awkward popsicles

I started writing this entry last week. It was full of glee because it was warm and wonderful here where I live, and I thought maybe fall had missed the memo. However, yesterday was 50 degrees and raining, so apparently we've just skipped fall altogether and headed straight for winter. No more exulting in the dregs of summer. (I know; it's mid-October, and I should try to maintain realistic expectations.) But for those of you for whom the sun still shines bright and warm, some non-recipes to help you soak in my favorite season.

Watermelon popsicles! Just stick a bunch of chopped up watermelon in a blender and whir it all together. Pour into cutesy star-shaped molds (or dixie cups with wooden popsicle sticks also work). Arrange them in your freezer shelf.

A few hours later...you have a popsicle! How magical.

The title of this post is "awkward popsicles" because I realized during this photo session that I am physically incapable of capturing this popsicle in non-awkward form. See? Awkward.

Awkward again.

Moving away from the awkward popsicles...here's another standby that I adopted over the summer into my regular rotation: panzanella! Officially known as Italian bread salad, unofficially known as throw-stuff-into-it-until-it-looks-good salad. The above is the only real requirement: bread, cubed up (stale is best!), and pan-fried in olive oil until golden and crisp.

Basil from the garden. I learned this awesome tip from The Kitchn: chop up fresh herbs with scissors in a tall glass! Life changing. I'm not kidding.

Heirloom tomatoes, dressed lightly with olive oil, salt, pepper, the aforementioned basil. Also love using lemon cucumber in here.

Top with bread and enjoy your sweet slice of summer while it lasts.

this vichyssoise of verbiage

I have been composing this entry in my mind for a long, long time. The words aren't pairing up right, and the mental wastebasket is full of mentally crumpled up pieces of paper containing only silly opening lines.

I'll stop beating around the bush. Someone dear to me left me for grad school (sadly, this is a very common theme for me this year). In a somewhat recent email conversation, she mentioned that we are more like sisters than friends because a) she can make me angry over nothing at the drop of a hat and b) we have almost nothing in common but continue to love each other fiercely. As I think more on this, I wonder what ties us together, and it comes to me: food. Of course.

I don't think I really knew how to love food before Donna. The girl loves food. Living together opened my eyes to all sorts of new ways to orient my life around what soon became our favorite shared activity. We would text each other during class, discussing what to eat for lunch (burritos? pad see ew?).We loved beef: Donna was the steak grilling queen, and my signature dishes were shepherd's pie and mapo dofu. Oh wait, there was also the pasta carbonara I explicitly warned her not to eat because I got immediately sick afterwards. (She ignored me (and was fine).) We would drive way out of our way for the fastest pho service in the world. And once, 10 minutes before it closed for lunch, I saw on the Cheeseboard website that their pizza of the day was my absolute favorite, and we booked it over there, not quite in time, but managing to finagle our way in with our winsome smiles anyway. She would make me coffee and leave me post-it notes telling me to drink it. We drank Coke in bottles at a rock on campus and shared insanely deep conversations, documented here and here and here. I would beg her to do well on her tests so we could get free garlic fries from Smart A's. She would beg me to just try Indian food--I finally broke down senior year.

We've grown since then, naturally. She's upgraded to classier Indian spots, and I am way less picky, hallelujah. But vestiges of the old still remain: I still think the sun rises and sets on a fantastic bowl of freshly fried tortilla chips, and I'd like to think that if Carvel suddenly opened again near us, we'd be first in line on Wednesday for our buy one get one free sundaes, giddy as kids and refusing to share. We are the same, and yet we are not. I cherish the food person you've helped me become, and all the shared food memories I carry around with me could fill a book. I know I'm a little bit late, but happy first week of the rest of your life.

Eggy in a Basket



One morning Donna announced that she wanted to make me "eggy in a basket, like on V for Vendetta". I swiftly integrated it into my own breakfast routine...may have changed a few minor things, but the spirit of it is most definitely still there.

First, butter a slice of bread. Liberally. In the movie Evey is so excited that she is eating butter--she hadn't eaten it since she was a kid. Thus, thumb your nose at your local totalitarian state and butter that bread, one side only. You'll also need to cut a circle out of it. You can do it before you butter or after; it doesn't really matter, but I like doing it after.

Heat a frying pan on medium or so. When it's hot, melt some more butter on it. Yeah, this is necessary. The other side of the bread needs butter love too! When the butter melts, fry the bread just briefly, non-buttered side down, and then crack in an egg. If the bread circle doesn't also fit in the pan, just do it afterwards.

You'll have to flip it at some point, so do that. Cook it for as done as you like your egg. Then, remove to plate, sprinkle with salt and pepper...

and dig in. Use that cute bread circle to mop up the unctuous yolk. Your breakfasts will never be the same. (And yes, D, I know that you don't actually like runny yolks)

What's your favorite breakfast? Mine varies based on the season and my particular mood, but coffee is a given. Eggy in a basket probably shows up about once a week. (And for some breakfast inspiration, check out simply breakfast!)

all of my favorite things! in one!

So. I'm going to get right down to business. Make some brownie batter, grab some ice cream, chop up some chocolate, whip some cream, and make yourself some brownie ice cream cupcakes. Do it. Do it now.

No frou frou talk today. Just the quick and dirty. I want you to make these asap, and yes, I feel like being bossy about it. Tablespoonful of brownie batter in each foil cup. (I used this brownie recipe). Bake till done. Let cool on counter. When cool, stick in freezer. While in freezer, take out whatever ice cream you want to use and put that in the fridge to defrost. When brownie part is pretty cold, fill up the cups with the softened ice cream. Freeze again. Make chocolate ganache: pour 1/4 cup cream, heated to just below boiling over 3/4 cup (4.5 oz) chopped up chocolate, let stand 30 seconds, stir until smooth. Spoon over ice cream cupcakes and return to the freezer yet again. (Oh yes, and don't forget to spread around: otherwise they'll look like some of the Globby McGlobbersons up there.)

This part can all be done ahead. But right before serving: freshly whipped cream Yes, this is necessary.

And stick some raspberries on top. Not quite necessary, but hey. They're in season, it's the country's birthday, and aren't they just so cute?!

Now unwrap. Take the hugest bite you've ever taken because this is going to be good.

You're sooooo welcome.

(Bon Appetit, October 1991 via Joy the Baker. Truth: she has the best ideas always.)

easy as ice cream

(because sometimes making pie is anything but easy. To be discussed in a future post. Also because this ice cream is ridonk easy.)

I know what you're thinking. I don't have an ice cream maker. This post is completely irrelevant to my life. Next! But it's okay. What if I told you that the (soft serve!) ice cream I want to tell you about needs only one ingredient, doesn't require an ice cream maker, and literally comes together like magic?

Maybe you would say that it's too good to be true. And I get that. It is all too easy nowadays to feel tied down to reality and ugly truths, to think that there is no way out of your mess, to fear that what you see is all there is and all there ever will be.

But here is something that I am learning: the thing that has always been familiar to you (a banana, a life plan, your heart/soul/mind) can transform. It can transform in ways unimaginable. And bearing witness to this transformation, in turn, changes you.

Yes, the banana is what turns into ice cream! (See how relevant this is to your life? Also, brace yourself.)

First, grab a banana or two (one if you’re still totally skeptical if this is even going to work, two if you’re hungry). The ones that are slightly speckled with brown make the best ice cream, but you can get away with most stages of ripeness. Slice up banana(s) and place on plate; stick plate in freezer for at least an hour.

Take plate out. Use fork (if necessary) to pry frozen banana slices from plate. (If you left the plate in the freezer for longer than 3ish hours, give it a few minutes to defrost on the counter.) Dump bananas in your food processor or blender. (I hear you could also use a hand mixer.) Turn it on and let it run.

Soon, your bananas will look like minced garlic. You may think “how in the name of cuisinart is this supposed to make ice cream?” Believe in your bananas. They are working for your good.

Presently, your banans will come to resemble mashed potatoes and start getting stuck. At this point, open the lid and use a spatula to kind of break up the big icy banana lump and redistribute the mixture. You may have to do this a few times. Almost there!

I can’t adequately explain what happens next. There is this moment when the mixture morphs into something quite unlike minced garlic, quite unlike mashed potatoes. Ice cream! You may scream. This is totally normal.

At this point, you can start digging in. OR you could add peanut butter. OR…remember this guy? A spoonful of dark chocolate spread makes it go down soooo easy.

Blend just briefly to combine. 

To be honest, my life feels like mashed potatoes right now. Heck, I might still be in the minced garlic stage. (There aren’t any illustrative photos for evidence, so I can’t really be sure.) I do feel a bit pureed, like a metal blade is whirring through, chopping up all the frozen pieces, frequently getting stuck. The metaphorical ice cream seems like it is lifetimes away. But I think this banana ice cream waltzed into my life for a very significant reason: to remind me to keep my chin up, to hope. Hope for the sake of presenting a cheerful face for the world doesn’t really mean anything, but hoping for ice cream and knowing that it has been promised to you is quite different. There is good, dazzlingly good ice cream to come; I can almost taste it. So I keep the food processor running…and I hope.

Here’s to your ice cream, figurative or literal: hoping you may catch a glimpse of it today…or at the very least eat it by the heaping bowlful!