How to Improve Your Pumpkin Pie; or, Piestravaganza

I've done it, you guys. I know what's wrong with your pumpkin pie.

I know, I know. You're very proud of your pumpkin pie. You should be! It's delicious, after all. It's nothing but lightly caramelized squash full of spicy goodness. The thing is, you can do it better. You can almost always improve, and why wouldn't you? A few simple tweaks can turn a great dessert into the best dessert. Want to know what you've been doing wrong all this time? Want to make your pie the envy of your in-laws? Want something to hold over their stupid, smug heads for years to come? Click the link, dummy!

Wedding Cake Adventures; or, Falling in Love

So two friends of mine recently asked me to make a wedding cake for them. After much time and deliberation, I agreed on the condition that I would not be making some many-tiered, fondant-covered monstrosity. This agreement lasted about as long as it took me to discover Jess's Pinterest.

Details after the break!

Ghasts; or, Visions of Tomorrow

This one was pretty spontaneous. It's a half-formed concept, based on a very strange conversation I had with a friend. I'm intrigued by this one. I hope to take it further.

Also, hi, I guess I'm back.

Dressed to Impress; or, Maple Pumpkin Pecan Cheesecake Bars

Every time I tell people about these, I grow a little more weary of saying the name. But pumpkin bars isn't descriptive enough, pumpkin cheesecake bars is closer (but doesn't tell the whole story). Maple pumpkin cheesecake bars is a mouthful, and might be enough given that people can typically SEE the pecans on top, but once you're most of the way there, you might as well just lay it all out for them. On with the baking (this time, with pictures!)

Some Like It Soft; or, Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookies

I've tried a few variations on this recipe and this one got the most rave reviews (apart from my mother, but her well-documented molasses addiction doesn't play a huge part in this story). Without further adieu!

How to Thanksgiving; or, My New Favorite Pumpkin Pie

Alright, gang! I know you've all been waiting with bated breath for my triumphant return to the 'Nets, and I couldn't be more thrilled to return! Thanksgiving is a time of exactly what it sounds like, and now we can all give thanks for a damn sweet pumpkin pie recipe! Check below the cut for more.

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After all the time we spent talking, crying, dreading your leaving, kissing and holding each other and wishing it would never come, all we had before you left was a short kiss and "I love you." Then you were gone, out of sight. Maybe you could see me from the windows of the train, but I couldn't see you; the lighting was against me. I like to think that I saw your silhouette pause and turn toward me, but I can't be sure.

I hesitated as long as I could without looking pathetic or crazy before I started down the platform stairs. As I passed the level of the platform, I could hear the conductors closing up the stairwells and the hiss of brakes releasing. The cramped, long pedestrian tunnel under the tracks felt wide open as I walked back to the parking lot on the other side. I could feel—more than I could hear, at any rate—the train rolling out of the station. By the time I crested the stairs on the other side, your train was out of sight. You'd disappeared again.

I couldn't stand the sound of music on the ride home. The silence felt better somehow. Perhaps not better so much as more fitting; your absence was a presence unto itself which demanded appropriate accompaniment. The isolation would not bear the tinny strains of club music through my phone's single speaker.

The house was still empty when I arrived. I unpacked and did laundry, mostly to keep my hands busy. The personalized mug you gave me filled and emptied again a few times. This loneliness was different from the last, but they were close bedfellows. This was an emptiness, a complete void in which the only sensation I could feel persistently were the memories of your kisses and bites upon my lips. The washing machine laughed in your voice.

My family came home later. They'd brought some beer from a craft brewery for me to try. Again the mug did its duty. After a short chat with my mother, she asked me a simple question that almost made me cry. When it comes to you, my heart's stitched right on my skin.

Here I sit, breaking the last promise I made to you—sappy, cloying songs pumping through the speakers on my glass and wood desk—and even as I write this the last two words I never said echo through my head, rest on the tip of my tongue, only too late.

Don't go.