How the hell is it May already? Like, how. Help us all. Seriously.
I’ve really started to look forward to these monthly recap posts because it forces me to look back on my month and appreciate the lovely, little, cute moments. And not gonna lie, this month has been a little on the rough side.
From these pictures, it looks like the nicest month ever, filled with pretty things, but it hasn’t been all pancakes and purple roses. April was jam-packed with work and stress and unappealing life things, sprinkled with a few awesome things in between. Naturally I didn’t take pictures of the awkward stuff, mainly because it’d just be pictures of me at my computer with terrible hair, dressed in sweats.
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The first time I made risotto, I cried. And not like, oh cute-teary-Demi-Moore-cry, but more like a ugly-face-contorted-Carrie-from-Homeland-cry. It was Christmas and the house was filled. I thought it would be a genius idea to make every single dish for Christmas dinner, from scratch, and all by myself. Everything was going great, totally fine, I mean I was frantic and super busy but I was on my way to Martha Stewart hostess-type success, but then…risotto.
Since it was my first time attempting this dish (and I was 16 years old), I had no idea what was involved. I was way over my head. I started the process of toasting the rice, adding the broth, etc. I’m pretty sure I got distracted by various other things and came back to the pot only to be met with a gummy, dried up, disgusting mess. I was heartbroken. Tears fell. An Adrianna-melt-down occurred. There was lots of, “Oh we don’t even like risotto,” that was said over and over to me.
It took me years to give it another go, but when I finally nailed down the process I felt like a damn professional chef, no lie. Nowadays I really, really love making risotto–it’s actually not stressful at all but it took me a while to get to this place of risotto-calm. I found a few fun facts and tips to help along the way, and I’m sharing them–along with the recipe itself–over on Etsy.
Are you a hand-shaker or a hugger? Like, when you first meet someone and you don’t know them, but you sort of know them, like you’ve emailed before, do you go for a hug or the handshake? Is it gender specific? I feel like I’m more likely to hug a lady than a dude. But for the most part I’m totally that weirdo that goes for the hug when people go for the handshake. And then I have to be like, “I’m a hugger, soooorrrry!”
I’m usually secretly hoping they don’t have a weird complex about people touching them. I’ve known people like that. And those people haaaate people like me. Also, I kind of hate when people are too touchy-feely. There’s a happy medium to be had, man.
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The best? What a bratty title. I always think it’s super snobby when someone names a recipe “the best” of anything but sometimes it really is true. Sometimes your aunt’s guacamole is magical and has this one weird and unexpected ingredient that really does make it the best. Sometimes your grandmama really does know the secret to perfect carrot cake. Sometimes it’s valid. This situation here is sort of the best tabbouleh salad I’ve ever had. Like, ever. So here we are with this super pretentious recipe title. I’m sorry…but only a little sorry.
I really love normal tabbouleh salads and I really, really love fattousch salads, so I figured I’d give this tabbouleh salad fattoush-like qualities. Did I just make sense? That was a long sentence.
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I love my friends and my family and my dude, but sometimes it’s really nice to have no one talk to me for a few hours, you know? It’s nice to just be in silence with some beer and paint my nails.
Non sucky dinners for one are good examples on how to date yourself. Yes, yourself. Date nights with yourself. Do you have them? You totally should, they’re the best. For me they usually involve a pair of pjs, an episode or two (or three) of Nashville (currently obsessed), cold cereal, sometimes takeout, but more recently? This bowl.
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Sometimes I want to love what everyone else loves…but don’t. Like, harem pants (my thighs don’t need help looking larger – thanks) or frappuchinos (real coffee, please) or sparkly shoe clips or Mad Men (boring). Peanut butter and chocolate is one of those things that the entire world LOVES. And I do, too.
It’s the classic of classic combos. And there’s good reason. Something magical occurs when chocolate and peanut butter come together. The clouds open, the symphony sounds, a Lisa Frank rainbow appears in the sky and smiles appear.
This cookie has chocolate, peanut butter, oatmeal and a good amount of salt all mixed into one.
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Sometimes I just get the urge for crazy and drastic change. Like, maybe chopping my hair all off and having a pixie cut like Michelle Williams or marching into Barney’s and buying a dream bag or moving to a new city where I know no one.
Dreaming about moving to a new city has been doing it for me lately. I’ve been thinking about how awesome it would be to eat in new-to-me restaurants, visit new parks, museums and just create a whole new routine for life. And even the prospect of making new friends in this very new town makes me really excited. Of course Amelia and my dude would come along, too. I have a feeling that Amelia would aide greatly in the whole making new friends department.
This is probably a pipe-dream. I mean, I love Los Angeles, but I’ve been a-dreamin’ lately, hard. And it’s fun.
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Secret: For the past year I’ve been totally enamored with a certain cookbook. I’ve read it in bed, read it on airplanes, read it standing up in the kitchen and cooked from it over and over again. (Examples here and here.) It’s the dreamiest book about my favorite subject in the entire world. There are no pictures, just words, great words, in fact. And recipes that have all worked for me.
Marion Cunningham’s Breakfast Book is a gem. It’s the little black dress of my kitchen. I use it all the time for inspiration or as a base recipe, adding and subtracting what I like.
This recipe for Marion Cunningham’s Yeasted Waffles is a throwback. Maybe one of the most famous recipes ever. I hesitated whether I should share it with you because, I dunno, it’s everywhere on the internets. But I just love it so hopefully this will be new to one or two of you.
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I very big part of me hopes and wishes that you read this blog post title as, “Spaghettiii and a Meat-a-balls!”
I feel like I just talked about my love of gangster movies a few weeks ago but I really do love that scene in Goodfellas where they’re all in jail and they’re like, who cares so what and cook up this like massive feast. Oh and that one guy slices the garlic with a razor blade. So unnecessary but so awesome.
The other day I was driving and had a very weird craving for spaghetti and a meat-a-balls! I mean, it’s not super unusual because I could subsist on pasta every single day, but the meatball part is. I never really think to make them, but whenever I do I’m like, why don’t I eat these everyday?! what is wrong with me?!
So, that my friends is what Los Angeles traffic will do to you: crave meatballs.
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One small spoon, a skewer and two adults (me included) were bent over this soup a few days ago, trying super hard to make cute heart dollops made of fromage blanc. I really wish you were present so you could laugh at me and tell me I’m ridiculous. But you’d probably just try and help because most you lovely people have your own blogs and are used to playing with your food until it looks as adorable as possible. Right?!
Sometimes I fuss over stuff because I’m annoying but this soup is as easy as can be. It celebrates of the 65 degree weather that spring is all about. I’m so glad we’re not sweating yet. It’s sweet, a little tart, creamy with a hint of onion from butter-roasted shallots and a spring onion bulb.
This is the soup I want to eat on a cool Tuesday night, sitting on the couch watching the tele. The full recipe is over on Etsy’s blog.
P.S. I’ve been gone most of the week because I’ve been working on fun stuff, video stuff that I will share with you soon. Can’t wait!
