I’m in a hotel, which always feels so other to me. I’m here because my friends Eilen and Jay are on tour for the first time since they had a baby, and I’ve coming along to hold sweet Mavis in all the green rooms of New England. So if you’re in one of the cities on the tour, and you see someone with a baby strapped to her pacing and up and down the sidewalk (also, bouncing in a “time to go to sleep” way), singing songs in gibberish, that would be me. Come say hello.
Also, of note.
Lately, most of my instagram posts have been of my #compostcandids. There’s just something about these bowls of scraps that have inspired me lately. But there’s more too–chronicles of the girls’ baking, the occasional quick recipe, and whatever I see that I want to catch. It continues to be the place online where I post the most, so I just wanted to give a little update of the goings on over there.
I have to admit it’s also the platform where I really love looking through my feed. It can be hard to find people there, so I thought I’d share a few of my favorite posters in case you want to take a peek.
When it comes to simple home dairy, it can be easy to think of each recipe as a separate entity that stands alone. But really, most recipes are slight variations of others, and it’s the small details that might lead you to one cheese or another. If you know how to make yogurt, you’re not that far off from cream cheese. If you’ve made cultured buttermilk, you can make creme fraiche. Feta and Chèvre and close cousins, and, strange as it might seem, homemade ricotta is similar to mascarpone. Continue reading
If I were here to give you a tip (tip being the choice over recipe, which is the other thing that makes me useful here), it would be this:
Now is the time to light candles. Every day.
This past week where I am, we fell back in time, and the world got dark. I love this part of the year. I love the darkness, and the chill, and I like the feeling of change. And for those of us with children in the house, this is the good change, where the kids start to go to bed a little earlier, and it’s easier to drag them out of bed before school because it actually looks like morning instead of the middle of the night. Still, there’s been a tension that came in that might be a given during any change. Or maybe that’s just being a kid, or human, and the narrow hit of the sun as it speeds down behind the mountain brings that tension into clearer focus.
There is a moment when the cake has cooled, the dishes are done
(or at least soaking) and the time has come to
breathe the cake out of the pan. Breathe being the only useful verb I can find for this process, which is
the scary moment of bundt cakes (silly as it feels to say bundt, it doesn’t make them less terrifying)
or really any thing that turns out of its pan, but especially bundts,
with their dips and grooves and textures, each
an opportunity for beauty, I suppose,
but more a place for batter to stick, for an
afternoon of today-we’re-making-a-cake! to become
well-that’s-what-frosting-is-for! outwardly optimistic,
but quietly making another admission that perhaps it’s time that I accept that