{RallyPoint rye whiskey is produced by StilL 630, St. Louis’ newest distillery. This 90-proof gem of a spirit has just the right pepper pitch and sweetness to put a delicious St. Louis stamp on a Manhattan. If you want to mix a Manhattan at home, pick up a bottle at The Wine & Cheese Place. Or, head to newly opened The Libertine where the barkeeps are also rallying around this rye. — photo by Michelle Volansky}

{In my family, I’ve designated myself the grocery shopper since it’s the only type of shopping I enjoy (also because my husband can never follow the list). So when he recently came home from Jay International Food with a bag of corn tortilla look-alikes, I wasn’t surprised. His reasoning for the impulse purchase? The face of the kid on the package reminded him of Hadji from the TV cartoon Jonny Quest and that pink rabbit next to Hadji was just too random to pass up. And why, he asked, was the rabbit biting into the tortilla? Turns out that what my husband bought was the Indian snack udad papad with green chile. I bit into five of them that very day.}

{When I need culinary inspiration, I simply crack open my food bible: 101 Classic Cookbooks: 501 Classic Recipes, which is a compilation of recipes by and reflections about the cookery prophets and messiahs of the 20th century who’ve paved the way for today’s gastro gods.}

{Over the past 38 weeks, I’ve ordered some pretty decent mocktails, rediscovered my childhood love for lemonade and volunteered to be DD countless times. But enough is enough! In the twilight hours of my pregnancy, (besides thoughts of the actual baby), I can’t help but obsess over the food and drinks I’ve been missing.}

{A happy hour where I can’t eat the food or drink the alcohol sounds more like the definition of sadness. Therefore, I’ve been avoiding Café Mochi’s Tuesday through Saturday hour of joy for months now. With a great patio walking distance from my house, half price nigiri and sushi rolls, and beer and cocktail specials, spring weather (and this baby) couldn’t have come at a better time. I can almost taste spicy tuna being washed down by a cold Sapporo.}

{Attending a Cardinals game is one of my favorite summertime activities; sitting in the center of a row and having to self-consciously squeeze through people’s knees every time I get up, is less fun – especially when I’m nine months pregnant. Why is beer delivered to your seat but not nachos and ice cream? I can’t wait for the moment when I can summon an ice-cold Schlafly brew without even moving a muscle.} 

{Don’t get me wrong, pregnant women can eat steak, but not how I like it: medium-rare so that when I slice it, blood oozes out all carnivore-like. A center bite of a filet mignon followed by a sip (or, let’s be honest, two or three glasses) of a rich and spicy cabernet sauvignon causes me to viscerally groan in anticipation.}

{I’m in San Francisco right now and this short video from Tartine Bakery is the reason why. The video was released when the cafe’s first cookbook came out, and you can see owner Chad Robertson’s love of bread shine through. It’s inspiring to watch, and the fact that it’s absolutely beautiful doesn’t hurt either.}

{I wear Bose QuietComfort 15 Acoustic Noise Cancelling headphones all the time at work. The sound quality is perfect (to me) and even if I’m not trying to zone out to tunes, I can just turn on the noise cancelling option and quiet the world around me. They’re worth every single penny. Trust me.}

{I am obsessed with Nigella Lawson’s chocolate cloud cake. Between the whipped egg whites and whipped cream, there’s so much air in this cake; it could float away. Isn’t it ironic how the things that taste the lightest make us weigh the heaviest?}

{When I devoured the big, fatty hunks of extra smoky, extra thick-cut bacon hiding in the roasted Brussels sprouts at Kelly English Steakhouse last year, I pummeled chef English with questions. Turns out chefs wait years to get their hands on Allan Benton’s bacon, perfectly produced on Benton’s Tennessee farm. I’ve obsessively stalked this swine ever since: tracking it down on menus at Luke, Farmhaus and in this house-made gnocchi at soon-to-open Central Table Food Hall. Last month, I spotted it at The Wine & Cheese Place in Clayton, used it in everything I cooked for the next week and poured its fat into the jar labeled “lard” in my fridge. That’s one point for me. Game on.}

{The floating island has been a staple on Brasserie’s dessert menu for years, but I hadn’t actually tasted it until I, recently, spent a gorgeous Sunday on Brasserie’s patio. After an especially gluttonous brunch of French onion soup, beignets and eggs en cocotte, I was sure I’d take one look at dessert and leave my spoon firmly on the table. But the second I saw that thick pouf of soft meringue, it was all over. A single bite is salty, sweet, creamy and crunchy. Indulgent yet light. Classic yet confounding. If this is what France tastes like, I’ll meet you there tomorrow.     — photo by Ashley Gieseking}

{I first worked with rhubarb last spring, taming its über-tart flavor with a sprinkling of sugar, the zest of juicy oranges and slivers of crystallized ginger. I’ve been dreaming of the vibrant stalks ever since. Now that warm air has finally arrived, these ruby-red beauties are stopping farmers market shoppers in their tracks. I can’t wait to melt them down to jam, bake them into cakes, and stew them with smoky bourbon and a sweet vanilla bean. Some things are simply worth waiting for.}

{I spent many painful hours in grad school reading works by French philosopher and father of deconstruction Jacques Derrida. Let me tell you, it’s much more enjoyable to eat a deconstructed dessert than to study semiotics. Right now, that would be the Key lime pie at Salt. The sweet, tangy fruit custard sits in a fancy glass garnished with a grilled lime wheel, while a handful of graham cracker sticks are served on the side, ready for dipping. The only signifier I care about is what my hand wave means to the server: I want more pie.}

{I waited 25 long years to try a recipe for popcorn grits that I had torn out of a magazine and tossed into my treasured recipe shoebox. Now that I’ve finally found popcorn grits (from YellowTree Farm), I’m devouring these local, stone-ground popcorn grits with sauteed asparagus and sharp cheddar cheese swirled in for melty pleasure. Grab these silly good grits – they have a distinct orange-yellow tone and are ground slightly larger than traditional grits – at the YellowTree Farm booth at the Schlafly or Tower Grove farmers markets, or taste them on dishes at The Block, Home Wine Kitchen, Half & Half and Little Country Gentleman.}

{The label may be quaint and countrified, but the folks at Windowsills Cafe and Marketplace are big city serious when it comes to making freshly squeezed lemonade. It’s got a touch of orange flower water, for goodness sake! Ditch the Country Time mix and celebrate the lemonade revolution.}

{If The New Yorker and Esquire had a love child, it would be New York Magazine. When I moved back to St. Louis from NYC, I canceled my subscription to the mag, figuring keeping up on the Big Apple’s restaurant openings and art exhibits would just make me sad. But I couldn’t quit it. I quickly resubscribed and continue to read it cover-to-cover every week. From the playful food writing (with titles like “The Pork Bun that Ate New York”) to the smart reporting where I actually feel like an intellectual after reading a story on Tiger Woods’ mistresses, this magazine is the best.}

{As a kid (before I realized that an ABV-level made everything better), ordering a Red Rock Lemonade from Canyon Cafe was such a treat. Pregnancy has, apparently, Benjamin-Buttoned me. Although I was still jealous of my sister’s margarita the other day, sipping this refreshing strawberry lemonade on the cafe patio proved to be delightful.}

{A friend first gave me one of these Anthropologie monogrammed mugs as part of a bridesmaid gift, and I’ve been copying her idea ever since. Regardless of your occasion, age  or gender, receiving a mug with your first or last initial on it is just fun.}

{I am in love with the blog Roost. The photography is beautiful and has a vintage vibe. The food coverage, of course, is the best part.      — photo courtesy of Roost}

{The Eggs-n-a-Blanket, pictured, and the Sassy’s Chicken Sandwich are my go-to’s at Luvy Duvy’s. (I first heard of this place here.) These sandwiches are just glorious. The one minus? I eat them so fast, I have to bang on my chest to make them go down, but even that hurts so good.}

{This ginger grater is not revolutionary, but it’s quite amazing. It grates ginger to a perfect paste without any of the fibrous nonsense that keeps dressings and sauces from being silky smooth.}

Despite what you might think, food editors actually eat pretty healthfully. It doesn’t take many 12-course tastings to teach you to pace yourself. Plus, we have access to fresh produce, great recipes and some of the best local vendors around. Yet sometimes, a girl’s gotta splurge …

{I drink water like a camel, but every once in a while, I need something with a little more flavor. I’m not one to crave a Diet Coke, but I will treat myself to this Italian blood orange soda from Villa Italia after a trip down the aisles at Trader Joe’s. Sweet, bubbly and flavored just enough to kick a sweet tooth, it’s even better with a splash of gin.}

{After I finish off one of Five Star Burgers‘ grass-fed patties, I deserve the $1 Ice Cream Shooter. This single scoop of Serendipity ice cream – chocolate, vanilla or salted caramel – is perched atop an old-fashioned cake cone that fits perfectly into the palm of my hand. Dessert isn’t bad for me if it only costs a dollar, right?}

{I can resist an entire cake without flinching, but get me within 100 feet of Darrell Lea Strawberry Licorice, and it’s all over. The fact that the licorice is natural, with no artificial flavors or colors, convinces me that I shouldn’t feel bad about ripping open the bag before I even get to the checkout counter. Available at World Market.}

{In The Dinner by Herman Koch, two brothers and their wives dine at a fancy, overpriced Dutch restaurant. But the plot is hardly that simple because things aren’t as they appear. This snarky comedy turns disturbing as what lies under the table is slowly served up, beginning with the aperitif of the house and finishing with a melting dame blanche. And please do share in the comments section about how you’d handle Tonio, the maître d’, and his meddling pinky finger.}

{Five of the six side dishes at Mission Taco Joint are vegetarian, but they’re so packed with flavor that you’ll never miss the meat. Need a hefty veggie medley? Go for chayote calabacitas. Brainy-grain power? Get the grilled vegetable quinoa. For Mission at its core, it’s gotta be the fire-roasted, off-the-cob street corn. — photo by Michelle Volansky} 

{Sometimes you can’t – or really, really shouldn’t – finish that bomber of witbier. Use this Hermetus bottle opener and sealer, and you’ll keep your wits about you. Your beer won’t go flat, and it won’t spill out when you lay the bottle on its side. Order it here.}

{Although I’d be embarrassed to mention this product in conversation since I can’t actually pronounce its name, I love it all the same. Gochujang, a spicy, Korean-made paste, is like Sriracha’s wise older brother who only drinks scotch and wears smoking jackets. Sauce’s art director, Meera Nagarajan, recently put me on to it, and ever since, I’ve been using it excessively and indiscriminately. As I find more and more ways to use it in my cooking, my love continues to grow.}

{With the big 3-0 just around the corner, I’ve decided the symbol for my thirties will be Pastaria’s gelato sandwich. No more 2 a.m. Chipwiches grabbed out of the Shell station’s freezer for this girl. Nope. Only house-made salted caramel gelato embraced by two house-made chocolate chip cookies will be good enough for the new, sophisticated me. Don’t believe me? I just bought four to jump-start my stockpile.}  

{I know a book is good when I follow my husband around the house, reading him excerpts aloud whether he’s listening or not. Having been a graduate writing student and a caterer and waitress in NYC, I can relate to various parts of Gabrielle Hamilton’s memoir, but what I love most about Blood, Bones & Butter is that it’s legitimately well-written. Hamilton is, refreshingly, a writer who also happens to be a chef, rather than a chef trying to write.