A Monday evening dinner. The air is changing, reminding us that fall is soon to come. We got started a little early with roasted carrots, potatoes and chicken.

Helen and Scott. I love how intently they’re looking at one another.

The array of flavors at Capogiro, our friendly neighborhood gelato spot. And, can I just say how amazed I am that this is day 100? That went so fast!

All picked from my community garden plot. I’ve been averaging approximately a quart a week for the last month. Growing food never fails to absolutely amaze me.

I was featured in the Philadelphia Daily News today, in a story all about canning. I’m getting closer and closer to making canning my full time job.

A lunchtime salad, made eerie by my workplace’s fluorescent lights.

The picture for August 17, 2010 seems to be missing. I need to root around my hard drive and see if I can figure out what happened to it.

Found it! A gluttonous night of all you can eat sushi at Pod in West Philadelphia. Certainly one night I don’t want to forget!

The chalk for our kitchen blackboard wall. I keep it in a an old Kratek cigarette tin that my parents brought back from Indonesia in 1971.

Let me start by sharing the fact that I am not really a doughnut person. Growing up, doughnuts were a rare treat and sadly, those we did have were not representative of the best a doughnut can be. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve developed a nasty guilt association with fried dough and so it’s been best to just leave them alone.

However, when someone suggested that we pay a visit to the Doughnut Plant while in New York, Scott’s ears perked right up. He’s got none of my nasty hang-ups and has passionate love for a good doughnut (when we go to Portland in October, both Voodoo and Annie’s are on our must-visit list).

That half-gone white peach raised doughnut up there in the picture? Absolutely the best one I’ve ever had in my entire life. Truly, a transcendent pastry experience.

The weather we had while in New York was incredible. One would not have the audacity to even hope for such days, particularly in the month of August. And yet, we had approximately 52 perfect hours, during which it was sunny (but not too bright), warm (but not hot) and blessedly free from humidity. Only in our last hour in the city did it begin to rain, and even that was a welcome indication that it was simply time to go home.

This particularly luminous moment occurred in Central Park, around 4 pm on Saturday afternoon. I felt so free.