May threads not kill me dead

Oh my word, I'm back. I survived the deadline, emerged somewhat shell shocked and battle weary, spent some time with family for Easter, then had another (much smaller) deadline, and now I'm back.

Halleluiah!

I've got much on my mind to share, but one of the things that seems foremost right now, due to the positively fantastic lovely weather that gets everyone's sap flowing and everyone's best duds out on display, is fashion.

Specifically my fashion. Or rather, complete lack thereof.

Having worked at home now for nearly two years (another halleluiah!), and before that having worked in publishing and/or academia and/or nonprofits, I can say that the following drawing accurately illustrates my life.

I'm usually somewhere between Worksuit and Hobo-chic. I wear fleece-lined slippers and fingerless gloves in the house when it's cold, like some kind of wan Dickensian orphan. True story.

As I have lived a life in pursuit of the cerebral, I have--either willingly or circumstantially (I think a little of both)--fallen into a non-fashion rut. My life is now spent living out the wisdom of Walden Pond resident Henry David Thoreau:

Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes.

Apparently, my caution has infected my closets so much so that I no longer remember how to dress myself when a situation requires more than jeans and a T-shirt/sweater (or, in more usual and sadly NOT dire circumstances, elastic-waistband yoga pants and a hoodie). I look at skirts in confusion, blouses in puzzlement, and anything with buttons perplexedly.

And dresses! Oh dresses. Don't get me started. I love dresses, but: SAD FACE. It took me SIX MONTHS to find a dress to wear to my wedding. It takes me about half as long to find a cute cocktail dress to wear to someone ELSE'S wedding. Which is sort of ridiculous. I'm sad that I can't just save myself the search for cocktail dresses and recycle my wedding dress at future weddings--not because of the color, because it's purple and doesn't look like a wedding dress, but because it's too damn FANCY to wear anywhere else. GAH. MORE BLACK TIE WEDDINGS, PLEASE. That or I have to teleport myself into Downton Abbey, where everyone dressed for dinner.

Add to that the fact that I can no longer wear shoes that don't provide firm orthopedic support AND the fact that I am an unapologetically plus-size lady (your state of readiness for my jelliness is a subject for another entry), and I am whole-heartedly flummoxed when it comes to effortlessly looking cute, put-together, or fashionable. How do people make it look so easy?

The other day at a department store, I tried on eight pairs of pants, six tops of assorted styles, and about twelve dresses. I bought one pair of jeans and one dress--the only items that didn't look ghastly on me (either because of size issues or because of OMG WHY DID I PICK UP A MULLET DRESS/STRAIGHT-LEG JEANS issues). I got home thoroughly exhausted and it took all my willpower not to use a layer cake for a pillow.

Who knew it was this effing taxing to get some new threads?

What's a gal to do when she's not given a shit about clothes for so long that she is now confused by them? What's a gal to do when she's got a fat ass and magnificent thighs in a world still firmly built for waifish nymphs, however much people are saying that there's more acceptance of all body shapes and sizes? (It's still decidedly NOT widespread, especially in clothing stores, where often anything larger than a size 12 somewhat resembles a sack, as if we fat chicks had no figure to speak of.)

When you've spent so much time in your head, how do you remember that you have a body?

Now, I don't really, REALLY think that clothes make the gal. I don't. Mostly I wear clothes because they are a practical necessity. If I sat naked at my desk each day, the chair cushion would stamp an unattractive waffle pattern on my ample buttocks, and the neighbors might faint when I went to get the mail. But I do also think that what we choose to wear can be an expression of ourselves, if we want it to be--and I think I am wanting it to be.

Mostly this change comes about because for a long while I was ashamed of my body. It didn't fit the societal mold of beauty, so I saw it as flawed. Bad. Other. Alien. Undesirable. I tried to call as little attention to myself as possible.

Now I'm slowly but surely, with love and support from hubs and friends and a group of supportive ladies going through the same thing, starting to realize that I really am okay, just as I am. Big bottom, ample thighs, round belly and all. And I shouldn't hide myself from the world, or from myself. I should treat myself as a person worthy and deserving of fanfare, decoration, fun, and sass. I am a person deserving of notice, deserving of presence, deserving of space.

But goddamn if I know how on earth to do that if it doesn't involve jeans and a T-shirt. Or fingerless gloves. Or pajama pants.

So bear with me here as I bare it all and try to figure out how on earth I, as a 31-year-old woman, am supposed to dress myself.

The prodigal blogger

My husband told me recently that he missed my blog.

My heart softened like butter.

I abandoned/walked away from/got too busy for this blog about a year ago, actually almost exactly a year ago when I was in the midst of planning a wedding and writing a book and having/recovering from foot surgery. I figured I had too much going on and I convinced myself I had nothing to write about, nothing worth penning, nothing anyone would care to read anyway.

Now I'm in the midst of a crazy editing deadline and am in the process of writing my second book and am apartment-hunting and have been too busy to cook or clean or do much of anything fun, even read a book. Now I am married and walking on two feet and a published author (well, collaborator, anyway). And I realize that I'll always be busy and in the midst of stuff, so why not hop to it and get writing? Why not make time for writing? Why not make it a priority to do the thing I've wanted to do since I was 5 years old and firmly decided that nothing else in the world could ever be as awesome as writing?

So here I am. Back. Unsure of how to proceed or what to say, but dedicated to writing it, all thanks to the partner by my side, who believed enough in me to think that what I have to say is worth the space.

The butter to my bread, the breath to my life. 

Running of the Brides: Exploring my Bridentity

On Friday, I went to the Running of the Brides, an event where sample bridal dresses are sold to the general public at a steep discount. The doors open at 8 am, and while some people are crazy enough to line up for hours prior just to get to run in and grab dresses first, I couldn't stomach this thought and waited to go around noon with a gal from the Offbeat Bride Tribe. The place was much emptier and calmer by then.

Why did I go? I'm not quite sure. From the start of the wedding-planning process, I haven't thought of myself as white gown material and haven't yet set foot in a bridal salon. Dress shopping has mostly consisted of ogling things online and trying on fancy dresses at department stores. In fact, sometimes I've worried that I'd end up like Carrie Bradshaw, who breaks out into hives when she tries on a wedding dress and has to be ripped out of it because she can't breathe. And yet I still felt drawn to go to this event, partly because I was curious and partly because I can't resist a bargain. I figured if nothing else, I'd meet a new friend, I'd get to try on different dress styles and see what looked best on my body, and hey, maybe I could find a plain off-white dress with a floaty skirt that lent itself to colorful embellishment by a seamstress.

My experience was interesting (and thankfully did not involve hyperventilation or hives, though I was quite nervous in the hours leading up to it) but ultimately disappointing. There weren't that many dresses in larger sizes. Many were size 10 or 12--but keep in mind that bridal dress sizes are larger than street clothes sizes because street clothes are vanity sized. So since I'm a 16 in real life (and yes, I am putting my real clothing size out there because SIZE IS NOTHING BUT A NUMBER AND SHOULD NEVER DICTATE HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT YOURSELF! I am not ashamed of my size and never will be again, and you shouldn't be either, ever--you are amazing as you are!), I need a size 18 or larger in a bridal gown. Well, there were slim pickings for us zaftig girls. I don't know if there were just less larger dresses to begin with (my suspicion--the clothing industry is not kind to women with curves) or if all the curvy women came early and snatched everything up, but when I was there, it was hard to find things I'd fit into.

Also a problem was that many of the dresses, whether or not they were in my size, were sort of weird-looking or just plain ugly. Some of these made for fun as we tried them on and modeled them for each other. My companion tried on a polyester-type dress that had pink and white VELOUR floral accents on it. Yes, you read that right: VELOUR. It had a detachable train, with more velour accents, and a giant pink velour butt bow. Amazing!

 My dress is made of 100% Nana's couch!

I tried on a two-piece ensemble and had the first-time pleasure of being laced into a corset top. I felt like Belle from Beauty and the Beast. It doesn't show as much in this photo, but it was VERY gold--like shiny-like-foil gold. This photo is much more subdued and doesn't do the dress justice.

It's golden, baby! Oh so very GOLDEN.

Of the dresses that did fit me, a few had silhouettes that were quite flattering on my body and that I didn't dislike, but none of the dresses spoke to me. I didn't feel at all like a bride in them; I didn't feel comfortable in them. No matter how well they fit or how lovely they were, I just didn't feel like myself in any of them. They weren't true to who I am. The long trains and the white, the sea of white--just not for me. I showed Jeremy a photo of a dress that was flattering on me and he said, "That's the kind of dress a mom would want to see her daughter in."

If the photographer has to urge you to smile, you know the dress isn't for you.

I'm having a real struggle with the dress portion of our wedding. I think it's where I'm feeling the most disconnect between fantasy and reality. I'm having a lot of trouble seeing myself as a bride. I can envision myself as a wife, and this thought actually brings me a lot of happiness and fulfillment, because I am looking forward to being one half of Team Tridal officially. But I haven't quite incorporated the role of bride into my current identity--it doesn't feel like a part of who I am right now. I think that's why I felt a little let down after I got home from this event--or maybe I should be secretly rejoicing, who knows. I just could not identify with this part that I shared in common with all the other women in that room--a bride.

I seem so much NOT a bride. The woman dressed up in white with a veil and presented to her groom--it's so very much not who I am. It's so antithetical to everything about me. I am independent, vivacious, bold, loud, colorful, and in this white dress, I felt squelched, like I needed to be meek and smiling sweetly and faking innocence. I felt like I was shrinking into a shell of myself. The dress felt like a costume for a role in a play I did not want. I want to throw away that script and start over. I want to rewrite things my way, so they fit with who I actually am and what my real role is within this relationship, this wedding, this marriage. The white dress doesn't fit with any of that. In it, I felt imprisoned and subdued.

On my wedding day, I don't really want to be a bride is what this ultimately comes down to. I just want to be me, on a day when I happen to be marrying my dearest friend and entering into a partnership of husband and wife. I want to look beautiful, which Jeremy has assured me I will, no matter what I wear. I want to wear something that celebrates ME: me as an individual, as who I am before the wedding and who I will be after it. Me, all of me, the parts that make me an individual, the things that make me strong and weak, the good and the bad--but it must all be real. I don't want anything inauthentic about this day; I do not want to step into this marriage not feeling completely at home in my own skin and whatever it is I chose to wear on my skin. So even though my experience at Running of the Brides was probably rather different from what many women think of when they envision a white dress--romance, excitement, beauty--it did at least help affirm for me that I am absolutely not a white dress kind of gal. And I am 110% okay with that.

All aboard the crazy train.

Fat Tuesday approaches!

I was raised Catholic, so for many of my earlier years, I was usually encouraged to give up something for Lent. Lent is the 40 day period leading up to Easter, and it is considered the holiest time of the year for Christians. Taking this time to sacrifice some pleasure of the flesh is supposed to remind you of the sacrifice Jesus made by dying on the cross for your sins and the sins of all humanity. Whoa. Heavy.

As a child, I usually gave up sweets--candy, ice cream, dessert. These were real treats and not having them for a little over a month truly was a sacrifice. But I didn't really think about the meaning behind doing this, and as time passed and I grew older, I abandoned the practice of giving up something in the same way that I abandoned most of the vestments of being a practicing Catholic. I still believe there is a higher power, but I don't necessarily hold to or agree with some of the teachings and rituals of Christianity. (I could go on about organized religion, but I won't. To each person their own. Live and let live.)

People often give up food as their Lenten sacrifice because it's such a universally accessible pleasure. We all have our favorites, and spending 40 days not having it can serve as a reminder that not only do we not always get what we want, but also that others aren't as fortunate as we are. At least that's how I choose to look at it--a reminder that I am a lucky person who can eat chocolate whenever she wants to.

But lately I've been going through a lot of personal work on food and body image issues (another post for another day!), and I've reached a point where I fully understand that if I don't let myself have a certain food, I most certainly go out of my way, at some point in the future, to have it, and have it good, to the point of binging, which then makes me feel bad, which then makes me deprive myself again, which leads to a vicious cycle. I don't want to toy with the still-fragile state I'm in, so instead I've chosen to give up another pleasure: sleeping in.

I've never been a morning person and I've always loved to sleep in. Now that I work from home, without a fixed schedule and with a business partner who also has night owl tendencies, I find myself sleeping in more and more every day. At first I really tried hard to stick to a schedule of getting up and out of bed by 8 am, so I could enjoy my breakfast and morning routine and still be at my desk pretty early. Now I find myself hitting the snooze button, staying up at night later and later, and it's thrown my schedule way off. I keep trying to readjust it back to more "normal" hours, but like they say: the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

So I've decided that after tomorrow, my last day to indulge in the sleepiness, I will start getting up at 8 am again. And I will start going to bed early again. Keeping a college sleep schedule worked in college when I was 19. Now I'm 30, and it doesn't work so well. I know that initially it will be a struggle, but it will pay off in the long run. This getting up early applies to weekends too. I want to be sure I don't throw off the schedule and I want to see what it's like to greet a weekend without staying in bed until 11 am. I often feel like I don't have enough time to get everything done--keeping a regular, normal sleep schedule will probably help that.

Do you give up anything for Lent? If so, are you giving anything up this year? What will it be?

The freelancer's new clothes, or, how I've unexpectedly started saving money

One of the unexpected benefits of working from home, especially for a gal on a budget, is that I haven't bought new clothes in months. I think the last time I got something was in December, when I was at my parents' house and got 3 sweaters to keep at their house for when I travel there, to avoid suitcase bulk, and a cardigan for when (if!) the weather ever gets balmy enough that I can shed my puffy coat. And in January I bought one long-sleeved thermal shirt, accidentally a size too big, that I wear around the house (see next paragraph re: heating).

I don't tend to work in pajamas--in fact, I make myself get up and at 'em and wear real clothes even though I'm working at home--but since there's no one else to see me, my outfits tend to be older, dingier pants that would make me look like a schlump if I wore them out and would otherwise have long ago gone to Goodwill but which are fine for wearing in the house, and regular long-sleeved T-shirts, along with a hoodie or sweatshirt over it for warmth. (Because as a gal on a budget in a home where heat is gas-powered and not included in rent, alas, I keep the temperature at a steady 60 degrees in the house and just wear layers, slippers, and fingerless hand warmers. Occasionally I will plug in the space heater if it's really bad. Cheap? I prefer to think of it as frugal. We *are* saving for a wedding after all! And trying to save the earth.)

I'm no fashionista in regards to my personal style, preferring comfort to trends, and when I worked in an office that required leaving the house and being among people each day, I did at least wear somewhat cuter and classier outfits. But I was never super dressy, because it was a casual environment (think lots of jeans) and I'm not a morning person. Putting together an adorable outfit was just not in the cards for me--I tended to oversleep most every morning to the point where I flew out the door to the bus stop with my jewelry in my hand, putting it on while sitting on the bus that inevitably pulled up mere moments after I dashed across the street. But at least I did more or less put together outfits. And in order to keep my wardrobe fresh and updated, I did tend to get items of clothing more regularly when I was still working outside the house--not out of need, necessarily, mostly out of desire. Now I haven't really bought much since I started this job in July. I'm overdue for a new pair of jeans or two, but other than that, I can't really think of much I need. Want is a different story of course, but even that is sort of fading a bit the more I think about it. Wanting some new outfits pales when I think of other things I want, like a lovely wedding and savings for an eventual house.

Being on track to saving for a big event later this year has definitely made me reconsider certain things that I don't consider totally necessary. Do I really need to replenish my wardrobe with every new season? Certainly not. As I mentioned above, I don't usually go for trendy clothing so a lot of things I have are pretty basic: solid-colored shirts, blouses, and sweaters, boot-leg pants (which will never go out of style, and which I will never, ever trade in for skinny jeans, because a woman with a badonk should never wear skinny jeans), a few basic knee-length skirts that I can mix and match with the tops. And I'm set with shoes too. Another benefit of working from home: your shoes don't wear out as quickly. I might get a new pair of sneakers this year if my current ones wear out, but other than that, I'm good.

Knowing that we have a big, meaningful expense coming up later this year really makes me think more carefully about each "frivolous" purchase we make. Will we keep the extra cable channels or nix them? (Still up for debate.) Do we really need to order out tonight, or can we make do with what's in the fridge? (See Tuesday's entry on using up bits from the fridge.) Can I wait to see that movie 2 weeks after it comes out, so I can use some discount movie tickets I have, or even wait till it's on On Demand, so I can save some cash? Do I really need to buy that new book or album? (The Boston Public Library has been an absolute godsend in that regard; their collection is extensive and amazing and practically every single thing I've wanted has been there, down to the Arcade Fire album I really wanted but didn't want to pay for.) I know certain aspects of life would be a lot easier with a car, but can we really afford the cost of the car, cost of insurance, cost of gas, cost of maintenance, and cost of parking? (Not unless we move out of the city, which I am not willing to do.)

We're not broke or dirt-poor, but we are living in an expensive city and need to be aware of the choices we make. Not only does it save money, it's also less wasteful in the long run and keeps the sheer amount of stuff we have down to a more minimal amount. Do I really need to buy a novel I'll only read once, or buy a dozen more wedding idea books I won't need next year? Do I really need to get another fancy top for a nice evening out when we don't go on that many fancy evenings out and the tops I already have will do? Of course not. And in some ways, it's been sort of fun to get creative and find ways to do more with less.

Have you recently cut back on certain "unnecessary" expenses in your life? Are you trying to reduce how much stuff you have for other, nonbudgetary reasons? I want to know! Dish!

Back to the blog again

It's been two months since I last updated this, and I haven't written since then for a number of reasons. I was pretty busy over the holidays, we had some things to deal with at work and we're only getting busier, I've been doing some volunteer and freelance work on top of it, and I've also been doing some wedding planning work. Not to mention doing a bit of experimenting in the kitchen. And dealing with a rather bad case of the doldrums, or winter blues. But these aren't the only things that have been keeping me from writing. For a while there, I just didn't really feel like indulging in the openness that blogging entails. I felt like insulating myself, like turning inward and just sort of staying put, physically and emotionally.

There's also been something else holding me back from blogging. Obviously one of the things that will increasingly take up more and more of my time is wedding planning, and at first I thought I wanted to share all the details--good, bad, and ugly--on this blog with anyone happening to read it. But then I realized just how personal and emotionally charged a lot of wedding planning really is, especially since Jeremy and I are going about it in a somewhat unconventional way. And I realized that I don't necessarily want to put all of that out there, for everyone to read.

Not to mention that probably not that many people would be interested in reading it, since it's not like everyone is constantly thinking about weddings.

And not to mention that there are countless other wedding blogs out there. 

And not to mention there is a lot more to life than just weddings.

I've been writing about my planning experience on the site Offbeat Bride, which has a private online community section for other people also actively planning their weddings. It's been great to connect and vent and brainstorm and get suggestions with thousands of other women who are going through just the same thing.

For a while I was considering just quietly letting this blog disappear, figuring that maybe sometime in the future I'd come back to it, or just start over again with a new blog entirely. But I was recently talking to a friend who also writes a blog and who updates it quite frequently and she gently recommended that I should consider picking up the blogging again. And I do like having an outlet where I can write regularly. So I think I'll give it another shot and see where it takes me. I'm not exactly sure what sorts of things I'll write about in here. I guess we'll all have to stay tuned and find out!

Big news and a big year ahead!

It amazes me that it's December already. My November went by in a blur. I don't like to make excuses for not blogging, but I do have my reasons for finding it hard to make the time to do it. My month was rather busy: deadlines for work, turning 30 (more on that in a minute), celebrating Thanksgiving, seeing old friends. Oh yeah, and getting engaged.

Hurrah!

Anyone who's known Jeremy and I for any period of time knows we've been together for a while now (6 years together, 8 years of knowing each other), so it's not like the news suddenly came out of nowhere. Jeremy and I had been talking about it for a while, but we finally just decided to make it official. (No, there was no proposal. I didn't want that, actually. We wanted to come to the decision together when the time was right.) He got me a lovely ring that is very me: it is delicate and different and vintage looking. (Photo below: props to my mama and her experimentation with her camera settings to find just the right one for a non-blurry close-up.) Part of me knew I didn't need a gem to make it official, but the other part of me just adores gems. I think I am a pretty even mix of traditional and offbeat. I made sure to wait until I found the perfect one though, and believe me: I looked at HUNDREDS of rings. I feel like I take after my maternal grandmother: she really loved jewelry and so do I. She had some fabulous pieces, and she, my mother, and I must all have the same size hands because all of her rings fit my mother and me perfectly. I found her wedding band set when I was home for Thanksgiving and part of me thought that perhaps I could have just used that for my own rings, but then I realized I just love the ring Jeremy got me and I like the idea of starting my own tradition. I look forward to wearing one of her rings on my own wedding day, though, to honor her in my own little way. My cousin did this and I like being part of that tradition.

And speaking of wedding days, no, no plans yet. But rest assured that as they come together, I will certainly share them here. (In a normal, oh-my-god-how-do-I-plan-a-wedding/look-at-this-cool-idea-and learn-from-it-or-enjoy-it way rather than as a BRIDEZILLA!)

I was so happy to turn 30 this year. I genuinely was. I have a job I enjoy, I like my apartment and neighborhood, I am feeling good about myself mentally and physically, I love my friends and my hobbies, and I have a man who loves me who I love dearly who I will be marrying. Pretty good year! I am excited for what the future will bring to us.

Jeremy and I share a birthday (November 21), and this year we decided to have a nice dinner together at Top of the Hub. It was great. We had a really nice meal and a great view, and it was nice to just have a night together to enjoy each other's company and know that soon we would be sharing the news of our engagement with our friends. And let me just say how awesome it has been to share our news. Everyone is so excited and supportive and showering us with happiness and good wishes and (among the most eager) wedding ideas. So thankful to have such great friends! A big beso to you all!

Raquel Likes Food is moving!

Hello friends!

Yes, I know it's been 5 months since I last posted in here. What a hiatus!

What have I been doing during that time? A lot of things. Among them, I've started a new job and moved to a new apartment. And there were some other things in there as well that I don't necessarily want to discuss, but let's just say that I did a lot of changing and thinking.

While I still love writing about food, I've found that having a blog devoted solely to writing about food isn't doing it for me. There are a lot of other things I want to write about: books, work, helpful household hints, adorable bargains I just scored that I can't wait to wear. It seems odd to write about those things in a food blog, and because I found that I wanted to talk about other things, I stopped writing here for a while. But now I'm finding myself really missing having a regular outlet to share my thoughts, so I've decided to change this blog into a blog that incorporates all of the things I love. Food will still be a big focus, of course, because I love food and can't really give up writing about it and experimenting with it. But I'll also dish on other things I'm passionate about as well.

So I wanted to tell you all that in just a few days, I'll be migrating this blog to a completely new URL: www.raqueldishes.blogspot.com

All the same content that's on this blog will appear on the new blog, but it will be expanded to include new content. 


So update those Google Readers, folks! And stay tuned for more good stuff, brought to you on a regular basis.

Fusion on a saucer

Cupcakes. Bacon. Only french fries. Only grilled cheese sandwiches. Exotically flavored ice cream. Eggs in everything. Offal. Pork belly.  (Pork belly, pork belly, pork belly!) What's next, crispy pig skin? (It should be, it's GOOD.)

Food goes through trends constantly, and I don't necessarily buy into many of them. To me, a good meal with ingredients that are fresh and thoughtfully put together, cooked well and obviously presented with care and pride is better than any deconstructed, foam-embellished, truffle-oiled morsel forced into a metal ring and laid out on a bed of baby greens/grains/flower petals/somethings. I'm not saying all food trends are bad, because many are not (see: cupcakes, eggs, anything pork-related), and as a matter of fact, I am quite fond of many of the foods that become trendy. But when I'm either cooking or seeking out a good restaurant, I don't tend to pay much attention to the trend factor. I just want a place with something delicious that I want to eat.

I recently went with a friend to a restaurant that is newish to my neighborhood. This place does Asian fusion food presented on small plates. The first concept I'm not so into. The second one I love.

I understand that fusion is a way to take familiar cuisines and mix them up with elements from other cuisines in order to make something new. Sometimes it works, with astonishing, surprising, pleasing results. Sometimes it just tries too hard, putting overwrought, overthought, and bizarre combinations on the plate, which makes one wonder: what was so wrong with the way things were that someone was presumptuous enough to believe that they could make it BETTER by completely changing it?

When we ate at this particular restaurant, some of the dishes really shone. They were satisfying, flavorful, and a true success. Tiny fried sweet potatoes? Yes. A pork ragout on a bed of noodles, a perfectly poached egg nestled among them? I could have eaten a second bowl. The pork belly on soft, cloudlike Asian buns? Perfection. Like a bacon cheeseburger slider without the cheeseburger. But the smoked tofu? Mediocre at best, and lacking robust flavor. The crab and jicama salad on a bed of egg custard? Disappointing texture combination, jarring and dissonant flavors. Overall, enough of the meal was good to keep it from being a completely mediocre restaurant experience. But what I really liked was the small plates concept (or Asian-fusion tapas, as I referred to it).

This is one of the reasons I love being Spanish. The cuisine is second to none, and the tapas concept, featuring Spanish food or not, has really caught on in the States. Viva foods on toothpicks! Americans embrace what many other food cultures already know works beautifully: small plates meant to be shared, so everyone can try a variety of foods, rather than eating a massive portion of a single food. It's a fact that after the first few bites of any particular food, our taste buds relax/disengage and the food's taste is just not as intense and satisfying as it was initially. The small plates concept is brilliant because the constantly rotating repertoire of foods keeps the taste buds engaged and primed for action. Small plates encourage eating to become a social event, with everyone getting a taste of each dish. Everyone can try more, and everyone can discuss how something tastes. I find that I much prefer this style of eating, because to me, food is at its best when it is about celebration, socializing, spending time with people we love. And when we graze, eating off these small plates of variety, I feel like we eat less than when we are presented with one huge pile of food at once. Keeping the plates moving keeps the conversation going and the lag between getting each dish allows you to really feel in tune with how your stomach feels physically. Eating more slowly lets you realize when you've had enough. And if you don't like one particular food, you can wait for the next one to come around.

I found that during my meal with my friend, we talked more, spent a lot of time talking about personal things, but also talking about what we eating, saying what we liked and why. So even though everything we ate wasn't fantastic, it was still nice to both be able to try things and talk about why certain things worked more than others. Any time I've ever eaten in a small plates style, or in a way where everything is shared and passed around, I find that I've just enjoyed the meal more. So fusion? I can take it or leave it. But small plates? Keep (many of) them coming.

Recipes that go on your face rather than in it

The recipes I'm linking to might not actually be for anything to eat, but they are all made with edibles. They are DIY natural beauty treatments, like masques, scrubs, and soaks. It's common knowledge that many foods help different parts of our bodies with antioxidants, vitamins, and other healing effects when we eat them, but slathering them on ourselves is apparently another effective use for them.

Recently, I've been moving, slowly but surely, away from beauty and personal care products laden with synthetic and, quite frankly, scary chemicals toward more natural skin care, and many of these products are full of foods (and plants and minerals) with different healing and fortifying properties. Conventional skin care tends to be filled with preservatives that extend shelf life at the cost of pumping a product full of chemicals. These chemicals are absorbed by our skin and thus into our bodies. And while it does seem too soon to tell what sorts of long-term effects these products might have on us, the very fact that they might even HAVE long-term effects on us that are undesirable is enough to make me think twice about using them for the rest of my life. So I'm gradually swapping out my traditional skin care products as I finish each for natural alternatives.

It's nice to know, though, that you can make cost-effective and easy pampering products at home, because skin care can get expensive. I've certainly tried a few of these, like using honey to moisturize or cucumber slices or cold used tea bags on puffy, tired eyes. But I'll probably whip up a few of these concoctions next time I feel dehydrated or in need of a boost. One thing I learned recently is that apparently lemon juice applied to a bug bite as soon as possible after you get it helps soothe the itchiness and irritation. Plus who doesn't love the smell of lemons?

Do you find yourself feeling the same way about skin care products, or does the use of chemicals not bother you? Have you ever tried any home remedies using common kitchen ingredients that you find to be highly effective? Dish!

Less is more: learning a kitchen mantra

One of my favorite food-related phenomena is what I refer to as the Fridge Factor. This is when you're hunting around for something to eat and realize that you just so happen to have everything on hand that you need to create a favorite dish that suits your current mood. It is a happy accident, an aligning of perishables and pantry shelves that points you in the direction of the dish you didn't know you could make but are happy that you can.

This happened to me this weekend. I was in the mood for something fresh and crunchy on Saturday, and when I opened my fridge, figuring I'd make a salad, my eyes fell first on the two-pound container of strawberries I got at Trader Joe's for a bargain price and then on a box of baby arugula, my favorite salad greens. My brain spun a bit, and I remembered that I'd gotten some blue cheese for an endive salad we had earlier in the week. Then it spun some more when I remembered a bottle of vanilla fig balsamic vinegar I found in the Home Goods section of Marshall's (really!).

What a perfect combination: peppery, bitter arugula with sweet strawberries, salty-sour blue cheese, and the tangy sweetness of balsamic vinegar. Four ingredients, a simple combination, but one that made my mouth do a little happy dance.

As I started to slice my strawberries, I began having second thoughts. Perhaps my salad was TOO simple. I did, after all, have some grape tomatoes I could slice up and also add to the salad. No, I told myself, tomatoes will be too much. They will add acid that might not gel with the rest of the salad. Hold off.

But I still felt uneasy. When I went to the pantry, I still found myself in this mentality of more is better. My eyes scanned the shelves. What about some slivered almonds? How about pine nuts? I could add some olive oil.

Trust yourself, woman. Four ingredients is fine, I had to assure myself. Your first thought was your best thought. These four things are all ingredients you adore. Your instinct to put them together was right, but don't make a muddle of things by forcing more guests to the party. More is not always better. Just stick with what you have.

So I did. Arugula, strawberries, blue cheese, vinegar. I assembled the salad slowly, feeling the light, dry arugula leaves give under my hand as I piled them into the bowl, carefully cutting the berries into neat, thin, round slices. I shook out just enough of the gloriously stinky blue cheese that it looked like a snow flurry, not a blizzard, had hit the bowl. I opened the bottle of vinegar and inhaled deeply. It had that lovely, heady balsamic smell to it, with just a hint of dessert to it. I slowly drizzled it over the salad and wiped up a drop from the rim of the bottle with my finger. The vinegar was a rich brown color speckled with fig seeds. The vanilla really mellowed out the vinegar's acidic flavor. It wasn't an overwhelming addition; it just enhanced the vinegar and made it taste a little more special.

I dug in. The salad really did it for me. Everything combined in just the right way to make for a satisfying lunch. The textures, the mixture of salty and sweet and bitter and tangy flavors, combined in a way that was just right. I was so glad that I didn't go overboard and start adding ingredients just for the sake of having more on my plate. This was definitely a case of less is more.

The more I cook and learn about food, the more I realize that less is more is probably the best mantra you can recite in the kitchen. You must trust yourself. When something seems to be at just the right balance of flavors and textures, stop. Don't second guess yourself. Leave it be. Chances are, your first thought was the best thought and was correct. You don't have to add dozens of ingredients to make a wonderful and impressive dish. This is not to say that having many ingredients is a bad thing. It can be essential. I think of something like mole sauce and respect the fact that it takes a lot of ingredients and time and patience to make it perfect. But then I think of something like the humble lentil soup I make from time to time for an easy, filling dinner, and I realize just how important it is to have less rather than more. Onions, carrot, celery, and garlic cooked in some olive oil, with lentils and water, salt and pepper. It is so simple, and yet so amazingly satisfying. Every ingredient gets to be a star in this show.

By honoring technique and treating ingredients kindly, with respect, you will get amazing results no matter how few things go into your pot or bowl. Finding ways to coax pleasing flavor combinations out of seemingly ordinary foods often leads to extraordinary results. Putting browned meat into a pot with wine and a few aromatic vegetables and letting it braise slowly for hours in your oven will give you an amazingly complex, beautifully textured dish, without a long list of exotic ingredients. It is the care and attention you put into your meals that will give you the best results, not bottles of truffle oil and jars of caviar. These things are all well and good, but they are certainly not necessary for you to feel like a queen when you sit down to dinner. Knowing that you created something that will tempt and delight you will give you a satisfaction that no bottle of expensive wine ever could. This is what I learned this weekend when I made my humble yet not-so-humble simple salad of arugula, strawberries, blue cheese, and vinegar.

Nutella bread pudding

Nutella! What glorious stuff, this chocolate hazelnut spread. It's the perfect flavor combination. The sheer genius of the stuff is that it pairs well with just about anything. You can have it on fruit, you can have it on toast, you can have it on a pretzel. It goes with most any dessert. Really, it is so versatile. It's like the friendly and amenable popular kid of spreadable foodstuffs.

I still remember when I first discovered Nutella, back when I was 22 or 23 and living on my own for the first time. I shared an apartment with two school teachers in Doylestown, PA, and I often went with one or the other one to the local supermarket to get groceries. Our closest supermarket was a Redner's Warehouse, which sold most things on the cheap, and which often carried somewhat odd brands of things. Next to the cans of Dole vegetables you'd find bizarre brands you'd never seen anywhere else, like Golden Medal sliced carrots or something. Most of the merchandise and the floor had a thin film of dust. It was a pretty ghetto warehouse supermarket, but we were young and poor, so it was fine with us. It was here that I first discovered Nutella, on the shelf with not-quite-Jif brands of peanut butter and not-really-Smuckers jars of jam. I loved Ferrero Rocher hazelnut chocolates, and really anything that Ferrero makes (Kinder eggs have a special place in my heart), so I figured, why not?

Oh, chocolately glory on a spoon! From the first, I was hooked. It was miraculous. You could eat it on anything! You could even eat it off the spoon and not get bored. I remember a ridiculously caloric concoction I would make involving toast with a layer of cheesecake-flavored cream cheese and another layer of Nutella. It was one step away from self-induced diabetes, and it was heavenly.

I don't always keep a jar of Nutella in the house, mostly because I know it wouldn't last long and would go straight to my thighs (what doesn't though?), but it is an indulgence I like to have around now and again. I recently discovered the Tuscan Pane loaf at Trader Joe's, and it was simply divine spread with a layer of Nutella.

I had some friends visiting this weekend, as I mentioned in my last post, so I decided to feed them some individual Nutella bread puddings that I found on the absolutely fantastic website Baking Bites. If you're ever in the mood to bake something and don't know what to make, go to that site and you will most certainly be sated. Trust me. It was while browsing the site one day that I discovered the glory that is Nutella bread pudding, and for that I will be eternally grateful.

I'm not even really a huge fan of bread pudding. Sometimes it's too soggy and custardy for my taste. But these are really a delight. They bake up thick and dense and yet simultaneously fluffy. The custard is the perfect consistency, especially as I tend to be jumpy around gelatinous foods. I made mine with half a loaf of challah bread and I'll probably use the rest of the loaf tonight to make more. And I was fortunate enough to find six adorable ramekins of the proper size at Marshall's to put them in.

They were a big hit with the ladies and with Jeremy, who shares my wariness of traditional bread puddings. They are the perfect portion size and are fantastic with a little dollop of vanilla ice cream. They are also easy to stash in the fridge. I think they taste amazing warm, so definitely nuke them for about a minute each before eating your leftovers. The best part of these is that they are impressive and delicious, and yet so easy to make that you can whip them up while you're waiting to serve dinner. In fact, that's just what I did. They take about 7 minutes to assemble, and that's including the 5 minutes it takes to let the bread soak in the custard mixture. (To be honest, I had cubed my challah bread ahead of time and stashed it in a large baggie, and that's what I recommend you do too.) While we ate dinner, they baked in the oven. (I found that mine took about 25 minutes to set and get gloriously puffy.) While we had seconds and chatted, they sat out and cooled and the ice cream thawed out a bit. And when we ate them, they were deliciously warm, rich, and melty. The Nutella flavor is not overwhelming, so if you want more of it, I'd say go ahead and add some more dollops to the custard batter. But they are truly delicious and so simple that I cannot recommend them highly enough. Get yourself a loaf of bread and a jar of Nutella and get baking. (That is, if you don't first eat the whole loaf of bread slathered in Nutella.)

UPDATE: Here is a poor-quality cell phone picture of one of my bread puddings in one of my new ramekins.

Snow day chili

Yesterday was a snowy, wintry day, and I was fortunate enough to have taken the day off to give myself a four-day weekend, so I got to spend the day curled up in fleecy pants at home with my boo. There's something about snow that just says, "Spend the day slow cooking something," so I decided to make chili con carne. (Jeremy was fantastic enough to go out in the afternoon to get a few things to help make the chili. I think he was excited to wear the new winter coat I got him for Valentine's day. Well, that and the prospect of dinner was exciting too.)

I've never actually made a chili with beef before, so I was nervous that it wouldn't come out quite right (I attribute this to my perfectionist tendencies), but I shouldn't have worried, because when has Mark Bittman ever led me astray? It was quite delicious, and I like the fact that you can sort of vary what you put into chili according to your mood and tastes. Having a pot of pinto beans simmering on your stove with an onion for two hours makes your house smell warm and homey and good. We put together the final product in my lovely Le Creuset (the perfect place to slow simmer anything), and each of us had two helpings. I topped each bowl with a little ancho chile sauce (which adds a nice, smoky spice), a dollop of plain Greek yogurt (which I use in my kitchen in place of sour cream), some shredded cheese, and a handful of chopped green onions. Perfection! Warm and comforting on a chilly, snowy day. I think it might become my go-to meal for cold, nasty weather days. Next time I'm going to try it with ground turkey.

What's your go-to meal on cold days? Or what meal do you most like to slow simmer to perfection in a big pot of scrumptiousness? I am betting that all you folks out there with slow cookers are in your glory season right now.

Also, yesterday was Fat Tuesday, so here's hoping you got yourself a doughnut or some King Cake to celebrate the occasion. J and I shared a Boston cream doughnut in honor of the occasion, and it was awesome.

Heartful of cookie love

I love this article, written by an academic, about how she likes the bake because it's the best way for her to express her affection for others.

She talks about how she and her sister used to bake cookies for her mother on nights when she worked late. It made me think about myself when I was young. I used to do the same thing myself. I loved to bake cookies, oddly, because my mother wasn't really into baking and she never once made cookies. But somehow I was really drawn to cookie recipes, probably because they are relatively simple in terms of technique and relatively quick to bake. And also because, let's face it, who DOESN'T love cookies?

One of my favorite recipes was peanut butter blossoms, a recipe I found in a Pillsbury cookies magazine my mother had probably gotten free as part of a supermarket promotion or something. I remember how much I loved those cookies (even though I made them without the kisses on top, because they were the one ingredient we didn't have just sitting around the house), and I also love how much I enjoying tricking my father into eating them. He hates peanut butter, but yet he ate these cookies every time I made them and said they were good, every time. I guess no one can resist a cookie.

I still enjoy making cookies. I've got some baking books and am enjoying going through them and trying new flavors beyond the usual chocolate chip and oatmeal. I recently made some chocolate gingerbread cookies that were amazingly delicious and took them to a party where they were a big hit. Like Therese Huston in the article, I find that making cookies is like an expression of what I feel inside, a little circular externalization of my emotions. They are a great way for me to nonverbally bring a little comfort and happiness to my friends and loved ones. All cooking, I think, is an expression of love for others, but there's just something about baking that really gets to the heart for me, these little sweet bits of love.

Is there a certain food you like to make that encompasses your love for your friends and family, a food that expresses what you feel inside in an edible way?

Boeuf bourguignon: a meaty love story

I can't believe I haven't talked yet (at length) about my Christmas gift from Jeremy, love of my life and chopper of my vegetables. This year it wasn't fancy gems or an entire season of Ugly Betty on DVD, fantastic gifts in their own right that I've gotten in the past, but instead it was a new baby for the kitchen: a 5-quart oval dutch oven pot from Le Creuset, in beautiful, wonderful Sonoma Green. Behold the glory!

Squee! I love love LOVE my new pot! It is beautiful! It is spacious! It is cast iron coated in porcelain enamel! It weighs 9 pounds, more than the average newborn infant! Pinch me, I'm in love. Sigh.

Since I first became seriously interested in home cooking, I have wanted a Le Creuset dutch oven. Yes, I know that Le Creuset is sort of a status piece of cookware, but for a reason. This baby will outlive me. I will have this pot until I die. And this makes me happy. I could get a lower-priced dutch oven, but none would have made me as happy as this one. Doesn't a lady deserve a little happiness every now and then? (Correct answer: yes.)

Jeremy and I went to pick it out at Williams-Sonoma right after the holidays. Yes, I know that Williams-Sonoma is a purveyor of all things evilly overpriced ($24! For a spatula!), but they also happen to carry a wide range of Le Creuset products AND they also happen to be the only ones who carry the beautiful Sonoma Green color pictured above, which I just had to have. Doesn't that color just make you happy? Doesn't it just conjure up all that is bountiful and healthy and life-sustaining?

I'm getting carried away. Love will do that to a girl, you know.

Anyway, we picked out our new baby at the store and were congratulated—congratulated!—not once but TWICE by employees in the store on our purchase. I felt like we were entering some sort of secret, exclusive club of real, serious cooks. It felt very glamorous, in a weird, cookery kind of way.

"What are you going to make in it first?" the saleslady asked as she rang up our purchase.

I leaned across the counter conspiratorially. "Boeuf bourguignon," I said.

She smiled. "Julia Child's recipe?"

"Yes?"

"You've got the book and everything?"

"I do," I replied.

"Enjoy," she said, with another big smile, and handed me the bag, which proceeded to drag me nearly halfway to the floor when I took it off the counter, so I made Jeremy carry it. (Seriously, if I make a stew a night in this thing, I could get seriously BUFF upper arms just lifting it in and out of the oven.)

I knew just how long it takes to properly make a Julia Child boeuf bourguignon, having read the recipe before, but dammit, I waited a long time for this new pot, and by God I was going to use it immediately. So around 5:30 on a Saturday, I assembled my ingredients and began.

This is not a tactic I recommend to anyone. A momentary lapse in sanity is what I chalk it up to. Over-excitement. A new love going to my head. Because we didn't end up actually getting to EAT boeuf bourguignon until about 11:00 that night.

How long can it REALLY take to make a beef stew? A beef stew when you follow Julia Child's recipe down to the letter? Do you know how long it takes to pat dry three pounds of top-notch chuck beef, when the beef is already beautifully cut into small cubes? Do you know how many paper towels it takes? Do you know how much patience you need to cut up a half-pound of bacon into lardons? Do you even know what a lardon is? (For your information, it is a matchstick-size piece of meat.)

Did you know that before you begin, you must blanch the bacon so that nothing is too overwhelmingly bacony? Does this feel slightly wrong to you, but you do it anyway, because you trust Julia implicitly? Do you know how glorious it is to render the fat out of something in a pot that has nice, high walls that prevent said fat from splattering all over you? Do you know the pleasant surprise of realizing that the patting dry really does let the meat brown more quickly in the fat? Do you know how many batches you must brown the meat in, because 3 pounds is a lot of meat, and you shouldn't crowd the pan?

Have you ever had to toss three pounds of meat with flour? Do you know what a pain in the ass that is? Do you know what a difference it makes? Have your eyes ever grown wide with delight while pouring an entire bottle (!) of burgundy wine into a pot with stock to make a sauce? Have you known the terror that comes with nearly dropping a 9-pound pot brimming with 3 pounds of meat, half a pound of bacon, half a pound of carrots and onions, and an entire bottle of wine? Because with all that in it, it no longer weighs just 9 pounds. How relieved are you when you remember that your beau can do this for you, because that's what muscled men are for?

While unbelievable smells waft around your kitchen and drive you half-wild with impatient desire, something (insanity, perhaps?) has compelled you to continue making more accompaniments to go with your stew, so you soldier on. Have you ever peeled 24 tiny white onions, one at a time, to roll around in a pan of butter and then braise in broth? Have you ever made an herb bouquet? At 9:00 at night? Have you ever sauteed a pound of mushrooms in yet more butter, even though you know your partner dislikes mushrooms and you know you will be eating them all alone? Has this thought made you secretly happy because it means you get the buttery, soft, glorious mushrooms all to yourself? Have you checked on the meat several times and each time judged that it's just not fork-tender enough, even though you want to gnaw off an arm in hunger and your beau has taken to napping in his ravenous frustration? Have you run out of paper towels yet?

Have you periodically been dragging your back-aching, sore-footed body over to the sink to wash dishes so you're not stuck washing dishes all night? Does this still prevent you from scrubbing dishes after midnight? No. And how is everything in sight covered in a greasy, buttery, fatty film? Where did those paper towels go?

When you finally, finally remove the pot from the oven, deeming the meat soft enough to eat, do you realize, after spooning out the meat and vegetables from the pot, that you will need to defat the sauce? And after you do realize this, why don't you remember that you bought a fat separator for this specific purpose until after you start defatting the sauce using a spoon? Aren't you too tired to give a shit if you serve yourself and your beau fatty sauce? Sort of, but not totally. Not defatting the sauce would be giving up. Not defatting the sauce would be failing Julia, and failing my beautiful new pot, and failing myself. So into the separator it goes.

How amazing is a fat separator? How the holy hell did people get by without these things? How much fat can one really pour out into an old glass sauce jar kept expressly for the purpose of disposing of leftover fat? (Answer: a frighteningly large amount.)

How delicious is this dinner, albeit served at 11:00 p.m. when both of you are almost past the point of caring? How worthwhile was it to braise those two dozen tiny onions? How pleased are you to eat your beau's discarded mushrooms? How horrified are you to find that there is a thick layer of brown, greasy gunk coating the inside of your new pot and its lid? How amazed and pleased and food-coma-stupefied-thrilled are you that said grease wipes right off your new pot? Once the dishes are cleaned and the leftovers are put away, how pleased are you with yourself? How long has your beau been passed out in a beef-induced semi-comatose state?

Where does your pot live? Not in a cabinet under the sink, or crammed into the pantry, but on top of the stove, where you see it every time you walk into the kitchen. Where you loving run a hand along the lid every time you pass it on your way to the pantry or recycling bin. Where it stands as a constant reminder of your love, for the kitchen and for your partner for understanding your love of the kitchen and for never getting between the two of you, and for always eating what you offer him, no matter what time it is or how insane he might think you are for doing things the way you do. Where it can remind you that you are confident, and capable, and good at and passionate about something on the days when you are most feeling frustrated with your life and yourself and your achievements, or seeming lack thereof.

Congratulations. You have now cooked your way through your first—and last? No, certainly not last—Julia Child boeuf bourguignon.

Top Chef, season 6, episode 11

Like whoa. It was about time that Robin disappear from Top Chef. Seriously! She's been on the chopping block for quite some time and although I wasn't part of the cult of hating Robin, I just didn't think she deserved to be there and she was long overdue for a departure.

But I have to say that I wasn't surprised to see Eli in the bottom three. His dish was 5 kinds of nasty. Peanuts and apples? In a chunky soup? Topped with ground popcorn? And a weird raspberry sauce foam type thing? WTF! How does ANY of that sound good by itself? How does combining any of those things, let alone ALL of them, make sense? YUCK! It honestly sounded too disgusting for words.

So even though I think that Eli's dish was, by far, the most epic fail of the three bottom-tier contestants, I think they were just tired of Robin being there and they sent her home. Yes, her dish was technically not as horrendous as Eli's, but the judges did point out that she fucked up something as simple and basic as a panna cotta--and this IS the umpteenth time she's been in the bottom three.

I just have to pause and point out here that I wouldn't know a good--or bad--panna cotta if it punched me in the face. This is because I tend to avoid all types of gelatinous desserts. I can handle something with the soft and creamy consistency of a pudding or mousse. I can handle something with the harder yet still melty and solidly creamy consistency of hard ice cream. But everything in between--mostly the custard family and the Jell-O family--I just can't handle it. It's something about the texture... it just grosses me out. It's moist and slippery, and you sort of have to chew it just the slightest bit because even though it's soft, it's still sort of... solid. Yugh. And Jell-O is just too disgusting for words. It reminds me of being sick (I had a lot of problems with my stomach as a child, and was even hospitalized for horrible stomach aches and bouts of vomiting that NO ONE, not even the doctors, could figure out). I ate a LOT of Jell-O as a child, and it was gross. That globby, wobbly texture in my mouth; the filmy skin on top; the slightly gritty last spoonful at the bottom of the dish that was sometimes there when the powder didn't dissolve all the way---UGH. All of it brings back horrible memories. So can you blame me if I'm not into custards and such? Which I know means I should be thrown against a wall and pelted with over-ripe fruit, because what good Cubanita doesn't eat flan--but I just can't handle it!

So yes... Robin deserved to go home. Because she just wasn't on the same level as the other chefs, because she didn't know how to make a proper panna cotta, and because she made a panna cotta at all.

CHEFTESTANT FAIL #12!

"If you're born round, you never die square."

So I don't really understand why Bravo feels the need to toy with my heart so, but there was no new episode of Top Chef last week--instead there was a reunion of "fan favorite" cheftestants from past seasons (including my favorite, Carla--Hootie-Hoo!). They are really stretching this season out. And it annoys me.

Since I don't have any cheftestant fails to talk about now, I figured I'd instead briefly talk about Born Round, Frank Bruni's memoir that I recently read---and loved. Frank Bruni was, until recently, the restaurant critic for the New York Times, and I've always loved his reviews. They're so descriptive and funny. (You can check out an archive of his articles here.)

Fank's memoir was very funny, but also very honest--sometimes painfully so. He was a chubby kid who has struggled with his weight and his relationship with food all his life, from the time he was a two-year-old baby bulimic. (Really. You gotta read it to believe it.) The journey he went on to become a food critic (a position he seriously debated taking because of his food issues) is touching and I could really relate to a lot of the things he said. I've also had a lifelong struggle with food, a love-hate relationship from the time I was a child. I've done fad diets (I, like Frank, tried the Atkins diet), taken pills (sometimes with terrifying, wake-up-at-night-with-chest-pains results), gone on spurts of obsessive exercise only to get bored and give up two weeks later (and did I mention that during a lot of those obsessive exercise periods my appetite increased and I ate more?), and even did Weight Watchers, where I lost over 25 pounds, which I promptly regained when I moved to Boston and got too busy being a grad student to track how many points I was eating a day. I've dealt with years of emotional and mental abuse from a father who cannot tolerate the fact that I weight more than 130 pounds. (A weight that is actually underweight for my height, but this doesn't seem to fase the man.) I have been an emotional eater most of my life. Loneliness and boredom led to sneaking snacks, anxiety and stress led to binging, being reprimanded by my parents growing up to clean my plate created a compulsion for always being in the Clean Plate Club that I am still trying to break. I am still trying to figure out sane eating. I am still trying to figure out eating that doesn't leave me weak and bloated with remorse when I'm done. I am still trying to un-fuck myself up. 

So if you've ever had moments where you lose a staring match against a cookie, Bruni's memoir will make you laugh, perhaps tear up a little (he IS Italian, so there IS that crazy family element, complete with Italian grandma who proves her love for you by stuffing you with food like you're a turkey), and it will definitely give you something to chew on.

Jeremy's Italian grandmother apparently still to this day (she's 92) says, "You don't have to be hungry to eat," proof that food is truly the glue that binds people together in so many cultures. While I appreciate the loving element of that sentiment, it's definitely something I need to learn to make peace with. Reading about Bruni's take with the same problem made me feel a little less alone.

Peanut Butter Blossoms recipe, for Melis

This is for Melis.

Peanut Butter Blossoms

This is one of my favorite cookie recipes and one that I used to make all the time as a kid. They are really good, with or without the kiss on top. It's also fun to make them around Valentine's Day using the Dove chocolate hearts. Delicious!

Incredible and edible and scrambled

Eggs! Some people love them, some people hate them. Me, I fall into the former camp. (Jeremy sadly falls into the latter camp, but alas! I guess you love the one you love, faults and all, and yes, not loving eggs is a fault in my book, but one that I can learn to overlook.) But it is only in the past couple of years that I have really begun to learn all the ways one can really do well by an egg.

Folks of Spanish descent love eggs. One of the most widespread and beloved dishes in Spain is tortilla. I'm not talking about flat dough rounds made of flour or corn, I'm talking about the one-inch-thick disk of egg/potato (oftentimes onion) goodness that is cut into wedges and eaten hot or cold (more often cold). Think of a really thick omelet. A pillow of luxurious egg goodness. When I was visiting with family in Spain, my aunts would pack tortillas for us to snack on while on outings at the rocky coastal beaches of Asturias. They were thick, packed with protein and carbs, just a touch oily, and true perfection. People who go to the beach without a tortilla are missing out. This is probably the best article I've found on how fabulous a Spanish tortilla is and just how to make one. My mother happens to have the very plate they speak of that is made especially for flipping tortillas. It's a big ceramic platter with a knob in the center. It's fabulous. I need to get a large enough frying pan so that I can start making Spanish tortillas (and French omelets too, now that I think of it).

So thanks to genetics, I've got egg yolks coursing through my veins, but for years I was subjecting eggs to sheer abuse under the guise of cooking them. One of my favorite egg dishes (and one of the simplest and most satisfying, I think) is scrambled eggs. I was full of myself. I thought there was nothing easier than cooking a scrambled eggs. I never bothered to read just how to properly cook a scrambled egg, and as a result, it is only recently that I've begun to really properly cook and appreciate them.

When I first made scrambled eggs, I'd overwhip the egg into a frothy frenzy, dump cheese into the mixture, then I'd turn the burner all the way to high, heat up far too much oil, and dump the egg mixture in. The result was a nearly instantaneous cooking of the eggs into a slightly browned, solid rubbery maw with unmelted chunks of cheese. I didn't know any better, so I ate them. Oh, how much I was missing out on! How little I knew!

Now I know, thanks to Mark Bittman and Julia Child, that you can't rush a good thing---especially a scrambled egg. I just made a pair of scrambled eggs this morning and they were glorious. The key to a good scrambled egg is time. You must cook it over very low heat. For 2 scrambled eggs, I add a small pat of butter to a small frying pan and turn the heat on as low as it goes. As the butter slowly melts, I crack two eggs into a bowl and combine them with a fork until they are just blended---no frenzy of whipping anymore. Then I add a dash of milk and a bit of salt and pepper, and then gently combine it all with the fork. Once the butter is melted, I pour the mix into the pan, which does not radiate nuclear-level heat like my cooking method of days of yore, but which is just hovering between warm and the first whispers of being hot.

At first, nothing happens. The egg mixture just sits there in its liquid glory and you stare back at it like, how will this yellow mess ever become something worth eating? Stir it once or twice with a spoon. Nothing. Liquid. Wait a few ticks. Stir it again. Wait. Stir. And again. And then you will see that tiny curds are starting to form in the midst of the mess. Stir it again. More curds. Continue to stir rather frequently, slowly and gently, keeping the egg mix moving, scraping any egg that sloshes onto the sides of the pan into the center. As the curds start to form, but while there is still some liquidy egg left in the pan, add some shredded or crumbled cheese to the mix if desired. I've found that this is a good time to add the cheese so that it will melt and integrate with the eggs. Then you just keep stirring and stirring, which will keep the eggs moving and cooking evenly so you don't get any areas of burny, rubbery horror. I like my scrambled eggs to be on the very soft, slightly moist side, so once all the egg mixture has become solid and piles up into a soft mound, I'm done. But you keep stirring till they're at just the point you want them to be at.

Yes, this process takes much longer than my original flash in a pan cooking, but it's so much more luxurious. It honors the humble little egg. The wait is worth it. The eggs are creamy and rich and so eggy---a far cry from the sad, dry, rubbery mess from my early bachelorette days. If I had to pick a favorite food, first I'd cry. Then I'd ask if I could pick a few favorite foods. Then I'd make sure eggs were on that list.

Cooking as life saver

I went to see Julie and Julia with my dear friend Emily on Sunday (it was the perfect date!) and it was really a charming movie. I read the book, which I thought was decent, but the movie was really lovely and brought things to life. Meryl Strep did such a great job. I think seeing it on the big screen made it easier to get the parallel stories of the two women's lives. And it made me hungry. But I think the thing I liked best about it was watching these two women find meaning and peace in their lives through food. Things weren't always easy or pleasant for them, and things didn't always go their way. They had obstacles and challenges. But through it all, they knew that they could just go into the kitchen, whip some ingredients together, and get pleasing results, and that constancy was a comfort for them, just as it's a comfort for me.

Lately my life has seemed rather volatile and unsettled, and like maybe it's not moving in the right direction, and like maybe it's not quite right. And during this time I've discovered what a sanctuary my kitchen can provide. Working in there, usually with Jeremy by my side, I find peace and truly do feel content. I feel like I am doing something right. I find it fulfilling to know that I can coax something delicious and nourishing out of ingredients that started out as one thing and ended up as another. And that if you fuck something up, it's okay, you can either fix it or start over and it's not hard and it's not the end of the world. The physical transformations that happen when you cook also transform something in you while you do it. Cooking and baking bring me calm and give me perspective.

I know this sounds new age-y, but I genuinely do mean it. Cooking lately has been of utmost importance to me, and I have nothing but love and respect for others who feel the same way. Thank you, Julia, thank you, Jose Andres, thank you, Mark Bittman--you've taught me to love it through your love. Can't think of anything better to love!