I’m padding around my kitchen barefoot, late at night, on a rescue mission – making homemade ricotta from the milk that’s set to expire and cooking a batch of broccoli cheddar soup before the broccoli expires too. I love this – this quiet solo time in the kitchen. Pots on the stove. Fragrant aromas wafting through the house. Soft lighting. A shaft of moonlight falling across the dining room table. It’s a gorgeous August night. There’s a cool breeze, a waxing gibbous moon, and Neil Diamond singing “Stones” from the Hot August Night album on the radio. I’m on a massive trip down memory lane, remembering my beautiful best friend from high school, who succumbed to cancer way too early. We knew every single word to this entire album. Continue reading “homemade ricotta & a batch of baked spinach ricotta penne”
“Leeks are the softly-softly of the onion family.” Continue reading “fettuccine with leeks and why food writing matters”
“Something is always born of excess: great art was born of great terrors, great loneliness, great inhibitions, instabilities, and it always balances them.” Continue reading “Anaïs Nin and a classic Italian Bolognese sauce”
My paternal grandfather was one of the great loves of my life. He introduced me to the concept of unconditional love, though neither of us ever used those words. In fact, I’m pretty sure that I never heard him use the word love and he wasn’t particularly demonstrative either. But I knew he loved me – long before I knew much of anything at all. Continue reading “memories of love: tortellini in brown butter sage sauce”
“Who is the subject of most poems? Not the beloved. It is that hole.” ~ From Eros the Bittersweet by Anne Carson
Carson is talking about poetry, but that hole that she is referring to is the subject of much more than poetry. It’s the subject of a lot of powerful prose. It’s the subject of much of our lives. It’s the human condition.
That hole is the reason we end up in therapists’ offices, on psychiatrists’ couches, on drugs, or alcohol. Or addicted to food, or pain, or love, or sex, or gambling, or suffering or whatever it is that at least temporarily fills “that hole” – that big burning hole that represents something or someone missing. Continue reading “the “Inscrutable Brilliance” of Anne Carson and a little pasta Puttanesca”
OOOPS! Apologies for my post yesterday which somehow did not work. I was attempting to re-blog (with permission) a beautiful looking chicken noodle soup posted by the lovely blog apuginthekitchen. Continue reading “de-constructed chicken noodle soup – hungry for home”
“You can’t start the next chapter of your life if you keep re-reading your last one.”
Oh yes, the proverbial next chapter.