I have this one friend who I may or may not have mentioned before, and she has this habit of making fun of me for my “obsession” with brown butter. Listen, I have made, like, one other recipe that even uses it (the link is to an old recipe video I made for brown butter chocolate chip cookies, by the way. Would recommend). I have no such obsession, but rather a respect, even a sort of reverence for the chemical reaction that turns your standard Land O’Lakes into something nutty, toffee-esque, and so unbelievably delicious.
I should have known better. I’ve lived my entire life in Michigan, the state of weather extremes, but I allowed myself to be fooled, to be lulled into a false sense of complacency that perhaps autumn wouldn’t be so cold and I had nothing to fear of the upcoming colder months. These past few weeks have been uncharacteristically warm for Michigan falls, and I absolutely lived for it. I broke out the shorts I had only just put away for the season, traded in my beanie for my characteristic semi-cute half-pony, and got to enjoy the breeze of warm air and dust on my sandal-clad feet.
As I gleefully went about my life in this seemingly perpetual summer, I soon started to notice worrying signs: pumpkins and gourds suddenly appearing at every supermarket, hot apple cider beginning to dot the menus of my favorite coffee shops, and the rather mysterious presence of technicolor leaves floating through the air.
It started with an ingredient, and then a flavor, and then became a perfect excuse to finally use my untouched cast iron Japanese teapot and matching teacups. Green tea, or more precisely, matcha green tea powder, possibly with something floral? Lavender, maybe. Lavender and white chocolate. Matcha-something with lavender and white chocolate, all served with a steaming pot of green tea in my gorgeous little teapot. There were so many possibilities with those components — matcha chiffon cake, green tea ice cream, matcha lavender lattes… I could go on. So naturally, I decided to make macarons, one of the most notoriously finicky pastries. The one known for flopping if the humidity isn’t right, or if your voice is too loud and you clap your hands four times instead of three.
I’m not here to engage with the pancake vs. waffle debate, though I could probably write a dissertation on that. Rather, I’m here to be that pretentious hipster that likes to bastardize all that’s pure – in this case, waffles.
- One’s place of permanent residence
- The feeling that comes with familiarity, safety, love.
E.x. “It reminds me of home.”
I’ve come to a recent realization — one perhaps contrived by the time and nature of a post like this – that corn chowder has a habit of following me around during periods of change in my life.