My advice for you today: when in doubt, add tahini.
Judging by the number of jars of tahini I’ve gone through over the past few months, I must be in a constant state of doubt. I’m not mad about it.
My (un)savory affair with tahini started during my senior year of college while working on my theater thesis. Most mornings (and sometimes evenings), I would make myself bowls of oatmeal topped with unnecessary amounts of peanut butter to fuel my long rehearsals. But one day, I ran out of peanut butter and still needed my fix of #healthyfats, so I turned to the lonely jar of tahini in the fridge and spooned it all over that sweet, sweet bowl of oats.
The rest is history. Read more
Now that January has officially bitchslapped the holiday season into submission, the crazy reality of what’s to come in this year is starting to sink in. I’ve got two more months in New York City before I pack up and move across the ocean to marry a certain Mr. Breakfast (the artist formerly known as Leo), and I’m excited and overwhelmed and impatient and feeling all of the feelings.
Let me tell you, planning a wedding, even a very small one, is difficult. And I would venture to guess that planning a wedding while you’re thousands of miles away from your partner (and the country you’re getting married in and preparing to move to) is even more difficult. I would imagine that there are visas involved, and tons of paperwork, and booking hotels for guests, and buying plane tickets, and lots of other madness on top of all the standard dress-buying and flower-choosing.
But that’s just a guess. It’s not like I’ve almost pulled my hair out over it or anything (*deep, cleansing breath*).
I wasn’t planning on coming home to Ohio for the holidays. I intended to hop on a plane on December 20, visa in hand, and celebrate Christmas and New Years with Leo in London. We would handle some icky visa-government-boring things that we have to do in order to get married and spend Christmas with Leo’s family, eating mince pies and drinking tea.
Then life happened.
My visa didn’t arrive in time for me to travel to London for the holidays. I panicked for a hot second, but Leo calmed me down pretty quickly by booking a plane ticket to Ohio and telling me he’d meet me at my parents’ house. Just like that, we were having a very Midwestern Christmas.
Oatmeal is my spirit food (this is a very official technical term). It often gets a bad rap for being bland, gloopy and—dare I say it—basic, but I’m here to prove all of you soulless oatmeal slanderers wrong. read more
This is a shakshuka appreciation post. It’s long overdue.
The first time I had shakshuka was in the hellishly tiny kitchen of my college apartment a few years ago (I’m a latecomer to the world of shakshuka, I know).
I woke up one morning, probably more than a little hungover, to the smell of garlic frying. Sensing that a hangover cure was nearby, I stumbled into the kitchen and onto a beautiful sight: my best friend and then-roommate, Daniel, simmering a spicy, garlicky, cumin-heavy tomato sauce on the stovetop. The sauce alone was enough to excite me, but then Daniel told me he was about to poach eggs in it.
The game was forever changed. Read more