As someone who doesn’t much adhere to the habit of a conventional breakfast (by which I mean eating a meal first thing in the morning), I do love breakfast foods. I see no reason why something as good as a perfectly cooked omelette should be relegated to the wee hours of the morning only. The French seem to have this right—bistro menus often feature an omelette (fluffy and yellow, rolled into a fat cylinder, without a speck of browning on the surface) oozing Gruyere cheese, dotted with fines herbes, and accompanied by a tangle of lightly dressed greens and a glass of white wine.
Read moreTOUCH-OF-RYE BISCUITS
At bath time, he squeals with glee as soon as I lower him into the tub, kicking and splashing the second his chubby thighs touch the warm water. I leave the faucet running so that he can hold his hands underneath it—it’s mesmerizing to witness someone else mesmerized: his body stock still at the sensation, his mind whirling so rapidly I swear I can almost see it humming behind his eyes.
I hand him a small plastic cup with a perforated base. I sink the cup deep into the water and yank it up high with a cheerful wheeee! — the water streams out of the tiny holes like a rainforest shower. He laughs and laughs: a delighted belly laugh that overtakes him.
Read morePILLOWY CINNAMON ROLLS
When was the last time you felt shy, or nervous, around someone?
For weeks now, I’ve been experiencing a niggling sensation around bedtime—a voice whispers to me, “Put down your phone and read a book!”
I, of course, disregard the voice. Every night tell myself that I’ll start reading the next night; every night that passes makes it harder to start. I’ve convinced myself that it’s good for me, so naturally I fight doing it entirely.
Read moreRYE WAFFLES
I’ve never been much of a breakfast eater—not historically, at least. By this, I’m referring to “eating a meal first thing in the morning”, not breakfast foods themselves. Breakfast foods I can absolutely get behind. Breakfast foods I love. (Tell me you, too, don’t swoon at the sight of a thick buttered slice of sourdough toast topped with an egg, its canary-yellow yolk running in sticky rivulets into the crevasses of the bread.)
Read moreGRAPEFRUIT CARDAMOM OLIVE OIL CAKE
Heavy rainfall three days ago melted the heaps of snow that had piled up against the boxwoods in front of the house. Once the clouds cleared, the sun appeared against a sky painted all lustrous, sheer blue—ice on the roof dripped in slow, languid trickles down the kitchen windows. The intervening days have been cold but sunny: they feel like spring, like I’m stepping outside into the words green and fresh.
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