The theme was peacock feathers. And so the programs being powdered (before embossed with a special gun) were cut into feather shapes, secured with a fastener, and then decorated so they could function, cleverly, as a fan in the extreme summer heat.

That night, a few days before the wedding, my youngest sister Kassandra, returned to the house, filled with her amazing friends from all corners of the world wrapping the wedding hotel guest gifts, to regale us with stories of her own about her recent adventures with her fiancé, Sean.

Surprises dictated the week, as a dear family friend continued to cinch the wedding dress in tighter for the big occasion.

The bachelorette party, 14 strong, each shared a story over dinner; Kassandra defended, Sierra winced, and David covered his face.

Until Sierra took her turn and almost made the bride fall out of her chair with laughter.

The bachelorettes called Kassandra ‘The Tay,’ and that became the bride’s codename for the week, adorning cupcakes for the bowling party that followed dinner,

where their bowling warm-ups revealed how many dancers were in the mix.

And how many performers.

We all wore our pink sashes proudly; Kassandra has surrounded herself with a group of individuals that are delightful to be around bowling, dining, or wielding embossing guns.

(Kat took this picture and many below. I’ll indicate her photography underneath; one of her many talents is a very fine way with the camera).

And the following groggy morning (dancing continued late into the night), we all gathered at Kassandra and Sean’s beautiful new house to picnic and toast to the two days ahead.

photo by Katrina Taylor

Following the picnic, the bridal party headed over to set up the venue space and place the bride’s handmade candles and vintage cameras on the tables,

photo by Katrina Taylor

and a few hours later, the rehearsal began.

photo by Katrina Taylor

photo by Katrina Taylor

photo by Katrina Taylor

photo by Katrina Taylor

and Grampa made everyone laugh in agreement at his approval rating for the wedding.

photo by Katrina Taylor

photo by Katrina Taylor

photo by Katrina Taylor

The following morning, the bridesmaids and mother of the bride assembled in her childhood room to pin the veil,

and then we all dressed and met Kassandra, with her wonderful college roommate Caitlin doing her duty and holding the train above the grass,

photo by Katrina Taylor

while I chased antebellum umbrellas across the plantation house’s lawn,

photo by Katrina Taylor

and then dashed off to meet the talented musicians: Amber, who was also the Mistress of Reception Ceremonies (and who you will recall from family holiday videos), and my handsome Facebook husband Stewart Pillow who composes and sings. The two sing well together, which is another happy happenstance of the weekend.

Soon, it was time for Kassandra to take up her bouquet of vintage brooches that our aunt Pamela Aiken created,

photo by Courtney Rosen

and for the exchange of vows and music in a ceremony the two wrote together (including music that Sean composed and his sister played during the procession).

photo by Courtney Rosen

The bride and groom beamed at each other, at the family and friends in attendance, and then entered the hall,

photo by Courtney Rosen

and after dinner, I started the toasts (look how dashing Stewart is at his piano on the left!),

photo by Courtney Rosen

shocking the groomsmen with Kassandra’s impressive pull-up record in elementary school – proof that she has always been fierce.

photo by Courtney Rosen

The dancing went on and on, as it will in a room of dancers and instructors, and the couple ran through sparklers (note Kat’s choice of alternate fiery accessory) to pull away in a beautiful vintage car.

photo by Courtney Rosen

Happy wedding, and happy marriage, Kassandra. Know that no matter what, your bridesmaids are here for you as your special police detail…in sickness and in health, as long as we all can steal mirrored sunglasses off boys…

photo by Courtney Rosen

All the images (except those by Courtney Rosen) are in this Flickr set. Thanks to Kat for taking such stunning photos, as always, and being there for me during the week too.

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…

I have spent the spring impatiently waiting for warm weather in New York, hopping a flight in late March to wander sunny Barcelona streets,

and its long stretches of parks, and the elaborately encrusted Sagrada Familia,

with its Gaudí figures and ornamentation,

including a Magic Square on the outside of the unfinished basílica.

The inspiring inside is filled with light from the stained glass playing off itself and the organic columns, and ushers in a curious sort of local and tourist reverence.

In nearby neighborhoods, there are plazas also filled with light and the sounds of guitarists practicing before standing just outside restaurant patios,

and in April, chocolate shops filled with Easter houses (characters sold separately).

Visiting for a few days, I started a wonderful habit of Cava and Jamón ibérico from the nearby La Boqueria on our roof deck, reading into the late afternoon before meeting friends for very fresh fish and crispy Pan can Tomate.

From Barcelona, we went to Cannes, where I discovered Margalet, a cheese much like Camembert, at the fabulous Ceneri – the sort of cheese shop you feel you cannot make a mistake in, the selection is curated so thoughtfully.

A perfectly ripened cheese makes for such quiet happiness.

While in Cannes, we were part of a small but determined expedition to the famed Colombe D’Or, the restaurant with early art from those later collected by museums. The trip there and back was just as entertaining (hairpin turns!) as the witty conversation at the table, and we were the last to leave the dining room and walk back through the picturesque town.

And a few weeks ago, back stateside, we celebrated a family birthday on the charming boyfriend’s side in New Orleans, that city where the trees grow beads in season,

and where it is possible to source a glittery birthday cake on short notice.

Near our hotel in the Warehouse District, I walked to Cochon for an Abita and a glance at the menu, watching as the heat melted the butter for the rolls,

and unable to resist, I ordered their Cochon de Lait that arrived on top of braised cabbage and with a cracklin’, a good omen for a snappy city I try to wander through on my travels as often as possible…

More pictures and stories from these trips in the next issue out this summer of a food magazine I’ve started called Saucy. You can buy the first issue (it used to be called Culinaesthete) on Magcloud in print or digital formats. Your support of the magazine so far (hello, new Australian friends!) means the world to me.

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…

Last Wednesday, I fried an egg on top of a beautiful piece of leftover spinach pizza from Fornino in my neighborhood for breakfast.

And on Thursday, I flew to San Francisco, hopped in my rental car, and zoomed to Santa Cruz, just in time to help Renata chop root vegetables (she sprays them with water and sometimes wine, a brilliant trick) before and during roasting at high heat,

and when everyone arrived to learn more about cooking for Thanksgiving, she made her delicious green eggs (wilted spinach with poached eggs on top, spiced) that are an excellent breakfast any time of year:

Margaret’s daughter Madeline took careful notes,

and Renata laughed to show us how she freezes her herbs to keep them through the winter (her wonderful energy and enthusiasm for cooking well is infectious).

Steaming vegetables to go with lovely rice and lentils that Renata poured coconut milk into, imparting a subtle, full flavor,

all of us in her cooking class sat to eat together.

And on Friday morning, I caught up with Margaret, after we watched a sea otter turn,

over Eggs Benedict with avocado looking out over the boats in Capitola,

and walked to the lighthouse and back, reflecting on the events of the three months since I left Santa Cruz, and all the exciting secret projects we are plotting.

On Saturday, I drove from Santa Cruz to Venice Beach, arriving in time for an afternoon shopping stroll with Laura, LJ, and Julie,

and we discovered overgrown pebbles and that night, sautéed pea shoots with lemon at Cube, my new favorite LA restaurant. (Laura always knows the best places to go.)

Sunday morning, more green eggs—this time, poached on top of grits with beet greens and chorizo, all from the Santa Monica Farmers’ Market vendors themselves and cooked at Bean & Thyme.

And we found Lily’s Fertile Eggs (Laura was promised that she wouldn’t be able to return to regular eggs. We’ll see…),

then, it was time for a beach day, a warm 75 degrees Fahrenheit in the middle of November.

On Sunday night, John, Dave, Ben, and LJ arrived for a dinner party at Laura’s apartment,

with a persimmon-tomato salad (these are persimmons and persimmon tomatoes, Laura’s clever idea) with burrata,

and Momofuku’s Ginger-Scallion noodles with quick pickles (forgive the dramatic lighting here, my camera flash decided to go Instagram on me) and sugar snap peas, red pepper, skirt steak, and bok choy.

Laura threw together a lovely apple crisp that finished the meal perfectly, the way she does.

On Monday, I spent the day working from Laura’s apartment with a brief break for a walk to Intelligentsia for one of their amazing chocolate-pecan cookie sandwiches with buttercream filling from CakeMonkey:

and to marvel at the small, welded warriors on the Venice boardwalk.

I was sad to leave, as always, but happy to know that I will return in February if not before to see these friends, so important in my life. In the meantime, I take inspiration from my new little warrior friends to surmount the challenges in the months ahead…