What I adore most about baking is the feeling of chrysalis. Every recipe has the ability to be transformed, re-shaped and reinvented until the origins of a recipe are nearly recognizable as the newly emerged is a stark contrast to what has been created before. I’ve had a handful of sweet mainstays — breads and cakes and pies that comfort me — and after I’ve perfected the original incarnation, I’ve room to play.

Take the classic banana loaf. Over the years I’ve made this loaf with dark chocolate, coconut, pistachio oil, blueberries, etc, and for some reason I feel as if this year is the YEAR OF NUTELLA.

The nutella will take away some of the moisture from the bread, which didn’t bother me much, however, feel free to increase the oil and buttermilk by two tablespoons each to gain back the tenderness from the original. What I loved most about this version is the fact that the nutella imbued the loaf with a depth of flavor, a smokiness, a nuttiness that made it darker. And yes, it was literally darker, but something about the hazelnut spread rendered the loaf complicated in a way I hadn’t expected.

Now that I just entered the realm of the esoteric and got all Nabokovian on a slice of banana bread, let me leave you with this: THE NUTELLA LOAF IS DELICIOUS. MAKE IT. BAKE IT. NOW.

INGREDIENTS
3 cups all-purpose flour*
1 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 teaspoon salt
3 large eggs
1 1/2 cups sugar**
1 cup vegetable oil
2 tablespoons pure vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups ripe mashed banana (about 3 medium)
2 tbsp nutella
1/2 cups buttermilk
Nonstick cooking spray

*I use unbleached flour
**I use cane sugar

DIRECTIONS
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Coat two 9×5 inch loaf pans with cooking spray; set aside. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, and salt; set aside.

In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the eggs, sugar, and vegetable oil on medium-low speed until combined. Beat in the flour mixture. Add the vanilla, banana, buttermilk and nutella, and beat just to combine.

Divide batter evenly between prepared pans; smooth with an offset spatula. Bake, rotating pans halfway through, until a cake tester inserted in the centers comes out clean, 60 to 65 minutes.

Transfer to a wire rack to cool for 10 minutes. Remove loaves from pans and let cool completely. Bread can be kept at room temperature, wrapped well in plastic, for up to 1 week, or frozen for up to 3 months.

Perhaps the thought of blitzing kale and banana in a blender gives you vertigo. Possibly you had visions of gag-inducing liquified spinach layered in with a sweet citrus. For a long time I feared and loathed the green juice — I thought it the amalgamation of everything I hated about a V8 JUICE. However, I’m a woman who spends fourteen hours of her day working, dodging bullets and dreaming about cookies, so the desire for convenience slowly won out. And after sampling some flavorful smoothies where the veggie flavor was artfully disguised, I decided to forge out and try one of my own.

Inspired by The Brown-Eyed Baker, I snagged her recipe for a simple green smoothie (and modified it a bit), and might I say that it was DELICIOUS? Think citrus slushie with a ginger bite.

A few things to note about making a green juice. You will need a REAL BLENDER. I have a terrific Sunbeam one that has options for puree + smoothie — both of which I used to ensure a smooth consistency. It’s also important to pull the stems away from the spinach, and veins from the kale — not tasty. I let my blender blitz for approximately two minutes.

This recipe makes for three glasses of breakfast fare. ENJOY! And please feel free to leave any queries in the comments — I’ve posted alternatives to the original recipe, below.

INGREDIENTS
Prep Time: 5 minutes
2 cups cold water
1½ small bananas (or one large one), cut into chunks
1 orange, peeled and separated into segments
1 apple (your favorite variety), peeled, cored, and cut into chunks
½-inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and minced
1 cup baby spinach
1 cup kale

Alternatives: You can use blueberries or strawberries instead of oranges. I’d start with a 1/2 cup and add more to taste. You can use pear instead of apple.

DIRECTIONS
Add all ingredients to a blender and puree until smooth and completely combined. Drink all at once, or separate into two servings. The smoothie can be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to one day. When it comes out of the fridge, it will have thickened, so give it a brisk stir (or use a small whisk) and enjoy!

I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends. — Joan Didion, Slouching Towards Bethlehem

Toward the end of last year something magical happened — the war between myself and my body had finally come to an end. It was a shift that was almost imperceptible to me; the event itself lacked the fanfare and confetti of an army in retreat, but there was a morning when I looked in the mirror and cared about the shape of my body and then there was a morning when I didn’t. The act of obsessing over a clothing size grew exhausting, staring at old photographs when I was a leaner self was paralyzing, and watching people maintain a lithe figure through aggressive over-exercising, deprivation and fasting had almost become impossible to bear. I deliberately shackled myself to a prior life, was chained to a former self, and it was only when I slowed down, allowed myself to sit uncomfortably in my own quiet did I realize that I have everything I’ve ever wanted — I just didn’t know it or appreciate it.

It felt freeing to have the shackles fall from my ankles, lay at my feet.

For the past four months I’ve been focused on being centered amidst a frenetic job and hectic social life, and I’ve been determined to achieve strength. Pushing my endurance and strength to its limits, I took up bootcamp classes and interval training, regained core alignment from a consistent yoga practice and found balance in eating the foods that I adore without guilt. After joining Equinox in October, the space has constantly inspired my workouts. Never have I wanted to just be in a gym, but the classes are tough, exhilarating and challenging in ways I never imagined. And I’ve enjoyed it more because my ego’s firmly checked at the door. Who cares if I pant during 30/60/90? Or that 180 jump squats make me dizzy, because I feel strong.

Beyond making my Equinox classes part of my daily routine and using the Nike Training Club as a personal trainer, especially when I travel, I’ve also been mindful of stress eating and poor choices. Although I’ll never abandon a vat of nutella or a chocolate chip coconut cookie, I have devoted a considerable amount of energy to stocking my office with healthy eats (nuts, KIND bars and fresh fruit) and drinking copious amounts of green juice.

Let me pause for a brief aside: I LOATHE JUICE CLEANSES. THEY’RE RECKLESS, DANGEROUS AND RIDICULOUS. Cleanses are nothing but a starvation diet, and let me just say this: I’D RATHER EAT A POUND OF MUSHROOMS WHILST WEARING MITTENS AND WATCHING MOVIES ABOUT CLOWNS THAN GO ON A JUICE CLEANSE.

But I do believe in supplementing your MEALS with a green juice when fixing a kale and spinach salad in the office becomes a challenge. I adore Organic Avenue’s Green Love and Blueprint’s Green + White juices. However, if you’re looking to blitz your own veggie juices, check out The Healthy Foodie’s site, which is chockfull of great, delicious juice recipes.

But most of all, I choose to simply enjoy this journey. To breathe through the difficult and dark spaces. To savor a cookie. To share meals with beloved friends who introduce you to brussels sprouts! To give yourself a break. To fall in love with the person you are instead of trying to run back to the person you use to be.

Ever since my first visit to Taiwan in 2006, I’ve been rapturously in love with Asia. From the juicy pineapple, savory bamboo and crispy potstickers in the open markets to the whirlpool public baths and the mass of scooters jetting through the wide thoroughfares of Taipei, I was enamored with the history, the food and the complex linguistic intonations. Asia is magical, grand, mythic, complicated — oceans removed from Brooklyn’s gritty streets and elevated trains.

In the years that followed I visited Hong Kong and Bali, pledging an annual sojourn. So yesterday I finally took the plunge and booked a two-week holiday to Seoul (1 day), Bangkok (3 days) and Siem Reep, Cambodia (6 days), determined to chow my way down a river and absorb as much art, architecture and culture as I possibly can. While I was painstakingly researching all of my travel details online, I came across a tweet from @DianaKuan, announcing a $30, 2-hour dumpling + wonton class.

A CLASS ON MAKING DUMPLINGS? OBVIOUSLY.

I didn’t know what to expect, since most classes I’ve taken are less hands-on and more about promoting a cookbook, but Diana’s minimalist approach was a tremendous delight. From instructing us on the proper wrapper (wonton wrappers tend to be thinner and made with egg while dumpling wrappers are thicker) to demonstrating various folding techniques, her instruction was clear, easy and relaxed — the perfect way to spend a Sunday afternoon. After two hours not only did I learn how to make dumplings (and eat a PILE OF THEM), I made some new friends.

So if you’re looking for a way to wow a dinner party crowd, I implore you to serve these yummy dumplings!

INGREDIENTS: Recipe: Courtesy of Diana Kuan
1 package (about 50) dumpling wrappers*
Peanut of canola oil for pan-frying (about 1 tbsp per dozen)
1 pound ground pork
8 dried shitake mushrooms**
2 scallions, finely chopped
1 tbsp soy sauce
1 tbsp Chinese rice wine or dry sherry
1 tbsp sesame oil
1/4 tsp salt
1/8 tsp freshly ground black pepper

*You can locate wrappers in most supermarkets or specialty stores. In New York, I’ve seen them in Chinatown, Gourmet Garage, Citarella and Whole Foods
**I detest the MUSHROOM in ways you can’t even begin to imagine. I made the recipe sans mushrooms, but I’ve been told that you can blitz edamame

DIRECTIONS
Soak the mushrooms in warm water for 15-20 minutes. Drain and squeeze out the excess water. Discard the stems and finely chop the mushroom caps.

Brief Parenthetical: the fact that I’m mentioning the UNSPEAKABLE MUSHROOM on this small patch of virtual real estate is a testament to how much I loved my experience and dumplings (sans THE MUSHROOM), that I’m willing to allow this brief trespass.

Make the filling: In a large bowl, mix together the ground pork, mushrooms, scallions, soy sauce, rice wine, sesame oil, salt and pepper. Set aside.

Keep the extra wrappers covered with a slightly damp towel until ready to use, to prevent them from drying out. Fill a ramekin or small bowl of water and have it next to you; this will be for sealing the dumplings. Take a wrapper and place one heaping teaspoon of filling in the middle. Be careful not to put too much, or else it’ll leak out during the folding process.

Dip your finger in the water and moisten the edges all around.

For Dumplings: Take the dumpling in your hand and fold the wrapper in half. With your right thumb and index finger, pinch the edge of the wrapper in the middle and make a fold.

Make two more identical folds in the same directions, until you end up with three folds on the right side. With your left thumb and index finger, make two more pleats on the left side. Press all the pleats to seal. The finished wrapped dumpling should resemble a crescent. If you’re stumped, check out Diane demonstrating the folding process.

Lay the finished dumpling on a plate. Keep the finished dumplings covered with a slightly damp towel while you repeat the process with the remaining dumplings.

For Wontons: Angle a wonton wrapper so that it faces you like a diamond. Place one heaping tablespoon of filling in the center of the wrapper. Add water along the top two edges with your fingertips. Wrap by forming a triangle by folding the bottom tip to the top tip and pinching out as much air as possible. Press together. If you want to try “the boat”, start by folding the wrapper in half to form a triangle. Add a dab of water to the bottom edge of the left side and fold it over the bottom edge of the ridge side, so that one overlaps the other. The end result should resemble a boat, with the two tips cradling a puff of filling in the middle.

For pan-frying, make sure to use a large, flat-bottomed skillet or a wok with a wide flat surface area, and have a lid ready. Heat the skillet or wok over medium-high heat until a bead of water sizzles and evaporates on contact. Add the peanut or vegetable oil and swirl to coat the bottom. (Don’t skimp on the oil; the amount is integral for the pan-fried dumplings to develop their signature brown and crispy bottoms and not become glued to the pan.) Working in batches, line the dumplings in the pan, smooth side down. Cook for 2-3 minutes until the smooth side starts to brown. Lower the heat to medium. Carefully add about 1/4 cup of water to the pan and immediately cover with a lid to contain the spitting oil. Allow the dumplings to steam for 4-5 minutes, until all or almost all of the water has evaporated.

Remove the lid, and loosen the dumplings with a spatula. They should be golden brown on the bottom. Turn off the heat.

If you’re doing repeated batches, wash and dry the pan or wipe it out so that there’s no residual water when you pan fry your next batch. Feel free to freeze the dumplings and reheat for a rainy day.

Peyton
Here it comes. Here it comes. The sun — it’s unavoidable. I was determined to ruin. But I chose this life and I will decide its end. Funny what you remember as you climb into the dark. For a moment I consider Kitty’s hair and how I used to cut it in her sleep with the shears we used on the weeds. When she slept I made it my practice to rearrange all of her furniture. Hid the books under the bed. Locked her stuffed giraffes in the cupboards. Always she woke screaming. Always my mother told her to turn down the volume. Always I stirred cereal in a bowl wondering if the flakes were drowning. Kitty grew into a woman who became determined not to misplace things. I want to be awake for this. Sometimes we’d laugh about the time she found her teacups floating in the bathtub or rescued her dollhouse from down the ravine, all muddied and crawling with ants — ants on the walls papered pink. Ants burrowed in the furniture, playing house and like that — until I realized I was the only one laughing. It’s cold in the water. Until I noticed that Kitty had become a counter. Four chairs in the dining room; two twin beds in the girls’ room; one husband sprawled on the floor. All is how it should be. Hair. I think about how I used to rearrange Kitty’s shorn locks on her pillow like leaves. Kitty was all brass and I was all rasp and whisper. I couldn’t help myself. Always trying to claw my way in.

Here it comes. Here it comes. We are ourselves a prison. Confined. No way out. Why is that we believe we love with our hearts, when a heart is merely an organ, a bundle of muscle that keeps the lights on, pays all the bills? We don’t love, rather we simply bear one another out like sermon. Do people live in living rooms? Ben and I took up sex like cross-stitch, our needles clinking. We were loud in the living room, a symphony of our recorded pain — Ben with his drink and me with my constant boredom. Once I offered that we fuck our way into a coma, perhaps then we could feel something. Feel the sum of all we’d done. Ben called me his anesthetic, I countered that he was a pin-prick, and we fucked on the cold floor while a man on the radio talked about fire. A forest burned down to the ground. I was determined to ruin. I still listen to the radio. In the car I said, If you choke me I’ll wake up. Ben gripped the steering wheel with his hands, stared at the window as if his glare could break through it, and laughed. Why bother if we’ve chosen sleep?

We are all waking versions of our lesser selves.

Later that night I remember Kitty taking my face in her hands and kissing me, hard, on the mouth. As if she wanted to devour me. As if she wanted to draw every last breath out of me, a pile of bones and skin left in the wake. I fell backward, collapsed to the floor, and Kitty shouted through tears that she loved me that much. I love you, Peyton, she said, for all of it. The living room was a massacre. And then she smoothed her skirt, walked into the next room, turned on the computer and smiled into a camera. It was quiet save for the keyboard tapping and persistent grinning. The lights are flickering. The house is shuttering. You were a born wreckage, Kitty’s father used to say. Then there was a car, his face a mess of glass and metal, and another sort of wreckage. Why would I apologize? I am in the business of leaving; I’m leaving you with the reconstruction. Who is it that Kitty talks to through that computer screen? I can’t feel a thing. Only the waves, urging me further in. Be still. Be very still. Did I leave enough food? This is a sight to see: the beautiful, magnificent blue. Everything blue. If only, Kitty…

Here I come. Here I come. Here I come.

Kitty
Kitty is devastated because her daughters have eaten their breakfast before she’s had a chance to photograph it. The golden ridges from the waffles tender from the maple syrup, the ripe strawberries and the blackberries the color of a bruise — all of it scarfed down in haste with not even a moment’s consideration of its beauty. They didn’t even give her time to snap a candid with her phone! Imagine the filter! This could have potentially ruined Kitty’s day, but she’s saved her plate in the event that a catastrophe of this nature should occur. Because a mother should be prepared. Because what is a life if it’s not painstakingly recorded, documented, and shared with the world and everyone in it?

Perhaps I’m insane, but I’ve been dreaming about homemade bagels for weeks — warm breakfast bread that’s crisp on the outside and chewy on the inside. Sheets of formed dough covered in poppy and sesame seeds, sweet from cinnamon and toasted brown sugar, have tormented me for weeks — until I finally gave in. Until I decided that it was time to be fearless and accept the possibility that even the best laid plans can sometimes go array. Until I let some of my Type-A tendencies go.

Bread baking is an art form, so it’s important to not be paralyzed by the thought of working with yeast. Yeast is the ingredient that breaths life into a mass of dough, allows it to bubble and rise. That, coupled with the technique of kneading, and the quality of patience, will make for perfect bagels. I spent the better part of last week sifting through recipes and techniques until all roads pointed toward Peter Reinhart, bagel artisan.

This recipe isn’t terribly difficult — you just have to be patient. I didn’t know what to expect this morning when I rose at dawn, giddy with the thought of savoring something of my own creation, but I poached my dough, fought with my fire alarm, and made a batch of pretty delicious bagels.

Peter Reinhart’s Bagels
From Luisa Weiss of The Wednesday Chef
Makes 6 to 8 bagels

I often find that it helps to read through a recipe several times before getting started so you are familiar with the work flow. The bagels need to be shaped and then left in the fridge overnight to proof before they are baked, so if you want fresh bagels for breakfast or brunch, start preparing the dough the night before. Since my smoke alarm goes off when I’m BOILING WATER, I set my oven to 450°C and baked them for about 16 minutes, or until golden.

INGREDIENTS
3 1/2 cups (1 pound) unbleached bread flour
3 teaspoons salt, divided
3/4 teaspoon instant yeast*
1 tablespoon honey or barley malt syrup, if you’ve got it
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons water**
1 teaspoon baking soda
Poppy seeds

*I used active dry yeast and it was fine.
**I ended up using 1 1/4 cup of water

DIRECTIONS
By hand, mix the flour, 2 teaspoons salt, the yeast, honey and the water until the ingredients form a stiff, coarse ball of dough (about 3 minutes). If necessary, add a little more water. Let the dough rest 5 minutes. The dough will take some time to come together but make sure that you ultimately shape it into a ball.

Knead the dough on a lightly floured surface until the dough feels stiff yet supple, with a satiny, slightly tacky feel, 2 to 3 minutes. If the dough seems too soft or too tacky, sprinkle over just enough flour as needed.

Place the dough in a lightly oiled bowl, cover tightly with plastic wrap, and place it in the refrigerator for at least 1 hour and up to several hours. Keep in mind that the bagels must be shaped before proofing overnight.

When ready to shape the bagels, line a baking sheet with lightly greased parchment paper or a silicone baking mat.

Remove the dough from the refrigerator and divide it into 6 to 8 equal pieces. Form each piece into a loose, round ball by rolling it on a clean, dry work surface with a cupped hand; do not use any flour on the surface. If the dough slides around and won’t ball up, wipe the work surface with a damp paper towel and try again – the slight amount of moisture will provide enough “bite” for the dough to form a ball. When each piece has been formed into a ball, you are ready to shape the bagels.

Using your hands and a fair amount of pressure, roll each dough ball into a “rope” 8 to 10 inches long, starting from the center moving horizontally so that you have an even distribution of dough (moisten the work surface with a damp paper towel, if necessary, to get the necessary bite or friction). Slightly taper the rope at the ends so that they are thinner than the middle. Place one end of the dough between your thumb and forefinger and wrap it around your hand until the ends overlap in your palm; they should overlap by about 2 inches. Squeeze the overlapping ends together and then press the joined ends into the work surface, rolling them back and forth a few times until they are completely sealed.

Remove the dough from your hand and squeeze as necessary to even out the thickness so that there is a 2-inch hole in the center. I twisted and folded ends together and rolled the dough until the ends are fully combined. This is incredibly important because you don’t want your dough to fall apart when you boil the bagels.

Place the bagel on the prepared sheet pan. Repeat with the other pieces. Lightly wipe the bagels with oil, cover with plastic wrap and place in the refrigerator overnight.

Remove the bagels from the refrigerator 90 minutes before you plan to bake them. Fill a large stockpot with 3 quarts of water (be sure the water is at least 4 inches deep), cover with a lid, and slowly bring the water to a boil. When it comes to a boil, add the remaining teaspoon of salt and 1 teaspoon of baking soda, reduce the heat and simmer with the lid on.

Thirty minutes before baking, heat the oven to 500 degrees.

Test the bagels by placing one in a bowl of cold water. If it sinks and doesn’t float to the surface, return it to the sheet, wait 15 minutes and then test it again. When one bagel passes the float test, they are ready for the pot.

Gently lift each bagel and drop it into the simmering water. Add as many as will comfortably fit in the pot. After 1 minute, use a slotted spoon to flip each bagel over. Poach for an extra 30 seconds. Using the slotted spoon, remove each bagel and return it to the lined baking sheet. Continue until all the bagels have been poached. Generously sprinkle each bagel with a topping.

Place the baking sheet in the oven and reduce the heat to 450 degrees. Bake for 8 minutes and then rotate the sheet (if using two sheets, also switch their positions). Check the underside of the bagels. If they are getting too dark, place another sheet under the baking sheet. Bake until the bagels are golden brown, an additional 8 to 12 minutes. Remove from the oven and transfer the bagels to a rack for at least 30 minutes before serving.

Every year we tell ourselves that we will break ranks; we will be better than what we’ve been before. We paint beautiful pictures of our life, create an idyll that exists (and belongs) in pastoral poetry. We whitewash the world and start anew; we log all of our goals neatly in a little book. For a moment we pause, try to remember cursive, the mechanics of a hand pressed against a pen pressed on paper — penmanship has become archaic, not fit to be taught in schools is what we’re told — because committing these goals or resolutions to paper feels somehow definitive.

In the declarative, we shout: We will do this! We will do that! Possibly we are blinded by (or drunk on) our own jubilance.

And the hours pass and soon we shove the books under the bed, leave the gym bags by the door and tweet our way into oblivion. There is always next year, we convince ourselves. We invite complete strangers to be complicit in this fiction. Soon the sky falls to blight and there is only the sloe gin buzz to comfort us.

Believe me when I say that there was a time when I thought a fresh notebook would be the palette on which I’d write prose, effortlessly. There was a year when I was convinced that switching schools would right everything. There was a time when the simple tick of a clock, a change in the calendar, would bring an awakening.

A new year doesn’t usher in momentous change — we do. So for the past few years I’ve eschewed the notion of announcing a resolution and instead have focused on larger aspects of my life that need sorting. It was a February nearly five years ago when I decided to stop drinking. It was a June when I decided that my house of friends required a gut renovation. It was a March when I decided to let people all the way in. So instead of promising that you’ll lose those ten pounds, save that extra buck, perhaps ask yourself how you can be kinder, more patient, more deliberate, more fearless, more passionate, more loving, more hungry, more progressive, more honest, more humble. And I promise you, all of the smaller resolutions will sort themselves out.

Today I found myself being quiet and pensive after an evening spent with the old and the beautiful new. And as I thought about the hours that lie ahead, I settled on doing the thing that gives me tremendous and and abundant joy — baking. Today was a day for biscotti: a twice-baked cookie that is somewhat virtuous and completely delicious.

Enjoy! xx

INGREDIENTS: Recipe adapted from Kitchen Simplicity with modifications.
2 large eggs
2 tbsp warm coffee
1/2 cup butter (1 stick), room temperature
3/4 cup sugar
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour; 1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
2 tbsp nutella
1 cup chopped almonds
4 ounces semi-sweet baking chocolate, coarsely chopped

DIRECTIONS:
Preheat the oven to 325F. Whisk together eggs and coffee until coffee is dissolved. In a stand mixer with a paddle attachment, beat butter and sugar until well blended. Add egg mixture and beat to combine.

Stir together flour and baking powder; gradually stir into butter mixture until well blended. Mix in almonds, nutella and chocolate.

Divide dough in half and roll each, on a baking sheet lined with a lightly floured piece of parchment paper, into 14 inch logs; placing them at least two inches apart, as the dough will expand.

Bake for 25 minutes or until lightly browned. Let cool 10 minutes and then slice each log into 18 (3/4 inch) slices. Stand slices upright on baking sheet and bake an additional 10 minutes, or until crisp and dry. Cool completely before storing, covered, at room temperature.

Makes: 36 (3 dozen) biscotti.

There was a time when I was a woman who abhorred yeast. I didn’t understand it; I wouldn’t bake with it; I even feared the word organism. So years went by as I bypassed fresh bread recipes — temptresses, really — because I was fearful of technique. But after a few failed attempts, bread making soon became easy, comforting even, and while many still find it difficult I just find it time consuming. There’s the Odyssean rises, the kneading, the kneading and the constant kneading. From the three-day babka journey to Irish soda breads to pumpkin pull-apart breads, I love the diversity of bread and the simplicity of its ingredients.

Last week I discovered a pesto bread recipe, and knowing that basil wasn’t in season I opted for sundried tomatoes. The result? A savory, light, flaky bread — perfect with scrambled eggs in the morning or a hot tea in the evening.

I implore you to try this recipe because it’s EASY and the result is DELICIOUS. xo

INGREDIENTS: Homemade Yeast Bread adapted from Strawberry Pepper.
1 cup warm water
1 tbsp sugar
2 1/4 tsp (1 package) instant yeast*
1 1/2 tsp salt
2 tbsp olive oil
2-3 cups flour**
1/2-3/4 cup sundried tomato pesto, recipe following
Makes 1 8″ loaf

Sundried Tomato Pesto:
1 cup of sundried tomatoes, packed in oil
1/4 cup olive oil
1/4 cup pecorino romano cheese
1/4 tsp pepper
Blitz all of the ingredients in a food processor until the pesto is a smooth paste.

*I used active dry yeast and it was fine.
**I used two cups of all-purpose white flour and 1/2 cup of bread flour. The amount will vary depending upon the flour, the temperature in your home, and how wet the dough is. I started with two cups and increased in 1/4 cup increments.

DIRECTIONS:
In a large bowl, dissolve the sugar and yeast in the warm water, and let stand for 5-10 minutes until mixture is frothy (it’ll also smell a bit fermented). This step is pretty critical as you’re setting up the foundation for your bread to rise using yeast as your leavening agent. Maybe I’m a food geek, but I’m fascinated by multiplying yeast, the feeling of something alive and gaseous, and I would implore you to not be afraid of yeast.

People, it’s the thing that makes extraordinary bread!

Once the yeast is activated, add in salt, olive oil and 2 cups of flour. Mix the dough by hand. I was tempted to use a stand mixer, but I decided against it since the dough was pretty manageable and not too sticky. Once the dough is sticking together and slightly tacky turn out onto floured surface and begin kneading it, adding the remaining 1 cup of flour, 1/4 cup at a time, until the dough is smooth and not sticky. (I used about 2 1/2 cups of flour in total.)

Knead for 5-10 minutes until dough is elastic. Please don’t skimp on the kneading process as it’s essential in creating gluten — the “bread” texture — as well as ensuring that the gases are distributed evenly. I found a terrific video on the process, which is quite simple when you get the hang of it — you’re pulling the dough toward you with your fingertips and pressing away with the heel of your hands.

Place the dough in a large lightly greased bowl, cover with cling and let rise in a warm spot for 1-1.5 hours until doubled. Check to see if dough is done rising: push into it with two fingers, 1″ deep. If the dough springs back it isn’t done rising, if it essentially stays indented then it is done.

Shape the dough: roll the dough out into approximately a 9? x 13? rectangle. Spread the pesto in a thin layer over the dough. Roll the dough along the short-edge to get a roll that is about 9? long.

Taking a sharp knife, cut the roll in half lengthwise, all the way through. Gently, leaving the cut side open, twist the two long halves together by draping them over each other. Place shaped dough in a 8 x 4-inch loaf pan. Put any pesto that might have dripped out during shaping in the crevasses on top. Let rise for about 1 hour or until doubled in size.

Preheat the oven to 350F, bake for 30-40 minutes until the crust is a golden brown.

Call me sentimental, but a tree covered in lights has an uncanny ability to melt a cold, dead heart. In the mad frenzy that is midtown Manhattan, I asked my very patient and sweet colleague to snap a photo of me clinging to the last vestige of the holiday season — midtown merriment. Perhaps a more selfish reason would be this: I ADORE MY NEW COAT.

Let me deliver a rather somber portrait. Two years ago I invested $400 in a @JCrew_Insider coat to find it come apart at the seams, looking ragged. As outerwear is a key investment for me, I tend to spend more on stylish coats that will go the proverbial distance. I seek out wool/cashmere blends that are fully-lined and figure-flattering.

Perhaps I was in a halcyon daze at J. Crew, but I made a poor investment for which I’m now paying. After a diligent search, I’ve found a beloved replacement, ON SALE, at Club Monaco. Not only do I love the feel and structure of the coat, it’s incredibly warm and luxe. Also, it’s BLUE.

Did I mention that it was blue? And yes, I have to get the sleeves hemmed, but I’ve been too smitten with my purchase to care at the moment. I’ll leave tailoring for the new year.

Here’s to a wonderful, delirious, joyful, challenging, loving 2011, and I hope you’ll pop by this weekend as I’m baking all sorts of goodies for the new year! xo

Outfit Details:
Wool + Cashmere Coat: Club Monaco
Hadley Wool Sweater: J. Crew (on sale!), also worn here
Thomkin Scarf: Rag & Bone
Jeans: Ann Taylor
Shoes: Madewell
Handbag: @Coach
Rings: David Yurman, Coach

She cried for herself, she cried because she was afraid that she herself might die in the night, because she was alone in the world, because her desperate and empty life was not an overture but an ending, and through it all she could see was the rough, brutal shape of a coffin. — John Cheever, The Stories of John Cheever

Then it was dark. Night fell and cast shadows on the road, leaving us with nothing but our memories to shield us. As we drove I remembered my mother’s voice on a telephone line — old, coarse, like a bit of burlap — pleading for forgiveness. Long gone were the days of her strutting down hot Brooklyn streets in her black leather jacket and Pumas, her fighting shoes. She was once mythic, a woman who took the sun like sacrament, whose glare threatened to devour. A fakir, she knew how to draw you in closer. If I closed my eyes I could still see the interior of her box of a bedroom, the crushed cigarette buds and peach pie crumbs under the bed, nude stockings crumbled in a ball by her black skirt, which was held together by a cacophony of pins. Oh how those pins clung to dear life! I could still see the dresser with its attached mirror that spanned an entire wall, and the closet that concealed an age of grandeur: curve-contouring polyester dresses and heels for the evening. Always I stood behind her, watching her apply a mask of tawny beige foundation, witnessing her body convulse and rage. Always her voice was the loudest sound. Until all the lights blew out and a college divide us. Until I saw her for what she was: discounted, small, afraid of living.

My mother was my first hurt. She was a great story that got told too many times.

And as the years created an ocean between us that became impossible to journey across, her voice was a startling wave that curled and gripped and threatened to draw me under. Quiet, I heard her inquire about my rent and that I must be making big money being a writer and executive and all of that. Patient, I listened as she told me that she was forced into addiction, that she lived a safe life now with a daughter who bears a name that had once almost belonged to me, that everything was in the past, and couldn’t I simply forgive her for all of it? Because she was my mother and love is unconditional? Because, because, because of all the years?

My pause was unimaginable.

There is no glamour in sharing an affliction; there is only the pride and triumph in overcoming it. A fistful of dollar bills doesn’t deliver happiness, and who wants to live a safe life? A life fearful of one’s self, a life sheltered from pain, failure, heartbreak? While all of this pain is tremendous to bear, this is LIFE and I’d rather feel bandaids ripping off skin than feel nothing at all.

Because living a safe life isn’t one worth living. And my love is not unconditional. There are limits. There are expirations. There is a point from which no one can ever return. But part of me wishes that my mother would have accepted responsibility for all that she had done. If she were willing to break ranks, to risk it, to allow me to accept her on my terms. But she would have none of it, and this hurt was possibly greater than the one before.

On the drive to New Haven I tell my oldest friend all of this. And instead of dwelling in the dark, I told her that because of all of this I was determined to choose happiness. I was determined to not let who my mother was define who I am now. I was determined to ferret out light in the midst of darkness and create a strange patchwork of family. A circle of beautiful, strange creatures who bring me into their home, into their family, and treat me as if I’m of their kind.

I tell my friend that this is of which we should be humbled and grateful. Let us not focus on what we don’t have, but grasp, hold and cradle all that we do.

And eat a magic bar whenever possible.

Sometimes great recipes find you when you least expect it. They creep up on you when you’re lying supine on a couch, wondering what you’ll bake for Christmas. They find you while you’re flipping through your beloved sites, and there comes a moment when you pause and gasp because you’ve witnessed magic captured in a still photograph. You’ve encountered a thing of beauty.

Naturally this magic comes in the form of chocolate.

I had grand plans to bake a coffee bundt cake with a streusel topping for my Christmas in Connecticut tomorrow, but I settled on unctuous chocolate, courtesy of Amanda of Slow Like Honey, a brownie connoisseur. This recipe borrows from a version on her site, but since I like my brownies smoother I infused creamy milk chocolate baking chips and added a dash of nutty nutella for good measure.

The result? INCREDIBLE. So much so that I’m concerned that this batch won’t last the night. Let’s cross all applicable body parts for these yummy treats HAVE TO ACCOMPANY ME TO CONNECTICUT TOMORROW.

Here’s hoping!

INGREDIENTS: Adapted from Amanda of Slow Like Honey’s recipe with modifications
4 oz (1/2 cup) 70% bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped
4 oz (1/2 cup) milk chocolate, coarsely chopped*
6 tbsp unsalted butter @ room temperature, cut into several pieces
3 large eggs
1 cup sugar
3 tbsp nutella
Scant 1/4 tsp salt
1 tsp pure vanilla extract
1/3 cup all-purpose flour

DIRECTIONS
Preheat to 350F. Line bottom and sides of 8-inch square baking pan with parchment paper, greased with butter and/or baking spray.

Place chocolate and butter in heatproof bowl and set in wide skillet of almost-simmering water, making sure that the water doesn’t touch the base of the bowl. If it does, the chocolate will seize up and get crumbly in the oven and you will inevitably cry your little eyes out. Stir frequently until mixture is melted and smooth and quite warm. Remove from the pan and set aside to cool slightly.

While your chocolate is become all slick and glossy, in a medium bowl, beat the eggs, sugar, salt and vanilla with a hand-held mixer (or in a stand mixer with the paddle attachment) on high speed until the eggs are thick and light colored, about 2 minutes. Whisk in the warm chocolate and nutella. Fold in the flour.

Scrape the batter into the lined pan and spread evenly. Bake until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean, 25 to 30 minutes. Cool in the pan on a rack.

Invert the brownies on rack and peel off the foil. Turn right side up on cutting board and cut into sixteen 2-inch squares.

There was a time when my larder was filled with candles, parfums housed in exquisite etched glass, tubes and jars of fragrant creams — promising the world and everything in it. For a time I reveled in the product avalanche; I hoarded scores of moisturizers and exfoliants for this was the hobby of one who reviewed beauty products.

Then something happened.

Over the summer I drowned in summer essentials; I had amassed countless bags of products for review, and something in me turned. I no longer wanted to trial and report on the newfangled body creme. I lost interest in conceiving of yet another way to describe a scrub. For a time my blog had become a thing I never wanted it to be — work. And after twelve hours in the office, the last thing I wanted to do was sit in front of a computer screen and pontificate on a lipstick. Left abandoned in my office for giveaway, I couldn’t bring myself to lug my bounty home. My coworkers were ecstatic, scores of publicists, annoyed. It was then that I decided to leave the reviewing for the pros — those who are whip-smart, savvy and passionate about beauty.

Going forward, I would only write about the products I purchased and adored.

One thing is for certain — I am smitten with a candle. I tend to keep four in my home, and after a long day’s journey into night, all I want to do is collapse onto the couch, feast on a hot bowl of something, rub my kitty’s ears and inhale a subtle fragrance. Lately I’ve been obsessing over Diptyque’s Violette (I’ve been buying this candle since 2009), Le Labo’s Petite Grain 21 and Altru’s Integrity Persian Lilac and Bamboo Candle. I tend to drift toward the lovely and the floral. Candles are an odd sense of escapism, so when I want to imagine groves in Seville, lazy summers and the like, I ignite the Le Labo. When the cold, dark winter days have me pining for spring, I light my Altru and Diptyque. All of the candles are subtle, not too heady, and eerily serene.

So if you’re in the market for a little indulgence or a long, hot bath, I implore you to check out these illuminating delights.

There is something truly wonderful about shoving your work laptop under the bed. I would have kicked it for good measure but I stopped myself, fearing the wrath of my IT department. However, I’m spending a few quiet days away from the frenzy of reports, presentations and the endless stream of emails haunting my inbox. Instead I’m focusing on cleaning out my closet and reducing my home to only the things that I need, only the things that I adore. While I eschew resolutions as a practice, I do feel the need to shed things, to practice a little more minimalism in my home — much like how I’ve scaled down the amount of people who inhabit my life. Reducing clutter — in many incarnations — has created a more mindful environment in my life, and I’m seeking to shed all that is unnecessary to focus on what is loved and essential.

Interestingly enough, this dovetails to my cookbook collection. I’ve hundreds of dog-eared magazines, books, print-outs and recipe cards, and to be honest, it’s overwhelming. Often I find that I cleave to a few mainstay cookbooks and frequent the same ten food blogs (a sample of which you’ll find on the right hand side of this post), so much like how I’ve given away bags of clothing, shoes and scarves, I’m also ridding myself of the cookbooks I’ll never use or love in the way I felt I once did.

But one book will definitely remain — Matt Lewis’ + Renato Poliafito’s Baked Explorations: Classic American Desserts Reinvented. In addition to the scores of unexpected delights and drool-worthy confections, you’ll encounter two men who are rapturously, passionately and unequivocally devoted to baking. Their recipes are written in personal prose and you feel very much a part of their kitchen, a natural extension of their home and heart. I’ve made quite a few goods out of this book and I’ve been tremendously impressed.

Today I’m smitten with these Pumpkin Cheddar Muffins. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve infused pumpkin into a recipe (I’m making the PUMPKIN RISOTTO TONIGHT!!!), and this savory treat is worth making. The sharpness of the cheddar is amplified by the spicy cayenne and pepper and tempered by the sweet pumpkin and earthy brown sugar. I love the flavor dichotomy of this muffin and it’s a CINCH to BAKE!!!

INGREDIENTS: Recipe adapted from Baked Explorations: American Desserts Reinvented
1 cup pumpkin puree
3 tablespoons sour cream
2 eggs
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, melted and cooled
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 1/2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup firmly packed dark brown sugar
1 1/4 cups (about 4 ounces) grated sharp cheddar
2 tablespoons pumpkin seeds, optional

DIRECTIONS
Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Lightly oil a 12-cup muffin pan. In a large bowl, whisk together the pumpkin and sour cream. Add the eggs and butter and whisk until combined.

In another large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, cayenne pepper, salt, black pepper and brown sugar. Make a well in the middle of the dry ingredients. Pour the wet ingredients into the well, and fold until just combined. Fold in three-quarters of the cheese.

Divide the batter among the muffin cups. Sprinkle the remaining cheddar and the pumpkin sees on top of the muffins. Bake them for 20 minutes, or until golden brown. Let the muffin pan cool on a rack for 10 minutes before turning out the muffins. Serve them warm. Makes 12 muffins.