To tide you over…

Beyond my wildest dreams

I am very lucky. I have met and interviewed a lot of really interesting people from different walks of life. They have trusted me to tell their stories and I take their trust in me very seriously. I am helping them tell their story.

The interview I will conduct at the end of this week is one I’ve had on my wishlist for quite some time. And though I’ve always thought it would be nice or interesting to interview this person, I never actually thought I’d get the opportunity to interview him.

But then the assignment came my way this week.

Out of nowhere.

And when my editor contacted me about it, I was so stunned and so disbelieving that she was actually contacting me about doing a story on this particular icon, I asked her: “You mean {insert icon’s name here}??? The one who {did what he is known for worldwide}???”

Yes, she said. The one and the same.

Shit, I thought to myself. She is serious about this.

I think I said something highly literate after that, something like “Oh my fucking GOD! You’re gonna stick a nerdy-ass Cajun like me on an assignment that fab???” My editor’s response was a calm and assured yes.

So I said okay and then proceeded to hyperventilate into a paper bag as I made sure someone would be available to pick up my daughter from preschool that day. Once I was sure the little one was taken care of, I then got my other assignments done so I could focus on a tremendous amount of last-minute prep work. It’s weird (or maybe I’m just tired), but I still can’t believe I’m interviewing this person.

When it sinks in (and gets closer to the publication date), I’ll let you know who it is.

I’ll be taking a little break from this here spot for a week or two, first to get through this interview and then for all the secondary interviews and writing I’ll have to do.

In the meantime, if you haven’t picked up Coldplay’s latest, do. I like it (except for the blasted title track, which you’re always hearing on the iTunes commercial). Though much has been said about the band breaking new ground with their sound, in my opinion the music is basically what you get when New Order barfs on Sting and Pink Floyd is the backup band. Not bad. But, by the same token, it’s not New Order or Sting or Pink Floyd. It’s Coldplay, produced by Brian Eno. And you know, I think I actually might like it more than their last album. Music aside, I am a total Francophile, so I dig that the album cover is Delacroix’s “Liberty Guiding the People.”

Talk to you soon,

Ivy

 

Office Madeover, Take Two: As final as we’re gonna be

It all started here, with clutter, clutter and more clutter.

And then I cleared out the room, painted the walls pale blue and forced my husband at gunpoint to put in chocolate brown bamboo flooring. When I moved back in, I pushed the desk up against the wall so that the above map is all I see and dream about during the day.

That once-cluttered corner now looks like this. Design writers might call it “a triumph of hi-lo chic,” (or maybe just a nice room, if they’re feeling charitable) between the mix of mid century modern antiques, Target-procured computer table, and Ikea desk chair. It’s spare, it’s clean, I don’t feel so hemmed in by clutter anymore. But I am self-aware enough to know I have to ScotchGuard the goddamned white chair before disaster strikes. If the kid and dog don’t get to it first, I know I’ll dribble coffee on it somehow.

Here’s the view from the doorway. The red Turkish carpet I bought in Istanbul when I was there in 2000 gives everything a nice pop of color and the wall of books is pared down and actually sort of organized.

Here’s a closeup of those shelves.

And here’s another set of shelves to the left of my desk. These shelves hold most of my must-have books — dictionaries (both French and English), style manuals, feature writing collections, that sort of thing. The shortwave radio is a faux antique that my mother gave me; in the early evening you can tune in to North African stations and imagine the vibrantly buzzing bazaars. The weathered bookends were just a nice 50 percent off steal from the place where I bought the chair, globe and map.

Office Madeover: A Preview

Okay, the paint has dried, the floors are in, the furniture might be where I’d like it to stay. So while I fiddle with a few more finishing touches, I’d like to share with you these little tastes of my new space.

I’m a packrat of the first order and that always has been reflected in my bookshelves. When I launched this office makeover contest at my other site (Michelle won a year’s subscription to Domino Magazine for her suggestions), my sister said I really needed to pare down the contents of my shelves. So I sold some of my books to powells.com for store credit, which cleared the way for me to follow Sis’s next piece of advice: She said I should present my books with a little more flair, whether I stood some up, laid others down or arranged them all by color.

Here’s an example of how I did that, incorporating my 1950s-era globe and the antique brass elephant that once resided on my desk:

 

 

 

 

 

Now I knew that when I redid this office I’d need a good reading chair. So I turned to my neighborhood vintage store for ideas and lucked into this gorgeous Danish teak-framed number with cream upholstery. Impractical? You betcha. After all, white objects are wrong on so many levels, especially when you have a toddler and a dog. But was it worth it? I think so:

Like what you see? Let me know. Have other ideas? Let me know them too. In the meantime, stay tuned for the debut of the rest of my new office.

Pasta Primavera

Sometimes, it’s Sunday and the cupboard is seemingly bare. But it’s time to eat and you’re looking into your refrigerator’s fairly well-stocked veggie drawer and at your pantry full of pasta. Bleh. What to do?

Why not make an improvised pasta primavera? It’s light, it’s tasty, it’s easy. And it’ll clear the way in your fridge for those groceries you’ll buy…eventually.

Ready?

Here’s what you do:

1. Get a good variety of veggies you can chop into bite-sized pieces. Pictured below: Poorly diced garlic, yellow pepper, asparagus, shallots, carrots and the grape tomatoes I just so happened to have on hand tonight.

2. Boil the pasta of your choice. I had a box of rotini (that corkscrew-looking stuff), so I dumped it into a pot of boiling water as I chopped the veggies up above.  See?

3. Then I put close to 1/4 cup of olive oil (maybe more) in a pot, heated it and then added all the veggies, except for the grape tomatoes. I cooked them down for close to ten minutes and seasoned them with salt, pepper and herbes de Provence (you can use any herbs you happen to have on hand; basil would be great in this). After ten minutes elapsed, I added the tomatoes and cooked them with the rest of the mixture for a minute or two, adding a little more olive oil and a bit of lemon zest. The result looked like this:

4. By the time you get done with the aforementioned step, the pasta should be done, so drain it. Then, put the pasta in a large bowl and toss it with the veggie mixture, seasoning with salt, pepper, lemon zest and herbs as necessary. You should get something like this:

5. Here’s the end result, sprinkled with a light dusting of Parmesan cheese:

End note: Would this be good as a cold picnic salad, sans the Parmesan, you ask? Oh hell to the yes.

Hat Trick

Image: The New York Times

I am a big fan of The NYT’s Sunday ”Modern Love” column. And this Sunday’s story should explain why. It’s about a father who was determined to overcome the unconventional relationship he had with his son. On the surface level, the story is about a child wanting a fitted Yankees cap and a father trying to give it to him, but it’s really about wanting that parent-child connection.

How hard it was to be close when he was growing up, especially once I faced the fact that he and I would never have a conventional father-son relationship. How I longed to be present for him, despite my circumstances. Yet I was so determined to overcome all these obstacles and be a hero that I had ignored the obvious.

Even if the cap had fit, it wouldn’t have mattered much. It wouldn’t have made up for my absence or brought us closer. But the wonder is that those years of weekly phone calls — as difficult as they were and as insignificant as they felt at the time — did manage to hold us together. As it turned out, they were just enough.

Go read the rest here.

And for another take, read this Op-Ed in today’s Times too.

Happy Father’s Day.

 

 

Making rice very very nice

A month or so before my father passed away, he and I were talking on the phone one evening. Because he hated hospice food, he asked what I was having for dinner. Whatever it was — I honestly don’t remember — it involved rice.

“You’re probably going to have some leftover rice, huh?” he asked.

“Yeah, a ton of it.”

“Well you should probably make…”

And then he mumbled this word I had never heard before and started carrying on about how ladies would sell these whatever the word was in the French Quarter once upon a time. He then mimicked one of the ladies, by sort of carrying on like he was insane, but hawking something really good to eat.

“What did you say these were called, again?” I asked.

He mumbled the word.

“Huh?”

He spit out something that sounded like “blah blah.” And because I am incredibly street and with it, I responded “Did you say holla? Is that what these are called? Holla?”

Frustrated at my deafness (and dumbness), he practically barked ”calas” and he described them as a rice fritter spiced with nutmeg and cinnamon.

“You make them in the morning?”

“Yes indeed,” he said.

“They’re like beignets?”

“Nope. Better than beignets.”

“You eat them with your coffee?”

“It wouldn’t make sense if you didn’t,” he replied, probably wondering how any daughter of his could be such a monumental idiot.

“Interesting. I’ll have to give them a try.”

But when I asked him how to make them, he had no clue.

Oh, to be left with this great mystery! How would I ever figure out how to turn something simple and leftover into something subtly sweet and satisfying?

Because I am a person who is always cooking something and often cooking things that involve rice, I was determined to figure out how to make these treats. One recipe I found in a New Orleans cookbook of mine that dates back to the 1930s recommends cooking a half cup of rice in three cups of boiling water until it is mushy. After the rice has cooled, mash it and then mix it into dissolved yeast. Set it to rise overnight, then add three well-beaten eggs, a half cup of sugar and a heaping spoon of flour. Let the batter rise for 15 minutes, then add a pinch or two of nutmeg. Drop the batter into hot lard and fry it until golden brown. Sprinkle the fritters with powdered sugar and serve with cafe au lait.

“The old Cala women used to take them, piping hot, wrapped in a clean towel, in a basket, through the streets crying ‘belle calas tout chaud,’” the recipe concludes, which clarified all the nonsense my father was spewing months ago.

Now I’m not one for messing with yeast or lard (or waiting overnight, for that matter), so I Googled my way to this recipe, which yields an equally satisfying result. So says the family, at least.

Here’s what you need:
2 cups cooked rice
3 eggs, beaten
1/2 cup sugar
1 tsp. cinnamon
1 tsp nutmeg
1 tsp vanilla
2 1/2 tsp baking powder
1 cup flour
vegetable oil
powdered sugar

Here’s what you’ll do:
Mash the cooked rice in a bowl, then add the beaten eggs, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, vanilla and baking powder. Stir the ingredients together so that they’re well incorporated then add the flour, little by little. When you have a good batter, drop spoonfuls of it into a skillet full of hot vegetable oil and fry the batter until it is golden brown on both sides. Put on a paper towel to dry, then cover with powdered sugar and serve with coffee.

Talk about good!

Hydrangea, 6:15 p.m. EST

TGIF.

Walk On

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TxZyoZ4hBDU&feature=related

Walk on, walk on
What you’ve got they can’t deny it
Can’t sell it, can’t buy it
Walk on, walk on
Stay safe tonight

And I know it aches
And your heart it breaks
And you can only take so much
Walk on, walk on

I’ve written about closing doors and walking on, how it’s healing and freeing to do both. And for some reason this week, I’ve been listening a lot to U2’s “All That You Can’t Leave Behind” album, just cranking “Beautiful Day” as I headed to my weekly Pilates session or met with a talented young freelancer over coffee this morning. At my other space, I said quite a bit and here I find myself much more measured about what I will and won’t write, and what I do and don’t say.

Author Gretchen Craft Rubin wrote about “not saying it” today at her fine blog The Happiness Project and I thought I’d share her post with you. In it, she explores both sides of the adage “if you can’t something nice, don’t say it at all” to great effect. Read it and when you get a chance, let me know if there’s been a time you’ve said something you wish you hadn’t and how you fixed it, or if someone has said something to you that wasn’t nice and how (if they were so humble) they fixed that in the end.

As someone who is working diligently with her other half on the fine art of communicating with a toddler who needs to be disciplined, this “not saying it” is a subject I find fascinating, especially if you consider the mound of discipline books that are currently sitting on my nightstand. To date, 1-2-3 Magic seems to be the most rational approach for us, as it doesn’t suggest that the problem might lie with ADHD or bipolar disorder or a serial killer’s mindset as some books might. Basically, it recommends an approach that is said to work with ornery toddlers (or, when I think about it, ornery adults who act like toddlers): identifying the obnoxious behavior, warning the child about a time out or consequence that will come if things get to 3, doling out the consequence if the obnoxious behavior doesn’t stop after a 1-2-3 and always, always keeping it brief (no yelling, no snide comments, no threats to sell them to the circus)and unemotional. When the timeout is over, no one’s allowed to rehash what transpired so that things can quickly return to normal and the same old stuff doesn’t get brought up again and again reminding everyone that there was bad feeling and negativity afoot.

I like this. I like it a lot. And I’m looking for ways of using it in all my personal dealings.

After a dustup where Rubin chose not to say anything more, she writes:

 So far, I haven’t said anything more about it, but it has taken superhuman self-control, and I don’t know whether I can keep it up. I’m going to try, however. There’s no real purpose to be served, other than satisfaction of my anger, and having an argument will sour the atmosphere of our house.

On the flip side, she says:

it’s enormously helpful if you take the blame, if it’s deserved. If the Big Man would say to me, without prompting, “Hey, I wasn’t paying attention, and this happened, and I’m really sorry,” my anger would dissipate.

When I started working, my father told me, “If you’ll take the blame, you’ll get the responsibility,” and that’s absolutely true. There’s something enormously satisfying and comforting to people when a person accepts blame. By trying to deflect blame, you fan people’s angry feelings; by accepting blame (when appropriate), you discharge it.

I wish the Big Man would own up to his mistake. But I can’t control him. The question for myself is: given the situation, how do I choose to act? Do I bring it up, do I chide him? No, I choose not to say it. At least I’m going to try.

As Publilius Syrus wrote, “I have often regretted my speech, never my silence.”

——

In the meantime, here’s an interesting piece from the local alternative weekly about whether blogging is addictive. Let me know what you think.

Office Makeover Update

The office makeover is puttering along and the floors should be 100 percent in sometime this weekend. For now, I’m set up in the living room right near my daughter’s play kitchen. Pictured above: The corner where my desk once stood. For those of you who may have taken a shine to the wall color or the flooring, here are the details:

Wall color: Distant Valley by Valspar.

Flooring: Kvist by Ikea.

The France map? It’s framed and stunning, but still at the store. Why? I drove up there to retrieve it, tempting traffic and a certain little one’s tantrums, only to discover that the dadgum thing didn’t fit in my Jetta. But it’s beautiful. You’ll see.

More to come…stay tuned!