Passion fruit. Some years ago I spent a week in Puerto López, on the coast of Ecuador. My Italian friend Maura and I would meet each morning for coffee, choose a new beach to visit, buy a bag of passion fruit, and hitch a ride to said beach. We’d head back in late afternoon, sun-dazed and salty-skinned, with a stray dribble of that vibrant juice despite howevermany dips in the sea. In Ecuador, as in the majority of Latin America, the fruit is called maracuyá. But my half-Venezuelan husband calls it—and me—parchita. (photo via maderadecolores)

Pie we can believe in. D baked a victory apple pie on election day, his first pie in over a year but one of his best, methinks. Notice he spelled “CHANGE” on the top, with an “O” in the center.