Many, many moons ago, I was the Sugar Plum Fairy, and looking back, I’d rather have presided over midsummer’s sugar plums, glorious fruit without the tart skin of most plums, than the confection the fairy takes her name from. Yesterday morning, I simmered sugar plums and peaches in butter and honey,

just the thing for yesterday’s pancakes or this morning’s oatmeal, as the fruit throws off a beautiful syrup (recipe) that can be stirred into drinks or a savory sauce with mustard.

My close friend Ben and I found the sugar plums on Saturday morning at the Prospect Park market,

one of the first places I wanted to show him on his trip to Brooklyn. We then perused books, clothing, and fantastic retro clock faces on streets and stoops on our way through Park Slope to the food coop, the dumpling truck (Ben recommends the Watermelonade),

and finally the waffle truck, where we saw someone from the dumpling truck recognize us and smile, writing his favorite drink on the chalkboard next to mine—I like how the different trucks support each other and often park nearby.

Into Manhattan for one of our many train rides that day, we heard tapping in the Union Square station,

laughed off a terrible movie with very good burgers at Dumont in Williamsburg, before meeting Solana on a rooftop where we learned how the gendered ice sculptures were created,

and chatted with mustachioed men before dancing until three at a neighborhood club…and a few hours later, we met Solana (who unfailingly glows with energy) and other Global Voices (Lova, Juhie, Jillian, Anas) for a Superfine brunch in DUMBO,

wandering the market near the Brooklyn Flea,

where I found a new vintage dress (for the next kthread cooks where I warble and (for Amanda) introduce you to the new kitchen), liked the shiny bottles,

and decided Brooklyn Ice Cream Factory’s vanilla was as good as spending the afternoon with information activists I respect and almost as good as a weekend with an old and very wise friend who is off soon to new adventures near other bodies of water…

I’m starting with the men and women in the mirrors; at the Brooklyn Flea this afternoon, my good friend Laura (who is in town for a few days, we always have adventures) and I ventured toward new treasures and reflective objects.

Fresh from a walk through a rollicking street fair in Carroll Gardens where the entire band accompanied the drummer on air bongos (this is what you might call the “Rock Band Effect”),

we walked through the DUMBO Farmers’ Market toward the Flea,

which is, as advertised, held under the Brooklyn Bridge.

and met up with my friend Eudie from high school, who I ran into the other day in Park Slope.

It’s so nice to meet up with people years later and discover they are even more fabulous now than they were then.

As the lobster roll line snaked around most of the vendor stalls (next time!), we opted to try raw chocolate ice cream on dry ice (you can choose between cashew and coconut bases) and wander the flea.

Before leaving, we found sparkly slippers to keep easing on down the road (that Laura and I began Saturday night at a midnight showing of “The Wiz” at BAM punctuated with wild applause for MJ as the sweet Scarecrow)…

And before that screening, I admired the emerald trees as I walked through Prospect Park to the Farmers’ Market at Grand Army Plaza on Saturday morning,

charmed by the flowering lemon thyme

and sage.

Heading out with my friend Matt (a fellow member of the Park Slope Food Coop), we admired the glass seltzer bottles in Ronny’s Seltzer truck (a Brooklyn delivery tradition),

before hopping the ferry to Governors Island to see the PLOT09 art exhibition,

where everyone seemed pulled toward giant chimes,

that we could still hear faintly as we opened apple chips from the market and sipped strawberry cider (actually very good) along with “Womanchego” cheese.

I looked up at the trees,

and listened to the sounds of families playing games, this little girl toying with a bike.

Old-fashioned music awaited near a reception for the PLOT09 opening,

and children were similarly smiling and happy on a beautiful wooden play structure (I like the exposed dowel ends below) and the nearby miniature golf course on another part of the island.

My favorite piece in the show was Edgar Arceneaux’s installation (Edgar is one of the Knight Pulse/GOOD L.A. Community Leaders tapped a few months back) of a machine that transmitted eerie sounds at low frequencies from a closet in one of the old houses with flaking drywall that ring the island.

For many years, Edgar has been working on the Watts House Project (”a collaborative artwork in the shape of neighborhood redevelopment”), and so it was especially appropriate for him to suggest disquiet in such a way that could be reversed, or at least removed at the end of the exhibit.

Is it the sounds without and within that bring comfort in a house, that ease the mind? I listen to my new Brooklyn neighbors laughing, steel drums, and the thum-thum of the train as I fall asleep lately…

I was very happy to learn a few weeks ago that Dennis Scholl was joining Knight Foundation’s permanent staff as the Miami program director, not least because he cares very much about the food and wine communities and is a wine importer (half of the Betts & Scholl powerhouse that I first read about in this Food & Wine article last January).

At lunch at Michael’s Genuine today, the fried egg on top of crumbled duck terrine and toasted bread spread liberally with homemade Dijon was a good order (it’s next to impossible to order badly here);

Dennis ordered what reminded me of a warm Andalusian gazpacho,

and we were both happy to be at this restaurant run by Michael Schwartz,

who stopped by the table and is up for the James Beard award for Best Southern Chef (the nominee list) next week (as Michael mentions, this is an example Dennis’ work with Plum TV as a culture correspondent).

Before we left, Michael confirmed when Dennis asked if he was celebrating Grilled Cheese Month (as we have here on kthread) that every month at Michael’s Genuine is Grilled Cheese Month. Fellow Miamians, rejoice! (And everyone else, come visit. More grilled cheese in just a bit…)

And while we were in the Design District, we stopped by the Wynwood gallery Dennis owns with his wife Debra, World Class Boxing, where the current Mitzi Pederson exhibit, “I Think I Was Looking at That Before” has thin, shaped wood sculptures like bows of painted silver leaf that are strung not for arrows, but hang high on walls and around blocks on the gallery floor reminding me of simplified Aeolian harps.

And in the untitled piece Pederson refers to as a “ground drawing,” cinder blocks glitter playfully as you move about them, winking back as you accept a clever invitation to circle the piece, subtly engaged in this gallery in a city of unironic sequins…

Austin is always filled with music, but especially so this week. And each of the sound experiences here is a gift; the below are for you.

For the PBS Engage SxSW video studio, I interviewed sound sculptor Trimpin on Sunday; below, one of his pieces uses Dutch shoes that begin glocking in rhythms he has algorithmically devised (other pieces use plastic children’s guitars and miniature player pianos, always creating natural sounds structured by mathematical technology layer):

Of course, to me, even mixing chocolate chips into local Amy’s ice cream feels artistic and rhythmic:

Musicians here for the SxSW festival practice on the street (this casual moment captures that Austin feeling for me):

And others fill bars; Sunday night, my friend Paul Dateh (who has a new album you should buy) played hip hop on the violin as only he can with Ken Belcher at the PBS Engage SxSW HQ on 6th:

And last night, I developed a new musician crush on David Kitchen. First, “Walk With Me” stole my heart:

and this is the sweet song I want to sing to someone who I think just might know the signal. We’ll see.

Alejandro Escovedo followed brilliantly, gave me hope that I will “get there someday,”

but, for now, since every once in a while (as he sang last night), you have to let yourself go, I’m off to find the lights in Marfa…

And slightly delirious from the brisket deliciousness, Laura and I somehow found ourselves in front of a piñata shop (when in Austin):

The owner happily explained what we should fill piñatas with:

and I hoped my unicorn piñata might carry both of us on to the parties as we walked along the highway. Instead, we hailed a pedicab,

and scooted over to a karaoke “Cogaoke” contest at the Scoot Inn, slightly behind Kevin.

Ah, alternative transportation. To add to the excitement, we were hit by a cab while racing to catch up to Kevin’s pedicab—we didn’t, but we did make it safely to the party. And the adventures continue…