All posts filed under: gluten free

those hot little cheesy biscuits | gluten free buckwheatgougeres on a raisin & a porpoise

boo to you

Once upon a time, we had a little baby, the third and final in our in-house series and the last installment for both families-at-large as well. I had always wanted a summer baby, so with our characteristic meticulousness, this baby ended up being due in early January. January 6th, to be precise, which is the holiday (in a religion not my own) known as Epiphany. My oldest nephew, the first grandchild in our family, started calling his cousin-to-be ‘Piph,” (that rhymes with ‘sniff,’ for those of you playing along at home) and it stuck as the in-process name; our first child’s had been ‘Sally,’ dating from the What To Fear When You’re Pregnant progress drawing comparing the little tenant to a salamander, and I think my oldest sister’s womb name was “Yitzik,” though I kind of wonder what I could be using that brain cell for if it were not devoted to storing such a valuable factoid. Long about mid-December, when I began to look like the boa constrictor float in a Little Prince parade, …

Share

going crackers

I have a lot to thank Alice Medrich for. My college years coincided precisely with the last four years of her ownership of the legendary Bay Area bakery, Cocolat, and the portion of my freshman 15 not accounted for by See’s Candy bridge mix (purchase-able in increments of 25 cents, when we were window-shopping in the overpriced mall and pretending that we were not going to circle back for another dollar’s worth), nor by a horrifically caloric and delicious 2am niblet that my friend Nina pioneered (involving a bagel, an awful lot of butter AND cream cheese AND cheddar cheese, some tomatoes and both a toaster and a microwave), is all on Alice Medrich and the chocolate truffle, a Friday-only indulgence (or this is how I choose to remember it; if you have other data that contradicts, please keep it to yourself) that made a little team of four of us feel glam and luxe and very, very happy. I am not sure my thighs ever recovered, but in the correct hypnotic state I bet …

Share

hit by lightening

I am reading a novel in the middle of the day.  Now there’s something crazy right there.  It’s Ali Smith’s How To Be Both (so good! SO good!), and when I read, therein, the phrase ‘hit by lightening,’ I realized that it describes exactly the feeling that results from performing a magic vamoose out of negative temperatures and icy pathways and long lists of things to do, to a place where reading a novel in the middle of the day, in a t-shirt, near a palm tree, is not only possible but actually happening. CRAZY. No layers to pile on, no strategies or routes to plot to get from house to car intact, and nerve-feeling restored in even the outermost extremes of all extremities. If I remember correctly, right before we got out of Dodge, I was making lemon cookies. I had seen a recipe pinned up on what my daughter refers to as “Tumblr for old people,” and I followed the link to find the instructions were in Italian.  I can hedge my way around …

Share