🍷🚤🐟 We drove out to Living Roots for a wine lunch with exactly one goal: finally sign up for the wine club. That’s it. We’d been meaning to do it for a while and kept not doing it.
What we didn’t know is that @lido_fingerlakes has taken over the kitchen for a summer popup. Chef Chris Cullen is running a seafood pop-up Thursday through Sunday, and it caught us completely off guard.
The plating looks like French Laundry, but it’s local ingredients. The florals and seasonal picks feel like a New York City restaurant. And the flavor profiles land right on top of our favorite Japanese meals. That’s a strange combination to describe, and it’s still the most accurate one we’ve got.
We started with a couple of dishes. Then we ordered a couple more. By the end we’d worked through most of the menu and not one plate let us down.
Wine in hand, Keuka Lake out the window, food coming out one course at a time. We came for the wine club and left with a new favorite meal.
If you’re near Keuka this summer, go before the pop-up ends.
🦆🥩🌱 There’s a certain magic to slowing down over a meal someone else is cooking.
This particular evening called for something a little more indulgent, a little more romantic, so we walked over to Le Café Cent-Dix on Aurora Street, just off the Commons. No reservations there, which means you show up early and wait with everyone else who had the same idea. Worth it.
The plates came out the way the best evenings do: unhurried, generous, one thing after another. Duck took center stage, its skin crisped to a deep golden brown, rich and tender beneath. Alongside it, a well-seared steak, charred at the edges and pink in the middle, the kind of thing that makes you slow down and pay attention. A handful of greens rounded everything out, a fresh counterpoint to all that richness.
A night like this isn’t really about the menu. It’s about the ritual. The way a small room fills with warmth and noise, the way conversation drifts easily between courses, the way an ordinary Tuesday quietly turns into something worth remembering.
You don’t need a special occasion to eat well. Sometimes the finest table is the one a few blocks away, and all it takes is showing up hungry with someone you love. Good ingredients, treated simply and honestly, letting the flavors speak for themselves.
By the time the last plate was cleared, the evening had already earned its keep. A French date night, no passport required. Just a good table, a bit of patience in line, and the good sense to savor it.
🫐🌱👌🏼 We picked blueberries at Joe’s parents’ place today. Me, my husband Angel, and Joe, a couple of buckets, most of the afternoon.
It’s easy work and it’s slow, which is the appeal. It doesn’t take long to get the hang of it. The ripe ones come off easy, and the ones that fight you aren’t ready yet. Joe kept finding the fullest branches and pointing them out. Angel worked the low bushes, the ones you have to crouch for, where the fruit sits in the shade and stays sweeter. Between the three of us the buckets filled faster than the conversation ever slowed.
Joe’s mom was out there too with the dogs, who had a system. Anything that hit the dirt was theirs. They ran the rows like a cleanup crew and I don’t think one dropped berry made it out of that patch.
Joe’s usually the one taking care of us, so it was good to spend an afternoon on his family’s land, picking from bushes his parents have been tending for years.
We came home with way more blueberries than three people should reasonably eat. Scones first, then muffins, then syrup with whatever’s left. Purple fingers for a day or two.
☀️🌱⛱️ There’s a particular kind of magic in the way summer hands you something delicate and asks you to be gentle with it. Squash flowers are exactly that. They arrive soft and golden, the color of late afternoon light, and they carry the promise of a garden still busy with sun.
The idea here is simple, though it feels like a small ceremony. You take the flowers, still faintly warm from the day, and fill them with ricotta. The cheese settles in like it belongs there, cool and creamy against those bright petals. Then comes the tempura, that whisper-thin batter that fries up into something between a crackle and a sigh.
When they come out of the oil, they’re impossibly light. You bite in and the shell shatters, and underneath is the ricotta, soft and quiet, and the flower itself, tasting faintly of the vine it grew on. It’s the kind of thing you eat standing over the stove, not waiting for anyone.
Summer cooking is like this. It doesn’t ask for much. A little patience, a hot pan, and a willingness to let good ingredients be what they already are. These stuffed squash flowers are a reminder that the best dishes are often the ones that hold the season in their hands and don’t try too hard to change it.
Make them once and you’ll understand. Sunshine, a garden, a warm afternoon, all folded into a few golden bites.
First, the batter. We dropped the usual flour-and-cornstarch mix and went with rice flour only, no egg, kept ice cold. It’s just rice flour and enough cold club soda (or beer, if you want that flavor) to make a slurry that’s thick but still loose enough to coat. Dust the flowers in dry rice flour first, dip them in the slurry, and straight into the hot oil. That’s the whole batter station. The dusting gives the slurry something to grab, and the rice flour is what fries into that thin, glassy shell instead of a heavy crust.
Second, the filling. Ours is ricotta with fresh mint and basil, and a spoon of honey to sweeten it. We used a raw goldenrod honey from Bright Raven Farm & Apiary, just up the road in the Finger Lakes, sold at their Honeybee Embassy. Goldenrod honey crystallizes fast, so it comes thick and a little pasty, and that’s exactly what you want here. It sweetens the ricotta without turning it into soup. Use whatever good local honey you can find, and if yours is loose and runny, use a little less so the filling stays dry enough to hold.
Everything else is fast. The flowers come from the garden, the frying takes about a minute a batch, and you’re eating them warm before the plate ever makes it to the table.
Ricotta Stuffed Squash Flowers, Tempura Fried
Squash flowers stuffed with ricotta, mint, and basil, sweetened with local goldenrod honey, and fried in a light rice-flour tempura slurry.
Prep: 15 min | Cook: 15 min | Total: 30 min | Serves: 6
Ingredients
Filling
10 to 12 squash flowers
1/2 cup ricotta
1 tablespoon fresh mint, finely chopped
1 tablespoon fresh basil, finely chopped
1 tablespoon thick raw goldenrod honey (we used Bright Raven Farm’s)
Salt and pepper to taste
Tempura batter
1 cup rice flour, plus a little extra for dusting
About 3/4 cup ice-cold club soda or beer, enough for a thick but pourable slurry
Pinch of salt
tip: keep the batter sitting on top of icy water to keep it cool
For frying
2 cups neutral oil (vegetable or peanut)
OR in a deep frying pan where the oil is 1.5 to 2 inches deep so the flowers can float without touching the bottom.
Instructions
Prep the flowers. Brush off any dirt. If you rinsed them, dry them well. Trim the stem to about half an inch and pinch out the stamen inside if it’s large.
Make the filling. Stir together the ricotta, mint, basil, honey, and a little salt and pepper. Keep it thick. The honey should sweeten it without loosening it, so if yours is runny, use less.
Stuff gently. Spoon or pipe about a teaspoon of filling into each flower. Don’t overfill or they’ll split in the oil. Twist the petal tips to close.
Heat the oil to 350°F.
Make the slurry last. Right before frying, stir the rice flour, a pinch of salt, and enough ice-cold club soda (or beer) together until it’s thick but still pourable, loose enough to coat. Keep it cold and don’t overwork it.
Dust and dip. Lightly dust each stuffed flower in dry rice flour, then dip it in the slurry to coat.
Fry a few at a time for about a minute, until pale gold and crisp. They cook fast, so don’t walk away.
Drain and serve. Drain on paper towels, season with a pinch of salt, and eat warm.
I like a plain slice. Always have. But somewhere along the way I started wanting it to taste a little more like me — and the two things I reach for more than anything else in my kitchen are mayo and Old Bay.
So one day I put them on the pizza. Together. 🍕🦀🥚
I call it May Bay, and it’s less a recipe than a habit I’ve stopped apologizing for. You take a plain cheese slice — hot, fresh, nothing fancy — drizzle mayo across the top, and dust it with Old Bay until it looks right to you. The mayo adds a creamy richness the slice didn’t know it was missing, and the Old Bay brings that salty, celery-and-paprika bite that makes everything it touches taste a little like summer near the water.
It sounds like it shouldn’t work. It does. That gap between “shouldn’t” and “does” is where most of my favorite food lives.
The May Bay “Recipe”
Ingredients (yes, all two of them):
Mayonnaise
Old Bay seasoning
Instructions:
Start with a plain cheese pizza slice, hot out of the oven.
Drizzle mayo across the top in thin lines.
Dust with Old Bay to taste. Start light — you can always add more.
Eat immediately. Repeat as needed.
That’s it. No crab, no tricks, no special equipment. Just a plain slice with a little extra pizzazz, exactly the way I like it. If you try it, I’d love to hear whether it converts you — and if it doesn’t, more Old Bay for me.
🍷🍇🏳️🌈
“Wine day with bae” felt like permission to slow down. Late June light, the kind that softens edges, found its way through the glass and warmed our hands. We didn’t plan much beyond getting here. That was the plan—let the Finger Lakes decide the rest.
The first pour was bright and easy, like a door opening. We took our time, letting the berry and stone settle on the tongue, listening for the quiet notes a busy week drowns out. Clink. Smile. A small joke that landed just right. The kind of conversation that doesn’t need to prove anything, just breathe alongside us.
Out beyond the patio, rows of vines kept their own careful rhythm, green upon green, patient and sure. A breeze lifted the edge of the afternoon, and with it, the sense that we were exactly where we were meant to be—two chairs, one table, the lake not far, the world briefly uncomplicated.
June carries its flags and its histories. We carried ours in the open, in the easy way our shoulders touched, in the quiet pride of being ordinary together. There was no grand lesson, only the soft relief of time well-spent.
We left a little lighter, lips stained, palms warm, promising to come back before the summer tilts away.
We drove through the rolling hills to a neighboring latke. Keuka’s elbows of shoreline bent around us, green rising into tidy rows, sky rinsed clean after a week of heat.
At the tasting bar, glass met glass, a quiet bell. The clean design and attention to detail caused us look deeply at the room and again the wine.
On the ride back, the sun laid itself flat across the water, gold finding every ripple. As we drove back thought the hills the water faded and the fields reached out towards home.
Side quests like this are why maps never feel finished.
Late July and the light feels unhurried. The kitchen is still, just the soft hiss from the pot and a slow breath of summer air through the screen. I wanted a light meal for lunch—something easy to carry the afternoon forward—and it came together without thinking: warm rice, a spoon of stewed vegetables, a few sharp coins of pickles.
The rice lifts steam like a small weather system. The stew settles into its own calm, tender and a little sweet. The pickles are bright, a quick green spark that wakes the tongue. Bite by bite, the plate becomes a rhythm—tang, comfort, warmth—simple notes that add up to enough.
Outside, the day lingers. 18:35 and the sun is still deciding what to do with the evening. I eat standing for a moment, then sit, and the room gets quieter. Funny how a small lunch can make space in a day, how a little bowl of rice steadies the hands.
Nothing fancy. Just a light meal that tastes like exactly now.
☕️ As I sat with a steaming cup of freshly brewed tea, the day unfolded in a way that only a quiet moment with nature and local delights could inspire. The rich aroma of the tea leaf danced in the air, a soothing melody calming the afternoon’s whispers. With each sip, I was drawn closer to the essence of the earth, feeling a profound connection to the very roots this drink originated from. [Seneca Breakfast Blend]
This particular afternoon, I savored not just the tea itself but a symphony of textures and flavors that told a story beyond the cup. The hint of honey, harvested from the hives nestled nearby, added a golden touch, a sweet nod to the industrious bees that worked tirelessly to create this liquid sunbeam. There’s something humbling and wonderfully simple about using honey that’s procured just miles from where I sat. It makes the experience feel more intimate, more authentic, a reminder of the delicate yet robust tapestries that thread through our local ecosystems.
Reflecting on this peaceful interlude, I found myself smiling—not just from the tea but from the comforting knowledge that these small joys root us more securely to our surroundings. The afternoon light seemed to agree, casting its warm hues over this harmonious tapestry of flavors. Satisfying and sophisticated, this
The soothing hum of bees and the golden sheen of honey – there’s something magical about these tiny artisans of nature. Today, I stumbled upon an almost poetic moment, much like an elegant dance of nature’s finest collaborators. I can’t help but reminisce about childhood days when finding a hidden beehive was like discovering a treasure trove. The sweetness of freshly harvested honey is a symphony that only nature can compose, notes of sun-kissed flowers and gentle buzzing wrapped into a golden drizzle.
Can you bee-lieve the divine taste of this local honey? It’s like a reminder that simple pleasures are often the sweetest. The bees work hard, all through sunlit days, crafting every drop with care. In their tiny world, nothing is hurried, and each moment feels intentionally crafted. I hold this jar as if it were a piece of art, each spoonful a masterpiece.
As I indulge in this honeyed delight, memories flood back, bringing warmth and comfort akin to visiting a cherished place. The bees, those industrious little artists, remind me of the intricate balance and harmony found in the natural world.
In the hustle of modern life, these moments – captured by nature’s brilliance and encased in amber sweetness – offer a
As the weekend gently unfolds, the spirit of relaxation takes center stage with a perfectly crafted “Basic-B Cosmo” Cocktail. This vibrant concoction, nestled elegantly in its glass, embodies the epitome of weekend indulgence—echoing the simplicity and joy found in the small moments that bring us peace.
The mellow pink hue of the Cosmo, reminiscent of a serene sunset after a busy week, speaks to the heart. It’s more than just a drink; it’s a pause button on the rapid pace of life, an invitation to unwind and savor the present. The delicate blend, punctuated by the subtle zest of citrus, is designed to make every sip an experience—a tranquil journey into leisure.
As I sip leisurely, the crispness and tang converge, creating a tactile symphony that dances playfully on the palate. It’s a celebration of the weekend’s promise: time to rediscover oneself, to embrace stillness, and to refresh the soul in the company of familiar joys. There’s something inherently comforting about this ritual; it reverberates a long-held tradition of finding solace in simplicity, a legacy of relaxation that connects the past with the present.
Surrounded by a sense of ease, the world seems to fade, leaving behind only a gentle hum
Cosmopolitan Cocktail Recipe
This classic Cosmopolitan cocktail recipe is a vibrant and zesty drink perfect for any celebration or casual gathering. With a balance of tangy cranberry juice, zesty lime, and a hint of sweetness, this pink-hued cocktail is as delightful to drink as it is to look at.
Ingredients
2 oz (45 ml) vodka (e.g., be basic with Skyy)
1 oz (30 ml) triple sec (e.g., Cointreau)
0.5 oz (15 ml) freshly squeezed lime juice
1 oz (30 ml) cranberry juice (use less if organic – trust me)
Lemon twist (for garnish)
Instructions
Chill Your Glass – Place a martini glass in the freezer or fill it with ice water to chill.
Combine Ingredients – In a cocktail glass filled with ice, add vodka, triple sec, lime juice, and cranberry juice.
Stir – No one wants a watered down drink – stir until the glass starts to frost
Strain – Discard the ice or water in your martini glass, and strain the cocktail mixture into the glass.
Garnish – Add along lemon twist for a finishing touch.
Serve – Enjoy your perfectly crafted Cosmopolitan cocktail immediately!
The start of the new year always brings a sense of renewal and fresh beginnings. Today, I find myself immersed in the gentle rhythm of preparing ginger chicken gyoza. As the aroma of ginger mingles with the savory scent of chicken, I am transported to a place of warmth and anticipation.
This culinary practice has grown to become a beloved tradition in our home. Each fold and pinch is a testament to the joy that handmade food brings to our lives, bridging the old with the new. As I work, I recall Winters past when snow would softly blanket the earth, wrapping everything in a magical silence. The scene is different today—no snow in sight, but the sense of nostalgia remains the same.
These gyoza, with their crisp exterior and juicy filling, are much more than a meal. They are a nod to new adventures and the memories that shape us. Sitting around the table with friends and family, we savor each bite, celebrating the New Year with laughter and shared stories. It’s a moment of connection, of hope, heralded by these delightful little parcels.
The symbolism of sharing these gyoza on New Year’s Day is profound—a wish for prosperity, good health, and happiness in the year ahead. The joy they bring
NYE – Ginger Chicken Gyoza Recipe
Ingredients:
1 lb ground chicken
2 stalks lemongrass, finely minced (tender white parts only)
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 tbsp fresh ginger, minced
2 green onions, finely chopped
1 cup Napa cabbage, finely shredded (optional)
1 tbsp soy sauce
1 tsp sesame oil
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp white pepper (optional)
1 package gyoza wrappers
1 tbsp vegetable oil (for pan-frying)
1/4 cup water (for steaming)
Instructions:
Prepare the Filling:
In a large bowl, mix the ground chicken, minced lemongrass, garlic, minced fresh ginger, green onions, soy sauce, sesame oil, salt, and white pepper.
If using, fold in the Napa cabbage for added texture and flavor.
Assemble the Gyoza:
Place a gyoza wrapper in the palm of your hand.
Add about 1 teaspoon of filling to the center of the wrapper.
Wet the edges of the wrapper with water using your finger or a small brush.
Fold the wrapper in half over the filling and press the edges to seal, pleating one side if desired.
Steam the Gyoza:
Arrange the gyoza in a steamer lined with parchment paper or cabbage leaves to prevent sticking.
Steam over boiling water for about 8–10 minutes until the chicken is fully cooked.
Pan-Fry for Crispiness:
Heat 1 tablespoon of vegetable oil in a non-stick skillet over medium-high heat.
Arrange the steamed gyoza in the skillet, flat side down.
Cook for 2–3 minutes, until the bottoms are golden and crispy.
