I could barely believe the beauty of Manhattan Beach. Lemon trees and succulents in nearly every front yard, warm and fragrant breezes, my feet in soft sand after a painfully long winter. I’d never before attended a wedding held outside in the rain, but now I can heartily recommend it: huge smiles peeking out from under dripping raincoat hoods and umbrellas, steam rising from the pavement, the sound of water...
My girl and I walked between buildings in our townhouse development and found a patch of fragrant honeysuckle at the edge of the woods. I washed the blossoms, then steeped them overnight in simple syrup. The syrup is lovely mixed with soda water, poured over ice with a squeeze of lemon or sprig of mint.
I brought 16 balls of pizza dough, a big jar of my homemade New York-style sauce, and a jar of my spicy caramelized onion and hot cherry pepper mix to a friend’s house Sunday afternoon. Pizza for 16 was quite a project. I slid pizza on and off of the hot stone for about two and a half hours, red-faced, hair piled high on my head and sweat trickling behind...
I turned the surprise cucumbers into sweet and spicy pickles this weekend. Let me just say, pickling is far easier than fermenting. No vegetal whey taste, no wondering about exactly what kind of microbe I am growing, and the cukes were ready to eat two hours after hitting the vinegar and spice. They are delicious. I am eating them with everything, at every meal, and dreaming about making my next...
Happy Friday. xxoo
I lit a candle in the dark morning hours and sat in silence with my nine year-old. We stayed in the quiet for only five minutes and then the day had to begin. My favorite part of the morning: the kids and I singing Looney Tunes words to the overture of Rossini’s Barber of Seville. Leftover drop biscuits held spoonfuls of homemade jam, or in some cases, small piles of...
My sous-chef drizzled the maple sugar on the scones with more skill and style than I’ve ever brought to bear. My return to work weighed heavily on my heart and mind all day.
The blue-grey light returned on Boxing Day, along with snow, sleet, rain, cold. I felt like I was back in central New York. I burned Nag Champa and played 80’s music in our warm kitchen. John fried cold slabs of leftover grits in the cast iron skillet, and I ate two of them with butter and my most favorite-est thing ever, Sriracha.
Pre-dawn whispers (I stuffed my head under a pillow and went back to sleep). Presents opened before the eight o’clock hour. Hot coffee from the Chemex. Sweet, soft challah French toast eaten continental style by a bad piggie. Organic, fresh-pressed juice to cut through the sweet. Beautiful music streaming through the house. Gentle, quiet focus on a new art.
For the first time, my girl helped braid the challah, her small fingers gently moving the ropes and curling in ends. We used the knife as a chisel and popped chunks of Callebaut in our mouths while we worked. The challah baked up quick. We left the hot loaf to cool on a wire rack and drove to church, where I sat on the edge of my seat as our...