My dad sits in a wooden rocking chair in front of the fireplace. He’s wearing a wool sweater, warming his toes in the heat of the fire, and cradling my youngest niece who sleeps quietly on his shoulder. Picture books are strewn across the window seats and floor of our big open living room, which looks out over the ponds and the pastures and forest beyond. Dusk is falling in soft shadowy shades across the farm. Over in the kitchen, I lean against the edge of the countertop with one of my sisters. My mom stands across from us, making pizza for dinner.
Read moreNUTELLA-STUFFED CHOCOLATE COOKIES WITH SEA SALT
Right on cue, winter has arrived. Thanksgiving day was bitingly cold. “They can’t hold a parade in this wind!'“ I thought as I woke up Thursday morning in New York City, struggling to take a quick jog along the Hudson River before starting our drive home to the farm. But of course they did, and of course people lined up with their folding chairs and thermoses of hot chocolate and unflaggingly high spirits because it is holiday season, exclamation point, and I take great comfort in their enthusiasm.
Read moreMINI PUMPKIN ROLLS
Our Thanksgiving dinner is both very traditional and not at all. We have the standards: a golden, crispy-skinned roast turkey as the centerpiece, mashed potatoes, homemade cranberry sauce glistening ruby red and jewel-like in a cut glass bowl, and stuffing laden with softened celery and bits of onion and so much butter.
Read moreThe Best Cinnamon Rolls
My mom’s cinnamon rolls have ruined me for all others. We’re all a little biased towards the foods of our childhood because they’re comforting and nostalgic. But her cinnamon rolls aren’t just the best because they were ours. It’s not just because I can remember eating them hot from the oven, risking a burned finger to pull at the crisp edges where the sugary filling has spilled out and caramelized.
Read moreCRANBERRY OAT BREAD
The Christmas lights are going up. As I walked to breakfast this morning, head down against the bitter wind whipping towards me, I saw coverall-clad city park workers up in the trees outside the Beacon Theater, wrapping each branch tightly with strands of twinkly tea lights. Soon, they’ll turn them on. The city will take on a festive feeling, lit up at night against the inky black sky.
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