Funny how food writing works sometimes. Guess what I don’t have time to do when I’m in the middle of writing a profile?

I’ll be shoulder deep in interview notes, poring over a farmer’s perspective on the local food system, an artisan’s insights into wellness or sustainability; dragging a highlighting cursor over their thoughts on flavor combinations, for heaven’s sake. But I’m eating take-out or serving my kids medium cheddar melted into a wheat tortilla with a side of pear slices.

The irony isn’t lost on me but what can be done? There are simply times when you have to buckle down.

Last night, though, I had a little reprieve from my kitchen desertion and mixed up a dip using some glossy yellow beans from Kirsop Farm that I’ve had in the cabinet for awhile. I added juice from a whole Meyer lemon, sea salt, two minced cloves of garlic, several splashes of white wine vinegar, olive oil, more salt. The barest amount of turmeric-infused olive oil drizzled on top for color. Good thing there was a meeting at my house. Otherwise there would be nothing but olives and half a loaf of banana bread in the fridge. And lots of eggnog. (I’ll be able to tell you about that in good time.)

That’s all I’ll be able to do until next week, when I’ll break the cooking fast with a full day of baking with a friend. My grandmother’s divinity is on my mind and so are the Russian wedding cookies that Brian gets credit for loving more than anyone else in the house. So my shopping list is taking shape, at least. Pecans, eggs, sugar, more butter.

Until then, I’ll have to be satisfied with eye feasts: the tree is decorated and this string of lights in the living room gets a new lantern on it every day as we count down to Christmas. The lanterns themselves give me an excuse to use my favorite bowl, one that’s usually gathering dust on a sofa table in the family room.

And there’s always the view from the front window, though ours was broken in a way this week, when our prayer flag advent calendar from two years ago finally broke in half. It’s a bittersweet thing, that this offering, from us to the world, has finally succumbed to the elements, as offerings do.

It was a pretty view and a good way to stay welcoming. I miss their color in the front yard, even though I love the barrenness of winter once it’s here. That, at least, is a good reminder to settle in and get the work done. Everything else will wait.