kthread » Travel

2011: the best of a lesser year

Kristen Taylor — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 17:24:47 +0000

As my friend Fil put it yesterday, 2011 had such great heights. And all of the valleys that accompany the peaks. These were my favorite moments of the year, in chronological order:

The year started beautifully in Miami, on hammocks.

February brought a circle of friends to begin the New Year of the Rabbit with Chinese tea eggs, boiled soft, then steeped in tea to reveal, upon cracking, marbleized interiors.

Just after my March birthday, K and I flew from chilly New York to Barcelona,

the city of Gaudi architecture, and this strange and wonderful cathedral, eternally being built.

My year was to look like this roof on the Santa Caterina Market,

but I didn’t know that yet.

We were then to Cannes, with its crêpes and cider, and my first time with Margalet cheese from the Ceneri cheese shop,

and to the famed La Colombe D’Or.

In the late spring, I joined the designer coworking space Studiomates and dressed all in purple for our Rainbow Parade.Image by Erin Sparling.

May was also my first crawfish boil, part of a road trip that included an amazing family in Madison, Mississippi, who boiled 335 pounds of crawfish.

I was overwhelmed with the abundance of food and the hospitality. To eat a crawfish correctly, you pinch the head and then, well, they chalked instructions for those of us shyer in handling crustaceans.

The weekend helped me remember my steel magnolia roots as I headed back to Atlanta to visit my mother.

June was my sister Kassandra’s wedding,

and this image taken by my sister Kat sums up my role as co-Maid of Honor, chasing down rogue antebellum sunshades in front of a historic plantation. I wrote a Fast Company piece about our use of tech during the wedding week.

But then, all the bridesmaids took our role seriously.

Image by Courtney Rosen.

Late June, K and I traveled to Amsterdam and spent time with wonderful friends Matt and Maia, piloting their boat through afternoon thunderstorms to discover bitterballen,

seeking out herring in season (Hollandse Nieuwe) at special stands, and spending time in our friend Gary’s magnificent kitchen.

We took a day trip to Cologne, with its cathedral and love locks.

From there: London in early July, with so many friends we forgot to take pictures. I remembered to bring the camera for a weekend in a 13th Century country house my dear friend Will engaged for a long weekend.

Shockingly, we spent the time eating the region’s renowned clotted cream,

preparing elaborate meals we took to eating outside,

and touring walled gardens.

I told an Ignite NYC audience why quitting a Ph.D. is the best possible option for some:

In early August, friends from graduate school Andrew and Annie announced they would be married in a week, and I filled the gas tank to drive to Chapel Hill, North Carolina and record the celebration. You see how they do things their own way, with great success. The bride wore blue.

And continuing my drive back up the coast, my friend Keryn let me pretend I lived in Maine for a week or so, opening her house and barn, as she always does. There were ferries and sunflowers and islands to see before returning to New York to teach my graduate class at ITP.

The fall brought considerable moments of quiet, struggles for professional growth as my consulting expanded, and the launch of my food magazine, Saucy.

In November, my sister Kat and I arrived in a former convent in Oaxaca, timing our trip to catch the end of the Day of the Dead celebrations, marvel at the Placido Domingo, puzzle over hand-drawn maps while bartenders poured local mezcal. We relaxed into chilaquiles and chocolate oaxacaquena con leche, then Baja fish tacos in Puerto Escondito. I will not forget the street vendor who drew a Sunday night crowd, pressing squash blossoms into tortillas she rolled out and grilled with Oaxacan string cheese. We traveled to visit my friend David in Mexico City and the Templo Mayor, the center of the Aztec universe. And Kat shared a Portland recipe, filling morels from the mushroom vendor at a local market.

Returning refreshed to NY, I shared my story about delivering bread in the early mornings of last winter, opening the TEDxEast November salon.

K and I began December in the tropical rainforest of Saba, a small Caribbean island with the shortest airport runway in the world. It was a perfect, and perfectly beautiful vacation.

Here’s to a spectacular 2012!

a hike in the rainforest

Kristen Taylor — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 16:12:39 +0000

A real vacation, we said, and this time last week, we were hiking through rainforest on a small Caribbean island.

The forest floor was mossy, that greenest of green,

strewn with leaves as big as both our hands, as if the trees were operating on another scale as they grew from the volcanic rock,

and small white flowers, fallen from mountain cabbage plants (that lean on the sides of trees) dotted the path.

We were quiet, using sticks to guard against mudslide areas, and a little talked out – as happens when you have whole days to dream aloud together.

Suddenly, up ahead a goat appeared, as if to guide us through,

leading us into the sun,

to a good vantage point on the island’s runway, the shortest in the world.

Back in the rainforest, we felt as though we might never emerge, the way true vacations transport you from the life you know.

Soon after, we would glimpse translucent fish, pearlescent coral, and a sea turtle in a protected marine park dive in blue, blue water, and eat local Wahoo and Red Snapper our guide had caught.

Just then, though, was all green,

and we found spider webs. You know how I feel about spider webs…

If you do visit tiny Saba, the Queen’s Gardens Resort is the place to stay. We were well looked after; the property managers’ competence is unparalleled. The entire island is an excellent example of ecotourism. Thanks to K for a beautiful week.

an island beach in maine

Kristen Taylor — Wed, 17 Aug 2011 21:26:13 +0000

The road to Maine started in Atlanta, with my sister Kassandra and her husband Sean’s garden spilling over the fence, as the spinach grew thickly near the peppers and watermelons behind their new house.

I drove down to Atlanta after Annie and Andrew’s wedding, and then back up to New York the following day, pulling off the road for this eatery’s encouraging sign:

And then it was off to Maine, and to an island, passing the Coast Guard,

as well as bobbing boats in the harbor as I chatted with Keryn about ferries in the afternoon sun.

Keryn’s friends keep chickens, they couldn’t say exactly how many,

near beautiful male goats that perk up their ears in unison and wander toward you, bells swinging.

On Saturday afternoon, we gathered with their friends on an island beach,

and I learned how to pour coals into the rocks and set the grill cover over, and patiently wait.

As usual, it’s the guys hanging around the grill.

More friends joined us as the sun began to drop…

and there were crazy discoveries to be made in tidal pools (“Look, Mom!”)

and friendships renewed.

My friend Keryn sat serenely as the children ran about, with her usual calm that belies spontaneous dance moves that occur with some regularity while in her orbit.

I had a hard time leaving the beach, watching as we heaped the grill with seaweed, and looking back over my shoulder again at the sunset on the quiet beach.

At the farm Keryn’s friends caretake for, the sunflowers are at their height,

the garlic is drying,

and they sent us back with piles of springy rainbow chard, cucumbers, and tomatoes,

that made beautiful cucumber sandwiches and colorful couscous across the water, back on the Maine mainland, this dreamy area of the country I love to visit…

the bride wore blue

Kristen Taylor — Tue, 16 Aug 2011 12:11:40 +0000

My friend Annie does not wear shocking pink nail polish often. Only, it seems, when she lets her mom pick the color for her wedding day.

A day picked a week or so before, when the groom casually called to say they would be in Chapel Hill, North Carolina the following weekend and had decided to be married. Like the bride’s elegant upswept hair, the couple’s circle swirled into town to celebrate these two we hold dear.

I’ve known the couple since they first started dating in college seven years ago, when they used their shared prowess in typography, content curation, and editorial direction to shepherd the most interesting campus publications to glory and legibility.

It was a perfect occasion for all of those skills, from the bold ‘A’ for both their first names on the wedding programs to the thoughtful compression of the service itself, officiated by the groom’s poised sister Caroline.

And while Andrew waited in the sitting room,

Annie’s mother attached the pearl clasp upstairs,

the best friend since grade school zipped up the dress,

and we followed the path of candles outside.

Andrew strode in with his parents under the soft, hanging lights;

Annie navigated the steps with her parents.

And throughout the service where the two read the vows they had written (Andrew’s full of energetic, scientific metaphor, Annie’s an honest and straightforward promise) and the family read literary pieces that did inspire (Andrew’s father also read a sonnet he had written long ago), all of us couldn’t stop smiling.

Caroline gracefully took us through the service, pronouncing Annie and Andrew married.

The couple kissed, and Andrew’s brother Xander played us into the living room (in the foreground, his parents look on).

I assembled family for pictures, as you do,

pulling all the guests in for the big, crazy shot.

We toasted to the couple,

and ate delicious things (the bride’s mother makes quite a sausage roll bread!) Pictured at left.

then we ate more delicious things at favorite local restaurant Crook’s Corner,

all of which led to toasts around the whole table, each of us standing to say how we knew the two would support each other, as they always have.

They bring out the silly in each other (more evidence from Andrew’s 2009 talent show birthday party),

and they love each other something fierce.

Congratulations, you two. Thanks for letting me photograph your day. It felt, like everything you do, magic to be part of.

If you’d like to support the couple, both work in education and care deeply about issues of literacy. Andrew is currently running the Read, Write, Rock project that you can learn more about on the RWR site.

meanwhile, back at the manor

Kristen Taylor — Thu, 14 Jul 2011 11:19:37 +0000

Two of my favorite people live in Amsterdam, and a few weekends ago, Maia and Matt were draining the rainwater from their boat together.

The sun broke through the clouds like a champion on that Saturday morning, and we were off into the waterways as they traded driving duties.

I discovered how cars cease to exist from the purview of the canals,

and then the two introduced me to bitterballen, the traditional crunchy bar snack of Béchamel and diced meat crumbed and fried that arrive with mustard.

For dinner, we shelled purple hulls for the green peas to stir into scallion sauce on soba noodles under roasted chicken thighs marinated in soy sauce and watched the night lights luminate the canal bridge tunnels.

Kevin arrived a few days later, and we took the train to Cologne, stepping off the platform, through the station, and out into the sun, blinking at the beautiful cathedral.

The controversial stained glass inside by Gerhard Richter is startling in real life, as you stand and look up beside octogenarians who have pushed their glasses on top of their heads. You realize you are seeing the same thing they are.

After a proper night of pork plates and Kölsch served in the correct glassware, I went wandering through the rain the following morning, pausing at the women practicing aerial swordfighting on a wall (likely this is an exercise craze that will import to Brooklyn nicely),

and strolled the nearby bridge to read the sets of initials on love locks, fastened onto the gate by couples who then throw away the key together in the Rhine below.

Back in Amsterdam, we sought out herring (also broodje haring, which is the name for a herring sandwich and always on good brown bread), for the annual celebration of Hollandse Nieuwe. The Dutch favor picking it up by the tail and serve it with raw onions and pickles.

My favorite Dutch food is Boterkoek, a type of shortbread, and Kuyt Patisserie makes a perfect version. If you’ve ever made a cake-cookie, this is a shortbread cake-cookie with a chewy center and crispy edges. (I’m working on a recipe for the next Saucy mag issue.)

While front rooms from the 1700s look out over the canals, as Matt and Maia’s stunning apartment does (they were kind enough to let us stay as they traveled for work), rooms on the other side of buildings look out on private gardens,

and Kevin and I talked about the difference of views as we walked to local “brown cafes” that were appropriately “cozy” – the highest accolade in this city culture.

We were also upsold potatoes at restaurants with our friend Matt, and we marvelled at our friend Gary’s colorful rooms when we were invited over for a beautiful long dinner (and I’m cooking in his enormous kitchen next time we visit).

…

After a week or so in Amsterdam, we hopped a train to Brussels and took the chunnel to London, and I spent so much time riding around on the top of double-decker buses while exploring and then posing as an East Londoner (modeling my behavior after my good friend James, who lives in Stoke Newington and was a perfect host), that I rarely took pictures other than with my phone.

I will admit to a new and abiding fondness for eggs, sausage, chips, and beans at breakfast and that I continued to order black pudding everywhere we went. (More on my favorite food in London in the next Saucy.)

A few days into our London stay, I took a local train to the country to visit my friend Will, who had secured a manor house from the thirteenth century in Somerset for the weekend.

Will has a habit of gathering friends to country houses all over the world, so I wasn’t too surprised to be soon drinking Rosé and walking the grounds as Rachel helped him collect wood for the inspiring fireplaces.

After exploring the manor (I chose one of the secret rooms), we tucked into a lovely dinner planned and prepared by Sherrilynn and Matt in the substantial restored kitchen.

Two roosters battled for dominance outside my window in the morning while everyone slept in, and I crept out to the garden gate,

finding a machine in the garden,

before returning to the manor lawn to find Sherrilynn under a tree, as joyful as I always am to see the leaves filter morning light.

We all pitched in to make a “slap-up” breakfast (another new adjective!) of eggs with crème fraiche, beans, streakey bacon, leek sausage, and crumpet with clotted cream and strawberry jam to ease into the day.

After baths (more of those than showers in the manor), we split into expedition parties and set our sights on the Walled Gardens of nearby Cannington, where the nuns and monks are rumored to have met in underground tunnels in centuries past,

and the gardens now are curated by those who delight in strange succulent varieties.

Driving further into town, we were underwhelmed by Scrumpy at a nearby cidery, but we nonetheless took full advantage of their local dairy specialty, as you can tell from Will staring longingly at not the scone,

but the generous ramekin of clotted cream that the area is known for.

Back at the manor, we greeted the sheep,

and I followed Sherrilynn down the little path toward town (you can see Darrell on the returning end of his run),

to go past the pubs to the medieval church and its gargoyles,

finding the way back past the blackberry brambles and honeysuckle vines.

Rachel was smiling as Matt and Sherrilynn started dinner,

to the accompaniment of a delightful musical group that had produced an entire album of songs about cider.

Will worked his pie crust into the pan to bake it blind,

and I left the kitchen to join Will and Darrell in the garden,

setting up the table in the setting sun.

Sauteed mushrooms over chevre on bread with a port sauce paired very well with the company and the conversation (with Darrell sneaking raspberries into your wine at opportune intervals),

punctuated by corks flying into the air and laughter.

Later, the talented Sherrilynn and Matt would pull their banjos out and fill the old house with music and song, and I would relax deeper into a couch beside a fire that roared, feeling lucky indeed to have such good friends with such good friends that remain dear no matter where we live as the summers come and go…

here comes the tay

Kristen Taylor — Tue, 05 Jul 2011 09:34:06 +0000

The theme was peacock feathers. And so the programs being powdered (before embossed with a special gun) were cut into feather shapes, secured with a fastener, and then decorated so they could function, cleverly, as a fan in the extreme summer heat.

That night, a few days before the wedding, my youngest sister Kassandra, returned to the house, filled with her amazing friends from all corners of the world wrapping the wedding hotel guest gifts, to regale us with stories of her own about her recent adventures with her fiancé, Sean.

Surprises dictated the week, as a dear family friend continued to cinch the wedding dress in tighter for the big occasion.

The bachelorette party, 14 strong, each shared a story over dinner; Kassandra defended, Sierra winced, and David covered his face.

Until Sierra took her turn and almost made the bride fall out of her chair with laughter.

The bachelorettes called Kassandra ‘The Tay,’ and that became the bride’s codename for the week, adorning cupcakes for the bowling party that followed dinner,

where their bowling warm-ups revealed how many dancers were in the mix.

And how many performers.

We all wore our pink sashes proudly; Kassandra has surrounded herself with a group of individuals that are delightful to be around bowling, dining, or wielding embossing guns.

(Kat took this picture and many below. I’ll indicate her photography underneath; one of her many talents is a very fine way with the camera).

And the following groggy morning (dancing continued late into the night), we all gathered at Kassandra and Sean’s beautiful new house to picnic and toast to the two days ahead.

photo by Katrina Taylor

Following the picnic, the bridal party headed over to set up the venue space and place the bride’s handmade candles and vintage cameras on the tables,

photo by Katrina Taylor

and a few hours later, the rehearsal began.

photo by Katrina Taylor

and Grampa made everyone laugh in agreement at his approval rating for the wedding.

photo by Katrina Taylor

The following morning, the bridesmaids and mother of the bride assembled in her childhood room to pin the veil,

and then we all dressed and met Kassandra, with her wonderful college roommate Caitlin doing her duty and holding the train above the grass,

photo by Katrina Taylor

while I chased antebellum umbrellas across the plantation house’s lawn,

photo by Katrina Taylor

and then dashed off to meet the talented musicians: Amber, who was also the Mistress of Reception Ceremonies (and who you will recall from family holiday videos), and my handsome Facebook husband Stewart Pillow who composes and sings. The two sing well together, which is another happy happenstance of the weekend.

Soon, it was time for Kassandra to take up her bouquet of vintage brooches that our aunt Pamela Aiken created,

photo by Courtney Rosen

and for the exchange of vows and music in a ceremony the two wrote together (including music that Sean composed and his sister played during the procession).

photo by Courtney Rosen

The bride and groom beamed at each other, at the family and friends in attendance, and then entered the hall,

photo by Courtney Rosen

and after dinner, I started the toasts (look how dashing Stewart is at his piano on the left!),

photo by Courtney Rosen

shocking the groomsmen with Kassandra’s impressive pull-up record in elementary school – proof that she has always been fierce.

photo by Courtney Rosen

The dancing went on and on, as it will in a room of dancers and instructors, and the couple ran through sparklers (note Kat’s choice of alternate fiery accessory) to pull away in a beautiful vintage car.

photo by Courtney Rosen

Happy wedding, and happy marriage, Kassandra. Know that no matter what, your bridesmaids are here for you as your special police detail…in sickness and in health, as long as we all can steal mirrored sunglasses off boys…

photo by Courtney Rosen

All the images (except those by Courtney Rosen) are in this Flickr set. Thanks to Kat for taking such stunning photos, as always, and being there for me during the week too.

in hot pursuit of mud bugs

Kristen Taylor — Sat, 28 May 2011 14:36:30 +0000

This story begins with biscuits and blackberry jam, and then eggs and bacon and sausage and hash brown casserole,

all at the Loveless Cafe, which I cannot recommend unless you are with a friend so wonderful it almost doesn’t matter where you go on a food road trip.

In the drizzling rain, I drove from seeing old friends Michaela, Stewart, and Michael who live in Nashville to Jackson, Mississippi, where I picked my friend Laura up from the train station, and we drove off the mapped roads onto a gravel one,

that led us to dogs, and an annual family reunion that we secured an invite to, showing up just in time for fiery conch salad from the Bahamas (the most wonderful people from the Bahamas bring it to the event every year), and a little later, a pig that had been roasting for 48 hours.

For this occasion, many of the extended family sleep in little tent rows dotting the back yard of the five-acre propery,

lined with magnolias and near a grove of two hundred acres of uncut forest.

The next morning began my first Crawfish Boil, and a stunning sequence of food throughout the day started with biscuits and savory country ham that is colloquially spread with jam.

Out back, everyone was looking into three kiddie pools,

where 335 pounds of crawfish were doing the wave as they danced and were watered into the afternoon.

Our friend Yann’s dad Alan wielded the Cajun Crawfish Paddle with skill, letting the initial boil brew simmer and reduce,

as the guys shucked ears of corn ready for the enormous pots.

There was time for playful crawfish racing,

to admire Laura’s new battle scar from an old bike injury surgery,

and in a flush of excitement, everyone followed the first batch of crawfish onto the table earlier than usual,

where they were covered with newspaper and allowed to steam and rest briefly.

Yann’s brother Ky taught me the correct technique for eating them: loosen the tail, pull it off, push the meat up, dip it in Tony’s (saltier) or Old Bay (less salty) and then – “Don’t cheat,” he admonished – crush and suck the head juices.

It is incredible experience, as everyone is drawn to the table, eating their fill and laughing and wandering away, only to return for a later batch.

Pictures were taken on all kinds of cameras,

and bubbles filled the long driveway,

stories were told around the fire,

and our friend Yann was one of the last at the table, as the Captain of Team Peel (completely peeling the remainder of the crawfish to bag and use later as opposed to my team of tail poppers, also known as Team Progress).

Thanks, Yann, for letting me be an honorary member of your amazing extended family. And thanks to Laura for getting me into yet another adventure.

The music started as the crawfish were sealed into containers and continued into the night, with spoons and drums,

and an accomplished singer-songwriter serenading everyone crowded into the kitchen in a moment too perfect to record.

I realize it was my first, but damn, are Yann’s parents Sandi and Alan ever the lovely hosts, and my, but is a boil a perfect way to bring family together to stand beside each other at a table…

More photos from the crawfish boil will appear in the summer issue of Saucy Mag, my new food magazine. Find the spring issue here.

magic squares

Kristen Taylor — Sun, 22 May 2011 23:08:49 +0000

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.

confectionary christmas

Kristen Taylor — Fri, 21 Jan 2011 18:50:40 +0000

The way to Christmas this year routed through marzipan, with this beautiful apple cake and filling of lovely Charlottesville heirloom apples from local Albemarle Baking Company on the drive from Brooklyn to Atlanta.

And then there was dancing.

With my sisters Kat and Kass, I surprised one of my mom’s dance classes as we threw Kooshes in the air with them, skipped and circled.

After that, we turned to the serious prep for Kassandra and Sean’s engagement party at my parents’ house. Kat diced the eggs for egg salad focaccia sandwiches,

while I folded peppers into the pimento cheese, also for dainty Southern sandwiches that went quickly later that night.

Reid we roused from his reflective newspaper perusal,

pressing him into service dicing cauliflower for airy fritters with egg whites.

I boiled gorgeous local Georgia shrimp,

and we continued cooking our way down the evening’s menu,

as Kassandra and Sean returned to the house with sample cakes to evaluate,

and the rented glassware sparkled in waiting.

That night, close friends and family arrived, with Grampa approving Reid’s tie (these images by Kat, who is a splendid photographer),

Photo by Katrina Taylor.

and the engaged couple entertained questions,

Photo by Katrina Taylor.

and accepted congratulations from Aunt Pam and Uncle Stewart,

Photo by Katrina Taylor.

who then caught up with Mom and Dad while I tended bar, making our signature blood orange-cava cocktail.

Photo by Katrina Taylor.

The next day was full of shopping and sipping and scheming for the annual family video that happened later that night, in our usual dance-around-the-garage-at-midnight-Christmas-Eve-and-scare-the-neighbors way.

I have to say that Kat and Reid comported themselves with dignity in their costume choices (Kass was our esteemed choreographer, of course); watch for the parental feature and a signing cameo:

And Christmas was full of laughing, as Kevin and Grampa deciphered opening a tool set together (they’ll tell that story differently),

and we watched as the snow began to fall, making it the first white Christmas at their house that I can remember…

green eggs and California

Kristen Taylor — Sun, 21 Nov 2010 13:19:08 +0000

Last Wednesday, I fried an egg on top of a beautiful piece of leftover spinach pizza from Fornino in my neighborhood for breakfast.

And on Thursday, I flew to San Francisco, hopped in my rental car, and zoomed to Santa Cruz, just in time to help Renata chop root vegetables (she sprays them with water and sometimes wine, a brilliant trick) before and during roasting at high heat,

and when everyone arrived to learn more about cooking for Thanksgiving, she made her delicious green eggs (wilted spinach with poached eggs on top, spiced) that are an excellent breakfast any time of year:

Margaret’s daughter Madeline took careful notes,

and Renata laughed to show us how she freezes her herbs to keep them through the winter (her wonderful energy and enthusiasm for cooking well is infectious).

Steaming vegetables to go with lovely rice and lentils that Renata poured coconut milk into, imparting a subtle, full flavor,

all of us in her cooking class sat to eat together.

And on Friday morning, I caught up with Margaret, after we watched a sea otter turn,

over Eggs Benedict with avocado looking out over the boats in Capitola,

and walked to the lighthouse and back, reflecting on the events of the three months since I left Santa Cruz, and all the exciting secret projects we are plotting.

On Saturday, I drove from Santa Cruz to Venice Beach, arriving in time for an afternoon shopping stroll with Laura, LJ, and Julie,

and we discovered overgrown pebbles and that night, sautéed pea shoots with lemon at Cube, my new favorite LA restaurant. (Laura always knows the best places to go.)

Sunday morning, more green eggs—this time, poached on top of grits with beet greens and chorizo, all from the Santa Monica Farmers’ Market vendors themselves and cooked at Bean & Thyme.

And we found Lily’s Fertile Eggs (Laura was promised that she wouldn’t be able to return to regular eggs. We’ll see…),

then, it was time for a beach day, a warm 75 degrees Fahrenheit in the middle of November.

On Sunday night, John, Dave, Ben, and LJ arrived for a dinner party at Laura’s apartment,

with a persimmon-tomato salad (these are persimmons and persimmon tomatoes, Laura’s clever idea) with burrata,

and Momofuku’s Ginger-Scallion noodles with quick pickles (forgive the dramatic lighting here, my camera flash decided to go Instagram on me) and sugar snap peas, red pepper, skirt steak, and bok choy.

Laura threw together a lovely apple crisp that finished the meal perfectly, the way she does.

On Monday, I spent the day working from Laura’s apartment with a brief break for a walk to Intelligentsia for one of their amazing chocolate-pecan cookie sandwiches with buttercream filling from CakeMonkey:

and to marvel at the small, welded warriors on the Venice boardwalk.

I was sad to leave, as always, but happy to know that I will return in February if not before to see these friends, so important in my life. In the meantime, I take inspiration from my new little warrior friends to surmount the challenges in the months ahead…

shiny and new

Kristen Taylor — Wed, 27 Oct 2010 19:55:57 +0000

A few weeks ago, I hopped a flight to London for a weekend jaunt, arriving Sunday morning to a clear sky and a quiet walk from the tube to my hotel near shiny gates of some renown.

And taking a cue from the statue, off I went, exploring,

through dappled sunshine (it really was) in parks,

and landmarks, and fountains,

past impressive buildings,

all on the way to find a gift my friend Ben hid for me using my new mobile app for hiding and finding gifts, Galvanize. Here’s what happened with the gift:

After dinner with new friends, I woke up on Monday ready to continue my walking tour of London, starting in Notting Hill. I noted the food vendors on Portobello Road,

and stopped into the loveliest shop with prepared foods I have ever encountered, The Grocer on Elgin, for a sandwich, local milk, and an intriguing package of Pavlova Magic.

From Notting Hill, I ventured toward Smithfield Market,

near to food pilgrimage site St. John, where I beamed through a beautiful late lunch of nettle soup with snails, bone marrow salad, and Eccles cake served with cheese (pictures wouldn’t do it justice).

Then, it was to Westminster Abbey, of course,

and to wave at Big Ben and Parliament,

and watch the London Eye slowly rotate (it’s fun being a tourist),

then walk the Thames,

as falling leaves skittered across the paths and the dusk settled in,

over the London Eye’s continuing rotation and the bagpipes playing,

as I went off to Oxford Circus for more adventures (and most notably, delicious raw milk gelato at Scoop) to complete a wonderful quick trip.

London, thank you for the fair weather, and I hope to see you again soon…

stewart croons at the bluebird cafe

Kristen Taylor — Thu, 07 Oct 2010 22:01:39 +0000

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…

a winery tour for helen

Kristen Taylor — Thu, 23 Sep 2010 21:00:04 +0000

On Saturday morning, I walked the familiar stands of the Charlottesville Farmers’ Market;

the squash, peppers, and eggplants of Waterpenny Farms were shining, as were their beautiful tomatoes,

near heirloom Virginia apples, as that season is in full swing.

Walking beyond the market, I found Surryano ham (a version of Serrano ham made in Surry, Virginia, where the pigs are fed local peanuts) at Feast market—perfect for an afternoon winery tour with old friends.

Tricia arrived with balloons,

and Helen corralled everyone (many had driven in from out of town) onto the bus for her birthday celebration.

Our first destination was Cardinal Point Winery, where Sev and I mused over what the ideal wine tasting would be like,

and while the crowded Veritas tasting room (our second destination) leaves much to be desired, the lovely grounds have the makings of a perfect afternoon.

Sev poured for Ben and Jeremy (seems we all coordinated our outfits for the occasion),

and the Veritas Cabernet Franc Reserve 2008 was the bottle of the day (Cab Franc grows well in Central Virginia).

Before too long, I took my glass out to the lawn, watching everyone compare vintages and grapes,

and a child chase an errant chicken,

that pecked behind Ben as he was delivering his usual wry commentary after joining me on the grass.

And we relaxed into our final destination: Flying Fox Winery,

where we toasted to lovely Helen, whose sparkling laugh and infectious energy are always a reason to celebrate time with her.

Early the next morning, I breathed deeply as I drove back to Brooklyn through the mountains, as the sun slowly rose over the Shenandoah…

and mike made wild blueberry pancakes

Kristen Taylor — Sun, 19 Sep 2010 23:07:07 +0000

On Sunday morning, a few Sundays ago, Keryn and Mike were the perfects hosts, indulging us with Mike’s wonderful pancakes and letting us sleep very late (that’s Kate’s butter, of course).

Note: This is the third in a series of three posts about Maine. You might start with the first or second post.

Keryn likes her pancakes with blueberries throughout and on top (and with these native wild blueberries, I heartily agree with her preference),

and Fil and I smiled at all the fun of the day before.

Late that afternoon, Keryn arranged the perfect spread of charcuterie and cheese, and a little while later, we were off to the ever-crowded Primo for their oyster night.

On Monday, I went foraging with my friend Evan on an island, gathering berries,

happening upon chanterelles,

and some of the rose hips that grow all over the area.

Monday night, Keryn (who even manages to rock rain boots) drove us to Ladleah and Shane’s,

where Ladleah’s gardening skills were in abundant evidence.

Ladleah had made a lovely blueberry buckle for the next morning’s sailing outing,

in a spare moment after making her famous salsa,

and then she showed us her gardens (Ladleah gardens for others as well, so these are her personal gardens that she works on in her free time).

I haven’t seen tomatillos on the vine before,

and Ladleah introduced us to an heirloom cucumber she adores.

We glimpsed the dramatic hanging purple beans,

and the first apples on the tree in the future orchard.

Before we left for dinner, we all smelled the mint on her porch, a scent I now associate with Maine, and its crisp air, and the beautiful people I am lucky to know there.

On our way back to Brooklyn on Tuesday, Fil and I drove through the Berkshires to visit Ethan and Rachel and meet Drew (Ethan drew us a map for the way back and recommended his favorite series of highways).

In their unique and incredible house, we marveled at the view that goes on and on, appropriate for a couple that is wise and witty in equal measure (and one I am excited to return to visit for longer).

Just as Ethan had said, we passed sculptures too intriguing not to stop for,

and we made a note that more exploration is necessary of this place,

and perhaps also of the miniature golf at the Red Rooster Drive-In next time the drive includes these roads…

waterloo

Kristen Taylor — Fri, 17 Sep 2010 14:29:53 +0000

There are always so many possibilities in Maine.

I had Keryn hold up her quick list of things we could do during the weekend, and it promised as much potential fun as the lighthearted additional lettering on this street sign in Camden.

For breakfast, we went to Home Kitchen Cafe in Rockland,

making sure to order one of their pecan sticky buns (order the ones with pecans) that we attempted to share before heading to the end of the Camden Farmers’ Market.

At Smith’s stand, I bought a salumi with orange peel and Fil perused the jerky (maybe stocking up for unexpected detours on our drive back),

and I smiled at the jellies with coordinating cloth tops at a nearby stand.

Then, it was time for the Sardine/Herring Festival in Belfast with a promising schedule,

except that these were the only fish in sight (we decided it might be entirely a Red Herring Festival).

Walking toward boat builders,

we found an event of the National Boatbuilding Challenge in full swing.

Types of knots were even more interesting than the boat tent, though,

and the cartwheelers more interesting still,

and we happily watched Fil (who is a quick study) learn how to hula-hoop,

to his own delight. Ah, the things you learn in Maine.

Before I knew what we were watching next, Keryn said, “Oh, they’re making rope!”

And they were.

Although we hadn’t planned it (when you are with Keryn, things just tend to work out beautifully), Keryn and I had dressed perfectly for the fanciful bicycles in Belfast.

Keryn expertly handled the fish bicycle with its swaying tail fin,

and after we talked with someone selling sun tea and custom felted Maine critters,

I rode the dragonfly bike with moving wings (thanks to Keryn for taking this one).

Gathering Fil from his gallery stroll, we headed over to the Coop Appreciation Day,

and I think I appreciated my ice cream sandwich with homemade cookies from Scoops, the ice cream parlor of your dreams, even more.

Leaving the curiosities of Belfast, we headed back toward Keryn and Mike’s house,

cooking in their lovely kitchen,

with local heavy cream and my favorite roasted smoked salmon,

to make fettucine with an alfredo sauce, smoked salmon, fennel, and sugar snaps that we paired with Fil’s empowering version of a French 75,

singing on into the night and discovering Keryn’s truly remarkable gift for select ABBA songs…