Stream-of-consciousness and pink and legacy

I am sitting in my pale gray womb chair, feet propped on its matching ottoman, everything from the waist down blanketed by a corally-pink and white throw. It's a muted pink, not saccharine or sickly, but rather a nod to my love of the color, to the need I feel to sometimes throw a bit of not blue-gray-brown into my masculine'ish love child of a modern + mid-century home.

I've had a love affair with pink for as long as I can remember, and I am A-OK with that. There is really quite a diverse spectrum housed under the umbrella term "pink." Really, it runs the gamut from the blindingly neon to the loud but infused-with-purple magenta to the horrid, too flatly opaque Pepto shade through the perfect English roses and ethereal peonies to the pale-but-not-anemic lighter shades.

Hot pink, piglet pink, baby girl pink, Carnation pink (that disappointing Crayola hue that never seems to assert itself)...The list goes on, but suffice it to say that I am, mostly, a fan. 

Which is why I bought this throw that, in all honesty, matches almost nothing in my home but goes well enough with this chair (which is mine; I got it for my 40th birthday) and makes me happy.

The point of this early-onset tangent is a slight one. It's simply to place you just a touch, because tonight I am pooped and have retired to my chair and the quietude of my room early tonight.

Tom has been home since March 1 (he is enjoying a much-deserved vacation between jobs before starting his new role as CFO at a company here in DC on March 20) which has been both rare treat and alone-time zapper, the kids have had irregular school schedules due to various holidays, conferences, and the pending snowstorm which two hours ago meant a preemptive canceling of school tomorrow, and that behemoth mulch pile that both took many more days than expected to deal with AND is still not fully dealt with. Tonight found me mulching neighbor's yards, random neighborhood trees, and offering with exceedingly enthused madness "all the mulch you want" to anyone who passed by.

Life is so much about finding our rhythms, isn't it? For those of us who thrive on routinized days, from the highly structured to the more relaxed here's-what-I-might-do-around-mealtimes approach, for those who find structure imposed on them via children or career or other duties, the removal of that overlay can be both exciting and stressful.

What I have noticed is that in times of flux, the non-necessities and "luxuries" easily, too easily, fall by the wayside. Sure, the mulch juggernaut loomed, but what really beckoned was an empty page, empty pages ignored for weeks now. 

This evening, a friend mused about thinking now about the answer to 'what do I want the story of my life to be later, when I'm reaching the end and looking back?' And really, that's a great North Star to keep in mind. 

To another friend struggling with a shitty week I wrote, "Literally right now writing about the times in which 'normal' routine falls by the wayside and what gets left in its wake. I am seeing, literally now b/c I'm hellbent on writing even if its crap, that what is flotsam and jetsam in the wake are the things, like writing, that keep me sane. So clearly those things are wrongly labeled f & j and I need to more unapologetically value them."

Funny how sometimes all the roads lead you to a pale gray chair and a corally-pink throw and a glass of wine and the loving response to your kids and husband that "No, I'm off duty now. I'm on my own clock now. I'll see you tomorrow."

Old-school Em-i-lis

The past couple days have found me yearning for leisurely hours in the kitchen. It's been a long while, too long, since I've felt I had any significant amount of time to relax in there and play around. I miss it, and have noticed that when rushed, dinners become more chore than pleasure, and I cut culinary corners in ways I don't like. 

Our spring has, so far, been an awfully wet and chilly one. There have been glorious days of warmth -heat even!- and sunshine, promises of lemonade stands and relaxed evenings on the deck with a cold glass of wine. But by and large, those times have been elusive, and most days are still "pants and long-sleeve T's, boys" rather than shorts and sunblock ones.

That said, it's spring somewhere, and the produce of the glorious season is starting to roll our way. It's the right time for rhubarb, and those beautiful pink and green stalks are showing themselves at our local farmers markets as are greenhouse tomatoes and herbs and the earliest strawberries. Asparagus is in its prime.

At the grocery, fava bean pods glow green and swollen, and plums, peaches and apricots are finally being trucked in from places north of Chile!

Perhaps I should thank the mostly-gloomy days of the recent past, for they have offered me quick moments in which to steal to the markets and have then shooed me back inside when the rains return. During the latter periods, the beautiful beans and fruits and tomatoes and greens beckon to me, and I have gone to them.

Shelling beans is an always-pleasant task, meditative, productive and grounding. Favas and borlottis are my favorites to hull, because my reward is a bowl of vibrant green or cranberry-speckled beans that only nature could conjure. Favas beg to be smashed with mint and pecorino and olive oil and a squeeze of lemon, slathered atop grilled bread slicked with more oil. Nothing this beautiful can be anything but healthful or a pleasure to eat.

fava bean and mint crostini

The smell of tomatoes alone is thrilling, but then the juicy pop of each orb's taut skin is the happiest salvo. The crisp crack of each asparagus spear's end breaking off at just the point that woody and fibrous gives way to silky and tender. 

the freshest pizza 

All of these ingredients make such delicious dishes but without much effort; that is the gift of real, fresh, seasonal food.

velvet apricots

Today, I made my black velvet apricot and Cognac jam. It is as delectable as it is pretty; looks rather like a jewel, really. I love recipes that freeze an ephemeral ingredient in time for later enjoyment. It's why I make mango butter even though straight-up mango, peeled and sliced, is our favorite way to enjoy them, especially the Ataulfo, or champagne, variety that comes out in late April each year.

I also made some old favorites this week including my farro with golden beets, candied pecans, feta and a sage-chive oil and oven-roasted rosemary salmon, and, perhaps most thrillingly, treated myself to this Meyer lemon tree on Mother's Day. I'm positively over the moon about it, and will feel equal parts Cher (from Clueless; remember when she reaches out of her father's office window to pick a fresh lemon for his tea?) and Martha Stewart when I pluck a fresh lemon from its boughs.

farro with golden beets, candied pecans, feta and chive-sage oil

Now, if only the sun will come out a little bit more and help us all dry and grow and ready ourselves for the next marathon of cooking and growing and rooting, it'd be swell!

40 in forty: Take time, especially when time has been spent

After a perfect day that included a visit to Cinecittà, the Hollywood of Italy where Felini filmed his movies, Audrey Hepburn took a Roman Holiday, Gangs of New York battled each other, my sister now films her Italian TV show, and Oliver began to conjure grand plans of epic set design, we met my brother-in-law's parents for dinner at Checcino dal 1887, a generations-old restaurant in the Testaccio neighborhood.

scenes from lunch

Let me first add that our luggage finally arrived tonight at 6pm, and the joy of showering and then changing into fresh clothes was tremendous. 

Anyway, upon ordering our first bottle of wine tonight, one of the owners wheeled a marble-topped cart with six glasses and the wine to our table and proceeded to fully rinse the inside of each goblet with a bit of the wine.

We asked why. Was it just a lovely tradition, or did his efforts serve more of a purpose?

"The vintner spent at least a year crafting this wine. Why would I, in mere seconds, pour it into unready glasses? The glasses might have residue from being washed: calcium from the water, a faint bit of soap. By rinsing them fully with the wine, I'm pairing each glass with the wine you chose. It slows the service, but why hurry?"

Now really, y'all. Even if each glass gains nothing from such an artful method of pairing, isn't the feeling behind the practice lovely? Can we not all benefit from slowing the service, so to speak?

Italians and Louisianians have a fair amount in common, not least because there are so many Italians in Louisiana. But I think the commonalities are one reason I feel at home in this country. Meals should take time, preferably hours. You should enjoy every bite and all the pomp and circumstance that goes along with each element of the experience. No rush, sit, eat, laugh, make memories. 

There is little to push to slow anything in DC and many other cities across America. What do we miss by slurping meals on the go? Far more than truly tasting the food. That I know for sure. Isn't it lovely to bring out new glasses for each type of wine? To know why you're doing so? To want to share that with others?

Why is this dish specifically Roman? Why can't the boys eat pesto ad nauseam here like they can closer to Liguria? Because place matters. Source matters. Timing and seasonality and tradition matter.

Sometimes they shouldn't, but sometimes attention to those things makes a world of difference. To take time to understand and appreciate, honor and simply enjoy, adds a depth to life that is too easily stripped these days. La bella figura, la dolce vita, and all that jazz. Except that it's so very true and not just romantic.

My sister ordered a cake yesterday and had it delivered to the restaurant where we ate last night. It came wrapped in a beautiful box with handles (I always appreciate the attention to beautiful packaging in Italy!). Ol fell asleep at dinner though, so we simply brought the cake home and then took it to Checcino tonight.

The owners tenderly placed it in their fridge and then, when time, turned out all the lights in the restaurant, every single person sang and cheered "Auguri!" as Ol blew out his candle, and then our waiter served it so graciously. No one was put out. There was no fee for having brought a dessert rather than ordering one there. Time is taken to celebrate and honor the time and energy already invested.

So remarkable and something so worth trying to bring into our own lives.

A morning cappuccino at Brassai.

Spghetti with artichoke cream and mint. Bellissima! My dinner tonight.

Pasta e ceci (ditali with chickpeas and a lot of fresh rosemary; amazing)

Ol chose the five-cheese tasting plate for dinner. 

Jack and I are enormous fans of borlotti beans and so ordered a side in olive oil tonight. He loved them so much that he asked for another order to go. Checcino doesn't have take-away dishes and so prepared this adorable sealed bag o' borlotti for J. He was thrilled.