Where are you right now? Are you sitting in a loud bar, skimming your fingers over the polished wooden counter, playing with a cocktail straw, debating the merits of a spicy habanero margarita over a sweet rhubarb gin fizz? Perhaps you're waiting for a friend to arrive, and while you wait, you quietly take it all in: the reflection of the neon signs in the glass windowpanes, the closeness of a dozen bodies pressing in for the bartender's attention. Conversation buzzes around you, shouts and laughter and murmured confessions from the couple to your left. The deep thrum of the bass, the thread of the pop song hanging high over the sounds of the room.
Read moreSHEET PAN BROWNIES
Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Say it with me (quietly, slowly): sheet pan brownies.
I know, brilliant right? All of us poor, sad, lost souls have been muddling around all these years, sensibly roasting vegetables and dutifully baking cookies on our sheet pans. PATHETIC. We have not been living! Okay, I've had a one (or two) Aperol spritzes so far tonight so excuse my drama. But really.
Read moreCHOCOLATE SANDWICH COOKIES
I’m sorry for the radio silence here lately. You see, there’s only so much typing you can do with a taco in one hand and a margarita in the other, you know?
Read moreGINGERED DARK CHOCOLATE & ALMOND BUTTER BROWN RICE SQUARES
Things I love: Almond butter studded with chewy bits of crystallized ginger. Very good, intensely dark chocolate, the sort that melts into velvety bitterness on your tongue. Vermont maple syrup, the real deal that glows amber in the bottle and tastes like you're standing outside in the crisp air, wearing Carhartts, breathing deeply in a stand of fir trees. Crisp rice cereal. The crunch of it, the way I like to add it to a bowl, pour cold skim milk over it, then float a layer of heavy cream on top. Oh, you think that defeats the point of skim milk? I think you're missing the point. (Pure pleasure, that's the point.)
Read moreDARK CHOCOLATE BROWNIES
Some days I'm on the precipice of tears all day for no discernible reason. Just teetering on the knife's edge of crying: bursting into chest-heaving sobs, or maybe those quiet tears that trace their way slowly down your cheek. There's no source, just a swelling tide of emotion that threatens to swamp you. It only needs a tiny push to spring forth. Spilling my salad accidentally could make me weep. Or putting on the laundry only to forget it and discover the sodden, wet mass of it hours later in the machine. Or seeing a stray baby-sized mitten on the side of the park path.
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