when i'm in the kitchen, i practice restraint. but when i dream of dishes, i do so in technicolor. i go especially over the top when it comes to dessert. as a kid in the 80's, i designed an extensive collection of womens aerobic wear on one of my dad's yellow legal pads. page after page of side ponytails, legwarmers, and leotards with absurdly puffy princess sleeves and neon lightening bolts. i embraced the concept "more is more" with fervor. today it finds its way out in a red notebook where i sketch flamboyant desserts like "almond joy," a warm chocolate-almond torte with toasted coconut ice cream and almond brittle. "my dad's lemon tree lemon meringue bars," have thick layers of lemon curd on pine nut crust. why stop there? no, these need copious piles of lavender meringue (think absurdly puffy princess sleeves), and drizzles of fruity olive oil and lavender honey.
(psst...click on the photo to read the mad professor's notebook)
at what point do we start being judgmental and doubtful of our dreams? as a kid i imagined i'd have a house with a jukebox and bellagio fountains in my front yard. now i think a pottery barn sofa and white porcelain sounds more appropriate. i have a pewter paperweight beside me etched with the following message: "what would you attempt to do if you knew you could not fail?" i would start by making s'mores: vahlrona brownies with graham cracker crust, topped with marshmallow ice cream and a bruleed marshmallow.