I’m not going to tell you that these are the world’s best oatmeal cookies. I won’t tell you that this is the only recipe you’ll ever need until the end of time. I’m not going to tell you that I’m omg obsessed or anything like that.
I will tell you that I was trying to re-frame cookies into my everyday life. What’s the cookie that I want to eat everyday, any time of day, with hot coffee or cold milk?
I was just sitting here thinking of the maybe one time I’ve gotten chocolate and flowers on Valentine’s Day. If it takes more than 7 minutes to locate a possible memory like that…. well, it probably hasn’t happened. Ok. No problem. The beat goes on, doesn’t it?
Here’s one thing I can easily locate in my memory mind, the last time I bought myself flowers – the Thursday before last. And the last time I bought myself chocolate – every time I go to the grocery store.
What sort of spirits are you in this Sunday? Are you foggy from Mari Gras madness (though if you’re within 75 miles of New Orleans I don’t think you’ll be getting to this post until Wednesday )? Are you in the Olympic spirit? I think it’s the John Williams theme music making us proud to be humans in the world. Maybe instead of all that you’re looking forward Valentine’s Day chocolate and romance and lobster and diamonds.
One of the essential attributes of a bonafide New Orleans homebody is a well-equipped home bar and a humble bit of cocktail curiosity. If you’re going to be home, you best welcome folks over, and you certainly must offer them a cocktail.
Listen. I don’t make the rules, I’m just here to share them.
My bar has become a collection of memories of friends and places, long nights spent out on the back porch, Friendsgiving holidays, impromptu happy hours… and ok, maybe the occasional morning headache.
Hello Sunday Friends! Welcome to this fine day. Rest. Let’s take in some good rest.
It’s been a busy week at The Bakehouse with a floral workshop and a King Cake making workshop and somehow tonight the dishes are mostly done and put away and there’s only a hint of glitter still on the floor. Mardi Gras seems to have snuck up on me and honestly, I’m so glad it did.
Here’s the thing: when my brain convinces me that I need a homemade doughnut, it’s not telling me that I need a dozen homemade doughnuts. As a solo person in a houseful of cakes, I’ve come to hack desserts to half their size for my own sanity. Remember ages ago when I made Single Lady Pancakes? Yup: spot on. I even remade them here with a massive amount of blueberries The Single Pancake.
Happy Sunday sweet friends! Welcome to another fine weekend! I’ve had a busy week testing recipes for the blog and somehow managing to cut three of the five fingers on my left hand. Listen… knife safety is real and sometimes life comes atcha fast. My dear friend Cara came to visit for a few short days that we managed to pack it with a lot of food (the glorious Turkey and the Wolf included)… and a live true crime podcast taping (SSDGM).
I’ve been in New Orleans for, what is it… four years now? It just takes one unexpectedly closed road (and it happens all the time) and all of a sudden I’m thisway and thatway and all sorts of turned around. The only way out is through, right… because I refuse to use navigation at this point.
I’ve also found that another way out is to find your way home, dig out your old cookbook, and make your simpliciest most satisfying recipe.
Happy Sunday. I hope this finds you ready and fortified to face another day. Well… have a cup of coffee first. Maybe an egg. Then feel fortified. Did some of you marched in a women’s march, yesterday? I commend you, and I just pumped my fist in the air at your power. I spent yesterday at The Bakehouse with a rowdy group of ladies, doing the incredibly futile, yet somehow hilarious work of penning Drake lyrics on frosted cakes.
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