I make a lot of granola. Like a lot, a lot. My husband eats a bowlful every morning with yogurt. Me, I just eat it by the handful. I’ve tried yogurt, I’ve tried milk and eating it like a cereal, even topped with bourbon peaches. But for whatever reason, I’ve never craved granola in the morning. It’s more of an after-the-gym or late night snack for me.
I’ve literally been obsessed with coconut lately. I really don’t know what started the trend, but these days I just can’t get enough. Coconut milk smoothies in the morning, rich, coconut tapioca for snacking, creamy curries for dinner and coconut macaroons for dessert.
Last month, when I reviewed my week’s Secret Recipe Club reveal posts, it dawned on me that I was doing something wrong. Two beautiful granola recipes were among the collection. Both full of flavor, crunch and simple as could be. It was then I realized: I was doing granola all wrong.
The cooler weather has had me thinking about fall. Whether we want to admit it or not, August is almost a third of the way through and Labor Day is just around the corner. I like the summer, minus the July heat wave, but fall has always been my favorite season. Produce is at its peak, leaves change, and just enough chill enters the air. Too warm for a winter coat, but just perfect enough for a brightly colored scarf or light blanket. To me, fall is the perfect time for a stroll or hike in the woods, apple picking, or a long train ride to take in the foliage.
My foodie penpal (who’s name I will NOT reveal yet) this month can’t eat any type of chocolate besides white because it gives her horrible headaches. I was both horrified and heart broken when I learned of her misfortune. I’m not a fan of white chocolate at all, so for me a diagnosis like that would pretty much mean a chocolate free life. I don’t wish that fate on even my worst enemy. But surprisingly, my penpal actually LOVES white chocolate, and considering it’s the only type she can have, I felt it was my need duty RESPONSIBILITY to send her something white and chocolatey.
Brooklyn Locavore 