Sometimes the best-laid plans go awry. You set out to make a classic banana bread, methodically measuring your flour and sugar. You thoughtfully soften your butter ahead of time (oh wait, it's summertime in New York and nearly 110% humidity outside, so you actually just take it out of the fridge and minutes later it's soft but listen, you give yourself credit anyway). You triumphantly dig out the last of the frozen bananas from the freezer, thinking it's high time they got used for something, and you've been extra-creative with your smoothies lately so the frozen bananas have been relegated to a corner underneath the peas and chocolate chips.
Read moreFROZEN BROWNIES
THINGS I LIKE
- Kir Royales: I am not a mixologist. In fact, I feel about cocktail-making the way many people feel about baking: given the proper recipe, I can follow along and make something delicious, but riffing and creating my own drink typically ends up with a mouthful of gin or a fizzy glass of something resembling a margarita's overly-sweet, uncool cousin. But a Kir Royale! Perfection every time. All you need to do is add a splash of cassis (splurge on the good stuff here) to a glass of sparkling wine. That's about as easy as drinking it.
Read moreThe Best Cookie Dough to Freeze
My lemon tree hasn't shown any signs of bearing fruit yet. I could worry, but I think instead I'll have faith that somewhere beneath those glossy green leaves, it's biding its time. There will be citrus: bright and cheerful. There will be Meyer lemon cake, and ribbons of tart lemon curd folded into whipped cream and frozen until cold and creamy. There will be lemon vodka cocktails. I'm letting myself be patient. I'm learning to sit with the in-between times, to let go of all or nothing all the time.
Read moreCHOCOLATE TRUFFLE COOKIES
I'll keep this brief, because it's cold outside. The window of the living room is ajar and the gusts of air are icy. My wool blanket is helping. (So is the glass of prosecco.) But my bed upstairs is no doubt warmer, and I'll cozily tuck the edges of the comforter around my sock-clad feet.
Read moreLATE NIGHT FUDGE CAKE
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.
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