I’ve been a voracious reader all of my life—books figure prominently in some of my early memories. I remember sitting outside the childhood bedroom I shared with my little sister after she’d gone to bed, my feet planted firmly on the uneven red-painted floorboards of the hallway, my back against the wall, intently reading as many pages as I could of James and the Giant Peach before my mom would gently nudge me into my room and ask me to close the book. Or lying on my stomach on the brick hearth in our living room in winter during some holiday gathering, curled up as close to the black mesh grate and flickering flames of the fire as I could comfortably stand, reading The Hobbit as adults wandered in and out of the room—chatting and drinking and carousing—while I turned the pages, rapt with attention and oblivious to the world around me, deep in some other land.
Read moreSWEET CORN BUNDT CAKE WITH SALTY BROWN BUTTER GLAZE
Careful observation of the world yields all sorts of wonder. In the past three days alone I’ve seen three lion’s mane jellyfish, one brilliant orange-colored bird the size of a swallow, and four blossoming trees with pink flowers the size of tea saucers.
The jellyfish are a prized—yet dreaded—sighting. Discovering their crimson bodies pulsating as they bob near the surface of the water, the long translucent strands of their tentacles trailing behind them, means no swimming for a bit. They look deceptively beautiful considering the damage they can inflict.
Read moreESPRESSO CHOCOLATE LAYER CAKE
These past weeks of quarantine have triggered a real stripping down of life. A good analogy is my physical belongings: we left our apartment in New York City just as the virus started to really take hold. I didn’t know—or even stop to think—about when we’d be back. The question of “will we be back?” didn’t enter my mind at all, and it would have seemed laughable if it had. But here we are—two months later—with an ever-increasing likelihood that we won’t return.
Read moreEARL GREY TEA CAKE
My mother drinks tea every morning. She steeps a bag of English breakfast or PG Tips in a tall, narrow Mason jar of boiling water. One shelf of the walk-in pantry is lined with smaller Mason jars, each full of cloudy amber-colored honey collected from the bees on our farm. Into her tea goes a large spoonful of that honey, then a generous glug of half-and-half, which swirls elegantly into the dark liquid, unspooling in curls and ribbons and turning the tea the antique-y white of heirloom bone china.
Read moreFARMHOUSE BUTTERMILK CAKE
A really great name makes something good even better, don’t you think?
Consider finding the perfect shade of delicate petal pink nail polish, only to discover it’s called “No Pre-Nup” (which coincidentally happens to pair quite nicely with a color the soft pink of a ballet shoe called “High Maintenance”). And isn’t it more fun to crack open a cold can of craft beer knowing it’s called “Audrey Hopburn” (Great Lakes Brewery’s IPA) or “Beehave” (Greenport Harbor Brewing Co.’s honey summer ale). Watching the Kentucky Derby is infinitely more exciting if you’re cheering on a horse named “Riding Miss Daisy” or “Atswhatimtalkinbout”.
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