elephantine

this week's flowers...

...daisies, carnations, alstroemeria, oh my! A colorful supermarket bouquet.

a feature + a novel excerpt

Have I ever mentioned Story Is a State of Mind? It's a fantastic online writing course created by the talented Sarah Selecky. I signed up for it a few years ago and it helped me get out of a writing slump. It's great for many reasons, but what I really loved was how encouraging the lessons were — I felt like I had a personal cheerleader.

Sarah has a series on her blog called "In the Spotlight," where she features writers and their works-in-progress, and I was hugely flattered when she asked me to contribute. If you're interested, here's my feature, where I shared some thoughts on writing and also a very brief excerpt from my novel.

two for today

A Sunday morning hike up to Wallace Falls. It's only an hour from Seattle but feels like a world away...

four faves

This Swedish apartment, this pillow cover, this notepad, and this pistachio ice cream.

it's summer...

...which means it's popsicle season! I've made strawberry orange popsicles and cherry popsicles (shown above, made with fresh fruit, honey, and yogurt) and I tried making a striped popsicle with pink lemonade and coconut milk that sounded delicious in theory but tasted too icy in actuality. I love the way striped pops look, though. I'll share a recipe with you once I get it right.

p.s. my recipe for strawberry lime popsicles.

a poem for friday

All evening,
as the kids next door
scream and howl and sing happy birthday,
I am busy pitting cherries in the kitchen
with an unfolded paperclip, jamming it into fruit
after fruit,
after fruit,
rooting around for the stone,
until there are two hundred and forty eight pits in one bowl
and two hundred and thirty eight pitted cherries
in another.
It is impossible to pit cherries
without taking a few for yourself.
It is also impossible
not to stain the tips of your fingers,
not to poorly pierce a cherry or two
and splatter your shirt, or at the very least,
the sunburnt skin of your arm.
By the time I am done,
the mothers have come to pick up their children
in a procession of headlights that looks like
lanterns floating in the dark.
The party is over. The favor bags are being rummaged through,
tossed aside,
left in the backseats of cars.
I cannot remember any of the favor bags of my youth
except for feeling surprised every time
that I was offered a gift in return.

how to eat a radish

I was right about that first round of pink beauty radishes I tried growing—they went to seed. But I planted more, and these turned out beautifully. (It only took a month!) Today I pulled a few of them up and enjoyed them sliced thin with bread, butter, sea salt, and chives. I've run across this combo several times but for some reason never tried it until now. It's quite delicious.

Do you have any favorite ways to eat radishes? I think I'll throw a few in salads and try roasting a pan of them, too, once more are ready to harvest.

patio wishlist

This time of year I wish I could spend all day out in the yard. Especially when there are so many cute and colorful outdoor accessories and furniture! A handful of my favorites: edison string lights / broken waves pillow / acapulco multi lounge chair / hanging planter / stilt sun lounger / pierced ceramic candleholder / cube lanterns / and alldaglig paper napkins.

two for today

Pretty blooms spotted while on a walk... and pausing to enjoy the view on Blackbird Island, Leavenworth.

garden notes / the beginning of june

Since I'm growing so many things this year, it would be too tedious to give updates on everything, but here are a few highlights: the zucchini plant's leaves are getting big and gorgeous, strawberries are fattening up (one ripened quickly and was quickly consumed), the lettuce and cilantro are hanging in there, and even my one little watermelon seedling is showing some promise. I have very low expectations for the watermelon, since Seattle's climate isn't at all ideal for it, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to try, right?

more life on film

Just a few more film photos from these same rolls... oh, I love getting back film scans. It's just so much more fun that digital photography, as long as you have the patience for it.

four faves

This apartment, this ring, this clutch, and this dress.

this week's flowers...

When I planted some hellebores in the yard a few months ago, it was hard to pick a color because there were so many options. (Even black!) I misplaced the plant marker, so I'm not sure of the exact variety I have, but it's a delicate blend of light green and mauve that looks a little different from every angle.

+

Hope you have a fantastic long weekend! (Rufus is certainly ready for it.)

life on film

A mélange of snapshots from some rolls I just got developed (some of these photos are from months ago): our trip to Vancouver, planting paperwhites back in the fall, other fall foliage, and Rufus in his favorite sunny spot on a windowsill. More to come soon...

lucky in blue

A while ago, someone requested my 'lucky earrings' with dark blue beads. I love how they turned out, and I just added this color option to the shop. This blue isn't a bead color I would have normally picked out, but once I made the earrings, it made me want to use this color more.

Happy Friday!

four faves

This room, this mug, this art, and these doughnuts.

two for today

Strawberry blossoms... and baby's breath on the window sill (and some green onions I've been regrowing in water).

writing less, writing more

I have to apologize to those of you who like my Fiction Friday and/or A Poem For Friday posts. I know I haven't written one since March, and to be honest, I'm not sure if I'll have any new ones ready soon, either. But I'll try. Thing is, I actually have been writing, every day, fervently, devoting nearly all my free time to it. I've been writing longer short stories. Adopting a more serious writing habit does not make me a very interesting person (did I get outside when it was sunny? Did I do anything fun last weekend? Er, sure, for a bit, but then I scrambled back to my story) but I feel good about doing what I feel in my heart I should be doing.

(I'm still working on my novel... sort of. It's on the back burner, but I still think about it a lot. Part of me has decided that it's been a great learning experience but that it's just not meant to be. We'll see.)

Last night I finished a second draft of a short story that's about five thousand words in length. (For comparison, this post is about four hundred.) Five thousand words is a length that's easy to read in a single sitting but long enough to really get into a story. The flash fiction I post here is fun to write, but it always feels like I'm skimming the surface. I've been thinking a lot about Alice Munro lately and how rare and amazing it is that she is celebrated for being a short story writer. If any writer—in terms of style, storytelling, characterization—is a role model for me right now, it's her.

I would share some of my recent writing with you here, but my ultimate goal with the stories is to publish one or two or all of them if they turn out well enough, and the thing about literary journals is this: even if they do end up being interested in your story, they won't take it if it's been published anywhere else. Including a blog.

Still, I'll try to write some short pieces for here. And, maybe, eventually, I'll get one of these longer pieces published, and then I'll have the privilege of sharing a link to it, or telling you about the magazine it's in, or... well. First things first. I've got another draft to write.

Hope you have a great weekend.

this week's flowers...

Lilacs from our yard; it's such a treat to be able to bring freshly cut stems indoors. (And it smells heavenly.)

four faves

This bakery, this ring, this pillow, and this cheesecake.

garden notes / the beginning of may

The good: I've had a lot of progress with my veggies these last few weeks. The tomato plants look so big now compared to the last time I showed them to you. They're in the process of being hardened off and will be transplanted in another week or so. The snow peas are still doing well, and a few of my spindly broccoli seedlings even started to strengthen up. Oh, and garlic! Did you know you grow garlic simply by sticking a clove into the ground? Pretty cool. But it does take many months until it's ready for harvest.

The bad: I think my radishes have bolted (the leaves are growing, but there's no radish to be found when I've gently pushed aside some dirt to check). I'm going to give them another few weeks and then maybe pull them up... or let them flower and grow some seed pods instead. Have you ever grown radish seed pods? They sound delicious.

(pictured above: carrots, garlic, broccoli, lettuce, snow peas... and cherry tomatoes, a bit wilted from a few hours out in the sun.)

recommended reading

Four recommendations for you, if you're looking for something good to read: a book of poetry about work, a book of lectures about poetry, a gothic classic, and a coming-of-age novel. Here's a taste of each...

1. What Work Is (Philip Levine) — from the poem "Fire":

He would raise his shaking right arm
above his head, and with his palm
open sweep it toward me again
and again and speak without grammar,
sometimes without words, of what
had taken place. I knew it was true.
Now in the cool of the evening I catch
a hint of the forest, of that taking
of sudden breath that pines demand;
it's on my skin, a light oil, a sweat
born of some forgotten leaning into fire.

2. Madness, Rack, and Honey (Mary Ruefle) — "As I speak, blood is coursing through our bodies. As it moves away from the heart it marches to a 2/4 or 4/4 beat and it's arterial blood, reoxygenated, assertive, active, progressive, optimistic. When it reaches our extremities and turns toward home—the heart—well, it's nostalgic, it's venous blood (as in veins), it's tired, wavelike, rising and falling, fighting against gravity and inertia, and it moves to the beat of a waltz, a 3/4 beat, a little off, really homesick now, and full of longing. When we first write our poems, how arterial they seem! And when we go back to them, how venous they seem!"

3. Jane Eyre (Charlotte Brontë) — "Drearily I wound my way down stairs: I knew what I had to do, and I did it mechanically. I sought the key of the side-door in the kitchen; I sought, too, a phial of oil and a feather; I oiled the key and the lock. I got some water, I got some bread: for perhaps I should have to walk far; and my strength, sorely shaken of late, must not break down. All this I did without one sound. I opened the door, passed out, shut it softly. Dim dawn glimmered in the yard."

4. Brooklyn (Colm Tóibín) — "The first house, he explained, would be for the family; his mother longed for a garden and a proper house of her own. And then, he said, they would build three houses and sell them. But Maurice and Laurence had asked him if he wanted the fifth house and he had said that he did and he was asking her now if she would like to live in Long Island. It was near the ocean, he said, and not far from where the train stopped. But he did not want to take her there yet because it was winter and it was bare and bleak with nothing but waste ground and scrubland. The house would be theirs, he said, they could plan it themselves."

two for today

Rufus smelling some bluebells. A spring sky. (Photos taken with my Instax 210.)

four faves

This reading nook, this book cover, this chair, and these flowers.

this week's flowers...

...some Narcissus Replete double daffodils grown in the yard. I really love their soft, ruffled layers. I think I'll plant more in the same area this fall so that next spring is even better.

a long weekend in vancouver

I spent the last few days enjoying Vancouver—it's been years since I visited! Some highlights from the trip: taking a picturesque train ride along the coast, exploring Stanley Park and Granville Island, spending the morning at the aquarium (the sweet, smiling belugas were my favorite), braving the Capilano suspension bridge, and watching the sunset at Sunset Beach Park. And, of course, seeking out good food: stinging nettle gnocchi and roasted cheddar pan bread at Forage, salmon linguine and pizza ai funghi at Zefferelli's, a delicious breakfast at Medina, and a few sweet treats from Breka and Thierry. Whew. What a full and delicious few days.

(photos from instagram.)

garden notes / early april

Do you have a favorite way to start seeds indoors? Since this was my first time, I used a seed starting kit (like this) but the peat pellets have tended to dry out pretty fast. I like the idea of making pots out of newspaper, so maybe I'll try that next time. I've been eyeing this tool that would make it even easier.

Of the seeds I've started indoors, the snow peas and the tomatoes have done the best. I repotted the tomatoes once their second set of leaves showed up, and spent last week hardening off the snow peas and then transplanting them into the garden. But my broccoli seedlings are spindly and weak; I'll be happy if even one of them turns out well.

Other progress, from seeds sowed directly outside: the radishes are doing well, and carrot and lettuce seedlings are just starting to peek up, and so is a stalk from a buried garlic clove. It's starting to look like a garden instead of just a barren box of soil, and that's a wonderful thing.

(pictured above: snow peas, pink beauty radishes, and cherry tomatoes.)

four faves

This outdoor space, these string lights, this fabric, and these pretty margaritas.

this week's flowers...

...a few branches of flowering quince. (I love that pink.)

recommended reading

Enjoy any good books lately? Here's four I've recently read and would recommend: a dystopian novel, a strange and luminous collection of short stories, and two books for writers: the first because it contains a superb collection of excerpts, and the second for all of its advice from great writers. Snippets from the four books:

1. The Handmaid's Tale (Margaret Atwood) — "We play two games. Larynx, I spell. Valance. Quince. Zygote. I hold the glossy counters with their smooth edges, finger the letters. The feeling is voluptuous. This is freedom, an eyeblink of it. Limp, I spell. Gorge. What a luxury. The counters are like candies, made of peppermint, cool like that. Humbugs, those were called. I would like to put them into my mouth. They would taste also of lime. The letter C. Crisp, slightly acid on the tongue, delicious."

2. Jesus' Son (Denis Johnson) — "The next room past that was dim and blue-lit, and inside it, through the doorway, we saw a loft, almost a gigantic bunk bed, in which several ghost-complected women were lying around. One just like those came through the door from that room and stood looking at the three of us with her mascara blurred and her lipstick kissed away. She wore a skirt but not a blouse, just a white bra like someone in an undies ad in a teenage magazine. But she was older than that. Looking at her I thought of going out in the fields with my wife back when we were so in love we didn't know what it was."

3. The Making of a Story (Alice LaPlante) — "Flat characters are also called stereotypes, and the hallmark of flat characters is that they are incapable of surprising us; they act in a prescribed way, and are utterly consistent, without complexity. [...] A round character is the opposite of this: he or she is capable of surprising us—with unexpected fits of anger or an uplifting sense of humor or a snide remark about a presumed friend. But a round character also convinces us. As E.M. Forster says, if a character never surprises us, then he or she is flat; if they surprise but do not convince us, they are only flat pretending to be round."

4. The Modern Library Writer's Workshop (Stephen Koch) — "Every writer must be taught how to write every book she or he writes, and the teacher is always the book itself. Writing becomes good by accretion. It builds on itself; it picks up its own cues, it takes its own suggestions. You rarely if ever start out knowing exactly what you are doing or what is to come, and by the time you reach the middle, you rarely know how you are going to get out alive. The project must be your guide, and it will not be finished teaching you the job until the day you type the final page. Then, if you're lucky, it will let you go."

a poem for friday

as a child, I ambled
through the overgrown pines
spreading rumors into the knots in trees—
because why should they care?
they were just trees.

you can lie to a tree and nobody will berate you
you can lie under a tree and nobody will wake you—
except for the whippoorwills
or the faraway calling of your mother,
standing at the back door, wondering where you have gone off to.

don't wander too far, she always said.
don't go so far that you can't hear me call.
and how far was that? the boundary of an acre,
the all-way stop at the end of the street,
the black edge of the sky?

I could always hear her. even with the duvet
yanked over my ears, and the bedroom door shut,
I heard her calling my name.

the garden of sixteen possibilities

Last summer I grew a handful of tasty tomatoes but failed at my other vegetable attempts. I'm more hopeful about this year. Ever since the first hints of spring, I've been weeding, sowing flower seeds around the yard, and planning a garden. The raised bed garden I built is only four feet by four feet, but I'm using the square foot gardening technique (from this book), which stresses organized dense gardening. I could potentially grow sixteen different things just in this one box. (And, of course, the designer in me appreciates the grid.) I'll share more as it progresses.

raisin scones

I've eaten my fair share of dense, dry scones, and I've always felt indifferent about them because of it. But these? These are soft, flaky, and may just convert me into a scone lover. I made only one tiny tweak to the original recipe, using turbinado sugar on top instead of regular sugar. (As soon as I did, I realized that I nearly always top desserts with either powdered sugar or turbinado sugar... but I can't help it. It's the little things that count.)

Simple Scones (makes 8)
recipe from All Recipes

2 cups all purpose flour
1/3 cup sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 stick unsalted chilled butter
1/2 cup raisins (or any other type of dried fruit)
1/2 cup sour cream
1 large egg
turbinado sugar for topping

Preheat oven to 400°F. In a medium bowl, mix flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda and salt. Grate the stick of butter into the flour mixture (ideally using the large holes of a box grater) and then use your fingers to mix. The mixture should have a coarse texture. Stir in raisins. In a separate bowl, whisk together the sour cream and egg until smooth. Use a fork to stir the sour cream mixture into the flour mixture. Work the dough with your hands until it starts to come together into a ball. The goal is to get it to hold together, but not be completely smooth (you want to retain some of that crumbly texture). Place the dough onto a lightly floured surface and press into an 8" circle approximately 3/4" thick. Sprinkle with turbinado sugar. Cut into 8 triangles and lay the scones on a parchment-lined cookie sheet. Bake until golden, about 15 minutes. Enjoy!

four faves

Planting seeds in eggshells, these midori giant soybean seeds, this watering can, and these animal planters.

fiction friday: move

    Inside the oiled oak dresser, in the top drawer, was a great deal of lace: swaths of black and nude, but nudged underneath was a tangerine chemise that, when hugged against her freckled skin, caused her to appear anemic. She should get rid of it, she knew – but what did you even do with something like that? Surely you didn't donate it. Stacked deeper in the drawer were towers of jewelry boxes, constructed from swirled gold boxboard (in one, a tangled knot of necklaces, and in another, a twisted-chain bracelet passed down from her great grandmother, tarnished to a deep copper, which she imagined was probably the color of heartache). There were stockings stippled with clear nail polish, a cruise pamphlet her sister had sent to her last winter, chock-full of gleaming photos (among the ship's amenities: a surf simulator, a planetarium, and butler service...!), linen sachets that at a previous time had smelled strongly of lavender, a crumpled grocery list, an empty prescription vial, and a number of threadbare shirts she wore when running or gardening or scrubbing the back of the shower curtain. How alarmingly light it all felt after being deposited into a cardboard box. How insignificant. It was taped, labelled ("Bedroom. Dresser.") and transported down the stairs and stacked among the others. "You emptied this out?" the movers asked later in the day, before hefting the dresser up, revealing depressions in the carpet where the legs had stood for years. "You didn't have to," they said. "But that's fine." The taller one nodded to the other, and they went around the corner and out into the hall, leaving her alone in the quiet room. There she waited while they emptied the rest of the house. She listened to the shuffling of boxes and shouted directives and squeaking of sneakers, rubbing a toe over the indentations in the carpet to fluff up the flattened nap, until one of the men peeked in, smiled tiredly, and said they were all set. ♦

two for today

Signs of spring! And I'm so glad to see them.

mexican chocolate tofu pudding

Recently I ran across a video of Mark Bittman making chocolate tofu pudding, and I was delighted because I used to eat a similar version of this dessert all the time when I was growing up. Why tofu? For its smooth, silky texture. This isn't as decadent as regular chocolate pudding, but it still hits the spot. As Bittman says in the video, "You have to try this. I'm serious." (And no, it doesn't taste like tofu.)

Mexican Chocolate Tofu Pudding (serves 4)
recipe by Mark Bittman

3/4 cup sugar
1 pound silken tofu*
8 ounces high-quality bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, melted
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 tsp chili powder, or more to taste
1 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
chocolate bar for shavings (optional)

Dissolve sugar in 3/4 cup hot water. Cool slightly. Add the tofu, melted chocolate, vanilla extract, and spices. Blend until very smooth, scraping down sides with a spatula if necessary. Pour into 4 small containers (I used 6 oz ramekins) and chill for at least 30 minutes. Use a peeler to make chocolate shavings from the chocolate bar and sprinkle them on top of the pudding before serving.

*make sure you buy silken/soft tofu and not firm tofu (which is "meatier" and meant for stir frying)

this week's flowers...

Today I brought home this potted freesia and it has the sweetest fragrance. Now to decide which room to keep it in...

fiction friday: scout

    Inside, it was not at all what you would expect. There was none of the rain or thunder or howling as in the simulations we'd been disciplined with for weeks. How to explain? The ground, the air: it was all yellow. A wash of it, on every surface, so that to navigate within the space I had to feel my way around, grope the landscape blindly and backtrack whenever I ran into a barrier. I radioed the station. I asked, are you sure I'm in the right place?
    Yes. Coordinates are correct.
    Is it supposed to be...
    Sorry? Repeat that?
    Hold on, I said. I'd stubbed my toe on something. A rock, no—a handle. It lifted up and over, and I slipped down into the cavity below. Underneath, it was warmer and just as bright, and the air was tinged with the scent of burnt cotton. Of molten metal. Of decaying fruit. Maybe we'd gotten there too late. But I heard something then: the muted warble of a whippoorwill, as if muffled under layers of cloth.
    E-2096?
    Yes. Here.
    Report your status, please.
    I blinked and there she was, crouched in front of me. Her tiger-striped feathers were ruffled. I had been mistaken, but not far off. Come here, I whispered. She hopped backward. My radio crackled and the little beast hopped again—and though they never believed me later on, she looked me up and down and laughed. Nice try, she sang, and flew away, until she was only a speck high in the yellow horizon. ♦

four faves

This Sydney home, this set of bowls, this lovely print, and these chai cupcakes.

a poem for friday

love, just imagine the boat you could build
if only you had the time,
the peace and quiet, and reassurance
from someone with nothing to gain.
if only you knew the anatomy of seafaring vessels.

no matter.
take out your thread and twine,
your chisel, your spade,
your notebooks with incoherent scrawlings
accumulated over the years.

beg the dog to stay quiet,
even if he has to sneeze.

tell him all you need is an hour today,
and another tomorrow,
and so on, until
the landscape before you
is coaxed into being,
until the fog curls back,
and the boats can be unmoored.

he will stay quiet for you, will sleep soundlessly for you,
and will be at the door
when you emerge
from your locked room,
his sable colored tail thumping the oak floor
in the language of dogs.

palmiers

A quick recipe for you today: crispy, flaky, buttery palmiers. I had no idea how simple these were to make until a few days ago. All you need is sugar and puff pastry. That's it. (My local grocery store only stocks Pepperidge Farm, but I always hear that the all-butter versions by Dufour and Trader Joe's taste better... so I'll be trying those soon, too. As if I need an excuse to buy more puff pastry.)

Palmiers (makes about 20)

1 puff pastry sheet
1/2 cup sugar, plus more as needed

Thaw the puff pastry sheet. Sprinkle 1/4 cup sugar evenly on a work surface, unfold the puff pastry sheet on the sugar, and sprinkle the remaining 1/4 cup sugar on top. Add more if needed; you want to evenly coat the front and back of the puff pastry. Use a rolling pin to gently work the sugar in and to slightly thin the puff pastry (increasing the sheet's size no more than an inch or so).

Fold in the left and right edges so they meet in the middle, then repeat, folding the edges in again. Bring the two sides together as if closing a book. Slice into 1/4" thick pieces and spread on a baking sheet, leaving room between each cookie. Nudge the tips outward (like bunny ears). Bake at 400°F for about 15 minutes, flipping as soon as the bottoms start to brown/caramelize, about halfway through the baking time. Keep a close eye on your oven – the caramelized sugar is what makes the cookies tasty, but the sugar can also burn if they bake too long. Enjoy!

recommended reading

Have you read anything great recently? I read the tome everybody's been talking about and completely loved it too, savored more Mary Oliver poetry, got around to a French classic, and read a book I have no idea how to describe besides telling you that it involves apricots and Iceland and illness and fables. Here are tastes of all four:

1. The Goldfinch (Donna Tartt) – "I remember a few weeks before she died, eating a late supper with her in an Italian restaurant down in the Village, and how she grasped my sleeve at the sudden, almost painful loveliness of a birthday cake with lit candles being carried in procession from the kitchen, a faint circle of light wavering in across the dark ceiling and then the cake set down to blaze amidst the family, beatifying an old lady’s face, smiles all round, waiters stepping away with their hands behind their backs [...] I thought about it again and again after her death and indeed I’ll probably think about it all my life: that candlelit circle, a tableau vivant of the daily, commonplace happiness that was lost when I lost her."

2. Dream Work (Mary Oliver) – "Some kind of relaxed and beautiful thing / kept flickering in with the tide / and looking around. / Black as a fisherman's boot / with a white belly. / If you asked for a picture I would have to draw a smile / under the perfectly round eyes and above the chin / which was rough / as a thousand sharpened nails. / And you know / what a smile means / don't you?"

3. The Stranger (Albert Camus) – "At the time, I often thought that if I had had to live in the trunk of a dead tree, with nothing to do but look up at the sky flowering overhead, little by little I would have gotten used to it. I would have waited for birds to fly by or clouds to mingle, just as here I waited to see my lawyer's ties and just as, in another world, I used to wait patiently until Saturday to hold Marie's body in my arms. Now, as I think back on it, I wasn't in a hallow tree trunk. There were others worse off than me. Anyway, it was one of Maman's ideas, and she often repeated it, that after a while you could get used to anything."

4. The Faraway Nearby (Rebecca Solnit) – "A pie might be eaten warm from the oven by the cook and her companions but a book is read many months or years after it’s written, out of sight of the writer, who never knows quite what she’s done. Ars longa, vita brevis—art is long, life is short—used to be a popular saying, and cooking is usually on the side of life, but making preserves is an art of stalling time, of making the fruit that is so evanescent last indefinitely. [...] I wish that I could put up yesterday’s evening sky for all posterity, could preserve a night of love, the sound of a mountain stream, a realization as it sets my mind afire, a dance, a day of harmony, ten thousand glorious days of clouds that will instead vanish and never be seen again, line them up in jars where they might be admired in the interim and tasted again as needed."

have a wonderful weekend...

...and a sweet Valentine's Day! I baked a petite version of this chocolate cake for tonight... I can't wait to try it.

a walk around the neighborhood

I haven't gone on a photo walk in a long time and this afternoon was just perfect for it: cool and bright, sunlight slanting through the streets, the faraway laughter of kids, dog walkers being pulled down the sidewalks. It nearly felt like spring.

four faves

This London home, this bouquet print, this pretty bracelet, and these yummy looking tarts.

two for today

(a couple instagram photos from this morning at the volunteer park conservatory...)

how to make an apple pie

What is it about baking a pie that is so satisfying? It is, I guess, the way it warms up the house, the meditativeness of rolling out and weaving the pie dough, the surge of accomplishment that comes with pulling a golden pie out of the oven, the ritual of slicing and sharing it. I've had my fair share of pie mishaps, but recently they've been turning out better, thanks to some tricks I've picked up. So, I thought I'd share them along with a yummy apple pie recipe. (Be forewarned: this ended up being a very long post! The next recipe I share will be a lot simpler, I promise.) First, here's how to make the pie crust...

Double Pie Crust (recipe from All Recipes)

1 cup butter (2 sticks)
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp salt
ice water (I throw a couple ice cubes in a big measuring cup then fill it with water)
1 egg

The secret to a good pie dough is to (a) keep the butter cold, and (b) keep the mixture coarse. Start by slicing the sticks of butter into cubes and place them in your freezer for at least 15 minutes. In a large mixing bowl, mix together the flour and salt. When the butter is chilled, scatter it over the flour mixture.

Cut in the chilled butter with a pastry blender or two knives until it's pea-sized. (Lumps of butter = flakier crust; air pockets are formed when the water in the butter turns into steam.)

Drizzle ice water into the dough a little bit at a time, mixing well. I use almost 1 full cup of ice water, but you might need less or more. The goal is to get your dough consistently damp enough for it to hold its shape if you pinch some together. When you get to that point, divide the dough into two balls, wrap tightly in plastic wrap, and refrigerate for at least an hour or overnight. (I always make my dough the night before baking.)

Once chilled, roll out one ball of dough to a circle 3-4" inches wider than your pie pan. The dough should be about 1/8" thick. Use flour as necessary to prevent sticking, but don't go overboard – my technique is to roll the dough out a few inches, dust it lightly with flour, flip it over, and then repeat those steps until it's the right size. If the dough cracks, wet a fingertip and press it back together. Transfer the rolled dough to a pie dish (gently roll the dough around your rolling pin, then unroll it over the pie dish) and carefully press the dough into the bottom and sides of the dish. Use kitchen scissors or a knife to evenly cut off the excess, leaving at least 1" overhang.

Crack the egg and separate the yolk from the white. Set the yolk aside. Whisk the white with a fork until lightly foamy. Poke holes in the bottom of the crust with a fork and brush the crust with the egg white – use enough to evenly coat the dough but not so much that it pools. Doing this helps seal the crust and prevents it from getting soggy from the filling. Place the pie crust in freezer/fridge.

While the pie crust is chilling, prepare the apple filling. My personal preference is to have a higher crust-to-filling ratio, so if you prefer a thick, layers-and-layers-of-apples pie, just increase the amount of filling. (Keep in mind, too, that the apple slices will shrink a bit when baked.)

Apple Pie Filling (recipe adapted from All Recipes)

7 cups peeled and sliced apples (5-8 apples, depending on size)
3/4 cup white sugar
2 Tbsp all-purpose flour
3/4 tsp ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp salt
1/8 tsp ground nutmeg
1 Tbsp lemon juice
1 Tbsp butter, to dot on top
turbinado sugar

Mix all the dry ingredients together in a large bowl (sugar, flour, cinnamon, salt, nutmeg) and set aside. Peel and slice the apples 1/8" thick (thickness is a personal preference, of course – slice them thicker if you'd like). I like using a mix of sweet and tart apples: granny smith, fuji, and jonagold.

Add the apples to the dry ingredient mix, add the lemon juice, and toss thoroughly until the apples are evenly coated. Let sit for about 15 minutes, to let the sugar draw water out of the apples.

Remove your chilled pie crust from the freezer and place the filling into it. There will be a pool of liquid in the bottom of the bowl by now. I don't recommend pouring that liquid into the pie crust, because you risk ending up with a soggier/soupier pie. You can reduce the liquid down on the stovetop to a thicker consistency, though, if you want to. My preference is to omit the liquid altogether and just lift up the apple slices in handfuls, shake gently to let any excess liquid drain, and then place them into the crust.

Cut the tablespoon of butter into small cubes and scatter on top of the filling. This isn't a crucial step, but it's little things like this that add up to a great pie.

Set your pie dish aside and remove the other ball of dough from the fridge. Roll out the same way you did with the bottom crust – a large circle about 1/8" thick. Using a pizza cutter or a knife, slice it into even strips (I cut mine about 3/4" wide, but again, this is just personal preference). Using a ruler helps a lot with achieving straight lines.

Now the lattice: there are different methods, and I think the easiest way to learn is by watching someone do it... but basically what I do is first lay the two middle strips to establish the center, then work out from there. Before each new strip is laid down, you have to lift back every other strip in the perpendicular rows, so that when those strips are laid back in place, it creates an over-under-over-under weave. If that's completely confusing, youtube has plenty of examples you can watch.

(Also – unless you make a really tight weave, you'll have leftover dough. Either discard it or roll it back into a ball and make something fun like a mini pie.) Pinch the lattice strips to the bottom crust to help seal them; trim away the excess dough. Finish your edge by folding the overhanging dough under itself...

... also crimping the edge if you'd like to. (Here's a video how to.) I love a really pretty pie crust, but, you know, it doesn't really matter if your crust is a bit lopsided or funny looking. If it tastes good, it's a good pie.

To finish the pie, mix a little water in with the egg yolk that you set aside earlier and brush this mixture on top (just to evenly coat, don't let it pool anywhere). This helps you get that beautiful golden color, and it also acts as a 'glue' for the turbinado sugar (now's the time to sprinkle it on). The turbinado sugar is added for texture more than sweetness.

Throw the pie back into the freezer/fridge for one last chill. Don't skip this step – it helps prevent the crust from shrinking. While the pie is chilling, place an empty baking sheet in your oven on the rack below the one you'll be baking the pie on (to catch any drips). Preheat your oven to 425°F.

Place a crust shield on your pie, or if you don't own one, make one with foil (video tutorial here). Bake at 425°F for 15 minutes. Reduce temp to 350°F and continue baking for 30 min. Remove pie shield / foil and continue baking (still at 350°F) for another 30 minutes, or until the crust is golden brown. I let the crust get very golden brown and crisp; if you prefer a softer crust, the baking time will be shorter. And also remember that these times might vary depending on your particular oven, so peek at your pie often and adjust as needed.

Let the pie cool for at least an hour before serving to allow the filling to set. My favorite way to eat apple pie is to reheat a slice and then add a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Mmm. So good.

Do you have any pie tricks or favorite recipes? (I can't wait until cherry season...)

fiction friday: bridge

    In the beginning there was a crackle, a spark, phones that never stopped buzzing, an extraordinary kiss while passing through a covered bridge, parties at which several of her old friends cared to comment, "Look how happy you are! What a change from last year," which embarrassed her, though not as much as when her mother took him aside on Labor Day weekend – God knows what she said to him – despite that, months later, there he was kneeling on the frozen leaves at Carson Park, and after that day every conversation somehow ended up being about the cost of flowers, and who would be offended if they weren't invited, and kidding-but-not-kidding about scrapping the whole thing and booking tickets to Cabo, where it could just be the two of them on the beach. And yet. There was a suspicion, a revelation, one deflating night getting him to admit his wrongdoing, then a lunch at which her oldest friend told her, "We all secretly could tell he wasn't right for you," and a slew of slow, indistinct mornings where she woke and boiled water for tea and considered the sparrows through the window as they pecked the soft grass, watching them until she was alright again, which took both less and more time than she expected, because there was always something that reminded her of him – certain idioms, his brand of shampoo – but, finally, it had been long enough, and she said yes to a man who asked for her phone number, missing his call that night, calling him back the next, talking late, laughing at a coincidence they had discovered; they had grown up half a dozen blocks from each other. "So, this Friday?" he asked. In the end it was only one date; they would be friends, they saw, and that was all. It was alright with her. There would be another. When she drove home she took the long way, passing through the covered bridge and easing up off the gas pedal to stretch the seconds out, the resounding echo carrying her forward. ♦