We’re making more room for celebrating. There’s enough going on in the world that needs little reminding of how cruel it can be. So we’re having moments to toast to good times, blow out candles, dance here and there, and laugh. Laugh so hard that …
I am not an optimist. When I tell folks that, they rarely believe me. Surely, you jest. But, but, but you’re so happy… I’ve always armored myself with a fair amount of pragmatism and pessimism, steeling myself as much as one can for the other …
When I was a kid, there was no shortage of new Easter dresses, patent leather Mary Janes with short white socks, and frilly bonnets to mark the holiday. Think pastel pink, yellow, and green linen with delicately embroidered details.
Oh, and there were Easter speeches, the products of hours of memorizing and practicing, that we recited nervously in front of the entire congregation. Improbably, it always seemed like there were a million pairs of eyes on us as we recited the special words slowly as we got our bearings, then quickly to avoid forgetting, and finally a mishmash until that moment of relief when we finished. Thank goodness I hadn’t forgotten!
Invariably, some kids did. As you sat sweating in the pews until it was your turn, you wondered why we did it. In retrospect, I’m convinced that in addition to celebrating the holiday, we were being elevated: a bunch of Black children in their finery standing both sheepishly and proudly in the spotlight reciting poetry and prose. If we could do that, what couldn’t we do?
There were giant baskets laden with solid (great) or hollow (disappointing) chocolate bunnies, marshmallowy peeps, art supplies, stuffed animals, and piles of candy. Over the years, these treats went from resting on a bed of plastic to paper grass. The Easter Bunny went green like the rest of us.
As the Reverend’s first grandchild, Easter meant dyeing hundreds of eggs with my Grandmama. Even though there were mounds, that didn’t stop me from slapping on those tiny stickers or drawing squiggles with waxy crayons.
Searching for those eggs was never my thing. Eating them, however, was.
Happy Easter!
Extra, eggstra!
It turns out that this year’s color is peach fuzz. We at ODB have always liked this range of colors- peach, salmon, rose, blush… You can see it throughout our website. Unlike oranges, peaches come in a rainbow of flavors. What’s your favorite? Everything’s been …
I went to the Emerald Isle fifteen years ago and had the time of my life. From tasty Irish salmon, lamb, and every kind of potato dish to stone circles, castles, and peat. We started in Dublin and spent a couple of weeks exploring seaside …
Each visit to New York has always included popping into a sweet shop for a little bit of chocolate, pastry or cookie. So much so that I’ve contemplated writing a little black book on sweets alone in NYC. Some desserts trend so much that there are legions of fans lined around the block of celebrated shops. Anyone else enjoys the cronut from Dominique Ansel? There’s a lovely version in the image above.
Other desserts are old classics like flaky croissants, palmiers or lemon tarts with delicious examples found in the most unlikely places. We’re here for it all.
Here are a few beauties from the last decade.
Last spring, I was honored to be an artist in residence in the Pullman neighborhood in our beautiful city of Chicago. I initially had made plans to map the many blocks around my space as I considered the ravages of the built environment in the …
Ăn Quả Nhớ Kẻ Trồng Cây (When eating a fruit, think of the person who planted the tree) a Vietnamese proverb Seeds of curiosity were vigorously planted by my parents. While their curiosities often take different forms, I grew up in a home filled with …
[The second time around🎶🎶]
We love Barcelona so much that we’re back drooling over these images. Shall we return to this vibrant city? Yes!
“Ooooh, what’s over there?”
That question has been my mom’s mantra for as long as I can remember. She’s the one who peers in alleys, takes the less beaten path, looks around the dining room to see what others are eating, and always invites us to stop by one more place “for just a minute”. Never a minute. Always wonderful.
We were in the dazzling, dizzying city of Barcelona. Both of us had visited before but it was our first time together. We were astonished that we couldn’t remember the last time the two of us had traveled together, just a mother and daughter exploring a place. Was it when I was in high school? Maybe. We were in the city of Gaudí and Catalan Modernism and there was something to see wherever we turned.
At night we were sprawled on the bed with paper and Google maps, my own Black Book of Barcelona, and heaps of enthusiasm. We sketched out our visit. Museums and other cultural places, a concert, walks, walks, and more walks. There were our favorites to see again: Casa Batllo and its rainbow of tiles invoking a swerving dragon; the colonnade of the Palau de la Música Catalana; and of course, La Sagrada Familia, forever a work in progress.
And then there was the food. Tins of seafood, café con leche, sweet buns, deeply-perfumed slices of cured meats, and fruit each day. We ate and drank every Spanish delight during a night of flamenco. We sauntered back to our hotel room warm from wine, moving our hips, and laughing into the evening. Late at night, we again tucked into tasty cheeses, olives, and chocolate from the grocery store. The tapas alone deserved their own story so they’ll get one. Same for my favorite, paella…
Oh, that market! Like the other great markets around the world, the Mercat de Sant Josep de la Boqueria, better-known as La Boquería, never disappoints. Begun in the early 1200s, it has expanded and shifted over the centuries. The present iteration dates to 1912. Inside are mounds of familiar and exotic fruit with citrus everywhere. Redolent spices stop you in your tracks (this is the land of smoked paprika after all) until paper cones of fried seafood call your name. And we answered.
The best moment, however, was when we settled in the jamon section of the market. Giant legs of prosciutto-like goodness were somehow both dry and glistening. We came, we gazed, we tasted. Should we get this one or that? The response was always, “both and.” Salty. Creamy. Musk-like. Sweet. Delicious. Our room smelled like that corner for our entire stay!
We never miss an opportunity to enjoy art in the galleries and on the table. How wonderful was it to engage with both! First, there was a terrific retrospective of Faith Ringgold’s body of work. And then there was the art of the table. Chicago …
