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Skimping on Dessert

By Allison

When I entertain, I almost always favor savory over sweet. I’d rather linger over a few small bites before dinner than serve a rich dessert after dinner.

This week, my selection of amuse-bouches required some foresight, but the elements came together easily. I served small portions of quinoa and farro salad with pickled fennel, a white tuna mousse with basil on small crackers, and roasted almonds.

Here’s my strategy for pulling together a harmonious appetizer tray:

The day before your dinner party
*Take stock of your materials. Do you have a sizeable serving tray or platter? Do you have verrines (small glasses), little jars, or shot glasses to serve soup or salad? No worries if you need to mix and match—it adds character and charm. Pull out bread plates, if you have them, and try to get your hands on some square cocktail napkins.

*Make a grain salad or soup. They will both taste even better the day of your gathering. I served this delightful and easily adaptable salad.

*Make a recipe of roasted almonds. I share my recipe at the end of this post. If you don’t have time to roast your own nuts, grab some at the grocery store.

The day of your dinner party
*Lay out your tray and accoutrements.

The hour before your dinner party
*Taste and freshen your soup or salad. Does it need a splash of oil or vinegar? Maybe some salt and pepper? Spoon into serving dishes and garnish with fresh herbs.

*Spread any dips on crackers or thinly sliced baguette. I served this mousse.

*Take a moment to prepare your tray. Resist the temptation of overcharging it with food and decoration. The goal is to whet your guests’ appetites, not stuff them before dinner.

When your guests arrive
*Begin your evening with the aperitif of your choice—sparkling wine, sparkling water, fruit juice, and bourbon are good choices.

*Enjoy conversation and pretty snacks with your guests before the main course.  Slip away when you need to put the finishing touches on dinner.

For dessert
*If you served a generous tray of appetizers, don’t feel obligated to prepare a substantial dessert. This week, I finished my dinner party with small madeleine cakes that I had in the freezer.

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Embroidery

By Allison

Flea markets are therapeutic.  My eyes do the initial sifting as I make my way down the aisles and through the booths.  When I am drawn to an object—a hand-painted tray, a copper planter, a Limoges teacup—I approach for a closer look.  Where was it made?  What is its story?  Can I make space for this object in my little house?

The visual and tactile experience of an overflowing flea market allows me to move beyond my internal, distracting chatter.  Yesterday, in the company of a friend, this dainty needlepoint purse found me.  The handwork is intricate—much care and concentration went into this old-fashioned piece.  I wonder who made it and who carried it…

Embroidery has long been a form of feminine expression.  My self-taught needlework is precise but sporadic.  Usually, I choose to embroider through language.  Both written and spoken, words form my stitches.  Clean, fumbling, or elegant they lend texture to my creative work.  Pauses are perhaps more important than words.  Spaces of silence, they allow my chains of words to function as thoughts.  At the flea market, I sometimes find myself existing in the spaces between the stitches of everyday life.  The precious pause leads me to small treasures, sharpens my curiosity about their pasts, and inspires me to imagine new places and purposes for them.

Recreating Melbourne

By Allison

Oh, how I’d love to slip away to Melbourne for a weekend!  Alas!  Quick visits to Australia are out of reach for most of us in the Northern Hemisphere.  But all is not lost.  My memories and pictures bring me back to the mosaic floors of Melbourne’s elegant covered passages and its iconic street art.  And in my Kentucky kitchen, I revisit a stunning meal shared with my good friends Stephanie and Jeremy.

Each and every dish at Rumi Restaurant was exquisite—creamy labne, cheese-filled pastry “cigars”, meatballs in tomato and saffron sauce.  But one dish stood out, and I’ve been recreating it for months.  Each time it evokes early Australian autumn, merriment, and friendship.  This salad is made with a Middle Eastern grain called freekeh.  Chewy and slightly nutty, freekeh is a substantial grain.  Serve it as a vegetarian main or in verrines as a savory-sweet starter.  The juicy grapes beautifully juxtapose the tart feta.  The pomegranate molasses lends a slight, deep sweetness.  The parsley adds a vegetative touch that unifies the salad.

Freekeh, Grape, and Feta salad comes together fairly easily and has the power to awaken memories.  Bon appétit!

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Cicada Song

By Allison

Then each one of us, […] will move back out on the pitch-black porch and let the body heat of the day leech from the house and our own bodies out onto the night, its billion singers—tree frogs, cicadas, the deathless crickets, the high whine of bats–” Renyolds Price, Outdoor on the Porch

This bean has recently fallen under the spell of cicada music.  As the day’s last light falls, she wanders from Grandma’s porch into the front yard to explore the emerging sights and sounds of twilight…  she seems most intrigued by cicadas, which the Bean Girl sometimes refers to as bicadies.

She hears their song—verging on deafening—but she doesn’t see them.  Perplexed, she returns to the porch, peppering Uncle Jack and Aunt Allison with questions.  What are cicadas/bicadies? Where are they? Why do they make that noise?

We dig deep to share what we remember about the insect.  In the winter, they live underground.  After many years, they are ready to come up and spend time in the trees.  Cicadas have wings.  When Uncle Jack gets technical, Bean Girl makes her way back to the yard, swatting at oak and hickory trees with sticks.  She hopes to lay her eyes on a cicada.

Her precocious exploration sparks my own inquiry.  What do cicadas teach us?  I recall that they are a beloved symbol of Provence.  They spend years underground before seeking the sunlight.  19th century poet Frédéric Mistral even granted cicadas their own motto:  the sunlight makes me sing.

That light is slipping through our fingers.  The evening air is heavy, but we feel autumn coolness pushing up against these last days of summer.  As Bean Girl searches the yard, we settle deeper into our spots on the porch and sip the last of the rosé, engulfed in cicada song.

 

Inspirations

Out on The Porch

The Song of the Cicada

 

Impromptu Porch Party

By Allison

The beginning of August was gloriously cool and breezy—not Iowa State Fair weather by any stretch of the imagination.  Mom’s cozy front porch is underused, so one day I welcomed her home from work with a mini porch party.  It was a snap to organize this tiny gathering:

–I mixed up a pitcher of Aperol Spritz—a refreshing and slightly bitter Italian apéritif we drank during our trip to Florence a few years back.  Happy memories of relaxed, buoyant terrace restaurants!

–I picked up some nibbles at the local grocery—pitted olives, bocconcini (bite-sized mozzarella) marinated in olive oil, parsley, and red pepper flakes, roasted and salted pistachios.

–I pulled out Mom’s most colorful glassware, which are works of art in themselves.

Our porch party required a little thought but not much action.  It came together quickly and allowed us to have a relaxed, lighthearted moment together, enjoying the flowers and the late summer light.

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Le bon thé de Sahar

By Allison

Cardamom TeaMy friend Sahar is a cardamom tea connoisseur.  Milky and minty with a bold cardamom profile, her morning sips are robust and comforting.

On a recent visit to her home in Sydney, I studied her technique through my bleary morning fog. Her cardamom teabags are an easy reach from the electric kettle.  As the water comes to a boil, she places one or two teabags in her favorite mug.  She pulls fresh mint and milk from the refrigerator.  She places a small container of cardamom pods on the counter.

When the water reaches a rolling boil, Sahar pours it into her mug, leaving room for milk.  She brews a strong cardamom tea, sometimes boosting the flavor by dropping a cardamom pod in the mug.  She pinches three or four mint leaves from a branch and slips them into the mug.  The tea steeps for several minutes. Before drinking, she adds a splash of milk.

I was thrilled by her cardamom tea ritual, and she sent me home with cardamom teabags and loose tea.  Sahar shared Wagh Bakri, Ahmad, and Premier’s Cardamom Tea.  I have enjoyed preparing all of these teas à la Sahar.  When I make “her” cardamom tea, my mind drifts back to her warm welcome and gentle spirit.

I have made a small adjustment to Sahar’s morning cardamom tea, adding about ½ teaspoon honey to each serving.  Sometimes I zap the milk in the microwave for 15 seconds before adding it to the tea.  I have also used her method to prepare Masala Chai, a symphony of black tea ginger, cinnamon, cardamom, black and white pepper, clove, and nutmeg.  I find the fresh mint to be a lovely addition.  This fall, I plan to work up a caffeine-free Sahar tea with this Chai Rooibos Caffeine-Free Infusion.

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Summer Reads

By Allison

I let reading take over this summer.  It’s just what I needed.  Last summer I was too busy to settle in with my books, only able to squeeze in a few novels here and there.  I missed the ease of summer reading and vowed that this year would be different.  I have been consuming books!

Real books

Le Camélia de ma mère by Alain Baraton

Wabi-Sabi for Artists, Designers, Poets & Philosophers by Leonard Koren

The Romance of Tea by William Ukers

Une Gourmandise by Muriel Barbery

Biographie de la faim by Amélie Nothomb

Olio by Tychimba Jess

 

On the Kindle

Middlesex by Jeffery Eugenedies

The Hidden Life of Trees by Peter Wohlleben

The Light Between the Oceans by M.L. Stedmen

 

Audio Books

The Story of the Lost Child by Elena Ferrante

The Signature of All Things by Elizabeth Gilbert

The Goldfinch, by Donna Tartt

What are you reading?  In what format do you read?  I am new to audio books and having fun with them.  I’d love to know your thoughts!

 

Between, Within, Beneath

By Allison

<img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-768" src="https://www.creativesanctuary.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/collioure-succulents-water-300x300.jpg" alt="Collioure Succulents Water" width="300" height="300" />Life is lush in this Mediterranean village.  Located in the south of France mere miles from Spain, Catalan culture pervades Collioure.  Tapas, espadrilles, sunshiny wine…  People glide between French, Spanish, and Catalan.  Vivacious and expressive, they draw me in.

I initially came to Collioure to spend a few days on the water.  I discovered the light that moved Matisse, making way for Fauvism.  I ate fresh, briny anchovies.  I watched the sun rise over the medieval lighthouse-church sitting at the edge of the water.  This bright village of 3,000 gave me both solitude and company.  I made friends at every turn—at the hotel reception, walking along the jagged inlets, sipping Banyuls wine at a waterside café.

I also experienced the grace of stillness.  In “Song of the Reed,” mystic poet Rumi counsels,

Stay where you are
inside such a pure, hollow note 

I practiced inhabiting that hollowness.  Allowing my mind to settle beneath the buzz of the village, I connected to the minute elements of its landscape.  From that still, internal space, my attention moved to the generous succulents that dot the village, to the smooth, flat stones that make up the beach, and to the laundry artfully hung outside the windows of pink, yellow, and blue homes.  Inside my hollow note, the surrounding hills and massive château lost their grandeur.  The vividness of Collioure made its way to me through the secrets hidden within the notes of overlapping voices and juxtaposed colors.

 

Inspiration

Rumi’s “Song of the Reed”

Chamomile/Camomile

By Allison

chamomile herbal teaI am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening.  His mother put him to bed, and made some camomile tea; and she gave a dose of it to Peter! —The Tale of Peter Rabbit, Beatrix Potter

With her strong connection to the natural world, Beatrix Potter knew that chamomile was just the thing to ease her mischievous protagonist.  Preparing and sipping herbal infusions is soothing and healing.  But we needn’t wait for upset to benefit from them!

In the last few years, I have liberalized my consumption of chamomile and other tisanes.  I admit to getting a little bored with plain water.  I crave variety.  I always keep a few herbal teas on hand, and chamomile is one of my “fun” hydration options.  I find chamomile to have herbaceous, subtly floral notes.  Warm, it calms me.  At room temperature, the drink tastes more botanical.  Chilled chamomile tea is refreshing and cooling.

Studies on the health benefits of chamomile are intriguing. Yet even without reading up on the medicinal uses of this dainty flower, we can choose to use it in healing ways. As we prepare tisanes, we connect with the plant and the people who grew and harvested it.  Drinking a chamomile infusion is hydrating, and that in itself is therapeutic. Peter’s mother instinctively knew that chamomile would help her little rabbit.  We, too, can trust ourselves to reach for the tin of chamomile when we need to rebalance, rehydrate, or rejuvenate.

 

Inspirations

Miss Potter, a charming biographical film about Beatrix Potter

Blog post on chamomile and other tisanes, by tea expert Bruce Richardson

 

 

Maximizing Summer

By Allison

My little patio garden is bursting.  Each year, I tinker with this square space off my kitchen.  I’ve learned that it’s too sunny for impatiens and that begonias thrive in the morning sun.  Potted herbs always take off, and so each summer I find myself swirling ribbons of basil into gazpacho, stirring mint into lemonade, and topping my green salads with chives.

Yet as much as I cook, I can’t possibly use all the herbs tumbling over the terra cotta pots!  The basil is blended into pesto, frozen in ice cube trays, and then transferred to freezer bags, to be popped out later in the year.  Last summer, I finally started drying sage, mint, thyme, and rosemary.  Why did I not think to do this before?

After snipping the herbs, I bring them inside and give them a good rinse.  I remove and discard all the yellowed or bruised leaves and thoroughly dry the rest. I lay them out on a big plate, and the drying process begins.  In the days that follow, I flip them, shift them, and watch their slow transformation.  As I go about my day, I may sense a hint of mint in the air; sometimes I’ll notice the sage leaves begin to curl.  I honor the humble beauty of a patio garden by preparing herbs for colder seasons.  I waste less of summer’s goodness.  And perhaps most unexpectedly, the weeks of herb drying become a meditative experience for me—one that requires focus, attentiveness, and care.

Each herb dries in its own time. As they are ready, I gently nestle them into the glass jars I’ve set aside and labeled.  Months later, I will reach for them to season a pot of lentils or bundle them into a bouquet garni.  These moments will bring me back to the summer fullness of my lively little patio and to the slow beauty of watching herbs dry.