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…

This morning I felt like a deconstructed guacamole, sliding a slice of avocado next to seared flank steak, scrambling fresh eggs from the market this morning, scattering minced raw garlic, and squeezing lime over the spicy microgreens.

I contemplated what I will do with the green I bought at the market, a small square of wheatgrass,

and this afternoon, for a late lunch, I peeled shallots,

to sauté in a pan while pouring half a Tripel Ale in a saucier and adding a pound of steamers from Seatuck Fish, covering and letting the beer bubble for about seven minutes, then placing the soft-shell clams in a bowl, straining the liquid through a paper towel in a colander,

and adding it to the softened shallots, stirring in butter and salt. The emptied shells glistened, bright like the sun today and the raised hopes that spring will be here soon…

My primary comfort food has always been baked potatoes, just like my dad.

I turn the oven to 425 degrees, wash a potato, scrubbing the skin, and place in on the middle oven rack to cook for about an hour.

Then, I mash the inside with my fork, stir in bits of butter and spoonfuls of sour cream, sprinkle diced Rosette de Lyon and scallions on top, grate a little Parmesan, and slyly put a pat of butter under the skin—at the end, I pick up the crispy shell and dip it in the melted butter, happy that some things always taste just as good as they did when I was little…