Gnocchi with Pesto

I've been to Paris. I've cradled a warm crêpe in my hands walking happily down cobblestone streets, I've wandered through Monet's garden, visited the Louvre, and explored the French flea markets. It's been six years since, and now it seems more like a wonderful dream than an experience.

In Paris, we stayed in a small, quaint hotel in the heart of the city. It had just a few rooms and an antique elevator that lead up to the second floor. The hotel was right above a café, and in the morning as the sun seeped through the window, we woke to the sweet smell of warm croissants and baking breads. If we got up first, my dad and I would ride down the creaky elevator following the entrancing smell of pastries. I would get a pain au chocolat and a bowl of hot chocolate while my dad got his morning coffee and a newspaper. We sat sipping our coffee and hot chocolate, soaking up the scene, and listening to conversation as we waited for my mom and sister to join us.

We spent the days walking along the cobblestone streets, and along the Seine, exploring the city, and visiting the beautiful sites of France. For lunch we stopped at bistros or restaurants where I would always get "une limonade, merci", and we dined over delicious french dishes.

We visited so many wonderful places in France; the Eiffel Tower, the châteaux, Notre Dame, the house of Leonardo da Vinci, and Monet's beautiful garden.

Equally incredible, was the food. There are so many restaurants, cafés, bakeries, cheese stores, wine shops, and so much fantastic food. Soup, fish, and pastas were always delicious at the restaurants, but a fresh baguette and cheese from the grocery store made just as perfect a dinner. 

I had my first creamy bite of éclair in France, at a pâtisserie down the block from our hotel. And I tried gelato for the first time walking back from dinner one night, when we passed a small gelateria with rows of rich gelato gleaming through the glass. Their chocolate flavor was to die for...

Soft Pretzels

Spring has just come around the bend; the afternoons are getting warm and the sun stays up well past six. In our backyard small green seedlings, that will soon sprout into fiddle heads, are peeping out between grass and dead leaves, and beds of little blue flowers have bloomed by the back fence. On our front lawn the grass is just beginning to return to its beautiful shade of green; it's hard to believe only a few weeks ago it was buried under a foot of snow. 

When this time of year comes, I feel like I'm walking on air; I pull my favorite sandals out from their hiding spot under sneakers and winter boots, and wear the cute pair of shorts that have rested in my drawer through the winter. As it becomes sunny and warm, I enjoy the walk down to my bus stop, noticing the blooming flowers in neighbors' yards and smiling to early morning commuters. Playing ball with my dogs, I can toss the tennis ball until they get tired without cold fingers forcing me inside. When the nights become warm, I lay out in the yard with the dogs, looking up at the the moon, and the stars, and the depth of the night sky.

After the long, cold months of winter, there is no better fix than a warm spring day.

But, with all the beautiful things that spring brings, it has it's lows too.  The sunny days can turn into a cold wet afternoon, warm fronts bring morning thunderstorms, and waiting at the bus stop becomes uncomfortable with a sudden downpour of rain. 

Going out for a dog walk with my cousin, D-, the other day, I slipped on my sandals and a fleece, without a thought, before heading out. The sun was up and there was a cool lake breeze, but not so much that we were cold. Then a few rain drops fell as we headed back home, which soon gave way to a heavy downpour. 

The sky had turned gray and our hands pink, from cold. The winter boots I didn't even consider slipping on, with their covered toe and warm sheepskin lining, were suddenly all I could think of. To keep my toes warm D- gave me her socks - going barefoot in her sneakers - and, pulling them on, I stuffed my feet back into the sandals. We made our way back home half-running, numb from the cold and the rain... such are the wonders of spring!

It's on spring days like these that I long for summer. 

Oh, summer... just the word reminds me of biting into ripe, colorful fruits, laughing as the juices drip down my chin; of sitting around a crackling campfire and frantically blowing out a flaming marshmallow that had dipped into the flames, and of running freely through grassy fields (thought it's not something I do regularly). I think fondly to eating dinner on the beach, going to the ballpark and to the fair, taking late night walks, and spending time doing nothing at all.

To me, a soft pretzel tastes like summer. It smells like a baseball game, and reminds me of the last days in August, walking around the grounds at the county fair.

Living in a small city with vendors who only set up during the warm months, I don't eat à la cart often. But, striding through the fair ground in late August a pretzel stand will sometimes catch my eye, so I'll buy one before heading to the next ride; when we have visited New York City, a vendor with warm pretzels was hard to pass up; and at baseball games a soft pretzel has always seems to be the perfect snack. I don't come across soft pretzels often, so in the summer when I do, they are hard to resist! 

Hamantaschen

Most often I bake when I find a good recipe - whether it be from a cookbook, the paper, or on another blog - and it looks too delicious and amazing to pass up. Occasionally I'll plan ahead to make something, for a birthday, or per request from my dad; but most of the time of the time it's a spur of the moment decision, and during the week I try to juggle baking and homework. So as one could imagine, baking for homework was a wonderful change of pace.

In civics, as we've been studying Judaism, we partnered up and did a project on Jewish holidays. My partner and I didn't get any of our top three choices, instead we were assigned Purim. At first we were both a bit hesitant, having never heard of the holiday before, but we soon found out that it's known as the most festive and joyous holiday on the Jewish calender. And, get this, it comes with it's own cookie. Hamantaschen, meaning "Haman's ears" or "Haman's pockets", are best explained by the story of Esther, the event commemorated by the holiday Purim.

Esther was a beautiful Jewish woman who, after winning a beauty contest, was married to the king of Persia, King Ahasuerus. The king was not aware that Esther was a Jew, as her guardian, a Jewish leader named Mordecai, had advised her to keep this from him. The king's prime minister, Haman, hated Jews, despising Mordecai especially for refusing to bow down to him. Haman went to the king, and convinced him that the Jews needed to be eliminated from his kingdom. Once Haman was given permission to do as he saw fit, he made arrangements for the Jews to be massacred, and built a gallows where he planned to hang Mordecai.

When Mordecai discovered this he convinced Esther to talk to the king about Haman's plans. At the time, for Esther to go to King Ahasuerus without being summoned was serious crime that was punishable by death. Nevertheless she approached the king, and told him her story. Hearing of Haman's terrible plan, King Ahasuerus was furious, and he had Haman hanged in the very gallows he had built to hang Mordecai. 

Even though Haman was killed, the king's orders had already been given so the massacre could not be stopped. So King Ahasuerus gave the Jews permission to fight back, and on the 13th day of Adar they fought.  

Gingersnaps

As a kid, gingersnaps were a favorite treat of mine. They were right up there with the animal crackers that came in the little cardboard zoo boxes that I would swing around the grocery store by its string handle. We bought bags of gingersnaps often; the cookies were great as a small dessert or an extra special snack.

But as I got older we bought other kinds of of cookies at the store and my love of gingersnaps began to fade.  

By 7th grade I didn't care much for those crunchy cookies. I remember we had a party in math class with the normal array of sweets and junk food.  One girl brought in a small yellow bag: Mi-Del gingersnaps. I didn't touch them.

I didn't hate gingersnaps; I just wasn't interested. They were left forgotten among a variety of more popular name-brand cookies.

But when I came across a recipe for gingersnaps from Elissa at 17 and Baking which she had dubbed her "favorite cookie EVER" I decided to give gingersnaps another chance. With such high praise for the cookies I was eager to once again embrace the spiced cookie of my childhood.

Not surprisingly, these homemade gingersnaps were much nicer than any kind we used to buy at the grocery store. Which made me think - had I been eating warm, spiced gingersnaps from the oven I don't believe that I ever could have lost interest.

Banana Bread

I can't point to a single month or year in which I began baking. My love for baking has just developed naturally over the years. Since we were young my parents have let my sister and I help out in the kitchen. We had small jobs like chopping carrots for soups, measuring out flour, and cracking open eggs (often followed by fishing out small egg shells from the dough), it was something to engage us before the food was ready and for us it was exciting to be part of the process.

I grew up surrounded by family members who enjoy cooking and baking so I suppose it's no surprise that at a young age I developed a love for it myself. My grandmother is German and knows an assortment of wonderful traditional recipes for cakes and cookies that were passed down to her by her mother and grandmother. Since my sister and I were young she has shared her recipes and traditions with us and encouraged us into the kitchen with the mouthwatering desserts and hearty meals that she makes. When we were kids my nana made scones with my sister and I to share over a cup of tea, my aunt enlisted our small thumbs for her batches of thumbprint cookies with jam, and mom patiently taught us the tricks of the trade while making anything from pancakes to her incredible batches of chocolate chip cookies. It was the combination of spending time in the kitchen to watch and to help out, and being introduced to so many delicious foods and desserts that inspired my passion for baking.

I was in 4th grade when I embarked on my first individual culinary adventure: a batch of zucchini bread. I poured through dozens of online recipes determined to find the best one, finally choosing one that was accompanied by a nice looking photo. Making the bread, I grated zucchini until my arm was sore, mixed the dry into the wet, and carefully buttered and floured each pan. I popped the loaves into the oven, set the oven timer, and sat down to watch an old Indiana Jones movie we had rented from the video store. Indiana was in the midst of a firefight when my timer went off and I got up to check on my loaves.

Aside from one loaf which had a section that tasted of baking soda, the zucchini bread turned out nicely and the experience was only the first of many more baking endeavors to come.