Pink of Perfection

I didn’t grow up in a house with a Saturday morning pancake tradition, but I’ve always been sweet on the idea. In my house now, Sebastian is the one with the golden pancake touch. And every time he announces that he’s stepping up to the stove, I like to remind him of the duties he will have whenever we finally have a brood: mixing batter and flipping cakes before a circle of hungry mouths.

That is one very powerful thing about growing up: you can re-make your family and your home life just as you’d like it.

I felt more like a New England farmhouse wife than a Brooklyn apartment-dweller the morning I made these. It was a weekday, and I rose earlier than usual in hopes of sending my husband off into the hardships of midtown fortified by a full stomach. The motivation was relatively selfless, but as it turned out, I ended up getting a quite a lot out of the deal: I really loved these pancakes.

But it wasn’t until I was reading Heidi Swanson’s new cookbook a couple weeks later that I saw the words “light” and “fluffy” paired with a pancake recipe and wondered if I’d gotten this particular rendition all wrong. These pancakes are neither fluffy nor light–rather, they are dense and filling, warm and homey with banana and bursting with little bright berry spheres. Top with almond butter and a wee drizzle of syrup, and we’re talking about a breakfast that will keep you powered for hours. Airy and ethereal? Sadly, no. But they serve a different purpose, and I’m trying to get better at accepting all things as they are instead of wanting them to be something else. These pancakes included.

One more thing: I did what I had read about many times in magazines over the years, freezing the leftover pancakes between layers of waxed paper for more sleepyhead weekday mornings. I dropped them in the toaster until the edges crisped up just ever-so-slightly and then finished them in the microwave.

Do you have a pancake tradition in your house, or did you grow up with one? And do you ever get ambitious with your weekday breakfast, like–wow–turning on the stove?

Continue reading “Blueberry Banana Buckwheat Pancakes” »

I’m not saying they’re pretty. In fact, they look more like a play-doh experiment gone wrong than a delightful tea time snack. But I will proudly assert that these taste shockingly like the genuine article.

I made my own because I fear I will never be able to afford a house, snowshoes, or that amazing pair of ass-kicking boots I’ve been coveting if I continue to buy these babies. That’s the trouble with trying to do right by your health: sometimes it costs more.

Unless––huzzah!––you endeavor to make your own. If you can dress yourself, you can make these. Your food processor grinds the nuts into magic, heart-healthy fairy dust and turns crisp banana chips and dates into a sticky dough. Knead the two together, roll out flat (or between your palms into balls), and you’ve got a terrific on-the-go snack, on the cheap. Ingenuity: 1. Store-bought snacks: 0.

Continue reading “Homemade Banana Bread Larabars” »

Here’s some evidence that I’m getting old: randomly, and without any real intention, I didn’t want any of the usual holiday nosh. I started wanting to eat lots of vegetables, hearty soups, and truckloads of tea. It may have begun with that cold of mine that lingered on, but then this desire for healthy, wholesome food just stuck around. And at the high cookie season, to boot.

Then, I started becoming a fan of moderation. Me! The woman who eats chocolate truffles in bed! I could hardly believe it. I only wanted one drink––maybe two. I eased off on seconds at dinner. None of this happened because I was trying to do something drastic, like revolutionize the way I eat. If anything, it might have simply been the result of just being a little more mindful of what this old body of mine seemed to want.

The other day I had a near catastrophe: I woke up to find we were out of coffee. I bundled up and hustled off to the grocery store first thing (observation: a different breed of folks grocery shop in the morning). A scene nearly as awe-worthy as a babe in a manger awaited me there: I had never seen the pastry display so overflowing with glossy, sugar-coated delights. I treated myself to a chocolate croissant. And then, for the rest of the morning, I felt like crap.

I take this to mean I’m getting old. You know how people talk about not being able to eat the same stuff they used to? Well, it’s happening. For this moment in time, at least, I seem to be embracing the concepts of moderation and mindfulness in eating. I predict, however, that it will not last through the annual Tex-Mex Christmas Eve at my mom’s house.

This is all a long way of saying that I decided I didn’t want my gifts to be part of the make-you-feel-like-crap problem of sugar crashes this year. I feel confident there will be no shortage of decadent treats for any of us, but what we all might need are the makings for a spicy, deeply aromatic chickpea and lentil soup, or a healthier granola made with pumpkin purée.

And I say this all knowing that very soon I will tell you about my recent strike of baking genius: Nutella chocolate chip cookies. Stay tuned.

And in the meantime, if you’ve still got a few gifts to give and you’re feeling a little more festive than lentil soup, I humbly suggest some of favorite sweet treats:

Continue reading “Lovely & Delicious Homemade Gifts” »

Yesterday was a take-a-glass-of-wine-and-a-chocolate-chip-cookie-into-the-bathtub kind of day. But with the soul-crushing doubt and epic lowness that led me to carry glassware into a bubble bath, came also a reassurance in the ability of the simple things to set me right again: a sweet email from a friend, a simple pasta dinner, an episode of Family Guy, and, of course, alcohol and chocolate.

There was a surprise spirit-lifter yesterday that I hadn’t anticipated, though. I hope in two weeks time I don’t regret admitting what I am about to admit, but here goes: I’m doing National Novel Writing Month this year. If you don’t know about NaNoWriMo, allow me to introduce you. In the month of November, a bunch of crazy people with a wild sense of adventure and can-do spirit decide to write a 50,000 word novel by the stroke of midnight on November 30. The goal isn’t to write the next Great Gatsby, of course, but just to get yourself writing a lot, fueled by community and a deadline.

So yesterday, when what I really wanted to do was crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head, I couldn’t. I had a word quota I had to meet (and who wants to throw in the towel on Day 2?). So I propped myself up with pillows––I could still indulge the woe-is-me feeling by writing from bed––pulled out my laptop and got to work on my story.

I have never, mind you, written a word of fiction in my life (unless you count the stories I wrote in grade school, including one I was particularly proud of with the scintillatingly original title, “A Girl and Her Horse.”) I like real stories, and spinning some kind of worthy yarn out of the everyday. But what I hadn’t anticipated was how absolutely delightful it would be to sink into my own imagination and follow wherever it leads. You can write the book you’ve always wanted to read!

It’s Day 3, and technically, you are already 5,001 words behind. But if you have even the tiniest spark of interest, I recommend jumping into NaNoWriMo with both feet. I kind of think of it like quitting smoking––even if you have to try a bunch of times before you can successfully do it, each attempt brings you closer to your goal. But maybe that’s just what I’m telling myself to make the whole thing a hell of a lot less scary.

A few words about this bread: when my friend Gregor sent me the recipe the subject line was “Make this and fall in love with the fall all over again.” He need not have said another word, especially since I have a soft spot for dill and find it underutilized in general. The magical thing about this bread, in addition to the lovely golden crust it achieves in the oven, is that it somehow manages to taste even better the next day. It’s an absolute star buttered generously and served alongside a bean soup for the best kind of humble, homey dinner, and––though this will probably come as little surprise–– equally delicious topped with an oozy poached egg for breakfast.

Continue reading “Gregor’s Dill Bread” »

I think there’s something really magical about the morning. In Walden, Thoreau calls it the heroic hour, and while I’m rarely accomplishing great feats, I do like the routine of setting up the coffee, powering up the laptop, and sitting down to write for a few hours, straight away.

At least, that’s the weekday routine. The weekend routine involves the heroic act of a handsome husband walking four blocks to slay a cappuccino and return with it to his sleepyhead wife. This is always my favorite part of the weekend. Sitting upright, tucked into white sheets, and talking about the future––distant or that day’s––all still so filled with possibility. Will we be East coast or West? Will we live in town or country? Will it be eggs or pancakes? Saturday morning, the world is utterly at our feet.

But it’s kinda hard to get me up and at ‘em. Even after the coffee there is a certain amount of cajoling and bartering, sometimes including the bribe of a second caffeinated beverage. And poor Sebastian, who suffers through all this lazing, loves nothing more than getting up and eating breakfast, while I just want to talk, talk, talk.

So I decided to be a heroine in my own right by making a weekend breakfast that might please us both: roasted sweet potatoes and beets taste so earthy, and when paired with crisp-edged quinoa, woodsy thyme and topped with an oozy egg, the result is the kind of meal a health-minded farmer might swoon over after milking the cows and picking up a few pumpkins from the patch.

Never mind that it was at this breakfast table I learned to add quinoa to the company of salmon and bok choy on the list of “foods my husband hates.” I thought this was autumnally delish, if a little time-consuming. Roast the vegetables ahead of time to throw this together in a flash on Sunday morning.

Continue reading “Fall Vegetable Quinoa Hash with Poached Eggs” »

Y’all know how I feel about eggs. For this thrifty girl, they’re my protein of choice not only because of their price tag, but because they tap into my idea of a cool girl French girl, coming home for an omelet and a glass of wine at lunch or eating a fried egg at the top of the stairs. I block out the lives of diner eggs, served with scrapple and fat links of sausage. I think of their chicer incarnations, atop a croque madame or sitting tall in a pretty little egg cup.

Poaching has long been my cooking method of choice. But one day, in an effort to cross off an item on my fall fun list, I cracked our dinner eggs into white ridged ramekins and baked them in the oven. Just ten minutes later, something perfectly portioned and runny popped out. “They’re just like McDonald’s eggs, but with a runny yoke,” my husband said, which is high praise from him.

The bare bones version of this quick and cheap protein is egg-in-ramekin-alone. But there is a whole world of leeks, spinach, and chunky tomato sauce to layer underneath, and this would be a grand way to make eggs for a crowd at brunch. Like figuring out a new way to wear your great aunt’s scarf instead of buying new fall accessories at the mall, an old favorite feels new again.

Continue reading “Baked Eggs” »

I almost said, “you’ll ever need,” but I hate to be presumptuous. I just know that when hosting my first brunch party, I wanted something that could 1) be assembled the night before, 2) wasn’t a greasy sausage affair, 3) felt a little elegant rather than down-homey, and 4) was vegetarian. Was this asking too much?

Short answer: no. Furthermore, this dish has made me see the light of casseroles made with baguettes. Not only is this a brilliant way to use up yesterday’s bread baton, but the crusty sourdough rounds keep a breakfast casserole from feeling too heavily eggy. Plus, they provide a nice crunch.

But let’s zoom out for a second. I have long loved entertaining. It is the one kind of party you can attend where you have ultimate control over the mood and don’t have to walk home in your three-inch heels. You can be the boss of everyone, design the menu, and keep your glass filled all night. But the last couple of parties I’ve given, when the door closes behind the final guest, I’m left feeling depleted. I loved everyone who just sat in my living room and yet I feel like I didn’t get to talk to any of them. In my current life as hostess, as I buzz around making sure there are enough forks and that the orange juice is filled, I’m beset with a new anxiety that never plagued me before: are people having fun?

What’s the solution to this? Is it to have smaller gatherings of 4-8 people? Is it, as one friend suggested, that you hold a couple pals back to help you clean up and have a chatfest over the dishes? Or is this a sign that I’m just getting old? Is it just that I would rather meet one friend at a time for coffee and a walk through the park or a couple friends for oysters and pink champagne?

I’m eager to know your feelings about hostessing, complicated or otherwise. What do you like about it? Not like? And how do you increase your own pleasure as the hostess? Spill, and no judgments.

Continue reading “The Only Breakfast Casserole Recipe I’ll Ever Need and the Conflicted Feelings of a Hostess” »