The international travel essential we forgot

Funny story for you. Remember that time R became an American? And then we left the country 3 weeks later? And remember how long it takes to get a passport (hint: about 6 weeks)?

Yep, we had a bit of a situation on our hands.

After a massive freak out (right on the heels of that morning's sprint), I ended up staying late at the office to see how the heck we forgot to account for this timing snafu. What happened was, we were told of the oath ceremony date 3 weeks ahead, and sometime between getting that notification and the day of the oath, we booked our St. Lucia trip. What we hadn't considered is that when you get your Certificate of Naturalization, you surrender your Green Card. Meaning that the only proof R had of his new status was a piece of paper. A piece of paper that must be handed over when you apply for your passport. And in doing so, he'd be essentially proof-less of his citizenship. That plus the fact that once you become a citizen it is illegal to leave or enter the US on any other passport (making his Italian and Swedish ones irrelevant), meant he couldn't leave the country.

But, praise be that we live in NYC. The land where everything can be head: pierogies at 2AM, a wedding dress tailored in an afternoon, and, most relevant to us, a passport applied for, processed and returned in a day (!). After some Googling and Yelping I found a government agency called the NY Passport Agency. Now when you think of filing bureaucratic paperwork (as sadly, I know all too well), you immediately think of the DMV and the rampant lack of efficiency, right? Well, if Yelp was to be believed, apparently this office (located conveniently near us!) not only processed SAME DAY passports with a smile, they also only charged the ridiculously low sum of $60 for this service.

If you Google "expedited passport service" you'll find a whole slew of shady internet companies that (1) cost upwards of $300; (2) tack on more fees for overnight shipping; and (3) aren't really even done overnight anyway.

So of course I was skeptical, but I sent R over there with a printout of our confirmed travel itinerary, his certificate of naturalization, a passport photo and the passport application. He got there at 12:30PM, took a number, waited less than 10 minutes, handed over his documentation, and was told that since his trip wasn't within the next 7 days, they'd mail him his passport (if it was for a same day flight they would turn it around immediately and for a flight within 7 days it's ready the next day). Regardless of timing it all cost $60.

He came home and two days later a little Express Mail envelope followed him with his beautiful new American passport and his returned Certificate of Naturalization.

Incredible service.

Which, likewise, rendered us incredibly grateful, especially given our non-refundable vacation and my non-moveable birthday!

Properly ushering autumn in

While some people may welcome Autumn with pagan rituals around a bonfire, I chose to wave my favorite season in with a leaf crunching walk and an afternoon's immersion into rich, opulent, amber-colored art. I convinced a friend she had to join me so we met at the northwest corner of Central Park for an autumnal afternoon. We started by tromping through the North Woods, making a few loops around dirt paths, scrambling up mini rock faces, and traipsing across bridges over wee waterfalls. There were loads of tiger-eye colored foliage on the ground which made for a pleasant crackly soundtrack as we walked, even though the temperature was more Indian Summer than October Fall.

By the time we emerged on the east side of the park at The Metropolitan Museum of Art we were a little out of breath and ready for the coolness of the museum's galleries. Every time I go I forget that there's absolutely no point checking out the exhibitions online beforehand, because no matter where you plan to go, you'll never get there. You just have to wander.

Which is how we came across a gorgeously recreated Venetian bedroom and loads of Egyptian gold. Refilling our tanks with seasonally-appropriate colored works of art? Check.

Then we made our way up to the museum's rooftop for the view and a chat in the sunshine, where another friend met us. People always rave about the Met's rooftop, but I found it to be just okay. Maybe because it became really hot up there and there was very little shade, and maybe because the current exhibition was a little underwhelming to me. The view, though, made up for it.

Around 5PM I went to meet R, who had just finished working, and we headed home together for a bit on foot before hopping on a bus. At that point I checked Moves, a new app on my phone that tracks your movement (walking, cycling, running or transport) with a really simple infographic and map. I had walked 10,971 steps, covering 5.9 miles in about three hours. No wonder my feet were hurting—and why as soon as I walked in the door I took a cool shower and poured myself a tumbler of my favorite gin with a splash of sparkling water and a squeeze of lemon. Excellent end to the day.

Sunday morning broke bright and gray and misty. Perfect strolling weather, made even more perfect because R finally had a weekend day off. We decided to go for a coffee walk through Tribeca to try a new'ish cafè—FIKA Tribeca Chocolate Factory. "Fika" means coffee break in Swedish and those Scandinavians are serious about their coffee and the sanctity of the twice-daily fika.

FIKA began in NYC with one post in Midtown and now there are five in the city, plus their products are sold at Whole Foods. Speaking of products, the Tribeca FIKA is one part cafè, one part a Willy Wonka-like chocolate factory that shares a glass wall with the dining side and a window onto the sidewalk so you get a nice view of chocolatey goodness being crafted.

It's also got that swanky, industrial vibe going on, with lots of light since they have a prime corner spot. But, all my happy feelings about the place and space evaporated when our bill came to $22 for two cappuccinos, a kanelbulle (cinnamon bun) for R and 4 teensy chocolate truffles for me.

To be fair though, it was all delicious.

I had a hankering for some more creamy, cappuccino goodness, but didn't feel like another at FIKA, so we took a walk deeper into Tribeca to Laughing Man Coffee & Tea—a teensy to-go spot with a cozy vibe, a nice manifesto at the door, and handsome pictures of Hugh Jackman on a coffee plantation tucked onto the retail shelves. He started the place—which now has three locations downtown—so it's fitting. While I did like the clean white, unbranded to-go cup, my coffee wasn't as good as at FIKA (not quite creamy and rich enough). But, it was still nice to tote along and sip while we walked home.

We had an hour at home to relax before one of R's friends picked us up and took us to the Polish section of Greenpoint in Brooklyn to join him and his daughter at Amber Steakhouse. Amber is R's man-date restaurant of choice. He and his friends meet there often for carnivorous, wine-fueled and vodka-finished extravaganzas before going for espresso and a rum baba at Fortunato Brothers—it's their little tradition, so it's quite the thing that I finally got to inhabit their manly space.

Amber had some more of that opulent (though muted), dark-wood, Eastern European autumnal tones going on, perfectly fitting into the weekend's theme. We shared a bottle of cabernet sauvignon, and I tucked into a steak tartare to start and then a bone-in rib eye with a side of broccoli and mixed mushrooms. It was so intense and delicious and I had to take a walk around the block afterwards while the men ordered another bottle of wine.

Of course I still had room for an affogato at Fortunato's with scoops of bacio and nocciola gelato.

Seems like a fitting end to the weekend, no? I thought so, too, until we were coming over the Williamsburg bridge and the sky exploded into color. The annual Diwali festival at the South Street Seaport was just wrapping up with a firework show and we literally had a front-row seat to a 20-minute spectacle. I've never seen fireworks that colorful, intense, and filled with purply-gold, peacock-feathery wonder (better even than any July 4th display I can remember!) Hand it to the vibrant-hue obsessed Indians to have the most fantastic fireworks. And to see it all against the backdrop of the East River bridges and the antique ships docked in the port? Incredible.

{ via, but lightly edited by me }

Welcome back, Fall. I've missed you.

There will be pancakes

Yesterday was a bit of a doozy.

Forget the fact that we had a bumpy re-entry, but I woke up with yet another set of maladies which made for a rough first-morning-back-to-work. Then of course the actual act of going back to work. Followed by a semi-big decision that R and I had to make. And then a few hours later, an even-bigger decision was made for me, which throws everything back into the blender again.

All of that equals a somewhat rumpled in body, mind and spirit J returning home last night.

But, there was wine waiting. The discovery of new-to-me White Collar episodes available online. And, comfy pajamas. All of which were at least a temporary panacea to my blue spirit.

R went to bed, but I stayed up glued to my screen doing research to counteract the aforementioned myriad of somewhat disturbing decisions. As I clicked around online, I also kept a chat box open. Typing here and there, simultaneously. A friend reminded me that every down is followed by an up and all we know is that. And all we have is the ability to enjoy the moment that we're in. Wholly, completely, unquestionably.

Who needs to meditate when you can make pancakes?

Which is why I woke up early today to make the most of my morning, cooking a proper breakfast for R and myself while he was still sleeping. His weekend started today and he's worked every day since we came back from vacation, including a 7AM start when we arrived home only 6 hours previously, so I don't know who was more excited about this, me or him.

On the menu were a batch of silky, eggy, proper French crepes with apricot jam for him, and butternut squash flapjacks (making use of my abundance from Sunday) with a side of bacon for me. A piping hot moka and a pitcher of cream rounded us out.

In the name of doing more kind things for ourselves, R met me in the evening in Soho, looking dapper in his white dress shirt edged in purple (my favorite). He took my bag and we ambled down Mulberry Street, finally able to take nice deep breaths as we walked. Autumn in New York is conducive to proper inhales. Summer, with its ability to turn garbage bags lining the sidewalk into highly odoriferous obstacles, not so much.

Never was a wait so enjoyable

We turned left on Grand Street and popped into Di Palo Fine Foods and took a number. And then we waited. And waited. The neighborhood salumeria doesn't care if you're tired or have heavy bags. The proprietors talk to most everyone. Chatting about nothing and everything while they weigh your provolone, your sausages, your fresh ravioli and fettuccine. I people watched, surprised as always to see how encroaching neighborhoods create unexpected mixes. The Italian-American man with a Chinese-American wife making a quick trip down from their apartment upstairs because they forgot something for their dinner. Both speaking the others language. The Indonesian tourists on the border of Chinatown, hungry for Italian.

R ambled about the display cases, waiting for number 80 to be called. Watching a mother try to calm her daughter who wanted nothing to do with a taste of almond cookies. When he was finally called up he placed our order and watched as a little tub of burrata was snapped closed, a satiny pile of mortadella and prosciutto crudo was sliced off of the weft on the counter, and the exact right cotoletta was chosen.

Then home, the long way, on foot.

Another glass of wine. Another escape to Puerto Rico-cum-Capo Verde. A few squares of dark chocolate with chili. And then a few minutes here, capturing the day for myself and to share with you.

And even though the balance doesn't seem quite right, somehow today's goodness far outweighs yesterday's lack of it.

I think I'll sleep just fine tonight.

Raw cacao & cashew crunch cups

[Still off on our escape, but since y'all seemed so interested in how I whipped up that homemade chocolate a few weeks ago, I experimented again, this time actually writing down what I did so I could share it with you. Enjoy!]

While last time's chocolate was tasty, I wanted to do something a bit different for this batch. The basic chocolate recipe is still in tact (so you can just use that and the toppings to make what I showed you before), but I wanted to try my hand at my own nut butter cups.

And, it only seems fitting that I post this today, since the national product of the country where we are right now that I alluded to is front and center here.

// Raw cacao & cashew crunch cups
Makes 10 cups
 
 1.5 oz  Organic Raw Cacao Powder
  65 g    Raw Cacao Butter (I bought mine on Amazon, but doesn't seem to be there anymore)
   3 oz   Organic Extra-Virgin Coconut Oil
   3 T    Maple Syrup
   2 t     Vanilla Extract
1/2 t     Himalayan Salt
4/5 oz  Goji Berries (optional topping: use whatever you'd like!)
4/5 oz  Pepitas (optional topping: use whatever you'd like!)
 10 t     Cashew Butter (Or your favorite nut butter. Make your own if you can—I haven't tried again.)

+ Melt everything together, except for the last three items, in a double boiler.

+ Once it's all silky smooth and blended and yummy, pour the "batter" into your muffin / cupcake pan, being sure to only use half of the liquid.

+ Pop your trays in the freezer for about 5 minutes to harden.

+ In the meantime, chop up your pepitas and goji berries (or whichever topping you choose).

+ Once the bottom halves are solid, remove from the freezer and scoop a teaspoon of cashew butter into each of the 10 filled cups, smushing down with a teaspoon so you create a disc of nut butter goodness.

+ Pour the rest of the chocolate into each cup, completely covering your nut butter discs and then some.

+ Sprinkle your topping(s) on the surface of each and put the trays back into the fridge to harden.

Then: enjoy!
Note: you'll want to keep these cool in the fridge until ready to eat. No storing in the cupboard!

Good things, lately

+ A date last weekend with R: Super novel since given his schedule (which you've heard me whine about before) we don't have the same weekends and he goes to work quite early, which makes nights out tricky. Friday evening we planned to have cocktails on Pera Soho's rooftop and then go home, except after two stiff drinks we just meandered downstairs to the restaurant and had a proper dinner.

+ Being tucked in: I've been having a wee-bit-o-trouble falling asleep lately. Could it be stress related? Methinks so. No matter that my usual routine is generally pretty sleep-supporting, but neither that nor my go-to bag of tricks has helped lately. I'm so very tired, yet can't manage to fall asleep until 1-2 hours after getting in bed and I don't sleep all the way through the night anymore. I fill those hours list making (which is probably what kept me awake anyway). Oddly enough, I sleep my deepest for about 20 minutes in the morning, right after R leaves. And no, it's not just because he's gone, but he does this thing where he'll get up, go get ready, and then come back to the bedroom just before leaving to say goodbye and retuck the sheets around me. And then I'm OUT until my alarm wakes me up. Now how to get him to go to bed after me at night so he can do the same?

+ Hurraw Vata lip balm: I popped this in my little Currently sidebar, but in case no one reads that but me, y'all have got to get some of this goodness from Hurraw. After my first order of organic, raw, and vegan goodness was packaged, received and used so lovingly, I placed another order in June for some more: another Chai Spice (become it's that good), Coconut (perfect for summer) and one of their new ayurvedic balms, Vata (um, cardamom, rose and almond? yes, please!). I waffled between Vata and Pitta (lemongrass, coconut and peppermint), but ultimately the cardamom and thoughts of autumn won me over, but no matter, those nice chickadees sent me Pitta anyway! (After two orders with two freebies, I think this is their standard practice). So. Good.

+ Order from Nuts.com: More recently, I also placed an order for some goodies like macadamia nuts, hemp seeds, chlorella and spirulina from Nuts.com and while I didn't pay for it, they shipped it overnight in the most adorable packaging. Super cute and cheery.

The art of imperfection and choco-buckwheat-banana bread

I'm a bit of a perfectionist, which you might not realize from that less than perfect picture above (grumble grumble at my apartment, which I'm currently sick of with its lack of photograph-able spaces plus my general lack of certainty over how long I'll have to stay here...plus my lack of camera skills). Maybe as I get older, though, it's finally starting to sink in that not everything has to be perfect all the time, and sometimes the best stuff isn't perfect at all.

Take this bread. Which is by no means perfect. But it started with a perfect intention. R bought a huge bunch-o-bananas for post-boxing smoothies, but they were languishing on the counter top. Before they went too far, though, I came home from work and decided that banana bread must be made.

(We already had a Pyrex dish full of frozen banana slices in the freezer, otherwise I would have shoved them in there, as I'm not a fan of after-work baking.)

Now, gluten-free baking is a little tricky, especially for people like me who can't be bothered with measurements, and therefore don't really have any business being bakers at all. But, like all my other cooking and creative endeavors, I had at it and hoped for the best.

And, this came out...okay. But with a few tweaks, it's elevated all the way to super yummy:

(1) It tastes infinitely better when warmed up. Buckwheat is dense, and since I only used buckwheat flour, these loaves came out pretty compact and a little warming up helped amp up the coziness factor and tamp down the why-am-I-eating-a-brick factor.

(2) You need to serve it with either a dollop of good yogurt or swiped with a rash of butter. Either way, you'll also need a sprinkle of sea salt on top because, oopsie, forgot that below (so if you make this and add salt to the batter, no need to when serving).

// Choco-buckwheat-banana bread
Makes two 9-inch circular pan loaves

5      bananas (1 lb 5 oz)
2.5   cups buckwheat flour
2.5   teaspoons baking powder
2      tablespoons cinnamon
2      eggs
1      cup milk
2      teaspoons vanilla extract
1/2   cup chopped hazelnuts (optional)
5      tablespoons cacao powder
2      tablespoons maple syrup

Preheat oven to 375F. Whisk together your wet ingredients. Then sift together the dry ingredients before combining all together. Pour into pans and bake for 30 minutes. //

Next time doing this I'll include salt in the batter, put in a little less cacao, and perhaps use a mix of almond flour and buckwheat flour. I might also add in some coconut oil, so they have more of that traditional banana bread texture and mouthfeel.

But the thing is, even with all the changes I'd make next time, this bread is still perfect just as is when enjoyed at home, with R, after sharing a nice meal together and chatting about what comes next.

(As long as it's warmed up with the requisite toppings, of course).

Waltzing waterfront walks

I have a bad habit of cocooning myself at home on the weekend—give me an uninterrupted block of 48 hours and I'll fill them up with projects and cooking and cleaning and reading and planning and exercising and nesting to my heart's content, all from the comfort of our apartment. R does not understand this at all. He rarely spends an entire day at home when he's not working, whereas I do it quite often.

But last Sunday I had it in my head to take an early morning walk along the waterfront with a good classical radio station playing. I meant to head out for half an hour, but instead, I meandered about for almost three times that, weaving amidst families and dogs and couples and runners and toddlers while listening to Chopin's Mazurkas and Mozart's Rondeaus. 

I started off at Pier 15 on the East River Esplanade, wound my way around the southernmost tip of Manhattan, up through Robert Wagner Park and in and around Battery Park City. Doggie heads were patted, new construction was noted, and the rest of my day was planned.

I had told R the day before that I was making a roast chicken for dinner that evening, and he begged me to roast it over a pan of potatoes, but I insisted that I couldn't, since I had already decided the rest of the meal and potatoes played no part. Plus, I had already done the shopping and no potatoes were to be found in our fridge.

Before we went to sleep he said, "really, no potatoes?". I stood firm.

But of course before I made my way home Sunday morning I took a loop by the market and picked some up. Although, if potatoes had to be had, they'd be done my way, so I also scooped up some sweet potatoes and parsnips to combine with the carrots and onion wedges at home. Altogether I had a nice little bed for my chickadee to roast over.

There was also a cabbage salad with a mouth-puckering vinegar dressing dotted with mustard seeds and tossed with bacon, its renderings and pickled onion, plus a roasted puree of eggplants and poblano peppers. Followed up by a platter of blueberries and homemade chocolate.

The mister was delighted to see some crispy-skinned potatoes and I was delighted that he let me have all the best bits of the chicken, including the parson's nose, as he was too busy spearing his tubers to notice me taking it all for myself. Turns out a little break from the weekend cocoon is a good thing.

Slothful sleuthing

Over the last few weekends I've been knitting and cooking along to the sounds of Netflix'd art mystery / heist documentaries—a favorite topic of mine, along with foreign espionage shenanigans, obscure religious symbolism found throughout architecture and art, and double meanings, hidden clues, and secret trails.

Is it any wonder I have a soft spot for Dan Brown's Robert Langdon, Daniel Silva's Gabriel Allon and White Collar's Neal Caffrey?

My only regret* from college is that I didn't follow through with my minor in art history, because it would have required that I only take art history classes along with classes for my major, a double concentration in finance and management within my university's commerce school. That seemed altogether much too limiting, so I made up for it then by squeezing in as many classes as I could, and now by digging into mostly-plausible novels and sometimes badly-lit documentaries.

Watching art restorers, historians, and authenticators attempt to analyze the brushstrokes, canvas material, and clues hidden within a painting is ridiculously engaging to me. The two best films I've found on Netflix streaming recently are Nova: Mystery of a Masterpiece (about experts investigating whether a portrait sold for about $20,000 in 1998 is actually a lost Leonardo da Vinci worth millions) and Stolen (about the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum heist in 1990).

The whole experience is of course much improved when a thrilling bout of detective work enjoyed vicariously from my den is followed by a tasty homemade pizza.

Have y'all been Netflixing anything good recently?

(*Actually, I have another regret from my college chapter: not doing a semester abroad.)

{ first image via }

Citrusy tweaks for you & your kitchen (+ a seafood tip!)

We tend to use lots of lemons and limes in the summer for slicing over fish before popping it in the oven and squeezing over avocado salads (or, to mix up a good Margarita). But rather than tossing those spent halves away, I keep a little crystal dish in the fridge to collect my used citrus bits and every few days I recycle them in the bathroom or kitchen. (Yes, crystal, because doing the mundane is so much easier—and fun!—if you do it with pretty things. Fact.)

Interested in how?

El Martinez

I'm heavy into gin cocktails at the moment, but I had an itch to try something a bit different (and to make use of the sweet vermouth lingering in our fridge, as the weather hasn't been conducive to the Manhattans and Negronis it was purchased for). After some Googling I came across the Martinez, a predecessor to the Martini, and as good a cocktail as any to celebrate R's new-found American citizenship!

(Fun story: growing up my parents always treated us like adults, meaning we had wine with dinner before we were technically 21 and were used to enjoying the same when we were out. Since I always looked older than I was, although hopefully not now—eek!, this was never a problem. But when I actually did turn 21 I went to a restaurant called Zocalo in Charlottesville for dinner with a friend. We were early for our reservation, so I went to the bar and ordered a Martini—a proper one, mind you, with Gin. I was immediately carded. Apparently the idea of someone ordering anything but a vodka martini was suspect).

Point being—I like the crisp, herbaceous-ness of gin, so I like to leave it as pure as possible. The original Martinez recipe calls for a 2:1 ratio of sweet vermouth to gin, plus liquid from a jar of Maraschino cherries (which is full of all sorts of chemicals, much like the new Campari), the combination of which, if you know me by now, you'll see is just much too sweet (and foul!) for my tastes.

So, here's my version of the Martinez, which lets the gin shine:  

For 1 El Martinez, my way (i.e., not too sweet)
2 ounces gin (Bluecoat American Dry Gin)
1/2 an ounce sweet vermouth (Carpano Antica Formula)
1 dash bitters (Gran Classico Bitter)

Mix and serve over ice.

Arancini Taorminesi and how I cook

{  Arancini, before  }

The first time I bit into an arancino it was a massive disappointment. I had finally arrived in Sicily via the overnight boat train from Reggio Calabria to Messina and then down the coastline to Taormina-Giardini Naxos before taking a bus up into the hilltop perch of Taormina proper.

The view, the streets, my goodness, the people!—it was all glorious, beautiful, magical.

But that first taste of Sicily in the form of an arancino obtained from the very first tavola calda my panicky, hunger-stricken eyes set upon, was oily, gummy, and burnt.

Years later I get a huge kick out of eating proper Sicilian, nay, Taorminesi, arancini made in my own house, by my very own Sicilian (procured on that initial trip). True, the view from my apartment isn't quite the same, but crunching on these rotund pockets of bliss without purchasing a plane ticket isn't too shabby, either.

Arancini take their name from arancia, the Italian word for "orange". These adorable, portly (and portable!) little balls of rice are filled with any number of things, depending on where you find yourself. They always have cooked rice and mozzarella/pecorino tucked inside, but the ingredients that come next vary—you might find ragù (tomato meat sauce) or béchamel or peas or eggplant or some combination of those, or something entirely different. Regardless of what's concealed within, arancini are true Sicilian street food, made to munch on while standing at a bar or a vendor's stall.

Other regions of Italy have similar balls of goodness, like Rome's suppli.

The arancini from R's hometown, though, are a wonder unto themselves, being filled with rice that's run through with pesto al pistachio, a heady pesto made from the famed pistachio of Bronte, near Mt. Etna. The nuttiness is spectacular.

But, they take a quite a lot of doing to create, especially at home with our very limited counter space, so it's not often that we have them. Thankfully, R has finally seen the beauty of making extra, so now he takes a portion of the formed arancini and wraps them for safekeeping in the freezer and we can enjoy his hard work for a few more weeks.

Which is how we came to be tucking into a plate of these this past Sunday evening.

{  Arancini, after with a handmade knit cotton napkin }

There was just enough for a flirty taste, so I tossed together a salad to accompany our dinner. The fridge was a little sparse, though, so I made do, which is how I cook. I'm not one to follow recipes—I typically get ideas and inspiration from them, but hardly ever wait until I have all the right ingredients, nor do I measure the ones I do have. I'm not afraid to substitute or estimate—sometimes it works out perfectly, but there have been some rather lackluster dishes to come out of my kitchen thanks to my lack of patience and unwillingness to follow someone else's directions.

That's okay, though—this salad was one of the winners: roughly chopped romaine + red onion marinated in an olive oil and white vinegar bath to mellow its sharpness + wedges of apricot + hefts of mozzarella + a few shreds of fresh chili + a generous grind of black pepper + a sprinkle of salt = the perfect accompaniment to the enveloping crunch of a well-made arancino.

Egg custard, or how to preserve a profusion of milk

{  Eggtastic custard cups  }

I do this thing where I check the price of something against the quantity, and then buy the best value. Usually that's not an issue...except when it comes to milk. We seem to go in phases of making coffee at home daily and not making coffee at home until the weekend. Since we really only use milk for coffee and the semi-regular weekend pancake-making / dessert-baking escapade, this can lead to quite a pickle (or, curdle) when neither of the two happens and we've got an expensive bottle of milk languishing on the fridge door.

Sometimes I get it together and freeze half, but sometimes everything comes to a head and I've got a bottle of milk that only has one day of freshness left, whether it was frozen or not, and I panic.

Which is how I came across the idea of making custard (thank you, Google!). After reading a bunch of different methods (with water bath, without water bath, with more eggs, with less eggs, with a cauldron of sweetener or less so), I threw some stuff in a bowl and jammed it in the oven with (burned) fingers crossed.

And, they came out really tastily!  So, if you find yourself in the same situation, or just with a hankering for some custard goodness, here you go:

makes 10 custard cups*
3 cups of milk
6 eggs
4 tablespoons of sweetener
1/2 teaspoon of vanilla
pinch of sea salt
cinnamon to sprinkle on top
ramekins that have been buttered/oiled

+ Preheat your oven to 350F.

+ Warm the milk on the stove until it's just before the boil while you beat the eggs with sweetener, vanilla and salt. Slowly pour in the hot milk, a little at a time so as not to curdle your eggs. Take a few pauses after each pour to whisk thoroughly. When all the milk is in you'll have a deliciously scented, frothy batch of vanilla goodness. Pour the custard into your ramekins and sprinkle a little bit of cinnamon on top.

+ Once you warm up some water for your water bath (which can be done earlier), you'll be ready to assemble your custards for cooking.

+ This next series of steps I can share with you thanks to two burned fingers (you're welcome): place your custard cups in a larger pan that will hold all of them, open the oven door, ever so slightly pull out the middle rack, lean in and place the ramekin-filled pan on the rack, slowly push the rack back and only then pour your hot water into the pan itself while wearing oven mitts. Doing it this way ensures you don't burn your hands once, let alone twice, and helps prevent sloshing any pan water into the ramekins as you carefully lower it into the oven (oops!).

+ I checked my custards at 20 minutes and they weren't firm yet, but they were perfect after 30.

These adorable little munchkins are best served slightly warm or completely chilled, just not piping hot. A rosy strawberry or two on the side would not be at all out of place. 

Note: I think this would be easy to adapt depending on your milk / egg situation. Just double the number of eggs you use to the number of cups of milk you have, or vice versa. So, 3 cups of milk = 6 eggs. 4 eggs = 2 cups of milk. For an ever-so-slightly sweetened custard, add in 1 more tablespoon of sweetener than cups of milk. In my case, 3 cups of milk = 4 tablespoons of Grade B organic maple syrup, although that might not be the right proportion if you use sweetener with a different potency, like agave or stevia.

Note 2: Next time I might warm my milk up with a pod or two of cardamom. I'm already sniffing the air in anticipation of that heady scent!

* depends on the size of ramekins you use, of course. Mine are about 1/4 cup. You could also just put the batter in a cake pan for one large custard if you don't have enough ramekins (or any at all).

The Delilah, a bewitching White Lady for summer eves

{  Dazzling Delilahs  }

One of the best things about growing up in Virginia were the snap-crackle-y-pop of a summer's night. Once the sun went down, the night air turned sultry, heat lightening happened often and driving along winding back roads in my red Mustang with the windows down and radio on were some of the best memories I have of Old Virginny.

There was a radio station, 101.3FM (I can't believe I remember that!), that played "Delilah After Dark". Did/do y'all have that on your local stations? Now that I think about the name, it has a slightly racy connotation, no? But with the same syrupy voice and muzak-like theme song as Jonas's radio psychologist on Sleepless in Seattle, she was far from anything remotely resembling salacious.

The show had people call in to regale listeners with sob stories, which would inspire Delilah to play songs that perfectly fit their situations. It was like magic. Somewhat annoying magic, if you listened to her voice for too long, though. So I would skip around on my presets until story time was over, and then listen in to the song itself, as those were generally good, and a nice mix of oldies, jazzy tunes, Top 40, pop, etc. Perfect for late night drives.

Whenever I hear "Delilah" I think of her voice (not so pleasant) or of the bewitching Delilah of Samson + Delilah (much more interesting). So when I was looking for a new cocktail to mix up featuring gin this weekend and I saw the Delilah, also known as the White Lady, I realized the drink could go either way.

Luckily for all involved, this was a smashing success.

I adapted the traditional recipe to make it pack less of a wallop (two ounces of gin for one!) and to better balance the tartness of fresh lemon juice and aromatic sweetness of triple sec. Some recipes call for shaking this up with an egg white, which I would have been happy to do had I had enough eggs to make Saturday evening cocktails and a proper Sunday morning breakfast. I also opted to serve these in champagne flutes and to top off the glasses with sparkling water to prolong cocktail hour.

For 1 Delilah
1 ounce gin (Bluecoat American Dry Gin)
half an ounce triple sec (Luxardo Triplum)
half an ounce fresh squeezed lemon juice

These sultry little numbers are best enjoyed while listening to Louis Armstrong—especially if in the hours preceding you were forced to listen to the worst-of-NYC soundtrack featuring jackhammerers.

Cold-brewed coffee

{  Cold-brewed coffee + Ronnybrook goodness...and a handmade knit cotton napkin—shocking, right?  }

I have a new favorite weekend indulgence that falls in line with all of my regular weekend requirements: it's cozy + yummy + homey. The fact that it requires a bit of planning might seem like a bad thing, but I'm fully in the camp of believers that find a little pleasure in anticipation, the waiting—as long as it's not too long, of course.

So if you enjoy coffee, enjoy milk (or "milk", meaning, not just from cows or goats, but from nuts or rice, too!) and want to taste an even more beautiful, harmonious joining of the two, I insist you try a pot of cold-brewed coffee this weekend. It's so smooth, not at all bitter or acidic, and all the "notes" that people say this or that coffee has comes across bright and clear. Bonus: since the flavor is so rich and mellow, it actually tastes sweeter than hot-brewed coffee—so you might not need to add any sweetener of your own!

All you'll need is fresh water, coffee, whichever milk you prefer (if you don't want black coffee—and, I would recommend anything but coconut milk. I can't ever seem to get it to work with coffee!), and some sort of container and strainer (a French Press is perfect for this). You'll also need a 12'ish-hour bout of patience.

Here's how I stir mine up for a full-bodied brew that's not crazy robust, but definitely not weak:
-  8 ounces of water
-  4 tablespoons of coffee

Pour the water over the coffee grinds, stir briskly, cover the container, and then just let it be. I put mine together on a Friday evening and come Saturday morning I press the plunger down on my mini French Press and pour out an almost-chocolate-syrupy stream of goodness into my glass and top it with my favorite Ronnybrook milk.

Delicious.

Somewhere else this week...

{ Grab a cup of coffee and head on over!  }

Y'all, I am so, so excited to let you know that the lovely Amanda of Pickles & Honey invited me to share some of my tweaks for a gentler day over on her blog—which if you've never been by before, is chock full of good food (she's a whole foods, vegan recipe developer extraordinaire!), cute dogs (um, are you aware that Puggles exist? And that they're adorable?!), and sweet writing about how she's also finding ways to make each of her days better, happier and fuller.

If you're interested in a few more of the types of tips I've shared here before, please click over for some new ones in the first of a 3-part series:

Gentler Days: Tips for a Gentler Morning

Coming up soon, Tips for a Gentler Work Day and Tips for a Gentler Evening/Night!


[ Updated Friday August 2nd: Tips for a Gentler Work Day is now up!  ]

[ Updated Tuesday August 6th: Tips for a Gentler Evening & Night is now up!  ]

Growing up Goan: homemade remedies & medicinal mixology

{  Typical Goan lunch @ my Mom's: Leg of vinegary-roasted lamb, mango salad and saffron rice  }

In my haste and excitement to share my rectified state-of-lush-ness, I completely forgot to actually tell you why some cocktails deserve to be treated (and enjoyed) like natural medicine. Eat your vegetables, yes, but drink your herbs and vitamins, too!

But first, a bit about how I grew up:

I'm a first-generation American born to immigrant parents that met at a party in Manhattan—oddly enough, they're actually from the same area (although perhaps not so odd, since the party was related to their common heritage). Like most children born in the 80's to foreigners, my parents were pretty determined to bring us up as American as possible, meaning that we were not spoken to in their common dialect (which upsets me to no end today), and we enjoyed a variety of foods (although non were typically "American", apart from the damn good burgers my parents grilled out on our deck. I didn't have peanut butter or macaroni and cheese until college!).

Probably 70% of what we ate at home was definitely Goan, or Goan-influenced, which really isn't so far from basic Mediterranean fare (Goan food, and  Goan dialects, are a hybrid of Portuguese and Indian). Actually, a lot of the flavors that are sprinkled throughout Goan food is really similar to Sicilian—both being influenced by water, Arabs, and tropical climates, so: lots of small-scale fish, almonds, pistachios and vinegar-pickled/cured vegetables and meat. Goan cuisine then veers stiffly away because it's heavy in pork and coconut, which of course aren't as common in Sicilian food.

The remaining 30% of our diet was greatly influenced by our extended family, travels, and the fact that my parents are both great cooks that like to experiment—so a few German dishes here, a couple of Southern Italian meals there, some flamboyant French dessert way back over there, etc.

Other than the majority of what we ate, the other thing that my parents were insistent on incorporating into our childhoods (whether for the sake of preservation or because their way just made more sense...or because we grew up without health insurance), was natural home remedies.

Have a high fever? No Tylenol for us. Instead we applied an onion compress (and of course cancelled any subsequent social engagements, because that pungent odor tends to linger in hair, especially long hair like mine). Stomach cramps or a chill? Cupping performed on the floor of our den (although I eloquently referred to it as "fire on my belly!", and only in the last 10 years did I realize this was an actual medical "procedure" performed throughout the world). Chest congestion? No Dayquil for us, but a Vicks application before bed and an Egg Flip on an empty stomach.

Rituals

{  Freesia, orchids + stack of new, handmade knit cotton napkins  }

Do you know what does make me happy? I mean, really ridiculously happy? When my weekends include a hearty dose of polishing-the-home and gently-taking-care-of-myself rituals, plus lots of creating-of-things with my hands, like:

• Freshening up our vases with new, vibrant blooms after a trip to my flower guy
• Unpacking groceries and filling up bowls with onions and garlic and stacking washed tomatoes and lemons on platters across our countertop
• Making an "old-fashioned" type of Sunday dinner with chicken soup or a roast birdie, and then packing up the leftovers for lunch
• Dusting all the surfaces and sweeping the floors (and wondering every week how two very tidy people can create so much dust—I blame NYC, of course)
• Adding drops of essential oils into glass pots of melting coconut oil and cacao butter every few weeks to make my lotions and potions
• Pulling off the bedsheets and snapping on crisp, fresh new ones every other week
• Giving some love to the plants on our windowsills
• Knitting up a storm of useful things
• Baking up some nutty, dense muffins and cakes

{  Refined-sugar/Gluten-free Raw Cacao Torte Muffins from two weekends ago  }

{  Something successful from last Sunday's baking session  |  Coco-Carrot-Buckwheat Muffins  }

{  Refined-sugar/Gluten-free Almond + Blueberry Brunch Cake from yesterday morning  }

I don't think I'd have any trouble fitting in Laura Ingalls' Big Woods or Lucy Maud Montgomery's Avonlea. Or 1950, I suppose—which involves a larger discussion. Home or business world? Creativity or analytics? To-do's or status sheets? Grocery lists or punch sheets? Creating with my hands or popping open PowerPoint? Staring at a screen or starting at, for-the-love-of-all-that-is-good-in-the-world, just about anything else?

{  Hazy gray summer tank, in progress last week  }

Of course, the point of all that fluffing and buffing is to settle back with a book on the couch to admire my handiwork. While sipping on a tumbler of tequila or a glass of wine, depending on the season and mood. And some enjoyable show that doesn't require too much brainpower to follow along with on in the background to keep me company and because I don't enjoy silence.

And then Monday morning comes and back to the corporate world I go. So long, Little House.

Stirred, not shaken

{  Restocking the bar at Astor Wines & Spirits  }

We're not what you'd call "drinkers", but neither are we teetotalers. A nice glass of wine on a regular basis or a proper cocktail on occasion versus shots at the bar or weekend binges is how we do it.

But it had been quite a while since I'd had a nice cocktail at home—which was entirely caused by our lack of ingredients. We always have a decent selection of wine, a bottle of whisky, and usually a bottle of spirits picked up on vacation in the Caribbean (Antiguan Rum, Mexican Tequila Reposado), but as for the additions to mix a non-straight-up drink, we were a bit deficient.

After comparing costs for the specific spirits I wanted across local wine stores (since they offer free delivery in Manhattan when you spend a certain amount), I went with Astor Wines & Spirits for my hefty order. The store itself, an eco-friendly, landmark building near NYU and Union Square, is just lovely, and they offer classes and tastings at Astor Center, their "school", but given the heatwave, I had no intention of lugging bottles home, so to the website I went!

Now you may have already gauged from all I've written on the general theme, but just in case you haven't: I'm a big believer in food as medicine, which trickles nicely over to drinks as medicine. Cocktails did originally start as tonics to heal the stomach and mind, after all (medicinal mixology, if you will), before giving way to the hedonism-inducing concoctions of today.

I've always been a fan of what my friend calls "old man drinks", i.e., stiff, bitter, not-at-all-sweet cocktails, like a Negroni. So first order of business was getting the ingredients for that: Gin, Bitters (Campari is the bitter of choice for a Negroni) and Sweet Vermouth (usually Martini & Rossi). But while poking around online I discovered something upsetting: Campari changed its formulation a few years ago to remove the cochineal (a beetle secretion used to dye food, cosmetics, and textiles red) that gave the spirit its iconic neon hue, in favor of the horrid Red #40! Dislike.

When I was researching this absurdity I came across Medicinal Mixology, a really great site with the goal of resparking:

Feasting at Eleven Madison Park

There are a couple of restaurants in New York that are just known.

Known for their verging-on-absurd tasting menus, the impeccable service, the crazy chefs, the gorgeous dècor and the impossible-to-get reservations. A few that come to mind are Per Se, Daniel, Megu, Masa, Alain Ducasse, Le Bernardin and Gramercy Tavern.

And of course, Eleven Madison Park.

{  Kitchen tour before our molecular cocktail  }

Where I was most fortunately invited as a guest last week.

Thank goodness, too, because the restaurant only serves a 16-course tasting menu (both at lunch and at dinner), offered at $195 per person.

I had heard of the restaurant because it's so highly-ranked (one of the top restaurants in the world and the Swiss chef, Daniel Humm, has received a James Beard award, etc.) and it's apparently quite innovative (molecular gastronomy and all that).

Now, I didn't know I was invited until the day of, which is probably good because otherwise I would have been so hyped up, but instead, I just "prepared" by reading a few Yelp reviews that got me really excited because they all seemed to talk about the same good things: incredibly attentive service, a fun and surprising presentation with dishes that are actually recognizable and appetizing (not always the case, apparently, in these molecular gastronomy situations), and an overwhelming concurrence that it was completely worth it. The last is especially shocking because, let's be honest, that price tag (before tax and tip!) is quite steep.

As for my own review, post-meal?