Monday, November 11, 2013

This post is not about food

It's mostly because I feel bad that I haven't posted. Not because I'm letting anyone down, but because my reasons from procrastination were totally horrible. My thought process went sort of like this:

  1. Dude! I should post that thing I ate three times this week because it was delicious, and both awesome and jankety.
  2. Dude! I actually took pictures of that thing I ate three times this week!
  3. Rats. My pictures stinks. I should eat it a fourth time this week.
  4. Bigger rats. I'm out of photogenic bread. Also, I'm out of bread.
  5. Now that was three weeks ago.
I sound like the least responsible adult ever. Or at least the laziest. Can I convince you that I've actually been eating food? I can totally feed myself without bread. If I couldn't, I'd buy less awesome bread when I went to the grocery store, instead of waiting until I both end up in Providence and remember I need bread at the same time. I'm not lazy! Just snobby and forgetful! So much better!

I'm going to stop talking now, but before I go I offer the following. My friend Alex thought it was hilarious in text message form, and I'm really not funny enough to avoid reusing material. Here you go:

I am not sure what it said, but I said please get off my deck.


Tuesday, October 22, 2013

At 4:30pm, I had already finished dinner

I've always told people I was an 85 year old man, but up until last Monday I was joking... mostly. It is true that when my dad drove me to school in high school I would ask him to turn down the music, and I'm happier playing cribbage than doing most things, but today I put the final nail in the coffin.

aaaand just realized the connotation of that phrasing. Ten points for Becca!

It's a good thing I'm not actually an octogenarian, because my coronaries might explode if I ate dinner like this ever again. It started off in such a innocent and wholesome way, too - one minute I'm picking tomatoes (from an actual plant! outside my door!) and next thing I know I'm switching out milk for half and half and putting mayonnaise on a fried-thing and egg sandwich. Oops.

My mom planted what seemed like half a produce aisle out back the second week of the summer. Within 48 hours, rabbits had eaten everything* but a singular tomato plant, which I completely forgot existed until last week. That gets me to last Monday, when while waiting on my boss to call (and procrastinating on my practice midterm) I realized I was hungry. The government may have been shut down and it may have been a national holiday, but I had two conference calls, statistics to learn and a stomach. Adulthood! Adulthood?

* technically they did not eat the mothballs we put in to deter them, although they did eat the supposedly rabbit-repelling plants we bought originally.


I've made fried green tomatoes before - even once this summer - but never really been satisfied with the results. It was something different every time- the general unpleasantness I feel whenever a recipe calls for buttermilk, too little cornmeal, too much cornmeal, WAY too much cornmeal (think sandpaper). I had an impossible idea in my head- something I had a restaurant once, something my dad told me about his mother making, some recipe that would remind me of watching the movie with my own mother. More specifically, I wanted a perfectly crispycrunchy exterior to gave way to a just-softened, lemony green tomato. I ask so little.

You see where this is going, right?

Ironically, I was trolling the internet for a non-fried way to eat green tomatoes when I found a copy of the recipe from the Lee Bro's Southern Cookbook. I'm enough of a nerd to know about that cookbook's reputation, so I got out the cast iron skillet and retrieved my frying oil from under the sink. I know when I'm beaten. I'm going to get to the actual cooking, but first let me say this: when you are finished, eat the tomatoes. Do not, under any circumstances, go looking for that hardboiled egg you'd forgotten about. Do not toast bread. Do not make Sriracha mayonnaise, or add thin slices of cheddar cheese. DO NOT MAKE A SANDWICH! 

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Fried Green Tomatoes
Adapted from the Lee Bro's Southern Cookbook, original recipe posted here

I don't generally believe in sifting, an opinion I was delighted to discover was shared by this awesome pro. Here, however, there's a lot of salt and pepper, and cornmeal that needs to be distributed; sifting does a better job mixing it all up. A whisk would probably work just fine. Secondly, since I successfully subbed a couple ingredients out, I'm giving options below. 

Oh, and people know green tomatoes are just raw regular tomatoes, right? Not funny heirloom ones? Just in case.

3-4 medium green tomatoes
1/2 cup whole milk, half and half, or whatever liquid dairy product you have around
2 eggs
~3 cups peanut or canola oil 

1 cup all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons cornmeal
3 teaspoons salt
3 teaspoons ground black pepper (if you can make it fresh, it's worth it!)

Slice the tomatoes 1/4 inch thick, and whisk the eggs and milk together in a shallow bowl. Either sift the flour, cornmeal salt and pepper together twice OR whisk the mixture very thoroughly. Turn out onto a flat surface. 

Meanwhile, heat the oil. In a 12-inch cast iron (or otherwise heavy metal) skillet, heat ~1/3 inch of oil over medium heat. If you have a candy thermometer (seriously. who owns one?) it should hit 365 degrees. If you're me, test the oil either by tossing in a small piece of bread or dipping the end of a wooen spoon in the oil. If you go with bread (which I did, above), the sizzling should be distinct but not volcanic.

Dredge tomatoes. Press a slice in the flour/cornmeal mixture, once on each side, and shake off the excess. Dump it in the egg mixture, then fish it out and dredge/shake a again. Repeat, repeat, repeat. If you're smart, you'll dredge 3-4 slices (the number my cast iron skillet could handle in once batch) and the dredge the second batch while the first is frying. I wasn't that smart.

Finally, fry! Each tomato will take 1-2 minutes per side (I like tongs for flipping) to get a good golden brown color, but the exact time with vary with the heat of your oil. Remember, the more stuff you try to fry at once, the faster your oil cools down. Drain on paper towels, and eat immediately.

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

This salad has fangirls

Ok,  fangirl.

She's only one person, but she's pretty fanatical. Last semester, I couldn't get halfway through my first bite before she would ask me when I was planning on making it again. I had to start buying double ingredients so I had an answer for her. Pretty good showing for a salad.

I made fun of her a lot, but the truth is I was delighted. Besides my usual joy in people liking my food, this particular salad is a favorite of mine. Her neurosis  justified my desire to eat it constantly. It's always reassuring when someone shares your addiction. 

Those are croutons, which I made in my kitchen. That's really the only difference between this salad and the Caesars you find in plastic containers at gas stations; the components are homemade. In the interest of blogging, however, I should probably be more detailed. The dressing involves no anchovies (unless you count the tiny amount in Worcestershire sauce) but there is a raw egg, and cheese mixed into the dressing. Also, it's very important you chop the heart of romaine crosswise, and into pretty small pieces- I let my mom handle the lettuce once and my sister was most displeased. Hey! Two fangirls and counting.

Caesar Salad
Special thanks to Ellen (recipe testing goddess) and Andrew (guinea pig extraordinaire)

Note on crouton bread: a baguette is the perfect size and shape for croutons, but in my opinion making croutons out of a baguette is a waste of good bread. You can use pretty much any bread you want - I suggest something  from the 'day old' section of the grocery store - as long as you can slice it very thinly without it crumbling. If that's proving difficult, I suggest throwing it in the freezer for 5 minutes first. Additionally, extra sliced bread can be stored in the freezer for future croutons.

2 hearts of romaine (you know those bags with three? use two)
3/4 cup shredded parmesan, divided
~half of a baguette (see note on crouton bread)
1 egg
2 cloves garlic, crushed
1 1/2 tsp dijon mustard
2 tsp lemon juice
1/2 cup olive oil plus more for drizzling (milder is actually better in this case... wooo for generic brands!)
7 drops Worcestershire  sauce
salt, pepper and ground corriander

Preheat oven to 350. Thinly slice bread and arrange flat on a baking tray. Drizzle with olive oil, and sprinkle generously with salt, pepper and coriander. Flip all the bread pieces over and do the same to the other side. Bake croutons for 10-20 minutes, until dark brown and crunchy (timing will depend a lot on your oven). 

Next make dressing. Beat the egg in a mid-sized bowl, then whisk in garlic, mustard, and lemon juice. Slowly mix in olive oil, then taste for balance. You want mustard and lemon to be balanced, and a good kick of garlic. Add worsteshire sauce , then cheese, then salt if necessary. Add black pepper to taste (the amount I like is inappropriate for human consumption).

Chop lettuce, then break croutons into smaller pieces and dump the whole mess into a salad bowl. Toss with dressing, then again with remaining cheese. Eat and be merry!

Saturday, October 5, 2013

A foodie balance

This picture, from Yotam Ottelenghi's Plenty, gets me every time. It's a bare bones recipe for marinated mozzarella and tomato, and it calls, quite politely, for the highest quality of ingredients. In fact, Mr. Ottelenghi deems this recipe useless unless you can find "a tomato that has never seen a fridge or a chilled truck, only soil and sun".

I was given a copy of Plenty for Christmas my senior year, and when I got back to campus I had one of my roommates look through it with me and flag anything she really wanted me to make. Sitting with her on our stained, second-hand futon, I thought about avocados, the month I spent living on a farm, the  Meyer lemon tree outside of every one of my high school friends' houses. Then I went into the kitchen and ate a teacup full of shredded mexican-blend cheese and Cholula.

When I was in high school I used to regularly eat tomato halves sprinkled with salt, biting into them the way you would an apple. I haven't done that in a while. I have, however, learned to make quiche out of pretty much anything, and how to know what recipes will still work on a pretty tight budget. It's a give and take.

This chickpea salad has been lunch at least twice this week. It came from Orangette, and I made it for the first time two summers ago when we'd just moved into our first college apartment. In terms of effort, it's barely a step above eating the beans straight from the can (a habit I'm not sure that roommate of mine every really gave up) but it tastes like real food. Food for people with their own dining room table.

Like Mr. Ottelenghi, the Lady Orangette points out that with simple recipes, ingredient quality matters. She suggests specific brands of beans, and the kind of olive oil you buy from specialty stores. I'm sure it would be fantastic, but I'm here to tell you that in this case, it doesn't matter. I've run the gambit in terms of ingredient quality with this one; bottled lemon juice, any brand of beans, that pre-grated parmesan they sell at Costco that does disturbingly well in the freezer. In the picture above, the parmesan was Reggiano (!), and I had an actual lemon, but both the beans and the olive oil were Stop and Shop-brand. Seems about right.

Chickpea Salad with Lemon and Parmesan
Stolen from Orangette

1 15-ounce can chickpeas, drained
1 tsp lemon juice
1 1/2 tsp olive oil
1/4 cup shredded Parmesan
A dash of salt, if desired

Dump everything into a bowl, then stir. Add salt if necessary. Eat lunch.

Monday, September 23, 2013

Pasta with Wilted Anchovy-Radicchio and Fried Eggs

I've been eating so badly lately. After cooking my way through the perishables my family left behind (mostly cheese, eggs, milk and lemons, in case you were wondering), I got busy. At that point, I discovered that the take-out options on Cape Cod during the off season are terrible, so I ate all my cans beans. I didn't buy enough.

I wasn't planning on writing tonight, but I think I'm getting overly nervous about blogging. Also, dinner was delicious. I got this recipe from  from Ms. Wednesday, who got it from someone named Nancy Silverton. Both of them do this whole food thing professionally, and  it shows. Not only is the recipe undeniably awesome, but when I divided it by four (so I could cook for my lonesome) it still held up. Whoohoo!

You melt some anchovy fillets in some olive oil with garlic, then wilt in a couple raddichio leaves. Somewhere in here lemon zest, cheese and parsley get involved. This all gets eaten over pasta, with a really oily fried egg.

I forgot to take pictures during the process. I was hungry. I think you should read the recipe, then be sad you didn't let me cook you dinner, then write a grocery list. Tomorrow you should make this, because even though it doesn't taste like anchovies at all (sad!) I still approve.

One more thing- the original title for this recipe was "Pappardelle with Bagna Cuda, Wilted Raddichio and an Olive-Oil Fried Egg". I didn't have any pappardelle, and I didn't know what bagna cuda was until I googled it, so I've renamed it.

Some flat-ish pasta with a lot of things and an egg
Mildly adapted from Nancy Silverton via The Wednesday Chef

Note: this sounds WAY fussier when I'm writing instructions than it was... don't be put off.

15 anchovy filets
8 big garlic cloves, crushed
a handful of flat leaf parsley, chopped (about 1/4 cup)
12 radicchio leaves, roughly chopped
zest and juice of half a lemon
half a pound of pasta, preferably pappardelle. I used fettucini because it's relatively fat, but many things would work here
4 large eggs
1/2 cup finely shredded parmesan cheese, plus more if you're greedy like me
salt and pepper

Heat a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add 1/4 cup olive oil, anchovies and crushed garlic. Poke the anchovies with a fork and stir, until the anchovies dissolve and the garlic is softened. The anchovies won't dissolve completely, really, but they will break up into whisk-able, non-recognizable specks. This shouldn't take longer than five minutes. Stir in radicchio, parsley, lemon juice and zest, then turn off the heat. Transfer the whole mess to a large bowl, but don't clean the skillet.

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook pasta according to package directions.When the pasta is ready, drain it then immediately transfer to the bowl with the radicchio and anchovies. If the pasta's still a little wet, that's ok. Toss well.

Meanwhile, heat 1/4 cup olive oil over medium heat in that same skillet (see! I'm saving you dishes!) until it's good and jumpy (ie pretty damned hot). Break eggs into the skillet one at a time, waiting a moment after each so they don't all stick together. Cook until the edges are browned and the whites are set, but don't overcook- you want the yolks to be runny.

To finish, divide pasta into four bowls and then top with the cheese. Add one egg per plate. Eat and be merry! If your name is Becca, add more cheese and a ton of black pepper.

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Cocktail hour

Oh baby.

This cocktail came to me from buzzfeed via the facebook of someone I'm not friends with in real life. Don't judge me. I also took these photos with my iphone, because I've lost the cable that goes with my real camera.

Judgement aside, there was a carton of figs in my fridge (thanks, family!) and I wanted to celebrate my first week of living alone and decided to write about it. Drinking alone = disturbing. Drinking alone and blogging about it = totally legitimate.

You muddle some mint leaves, a fig, and some brown sugar and then add bourbon and top with ginger ale. No muddler or cocktail shaker? No problem!

Does anyone actually own a muddler? Anyways, this thing is CRAZY good- and I'm a girl who normally doesn't like that much extraneous stuff messing with my bourbon. I could keep writing about it, but I think I'll go make myself one instead.

Fig and Bourbon Fizz
Stolen from here

Note: I generally disapprove of ginger ale, because ginger beer is such a superior being. In this case, however the mildness of ginger ale is a good thing, because it allows the fig taste to really come through.

1 fresh fig
6 mint leaves
1 Tbsp brown sugar
2 oz bourbon
4-8 oz ginger ale
lots of ice

In a cocktail shaker or weird plastic container, muddle fig, mint and sugar until you get a pulpy, gloppy mess. Add bourbon, then fill shaker with ice. Shake for at least 30 seconds, then strain into a glass filled with ice cubes. If you're me, this will require an actual strainer. Top with ginger ale.

Thursday, September 5, 2013

Orzo salad with ALL THE GREEN THINGS!

As of 9:23 Monday morning, I am officially a hermit. So far I've moved all my shoes into my grandfather's closet (weird), eaten croutons dipped in salad dressing for lunch, and broken a glass jar trying to make iced tea. Fun fact: some things with handles should not be picked up by them. Lesson learned.

I started writing this post almost a month ago, when this place was sloppy with dogs and aunts and houseguests and happy. My cousin Grant was poking me in the arm repeatedly with a pencil, which it turns out is exactly the maximum amount of distraction I'm capable of tuning out while either typing or reading papers about eelgrass habitat. I'd made this salad twice in the previous week, because in addition to being fantastic it feeds a crowd. Sitting on the same couch minus the arm-poking cousin, I realized I should probably get this recipe up because  now that I'm alone, I'm not likely to make it again  soon. A pox on the unfreezability of salad!

This recipe and I go way back; it's adapted from something a friend found on Epicurious when we were in high-school and wanted dinner we could pack into tupperware and take on a weekend road trip to Santa Cruz. On another, unrelated road trip, I ended up eating the stuff using a mustard lid instead of a fork or a spoon. I'm not sure how we forgot utensils, but I distinctly remember the mustard lid. It was not effective.

I like it because it's green on green on green, and crunchy chewy delicious. I think the word toothsome might actually apply here. Every time I made it this summer, a real adult asked me for the recipe, and it actually gets better after a couple days in the fridge. So go! Make orzo salad while it still sort of seems like summer. I'm gonna go eat more croutons.

Orzo Salad with All the Green Things
Adapted from Bon Appetit via Epicurious

Notes: I generally treat the quantities below as guidelines- I buy a mid-sized fennel bulb and then just use all of it- so feel free to improvise. Additionally, I've found that sticking the log of goat cheese in the freezer for 5-10 minutes beforehand makes it easier to crumble.

1/2 tsp white pepper 
2/3 cup chopped fresh dill
1/4 cup olive oil
2 tablespoons white balsamic vinegar
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 large clove garlic

8 ounces green beans, trimmed
8 ounces orzo (1 1/4 cups)
2 cups unpeeled cucumber, in 1/4 inch cubes
1 cup diced fresh fennel bulb
1/4 cup pine nuts, toasted
8oz goat cheese

Bring  a pot of salted water to a boil, then blanch green beans to your desired level of crunchiness (I go with 3 minutes). Scoop them out with a slotted spoon and transfer them to a cutting board. Add orzo to the same water, and cook according to package directions.

Blend dill, oil, vinegar, lemon juice, white pepper, and garlic in a mini food-processor until smooth. Season with salt.

Cut green beans into 1 inch pieces, and place in a serving bowl. Add orzo, cucumber, and fennel, and then stir in dressing. When the whole thing is a rather uniform shade of green, add toasted pine nuts and crumble in goat cheese. Toss again, then eat happily.

Saturday, August 31, 2013


AAAAAAH! I was feeling so, so great about things- about my weird future hermit lifestyle, my half job, my night school classes. Then I went home and talked to a bunch of my friends, and mostly still felt great.

It was the grocery store that killed me.

That? That is half of the "inorganic carrots, radishes, beets and cabbages" section at Berkeley Bowl. HALF!! Look how beautiful it is! Look how many colors! And that's just the inorganic section! WHY AM I IN NEW ENGLAND?

(Also, I went to a Giants game on Thursday, and when I went to throw away my empty mustard packets, the waste bins were labeled recycling, compost, and landfill. Perfect.)

I promise there is a recipe coming soon, but for now, oh nonexistent readers, you shall have to be happy with pictures of beets. Who doesn't like pictures of beets? Internet: the only socially acceptable venue for talking to yourself. Now go read this and don't come back until you've forgotten how abruptly I ended this post. Bye Bye!

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Good Ideas on Toast

I like breakfast. I like eating pancakes at 5am during exams, and knowing everyone in my house's preferred bagel order. I even like going out to breakfast with my grandfather at 7:30am because, as he once told me, "decent people do not eat breakfast after 8." Most of all, I like it when it's Saturday, and there are too many people sleeping on your couches, and all it takes to make everybody happy is ten minutes spent cracking eggs and trying to see how many english muffins you can fit into your toaster oven.

Hey Dad! Your house is super photogenic.

I know nobody actually needs a recipe for scrambled eggs, but I'd never put scallions and cheddar in eggs until my friend Trisha showed me, and now they're my go-to egg scrambling additions. Cheap, generally hiding in my fridge, and a perfect combination of flavors. Sold. 

So! Put some english muffins in the toaster, chop a scallion, break some eggs. (take a shower, shine your shoes...)


Grate some cheese. Observe that it is probably too much cheese. Decide not to care. 

On principle, I'm not gonna tell anyone how to scramble eggs, and besides, I was told once that I over-stir mine. I usually put the scallions in the pan with the eggs, and then add the cheese just before they're done, but it's scrambled eggs. Do it however you want. Wake up your sister. Remember the Saturday the evangelists came while you were eating breakfast, the eggs on Thanksgiving morning, your roommate making coffee. Pull out some plates. Miss, for the thousandth time, a white house in Providence. Eat eggs. Feel better.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Cucumber soup

Californians who go East for college are warned ferociously about winter, which I’ve subsequently decided is kind of unnecessary. Sure, I had to learn to dress myself properly (coats with linings? socks? what are these things?), and just this year I did manage to slip and fall on my butt twice walking to class on the same day, but overall, winter in Rhode Island wasn’t that big of a deal. [Yes, Dad, I know I only think this because I never had to shovel snow in upstate New York. I’m sticking to my story anyways. HAH!]

Summer is different.

 I hate hot weather. Part of it is my own personal physiology- I start sweating grotesquely at about 76 degrees- but it goes deeper than that. Being cold is a problem with an easy solution, but with heat… I mean, there are only so many clothes that you can take off. You know your agree with me. The one and only summer I spent in Providence was brutal, and I’m pretty sure that if I hadn’t bought an air conditioning unit for my third floor bedroom I would have ended up a melted pile of exhausted human tissue sludging around campus like a giant amoeba within a week.

Fun fact: I am now imagining myself as one of the Mistwraiths from the Brandon Sanderson books- you know, the creatures that have an irrational number of bones poking out at odd angles?

That beautiful image brings me to the third week of July. I’m staying with my grandfather on Cape Cod, which would normally invalidate my complaints about the weather (or really anything), but I’m clearly being punished for something because it was disgustingly hot and, unusually for somewhere this close to the ocean, sticky, humid and breeze-less. I spent most of the week lying on the living room floor failing to do work and wondering whether getting my cousins’ dog to stop barking at nonexistent squirrels would be worth the effort of moving my body. Bottom line: I’m a wuss with first world problems. I am, however, a wuss who makes pretty awesome cold soup.

I know. It looks repulsive.

In reality, it's a delicate minty green color and NOT gross looking, but every picture I took looked turned out worse than the last one. You should see the ones where the soup was in a blue bowl... let's just say, I would not eat that based on photographic evidence. After a while, I got frustrated and took a sequence of equally terrible photos of my lemonade and iced tea mixing, which did not make me feel better. Go figure.

Back to the soup. It has cucumbers!

The recipe is from the very first cookbook I ever owned. It was given to me when I was 15, shortly after I stopped eating meat. I don’t remember what it was actually called (Hippy Dinners? Vegetables are people too?) but I’ve got a photocopy of a page that my high school self annotated with the words “soup: excellent!”. Crossed out next to the word excellent is ‘winner’, an expression my mom uses while writing in cookbooks and that I was apparently subsequently embarrassed to have imitated. I was obviously a really cool, self confident teenager.  

Either way, I was right: this soup was, and is, a winner. Cold soup sounds fussy, but this one has, like, five ingredients, a blender does all the work, and it’s perfect summer food. Best of all, you can make it when you do have the energy to move, and then eat it later when you don't feel like leaving the floor. Or you could be a civilized person and eat at a table. I won't judge.

Cucumber Soup
Stolen from a cookbook I can't quite remember

Notes: I'm pretty bad at blenders, so I always end up having to do this in batches. The recipe I'm retyping seems to think you can do it all in one go, so blend according to your own ability. Or the size of your blender. Additionally, you might want to start with half that amount of salt and then work up- I've actually decreased the amount of salt from the original recipe, but everybody's different.

3 large cucumbers (1 1/2 lbs), peeled
1 cup plain whole milk yogurt
1 1/2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 teaspoons red wine vinegar
1 tablespoon chopped fresh mint
1 garlic clove, peeled
1 teaspoon coarse sea salt or kosher salt
Black pepper

1. Cut the cucumbers in half lengthwise, and scoop out the seeds with a spoon. If you're me, enjoy this step immensely. Chop them up, but don't worry about it that much. Translation: chop coarsely and transfer to blender.

2. Add yogurt, olive oil, vinegar, mint, garlic and salt and blend until smooth. Season with black pepper, and chill until ready to serve. You might want to chill the soup too... I'M HILARIOUS. Ok, but seriously. Put the soup in the fridge. I'm gonna stop typing now.

Sunday, August 18, 2013

I was supposed to be in Kenya

I really, really want to live in Nairobi. I have absolutely no idea where this fascination came from; nobody I know has been to Kenya in recent memory, and to my knowledge, none of the bits of Planet Earth that make me want to drop everything and become a nature photographer were filmed there. When put on the spot, I end up saying that I want to go because it’s where the United Nations Environment Program is headquartered, but I have a sneaking suspicion I'm obsessed with Nairobi because of how cool the word sounds.

The actual point (there is a point!) is that today, in August of 2013, I am not where I expected to be.  I don’t really remember making an actual life plan, but I’m pretty sure that at 23 I was going to be making very little money, living at least six time zones from home and communicating primarily via mime.  I was definitely supposed to have graduated from college. Instead, I’m sitting on my grandfather’s couch on Cape Cod feeling alternately fine and hopeless, and wondering whether I’m ever going to finish school.

The solution is clearly to start a food blog.

That’s totally how the story goes, right? Someone feels confused and lost, starts a food blog, and bam! Five years later they’ve got a baby and a book deal because their life is so awesome that people like me will spend time and money for the privilege of using it for escapist purposes. On the off-chance that there is anyone reading this who isn’t my mom doesn’t know me well, here’s the rundown: the implication that I want either a book deal or a baby anytime soon (or ever, actually) – COMPLETELY sarcastic. I do, however, spend an egregious amount of time reading food blogs and will happily continue to buy any books the Orangette lady feels like writing.

So here goes! I know that starting a food blog without a recipe in the first post is probably a bad idea, but so is having a grammatically incorrect blog title and eating as much Cholula as I do on a regular basis, so really I’m just sticking to my guns. It’s definitely not because I’m petrified that my food photography and recipe writing skills aren’t up to snuff. No way, no how.

Goodbye for now,