Fall is here, and so are the wild mushrooms. Except it's still 80° out and you sweat every time you think about "cozying up." But what is LA if not a place to pretend?
If your bowl is this green, you can almost call it a salad. This is a ruthlessly-simple, one-pot weeknight pasta with a self-righteous sauce made out of health, fiber, and positive choices. Living in denial, party of one — your table is ready!
like all things responsible, dependable, and sturdy, this stew will never win a beauty contest. however, it is a great choice for a sad, rainy monday when still you need to make lunches for the week so you don't lose a bet to your coworkers, and a great way to use the weird wine vinegars you aspirationally bought the other month and still haven't opened.
vodka sauce was invented because adding vodka to tomatoes allegedly "stabilizes the reactivity" and "reaches flavors in tomatoes otherwise inaccessible." does that mean regular sauce is temperamental and emotionally unavailable? let's find out.
LA coping strategies 101: when the world is total garbage all around you, the weather sucks, and winter is endless, make something healthyish and shut it all out.
the only carbonara technique you need to know: authentic, traditional, and idiot-proofed. because if you're gonna be bad, then be bad the best.
it's not "pretending" to be risotto, but happens to share its best qualities — and so the risotto-grain hybrid is born, with all sorts of hideous names for it (fauxsotto?! jfc) now taking over pinterest.
if chicken soup is good for the soul, then what is chicken sausage soup good for?
I call it rustic because that's what you call chunky food you can't be bothered to blend. Other people call it "shockingly ugly for how popular it was on Instagram."
after spending 20+ years "hating" an ingredient because a parent tried to make me eat it once, I don't even want to ask: wtf else have I been wrong about for stupid reasons?
TFW a giant heat wave throws a big fat hot wrench into all of your september soup aspirations. oh, wait, that's just me with that feeling, alone, in fucking los angeles.
nothing says "spring forward" like endless gray skies, raging humidity, and a total lack of inspiration to live. but I guess at least asparagus is in season?
Men leave town. Bad behavior begins. Mushrooms are made. Apologies are not.
"just bring your presence," my mom requests, which resulted in a home cooked birthday dinner. (then I asked her to pay for the soup ingredients.)