tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77938562012-01-27T13:46:04.293-08:00Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.comBlogger4241100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-7947989225801512672012-01-25T23:30:00.000-08:002012-01-26T09:47:11.616-08:00

First things first: thank you for the well wishes! That cold was a real heavyweight champion, the type that takes you down so hard that, for five or six days, your eyelids never make it above half-mast. I’m so glad that’s behind me. Though I did sneeze twice as I was typing that last sentence.A couple of years ago, not long after we opened Delancey, back in the days when I was still cooking

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com66tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-87155682537560308202012-01-11T22:51:00.000-08:002012-01-12T11:40:56.087-08:00

I am writing to you today with a wool scarf wound around my entire upper body and a wool blanket tied at my waist. I have a cold, and Brandon has a cold, and before that, he had food poisoning. We are a house under siege. That, however, has not prevented me from getting that salted chocolate cookie recipe that you wanted. Nor has it stopped me from eating said salted chocolate cookies. You

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com102tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-15170023920837247842011-12-28T16:34:00.000-08:002011-12-28T17:20:31.277-08:00

Whenever we spend the holidays with my relatives in northern California, we eat Dungeness crab on Christmas Eve. I can’t remember when the tradition was started, but when Brandon and I got together, I introduced him to it. He was still mostly a vegetarian then, and he’d never tasted crab, but he was curious about it - enough to grab a couple of crab legs and, however awkwardly, get himself

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com110tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-80530701220445949562011-12-15T00:16:00.000-08:002011-12-15T00:27:23.263-08:00

About three weeks ago, I printed out all the drafts I’ve written so far for my next book, and then I spent three weeks avoiding reading them. I finally got up the courage on Sunday night. I poured myself a beer, sat down at the dining room table, and read through all of it. Afterward, I wanted to stab myself in the eye. But that didn’t seem like it would make the manuscript any better, so I

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com150tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-67168730682236107352011-12-07T21:36:00.000-08:002012-01-11T17:48:23.181-08:00

My mother is usually the one who makes poached pears. I have a photo of her in an old family album, holding a platter of them. By the length of her hair, I’m guessing that the year was 1982. My father must have snapped the picture as they were leaving for a holiday party. That was the kind of thing he liked to do. She’s standing in the wood-paneled den of the house we lived in until I was 13

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com79tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-43558880228433400332011-11-23T15:01:00.000-08:002011-12-18T18:15:27.015-08:00

Hi. I am writing this from my in-laws’ kitchen. Brandon is out on a bike ride with his dad. THEY’RE BOTH WEARING SPANDEX!!!! It’s a great day to be in New Jersey.Before the holiday sets in, while it’s still relatively quiet in the house, I wanted to share a recipe with you. I should say first that it’s not for Thanksgiving. I know you already have plenty of that. What we have here is

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com103tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-41128897574853259892011-11-13T23:59:00.000-08:002011-11-14T00:01:09.578-08:00

We’ve arrived at the end of my trip. The last walk.The way I remember it, the wind was blowing like mad. I have no idea how these pictures came out looking so peaceful.Christophe and Gemma led the way through Holyrood Park, along the skirt of Arthur’s Seat. Another time, I want to climb to the top. I’ll have to go back.I think I could live in Edinburgh. Next lifetime, maybe.Hope your week is

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com89tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-58292683588253290352011-11-09T16:45:00.000-08:002011-11-13T12:47:52.605-08:00

To those of you who advised me to go to Scotland: YOU WERE SO RIGHT. I get it now.In order to get there, I had to endure a bout of verbal abuse from a disgruntled airline employee whom I will henceforth remember as Psycho EasyJet Guy, but I made it. My friends greeted me in Edinburgh with a bag of Mini Cheddars, and shortly after, there was a homecooked meal and a long sleep on a very

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com77tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-70542323629691123612011-11-03T11:28:00.000-07:002011-11-13T18:47:38.307-08:00

I come from a family that goes to church only on occasional Christmas Eves, but somehow, I have come to love the feeling of being inside a church. I like the high ceilings, the wood and the stone and the gold leaf, and I like them best when they’re empty. There’s no other silence like it. My favorite church is in Paris, and it’s called Saint-Sulpice. I first loved it because my grandmother

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com81tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-21852364391252687732011-10-31T03:42:00.000-07:002011-11-13T18:50:08.833-08:00

I sat down to write this post last night at a kitchen table in Edinburgh. My friend Gemma was making barley soup, and Christophe was at the sink behind me, doing the last dishes from breakfast. If you had told me three weeks ago that I would be in their kitchen last night, I would have looked at you like you’d grown a second head. For once, I like being wrong.We’ve been talking about a feeling

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com63tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-66712585669786583842011-10-24T13:09:00.000-07:002011-11-13T18:52:27.870-08:00

I love the mistakes that come with using film.Often, I like the mistakes more than the shots that turn out. That’s part of why I started shooting film. For the surprises.Whenever I pick up a roll at the lab, it’s like Christmas morning. Of course, it’s sometimes a sad Christmas, like the year when I found two sweatshirts in the box that I was sure contained a Cocker Spaniel puppy. But I’m

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com56tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-37883481791691677912011-10-21T03:08:00.000-07:002011-11-13T18:54:10.141-08:00

Hi, friends.I’m in Paris now.I know I just typed that as though it were nothing, but what I meant was: I’M IN PARIS NOW! That sentence should always be written in all caps, with an exclamation point. I took the train down from London on Wednesday, and I’ve been staying with a friend. From where I’m sitting on the pullout sofa in her living room, I can hear a moped in the square outside and

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com74tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-80721374301441046582011-10-18T09:07:00.000-07:002011-11-13T18:56:36.361-08:00

When I was eighteen, I took my first big trip without my parents, and before I left, my mother suggested that I pack a nice notebook to use as a journal. In my normal life, I’ve never been a journal-keeper, but I took her advice, and for roughly fifteen years now, every time I’ve taken a substantial trip, I’ve kept a record of my days. Sometimes I’m a real champ, and I’ll write down every

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com93tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-48870418048303214572011-10-14T01:25:00.000-07:002011-11-13T18:57:28.913-08:00

Hi, friends.This is not the post I had expected to write next. In my head, there were going to be cheers, an obscene number of exclamation points, and maybe a picture of the evening street outside our apartment in Paris. But due to sad and unforeseen circumstances, our Paris Diary project has been postponed. I don't know how I even managed to type that sentence, because I hardly believe what

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com171tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-66299766488405604872011-10-09T15:42:00.000-07:002011-10-11T16:38:28.123-07:00

I first met my friend Maria in 2005. She had a blog then called port2port - maybe you remember it? - and I can’t remember who found who, but at some point, we started reading each other’s sites. She lives in Portland, Maine, but that fall, she came to Seattle to visit a friend, and we went out for doughnuts and had a drink at the Alibi Room, my favorite bar back then. I was nervous to meet her

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-15082596007143315492011-10-06T21:10:00.000-07:002011-11-09T22:47:51.478-08:00

I was planning to start this post with something about food, because that’s the way these things usually work. But I can’t seem to start much of anything, because this is sitting next to my chair.This is Alice. As of last Friday, she has turned our family of three into a family of four. She is nine months old and weighs about 35 pounds, and though we have no idea what breed she is, we’re

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com142tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-89024778864539770772011-09-26T17:04:00.000-07:002011-09-27T10:40:06.394-07:00

We left our window open last night, and when I woke up today, there was rain on the sill! I am wearing a scarf that I made! Let the hoarding of plums commence!What I thought about saying next was, "The citrus is coming! The citrus is coming!" (In the privacy of my own head, I spout this kind of garbage the way Old Faithful does boiling water.) I decided against it, but during the thirty

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com149tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-496774098645251042011-09-16T18:38:00.000-07:002011-09-16T20:15:21.480-07:00

So, I turned 33 a couple of days ago. And Brandon, who was but a pup of 23 when I met him, turned 30 a few days before that. Thirty! The staff at Delancey wrote BRANDON TURNS OLD TODAY on the chalkboard and spelled out OLD BOSS in alphabet magnets on the ice machine. He told me that he hasn’t thought much about being in his thirties, but I think he secretly likes the idea. I’m on the fence

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com81tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-43423526867904954322011-08-28T12:21:00.000-07:002011-08-29T15:57:48.083-07:00

I am writing to you today from my friend Ben’s dining room. If you’ve been around for a while, you might remember that he used to live in Seattle, where he was like a Kramer to us, but he moved away for a job. Now he’s in Ohio, and for a week, so am I. I needed to get some work done on Book 2, and I missed my friend, so I rolled the two into one and called it a writing retreat. I wasn’t

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com109tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-67251413432049908832011-08-22T15:10:00.000-07:002011-08-22T17:52:25.775-07:00

I’m going to tell it to you straight. When I got to the last step of this recipe and looked at the tower of dirty bowls and saucepans in the sink, I thought, This had damn well better be the best frozen yogurt the universe has ever seen. I’m not sure I would go quite that far. But it’s a very, very, very good frozen yogurt. And I can tell you that it feels especially right when eaten from

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com87tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-3594086257446813172011-08-14T16:45:00.000-07:002011-08-14T18:17:38.415-07:00

So. I think it would be fair to say that your comments on my last post made me very, very happy. It feels much less lonely in here, and I have you to thank for that. More than anything, I just love that we can talk about this kind of stuff. When I first started writing here, more than seven(!) years ago now, I had no idea where this weird blog thing of mine would go. It still surprises me. I’

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com136tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-3876642009533827972011-08-03T21:01:00.000-07:002011-08-04T00:12:46.406-07:00

I’ve been out of town for the past week, helping with preparations for my cousin’s wedding in Oakland, and the whole time I was gone, I had the strangest feeling. It took me a long time to figure out what it was, because I’d never felt it before. Turns out, I missed writing.No offense to my cousin and her new husband. Those people know how to throw a party, the kind that blows out an amp and a

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com228tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-86411188996442088092011-07-17T20:14:00.000-07:002011-07-17T21:19:22.461-07:00

I may be too late for strawberries. I worry about that. But on the off chance that you can still get them where you live, and that they’re still worth eating, I will say: you should try this. And hurry. If it helps to get you out of the chair - because I can see that you’re still sitting there; I have powers - repeat after Melissa Hamilton and Christopher Hirsheimer: “a conserve of soft

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com141tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-72522908857874150652011-07-12T16:33:00.000-07:002011-07-12T23:21:54.792-07:00

I mentioned last week that I had been away at a wedding, Luisa’s wedding, and a number of you wrote that you were eager to see pictures. I felt a little unsure about posting them, to be honest, because it was her wedding day and hers to share, but she says that I can go for it. Here we are.Luisa was one of the first friends I made through blogging. I guess it was about six years ago, give or

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com68tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-25876185951110095922011-07-06T11:59:00.000-07:002011-07-06T14:42:42.089-07:00

I woke up this morning and found the house entirely wrapped in fog. If you stood in front of the window in the kitchen, where I stand to make my coffee, you could watch it blow up the street in gusts - sometimes wisps, sometimes great puffs. I called Brandon over to see it when he woke up, and even half asleep, he managed a moderately enthusiastic WOW, which surprised me. The fog horns were

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com61tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-33969313500896403972011-06-27T10:43:00.000-07:002011-06-27T23:19:17.104-07:00

On a Sunday night in June, you are required, by cosmic law, to make strawberry shortcake. I don’t know if you knew that. I just found out. There’s apparently a similar law for July, only it governs tomato-and-mayonnaise sandwiches. You’ve been warned.Last week, we had two friends visiting from Scotland. Whenever we have visitors, I tend to want to take them to lots of restaurants, because

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com121tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-71037662817201869952011-06-16T17:49:00.000-07:002011-06-16T18:31:37.336-07:00

Let the record show that, I, Molly Wizenberg, have, in this lifetime, made some ugly deviled eggs.Maybe this picture is the better approach.I seem to have come down with some sort of virus, the kind of thing that feels totally out of place in the month of June, that keeps you in your bathrobe, eating mostly toast and canned peaches, for the better part of five days. To be perfectly honest, I can

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com105tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-23535279987721388812011-05-29T20:34:00.000-07:002011-05-29T21:27:13.407-07:00

Listen, I know it’s a holiday weekend. Most of you are probably outside, grilling or picnicking or generally engaged in some form of early-summer eating. In fact, as I type this, I can hear my neighbors on their deck, shaking a bag of charcoal briquettes, talking about Neil Diamond. But what I would like to tell them (aside from, HAVE MERCY! NO NEIL DIAMOND TONIGHT!), and you, too, is this:

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com105tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-84155343565694218132011-05-18T18:48:00.000-07:002011-05-18T18:57:32.119-07:00

This city has taken its sweet time in getting rid of winter, but I am happy to report that, as of this writing, it is 61 degrees and sunny. Actually, what it really is is 61 degrees and S!U!N!N!Y!At last, we have some progress. We ate lunch outside yesterday. Last night, we came out of a restaurant at nearly ten, and there was still a royal blue glow, the last dregs of sunset, along the western

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com99tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-56326052690481028022011-05-10T18:33:00.000-07:002011-05-14T19:32:33.514-07:00

Let’s get it out of the way right now: this egg salad, the one we’re going to talk about today, is not a beautiful egg salad. There will be no sexy pictures of this egg salad. There will not even be vaguely winsome pictures of this egg salad. There will be no pictures at all of this egg salad. But it has other things going for it, like the way it tastes, and if push comes to shove, you can

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com145tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-52119859825967896692011-04-28T18:40:00.000-07:002011-04-28T20:22:44.151-07:00

I think I might have told you about my father’s friend Michael. Sometime in the early ‘90s, Burg was on his way out of the grocery store, and being something of a car buff, he stopped to check out a Citroën in the parking lot. While he stood there with his grocery bags, the owner of the car came along - or maybe the owner was in the car; these details are long gone - and he turned out to be a

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com132tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-18487308592001755952011-04-06T22:33:00.000-07:002011-04-06T23:09:53.318-07:00

Quick! It’s almost Thursday, but if you act fast, you can still have a Week to Remember:Step 1: On your day off, clean the apartment you just moved out of. Don’t forget to grab that last load of laundry from the dryer, the way I almost did. And when you sweep the basement, be sure to accidentally dump the entire contents of the dust pan into the bag of clean laundry from the dryer, the way

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com115tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-80659177703924618292011-04-04T15:56:00.000-07:002011-04-04T15:56:46.882-07:00

I had a recipe post all ready to go for today, and then I woke up this morning and realized that there was something more pressing to say. That book proposal that I was working on a couple of months ago, it did its job. Because of it, I get to write a second book(!!). I’m so excited about it that my eye started twitching uncontrollably this morning, and several hours later, it’s still at it.

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com186tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-55507287074039549082011-03-27T21:41:00.000-07:002011-03-27T21:51:38.982-07:00

We moved last Tuesday. I’m going to repeat that, because it sounds so unlikely, so inadvisable, that I know you might not believe me. I hardly believe me. But we did. We moved. Brandon is starting a second business, and I’m trying to start a second book, so, you know, la la la, let’s move. We’ve had worse ideas, but I can’t think of them right now.This is the last picture taken in our old

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com96tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-71396176150254743812011-03-21T10:42:00.000-07:002011-03-21T10:44:11.297-07:00

Well. World events don’t seem to get any less troubling, so we might as well get back to business. Yes?Last week, I said that I wanted to tell you about a new project, and I still do. It’s a project that grows out of Delancey, but it’s a whole new thing: a business headed up by two of our friends, Brandi Henderson and Olaiya Land. Brandon is technically the third partner, but this baby really

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com175tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-81472187560980877572011-03-13T22:13:00.000-07:002011-03-13T22:21:07.906-07:00

I had wanted to tell you on Friday about a new project we’re working on.(It is NOT a baby.) (I know the way you think.)But then there was an earthquake, and a tsunami, and I think it’s fair to say that there are more important things to talk about right now. I found out tonight that the mother of one of our friends lost her home, and that her village has been destroyed. It’s hard to talk, or

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-82214957346071546132011-03-04T00:53:00.000-08:002011-03-04T01:33:28.214-08:00

Lately we’ve had a lot of friends passing through, lots of changes of sheets on the guest bed. Sam has been around a bit. Ben, our friend who moved here a couple of years ago but was quickly wooed away by work, is doing a short-term gig nearby and comes around on his days off. And Ryan, who also lived here briefly and was wooed away, is flying in tonight for a visit. The bourbon in the bottle

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com121tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-83650334024397948612011-02-20T23:29:00.000-08:002011-02-21T00:15:19.631-08:00

In the days since we last spoke, I’ve flown to Oklahoma and back. I’ve introduced my mother to 24. I’ve made Cafe Lago meatballs with my mother, braised a pan of endive and serrano ham with my mother, and put away a couple of Negronis, also with my mother. I’ve baked a coffee cake using a tin of baking powder from my mother’s cabinet that, you know, it turns out, expired in 2006. I’ve thrown

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-69230816129726791882011-02-06T23:30:00.000-08:002011-02-06T23:44:39.021-08:00

Good people! Here it is, by popular demand: my new friend Aperol. Your new friend Aperol. Our soon-to-be old friend Aperol, a most cooperative portrait subject.I first tasted Aperol last November, when Brandon and I spent the weekend after Thanksgiving at a friend’s apartment in Brooklyn. We were wandering around that Saturday, I think, content to have no plans and no restaurant to run, and

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com103tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-38007733544739277852011-01-30T17:20:00.000-08:002011-01-30T18:34:09.597-08:00

Greetings from Book Proposal Land.I lied. That isn’t really what Book Proposal Land looks like. Not in the winter, anyway.(Only in the summer, from a ferry.)It’s quiet here. The nightlife isn’t much to write home about.Socks and slippers, mostly.There’s not a lot of sensible eating here in Book Proposal Land. Almost no vegetables.Just pancakes and coffee. Cereal. Girl Talk. Some John

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com56tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-26778861223693812042011-01-24T00:20:00.000-08:002011-01-24T00:27:25.126-08:00

Well. The good news is that I’m making headway in my book proposal. I was working on it at a cafe on Saturday afternoon, and I could actually see it taking shape, right there in front of me. I love that feeling. I was absolutely elated. I lost all sense of time. I was in it up to my eyebrows. And I must have looked it, too, because as I was packing up to leave, the girl sitting next to me

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-83832841996376745952011-01-15T22:56:00.000-08:002011-01-16T10:42:20.724-08:00

Okay. This year, I’ve decided, is going to be the year of The Breakfast Book. I’m allergic to resolutions, so let’s not use that word. Let’s just say that if I do nothing else in 2011, I would like to spend more time with one of the worthiest books on my shelf, one that has never done me wrong, one authored by she of the famous yeasted waffle, the esteemed Ms. Marion Cunningham. There is no

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com181tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-41380497686442321322011-01-08T18:39:00.000-08:002011-01-09T16:12:19.692-08:00

2010 didn’t exit quietly, and the last month of it was a royal mess. But my aunt is okay now - even heading back to work! The rewards of health! - and for that, we’re relieved. I’m home again and excited for a new year, for the return of plain, normal, everyday life. I love plain, normal, everyday life. The laundry, the occasional clean sheets, the morning coffee that I never brew right, the

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com140tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-33624951914077448912010-12-19T00:48:00.000-08:002010-12-19T01:03:49.570-08:00

My family is not having the Christmas that you hear about in carols and television specials. I am typing this from California, where we were supposed to arrive next Tuesday for the holiday festivities, but instead I flew down six days early to help take care of my aunt, who is in the hospital. My mother is here, too, and my aunt’s two daughters, my cousins. My aunt came down with an acute

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com158tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-29170222240260536852010-12-04T01:20:00.000-08:002010-12-04T01:30:10.742-08:00

November was nice, but what happened to it? Hi.Our visit to the East Coast was good and long and involved a lot of sleeping and pizza research, the common themes of our days off since Delancey came along. I wrote a story about stuffing for this fine newspaper - you know that it’s not just for Thanksgiving, right? You can eat stuffing whenever you want - and now I’m working on a story for this

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com143tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-833482097928749912010-11-19T23:47:00.000-08:002010-11-20T00:09:52.551-08:00

I should begin with a confession: I’m not in Thanksgiving mode yet. Who knows. It’s weird. This holiday sort of sneaks up, I’ve noticed, and then it’s quickly eclipsed by Christmas, which is sad, since Thanksgiving is our only national holiday devoted wholly to eating. This year, we’re heading to New Jersey to visit family, and I will almost certainly make cranberry chutney and probably a

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com119tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-50973691041313558012010-11-05T22:10:00.000-07:002010-11-07T19:16:40.767-08:00

I know this cookie looks wholesome. Actually, I’ll raise you one and say that it verges on homely. But this cookie speaks to me, and what it says is, Hey, baaaabe-eh. In this voice.Meet Kim Boyce’s whole wheat chocolate chip cookie. This might be my favorite chocolate chip cookie, which is an absolutely insane thing to say, because until about a week ago, I thought that title belonged, forever

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com189tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-48291582070920248212010-10-25T18:25:00.000-07:002010-10-25T19:54:44.180-07:00

A year or so ago, when we opened Delancey, I thought our lives were over and we would never see our friends again. Now that I type that out, it sounds like I was channeling Chicken Little, but my thinking wasn’t without reason: in the restaurant business, you work when other people play, and that complicates almost everything. But as it turns out, our friends are more flexible than I had given

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com90tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-89601625690266010332010-10-14T16:58:00.000-07:002010-10-14T17:14:23.769-07:00

I have two half brothers who live on the East Coast, and when I was a kid, if they came home for the holidays, they would bring a Styrofoam cooler of oysters. My father would get out his knife and shucking glove and lean against the kitchen counter, flicking grit and shells into the sink as he went, and they would all stand around, eating and sighing, making the noises that people make when they

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com143tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-30948027624034729842010-10-07T00:53:00.000-07:002010-11-03T20:26:11.335-07:00

I took this picture on an excellent afternoon.It was a Saturday. I had just met a deadline that I had been dreading. I was immensely relieved. Two of our best friends were in town for a visit, two friends who moved here a couple of years ago and became sort of like family, but then they found jobs and gigs in other cities, so they moved away. But they were in town on this particular day, and

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com112tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-21979270750561787812010-09-30T00:09:00.000-07:002010-09-30T09:36:59.029-07:00

That was not the week I planned to have. Whoa.A week ago yesterday, I went to bed like I do every night. I read “Shouts & Murmurs” in the New Yorker and wondered, as usual, why it wasn’t very funny. I set my glasses on top of the stack of books on my bedside table and then retrieved them when they fell, as usual, and slid behind the table. I felt pretty normal - which is to say, I didn’t feel

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com132tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-31518389544476228242010-09-18T19:59:00.000-07:002010-09-18T20:55:38.939-07:00

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about words, and about the way we tell stories. Today, I wanted to share some of the things that have been making me think.I started listening to Radiolab as a way to pass the time while I walk the dog, because he needs a lot of walking, and now I listen because I’m crazy for it. It’s part science, part philosophy, and part sound editing wizardry, but mostly,

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com64tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-29795590409285590612010-09-11T16:12:00.000-07:002010-09-13T19:58:35.062-07:00

Somewhere, a woman named Corentine is serving leeks vinaigrette for dinner. It’s been ten years, but I know it.Corentine was my host mother in Paris, the year that I was 21 and studying abroad. She had the most magnificent name I had ever heard and something a little Jane Birkin, just a little, about her looks. Whenever someone asks me how I learned to cook or how I got into food, I usually

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com118tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-41032887608109786652010-09-04T17:04:00.000-07:002010-09-08T23:49:52.477-07:00

Labor Day sneaked up on us.We fell asleep last night with the windows open, and this morning, there was a chill in the house. I know I’m not supposed to say it, but I think something is changing.When I think about this summer, these are the pictures I want to think about. They’re what this summer felt like.I’ve taken a lot of ferry rides.I’ve eaten a lot of melon. I’ve eaten a lot of

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com96tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-88742795823377189562010-08-27T00:49:00.000-07:002010-08-27T08:26:23.859-07:00

I can’t believe we haven’t talked about berry cobbler yet. August 27, and we haven’t talked about berry cobbler. I’ve got to fix that.For a long time, I didn’t get terribly excited about cobbler. I think you’re either a cobbler person or a crisp person, the same way that you’re either a cake person or a pie person. My mother is a crisp person, and that’s what I grew up eating. I can be swayed

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com117tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-87616357601026576072010-08-12T17:51:00.000-07:002010-08-13T01:37:02.382-07:00

Delancey is one year old today.I took that picture, the one above, 16 months ago. Brandon had bought a 30-quart Hobart mixer a few months earlier, and we’d been storing it in our friend Carla’s basement. Our friend Sam named it Sir Mix-a-Lot. That morning, the morning that I took the picture, we had rented a big truck, wrestled Sir Mix-a-Lot into the back, strapped him in, and hauled him to

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com180tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-2183359642427548292010-08-06T00:30:00.000-07:002010-08-06T01:01:39.145-07:00

Thank you for the many cheers and kind words about our anniversaries. You are so good to us! We went to Bellingham to celebrate over the weekend - which, in our world, means Monday and Tuesday, the days when Delancey is closed - and I regret to report that the dinosaur graffiti has been painted over. There’s a cafe there, and they put in some outdoor seating, so I guess they wanted to

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com134tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-45994960380011854632010-07-29T21:41:00.000-07:002010-07-29T22:05:26.128-07:00

This is my favorite photograph from our wedding. Look at those crazy kids!Taking a romantic stroll in the alley behind someone’s apartment building! Blissing out beside the dumpsters! Oblivious to the wonky dinosaur graffiti! It was July 29, 2007, three years ago today, and we were on our way to get married. We had no idea what we might do with ourselves, or who we might become, but we had

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com160tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-49539210260623104452010-07-23T14:00:00.000-07:002010-07-23T17:02:47.938-07:00

I hope you know that I take my job seriously. A number of you asked for a Pimm’s Cup recipe, so I’ve been drinking a lot of it. Just for you.That’s Brandon’s hand there, and actually, he’s holding a gin and tonic, but it doesn’t matter. The gesture is what counts. Long live Pimm’s Cup! Cheers!I first tasted Pimm’s in its native city of London, where it came to the table in a pitcher, mixed with

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com110tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-89833668953592053062010-07-12T00:14:00.000-07:002010-07-13T11:27:08.969-07:00

Summer is not messing around. Not only did it arrive right on time, on July 5, but the thermometer hit 94°F only three short days later. I know 94°F sounds like nothing to those of you melting along the Eastern Seaboard, or in Berlin, but when you consider the fact that my city spent the 4th of July in wool sweaters and knit tights and rain gear, it’s hot. I celebrated by making iced coffee.

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com137tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-83089179518109458852010-07-04T11:52:00.000-07:002010-07-04T11:54:09.738-07:00

They say that in Seattle, summer doesn’t start until July 5, and they are not joking. Look at this! Look at it! And then compare it to the past month! I like the 4th of July, but HURRY UP, JULY 5TH.(I should note that, in my exuberance, I accidentally mistyped the above as “HOORAY UP, JULY 5TH,” which I can only assume is the compound of “hooray” and “giddyup” and is also, coincidentally, an

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-33206277434328440412010-07-02T00:36:00.000-07:002010-07-22T15:32:26.909-07:00

I’ve been wanting to put up a new post for ten days, but I haven’t, because I don’t have a recipe to share. I’ve spent a lot of time worrying, watching the clock do its tick tock tick tock thing, and feeling pretty terrible about it. If you have a blog, you will know what I mean: this stuff is fun, but it comes with a lot of pressure. For a long time - six years on July 29th - this blog has

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com202tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-10888820598626030202010-06-14T18:58:00.000-07:002010-06-14T19:20:28.547-07:00

I’m not exactly sure how to broach this topic, so I’m going to cut right to the chase. Fennel ice cream.I had fennel ice cream for the first time almost a month ago, and I’m still thinking about it. I used to only get this way about things involving chocolate, but apparently I’m growing up, or getting weirder. Either way, I take it as a positive development.If you’ve been reading here for a

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com165tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-85456017420917903162010-05-27T15:06:00.000-07:002010-05-28T00:35:01.299-07:00

Last weekend, over the course of 24 hours, I ate almost a pound of peas. I’ve done crazier things in my life, but not many.I would like to tell you that I bought my peas at the farmers’ market, and that I shucked each one by hand, and that it was a true, starry-eyed labor of love, pod after pod after pod after pod, because it’s spring, and people are supposed to eat fresh peas in spring. But I

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com149tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-37443411895051595292010-05-17T17:34:00.000-07:002010-05-17T17:42:02.095-07:00

World, we have a winning waffle.You people are outstanding. You really know your waffles. Thank you. I should ask you for advice more often, because together, you’re absolutely unstoppable. I’m pretty sure that, given a day or two, you could solve any problem, and if I may, I would like to suggest that you start with my pet conundrum: how to make potatoes come out of the ground already fried

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com179tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-82345477927973579212010-05-10T16:29:00.000-07:002010-05-11T00:10:41.327-07:00

Hi.I wanted to say a quick couple of things.First, a last-minute reminder for my neighbors in Ballard and the other good people of Seattle and the surrounding area: I’m giving a talk and reading tonight, May 10, at the Ballard Library. It’s free and open to the public, and it starts at 6:30 pm. (In case you’re confused, not to worry: this is the event that was originally scheduled for April 18

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com218tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-70417004846573392022010-05-01T23:13:00.000-07:002010-05-01T23:31:48.469-07:00

Well. That was not at all what I planned for the month of April.So long, April. So long, plans.I want to get this show back on the road. I’ve missed being here, and I’ve missed you. But before we go any further, I want to offer a long overdue thank you to those who came to my readings last month. I thought I had a great time on my first tour, but somehow, I had an even better time this year,

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com199tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-32125476568664978372010-04-14T19:15:00.000-07:002010-04-14T19:18:20.797-07:00

Hi, all.This note is to say that I’ve had to postpone my reading this Sunday, April 18, at the Ballard Library in Seattle, and that I’m going to be away from this space a few days longer than I expected. My grandmother is not doing well, and I’m making an emergency trip to Oklahoma to be with my family.You would have liked my grandmother. She was a devotee of rare roast beef sandwiches and red

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com150tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-66824615911643978202010-03-29T00:25:00.000-07:002010-03-29T01:01:41.375-07:00

I am reliably fickle about rhubarb recipes. Every spring, I think, I am destined to fall for a different one. At this point in my life, if all goes well and life expectancy charts are accurate, I probably have about fifty springs left, which means fifty more rhubarb recipes to love. The fifty springs part is sort of depressing, but on the upside, it’s really quite a lot of rhubarb. I’m

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com173tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-82162461461737445572010-03-21T11:30:00.000-07:002010-04-14T19:07:10.473-07:00

I don’t know how this could be possible, but according to the calendar, it’s been a year since my book first came out, a whole entire year that went by in what I could swear was only 45 minutes. And today, though I do sort of want that year back, I’m happy to report that the paperback edition has just been released. It’s leaner, it’s meaner: it’s the same book, but cheaper! I dare you to say

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com187tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-57848103718265154682010-03-18T01:25:00.000-07:002010-03-19T12:51:10.096-07:00

Well, would you look at that! Yesterday was Saint Patrick’s Day, and how fitting, I’m writing about scones! Which are Irish, of course - and, well, also Scottish, and English, and generally British, but anyway, they’re Thatapproximatepartoftheworldish, at least. I should quit while I’m ahead.When I was growing up, my elementary school was near a health food store called the Earth. It was not a

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com115tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-23481778171742844802010-03-06T15:55:00.000-08:002010-03-06T18:41:07.101-08:00

I have been, for quite some time, intimidated by polenta. I don’t like saying that out loud, because it makes me sound like a total cream puff, but in the spirit of keeping it real, I’m saying it. I’m willing to own it. I will also say, however, that as of a few days ago, I am not intimidated by polenta anymore. And I have Judy Rodgers to thank for that.I don’t know where it got its start,

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com192tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-16065670015888241282010-02-14T01:53:00.000-08:002010-02-14T02:05:37.920-08:00

About a million years ago, by which I mean last Thanksgiving, I mentioned on Twitter that my cousins had made an olive oil cake for our mothers’ birthday dinner. Our mothers are identical twins, born in the third week of November, which means that our family’s Thanksgiving comes with an extra bonus meal: The Twins’ Birthday. Anyway, I mentioned this cake, and someone - maybe one of you reading

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com210tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-88774677389904698742010-01-25T22:11:00.000-08:002010-01-25T22:39:01.684-08:00

I am bad at weekend mornings. I hear that some people, maybe even a lot of people, have weekend mornings that involve a hot breakfast, hot coffee, the Sunday Times, and hours that pass slowly, quietly, as though on tiptoe, but I am not familiar with that kind of weekend morning. I like mornings a lot, but I am not good at planned relaxation, and I married someone who is similarly impaired. We

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com268tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-68614140349704257742010-01-14T00:20:00.000-08:002010-01-14T00:44:46.777-08:00

I have many important things to tell you.1. I’m doing a podcast! I intended to tell you about this a week ago, but there’s been an illness in my family, and I’ve been away, and it hasn’t been a lot of fun, so, you know, let’s talk about that podcast. It’s called Spilled Milk, and I co-host it with my friend Matthew Amster-Burton. Every time we record an episode, Matthew makes me laugh until I

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com169tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-27416854309751271732009-12-25T15:52:00.000-08:002009-12-25T15:57:51.680-08:00

The three of us wanted to give you something nice. Unfortunately, all I have is this picture. But mainly, we wanted to say thank you. You’ve given us so much. This year was a big one, and we couldn’t have done any of it - no book, no restaurant, nothing - without you. Thank you for being here, for being there, for every kindness. Thank you for giving us so many reasons to celebrate.See you in

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com136tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-90436987078163112182009-12-12T23:27:00.000-08:002009-12-17T09:29:45.826-08:00

I have wanted this caramel corn recipe for a very long time.Which is weird, because I am not, in general, a caramel corn person. No matter where it comes from, it’s usually a little sticky, a little cloying, a little heavy, a little stale. But I’m crazy about this caramel corn. I saw Twilight for the first time last weekend, and basically, I am to this caramel corn as Edward Cullen is to Bella

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com248tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-68862619045135195852009-11-29T23:53:00.000-08:002009-11-30T00:08:48.003-08:00

Well. It’s hard to know where to start. I’m tempted to jump right in, to say that you should hurry up and put a pot on the stove and make the pasta recipe below and let’s get back to business, shall we?, but that doesn’t seem right. First, I need to thank you. I had no idea that Delancey would swallow me up like that, and I need to thank you for being so patient, so supportive, so good to me.

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com271tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-88892424767305042462009-10-20T15:49:00.000-07:002009-10-20T16:37:48.537-07:00

This morning, someone pointed out to me that it has been a month, exactly a month, a whole month, since I last posted here. I nearly choked.The truth is, I’ve been having a hard time. Nothing around here looks the same as it did, pre-restaurant, and to be perfectly honest, though I like this new life, I also miss the old one. There’s no point in trying to hide it. I’ve been dealing with a lot

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com268tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-75403654081718430472009-09-20T14:37:00.000-07:002009-09-20T14:40:35.800-07:00

So, I wasn’t kidding about the black hole. But I’m sorry to have been gone from here for so long. I’ve missed you.Delancey is getting easier. As of two weeks ago, we now have a prep cook to work in the mornings, which means that instead of going in at 9 am to receive the first deliveries, Brandon can now go in around 11 am, and I go in sometime between noon and 2 pm, depending on the day’s

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com212tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-40546420378623415892009-08-24T21:02:00.000-07:002009-08-24T21:17:17.239-07:00

Well, the bad news is that I seem to have fallen into a black hole called Delancey.But the good news is that we’re open. And that Brandon and I are still alive! And that somehow, people are coming to our little restaurant! And, get this: I actually managed to take a picture of one of the pizzas. Wonder of wonders! I can die happy now. No, really, right now. I’m tired.This particular pizza

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com267tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-15142807572614136522009-08-12T09:21:00.000-07:002009-08-12T09:21:24.324-07:00

It’s very peaceful at Delancey right now. I’m going to try to remember what this feels like.Wait. Is the art in this photo crooked, or is it just me? Maybe my eyes are crooked. Anything is possible. Delancey opens tonight at five.There’s no signage outside the building yet, but that’ll be fixed soon. It’s at the top of our to-do list. In the meantime, for those of you in the Seattle area,

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com228tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-30407667015370588322009-08-04T23:35:00.000-07:002009-08-04T23:37:16.289-07:00

I meant to post this last Friday. You can see how well I did with that.I also meant to take a picture of some pizza, since that’s what this whole business is about, but that didn’t work out either. The cook we hired to help Brandon with the pizzas didn’t show up for his first official day of work - the day before our first pre-opening dinner - which has left only Brandon and me in the kitchen.

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com148tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-28765471766117802392009-07-29T01:01:00.000-07:002009-07-29T02:15:23.558-07:00

So, Delancey is opening its doors on Wednesday, August 12, at 5:00 pm. I’m a little short on words to describe how I feel about that, but maybe this picture will give you some idea.Brandon feels pretty much the same, I think. Maybe with a touch of queasy on top. Or maybe I’m just projecting. Hard to say.Nah, actually, we’re very, very excited. This is the part that we’ve been waiting for. It’s

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com166tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-2824831540029992042009-07-21T20:40:00.000-07:002009-07-21T21:05:58.210-07:00

I am pleased to report that we are finally approaching the part of this restaurant thing when we actually get to cook. It’s kind of amazing.The construction is essentially done. There are some details left to complete, like installing acoustic paneling (to cut down on noise), hanging art and mirrors, and setting up the computer system, but we’re very close. Two of our construction workers - I’

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com126tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-71582793713257139712009-07-20T19:03:00.000-07:002009-07-20T23:46:44.397-07:00

I’ve got to hand it to you people. You really know how to welcome a girl back. Thank you.I have so many things to tell you about, but sitting down to do it is not so easy. Last week was a blur of pizza-testing, potential staff-interviewing, convection-oven buying, and kitchen-rearranging, and then on Saturday evening, just as we were rounding up a long day of errands, Brandon gashed the side of

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com116tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-76136976820431554412009-07-13T18:58:00.000-07:002009-07-13T19:06:58.373-07:00

Well. That took a little longer than I expected. Thank you for hanging in there, and even more, for being so understanding. I missed you all, and I missed being here.I was having a pretty rough time a couple of months ago. You could probably see it more clearly, actually, than I could. I have never, ever, done something as consuming as this opening-a-restaurant business. Even writing a book

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com295tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-88680563265229183772009-05-18T21:06:00.000-07:002009-05-18T21:30:23.236-07:00

It feels uncomfortable for me to write this, since it’s not exactly good news, but here goes: I need to take some time away from this site.As you’ve probably noticed, I’ve been struggling a bit here in recent weeks, trying to keep this blog sailing along at her usual clip, and it’s not working very well. Between helping Brandon with Delancey and meeting my own work deadlines, I’ve been stretched

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com241tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-90755346879161963752009-05-11T19:23:00.000-07:002009-05-11T19:40:35.826-07:00

A few evenings ago, I felt very uninspired about making dinner. This has been happening a lot lately, far more than I should probably admit, as someone who is supposedly crazy about cooking. I could attribute it to lots of causes, but I think these things go in cycles for all of us, these urges to cook or not cook, and no matter our individual circumstances, it’s only sane to acknowledge that.

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com175tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-63320649754803564902009-05-05T23:46:00.000-07:002009-05-06T11:28:59.954-07:00

About five years ago, I think it was, I went out to dinner with my friend Keaton and ate something called sauce gribiche. I had never heard of it before, but it was a kind of coarse vinaigrette, with chopped cornichons and capers and hard-boiled eggs, and it was served over asparagus. I don’t know why I remember it so clearly, aside from the fact that I dripped some of it onto my pants, but

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com92tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-71697188907643635132009-04-27T23:57:00.000-07:002009-04-28T00:39:50.671-07:00

Today, I thought it would be nice to talk about cake.Actually, that’s a lie. Today, I thought it would be nice to eat cake. That’s all. Anything else is completely optional. I’m easy to please, as long as there is cake around.Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about cake. This is not an unusual condition for me, but it happens particularly often when I’m feeling frazzled or tired or harried, right

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com131tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-42992188854870365032009-04-21T00:32:00.000-07:002009-04-21T01:08:59.295-07:00

Restaurant-wise, we are entering what I call Crackdown Mode. That sounds sort of scary, I realize, as though it might involve body armor and high-tech weaponry, but what it actually means is even scarier. It means that this restaurant, this Delancey thing, is now a full-time job. Not just for Brandon, but for me, too.It feels good. It feels good to be caught up in its momentum, pulled along by

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com129tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-71705084179783997152009-04-14T10:51:00.000-07:002009-04-14T11:38:49.974-07:00

As I type this, it is cloudy again, and cold. The weather today leaves much to be desired. Such as some sunlight, for starters, and warmth, and caramelized onions. Right now, I really, really desire caramelized onions.I know that this picture doesn’t seem to have much to do with onions, nor does it even seem appetizing, I imagine, but bear with me for a second. What you see there is my new ideal

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com120tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-51839119641893087832009-04-07T22:08:00.000-07:002009-04-12T09:11:39.917-07:00

I have to tell you something sort of unpleasant today, but somehow, I don’t think you’re going to be surprised: I have not been doing much cooking lately.I was hoping to be able to avoid the topic, but I can’t. There is a lot going on over here, and you can see it as clearly as I can, so there’s no point in trying to fool anyone. The truth is, for the past week, we’ve been living on a pot of

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-85222383229282825182009-03-30T23:19:00.000-07:002009-03-31T00:19:48.485-07:00

We are long overdue, I think, for a Restaurant Day. So much so, actually, that I’m not sure where to start. But I guess the front door is as good a place as any.I know I haven’t mentioned it around here much lately, but The Thing That Will One Day Be Delancey marches on, slowly but surely. With emphasis, I guess I should say, on the slowly part. We are doing this on a very slim budget, which

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com111tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-52177956654290283542009-03-23T19:35:00.000-07:002009-03-23T19:36:47.311-07:00

I’m not sure what to say today. Pretty much the only thing that comes to mind is whoa. And wow. And thank you.Actually, it’s more like THANK YOU. With lots of !!!!! at the end. Just to be perfectly clear.I don’t have much to show for the past ten days, I have to admit. I took a couple of cameras on the road with me, but somehow, I only brought them out when I was in transit, in the subway

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com141tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-9128874356875036912009-03-09T15:04:00.000-07:002009-03-13T06:23:41.787-07:00

[Update: New Yorkers, please see below for information about a second event - just added! - at Idlewild Books on March 19.]Hi, all.I can’t stay for long today, but I had to stop in for a minute. I just had to thank you for all of your hugely kind comments and e-mails about the book. I’m not so good at replying right now, but please know that I read every one, and that you have made my day many

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com168tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-53946763283194856012009-03-02T17:51:00.000-08:002009-03-04T09:23:03.364-08:00

I would like to sit down here today and write as though everything were normal, as though I were actually capable of forming complete sentences. But the truth is, I am an absolute maniac. Tomorrow is the official release date for my book, a day that I never really trusted would come, and I feel alternately so ecstatic and so freaked out that I can’t decide whether I need to run around the block

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com185tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-29083118357638579672009-02-24T18:46:00.000-08:002009-02-24T23:46:18.222-08:00

I have a confession to make. It probably seems like I live and breathe to cook, right? It probably seems like I never get tired of stirring and whisking and chopping, like I go to sleep at night spooning the refrigerator and wake up each morning to find a skillet under my pillow and a rainbow arcing gently, benevolently, over the stove. But the truth is, there are many days when I would rather

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com152tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7793856.post-74104769574559387612009-02-17T00:42:00.000-08:002011-12-28T11:15:00.514-08:00

On Saturday night, we covered the table with newspaper, dumped out a pile of Dungeness crabs, and made a first-rate mess.My mother was in town for the long weekend. She’s a champion crab-leg sucker, so to celebrate her visit, we bought three large crabs, cracked and cleaned, and Ben came over, and Brandon put some Django Reinhardt on the stereo, and after a few minutes, the wine bottle was

Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01493708300940204826noreply@blogger.com127