These glorious creations are from my favorite donut shop in the world: Bitchin’ Donuts.
I love it for the name, I love it for the messages, and I love it for the delicious donuts.
At its heart, it’s all about the donut, which in this case is astoundingly good. With gluten-free options that taste as good as (and sometimes better) than their inspiration, they offer an amazing variety of new and intriguing spins on classic flavor combinations. My favorite is the Bitchin’ Creme – a brilliant take-off on the Boston Creme – and I’ve sampled a Neapolitan donut that was like a decadent cherry cordial, and a crazy-good orange-cardamom donut that had the epic message seen in these photos. (And I whole-heartedly support this message.)
After a devastating fire at their Lark Street location, they are now operating at 540 Delaware Ave and 2008 Central Ave in Colonie – both much more convenient for parking. The only warning I have is that these can quickly become a bit addictive – hence a recent pair of weekend trips – and they often sell-out, so get there early.
This new variety of cherry tomato (whose specific name has been lost to my insistence on throwing out the label much too early in the season) has started ripening – and it’s delicious. I always forget how good homegrown tomatoes taste compared to the flavorless supermarket objects we find in the winter here. The tomato is the culinary embodiment of summer in these parts – a giddy taste and force of nature that reminds me of how lovely the sunny season can be, especially in the mouth.
Dad taught me how to grow tomatoes, and for the past several years I’ve put them in pots on the back patio and they’ve been delivering. The cherry tomatoes are the most reliable, so that’s what I’ve focused on lately. The two pots going now are beginning to mature and ripen and the bounty is just around the corner.
Sitting up in the attic far later than I should be awake, I write these words directly into this blog post. It won’t go up for a few days, and in that detachment and removal from immediacy, I feel emboldened and brave enough to reveal just a little more of myself than I typically might. Lately, I’ve been writing these entries into a notebook, all by hand, then typing them in later along with any necessary editing. It feels more meaningful to write it out longhand, if anyone even knows what longhand is anymore. I’m not even sure I do. Sometimes I just say words because they sound right, and I’m usually good about placing them where they belong, even if I’m doubtful of what they may actually mean. There, a little reveal, a little strip-tease, one that will find you trying to catch me out soon, and I will deserve it.
But you were just a kid when they told you You’d been born to bleed, little soldier With your garden heart and sentimental boulder Oh, it pulled you down Look at you, you made it out
Yes, I had a garden heart. Still do. The garden has always been the place of peace and healing and learning – and the most interesting thing in the world to me ever since I was a little boy. It’s been a haven and a space of hope, where I learned heartbreak and heaven, sometimes at the exact same time. It set me apart from other boys, as did so much else. That dark trip back won’t be made tonight – I’m skirting the deeper shit until we make it out of retrograde motion.
Now it’s time to go, it’s time to chase it Break the locks out of the basement Rearview mirror to the faithless And you believed in every maybe Shalala, I love you, baby Told them all you were good at breaking
Going around the gardens every day is my favorite way to ground myself during the sunny season. It’s a good mental health break – and any time spent offline or away from a computer screen or television is time well-spent. The removal of such stimulation is more powerful than most people realize, it allows for a re-charge, and the chance to be thrilled again when heightened stimulation arrives. Lower your expectations. Shift your pleasure perspective. Refine your acceptance.
But you were just a kid when they told you You’d been born to bleed, little soldier With your magnet heart and sentimental boulder Oh, it pulled you down But look at you, you made it out
Born to bleed with a sentimental boulder? Were we all such terrorized children? Why do I remember being more resilient before I was aware of myself? A small part of me wants to explain what that means, but it’s late, and a larger part of me wants to sleep. These lyrics hit harder than the music.
Yeah, you’re just like the rain Carrying everyone’s shame But you move just like a river No, you don’t wear an inch of it, babe I’d follow you down, down, down, down, down to the water Way down to any kind of chance To a stone in a creek ‘Til you’re out of the blue Honey, I can see it too
Rather than say more about that, or offer an explanation for the title of this post (which was originally supposed to be a look at my creative process, as I’ve started the first part of my next project) I’m going to wrap things up since we are winding the song down. This was going to be a break in the Solid Gold Summer run with a glasses-and-all look at what really goes on in the summer. A dramatic pause if you will, then the music speaks to the soul again… and our Solid Gold swing shall return shortly.
‘Cause I was just a kid when they showed me This great big weight that would come and pull me Like your magnet heart and sentimental boulder I carry it with you, throw it on my shoulders You’re the one way out and I’m your dark horse clown Isimo, look at you, you made it out
Filipendula rubra is a robust and towering plant, reaching heights up to eight feet in conditions it likes (wet feet and sun) – and is topped by fluffy plumes of pink flowers at this time of the year, earning it the nickname ‘Queen of the Prairie’. While the effect is grand from a distance, it’s even more enchanting when viewed up close, which is the main point of this post.
Someone once explained the phenomenon of cloudbusting to me, but I don’t think I fully grasped it. Even after some online seeking, I still don’t feel like I understand it any better. Usually that prompts further research, deeper dives, or the start of a quest – this time I’m content with the mystery, accepting of the lack of understanding, reconciled to the not fully knowing. That’s a new stance for me, and a refreshing one. Removing mystery never did add anything of value to life’s charming aspects – if anything, it made them less charming. Maybe Kate Bush does a better job of explaining without reducing things to a series of dull facts.
But every time it rains, you’re here in my head Like the sun coming out Ooh, I just know that something good is gonna happen I don’t know when, but just saying it could even make it happen
On top of the world Looking over the edge You could see them coming You looked too small in their big, black car To be a threat to the men in power
Then again, maybe Kate Bush won’t explain away the riddles, maybe she is only here to posit more questions, raise more doubts, spin more wild stories that go on to spin even more stories from themselves. This song doesn’t even go with our Solid Gold summer theme, but as a wise person once wrote, a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds. This post doesn’t really go well with summer either – it’s a bit too somber, a bit too serious, a bit too emblematic of the madness attempting to swirl within my head – though I’m doing my damnedest not to let it take control. There is a mindfulness to that which might be my own way out, if I’m to ever get out of this alive. And who ever really gets out of life alive? In the end, I mean.
‘Cause every time it rains you’re here in my head Like the sun coming out Ooh, I just know that something good is gonna happen I don’t know when, but just saying it could even make it happen
And every time it rains you’re here in my head Like the sun coming out Look, your son’s coming out Ooh, I just know that something good is gonna happen I don’t know when, but just saying it could even make it happen
A fern for your Friday night fun. After the age of 50, Friday night fun unfurls differently, not unlike the frond of a fern – gently, quietly, beautifully. What calls to me now is deeper, more resonant for the soul, and it has nothing to do with FOMO or being seen or burning oneself into the break of the next day. It also has nothing to do with being online or engaging on social media, so excuse me while I step back into the world outside – the only world that matters.
When it gets to be this hot for this long, the best sort of cooking to do is that which requires no stove or oven or even microwave. Enter the icebox cake. A bit campy, a bit retro, and a whole lotta sugar adds up to a no-bake dessert that tastes like someone worked up a sweat when really it’s all about the assembly and some maneuvering of the stand mixer. When we invited Suzie and her family over for a Sunday dinner, I decided to make another attempt at perfecting this recipe after a questionable version I served to my niece and nephew (the best guinea pigs since Chester and Cookie).
The same concept that forms the base of this Magnolia Bakery Banana Pudding recipe is at work for the icebox cake: a solid cookie is transformed into a soft cake-like consistency after several hours mingling with a pudding/cream concoction. This time around, I used a recipe for Biscoff cookies and Biscoff butter, which I ended up modifying because I wasn’t happy with an initial test run. (I replaced the cream cheese with mascarpone, and used homemade whipped cream rather than a store bought ‘whipped topping’ – both changes made for a vast improvement, as did some additional ‘soak’ time, which took away the crunchy edge that some of the cookies retained with just a few hours in the fridge.) If you need a solid summer dessert and don’t want to heat up the kitchen, try this one out.
(Upon further contemplation, I may save this one for the fall and holiday season, as the spicy ginger flavors of the Biscoff elements align better with the cozy comforts of that time.)
INGREDIENTS
2 8.8 oz packages Biscoff cookies 13.4 oz jar Biscoff cookie butter 5.1 oz box instant vanilla pudding mix 3 cups of 2% milk ½ cup butter, softened 8 oz cream cheese, softened (I used 8 oz of mascarpone and this was so much better) 1 cup powdered sugar divided into two halves 3 cups heavy or whipping cream
METHOD
In a large bowl, add vanilla pudding mix and whisk in milk until combined. Put in fridge to set (can do the night before). In another bowl, beat together butter, cream cheese or mascarpone, and ½ cup powdered sugar until combined – about 2 minutes. In stand mixer, whip heavy cream and ½ cup powdered sugar until desired whopped cream consistency. Blend vanilla pudding mix with mascarpone mix, then fold in whipped cream mix until well incorporated. Drop 1/3 of pudding/cream mix into 9 x 13 casserole dish, then add one layer of Biscoff cookies in bottom of casserole dish in single layer. Spoon cookie butter into a microwaveable glass measuring cup, heat in 20 second intervals until melted, stirring as you go. Drizzle 1/3 cookie butter over cookies. Add another 1/3 of pudding/cream mix on top of cookie, then repeat layer of cookies and drizzle another 1/3 cookie butter over them, and add last 1/3 of whipped mix. Drizzle with remaining cookie butter and sprinkle with crushed Biscoff cookies as desired. Refrigerate at least overnight to ensure a soft consistency.
I’m a bitch when it’s hot, because I’m a bitch when it’s not. That said, this summer the heat hasn’t gotten to me as badly as it has in years past, which is strange because we’ve been much hotter than recent summers have been. Chalk it up to the proximity of a pool and air conditioning, and the fact that I’ve largely avoided walking at midday when at the office or visiting Boston or New York in such a heat index. To that end, it’s been a rather enjoyable season thus far, and my lack of complaining is either growth or evolution or the lackadaisical summation of simply learning not to care (or realizing that there is no point to my caring). There’s something that approaches melancholy in all of that, in summer itself, as gleaned from the opening quote. It’s as if the sun, with its relentless cheeriness and charm, illuminates fully all that is otherwise lacking, all that is otherwise wrong, amid the perfect idyllic days: the conundrum of summer, which nobody dares to criticize lest we frighten it away.
Rather than indulge in the melancholy, or fight it outright, I’m finding a quiet sort of middle ground, one where I lean into the feelings while staying afloat and distracting myself with the fun. It mostly seems to be working. From the pool, I watch a red squirrel scurry across the top of the wooden fence, its clicks and clacks a warning or a mating cry or some other exclamation I cannot translate. A hummingbird hovers beside a pot of salvia, its tongue moving deeply into the tubular blooms that few others can so easily reach. Life reveals itself in multitudes when you stop and sit still long enough to receive it. When the sun goes down, and the light reluctantly drains from the sky, the summer night begins…
“The summer night is like a perfection of thought.” – Wallace Stevens
If it fills your mind with the present moment – the sun, the heat, the flowers, the books, the pool, the garden, the grilled dinner, the first cherry tomatoes just starting to ripen and the thrill of popping one into your mouth directly off the vine – then the day has proven worthwhile.
I’ve had the luck and luxury of having some pretty full days of late – not with any grand adventures or big events, but the simple summer living that the season affords. It’s the best way of dealing with overthinking and overanalyzing – which Virgos such as myself are prone to do to our great detriment. Finding solace in being mindful and present instead of living in my head has proven a boon to my mental health. Summer makes that easier.
The spicy sweetness of phlox hangs in the air near the deep end. Nearby, the smell of damp earth fresh from being watered reminds me of some almost-fetid greenhouse dripping with its own condensation – plants sometimes have a way of sweating too, transpiration to our perspiration.
Even this late in the day, the sky is a sickly hazy yellowish gray color – still lit from the sun’s rays slicing through the smoke in the air from the Canadian fires – seemingly an annual summer event in a world that burns itself out a bit more with each passing day. I dive underwater to get away from it all, because I cannot afford to think about this world like that too much – humans being so problematic, and so disappointing.
It’s been a week of recklessness, as Mercury continues in its messy retrograde motion and a new moon prowls the sky invisibly. Astrologically, this is said to be a shit show, especially for a Virgo, and I’m definitely in the difficult feels about practically everything. (Forewarned is fair warned: stop fucking with me.)
Things are also said to bring great relief when this retrograde ends around July 23rd. That’s always been a good date for me, so I’ll be laying low and doing my best to keep quiet until then. (This would not be a good time to bet on that happening however, so apologies in advance for all that I’m about to say or do. Again, stop fucking with me.)
Like the yolk of an egg, the central whorls of this daisy ring out in bright, cheerful yellow – a reflection of the summer sun from the ground below. These daisies have been in the garden for several years, coming back pretty robustly with some regular watering and feeding. This first flush of flowers is the biggest and best of the entire season, though they will sporadically throw out additional blooms in a smaller, secondary blooming.
Daisies are favorites of a couple of my friends – JoAnn and Suzie especially – so I’ll usually send them a few photos if they’re not here to see them in person. This is one way flowers bring people together.
Chef, Emmy-nominated television host, and entrepreneur Edward Delling-Williams wears many hats, and all of them quite jauntily. His ‘Paris Bistro Cooking’ show on Recipe TV is what drew me into his charming world, and his ‘Taste of London’ programs have me itching to get back to that enchanted city sooner rather than later. He earns this Dazzler of the Day thanks to a storied career and continued inspiration for finding and making all that tastes good in this world. Check out his website here for further evidence of his brilliance.
The oregano got away from me this year, bolting a bit too quickly into flower before I had a chance to pounce it back. Not as disastrous as if I’d let the basil follow-suit, but less than ideal when we want foliage over flowers. Attempting to turn lemons into lemonade, I hastily harvested the flower heads as soon as I realized what was happening and turned them into an elegant centerpiece for a summer dinner.
They make for a more refined appearance and tidier filler than that awful baby’s breath that florists still seem to use (who in hell wants the breath of baby anywhere near a beautiful bouquet?) This happy accident made for a bouquet unto itself, which is how summer should be – easy and elegant and simple.
For a dinner table display, there is enough interest in the whorls of each individual bud to entice a closer inspection, so when all else fails you have one more thing to discuss. My guests are always infinitely more interesting than having to resort to such tactics but for those of you seeking out topics, go for the oregano bloom.
Our Solid Gold Summer required a sleazy, cheesy, retro, and slightly raunchily-monikered mocktail for summer drinking purposes, and that comes in the super simple concoction I’ve christened ‘The Golden Shower‘. It is one of the easiest drinks to create, rooted in a simple can of orange soda, made slightly elevated and punchy with the fresh juice of one lime. I supposed if you wanted something boozier, you could add any number of liquors to this without compromising the simplicity – vodka, tequila, rum, possibly even gin. It’s been so long since I’ve had any interest or taste for spirits, I’ve forgotten what might work well, but if you drink have at it. For me, the following is more than enough for a refreshing summer drink.
