After roping a dummy steer the night before, everyone went to sleep early so that we could rise before dawn and head to the zoo,

where Karen’s uncle Steve (also known as El Hefe Mucho at the San Antonio Zoo) has created a really special place that feels much more like walking among the animals. These below were skittish as the light began to steal over the trees,

And Karen and I watched a joey emerge from a mother kangaroo,

amazed to watch the little kangaroo stretch its legs and hop about its business.

Then Karen’s uncle joined us and directed our wanderings,

taking us up close to the elephant being fed,

(elephants are hairier than you think! I discovered while petting this one—thanks to Karen for taking this picture so early in the morning,)

and ushering us inside the hippo exhibit with another keeper,

that we later saw from the outside as a visitor usually does. It’s a beautiful space for these very intense animals, and fun to watch the bright fish swim near the windows.

Reluctantly leaving San Antonio, Karen and I headed out of Texas by way of a small diner far off the highway,

where the pancake quest continued,

I ordered biscuits and sausage gravy,

and then we ordered a slice of each type of pie:

coconut with crunchy bits on top of the meringue,

and chocolate silk, acknowledging that pie for breakfast is an excellent thing.

Driving through Houston we found a building of air,

and we watched as the landscape shifted into the blue of the bayou,

arriving at the famous Columns Hotel in New Orleans that Thursday night.

A meandering walk took us past a cluster of pastel buildings,

a workshop with music as loud as the creative energy waves that rolled over us as we paused,

leading us to happen upon good food and great cocktails (we started with Sazeracs, of course, and then discovered the classic French 75) at Coquette.

The next morning, we recalled sitting on the lively porch for a late round of champagne as we took the stairs at the grand old hotel down to breakfast,

before meeting up with my friend Brian, a wonderful ambassador of community and the goodness of local lore, as we continued our tour of the Deep South, full of things and people that are keepers…

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…

I heard the sea spray as our little ferry rocked to and fro last week on the way to Île Saint-Honorat.

One of the Lérins islands close to Cannes, Île Saint-Honorat is dotted with small chapels and a modern monastery.

One resident monk (there are thirty in this Cistercian community) was on the ferry with us, perhaps to officiate the service later that afternoon, or returning to tend the island vineyards.

There is a grand archway that stands alone near where the ferry docks, and beyond it lay mostly trees and native plants;

butterflies flutter everywhere in the tall grasses in a way that feels eternal.

Leaving the shoreline,

and the blue, blue water of the Mediterranean,

I ventured into some of the vineyards (please don’t tell the monks),

and then headed toward the abbey beyond.

Somehow, it felt strange to see cacti in this quiet place,

but the island has fended off invaders for centuries, and some paths are pricklier than others;

ducking into the wide space under this tree branch,

I found a startling view.

And then I saw the fortified monastery and took off (it’s probably a lovely swim too) in that direction.

Inside, there are the small openings that let in the breeze,

hint at the blue water surrounding,

a chapel within, beautifully signed,

and the archways provide shade on the lower levels,

but climb the structure’s single spiral staircase for the view from higher archways,

and to see the entire island.

I watched the shadows below, thinking about what it must be like to live as part of the order here,

and to see each afternoon the lavender bend in the wind, filling the air with its peaceful fragrance.

Near the lavender, carefully planted beds flank the path to the abbey,

with leaves shading the walkways,

and I heard the gentle swish of robes before I saw them as time for afternoon service approached. I wandered back toward the ferry, through the archway, past the flowers that seem imbued with meaning.

Noticing an ancient little chapel tucked in near the archway, I thought perhaps with views so grand, only a tiny place to kneel is needed, if only to study the contrast.

This recipe remains one I make again and again, partly for the way the salty and sweet balance, and mainly because creating it is an act of joy—credit goes to Jamie Oliver and his wonderfully boisterous kitchen style.

To make this, toss mixed greens with olive oil and balsamic vinegar (the balsamic brings out the mozzarella) and plate. Then, take a ball of fresh mozzarella (if you can find good buffalo mozzarella, damn the food miles and use it—you’ll find it a different thing entirely) and gently break small soft bits off and let them fall on top of the greens.

Break apart a very ripe peach with your hands, removing the pit, and tear into sections of similar size (do this over the greens to catch all the juice that will also run down your arms). Take a few slices of prosciutto (try to find the packaged La Quercia brand from Iowa, recently profiled in Art of Eating; their speck is also a fine product and can substitute here) and tear into thin pieces on top, moving as quickly as you like—there is no wrong size or amount here, though equal amounts of these three work nicely.

I like a little squeeze of lemon and a bit more balsamic over the top at the end, and to eat this with my hands, in the sun. This is a summer salad for these ingredients at the height of their flavor. The peaches at the market will remind you…

For the past month, Storefront for Art and Architecture has presented “Landscapes of Quarantine,” an exhibit from the fall symposium of the same name curated by FuturePlural (the united talents of two of my favorite bloggers, Nicola and Geoff).

On Saturday and Sunday night, the Storefront space held a banquet in six courses exploring quarantine, containment, and nourishment, led by underground food mastermind Michael Cirino of A Razor, A Shiny Knife (with others from the small expeditionary force of the food collective); the afternoon prep drew frequent passersby, popping in to ask about the curious equipment, watch trout roe suspensions in petri dishes.

The Sunday night guests began to gather in the late afternoon for demonstrations by Michael (poster design by Demian, who also cooked quietly and gracefully),

and after trimming the meat,

Michael explained the dry ice in a cooler finishing the spheres for the night’s final course.

and I began to see edible landscapes of quarantine.

The sparkling bits were whisked away in egg cartons as a different sort of bubbly sprayed from canisters to begin the first course.

course 1: the proliferation

Mike and Jonny filled test tubes with effervescent vodka amid murmurs,

the cooks donned white suits,

the guests found their seats and talked excitedly,

and the cultivated petri dishes were sent out with steelhead trout roe, angelica, licorice, and juniper,

and a bit of Meyer lemon powder that dissolved.

course 2: the fumigation

While a Dr. Unger Ried Silberbugel 2004 Riesling was poured, the kitchen area was filled with flowers,

Hirame slices topped the mache, sliced lardo was added, then petals,

assembled on jar lids to be smoked,

on the busy Manhattan street,

and presented in the smoky jars,

that guests opened, looking sideways at each other, as their sense of smell was engaged.

course 3: the isolation

For a course with Keith Tulloch 2007 Semillion, guests scissored into sealed bags,

saucing their own ravioli and releasing a tiny sprig of thyme from its plastic pouch.

course 4: the passage

I do hope for wedges of salad in an emergency situation (especially topped with bacon and cleverly paired with a 2005 Gigondas Les Espalines Cuvee Romaine),

and for steak that has been contained, dry-aging for 24 days, seared to a crisp crust and plated next to creamed spinach and potatoes in an appropriate violins-on-the-Titanic sort of culinary stroke.

course 5: the frustration

Shifting to a less giving course of waxen bread, cheese, and grapes arranged like a still life,

one guest unpeeled parts, expressing the title of this course, to create a very different look for the plate.

course 6: the revelation

Jonny poured Appleton Rum, the careful pairing for the final course,

a dessert tray of drinks imagined in solid form including a Daiquiri, Old Fashioned, and my favorite, the Cuba Libre (in a wonderfully moist cake of Coke and rum).

Those who had cooked were introduced,

and everyone in the room smiled—I think we all wondered what Michael might come up with for the next event…

Thanks to all involved for letting me take part; it was an honor to cook beside you.

For even more, I really like Mike Lee of StudioFeast‘s timelapse of the entire event and see the ARASK site for upcoming events: