The sun shines through our bedroom windows; it is the only alarm clock I need. I pause to kiss Joshua lightly, and leave him to sleep a bit longer. Little Lucy follows behind me as I head up our spiral staircase to begin my day. Water boiling for tea, pot bellied stove taking the chill out of the early morning air, this is how each day begins.
Tea in hand, Lucy and I walk out onto the back deck, and that’s when I look up. Not a day goes by that I don’t marvel at the beauty and serenity of where we live. Rough patches aside, I feel as though we’ve hit the karmic lottery.
For the last five years, Joshua and I have had very different work schedules, and our meals together were few and far between. Now, on most days, we are eating two to three meals a day together. Of all of the amazing things about our move, this might be my very favorite.
On Monday, I opened up the fridge, knowing I needed to head to the store before dinner, but hoping I might be able to scrounge something up for a quick lunch. I poked around and found a nice piece of Kerrygold Dubliner Cheese, a basket of local strawberries, some gluten free sandwich bread, and a small bowl of lovely blueberries. Suddenly, the idea for a spicy sweet berry chutney came to mind and a grilled cheese sandwich was born.
Spending time on pinterest and on food blogs, you may get the impression that we bloggers never buy anything. We’ll DIY anything from fruit leather to hand foraged soda pop to homemade sous vide machines.
It’s true, the homemade bug has bitten me. I make a lot of my condiments, my granola, my horchata, and once I even attempted to rock out some donut-infused vodka. But, I also love trying new foods from the market. You won’t catch me buying Easter-hued Oreos, or the latest flavor of Doritos. Instead, you’ll find me in the “health food” aisle often slipping into the raw foods section.
I’ll admit to going through ten packages of roasted seaweed in as many days, and I’ll stalk a coconut chip like nobody’s business. So, when Sesame Gifts suggested partnering up to create a healthy snack box, I jumped.
Sesame is a super cool gifting app for your iphone, and they also have a web store too. What you get in your Sesame box is hand-selected by people like Stephanie Hua of Lick My Spoon and me! The stuff inside is amazing (of course) but half the fun is opening your Sesame box (get it? Open Sesame?) From the second it arrived, my Sesame Healthy Snacks Box was pure joy- the adorable box, the special note, and fun little tags all had me smiling from ear to ear.
Inside, were some of my favorite gluten-free and vegan snacks- … get the recipe
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
I am not what you’d call a football type of girl. As a matter of fact, when I was growing up, I made a pact with myself that I would never marry a guy who watched sports on TV. I stuck to my guns, and I couldn’t be happier.
I did grow up in a football, baseball, basketball loving house. I’ll clarify- the male half of the house loved sports. My dad was a huge fan of the Yankees, the Giants, the Warriors, and the 49ers. I think the best thing that ever happened to him (aside from us, his family) was getting to go to the Superbowl to see Joe Montana lead the team to victory against the Cincinnati Bengals.
On the day of the game, we all huddled around the TV at my aunt’s house in Menlo Park and watched intently– just in case we could see my dad. Well, I’m sure some people were actually watching the game, but as far as I was concerned my dad was a bigger hero- a bigger superstar than all of the 49ers put together.
In January of 1982, I’d only been home from France for about a month and I remember my uncle Gordie making barbequed pork butt (which at 9, was the funniest thing ever). It tasted smoky and sweet and totally American.
Years later, we’d attend an annual superbowl party at my friend Julie Walker’s house. I remember spinach dip and popcorn and seven layer dip and … 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
“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
Let’s just start this post with a series of thank yous. To whoever said “breakfast is the most important meal of the day”, thank you. To whoever came up with the idea of breakfast, in the first place, thank you, and to the person or persons who invented huevos rancheros, thank you, muchos gracias, and thank you again. I love breakfast. I love it a lot. Most of all I love eggs, fresh from the farm, or the ranch if you will.
Joshua and I have a secret breakfast place, not too far from our house. We’ve shared this place with only a few people- the type of people who are not going to tell the entire city. You see San Francisco breakfast places are veritably overrun and nearly impossible to get into on a Saturday or Sunday. This place we love has the most outstanding huevos rancheros, and I always get them when I go there. Since October #unprocessed began, I’ve been grain-free and, I’ve not been able to fully enjoy these magnificent huevos (teehee, that sounds so naughty).
I decided I’d create my own huevos rancheros with grain-free tortillas. Totally inspired by those at our favorite spot. Socca is a garbanzo flour crepe which comes from Nice in the south of France. Shauna, of Gluten Free Girl, reminded me of Socca, when we were eating gorgeous fluffy garbanzo pitas at another of my favorite restaurants, Saha. I’ve come to love garbanzo flour (or bessan) over the … get the recipe
