My friends Angela and Sean hosted a small gathering Sunday afternoon to celebrate an a match made in culinary heaven: grilled sandwiches and beer. They gathered an impressive array of meats, cheeses, mustards, and more, and were ready with some fantastic combinations. More photos and combos after the jump

Angela made the first batch of sandwiches. They included ham, Swiss cheese, thin-sliced Roma tomatoes, and mustard. The secret ingredient? A light spread of cinnamon applesauce on each slice of bread.

They were the perfect match with a Belgian wheat beer.

Sean made the next two varieties. The first had thin-sliced granny apples, red onion, bacon, and cheddar sandwich with mustard.

Sean assembles the magic:

The final was a dessert sandwich of brie, granny smith apples, and cranberry pepper jelly. I don’t have a photo of the final sandwich, but I do have one of a lot of slow-cooked bacon. Mmmm.

In short, grilled sandwiches + beer + Sunday afternoon = WIN.

I found some interesting items while scanning my grandmother’s recipe clippings Thursday afternoon. I’m saving the actual recipes for later posts, but I wanted to share some images and labels today. The giblet gravy recipe above comes from the back of a frozen turkey label, a piece of paper that could be the origin of a Mangan family tradition.

This book of oven triumphs (!) is coming back to Brooklyn with me. I want every time I bake to be considered a victory.

My policy is to try any food item I encounter at least once (as long as it’s not alive at the time of consumption), however this meal has me rethinking things:

More scanning finds (including melon cutting tips and men in hot tubs) with my unnecessary commentary after the jump.

I would like a degree in the science of Better Cookery.

My grandmother kept a quick reference guide for proper baking temperatures.

If only cutting melons brought me this much joy.

I like to imagine Don Draper pitching this tagline for the Yum Yum Machine.

The backs of the newspaper clippings had a lot of interesting images. I have three favorites and the first comes from a home tour in Binghamton’s Press and Sun Bulletin in 1983. Hyrdrotherapy. Right.

The paper put a punching clown on the street and documented the results in the sixties:

So good, children lick the spoon! (This baby’s face will haunt me all weekend.)

A lot has happened over the past two weeks. Here is a brief rundown: I was dumped, then I assessed my seemingly shattered existence, picked up the pieces, considered moving back upstate, changed my mind, moved out of the apartment in Greenpoint, moved into an apartment in Park Slope, and finally find myself settled in (Update on 9/22: I also got a full time job offer!). I don’t want to dwell on the situation (this is a food blog after all), however I have to say I’m lucky to have such wonderful friends and family—they kept me from going off the deep end and made this transition much easier than I thought it would be.

Now, on to the present. I’ve been living in Park Slope for just over a week, and while I miss my place in Greenpoint, I can now buy cupcakes, have my nails done, go to the movies, go out to dinner, or get on the subway within three blocks of my apartment. It’s the way I imagined New York would be during my high school daydreams, just with a lot more puppies and strollers. The toddlers are hip and neighborhood block parties have both bouncy houses and pony rides. Also, my roommates are great (and love to cook) and my new room is large enough to accommodate a reading nook, complete with an armchair, lamp, and ottoman.

The Park Slope food scene is also vibrant. There are hundreds of restaurants, cafes, specialty shops, and bakeries in the neighborhood and I look forward to exploring them in the coming months. In fact, I started exploring on my first morning here when I woke up early and walked up to the farmers’ market in Grand Army Plaza, where rows of small stalls are set up in the shadow of the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Arch.

More photos after the jump.

(Editorial note: My camera started to die the moment I arrived, so while the quality is not great, the photos will at least give you a sense of the market.)

Things are looking up.

Pictured above: Me at age 4 or 5, along with the neighborhood gang. Identities have been concealed to protect the innocent.

I will officially turn twenty-five at 2:53pm today. The combination of high temperatures and my birthday means no cooking for me, save for possibly throwing together a salad for dinner. In the meantime, I leave you to ponder the ultimate birthday question: cake, pie, or other dessert?

I have always been a fan of cake. The cakes for most of my childhood birthdays were made by the same woman in her home on the South Side of Binghamton, decorated to match the themes of my birthday parties. The flavor and texture of the buttercream frosting was the best part, with its cavity-inducing sugar levels and a light crust.

My father scanned a few photos for me so I could share a few past cakes and a few theme parties. Take a walk down narcissism lane and enjoy a few classic Mo birthday photos after the jump.

For my second birthday, everything was decked out with crayons. I insisted on drawing rainbows with the correct color order (ROYGBIV) and this continued throughout my preschool and elementary school years. I’m not sure how this started, but it drove my fellow students nuts when I would correct them during art time.

I don’t know what age I’m turning in this photo, but I am clearly not pleased. The seashells and random couch suggest my birthday was taking place during the family’s yearly trip to Long Beach Island. Translation: no delicious cake made by the woman from the South Side.

This was taken as I opened gifts at my neighbor’s house for an unknown birthday. As you can tell, I am completely psyched. This horse stable was on my shelf until after I graduated from college.

For my fourth or fifth birthday, my parents went all out with a carnival theme. They set up a tent in the backyard, built carnival games, had face painting, and possibly a cotton candy machine. The cake involved balloons and various other carnival items. I’m in the middle here, wearing a fashionable lace collar and daintily wiping my hands on a napkin:

I was adorable until about the age of seven, at which time my outgoing, let-me-introduce-myself-to-strangers, and cute-button-nosed self started losing baby teeth and getting awkward. The end times begin below as I prepare to go trail riding for another birthday.

And now we come to my current birthday. I don’t have a photo yet, but Ramsey and I will be heading into Manhattan for cupcakes and a little bit of shopping. While I won’t be having my favorite childhood cake, I think eating red velvet cupcakes in Chelsea with my wonderful boyfriend will be just as good.

Ramsey and I spent the weekend in his hometown for the wedding of our friends Jon and Kellie. I took over three hundred photos, but I cut things down for a Flickr set. Some of my favorite (and a few food-related) photos can be found after the jump.

I hung out with the groomsmen on the night before the wedding. We went to an Irish pub in Batavia where Ramsey ordered the Chef’s Platter. The menu said it was a “selection of the chef’s finest appetizers.” This is what he got:

Ramsey’s parents have a beautiful vegetable garden that provides them with plenty of cucumbers for pickling, as well as tomatoes, pumpkins, and more.

The organ at the church:

Flower Girl

Jon and Kellie

The bridesmaids abandoned their shoes in the receiving line.

Waiting for photos.

The Geneseo boys:

Ramsey conquered a canon.

I sat in a gazebo.

And the wedding party danced.

The full photo set can be found here.