It's been over one week of my new life in Syracuse, and if you get my newsletter, you already know that I survived the move and things are going a-okay so far. First off, we love our new house, which has a backyard and a washer-drier (luxuries for city folk like us); we've already planted a small vegetable garden - and done several loads of free laundry, in case you were wondering. Turns out, it's pretty nice to be away from city stresses like crowds and noise, and to be surrounded by trees and greenery on a daily basis. Touché, Central New York. One of the best . . .
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 . . .
Rene and I had just spent a gorgeous day at the beach - complete with fried calamari and ice cream at our favorite ocean-view shack - and were driving back to the campground to start prepping a communal dinner with 20 or so of his closest Polish family friends. We stopped at a little farm-stand on the road to pick up some produce. I wasn't sure what I wanted to contribute to the meal, but seeing as it's been bright hot all day, we were in the mood for a salad. On the shelves, I saw some plump orange tomatoes, ripe peaches and fresh corn, side by side. I . . .
Here we are again - time to update you on what’s been happening in my life lately. It was almost exactly a year ago that I told you about Rene moving away to pursue his Master’s degree. Since then, life has been kind of a whirlwind. Being in a long distance relationship with someone you’ve lived with for two years is no easy feat. Scratch that - for the first few months, it was damn near impossible. There I was, living with a roommate for the first time in my life, suddenly going to bed and waking up alone, and not being able to text bae “What do you wanna do for . . .
My childhood home was 10 minutes away from the beach by foot. From late spring up until September 1st - the first day of the Ukrainian school year - my mom would take my sister and I to the beach every single day. To clarify, she took us as well as a handful of other neighborhood kids; other times, we'd be taken by someone else's mom. Most days we'd get there by 8 a.m. to claim the coveted spot as close to the water as possible. The beach in Odessa is unlike any other I've been to since. The sand is fine and soft, the Black Sea warm, gentle and shallow. We'd hang . . .
If there is one edible indulgence I feel completely lukewarm about, it is frosted cake. Chewing through a mouthful of buttery frosting is just 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 . . .
Phoebe Lapine is someone I've admired for a long time. With her blog, Feed Me Phoebe, she manages to strike a balance between personal stories filled with self-deprecating humor, and seriously creative yet good-for-you recipes that make you go, "Hmm, why didn't I think of that?" When I finally got to meet her in person - when we co-taught a course on food blogging at NGI - I was thrilled to learn she was just as cool in 3D as she is on the interwebs (always a relief, isn't it?). Aside from writing an award-winning blog, Phoebe is also a culinary instructor, . . .