There is nothing I like better than be in my kitchen on a sunny afternoon. And at midnight when the moon is out. And early in the morning, while I sip my first cup of coffee. Baking and cooking allows me to bring my whole self to the table. It is at once creative, technical, useful, and spiritual. My mother, Julie, is the best hostess I know. When you arrive to her home, it is abundantly clear she’s been thinking about you for weeks prior to your arrival. The towels are crisply folded. The candles are new and freshly lit.

When you come to my home, things are homemade. See, I knew you were coming. There’s some homemade pesto for that hand rolled gnocchi. There’s fruit compote for later. Oh, please, sit yourself down. I’ve made a cake.

I worked as a server in several gems of the New York City restaurants scene. If I find myself on the Lower East Side at an odd hour, I’ll slide into a bar seat at Prune and enjoy their perfect sidecar. Gabrielle taught me how to make those, as well as how to plate a dish without pretension. After a six month stint serving at Lupa, I left to make documentary radio at WNYC. I stole Mario’s braciole recipe, switched it up, and enjoy it with an entire bottle of red during early fall.

If you want me to make a cake for you, I will do it with delight. Special occasions call for special cakes. I rarely do things I don’t like to do, so you’re in for a treat.