I'VE MOVED!

Friends and family, the time has come. With the help of many I've been cooking up a brand new website, and it's finally finished. I'll be posting only over there from now on, so change your bookmarks and come on over to www.thestuffedrabbit.com! 

Note: Don't miss out on my most recent post- the best apple pie ever!

Lotsa love.

homemade mayo & peppery garlic aioli

Yay for life! Today is blue-skyed and breezy, quite warm for an October day but beautiful nonetheless.

Yesterday I bought big-girl perfume (this, if you care to know). Last night my mom slept over; we had Scottish gin with tonic and cucumber wedges and chicken soup with buttercup squash and kale while we watched one of our favorite movies. I was off work today so this morning we drank coffee on the porch and ate peppery fried eggs and talked about cake combinations and how to skin a lizard. Just kidding, we didn't talk about that last part; more like where to plug in the new string lights I bought for my porch. And then I put on lipstick and perfume and went to the local restaurant supply store to buy a candy thermometer, where the middle-aged Italian woman who works there called me sweetie. And when I got home I listened to this and made homemade mayonnaise and black pepper garlic aioli, just like the one at my sister's restaurant.
Tonight we will go to a pub and eat fish & chips, in honor of my darling Gran's birthday. I will wear her old wind-up watch and pretend like I'm back in Scotland, and we will probably cry and tell some stories. She would have been 69 today, and she was one of the most treasured and joyful people I've ever known.

hand-chopped pesto

As I said in my last post, I think I need to write more. When I studied abroad in Italy, I was an intern for an online Italian newspaper. Every week I would write a short article on my time abroad- the latest element of culture shock, the beautiful moments I was experiencing, a noteworthy comparison between the States and Italy, etc. Some days I truly didn't feel like writing, but I had to make the deadline. So I'd camp at the table in my apartment for an hour or two, drink my coffee, eat some fruit, and write until my thoughts were complete and the page was filled up.

And through it all I learned to love the process of writing. I knew I'd liked it before, but aside from long essays for school I had never been on a regular, mandatory schedule for a piece. Though it was challenging at times, it was wonderful. A constant output of creativity, a workout for the brain and emotions, a chance for a regular voice and expression. If I'm honest, some days the words felt like complete and total BS. But I think that's part of it all. Even if in that moment I didn't believe or resonate with the sentences I was forming, it still was a reminder- of the good things, the hard things, the truth, the reality of our lives and surroundings. An opportunity to be a little more grounded, to snatch at life with my ever-hoping hands and embrace it in all its rawness. It gave me some purpose, some reminder that my words hold value.

hearty blueberry muffins

It's about blueberries again.

If you're not a blueberry lover, I'm terribly sorry. Typically I do enjoy blueberries, but this summer I'm seeming to love them more than ever. Or maybe it's just that I'm finally starting to tackle some recipes that I've wanted to perfect for a long time but have never attended to. Whatever it is, I'm feelin the blues these days.

tomato, basil, and goat cheese galette

When I went to Italy, I knew that the food was going to be out of this world. That's part of the reason I chose to study abroad there. I've always loved Italian food; my dad has cooked with that flair ever since I can remember. So I knew I'd love it, and I knew I'd love the authenticity of it. But what I didn't expect was the simplicity of it all.

Most of the food, unless visiting a high-end ristorante, was just good. It was everything you'd think it to be- simple ingredients, no super complicated methods, no intentional confusion for the sake of impressing you. Just simple, well-cooked, well-cared-for food. Very straightforward. Very honest. Very unassuming. But where the Italians take pride is the quality of their ingredients. They only use what's in season, forming creative menus from the produce they can buy from the grocer across the street. Constantly you're wowed by freshly-made bread, juicy wine, and homemade cheese. Everything they do is homemade, except the pre-toasted bread slices that you can buy from any market, which I never could fully get into. But the noodles, the sauces, the meats, the olive oil… Oh, the olive oil. Nothing like it. I'm really having a hard time describing this to you. I think you probably should just go.

But all this to say, this galette was inspired by the Italian way. I was at work the other day when a customer gave us a palette of tomatoes at peak ripeness. We got to take some home, and I put mine in the refrigerator for a couple of days until I could figure out what to create with them. And for some reason, I just love galettes. They're like pies, but much easier, and part of me hates to fiddle with the trickiness of a pie. And they're fun, because most of the time when you tell people that you've made a galette, the response is, "A what?" And then you get to share something new.

A couple of weeks ago I made a cherry chocolate galette, but this time I chose to take the savory route. So I did what I know best, after doing some research. It was a rainy morning when I sliced the tomatoes and roasted them in the oven for a long two hours. I cut butter and cold olive oil into flour to mix a savory pie crust. I chopped basil into ribbons. I mashed garlic and cracked salt and pepper and heavily drizzled olive oil. And it all came together beautifully.

It's mid-August. It's the perfect time to use these flavors. The tomatoes are as ripe and red as can be and the basil is sweet and minty. Everything is in abundance and vegetables are basically begging us be create something new with them. So go on an adventure and rejoice at the bounty you get to eat. If you're tempted to be intimidated by a galette, don't succumb to it. When you're in the kitchen, everything is in your control, even if it all goes awry sometimes. Take your time, prep your ingredients, and be bold. Not everything is black and white.

And maybe turn on some Italian music and pretend that your window leads to a stone side street, from which you can hear the hustle and bustle and exclamations of small-town Italian folk, just emerging from their long afternoon nap. Imagine that the smells coming from your oven are wafting out into the street, mixing with the sweet cinnamon aromas from your neighbor and the scent of freshly-cut and boiled pasta from a local trattoria. You are one of many beautiful people, contributing to the creativity of your culture, embracing the things you know and the things you don't. Your face has wrinkles from smiles and laughter and your tongue is sharp like a knife when you taste red wine. You pass on beauty, you get to be the giver. You get to craft and laugh and pour and chop and hand down- more than just food.

And you do.

Roasted Tomato, Basil, and Goat Cheese Galette
Crust has been slightly adapted from FoodLovesWriting
For the galette:
- 5 roasted tomatoes, recipe below
- one whole wheat crust, recipe below
- 8 large basil leaves
- 1/4 cup crumbled goat cheese
- 3 cloves of garlic
- olive oil
- salt and pepper, to taste
For the roasted tomatoes:
- 5 medium-sized tomatoes, sliced into about 1/4" thick rounds
- olive oil
- salt and pepper, to taste
For the crust:
- 3/4 cup whole wheat flour
- 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1/4 cup olive oil, refrigerated until mostly firm
- 1/4 cup butter (half a stick), cubed
- 1 Tbs yogurt
- 1/4 cup cold water

First things first, roast your tomatoes. Preheat your oven to 250 degrees. Slice the tomatoes into 1/4" thick slices, as said above. Place them on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper, all to taste. Roast the tomatoes for about 2 hours.

During this time, make the galette crust. Whisk together both flours and salt in a medium bowl. Add olive oil and butter and mix with a pastry cutter (or two knives) or in a food processor. I used two knives, but about 2 minutes in I got fed up and used my fingers, and all was well. Add your yogurt and cold water and mix until the dough comes together. Then, on a lightly floured counterop, roll it out into a large circle (mine was probably about 10 inches in diameter). Place on parchment paper on a baking sheet or pizza stone, which is what I used. Place in the refrigerator until the tomatoes are finished roasting.

When they are almost finished, chop your basil into ribbons and your garlic into a large mince. Remove the tomatoes from the oven and crank the temperature up to 400 degrees. Drizzle the dough with olive oil and spread all the way around.  Starting from the middle, place your tomatoes onto the dough, slightly overlapping each. After the first layer, sprinkle your garlic on top. Keep layering until you only have a few slices left, then add the goat cheese and most of the basil. Finish layering and add the rest of the basil, another generous drizzle of olive oil, and lots of salt and pepper.
Place in the oven and bake for about 45 minutes, or until the crust is golden brown and crispy.

Serve by itself or with a creamy, dijon-y balsamic vinaigrette, and relish the bounty of summer.

blueberry crisp, an ode to summer

I love the sound of the birds in the morning. I love light pouring in through huge windows and the ever-changing scatter of tree shadows that accompany it. I love the vibrancy of nature's colors and the sound of sticks crunching beneath my feet.

I love a strong morning coffee in a comfortable chair, taking in all the innocent sweetness of the breaking of the day. Truly, I love crunchy and clumpy granola soaked in almond milk. I love creamy oatmeal and whole grain waffles and morning glory muffins. I love the rustic, bready things, where you can see the seeds and berries and taste the song of your body intaking such wholesomeness. I love tables filled with all the colors of summer delights- corn, tomatoes, bowls of berries, green salads. And I love spending the entire evening outside, from full-fledged heat to stars in the sky.

On the 4th, Aaron and I went blueberry picking. We picked about 5 pounds of blueberries, eating and pelting them at each other along the way. What I love about blueberry picking is that you can simply park yourself under a single bush for 10 minutes or so, and you just pick and chat until all the good ones have been plopped into your bucket and you can't possibly reach anymore. During one of these picking parkings, I told Aaron that if the opportunity presented itself, I truly think I would be a farmer. I was recently discussing this with my sister- sometimes all we want to do is buy a farm together and spend the days working on the land and the nights feeding anyone and everyone around. 

hopper carrot cake

I think that we as humans simply crave art. We just long for it, in whatever form it holds. Perhaps it's poetry or photography, or trekking through the forest. It's the thing that connects us to the deeper parts of our souls, and to the Lord. The thing that brings us joy, rejuvenates us, calms our anxieties, and brings us to a place of peace and creativity.

I tend to think that it will always be the same thing for me- food, being in the kitchen, serving people. But that is not always true. Sometimes my artist needs to go beyond its traditional boundaries and step foot into other avenues. It all depends on what has been lacking lately, or the longings welling up inside me, or the situation I'm in. And sadly, it often comes to a breaking point before I actually remove myself from the fluff around me and engage in the art that my heart needs. But whenever I do, it is so beautiful, so calming, so worth not doing whatever the other demands were.

wine tasting and glory glimpsing

I want to sit at a table on a cool summer evening with people I love and people I barely know. I want to pass around plain white dishes, each brimming with something fresh, flavorful, and hearty. I want ice cold pitchers of lemony water to drip condensation as rings across the table cloth, and to pour countless cucumber-y Pimm's Cups for people, to sip and be merry. I want to tear crusty bread and dip it in fresh olive oil. For dessert it will be bowls of warm ricotta drizzled with honey, dotted with sweetened balsamic reduction, and decorated with plump blackberries. Thick, fruity red wine that hits the tip of your tongue like syrup. 

Long and slow, standing and sitting, music dancing among strings of lights tousled by chilly breezes. Not perfect, because it can't be, but perhaps the most pure and hopeful taste of that to come.

anything goes brownies

Sometimes it just comes to you and you have to stop, and drop everything, and go get it all out on paper or the nearest writing system anything you can get your hands on.

That's what I should have done about 10 minutes ago.


It came, it hit, and instead of halting everything for the sake of the right words, I kept rinsing the bowls I just used to make brownies. Wrong move, Ellyn. Wrong move. I'm about to attempt to reproduce it all, effortlessly and naturally.

One thing, of many, I learned working at the patisserie last summer… When it comes to brownies, don't overwork it. Don't overfold. Don't overstir. Don't press too hard or spread too much or leave it alone for too long. They're a fickle and picky thing, brownies are. Their love language is most definitely NOT physical touch. They want their space and their time alone and they want you to leave them be as much as you can, even though you love them and their raw batter so dearly.

You must stop yourself from putting too much love into your brownies. It's a hard thing, I know. But when that love swells up, grab hold of it with all your might and save it for the next time you make whipped cream or yeasted bread or something with lots of force. Then, only then, will your brownies treat you in return with their kindest, gooiest, fudgiest love.

I've made these brownies only once before- today is my second try, a week later. I tried to work them even less than I did last time, since the last were not as gooey as I'd hoped they would be. And there might be an explanation for this.

Genuine stuff about muffins in coffee shops

Isn't it funny how at certain points in your life, you sense that God is slowly pulling something out of you that is poisonous and untrue, and you form this idea in your head of how that process is going to go and what it's going to end up like; and then a while later, while you're frustratingly in the throes of something really truly difficult, you realize it's the same rope He was pulling before and what you're experiencing is His actual plan of action, not your own?

This happens to me a lot. And it certainly has in the last three months or so. At the beginning of the semester, I remember talking with the friend whom I disciple, and we were sharing our lives and I was telling her about what I thought God was going to work on in my life this semester. They were things I could feel Him pressing on. She asked me if I was nervous, knowing that this might be a painful process. With a smile, I shook my head and said no, that I was ready and excited. These are things that have plagued my peace and threatened my joy for as long as I can remember, things that He has gradually been healing throughout the past three years. I was- I still am- ready for freedom.

One of these things was anxiety, and I think another one might have been self-image issues. I was just flipping through my journal to see if I could find a time when I wrote about it, but I couldn't. I'll have to rely on my memory. When I was thinking about these things at the beginning of the semester, and being free from them, it all seemed so straightforward. God would just tackle anxiety as a whole and help me to stop being anxious in the knowledge that He cares and is in control. All of this is true, but I'm finding that this isn't the way God works.

weird state of life, but oatmeal chocolate chip cookies

These past three months have most certainly been a time of transition. Changing from one country to another, relearning American culture, adjusting to the countless differences, experiencing the heaviness of American schooling versus that of Italy. Constant schedules, crazy busy, any hopeful spare time spent on life-giving sources. When all I really want to do is spend my days with the friends I love in this city in which I've taken root for the last four years, cooking and eating glorious food and celebrating life in general.

In the midst of my reacquaintance, I've been itching to return to writing and photographing and cooking, but the traction to do so collaboratively has been completely absent. So I'm sorry, and I thank you for your patience as I rally myself and my life together again.

coming back

I love food. I love people. I love talking about food, eating food, sharing food, making food. It's all beautiful.

I miss Italy more than I can say, but I'm finally coming back here. I'll post soon, as soon as the inspiration and lighting and ingredients align. I can't wait for it.

But until then- a snippet into my day. Finally, a few hours of introvert time on a sunny warm day that whispers the coming of spring. Sitting in a coffee shop down the street from my house, reading, spewing words into my moleskine, studying, regaining vivacity while others around me do the same. There's a glass bottle of Coca-Cola on the counter ahead of me, an inch of liquid left in it and an empty stool in front. And just behind, the resting oven with the baking rack to the right, full of bagged breads, cartons of spices, and two bottles of flavoring that particularly caught my eye. This is beauty to me, the sun pouring in from my right, music dancing above, ceiling fans tossing strands of my hair, and the joyful view of a well-used oven, well-used creativity.

Coming back.

italia

Buongiorno!

I realize it has been a while since we last met. You’ve heard my rantings of this crazy and hectic life, which I’m sure you just as well relate to at times… Thanks for sticking through.

However, this time, I’ve a different story to tell you. One week ago today, I arrived in Rome for the first time! These previous seven days have been the start of probably the grandest adventure in my life thus far: a semester spent in Italia. I am here, in a small town north of Rome, for the next four months. To experience culture. Learn Italian. Eat the most comforting food in the world. Peer into the depths art and antiquity. Take a step toward learning more about myself and about others. And countless other reasons I have yet to discover.

In the past week, my taste buds have already indulged in food unlike anything they’ve known. The first night, I ate bruschetta made with vibrantly red tomatoes and crusty bread, pizza with various toppings like zucchini and authentic pepperoni, and the smoothest, purest gelato that looked like plain old vanilla but released a whole new world of expansive flavor upon touching my mouth. I’ve had a nutella-stuffed donut at nearly midnight, countless squares of pizza, fruit tarts and cookies, and fluffy, creamy cappuccinos costing only a euro. I’ve witnessed the creation of authentic gelato after tasting the classic pistachio flavor, which is as wonderful as people claim.

Last night, friends and I treated ourselves to a more expensive dinner at “La Spaghetteria,” which since 1984 has held the Guinness World Record for the widest selection of sauces at a restaurant. As we flipped through page after page of listings, it was nearly impossible to choose. I settled on a variation of my favorite, however: crema di latte, pomodoro, pancetta, prosciutto, e vodka, for all you Italian-readers. AKA cream, tomatoes, vodka, and Italian ham. All mixed together, sticking perfectly to slightly fatter spaghetti noodles. It was neither overly soupy nor scantily coated. Just enough to produce a hearty harmony of flavors.

Let me tell you, I didn’t use to be this way. Growing up, my palate was accustomed to sitting at the table with its arms folded tightly across its chest, unwilling to consume most normal and delicious foods. Why it was so stubborn, I have no idea. I would take the cheese off pizza (now the most embarrassing and horrid thought to me), demand that my bread be toasted and peanut butter be thickly layered (which I admit, I still require) for PB&J, and refuse mashed potatoes and cheeseburgers. Everything had to be perfect, and I deeply thank my family and friends for having the patience and grace to not abandon me.

I am thankful to know and say that I have come far since those days. Food is an elemental part of culture and people and physicality, and to not experience its vastness is to turn my back on such a joyful part of life.

These things said and shown, I want to direct you someplace else. I have created another blog solely for this time spent in Italy. Because it is so difficult to manage two sites (you’ve seen how slow I can be on even one), I will be posting mainly on the newer space. Though it isn’t solely focused on food- more on honest stories of my time here- I can guarantee that the topic will appear more than frequently.

With that, I invite you skip on over and join me in experiencing and eating my way through Italy! The link can be found both below and on the “connect” tab above.

Ciao for now!

www.ellyndreamsofitaly.wordpress.com

bruschetta, a first dinner

The flavors of my family are as such...

Garlic. Balsamic. Pepper. Olive oil. Parmesan. Dijon. Spinach. Pasta. Basil.

A collective whole that is tangy and zingy on the tongue but full and comforting in body. It bursts with depth, adventure, and richness. The crisp chop of the garlic and the traveling aroma of its mysterious spicy-sweet complexity. The thick creaminess of dijon shaken with balsamic vinegar and bold olive oil... It all combines after the first few cuts on the plate. Chicken, rice, and spinach merge with the mud to create a mix of homey perfection. And when it's all gone, the crispy bread fulfills its role by swooping in and mopping up leftovers that simply cannot be left behind. It is only to be followed by a hoping finger that ventures to the plate and returns to the mouth with a smidgen of the meal's flavors for the taste buds to fight over.

It's an act, an art, a beautiful play. These meals are each lovely and perfect, somehow both new and familiar at the same time. A surge of nostalgia, a hope for a larger stomach, but a joyful resolution nevertheless.

This is one of those meals.

philadelphia dreaming

My best friend Krysia and I have a dream.

It's a beautiful dream that has existed since our youngest years. Back in the day, we used to talk about how one day we would own a bed and breakfast, in which Krysia would run the front of the house, I would cook all the food, and our third friend would serve meals to guests on her roller-skates. Very sensible, really. 

Sometimes we would practice our skills, to the point of venturing to the park across the street to retrieve onion grass that would soon be sautéed and tasted before tossed in the trash. Or we would concoct marvelously strange drinks consisting of tea, pepsi, lemon, and various other ingredients, later to be forced upon my gracious grandad, who would unfailingly respond with, "that's good!", which fueled our giggles. Sometimes we would practice our entrepreneurial skills with the always-expensive lemonade stand, or we would let our tastebuds guide menu exploration by tracking down that friendly neighborhood summer jingle until our hands were gripping skylite or spearmint snow cones topped with drippy marshmallow sauce.

Although it was all a distant dream at that point, it has all started to become tangible reality since. We have both matured into our designated roles, realizing that our gifts and talents lie in these areas (although the roller-skating seems to have fizzled out). We have been pursuing them through our jobs this summer and it's our goal to come up with a business plan for some sort of cafe or coffee shop by the time we return to school. We have been brainstorming concepts and exploring, both physically and electronically, different cities to see where we might fit. 

And last week... we got to explore Philly.

It's kind of funny actually. For some reason, Philly has just kept arising in both of our lives, both separately and together, in conversation or news articles or inspirations. And neither of us had ever been there. Thus, we're both intrigued by this historic city. So last week, when I had to go to the Italian Consulate to apply for my visa, we and my mom made a day trip of it. And though we'd heard various opinions of this Filthadelphia, we both loved it.

words, a prequel.

It seems that I've been all over the place again. I don't know how it happens, but each week seems to flit past my eyes before I even realize how far into the month we are. The only reason I know the date on a regular basis is because almost daily, my sharpie-gripping hands write onto masking tape those two or three numbers separated by a slash, in order to keep track of all the jolly goods we make at the bakery. I'm thankful for that because otherwise, I'd have no idea what day it is. Probably ever.

Life just seems to be accelerating more and more, and my greatest desire in a normal week is to have one day to just be in the moment. To squint my eyes, gather my thoughts, focus, and try to wrap my head around what is actually happening in my life. It's almost August already. Wasn't it just the first day of summer, like last week? Some weeks I achieve that, and the respite rejuvenates my soul, giving it rest more than ever before. I find joy again and I'm reminded of truth. And I'm recharged, ready to go until the next time that day comes. And then, some weeks don't hold such a day. Some seem to just push me along while I try to look back, point at what has happened, and understand.

Last week, for example. My cling to clarity and peace boiled down to one single desire: to chop garlic. That's it. All week I was craving this. That someone would stick me in a kitchen by myself, give me everything I need, and set me off. To chop garlic. To sizzle it in olive oil. To create a savory mess that begins on a cutting board, matures in a pan, and settles down to rest on a plate. To cook and get my hands dirty and let creativity and soul run free a bit. And though all of that didn't play out, I've had moments of it. And those moments have been completely and thoroughly refreshing. This therapy- I've learned it by reading Bread & Wine by Shauna Niequist. Until finishing her book, I didn't realize how tangibly healing it is to cook and return to the flavors that feel like home. I didn't know it was okay to rest that way, that God actually loves when I rest through the creative output He has instilled in me. I'm thankful to be understanding that more.

So I'm beginning to learn that honestly, life is just this way sometimes. I'm not the only one experiencing it, and others are experiencing it much more intensely. And it's going to be okay. All I need are those moments, those hours, or even days if I'm lucky, of space to be reminded of truth and to do things that bring my soul its greatest delight.

In the midst of all this, I'm seeing how consistent God is. How remarkably He catches my eye with something everyday but also intricate, like the sky. That's mostly where I've been seeing Him lately, come to think of it. And when I settle my mind to focus on Him, how steadily He speaks truth to me and refutes the lies that I so quickly am convinced of. He is beautiful and sweet, that is certain.

So for now, it's only words, in an effort to explain my situation. Soon, hopefully this week, I'll share in further detail about my foodie occurrences as of late. I can't wait to tell you about them.

Until then, seek your respite. Perhaps garlic. Or a good book. Or travel. Or family. Or coffee. Or coffee and something else, if you're anything like me. And enjoy.

garlicky guacamole

My goodness. I can't believe it's been almost a month since I was last here. I'm telling you people, this past month has, once again, been chaotic. How can so much change be happening in such a concentrated amount of time.

We'll get to the guacamole in a minute, but quickly, to give you a practical low-down... Since last we met, my life has transitioned again. While my family's house still hasn't sold, I've moved up north to the town of my youth to start working. I'd been coming up sporadically, looking for jobs and staying with my best friend in the world. Got an interview. Got a job. Moved my portable, nomadic life to the gracious and generous home of my second family, as we call them. AKA my best friend and her delightful kin. Slowly I have made the change, again, to a new place. But this time not so new.

All of this has been so joyful, yet so hard. I'm doing life here, reacquainting myself with the sights and roads that the young me knew so well from the familiar back seat of the parent-driven car. This bump in the road. That restaurant. That school. This stop light. It all comes flooding back via the lens of earlier years. Everything seemed a bit bigger then, a bit more homey. But it's been several years since I've lived here, years full of change and growth, and I now carry a different perspective.

Just a few days ago I had a wonderful conversation with a dear high school friend. We are similar, though sometimes I forget how very similar. We talked about crazy connections of our thoughts and mindsets, and how we constantly think that one day, we will find the ideal. We'll find the perfect city. The perfect man. The perfect friendships. That it will all just come, at that one point in your life that you are always convinced will come. But in reality, it probably won't. Rather, it's our position to adapt, to stop criticizing, to find the beauty in the imperfection. Maybe we all move to the same town together, to preserve some beauty that we are currently familiar with. Whatever it is, we know that we are going to grow and we're going to learn with our hearts to be content and overjoyed with both the present and the hope. Seemingly undoable. But doable.

So I realize that it wasn't necessarily this town that made my youth so cherished. It wasn't even Graul's chicken tenders with fantastically delicious honey mustard. No, more the people. And today, that is what remains to be the greatest treasure. Annapolis has changed. My eyes have changed. But people I love are still here. And I'm meeting new people I love. And though other people I love are scattered elsewhere too, that is worth it. I'm learning to find new beauty in the wake of memory, and I think I'll be learning this my whole life.

Thus, a new beauty: I work in a bakery. Daily, I get to roll out pate brisee for quiches while listening to French-themed music. I get to hear the squeals of overjoyed customers receiving cakes for their baby showers. I get to have flour all over me and I get to learn new things, like glazing petit fours and filling macarons. Some days it hits me all over again, and I'm filled with joy and thankfulness. So blessed to be doing what I love. More on that later.

Friends, I'm not entirely sure how guacamole fits into all this. Maybe because it's just something I've perfected over the years and can easily make in whatever setting, so it's a comfort. Maybe it's the fact that it so often accompanies summertime food, so it brings a sense of joy and freedom. Maybe it's the fact that whenever I get home from work, all I want is garlicky, salty, savory food to cleanse my palate. Maybe it's just that I love guac, and so does everyone else.

Easy instructions. Adaptable ingredients. But I have a few rules. Always use either lime or cilantro, or both, but never without. Always use tomato or red pepper, but preferably tomato, and never without. Never onion, it's too overpowering. And when you taste test and think to yourself, "It still needs something..." The answer? Garlic. More garlic. Always.

But those are just my rules. Go skip in your kitchen with playful music and make your own.


Garlicky Guacamole
- 4 avocados
- 12 cloves of garlic, mashed and chopped (Yes, you read correctly. I probably average 3 or 4 cloves of garlic per avocado.)
- 1 large tomato, diced small
- Juice of one lime
- 2 to 4 tablespoons of cilantro, chopped
- salt and pepper to taste

Start by halving and pitting your avocados, then scooping them out into a large bowl. Smash with a fork, leaving some clumps behind. Add your garlic, tomato, lime, cilantro, and salt & pepper. Mix and mash to desired consistency. Taste with and without a chip, then add whatever you think is necessary. Serve with bubbly beer and salty chips.

traveling eats

The past been month can be characterized by abnormality and franticness.

Finish the semester. Pack up and move out of house at school. Go straight to grandparents' house. Pack up and move that place. Immediately go home. Pack up that house. Get it on the market. Meanwhile, take trips up north to find a job in the city we're moving to. Back and forth. Up and down. Sore muscles. Allergies. Never enough sleep.

Until today... When the chaos paused and the slate of the schedule wiped itself clean. A much needed respite for slowing down, breathing, and feeling. Time and space for God to reawaken my soul and make my heart flutter again. The freedom to read and journal, to curl in and be introverted in order to stretch out again, to skip downtown in the rain for a strong americano and an extended linger in my favorite card shop. And to get back here, a branch of reflection that reminds my tizzied self of the joy laid out in front of me and all around me. My heart is softly mouthing words of gratitude.

You know these times. I'm sure you can recognize the familiarity of disorder, and thus you can relate to the motion of every other part of your life being shoved into the dark corners of the closet, only cautiously peaking its head around the doorway when noise subsides. One of these aspects is undoubtedly food, especially nutritious food. For many, the stomach becomes a nuisance because it yells at us until we are forced to stop accomplishing for just a few minutes in order to attend to ourselves. And though we stop, we are unable to muster enough energy for proper care. Goodness, this is the truth of our household recently. Eating on the fly all the time. Sadly, then, I have no recent delicious creation to share, although I did make a key lime pie last week for my boyfriend's birthday- definitely a favorite in my family circle and beyond. But I'm sure to make it again this summer and thus it will reveal its tangy self here at some point. Preview in the meantime.

So instead of the usual, I've chosen a conglomeration of eating experiences that occurred before I departed from school. Nibbles from road trips and surprise adventures, all tasted in the community of sweet friends.