eggbeater

once s'more, with feeling!

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

The Fourth of July!

today is:

chocolate buttermilk cake
sticky buns
beignets !
sweet potato pie
caramel cake with caramelized butter frosting
a spoonful of the best coconut pastry cream, if I love you
snickerdoodles
chocolate chocolate chip cookies
bacon-scallion-cheddar biscuits
limeade
mint lemonade
strawberry lemonade
lacy yeasted cornmeal waffles with brown sugar butter
creamed corn
warm buttermilk biscuits and local jam
blue bottle coffee
homemade granola
black cast iron skillet baked cornbread
grits
a giant smoker filled with ribs and chicken
perfectly poached eggs
watermelon
real vanilla ice cream
honest iced tea
fresh squozed orange juice
R&B
a dash of hip hop
old school soul
hot cooks
even hotter bakers
corn on the cob
friends
barking

and beautiful
big
explosions of light
and colour
in the broad
grand
mighty
night sky.

happy fourth.
be safe, sane & consensual, and responsible tonight. /please.
just think:
you may even want to remember what you did today, tomorrow. just sayin'

see you soon?

last days of june/ beginnings of summer.

june 30.
the month giving is summer is soon to be over.
and then july.

i want to be happy like i was in grade school.
not thinking about ugly new york augusts and jellyfish oceans and green flies,
but endless days
music of cicadas
a bedtime that never arrived.

but i'm a bit blue.
that summer's just like fall is just like spring
because i'm all grown up now.

people i love are getting in airplanes and i have traveling-feet envy.
want to see a new place.
visit a home i've left behind.
remember walking down that street at every age

holding hands with people gone.

july is the anniversary of death for me.
    and yet i am trying to paint the month anew,
every year since.

jacaranda trees are in bloom.
and she said,
'when these bright light purple blooms arrive,
so do my favorite cherries.'

and so i remember her
with these trees
and every
day that passes.

Hot Kitchens.

Do you know what makes most kitchens really hot?

Freezers. And walk in refrigerators. And lowboys. And reach ins. Ice machines.
You wouldn't think. But it's so.

Kitchens can get really hot.

Let us not forget flat tops. And salamanders. Or grills. And then there's saute, where there might be pans sitting on burners that have been on full blast all day. And cast iron? Shit. I have seen them glow orange. For real. They can get really hot. But there's nothing like cooking a la plancha. O yeah.

What else?

Fryolators are hot. Really hot. Hot radiant heat not to mention a container filled with searing hot oil. We won't leave behind wood burning ovens and, if you're really lucky, reaching up to handle those bars in rotisseries taller than your local basketball star.

Hot.

Kitchens are hot.

I'm forgetting something? O, sorry.

Deck ovens are hot. Tandoori ovens are hot. Pulling sugar is hot and so is whisking sabayon for an hour straight. Stock is hot. Plate warmers are hot. So are bread warmers, of course.

Commercial dishwashers are hot. By health code standards they should be, at any rate. The hotter the better: less detergent can be used if heat is what is the sanitizing force. Having to put away hot dishes is hot. A lot of steam exists in the dish pit. A lot.

And steam? Steam is really fucking hot. The burn you get from steam is like being taken advantage of by a child. You never expect it. And then Whoosh! Red streak on flesh and sooner than you can say   nanosecond   you have a blister.

One could make an argument for the heat of hot ice or liquid nitrogen but they're not commonly found in kitchens unless you're ladling up eye of newt and bat's wing specials.

Hot Kitchens.

    Wait, there's more. If you act now --

Cooking and baking with a sunburn is hot. And terrifically unpleasant. After you've fallen asleep on the beach on your only day off in 3 months once, you won't do it again. Take it from me. There's nothing like reaching into a 500F oven when your skin is the color of freshly killed lobsters.

Reducing is hot. So is candying of any sort, especially when you have to boil sugar for hours to get just 2 more degrees on your thermometer. {!}

Roasting is hot. And searing. Even blanching, albeit brief, is hot. Poaching? I guess we could make an argument if we're desperate.

Funny, when you burn yourself, I mean really burn, it feels cold first. Like buried under an avalanche and getting sleepy cold. And then for a tiny moment when your brain hits refresh, it fells hot to your core. By then, hopefully, you're in shock, and so you don't feel much after that except worry that you'll be in the weeds even more. Nothing like grabbing onto something really hot and realizing later that the steam you saw was your own skin evaporating.

Kitchens are hot.

And so we tun off our minds. We make jokes. The refrigeration starts to shudder and choke, and then die. The ice machine gets indignant. Someone has to go buy ice. Which is really funny if you think about it. But of course it's not.

You might even have the pleasure of standing on the hot roof and hosing down the condenser for about 8 or 12 hours, until the sun goes down. But only if you're the chef or sous. Yes, you have to be The Chosen One for that job.

Hot.

When it gets hot ovens bake faster. Did you know that? Cakes don't necessarily rise better but everything should be checked on with more frequency.  Cold water is warm. Edibles made with yeast should be rushed like you have some place to be yesterday. Proofing the bread? Five hours is 50 minutes. Twenty minutes could be two. Be on your toes, yo, when it's hot.

Cold butter doesn't stay cold.

Sweat evaporates and it could be a few days until you really pee. A relaxing pee that lasts more than a moment. Sound gross?

Cooking is hot business.

    I haven't left out anything,      have I?

In The South there's a joke about cornstarch/ talcum powder, and the boxer shorts you shouldn't be wearing, but I'll leave that to your imagination.

Hot weather produces violence. In some kitchens it makes people fight. Or go mute. Or fuck.

Because line cooks are hot. Except when they're gross. But there's always a market for gross.

Hot.

Flirtations run high. Patience become a virtue left for the "normies"/ diners/ working stiffs/ waiters. Sexual tension is hot. So is that space between your long sleeved polyester-blend double-buttoned jacket and suffocating skin. Tempers run hot.

Some will say that the best beverage in hot weather is hot liquid. Ice becomes the enemy to truly cooling down your system. Except when dunking your arms in ice water is the only thing you can do to keep from passing out.

Summer is hot. Restaurants with poor ventilation systems are really hot. Restaurants that are free standing buildings in neighborhoods with no trees or taller buildings to create shade are really hot. Restaurants with prep stations in windowless rooms are ferociously hot.

I remember well "sweat" pouring down the walls at Gramercy Tavern. (In NYC most restaurant kitchens are located in the basement. That pretty open kitchen you're looking into as you lazily munch crudo and sip cocktails? That's for show. Only? Well I'll go on record as saying: mostly.)

Kitchens are hot.

And when kitchens are not hot?

You're not in them.

Napa Valley Eating & Imbibing

While I was staying at the farm last week, I did manage to pry myself away from dog walking and reading the New Yorker long enough to eat and drink a bit in the new & improved Napa Valley.

Almost 10 years ago, when I lived in Napa, the city proper, downtown was basically a memory for a few people. The old movie theater was mostly "closed for renovations," block after block in the historic area was dusty and cobwebbed or being torn down, and visiting the post office was sometimes the highlight of my week.

Not so anymore.

The place has exploded.

You can get exquisite, inky, oily, sweet, freshly roasted espresso at Ritual, one of the best {vegetarian} meals in California at Ubuntu, real mint mint chocolate chip ice cream at Three Twins, just about any meat or meat product you want or have never heard of at Fatted Calf {our guy Guy took some of the best FC photos-- check em out here}, illegally delicious coffee cake at Alexis Baking Company, gorgeous and delectable desserts by Nicole Plue, and produce grown with everloving care, if you choose to wake early and go to the St. Helena farmers' market.

Of course there are a hundred more restaurants and dozens of more eateries and imbibing stations, but above is what I got to on this go-around.

farm departure snapshots /in the rearview mirror

large hares bounding slowly, their long bodies arching long and wide
scent of mowed grasses, dry and sharp underfoot
abu & babette's ears, flapping in tune with each other and four foot dance trot
a clear, dark outline of one deer, stilled,
    and I stilled as well, viewed in secret, between levee and vineyard
a sense that isaac was on our walks with us
the Napa river, shallow but calling my name
    from way way down ravaged river walls
one extra ordinarily grand Great Blue Heron startled by our morning walk,
    lifting off immediately, unfurling fantastic wings tucked, and flying, unbelievably, through the river's fallen trees, up up, and disappearing
mosquitoes who will stop at nothing, including socks and bug spray and trousers, to sting me
an almost full moon casting thick silvery moonlight
    and drafting clear shadow outlines of barns and tree canopies

one Royal Blenheim apricot ripening slowly
guiding those I love through a place I love
hundreds of swallows dipping and swooping
    over an orange-golden field at dusk

glimmering dried grasses swaying, rocking
adult quails followed by dozens of tiny quailettes,
    their tiny head dresses trilling faster than the speed of sight!
babette, arched and exhilarated, tail curlique as a scorpion,
    at the prospect of catching a squirrel on the levee
seeing smoke on the horizon that is really topsoil upset by one tractor
barely ripe tomato, eaten, from the summer garden
morning skies viewed through Live Oak and Redwood tree branches
inviting people into the fig church
explaining cardoons to Easterners

tiny bunny, dead, at abu's feet
ground shadows of hunting hawks
listening to the wind before it arrived
eating green almonds
spending a Friday morning with my favorite 78 year old farmer
    and feeling the morning go from cool to hot in few hours   

cutting open green walnuts, still liquid where the nut meat should be
calamine lotion legs, hot pink exposed under summer shorts
    the scent of calamine like camp and grandmothers
an itch that is hot with unbearable-ness
having time to catch up on old New Yorkers
laughing aloud at Jay Raynor with no one to hear me but the dogs
bright sky, bold green grape leaves, dark vineyard in trellis-land:
    a three layered painting of opposites, at the same time
dusty shoelaces
sunscreen and still and Irish face reddened
bug bites galore
the quiet of nothing all the day long

a valley of light long after sunset
coyote skat filled with cherry pits
countless acorn hats
inpenatrable black walnuts and their finely dollhouse sculpted interiors
finding the old tractor
dense fuzz of young peaches
green figs camouflaged
one lemon gifted to a friend
seven days without music, or news
late nights with books in hand
long talks with faraway friends
burrs in furry friends' ears
a bird-stripped elderly cherry orchard

going out to eat at Ubuntu and then having more dessert at Redd!
visiting friends at Fatted Calf
mint chocolate chip ice cream from Three Twins
running into the most beautiful man/pastry chef, Gary Rulli, at The Oxbow Market {falling into his green eyes}

cooling the little farm house down with night air
green blackberries reaching out, waterless creek
skyscraper tall eucalyptus trees
freshly painted barns
rabbit warrens everywhere
coconut perfume breeze through fig trees
walking far far away with the dogs
babette stalking, leaping and bounding in tall dry grasses,
    psyching out small, hiding, frightened mammals
abu playing a game with me at dusk,
    running in wide circles, like hide and seek.

remembering
memory,
a silent movie of every visit, every stay, every walk with the dogs,
    every sleepover, every intimate moment,
a whirlwind romance,
a deep friendship,
a geography where my roots lay claim
love.

where my heart is, here.

June is

too many roses
warmth in the air, but not all of it
definitive onslaught of stone fruit
cherries for not much longer
people in shorts, some of the time
tourists thinking California is warm
    and then freezing to death when the fog rolls in at 4:15 pm
plans for summer
pride
too many people pressuring you to be happy
when I have a desire to be in nyc
wishing I had someone's hand to hold
no more doubting it's not summer
school's out
that strange time between life and graduation
weddings
menu changes
moving trucks in college towns
new bathing suits
getting overwhelmed at the farmers' market
new crushes
haircut
closet cleaning
window opening
storm windows off
birds in fruit trees
tomatoes ripening
loquats on trees
YELLOW
summery
cool light turning into golden light
longer days
beach on the weekends
new lovers
legs shaven
seersucker suits
white oxfords
croquet
micro greens
fava beans
pea shoots
morels and mangos
giddy
plans for the future
new goals set
transition
gemini & cancer
duality & nesting
corn finally becoming sweet, and affordable
the beginnings of watermelon, in a rainbow array
a promise of okra
and long weekends
thinking about canoeing at the russian river
taking the dogs for a walk through the cherry orchard
    and watching them be picky about ones they eat
remembering the donkey who ate stone fruit, but unfurled his tongue
    to give us back the stone
peach leaf soup
the heady scent of the fig church expanding giant hand like leaves
an appreciation for the sun setting
and cool air blanketing the bay.

June is
a time of transition
and thinking really hard
    about what's next
reaching deep within
to find answers
hard won
and balanced just so.

letting go of people who are leaving
    and have left
repairing friendships which have been torn by betrayal
never shying away from the hard stuff
becoming who I am
and discontinuing to apologize for it
    but instead find new ways of navigating
    through sometimes confusing waters.

June is
coney island
fey days
and being both boi and girl
new grey hairs
remembering
memory
visiting
revisiting
trying things on anew
adventures
spontaneity
asking someone out who will say no
    just for the practice
seawater spray
packing away the woolies
great big vacuuming
living between the panic circle
    and the comfort zone
trying to make room for new challenges
clearing space
    for new ideas.

June is
portraits of those I love
hard talks
taking new routes
to familiar places
thinking about traversing the sea
stepping out into the open
with only me in tow
stepping out of a shadow
that was years in the making
taking words from long ago
and being no longer afraid
to set them down
sharing
with few
what grows in my private garden
but letting those who have never left
eat fresh sweet peas
and wild strawberries
sour yogurt
and english muffins
with me in the morning.

June

looks like a month among many
but she stands alone,
hat in hand, gazing at the horizon
with not a penny shiny enough in the world
to pry her thoughts from her.

I welcome you o month of June
    even though I am not ready for you.

HAPPY   j u n e  !

eggbeaters eggbeaters everywhere!

look what came in the mail!
some of my old friends!
beautiful lovelies
collected & prized
coveted
celebrated!

o! rejoice

eggbeaters welcomed back
decorating treehouse
perfect still life food.

Two Old Broads {guest poet}