I believe in the creative space of the personal blog, I really do, Tumblr and Instagram and Twitter and all those noisy spaces notwithstanding. I’m old-fashioned like that. But you’d never know it; the password to this blog has been buried deep, and it took a radical moment of procrastination to dredge it up. Book-level procrastination.
Yes, I thought I’d take some time off after That Pudding Book but, as they say, something came up. Something like this radicchio, romaine, and fennel salad, with a sexy bit of farro peeking out. Something that requires a hustle of a deadline, weekend marathons of recipe development, and a co-author (for whom I am deeply grateful). More soon. The salad is only Exhibit A.
To distract myself from an all too-imminent deadline, here are a few things I’ve been eyeing, appreciating, and coveting lately.
- Vicky Bhogal’s Cooking Like Mummyji, finally available in Kindle format.
- Heated bathroom floors.
- Dystopic escapist fiction (thank you Abbey!)
- This living room.
- 48-hour recipe development marathons with this fine lady.
- Hot water radiators in January. February too.
- This measuring cup. Especially after the commenters went eight rounds over whether it was OK for me to donate my old one.
- This throw. It’s not pink, it’s fuchsia, I told my husband.
- Every post Michelle Slatalla writes. Especially on marble countertops. And the travails of buying a couch. Her writing gives me fits.
- Sour cream panna cotta with raspberry star anise sauce.
- Photos of this cutie.
- Catering my brother’s wedding, of which the second-best part was Dorie’s butter sables.












Ever since writing my first book, Not Your Mother’s Casseroles, I’ve been a little obsessed with breakfast casseroles. Egg bakes are just so crazy easy and convenient. I’ve been making up a big pan of eggy casserole every weekend for my husband and myself, then slicing off big squares for breakfast and lunch throughout the week. I use these casseroles to absorb the scraps and leftovers in my fridge: Bits of cheese clinging to its rind, the last scrapings of a jar of sun-dried tomatoes. I dig through my freezer and pull out bags of potatoes that are only slightly frostbitten. Together, they always meld together into something more than the sum of their parts, like this potato, cheese, and egg casserol — hearty and vegetarian.