Peachy Peach cocktail with Bourbon. Southern girls unite.
Peachy Peach Cocktail 🍹recipe below!
In favor of “far-flungery”
January has rolled around and we find ourselves at the top of the year. I find that
leaving the country has been a fine thing to do. It’s hard to pick up in the middle of winter and fling oneself out the door, especially to the other side of the world. It feels
wrong in some ways, like one is supposed to stay put by the fire.
This poem is everything… we are the wild geese.
Wild Geese by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
from Dream Work by Mary Oliver, published by Atlantic Monthly Press, 2004
On our trip to Sicily and the Aeolian Islands, we have the opportunity to prepare dishes using traditional Sicilian ingredients, including an expectedly delicious twist on ice cream – with salty, pungent capers.
Capers are one of Sicily’s main crops, and are meticulously picked by hand and then either pickled or salted to preserve them and give them their distinctive taste. Traditionally served in savory dishes, our capers ventured their way into some ice cream!
The ice cream was served in a “roof tile” made out of Sicilian chocolate. This chocolate is equally as special because the sugar is added into the chocolate after it has cooled, so it does not melt, giving the chocolate a grainy – and delightful – texture. More info can be found HERE on one of the oldest chocolate factories in Sicily.
It’s Sunday morning and I’m hungry. I remember that I have some super fresh eggs from Cure Organic Farm, from just down the road. I think to myself, shall I scramble them? Over easy? Poach? Yes! I say to myself with that smile that knows just exactly what to do. Not only will I scramble them, I’ll dress them up ~ Indian style!
What does that mean exactly? It means tempering your oil with spices before you pour your beaten eggs into the pan. I use a variation of fat, depending on what I what. I use a nob of butter with a drizzle of olive oil at times, other times I use ghee, but my favorite is coconut oil which gives it a south Indian flare. [Read more…]
The morning’s light brought the sight of a smoking, flaming Stromboli, after an overnight sail on a 54 foot Hanse schooner from the island of Procida, which lies off the coast of Napoli. I was traveling with my son and another family, and our captain Antonio.
It was a voyage of myth, mystery and privilege to tread the waters of the ancients, and answer the invitation of Aeolus, who was king of the Aeolian Islands. He was appointed by Zeus to be the Ruler of the Winds, both to calm them and to arouse them. Other myths, as well as poetry, were set on the stage of the Aeolians and it brought to life a line from the Jabberwocky that my father quoted every night before putting my sisters and I to bed.
In a small square in Marrakech, where the crotchety veiled ladies sell crocheted hats, the sun beats down on caged chameleons, good luck garden turtles and henna sifters. It’s midday, 30 degrees celcius and the Marakchi (the people of Marrakech) are at home in their skin.
It’s a bizarre bazaar. Talismans, gourds, furs and long amber necklaces hang down from the spice shops like a string of plump Turkish figs. Walking into any one of these shops will suck you into a vortex that one is likely never to escape empty handed or sober. You leave at least drunk on smelling the various heady perfume blocks of amber and jasmine or the overwhelming swoon of ras-al-hanout, a house blend of at least 11-35 spices.
There’s something of the La Dolce Vita, the sweet life, that still lives in Sicily…
Did I mention the fruit salad? The fruit salad. A plate full of fresh, ripe fruit. Not a bowl of fruity mush.
Breakfast is not my favorite meal, but here at the Hacienda San Rafael, I bolt out of bed in the morning for freshly pressed Valencia orange juice, homemade Sevillian orange marmalade, warm bread, and a proper pot of tea. Coffee is already on the table in a thermos, and let’s not forget the delectable option of eggs and bacon.
I travel with loose tea and tea filters, and agua caliente arrives for my hand-rolled green tea bag before I have had time to ask. The local village ladies, sweet and smiling, anticipate your every wish throughout the day. Juanita notes that I asked for mint tea one afternoon. Now it arrives before I have even thought about it.