Thanks to Philadelphia Cream Cheese for sponsoring this post.
Coconut Cheesecake Breakfast Braid
So many holiday mornings of my childhood were spent climbing into the car with my dad to drive over to the French Bakery. I think it had an actual name other than “French Bakery,” but that’s all we ever called it. We drove down Sharon Amity Road and turned right onto Albemarle. From there it was a short trek to the little strip of shops out in front of Eastland Mall where the bakery entrance was situated under a big arch. As soon as we walked in I was transported to France.
Really, I had never been to France and didn’t know much about it. But Elliott Erwitt’s iconic print, Provence 1955, hung on the wall and I knew that was quite French. Just look at the bicycle! The baguettes! The beret! And the ethereal perfume of freshly baked pastries — not just any pastries, but the ones with the dark golden sweet crunch on the outside and perfect flaky layers on the inside — was undoubtedly French! So what I mean to say is, I was transported to the France of my imagination.
Thanks to Kellogg’s for sponsoring this post.
Lemon Blueberry Shortbread Cheesecake Dip
We need to talk about Scattergories and Dessert Dip.
First off, Scattergories. I invited some friends over for a board game brunch to try out party food ideas with the bajillion (roughly) new Town House cracker varieties and we played Scattergories, one of my favorite games. You roll a letter and then have to come up with words that start with that letter for each prompt on your list. The prompts are things like sports teams or things you put in the refrigerator. I’m usually great at it, but have you ever rolled an I? I thought J was the hardest letter, but I gave it a run for its money. About a minute into the round, someone paused and announced, “There are no words that start with I.” Perhaps that’s a touch hyperbolic, but at that moment, I was tempted to agree.
Also, don’t think for one second that you’re the only clever cookie writing down ascot for things you wear that start with “A.” Because every single person wrote down ascot. How does that happen? How is ascot still part of our vernacular?
Lemon Blueberry Gooey Butter Cake
Wow, anyone else feel that? That 180-degree instant shift in mood? Kristen’s post about February blues resonated with me. February is so hard, but I also have the more generalized winter blues. I can feel the doom set in as soon as the blue skies change to gray and the rain, wind, and ice roll in. I can hardly enjoy fall anymore just because I know winter is on its way, and with it depression and lack of motivation. Ugh.
But this morning!!
Hot Blueberry Cake with Vanilla Ice Cream
I take hundreds of photos. I don’t think a day passes when I don’t take one or two. This weekend I’ve snapped pictures of my favorite shrimp tacos, my pretty Chipotle salad, Mike’s eyes looking particularly blue, Byrd sleeping with her favorite toy. The other night I was lying in bed thinking about what creates this urge in me and I settled on this: I think we take pictures because we’re afraid of dying.
We don’t think of it like that while we’re standing in front of Cinderella’s castle and squishing a little tighter shoulder to shoulder to fit in the frame. We don’t think, “I’m terrified. Let’s take a few more snaps.” It’s more of a current running through our subconscious: I have to capture this moment. I have to stop the clock for a second. I have to preserve this feeling, this memory. I have to hold on to it somehow.