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If you've been following The Coming Appetite for a while, you may remember a certain "Green Goddess Guac" that I concocted.  Apparently, whenever I see green, I want to turn it into something a goddess would eat. It just sounds so much more exciting than "Kale, Pear, and Banana Smoothie."

 
 
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Life is a funny, busy, heartbreaking, joyful thing.  As I write this, I am sitting on the couch for the first time in a very long time.  Pablo is laying on the back of the couch, peering down over my shoulder and sighing sleepily.  He's felt it, too.  This month, this long May month, has been out of routine.  It's been out of my comfort zone.  There haven't been nearly enough nights spent eating ice cream and watching Netflix together (the preferred evening pastime in the Braley household). 

And yet, now here we are. With only a few weeks left of school and in between loads of laundry, we have found a moment to rest. And, as I slow down long enough to think a complete thought or two, I realize it's been a while since I have stopped to take stock of things. It turns out I'm more tired than I thought. And out of all the ways busyness takes a toll on the body and mind, I think the worst is its ability to make you drop what you love most so that you can accomplish more, more, and more. 

And the thing I have dropped is writing to all of you.  I need to get back to taking pleasure in the methodical measuring of ingredients.  I need to return to the creation of dinner being the main event, not just an annoyance which must be squeezed in and cleaned up so we can get somewhere on time. 

 
 

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Saturday mornings are glorious. I relish the chance to sleep in a little later, snuggle the Pablonater a little longer, and breathe a little deeper. Sometimes I will welcome the start of the weekend with a sweaty yoga sesh at the gym, but more often than not I can't resist the temptation to sit in my puffy green chair in the living room and sip coffee while reading a good book. 

But the best way of all to enjoy a Saturday morning is to have breakfast with a dear friend.  My friend Karita came over last weekend for an early breakfast and coffee-drinking date.  I was so excited to have an excuse to cook something other than microwave oatmeal - my weekday morning staple. But it had been a busy week and we didn't have a lot of food in the refrigerator.  Thinking about what I could whip up in a flash and with very few ingredients, I decided to make popovers. 

 
 
Some people choose to ring in the New Year with fancy diets and exercise plans.  And I respect that.  But I prefer to welcome it in with warm chocolate breakfast pastries. 
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The scent that wafts from the oven when these muffins are baking is what I imagine heaven will smell like.  Every batch fills our small apartment with memories of sleepovers past at my grandparents' house and Sunday mornings growing up in our log cabin.  My mom always made them before church, and I remember the smell being the thing that would wake me up and drag me out of bed.  The recipe was originally my grandmother's, and then my mom adopted it and made it her own. Now that Ethan and I are all grown up (kinda) and in our own place, we have reinstated the Sunday morning blueberry muffin ritual.  And it is not below us to eat the entire pan.