I’ve always been a fan of kale, but never ate it raw. That is, until a friend of ours took us to Echo Park’s Elf Café and we ordered the spicy kale salad. Crunchy and piquant, it’s like no other salad I’ve tasted, and the good news is—it’s pretty easy to make yourself.

Spicy Kale Salad (inspired by Elf Café, adapted by me)

Ingre­di­ents

1 bunch curly kale
Feta cheese
Harissa (hot red pep­per paste, I bought mine at one of the Per­sian mar­kets nearby, but I’ve seen it at Whole Foods and spe­cialty mar­kets)
Avo­cado
Cher­moula (ingre­di­ents below)

For cher­moula:
4 or 5 gar­lic cloves
Salt
one bunch cilantro
one bunch pars­ley
1 1/2 tea­spoons sweet paprika
1/2 tea­spoon ground cumin
1/8 tea­spoon cayenne
1/4 cup extra vir­gin olive oil
juice from 2 or 3 lemons (to taste)

My usual kale rou­tine is to put it in a sink full of water, swish it around, rinse, drain the sink and repeat. This gets all the dirt off the leaves. Remove ribs and chop the leaves, then spin dry in a salad spinner.

I’d describe cher­moula as Moroc­can pesto. It’s incred­i­bly easy to make and no mat­ter how much I tweak amounts, I still love the taste. I use Deb­o­rah Madison’s recipe from Veg­e­tar­ian Cook­ing for Every­one. She rec­om­mends mak­ing it in a mor­tar and pes­tle, but I am lazy and use my Vita­mix, though a food proces­sor would work too. The orig­i­nal recipe calls for 2/3 cup of cilantro, and 1/3 cup of pars­ley, but I gen­er­ally just make sure I have more cilantro than pars­ley and call it a day. I throw every­thing in the blender, taste and adjust the sea­son­ings, often adding more lemon juice or salt.

Cut up an avo­cado, slice some feta cheese, and assem­ble your salad: a pile of kale, a dol­lop of cher­moula, a blob of harissa and as much feta and avo­cado as you’d like. Stir every­thing together and the ingre­di­ents will coat the kale, result­ing in awesomeness.

And, yes, there isn’t any avo­cado in that photo. I was so excited I’d remem­bered to take a photo before eat­ing with an actual cam­era that I for­got to add the avo­cado after I’d stirred it all up. Don’t worry, I added it before eat­ing. And, because he’s cute…Ari!

I’ve self-diagnosed myself with an afflic­tion that has yet to show up in the DSM. I’m call­ing it obsessive-compulsive book­mark­ing dis­or­der, and it may be my downfall.

I first exper­i­mented with book­mark­ing out­side of my browser with Deli­cious, and I still con­tend that for recipe book­mark­ing, Deli­cious can’t be beat. But I dreamed of a visual com­po­nent, so I started play­ing around with Kaboo­dle, which I’ve always liked, par­tic­u­larly for shop­ping and com­par­ing pur­poses, but never loved. Ever­note had my heart for a while, but I never felt like it excelled at the visual ele­ment, par­tic­u­larly when I clipped images from house tours. So it was with some trep­i­da­tion that I started with Pin­ter­est.

Fast for­ward a few weeks, and I am so sold on Pin­ter­est that I attended a Pin­ter­est party (hey, that’s me in the sec­ond to last photo!) last week. I acted beyond nerdy when I met Piner­est founder Ben. (Sorry, Ben.) I say on a daily basis, “Know what I saw on Pin­ter­est?” I evan­ge­lize. (Pin­ter­est should really be pay­ing me.)

So I’ve been pin­ning nurs­ery ideas. Here’s a screen­shot of where we are today:

Thus far, we have two pieces of yet-to-be-assembled fur­ni­ture and lit­tle else. I’m not really into themes, though I have had a strong lean­ing towards ele­phants since find­ing out about baby. Hence all the damn elephants.

The problem—and it’s not really a problem—is that on a weekly basis, I start second-guessing myself. I stum­bled across a post ear­lier from Sarah Farris-Gilbert where I was tick­led to find that she mocked up five nurs­ery designs for herself—and she does this for a liv­ing, peo­ple. So let’s blame preg­nancy for fear of dec­o­rat­ing commitment—and my daily 2am bath­room breaks.

Problem-solving is not my strong suit this week. We are pon­der­ing mov­ing (nearby, not across the coun­try again), which has put a screech­ing halt to nurs­ery plan­ning, or at least nurs­ery paint­ing. This itch to nest and dec­o­rate has man­i­fested itself as a deep desire to get rid of things. Up for pos­si­ble dis­card is a full set of the much-loved Domino mag­a­zines.(This shelf is part of a big­ger Olaf von Bohr for Kartell unit that used to hold my toys. Some­one gave it to my par­ents and occa­sion­ally I see it in over­priced vin­tage stores or on 1stDibs. If I ever sell it, please check me into a men­tal hospital.)

But how could you part with your Domino collection?

Sorry, maybe you’re not actu­ally say­ing that. Maybe it’s just one of the voices in my head. I’m not pulling these down for ref­er­ence on a daily or even weekly basis. In fact, I’m not sure if they’ve moved off the shelves since I unpacked our boxes from Florida. A quick search on ebay showed me that a com­plete set recently went for a lit­tle more than $300. And $300 would buy a lot of dia­pers. Or a posh dia­per bag. Whatever.

So, dilemma #1: do I sell off the Domino collection?

This could help fund dilemma #2: the nurs­ery. In an effort to shame myself into mak­ing some seri­ous head­way in this room, I will show you the cur­rent state of affairs.

Items of note: that black lamp is from a Brick House sale that I couldn’t attend but Ryan did, because he is a cham­pion hus­band. And below that is a donut cush­ion, because I am a senior cit­i­zen now. There’s also a sil­ver Cen­tu­rion you might be inter­ested in. And a baby gate that is Harry’s mor­tal enemy. Harry loves this room, mostly because it’s where my mom sleeps when she vis­its, and there is no per­son Harry loves more than my mom. He merely tol­er­ates our exis­tence between her vis­its. Here he is now, won­der­ing when he will get to see her again.

Soon, Harry. Very soon. Speak­ing of my mom, she has been a one woman sweat­shop of late, churn­ing out baby cute­ness like it’s her job. Here’s my favorite of her creations.

Why yes, that is a hand­knit giraffe with pom-pom trim. Don’t you want to snug­gle him? (Don’t worry, I visit him fre­quently and give him hugs.)

More thoughts on the nurs­ery com­ing soon. In the mean­time, feel free to advise me on my mag­a­zine hoard­ing or tell me to get crack­ing on giv­ing this baby a place to sleep. He’s com­ing in six weeks, nurs­ery or not!

How did I miss this? One of my favorite songs of late, done by the ridicu­lous PS 22 Cho­rus. You have no soul if this doesn’t make you even a lit­tle verklempt. (Or maybe it’s just that you don’t have preg­nancy hor­mones cours­ing through your sys­tem. Whatever.)

Speak­ing of the hor­mones, am I the only preg­nant woman who is, for lack of a bet­ter expres­sion, un-nesting? As in, the room baby will soon call his own has two bikes, a queen bed and a pile of mom’s craft crap? Oh, and a closet cur­rently occu­pied by neces­si­ties like someone’s Space Ghost cos­tume and some­one else’s black-tie wed­ding dress? (Both last worn in 2009, if we’re being per­fectly honest.)

Let’s blame June Gloom.

We only have another week to blame the weather, though, and weather shouldn’t really pre­vent any­one from, um, buy­ing stuff and paint­ing walls, right? OK, to be fair, I’ve been a lit­tle thrown lately by some gross preg­nancy stuff (I’m skip­ping details in case you’re read­ing this while eat­ing) and travel (New York and Kansas City). But…baby’s due date is fast approach­ing and I need to get into action. Or at least to Ikea.

(June Gloom by the awe­some Rox­anne Daner.)

It was sug­gested that per­haps I change my domain. So, I’m now over at rebeccabraverman.com. If you read this site via RSS, it’s likely that the old feed will work, but at some point this domain will expire, and I will not be renew­ing it. (Take that, Florida!)

Ques­tions, con­cerns, com­ments? Let me know and I’ll make sure my team of engi­neers hus­band gets right on it.

We’re halfway through the Fort­night of Many House­guests, and my visit with my dad (who left yes­ter­day) is fresh in my mind. We have always been close, but it’s rare that we get a lot of one-on-one time. I knew I’d enjoy hav­ing him here for a few days, I just didn’t real­ize how much.

Hav­ing a few days with my dad solo reminded me that while my mom and I have things we share, so do my dad and I. We always have to eat deli (this trip included Langer’s and Canter’s). The man loves a tast­ing menu, and the meal we ate at Prov­i­dence included the best scal­lop I have ever eaten in my life. (OK, we like to eat.)

Shar­ing a meal together is just the back­drop for talk­ing. About every­thing and any­thing. Office pol­i­tics, fam­ily pol­i­tics, why we are the way we are—it’s all up for dis­cus­sion. What I value most about my dad, though—and trust me, there’s a lot about him to love—is his will­ing­ness, “even as an old man,” as he would say, to try some­thing new. We’re always evolv­ing, always chang­ing, and just when I start to think we’re set in our ways, my dad reminds me that we’re all works in progress.

Since Mother’s Day is upon us, I should prob­a­bly men­tion that my dad would say he couldn’t be who he is today with­out my mom. So here’s to par­ents in gen­eral, par­tic­u­larly mine! And here’s the lat­est object of my affec­tion, the mono­grammed Dwell dia­per bag, unfor­tu­nately not yet avail­able for pur­chase. Until baby boy has a name, my urge to mono­gram will stay with my own “RAB.”

We are fac­ing sev­eral weeks of house­guests start­ing, um, now, which sparked a small major binge-purge cycle in our house. Once I start scratch­ing the Craig itch, I can­not stop. Which is great news for you if you are try­ing to unload Heywood-Wakefield fur­ni­ture in the LA metro.

While on this mag­i­cal mys­tery tour of acquir­ing and dequir­ing (that’s a word, right?), we found my new favorite store. Hotel Sur­plus is where hotels send their fur­ni­ture when they redec­o­rate or close, and if there’s any­thing that gets me high (strictly nat­u­rally, of course), it is a ware­house stuffed to the gills. Do I have pho­tographs of this won­der of the world? Of course not, that would require that I had con­cen­trated on some­thing else besides piles of weird pho­tographs with KWID stick­ers on the back. Two pieces from the Kelly-designed Mai­son 140 made their way into our wee house and I owe you pho­to­graphic proof.

But first, I must get my sis­ter from the airport.

OK, I promised you (and my hus­band) some ideas for the Trip We Take Before We Have the Baby (so much eas­ier to say than “baby­moon”) and hon­estly, I really don’t care. It doesn’t have to be elab­o­rate. I just want decent sur­round­ings and good food. A pool if pos­si­ble. The afore­men­tioned hus­band in relax­ation mode. Any­thing else is just gravy.

I’m open to sug­ges­tions if you have them, but right now my thoughts are Big Sur or Napa. (Yes, going to wine coun­try when you can­not par­take is per­haps not the way to “do” wine coun­try, but I’m not much of a drinker any­way, so I don’t think it would be too much of a loss.) If I found a bag of money on the street, I’d high­tail it to the Post Ranch Inn, but one night there can cost as much as our rent, so…no. It doesn’t look bad, though, huh?

Another place I’d like to go, and this might not be pre-baby trip mate­r­ial, nor with-baby trip mate­r­ial, so let’s just file it away in the some­day trip file, is on an overnight at the Eames house. But, for rea­sons I don’t entirely under­stand, the Eames FAQ will not tell you how much it costs. Much like “price upon request” in décor mags, or a Sotheby’s real estate sign, not reveal­ing the price just means “If you have to ask, you can­not afford it.”

Or maybe it means “Actu­ally, it’s free, but we don’t like to tell you that.” Here’s hoping.

(Post Ranch Inn from the NYT; Eames house from the Eames Foun­da­tion.)

Spoiler alert: My pants won.

A few weeks ago, I looked in the mir­ror and thought, “Hey, I look sort of preg­nant.” It’s a good thing, too, because I’ve been going to pre­na­tal yoga classes and feel­ing like an impos­tor. At least until we get to the part of class where we tell every­one how far along we are. While my mom was in town, she sug­gested tak­ing a look at mater­nity clothes. I bought some pants, said to every­one who would lis­ten, “These are crazy com­fort­able,” and then con­tin­ued wear­ing the non-maternity jeans.

Last night, we were going out to din­ner, and I chose the non-maternity option. They still but­ton, they’re stretchy, I’m totally fine! Until I real­ized I might be a lit­tle more com­fort­able with unbut­ton­ing the top but­ton. OK, so I rigged up some­thing with a hair elas­tic, sat down at the restau­rant, and hey, guess what? My stom­ach feels a lit­tle strange. Maybe because I’ve crammed myself into a pair of pants that will not put up with this tomfoolery.

Today we are back in the mater­nity pants. You win, stretchy waistband.

OK, moms out there: what else is it time for?

Speak­ing of moms out there, I met my inter­net friend Tor­rie (and her very sweet sister-in-law) last week. She posted about it here and hello, I want to hang out with me based on her descrip­tion. I did not pay her to say any of that. Not only was she a delight, but she even gave me a part­ing gift: a few mac­arons and some fancy gummi bears since she knows they are my Offi­cial Preg­nancy Candy™. Speak­ing of which, it’s candy o’clock at my house.

This marks my third spring in warmer climes. Weird. Even now that I wear the same clothes essen­tially year-round, I some­how feel the sea­sons change. There are no win­ter coats to put away, yet I want to clean out my clos­ets, rearrange every drawer in the house and buy some­thing new.

(Before you say, “Duh. You’re nest­ing,” I do feel this way quar­terly. Though in Sep­tem­ber, I always have a burn­ing desire for notebooks.)

Due in part to local inspi­ra­tions like the ladies of Closet Visit, I’ve slowly been attempt­ing to up my style game in LA. But mater­nity jeans—and don’t get me wrong, they are awesome—are throw­ing a wrench in the plan.

Which brings us to acces­sories. Instead of invest­ing in a wardrobe with an expi­ra­tion date of mid-August, I’m think­ing about buy­ing as lit­tle mater­nity cloth­ing as pos­si­ble, and spend­ing money on items where size isn’t an issue.

Clock­wise from top left: I’ve wanted this Clare Vivier bag for ages (though not in red). It could be a pretty cute dia­per bag, too. I can­not bring myself to spend $350 on the pair of sun­glasses I adore, but I crave new ones. Maybe some clas­sic Ray-Bans? I had these Kork-Ease wedges in light blue suede and even­tu­ally destroyed them (stu­pid suede!), so I promise to be more care­ful with a new pair. I saw this cuff at Rene­gade last Decem­ber and for some rea­son didn’t buy it. Now it haunts me. (It doesn’t, but I like how it looks like a preppy rope bracelet on steroids.)

What do you want for spring?