feeling lucky

Today, I did all the dishes I haven't done for about a week.

I thought about finishing college.
Because I am done. I am done with college. Finished.

I've spent a lot of time writing you, trying to summarize and wring some moral or theme that accurately represents what the past four years meant, or are supposed to mean.

Here is what happened that I could not have predicted four years ago:

I grew up.

Child to sort-of-adult.

(four years ago)

Just like that.

I cried a lot, and everyone else cried a lot, and it was good and bad, but mostly it was interesting.
And now this particular thing is mostly over.
Two weekends from now, I walk towards a diploma with a tassel on my head.
And then the real stuff, I am told, begins.

Also, I've wanted to tell you, that I did what I've been so long promising to do: I wrote a cookbook.
It's called Good in the Kitchen: A Memoir about Food, The Media, and the Women Who Changed How America Eats. 

It's about my grandmother and Julia Child and me and cake.
It is also finished.

I am proud, but mostly relieved.
If you want to know more about it, shoot me an email.
I'll tell you more later.

I don't really know what's next.
I'm in a band and I want to write a million songs.
I want to bake some bread.
I want to sit in a garden while holding someone else's baby.
Wake up and go swimming.

All I really want to say, is how lucky I feel.
That there ain't words big enough, that if I'd known how much love there is--
that exists in this world-- for eating well, and eating together--that there is so much joy to be had--
if you'd have told me four years ago, I don't know if I'd have believed it.

I believe it now.

I feel so lucky.

Thank you.

xoxoxo
m

beans (again)

From here until the end of May, I want to spend most of my time outside, and also drink a lot of beer.
I've been spending too much time in front of screens lately.

This is a strange time, like everything is simultaneously in hyperdrive but also limbo. With springtime, everything feels fresh and small and new. Especially when I look out my tiny bathroom window and notice all the still-unfurling leaves.

I keep thinking that I'm excited about everything, though every now and then, as I hear that someone else is moving, or figured something out-- I don't know--there's a lot going on.

Per the usual, I've been too busy to really cook anything. I read on the blog Orangette, her nice piece about doctoring up cans of beans with a little butter and spices. I've been doing this all week with cans of black beans. I add them straight to the pot with a sliver of butter, pinches of cumin and some chopped parsley-- then puree them until they're creamy and thick. I eat them plain and standing over the stove, sometimes with crumbles of feta cheese.

This last year hasn't gone the way I thought it would. Not that I had a clear idea about "how it would be," but all the same, it hasn't been the way I thought it would. And I guess I've been so in the present, that I haven't given much thought at all to what happens after May. When I think about "after May," I think about places. Visiting friends in New York and trying the city on for size again, or somehow going to Tel Aviv, where I'd  sit on the beach, with hands full of olives. I do not know if these are possible things, but they are still good to think about.

Right now, there are still six weeks until I graduate.
Even though I have difficulty listening to Father John Misty, there's a line off his new record, where he sings about the end of a relationship: "at least we'll both go on livinggggg!" Which is funny and sad and real and true/untrue. Which is the thing I keep reminding myself about the end of college-- I'll go on "livingggggg."

I will be so relieved, I think. To be done.

From here until the end of May, I'm going to spend most of my time outside, and also drink a lot of beer. And I'm going to think about the possibilities.

how to love yourself (beans)

I hate the weather. 

I talk about and blame nearly everything on the weather lately— all the moods, bullshit, inclement anything— it’s just the weather. 

In the land of near perpetual sunshine— I’m taking the cold very personally. 

I turned 22 last week, which is simultaneously something and also nothing at all. 

I had a lot of feelings, mostly because I realized and remembered how much everything has changed. 

A friend reminded me today that everything is always changing— but right now, it all feels very potent and more real. 

Mostly because I’m not a child anymore. 

And I was a child when I came to college. 

And suddenly I’m not. 

The other day, I went for a long hike in the rain with my father— we walked for about three hours and looked at the creek, which is full of clear, green water. My dad is full aphorisms and stories.

“This is real.” My dad said of the rain. 

This is real. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about the idea of “love yourself.” Which is one of those frustrating and vague things that people who are vexingly successful both at love and work like to say. 

“Love yourself.” 

Bullshit. It means so little. 

Here is all I know: 

On Saturday night, make a pot of beans. 

This is how you love yourself. 

You make the pot of beans with some garlic and onions, and then all week, whenever you are hungry, or don’t want to spend money, or are tired— there are beans to eat— all week long. 

This is the only thing I really know at this point. 

Make some beans.

This is how you love yourself. 

I love you. 

xoxo

m 

trendy vegetables

I cook at night these days. Mostly when I’m too tired, or so sick of staring at a computer, that washing dishes and making simple pastas and vegetable dishes feels like the only thing to do. 

Brussel sprouts are having a really irritating moment right now, they might even be trendier than kale. Honestly, there are few things more annoying than a really trendy vegetable. The point is, brussel sprouts are really wonderful when you cut them in half, and sauté them until they’re browned, and then add a little wasabi mustard, if you can find it. 

This is the real deal. 

As I made the brussel sprouts I thought about my parents, who STILL refuse to eat them due to retained childhood loathing. It was on their list of things that “Our Family Does Not Eat” which included beets, cabbage, brussel sprouts, margarine, and especially cauliflower, which my father has such a fierce hate of, that the one time I tried to cook it he actually yelled at me, “OUR FAMILY DOES NOT EAT CAULIFLOWER.” 

One of my friends said recently, “the weeks are hurling by.” And I don’t know what it is about that specific adjective that really says it all, but there you go. 

Hurling. 

I also made pickled mushrooms tonight. Back when I worked at the restaurant, after the initial dinner rush, I would hover over the deli case, and spear pickled mushrooms with a toothpick when I thought no one was looking. 

That was maybe the best part of that job. 

That and taunting the chefs, who were behind a counter, and so were forced to talk to me, primarily because they were all so sick of each other. 

I used this recipe, but it’s not at all like the ones I would eat at the restaurant. 

The other thing is, I’m trying to get my thesis together right now. I don’t mind writing it nearly as much as I mind the feeling that I should be writing it every single hour of every single day. 

I try not to think about it all too much.

And Valentines Day came and went, I went grocery shopping at 11pm that night, and bought discounted chocolate covered strawberries. 

And I wore my bell bottoms recently and felt cool for about two minutes.

And also, aren’t you glad that tomorrow will be tomorrow instead of today? 

Even though tomorrow is just further proof that the weeks are hurling by? 

Anyways, I love you. 

More real things soon. 

XOXO

m

How to Hardboil an Egg

It's okay.
I mean, it's really okay. 

I failed at making hardboiled eggs last night.
But it's okay. 

Hardboiled eggs are only the easiest thing in the world to make-- but somehow, I don't know, I didn't cook them for long enough, or the water wasn't actually boiling, or something. 
The point is, I couldn't even make a hardboiled egg. 

Stranger things have happened. 

For instance, remember when I told you about how I was trying to plant my own garden, a la Jorge Luis Borges? 
Well. 
A flower grew. 
Who knew? 
I am so proud. 
I never knew I could grow anything. 

But back to hardboiled eggs. 
I love Nora Ephron, and Nora wrote this marvelous essay about living in New York City in her mid-twenties, and starting out as a reporter, and how she would go to work all day, and then come home alone and cook herself a full meal, something that made her feel brave and plucky, unlike other girls who were probably just eating pathetic cartons of yogurt in front of the television. 

 
Of course, she acknowledges, it never occurred to her that cooking and then eating a meal meant for four was probably equally pathetic. 
I think about this every time I cook for myself.
So brave! So plucky! 

And then, sometimes, you can't even hardboil the egg. 
And then you really have to muster some courage. 

Anyways. 

Here Is How To Hardboil An Egg From Better Sources On the Internet Just So You Know
Instructions from SimplyRecipes.com

1. Place the eggs in a single layer at the bottom of a saucepan. Cover with at least an inch or two of cold water. The more eggs that are crowding the pan the more water you should have over the eggs. Heat the pot on high heat and bring the water to a full rolling boil.

Adding a teaspoon of vinegar to the water may help keep egg whites from running out if an egg does crack while cooking. Also some people find adding 1/2 teaspoon of salt to the water helps prevent cracking as well as making the eggs easier to peel.

2. Turn off the heat, keep the pan on the hot burner, cover, and let sit for 10-12 minutes.

If you have the type of stove burner that doesn't retain any heat when turned off, you might want to lower the temp to low, simmer for a minute, and then turn it off.

Depending on how cooked you like your hard boiled eggs, the eggs should be done perfectly in 10-12 minutes. That said, depending on your altitude, the shape of the pan, the size of the eggs, the ratio of water to eggs, it can take a few minutes more. When you find a time that works for you, given your preferences, the types of eggs you buy, your pots, stove, and cooking environment, stick with it.

If I'm cooking a large batch of eggs, after 10 minutes I'll sacrifice one to check for doneness, by removing it with a spoon, running it under cold water, and cutting it open. If it's not done enough, I'll cook the other eggs a minute or two longer.

I also find that it is very hard to overcook eggs using this method. I can let the eggs sit, covered, for up to 15-18 minutes without the eggs getting overcooked. 

3. Strain out the water from the pan and run cold water over the eggs to cool them quickly and stop them from cooking further. Or, if you are cooking a large batch of eggs, remove them with a slotted spoon to a large bowl of ice water.

The best way to store hard boiled eggs is in a covered container in the refrigerator. Eggs can release odors in the fridge which is why it helps to keep them covered.

They should be eaten within 5 days.

More soon. 

Ily. 

XOXO

m 

Buttermilk Skillet Cake with Walnut Praline Topping

Right now I am lying on my bed with my shoes on. 

White sunlight coming in through the window. 

Two nights ago, I saw a band called Chipper Jones play. 

Of course the beauty of music, and the particular beauty of live music, is that it brings you into NOW.
Watching the drummer play, I thought he was so graceful. Even though I’m still not totally sure what “grace” really even IS. Internal peace? Quiet? Silent passion? 

So much of my time these past few years has been me struggling to find a rhythm that makes sense— trying to find the grace in motion. 

Like the kind of grace I thought that drummer showed, even if only for a moment. 

I don’t know. 

I realized the other day that from here on out, with only one semester of college to go, not that it hasn’t been real— but that the planned time is mostly ending. 

It’s like the feeling I get when I think about how old I’ll be in ten years. 

Or how I felt when I first realized that in the next few years many of my friends will get married, someone is going to have a baby, everyone falling in and out of love across time zones, working working working on their New Year’s resolutions for the rest of forever until 

The End. 

Of course, this is the beginning of the rest of forever.

I made a cake the other day. 

A buttermilk skillet cake with a walnut praline topping because I like it when things are tangible. Because making things gives rhythm to days that pass so quick/slow. 

And making things feels like grace. 

This year, I want to make things. 

One of my favorite people in the entire world sent me a mostly incoherent, very drunk email on January 1st. At the end of the message he said, “all my love. from a lost yet broken yet wonderfull soul.” 

“Lost yet broken yet wonderfull.” 

Somehow, I feel that this really sums it up. 

"Yet wonderfull." 

I love you I love you I love you. 

xoxo

m

Buttermilk Skillet Cake with Walnut Praline Topping

from The Joy the Baker Cookbook

For the cake:

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

3/4 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon baking soda

3/4 teaspoon salt

6 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened

1 cup granulated sugar

1 large egg

1 large egg yolk

2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

3/4 cup buttermilk

For the praline topping:

3/4 cup packed brown sugar

1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter

1/4 cup heavy cream

generous pinch salt

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1 cup coarsely chopped walnuts

Preheat your oven to 375F/ 190C, positioning a rack in the upper third of the oven.

Butter and flour the bottom and sides of an 8 or 9-inch cast-iron skillet (or a 9-inch cake pan).

In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, beat the butter and sugar until blended and lighter in color, about 3 minutes. Add egg and yolk, beating for a minute between each addition. Beat in the vanilla.

Turn the speed to low, and add half of the flour mixture. Next, add the buttermilk, and when the flour is just combined, add the remaining flour. Remove the bowl from the mixer, and gently finish incorporating the ingredients with a spatula, taking care not to overmix. Spoon the batter into prepared skillet or pan, spreading evenly. Bake for about 30 minutes, or until a skewer inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean.

While the cake bakes, make the praline topping: in a medium saucepan over medium heat, combine brown sugar, butter, cream and salt. Bring the mixture to a soft boil for 3 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in the vanilla and nuts. Inhale.

Let the mixture rest in the pan for 20 minutes, to firm up. Once it has rested, and the cake has been removed from the oven, pour the praline mixture over the warm cake, spreading evenly. (If you chose to bake this in a cake pan instead of a skillet, remove the cake from the pan and place it on a cake plate, before pouring the topping over the cake.) Serve immediately, or at room temperature.

Cake will keep, well wrapped and at room temperature, for up to 4 days.

rice crispy treats

Time is passing, and it scares me. 

Thanksgiving is always a marker of this: the old people move slower, the young people move faster, have babies, get married. 
Everyone still eats green bean casserole. 

Jordan asked me if the drive back from Oklahoma "felt cinematic?" 
Sometimes it has. But this time it didn't. It just felt long. 
The year feels tired. 



The other day, I remembered this line from a Jorge Luis Borges poem that Julian read to me once, and there is a line that goes, "and you plant your own garden instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers." And I thought about this, because without even thinking, I bought an amaryllis bulb and put it in a turquoise pot filled with dirt. 
It has grown five inches since I planted it. 
So far, things look promising. 

The past few months have been so very quiet. Quiet months after a very full year. 
I came back from Thanksgiving and opened my windows to drifts of gold leaves that finally fell after the cold snap and hoped that this would make for some kind of momentum.

I do not know how you know when you are growing up. 



I've been making rice crispy treats with chocolate chips for the two boys I babysit. 
"Bring me one thousand hundred more next time!!!" They order me.
I've been trying to make pinto beans the way my mother does, only mine are never as good. 
A few months ago, I would come home tipsy from nights out and peel off my party clothes and stand in front of the stove, stirring a skillet of scrambled eggs, which inevitably burnt, because who has time for heat that isn't turned all the way up? 
And also, there was a rat in my kitchen last night and I didn't even know what to do. 



And maybe it's because of these things, or in spite of them, I feel so hopeful right now. 
Hopeful in my bones. 

I asked my grandmother, I said, "Grandma, if I decide that I'm going to have everything I want, do you think I'll get it?"
"No." She said. 
But I'm going to believe it anyways. 
And maybe the best part, when I really think about it, is that there are so many things-- gold leaves and the end of school and even drunk burnt eggs and sticky little boys who love rice crispy treats--  
I only want "one thousand hundred more" of all of this too. 

I'm going to believe it anyways. 

I love you. 

xoxo
m 

Rice Crispy Treats

3 Tablespoons butter
40 (about a bag) Marshmallows
6 cups rice crispy cereal 
1 cup chocolate chips (optional) 

In a large pot on stove, melt butter. Add marshmallows and toss to coat. Over heat, stir the marshmallows until they are completely melted and well blended. 
Add cereal and chocolate chips immediately, mix well. 
Press into a greased 13x9-inch pan. 
Cool completely. 

Swedish Meatballs

Life is good, mostly great. 

But today, and lately, lately being most of October, I've had the blues. 

I'm not alone in this, everybody I know is a little tired, or a little weary right now. A little lonely despite being a little too busy. 

I don't know what it is. 

Often, Barbarajo says to me, "You couldn't pay me to be 21 again." 

I think about this often. 

Maybe it's just the time of year. 

Maybe we all just need to drink more.  

On Sunday night, I stood in my kitchen, and made Swedish meatballs. 

I thought about everyone I know, and wondered where we are all going to go.  

And the splintering effects of the final year of college, and how maybe you don't get some things back and other things you just pray and pray that you do, and also the hope that you can have a beer on a Tuesday night, and finish the thesis and everything else on time, maybe, if the magic happens, because I guess it's all happening all the time anyways. 

And I thought about-- it is so terrifying, and so good, to be this young. 

So I made Swedish meatballs. 

They are great. 

They are the flavor of comfort. 

Despite the October blues. 

I love you I love you I love you. 

xoxo

m 

Swedish Meatballs
from The Gourmet Cookbook

3/4 cup fine fresh bread crumbs

1/4 heavy cream

1/4 club soda

3/4 pound ground beef round

1/2 pound ground veal

1/4 pound ground pork

1 medium onion, finely chopped

1 large egg, lightly beaten

2 teaspoons salt, or to taste

1/2 teaspoon freshly ground pepper

Stir together bread crumbs, cream and club soda in a small bowl. Let stand for 20 minutes. 

Put racks in upper and lower thirds of oven and preheat oven to 400F. Oil two large baking sheets with sides. 

Combine beef, veal, pork in a large bowl. Ad onion, breadcrumb mixture, egg, salt, and pepper and blend with your hands just until well combined; do not overmix. 

Form level tablespoons of mixture into meatballs and arrange about 1 inch apart on oiled baking sheets. Bake, turning meatballs over and switching position of sheets halfway through baking, until browned, about 20 minutes total. 

With a slotted spoon, transfer meatballs to a platter. Set baking sheets on top of stove or a heatproof surface. Divide 1/3 cup water between pans and deglaze, off heat, stirring and scraping up brown bits with a wooden spoon.
Drizzle pan juices over meatballs. 

Chia Seed Pudding

I go grocery shopping on Saturdays now. 

And I cook a lot on Sundays-- sometimes spiced sweet potatoes, always brown rice, once, a disgusting and heavy loaf of bread. 

Life is strange. 

I think about that a lot these days-- mostly because it's unbelievable that we are lucky enough to be alive at the same time-- but also how little control I have, really. 

Often I wonder, how it is that anyone gets so that they have work, babies, house and garden full of fireflies? 

Is it always just falling and falling into things and people?

I guess. 

I like making chia seed pudding on Sundays too-- it's so simple and luxurious-- like eating a sweet caviar, or frog eggs. 

I like it also, because when I was in New York, I would take the F train to Midtown, stop at the same quick breakfast spot and buy a banana and chia seed pudding and hope that the iced coffee would prevent me from sweating through my business casual. 

It was such a lonely, lonely summer. That’s the thing about loneliness --you think-- this is the worst it will ever be, and then, one day, you are lonelier. 

So I took the F, and listened to soul music the whole way there, and ate my chia pudding, surrounded by glass and iron and felt small but often good.  Usually, when the workday was over-- I would walk the long way home-- eat $3 Indian food and sit in a park. 
I wondered a lot about work. 

And how I don’t know how to add value to the world yet. 
And how I don't know how to get there.

I like to think it begins with going grocery shopping on Saturdays, cooking on Sundays. Eating pork-belly sliders and drinking vodka with your sister friends on Thursday night, and then going out on Friday and Saturday too. Or maybe staying in, tucking small children into bunk beds-- waking up early, walking. 

Maybe, after a time-- when the work is more done, and more years passed and everything more known, somehow maybe one day, you go home to a garden of fireflies. 

After just falling and falling and falling into jobs and people. 

And chia seed pudding. 

Ideally, hopefully, chia seed pudding is part of how you get there too. 

Chia Seed Pudding 

via TheHealthyFoodie.com 

1/4 chia seeds

3/4 cup full fat coconut milk

1/2 cup coconut water

1 tsp pure vanilla extract

maple syrup to taste

In a small bowl or half pint Mason type glass jar, add coconut, chia seeds, coconut milk, coconut water, and vanilla. Stir until very well combined. 

Place in refrigerator and allow to rest overnight. 

Eat. 

Curried Lentil Soup with Tomato and Spinach

I spend a lot of time in bed these days, staring at the massive pecan tree just outside my window. 

I think about the future a lot.
I often wonder if everyone else is in their bed too, thinking about whatever it is that comes next, and staring at their respective trees. 

When the future makes me lonely, I think about Georgia O'Keefe who lived alone in a tiny adobe house in the red desert of New Mexico. When she couldn't sleep she would make yogurt and knead loaves of bread and sweep her floor in the middle of the night. Then I think about the food writer, MFK Fisher, who liked to leave peeled oranges on her window sill, especially in the winter, until the clear orange membrane became dry and crackly, and so when she bit, the orange was only a cold punch of crunch and winter and citrus. 

Sometimes, I think about a boy I knew only briefly, who once cooked me a dinner that mostly consisted of boiled carrots and brown rice, and how kind it was, but how much it needed salt. We  later went to a party, where everyone was older, and speaking languages I didn’t understand. We sat in a corner, and he told me about his lovers, while a tiny French man sang and danced along to "Like A Virgin." The little man danced up to me, "Whenever I feel sad,” he said, “I just listen to Madonna! Like a virgin! Like a virgin!!!" 

And often, I think about my friend Mary Margaret, who was the most beautiful old person I’ve ever known, and she died too soon, but she would throw these parties that were catered by Torchy’s Tacos, and the old-school literati and glitterati of my hometown would go, and there was always this man who wore his cowboy hat inside, he would sit and play groovy ragtime licks on her baby grand piano for hours. 

So lately, I spend a lot of time lying on my bed, staring at the tree outside my window. 

Lately, it rains. 

The other night I made this pot of lentils, and added potatoes and all the remaining odds and ends in my refrigerator.
And the simplicity of the lentils reminded me of all these tiny beautiful things; dancing to Madonna, cold oranges, and tiny houses in big deserts and cowboy hats. 

And how small it all is, and how perfectly beautiful. 

Curried Lentil Soup with Tomato and Spinach

from The Gourmet Cookbook 

1/4 cup vegetable oil

2/3 cup finely chopped onion 

2 garlic cloves, minced

2 teaspoons finely grated peeled fresh ginger

1 tablespoon curry powder

1 teaspoon ground cumin

1 cup lentils, picked over and rinsed

2 1/2 cups (20 ounces) chicken stock or store-bought low-sodium broth

2 1/2 cups water

2/3 cup chopped drained canned tomatoes

2 cups coarsely chopped spinach

fresh lemon juice to taste

salt and black pepper

Heat oil in a 4-quart heavy saucepan over moderate heat. Add onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until lightly browned, 6 to 8 minutes. Add garlic and ginger and cook, stirring, for 1 minute. Add curry powder and cumin and cook, stirring, for 30 seconds. Add lentils, stock, and water and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer, covered, until lentils are tender, 20 to 25 minutes. 

Stir in tomatoes and spinach and simmer, uncovered, stirring occasionally, until spinach is wilted, about 2 minutes. Add lemon juice and salt and pepper to taste. 

Jambalaya

I just moved again, my fourth time moving in the past four years. This is exhausting only because there's constant re-adaptation to a new kitchen, which is actually a real thing. I don't know how electric burners work?? Why does the oven light go on and off?? Just how cold IS my freezer? Also, because I've always lived with other people, everyone else always provided all the culinary hardware, which means that I've been getting inventive. 

Did you know you can actually shred cheese with a vegetable peeler? 

(Like a fool, I forgot to take pictures, so here is my brother and some nice pink skies.) 

Anyways, I made some jambalaya so fine that I thought I had been kidnapped as a baby because actually I MUST be Cajun.

This explains everything!

The real thing about jambalaya, is that you can adapt it to all your personal cravings.
After reading several recipes it appears that most people don't put shrimp in it?
But my mama always puts shrimp in her jambalaya, so I did too.
You can make it on the stovetop, or in the oven or both (I did both.)
You can add okra, or not.
You can add sausage or not.
You can make your own cajun seasoning or not.
It's great.



Mostly I liked making jambalaya, because it made me feel at home, and feeling at home is suddenly a rare and special thing. 
Lately, I find myself asking questions such as, do other people make a place a home?
Is home just where you feel safest? 
Sometimes, when these questions are too much, I sit in my small green bathroom, and watch a trail of tiny black ants crawl from the east end of my bathtub near the faucet to the west end where I keep my shampoo. 
I like the ants, because the ants are not concerned with questions of home or place or belonging. 
They just keep walking. 

The point is. 
This jambalaya is worth you time. It will make the air smell thick and rich and spicy. 
It will bring you back to the tactile, real version of yourself. The part of yourself that only exists in the HERE NOW.  
But mostly it tastes really good. And fills you up. 

You will love it. 

And I love you. 

XOXO



Jambalaya 
via AllRecipes.com 

These are guidelines, adapt as you please. 

2 tablespoons peanut oil, divided
1 tablespoon Cajun seasoning
10 ounces andouille sausage, slices into rounds
1 pound boneless skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1 inch pieces
1 onion, diced
1 small green bell pepper, diced
2 stalks celery, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 (16 ounce) can crushed Italian tomatoes
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon hot pepper sauce
2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
1 1/4 cups uncooked white rice
2 1/2 cups chicken broth

1. Heat 1 tablespoon of peanut oil in a large heavy Dutch oven over medium heat. Season the sausage and chicken pieces with Cajun seasoning. Saute sausage until browned. Remove with slotted spoon, and set aside. Add 1 tablespoon peanut oil, and saute chicken pieces until lightly browned on all sides. Remove with a slotted spoon, and set aside.

2. In the same pot, saute onion, bell pepper, celery and garlic until tender. Stir in crushed tomatoes, and season with red pepper, black pepper, salt, hot pepper sauce, and Worcestershire sauce. Stir in chicken and sausage. Cook for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally.

3. Stir in the rice and chicken broth. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer for 20 to 25 minutes, or until liquid is absorbed. (I actually ended up putting my Jambalaya in the oven at 375 F, for about half an hour because my electric burners didn't seem capable of cooking everything evenly for a long period of time.)

Best Ever Yellow Birthday Cake with Best Ever Chocolate Frosting (and raspberries)

I first baked this cake on graduating high school. 

I baked it in two layers, frosted them as individual cakes for a party, drank a glass of champagne, went swimming, and then promptly went to college. 

I hadn’t made this cake since then. 

Recently, I made it for my father’s birthday. 

Here he is, looking mildly pleased. 

 

What I can’t get over, is how much has changed between then and now. 

My last year of university is about to begin. “Season four begins.” My friends and I joke, because somehow, the entire three, now four years, has managed to feel like a bizarre, high drama miniseries, or at least, one that’s heavy on the taco-eating/beer-drinking/library-gossiping side of life. 

Since I was a child, college has always the goal and the next “next thing.” Somehow, I’m now facing the beginning of the end of it, and panicking a little about what my next “next thing” is going to be. 

I’m hopeful that I’ll bake this cake again soon, because it’s such a perfect, perfect cake. But also, I’m hopeful that I’ll bake it again soon because I really want to celebrate all the tiny victories and birthdays and half-birthdays and weekends and Monday nights and people. Mostly I want to celebrate all the people. 

Everything is going by so fast. 

There’s a bizarre musical called Auntie Mame. The best and only memorable line from the whole show is when Mame shouts, “Life is a banquet! And most poor suckers are starving to death!” And then she throws on a different wig and dances on the table, surrounded by multitudes of her tap-dancing lovers. Or at least, that’s how I remember it. 

When I think about goals or dreams for the upcoming months, of course I want to work hard and study and graduate-- but more than any of this, I really want to bake this cake, throw on the wig, dance on the table, just for the hell of it. 

Because life is a banquet. 

Because it’s the beginning of the end, which means it’s a new beginning all over again. 

And I want to celebrate. 

Because I’m so excited.
I’m so wildly excited. 

XOXO

m 

Best Yellow Layer Cake
from SmittenKitchen.com 

In all sincerity, this one of the simplest and absolute best cakes you could ever wish that someone else would bake you for your birthday. 

Yield: Two 9-inch round, 2-inch tall cake layers, and, in theory, 22 to 24 cupcakes, two 8-inch squares or a 9×13 single-layer cake (I have yet to audition the cupcakes, shame on me)
4 cups plus 2 tablespoons (480 to 530 grams, see explanation) cake flour (not self-rising)
2 teaspoons (10 grams) baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon (5 grams) table salt
2 sticks (1 cup, 1/2 pound or 225 grams) unsalted butter, softened
2 cups (400 grams) sugar
2 teaspoons (10 ml) pure vanilla extract
4 large eggs, at room temperature
2 cups buttermilk (475 ml), well-shaken
Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter two 9-inch round cake pans and line with circles of parchment paper, then butter parchment. (Alternately, you can use a cooking spray, either with just butter or butter and flour to speed this process up.)
Sift together flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a medium bowl. In a large mixing bowl, beat butter and sugar in a large bowl with an electric mixer at medium speed until pale and fluffy, then beat in vanilla. Add eggs 1 at a time, beating well and scraping down the bowl after each addition. At low speed, beat in buttermilk until just combined (mixture will look curdled). Add flour mixture in three batches, mixing until each addition is just Incorporated.
Spread batter evenly in cake pan, then rap pan on counter several times to eliminate air bubbles. (I like to drop mine a few times from two inches up, making a great big noisy fuss.) Bake until golden and a wooden pick inserted in center of cake comes out clean, 35 to 40 minutes. Cool in pan on a rack 10 minutes, then run a knife around edge of pan. Invert onto rack and discard parchment, then cool completely, about 1 hour.

Go-to Chocolate Frosting

from Allrecipes.com

Also this frosting makes me the happiest. It is so good. So so soooo good. 

1 cup butter, softened

4 1/2 cups confectioners sugar

1 1/4 cups baking cocoa

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/2 cup milk

In a large mixing bowl, cream butter. Gradually beat in confectioners sugar, cocoa and vanilla. Add enough milk until frosting reaches spreading consistency.