transitions

I've just come back from vacation in Chile and I feel intangible. As though wafting through. It's rather pleasant.


The opening up of the mind and returning to San Francisco where I like the air, the welcomeness of riding my bike, a dance class and I think: Maybe this is it. Maybe I have it. The feeling passes, or settles, or slides off, but it lightens me. Maybe it is only ever a feeling, not a state achievable. Love and a home. I feel improbable, and infinitely fortunate.

how our garden does grow

Hooray for summer, for green beans and fresh potatoes! I will freely confess: While I knew a fresh potato to be an exceptionally delicious thing to eat, I had no idea how much fun they would be to harvest. (Yes, I am the smallest of small-scale farmer/gardeners. No, I do not romanticize farm life. My mother grew up on a working dairy farm. I have already heard all about it. Now, let us move on.) Potatoes are fun to harvest because you have to stick your hand deep into the soil and then feel around, thinking: Is there a potato here? How big will it be? Oo, is that one? No, that's a stone. More dirt. Oh, wait!! A potato!!! It is better than finding Easter eggs, and much better than panning for gold, because when you are done, you get to cook and eat delicious potatoes!

my latest motto

(this wonderful print was done by Molly Meng)

oh scone, oh scone

Let me tell you about this scone. 

Actually, to begin my life with the beginning of my life, let me tell you about my relationship with scones. I definitely ate scones growing up. Those dry, crumbly triangular things you can find at most cafes. They didn't tend to taste like much and they usually had cranberries in them. The first time I had a life-changing scone experience (understatement is for other people) was in Kraków, Poland. I was at a little potluck party, and a Scottish fellow brought scones he'd made and, significantly, clotted cream. Spare a moment, if you can, to pity the poor me who, until the wise age of twenty-three, had never known the joys of clotted cream. What is this? I remember asking. And then eating. A lot. From that day forward, I had a different idea about scones. The scones, as I recall, were less dry, less tired-seeming than the scones to which I'd been accustomed. But it was the addition of clotted cream that did me in.

Picture me now, cozy in San Francisco, coming home from a late Saturday morning run to find two trays of scones being pulled from the oven. My housemate Tim has recently taken up baking (as if he needed to be more charming), much to everyone's delight. So there they were, these scones. Tim made them from the Cheeseboard cookbook. They have lots of things in them, including blueberries, buttermilk, and heavy cream. And pure joy. These are the best scones I have ever had. In my life. I don't know how to tell you this. They were so good, I not only didn't want clotted cream, I didn't add butter. I can think of no higher praise.

representing it visually

At a recent party at my house, I overheard two people, who hadn't known one another previously, begin an animated conversation over their shared enthusiasm for carpentry and table-making. There were so many people who didn't know each other. I am always wanting to introduce people and particularly those with overlapping areas of interest. I began a kind of Venn diagram on the chalk board in my kitchen of people and the things they liked, experiences they'd had, qualities they possessed. Then I let everyone else take it over. (pictured here) 

I would not describe this as a functional image, necessarily. No doubt there are far more elegant and scannable ways of displaying the same content visually. But it was a lot of fun to make and to puzzle out later. I've dubbed it a disinformation graphic, which is amusing but not quite apt. Perhaps a hermeneutic circle of a party? I'll accept suggestions.

stampede of approval

English muffins from scratch? New housemate Jay is ace.

why not, indeed

My housemate Annabel asked me over dinner, "Why don't we dance everyday?" and I said "I don't know"  to which she replied "We do!"

cauliflower cake

Who even knew there was such a thing? I love my home. Kristin made this for dinner tonight, and it was scrumptious. And so fluffy! And it held its texture so well, just look!

Am I the luckiest girl on the block? It's arguable.

stone fruit

I'll admit it: left to my own devices, I would have taken the lazy route. I've have had a few epic failures in the past whenever that have shaken my faith in my ability to bake sweet treats, and so I was planning on just showing up and paying the $5 at Omnivore's stone fruit cooking contest. For such crises of confidence as these, however, the right housemate at the right time is the best if not only remedy. Micah was so jazzed at the thought of this competition that, mere minutes after emerging from his bedroom, he scaled a tree all monkey-like and tossed plums into a bowl below held aloft by yrs truly. 

In a quick hour and a half, he whipped up an Italian pistachio plum cake and plum compote (both vegan). Kristin & I assisted. We cabbed it over to Noe (time was of the essence!) and entered. 

What I love about Omnivore's food contests is that they're community-judged, so you get to eat everything and cast your vote. Which also means that you get to eat everything:

We didn't win, but I'm claiming for us an unofficial third place (they only announced the first and second place winners, so really, who's to gainsay me?).

holiday

I have too much to say. I was asked today, what were the three highlights of your trip? I thought that was a good question. "Tell me about your trip" is so broad, and "what was the best thing" is so narrow. A perfect solution, no, but a nice middle way. Yet without a doubt, the main highlight was seeing my good friends. Deeply affirming. People who've known you a long time remind you who you are. I think a lot about Florence, where I could in ten or fifteen minutes walk to the house of anyone I wanted to see. I missed a lot of my friends in the states, of course, but while I was there, all of my friends there were so conveniently located. Someday I'll found a town. It'll be an invitation-only town, a curated town. Only people I like. If you're reading this, the odds are pretty good that you'll be invited to come live there. (Say yes.)

More details shortly.

updates from the garden

It's been a while since I last showed off my garden, and now it's springtime (more or less) in San Francisco. My kale had lost it's mind:

Basically, it's trying to make babies. I keep cutting it back and it keeps growing back. It is rather persistent, licentious kale.

I have some nice new plants, as well. Baby arugula, baby broccoli raab,

 

some burgundy beans that seem to be quite happy in the world so far, 

a tiny chili plant for whom I have high hopes, 

and of course, tarragon and rosemary. Mmm...

As a decidedly inexpert and wildly inexperienced gardener, I grow these plants with water, sun, and a hell of a lot of optimism. We'll see how we do.

saturday

No one deserves to be this lucky. Certainly not me. But isn't it nice (sometimes) that we don't just get what we deserve in life? Things would be pretty harsh otherwise, I think.

I woke up this morning with no plans, and stumbled my way into an invitation to brunch with my downstairs neighbors. I offered to provide something, but ultimately only made coffee. And I got to eat the most gorgeous frittata,

 

and a beautiful tortilla español, fabulous apple wood smoked salmon from the Alemany farmer's market, sweet potatoes, fresh bread with blackberry/lemon jam from Blue Chair, and to sit and talk (and listen! I was doing some listening!) with a bunch of enthnomusicologists and mathematicians about music and USAmerican foreign policy and the Arabic love of puns.

And then I went back upstairs to find everyone making kimchi. Let it be known: Kristin is an amazing pickler of vegetables. I did very little, besides chop some ginger (and of course, all the photo-documentation). In case I had been feasted enough, we feasted! (Yes, that's right, John made biscuits again!) And then we watched The Philadelphia Story. Does no one agree with me that Katharine Hepburn & Jimmy Stewart should end up together? They have so much chemistry! And she and Carry Grant just don't do it for me. Sigh.

just another reason why I love my home

bless that John. The man sure can make a fluffy biscuit.  

Good mushroom gravy, too.

himmel

Tonight was attempt #2 at Bavarian Pretzels. Using this recipe and some food-grade lye I'd ordered on the internet, I made immensely delicious (if not perfectly Bavarian) pretzels. So tasty! Aesthetically, there is a bit of room for improvement, and next time I would prefer it if they don't stick quite so much to the baking tray. Sadly, no photos. I was first very busy cooking and second very busy eating. Too bad. Images of me clad in elbow-length gloves while dipping the pretzels – very quickly – in the water/lye solution would have, no doubt, been humorous. Some other time, perhaps. I will make these again. I will double the recipe.

let me see your sushi roll

because I won't show you mine. Saturday was great. It finally didn't rain for a bit, and so I got to go for my run. Then I went to see the Emigre exhibition at Gallery 16. Pretty nifty stuff. The clear highlight for me, exhibition-wise, was the booklet of love letters. Histrionic and erudite and dripping with the purplest of prose, it was a surprising and fun way to show off and market various Emigre fonts. Laugh out loud funny, at least for yours truly, and so pleasing to the eye.

Then in the pm my dearly beloved downstairs neighbors threw a sushi-rolling birthday party for a Japanese ex-pat accordion player. What's not to love? People brought just about every good thing to roll into the sushi, there were massive and intimidating pots of rice, and plentiful beverages. Well. Didn't I just have a good time. My serious failure for the evening, however, was in rolling the sushi. Like the true beginner I was (am), I got too excited and tried to put everything in one roll: mango, crab, avocado, cucumber, and probably a couple other more things. It was, ultimately, delicious and unstable. I think I ended up with three pieces that held together and could be identified as sushi. The rest exploded all over the plate upon slicing. But so very tasty. Then, live music and a little dancing. The company wasn't bad, either.

Sunday was quite a decent sequel. Yummy brunch, though I say it myself, and in the evening, free concert from the Conspiracy of Beards, an all-male Leonard Cohen a capella choir.

beer!

Always extraordinary housemate Kristin began brewing beer today. What a wonderful thing to wake up to on a Sunday. While we cannot yet drink the beer (oh waiting, you are never my friend), the smell – a jumble of bread baking, tea steeping, and well, beer – wafted down the hall in the most wonderful way all afternoon.

Meanwhile, 10 points to Lea for describing the hops, which I likened to rabbit pellets, as "astronaut beer." It's got to be better than Tang.

somewhat mystifying but decidedly aromatic bag of things which compose beer

so refined

incredibly buttery cookies.  I barely helped – all credit goes to Kristin and Natanya, the true bakers.  These cookies were fabulous; I continue to find their shape utterly nonsensical.

strawberry and olallieberry jam, raspberry jam, and marmelade

Why the long spoon?  Well may you ask.  It seems to have become our go-to piece of whimsy. 

let the seasons begin

the leaves have finally decided to change color.  Almost overnight, San Francisco has decided it's fall.  Never mind that it's December; the calendar's just a construct and it's not much use in this town, anyway.  I get ready for my first snowless winter in a few years.  I still have all the accessories, but really these hats, scarves, and mittens, they're decorative in this town.  A comforting reminder of how cold it isn't.  But to see my breath.  To blow air on my dry and reddened fingers, waiting for the light to change.  My cold ears unprotected by my bike helmet.  Singing down the street, dark and echoing.  It's it's own kind of winter.

home away from

I hadn't had an American Thanksgiving in two years.  Last year in Munich, I succeeded in putting on a pretty decent dinner, turkey and all.  Sure, I mucked up the gravy, but everything else was good, and I introduced some Germans to the wonders of stuffing. Easily one of the more grown-up and adult accomplishments of my life to date.  Much more preferable, however, to throw it all out the window and down the drain and revert wonderfully to childhood where my mother cooks fiendishly and won't let anyone step in the kitchen.  (I've extracted a promise that I'll be allowed to help out next year).  I got fed endlessly for four days and was reminded of all I loathe and dread about the suburbs.  At about 11pm, with my dad in the living room watching Fox, the dog snoring on the floor, the rest of the house in bed and me lying on the couch in the front room, reading a novel and day-dreaming with the other half of my brain I thought this could have happened a decade ago.  And did. 

Still, it's not all housing developments and quiet desperation.  On Saturday I went for an outing with my Mom; we started at  Snow's Citrus Court, a small family orchard in Newcastle (a neighboring suburb to the one I was raised in, Orangevale, no longer a vale particularly noted for its oranges) where we bought Satsuma mandarins and some mandarin-based marinades.

persimmons out to dry 

Then, we went for a stroll through some recently reclaimed open space. 

We ended with wine tasting at Mt. Vernon Winery, which had been wildly successful (especially relative to it size) at the most recent California State Fair, and makes, among other whimsical blends, a "Girly Man" Syrah.  I'm not a fan of the governator but it's a tasty red.  You can keep your Napa and your Sonoma.  At the little wineries in Placer and Amador counties, tasting is free and refreshingly devoid of snobbery. 

I returned to my apartment to find my housemate John making pizzas from scratch.  I know, you're sick of hearing it: I love my home.

glorious

Cha-Ya kind of blew my mind Saturday night.  Then on Sunday there was

(beet and apple pizza with ricotta)

 and

and 

and a really gorgeous pumpkin pie that I stupidly forgot to take a picture of. 

And that's only the food.