Cipollini onions soaked in balsamic inspire at the top o’ the morning or later in the day,

and go well with marbled Guinness cheddar,

melted on top of bread to hold while dancing a jig around the kitchen.

And this morning, a wee bit of Guinness cheddar was left to melt over local eggs scrambled next to breakfast sausage (next year I’ll source blood sausage), wilted spinach, and roasted “dirty” potatoes tossed with an olive puree (from this Food & Wine recipe, but roast at 450 degrees for 45 minutes, and add some olive oil to the olives for better adherence).

One of my traditions on St. Patrick’s (some of my forebears were Irish) is to read Seamus Heaney to begin the day.

Much like the narrator of Heaney’s famous “Digging,” between my fingers, the squat keyboard rests. I’ll dig with it….

Austin might be at its loveliest in the spring, when musicians and technologists seize upon the gracious town for SxSW.

Sunny days helped visitors recharge their devices at solar pump stations (from local Beth Ferguson and the Sol Design Lab),

almost as delightful to find as the vintage on South Congress (my friend Laura in a bold jacket at Flashback Vintage).

We discovered all kinds of food vendors in a lot where there was once only an Airstream with a rotating cupcake, including the new Cutie Pies Wagon, where the window was wreathed in maribou, and we celebrated Pi Day on Sunday with a buttermilk pie.

Local favorite Hudson’s on the Bend has a spot nearby to sell their “mighty cones,”

and their avocado cone was just as good as the ones they sell at the Austin City Limits festival in the fall (and the chile dusting the fries and spiking the ketchup were further reminders why the restaurant is beloved here).

Sunday night, I happened into the underground dinner theater of serious Brooklyn food maestro Michael Cirino of A Razor, A Shiny Knife (you’ll see Brooklyn author (The Art of Eating In) and blogger Cathy Erway cooking in the kitchen too).

It’s all in the details—the ash Michael created for the goat cheese in the salad,

the orange juice that cooked the carrots,

the wit of Jay Parkinson (at left, he wrote a wonderful blog post about the night) and the thoughtfulness of Robert Fabricant (at right) and a whole group of strangers meeting for the first time to eat and cook together,

the splendid shavings of truffle over silky puree that you had to close your eyes to taste (there was a beautiful course with brussel sprouts and grapes before this),

and if you ask for extra fat you shall receive it from Michael,

before he presents a peppered granita,

kitchen torches appear,

and mignardises dazzle: sparkly bourbon spheres and strips like fruit leather,

bourbon gelée.

I snuck another bourbon ball from the kitchen that had produced so much molecular gastronomy that night (truly, the power of underground dinners is that the magic is mobile, powered by the creative force of the cooks, and for all its whim, the experience is a circular and shaped one),

and, meeting up with Christina downtown, and with new friends that produce local Hill Country wine and have a pet rooster, off we went into the starry Austin night…

One of my favorite Ft. Greene restaurants, General Greene (their menu), creates the most beautiful red quinoa with walnuts, mint, and preserved lime. This is my version, with crunchy red quinoa, toasted walnuts, sautéed red cabbage, shaved slices of goat ricotta salata,

and preserved lemons I began a few months ago that provide twinkling bits of citrus throughout, the way through the middle of the week…

This morning, the sun shone on the tulips Maia brought over last night,

part of a beautiful weekend of friends that closed with dinner in my kitchen for my friends Maia (who lives in Amsterdam now) and Karen, both inspiring designers in their work and lives.

I roasted fractal cauliflower with turmeric, stirred in shallot rings and kumquats (F&W recipe),

sautéed apples, wilted spinach, toasted pine nuts, and macerated raisins,

listened to these two wise women (who will, I hope, forgive me for posting a picture that doesn’t do them justice),

and passed plates for red quinoa, pork tenderloin with fennel mustard, and roasted root vegetables (parsnip, sweet potato, purple carrots, onions) with goat ricotta salata.

It was a weekend of sparkle, from Karen and Maia to two banana cakes (one with walnuts, one without) from my new friend Dan of Renegade Kitchen,

that he made with palm sugar (he’s as thoughtful as that choice of sweetener) for my good friend Andrew’s birthday party on Saturday night.

Andrew (at left) invited friends over to help celebrate (note the unicorn piñata on the table from his friend Elaine), and the apartment filled with technologists, entrepreneurs, and people who love Boulder as much as he does.

For those who arrived early, Andrew chopped shrimp to place inside the avocado that I made a shallot dressing to top,

then there was pork with tart tomatillos for tacos,

along with chicken Andrew marinated with mangoes and habarenos,

that guests carefully assembled on warmed blue corn tortillas.

Earlier that afternoon, before the bonfire, the cutting of the cakes, my efforts to play a purple kazoo from the belly of the unicorn piñata (and an abbreviated road trip to Nederland, Colorado for Frozen Dead Guy Days), some of us hiked up to watch the sun set,

and I looked at the rock formations,

knowing that just as clearly as the stars appear in Boulder, spring will clear new paths…

Earlier last week, the snow began, coating the tree outside my windows and, the next day, melting in time for a dinner party while my lovely friends Catherine and Keryn were in town, a great excuse to gather everyone on Saturday night and cook.

And after trips to the market (and to the crowded foodgeek event Foodprint City NYC), Catherine, Solana, and Keryn began making gnocchi,

turning baked sweet potatoes from this,

into these (aren’t they beautiful? It’s this Gourmet recipe.)

More guests arrived, Eva with her arms full of tulips,

and Solana and I cooked the soft gnocchi, crisping them a bit in a pan with butter and grating Parmesan on top before passing small plates to share.

Candy-hued chairs from the Brooklyn Flea, pulled around the little table that could, held friends that passed roasted brussel sprouts (Keryn’s handiwork) and fractal cauliflower, savory leek bread pudding, then Ad Hoc’s garlic-brined pork tenderloin with fennel mustard—and the smashed potatoes I almost forgot in the oven.

It was a second Thanksgiving, really, one to send winter off with warm food in bowls for seconds and thirds. I think I am happiest when my kitchen is crowded, full of loud laughter, and, ah,

flashed hand signals (Revaz to a skeptical Noah),

ice inspectors like Mario (these are space invaders),

and salted butterscotch pudding appreciators like Keryn and Liza.

The energy filled the kitchen and then moved out into the night, toward a dance club and more laughing—I hope Catherine will make return visits, to see Keryn more often (I’m going to Maine in April), that these friends will circle my table again and again, and that Brooklyn continues to amaze…