Signs of Growing Up: My First Meringues

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I had a bunch of girlfriends over for dinner a couple weeks ago, and one of them (whom I nonetheless love very much) is a serial dieter.  Not in a fad-diet kind of way, more in a oh-no-I-shouldn't kind of way.  It makes me sad, since I show my love through sugar and butter, but I was determined not to either a) do without dessert at my dinner party or b) make her watch everyone else eat pound cake while she tried not to salivate.  I did a bit of research, skipped a lot of recipes that involved Splenda or other unnatural ingredients (no offense to people who use that stuff, but I always find I can taste the difference, and anyway my dieter-friend is a bit of a purist), and wound up back at Joy the Baker, where I reacquainted myself with a recipe I'd bookmarked weeks before, for vanilla bean and cocoa nib meringues.

Another English Classic: Elderflower and Raspberry Jelly

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I never knew what elderflower was as a child.  I figured that you could make alcohol with it, provided it was related to elderberries, because otherwise this scene didn't make much sense (to the extent that Monty Python really ever made sense), but I had no concept of what it tasted like.

So when I moved to England, and found elderflower-flavored things everywhere, I was a bit surprised.  I feel like in this day and age we like to think that we've at least heard of the big flavor combinations of the countries we're familiar with, but somehow I never noticed this one, even when I was living in England for 6 months in college.

Stodgy Summer in a Bowl

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The New York Times is a great recipe resource.  I forget that sometimes, and then one day, in my 'Recommended For You' sidebar, up will pop a link to a recipe, and I'll just happen to have the ingredients on hand, and I'll be struck with a desire to try that recipe then and there.

And boy, am I glad I decided to try this leek and lemon chicken soup.  It's so good, and so...unexpected.  Fresh and bright, creamy but without any cream, and super healthy to boot!  It was delicious.  I was seriously really proud of myself.

Fighting winter as best we can: Mom's Chicken Pozole

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London is a cold, grey place lately.  I haven't seen the sun much (which is why you haven't seen nice pics here much), and I'm getting really really tired of finding dresses I can wear over tights/leggings without sitting at my desk all day, pulling at my midriff self-consciously.

On that note, I'm also trying to eat more foods that could be classified as 'healthy.'  Not that I'm avoiding badness altogether (stay tuned for a ridiculous chocolate cake/brownie recipe), but I have decided that one way to warm up in the midst of all this mist is to eat healthy, hearty, delicious soups.  Preferably with chili.

And that's where this pozole comes in.

Homemade potato chips, or: How you know you're truly a master procrastinator!

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In case you haven't noticed, I'm kind of controlled by my cravings.  That's one of the dangers of being both anti-dieting and home all day.  You end up making all kinds of random things in pursuit of a craving. 

Well... in pursuit of a craving while also trying to outrun a deadline.  Yeah, yeah, I was supposed to be writing my book.  But I needed salty crunch!  Don't judge me.

Spotty bananas– a healthier way!

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First off, let me assuage your fears: no, I am not on a health kick, and no, this blog is not becoming weight-conscious or health-obsessed.  I just got back to London (don't get me started on the welcoming deluge) from a month in San Francisco– land of the latest organic/vegan/macrobiotic craze– with my crazy, points-counting family, so I've got health on the brain.  But don't worry, I'll be back to my buttery, sugary self in no time.

Now that we've got that out of the way, lets talk about what awaited me upon my return to the UK (besides the aforementioned rain): piles of books/clothes/general boy stuff on every surface in the flat; a closet full to bursting, into which I was hoping to unpack my stuffed suitcase; a fridge full of random meats and not much else; and bananas.  Spotty, old, fragrant bananas.

Points Counting and Panna Cotta

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 I have a bit of a baking dilemma: when I'm in London, I have very little equipment/space, but there are people around who will eat the things I make.  When I'm in San Francisco, at my parents' house, I have all the beautiful, fancy equipment and stainless steel countertops a girl could desire, but nobody will touch my creations.  Why is this?  Well, I blame weight watchers.