Banana Waffles

Little flowers have sprung up between blades of grass in every lawn, and the first bundles of asparagus and cartons of berries have appeared in the produce section. The silence of winter is gone, broken by the familiar sounds that had faded from memory: the chirps and tweets of birds rising with the sun in the morning; the low blasts of a horn as the ferry begins to depart from the dock down by the waterfront; the delicate tapping of raindrops on the window pane as a rain cloud passes overhead; and the chiming of church bells brightly declaring that it is 7pm while the sun is still up.

The arrival of these signs of spring is enlivening, and a comfort. Like curling up with a cup of tea and a fascinating book. Or realizing that you have no idea where you will be a year from now, but that you are okay with that - excited even. Or waking up early and deciding that you have nothing better to do than mix up a batch of waffles. The aura of spring fills the air like pollen - but in a much nicer way - and things just seem a little bit easier.

Pizza

I washed up on the shores of the weekend wanting nothing more than to spend some quality time with an old friend, the kitchen. After weeks without so much as a simple cookie or even a small batch of pancakes it was time to reconcile our relationship, the kitchen and I, and bake. I leafed through my notebook of recipes and then pulled a few of my favorite cookbooks off of the shelf, finally settling with a book about bread by Laurel Robertson. After my unintended hiatus I wanted to make something that would take some time. Spend an afternoon kneading dough, mixing ingredients, and walking around in a cloud of flour.

I stumbled upon a recipe for Sicilian pizza and was reminded of the pizza we ate in Italy. Thick square slices with chewy dough; bright, flavorful sauce; and delicious cheeses. In Italy a pizzeria or a street cart selling slices was never more than twenty steps away, so the thick slices soon became a familiar afternoon snack.

Granola Bars

Last week I was staying in a small, one-room cabana on the beach in Tulum, Mexico. Sand surrounded the cabana so a short path had been dug out to the door. Inside, everything was a warm shade of white: the walls, the wooden bed frame, the sheets and pillowcases, even the mosquito net draped over the bed. A bright green blanket was the only exception.



Each night I fell asleep to the sound of waves crashing on the beach and wind rustling through the palm trees. By morning a pile of sand had collected on the floor, swept under the door by the wind, and I woke up to the chirping of birds and sun pouring in through the window.
Some mornings I ran on the beach. Running barefoot in the wet sand as cool waves licked my feet. Other days I woke up and read on the beach as the sun rose in the sky. When our stomachs began to grumble for breakfast my family walked a little ways down the beach to a rustic Italian restaurant where the menu was painted on to a small board of wood. There were seven options and by the end of the week I had ordered each one: the giant pancakes, sliced and stacked into a tower; the egg in a hole, made with fresh eggs and their homemade bread; the toast, served in a hand carved wooden dish with nutella and jam.

Morning Glory Muffins

These past few weeks have been a perpetual flow of long nights, looming deadlines and chaotic mornings.  With my nights spent in Nordic practice, playing at basketball games with our school's pep band, and agonizing over the stacks of homework that require my attention, my mornings have become a hectic scramble to finish assignments, cram for tests, and attempt to get everything ready before tumbling out the door to catch the bus. 

The other morning as I stepped onto the sidewalk, about to begin my hurried walk to the bus stop, I paused. Just to stop and breathe. It was for only a few seconds, but in that moment I let my obligations and preoccupations just slip away. 

It was a clear morning and I could see the still lake and the mountains in the distance, painted in soft hues of blue and purple. And for the first time in a while I was filled with a great appreciation for the beauty of Vermont and for the quiet and stillness of the morning. I realized that in the midst of all of my chaos there remained a quiet and peacefulness to the morning.

When the weekend came, I wanted to make a batch of hearty and tasty muffins to have for breakfast, so I took some of my favorite things to eat and bake with and put them all in these muffins.  A crisp, tart apple from the fridge, the rich flavor of coconut that evokes memories of a balmy climate, and the sweet, earthy tones of grated carrot. A half a cup of honey lends its sweetness and complexity to the muffins, and gracefully ties together tart apple, carrot, and subtle notes of coconut. 

On a whim, I decided to top some of the muffins with toasted walnut pieces. The walnuts complimented the other ingredients and added a bit of texture and crunch.

Each piece combined to make sweet, wholesome muffins to be savored with the stillness of the morning.

Blood Orange Tart

When we were in Italy this summer we travelled around and got to see beautiful cities like Milan and Florence. But it was Vernazza, one of five small fishing villages that make up Cinque Terre, that was most memorable for me. The main street that runs down the center of Vernazza is lined with small boutiques, restaurants, and gelaterias. The street, made of flat square stones, runs from the top of the village, where a flight of stairs leads up to the train station, down to the pier, where colorful fishing boats are docked and people lay soaking up the sun.

Branching of off the main street are narrow streets with the doorsteps to apartment buildings on either side. The apartments like all other buildings in Vernazza are painted light pastel colors and the windows shaded with deep green shutters. Clothes hang on the clotheslines below the windows and potted flowers sit on windowsills and the doorsteps of ground floor apartments. These apartments exude a warm feeling of home and life.
The apartment we rented was on the second story so when I pushed open the shutters I could look down to see people walking on the main street and look out to see the pier and the Mediterranean.

In the afternoons we read our books while bathing in the sun on the beach or the pier. When the afternoon became hot or the sun, blinding, I set my book down on a rock with my clothes and towel and jumped off the pier into the cool, salty sea. I rested there for a while, floating. Melting into the slow rhythm of the waves.
After a refreshing swim one day, my sister and I strolled up to the main street with a few coins in hand looking for something to eat. The village is the size of a small neighborhood so my dad didn't mind letting us walk by ourselves. We stopped at a pizzeria and exchanged a coin for a piece of focaccia topped with tomato and herbs. We sat down at a table outside and shared the bread while watching passersby.