I spent the weekend in Tennessee, near Chattanooga; it’s where Ben’s Nana grew up. We were there to celebrate the life of this amazing Southern lady, to smile at her kindness and spirit, to cry because we’ll miss her. When … wait! there’s more…
Today, a salad. Because in exactly one week I will be 28 years old and, on a day like that, salad is not going to cut it. On that particular and quickly approaching day, some sort of chocolate/peanut butter/more chocolate … wait! there’s more…
Flowers in my eggs?! It’s true. Squash blossoms have been all over the Bay Area farmer’s markets lately, so when I saw some beauties by the Ferry building this weekend, what else could I do but scoop some up and … wait! there’s more…
Certain events unfolded over the weekend which left me feeling, what’s the word? Oh, awful. And by “certain events,” I mean “margaritas,” and by “awful” I mean “terrible.” So, so terrible. Naturally, this tequila-induced Awfulness lead to a declaration on … wait! there’s more…
What’s this I hear about some fantastic bowl thing happening this weekend? I don’t know much about it, but I guess it’s supposed to be super? Some sort of super cup, or maybe it’s a bowl, during which people yell … wait! there’s more…
This is a salad. That is correct. Sure, it gets drizzled with truffle oil, sprinkled with strong cheese and topped with fried shallots… but! Technically, salad. I mean, there are vegetables in this thing and you eat it with a … wait! there’s more…
Just in case! You might be hosting some friends on New Year’s, and you might need to feed them some little somethings. These roasted figs are some somethings to get behind. They’re easy and elegant, salty and sweet and a … wait! there’s more…
So, um, this is awkward. A week after my pro-Christmas/Hannukah-bashing post, and here I am with a recipe for latkes. Jewish guilt at it’s finest. In truth, I love latkes. For me, they’re the best part of Hannukah. Better than … wait! there’s more…
As I sit here on my bed, otherwise known as my office, Sunday light streaming through my window and Sam Cooke bopping from my speakers, I can’t think what to write. My toes are tapping and I want to go … wait! there’s more…
My littlest sister, a Wisconsin resident and Packer fan, wanted me to name this post “GO SIX PACK GO.” She then thought better of the idea, deciding that “few people will get it. But I will, and Dad will. And … wait! there’s more…