It’s still in the upper 80s here in Houston and this is hardest time for me in Texas. July is tough, too, but at least then I know what to expect. I’ve been here for four falls now, but even if I stayed here forever, I’d always ache a bit in October. I’m thinking of what it’s like where I’m from. Right now, the geese fly, the air turns smoky and the red leaves pinwheel onto crackling grass. It will get cooler here in a month or two, but that happens fast. The leaves fall all at once, and the cold rain comes. I look forward to rubber boots and woolen sweaters, but I wish I could light a fire today and feel electrified by the air.

So I pretend. Last night I baked some butternut squash and apples with cinnamon, closed my eyes and imagined the sound of a distant gaggle honk. But the gentle hum of the AC kicked in and ended my reverie. No matter. I can still get McIntosh apples and beautiful golden squash, though not at the farmer’s market. That said, the local arugula is mighty fine, and the Houston honey was just right to dress it. The best part about this meal was that I had enough light to photograph it before it hit the table… back home, it was already dark.

Roasted Butternut Squash with Apples, Arugula and Honey Mustard Vinaigrette

Serves 4

(Please excuse the commentary…)

2 apples, sliced about ½” thick–I like McIntosh

2 c butternut squash, sliced about ½“

1 t cinnamon

4 c arugula

2 T olive oil, plus more for roasting vegetables

1 t mustard

2 t local honey

3 t apple cider vinegar

¼ c roasted nuts or pumpkin seeds

salt and pepper

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Toss squash in a bit of olive oil and place on baking sheet, leaving space between each slice. Sprinkle with salt and cinnamon.

(You may have to bake squash in batches: I prefer my squash slightly crisp, and if you load too many pieces onto a baking sheet at once, they steam.)

Roast at 350 degrees for about 15 minutes.

(I don’t pre-heat the oven when I’m roasting vegetables.)

Flip squash and add apples to the oven, sprinkling with cinnamon.

Roast an additional 15 minutes, checking squash occasionally.

(It can be hard to cut squash, so if your slices aren’t all the same size, some will roast faster than others. Check on the squash regularly and remove any cooked slices.)

In the meantime, place mustard, honey and vinegar in a small bowl and blend.

Whisk in olive oil until emulsified.

Just before serving, toss arugula with dressing.

Arrange squash and apples over salad, sprinkle with nuts and serve.

It came to me sooner than I anticipated, and in an unexpected place—over a cheese omelet the very next morning. Well, actually, it came to me while waiting for my omelet and sipping cinnamon-infused coffee, a tradition that has come to Houston by way of Texas. Since I had planned on baking my brownies with some espresso powder, I was thrilled about the potential for these subtle and complementary flavors.

And then I went a little crazy. I got home and wondered what other warm, sweet ingredients I could put in, hoping to coax out more flavor than a cup of white sugar ever would. And so these were born, imagined at first, and then actualized, into what became one of my all time favorite chocolate concoctions: deep, subtle and earthy, but decadent enough to satisfy even my greedy sweet tooth—I mean really, who needs two batches of brownies on hand? But once I was on the brownie train, a few leftovers were insufficient—a tease, even. The timing was perfect: I picked away the final peppermint crumbs while melting my own dark chocolate in a double boiler.

Happily, I’ve had my fill of brownies, with not a tinge of guilt. These were created, first and foremost, as a birthday gift for a dear pal, a fellow chocolate enthusiast. The wealth was spread around town and led to a serious bout of inspiration: thank you to my co-teacher Mark Wilson (formerly a professional pastry chef Houston’s glamorous hotel Zaza) for suggesting the pairing of whipped cream and blackberries. All along, I’d just been dusting mine with cinnamon and powdered sugar and garnishing with a scoop of Bluebell vanilla. I would never have thought of adding yet another layer of flavor to this unconventional confection, but I’ll be darned, Mr. Wilson is truly an inspired eater.

When the time is right, I’ll try these with some ripe blackberries, although I suspect the whole fruit, cream and chocolate affair would be much enhanced by a bit of berry maceration. I know it sounds like there’s a lot going on here, but truly, the commingling of sweet, warm sugars and spices gives me that soul-warming comfort that few things can.

Honey Cinnamon Brownies

Makes 9 brownies
½ Lb (1 8oz stick) unsalted butter
2 ¼ c semi-sweet chocolate chips
3 eggs
1 ½ T instant espresso granules
1 T vanilla extract
1 c honey
½ c all purpose flour, plus 2 T, set aside
½ T baking powder
1 ½ T ground cinnamon
1 t salt

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Preheat the oven to 350, grease a 6 x 9  cake pan.

Melt the butter in a double boiler with 1 c of the semi-sweet chocolate chips.

In a small bowl, toss 1 ¼ c chips plus 2 T flour until chips are coated.

When the chocolate and butter have melted, remove from heat and allow to cool.

In a large bowl, gently mix the eggs, espresso granules, vanilla and honey.

Pour melted chocolate mixture into egg mixture and cool further.

In a small bowl, sift together the remaining flour, baking powder, salt and cinnamon.

Add the flour to the chocolate mixture and fold until incorporated.

Add the remaining chocolate chips and fold gently.

Pour batter into pan and bake 20 minutes.

Turn the pan and bake another 15-20 minutes, or until toothpick comes out clean.

Serve with whipped cream, vanilla ice cream and macerated blueberries, or sprinkle with cinnamon and powdered sugar.

I am usually pretty prepared for breakfast, but I don’t always have time to pre-think to the magnitude of old fashioned oats, reduced fruit or baked goods. This is where granola comes in—dutifully home-baked yet strong in its resistance to time.

In fact, it is precisely these qualities that make granola the perfect Mother’s Day present: it’s the homemade baked good that just keeps on giving—Christopher and I have had this batch for nearly two weeks, stored properly in a Ball jar. It’s just the kind of thing you want to leave on someone’s doorstep or send in a rustic package, tied with a bow.

This is precisely how I found this rendition of granola, which has quickly become a personal favorite. The girls at Sunday Suppers do a wonderful job of making everything look quaint enough to have come directly off the farm from Charlotte’s Web, while still being way more mod, urban and hip than I could ever claim to be. They tied their granola with twine, for example, and served it beside a row of mini-milk carafes.

Anyway, I often find myself wandering to Sunday Suppers when I’m looking for comfort. The pictures transport me to a lovely place, somewhere timeless and placeless: could be 1920, could be 2010. Could be New York; could be Paris. Either way, everything looks like some version of home I wish I’d had: which is why it’s so fitting that the last time I was looking for virtual nurture, I stumbled into granola, my go-to gift for the moms in my life.

Although I didn’t it follow it precisely, this recipe allowed me to produce the absolute most delicious granola I’ve ever made, or tasted as far as I can tell. The combination of honey and butter really sets it off: for some reason I’ve been accustomed to tossing my oats with oil. Never again. The flecks of oat, nut and fruit stay crisp and rich with this tactic, not at all lumpy or chunky, either. (Although this could be the result of my periodically lifting the Ball jar and shaking it over my shoulders, hoping I can coax the remaining bits of nut and fruit to the top…)

But really, every bite is good: rich, crisp, gently letting its sweet, rich flavors float around the bowl, adding something extra to my milk or yogurt. This is what I have to look forward to every day. And while the smell only graced the house for an evening, it comes back to me every time I unscrew that golden lid: it’s like getting out of bed and coming home—everything you could hope for in an early morning.

Golden Granola

Makes (at least) 8 servings

4 c old-fashioned rolled oats
½ c coarsely chopped walnuts
½ c coarsely chopped almonds
½ c coarsely chopped cashews
½ c shredded coconut
1 c dried fruit (cranberries are my favorite for this)
½ c sunflower seeds
¾ c local honey
1 c butter
1 tsp kosher salt

Preheat the oven to 320 degrees.

Place the butter and honey in a saucepan over low heat and stir until butter melts.

Put the oats, walnuts, almonds, cashews and sunflower seeds in a large bowl.

Coat with ½ of hot butter mixture and stir to combine.

Spread evenly over a non-stick mat or parchment-paper lined baking sheet.

Bake for 10 minutes, then remove from oven. Add remaining butter mixture then sprinkle salt over all.

Drizzle coconut flakes on top—these help to absorb any butter that is not being picked up by the oats. Stir again, if necessary.

Bake another 5 minutes then stir a final time, being sure that coconut and oats are evenly redistributed.

Add remaining fruit and nuts and bake an additional 5 minutes.

Cool then store in an airtight container.

But no matter how good the practice, it never hurts to finish with a cookie.

I was not a serious yogi until I discovered these. Imagine Popeye with a can of spinach: they don’t make my muscles bulge, per se, but they sure do get me fired up. The first yoga teacher who got me to develop a regular practice did so by placing a big wicker basket full of these squarely behind her at each class. During savasana I dreamed of myself, cross-legged and levitating, one cookie in each hand.

I will freely admit to my own distraction. Every time I went to Anne Novak’s class, I was utterly transfixed by the basket behind the table, which smelled simultaneously like Christmas kitchens, fancy chocolate shops and French bakeries. Whenever the final gong reverberation faded, I was up like a lissome prairie dog, scanning the room for competitors in my race to the batch. Even now, whenever I visit home and take one of Anne’s classes, I am the first yogi off the floor, rummaging through the offerings in search of the lumpiest, most laden cookie. I leave class sheepishly, my jacket stuffed. When I get home, I search for rogue crumbs in my pockets. Come to think of it, there may be some karmic repercussions for that kind of hoarding, but what can I say? Old habits die hard.

Now that I’m across the country from Ms. Novak, I have to keep my cookie jar full all by myself. But the process is so simple, and really worthwhile. There’s nothing like finishing a hard practice, wrung out and exhausted, anticipating some reward for my work. And they are really good to share—they last forever in the fridge and are appreciated by yogis and non-yogis alike. Moreover, they are almost saintly in their healthiness: loaded with dark chocolate, nuts, dried fruit, ground flaxseed, oats, coconut and honey, there’s nothing wrong with having one—or a few—each day. Plus, I can make them different every time, depending on my mood. They’re really just a more portable and glamorous version of granola.

BYO Yoga Cookies

1 cup whole wheat flour
3/4 cup local honey
2 cups of oats
1/2 cup of ground flaxseed
1 cup dried fruit (I like cranberries, cherries and prunes)
1 cup nuts (almonds and walnuts are great)
1/2 cup sunflower seeds
1 cup shredded coconut (optional)
1 cup dark chocolate (optional)
2 tsp each cinnamon and ground ginger
1/2 tsp nutmeg
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
3/4 cup sunflower oil
1 cup (approximately) soymilk—you can also use regular milk, coconut milk or a beaten egg

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Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Mix dry ingredients.

Combine honey, oil and egg (if using).

Mix well.

If you did not use an egg, pour your milk into the batter and mix again to make batter firm and moist.

Chill batter for at least 10 minutes.

Using a tablespoon, form generous rounds on an oiled cookie sheet.

Bake 13-15 minutes.

*If you chose to add lots of extra ingredients, you may need to up your binding materials. Be sure to mix flour and milk together before introducing them to the preexisting dough.