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Growing up, we didn’t have a whole lot of extra food lying around the house. This was not an indicator of deprivation in any form. Far from it.

But, with two little girls, money and time were tight. So, if the request for a certain item was not legibly written on my mother’s grocery list before 9 AM Saturday morning, you were out of luck.

Every once and awhile, three bananas would magically appear on the kitchen counter. My father, sister and I would exchange silent glances to inquire whether the others had made the request for the fruit.

No, no and no. When the answer was negative all the way around, we knew what to do. Walk away and don’t touch the bananas. Forget you saw them.

They, since not requested, were not for free consumption. The bright yellow fruit was to stay undisturbed, uneaten until brown flecks began to appear.

A day later, as the sugars continued to be released from within and the flecks had unified to form long bruises on the skin, they were ready.

Ready to be mashed into a beautiful loaf of banana bread.

I still love the smell of banana bread baking, the aroma released during its baking is both deliciously unmistakable and wholly comforting.

To consume a fresh, warm slice from the oven is heavenly. Just add a good cup of coffee for the perfect breakfast.

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I slept fitfully Sunday night, never more than 20 minutes passed between my eyes shutting peacefully and being startled awake by some thought springing them back open.

As of recently, I have a lot on my mind. I feel as though I am desperately trying to stay motivated, trying to stay positive, trying to hold all the pieces together.

It’s hard work. It’s exhausting. And I am not entirely sure I am succeeding at my efforts.

By 5:30 AM, I gave up on sleep all together. My mind, along with my heart, would not stop racing. So, I shuffled quietly into the living room, poured a steaming cup of coffee and sunk into the soft, leather of the couch with a new book in tow.

The world outside my window was dewy and silent. Too early even for the cab drivers to fill the air with their endless honking.

As I sat there, clutching my knees to my chest, reading as the sun began to stream through the dark, wooden blinds, I decided a crispy, hot scone would pair quite lovely with my coffee.

And I figured if I incorporated chocolate chips, Mike might take a few extra lingering moments to enjoy a rare, hot breakfast before the beginnings of another long week.

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Earlier this week, on the train home from work, I sleepily perused this month’s issue of Food & Wine. Magazine reading is just about the extent of what I have the energy to do after a long shift on my feet.

A recipe for banana chocolate chip muffins caught my eye. Which is kind of funny, since I hate banana muffins.

I’m not quite sure why I detest banana muffins. I love bananas and a warm slice of banana bread always reminds me of home.

However, the texture of banana muffins always reminds me of baby food - chunky and a little mealy. Gross.

But, for some reason, I really wanted to make these muffins. And I just so happened to have a couple overripe bananas - forgotten in the long days since their promising purchase.

To achieve more of the texture I desired, I was sure to not only mash the bananas, but I also paddled them on the mixer until they were a smooth, creamy consistency.

I also added some whole wheat flour and chopped walnuts to the mix, not only because I felt the flavors would blend nicely with the banana, but also to make them a bit healthier.

Warm swirls of steam escaped the muffin as I opened the center. The taste was homey and comforting, smooth and tender - like no other banana muffin before.

I loved having these around this week, when I woke up in the morning and was just too tired to make anything for breakfast. They provide a tasty, healthy start to my day - with just a bit of sweetness from the chocolate chips.

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For Easter this year, Mike and I joined part of his family for brunch at The Carltun on Long Island.

The day was sunny and warm, with just enough breeze to keep us cool.

I brought individual lemon ginger pound cakes as a small gift for everyone. A sunny, bright combination of flavors to welcome a new season of Spring.

I hope you all enjoyed a very happy, relaxing Easter Sunday!

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When I was younger, my family returned to Maine each summer to visit family and friends during whatever two week period we could all align our schedules. Even little girls have busy lives!

On one of the days during our vacation, we would drive to Acadia National Park, enjoy the views and the serenity followed by afternoon tea and popovers at Jordan Pond House.

This tradition was surely one of our classier ones and I always felt like Samantha from our American Girl books - sitting-up perfectly straight, surrounded by the rich and middle-class alike and sticking out my pinkie finger as I sipped my raspberry lemonade.

Even today, when I return to Maine in the summer, my only request is to visit Jordan Pond House.

As I have grown older, the raspberry lemonade has been replaced with coffee. Although, if my sister happens to be visiting as well, I usually steal a few glorious sips of her raspberry lemonade. And since she misses me, she lets me get away with it. It’s good being the older sister.

But my popover order has not changed in the least. With just a smear of strawberry jam, I am in heaven, surrounded by mountains, trees, water and sunshine. And it must be strawberry jam. Other flavors just don’t cut it.

I have resisted making popovers because I do not have a popover pan. I don’t have a popover pan because it won’t fit in my tiny counter-top oven. Whimper.

But with all the rain and gloom of last week, I needed to be transported somewhere sunny and warm, with just a slight breeze blowing through. I needed to go there even if it was just through my breakfast plate.

I prepared the batter the night before so it had time to properly age before baking on Sunday morning.

The recipe was easy enough and it whipped up in no time.

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This test recipe is not one which has been sitting around in my recipe book or in a magazine on the shelf, patiently waiting it’s turn to be created in my little kitchen.

Instead, it is one that I developed by myself, using some proportions from my basic granola recipe and some ingredient inspiration from a newly developed granola during my externship.

I wanted to create a granola that was packed with protein to help fuel our long days, Mike’s endless studying, our Crossfit and running workouts. I wanted something that could be consumed quickly, at a desk or on-the-go, and would pack a healthy punch. I wanted a granola that could stave off crankiness after a long day of work, but still facing an evening of things to do.

This is actually the second test of this recipe. The first one ended, well, terriblely. My proportions for the liquid ingredients were a lot-a-bit off. Ten minutes after putting the mixture in the oven, the granola was swimming in a pool of honey and olive oil. Into the garbage and back to the drawing board.

This second attempt ended much better.

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Among other kitchen related items, my sister gave me sea salt for Christmas.

I love sea salt.

I especially love sea salt on these fresh brioche rolls, just pulled from the toasty oven.

A thin (okay, okay not-so-thin) smear of Nutella is just about all that is needed here.

Last week in the kitchen, there was some extra brioche up for grabs. I was just about to leave, so I wrapped up a few slices to take home with me for a special treat for breakfast the following morning.

I placed two slices in the toaster, on the lowest setting so as to just warm the bread, and felt a slight twinge of guilt. I used to make a batch of bagels every weekend for Mike, which would provide a yummy, homemade breakfast throughout the week.

But life has been incredibly hectic, not unlike most of the previous year, but especially so around the holidays.

Pop! The brioche was ready. I prepared the warm slices just how I like them, with a thin smear of Nutella. I served them to Mike with his morning coffee.

And what happened? He fell in love - with the brioche and Nutella that is. He wanted to know how much brioche was left. Only two pieces. Enough to make it to the weekend.

So in between laundry, cooking, cleaning, baking, shopping and wrapping this weekend, I prepared a loaf of brioche just for Mike. A special treat for the groggy mornings ahead.

I used the recipe from school which I thought was amazing when we made it in class. I’ll go ahead and ruin the ending by saying that it does not even compare to Gramercy’s version.

Have you ever made brioche at home? The dough is amazingly beautiful. I do not have a dough hook, so I just used the paddle for my Kitchen Aid.

It is kind of a sticky dough when the ingredients are first combined and placed in the mixer for about twenty minutes.

Just before the dough is ready, it begins to pull away from the sides of the bowl and climb up the attachment.

When it is finished in the mixer, it is transfered to a bowl where it will begin fermentation. Just look how beautifully silky the dough is!

Now it has to double in volume, which took about two hours due to the chill in the air. It is then transferred to the refrigerator, where the fermentation is slowed and the butter becomes solid again. I let it sit in the refrigerator overnight.

The next morning I shaped the dough and placed it into a parchment-lined loaf pan. Again, it had to rise until doubled in volume. This only took about an hour since the kitchen was already warm from baking.

Once it was properly risen, I gently applied an egg wash and popped it in the oven. The baking brioche filled the apartment with the warm, comforting scents of yeast and butter.

Once the top was properly browned, it was ready to cool.

Mike ran out to pick up a few things for me at the store so I did not have to face the snow. He was rewarded with fresh-from-the-oven brioche with Nutella.