I know I’ve already told you how much I love Sunday lunch. The Sundays I spent eating dim sum with my dad at Bernard’s in the Chestnut Hill Mall. Or the Sundays we went to Viet Hong and split a bowl of pho. Or the Sundays we sat at the bar at Legal Sea Foods and talked to our favorite bartender over light clam chowder (the cream-less version where you can actually taste the clams). Or the Sundays in Rangeley when dad made eggs florentine and the smell tantalized us for a full hour before it was ready to eat. Sunday lunch is perfect in so many ways. It’s far enough into the weekend that the week feels like a distant memory, but there’s still a long lazy afternoon ahead. And there’s so much time to eat, slowly, lazily, happily. Continue reading
Tag Archives: dough
A Minor Miracle
The curse has been lifted. Yesterday at 3:30pm, I removed a perfectly risen, golden round of Pain de Campagne from the oven. I’m not going to say it was a miracle, but I was definitely praying to the bread gods throughout the whole process. The first time the bread rose, I laughed and teared up at the same time. The second time the bread rose, I walked the bowl into Matt’s office and shoved it under his chin. “Look! My dough doubled in size!!” By the time I shaped the twice risen dough into European-inspired rounds and placed them on cornmeal dusted baking sheets, I was downright giddy with anticipation, but also terribly anxious. With everything going so well, the probability of something going terribly wrong was increasing by the second. Continue reading
Seven Years Later
Yesterday was the seven year anniversary of dad’s passing. He was fifty-five. I was twenty-three, and I couldn’t imagine how life could continue normally or happily without him, but it has. I went to grad school (at Harvard, dad!). I ran 8 marathons (including Boston! I survived Heartbreak Hill three times, dad!). I married Matt. We moved to DC. We bought a home. I think dad would be proud of what I’ve done and who I am and this helps me keep him close. Still, this time of year I always get a little bit restless, a little bit emotional, a little bit lost.
We spent Halloween with our neighbors and a group of their friends, handing out candy to the neighborhood kids, carving pumpkins, grilling a feast, and ending the night with a viewing of Carrie. There were several times throughout the evening when I found myself engrossed in a long conversation about this blog. In fact, Meg our hostess attributed the night’s seasonally appropriate (and delicious) meal to my post about the sins of eating corn in October. I was touched, honored, moved and caught completely off-guard. To know that a blog inspired by my dad is in turn inspiring others made me incredibly self-conscious, but also incredibly happy. I’m accomplishing what I set out to accomplish, keeping dad’s spirit alive, not only through my own cooking and writing, but through your cooking, too. Thank you for that. Continue reading