•greenbush•

When I lived in Madison, my favorite dinner was bread and olive oil. There was a restaurant called "Greenbush Bar," under the Italian Workman's Club on Regent Street. Low lights, candles, and a regularly-changing scotch and wine menu. We couldn't stay away. The staff treated us with decency, giving us tastes of new things when we were skeptical, even though we were obviously twenty-somethings with barely enough money to make rent. Their food was basic and delicious. Addictive. One famously creamy linguini had flakes of smoked trout and a high lemon flair. My custom was to agonize over the menu until I finally ordered a small salad and a loaf of the white peasant bread they baked in house. The olive oil came on a little white plate, and a shaker of parmesan sat on every table. Mound the cheese in the center of the pool, swipe the bread into the mouth. Repeat until you need a new loaf. It was the best, most divine, most devastating comfort food I've ever obsessed about, and I just recreated it by accident. Here's the recipe: a Sweet Batard from Acme Bread Company, Spectrum Organic Mediterranean Olive Oil, and shredded Asiago in bulk from my beloved Co-op. That combo will set you back a bit more than a nightcap at Greenbush, but the olive oil is a proper investment. It's drinkable, and holds up to high heat. xox

Note to Self II

All those things you're holding onto, all those things you love? 

Sometimes, when you ask the universe for something more, something bigger, the thing you'll get back will be such a large possibility, so much more than you'd imagined you were asking for, that you'll need to put down all the things you're holding in order even to attempt to pick up this new gift. 

If you manage to pick it up, the new gift will wreck some very good ideas, some very beautiful plans, at least for now. And even trying to pick it up will require the willingness to walk away from something so precious your heart will break at the very possibility. 

Remember that holding onto the precious thing requires making a choice that will keep you stunted. Remembering that won't keep your heart from breaking, but it might save you from making the small choice.

•moving sounds good•

Burning Man sounds good.  Hang-gliding, too.  I swear, ever since I pulled every single thing out of my closet and held it up to the light, things are looking clearer.  We are moving, we are changing.  I am throwing away old photos and recordings, the paper trails, the acceptance letters.  

Last night I dreamt I was with a rescue team.  We had to take a helicopter to the disaster.  I gave myself three seconds to decide whether to balk at the airlift, or go with it.  I chose to leave my fear on the ground.  Anyway, what kind of helicopter drops its load, when lifting an ambulance into position?  We landed just fine, and my team never knew my doubts.  Last week, in waking life, I applied the same thinking to a routine blood draw.  I'm phobic about my veins. I faint, I kick.  I decided not to warn the phlebotomist.  First time.  I focused on normalcy. Be strong, handle your shit.  It worked.  The phlebotomist talked about his wood-working hobby.  I said "have a nice day," and made it to my car without screaming.  Later, I danced.

We are walking, on.  Through and into change.  We get to decide when it's time to let go.  xox

•the best parents•

Once upon a time, there was a Mommy and a Daddy who wanted to talk. The problem was, anytime they talked, their swarthy little toddler had something, also, to say. So the Mommy and the Daddy thought long and hard. They sought far and wide the answer. One night, while dining with friends, it came to them: sometimes, the best parents aren't parents at all. The next day, they arranged for friends to take the scurvy child. The Mommy and Daddy fled, and talked! Meanwhile, the adult friends took the the deck-swabbing toddler. Without so much as a furrowed brow, they concocted a First Rate Pirate Adventure, including the actual commandeering of a ship, the jumping of a plank, a swimming expedition with first mates, and a hunt for actual treasure. In a few short hours (and with the help of cardboard, marker and aluminum foil), they opened the toddler's eyes to a world of scarves and piracy. When his parents returned, they found a happy boy. But ever thereafter, they could not dissuade him from wearing a hearty's mustache. And a skele-tattoo, at all times. Even to the Co-op. xox

•corned beef and caterpillars•

Lavender "lemolade," with seasonal garnish.

The photos I wish I had from this week include:

20 pounds of dripping-red brisket, and me, hunched over and gently lowering those giant Jabba tongues into the bazillion-gallon steel pot that currently holds the brine, beef, and promise of tonight's American/Irish dinner.

Last night's cognac sidecar with pomegranate seeds (and orange juice, lemon juice, Cointreau, and a measure of ginger/galangal/tumeric simple syrup).

Our first flight on a UFO: Penn & I discovered the half-buried spaceship in Arroyo Park yesterday, and he piloted to the moon. Then we got out, so we could fix something. Because that is what astronauts do.

xox