Welcome to my blog. I document my adventures in travel, style, and food. Hope you have a nice stay!
Eggplant parm, parmigiana, parmigiana di melanzane, whatever you want to call it, it’s always good. The only thing is, it can be a pain to make. First you have to fry or bake the eggplant slices, then make the sauce, then grate the cheeses and layer them all then bake and only then can you eat. Somehow
There’s a point in every girl’s life when she realizes she’s slowly becoming her mother.
It might be the way you complain about bad drivers, the way you hold yourself, or the way you baby talk to your dog. Or maybe that’s just me.
Ah, the royal wedding. I had an especially delicious time watching it because A. we made coronation chicken salad and B. I was joined by one of my favorite people in the world: my friend Ali, who dropped in from NYC to hang out, teach me how to shop in Sydney, eat us out of all our Easter chocolate, and generally bring some sunshine to our lives.
A little while ago, we broke the number one rule when feeding Italians. We served them a saucy, ultra-orthodox version of spaghetti and meatballs. Contrary to popular belief, you will not find meatballs on spaghetti in Italy. Tiny little meatballs in baked penne, maybe. Meatballs as an antipasto or a second course, definitely. But spaghetti and meatballs is a wholly, indisputably, non-Italian entity that – from into songs, children’s books, and Disney movies – has penetrated our culture and become entirely American.
Passover comes and goes each year and I usually don’t pay much attention. We would have our own, eager version of Pesach every year growing up –
You’d think that after having posted 14 different pasta recipes – and making countless more – I’d have the whole thing down. Especially when it comes to a weekday, throw-it-together kind of pasta.
We all have a favorite cake. Francesco has his Sacher Torte, my dad his Boston Cream Pie.
Me? I love carrot cake.
This is the last soup I’ll post for awhile, I promise. It’s just that I can’t think of an easier way to eat my vegetables.
As the first trimester nausea lifts and I resume consuming the things I once loved (welcome back, Earl Grey!), I need to resist the urge to shun the now innocuous fruits and vegetables that so recently made my stomach jump up into my mouth.
I warned you that things would get repetitive around here. And here we go again, another comforting, tomato-cheese-pasta dish that I would happily eat every day.
Though it may not be apparent from my posting, I’ve been cooking up a storm lately.
Attending law school requires industry. No, they haven’t asked us to make our own desks – at least, not yet. And so far this take home exam I’m working on has required patience, apt page-turning skills, use of fancy words and caffeine, but no industry. I’m taking industry when it comes to lunch.
I’m not usually one of those people who doesn’t know what they want for dinner. Growing up, discussions about dinner used to take up the whole ride to school with my dad, who was generally in charge of the hair-brushing, English muffin-toasting morning routine.
This post is a little, scarcely photographed followup to my post about bread pudding. It’s one of my favorite dessert sauces
While I’d consider myself a black raspberry chocolate chip, gingerbread molasses and banana oreo with jimmies in a cone, I’m married to a vanilla.
This chili came thisclose to being an outright disaster, twice. It all started so innocently. After subsisting on a fridge teetering on empty, pizza delivery, pasta with cheese and shakshuka for the last week, I needed more.
I can’t understand why you’re still here but, since you are, I’m thinking I have a good chance of being forgiven, right? Neglect doesn’t even begin to describe the state of affairs here at The Shortlists
I have an unhealthy love of bread pudding. I blame this love on a popular Irish pub near Boston that serves up a ginormous portion of dense, luscious bread pudding with banana
This is as traditional as it gets. If you want to truly taste Bologna, this is about as close as you can get to a legitimate, authentic Bolognese sauce. Just thinking about it brings me back under the porticoes.
