Wake up, sunshine.

I woke up, put on a bikini and shoveled a muffin in my face. Not today (unfortunately). But almost every year of my childhood, for two delicious weeks in February, this was my routine.

No, I'm not a card carrying member of the Polar Bear Club. Considering that I keep a space heater at arms' length throughout the winter, it's safe to say that could never be my reality. Instead, the backdrop for this carb-tastic lifestyle was the Florida Keys. Islamorada, to be exact.

Every winter, my parents would pack us up and pile us into the car as we headed south with dreams of sand, fried fish sandwiches and crystal-clear water fueling the long road to trip there.

After we made our obligatory-but-now-embarrassing stop at The South of the Border and arrived at the southernmost point in the States we were met by our closest friends. About six families made the annual trip with us and once we all united in Florida magic happened. The kids would spend all day at the beach, in the pool, running around like little sunburned prunes. Our biggest worry back then was whether we would be allowed to order another virigin strawberry daquiri after lunch. Our parents would talk, eat, play cards, barbeque, work on their tans, eat.

Eat. Barbeque. S'more. Yes, I just turned s'more into a verb. We s'mored like professionals.

You're getting the picture, right? It was paradise. All this talk of eating reminds me of my original point: Muffins. There was this magical, sprawling place called The Castle that was home to various tiny shops and art galleries. Inside The Castle was a bakery that offered up fresh Sunshine Muffins every morning. You had to get there early and you had to wait in line. But these muffins were worth the patient wait. They looked, smelled and tasted like pure sunshine. These citrus-scented, glazed darlings were reason to jump out of bed in the morning, even if we didn't need one.

Citrus-Currant Sunshine Muffins
Courtesy of Dorie Greenspan

1/2 cup sugar

Grated zest of 1 orange

2 cups AP flour

2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1/4 teaspoon baking soda

pinch of salt

1 cup fresh orange juice

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

1/4 teaspoon pure lemon extract

1 stick unsalted butter, melted and cooled

2 large eggs

3/4 cup moist, plump dried currants

Getting Ready: Center a rack in the oven and preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Butter or spray the 12 molds in a regular sized muffin tin or fit the molds with paper muffin cups.

In a large bowl, rub the sugar and orange zest together with your fingertips until the sugar is moist and the fragrance of orange is strong. Whisk in the flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt. In a large glass measuring cup or another bowl, whisk together the orange and lemon juices, lemon extract, melted butter and eggs. Pour the liquid ingredients over the dry ingredients and, with the whisk or rubber spatula, gently but quickly stir to blend. Don't worry about being thorough - a few lumps are better than overmixing the batter. Fold in the currants. Divide the batter evenly among the muffin cups.

Bake for about 20 minutes, or until the tops are golden and a thin knife inserted into the center of the muffins comes out clean. Transfer the pan to a rack and cool for 5 minutes before carefully removing each muffin from its mold.

A pot of sauce for Joey.

Can that title get any more Long Island Guido? I think not. And it shouldn't.

Want to know why?

Because 'Joey' (known as Joe or Joseph to the rest of the world, but has always retained his Italian little boy nickname with me), my brother, is the quintessential Italian-American New Yorker and basks in his role as such.

He's the mayor--he knows everyone and they all like him. He embraces the New Yorkese language and makes fun of me when I pronounce 'coffee' any other way than 'cawfee'. He's the life of the party and can't conceive of a Sunday dinner that doesn't involve red sauce and pasta.

He also perfectly fits the bill of the younger brother, the same way I do as the older sister.

I'm the responsible, bossy, know-it-all. He's the fun, freewheeling, jester. That's probably why we had knock-down, drag-out fights for the first, oh, I don't know, twenty years of our lives.

Disclosure: This is not us as children. But it might as well be.

That's also why we're great friends today.

Joey and I were just starting to befriend each other when I started cooking. Don't get me wrong--we always loved each other as siblings--we just couldn't talk to each other for more than ten minutes at a stretch. I wouldn't be taking meal requests from him; he wouldn't trust anything I cooked.

This pasta dish changed all of that. This pasta scaled mountains, built bridges and gave us the strength to cross them. If you think I'm being hyperbolic, make this for someone and tell me your relationship doesn't exponentially improve.

This was the first dish Joey enthusiastically ate and requested again and again. Not because he trusted my cooking skills (that came later), but because the smells that drift throughout your house/apartment/kitchen are drool-inducing. Hypnotic. It converts even the most reluctant eater to a complete glutton.

Years later, he still asks for it and I still make it wholeheartedly (except I try to sneak in veggie sausage nowadays). What can I say?

I'm grateful to have such an amazing brother and friend (briend?), and I'm happy to make food not war.

Penne with Sausage, Artichokes and Sun-Dried Tomatoes
Adapted from "Giada's Italian Family Dinners"
Serves 6-8

3/4 cup drained, oil-packed sun-dried tomatoes, sliced, 2 tablespoons of oil reserved
1/2 pound hot Italian sausage, casings removed and crumbled (again, I use a vegetarian sausage. Field Roast makes a great Italian 'sausage'.)
12-ounce jar marinated artichokes, drained and chopped
2 large garlic cloves, chopped
3/4 cup chicken broth (I use vegetable stock)
1/2 cup dry white wine
14.5-ounce can diced tomatoes, undrained
8 ounces penne or other tubular pasta
1/2 cup finely shredded Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
1 tablespoon fresh chopped basil or 1 teaspoon dried
2 tablespoons fresh chopped parsley or 2 teaspoons dried
1 teaspoon, fresh chopped thyme
1 teaspoon hot pepper flakes (optional)
8 ounces fresh mozzarella, cubed (optional)

1.) Heat 1 tablespoon of the oil reserved from the tomatoes in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the sausage and cook until brown, continually breaking the meat into bite-sized pieces, about 10 minutes. Transfer the sausage to a bowl lined with a paper towel.

2.) Add the remaining tablespoon of oil to the same skillet; then add the artichokes and garlic and saute over medium heat until garlic is tender, about 2 minutes.

3.) Add the broth, wine, diced tomatoes with juice, and sun-dried tomatoes. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, stirring occasionally, until the sauce slightly reduces, about 8 minutes.

4.) Meanwhile, bring a medium pot of salted water to a boil. Add the penne and cook until al dentem, about 10 minutes. Drain the pasta.

5.) Add the pasta, cooked sausage, Parmesan cheese, basil, and parsley to the sauce. Toss until fully combined; then stir in the mozzarella, if using. Season to taste with salt, pepper, and extra Parmesan cheese.