Winter Citrus Salad | @thefauxmartha

We’re spontaneous people in theory. But in actuality, we’re just negligent planners. Adding something to the calendar more than two weeks out gives me a little anxiety. And planning a trip that involves doing things besides heading to the lake or the beach is out of the question. When we go out to dinner or coffee, we go to the same spots. It pains me to spend money on things I might not enjoy, and Kev has this knack of attaching monetary values to everything from parking to a glass of wine. What I’m trying to tell you is that we have issues. Someone plan a trip to Europe and take us? Read more

Brussels Sprouts Roasted in a Peanut Harissa Sauce | @thefauxmartha

I’m not good at good-bye. Neither is Hal. She avoids it about as well as she avoids nap-time. Twenty minutes after our guests leave, she rhythmically ask where they are. Somehow she’s forgotten the awkward, prolonged good-bye or lack thereof. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I understand that phrase better now that we have an apple tree in our backyard. The poor kid never had a chance. Read more

Baked Onion Rings | @thefauxmartha

There’s a point between here and there where the newness runs out. When I do feels like do I have to? When a newborn’s cry feels common and exhausting. When misplaced rose colored glasses shatter beneath a tiny foot and a pile of leaves. When you walk through the back door for the 100th time and the house no longer smells new. It’s to be expected, even when it’s not. Read more

Creamy Kalette Baked Pilaf | @thefauxmartha

Growing up in Texas, we learned about fall, winter, and spring from textbooks and encyclopedias. A feed full of changing leaves on Instagram wasn’t a thing then, and connecting to the internet was about like dialing the man on the moon. I always thought the spelling of seasons was a mistake. It’s season. My pen pals from other countries thought we traveled by horse. Come to find out, we lived in the same country and it wasn’t called Texas. I now joke that Texans have a hard time believing in climate change because the climate never changes. I’m kidding. Kinda. Read more

Honey Soy Roasted Chickpeas | @thefauxmartha

It started to show itself in the way I kept my hair. Or didn’t. In high school and college I washed, dried, and straightened my hair daily. It was a thing of beauty. Well kept. Perfectly in place. With no sign of unruly wave, even under all those thick, thick layers. It was a good representation of how I saw myself. Of how I saw the world. I was a straight-laced rule follower. My perspective looked a lot like the scenery of The Giver. Things were orderly. Things were black and white. So black and white. Read more

Italian Summer Salad | @thefauxmartha

There was an Italian market right around the corner from where we lived in New Haven. They sold overpriced produce and served the best sandwiches and salads I’ve ever had. Prior to frequenting there, I’d never been extremely fond of ordering a sandwich or salad out, especially when given a choice. When in New Haven, you eat pizza. But this place and their pesto sandwiches and italian salads, they changed my mind forever. Read more

Moms' Lucky Black-Eyed Peas | @thefauxmartha

My mom’s from the south. My dad’s from the north. I grew up with both stuffing and cornbread dressing at holidays to appease the palettes of either pole. But come New Years Day, her southern menu was always on the table. My mom made pork, black-eyed peas, and broccoli casserole (in place of collard or turnip greens). This meal is said to bring health, luck, and prosperity. Maybe the lack of this meal has been your problem all these years? Kidding. I’m no poster child, but tradition keeps me making this menu, especially her black-eyed peas. Read more

White Wine Gravy | @thefauxmartha

If there’s an underdog or an afterthought on the Thanksgiving table, it’s the gravy—the very last thing to make before sitting down to eat. The table-setting, turkey-carving, side dish-reheating, and drink-pouring fill center stage, encroaching on the gravy making time. If it weren’t for that fact that it mingles with nearly everything on the plate, I’d let it take a natural back seat. But alas, it’s the icing on the cake. Give me 10 minutes and a bottle of wine. You’ll thank me. It is the season of Thanksgiving after all. Read more

 
 
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