Intentional. To kick off the new year, my friends at PostScript asked me to be their guest writer for their lovely blog, In the Loop. This month’s theme is coffee but I was encouraged to write about anything so I did both. If you’re interested …
Like most people, the fairy tales read to me were the mostly sweet versions. Sure, women were hexed by nefarious enemies, harassed by wicked step-relatives, or resigned to a permanent dormant state with the bite of a crimson apple. Overall, though, they ended with our …
Many moons ago, I spent a few glorious weeks in Spain and I tasted everything I could imagine. I mean everything. I could write a book on the dishes and drinks I enjoyed, each day brought one revelation after another.
When I think of that first trip, I remember countless moments and foods. A favorite combination of red pepper, onion, and tomato has become a tried-and-true addition to most dishes, Spanish or not.
Like most versions, my paella always begins with that mix. Saffron, of course, gives the characteristic color and inimitable flavor. The trinity provides the backbone. Oh, what a backbone!
For more than twenty years, we’ve celebrated Christmas Eve by celebrating with Seven Fishes, an assortment of fish dishes sometimes in the double-digits. This year, all seven dishes were snug in a golden bed of bomba rice. Please tell me what you think.
“There’s beauty in the day. There’s beauty in the night.” ~ Claudette Dudley Living a life of wonder seems to be a good bet: an interesting corner, path, neighborhood, town, or city— wonder leads to wandering that often leads to something quite magical. Here’s to …
Ain’t life grand? In the image above, a boy and his bubble are captured by photographer, Marvin E. Newman, in 1950s Chicago. Immediately coming to mind at first glance was the moment of both intention and anticipation: chewing the gum so one can blow a bubble and the feeling as one pushes and blows, defying gravity as it expands. Exhilarating.
Do grownups play with bubbles? Do they ever do it when kids aren’t around?
I’m thinking of bubbles— in this case, the bubbles of egg whites that make glorious meringue and the ones rising to the top of a glass just glistening. That same moment of the ephemeral guides our anticipation. From the moment of the cork’s pop!, it’s a race to consume the nectar before it transforms from bubbly to dissipation. It holds us in the present, encouraging us to celebrate and drink. The bubbles tickle our tongues. The meringue, on the other hand, teases us with its grand architecture of white bubbles (without a trace of yellow yolk that would impede liftoff). For a little while, these bubbles are impossibly stable, easily piled up and shaped into mountains for Baked Alaska or pavlovas.
As long as I can remember, I’ve been told that I am my mom’s copy. It was always understood that they meant I looked like her (which was the highest compliment) but what I always wished was that my heart was like hers. There is no shortage of people who will regale you with tales of her generosity, big and small kindnesses, and her constant rooting for you.
As she celebrates another trip around the sun, I wish her the the moon and all of the stars.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve had a fascination with glass, china and beautiful silverware. I think it stems from when I was a young child admiring my maternal grandmother’s beautifully-set dining room table. Oddly, I don’t ever remember sitting down at these artfully-arranged tables. …
