You offered me pears
I wanted to be polite
You wanted to be kind
I accepted but with strings
Attached to angles and distance
Six feet
It’s been one of those weeks. Plans upended for more pressing matters. Creativity in inconvenient bursts. And in the midst of it: what to make for dinner? So I turned to a trusty standby. One that tastes like summer and fall at once.
The first time I remember noticing change, I was three. I saw boxes everywhere, and my extended family members kept carrying them out of our condo. I climbed the stairs to my play area. Someone stole my dolls.
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I felt the need for some variety, so I just made myself sourdough scallion pancakes for lunch. They were good as pancakes go. But given the choice between pancakes and waffles, I’ll choose waffles every time.
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I took piano lessons for three years as a kid. I learned three songs. One song per year—a prodigious rate. I struggled to clap on beat. Dancing was out of the question.
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My mom and I made puttanesca together recently, and it’s easy, comforting, and packed with flavor. If you’re looking to impress your bubble-mates, this is just the thing.
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These scones deliver even when elections do not. I’m using them as a reminder to replace global panic with local action. Whether you need that reminder or not, I think these scones will hit the spot.
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If there’s anything that tastes like summer to me, it’s this cabbage pico de gallo. My parents made it for family gatherings growing up, and we’d all hang around the bowl the rest of the evening.
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This is the first in what I hope will be a semi-regular appearance of “Lusty Leftovers.” Leftovers that get us all hot and bothered. For those of us who want a night off cooking and for those who want some variety in life.
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I ran across Hetty McKinnon’s vegetarian sushi salad recipe recently and knew it was just the thing to stave off my cravings for Sushi Kappo Tamura. At least until it’s safe to visit.
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P.F. Chang’s introduced me to lettuce wraps when I was a teenager. It felt so novel* to eat a taco out of lettuce. The cool, crisp lettuce filled with warm, savory filling.
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Jonathan lived on bread alone for the first 12 years of his life. His parents tried to get him to eat other food. He wasn’t interested. Then one day he was on his way to summer camp in a car full of friends.
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In July 2001, I went to India with a group from my high school. We held babies at one of Mother Teresa’s orphanages and played with kids in rural towns. I hesitate to bring up the trip because I’m embarrassed.
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I planned to post about my chicken noodle soup replacement today. But I made sourdough everything bagels yesterday, and I’m too excited to talk about anything else.
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In kindergarten, I must have drawn 100 rainbows. The cherry marker came first with an upside down U. Then orange and lemon and mint. Each line the width of the marker tip. Sometimes I puffed blueberry clouds around the rainbow’s ends. Sometimes I sheltered my stick family under its arch.
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I stare up at ceilings like stars
Mapping the shadows
Into a voyage on the sea
Birds tweet
Light bleeds
I made Half Baked Harvest’s Everything Bagel Salad for dinner a couple of weeks ago, and I’m still thinking about it. It’s everything I want in a dinner salad: Fast. Filling. And made with ingredients I generally have on hand all year long.
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Most of the time, I read the news and want to scream at the top of my lungs: “What is wrong with you?!” Most of the time, I refrain. Because screaming at people who can’t hear you doesn’t work.
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Sometimes words bubble up in my chest. There’s a tingle. A pressure. Incomprehensible images flash across my eyes. Made more of feeling than light. And sometimes it’s hard to decipher what the words are trying to say.
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A couple of weeks after my sister and brother-in-law married, they decided it was time for Eggs Benedict. They found a recipe in The Joy of Cooking (original edition), mustered their courage, and set to it. The recipe instructed them to bring the water to a boil and swirl it into a “mad vortex.”
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