I am always anxious about something. I would guess that this is partially inherited and largely self-fabricated. As soon as I figure out how to cope with one thing, three more explode - and so I seem to find myself in a constant state of coping. Over the years my coping tactics have evolved, but one that has stood the test of time is simply just puttering around the kitchen. While anxiety totally annihilates my appetite, I can still find relaxation in the simple tasks of measuring, mixing, baking, cleaning, scraping, repeating. I’m sure this is largely influenced by all my sunny childhood food memories, primarily: dangling off my Nana’s kitchen counter as she made batches of meatballs, biscotti or preserved peaches (plucked from trees in her own backyard.)
So this morning, looking for a way to rest my racing mind, I set out to reinterpret one of the manfriend’s childhood recipes: orange muffins. I hope his grandmother would approve of my take on things. And I hope that one day I too can be remembered (in part) by the handwritten recipe cards I leave behind.