I can see the water from my seat at the dining room table. The windows on the eastern and southern sides of our house face the bay, which separates our little town from the white, windswept beaches of Shelter Island. Our street ends at a small cul-de-sac, which I love for two reasons. One, the street has no through traffic, but rather people walking their dogs or coming down to sit on the bench and hold hands or sip coffee at the water's edge. Two, there's a small dock that juts into the water, where I like to go and read my book in the summertime. It's peaceful and quiet in every season: the water lapping against the weathered wood of the pilings, boats entering and leaving the marina next door, and birds wheeling overhead.
Read moreSHREDDED KOREAN BEEF
I've just placed down in front of him. He quickly looks up and adds, "no offense" with a rather cute and sheepish smile. I give him a supercilious look and haughtily respond that I will take that as a compliment, that clearly I regularly cook such impressive meals that I make Nigella Lawson look like a rube in comparison to my own domestic goddess status, so this must be just beyond exceptional.
Read moreNON-FAT GINGERSNAPS
It's been a week, let me say. Highs and lows. The frenetic, happy pace of the holidays gave way to the calm, quiet rhythm of my daily routine back in the city. Being home with my sisters for Christmas is like stock-piling happiness, leaving me with a residual warmth to carry back to New York. But no matter how lovely my time away is, there's such a comfort in returning to a simple, expected structure. (Hi, can you tell I'm an introvert?)
Read moreGINGERED PEAR + CRANBERRY PIE
My presents are arranged across the kitchen table, awaiting their wrapping paper and Scotch tape and silky ribbons. I say arranged although perhaps strewn would be a more appropriate word choice. Before I wrap them, I'll organize them into piles: first divided into stocking presents and under-the-tree presents, then stacked by recipient.
Read moreA BRILLIANT WEEKNIGHT CHICKEN RECIPE
I glance at my phone to see that little red circle alerting me of a new text message. At the right moment, that can be the nicest sight. It says "headed home" and I'm happy. I'm in the kitchen, standing in socked feet at the stove. The twinkling strands of white lights, strung above the mantel, are glowing and Van Morrison sings warm love on the speakers. I've already made dinner, and I just need to reheat it.
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