My body is aching. I can’t tell if it’s from rigorous work-outs or just cooking my little heart out this week. Nonetheless, I’m about to get my hair professionally blow dried so all is ok in the world. It’s one of the greatest luxuries. If you’re a woman, you understand this sentiment; if you’re a dude, you’re probably confused why salons dedicated to just blow-drying even exist. The answer: because it’s important and blow-drying takes too long!
Last year I made my favorite Irish Soda Bread in the entire world. It was laced with brown sugar, whole wheat pastry flour and OMG there were whiskey-soaked raisins, which let me tell you, completely changed my mind about raisins.
I used to be one of those people who despised raisins. Like, if I saw a “chocolate chip cookie” to only then realize the CCs were raisins, serious side-eye, my friends. Serious. Nowadays I’m a grown-up who has the ability to enjoy some raisins in her baked goods. I’m an ever-evolving human.
I love a good scone. Maybe it’s because I love English things like Downton Abbey, Mini Coopers and corgis. I’m not sure, but scones, tea and my pinky out is my current mood. I feel like I have another part of me that loves sweet tea, rollers in my hair, fried green tomatoes (the food and the movie) and Nashville. But that’s for another day. (ALSO CAN WE DISCUSS LAST NIGHT’S EPISODE?!)
Today we’re exploring my more dainty, English, proper side. I had leftover cherries hanging in my fridge and chocolate chilling in my pantry. I figured I couldn’t let this combination pass. It needed to be done.
I’ve been wanting to make some sort of buckwheat scones for a long time now. I adore buckwheat. It really does have a bad reputation because it has the ability to turn fluffy, light baked goods into heavy, door stoppers. But if done right (read: cut with all-purpose flour) it can really add a nice nutty, earthy flavor. These scones aren’t hockey pucks. No sireee. No. They’re tender, buttery, with a big, hearty, scone-like crumb. I li-it-uh-lot.
I’ve made the executive decision (in life) that A Christmas Story is the least cozy, most scary and creepy Christmas movie to have ever been produced. Between the father with the weird leg-lamp fetish, the obsession about Turkey dinner to Ralphie’s mom actually punishing them with a gigantic bar of soap? WEIRD.
Then, why do I insist on catching it on TBS every.single.year, you ask? Well, maybe it’s because their Christmas isn’t that idyllic, unreachable type of image Pinterest vomits at you. Instead, it’s real life, in a I-live-in-Indiana-in-the-40s kind of way.
I appreciate the Christmas realness, man.
But if I’m being frank, I hope your Christmas morning looks nothing like the one straight out of A Christmas Story. That’s just scary.
Rather, I hope it’s somewhere between Ralphie’s scary Christmas morning and the one Martha Stewart makes happen in her Connecticut home.
Do you ever feel guilty about complaining about your bad day? I always kind of do. I always feel guilty because I’m pretty sure there’s someone out there in the world that’s having an even worse day than me. I’m sure of it. Bad days happen. Just like bad hair days. Mine are usually exclusively related. If I wake up and my hair has a nice swing to it, I’m generally pumped and my positive vibing just roles right on through everything.
So, instead of telling you why yesterday was super lame (because that’d be lame), I’m going to show you my current late-night exercise, as of late, that I’ve started to take very seriously due to its therapeutic results. Enter: my “Cute Animals” board on Pinterest.
Lately, I’ll sit in bed with my laptop and search for cute animals photos. Because is there anything better than staring at a pic of two kangaroos slow-dancing? No. Is there anything more hilarious than seeing pigs fly? No. Is there anything more adorable than two French bulldogs cuddling? I mean…I challenge you to find it.
I urge you to start your own cute animals board. Seriously.
Are you jealous of my life yet? Well you should be because I have awesome scones in my kitchen that can soon be baked up in yours too, if you like.
I have such a crush on Sundays. And I know it sucks that I’m telling you this, because it’s Monday now, which is literally the furthest possible day from Sunday, so sorry in advance!
Cool Sundays always have laziness. That’s a must. Maybe a few mimosas or bloody marys. Sundays; the only day when alcohol in the morning is totally kosher, am I right? Meals outside in the half sun – always just half sun, direct sun is super lame. Never do direct sun. Wrinkles! And then, when the sun goes does you can turn on the teevee and watch the best tv ever. Mad Men, Game of Thrones, Girls, etc etc. Hey fun, heyy!
Sundays always involve a little cooking, baking, or eating something awesome. It’s a requirement. Yesterday I baked up these lovely things. They feel so summer-ey, and even though we’re totally not there yet, they remind me of Wimbledon in early July.
Winner Update! The random calculator chose number 47, which was Misie! Her suggestion for a cozy meal:
Thanks everyone for playing!
I. Can’t. Get. Warm.
Yesterday I spent most of the day on the couch–under a pile of blankets–contemplating if I should turn on the heat or not. I didn’t.
Saturday night I spent 2 hours watching Hugo (so beautiful–especially in 3D!) just straight freezing.
Friday was the last day I was warm. I was in sweats and colorful socks, baking up these scones (and various other treats!); which lead me to the realization: If it’s cold out, head to the kitchen. Grab your baking sheets, pre-heat your oven. You’ll be warm in no time. Guaranteed.
Making these scones forced me to make five pieces of bacon. And just when I was about to take a picture of said five pieces of bacon, I tripped over my own weirdly small feet and dropped them.
It felt like that cliché moment when a little girl drops her ice cream cone.
It was just plain sad.
And since I’ll use any excuse I can get, I think this is a valid reason for me to get a dog soon because then it wouldn’t have gone to waste. That’d make grandma proud. She doesn’t like food to go to waste. Grandmas put half drunk glasses of milk in the fridge for later.