I’m sitting on the couch—or rather, reclining somewhere in between lying and sitting up at some mysteriously perfect angle that puts a newborn baby right to sleep—and the skies are gray and blustery outside. The aforementioned newborn is curled up resting against my chest; there’s a specific and particular comfort to the sweet, heavy weight of a baby pressing against your skin. I lean down every so often to brush my lips against the top of his head, where his skin is soft and scented with the clean cotton smell of the Johnson’s baby lotion I rub over him after a tub.
An oversized mug full of hot chocolate sits just within arm’s reach on the driftwood coffee table. This, in and of itself, is quite a victory—not just to have figured out a way to have something edible at hand, but to have it be something piping hot and sweet and made just the way I like it, rather than a handful of granola eaten in a rush. A coup indeed! And not to overstate my own abilities (or shall I?), but I think I’ve perfected my hot chocolate recipe.
Here’s how I do it: I mix raw cacao powder with hot water in a small jar until it forms a loose paste, which is the ideal consistency for stirring into hot milk. Too dry and you’ll end up with lumps. Too liquidy and it’s messy and splash-inducing. I add a pinch of salt and a glug of date syrup, which is the best sweetener for chocolate in my opinion—it’s earthier and more mellow than sugar, but it doesn’t impart too much of its own flavor like maple syrup does.
I heat some almond milk and stir a few spoonfuls of the chocolate paste into that; meanwhile. I foam some 2% milk in my Breville milk frother. Does this sound too complicated? It’s worth it. You want to stir the chocolate into non-foamed milk, because you’ll lose the bubbles anyway by stirring. You need to make it too concentrated at first, because you’ll then add the foamed milk on top, which creates the perfect milk-to-chocolate ratio, and adds a gorgeous cap of fluffy foam.
Voila. Bliss. In case you were wondering about the milk combination (as every barista I’ve ever ordered from does), almond milk + 2% is the ideal blend of creaminess.. Am I particular? Yes. Would you be swayed after tasting this? Yes.
(Why every hot cocoa doesn’t come with foamed milk is beyond me. I think every drink benefits from a snowy, cappuccino-style drift of foam, but instead hot chocolate is always topped with a raft of whipped cream, making it an impractical morning drink.)
But back the scene at hand. So we have a baby. Hot chocolate. Gray skies and the latest issue of Food & Wine magazine, which I will definitely not read beyond a cursory glance at the recipe index. Van Morrison on the stereo in the background—he’s singing Tupelo Honey and I’m thinking about dusky summer evenings in Vermont. A big oversized salad sits on the kitchen counter: arugula + diced pears + prosciutto + balsamic vinegar + shaved Parmesan. I draped the prosciutto haphazardly, in a rush, over the greens and it falls, with no effort or intention from me, in such deliciously rumpled piles that look worthy of a magazine cover.
Unusually good lunches have been an unexpected side effect of the pandemic; I’m only getting groceries delivered, rather than going to the store, so our options are pretty limited. I can’t have what I usually have, so I’m getting creative with the existing options which is really nice as opposed to frustrating.
I order my groceries through a little sandwich shop in the next town over. Just one room with weathered wooden plank floors, it has a jaunty blue awning outside and a screen door that swings open too easily on the old hinges. It’s always dim and cool inside, which is a welcome change from the heat of the day during the summer. Sundry pantry items line the shelves—they sell that funny melange of products that is so specific to summer holiday towns: total basics like generic non-organic milk and Utz potato chips and ketchup interspersed with $12 Plugra butter and vegan chocolate ice cream and fancy saffron pasta.
They make an excellent egg sandwich and even better chicken salad, flecked with bright green herbs and creamy with just the right amount of mayo.
We can’t go there in person these days, but they’ve smartly pivoted to selling directly from their wholesale list which changes weekly. You place your order online and they’ll drop it at your door, or leave it in boxes in the barn behind the cafe.
You can order big and small items, so I’ve scored everything from a tiny container of anchovies to local eggs to a 50 pound bag of King Arthur flour (screaming with joy over here, kids).
For lunches, I stock up on the following: arugula, hummus, halloumi, sweet potatoes, bacon, cucumbers, olive oil, radicchio, dried farro, broccoli, yogurt, and more. I can spin this into endless variations, all piled high in our oversized white bowl that I believe is designed to hold 6 servings of pasta but I use as a salad bowl for one. Eat your greens!
I try to prep some ahead (roasting big sheet trays of diced sweet potatoes once a week, cooking big batches of bacon and farro, chopping kale and broccoli ahead of time), which has never been my move. This is all turning me into an accidental meal planner, despite thinking I never could or would.
A few favorites:
Radicchio topped with a warm mixture of cooked thyme-infused farro sautéed with chickpeas, broccoli, and carrots; drizzled with olive oil.
Arugula with roasted sweet potatoes, crumbled bacon, and shaved Parmesan
Dollop of creamy hummus over arugula with sliced cucumbers and chunks of Vermont maple cheddar
Sautéed spinach with sweet potatoes and bacon topped with harissa honey yogurt dressing (whole milk Greek yogurt whisked with dried harissa powder, honey, sea salt, and water to thin it out)
Half an avocado with baby kale, seared halloumi, and basil vinaigrette (a fancy way of me using up the wilting basil I ordered; although ours should come up in the garden beds soon!)
The point here is not to detail the mundane contents of my grocery list, but perhaps to inspire you to play around a little more in the kitchen. When I approach meals these days, I think about the following three factors, in this order:
What I need to use up first: produce that won’t last, etc.
What flavors could work together: salty meat (bacon and prosciutto) are good with fruit (pears or apples); spicy foods like harissa do well with something sweet like honey
Texture! Salads and bowls need a bit of everything: soft, creamy, crunchy, chewy. I always try to toss on something crouton-ish, whether it’s chopped nuts or crushed rice crackers (a new favorite)
Always add acid. Most dishes benefit from a splash of vinegar (apple cider or balsamic or white wine) or a squeeze of citrus.
If you’re the sort of person who wants more specific direction, here is one particularly great salad. As with any dish with very few ingredients, use the best ones you can find—specifically in regards to the Parmesan and the balsamic.
Pear and Prosciutto Salad
Serves 2 to 4 (or 1 very hungry person)
4 cups arugula
4 tablespoons olive oil
a few pinches of flaky sea salt
2 medium pears, peeled and thinly sliced
8 ounces prosciutto
1/2 cup shaved Parmesan
4 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
Toss the arugula in a large bowl with the olive oil and flaky sea salt.
Divide the dressed arugula between your bowls (depending on how many you’re serving). Top with the sliced pears, then drape the prosciutto over the top. Drizzle the balsamic over everything to finish.