Tag: food

solstice, binding

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You’ve picked quite a time to come visit. The weather ripples unseasonably warm, overzealous June heat usually reserved for dog days of August and July. Dog days: a phenomenon concerning stars and ancient Rome more than panting canines—the transit of Sirius, brightest star after the sun. This fickle summer arrives in solstice and swelter but has already been felt over and over, already sweat out through every pore.

***

[a small breath prayer, composed in motion]

Inhale: You are a great mystery, God.

Exhale: I do not need all of the answers.

***

Each day, I glide among constellations of my own making, webs linking others through mere perception; gaze and assumption operate like twin heartbeats. On the street, I construe, construct, and elude: passerby seen as best friends, father and son, a couple. How many times am I wrong? Naming for convenience, weaving fables in the absence of piercing truth. I do not want to build my life on such inaccuracies, these minute adjustments and formulas. But what else is there? In what other way can we know the world?

***

“I am content because before me looms the hope of love. / I do not yet have it; I do not yet have it. / It is a bird strong enough to lead me by the rope it bites; / unless I pull, it is strong enough for me. / I do worry the end of my days might come / and I will not yet have it. But even then I will be brave / upon my deathbed, and why shouldn’t I be? / I held things here, and I felt them. / And to all I felt I will whisper hosanna for goodbye. / It is sweet to think of myself, alone at that very moment, / able to say such a thing / to all that was my life, / to all that was not.”

—Katie Ford, “Psalm 40”

***

On the bridge’s arc, past flickering golden hour and pavement’s radiating heat, I felt peace with tender step come knocking. I said, Come in at last. I said, I am so very tired of fighting.

***

“I lay out under / A separate sun. Both of us are fine / With this. We picked our place / Under the lid of god and we shut / Our eyes to it every night. That’s what it means / To have loved goodly—to meet / Fate in a lavender hall and walk / Right past it, the white train quivering, / Nostalgia in your wake” —Camonghne Felix, “Why I Loved Him”

***

I am gazing at the meadow where little cousins sought fireflies, my fingertips raspberry-stained. I am half-sun and half-shadow, twisting away from insects—the ants that infiltrate the kitchen but shun cinnamon, doggedly swarming up the wall. I am reading words I have read before, knowing they will mean something else now. I am turning the page.

“How lush the world is, / how full of things that don’t belong to me—”

***

“it might be years / before you turn and stop, startled / by the sweet and sudden smell of sheets snapping / in the sun, and the drunken lilac, prairie purple, / blooming, by the doorway, because you planted it” —Marie Howe, “Keeping Still”

***

Ammi: known as false Queen Anne’s lace or bishop’s weed, a member of the carrot family, a cold-tolerant wildflower, that which constitutes the field; when its unassuming sap meets human skin in sunlight, it can scar and blister for months…

***

“even / a small purple artichoke / boiled / in its own bittered / and darkening / waters / grows tender, / grows tender and sweet / patience, I think, / my species / keep testing the spiny leaves / the spiny heart” —Jane Hirshfield, “My Species”

***

One day of sun, and the world is pure again—it has aspirations. My tote bag crunches rhythmically, the spoils of a picnic grocery run shuffling for space. I am here and here and here. I am far from where I envisioned; I am exactly where I started; I am where I am meant to be.

I am a shadow, moving. My presence here evokes an absence elsewhere, and I see my silhouette bob along the leaves and friends of weeds, across from the cemetery walls too high to climb.

***

“But this morning, a kind day has descended, from nowhere, / and making coffee in the usual way, measuring grounds / with the wooden spoon, I remembered, / this is how things happen, cup by cup, familiar gesture / after gesture, what else can we know of safety / or of fruitfulness?” —Marie Howe, “From Nowhere”

***

On the pier, we nibbled snacks like unanticipated communion—a punnet of blueberries and a delicious orange olive oil doughnut, drawn and quartered. One of our napkins blew into the lake, scarcely a lake but a sea, though I soon leaned over to fetch it as we laughed and a watching man on the shore gave us an enthusiastic thumbs up. I have a theory that perhaps the world awakens at sunset; regardless, we were thinking more than ever of color then. You said I am the grey-blue of my eyes, notes assuring calm and clarity. You are harder to place, the effervescent orange and fuchsia of hibiscus and California poppies. Life is but moments: moments destined to end, moments destined to be lived a hundred times over.

***

Words scribbled, prophetic, in the beginning of May: “May something come of my emptiness. May the Lord make more of my emptiness than I could with my fullness.”

cosmic ache

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Words I find myself repeating quietly on walks by the river: “The world doesn’t know / what to do with my love. Because it isn’t used to / being loved… I hope it’s love. I’m trying really hard / to make it love. I said no more severity. I said it severely / and slept through all my appointments.” -Richard Siken, War of the Foxes, 40

***

The exhale you didn’t know you were holding. The early twilight. The candle flickering. The music on for dancing. The fragrant apple crumble coming out of the oven, slightly burnt but already beloved.

***

“I had nothing to build with. / It was winter: I couldn’t imagine / anything but the past. I couldn’t even / imagine the past, if it came to that. / And I didn’t know how I came here. / Everyone else much further along. / I was back at the beginning / at a time in life we can’t remember beginnings.” -Louise Glück, Vita Nova, 38

***

On Bonfire Night, a sudden flurry of sound—the harried rush to rest one’s elbows on the windowsill like a child at first snow. The fireworks are rising over Castle Sands, in arcs of red and gold. Several heartbeats brimming with light and pitch, then darkness again.

***

When Brigit Pegeen Kelly wrote “These are the long weeks. The weeks / of waiting. Let them be / Longer. Let the days smolder” (68), she might as well have been talking about Advent. I think of Tish Harrison Warren’s wording: a cosmic ache.

***

“Can this be paradise, with so much loss / in it? / Paradise / is defined by loss. / Is loss. / Is.” -Margaret Atwood

***

At the Kelvingrove Museum, I stood there the longest—in front of James Guthrie’s In the Orchard. Art has the strange and wonderful power to arrest you, drawing you near in surreptitious magnetism. The painting is giant, spanning an entire wall, crafted in hues of emerald and umber. I couldn’t stop looking at the girl, kneeling in a black dress, her face inscrutable and resigned. She seemed as if deep in thought, or perhaps she had just stopped crying. The boy extends his basket of apples, looking down passively. She is the focal point, and even the geese in the background incline their heads, eager to see what will happen next. It is a story told a thousand times over but each time rewritten. The girl extends her arm, preparing to place an apple into the basket, pausing just before. A recreation of Eden. She seems to sense all that hangs in the balance. She is striking a deal and knows not what comes next. She is bonded now. Her eyes fix on the apple, even as she clutches another with her left hand, as if reconsidering. She does not want to let go. An analogy for love?

***

A quote from The Great Gatsby so beautiful it haunts: “He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God.”

***

In the cathedral yesterday, tears came. Unexpected visitors, unexpected guests. Months since I had partaken in communion. The priest saw me outside, craning my neck and trying to capture the arcs of stone while waiting for a friend. “Taking pictures, eh?” he said with a chuckle, and I shrugged, sheepish, “It’s a gorgeous building.” It was when the children came filing in, knotted to each other or hovering mothers and fathers. It was when the priest knelt in his violet robe to look a little girl in the eye, a toddler with messy blonde hair and her fingers in her mouth. He gave her the body of Christ, solemnly and joyfully at once, and her mother smiled on, pregnant with another. And I thought of Mary. And the violinist played on, a melody searing and true. And I could hear the music all around but could not see the source, so I turned to my friend at last: “Where’s the violinist?” I asked, bewildered. “Oh, just behind the column. You simply can’t see her yet.” And the music filled the room. And I felt as if my life couldn’t quite be my life, as if I’d been inserted into a film unawares. And I knew there was a lesson in it all—if only I could find it, if only I could write about it.

***

“I want to leave / no one behind. / To keep / & be kept. / The way a field turns / its secrets / into peonies. The way light / keeps its shadow / by swallowing it.” -Ocean Vuong, Night Sky with Exit Wounds, 39

***

Why is it that I read Louise Glück’s Vita Nova over and over these days but, when my friend asks me what it is about, I cannot answer? All I can say: “Memory.”

***

“He changes times and seasons… He reveals deep and hidden things.” -Daniel 2:21,22a (NIV)

***

“Dear [G]od, if you are a season, let it be the one I passed through / to get here. / Here. That’s all I wanted to be. / I promise.” -Ocean Vuong, Night Sky with Exit Wounds, 72

***

Anne Carson writes in “The Glass Essay” about women with a vocation of anger, but I think there’s a vocation of remembrance too—and I think it aches.

***

When Glück writes, You changed me, you should remember me.

When Glück writes, I thought my life was over and my heart was broken. Then I moved to Cambridge.

***

I want to be crammed so full of beauty that it overflows.

very blessed

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“I’m very blessed,” you say over the phone — and mean it.

It is Good Friday, and one of the lines from Eliot’s “East Coker” has been ricocheting in your mind for hours. Last year, you knelt before the cross after a three hour long service and cried. Your hand was over your friend’s. A stranger’s cupped your own. His body was broken. Crumbled bread, spilled wine. Your body felt broken, limping slightly towards the stage with a tender inevitability. You have been thinking about lost things and about how Eliot, regardless of your own opinions about his overly-lauded oeuvre, is a prophet. A month from now, graduation. A month ago, Scotland. A kind of eternity between.

“Beneath the bleeding hands we feel

The sharp compassion of the healer’s art

Resolving the enigma of the fever chart…

To be restored, our sickness must grow worse.

The whole earth is our hospital

Endowed by the ruined millionaire,

Wherein, if we do well, we shall

Die of the absolute paternal care

That will not leave us, but prevents us everywhere…

The dripping blood our only drink,

The bloody flesh our only food:

In spite of which we like to think

That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood—

Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.” — T.S. Eliot, “East Coker”

4.10.20

the curvature of a spotted feline back

shudders against crossed legs. she is

asleep, purring and dream-twitching.

very blessed. you remember in physics

learning about sound waves, how the hum

of a cat’s purr has special healing properties,

can strengthen bones, lessen the risk of heart attack,

abiding within the frequencies of 20-140 Hertz.

very blessed. like the berries, cherries, and peaches

blending together just right to bless the body.

like the long-awaited phone call, like light streaming

through the window onto these small potted plants,

as they reach heavenward, grow without striving.

From the City to the Garden

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Chipping Campden

Chipping Campden is a bustling, quaint town in the British Cotswolds, complete with a traditional British High Street. We stayed at the most enchanting little cottage while visiting (found here). It was my favorite accommodation during my entire time in England — pristine, serene, and unbelievably cozy! The windows of the cottage cranked outwards, so I would open some whenever there was a drizzle of rain, plop onto a bed or chair, and read to the soothing sound of falling drops. There are so many cute shops in Chipping Campden, including Draycott Books, Stuart House Antiques, and — my favorite — Campden Coffee Co. (Warning: getting food to-go or as “takeaway” does not exist here.) By an act of complete chance, we happened to be staying in Chipping Campden during the 2018 Cotswold Olimpick Games, with shin-kicking and torch-bearing mobs included, which resulted in quite a ruckus in the evenings. Oops.

Snowshill

Our dear British driver and tour guide, Jim Gladwin, drove us to the small, picturesque village of Snowshill. It is said that, when snow falls in the region, it always falls here first. Snowshill is renowned for its unspoiled beauty and ancient architecture; Snowshill Manor, home to the expansive antiquity collection of the eccentric Sir Charles Wade and where Virginia Woolf once stayed as a guest; and Bridget Jones’s Diary, which it was a filming location for. There’s also a lovely lavender field (pictured above) at Hill Barn Farm in Snowshill!

Broadway

Broadway is one of the chicest areas of the Cotswolds. We only passed through briefly, but I wish I could have had more time to explore the Tea Set, the Bakehouse, and Cotswold Chocolate Co. (A scenic hike to nearby Broadway Tower would be a must to counteract all of those sweet treats.) Options for vegan and vegetarian meals were notably available here, at establishments such as Russell’s, contrasting with much of the traditional pub culture found elsewhere throughout the British countryside.

The Slaughters & Bourton-on-the-Water

Upper and Lower Slaughter share a fascinating (deceptively terrifying) name, which derives from the old English ‘Slohtre‘ — meaning ‘muddy place.’ Upper Slaughter is a ‘sainted village,’ meaning that it lost no inhabitants in the First World War. The River Eye runs through the the two villages, which have remained utterly unchanged for more than a century; no building work has taken place since 1906. In contrast to the bustle of Bourton-on-the-Water, the only attraction in the Slaughters is a restored nineteenth century flour mill — which now has a tea room and ice cream parlor for visitors. Bourton-on-the-Water is always positively overflowing with gawking tourists, so we did not linger long. However, simply driving about its winding streets, which often bridge over the river running through the town, was lovely.

Swinbrook & Burford

For Downton Abbey fans, The Swan Inn of Swinbrook may look familiar as this is where *spoiler alert* Sybil and Tom elope in Season 2. There are also some astonishingly beautiful churches in this area of the countryside, such as St. Mary’s Church (left), where the Mitford sisters are buried, and Burford Church (right).

Bampton

Bampton is affectionately known as “Downton Village” because many pivotal scenes of Downtown Abbey were filmed here! St. Mary’s Church (heralded as St. Michael and All Angels in the show) was used for filming various weddings (or not-quite-weddings *cough* Edith *cough*), funerals, and christenings in the series, and the nearby Churchgate House, also pictured above, served as Isobel Crawley’s home. The Bampton Community Archive was used to film the series’  World War I hospital scenes and now houses a Downton Abbey-themed gift shop.

Poulton & Cirencester

There is nothing really to say about Poulton; unbeknownst to us before arriving at our cottage, there is only a pub, The Falcon Inn, and a small store to be found there. However, it must be said that The Falcon Inn has incredible pizza served outside on Thursday evenings in the summer. Cirencester has far more to offer the eager traveller: the stunning Abbey Grounds (that once belonged to St Mary’s Abbey, dissolved by Henry VIII in 1539), the parish church of St. John the Baptist, the Wool Market (home to the vintage shop, Ava & Ida, where I bought the most darling green hat), Roman ruins, and The Bear Inn (where I arguably had the best pasta I have ever eaten in my life).

Bakewell

Bakewell was the first place in my England travels where my soul at last went, “Ah! Now this is a place I could call home.” I revered and adored the daily scenic hike into town along a softly murmuring brook (upon which ducklings would often play) from the beautiful cottage where we stayed (here). Seriously, imagine all of the pages of poetry that I could fill if I lived here and simply wandered around on a whim! Highlights of Bakewell include The Rutland Arms Hotel, where Jane Austen stayed and worked on her manuscript of Pride and Prejudice, and the adorable gluten-friendly tea room Because I Like It. For both the gluten-free and the unafraid, please do not refrain from sampling a signature Bakewell Tart while here! Hiking opportunities in Peak District National Park abound and Chatsworth, the site of Pemberley in Pride & Prejudice (2005), and Haddon Hall, the site of Thornfield in Jane Eyre (2011), are both only a short drive away.

P.S. A blog post solely focusing on Chatsworth is in the works. Yes, it was that good.

Unexpected London Gems

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Cream Tea (ft. The Delaunay & The Wallace Collection)

You may have heard ravings about the British phenomenon of afternoon tea. Well, allow me to set the record straight: cream tea includes scones, clotted cream, jam, and practically bottomless tea of your choice… and it’s way cheaper. Fellow penniless college students, lend me your ears. Afternoon tea at a trendy (and admittedly swoonworthy) place like sketch can be upwards of £59 per person while cream tea at The Delaunay (an elegant café in the theater district) was only £9.50 and still allowed my friends and I to feel like pampered, sophisticated Brits. (There was a gluten-free option available for the pastries as well, at no extra charge!) Cream tea is also offered at The Wallace Collection, in their stunning pink courtyard, for an even cheaper rate: £6.50 per person! Sip wisely and affordably, my friends.

 

Hidden Art Gallery in Harrods

I was, personally, extraordinarily reluctant to go to Harrods — the famous British luxury shopping emporium, boasting more than a 1.1 million square feet of space, 7 floors, and 330 different departments. To give you even more perspective, it houses 23 different restaurants and a massive gift shop… for the store itself. To some, this may sound like a dream come true; as for myself, a gal who doesn’t even enjoy venturing into an average-sized mall, it was a bit of a stimulus-overload plush nightmare. I ended up wandering away from my group into the book department, then a giant room full of expensive pens in display cases, and then, finally, I stumbled upon it: an art gallery. I stepped close to the bedecked marble walls, squinting in disbelief at the works on display. Some were, as expected, pieces for sale by contemporary artists… others were priceless artworks by Picasso and Chagall. Only in Harrods.

 

Ladurée at Covent Garden

The evening was growing late; my friends and I had just exited a West End show. Someone broached the topic of dessert, which was well-received by all. We were far too energized and full of life to return back to our rooms in the quiet borough of Highbury & Islington. Ice cream? Meh. Noncommittal muttering ensued as we began to wander the darkened avenues. “I know a place.” I volunteered with a smile, leading our small posse to Ladurée, just before it was about to close. I swear, macarons have never tasted better than they did that night — though I firmly believe that Ladurée macarons always taste like clouds and everything lovely in the world. I fell in love with Ladurée in Paris, and their London macarons did not disappoint; I probably went there 3x total during my month in London. Note: My only piece of cautionary advice is to avoid the nearby Covent Garden Tube stop if possible. It’s always incredibly packed and is essentially a claustrophobic person’s *cough* me *cough* worst fear. Crowds are funneled into two lifts to access the trains below, or, you can take dizzying flights of stairs down (or, far worse, up) that are there in case of an emergency. Basically, it’s the last place you would want to be in the event of a catastrophe… and it’s not even pleasant in the absence of one. Still, if you find yourself there in the Covent Garden Tube station rush, feeling hopeless, think of the Ladurée macarons nearby; that will give you the strength you need.

 

The West End: Stage Door & Day Tickets

Since I was enrolled in Musical Theater Survey whilst in London, I had the privilege of being fully immersed in the London arts scene, seeing a total of 10 remarkable performances, including The Phantom of the Opera, Les Miserables, The Lion King, Wicked, Matilda, Translations, Swan Lake, and As You Like It. However, you don’t have to be a member of an arts-oriented study abroad program to afford tickets to these shows! The arts are far more accessible in the UK than in the US! TKTS in Leicester Square became our best friend, offering inexpensive day-of tickets for the hottest shows. We were able to get decent seats at Wicked and The Phantom of the Opera — my two favorite musicals — for around £20 per show! Popular West End productions also offer “day tickets” (though only for matinee performances), which require some dedicated queuing at the respective show’s box office to obtain. Some lotteries are available for shows such as Hamilton. There is one theatrical experience that is absolutely free but has the potential to produce some priceless memories: stage door. After any show, you can quietly queue at that theatre’s stage door, where many cast members will exit. If they are willing, the actors or actresses may take photos with you or autograph your program! If they are (understandably) exhausted from their recent three hour stint on stage, they may pass you by. The key to proper stage door etiquette is respecting this decision: these are human beings leaving work and they deserve their space. Sometimes, inevitably, you will wait without reward, but, other times, if you’re lucky, Christine Daaé (Kelly Mathieson) will take a selfie with you and your hyperventilating friends and Raoul (Jeremy Taylor) will smile at you and say, “Cheers!”

 

£5 Yard Tickets at The Globe Theatre

Remember how I said the arts are far more accessible in the UK than the US? Well, imagine watching a production of one of the Bard’s renowned plays in the actual Globe Theatre for only £5. Yes, it’s possible. You can enjoy excellent productions put on by the Royal Shakespeare Company just as the groundlings once did in Elizabethan times —  standing. You will not have a seat to call your own, nor will you be sheltered from the elements, but you will be far closer to the stage and the actors are guaranteed to cheekily interact with you throughout the show. Plan ahead, pick an (albeit rare) sunny day, and, with a £5 note in hand, advance “once more unto the breach, dear friends.” (Henry V, anyone?)

 

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Platform 9 ¾

So, admittedly, this stop in particular was not unexpected; I had actually been anticipating it for years, ever since reading J.K. Rowling’s beloved Harry Potter series. Located inside King’s Cross Station (across the street from the King’s Cross Tube station), this delightful photo opportunity is free and definitely worth the inevitable wait in a queue! Kind attendants in Hogwarts garb supply a wand and a scarf for the house of your choice (er, I mean, the Sorting Hat’s choice).

 

Twinings Tea Museum

I feel as if I am about to utter tea heresy, but I did not fall in love with Twinings during my stint abroad. It seemed to me rather mediocre at best. Still, that did not prevent me from enjoying their tea shop/museum hybrid location at 216 Strand — the oldest tea shop in London. They offer free tea-tasting of select flavors in the back and even have a Royal Warrant from Queen Victoria on display, celebrating Twinings as the personal supplier of tea for her distinguished household (and every British monarch since).

 

LSO Rehearsals in The Barbican Centre

These “LSO Create” open rehearsals take place on weekdays from 10:00 am-1:00 pm and are absolutely free, though you must reserve a spot in advance. It is truly an incredible way to experience the breathtaking caliber of a London Symphony Orchestra performance, and be able to come and go at your leisure, without paying a large sum. If you’re up for an adventure, there are interesting hidden courtyards in the upper levels of The Barbican Centre to explore!

 

Borough Market

Borough Market is a delightful hodgepodge of culinary sights and smells. Vendors sell truffles, fresh meats, produce, cheeses, wines — everything under the sun. My personal favorite stall is a small, cheery place called From Field and Flower. They sell various types of delectable honey from all over Europe and allow visitors to sample their wares, ranging from mild and sweet to pungent, strong honey. I purchased their lavender honey and have cherished every last drop; it’s the best honey I’ve ever had! If you visit Borough Market, make sure you visit the airy, minimalistic Monmouth Coffee across the way as well!

 

Sherlock “The Reichenbach Fall” Building

You may recognize the building on the right from Season 2, Episode 3 of BBC’s Sherlock. No spoilers here, but, if you’ve seen the show, you definitely know what gut-wrenching scene this rather indiscriminate building is featured in. I am forever thankful that my sharp-eyed friend pointed it out to me as we walked by, departing from an Art Survey class at St. Paul’s Cathedral. The game is afoot!

 

The Great Gatsby at Gatsby’s Drugstore

This was one of the best theatrical experiences I have ever been a part of and certainly ranks among the best nights of my life! If you will be in London between now and September 30th, you must go to this show! It is so professionally done, upbeat and tragic in turns, and just a dose of genuinely riotous fun. For those of you who know me well, you know that The Great Gatsby is one of my favorite novels. That was certainly a contributing factor to my thorough enjoyment of the evening, but you really don’t need to be a Fitzgerald fan to immerse yourself in some 1920s thematic mayhem. The story came alive in ways I never dreamed possible: secret rooms, Prohibition booze, a group lesson on how to dance the Charleston, a rousing piano solo. The actors were astonishing, thoughtfully portraying the characters as winsome and yet so broken. The entire warehouse-like building is customized precisely for this show, and the production is truly a refined masterpiece — as Gatsby would have enjoyed, a leap into the past.