Since we moved abroad, I struggle with my birthday. In the darkest depths of January my mood is typically at a low, and this day is filled with work (always stressful on this day, always, no exceptions), cold, and a longing to be celebrating at home with the rest of my family. This year, B took it upon himself to boost my mood and spoil me, which I will be ever-grateful for.
The weekend before we ate everything bagels, went to members' early hours at MoMA to admire the amazing work of Louise Bourgeois, and soak up the sun of the empty Manhattan Streets (9am on a Saturday is the best time to go to Midtown). I ran a half-marathon in my fastest time on the most beautiful morning in Central Park, and Seb cheered my the whole way round. We feasted on pie at Four & Twenty Blackbirds, ate just-what-we-needed tacos at Oaxaca Taqueria, and melted our tongues and faces with the most amazing, but absolute spiciest dinner at Ugly Baby.
The day itself was 24 hours of highs and lows. A wet and windy run was rewarded with a Green Kitchen Stories upside-down apple-pie-smoothie-granola creation which was bonkers and beautiful. The work day pushed me to my limits of patience, strength, and energy. But B turned the evening around with a bottle of Billecart-Salmon (after the day I'd had that bottle didn't last long), perfect ricotta and tomato pasta from Rachel Roddy's latest book, and, of course, the ever-famous Molly Yeh's funfetti cake (Yes, he baked for me. It's love.). So, this is 27. We're off to a rocky start, but it's going to move up from here with change, adventures, laughter, more running, and even more food.
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| This wasn't from this year! This is mum at my age and me at 5 months! |
