26 Grains – Neal's Yard, London

It's been a little while! In a season when routine and self-care have never been more important to me, I don't know how I managed to let writing take a back seat. I guess I have been a little lazy, but all the intentions to document significant moments of my life have been there. 

Living and working at home again has been such a blessing. It feels like I have a lot more time these days, which was something I always wished for when I lived in Bristol, worked full time and had a busy social life. I don't feel like I'm missing out on anything now, though, which is funny because that was a big fear of mine for a long time. I still get to plan fun trips with friends who have stuck with me through this whirlwind of a year. One of those was a Christmas trip to London with Emily with the sole aim of spending the day eating. We had both wanted to go to 26 Grains for the longest time, so that's where we met and where I could have happily spent the whole day.

Porridge is no more a boring breakfast; it is my day-off indulgence. I love trying new flavours, textures and toppings and 26 Grains is the place for that. At £6 a bowl it's not cheap but since 'it's London' is an excuse widely accepted, I guess that's why. I had the hazelnut and salted butter porridge with added almond butter and it.was.divine. Loaded with hazelnuts, chopped apple and a pool of melted butter in the middle, this was ingredient pairing at its finest. The porridge itself had a perfect consistency (creamy, not too thick – delicious) with brown sugar seeping in through the top – so nice with an oat flat white.

Obviously, I wanted to eat everything on the menu but we had a table booked at Cafe Murano for lunch and, sadly, there are only so many meals one can eat in a day. For now, I'll hope someone's bought me the cookbook for Christmas... and I promise this is my last porridge-related post (of the year).

Toasted Oats: Two Ways

A few weeks Emily came to Wales for the weekend and we spent Sunday doing all of our favourite things: getting up early, reading recipe books and packing a bag filled with Angel Bakery pastries and a flask of coffee to devour at the top of the Skirrid Fawr.

Emily is a friend I used to see all day, every day – I'm not exaggerating, we worked and (practically) lived together – so times like these are golden, as now we often spend weeks apart. Food is our main common interest, and that's an indicator of a lasting friendship, in my opinion. We had our pastries to look forward to at the top of the mountain but we needed fuel to get us there, so we decided to try Flora Shedden's toasted coconut oats.

Everyone knows porridge is a breakfast that will keep you going til lunch (or elevenses in our case), but adding coconut and toasting the mix elevates it to a whole new level. Why hadn't I thought of this?

Toasting oats is something I now do fairly regularly, but usually on my days off, when I have a little longer to spend on breakfast. A good hour or two is dedicated to setting myself up for the day – whatever it entails – and it is a brilliant form of self care. I recently tried Emily's suggestion: an almond variation of Flora's original recipe and it's just as good, if not better.

Now that autumn is officially here the mornings are only going to get colder, so we may as well embrace it. Fill your favourite mug with your morning drink of choice and enjoy these toasted oats one of two ways; coconut or almond, or both, if you can't decide. Perfect for warming your cockles when, you know, life calls and you have to get out of bed.

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Toasted Coconut Oats (Vegan)
Adapted from Flora Shedden's Toasted Coconut Oats in Gatherings
Serves 2

1 tsp coconut oil
60g rolled oats
25g desiccated coconut
300ml coconut drink (I use Rude Health)
1 tbsp coconut sugar or maple syrup
Pinch sea salt

Melt the coconut oil in a small saucepan on a medium-low heat. Add the oats and coconut and toast until golden (about five minutes). Slowly add the coconut milk and stir until it absorbs completely – as if you are making a risotto. Add a pinch of sea salt and the coconut sugar or maple syrup. Serve in two of your favourite bowls with a handful of blueberries, desiccated coconut and peanut butter.

Toasted Almond Oats
Inspired by Emily from Delaterre Food Writing
Serves 2

1 tsp butter
60g rolled oats
25g ground almonds
300ml oat milk (I use Oatly organic oat drink)
1 tbsp coconut sugar or maple syrup

Melt the butter in a small saucepan on a medium-low heat. Add the oats and the ground almonds and toast until golden (about five minutes). Slowly add the oat milk and stir until it absorbs completely – as if you are making a risotto. Add a pinch of sea salt and the coconut sugar or maple syrup. Serve in two of your favourite bowls with fresh raspberries, almond butter and any other toppings you like.

Abergavenny Food Festival 2018

I've said it before, but the Abergavenny Food Festival has got to be up there as one of my favourite weekends of the year. On par with Christmas (I know), it's a special weekend I have loved ever since my family moved to Abergavenny in 2004. Last year I wrote about how the festival is a watershed of sorts, marking the end of one season and the start of another, and I suppose this year has been the same in a way that is more symbolic than literal.

I mentioned in my recent post, The Second Time, that I recently quit my job as a copywriter in Bristol to move back in with my parents in my hometown, Abergavenny. This has been a huge change and one I have found relatively easy, all things considered. I used to think working office hours was a sure sign I'd made it in the real world (whatever that is), but having recently started working shifts again my mind is changing.

Working the weekend of the Abergavenny Food Festival, when a 10-hour day felt like 10 minutes and was spent from start to finish on a high, I realised that being out there and involved is what makes life so enjoyable. So, even though I missed a lot of the events and food stalls on offer on the Saturday, what I gained was an unforgettably rich experience serving great food and coffee, meeting hundreds of people and gaining a new perspective. I even got to create and showcase my own dish for the festival – a vegan pesto and tomatoes on toast (absolutely divine, by the way). Maybe it's just me, but isn't it the experiences we don't try and orchestrate that end up being the really good, memorable ones?

Saturday evening was spent celebrating a successful day with my boss and coworker at a Grace Dent event at the Borough Theatre, which was very interesting! I don't read many restaurant reviews (lol, this is namely a food blog) but hearing her speak inspired me to get clued up and make a reservation at a swanky restaurant next time I have a spare £300.

One of my best friends, Emily, came to stay and we spent Sunday eating eating eating – our favourite thing to do. We had coffee at Bean & Bread, almond croissants from the Angel Bakery, mini patisserie treats from Cocorico, including these delightful lemon meringue tarts, samosa chaat, a halloumi pitta and vanilla sprinkles cake for my nephew's 1st birthday, not to mention all the cheese we sampled in the markets 🌝

The end of the food festival weekend always brings with it a heavy dose of the back-to-school blues I used to get as a teenager on a Sunday afternoon. I never want it to end, I always feel like it's not enough time, I want just one more day! But this year was different because this year I don't have to leave. This year I get to stay and enjoy this town some more after the city dwellers leave, and that might just be the best part of this change of season.

Chocolate Hazelnut Butter

There is something really satisfying about making your own nut butter. I used to love going to Wholefoods in Cheltenham to make my own peanut butter, but those days are long gone (I think it's shut down, in fact) and now I have Aldi to thank for its super cheap nuts with which I can make my own at home. You can use any nut or seed you like for this recipe, it doesn't have to be hazelnut, but I do think they work the best with chocolate. 

This recipe came from a failed attempt at making Gaz Oakley's 'Not-Ella'. Has anyone else had any luck? It's in his Vegan 100 book. Mine was like gritty, thick chocolate milkshake. Not nice and a total waste of all my lovely ingredients!

This chocolate hazelnut butter is not really anything like Nutella at all, but it's delicious in its own right. I like it on toast with berries or in my porridge with a sliced banana. You could heat it up in a saucepan to make a hazelnut chocolate sauce or use it to make a milkshake, too.

Something you may or may not be interested to know is that this recipe is completely vegan and gluten free. I subscribe to neither those diet types but I like playing around with recipes that don't involve animal products. I'll be making more of this for Veganuary, that's for sure! If you have a loaf of banana bread going spare this would make a dreamy topping.

Chocolate Hazelnut Butter

Makes 1 small jar

You will need:

130g raw hazelnuts

3 tbsp maple syrup

2 tbsp melted coconut oil

25g raw cacao powder

60ml oat milk

1 tsp vanilla

Pinch of sea salt

A strong food processor or blender – I use a Nutribullet.

Put the hazelnuts into your food processor or blender and pulse for up to 10 minutes. You will need to keep a spatula to hand to scrape down the sides of the blender as you go. Add the melted coconut oil to help speed up the process.

When your hazelnuts resemble liquid rather than ground nuts, add the remaining ingredients and continue to pulse in your blender. Scrape every last drop into your (sterilised) jar and keep in the fridge for up to a week. Enjoy in moderation, or eat the entire jar in one sitting.

The second time

It's like you're being split open, my mum said. Childbirth. Pain no woman knows until they have been through it themselves. I was at that age when you ask about everything – how are babies made, what happens when you die... I didn't like the sound of being split open. Why were people still having babies if it hurt that much? But mum said that as soon as I was handed to her she forgot all about the pain. Her body healed and she had a brand new baby – it had been worth it.

Source

As I recover from my second episode of anxiety and depression, I am catching glimmers of what is coming next. When I was at my worst, just ten weeks ago, my close friend Emily held my hand and said there would be something good at the end of all this. It is difficult to admit that I was struggling to live back then, even when, on the outside, there was nothing 'wrong' with my life. It's not your fault if you don't understand. I didn't, either, until it happened to me.

It has been up and down, with a debilitating two weeks at the start of it all, back in June. But right now I am excited for the future. Everything feels new, like I have never written a blog post before, never eaten porridge for breakfast, never known the joy of living a simple existence – underneath the dark screen I couldn't see past for so long was this wonderful fresh layer of hope and I can't help but think... maybe it was worth it?

If mothers can give birth and fully recover, with a baby to love and look after, I wonder if I might, too. I'm not thinking about having children anytime soon but I do wonder if I have the ability to bounce back from difficult experiences? Because what I am experiencing now is so much better than I could have ever imagined.

God never gives us more than we can handle, so I've been told. But there were moments, days, weeks when I felt like I couldn't go on, like I would never get better and like I had never felt worse. I knew the pain I felt wasn't from God, but I wondered where he was, why couldn't I reach out to him and feel the peace everyone was talking about? Why was this happening to me, again? But even when every slow second of living felt worse than the thought of death, I kept going.

Setbacks shake us out of our routines and cause a right shit show. Ten weeks ago I was waking up with heart palpitations, my whole body stiff with fear, every limb double its weight. It literally happened overnight, just like the first time. Simple tasks like showering and putting on clothes were mammoth, exhausting, impossible without the help of my mum or dad, talking me through it all as I cried down the phone. I was scared of everything – of leaving the house, walking to work, of the day ahead, of coming home, how I would feel tomorrow, of the past. The rational part of my brain fought to be heard among all the lies the emotional part was telling me, often to the point of sheer panic and despair. It baffles me, then, that I am now in a position in which I can sit here and write about this horrible ordeal, with some kind of new and improved perspective, when I, the same person, was thinking and believing terrible things about myself just weeks ago.

I was naive, I understand now, to think a prescription for antidepressants would rid me of the depression and anxiety I had experienced in 2013. I never thought I would feel like this again. I thought I had it under control. But really, it was sitting there at the back of my mind, waiting for the right opportunity to attack. Over the years I had put it to one side, thought of it as something I had dealt with and didn't want to talk about or associate myself with anymore. It was easier to get on with my day-to-day life than dig up the root of my anxiety and depression with the help of a professional. But then it came back and I had no choice.

I tried to write when I was in the midst of my crisis, but my brain had stopped working properly. It was as if a switch had been flipped. I tried to read the blog post I wrote last time I was in recovery, but I couldn't concentrate on anything for more than ten seconds. There was no room in my mind for anything except dark, deep sadness, a feeling of total isolation and melancholy. The joy had been sapped out of everything. I saw everything differently, everything dark. Dull, depressive despondency made everything I usually loved bad. I didn't eat, I didn't exercise, I didn't even want coffee! The only escape was in my sleep, which was irregular and often disrupted with nightmares, anyway. I didn't know how I could have ever felt any different to this.

Everyone says depression isn't a weakness, it's an illness, but it certainly makes me feel weak. It makes me tired, hypersensitive and completely dependent on other people to help me get through each day. I look at others my age who live in cities far away from their family home, who travel the world solo, who are able to cope with everyday life and feel like a failure in comparison. We are encouraged to be happy by ourselves, to follow our own paths, to do whatever we want to do - so long as we're strong and independent. This message is everywhere - on social media, in blogs, books, magazines, TV, but it is so damaging. We all need a support network, a community around us, we can't do it all by ourselves.

I'm just going to say it plain and simple: it's okay to be lonely. It's okay to need company. It's okay to need community. It's okay to need friends. It's okay to need love. It's okay to need physical touch. It's okay to want someone to look after you when you're feeling unwell. It's okay to want to come home to a family and not a messy house you share with people you don't know. It's okay not to want to live alone or want a high-powered career, or a career at all. It's okay to want to live one day to the next with the simple aim of enjoying it. It's okay to be different to others your age. It's okay to still need your parents at 26 years old. It's okay to be completely and utterly vulnerable even if your mind is telling you it's not.

I used to look back on my past with some kind of sense of superiority, as if I had it all figured out now with my "proper" job, my stable mental health and the fact that I was 100% independent, living away from home and supporting myself without anyone's help. But who was I trying to prove myself to? I am already accepted, already flawed, already never going to earn the only person's approval I need, because I already have it. Once again I was living according to some made up rules I had set myself to try and keep up with everyone around me.

"For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well."
– Psalm 139:13-14

It took another breakdown for me to come back down to earth and refocus. What is important to me? Why do I do what I do? What am I living for? Why don't I talk about my mental health more? Why don't I ask others how they really are? Why am I constantly comparing myself to others? Why am I afraid to be vulnerable?

It might not be the obvious route for most twenty-somethings, but I am now living with my parents again in my hometown and adopting a slower pace of life. I have a new job (which I love) and am beginning to enjoy living again – not for anyone else and not by anyone else's standards. I am learning about what I need to take care of myself and my mental health – meaningful human contact every day, community, purpose, serving. I am trying to keep the vulnerable part of me vulnerable, allowing myself to cry, talk about the worries I have that I never thought I would voice – be really real.

Wouldn't it be great if mental health wasn't such an awkward thing to talk about? For me, it's almost as if pretending it's not a problem is exactly how it manifests. So if you're still reading this (thank you!) and you are going through something similar, have done, or know someone who has, I'd love to talk to you about it. Who do you turn to? What advice would you give? Please leave a comment below or email me at whatnaomiwrote@gmail.com.

Milk Bar Chocolate Malt Cake

As a child, the excitement for birthdays built up for days, weeks before the event. Birthday party invitations were like golden tickets to a guaranteed morning or afternoon of unadulterated fun. There were games, prizes, presents, jelly and ice cream, all the crisps and biscuits you weren't allowed at home, BIRTHDAY CAKE and the token party bag to take home with you at the end of it all. Birthdays were celebrated, and over the years this kind of extravagance has petered, saved only for very special birthdays – 18th, 21st, 30th... But I think all birthdays are special, and when your day comes around, you deserve an absolutely top-notch cake.

It was my dad's birthday on Sunday and I made him the Milk Bar Chocolate Malt Cake. Back in 2016 I visited Milk Bar in New York – a seriously amazing, amazing place, and I didn't even realise HOW amazing when I wrote about it two years ago, but it really is. This is the first recipe of theirs I have tried and although there are lots of different parts to prepare (sponge, malt crumbs, malt fudge sauce, frosting – it took me about five hours), assembling it all was super easy and really fun.

Christina Tosi's style of baking is such that you bake one sheet cake and cut out two cake rounds with a circular tin. Acetate is used to assist in the stacking and layering of each component, and makes it easier to take the cake out once it's been frozen for at least 12 hours, but I couldn't find it anywhere (and didn't have time to order online) so I used baking parchment, which worked just fine. 

The malt crumbs were my favourite part. These crunchy nuggets taste like malted milk biscuits and white chocolate maltesers – DIVINE. I would make these and eat them as a snack on their own, they're so delicious. Having said that, the inclusion of glucose syrup in the fudge sauce was enlightening. It gave it a proper fudgey texture – exactly how fudge sauce should be, obviously, but even better. 

Dad loved his cake and so did the rest of my family. Of course, it's sweet, butter-laden and absolutely over the top – but that's exactly why it's so great, and perfect for as special an occasion as a birthday.

Have you been to Milk Bar, or tried any of their recipes? Let me know in the comments below or tweet me @wnwrote. Compost cookies are next on my list!

Scottish Tablet Ice Cream

If you're not already familiar with Scottish tablet, settle in and prepare for your life to be changed. And before you stop reading because you don't like fudge and nothing can change your mind, let me just tell you about this variation, because you need to know. Tablet is something very different to fudge and it is very special, indeed.

Sweet, buttery, crumbly and slightly salty, there is something very moreish about tablet - something that regular fudge just doesn't offer. I've loved the stuff my whole life; my mum is Scottish and immersing myself in everything the country has to offer is part and parcel of all my visits to Scotland. 

While on a recent trip to Glasgow my mum and I discovered tablet ice cream, which amazed us, despite its simplicity. Take something already decadent and make it even more indulgent, because why not?

I have had a fair bit of spare time on my hands recently (more on that to follow soon) and given the glorious weather we've been blessed with I decided to have a go at making my own tablet ice cream when we returned home, with the help of my mum, of course. It was so easy to make and tastes absolutely unreal. The ice cream we made was a recipe we found online but you can use bought ice cream, and the cones were the cheap wafer ones from Tesco – there's no need to be fancy.

Recipe for Scottish Tablet 

Ingredients:

- 397g can of condensed milk

- 397ml full fat milk (use the condensed milk can to measure)

- 1kg bag of white sugar

- 125g unsalted butter

- A few pinches of vanilla sea salt

Method:

It starts with condensed milk – a canful – and the same amount of full fat milk in a large saucepan. Add the sugar and butter and let it all melt very slowly on a low heat. This might take a while (up to half an hour), but keep an eye on it and stir with a wooden spoon until all the sugar has dissolved. 

Next, you'll need to turn the heat up a little and allow the mixture to bubble away, stirring occasionally to ensure it doesn't burn. You need to be vigilant at this stage as it will take time for the tablet to change colour – you want a light brown, fudgey colour. Once it reaches this stage you can add the vanilla sea salt and beat the mixture for up to ten minutes until it is thick and grainy. 

Pour very quickly (it will start to set) into a baking tray lined with parchment and score out squares. When completely cool, break up into pieces and fold as much as you like into the almost-set ice cream. The rest can be kept in an airtight tin for up to a month, but it won't last that long.

Hold On To What is Good

I have always lived a rich life. I don't mean in terms of money, but the people I know and the experiences I have had. Every day I get to spend time with great people and it is just the best.

I realised recently that, so far, my twenties have been all about building relationships that will have a positive impact on others and, of course, myself. I wrote about this more in Lessons of 2017 and its something I've been thinking about well into 2018. Perhaps it wasn't just a realisation for last year, but for life. The morning coffee catch ups before work, walks across Clifton suspension bridge, sitting cross-legged on my bed drinking cups of tea, smiling at strangers, helping those less fortunate than me – filling every moment of my life with things that either help others or make me happy is a wonderful mantra by which to live.

Towards the end of April I spent three consecutive weekends celebrating my oldest friend's hen do and wedding and my brother's 30th birthday. They were some of the best days of my life and it's all because of the thought, love and care between the people behind it all. I want to remind you (and myself, for the days when I'm not feeling so positive), with some photos of these bigger moments, that life really is good and should be celebrated at every possible opportunity.

Jess's hen do

Craig's 30th

Jess & Ethan's Wedding

Hold on to what is good - 1 Thessalonians 5:21

What are your favourite moments of the year so far? Little or big, I'd love to know! Leave me a comment below or tweet me @wnwrote. 

Making and Breaking Habits

Do you ever wonder how many habits you have made and broken in your life? It's in our nature to cling to the familiar – we are wired to move towards a more rhythmic way of life, like the magnetism of a catchy song or a perfectly paced novel. We might like to think we are whimsical and spontaneous all the time, perhaps in an attempt to make ourselves seem more interesting and attractive, but we all have our routines and we all fall into habits.

Most of the time I am unaware of my utter compliance with the routines I follow day to day, but it does crop up now and again. A morning without my phone, an uninterrupted encounter with nature, an inspiring film, a conversation with my niece or an old lady at church - they cause me to question why I do mostly the same things every day. We can blame other factors for lots of things in life, but when it comes to our habits, routines and happiness – these are things we have some power over.

A colleague shared an article with me last week about making healthy habits in your twenties. The idea, according to the NY Times, is that the patterns you establish right now will "impact your health, productivity, financial security and happiness for decades".

At work we talk a lot about exercise while scooping handfuls of custard creams out of the biscuit jar. This is normal for anyone who works in an office, (which, by the way, is a perfectly legitimate career path and is not included in the starter pack for the boring millennial who decided to work in marketing), but I haven't been to the gym in nearly 8 months, despite a deep desire to do so. Why? I've fallen out of the habit, and while that was so easy to do, getting back into it is not.

Reading that article, however, helped me figure out a way to do get back into the habit of going to the gym. It was the trigger I needed. I like the gym, I like working out, I like that sense of achievement when I finish a class or a good run, I like ticking it off 'worked out' in my bullet journal habit tracker, I like how good I feel afterwards, I like how it keeps me in shape. But I don't like the change of routine, I don't like getting up early, I don't like joining new gyms, I don't like being the most out of shape person in class, I don't like being the new person and everyone somehow knowing it.

But the pros outweigh the cons, and when I gave myself a reward to look forward to, I had another reason to kickstart that habit again. I didn't want to miss out on fresh bread from Bakesmiths, toasted and smothered in peanut butter and jam! So I put all the cons of going back to the gym out of my mind and put all of my effort into focusing on the reward. It worked.

You might hate peanut butter and jam, cringe when people give you compliments, have no inclination to join a gym, but maybe there is another habit you want to break, or pick up again, because you know the long-term gratification is better than the instant. Naturally, we are lazy. But there is no time like the present and no one but you who can make the change. Don't put it off til tomorrow. Choose your path, live mindfully, and eat as many biscuits are you want.

Lemon & Blackcurrant Stripe Cake

If there were ever a cake that embodied my mum, it would be Ottolenghi's lemon and blackcurrant stripe cake. Bright, striking, curious, bold and beautiful – inside and out. I had to make it for her.

I knew this was my mum's cake the moment I saw it – about six months ago when I left my last job and my colleagues gifted me Ottolenghi's Sweet. It's a book that evokes joy in me through the simple flicking of its pages, catches of colour and thoughts of who I'd bake for popping into my head.

I went back to Abergavenny in Wales last weekend to celebrate Mum's 62nd birthday (I know, wow). After an evening stuffing my face with chilli cheese fries and drinking prosecco with my eldest sister, Sarah, I woke up early on Saturday – something I like to do on weekends to warrant the pursuit of a nap later on in the day – and spent the morning working through this recipe. 

The result: a punchy pink cake! As I rolled, iced, poured and sprinkled, I thought about my mum, how she loves blackcurrant and lemon, and how pleased I was for creating this cake without making a single mistake (seriously, how?) I couldn't wait to serve it for her birthday lunch the next day – mainly because I wanted to see the stripes on the inside – but also to taste it, and see what everyone else thought.

It was worth the wait, basically.

This cake reminded me of rhubarb and custard sweets – fruity, sugary deliciousness. Its appearance in Sweet is apt, but with the blackcurrant puree poured over the top (and some extra left over) the balance of sweet and tart balances nicely. Serve with tea, coffee, whatever you like, but – and this is important – serve only to your very favourite people. 

The Joy of Sunday

When I was little Sundays were much the same every week: church in the morning, then the six of us gathering round the dining room table for a roast, followed by my mum's apple crumble or magic chocolate pudding. Once lunch had settled it was quiet time for an hour with our 20p mix-up sweets while my parents read the newspaper. My brother, sisters and I twiddled our thumbs, waiting for play-time to resume. Not that there was ever much play on a Sunday, anyway. Sometimes we'd go to the beach for a walk, but usually it was Songs of Praise and a slow evening with eggy bread for tea, a bath and watching Ballykissangel on the telly. Sundays used to be very... Sunday. But despite their monotony, Sundays were always comfortable and focused heavily on food, which can only be a good thing.

Before you get married and have children you have your twenties – a period of time I never anticipated until I was in the middle of it. Now, at 25, my friends are my family and these Sundays are the best ones I've had since I was six, sitting cross-legged in the fire-lit living room with a glass of milk and a biscuit while my sister plaited my hair.

There is something different about every Sunday now, but my favourites are those spent with my closest friends, catching up on each other's weeks and what we hope for the next one over baked goods.

Last Sunday's spread – brown butter banana muffins, chocolate chip cookies and blackberry and plum crumble cake – was enough to stir up all the memories of Sundays past. Balancing moments of reflection and being present helps me to be thankful for everything I have right here, right now.

Sunday food is indulgent and filling, particularly in winter but other seasons enjoy the abundance of it, too. While we warm up with cups of coffee and tea in February, ice cold glasses of milk and iced tea keep us cool in June. Baked goods work all year round, and so does great company. How do you like to spend your Sundays?