Working at a start-up is exhausting—that’s how she puts it to everyone who asks whenever she travels home to the suburb where she grew up. Regardless of how unglamorous the reality, her parents' friends look impressed when they find out she’s living in the city, employed at a company that’s frequently cited in Forbes and Business Insider: a “hot” place to be, as her father’s friend Everett puts it. He tilts his old-fashioned at her, the ice rattling around the almost empty glass. Everett’s words are a little slurred as he says, “You’re in exactly the right place! Good for you for getting that pedigree. You got a head on your shoulders!” He nearly shouts the last bit, and she leans back to avoid any errant splashes of bourbon. Before she can respond, he’s shaking the glass in the direction of his wife, who’s wearing the exact same outfit she wears to every social function—regardless of the season or occasion: maroon tweed skirt, white turtleneck, black cashmere cardigan with a lizard-shaped brooch. Two tiny emeralds wink as the lizard’s eyes; when she was little, the brooch terrified her, keeping her from falling asleep some nights.
Read moreDECADENT CHOCOLATE LAYER CAKE
“Okay,” she says slowly. “I’ll think about it,” and she hangs up the phone, holding it in her hand and staring at it as if some message will appear on its darkened surface like a Magic 8-Ball. She and her sister used to consult the Magic 8-Ball religiously when they were younger: There was a phase, somewhere around age 13, when they genuinely believed it told you true things. This was the era of sleepovers and Ouija boards and middle school mixers where all of the girls stood in a knot on the polished floor of the gym and the boys threw cheese puffs at each other by the folding tables that held the sodas.
Read moreFRESH MOZZARELLA BISCUITS
Hi, hey, a note: Thank you for your thoughts on my last post! Haven’t decided for or against the newsletter yet, so for now, we’ll just carry on with some occasional fiction here, and who knows what else, and we’ll see where life takes us…
She feels deflated—and tired of talking—when she walks into the coffee shop on Wednesday morning. The argument last night with her mother sticks to her, and she can’t shake the off-kilter feeling. She and her mother never fight; in their household, it’s her dad whose hot temper sparks the arguments. She and her siblings were always arguing with him in a comfortable, this-is-how-we-love sort of way: One minute they were shouting and slamming doors, and then by dinner time everyone was completely fine. Fights with her dad pass like a quick thunderstorm, the tension dissolving into nothingness, the chaos necessary to clear the air—just like weather.
Read moreS'MORES WAFFLE SANDWICHES + A QUESTION
This will be a brief one—if one can call any sort of musing involving a full-on s’mores waffle sandwich “brief”.
If you’ve visited or read this site much, you’ll notice that the recipes have always been accompanied by quite a bit of writing: about life, about my life, about things both cooking and non-cooking related.
Lately, you have probably noticed that there’s been a shift in the tone; I’ve been playing around with writing some fiction (although that is…a loose term, at best). I’ve been thinking that it would be nice to treat this fiction writing as a new project, instead of dropping it in here.
This would mean I’d start a weekly email (newsletter?) with fiction chapters. If you’re into reading it, you can sign up and it’ll come right to your inbox.
I’ll keep this space for what it’s always been (for now)—recipes and some related writing around it.
Or, I could just…keep throwing fiction at you here! I’d be very curious (and happy) to know what you think…and what you’d like to read, and how. You can always leave a comment here, or just email me here.
In return for your thoughts, here’s a recipe that everyone should probably make immediately, if not sooner.
S’mores Waffle Sandwiches
For the waffles
2 eggs
1 3/4 cups (397g) well-shaken buttermilk
8 tablespoons (113g) unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly
1 1/2 cups (180g) all-purpose flour
1/4 cup (30g) graham cracker crumbs (about 4 full crackers, finely crushed)
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
an additional 4 graham crackers, coarsely crushed
For the assembly
mini marshmallows
dark chocolate chunks or chopped dark chocolate
To make the waffles: Whisk together the eggs, buttermilk, and melted butter.
In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, 1/4 cup of graham cracker crumbs (finely crushed), baking powder, baking soda, and salt.
Combine the wet and dry ingredients and mix gently until mostly smooth—don’t overmix.
Stir in the coarsely crushed graham crackers.
Heat a waffle iron and grease well.
Cook the waffles accordingly to the waffle iron’s instructions and set aside.
(You can make the s’mores sandwiches now or let the waffles cool, freeze them, and assemble the sandwiches at a later date.)
To assemble the sandwiches, heat the waffle iron again. Place one full waffle on the bottom of the iron, top it with a layer of mini marshmallows and a layer of dark chocolate, then place another waffle on top. Close the iron and cook until the inside is melted and gooey.
CROISSANT BROWNIES
They pull over and park on the side of a dusty, dirt- and gravel-packed road alongside the river, where it curves lazily under a covered bridge and disappears away in the distance like a silver coil. Above them, one hot air balloon rises in the dusky late-evening sunshine, then two, then three. Within twenty minutes, the entire sky is filled with them. The one closest to them is a patchwork of canary yellow and bright red squares. She watches it rise, pausing to sneak a quick sideways glance at him—just as rapt— then turns back to witness the continued ascent. His hand, broad and calloused, brushes against hers and her heart seems to mirror the ballon: so light and full it might burst out of her chest.
Summer, she thinks. Summer is the best time with him.
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