For the past few days and for the remainder of the weekend, I’m house-sitting at my mom’s house. Hallelujah. I’m amazed at what a little change of scenery can do for a girl. And before I get into that and the magic I’ve created with a few blood oranges, I want to thank you all for your comments on the last post. I feel so lucky to have such amazing readers, friends, and family. Thank you one hundred times over.
Onward: Remember how I used to live at my mom’s place before moving into the city? She lives about thirty minutes north of San Francisco in San Rafael, a beautiful but sleepy sort-of suburb. It’s great to be back hanging out in the blooming backyard, snuggling with her dogs, catching up with bad gossip magazines, watching cable (such a luxury now!), feasting on homemade lasagna and brownies, and getting a good night’s sleep. I’m actually really nervous to go back to my place on Monday, but I know I need to face my life there, too. There are changes to be made and conversations to be had. Oy. You know what makes facing life just a little bit easier? The bottle.
Now of course, I jest. Sort of. Now that I think about it, I’m actually not sure if we’ve discussed my penchant for very strong cocktails. There’s nothing I hate more than eating out and ordering a weak drink. I like to really taste my liquor. My friends and family are used to me ordering an extra shot of tequila to throw into my margarita or ordering doubles just in case. And fairly recently, I’ve discovered the wonderful world of Manhattans. Those always seem to hit the spot. So that should give you a little insight into this cocktail. These babies are strong.
I’m sure you’ve been seeing blood oranges in your local market lately. When I lived in Boston, February was always the hardest month to get through in the winter–and ironically, it’s the shortest. The holidays are over, it’s damn cold and gray and slushy…and cold. So I remember always giddily scooping up these beauties when they’d start arriving in the stores with tangerines, glistening lemons, and big meaty grapefruits. Even though I live in California now, I still find myself grabbing for color wherever I can find it.
The recipe for this cocktail can certainly be adapted. Feel free to use Triple Sec instead of Cointreau if you like–and play with the proportions as you go. If you want it a little juicer with less kick, squeeze another half a blood orange in and see how you like it. People take cocktails so seriously these days, but I tend to kind of throw a little of this and a little more of that in until I’m happy. So have fun with this. Heck, if we can’t have fun with our cocktails, there’s a lot more than February that’s looking bleak, right?
What are you up to this weekend? Hibernating? I’m working a catering job tomorrow, visiting and photographing a new burger place with a friend for a review I’m writing, and lounging with Netflix (Paper Heart-seen it?), the new Vanity Fair, and Tara Austen Weaver’s new book on welcoming meat into her life. As a once-vegetarian for almost fifteen years, I relate to her struggles with learning how to eat, prepare, and think about meat again. Check it out. See you back here early next week with a great breakfast recipe. Hint: break out the good butter and the marmalade. Until then: Cheers.
Combine all ingredients in a cocktail shaker, shake vigorously, and pour into a glass that makes you happy to look at. Enjoy.
On Monday our little family of three is headed to the airport at 6 am to board our first with-baby cross-country trip. We'll be visiting Sam's family in New Jersey for a few days, then renting a car and driving over to meet up with my family at my mom's lake house in the Adirondacks. Sam's younger sister and her kids have yet to meet Oliver; my grandpa has yet to meet him, and Oliver has yet to take a dunk in a lake, see a firefly, or spend quality time with energetic dogs -- of which there will be three. A lot of firsts. This week my family has been madly texting, volunteering to make certain meals or sweets on assigned days while we're at the cabin and it got me thinking about really simple, effortless summer desserts -- in particular, ones that you can make while staying in a house with an unfamiliar kitchen and unfamiliar equipment and still do a pretty bang-up job. I think fruit crisp is just that thing.
Somehow, in what seems to have been a blink of an eye, we have a six month old baby. In some ways I can't remember a time we didn't have an Oliver, and in other ways it's all a blur broken up by a few holidays (a Thanksgiving thanks to grocery store takeout, and our very first Christmas in Seattle), a few family visits, a one-day road trip to Portland, a birthday dinner out, a birthday cake, weekend drives to nowhere in particular, swimming at the pool with Oliver, weekly get-togethers with our parent's group, doctor's visits, hundreds of walks around the neighborhood, hundreds of cups of coffee, dozens (or more?) of scoops of ice cream. Most of the worrying about keeping a baby alive has made way for other concerns, and Oliver's need for constant stimulation or soothing walks and car rides has been traded for stretches of time playing with a new toy or checking out his surroundings. In truth, it's thanks to that tiny bit of baby independence that this humble, summery cake came to be in the first place. So we've all got an Oliver to thank for that. Or, really, we have a Yossi Arefi to thank, as it's from her beautiful new cookbook that I've bookmarked heavily and am eager to continue exploring.
We walked to the library last week and I had a strange realization standing in line watching Sam check out his usual massive stack of books: Will I ever have the time to read stacks of books again? I used to be much more of a reader than I am today -- a fact I'm not at all proud of. But when evening rolls around and the more formal workday ends, I find emails and other odds and ends creep in. Walking home from the library, I began obsessing over free time for reading, asking Sam if we'd ever be those two old people who study bird manuals and can recognize birds on walks. I want to have the time to read bird manuals someday. For now though, we're young and we're working a lot. We did sneak away on that one-night camping trip I told you about, and cooked some interesting, haphazard meals which I hope to share with you soon. For now though, for summer: a strawberry dessert recipe.
Much like friends, types of Sunday mornings, or books -- there are many different kinds of desserts. Sometimes you may be in the mood for a light French cake piled high with summer fruit. Other days, a thick slice of fragrant pound cake will do. And then there are those days when you crave a rich chocolate mousse that you share after a night of good conversation and a little too much wine. But let's be honest. When it comes right down to it, the most basic and unassuming dessert of all is sometimes the only one that will do. A good and simple affair. Vanilla ice cream. So I want to talk about that today--about a dessert that withstands the test of time, that will always be there for you. A dessert that is far from trendy, that doesn't play favorites or trick you into thinking it's something that it's not. It's a good foundation. A solid beginning.
[ Pie. if you've been around here much in the last few months, you know that I make pie. A lot of pie. And I'm particularly excited to share this pie with you today because it helped me break out of a rut. A pie rut. A baking rut. A Marge inspiration rut.