Stuff To Do When It's 98
Go to the fruit stand on Hawthorne, where everyone will be in a panic trying to "save the raspberries." The heat will billow in shimmering waves over the tender fruits of summer, causing them melt into piles of mush right before your eyes. The guy behind the counter will force two cantaloupes for the price of one upon you and several extra peaches, screaming, "Take them before they rot!"
Wait as long as you can—say, 3:30 or 4 (remember how the hottest arm-pit of day is always like 5 in the afternoon?), and then go to the Sandy River with intentions to swim. Swim.
Eat potato chips.
More swim.
Walk back to your car in the cool shade of trees, where the air is damp and smells like sap, and the forest feels very much like a jungle.
Take Stolichnaya out of the freezer, and make the cold cocktail described here with intentions to drink it. Drink it.
What To Do With Vodka
The weather got its act together sometime yesterday afternoon. Auspiciously—because tomorrow is July.
Like we need any reason beyond bright yellow sunshine to buy vodka, but here's why I need a bottle of Monopolowa, STAT: I made rose-petal simple syrup. What I did was I walked into my backyard and clipped some hot-pink rose flowers that were wildly in bloom. "Foraging" is what the kids are calling it these days. I tore the petals and placed them in a pot with equal parts water and sugar (a cup of each, I reckon)—simmering them for a few, letting them sit for a few, and straining.
My big plan now is: Combine with vodka and soda water, and drink. The end. Wanna come over and have one with me?
New Kitchen, Old Secrets
Although it became mine in 2006, my house was built in 1922, and like anything that's almost a century old—it's seen a lot. And it has secrets, even from me.
But let's back up. For at least half of May, I was living construction-zone style in the process of remodeling my kitchen. A DIY affair. I am a liberated woman, but I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that I enlisted the help of several bad-ass men to help with finer points of tear out and installation.
However, I did a lot of this remodel myself—for which I am proud. Tired and proud. Indeed, I found myself one morning wedged painfully on my back under the sink, legs splayed out on the tile floor. As I wrestled with the faucet plumbing, dropped the crescent wrench on my forehead, and swore, I suddenly had a vivid memory of my dad doing same when I was a tot. The cycle of life, guys!
It's still rough around the edges (and sinks, and window boxes), but for the most part, my kitchen is a brighter, bigger, simpler, more natural place to drink morning coffee the color of toasted almonds and bake giant homemade pizzas.
I didn't take any before pictures (dumb me!). Below is as close as I could get—some vintage pics from a Christmas party.
New wood countertops that glow goldenly in any light.
When we tore off the faux wood paneling that surrounded my kitchen, we found a secret 1920s pantry that someone sealed off 50-odd years ago (the same someone who thought putting up faux wood paneling EVERYWHERE in the house was the exact thing to do). Anyhow, all these years later and it turns out that this ancient secret cubby is the EXACT right size to slide my little black fridge into. Fate! Or luck? We can't know for sure.
Best Camp Meal 2014
Recent camping-meal move: fire-pit nachos.
I made them after the longest, funnest day of wandering through woods and swimming in cold, sun-glimmering waters. I did not take a picture of them, though (I'm not programmed to "food-Gram" for some reason).
Yes, yes, food when you're camping always tastes better. All that fresh air, et cetera. But! I'm gonna argue here that these nachos are legitimately good (the Monterey Jack melts ungodly smooth/creamy, and that Trader Joe's Taco Mix kicks). They're also hecka easy. I mean all the shit below travels well. And the campfire inferno toasts and browns and bubbles things in wonderful—if unexpected ways.
In conclusion, I would like to say that this meal is, for those who care, my new campfire jam for the rest of summer ’14.
What you need:
1 can of black beans
1 brick of Monterey jack cheese
1 pack of Trader Joe's Taco Seasoning Mix
1 can of Trader Joe's Black Olives
1 bag of tortilla chips
1 pan (that you don't mind getting all covered with campfire soot)
1 giant piece of aluminum foil
What you do:
Mix together the black beans and, like, half the taco mix.
Chop the cheese and olives.
Pile everything onto a metric ton of chips spread evenly over a baking sheet.
Cover completely with tin foil.
Get some good embers going, and cook on a grill over the fire for as long as it takes to get things where yo want ’em, melting and toasting-wise (for us, maybe 10 mins? but every fire is different ya know).
The May Report
The first week of May, gone.
Drank: Cazadores tequila, in a small cool glass with a salty rim. Baptized with a squeeze of lime juice. A few sips and you're all toasty inside.
Skated: Bracewell backyard mini ramp for like 17 minutes on Friday night before swollen clouds broke into downpour and we all ran in the house where the air was humid like walking through a swimming pool.
Made: Incendiary potato salad with dressing of salt, chives, and greek yogurt. Was told it was "pretty good for not having mayo."
Planted: Bright, young tomato starts outside in the dark earth. I raised them up from little babies—how proud I am of their strong stems and leaves!
Free-lanced: Spreadsheets—hours of them, through the late afternoon—but a garden, a breeze, and happy pet hijinks to go with.
