I’ve begun to realize that I can almost never write my way through one of these newsletters without referencing my childhood. Specific meals, restaurants, habits, traditions — I’m incapable of thinking about food without evoking memories. And I know I’m not alone. New food’s fun and all, but old food — yellowed recipe cards and meals cooked from memory, ancient diners and ramshackle ice cream stands — keeps us hungry and happy and, more than anything, connected. When your dad tells you the beignets tasted just like this when he was in college, when your step-grandmother makes the same pistachio cake every Easter for all of eternity, when the pizza place changes hands but the thin-crust pies still taste the same — that’s what keeps us eating. Or no, actually, it’s what keeps us
baking outside the box (+ a recipe!)
baking outside the box (+ a recipe!)
baking outside the box (+ a recipe!)
I’ve begun to realize that I can almost never write my way through one of these newsletters without referencing my childhood. Specific meals, restaurants, habits, traditions — I’m incapable of thinking about food without evoking memories. And I know I’m not alone. New food’s fun and all, but old food — yellowed recipe cards and meals cooked from memory, ancient diners and ramshackle ice cream stands — keeps us hungry and happy and, more than anything, connected. When your dad tells you the beignets tasted just like this when he was in college, when your step-grandmother makes the same pistachio cake every Easter for all of eternity, when the pizza place changes hands but the thin-crust pies still taste the same — that’s what keeps us eating. Or no, actually, it’s what keeps us