Brown Butter Pear Muffins

Pears are easily one of the most delicate fruits. The elegant teardrop shape bruises with the push of a thumb. A ripe pear is elusive; always too firm or over ripe, it can make finding a beautifully ripened pear feel like winning a small lottery. The juice is sweet, the flesh is soft, and the subtle fruit, once dangling from a branch in an orchard, is suddenly capable of stealing a moment.

In the fall, I love to fill my grocery basket with apples and pears. The two fruits contrast nicely against one another—one fruit firm, the other one soft, one sweet, one tart—but it is the pear I look forward to most. Cut into at just the right moment, it can taste like a work of art.

Pears, chocolate, and brown butter is a flavor combination I've visited before. In the early years of this blog, when the photography was embarrassing and my ability to weave a story was just developing, I made a Bittersweet Chocolate Pear Cake for one. I had just moved to a new country on my own, in a city where I didn't speak the language. Settling into my new apartment, I started by emptying my suitcases, assembling the new furniture delivered from IKEA, and purchasing a gallon of gray paint to cover the orange on my bedroom walls.

Before popping open the lid on the paint can, I went to the kitchen and turned on the oven.

As I spent the next few days locked up in my room with a paintbrush in hand, I alternated between listening to music and the rhythmic French voices in the apartment below mine. The cake I had made just for myself was eaten in slivers, with a fork to carve out the pieces instead of a knife. Over the course of painting and unpacking, I created a new beginning for myself, starting a new chapter to fill out the pages of my new life.

Though the cake was a simple cake with sincere flavors, the cake intertwined itself into the memories of those early moments of a life on my own. I can only look back on those days fondly, remembering the forkfuls stolen as the sun was rising and my neighbor's voices drifted in through the open windows.

Brown Butter Pear Muffins are a healthier take on a memorable cake. The depth of flavor comes from the browned butter, which has a rich nuttiness and complexity. Freshly diced pears are added to the batter along with enough miniature chocolate chips to bring in a subtle chocolate flavor without becoming overwhelming. I left the skins on the pears as a personal preference, but you can easily peel them if you choose. The muffins hold more flavor than they appear, rounding out any breakfast or afternoon snack.

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Swedish Visiting Cake

If the variety of self-improvement books on the topic are any indication, there are thousands of ways to live your life. There are different strategies out there to help you fulfill the life just right for you. Some people live their lives in pursuit of money, others in the pursuit of helping others. Some choose to live their lives in devotion to a god, others in devotion to success. With so many options and opinions on the subject, I've always wondered where on the spectrum I would fall. Would I ultimately choose the way of the American dream, of success and money? Would I subscribe to a humble lifestyle, full of family and friends? Would I do something big, or would I settle for a familiar lifestyle?

Out of college, with my life laid out before me, I find it hard to even guess where I will find myself in the future. Even so, I can't help but wonder which lifestyle was meant for me. Of all the self-improvement books I could choose off the library shelf, which one would resonate with me?

While this thought has been swimming around my mind the last few years, in various levels of consciousness, I never imagined a simple phrase overheard at a nearby restaurant table would be the answer to my question. He said, waving his fork in the air as if to punctuate the point, he wanted to live an anecdotal life.

I realized, in that moment, that it was exactly what I wanted too. An anecdotal life.

I don't care about having a highly successful career. I'm not hell-bent on amassing a great fortune. While I'd love to help others with my life, I'm not sure I'm ready to devote my future to that just yet. However, I do like to hear a good story and I can't imagine a better life than one filled with true, tall tales to tell.

Upon reflection, I've realized that I have been happiest when I have been living the anecdotal life. When I'm filled with adventure and curiosity, where everything is possible and anything can (and does) happen, where each day may be a little more uncertain than the last. While I realize I can't always be traveling the world or making big decisions, finding myself in new situations or exploring unknown facets of my personality, I want to keep my mind open to the possibilities. I don't want to shut them out if they come calling, whatever form they may arrive in.

These last couple years have been filled with quiet stories for me, with months of my life making up the space between paragraphs. I miss finding myself face to face with a mountain goat in the rocky mountains. I miss the adventures and conversations with friends that now live far away. I miss being the girl who sits outside with her camera just to capture the sunset. It's easy for life to feel like a lull in conversation, for the winter blues to wash away the heat and life of summer. It's harder to put yourself into a place where new, unexpected stories can be born.

After all, if I don't keep composing new stories to tell, what else will we talk about next time we sit down over a cup of coffee and a piece of cake?

This Swedish Visiting Cake is chewy and sweet, with complex flavors. Without any leavening agents, the cake sets rather than bakes up, resulting in a cake with a texture similar to a coffee cake rather than a typical birthday cake. Originally a recipe from Dorie Greenspan, I played with a few of the ingredients, resulting in a cake I can't help but love. Browned butter, orange zest, and almonds combine to make a trio of flavor that only grows more depth as time passes.

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Brown Butter Rice Krispie Bars

Today I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Creamy peanut butter, grape jelly, and white bread—transcendence. I haven't had a PB&J for years and oh it was good. Sometimes I feel like I've outgrown certain foods, like boxed macaroni and cheese, hotdogs, or PB&J. It's not that I've ever stopped enjoying them, but they just got lost somewhere along the way and I'm just not sure why.

Do you ever feel like you've outgrown particular foods?

Occasionally, I throw around words like "palate" and "sophisticated." When I'm trying to be a bit of a show-off, I sometimes relate these words to myself. I'll be the first to admit I don't have any idea what I'm talking about. Having a "sophisticated palate" is probably much more than eating brussel sprouts without cringing or enjoying foie gras with fancy cheeses.

Lately, though, I've noticed that chefs are going back to our roots. The foods we loved as children are now being dressed up in new clothes. Grilled cheese and tomato soup. Macaroni and cheese. The hamburger and fries. As an adult with a "sophisticated palate," I can't complain. I love the nostalgia of my childhood favorites done up from scratch with more vegetables to satisfy my health tooth (I may have a health tooth, but the rest of my mouth is filled with sweet teeth).

These are the traditional Rice Krispie Bars elevated to a whole new level. Browning the butter before mixing everything together results in a bar with deep nutty undertones. By using salted butter, you can cut down on the sweetness of the marshmallow and really allow the browned butter flavors to shine. This isn't the Rice Krispie Bar from your childhood—this is the Rice Krispie Bar you wish you'd grown up eating.

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