There are a lot of endearing things about my kitchen. It has tinned ceilings original to the house from the early 1900s, it gets beautiful light, it's very large by New York City standards. But there are a lot of things I hate about it. It's old with largely unreliable appliances, its counters are covered with a horrible off-white laminate littered with coffee stains, it has a freezer that doesn't freeze when I'm trying to make ice cream sandwiches. But it's my kitchen, and I'll always love it even if I don't like it.
Tomorrow marks the first day of fall, where did the entire month of September go? Here I am scrambling to get this post out before the 23rd officially rolls around, so in the spirit of being constantly late to the game, I'm sharing one last late summer recipe with you guys because I'm not ready for six months of winter squash.
Just like the recipe, this post is going to be short and sweet, mostly because I don't really have much to say today, but also in part because I've been trying my best to enjoy time away from the computer screen lately, doing things like biking, walking, and for the first time tonight, climbing! Work's been good, I've been super busy, I went to a launch party for Sam's new cookbook (which you should buy because it's amazing and she's one of the most talented ladies ever), and I've been obsessed with making a vegetarian Chicken Shack at home, so much so that it was dinner almost every day last week. And that's it, that's my life update, that's all I got.
I have these images in my head about how things in life should turn out before they happen. How a conversation with old friends will go, how a new city will make me feel, how I'll impress someone I haven't met yet, what my first day somewhere will be like. Inevitably, nothing ever turns out the way we picture it in our heads, and we're left with the determination that things will be different next time.
It was one of those single digit birthdays you don't quite remember with perfect clarity as an adult. My mom had bought me a cake, chocolate, decorated with white and yellow frosting, tucked nicely in a box for transporting home. I absolutely insisted on carrying it during the short walk from our car to our apartment, I had pictured myself gracefully gliding to the doorway as mom opened the door for me to step through like a princess. She insisted against it because she was afraid I would drop the cake. I won. I tripped. I dropped it on the hot August pavement. It was a devastating moment for my younger self as not only had I ruined my birthday cake, but I also got slapped in the face with a lesson in humility on the very day where it's okay to be unapologetically self centered and arrogant. Nothing like I pictured. We ended up eating the cake, mom scraped off the corner that got smushed to the ground, redistributed some of the frosting, and worked out some crafty angles for the photos. And as horrifying as it was at the time, it was character building—a learning experience. Never again would I be so careless with cake.
Phillip used to work at a tea house in high school. He loves earl grey and requested to write a poem for this post so here goes:
Black tea and zesty bergamot
A squeeze of lemon and steaming water in the pot
A pick me up on rainy days and situations fraught
There is nothing quite like tea, earl grey, hot
So what do you guys think? Should he make some more appearances? (The last line is a reference to Star Trek: TNG for you nerds out there, I heart Picard).