This story begins with biscuits and blackberry jam, and then eggs and bacon and sausage and hash brown casserole,

all at the Loveless Cafe, which I cannot recommend unless you are with a friend so wonderful it almost doesn’t matter where you go on a food road trip.

In the drizzling rain, I drove from seeing old friends Michaela, Stewart, and Michael who live in Nashville to Jackson, Mississippi, where I picked my friend Laura up from the train station, and we drove off the mapped roads onto a gravel one,

that led us to dogs, and an annual family reunion that we secured an invite to, showing up just in time for fiery conch salad from the Bahamas (the most wonderful people from the Bahamas bring it to the event every year), and a little later, a pig that had been roasting for 48 hours.

For this occasion, many of the extended family sleep in little tent rows dotting the back yard of the five-acre propery,

lined with magnolias and near a grove of two hundred acres of uncut forest.

The next morning began my first Crawfish Boil, and a stunning sequence of food throughout the day started with biscuits and savory country ham that is colloquially spread with jam.

Out back, everyone was looking into three kiddie pools,

where 335 pounds of crawfish were doing the wave as they danced and were watered into the afternoon.

Our friend Yann’s dad Alan wielded the Cajun Crawfish Paddle with skill, letting the initial boil brew simmer and reduce,

as the guys shucked ears of corn ready for the enormous pots.

There was time for playful crawfish racing,

to admire Laura’s new battle scar from an old bike injury surgery,

and in a flush of excitement, everyone followed the first batch of crawfish onto the table earlier than usual,

where they were covered with newspaper and allowed to steam and rest briefly.

Yann’s brother Ky taught me the correct technique for eating them: loosen the tail, pull it off, push the meat up, dip it in Tony’s (saltier) or Old Bay (less salty) and then – “Don’t cheat,” he admonished – crush and suck the head juices.

It is incredible experience, as everyone is drawn to the table, eating their fill and laughing and wandering away, only to return for a later batch.

Pictures were taken on all kinds of cameras,

and bubbles filled the long driveway,

stories were told around the fire,

and our friend Yann was one of the last at the table, as the Captain of Team Peel (completely peeling the remainder of the crawfish to bag and use later as opposed to my team of tail poppers, also known as Team Progress).

Thanks, Yann, for letting me be an honorary member of your amazing extended family. And thanks to Laura for getting me into yet another adventure.

The music started as the crawfish were sealed into containers and continued into the night, with spoons and drums,

and an accomplished singer-songwriter serenading everyone crowded into the kitchen in a moment too perfect to record.

I realize it was my first, but damn, are Yann’s parents Sandi and Alan ever the lovely hosts, and my, but is a boil a perfect way to bring family together to stand beside each other at a table…

More photos from the crawfish boil will appear in the summer issue of Saucy Mag, my new food magazine. Find the spring issue here.

Related posts:

1. kthread cooks: hot buttered biscuits
2. the great portland snowpocalypse
3. Lemniscate

I know what you’re thinking.

["She misspelled the title of this post. Should I tell her?"]

I meant to put ‘gournet’ in the title–and not because this post concerns the fish of the family Triglidae (though there are fish. Shiny ones.)

A few weeks ago, my friend Dan and I galloped off to Chinatown to see his noodle dealer. I can’t show you the noodle dealer, of course, but perhaps you can ferret out the location with the background clues.

We bought five packets of beautiful, fresh noodles.

Then, a new vegetable enthusiast friend (who sets up shop on the street) gleefully packed mounds of long Chinese greens and baby bok choy for us in lucky red bags, throwing in extra handfuls for good measure–so many that the bags weighed us down as we made our way toward the fish.

I like shiny things. So unsurprisingly, the fish that caught my eye were pink and shimmery.

Scaled and gutted, the pink fish still sparkled in my kitchen a few hours later;

while Dan stirred his wonderful black bean sauce into the noodles, and we sautéed the greens, I whipped egg whites and salt to create a crust that baked around the fish.

By then, our guests had started to arrive: Dan’s sister, who lives in the neighborhood, and then my friends LJ, Sarah, Tricia, David (who lives in Mexico City), Mario, Revaz, and Dean.

Dan, who is a gluten-free chef, made sizzling parsnip cakes with Chinese sausage as everyone shed coats and boots, and we began to celebrate The Year of the Rabbit together.

Looking at our birth years on the Chinese calendar, we read the Engrish predictions for our year ahead as I portioned out pieces of the whole fish.

In years past, my favorite part of Chinese New Year parties has been making fortune cookies with my friend Mica, but this year I decided to finally make tea eggs.

Boiled hard, the eggshells are cracked and the eggs simmered with 5-spice powder and tea bags, then cure for up to a few days, chilled.

Just after the eggs were Dan’s lovely individual chocolate cakes (recipe), Tricia’s pistachio macarons from Michael Allen, and raucous revelry, but before that, the kitchen went silent for a few minutes, as we unpeeled the marbled eggs and considered the possibilities in the months ahead…

Related posts:

1. All your cookies are belong to us
2. cooking for communitp
3. tuna roll noodles

The way to Christmas this year routed through marzipan, with this beautiful apple cake and filling of lovely Charlottesville heirloom apples from local Albemarle Baking Company on the drive from Brooklyn to Atlanta.

And then there was dancing.

With my sisters Kat and Kass, I surprised one of my mom’s dance classes as we threw Kooshes in the air with them, skipped and circled.

After that, we turned to the serious prep for Kassandra and Sean’s engagement party at my parents’ house. Kat diced the eggs for egg salad focaccia sandwiches,

while I folded peppers into the pimento cheese, also for dainty Southern sandwiches that went quickly later that night.

Reid we roused from his reflective newspaper perusal,

pressing him into service dicing cauliflower for airy fritters with egg whites.

I boiled gorgeous local Georgia shrimp,

and we continued cooking our way down the evening’s menu,

as Kassandra and Sean returned to the house with sample cakes to evaluate,

and the rented glassware sparkled in waiting.

That night, close friends and family arrived, with Grampa approving Reid’s tie (these images by Kat, who is a splendid photographer),

Photo by Katrina Taylor.

and the engaged couple entertained questions,

Photo by Katrina Taylor.

and accepted congratulations from Aunt Pam and Uncle Stewart,

Photo by Katrina Taylor.

who then caught up with Mom and Dad while I tended bar, making our signature blood orange-cava cocktail.

Photo by Katrina Taylor.

The next day was full of shopping and sipping and scheming for the annual family video that happened later that night, in our usual dance-around-the-garage-at-midnight-Christmas-Eve-and-scare-the-neighbors way.

I have to say that Kat and Reid comported themselves with dignity in their costume choices (Kass was our esteemed choreographer, of course); watch for the parental feature and a signing cameo:

And Christmas was full of laughing, as Kevin and Grampa deciphered opening a tool set together (they’ll tell that story differently),

and we watched as the snow began to fall, making it the first white Christmas at their house that I can remember…

Related posts:

1. a blue christmas
2. here comes the tay
3. Gypsies don’t check baggage

What? Your family doesn’t dance around the garage in costumes at midnight Christmas Eve?

Previously: The Rolyat Five (2008) and last year’s experimental piece with a great cameo from our grandfather.

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1. remixing the mainstream
2. a blue christmas

This fall, I was fortunate to be able to have a class of smart graduate students at NYU’s ITP think through community interactions during our fourteen weeks together. (You can see our syllabus for “communitp” and go through our blog archive and Twitter account for more details.)

At the conclusion of class, I invited them over for dinner (to be precise, they asked, and I was delighted to cook for all of us).

Thinking about appropriate holiday food, I asked for dietary restrictions and allergies, so as to honor those, and was reminded that one of the students is vegan.

What often surprises me is how cooks feel they need to craft entirely separate menus for those with specific food preferences.

I found myself thinking about foods that are green and warming—and I formed a menu around inclusion, starting with the simple roasted tomatillo salsa (roast skinned, chopped tomatillos for 20 minutes at 425 degrees F) that I served with chips and traditional guacamole when they arrived.

I had roasted sliced fractal cauliflower (we discussed the science behind communities in class),

in between stirring crushed red pepper and minced garlic into chopped parsley for a chimichurri sauce.

Nothing builds happy communities at the table like garlic, I’ve found in intensive research.

And I roasted coins of purple carrots and halved brussels sprouts while the roasted green spelt (freekeh) bubbled and softened on top of the stove.

Everything was vegan (good oil is all you need to roast veg and stir into drained grains), except the seared pork shoulder that I had let burnish slowly for six hours during the day before pulling it apart and setting it aside.

When we could all be persuaded to pause just long enough to claim seats around the table, those of us who eat meat stirred little bits into the freekeh with roasted veg and chimichurri. In 2011, consider making meat optional and a condiment—you’ll find it liberating. For those of you worried about protein, whole grains like freekeh and quinoa are excellent choices.

We were too busy toasting and talking about the upcoming ITP Winter Show (which was great) for me to take pictures,

but we agreed it was a lovely way to finish the semester over dessert: my homemade brandied prune plums spooned over bourbon gelato, vanilla ice cream, and ginger sorbet.

Thank you again to the seven who made it to dinner, and to all fourteen of you who inspired me to think and work on community in new ways. I miss our class meetings already…

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1. the art of gournet cooking
2. coworking in bushwick
3. the woman in the yellow hat

I made my usual early start (5 a.m.) to cook down the list, pausing for a moment before I made the smashed potatoes in early afternoon.

Knowing I am mostly finished by that point, I always feel comforted. The clabbered milk (add a squeeze of lemon to whole milk and let it sit for five minutes to create buttermilk) I poured from a Mason jar went in before the butter to finish the dish.

My friend Tricia took some wonderful shots of the side dishes after she arrived with Kenyatta–

Image by Tricia Wang

and I’m relying on her images as our guest list grew from six the day before to fourteen an hour before (someone sat on a camping chair and some of us ate on palm leaf plates!), so I was slightly distracted.

There were roasted butternut squash and local apples with pepitas for crunch and sage:

Image by Tricia Wang

Also roasted brussel sprouts and pears with ginger and lemon zest–I’m very interested in combining fruits and veg with a dominant spice or herb in side dishes lately:

Image by Tricia Wang

If memory serves, a carrot-top pesto went on roasted cauliflower, I improvised a chard-quinoa dish, the usual cranberry-orange sauce was chilled, and everyone raved over the Thomas Keller leek bread pudding.

The turkey I did remember to document, as I want to remember this seventeen-pound beaut from Di Paolo at the Grand Army Farmers’ Market. This is a salt brine, oil rub, and little else that took about three hours in the oven:

For the dramatic dessert presentations, Kevin’s mother unmolded her tiramisu,

that we shared responsibility for whipping heavy cream for that she spread on top and sprinkled with chocolate chips before slicing.

And Francis, who is my good friend Solana’s cousin and a fabulous cook (it runs in their family),

cut into her two derby pies. I had a very hard time deciding whether I liked the traditional or the chocolate, and insisted on keeping the tiny remainder of one pie. We completed the bourbon theme with small-batch versions of bourbon vanilla gelato and of the spirit itself.

I looked around the crowded table at friends (I like this shot of Bre and Kio) and extended family,

laughing and learning about living in New York and I took notes from Linda on standing your ground as a feminist.

But the biggest lesson I learned this year (and I think it was Solana who articulated it best) is this: it takes generations eating together to make it truly feel like Thanksgiving.

For all recipes, see my Thanksgiving primer post.

Related posts:

1. a thanksgiving primer
2. the leftovers that keep on giving
3. first food adventures in flushing

Your goal? Splendid leftovers, like this sandwich I made last year:

Here’s how I do T Day in ten steps:

1. Wake up early and make desserts first. Convince someone to bring dessert (hint: most people don’t actually like pumpkin pie of any sort) or buy pie crusts and start there.

Do not take up hours on dessert because we are cooking a whole meal, not just a few recipes.

I like to make apple turnovers—this can be done with bought phyllo dough after the meal and before dessert—and drizzle them with dulce de leche (from a jar) and ice cream.

My recommended recipe: Use store-bought phyllo dough and let it defrost on the counter during the meal. Crank the oven to 400 degrees F. Grate 2 apples (try Honeycrisp or Granny Smith), stir in the zest and juice of half a lemon (zest it first) and a tablespoon of sugar. Let it be while you line two baking sheets with parchment paper, cut the dough into squares (about five inches). Spoon a big tablespoon into each, fold it over, crimp the edges with a fork, sprinkle with cinnamon-sugar if you like. Bake for 20 min. Drizzle with dulce de leche and serve with ice cream of your preferred dairy or non-dairy.

2. Gravy next. This is annoying to make at the very end when the bird is cooling and everyone is crowding the kitchen. Make it ahead of time. And don’t actually make gravy. Make Marsala sauce (this is a good recipe to have on hand anyway).

Take the neck and giblets out of the bird (which should be defrosted and ready to put in the oven soon). Add 1 tbsp olive oil to a saute pan and add the neck and giblets; cook, stirring, five minutes. Remove. Add 1 strip of bacon and let it render until nicely browned. Remove the bacon (eat it, obviously) and melt 3 tbsp unsalted butter in the pan with rendered bacon fat, add half a chopped onion, cooking over medium until translucent (about four minutes). Add 2 tbsp of flour and stir for two minutes, until it disappears into the onion. (If you feel fancy, use two shallots instead for better flavor.) Add 1 cup of good stock (chicken or veal) if you have it—if not, sub in water, and 1/2 cup dry Marsala wine and boil for 5 min until reduced to your preferred consistency. Season with salt and pepper. (Note: Please join me in ridding the world of those nasty gravy packets sold at grocers. And only use dry Marsala wine.)

3. Now, chop the veg. Use knives earlier in the day when people aren’t milling about, trying to help. When the veg is chopped, your reward is opening the bubbly (Mimosas, darlings). So, this is a holiday for vegheads and we will roast the sog out of our old friends, root vegetables. Adjust the oven shelves so you can use both simultaneously.

With the oven at 425 degrees F, brussel sprouts should be halved (if larger than a ping-pong ball, quarter them) and placed on a baking sheet. Core and chop 1 pear into 1/2 inch pieces for every two handfuls of brussels. Using your hands, toss the brussel sprouts and pears with a few tablespoons of oil, and spread into a single layer. Roast for 20 minutes, shaking once. You want them to be soft and also have some color. Note: the trendy thing this year is to stir Sriracha sauce and honey into brussels—I like harissa instead. For T Day, mince a few teaspoons of ginger to stir in. Let cool. (Ginger also aids digestion and your family will love you even more.)

While the brussels and pears cook, peel a 3 lb butternut squash and chop. Then, leave the skin on a few apples (again, Honeycrisp are nice) and chop them. Toss the apples and butternut squash with oil and roast for 20-30 minutes, shaking every ten minutes. Meanwhile, toast a handful of pepitas (pumpkin seeds) in a dry pan over medium heat until they pop, then throw them in the food processor with a few tablespoons of olive oil and spin until it becomes a dressing (a few strong pulses should be enough). Pour dressing over squash and fruit when out of oven. Let cool.

Take the greens off the top of the carrots, wash and spin in the food processor with one clove of minced garlic, a pinch of crushed red pepper, and some oil. Peel the carrots and halve lengthwise (quarter if large) and do the same with parsnips, if using, or cut a fennel bulb horizontally into half-inch slices. Roast carrots and parsnips/fennel for 20-30 minutes, shaking every 10. Cool and stir the carrot-top chimichurri in.

Congrats: you are mostly done. Turn the oven down to 350 degrees F.

4. It’s time to put the bird in—perhaps you brined the turkey with salt for a few days? Set the timer. And, if cooking for fewer than ten people, consider turkey alternatives; roast chicken is really a very nice thing and two small chickens are more fun and easier to roast. Just a thought. You need about a pound to pound and a half (weight before cooking) per person partaking.

5. Bread pudding/stuffing: chop three leeks for the bread pudding of your choice. And cube a loaf of bread (1-inch pieces) for that. Thomas Keller’s savory bread pudding is incredibly delicious and a bit fussy–don’t hold it in the oven, as it will dry out. Chop the leeks and then let someone assemble the pudding (they can scissor in the chives). Note: children are awesome at layering prepped ingredients. Or use the family recipe of choice. (I think oyster stuffing is sketchy, personally. Make a quick champagne vinaigrette and have the oysters before the meal instead.) Do what you will, but do not sub in random coconut/almond/soy dairy imposters in stuffing—make it into panzanella instead.

6. One more chop: any potatoes larger than golf balls. Look for fingerlings or small purple potatoes (these are often sold in packages now) and buy at least three pounds. Put potatoes (do not peel!) at the bottom of a large stockpot, cover with water (water should go an inch above the potatoes), bring to boil. Simmer for twenty minutes, until you can slide a knife through, but it doesn’t fall apart. Drain. Let cool. Then, put the potatoes in a big bowl and smush them with a masher or large spoon. Add big pats of butter, some buttermilk (add 1 tbsp fresh lemon juice to 1 cup whole milk and let it sit five minutes to clabber it into buttermilk), stir, and season heavily. Put in the fridge and heat back up later. Add Parm and scallions if you feel so moved. I usually do.

7. Open bottles now. I like to open bubbly first, then a minerally white if the table allows (usually doesn’t) and a lighter Pinot Noir for the rest of the meal.

8. Make cranberry sauce. Take 1 pint of cranberries and simmer them with 1/2 cup of orange juice, 1/2 cup water, and 1/2 cup sugar for five minutes. Add orange zest while cooking. Cranberries should pop. Let cool. Taste. (You can also use champage/cava/prosecco as a cooking liquid here.) If you have time and/or helpers, sugar a few berries and some sage leaves to top the sauce.

9. If you are feeling anxious about the vegetarians and vegans in attendance (who are already taken care of by most of the dishes above), make quinoa (takes about five minutes) and stir in pomegranate seeds and walnuts, pecans, or almonds with a little oil. It’s a glistening dish of protein and complete amino acids. Look for black or red quinoa for color.

10. Make kale salad to start the meal. If you can find baby kale, use the whole stem too—if not, just use the leaves. You can rip them into a bowl. Find a helper and have them massage (seriously, massage) a little kosher salt into the leaves and add some vinegar and oil; season. Let it sit while you arrange the dishes or plate.

Finally, encourage carving in the kitchen. Wrest the electric knife away if possible, and cut each breast in half, slice with the skin, then arrange the legs and wings on the rest of the platter. If the bird looks dry, pour a little melted butter over it.

Have a lovely, lovely Thanksgiving. And don’t forget about that sandwich.

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1. a bowl of jambalaya risotto
2. my secret soup to stave off a cold
3. winter white

When I discovered on Wednesday that my friends Jonas and Dave were both in town, it seemed such a good occasion for having friends over for brunch on Saturday (above: Chrysanthe, Dave, Alex, Jonas, Winnie). Tricia, Audrey, Kenyatta, Kevin, Chris, Tarikh also filled the kitchen, and we celebrated the turn toward winter with warming foods:

Clockwise from left: roasted brussel sprouts (roast at 425 degrees for twenty minutes tossed with 1 tbsp olive oil, stir in a little harissa), baby kale salad (cut off very ends of kale stems, massage leaves with salt, add sherry vinegar), croissant pudding, roasted fingerling potatoes from Evolutionary Organics (halve and roast at 425 degrees for thirty minutes) with homemade aioli, and crab-fennel-cauliflower salad.

I also made chicken pot pie and a white bean-tomato-kale soup, and Chrysanthe brought a lovely pear-apple crisp.

And with this sort of food on our side and wonderful friends like these, perhaps we shall weather these colder temperatures after all…

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2. cassoulet, brunch, and the underground food collective in brooklyn
3. my secret soup to stave off a cold

As summer gives way to autumn, the foods transition too—lately, I’ve roasted portobellos with tomatoes and cauliflower, adding grainy mustard and arugula to the toasted brioche bun (now that we’re more likely to turn the oven on).

And this recipe for a grape cake finds use for the Concord grapes now at the Grand Army Plaza and Union Square greenmarkets, also yielding a grape syrup I find lovely for stirring into a glass of cava.

For a little party on Sunday that celebrated fried green tomatoes, I also made a peach pie, filling the crust with spiced yellow peaches,

making pimento cheese (a classic sandwich spread in the U.S. South),

and an hour later, pulled a bubbling pie out of the oven, proudly smiling at the lattice crust that Kevin helped fold (seems art school prepares you for working with all sorts of textiles).

On Labor Day, we all walked through costumed marchers in the West Indian Day Parade as it dispersed around Grand Army Plaza,

feeling a bit like the bright figures might be apocalyptic messengers or heralds that belong atop Grand Army’s triumphant arch,

and Kevin and Nora trailed behind, talking,

as Elle dragged Baratunde ahead of the group,

until Baratunde considered starting a relationship with Nora’s purse.

Almost at our destination: Sweet Revenge, for a holiday pig roast, Kenyatta convened us on a stoop.

Tricia introduced us all to the gracious Ricardo, who owns Pilar (the nearby Cuban “eatery”) with his wife, and who was in charge of the pigs being roasted.

Kevin’s friend Michael was the hand model for these empanadas with chorizo and potato that we ate while counting the hours,

as Tricia and Baratunde danced in the sand,

(and Tricia danced joyously throughout, really,)

interrupted only by the tending of the coals and finally, the delicious meat was portioned out and served in a wonderful swirl of people and Mojitos and toasts to a memorable summer behind us.

Still not quite ready to let it go, a warm afternoon yesterday led me to celebrate the coming cooler days with the crispy crust of homemade fried chicken and think about all the recipes ahead…

Related posts:

1. a belated post on thanksgiving
2. the savory side of sweet
3. the penultimate summer sunday

Sunday morning began with my sister Kassandra waking early and a trip to the grocer near my apartment for a few brunch things—some housemade sun-dried tomatoes to go with fresh pear tomatoes, arugula, and buffalo mozzarella (that’s the white) on top of a frittata,

and sugar plums from Red Jacket Orchards that exude a glossy syrup when roasted.

Catching up with my friend Solana over brunch (I’m happy she’s back in Brooklyn) filled my kitchen with laughter, and then she was off into her day, followed by Kassandra, who I see all too infrequently, leaving to drive to Philadelphia for her flight (she was in NJ this week setting a choreography and spontaneously rented a car to drive up for the weekend).

In the quiet kitchen, I turned to making a goat cheese cake for Tricia and Kenyatta‘s afternoon picnic, letting it cool by the open window,

before slicing figs across the top and drizzling it with honey from Brooklyn bees.

Arriving at Fort Greene Park, I found a sprawling group of artists, librarians, researchers, and videographers, everyone new to me and—unsurprisingly for friends of Tricia and Kenyatta—fascinating and creative.

The gracious Tricia poured me a mimosa and smiled with Kenyatta, who was in the center of the group, as I found an unoccupied patch of blanket.

The cake went quickly,

with the beautiful Elle waiting patiently, entranced by squirrels, before neatly nabbing the last slice,

and all too soon, it was time to fold the blankets—like Audrey, I wondered why summer Sundays ever have to end—

but then again, how nice it was to have spent the afternoon reveling with this crew…

More fun images and video in Tricia’s Flickr set—

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Leaving Atlanta incredibly early on Saturday a few weeks ago, Karen, Kevin, and I pulled into the incredibly local farmers’ market of Carrboro, North Carolina around noon to meet my sister Kassandra and her boyfriend Sean (here, at left).

(Note: This is the seventh of eight posts from this road trip. You might start at the first, second, third, fourth, fifth, or sixth post.)

We found crowder peas and field peas,

beautiful tomatoes, peppers, and cucumbers proudly displayed in individual containers from one of the many farmers in the allowed fifty-mile radius of this town within Chapel Hill that set up at the market.

Walking over to the Weaver Street Market food co-op, Kassandra and Sean looked for groceries (they both live in a neighboring area),

and Karen found the Carrboro raw truck to begin neutralizing the roadfood of the past week.

Carrboro is generally good at nurturing health, and Kass and Karen were serious about filling their plates with good food as we sat near happy dogs hoping for dropped food and children learning how to walk,

(this is Karen’s plate) before hugging Kassandra and Sean goodbye and continuing on to an underground Indian dinner in Washington, D.C.

That night, we arrived at an Indian dinner orchestrated by a Jain,

that one of my favorite people, Nina, told us about (I surprised her here with the camera flash),

—and learned that Nina has different spices in her spice box than our host. I actually learned a great deal about making a spice box of one’s own as a way to indicate heritage.

The courses continued, interspersed with commentary on the background on this cooking style, but I was too happy to listen, surrounded by very good friends,

and knowing their friendship, like the bread passed throughout, are what anchors me, wherever I am.

Pausing to remark that sometimes this city surprises us, Karen, Kevin, and I headed back to the quirky Tabard Inn, where we prepared for the final leg of the drive back to Brooklyn…

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Shortly before I left for Santa Cruz in May, I invited my friends Sarah and Fil to a grains dinner party at my apartment—and I have missed them during my summer away.

On Wednesday, Sarah, who is an artist as well as a great cook and hostess, invited me over to her apartment for a dinner party that felt summery and full of the best parts of Brooklyn.

Fil and I arrived to find Sarah working on an avocado and tomato salad, while Xavier finished his wonderful garlic chicken (he’s off to the right side above).

It was so nice to sit on Sarah’s floor, open bottles of cava and laugh as we started with Fil’s excellent cheese plate, then filled plates with ripe market tomatoes, buttery avocados, seasoned corn next to the garlic chicken.

All three are talented performers and delightful conversationalists, and we opened bottles of Vinho Verde, lingered over warm brownies Sarah served in pink melamine cups.

You’ll find these friends on kthread again soon; these are just some of the reasons I’m happy to be back in Brooklyn…

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2. a dinner party built for ten
3. for those summer nights

These are marionberries, and below are olallieberries. See the difference?

It’s difficult. The olallieberries are slightly longer. (And the family tree of berry cultivars is fascinating, if you’re into that kind of thing.)

I wanted to wait until after the July holidays of American and French independence before posting about my favorite summer dessert that begins white, bleeds red, and sometimes turns bluish-purple, all while being quite British: summer pudding.

Put simply, summer pudding is quality bread soaked in tart berry juice, traditionally currants. At this moment in the summer, the dark berries at farmers’ markets are perfect—go for any in the blackberry family, and red or white currants.

I like to do these as individual summer puddings in ramekins of four or six ounces (or small bowls of that size); you’ll need a pint of berries for each one and a nice large brioche loaf or pain de mie will do for four to six puddings.

To make: Start by lining each ramekin with plastic wrap while simmering all the berries (try to include a few different types) and adding a tablespoon of sugar for each pint in a large saucepan for five minutes, until the berries break down and release liquid.

Spoon a tiny bit of juice at the bottom of each lined ramekin, then fit bread slices (crusts off, sliced into half-inch thick lengths) in a single layer at the bottom.

Cover with fruit and juice, add a layer of bread, add fruit and juice, then a layer of bread, and more fruit and juice on the top.

Cover with plastic wrap and chill overnight with a weight on top of each to smush it properly (large tomato jars work well).

Unmold and serve with whipped cream, if you like, and a little additional syrup (in case you missed spots with juice).

I find people who dislike dessert like these because the puddings are less sweet and somewhat of an acquired taste, harder to love than the ubiquitous desserts of strawberries and blueberries in their customary dousing of sugar, and well worth the effort—

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2. sunshine, bread pudding bliss, and b.side’s
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My close friend Karen moved to Brooklyn a little while ago, and she has transformed her apartment into an aerie—and one that hosts frequent dinner parties.

When I was visiting Brooklyn two weekends ago, she threw one of her parties (reason enough to book a flight), and she let me help her prep the food and her beautiful white table that is bathed in sunlight every afternoon.

We spent a fun day zipping to Red Hook’s Fairway in a rented car for groceries, finding wine in long blue bottles in Park Slope, and purchasing baguettes at Brooklyn Larder (some to serve, one to eat during the day). Both of us usually prep for parties by ourselves, so we laughed frequently as we overlapped in our combined forces (isn’t Karen beautiful?)

Fia arrived with her homemade limoncello (Karen had already put the glasses in the freezer) and a beautiful chocolate cake for Arthur’s birthday, and she tested the strawberry-watermelon-vodka blend spun from our friend Francis the Watermelon (we met Francis at Fairway),

and shortly thereafter, friends began to arrive, so we started the two risottos, one with roasted fennel, and the other with shelled spring peas and whole milk ricotta from Salvatore Brooklyn to follow the salad. Karen placed the risottos on the table, and we all served each other, in the style of family, after watching a brilliant sunset.

Much later, the cake was presented and Fia’s wonderful limoncello served (you can see a little glass in Solana’s hand),

and Arthur’s smile as his family looked on was another reminder of how much I miss Brooklyn when I am away, and how much fun it is to celebrate with all the very interesting people of New York, most of whom wouldn’t consider living anywhere else…

Related posts:

1. a dinner party built for ten
2. slow food miami dinner at creek 28
3. the table as an anchor

and I walked first (well, first was Milk Thistle, but right after that) to Cayuga Organics, where I bought one of every kind of grain, delighted to find rye berries that they don’t often bring.

Pausing for carrots (I like knowing I have the carrot tops in case I run out of parsley),

ramps and rhubarb at Wilklow Orchards,

I arranged all the beautiful things from the Grand Army Plaza market on the kitchen table: lilacs and green wheat, carrots, grains, ramps, rhubarb, asparagus, Evolutionary Organics eggs, scallions, and Milk Thistle whole milk, almost everything I needed for a “bowls of grain” party Sunday night.

I peered at the buds of the asparagus,

the different colors of the grains,

and headed out again toward the outdoor Brooklyn Flea at Ft. Greene, where I found green roof trays,

letters to spell all kinds of words,

vintage glass,

and skeletal outdoor furniture.

A little later, I decided upon the yellow dress to be the woman in the yellow hat at a Derby Day party—it makes me happy to see everyone wearing beribboned, rosy hats.

Just before the party, I stopped in to Studiofeast‘s Korean BBQ event,

a nice bookend to a week that began with catching up with my friends Ethan and Catherine at a Korean restaurant,

and Mike was, as usual, competently plating beautiful food (he also cooks in A Razor, A Shiny Knife).

Sunday morning I picked up a croissant, warming it in the oven, making a pocket to spread with homemade butter and place a bit of chocolate inside for a pain au chocolat (I like these better in the classic croissant crescent).

The decorative green wheat on the kitchen table that I had found at Saturday’s market reminded me to begin cooking,

and so I simmered rice for pudding with heady vanilla beans.

Slowly, I created the bowls of whole grains I have been dreaming about: wheat berries simmered for an hour, then stirred with balsamic and sautéed red chard (these do not have to be soaked, ratio is 1:3 grain: water).

Then, green freekeh (roasted spelt) that does not need to soak (1:3 grain: water) simmered for twenty minutes with sautéed carrots and flowering broccoli.

Soaked brown spelt (about two hours, 1:3) simmered for about 45 minutes before meeting roasted spring asparagus and big, snowy pieces of chevre.

Farro’s sweetness (soaked three hours, 1.5:4, simmered 45 minutes) heightened with the slivered dried plums, chopped almonds, and roasted fennel.

Lastly, the rye berries (soaked four hours, 1:3, cooked 45 minutes) took to the ramps and glistened with oil.

Just as I was finishing the rye berries, my friends began to arrive, and Sarah, Fil, Kirstin, Noah, and Karen were all game for the different textures of each grain (the brined pork tenderloin also worked, was passed separately). They are all, by the way, lovelier than this—I was enjoying their company too much to take a proper picture.

For dessert, I spooned poached rhubarb over the rice pudding, and loved how these smart people filled the warm kitchen with their wit and laughter.

This morning, I glanced at the chive flowers in the windowsill, in various stages of bloom,

slipped one into the remainder of the rye berries with scrambled market eggs,

and then ate it (that’s the best sort of flower) and in a playful, warm way, it was all yellow.

Related posts:

1. chicharrones, alliums, an opened garden
2. the market dressed in spring
3. a path strewn with yellow flowers