Sharing stories of food stories we love.
Useful things to remember:
Always write a thank you note immediately. It will otherwise languish on your to-do list, and sending them late is really just impolite.
You can absolutely go swimming past October 15 and it will feel wildly invigorating as both an early morning wakeup and a post-evening-run cool down.
Could I chart my life in chocolate? Probably. You could too, I’m guessing.
Second grade: Sifting through the shiny pile of miniature candy bars I’ve spilled out onto the carpet after a few hours of trick-or-treating in the frigid October air. The nubby multicolored rag carpet is soft under my knees and there’s a fire blazing cozily in the living room where all the parents sit together. My sisters and I are engaged in fierce, sugar-fueled negotiations with the other kids—three Mounds bar for one Twix; two Kit Kats for two Crunch bars; five Almond Joys and two Butterfingers and a box of Milk Duds for a single king-sized Snickers.
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Although I’m here today talking about cake, it doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about The State of the World—because of course I am, just like you are, because how could you not? Since this entire %#!*#$! year began (to borrow some lingo from an Archie comic as it were as I am a delicate, ladylike flower and prefer not to let loose a stream of real expletives here) I’ve been constantly recalibrating and readjusting my ability and desire to interface with the world at large.
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Am I the only person who didn’t love—or is not really into talking about—Normal People? I’m referring to the book primarily, but also the television show. Surprisingly, as I love a good Irish accent as much as the next girl, I just wasn’t captivated by the show. (Granted I only made it through 10 minutes, but still. Ten minutes of TV watching in parent-of-a-baby time is like 3 hours in regular people time.)
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I read an article recently about the importance of having things to look forward to. One of the challenges of 2020 is how many ordinary—and out-of-the-ordinary—experiences the pandemic has robbed us of. There are no weddings. No baby showers. No one was packing their trunk for summer camp or their duffel bag for a weekend trip upstate to play tennis and go canoeing. August didn’t bring trips to Target for kids, flip-flops slapping on the hot asphalt of the parking lot before entering the cool store and piling colorful binders and file folders and packages of neon-hued markers in a shopping cart.
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