I was very pleased with the final product: the cornmeal crust was slightly crunchy and the feta-spinach filling was herbed to perfection. I added a little extra dill (as I always do) and, while it wasn’t noticeable, it didn’t hurt either. It was a nice substitute for a traditional stuffing; just call it my way of adding a little Greek touch to Thanksgiving. 

After the fun of Thanksgiving, the Greek and I took a friend of his who was visiting from Thessaloniki (she was on a grad school whirlwind tour) to San Francisco, where we walked around Fisherman’s Wharf and also stopped by the famous Painted Ladies, too. 

For Thanksgiving, the Greek and his friend had made Melissa Clark’s Apple Bourbon Bundt Cake (if you see a bourbon theme here, good work! My biggest baking discovery of the last 2-3 years is that a little liquor goes a long way when baking). This cake was really, really out of this world good. Because of the glaze, which I personally don’t always think is necessary, but actually liked in this recipe, the cake was super moist and soft and spongy. Mind you, this was not a bad thing at all. The cake was full of toasted pecans, had chunks of candied ginger and grated apples, too. All in all, a keeper cake. I’m also pleased to say that the Greek broke the curse of the bundt cake pan by finally baking a successful cake in it. And there was, fortuitously enough, enough cake batter for a bread, too. Never discount the pleasure of leftover (or frozen) dessert when moving. 

And then there was the move, my life carefully placed into boxes. When I say that I loved the apartment I moved into all those years ago (August 17, 2007, to be exact), it’s nothing short of the truth. It was my first “real” adult apartment. I found it, I decorated it, I paid all the bills. It was home.  

I had my mock MA oral exam sitting on that couch. It’s also where I wrote my field statements for my PhD exams. Almost a whole grad school career happened within a mere 400 square feet…not to mention all the seasons of TV shows that were watched on that television. 

This apartment was also the place where I really learned to cook on my own. I baked bread puddings, cakes, cupcakes, cheesecakes. I stewed lentils. I made my first hamburger patties there, too. And who can forget the cracking of the coconut (the battle scars were carried into my new life since the kitchen table came with me)?

These pictures will certainly help. And the fact that my things and I have found ourselves a new home–one that’s in progress, but that I already love–doesn’t hurt either.