Perhaps you remember my mentioning the two Alice Waters cookbooks I acquired at a weird yard sale on Saturday? Well, I made a lemon tart from the dessert volume, and it was hands down the best lemon tart I've ever cooked. I believe the secret lay in (1) Meyer lemons, which have a wonderfully complicated flavor, and (2) a short-crust pastry flavored with lemon peel and vanilla. The result was simple, fresh, and bright, plus it sliced beautifully.

I have no particular plans for the day, other than vacuuming. I've finished the Munro and Stafford story collections and am now rereading Diane Middlebrook's biography of Anne Sexton. I don't know that I'll make my way through all of it again, but maybe. Tom has started refurbishing the cellar door, so at some point we will no longer have a giant black maw in the back hallway. I washed windows yesterday and now, in the morning sunlight, I can see all the spots I missed. Today I'll harvest the last of the bok choy, probably most of the rest of the radishes. It's been a wonderful growing spring for both of them: cool dampness is apparently their secret ingredient.

Writing-wise, I feel like an empty box. But given how much I've written during the past month, that's a comfortable sensation.