Right out of college, my mom got me the piping set from my Christmas list. I saved the little paper booklet from the box with the cream puff recipe. Though I intended to use the set for icing practice, I wanted to make profiteroles first. For a New Years Eve party. I arrived with my first homemade baguette too. I’ve always been the life of the party. Read more
I’ve only recently started listening to podcasts. It’s in direct correlation with taking better care of myself this year—both my mind and my body. Running again has carved out time for podcasts. It’s making me smarter. And more fit too. (I hope.) I oscillate between listening to The Splendid Table, A Couple Cooks, and Food Blogger Pro. I’m certain there are extra calories associated with food podcasts. Read more
Grab a glass of wine or a cup of coffee and your favorite spot on the couch, the spot that leans in. I wrote a novel on how to make really good homemade pizza. It’s quite simple once you get the hang of it and collect the necessary tools. But after making pizza in three apartments, a house, and two states, I’ve come to recognize the amount of nuances in making pizza—a novels worth. We’re going to talk about the essential tools for making pizza at home, how to make a good dough (plus some for the freezer too), how to assemble the pie, plus some general pizza making tips. I’ve included step-by-step pictures as well as a video. If you want this to be your thing, then lets make it your thing. Read more
“Email is a wonderful thing for people whose role in life is to be on top of things. But not for me; my role is to be on the bottom of things. What I do takes long hours of studying and uninterruptible concentration.” —Donald Knuth, a computer scientist
I added that quote to my email signature after Kev shared it with me. He knows my struggles. As of right now, the number 8855 is barely legible, set in white text on a red background, and hovering to the right of my email application. I’m a minimalist in most areas of life except my inbox. It’s a complete disaster. It gives me hives when I think about it, so I don’t. I have trouble pressing delete and unsubscribing from reoccurring emails. I mark every email as unread. And replies take at least a couple days for me to formulate my thoughts and sentiments. I live a paralyzed life when it comes to email. Read more
We’re not vegetarians, though Hallie would tell you otherwise. But most days, especially during the hurried weekday dinner hustle, we eat a vegetarian diet, leaning on quick-cooking pantry staples to pull off dinner. I had to figure out a meatless swap for our favorite crunchy, meaty tacos in order to keep it in the regular dinner rotation. With the help of quinoa, black beans, and a little ketchup (just trust me), I give you vegetarian taco “meat.” Read more
I’m pretty sure it was the fajitas that kept us dating so long. On Friday nights in high school, I’d head over to my then boyfriend’s house. His mom made better-than-restaurant fajitas and topped them with white cheese. We only had orange cheese at my house, so this was a luxury. One night while eating fajitas, his dad told me that he’d like to give me their nice pots and pans when we got married. I was 16. My love of food was present at birth, but I hadn’t yet discovered an interest in cooking it. I awkwardly sloughed off his comment with a laugh. My high school boyfriend and I broke up and got back together a hundred times. I think it was because of the Friday night fajitas. Read more
There was a time in my life when I deleted pizza and nachos from my diet. Cheese is bad for you, they said. I ate my ice cream with too few of calories. My eggs with no yolks. And bought low-fat butter that was mostly hydrogenated oil. It was as awful as it sounds. But I stuck with it long enough to learn that my issue wasn’t solely what I was eating, rather how much I was eating. (You can read way too much about my food history here.) Pizza, full-fat ice cream, whole eggs, and real butter have been apart of my diet for many years now. But it wasn’t until a couple weeks ago that I allowed nachos back into my life. Read more
It’s rhythmic. It’s predictable. Seven days a week, it’s the same song streaming in the background. As much as I want to hate it, I love it. Let’s be honest, I crave it. She craves it too. Hallie’s little 1-year-old body, always in search of a new adventure, craves the rhythm of everything else. The rhythm of breakfast, lunch, and dinnertime. Of naptime, though we can’t seem to hold a decent beat here. Of school time and bath time. The rhythm informs. It lets us know where we are and what’s coming next. The rhythm is a schedule begging to be filled in. Read more
