Guess what? It’s Thanksgiving time again. When you’ve been gluten-free for awhile, you might have an arsenal of recipes you’ll make for Thanksgiving.
It’s the holidays soon. Thanksgiving is next week (!). Tomorrow we’ll have a detailed post full of recipes and tips for you, so no need to worry about that one.
Deep into the night, I lay awake in my daughter’s hospital room, coughing and tossing and thinking about this fennel-poppyseed bread I had made weeks before.
Something kept gnawing at me on Friday, through the foggy morning and the hours at the computer and the coffee breaks Danny and I took together before going back to work on our own projects.
This post was inspired by a trip to the Wenatchee area sponsored by Columbia Marketing International, who grow and distribute Ambrosia apples, along with other types of apples, pears, cherries, and apricots.
Now that I’ve been gluten-free for ten years, I find it funny to think I ever believed that lunch should be a sandwich.
You and your spouse both work full-time jobs, have kids, and want to make home-cooked meals. But there’s no time to go to individual farm stands or go to the farmers’ market because it’s happening during the kid’s soccer match.
Danny and I walked into the kitchen, ready to cook. A blue post-it note on the front door said, “We’re out walking the dog.
Today was farmers’ market day on Vashon, as it is across the country. Danny and I had our one-hour date, picking up red jalapeños, 10 pounds of tomatoes, fresh shallots, kale, collards, golden beets for roasting, and potatoes dug out of the ground this morning.
Autumn, I love you. I love your starting-to-be-chilly air, the reds and golds, the letting go, the apples off the tree, the smell of cinnamon suddenly appealing again, the memories of summer starting to fade.
Short version: we’re inviting people across the country to have potluck parties in honor of American Classics Reinvented, to gather the people you love together to share food everyone can have together. Have a pie party.
This past Saturday, Danny and I had a date. Granted, it only lasted about an hour and a half. It was in the middle of the afternoon.
Bringing a cookbook is a little like birthing a baby. There’s the initial period when you know you’re writing a new cookbook but you can’t announce it.
Back in March of 2013, late in the evening, after Lucy had finally gone to sleep, Danny and I started making lists of possible recipes.
Late summer, late morning. Peaches are ripe. A soft bite of ripe peach might be my favorite bite of food all year.
For years now, I’ve been a little bit obsessed with bread. The funny thing is, I don’t really care much about eating it anymore.
The kitchens I like the best are rarely magazine ready. A few days ago, we spent the afternoon and evening at our friends’ beach cabin.
A moment on Saturday made all the work worth it. I stood behind a big kitchen island, talking about cake.
Our Lucy turned seven last week. For months, she has been planning and scheming, talking about menu items and activities she wanted to share.
“The cow is queen.” I don’t know how many times I heard that sentence the day I visited the Werkhoven family dairy farm in Monroe.