Vegan peanut butter cookies taste exactly the way you remember as a kid - crumbly, sweet, salty, peanut buttery deliciousness!
Welcome to my blog. I document my adventures in travel, style, and food. Hope you have a nice stay!
All in Vegan
Vegan peanut butter cookies taste exactly the way you remember as a kid - crumbly, sweet, salty, peanut buttery deliciousness!
A few summers ago, I spent days wandering around Naples, Italy, the world’s pizza capital, in search of the real deal. Pizza is everywhere in Naples and countless pizzerie claim to make the original Margherita, a classic combination of tomato, mozzarella, and basil named after the 19th century Italian queen.
My (even easier!) version of the famous no-knead bread. It takes no skill, just some time, flour, yeast, salt and water.
I don’t follow recipes. That sounds disingenuous coming from someone who has encouraged you to follow many recipes on this very blog, I know.
Since coming back to the US (my parents’ house, more specifically), I’ve let someone else do the cooking. It’s not that I’ve lost my kitchen mojo completely, it’s just that my parents have it in spades
Sometimes summer gives way to rain. The dog refuses to go outside and the thirsty plants explode upwards.
For lots of things: cookies, wrapping paper cuts, glitter-filled greeting cards and drinking too much.
Stella and I safely and soundly arrived in Boston just in time for Thanksgiving. It would be our first at home, the first time my mother would make the stuffing and the pies.
I have written and rewritten the opening line to this post three or four times because whatever I say sounds too dramatic.
As I near the end of my pregnancy, I’m starting to hit all the positive pregnant boxes. For example, I clean for fun. Every day.
Spaghetti with tomato sauce: the simplest and most beloved of all of Italy’s dishes, a symbol of her cuisine, a staple in every region. Every mamma makes it, everyone slurps it up with masterful twirls of the fork on the side of the bowl.
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.
These mushrooms never, ever make it into the fridge for tomorrow’s lunch. No matter how many you make, no matter how vehemently your companions tell you they don’t like mushrooms, these mushrooms are always the first thing to disappear.
Full disclosure: for the last three days I have subsisted on a diet of oyster crackers, Cap’n Crunch, english muffins and Vitamin water. Sometime after a predictably raucous
I really don’t know what to call this. It’s not really caponata, which is an amazing Sicilian dish, kind of a cold, fried eggplant-heavy salad with celery, capers, tomatoes and olives. But it’s not too far off, either.
If you’ve been over for dinner sometime in the last, oh, three years or so, you’ve probably had this bread. The one I make at least twice a week.
I left home for Italy at 18. I rented a minuscule one bedroom apartment in the Campo di Marte district of Florence with a friend from high school and we decided ahead of time to stay 5 months.