The market was teaming with people on Sunday afternoon. Spring-like weather emerged again after a bout of autumn-esque brisk days and cold nights. I arrived just in time before the parking lot offered no more vacancies. Truly it was a gorgeous day. The sky couldn’t be more bluer against the adornment of clouds. I wheeled my cart and headed towards the seafood department.
There was a time when my friends and I regularly visited the Starbucks around the corner. We would order chai lattes and sink into their well worn green arm chairs for a lingering conversation. Starbucks was the place to meet. We would stop there to pick up a drink before heading to the mall, the park or embarking on a road trip. We would stop there after a late night movie and stay until the store closed. My first date with my love included Starbucks.
Happy belated Easter!
Having been lured by the subtle beauty of colored eggs, I decided this year to dive in and color a few. I haven’t dyed Easter eggs since I was seven or eight years old. It was in Phoenix; my best friend’s mom bought us an Easter egg decorating kit, plastic pastel baskets and a bag of plastic grass. She spread newspapers and paper towels over her kitchen table as her two daughters and I dipped our hard boiled eggs into cups of colored water. I remembered there were decals and a big mess afterwards. As a child I wasn’t that interested with coloring eggs; I much preferred the plastic variety that contained chocolates.
The advent of spring will soon be upon us in the United States. I confess I’m not quite in the mood for spring. Of course, that doesn’t mean anything. I have neither power nor influence over the weather. What will be will be. Thus, to rally my spirits for spring, I dug into my cupboards and took out the spring-i-est pieces for a bit of inspiration.
In anticipation of Saint Patrick’s Day (and to soften the blow of daylight savings), I baked my first loaf of Irish soda bread.
The weekend couldn’t arrive fast enough. Ever since Tuesday I’ve been fantasizing about a mini triple layer cake with sea salt caramel filling topped with a rich chocolate glaze. Oh yes, inspiration struck but I couldn’t do anything about it except jot down the idea and wait (semi) patiently for my day off. Once the day came, my home turned into a bakery (La Pâtisserie Abuchon) and photography studio. Measuring cups and spoons littered the counter space that was dusted with flour, cocoa and sugar. Fabric and boards strewn my living room floor. It was quite an untidy sight.
Cinnamon rolls were a high treat when I was a kid. Mom often baked bread from scratch; yeast rolls and onion bread loaves (oh, the gorgeous aroma that would waft our farm house when those loaves were baking in the oven!) were her specialties. Dad and my brother loved cinnamon rolls, but for some reason we didn’t have those very often. Too time consuming, Mom said. Usually on some Saturday mid-morning Dad or Matt would suggest cinnamon rolls for breakfast. A bit late in the game to request that to be on the menu. Hence, we often did without, or Dad would procure rolls that came in a can (a far cry from the real deal in my opinion).
