Monthly Archives: February 2015

meatless monday: eggs for days

sara little yoga blog nyc egg
If you happen to have a long weekend in New York City and you decide, “Say, you guys: this is the weekend that I’m going to try all the eggs,” here’s where you should go and what you should eat:

The stunning Pepper Boy egg sandwich from Egg Shop. Soft scrambled eggs that melt like butter in your mouth (hold the bacon, you heathen!)

Eggs Rothko from egg. Grafton cheddar and Amy’s brioche. A work of art.

Extra Fancy‘s Breakfast Sandwich (pork sausage not necessary when you’ve got tomato jam and a side of SWEET POTATO FRIES).

Pizza al’uovo. Fior di latte meets basil meets pecorino chili oil and farm fresh fried eggs at Motorino. Yep.

All meals can (and should) be enjoyed with a Bloody Mary and as much hot sauce as you can handle.


wednesday wisdom on a thursday: wisdom and chinese new year

sara little yoga blog nyc wisdom
…And a wise-ass woman once said: happy Chinese New Year, everyone! May the Year of the Goat (or is it the Sheep? Or the Ram?), bring you good health and fortune, always. x

meatless monday: a new miso

photo by tina leigh, via

photo by tina leigh, via

Miso soup has been a big deal around here these days (remember: it’s not so much “cooking” as it is stirring a glob of miso paste into hot water), so when I stumbled upon this very pretty and alluring take on an old favorite, I was instantly intrigued. It looks like cream of broccoli, but with a miso base instead of a cream one!

The recipe (over at calls for chickpea miso, which I’ve never tried but sounds nice. I would be curious to try it with my paste of choice, Miso Master Organic Brown Rice Miso (so salty, so satisfying).

Who wants to try it? And then deliver it to me?

farewell, yoga high: a little valentine’s day ode and lovefest

via YH's instagram.

via YH’s instagram.

I first started teaching in 2008 and immediately threw myself into the New York yoga scene. I came out of my 200-hour certification with that same kind of overconfidence you see in anyone young enough to have energy and ambition, without the tempering wisdom that only comes from experience.

I knew anatomy and had the muscles and bones and their functions and planes of movement memorized. I knew all the poses and their Sanskrit names and how to modify them with props. I knew how to sequence a smart class and could recite the Sutras, the 8 Limbs and a handful of verses from the Gita.

And yet: I knew nothing about yoga.

I didn’t know shit about anything. And then: I found Yoga High. (Mel and Liz: sorry, maybe you didn’t realize this when you hired me. Or maybe you did? Immense gratitude, regardless.)

I walked past Yoga High daily in its old heyday on Clinton Street, barely three blocks from my apartment. Its co-owners were two women who worked in this beautifully balanced way: the strength and conviction of Mel was impressive, the quiet flexibility and gentleness of Liz was inspiring.

The space they created drew together a mishmash of New Yorkers: artists, entrepreneurs, college students, hedge funders, designers, performers, doctors and bartenders. A true cross-section of this weird, wild city, and for an hour or so we were all equals, quietly working on our breathing and our neuroses and our hamstrings.

As a student, it was a place where I could show up in any state of despair or joy, to cry or laugh, and drag myself through a practice that always seemed to give me exactly what I needed. It saw me through my best and worst moments.

As a teacher, the gift was in seeing the faces of students and friends, watching the unfolding of practices as this collective ebbed and flowed and grew and changed with each season.

It was a place where Kanye and Beck lived in miraculous harmony on my playlists, alongside Thom Yorke and Karen O. and Lana and Thurston and all the dudes from The National.

It was a place where you could show up, do the practice (“Or: don’t do it! I don’t care!”) and leave with a fullness of heart and head and maybe be just a teeny tiny bit more patience for all the weirdos awaiting us out in the world.

Because yoga is only kind of about poses and breathing. It’s mainly about community.

Yoga High held its final classes last month in the LES. But it’s taking on new life in other places where community is wanted and needed.

Here’s to the next reincarnation.

wednesday wisdom: heart advice

via flickr.

via flickr.

Keep your heart gentle, gentle, open, open.
And then…put a big fucking fence around it.

Danielle LaPorte*

*more heart advice (and context) from Danielle here.

meatless monday: how to eat meatless in syracuse

It’s easy!



– Eat the garlic bread dunked into the famous house tomato sauce at Pastabilities.

– The Carrier Dome (hosting the Cuse v. Duke basketball game this Saturday) boasts all the traditional meat-free concessions you could want: caramel corn, soft pretzels, nachos grande, and Labatt Blue. Valentine’s Day dinner, in the bag.

– Eat all the sides at Dinosaur Bar-B-Que: fried green tomatoes, macaroni salad, mac & cheese, jalapeño cornbread, tomato cucumber salad and fries and barbecue sauce duh.

– Feeling nostalgic for your freshman year dining hall breakfasts? Hit Brockway for some self-serve vanilla frozen yogurt, sprinkle on some Fruity Pebbles.

– When it’s time for a 2am snack, raid the bins Wegman’s for a full-on variety of chocolate covered almonds, sour gummies, sesame twigs, granola, and those really gross sugar-free peppermint chocolate things. You may or may not leave having eaten $15 worth of bin food without paying for it. College.

Salt potatoes!

– The cheapest pitchers on the Hill at Chuck’s.

(If it wasn’t clear already: reliving college this weekend.)

wednesday wisdom: the best journeys

sara little yoga blog 180 degrees south bestjourneys

(revisiting 180 degrees south last night. a gentle reminder of adventures yet to come. xxS).