Pink of Perfection

I don’t know Jennie. But I know the reliable warmth of her writing and her creative recipes, and I’ve thought about her more this week that many of my real-life friends. Jennie’s husband died.

Just writing that makes me feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach.

People like me, who love Jennie through the fibers of the internet, have felt achingly helpless. But I read her lastest post and felt grateful for some direction:

For those asking what they can do to help my healing process, make a peanut butter pie this Friday and share it with someone you love. Then hug them like there’s no tomorrow because today is the only guarantee we can count on.

Pie I can do.

I went to the grocery store this morning for the ingredients, and came home to bake. I tried to be mindful as I was mixing. Before this unimaginable news, I had been thinking about what it means to be married, how to share your life with someone and uphold the promises you make. I had been wondering about timing, and when to take the next steps in life. When is it time to buy a house? To have a baby? To take that trip we’ve been putting off? As I botched the cookie crust and struggled to spread the melted chocolate I thought, This is love. Making mistakes and making a mess. And extending the whole sticky mess as an offering.

If we walked around all the time, aware that at any moment our time with the people we love most could almost be up, it would drive us insane. So there must be some line we can walk, one where we are filled up with gratitude and so much joy for how lucky we are, but without making ourselves crazy over how fragile life is.

The pie smells delicious, and it’s sitting in the refrigerator right now. Tonight I’ll carry it upstate on a long train ride, resting securely on my lap. I’ll cut into the whole mess and watch it fall apart when the crust doesn’t hold, then pass out slices to old friends and my guy. And then we’ll dig in.

Time’s a wastin’.

Continue reading “Jennie’s Peanut Butter Pie” »

I woke up this morning feeling totally over food. These days, if there were a pill I could take to keep hunger at bay, I would. (The closest fix: hard-boiled eggs.) And it occurred to me later, as my hunger pangs got louder, that in all the hours spent assembling a weekly meal plan puzzle with economy and creativity, I could have become a virtuoso at guitar, or planned a trip to Scandinavia, or finished Remembrance of Things Past. Anything grand and time-consuming: I could have done it.

As long as this feeling persists (which is likely in direct proportion to my need for a vacation), I am stripping dinner of its expectations. Dinner will not be the highlight of my day. It will not reaffirm my faith in humanity or convince me of the transformative power of a leaf of basil. It will just be a way to get un-hungry and to hang out with my husband for twenty minutes at the end of the hot day.

Am I the only one who gets swept up in what dinner can be, what it “ought” to be?

It must be from reading too much M. F. K. Fisher and thinking that a just-so picnic of cold chicken and warm berry pie is an integral element to falling in love or finding your way. Or seeing Alice Waters make things look sumptuously simple. I can do that, I think; I need to do that. It’s like that smartly-titled Meghan Daum book, Life Would be Better if I Lived in That House. Only, life would be better if I ate that for dinner.

And when you have looked at spreadsheets all day or been on conference calls, it’s easy to see why the romance of food––of the just-so dinner––can be so appealing. It’s so often our one time each day to get creative, to get out of our minds and into the tactile world of knives and peach fuzz and hot, spitting grills.

But it’s also just dinner.

This might sound painfully obvious, but cooking, sitting down to a meal, feeding people we love––it can’t get out of proportion to the other ways life gets its meaning, like laughing really hard right before bed or surprising someone with something really loving or singing in tight three-part harmony. I forgot my own feelings about what matters: that connecting and creativity are just as important as cooking. Duh.

So this feels like a weight has been lifted! And now we are looking at nights of tuna macaroni salads and tomato sandwiches, both made with mayonnaise from the jar. The next day I will likely pick up a rotisserie chicken. And I feel really, really good about that.

Do you ever get that over-food feeling? And then what do you end up making for dinner? What gets more of your attention when you take the focus off food?

Last week, there was a morning breeze so cool through the window I made hot coffee instead of iced. That alone would have been enough to make me feel quiet and a little wistful, but then I heard the cicadas. They send me right back to the summer I fell in love, kissing on lonely country road, the skirt of my sundress fluttering around my knees in the breeze. The cicadas were the soundtrack.

And, though less romantic, that morning air reminded me of the last time I dared to turn on the oven, when the steam outside wasn’t itself like an oven . I made this recipe from the Barefoot Contessa, who I’ve rhapsodized about before. This recipe, like the last, was no disappointment. Simple, special, a little subtle, and tasting sweetly of sunny days by a Grecian sea (go with it): fresh shrimp, feta, fennel, lemon and oregano. We slid a tray of asparagus spears in alongside the main dish in the oven, and placed a hunk of sunflower bread on the table, and really, now that I think about it: that was pretty romantic, too.

What are you making this weekend?

Continue reading “Roasted Shrimp with Feta and Oregano” »

I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. ––Audrey Hepburn

Don’t you love when someone sends you something––a card in the mail, a text, a link––at exactly the right time? That is what happened to me on Friday, when I felt July weighing heavy on me and wanted to get out from under its thumb. My coworker sent me a link to Tonya Leigh’s blog post, The Life Seduction Challenge. Tonya’s list made me feel instantly better about everything, and it made me want to share a similar challenge here, but with a Pink of Perfection twist. That is, finding the delight and beauty in the everyday.

And the whole fun experiment feels right: here we are with a fresh new month, ready to be made into something a little more fabulous. Need a little spring in your step? Every day for one month choose one item off the list. And for thirty-one days in August (or whenever you decide to get going), feel life get a little more luscious. I’m in!

1. Give something broken a new life (a skirt, a squeaky wheel, scuffed shoes).
2. Put something beautiful on a bit of blank wall you see every day.
3. Wear something you love that you think “just isn’t you.”
4. Send a thank you note, for anything.
5. Spend an afternoon reading.
6. Cook in a vintage apron.
7. Have luncheon: a slow midday meal with cloth napkins and wine.
8. Go out of your way to do something kind for a stranger (offer a seat, hold the door, leave your copy of Us Weekly on the elliptical).
9. Donate five items from your closet that don’t make you feel unstoppably gorgeous.
10. Take care of a nagging life admin item (a trip to the post office, filing an insurance claim, making a doctor’s appointment).
11. Buy an utterly frivolous piece of lingerie.
12. Invite friends over for cocktails, dinner, or brunch.
13. Wake up an hour early to have a leisurely morning.
14. Try something that looks like pure fun (accordion, crochet, burlesque).
15. Dance. In public, in the living room, with a partner, with yourself.
16. Flirt with a stranger. (Smiling counts.)
17. Get rid of five things in your home that don’t bring you pleasure.
18. Go to a parfumerie or department store in search of a signature scent.
19. Buy flowers for your home or office.
20. Make a recipe from a fruit, vegetable, meat or fish you’ve never cooked before.
21. Walk barefoot in the grass or on the sand.
22. Have a media-free day.
23. Write down everything you feel grateful for.
24. Hold a baby.
25. Pet a puppy.
26. Ask someone to tell you their life story.
27. Read a biography of your favorite glamorous screen star, or the bravest, most badass real life heroine.
28. Eat fresh berries, straight from the green paper pint.
29. Create an occasion to wear your most impractical pair of shoes.
30. Write down your wildest dreams.
31. Take one itsy-bitsy, teensy-weensy step to make one real.
32. Have a proper weekday coffee break: ceramic cup, idle gossip, and staring out a window.
33. Visit a playground and swing.
34. Make lemonade. (Literally or figuratively.)
35. Go to a junk or antique story; consider what your favorite object has seen in its life.
36. Jump in a body of water. Float.
37. Give someone a hug; let them let go first.
38. Look at the stars.
39. Replace one utilitarian item you use every day––a measuring spoon, a file folder, a key chain––with something really, really beautiful.
40. Pamper your body with a massage, an overdue haircut, a trip to the sauna, or a soak in the tub.
41. Research something that sparks your curiosity (Arthurian legend, photosynthesis, investing). If you’re still curious after a 15-minute google session, dive deeper.
42. Make a collage of beautiful images that resonate with you.
43. Read aloud to someone you love.
44. Forgive yourself.
45. Forgive someone else.
46. Spend an hour in silent reflection.
47. Dine by candlelight on a weeknight.
48. Take a walk after dinner.
49. Wear your no-fail, cheer-me-up lipstick.
50. Give a genuine compliment to an acquaintance.
51. Have a glass of champagne, just because.
52. Spend one day taking pictures of everything you find beautiful.
53. Describe your perfect day in writing.
54. Block out an afternoon (or day) on the calendar to make some (or all) of it real.
55. Select one drawer or surface and organize it.
56. Write a love letter.
57. Do something you loved as a child.
58. Upgrade your sleep wear, or go Marilyn-style.
59. Do the one thing you were relieved/sad wasn’t on this list.
60. Pretend for one day that you are as confident and amazing as you want to be.

Special thanks to Tonya Leigh for the inspiration (and several of the ideas on this list)!

Update: Wonderful Pink of Perfection reader Sarah and my blogosphere kindred spirit put together a wonderful printable of this list overlaid on that irresistible Audrey Hepburn image. Print and enjoy!

The first time I had St. Germain was on a renegade vacation. We were due to stay in our vintage-y Napa motor lodge another night, but at the last moment we decided to check out. We threw our bags in the car, and drove on a steep, winding rode through dense wooks to Glen Ellen. There, we ate a greasy spoon breakfast, a prelude to the main event: I spied M.F.K. Fisher’s Last House from across a two-lane highway and at the little memorial to her in town, had my picture snapped next to a portrait of her at a typewriter. My ultimate fan girl moment.

Then we drove on to Sonoma, where the midday sun was beating down hot in the town square. Down a side street, I fell in love with a charming, busting airy restaurant, sat at the bar and ordered a drink. It contained St. Germain, a delicate elderflower liqueur, poured from the most glamorously tall, art deco bottle. There was also some gin, a cucumber spear, and maybe a splash of Lillet or champagne, though the specifics are hazy now. I just remember being so happy there, surrounded by dapper, quick-footed waiters, air-conditioning, the spirit of adventure that came from casting our plans to the wind, and, oh, the smell of cheese.

This is my bare bones attempt to recreate what I think is one of the most cool, crisp, refreshing and ladylike of summer cocktails. Drink this in your garden, when the gals come over to knock croquet balls in their spectator heels and talk about the rakish men they adore. I didn’t really drink this garnished with edible flowers as illustrated in the picture, though wouldn’t that be grand?

Continue reading “Happy Hour at Home: Simplest Gin and St. Germain Cocktail” »

Someday, if I am lucky enough to have a houseful of kids and soccer practice to take them to, I will look back at my current Saturday morning routine and have a rip-roaring laugh. Here’s how it goes: I like to drink a cup of coffee in bed, read a bit, and give myself a tarot reading. It’s a morning tradition that can take upwards of two long, lazy hours. And then I ask my husband where he’s taking me for lunch, and look at that––it’s 3pm.

(Now, a word on the tarot for anyone who might want to hear it: I don’t think of it as some predictive, lady-with-a-crystal-ball-and-a-head-scarf hokum. It’s more like reading a really rich, wonderful piece of literature (although any formalist professor of mine would probably die to hear me say this): there are themes in the cards, and the way you choose to interpret and reflect on those themes creates a meaningful story. In other words, you make the meaning.)

In any case, the cards painted a picture in their yellows and reds that I was happy to see. It was a story of assessment and survey that I thought was worth sharing with a thoughtful, reflective bunch. In short form, we have made it halfway through the year: how are you doing?

There are two parts to the mid-year check-in as I see it: How are you doing with those goals you made seven months ago? (Oh, how they can be embarrassing to revisit, I know.) Do they need a little more attention? But perhaps more importantly, how are you moving through this year? How does it feel to be you alive at this moment? Are your actions matching up with what you care about? Are you embodying whatever word resonated with you?

I, for one, needed the reminder. When we’re intently focused on taking the next step, we forget to lift our eyes to the horizon and survey the landscape. We can get so caught up in walking a straight path that we forget to even check-in with ourselves: Do I even like this walk? Am I tired? Do I need a sip of water and some trail mix? Or am I fully caught up in the flow? It gives us the chance to ease what might not feel right or to apply more passion to what we’ve let slip.

One thing I know: I’m not writing here enough, and it breaks my heart. I needed the reminder that I was in control of that, and so my alarm got set a little earlier. (Though I’m still never this happy to wake up.)

What I needed was a long pause, time to sit on a rock with my sunglasses and a canteen and look at where I’ve gotten myself. I’m not even sure if the route needs adjustment yet, but I do know that I’d like to take the time to survey the view.

Do you have a tradition of stopping to reflect like this? How do you create that time and space for yourself? And what adjustments have you made after taking the long view?

I used to get irritated when the summer lifestyle magazines started showing up in my mailbox. An apartment-dweller with no outdoor space to speak of (save for a rickety fire escape) can go a little batty from so many recipes that use the grill. I could not simply throw a cob of corn and a beautiful piece of fish on the grill and call it dinner. And yet those slick magazine pages continued to sing a refrain about summer cooking being so simple, so effortless; I just didn’t get it. If anything, trying to figure out how to eat something substantial for supper without warming up the entire apartment seemed like it required an advance degree.

And then my wonderful aunts and uncles gave me an indoor two-burner grill pan, and I started to see the light. I hate to say that a piece of specialty equipment can make life easier, but in some cases it’s just the plain truth, (See: food processor.) I get that “summer simplicity” now: I throw something on the grill, make a salad, and dinner is ready in 15 minutes. Moreover, it feels grown-up and relaxed, like a woman with real standards and know-how was in charge of this dinner, instead of just post-work, grouchy me. And this is when I start to wax about the ability of a certain recipe to bring out the best in you, but really, it’s true. A simple, wonderful dinner can be elevating: it can help you shed the bleary-eyed, email-beset, hunched-shoulder workhorse stance, take a deep breath, and feel like a human again. A human who revels in the delights of summer––like juicy, ripe peaches––and throws together easily elegant salads like this one. Creative, seasonal, healthy––you’ll feel like some kind of genius.

This salad even works with peaches that are slightly underripe and still a little firm. Serve with grilled, sliced skirt steak, chicken, or a pile of shrimp. It really can be that easy.

Continue reading “Summer Simplicity: Peach, Basil and Red Onion Salad” »

We’re on day five of super hot summer days here in New York, and we have yet to see the worst of it. I’m so scared about the crazy heat wave coming this weekend, you’d think it was the apocalypse. To mitigate my fear of what’s coming, I’m keeping a pretty glass carafe of water in the fridge (fancy!), my Wednesday night swimming lessons couldn’t have had better timing, and there may be a trip to Rockaway Beach in the weekend cards. Still, I’m a wimp. So while I hope this list might offer you a gem or two, it is mostly to keep me from freaking out. How have you been cooling off this summer?

1. Daytime trips to the movies: If you haven’t seen Bridesmaids yet, take the next blisteringly hot afternoon as a sign from Melissa McCarthy that you could be laughing really, really hard in powerful air-conditioning. Plus: fountain soda!
2. A picnic at the beach: Sand in your sandwich! Greasy sunscreen! Summer reading! And then, a dip in the water. Heaven.
3. Slurpees from 7-11: Pull the lever on a Slurpee machine (put your cup’s top on first for the neatest execution) are you’re nine again.
4. Icy cocktails: Also, if you can find it, Leinenkugel’s Summer Shandy. So delicious.
5. Homemade lemonade: Here are 21 different recipes to suit your fancy. But I’m loyal to this one.
6. Find an open fire hydrant: And if you’re really enterprising (and brave) fill up an empty trash can and dunk yourself in it like I saw a kid doing the other day on a street corner. My heart kind of went out to him (I mean, it was a trash can), but I admired his spunk.
7. A dip in the pool: Why are people so against public pools? Us city folk have no other option, and really, what’s so scary? Besides, I like to think I look very fetching in my required swim cap and goggles. (Oh, if this were true.)
8. A bowl of ice water in front of a fan: I always think of that episode of SATC where Carrie’s perched in a chair, drinking iced tea and reading a magazine in front of a fan when Aleksandr Petrovsky calls for the first time.
9. Close the curtains and turn on the TV: There’s something decadently subversive about staying inside on hot, sunny days. Have a marathon (may I suggest Party Down?) or watch cold, wintery movies (Think Dr. Zhivago).
10. Cucumber ice water: Cooling, and you feel like you’re at a spa. Double whammy.
11. Kiddie pools: Got a backyard? Then you really need to set up a kiddie pool. And then you need to invite over your friends who don’t have backyards.
12. Cool baths: When no one invites me to their kiddie pool and the Y feels too far away, I like to just run a cool bath. A little too desperate and depression-era? Not when you bring a delicious beverage and a stack of magazines in with you.
13. Root beer floats: Or a straight up beer float.
14. Refrigerate your face products: Masks, sprays, toner, eye cream––it all feels better cold.
15. Cold Watermelon: Quintessential.
16. Ice cream: Practically medicinal.
17. Homemade frozen yogurt: A friend of mine insists it’s easier than you think (and suggests adding a little vodka to keep it from getting an icy consistency. Kinda genius.)