whipped feta with dill, shallots + chives

I'm typing this post from my dining room table overlooking the Northumberland Straight. The sun is shining and it's warm and beautiful and completely perfect. The ocean is glistening like tiny, twinkling stars and in the distance, I can hear the delicate little chirps of morning birds. My kitchen counter is piled sky high with dirty plates and wine glasses and platters with scattered crumbs. The waxy candle drippings have spilled onto the burlap runner and left dotty traces on my table but I don’t mind one bit. They are remnants of a night spent with good friends.

For now, I am enjoying the peaceful morning with my warm cup of coffee while everyone quietly sleeps upstairs. We still don't have coverings for the bedroom windows so I imagine they'll be awakened by dancing sunrays and rippling blue skies very soon. My brother and his wife and my beautiful baby niece are upstairs too. I can hear her dainty little squirms and I'm considering dashing up there and taking her for some morning snuggles. We can stare at the water and I'll tell her about our plans for the day and she can watch as I make mango tea. Her delightfully pensive expressions let me know she’s always listening.

She’s such great company.

We don't have a lot planned for this weekend actually and that was entirely deliberate. I'd like to visit the vegetable stand up the road and possibly take a trip to the lavender farm and somewhere amidst all of that, I'll take the children for a walk along the ocean. There is a small cove on our little beach and just around the bend is the most beautiful sandy little inlet. It’s perfect for slipping into the water without the discomfort of small pebbles piercing delicate little toes. It’s still much too cold for that of course but it will be fun to show them what’s in store this summer. I imagine we will collect sea glass and flat rocks for painting and large pieces of driftwood. They’ve started a small collection of those very things already so I’ll have to remember to bring glass mason jars for storing all of these little treasures next time.

I've wondered over the last few months if we'd find a rhythm in doing nothing at all. If we’d thrive in the simplicity of being still and enjoying lazy days with nothing pressing to do. I hope this space will allow me to forgo the need to always do and always be. That I allow myself to enjoy the quiet and not be tempted to disrupt it for anything specific.

I had a hard time deciding on last nights menu because this crowd, my friends, have very obtuse palettes which is the best sort of bunch to cook for I think. Much to people’s surprise, I’m not a solid decision-maker when it comes to planning menus. I change things around at least a dozen times because I always think of something better or tastier or prettier. And yet I always find myself returning to that initial instinct.

Hesitant and then resolute. It’s a pattern.

I hope you enjoyed the long weekend with your loved ones. It was pretty glorious around here. I made a variation of this recipe for our dinner party but this version is easy and portable and just as delicious. It's quite perfect for lazy afternoons when all you want is snacky sorts of food. I slow roasted some rainbow tomatoes and slathered it all on wedged pita bread. I made root beer float shooters too because that's what happens when you're on the beach. You cook and eat and enjoy every second of it.

xo

toasted walnut and roasted red pepper satay sauce

It’s hard for people who haven’t experienced a personal loss to really understand the magnitude of deep sorrow. How the process of bereavement extends far beyond those first few shocking days. It takes a long time to sort through this jumbled mess of emotions because reality begins to resonate in a way that is unbearable at times.

When I stepped outside of the hospital just hours after my father died, I remember how incredibly beautiful the evening was. It was unusually balmy for September and the sun had just begun to set. The breeze was warm and soothing and people were walking and talking and eating ice cream sandwiches. It felt shocking and perhaps unfair and even a bit unresolved that the world was still going on without this person I loved so much. Without this person I still really, really needed. I remember feeling like this world was missing a really important piece. A really significant contribution. One of light and laughter and beauty.

It was the power of community, the very love of my own family that allowed things to eventually be okay. 

Just okay.

But it took a really long time for that healing to unfold. It took a really long time for that emptiness to subside and be replaced with gratitude. With appreciation for what I was able to experience as a result of being my fathers’ daughter.

That evening, after we embraced and left the hospital hand-in-hand as a family, I remember looking at my mother who was filled with a deep and unwavering sorrow and I wondered how she would cope. And over the years, I have been continually surprised by her steadfast strength and her ability to survive heartache and anguish and sorrow that at times, must have felt suffocating. I celebrate her in my heart everyday for her courage and strength and purpose. For being a brilliant role model. A true confidant. A really amazing mother.

It’s hard to remember that Mother's Day can be a really painful reminder of what you don’t have. Or can’t have. Or won’t have ever again. A partner to share your life with. A child to hold. A parent to love.

And so on this Mother’s Day, I will remember my friend who lost her sister and her mother, who lost a child. I will hold space for my loved ones who have experienced the deep and devastating loss of miscarriage and for those afflicted with the anguish of losing a parent. For the mother's who have sacrificed and surrendered and forfeited absolutely everything without complaint or protest.

I hold each of you in my heart.

xo

 

chocolate mousse with chia, hemp + almond milk

Today, my daughter is presenting her history project to a room full of people. Judges no less. Men and women wearing pressed suits and fancy bow ties and small rounded spectacles. One too many 80's movies perhaps, but it's the way she's imagining the entire thing. She's a finalist in a school history competition so  I doubt it's going to be as grueling as she's imagining. 

I am proud of her for so many reasons and none of them have anything to do with winning. The topic she chose was Canadian immigration and she chose to tell a personal story of a young family who immigrated to Canada in 1958 from a small little village in southern Greece. It’s the story of my mother and her sister and parents. This project was a labor of love in every way imaginable. There were differences of opinion and a little frustration and some self-doubt but in the end, she executed it exactly the way she had planned.

When I listen to her recite my mother's story, I am filled with overwhelmong pride. She knows the name of the village where her grandmother was born and all about her struggle as a five-year-old little girl entering school for the first time, unable to speak or understand English. She knows that when she first stepped off The Queen Frederica at Pier 21, the Canadian Red Cross gave her a beautiful doll- the first doll my mother ever had. She knows that her great- grandfather was a guard at the royal palace for the King and Queen of Greece and that her great- grandmother was an accomplished knitter and baker.

And when I look at her history vision board, I see my mother’s passport and a beautiful crochet doily my grandmother made en route to Canada. There is a beautiful silk handkerchief my grandmother bought when they stopped in Spain and a handwritten recipe for her famous cookies. There is a photo of the Spartan Restaurant- the first business my grandfather owned and operated and one that remained in my family for more than 50 years. I see postcards and letters and beautiful photographs. Pictures of my 5 year old mother- a sweet little girl with curly hair and a big white bow. And I can’t help but wonder how scared they must have been. But also how brave they must have been.

I’m so proud of my daughter for knowing all of that.

Because their story, is ultimately her story.

And it’s so important to know all of that isn’t it? The happy memories yes, but also the really hard moments. The trials and tribulations and hopes and despair. It’s all part of the human connection. That thing that ultimately unites us. That spirit and voice that identifies who we are at the very core. And without that bond, who are we really?

The knowledge she has about her lineage will stay with her forever. Their story will one day become her story- the very one she will recite to her own children and grandchildren and great- grandchildren.

As I watched her practicing last night with a modest audience of three, I could see the sparkle in her eye and it dawned on me.

She really gets it.

She knows who her family is. She knows where we came from and who we are and she embodies that spirit. The spirit of what my grandparents toiled for. The sacrifice and hard work.

It was all for her. For us.

The perspective she’s gained is much more valuable than any certificate or medal or ribbon. And I hope she knows that this journey, is all the validation she'll ever really need.

roasted potatoes and cauliflower with eggs, shallots + parmesan

People often ask why I blog and in part, it's because of this. The very thing I'm doing right now. The sharing of stories and memories and sentiments. The journaling and chronicling and taking it all in. Sometimes, while searching for old recipes, I go back and read archived blog posts and think, YES! That day. It happened exactly like that! And I find myself laughing or crying or reading the entry to my children who seem truly fascinated by it all. Because this life, in all its uncertainty and mania and happiness and craziness, is precisely the way it’s supposed to be. It’s really hard to chalk things up to destiny or a grand plan that we are not privy to or even at times, something that we have relinquished control over. And so with that in mind, I try to enjoy that uncertainty and mania and happiness and craziness- even if I’m only able to do so from afar, after it’s already transpired. These posts allow me to relive the moment. To be in it once again which is such a magical gift I think. And most of the time, I’m able to come to it from a completely new perspective. I’m able to appreciate it in part because it’s already done and gone and I’ve moved past whatever it may have been that was troubling me. And I’m still standing. Able to talk about it or laugh about it or just simply take it for what it is. This blog has become the most thrilling documentation of both the mundane and the extraordinary.

And I am so grateful for it all. Truly.

I love weaving real stories about our life into this chit-chat about food. It's important for me to be authentic because years from now, if my children feel inclined to read these stories, I want them to know that it was real.

All of it.

I try not to be too fluffy about my life because my life doesn't often feel very fluffy. It feels hard at times, but mostly good. Most definitely good. I want to be mindful that my children will one day be teenagers with lives of their own and may want to maintain a bit of anonymity. So although I share stories about our life, I try not to get so personal that it might become embarrassing for them. It's hard to be real without being embarrassing.

Real life is embarrassing sometimes.

One of my biggest fears is that I’ll look back and realize that I did a lot of talking but not a lot of living. That I was too irritated or worried to be grateful for the experience of parenting or working or just being. And so for me, this journal gives me permission to be genuine in the most credible way. To share little morsels of my life while still staying true to who I am. That in the quest for happiness, I remember to pause and reflect and simply be happy. With all of the uncertainty and mania and happiness and craziness, I hope that light is still able to shine through. 

skillet banana bread pudding

My husband was on a business trip to Seattle recently and I told him that if given the opportunity, he must visit Delancey. I’ve been following the brilliant unfolding of this restaunrant since inception and I very seriously contemplated tagging along for this reason alone. And to see my childhood BFF Dawn of course who is only two short  hours away. Actually, had we arranged it better, she could have met me there and we would have been dashing off to Delancey every night for homemade pizza and hand-crafted cocktails. Dawn, why are we such poor planners? Why?

Anyway, I told my children they could sleep in our bed while he was away and as we all snuggled in one night, I could hear the faint sound of their sweet exhales as they drifted off to sleep. And I felt a rush of earnest gratitude. There were so many nights that I fell asleep with heartache and despair, not knowing if I’d ever have a child to love and hold and now, these two little beauties were asleep next to me.

I remembered the first time we brought Raphaelia home from the hospital. She was fast asleep in our bed one morning and Spiro picked up the camera and snapped photos of us. I was wearing a striped grey and white shirt and Raphaelia was in her finest onesie and our heads sort of peaked and met in a V. One of her little arms was reaching out and a teeny tiny finger touched my face as if to say: Hey there. We're a team now FYI.

The sheets were crumpled and my hair was pulled back and I looked ridiculously exhausted- even for someone already sleeping if you can imagine. That sort of zonked out slumber that only really happens when you are bone tired and your mouth hangs open slightly. 

That was me.

I remember looking at that photo and thinking how awful it was but now, it’s one of my favorites. It’s just so raw and honest and it’s a real representation of those early days of motherhood when you find yourself nursing endlessly and feeling utterly shattered with fatigue. I was so very fortunate though because I had an entire village of loving friends looking after me. And I am so grateful for their mid afternoon visits with baskets of homemade baked goods and decaffeinated hazelnut lattes. Oh I don't know, I suppose I also really enjoyed all the pampering too, I mean, who wouldn’t?

My friend Sarah, who had a baby only 5 weeks before me, came to visit one day and brought over the best orange cranberry muffins I'd ever had. The secret she said, was using the entire orange, rind and all. The recipe is genius because all of the ingredients are tossed into the food processor and left to mingle while you sip tea or tend to your newborn who you've realized, rather likes the sound of the buzzing food processor. So you do what any sane person in that situation would do and just keep the darn thing running for just a wee bit longer than required. 

The things we do. Honestly.
 
Ellina always came to visit with a loaf of her mom's famous banana bread, which incidentally, is the only banana bread I ever make. Period. If there was ever any left, which wasn't very often, I used to cube the loaf, leave it out over night to dry up a little, and then make a super scrumptious banana bread pudding with homemade chocolate drizzle.

It got to be that more often than not, I'd make banana bread with the sole intention of not eating it and using it instead as a base for this bread pudding. I used to make a small batch in a cast-iron skillet and then finish it off in the oven. The part that really makes it special I think, is the caramelizing of butter and brown sugar before the cubed pieces of banana bread are added. It creates this thick, beautiful syrup that is really the showstopper in this recipe. The entire pudding gets crispy and gooey and pretty fabulous but I must warn you, you’ll most definitely find yourself eating it by the spoonful directly out of the pan, which is to say, it’s a dangerous thing to have lying around.  

 My children like it with extra bananas on top!