For the longest time, I thought of Big Sur as a state a mind, a breathtaking, transformative place where you wind up—maybe half-naked and giggling—when you're exploring the edges of consciousness. I was sure it was a brazen, in-between state made expressly for Americans. It didn't occur to me that a phyiscal place had existed before things like Esalen, that usually nature comes first. View Gallery »
I wanted to let you in on a little change around here. I don't mean to imply that this is the only thing that's happened in the last several months in my life; but of course you're welcome to assume as much. I will say that the experience I'm about to relay is categorically different than what's happened over the last thirteen months: today, and yesterday, and the day before, I ate grapefruit. Since early January 2014, we've been unable to eat anything remotely sour. No vinegar, alcohol, yoghurt, wine, beer, lemons, limes, oranges, pineapple, grapefruit, tomato, olives, cheese, pickles, sauerkraut, kefir, you get the idea. Oddly enough, it's not the acidity that we couldn't tolerate, but the high levels of histamine and/or live bacteria in these foods.
Imagine fish without lemon; ... View Post »
Yesterday we interrupted our regularly scheduled programming to spend the last day of summer with Mama Bear. We headed to two of our favorite places on Cape Cod: the Wellfleet Bay Wildlife Sanctuary and Marconi Beach. In addition to these excursions in the great outdoors, there were equal doses of steamers with drawn butter and antiques. View Gallery »
Right now meals are a trial. Regardless of the weather around us, we eat soups and stews and broth. Our freezer is chock full of yoghurt containers filled with different stocks labeled with the date and their contents. Three meals a day we assemble our soup, seasoned simply with salt, pepper, ginger, turmeric, cumin and/or herbs; we ladle our soup around a little iceberg of sticky rice and top it with a few chunks of some cousin of a squash.
Yet it's a diet of sorts, an invalid one, but still a diet. It's nutritive and filling and always warm. I know the ins and outs, and the repetition and possible variation. My tummy knows what to expect and plans accordingly. On most days, I enjoy. When you're sick, you don't think about food the same way; you don't read up on magazines or look ... View Post »
I'm going to let you in on a little secret: my parents are building a house on Cape Cod. I've never seen one constructed before, but every day we spend here I'm transfixed by the activity that surrounds us, and the fruits of this immense labor. Especially the stage of framing right now; it may not have windows or doors, shingles or floorboards, but the bones are there. You can stand in the sand and run your eye along these elegant forms made out of wood and joined together with mortise and tenon like they were always intended to be just so. It lives. View Gallery »
I can still remember coming in to Avignon during the final two days of the Festival d'Avignon, a month-long showcase of modern art, theatre and music. On paper a festival in an old Provençal city sounds intriguing. Yet when we drove into the city on Saturday night, we were underwhelmed by the generic festival glaze that coated the city. It was as though the cultural world had turned out its pockets of lint and change and bits of debris and with it all manner of musical and carnival fray clattered onto the cobblestone. View Gallery »
Father: A rock ban.
Little boy: A whot?
Father: A rock band-d iza grup zat plays toge-ther.
Little boy: Ah, ah, yes, I know.