I have always been drawn to still life paintings replete with an abundance of fruit, delicately-blown glasses, curious objects, loaves of bread, and dark or glowing light. Without realizing it, these images have molded my style. I created a home where stands and bowls of …
This month marks the third year of the Black Garden. Swiping through catalogs and exchanging seeds with friends, the possibilities are endless. Perpetually, predictably, unsurprisingly, I’m overwhelmed… until I’m not. I then remember that there’s not enough room for everything and there’s so much pleasure …
Over the weekend here in Chicago, my dad and I turned our gazes towards my mom as we watched her in action. She was negotiating something in her polite but determined way. With admiration in his voice, my dad said, ”Your mom is fearless.”
“If I had my druthers…” She has her druthers. Druthers… she makes that improbable phrase move from the conditional to the declarative. These last two years have thrown numerous wrenches in her plans (to say the least), but still she rises.
There’s no place that she won’t explore. Drop her in a new city, in the woods, on a mountain or overboard, and she’ll look around and make a plan. We were in Barcelona, both having been there once before independently, and everything was possible. We had heard about a terrific seafood restaurant and we planned our entire day around our feast. She and I adore seafood, especially shellfish. We (and she in particular) are nooks-and-crannies people: the more poking, pulling, extracting, squeezing, and nibbling around a shell or bone, the better!
For Barcelona, Part One, click here.
In addition to assorted delights from the sea, we ordered their specialty, paella. Let me pause to say that paella is high on the list of special dishes that are made quite frequently at my house. It’s under the category of slow, rustic, communal cooking that’s made even better outside like barbecue, crab boils, and fish fries.
Unlike mine that is the color of marigolds, Botafumeiro’s was a brownish concoction reminiscent of roux for gumbo or shrimp and grits. And it was glorious! My mom’s first bite rendered the most dazzling smile that lasted the few hours we were there and our walk back to our hotel.
Every time the fearless one comes to Chicago (including a few days ago), we have some seafood. Here are a few Chicago paellas from the vaults.
The sweets of my childhood remain my all-time favorite desserts. Lemon meringue pie, ambrosia, peach cobbler, bread pudding, and key lime pie keep me drawing from a well so deep of memories, enough for a lifetime. It surprises no one that all of these are …
One of the best things about humans is that we seem always game to celebrate. Whether it’s National Hot Dog Day (July 20th), International I Hate Coriander Day (February 23rd) or Measure Your Feet Day (January 23rd), every day seems to be an opportunity to find kindred spirits who like the everyday or the odd.
Today happens to be the day when math lovers, punsters, bakers, and pie eaters unite. If we jump into our time machines to math class, we remember measuring circles by using the symbol, π, with rulers, protractors, and calculators. The value of π goes on and on … and on and on but for convenience sake, we use the first three digits, 3.14.
Will it surprise you to know that people around the world celebrate Pi Day on March 14th or 3/14? Some stick to the math, doing complicated math problems or reciting the value of π until they’re hoarse. Some of us eat pie. I’m in that camp.
There’s pi.
And there’s pie.
When kissing, do you pucker up? Lips pinched and squeezed like a tulip, there’s a promise. Like gentle kisses, lemons present joy, pleasure, and a jolt to our systems. There’s no flavor that I love as much as lemon. Whether it is in my favorite, …
Who tells the stories? Legend has it that the Greek god of the Underworld, Hades, desired the young Persephone, goddess of Spring. So he asked his brother, Zeus, if he could have her as his ”bride”. Will it surprise you to know that Persephone was …
“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!
This morning I took a trip down memory lane, landing in my hometown of Atlanta and my son’s hometown of Chicago. If you’re interested, the latest article is here. In the meantime, please share in the comments a food that brings the memories flooding back.
