scones with a side of tambourine

this morning i am having a big honking breakfast and studying carmina burana. i hope my little tambourine rolls aren't disturbing the neighbors. but then again, i'm pretty sure the little ones have gone off to preschool... and another neighbor plays the saxophone. 

this pumpkin scone leftover from a few weeks ago is almost as good after it has been frozen and thawed as it was fresh. note to self: buy more butter, make more scones. i'm afraid of putting marmalade on it though because marmalade-y fingers, i am sure, do not a good tambourine roll make. 

happy thursday, everyone! it's almost the weekend it's almost the weekeeennndddd!!!!


morning polenta...

looks a little pre-barfed, tastes a little pre-barfed, too.

but it's what happens when suddenly i have my mornings back with enough time to experiment at breakfast, and more importantly suddenly i haven't gone grocery shopping in weeks on account of my parents were in town and spoiled me with blue ribbons and brooklyn larders. so, yeah, it is just more about-to-go-bad vegetables and boxed polenta. hold the flavor or any sort of textural integrity.

you know, the breakfast equivalent to laundry day?

in other news, i'm going through a hair identity crises: dreadlocks, mullet, or bowl cut? anyone?


morning magic

my mornings are typically spent at home: writing articles, studying music, editing photos, testing recipes. it's my little bit of playtime before i head to an office, and lately this has included more oatmeal than even a picky five-year-old could fathom.

but today i called in sick for my own morning. we'll call it an executive decision. i got out my favorite dishes {the egg cups from zaanse schaanse, the cheese board from amsterdam, the plate from *hehe* staten island}, stirred a bit of halva spread into my yogurt, and took the extra bit of time to sprinkle just the right amount of salt and pepper onto my medium boiled egg.

i'd say it was magic. the kind you can't plan. the kind that seems to be happening more and more these days. maybe it's the brooklyn air?

after a second {or third} espresso, i put on my sweater* to be on my way to manhattan, but not before stopping at a little bakery for half of a miche and a chocolate chip shortbread.


*someone gimme a barf bag, i could puke in excitement over this newly arrived sweater weather.

faraway rockaway

slightly earlier than what one would call "just before sunrise," i sat alone in my kitchen with an iced coffee and the ann romney speech
a noise came: outside my door, in the pitch black, there was an invitation to bike to the coast. we were to leave at that very moment. 
ok. absolutely.
we biked into the day, biked biked biked, over the bridges/past the woods/towards the sun, to a beach with surfers and seagulls and the perfect spot for fruits and croissants.
32 miles and a peanut butter m & m emergency later, i emptied the sand from my shoes and dashed to work.
it was one of the more perfect mornings, i'd say.