New Orleans, early june

an old man in suspenders and dickies, off work, beating the rain to the next bus, said to me in a quiet, crinkled, speculative voice: it’s god’s weather; and he knows what he’s doing.

a young man with an ecstatic smile asked me, at a bus stop in the rain, how my day had been. when I said the day had been beautiful (damp breeze, full sun): every day is beautiful.

I laughed. that’s true. when I asked him how his day had been, he beamed: can’t complain. I laughed. that’s true. that’s the truth.

and comparisons between new orleans and venice–the sinking cities, those romantically doomed shanty-towns with mildewed cobblestones and processions of ghosts; the ephemeral islands intent, with all their resident romantics, on going down dancing. all this with talk of real estate and climate change.

and how much of that densely-packed, winsome rhetoric unravels when we try to distinguish between an act of god, our own failures and our fables; when we try to make sense of the rain and the floods and the sea level and sinking cities and real estate prices and why the bus is always late when it rains?

someone, surely, knows what they’re doing?

I turn 29 in two weeks.
I’m trying to restore order visually, conceptually, by writing in my planner and making collages and measuring how much cereal I put in my yogurt.
the rain and the real estate, however, I will leave to their own devices.

universo (the loveliest ceramics & illustration!) / anthony cudahy & nicole reber / lisa says gah / opaqueglitter / toa.st

xoxoxo

Advertisements

stovetop, salad bowl, low oven

this morning, and through the afternoon, it was classic rock on the radio (in its best and worst iterations) me, and the kitchen: humming, hemming, hawing; bustling & burbling.


made a big batch of creamy red beans with onion–sliced– & garlic–minced– cooked down with anchovy & thyme; threw in hot sauce, red wine vinegar, and oodles of late-afternoon-sun-colored extra virgin olive oil–glassy golden green, sharp, and exuberantly, after a couple of quick folds, making the beans still creamier.

made a salad with leftover green beans–cooked last night with some thick-sliced white onion–and sardines, anchovy, italian parsley, cucumber, mint.

made a batch of maple & olive oil granola with almonds, candied ginger and prunes.

there is something so peaceful–restorative, even–about just you and your wooden spoon & spatula, your stovetop, your salad bowl, your oven on low.

the week will bring every iteration of beans–with flatbread, on salad, topped off with feta or cold roast chicken or carrot salad.

but for now they’re cooling in the big orange dutch oven, and the granola is waiting to be transferred to mason jars. that salad packed with oily fish and fresh herbs, on the other hand, is long gone.

fog linen work / @odetosunday / not without salt / kisses sweeter than wine / john laurie / age old tree

lately

lately I’ve been working at a pseudo-european (spanish by way of spooky, soulful old new orleans, to be exact; untouched by time since about 1985) place. tiny, with tiny tables. unpretentious and unplugged. warm, with big cast-irons full of paella and small plates adorned with lettuce & shaved carrot garnishes–the latter just a swipe up the side of a hearty specimen with a mandolin, impassive, impressive, unassuming. sangria made with cheap jugs of wine steeped with honey and diluted with sparkling lemonade. sassy not classy.

so, hey, let’s all raise a glass of sangria–or, hell, whatever cheap wine you have handy–bust out the cocktail peanuts, and cheers to keeping it real, shall we?

furthermore: trying to “insinuate some resonance onto the plate with nothing but marrow and toast, butter and sugar”. Or, “Neon-orange Delicious over sweet-potato Righteous”.

@heavyslime / bon appetit

some reading

reading orwell’s politics and the english language alongside a nifty essay on the current linguistic/political atmosphere–an atmosphere heady with incoherence, with a sinister nonsensicality.


let’s reflect on democratic socialism, then, and on orwell’s intelligence and humor, on the new york review of books. on speaking up and on being quiet. on revolution! on peace. let’s focus. let’s connect the dots. let’s be coherent, and kind, and see beauty and grace in those qualities, in intentionality and humanity.

bisous!

birkin & gainsbourg / maria callas / ledansla / free people / focus damnit / melody hansen / that kind of woman / dribbble / bison shop

late May, New Orleans 

late may is humid. the air is dense with moisture & termite swarms.
did you know crows are huge? they’re the size of a small cat. their claws are reptilian.

eating leftovers resurrected with fried eggs. watching documentaries. reading essays by george orwell.

oh, and, welcome home.

constantin brancusi / oliver schwarzwald / ciccella / kleidersachen