Memories [Old and New]

Life has circled back around, and it is March. I am stirring two separate bowls of thick batter, one of which is creamy white and the other bright green and bitter. Tulip bouquets are now available outside the co-op, and I have a pitcher-full in the living room. Four years ago so many things were different, but two things are the same: I am in the kitchen making Matcha and White Chocolate Cake; there are tulips in reach, and I swear they are lifting their chins for the nearest camera lens.



I have made this marbled cake to share before, and upon request I am layering a bit of green and a bit of white and swirling a fork throughout. A certain friend is coming to town, and if she asked, I would make her five batches of puff pastry, a Bûche de Noël (with meringue mushrooms, even), or Boeuf Bourguignon - she's that sort of friend. But all she wants is Matcha and White Chocolate Cake.

I delivered a slice of this cake on a plain napkin to her journalism department when we were students focusing on papers, dreaming of more sleep, and scheming up future plans. The latter hasn't ceased, and it never should. But now we gather and savor this precious opportunity for catch-up as we talk about our day-to-day professions, friends who are married or soon will be, and what life looks like in opposite areas of the country.

Three of us gather, the third being an integral part of this reunion, and completing a trio of girls getting a trio of days to laugh, to draw serious, and to savor the pre-spring feel all about Puget Sound.





We scoot close on beached logs lining a pebbled shore. We brave wind and persevere despite chilled fingers to nibble wheat berries mixed into a salad of greens, sweet potatoes, and walnuts, with an orange-shallot vinaigrette.







We break apart the homemade loaf, view foreign shores, and pose with a whimsical bottle opener.





We ferry to Bainbridge Island. The pace is slow; the sun appears and disappears; there is wine to be sipped, and as the Seattle skyline draws close again, it is agreed that dinner at Delancey will be the right end to the night.








Morning comes with a few last stops squeezed in before a dear friend's plane departs: chocolate samples before noon; decadent cupcakes boxed for carry-on back to Texas; hopeful spring blossoms; a visit to the Fremont Troll and his bridge.

So we return to this memorable marbled cake. Its flavors are simple and yet exotic, and each slice reveals a different pattern of gorgeous color. I really don't know why I let four years go by without making it again. I followed the same recipe practically to the letter, so I will simply refer you back to the beautiful blog La Tartine Gourmande by Béa. My original post is here.

Sixth Folder, Sixth Photo

This week has flown by, and I am a couple days behind on my promise to respond to Tori's "Sixth Folder, Sixth Photo" tag.

I love the diverse concept of community and the many ways it can be found. I hardly expected to find one when I began blogging, but even the world wide web has fallen prey. No one wants to be alone (at least not entirely, always). And while it's different from anything face-to-face, the online community has its own value, and I'm thankful for that. I'm thankful for people like Tori and Wendy who frequent my blog (as I do theirs) and others like Molly and Shauna who let us into their beautiful worlds.

So, as I said, this post is about a fun little tag I got from my fellow aspiring artist Tori. And this is how it goes: "Open the 6th picture folder on your computer, open the 6th photo and blog it. Write something about it. Then tag 6 more people to do the same."



This is my picture. It has a little "onehungrysoul" stamp on it from way back when I was worried enough about my pictures being taken and misused that I wanted to mark them. (I still care what people do with them, I just prefer to trust that most people won't cheat me. Oh, and it's a bother to stamp every single one.)

But the more important part of this picture is the subject, of course, which is a mug of frothy, bitter matcha tea goodness, still in motion from being swirled by the whisk standing on its end in the upper right corner.

I took this some time last year while drinking tea (and probably mochi and sweet red beans) with my roommate. This roommate of mine is a dear, sweet friend who I have had the opportunity to live with for two and a half (going on three) years. She has been to my home in Washington, and I have been to hers in Japan.

I am so grateful for Meiko's friendship, for everything I've learned from her, for the food we've enjoyed together, and the laughter we've doubled over trying to contain. Just as her mother (a.k.a. okaasan) considers me her American daughter, I've come to think of Meiko as my Japanese sister.

So, as is customary, I am tagging: Kelly, Michelle, Wendy, Anna, Sherri, and Brenna.