Ginger limoncello with crushed basil

Vodka is a wonder liquor. It is prized for its clean neutrality and ability to enhance the flavors around it. Therefore, vodka is perfect for making your own little precious liqueurs. I have only done this previously  with vodka and vanilla beans, so I was pumped about making my own limoncello. The pale yellow hue and chilly clarity of its finish has an ambrosial quality that turns its every vessel into God of that moment.

Cinnamon-scented cream cake with molasses burnt caramel

Today is my mom's birthday, so I made her a cake. My mom is every kind of quirky. Whenever I describe her to friends and acquaintances, I use a certain key phrase: "She's not a crazy cat lady, she's a crazy lady who happens to have cats." She loves to take care of things, so whenever she feels she has exactly no more time to dedicate to another living being, she acquires five more. It happened with rabbits, it happened with turtles, and cats, and her garden, and then chickens. Another defining characteristic is her assertion that all those beings love her the most. It happened with her kids (conjecture), it happens with her nieces and nephews (fact), and it will happen with our kids (definite) and her menagerie of orphaned slow lorises (projected). Among her other oddities is a proclivity for hurrying her offspring through the airport as if all the planes are on fire, insisting Nicholas Cage is "hot", alluding to her being "so sick of religion and politics in general" but never getting sick of saying "i'm so sick of religion and politics in general," and abandoning me and my sister whenever we go anywhere together, only for us to find her sitting on a bench outside of that very place, smiling blithely into the air like some weirdo. We do love you, though, Mom, just the way you are.

Soup 'n' Salad

I like to combine many different cuisines into one meal. It's almost as if I took nuclear fusion and applied it to food...like a fusion cuisine. Dibs! Last night my Dad and his wife Kay came over for dinner around my apartment coffee table, and I wanted to make something special out of a simple concept because they had just lost a beloved family pet and, well, food is the natural American Southern way of dealing with death. I originally planned to make Thai, but then I came up with an Italian counterpart that would contrast with the textures and flavors of the first, starting off with a bang, and ending understatedly.

But before I get to that, the phone call what started this dinner was one from my Dad to me earlier in the week. I get my interest and flare for cooking from my Dad, and I don't think I've ever had a bad meal at his house. He told me that he was taking cooking classes from a friend in his neighborhood to hone a few of his skills in the kitchen, namely sauce- and stock-making. Fortunately, I relayed that I had three stocks in the freezer and that I would employ two of them for our meal. We shoptalked for about 45 minutes, after which I couldn't get the smile off my face. When you're young you don't see how you'll ever be like your parents, but when you get older, there's no greater validation than to lord your strengths over them while denigrating the senile wretches as scrapple of a dying generation.

Slow-cooker bbq chicken thighs

My boyfriend is super impatient about dinner, and it infuriates me. Almost all the meals I make take no less than an hour to cook, and to an ADHD adult, that is goddamn forever. Still this has in no way hedged my habit of making a production; I braise with abandon, and when Jason asks "when will it be ready, again?" I tend to take a mite longer than need be just to let him know that good food is worth the wait. As a result, he has learned to add 30 minutes of cooking time to whatever I initially project, and I satiate his appetite with a salad somewhere in the middle just so he will shut the fuck up. After all, the kid was living on frozen dinners, canned soup, cereal, and chic-fil-a before we started dating.

Ugh, I know. You're like "Bitch, I don't know your life!"

Expensive-ass bouillabaisse with rouille and stuffed mushrooms

March Madness brings out the worst in people. I pull for Chapel Hill because I like the feel of the place, and my sister is a soon-to-be-graduate, but this is the once instance in which I hedge my emotions for fear of losing my mind. Shit tends to get superficial very quickly, and turns personal even quicker. I try to stay within the realm of "Go Tar Heels" without resorting to personal attacks on Duke fans, among them my boyfriend, his family, and several friends of mine. I know it's fun to provoke friendly competition, but shit-talking without a sense of how ridiculous it all is in the end means you're taking life entirely too seriously. Come on, guys. Don't be dickholes. Eat some bouillabaisse instead.

Spanish stuffed pork chops with mustard salad

Never underestimate the power of a brine. Even when my meat only has time for a quick bath, I dip its toes in. Brines add flavor and make even the driest-ass cuts juicy. In the case of pork I always reach for molasses because its deep black sweet soul cuts through the pig's fatty flamboyance so well. Spanish stuffing is my own indulgence- I like nothing better than to munch on marcona almonds and charcuterie and olives all de liblong day, habitually hanging round the Harris Teeter olive bar, filling up my container, throwing a few in my mouth and filling it back up as if nothing had happened. My hubris around that bar elicits a comical swagger the likes of which no employee has ever seen nor cared about.

Also, have I told y'all that baby spinach is bullshit? You will never see me cooking with it (oops, maybe sometimes). I just don't get why you'd choose baby over leaf. Leaf has texture, and flavor, and a meaty quality to it. It's big and strong like Popeye. Baby spinach is nervous Olyve Oyl with her typewriter-style nailbiting technique, nervous knees, and weirdo low-bun brill-creem hairdo. Ohhhh, Popeye.

Lattice-top blackberry tart

Mom and I saw a beautiful array of tasty berries at the Fresh Market today, including golden raspberries, which look like larvae. I didn't have quite enough of them to make a pie, so I made a tart, which I have lovingly dubbed a fart.