Here’s how I used to make scrambled eggs: Crack eggs carefully into a mini blender with a tiny bit of olive oil. Add a pinch of sea salt. Blend on high until frothy. Melt butter in a nonstick skillet before pouring in the eggs. Cook on very low heat, stirring constantly, until creamy and just barely set. Don’t worry about the fact that it takes you 15 minutes to babysit your eggs because girl, you’ve got time! Relax!
Here’s how I make them now: Start to melt butter in pan. Crack egg directly into pan with one hand before butter is even warm while unloading dishwasher with other hand. Stir furiously over high heat. Flip eggs out into a bowl a minute later. (Spoiler alert: They are basically as good this way as the first method.)
Here’s how I used to plan dinner: Spread seven cookbooks out across the windowsill and curl up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn. Flip through each book, choosing recipes that look good. Two hours later, in between answering emails, settle on something: Turkish-spiced lamb chops with a lemony tahini sauce (which narrowly beats out Vietnamese ginger chicken wings). Wander over to the grocery store and pick up the ingredients, carefully consulting my list, taking a few detours to find the fanciest tahini and pausing to assess the ice cream options in the freezer section. Wander to a second grocery store to pick up lamb chops, because their meat counter is better. Come home. Cook, following the recipe fastidiously, listening to music and cleaning as I go.
Here’s how I made dinner last night: Pick up all the mason jars in the cupboard to see which one has anything resembling a grain. Unearth some brown rice. Cook aforementioned rice while I listen to an audiobook and work on a Christmas present for my sister. Forget about the rice because I turned on “One Margarita” by Luke Bryan at top volume whilst working on the present. Curse silently while assessing the damage to my Staub enamaled rice pot. All good! We’re in business. See what else I have that seems dinner-worthy: black beans? Cool. Coconut milk? Cool. A single tomato and some shallots? Cool. Cook all of those together in a pan (first, soften the shallots, then add the beans with some paprika and turmeric, then add the tomato and coconut milk and cook until saucy and stew-like. Just before serving, add a few handfuls of baby spinach and a splash of vinegar.)
How I used to do yoga: Wake up at 5:45 and stumble sleepily downstairs, pulling on chic matching Lululemon bra and buttery soft Align leggings. Fill a water bottle to the brim with nutritious NYC tap water and two fizzy NUUN tablets in strawberry lemonade flavor. Make my way outside and two blocks south to the yoga studio, where I climb the three flights of stairs to the dimly lit hot room, its walls lined with mirrors. The floor would already be full of a neat array of yoga mats, someone stretching on each one. I arrange my mat and wait for class to begin; once it does, I sweat fiercely through 90 minutes in the 105 degree room, my skin slick and dripping by the end. I walk home, savoring the exhaustion and take a long, slow, delicious shower before getting dressed for the day.
How I do yoga now: Every single night after dinner, I lie down on the striped rug in the TV room in my pajamas. I am probably not wearing socks and most definitely not wearing a bra. (Sorry, too personal?) The house is quiet—the baby has just fallen asleep and I’m alone downstairs. (Bear in mind that it is usually around 7:15 PM at this time—I lead a wild life.) I luxuriate in the feeling of stillness, stretching my arms long and briefly contemplating just…closing my eyes. No, pumpkin, no. That is not what we’re here for! I carry on. I turn on Yoga With Adriene (Adriene, I love you), select the “6 Minute Yoga Stretch for Runners” and commence the routine. Six minutes later, DONE AND DUSTED (as one of the British Peleton instructors I like says after a workout). I go eat some cold chocolate pudding straight from the serving bowl with a spoon to reward myself for such a Herculean effort.
How I used to read: A chapter of a novel over breakfast, seated at a cafe with an omelet and steaming cappuccino in front of me. Another chapter over lunch at home at the kitchen table. A third chapter before bed as I let my mind unspool from the day behind me.
How I read now: Ha, ha, ha. Cute thought.
If you’re sensing a theme, it’s that time expands and contracts to fit the life you're inhabiting. The short answer isn’t that "I have no time now”, it’s that I have a different kind of time. My days don’t stretch out ahead of me like a question waiting to be answered; instead, I have a relatively fixed set of time alone and time spent walking in circles around the coffee table and picking up blocks that are repeatedly flung at my feet and kissing a set of deliciously chubby cheeks.
But I find that in some ways, time seems slower and more available, because I’m a lot more present out of necessity—often leaving my phone somewhere in the house and forgetting about it entirely until I unearth it from underneath a tiny light-up piano keyboard an hour or two later.
I do just as much baking as I used to, and much more cooking. Baking projects are a good way to absorb the drawn-out valley of time in the early afternoon, and to entertain a wee one: singing out numbers as I count out cups of flour and teaspoons of baking powder, or wafting the scent of warm raspberry jam and melting butter his way.
This week I’m playing around with ideas for holiday recipes. I’m planning to settle on one baked good and make a dozen or so to drop off, packaged neatly in parchment paper and red ribbon, for the people in town who’ve made this year a little easier and brighter for me.
I’m torn between cinnamon rolls (the ones my mom always makes at the holidays for gifting) or a festive version of star bread with a pretty crimson filling of raspberry jam.
Jammy Star Bread
7/8 cup (198g) milk (not skim), lukewarm
2 1/2 teaspoons instant or active dry yeast
3 cups (360 grams) all-purpose flour
1/4 cup (56g) unsalted butter, softened
3 tablespoons sugar
1 egg (divided into yolk and white)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup (340g) raspberry jam
In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a dough hook, or by hand in a large bowl, mix together the milk, yeast, flour, butter, sugar, and egg yolk. Mix until the dough comes together, and then knead until the dough is very smooth and elastic—don't skimp on this step. It should take about 10 minutes in a stand mixer. If the dough is still pretty sticky, carry on kneading until it feels quite smooth.
Lightly grease a large bowl and place the dough in it. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap or a damp tea towel and let rise for about 1 1/2 to 2 hours, until puffy and almost doubled.
Gently press down the dough to deflate it, and turn it out onto a counter. The dough is buttery enough that you shouldn't need extra flour—it shouldn't stick. Divide the dough into four equal pieces.
PreheaRoll each piece of dough out into a 10" round.
Place the first circle of dough onto a parchment-lined baking sheet. Spread 1/3 cup of jam evenly over the dough, leaving about an inch bare around the edge.
Place the second circle of dough on top of the jam. Repeat with another 1/3 cup of jam, top with the next circle of dough, repeat with the remaining jam, then top with the final circle of dough.
Trim the edges of the circles if they aren't even. Place a 2" wide drinking glass, biscuit cutter, or other circular object in the center of the top circle of dough.
Using a very sharp knife, cut through the dough from the outer edge to the edge of the circular object in the center. Cut sixteen equal slices.
Take two slices of dough and twist them away from each other twice. Repeat around the entire circle. Take each pair of twisted slices and press the ends together firmly to seal the dough.
Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let the dough rise for 15 minutes, while you preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.
Beat the egg white with a tablespoon of water and brush the top of the loaf with the mixture. Bake for 15 to 20 minutes, or until lightly golden brown.
Remove from the oven and let cool slightly before serving.