Recipe [Psst! I introduced my Ultimate Banana Bread, a new recipe, in April 2020.]Confession time again! You see these babies? The brown, spotty, past their prime and about 36 hours from luring in fruit flies bananas? I love them. They’re my absolute favorite. I know, I know how gross that is. I know, I know that most people would pick those up only to walk them over to the trash. I know, I know you’re horrified that I could love something so rotten, and for all of these reasons, I am forced to live my life as a closeted freckled banana eater.
Recipe I’m so torn today, people. I’m trying to maintain that whole stiff upper lip thing because complaining that waah, my shoulder hurts more, and boo, the bruises are getting uglier and also, my left foot is mysteriously swollen, isn’t going to solve anything. I mean, bitching and moaning? I hear there’s a real shortage of that on the internet. On the other hand, sometimes just the smallest amount of venting — petty as it may be — is all it takes so simply get over oneself. I mean, I fell down the stairs, did I think the next couple weeks were going to be a cinch? Like, duh.
Recipe [Note: This risotto got some fresh photos in 2020.]Alex cooked dinner last night and, oh, what a meal he made! Two weeks ago, my mother forwarded me this Tomato and Sausage Risotto recipe from her Martha Stewart Everyday Food newsletter — like it surprises you that it runs in the family — with only the caption “this was very good.” I have been meaning to make it ever since, but I guess we can argue I lost my chance. As I put together a grocery order on Saturday night, aligning it to recipes Alex would want to cook this week and food I could assemble for myself while working at home, this risotto was at the top.
Recipe While I know I’m not the first food blogger to post about the magical, no-knead bread of Jim Lahey at the Sullivan Street Bakery fame in the five whole days since The New York Times published the recipe, since I am the only one to do it one-handed, I believe I should win. (Also, please tell me you know I am joking.) But really, we all win because… Look, just make this bread, okay? It’s dense and chewy, but unbelievably moist. The crust is crisp but not leathery, you don’t need to gnash your teeth and injure your gums to get through it. The loaf rivals even the most exciting results of my fifteen hours of bread-baking classes, and aside from the part where Alex will be furious because I didn’t wait for him to get home and endangered myself lifting a 19-lb 450 degree pot out of the oven, it can totally be done one-handed.
RecipeTo stop this pity party in it’s tracks, let me tell you what I have actually done this weekend, because I got to say that aside from the obvious unpleasantries — a smattering of bruises on my every appendage, the inability to put my hair in a ponytail or even put socks on without help, embarrassment of having my husband cut up my food for me in a restaurant and no wine (!) because it mixes disastrously with Advil in me — it’s been pretty sweet.
RecipeFirst let me tell you how last night was supposed to go, because I’m telling you, it was going to be lovely. I’d finally convinced Alex that it had been long enough since our last visit to Tabla’s Bread Bar — which as many long-time readers might know, is only my most favored restaurant in the entire world — that it would be only right to get back there, stat. [Plus, OMG, Floyd Cardoz just came out with a cookbook! Like last week! I know, I can’t believe I haven’t bought it yet either! Breathe.] The plan was to meet there at 6 p.m. and then after — psst, this is the really cool part — go to the observation deck at the Empire State Building. I’ve never been, but read recently that it’s now open until 2 a.m. on Thursdays through Saturdays and is actually remarkably empty as it gets later. Yesterday was warm and clear, a real November treat, and I could not imagine a better time to go.
Recipe Don’t laugh, but I think this post might be the closest I have come to service journalism on this site. I say this because, honestly, I have no idea what I am going to do with three batches of cranberry sauce I’ve cooked over the last week, but if at least one them makes it home with you, I suppose this effort won’t be a waste after all. Is this as noble and un-self-serving of me as it sounds? Of course not — I love cranberry sauce — I just have a little bit more than a two-person household should ever need.
Recipe [In 2019, this recipe got a little refresh and new photos.]I don’t know about you but when I arrived at work yesterday I had both the appearance and seething demeanor of a wet cat. I don’t know what exactly the point of carrying my green flowered umbrella was, if to get utterly soaked just the same, making my way through two phone calls irked by a lingering unpleasant zoo-like scent that turned out be emanating my sopping wool pants. Yech! After work drink thing? Cancelled. Pedicure? Cancelled. Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches? Oh, it was so on.
Recipe Because it’s fun for me, I’ve decided that today is the day that I will embarrass my former boss. You see, she and I are two of a very small group of girl-types in a very boy-dominated sector of publishing, and while I would normally argue that gender stereotypes are old, tiresome and played out, in our professional realm at least, they’re fairly rightly-placed. While the guys go on in great lengths about (pick one, or all of the below) the Red Sox, Giants, hockey, PlayStation, Borat, You The Man Now Dawg website, beer and where it doesn’t cost much and the Joy of Street Meat, she and I would spend an at least equal amount of time and devotion chattering about all aspects of food and cooking as, just my luck, she is as obsessed as I am.
Recipe When Alex woke me up this morning, I was certain, and not for the first time, that he was indeed smoking crack, as it couldn’t have been even 4:30 in the morning, nonetheless 8. Someone really ought to tell him he can go back to bed for a couple hours, I mused to myself, but determining this to be a too-depleting energy expense, I simple rolled over and pretended he wasn’t there. After all, if he simply fails to wake me up this morning – if it is simply not possible – he’ll eventually have to give up and I will be able to sleep uninterrupted, forever. I am nothing if not the height of rationality in the morning.ncG1vNJzZmirnZ7BtbHNpKCtm5iau2%2BvzqZmqZmXmnxyf5Zodq2qm3K9tq7LopqYqJ%2BowaC%2Fx5qpnmWlpbGiwMSYrKmckamybsDEsas%3D