Summer Reading: You Are What You Eat

My first bread-making attempt

Lately I've been tearing eagerly through a series of food-writer memoirs. I think it's because I spent most of June having a love affair with my kitchen, and learning how to do a lot of new things: pickling, making jam, and baking bread. My mother is an amazing cook, and I can't hold a candle to her repertoire of Indian food, so I love taking pioneer steps (as far as my experience goes) into different cuisines and techniques.

As an extension of the my physical efforts in the kitchen, I've also taken to reading a lot of food memoirs and autobiographies. I have to credit my close friend, Katy, who has been building her place in the foodie world for several years now. I have spent many happy afternoons in her Berkeley apartment, flicking through her library of 80+ cookbooks (all of which she cooks from), and plying her with questions about spices and equipment. You can follow her personal cooking exploits at Dining With Dostoevsky, as well as her blog dedicated to Jam: Jam Experiments.

As to the foodie memoirs, they have been an utter delight. My family loves to tease me about my "relationship with food," which means to say that I am *not* a functional eater. I have plenty of friends who have a similar appreciation for cooking and dining, but we don't discuss them. It seems too intimate and even embarrassing to rhapsodize about things like grocery shopping or cast-iron skillets. Yet these are everyday delights in my life....which is why reading these books has been so wonderful.

Source: Time Magazine

Ruth Reichl's Garlic and Sapphires is a memoir of her time as the chief food critic at the New York Times. Even before she started the job, Reichl discovered that every restaurant in the city had a pinup and bio of her. To maintain the necessary anonymity of a critic, she cultivated a series of amazing disguises, each of which was really an incarnation of herself. Reichl uses this undercover strategy to experience New York fine dining from the every(wo)man perspective, thereby making the unhappy discovery that status and power dictate one's restaurant experience, from seating to the number of raspberries on a dessert dish. The writing is candid and smart, and even while Reichl struggles with her newfound celebrity, she remains sympathetic, warm, and utterly human.

Source: Elle Magazine

Molly Wizenberg, author of the popular food blog Orangette, strikes a similar note in Delancey, the memoir of her experience opening and running a restaurant with her husband. To be fair, it's really the story of how she came to terms with her husband getting into the restaurant business, and the effect it wrought on both her marriage and relationship with cooking. As with Garlic and Sapphires, the book has a clear narrative arc focused on a specific period in the writer's life. I also love that Wizenberg's relationship with food and cooking inflects her marriage and her livelihood -- it shows that our feelings about food go a long way beyond sustenance, into the realm of emotion and psyche.

Both books have a smattering of recipes, but neither claims to be a cookbook, and the recipes aren't always connected to the narrative. Reichl's has a little more depth and heart to it, but if you've ever considered opening a restaurant, Delancey may be the sanity-check you need. 

The Perils of Perfection (warning: soul-searching ahead)

I am terribly behind on updating Green and Glass, and to be honest, even had thoughts of abandoning it over the past few weeks. This is not a new theme in my life. Lodged in my parents' basement are dozens of journals and diaries, most of which peter out after a few lengthy, largely mournful, entries. Even as a penpal I was always the first to break off communication, and most of my hobbies have been short-lived affairs.

The common theme across these failed voyages is that burning interest whacks up against inevitably amateur results. I embarked on journals with the desire not just to put my thoughts into words, but to create a work of art. Each entry was, in my mind, a Faberge egg, which would continue to mesmerize future readers (of course I anticipated publication!) with its intricacy and charm.

There was also the six-month love affair with knitting, which yielded three extraordinarily mediocre scarves, two of which I foolishly gifted to others. In fact, I was so mortified by one of these gifts that I replaced it within a week with a professional scarf, and advised my friend to use mine as a dog blanket. I still stand by this advice.

The challenge for me is that I hate practice. I want, and expect to achieve, immediate, impeccable results. This would be fine if I were actually a wunderkind, but like most of us, I'm only OK when I start out. Sometimes I'm even terrible. Where some people seek to learn, I seek to master...on the first try. And so they go, my hobbies and interests, collecting in cupboards and boxes in my parents' home.

My blogging efforts have often gone this way...I am slow to create new posts, for fear that achieving a perfect result will take hours that I don't have or want to invest. I collect ideas, but day after day fail to execute on them. It's a big weakness.

Anyway, this soul-searching exercise aside, I recently realized that if I'm going to do anything new or scary in my life, I will have to reconcile myself with imperfect results. This is not to say that in other areas I've achieved perfection; rather, I've achieved comfort and acceptance of where I am. Wouldn't it be lovely to take that approach--acceptance of the process--to everything in our lives?

All this to say that I've decided not to abandon the blog. I do really love design and lifestyle ideas, and hey, this is my space to experiment and share. Hopefully you haven't given up on me and will stick around. :)

Thrifting in a Goldmine

In case you missed it, in my profile I describe myself as a "consummate magpie." This is not a joke or euphemism. I am a collector of things--especially shiny, pretty things. My perfect day would include scouring and triumphantly snatching up some vintage gem at a flea market. Sometimes the sheer gluttony I feel on entering such markets reminds me of that dragon in The Hobbit films--you know, the one voiced by Brit hottie Benedict Cumberbatch (whom I've gratuitously featured below). The dragon's idea of a good time is squatting on a pile of treasures and shiny, pretty things. There's a definite likeness.

Source: National Geographic

As a result of this gluttony, I have been to my fair share of flea markets and thrift stores, both in the U.S. and abroad. Based on this research and extensive reflection (not really), I can unequivocally say that the Alameda Point Antiques Fair is hands down the best U.S. flea market I've been to. It's *huge* (800+ vendors) but easy to navigate, the sellers are friendly, and there are tons of food trucks to give you that second wind after you've hauled your first load to booty back to the car.

What You Need to Know

• The Fair takes place on the first Sunday of each month, so get it in your calendar! Rain updates are posted to the site. 
• It starts EARLY! Hours are 6am - 3pm. Pricing is tiered by arrival time, anywhere from $15 for early birds to $5 for arrivals after 9am. What this means for you: there is tons of stuff to browse all day, but some vendors start closing as early as 12pm. The pros go early, and there are limited discounts thrown in at the end. Around 1-2pm, I saw a few stalls doing a further 50% cut, but these were in the vast minority. 
• There is unfortunately no particular structure to the layout. The area (a former aircraft landing strip) is divided into rows from A-Z, but vendors are not bundled into categories. You have to pound the pavement if your goal is to see the bulk. Wear good shoes! 
• I was informed that most vendors come back every month, and most one-timers are located in the last rows. Since they're not returning, you could potentially negotiate better deals on their merchandise. 
• A few vendors had credit card machines, but the vast majority of transactions were in cash -- be prepared! There were ATMs at the entrance, but also long waiting lines. 
• You must have a car to get to the fair, and parking (free) moves further afield as the day goes on. My friends and I arrived around 10am and walked ~15 minutes to get to the entrance. A small section of parking right by the entrance is reserved for short-term loading, so don't stress about hauling furniture. 
• Shopping carts and flat carts are available (free) for large furniture transport. 
• Unless they have signage explicitly saying "Final price," it's totally OK to negotiate a little. Even if you're not comfortable haggling, it's good to at least ask. The $2 you save will make you feel like a champ!
• What to take: a backpack and extra totes, water, and a hat if it's sunny. Hand sanitizer if you're anxious, like me. 

Enough guidelines; let's get to the pretty stuff! :o)

Painted Dressers!

Quirky Objets!

Mid-Century Dazzle!

Demure Decor!

Color Pop!

June 1st is the next fair, friends! Hope you are heading that-a-way.