Stories

Tea Party with Littles

May 24, 2018 By Allison

It was their first tea party and my first time to host a tea party for toddlers. A year later, Nora and Sylvie still talk about the “lovely tea” and the “treats” we shared on Grandma’s patio. Here are my pointers for teatime with toddlers.

Philosophy
Keep it simple. Most toddlers will not appreciate elaborate, time-consuming pastries or sprawling tablescapes. Prepare everything in advance: tea, food, and activities. If possible, have the tea party outside, as the littles are sure to make a mess!

Teaware
Keep your grandmother’s fine china away from toddlers! I purchased sturdy, inexpensive, and mismatched cups and saucers from TJMaxx because I wanted the girls to experience afternoon tea. I served sweets and savories on small enamelware plates. The feeling was “grown up” for them and no stress for me.

Tea
I served Strawberry-Kiwi fruit tea, which is caffeine-free and naturally sweet. It is delicious warm, at room temperature, or iced, so it’s easy to make and set aside so you can keep an eye on the kids. I added about 2 teaspoons of honey to the 6-cup teapot.

Sweets and Savories
I served a few items I knew they’d be familiar with: apple slices and peanut butter and cheese and crackers. I also purchased a few pastries that would be new to them, in the hopes of expanding their gastronomic horizons. Mini petit fours and bite-sized lemon tartelettes from the local bakery were the perfect size for their little fingers.

Activities
I had some small coloring books, crayons, and stickers on hand. I also played a Disney playlist from Spotify. They sang, they danced, and their grandmother was surprised that they knew all the words to almost every song.

Takeaway
We had a ball! Sylive and Nora nibbled and gulped cup after cup of Strawberry-Kiwi tea. I didn’t worry too much about etiquette—I’m the fun aunt, after all! They occasionally left the table to collect acorns or crawl around on the patio. They were cute as buttons, and our next summer tea party is in the works.

Madeline on Our Mind

April 7, 2018 By Allison

In an old house in Paris that was covered with vines
lived twelve little girls in two straight lines

My four year-old niece Sylvie Rose is intrigued by the story of a little girl in Paris named Madeline. Her father bought the storybook for Sylvie before she was even born, and I imagine they have spent many hours reading and rereading about Miss Clavel’s sense that something was not right... about Madeline’s subsequent surgery…the crank on the hospital bed… the dollhouse from Papa…her friends’ hospital visit.

I suspect that some of Sylvie’s devotion to Madeline is due to the fact that she lives in Paris. Sylvie Rose knows that Aunt Allison is a French teacher who makes occasional visits to Paris. Her questions give me glimpses of her four-year old mind: Madeline is a real kid, right? Where is her house? And during my most recent trip to France she called to ask, Did you find her?

I love her intensity and admire her persistence in her search for Madeline. These FaceTime conversations strengthen my bond with my niece, but they have also served as a surprising throwback to my own childhood. When I was seven or eight, I was infatuated with Madeline. My little sister had a pop-up version of the book, and I loved it so! I think I found beauty in the order of the twelve little girls in two straight lines. In two straight lines they broke their bread, and brushed their teeth, and went to bed. These words are etched in my mind.

Madeline was probably my first exposure to Paris, or at least to the idea of Paris. Each monument pictured in the story is now familiar to me—Notre Dame, les Invalides, les Jardins de Luxembourg. Paris is home to me. As a little girl in Iowa, these places would have seemed otherworldly. I believe that I chose to study French, in part, thanks to my affinity for Madeline and my curiosity about the vision of France I discovered in her story.

Many years later, Sylvie Rose is weaving her own literary landscape, and Madeline is part of it. Watching her, the story of the little girl in Paris reemerges, expands, and intersects with my niece’s quest.

Inspirations

Ludwig Bemelmans’ Madeline, published in 1939

Reading with kids

The joy of summer reading

Mrs. Kiersey’s Brown Bread

March 8, 2018 By Allison

I am several generations removed from Ireland, so I access my “Irishness” in oblique ways. Little bits come down through language—a sweet prayer to my guardian angel taught to me by my grandmother or my mother’s admonishment to stop screaming like a banshee. A few objects evoke Ireland for me—the delicate Belleek dish at my bedside, adorned in roses, shamrocks, and Irish heather. An understated Waterford bud vase that I pull out in the spring.

I believe that food also has the potential to connect me to my almost unreachable, virtually unknowable heritage. But how? My family’s “Irish” recipes have been liberally adapted to suit American tastes. In flipping through Irish cookbooks, I am delighted by the names of traditional dishes: Dublin Coddle, Barmbrack, Wicklow Pancake.

Yet I gravitate toward something more basic: Irish Brown Bread. My family doesn’t bake brown bread, so I have no family recipes to reference. A few years ago, I fell into an internet hole of brown bread recipes. Overwhelmed and confused, I abandoned my brown bread quest. But then I thought to pester my Irish friend and colleague. He is a real Irishman with a real Irish mum, and I suspected that she would have a tried and true brown bread recipe. My persistence paid off. When I finally got my hands on the recipe, I knew I had found “my” brown bread.

Over the last few months, I have been playing with this Irish recipe in my Kentucky kitchen. Mrs. Kiersey’s recipe for brown bread is quick and straightforward. Coarsely ground whole wheat flour is key, as it gives the desired texture and density to the loaf. Buttermilk gives it a nice bite. Baking soda does a lot of heavy lifting, so make sure yours is fresh! The resulting loaf is crusty and hearty. Serve it with salted butter or hard cheese. Enjoy at breakfast or for an afternoon snack with a bold, black tea.

Baking Irish Brown Bread has created a subtle, yet moving pathway between my foremothers and me. Were they Irish? Yes! Did they bake brown bread? They may have. I acknowledge that my new penchant for Irish Brown Bread is a tenuous connection to women whose names and stories I do not know. Nonetheless, the gesture of bread making allows me to imagine the invisible women of my distant, yet meaningful history.

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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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I Lost the Art of Letter Writing

February 24, 2018 By Allison

When I was eight, my grandmother gifted me my first diary. She must have ordered it from the Lillian Vernon Catalog. It was bright pink with tiny yellow and purple hearts. It had a lock and key. I was tickled.

I began writing in my diary on January 1, 1987. Since I hated boys and didn’t have any secrets to record, I wrote about my days. Math class-basketball practice-sleepover. Reading class-basketball practice-dinner with the neighbors. Math class-basketball practice-Connect Four with Beej and Trish. After a month, I realized that my third grade life lacked variety. My diary had become repetitive, so I set it aside.

In middle school the expected intrigues sprouted, so I began to journal. At about the same time, I became a prolific letter writer. For almost two decades, I penned three and four page letters on fine paper with fancy pens provided by my father. During those formative years, I filled pages and sent them to friends around the world. I loved the tactile experience of putting words to the page, of embroidering my stories on paper.

Several years ago, I abruptly stopped writing letters. I still have an abundance of beautiful stationery, and I sign important documents with Dad’s Waterman pens. Why did I abandon a beloved and soothing activity? I often hear people say that they just don’t have time to write letters, and although time is a consideration, I don’t really buy that explanation. We choose how to spend our precious time—with family, in front of Netflix, at the gym, or hard at work. Although I am nostalgic for the ambitious letter-writing me, I choose to use my leisure time differently. I want to take walks with my friends, and I want to share meals with them. For now, face-to-face exchanges with loved ones take precedent over letters.

Yet the blank page still calls to me. Its emptiness is an inspiring, potential space of creation. When I sit down in front of a blank piece of paper or a white computer screen, ideas shoot through me and chains of words form in my mind’s eye. Some of them make their way to this blog—a crisscrossed echo of the journaling and letter-writing I left behind. Happily, I am still “embroidering”.

Inspriations

My lovely friend Dana is a talented letter writer who blogs about all things mail on Save Snail Mail.

Thomas Mallon’s book Yours Ever investigates letter writing in the western world.

I once visited the delightful Musée des Lettes et Manuscrits where I saw several of Matisse and Picasso’s letters. Sadly, the museum closed in 2010.

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

Light and Sky

January 8, 2018 By Allison

“Space is the breath of art.”
–Frank Lloyd Wright

Sometimes big cities suffocate me. It seems that every inch of space is occupied by buildings, kiosks, and concrete. I often find myself needing more green and more sky.

My recent trip to New York was bitterly cold, and the wind was brutal. Venturing out was a process and a challenge, but my walks were freeing—the icy wind invigorating, the snowflakes dreamy. Ice and snow dotted grey-green Central Park. I easily weaved my way through the crowds on 5^th avenue, stumbled into a toasty bookstore when my toes were too cold, and late one afternoon, found a French bistro serving soupe au pistou.

The constant chill of those days froze my senseless, minor worries, and the wind then blew them away. Amongst and between the traffic and skyscrapers, I reclaimed my inner spaciousness. New York gave breath to an elegant artfulness that refreshed and reset my own desire to create. I bring home color, texture, light, and sky.

Inspirations

Afternoon Tea in Astor Court

Pablo Picasso’s Bird on a Tree at the Guggenheim

Odilon Redon’s Pandora at the Met

Mozart and Tchaikovsky at Lincoln Center

Hygge for One

December 15, 2017 By Allison

Although there is much to be done in the coming days, I am taking a hygge day—choral Christmas music, ginger spice candle, fuzzy clothes, baking,and tea…

I realize that community is central to the Danish practice of hygge—coziness, togetherness, sharing, and reciprocity… board games, comfort food, and mulled wine…

Seeing that my near future holds an abundance of family time, I am content to build a solo hygge experience right now. Let’s hope that this cozy “me time” helps me to refrain from snapping at my family next week. (Who are we kidding? I will be short with them!)

Later today, I will prepare a savory pork roast. I will roast vegetables. I will sip lush red wine. I will listen to podcasts, and I will write in my journal. Maybe I will Netflix and chill.

But for now, I am indulging in freshly baked cookies: David Lebovitz’s Buckwheat Chocolate Chip Cookies. They’re earthy, sweet and robust. I pair them with an appropriately cold-weather tea—Nilgiri Frost Oolong. This rare tea—from India—develops its intense fruitiness during chilly winter months. Its assertiveness stands up to the chocolate, buckwheat and walnut. This cookie-tea pair is quintessential winter fare.

My solitary hygge day is not lonely—I deliver Buckwheat Chocolate Chip Cookies to a baker friend, I chat with my stylist about her holiday plans, and I text a sleepy friend in Europe. My hygge mindset weaves a web of meaningful togetherness that will gently carry me into the chaos of the coming weeks.

Inspirations

The New York Times on Hygge

The New Yorker on Hygge

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