We’ve been eating a lot of popcorn lately. The inside of our sofa tells me so. I came across these recipes for popcorn which I’ll likely never try. But you might. My neighbours were raving about nutritional yeast and aleppo pepper yesterday, while I was like, “what’s that?” I’ll let them make it. And hope we’re invited over for movie night.

At prep school, I had friend named Sara Kutchesfahani, an Iranian girl who was very bright and very funny. Occasionally, I was invited to play at her home, and if I was lucky, I’d be invited for dinner. Her mother, Marzieh was a warm host and a wonderful cook. Put her tahdig in front of me, and I’d happily eat every last grain of rice. This was my introduction to Persian food, and Persian hospitality –– my visits to the Kutchesfahani home. I’ve since known and developed a fondness for many Iranians, but it’s been years since I’ve had a good Iranian meal. I’ve read good things about the restaurants in Toronto. It’s not Marzieh’s kitchen, but no doubt, many are well worth travelling north for.

Long before I met my Italian husband, Panettone was a staple at our Christmas table. Back then though, I couldn’t understand why anyone would go and spoil a perfectly delicious sponge by adding chunks of dried fruit to it. Eventually, I grew to love it, candied orange and all. The ultimate Christmas morning breakfast, is Panettone french toast. That, or Father Christmas’ leftover biscuits.

Julia Child is someone I would have loved to drink tea with. When I moved to Canada in my early 20s, my mother-in-law gave me a copy of The Way To Cook. It was a lovely gift, but perhaps a bit ambitious for a girl who stores her stilettos in the oven. It was never the cooking that drew me to Child, but rather the fabulous attitude that she brought to every botched brioche and pitiful pot roast. Her embrace of failure is what really inspired me. Indeed for every three collapsed soufflés, there was one gloriously golden winner –– a reminder to keep at it. Her home in the South of France is for sale this week, and the kitchen remains mostly original to Child’s design. Yes, to sit among her pots and pans eating “small helpings, no seconds…. a little bit of everything,” and listening to her talk, would be just splendid.

It’s a common pickle –– eight friends for dinner, eight food intolerances to contend with. Marjorie is gluten and dairy intolerant, Camilla doesn’t eat meat, fish, eggs or night shade vegetables and her husband, Diego is on a strict Alkaline diet.  What’s a girl to cook? “It sort of sucks the joy out of cooking,” I said to my friend Stephanie, who’s struggling to devise a menu that will suit a laundry list of intolerances (no onions, garlic, lentils, wheat, dairy, meat and leaks) that one of her guests emailed over in advance of an upcoming dinner party. Diets, intolerances and allergies can be such a bother for a cook, but knowing Steph, she’ll turn this into a creative challenge. I, of course, suggested she ask her friend to bring her own dinner. I was kidding, sort of. But cooking sans onions is no fun at all. As a picky eater myself, I’d rather bring my own food than stop seven others from gorging on garganelli and salsiccia.

My friend Alison is hosting her annual cookie exchange in a few weeks. Last year, there was a coconut crise in my kitchen just hours before the tea party, with every snowball burnt to a blackened mess. I still went, with delicious butter biscuits in a charming tin in hand, but I was embarrassed to be the only guest with a shop-bought offering. This year,  I am determined to bring something made-from-scratch and delicious. These pretzel caramel bars look easy enough, even for me.

What I love about Middle Eastern food is that it’s as simple as it is decadent — simple ingredients like yogurt, honey and figs combined with something special like rose and orange water to make a luxurious dessert. On the weekend we feasted on a jeweled rice of carrot, saffron, barberries and almonds, branzino wrapped in vine leaf and labneh with fennel, honey and olive oil. I grew up on Greek food, and the two cuisines have a lot in common. But where Greek food is rustic, Persian, Turkish or Lebanese food, feels regal.

We woke up this morning to a thin layer of powdery snow on the ground. I’ve seen snow all my life, but the first snowfall of the season never seizes to amaze. It reminds me of the delicate powdered sugar we sprinkle on sponge cakes, pizzelle and Turkish Delight. I’m no baker, but this weather makes me want to put on a pinny and fry up some fancies for afternoon tea.