I am not above waxing poetic about my love of breakfast. At least ¼ of my instagrams feature breakfast as the subject. I wasn’t always this way. Until I was in my 20’s, I wasn’t crazy about eating the morning. When I did eat breakfast, it was almost always savory; I remember eating spinach for Saturday morning breakfasts when I was five or six. Soup was another favorite.
And then, I met Joshua. When we were first dating, I cooked a lot of breakfasts for my man. (Take that as you will). It went that way for five whole weeks, and then, I took a job in LA and said goodbye to my handsome San Francisco “fling”. When I got to Southern California, I realized two things.
- Angelenos LOVE breakfast. It seemed there was an “Omelette Haven” or an “Egg Hamlet” or a “Nice Yolks” on every corner.
- I was head over heels for the guy who liked his eggs over medium, his cereal bowl overflowing, and his oatmeal served nice and hot.
Living in a hotel near work while I searched for an apartment, I ate at a lot of those egg-centric diners (ha ha). I switched from my usual scrambled to fried, just to feel nearer to my guy. Each time I dipped my toast in yolk, I thought of how Joshua eats his eggs: He carefully eats the whites, getting as close to the yolk as possible. Then, he scoops the yolk up with his fork … get the recipe
When I was about six, I worked it out in my head that if August 4th was my birthday, February 2nd must be my half birthday. While I wasn’t exactly right about that, you’ve got to love the logic behind it. Fast forward 20 years to August 28th, 1999- that was the day I met my future husband. So, by my six year old logic, February 14th is our “halfiversary” and we celebrate it accordingly.
I am one of those people that adores Valentine’s Day- not the stuffed teddy bears with “I Love You” t-shirts and not the cheesy Hallmark cards. Honestly, it’s not even the excessive amounts of chocolate we’re allowed to consume. I love Valentine’s Day because it’s one day, set aside each year, to celebrate love in all its many forms.
Sharing homemade foods is one of my favorite ways to express my love for friends, family, and my man. I feel such joy when I get to see someone I care for savoring a bite of something I’ve made for them.
Two years ago, Joshua and I celebrated Valentine’s Day with heart-themed dinner (quite literally). Last year, I surprised him with vegan strawberry cashew smoothies and champagne and roses caramel. This year, I’ve created an amazing vegan treat, a decidedly decadent one. You see, Joshua loves chocolate—when I say “love” I mean it. When he was a boy, he could sniff out the chocolate bars his dad tried to hide in a hidden jacket pocket. … get the recipe
Happy 2013! After a holiday season veritably bursting with love and laughter, I’m welcoming another spin around the sun with open arms. 2012 was a very full year, and it’s hard to believe that it went by so quickly. Though, as I reflect on 2012, it’s hard to imagine that I packed so much into one year.
I spent many of my weekends reigniting my love affair with California. Travelling to visit family in Southern California, spending a few glorious days at Sonoma County wineries, discovering waterfalls in the redwoods, hiking to remote beaches, visiting farms in Sebastapol, Petaluma, Santa Cruz, and Watsonville- these trips all solidified the fact that I am a California girl. As one of my teachers says, “If you were born in the US, you can consider yourself to have hit the karmic lottery. It is extremely unlikely that you will starve to death or have to fight wars on your own soil.” It feels doubly lucky to have been born in California.
This year has also been a year of growth and discovery in the kitchen. I learned to make gravlax and gluten-free puff pastry. I fell in love with my slow cooker and lived grain free and sugar free for a month I had a tomato tart-off with one of my favorite people and conquered my fear of making cheesecake (twice). I can’t wait for the culinary adventures to come.
The 2012 holiday season was truly amazing- … get the recipe
My grandmother was 44 years old when she gave birth to my mother. Her husband was 27. They met in Paris, on a train, after the war. She had been an artist’s model, he’d been a soldier in the French underground.
He spoke to his friend in English, saying “She’s a looker, too bad about her legs” She chuckled, she was famous for her legs. “You speak English.” he said, a little surprised. “I am English.” she replied- for the sake of simplicity.
He introduced himself and began to tell her the story of how he’d been staying in Paris with another English girl and her husband. He mentioned the girl’s name– Gilda. “Gilda,” my grandmother informed him, “is my sister.”
And so it began, a love story (of sorts) that began in Paris in 1946, came through New York ten years later with a child in tow, landed in San Francisco then scooted a few miles south to a sleepy suburb called San Bruno specifically a subdivision called Crestmoor.
Crestmoor with the black and white tiled floors, and the gold flocked wallpaper, with the stone foyer, and my friend, the weepy willow. The little ranch house which was 5831.79 miles from Paris but must have seemed one million miles away to my immigrant family. So much of my early life is tied to that place, the place where my grandmother lived, larger than life, full of warmth and life and laughter. Equal parts well-mannered Brit and fiery Italian/Frenchwoman. She … get the recipe
“There.” said my mother, pointing to a small white flower in the overgrown garden of a neighbor. I inhaled deeply, marveling at the scent.
“It smells like onions!”, I exclaimed.
“Taste,” she said, as she plucked off the flower and a bit of the long hollow stem.
“It tastes like onions!”
She bent to pull another from its root to reveal a tiny white onion, dirty, and redolent with the scent of earth.
Maybe I was four, maybe five. My early years with my mother were full of moments like these. In our suburban 1970s neighborhood, just outside of San Francisco, I learned to find edible flowers, which plants we could take cuttings from to grown in our own garden, the difference between sweet peas and shelling peas, and how to identify vegetables – just by their foliage. My favorite? The carrots.
Though my mother made a few attempts at vegetable gardens throughout the years, the best carrots were creek-side at my aunt’s house in Napa. The children gleefully headed from the house and garden up top to the area “down below”- foraging carrots, wild radishes and berries. I was oh-so-careful to determine that the lacy green leaves did, in fact, lead to plump juicy roots and were not that of the deadly hemlock that looked so similar.
Fresh from the earth, these carrots were shorter, and stubbier than those from the grocer. Dunk, dunk, dunk right in the ice cold creek. Eating the skin, the flecks of dirt … get the recipe
Halloween is over, and it’s not Thanksgiving yet, but that does not mean you should forsake the lovely pumpkin! I’ve just completed October Unprocessed. I went pretty hardcore this time- choosing to live a month Grain-Free and Sugar Free. It was awesome, but also hard to see all of those amazing pumpkin dishes that I just couldn’t eat. All over pinterest, twitter, foodgawker. ACK, they were killing me. So I decided to round up 32 of the best unprocessed pumpkin recipes on the web and share them with you.
Breakfast
Pumpkin Spice Waffles- these are even gluten free and vegan! Yay!
Simple Bites strikes again with this fabulous Pumpkin Spice Granola
Mmm this just sounds perfect on a cold morning Apple Cinnamon Pumpkin Oatmeal
Appetizers and Snacks
Roasted pumpkin seed spread from Gluten Free Girl- this s not your mama’s hummus. (V, GF, GR F)
Jerry James Stone’s Goat Cheese and Pumpkin Fondue is the ooey gooey stuff that makes a girl go crazy.
Pumpkin Chips deep fried and gorgeously golden. These chips come from Southern Living Magazine.
Baked Butternut Squash Chips I know these aren’t pumpkin, but I am not the biggest fan of frying, and butternut squash is close enough! Love this idea from Running to the Kitchen!
Fat Free Vegan offers up this awesome looking Pumpkin and Black Bean Casserole plus it has nutritional yeast and tahini- two of my favorite flavors! (GF, V)
Pumpkin and Feta Muffins Note, I made … get the recipe
I have started this post exactly five times, and I have decided that I’m not erasing the first line again- come hell or high water. Phew, now that’s done, I might finally be able to tell you how thrilled I am to write, today. I’ll start by telling you that today is the two-year anniversary of The Tomato Tart and I’ll be sharing a recipe for a simple and fresh plum caprese. It’s perfect with autumn’s juicy plums, those lovely dark stone fruits that stubbornly linger well into fall.
The other exciting thing is pretty big and pretty awesome. Since July, I have been working with three fantastic women to launch Bloggers without Borders as an organization which raises funds and awareness for food-related nonprofits. On Tuesday, we officially launched with our first nonprofit partner, WhyHunger. As many of you know, I work with nonprofits for my day job and have done so for more than seven years. The Online Bakesale for Japan was the first time I combined my blog with my passion for creating positive changes in the world. Bloggers without Borders is a way for me to do that every day. I invite you to learn more about our project, attend an event, or be a part of our tribe.
Now, back to the blogiverssary, while I considered baking a cake or a tart for the occasion, the truth is, I’d rather eat salad than almost anything. Besides, it’s not just a salad, … get the recipe
Maggy and I are both getting a little sweaty in the heat of Becky’s Salt Lake City Kitchen. The tomatoes are roasting, the olives have been pulsed into garlicky, briny, tapenades, and Becky is snapping away as Maggy and I work the dough for our two tomato tarts.
It started as an idea to highlight summer’s best seasonal ingredient (the tomato, duh!), a way for a few food-blogging girl friends to make lunch together, and then Becky (of The Vintage Mixer fame) had to go suggesting we turn this thing into a competition. Friends/Judges were called, lines were drawn in the sand, and the tomato tart-off was invented.
With the competition heating up, Maggy and I worked feverishly, tasting each component of our tomato tarts. A little salt here, a smidge more vinegar there. I kept my eye on her making sure she wasn’t bribing the judge when I turned my back. I mean, I wouldn’t put anything past her. She may be adorable, but that girl is one fierce competitor. Luckily Becky was monitoring both of us- who can say whether I may have winked once or twice at our friendly judge, Mike, if she hadn’t been keeping tabs.
Maggy’s tart crust was blind baking and the smell of butter wafted its golden scent from the oven. Sealing the empty shell with an egg wash prevented the dreaded soggy bottom and readied the crust for a glorious creamy chevre interior. When I snuck a taste of the … get the recipe
