I recently spent an afternoon with a herd of bison, up close and personal, as they grazed on the grassy plain and huddled together with their small calves. It was mind-boggling to think that they were living not far from Chicago, and some compassionate people …
Today we lovingly poured our ruby-colored red drink into champagne flutes that had been purchased with my mom nearly two decades ago. We toasted our ancestors and to love as we reveled in the spiciness of sorrel. It is celebratory. We nibble on boiled peanuts …
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 shoe to drop. It’s also been a reminder of what’s in my control and what is not.
During this morning’s family book club, we zigzagged from the Harlem Renaissance, the Met’s new show, oppression, delicious food and cooking, Gaza, men and women of letters, celebrations, slavery, storytelling, undeniable brilliance, legacy, homelessness, family traveling together, music, leisure, joy, and more. This web of words is usual for us, pulling and tugging on threads to make sense of the tensions and alignments of it all.
There’s always a post-reflection for me: what an excellent point so-and-so made! How does that argument jibe with mine? What will I carry with me? I’m always buoyed. Our club is filled with those who see the sun behind the storm and spring after a dreary winter.
Not long after our rousing conversation, I stepped outside to capture some images of our beautiful magnolia tree just as a neighbor walked up with words of praise. “It’s nothing short of magnificent,” he said. I agreed and let the word flow from my lips. Magnificent. We continued, “I was worried that it wouldn’t blossom after our freezing weather and late snow. But here it is, looking more beautiful than ever.”
And out of these flowers, came this delight. Imagine a vanilla cake soaked with magnolia syrup and brightened by tart berries, tangy fig powder, cool cream, and bright basil from the kitchen garden.
“Nature, time, and patience are three great physicians.” – Henry George Bohn On a recent evening, I had the pleasure of going to the Atlanta Botanical Gardens. I always forget what makes me come back, time and time again. I have been a member for …
This morning’s family media club discussion focused on a special episode of High on the Hog, “Defiance”, that features my hometown of Atlanta. Public history is always personal history. In this case, the episode highlighted places and people near and dear to my heart: the …
Back in high school, my love for history was fed by many but especially by one teacher. Her knowledge spanned millennia and she shared it with us through literature, music, art, her stories, and even food. Ancient Greece and Rome, the Middle Ages, and more. Eventually, we made it to the Dutch and their dominance in trade of all types. I was most fascinated by the “Tulip Mania” period in 17th century Netherlands.
An entire country went absolutely mad for tulips. This was a wild time of speculation: a bundle of bulbs was a prince’s ransom. At its peak in early 1637, the most precious single bulbs sold for more than ten times the salary of an experienced artisan. My sixteen-year old self could think of little else for days. How could people get so caught up in the ephemeral moment of plants?
Ten years ago in a Georgian restaurant in Moscow, I had my own plant mania. After multiple courses of some of the most delicious food, I ordered sea buckthorn tea. Expecting a cup of black tea infused with an unknown ingredient, I was completely entranced when a glass teapot filled with a golden elixir was placed in front of me. It was like the color of Meyer lemons, marigolds, kumquats, and the sun; it tasted like that, too.
On and off over the next ten years, I searched in vain for this drink. Nothing lived up to that promise. Where did it grow? Near the sea? Could it grow in Chicago?
When I headed to Central Asia last month to convene with other artists from around the world, little did I expect to rekindle my love of this nectar in Kyrgyzstan. Hours after arriving in Bishkek, I was reunited with this extraordinary tea. It was glorious. This time, however, I wasn’t alone. Each person who shared a pot with me, fell hard. We dreamt of growing it back here and laughed as our interest hit a fevered pitch. There was the simple brew that I had first encountered in Russia a decade ago. Every day was different, though. Sometimes there was the surprise of fresh raspberries, mint, orange slices, tiny strawberries or even rosemary. Here’s to enjoying something fanatically with others!
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 …
