(Sol).

I did not forget how to use an oven.

(I know you were concerned).

A quiet Monday provided the perfect excuse to stretch my (dormant) baking muscle.

Blame it on the DVR'd episode of Next Iron Chef: Super Chefs. And the general bad-assery of Alex Guarnaschelli. And an attempt to discover if I had, in fact, been drained of all traces of domesticity.

No third degree burns or epic cake collapses. Only a sink full of dirty dishes and a kitchen that smells like dark chocolate and toasted pecans. I probably shouldn't wait so long to do it again.

How 'bout a silly-good recipe for indulging my ramblings and self-revelations?

1 cup pecan halves

1/4 cup brown sugar

1 Tbsp olive oil

1 Tbsp balsamic vinegar

Sea salt/pepper/chili powder

Stir sugar, oil, and vinegar in a large skillet over medium heat until sugar melts and syrup bubbles, about 3 minutes. Mix in pecans and stir until nuts are toasted and syrup coats them evenly, 5-6 minutes. (Sprinkle with sea salt/pepper/chili powder to your liking). Turn nuts out onto prepared parchment paper and separate using 2 forks. Cool completely.

Before I'd even hit the parking garage exit, I'd dialed the best listener in my phone.

"Know what's pathetic? Today, I ate breakfast, lunch and dinner at my desk."

It was the moment I realized that life as of late was lacking legitimate balance.

A sordid mix of necessity and pride (not the good kind) had me coddling ungodly hours.

How I wanted to approach my week.... Yo, Monday-to-Friday. Prepare for domination. With one hand tied behind my back. Because I'm awesome. Sleep? Pshhh. Frivolity. (Insert slick moonwalk here).

How I actually approached my week..... 4 AM edit session? Every Thursday? You people don't pay me near enough. And, um, where's the coffee? And, can I take a nap under my desk?

(A healthy desire to remain employed kept the latter from becoming word vomit).

Point being, there's an art to equilibrium. A work-in-progress for me. And on November afternoons that are far too beautiful to be spent in front of a computer screen, I refuse to feel guilty for savoring a sunlit hour on the porch of my favorite lunch spot.