Welcome to my blog. I document my adventures in travel, style, and food. Hope you have a nice stay!
All in Spoon Desserts
If you’ve ever met me, been to my house, or even to my Instagram, you know I love cake. What’s not immediately apparent is how much my family loves ice cream.
It’s a summer of firsts for me. My first summer in the U.S. in a decade. My first summer not in Italy in a decade. My first summer working (at a not-summer-job job). My first summer not traveling. My first summer in many years not married, and my first summer without Stella.
In preparation from our two-month stay, my mother stocked up on mascarpone. And by stocked up, I mean she purchased all the mascarpone this side of the Atlantic.
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
Until yesterday at 2 pm, Sydney was suffering a 42°C heatwave that was not only debilitating but highly irritating. (For those of you that see 40 and think, is that high? It’s 108° F. Yeah.)
Here’s a dessert you can whip up in no time at all, handles any number of alterations and won’t make you feel like you just downed a block of butter with a carton of cream.
In my attempts to consume nothing but foods dripping with American during our brief jaunt to the motherland, I made some interesting choices. I bought all sorts of junk that I didn’t actually end up eating,
Would you believe it? I’m away from Australia for not a week and already I’m missing the little things. The postmen on their bikes, the smell of jasmine, and the Australians’ take on classic puddings.
Oooooh this one’s a winner.
Bookmark it, scribble it down, print it out, write it on your forehead – whatever you have to do – to remind yourself to make this dessert.
Just as I expected! No dissenters. Not even the pickiest among us has a bone to pick with chocolate pudding and that’s what makes it so great.
I know I’m getting a bit Italo-centric here, but what can I say? I cook what I know.
I didn’t know about this dessert at all until a gorgeous dinner during a trip to Italy last year. We had been invited to Francesco’s aunt’s house in the countryside near Bologna. A family affair, the kind I love: piling into the car, getting lost, arriving late and grumpy and starving. And then sitting down in a warm room with a fire and the smell of rosemary and a roast and a table full of unopened bottles.
This is one of those recipes that does what I hate to do: clean out my refrigerator. In this case, it took care of that little bit of leftover pumpkin puree, a haphazardly opened packet of ginger nut biscuits (ginger snaps) (it was house guest, I swear), a half loaf of day-old bread, the rest of a carton of questionable milk, and the second half of a tub of mascarpone.
Oh, Rhubarb, you are quite possibly the most delicious pie filling in the history of the universe, but yet, so mysterious. You are tart and sweet. You carry wintry and summery overtones. Francesco thinks you’re German; I think you’re British.
Due to the positive response to yesterday’s post, I’ve decided to put aside a little time to celebrate figs. Known only as the sticky sweet interior of Fig Newtons (named after my hometown!) to most of us, figs are an ancient
