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).
Chill Life Memories
When you are juggling self-employed computer-based hustling and house-is-a-construction-zone manual labor all week, you forget that there was once a Saturday not so long ago that you did nothing but hang around an empty elementary school with a bunch of other 30 (and 40!) year olds (and their dogs).
Norcal Camping, Memorialized
Wanting to go camping and going camping are not the same thing. Case in point: last summer, when my tent only came out of the closet once (but it was a good once!).
Anyhow, there is a stretch of road in Northern California, right across the Oregon border, that I particularly love. The road follows a river—one of the clearest, gem-like bluest you'll ever find—all the way to the Pacific Ocean. And just a few minutes before you run head-first into the waves, the forest suddenly explodes in size. The concept of scale gets weird. You feel like an ant in a prehistoric celery patch. It's the very northern tip of the Redwoods—and it's a bewildering place.
I drove this road again over the weekend and camped by the river for two dark, starry nights. In the cool of morning, we walked in the woods, slipping through the shade beneath those towering giants, and by afternoon we'd sit in the sand by the river, letting our skin get warm, then hot, then burning before we'd make ourselves splash into the freezing cold water—sometimes just for how good it felt when we got out, like every single cell in our bodies was electrified.
Yep, got home late last night, smelling really bad in the best possible way—like campfire, sweat and sunscreen.
Happy summer everyone!
Lefty was ready before we were ready—leaving no chance of getting left behind.
After a 5 hours in the car, nobody doesn't want to cool their feet in the water.
Delicacies of the forest, to be eaten by starlight.
Calm waters at dawn.
The anatomy of the kind of camp breakfast that wants not.
Big. Bigger than big.
Inspired evening activity: take off wet bathing suit, stand near raging inferno.
Favorites 5.23.14
Manual labor: For someone who engages in brain cells, keyboards, and computer screens for a living, it's deeply satisfying to spend the day doing work that is real (at least in the physical sense). Also? It kicks one's ass. Which is nice.
A cold apple: Put your apples in the fridge and be rewarded with exactly the right thing for a sticky afternoon.
Painting the ceiling: Look up. Ponder. The ceiling is the cosmos of your home. Whitewashing it every now and then brings a sense of lightness and expanse into the room.
Delivery man: Funny, but not your typical Vince Vaughn slapstick. A silly, heart-string-y type deal with good balance. A small, quiet movie that ends up being big.