Sugaring season is the season when you tap the trees for sugar that turns into maple syrup. I've married someone from Vermont, so it's an expression I kept hearing, and I'm like, 'What is that? That's just so beautiful.' I like the idea it's the very, very first murmurings of spring.

Every week, we were off to a different destination. You could have Maine blueberries and Vermont maple syrup in a New England-themed salad one week, or a Dublin Coddle soup the next.

It's unfortunate for the state of Vermont and particularly the syrup industry because you're eliminating the word Vermont on maple syrup on our product and all over the United States. Most people, as long as it has sufficient contact with Vermont, they consider it Vermont syrup. They don't care where the tree is.

We wanted to do French toast for the brunch, but acknowledged that it is a dangerous item for a special event where people might be dressed up. Patrick had an awesome recipe for the toast itself, using day-old Challah, melted vanilla ice cream as a main ingredient in the soaking liquid, and just a hint of sea salt. I had come up with an alternative to the sticky drippy-down-your-front maple syrup problem by mixing equal parts maple sugar and demerara sugar, and having him sprinkle this on top of the already-cooked French toast and doing a quick brûlée under the broiler; giving the toast a thin crackly maple sugar shell. All the sweet and smoky taste, nothing ruining your mother-in-law's favorite silk blouse.

Writing an informative yet compact thriller is a lot like making maple sugar candy. You have to tap hundreds of trees - boil vats and vats of raw sap - evaporate the water - and keep boiling until you've distilled a tiny nugget that encapsulates the essence.

You can have all sorts of relationships, but there's something with musicians working together where you can have relationship that can just continue to grow in a beautiful way.