When your Instagram and SnapChat feeds are full of images of rosé and beach shots from the French Riviera, there is nothing to do but get yourself to a similar locale as soon as possible. So, this past weekend when several of my coworkers were traipsing along the Mediterranean downing pretty pink wines, I returned to LBI for a weekend of bike building, yacht club cocktail hours, and as always, more grilling.
Back in mid-May, I made what very well may be the last meal I cook in my home of 16 years. My parents are selling our house. Just like baking chocolate or revenge, it’s bittersweet. After living in five different states all while under the age of 10, we finally landed in New Jersey, where I did most of my growing up and where I learned how great bagels really are. In that house, we’ve said goodbye to dear pets and we’ve welcomed new ones. On our street, I learned how to drive in a car that was recently, after 17 years, traded in for a pick-up truck. (I’m still laughing about how my dad parks his new truck behind his cream-colored Mini-Cooper with racing stripes.) Through the years, I’ve left our pretty, grey house for multiple adventures to Europe and across the U.S. Over almost two years in Brooklyn, I’ve gone back often to spend quiet weekends in the suburbs with my parents and my pets. And, in our home’s kitchen, I’ve learned how to cook.
A Pinch of This 