Archives for posts with tag: home

Sorry! I feel like every post for the last few months has started with a sucky-blogger apology. In the words of a young Levy: “I thought you were good!” I swear, I’m eating, it’s just boring. Maybe I’ll document “An Average Day in the Life of Anne’s Stomach,” just to prove it. Last weekend though, an aberration from the avocado addiction and plain yogurt norm. Home, which nowadays always means a little bit of gluttony. One of the best things (besides drinking juice out of the carton) about not living at home is being able to go home. It feels special. And because of that warm special feeling, I also feel it’s alright to go ahead and eat six pieces of toast so I can inhale Mom’s kickass apricot jam and top that off with some serious Steury bacon, then a couple hours later trot down to Mikeys for salad the size of a Greek city-state, then maybe later a gigantic Levy Larkin dinner, then probably a box of fake chicken nuggets (don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, meat snobs) for a midnight snack. Why not? You’re home, after all. One night we had a shish-kabob feast complete with pasta salad and regular salad and even chocolate-covered strawberries, the next night (saintly Mother’s birthday) we had grilled salmon and salad (I made the salad! I’m an achiever!) and (drumroll) champagne morel risotto.

Buddy, risotto-ing.

So good, I was eating it out of the pan while the rice was still hard. That good. Morels are tasty, yes, but the fact that they’re foraged (especially by mountain biking dads) makes them a thousand times better. They make you feel simultaneously fancy and earthy, a difficult note to hit. Then, as if I hadn’t ingested 3,000 calories in one sitting, Camie’s unbelievable strawberry tart. Camie is pastry queen, if you weren’t aware. Every important day is accompanied by a Camie dessert. Coffee cake at Christmas, pumpkin bourbon cheesecake on Thanksgiving, angel food cake for Logie’s birthday, anything my secretly sweet-toothed little heart desired for all my birthdays, chocolate zucchini cake for any last minute joys. And Mom’s “28th” birthday: almond crust, sabayon-esque citusy custard filling, packed with strawberries. So creamy, so good. Topped with ice cream, just for good measure. It is home an all.


I do love my kitchen. Although it’s not really my kitchen anymore, I haven’t properly lived in this house for a year plus (weird) and there are utensils and coffee cups I don’t recognize, I love it still. I’ve flopped on the wood floor many a time, exhausted by another afternoon of ballet, lying on the cool floor with the stinky lovey dog. I’ve baked awful cookies and made ten thousand packets of ramen. I ate almost every dinner and breakfast at the kitchen counter for eighteen years. I like my little dorm half-kitchen, but I love this one best. Some winter break kitchen bits:

We’re banana bread lovers here. Bought some random “Teen Cooking!” book at a junior high book fair, it led us to the worst ravioli ever made, but also the best banana bread recipe on earth. Dense and crusty-topped and way freaking better than anyone else’s.

I know I’m getting old and lame because I really like brussel sprouts. It’s so lovely to have real dinners (leg of lamb with brussel sprouts and salad) rather than my too-lazy-to-use-more-than-one-pan rotating-ingredient stir fry. (Also kale chips, I love thee dearly.)

Made a ton of cookies for ski-fuel. Molasses-y ginger snaps and peanut butter-oatmeal-chocolate chip cookies. PB-O-CC are definitely going in the “Make Again” folder. Trifecta of good stuff. Even better eaten on a ski trip, when sliding around in the cold for a day justifies truly immense over-eating. For example, my pre-ski hotel breakfast included yogurt, toast, muffins, fruit, eggs, bacon, potatoes, more toast, a couple glasses of juice. “Carbo-loading.”

And a big ol’ (un-photographed) chocolate Guinness cake for Pa’s birthday. Four layers of slightly stout-y cake interspersed with this mad insane rich whipped cream. 800 calories a piece, at the very least. Yahoo. Christmas power-feed (crab, prime rib, …pumpkin bourbon cheesecake) retelling to come.