I know that’s not how the song (poem?) goes, but for me, the gradual creeping-in of autumn is as eagerly anticipated as the advent of spring is for most. My basil has gone to flower, the leaves getting less lush and more spindly in the heat; everything outside is done to the accompaniment of the buzz of cicadas. Everything is starting to look less fresh and lush and more weary and uncomfortably hot. Much like I feel. Summer’s last hurrah.
Today is cooler; it’s one of those delightful, grey, drizzly reprieves in August where the outside temperature only gets up to about 72F/22C. Not cool by any means, but so much more tolerable than the usual 95F/35C of August in Pennsylvania. We’ve got all of the downstairs air conditioners off and fresh air wafting through the house. And all of this makes me feel inside like it’s time to make things.
When I moved out of my parents’ house, my mother gave me a set of Pyrex nesting mixing bowls that she had, and that I used frequently for cooking. I love these bowls. They’re a hideous 1970s avocado green and they’re one of my favorite things ever.
I’ve been unemployed for about a month now, and have been keeping busy applying for jobs and all of that fun stuff, but I’ve also been trying to switch up our dinners as well. Yesterday, I made some meat and veg pasties (pronounced PAST-ees, not PASTE-ees) with stuff we had on hand, and realized quickly it would be a pretty customizable recipe. Writing it down here to save and share. Continue reading →
I’m always on the search for new baking techniques to master. One time it was madeleines, next it was macarons. I mastered Swiss buttercream after that. Now I’m on puff pastry, with the eventual goal of reliably and proficiently turning out homemade croissants.
I decided to ease myself into this, since while I was fairly sure I could manage it, pride goeth before a fall and the slow approach is usually the right one. The first step in this saga, then, was rough puff pastry. Specifically, sausage rolls.