The other day at the Union Square market I encountered a farm that was apparently run entirely by young & beautiful rock n’ roll chicks, the type of girls you’d call grrrls (just me?). Music floated in the air as their tattooed limbs gathered heirloom tomatoes and rosy peaches.
I’m pretty sure that that is my destiny, frankly. Youth of the world, unite! Let’s go grow some veggies.
Because I believe in beauty.
Five-hundred Widowers In a Field of Chamomile, John Surowiecki
The yellow, the pollen, the millions of fallen petals
pull us down to sleep; all our dreams have gravity
like the one in which we are about to drift off
in our beds with the windows closed shut
and our wives reading in cones of yellow light,
their knees up like barricades, their eyes
smiling at a clever turn of phrase.
They sip their tea in unison and the tea starts
to smell like them, honey and wool, a musky odor
stolen from a gland like a tiny octagon of wax.
We sink deeper into our beds, into the earth;
the summer smells like sleep, is sleep,
its first instant, where everything is paired
and within reach and where it ought to be.
some flickr favorites.
I hope everyone’s Spring is going swimmingly; rounding out nicely to make way for Summer and such.
on Spring: the small additions to our classic radish+butter+sea salt on baguette combo have been tested, approved, devoured. I offer you, then, a bit of genius, if I do say so myself: a pinch of cumin seeds, crushed with the flat of a sharp knife and sprinkled on the butter.
and this rhubarb recipe is pitch perfect. a recipe that actually tastes the way one might think rhubarb would— mysterious, deep, lustily pink, a compelling balance between sweet and sour. I substituted vanilla extract, because in my cupboard lies a bottle of top notch stuff from Madagascar— and the beans are so expensive. a couple small capfuls for a half batch, I found, gave a perfect muskiness to the glorious pan of pink and pale gold.
Well, this looks absolutely gorgeous and right up my alley. (I linked to the Amazon page expressly so interested parties can ‘look inside’ at the vibrant, stunning photography. I mean, seriously). Leave it to Ottolenghi and his passionate, inspired and winsome love affair with vegetables to steal my heart.
So, now we’re on the right track, some kitchen talk.
All of a sudden I love licorice. And I mean real, preferably British, black licorice, which smells mysterious; sweet and spicy and chalky.
I’ve decided I’d like a kitchen in which I make fresh orange (or grapefruit) juice every morning. On that, I was delightedly baffled by some of the orange juice makers out there, which look like elaborate medieval torture devices.
One of the best investments I’ve made in my kitchen was in a decent wire whisk. Also, I cannot imagine life without the mortar & pestle my family gave me for Christmas.
Here’s my favorite vinegar.
Currently, my favorite oil.
Getting excited for new beginnings. Snazzy website, no?
And have you ever had a real pain au chocolat? I don’t mean a chocolate croissant, in all its buttery-flaked glory. No, I mean when you take a hunk of ever-so-slightly salty, crusty-crumbed baguette, tear out a bit of its doughy innards, and stick a piece of dark chocolate inside. Fold, and eat. It is perfect.
Be back soon.
Some inspiration from far away moments, people, places.
I am certainly in the process of setting a record: the most brain cells killed/time consumed in the name of a truly awful paint job. I am over 12 hours in, and a little crazy.
Nevertheless, moving has made me start thinking of all the things home is and can be. Now is the time to idealize the future! It’s the hour for dreams, while one still has time for such things. So.
Here’s
to
life,
and
