eggbeater

Sunday New York Times: July 20, 2008 {!}

This coming Sunday you may want to pick up the NY Times. Look for something written by the inimitable Amanda Hesser.
July 20, 2008.
It will be a special day indeed.
Well, for me, at any rate.

See you soon?

 

yuba river boyfriend.

after swim-exploring I found a rock to sit on.
for quite a while.
I was chatting with a new friend and an old friend.
then they swam away.
and I sat and sat and smiled and watched and took it all in.
children, parents, crazy teenagers, almost teenage girls giggling and whispering, heavily tattooed fellows with shorn heads and broad shoulders, one puppy carrying his own leash both swimming, kissing and whimpering, women in straw hats, siblings, vacationers and locals, glamorous swimmers and androgynous women... we were all there, laughing and chatting. friendly. content. amazed by our surroundings.

a young man appeared on a baby whale of a boulder and surveyed.
dressed all in camouflage, his bronzed young body and neat now hairstyle questioned an impending swim.
i looked up. disbelief that he had to think about getting in at all.

"what are you waiting for?" i called out to him. "the water is delicious!"
he stripped quickly and jumped in. there were deep spots, and yet each plunge someone made from a high surface stilled my breath for a few heartbeats.

in a few minutes he showed up on the top of the granite again.

"why aren't you swimming?" i questioned. teasing.
"i have no company," he said. i puzzled. i motioned to the empty flat slant of rock i sat on.
"can i join you?" i nodded.
in half a moment he was there too, beside me.

"no one is here with you? you come with anyone?" he was translating from Spanish to English.
"no one is here with me right now. did you come with anyone?" he points to two friends, at the top of the stairs, right next to the old bridge. one is a boy, one is not. neither are making any attempt to venture down sharp rocks.
"you have a boyfriend?" he asks suddenly, plainly. i laugh.
"no. you have a girlfriend?"
"no. you want to be my girlfriend?"
"i don't live here," i say, attempting to explain.
"you come here again?"
"i hope so."
"do you have a cell phone number?" now i can't keep up with explaining.
"maybe you can remember mine if i tell you?"
"i don't know when i'll be back. maybe one day..."
"which day?"
"August." i reply, stumbling.

"what day?"

-----
o to return to a simpler time,
when all one needed to get a boyfriend was a place in the sun, on a rock, in the water.

       summer.

Yuba River, California

The Yuba River

has changed me forever.

I am in awe.

my heart has been stretched and pulled

water, in all its green clarity

massive granite boulders

dimpled and sanded

rough & smooth

hot & dangerous

dynamic

beautiful.

I could not have designed a better place to swim, think, travel inward, see, visit, take part in,

and now know about. I will be back. Mark my words with an x on my heart.

anniversary.

three years. and yet the past is present and the present is empty.

there aren't any words. still.

and so i go away. in search of quiet. water. memory.

her.

once s'more, with feeling!

Michael Lee Willis, July 28, 1943 – April 24, 2007



About Michael Willis, aka Mike W.

About 12 years ago I moved to NYC from California. I went to California from New York to go to college for art. Right before I graduated from school I almost died in a car accident. About 6 months later I walked into the double a and am very grateful I never tried to do any more research.

A few months after I got sober I started cooking professionally. After a little over a year I was offered a job in NYC and went across the country again to live and work in my home town, but with a completely new outlook.

Moving in sobriety is said to make people like newcomers again. I was looking for any group I could feel comfortable in and met a sober cook who told me about St. Luke’s. Unfortunately she called it this, which was its nick name, and it took me a little while to find The Greenwich Village Group.

Members of St. Luke’s took me in as family right away and pretty soon I met Mike W. through Irene M. Anyone recommended by Irene was a good person, I soon came to find out.

Feeling like a newcomer still from the move, I tried to find a sponsor right away. About 6 months and three women, all with over 10 years each, later, I was bereft that I could not find a sponsor who wanted to sponsor me.

One night, a night I hope to never forget, I was standing outside of St. Luke’s crying. Not mild mannered crying, but I-can’t-stop-crying-even-if-it-means-looking-ridiculous crying.

Mike W., in his quiet and loving way, asked me what was the matter. I sputtered something to the pathetic effect of, “No one will sponsor me. I feel like I have to go out and drink to prove that I am the newcomer I feel like I am to get someone to sponsor me. I have just had three sponsors in a row who all left me. I don’t know what to do.”

Mike W. held out his right arm, which, in the dark and with his signature overcoat, looked like he was inviting me to step into his heart and home.

“Come here,” he said quietly.

While he stood there and held me he said,

“Well I don’t know if I can be your sponsor, but I will never leave you.”

And there began my best ever sponsorship experience.

Mike W. and I had a lot on common. Things which were not so obvious on the surface, but we proved to be a good team and match for many years.

Mike W. taught me what it was like to rely on someone who was reliable. He was always as busy or busier than me, but he was honest about it and if I needed a call back he always would, no matter where he was geographically.

And when, almost 3 years later, I was packing up my New York life to go back to Northern California for what would be the most important job of my career, he reminded me that I could call anytime, still.

Mike knew about my career and its demands. And he was the first person in the double a to support me wholeheartedly in it. A professional cook is surrounded by a lot of alcohol and people who rely on mood- altering substances. Cooking is not a 40 hour week and, both because of his own profession and his not-so-secret love affair with fine dining restaurants and their chef-owners, he understood the pressure I was under more than anyone who was not in the field.

Mike never judged my choices or lack thereof.

In fact Mike taught me an invaluable lesson as my sponsor. One that I can say saved my life, then, and still.

Soon after moving back to NYC I met a woman I would date, who was also sober. Soon after we moved in together she became violent and I left her, our home, and the relationship. Unfortunately we shared St. Luke’s as a Homegroup, and although I stayed away from those meetings for a while, I went back one night when I felt safe enough to do so.

Mike was right there with me, as my witness and friend. In the course of the meeting it became apparent that St. Luke’s, as a group, was far from supportive, and was not, in fact, a safe haven for me.

But I was confused and scared and shaken and could not see the forest through the trees.

Mike became angry for me. And he said I was not to go back there. He was angry at the group too, and didn’t return for many years as well.

When we’re new in the double a, our self esteem is not yet fully formed. Many of us walk into the double a  with negative self-esteem and it can take years to build up something that looks at all reasonable.

And anger is considered a dangerous emotion in the double a  because it is said to “take out” a lot of people. Self righteous anger fuels a lot of rationalization for terrifically bad behavior in people who abuse mood-altering substances.

But Mike became angry for me until I could feel again and be angry myself. And he was always there for me so I was not just an angry mass free floating through space without direction. He supported and guided me, the way a great sponsor does, if you have the right one for you.

When someone knows your story they become part of you. They are your memory when you forget. They love you when you dislike yourself utterly.

Michael Willis was generous to a fault. His love and acceptance and words and guidance and love stayed me on a course sound and purposeful even when life turned itself upside-down and inside-out on me.

Knowing, loving, hugging, relying on, asking questions of, receiving guidance from and generally watching, listening and being around Michael Willis enriched my life and he will never stop inspiring me.

Thank you for your never leaving me, Mike W. I love you.

How To Make Snickerdoodles!

You all have been waiting soooo patiently!

You've been teased.

And promised.

And tempted.

And some of you have even taken nibbles.

But now.

Right now.

I have a recipe, method, step-by-step instruction and photos,

and

if you live close by

you could even taste one.

Follow the bowl of swirling cinnamon sugar

to Simply Recipes where I'm guest authoring.

SNICKERDOODLES.

                     /and you thought the day would never arrive. awww. i keeps my promises!

rose petal tea & tisane

a number of years ago an old friend gifted me with one of the most evocative, delightful teas i had the pleasure of experiencing. it came in a small, silver square tin and inside there was loose black tea and pink rose petals.

i have quite a thing for black tea, as you know, but up until that moment, and the Mariage Freres she would also introduce me to, i was a mere novice, drinking strong bags from England and Ireland, always having a box of Twinings Earl Grey on hand, thinking it was the most flavourful. {little did i know!}

rachel's gift of rose tea came from Takashimaya, an austere Japanese department store on Fifth Avenue in NYC.

a few weeks ago i had the pleasure of sharing the most stunning glass teapot filled with whole rose tisane at bar JULES in san francisco. 

all dried roses and rose petals are not created equal. like dried herbs and spices, their aroma is volatile and will not keep for much more than 6 months at the intensity they once had when freshly dried. (and all dried herbs and spices are irradiated in the USA unless specifically stated otherwise. this process wipes out a lot of the flavours/scents you want in dried herbs and spices.)

at bar JULES i noticed a large dark pink Mariage Freres tin and guessed that this was where our lovely pot's roses came from. i thought it quizzical since there's a fantastic source for dried roses and rose petals, in bulk, in san francisco, at Rainbow Grocery. at my last job i had the magical pleasure of using dried rose petal dust mixed with ground cassia cinnamon from a woman named Kathy FitzHenry who has a local company called juliet mae. it went especially well with a moroccan ground almond "crust" i made for a lebne cheesecake.

many people don't love the taste of flavours that hail from flowers because of their inherent perfume qualities. but rose petals and buds are much more subtle than rose water, oil, or even infusing with fresh rose geranium. look at the tea in the photograph. it's so barely pink it could be an illusion.

i might not need to say this but, unfortunately, i feel i must:

never use roses, dried or fresh, that you are not absolutely certain are not sprayed. roses, because they have been bred a million ways, are treated heavily with carcinogenic chemicals. if you are making a rose infusion with pesticide and fungicide laden flowers, you will promptly ingest those chemicals.

one of the most delicious desserts i had the honor to prepare and serve of claudia fleming's when i worked for her at gramercy tavern was a bowl of warmed blackberries with fresh rose petal cream. it was summer, perfectly. scents, color, temperature.

bold and deep, light and heady.

exquisite.

blind date.

nervous.
o, what to wear.
too hot outside.
clean the house.
thoroughly.
why?
something to do with all that strange energy.

blind dates are brave.

pick the restaurant.
second guess the choice a hundred times.
don't want to go someplace where everyone and the dishwasher know me.
or have crush on chef. or baker.
but want delicious food.
nervous.
giddy.
hot. oppressively so.

what if
it's dreadful,
feels too long,
can't get away fast enough?

but it's none of the above.
lovely.
more under the surface than one might know from a glance.
east coast. Jersey.
fishes. fly & sea.
freckles. and Jewish.
musician too.
has no tv, although has watched the Sopranos.
strong. works with hands.
this is important to me.
an upstart, too!

orders goat, i get porchetta.

it's an unexpected pleasure.
i like meeting new people.

an exceptional extra ordinary Royal Blenheim apricot sorbet sat between us.
tiny butter cookie speckled with polenta, sea salt and a raw sugar.
    yes, please.

and just to prove how small a world is.
we know someone in common.
someone i've known since my childhood.
Polly Frizzell. through bluegrass.
go figure.

walked away tingly.
not knowing, no.
but taking in the moment, experience.
have had a lot of dead end crushes lately,
would rather
    stolen kisses
    something to think about besides baked goods.
not that baked goods aren't fun. they are.

but it's summer.
and yes, there's also stone fruit, and bush berries, and coconut cream pie, and hot biscuits and ice cream and shorts and river swims and
everyone is out and about
looking good.
i'm looking for delicious people.
if you know anyone,
registration is now open.
xo

Have you ever made pastry cream at home?

Creme Patissiere anyone?
With flour? Cornstarch?
Whole eggs? Just yolks?

While there are a number of recipes online, I couldn't find one I loved the explanation for the method of.
Do you have one you always follow?

    p.s. this is research so I can give you a recipe you've asked about... 

berries berries berries everywhere.

if you had too many bush berries on your hands, what would you do with them?

feel free to point me to your favorite recipes...

merci!

Live, from The Farm, it's Shuna fish.

here i am.

it was great to wake up way after 4 am today. and watch babette eat, slow and methodically, a baby rabbit after our walk Saturday evening, and {me, myself} eat 2 fat and supple figs from the fig church, and see an entire bowl of Santa Rosa plums on the dining room table, and notice an orchard ladder next to a few fruit trees, and look down on the Napa River at dusk, and look forward to a day of nothingness interspersed with long walks with the dogs. especially after a week of 10 hour baking days starting at 5 am.