recent thoughts & eats

my moleskin is currently littered with half-recipes, disjointed thoughts & incomplete lists of ingredients for said half-recipes. try as i may to keep track of what i put in my face, the past few months have been too much of a whirlwind for any diligence or organization of that sort. there’s that whole graduating law school thing (assuming i survive finals – all five of them) i’m about to do. my friends & i also just completed training & racing in our second half marathon last weekend. i’ve been compulsively applying for jobs in wisconsin after turning down what would have been a wonderful gig in michigan. my heart is here – half of it in milwaukee, studying to be a doctor, the other half rooted firmly in the damp, springy earth of this lovable town.

although i haven’t stopped cooking, my impulse lately has not been to write. instead, when i get a free moment, i’d rather roll out the door with a yoga mat & land in a muggy room, strangely unbothered by the natural scents of other, unfamiliar humans, unfettered by chemical-ridden perfumes & deodorants. it’s not that people don’t wear them; more that they don’t stand a chance next to the fire you light inside yourself as you flow through asanas for an hour or longer, your muscles growing soft & malleable as dough, toxin-laden sweat seeping out of your skin like syrup through a pancake.

on other days, when turning inward seems daunting–my breaths short & irregular, my mind laced with chaotic, discomforting thoughts–i look outside. i lace up my running shoes & take to the great outdoors, feet settling into a comforting rhythm as they pound the pavement, lungs pulling & pushing fresh air in & out, eyes drinking in expansive views of the city from across lake mendota. i’m right there, in the city, looking across the small lake at the perfect dome of the capitol building, but also so far removed as i watch a row of pastel yellow ducklings trail along the shore in a line behind their mother. sometimes i break my stride to avoid crushing a baby turtle barely larger than the quarters you might feed to the parking meter i’m sure exists a mere five minute’s walk from here. yin & yang. balance. what i love about this city, this life i have here.

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instead of a single recipe, i’ll leave you with a list of things my stomach’s been breaking down. i’m sorry for the lack of focus, but there are so many great things i’d like to share with you & not enough time to write the post each one deserves.

-in february, i made an embarrassing number of batches of this chicken khao soi soup (a thai version of chicken noodle). nathan & i were smitten. the colors & smells of the paste you pulse through a food processor will be enough to get you inhaling & moaning “mmm’mmm” every five seconds until it’s done: bright green cilantro, golden turmeric, dried chilies, pungent shallots & fresh garlic. oh my. i might have to make it again soon, just thinking of it.
-also in february, i made some wonderful squash & black bean enchiladas. i didn’t write down what i did, but i remember cutting up an entire butternut squash & adding a can or two of black beans. i then sauteed onion, garlic, some kind of pepper & a mix of cumin, coriander, chili powder & cayenne before adding it to the slow cooker. cook for 3-4 hours on high or 6-8 on low. spread half a double batch of homemade enchilada sauce (i added cocoa to mine for sweet undertones to contrast the smokey chipotle flavor i love in my sauce) in the bottom of two 9×13 glass casserole dish & spoon filling into corn tortillas. spread the remaining sauce on top of the enchiladas, being sure to spread it between enchiladas. top with cheese, fresh jalapeno, cilantro & green onion. bake on 350 for maybe 15-20 minutes or until warmed throughout & the cheese topping is melted. these guys freeze quite wonderfully. i ate batch 2 a month later.

squash & black bean enchiladas

-another february favorite was kimchi fried rice: take about a cup of brown rice (leftover works best, as it is more dry) & saute it in a bit of hot oil over medium high heat for a few minutes. add a handful of greens (my choice is usually kale), green onion or two, & half a cup of kimchi. douse with a generous splash of soy say & perhaps a touch or nine of sriracha. saute for a minute or so, until greens wilt. scrape everything to the side of the pan, turn the heat down low, add a bit more oil then scramble an egg. fold it into your mixture & devour that sh*t.

kimchi fried rice

-last month, was my birthday. my friends & i celebrated by trying the pizza at greenbush bar in the greenbush neighborhood around regent street. all i can say is that i’m sad i didn’t experience it sooner. i’ll definitely be hitting them up again, even though i am the queen of making my own za. that’s how you know it’s good, when i’ll pay for something i can make at home.
-later in march, i went to san juan with my father & brother. we had fun eating our way through the city. our favorite restaurants were marmalade, trois cent onze, dragonfly & la piccola fontana. la piccola fontana, a wonderful italian restaurant, was my favorite. i had the seafood tasting menu with white wine pairings. mmm. take me back!
-lentils & chickpeas. after all the heavy eating i did in san juan, when i came back it was time for some healthful & detoxifying vegan meals. i enjoyed spicy lentil wraps with tahini dipping sauce, inspired by the kitchn. instead of bulgur, i used quinoa. instead of cabbage, i sliced cucumbers. i also added half an avocado to the dipping sauce.

lentil quinoa wraps with red pepper spread & tahini dipping sauce, inspired by the kitchn

 i also made this lentil chickpea salad with tahini dressing from smitten kitchen. i used dried spices as i don’t have time or patience to buy whole spices & grind them & toast them. the result was still divine.

lentil chickpea salad with tahini dressing from smitten kitchen

-pesto. another recent homemade staple at my place. a handful of green of your choice (spinach, kale or a combo of the two is my go-to), a large spoonful of nuts (i like walnut), a drizzle of olive oil, sometimes a sprinkle of parmesan, salt, pepper, a few whirs of a food processor & bam. you have a sauce for pizzas, pastas & sandwiches that you’ll be licking off your fingers more eagerly then a dog going at a nearly empty jar of peanut butter. it’s like christmas.
-pizza. this is my go-to recipe. it is easy as pie. no pun intended. i make four batches at once & divide the final mass of dough into 8 small balls. i wrap & freeze them, thawing whenever my heart desires that pizza stuff. my favorite kinds of za lately are (1) red sauce, mozz + goat cheese, sliced button mushrooms & red onion (2) pesto or olive oil spiked with garlic & salt, a sprinkle of mozz + goat cheese, avocados, asparagus & artichokes. i like to roll the dough out super thin so it’s crispy – i heat the oven to the max (i have a gas oven though, not electric) then bake for around 7-8 minutes.

-quinoa salads. i have oh she glows to thank for that. nothing says spring quite like a chilled quinoa salad with colorful fresh vegetables. i made this whole-foods inspired 7-layer salad the night before our half marathon (leaving out the wheat berries since i knew we’d be having a lot of other carby dishes  at our carbo-loading potluck). it is hard to resist the bright colors of this salad, the satisfying crunch of carrots & peppers & the sweet orange juice dressing that packs a ginger kick.

seven-layer quinoa salad, lemon lime pie & fresh-squeezed orange juice.

-for nathan’s birthday i made warm spring salad with quinoa, peas (nathan’s fav), asparagus & leeks. i happily ate the leftovers cold all week. we made this lemon-lime pie with a salty cracker crust & homemade pretzels for appetizers, some salty & some garlicky. nathan insisted on eating all of them before he left that weekend. we weren’t freezing the leftover dough, he explained, because i would eat it without him. the guy knows me too well, what can i say?

nathan’s birthday meal: homemade pretzels, warm spring salad & lemon lime pie

-last sunday morning i rose early, still on a runner’s high from the morning before & made my own granola. i used this guide as a base, leaving out seeds & dried fruit. i sweetened with 1/4 cup of honey & a touch of brown sugar. i also added some vanilla extract (1 or 2 tsp, can’t remember) along with the sweetener. my spice of choice was cinnamon. i’ve been enjoying it on greek yogurt with fresh fruit all week. i may never go back to buying the stuff.

 

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have a wonderful weekend. hope to be back with a real post soon!

on impermanence, even of brussels sprouts: a breakfast hash for two

 

not to be morbid, but it’s beginning to hit me that nothing in this life is permanent. i don’t mean “hit me” as in i’ve never known this & am suddenly just starting to understand, but more in the sense that typically i prefer not to think about such things & lately the thought’s been creeping into my hyperactive brain at night more often than i’d like to admit. you guys think dark creepy crawly thoughts when the rest of the world is slipping blissfully into the space where reality & dreams blur together, too, right? please tell me i’m not the only person who sits in my century-old apartment building with ancient wood trim & parched hardwood floors thinking about how fast the place would go down in flames were a fire to take to it, before briefly reminding myself that none of my smoke detectors are in their proper places due to the frequency with which i burn things while cooking.

i don’t know what spawned the increase in depressive hinking on my part. i’m a happy person. i count my blessings every day: the couple extra minutes i stay in bed burrowing my face into the lavender-scented fur on my freshly bathed dog’s neck, the number of genuine, don’t-ever-want-to-let-go hugs i get from the people i love throughout any given day, the deep sense of relaxation i unshed while slowly propping myself up from every savasana i take, my high school sweetheart’s palm on the small of my back when he wanders into the kitchen to see what i’m making for dinner. these are all things that make me feel glowy inside. then of course, there are the more basic comforts we all take for granted living in a first-world country. the fresh running water we use to make our morning pots of coffee, the comfortable heat that envelopes us when we barrel into our apartments to thaw after walking home in the bitter midwestern cold, our basic rights to live in a way that serves our truth – although for us women, even these come under attack quite often. still though, we have it better than so many others. all these things feed my light.

 

 

so what feeds my dark? what gets me thinking about death at 2 a.m. on a tuesday when i should be sleeping? maybe it’s a picture on my facebook feed of my brother as a baby. i remember i was seven when they brought him home from the hospital & placed him gingerly in my stick-figure arms. even then, he knew that he could trust me. i remember looking into those trusting & gorgeous dark coffee-colored almond-shaped eyes & falling in love instantly, wondering if i could ever love anything more. now, he’s twice my size & asking me which colleges to apply to. my, how time flies. i think about my parents, healthy but aging still: how i stoop to pick up papers my dad dropped because i’d rather not see him wince as he travels down into a squat. i sweep aside the inevitable truth that they won’t always be here to share their wisdom with me, t0 catch my crazy on the other end of the telephone line. i hug the same friends i’ve seen each day for the past three years a little more tightly now as change draws near, not knowing where i’ll be a few months from now nor how often i’ll see them as we delve into our futures. will they fade into the abyss of new lives & busy silence like my old friends? of course i still hold old friends close to my heart, but only as they were back when i knew them. no matter what i like to think, i don’t know them now & they don’t know me. that’s okay, though.

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maybe it was these brussels sprouts i discovered in the depths of my freezer, frozen perfectly in the state i bought them in on a november saturday at the dane county farmer’s market. i took them for granted when i tossed them in there. freezer translates to forever, doesn’t it? i reached for them at some point last week, even though i had come for something else. might as well use them now, i thought. now – that’s all we have, isn’t it? the meaning of life, some say. i’m not sure i disagree.

playing it safe: salted caramel chocolate chip cookie bars

sometimes we’re wrong about things & we know it. the instant pang of regret we feel after deftly delivering an unnecessarily low blow in the heat of an argument; the apprehensive renegotiation of space that occurs in our minds after people we’ve filed in the “dislike” category redeem themselves following an unfavorable first impression; the empty, exhausted feeling that settles in around us, heavy, like a blanket when we waste all our energy trying to appeal to a mind that we knew from the beginning was never going to change.

other times, we’re right on. this is the way my intuition is, mostly. as much as i hate my gut for all of the horribly accurate sinking feelings it’s let me in on before the time was ripe, i have to say it’s got a pretty accurate bullshit reading. i’ve learned to stopped giving undeserving people the benefit of the doubt; trust is a delicate thing to give away to those who would, in a moment, snap like a twig the emotional limb you’ve gone out on in order to extend it to them. i finally acknowledge my instincts for what they are: right, most of the time.

then there are the situations in which there is no clear moral choice; the questions that have no right or wrong answer. i reserve a special kind of skepticism for issues with this particular property. law school professors will tell you in a peaceful tone not far from that of a pontificating yoga teacher, there is no right or wrong answer. it sounds encouraging at the time, but sometimes when i get my grades back at the end of a semester, i often wish i begged to differ. law school exams are full of examples of the most inconsequential of life’s questions, though. i’m concerned now with the larger ones. like, do i play it safe or scratch my itch?

this is the question i’ve been meditating on while practicing yoga the past few days, especially when i drop to my knees & take child’s pose. it is here that i am often reminded to surrender to uncertainties & other things i can’t change. my knees spread wide, coaxing my hips to loosen while my chest melts down low, relaxing toward the ground (“yes, let it feel sensual,” says one of my favorite yoga teachers). my fingertips reach out long ahead of me & my spine lengthens forward while i rock my forehead back & forth on my mat, massaging out the space between my brows. in this safe, supported posture, i’ve realized more than once that as with most matters of the heart, big or small, i already know how i feel. it’s just a matter of trusting myself.

like child’s pose, these salted caramel chocolate chip cookie bars are, for me, an exercise in playing it safe. i’ve made them many times before. they are dependable — they always turn out perfectly when i have all the right ingredients, but even when i have to improvise, they still produce “mmm’s,” “oohs,” & “ahhs.” they also stay perfect & doughy forever; i once tried mailing them to an incorrect address & they came back to me a week later, tasting so freshly baked i swore they were still warm.

perfectly baked brownies & other new year’s resolutions

i’m going to go ahead & assume that most normal people’s new year’s resolutions do not involve brownies. in this way, i am highly abnormal. while i didn’t technically come right out & resolve to make the perfect brownie in 2013, i might as well have. i baked many a batch of brownies over the course of 2012, searching for the perfect ooey-gooey-chewy, chocolatey-but-not-too-chocolatey recipe. i made good brownies, but not the kind i was after. as a chocolate girl, you see, i have principles. while i can’t say i’ve ever met a brownie that i didn’t like, a girl’s gotta at least pretend to have some standards. my standards, i’ve learned, involve butter. i’ve also learned that with brownies, as with many of the good things life has to offer, it’s best to keep it simple.

my prince charming of brownie recipes
adapted from the december 2012 issue of bon appetite
-1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, melted
-1 1/4 cups sugar
-2 large eggs
-1 tsp vanilla extract
-1/2 cup flour
-3/4 cup dutch cocoa powder
-1/2 tsp salt

1. preheat oven to 325 degrees. line an 8x8x2 glass or ceramic baking dish with foil, leaving a 2-inch overhang. grease said foil with butter, veggie oil, or cooking spray.
2. in a large mixing bowl, cream together butter, sugar, eggs & vanilla with a fork (be sure to beat eggs well while combining).
3. sift flour, cocoa & salt together right on top of the wet ingredients in the mixing bowl.
4. fold wet & dry ingredients together until just combined (do not overmix or else brownies will become too tough).
5. scrape batter into prepared pan & smooth. bake for 25-30 minutes or until a toothpick comes out with a few moist crumbs. cool in pan on a wire rack before cutting into 12 delicious, perfect, delectable 2-inch squares.

oh & here are my actual resolutions:

1. Run another half-marathon
2. Contribute to the happiness & wellbeing of others
3. Stay in touch
4. Disconnect more often
5. Be more patient
6. Yoga every day
7. Cultivate a stronger inner peace/calm
8. Write creatively & read more often
9. Call each parent at least 1x per week
10. Speak with intention
11. Get trained as a yoga instructor
12. Don’t put off chores
13. Be wiser with money
14. Eat less animal product
15. Take time to unwind without feeling guilty
16. Be less critical
17. Learn more about managing personal finances
18. Enjoy each moment I am in

 

what are yours?

slow-cooked quinoa with cinnamon apple & acorn squash

i can count the number of times i’ve been shattered on one hand. i know this makes me one of the lucky ones. of course, i’ve ached second-handedly for those who have survived losses much larger than any i could ever imagine. but most of my heartbreaks have been of the common & inevitable variety with which most people are familiar: the sharp, isolated pangs of regret associated with sudden, but expected deaths, or the dull but persistent sadness we carry in the bottoms of our bellies as we helplessly watch the ones we love succumb to their demons.

however, nothing had ever cut to my core like the phone call i got a few octobers ago. i was standing in the kitchen of my first madison apartment, a studio, around dinnertime on a cold, gray afternoon. my sister called me sobbing & i was unable to understand much more than the words “car” & “died.” i began to feel sick as the possibilities flashed in my mind: was it my father? my brother? i began to get angry: “i can’t understand you!” i yelled repeatedly into the phone. my mom eventually got on the line, also sobbing hysterically. i eventually learned it was hamlet, my six-month-old puppy. he had been struck by a car in our driveway & had died almost immediately. as my mother tried to tell me things she thought would make me feel better (“his tongue was blue, he must have died right away,” “don’t worry, i held him in my arms for you”), i spat out stupid questions in disbelief: was this a joke? did they take him to the vet to make sure he was in fact dead? as the news sunk in, i hung up on my mother, not wanting to hear any more gut-wrenching details & crumpled to the floor, curling up in the fetal position & dry-heaving repeatedly.

i’d lost pets before, but this one was different. this was my baby, my own puppy. i had saved money from my nannying job all spring to buy a dog, scouring craigslist, newspapers & local rescues for the perfect canine soulmate. i came across a picture of his accidental litter one evening & the first thing i was doing the next morning was driving from ann arbor to flint to see them. when i walked into the house where he was born, the family explained to me that there were only two puppies left & they were keeping one of the puppies for themselves (they had already chosen which). as i watched hamlet traipse around the room with all the clumsiness of an eight-week-old puppy, wondering how they could possibly have chosen the other over him, i knew i had no choice but to bring him home.

he cried the whole way home in my lap, probably because he realized my right boob, which he kept biting, had no milk in it. i gave up trying to swat him away somewhere between I-75 & I-96. i was so excited to have him. i literally couldn’t stop smiling at how cute he was & just kept saying “we’re going to be the best of friends” over & over to him. i pictured us suffering many a law school breakdown together. we’d share roadtrips between madison & west michigan, i was sure. i even pondered the possibility of him being at first jealous of but later vigilant over any children i might have by the time I was 36 — i thought it was fair to expect at least 15 years out of him. after all, i treated him with extraordinary care. i taught him to sit, stay, shake, lay; to stop at crosswalks, to descend stairs & later to climb them. he spent every night from mid-may to late-august with his face nestled in the space between my left collarbone & neck, moving only his legs from time to time to chase squirrels in his sleep. on our first walk with a leash, nathan & i laughed as he laid down in the grass & rolled around, not quite grasping the concept. i shook silently with laughter as i noticed the shit he took behind an expensive vase at my parents, wondering which knife they’d have stabbed me with if they’d have found it first.

when i couldn’t find an apartment in madison that allowed a dog, i reluctantly submitted to my mother’s idea to keep him while i adjusted to the first year of law school & kept on the lookout for a dog-friendly place to relocate to for my second year. after all, she already had two dogs, what was one more? i was thankful for her offer. she’s always been gracious in that way. barely a month had passed when i quite frankly could not handle another day away from him. i booked a trip home on the ferry. my mom picked me up from the port in her new car, which, she explained, was the only reason she didn’t have him with her. when we pulled in the driveway, he was waiting on the steps of our house. as i bursted out of the car & rushed toward him, his excitement reached a magnitude that only a dog’s could. us humans could learn a thing or two about the joy they derive from the simplest of things. he must have followed me around on his hind legs for at least the next five minutes. for two blissful nights, we slept as we had the majority of his short life — with his chin buried in the crook of my neck & his heart beating steadily into my ear.

i was thankful then for that wonderful few days with him, but of course i’m even more thankful now. in a strange way, i’m thankful that my puppy’s death was one of the worst things that ever happened to me. as one person so sensitively pointed out to me (more than once), it could have been a person. yes, it could have & i’m glad it wasn’t — i would go through that pain again a thousand more times if it would spare one person the grief of a more significant loss — but that didn’t make the way i felt any less real. it didn’t cancel out the nights i spent tossing & turning, picturing the way he lost his life every time i tried to close my eyes — the squealing of tires, the crunching of bones, the fear he must have felt in his last moments of life. it didn’t soothe the burning regret of not bringing him to madison with me, of not holding him as he left this world — my ultimate betrayal.

but losing my puppy did one irreplaceable thing for me — in the middle of my first year of law school, it kept me from losing sight of the forest for the trees. in what could have been a chance to drown in self-absorption, it reminded me that law school was not who i was, but just something i was doing. there are things more important to me than school (or work), like love & life. it was an exercise in perspective, a test of resilience & in the end i bounced back.

that doesn’t mean i don’t get sad still as i remember him fondly every now & then. the other afternoon, i got incredibly upset for no particular reason, or so i thought, until i realized the date. it was exactly two years later, on the same kind of day & i was listening to an album that had come out around the same time hamlet died. in honor of his short life, i put this comforting meal in the slow-cooker. as the smell of cinnamon slowly filled the air, i watched videos of him & cried a little, but smiled too. it was therapeutic, just as it has been therapeutic to write down the memories i have of his short but sweet life. i may never be able to say them out loud without getting upset, so thank goodness for this mode of expression & for simple, hearty fall meals that soothe the soul.

apple pie moonshine

this weekend i found myself in one of my favorite places in the world… ann arbor. if you did your undergrad at the university of michigan & don’t feel similarly, chances are, you don’t have a soul. this liberal paradise is a modestly urban island in a vast sea of farmland. it’s a tiny city full of whimsical treasures — eclectic coffee shops & bookstores (my favorites were the now-defunct shaman drum & still-kicking crazy wisdom, where i used to read my poetry from time to time), novelty yoga studios, a righteously world-famous deli whose business model is taught in business schools across the country, a four-story, half-century-old thrift store , the vintage store where i once scored an awesome vintage michigan sweatshirt & many an old man lacoste sweater & my personal favorite, the storied fairy doors nestled inexplicably in the moldings of building exteriors. if you want to be the best nanny ever, take your charges on a fairy hunt. just don’t be more excited about it than they are, or you’ll blow your big-girl cover. not that i’d know anything about embarrassing situations of this sort. these are just tips of a giant iceberg that’s near & dear to my left-leaning heart.

by spring of 2014, at least half of my family will have earned their degrees from the university housed in this marvelous town, so it was only fitting to have a family reunion of sorts there this past weekend. michigan finally beating michigan state (albeit entirely by field goals) was the icing on this perfect october weekend cake. as i thought of my eight-person family, all clamoring from far-flung geographical locations to get to southeastern michigan, i decided it would be best to bring along some seasonal treats to help keep our eyes on the prize, er, the tailgate. i settled on pumpkin cinnamon rolls & my friend nicole’s famous apple pie shots. heaven itself couldn’t have made a more perfect match.

every halloween, nicole makes these apple pie shots, pours them into flasks & sneaks them into our bar of choice. hey, i never said we were classy, i just said we were fun. these shots are sugar, spice & everything nice… a little bit of naughty too. however, the nice far outweighs the naughty & as a result, you’ll barely notice the potent amount of everclear this dangerous mixture contains (okay, okay, so it’s not exactly moonshine… i just wanted an excuse to link to this song). you might as well be drinking apple pie filling. consequently, you may wake up feeling a bit under the weather with only a hazy concept of what transpired the previous evening. hey, i never said it was safe, i just said it was yummy. thank nicole for your headache & take a lot of pictures–that will help with the mystery you’ll be solving the next day.

breakfast pizza & 25 october songs

i’ve always been a playlist person, carefully selecting a custom melange of songs for every conceivable occasion. when i found myself in the middle of october without a halloween-themed playlist, my immediate reaction was to pour over newly released albums by favorite artists, looking for eery jams to add to my running mental list of creepy songs from favorite albums past. the result is a mixture of calming songs, mostly minor & slightly morbid. although it’s not meant to be rainbows & sunshine, the playlist has a strangely relaxing, soothing quality about it, fitting for a grey october afternoon that holds the promise of productivity.

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25 october songs with a creepy, crawly vibe
1. death by diamonds & pearls – band of skulls
2. creature fear – bon iver
3. werewolf – cat power
4. lazarus – david byrne & st. vincent

5. bats in the belfry – dispatch

6. dead in the water – ellie goulding
7. graveyard – feist
8. howl – florence + the machine
9. the devil never sleeps – iron & wine
10. honey & the moon – joseph arthur
11. skeleton song – kate nash
12. the sound of silence (simon & garfunkel cover) – kina grannis
13. graveyard girl – m83
14. ghosts that we knew – mumford & sons
15. zombie – natalia kills
16. miriam – norah jones (only norah jones could make the desire to murder somebody sound so beautiful)
17. cry like a ghost – passion pit
18. 15 – rilo kiley
19. halloween head – ryan adams
20. leaves in the river – sea wolf
21. personal – stars
22. casmir pulaski day – sufjan stevens
23. shallow graves – the tallest man on earth
24. ronan – taylor swift
25. walking with a ghost – tegan & sarah

for more where that came from, you can listen to the playlist in its entirety on spotify.

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while i’ve always been a playlist person, for years, i was never a breakfast person. sometimes i think it was my past life as a high school swimmer that embittered me toward the morning. i was forever rising in that blue dark as my dreadful timex alarm clock blared through the pre-dawn silence, red numbers blinking 4:00 a.m. … no one wants breakfast at that hour, let alone to wake up even earlier to make the time for it.

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i’ve forgiven & forgotten that old alarm clock, though. i’ve never been the type to hold a grudge & for that, i am grateful. these days, my mornings are quite serene & something to look forward to, usually involving a steaming cup of fair trade coffee & some light legal reading with iron & wine pulsing faintly through my speakers. after an hour or so, a certain love of my life rises & stretches daintily from the place she’s been keeping warm in the bed since i awoke, leaps off & clicks across the hardwood floor before sitting politely by my side waiting to be invited up to the coveted space that is my lap. if i’m lucky, other mornings might include a hilly run up & down gorham street, a pause in the park to breathe in the fall, to appreciate the elements of wind, earth & water.

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tuesday morning was a treat in its own right. after seeing this post on the kitchn on monday, i rose from my bed with purpose. i rolled out some leftover pizza dough, topped it with diced tomatoes, a blend of mozzarella & blue cheese, greek olives & fresh herbs. last, but certainly not least, i cracked a few eggs over the top. i baked the pie at my oven’s highest temperature, until the whites were set & the edges of the dough were crispy. i called my friend kari over & we started off the day together in the best of ways. we broke bread while listening to my creepy october playlist & drinking coffee laced with cinnamon, nutmeg & cloves. follow the link below for the full recipe.

apple pizza with brie, onion jam & kale

it’s apple season, otherwise known as the hot-blooded winter heart’s second-favorite time of year. i love all seasons, but i’ve always been an autumn girl, gladly embracing the busyness of a new school year, stashing my sundresses & bikinis without an ounce of regret before reaching for welcoming oversized sweaters, buttery leather boots & soft scarves. this, by default, makes me an apple girl & lover of warming spices–especially cinnamon. the best of friends, these two rarely leave the house without each other.

this fall, though, i’ve been contemplating ways to use my beloved fruit without my equally beloved spice. not because they don’t pair wonderfully, of course, but because the combination is so predictable. the idea for this pizza has been brewing in my head ever since i bought a bunch of wisconsin apples at my local co-op. it was just a matter of when (not if) i was willing to shirk some more important responsibilities & immerse myself in the time-consuming task of making onion jam (one hour is a lot to spare in the life of this mediocre law student with a mildly debilitating addiction to yoga that requires 75-minute indulgences almost daily).

last night presented the perfect opportunity. i should have been catching up in a class i’d fallen behind in, but alas, my thursday was a long one. i worked my shift at the courthouse as a student attorney for my school’s free domestic violence**** clinic, before meeting some fellow law students to plan (plot?) a group project for two hours. after the meeting ended, all i could think about was a cup of tea & cuddling with my dog. when i’d had enough of that, i decided to tackle this pizza. the result was a savory-sweet thin crust thing of beauty. the onion jam, consisting of a tangy-sweet red wine base, whispered sweet nothings to the sweet punches of apple, while creamy, melted slices of brie neutralized the situation. i didn’t notice the kale, which, in all honesty, was added to make me feel better about myself. what? sometimes even the most prolific vegetable lovers have to sneak greens into their diets from time to time. don’t judge. just eat. that’s what we do here.

slow-cooked butternut squash & black bean burrito bowl

it is october, a vibrant month chock-full of various shades of the color orange: pumpkins, hay bales, cornfields, falling leaves & early evening sunsets. orange is the color of your sacral chakra, or so i am told in yoga class. a chakra is just an energy center in the body. this one governs your creativity, your ability to live in the present moment, the way you behave in relationships, your sexuality, your tendencies toward violence & addiction, as well as your ability to feel joy & pleasure. one of the ways to balance this chakra is to indulge your sensational side–cooking is one way to soothe this part of yourself. i can do that. i can glow. even if i’m not quite sure how i feel about all this chakra business… although i do like the way the word just rolls off my tongue. chakra. chakra. chakra, chakra, chakra.

this brown rice burrito bowl stars a warm-hued, october-appropriate vegetable: butternut squash. the mild flavor of the squash is the perfect backdrop to garlic, cumin, paprika & red pepper flakes–the southwestern spice blend native to a dish like this. chipotle peppers in adobo sauce are the smoky companion to the muted sweetness of the vegetable. those are my thoughts at least. you’ll have to let me know if you agree…

salted caramel pumpkin chocolate chip cookie bars &108 things i love in this moment

it’s fall in the midwest. is there anything better? the leaves are turning colors & crunching below our boot-clad feet, the afternoon sun is still warming even as it sets a little earlier than it did the month before, & it has become cool enough to pull out our flannels & sweaters without breaking a sweat while trudging to & from our various destinations. in honor of the autumnal equinox & one of my favorite yoga instructors (& bloggers), this post contains not only a recipe for a salty-sweet fall treat that’s nearly vegan (you’ll have to sub unsweetened applesauce for the eggs to make it completely so), but also a list of 108 things i love in this moment. what is it that you love right now? please share in the comments. first on my list is these pumpkin chocolate chip cookie bars with salted caramel. read on for the recipe.