When you find yourself with extra strawberries or rhubarb or peaches or plums or apples or, well, I could go on, one smart thing to do is walk over to the kitchen, and see if you have flour, butter, and sugar around.
Plums are farmers markets’ harbingers of fall. They come in with the peaches and the berries and go out with the apples and the pears.
When plums show up, summer heads out.
For a number of years in my late twenties and early thirties, Dan and I and a group of friends took turns hosting fortnightly dinner parties where we cooked a meal and played board games and enjoyed each other’s c
It’s December 23rd, and I’m sitting in my pajamas by the Christmas tree with a mug of coffee and the severed head of a gingerbread person from a fresh batch of cookies.
It’s been a busy month for us. Our suitcases have gotten a workout.
We moved and began to unpack. Two weeks later we packed our bags and headed to Vegas where Dan was attending a conference.
In the summer, I love rustic fruit-filled baked goods. I’ve eaten my share of crisps and crumbles and cobblers, but until recently, I was unfamiliar with the buckle.