I never imagined when I started this blog nearly five years ago that someday my dishes would appear in a cookbook, but if there’s anything I’ve learned this year, it’s that life throws you the most wonderful curveballs sometimes. I’m thrilled that four (!!!!) of my recipes appear in the new Food52 Cookbook, I’m humbled to share the pages of that book with so many talented home cooks, and I’m delighted that I can call a good number of them friends.

On that high note, I’m saying goodbye to this space, at least for now. I can’t imagine a happier place to be in life than where we are right now, and I can’t thank you all enough for sharing the highs and lows, losses and celebrations with us here for the last five years. My priority right now is feeding Julian, and these days that doesn’t leave me time for much else, but I want you to know that you’ll always have a place at our (real or virtual) table.

Be well, savor life, and again, thank you.

Julian Spencer Dietsch was born September 21, 2011 at 7:29 a.m., weighed in at 8 lbs. and measured 20 inches long. We’re at home now, still tired and recovering (and boy are the cats confused), but we are all doing very, very well.

Thanks so much for your wonderful emails, tweets, comments, and good wishes – we appreciate them more than you can imagine. All our best – Jen, Mike, and Julian

I was five years old when my father died.

It was pancreatic cancer what done the old man in. With a baby on the way, I’ve been thinking a lot about him, about the man he was, the father he was. And naturally, of course, I’m thinking a lot about the man and father I want to be, and about the little boy we’re about to bring into the world. And it makes me miss my father all the more.

We awoke Monday morning to the unexpected and tragic news that our dear friend Jennifer Perillo had lost her husband, Mikey, the father of her two beautiful little girls, to a heart attack on Sunday night.

I was immediately shattered. Knowing what my mother went through in the days and years after his death, and the way it still affects her today–I could immediately empathize with Jennie. And of course I know all too well how it feels to be suddenly bereft of a father.

Jennie posted a video Monday morning of Mikey dancing with his daughter, and I have to be honest: I still can’t watch it.

The next day, Tuesday, while planning Mikey’s memorial service, Jennie posted a simple request of her friends and loved ones. Today, Jennie and her closest friends and relatives are gathering to memorialize Mikey’s life. Her husband’s favorite dessert was her recipe for peanut-butter pie. Jennie kept promising herself that she would make it for him … tomorrow. But there was no tomorrow. So from those who can only be there in spirit, she’s asked just this simple favor:

For those asking what they can do to help my healing process, make a peanut butter pie this Friday and share it with someone you love. Then hug them like there’s no tomorrow because today is the only guarantee we can count on.

This one’s for Mikey Perillo …

For Virgil Dietsch and the grandson he’ll never know …

And for squeezing out every bit of love you can while you still have time.

This is what has been keeping us so busy (and quiet) for the last several weeks.

We’re all in, as is all of our stuff (holy cow, we have a lot of stuff), and we’ve been slowly unpacking, sorting, and setting up house. It’s exhausting work (especially at about 6 months pregnant), but already we feel at home here.

I spent the bulk of this weekend finishing up in the kitchen, and while we’d like to add a few more things (floor mats, lighting, a cart or additional shelving near the stove) to make this a more comfortable space to cook in, I’ve been really happy with the flow of the space so far.

So welcome to our new digs. I can’t wait to get back to really cooking (especially now that our favorite farmers’ markets have started up for the season), and to share our meals here, too. I have a feeling it’s going to be a great summer.

The month of May has not been great for planned dinners in our little household. Between work commitments, appointments, preparing for our move across town, and a blink-and-you’ll-miss-us trip to Detroit for my Grandma’s 90th birthday, my attempts at shopping for and sticking to a meal plan have mostly been a big fat flop.

I’ve also had difficulty improvising, of late. I’ve been tired and finicky, and cooking down the pantry and freezer pre-move has been less than inspiring – it doesn’t help that it still feels like March outside. I’m in a bit of a rut, but restless, eager for simpler, lighter fare (and the weather to match, please).

Mike had to turn around and head down to NYC right on the heels of our Detroit trip, but he returned with some goodies from the Union Square Greenmarket that perked me right up, among them a beautiful bunch of asparagus that made its way into our dinner last night. We’ve missed the first couple weeks of the local stuff, so this was very welcome, and I wanted to treat it fairly simply.

I gave it a good rinse, snapped off the ends, and roasted the spears until they were just tender, serving them on a bed of creamy, cheesy polenta. I topped each plate off with a pastured local egg, fried in olive oil until the edges were crisp, and sprinkled with coarse grey salt and lots of freshly ground pepper. This may not have been the light spring dish I’ve been dreaming of, but it was perfect for the damp, chilly night, and it was just the kind of simple meal that always satisfies me.

This week, the folks at food52 have challenged members of the community to submit one “Recipe You Want To Be Remembered For.” This contest theme got me thinking, of course, being 20 weeks into this pregnancy, smack dab in the middle of building our little boy on the best food I can give him. I’ve thought a lot about what I’m eating now – not just what health and developmental benefits I hope to provide for our son through my diet, but what (if any) impact the foods I’m eating will have on his future likes and dislikes.

I probably spend even more time musing about what and how he’ll eat as he gets older. What will food mean to him? What will he look forward to eating, love above anything else, wrinkle his little nose at? Will he have my allergy to oranges and grapefruit, or share his father’s aversion to melon? What will he remember when he’s all grown up and he thinks of me and his dad and the meals we shared as a family?

I can’t tell you how many times over the last few months Mike and I have been sitting at the kitchen table and the conversation has turned to our son and food. We talk about how we can’t wait for Sproggy’s first taste of fresh spring peas, of raspberries picked from the vine, of a tiny tomato bursting with juice and still warm from the sun. About taking him to the farmers’ market and introducing him to the wonderful people who grow and produce so much of our food. About how best to express gratitude for what we eat and the work that went into making it. We talk of rituals, of holidays and gatherings, of our family traditions, of how they might change and evolve over time, and how this little one will be part of them.

I get a little giddy when I think of our son helping Mike bake bread or make pizza, rolling out dough with chubby little hands, flour speckling his clothes. Every time I make tortillas from scratch – a skill I’m still learning – I think about doing so with him at my side, about the smell of toasty corn rising from a hot griddle, and how that scent transports me immediately to my grandmother’s kitchen. I wonder if that aroma, or others, will trigger such great memories for him someday.

We want him to know where and how things grow, to meet chickens and pigs and cows and sheep, to be accustomed to living in a home in which canning jars line the shelves, full of delicious things we’ve grown, picked, or put up ourselves.

But back to the original question – is there a particular dish or meal I that want our little boy to remember above all others? Meatballs, migas, macaroni and cheese, soft scrambled eggs, a lobster roll on a toasted bun, homemade pickles, the family rice and beans, or a crispy chicken cutlet? I can’t possibly choose one thing.

I want to share all sorts of food experiences with him, whether it involves meals we’ve cooked at home, or just sitting with him while we share one perfect cheese, a tin of great sardines with Triscuits and mustard, a juicy ripe peach, cold briny oysters, or a hot dog in the park. I look forward to sitting back and watching him figure out food and flavors, learn his likes and dislikes. I look forward to how he’ll inspire and influence me in the kitchen, and maybe someday, when he’s all grown up and I’m an old woman, he’ll ask me to make him his most favorite thing ever, and I will happily oblige.

But we’ve got a whole lot of eating to do before then, and I look forward to savoring every moment.

I’ve had a post, or several, swirling around in my head for weeks now, but finding the space and time and heart to write here has been a challenge.

Recent world events have left me shaken and deeply sad. The enormity of the devastation and suffering that is happening abroad is overwhelming.

Closer to home, too, there is suffering, news of losses and personal tragedies spreading via Twitter and elsewhere, friends of friends in pain, dealing with grief, yet clinging to hope.

My words feel very small, compared to all that.

And yet, life moves forward. Our life looks much the same on the surface, but we’re moving steadily toward the biggest change we’ve ever known.

I have so much to say, but I find myself struggling with how to write it all down.

Last Night’s Dinner has grown into more than just a food blog to me. It’s really about our lives, less about recipes than it is our history, framed by the meals we share. And for the last four years, it has been fairly easy to talk about food, about myself and Mike and the cats, about people and places, about life and its changes and our place in it all, chronic over-sharer that I am. But now there’s this new little person coming into the mix, and I find myself really struggling with just how much I want to put out there, how much I should put out there.

I’ll admit that for weeks on end I thought about just letting the site fade away, about changing my Twitter bio from “I don’t bake” (which is not entirely accurate anymore) to “Retired Food Blogger.”

I have been more exhausted than I ever imagined possible, barely able to eat dinner some nights, let alone cook, after coming home from a long day of work and commuting – and just forget about taking photos or writing blog posts.

Mike did a fabulous job of making sure we were well fed for most of January and February when I was really down for the count, and he has continued to do much of the heavy lifting well into March while I have tried to rest as much as possible and focus on the important work of building our baby. And even though I have returned to the kitchen, I’ve felt flat and out of sync, not quite sure how to get my groove back.

I can count on one hand the times I’ve made it to the farmers’ market this year. I’ve all but lost count of how many times I’ve started the week with a list and a meal plan, only to be derailed by a craving, a long workday, or just being too darned tired to follow through. And I’ll be perfectly honest, there’s very little in the way of seasonal, locally-grown produce in my kitchen right now. This kid is demanding berries and avocados, slabs of hydroponic tomato from Maine with lots of pepper and coarse grey salt, just-ripe bananas and wheels of mouth-puckering pineapple. Not very locavore of me, but I’m indulging, no apologies.

To be honest, though, I feel like I should apologize, or justify, or explain what I’m eating and why, and that has been a big part of what has kept me from writing here. If there’s one thing I’ve really noticed of late, it’s that people love to give advice to a pregnant woman. Everybody’s got a story, a suggestion, an opinion on what and how much you should or shouldn’t eat, and people will criticize in a heartbeat, especially people who are protected by the cloak of anonymity the internet provides.

Do I really want to put my choices out there for all to pass judgment on? Aren’t these choices really between me and my health care providers? It’s pretty hard to write a food blog and not talk about food. Should I even bother trying to go on here as before, when everything is so different now?

Right now, I don’t have an answer.

My heart swells when I think about the friends Mike and I have made, the opportunities that have come our way, the community of kindred spirits we’ve been welcomed into because of this blog. Our lives are richer for it. I’m very hesitant to give it up. But I’m not quite sure how to get started again.

So this year’s big, newsy post was going to be all about how we had decided to move to a new city, to pursue new opportunities and go through the process of building a home and a community in a brand new place. DC was our goal, with plentiful job opportunities in our chosen fields, rich culture and history, a wonderful food and drink scene to explore, and most importantly, an abundance of friends and family near.

We had it all planned out, and we were starting to take the first small steps toward making this move happen. But then we encountered an unexpected bump.

And we couldn’t be more thrilled. Terrified, but thrilled.

As we like to joke, we pulled the goalie a long time ago; we had absolutely no reason to expect that we were going to become parents without some sort of intervention that neither of us was really willing to go through. And we were okay with that. Being a terrific aunt or uncle is nothing to scoff at, and I also like to think we’ve done all right caring for the feline members of our little family.

But now, if all continues to go well, that family will grow by one, come September. DC is still very much a goal for us, especially once the little one arrives, but for now, we’re staying put.

And we’re having a baby.

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I’ll get back to the food here soon, I promise – after all, the eating I’m doing now is probably the most important eating I’ve done in my life, and I’d like to talk about it with you. I have a ton of questions and I suspect some of you may, too. I just wanted to share our news with you wonderful folks who have shared so much of our lives over the last four years here.

I had no idea, as we planned our meals for this week, that last night’s dinner would turn into such a big fun celebration. We’ve spent most of our time planning for and looking forward to today, our fifth wedding anniversary, and the meal we’ll share tonight, as well as making plans to continue the celebration over the weekend. We’ll have other things to celebrate then, too – my parents‘ 40th (!) anniversary, and my niece‘s second birthday, so much joy packed into a few short days.

But boy did I get a surprise yesterday thanks to the folks at food52 – they chose my Hunters’-Style Chicken as a Wildcard winner, to appear in the second food52 cookbook alongside Amy‘s amazing Short Rib Ragu and countless other mouthwatering dishes. It’s always a rush to have a recipe chosen as a finalist or an Editor’s Pick in a competition, but to have my dish deemed worthy of inclusion in the book just on its own is really something special. I’m incredibly humbled, and so thankful, and it was such a fun coincidence that I had already planned to make this dish last night.

I’m sure we’ll be raising many a glass over the next few days, and you can be sure that as we toast to all of the things we’re grateful for in our lives, we’ll be thinking of all of you and this incredible community we’ve become a part of.

We’re up to our elbows in snow, and a good four days into our 10-day adaptation of the Food Lovers’ Cleanse. The biggest problem I’ve had (as I suspected would be the case) is that it has been really difficult to make the plan’s suggested breakfasts and lunches work with my weekday schedule, but I’ve also found that the recipes in general have been really hit or miss.

I was almost ready to give up entirely after our first dinner, the disastrous Ultimate Winter Couscous, which smelled so lovely in the oven but tasted like a whole lot of unpleasantly-textured nothing on the plate (and I’m still at a loss as to why those vegetables needed four whole tablespoons of olive oil). Mike tried and really liked Heidi’s cinnamon quinoa, the edamame hummus (both of which I look forward to trying), and the tuna with celery root and apple salad, but I couldn’t even smell that salad without gagging (and I love celery root). I ended up eating dry tuna with even drier Wasa crackers.

On a positive note, we truly loved the salmon in Bengali mustard sauce and the black-eyed pea curry (for which I used yellow-eye beans from Freedom Bean Farm in Maine), both of which we’d happily put into regular rotation.

Perhaps my favorite recipe so far, though, is one that does not appear in the original BA Food Lovers’ Cleanse, but one I decided to swap in for the OMG-are-you-serious? on-a-weeknight? Successively Simmered Koya-Dofu and Vegetables, the incredibly aromatic, delicious, satisfying, and – wait for it – easy enough for a weeknight (or any darned time) Vegetarian Pho by our friend Winnie Abramson.

You toast coriander seeds, cloves, star anise, and a cinnamon stick in a dry skillet until fragrant, add them to some warm vegetable broth with an onion and some peeled and smashed ginger, plus an Indonesian soy sauce (which I couldn’t find, so I used her suggested substitution of brown sugar and tamari). You bring it to a boil, simmer, strain out the solids, chop the softened onion and ginger, then add them back to the pot along with edamame and chopped bok choy. Cook a little longer, add your rice noodles (I even used whole grain rice noodles! Healthy!), and finish with a big hit of fresh lime juice, Sriracha, cilantro and fresh scallions. Easy. Peasy. Delicious. And so nice we ate it twice.