The notion of home

Now that we're back home after the most amazing of trips, bumpy re-entry included, I've realized I'm at the point where I'm completely sick of our apartment. I've lived in it so long that it's last refreshing was years ago, so the walls seem a bit crusty, the floors need refinishing, and the whole thing needs a good scrubbing. And everything about it now irritates me: the way the walls soak up cooking splatters and no amount of scrubbing seems to get rid of the telltale signs. Same goes for the bathroom walls and doors where dust combined with flying oils from my overzealous applications have created an impenetrable barrier.

Then there's the floor, a horrid parquet—I should say faux parquet—comprised of uneven pieces, meaning dust and wayward hair and fluff gets embedded around each splintery piece, making sweeping a futile exercise and walking barefoot painful. Not to mention the ear-splitting creaking that echoes every single step we take from March through November, thanks to the humidity. Speaking of humidity, it's impossible to keep the shower, especially the grout lines clean because of the dampness in the air (we're not quite at fall weather yet) and I'm so sick of cleaning so often only to have the whole place still feel dumpy.

And why is there an inch-long gap between the stove and the counter? Do you know how many crumbs and onion slivers and who knows what else have dropped into our own personal Grand Canyon? And have I mentioned our hyperactive smoke alarm? Anytime we barely sautée a bit of garlic in oil the damn thing goes off and we have to take our positions as door-waver, window-opener, frantic-pillow-beater and dish-coverer to disperse the hot air before the whole system starts spraying water every which way. You don't want to know the hysteria that ensues if God forbid one of us is alone and has to pull off all four with just two hands amidst the pelting whine.

I just want to leave everything behind and start fresh.

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?

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.

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.

I think it's time to stop knitting napkins

{  Stack-o-handmade-knit-cotton-napkins  }

Three sets of 4 napkins each, all ready for company. I think of the two styles, I'm leaning more towards the fluffy, brioche-stitch ones. The linen-stitch ones, which make a nice, flat, woven piece are more "napkin-like", but I like the tactile quality of the brioche ones. Plus, it's just fun to say "brioche".

{  Brioche-stitch, naturally-colored handmade knit cotton napkins, up close  }

{  Bright brioche-stitch, handmade knit cotton napkins, fanned out  }

{  Linen-stitch naturally-colored handmade knit napkins up close)

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:

Almond detritus

{  Starting with the best of intentions  |  How NOT to make almond butter  }

My ears are ringing like you wouldn't believe and I'm festering in a puddle of failure.

See, I had a few cups of almonds in the freezer and I wanted to make homemade almond butter. But, I made one huge mistake—which led to, what I hope is not permanent, tinnitus.

I've been reading about the benefit of activating nuts to make them easier to digest (which calls for soaking and then drying/dehydrating). So, I soaked my almonds overnight, rinsed them this morning (at 6:58AM—why so early, I have no idea), and then foolishly, foolishly, tossed them right into my blender to begin pulverizing.

Everything I had read online about homemade nut butters say you have to be patient, but at most it will take 10-15 minutes to go from a pile of nuts to smooth, creamy almond (or whichever-nut-have-you) butter. But, a cumulative 55 minutes later, I'm here to tell you, that is rubbish.

Well, rubbish if you do what I did, and soaked your nuts first without drying them properly afterwards.

After my first, mind-splitting 20-minute session, I dumped the nuts back out, spread them on a cookie sheet and put them in the oven to try and dry them out. While they were doing the shake-and-bake in the oven, I peeled and diced up some carrots to make carrot-coconut-buckwheat muffins (which thankfully turned out okay, so at least one success this Sunday morning).

When the almonds seemed as dry as I could get them, back in the blender they went, and another few anxiety-ridden, loud-as-hell, blasting-my-ears-off sessions in the Ninja later, I still had a pile of soft, kinda oily, almond mush. Nowhere near butter.

So my sad little almond clumps are now sitting in the fridge, to be turned into some sort of baked good later this week. And once my hearing has returned, I may try this again...with dry nuts.

Turmeric & ginger chocolate tummy tamer

{  Turmeric & ginger chocolate tummy tamer  }

Feeling achy? Crampy? Tired, but can't fall asleep? Maybe a cup of this little guy can help.

I woke up 4.5 hours before work today because I felt so horrible. After hobbling around doubled over in pain I finally decided to take a very hot shower (targeting the spray at my midsection), and then to curl up on the couch with a mug of this hopeful-healer. I feel a wee bit better, so thought I'd share with y'all.

Stir the following together in a little saucepan until its nice and blended and frothy and simmering gently:

+  1 cup of your preferred milk (I used Ronnybrook's Creamline)
+  1 tablespoon of chocolate (I used Navitas raw, organic cacao)
+  2 teaspoons of chicory (completely optional, I happened to have a smidgen of Dandy Blend left)
+  1 teaspoon of turmeric
+  1/2 a teaspoon of ginger
+  1/2 a teaspoon of cinnamon

Chocolate has actual health benefits, but I used it this morning just to make me happy. Who doesn't want chocolate on a Monday morning? The real helpers are the other anti-oxidants: turmeric (an anti-inflammatory and natural painkiller), ginger (another anti-inflammatory, as well as an anti-nausea and muscle relaxer) and cinnamon (which, like the others, warms the body—a good thing when you have bad cramps, even if it's hot and humid outside!).

Blueprints

{ via }

I'm the first to say that I love apartment living—small, simple spaces that are easy to maintain, don't allow you to indulge in clutter and excess, and come with supers that will fix things for you. Sometimes I even love it, and cocooning myself within its walls, a little too much.

But as much as I love apartments, I can't stop day dreaming about a proper house. Not a McMansion-type deal, but something quaint and cozy—maybe a stone cottage or a brick colonial—with land (but not too much). Enough to grow a flowering garden and a vegetable garden, enough to have plenty of blades of grass to wiggle my toes in and lay a blanket down on top of to gulp in some fresh air and ground myself. Enough that it wouldn't be out-of-the-realm-of-possibility that I'd need to spend a Saturday morning weeding and pruning and transplanting cuttings. My mom had long, tapered nails when I was growing up and I remember her never missing a chance to burrow them into the soil of our flower beds, even though she attracted mosquitoes like honey and had a million other things to do. I'd like that to be me someday.

I loved the house I grew up in in Virginia, but I'd want a different style for myself. At that time the format-du-decade was to have very distinct living spaces, so I grew up with a den (informal), living room (formal, guests only, and lots of breakables!), a dining room, a breakfast nook, a kitchen, a pantry, a laundry room, a downstairs bathroom, a sunroom, a deck, an over-the-garage-gigantic-room (that became my brother's when he was a teenager), a walk-in-closet on the upstairs hallway for my dad's collection of fancy suits), my bedroom, my bathroom, my mom's crafting/sewing room (which was previously my brother's bedroom), and my parents' master bedroom (with another walk-in-closet for my mom and a double-vanity bathroom with jacuzzi and separate shower). All sitting on almost an acre of land, on a cul-de-sac, that stretched into the woods, which made running around like hooligans exceptionally fun (and very safe—no traffic!).

But for me some day? Much as I fantasize about the Walker compound, all I really want are a handful of comfortably-sized bedrooms upstairs (or at least separated by a few steps up or a hallway for a one-level house), a proper entryway (obsessed with this—so many apartments in NYC open up directly into the living room which freaks me out, luckily ours has a separate entrance, and most houses do, too), a kitchen that opens into a great room with a fireplace and lots of cozy seating options. Some windowboxes. A porch or a deck. At least two bathrooms. And that's it.

Definitely no need for a formal dining room or living room for us, though. But, hardwood floors, a fireplace or two and high ceilings are a must. And, maybe a terrazzo-lined outdoor space with a brick oven. I wouldn't mind that at all.

The problem is that with everything so "who-the-heck-knows" with our future plans, we have no idea where this home will be. Just off the extensive subway line of Stockholm proper? In the hills above R's Sicilian hometown? In, or near, a charming, American university town like Providence, RI or Charlottesville, VA? Somewhere I haven't even dreamed of yet?

To be determined.

{ Simple...[via] }

{ ...Or slightly less so [via] }

Long weekend

{ Nooks and crannies }

And when I say long, I mean really long—our boss surprised us with Friday off (in addition to the Monday Memorial Day holiday coming up), so I have four days to loll about lazily (again! I totally blame the weather...and the fact that R is working and all my friends are out of town). I considered trying to quickly put together some day trips to make the most of my time off if the rain let up...

But, then I heard something that stuck in mind—the word "planet" comes from a Greek word meaning "to wander". I love that idea—when people first noticed otherworldly bodies spinning about in the Universe they called them "wandering stars". And then I thought about how we wander and while I love to wander about, sometimes it really is nice to accept that: yes, I am a complete and total introvert and I am totally happy futzing around at home for long periods and I shouldn't feel guilty about that.

So I am.

I took the prospect of another indulgent weekend to heart and totally regressed to my inner 12-year old, staying up super late on Thursday night watching silly things and eating chocolate. Friday morning started with some brewed cocoa (good!) and ripping out my cap-sleeve-sweater-top-to-be (not so good!). I realized that because of the heavier weight of the yarn and larger needles I was using that it was wider than I wanted it to be, so back to stitch one I go!

{ Brewed cacao! Like coffee, but you can eat the grinds! }

{ My sad, fusilli-like remnants }

I also read a really entrancing book (The Forgotten Garden, Kate Morton) that completely got into my head while in Mexico, so I picked up another of her works (The House at Riverton) and cuddled into a corner of my sofa for a nice long read, alternating with this week's Sunday Times (this article had my heart racing for another wander, well, actually a Wandering Walk).

There were bowls of cherries and grapes and choco-banana, coconut cream, yogurt concoctions in the morning, and later in the day: plates of farmhouse cheese and broccoli and glasses of cabernet.

How's your long weekend going?

{ Peonies ready to bud + cherries + grapes galore }

{ Throw-together-dinner }

Pitter-patter-y weekends

{  EEek! First big project!  |  May 2013  }

This weekend was one of those rare blocks of 48-hours that were entirely mine—all mine, mine, mine! With R working Saturday and Sunday, plus a nasty weather forecast, I gave myself permission to spend my weekend doting (almost) completely on myself.

On Saturday I cleaned the apartment, organized the fridge in anticipation of a huge grocery shop that I got to lovingly arrange the way I like (those first two might not seem very "dote-y", but I can't relax until everything is pretty and clean!), talked to my needy plants and fed them and arranged two huge new bouquets of fresh flowers (pink, lilac and white tulips in the living room and huge branches of stargazer lilies in our bedroom).

Then I spent a few hours of grumble-grumble-translating-grumble-grumble, followed by another few hours starting a new knitting project. This is my first "big" one (meaning, not a baby gift, winter accessory or home good), one that I had to measure myself for and poke at a calculator to figure out dimensions and gauge in order to not completely screw it up. I'm also finally starting to use the fancy yarn I bought back in March, but was too scared to use until now.

And that was basically the extent of Saturday.

Sunday I decided to completely give myself over to even more gluttony since I considered Saturday afternoon's annoying translating work to have infringed on my weekend of decadence, so I rolled out of bed and shuffled to the kitchen to concoct a ridiculous stack of almond flour + cacao pancakes, layered with alternating (so ridiculous) schmears of almond butter and cashew butter, with chunks of banana nestled in, too. A nice mug of coffee + cream completed the picture.

{  Almond flour, cashew butter, choco-banana pancakes + mug o'coffee  |  May 2013  }

Then, there was some reading of blogs, a little working out, talking with the family and more knitting (please note: the soundtrack to this entire weekend was nonstop episodes of an array of shows on Netflix + 1 movie). I also decided to make a nice dinner for R, which involved prepping a cute little chicken in the morning (I read that if you're roasting a chicken, you can get super crispy skin by salting the birdie and letting it rest uncovered in the fridge for as long as possible, up to 24 hours).

So I did that and set a proper table—baptizing the neutral-toned cotton napkins I knit for us after envying the fresh, nautical ones I made for my friend's birthday—and marinated some tomatoes and red onion for a burrata salad over mache.

When R came home I helped him out of his wet shoes and coat (totally unnecessary, but I figured he needed some decadence, too), shooed him into the candle-lit bathroom for a shower and then welcomed him to the couch for a cocktail (I had his whisky glass waiting) and chat before we sat down to dinner, and later, a movie.

{ Place setting with my new handknit napkins! }

{ Roast chicken + burrata salad }

Most definitely a delicious weekend—in every sense of the word.

Fresh and springy knit napkins

{ Knit cotton dinner napkin, in situ  |  March 2013 }

I've been thinking about converting to knit linen or cotton napkins for our table—as much for the tactile pleasure as the good environmental citizen juju, but haven't gotten around to it for us just yet.

{ Getting ready to ship the full set of knit cotton dinner napkins from NYC  |  April 2013 }

But, I did make a set of 4 for a dear friend who recently had a birthday. I picked these colors because the nautical, preppy, chic, fresh thing is totally her deal. What do you think?

{ Knit goodies + card safe in SF  |  April 2013 }

PS. The last picture is from the birthday girl herself—she sent me a note and picture when the package arrived. I do this, too when I receive a gift and love love love having people do the same for me when I've sent something. Makes me happy to see them "at home"!

Next project: something similar for us in a natural palette. 

Easter Dinner 2013

{ Table set for 8  |  Easter Dinner  |  31 March 2013 }

Not to toot my own horn (tooot toot!), but I'm simultaneously relieved / shocked / proud that I pulled off an Easter dinner for 8 (including one vegan couple) that was gluten-free, sugar-free and apparently tasty, given the clean plates, this weekend.

Usually R cooks the main stuff when we have friends over for dinner, and I do the scheduling, grocery-shopping, music/candle/flower/table situation, and dessert, but with him working this weekend (and me secretly wishing for the chance to try my hand at the whole shebang), it worked out perfectly.

We had:

+ Hot roasted and salted almonds, a wheel of Paesanella cheese, and Gaeta olives to start
+ A gratin of cauliflower, olives, Pecorino and Parmesan cheese
+ Roasted asparagus with almonds, hard-boiled eggs and a smoky yogurt sauce
+ Lamb marinated for 48 hours in a garlic/parsley bath
+ Lemon, coconut and almond bars to finish

Then, R made the vegan dish for our friends (a pasta with mushroom sauce), plus they also had the asparagus, since I served the eggs and yogurt sauce apart.

The most exhausting part was prepping enough vegetables for everyone—so much washing, chopping and boiling/sauteing! Might need a break before our next dinner party. I was most scared about ruining the lamb—we don't have a meat thermometer (should probably invest in that) and I'm always nervous that I'm about to serve either hideously overdone meat or even-too-rare-for me, but the lamb ended up being the easiest thing.

And, to be honest, I think my most favorite part of the whole preparation was setting the table and arranging the flowers—I get such a Martha Stewart-It's-a-Good-Thing-vibe-o-happiness when everything is just so.

Just a few more pics from the weekend and table for you—sadly no actual shots of the food to share, though. Next time.

{Good Friday Mass, OSP's Basilica |29 March 2013 }

{ Procession Prep, OSP's Basilica | 29 March 2013 }

{ Close-up of the table, yes those are place cards!  |  Easter Dinner  |  31 March 2013 }

{ Post-dinner, pre-dessert  |  Easter Dinner  | 31 March 2013 }

The mean reds

{ East River Snowman by Unknown Child  |  9 February 2013 }

Only a few months after Hurricane Sandy, the idea of being battered by another force of nature had set everyone on edge. We were hunkered down, the frustration and anxiety as we waited for Blizzard Nemo to arrive rolling over the city in an ominous haze, the news outlets proclaiming "the storm of the century" and "historic, deadly force approaching" egging our worries on.

Maybe it was that.

Or, maybe it was something else niggling at my mind.

Either way, Friday I felt a kinship with Holly, as a severe case of The Mean Reds settled in, heavy on my chest and shoulders.

First, a gloomy day at work surveying preparations in Soho, staring into my monitor hour-after-hour as my eyes started to burn. Then, home. Moving through cycles of isolation, fury, unease. Questioning everything I've recently said and done. Festering.

The Mean Reds, indeed.

+ + +

Saturday morning broke with hazy sunlight drifting among soft-as-down-feathers-snow in pretty piles around the city. While other areas of the Northeast, even as close as Long Island, had waist-high snowdrifts to deal with, New Yorkers had delightful light-as-air snowflakes to play in.

+ + +

A day at home—picking up my languishing crochet needle to teach myself a new stitch, going for a walk on the waterfront and admiring the many snowmen that children (even those growing up on a concrete island) knew how to make, coming home to my homemade chicken soup made from a beautiful Epicurean Farm heritage Pollo Buono bird that had tangled with silky strands of leeks and celery and a hefty dose of turmeric all afternoon on the stovetop, watching documentaries (until I switched back to my regular witty TV shows), and having a long, much-needed talk brushed my mean reds aside.

Monday, I'm ready for you.

Pioneering in a chilly city

{ Whatever it takes to stay warm  |  January 2013 }

There are some books that make you feel like supremely cozy and safe, like you're sitting in a plush chair in front of a roaring fire with your feet clad in wool-y socks and propped up on an ottoman. Perhaps a golden retriever snoozing nearby, and definitely a pot of spicy tea (or tumbler of whiskey) and some little vanilla-spiced nibblie on a tray next to you. Surrounded by good spirits with all the darkness and ghosties banished outside. Any one of Lucy Maud Montgomery's books does it for me, as do Laura Ingall Wilders'. When I lived alone and had a spooky night, I'd always grab one of my Anne Shirley books to settle my nerves. 

I've been thinking about coziness and cold and fireplaces (mainly how I don't have one) since the temperature in NYC has been hovering somewhere between 7 and 15 degrees F with a windchill below 0. Despite my potentially impending move to Sweden, I don't have a winter coat that can stand up to that kind of cold, but I cobbled together something else to combat the frigidness:

One morning last week, I thought there was nothing proper to take with me to the office for lunch, since all we had in the fridge before groceries arrived was a sweet potato and yogurt, but with about an hour before I had to leave for work I popped it in the toaster oven for a bake and prepared a yogurt-parsley sauce to top it off with. Rather than snuggle the potato in with the sauce for the trip in, I wrapped it in foil and stuck it in my pocket for the walk to the subway. Do you remember that scene from Little House in the Big Woods? I think seeing Laura at the library last week reminded me of it. It all felt very prairie and quaint and lovely...although I wished I had a few for my boots, or, that I didn't have to leave the house at all.

From the Big Woods to the Big Apple, all thanks to a hot potato.

A sheaf of the past

{ Newest kitchen scrubbie using bits of leftover yarn  |  January 2013 }

Last Saturday I lit a few thick, white pillar candles in the apartment, powered up a Brothers & Sisters marathon on Netflix and settled myself on the couch with two huge leather containers of handwritten mail from the last 10 years. I've long wanted to tackle a whittling down, but having a little plan was exactly the push I needed to actually do it.

+ + +

It's little surreal to have such a tangible piece of your past—someone's words to you for your birthday, graduation, holidays, or just a thinking-of-you note all there in curlicues and elegantly-looped addresses and doodles in the margin and pretty stationery and smooth ink and abbreviations from a secret language I forgot I spoke.

Some envelopes stayed closed.  Memories locked within the folds of letters from family. Words I wasn't ready to read again or photos that made me think of too many things. Stepping back into who I was and the circles that contained me was as painful as it was beautiful because I realized some aren't as strong any more, but they're still there.

+ + +

Thomas Jefferson kept copies of the correspondence he wrote, which gave me the idea to photocopy the envelopes and contents of all the letters and cards I used to send. I don't do it anymore (I also don't send very many handwritten notes), but seeing my own words ricochet back to me from across the years made me realize I shouldn't have ever stopped doing it either.

+ + +

After a few hours I finally finished paring down my collection and tied one last bow around one last bundle for safekeeping. The discarded letters and cards were hauled in a metal basked to the recycling chute. Then I padded into the kitchen to blend another batch of my winter oil concoction. A perfectly homey and comforting end to a day spent looking over my shoulder.