Brown Butter Blueberry Muffins

Thank you, Joy the Baker. Thank you for existing. Thank you for creating these blueberry muffins so perfectly crafted with brown butter, the Goddess of all butters.

    I made these muffins at the beginning of my spring break last week. They were just the excuse I needed to not exercise and not leave my house 'cept for stocking up on baking ingredients. I did a lot of baking that week. Sometimes I wonder why I haven't dropped out of university yet to fly to Paris and enroll in pastry school. Heaven knows it's all my heart really wants. But the sensible part of my brain has insisted that I stay and finish my Linguistics degree. The unsensible part of my brain, the portion not wanting to run off to Paris, keeps tacking on new,  exciting minors, ensuring I never graduate and remain a professional student (bordering on spinster aunt/cat lady) forever. Pray this doesn't happen for real. I'm not going to be bashful about admitting that one of my listed hobbies would be "planning my school schedule." I'm sure my advisors are pretty tired of me asking if they know what the class schedule will look like for Fall 2014.

   Regardless of study stresses, whether or not you have them, whether or not you are a grown-up with a grown-up job, (what I wouldn't give for a sunny office as head librarian!) you should make these muffins. I promise they'll help wash down any Type-A control-freak issues you may be having.

I tweaked this recipe just a teeny tiny bit. I found the batter to need a good 1/3 cup more milk and the topping to need double the amount of butter, melted, not cold. I'll post said recipe later. For now, enjoy your Sunday morning!

"Crossing Brooklyn Ferry"

I believe in bettering oneself. 

I believe that memorizing poetry is an exceptional method for bettering oneself. 

Therefore, I memorize poetry.

     Or so I've begun to. I can't help myself--Whitman, Tennyson, and Keats (always Keats, always) have had my heart lately.

     I don't know what it is about Walt Whitman's "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry", and in particular, this section below, that gets me so. It must be something to do with the grandiose way Whitman idolizes New York: All boroughs, all citizens, all hills, all towers--not a thing is beyond him to love. Or how, in section 8, he veers away from his proclamations of love for the city to humanly love: 

deep, meaningful, undeniable love. 

Walt Whitman, "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry" (1856)

Lines 93-100 are what most goad me. If the text is unclear to you, it reads: 

What gods can exceed these that clasp me by the hand, and 

         with voices I love call me promptly and loudly by my

         nighest name as I approach? 

What is more subtle than this which ties to me to the woman or

         man that looks in my face? 

Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning into you?

We understand then, do we not?

What I promis'd without mentioning it, have you not accepted? 

What the study could not teach--what the preaching could

          not accomplish is accomplish'd, is it not? 

Le sigh!

afternoon

Chopping vegetables in like a salve for your brain. The methodic movements calm nerves and create plenty of safe space in one's head for sorting out the day's emotions. Thus my Sunday afternoon. I made this spiced chicken soup with chickpeas a few months ago and have been thinking about it ever since. Thoughts of this soup haunted my one o'clock literary history class. No more, for I have enough to last for a week's worth of lunches. Pair it with a loaf of crusty rosemary sourdough and you've got yourself warmth and comfort in a bowl.

Need something edgier? Did that afternoon nap you took erase pent-up stress of all the weekends homework you're sure to leave to the last second? Make dark chocolate lava cakes to share with friends while gripping each other in girlish-fashion at the conclusion of Downton Abbey.

Finally, the Valentine my sister made me. She's alright.

a few musings on cacao

In my frige at the moment.

chocolate: is there really ever enough?

happy singles appreciation day.

"Love climbs up and love falls down.
Love can smile and love can frown.
Let they love now smile on mine
And be my own dear Valentine."

Dear readers, enjoy this weekend with your loved ones! I would love to hear about any and all romantic adventures partaken of! 

Some amazing inspirations recently discovered: 

dying to renew my 2009 resolution to only wear dresses and skirts

{these are perfect for the spring adventures i plan on having!} 

wanting to buy this as my valentine's day gift to myself

still obsessing over Iceland wanderlust and these amazing photos

the sweetest, most darling photographs by laura fleishman of couples who have been together for 50+ years!

swooning over all things vintage and french here & here & here