I have spent the spring impatiently waiting for warm weather in New York, hopping a flight in late March to wander sunny Barcelona streets,

and its long stretches of parks, and the elaborately encrusted Sagrada Familia,

with its Gaudí figures and ornamentation,

including a Magic Square on the outside of the unfinished basílica.

The inspiring inside is filled with light from the stained glass playing off itself and the organic columns, and ushers in a curious sort of local and tourist reverence.

In nearby neighborhoods, there are plazas also filled with light and the sounds of guitarists practicing before standing just outside restaurant patios,

and in April, chocolate shops filled with Easter houses (characters sold separately).

Visiting for a few days, I started a wonderful habit of Cava and Jamón ibérico from the nearby La Boqueria on our roof deck, reading into the late afternoon before meeting friends for very fresh fish and crispy Pan can Tomate.

From Barcelona, we went to Cannes, where I discovered Margalet, a cheese much like Camembert, at the fabulous Ceneri – the sort of cheese shop you feel you cannot make a mistake in, the selection is curated so thoughtfully.

A perfectly ripened cheese makes for such quiet happiness.

While in Cannes, we were part of a small but determined expedition to the famed Colombe D’Or, the restaurant with early art from those later collected by museums. The trip there and back was just as entertaining (hairpin turns!) as the witty conversation at the table, and we were the last to leave the dining room and walk back through the picturesque town.

And a few weeks ago, back stateside, we celebrated a family birthday on the charming boyfriend’s side in New Orleans, that city where the trees grow beads in season,

and where it is possible to source a glittery birthday cake on short notice.

Near our hotel in the Warehouse District, I walked to Cochon for an Abita and a glance at the menu, watching as the heat melted the butter for the rolls,

and unable to resist, I ordered their Cochon de Lait that arrived on top of braised cabbage and with a cracklin’, a good omen for a snappy city I try to wander through on my travels as often as possible…

More pictures and stories from these trips in the next issue out this summer of a food magazine I’ve started called Saucy. You can buy the first issue (it used to be called Culinaesthete) on Magcloud in print or digital formats. Your support of the magazine so far (hello, new Australian friends!) means the world to me.

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Last weekend I spent with some of my favorite people (such handsome men!) that I have known since I lived in Charlottesville—Ben, Stewart, and Michael.

Ben and I flew in for Stewart‘s performance on Sunday night, and the women of Stewart’s supportive family also arrived, laughing as they circled around him.

Stewart’s mother had a fiercely protective moment, but we all know how brave and how talented her son is as a singer-songwriter.

An altogether sweet weekend, I also located the wonderful Olive and Sinclair chocolate made in Nashville,

that seems to be hand-packed and stamped. I felt as though I were opening a Wonka bar…

but I already had a lovely guest bedroom at my friend Michaela’s house (Michaela and Harrison are admirable and awesome parents to Chapin).

And that evening, we waited outside patiently at the Bluebird Cafe to secure seats (you don’t need a ticket to hear a golden list of performers).

Stewart and I see each other less often than we’d like in recent months,

and I am a member of his fan club (I do have to battle the women at this table for club leadership titles, though),

Michaela and Ben were so fun to sit next to,

and at the end of the night, the announcer Steve Goodie held up Stewart’s CD,

before Stewart sang, his voice ringing out over the tables in the small space, singing “I’m Not Moving On,”

and “Backseat.” Such a wonderful Facebook husband he is (I’m so proud), and a singer-songwriter with such a bright career ahead of him…

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I spent Saturday afternoon surrounded by the flowers of Esalen, an institute and retreat center in Big Sur.

The flowers are near the gardens,

and visitors are encouraged to take a sweet pea or two with provided scissors,

There is incredible energy in this place where those seeking to learn arrive for workshops and seminars,

to see parts of themselves unfold in brilliant colors.

From the gardens, I could hear the poets on stage as part the day’s Arts Festival, so I left the orange dahlias,

to see what words were being spoken—

beyond impressed with Dr. Thema Bryant-Davis’s performance, especially her (famous) “An Upbeat Black Girl’s Song” that rang out over the grounds.

I wandered over to where hula hoops revolved near the mineral baths,

and plantings of succulents,

and returned to watch the opposite stage as someone chalked a peaceful heart in blue near my feet,

as the tribute to to Francisco Aguabella (1925-2010) with Jesus Diaz & Pedro “Muñeco” Aguilar began, and I was inspired by another fierce female artist, Kati Hernandez, who commanded the audience’s attention.

Kati was joined by another dancer who left his microphone to dance in front,

until she appeared in a different costume (the blue costume symbolized the maternal force of water, known as Yemayá in these traditions).

Then, the two danced together after the different types of Afro-Cuban rumba (Rumba Yambú, Rumba Guaguancó, and Rumba Columbia) were explained,

and the group’s performance on the bright stage hung with prayer flags ended with a huge audience conga line around the space and everyone on their feet (also, the drummer in the center with the cap was phenomenal).

As they finished, the festival founder and creative director Jayson Fann (here in the hat) was readying the next performer, Viviana Guzmán—part of a seamless string of talent that graced the stages throughout, and not an easy feat with an entire day of different acts.

As Viviana’s set started, beautiful local food began to be served:

a local halibut, local corn, and three salads with lettuces grown at Esalen ( “greens that haven’t seen a mechanized vehicle!” a proud server crowed).

Grateful to my friend Bella Shing for alerting me to the event (she’s lovely, and ran a filmmaking intensive as part of the festival), I left the celebration of artists and food and nature to drive into the sun around Big Sur,

inspired by all the views of the day on the misty drive back to my cabin…

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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…

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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…

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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…

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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…

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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…

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A DJ and owner of the alternative record label Hoss, Nina has been a purveyor of knowledge for me since I worked with her at PBS. I miss being down the hall from her and sitting next to Cameron there, where he continues to lead the PBS video efforts—these two are reasons enough to live in D.C.

We ate stunning pumpkin curry along with drunken noodles, spring rolls, and salmon.

When someone cooks for you who truly loves cooking as Taw does, you taste the respect for the ingredients. Complicated Thai spice combinations from the kitchen continued as the fish tank burbled behind me, Cameron–in his usual Zen-like way–resisted batting the hanging plant tendrils out of his hair, and toward the dessert, the bird woke up in the cage next to me.

Silently, we unwrapped the banana leaf to find glistening sticky rice (look closely for the little fruit jewels mixed in) and mango. I think I convinced Nina to visit me in Miami when the mangoes begin to fall from the tree outside the Magic Cottage.

After Cameron narrated an incredible iPhone slideshow from his recent travels, we three talked about our work in what feels like a public living room of sorts. And we were reluctant to leave this place of good smells and wonderful food, finally walking out into the quiet street full of the knowledge and responsibility that the future of public media is what we make of it, beginning now…

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A few words for you in this year:

And, everyone, this is from Kat’s most recent documentary (more of her work here and here) “Green Hair, Grey Hair” with Rachell Williams:

We all look forward to more video and photos in this new year, talented sister o’ mine—

—–

kat’s 2009 birthday mix

Air – Erin McKeown

En Frente – Yo i Yo

Give the Drummer Sum – Black Milk

Turn Your Love Around Benson – Database

Works For Me – The Twelves

Flowers – Cibo Matto

Walking on a Dream – Empire of the Sun

[a song I hope Girl Talk uses on the next album]

Black Balloon – The Kills

Nowhere’s Nigh – Parts & Labor

Advent in Ives Garden – Sin Fang Bous

An Eluardian Instance – Of Montreal

Ethopians – Mountain Goats

Cleanse Song – Bright Eyes

Pushover – The Long Winters

Discover Me – Kimo

—-

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Reid climbs in his spare time, so he likes hanging off of cliffs with his fingernails, but now I know he will also brave a foot of snow to pick up his girlfriend’s sister (thank you, Reid) at the airport.

Here’s our ride back on Tuesday morning on our way to Paradox Cafe (where friendly little stuffed monsters are suspended from the ceiling):

The Great Portland Snowpocalypse continued all week, as residents found actual reasons to put snow gear into service, dragging children to grocery stores in plastic sleds, skiing across intersections:

After exploring many of the great neighborhood markets and the wonderful chocolate shop where Kat works, Cacao (you need the spicy hot chocolate drink in your life, trust me), the three of us began the serious fun of holiday cooking. Reid prepped, made a soup, and cooked beets on Christmas Eve:

Then, we were off to wander downtown and end up drinking housemade moonshine at Urban Farmer, leading to some rather strange dreams.

And waking up yesterday morning, we made mimosas and clowned in our socks while fresh snow came down outside,

took the tomatoes I’d brought from sunny Miami out of my hat,

started with eggs and potatoes,

continued with croissant pudding (and more mimosas)—

we couldn’t wait for it to cool.

We spun cream into homemade butter; Kat chopped apples that we reduced into applesauce;

and Christmas latkes went nicely with roasted brussel sprouts while we debated what to put in the fresh pasta.

Roasted cauliflower might go into the latkes next time, but I find it too beautiful to hide it in shaggy potato threads for now.

The pasta with mushrooms and tomatoes (added at the last minute) fueled our race across the street to the car clear enough to back out and drive to the airport to pick up my sister Kassandra, who flew in from Atlanta and will be dancing in Portland all this week.

We danced in the elevator on the way up, laughing as we referenced obscure old movies we watched growing up and opened the presents my parents sent in Kassandra’s enormous bag.

As I type this in a coffee shop near San Francisco, I’m still smelling the bananas, cinnamon, and walnuts from earlier today, as Reid flipped French toast for his feat of the morning.

We all lingered around the table, not wanting to leave the breakfast or the small assembly of chairs where we sat next to each other, talking about plans for the new year—here’s to new family traditions and embracing inclement weather…

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And that was just the beginning of a few days full of lagniappe—the little extra bits of magic revealed as you wander this town. Here, the good stuff finds you.

After a day of panels for the Do It With Drupal conference (Drupal is what drives my recent project, Knight Pulse), I headed to Lüke—echoing my friend Brian‘s excellent order: the cochon de lait sandwich (we all started with oysters), we discussed what’s next in the open web with Chris.

The next morning, I ambled over to Cafe Du Monde, admiring the bright paintings on the sidewalk across the street,

before committing to serious sugar melting into warm, fried bits of beignet goodness.

I watched the Creole Queen make her way down the Mississippi as the gulls hopped and swooped on the sandbar;

then returned to the hotel for in-depth presentations from Brian, Chris, and other smart people I like—Heather Champ’s session (below, she’s the Community Manager for Flickr) was my favorite, as her deadpan comments competed with the chanting ACORN conversion gathering in a neighboring hotel ballroom.

That night, I walked into the Bon Ton Cafe and discovered the full complement of Lullabots (the respected Drupal advisory group that put together the conference) at two tables.

Happy to toast the conference’s success with them, I also learned that Lullaboter Jeff Robbins is married to Jen of Cooking with Rock Stars, a really wonderful cooking show vlog I’m a fan of (such a small world).

And I attempted to convince Lullaboter Liza Kindred to become a food blogger and buy a kitchen blowtorch (not necessarily in that order)—as well as learning about how Lullabot came to be and more about the Drupal community, of course. What we ordered:

Saturday morning I headed in the general direction of the Bywater area, watching for art on buildings,

following walkways to unicorns in the sky,

leaping next to a shredded American flag,

above piles of boarding,

and white cotton waving on barbed wire spirals on the way to Elizabeth’s,

a neighborhood restaurant with “real food done real good.”

That’s not orange juice, and that’s not just bacon—it’s praline bacon (for the uninitiated, pralines are a signature pecan-sugar confection in the American South), next to poached eggs over fried green tomatoes and cheese grits.

Messages are scrawled and painted all over the area, and wondering if I should retrace my original path, I heeded this sign’s advice and took another route.

Hearing voices, I came upon the Bywater Art Market, which happens on certain Saturdays and is worth intentionally beating a path to,

before following those celestial water meter covers through the Marigny district and historic streets, where astrologers called out at me and shoppers were ducking into doorways.

I decided to walk the length of Magazine Street, through the swell areas and those where green wasn’t pouring out into the sidewalks;

and I stumbled into the New Orleans Photo Alliance Street Fair, where music was playing, art was displayed, and creators in this local community were laughing, happy in this blue heaven…

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A small group of the leading lights in digital innovation filled the magic cottage with laughter (Andrew was concerned not to find Shaq’s rap album in Pandora) and music, as the guitar was passed from David to Chris and back to George:

The cottage swelled with the energy of these wonderful experimenters, and then they were off to the airport to other coasts and colder climes—

I think I am happiest entertaining when I run out of glassware and silverware, and I spent the afternoon outside the cottage, thinking about possibilities,

how they uncoil in a multiplicity of loopy strands;

watching light glance off leaves,

I reflected that life subtly darts everywhere,

and that I must remember to look up, peer closer, watch for potential motion.

Facing the leaves, shadows layer in patterns;

from where the leaf faces, the future is blurry and sparkling…

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Yesterday, the delightful Rosental Alves, who directs the Knight Center for Journalism in the Americas, invited me to talk to his journalism class preceding one of the Knight News Challenge meetups I am in town to convene.

At breakfast before class, he explained his surprise at his ‘migaddiction’–he especially likes the migas at Kerbey Lane near campus:

This morning I discovered more Austin surprises when I followed a sign to the Umlauf Sculpture Garden.

Striking sculptures, mostly from a decade I also like vintage from,

were positioned near pink waterlilies rising from the pond that centers this peaceful park.

To keep things interesting (and appropriately Austin), there is a warthog across from…

Eve.

A likelier (and auspicious) combination followed at the South Congress Cafe, an establishment that has perfected the art of brunch: crab cakes and tomato-stilton soup.

Across the street from the cafe is the Hey Cupcake truck, home of the Michael Jackson cupcake, and I considered it.

And then, I decided to get on up and explore other vintage neighborhood scenes, happening upon Sugar Mama’s cupcake shop:

Sugar Mama’s has a James Brown cupcake. That easily trounced that other one.

If you need a refresher course on funk moves, the Godfather of Funk illustrates:

As I watched the darkening skyline at the Uncorked wine bar on 7th Street tonight, I thought about sunsets, swan songs, flights, and one of my favorite James Brown dance moves, the robot (it’s in the video above).

Tomorrow and Sunday, I will be surrounded by robots and inventors and creative energy at Maker Faire; here’s to the sexy machines of the immediate future—

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It so happens that Thursday morning I was walking through a Miami airport terminal after my identification and boarding pass were checked five times, and I paused at prints on the walls from the “Thoughts on Democracy” exhibition that opened this summer at the Wolfsonian Museum: sixty designers responded to Norman Rockwell’s “Four Freedoms” series.

Behold, serious typography in an airport (that, I would point out, is abbreviated MIA):

Read more in a summer exhibition review from UnderConsideration.com’s Speak Up and see more of the posters (curiously not included in the airport selections) in the NYT slideshow.

I found the posters’ emphasis on freedom from fear, especially in an airport setting, interesting and (dare I say it?) subversive–but then, I happen to think typography a nontrivial matter. You?