Last cinnamon sticks standing

Dear readers, I'm back from another lovely weekend at the cottage. I'm battling what appears to be the onset of a cold and as such have resorted to things like endless mugs of peppermint tea, fried eggs on toast and granola with yogurt. Though I can appreciate the finer things in life -- single-origin raw chocolate, dark roast coffee, aged wines, expertly crafted cheeses, fresh seafood -- you'd be surprised at how often I turn to some version of a staple to keep me nourished and satisfied. When you cook for yourself, anything goes, doesn't it?


This weekend involved real comfort -- reading on the beach, leisurely breakfasts prepared to classic Motown tunes, hours spent playing board games with family members (I contend that I'm not really all that competitive), sipping hot apple cider and whisky cocktails with a cinnamon stick garnish, and watching Will and Grace while perched on the sofa, stuffed. It was about roasting marshmallows over bonfires, playing with slobbery dogs, and kayaking through the lake, the water so calm it was if we were shooting through shields of glass. I might love Thanksgiving more than Christmas if only because fall in Ontario is so beautiful and idyllic.

I don't have much to say to you today, readers, except that I have a hot pot of potato-leek soup simmering away on the stove, garlic roasting in the oven, and a book on my bed waiting for me. I'm fortunate to have the family I have -- unconditionally sweet, supportive and fun -- and friends who really are with me 24 hours a day in some capacity or another. There's a lot to love and to be thankful for this year, not least that I'm still able to appreciate a dinner of a couple eggs fried simply in butter and eaten with good bread and radishes on a warm October night.