I have a confession to make: when I was a kid, I HATED homemade mac and cheese. I had an aversion to cheesy things (and clearly some deep-seated issues) and would complain nonstop whenever Betsy announced we were having macaroni for dinner. She would make beautiful, super-cheesy baked mac and cheese, sometimes covered in breadcrumbs for that extra-crispy finish, and I’d turn my back on her like she killed my Tamagotchi.
Looking back on my younger self, I’m ashamed. Now, I spend long hours thinking of all the mac and cheese–eating opportunities I missed out on. I call my mom daily to console her heartache over the years of pain I inflicted on her from my homemade macaroni–hating ways. “Where did I go wrong?” she asks me, sobbing softly.
Through my own tears, I can only whisper, “That sh*t in the blue box.” ***
I’m going to Ohio next week! I’m going to Ohio next week!
I never thought I would say this, but I love Ohio.
Growing up in a small town in the Midwest, suburbia felt claustrophobic to me. As an introvert, I wasn’t too thrilled that I would see someone I knew everywhere I went (mostly because I was/ sometimes still am the most awkward child on the face of the earth). I disliked that if I wanted to go somewhere, I had to drive or hitch a ride with my parents (fun fact about me: I hate driving, partly because I sort of fall asleep every time I get on the open road. I call it car-colepsy). I dreamed of living in a big city, one in which I could walk through the grocery store in peace and take public transport everywhere.
This post is partially inspired by the fact that my little brothers (Roman, 15, Blaise, 12, and Nash, 10) are utterly convinced that I eat nothing but oatmeal and donuts. They made this known to me when I was visiting them in Ohio earlier this month.
Thanks to jet lag, I woke up early on my first morning there and decided to make breakfast. I whipped up a batch of my savory Asiago waffles, always a hit in the Malczewski household, and offered them to my brothers as they rolled out of bed and trickled into the kitchen. At least one of them looked at the waffles, wrinkled his nose, and remarked, “You didn’t put oatmeal in there, did you? You put oatmeal in everything!” To which I answered “No, but I’m sure oats would taste DAMN GOOD in these waffles” and got extremely defensive.
(The next day I made oat waffles, just to spite him.)
Friday – wine and cheese in the park + season two of Fargo (Kirsten Dunst is forever a babe) + early bedtimes
Saturday – swinging from treetops (literally) + sunny pub times + too much dessert
Sunday – Leo’s birthday (yay!) + phone call to Betsy + homemade strawberry tart + split whipped cream (wah!) + extra chocolate to remedy the situation + board games in the park + Japanese dinner with a million courses + more season two of Fargo (still luh you, Kirsten)
Monday – sunburn + comedown from a stellar weekend + admiring our baby lemon tree (still thinking of a name) + two cups of coffee + pita panzanella with za’atar (inspired by my name is yeh)
This is my first post as a lady who resides in London. I moved here this past weekend for good and I could not be happier that I get to live with my favorite person in my favorite city. After two (sometimes arduous and excruciatingly emotional but ultimately amazing and strengthening) years of long distance, living in the same place as Leo is pretty much the best thing. We have a wedding coming up (ours, whoa!) and a house to move into and lots of exciting things on the horizon.
As you can imagine, all this moving overseas stuff required a whole lot of cleaning, sorting, and packing at my parents’ house in Ohio. I may or may not have just shoved all of college things into a corner of my childhood room after graduating, so upon my return from NYC I may or may not have had to sort through piles and piles of sh*t. And sorting through piles and piles of sh*t works up an appetite. Which brings us to this salad.