Guess what? It’s happy hour! So. It’s five o’clock somewhere. Besides, you’re going to love this cocktail. Oh stop, I’m making one for both of us. I’d originally p...
I’m downright giddy about this granola. I whipped it up Wednesday afternoon and ate a big bowl of it with strawberries and yogurt before the chocolaty oats even had a chance to cool. It’s...
If you’re a regular here you know that my posts often have little to do with the foods pictured. When, and if, I get around to talking about the food or the recipe, it’s usually at the end of a...
In the quiet of the early morning or as I’m drifting off to sleep at night, I think about the blessings in my life. Friends are often high on that list, because blood isn’t always thicker...
Can we talk about cake today? And can it be all about the cake and only about the cake? I want to talk about cake the way that most people talk about the weather. I suppose we could talk about the we...
“Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are.” ~ Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, The Physiology of Taste I happen to love cardamom. You might even say I’m a bit infatuated with the de...
Hand shovel? Check. Clippers? Check. GPS, brown paper bags, water bottles? Check, check, and check. We were ready. I’d been mentally preparing for this trip, fantasizing about it really, for ye...
I was raised Catholic, sort of. Dad didn’t practice any religion or profess any belief in a god. Given his passive nature and spineless tendencies, he was probably an agnostic as opposed to an ...
Like many people that have crossed the invisible threshold that separates thinking you’ll live forever from the reality of yes, I’m going to die one day too, I have a bucket list–yo...
Blooming tulips. Blossoming fruit trees. Sturdy tufts of chives peppered across my herb garden. Vibrant rhubarb stems peeking out from the gritty soil. Our honeybees returning to the hive loaded down...
Arán Spíosraí is Irish for spice bread, er, or maybe it’s spiced bread. Spices bread? Let’s get this out of the way though it’s likely obvious by now: I’m not Irish. This tran...
For two weeks this big bed hundreds of miles from our home has felt empty. I wake too early, the rural silence unsettling for this city girl. I reach for you in the darkness like I always do, a twelv...
I have yoga to thank for these crackers. I was on my back, my arms at my sides, palms facing up with my legs straight–Savasana or Corpse pose as it’s known in yoga. To the untrained eye I proba...
Mornings feel like dances to me, the kitchen my dance floor. Weekday mornings start well before the sun is up. They’re fast paced like a cha-cha or maybe a clumsy tap dance. Shuffle, ball chang...
Old recipes and cookbooks can be an endless source of culinary inspiration. Time stops when I’m pouring over an old copy of Gourmet Magazine rife with spritz cookies and other hallmarks of the ...
My hands are covered in fresh blood. My gaze drops to my wooly black sweater, it glistens in the moonlight, soaking with blood. I know what I’ve done though I have no memory of committing the a...
Greg and I are going to get into an argument tomorrow morning. If you happen to be passing by, listen for it to begin around 6:30 AM Central Standard Time. And if history serves as any indicator it w...
As a kid, Rice Krispies Treats were indeed a treat, and a rare one at that. I marveled at how something so simple–just three ingredients–and something so easy–ready in ten minutes&#...
White. In all directions. White. I’m adrift in a sea of white. My empty porcelain mug. The blanket of snow covering the herb garden that only a week ago was offering me fresh mint and thyme. Th...
Recipes for brothy soups, kale salads, and hearty grain dishes have smacked me in the face at every turn ever since the ball dropped on New Year’s Eve. To my horror, one of my favorite baking a...
For me, baking is a continual learning process, and that’s one of the reasons I enjoy it. Unfortunately, I have little control over the timing and nature of those lessons. When a cookie experim...
My mom peacefully slipped away eleven years ago today. It was a comparatively subtle ending to a messy and painful battle with cancer. Mom was a big, hard woman. Her cancer was bigger and harder. Day...
“Aunt Bobbi, is it done yet?” I walked to the stove and peaked over my niece Bailey’s shoulder while she dutifully stirred the contents of the copper sauce pan. The short answer to ...
Apples. Cheese. That’s how I considered them when I was young, if I considered them at all. An apple in my worn brown paper lunch bag. A slice of cheese–a Kraft single–oozing out be...
Thanksgiving is still two days away, but Greg and I started preparing early Sunday morning. I wanted to ease into the gray day with a leisurely breakfast–a little coffee, a crossword puzzle, an...
Damn, I forgot to order the Thanksgiving turkeys. Will those brown spotted bananas turn to mush while I’m away? Crud, Meghan’s wedding RSVP is sitting on the counter. Those were the thoug...
The trouble with much modern cooking is not that the food it produces isn’t good, but that the mood it induces in the cook is one of skin-of-the-teeth efficiency, all briskness and little pleas...
Yes, it’s me and my plums again. I know, I know. Before I defend my apparent obsession and convince you to run to the market for what may be the last plums of the season, I want to say, Thank Y...
My husband and I hosted a huge Halloween party ten years ago to this very day. And by huge, I mean a big white tent, a pig roast, and a DJ. Our hundred plus guests spared no detail; the costumes were...
I walked almost a mile–the distance between our local farmers market and my house–with my face buried in a brown bag. I cradled my treasure between my hands and inhaled deeply with each s...
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