COFFEE TALK

Welcome to this Friday.  Fridays are so full of promise, setting us right on the edge of the weekend - close enough to taste the adventures to come, but just distant enough for anything to seem possible. 

This is the beginning of a new weekly series that I am titling “Coffee Talk.”  It’s a compilation of all the things I would gush over if you and I were sitting down to chat over lattes.  It’s weekend plans, current obsessions, and likely of bit of Pinspiration.  I hope you love it.  

Now, before we begin, cream or sugar?  Both?  Okay good, I knew I liked you. 

These are currently sitting in my freezer, just waiting for their hot, oily fate.  They are destined for Mr. Pedantic’s guys game night, but I have secret dreams about eating them all myself this afternoon and leaving those boisterous boys with my sad bag of rejected veggie chips.

Fortnum & Mason's Breakfast Blend is basically the only tea you ever need to buy.  I discovered the wonder that is Fortnum and Mason while we were in London and I pretty much lost my mind.  I think we spent about four hours in that multi-leveled paradise, and that is a modest estimate.  Their teas have been the best we have ever sipped, and my then-skeptical husband is now very thankful that I insisted upon bringing back a suitcase full.   

In other news, I have become a total snob and refuse to drink tea with white sugar.  I know, I hate me too, but once you get used to the caramel-y notes of these dainty cubes, it’s hard to go back.   

Mr. Pedantic is trying to teach me to play Destiny but so far it has only resulted in me nearly knocking him unconscious with a controller and screaming profusely at the television.  For real though, I’m in it solely for the fancy costumes, which he tells me are known as “shaders.”  Only aliens stand between me and a dreamy sci-fi wardrobe.  The worst part is that I have to take frequent breaks otherwise I get motion sick.  Dork alert. 

This apron is pretty much a cocktail dress and I'm down with that.  

For the past couple years, I have tried to pick out very intentional Valentine's Day cards for Mr. Pedantic, and I am pretty sure this valentine is going to be the winner this year.  It says it all. 

I made these spring rolls years ago with my mom and we LOVED them, but for some reason we never made them again.  I have no idea why.  Lately, however, I cannot stop thinking about revisiting them.  I have a feeling that they will be ending up on next week’s menu.  I’m also really wanting to try my hand at Pad Thai.  I don’t know… For some reason all my cravings are Asian right now.

I made this for dinner Tuesday night and…it just didn’t thrill me.  I am thinking that it needs an extra dose of brown sugar and maybe some pineapple juice?  

I bought a lovely, canvas-bound edition of this book while we were in London because my You’ve Got Mail-loving heart could not resist.  My sweet daddy gifted me several other volumes from the series for Christmas and I cannot get enough of these charming stories.  They are the perfect no-fuss winter reads.  True, they might fall more into the children’s genre, but their unadulterated sweetness will capture your heart. 

I’m going to try my hand at a Unicorn cake next month and I am already nervous.  I think the horn (is it called a horn?) is going to be made out of a sugar cone dipped in white chocolate.  If I have to knead gum paste the game is over. 

What are your plans this weekend?  I am hoping to finish up the office-organization project that has been going on for the past several weeks, and will definitely be making a cheesecake.  Catch all the creamy, graham-cracker-y action on my Instagram stories.

Happy, happy weekend! XOXO

Sincerely, 

Pedantic Foodie

a very London kind of morning

Perhaps it seems odd to begin in the middle, but putting ten of the most beautiful days of my life into words has been a formidable challenge, and one that I am broaching slowly.  I can give you the travel guides and the gritty details of what I ate (um, literally everything in sight), but for now, all I want to give you is a few of my favorite hours.  A few, precious morning hours with my beloved.  So here we go. 

It was our next-to-last day in London.  He walked down to our newfound favorite breakfast spot - a tiny French bakery that sat just around the corner from our hotel.  He returned with three plump brioche buns as big as my face, in a paper bag -- two sugared and one with chocolate chips.  We ate them, our faces sticky with the caramelized sugar, as we walked to the gardens - Kensington Gardens.

There was so much joy in my heart as we trotted down to the one place on earth that I had dreamt of visiting more than any other.

We walked through the gates and I am sure my smile nearly dislocated my jaw as I looked at Mr. Pedantic and exclaimed in an elated whisper, “We’re here!” 

There was a soft, autumnal hush that fell over the landscape - interrupted only by the swishing of blowing leaves, and Londoners whistling for their strangely obedient and leash-less dogs that pranced about the green in front of Kensington Palace. 

It was surreal and beautiful and breathtaking.  I found myself wishing, more than I had at any other point on that trip, that I too could own the privilege of visiting this English sanctuary for my morning walks and weekend picnics. 

Then, we saw it.  The statue.  The statue that I had so longed to see - a forever monument for the literary world’s dearest character. 

“Good morning, Peter.  I’ve been looking for you.”

I never wanted to leave.  

Now, as I sit here in my new home, where I am completely content, there is a aching sense of longing for those moments gone by.  I would live that morning over and over again forever, if only I could.  Having Mr. Pedantic there by my side, no trivial responsibilities to separate our hands or hearts -- only us.  That was the best of times.

This morning I made breakfast that was not brioche buns.  He left me to go to work instead of the bakery.  I spent my morning hours working by the Christmas tree rather than walking through the park.  I guess this too, is the best of times. 

Sincerely, 

Pedantic Foodie

Hannah Everly kept me fashionable for our morning in the gardens and she would love to help you prepare for your holiday parties, or revamp your work wardrobe.  You can find this skirt as well as a full line of festive patterns in her shop now!    

21 Days... [ after ]

It's taken me some good, long hours, turned into contemplative days to write this post.

If you followed along with my countdown posts, you will have witnessed the process unfold. The process, which seemed to last forever, and then in one, short, hazy swoop it was over.  Now here I sit, a candle in front of me, a cup of tea within reach, and an extra ring on my finger.  I kissed my husband goodbye this morning, and sent him off to work.  My husband.  My husband?! It is all still so strange. 

I waited my whole life for October 21st, 2016.  I had dreamt of that day a million-and-one times, and when it came, it was strangely real.  In fact, the strangest part of this whole ordeal has been that it isn't.  It feels oddly normal, as if my whole had not just turned upside down. 
I keep looking at Mr. Pedantic with wonder as I repeat to him, "This should be strange, you know. But somehow, it's not..."  It's just right. 

I'm assuming a greater degree of realization will eventually set in.  As it is, I keep having to remind myself that this is more than a dreamy interlude, upon which I will return to my former, familiar life.  Right now, in addition to being far too busy for any dangerous hours of true contemplation, I bounce in and out of knowing that this - this newness - is truly my life now, and wondering when I am going to wake up. 

The wedding day.  That is what you really care about, isn't it?  I do not blame you, I am a sucker for the gritty, glittery details myself.  So let's get to it! 

I awoke Friday morning sometime around 4am.  My sister told me to go back to sleep.  I did.  We both awoke for the second time around 6am, whispered our giddy exclamations, and fell asleep for another half hour before beginning what would be the most tremendous day of my life.  I finished the last detail of Mr. Pedantic's gift, gathered for a time of sweet prayer with my family, and then my beloved sister and I raced out the door, hair undone, makeup-less, eager, and in great need of fuel.  We somehow balanced our multiple trays of coffee, and were off to our hotel rooms for preparation.  The hours to follow were filled with good food, lots of laughter, and an unbelievable amount of hairspray.  Somewhere in those wonderful, wedding-day moments, my sister handed me a gift from my husband-to-be, as if the diamond ring and a European honeymoon were not enough.  The most beautiful ruby earrings were in that tiny box for just a short time before they were hung in my ears.  During all that excitement, during all the bustling and shuffling of bobby pins and lipstick, my friends, mother, and family showered me with more love than my heart could hold.  After the dress was on and my hair was completed, I walked down a long hallway and tapped gently on my father's shoulder.  My father has seen me in a great many dresses, and told me I look beautiful a great many times, but I think I can safely say, that was by far the most momentous, for both of us.  His tears were happy ones.  Happy and proud. 

After pictures and lunch (where I suddenly realized that sitting down in my dress was nearly impossible), it was time for final touch-ups.  I believe it was then, as I took one last selfie with my Mama as an unmarried woman, that the shaking began.  I felt as though my heart was in one of those vibrating chairs that you pass by in the mall, except this particular model was seriously malfunctioning and on the cusp of eruption.  My stomach was cramping like never before - likely due to the increasingly painful stays in my dress, and I was a very panicky blushing bride.  I was happy, so very happy.  In the deepest and truest parts of my heart, I was ecstatic, but every other hair-sprayed ounce of me was terrified.  I was the bride.  I was going to be a wife.  It was then that the weight of what was really happening set in, and I turned to my friend with shaking hands and asked if it was okay to feel nauseous.  She said yes.  I found a wall to lean on. 

Once I found my place on my father's arm, his coaching began.  I looked at him in the candid, jejune way that I had for so long as a child and squeaked out a timid, "I'm scared."  He held my hand tighter and reminded me to breathe, something I was not doing enough of, and that nearly led to me being a fainting bride in the first moments of the ceremony.  When my hands were at last placed in Mr. Pedantic's, and the pastor was just beginning our service, I looked out at the many rows of chairs.  So many smiling, expectant faces, so many loving and beloved friends.  So many individuals who had touched our lives in unique and precious ways.  I was overcome.  They were there for us.  Because they love us. 

The ceremony was a blur.  I kept looking into his eyes and reminding myself to breathe and "for goodness sake do not lock your knees!"  Partway through my vows my heart could no longer contain the emotions that had been building for days, and the tears began to flow.  That was when my sweet almost-husband slipped a handkerchief into my shaking hand - a handkerchief that my father had given him just for that purpose.  That little square of lipstick-stained cloth will be forever precious to me. 

The rain began just as the wedding party stepped outside for pictures, but I did not care one little bit.  I barely heard the questions being asked or the suggestions being made.  I was a wife - his wife - and nothing else mattered.  The pictures were taken indoors, and the rain faded just in time for me and my new husband to snatch a few shots under the clearing, golden skies. 

The reception flew by in what felt like a matter of moments.  So many warm embraces, so many heartfelt wishes given, and not nearly enough time with those dearly-loved individuals who had come from near and far just to support us in these life-altering moments.  Just before leaving, I snuck away to steal a few solitary moments with my parents.  And with that, we were off and I was in utter disbelief - entirely overcome by all that had happened.  My heart overflowed with joy, thankfulness, and a deep, sinking grief over the fact that my long-awaited day was nearly over.  

We entered our new apartment, him holding me in his arms as we stepped over the threshold.  I did my best to hold back the tears as we opened and read each one of the cards we had received, but it was to little avail.  Those written words only reiterated the great load of love that had hung about me all day long.  Thankfully, Mr. Pedantic does not mind tears because even now, I cannot talk much about the wedding without the flood of emotions returning.  They are not tears of sadness - quite the contrary.  I just have simply never felt so loved and so treasured as I did that day, and my heart is still bursting at the seams with the deepest and truest kind of thankfulness. 

Now we are three weeks into this joyous new life and I am still training myself to accept the fact that the wedding I planned for so long is at an end, and that it is okay.  The excitement is not over, it's really just beginning.  Our wedding was the beautiful, capturing prologue which will open up into dozens of thrilling chapters, and I cannot wait to write them.  As one dear friend reminded me at the reception, life is not simply about the mountain peaks - it is really the valleys we trod to reach them that matter the most.   

I appreciate your patience and grace as I readjust to life and embrace the wonderful new privileges and responsibilities that wifehood brings.  Cookies to come. 

Sincerely, 

Pedantic Foodie