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Cherry Clafoutis


When I visited Paris last November in the dreary, gray cold, the city felt like it was nearing a hibernation for winter as places like Luxembourg Gardens had barely a soul wandering in the swift chilly breeze and the Eiffel Tower’s lines were not as lengthy as I imagined they’d be for a landmark like it.

They were in what might be called a post summer slump and with good reason, cherry season was months away. I imagine Julia Child eating this dessert for the first time and ever so excited about its simplicity and elegance. The smoothness of this custard like dish and how she must have looked forward to cherry season more once she knew of this recipe.


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Salmorejo/Spanish Chilled Tomato Soup


When you get towards your late twenties, certain things like going out for dinner at nine thirty in the evening or staying out until midnight on a Monday are not even registered thoughts because you know your job will be unbearable thanks to a lack of sleep the following morning.

Here in London it is peak tourist season and somehow thanks to my youthful life I manage to continue making friends who are passing through for a short time and all are in their early twenties who care more for life experiences than sleep and how you’ll feel in the morning (usually because they’re on vacation they get to sleep in).

So on Monday in unusual fashion I gave in to the peer pressure of staying on for a drink after dinner and before I knew it I was walking in the door of my apartment at midnight. Midnight on a Monday.


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An Ode to my Best Friend

Tori and I

Some friends come together by accident and some friends were born time and distance apart, always meant to have their lives intertwined. The latter is what I can say definitively about my friendship with Tori.

I had been praying for a friend for an eternity and somehow those prayers were answered with her, this gawky girl with chocolate colored skin whose laugh makes you smile even if the jokes aren’t funny. I was the awkward super pale girl with too many freckles to count and she somehow wanted to be my friend. It seems unfathomable, but our connection was very real from the get go.

From the outside we weren’t very similar; the only obvious similarity was our shyness. Her sporting ability made her stand out amongst her peers, whereas I only knew sport in the form of running over the hot black sand to the waves at summertime. Her ability to play music by ear and my inability to play a musical instrument didn’t matter because we were best friends and it just made clicked.

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Caramel Custard Blueberry Bars


With London having a sweltering summer (between the usual rain days) and having recently finished reading ‘On the Road’ for the first time along with being addicted to Lana Del Rey’s song ‘Ride.’ I am craving getting into my own wheels and setting off for the beach.

After all, that is what summer is for, lazing and making memories with all the extra hours of light. Living in London makes this notion rather difficult, because firstly, I do not have a car and; secondly, I am terrified to get behind a wheel here. The drivers like to stalk crossing pedestrians and watching drivers battle over the tiny piece of ashpalt between the white lines would put any lover of driving off the notion here.


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July 21, 2014 - 09:14

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Watermelon and Strawberry Balsamic Salad


Some days I have real writers block and so a post is not uploaded all because I can’t think of something to say before you scroll down to the recipe. And yesterday was one of those days, yet I then happened to write a six hundred word essay about my friendship whose anniversary reaches twenty years this year.

So in a way my writers block was transposed into another writing process and I still couldn’t think of something interesting to say here. Beyond the landscape of empty desks with summer vacations at its peak. Or how dinner in summer should just come together as quickly as possible because it’s so darn hot.


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Breakfast Options


Breaking the fast has to be done right, but of course, we all eat differently and what one person might consider the right way to start the day another person might be allergic to or not able to consume due to dietary restrictions.

Breakfast is by far my favorite meal of the day and if I had the time (and endless metabolism) I would make waffles or pancakes or bread pudding or Eggs Benedict. If the world were perfect I would have created a breakfast book so full of meals to start the day you’d need two hands to lift it off the bookshelf and I would spend my days creating and consuming new ones.

Let’s celebrate a meal people all too often leave off their daily menu and see what you can do to start the day right. Around the world people begin their day invariably different, in Mexico for example, with the wafting warm air people warm tortillas and top them with black beans, salsa and a fried egg for a dish called Huevos RancherosIMG_2105

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Chocolate Pecan Cookies


Not feeling one hundred percent on my lazy Sunday I may have polished off four of these cookies in one breath while watching Julie and Julia. A movie about two cooks while eating something I’ve cooked, well baked is almost food inception. In fact, I ate these so efficiently that I cannot recall how many may have been consumed in my pajamas, but it happened and being Sunday and not feeling too well is a good enough excuse for that to happen.

The recipe for these cookies was hiding in plain sight in my inbox when a hankering for some baked goods came calling last week and I decided to replace one of the key ingredients with coconut oil. After the mixture had been all whipped together,  a small drop fell onto my finger while placing these on the baking tray and it was so good that a second spoon had to be pulled out of the draw to have some uncooked cookie mixture in all it’s delicious glory.


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Blackberry and Lemon Curd Hand Pies


It was a rather uneventful weekend for me due to a rather bad sleep that led to feeling unwell all Sunday, so I was laid up in my humid apartment watching Sleepless in Seattle and Julie and Julia between reading ‘On the Road’ and reliving travel memories via old photos.

Overall it was like a weekend in exile, down the rabbit hole of laziness, although I still found time for kitchen activities (there must always be time for that).

I imagine your weekend was far more interesting and I’d love to hear about it or at least what two flavors you would like to combine in a hand pie as the possibilities seem endless.


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Peach Cobbler


I successfully coerced my friend Gemma into coming along to The Fault in our Stars. Neither of us having read the book, we knew it was going to be a sad movie. And Gemma held her own, I gave in and retreated further as the movie’s credits rolled. The recent loss of cancer on distant shores feeling ever more real.

Handing the whimpering girls next to us a packet of tissues I’d purchased in the lead up to what I thought would be tear fest 2014, my throat tightened to the point where breathing was something I did consciously through the pain of holding back.

The story between the characters all reminded me (minus cruel cancer) of the innocence of the overwhelming rush of young love. How complete it all feels and that it could be that great forever. Especially if its a summer romance where freedom and real life are not intertwined.

And tomorrow happens to be the summer party of Independance Day, full bellies of barbecues, apple pie and this Peach Cobbler should be on the menu. While friends are made, plates are emptied and relationships are created in the warm air.


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June 2014 – Saw/Ate/Read


Thirty days seems like a long time when you are catching up with friends from shores long left behind and seeing other friends off to their month in Europe. Oh and a little smore making in between.

Yes, June was surprisingly warm and full of activities as well as a weekend trip to Wales with a little jousting thrown in for good measure.


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Tenby – Wales


Tenby is the kind of town where you depart from the train and walk up a street surrounded by homes with no an inkling of what this beach town has to offer. Following that road all the way to the wide skies leaves one a little breathless from the beauty of the yellow sand and blue shores you’d imagine only being able to find in Greece or Turkey or Spain, anywhere but the United Kingdom.

It’s the kind of beach town where people say hello as you walk down the street and locals mingle freely with tourists so much so that you don’t know which are which. Even on a summer solstice kind of night it’s beaches are pretty bare while the sunset overhead puts on a show.


Tide’s out in the colorful town

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Chicken Lettuce Wraps


The other week before melting marshmallows under the oven grill, my friend Renee and I finished off four of these wraps, hold the corn salad.

You see, she is on a very strict diet meaning no fruits, grains or corn. And a night in meant thinking outside the box, when the taco idea came to mind. ‘Let’s have Mexican hold the tortilla’s’. Usually, I’m one to roll my eyes at people’s diets. Genuine, fifteen year old girl rolling eyes while ordering dessert.


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Cardiff, Wales


With the journey to Cardiff only being two hours from London by train it really was a seamless connection to the impressively vibrant Welsh capital that I found once I embarked from the train. A Friday evening in Cardiff was alive with bars of people spilling onto the streets enjoying an unwind after a week of work and the historical buildings stood alight in the dusk evening.

High street (the center of town) and Cardiff Castle are all within ten minutes walk of the train station, making it easy to see the focal points of what Cardiff has to offer if you are only on a flying weekend visit. Though the locals are sometimes hard to understand (and yes, they do speak Welsh in all it’s glory) it really is a historically vibrant city that has very much embraced the present.


Little knights/Knights entering the arena

Some light sword fighting/Medieval metal worker/Cardiff

Some light sword fighting/Medieval metal worker/Cardiff

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Mini Cheesecakes with Rosemary Rhubarb


Growing up with a German mother the only kind of soft cheese that we ever ate was quark. Usually spread across a bread made mostly of seeds (and the crusts kept firmly intact much to my brothers chagrin) and topped with strawberry jam.

Whenever the mention of cream cheese or ricotta was whispered my mother would simply dismiss as too fatty and back home we went with quark in tow.

When cream cheese could be purchased with my own made money I soon found it to be something I preferred to smear on my now seedless bread with sliced tomatoes. A level of rebellion I’m still getting out of my system.


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