This picture was taken in a moment of minor delirium–setting out what would be only 1/4 of Tuesday’s necessary shipping and getting a moment of sunny fresh air. I believe this was day 4 of granola baking, little sleep, and major shipping logistics the likes of which I’ve never had to orchestrate. There was a lot of USPS googling, some Pay Pal live-chatting, a bit of pacing around our living room, and a few ‘get yourself together’ pep talks from Sam. I wanted to write a special breakfast post for you this week but it’s just not going to happen. So I thought I’d write a simple post talking about what we’ve been cooking or doing around Seattle but I can’t even do that because it would look like a whole lot of coffee, take-out and work. I’ve been joking that the house motto this week is “All Granola. All the Time.” In my most exhausted state, I’ve considered answering the phone that way. Let’s just say, it turns out that people still read The Wall Street Journal.
Probably six months ago, a wonderful writer for The Wall Street Journal ordered granola from me online. I followed up with her to see how she liked it, and this began a months-long casual chat about granola and small food businesses in general. She loved the product but wasn’t sure when it would be a good fit in the paper. I moved to Seattle, as you all know. And we revamped the Marge packaging and the website and now have a full line which I’m over the moon about. And that, my friends, was enough to be newsworthy. So I got an email a few weeks ago that the paper needed the granola overnighted for a photo shoot. I started stocking up on oats, nuts, and seeds and taking casual polls amongst friends about how many orders it would result in. Maybe none? Maybe just a few retailers will reach out?
The piece ran this past Saturday and the response has been overwhelming. I don’t know how to describe it to you, really. I try and describe it to my family on the phone and come up with nothing substantive or helpful, just a lot of tired blabbering. Sam has devised an absolutely genius spreadsheet for us to track incoming orders and fulfillments. I’m not sure what I would do without him. He is truly good at all the other things that drive me to curl up in a ball. And my sister Rachael is now helping out once or twice a week, packaging and organizing shipments. This makes me really happy. When I paid her a few days ago I almost cried to finally have an official helper. But then again, that could’ve been that “All Granola. All the Time” exhaustion, too. Let’s just say that it was. So for this week’s post, I just wanted to say hello from ‘Whoa, Baby” land and that I’m thinking of you and can’t wait for things to normalize just a touch and get back into the kitchen and the garden. Until then, have a wonderful rest of the week. See you back here very soon.
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.
In a few short weeks, we're headed to New York, Vermont and New Jersey to visit family and see my sister Zoe get married. In starting to think through the trip and do a little planning, I found Oliver the cutest tiny-person dress shoes I've ever seen (and he's quite smitten with them), sussed out childcare options for the night of the wedding, and found what feels like the most expensive (and last) rental car in the state of New Jersey. I try very hard not to be one of Those People that begins lamenting the loss of a season before it's remotely appropriate to do so, but this year, as we'll be gone much of September, I've felt a bit of a 'hurry, make all the summery things!' feeling set in. So we've been managing increasingly busy days punctuated with zucchini noodle salads, gazpacho, corn on the cob and homemade popsicles (preferably eaten shirtless outside followed by a good, solid sprinkler run for one small person in particular. Not naming any names).
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.
A triple berry summer crisp made with oats, quinoa flakes and hazelnuts. Summer in a skillet.
I had a weak moment on our honeymoon in Italy when I decided that I should be making gelato for a living. My enthusiasm for Italian gelato wasn't surprising to anyone. I'd done extensive research, made lists, had Sam map out cities in terms of where the best gelaterias were. I took notes and photos and hemmed and hawed over flavor choices: Sicilian Pistachio! Chestnut Honey! Sweet Cheese, Almond and Fig! In truth, on that particular trip, I cared far more about treats, sunshine, and cobblestone walks than I cared about famous landmarks or tourist attractions, often leaving the camera back at the hotel in favor of my small black notebook which housed detailed jottings on dessert discoveries in each city we visited. Our friends Matteo and Jessica happened to be in Naples on the one night we were there, and we all went out for pizza together followed by a long stroll around the city. At some point the conversation turned to gelato (as it's bound to) and Matteo brought up the famous school in Bologna where many renowned gelato artisans study. My wheels were spinning. Maybe we should visit Bologna. I should see this school! I should talk to these students! I could make Sicilian Pistachio; Chestnut Honey; and Sweet Cheese, Almond and Fig each and every day of our lives. Or at the very least, travel to Bologna to learn how and then come back to Seattle to take our Northwest city by storm. Well here we are six months later, back to reality, and the impetus to pack up my bags and head for Bologna has subsided for the time being ... but not the unwavering gusto to sample. That part will always be with me. It's been awhile since I mixed up a batch of ice cream at home, but the other day a beautiful new cookbook landed on my doorstep and I flipped right to a recipe for dark chocolate sorbet with toasty, salty almonds. I didn't need much convincing.