Monday, March 28, 2016

Roasted Cauliflower and Apple Soup // On Healing

Just when I thought it never would, the rain stopped. It was one day sodden and grey and then the next, all tender skies and sun and out from the ground had sprung one or two blooms, mad little poems that they are, their heads nodding in the wind. And it was warm and it felt like spring. It felt like falling in love. 

Sunday, February 14, 2016

Orange and Cardamom Cake with Rose Swiss Meringue Buttercream

I am, it's true, something of a hopeless romantic. Always living some fantasy of a life that wasn't; my waking hours most often spent writing letters to men who may or may not exist and all others spent dreaming them up as phantoms or snakes with fangs. I always used to think romanticism was a thing meant for foolish little girls, fated to die most likely from a manic fixation of the unsatiated heart or some other equally ostensible death from which I, stubborn headed and bitter as I can be, couldn't possibly ever suffer from. But I, as is most often the case when it comes to things like love or fate or life in and of itself, was wrong. So terribly, wonderfully wrong.