CAULIFLOWER COCONUT CURRY WITH CASHEWS & PEAS

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I will never forget the first time I saw a recipe-sharing site online (I am the least sorry if that dates me). I was at a friend’s apartment my sophomore year of college and we were hanging out in her living room with her roommate. I noticed her roommate was looking at this page full of gorgeous food pics and I asked her what it was.

“Oh, it’s just TasteSpotting.”

“Just?! What do you mean, just?!” I loudly thought in my head. “This is effing amazing!”

“Oh, cool!” I said calmly, feigning a sense of decorum in public.

Since I didn’t get a smartphone (again, dating myself?) until my senior year of college (mmhmm), I waited until I got home to check it out. And oh baby, I don’t think I’ve stopped looking at photos of food since.

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JAPANESE TEMPURA CORN FRITTERS

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Six years ago, when I moved into my first NYC apartment, I recruited my dad to help me get situated. It was an easy sell — I’m his only daughter and was a bundle of nerves, as any recently graduate would be. While I was at work, he got a head start on building the IKEA furniture and setting up my bed so I didn’t have to sleep on an air mattress. It was a no-brainer for him, a homebuilder.

When I got home at the end of the day, he gifted me not one, but two toolkits. A cute purple one filled with every single tool you would ever need — including a saw with three different blades, which, to this day, is still in it’s plastic casing, untouched. The second toolkit was less fancy, but had about twelves or so screwdrivers, you know, just in case. He teased me that the toolkits were filled with “boyfriend testers" — the purple screwdriver was cute, but the one with the interchangeable heads was the real gold ticket. Plus the saw, of course.

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FALL SALAD WITH APPLE, POMEGRANATE AND PISTACHIOS

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I spent two hours last night writing and re-writing this post.

Writer’s block — it happens more often than we care to admit. Usually, I can defeat it by just sitting down, shifting into “writing mode” and typing out whatever story comes to mind. Last night, however, that was not working. I wanted to tell you guys a funny story that started with a friend setting off a smoke alarm at midnight while cooking chicken and ended with me bragging about how I’m my father (the homebuilder)’s most handy child.

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KOREAN FRIED BROCCOLI

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Have you missed us? Sorry we went MIA, but This Is Us was on hiatus, so we thought we’d take a break too.

Kidding, of course. But we do apologize for the break — some of us were traveling a lot this summer.

And by some of us, I mean me.

But I had a magical summer crossing timezones to visit Japan, and don’t worry — I was thinking about you the whole time. Well, more thinking about what delicious treats Rina and I could recreate for you all!

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PUPPY CHOW POPCORN

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There’s been a debate in my office about how to pronounce the word “orange.” The Midwesterners of the group (hi) pronounce it the correct way, “oh-range,” and the East Coasters (hi mom) say “ah-range,” which is blatantly incorrect. It’s caused quite a stir in our workplace proximity relationships.

Aren’t we fun?

Also, sorry mom.

Anyway!

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VEGAN MUNCHIES COOKIES

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This past Tuesday, these two theater nerds saw Fiddler on the Roof in Yiddish. And it was glorious.

If you’ve had a chance to mosey on over to our ‘about’ page, you’ll know my favorite musical is Fiddler on the Roof. I don’t know if it’s the timeless tale of the old country, the heart-piercing songs about leaving home or the crazy on-the-nose Jewish humor, but something about that show gets me misty-eyed before the Overture is even finished.

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MATBUCHA

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Ah, 2019. Hello there! You snuck up on us rather quickly. We had plans! We had goals! We had holiday-themed posts! And all of that got lost in the end-of-year, pre-holiday chaos.

But yet, here you are. So, we will try to make a comeback. For our own sanities. Because we’ve missed you so much.

I’m not really one for “new year” hype. Too much pressure, too much buzz, too many people at the gym. There is one thing, however, that I’m super excited about. It’s a book.

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WHOLE ROASTED CAULIFLOWER

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My entire family is either vegetarian or vegan; meat hasn’t made an appearance in my parents’ house since, like, maybe 2010. This makes mealtimes and restaurant choices extremely easy. Holiday menus that revolve almost exclusively around a giant bird that wasn’t lucky enough to receive a presidential pardon, though? Not so much.

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COLORFUL KALE SALAD WITH TOMATILLO DRESSING

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I never thought I’d consider getting a haircut an oddly intimate experience. Intimacy is reserved for people you’ve dated, family members, a handful of good friends. Probably a doctor or two. Maybe, the woman who gives you bikini waxes. But never hair stylists. Or so I thought.

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VEGAN BLACK BEAN SWEET POTATO QUESADILLAS

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I successfully made it through 5 years of living in New York without a mouse problem. Sure, there were the pantry moths and that teeny-tiny roach infestation in my building and a rogue “what the FUCK IS THAT” every once in a while, but as far as I knew, I had gone through my life here without a single Mickey or Minnie in sight.

Until last week.

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GARLIC + GINGER PEA SHOOTS

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Three times a year, my company offers a free book drop. They send out a list of about 75 titles and you get to pick seven that will magically appear on your desk 3-5 business days later. Granted, you can always email publicists and editors around the company to ask for a specific book, but there's something extra-special about the free book drop. 

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MEJADRA

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Being a book publicist is so similar to dating in New York City it scares me sometimes.

There's that blind period, waiting for the other person to respond. There's the game of either making them sweat it out or scrambling to make sure your window of opportunity doesn't slam shut. You have to reach out, wait, reach out again, get frustrated, use interest from somewhere else to get interest from the place you really want. Read and re-read email drafts. Force yourself to push send. Get anxiety. Put it off. Distract yourself. Go bother a coworker who's doing the same exact thing for her author. Return to your desk. Radio silence. Until *ding* that dopamine hits. With each incoming email, you hold your breath hoping it's the producer or editor saying they're interested in your author. And then, if you're lucky enough, you're in. You do a little happy dance in your chair. If not, you bang your head on the desk and try to take calming breaths. I've had it both ways.

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RHUBARB BARBECUE SAUCE + FRIED CAULIFLOWER NUGGETS

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I've lived in New York for a while now, and there are some things I don't think I'll ever get over: the view of the Manhattan skyline from Brooklyn Bridge park, pizza availability at 3 AM, access to some of the best museums and music in the world.

Oh, and the ACCEPTABILITY OF A 15% BROKERS FEE.

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BREAKFAST SWEET POTATOES WITH QUINOA GRANOLA

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So I think my 27th birthday was one of the best days of my life.

Last Friday marked my 27th turn around the sun, and I got to spend the day with some of the loveliest humans I know. I walked from Morningside Heights to Midtown East through Central Park and saw a man walking 10 dogs at once. I walked from Midtown East to Chelsea and saw so many tourists. Punctuating all of this walking was coffee with new coworkers, brunch with best friends and drinks with my partner. It was already pretty damn lovely.

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CRISPY SPROUTS WITH TAHINA AND POMEGRANATE

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So I'm a little afraid of my kitchen.

"Rina, you write a food blog, what the fuck?"

I know, I know! I should have full kitchen confidence, wielding knives with Benihana flamboyance and blowtorching shit all over the place.

But I'm a little afraid of my kitchen.

And the reason I'm a little afraid of my kitchen is because my oven is old, small and makes a clicking noise every once in a while. It's not not the title character from Alien.

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VEGAN RAINBOW VEGGIE SANDWICH

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Guys, it's been a while. And we're real sorry about that. Life has a way of sucking you in and we were two serious victims of that. But we've made it through to the other side! Hair a bit windblown, but otherwise we've made it. 

Spring is finally here and we couldn't more thrilled. Unlike the cheat we got this past fall, summer seems to be holding its full-force self at bay and letting us enjoy the cool breezes and quiet rains of spring. Finally, a real season - no half-assed snow dusting or color change accompanied by full-blown humidity. And what's a better way to celebrate spring than with something colorful and fresh?

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SPICY POMEGRANATE GUACAMOLE

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As I sit at my desk on this blustery afternoon, my mind naturally turns to what I'm going to eat for dinner. Do I want to spend a couple hours at the grocery store, stirring and measuring and roasting after a long day?

Fuck no. I want a bowl the size of my head filled with guacamole. With some crunchy things to dip thrown in for balance. A reasonable request, I would say.

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GRAPEFRUIT AVOCADO ENDIVE CUPS

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So, Passover is next week. Insane, right? I don't know where January or February went, but now Passover is in a week - maybe 2018 is trying to do us a favor by ending as quickly as possible.

I'm not going to my family for Passover this year, which means I'll be staying home in the city, staring longingly at bagels until I come to my senses.* In helping a friend menu plan her seder, I've been thinking about the foods and traditions my family has for our own. We always have props for the ten plagues on the table - plastic animals and bugs, those plastic monster finger puppet things and, for some reason, tiny plastic cowboys with guns for the death of the first born plague, maybe?

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CHALLAH FOR BODY AND SOUL (OR YEAST MEETS WEST, FROM DAD)

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Today's post is written by none other than Rina's amazing mama bear, Ruth! Welcome to the blog, Mama Gato.

Rina always stood on the little green stool.  I stood behind her, her crazy curls tickling my nose as she stretched her tiny fingers to reach the kneading bowl. My grown up hands guided her child hands.  Palm down, fold and turn, palm down, fold and turn, again and again. If the dough was too sticky Rina would make monster fingers with the tacky mess, and I would slowly add small pinches of flour to the bowl.  “Does it feel like an earlobe, yet?”  When Rina’s crazy curls bobbed up and down I would announce, “Then it’s done!”

That was how we made challah every Friday after nursery school.  I showed Rina how to check an egg for blood spots, how to wake up the yeast with warm water and feed it with sugar and then proof it— wait patiently (or not so patiently) for it to froth in the bowl.  This, Rina understood, was what it meant to “make Shabbos.”  The Sabbath did not come on it’s own—if we wanted Friday night to become Shabbos, then we had to make it so. We had to invite the guests, shop for groceries, prepare the meal and set the table.  In this way we transformed the mundane into the holy. A key step to turning an ordinary end-of-the-week dinner into a Shabbos feast was to bake the challah.

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