Orange Upside-Down Cake

Please forgive the lousy picture quality!  We were in a hurry to eat, so I snapped a quickie iPhone shot, and then we tucked in.  Sometimes the stomach wins over art.

What does a magpie do when she has a bowl full of oranges plus a container of Greek yogurt in the fridge that needs to be used pronto . . . plus a serious craving for something sweet to go with a cup of Earl Grey?  She makes a sparkling, bejeweled orange upside-down cake.  I used this recipe from Family Spice.  It's incredibly fast and easy to prep, and it bakes in just 30 minutes in a cast-iron skillet.  My cast-iron skillet happens to be my favorite pan; it's well-seasoned and well-loved.  And now that this beauty of a cake popped right out of it with zero sticking, my cast-iron skillet is loved just a little bit more.

If you like oranges as well as a very moist cake, you will adore this recipe.  I'll definitely be making it again before Christmas, only this time I might do blood oranges and cranberries . . . or I'll change it up completely and do thin slices of pineapple (and maybe ripe mango).  I will likely add some vanilla as well, as the current recipe doesn't call for it, and I think it would boost the flavor a bit.  A little orange extract in addition to the orange zest would be nice, too, although just a drop or two.  It's easy to go overboard.  The recipe calls for plain Greek yogurt, but I only had vanilla, and it was delicious.  I often use vanilla yogurt when making sweet baked goods, and it substitutes beautifully.  I just use a little less sugar than the recipe calls for in order to balance out the sugar in the yogurt.

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More soon, chickadees!  xo Gigi

Pudding Days

What is it about ice storms and cold that sends me running for a spoon and bowl?  I can't seem to stop making pudding this winter.  This evening, after dinner, Mr. Magpie said, "So, what kind will it be tonight?"  The man knows me so well.  What kind, indeed.  A simple chocolate it was.  No whipped cream or fancy sprinkles.  Just the pudding, plain and pure.  Other nights it's been butterscotch.  Next week it will probably be banana (trust me when I say this recipe's special . . . and decadent).  I can barely wait.

P.S. Aren't those sweet polka-dot pudding cups?  My sister found them for me at Goodwill about a hundred years ago, and I've used them nearly every time I've made pudding since then.  My sister's the best.   

Candlelit Breakfast

The cats woke me at dawn with cries for food and love and the sound of my slippers shuffling down the hall to start the rhythm of their day.  I filled their china bowls, shifted the curtains, watched the first flakes of another storm, then turned with a shiver to put the kettle on.

In the bedroom my love still lay asleep, wrapped in cotton and linen and the shifting pictures of a morning dream.  Here, in the tiled kitchen, I lit a matchstick, let it touch each candle on the table until I'd burned the match to its quick and the wicks flickered gold against the grey.

I scooped silver forks and spoons from their chest, set out the Polish amber crystal for juice, glazed blackberries with maple syrup until they glittered like onyx.  

The spiced pumpkin pancakes sizzling in the skillet were not silver dollars, but rich, golden coins.  True, you can't buy love, I thought, but breakfast makes a good trade.  

The kettle whistled, my love awoke, and now full of all they needed, the cats fell back asleep in their rocking chair, lulled by our soft laughter and the schoosh, schoosh, schoosh of snow blowing against the slate roof of the church next door.  

My heart, now full, found the rhythm of its day.  

   

At Home

I've been looking at a lot of photographs of people's homes lately.  Not photos that were staged by stylists and lit by photographers, but everyday photographs in natural light, and I've been loving them.

This afternoon I went around our apartment--the place we're living for a year or two until we can sell our loft in Massachusetts and buy a house up here.  For a temporary house, this place has loads of charm, and we immediately felt at home here.  There's plenty of room for my magpie collections and our books. Oh, and a bed of some sort (red wagon, wicker basket, old suitcase . . .) for Scout in every room.  

I purposely didn't stage anything.  Everything's as-is in these photos, dust and all.  I'm sick of staged home photos.  What I like to see are the everyday traces of lives lived.  We all leave a mark on each day--by the things we wear, the words we say, the objects we use, and the way we move through the world.  That's what I love.  That's what inspires me.  

Everyday bling in the bathroom.

We collect and write with fountain pens, 

so there's always ink in cubbies and drawers.

I buy beat-up old medicine cabinets at flea markets, 

sand them, paint them, and use them 

to store curios, spices, books, etc.

Treasures.

A long hallway runs like a spine through this apartment 

with our kitchen at the head.  

Near the kitchen entrance is an old brick arch,  

and that's another of my medicine cabinets on the wall.  

This one stores spices and essential oils.

Yes, that's Bananagrams on the hutch.

Our kitchen walls are covered floor-to-ceiling 

with the original subway tiles.  

I love the border of black tiles near the ceiling.

Like our kitchen, 

the bathroom is tiled in white with black.  

The bird vase is from my friend Melissa.  

This step in my study leads out to the sunporch.  

It's too cold out there in the winter, 

so the step becomes a book shelf and landing spot 

for random plants and paintings.

These vintage suitcases store CD's 

and double as an end table.

Last but not least, the boots.  

You know we love our boots around here, 

but there's no place to store them, 

so we decided that they are art.

As I type that I realize 

that so much depends upon 

how we choose to see and value things.  

The small stones in the first photo

are some of the heart-shaped stones

I have collected over the past couple of years.

Once I spot them, gather them, 

slip them into my pocket,

they become talismans--

they become what I need them to be.

This "home-for-now" has done the same;

it is just what I need it to be.

More photos soon.  

Can't wait to show you my old pilasters 

and favorite books!  

xo

  

Comfort

I've been at work in my new study all day, a room that has become the favorite hangout of the cats and that also has become, truth be told, my favorite hangout, too.  Our apartment now possesses that wonderful lived-in-one-month feeling: still clean and fairly organized, but homey, too.  Muscle memory  has begun to shift to new faucet handles and furniture placement, and the smells and sounds are becoming familiar--a blend of our own soaps and spices and candles along with the wood and paint scent of this old former rectory. 

Soon I'll share photos of this unique place.  For now, I'll tell you that my workshop has a special step that leads up to a French door.  That door in turn leads out to a glass porch which has become the home of plants and herbs and a little pottery fountain filled with favorite stones.  I let the fountain run all afternoon while I work and the cats nap.  There is a comfort in this even as I work on writing that is not always pleasant or easy.

And then there is life with which to contend.  I worry too much.  I fret about things I cannot control.  I long to protect the people I love.  We all do this, yes, and it's part of what makes us whole.  When I can't fix problems, when I can't make things right, when I can't help someone get well again or find them a new job or give them whatever it is they need for body and soul, I reach for what I know: a word or two of comfort, a wooden spoon, a mixing bowl.  I measure what I can give, and try to make each portion a little larger, a little fuller, a little richer than before.  What more can we offer in hard times than  our best selves?  

In terms of giving, I know of few things more comforting than a bowl of risotto after a long hard day.  I made this one, and Todd and I scooped spoonfuls into our mouths as fast as we could, dipping straight into the pot for seconds.  It's a variation of a wonderful recipe by Nigella Lawson (from Nigella Bites).  Mine takes many, many liberties, and is very playful.  You can vary risotto to suit your tastes and what you've got in your pantry.  I've made dozens and dozens of risottos, and I rarely make any two the same!

Lemon-Comfort Risotto

Serves 4 as a main dish or 6 as a side

• Very finely mince one scallion or a couple of shallots and one stalk of celery.
• In a large saucepan, saute the minced vegetables in one Tablespoon olive oil and two Tablespoons butter.
• Add 1 1/3 cup arborio rice.  Saute for a minute or so.
• At this point I begin ladling in warm vegetable stock.  I make my own stock, but you can use good store-bought stock.  It's important to keep it warm on the stove and ladle it in as needed.  The amount you'll need will vary depending on the weather and how humid a day it is.  As you add a ladleful of stock, stir the risotto.  Add another ladle when the mixture thickens.  Keep letting the rice absorb the stock before you add more liquid.  Some people like relatively soupy risotto while others like it thicker.  That's up to you.  The most important thing is that the rice be cooked all the way through.  It should be creamy when you taste it, but with just a little chew, like great al dente pasta.  It takes less than a half hour to reach that wonderful creamy consistency.
• Once the rice is nearly finished, I stir in the zest of a lemon and some finely chopped fresh thyme and parsley.  Basil would be nice, too.  Nigella uses rosemary, but I like milder herbs for this.  
• At this point, I take the risotto off the heat.
• In a little bowl I whisk an egg yolk, a few Tablespoons of sour cream or heavy cream, the juice of half a lemon, and a few Tablespoons of grated parmesano reggiano, then I pour this whole mixture into the risotto.
• Give it a stir, spoon it into bowls.
• Top each bowl with a little more grated cheese, a sprinkling of the fresh herbs, salt and freshly grated pepper, and a little bit of butter.  Let the butter pool on top.  
• Sigh at the sight of your beautiful creation, and then dig in.  Pure comfort in a bowl.

The Sweet Dark

What to do when life speeds too quickly, when decisions loom, and changes come--ready or not?  Why, chuck it all and go strawberry picking, of course.  Twenty minutes, a couple of quarts, then home for homemade biscuits and whipped cream, and loads and loads of berries.  The ones we picked were ripe, of course, but  the very small ones just turning pink look lovely out there in the field.  They always remind me of William Morris's "Strawberry Thief," which I believe is one of the most beautiful patterns ever created.  Can a humble blogger declare such things?  Well there, it's done.  

 

Then last night, as I was preparing to clean the rest of the berries (okay, as I was watching Torchwood on Netflix fully planning to clean the berries in an hour or two), the electricity went out.  For those of you who are new to this blog, I live in a massive nineteenth-century textile mill, so when the electricity goes out at night, this cavernous place gets rather spooky.  The elevator stops working and the stairwells are nearly pitch dark.  I imagine no one living our building was too happy last night.  No one except me.  I lit all the candles in our place and set to work cleaning the strawberries by candlelight.  I felt a bit like a strawberry thief myself, paring off their tops, eating nearly as many as I dropped into the bowl, there alone in my kitchen in the sweet dark.

L is for . . .

The sun shone yesterday, and the air was sweet, 

so we traveled the old road

of salt marshes and blueberry patches 

to my childhood beach;

the beach where we played in the surf 

until, even in August, our skin was red 

from the ice-cold, pounding waves;

the beach where my father dove in,

fully clothed, to save me from the undertow

when I was five (for years after he held on

to the salt-stained leather belt

that he'd worn that day); 

the beach where we built sandcastles and forts,

where we scrambled over granite rocks,

fed french fries to greedy sea gulls,

and drank grape Shasta from cans.

This is love, revisiting a place

that shaped you

in the best ways, a place

where danger and comfort

are intertwined, 

where ever scrub pine

whispers the past,

where when your love takes your hand,

you hold fast--

not from fear--

but from the sense 

that in the space between your palms

lie the answers

to all the questions

you could ever ask.

Todd's Point, Reid State Park, Georgetown, Maine

Missing You

I haven't been able to visit most of my favorite blogs (you know who you are, fabulous peeps) as often as I'd like for the past few weeks, and I'm missing you.  I'm starting to catch up, but if I haven't been leaving comments or stopping by as much as usual, please know that I'm thinking of you.  Often.  In fact, I sometimes stop by without commenting just because I need a dose of loveliness in the midst of a busy and challenging time.  

I think we all go through periods like this, and isn't it a reassuring bolster to know that our blog friends are out there making magic?  I often think of Melissa out adventuring with her little Crumb or Relyn dancing with her grade school class or Lily painting beauties in her desert or Ange crafting a graceful letter A or prairiegirl snapping the perfect shot or Marjorie uncovering a vintage treasure or Lenore thinking a brilliant thought or Ciara crafting a beautiful day with her husband and kids or Leigh tending the gardens on her glorious farm or Gillian preparing for an epic voyage . . . to name just a few of the bloggers who inspire me.  I've met some amazing people in the blogosphere, and your presence in my life has cracked my world view wide open at the same time that it's made my daily tasks and challenges and joys all the richer.  It's like possessing both a telescope to see the universe more clearly, each star and satellite, and a microscope that lets me view the small, seemingly inconsequential bits of everyday life, the acorns, seeds, and flower stems, to find the beauty and purpose that I'd often missed before.  Thank you.  

xo

Simple Gifts

Today I'm joining with Christina and several other bloggers to celebrate the simple things.  Thank you, Christina, for your warm and brilliant heart.  


Here are just a few of the many gifts for which I am grateful: 

~taking a deep breath~

~beginning~

~a clutch of daffodils from my husband~ 
(yes, he wrapped that milk jar in craft paper 
and tied it with twine, crafty guy)

~knowing that my camera is by my side and ready~ 

~finding loads and loads of faux tulips 
at Michael's for a dollar a bunch~ 
(just perfect for making a wreath 
to beat the winter blues) 

~a peanut butter sandwich any time of day or night~

~discovering lipstick in the perfect shade of plum~

~sharing take-out Indian food with good friends~

~Scout~ 
(and Theodore)

~Dill~

~working on drafts with a girlfriend~ 
(editors and agents be damned!)

~becoming so lost in revising a poem 
that time ceases to exist~

~strong women like this one~

~taking a walk on a trail I've never followed before~

~discovering an old barn~

~watching a hawk fly by almost near enough to touch~

~funny people~
~stacks and stacks of books~ 

~manicotti~ 
(I made not one, but two pans on Monday!)

~a phone call from a friend I miss~

~forgiving~
~being forgiven~

~moving on~

~letting go~

~beginning again~


xo

Winter White and Promise

I just had to show you another shot of the paperwhites on my windowsill.  They won't quit.  How can I give up trying if those little flowers keep going and going?

I'm wrapped up in an old quilt my grandmother made and I'm drinking Earl Grey Tea tonight with a bit of Winter White honey from the Savannah Bee Company.  If you're ever in Savannah, pay them a visit.  They have a honey-tasting bar and the best honeys I have ever tried.    

This week has been all about home improvement projects.  I'll show you some photos later this weekend.  A few posts back I asked what you do to seek comfort when you're down.  So many of you wrote with insights and remedies that I was comforted just in the reading of your words.  Several times I have thought about what Ange said about getting lost in concentration, in the doing of one's work; as she put it, "[I] become what I am doing."  That is one of the best remedies I know.  So, hammers and paintbrushes and nails and screws have been just what the doctor ordered (in this case my husband, who is a Ph.D. and not a "real" doctor, but he's pretty good in a pinch).  Speaking of my husband, have I told you that I have the best one in the world?  I know many of you do, too.  Aren't we lucky?  This morning mine brought me a bunch of unopened daffodils.  Each time I glanced at them throughout the day, they revealed a tiny bit more yellow.

Promise.  Just what I needed.

In Search of Comfort

"There will be little rubs and disappointments everywhere,

and we are all apt to expect too much;

but then, if one scheme of happiness fails,

human nature turns to another;

if the first calculation is wrong,

we make a second better:

we find comfort somewhere."  ~Jane Austen

I took these photos at Great Meadow in Concord, Massachusetts, this week.  Those of you who have read my blog since last spring know that this is one of my favorite spots.  While it's teeming with life most of the year, I almost prefer a still January day when the only sounds are distant planes, the crunch of feet on snow, and the tapping of a woodpecker across the Concord River.  This is a place of great comfort to me, and I need all the comfort I can find right now.  That's why I've also baked a chocolate cake.  What about you, my friends, where do you go or what do you do to seek comfort?  What thing, person, or activity brings you a measure of solace during a tough time?