My love for doughy things knows no bounds. In fact, my all-time favorite food is bread - and pizza, gnocchi, and dim sum (or any kind of stuffed dumplings) are not far behind. When I was a child growing up in Ukraine, every morning would start with a walk to the local bakery to pick up the day's bread with my mom. The crusty-on-the-outside, chewy-on-the-inside, still-warm loaf would be eaten with butter for breakfast, with kielbasa for lunch, and always alongside dinner, no matter what we were eating on any given night. To me, bread symbolizes warmth and comfort, . . .
One of the reservations I made right after booking our flight to Paris last winter was for Champeaux, a new-ish brasserie from Alain Ducasse in the revamped Les Halles market. When we got there two months later, the restaurant was gorgeous. Sprawling, with floor to ceiling windows, a wrap-around marble bar, and these sexy, black leather booths with Mad Men-era chairs opposite them. As we walked inside from the freezing cold, we were greeted by a friendly host, who quickly offered to converse in English. “No way, Jose,” I thought - I was fresh out of a French class . . .
Something happens to me at 3 o’clock every day during work. I get a ravenous craving for something at once sweet, salty and crunchy. In my past life (aka, before I cared about the connection of food and health), I would have raided my cupboards for salty pretzels, those soft-baked Chips Ahoy cookies, and oh, maybe even peanut M&M’s. Mmm… But by now, I’ve learned to satisfy the craving with a handful of roasted nuts and dried fruit, or garlicky hummus with carrots and Mary’s Gone Crackers. This craving can probably be attributed to the natural energy dip near . . .
Today is the day, you guys! It's September 5th - the date I've had underlined, circled and highlighted in my planner for months. My first cookbook is out in the world today! The project I put my heart and soul into, the recipes I fell in love with, the images I toiled to perfect - it's all out there in the universe. Weee!!! As you might have guessed, Friendsgiving is a near and dear tradition for me. As Ukrainian immigrants, my family did not always celebrate Thanksgiving, so when my sister and I were in high school, we made it a point to adopt the holiday with . . .
As painful as it may be to accept, the last days of summer are upon us; it's not even September yet and we're already waking up to 55ºF mornings here in Syracuse. It's always a little sad to say "see ya later" to summer, but I for one am ready for sweater weather and weekend hikes through crunchy orange leaves. And don't forget all that fall baking! I'll take anything and everything with cinnamon, plzzz. Since the abundance of local summer produce will start to dwindle soon, too (well, at least here in the northeast), I figured now is the perfect time to round up . . .
When I still lived in Ditmas Park, one of my favorite Friday night activities was to order a giant burrito from one of the awesome Mexican places nearby (Cinco de Mayo and Los Mariachis, if you must know). I would devour it on my bed, in my 'jammies, while sipping on a Sixpoint Sweet Action, and watching Netflix. I realize it's not the most glamorous activity for a gal to engage in on a Friday night, but after an exhausting week of work, rubbing shoulders with strangers at some crowded bar is no longer my idea of a good time. Can I get a "hell yeah!" from my fellow . . .
“Life has a bigger imagination than we do” - a true statement and the central theme of my life since the beginning of this year. Below is some news that I’ve been dying to share with the world - news that I still can’t quite believe is real! It all started with an email (isn’t this how every great story goes these days?) with “Looking for a writer” in the subject line. Said email was from an editor at HarperCollins (!), and editor who’s a fan of my blog (!!), and is looking for a writer for a Thanksgiving cookbook for this fall - a writer like me (!!!). No . . .