When I was younger, I considered museums and poetry to be in the same category: things I should appreciate but have to really fake enthusiasm for. One summer in high school, I spent a month living in Spain with a group of other American students. We lived for 2 weeks all together in a gorgeous rococo-style apartment just off the park near the Arc de Triomf, discovering the joys of Nutella-smeared bread and ogling cute European boys and giggling at the topless, gorgeous Spanish women who confidently sunbathed on every beach. You know, being seventeen.
Read moreCONDENSED MILK GRAHAM CRACKER LOAF CAKE
It’s cold outside again. I forgot how this feels; no number of layers is enough to combat the winds that whip through the city streets. This morning I woke to a persistent drizzle of cold rain. I love how cozy it feels to walk swiftly through the rain--the wet streets, the cold breeze--to get to the coffee shop where I open the door to a gust of warm, espresso-scented air. I stand still for a moment, breathing in the smell of bagels toasting and coffee. I listen to the chatter of customers. I order and chat with the baristas (yes, we are on friendly first-name terms, this is how I roll).
Read moreCRUNCHY BANANA BREAD
Tonight feels somewhere between summer and fall. The past few days have been glorious, weather-wise. I went home to the farm in Maryland and it was like a postcard advertising autumn: The tips of the trees are tinged in russet red and vermillion and orange. The hills are covered in green grass, but the fields of corn and soybeans are slowly turning a dusty tan, like they've been baked too long in the hot summer sun.
Read moreTOASTED CASHEW + MARZIPAN BLONDIES
A crowd of people stand waiting at the corner of West Houston Street for the light to turn green. I've just emerged from the subway. It's only 6:30 but the evening sky is already quickly turning inky and black. I walked a block in the cold air to the Citibike station and inserted my key, waiting for the welcome ping! as the light turns green and the bike unlocks, releasing the front tire. I hop on and cycle slowly to the edge of the street, pausing with the throngs of commuters.
Read moreCOOK'S ILLUSTRATED BLONDIES
It's Sunday night. The weather has been stubborn all day, as angsty as a frustrated teenager. I woke up to dark gray skies. The trees lining our street bent and shivered in the heavy gusts of winds coming off the bay. The rain thudded against the windows. When I padded downstairs in slippers and pajamas, the kitchen skylight was being pelted with water: a persistent tap-tap-tap of heavy raindrops.
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