Never Enough: Baked Blackberry-Banana Oatmeal

-I've started the habit of keeping frozen berries on hand at all times because they make life better.-

Can we take a moment to talk about oatmeal? I know it's not the most riveting subject. Oatmeal hardly ever is, especially when you relegate it as simply a pasty beige goop. It doesn't have the saucy, cheese-tasting goodness of a perfectly soft boiled egg's yolk, nor the crunchy, porcine goodness that is only the crispiest farmers' market bacon. And then there are cinnamon rolls. The yeasty, homemade kind with crusty bits of cinnamon sugar peaking out of the folds and an aroma that curls through the house curing everything from Mondays to broken hearts. Then there's all cream cheese icing, the sort that you slather on with a spatula as if you were going to mason together a wall of sticky buns.

I mean, I dig oatmeal. But no oatmeal is really ever gonna match that. Let's be honest.

Thing is: cinnamon buns are a fuck-ton of work. Oatmeal? Not so much. It's a snap, and you can still craft some truly flavorful recipes with minimal effort that'll ensure you aren't missing any cinnamon buns. And, heck, you can serve it up with some soft boiled eggs and bacon just fine.

I was lucky in that I was never served goop. My dad, who usually worked well past nine, ten, sometimes eleven o'clock at night, was the one who made my brother and I our lunches for school and ensured we ate a halfway decent breakfast. This left my mom to have a peaceful, child free morning before she went off to teach a room full of third graders then come home to watch her own kids.

Look a Hot Mess: Sweet Potato Biscuits

-Sweet potato biscuits for when you look like a hot mess.-

So I know I'm the furtherest thing from a fashion plate, a term that still perplexes me because if I can't eat cake on it then it has no business being a plate of any sort, but I actually can lace up my shoes and dress myself without anyone having to worry. At times I can even put together a simple outfit with coordinating accessories such as a pair of leather gloves and actually look competent. For example, the other day I happened to pair some boating shoes with socks that weren't white (my usual per diem), some indigo washed jeans the color of a sharp bruise, a smart pea coat, hand knit gray scarf, glasses, and a tousled dress shirt in a perfectly smart olive color. Somehow it all worked and I received a compliment or two. Huzzah.

I'm not sure I can properly articulate how proud I am when I look like a real adult.

I can't imagine I will ever be able to call myself fashionable. I'll keep at it, but the idea of washing whites and colors separately, never mind my sheer avoidance of the phrase "Dry Clean Only", doesn't provide much hope. I generally just heave myself at the closet and hope for the best every day.

Still, once or twice I have been mistaken for a homeless person. The first time, shamefully, by my mother.

Back to Basics. Making crepes.

-Pastry perfection.-

I tend to be wary of crepes. I love them, but I just happen to have a habit of burning them as if I were knitting tissue paper over an open flame. Dodgy business these crepes.

Admittedly, at times I have a tendency to simply skirt away from certain challenges as if stealing away from disapproving parents in the middle of the night, not bothering to even leave a note. Most of my life I'm happy to meet a challenge. Yet there are always those lesser confrontations; ones where neither your future nor your reputation on the line. Some of them don't even bother to address you, instead happy to lay a deck chair out in the middle of the road and wait for you to drive around them simply because, let's face it, it's easier for both of you that way.

Stupid Raccoon: Earl Grey & Kumquat Marmalade

-The perfect cure for the busy mind.-

We took down the Christmas tree today, an event that has as much joy as getting your bits waxed. Down came the teddy bear advent calendar I grew up with. The mistletoe - which didn't see nearly enough action - was removed from the foyer. The mantelpiece was de-garlaned. The tree's bobbles and strings were delicately removed and tucked into boxes with a throw-n-go method. The tree itself, a marvelous Martha Stewart fake that could fool even the most scrutinous botanist if not for the lights miraculously growing from its branches, was packed away.

Once stored and shelved for the next eleven months the husband and I went out to the garage for the comfy sack - a large beanbag chair of sorts. It's filled with foam pellets instead of those crappy polyurethane beads that exploded over many a living room in the 80s, and upholstered in a chocolate microsuede cover. Quite fun. Extremely comfortable. I highly recommend it if you want a touch of whimsy in your home.

It was also, apparently, very peed on.

A Simple List: Celery, Almond, Blue Cheese Salad

-The first meal of 2014. Some French blue cheese called Fourme d'Ambert and a bit of fresh celery from the Asian farmers' market in downtown Sacramento.-

I like to wrap up the years on this blog by going through resolutions for the coming year and reflecting on ones that we're about to nail up in the coffin. I usually make a list of resolutions and try to hold myself publicly accountable because, well, someone god damn has to.

However, this year was a rather busy year. There was the hunt, purchase, and complete remodel of the house down to the studs and then building it back up. That consisted of a lot of work with a contractor, hosing down asbestos, hammering in floors, painting every surface, and moving (which, I'm pretty sure is God's way of proving that he's not always going to help so much as sit back and laugh). Not to mention the process had a few extra surprises like having to mug my bank account to buy a new furnace and having homeless people break in and jerk off on the wall. 

Then there was the book. Two and half years of pregnancy defined by a constant craving for carbs and dairy followed by a well-publisized birth defined by excellent reviews and a minor bit of critique. After that, Melt's mother and I paraded him up and down the West Coast like the proud parents we are. Admittedly, he's all grown up and while we love him I feel Melt is like a high school grad: it's time for him to move the fuck out of my house and get a job or go to college. 

Not that we won't support him. We still have more events coming in 2014. Woo!

So what's this year?

Well, I'd like to keep it simple to be honest.