Foodie

Foodie. It's kind of a strange looking word. It rolls off the tongue well enough, I suppose, but typing it out just now made me feel a little strange. In fact, I always feel a little hesitant to use the term in a self-descriptive manner. Sure, Wikipedia describes it as an "informal term for a particular class of aficionado of food and drink." Well, as informal as it may be to them, for me the term "foodie" conjures up images of people leisurely strolling through farmer's markets and specialty grocery chains, sniffing their way through the produce section to find the freshest specimen, and cooing over outrageously priced wines, cheeses, and live shellfish. Truth be told, all of these foods sound amazing (and I use the term "sound" because "taste" would be deceptive--I've not yet tried nearly as much as I would like).

As much as I love food and as often as I cook (from scratch and with natural ingredients), I just can't bring myself to call myself a foodie. Maybe I'm wrong in thinking this way, but as long as life has budget limitations, time constraints, and a 2-year-old screaming for more juice, I'll refrain from any formal or informal descriptions of my love for food.

I will, however, continue to love listening to one particularly brilliant foodie, Lynne Rossetto Kasper, the host of The Splendid Table on NPR. Every Friday, without fail, an installment of her latest radio adventure into the big, wide world of food and drink is neatly delivered into my feedburner, just waiting for me to click and enjoy. And, without fail, Lynn amazes me with her knowledge of food. I feel no pangs of regret calling her a foodie.

One thing I've noticed about her show is how she caters not just to foodies (or wannabe foodies like me). No, rather the tagline of her show tells it all. She begins every episode by saying "Welcome to the Splendid Table, the show for people who love to eat." I've also heard her say, "The show about life's appetites." What I love about these taglines is that they welcome everyone to the show. Be it a new cook in a dorm room, a grandmother who has been cooking the same recipes her whole life, an experienced chef in a five star restaurant, or someone who'd rather pop a box in the microwave, Lynne is going to have your mouth watering at some point in her hour long show. She understands that food is the great common denominator for people of all ages, cultures, and walks of life. If you please my taste buds, you please me. She gets that.

When I heard her July 4th show last week, I was once again inspired by the different segments and guests. I found the section on building a good burger particularly helpful. But what stuck in my mind well after the show was over was a caller who phoned in with a question. The man said he was helping his friend renovate an old castle in France, and they were going to open a restaurant in the dining room. He needed ideas on what to cook. [Time out--um, how AMAZING does that sound?] He asked Lynne what might be some good, fresh, seasonal dishes he could serve the guests.

I'll be honest, I thought he was going to stump Lynne. I even got a little nervous for her, thinking she might have to tell him she didn't know that particular region of France well nor what kinds of food would be local and seasonal. But, like the consummate foodie that she is, she dreamed up a dish so surprising and mouthwatering yet supremely simple. Her impromptu recipe included shaved cheese with fresh French cherries on top, a drizzle of walnut oil, and a huge hunk of french bread on the side. I'm not sure why I ever doubted her.

When I found myself needing a little snack yesterday, it hit me as I stared blankly into the fridge: I've got enough to make an adapted version of the cherries and cheese dish, or the "castle man's" dish. Straight away I shaved some cheddar on a plate, pitted and sliced some Bing cherries and placed them on top in a rustic manner, drizzled a little olive oil over the whole thing, and served it up with some Holland Rusk toast.

People, I won't beat around the bush on this one. Not only was this dish a beauty to look at, with the contrasting scarlet/plum and amber colors, but it was a thing of beauty in the mouth as well. The sharp and salty bite of the cheddar complimented the deep, sweet, winey flavor of the cherries beautifully. A little earthy flavor from the olive oil rounded out the whole dish and provided just the right warmth in my mouth to satisfy, much like a cozy blanket.

So the next time you find yourself in the company of cherries, cheese, oil, and bread (be they French or domestic), whip up this little dish. You'll thank me. Were I not sneezing, sick, and surrounded by the aforementioned screaming toddler, I might just have felt like a foodie while eating this, if even for 3 minutes, which, coincidentally, was just enough time to scarf it down, correct my daughter for her impatience, and refill that blasted cup of juice.

Inspired

I'm often surprised where I find inspiration. It's in the little and unexpected things that I find myself having an "Ah ha!" moment, and soon thereafter my fingers itch to click the shutter button on my camera or click away on the computer. I've definitely had a case of writer's (and photographer's) block recently. Ideas are slow moving in my brain, and words aren't coming together like they have in the past. I've been in this slump before, and through time and experience I've learned a couple of things: 1. Keep writing and keep creating. Even if it's artistic crap, keep doing it. The juices will flow again. 2. Inspiration can come at any moment, so welcome it when it arrives, no matter the form. So, today I opened the front door, and let it walk through, in the form of two toddlers playing and a beautiful children's book.

First off, the girls. I've talked about them before. They are only 1 month apart, and their dads grew up together. Karis and I get the privilege of hosting E every few weeks for a play date, and watching them play side-by-side is a lot of fun. Put them in front of a well-lit window and you have some lovely photo inspiration. It's cheap and satisfying fun.

Second, the book. Karis and I go to the library every few weeks and pick out about a half a dozen books. In this last rotation we picked up Kidogo by Anik McGregory. Kidogo, which means "little" in Kiswahili, is the story of a young elephant in Africa who goes on a search to find an animal smaller than himself. McGregory authored and illustrated the book, and I'm enthralled with the gorgeous watercolor illustrations. McGregory drew inspiration for the book from her time spent in East Africa, and the illustrations are ripe with details of the terrain and animal kingdom in that region. I love children's books and would love to author my own one day. For now, this little unassuming story has inspired me and helped to unlock that nasty monster known as writer's block.

Bubbly

Today I broke out the bubbly. French lemonade, to be exact. It was delicious and fitting for the little one-man party I was having while Karis napped away. I had just received a call from our Realtor saying the seller accepted our offer. Yes, we're going to be homeowners come the end of August, as long as all the inspections are relatively uneventful. I'm really still in shock. The whole process was so quick and painless, requiring the tiniest amount of effort. When does that ever happen? I guess it was just meant to be. We're so grateful, and we can't wait to break out the real bubbly at closing.

Comedy

::of illnesses
It has been a summer of sickness. Really, it's nearly laughable. If it's not a stomach bug, it's the flu. If it's not the flu, it's a miserable cold that holds on for dear life, making you feel perfectly wretched for over a week. And if it's not that, it is seasonal allergies. And yet again, if it's none of those, don't you worry. It's pink eye. And then, once treated, the pink eye mysteriously returns. I just don't get it. Sometimes I think I need some serious OCD hand washing skills and a live-in motivational speaker to help me through tough seasons such as this.

::of errors
My husband is a funny guy. In fact, we have a running feud in our marriage regarding humor. We didn't always think the other person was funny, but now we see eye-to-eye on what's humorous and what's not. Well, mostly. My husband has what I call a "deep dark secret" regarding comedy. Here goes: He loves to watch America's Funniest Home Videos. (She blushes in embarrassment.) I just don't get it. It's not funny to me.

Well, fortunately for Matt, who has been feeling a little lonely watching the show all by himself, he's found a fellow fan. Karis loves to watch the show with him, all the while proclaiming over and over, "Fall down!" And it really is a valid point on her part. Every video does in fact include someone or something falling down. And that's just not funny to me. But, when all is said and done, I guess we all have our little guilty t.v. pleasures, like...maybe...perhaps...for instance...teenage princess movies starring Anne Hathaway. (Ahem)

::of lament
Karis has taken to singing songs about her life. I used to do the same thing when I was a little girl, much to my brother's chagrin. He loves to remind me how much "little Alina" annoyed him growing up. I remember singing songs about Jesus while sitting in the backseat of our car. My songs literally moved me to tears on more than one occasion. I remember the night I sang Christmas songs to the audience of our living room window as if I was in a large holiday choir and the window was a massive audience. Or the time when I was really young and I danced around in a slip and my Easter hat all the while singing at the top of my lungs. Yeah. Chagrin, people.

So Karis is following (or singing) right along in my footsteps, turning all of life into a melody. Most of the time her songs are kind of a mish-mash of whatever seems to pop into her head at the moment, which, most of the time, revolves around puppies. "Puppies" is probably sung every second or third word in her songs. And what's funny is that as I sit here writing this, Matt just came in to inform me that he just overheard Karis talking in her sleep. This is what he heard, (Cough. Cough.) "Puppies! Puppies! Puppies!" (Cough. Cough.--Remember the sickness part above?) So, yes, she even sings in her sleep.

My favorite tunes as of late are the songs of lament. Often, when she is sad about something, she will turn her crying into a mournful ballad. Her tempo slows down, her voice goes down low and then up high, and she sings in the most pitiful, warbling way. She'll sometimes stop and look at me proclaiming, "Sad." Then she'll go back to singing/howling her sad little song. I think she's a natural-born blues singer...or a repressed Irish folk singer. I love this part of her, though, and I'm convinced even my brother would find her singing kind of cute.

Following in Mommy's footsteps, Karis is singing from the backseat of the car.

Summer's best

A kiddie pool freshly filled. Dad home from work and hosting a rousing game of catch. And me, sitting back and ruining my appetite with a 12 oz. beer and bag of chips. It was a redneck moment, to be sure. It's not that there was anything wrong with what I had prepared for us to eat, roasted sweet potatoes and summer salad. It's just that the other tasted so good and fitting on this summer evening.

Not just a garden

The garden has fared pretty well during this summer heat. I'll admit, I'm surprised how hardy basil is. I thought it would be a more finicky herb, much like an elderly woman, wilting under the harsh sunlight and impossible Florida temperatures. Turns out, its a rather sturdy plant, acting as if it was meant to be bathed in scorching temperatures all summer long.

Now cilantro, on the other hand, has completely let me down. Being such a popular ingredient in Mexican cuisine, I assumed this plant would flourish in the heat. Mexico = Hot, right? In the spring time, if you happened to walk past our garden bed as a breeze blew by, you'd be hit with an intoxicating aroma of delicious young cilantro plants. They were bushy and green. I'm not sure what happened from that point on. Perhaps I over picked them. Soon they stopped producing leaves, and then those leaves turned into flowers. Neglect from the people inside the house caused the living things outside the house to take their natural course, and if you know anything about cilantro, you know what proceeded the flowers: coriander. Little, bright green, fragrant balls hanging from the once leaf-laden stems.

The other day I went out and picked a bunch and brought them in to dry out. I squeezed one open, and inside was the concentrated flavor of the cilantro leaves packed in each tiny little ball: lemony, minty, and fresh. While perplexed over the loss of my thriving plants, I was excited by the prospects of what I could do with this new harvest from the plant. I wanted to try using them fresh, but truth be told, I never got around to it, and there they still sit on my counter, drying out. They've lost a little of their fresh aroma and their bright green hue has given way to a dull brown, but I am excited about my first attempt at home-dried herbs.

Somehow I was a little comforted by this journey of the cilantro plant. It seemed as if I'd let it down, let it wilt, neglected it in a time of need. But when I discovered that the plant had adapted, though taking on a different form, I felt hopeful. It continued to produce fruit, just of a different kind. In some ways I see a parallel to life. Just when I think I've neglected things beyond the point of repair, grace and healing come in and show me the saplings of new life. There is always hope for new life. Who knew a little green ball about a quarter the size of a pea could produce something so vital in me?

Two If by Sea

The wedding weekend was wonderful. (what's with the w's?) It's true. We made it through the hustle and bustle that is a wedding weekend. And I survived being the sister-of-the-bride/matron-of-honor. Sure, I know. It's not like I was the one getting married or anything. Somehow it just seems like being a bridesmaid is a lot of work. But it is work well worth it the moment you see the bride walk down the aisle in all her radiance...and you know she's in love...and she's found a really wonderful man.

The bride and groom were grinning and smooching the entire time. Truthfully, it was a wonderful thing to be at a wedding where the bride and groom are so madly in love and infitinitely confident in their decision to marry one another. In a time when getting married is considered a last resort in a relationship, a googly-eyed couple was a refreshing site.

I also found my mojo this weekend. My wedding photography mojo, that is. Seeing my sister's photographer being a little too shy with her camera, I went into action taking pictures in between the ceremony and reception. Afterall, it was a beachfront wedding at sunset. This was NOT the time to be shy. I couldn't stand the thought of a single moment being wasted. So I dodged in and out of the photos I needed to be in and spent the rest of the time running around on the sand, snapping shots of the wedding party, and getting inappropriately sweaty. When I walked into the reception hall, my legs were covered in sand and my hair quite disheveled, but I didn't have room for another picture on my memory card. It was a good feeling. After all, a beautiful wedding is a terrible thing to waste.

Here are some of my favorite shots.