Room to Breathe

With the prospect of lots of out of town summer weekends ahead of me, I've been savoring the last few that I have at home for the foreseeable future.  Saturdays are generally spent puttering about...farmer's market in the morning, yoga and then various necessary tasks.  Later Paul and I meet up after he is done with whatever epic bike ride he's undertaken that day and we either have a quiet night in or a night out on the town.

But Sunday, glorious Sunday!  I sleep as late as I like, I make a decadent breakfast, I tussle over the TV with Paul for a bit (my political talk shows versus his downloaded British dramas) and then the afternoon is wide open.  For whatever.

Now of course more often than not things don't quite go according to plan.  There are errands to be run, people to be seen, chores to be done.  But everyone once in a while, things are perfectly free and easy.

I have just enough odds and ends in the refrigerator to make a beautiful, balanced breakfast.

[The one merguez sausage left over from dinner the night before was just as luscious and fat-studded as I had hoped it would be.  The bit of dill I had kicking around in the vegetable drawer added the perfect je ne sais quoi  to my eggs, and the slightly wilted red mustard greens (currently my favorite variety of greens) provided the crunch and vitamins.]

I have the freedom to thumb through inspiring cookbooks, both new and old.

And the time to cook from them.

[Jim Lahey's carrot bread, nascent stage]

These are the times to be savored.

A Very Strict Rule

My apartment was awash in purple and green this weekend. The trend started innocently enough, with a plush bouquet from my favorite flower wholesaler, James Durr. In general, I feel that each bunch of flowers I pick up before my beloved peonies come into season is simply a placeholder, a facsimile of the real thing.

But this spray of lilac and green transcended the normal clutch of blooms that often sits on my kitchen table. It had charisma.

I suspect that it was through its sheer force of personality that a distinct purple and green theme began to spread throughout my apartment.

First it was the purple and green hued ramps that I sauteed with vinegar and capers to accompany my baked skate for a fresh from the greenmarket lunch.

It got progressively more intense with the purple pickled ramps that I made after lunch.

And then, at the highest end of the spectrum, my electric green ramp pesto (ramp tops, garlic, salt, olive oil, parmesan and almonds) that I whipped up (or rather the Cuisinart did) in the early evening.

There were of course a few very vocal deviants...

But then I always welcome rebels, particularly ones as enchanting as these.

Flowers on Sunday

With the bulk of my social engagements for the weekend complete by very early Saturday morning, I was looking at a deliciously lazy weekend ahead of me.

With the apartment full of early springtime flowers

(Crocuses on the kitchen table)

(Lilacs in my favorite mint julep cup)

I felt absolutely sure that I was setting myself up for some indulgent downtime.

As an aside, have you ever noticed that everyone in creation talks to you when you are carrying a large bouquet of flowers (particularly lilacs) down the street? For those finding it hard to meet someone in New York, I highly recommend wandering the streets on a sunny weekend day with armfuls of these fragrant purple blossoms.

Saturday was largely consumed with errands but Sunday, oh Sunday! After an early night on Saturday I arose early, relishing the peace and quiet that occurs at this time of day, with the sun just beginning to glow behind the buildings opposite my apartment. I nursed a mug of PG Tips while perusing the Sunday New York Times, interrupted only by the periodic need to tend to my hot cross buns (only a week late!).

Presently, perhaps roused by the aroma of said hot cross buns, Paul awoke and we devoured these tasty little treats in tandem. Clotilde, on whose website I found the recipe, once again outdid herself. I would encourage any white chocolate-phobes not to be put off by the ingredient list for this recipe. Perhaps white chocolate is the tacky cousin to milk chocolate, which is in turn the tacky sibling to dark chocolate, but somehow in this context, accompanied by dates and pistachios, it just works. It happily becomes a bit like caramel.

Fully sated, Paul and I headed up to Soho House for a noontime screening of the Hurt Locker. I had expected it to be so depressing so as to ruin my day, but oddly I didn't find it to be so. I carried on with the rest of my day with various bits of the film popping up in my thoughts, but not in any particularly disturbing way.

Eventually I made it back downtown with the intention of starting in on some spring cleaning, my closet being target one. But this beautifully written book (and the sunny roof deck) were calling out to me...

...and the closet would have to wait.

On the Cusp

I perhaps spoke to soon when I said that sun had returned to New York.

Although I believe fervently that the weather as a topic of conversation is one of the more tiresome options out there, to be relied upon only as a last resort if you find yourself in an impossibly dull and awkward exchange, this past weekend's mercurial weather system was quite a thing to see (and talk about). Mad gusts of wind and pelting rain kept me indoors for most of the day, commiserating with various friends about our shared desire to avoid crossing any thresholds that led to to the outdoors.

I suppose this means that it is the beginning of the "cruel" season, in the way that T.S. Eliot described April, that is. Bouts of warmth and sun bring with them optimism and joy for the glorious time of year that one (falsely) believes to be upon us, only to be dashed by violent storms and incessant rain, reminding us pitilessly that intensely colored days and balmy nights are not nearly as close at hand as we think.

But I take comfort in the idea that we all are on the brink of spring. Liberty of London is filling Target with flower bedecked merchandise for heavens sake, and the pop up store in Bryant Park was completely sold out less than two days after it had opened (much to my dismay as I had trekked up there in the rain in heels ready to purchase some spring-like prints!). People feel that we are upon it, animals feel it, and nature feels it. Every bit of my (very damp) trip to the Greenmarket in Union Square reassured me of this fact.

The daffodils, tight and closed to the world when I bought them, are just beginning to open in sunshine hued bursts.

And the peach tree branches that I bought and then plunked in my new stoneware planter, which was not large enough to accommodate any of my many windowsill pots but stands in quite happily as a vase, are covered in tight little "almost" buds,

primed and ready to explode in a deliciously pink blossom.

The ramps and peonies (my two personal harbingers of spring) cannot be far behind!

A Winter Feast

I've spent the last few weeks wondering when life got so busy. Between a new job, a consequent renewed interest in keeping up professional relationships, a desire to catch up with friends after the hectic holiday season and an unusually high number of birthday celebrations this month I've been out far more than I've been in. And I'm worn out.

Luckily my week ended with a relaxed dinner at my apartment with a group of lovely ladies. The food was, thanks to my dinner party savior the River Cafe Cookbook, incredibly easy to prepare...the Spaghetti al Limone and the pork braised in vinegar are just about as low maintenance as you can get, and the salad, based on one I tried at Bouchon a few months ago, is probably the only Thomas Keller recipe that requires the use of less than four dishes (it uses one).

And dessert was particularly easy because I didn't make it. Vivian, who I'm slowly learning is a deceptively talented cook, made an amazing flan, and Rachel was kind enough to come bearing Crumbs cupcakes. I will be spending the rest of the weekend indoors, away from the cold, nose in a book, snacking on the remains of the feast. Particularly the sweet stuff.

New(ish) Beginnings

I'm not one for New Year's resolutions. I've never been particularly attached to the idea of New Year's Eve (something about being told that you must be festive is off-putting to me), so I suppose my ambivalence towards the other traditions surrounding the holiday is no surprise. It just doesn't seem natural to me to embark on new life-changing endeavors in the midst of the dark and the cold. Perhaps Easter would be a better time? The weather is certainly more encouraging and the holiday is, after all, premised on the idea of a rebirth.

However, there is something I like about the change from the old year to the new. The focus seems to change...we begin to look forward to spring rather than to holidays, we spend weeks reconnecting with friends that we have missed during the last few weeks of December and there is a feeling of purity of sorts that comes with writing the new year on documents and checks and such.

And although I'm in no mood for vast lifestyle changes, I do love the idea of slight tune-ups, which perhaps will engender effortless positive evolution in time. Sort of a "fake it 'til you make it" philosophy.

For instance, my lovely new coat will hopefully result in an effortlessly chic wardrobe,

my new delightfully warm gloves will perhaps encourage a renewed dedication to good grooming habits,

and my new grown-up version of a lunch box will presumably encourage healthy meals and more frequent visits to one of my absolute favorite stores, Kiosk, which carries this charming (Portguese, I'm told) contraption.

And so far my little scheme seems to be working. As I write this I'm sitting in a clean, organized apartment listening to the great growler Mr. Tom Waits with my beloved on a cozy winter's eve. And, after a restorative brunch with some long lost friends earlier today, I'm happily anticipating a robust pasta dinner. Delicious. All of it.

Rain Rain Come to Stay

The forecast for this past weekend called for rainy skies, frigid air and blustery winds. I couldn't have been more thrilled. After a draining week I wanted to do nothing more than sleep, read and potter about the kitchen, and the inclement weather would be the perfect backdrop.

It all started off beautifully. After an early night on Friday, I melted into bed and awoke the next morning delighted to lie on the sofa with the newspaper. I eventually pried myself away for a brief jaunt to the Greenmarket where I picked up some winter squash and indulged in a cup (or possibly two) of hot apple cider.

The afternoon was a deliciously solitary one, as Paul was out riding his bicycle like a mad man in the cold. In the early evening, just as he returned, the kitchen pottering began. I grabbed an idea that I had seen the lovely Ms. Lawson execute a week or so before....pork chops with hard cider and mustard sauce. I replaced her gnocchi (I cannot abide the store bought version...I haven't come across one that doesn't taste like a lump of glue) with orrechiette and added in some sauteed cabbage as well. It was delightful fortification for what ended up being a long night.

There was a band, a concert, a party and eventually a temporarily homeless tour manager who ended up sleeping in our living room that night, and hanging out on our couch much of the following day. So the solitary loafing idea was out. No matter, needs musts, and his company was wonderful besides.

Despite entertaining the unexpected guest, I did, as I had hoped I would, get a chance to try out Yvette's Irish Tea Brack, which as it turned out, was delicious! Though one slice with a bit of fromage blanc will tide you over for an extraordinarily long time. And possibly initiate severe tooth decay simultaneously.

So my dream of watching Sunday morning political talk shows and cooking shows was not to be ...it's a bit rude to watch TV wordlessly when guests are about, no? I didn't catch up on my newspaper backlog or make any sort of significant dent in the fascinating but long book I'm reading at the moment. Plus my dreams of a clean, orderly apartment by the end of the weekend (Paul was making noises about organizing that pesky bookshelf by the bar) were dashed as well. And my veggie stash from the CSA box? No progress at all. But I did get to see the talented Mr. Kravitz at Irving Plaza that night so I suppose it was not a complete loss.

Usually when Monday rolls around I'm just in the mood to do very little. A brief collapse after work followed by an extraordinarily simple dinner and some trashy TV. But this week I had residual weekend cooking energy, I suppose because there was no Sunday dinner with friends to prepare nor a long Sunday afternoon baking project? And thus, last night my deconstructed (read: easy) swiss chard and goat cheese tart came to be.

I started with Suzanne Goin's recipe for swiss chard tart, eliminated items I didn't have and added a few I did. A layer of fromage blanc mixed with yogurt and an egg, topped by goat cheese and chard sauteed with shallots and thyme, then another layer of goat cheese, baked until bubbling, and what I ended up with was a tasty Monday night dinner.

Extreme lounging will wait I suppose. I've got all winter.