Jelly beans were never my favorite candy, yet every year when they roll them out, we somehow end up with a bowl in the house. These pretty things were a gift from our friend Lorie – they came with a couple of chocolate bridge mixes that I devoured immediately, but these got saved for last and poured into a bright bowl for looks more than anything. We don’t decorate for Easter so it was a welcome visage.
They lasted all of a day, as Andy and I ended up eating them in quick fashion once I popped a few in my mouth and remembered how good jelly beans could be when you find a fine batch. These were from Krause’s Homemade Candy, which has always supplied insanely delectable sweet treats. Lorie lives near their store and we are lucky to get a gift from there when we have her over for dinner or join her for lunch.
I have thus far had the will power to avoid the place, because I know if I go there once that will be it for my already-problematic waistline. (I cannot afford to lose 100 pairs of pants to go up another inch – I will not do it!) But I also won’t say no to a delicious thoughtful gift.
Exclamation points are usually used sparingly here, but for a full-frontal reveal, we employe them to the utmost!!!!!!! On this special day of all special days, and coming so close to the Easter holiday, Bad Bunny is here letting it all hang out, so scroll down for a glimpse of his Easter basket, if you know what I mean! And anytime you see liberal use of the exclamation point, be on hyper-alert!! Something wicked this way comes!!!!
There’s a very long road of infamous proverbial yellow-brick that waits to be traversed before we get to the release of the second part of ‘Wicked‘ but I love the build-up and anticipation, and it’s never too early to start. In another month or two the first official trailers should be out, and our journey back to Oz will begin again.
The earliest days of spring are always a little rough. Winter’s chill hangs on in the night and mornings, and the sun still struggles to warm the day. This cute little picture popped up somewhere this past week, and it felt like the cozy embodiment of where we find ourselves. A kettle of tea to warm all the world and a ceiling of snowdrops to cover the sky… on with the weekly recap, because it’s totally dreamy.
Fuck MAGA. There, I said it, and more of you should say it. I shall not be silent in such times as these – I shall resist, and I shall put it on record, because one day your kids and their kids will look back at this moment and wonder what you did, what you said, and how you remained silent and got along to get along.
Several weeks ago Suzie Ko and I slipped quietly into the 76 Diner, where we set up shop at a table hidden near the back, ordered some diner fare, and proceeded to plot out a seven-course meal inspired by the movie ‘Babette’s Feast’. Suzie has loved the movie since her childhood; I’ve avoided it for forty years, assuming it was some soft-porn piece more aligned with Suzie’s peccadilloes than mine. When it showed up on television a month ago I decided to give it a shot, and despite the Danish language (you try saying ‘rugbrød’ the correct way) I fell in love with it too. Happily, or unhappily depending upon why you’re here, the movie has less to do with porn and more to do with a feast prepared by a woman named Babette.
“I have been with you every day of my life. You know, do you not, that is has been so? And, I shall be with you every day that is left to me. Every evening I shall sit down, if not in flesh, which means nothing, in spirit, which is all, to dine with you, just like tonight. For tonight I have learned that in this world anything is possible.” –Isak Dinesen, ‘Babette’s Feast’
We both agreed to forego an exact imitation of the fancy French dishes that Babette prepares (it was likely that nobody in our families would take kindly to eating turtles or quail) so we settled on a seven-course menu that provided enough to approximate Babette’s wondrous work while giving us something within reach of our culinary abilities.
“Grace, my friends, demands nothing from us but that we shall await it with confidence and acknowledge it in gratitude.” – Isak Dinesen, ‘Babette’s Feast’
After picking Suzie up, we made a stop at the market to get the last-minute items for the opening salvo of the meal. I’d already prepared the almond dessert, curry dish, and a couple of batches of the Danish rye bread, Suzie had done most of the sorbet (with assistance from Pat and Milo), and Mom was bringing the show-stopping centerpiece of Cornish game hens. We just had to make the potato leek soup, blinis, and risotto.
“Through all the world there goes one long cry from the heart of the artist: Give me leave to do my utmost!”~ Isak Dinesen, ‘Babette’s Feast’
For the opening blini dish, the batter struggled in its race against time (we may have also forgot to do this part first), but it puffed up just enough to make the gray buckwheat carriage for the crème fraîche and caviar – and unfortunately I am now hooked on the exorbitant combination (another post celebrating that is on the way, courtesy of breakfast the next day).
The potato and leek soup came together more easily, thanks to a leek-top broth and immersion blender. Finally, Suzie’s recipe for an Instapot risotto defied the typically-sweat-inducing process of a proper risotto and resulted in the creamy and dreamy bed on which the Cornish game hens would nest.
Mom and Milo helped with the dish-turnover, and Andy helped with the dishwasher-loading, and by the time the evening came to a close, our appetites for comfort and culinary decency had been satiated. Suzette’s Feast had been a success.
“Long after midnight the windows of the house shone like gold, and golden song flowed out into the winter air.” – Isak Dinesen, ‘Babette’s Feast’
It’s nothing that I can’t handle, but it does occasionally alter my lunch plans, as it did this past Friday when I didn’t get out until 2:30, when the coffee shops were just beginning to shut down for the day. On that particular day it wasn’t coffee I was after, but a simple walk through downtown Albany. The later lunch time meant fewer people out and about, which lends a more contemplative aspect to the walk. At such times I don’t need to find a church to obtain quiet and the space for mindfulness – it is all around, there for the notice and there for the taking.
The sun would dart behind clouds, then show itself for the short duration of my walk, alternating between bold and bashful in this hide and seek game – the ultimate spring tease. Some of the trees were just starting to swell with buds but nothing substantial had been brave enough to burst forth; early days yet. Instead, I had to find my fun in the circular sticker of bananas seen here on a lamp post.
Happiest birthday wishes to my niece and nephew, who continue to astound and impress me with the young people they are becoming. Emi and Noah (along with little Jaxon) are the future of the family, and it feels like we may be in good hands. Today they turn fifteen years old, and while they will always be that pair of tightly-swaddled bundles of quiet joy we met a decade and a half ago, it’s a pleasure to watch them grow into young adults ready to take on the world. The world needs such goodness. Happy birthday, COT!
#2 and #1 ~ In which the birthday blog posts were part of all those lost in a revamp. We lived then, offline, and in all the glory that being off the grid entails.
This slightly infamous blue speedo made its debut in The Divine Diva Tour Book: A Fairy’s Tale way back in 2005, in photos featured within the spread seen here. My body is currently a far cry from the one so flagrantly on display below, and I’ve come to terms with it in relative peace. In fact, most of the tantrums of getting older seem to be had by some of my straight male friends, whose sensitive nature is such that they won’t be named or called out, but they know who they are. As a gay man of a certain age, I don’t pretend not to notice the chill that gray hair and a burgeoning belly has on the spell I could once cast on an unsuspecting public, but I’ve always preferred going unnoticed than having all eyes on me in the center of the ring just like a circus…
This particular photo shoot inspired one of my favorite artists, Michael Breyette, to immortalize me in one of his pastel portraits, which has been one of the greatest honors of my life. To be stilled in time by such a hero, frozen in a summer moment that I would never capture again, fills me with gratitude. Far more than that, it’s proof that I was young once, that I existed, that I roamed and romped on this earth, and long after I’m gone a gorgeous remnant like this might remain.
As I approach my 50th year on earth, I feel differently about time – less frantic, less rushed – which is odd because by reason I should be feeling the opposite in the fleetingness of it all. And yes, I do sense the rush of it, how the days seem to move faster and faster, but I’m better at letting the rush brush by me as I keep to my own pace.
I’ve always taken a little longer to get things; I still don’t know how to tie a shoe without making bunny ears because they simply went too quickly that day in school and I was too shy to ask them to slow down.
The contradiction is apparent and always has been. Devilry and divinity each exist because of the other. To be divine is to master the art of not being a devil, but to paraphrase Milton, better to reign in hell than serve in heaven. Inspiring infuriation has always been a talent. A naughty wink or a naughty pucker – both with an exquisite and delicious taint…
And so closes another chapter of The Divine Diva Tour: A Fairy’s Tale – reminding me just what a hot mess I was back then, and how delightfully messy this whole project was.
Dream, when you’re feeling blue Dream, that’s the thing to do Dream while the smoke rings rise in the air You’ll find your share of memories there
Remembering summer days is most often a waste of a winter, even if it feels good. If you learn to embrace the winter as much as you embrace the summer, you’ll find that life is a lot happier. Summer feels richer then too.
So, dream when the day is through Dream, and they might come true Things never are as bad as they seem So, dream, dream, dream
But this is spring, and in spring we dream. The Divine Diva Tour is about to take a turn into dreamland – into the fantastical forests of our childhood, when magic reigned and a unicorn lurked around every corner. The tale of a fairy isn’t always a fairy tale, but you’ll see that soon enough. You also have to meet a powder blue ice princess before we head into the woods. Mother said straight ahead, not to delay or be mislead…
Dream, when the day is through Dream, and they might come true Things never are as bad as they seem So, dream, dream, dream, dream So, dream, dream, dream
The recent online posting of ‘The Divine Diva Tour: A Fairy’s Tale‘ dovetails neatly with the spring dream theme currently playing out on our website, as our latest entry rekindles a dreamy summer day in the pool – harkening to the past and hinting at the summer to come. Such a crux is fertile ground for mental rumination, and to set the tone, keep scrolling to hear a dream-themed musical selection for your aural gratification.
Every night I hope and pray A dream lover will come my way A girl to hold in my arms And know the magic of her charms ‘Cause I want a girl to call my own I want a dream lover So I don’t have to dream alone
Dream lover, where are you With a love, oh, so true And the hand that I can hold To feel you near as I grow old
‘Cause I want a girl to call my own I want a dream lover So I don’t have to dream alone
Someday, I don’t know how I hope she’ll hear my plea Some way, I don’t know how She’ll bring her love to me
Dream lover, until then I’ll go to sleep and dream again That’s the only thing to do ‘Til all my lover’s dreams come true ‘Cause I want a girl to call my own I want a dream lover So I don’t have to dream alone
While it took place over twenty years ago, I still remember this photo shoot – it was a rare one that Andy agreed to do since I was tired of trying to grapple with a tripod in the pool. We’d had a delivery of steaks from my parents, and I hastened to make use of the dry ice in a martini glass.
Fluff and filler, the pictures formed a bit of padding in an already frivolous tour book, but there were darker turns to come, and knowing this I let the photos have their moment.
Please don’t make me dream alone I beg you don’t make me dream alone No, I don’t wanna dream alone…
Spring is slow to announce itself this year, shyly hiding behind the remnants of winter’s chill, even as we beckon her onward. Andy is anxious to get the pool open, though that doesn’t look to happen anytime soon with projected temperatures still in late winter mode. A song then, while spring remains a thing of dreams, and the song comes from decades ago, like the photographs that accompany this post. Time has passed, and continues to run; we are all just playing catch up now. In dreams we have the power to traverse time, to bend it in ways the mind has yet to fully understand. I like that sort of mystery – it keeps the world intriguing without being too endangering.
Spare a little candle Save some light for me Figures up ahead Moving in the trees White skin in linen Perfume on my wrist And the full moon that hangs over These dreams in the mist…
Unlocking the secrets to this song might unlock a memory of my childhood. Only vaguely do I recall it on the radio, and roller skating to it at High Rollers. Very much a child of the 1980’s, I was too young to truly take part in any sort of nightlife then, but old enough to have that decade burned permanently into my heart. According to Wikipedia, “The lyrics of the track describe the fantasy world a woman enters, every time she sleeps, when faced with a difficult situation in life.”
Darkness on the edge Shadows where I stand I search for the time On a watch with no hands I want to see you clearly Come closer than this But all I remember Are the dreams in the mist
Living out one’s childhood in the 80’s was the very best period in which to live out a childhood, though I suppose we all think our childhoods were the best times to have a childhood. In our case, it felt like a more quaint and simple time – a generation before cel phones and social media and all the nonsense that is the current conundrum of human existence. Oh we were far from perfect, and the adults around then sure fucked up a lot of shit that we’re all still paying for – but it was different from the way they’re fucking things up today.
These dreams go on when I close my eyes Every second of the night I live another life These dreams that sleep when it’s cold outside Every moment I’m awake the further I’m away
This is getting entirely too serious for a Friday night vintage music post, so let’s veer back into the more innocent aspects of the 80’s, and the scene at High Rollers, where colored rows of lights illuminated the roller rink, and I could step into the flow of the other skaters like it was a riotously-garbed river of neon and bangles and frizzy hair.
Is it cloak and dagger Could it be spring or fall? I walk without a cut Through a stained glass wall Weaker in my eyesight The candle in my grip And words that have no form Are falling from my lips
These dreams go on when I close my eyes Every second of the night I live another life These dreams that sleep when it’s cold outside Every moment I’m awake the further I’m away
There’s something out there I can’t resist
The anthemic rock love ballad was something that spoke to me in ways and on levels I didn’t completely fathom. The very first hints of a romantic world began to reveal themselves in the slightest flutter my stomach gave when a cute guy crinkled a smile in a direction that was never mine. The boys whizzing by me in their tight acid-washed jeans barely saw me there – I was slight and shadow and insignificance – and no one noticed until they lowered the limbo rod and I found myself in the top five contenders after everyone else had knocked the thing down.
The sweetest song is silence That I’ve ever heard Funny how your feet In dreams never touch the earth In a wood full of princes Freedom is a kiss But the prince hides his face From dreams in the mist
A little wisp of a child, I watched the method of the other skaters, mimicking the leg positions that allowed my limber form to slide beneath the rod without brushing it. When I sensed that I might be the last one able to slide beneath it, and the discomfort of all the watching eyes became too much, I’d lift my back just enough to knock it down. The same way I threw the middle school spelling bee. My shyness kept me mentally and emotionally safe, even as it held me back from being the best. For me, and for what I could handle at the time, it was a worthwhile trade-off; the heat of their gazes left me breathless and almost physically in pain from the world watching me.
“Why did you do that?” he asked. “You could have had it.”
I pretended I didn’t know what he was taking about.
At night, I’d imagine what it would be like to be brave enough to win.
These dreams go on when I close my eyes Every second of the night I live another life These dreams that sleep when it’s cold outside Every moment I’m awake the further I’m away
In service of our homage to ‘Babette’s Feast’ – happily updated as ‘Suzette’s Feast‘ for our silly intents and purposes – I tried my hand at this simplified version of Danish rye bread (Rugbrød) – thank you Kristi – love the floral head wreath! Given my penchant for the occasional kitchen mishap, and Mercury being in retrograde, I was wise enough to do a test batch before baking the actual version I’ll be serving at dinner tomorrow. That proved fortuitous, as I made a fatal error in one of the ingredients.
If you look closely, or at the shot below, you’ll see some very prominent pumpkin seeds. The bag said pumpkin seeds, and the recipe called for pumpkins seeds, and I’ve eaten this sort of pumpkin seed (salted) after Halloween, but I didn’t realize, and didn’t think through, that I needed ‘hulled’ pumpkins seeds – the green meat within the pale shells.
The test version came out well side from this – heavy and dense and rustic with rye. I didn’t have a pullman lidded bread pan, so I just encased the regular bread pan with foil and topped it with a heavy cookie sheet for the first part of the being process. Once cooled and set, I sliced it up with a sharp serrated knife and piled on some toppings for a Danish open faced sandwich that Suzie had learned to love in Denmark when she was an exchange student there several decades ago. Perhaps this will bring it all back tomorrow…
Dreams dissipate in daylight, but a dreamy quality pervaded the entirety of this return to Boston. After splurging on a dinner at La Padrona on Friday night, I kept things simple on Saturday, starting with a very early lunch at Pho Pasteur in Chinatown. Spring might have been in the air, but so was the remaining chill of the night and morning. A solitary adventure allows one to be more observant than if one was to be regaling a friend with stories. I miss alone time sometimes.
Play this record for a dreamy vibe.
After finding some possible anniversary shirts and collecting some food items from Eataly, I spent most of the day walking and planning – finalizing anniversary dining plans and texting them to Andy for his approval. There was magic in the air, and Boston held its usual allure.
I bought some food items at Eataly and had a dinner of nibbling various things at the condo, then headed out to try some cologne (my wished-for anniversary gift) and close the night with a lavender vanilla latte at Jaho. It reminded me of my early days in Boston, when walking around was its own reward and destination, when I thought I was trying to find someone to love but was really just trying to find myself.
The next morning I got up extra early to get back home – because Andy is home – and I had a quick breakfast at Charlie’s Diner. It was an easy and quick goodbye, because we will be back in May…
