Tomorrow I jet off to Playa del Carmen for a wedding. Sunshine! Palm trees! Day drinking! Bliss!

Don’t get too jealous—there is a snag in my cartwheeling and twirling. A couple of days ago I called the bride and sheepishly admitted, “I blanked out and forgot to go to the gym the past three months.”

Instead of going on a crash diet and spraying myself a darker shade of Oompa to cover up my trespasses, what have I done the past few days? Continued to eat as if I were headed to the North Pole for the winter.

Today, for instance, involved testing a recipe several times over and by the afternoon I had acquired a few extra thigh dimples thanks to copious amounts of chocolate mousse, sticky Italian meringue, and cookies that I insisted on tasting for quality control (never mind that I was testing assembly methods and the actual recipe was the same each time).

But you know what? I’m not too worried. I found a lovely ombré coral wrap that will look just fabulous poolside.

I think this would work as a chandelier, no? Spotted at Caribbean Cuts in the Flower District. Something lovely to make up for the not-so-tidy bits that follow.

Wednesday morning rose bold and bright: perfect for a day at the market. I met up with photographer Judd Pilossof at the corner of Grand and Chrystie. We were going to walk around Chinatown and pick up a few things for a test shoot we’d planned.

Fish, shrimp, eels, crabs, clams, oysters, lobsters, frogs, turtles——if it once called a large (or glass-encased) body of water home, you’re likely to find it here. For the shoot: crabs and fish, and because the vegetables and dried herbs in that neighborhood can’t be ignored, bok choy bursting into tiny yellow blossoms and dried night-blooming cereus (a passer-by informed us it was good for the lungs when used to make tea).

The photos from the shoot are wonderful and I will share them in due time, but in the meanwhile, some curious parts spotted at one of the markets:

“¿Me dá para mi calaverita?”

Mexico and several other Latin American countries honor the dead today by celebrating día de los muertos, Day of the Dead. Children will knock on doors and ask for money or food, families will festively decorate the graves of their loved ones, and this curious pan de muerto will be baked and shared.

Pan de muerto is a sweet, soft bread, coated with sugar and perfumed with orange blossom water. During its preparation, part of the dough is reserved and used to decorate the loaves with shapes echoing those of human bones. Different versions exist, with breads showcasing flora, fauna, and mythical creatures as décor. Even if you won’t be rapping your knuckles on stranger’s doors on behalf of your calaverita, this is a festive and beautiful bread that’s worth trying.

For the recipe, visit Serious Sweets .

I was completely enchanted by these Concord grapes a few weeks ago when I visited the greenmarket by Lincoln Square. They were deep, midnight violet hiding under a gossamer bloom and intensely perfumed. The strong scent of sheer purple was discernible from a distance and provoked flashes of childhood’s gloppy grape jelly, drippy grape popsicles, and intoxicating grape juice.

The grapes’ velvety jackets are easily slipped off to reveal chubby, translucent green flesh with rather large, crunchy seeds. I usually chew right through these, but while testing this week’s Concord Grape Cake for Serious Sweets I found that they created too much of a distraction. In that recipe, they are removed, leaving you nothing but tender cake mottled with small explosions of grape and a thick topcoat of made-from-scratch jam.

A little sad, this fallen bird, but its bold yellow feathers, black-speckled breast, and rose-red cap were too beautiful to just pass by.

I was working on a chocolate-coated cookie recipe recently, and, neat as I try to be, chocolate is not something I’m very good at keeping under control. I’d like to think it’s like refusing to color within the lines: It’s creative! It’s liberating! It’s fun!

This is what the aftermath of all this creative, liberating, and fun chocolate activity left behind. Rather pretty, no?

I strolled around the very crowded Union Square Greenmarket last Saturday afternoon. Despite being jostled around and occasionally glared at for stopping to shoot this basket of red apples and that basket of brown pears, it is one of my favorite places to go in the fall in New York. It’s these jaunts that remind me how much I missed living here and how good it feels to melt into the bustle and grind and messiness of other people’s lives.

Writing for Serious Eats / Sweets means I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about dessert. Half moon pose in yoga, the instructor running through the dialogue—”Pushandcomedown, pushandcomedown”—, sweat gushing out of every pore—everything goes unnoticed. Stuck in line behind someone who insists on spelunking in their Mary Poppins-sized handbag for a measly $0.10 coupon—I’m not annoyed. Small child screaming bloody murder in the seat behind me on crowded flight—I tune it out. My mind is putting together a list of possible cake and icing combinations, nut and spice mixtures, color schemes suitable for propping the finished cake.

Dinner has taken a secondary role, so much so that last week when my husband was out of town I had a whole bag of microwave popcorn for dinner (only after I’d eaten a large slice of that day’s cake, right off the cake stand).

When I do get around to making dinner, I rummage around the kitchen seeing what’s around and crossing my fingers that the vegetables I bought last weekend haven’t morphed into alien forms (I found a length of kielbasa in the crisper drawer once and upon closer inspection realized it was actually a long-forgotten and mutated carrot). One of the dishes that most easily comes together and simultaneously rescues onions, bruised apples, and the last handful of potatoes is roast chicken.

I’ve written about roast chicken before, and expect to see more variations because it is one of my very favorite things to make. Nothing to me says “I cooked a lovely dinner!” to me more than roast chicken. It’s fuss, uses just one pan, and doesn’t make a big stink in my apartment.

Try this version with crisp garlicky skin, caramelized lemon pieces, chunks of tart apple, toasty roasted potatoes, and sweet onions. Oh, and sausage, too.

EASY ROASTED GARLIC CHICKEN WITH SAUSAGE, APPLES, & ONIONS
Serves 4

Equipment: cutting board, chef’s knife, roasting pan, grater, paper towels, tongs, instant-read thermometer
Active time: 20 minutes
Total time: 1 hour, 45 minutes

Notes: You can substitute the whole chicken with bone-in, skin-on chicken pieces (all breasts, all thighs, etc. or a combination of white and dark pieces).
- Easily core the apple pear by cutting it in half, then scooping out the core and seeds with a 1-teaspoon measuring spoon (metal works best).
When seasoning chicken, I like to estimate ¾ teaspoon per pound of chicken.

1 medium-sized yellow onion, cut into ½-inch pieces
1 Granny Smith apple or 1 firm seckel pear, peeled, cored, and cut into 1-inch pieces (See Notes)
8 garlic cloves, peeled
3 fresh Italian sausages, cut into 1-inch thick rounds
1 whole chicken (4 to 5 pounds), cut into pieces (See Notes)
2 teaspoon dried thyme or 1 tablespoon minced fresh thyme leaves
1 teaspoon dried sage
½ teaspoon red pepper flakes (or more to taste)
Salt and pepper (See Notes)
Olive oil
Finely grated zest and juice of 1 lemon
1 pound fingerling potatoes, scrubbed and cut in half lengthwise

- Adjust oven rack to middle position and preheat oven to 375°F.

- Combine onion and apple in roasting pan. Smash 4 garlic cloves with the side of a chef’s knife and add to pan. Add sausages, thyme, sage, red pepper flakes; season with salt and pepper. Drizzle with 3 tablespoons olive oil and toss everything together with hands.

- Finely chop remaining 4 garlic cloves. Combine with lemon zest in small bowl and add enough olive oil to cover (about ¼ cup). Microwave uncovered for until oil is bubbling and garlic is fragrant, 30 to 60 seconds.

- Cut lemon into quarters and toss with vegetables.

- Pat chicken pieces dry with paper towels. Season with salt and pepper.
Rub garlic mixture all over chicken.

- Arrange chicken pieces, skin side down, over vegetable-sausage mixture. Bake for 35 minutes.

- With tongs, turn chicken pieces skin-side up and increase oven temperature to 450°F. Continue to bake until skin is crisp and golden and temperature registers 160°F, about 30 minutes.

- Transfer roasting pan to cooling rack and allow kitchen to rest 10 to 15 minutes prior to serving.

In its original tongue, French toast is pain perdu, “lost bread.” It should be “found bread” or “saved bread” I think, as what would have been tossed out, discarded, inedible, lost bread, too stale and unpalatable to serve even with a large knob of fresh butter, is saved with the addition of staple kitchen ingredients.

French toast is made by dipping stale slices of bread in a batter of eggs and milk, sometimes enhanced with ground cinnamon, vanilla extract, sugar, etc. More exaggerated versions add cereal and nut coatings, cream cheese and fruit fillings, and anything else within arm’s reach that may appeal to a mouthful of sweet teeth.

Note that the whole point of French toast is to use stale bread, but, thanks to the modern-day use of preservatives, supermarket sliced bread can endure an inordinately long period of time. Though it might be a bit more difficult to have bread that’s wasting away in your pantry, do stay away from the fluffy stuff; it is much too soft and overly absorbent, which will produce a wet, soggy, slippery, slimy breakfast.

Even with bread on the brink of becoming lost, I’ve been served many plates of swampy French toast. If you enjoy chewing on waterlogged sponges, don’t make the following recipe. This is a non-recipe of sorts, but basic and self-explanatory, so you should have no trouble. My special trick — aside from dry bread slices from a sturdy loaf — is to generously slather the slices with cinnamon-sugar butter on both sides prior to giving them a brief dip in egg batter. French toast with a thin, fried coating that’s also caramelized and cinnamon-scented. What once was lost, is now found.

CRUNCHY FRENCH TOAST
Serves 2

Equipment: cutting board, serrated knife, large mixing bowl, whisk, 12-inch nonstick skillet or griddle, spatula
Active time: 15 minutes
Total time: 30 minutes

Notes: Use only sturdy, stale bread, such as Pullman loaf, boule, ciabatta, or baguette. Avoid sliced supermarket breads.
Recipe can be easily multiplied.

8 to 10 pieces stale ciabatta bread, sliced into ¾ inch slices (See Notes)
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
2 to 3 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon (or more to taste)
1/8 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs, at room temperature
¼ cup milk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 teaspoon finely grated orange zest (optional)
Syrup or honey for serving (optional)

- Combine 4 tablespoons butter, sugar, cinnamon, and salt in small bowl. Spread each slice of bread on both sides with cinnamon-sugar butter.

- In large bowl, whisk together eggs, milk, vanilla, and optional zest.

- Melt about ½ of the remaining tablespoon butter in large nonstick skillet or griddle over medium heat. Briefly dip as many slices of bread as will fit comfortably on the skillet (do not overcrowd).

- Cook toast until browned and caramelized, 2 to 4 minutes per side.

- Serve immediately, with syrup if desired.

I’ve been home alone this entire week. When I walked away from my desk job I knew it meant turning my back on a regimented day-to-day schedule. No more alarm clock, no more bowl of cereal at the kitchen sink, no more cursing the train for being too crowded with fellow nine-to-fivers.

My first year of cubicle freedom was shared with my husband who happened to be working at home, too. Annoying at times, this roommate/officemate… I had to pay attention to when he was on a call because it meant I couldn’t press the pulse button on the food processor like I had an index finger muscle spasm. But it was nice to have someone to share lunch with.

But now we’ve moved and he goes to the office and on days when I’m not shooting, I’m home. Alone.

Some people like to eat alone. I am not one of those people. I do eat—lots, too, and often straight out of the fridge— but it’s not as satisfying, even when I treat myself to lovely Swiss mustard, thick-cut slices of good butter crusted with Maldon salt, crusty bread, and horseradish pickles from the delightful Divine Brine folks.