Recently, I was fortunate enough to be back in Istanbul after a twenty-five year absence. Some things had changed but, for the most part, it was as stunning as it had ever been. In addition to blue glass amulets to replace my original one broken …
We’re one of those families. We love bread. I mean we love it. For a few years before the pandemic, my husband baked four beautiful loaves every week. Gosh, you should see the smile on my face as I write that sentence. As everyone and …
You know my thoughts on markets. I’ve been lucky to visit some excellent ones here and there. The Old Biscuit Mill is far and away one of the best. See for yourself.
Delicious food, check. Live music, check. A DJ, check. Heavenly aromas, check. A chill vibe, check. Beautiful surroundings, check. And the people…
I honestly cannot say what I enjoyed most so I’ll just say everything!
While I was at the loveliest birthday dinner with our brand-new friends we had met just four days earlier, I was asked what it felt like to call America home. Behind the question was the horrible legacy of slavery and the possibility of rootlessness. “Do …
I recently had the incredibly good fortune to visit South Africa for a project and I was showered with love letters. At every turn, there was beauty, and I took it all in. I learned, stretched, explored, and rested. And I joyfully tasted.
“To plant a seed, watch it grow, to tend it and then harvest it, offered a simple but enduring satisfaction. The sense of being the custodian of this small patch of earth offered a taste of freedom.
NELSON MANDELA
This Black Garden Epistle comes to you from Robben Island in South Africa. It starts with this paved and shrubby patch of land where the guide describes the trees planted by Europeans as takers of fresh water.
I am on the notorious island where people were held as prisoners over more than 350 years as offenders, lepers, and political dissidents. Its most famous one, Nelson Mandela, became the first democratically-elected president of this beautiful country four years after his release.
My guide, a political prisoner himself for 16 years, describes the ingenious ways that they communicated with other activists despite the severe consequences. We will find a way.
This visit is haunting, somber, and oh so quiet. We are rapt in anticipation of what he’ll share next. Everywhere is gray, barn-white, and faint blue.
And then we enter the yard where prisoners sat on the ground spaced apart to avoid communication. Here, we learn how President Mandela wrote passages of his book, Long Walk to Freedom, under and near a grapevine. With the help of other prisoners, he’d hide the passages and as a group, they’d all protect the scraps of paper to be stitched together years later. A We find a way.
“This courtyard did not exist when we arrived here. We created it. This court was for tennis, volley ball and tennikoit. The garden had grapes, peaches, vegetables and flowers. It was planted by Elias Motswaledi.”
Wilton Mkwayi
We find a way.
Express yourself, Whatever you do, uh, Do it good, uh! We definitely did it good! I’ll start at the end and then make our way back. My mom pulled out one of my favorite plates, plump strawberries framing the center, ready to full of the …
December had me inside, making slow food like stews and yeasty dishes. It also had me looking, sampling, and exploring the great indoors. Indoors as in markets and food halls, those places where you can travel all around the world under one roof.
Over two delightful days, I was in not one, not two, but three food halls. As always, my family was game. We looked, we smelled, we listened and laughed, and we ate; all of our senses were stimulated. As you might imagine, taste was at the top.
We started at a family favorite. It took me wayyyyyyy back with memories of my small hand in that of my Granddaddy’s. There were cleaned greens, oxtails ready to be chopped, and sweet potatoes cubed and ready to be cooked.
We continued with a new food hall. There, we relished the French classics with delicious espresso drinks. My mom, the quiche-making queen, appreciated the Little Tart’s version. Kouign-amanns, a favorite from my study abroad days in Paris decades ago, were top-notch!
We ended the night at Politan Row where the music matched the heat of the food and drinks. We sampled three Indian-Italian versions of the familiar. Nibbling, sipping, and dancing in our seats as we reminisced and rejoiced… what a fantastic time!
