I think I owe March an apology. It’s always been my least favorite month and I’ve not been shy about that declaring that fact. It falls at the tail end of winter, when we’re all just sun-starved and anxious for spring, and tortures us with it’s cold wind and barren trees. Usually. This year, March has been a dream-nothing but unseasonably warm weather and sun. Even if the temperature plummets tomorrow, I think March has done plenty to disprove its unsavory reputation. So I’m sorry I was always so hateful towards you , March. I’m glad you’re here.
If you can make a biscuit, you can make a scone. That’s all they are really; sweet biscuits that you can have for breakfast or tea, preferably with clotted cream. Or, if you put big hunks of chocolate in your scones, you can skip the clotted cream.
Name the foods that remind you of the holidays. Pumpkin, peppermint, gingerbread, squash, split peas, apples and cranberries. Those are mine. Cranberries are undeniably festive with their pungent tartness and their gorgeous jewel tones that, sadly, only appear for a short time each year. But perhaps their fleeting presence is what makes them so special. Would we really love them like we do if they imposed themselves upon us twelve months a year? We would take them for granted. We would forget what a perfect foil they are for everything from warm spices to braised meats. We would resent them for their flashy coats masking their pucker-inducing, almost inedible sourness. Instead, every year when cranberry season comes around we get to look forward to everything they bring to a holiday table. I think that’s for the best.
I love marathon Sunday in New York City; it’s all so inspiring. I mean, can you even imagine running 26+ miles in one go? Let me rephrase. Can you even imagine running at all? Right. Running isn’t my thing. Those guys are crazy…but amazing, none-the-less. My idea of a great marathon Sunday is basically a brunch on crack: something boozy, something delicious, and some sporadic yelling and hopping about. This year, a friend’s husband was running and my contributions to the potluck were these apple cheddar scones.
Is there anything better than brunch, really? Even on a gray, rainy, pea soup–like New York day in mid-August, nothing beats a good brunch. This Sunday, Jeanne and I hit up Cookshop in Chelsea.