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…

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 pulled a chair into the sun streaming through the kitchen windows, tearing apart the layers of a warmed croissant from Balthazar. Equally comforting, tonight, I made Orangette’s cream-braised brussel sprouts,

These taste a bit like braised artichoke hearts without the bother of peeling baby artichokes, and the soft brussel sprouts fall into layers like that croissant, napped in cream, an excellent side for those of you (Rosie and Faris) into the British tradition of Sunday roasts and new ways to cook sprouts. I like mine colorful, but the original recipe will lead you to paler brussel quarters.

Sprouts are a different sort of traditional fare than last night’s costumed outing for a Tulsa theme party—Solana and Eva acquiesced to another caliber of beer and embraced neon jewelry and denim,

and I pulled out the white leather for an event that screened “Rumblefish” and lasted until three in the morning, featured a wonderful venison chili, and was the sort of occasion appropriate for this record I found at yesterday’s Brooklyn Flea.

Who knows what the weekend adventures will mean for the week ahead…

In my continuing efforts to create bright and shining foods, I have a new ally: candied kumquats.

Slice the small citrus and simmer them in a simple syrup (ratio of 1 sugar: 2 water) for ten minutes or so (the kumquats will flavor the syrup, making a nice cocktail ingredient) and you will have softened the fruits into sweet, flexible discs.

Like the kumquats, the air was sparkling as I walked back from yoga last night, and I woke to inches of snow outside my window.

I have the enviable task this morning of deciding which leftovers to heat gently from a dinner on Monday night with my friends Jean Marc and Danny, who were visiting from Miami, and my friend Solana, who has returned from a trip to Germany.

I met Jean Marc and Danny at a Slow Food Miami event last year, and I knew immediately we would be friends beyond the love we share of thoughtful food.

Knowing their culinary tour of New York included many stylish Manhattan restaurants, I decided to make what an Italian grandmother living in Brooklyn might, simmering sauce for hours until it cooked into a pork sugo that I baked with orecchiette.

I’ll reduce the wine less next for more liquid in the sauce as I make the sugo my own, although the dish still won’t photograph well—it’s about the beautiful moment where you close your eyes and really taste the pork shoulder and oregano and carrots.

For the next course, inspired by a raw salad at the recent Underground Food Collective dinner, I cut fractal cauliflower and peeled purple haze carrots, tossing the colors with oil, then a gremolata to wake the cauliflower.

We finished the Barbera d’Alba and opened a Vin Santo to toast to Danny’s birthday on Tuesday, and the candied kumquats adorned a torta della nonna (grandmother’s tart) with a ricotta filling and pine nuts and Fior de Latte gelato from Brooklyn Larder.

I rarely have dinner guests on Monday, so having Jean Marc and Danny over was an especially nice way to begin the week. Letting the dishes soak, I felt like an Italian grandmother as I cut another slice of tart late that night and peered at the kumquat rinds with beautifully large pores from the candying.

This past weekend, I also leaned in to see the detail on the membrane of flounder roe I found at the Grand Army Plaza greenmarket from Seatuck Fish (I bought skate from them the weekend before).

Crispy and with a scallion sauce, the pieces of roe started a mysterious night of revelations over drinks with Liza and then an underground party, where I wore a vintage Jonathan Logan and antique earrings that belonged to my grandmother.

See more of my dresses on The Serendipity of Boise blog.

The crab salad appeared again during the weekend, with pea shoots,

and on Sunday night, Solana came over before I candied the kumquats, in the middle of the sugo, and we made what I am craving again this morning: cooked ramen noodles with sliced pork, shiitakes, a poached egg, a Momofuku mother sauce of ginger and scallions

(2.5 c sliced scallions, 1/2 c minced ginger, 1/4 c neutral oil, 1 1/2 tsp usukuchi or other soy sauce, 3/4 tsp sherry vinegar, 3/4 tsp salt—let it sit for 20 minutes),

and quick homemade pickles (very thinly slice 2 Kirby cucumbers and coat with 1 tbsp sugar, 1 tsp salt—let sit for ten minutes).

Without noodles, I have instead a delightful dilemma of how to allay the chill of the morning: savory slow-cooked pork? Cake and kumquats? Or, as I glance up at the window,

gather snow from the steps of the fire escape,

pour a little milk, cream, vanilla, and kumquat syrup over (try maple syrup, honey, or agave nectar instead of sugar),

and stir: snow ice cream, the resolution in an embrace of this icy day…