One of the many, many problems with sharing a tiny, underequipped, and did I mention tiny and cramped, kitchen, is that it makes baking, which frequently involves a lot of counter space, nearly impossible.
Notice I say nearly.
Because I have succeeded in baking. I have, at this moment, a mouth full of biscuit.
A few days ago, I was having a bad half-hour, and my sister Jenny was (as is her habit) the best sister ever, and was soothing for the entire half-hour. I am not very good at sentiment, but I assure you that my entry to Barbara Fisher’s The Spice Is Right VI is a direct response to that; Jenny gets it.
And my history-major (and literature-addict) self couldn’t resist the theme, either: Back to School.
The only dish I’ve ever had caraway in, to the best of my knowledge, is rye bread. Now, I admit, I’ve eaten a lot of rye bread, but it wasn’t until recently, when I was unfortunate enough to eat a slice of rye bread that did not include caraway seeds, that I ever noticed the flavor.
What are those little brown crunchy things? What do they actually taste like, when the tongue isn’t distracted by pastrami and roast beef and mustard? What would they taste like in something else? Read the rest of this entry »
The hard part of packing to go back to uni (which I started doing today) is not remembering that summer will not last and I need more than tank tops (right now, I can’t imagine wearing a turtleneck and a wool sweater ever again, but winter in Manhattan is unbearable without), but putting together a kitchen without having seen it.
