I really wasn’t going to make a birthday cake, but that is sort of an impossibility for me. I was just going to take it easy, but that too, is an impossibility when there is a party at my house. Summer is already here in LA. Melons, corn, fat juicy tomatoes busting open in their farmer’s market bags. Peaches, all of it. But growing up summer came on more slowly, and the first sign out at the end of Long Island were the strawberries in the middle of June.

And so, for four Gemini men whose birthdays were an incredible excuse to have a party– I made a simple strawberries and cream cake. The truth is I have never known so many geminis as I have here in Los Angeles, it makes me a little nervous. But when John Moods, Devendra Banhart, Adam Green, and Ian Svenonius need a place to party, you open your doors.

We all lugged Ian’s huge stacks of 45’s up the steep driveway and set up the new outdoor kitchen as his DJ booth. It turns out the geodesic dome is an excellent dance floor, and that cigarettes are clearly back. At some point quite early in the evening before I knew Devendra would sneak off– I presented the cake and a platter of ice cold fruit. It’s not an easy cake to cut, but it works as a mess on the plate too. Not-too-sweet whipped mascarpone and heavy cream is a dream compared to buttercream in my opinion. And macerated Harry’s Berries were a very worth it splurge.

Rock n’ Roll and soul tracks blared into my neighbors yard until much later than planned, and at a certain point in the night beyond a few of LA’s indie legends and a handful of friends, I didn’t recognize much of the large crowd. The party was a muscle of it’s own. I retreated into my bedroom with the new Arthur Russell re-release and left Mr. Moods in charge.

There were cigarette butts and bottle caps stomped into the ground, unhappy neighbors, and a (sober) comedown that lasted for days, but the party, like the cake, was oh so messy and sweet. Memorable, legendary even. But luckily the cake can be repeated whenever strawberries are in season.

I had to make the cake a second time since I didn’t get any photos the first time. Toad ate a huge chunk out of the back and I had to transport it solo by car to my friends DABSMYLA’s house. It’s the sort of thing you figure out when you’re a food stylist. We celebrated Debby Ryan’s birthday a little bit late. At their table the cake looked like it belonged in one of DABS’s paintings.

These are simple to make, require no special ingredients or equipment, and make the whole house smell like heaven.

CLICK HERE FOR THE COMPLETE GUIDE ON SHOPMY

La Copine Cookbook

Riviera Cookbook

Elm Biosciences Complete Skin Renewal

Lettuce Grow Original Farmstand (use code SALADFREAK for additional discount!)

Flamingo Estate Golden Pollinator Duo

oHHo Dream Cream

Mary Mcguill Calder Earrings

Between The Blooms Foil Puzzle

Last fall, when I decided to be sober and started a new workout routine, I realized something: as a mostly plant-based person, I consistently struggle to hit my protein goals. While developing my new book, I tried to bump things up naturally through diet alone… but there are only so many beans a person can eat.

Protein powder has now become part of my daily life.

Then last year, a wave of scary articles came out about heavy metals in vegan protein powders — lead, cadmium, all the things you don’t want in something you’re consuming daily. That made me pause.

If something is a regular part of your diet, it shouldn’t:

• Contain mystery contaminants

• Feel like punishment

• Or taste like chalk

So I decided to do the research myself.

Here’s what I looked for when testing.

How I Tested

1. Rigorous third-party testing.

I did not test anything that didn’t have publicly available results I could actually look at. This excluded the majority of powders on the market.

2. Vanilla only. Water only.

I tested only vanilla flavors and mixed each one with just water so I could truly evaluate flavor and texture. In a smoothie, most powders disappear — I wanted to know what they tasted like on their own.

3. Taste + texture.

This is non-negotiable. If I’m drinking it every day, it needs to feel good.

4. Cost.

Transparency and testing usually mean a higher price point. I paid attention to price per serving and whether the quality justified it.Ok, but what’s with the lead?

Wait… what about the lead?

I am not a scientist, but from what I understand, Consumer Report’s findings used Prop 65 standards to measure up products, and flagged anything that fell outside of these standards. Most produce contains trace amounts of lead because of contaminated soil and it’s not inherently dangerous unless you are a baby or pregnant… BUT I think transparency is key here— it’s good to see the findings for yourself— also, why not share them if it’s a truly clean product?

Here is a cool alt food scientist in a knitted vest explaining these results should be taken with a grain of salt by saying lead a vampire you have to let in. And a cute Canadian ripped vegan bro who seems to be sponsored by Vega Protein.

What I Tested

There are SO many protein powders out there and I simply couldn’t try all of them, even if they had rigorous third-party testing results. Truvani for example, is one of the cleanest powders available, but it really tasted so terrible to me I didn’t include it just to talk about how bad it was. Instead I’ve narrowed it down to my top three picks.

I’ve used Sprout Living Epic Protein in the past and it tasted good— but I couldn’t find third party testing results even though they say that it is tested.

I just found the KOS product transparency page on their site today, so I will test this one and add it to the results!

None of these products were sponsored but some of them were gifted. The links provided for the products I liked the most give me a small commission.

Any I missed?

Happy to test more and add them here!

The Results

Ora So Lean & So Clean-

I’ll admit it, seeing this pricey ($59.99 or $47 with a subscription) canister at Erewhon is what made me want to do this whole test— I waste a lot of money trying new products with good packaging. So I decided to do my research. In this case I did really find it worth it. This protein powder tasted great and was extremely creamy (the vanilla chai was even better). They are incredibly transparent about testing results. And honestly I found the canister incredibly helpful instead of having a loose bag in the pantry, or a big plastic tub. It also contains digestive enzymes to help with any potential bloat and a bunch of greens and superfoods.

Buy it here!

Form Performance Protein

I found this to be the most solid all around choice and also the highest level of protein which technically makes it have more bang for it’s buck I guess? I found the taste and texture to be quite good. I normally am super sensitive to stevia after taste, but it didn’t really bother me. I liked that they also have bars and single serve packets for when I’m traveling.

Buy it here.

Promix Vegan Protein Powder

This one was a solid simple clean protein source. It’s just peas, not a blend— which makes it much harder to mask the slightly savory flavor. But in a smoothie? Fine. Their Puff Protein Bars are also great on the go.

Buy it here.

and now… the smoothies.

After drinking many protein powders mixed into water I thought, let’s figure out how to make this more delicious. BUT the interesting thing I found is that the powders actually dissolved much better in water than in cold ingredients, so even the really smooth-in-water powders had a bit of grit in them when blended. Here is what I found helpful to achieve the best consistency.

1. Mix the protein powder and the liquid first. Blend for 15 to 30 seconds and let sit while you prep the other ingredients.

2. Add the cold stuff. Blend again.

3. Add a little fat— coconut cream, avocado, nut butter— and blend one last time. Let it sit for a minute or two before serving.

Hmm… that looks familiar…

A Green One

This Might Be a Milkshake…

Making a Valentine’s Day menu isn’t always the easiest thing though, it was one we often didn’t want to get stuck with at Martha’s magazine. I remember one year, my friend Lauryn was stressing about a Valentine’s dinner for two (in July poolside in the Hamptons). What she came up with was fondue— to which Martha responded “What do you want to do get sick with your boyfriend?” But Martha’s right, it shouldn’t be something to rich, but how can it still feel special and satisfying?

Enter paella, a dish I certainly wouldn’t make on just any night. Normally saved for a crowd, I think this vegetarian (ok it’s vegan) version is really a special thing to make your special someone, or yourself, or your family, or your friends. Paired with a really simple salad, and an impressive dessert that is ready in minutes, you can spend more time watching an erotic thriller and eating ice cold fruit than cooking or cleaning up.

But don’t worry, if you don’t feel like cooking I still have a Gift Guide and a sort of sexy playlist.

Or you could subscribe to ‘s sexy substack Hotline.

These are a few favorites, but full gift guide is linked below!

shop the post

1. DABS MYLA x andSons Chocolates - my sweet friends designed this super cute box of chocolates, and I have tasted every single one and they are all so special and delicious!

2. Byredo Matte Lipstick in Stomboli- I saw a lot of this sexy orange red shade at fashion week.

3. ELSE Dahlia Set- I love everything ELSE makes, it’s sexy but still comfortable enough for every day or a night out.

4. ELM BIOSCIENCES Complete Skin Renewal- I have been using Martha’s skin system for a month now, and streamlined my skincare into a just a few products. Oh, and I’m glowing.

5. Flamingo Estate Leather Appointment Candle- Make sure to snag one of these limted edition candles while you can— it’s the perfect luxe scent for burning all night.

6. URBANSTEMS Double the Peony- an oversized bouquet of a single chic flower like a fragrant peony is so much better than a medicore mix.

Oh… and the menu this month…

Chicory and Cara Cara Orange Salad with Pistachios

Vegetable Paella

Chocolate Mousse

Red Fruit on Ice

Read more

“I’m a cookbook author” is usually how I answer when people ask what I do.

“Oh, that’s amazing!” is almost always the response. And it is.

As a teenager dog-earring recipes from Martha Stewart’s cookbooks, I could never have imagined that one day I’d have three of my own. But being a cookbook author isn’t all I do — because with the way cookbook finances actually work, it can’t be.

recently published an essay breaking down the economics of making a cookbook, and I think most people would be surprised by how strange — and precarious — the setup really is. Advances often barely cover the cost of producing the book itself. Very few (successful) authors can make a living from cookbooks alone.

So I’ve found myself in a position that’s both lucky and complicated: I creative direct and style other people’s cookbooks and food and lifestyle content in order to afford making my own.

Right now, I’m ten days out from my deadline for book three — and I’m writing this on a plane home from a two-day shoot, where I was working on a client’s lifestyle content. I genuinely love creative directing someone else’s book. I love translating another person’s voice into images, building a visual world that feels specific to them, and working in styles very different from my own.

But because I put so much energy and presence into everything I do, the cost is often invisible: I arrive home with less steam to write my own headnotes, or to fully crystallize my own vision.

This isn’t an ego thing. I truly enjoy working for other people, and I learn from every project. A dozen years working for Martha Stewart’s magazines, alongside some of the most talented people in the lifestyle world, gave me a specialized skill set — and the ability to execute projects at a level I know not everyone can. But I’ve also trained myself to push my own work to the back seat, because it doesn’t pay off in the same immediate, concrete way. And there is a sadness in that.

People often ask why I don’t make more social content, or why it took me so long to start a Substack. The answer is simple: I can only produce so many recipes at a time — and I insist on making sure they’re properly tested, photographed, and cared for. This year alone, I developed about 125+ recipes for my new book; 100 made it in. A recent shoot I did will pay for a recipe tester to test half of those recipes this month so they’re solid before I photograph them in March.

During that same period, I developed and photographed two full Substack menus and a box of vegan Christmas cookies — while typing my manuscript and creative directing three holiday shoots in New York for a client. I’ve also taken on another creative-directing and food-styling job in April, just one week after my own shoot, so I can afford the photography and an assistant on set for my cookbook.

Many days, it feels easier — and safer — to use my talents to make someone else’s work. I’ve worked with Chrissy Teigen and the Cravings team, co-wrote and creative directed Open Wide with Benny Blanco, styled Dan Pelosi’s Let’s Party, and most recently worked with Half Baked Harvest. I see firsthand how intense the pressure is at every level — how much content is expected, constantly.

And I wonder: does it get easier as you grow, or do the expectations simply grow with you?

There have been some moments where I have considered stopping. The Substack, the social, maybe even my own books– simply because continuing required more resources than I had left to give. Sometimes in a sea of content, I wonder how important it is to continue to add to it. But then I remember that not everything needs to be louder to matter.

I try to picture him there all the time. If I close my eyes, sometimes I can remember his laugh and my heart feels like it weighs fifty pounds. Deep slow exhale. I looked right at him at midnight as Ben came around from the other side of the table to kiss me, and that look is easier to recall. It floats there in my memory, haunting me. It was a brief moment, but he let the mask slip. An absence of the usual glint in his eye, no easy half-smile. I don’t know what he saw when he looked back at me. 

We played this game called The Mind, where the group has to “become one” and wins, collectively, by tapping into the table’s consciousness without words or gestures– you must place numbered cards down on the table in increasing order.  We got into it,  but Jeff’s brain was busy all night trying to figure out a way to hack the game. He insisted, if everyone could count in their heads, in sync– you could rhythmically predict when to put down your card. He kept showing me, mouthing 1…2…3 while lightly tapping on the table. This, of course, ruins the entire magic of the game. Nerves, risk, synchronicity, chance. But while deeply mystic, heady, and generally far out in some ways, Jeff was the biggest control freak I have ever met. 

Life has felt very out of control since he’s been gone. The idea that one day you can get the deepest, warmest embrace from someone at the end of a magical night, and 3 days later they will vanish, makes no sense at all. One year later my brain still can’t really comprehend it. It must have been 2 am when we sat in our corner, sharing a pot of kuromojicha- Japanese spice bush tea. Its aroma is unmistakably citrusy with some herbal wood– like the branches of mature lavender or rosemary. Our friend calls it “frazzled mom tea” because linalool, the main compound in the tea, seems to almost immediately calm the nervous system as soon as it enters your nose. Deep slow inhale. Stillness, silence. Just me and my friend.

If there is anything you truly cannot control, it is grief. It is as if the universe is playing The Mind with me. A phrase, a melody– moments that feel placed, not random. Cards laid down by an intelligence I can’t see. I don’t know if it’s him, or the part of me that can’t stop tracing his outline in the world, but sometimes the timing is too precise to ignore. For a single beat, I can feel him again on the end of the table, tracking the rhythm with me. 

But mostly, Jeff’s hack falls apart. There’s no pattern, no whisper of him in the margins– just absence. A void. There is no counting your way through it, anticipating when the next card will drop. So I try to do my best to surrender, to free fall into feeling. To risk taking everything from this blip of time I have. To feel pain fully, trusting– or trying to trust– that pleasure still awaits on the other side. The quiet thrill of not knowing and moving anyway.

This year, for the first time since 2019, I went home for the holidays. Home, being Shelter Island, but also, New York City. I moved to LA in 2020 and have had many wild nights, packed days, long dinners, and big moments back in the city since then– but something about this trip felt different. Maybe it was wandering down 7th Street, all the way down between Avenue C and D, where I lived for a few years in a tiny studio I was so proud of. Maybe it was one best friend getting married, and the other boarding a plane for Amsterdam, where he’ll live for the next two years– perhaps being dragged to the 20 year reunion from the high school I didn’t graduate from– but I was feeling incredibly nostalgic.

When I walk through the door of my parent’s house, I am not necessarily struck by the– putting down your heavy bags feeling– the warm wave of relief I think you’re supposed to feel when you walk into your childhood home. Shelter Island has always been an incredibly complicated place for me. It’s a place of extraordinary natural beauty. It afforded me the kind of childhood where I could spend most summer days sun-soaked, in the water, or on the water– in boats, on skis, or a surfboard. Most people, when they ask where I am from, mistake my response for “Shutter Island”. It’s not quite an asylum I had to escape from, but, the moment I walk through that front door, I time travel back to the year 2000 when I was a powerless, angry, and basically– a lonely teenager.

I traced my fingers along the walls that had been painted since I moved away, now decades ago. Lyrics and band logos drawn in black sharpie are still visible, just barely, underneath. Little artifacts I have left behind. I’m blushing as I disclose that sitting on my bookshelf was the teacup I made when I was 14 with my favorite AFI song lyrics swirling up the insides “Am I the star beneath the stairs? Am I the ghost upon the stage? Am I your anything?” Anchors in the wall from a guitar hanger that held my first shitty Squier electric. My Green Day songbooks. Photos of me in a Catholic school skirt and knee high platform boots on my way to my first Blink show.

First going to shows, then playing in shows, quickly became the best way to get “off the island”, but the Amityville Music Hall was still a far ways away, even if you had a boyfriend who could drive.I didn’t stay long in any of those spaces, but they were the first moments that made me feel like I wasn’t entirely alone.

I ended up somehow replacing my boyfriend in his band when he quit, which I suspect was simply because there weren’t very many bass players in the scene, and even fewer who wore mini skirts. But my bandmates were extremely patient with me, and I became a pretty confident player of Nu Metal in 2001– slightly before it was cool.

Our band If Winter Ends was a mix of metal, emo, and hardcore right around when the Long Island Hardcore scene was shifting towards more emo-leaning bands like Taking Back Sunday, Bayside, and Brand New. Our lyrics are certainly an embarrassing capsule of my sophomore and junior years of high school, and had much less edge than other bands in the scene (like my favorite, Radio Rahem), but we did win the Long Island Battle of the Bands in 2005, which honestly, remains a very proud achievement of mine.

Now as a 38 year old, I am sitting staring out my window in Los Angeles, a place I always dreamed of escaping to, wondering what life would have looked like if I continued playing music, and why on earth did I take such a long pause from something I loved so much. Honestly I am laughing out loud as I remember, it was Phish that made me stop playing music! The fall I started at the University of Vermont, I brought my bass, but after trying out for a few jam bands, I just gave up. It was SO not my scene. Nectars, the birthplace of Phish, couldn’t have felt further away from the energy of DIY shows and mosh pits in Suffolk County basements– the angst! The rage! The energy! Where were the high and tight drums? I had finally escaped my small town, only to end up somewhere else where I truly didn’t belong. I am also laughing because as I write this, my partner is preparing to attend his third night of Phish shows in a row, and writing his Substack entries about it. It’s so easy to make fun of Phish– but I am so happy for anyone who finds any sense of community at a show, who can look around and feel at home, who just even for a minute, can drop the weight, be in their body, and feel in that moment that they are truly alive.

I started an accelerated pre-med program in 2005, and by 2008 I had partied myself through organic chemistry and would be moving into senior year with a GPA that would definitely not allow me to go to medical school in the United States. Still for years I persisted, trying to fit myself into this box. I flinched as I heard my mother casually recounting the path I took to my friends over Christmas, because it was SO not punk to do exactly what my parents expected of me.

This summer, my friend John Moods was looking for a bassist, and once he saw a photo of me playing from over 20 years ago, I thought I was in. During an informal try out two weeks before his East Coast tour (which I had already told pretty much everyone I knew about) he stopped me, almost immediately (while wearing a purple beret), and told me I was “too metal.” It turns out it was a dangerous combination of words to hear for a person on the verge of a midlife crisis.

After a decade of working with Martha Stewart, 3 cookbooks, and 5 years in a recipe content making vortex– while most of the experiences I wouldn’t change– I did suddenly I became allergic to my entire wardrobe and began to question almost every decision that got me to this point. I got my first very visible tattoo on my arm, cut my bangs much shorter (still not baby bangs), and pushed a bunch of middle aged men in fairly tame mosh pits. I’ve been completely sober for almost 6 months, and have rediscovered the goth club scene I was too shy to fully explore alone in my 20’s. And I hope so much that by writing this it forces me to make the time in 2026 to take my music seriously again.

So this week, standing in the basement of the Shelter Island Legion Hall, when one of my classmates who had showed up to the reunion pointed to my Rick Owens platforms and told me “you’re not going to be able to bowl in those Frankenstein boots” I felt solid atop those 6-inches of rubber. It took 20 years to fill those shoes. I’m almost certain I was the only person in the room that wasn’t or have never been married, I have not been a full-time employee since 2013, and I do not own a house or hold any additional degrees. I didn’t bother to tell anyone about the six foot sculpture I spent days making in November (that when I backed up turned out to look much more phallic than I had intended), that I was the number 4 listener of Arthur Russell in the entire world, or about the Genesis P-Orridge documentary I had just watched and couldn’t stop thinking about.

They honestly remembered me as being too metal, and treated me exactly the same as when I was 14 and wore UFO pants. To them, I had never lost myself along the way, which for the first time, was a total relief.

This year, I challenged myself to develop new recipes and convert some of my favorite cookies into fully vegan versions. I used Monty’s Plant-Based Butter for every recipe — it really is a standout. It behaves beautifully in baking, and the clean, neutral flavor lets everything else shine.

One of the most interesting things I noticed while vegan baking is how much more clear the flavors feel. Without dairy masking anything, ingredients like citrus zest and spices really pop. Sometimes the conversions were simple (the shortbread came together easily), and other times they were… not. Vegan baking truly feels like learning how to bake all over again — which is part of why I love it. I’m excited to keep exploring this as I lean more toward a plant-based diet myself.

When you’re baking holiday treats, using the best-quality ingredients you can find makes an enormous difference — especially butter (or vegan butter!) and spices. Those old jars in the back of your cabinet? Now is the moment to retire them. Fresh, vibrant spices completely transform a cookie like the Extra-Spicy Ginger Molasses — suddenly everything tastes warmer, deeper, more alive.

I always reach for Burlap & Barrel’s single-origin spices because they’re unbelievably fresh. You can truly see and smell the difference as soon as you open the jar. Their Royal Cinnamon is almost shocking the first time you smell it — bright and citrusy with this gorgeous orange-like lift, but still rich and warming. It’s the kind of spice that makes even a simple bowl of oatmeal feel special.

One thing I especially loved about making these cookies vegan is how the plant-based butter lets those spices shine even more. You taste every nuance.

Right now, Burlap & Barrel is offering a holiday deal for new customers: buy any two spices and get a free bottle of Royal Cinnamon. It’s a rare offer and the perfect time to restock your pantry for holiday baking — or to grab spices as gifts or stocking stuffers. Their gift bundles are especially good.

👉 Use code CinnamonJD at checkout, or follow this link to have it applied automatically:

This year’s cookie box includes:

    •    Black Cocoa Espresso Crinkles

    •    Buckwheat Levain-Style Chocolate Chip Cookies (adapted from Justine Snacks)

    •    Grapefruit-Rosemary Shortbread (adapted from Carla Lalli Music)

    •    Tahini Thumbprints

    •    Extra-Spicy Ginger Cookies (adapted from Nicole Rucker)

• Pignolis

And the moody playlist that I baked all of my cookies to 🖤.

BONUS RECIPE! Mom’s Pignolis (Italian Pine Nut Cookies)

Makes about 3 dozen

1 1/2 pounds almond paste, broken into little pieces

1 1/2 cups sugar

1 cup powdered sugar

4 egg whites

2 cups pine nuts

Preheat the oven to 350°F.

Mix the almond paste, sugar, and egg whites on low speed until well blended. Mix for an additional 2 minutes.

Roll the dough into 1-inch balls, then dip into the pine nuts. (Wet your hands to avoid sticking.)

Place the cookies 2 inches apart on a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper or wax paper.

Bake for 10 minutes, or until golden on the sides.

Remove the paper from the pan and let the cookies cool on the paper. When cooled, peel off the paper.

ALSO IN CASE YOU MISSED IT! I nerded out with Martha’s Cookie Chefs about all things cookie decorating! LISTEN TO OUR WHOLE CONVO HERE!

Molly Wenk and Jason Schreiber’s (Martha Stewart’s “Cookie Chef’s”) Sugar Cookie and Decorating Tips:

-Make a timeline (and give yourself plenty of time).

-No leavener for flatter cookies. This is the recipe we all use!

-Chill your dough at every stage (mixing, rolling out flat, after stamping out shapes)

-Roll out with a flat rolling pin (like this one from King Arthur). Use bands like these or dowels to make sure dough is an even thickness.

-Use a toothpick to smooth the edges of the cookies and remove any crumbs.

-Make your royal icing with meringue powder.

-Molly sent me this page that explains the three different consistencies of royal icing you will need to make. Original (toothpaste), Piping (Elmer’s glue), and Flooding (shampoo).

-Molly’s #1 TIP: Tipless piping bags!

-Tipless piping bags are a thin, disposable pastry bag that has a thin seam and a closed point, so you are able to cut that point into the size you need for your decorating project - instead of using a coupler and piping tip.

-They are great for basic piping and flooding, but you may still want to use a piping tip and coupler for the more intricate detail work! Best part: there is nothing to clean at the end of your decorating session!

-Use the sharpest scissors you have, and flatten out the point of the bag, so that the seam is flat and in the middle. Don’t flatten along the seam. This will ensure you get a nice round opening.

-Use gel food coloring for brilliant colors.

-NY Cake and Bake for the best cutter shapes!

-Use a brush, a little vodka, and luster dust to get creative!

Jason’s gingerbread house zines!

Other Favorite Cookies Mentioned:

Chewy Chocolate Gingerbread (Martha Stewart)

Pfefferneusse (Martha Stewart)

“Goose Foot” Cookies (Martha Stewart- from Martha Bakes)

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aka Martha Stewart’s “Cookie Chefs”

1. Make a timeline (and give yourself plenty of time).

Holiday cookies are a multi-day project. Plan your mixing, chilling, cutting, baking, and decorating so nothing feels rushed!

2. Skip the leavener for perfectly flat cookies.

We all use this recipe (with no baking powder).

3. Chill your dough at every stage

-After mixing

-After rolling out the dough sheets

-After cutting your shapes

Flat, clean edges come from cold dough!

4. Roll out with a flat rolling pin

(like this one from King Arthur).

Use bands like these or dowels to make sure dough is an even thickness.

5. Use a toothpick for edge clean up

(if you want to get really crazy— use a toothpick to gently smooth the edges of each cookie and remove any crumbs. It makes a huge difference in the final look)

6. Make your royal icing with meringue powder.

7. Understand the Three icing consistencies.

-Molly sent me this page that explains the three different consistencies of royal icing you will need to make.

Original (toothpaste)

Piping (Elmer’s glue) For outlines and detail work

Flooding (shampoo) For smooth fill-ins

8. Molly’s #1 TIP: Tipless piping bags!

-Tipless piping bags are a thin, disposable pastry bag that has a thin seam and a closed point, so you are able to cut that point into the size you need for your decorating project - instead of using a coupler and piping tip.

A few tricks from Molly:

-They are great for basic piping and flooding, but you may still want to use a piping tip and coupler for the more intricate detail work! Best part: there is nothing to clean at the end of your decorating session!

-Use the sharpest scissors you have, and flatten out the point of the bag, so that the seam is flat and in the middle. Don’t flatten along the seam. This will ensure you get a nice round opening.

9. Use gel food coloring for brilliant colors.

10. NY Cake and Bake for the best cutter shapes!

11. Add shimmer with luster dust.

Mix a little vodka with luster dust and paint it on with a small brush for metallic accents that look shockingly professional.

Jason’s gingerbread house zines!

Other Favorite Cookies Mentioned:

Chewy Chocolate Gingerbread (Martha Stewart)

Pfefferneusse (Martha Stewart)

“Goose Foot” Cookies (Martha Stewart- from Martha Bakes)

FOLLOW MOLLY AND JASON ON INSTAGRAM!

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LIBRARY OF ESOTERICA: SPIRIT WORLDS

BAILEY HIKAWA PHONE CASE

OKUME DASHI PACKETS + MISO

ALISON ROMAN: SOMETHING FROM NOTHING

DAVID LYNCH: HIS WORK, HIS WORLD

LEONARD KOREN: ARRANGING THINGS

JOHN CAGE: A MYCOLOGICAL FORAY

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GANSAI TAMBI WATERCOLOR SET

LE LABO HINOKI HAND SET

AKILA DAISY SUNGLASSES

SUBU NANNEN OUTDOOR SLIPPERS

LAURIE ELLEN CLASSICS BUNDLE

FROM ROY PANNETONE

LE LABO AMBROXYDE 17 HOME FRAGRANCE

RACHEL COMEY FOND SWEATSHIRT

TOIRO DONABE

TOTEM HOME TERRE SALAD BOWL

TEENAGE ENGINEERING RIDDIM + TING

FLAMINGO ESTATE: RICHARD’S FESTIVO SET

THE WES ANDERSON ARCHIVE

MANDARIN MAN KISHU GIFT BOX

DINOSAUR DESIGNS BONES BOWL IN ROSE SWIRL

LOLA BLANKET

MARY MACGILL HAMMER DROP EARRINGS

MONDAYS RAKU VASE

IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING RECORD CLUB

LINQUIST FABA IN BLACK

JILL PLATNER STALAGTITES NECKLACE

TEENAGE ENGINEERING OP-XY

BREVILLE BARISTA TOUCH

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The holidays are a strange time. My earliest memories of Thanksgiving are of paging through Martha Stewart Living and becoming a little tyrant because I wanted our table to look exactly like hers. I took over the holiday at a very young age. There were full-blown meltdowns. Pulling off the whole meal now is a lot, so I can only imagine what it looked like when I was a middle-schooler and what it must have been like to clean up after.

We didn’t have the right platters, and none of them matched. Where was all the sterling silver? And how did I even found tartlet pans before Amazon existed so that I could make the tiny walnut tarts I was obsessed with. One year I made my dad drive me around Wallingford, Connecticut on the verge of tears because I couldn’t find oysters for a stuffing my cousins ended up refusing to touch. My family would ask, “Who do you think you are? Martha Stewart?” and I kept going anyway.

The Damucks have never been big on traditions, but there were always a few. My uncle Gary’s stuffing with wild rice, toasted pecans, dried cranberries, tart apple, and sausage. My Grandma Kathy’s root-vegetable mash that would hiss rutabaga scented steam from her giant wobbly pressure cooker — the dish I once wished could just be mashed potatoes, and now love. Sinking down in wingback chairs after too much wine. James Bond marathons in the den with orange shag carpet and the itchy wool couch. My grandma swirling a bright green crème de menthe over ice. A slow drift back to the kitchen for seconds, maybe thirds.

And then there was the Thanksgiving when Ben may or may not have brought home a potential murderer.

The year before last, Dan and Bridget hosted. Ben kept his sunglasses on the entire meal and brought our friend T, who was on a layover after sixty days alone in Yosemite. He’d lost a startling amount of weight since we dropped him at a bus station in Northern California two months before, and he’d grown a beard that rivaled Ben’s. He also kept his sunglasses on for the whole meal, and there they were like that at the end of the table. Everyone was charmed. T has a dark and twisted sense of humor, and a dangerous sense of adventure, and a never-ending collection of stories (he almost killed me once, in a place called the Firey Furnaces).

After we left, Ben’s dad googled him and found an obituary saying a woman had died “at the hands” of our friend. We kept rereading that phrase, trying to figure out what else it could possibly mean. The mystery dragged on for days. At one point we were a few minutes away from paying someone in Charleston $150 to look up legal records so we didn’t have to ask him directly. When we finally did, T was confused, then pulled up a text thread with the woman dated just a few nights earlier, but we still have our suspicions.

Since then, Thanksgiving has been calmer. Friendsgiving at home in LA can be outside at our long table. The food can be bright and citrusy, the way November actually feels here. Some dishes I make every year now: Kismet’s salty-sweet persimmon salad, my crunchy citrus and chicory salad with turmeric tahini dressing from Salad Freak, crispy Brussels sprout leaves. Others shift depending on what I’m testing — Japanese sweet potatoes with green sauce, sorrel spiced cranberry sauce inspired by a Superiority Burger dessert, and a tart apple pie with miso caramel and buckwheat crust.

This year, I made everything but the turkey for you. All vegetarian, easily made vegan, with a vegan dessert too: a tweaked version of Nicole Rucker’s pumpkin pie.

Here is the menu— bright, crisp, a little strange, the way late November feels here. And a playlist that should last the whole meal.

Sorrel Cranberry Sauce with Pomegranate

Kismet’s Salty + Sweet Persimmon Salad

Crunchy Citrus + Chicories with Turmeric Tahini Dressing

Japanese Sweet Potatoes with Spicy Green Sauce

Crispy Brussels Sprouts Leaves

Grandma Kathy’s Root Veg Mash

Uncle Gary’s Stuffing

Nicole Rucker’s Vegan Pumpkin Pie with Meringue

Tart Apple Pie with Miso Caramel and Buckwheat Crust

full recipes below for paid subscribers.

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I have been thinking a lot about reinvention, about what it means to evolve as an artist. How to unstick myself. It’s a careful balance of discipline and being open to complete chaos as one shifts and moves forward.

Fall never really feels like a new chapter in LA. Skeletons hang from trees, pumpkins sit on front porches, but the weather is hot and the leaves are green. The restlessness within comes in between the seasons here, the stagnation can get to you. I feel it in my chest, an excess of energy I can’t quite channel into anything productive.

I always say living here feels a little like swimming upstream. It’s always the season of feeling like Mulholland Drive.

This month’s menu is leaning into a moment of stillness in the chaos, lingering in it. It’s also vegan. Simple, easy to make ahead. It’s breakfast, because I needed a break from my cookbook (spoiler it’s a lot of dinners). A welcoming change from routine.

Overnight oats with roasty hojicha tea and brilliant ripe hachiya persimmons, if you can be lucky enough to find them ready to go or patient enough to wait. A perfectly crunchy and sweet side salad with asian pears puffed buckwheat and my new favorite creamy miso dressing. The best tofu scramble I’ve ever had, and it’s so simple once you have a few pantry ingredients on hand. And an apple cider donut in the form of a simple one bowl loaf (that tastes even better the next morning.)

I have found inspiration in unlikely places this month. I’ve never done this before, but I guess that’s what Substacks are for, right?

More time in NYC has made me return to sharper lines and cooler tones. Oh, and I’m wearing all black again. I have a copy of Jung’s Mysterium Coniunctionis sitting unopened on my bedside… I plan to read it under the Lola blanket I got from a shoot– right after I unfurl my new Loloi x Leanne Ford Rug so my feet don’t have to touch the wood floor on slightly cooler nights and mornings.

Every morning Ben is doing a sonic exercise based on the work of Pauline Oliveros in our dome, where I hope to figure out my new Orchid, so I can actually come out of music retirement instead of just talking about it.

I’m drawing inspiration from the pages of Temple of Love and New Japanese Fashion. I’m listening to a lot of post-punk and darkwave and wishing I could time travel and experience this city in the 90s.

Concrete, shiny black glazes, leather, steel. Stomping around in these Rick Owens x Doc Martens boots. These Amazon barrel jeans I cut the bottoms off and wore while painting in my studio and get more compliments on than any designer pair I own.

I have listened to the new AFI record, Silver Bleeds the Black Sun, probably 1000 times already (talk about reinvention… I swoon).

I am burning a ton of this incense and drinking many, many cups of roasted kukicha tea from Bellocq with a mashed umeboshi and drop of tamari and wondering if I can go fully macrobiotic and what happened to all the macrobiotic restaurants in Los Angeles.

Am I alone in being addicted to natto? Is the Fuji Apple Spindrift macrobiotic?

I’m excited for Alison Roman’s new book, the arrival of persimmons and Kishu mandarins at the market, and finding the perfect burgundy matte lipstick.

Ben says it’s just a phase, but aren’t we lucky to be able to go through phases? To explore the sides of ourselves that start to seep out of us during Scorpio season?

Oh, and that menu. 🖤

Hojicha Overnight Oats with Persimmon, Dates, and Coconut Yogurt

Asian Pear Salad with Crispy Puffed Buckwheat and Creamy Maple Miso Dressing

Tofu Scramble with Caramelized Onions and Kale

Apple Cider Cake

Remember! For full recipes become a subscriber! XO

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In January, just days before the LA fires started, my friend Jeff Baena took his own life. I was in the middle of cooking dinner when I found out. Every long hot day– every moment of peace, of awe, of confusion, of anger, of profound joy and profound sorrow– grief has been the container for my moments. But what I have not been able to find, is a container for my grief.

Food has been a way to show other people that I love them, to comfort myself. The ideas and inspiration usually come easily. This year has been very different. Being as gentle on myself as possible, trying not to force it, I’ve just found that things haven’t tasted quite right since I lost my friend. And that has felt particularly cruel in the middle of writing a cookbook. And so I’ve been angry, and depleted— which is a terrible place to cook from. Even though my recipes are so personal, and my books are such a reflection of the year I’m writing it, there really is no space for it in my book. So, instead, I have kept it close and quiet. I had a cocoon summer.

June was the month of the hummingbirds. Alone on our big property, while trimming the long hot pink fingers of bougainvillea by my studio, I found the tiniest nest; hair, spiderwebs, and two jellybean-sized eggs inside. The next two weeks, it was all-consuming. The eggs hatched– two of the smallest living breathing beings I have ever seen. It seemed impossible that they could survive even moments in this world, but day by day, they grew. Their quick heartbeats made their whole bodies pulse. Their beaks got longer, they started to get fuzzy. Curled up together in that tiny nest sleeping head-to-toe so snuggly. It wasn’t fair that they had to listen to my neighbor’s construction, so I played them Brian Eno and Harold Budd’s The Pearl, over and over again.

The babies grew little feathers and began to move their wings. Their necks stretched; thin tongues began to reach for nectar from their mother. Around day ten, they opened their eyes. I just stared at them really. I guess that’s where a lot of my time went. I felt so grateful to see something that truly felt like a tiny miracle. And the truth is I really loved them, and I knew they weren’t mine. There was this ache too, because I knew that soon they would fly away.

One day, the nest was empty. There were two hummingbirds on a branch of the elm tree. Their mother buzzed by, they both hesitated a beat, and then they were gone.

I thought somehow it would make me stronger to be able to be witness to something so beautiful and let it go. But the tenderness stayed, filling all the quiet moments. And still, beauty kept breaking through.

Filling my shirt with big juicy tomatoes from the garden. Finally a recipe that tasted new and fresh and right. Late nights of playing The Mind with old friends and new ones, learning about the LA of another time (Club Fuck!). Walking around in the same circles with the dogs. Ice-cold cantaloupe sorbet, swirled with creamy vanilla, a drizzle of olive oil, and the tiniest sprinkle of salt.

The Wong Farm mangos, heavy with summer.

A slightly haunted playlist

THE MENU

…to savor summer, even in September.

***For this particular menu, adapted from a wonderful party I hosted with House of Hackney, Martha Stouman did custom wine pairings which I’ll be sharing and I suggest you try! Her wines are special and a perfect compliment to the food. They can be ordered online (there’s even a subscription).

Apricot Focaccia with Fennel Pollen and Honeycomb Butter

Simple Serpent Cucumber Salad

Solo Act 2022: Irreverent and singular, Solo Act can’t be pinned down. This distinct white co-ferment has floral aromatics and a long saline finish, soaking your palate in tart umeboshi. It’s a Martha fave!

Post Flirtation Rose NV No. 4:This food friendly rosé brings the whole fruit stand—a hint of strawberry-watermelon meets crisp jicama-like freshness.

Paccheri with Sungolds, Yellow Squash, and Sweet Corn

Syrah 2021: Let yourself be moved by this bottle, which takes a second to show itself. Syrah 2021 has a splash of Viognier, a French technique that adds freshness to Syrah’s more gamey notes.

Nero d’Avola Rosato NV No. 2: Hard candy! Jolly Rancher! A touch of residual sweetness makes this off-dry rosato something really special.

Cantaloupe Sorbet and Vanilla Ice Cream with Olive Oil and Sea Salt

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Welcome to YOLK (which is not about eggs).

there is a certain feeling. it sneaks up on you. enveloping. warm, soft, a little melty. fully comfortable, held by the moment. it’s fleeting. it’s special. to feel completely at home. a taste that is familiar, or something that is brand new. a scent you don’t even realize coming through the air. a fresh tomato, a ripe peach, a soft seat, a bass line that makes you move. as my friend carl calls it “pure yum”. how can we create and linger in that feeling?

Well, then what is it?

this substack will be a journal of explorations. while it will be mostly food and recipes, it is more about the feeling of home. my world. feeding people, growing things, making things, building things, listening, being curious about things. whatever is going on in our geodesic dome. a place to write outside of the container of a book and share beyond a 30 second video.

why?

since not everyone can actually come to my home, i hope that this will be the next best thing. a seat at the table.

details.

i hope to post twice a month. one post about something not related to food and one post with a menu. there will be a link to my monthly playlist. there might be some content by ben sinclair. free subscribers will get the gist of things- menus, updates, recommendations (and hopefully some discount codes), tips, peeks into things, stories. paid subscribers will get recipes for the menu, hopefully guest recipes, any additional recordings of sound explorations or meditations.

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