Carrie Saum

I've spent the last week in sunny California. I was there for a massive food expo. It was also Spring Break.

Quiche. It's a bit of a unicorn, isn't it? You chase the perfect texture, combination, flavors, and rise in hopes that it equals perfection.

After combing through mommy groups, I landed on a question that made total sense to my helicopter parenting mom-brain: Does that feel safe in your body?

Every year, I recreate my favorite street vendor’s glüwine (pronounced glue-vine), and remember that crazy freedom. I’m instantly transported back to those snowy cobblestone streets, freezing hands and feet, warm belly, and everything tinged with magic even while being naively idiotic.

I didn't have even an ounce of energy to spare to process my own feelings. Everything I had went to my son.

I LOVE brunch. I love brunch more than I love most humans/animals/home renovation shows. It will come as no surprise when I tell you that I revere brunch like many people revere Lady Gaga and The Big Lebowski and Christmas. Brunch is a Big Deal for me — I take it seriously.

My grandmother planted these gorgeous Meyer lemon trees

The first time I ate a mushroom at Gram's summertime table (with me sporting a full coverage one piece and neon shorts, and her in a ruffled pink bikini), it was raw. All I tasted was dirt. I swore off them forever. So, she made them for dinner.

Every now and then, I produce something in my kitchen that actually blows my own mind. Heaven in your mouth - white chocolate cranberry cookie fudge!

I now interrupt your frantic turkey preparations for the following announcement: 

EAT PIZZA, INSTEAD.