Tuesday, October 26, 2010


So, I finally borrowed a camera from the shop until mine is fixed. 5 months and counting, I'm not holding my breath.
But I had completely forgotten that I have numerous cards with pictures from last spring and early summer on them. So without further ado, here are some random snippets.
3 little jams, all in a row
broccoli cheddar soup with mustard croutons

Alex being Alex and hiding Evelyn's toys in my food

yummy rye flour! the start of 298349923 rye bread experiments

rye starter- meet neil
Evelyn on a sugar high at Concerts on the Square, Summer '10

wine smuggled back from Tuscany
The last nice day of October, lonely tracks

kimono and obi for Halloween

pretty embroidery!

Thursday, October 21, 2010


I am really bad at taking pictures of my food before I dig into it, so please excuse the cut marks. But still, pretty pretty! Caramel, almond and cranberry tart to your left, and a buttermilk, butternut squash pie to your right. Delicious and cozy for the fall season! I've been in such a baking mood lately, maybe it has something to do with my day job. ;)

Saturday, October 16, 2010


How easily happiness begins by   
dicing onions. A lump of sweet butter   
slithers and swirls across the floor   
of the sauté pan, especially if its   
errant path crosses a tiny slick
of olive oil. Then a tumble of onions.

This could mean soup or risotto   
or chutney (from the Sanskrit
chatni, to lick). Slowly the onions   
go limp and then nacreous
and then what cookbooks call clear,   
though if they were eyes you could see

clearly the cataracts in them.
It’s true it can make you weep
to peel them, to unfurl and to tease   
from the taut ball first the brittle,   
caramel-colored and decrepit
papery outside layer, the least

recent the reticent onion
wrapped around its growing body,   
for there’s nothing to an onion
but skin, and it’s true you can go on   
weeping as you go on in, through   
the moist middle skins, the sweetest

and thickest, and you can go on   
in to the core, to the bud-like,   
acrid, fibrous skins densely   
clustered there, stalky and in-
complete, and these are the most   
pungent, like the nuggets of nightmare

and rage and murmury animal   
comfort that infant humans secrete.   
This is the best domestic perfume.   
You sit down to eat with a rumor
of onions still on your twice-washed   
hands and lift to your mouth a hint

of a story about loam and usual   
endurance. It’s there when you clean up   
and rinse the wine glasses and make   
a joke, and you leave the minutest   
whiff of it on the light switch,
later, when you climb the stairs. 
-William Matthews

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Thinking wistfully of these...
 Ahh, Fraumunster.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Delicious Autumn

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns. - George Eliot