vegetable frittata with cilantro chile sauce

I love breakfast. Though I seldom eat it (I know, shame on me), it's my favorite meal of the day. Growing up, Saturday morning was the only day my family ate breakfast together. It was always the same thing: scrambled eggs, bacon or sausage, and biscuits or toast. (Someday, if I'm feeling very, very generous, maybe I'll post the recipe for our homemade grape jelly. Best I've ever had. Period.) Perhaps, though the menu was always the same, that's where my fascination began. There was nothing quite like waking up on a crisp fall Saturday to the smell of bacon frying in the kitchen. I seldom make scrambled eggs anymore, but I do have a tendency to occasionally view my net worth as a cook by the depth of my breakfast repertoire. Who cares if I've never made beef wellington from scratch? If I can turn out an unbeatable scone, I must be worth my salt.

poached halibut with chickpeas & smoked paprika

Good morning, sunshine! It seems that spring is already springing out here in Washington. For the first time in months, I woke up to a beautiful, sunny day. Though the frequent Seattle sprinkles don't particularly bother me, I'm quite glad to know the worst of the rainy season is behind us. As I got dressed this morning and planned my day, I was reminded of one of my favorite poems. Emily Dickinson's "Hope is the Thing With Feathers" is a poem that I tend to think of on stormy days, but I find it just as inspiring on bright, sunny ones:

golden cream cupcakes

I'm not sure anyone was more thankful for the Presidents Day weekend than me. I can certainly appreciate setting aside a day to honor our country's great leaders (didn't those Lincoln-themed cupcakes tip you off?), but that wasn't exactly why last weekend was special. The Presidents Day holiday created a three-day weekend, which meant that I could go home -- to Illinois.

blackberry buttermilk cupcakes

Yesterday was Abraham Lincoln's birthday, so I'm sure you, like me, celebrated by making four dozen Lincoln-themed cupcakes. Fortunately, I knew I would have four dozen people to gobble them up. (There are so few of us who consider feeding four dozen people an enjoyable task.) I suppose at this point -- if you've gotten over the fact that I think these things are fun -- you're now looking at the cupcakes and wondering how they could possibly pay homage to the Great Emancipator. Well, dear friend, read on.

tapioca pudding

I like to think that I sort of "inherited" my love of cooking from my grandmother on my mom's side, but that's more of a sentimental thought than anything else. In truth, my love of cooking is something I developed almost entirely on my own. I have a few fond cooking memories sprinkled here and there in my brain -- making sugar cookies one Christmas with Grandma and learning the difference between a liquid and a dry measure from Mom -- but after those, my pursuit of new culinary knowledge and experiences became a completely independent endeavor. And although cooking is very much an independent hobby for me, I've never been interested in reinventing the wheel. I would much rather spend time reading about other people's culinary experiences -- successes and disasters alike -- and then incorporating what I learn into what I'm making in my own kitchen.

chicken and dumplings

It seems like almost everyone was trying to upset my apple cart this week. Remember that new gym I told you about? The one I liked so much? Yes, "liked." Past tense is appropriate here because I showed up for my workout on Monday only to find that the place up and shut down over the weekend. Nothing says quality customer service like closing shop without giving your members any warning.

low-fat vanilla cupcakes with strawberry filling and buttercream frosting

Sometimes my love of feeding people causes me to step completely outside the realm of sensible thinking. Last year The Athlete graduated from high school, so naturally we decided to throw her a little big party. Knowing this event was coming up, I had a quick conversation with her a few months ahead of time:

guacamole

So I joined a new gym recently. The first gym I joined out here was a dirty, run-down dump, and after seven months of dreading my workouts, I decided it was time for a change. The new place is much more my style -- bright, clean, and full of functional equipment. My first trip there, however, was an eye-opening experience. As I was standing in the locker room, I realized that I had no idea how to work the digital locks on the lockers. Not wanting to accidentally lock up my things with no way to retrieve them, I thought the most prudent course of action would be to simply ask one of the other women in the room for instructions. Good idea, right? Mmm...maybe, but my thought process was apparently flawed. I turned to my left to ask the woman nearest me, only to realize that she was completely naked -- not even holding a towel or in the process of dressing. I could only imagine the awkwardness that would ensue if I asked a naked person a question, so I rounded the corner to look for someone else. Apparently naked woman #1 had friends because no one on that side of the room was clothed either. Perhaps it's a Midwest thing, or maybe it's just peculiar to my own experience, but locker room nudity was a rare occurrence at all of the gyms I went to back home. I don't have a problem with it, but it will sure take some getting used to.... [If you're looking for an end to this story, eventually someone -- fully dressed, thankfully -- walked into the room and was kind enough to help me.]