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Thursday, April 3, 2014

triple-coconut quinoa porridge

Triple-Quinoa Porridge

I’m ashamed to say that breakfasts are sort of an afterthought in this household. If there was a candid camera sneaking around here in the mornings, we’d be in the hall of shame for certain. I start my mornings, early, with a glass of water and lemon (thanks, Winnie!). I shuffle out in my bathrobe and sit, glass of water in hand, while I sift through various emails, make a list of things to do for the day, and generally try to wake up. Each morning, I compile relevant press links for a client, put together a social media strategy for the day. I do it early on because I like to free up the rest of my day to work on books, on writing, on having some flexibility with my schedule. And it’s perhaps because mornings are so packed with activity, that everything: exercise, breakfast, showering, often falls by the wayside.

Lately, in particular, as I was rushing to the finish line with Marc Murphy’s book (it’s been submitted! fireworks! fanfare! celebratory cocktails!) breakfast was, well, it didn’t exist period. I’d realize by about 11am that I was so hungry I couldn’t see straight, and I’d lunge into the kitchen and try to make myself a smoothie (very good), a piece of toast (good, but was getting old), or a few slices of cheddar cheese with an apple (also very good). But did I make myself a proper breakfast? No.

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Thursday, July 11, 2013

sour milk waffles

It was a fabulous morning. #latergram

I’d like to talk about waffles today. Or rather, I’d like to talk about leisurely breakfasts and lazy weekends, something I haven’t been experiencing lately and have rather missed. The kind of weekends when you find yourself, at 2 o’clock in the afternoon, still reading the in your pajamas, dirty dishes in the sink, news in the background without a care in the world. It’s been oppressively hot in New York lately, so staying in the cool of air conditioning and eating waffles while reading the paper really is a fine way to pass your Sunday.

Which is exactly what we did over the holiday weekend. I had handed in the copy-edited manuscript back to the editor; I huffed and puffed and got another project I’m working on to a point where I was proud of it, so I put it to rest for a few days; I finished my PR work on time, and thought it was time to shut the computer down.

I won’t bore you with the details of how I spent two days hanging out with Apple geniuses waiting for them to run all kinds of diagnostic tests on my computer to isolate the problem. I won’t give you the rundown of how I had to explain not once, not twice, not even three times that I knew what things like “hard drive”, “RAM”, “cache”, and “reformat” meant. But suffice to say that if your computer does indeed decide to break down on you, I hope, for your sake, that it picks the kind of weekend when you don’t have anything due, when you can afford to take the time to make sure it is properly fixed. From what I recall, from decades of being a computer owner, computers have a fine way of picking the least convenient time and breaking down on you – the night before your thesis is due, for example, not that this kind of thing happened to me. Oh, wait, it did.

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Monday, May 28, 2012

cornmeal ricotta pancakes with strawberry rhubarb compote

cornmeal ricotta pancakes with strawberry rhubarb compote

Yesterday taught us an important lesson – when planning a special meal over Memorial Day weekend, reserve it in advance.

We were going to kick off our summer with some lobster rolls, made in-house, of course, with some lemony homemade mayo and brioche hot dog buns. A haute lobster roll, if you will. We showed up to our local fish store, half an hour before they closed, and saw three lonely lobsters hanging out in the tank. Victory was ours. Or so we thought. It turned out the lobsters were sold to someone who, ahem unlike the writer here and her half husband, planned ahead.

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Monday, May 7, 2012

cannoli crepe cake with orange puree

cannoli crepe cake

I think this post should be filed under “I-Can’t-Just-Leave-It-Well-Enough-Alone”. Because, really, I can’t. Here’s the rub: while, in thirty-four years of eating I’ve eaten many a cannoli, I could count probably on one hand the number of times I have actually enjoyed it. This, coming from an Italian (and even more so a Sicilian) food fanatic, is a very sad, even embarrassing admission. But it’s true.

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Tuesday, June 14, 2011

frittata with asparagus, cremini, and scallions

breakfast is served

In a few days our household is going to grow by one more. No, there’s no bun in the oven, so to speak – we’re not having a baby. If you start seeing recipes combining peanut butter, pickles and ice cream, you should start to get suspicious, but you can rest easy for now. Our household is temporarily expanding because Andrew’s younger brother, Russ, is coming to live with us while he is studying at the Cooper Union for the summer. One bedroom, an air mattress, and three people. Sounds like a script for a prime time sitcom.

Someone asked me the other day if I was dreading it – adding another person to a small New York one bedroom. I know that many people would be. I know that given my anxiety over clutter and disorder – I should be. But I’m not. I love a full house. I love the extra commotion and the noise that comes with it. While it’s nice to be just the two of us, but with another person it’ll feel like an actual family.

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Tuesday, April 12, 2011

matzo brei with pear, ricotta and dried cherries

matzo brei with pears, ricotta and dried cherries

Not many of my friends actually look forward to Passover. Most of them, in fact, regard it with disdain – it’s just another reminder of even more things they can’t eat for over a week. Even my tref-eating friends feel the need to adhere to as much of the discipline as possible. “If not this holiday,” said a friend last year, “then when?”

matzos

He has a point. A week of avoiding bread and pasta (which is the least of Passover dietary complications) – might work wonders for the waistline, but someone like me always ruins a low-carb proposition. “But you can have potatoes,” I exclaim to heavy eye-rolling. So much for that spring cleanse.

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