I thought about making an extravagant Easter brunch this year. I spent a few hours tossing the idea around in my head, planning the menu, envisioning the tablescape, designing adorable little place cards for each guest. I was thinking of going with a decadent Eggs Benedict. A fresh, spring salad on the side, maybe mixed greens with radishes and peas and some kind of lemony vinaigrette. Homemade croissants, obviously. Three kinds of jam. Some surprising, yet sophisticated and understated cocktail. The way Easter brunch should be done.
And then I remembered that we’re two weeks away from our move date. And that I’ve already packed up all of our dishes (not to mention any and all serving platters, flatware, and Easter decorations). And that I have two kids under the age of five who definitely wouldn’t appreciate a good Eggs Benedict and would instead ask for scrambled eggs and guacamole with a side of Goldfish crackers, thankyouverymuch.
Easter is an incredibly special day in our house. So even if my Martha Stewart-inspired brunch wasn’t meant to be, I still wanted to do something special for breakfast. I was scrolling through my Instagram feed when I saw a picture of this show-stopping Easter bread. Clearly, it was fate. Or an incredibly well-curated IG feed.
Because it’s Monday.
Because it’s definitely summer in New York.
Because that third cup of coffee is just screaming for a little something sweet and muffin-y to hang with today.
Because maybe, just maybe, I ate one too many chocolate chocolate chip cookies (full disclosure: spoonfuls of chocolate chocolate chip cookie dough) with my 2-year-old this morning and need a little nutritional redemption.
Because of all of these reasons and more, I give you carrot zucchini muffins. Happy Monday!
I love the city. The people. The sights. The sounds. The hundreds of takeout options. The endless list of activities available within just a few blocks of my front door.
I love being able to walk everywhere.
I love buying my wine from a wine store and my bread from a bakery, both run by local merchants and both on the same street, within walking distance of my apartment.
And yes, I even love my 750-square-foot apartment filled with IKEA furniture and “vertical storage solutions.”
But I’m going to level with you here. Sometimes, I miss the suburbs. Mostly, I miss paying less than $5 for a gallon of milk, which is a virtual impossibility within the confines of the city.
Which is why, every Tuesday, the tiny person and I hop in the car and make the 20-minute drive to Staten Island.