Warm bread is one of the nicest small comforts. I like everything about baking bread, from the yeasty smell as you mix it all together to the soft suppleness of the dough after its first rise. I like the way the surface is taut and elastic, and how it yields to your fingertips as you press it into a rectangle, pulling and pushing and prodding.
Read moreULTIMATE MAGIC COOKIE BARS
Less is more, they say. But listen, sometimes more is more. For example, one cookie would be less and two cookies would be more and you see where I'm going with this. Or, to put it another way, sparkling wine alone would be less but a measure of St-Germain and lemon juice and simple syrup and a sprig of mint and a splash of seltzer water topped with sparkling wine would be more.
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Well, LOOK AT THAT (I almost wrote shiver me timbers but thought better of it, as I'd like you all to continue reading, not consider me too weird. Oh wait. Shouldn't have mentioned that.), it's July 6 and I haven't written anything in a full month! Strike that. I've written things: Grocery lists. Descriptions of the protein content of flour (I work for a baking company, so that's normal.) Impromptu, funny letters to my sister with limericks inside. A wedding toast for another sister, who is getting married in a mere few days, and I'm preparing to weep constantly at the ceremony (I'm a bridesmaid so, waterproof mascara?).
Read moreMASCARPONE COCOA BARS
Some days are like this: I take a bike ride. I feel happy and strong, legs pumping, pushing me forwards. The sun is out in full force, warming my face and five minutes in, I start to build up a sweat. The world slides by in one-block increments of colorful storefronts. There's potential everywhere: Restaurants to try (cafe tables spill out onto the sidewalks, people hug and sit down and order cocktails and steak and go about their evenings), movies to watch, gardens to explore, streets to walk down.
Read moreTHE FUDGIEST BROWNIES
Today it rained all day: a steady, persistent drizzle. It's the sort of rain that doesn't require an umbrella, but makes your jacket damp and your shoes just wet enough that you have to leave them outside the apartment door.
My skin is still stinging from yesterday's sunburn (I'm pale enough from this long winter that spending a mere 20 minutes in the backyard, sipping coffee, on a sunny afternoon garners me a red glow).
For a brief moment around 4 PM, I had that heavy, dull feeling that often arrives without warning in the low valley of the afternoon. You've already passed the acceptable time for coffee; lunch feels like a distant memory; and it's too early to contemplate dinner.
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