Julianne Ahn makes some of my favorite ceramics at Object & Totem. She has quite a following, so things go fast. But they are worth waiting for.

Okay, okay, this is a major splurge. But after years of being curious about linen sheets my friend Grace convinced me they were worth the money. She was right. We’ve become linen converts. I find myself talking about them way more than I should. The only problem is, they’re fucking expensive. But Bryan and I had been sleeping on the same cheap cotton sheets for most of our decade-long relationship so we felt like we could justify the upgrade (I am The King of justifying upgrades). We now have a set from West Elm that we got on sale and some from Parachute. I especially love the off-black (coal, as they call it) from Parachute–it is just such a great 90’s goth color. We like them because they are cool (we both run hot) and yet have a comforting weight to them. Hard to explain, but delightful.

We Are Everywhere. For real.

DS & Durga have made it to this guide before, and I can never get enough of their everything. They recently released a line of pocket perfumes. Oil-based roll-ons that you can easily transport. They even come in the perfect felt sleeve. And as always, the graphic design on these is A+. Spirit Lamp is based on a favorite candle of theirs, described as:

• Tea service at the colonial parlor of Mme. Revere, topless psychic.
  Hot silver heated by open flame. Bohea vapours, radiant heat, milk.

These beautiful little match holders are from Evanston-based artist Julia Finlayson’s Grandmontstreet Ceramics. Each perfect little vessel holds a handful of matches and is ribbed for striking. They’re available at one of my favorite Chicago shops, Asrai Garden (who recently launched their very own web shop!).

Pillows! This pillow is great, but so is everything from Banquet Atelier and Workshop in Vancouver. I am pretty obsessed with their textile patterns and a lot of my domestic fantasies revolve around curtains for our dining room in one of their rad fabrics. read more+++

We were in Iceland for the last two weeks of May. It was the fastest I have ever fallen in love with a place. From the moment my lungs first filled with Iceland’s sea air that smelled like the earth and tasted better than anything I have ever eaten, I knew I was in love. We were explorers. We found glaciers, sea birds, volcanoes, seals, and so many waterfalls that at a certain point we no longer pointed them out to each other. We took waterfalls for granted. Iceland focuses your attention on our earth. It is hard to think about anything else. It is so big, and makes you feel so small. You are confronted with a land that didn’t have to endure humans until very recently. I thought a lot about death, but not in a morbid way. I mostly wondered why the earth isn’t enough. Why do we have to imagine heaven when it is enough for me to know that I will dissolve into a rock, a tree, an arctic tern. I am forever. I thought a lot about entering the earth, communing—sliding into the crevasse of a glacier, burrowing into ash, letting moss grow over me. Iceland does this to you, if you are doing it right. Even in Reykjavik, metropolis of 120,000 people, spring water falls from the faucet in your smartly designed hotel room. The puffin still appears. The lamb you saw grazing on a hill is served on a plate and tastes of the land you explored. It is easy to access the pleasures of Earth in Iceland. It was all we had to do.

We flew back home after Memorial Day weekend to news that everyone in Chicago had been shot. At least it felt that way, though we all know that it isn’t white people being shot in Chicago. Chicago, my troubled homeland, felt like a particularly difficult place to be. We sat in traffic. We read depressing political news. The streets smelled like garbage and car exhaust. I struggled to drink the water coming out of our tap because now it just tastes like chlorine. Bryan and I were short with each other and easily frustrated. It was an acute version of the post-vacation blues, but also something more. read more+++

There are recipes for certain things that I will always try—coffee cakes, for instance. If you write a recipe that has coffee and cake in the title it is likely I will make your recipe. Scones and shortbread cookies are also on this list. My list is mostly sweets. But hot sauces claim a spot. Hot sauces are great because they are easy to share, so if you make too much you can give it to a friend. They also keep well so they can improve your everyday eating for weeks or months.

Even within the category of spicy sauces, harissa holds a particular allure. I have 3 or 4 recipes that I really love and all approach the task from fairly disparate directions. I am particularly fond of this recipe from one of the most charming cookbooks of 2014, A Boat, a Whale, and a Walrus.  Renee Erickson’s recipe requires some ingredients that you will likely have to seek out, and some time. But you are rewarded with jars of a stellar harissa to share or hoard. Now if the perfect time to make this recipe because it will last much of the summer and spices up any vegetable you might be grilling or egg you might be scrambling. It isn’t much work, mostly measuring and blending, but manages to satisfy.

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Sometimes, while wandering around the internet looking for recipes, I will read the comments. A consistent, and deeply troubling, theme over the last decade is well represented by the following comments:

• -Do you think lemon zest would brighten this up?
• -Added lemon zest to these and they are even more yummers!
• -These needed a little something so I added the zest of 7 lemons, LOVE the recipe!

What the fuck is wrong with everyone?

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We accidentally ended up in Racine, Wisconsin at the same time as Sarah Palin and Donald Trump. We realized when we saw a copy of the local paper at a bakery stop on our way into town. Oh, look, Trump is going to be here. Today. What. We’d made the trek to Racine for the most noble of travel reasons, to eat kringle.

Kringle is the state pastry of Wisconsin. Did you know that states had pastries? Some do. Illinois’ is the Pumpkin Pie. Maryland’s is the Smith Island cake. (This is a cookbook waiting to be authored.) Kringles are originally from Scandinavia, but through the Wisconsin lens they became these giant rings of danish pastry that are filled with something sweet and typically topped with a glaze. Racine claims the title of kringle capital of Wisconsin. I happen to love both Wisconsin and pastries. But our innocent visit to our northern neighbors (Kringle Krawl 2016 is how we christened it) was suddenly under the dark (orange?) cloud that is Trump. We were all a little tense. Would there be traffic? Would kringles be sold out? Would all of this end in national controversy? read more+++

I am currently living like the one percent.

Usually I dismiss $65 jars of honey or spice blends when I see them written up in publications. I am naturally skeptical and also aware of the PR machine that drives most food journalism these days, so I assume the products are bullshit. Except for when I don’t. Like when I pay $50 (DOES. NOT. INCLUDE. SHIPPING.) for a panettone because Charlotte Druckman told me to. Druckman appreciates a good pastry more than most people and her NY Times article convinced me this was an important financial investment. Also, I was able to use the excuse of Valentine’s Day to justify this as a gift to myself (and Bryan, I guess). read more+++

These Ceramics! I have been a little bit obsessed with Cécile Daladier’s ceramics for a few years now. They are truly weird and wonderful and designed with flowers in mind. They have been sort of difficult to obtain (you used to have to email the studio and it involved a lot of back and forth) but a couple of stores (here and here) in the states seem to be stocking them more regularly now. Daladier is truly my dream ceramicist. If anyone is looking for a gift for me, send me ALL of these. (Bonus: her studio!)

This sweatshirt! Because the future is female, and a percentage of the profits from the sale of this shirt will benefit Planned Parenthood.

This watch! I have always worn, more or less, a version of this watch. For years it was a Swatch, until I found this Casio beauty at Tortoise. The watch was inexpensive at Tortoise, but is dirt cheap in other spots making this the Best Watch Ever. It is also a good size for a wide variety of wrists, so really it would be good for almost anyone.

This Boob Rug! This has made the rounds on the internet, but I couldn’t resist including it because it was definitely one of my favorite purchases of 2015. What you maybe can’t tell from photos is that the rug itself has a really beautiful quality—plush.

This Trivet Set! Honestly, this is one of the most beautiful objects I have come across in a long time, and it cost me all of $10. Maybe the most exciting purchase of 2015.

This Aesop Stuff! I can’t really afford these beauty products, so I feel a bit conflicted about including them—I had a gift card. But holy hell, I love this stuff. The Fabulous Face Cleanser is the best smelling thing ever. I look forward to washing my face every morning. The packaging is too good. I get it, Aesop, I get it. So, maybe take this as a reminder that sometimes it is fun to treat yourself to something completely unnecessary (and hope for a gift card!). read more+++

No they won’t. That’s ridiculous. But I was finding inspiration in the strangely portentous title of Ruth Reichl’s new cookbook.

We have some catching up to do. I’ve been cooking!

My friend Abra is a chef and writer and teaches me a lot about how to be a better cook. She’s especially good at preserving food. I’ve been following her lead and roasting and then freezing cherry tomatoes to get me through the long tomato-less winter. (Though maybe this winter won’t be as tomato-less as some for Chicagoans). She also makes a mean ratatouille, using those very same roasted tomatoes. I used her recipe to improvise mine, the wine and the paprika are key.

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I spend a lot of time trying to convince people in Chicago that Madison, Wisconsin is one of the coolest cities in the country. I get a lot of blank stares or condescending smiles. But if you’ve been there, you know.

We’ve been visiting a couple of times a year for the past few years and have fallen in love with Madison. It is the state capitol of Wisconsin and also home of the University of Wisconsin, which makes it very much a college town. It is a progressive city, sometimes referred to as the Berkeley of the Midwest.  It is built on an isthmus and surrounded by four (five?) beautiful lakes. Nature and urban life flow together in wonderful ways in Madison. It has a thriving food scene and is one of the friendliest places you’ll ever go. Because it is in Wisconsin, beer and cheese are plentiful. Basically, it is paradise.

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Alan Levinovitz is a professor of philosophy and religious studies and so it may be surprising that his latest book is about American diets. In The Gluten Lie: And Other Myths About What You Eat (deliberately provocative title, jeez!), he explores the myths and pseudoscience that much of our culture’s dietary understanding is based upon. He makes smart observations about the ways we use religious ideas and arguments to talk about food. And argues for a relationship with food that is less anxiety-ridden and fearful.

Once, at a farmers’ market, I asked a juice vendor whether her juice counted as “processed”—yet another vague, unscientific epithet that gets thrown around in discussions of food. After a moment of shock, she impressed upon me that processing fruit into juice doesn’t result in processed food. Only corporations, she insisted, were capable of making processed food. Not only that, but it wasn’t the processing that made something processed, so much as the presence of chemicals and additives.

Did the optional protein powder she offered count as a chemical additive, I pressed? A tan, gaunt customer interrupted us.

“It’s easy,” she said, staring at me intensely. “Processed food is evil.”

Processed food is evil. Natural food is good. These are religious mantras, the condensed version of simplistic fairy tales that divide up foods, and the world, according to moralistic binaries. Genuine nutritional science, like all science, rejects oversimplification. “Natural” and “processed” are not scientific categories, and neither is good nor evil. These terms should be employed by monks and gurus, not doctors and scientists. Yet it is precisely such categories, largely unquestioned, that determine most people’s supposedly scientific decisions about what and how to eat.

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