Pink of Perfection

I’ve spent my adult life thinking I didn’t like barley. Turns out, what turned me off were the bloated, mushy pearls in soup. But as a grain cooked to delicate, chewy perfection, I’ve discovered I’m a big, big fan. In fact, I’ve been eating it all week with my farmer’s market stir-fries instead of rice.

You’ve got to have a killer air-conditioner or an unseasonably cool day on your hands to want to make risotto in June, I realize, and I certainly wouldn’t advise standing over a hot pot on a humid day. But I made this a few weeks ago when I had a basically bare pantry, and despite the not-so-delicious looking picture, this was a total success. I don’t think I’ll go back to making classic risotto unless it’s for a special occasion, and I’m definitely ditching the time-sucking brown rice attempt. Barley risotto it is from now on!

One more thing: this recipe kind of falls into no-brainer territory. It’s warm and comforting and soothing, and I find it’s nice to have those basic recipes on hand for the days we’re feeling uninspired about dinner, or you spent the afternoon at the public pool and return home with that feeling of bone-weary exhaustion and a cool core temperature. Don’t you love that feeling? And more than any other supper prep that comes to mind, perhaps with the exception of chopping onions, risotto-making is therapeutic, for those days when you can’t handle the high energy action of flipping this and searing that or watching the broiler like a hawk lest something burst into flames. This is for those slower days when your brain’s not firing on all cylinders and you can just manage stirring.

Continue reading “$5 Dinner: Tomato and Parmesan Barley Risotto” »

Can you imagine, for a moment, the way the light through the window was dancing its patchy pattern across the table this morning, and across these cherries? It scatters still, across my cup of coffee and keyboard; it seems a fitting thing to bring up for what I’m about to try to say.

Which is: There are days when you burst into your own life. Your sense of self fills every bit of your body: the round tips of your fingers, your elbows, your earlobes. Suddenly, you are fully present in your form and in your life. You are dashing across the street like Mary Tyler Moore, twirling in your skirt, every synapse open and firing.

I am waiting, knowing this moment will end. It began Friday night with the surprise of love and support at the premiere of Colin Hearts Kay (which won Audience Choice for Best Feature!). And then it slid into Saturday when I was wearing a cute outfit and feeling quite lovely, sitting alone at the bar of one of my favorite restaurants with a glass of cold white wine, reading As They Were.

These are some of the things I love: friends, wrap skirts, chilly wine on hot days, M.F.K. Fisher. But for whatever reason, sometimes we turn to the things we love and they fail to stir in us that expected delight, the longed-for pleasure. Instead it is just a glass of Albariño, just a curled paperback.

But every once in awhile we find our lives transformed by joy for an afternoon or a weekend. These are days when we are so fully alive in our bodies, we feel like the stars of our story. Should it be any other way? But, inevitably, there are those other days. The necessary downturns, the going-through-the-motions, the sleepwalking in our own lives. And that’s fine too, if not because melancholy can serve a purpose, then because they make the slow, rapturous intake of pleasure even more satisfying. Too bad there’s not a valve we can switch on and off; but then, I suppose, that would be all too predictable.

I have been on my own personal cloud 9 since Friday at about 8:30pm. And it’s not because of any good news or career triumphs of my mate. It’s because, as someone close to me said, of a transformation. It’s sounds a little heavy or sci-fi, I know, but isn’t that a lovely word? It’s something humming in me, a gear that’s clicked into sunny, quiet place of wholeness. A group of girlfriends brought it on, then more friends, more family, a sewing project free of frustration, an iced latte or two. And now, after a slow wander through the bookstore and a dash to the farmer’s market, these cherries will sustain it. If only for a few moments more.

I am getting the distinct feeling that maybe y’all are a little burnt out on recipes. No? Am I being oversensitive? Are you just outside playing in the sunshine? Here’s hoping.

But in any case, I thought it was time for a little shake-up. Remember when we were all going on and on about morning pages last month? Well, when I found out that Julia Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way, was teaching a “Creativity Boot Camp” class at the Open Center, I figured it was a pretty good way to spend four Wednesday evenings.

Julia Cameron is a real trip, in the best way possible. She’s got these loose, luxurious blonde curls, wears deep red lipstick, and can somehow convince a room full of adults to sing songs with lyrics like, “your green heart is filled with apples!” In a word, she’s amazing.

In our first class, she did an exercise with us that I loved so much, I had to share it with you guys. So if you’re in for some creative, big-dreaming Friday fun, grab a piece of paper (or chime in in the comments) and let your imagination loose. Don’t spend too much time thinking about each list; just be loose and go with your gut.

1. Write ten things you love.
2. Write five things you would do if you knew you wouldn’t fail.
3. Write five alternative lives you would like to live other than your own.
4. Write four tiny things you can do in the life you have to bring you closer to those imagined lives.

Now, imagine an older, wiser version of yourself who has some advice to share.

1. What do you need to know?
2. What do you need to embrace?
3. What do you need to do?
4. What do you need to grieve?
5. What do you need to celebrate?

Happy weekend to you lovelies! As always, thanks for dropping in here, reading, and adding your delightful and insightful two cents.

Image via Valeriana Solaris

To say that the little mound of green you see here on top of a toasted slice of bread is a firecracker explosion of flavor in your mouth would not be overstating it. This is a fresh and zingy bite that would the perfect accompaniment to happy hour at home of Lillet cocktails or a glass or rosé; with a hard-boiled egg or a fresh cup of gazpacho, it just might be the perfect summer dinner.

A few words: whatever you do, don’t skip the mint! I nearly did, but having some leftover from my Thai-ish salad the other night, I can tell you that the mint is the stealth winner of this entire affair. In fact, wait until your own summer mint is thick and thigh-high, if you must. The mint is what makes this just dance on your tongue as lightly as a woman on the prairie in long cotton dress, swirling across a raised wooden platform to the summer evening sounds of a banjo, her hand held tight by a man who will try to kiss her later, and for the first time, on the walk home. You know what I mean.

Also: fava beans are, in my book, second only to artichokes as the most high-maintenance vegetable on earth. And between you and me, I’m not sure the pay-off is as great. The reason why they’re so much dang trouble is that you have to peel them twice. First, you slice open the pod. Then, each bean needs to be individually peeled from its thick, waxy skin. A trick to this: put the unpeeled beans into the microwave for a few hot moments and they will essentially steam off their jackets. Despite all this trouble, they are, nevertheless, delicious; but sub them for something else if you’re feeling lazy. Dare I even suggest thawed frozen peas? But I’ll say it again: just don’t skip the mint!

Continue reading “Mint, Fava Bean, and Parmesan Bruschetta” »

Yesterday, when I was convalescing, I fell down the rabbit hole known as Polyvore while watching The Bachelorette (seriously, Justin–for real, or not?). I’ve known about Polyvore for years from the cool collages of stylish girls that show up on fashion blogs. As much as I love making a collage, I never used the site since I wasn’t nuts about the branding on the application.

And then! I realized that, duh, you can take a screenshot of your collage, rather than posting the embed code. The pics won’t be handily clickable, but oh well. The point is, I now have a way to collage my heart out, without wondering what to do with the giant finished product.

Last night I designed my evolving look, dubbed “Nerdy Lady,” worked on an outfit for Sebastian’s movie premiere, and then moved on to plotting a California-cool, semi-professional look for my friend. And now, I can’t be stopped!

What I love most about collaging is how through selecting images you love––a beautiful tart, an antique locket, a mod, streamlined couch––you begin to see patterns. It’s like being a magazine editor of your own life, with your most authentic self revealing herself through images. And that’s my current goal: to listen to my authentic self. It’s the voice beyond the chatter that says you’re not good enough or smart enough or beautiful enough or that a pint of ice cream really will make you feel better. That voice is a menace. But your authentic voice? She is a soothsayer and truth-teller.

I am not proud to tell you guys, when it comes to being sick, I am a really big baby. I expect the world to come to a grinding halt and my mother to be instantly transported to my side, bearing clean sheets and sympathetic words. Alas, the world marches on. There are meetings to attend and landlords to call back. But more than usual, when under the influence of a cold, I find myself pushing the limits of doing the bare minimum.

In my misery last night, I might have OD’d on the sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever so you can rest medicine. It held me in its raptures of deep, bizarre dreams and my-eyes-weigh-a-ton until, well, not so long ago.

This is all a long way of saying: poor, poor me. I am sick, and life goes on. Dinner must be served.

I picked up the fixins for this salad at the farmer’s market. I didn’t really have a recipe at hand, just an idea, which means there were plenty of delicious additions to this salad that didn’t get snatched up, like ginger, lime, and cherry tomatoes. I settled on ruby red radishes, long spears of green scallions, and stubby, dirt-covered carrots. There would have been pea shoots, but the line was too long. So it goes.

The strangest thing about being ill is my lack of appetite. You basically strip away 70% of life’s pleasures when you can’t look forward to the next meal, am I right? I have been slurping down spicy soups that feel good on my sore throat and help clear my head, but last night, I wanted to make use of the leftover steak we had sitting in the fridge and remember what it feels like to chew again. What resulted was a salad filled with, dare I say, the life force itself: vibrant, singing, herbs; sweet spicy dressing. It was enough to make me want to turn off Arthur and join the ranks of the living again.

Continue reading “Easy Thai-Style Beef Salad” »

Oh, lord, the humidity. It’s already got me in a state. My hands are clammy and my forehead is shiny. Let us just hope this is merely a transition to when I am suddenly glowy and crisp and fresh as a daisy. Seriously, how do people do that in summer? I will find this out in my next earthly incarnation, when I am rendered ethereal, rather than earthy.

(While we’re on the topic, generally speaking at least, does anyone have a non-greasy, everyday facial sunscreen that they love?)

I don’t have much to say today, so I will have to just cut to the facts: I have eaten this for three out of my last six meals. It is just what I needed in the wake of too much vacation: fresh, crisp, light, and lemony. I served it with a poached egg on top (no surprises there), but turn to whatever protein you like. Cold roasted chicken would be nice, cubes of tofu, a few chickpeas, or maybe even some flakes of smoked salmon. Oh, yes; that would be heavenly, indeed. And for the hot (and bothered?) among us, this is the perfect steamy day dinner or lunch. The stove stays on for mere moments, and you need only dirty one pan. Score one for the cooks in the battle against the summer heat!

Continue reading “$5 Dinner: Spring Vegetable Couscous” »

photo via psd

In the Tunnel of Summers

by Anne Stevenson

Moving from day into day,
I don’t know how,
eating these plums now
this morning for breakfast,
tasting of childhood’s
mouth-pucker tartness,
watching the broad light
seed in the fences,
honey of barley,
gold ocean, grasses,
as the tunnel of summers,
of nothing but summers,
opens again
in my traveling senses.

I am eight and eighteen and eighty
all the Augusts of my day.

Why should I be, I be
more than another?
Brown foot in sandal,
burnt palm on flaked clay,
flesh under waterfall
baubled in strong spray,
blood on the stubble
of fly-sweet hay.
Why not my mother’s, my
grandmother’s ankle
hurting as harvest hurts
thistle and animal?
A needle of burning;
why this way or that way?

They are already building the long straw cemetery
where my granddaughter’s daughter has been born and buried.