Carrie Saum

The result was a gorgeous, decadent, crispy-edged-and-soft-in-the-middle caramelized cookie skillet straight from heaven. It filled our entire building with sweet almond and fig baked goodness.

I spent most of my life, as many women do, second guessing my gut feelings. I cannot tell you how many opportunities slipped through my fingers, how many bridges were burned, and how much money I have lost or wasted because I skipped the gut feeling. But gut feelings matter just as much as reason and science. Gut feelings are part of the equation, not a separate entity to be discredited entirely just because some people don't understand.

We are in the midst of buying a house.

Over the years, I've compiled a list of things I look for as a woman, mother, health advocate, and human. I firmly believe that the relationship you have with your doctors and healers is paramount to your overall well-being.

Next, juice your blood oranges. Or skip this and buy the juice from the spendy little corner market that sells $8 fair trade chocolate made from cocoa beans harvested purely through meditative thoughts generated by unionized zen monkeys in Thailand. They also sell blood orange juice. You’ll find it next to the $15 cashew milk.

Instead of making lunch once a day, I make it once every three days. It saves on energy, brain power, and I don't have to figure out feeding myself in my janky kitchen more often than absolutely necessary.

Last month, I heard my kid say "I'm sorry" to a complete stranger at Target for no reason.

Okay, so the world feels like it’s ending. I know it does because I have facebook and I read the news and I’m on this planet.

I made you these cookies. They are special cookies that are made from pulverized cookies that became butter that then became cookies again.

When an opportunity presents itself to throw together a yummy grilled salad using the season’s finest, I jump at it. This week’s creative summer grilling adventure resulted in a flavor burst of seasonal cherries, creamy herbed goat cheese, a simple dressing, and of course, slightly charred romaine.