When I get home from working in the kitchen, I’m eager to wash off the food smells and get off my feet. And then the last thing I want to do is cook. I crave something simple and low-maintenance with a little bit of comfort thrown in.
I can imagine no better Mother’s Day than waking to breakfast in bed prepared by my pajama-clad clan including handwritten notes, strong mugs of coffee, one of my most favorite recipes, big hugs and kisses, and a memorable gift all enjoyed over a leisurely, snuggly morning.
The bread is toasted and golden now, filling the cabin with undeniable aroma of French toast. One slice goes down on the plate, promptly smeared with sweetened cream cheese and layered with fresh strawberries, then topped with another steaming hot slice. The cream cheese begins to fall over the edges, the strawberries peeking out. I dust the plate with powdered sugar like a light snowfall and take it to the table where the syrup is waiting and the light is still pouring in, reflecting back at me in pools of maple.
When I’m at my local library or bookstore, you can most often find me in the cookbook section. Shocker, I know. When I pore over a cookbook, I’m looking for more than just recipe inspiration. I’m taking in the food photography and styling. I’m soaking up the fine design details like the fonts and colors. I’m listening to the author’s voice and seeing if it resonates with my own. I’m familiarizing myself with the weight of the paper, the texture of it, the way it smells when the book is opened.
I have had a pancake obsession all my life. When I was little, I would automatically navigate to pancakes on breakfast menus and was incredulous whenever anyone with me ordered something other than pancakes. “What is the point of an omelette when there are pancakes to be had?” I would wonder to myself, thinking I knew a secret no one else knew. As a kid, a trip to the International House of Pancakes was nearly as fun as going to Disneyland. At home, I’d practice my early pancake-making skills with those bright yellow boxes of mix.
While I may never open my own restaurant, dreaming about it provides terrific recipe inspiration. Perhaps I should invite all my friends over to my house for breakfast. Meanwhile, enjoy this recipe for smoked salmon scrambled eggs, share it with your friends, and dream along with me.
I’m all about starting this new year off right beginning with breakfast each morning. There was a brief season of my childhood when I consistently ate breakfast before encountering the day, and it was my very favorite season. While my mother was more the kind of woman to skip breakfast or pour a bowl of cold cereal, my grandmother insisted on a hot breakfast each morning. As I’ve mentioned before, this is one of the many reasons I loved life at my grandma’s house.
In a nod to the infamous dish Sarah Jessica Parker’s character attempts in The Family Stone, I’ve prepared for you one holiday-worthy breakfast potato frittata. A frittata is very similar to a strata, only a strata has bread baked into the egg custard, while a frittata includes no bread.
This smoked salmon bagel is a staple. An Alaska must-have. A well-loved, well-used post. An obligatory Alaska from Scratch rite of passage. I serve it up year round for any meal of the day. When I give the gift of smoked wild Alaska salmon, this is the first thing I tell the receiver to do with it: Make. Bagels. Now.