I am one of those women who will never look truly polished. I am doomed to a life of wrinkled shirts, scuffed shoes, and mind-of-its-own hair. I have tried to fight against this with structured 50s sundresses and expensive handbags, only to realize at brunch I have forgotten to shave my underarms and my lipstick has melted into the lining of my bag. Such is my lot.

When I recently landed a new job at one of Manhattan's most fancypants addresses, I realized my own pants were in dire need of an update. The last time I did any serious shopping was three years ago in St. Paul, Minnesota, when I lived across the street from a great vintage shop. My mom bluntly informed me that this fact was plainly evident.

The prospect of breathing new life into your wardrobe can be daunting (just look at those exhausted makeover subjects on What Not to Wear) and the last thing I wanted was to arrive home after a day of shopping, several hundred dollars poorer and carrying a purple velour jumpsuit and a pair of sunglasses. I needed a plan.

I sat down with a stack of magazines and tore out every page that appealed to me. Sometimes I got a little off distracted with my copies of Martha Stewart ("ooooh, I love this vintage stove!") but it was still helpful to lay out all the images I found compelling and look for patterns. And then there it was before me, clear as a Noxzema girl's skin: I wanted pink lips, dresses with a softer silhouette, smart-looking flats, stripes, dark jeans, and ankle boots. I could go forth, knowing I would not be led astray by patent leather platforms, goucho pants, or shapeless but oh-so-soft cashmere sweaters on sale at Club Monaco. It's a fun trip back to grade school putting together one of these collages, and I am heartened to know I am not the only quasi-adult who makes them.

If you're not going out for a big spree (and really, how often can any of us do that?), you're probably saving up for that fanciful pair of warm-weather shoes to put a spring in your step on the morning commute. If you're anything like me, though, thoughts of "saving up" tend to fly right out of your brain when tempted by smaller treats like truffle butter, scented candles, and personal french presses. People like us -- the object-specific saving-impaired -- need a piggy bank. You could get a lovely Wilbur-esque piggy bank, but that would be sort of counter-productive, now wouldn't it? Instead, I like to put a container on my bureau with a picture taped on it to remind me what I'm saving up for. Then at the end of the evening when I'm taking off my eyeliner, I can drop my spare change in. It may be a while before I get those t-straps...

Posted by sarah at 7:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (17) | TrackBacks (0)

With its tidy little packages steaming with juices and unadulterated flavors, cooking en papillote has always transfixed me. At the same time, I found myself flummoxed. Without ripping the package open, how could I be sure whatever I was cooking was in fact done?

The answer, my friends, like so many things, lies in having a little faith. When I am first venturing out into the unknown territory of a new technique, my stack of cookbooks morphs from bedtime reading to indispensable guide. Looking up a single method in various cookbooks can leave a first-time parchmenter (or braiser or roaster or sauteer) feeling pretty secure about oven heat and timing issues.



From there, experimentation is on the loose and no map is required. A chicken breast would take a bit longer, a fillet of fish a bit shorter, perhaps, but the sky is the limit in terms of potential veggie roommates. Scallops have such a creamy, buttery flavor, and because I don't splurge on them as much as I could, they feel like a real treat. Coupled with the simplest supporting cast -- quartered artichoke hearts, scallions, grape tomatoes, and white beans -- this meal feels special but can be pulled off in no time flat, making it perfect for an elegant weeknight or speedy dinner party fare. And those wrapped up packages will remind your guests what a gift it is to dine at chez toi.

Scallops with Artichokes, Tomatoes, and White Beans in Parchment
Serves 4

1 pound sea scallops
1 can quartered artichoke hearts, drained
1/2 pint grape tomatoes, halved
2 scallions, pale green and white parts chopped
1 can white beans, rinsed and drained
olive oil
parchment paper

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

In a large bowl, gently toss artichoke hearts, tomatoes, scallions, and white beans with 1 tablespoon olive oil. Season with salt and pepper. Rise and pat dry your scallops. If they have a hard tab on them, just cut that off.

Cut 8 squares from your parchment paper, about 10-12" long. On four of the parchment squares, mound a bit of the artichoke mixture and top with a few scallops (depending on how large your scallops are they should probably be about 3-4 scallops per person). Place another square of parchment on top and fold the edges up around the package, sealing it as best you can. Place parchment packages on cookie sheets and bake for 15 minutes.

Note: In the video, I am only cooking for two and use 1/2 pound of scallops. The leftover artichoke mixture makes a great salad tossed with tender bibb lettuce.

Posted by sarah at 4:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (13) | TrackBacks (0)