Sibling rivalry has kicked in with all kinds of screaming, punching, and drama queening. Often, hanging with both Dash and Bella is so intense that I just want to hustle them to bed as quickly as possible. I'm craving time alone with each of them. Bella and I have been going out on dates to fancy dinners without Dash. Last week we sat at the bar of a very popular local restaurant called Wood Tavern. In between bites of burrata and roasted peaches, we talked about second grade, the San Francisco Giants, Silly Bandz, and what life would be like without Dash (she decided she wants to keep him around). It was dreamy.
This year Dash is in school every day but Friday. So Friday's our day. No school. No Bella. Just the two of us. I'm hoping to do a series of posts called "Fridays with Dash" in which we do a new recipe together every week. Or maybe every other week.
From the back of the car last week, Dash announced, "We have to pass through ALL the cafés to get to school."
Dash's relationship with Berkeley is like a Chutes and Ladders board paved with cafés.
I don't know what kind of drugs you all did in high school, but I skipped class to do lattes. This early addiction lingers and I'm a much better mom when I'm caffeinated. Dash is psyched to go to a café every morning because he always scores a pastry. He went through a cheese danish phase, a pumpkin bread phase, and now he always wants cheese bread from The Cheese Board. Last week, we were lucky enough to get a table next to the cheese counter.
"Holy shit, look at the cheese!" I shouldn't open my mouth before I've had a full cup of coffee.
"Holy SHIT, Mama? Why?" asked Dash.
"Holy cow, Dash. Holy guacamole. The cheese is just so beautiful."
We left The Cheese Board with a tub of quark cheese (fresh cow's milk cheese made from sour milk). I was hoping to combine it in some killer way with the huge pile of tomatoes we had just picked with my parents over the weekend. Actually, my kids picked 3 tomatoes and my parents picked 103.
Dash and Bella jumped around gathering baskets, gloves, and clippers, but their enthusiasm was short-lived. "No farmer is she," said my dad as Bella harvested two tomatoes before complaining of the heat. Harry Potter was calling.
Dash, red-faced and sighing, heaved and hoed a bit longer than Bella.
So it's Friday and we're in the kitchen. I have quark and all the picked tomatoes and I think there might be some sort of tart to be made. When I'm trying to figure out a recipe I wander around the kitchen talking to myself. Fortunately, Dash is listening to my ramblings. "Put garlic in the tart, Mama."
So I roast a whole head of garlic. When it's soft, sweet, and caramelized, …
