When I was growing up, we called eating breakfast for dinner a “funny dinner.” I guess to an under-10-year-old, eating pancakes or waffles after 5pm seemed amusing, and the phrase stuck. These days, though we don’t find it quite as hilarious, my husband and I throw together a breakfast hash…

This week I’m wrapping up my month of cooking from Jubilee: Recipes From Two Centuries of African American . I have two more recipes to make and a final thoughts post to write, but it’s March, so it’s time for Cookbook With Me, chapter 2. I wanted to cook from…

I’m not one for quirky and overly-specific kitchen gadgets. Having lived in small apartments for much of my adult life, I appreciate tools that are space-saving, multipurpose, and, above all, absolutely necessary. And the bench scraper fits the bill. I was first introduced to bench scrapers in a cooking class…

We might be past kale’s heyday, but in our house kale still finds its way into at least one of our meals each week, and often in the form of this grain bowl. Roasted sweet potatoes, sliced radishes, and crisp, sweet apples are tossed with farro and kale, and brought…

I’m fairly picky about salad dressings. I want the dressing to provide flavor, without detracting from the ingredients it’s coating. I like a little bit of sweetness to offset the acidity, and the right amount of salt and acid to enhance and finish the whole dish. This vinaigrette is my…

Last week we did a pantry restock. Joshua went to the store and got a variety of beans, pastas, and grains, tins of anchovies and sardines, jars of olives, a few different oils and vinegars, and bags of flour and sugar. In a season of waiting — for the soup…

I have a problem, in which I purchase more cookbooks than I have space to store or time to read or cook through. They sit on a crowded shelf, pulled down every now and then before being placed back in their little spot, each of them getting a turn, but…

I love cooking, so when I imagine myself preparing meals throughout the week I envision floating around the kitchen, wearing a delicate smile and a linen apron that I do not own, leisurely, yet efficiently mincing garlic or sautéing onions or tossing a bouquet garni into a pot that’s just…

I haven’t named my sourdough starter, yet. Maybe because I don’t know enough about its personality to settle on something suitable, or because it seems more like a small, vibrant community than an individual being. Maybe naming it would make it more real, a greater and more emotional loss should…