In my first year of university, I worked part-time in a health food store. My cookbook collection at the time filled half a milk crate and included Moosewood, Laurel's Kitchen, and the Tassajara bread book. I was vegetarian (and still cook that way).
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The chiffon cake was ethereal — light, buttery, and hardly sweet. I went looking for the baker to extend congratulations. I was told many people in the parish bake according to their own recipes. I'm thinking of all the cakes arriving through the morning.
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I appreciate how Laing ties English estate gardens to slaveholders—the stories behind the plants and their arrangement.
"...they used gardens to cleanse and frame their reputations, just as the Sackler family used art to elevate themselves."
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I stumbled into a strawberry social at a small church — a homely wooden building with half a dozen pews. On a grassy slope behind the rectory was a scattering of white plastic tables under craft fair tents.
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“I do my best to move through life with a joy that is reconciled to the sorrow of things but is not subsumed by it, that apprehends darkness and is not afraid of it.”
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A few times, I’ve witnessed a female food writer speak in a manner I recognize as superior. Conveying a fresh depth of character. Self-confident without the gross defence many women, including myself, practice to boredom. It’s attractive.
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I can not opt out of the Meta AI scrape (deadline today), because the final step requires a code that Meta won't send to my email address. I tried several times yesterday. #Meta#Instagram#Facebook
Quoteskeet with an image to show who you heard at your first concert. Name the artist(s) in the Alt text.
At the CNE in 1976. I was fourteen, and my mom sewed me a great outfit. It's not the coolest first concert, but I loved it.
