Author: Elle Nakahara

One summer evening a few years back, I noticed the wind rustling through the leaves of the cherry tree outside my kitchen window. How odd, though, that only one part of the tree was moving. Just when I realized there was no wind, I spotted a raccoon paw slowly reach out to grab some of the fruit hanging at the end of a branch—I had caught him mid-feast! I laughed quietly to myself, careful to not disrupt his foraging and relieved that someone was enjoying them—they were much too sour for me to know what to do with them. The next morning, the ground was dotted with half-eaten cherries, and it reminded me that their season here is so brief. I took my cue from our adorable cherry thief and picked some up to bring home, with a bit of extra to make ice cream.

The rosiest oranges, yellows, and pinks melted together, like a sky at sunset that catches you by surprise and renders you speechless.

Have been a little obsessed with violets this year and wanted to find a simple way to experiment with that flavor profile. Found a great organic raw violet syrup from Bacanha (I fell for their old-timey apothecary bottles) and added a few spoonfuls to a batch of blackberry simple syrup I’d made earlier. I love the floral notes this adds to cocktails and iced drinks, even to bowls of yogurt or fruit salad—so good!

I love spooky stories, and if they’re being shared around a campfire or on some winter evening, even better. But this is not one of those, it’s more about a haunting—by mushroom. Let me explain.

Once upon a time, I was at a small dinner party sometime in late fall (of course)—friends, food, different conversations going on at the same time. And somewhere in the middle of all the chatter appeared this glistening plate of chanterelles, lightly sauteed with butter, wine, and a bit of cream. So simply prepared and delicious beyond anything I’d ever tasted (mushroom-wise). We all did that polite dance of “would you like some more?…No, I couldn’t…Are you sure?…Well, maybe just a little.” And then it was gone, all of it, even the sauce. Of course, then we asked our friend if he would share how it was prepared. And it was simply a bit of this, and a dash of that—casually thrown together as one does when you’re a culinary genius. I had a feeling then that I wouldn’t be able to recreate the exact balance of flavors from that dish. And despite my best efforts, it still turns out slightly different every time; always delicious but never quite like that night.

Where I live, chanterelles are available only in the fall, so I’ll have to wait until September or October, depending on the weather. In the meantime, I scooped up these beauties:

A few shots from a trip to DC a few years back.

Playing with the afternoon light that’s streaming through my windows.

Catching beach vibes from objects around my house—colors and textures and collected treasures. Looking forward to warmer days just around the corner, but until then…

Stopped in Turin for a few days recently & spent a leisurely afternoon at the Museo Egizio, which houses the largest collection of Egyptian antiquities outside of Egypt, including an absolutely stunning hallway of monuments. I first visited this museum years ago, wandering through nearly-empty hallways. I remember feeling as though I had the place to myself—a rare luxury these days! So many charming details that I surely would have missed had I been navigating my way through a crowd.

A traditional Japanese sweet, manju are small cakes that are baked or steamed and are typically filled with sweetened red beans. As you can imagine, there is a wide variety of shapes, sizes, and fillings, but this is the classic version. Manju are meant to be eaten in 2-3 bites, so it’s a tiny snack but these will tide me over until lunch