One of the saddest things you should probably know about me is that I’m a terrible host. I don’t mean to be; in my head, I’m the kind of person who would find out you were coming over, quickly gather some wildflowers from the side of the road, put them in an old Mason jar, pour-over some coffee from a local roaster, steam cream from an upstate dairy in a spouted glass and pull out something warm and enticing from the oven right as you arrived. In my head, I understand that none of these things are terribly difficult to pull off. In reality, were you to come over right now, you’d find a plate of pears (one with a toddler mouth-sized bite removed) and mostly-empty jar of something delicious, but alas, too delicious to have lasted until you arrived, on the table, a colossal explosion of wooden train tracks and fire station parts all over the carpet and a fireman in a time out (“What did he do?” I asked. “He did NOTHING!” I was informed. Well, then…). Also notable is the absent aroma of freshly-brewed coffee. Upon closer inspection, you might see that I don’t actually own any coffee-making apparatus. And not a single warm thing has left the oven this morning; we had stove-top oatmeal for breakfast again.





Seriously, you’d revoke my book contact if you saw this place. I might have kept this to myself forever, but I have been found out. I have been found out because in the last month, more strangers have entered my apartment than have in the three-plus years we’ve lived here. They come under the auspices of writing articles about tiny kitchens or wanting to watch me make a recipe from the cookbook, but I know the truth: they want to see how we really live and when they find out, well, I hope they are relieved because are all of the fruits in your bowl intact? Are no firemen in unjust time outs? Good, you’re a step ahead.















Nevertheless, because this is my website and because on my website, I get to try (occasionally) to put my best foot forward, I am going to tell you about the morning two weeks ago that I had two guests over and I actually pulled off hospitality. Mostly. I mean, one person had been here before, thus she knew it was smart to bring coffee in. But these scones were so wonderful that I think they make up for all sorts of things, like the pile of platters and bowls that sit on a corner chair, have spilled out from a cabinet so long ago, we don’t even notice them anymore. I started with a recipe for scones I’d made a few years ago, but instead of apples, I used pears (not the one with the bite taken out; you’re welcome) and instead of accenting it with cheddar, I used chunks of bittersweet chocolate. These enormous roasted pear and chocolate chunk scones — assembled the night before, baked directly from the freezer before my morning guests arrived — were a revelation; craggy, hearty, a little crunchy, tender in the center, crisp at the edges, gorgeously bronzed and an ideal balance of light sweetness but late-October indulgence. I am not sure I’ve ever made anything so good for breakfast guests before, or will ever be so coordinated before 9 a.m. again.





Four days! Until The Smitten Kitchen Cookbook leaves my “kitchen” and hopefully makes a home in yours. That’s less than 100 hours. This is.. wild. We’re getting a little giddy with excitement for the NYC launch on Tuesday evening. Do you think it would be rude to uninvite Sandy? She seems the type that could really wreck a good party, and we don’t need any of that.

One year ago: Homesick Texan Carnitas

Two years ago: Spicy Squash Salad with Lentils and Goat Cheese

Three years ago: Silky, Decadent Old-School Chocolate Mousse

Four years ago: Paris + A Deep, Dark Salted Butter Caramel Sauce and Pink Lady Cake

Five years ago: Sweet Potato and Sausage Soup

Six years ago: Easiest Baked Mac-and-Cheese