Banana nut crunkcakes.

When I lived in DC, I discovered a wonderful mobile bakery called Crunkcakes. Not having a store front of their own, you could find these boozy morsels on trays in various bakeries, bars, and other establishments around the city, as well as at street festivals. I became hooked on their Irish Car Bomb cupcakes, which are a mainstay at the Pug, the bar below my beloved ramen place where I traditionally waited out the 45 minute-1.5 hour line for a seat upstairs.

As I mentioned earlier this month, our office has had a little trouble eating through the banana portion of our weekly fruit delivery. I brought home another bunch and this time went a sweeter route -- inspired by nostalgia, I decided to spice(d rum) up the next round of banana-themed baked goods.

The cupcakes ended up being several relatively simple components all combined into one bite -- as a result, these are a project best tackled over a number of days. No part was particularly difficult or time-consuming, but taken on all together, it would be quite the culinary marathon.

Banana Cake + Bananas Foster + Spiced Rum Caramel + Buttercream Frosting = Bananas Foster Cupcakes

The banana cake:

The bananas Foster:

The spiced rum caramel:

Assembly:
Use a small, round cookie cutter and a spoon to remove a tiny hollow from the center of each cupcake.

Fill each hollow with a spoonful of bananas Foster.

Cover with a generous swirl of frosting mixed with caramel sauce; you can mix in as much as you want and as completely as you want. I used about 1/4 c of the caramel sauce and didn't mix completely for a swirl effect.

*
Recipes here make 2 dozen cupcakes

Bananas Foster - Adapted to Fill Cupcakes
(adapted from allrecipes.com)

2 T butter
1/3 c dark brown sugar
3 T rum
1 t vanilla extract
1/2 t ground cinnamon
1 banana, peeled and diced into small pieces
pinch salt
1/4 c chopped walnuts, toasted

Melt butter and brown sugar in a small skillet over medium heat. Add rum, vanilla extract, and cinnamon.When mixture begins to bubble, add bananas to the pan. Cook until soft, for about 2-3 min. Remove from heat and add salt and walnuts; stir to combine.

Banana Cupcakes
(adapted from The Butter Dish blog - doesn't that sound like something I'd like?)

1 7/8 c unbleached all-purpose flour
2 1/4 t baking powder
3/4 t baking soda
1/2 t salt
2 ripe bananas, mashed
3/4 c heavy cream
2 1/4 t pure vanilla extract
1 c sugar
3/4 c unsalted butter, room temperature
2 eggs

Heat oven to 350* F and line muffin tin with cupcake liners. Whisk flour, salt, baking soda and baking powder in a medium bowl. In separate bowl combine the bananas, cream and vanilla. Beat butter with sugar until light and fluffy. Add one egg at a time and blend until well combined.

In three alternating additions add flour and banana mixture. Divide mixture evenly between muffin cups and bake for 20 minutes. Allow to cool completely before attempting to fill.

Spiced Rum Caramel
(also from The Butter Dish blog)

1 c dark brown sugar
½ c corn syrup
½ c unsalted butter
1 c heavy cream
1 t vanilla extract

1 c spiced rum

In a medium pan (NOT nonstick - must be fire-proof) combine sugar, corn syrup, butter and half the cream and heat to a roiling boil for 9 min. Then add remaining cream and allow to boil for 1 min. longer. Add vanilla and rum, continuing to boil for 1 min. Using a long lighter, light the sauce on fire (!) and boil until flames burn out. You may have to stir with a spoon and light again, repeating a couple times until the sauce doesn't light. Reduce heat and simmer until sauce has reduced and thickened (another 5 min. or so, depending on how big your pan is). Once thickened some more, set sauce aside and allow to cool. Once cool, transfer pan to fridge and allow to chill completely and thicken.

Buttercream Frosting

2 c shortening or butter
4 c sifted confectioner's sugar
4 t vanilla
4 T water
pinch salt

Cream shortening or butter, gradually adding confectioner's sugar, about 1 c at a time. Add vanilla, water, and salt, and adjust to taste. Add more water if you want a thinner frosting, more sugar if you want a stiffer batch.

Continental drift.

Dearest readers, it has been an embarrassingly long time since I posted. So long, in fact, that my "remember me" sign-in has expired and the Blogger form has even changed setup. Other changes are coming as well...in the last two weeks, I have taken several trips, interviewed with nearly two dozen people, went to Lollapalooza (dedicated post to come!), accepted a job offer, scheduled a mover, and bought -- for only the second time in my life -- a one-way ticket. I'm moving up the coastline for a great new job opportunity, and to finally be in the same city as my favorite chef. I will also be rejoining one sister and a handful of dear friends from college, so things are looking good.

It has been an emotional whirlwind, saying goodbye to colleagues and a wonderful group of friends I have made here. There is so much positive to come, but I can't help but feel sad about everything I'm leaving behind. I will save my sappy goodbyes for those people in-person, but thank you all for making DC my first true home away from home.

Of course, when everything around you is changing, you cling to the things that taste are familiar. I have reverted almost entirely to comfort foods, allowing myself an unbridled period of carbs -- primarily in the form of noodle soups, milkshakes, and fries -- as I push through finishing work, finding an apartment, and moving. This week I ate at two of my favorite restaurants, Acqua al 2 and Toki Underground, cramming in as many local food trucks and old stand-bys as I can.

One of those stand-bys is a lurid orange-and-blue-painted barcade near work, The Continental. Dubbed "the Conti" by anyone who works at my company, this combination restaurant-bar-shuffleboard-pool-skiball-Big Buck Hunter joint is a popular post-work spot, with decent rail gin and ample seating. It was actually the first bar I went to when I moved here, sitting awkwardly with my new acquaintances who had also just started. One of those acquaintances turned into a very good friend who introduced me to a great crowd.

Serendipitously, Martha (who has since left for graduate school) planned a visit which happened to coincide with my last weekend in town. The two of us used go to the Conti after a particularly long day and drink Shock Top with a basket of fries. When she said she was coming back for the weekend, she said, "I only have one request," and of course I knew what it was. It was an appropriate -- and wonderfully familiar -- way to wrap up this chapter for now.

Stay cool, my friends.

If you've been following the weather lately, you've heard the daily reports of record-breaking heat and storm-ravaged regions without power. Both headlines happen to be overlap in my Mid-Atlantic home.

In the three years I've lived in the greater DC area, I have witnessed Snowpocalypse, earthquakes, record-breaking heat, and storms of all types. Last year's hurriquake inspired my pantry survival tips post, and I had to check my stock of bottled water again during last week's events. Fortunately, I was one of the Northern Virginians spared by the inopportune power outages which coincided with the hottest week of the year. Besides the obvious reasons, I was lucky to keep power because it allowed me to make a few batches of ice cream inspired by the heat.

I love ice cream. Sorbets, custards, gelati, Dove bars, Klondike bars, mix-ins, smush-ins -- I love it all. I love ice cream so much that when I was nine years old on a trip to France, my sister tricked me into asking our dad for a biere froid (cold beer), thinking it was French for "ice cream." I had a Barbie ice cream parlor set (which, Mom, we should have kept, as it appears to be fetching quite the price on Amazon) complete with a tiny ice cream freezer we could never quite get to work. Before this weekend, I had never made ice cream.

Last week, I borrowed my friend's machine to test out a few recipes I had in mind. It's really quite simple; you deep-freeze a bowl with thick, gel-filled sides (it makes a great sloshing sound when unfrozen). The gel freezes cold enough to stay relatively frozen for a good half-hour or more as an electric paddle turns 'round and 'round your ice cream base. The ice cream chills from the thick, frozen walls of the bowl toward the center, slowly freezing the liquid into a luxurious, soft-serve consistency which you can then freeze harder if desired. It was fascinating to watch (I couldn't tear my eyes away for the first couple minutes), literally watching the ice cream solidify before you:

I made three kinds: Meyer lemon sorbet (unbelievably refreshing), peanut butter ice cream (unbelievably rich), and my crowning glory: salted caramel with bacon (unbelievably delicious). The last was the prettiest (and most complicated), with swirls of home-made caramel making beautiful patterns as I combined it with the creamy base:

But what did I do with three batches of ice cream, you ask? More on that later.

Tuna salad, hold the mayo.

When I would cook at Nick's apartment in college, his roommate would come home and ask, "Are you burning things for dinner again?" I blame the anemic "exhaust" fan and fantasize about the day when my stove has a proper vent that carries smoke, steam, and smells (that otherwise end up perfuming the clothes in my closet) outside.

But some great things can't be accomplished without it looking as though you've set the kitchen on fire -- seared ahi tuna is one of them. A couple weeks ago, the Mid-Atlantic was unseasonably warm. Hoping we were out of the winter woods, I dry cleaned all my wool coats and started thinking about salads. I decided to make a dressed-up tuna salad, swapping out the canned fish for a sesame-crusted tuna steak. My invention is a cross between a Niçoise salad and an ahi tuna salad I tried at Serendipity 3 in Georgetown (which the waiter described as "so good, you'll want to slap your mom"); it borrows the boiled egg and tomatoes from the former and the soy-citrus dressing from the latter. Though I nearly smoked out my cat because of the oil in the screaming hot pan required to flash-sear the tuna, it turned out to be refreshing and delicious (and Oliver was no worse for wear).

Definitely a step up from your average tuna salad.

*

Sesame-Crusted Ahi Tuna Salad ("Chinoise"?)

(Serves 2)

6-8 oz tuna steak -- sushi grade or at least frozen fresh

3-6 T Hiro Sone's sake marinade

2-3 T sesame seeds

canola oil (or other high smoke-point oil to reduce likelihood of firemen barging in on your dinner)

enough salad greens for two (I used some romaine and a few handfuls of arugula mix)

2 eggs

1 carrot, julienned

8 oz grape tomatoes, halved

1 T grated ginger

2 T soy sauce

2 T lemon juice

1 T sesame oil

2 T olive oil

splash of mirin

splash of rice wine vinegar

Sear the tuna: Marinate the steak for at least 2 hr. in the fridge. (If it's frozen, be sure to defrost thoroughly first by refrigerating overnight, or putting the vacuum package in a bowl of water in the fridge for an hour or two.) Drizzle marinated tuna with olive oil to help the sesame seeds stick. Coat top and bottom of steak with sesame seeds. Heat a heavy-bottomed pan over high heat. When the pan is hot-hot-hot (drops of water will disappear instantly in the pan), drizzle with canola oil and immediately place tuna in the pan. You'll only need to sear each side for about 30 seconds (or less) to get a thin seared layer on the outside -- you'll see it creep up the side of the steak. When it "creeps" about 1/8" high, turn and do the other side. Let the tuna cool for a few minutes, then slice.

Boil the eggs: Place eggs in a pot large enough to cover them completely with water. Cover with a lid and bring to a boil. As soon as the water boils, turn off the heat and leave the pot covered, on the stove. After exactly 11 minutes, drain eggs and fill the pot with cold water. After exactly one minute, peel and slice the eggs.

Make the dressing: If possible, "marinate" the ginger in soy, lemon, and rice wine vinegar while the fish is marinating to infuse the flavors as much as possible. Add sesame and olive oil and mirin, and shake well. Taste and adjust seasonings as you like.

Assemble and serve: Toss the greens with the carrot, tomatoes, and dressing. Carefully lay the sliced tuna and egg over the dressed salad (if you toss it all together, the egg will crumble a bit and the bright red tuna will be clouded and less pretty).

Top chef, D.C.

As you may have guessed, one of my top DVR spots belongs to the popular TV series, Top Chef. Hosted by Tom Colicchio, Padma Lakshmi, and Gail Simmons, and guest judged by the likes of Eric Ripert, Anthony Bourdain, and Emeril Lagasse; Top Chef brings together up-and-coming chefs from across the country to battle in the kitchen for fame and glory (and, of course, the coveted title of "Top Chef"). Across the years, several chef-testants have come from/own restaurants the D.C. area including Carla Hall, the Voltaggio brothers, Mike Isabella, and Spike Mendelsohn.

Though Top Chef restaurants appear to be all around the neighborhood, after over two years, I had only been to Spike's Good Stuff and We, the Pizza near Capitol Hill. I checked one more off the list last week with a visiting friend in town for a conference. Offering a variety of beers and even prosecco on tap, Mike Isabella's Graffiato is an Italian-inspired, contemporary American spot in Chinatown/Penn Quarter. I would sum up our experience in two words: crispy and flavorful. Everything, even the pillow-soft gnocchi, had an amazing golden crust.

We started off the meal with (crispy) flatbread and Mike's famous pepperoni sauce that he made for the All-Stars Finale:

 Then we moved on to roasted brussel sprouts with pancetta and maple (the brussel sprouts were so crisp, they were like chips):

Wild mushroom gnocchi with creamy stracciatella:

A baked suckling pig (!) lasagna with rich ricotta and what I swear was lemon:

Wild mushroom bisque with smoky mushroom arancini:

A wildly popular burrata with honey glazed onions:

...And we finished off the meal with a wood oven-roasted striped Atlantic bass with smoked eggplant and pine nut relish:

Definitely a Top Chef experience. The only problem was that I spent a quarter of the time craning my neck toward the kitchen hoping Mike Isabella was in.

Having my cake and drinking it too.

There are two things D.C. yuppies love: cupcakes and happy hour. Put them together, and you've got Crunkcakes. Crunkepreneurs Faith Alice Sleeper (of Dangerously Delicious Pies) and Raychel Sabath make delicious (though irreverent) cocktail-inspired cupcakes, meaning you'll never drink on an empty stomach.

H Street is home to many elusive joys: (on top of being more effortful to get to H Street in general) my favorite ramen place in DC has notoriously few seats, and the fabulous pie place won't serve me crust. So when I heard that Crunkcakes didn't have a store front and instead just served platters of boozy baked goods in H Street bars, I knew they had to be amazing. Past flavors have included a "Jimmy Buffet," a Key-lime tequila cake; and "The Dude," a Kahlua-vodka pound cake base, among others.

I stumbled (due to serendipity -- it was only the beginning of the night) upon them for the first time this week at the Pug, a little bar where I usually play Scrabble and wait with friends for a table at Toki (upstairs). When I saw the glass dome on the bar, I instantly recognized Crunkcakes and pounced. Featured that day was an Irish Car Bomb, a Guinness-and-Jameson-soaked rich chocolate base topped with Bailey's buttercream and chocolate curls. The cake was so velvety (it's hard to be dry when soaked with liquor) and the buttercream so tasty that I had to remind myself it was full of alcohol and not wolf the entire confection in one bite.

As Crunkcakes has no permanent address, follow them on Twitter or Facebook to track their whereabouts.

Say "Aah," Ceiba.

Few things make me happier than enjoying great food with great company at a great discount -- last week was DC (Winter) Restaurant Week, that wonderful time of year when hundreds of fabulous restaurants offer relatively reasonable prix fixe lunches and dinners to bring great food to the masses (us)! My friends and I decided to try Ceiba, a fantastic Latin-fusion restaurant inspired by Yucatan, Brazilian, Peruvian, and Cuban cuisine. Everything was perfectly cooked with delicately balanced flavors (though I know little about it, I'm quickly becoming a huge fan of Latin-American cuisine). Tuesday night, even the Metro epic fail couldn't spoil my dinner.

We started the meal with a delicious cumin flatbread and caipirinhas. For the first course, I had an amazing blue crab tortilla soup, velvety smooth with little exotic spikes of heat and crunchy tortilla strips on top. (Side note, I love when restaurants bring the soup bowl out with the soup in a separate vessel which they pour over some lovely featured ingredient (in this case, blue crab) which they want you to see first.)

Next I had duck two ways: confit leg and a seared breast so crispy the skin melted in my mouth, leaving behind a blend of spices I can never hope to list nor recreate. The confit was rich, served over a bed of Peruvian fried rice, plated with a Huancaina (drat, already forgot what on earth is in it!) sauce was creamy and light.

Dessert was a heavenly chocolate cake with an airy chocolate mousse scented with something like cinnamon (and a sampling of my fellow diners' flan with honey-tequila oranges).

(This restaurant earns extra points in my book for its vibrant atmosphere and central, metro-accessible location.)

Seasons (gr)eatings.

When I was little, the approaching holidays always meant one afternoon of breaking out the cookie cutters, rolling pins, and sheet trays to make our stand-by Christmas treat: sugar cookies. My mom had this recipe from an old magazine that we used year after year, making chocolate and nut-covered logs, Christmas tree-shaped cutouts decorated with colorful ice cream toppings as ornaments, snowmen with chocolate-dipped top hats, angels, bells, stars, and teddy bears (that always took on a slightly frightening look because we used mini M&Ms for eyes that looked unnaturally large compared to the rest of the body -- I remember a particularly scary blue-eyed bear one year). My mom also made Swedish tea log, lemon squares, almond crescents, rum balls, and peppermint bark. We (or rather, she) would wrap them all up in colorful paper or cellophane bags and give them as gifts to friends, neighbors, bus drivers, homeroom teachers, music teachers, and coaches. (We would keep the other six dozen or so in tins that lasted until my mom would give up and freeze them sometime around February.) Over the years, our tastes matured away from our old sugar cookies, but I still find myself missing the making and decorating of cookies while drinking hot chocolate from my perch on a kitchen chair.

The first Christmas I lived alone, I was feeling nostalgic and decided to make treats of my own to send to friends and to bring to the office (I have a slightly less personal relationship with DC bus drivers than the one who picked me up and dropped me off every day for four years of middle school). You could say I've continued the tradition on my own over the years, taking an early-December trip to the Container Store (my Mecca) to pick out tins, boxes, cellophane bags, and ribbon to package my goodies, and then spend a weekend baking and assembling packages to deliver and mail.

This year's boxes contained some familiar items: my mom's lemon squares, a modified rum ball, chocolate bark, and a few other items including mini versions of my Halloween Snickers cookies (back by popular demand). From the reviews, it was another successful year (aided significantly by the arrival of my new mixer, without which the homemade marshmallow would not have been possible).

Homemade graham crackers (surprisingly easy to make and surprisingly faithful to the original taste) for "S'more" cookies:

...Sandwiched with homemade marshmallow and drizzled with chocolate: 

Rum ball remix, three ways: 1) creme de cacao, 2) Grand Marnier, or 3) brandy, dipped in chocolate: 

Dark chocolate bark with toasted almonds and fleur de sel, inspired by these Ghirardelli morsels: 

Every year I get a little anxious -- that the chocolate won't set, the booze will ooze, the cookies will all shatter by the time they arrive at their destinations (I learned the hard way the virtues of careful packaging). But the phone calls and e-mails I get upon receipt reassure me they've arrived in one piece, as well as remind me of the reason my mom did it/why I do it today: to spread holiday cheer and thank the people we're grateful to have in our lives.

My dish finally came true.

Happy holidays, everyone! The photos are taken, the presents are unwrapped, and the first of us has left the nest to go back to her new home. The week has gone so quickly, and it's hard to believe I'm going back to my own new home tomorrow. Naturally, the past week's menu has included truly spectacular eats and pours (from my mom's amazing cooking and my dad's amazing wine collection), spoiling us with roast duck, butter-broiled sole, rosemary-garlic beef tenderloin, crunchy spring rolls, Shanghai-style nian gao (rice cakes), a special Chinese tradition (which you'll read about soon) called hot pot, and much more.

And of course the desserts. My mom's granite counters were in a perpetual state of being floured and buttered. To understand today's post, I'll first have to reveal something truly embarrassing: there's a fabulous pie store in D.C. called Dangerously Delicious Pies. Started by a rock and roll musician (as all the best quirky restaurants are now, right?), DDP's flagship store opened in Baltimore and now has a location right on H St. My friends and I often have grand plans for an epic bar crawl along H St. that more often than not turns into drinks at one or two bars and then quitting early for pie. You can't really blame us once you see the menu -- sweet pies, savory pies, fruit pies, creamy chocolate and peanut butter pies, beef pies, chicken pot pie...everything you could want is on rotation on the generous list.

But the shameful part isn't quitting early for dessert (in my opinion it's something to celebrate, really). Here's how our visit usually goes:

DANGEROUSLY DELICIOUS PIES COUNTER BOY/GIRL: Hi, how are you this evening?
BEV: Doing well, thanks.
DDP CB/G: What can I get for you?
B: A blind baked crust and a glass of whole milk, please.
DDP CB/G: Pardon me?
B: Just the crust of the pie.
DDB CB/G: You want to buy a crust to take home and make a pie?
B: No, I want to eat a baked crust here.
DDB CB/G: I'm sorry, we don't sell just crust.

(If I've had a gin and tonic or two, I'll cajole a little.)

B: But you have so many pies...I'm sure you have a crust you haven't filled yet...couldn't you sell me one of those? I'll pay for the whole pie!
DDB CB/G: I'm sorry, ma'am, we don't sell crust. (or if the person is really nice) You know, I love crust too. I'll mention it to the manager for the future. But right now, we don't sell just crust.
THOUGHTFUL FRIEND: Bev, you can have the crust from the slice of pie I'm getting!
B: * sigh * It's not the same.

Hi, I'm Bev, and I have a serious addiction to pie crust.

Therefore, when I baked a ginger-apple pie my mom wanted me to make over the holidays, and there was extra crust once it had been rolled out, I naturally egg-washed the leftover piece and baked it alongside the pie. When it came out, it was golden, flaky, buttery, and delicious. Homemade crackers were born.

My mom and sister liked it so much that they suggested making another batch of crust dedicated to the concept, sprinkled with various toppings such as cinnamon and sugar, parmesan and herbs, and pink sea salt and cracked pepper. We made another batch which was eaten in a day.

See? Maybe I'm not so crazy.

~


Secret Shame Pie Crust Crackers
(Based off Martha Stewart's recipe for pie crust)
Makes ~30 two-inch crackers

2 1/2 c all-purpose flour
1 t salt
1 t granulated sugar
1 c cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
1/4-1/2 c ice water
1 egg + 1 T water


Toppings: (suggested proportions...play around!)
- Cinnamon-sugar crackers: 2 T sugar + 1 T cinnamon
- Parmesan-herb crackers: 1/2 c grated Parmesan cheese + 1 T dried thyme + 1 T dried rosemary + sea salt and pepper to taste
- Salt and pepper crackers: sprinkle each cracker with cracked pepper and salt


Cut butter into 1/2" cubes and refrigerate while you prepare the rest of the dough. Mix flour, salt, and sugar well. Add cold butter cubes and cut together with a pastry cutter until the mixture has pea-sized butter lumps among coarse breadcrumbs. Refrigerate for 10 minutes for best results.

After chilling the butter and flour mixture, drizzle ice water and stir with a wooden spoon gradually until dough comes together into a ball. It may look dry in some areas, but try to work it together (without overmixing) without adding too much water. Don't be afraid to knead a little, even though it's pie crust. (Though the less you handle the dough, the better.)

Roll out the dough and cut it into crackers (I like about a 2" fluted circle, but you could bake it all together and break the sheet into pieces for a more rustic look). Brush the dough with egg and sprinkle with toppings. Bake at 375ºF for 20 minutes or until golden brown.

A tale of two brunches.

Who doesn't love brunch? It's a fantastic ritual with so many possibilities for variety...breakfast meats? French toast? Pancakes? Soup and salad? Steak and eggs? While for some, "brunch" means one large meal between the hours of 10am and 1pm, you know me -- it usually means a small breakfast by myself at 9, brunch with friends around 11:30, and a maybe a light lunch when I return home around 4 (another reason I love brunch days).

I had the distinct privilege of having had a couple brunch weekends lately: Aquitaine in the South End of Boston, and Founding Farmers in DC. Both included delicious (and pretty) cocktails and decadent (mostly creamy) plates.

**Momentary aside: I don't have many opportunities to write about bevs. Lots of food, not so much bev. Thank you, yet another of many opportunities provided by the institution of brunch!

Aquitaine is a French bistro-inspired place with fantastic standard brunch fare with a sophisticated bend: my fellow diners enjoyed eggs Benedict (perfect runny eggs and a velvety Hollandaise) and a spectacular "Croque Maigret," which was a dressed up take on the classic Croque Monsieur, with duck confit, gruyère, and tarragon mustard. You know how duck confit sometimes tastes a little stale, as though it was cooked a couple days ago and is now dry? Not this duck. I stuck to fluffy Belgian waffles and absolutely perfectly cooked applewood smoked bacon (both thick-cut and still crispy). Why yes, I do judge a brunch place by the crispiness of its bacon.

(Drink pictured above: a triple-berry something delicious, including Champagne and vodka.)

Founding Farmers is a great restaurant in Foggy Bottom that boasts "true food and drink," cooking from quality sustainable produce. I had been there before for dinner several times (try the fried green tomatoes sometime, or their popcorn-du-jour), but not yet brunch. The ladies brunched on FF's signature skillet cornbread (with real corn kernels and honey butter), blueberry pancakes, a pretty apple tartine, and a "Southern fried chicken" salad. I had a hand-made pasta with gouda, gruyère, ham, and apples.

(We weren't shy: my friend's Bloody Mary kept my gin fizz company)

(As though the "mac and cheese" weren't creamy enough, I found out later that my gin fizz also had cream in it. Surprise, surprise.)

Where's your favorite brunch spot? (Will you take me there sometime??)