Tokens to Remember
When I worked at Two Hands Paperie in Boulder, CO–a lovely little paper store on West Pearl St.–the owner, Diana Phillips, used to have a bowl of matchbooks on her desk. When I’d sit talking to her about the shop or how business was going, I’d eye each one with curiosity. They were a mini scrapbook of her travels, interests, and point of view. Among the smattering of bills, burning candles, and photos of India, they were a glimpse into her life. A few years later, I started picking up matchbooks on my way out of restaurants. Not so much as a testament to Diana, but as a way for me to remember restaurants in different cities that I loved. My dad collects wine corks to remember great wines. I, without consciously planning it, started a little bowl of match books to remember great meals. I have a few of these bowls scattered around the house. They gather dust quickly, but I like to thumb through them every now and again, remembering the best coconut cream pie I’ve ever eaten at Dahlia Lounge in Seattle or the the first burrata I ever tasted at Pizzeria Mozza in L.A.
And more recently, I’ve been picking up business cards from bakeries and sweet places I frequent. It started out as a way to decorate some empty space around my desk with tokens of cake slices eaten in the Ferry Building or macaroons enjoyed with tea while hungover in Santa Monica. Now the collection-of-sorts has taken over three bulletin boards and I’m not really sure what to do with it. I’m not one of those people who collects things. I hate clutter. But I can’t seem to get enough of pretty pastel-colored cards that tell a story of past confections. What do you do with your restaurant or bakery mementos?
Healthy Comfort Food
Thai Carrot, Coconut and Cauliflower Soup
People describe raising young kids as a particular season in life. I hadn't heard this until we had a baby, but it brought me a lot of comfort when I'd start to let my mind wander, late at night between feedings, to fears that we'd never travel internationally again or have a sit-down meal in our dining room. Would I ever eat a cardamom bun in Sweden? Soak in Iceland? I loved the heck out of our tiny Oliver, but man what had we done?! Friends would swoop in and reassure us that this was just a season, a blip in the big picture of it all. They promised we'd likely not even remember walking around the house in circles singing made-up songs while eating freezer burritos at odd hours of the day (or night). And it's true.
Oliver is turning two next month, and those all-encompassing baby days feel like a different time, a different Us. In many ways, dare I say it, Toddlerhood actually feels a bit harder. Lately Oliver has become extremely opinionated about what he will and will not wear -- and he enforces these opinions with fervor. Don't get near the kid with a button-down shirt. This week at least. He's obsessed with his rain boots and if it were up to him, he'd keep them on at all times, especially during meals. He insists on ketchup with everything (I created a damn monster), has learned the word "trash" and insists on throwing found items away on his own that really, truly are not trash. I came to pick him up from daycare the other day and he was randomly wearing a bike helmet -- his teacher mentioned he'd had it on most of the day and really, really didn't want to take it off. The kid has FEELINGS. I love that about him, and wouldn't want it any other way. But, man it's also exhausting.
Cheesy Quinoa Cauliflower Bake
I just finished washing out Oliver's lunchbox and laying it out to dry for the weekend. My favorite time of day is (finally) here: the quiet of the evening when I can actually talk to Sam about our day or sit and reflect on my own thoughts after the inevitable dance party or band practice that precedes the bedtime routine lately. Before becoming pregnant for the second time, I'd have had a glass of wine with the back door propped open right about now -- these days though, I have sparkling water or occasionally take a sip from one of Sam's hard ciders. Except now the back door's closed and we even turned on the heat for the first time yesterday. The racing to water the lawn and clean the grill have been replaced by cozier dinners at home and longer baths in the evening. You blink and it's the first day of fall.
Stuffed Shells with Fennel and Radicchio
I'd heard from many friends that buying a house wasn't for the faint of heart. But I always shrugged it off, figuring I probably kept better files or was more organized and, really, how hard could it be? Well, I've started (and stopped) writing this post a good fifteen times which may indicate something. BUT! First thing's first: we bought a house! I think! I'm pretty sure! We're still waiting for some tax transcripts to come through and barring any hiccough with that, we'll be moving out of our beloved craftsman in a few weeks and down the block to a great, brick Tudor house that we wanted the second we laid eyes on it. The only problem: it seemed everyone else in Seattle had also laid eyes on it, and wanted it equally as much. I'm not really sure why the homeowner chose us in the end. Our offer actually wasn't the highest, but apparently there were some issues with a few of them. We wrote a letter introducing ourselves and describing why we'd be the best candidates and why we were so drawn to the house; we have a really wonderful broker who pulled out all the stops, and after sifting through 10 offers and spending a number of hours deliberating, they ended up going with ours. We were at a friend's book event at the time when Sam showed me the text from our broker and I kind of just collapsed into his arms. We were both in ecstatic denial (wait, is this real?! Did we just buy a house?) and celebrated by getting chicken salad and potato salad from the neighborhood grocery store and eating it, dazed, on our living room floor. Potato salad never tasted so good.
Smoky Butternut Squash and Three Bean Chili
If your house is anything like ours, last week wasn't our most inspired in terms of cooking. We're all suffering from the post-election blues -- the sole upside being Oliver's decision to sleep-in until 7 am for the first time in many, many months; I think he's trying to tell us that pulling the covers over our heads and hibernating for awhile is ok. It's half-convincing. For much of the week, instead of cooking, there'd been takeout pizza and canned soup before, at week's end, I decided it was time to pour a glass of wine and get back into the kitchen. I was craving something hearty and comforting that we could eat for a few days. Something that wouldn't remind me too much of Thanksgiving because, frankly, I can't quite gather the steam to start planning for that yet. It was time for a big bowl of chili.
To Talk Porridge
Porridge is not the sexiest of breakfasts, it's true. It doesn't have a stylish name like strata or shakshuka, and it doesn't have perfectly domed tops like your favorite fruity muffin. It doesn't crumble into delightful bits like a good scone nor does it fall into buttery shards like a well-made croissant. But when you wake up and it's 17 degrees outside (as it has been, give or take a few, for the last week), there's nothing that satisfies like a bowl of porridge or oatmeal. It's warm and hearty and can be made sweet or savory with any number of toppings. The problem? Over the years, it's gotten a bad rap as gluey or gummy or just downright boring or dutiful -- and it's because not everyone knows the secrets to making a great pot of warm morning cereal. So let's talk porridge (also: my cookbook comes out this month! So let's take a peek inside, shall we?)
Kelsey
I love this idea. My husband and I have a huge collection of matchbooks! I also pick up pretty cards from time to time, they are such a sweet memory. The matchbooks sit in a bowl on our entry way table, I use them to light candles.
Rachael
Matchbook bowls are nothing but a great centerpiece, a conversation starter, or a decorative side piece. I love to make coffee table books out of my business cards- photos, bar napkin poetry and cards needed to be remembered.
Allison Arevalo
Like your dad, I save my wine corks, and have them hanging from a basket in the kitchen. I also covered my fridge with photos of beautiful dishes I had when traveling throughout Europe. It gives me inspiration to cook something great every time I open the fridge.
Seattle Tall Poppy
I journal with those Mead notebooks. I cover the front with stickers, etc. (Coffee companies are always rebranding or have new releases so it's fun to watch those progress.) Since I only write on the right/top page in my journal, the back often is the recipient of menus, business cards, invitations, and other mementos.
Megan Gordon
I love the idea of informal/impromptu journals (I, too, covet those Mead notebooks) and -- the idea of photos to inspire you on your fridge is lovely, Allison. Thank you for sharing! And Kelsey: it's nice that you have them on your entry table. That way you see them coming and going...