brooklyn is still a dream, in the way that i just can't understand why people still live in manhattan.
all of this orchestra strike business has sparked some brilliant conversation with my friends. i think i have the most brilliantist friends ever.
nothing store-bought makes the cut. not bread, not ricotta, not soup... 
{and this has yielded the best and doughiest focaccia and scallion/ginger/garlic challah.}
jolene is my alarm.
the oatmeal artist's peanut butter cookie baked oatmeal {or, since the recall, pumpkin cookie baked oatmeal} has been devoured by the doubled batch.
the stage is my office and it is only complete with a cupcake container on the trap stand that carries said baked oatmeal.
it takes a party with a shirtless man playing a violin concerto to get me to manhattan on a weekend.

it's a noisy office.