‘February Gold’ narcissus don’t come anywhere near to making it out by February in these climes, so only the indoor blooms as seen here stand a chance. Such tiny blooms carry such a great burden of hope. Yes, hope can sometimes be a burden, even when it’s as beautiful as this.
Tonight marks the opening of the Winter Olympics 2022 from Beijing, China, and it is only fitting the we begin with two Winter Olympians who also happen to be gay Americans: Adam Rippon and Gus Kenworthy. They have appeared here before in the altogether (Adam nude here and Gus naked there) – proof that winter fun need not be draped in excess clothing.
As for this year’s games, I’ve already featured the ice dancers (Gabriella Papadakis and Guillaume Cizeron, Madison Hubbell and Zachary Donohue, and Madison Chock and Evan Bates) along with the great Nathan Chen. More to come in the near future…
Right up to this moment I was feeling rather uninspired and woefully unfabulous when it came to Valentine’s Day fragrances, so I was digging deep into the scent closet and pulling out various rose frags to lift the winter spirits. I started with the exquisite ‘Rose & Cuir’ which is a gorgeous summery bloom that somehow sparkles in the snowy crystals of winter. For the nights, when the air gets a little smoky there is ‘Oud Fleur‘ and the even more divine ‘Portrait of a Lady‘.
So the rose was very much on my mind when I let out a startling gasp in front of Andy as I read about this new trio of fragrances from Tom Ford based on a rose garden. Much in the same way that his ‘Ébène Fumé’ took me by surprise with its beautiful alignment with Palo Santo incense, this rose triumvirate may be exactly what we need right now. Here is the literature on these new beauties:
Rose d’Amalfi: Inspired by the designer’s favorite Italian coast of Amalfi, this rose is sprinkled with fresh citruses and spices. It opens with Italian bergamot and mandarin paired with pink pepper. With rose, heliotrope and almond, it blends in romantic pink magic in a scent that is sensual and intimate.
Rose de Chine: This is a more potent, smoky and sensual rose fragrance. Besides rose, it features yellow peony, labdanum and myrrh, with a hint of smoky accords. According to the designer himself, the fragrance exudes an indomitable and untamed attitude as decadent rose and Chinese peony form a gorgeous and strong contrast. It has a provocative and challenging feel.
Rose de Russie: Announced as opulent and dramatic, this edition blends Russian black leather with a rich rose scent that is nighttime appropriate. The composition also features notes of white pepper and woods for a sexy and warm finish.
These all sound intriguing, but Tom Ford and florals are a bit of a mixed bag. It began with the spring blooms of his Jardin Noir line which completely missed for me, and the Vert line he did afterward only had two of four frags that I would consider (and only ‘Vert d’Encens’ was worth a purchase). Recent offerings ‘Rose Prick’ and ‘Bitter Peach’ also smelled lackluster, with the juice veering much too sweet and sugary for my taste. That said, after the brilliance of ‘Ébène Fumé’ perhaps he’s found his way back to the dark beauty that I’ve always loved. It’s definitely that time of the year with Valentine’s Day right around the corner.
{And if Andy is looking to completely sweep me off my feet and semi-surprise me for the holiday of hearts, the most promising option would be the handy-dandy sampling collection at this link, which includes all three for a fraction of what a full bottle costs… Also, for those of you looking to purchase some yourself, the Tom Ford store is offering them for $270, while Sephora has them listed for $368 – both at the 1.7 oz size. Something to think about for gift cards as well… Not sure why there is such a discrepancy.}
This is merely an almost-bite of Andy’s perfecting of a chicken curry dish which has taken over two decades to reach this blissful state of warmth and deliciousness. It is the perfect antidote to a winter’s day, and even better during the early arrival of a winter’s night. This dish rivals that of Mom’s beef stew, to which Andy has also added his special touch. Comfort food to warm the heart.
Not so long ago, the main deterrence from me trying a recipe was the amount of chopping and cutting involved, along with the amount of bowls and utensils used. I’ve since come to find the simple enjoyment in the process – and in every step of the process – a component of mindfulness, and a way of clearing the head form distraction and worry. That’s not an easy feat with everything going on, and so I keep busy with something like bruschetta.
This version is an easy one – just some garlic and olive oil heated to the point where the rawness is gone, but no browning is happening, then the diced fresh tomatoes, finely cut ribbons of fresh basil, and some sliced scallions. A healthy dose of salt and pepper, and a few chili flakes complete the flavor index.
Andy found these toast rounds at The Fresh Market, which makes this so much easier to assemble. As much as I just claimed to be embracing every step of something like this, if there’s an easy fix, why not go for it? It allows for more serious meditation time later on.
These are just a little too crunchy at the start for my liking, but the time it takes to put the tomato mix on the toast and drive them over to Amsterdam for dinner with the family is just long enough to soften them up. Tutti a tavola a mangiare!
Acknowledging that the correct pronunciation of ‘pho’ does not work as well in this blog post title, not enough people know that to take offense. On the day that the big blizzard hit the Northeast coast, bypassing us for the most part, I took time to make a batch of pho from scratch, broiling the bones and onions, then boiling them with the aromatics for a few long hours – long because I was eager to devour the broth and its accompanying noodles.
Just as important as the bones and aromatics are the fresh accompaniments – basil and cilantro and scallions and bean sprouts. I can’t find Thai basil anywhere, which is the only shame about this situation. A drizzle of sriracha added to the heat, a buffer against the descending temperatures. While the storm skirted us this time, winter remains. A dish like this almost makes winter worth the while.
As stereotypically-expected, I am completely obsessed with ‘The Gilded Age’, the new HBO series from the makers of ‘Downton Abbey’. My favorite character thus far is Bertha Russell, portrayed in exquisite fashion by Carrie Coon, who earns her first Dazzler of the Day thanks to her nuanced and complex treatment of a woman audiences may love to loathe. She swerves from imperious to vulnerable, defiant to heartbreaking, and that’s all just within the first episode. (And her wardrobe is to-die-for.) I can’t wait to see where she ends up, and how ‘The Gilded Age’ will tell its story.
Direct counter-programming to this wintry entrance into February is found in these photos from a recent foray to Faddegon’s. F-this and f-that in a fiery floral foundation of alliteration! Yes, we are at that point in winter where we all go a little mad. I remember a trip to the Cape to see JoAnn and her crew several years ago – actually, well over a decade ago, which feels like more than several years – and on that trip her brother Wally took me out and about and described how people survived a winter on the Cape, a place well-renowned and beloved for its summer enchantments, and not known for winter thrills. Basically, it was a lot of drinking and some cozy dinners. Back then, it was exactly what I wanted and needed, and we passed many a winter weekend in such happy tradition.
These days the manner in which we trudge through the winter has evolved and matured, with warmer resonance found in subtle and quieter joys, such as the simple appreciation of the earliest spring blooms that recently appeared at the local greenhouse. For the first of February, this is a very good sign.
There will be jonquils and tulips and hyacinths soon in every supermarket, their delicate fragrance a delicious reminder that we are well on our way through the winter – over a third of the way done in fact. Do I seem anxious? Well, I am. We are craving the longer days, the extended period of light, and we are starting to feel the gentle elongation of the brightness.
It’s time for a few bouquets in the house, and more flowers on this website. Let’s go full Mrs. Dalloway and buy them ourselves.
“The earth laughs in flowers.” ~
For this very last day of January, here is a bit of greenery that was part of my Mom’s birthday bouquet. Hydrangeas have lasting power, and so they keep going, extending this bright bit of freshness for a week or two more. I’ll replace them with something else soon, as these were a reminder of how lovely it is to have a vase of fresh flowers in the house, especially in these dogged days of winter.
The simplicity of these hydrangea blooms, and the way their color could be that of fresh foliage in the spring, appeals to my thirst for greenery. Not the dark evergreen greenery that is the only sign of life around – the dull needles of the pine tree or the silver splinters of the juniper – but the chartreuse and bright green that signals the sunny seasons.
I love how they could be seen as flowers or leaves, given their color and texture and appearance. It is a luxury to have such beauty at this time of the year, like biting into a fresh piece of citrus that was transported from a tropical clime.
“I must have flowers, always, and always.” ~
Taking pride of place in this post is the gooey melted goodness of my first successful endeavor at making ensaymada. That’s really all that mattered this week. Winter raged, spring presaged, and our emotional state was gauged. It’s there in all its messiness with this wintry recap.
The maybe-not-so-minor magic of mindfulness.
The first green of a coiled spring not quite ready to pounce.
Like the whiskey that I’m not drinking, we are aged and mellow.
When and where passions collide.
The wonder of Wordle, and a little bit more.
Meditating through the madness of Mercury in retrograde.
My first attempt at ensaymada, and I did not burn the kitchen down, thank you.
Dazzlers of the Day included Heather Small and Will Bryant.
This Sunday morning dawned with full sun and blue skies, and though the temperatures did not rise to those of our spirits, it was pretty enough to sustain us another week as we inch ever-closer to spring. Tomorrow is already the last day of January, so we’ve made good headway into the winter. The first part often feels like the worst part – now it’s just a question of sustaining until the earth shifts to catch more of the sun.
On this morning, with sun pouring in through the front bay window and bathing the Buddha’s tree in glorious light, I sit on the conversation couch (laughably monikered at this point since it’s mostly me just conversing with myself or Andy as he passes by) and read a book on meditation. Some pleasant harp music plays in the background – quiet and serene as a Sunday morning can get.
Outside, the cold remains, but the snow reflects the sun, making the day brighter than anything even the summer can produce. Reframing how we see the world is but one path to happiness. There are always others. On this morning, I’m soaking in the light, the bright, and the winter air.
Artist, designer and illustrator Will Bryant channels the exuberance and spirit of the very best pop inspirations to earn this Dazzler of the Day post. With a Masters of Fine Arts from Portland State University, Bryant uses his talent and skill to embody the dreams of his clients, while honing his own drawing, printmaking, painting and sculpture work. Visit his enchanting website here.
The kitchen day started in decidedly inauspicious fashion. After loosely reading of some online hoax of hard-boiling an egg in the microwave, I decided to try it, figuring that it couldn’t explode in thirty or forty seconds, the prescribed length to make it happen. And for that first attempt, it did not explode. In fact, as I peeled it open, it hadn’t even cooked anything other than the shell, and the raw egg spilled into the garbage, where it belonged. Undaunted – an attitude that I made a promise to hold throughout whatever happened in the kitchen that day – I tried again, popping another egg into a bowl and covering it with a paper towel. Yes, a paper towel. And just a paper towel. Since thirty seconds didn’t do anything the first time, I let it whirl for a full minute.
And in the event that anyone was contemplating this, don’t: an egg will explode in the microwave in less than sixty seconds. Somewhere around the 45 second mark, a muted explosion startled me from my motions by the oven. I knew what had happened instantly and was afraid to look. Andy, somehow, hadn’t been signaled by the noise, as I peeked in to see him watching television, unaffected. Once I got most of the mess cleaned up, I yelled in to him that it wasn’t possible to hardball an egg in the microwave, just so he knew.
“You’re kidding me, right?” he asked.
“No, you really can’t. It doesn’t work. It exploded.”
And then Andy exploded in laughter.
Luckily, I didn’t need a hard-boiled egg for the ensaymada recipe I had planned on making. While Suzie has been nudging me to try baking some buns, such as the exquisite lemon cardamom buns she made for a brunch many moons ago, I’ve usually shied away from it (except in this one surprisingly successful instance). The idea of dough – and the rising and cutting and rolling out of said dough – frightened me. That was it – I was afraid. While Suzie didn’t trust the yeast part of the process, afraid it wouldn’t rise, I was afraid of the consistency and stickiness and stubbornness of the dough. When I can’t get something off my hands, I get easily annoyed.
On this day, however, Suzie and I texted our new mantra when it came to being afraid: fuck it. (I think it was something we said in relation to something completely different, but it has become a catch-phrase we use for everything, including the hesitation of a yeast-based dough.) I went into the kitchen with an open mind and the intention to enjoy the process of making dough, no matter how challenging or disappointing it might be. Considering the planned recipe, I’m rather surprised I was able to keep that mindset.
Ever since visiting the Philippines in 1997, I’ve been a fan of ensaymada. It was what I had for breakfast most days there – a seemingly simple light and flaky roll, topped with a sweet butter topping and a layer of shredded cheese. Yes, cheese, which sounds weird, but ends up working better than I ever believed it could. When I returned home, I’d occasionally pick up some plastic-wrapped ensaymada rolls every few months to get my fix, and then they stopped being available at the local Asian markets. Looking online, I found a couple of recipes for how to make it, and with some brioche baking forms, a new packet of yeast, and an emboldened spirit of adventure and fun in the kitchen, I got to work with Suzie’s encouragement.
For that first attempt, I used the recipe found here from Foxy Folksy. I liked the way the dough worked, but in my haste and enjoyment of the process, I was less careful than I usually am, forgetting the salt (oops!) and then neglecting the second rise (double oops!) and it turns out the second rise is key to the light and fluffy consistency that is essential to ensaymada. Those first rolls went into the oven uprisen and dense, and when they didn’t puff up to triple their size, I felt a tinge of disappointment, but went on undaunted. That was, after all, the theme of the day. And since I’d only put in half of the dough, I inadvertently gave time for the second half to rise a bit. When that batch went in, they were serviceable. Not great, but decent enough, and Suzie came by to try it out. The flavor was there, even if the consistency was not. We sat on the attic floor, surrounded by candles and light, and had a moment of hygge with this first try at ensaymada. Denmark and the Philippines were colliding in Loudonville, New York, while old friends met for a new experience 46 years into this life.
The next day, fortified by a new confidence in dough, I tried a different ensaymada recipe from Riverten Kitchen. This time I added the salt, and did the second rise properly, and they turned out much better. I’m still going to experiment a bit more to get that chewy yet flakey consistency, but these are pretty good, and the fear of dough has been conquered.
A beautiful new practice to see us through the winter.
Over the years, I’ve had many moments of being misunderstood. It’s never bothered me much, as many of those misunderstandings lent an armor of protection to the way I was perceived. As such, I let them accumulate and become part of the person I wanted the world to see. Yet there were times when I was genuinely perceived as mean, either in my delivery, or in what I was actually saying and feeling, and I can’t pretend it was always a misunderstanding. Most of us have times when we let ourselves down, when we allow a bit of meanness and pettiness to creep into the best of intentions, when we wish we’d conveyed a thought or feeling in a kinder or less blunt manner, when we simply could have and should have been better but, whether from hurt or pain or sadness or exasperation, we chose a way that was less. I thought of those moments as I read this passage from ‘The Book of Hygge’ by Louisa Thomsen Brits:
“Like growing up with love, if we are fortunate enough to be exposed to hygge for long enough, it changes life. The spirit of hygge is spread by warm-heartedness and generosity. We can light a thousand candles, but the flame of hygge is easily extinguished by a mean spirit. If the concept of hygge exists outside the realm of our experience, that doesn’t mean it will always be unavailable. It only takes one match or a single kind gesture to illuminate the dark.” ~ Louisa Thomsen Brits
While most books slip in and out of my head these days without making much of an impression, this sentence struck me and has haunted me ever since reading it for the first time: We can light a thousand candles, but the flame of hygge is easily extinguished by a mean spirit.
The idea that I could have ever been that mean spirit, whether intended or unintended, is a deeply disturbing realization, but one that I need to confront, and one that will prove helpful in confronting. It reminds me of the humility and open-mindedness needed to continue on this journey. It reminds me that I’m still just a beginner when it comes to mindfulness and meditation. Mostly, it reminds me to forgive and to be kind – not only to others but to myself.
And so, last Saturday night, I lit a tray of candles and read a bit more on meditation and mindfulness. I reached out to a few friends and make loose and tentative plans for the future, something we don’t do much anymore in the world of COVID, but something that feels good to do, with the caveat that anything can happen. Things to look forward to, even if some never come to fruition. It is a healthier frame of mind, and an indication that everything we have learned in the last two years has not been for naught.
“The salient feature of hygge is the atmosphere of warm and relaxed enjoyment of the moment which it allows. While it is nurtured by thoughtfulness and mutual involvement, hygge is informal and unrestrained.” ~ Judith Friedman Hansen
The whistle of a tea kettle.
The scampering footfalls of a squirrel on the roof.
The moan of a winter wind rattling the rafters.
These are the sounds of the season, and the sounds of this weekend. A storm brushes by, who can tell how close or how far until it happens, and Mercury is in retrograde motion until next week. A few more days of heightened vigilance and extra-careful movements.
My friend Sherri gave me a calendar of when Mercury would be in retrograde for the next year, and this first stretch of madness has been a trying one, mostly at work. As soon as the workday was done, I’d arrive home and immediately settle into a daily meditation, sitting lotus-style beside a smoking stick of Palo Santo and decompressing from whatever the day had delivered. It was a necessary demarcation between the stresses of the world and the comfort of home, and a reminder of how helpful meditation can be, especially in the last days of January – the last days of Mercury wreaking its havoc for this cycle.
Outside the window of the attic, a squirrel calls to me from the pine tree. I open the window for a brief moment to listen to its chatter, to hear the winter and take it in, because I know it’s important – as important as the same scene in summer, when the land is green and lush and soft. And we will love it more then because of now.
