vacation

It smelled of coffee and toast when I first opened my eyes this morning. The bright sun and cool California air streaming in through the cracked window made me aware that I had actually slept through the whole night, a rare comfort these days. HusBen and I arrived in San Francisco on Saturday and have been continuously eating and drinking since we landed. Prosciutto, ricotta, basil, and fig on French bread at Fatted Calf. Hazelnut pound cake with black mission figs and honey Chantilly with a Whizbang (scotch, vermouth, grenadine, absinthe, and bitters) at Bar Agricole. Sliced mangalica ham and melon with gooseberries and warm bread at Tartine. Wine on a blanket in the park with good friends. Brown sugar ice cream with caramel and ginger swirl at Bi-Rite creamery. Sherry ice cream with roasted figs and pralined almonds at Chez Panisse in Berkeley. Too much. But just the right amount of too much to call it vacation.

I am appreciating sitting still and sipping slowly this vacation. After a few days in San Francisco with my best friend Paige, her boyfriend Steve, and our friend Chandra from Houston, HusBen and I snuck off to Napa for a little vacation within our vacation—as sometimes I tend to overbook fun in the city—and now I really feel separated enough from our busy lives to calm down. “Calm down:” a good piece of advice I can take full stock of in this place (and hopefully return home with the ability to do as well). Removed from our school/work/obligations, I realize how thankful I am that we are privileged with such future careers, but also grateful for a step back from them sometimes. Just to pay attention to each other. And sleep.

More to come in the way of pictures (yes, mostly of food and yes, some are from my Instagram) but here are some starters…

Cheers ya'll,

H

tuesday and pizza and passion

I have a lot of energy. I want to label it “passion,” but I fear it may be—more than occasionally—a product of nerves unbridled. I am just so excited about my future, about the plan I have idealized, but also entirely insecure about my ability to carry it out, that my zeal seems overtly spastic (despite the claimed clarity of it all in my head).

I just finished the 2^nd season of this show called The Killing. The main character (or the one I like the most anyway) becomes obsessed—and I mean truly forgetting-to-eat-and-sleep obsessed—with solving the murder presented in the first episode. She continually finds herself in trouble (physical, mental, and occasionally legal) for failing to heed the guidance of authority or concern for self.

I rethink my “energy” when I watch this show. I do not want to focus so obsessively on my future that I lose tact with the present. Right now is exciting. Right now merits my attention as well. Right now is a gift.

You know what is also a gift? Tuesdays. They follow Monday. Which only means anything at all if you had Sunday off. But if you did, you appreciate Tuesday. I usually appreciate Tuesdays because they mean grilled pizza. We get together with these couple friends of ours and attempt an effort at focusing our minds up to God for a moment, in between grilled pizza and a cocktail, for good conversation and eternal-type moments. Now you should understand why I like Tuesdays…and the present. 

Here's the run-down: buy or make a fabulous crust. Heat up your grill while you make a cocktail. Throw the crust on the grill. Flip it then top it with things you like (last time this meant crumbled blue cheese, crisped prosciutto, arugula and honey). Serve it with another cocktail...and more good conversation.

Grilled Peach Ice Cream with Gingersnap and Caramel

At some point in my elementary school education, my mom thought it a wise idea to sign me up for sewing camp. You are probably stooped as to what “sewing camp” could actually entail but let me please just remind you that a) I am from a small town and b) obviously sewing is a marketable skill for women these days (oh wait, maybe its not). My mom would drop me off each day with my sac lunch and sewing tool box and I would belly up to a table with a bunch of other girls whose moms thought this was a good use of summer. We took direction from little old ladies as our machines buzzed and we chatted and I actually do recall kind of getting into it (okay, I admit I liked it). We made pouches and pajama pants and a few other non-essentials, but more importantly, we learned how to sew. We learned how to create. We perpetuated this lost art of homemaking that somehow our career-driven has opted to drown out.

husBen left for Michigan on Wednesday to join his family at their lake house so I have been flying solo all week. I have mostly busied myself working then hanging out with friends each night (thanks for taking care of my time good friends) so as not to slip into quiet solitude (which I occasionally don’t mind doing, but could produce in me an antisocial indulgence if I habituate myself in the practice for too long). Finally reaching some free time on Friday night, I lugged out my sewing machine and plopped it down on the dining room table with good intention to tailor a dress that I wanted to wear out; I had committed to “go out” with my kid brother on a Friday night, which meant I had to wait around til 11 o’clock when these freshly post-grad kids deem it finally acceptable to begin their night. 

My sewing machine is ancient, but still functional. I just stared at it initially, wondering if I really even remembered how to use it. Then my hands grabbed the thread and then with some sort of intrinsic guidance, began to trace it around the necessary twists and turns in order to load it (the muscle memory involved in this task truly amazed me, that somehow the recesses of my brain stored this information as valuable and allowed me to recall it). I appreciated my mom in that moment for forcing my skinny awkward elementary school self into such a thing as sewing camp.

To further my home-skills this week, I also made some ice cream. I recently saw a recipe for homemade vanilla in Bon Appétit and thought I ought to jazz it up a bit. The basic recipe for Vanilla is below but feel free to doctor it up as you please!

Grilled Peach Ice Cream with Gingersnap and Caramel

Combine 1 1/2 cups heavy cream, 1 cup whole milk, 1/4 cup sugar, and a pinch of kosher salt in a medium saucepan. Split 1/2 vanilla bean lengthwise and scrape in seeds; add pod (or use 1 teaspoon vanilla extract). Bring mixture just to a simmer, stirring to dissolve sugar. Remove from heat. If using vanilla bean, cover; let sit 30 minutes. Whisk 5 large egg yolks and 1/4 cup sugar in a medium bowl until pale, about 2 minutes. Gradually whisk in 1/2 cup warm cream mixture. Whisk yolk mixture into remaining cream mixture. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until thick enough to coat a wooden spoon, 2–3 minutes. Strain custard into a medium bowl set over a bowl of ice water; let cool, stirring occasionally. Process custard in an ice cream maker according to manufacturer's instructions.

(Straight from BA, August 2013)

I made the above recipe then…

Grind 2 cups of gingersnaps and 1 tube of almond paste in a food processor until it resembles sand.

Slice 3 firm peaches and soak in a bowl with 2 tablespoons Amaretto liquer, ½ teaspoon cinnamon, 1 tablespoon brown sugar and a pinch of salt. Grill on a grill pan rubbed with butter for about 2 minutes on each side (over medium-high heat).

Layer your homemade vanilla ice cream with alternating layers of gingersnap crumbs and the grilled peaches. Serve drizzled with warm caramel sauce. Share with people you love. 

BLT re-efforted

I sometimes say I am non-emotional (in effort to bolster a self image of toughness), but in reality, I have just given myself inadequate time to react emotionally to any current situation. It is more a failure to process/stiff of reflection than a confession of my true nature. I believe that an emotionally intelligent person should be able to discern when it is more important to take something for its utilitarian value than to emotionally react to it; on the converse, a humanely-intact person should be able to gauge with sensitivity the value of the emotional underpinnings of life. Whether towards friend or foe, family member or lover, we must take stock of the personally unique perspective from which we operate and the effect of our emotional bias on others.  

These thoughts—of how I should perceive my current busyness—only surface through free time (appreciation/processing requires an extra minute after all). This weekend I took that free time. On my run Saturday morning, I heard the hum of cicadas and the energetic squawk of seagulls. I tasted the salt in the air. I tangibly felt my muscles burning and was aware for the first time in awhile of physical fatigue. I felt waves of the gulf hit my ankles and walked amongst shells on a quiet beach. I took stock of the people around me and felt lucky. Even throughout our busy lives we are blessed, if only we can take one extra minute to remember that.

I cooked a little too. I tried to recreate this recipe (http://www.halfbakedharvest.com/avocado-and-gouda-blt-corn-fritter-stacks-with-chipotle-bourbon-dressing/) for lunch Saturday and I can say that mine was not nearly as aesthetically pleasing but maybe as tasty. This dish is rich, and would perhaps be better served as an appetizer. Regardless, I was just happy to be in the kitchen around friends and without agenda for a good 24 hours.

Avocado and Gouda BLT on Corn Fritters with Chipotle Bourbon dressing