Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Black Friday is an exceptionally strange day, no? Sure, there is all that crazed shopping nonsense (the chef and I opt out of it completely, instead choosing to sleep late and drink mid afternoon coffees in our living room). However, the strange part for me is how this day marks the official pivot away from autumn and toward the winter holidays. Still in a mild Thanksgiving-induced food coma, my mind becomes consumed with thoughts of Christmas recipes. Over the span of one night, pumpkin puree suddenly feels out of season and cranberries begin to feel a bit trite. It is the unofficial day to raid the pantry and swap out the cinnamon sticks for bricks of chocolate and peppermint candies. But mostly, it is a day for daydreaming about recipes -- about those that are part of your family's holiday canon, and those newbies you're anxious to test out in the hopes that they'll become part of your yearly tradition.
Friday, November 29, 2013
Yesterday, we began a new Thanksgiving tradition in our family, one that involves three of my favorite things in life: a bit of nostalgia, a feeling of hope and gratefulness, and candy. Specifically, one adorable three dimensional peppermint pig.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
A few years ago my husband, the chef, went through a phase of filling our cabinets with an assortment of (rather pricey) artisan salts in an effort to help me learn the art of proper seasoning. My terrible knife skills aside, my one amateur kitchen move that made him positively crazy was my resistance to salt (I grew up in a household where the only salt in our pantry was a lonely blue bottle of “salt substitution”). It made him insane to watch me prepare a chicken or assemble a sheet pan of vegetables without sprinkling on a healthy pinch (or three). So, he tried his best to tempt me.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Recently, while out to dinner, a friend asked me the question I've desperately been avoiding: "So, now that the shop has been open for a few months, how do you feel?" It was a good question. An honest question, really. And yet it left me completely shell shocked. Maybe it is because I am superstitious. Or maybe because I've known my fair share of people who have taken risks to follow their dreams and have miserably failed. Either way, I found I wasn't really able to provide a decent answer (unless we're counting awkward facial expressions).
Saturday, November 2, 2013
Thursday, October 24, 2013
About two weeks ago, the chef walked through our apartment door sometime just short of midnight carrying an oversized box of uncooked meat. In many households, I imagine this might cause alarm. However, around here, where it isn't all that unusual for someone to pull an all-nighter in our home kitchen in order to test out a new recipe, it seems to happen with increasing regularity.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
The funniest part about this whole business of ours -- you know, the one where we specialize in selling creative, artisan sandwiches and all -- is that until I was about nineteen years old, I despised sandwiches. Like, truly loathed them. My poor mother (God bless her kind soul) probably can attest to this better than anyone. In grade school, while the other kids at my lunch table tore open their brown paper bags to find cellophane wrapped bologna and cheese sandwiches, my lunchbox contained a plastic thermos filled with homemade lentil or chicken and orzo soup, accompanied by a small plastic bag filled with shredded parmesan for sprinkling on top, and a proper metal spoon taken from our kitchen drawer (none of that plastic stuff). Before we go any further, lets get one thing clear: I was in no way a snob. My mother was not a member of our local "Finer Things Club" (we were about as middle class as they came). However, she knew better than to give her little girl (the weird one who literally snarled her lip at cold cuts) two slices of white bread and expect her to eat it like any other kid on our block. Truly, I blame her for feeding into this food fixation that has come to rule my life.