Wish I was eating pastries instead

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Oh hello, paradise.

In an effort to both clean up my eating while I train for a couple of upcoming half marathons, and maybe-possibly-fingers-crossed-would-love-it-if-I-could-but-not-a-top-priority lose a few extra pounds I’ve been carrying around since the holidays, I’ve been trying intermittent fasting.

Basically, after dinner each night, I don’t eat again until lunch the next day. It’s supposed to have all sorts of positive effects on your body and brain, boosting cells and helping facilitate weight loss. Oh, and it sucks. No really, it’s the worst.

I’m on week 2 of this new eating pattern and if I’m being honest, some days are borderline torturous for me. Today, as I went through my photos from Mexico City for the billionth time, trying to decide what to write about next, I was flooded with warm and fuzzy memories from breakfast at Panaderia Rosetta and I cursed intermittent fasting. Continue reading

Where pies go when they die

“This must be where pies go when they die” reads a small hand-painted sign next to the door at Four and Twenty Blackbirds in Park Slope. And truly, it must be.

It’s also not far from what I imagine one version of heaven might look like either, depending who you are. If you like a pie shop that’s simple and cozy, just perfectly worn in and charmingly old fashioned, where you can sit at an old wooden table and be wrapped in the smells of butter and vanilla and coffee while you dig a fork into a wedge of pie so good it feels like God himself might’ve slipped it down to you through a break in the clouds, then yea, you must be where pies go when they die.

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Pecan pie’s never been my favorite but this bittersweet chocolate pecan could change my mind.

I know I tend to speak in hyperbole when it comes to food, but the pies at Four and Twenty Blackbirds are deserving. I’ve had seven or eight different kinds, sometimes at the shop on a little white plate with a metal fork, other times in a to-go container when I couldn’t stay, and sometimes from the plastic packaging they come in when you order from grocery delivery service, Fresh Direct. They’ve all been delicious.

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Coffee custard pie with fresh whipped cream. A dream.

Their chocolate chess pie was velvety and rich, the chocolate custard like a perfect pudding cozying up to a buttery, flaky crust. The Salty Honey pie was pure decadence, all butter, caramelized sugar and honey, sea salt sprinkled on top like snowflakes. The matcha was silky and calming, the bittersweet chocolate pecan gooey and indulgent, the coffee custard like a perfectly, creamy coffee in pie form.

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Lemon lavender pie, not at all floral, just creamy, summery sweet.

Every time I’ve gone to the little shop on 3rd Avenue in Brooklyn, I’ve wanted to stay for hours. And every time I’ve had a mouthful of Four and Twenty Blackbirds pie I’ve thought, “My God this tastes like heaven.”