Chai Spiked Cider

Some Saturdays there is a criminal amount of buttery

sunlight coming at you from all over the place

and an un-ignorable amount of 

rum and chai tea in your cupboard. 

Some Saturdays, you hide your half-finished dog food 

campaign and stack full of midterm briefs under a 

catrtoonishly large rock in your mind

and embrace the catchphrase 

"Sounds like a problem for future Hattie!"

Because, really who can bear to sink into 

assignments when there are pillows in the world that are 

waiting to be squished against my cheek 

and boozy cider filled walks down the boulevard to be had? 

The only thing that can make apple cider better is booze.

The only booze worthy of apple cider is 

booze that honors not just any, but all of the spices

that warm our autumn souls 

and make our hearts grow 3 sizes.

Spiced rum? Well played with the name, brother. You're in.

Vodka wearing a chai tea costume? Resourceful. You're in, too. 

Honey? You're not booze, honey. But you do tend to bring the party. You may join.

Raise your mugs and rest your sleepy faces.

This is what fall is all about, after all.

Until the next, dears.

     
                                                    

Roasted Vegetable Tart

These weeks have been passing by

 with alarming speed. 

I feel as if my life is turing into a low budget western film

where I am walking in front of a

rotating backdrop that changes between 

day and night painted sceneries every few seconds

to show the passing of days.

So sometimes, you need to pinch your Sunday real hard

until it winces and grunts and 

reluctantly spits out a few hours of time for you. 

Preferably in the company of some

late afternoon sun and puff pastry.

Take yourself on a walking and eating date.

Because those are two things that you excel at 

and your stunning performance is likely to send your self esteem 

sky rocketing. 

Forget bathing in the dead sea or doing yoga, children.

Cheese is the ultimate stress reliever. 

I am pretty sure I just proved that. 

Until the next, loves.

                                             

Stuffed Figs

I'm gonna say the school year is in full swing.

That's gonna mean that I've gone to classes for 2 days now.

I'm already neck deep in annual market reports and

tear-outs of magazine ads.

I have more internet tabs open than members at a Gatsby party. 

...and I'm loving it. 

But a life of intellect cannot be supported by stale Chex Mix and 

sleepless nights of Adventure Time marathons.

We gotta fire up the intellectual lifestyle furnace right quick. 

Glasses. We are gonna wear glasses. 

We are gonna complete the New York Times crossword puzzle. 

Tea? Of course.

Figs. Cheese plates. Cured meats that aren't bacon. 

All present. 

Snatch up some beautiful Black Mission figs that have managed to escape 

being stuffed into Newton cookies.

Honor their victorious escape by slicing them in half 

and stuffing them with a mixture of

chopped fresh thyme leaves, honey, coarsely cracked black pepper

and goat cheese. 

Roll those decorated refugees in chopped pistachios. 

Let balsamic vinegar rain over them. 

Wrap them in prosciutto, squish them into a tasty hunk of bread.

Do as you please. 

You're fancy. You can't go wrong.  

To carry you through your thoughtful chin scratching and eyebrow arching,

here is a list of classic jams and my most favorite

pseudo-classy song selections. 

Until the next, chiclets. 

                                            

White Sangria Popsicles

The feeling of the first day of September is always 

what I imagine turning 50 will feel like.

It sneaks up on you like a little jerk

and then you have no choice but to greet it with handsome

amounts of destain and denial.

I'm there right now. 

I'm cursing under my breath at every social media mentioning of

"sweater weather and pumpkin flavored everything!"

Every advertisement for apple cider and every email 

from a professor is met with the meanest of mugs

from yours truly.

It's not fall, dammit! It's still summer. 

That's my equivalent of saying 

"I'm not over the hill! I'm young and super fresh!"

And instead of buying a sports car,

I ran to the farmers market and buried myself in summer fruits

and made some damn popsicles. 

Because if I'm eating popsicles, it can't be fall, right?

Correct. 

These aren't just any old fruit popsicles. 

No sir. 

They are winey boozy popsicles. 

Because what goes best with destain and denial?

Wine and booze. 

Always. 

They are essentially white summer sangria on a stick. 

If you can't get down with that, you

are super un-American

and also, probably a robot

and your demon creator forgot to insert your "good taste" chip. 

My condolences. 

Raise your pops, ladies and gents and let's all hold off on riding the 

leaves-and-sweaters-enthusiasm train

 for just a few more precious moments. 

Here is a tiny playlist to take you on
 the emotional roller coaster 
begining with joy and ending with ugly-crying to Don Henley 
that perfectly embodies this sad descend away from 
another beloved summer.

Until the next, cats. 

                                             

Logan Square Farmers Market

I've been on a bit of a culinary hiatus.

50% due to the fact that we currently do not have a functioning oven/stove

10% due to the daily grind

30% due to the fact that I just downloaded 

The Sims and have abandoned all other activities indefinitely. 

and 10% due to Doritos. 

Okay, actually mostly the Doritos part. You get it. 

They are the Jay Z of corn chip products. 

Watch the throne, Doritos. 

So instead of my confections and such, 
let's talk about other people doing cool stuff. 

I'm glad you're cool with it. 

The Logan Square farmers market.

BEST FARMERS MARKET OF ALL TIME

It isn't just your run of the mill "we got peaches! we got some beans over here!"

kind of farmers market. 

There are all kinds of funky vendors with interesting displays.

From fantastic local summer sausages hanging from

 an old-door-turned-sausage-holder

To snow cones boasting flavors like 

"Blueberry Lavender" and "Rhubarb & Pink Peppercorn" 

being churned from an old fashioned manual ice shaver.

There is nothing not to love.

The place is flooded with families and dogs .

There are sacks dangling by ankles with produce 

and fresh flowers overflowing out the top

and picnicers and 

PROSPERITY AND JOY.

Go. Just go. 

Until the next, dears.