This past summer has been all about the Greek salad for me – cukes, tomatoes, Kalamata olives and a homemade dressing consisting solely of olive oil, lemon juice, salt, oregano, dill and pepper. I also add garbanzos because I love them. Oh, and feta cheese – lots of it – because the best part of a salad is the cheese, unless you’re absolutely tasteless.
And when your bestie brings you an extra big box of feta from the newly-opened Costco, why skimp on the feta?
The amazing ginger rhubarb scone I had at Beacon Hill Books & Cafe insired me to get back into baking mode, which usually happens at right about this time. Fall brings cooler evenings and the ideal opportunity to practice some baking for the cozy season ahead. We didn’t have any ginger or rhubarb on hand, but this was mostly an explorative run-through of how to do a proper scone, as it’s been years – well, decades – since I’ve attempted a scone. Back then they came out well enough, but they were a bit messy, and I have a few more years of kitchen trials under my belt now. There was a container of candied orange in the cupboard from a planned panettone journey that never got off the ground earlier this year, so I decided to do a candied orange scone, which turned out better than expected.
I won’t get into the precise recipe I used (because to be honest I’ve already forgotten it – but look up any basic scone recipe and you have the same idea). I will offer a few pointers to what made this work for me. Use very cold butter (frozen for a few minutes before cutting) – and I’m told it’s even better to grate the butter like cheese to get smaller pieces into the flour and sugar. When it comes time to mix the wet and dry ingredients, the less mixing the better. That seems at odds with how we want things to go, but trust. Mine barely even came together in its bowl (hello shaggy dough!) and required some gentle kneading and shaping once I poured it out. But that’s definitely the way to go to avoid a tougher texture. Last tip is to brush the cut scones with heavy cream or buttermilk (whichever you used in the recipe) and sprinkle with coarse sugar for a better crust – this is more important than it seems, so don’t treat it like it’s optional.
The one thing we didn’t have for the glaze was orange juice, so I made the kooky/questionable/brilliant choice to use some orange soda – Fanta, from this Golden Shower – in place of the scant tablespoon or so needed to go with all the confectioner’s sugar. Suzie said it gave them a floral zing, and I am all about the sweet glaze. Au Bon Pain used to have this bright orange glaze on their orange scones and it was the reason I could handle the otherwise-dry nature of the things. This version maintained a delicate, flaky, crumbly texture, and Suzie gave it her approval, which is the highest praise for all things culinary. Consider scones the in-thing for this fall. Clotted cream here we come…
The post-birthday breakfast is one of my favorite moments – all the pressure is off, the new cologne can be worn, and the fresh start of another journey around the sun can begin. On this day I managed to secure a reservation at Beacon Hill Books and Cafe, one of the most enchanting places in Boston, starting with its tiny doorway, which was even too short for me or Andy to walk through without ducking. Squirrels in honor of Paige, the bookstore squirrel, dotted the decor, whimsically calling to us from around every corner. While the bookstore is a destination of its own, this morning it was the fabled breakfast that had us squeezing down the hallway into the cafe.
Still on a birthday high, I ordered the caviar omelette while Andy got the peach pistachio buckwheat galette. We decided to share the ginger rhubarb scone with Devonshire clotted cream.
The omelette was delicious – but the scone was a veritable revelation. Somehow both flaky and crumbly, delicately moist and not too sweet, its ginger and rhubard flavors were perfectly matched, and all of it came together wonderfully under that clotted cream. I immediately made a plan to attempt the recipe once I returned home. With the promise of home and the future in mind, we departed Boston… for the moment. Back soon.
The dawn of my fifty-first birthday was quietly beautiful – the sun was out, there was a decent breeze, and the day was perfect for my favorite Boston activity: walking. We began with breakfast at Mike’s City Diner, because I’m basically a simple girl at heart, and nothing makes me happier than a basic diner breakfast. As it was Monday, we didn’t have to battle with the weekend crowds – a tantalizing peek at what retired life might be like when we’re in Boston – and a brilliant birthday beginning.
Andy gifted me with this bottle of Tom Ford cologne, one of the side-steps away from the Private Blends collection, and just as exquisite.
For the outfit of the day, nothing beats pink for a birthday, especially in short-shorts.
After breakfast, we walked through the South End and all the way to the Boston Public Garden, which is a mandatory stop on days as beautiful as this.
Being that it was my special day, a second stop for peach ice cream was made – I told you before, this flavor is only available for a short period of time and one must strike when the ice cream iron is hot. All glory and gratitude for J.P. Licks.
Boston gave us a magnificent day, and I paused to take in the moment, and the beauty, but the afteroon passed all too quickly.
Dinner was at Capri, former site of Cinquecento, where we enjoyed dinner many years ago (the night that Andy tried octopus for the first time and fell in love). We opted for a burrata and prosciutto board to begin tonight.
My sweet ending to the dinner was a limoncello tiramisu – and it proved a sweet ending to my fifty-first birthday as well.
The ride to Boston for my birthday was fraught with rain and heavy traffic, but upon arriving the rain ceased and the city welcomed us with open arms. All the gardens along the Southwest Corridor Park were filled with blooms enjoying this relatively wet season, as seen in these colorful zinnias. A cheery entry point for a couple of days of loveliness…
As happens on most visits to Boston, I began by getting my bearings by doing some shopping along Newbury Street. I didn’t end up buying anything, but a look-see shopping expedition brings me back to myself, and soon it was time for our first dinner.
I’ve been wanting to try Dalia since it opened a few months ago and I managed to get reservations for the day before my birthday. It was just as handsome as advance word had promised – with food to match. The one minor snafu was that my entree arrived about fifteen minutes before Andy’s, and since he offered, I ended up eating it before it got cold. Neither of us much minded – we’re pretty easy-going dining guests, and perhaps Dalia is still working out their timing.
We opted out of dessert, as I’d seen a promising place that had peach ice cream just down the street, and as this is the time of the year for peach ice cream we headed in that direction. Peach ice cream holds a storied and frustrating place in my past, so whenever we find it we take advantage of the situation.
The only semi-reliable place for the peach ice cream has been J.P. Licks, and it’s usually available right around this time of the year. While the night was still young, I was no longer, so we got an Uber back to the condo, where the street glowed its magic glow on a pretty summer night…
Sipping a mango-dragonfruit refresher at a sidewalk cafe in the South End, I feel slightly nostalgic on my 51st birthday. Andy and I are in town for the low-key event, keeping a quiet out-of-town tradition intact; I was never one for big birthdays. Sitting on the sidewalk and watching the Monday traffic go by, I realize that I’m old enough to remember when this cafe used to be Francesca’s – back when Geoffrey’s was the hot spot of the neighborhood and the South End was filled with gays and their admirers.
When I look around now, the only restaurant that still stands in the same place is Aquataine. How strange that the city is so different, yet I feel so intensely the same. Thirty years ago, on this same stretch of Tremont, I felt similarly uncertain. The only thing that may have changed in my constitution is that I probably hide it better now. (And I was quite good at hiding it then.)
Today we have an idyllic day – a very sunny Monday with a lovely cool breeze – it reminds me of summer nights in my early 20’s, when I’d jog around the South End purportedly for exercise, but it really was just to find a romantic partner with whom to share a Boston life together. At the time, I was hopelessly in love with the idea of being in love – not really realizing all that love might entail. In that respect I have changed – a lot. My husband is back at the condo, waiting to take me out to dinner for my birthday, and if I’m uncertain about life in general, I’m no longer so uncertain about love.
Our quiet birthday jaunt to Boston begins with a brief recap of our adventures tomorrow…
Here is another gratuitous Ben Platt shot from this incredible photo shoot.
Which reminds me: he may be due for his Dazzler of the Day crowning soon…
This year’s butterfly bush has only recently gone into bloom, delaying its show, perhaps sensing we needed a jolt now rather than earlier. Why or how matters less than the gladness upon its butterfly-drawing power. That said, I have yet to see any butterflies on it – not a single monarch to my recollection this summer, which is a sad commentary on their population. Usually they would have been enjoying the cup plant and salvia long ago, but nothing so far. Another sad realization from this summer.
Still, the butterfly bush is in bloom should they wish to visit, and it’s a lovely thing against a brilliant hiubiscus backdrop. I especially adore their orange throats, which you can only see when viewing up close and personal, when you take the time to study and analyze instead of brushing quickly by. Another life lesson from the garden.
Nicholas Galitzine knows how to front a green-screen as exhibited in this gratuitous post previously featured here. Here is another glimpse from the green screen archives, displaying muscles against the vibrant backdrop. That’s all.
You don’t need to tell me I’m very late to the Ted Lasso train, but I’ve just climbed aboard and watched the first few episodes – and I’m happy to say I’m almost hooked. If this is about hope in what feels like a hopeless time, and believing in something better when everyone around is pissing jaded negativity into the wind, I’m all for it. Hell, I’m in desperate need of that. It comes as Brett Goldstein makes his move to secure this Dazzler of the Day crowning thanks to these shirtless pics from Men’s Health UK. It doesn’t take much, but Goldstein has the entertainment pedigree and experience to cinch the title.
Whenever we have friends staying over, I’ll put together a bouquet for the front entryway – a small gesture of welcome and greeting for all who enter here. My friend Alissa gave us the vase for it as a wedding gift and whenever it’s filled I am reminded of her. For this past weekend’s visit with Ann and Missy, I added a very simple but effective collection of some peach-colored stock and cheerful chamomile.
I now offer this to you, who have cared enough to visit this post and read these words – you deserve these flowers more than just about anybody else. And that’s good.
This specimen of Spanish lavender has been a bit of a surprise this year – I had no idea what variety it was as there was no label with it in the nursery – the foliage looked different to me as well, but I thought it was just a dry spring that shrunk it down a bit. Turns out it was Spanish lavender, notable for its butterfly-like flowers. To me, they’re more like bunny ears, which reside in a love/hate space of my brain – where so much of life currently resides.
I can picture the rabbit’s face here, below the purple ears, and it tickles and frightens me at the same time – a similar sort of ambivalence that exists at the end of August – somewhere between giving up, giving in, and giving everything. The end of summer is at hand – no point in pretending we’re not here. Thank God for Spanish lavender to ease this irrefutable state of affairs.
Establishing his own fashion brand ‘Deaf Identity’ and giving good face and body to his brand, Luke Christian handily earns this Dazzler of the Day crowning thanks to a lifelong commitment to being an entrepreneur who cares, and one who is confident enough to incorporate his own identity into his work. As a deaf and gay man, Christian often jokes about having two strikes against him, and has never let that deter him from creating an inspirational and aspirational life that is as impressive as it is courageous. Attitude Magazine awarded him their Pride LGBTQ+ Community Hero award, while Deaf Uity named him their Deaf Role Model of the Month last year. Check out the Deaf Identity brand website here. and all of Christian’s social media links here.
Better than anything that alcohol or pills or Mary-do-u-wanna could provide, the high I get from my friends is akin to no other, and that’s the one I want to chase for all my life. I felt its intoxicating effects the moment Ann arrived and we sat down to catch up on everything and nothing at all. There was the ease, there was the loveliness, there was the shared history of decades, including the most intense and formative section of life – our youth. Ann saved my life on more than one occasion, providing the one bright spot in a dark stretch of years. She would be the caretaker of all of us, as unfair and unbalanced as that may have been – but the universe assigns its missions to those who can most ably handle them. Ann took care of us, perhaps at a detriment to herself until she had to assume that responsibility as well. Throughout it all, she kept her humor, her indefatigable spirit, and her love of Mondays to keep us all lifted and upbeat, even in the face of terrible tragedy.
Ann has had more than her fair share of sorrow and losses, which makes her buoyant spirit all the more hard to believe, and all the more impressive. She’s lost more people in a short few years than many of us loose in a lifetime, and while it’s left a mark, she still manages to face each day as a new opportunity to begin again. I often think of her when I find myself whining or complaining about the stilly and stupid things, and it gives me a healthier and happier perspective. That’s how the best of friends enlighten us and brighten our lives.
This past weekend, she cast her usual spell of fun and laughter and memories, while we made some new ones, proving that life is for the living – for the present and now. We shall reconvene in the winter, when we need another hit of friendship and love.
Whenever we are away from the garden for a few days, it’s amazing the transformation that happens when you don’t see things unfurl hour by hour. Just a couple of days reveals changes that would have slowly gone unnoticed had I been watching them like water heating to a boil. This time, the seven sons’ flower tree was in bloom – something the tree had been teasing since early July when the little buds first appeared. The blooming for this one takes its sweet time, holding off until now, the very last month of summer, and the final days of August. It’s a balm and solace for the post-birthday let-down I always felt right about now.
It’s a lovely sight – and scent – to discover upon our return, and a welcome reminder that the garden still has magic to perform. The ostrich ferns may be browning up and shriveling away (after an extended showing this summer) and the cup plants have just started to fall over with each rain, getting lower and lower to the ground until they will eventually arch to the point where the stems all but break. Then they will remain there for the winter, frozen fountains of dead stems and branches notable only for the architectural interest, and whatever seed heads might remain for the birds.
That f-word is in the air again – fall – and I’m not mad about it. The garden has had its time, and after a few more weeks of glory, it will be time for its slumber. A rest more than well-earned.
