For my Deep Dish Blueberry Pie recipe, go to Glam Girl Cookin.

You see, every morning I wake up and place a bet on how my day will proceed.

Will I win?

Lose?

The great authors tell us that New York is a city of infinite possibility. But the flip side of always feeling hopeful–coming this-close to success– is the breeze of despair and failure.   

You smell money in the air up here. Down South (and in the picture at left), you smell languor, marvelous little ions bouncing from the Gulf waters onto the sand and finally in through the screened porch…

And the shiny head at the podium? Tom Colicchio!

Although the photo is barely proof that I was a presenter at the James Beard Media Awards (I’m still pinching myself), I’m grateful to E.V. Day, the lovely wife of Ted Lee, for capturing the moment.

Giving medals to the likes of Ruth Reichl and Tom Colicchio while enjoying Rick Bayless fare and sipping on Pegu Club cocktails (Gin Gin Mule–4 stars) adds up to one granddaddy of a night. Right when I declared that the evening couldn’t have been any better, Jamie and I mosey over to the Bon Appetit after party.

Chef Heaven.

Mingling around the Edison Ballroom dance floor are Michael Anthony (Gramercy Tavern), Michael Simon (Iron Chef), Paul Liebrandt (Drew Nierpont’s culinary wunderkid) and…

My knees buckle.

Delicious meatball slider almost rolls down my raw silk dress.

Lipstick check!

JOHN BESH and Jamie are sipping cocktails, one looking more handsome than the next. It would have been the ultimate Gorgeous Chef Trifecta (I can declare my own boyfriend as gorgeous, right?) if Michael Ruhlman had been present. Oh, and then there’s my bad boy crush, Anthony Bourdain…

I’m already choosing my outfit for next year’s awards…

Adding a little rouge to my cheeks, Publisher’s Weekly declares:

“Parkhurst, former blogger and media gossip staple turned Web-and-TV culinary personality, brings considerable Southern charm and sass (plus some mouth-watering recipes) to her chick lit debut…the tartly told story is a genuine guilty pleasure.” (6.23.08)

And my author photo at left. Because “Belle” makes me blush, makes me laugh, makes me squeeze my eyes shut and think, “What have I done to deserve this New York City? My God, the experiences that inspired the book!”

For the full Publisher’s Weekly review, click on “About the Book” and “Reviews.”

(The above bio is from the list of guest chefs at Tyler Florence’s Lowcountry Celebration in Palmetto Bluff, South Carolina.)

As part of my Belle in the Big Apple book tour, I’ll be reading and cooking with my honey alongside the Food Network star, Tyler Florence! The uber-luxurious, South Carolina resort, Palmetto Bluff, and Coastal Living Magazine are sponsoring the Music to Your Mouth Lowcountry Celebration. So what will we be doing all weekend? Listening to music, sipping wine and eating shellfish and grits with wild abandon. Yep, it’s my perfect weekend away from the Big Apple.

I’ll tell you ladies, when I cooked with Mike at the James Beard House, it was like a first date gone terribly right…

Full Flavored Recipes w Taste and Texture: Harmonious Cooking with Michael Anthony

We planted a postage stamp-sized herb garden together. Basil, thyme, rosemary, parsley, mint. In my mind, I tick off the pestos, chimichurris and marinades that I’ll make the next three months to top off fresh linguine, grilled ribeyes and snapper. And then, because he needs *something* to serve alongside his watermelon margaritas, we planted jalapenos and cherry tomatoes.

When he left for work, I swept up the dirt and imagined the kind of garden I would plant down South—bigger, better, maybe a little vulgar in its size and rainbow of colors. It would be a welcome change for the senses after muted, refined, tiny New York.

A few hours later I call him at work, very pleased with our domestic handiwork.

“I just tasted our basil.”

“What was it like??”

“Perfectly fragrant, just like my favorite spot on your neck.”

You make little moments of happiness in the city and then imagine when you can finally plant that big, bright, garish garden of your dreams.

(Pictured: Brookey, junior year in high school, and grandfather at Casa Botin in Madrid. I’ve attempted to enlarge the photo a half dozen times and my darn computer isn’t allowing me. I’ll keep at it.)

Once upon a time, I curled into a corner of Daddy’s couch and read Archie comic books. Next came Nancy Drew. Then, I graduated to Mary Higgins Clark. “Like Water For Chocolate” was college. My first New York days were seeeerrrrrious–John Updike, Joan Didion, John Cheever or bust.

Perhaps I’ve regressed. Or maybe I just know what makes me happy. But now when I settle in at night, I love my adult picture books.

Cookbooks.

Real gems, like Screen Doors and Sweet Tea by Martha Foose, transport me to the swing by our lake under the shade of an oak. Finally, a moment of peace.

I see long tables set with mismatched china, cassserole dishes and pitchers filled with that amber-colored elixir, sweet tea. Martha’s Mississippi is my Mississippi. I see it. I taste it.

I fall asleep a little hungrier, a lot happier. ]]> http://www.brookeparkhurst.com/2008/05/19/my-adult-picture-book/feed/ http://www.brookeparkhurst.com/2008/05/13/fabulous-fromage/ http://www.brookeparkhurst.com/2008/05/13/fabulous-fromage/#comments Tue, 13 May 2008 14:11:22 +0000 belle Food on the Brain http://www.brookeparkhurst.com/2008/05/13/fabulous-fromage/ The scene is simple, something like this: A round of Epoisses, a sliver of Humboldt Fog, crumbles of Parmiggiano snug against a hill of crusty baguette slices. A bottle of pinot noir and a smattering of wine glasses decorate the table. There. I just described this weekend’s patio party with friends and my last supper. 

Cheese… fabulous fromage…I can’t get enough…It lifts my spirits, works overtime fancying up my Crate & Barrel plates and looks perfectly in place on Mamma’s wedding silver.

I’ve always loved the stuff but moving to New York City really did me in. You know how some women want to be let loose inside of Bergdorf’s for a night of retail madness? Well, then there’s me. My first month in the city, I discovered Murray’s Cheese on Bleeker Street. Ever since, I’ve wanted a night alone to explore their caves, maybe crawl inside the front-of-house display case, snuggle up next to a nice Tomme de Savoie, a leg of Jamon Serrano. Let Anthony Bourdain have his “death row meal” of roasted marrow bones with Fergus Henderson. My “last supper” (that just sounds more ladylike than “death row meal”) will be a cheese platter dreamed up by Rob Kaufelt, owner of the cheese Mecca.

And though they’ve yet to give me the keys to the joint—and free reign over their caves— they have made a Murray’s partner. Imagine my joy!

Ladies, if you’ve never visited Murray’s, run to the Bleeker Street or Grand Central Station stores. You live far from the Big Apple? Murray’s By Mail ships everywhere. Whew. I feel a little better knowing that when I leave New York–be it in 6 months of 6 years–I can always have my fabulous fromage…