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 moreCOCONUT BROWN BUTTER LOAF
It's not exactly bright outside. Rain is streaming down past my window; the sky is growing gloomier by the minute.
A string of warm days has melted most of the snow in the city, leaving the sidewalks wet and icy. Stepping off the curb means dunking your foot into a rivulet of cold, dirty slush.
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.
Read moreDOUBLE VANILLA BUTTER CAKE
On Friday night, I went to dinner at a little Italian restaurant in the West Village. It’s an old favorite, just a few blocks from a cozy apartment where I used to live. The restaurant is warm and inviting, with worn wood floors and a long mirrored bar. It’s lit with vintage-y lightbulbs that glow amber above the tables.
The menu is filled with the sort of food I imagine real Italians eat. Somewhere in Naples, in a quiet cool kitchen, someone’s nonna is setting out simple dishes like thinly sliced rib-eye, served cold, over lemony arugula and shaved Brussel sprouts studded with salty bits of Castelrosso cheese.
Read moreKITCHEN SINK COOKIES
The snow is still coming down. It shows no sign of abating. It swirls in speckled eddies high above the buildings, pelts sideways against my skin, tap tap taps quietly at our windows. Piles of snow are pushed up against the glass windowpanes. This is wet, slippery snow: the sort made of fat, heavy flakes, that sort that goes smoosh and swoosh under your feet, sending your boots sliding every which way.
Read more