There comes a time when you come to understand the red flags that your body uses to get your brain back on track.  In college, pulling all nighters was no big deal.  Coffee sweetened with Coke for extra caffeine?  No problem.  High sugar content late night drinks?  Bring it on.  Hung over?  A Sunday morning run and a Jamba Juice will cure that.

Nevermind the fact that my immune system launched a full-on missile attack of red flag warnings back then, because if I so much as noticed them, it was second nature to ignore every single one.  But I find myself wanting to savor some of the things that were probably not so important to me when I was sharing a dorm room (I can’t believe I did that for so long) and when I was more concerned with having enough time to study and drink/party/other things.

There is no doubt in my mind that I value time with my friends now just as much as I did in college.  But the gradual changes I’ve made with how I cherish and make time for myself makes me wonder – am I the same, super-extroverted girl that I always thought I was?  Back then, it was more than easy to switch on and off between the Lebanese step-dancing party goer with perfect Modern Standard Arabic to the hyper-focused student pulling all-nighters in the library before working doubles at the restaurant.  These days, I find myself much more introverted than I’ve ever been – after a day of work, I need to take an hour in my room to cure my social exhaustion. And I generally keep headphones in my ears while in public to minimize unwarranted interactions.  Not that this behavior is extreme in any way – it’s just not what I’ve ever imagined myself doing.

I guess, some things are just more important to you as you get older. For instance, how often do twenty-four year olds with full-time jobs get to wake up after 10 AM, without a hangover?  (Don’t answer this if your name is Rachel.)  Sometimes, it feels rare to sleep in, wake up fresh, and not have an obligation to running seven to ten miles before noon.  Perhaps the latter characteristic of my weekend mornings is an example of my commitment to myself, but perhaps it’s an example of the lingering self-destruction that occupied my university years.

Moral of the story – last weekend, I didn’t get enough Sarah-time.  The result?  I spent this entire week fighting off illness.  Let’s consider this a lesson learned.

On another note, just a couple of weeks ago, it snowed.  Not much, just a little to leave a little bit of a dusting before the temperature rose and the (pathetic) winter rain washed it all away.  If only it would snow on a weekday, I could probably get some time off work that I’d actually be able to enjoy! These days, I’ve gotten really into taking the time to pamper myself. That snow day helped me realize it.

Pampering.  That’s what I need.

And a manicure.  Yes, a manicure.

Orange, Almond, and Olive Oil Cake (from The New  California Cook)

Ingredients:

1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons sliced almonds
6 ounces whole blanched almonds
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
4 large eggs, at room temperature
1.5 cups sugar
Zest of 1 medium orange, grated
Juice of that orange (about 1/2 cup)
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil

Garnish:
Powdered sugar
Orange slices
Homemade whipped cream

Instructions:

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.  Oil an 8-inch cake pan (or line with parchment paper).  Sprinkle the sliced almonds on the bottom of the pan, and up the sides of the pan as you can.

In a food processor, grind the remaining almonds as finely as you can without turning to a paste.  In a medium mixing bowl, whisk the ground almonds, flour, baking powder, and set aside.

In a stand mixer (or a bowl that you can mix by hand), beat the eggs until frothy.  Slowly, add the sugar while beating, and mix until it is light, thick, and lemon-colored.  Slowly add the flour mixture, then the zest, juice, and oil, until the batter is smooth.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan, and bake at 350 degrees for 50 to 60 minutes, until you can poke the center of the cake with a toothpick and it comes out clean.  Let the cake cool for another hour or two (it continues to bake while it cools), then invert, and serve with homemade whipped  cream and an orange slice.

I like to whip cream at home, and sweeten with preserves instead of sugar – this cake paired perfectly with a nectarine jam given to me by a friend from Los Angeles.

I can’t lie to you guys.  2011 was quite the blogging fail, on my part.

For the past week or so, I’ve been walking around, lounging in my house, and chatting at bars about how I needed to write something for this post.  Walking.  Lounging.  Chatting.  Designing offensive Valentine’s Day cards.  And not writing.

I hesitate to count the posts that I wrote in 2011, in fear that I could count them on the fingers on just one of my hands.  Fail, fail, fail!  It really doesn’t feel like so much time has passed since I wrote my last 2011 new year post, vowing to blog more, and essentially turning down the idea of new years resolutions.

2011 involved a lot of not taking action.  Also, a lot of mistakes.  But another year goes by, and I catch myself doing things that I’d rather not be doing.  2011 was a strange year – I baked less, cooked more, and photographed less.  I worked too much.

I’m currently sitting in a close friend’s studio apartment, multi-tasking between petting her eighteen-pound cat and typing.  It’s the same apartment that we celebrated the New Year in – a tiny, four-hundred square foot, dark-wood-floored and window-ridden feline abode, decorated in her own botanical drawings and her scattered book collection.

The dinner we planned was beyond phenomenal: cheese and sausage stuffed mushrooms, a pear and toasted almond salad, parmesan-crusted salmon smeared with a collection of pestos, and these chocolate covered cherries for dessert.

I enjoy throwing dinner parties – it’s a simple way to show off, hang out with friends, and enjoy something decadent.  In my head, the menu-planning takes more creativity than anything, but it seems as if the timing of the cooking appears to be the greatest challenge, in the eyes of my guests.  Honestly, timing itself is an art form, but it’s included in the menu-planning stage.  Especially at our age, when you probably only have one oven and a frighteningly small kitchen.  I’ve willingly volunteered my services to help my friends learn how to plan and cook a full meal.  Perhaps, it will someday turn into a business venture.  Like most things, it takes hard work  and preparation.  I memorize all of my recipes long before execution, and usually have a friend play sous chef or dishwasher to keep things moving along.

Then again, if I ever open a supper club, I already have a list of friends/besties who’d make excellent hired sous chefs.

With the new year comes a renewed need to do what I love – enjoying my life, and making sure that every day is fulfilling and worth every second.  Savor every bite, be creative in every measure, and know my body.  After all, I started 2012 with a fairly intense training schedule, and a much appreciated winter trip to a beach on the Chesapeake Bay.

Bourbon Chocolate Cherries

Ingredients:

1 bag of dark cherries (I adopted these ones because a roommate swore she wouldn’t eat them before they went bad)
1 lb milk chocolate
Enough bourbon or whiskey to just cover the cherries in a bowl

Directions:

First, pit the cherries using a cherry pitter – I used the blunt end of the chopstick to push out the pits.  Warning: do not wear white when you do this.  My UCLA sweatshirt will never forget the night I pitted cherries.

Place all the pitted cherries in a large bowl, and pour enough bourbon into the bowl so the cherries are just covered.  Drown them.  Let them soak in the liquor for one to two hours – but no longer.  After they’re done, strain them, and save the liquor for something else (if anything, you have cherry-flavored bourbon).

For this recipe, I learned how to temper chocolate.  Tempering chocolate ensures that, when cooled, the chocolate hardens correctly, and has the right color and sheen to it.

Chop the chocolate with a serrated knife, and simmer an inch or two of water in a medium saucepan – simmer, do not boil.  Place a metal bowl over the saucepan, and melt two-thirds of the chocolate in that bowl.  Have a candy thermometer handy – bring the chocolate to 115 degrees while on the stove.

When the chocolate in the bowl is completely melted, remove from heat, and pour in the remaining chocolate.  Stir with a rubber spatula until the chocolate is completely melted and smooth.  Then, measure the temperature.  Continue stirring until the chocolate reaches 87 degrees Fahrenheit – at this temperature, the chocolate is ready to use.  You can only temper milk chocolate a few times at most, so you want to keep the chocolate at this temperature (or else what cools too much will not be usable).

Take one of the cherries with a spoon, roll it in the melted chocolate, and lift it out.  Place it on a cool cookie sheet, and repeat until all the cherries are completed.  I sprinkled a little bit of salt on some of the chocolate covered cherries.

Once finished, it’s not necessary to cool the cherries in the fridge, but it will definitely speed up the process.

Washington, DC, is a bit of a late bloomer: Fall is only really hitting the district as we speak. Yes, the fall I’ve been longing for since the heat wave in June.  The fall that carries a breeze, the fall that tints foliage into my favorite color (orange), and the fall that finally satisfies you with the comfort of staying in on a Friday night to make French onion soup.

That fall.  It finally showed up.  Fashionably late.

Oh, who am I kidding?  The weather has been beautiful for the past month or so, but the foliage is only really settling in to its natural golden state.  Friends have been talking about visiting apple orchards for months now, but I brushed off any attempts for recruitment.  Apples, no offense to them, have never floated to the top of my favorite food pyramid, and physically working to gather such a thing never really appealed to me.  But now that it really feels like fall, the apples caught my radar.

In high school, someone introduced me to snacking on apples with cheddar cheese.  It was weird at first, but the flavors actually pair very well together… and it’s been an elusive flavor that has somehow disappeared from sight, until I recently saw a similar tart on Foodgawker.

And only then did I find the urge to make something with apples.

Apple, Cheddar, and Caramelized Onion Tart

Ingredients:

1 perfect tart crust, recipe by David Lebovitz
1 baking apple, sliced
1 large yellow onion
About 2 cups sharp cheddar cheese
Salt, to taste 

First, roll out the tart dough, and transfer it to your tart pan.  I’ve found that the metal tart dishes with the removable bases are the best; also, be sure to aerate the base of your raw crust with a fork.

I like to take the tart scraps to form a better crust lip – roll the scraps into a long, skinny piece of dough, and just attach it to the edge of your crust.  Press it firmly to the edge, to prevent it from detaching or falling while baking, and press the teeth of a fork flat against the wall of the crust to fasten the lip firmly.

Line your crust with a piece of foil, fill the foil with legumes to prevent bubbles from forming, and then bake in the oven at 350 degrees for about 15 minutes, until the lip of the crust just begins to turn gold.  At that point, remove the crust from the oven and let cool on a drying rack while you prepare the remaining ingredients.

Next, slice your onion in half, remove the skins, and then slice the onion into skinny half-circles.  Drizzle olive oil in a shallow pan, and saute the onions on high heat, until they become translucent.  Stir frequently to prevent burning.  Once the onions are translucent, reduce to low heat, and continue stirring until the onions begin to brown.  The bottom of your pan should be building up brown substance from the onion – this is good.  After about fifteen minutes, deglaze the pan with a few tablespoons of red or white wine (I prefer red), scrape the brown bits from the bottom with a wooden spoon or spatula, and continue stirring until the onions are a deeper brown – about another 15 minutes.

Transfer the caramelized onions to the cooked tart crust, and line the bottom of the pan evenly.  Then, generously layer your sharp cheddar cheese, and top with sliced apples.

Drizzle with coarse sea salt, and bake at 350 degrees for 30 to 40 minutes.  When finished, let cool for about 15 minutes before consuming.

Being a New Yorker runs deep in my veins.  Perhaps, that’s why I feel so at home there.  But perhaps, it’s because of the wonderful friends I have there.

Another phenomenal weekend in New York – and some photos to prove that I’m alive.

I have a confession to make.

I am not a morning person.  Definitely.  Not.  Me.

Weird, right?  I know.  I used to think all bakers were morning people, too.  Sorry.  I was wrong.  I’m one of those girls that has to set an alarm at 6 AM to wake up sometime between 7:30 and 8.  I really do hit the snooze button that much.  It’s a problem.  How am I ever going to own a bakery?

I’m trying to get it together, I swear (the waking up early part, not the bakery part… yet).

It’s something that’s been on my mind since I stepped out of Tartine Bakery in San Francisco.  This is the bakery I’ve had on my radar for a couple of years now – the Robertsons’ cookbooks are my Bibles, and, as my regular readers have probably figured out, I’ve been experimenting with bread.  Mostly because of my obsession with Tartine Bread.

Anyway, I’ve been attempting recipes from this book for about six months now.  Yes, I even tried to make my own starter.  That was a disaster.  I’m pretty sure that all the details of breadmaking were not intended for people with full time non-baking jobs, because nurturing a starter really just did not fit into my work-play-drink schedule.  I mean… come on.  I’m not the best person with routines, so having to feed a starter every day at the same time just reiterated my inability to do one thing at the same time on a daily basis.

Weeks after my failure, I went hunting for sourdough bread in a local grocery store.  Lo and behold, it was nowhere to be found.  So naturally, I went grumbling through the bakery and the bread aisle, until a little old lady started talking to me.  Apparently, she, also from the West Coast, shared my frustration with the lack of decent bread out here.  So she made her own, with a mature starter purchased online (one that didn’t require regular feedings).

Needless to say, I bought a mature starter online shortly after hearing about it.  And then I started making bread.  Lots of it.  To be honest, I’m just going through the Tartine Bread cookbook, which is where I got this recipe for homemade English muffins (oh whaaat?).  I won’t publish it, because you probably should buy Chad’s book.  Plus, the muffins in these photos don’t have salt.  Shhh… I messed that one up.  I know I’m human, but let’s keep that between you and me.

If I saw him working in the bakery while I was “looking for the bathroom” (sneaking around), we can be on a first-name basis, right?

Anyway, all you need to know is – goat cheese, tomatoes, bread, and salt.  They make the perfect meal for a girl who missed her lunch today.

Here’s an amazing video about Tartine, and Chad Robertson’s bread.  Be obsessed.

My spring trip to California worried me.

I flew out there for my little brother’s graduation in late May.  Desperately in need of a vacation, I was sleep deprived, hungry for personal relaxation, and looking forward to seeing familiar faces.  I sleep in the room I lived in during high school – before I went away to college, and before my familial and physical expansion shuffled my siblings around the blueprints of the beautiful Gerrity ranch-style floor plans.

Like most other trips to California, I stepped off of my usual Thursday night flight, into the airport I know so well, and then into the comfortable and amazingly not-humid Los Angeles ocean breeze.  I came home, had a glass of red wine with my parents, and went to bed in the bed that’s no longer mine.  When I woke up the next morning, I had an email from a creative job recruiter in Los Angeles, looking for a designer.

I’m not going to lie – for the next three days, I messaged back and forth with the recruiter, and I toyed with the idea of moving back to Los Angeles. It was the first time in over a year that the thought ever crossed my mind. I missed the freedom of driving a car and wearing jean shorts whenever I wanted, and more than ever, I wanted to be there to see my six year old brother grow up.  At the end of my four-day trip, though, the e-mails revealed that the position was not for me, and I boarded my plane back to Washington National Airport.

I had always told people on the East Coast that it would take me a lot to move me back to California.  Like meeting the man of my dreams, falling in love, and compromising his desire to move back to the West Coast with my desire to never experience the act of childbirth.  And even then, I used to say that I’d only move to the Bay Area.  So, I spent the months between that initial email and last week amidst conflicting possibilities – could I see myself back at home?  In San Francisco or the Yay area?

Rest assured, East Coasters, I’m probably here to stay.  Last week, my time in Los Angeles was well-spent: hiking, beaching, eating, and salsa dancing.  I couldn’t ask for more.  And San Francisco was similar: walking, exploring, eating, and salsa dancing.

But it’s not for me.  I will forever thrive in a city, surrounded by noise, survived by seasons, and oozing with creativity.  Where that is, I don’t know.  But I know that I felt more than relieved to see Washington’s beautiful (perhaps cracked) monuments as I landed.  And that ended those confusing moments, when I questioned the permanence of my decision to go east.

In a perfect world, I’d live in DC (which would only be a 40 minute drive from New York City), have 6 months of Los Angeles summer, 2 months of autumn, 2 months of winter, and 2 months of spring.  And California would be a cheap, three-hour flight to see the people I love.  I’d also work for myself, and I’d actually make enough money to have a gym membership.  Sigh.  In a perfect world…

It seems like the only time I really get to blog these days is when I find time on vacation.  How sad is that?  I really wish it wasn’t so difficult to find time to do everything I love.

But then again, I do love a lot of things.

I’ve been spending the past week or so visiting friends and family along the west coast.  I thought I’d escape Washington’s dreadful humidity – in the process, I missed out on the rare East Coast earthquake, and my flights might be delayed by the rare hurricane that’s threatening our nation’s capitol.

Drats.

Ma3lesh.  That’s okay.  I choose California – for now.  When the weather is perfect, your friends surround you, and you finally take the opportunity to film your grandparents telling the story of how they met, the world could be ending at home while I ecstatically reminisce and accumulate memories, new and old.

Interestingly enough, I’ve found myself doing things I’ve never done before on the West Coast this time around.  Like going to see a show at the Hollywood Bowl – with the family.  I told Papa Gerrity that I’d gladly take care of dinner, if he took care of booze.

Win-win.

Wine, and Banh Mi-style turkey meatball sandwiches.  Parents, grandparents, friends, and a happy couple made my last night in Los Angeles one of my favorites.

Bahn  Mi turkey meatball sandwiches, Chili pepper aioli, and lightly picked vegetables

Chili pepper aioli:

2/3 cup mayonaise
1-2 hot red peppers (I picked these fresh from my parents’ garden)
1/2 teaspoon olive oil
2 green onions, finely sliced
2 garlic cloves, minced

Grind finely sliced peppers into the olive oil.  Mix all ingredients together.  Set aside – I filled a plastic ziploc bag with the aioli, and just snipped the corner for ease of use.  It must be the pastry chef in me.

Pickled veggies:

2 cups shredded carrots
2 cups grated daikon radish
2/3 cups seasoned rice wine vinegar
1/4 cup sugar
2 tablespoons sesame oil

Same as before – combine ingredients in a bowl or container.  Stir until sugar is dissolved, cover, and set aside.

Meatballs:

2 packages Trader Joe’s turkey meatballs (don’t hate – I was short on time)
3 green onions, finely diced
1/3 cup soy sauce
1/3 cup seasoned rice wine vinegar
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 hot chili peppers, finely diced
1/4 cup basil leaves, sliced into long strips

Combine all ingredients in a large saute pan or wok.  Let simmer for 15 to 20 minutes – if you must add water to allow the meatballs to cook, do so, but allow time for reduction to sharpen the flavor after heating.

To assemble the sandwiches, first slice a French baguette, then slather in the chili pepper aioli.  Dress with the pickled carrots and daikon, then fill with the meatballs.  Garnish with fresh cilantro and chopped basil.  Beware – the mayo has more than a bite to it.  Keep something refreshing nearby for those who struggle with spiciness.

And so it begins: I have ventured into the fantastical scientific world that surrounds sourdough bread.

But first, I have a vacation to obsess over.

California, here I come.

Washington is such a small place. Sometimes I say I love it, and sometimes I say I hate it… but I’m pretty sure I just love it.

Look. I grew up in LA. Everyone drives there. You know how we “ran into” people in high school? It happened at a stop light. In our parents’ cars. And sometimes it was kind of awkward. What if you noticed them first, and what if you didn’t know them very well? Do you make eye contact with them? Do you roll down your window to chat? What if they get creeped out, or worse, what if they don’t recognize you? Maybe this was just weird, awkward teenage insecurities, but at least one of those thoughts crossed my mind when I accidentally ended up next to someone on the road.

At least in college, and the non-office world, you always say hello to people you run into (do not get me started on office awkwardness).

Anyway, you always say hello. Always. Even if it’s just a wave on the street, and you’re on your phone and they’re plugged into their music. Even if you’re running your tenth mile of the morning, and she’s walk-of-shaming from her boyfriend’s house. In that case, I like yell out, “Hey girl hey! I’m in so much [expletive] PAIN! See you at home!”

I recently discovered that a jumbled network of friends and acquaintances, all of whom I know through different circumstances, apparently know each other. The details of how they know each other are more convoluted than they are important, but it made me really love how mangled the yuppie connection in DC is. That might just be me, getting excited about knowing people to the extent that they meet at a random gathering, and end up talking about me (don’t hate – you all do it too).

That happened over gchat this morning. It made my morning.

Appropriately enough, I ran into two friends from the office as I exited the building, on my way to the coffee shop to write about last night’s salad. They invited me to lunch at Whole Foods – one of the most financially dangerous places for a food blogger to visit. Seriously. I could probably max out my credit card there, on cheese alone. Interestingly, I was headed to this exact chair to write about a Whole Foods inspired salad. It’s actually an almost-exact replica of the salad I make for myself when feel like spending twelve dollars on a salad – damn you, artichokes hearts! You just weigh too much.

So, with summer temperatures shooting through the roof, I’m taking advantages of the produce available.  And delicious vinaigrettes.

Enjoy the feta.

Feta Vinaigrette

Ingredients:

1 handful feta cheese
2-3 tablespoons high quality olive oil
1-2 splashes balsamic vinegar
1 tablespoon spicy Dijon mustard
A pinch of fresh ground black pepper

Combine all ingredients in a dressing container – I use mason jars.  Stir, then shake.

Pour over a mixture of your favorite vegetables.  My salad involved a green medley, quartered artichoke hearts, and edamame.  I also like to add in carrots, pomegranate seeds, tomatoes, and (surprise) more feta.

Sometimes, we make sacrifices. Give and take, push and pull, exchange or return.  We all do it.  After all, what would life be without change? Boring.  Duh.

My life’s been pretty boring, lately.  I hate admitting that – I was the girl in college who needed a TV sitcom to keep track of the the ridiculous situations I found myself in.  Like the time an old flame insisted on walking me to a new flame’s doorstep.  Or the time a random (and beautiful) UCLA track couple saved me from a creeper in West Hollywood, and then brought me all over the city for the rest of the night.  If you didn’t know, all of the straight male creepers hit up West Hollywood.  They love it.  It’s really annoying.

To be honest, I’ve never been bored with my life before.  Why should I?  We go from high school, straight through college (the best four years of our lives), and then we break free into the workplace – where everything is new and exciting.  We emigrate, make new friends, and find love all over again, as if it’s another level of college.  Without the Redbull, outside of the library, and beyond the local college bars.

I remember approaching graduation, when so many middle-aged people congratulated me, and then told me to kiss my summers good-bye.  I prepared myself for the worst – the nine to five, sometimes later hours, a whole different spectrum of stress, and minimal get togethers with my favorite people. But upon full time employment, I found myself with more free time than a twenty-something could ever ask for.

I discovered weekends – these wonderful things that existed back in grade school, before I traded them for Saturday editing/layout sessions on my high school newspaper, or for working doubles at the restaurant through college.

I traded my late Hollywood nights for rooftop embassy parties.  My six-day drinking schedule trickled down to one, maybe two.  Arabic classes went from grammatical to practical, and the time I’ve spent missing my family in California has been repurposed – not reassigned, just repurposed – because I have plenty of adopted parents on the Eastern Seaboard.  Oh, and some of my favorite people are… engaged.  I guess I’m growing up.

At the moment, I’m sitting at Union Station, waiting for my favorite friend in the world – we’ve been friends for more than half of our lives now – escaping the heat and humidity outdoors.  Right now, I can cut the humidity with a knife.

It’s nice to integrate two completely different lives that I’ve had.  Tomorrow, we’re going sailing.  Have I told you how much I love sailing?

Forget the humidity, and forget how much I really do miss California.  The Chesapeake Bay might be the one thing that keeps me on this coast.

I’ve been on a “do what makes you happy” kick, lately.  There’s no point stressing out about things that shouldn’t cause you stress.  As a solution, I decided to design more, and make creativity 100 percent of my life.  To start: a quote from Steve Jobs about loving what you do.