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.

Three Girls and an Island

Think rolling hills. Think wide hedges and closely shorn fields of green. Think of all of this dropping away to rocky points and white sand beaches. You've reached Waiheke Island (or any number of islands in the world, actually), but my sister Elise, her friend Amanda, and I set out very specifically for this one on a Monday morning in December. And we're so glad we did.



It became one of my absolute favorite NZ days.

We caught a ferry from downtown Auckland and gave ourselves a full day to see the island: the quiet beaches, the artsy shops, and (mainly) the wineries. Sitting down for a cup of coffee and perusing the shops took all of an hour, so we wandered down to a beach to kill some more time before tasting rooms opened/till we felt like it was late enough in the day to healthily start drinking wine.





The wonderful thing about these two people I was with was that they were both within two years of my age - a rare experience after working and living in a community where I was most connected to toddlers, high schoolers, and moms of university students. Also, they loved photo ops, especially jumping ones and goofy ones, which gave me no excuses in my tendency to focus my camera lens more on food and scenery than people - a subject matter that still often intimidates me. It didn't necessarily make for professional material (as you will see) but the cheesiness still gave me practice. Oh, and I was back with my loverly sister again, who had been off on her own New Zealand adventure for the past two months.





Our first stop was Mudbrick, a vineyard and restaurant boasting the most spectacular views and coziest, classy decor. As soon as we pulled into the gravel parking lot and peered through our rented old station wagon's windows, we were gushing. We oohed at the restaurant's long french-door lined wall. We aah-ed at the outdoor stone fireplace bordering the rows of vines. And, really, I don't think we shut up for the next nine hours.

We had gotten to experience Waiheke on a perfect sunny summer day, and driving through the quiet winding roads on the east side of the island as well as visiting Te Whau and Wild on Waiheke (don't judge the name like we did - or the gunmen firing laser guns at claybirds in the field next to the driveway - just drive on in and make sure to taste their beers...and ginger beer!), we snapped more pictures with our mind's eye than was possible with camera lenses and said over and over, "Isn't this beautiful?", "Aren't we glad we did this!", and "Do you think the owner of Mudbrick has an eligible son who'll marry me?"











At the end of our day, we landed back at the vineyard we'd fallen head over heels for (do I need to say Mudbrick again?) and had an elegant dinner in a quiet dining room flooded with golden evening light. It was certainly a splurge but the experience will not be easily forgotten. In fact, I very much hope for it to be refreshed before I have to climb the steps from the car park with a stooped back and silver grey hair...or in the next ten years would do fine too, thanks.