Ideas

Transport Me

March 31, 2018 By Allison

As soon as I stepped into the theater, a sumptuous hush fell over me.

In its opulence, the Royal Opera of Versailles is somehow cozy. The rocaille swoops and curves impart lightness, and the gold warms. The chandelier light is soft. The 18^th century theater is made of wood and holds 712 spectators. We had gathered to watch Barry Douglas and the Camerata Ireland perform three of Mozart’s Piano Concertos (20, 23, 25). As people made their way to their narrow, velvety seats, the theater got warmer and our reverent anticipation heightened.

Although Mozart and the Royal Opera are linked to a specific time and place—18^th century Europe—the evening felt timeless and placeless. I was alone, yet surrounded. I was in France, and I was elsewhere. The fragile space and ephemeral sound brought on a happy clarity, unbound by geography and time.

Inspirations

Official website of the Opéra Royal de Versailles

Official website of Camerata Ireland

Sharing Soup, Sharing Stories

March 4, 2018 By Allison

When it came to throwing a party, my Grandma Rose Mary was a pro. While I was lost in a mass of aunts, uncles, and cousins, she was making the party happen. Her presence was strong yet subtle. Her gatherings taught me to value my extended family.

As a child and then a young adult, I got to know Grandma in more intimate settings. We shared dozens of lunches over the course of many years. During these meals, I learned about her. She and I had attended the same elementary school, and so I loved her stories about the nuns, about early morning music lessons, and about the time she won a radio at field day. As I got older, she told me about her travels to India, Afghanistan, and other places I will probably never see.

Sometimes we dined at the Younkers Tea Room, and sometimes we shared soup in her kitchen. I still see myself in that farm kitchen, seated on a bench against the wall… asking lots of questions, drawing her out, and seeing the stories flow into one another. Once, when I was learning to cook, she passed on a few of her favorite soup recipes. I love her soups and I love that her handwriting is mixed in my messy recipe files.

Grandma Rose Mary’s Ground Beef Soup with Rosie Stars is a winter standard in my home. Over the years, I have adapted it to my tastes. Although it comes together quickly, it has smooth, rich flavors. Tomato juice and Italian parsley lend it brightness. Shredded cabbage makes it mellow. Ground beef and pasta give it heft. I make this soup on Sunday and eat it throughout the week, thinning it with water as needed.

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Luxurious Boredom

February 4, 2018 By Allison

Tea and citrus got me through my week with influenza. When I got sick, I immediately cut myself off from the world and settled in for a week of quiet recuperation. I didn’t have much of an appetite during my bout with the flu, but fluids perked me up. Warm lemon water with honey soothed my throat, sparkling water quenched my thirst, and hot tea gave me warmth and comfort.

Being sick and alone is boring. I hadn’t experienced boredom in years, and so it was odd to get reacquainted with this sensation that I knew so well as a child. I binge-watched The Crown—a welcome distraction. But my mind was too cloudy to read, my voice too shaky to call friends. I spent most of the week wrapped in blankets and scarves, sipping tea.

I’ve long understood that silence is productive, and I now see that boredom is too. Expansive, quiet minutes slid into hours and days. I stumbled upon empty corners of my mind that didn’t house thought. My internal chatter slowed, my anxious mind relaxed, and for a time, I stopped thinking. Spacious boredom replaced my drive to achieve.

The flu drained me, yet my week of isolation revived me. Tea and water were life-giving and clearing, and so too was boredom’s hollow loneliness.

Snowy Day Breakfast Salad

January 27, 2018 By Allison

Here at the hermitage, in deep snow, everything is ordinary and silent.
—Thomas Merton, 1963

Last week, snow slowed me down. After many busy weeks, I welcomed a few quiet, snowy mornings. I moved slowly and intentionally. Minutes and hours seemed to expand. These mornings were ordinary and uneventful. I gave more time to waking up and more time to breakfast.

My “breakfast salad” is so simple that it doesn’t require a recipe. But it does have a few components and is not for busy work mornings.

Here’s how to pull it together:

“Jammy” Eggs

Bring saucepan of water to a gentle boil. As water is coming up to temperature, prepare an ice water bath in a large bowl. Place on counter, next to burner. Once water boils, use a large spoon to ease eggs into the bowl, one by one. Boil gently, for 6.5 minutes. (7 minutes if you want a more solid yolk.) Use spoon to move eggs from saucepan to ice water bath, to stop cooking. When they’re cool enough to handle, remove peels under running water. Set peeled eggs aside.

Bread

Prepare toast and set aside. I made pita toast last week. Use whatever bread you have on hand. No need for butter.

Salad

Chop English cucumber, tomatoes, and radishes in to bite-sized pieces. Place in a small bowl. Toss with a little extra virgin olive oil, lemon juice, salt, and pepper. If you don’t mind onion in the morning, add a little red or green onion. Set aside.

Yogurt Base

For each serving, scoop 3-4 generous tablespoons of whole milk or Greek yogurt into another small bowl. Squeeze juice of ½ lemon into yogurt, more if you’re preparing multiple servings. Add a pinch of salt and stir. Spread onto breakfast plate(s). Set aside.

Assembly

Gently place salad on yogurt. Slice eggs(s) the long way and nestle into the yogurt. Drizzle a little extra virgin olive oil, squeeze a little lemon juice, and sprinkle with salt and pepper (Piment d’Espelette, if you have it.) Serve with toast.

Revel in your slow morning.

Last night I dreamt of Manderley…

January 18, 2018 By Allison

I was lucky to have a grandmother who always made it a priority to read what her grandchildren read, as a way to connect to them. For my cousins, she trudged through Harry Potter, even though she did not enjoy fantasy and magic. Grandma also dutifully read the Left Behind series along with my middle school brother. She worried that he was becoming a religious fanatic, but that’s a story for another day.

As a young girl, I took it for granted that Grandma and I could always talk about books. I was a hungry, speedy reader who was able to read “grown up” books a little early. I was surprised when, one day, Grandma handed me her copy of Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca, paraphrasing the first line: “Last night I dreamt of Manderley…” She thought I might enjoy reading it.

In a flash, our relationship expanded. She no longer had to shift to my level and interests. Now I could go toward her beloved texts. She sensed I was ready.

I remember reading the book feverishly—there was romance, evil, and even a ghost, if memory serves. I must have been in 6^th grade. Today, flipping through Grandma’s 1967 Pocket Cardinal Edition, I realize that 419 pages would have been a formidable, appropriate challenge for me. She would not abide vulgar language or sex in novels read by her grandchildren, so my innocence was surely preserved in reading Rebecca.

Now that Grandma is gone and I am grown, I smile to think that my traditional yet fiery grandmother carried Rebecca with her for so many years. From time to time, we’d talk about the novel, and she never failed, hand to chest, to evoke that memorable first line. “Last night I dreamt of Manderley…”

I admit that I have allowed the details of Rebecca to become fuzzy. There was a first wife, a second wife, and a fire. I don’t remember much more. I’m not ready to reread the novel right now. For me, Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca isn’t about plot or strong female characters. It’s about a shared text, a passion for reading, and an enduring intergenerational friendship.

Inspirations

Parul Sehgal’s In Praise of Daphne du Maurier

Rooibos Season

November 17, 2017 By Allison

My former student and friend Maggie Heine of Louisville, Kentucky kindly agreed to contribute to Creative Sanctuary this month. Her thoughtful piece celebrates autumn, rooibos, and wanderlust. Thank you, sweet Maggie!

If you ever find yourself in southernmost South Africa, pay attention to its strange, shrubby fields. You may happen to see an odd little plant with needle-like leaves, covered with tiny golden flowers. Aspalathus linearis. You won’t find this bush, somewhat unremarkable at first glance, growing anywhere else in the world—farmers ranging from China to the U.S. have tried to harvest it in their home countries and failed. That’s because of the wonderfully strange ecology of South Africa’s Cape region: our planet is composed of six floristic kingdoms, or geographic areas with relatively similar plant species. If you’re reading this, chances are that you’re in the gigantic Holarctic kingdom, which comprises the vast majority of North America, Europe, and Asia. The Cape kingdom, on the other hand, is miniscule, containing only the very southernmost tip of the African continent. Despite its small size, it’s extraordinarily rich, and the majority of plants that call this kingdom home can only be found in that dot on the tip of South Africa.

The entire area is beautiful beyond comprehension, nearly extraterrestrial with its mountains that jut up against the sea, its preponderance of baboons and ostriches, its wide blue skies that become enveloped in clouds in an instant. Now that fall has finally arrived, I find myself thinking about that remote speck and all of its ecological strangeness regularly. I’ve been to South Africa twice, once in the southern hemisphere’s winter, and once in its early spring. During these trips, about six weeks in total, I was rarely without a cup of tea clasped between my hands. This brings us back to Aspalathus linearis, or as it’s commonly known, rooibos. When its leaves are plucked, dried, and steeped, they create an infusion that’s smooth, nutty, and the slightest bit sweet. It’s sold en masse in South Africa like we sell our Lipton green tea—clearly, it’s nothing fancy, but it’s my constant companion when the weather turns chilly. I love the drink for its flavor, but it’s also more than that. For me, rooibos is the feeling of bundling up at daybreak to search for zebras and lions from an open-sided Jeep; it’s looking out over the expanse of the ocean from 4,000 feet up a mountainside; it’s falling asleep to the sound of rain on an old tin roof. It’s South Africa, in all its botanically bizarre wonder.

Shape

November 11, 2017 By Allison

Without darkness, nothing comes to birth.
As with light, nothing flowers.
-May Sarton

Early morning stillness… the Earth rests. I flutter in and out of a last dream. What time is it? Still dark.
I roll on my side. Push myself up. Feet dangle over the carpet. Gentle movements. Deep breath. My feet touch the floor. Warm socks, cozy wrap.

Time to shuffle downstairs. What shall I drink?

Cool water in the kettle. Tea tins in the cupboard.

Black tea? Yes.

How about a Ceylon? Smooth, elegant. Just right.

The water trembles. Shy light filters through the blinds. A couple of teaspoons of dry leaves slipped into the teapot. The water begins to bubble… Just a little longer.

Ritual gives shape to our days. I await the first sip, and the events of today take root in my mind’s eye. As the day unfolds, they will push through the surface. Now, though, I focus on the breath running through me.

Sparkling Apple Spice Tea Cocktail

November 2, 2017 By Allison

In 2010, while living in France, I hosted Thanksgiving for 24 American college students. Our “Franksgiving” celebration was boisterous and joyful. My students decorated my apartment with handmade construction paper leaves and turkeys. I cooked for days in the rickety Strasbourg kitchen—green beans, apple and cabbage slaw, winter squash. Students contributed favorite family casseroles, approximated with French market ingredients. I had rotisserie chickens delivered to the apartment on Garlic Street. It required a lot of planning, coordination, and energy to pull off “Franksgiving.” That fall, I gained a deep appreciation for the beautiful and large family meals my grandmothers, mother, and aunts have hosted over the years.

Back in the States, the scope of my responsibilities is narrower. I host intimate, occasional dinner parties, and I leave Thanksgiving to the pros. I am a daring cook and contribute generously to the meal, but being a guest rather than a hostess is blissful.

This fall, I have developed and perfected a tea cocktail that will shine at your Thanksgiving cocktail hour. Prosecco serves as the bubbly backdrop of my Sparkling Apple Spice Tea Cocktail. The star of the libation is Apple Spice Black Tea syrup, which infuses the drink with a bright apple flavor. Subtle undertones of rosemary and cinnamon make the drink especially fitting for the season. A splash of sparkling water cuts the sweetness, and a snip of rosemary makes it deliciously instagrammable.

This is not a persnickety cocktail. The tea simple syrup can be made weeks in advance and stored in the refrigerator. It comes together quickly in a pitcher. I serve this aperitif in my Grandma Mary Ellen’s crystal champagne coupes. Use whatever glassware you can get your hands on, and feel free to mix and match. Cheers!

Inspiration

Elmwood Inn Apple Spice Black Tea

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Lunch Strategy

October 14, 2017 By Allison

I am more productive and less grumpy when I take the time to orchestrate not sad desk lunches. Last week I slipped and found myself scrambling in the early afternoons. I ended up eating unmemorable and somewhat unhealthy food.

This week, I promised myself to do a little better, hence this Indian-inspired meal. I make no claims to authenticity, but this combo and a few other add-ins will make this week’s lunches livelier and more nourishing.

Lunch components

Store bought naan bread

Red grapes

Red lentil stew topped with cilantro leaves—I used Mark Bittman’s recipe for Masoor Dal

Brown rice—cooked in the pressure cooker and sprinkled with green onions for color and health

Squares of dark chocolate

Not pictured: a saag paneer (spinach and cheese dish) microwave meal that will be worked in later in the week

I messed up my kitchen a little bit cooking the rice and the stew. But clean-up was quick and there will be no morning panic this week! Also, as much as I enjoy doing everything from scratch, it’s jut not possible when I am busy at work. I am bring realistic about time and priorities. This week’s desk lunches will be more balanced and so will I.

Inspirations

Not Sad Desk Lunches from Food52

Shisho Delicious’ envy-worthy bento box meals

Our Imperative

October 6, 2017 By Allison

During my last visit to Paris, I spied a few of these messages of love, all sprayed by the same hand. They delighted me. Moving about Paris can be stressful, especially given the security measures of recent years—more soldiers, more police vehicles, more security checks. In short, more fear.

The unexpected love signs were an antidote to the tensions. They brought a pause, a smile, and a reminder of loving kindness. This week, in the wake of mind-numbing violence in my own country, people are grasping for words. I have not pieced together my own thoughts, and I don’t know that I will. Yet the Paris love graffiti wells up in me. Its clear, direct message resonates. Love is an imperative. Love is our duty, our privilege, and our pleasure. And this week, it is our balm.

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