alfresco lunch for one, just because

Every now and then, I need a little change in my routine. Working from home has its advantages, but also its disadvantages... one of which is that I tend to go a little bit crazy towards the end of the week, after feeling cooped up for days (except for my walks and yoga classes). And I feel sorry that poor A. has to deal with it when he gets home on Friday evenings.

I went out to run a couple of errands today. It was a perfect day - sunny, breezy, 70-degree weather. After my errands, it was time for lunch... so I thought, why don't I have a pleasant lunch out?

So to banish the mid-week slump, I spontaneously decided to drive over to Flour, an Italian restaurant not too far from where I live. The host asked, "Table for 2?" And to which I responded, "no, for one." Why not, right?

I asked to be seated outside, because it was a perfect day for an alfresco lunch. The server greeted me and asked, "are you waiting for someone?" and I proudly said, "no, it's just me!"

Dining alone has its pleasures. As much as I love the company of my husband and friends, lunch is a great time to just be comfortable in my skin and in the company of my own thoughts.

It didn't take long for me to decide on what to have. Not too long after, this beauty came out:

Chilled, basil-infused canteloupe and honeydew soup: it was like summer in a bowl. (It was served with the canteloupe and honeydew in an almost perfect half-and-half division in the bowl; but I decided to swirl it for the photo above)

I do love restaurants that serve seasonal items. This was the perfect dish for a sunny day.

I was almost tempted to dine the way Italians seem to do - in courses - with the bread, the antipasti or starter, first course, second course, etc... but then that is certainly more enjoyable when the meal is shared.

I happily savored and finished my soup and my citrus-fennel salad, then went on with my day.

It's amazing what a difference a little change in routine can make.

What do you do to change your routine?

a day of too much perfection

I love those transitioning spring-to-summer days.

Cloudless blue skies, 72 degrees. Everything just feels... alive.

infinite blue sky

It was one of those perfect days, in which I just wished I could spend the entire day outside (alas, I needed to work too...).

I walked for 15 minutes to the yoga studio, loving the warm sunshine on my bare arms. Attended a 75-minute vinyasa class. Walked back home afterwards, and on the way stopped at a store to pick up something we needed at home.

Made dinner. Without a real plan, but somehow it all came together. Don't you love when you end up with a delicious meal through improvisation? We had leftover tortillas from a previous taco night. Leftover Cuban black beans from another night. I had a potato. Some frozen spinach. Pureed tomatoes which turned into a mole-inspired sauce. We ended up with spinach, black bean, and potato enchiladas. Yum.

Ate dinner.

Went on another 30-minute after-dinner walk with A. Enjoyed the cool evening while laughing at silly jokes, as we always do.

Came back home and had some lavender honey mascarpone ice cream. (It was good, but I'm still making some tweaks and adjustments to the recipe... will post another time.)

I love days like this.

"Thank you for a day of too much perfection." (from the old movie Bed of Roses)

tribute to fall 2011

I say it every year: "There will never be another Fall [insert year]."

So here we go: There will never be another Fall 2011.

Year after year, the fall season is different. The timing in which the leaves turn. The transitions I go through in my own life as nature goes through its own transition. The stage I am in at that point in my life. The sights, the events, the flavors, the emotions I experience as I soak in the season. It's unique, every year.

 my parents, at the Cleveland Botanical Garden

 

my parents... such lovebirds!

A visit to Auburn Twin Oaks Winery, Chagrin Falls - a special place for A. and me

(I'm a lightweight when it comes to alcohol of any kind, but I absolutely LOVE this place - it's where A. and I got married, very quietly, with only 8 witnesses present.)

 The most amazing fennel and broccoli soup at Moxie, where we took my parents for dinner. 

I promptly tried to replicate this soup that same week.

Some thoughts to ponder on...

 

One of our favorite restaurants in Cleveland, where we also took my parents for dinner

 with my mom, outside Greenhouse Tavern

 

 picture of A. and me, taken by my dad as we were walking on East 4th in downtown Cleveland

(that's me walking ON the sidewalk so I can be as tall as A. is... just a joke between us)

 funny carvings on a tree trunk, found during one of our walks in North Chagrin Metropark

Thank you, A., for grounding me.

I can't do what I do without you.

 light. color. shadows.

 beautiful blue skies - always appreciated during the long season of gray days in Cleveland

 North Chagrin Metropark - we are blessed to have this wonderful gem less than 10 minutes from our home.

Product of a cozy day of baking at home: buttery, flaky biscuits thanks to our very own Cleveland author Michael Ruhlman's book, Ratio. I'm not one to collect cookbooks, but in my (humble) opinion this is one of the best food-related books out there. In a nutshell, it's based on the premise that you're better off knowing a ratio than a recipe. If you know a ratio, you know exponentially more recipes.

Check out the flaky layers in the biscuit above - thanks to his technique of a few rounds of chilling the dough, then folding into thirds and rolling (for a total of 6x which, including chilling time, took a few hours). There are just no shortcuts to some of the finer things in life. :)

Biscuits were enjoyed fresh out of the oven, with my favorite Bonne Maman jam.

 vanilla bean ice cream churning in the ice cream maker

It may be getting cold, but I'll take good quality ice cream any day.

Check out those specks of vanilla!

There's just nothing like it.

(Pardon my poor kitchen lighting... it was nighttime)

 A fiery orange tree against the most unbelievably blue sky.

How lucky am I to have this tree outside our balcony?

Some grounding words as we live through the transitions and changes that are characteristic of this "vata" season. These tips, based on principles of Ayurveda, are especially helpful for someone like me with a predominant vata dosha, but can also be helpful to anyone.

("breathe in life" frame gifted by my uber-cool aunt, a proprietor of a B&B  and a yoga instructor; the gift tag was from a present given by this friend. I hung it over the side of the frame because it reminds me of a mandala. I have this displayed in my home office.)

As I mentioned earlier... there will never be another Fall 2011. Breathe it in...

good stuff to think about

Every week, I receive an e-newsletter from life coach Cheryl Richardson. If you would like to subscribe, you can click here. In the meantime, the questions in this week's email really grabbed my attention:

• If this were my last hour on earth, would I be happy with how I've spent my time today, this week, or this year?
• Would I feel good about the priorities I'm focused on right now at this point in my life?
• Do I feel complete and at peace with the people who matter most?

(from Cheryl Richardson)

In such busy times, it's important to step back and regroup every now and then... and act on these questions every possible moment.

With that in mind...

I confess to being an Internet junkie. I love reading food blogs, design blogs, looking at photography... and I know that when I can't sleep at night--which happens often-- blog-surfing has become my habit (I need an intervention for this one.). Much of my work also revolves around being on the computer. A. usually has an earlier bedtime than I do, as he has a more regular, be-at-work-by-9-am kind of job (I won't call it a 9 to 5 job as he certainly works waaay more hours than that). But tonight I had to stay up later for my brother's Skype call from half a world away. So in those 30 minutes of waiting for my Skype call, instead of more Internet surfing or more computer work which I may be inclined to do, I took that opportunity to snuggle with A. as he drifted off to sleep. Sounds simple, I know... but in that moment, I can say that I spent that half hour of my life in the most meaningful way possible.

Interestingly, when I did my first-ever photo exhibit, I named my collection "Every Moment Counts". I guess I used that phrase for a reason. A reminder. That life is too short to eat bad food (yeah I know I had to say that first), say unkind words, or sweat the small stuff. I'm constantly learning about the last one, that's for sure.

Are you content with how you've spent your time today?

oh, how it sparkles

I'm not talking about Christmas ornaments and twinkle lights.

I'm talking about snow.

Those of you who know me know for a fact that I love sunshine. I love the sea and the sand and tropical fruit. But living in Northern Ohio is teaching me some things. One, as much as I dread winter driving, I have to see some positives about the season - beyond the everyday excuse to make old-fashioned hot chocolate (not that I need any excuse for that, anyway). I have to learn to like the snow, even just a little. Because I'll be staying here for a little while longer.

Second, there's a certain kind of quiet that goes along with winter. The kind that encourages you to pause, reflect, and feel grounded. To slow down amidst the busy holiday rush. After the heated excitement of summer, the changes and transitions in the fall, comes the silent retreat of winter.

Today, after a few days of staying indoors and working, I attempted to take a walk. So I bundled up (read: running tights, with leggings under the running tights, tank top, turtleneck top, lightweight jacket, then the outer heavier coat, hat, gloves, scarf, 2 pairs of socks) and walked around my neighborhood. It had stopped snowing after we had maybe 12 inches dumped on us over the past several days. And, the sun was shining!

Which made the snow actually sparkle. The rays of the late afternoon sun reflected on the snow like millions of little crystals. It was amazing. I wish I could say I was able to capture it in photos, but I couldn't quite approximate it.

Now this is not some earth-shattering discovery. I'm sure you (meaning you who live in places that get snow, or have seen snow) have seen snow sparkle before. But for some reason, despite year after year of experiencing snow, seeing the sun shine after a snow storm makes it seem like the first time every time.

There's the magic of nature.

Whether it's sunlight reflected on the water...

Or on dewdrops...

... nature will always find a way to sparkle. And wrap you in its sweet, grounding embrace.

May you enjoy the magic of winter and the holidays...

what's the world coming to?

So I heard on NPR that the day after Thanksgiving, or what is known as Black Friday, is also the "National Day of Listening". On this day, we are encouraged to invite someone to talk for an hour, while we listen.

I understand this is well-intentioned, but really?

We actually need an authority (whatever or whoever that may be) to tell us to listen to someone? We actually need to mark this day on the calendar? So what do we do on the other 364 days?

Just throwing my question out there.

culinary therapy

My thoughts have been all over the place lately. When this happens, the kitchen is the place I come back to. It's both a playground and a sanctuary.

What is it about cooking? Cooking is both my creativity and my stress relief. It's my way of being productive (but also my way of procrastinating!). When nothing else is going well, I can at least make a great dish. When I want to shut out other thoughts, I can clear my head while going through the rhythmic motions associated with cooking - chop, slice, dice, repeat. When I don't feel a sense of order in my life, I can have control and order while cooking, when ingredients, flavors and spices come together in harmony. When I feel unbalanced, I can feel centered while I hover over a pot, watching, stirring, smelling, tasting... and taking deep breaths along the way. When I feel the need to create something, to work with my hands, I cook to bring ingredients together and make a dish come to life. It's what I do to nurture myself and others. Cooking can be a solitary enjoyment, or it can bring people together. It's what I do to celebrate, whether dining solo, or in the company of family and friends.

I came across this ad in a magazine, cut it out, and stuck it on my refrigerator door:

In my kitchen
I preheat a memory
I fold old friends with new
I bake a good laugh.

What a perfect way to describe how I feel about food, the kitchen, and all things culinary.

summer solstice

 

Headlands Beach, Lake Erie

Happy first day of summer!!!

How are you celebrating the longest day of the year?

"The miracle is not to walk on water. The miracle is to walk on the green earth, dwelling deeply in the present moment and feeling truly alive."

- Thich Nhat Hanh

the art of doing nothing

I still have to train myself to enjoy do-nothing days.

The Saturday of Memorial Day weekend, we decided to head over to a vineyard outside of Cleveland. After about an hour's drive from the city, we found ourselves in South River Vineyard, and it was a perfect setting for doing nothing.

The wine-tasting is done in an old church building...

With a purchase of a bottle of wine, you also get a platter of crackers, cheese, and dark chocolate (I preferred the chocolate that I keep in my purse though.)

We decided on a light, but not-too-sweet wine called "Temptation." It was a rose wine "with strawberry and lilac nuances."

I liked the name of this wine:

And there is an outdoor seating area where you can savor wine while enjoying the sunshine...

...gaze at the vineyard and the setting sun, and dream of a life of a vintner.

And do nothing else.

birthday yoga!

I have to admit that I am not the biggest fan of "hot" yoga. I've tried it, but don't practice that way on a regular basis. And it has nothing to do with the yoga itself... it's just a matter of personal preference. I LOVE yoga outdoors, and if indoors, I usually prefer a room with comfortable, just-right HVAC.

But on this day, the day of my birth, I decided, why not do something different and go to a hot yoga class? And in perfect timing, I received an email from this studio, which entitled me to a free yoga class during my birthday week! The class description stated that the room would be warmed to 85 degrees. Ok, not bad... at least it wasn't a feverish temperature. So off I went, wearing the most sweat-absorbing, moisture-wicking workout top I own. Having been to this studio before,  I knew how hot it could be. So I also brought a sweat-absorbing towel and a big bottle of water to be as ready as I could for buckets of sweat.

It turned out to be a great class! The instructor led us through multiple vinyasa sequences and warrior poses/variations and balancing sequences, in a room that felt much warmer than 85 degrees (considering the full yoga room, body heat from what seemed like 30 people, each one practicing the ujjayi breath). The instructor made us work, stretch, and sweat, but also made us laugh.

There's something so primal, so cleansing, so life-affirming, about movement and breath and sweating from every single pore of my body. About getting out of my head and into my heart. I welcomed every sweaty vinyasa as a chance to celebrate life, to challenge myself while exercising patience and awareness of what my body needed and felt. Aaaahhhh... the joys of truly being in my body, moving, and feeling every movement. Each time I moved from a standing forward fold to sweep my arms up to the side and overhead to mountain pose, it was like scooping up all this wonderful energy. I couldn't help but smile in extended side angle, feeling the deliciousness of the stretch, and in dancer pose, feeling grounded yet light. I bowed into humble warrior pose with gratitude. Each lion's breath in upward dog and fish pose was so life-force-giving. Just as my mother and father gave their own life force to me on this very day years ago.

So on that note I say THANKS... for this day, for the gift of breath and movement, and to all those who gave meaning and life to my days.

Today's meditation: "May every breath I take be a prayer." (How very fitting for a birthday meditation!)

Thank you, A., for the pretty birthday flowers!