browned butter triple nut pie

I knew what the subject of today’s post was going to be. The meaning of Christmas to me. A religiously confused, complicated young woman. About how I interpret its magic and its universal message. There would be Christmas pie.

But this morning (as I write this it is Saturday, December 15th) it’s just not possible, for I am dead today. Drained from a tragedy that affected no one I know. In a town that I had never heard of. I try not to comment on current events on this site. I have other outlets for that. And although deeply afflicted today, the girl who talks too much has nothing to say. There are too many without that holiday this year. Without that spirit. I need time to heal.

Saturday is baking day. I planned to bake today. Gifts, actually. I can’t do it. You would think taking time, just me and my dough, would be cathartic. It has been through loss and sadness in the past. But this feels different.

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Seashore Supper 2 for 1

seared scallops and brown butter sauce, two ways

The first time I had fried New England seafood, I was probably around five. It was at Ronnie’s, a little shack of a restaurant with a neighboring ice cream shop in Auburn, MA. Auburn is one those Central Mass towns you drive through wondering if you’re watching the world pass through the Instagram “1977” filter. Let me tell you a little bit about it: there’s a shopping mall, an envelope factory, and a semi-famous nut company, just to keep things interesting. Surprisingly, there is no Walmart. It’s also the town where my mother spent many of her years growing up and where my maternal grandparents still reside. It’s very much landlocked. It screams $0.99 deal at the local Arby’s on Southbridge Street, not fresh seafood.

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