drawing on inspiration; an appeal for beauty to abound

I see the words crème fraîche and pumpkin together in the same recipe title...

Vanilla beans are dispersed into a milky infusion of spices;

Someone mentions they are on to their next cookbook project;

Someone else expresses their love of Campari;

Intricate pattern and lace are carved out of newspaper;

Burrata tenderly torn apart on a plate of tomato juices and breaded eggplant takes me back to my first taste of this decadent cheese -- in my first real job post-college;

A pineapple fragmented behind the glass of a punch bowl, all graciously layered and brushed into life by the hand and sight of an artist;

Gathered ingredients for a simple vinaigrette suddenly look like they belong in a frame -- similar hues of pink, grey, and varying yellows and neutrals bring a torn seal, the wispy skin of a shallot, and a cutting board together.

Sometimes it is too tempting as an artist to spend so much time surrounded by inspiration that we neglect to put our own creativity to use. Inspiration is essential (and it's delightful), but there are times when the busyness of intake overwhelms all opportunities for output.

Just yesterday, one of my young art students sat at her desk bent over a colorful palette of oil paint. She had taken her canvas from its easel and rested it on her lap. Cross-legged, she cradled a little story of life and motion as it came into vibrant clarity through her touch. I was jealous, in the best of ways.

I am beginning to map out a series of artwork through sketch and watercolor application, and I can't wait to share it with you as it unfolds. (Even more so, I can't wait to begin its unfolding and be surprised, myself, with the parts of the process that I can't predict.) Process from start to finish on artistic endeavors is full of unknowns, and I love how often these things start out with one aim or goal in mind and then take on a life of their own. Or how they require life and action to begin even before any sort of end hope is in sight.



Last summer I spent a lot of time painting to get ready for an art show. The timing was burdensome and yet also perfect as I battled my way through the emotions of a break-up. Often times my energy felt sapped, and I wanted to be out in the sun doing nothing. Simultaneously, I wanted to be constantly within close reach of people so loneliness could be kept in check and silence wouldn't surface anything unwelcome. Many of us have been through this sort of thing, I know.

I stumbled upon some writing I had done in that time in my studio and thought I'd share a bit of the artist process that helped me move along, sometimes haltingly so.

In recent days, I have finally chosen to lift up a weapon of resistance to these doldrums, to the weight that keeps me burying my nose in my pillow as my body stirs to morning light. In daylight hours my paintbrush has become a sword wielded in defense of the nighttime emptiness deep in my belly, when a pillow pressed close and long against my body serves to temper the ache.

As subtle of a defiance and as mild of a fight as I have the strength to entertain, taking paint to canvas holds hope. I do not understand how it will help these days pass into a further-healed state, but I am aware that placing a slender piece of wood between my fingers, bristled end wet and coated in deep hue, emotes worthwhile action.

This small measure of being entirely and utterly surrendered reduces down to a basic routine: Fill water cup, squeeze bent small paint tube, select paintbrush tip. Smear colors together, reach, dip, apply to canvas. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. 

Rhythm helps my mind to ease and my breath to release. Rhythm seems so simple, an elementary, intuitive step. But daily rhythms of grace and renewal have been few in number. Of my own selection and impulses, their presence near me has diminished as I have turned and twisted and responded both wisely and foolishly to the unpredictable emotions of being utterly tender...

As I rise up and lay down, as I go to work and cook my meals, as dishes are washed and grief is forgotten in sweet pockets of genuine laughter, I’ll let time move forward. I will wait in hope and in forward motion. I will blink my eyes open at a new day and wonder if memories will be a little less raw in the coming hours. I will attend to my canvases and paint the beautiful details around me and appeal for Beauty to abound. It will again.

Maybe, just maybe, as I am inspired by the links at the beginning of this post and by the reminder and reflection upon putting my artist impulses into action, you will be as well. That is why I share this today.





On a closing aside, a beautiful little space in San Francisco to find inspiration is at the corner of Gough Street at Oak. I popped in with my cousin on a quiet Friday morning at ten o'clock. At that point only a small table was occupied (by three middle-aged grizzly-bearded men in Carhartts sipping Blue Bottle, I might add). This place is pristine (a wonderful juxtaposition to the casual trio customers). That is the word that kept coming to mind, as natural light poured into the space, highlighting each intentionally placed detail. Beautiful lighting, rich fabrics, and authentic vintage decor, 20th Century Cafe has already received press for its interior design by the owner, Michelle Polzine.

We each ordered a cappuccino and split an irresistible slice of the Russian Honey Cake that sat tall and elegant on its cake stand on the corner of the bar. I will certainly be back to try the apple strudel and was left wishing this place was close enough to home to make a regular stopping point.





{In case you missed it, each of the sentences at the beginning of this post does link to a blog very worthy of your time. Promise.}

Travels to Seattle: A New Favorite Cookbook

It has been more than a month since I went to Seattle for Heidi Swanson's book signing. The albums of photos on my computer have grown and stories and thoughts along with them. There will never be time to always share all the moments while they are fresh, and I suppose this is why we have memories to store up more than we have time to express at once. I love recalling something forgotten for a good ten years.

Before moving into the present, I want to note my appreciation of Heidi's new cookbook Super Natural Every Day. It has already received much due praise from bloggers much more reputable than me. Check out the words of Matt Bites, Smitten Kitchen, Steamy Kitchen, Lottie + Doof, and La Tartine Gourmande.

101 Cookbooks was one of the first food blogs I ever encountered. I have been returning to it for four years, drawn to the author Heidi Swanson's photography, voice, and clean organization and thoughtful arrangement of typography and details. Heidi's graphic design skills shine through here, and the same fine aesthetic has transferred into both her cookbooks, Super Natural Cooking and Super Natural Every Day.

I have recognized a natural affinity for the recipes within these pages, embracing new ingredients and combinations and drawing to old familiars like Japanese flavors, Indian spices, and grains like quinoa (a friend commented the other day about how my mother was serving quinoa at the family table long before half the Northwest knew what it was!).

The first recipe out of the new cookbook that I mentally earmarked was the Tutti-Frutti Crumble. If I do not start reading a cookbook from the dessert collection, then I struggle to put it down before flipping beyond the savory pages. I have an undeniable sweet tooth but not the frosting-laden sort, which is why I mesh so well with Heidi's palate. I grew up on half-whole-wheat claufoutis and fruit-rich crumbles for dessert, so the thought of enhancing such a simply perfect dessert as a crumble or crisp with poppy seeds, currants, and Beaujolais wine delightfully challenges the definition of perfection.





Between my fantasies of that crumble and the present, I was drawn back into the lunch and dinner pages, and I know this is a cookbook I will continue to flip through from cover to cover. (Breakfast deserves due attention, as well.) I acquired tarragon and remembered that I had seen it mentioned in the subtitle of a Wild Rice Casserole. Cremini mushrooms, mustard, and Gruyère were also components, and considering that Western Washington has kept us bundled in sweatshirts and slippers through May, it sounded like a lovely warming dish. (Oh, it was.)



And then there is the kale salad that I ate for a week straight, and even still, this pattern could have pleasantly lasted longer. Salty tamari and toasted sesame oil infuse crunchy roasted kale leaves and thick coconut flakes. Then these are tossed with whatever grain is at hand, like the big batch of cooked brown basmati rice in my fridge. It is such an easy recipe, I have enthusiastically relayed it in conversation, and I have already played around with it based on our vegetable supply. Kale is not the only hearty green that works, and a successful adaption involved thick coins of white leeks in the roasting pan along with the kale and coconut. A poached egg on top, and I could live on this meal.



On a side note, I rolled out of a friend's bed at 6:30 in the morning on Sunday to get home to Bellingham that weekend. Swinging by Cloud City Coffee on my way out of Seattle, I stocked up with an Americano and treat for the drive. That treat was a slice of Coconut Bread, and - oh wow - it was sublime. I would love to find a good recipe for such a loaf. Do you have any recipes to share?

Nourishment All Along

Life begins to whir like the paddle in the giant mixer that folds and whips cake batter before me week to week. At work I can flick off the switch and silence comes just as I command it. In the day-to-day, sometimes I have to adjust my steps to a point well beyond a mixture of flour, eggs, sugar, buttermilk, cocoa, etc. would survive and remind myself that deep slow breaths counteracting quick feet actually builds endurance.



Then it amazes me how many different ways I attempt to fill my lungs until I finally settle in on what always works: sleep, sweat, nature's air, true words. But I try some Netflix pick again; I stay up late scanning Facebook; I cook or bake and create more dirty dishes instead of reading and responding to stilling words...and my stomach wasn't even hungry. It has been my disquiet heart that's been asking for nourishment all along.

When windows of time are few and my will is weak, reaching for my camera and focusing on little frames in life helps me get to that soul-satisfaction that is so far beyond the tangible. I get just a little closer to the source. My heart recognizes beauty and knows gratitude.



So I do not have a recipe for you today because life hasn't allowed for that organization recently, unfortunately. I can point you in this direction for a new and memorable chocolate chip cookie recipe, and in that direction for warming braised cabbage that pairs perfectly with a slice of bread smeared with chevre and hosting a gently poached egg. But this post is not ultimately about gastronomy.

It is about a cup that overflows. It is about being forced to stop and just receive for an entire day because I have a boss who believes birthdays should be celebrated and birthday girls should not have to whir up another batch of cake or steam milk for another latte when "Happy Birthday!" declarations are called for. There's something to this, even though I consider such pure reception a true exercise. It doesn't come naturally. I feel like it's greedy and childish to ask for the attention. I fear that some degree is out of obligation and not desire.




Birthday breakfast.

This is what I anticipate and build-up within as the marked day approaches, but my eyes always widen in wonder even in the first few moments of the day. My spirit feels like it could burst by the time my body slips back beneath sheets. Thank you to all who made my birthday feel so rich. Thank you so much to those who have built into these years to make it impossible to begrudge living to a twenty-fifth year. In all humility, I love my life story.





Snow on birthday morning!

As you can see, I have some extra flowers in my house this week and I do consider freshly cut flowers and words of affection to be the most wonderful gifts. Simplicity frequently encapsulates the most.




A birthday "cake" from mom.

These glimpses are what I want to take the time to share today. In the coming days, it is definitely reasonable to expect some great recipes out of cookbooks newly in my possession.