It’s pouring rain outside. My lawn has liquefied into a swampy and unfriendly puddle. My grandmother (one of my absolute favorite humans on this earth) has been in the hospital for days. It’s Monday. I have a 101 degree fever…again. Life is happening. It’s swift and rough and sometimes lovely despite its discomfort. There have been moments through the uncertainty and sadness that have felt light and necessary. Being able to hug my mom. Telling jokes in a hospital room with my family–and feeling the blanketed weight of our situation lift in between the breath of laughter. Holding my grandmother’s soft hand as she falls asleep and mumbles bits and pieces of her Watercress Soup recipe. Hanging out with my cousins and meeting their sweet puppy Moose. But, if we’re honest, I’d really like to crank some sappy ballads, turn on the fireplace, hide under a blanket and sing at the top of my lungs. Does anyone else process emotion this way? Also, french fries with crispy edges and something good to dip them in. Ballads and fries. All day. […]
I’m continuing on with my crusade to make your Valentines Day one for the culinary books! I’m sure you’ve seen my Perfect Pan Seared Filet Mignon and my deliciously decadent Creamy Goat Cheese & Lobster Mashed Potatoes– but, what about veggies? We’ve all been to a steakhouse and then received a beautiful plate of steak, a baked potato and the saddest pile of wilted green beans or sweaty, droopy-looking carrots. It’s depressing. Let’s stop the madness and make a simple and delicious vegetable side dish that doesn’t make you feel like crying. There’s no crying in vegetables! That’s a famous movie quote, right? Something like that. Just imagine I’m Tom Hanks. […]
Growing up is weird, right?
The more grown I get, the more uncertain I am if the term “grown up” is even a real thing. I think, like most young people, I had this false hope that one morning in my late twenties I would awaken with a strong grip on how to do taxes, and the willingness to save money for a new sensible vacuum cleaner. I would be tidier. I’d have cosmically started a retirement account. I would feel a certain maturity. The depth of my wisdom would increase alongside the axis of how strong my prescription glasses needed to be. I would definitely not curse in front of my husband’s boss. And, I probably wouldn’t sign business e-mails with emojis. But, this doesn’t happen. It’s not concrete. I still have the crappy vacuum cleaner I purchased when I was nineteen. I’m wiser, but not above asking Web MD if I am dying when I have a headache. I’m aware that grown up mail is usually just a slew of bills, credit card offers, and an L.L Bean catalog from that time I purchased my husband a fleece. I’m aware that sometimes the child who is working the checkout of a Trader Joes will call me Ma’am and not card me when I purchase wine. And, I’m certainly aware that being a grown up means eating a lot of veggies. […]