I have a backlog of recipes to post, but for some reason they all feel daunting. Maybe it’s that anything requiring more than a handful of ingredients feels insurmountable because 2020. Can’t we all just live on snacks?
I didn’t know the Supreme Court justices’ names before I went to law school. I don’t even remember if I knew they were called justices and not judges.
If mac ‘n cheese is on the menu, I order it every time. I can’t help myself. It’s my comfort food of choice. And this is the mac ‘n cheese of my dreams.
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.
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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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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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 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 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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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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Happy Juneteenth! Just before her 90th birthday, Opal Lee decided to walk from Fort Worth, Texas to Washington D.C. to try and get Juneteenth recognized as a national holiday.
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I’ve felt especially nostalgic lately. Jonathan and I take long walks on empty rural roads each day. We pass raspberry farms and wheat farms and large families playing bocce ball on expansive lawns. I smell the soil. I drift back to extended family gatherings at my grandparents’ and great-grandparents’.
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In seventh grade, I devised what I call my “plate of favorites” instead of a favorite food. It’s a magical dinner plate. A plate that expands to fit all my favorite foods. I can’t choose just one. But the other night, I might have eaten the best thing yet.
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