Honey Bee Cookies

Flipping through the pages of the Alpha-Bakery cookbook makes me smile. It’s the first cookbook I ever owned, given to me by my grandparents at the tender age of four. With uncanny prescience, my grandmother wrote, “We hope you have a lot of fun with this book as you grow up to become as good a cook as your mom!”

Over the next few months, through my mother’s careful teaching, I learned how to make turtle bread and zebra cookies, pocket pizza and kart-wheels. My favorite part of this cookbook is the handwritten date on each page, noting when Mom and I first attempted a recipe. Reimagining days I can’t remember, I wonder how it felt to bite into my first successful ice cream sandwich or slice of mud pie.

A few years ago I rediscovered this cookbook, as a college student seeking memories from home. I whipped up a batch of honey bee cookies, fifteen years after my first attempt. Sweet and buttery, flecked with cinnamon, they tasted exactly how I remembered. Like innocence. And warmth. And home.

Today, my geographic transience (four moves in two years!) makes me hold tightly to symbols of home, both old and new: my college graduation lantern, quilts made by family, a framed photo of a prayer left at the Western Wall. As Gabe and I set up yet another home– and wonder where we will end up next– I know this cookbook will stay with us, signifying the warmth of the past and our hopes for the future. With honey, butter, and love.

Red, White, and Blue Tartlets

We did it. We moved all our earthly possessions four blocks down the street in 90-degree weather. (Thankfully we had professional help.)

There’s still some cleaning to do in the old place, but the new one is just lovely. We can see downtown Boston from our bedroom window. And the kitchen? Oh the kitchen! More on that later, but let’s just say I am one happy girl.

Perhaps you would like to say this little ditty along with me (à la, Goodnight Moon):

Goodbye dirt and floors that droop,
Goodbye cleaning up mouse poop,
Goodbye pipes that get too hot,
Goodbye sketchy dumpster lot.

Goodbye kitchen without drawers,
Goodbye scuffed up wooden floors,
Hello roof deck full of joys,
Goodbye pre-teens making noise.

Hello sun and skyline view,
Goodbye landlady, and a big f*** you.

Sorry, Mom. It just felt so right to include that last line. ;)

Now on to the food. Happy Independence Day! I celebrated by hanging more frames on the wall; Gabe celebrated by eating lots of blast-off popsicles.

Also, I made tartlets. Because they’re my favorite. And now I have this bee-you-ti-ful kitchen in which to work on my photography skills. Enjoy!

Tiramisu and Popcorn

It’s still hard to type these words. I have a sympathy card sitting in my desk drawer, addressed and stamped, but never sent. As if the funeral wasn’t final enough. As if the simple act of writing and mailing this one card would confirm that my dear friend was actually gone.

A year has gone by. The return address label on the envelope is no longer accurate. And still I haven’t sent the card.

My plan for marking the anniversary of Sara’s passing was to create a dish combining two of her favorite foods: tiramisu and popcorn. I swirled together sugar and mascarpone, espresso and chocolate, and drizzled it over freshly popped popcorn. It was beautiful.

Sadly, it did not taste very good. I have to work on my recipe-creating skills. But the sentiment is there.

Sara, I see reminders of you everyday. In card games, cooking shows, the giggles of children, and most of all, in people’s smiles. No one can hold a candle to your mega-watt grin, but I see glimpses of those smiles in others. Especially in your sister. And in my own sisters. And in so many others who were indelibly blessed by your short life.

I miss you today, and everyday. I love you, Sara Nan.

Oles and Cannolis

The apartment seems so quiet, now that it’s no longer filled with giggling 24-year-old women. Erin, Rebecca, and I had a lovely weekend together, filled with reminiscences, deep conversations, good food, and lots of laughter. Gabe was a champ and made us pancakes for breakfast, enchiladas for dinner, and tomato sauce for our homemade pasta.

Besides cooking up a storm, we spent a fair amount of time wandering around Boston. Like any good hostess, I took the girls to Mike’s Pastry for cannolis. It was super exciting.

It was a lovely weekend, and I’m hoping to get some posts up soon detailing the goodies we made. Until then, here are the recipes (with links to other sites as needed). As soon as Gabe figures out an actual recipe for his enchiladas, I’ll post that too!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Recipe Round-up:

• Buttermilk pancakes
• Vanilla muffins
• Homemade pasta with Gabe’s tomato sauce
• Chicken sausage enchiladas
• Roasted tomato caprese salad
• Mushroom risotto
• Thin crust pizza

See Food, Eat Food

Mariah, Grant, and I had dinner on Friday night with Mariah’s college friend, Tom.  He took us to a restaurant where he used to work and we enjoyed a delicious meal of fresh seafood.

The thing about seafood is that I generally find it tasty, but I’m a bit intimidated by its natural packaging.  I hate peeling and de-veining raw shrimp, and getting mussels out of their shells totally freaks me out.  Give me a skinned, boned fish fillet, and I can make a decent meal.  But there’s no way I’d ever crack open a crab leg or lobster claw.  Gross.

Despite my prejudices, on Friday night I experienced a first in a lifetime of eating seafood: raw oysters.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I picked up half an oyster shell, slurped the meat up, and swallowed it whole.  It tasted pretty salty and sort of like a pickle.  While it’s not a new favorite, I was definitely glad I had done it.

Plus, I felt super brave, even as I sat across the table from Mariah and Grant and watched the Minnesotans gleefully break apart and chow down a whole lobster.  I wasn’t gonna get near that thing.

"I'll get you, my pretty!"

P.S. There’s a short video of me eating the oyster, but I’d have to pay a lot of money to be able to post videos on my blog.  Just imagine me freaking out a lot and then exclaiming: “Oh, I survived!”

Affirmations

This may be a grainy, underexposed iPhone photo, but I wanted to capture how it feels coming home around 10:30 from my night classes.  (Despite what the picture may convey, it doesn’t feel like entering a haunted house.)

My classes are over at 9:00 or 9:30 PM, depending on the evening.  Then I have a long, tiring ride home on one bus and two different trains.  I always feel exhausted, but then I near our apartment and see a cozy light shining from the windows.  And I smile and think about everything I learned that evening– and how excited I am to start my career– and by the time I’ve taken the stairs two-at-a-time and burst through the front door, I’m bubbling over with excitement.  Poor Gabe, weary from law school, tries to keep at least one eye open as I jibber jabber about collections management and ethics and historical accuracy.

I generally have to calm myself down before I can even think about hitting the pillows and falling asleep.

That’s how I know I’m doing something I love.

Home sweet home