I attempted to read A Year of Magical Thinking this summer, but knowing I am living a similar reality—trying to make sense of something for which there is no logic, made it to hard to turn past page three. What did stick with me in those first few pages, though, is Joan Didion's comment that every tragic story starts with "it was a clear blue sky"...I may be paraphrasing that somewhat, but you get what I mean. And good heavens, why is that always true? It was supposed to be a rainy, gloomy day that Sunday last August. Instead the... Continue reading

I've been intrigued by Lillet ever since Heidi posted this recipe. I've yet to try those buttermilk milkshakes, but did finally buy a bottle of Lillet a few months ago. I tried it both straight up, well-chilled of course, and as a spritzer with a twist of lime and seltzer—my lasting impression being that Lillet was not my thing. That changed last night, along with my mood, which heaven knows needed some tinkering with these last few days. I've been feeling "off" lately, like a balloon floating across an open sky, bouncing wherever the wind fancies. Try as I might,... Continue reading

I've learned a lot about myself this summer. Some lessons were really just reminders of the "me" that fell into a deep slumber last August 7th, and about embracing my own fearlessness. I've never been afraid to take chances, yet when faced with the responsibility of raising my girls all alone, being the sole decision maker—well, that is simultaneously overwhelming and terrifying. One of the early conversations Mikey and I had when we met was about parenting. We talked about the immense responsibility that comes with rearing little human beings that will contribute positively to the world as a whole.... Continue reading

This is my seventeenth summer going to Cape Cod. Michael first took me just a few months after we started dating in August of 1995. I was a kid back then, just 21 years old, but still remember that summer so vividly. The 300 mile drive in his little red Toyota Celica, and the box of cassette tapes he used to pack for road trips. It was the first time I'd heard Cracker, and found myself singing Movie Star again all these years later as I made the drive out here last week. I still keep the Best of Van... Continue reading

When Isabella was in pre-K she sang This Little Light of Mine at her winter recital. She would practice the song over and over again at home, and every time it would end with me in tears. Mikey used to laugh, in a very loving, teasing way, for how freely my tears flowed at school performances because I'm generally a tough Brooklyn gal. Tonight that song popped into my head while I was cleaning the dinner dishes. The line "no one's gonna blow it out" hit a particular chord every time Isabella used to sing it. I saw my job... Continue reading

Our first gaze… our first date… our first kiss, which we thought would be… the beginning of forever. But life, and time, got interrupted. In a single moment, the firsts went from exciting… to excrutiating. The first day of third grade without you. The first wedding anniversary, filled with loneliness instead of laughter. Eventually the firsts become too many to count. And that’s what no one realizes— there will always be a first. Her first day of pre-k, losing her first tooth. Her elementary school graduation. And then the really big firsts— their first boyfriend, their first kiss, their first... Continue reading

My head feels like Dorothy's house as it's swirling into the eye of the tornado. This is what New York City does to me. It divides my heart from my mind. This is something I was beginning to realize even before Michael died. In six days it has slowly undone the careful stitches Paris wove into place. For a few weeks my fractured life felt whole again. Going to a new city, embracing a new culture and way of life, gave special meaning to learning a new kind of normal. Some people may see this as wanting to escape from... Continue reading

Paris and I have become fast friends. I say that with a bit of a heavy heart knowing I will have to say goodbye to her two weeks from today. Funny how when I arrived two weeks ago, I wondered if this trip was a mistake. It took me a week to find my footing, and understand that even if I was a stranger in a different country, I was still the same person lurking within my own skin. As I write and watch the rain pour from the sky, the weather mimicks the tears yearning to come out. The... Continue reading

A big part of being in a healthy relationship is learning to say two things: 1) I'm sorry and 2) I was wrong. They're all but five words when combined, but the inherent feelings of inadequacy that are intertwined with admitting them makes them difficult to utter. In a good relationship, where trust and love is both solid and reciprocated, there is no fear in saying them. But what about the solitary relationship we share with ourselves? There is no one to hug us when we admit them, or to make a joke and break the tension of the moment.... Continue reading

I'm listening to the clock tick as I gaze out the kitchen window. I remember the day I found it in a shop in Soho back in 1999 when I started my personal chef business. I put those plans in motion while still working my day job as a video producer—yes, I've had a few careers in my short lifetime. While taking a stroll during my lunch break, hanging right there on the wall of a store who's name I can't recall but is now long gone, was a clock that read Time to Eat, the same name as my... Continue reading

I'm staring at the screen not knowing what I want to write, yet here I am letting the words free fall from my mind to the page. Something happended on day 313, actually it's been slowly unfolding and today it came full circle. I don't look for signs, yet they seem to find me when I least expect them. Last Thursday morning, I went downstairs to the kitchen and watched the sunrise over the buildings in the backyard. It feels like I've found my groove again, at least in my morning routines. Before Mikey passed away I'd rise before the... Continue reading

carrot fennel soup, coming to a cookbook near you in 2013. I should not be here right now. I don't mean the "being here" as in the bigger philosophical question of life. I mean really, there's a book, a manuscript due today. So far there have been 93 pages written. Over 100 recipes tested, written and edited, with a lot more to come. 30,074 words have been strung together so far, in a coherent manner I hope, to form a cookbook. There is still more to be done, but I found myself here this morning, watching and waiting. I woke... Continue reading

The weather in NYC has been abysmal the last few weeks. Not good for someone who often jokes she operates on solar energy. When I woke up to sunshine streaming in through the crack in the curtains I knew it would be a farmers' market day. Wednesdays and Saturdays are my favorites for going to Union Square because it's bursting with the most farm stands. I had no business going today with my manuscript due the end of next week, but it's where my heart needed to be. Eating is a common way to cope with deep sadness, but whenever... Continue reading

The sucker punch came when I turned the blue card over. The blue card is for the kids' school and lists all their vital information for the school's records. It felt wrong to leave his name blank, so I scribbled it in and wrote "deceased" in parantheses. Then I turned the card over, and my body deflated as I stared at the blank spaces that needed filling in for the emergency contact. A numbness settled into my heart at the reality, yet again, that my emergency contact is gone forever. That one person who always picks up the phone when... Continue reading

The New York Times was sitting outside my front door. I could've gotten lost in the Book Review or drawn mustaches on the wedding announcements in the Style section, but the envelope sitting on the floor of my bedroom closet throbbed loudly in the recesses of my mind. Instead, I started this past Sunday morning off by re-reading the autopsy report. I took it out and tried to absorb it again. Understand it. Sundays are one big sleepwalk around here. I spend most of the day just wishing it would go away. I knew this Sunday would be particularly tough... Continue reading

This morning I hopped the subway after dropping the kids off at school to do the unthinkable. I bought understudy cupcakes for Virginia's birthday party tomorrow. I've been beating myself up all week about it. So many milestones have transpired the last 270 days. The first Cape Cod trip. My birthday. Our anniversary. Thanksgiving. Christmas. A new calendar year. His birthday. But their birthdays—that's a hurdle I don't know how to face. The girls turn four and nine next Friday. The celebrations begin tomorrow with Virginia's party. Rather than host a huge shindig at our place, as I usually do,... Continue reading

Yes, I'm counting the days again. Panic set in last week, and I'm back to playing that number game. Soon it will be nine months. I know—it made me gasp for breathe too. It seems inconceivable. I find myself staring at his pictures lately, recalling memories, and they seem to have this blurry haze around them. I look at our wedding photo, and think "gee, that girl looks really happy". And yet that girl used to be me. I used to polish my nails sheer white. Now I choose brooding, dark shades of bing cherry. I used to enjoy writing... Continue reading

This is the recipe I intended to share before writing the last post—the one I literally published 30 seconds before sprinting into this one. My life has odd intersections these days, and while food is the driving force, the thoughts I often want to share don't fit neatly into a recipe. This avocado bruschetta was so amazing it deserved its own spotlight, hence two posts in one day, after a dry spell for two weeks. I must admit, it's not even really a recipe because I'm not writing it out. Grab a pen and paper, and add these items to... Continue reading

I started out en route to the farmers' market yesterday. The weather forecast was grim, with threats of rain, yet I was blessed with a face full of sunshine as I made my way to the subway. Instead of heading right to Union Square, I took a detour for what Mikey's best friend told me was an amazing cup of coffee. David didn't disappoint, and I know I'll be going out of my way often to sip an americano at Abraco. They also have some killer pastries—I intend to eat many more of the buckwheat cakes with pistachio cream until... Continue reading

Someone mentioned seeing rhubarb at the farmers' market this weekend. Well, actually they heard from someone else that there was a rhubarb sighting at the Grand Army Plaza market. I went to the Union Square one with the girls, and while I'm tempted to jump the gun and say there was none to be had, the truth is I wasn't looking for it, so I don't know. Rhubarb wasn't on my radar, and my visit to the market was with laser sharp precision, hitting only the stands I needed since I was short on time. Now I know to keep... Continue reading

I know, my Jewish friends out there will think this picture is torture. Hours away from the start of Passover, and I'm posting a photo of matzoh ball soup with pasta in it. The picture is from last year. The soup was made for the last Passover we celebrated with Mikey. I didn't use the pasta in my shiksa seder the night his parents came over, but I did add it to the leftovers. A no-no still for observant Jews, but being a recovering Catholic, I was able to play by my own food rules. A few days ago I... Continue reading

It's hard to believe that just a year ago we felt complete and normal. I've tried to find the words to start this post for a week now. Nothing flows freely from my fingertips, but I wanted to share this recipe for Easter Bread with you. I hadn't realized how close we were to Easter until I went to the local pastry shop with Virginia last week. Lamb-shaped cakes and rounds of sweet bread filled with colored eggs adorned the counter tops. Last year our house was overflowing with homemade Easter Bread, as I was testing it to be featured... Continue reading

Navigating life without my sidekick is lonely. There's no one who gets my Seinfeld references. I often feel alone in a crowded room. It's easy to let this get me down, but I work minute-by-minute to temper my sad feelings with the memories of all the good ones. Making pasta is one of those good memories. I'd never made it until I met Mikey. For a single guy, he had a relatively good collection of kitchen equipment. A blender, an assortment of pots and pans, a demitasse coffee maker, and an Atlas pasta maker. I don't remember if he had... Continue reading

It's been quiet here for a good reason. 51 pages. 17,201 words. 42 of 150 recipes. They are in my editor's hands right now at Running Press. Those pictures above are just a tease of the recipes you can expect to make in your own kitchen next spring. They're not the photos that will be printed in the book—just some shots I took with my iPhone. And now, it's time to get back into the test kitchen. Continue reading

Yesterday was group therapy, which means it was time for a feelings check in. In reality, we should all do these check ins on a daily basis, regardless of suffering a traumatic loss. Understanding how you feel forces you to confront why you feel that way. It sounds simple, but how often do you find yourself juggling so many responsibilities that you ignore the symptoms? A deep ache is settling in. Today is seven months since Mikey died. Seven months. The reality of what this means scares the hell out me. In so many ways day seven was easier than... Continue reading