Today feels different. Hello, thirty—nice to meet you.
For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be older. Growing up I thought being an adult would be nonstop freedom: doing what you want, when you want, like the people in movies and books. As a kid I preferred the company of adults; in high school I wanted college, and in college I couldn’t wait for my twenties and thirties—anything to be out of school and into a life that felt more grown-up.
I don’t exactly sound like a barrel of laughs, do I? Maybe this year I’ll lighten up. Call it first-born seriousness or whatever—right now I’m exactly where I always hoped to be. Not where I pictured, not checking off some perfect list, but settled somewhere that feels right.
Last year I wrote about turning thirty and felt dramatic for a minute, but that feeling faded fast. Between a busy year and simply getting tired of my own angst, I didn’t dwell on age except for little moments: blasting Rod Stewart while working out, falling into bed early, or writing those slightly old-lady posts that somehow make sense now.
My twenties were a mess of changing tastes and loves—people, careers, hobbies—Taylor Swift-style heartbreaks and discoveries. In my mid-twenties I tried to figure out what stuck and who I was, fretting about expectations and the future. In my late twenties I watched marriage and parenting from the outside, wondering how anyone does it and admitting I had selfish comforts I wasn’t ready to give up: long couch days, terrible TV, multitasking beauty routines. Yes, first-world problems acknowledged.
If you’d told me at twenty that by thirty I’d be writing about food online, sharing daily life with strangers and taking pictures of everything I’m about to eat, I would have laughed—and I still kind of do.
If you’d predicted I’d be doing what I dreamed of as an eight-year-old—writing and creating food—I’d have laughed again. But here I am, doing that very thing, and it feels surprisingly fitting.
By thirty I’ve learned a handful of useful things: never drink an open cup of liquid near your computer; be unapologetically yourself so other people’s opinions matter less; how to poach an egg (it’s not as impossible as it feels); that the grass often looks greener but grows where you tend it; and that making your bed and skipping every indulgence all the time both make life objectively better.
Those seem like decent building blocks for a satisfying life.
One practical tip I’ll share: if you’re making s’mores cupcakes and don’t own a culinary torch—because you’re saving for shoes or just lazy—a long Bic candle lighter will do the job nicely. Little tricks like that keep life fun.
Pumpkin S’mores Cupcakes
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Ingredients
Graham crust
- 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
- 1/2 cup graham cracker crumbs
Cupcakes
- 1 1/3 cups loosely packed brown sugar
- 1 large egg
- 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
- 1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted and cooled
- 3/4 cup pumpkin puree
- 1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
- 1 teaspoon baking soda
- 1 teaspoon baking powder
- 1/4 teaspoon salt
- 1/2 teaspoon pumpkin pie spice
- 1/2 cup milk
Fudge ganache filling
- 4 ounces chopped milk chocolate
- 2 tablespoons heavy cream
Marshmallow frosting
- 4 large egg whites
- 1 cup granulated sugar
- 1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar
- 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Instructions
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Preheat oven to 350°F. Line a muffin tin with liners.
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Combine melted butter and graham crumbs. Spoon about 1/2 tablespoon into each liner and press to form a crust.
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Whisk egg and brown sugar until smooth. Add vanilla, melted butter, then pumpkin. Stir in flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, and pumpkin pie spice. Add milk and mix until smooth. Drop about 1/4 cup batter over each crust, filling liners three-quarters full. Bake 16–18 minutes, until set. Cool completely.
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Heat heavy cream until warm and pour over chopped milk chocolate. Stir until melted and smooth. Once cupcakes are cool, fill a pastry bag and insert into each cupcake, squeezing ganache inside. Alternatively, use a zip-top bag or spoon to fill.
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For the frosting, combine egg whites, sugar and cream of tartar in a heatproof bowl over simmering water. Whisk constantly for 3–4 minutes until warm and the sugar dissolves. Transfer to a mixer and beat on medium, then high, until glossy and thick, about 6–7 minutes. Beat in vanilla. Frost cupcakes, torch the tops if desired, and sprinkle with extra graham crumbs. Store at room temperature in an airtight container or refrigerate if preferred.
Notes
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I appreciate you so much!
Okay, enough about turning thirty. One more thought: I hope this year is exactly like these cupcakes—filled with fudge ganache and topped with something light and fluffy.