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I’ve got a great recipe for you this week—a crisp, sweet palate refresher after we’ve all had a month of carbs and fats: Citrus Salad with Pistachios, Olives, and Chili Crisp. It’s a dish you can make all winter long while citrus is in season. Speaking of refreshers, I’m so ready to shake off 2025, and so eagerly looking forward to what 2026 will bring… and what I’ll be bringing to you!
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Houses are living organisms. They shift. They breathe. If you don’t nurture them, they languish. To keep them healthy, you can’t tend only to the surface details, you have to make sure their bones are sturdy and their vascular system flows.
Tad and his siblings own a 130-year-old beach house on Long Island. Some of the most expensive renovations we’ve done there have been invisible to anyone else, but collectively they’ve helped shore up the house against the tides of time. We’ve rewired, replaced plaster with drywall, swapped out drafty windows, and installed HVAC throughout. These inconspicuous but powerful upgrades have enabled the more visible changes—a new kitchen, furnishings, and lighting—to integrate more seamlessly into the house. There are now solid walls on which to hang framed family photos. Upholstered furniture no longer mildews now that there’s heat to fend off the February damps.
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I’ve thought about that house often as we rebuild our home in Ojai. Are we doing what’s needed to defend against the forces of time? It’s tempting to spend all of your resources on a snazzy stove or pendant lights, but one of the vital responsibilities of home ownership is to take care of the house as you would yourself.
This seemed particularly germane given the genesis of our move out west. Back in 2020, Tad and I started to see that with our kids going off to college in a couple of years, we’d have the opportunity to shift not only where but how we were living. We focused on a place to spend the winters, but it soon became apparent that a different environment could open up broader possibilities.
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By the time we started looking, I’d been running the company that I co-founded with my dear friend Merrill for 12 years. We’d recently been acquired, and Merrill had stepped back from the day-to-day. Having a single owner rather than many equity holders changed the company’s dynamic and priorities. I’d had my head down, focused on nothing but the company for a long time. Instinctively, I, too, was yearning for a change—creatively, personally, and professionally. After stepping away partially, and then fully, it was time to rebuild. And I had my own foundational work to do—reconnecting with my creative side, putting time back into family and friendships, reflecting on what I want the next phase of my career to look like. If I didn’t do this, my life would hollow out. I could already feel it happening.
As you all know, we bought a home that we’ve since gutted and have been re-imagining. I’ve come to realize that working on our house is part of my own renewal. I’ve been clearing out my mental muck, revisiting my goals and values, taking note of lessons I’ve learned (so many; mostly the hard way), and mapping out my next steps. The house, despite its many delays, is further along than I am! Taking hammers and nails to a structure is more linear than the meandering replenishment of a person. We all crave the neat “before and after” without the long, messy middle that leads to true growth.
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We were lucky to have a contractor like Evan, who nerded out over our home’s infrastructure. He got excited about tasks like making sure the floors were perfectly level so that everything that was built on top of them would fit together at right angles. He loved talking about sub-panels and French drains. These do not make my heart go pitter-patter, but I’m very grateful they do for him.
Another Evan save: We wanted a large open room with a gabled ceiling, a reference to the ’70s California homes that we love but weren’t able to find. The best way to accomplish this in a lasting way, without adding columns to the middle of the room, was to install a long steel beam into the roof structure to hold the weight of the rest of the ceiling. No one will ever see this steel beam. It cost $39,000 and required a crane to get it into the house.
Investing in the bones, the infrastructure, feels like a good metaphor for my (and Tad’s) 2025. We—but mostly Evan’s crew!—put in the work, so that we could have a solid foundation upon which to layer our future existence.
I started Homeward as part of my own rebuilding. Home is what I love and what I care about. Thank you for being here for me, as I tear down my walls, rejigger my layout, and let in more of my natural light. Your love for your own homes and the stories you’ve shared have reinforced my conviction that home is the world I want to be in.
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What’s to come in 2026:
I’m editing a cookbook by a beloved figure whose work crossed food, love, and popular culture—excited to share the details when I can!
I’ll be launching a special account that subscribers will have first access to, where you’ll be able to find all of my home, food, and travel recommendations in one place.
Welcoming you into the house as it gets closer to completion—and giving you a detailed look at all the details, from storage solutions to color palettes to outdoor living ideas to… critter control. And, of course, more kitchen design!
The recipes-by-mail concept that I hatched with you earlier this year hasn’t gone by the wayside. Alex, my editor, and I have been doing research on printing and developing, and I’ll be sharing an update and getting your feedback soon.
And before 2025 wraps up, I’ll be starting a chat this weekend on something I’ve been having decision paralysis over: dinnerware! Please keep an eye out for it and join in!
Now let’s hear from you: What do you want to see next year?
Yours in self-renovation,
Amanda
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Citrus Salad with Pistachios, Olives, and Chili Crisp
Serves 4 to 6
This is my favorite kind of recipe when we have friends over. You do a bunch of slicing to prep and then everything can sit until you’re ready to eat. Just before serving, layer it all on a platter. It looks impressive and you’re done! The mixing happens as people serve themselves.
“Moroccan” orange salads, often seasoned with onion, cayenne, and sometimes cumin, had a moment in the 1970s, and I tested a few of them for The Essential New York Times Cookbook. Now that I’m a wannabe Californian, I was also thinking about Suzanne Goin’s Blood Orange, Date, and Parmesan Salad with Almond Oil. And from these reference points, I ended up here with lots of citrus, a whiff of onion, briny olives, and chili crisp.
Ingredients:
3 clementines
2 cara cara oranges
1 pomelo (or use 2 more cara cara or blood oranges if you can’t find pomelo)
2 large handfuls arugula
3 tablespoons salted pistachios, roughly chopped
16 castelvetrano olives, pitted and pulled into 2 or 3 pieces
2 tablespoons sliced (¼-inch) garlic chives or regular chives
2 tablespoons white balsamic vinegar
3 tablespoons olive oil (the best one you’ve got)
Flaky salt
Chili crisp, for spooning over top
Instructions:
Peel the clementines, then cut crosswise into ¼-inch slices. Use your sharpest knife to cut the skin and rind from the cara cara oranges just where the rind meets the flesh. You don’t want to lose any of the juicy innards! Cut the oranges crosswise into ¼-inch slices. Cut the skin and rind from the pomelo, then cut out the segments and pull them into bite-size pieces; you’ll need a large handful of pieces, save the rest for another use.
Spread the arugula on a large shallow platter. Top with the citrus, making sure to evenly-ish disperse the clementines, cara cara, and pomelo.
Scatter the pistachios, olives, and garlic chives over the citrus. Sprinkle over the vinegar and oil. Season with flaky salt. Then dribble the chili crisp over top using a small spoon. The amount you add is up to you—depends on how much heat you like!
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The estate of former Vogue editor-in-chief Grace Mirabella is going to auction in January. Here is what I’d bid on if we hadn’t spent so much money on a steel beam.
Do you remember my rant about toilet paper holders? Someone recently sent me a link to this amazing toilet paper holder exhibit held at the Marta gallery in L.A. back in 2020. My people. My artists!
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Leslie Stephens, who worked for Food52 years back before moving on to create her hit Substack, Morning Person, write a novel, and go to grad school to become a therapist, visited me in Ojai recently. She’s driving around the country in a sprinter van that she designed herself! To live vicariously as she and her dog Toast visit national parks and find great road food, follow along here.
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