Uncategorized

Wearing Stories

June 17, 2018 By Allison

Every day, I wear stories. The stack of bracelets on my left arm reminds me of dear people, travels, and great deals scored in local antique shops. Side-by-side, the bangles, beads, cuffs, metal, and leather hold meaningful moments that span decades—my visit to the Leather School in Florence, a sterling silver bangle that Dad brought back from Ireland, two sweet bracelets made of glass beads from Mali.

I mix color and texture, vintage and contemporary. Bracelets offer too much possibility for a minimalist aesthetic, so I give into my maximalist tendencies. More is more–shine, glimmer, clink and contrast! We are ever-changing works of art, and our jewels reflect our evolution. My arm decoration changes by day, marking moods, seasons, and the sweet passage of time.

Tea Canvas

June 8, 2018 By Allison

Sometimes I fantasize about being a cocktail maven. A dainty antique cabinet would hold my liqueurs and artisanal bitters. I would shake and stir highballs, sours, and eye-pleasing botanical libations. If you were a guest in my home, I’d serve you the perfect cocktail in the perfect cocktail glass.

Sadly, I am not that hostess. As much as I like the idea of cocktails, I usually find them to be too sweet, too expensive, and too alcohol-heavy. Although I do make the occasional Aperol Spritz, I am usually happiest serving and sipping rosé.

Since the arrival of hot weather, my impulse to decorate drinks has been strong. I accept that cocktails aren’t my thing, so I’ve turned to iced tea. I make a cold infusion with this iced tea blend from the Nilgiri region of India. My iced tea is smooth, crisp, and clear. It is a refreshing canvas for my summertime decorations—sweet mint, cucumber, Thai basil, blueberries, strawberries, lemons… These days, my iced teas are juicy and complex. My culinary imagination blossoms as I slice, infuse, and taste. My berry forward iced teas are buoyant and lush. Basil and lemon give the teas a bite. When I allow them to rest in the fridge for a few hours or even a few days, they develop depth.

Although I can’t garner much enthusiasm for Old Fashioneds or Mint Juleps, stunning teas and seasonal garnishes serve as my creative tools of experimentation. I brew, smell, sample, and tinker. Eventually, I achieve a drink that captures the moment–a modest, ephemeral taste of summer.

Inspirations

My Sparkling Apple Spice Tea Cocktail

Elmwood Inn Fine Teas’ Kentucky Tea Julep

The Tea Squirrel’s Summer Tea Mocktail

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.

Ginger Water

May 5, 2018 By Allison

I can easily drink tea all day long, but I like to have some caffeine-free sipping options on hand as well—sparkling water, a chamomile infusion, or ginger water. Ginger water is new in my kitchen. I make it by the liter and drink it at room temperature—plain or with a squeeze of lemon juice. A splash of sparkling water is nice. For a little sweetness, you could stir in a tablespoon or two of honey before the water cools.

So why ginger water? It is tasty yet gentle, and I find it to be simultaneously soothing and revitalizing. I rehydrate with a glass first thing in the morning, and I often have another in the afternoon. Drinking ginger water helps me to feel healthy, but if it weren’t delicious, I wouldn’t drink it. It’s my no-sugar ginger lemonade.

Inspirations

The Chopra Institute lays out the benefits of ginger here.

If you’re craving something sweeter, I recommend Chocolate and Zucchini’s recipe for ginger lemonade.

Ginger Water

Created by aconnolly24 on May 5, 2018

More than a recipe, this is a method. Use a little less or a little more ginger, more or less water. You could also boil the water and ginger on the stove top for a stronger ginger flavor. I leave the pitcher of ginger water on the counter during the day and put it in...

Category: Asian Inspired, Tea and other Drinks

Ingredients

3 inch piece of ginger
1 L filtered water

Instructions

Peel ginger with the back of a spoon
Slice ginger and place in large bowl
Bring water to a boil, and pour over ginger
Steep until water has cooled to room temperature, about 45 minutes
Strain through a sieve and pour into pitcher
Drink at room temperature or chilled. Ginger flavor is more pronounced when water is at room temperature.

Keyhole

April 28, 2018 By Allison

...everything is already present, though hidden.
–Hildegard of Bingen

We’re drawn to the grandeur of Gothic cathedrals—height, history, stained glass, light. So old! So holy! So overwhelming!

I’ve made my way to Chartres Cathedral several times in the last twenty years, and each visit allows me to know the space more intimately. With each day spent wandering the Cathedral, its light, colors, and shapes become more deeply rooted in my internal landscape. Likewise, I think that through my thought and presence, I become part of the very long history of Notre-Dame de Chartres. I believe that different versions of myself linger in the transepts, the ambulatories, and on the 13^th century labyrinth.

During my last visit to Chartres, the Cathedral was cold and hushed. More than usual, I absorbed detail. A small, dried bouquet tacked to a column, a group of women praying the rosary at the foot of a statue of the Virgin Mary, a tunic-shaped keyhole on the North Porch of the church. The decoration had been already present, though hidden to me, lost among the statues of Old Testament figures. The minute detail announces that Notre-Dame de Chartres houses the Sancta Camisia, a veil that is believed to have been worn by the Virgin Mary. A sacred relic, the garment was given to Chartres in 876 by Charlemagne’s grandson, Charles the Bald. The Sancta Camisia has been credited with protecting the Cathedral over the centuries, and it is still an object of devotion for pilgrims.

Each of my occasional Chartres pilgrimages helps me to unlock present-hidden parts of myself. The knowledge doesn’t reside in the Cathedral like I once thought. Rather, I believe that sacred places emanate a peaceful beauty that enables us to access the wisdom we already possess.

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

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

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.

…

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.

…

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.

« Previous Page