Owing to their place as one of the two vegetables my daughters will always eat gladly (the other is broccoli, if you’re curious), I tend to stock up on sweet potatoes. If I look hard enough I can generally find one or two kicking around in the depths of my refrigerator. At lunchtime today, I found a few and my first inclination was to roast them whole, split them open, and smother them with chimichurri and bacon, but I decided at the last minute that I need more texture and spice so I cut them up for their stint in the oven. read more »
After an October spent traveling, November has been delightfully calm. Around here, in this bright little house we’ve lived in since April, things are good. Coat hooks have been hung. Books sorted. For the first time in a long, long time, I feel like things are on track and steadily improving. I know all too well how quickly the whole holiday thing takes hold, so in these last couple of weeks before the hysteria sets in, Brian and I have been doing what we can to get everything (finally) in order.
Finding time in the kitchen has still been a challenge, with my time spent working or taking care of the girls instead. read more »
As the days and weeks add up, as the fall seems to have gone from just beginning to full-on, I’m feeling a little stunned. I’ve loved every minute of the mild early fall weather. Now that things have edged colder, and I find myself a little bewildered even thinking of coats. But, the occasional blast from the heater, my withered garden, and all these pumpkins seem to point to the inevitable. Soup weather, we meet again. read more »
October blackberries are totally a thing. Consider them a gift from a mild fall. We’ve been delighting in the occasional, kind of pricy, half pint of berries for a few weeks now. But since these late season berries are delicate and maybe even mushy, they are ideally suited to fall baking.
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On cool nights in Brooklyn, I loved laying in bed with the windows open. I would drift to sleep and sometimes be startled out of it by the conversational mumbles of the late dinner crowd coming out of the restaurants and planning their next moves, the nightly din-to-shrill crescendo of the bar out back, and the wall of taxis laying on their horns as they came down Havemeyer on weekend nights at twelve thirty, and again at two. When the loudest sounds ebbed, I’d hear bits of conversation, laughing, music floating by, and would sit in bed and love that I could hear all this life happening from right there in my bedroom. And if the moon was also shining in the window, as it did this time of year, well, what else could you want?
The Virginia nights offer a different symphony. read more »
If my rural southern forbears found out that each year I seek out the chance to pick apples, they’d probably be disappointed that I didn’t own the orchard but glad that it was something easy like apples instead of something gross like tobacco. But when they found out that I actually pay for the privilege of doing farm work, they’d all keel over dead on the spot (hopefully after producing whichever offspring ultimately led to my existence). Why on Earth, they would wonder, would I pay to harvest fruit? And even worse, why would I drag my children into it?
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