centric goodbye gala for winter that I staged last time I was here really, really worked. Not more than two days after that post, spring arrived—and decidedly so. The winds were suddenly warm and the trees were all-at-once producing buds. As we walked the sidewalks near our apartment last weekend, we stopped to gawk at the fringey-yellow bushes that had burst into bloom and the pert daffodils, tucked up against the houses, that had opened up their bonnets.
Spring’s like that, I think. It arrives every year, yet it still manages to stun you.
that’s enough
It’s been one of those weeks. The weeks where you feel like you’re hanging on for dear life, one day hurtling toward the next, and then the next. Suddenly, it’s nearly Friday and you’ve barely caught your breath since Monday. Barely stopped to think. Barely said boo to your husband.
But so much of it has been good—the kind of good that’s completely out of the ordinary, in the best ways—so you can’t complain. Your sister-in-law got engaged. (!!!) Your sister came to town. (!!!) The sun has been out all week. (!!!) It’s been light out well before 7 a.m. and enough past 5 p.m. to make a difference. (!!!)
a beautiful thing
especially the oatmeal
Mornings, around here, in the winter are quieter and slower. Well, I should clarify. Weekend winter mornings, around here, are quieter and slower. Weekday mornings—a blur of alarm clocks and yogurt, eaten quickly, and lost gloves, and running to catch the train—are another matter altogether. On the weekend, though, it’s still and peaceful. There’s no summery urge to throw open the windows, no fall-like need to seize the day, no spring-ish excitement about the warm air that may come. Instead, the urges go something like this: wrap up in something warm; clutch a mug of coffee; settle onto the couch, feet tucked beneath you; when hunger arrives, oatmeal.
This week, we had a bonus morning like this—one that fell smack dab in the middle of the week, courtesy of the Groundhog Day Blizzard ’11. So, with a snow day issued, Wednesday morning unfolded much like the above, including the oatmeal. Especially the oatmeal.
it’s about cake
Here are the things I should be doing right now: making the two rounds of pie crust that I resolved to make last weekend; packing my suitcase; practicing my bowling game (as I will be ushering myself into my 30s on Saturday with a bowling birthday party, because, apparently, 30 is the new 8); cleaning out my DVR (What? You don’t consider that a pre-vacation must?); tying up a million loose ends at work; getting my nails done (only to have them destroyed in the flurry of celery-chopping, onion-peeling, pie crust-crimping, and dish-scrubbing that will soon ensue); doing a few sit-ups in a futile attempt to ward off the feasts that are about to unfold.
And the list goes on. I’m sure you all have pre-Thanksgiving lists of your own. But, for a few minutes, at least, I need to set aside my to do’s and I’m really hoping you’ll do the same. It’s about cake. Priorities, people.