One of the nicest smells in the world—in my humble opinion—is the scent of bread baking. It’s nice in all seasons, but especially in colder months. To walk into a bakery on a frigid snowy day, pushing open the door and stepping into the warm, yeasty-smelling air, is an extremely pleasurable moment. Other baking smells are enticing too, of course: cinnamon mingled with sugar or chocolate chip cookies right out of the oven or the steam rising when you slice into a loaf of freshly baked banana bread or the spicy kick of ginger and cloves in a square of moist gingerbread cake.
Read moreSOFT EGGPLANT + FENNEL WITH POLENTA
The dock was dusted with a fine icing of frost on Saturday morning—the first of the season. Small fishing boats crowd the harbor in the early mornings, tall rods propped up at the ready. As I paddle out past one, I steer close enough to call out and ask why it’s so busy. “It’s fishing season,” he tells me. “Albies.” I nod knowingly, wanting to appear nonchalant and water-savvy—albies! Totally. Got it.
I know nothing about fishing but at little research teaches me that albie means “false albacore”—also called bonito and little tunny. It’s not a true tuna, species-wise, and more closely related to a mackerel. They’re not huge, like regular tuna: usually only about 10 or 12 pounds.
Read more(VEGAN) BURGER BUNS
Baking is so obedient. So reliably consistent —you add a tablespoon of yeast to your dough, and it rises. Slowly and imperceptibly at first, sure, but then you turn around and it’s doubled into a pillowy soft mound. Magic! So close at hand!
(Unless, of course, your yeast is no good or your water is too hot or you add too much flour or something unexpected goes awry and your dough doesn’t rise. And then you have to fight the urge to crumble to the floor of the kitchen and quietly moan things like “is nothing sacred?” and “god I need some warm carbs” and “I’d like to divorce 2020 and have a torrid affair with 2018”.)
Read moreBROCCOLI AND CHEESE QUICHE
Growing up, we always ate dinner together at the table. This was a non-negotiable—no matter how busy the day or how plentiful the homework waiting or how foul the moods among us, we sat down together. One of us might be sulking: refusing to pass the Jane’s salt and staring down at our plate, but we’d never dare not join in.
With four girls, all two years apart, the nights were (pleasantly) chaotic. The sky outside would be dark; the lights in the kitchen bright and inviting. Pots on the stove would be bubbling merrily away, the smell of chicken stock and melting cheese hanging in the air. Unzipped backpacks would be slung on the stools lined up against the kitchen island; notebooks and textbooks open on the counter, uncapped pens and a scientific calculator stacked haphazardly next to them.
Read moreBROWNED BUTTER CHOCOLATE CHUNK COOKIE BARS
When I was little, I had my own specific list of likes and dislikes. A hard pass on raw tomatoes, creamed onions, sweet winter squash, and anything licorice-flavored. A definite green light on fresh peaches, sticky orange sweet rolls, homemade strawberry ice cream, barely-blanched sugar snap peas, cucumber sandwiches, Grape-Nuts cereal with cream, buttery-tasting Club crackers with thin slices of bright orange Cracker Barrel cheddar, buttered bowtie pasta, pats of butter melting on warm-from-the-oven potato bread, and really just butter in general now that I think of it.
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