Watching Annie Hall & still happily reading Dorothy Parker (it’s an awful large volume)– I am unabashedly missing New York. For that matter, any coastline sounds swell at the moment, from sunny L.A. to rainy Portland to pretty-as-a-peach Georgia & the Carolinas; this is not so much due to brutal, dry heat as a feeling of entrapment, and a certain wistfulness that pairs well with the ocean.
These days routinely slip right by; returning home to Texas has caused a sort of stagnation, and nary a breakfast taco can cure my ennui.
Of course I remember similar feelings in Chicago, where I sat in our brownstone and ate dried plums with nutella and watched every episode of ‘Sex & the City’, or even New York, where I went downtown every weekend, and wandered the High Line.
But it is a different sort of feeling. Perhaps in a different life I was a beatnik hitchhiking America, or a gypsy.
Still, summer has that natural glamour which surrounds it, particularly in the evenings; some happy inspiration is there, in the warm gloaming, ever only a few hours away. And the sky is so big, here, and the hills so grand in such unassuming neighborhoods. I look forward to those golden moments when everything seems blessed and essential, and meanwhile shuffle around my little kitchen, trying to eek out the good stuff where I can.
A simple egg salad with a lemon-spiked salad of bitter greens (frisee, radicchio, arugula).
Crostini with sauteed zucchini & tomato and fresh mozzarella.
Shiitake frittata with parmesan, basil, and aioli & green salads + vinaigrette.
Caprese, king of summer.