One of the things I miss about having a "real" job where I go to the same office with the same group of people every day is that collective experience of the winter holidays. It all starts with the annual holiday party where you probably drink a little too much and maybe get to know a certain side of that certain coworker you didn't really want to know. It continues into the next day when you all schlep in late, with dark circles under your eyes and bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches in tow. Nothing gets done that day. Then there's the desk-side chats with your . . .
Are you sick of me talking about Cape Cod yet? If yes, I’m #sorrynotsorry… The thing is, we kind of live for this annual retreat from reality, and I honestly don’t know how people who don’t have a tradition like this stay sane throughout the year. This will be my last post on the topic - promise! (Until next summer, that is). As mentioned last week, this tradition was conceived nearly twenty years ago (!!!) by Rene’s aunt and her college friends - all of whom immigrated to the US from Poland around the same time in the late eighties/early nineties. All of their kids . . .
If there is one edible indulgence I feel completely lukewarm about, it is frosted cake. Chewing through a mouthful of buttery frosting is such an unpleasant sensation to me. Instead, true to my eastern European roots, I prefer bready, dense, plain cakes. In fact, this year for my birthday Rene baked me a pound cake as a surprise. When I asked where he got the recipe, he said "Plain dry cake dot com." Of course he was joking, but it did prove how well he knows me and I was very touched. (The site doesn't actually exist but I vouch for its creation!) Along with . . .
Bunches of fresh asparagus eagerly standing upright at the farmers market are a telltale sign that winter is over. Home cooks and restaurants go HAM for asparagus this time of year, but I typically couldn't be bothered - its bitterness and faintly sulfuric taste have always turned me off. However, I recently tried it raw, thinly sliced in a fresh salad - and this, I liked. Rather than being like, bam, here’s a whole lot of asparagus in your face, the salad was just a touch asparagus-y. It tasted fresh and green and wonderfully spring-like, and it got my brain thinking . . .
One of the most exciting weekends of the year for women in the food industry is the Cherry Bombe Jubilee. Whether you're there in person or following along on Instagram, this conference gathers all the baddest b*tches of the food world under one roof to meet, exchange ideas, and support each other. I've been lucky to attend for the past two years, and both times I've left with new friends and renewed motivation for what I do (this year I got to chat with Julia Turshen, Melissa Clark AND Molly Yeh! - all personal sheroes of mine). For 2017, Cherry Bombe added a second . . .
The early morning scene within the New York City subway system is not a pretty sight. The trains are crowded, the people are irritable, and you best believe that everyone is collectively crossing their fingers that, just for today, oh please let there not be "an ongoing investigation," "a sick passenger in the train ahead of us", or a "we are being held in the station" announcement. And if you get stuck in the same car with a group of high schoolers, then you are really and totally f*cked. But aside from providing New Yorkers with a constant flow of stress, the train . . .
When I first moved into my current neighborhood, living down the street from Cafe Madeline was one of the things I was most excited about. A killer coffee shop and breakfast/lunch cafe, Madeline is a central meeting hub of the Ditmas Park area. They brew Toby's Estate coffee, have an ogle-worthy pastry counter with these fluffy, several inch-tall croissants, and serve an all-day menu that runs about 80 items deep (not exaggerating); it consists of every type of breakfast sandwich and toast you can imagine, grain bowls and salads, savory oatmeals, and a ton of egg . . .