Hold onto those hats, y'all, because this recipe is BIG. Intense. Glorious. Debauched, even.
It includes, for example, a LOT of cheese.
And pasta.
And butter.
Hold onto those hats, y'all, because this recipe is BIG. Intense. Glorious. Debauched, even.
It includes, for example, a LOT of cheese.
And pasta.
And butter.
Okay, so I had help. A lot of it. And okay, so maybe my primary contribution was to hover around my paella-knowledgeable friends taking photographs and taste-testing ingredients just to make sure nothing was poisonous, rather than actually "cooking." But still.
The first time I ate paella was in Barcelona, which seems like the right place to have your first experience, except mine was kind of traumatic. The bowl arrived and I gave it a stir, and all of a sudden the creature from the black lagoon came launching up at me out of the depths, all claws and tentacles and such. (Spoiler: it was a crawfish. But when you do not expect to see a crawfish and are surprised by one in your food, terror is a totally acceptable reaction to have. Those are scary little fuckers.) I've never tried making it myself because it looks complicated, and saffron is expensive, and it seems like the kind of dish that should be made from a recipe handed down from a relative.
Enter: my friend Erin, whose mother-in-law Linda has a family recipe, and who just so happened to be in town last weekend.
Noritake China serving dish & gravy boat (shop my curated collection here)
My neighbor Hannah has a fig tree, and too many figs. This was a problem I was more than happy to swing by to help her with.
Hannah gave me bunches of ideas for what to do with the figs, including dipping them in chocolate and large-flake salt, stuffing them with goat cheese and drizzling over some honey, and topping pizzas with them - and yes, all of those are going to happen because HOORAY FOR FIG SEASON - but what I ultimately decided to do with this particular batch was to incorporate them into a dinner by cooking them up in a port-wine sauce that I poured over goat cheese and shallot-stuffed chicken.
A few months ago, I asked my daughter what was wanted for her third birthday - fully aware, of course, that she was going to change her mind approximately 1,352,534 times before the day actually arrived.
"Moana cake," she said. Like, immediately, with zero pause for contemplation. "And candy."
Very well.
A friend from the East Coast came to visit a couple of weeks ago, and over dinner she told me that the one thing of mine she really, really covets is my "dish situation" (by which she meant my collection of serving platters and wine glasses and plates and such).
With zero humility, I have to say: I love the collection I’ve amassed over the years. It includes everything from Noritake dinnerware classics (featured in this post; you can see the collection I curated for the brand here) to vintage finds from all over the country, and is constantly evolving as I discover new style pairings that feel fresh. That’s my favorite thing about my collection, actually: every few seasons, I step back and look at it, think about if and how I want to switch it up, and then simply mix a few new pieces to create a completely new look.
Take the tablescape pictured here, for example, which started with a bunch of pieces I already owned: