Now, I know this isn't the most attractive bowl of pasta you ever saw, but you're just going to have to trust me on this one; I think it was meant to be. I intended to make this. But when the time came, something about the sausage was grossing me out, and my capacity for following directions was shot. But wow, thank heavens I'm lazy because this happy accident just about knocked my socks off.

I have to admit I have always approached fava beans with a fair amount of trepidation. They seemed to belong squarely to the "foodie vegetable category," an unfamiliar, often intimidating terrain of vegetables I had never seen nor heard of before my 20's. For the most part, I tend to avoid these vegetables out of aforementioned laziness and also a fair bit of fear and suspicion. What if it's is just a trend vegetable or the emperor's new clothing of produce? What if it's more trouble than it's worth? What if I plain don't like it?

But fava beans are nothing to be afraid of, I soon learned. And those tales about what a bother they are to peel? I found if I squeezed the pod in just the right place, the bean would coming shooting out in a rather exciting way. So that was nothing. Moreover, their creamy flesh is something I've been missing out on. And so I am compelled to admit that there may not be a more heavenly springtime medley than what happens when these three players co-mingle in one bowl. Store-bought pesto, a couple spoonfuls of Greek yogurt, and frozen veggies make this a zippy weeknight meal eager to defy expectations.

Creamy Pesto Fettucine with Fava Beans, Peas, and Asparagus
Serves 4

1 bunch asparagus, cut into 1-inch segments
1 cup unshelled fava beans -- I used frozen (once you shell them, which really isn't hard at all, I suspect you'll have less than a cup)
1/2 cup frozen or fresh peas
1/2 cup pesto
2 heaping tablespoons Greek yogurt
1 pound fresh egg fettucine
chopped fresh chives to sprinkle on top

Bring a large pot of water to boil for the pasta, and cook until al dente, and drain reserving 1/2 cup of pasta cooking water. Fresh pasta cooks shockingly fast, in about 3-5 minutes, so be on your toes. Meanwhile, shell the fava beans. Heat 1/4 cup water in a medium-sized skillet until boiling. Dump in asparagus, and steam for three minutes. Lower heat and stir in fava beans and peas, stirring until heated through and then drain. In a small bowl, stir together Greek yogurt and pesto. Return pasta to its cooking pot, and toss with pesto mixture and steamed vegetables, thinning sauce with some of the reserved pasta water, if necessary. Sprinkle with chives and slurp happily from a bowl.

Posted by sarah at 7:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

To be totally honest, I didn't want to go to my mom's book club. It wasn't that I didn't think it would be fun, or that I don't like tagging along with my mother on her social calls. It was just that it was Friday night, I had been sitting at my desk all day, only to then wedge myself onto a crowded bus to sit for another two hours, and was going to have to drive with my mom for half an hour back in the direction from which I came. To be frank, my ass had had enough. I wanted to sprawl, or better yet, to walk, and I really, really needed a drink.



But stepping into the most perfect house in which I could imagine kids skating on the hardwood flowers in their footed pajamas, I remembered how marvelous it feels to be folded into the warmth of someone else's home, to be welcomed at a table crowded with delicious edibles, and to be in the company of women who are much older and wiser and more graceful than you. I remembered also how proud I feel sitting next to my mom, watching others seek her advice and delight in her company. You take that for granted when you're a daughter and that advice has been given freely all your life, just the way you take for granted how radiant she is when she laughs and just how much she taught you about how to be a woman.



I hadn't read the book, so I listened and gabbed too much about what seemed related -- pictures I'd seen or things I'd overheard once or articles I had read. It was the wine, I think, that made me talk so much, and my desire to have my mom think, See this is my daughter. Isn't she delightful and smart and compassionate? I asked her on the ride home if I had embarrassed her. She assured me no, why, had she embarrassed me? And I think now, how absurd to have asked each other these questions when the happy, tired, chatty feeling in the car driving home said everything. But it was that pang of uncertainty that every daughter feels from time to time -- is she proud? does she like me as a person and not just a daughter? You feel it perhaps even more keenly when you get a real glimpse of her. A mother is someone so close to you, so much a part of you that you don't always really see her. But then, when you get an eyeful of what others see, you get a look at what you know but sometimes forget: that she is very, very cool and that you are very, very lucky. I said no, you didn't embarrass me. I wish I had also added: in fact, mom, totally the opposite.



Potato and Leek Gratin
Serves 6

I am sort of obsessed with potato gratin and collect recipes for it as if they were sea-smoothed shells. It's just one of those dishes that, for me, embodies pure comfort and a particular kind of cozy bistro dining that never loses its appeal. After several tries of different recipes, I think I've found the version I may stick to, a variation on the recipe our book club host made. Studded with leeks, this potato gratin has tastes of brightness in each bite, a nice foil to the milk and heavenly gruyère cheese.

2 pounds peeled Yukon gold potatoes, sliced thinly on a mandoline or in a food processor
2 leeks, sliced into rounds, white and light green parts only
1 clove garlic, minced
2 cups milk
1 1/2 cups grated gruyère cheese
1 tablespoon butter, plus some for baking dish

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Put leeks in a bowl of water to remove any clinging dirt. When leeks are clean, shake dry, and sauté over moderate heat with garlic and butter until soft and aromatic, about 10 minutes. Remove from heat. Butter a large ceramic baking dish and line with a layer of sliced potatoes, followed by a layer of leeks, and topped with a gruyère. Repeat layering pattern, pour in the milk, and finish with a generous sprinkling of gruyère on top. Place dish on a baking sheet to protect your oven from volcanic overflow and bake for 50-60 minutes, until bubblingly hot and cheese is browned in spots.

Posted by sarah at 7:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (12) | TrackBacks (0)

I've been burned too many times by sneaky deli tulips. They look as though they're on the cusp of unfurling--and I think to myself: "What great timing, to buy them so young!" And yet, they stay small buds for two days until I bump into them, at which point they dissolve like a mandala sand painting set in front of a fan. Then I have to circle back to the inevitable: What kind of fool confuses a deli that sells Duraflame logs and Arizona Iced Tea for a farm-fresh importer of tulips?

As a result, recently I decided to tiptoe into the big, tacky world of ersatz flowers. And now that I have, part of me wonders, why did I wait so long? I bought pink and white cherry blossoms online and stripped them from the bendy plastic branch they came on. Then I set about hot gluing the little nibs and leaves onto a large fallen branch I nicked from a yard. I think the natural branch is the key to this project's success--i.e. the branch has to hold its own. Three weeks and counting, what I love about it is what people have always loved about fake flowers: Every time I come home, it looks gorgeous--like sculpture I can afford.

Posted by sarah at 7:54 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)

I must be getting old, because I can't drink margaritas the way I used to. A little like my once beloved Samoas, the fluorescent green frozen concoctions just seem too sweet to me now, and the sugar gives me a headache. But you know how I feel about Mexican food, and when you're eating fiery salsa, you need a drink to temper that heat.

Enter the very grown-up Paloma. It can be a challenge, I think, to find tequila drinks that don't either send you on a sensory flashback to nights in college you'd rather forget or bowl you over with their super sweet concentrated mixers. Here, the fresh grapefruit juice mingles with tequila in a very grown-up way. The fizzy club soda makes this drink extra refreshing and the salted rim makes it even more lip-smackingly delicious. One of my favorite ladies in the world (and a very sophisticated one, I should add) even asked for a refill. Misson accomplished, I'd say.

Paloma Cocktail
Serves 1

The traditional Paloma is made with a grapefruit soda like Jarritos or Squirt. My Paloma, inspired by one I sampled at a Mexican restaurant in Brooklyn, uses fresh grapefruit juice and club soda instead. Also, an interesting word about tequila: resposado (rested) tequila has been aged in oak for at least two months. Silver or blanco tequila is unaged, while "gold" tequila is a young tequila with added colorings and flavorings.

1/4 cup reposado or blanco tequila
1/2 cup fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice
squeeze of juice from a lime wedge
club soda
kosher salt

Rim a glass with salt. Mix together tequila, grapefruit and lime juices. Pour over ice and top with club soda.

Posted by sarah at 12:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (11) | TrackBacks (0)

Hello, May, you gorgeous thing! You usher in with you more flowers, less rain, a three day weekend, and a new Pink of Perfection Project.

I'm sure most of you don't wile away the evening hours watching Law & Order as much as I do, but inspired by the wonderful Superhero Journal, I thought a little media detox could do us all some good. Andrea writes about her experiment:

"The purpose of this experiment was simply to have a consciousness around our habits, to see what the impulse was to plug in, what drove the habitual (sometimes obsessive) behavior. What was the feeling that preceded the moment when I would reach for the tv, the internet, the phone? was it loneliness? boredom? What was so scary about simply being in the moment I was in? I was also really curious about what would show up in the space where those other things were. Let me begin by saying that I am amazed at how much it changed our lives in only one week."

I'm not challenging you to cut yourself off from the world, but I am asking us all to think about the kinds and quality of media that we invite into our lives each day. The goal here is to cut out some of the white noise that doesn't really serve to benefit us. Is it television for you? Buying tabloids in the supermarket check out line? Letting NPR drone in the background, filling you with anxiety? Endlessly online surfing for shoes that you'll never buy? Identify where you are getting some possibly toxic media and cut it out for seven days. For me, it's going to be tv and pointless web surfing. What will it be for you? We might need to set up a support group for this one.

The May Pink of Perfection Project is a 7 Day Media Detox. We're cutting out the junk and putting Perez Hilton out of business. Will we suddenly find a lot of time and inspiration on our hands? I'm eager to find out.

Here's how to participate:

• E-mail me and say you're on board (remember to include a link to your blog!): sarah@pinkofperfection.com
  
• Complete (or attempt to complete) the project.
  
• Write about the project on your website or blog by May 31.
  

Posted by sarah at 7:42 AM | Permalink | Comments (10) | TrackBacks (0)

You know what was even better than participating in the April Pink of Perfection Project? Reading about everyone else's dates! I learned many of us share a love for charming bakeries (and the chocolate chip cookies and cupcakes therein), a big ole glass of wine, staying in bed, and enjoying the outdoors (even if it's by way of a city park). But what we all really seemed to have in common is an appreciation for a bit of quiet time with ourselves. I mean, no one took themselves out to da club. So please, stop by each of these blogs to read the juicy details of their dates alone:

EB at Spice Dish decided that in light of an 80 hour work week, her idea of a date was a little more low-key (and a lot more restorative) than hauling her ass across town for a fancy cocktail and dinner.

Sarah at geek + nerd had an entire day of her favorite things, including cookies and cupcakes, and a long walk on the beach.

Christie of The Sweet Beat savored the spring weather on the winding paths of Prospect Park before winding her way to her very favorite patisserie for a cupcake. And her date has a steamy ending!

Lindsay at If I Only Had a Blog fretted about what to wear before taking her new bike on a whirl of a date, including a stop at -- you guessed it -- a super charming bakery (she even bought her date a little token of her affection, which made me swoon!).

L at Sisters of the White Rose climbed into her 500 thread count sheets (!) for a vintage moviefest (!!).

Likewise, Rae at Idle Bohemian decided a quiet night at home with a little Lloyd Dobbler action was just what she needed it.

Faith at Faith Accompli bought herself a bouquet of tulips and enjoyed the underrated pleasure of spending time alone.

As for me, I took a long walk on a sunny Saturday, stopping for an iced latte. Then I window shopped junk at a flea market before heading to the farmer's market to admire all those geraniums and daffodils.

Big thanks again to everyone else who signed up with good intentions: Anita at anita's world, Ann at Annplified, Rachael at Bond Girls and Peach Pits, erosophy, Shauna at Movies with Grandma Joy, and Vic at Vic's Recipes

Tune in tomorrow for May's project!

Posted by sarah at 8:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (8) | TrackBacks (0)

The Sunday meal, taken together, is a time-honored tradition I'm especially fond of. Growing up we sat around the Irish wake table in chinoiserie-papered dining room for a multi-course meal at the punctuating holidays. Our ritual on a ordinary Sunday evening was a drive downtown to a nondescript Mexican restaurant across the street from a toweringly fancy hotel. I remember gold foil-wrapped pats of soft butter spread on hot corn tortillas that were pulled out of plastic containers like rabbits out of a hat and the ketchup my dad ordered for the kids to dip their chips in. Sunday nights can be achingly sad -- the work week looms, the fun is over, and somehow, it seems the sun sets earlier than any other night of the week. But in the Mexican restaurant where old-fashioned vaquero music played on the juke box, traditional striped blankets hung on the wall, and each meal ended with the ceremonial choosing of a Dum-Dum from the bowl at the cash register, we were happy, and the week seemed held at bay for awhile longer.

Later, when I was in Italy for a few months during college, my board did not include Sunday dinner. This was especially inconvenient given that Sundays saw the rattling metal grates firmly shut over the front doors of cafes and trattorias, barring the way to wild boar sausage and cannellini bean soup. At the breakfast table that first Sunday, over the strong coffee that made me happier than any other part of the morning spread, my host mother invited my roommate and I for dinner that afternoon. She made it clear that the meal was not one we had paid for (ahem), but that she would be happy to have us join her family. Their table, a long wooden farmhouse table with a fruit bowl at one end, was in the kitchen. During that meal, the 2 o'clock sunshine would slant through the window and we ate homemade pasta excitedly, its one appearance for the week. For me, aching with a loneliness for what (or rather, who) I'd left behind in Minnesota, Sunday dinner at that table with the sealed pockets of ravioli and a surrogate family was heaven.

Soon after I came back from Florence, my dear friend hosted a Sunday dinner of her own. I sat on the green bar stool at the high ledge in her kitchen alternately sipping coffee and wine as she made a great Caesar salad and two fat roast chickens. She fed eight of us that day, and we crowded around a table pulled out into the middle of her living room floor. I remember being happy then, too, and also, feeling at home.

If I had more pals in this neighborhood I love so much, I'd like to think I'd be cooking up Sunday dinner with them to stave off the Sunday blues. Then again, maybe there's a bit of Field of Dreams at play here: if I cook, will they come? Because there is no better day than Sunday, especially when you do not have a couple hundred pages of Hawthorne to read, or are not walking around a foreign city, addicted to your own melancholy, or are not still heartbreakingly young, completely at the whims of the adults in your life, to sit down with some people you happen to like, even just a bit, and toast one last time to the weekend.



Chicken Provençal
Serves 4, adapted from Gourmet March 2008

1 1/2 pound tomatoes, cut into wedges
2 large onion, cut into wedges, leaving root ends intact
1/2 cup drained brine-cured black olives, pitted if desired
5 large garlic cloves, sliced
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 teaspoons herbes de Provence, divided
1/2 teaspoon fennel seeds
1 whole chicken (about 3 1/2 pound), washed and patted dry

Preheat oven to 425 degrees F. Toss the tomatoes, onion, olives, garlic, fennel, and 1 teaspoon herbes de Provence with the olive oil. Push to one side of roasting pan. Nestle the chicken in next to the vegetables and season with the remaining teaspoon herbes de Provence, as well as plenty of salt and pepper. Roast in oven until the juices from the chicken run clear with no traces of pink, about 1 1/2 hours. Let the chicken rest for 10-15 minutes. Serve chicken with vegetables, pan juices, and some crusty bread to soak up every bit of juice.

Posted by sarah at 8:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (10) | TrackBacks (0)

Ultimate creative happiness was waking up early yesterday to act out my writerly fantasies -- there was hot coffee in teacup at my side and the sun was shining through the windows on my geraniums -- type, type, typing away and feeling so virtuous and productive.

I trotted off to work feeling as if I were finally living my longed-for secret life of morning creative work, before heading out to my jobby mcjob. I was so excited, most of all because I had something new to share with all of you for the third time in a week. And for a girl who once went the entire month of August posting once, this is a major improvement.

But ultimate frustration was getting home that evening and realizing the dumb and sour truth: I had forgotten to hit save. It was the most profound dope moment I'd had in awhile, and I was in such a funk about it I had to walk away from the computer, sink on to the couch, and watch Rick Steves for the rest of the night. And now, this morning, I think I'm finally over it.

So let's begin again: The story I had written that morning was about my friend Alison. She has a way of putting a sunny spin on even the most treacherous of times with her unfailing humor and affection for the absurd. And so I knew she was the person to call one afternoon last summer when I was acting desperate and dramatic (not unlike how I was behaving last night when my computer woes struck, frankly) about something I now have no recollection of (funny how that works, isn't it?).

Right when I wanted to throw myself on my bed and wail wildly, Alison chirped in with her sweet voice: "If your life were a movie, what would the heroine do?" Like other romantic types, Alison and I wish our time here on earth more often came complete with a score and some choreographed dance numbers. Despite my desire to gulp some NyQuil and call it a night, that's not exactly heroine behavior. A heroine would put on a flippy little skirt, a red and white striped top, and go out into the world for a fresh perspective. And so I did.

I think my heroine would also eat these tartines for dinner. She would click into her little apartment at evening's end wearing shiny red flats, a little weary, and make these quick, toasted open-faced sandwiches in an ancient, creaky oven with the odd bits of this and that rolling around in her icebox. The results, of course, would be miraculously delicious.

And that is the beauty of the tartine. Some good bread and a few tasty nibbles toasted together are all you need to feel sustained again. And I should mention, of course, that I got the idea from all of you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

The Tartine Way

Toast a slice of country bread, and then spread with a moist ingredient like aioli, pesto, tapenade, or the cheese of your choice, such as goat, gruyère, or comté. If you're craving some real heft, add leftover roast chicken, prosciutto, smoked fish, or a poached egg. Be sure to also add delicious veggies like roasted red pepper, arugula, and tomatoes. If you want your tartine hot and melty, pop in a 425 degree F oven for 15 minutes. If you prefer a cold tartine, just pop into your mouth. The tartine pictured here is a union of goat cheese, tomatoes, and artichoke hearts. The next night we had pesto, roasted red pepper, and these Alfonso olives I'm having a love affair with. There are limitless combinations for your tartines, and that's really half the fun. The other half, of course, is eating.

Posted by sarah at 10:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (14) | TrackBacks (0)

This is my very favorite time of year, and if you blink, you just might miss it.

Oh, and by the way, you now have exactly one week to complete the April POP Project! This is a gentle reminder to all you lovelies. And if you haven't signed up but want to participate in monthly POP Projects, it's not too late!

Continue reading "Today's Beauty: Brooklyn Blossoms" »

Posted by sarah at 7:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)

This guest post is by a lady who makes me swoon. Sonya Nimri is the wonderfully creative author of Just for the Frill of It and hot off the presses Beadalicious. If you are looking for books with projects that will add pretty, one of a kind details to your life, search no more. Here, Sonya shares her project for the prettiest gardening boots I've ever seen. Getting dirty never looked so good.



Daisies have such pretty connotations. The Irish say that dreaming of daisies at the beginning of spring brings months of good luck. They also say that to dream of your love, place your shoes (or rubber boots in this case) outside the door to your room and put daisy roots under your pillow. This sounds a bit dirty, but I tried it and it actually worked!

Daisy Gardening Boots

What You'll Need

• 1 pair rubber boots (available at most hardware stores)
• 16 fabric daisy appliqués
• Approx 60 3mm yellow seed beads
• Green ric-rac ribbon, 1 yard long
• 1 can pink spray paint (I used Krylon H20 paint in Rhine River Red)
• Mustard yellow craft paint
• E6000 glue
• Small brush or sponge
• Fabric glue
• Toothpick
• Scissors

Directions

1. Spray-paint the boots following directions on the can. Be sure to do this outside or in a well-ventilated area.

2. Use fabric glue to attach 8 daisy appliqués onto each boot, making sure to cover the back of the daisies entirely with glue.

3. Place a generous dab of glue in the center of each daisy and pour seed beads onto the glue, pressing them down so they sink into the glue.

4. Paint the toe and the top trim of each boot with yellow paint.

5. Glue the green ribbon around the top edge of each boot and along the toe line, as shown.

Delish Delight: Daisy-chain Wreath

To make a daisy chain, pick a bunch of daisies and use your fingernail to pierce a hole in each stem, toward the base of the flower. Thread one stem through the hole in another until stopped by the head of the flower. Repeat until you have a long chain for a simple bracelets, wreaths, and necklaces. Put on and dance in the fields like Isadora Duncan.

If you're interested in sharing a project, recipe, or that amazing DIY thing that you do on Pink of Perfection, just email me: sarah@pinkofperfection.com.

Posted by sarah at 7:45 AM | Permalink | Comments (8) | TrackBacks (0)

This sickness came on hard, fast, and out of nowhere. My sister says the dipping sauces we shared a week back might be the culprit. Damn that fresh spring roll, even if it did have lobster and strawberries, because since last Friday, I've been talking like Kathleen Turner and not wanting to eat a thing. Except maybe ice cream which, in addition to cinnamon rolls, is the only thing that sounds at all appealing.

Which brings me to this: when I am lucky enough to be healthy, I sometimes I get annoyed by my endless love of grocery lists, imaginary dinner party menus, and stash of online recipes. Why aren't I using that energy to write a book? Sew a dress? Cure something?! But when you are sick and food loses all its appeal so, to some extent, does life. Let's face it: living just isn't as much fun without meals you can get excited about punctuating your days. You start settling: oh sure, I'll eat that overripe banana. Whatever. Takeout again? That's fine. I don't care much about food. And that does not sound like me at all.

Soon, my taste buds will poke out from behind their sickly veil. Until then, the only way to get through to them is with fiery hot foods like chips and salsa, red curry, and this turkey soup.



Mexican Turkey Soup
Serves 6-8

This recipe marks my maiden voyage into dry-roasting, which imparts lots of deep, smoky flavor. It also leaves a pot with char marks to be reckoned with, so bring your elbow grease.

10 ounce package frozen corn, thawed
1 pint cherry tomatoes
2 teaspoons vegetable oil
1 pound lean ground turkey
1/2 cup sliced scallions
2 cloves garlic, chopped
1 15 ounce can cannellini beans
2-3 finely minced canned chipotle pepper, depending on your fondness for heat
6 cups chicken stock (this stuff is changing my soup life)

In a large pot, dry-roast corn over high heat until lightly charred. Set aside in a small bowl, and then repeat process with tomatoes, removing to a separate bowl. If your pot is super charred and black as the sky on campout (mine was), give it a wash.

Heat 2 teaspoons of oil in the pot over medium-high heat. Cook turkey until white and opaque, breaking apart into small pieces. Add scallions, garlic, chipotle pepper and sauté until garlic is aromatic, a minute or so. Meanwhile, roughly chop tomatoes.

Add chicken stock, corn, tomatoes (along with the juices), and beans to pot and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer until flavors have mingled and gotten to know each other, about 10-15 minutes.

Posted by sarah at 7:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (7) | TrackBacks (0)

I have a new love. And by love, I mean a place to go to wile away the hours that captures my imagination, that is filled with pretty colors, oddities, and cheerful patterns. And by new, I mean a store that everyone but me has apparently known about for years. Late to the party again, McColl! Oh well, better late than never to find an online shop owned by the dearest couple living one of my fantasy lives (they fled New York and now live in the rolling green hills of Virginia taking library trips with their too cute for words little girl). Three Potato Four just may be the perfect online store for me, filled as it is with Danish ceramics, whimsical dish cloths, retro style journals, and oh, it's all just too pretty for words.

Psst! Don't forget to check out April's POP Project and to join in on the fun.

Posted by sarah at 7:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

I think spring cocktails can be confusing. It's not yet time to bust out the basil and mint, but maybe you, like me, want something a little more fun and fizzy than a glass of wine. As the temperatures begin to rise ever so slightly, I suppose the most you can ask from your cocktail is that it suggest warmer days. This homemade limoncello is just the right sort of thing.

The first time I had limoncello was in a gilded, rococo-style restaurant in a villa outside Florence. And I know that sounds like the beginning of a story a baroness would tell, but it's the truth. I was on study abroad, and my dad and stepmother had come to visit me and spoil me rotten. I remember feeling quite proud at dinner; my Italian was finally getting passable, so I selected the wine, and posed as a language conduit between my parents and the deft, tucked-in servers. At dessert, our waiter -- a cute, young, sweet sort of Italian boy -- described limoncello to us. It sounded irresistible, and tasted even better: sweet, tart, puckery, fresh. And then, when this charming waiter smiled at the end of the meal and called my accent flawless, well, I was pretty much over the moon that night.

This homemade version is sweet and a perfect foil to spicy, salty snacks. Bottoms up!



Limoncello
makes about 4 cups (and a lot of drinks)

1 cup sugar
1 cup water
1 1/2 cup fresh lemon juice, from about 10-12 lemons
1 1/2 cup vodka
club soda

In a small saucepan, bring water and sugar to a boil and stir until sugar dissolves to make a simple syrup. Let cool, then pour into a pitcher. Stir in lemon juice and vodka. Serve over and ice and top with club soda.

Note: Commenter Ben pointed out this isn't really limoncello, which is made from steeping vodka with the lemon rinds, rather than the juice. I probably should have called this Super Lazy Instant Gratification Limoncello. In any event, if you're interested in checking out the real deal, Ben's blog, LimoncelloQuest is a must-see.

Posted by sarah at 10:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (12) | TrackBacks (0)

I know I've mentioned this before, but I have a bit of a girly crush on Kimberly Wilson. One of the many reasons I admire her is because of her great book in which she helps readers hone in on the driving aesthetics of their life by creating a vision statement. You're given a list of words which you fly through, willy-nilly, responding with pure gut and gusto, until you're left with only the words that speak to you. Then comes the hard part: you must narrow that list down to five words only. While I had some trouble tossing out "adventure," the rest came totally naturally, and then there they were, staring me in the face, all the things I care about: beauty, pleasure, creativity, love, community.

So if you want to know, in a nutshell, what makes me tick, that's it. I try to make Pink of Perfection a place to express and revel in those values. But when I got to thinking about community, which I crave so much in my life, I thought, hell, why not push it a little more?

And so, inspired by these women, and also this woman, and, of course, Shauna and Joy, let's give Pink of Perfection Projects a whirl, shall we? This will be a monthly project that hopefully will add some pleasure, beauty, or creativity to our lives. And us all writing about it? That's where the community (and, if we're really lucky, maybe even a little love, awwww) comes in.

April's Pink of Perfection Project is to take yourself out on a date, to court yourself a little bit. Interpret this as you will, but make it a true date, something worthy of a paramour, only the one you're wooing is you.

Here's how to participate:

• E-mail me and say you're on board (remember to include a link to your blog!): sarah@pinkofperfection.com
  
• Complete (or attempt to complete) the project.
  
• Write about the project on your website or blog by April 30.
  
• Link back to the original assignment.
  
  

At the end of the month, I'll post an update on the POP Project, linking back out to all of you lovely participants who want to join me in making life a little more special and sparkly. Who's with me?

Posted by sarah at 3:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (15) | TrackBacks (0)

I can't tell you why exactly (not because I'm being coy, but just because I am clueless myself), but I have been craving peanut butter like crazy lately. Do I need more nuttiness in my life? Whatever the reason, it's a bit of a problem. Peanut butter is one of the things I don't usually keep in the house because when it's there I will find any opportunity to swing by fridge, pry off the lid, and drag a spoon through the creamy stuff to lick like a lollipop.

The funny thing is, peanut butter is not even something I'm wild about. My current state of uncontrollable love for it is just a freak occurrence that happens every once in a while where I inexplicably flip for the stuff. It's like the rare night when, a few times a year, I cannot sleep and instead pretend that I am a terribly deep poetess insomniac, pacing the wooden floors in a long nightgown and thinking grand thoughts.

In any event, you can only eat so many spoonfuls of peanut butter before you want to do something more substantive with the stuff. Enter these cookies. I'd been eyeing them for a while over at Deb's place, and when I found myself in happy possession of a quiet, lazy Sunday afternoon, I knew just what to do.



Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies
Makes about 3 dozen
adapted from Smitten Kitchen's adaptation of The Magnolia Bakery Cookbook (it's like the geneaology of a cookie!)

I learned a really important life lesson in the course of this recipe: brown sugar as hard as a murder weapon is not beyond repair. If you microwave about a cup at a time for 20-30 seconds, it becomes soft and you can break apart the granules with your fingers. Then store in a ziploc bag in the freezer, and you are officially a domestic goddess not to be messed with.

1 1/4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
1 cup natural creamy peanut butter at room temperature
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
1 large egg, at room temperature
1 tablespoon milk
3/4 cup chocolate chips
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a medium-sized bowl, stir together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt, then set aside.

In a large bowl, beat the butter and the peanut butter together until fluffy. Next, plop in both sugars and beat until smooth. Crack in the egg and mix well. Stir in the milk. Now fetch the dry ingredients and mix in completely with the peanut butter mixture. Stir in the peanut butter chips.

Scoop up rounded teaspoons and roll between your palms into balls before placing on an ungreased cookie sheet. Gently press each cookie with the back of of a fork before popping in the oven to bake for 10 to 12 minutes. Let cool slightly, then eat.

Posted by sarah at 7:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (22) | TrackBacks (0)

One of the continual sources of entertainment available to those living in New York or another gritty urban center is investigating the rows of trash on the street each day. I'm not so interested in the bagged-up refuse from the bathroom or the collapsed cereal boxes and milk cartons. The best trash to be found are the free-standing items leaned up against a tree or placed on the sidewalk with a sign that says "still works!" With so much foot traffic in every neighborhood, people really bank on the hope that something they're getting rid of might be another woman's treasure.

And so it is. Some of my best finds include an avocado-colored sewing box, still filled with psychadelically-patterned napkins, a beat-up white hutch that is a bit heavier on the shabby than on the chic, and countless books, including The New Basics, and A Handful of Dust. It's a free-for-all scavenger hunt that never fails to, if nothing else, keep you on your toes.



When I stumbled across these records last Saturday, I was walking home from the coffee shop with a latte in my hand, a little preoccupied by some needling, worry-bound thoughts. Not the way to be on Saturday morning, I know. But the sight of these records leaning against an iron railing with the sun on them like a spotlight snapped me back into the present. My, there's a lot to be grateful for, I suddenly remembered.

Namely, that someone has cast off these vinyl gems that will now find a happy home on my candy cane-striped turntable. Brigadoon! New Girl in Town! And the album to listen to if you're aching to run through every catalogued human emotion in about an hour, the original cast recording of Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris! It was a sign as clear as any that I should get out of my head and into the day, and that if I did, I'd find it was a mighty fine one. And then whatever it was that had been making me fret scurried right out my ears and high up into the atmosphere.



Speaking of being in the present, is anyone else listening to the Oprah and Eckhart chats?

Posted by sarah at 6:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (8) | TrackBacks (0)

I feel bad about the butternut squash, I really do. It doesn't exactly scream springtime. Trouble is, ever since I saw Elise's combination of lamb shanks and butternut squash, I haven't been able to stop thinking about this heavenly-sounding combination. But the moment of truth came when I actually read the recipe (rather than just drooling over the photos): this was purely a Sunday night affair with browning and braising and hours of simmering away. But I just couldn't wait.

Fall and deep winter might be butternut squash's high shine time, but would you know you can buy peeled chunks of fresh butternut squash at some grocery stores in March? And isn't March sort of a transition month, anyway, what with the way it blows in like a lion? So please, forgive me the butternut squash. No matter what the fantasy life looks like, we can't all be Alice Waters all the time. Sometimes, you just gotta reach for the frozen pureed squash, farmer's market be damned. And with this knowledge, the lazy girl in me could feel a triumph coming on.

I swapped out affordable lamb shoulder chops for the slow-cooking shanks. I used pre-prepped butternut squash so I didn't have to wrestle with a sharp peeler and bowling pin-size squash in the hours when my hand-eye coordination is waning. I sautéed some zucchini in a flash. But I wanted my supper to have the brightness of spring even if it wasn't dancing with asparagus, ramps, and peas. The lamb chops, at the very least, promised that. So I tried my hand at what I remembered my imaginary boyfriend, Jacques, had whipped up with my gal pal Julia and made look fantastically simple: persillade.

Jacques Pepin has been known to make a lot of things look utterly effortless that just, well, aren't. He can butcher a whole chicken or cut up a fish into neat little fillets in the time it takes me to refill my root beer. But this persillade was no slight of hand. It is just a matter of chopping, is made out of two staples you probably have rolling around in your vegetable drawer at this moment, adds fresh exuberance to your dish, and is perhaps my new favorite thing. Next to, you know, this.



Lamb Chops with Butternut Squash and Persillade
Serves 2

2 lamb shoulder chops, 6-8 ounces each
20 ounce package peeled butternut squash chunks or a 12 ounce package frozen pureed squash
2 zucchinis, sliced thinly into rounds
olive oil
1/4 cup finely minced parsley
1/4 cup finely minced garlic

Place squash chunks in a largish saucepan and cover with water. Bring water to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer for 10-15 minutes until fork tender. Drain, mash, and season with salt and pepper. (Unless you go totally bananas for the stuff, there will most likely be some squash leftover -- 20 ounces is a quite a bit for two people.) If using frozen squash, prepare according to package instructions.

Meanwhile, heat 1 teaspoon olive oil in a small pan over moderately high heat, and cook zucchini, stirring every few minutes, until soft and browned in spots, about 10 minutes total.

Heat 1 tablespoon olive oil in another small pan (okay, one drawback to this recipe is that we've already got three dirty pots and pans...) and sear lamb chops, 2 minutes on each side for medium rare. Remove to plate and cover to keep warm. Combine the parsley and garlic and throw into the hot pan. Shake and stir for about 15-20 seconds or just until garlic is aromatic. Serve up butternut squash, zucchini, and lamb, with persillade on top.

Posted by sarah at 7:33 AM | Permalink | Comments (12) | TrackBacks (0)

I have a tendency to drag my feet when the seasons shift (this one here? not so good with change), but what better way to get psyched for the season than seeing all the lovely, creative things people are making in honor of the blossoms that will be here any second now...

This portable checkerboard pillow begs to be taken to the park on a sunny day for a lazy game under a tree.

Need a new skirt to spruce up your spring wardrobe? Support small businesses and like-minded ladies and gents at the Spring Fling Bust Craftacular.

I bet there's a correlation between rising temperatures and increased incidences of graffiti, but what I'd like to see is more knit-iffiti. (via Craft)

If you're looking for some inspiration to help you get those creative wheels turning, Creative Kismet's got a stockpile of pretty, springy floral fabrics found while thrifting and more charming buttons than you can shake a stick at.

Do you know how to make a retro-style pet bed? And do you know about the glorious ThreadBanger yet?

I can barely talk about how cute these plushy tea and coffee cups are.

If you're in the New York area, let's talk about how cool it is that you can take a super simple sundress class taught by textile star Heather Ross herself at Purl Patchwork.

Make your spring meals a ritual worth celebrating with pretty napkins with the cleverest use of ribbon, perhaps ever.

Posted by sarah at 7:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

I am proud to introduce the first Pink of Perfection Guest Post (i.e., the first post written by someone other than one of my relatives), and delighted to introduce you to the very clever and creative Rachael Speirs. Rachael lives in Toronto where she counsels people by day as a social worker. At night, she swaps her black-framed glasses for a set of makeup brushes. She loves cotton candy flavored gelato and her kitten, Waffles, who shares Rachael's deep and abiding love of butter.



I have never been one of those girls who can wake up looking fresh as a Georgia peach, my hair slightly tousled, and my cheeks ever-so rosy, with a morning glow that says "Hello world!"

Instead my very coarse and flat-ironed hair has curled on one side, and managed to mash itself into a hairdo somewhat resembling Robert Smith. For this, I have my Jewish grandmother to thank. So up I rise (likely a half an hour earlier then necessary), and all for the purpose of primping.

Also, I am broke, and not just a little broke but paying-off-massive-obscene-horrid -amounts-of-school-debt-broke. But broke can be beautiful! Therefore I bring you: "The Thrifty Girls Guide to Primping."

Two items I will consistently stand behind are zinc oxide and hydrocortisone cream. These two products have gotten me through hailstorms of chin acne. Remember how the dad in My Big Fat Greek Wedding used Windex for everything? That's me with zinc oxide. In my experience as a makeup artist I have consistently recommended these two items, and at 5 bucks a pop, you can't go wrong. Paris Hilton can afford to slather herself in beluga placenta, but she never had to deal with a student loan.



If you're anything like me, the bottom of your makeup case is getting more coverage from broken shadows you can't bear to throw out, then your eyes ever will. But fear not, good woman, I bring you a solution: Thrift-a-licious Shadow Palette. Your local craft store carries plastic compartment cases, typically used for storing beads or embroidery thread that make awesome palette cases. Simply dig the broken shadows out of their container and use a paper funnel to direct the shadow into the case...and voila! Truly, the thing I enjoy most about this makeshift palette, is the fact that it cleverly hides the whereabouts of your products, so you can use your products to their fullest, free of judgment and name brand influence, while also cutting down on clutter.

Once in awhile Mount Everest has decided to make a landmark of your face. My boyfriend insists concealer is useless and does nothing but draw more attention to the problem. "Who ya foolin?" he asks, and I suppose the only real answer is "myself." But there is something to be said for a well-matched concealer. It can brighten up your under-eye area and hide the occasional redness. Indeed, a bit of concealer lightly dusted with a matching powder can create a lock-and-load foundation for eye makeup.

But is it worth paying for? Is it worth buying an extra product? Personally I have found (what I believe) to be an excellent solution. The bulk of cosmetic spending should always be on the skin; a great foundation will go a long way and darn it, if the product keeps away breakouts and has a great finish then it really is worth the extra money. But why buy another expensive product when you can make concealer from the one you've got?



DIY concealer
what you'll need

a small container (an empty lip-balm container will do, or if you are anything like me, you stock up on MAC samples and save their adorable sample containers for other purposes)
your favorite foundation

Pour a small amount of tried-and-true foundation into your container. Let it stand open, lid off and covered with cheesecloth to keep out dust and other airborne pests, for approximately 2-3 days (depending on oil or water content of the product) in your refrigerator.

Now not only do you have a virtually free concealer, but a virtually free concealer in the exact shade of your foundation and the piece of mind that you will not experience any reactions.

If you're interested in writing a guest post about crafts, cooking, style, or the creative things you do to make daily life sparkle, email me at sarah@pinkofperfection with your idea.

Posted by sarah at 7:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (9) | TrackBacks (0)

You know when someone embodies all the things you like best about yourself and hope to be, only blown up, and larger-than-life? This person serves as beacon and idol, illustrating just what your potential, if fully realized, could look like. It is, I understand, the way young starlets often feel about Marilyn Monroe, and the way I feel about Nigella Lawson (and Mary Cantwell and MFK Fisher and oh, how the list goes on...).

Nigella Lawson is a lot like driving the winding road that leads to my parents' farm in August when the foliage is dark green and lush, and the air is heavy with humidity. She is also like a winter pear so ripe the white flesh threatens to burst right through the skin. She is, I think, the word sumptuous embodied.

But her luscious earthiness doesn't tell the full story of her appeal. I am a sucker for her seductive elocution and her silver dollar vocab words. I haven't seen her show, but adore listening in when she's a guest on NPR (that way, her dangerous curves don't distract from me from her brainiac tendencies). Nigella is a blast of fresh air in part because she is sexy and clever, and our popular culture seems to have forgotten that this is not such a rare combination.



Nigella is also deeply refreshing because of her admitted laziness. I understand her love of pajamas, her fondness for eating ribs in bed and bowls of ground beef and cheese as comfort food. For all her accomplishments, Nigella still values leisure, and I'm not sure many people do any more.

I will freely admit to having little experience with Nigella's recipes, despite having read four of her cookbooks cover to cover. But you don't have to had made and loved her garlic and lemon chicken to treasure her ethos as much as her aesthetic. So many of the people whose lifestyles I admire -- those who have somehow managed to integrate their passions with their livelihood -- are long gone, but a few of them are around and kicking. And Nigella, of course, is right up there.



Mustard Pork Chops and Gnocchi
adapted from Nigella Express
Serves 2

2 pork chops, each about 6-8 ounces and 1/2 inch thick
2 teaspoons olive oil
1/2 cup pilsner-style beer
1 tablespoon dijon mustard
1 tablespoons butter
8 ounces frozen gnocchi

Season pork chops with salt and pepper. Heat olive oil over moderately-high heat. Cook pork chops, about 2 minutes per side, until they've taken on a golden-brown char and are cooked through. Remove to a plate and cover to keep warm.

Deglaze the pork chop pan with the beer, scraping up any browned bits. Let bubble for about a minute, before stirring in butter and mustard. Pour most of the sauce over the two pork chops, leaving a little in the pan.

Bring a large pot of water to a boil and cook gnocchi until it floats, about 2-3 minutes. Drain the gnocchi before scooting them through the remaining mustard sauce and serving with the pork chops, and an arugula salad, if you like green things as much as I do. A practically instant supper.

Posted by sarah at 6:59 AM | Permalink | Comments (25) | TrackBacks (0)

I "met" Shauna in a friend-of-friend-of-someone-I-once-passed-on-the-street kind of way that I can only interpret as providence. And then, one day, this lovely girl emailed me to tell me we were star-crossed style friends and share with me a little project she was working on she thought I might like.

That project, Movies with Grandma Joy, is, I can safely say, the most exuberant, joyous, fun thing I have seen on the whole wide interweb in a good long while. To give you an idea of its awesomeness, let me just mention that there is a Movies with Grandma Joy music video that will knock your socks off.

The blog is what it sounds like: Shauna and her 73 year-old grandmother, Joy, go to the movies once a week, and post a video review complete with scene studies. The videos are giddy, artful, funny, and reveal all the playful love in their relationship.



Let's get the hard part out of the way: best movie ever made?

Joy: I think the best movie ever made was Gone With the Wind. My other favorites are Little Women and The Sound of Music. Corny, I know...

Shauna: Most impossible question. It's A Wonderful Life and