eggbeater

/i have a crush on you

place i call home
someone in california i've never met
person whose words stay with me, tucked safe, all day. following me like faeries, inquisitive, flirtatious, firey, expansive, temptive.
i have always had a crush on you, red headed girl
city i used to live in and live in again but you're a different city now
red bicycle
fellow who knows and has always known and may always know but who i'll never kiss
farmer and keeper of land and dogs and swimming hole i know as well as my body
Yorkshire girl collecting evidence, wearing pink shoes and being a fierce friend for 20 years this october
co-pastry chef one and also two
treehouse i left behind
succulents
family i've come to know who speak a hundred languages and live where the Eurostar takes a turn
i have a crush on you
s.s. you know who you are. you have a different name and so do i. you write long letters and aren't afraid of my words.
i have a crush on you chocolatey spicy deep taste of freshly roasted ground and espresso'd and hot milked coffee
Bonsoy soy milk
pastry chef camaraderie
Mentoring
inspiring
Neal's Yard Paddy & Rob whom i've never met but whose voices i drink once a week
i have a crush on you
girl with music at her fingertips and an Unlikely name
married bois and that one from Canada who makes me blush when we play Bridge
and you
silver haired LA boyfox who conjured and pulled me here, upon his lifeboat, and fed me delicious cakes and could see my path even when i can't because my eyes are muddy
azo. always i will love you. always i will be seen by you. always i will believe you'll come back down to earth
cb. you are big and bigger and also i remember when your father threw the salad out the window. i will visit that bench in central park and remember our first kiss.
i have a crush on you number four because you're orange and,     well... so there.
bw. because i will never be able to tell you. your brother is a close second because he's so much you, and yet completely opposite.
yes, i know you think it's silly but i have a crush on you aj and your pink tie and practical nature and mostly i love that you give gm what he never would have taken from anyone else. not even me.
i have big long-standing crushes on you euro boys in shepherd's bush who have made me rabbit stew and the best aubergine i have ever had. i love your open open hearts
i have a crush on you hp because you have allowed me to reach in and pull out gently what was there always.
rgl. you are brave in ways you may never realize.
db, of course.
aw who used to be ab with the longest double word score name. you have known me since before i could look back at the person in the mirror
i have a crush on you
ok. your grace stunned me when i walked into your kitchen. i will never be the chef i was before i met you. i know something else now because of you. i know another side of integrity and sharing. and no matter how scared the people i work with are in my future, i will remember how you shared and opened all your doors to me. even though you knew very well what i was doing there.
and you mr x. thank you for being my ally and for teaching me about why Hobarts are the best stand mixers in the world.
i have a crush on you dl from Israel with your scratchy tough exterior and bold tone. you're straight and you'll never see my eyes but i see you. and felt honoured to be on your team.
i have a crush on you ah and tmp because you have years yet to know your power behind the stove. i hope i get to see you tear that cocoon apart and stand as tall as your dna made you.
i have a crush on you too d. spratt and not just for your surname! you knew my name and said it aloud. you saw me and placed me there, even though you don't know it.
i have a crush on you: my Bridge game. because i get to conjure everything my mother taught me, but have the time to learn now.
roy. your camp is infectious. your love of baking is physical, literal, body. it is not about fame but about the alchemy of butter meeting flour and marrying inexplicably, tenderly. your humour is silly but when it comes to the kitchen you swim seamlessly with moving tide and undertow alike.
i have a crush on you new york city, to whom i am about to return. to whom i am indebted to for pages and libraries of adventures, original crushes, heartbreaks, delicious tastes and bitter grief.
i might even have a crush on you u n c e r t a i n t y
because you continue to teach me to put one foot in front of the other even though the horizon is obscured, let alone any forest.
i have a crush on you
life.
even though i never thought i'd say that.
you give unrelentlessly,
everything.
and i have a choice
to pick it up, fold it carefully, and hold it close
if i so choose.
i have a crush on you
heart.
because you remind me i am who i have always been and no amount of hardening
will make you wooden.
will stop you from beating
and having crushes
on you.

favorite ingredients

demerara sugar
eggs
love
buckwheat flour
butter
honesty
inquisitiveness
rosemary
lima salt
bacon fat
espresso
humour
Jersey milk
cold water
freshly ground black pepper
goat yogurt
cocoa nibs
desire to learn
pink peppercorns
Madagascar vanilla beans
fennel seeds
patience
passion
humility
the ability to say a sorry you mean
beef bone marrow
crab
chocolate egg creams
leeks
Scharffen Berger milk chocolate
peach leaves
Royal Blenheim apricots
rhubarb
mangoes
passion
butter caramel
puff pastry
deep breaths
diplomacy
wet green peppercorns
lemon zest
orange blossom honey
mastic
strong black tea
homemade soy sauce
corn on the cob
roasted red peppers
overcooked broccoli
mama
family
research
Jane Grigson
Laurie Colwin
cherry blossoms
the scent of hay
cumulus clouds
roasted chicken
Little Gem lettuces
quince
sun warmed blackberries in August
wild blueberries
hazelnuts
kisses
French Horns
memories
egg bagels
red cabbage
fresh horseradish
playing bridge until 4 am
old school Adidas
holding hands
bicycling down a steep hill
sauteed foie gras
raw clams on a New York boardwalk
Coney Island
juniper berries
fresh blackcurrants
young ginger
asking questions
cardamon
jaggery
oats
thick cold tart yogurt
Meyer lemons
marmalade
crushes
sharp knives
baby offset spatulas
camaraderie
the banana song
homemade marshmallows
Yiddish
haroset
hip hop
raw fennel
eggplant/aubergine
canneles
bee's wax
persimmons
eating fruit off trees
Black Mission figs
mud pies
postcards
words
Sharpies
absorbent side towels
typewriters
silver quenelling spoons
stainless steel saucepans
parchment paper
lust
silpats
the color orange
sailors
unrequited love
novels
farmer's markets
craft
dark chocolate
leaf gelatin
green almonds
nocino
asking for help
golden raisins
rosewater
pistachios, untoasted
ripe tomatoes
the scent of rice on steam, cooking in your house
sesame oil
pomegranate seeds
soft brown sugar
hot porridge at dawn when there's snow falling outside
Thanksgiving dinner during the first week of November
flirting
compliments & complements
lobster
smoked fish
heirloom apples
dogs running through open fields
green olives
bread baking
brown butter
whisks
crushes
Santa Rosa plums
okra
tears
love letters
Doyenne du Comice pears
taking chances
having faith
walking through our fears
roux
Lyle's Golden Syrup
Damson plums
Meadowsweet pannacotta
sober sex
shallot-morel-puff pastry tart
black truffle
grapefruit
making new friends
teaching
learning
train trips
toasted English muffins
peeled chestnuts
whole roasted young fava beans
Muhammara
rolling pins
young coconut
forbidden black rice
confidence
seeded watermelon
green, opalescent fleshed H'aogen melons
pumpkin pie
sleep
vivid dreams
asking 'Why'
red quinoa
helping the most important person in your life die
walking through grief
Mara de Bois strawberries
scallops
swimming in the ocean
moving great distances
knitting
jokes you laugh at while telling them
corniness
adventures
loving
being loved
not being afraid of difference
redefining success
apologizing
watering all the plants on the same day
watching an orchid take weeks to blossom and stay for months
baths
organizing memorials
honey roasted peanuts
eating freshly churned ice cream off the spatula
adding baking soda to caramel and watching it froth up, turn opaque and later break it open and see why they named it Honeycomb, or Hokey Pokey
burning fingertips on tuiles
making lists
showing up for the hard stuff
surviving
glitter
a tongue on the inside of an elbow
torching meringue
raking leaves
lemon juice
hot fudge sauce
cucumbers
hot chorizo
padron peppers sauteed in olive oil and drenched in sea salt, eaten out of a black cast iron skillet
biscuits made with hand rendered lard
buttermilk
elderberry cordial
limes
gingerbread cake
yellow peaches
the desire to live.

silence does not make the heart grow fonder.

I've ignored you, eggbeater.
I've ignored you, people who read eggbeater.
I'm sorry.
It's for a lot of reasons. None of them good. Or explanatory. Or accurate. Or inaccurate.
All of them rationalizations. None of them valid. All of them murky.
But I'm going to make a list.
Maybe that will help.
I love lists. They usually help. Except when they don't.

The Why I Have Been Ignoring Eggbeater. A List.
          Of Reasons. Possible and Accurate and Ridiculous All.
 ~out of tune drumroll please

`
working too many hours.
feeling heartbroken.
spending too much time dispelling wantonly on twitter.
needing sleep.
cleaning the house. thoroughly.
having a houseguest from oakland.
working too many shifts.
not cooking at home.
not taking a lot of photos.
feeling blue. and cerulean.
making long phone calls to the states.
not making enough phone calls to the states.
taking care of best friends falling apart.
feeling like i live in legal/illegal limbo.
having to hide the names of the places i work/have worked.
thinking that eggbeater doesn't give you what other food blogs give you.
moving to a new country.
wishing i knew more about technology and feeling behind the times.
wanting to re-design eggbeater and not feeling like i have the time or know-how.
not eating enough fruit and vegetables in season.
not understanding how British seasons work.
having a secret relationship as i was losing my first job.
having extreme difficulty navigating the personal-political-managerial egos of my new workplace.
having constant foot-in-mouth disease.
believing the things recent ex said about americans.
being caught up in inordinate drama with the ex and his profound narcissism. (self procalimed: i'm not saying anything he didn't say about himself)
feeling pressure to give recipes recipes recipes.
not feeling like recipes mean much.
being terrified friends of mine here and in states were going to kill themselves.
feeling as though food blogs are ridiculous in the scheme of world and personal affairs.
not feeling like i belong to the clique of london food bloggers.
feeling lonely.
turning into a girl.
trying my hand at dating for the first time in a long time.
only eating tea for breakfast and cheese for supper.
homesick.
angry that i don't know where home is.
feeling the pressure from friends in the states to 'come home.'
feeling betwixt & between.
worrying that my life is moving backwards or staying stagnant.
moving someplace where 'my past is erased.' who i am is an unknown. how i work is questioned.
traveling between confident & low self esteem. as if the border were impossibly thin; permeable.
feeling like the odd man out at work.
promoting my workplace on social media venues.
financial worries.
lack of inspiration.
not having time or gumption to read other people's blogs.
being overwhelmed by my email inbox.
noticing how few personal emails i get. and write.
wanting to write about really big subjects and not knowing where to start.
having few people to share my food thoughts with.
feeling unrequited love with an old love.
marking 4 years since the day she died.
turning 17. amongst people who constantly offer me a drink/give me hangover advice.
living in a new city which is both familiar and foreign.
missing and being missed.
missing having chefs/cooks/pastry chefs as friends.
missing family.
missing california fruit and one farmer and two dogs.
missing portland oregon.
feeling old.
feeling tired, physically & emotionally, from time at work & worry about friends.
not seeing enough nature.
feeling like summer passed me by because i never went swimming or did anything 'summery.'
wondering why i'm here.
wondering where else i should be.
spending too much time alone & without structured plans with friends.
spending too much time at work or working.

it's like playing hooky from school. and for every day that passes, the day to go back becomes exponentially more difficult.

it's rare this chef takes suggestions, but if you have gentle ones, fold 'em up and put them in the hat. i miss eggbeater too, and would like to know what you'd like to see to get you back here more regularly.

until then, thanks for reading, even if intermittently.

august is/

purple
dense   hot   confusing
summer at it's most brutal.

electricity in the air
everyday
in august
gathering skies
flash floods
storms without warning

sticky salt water skin, hair
sunburnt skin
city pools
crinkly toes
school's almost here
last days of va ca

august is/

death   grief    dark
hot humid   mosquitoes   green flies
fireflies
stars in the night sky
fires  marshmallows  chocolate
blackberries   bee stings
sleepaway camp
secrets
bats sleeping upside down in the rafters.

the boathouse at dusk
kiss me out back
tell no one.

august is/
stagnant
still water
loss   memory  lake drownings.

BBQ's
meat on the grill
black  char  salt  fat  blood.
cold beer. sweet tea. pie.

A U G U S T

solid
but gone before you know it
dark dark forest
pine green black dirt snails & slugs.
august is cotton sheets, sweat at dawn, quick fucks, cherry ices, yellow nicotine fingertips.
sitting on the stoop.
the violet hour. heroin. tight knots.
air conditioner rain.

august is/
LIGHTENING
electric current  at all times
hail and thick yellow sun
watermelon   red check cloth   poneytails   brambles.
berries.
corn.
picnics.

desire.

remorse.

it's the last month of summer
and no one wants to let it go
easily.

august.
is the affair
secret
the love that shouldn't be
that can't be.

mornings are always the night before
in august
you can't escape night.
deadly
night shade.

august is/
diminishing hope.
time standing still
homesickness
forlorn

lick stamp
spread hand on airplane window
kiss hard goodbyes

tell me a secret
leave me forever
lose your mind
and mine too

august is/
the deep south
soul food
change as break
transition
water bent wood
blue plus red
black plus blue.
stain.

memory
re memory
sentiment
resentment

august is the bottom of the ninth
summer silt
tributary
sand between toes
jellyfish, dense in the ocean
horseshoes under the docks
lowtide
mussels clams lobster
melted butter

screen doors
wasp nests

lost love.

august is/
august. no comparison.

/this is what i want to say about love.

what is the gift?
is the gift loving another or
just loving.
is love a gift at all
or is just
love.
you should ever put just before love
love is bigger than that.

i feel open
i feel broken
i feel naked
i feel am exposed

the gift of love is feeling love
starting from that place
filling you up
where pleasure starts
abdomen meets thighs
it melts me
melts you
light
it's all light
i can't feel my legs
i don't know where i am
but i'm traveling
rocketing -

you're taking me there
{but are you?}
/or is it me?

/this is what i want to say about love
don't be scared of it
sit inside it
even though
it's absolutely terrifying.

i've fallen in love with you and all you want to do is run away
run
get on a plane
disappear
run through the woods
get deep inside
when even a compass can't find your way out
bury you deep

i hold your face inside my hands
and kiss your eyelids
i tell you it will be alright
i place my hands, mouth between your legs
i pleasure you
i feed you delicious food
i take you to where the sky opens up
and swallows us whole
i pull heavy camera to my eye
and you say no.
i tell you your rules are not my rules
i tell you i will never tell.
secret
you are secret
i am your secret.

what is the gift of love.
i feel love
but i never say it
i know it scares you down to your toes
you said this wasn't real.

but you know what?
fuck you and your borders
my heart is mine
my love is mine
my body is mine

/this is what i want to say about love.
it's mine
and mine to give
and you can never forsake it
reject it
give it back
throw it down
break it

Hello love my old friend
Sure is good to see you again

what is the gift?
the gift is love
the gift is a heart
kept malleable
vulnerable, soft, permeable, punctureable
hand me a scalpel,
i'll show you
there
cut there
my heart's been bruised bloodied forgotten discarded dulled
i've sat in the deep waters of grief
i've held the hand of her dying
i've transformed
i've closed up my heart for years at a time
hidden it on a shelf
and smoothed over the door
shallow grave
walked away.

love.

she says the gift is the feeling of it
not the reciprocation
he says no one can ever love you the way you want to feel loved
i say you can't fall out of love
love ain't no fuckin' tree.

/this is what i want to say about love.
it is terrifying
it changes you
it changes everything
it carries you
aloft
from floating you see the land
color blocks and swirvy lines
deep blue water
flattened, like hammer to nail
and it could
float you down
        glide
wing ed
nothing but the wind in your ears and clouds in your hair
nothing but your whole body melting into ozone, hemisphere
but it can also drop you
baby bird
empty nest
what looks to be a parachute, ballast
all hopes
evaporate
eviscerated
a fish hook enters, sharp as a razor
pulled out the way it went in
stuck
barb
tearing
slow death, painful. jagged.

love.
so many costumes, guises.
a siren's call
kiss and a slap

/this is what i want to say about love.
be not afraid to speak it
be not afraid to tell it
whether it is taken from your hands, out of your mouth, from your sex
whether rejected, tied in knots
whether turned into lies
whether told
'no. this is not love. i don't love you. you don't know what love is. i've never loved you. you're not worthy of love. i haven't known you long enough. but i told you not to fall in love with me. you know i don't have love to give you.'

what is the gift?
is the gift loving another or
just loving.

/this is what i want to say about love.
love is delicious
inspiring, opening
it's nothing i want to be ashamed of
no matter the subject
no matter here nor there
no matter gender chosen or assigned
no matter
even if secret, unattainable, gone

love is at my door again
/this is what i want to say about love.

London, Walking the Thames.

MONTEREY MARKET NEEDS YOUR HELP!! PLEASE SPREAD THE WORD

PLEASE MAKE YOUR VOICE HEARD.
PLEASE go to Friends of Monterey Market and show your support/read about what you can do.
PLEASE WRITE A LETTER.
PLEASE DO NOT SHOP AT MONTEREY MARKET AFTER JUNE 3rd UNLESS BILL FUJIMOTO takes back his resignation.
PLEASE SPREAD THE WORD.
PLEASE SPREAD THE WORD THAT MONTEREY MARKET NEEDS EVERY ONE'S HELP to make it clear that Bill Fujimoto IS Monterey Market and his resignation is not an option.
PLEASE MAKE IT CLEAR TO THE ENTIRE FUJIMOTO FAMILY that you will not support a market that places its bottom line before family.
PLEASE SPREAD THE WORD.

If you have eaten ANYWHERE IN THE BAY AREA, you have supported Monterey Market.
If you have ever shopped at ANY FARMERS MARKET, you have supported Monterey Market.
If you have ever blogged about new fruit in season, new fruit available in the USA, climbed upon the great pumpkin interactive sculpture in North Berkeley, or made anything in any home kitchen or restaurant or catering kitchen with any fruit or vegetables, you have supported Monterey Market.
If you believe in farmers, chefs with integrity, great produce, eating seasonally, eating locally, supporting local business YOU BELIEVE IN SUPPORTING MONTEREY MARKET.
AND YOU WOULD CONSIDER SHOWING YOUR SUPPORT TO A MARKET, A TEMPLE, A STORE, AN INSTITUTION that was in need of help.

MONTEREY MARKET NEEDS YOUR HELP.
PLEASE BLOG ABOUT THIS RIGHT NOW AND LET GOOGLE AND THE FUJIMOTOS KNOW WE WILL BE HEARD.
WE DO NOT ACCEPT BILL FUJIMOTO'S RESIGNATION.
WE WILL NOT SHOP AT THE STORE IF THE FAMILY ACCEPTS HIS RESIGNATION.
PLEASE TWEET ABOUT MONTEREY MARKET and the petition.
PLEASE TELL EVERYONE YOU KNOW WHAT'S HAPPENING.

I love Monterey Market.
I always have.
I always will.
I support Monterey Market from accross the USA and into the United Kingdom.
BUY EAT AT BILLS AND WATCH IT WITH EVERYONE YOU KNOW PILED INTO THE LIVINGROOM if you don't believe me when I say this is a place that must be saved!!!!!!

**If you have time to leave a comment here, you have time to write a letter to the Fujimoto's.

today, bittersweet. /i hate today.

as the weekend nears
you feel dread
but you can't put your finger on it.
it's in there
at the tip of your mind
tongue, a bitter taste.

but you can't remember
and it bothers you all day, all week, every day
like a scratchy sweater
or plastic on wet skin
sciatica

what day is it
not sure
has it passed, when will it arrive

and yet
it's on your mind
the day that's coming and you can't avoid it
even though if you could take a knife to that place
you would
without hesitation.

but you don't tell anyone
you keep quiet
because you don't want to make a fuss
hey, maybe the day will go unnoticed
because you don't live in america anymore
people here aren't as sappy.
a greeting card for every occasion isn't necessary.
and if you keep quiet
maybe it won't happen maybe no one will know maybe you'll
forget.

forget.
hahahahahahahaha
you're            funny
/in a dark dark dark way.

you never forget
in fact
it never gets better
just different
and you hate
you hate
time

you hate today

you hate the word forget
you hate people who still have both parents

 you hate that nothing can ever take it away
no amount of heroin, hours working, exhaustion, fucking, drinking, razors, inspiring, writing, punk rock, words, miles moved

nothing
will ever take it away.

nothing
will ever
bring her back.

nothing will ever
bring
you
back.

today, bittersweet.
/i hate today.

you hate that there's a name for today.
a demarcation.
you hate that it's all the rage to proudly declare it all over the internet like it's some sort of star receiving statement.

and funny,
because you almost forgot
you wandered into today groggy, spent, sore, listless, happy
you dreamt of the person beside you
naked
doing nothing in particular
just lovely to be near
even though
you are soon to say good bye.
again and again
you say farewell
you let go of someone's hand
because they're no longer
holding your hand back

you leave with you from the bar
you say, 'i make sweet things.'

click
document
memory
click
she's stopped breathing
finally
click
lightswitch
change
click
nothing.

but today is here
and heavy
and you are so goddamned glad
you won't see or hear from anyone you care about today
so you can walk into that space
no one understands
no one
and not come out
until you want to.

because when today is over
you'll be on a plane
you're going to see the ocean
you're going to taste the sea
you're going to see the sky
you're going to be close to your place
your name
you're going to allow someone to touch you
again
and then let-         go
you
are going to let another day pass
are going to live
in the moment
and savor it,
delicious de la.

cold water air
words unspoken
touch light, electric
close eyes
un petit mort
salt, wet.

you''ll come back
envelope sealed
wings tucked.
today, absence.

today, closed.
today, quiet.
today, armor down.

today, bittersweet.

paris. {photos seulement}

bakers, brethren, family, team, heart, home, love

 



  

these people, sans the 3 other women, have been my family for the last six months. a photo set has been begun on flickr and if you know me on facebook, you've seen even more.

my heart is breaking.

but I know it will break open wide enough to embrace and grow and nurture and protect all that I received and gave in this kitchen.

thank you could never cover what I feel, but it's the place where I'll start.

 

gone fishing. {paris}

in a few hours a train station will swallow me like a whale and spit me out in paris.
i'll walk out dazed
and seek butter.
then it will all be fine.
besides what i love, where should i go?
what should i see, who should i do?
all ideas welcome.
x

the only thing you can rely on is change.

and you never know when one chapter becomes another.
time takes time.
rushed bread develops little flavor.
cold egg whites aren't as strong.
flour is never what you think it is until you know it.
fruit is way more complicated than you, but neck in neck with love.
chocolate can be mastered but never owned.
anything fermented is cities of tastes.
perspective should never be underestimated.
no one can guarantee you anything, unless you believe in lies.
believe people when they tell you the truth about themselves.
passion and numbers do not the best bedfellows make.
craft
is a mightily powerful force.
actions are choices. even when we feel trapped.
relationships are built by verbs not observations.

failure is relative.
you can define success.
there are many types of victory.
you can start your day over at any point.
breakfast all day is a wondrous thing.
chocolate is a better addiction than heroin.
if you keep doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results, it will make you feel crazy.
transparency
is refreshing.
while honesty is relative, it's utterly important.
self knowledge can be a compass if you let it.
a strong work ethic helps and hurts.
loyalty is often blind.
people are not fruit. one cannot shave off the nasty bits and eat only the part they like.
sometimes strangers can say the thing you need to hear the most.
but those who love and know you intimately can usually cut to the chase faster,
and the rewards are life long.
sometimes you're not meant to know why you've moved 8,000 miles away.
40
is a meaningful number, in human years.
4 is my favourite colour because it's orange.
morning ritual is lovely, and grounding.
april showers bring may flowers.
chin up.

being a cook's cook is an important distinction in my opinion.
craft can never be mastered but it can be studied.
sometimes you have to look at how hard you're working
and hear it
when people say
you don't necessarily have to work harder
but you might want to work
different.
"there is no failure. I give you permission to erase it from your word box altogether."
the kitchen is a siren.
the ending is always the same.
fame is an illusion.

the only thing you can rely on is change.
what does that make pattern?
years are just broken up into patterns disguised as coincidences.
sleep is delicious.
home is complicated.
the ocean is vast. and alive.
baking is alchemy.
laminated dough is a series of folds, like envelopes
carrying thousands upon thousands of layers
of words
inked, pushed, pressed
monotype, letterpress,
lead & oil
pigment & plaster
conjure & whisper
only to be shared
by those in the know
carrying messages over land and sea, through snow and rain.
for there is no destination to reach.
just one sign,


the only thing you can rely on is change.

can one protect & give at the same time?

one's heart
one's craft
one's soul.

can one protect and give at the same time?

can you?
how.
how do you keep your own well replenished.
how do you keep your heart protected.

kitchentransition

massive big changes are happening at my job.
people are leaving and coming.
another set of passionate hands has arrived in time for another to exit.
we are making delicate cakes and creamy pastries, specific ganache and tiny tarts.
danish dough is having a comeback, as is folding meringue into a myriad of recipes.
too much French butter is never enough, and almonds appear in countless doughs.
we are pastry chef banter at its best.
artistic vision far outreaching what practical business would suppose.
Easter pastels have swooped in.
thousands of Hot Cross Buns will be shipped, buttered, toasted, inhaled. and fingers will remain sticky long after memories.
London is awash with fancy chocolate eggs of all weights & measures. decorations range from camp & kitsch to art & design.
laws are changing, borders are tightening.
spring garden cleaning indoors        and out.
change in every direction is afoot and limbo appears to have loads of empty seats.
climb aboard, swipe a card, close your eyes.
destination here there and everywhere
but nowhere in particular.
I'm excited to learn new recipes, work with an opinionated gorgeous flamboyant outspoken pastry chef whose words are thickened with melted chocolate and whose accent could be my grandmother's.
attempts are made at grace and integrity, poise and professionalism.
no one can afford to leave an unattended package on anyone's desk.
for all of London's bakers are united by one person, one through-line of passion.

because even though numbers have no face, no heart, no flair, no unique flavour, no voice, no opinion

in the end. at the end of the day. year. forever.
food is passion. and passion cannot commodified, industrialized, deconstructed,
or achieved without a basic understanding of alchemy.

because while baking is a science and recipes are ratios
bakers are people
and people are variable, emotional, intuitive, craftsmen & women.

massive big changes are happening.
find me strapped in tight enough not to fall off the edge, but easy enough to reconstruct without dissolution.

spring is change.
welcome to it.

Eggbeater in the News. shuna fish lydon gets around...

I have always said that my g-d has a sense of humour. If I say never I can be sure to regret it. If I put my feet down and hold on really tight, I can be sure to be pried away and airlifted out. If I think something is beyond my comprehension I might become surrounded by experts in that field, all eager to trade their knowledge for mine. When I think the world has gone black and all the air has been evacuated, good news beyond reproach comes.

They say when one door closes, another one opens.
Some say you need to shed before you can grow.
There are those who believe you're always exactly where you're supposed to be.

Some of us think patterns are important to look at, while a few of us think everything happens because we make choices, even ones which lead us down paths of higher resistance.
A few choice people I've known would say for every challenge a lesson is available to learn, should we wish to pay attention.

I'm sure there are also those who would say every frame of life is unrelated to the previous or next.

Whatever your beliefs, I think you'd be surprised at my own set of circumstances. If nothing else, they've been intriguing... And are soon to get more so.

Until my next update I'd like to catch you up with these tidbits ~

• A Shuna Fish Lydon photo of a savoury chef with a Pig Tattoo can be found in MEATPAPER, The Pig Issue.
• Photos I've taken of Foreign Cinema have been recognized by GQ and might show up there soon.
• The London Times online placed me on their '50 of the world's best food blogs' list  !!!!
• Gourmet magazine recently listed Eggbeater as one of their FAVORITE FOOD SITES! Thank you Ruth Reichl and all the people who make  Gourmet happen on paper and in the vast www!

Thank you to all the people who whispered to my g-d and made this happen. You've all surprised me with wonderfulness I'm not sure I deserve, but I'll take in and appreciate nonetheless.

Don't mind me, I'll just sit here and kvell.

Until after a few deep breaths and I have to meet my next chapter of challenges growth potential experiences.

it's time to hit the refresh button

take it all away {again}
start over
clean house
take a deep breath
dive in.

spring
a time of new
beginnings

London Spring Blossoms

 

March 20, 1968

 

On the First Day of Spring, 41 years ago, one month late and all the fatter for it, to a woman born Susan Gordon and a man called Michael Lydon, {possibly conceived in London, England}, I was born in San Francisco's General Hospital.

Today I am having my very first ever birthday not on the North American continent.

I know it's spring here because flag stone sidewalks are strewn with cherry blossom petals. Tightly wrapped buds of reds and chestnut browns are exploding, quietly but with intent into delicate baby green leaves. I know it's Spring because I've been working with and nibbling rhubarb all week. I wake up to a bedroom filled with warm sun and I know it's spring because dusk has a pink tint instead of a blue one.

I know it's spring because when I look at the sky it feels like possibility and honey perfumes the still cool air of my 2 am walks home. Foxes are travel in pairs during London's surreal Violet Hour. I know it's spring because skirts replace scarves, jackets are folded neatly and put away. Bare arms make a comeback.

I know it's spring because Persephone has walked out of the darkness. Fishes turn into bulls.

Spring as change.
As upset.

Like a game of pick up sticks. Everything just so, gather it all up, toss in the air, keep hands still, watch it fall where it will, look at it anew.
Break it, put it back together.
Walk away, close eyes, open with new perspective.
Look away, look back, but not as close-- refocus eyes.
Think differently.
Love differently.
Change tastes, try something unliked again, turn it over, mash it up, get hands dirty.
Emancipate toes.
Reopen heart.
Have a new crush, flirt, take yourself on a date, dance before everyone else starts dancing, risk rejection, steal kisses, push someone up against a wall,

shout for the sake of shouting, play hide & seek, go on a treasure hunt. Wear something striped.

Spring is new. It's again but slightly different.

I hope something breaks for you today. I gift you with new perspective, possibility, chance taking and the adventure of life.

I'll close my eyes and wish for love, risk, faith, hope and health.
I'll conjure people gone and talk to those still here.

Happy First Day of Spring
~ I hope yours is gorgeous and delicious.