My Purple Sky

“Is solace anywhere more comforting than in the arms of a sister?”

― Alice Walker

I have been thinking a lot about siblings lately, of the time and distance we share in the lives of some of those we hold our longest ties with. There have been a myriad of stories recently in my life from friends and their siblings– of weddings approaching, changes in life structure, moves, adjustments to how we relate. I had always been fascinated with siblings growing up and I always envied my friends with siblings before I had a sister of my own. When I was 6 or 7 I asked Santa for a sister once, I seemed to think one might appear one day if I just asked and somehow it did. I have vivid memories of the day my sister was born, the call that came and said it was a girl, the speedy drive across town, and the feeling of 8 pounds of new born weight in my arms the first time I held her less than 30 min old. One of my favorite photos is in black and white of me holding my swaddled sister and my mother looking over my shoulder and into my arms.

These thoughts about siblings which have been swimming in my mind for the past few weeks seem to carry through and meet at a fascinating point last weekend as I went to Oregon to visit my sister. I couldn’t run away from work, no matter how hard I tried, believe me—I tried! It followed me up the coast and found its way between my plans despite my determination to leave it behind. We made adjustments to my e-mails and phone calls and I found for a weekend what I found on the day I held my sister for the first time. There are those people who come into our lives and instantly make us feel as though we have come home, in their presence it is as if we have slipped into the comforting structure where we are at once our selves.  It had been a year since I had seen my sister, and yet by her side it felt like we were young girls again on our annual weekend getaway where we captured our mother’s undivided attention for a few short days.

We met up in Ashland at my godmother Annie’s house. We did nothing grand or spectacular but it felt like the most perfect way to spend time. Truth be told the weekend reflected some favorite pastimes and a few sprinklings of other activities throughout. We had fantastic meals starting with my sister’s first burrito from El Metate in almost 2 years. We proved that even at a rest stop along I-5 between Eugene and Grants Pass a burrito that is a day old, but coveted for years could be fantastic!

We had fresh baked goods in the morning with Annie, Mary and their sweet dog Yakut. We went to Morning Glory for brunch, not to be missed if you are in Ashland. We had a belated birthday dinner at Smithfields and I couldn’t get over my sister’s growing spirit of adventure when she ordered Pork Belly for the first time and loved it!

Between meals we strolled the streets of Ashland, poked our heads into shops, bought more cards than I will be able to send (but I do love these cards). We went to Jacksonville and browsed more shops along its pioneer looking streets.

We drove go-karts under gray skies and a faint rainbow, and played miniature golf.

We took drives along scenic roads, we strolled through nature along hills, and in honor of our mother we even paused on a bench in the sunshine amid the Jewish section of a cemetery.

We talked, we laughed. We spent time with new friends and with family.

But above all as Alice Walker said, we found solace once again in each other’s embrace. My sister’s smile will always now mean more than it once did, in her face I see more than just the realization of a dream for a sibling, but now I also see the closest approximation to the link with my mother.

Love,

Ra (aka Fillet)

Can’t we just run away sometimes? Doesn’t life get to be so much that all we can do is find a new place somewhere and hide in its unfamiliarity for a few hours or days? Life can get so full and demanding and all I can think sometimes is can’t I escape even for a weekend? I want to leave behind work and e-mails, my worried and over-analyzing mind, the crises that I see in the world. I was in the Bahamas when Baghdad fell and it felt surreal on those sandy tropical beaches to watch the news and know my cousin was in that far off sandy place that was at war. I couldn’t run away my first night in Spain when I got the call that my mother had suddenly died in her sleep at home. I couldn’t run away when I was in Belgium and the London bombs rocked Europe. I couldn’t run away then but sometimes when we are hanging on to life’s branches we can escape even if it’s just for a weekend.

I escaped the other weekend with my friend Gina. We set our sites on just a little time out of the city, some nature close by, a quaint town, and a rock ‘n’ roll motel! This is where you should start to listen to LOVE SHACK because that is where we ran to. Kate Pierson of the B52’s has a small motel that perfectly fit our bill. Outside of Woodstock by 12 miles and along a small river and rolling Catskill Mountains is Kate’s Lazy Meadow. It is a refurbished and completely retro, funky, fun, and oh so fabulous spot to run away from anything that you need to escape in your life.

The weekend was rainy but that didn’t stop us from having a great time. Sometimes a change of scenery is all you need – gray skies can seem less gray in a new location. We drove through picturesque settings of mist lifting off of small lakes surrounded by green trees. We strolled around Woodstock and shopped and meandered. We spent way too much time and money at a tea shop, and yet I could have spent a lot more of both (note to self—I LOVE tea shops!). We sat by a fire and drank wine late into the night and talked. We had breakfast at Sweet Sue’s in Phoenicia, oops, I was too excited about breakfast tacos and ricotta orange pancakes with fresh strawberries I never even thought to take a picture.

We had a great time, and I felt the life seep back into me in the sheer space of a new location. Our body and souls know what they need – we know when we are hungry, when we are thirsty, and when something needs to change. It’s not always easy to pay attention to what we are being told and sometimes all it needs is a little nourishment from a flowering tree and birds calling in nature. Sometimes we can run away and then we have to come back to life. Because we may be like the little bunny in Margaret Wise Brown’s book that wants to run away, but life is like the mother bunny that says “If you run away, I will run after you. For you are my little bunny.”

Happy escapes to you whatever they are.

Love,
Ra

PS – on the tarmac at JFK Friday for almost an hour as Enterprise landed atop a 747 right in front of my plane. Sometimes the window seat in life can bring pretty amazing views!

The tree outside of my bedroom and kitchen windows has finally grown leaves this past week. All winter its stark brown limbs have framed my views of the sky that shift from blue to yellow or indigo to gray depending on the time of day and weather. I see the tree as I chop, mix, slice or do anything in my kitchen. Yes, in the past few months I have spent way too much time observing this tree. Seemingly over night I noticed soft sprouts of green at its very tips, and how the next day there was fluttering of pale new leaves. There are also the Cherry Blossoms in the Botanic Garden, which transformed this week from not yet an idea to a profusion of pink blossoms, and now a cascade of confectionery snow. Yes, I have spent a lot of time here as well. I was going to begin by mentioning all of this lovely spring that is infusing my life, and how all I want to do is go and see a movie! The movie bug has bitten me. So I guess what I am saying really is nothing I wrote about above pertains to anything that comes below. But I hope spring is with you wherever you are…and I hope you make it to the movies, especially a few of these.

Love,

Ra

I went to see JIRO DREAMS OF SUSHI this past weekend and loved it. It is so much more than its parts, like any exquisite meal but especially sushi; it is the simplest seeming movement that is at its foundation the most complex and finely tuned structure of art. It is about dedication, love, and passion. It made me want to jump on a plane and return to Japan and it made me relish the experiences I had there.

I added KINSHASA SYMPHONY to the top of my Netflix saved list. It is a film about the only classic orchestra in Sub Saharan Africa. If follows the Orchestre Symphonique Kimbanguiste in the capital city of Kinshasa Democratic Republic of the Congo. It is about music and art and the power it has in people’s lives. It shows how regardless of what culture, language, and history we come from in the presence of art and music we are all brought back to our core humanity. The Orchestra itself is inspiring to me and the film has caught hold of my mind.

Since the first time I saw a poster for THE BEST EXOTIC MARIGOLD HOTEL
I have wanted to see this movie. All I can say is Dame Judi Dench, Dame Maggie Smith, Tom Wilkinson, Bill Nighy, Directed by John Madden, set in India…Yes please and thank you ever so much!

This damsel has been excited to see DAMSELS IN DISTRESS, its how I am spending a special Friday.

And to round out my seasonal list of film excitement is MOONRISE KINGDOM, the new film from Wes Anderson and Roman Coppola.

The title of this post says it all. Whether you hid the matzo or hunted for Easter Eggs this weekend I hope you found as many reasons to celebrate as I did.

My weekend looked a little something like this.

Easter was spent baking this delicious Artichoke Goat Cheese Tart with a Polenta Crust, the recipe I have included at the end of this post. My friend Jenni had a birthday, spring, and Easter brunch on Sunday and I have been looking for an excuse to make this delectable piece for a long time. The day was spent sipping spring cocktails blushing with pink and sparkling like the sunlight with Prosecco. There was a home made pound cake with berries, whip cream and crème fresh, the clinking of glasses and laughter. There is nothing like a lazy day spent around a communal table with friends and food.

Passover was spent getting ready to join Bari and family for Seder. I made a salad, matzo s’mores, and matzo with dark chocolate and pistachios. The Seder was the first Bari and Matthew ever hosted on their own and it was a tremendous night of food, tradition, laughter, and thanks to Asher some calisthenics. Sadly I forgot to bring my camera to the seder but I was having such a good time I doubt I would have even paused to snap any shots. One of the reasons I have always loved holidays like Passover is the connection to the untold vast communities across the globe gathering at the same time. It is the marking of time and tradition. It is the annual seder, the Yom Kippur fast, and lighting the Chanukah candles that makes me feel connected to a family lineage I barely know. I feel close to generations I never met and I feel certain in these moments that generations that come after me will continue in the same direction. I find it humbling to feel but a small speck in history and know at the same time that I am surrounded in my history by people I care about so deeply.

On most days I could find any number of reasons to be grateful; I was raised in a house that taught gratitude as much as it taught me to eat with my mouth closed. At the end of Saturday night Asher came up to me with his 2 bedtime stories to read to him, one on animals and one on San Francisco. With his small hand resting lightly on my knee we looked at pictures of Coit Tower, at cable cars climbing steep hills, and we discussed the difference between the Bay and Golden Gate Bridges. There is a section in the book about Golden Gate Park and part of it talks about the Buffalo in the park. I found myself telling Asher how when I was his age my mother used to take me to this park to look at these Buffalo, how they are still in the park and how I still go watch them. I caught myself for the first time talking about my mother with not a whisper of sorrow. I found myself remember the love my mother had for me and forgetting everything else. I discovered that perhaps this is partially the shape my relationship with her will take, not one of regret in the time missed as much as celebrating in the moments and memories we shared and sharing them with others. Asher’s wide eyes looked up and he asked the same question I had always asked my mom, what do the Buffalo eat (and for me if I could feed them). I found in just a few still moments that the love my mother felt for me was not lost on the night she died, but was left to share with generations she will never meet.

Maria Speck’s Artichoke Tart with Polenta Crust
This makes one 10-inch tart
 that is amazing! I adapted this ever so slightly.

Crust:
Ingredients:
1 1/2 cups low-sodium vegetable broth
1 1/4 cups water
1/2 teaspoon sea salt
1 1/4 cups polenta
1/2 cup (about 2.5 ounces) grated Parmesan cheese
1 large egg, room temperature
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Bring the broth and water to a boil in a heavy-bottomed saucepan over medium-high heat. Add the salt. Slowly add the polenta in a thin stream, whisking constantly, and continue whisking for 30 seconds. Decrease the heat to low and cover. Cook for 10 minutes, stirring every few minutes to keep the polenta from sticking to the bottom of the pot or clumping. Remove the saucepan from the heat and let sit, covered, for 10 minutes, stirring a few times.

Stir in the cheese, egg and pepper.

Grease a 10-inch tart pan or cake pan with olive oil. Spoon the polenta into the pan and press it out, pushing it up the sides. Set aside for 15 minutes and then form an even rim about 3/4 of an inch thick with moist fingers, pressing firmly. Don’t worry if the crust looks rustic.

Artichoke filling:
Ingredients:

1 cup plain Greek yogurt
2 large eggs
1/2 cup finely chopped scallions
1/4 teaspoon sea salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
12 ounces artichoke hearts, canned or frozen
1/2 cup (2 ounces) crumbled goat cheese
1/2 cup shredded Parmesan cheese

Put a rack in the center of the oven and heat to 375 F.

Whisk the yogurt, eggs, scallions, salt and pepper together until well combined.

Cut the artichoke hearts into quarters and distribute them evenly over the polenta crust. Sprinkle the goat cheese on top of the artichokes and pour the yogurt filling evenly over the artichokes. Sprinkle with the Parmesan cheese.

Bake the tart until the top turns golden brown and the filling is set, about 45 – 55 minutes. Transfer the pan to a wire rack and let cool for at least 20 to 40 minutes.

I made the tart in the morning and enjoyed it a few hours later at room temperature and it was a tremendous hit at the brunch.

Matzo S’mores

Ingredients:
Matzo
Chocolate
Marshmallows
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Arrange matzo on baking sheet, cover with chocolate chips. Bake until chocolate starts to melt, this takes perhaps 5 – 8 minutes. Remove from oven and spread chocolate across matzo. Place matzo in refrigerator until set.

Melt another ½ of chocolate in the microwave or double boiler. When matzo is set break into pieces about 2 inch square, take half of the matzo and with the unchocolate side facing up drizzle the melted chocolate to make a pattern, this will become the lid or top to your matzo s’mores.

Toast marshmallows on tin foil lined cookie sheet in the broiler until they are at your liking – golden or burnt. Be very mindful because this does not take long, and goes from golden to burnt to holy cow the oven is on fire in less than five minutes (yes I did all three).

Remove marshmallows from broiler and make a s’mores with your chocolate matzos. Enjoy!

Dark Chocolate And Pistachio Matzo Bark

Ingredients:
4 Pieces Salted Matzo
2 Cups Dark Chocolate
1/3 cup of Pistachios chopped

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Arrange matzo on baking sheet, cover with chocolate chips. Bake until chocolate starts to melts, this takes perhaps 5 – 8 minutes. Remove from oven and spread chocolate across matzo.

Sprinkle pistachios.

Place in refrigerator until set. Break into pieces and store in tin in refrigerator.

Spring keeps teasing us here in the northeast; it comes for a few days, entices us, and then it shyly retreats leaving us to wear long sleeves again.  We have had some perfect spring-could-be-here weekends. I can’t get enough of it at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden where every day it seemed a new bud opened; the air was perfectly scented of a perfume I have sought my entire life and have yet to find in a bottle. I felt inspired to start spring cooking and baking.

Then I left New York early last week for 30 hours of work in Denver, where they were also in the lush glow of an early spring with warm air deep into the evening. I returned to New York to find the spring I had left behind was coyly hiding again behind gray and cooler skies. This weekend has been a reminder of what we will soon leave behind with damp clouds overhead.

This past Saturday was my mother’s birthday and feeling that tug of spring I decided to bake a lemon cake that would bring the sun out of hiding from anywhere. The recipe I decided on came from one of my favorite cookbooks Fuel for your Family; it is a cookbook I picked up in a small wool and local goods shop in South Canterbury New Zealand. I love everything I have made from this cookbook from a vegetable crumble perfect for the heart of winter, to a carrot feta and harissa salad, and a chocolate bread and butter pudding with honey-roasted pairs. Yum, I will have to share all of these recipes here someday.

The cake I decided on was a simple one. One of the things I like about this cookbook is that it celebrates simple food cooked well but is about the age old from farm (or sea) to table approach. The cake itself is light and airy with just a suggestion of lemon and the glaze or syrup that goes over it is like a perfect glass of lemonade—the compliment of sweet and tart with the scent of fresh lush lemon. It sings of spring and light and I do believe if it can’t call the sun out it will at least make you believe the sun never was far away. I know my mother would have loved this cake. I listened to her friend Bloch’s cd of music she made annually for my mother’s birthday, this one with If I Had A Million Dollars, Feeling Good Again, and Hallelujah on it.

I hope spring is finding all of you and I encourage you to break out those baking pans if it has or hasn’t and bake yourself a little piece of spring with this cake!

~ Ramona

Lemony Lemon Cake:

The only draw back of using this cookbook is the entire thing is in metric, which means I have to do math while baking, always a little tougher than a simple follow directions. I have included both the original metric and the amount I used below.

Ingredients:

Cake:

125 grams (1/2 a cup or 1 stick) of butter

250 grams (1 cup – I ran a little light on sugar as I tend to) of castor sugar

2 eggs

185 grams of self-rising flour (I used 1 cup flour and 1 teaspoon baking powder with pinch of salt)

½ cup milk

Zest of 2 lemons

Glaze:

60 grams (1/4 cup) castor sugar

Juice of 2 lemons

Preheat oven to 180 degrees Celsius (350 Fahrenheit). Grease a loaf pan. Cream butter and sugar together. Add eggs, one at a time and beat after each addition. Sift flour; add alternately with the milk (I did this as a ¼ cup of flour and a ¼ teaspoon of baking powder and a pinch of salt alternated with an 1/8 of a cup of milk) to the butter, sugar and egg mixture. Add lemon zest and mix well. Pour mixture into tin and bake for 40 to 45 min (mine took closer to 50 min), or until a skewer comes out clean.

While cake is baking mix lemon juice with extra castor sugar and set aside. Do this early so the sugar can partially dissolve.

When cake is cooked, leave in tin and pour lemon/sugar mix over cake while still warm. Leave to cool before slicing. Enjoy it with a big smile.

A few years ago my godmother Annie moved up to Ashland, Oregon. I have always loved Ashland; it is a charming city just across the California border that is truly like nowhere else I have ever been. Ashland is famous for its Shakespeare Festival, and the entire town is centered on this. In the summer, people are decked out in Elizabethan costumes and roaming the streets before performances. It used to make me think the entire town was either a Renaissance Faire, the way England actually was, or just this really trippy throw back. All of this to say I have loved Ashland for a long time.

My time in this peculiar little town that seems in a world of its own started when my 8^th grade class went for our graduation trip. We froze in the outdoor theater as we watched TAMING OF THE SHREW under the stars, we walked through Lithia Park, we went spelunking in the nearby Oregon Caves; it was our last days of grammar school. The next time I returned I was a Junior in High School, we saw a modern HAMLET scale scaffolding, listened to jazz at Southern Oregon University, and had a midnight pool party and got permanently kicked out of the hotel facilities; for a moment I had an idea what I thought lay ahead of me in college.

After returning from what I thought was a life-changing trip, I applied to a summer internship program for high school students between their junior and senior years at Oregon Shakespeare Festival. I was 16 and I thought I had my life planned out, oh my god was I stupid, one couldn’t count the number of times I have thought I had my life planned out only to realize you can’t plan for life because it’s going to change a whole lot. But I was 16 and pretty crazy about Ashland. And very likely that is the path my life might have taken. It will always be the possible parallel universe for me and I’m pretty sure in that universe I go by my middle name of Sky and I probably eat millet.

But despite my enthusiasm I didn’t get into the high school program at Ashland Shakespeare Festival, and it crushed me. Despite my mother asking me to make other plans for that summer, I had banked on this one road and it came to a sudden end with a letter that said I was on the alternate list. I sulked in my room and felt certain they would regret not admitting me. At dinner that night my stepfather Charlie said something that has always stuck with me. It was a Tuesday night so it was just Charlie, my sister, and I around our weekly meal of hot dogs, beans, and carrots and cucumber that Charlie called “salad”. Charlie looked up from his Hebrew National and said, “Hey Ra I am really sorry you didn’t get in…” I felt so close to him in that instant, and then he continued, “I never got rejected from anything in my life…” I wanted to kill him in this instant (I was 16 after all) and then he continued, “But I think it is better that you tried and didn’t get in, than me never having tried.” And then a silence sliced the table as he took a bite of “salad”; I knew it was important what he said. I knew he was right. I knew it SUCKED to get that letter and I knew I wouldn’t get asked up to Ashland that summer, but I also knew the world was bigger than this, and my life would grow to meet the world in size.

As it turned out that summer I broke my foot. I wouldn’t have been able to go to Ashland in the end anyway. My dad found a great theater program that I continued in for the next year and a half through when I left for college. I didn’t apply to Southern Oregon University, I thought if I am going to leave home go for it, shake this town and try for the Big Apple, or slightly north by about 45 min.

This is all a very long story to say it had been years since I had been to Ashland when Annie moved up there but I was excited to return. The town hasn’t changed much, the Youth Hostile I stayed at in 8^th grade is still there with their porch swing, the motel where we got kicked out of the pool is still open for business in the summer months, the people in Elizabethan garb still gathering on the street. I was happy to return and be reassured by the dependability of this city to charm me and to stay true so much later down the path. And I was happy to know with half a life perspective that not getting in was probably a good thing for me.

One of our first days on that trip before heading to a Tashi Choling Center for Buddhist Studies (where I took the photos in this post), we stopped in one of the cute cafes along Main Street. They had these vegan pumpkin muffins with their domes covered in pumpkin seeds, I couldn’t say no and I am glad I didn’t. Ever since that trip I have made Vegan Pumpkin Muffins at home and thought of Annie, Ashland, and the road not taken. Recently I have spiked up the “alternate universe” play with these and adapted the recipe to include (no not millet) but whole grain spelt flour along with regular flour; I also decrease the sugar and split the sugar with a little agave. Trust me they are delicious!!

I am glad my life has taken many of the turns it has, and I am glad each time I return to Ashland and think about the other ways my life could have played out.

I hope you enjoy these muffins (don’t let the healthy stuff scare you they are great!). I hope you find that you are able to visit the roads not taken. I hope you take many chances in life, and I hope there are only a few rejection letters; here I have to remind myself these too are necessary.

~ Ramona

Ingredients:

1 cup all-purpose flour
¾ cup whole wheat spelt flour
½ cup sugar
¼ cup brown sugar
1 tablespoon baking powder
¼ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground or freshly grated nutmeg
½ teaspoon ground ginger
Pinch ground cloves
1 cup pureed pumpkin (Fresh or from a can but be careful not to use pumpkin pie mix)
½ cup soy milk (you could also use almond milk – or make them non vegan and use regular milk)
½ cup vegetable oil
1 tablespoon light agave
Raw unsalted pumpkin seeds

Directions:

Preheat oven to 400°F. Lightly grease a twelve-muffin tin.

Sift together flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, and spices.

In a separate bowl, whisk together pumpkin, soymilk, oil, and agave.

Pour the wet ingredients into the dry and mix.

Fill the muffin cups two-thirds full. Sprinkle a few pumpkin seeds on each muffin.

Bake for 18 to 20 minutes, until a toothpick or knife inserted in the center comes out clean.

This is a bit of a throw back blog post from a trip I took to New Zealand’s South Island a few years ago. For me it is a splendid way to look back at my dog eared, highlighted Lonely Planet, the notes I took, the memories I jotted on daily post cards to myself, and countless photos that I too often find myself transported by. The reason for the post now is because I am missing the road, and more importantly my friend Carol is about to take a trip to this remarkable country. So sit back, pour yourself a glass of pinot noir, and I hope you enjoy these meanderings through all things I love NZ!

It is hard to remember or imagine New Zealand without one single word—Lupine! It was the first thing that fully took my breath away and continued to mesmerize me for the rest of the time there. As a child, a favorite book in our house was MISS RUMPHIUS Story and Pictures by Barbara Cooney. It is a delightful tale of Miss Rumphius who as a young girl promises her grandfather that when she grows up she will travel the world, and then find a little cottage by the sea; her grandfather adds that she should also ‘do something to make this world more beautiful’. Miss Rumphius does travel the world and she does settle by the sea and the joy of the book is in how she makes the world more beautiful. Illustrated in stunning water colors many of the pages hold brilliant images of lupine in the brightest shades of blushing pink, vivid violet, periwinkle, and forget me not blue. Our family loved Miss Rumphius, also known as the Lupine Lady! New Zealand felt like slipping somehow into a childhood fantasy fairy tale, though finding myself awake.

We had no definite plans on arriving, we actually had no plans, causing me some fear upon departure but being assured by many that New Zealand is the place to just show up and it will move you. The land takes precedence and it shows you the way, it wanders from snow-capped mountains to lush rain forest, from dramatic sea cliffs to glaciers all within a few hours drive of each other.

We woke up our first morning to a breathtaking double rainbow over Christchurch and then started our adventure heading towards the South Canterbury region. It didn’t take long to discover that one word Lupine, growing everywhere wild and free and in countless shades I had seen painted in tender watercolor only more vivacious when alive. We made Lake Tekapo with its crystal turquoise waters framed by the Southern Alps our first stop. We hiked up Mount John to take in expansive vistas of beauty stretching into distant views of more beauty. We dipped into hot pools nestled beneath native trees as the sun set at Alpine Springs & Spa. And here is the one travel advisory to most of New Zealand but especially smaller towns like Lake Takepo; when they say closing hours they mean it. Dinner service was noted in our books as ending at 9PM, when we tried to get a seat for dinner at 8:30PM we were turned away (it’s not New York down there). Don’t fret, we had lovely leftovers from our farmers market lunch, dining al fresco on baguette and honey (ohhhhhhhhh that HONEY, eat a lot of this), along with a bottle of wine and some strange pink dessert that resembled a hostess snowball, under a phosphorescent full moon and the Southern Cross in the skies.

After winding and winning our way through the vineyards of Central Otago, pinot yes please! We settled for the next few days in Queenstown.

Queenstown is a city one has to see to believe, you probably have seen it in any number of movies, but to believe it you have to sit by Lake Wanaka, partake in some adventures (it is the adrenaline capital of the world), and marvel at the views from atop one of the many peaks that surround this wonder of a city. The city is welcoming and has the charm and feel of a small town while having all of the offerings of urban center! For us the days were filled with paragliding off of Coronet peak, slowly circling the craggy cliffs and kicking my feet at the tops of high trees while staring down at butterflies quietly shaking their wings in slants of sunlight. There wasn’t enough heart pulsing activities for us so we also took the plunge at Nevis Arc (remember the video here). If you happen to find yourself in Queenstown, and I hope you do, here are a few things to certainly keep in mind and check out. We stayed at Coronation Lodge and loved it, overlooking the Queenstown Gardens and a close walk to the center of town. We had our own kitchen and could sit on a charming veranda and look out over green trees silhouetted by mountains, and blue skies. Patagonia Chocolates has amazing Ice Cream to be savored while walking along Lake Wanaka or sitting beside its shores and pinching yourself because you will be pretty certain this has to be some kind of a dream. And then there is the one thing I still yearn for—Fergburger. I still ask if we can make a return trip to NZ just so we can drop into this spot, yes it is that good. There will be a line, it is worth it for a juicy delicious bite along with a glass of wine or beer, and everything will just melt away with the grease that will inevitably be lingering on your fingers, that is of course until you lick each and every one of them.

We dove deeper into the natural wonder of what was unfurling before us, nature in its biggest most bold and declaring grandeur. We drove through Fiordland, walked among what seemed like prehistoric greenery, and then were hit with the full impact of Milford Sound! Opening out to the Tasman Sea and almost seeming to grow from the depths of the very ocean is the cliffs that stud and comprise the Milford Sound. Waterfalls cascading, trees growing inconceivably in every form, sheer cliffs, the distant sound of waves beyond the narrow opening, birds careening and calling that this is spectacular; such are the views on a clear day at the edge of the greatest natural beauty I can easily recall.

With our limbs stretched from adventure and our eyes popping from the seemingly endless views of nature we continued our journey heading towards the west coast and the glaciers. The west coast feels like some magical far flung place in another time. We made the small and quaint town of Franz Josef our home base for the next leg of our trip. We hiked the base of Franz Josef glacier and jumped over rivers that crash into the not so distant rugged Tasman Sea. As the mist rolled out over mountains we ate fish and chips from newspaper the way it is meant to be enjoyed. And then the crowning moment of the trip, what has remained perhaps one of the most splendid moments of my travel days – we kayaked across Lake Mapourika and through a pristine rain forest at dusk. There is a photo our guide took as we paddled back to land, – it appears as if in silhouette the mountains with the evening clouds slowly descending and a line of trees by the shore, if you look closely along the still water there is a group of kayakers. At the time I wasn’t aware a photo had been taken, but I remember that moment perfectly. It was one of the last nights on the trip I remember pausing alone in my kayack across this view and knowing with unwavering certainty that there was great wonder to be had in this world. I remember the fading light in this twilight scene, the cool air, and silently thanking a million things that had brought me to this place. I have gone back to this photo countless times and it brings up those feelings instantaneously. It was nothing short of magic. New Zealand is full of that – magic and nature and moments of reverie.

At a café one day we came across a small quote by Shakespeare, “One touch of nature makes the world kin.” If lupine is the image I keep of this incredible, diverse, stunning land than this is the phrase. Something was unlocked within me in New Zealand, just what remains to be seen; but I know that I returned a different person then I left. It is unassuming yet more powerful than it takes credit for. The nature is mind blowing, the people are the friendliest you could ever meet, and in everything that New Zealand reveals in its views and unannounced grandeur it is forever a place where I will return in my mind and be grateful for the moments of grace that I found myself a part of there.

Have a great trip Carol, I wish I was going with you. Dip your fingers, some bread, a slice of apple, anything you can find into the honey, bring a lot of memory for your camera, and know that this place stays with you in your dreams and in your imagination forever.

Love,

Ra

PS – if you would like to kayak as we did on the lake in Franz Josef we used Glacier Country Tours & Kayaks

The Oscars is one of my favorite nights of the year. It’s not the celebrity watching, the fine clothes, or the long speeches that get me every time (although I do love all of this); it’s the movies and the love of them that all started with my mother but more aptly with her father. My grandfather was an actor; he was in over 100 movies and 1,000 TV shows and commercials. People are usually surprised when they hear this and they ask if they have seen him in anything. “Why yes”, I say, “if you have seen – BLAZING SADDLES, HELLO DOLLY, PLEASE DON’T EAT THE DAISIES, or LET’S MAKE LOVE. But if you blink in most of these you might miss him.” He was a character actor, in fact, a character in life, but he was proud to have made a living in the movies. He was more proud of his profession than anything, including his family; my mom and I used to joke that he didn’t understand what family was; he treated us like agents or managers – sending press clippings with silly notes that said “check out what this old man is still up to.” He was married about 7 times and I think the only steady thing he had in his life was the movies. At the end of his life most of his phone conversations with my mother centered on what movies they had both seen and if they were any good.

With this, it should be apparent that I love the movies for everything they are – entertaining, creative, enlightening; but I also feel a strange sense that it is just who I am and where I come from. After my grandfather died, my mom and I spent many a night together curled on the couch watching BLAZING SADDLES the way other families watch home videos. We would share stories he had once told about the filming of this movie or that show. He lives on in my life through his “work” and in my appreciation for the arts more than in the role of grandfather, which was a part he never took to heart.

With such a long personal history to the movies it is no wonder I have an equally long connection to the Academy Awards. For me the Oscars remain inseparable with my mother. For having grown up in such a busy house and with a mother who was the center of so many converging worlds and circles, the Oscars were the only night of the year I could be certain of her undivided attention. She would cancel all appointments. We would roll the TV out of the closet, only happening for this night and the World Series for my Dad and Zelda. The Oscars were sacred in our house. My mother would tell people they couldn’t come over, and the one year we had 13 college students living in our dining and living room, my mother made my father vacate his house so she and I could watch alone from his living room.

This was many years ago when the Oscars used to be on Monday nights. This was the only night of the year I can remember my mother picking me up early from whatever project or school event I was involved in. It was the only night of the year we would stop and pick up a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken (it could still be called that back then). We would get a six-pack of Diet Pepsi and a pint of Haagen-Dazs Chocolate Ice Cream. My mom would unplug the phone and we would settle in to the blue couch for the evening.

I remember those years not just on this one night, because it was more than the Oscars she shared with me, it was all of movies and her view of the world she imparted onto me. By her side she would tell me about Elia Kazan and the black list from the House Committee on Un-American Activities, she taught me about Lillian Hellman. She raged the year Barbara Streisand wasn’t nominated for Best Director of PRINCE OF TIDES. She challenged me to look at the art and not the artist. She would know each film and write down the movies I had to see to better my understanding – IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT, CASABLANCA, ANNIE HALL, She would tell me the Directors she admired (John Cassavetes, Ingmar Bergman, Alejandro González Iñárritu,). She knew the names of all the actors and actresses. Some families pass on carefully constructed family trees, my grandfather passed on his love of the movies and my mother continued the branch onto me.

I like to think of my mother and grandfather when I go to movies now. I like to imagine what I would say to them and what I think they would have thought themselves. There were so many wonderful movies this year, and on more occasions than I can list, they made me fondly close my eyes and remember the family I come from. The delight and sheer uplift of watching THE ARTIST; the emotional punch of A SEPARATION; and the tangible grief and sense of continuing life in THE DESCENDANTS.

Happy Oscar watching!

Ramona

Today I happened upon this website for EAT. PRAY. MOVE. Yoga Holiday Retreats, and now I can’t stop thinking or fantasizing about taking one! This one in particular!

All day I have had a smile on my face and a lightness to my step thinking about the idea of sun salutations, downward dogs, and cobras under the Moroccan Sky! I want to smell the deeply spiced air of Marrakesh while I meditate. I love the feeling of hope that comes with thinking of a potential trip. The first seed of a dream that gets planted.

Does anyone want to join me? If not I hope imagining it brings you as much joy as it has it has brought me today.

Namaste,

Ramona

I love Chocolate! I love chocolate in almost any form it will come – a molé, a cake, melted to cover or dip fruit in, ice cream, a bar, a cup – you know what I mean. Sometimes life just needs a little more chocolate in it, and along came this cookie. Anne sent me the recipe a little before Christmas, before I had found my new apartment, before I had a kitchen to bake anything in. But I read the recipe and held onto it knowing the first chance I had I would bake these.

They are more than chocolate; they are Chocolate Nutella Thumb print cookies. I am also a big fan of the thumb print cookie, I find it loads of fun to sink my finger into the round lump of dough, bake it, and then fill the indented valley with more yumminess, in this case Nutella. I had a Dutch roommate one summer who introduced me to Nutella; she would take Nutella and thickly slather it over a piece of bread and then cover it with chocolate sprinkles. I thought that took it a bit far for first thing in the morning but from then on I was an avid fan of Nutella.

With my aforementioned devotion to chocolate it must be said these cookies are a little on the chocolate overload meter – not for the faint of chocolate heart. They are delicious but they are rich and they fill your chocolate void in a small delectable few bites.

Chocolate Nutella Thumbprint Cookies:

I think this recipe came from the newspaper, originally from Huntsberg and Willis of Whisked! In Washington.

Ingredients:

1 cup flour

½ cup natural unsweetened cocoa powder, sifted

1 teaspoon kosher salt

8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, at a very soft room temperature

½ cup sugar, + 2 tablespoons separated for dusting (the recipe called for double this but I am a fan of cutting back on sugar where and when I can)

1 large egg yolk, at room temperature

1 tablespoon heavy cream

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

½ cup Nutella

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper or a silicone liner.

Whisk together the flour, cocoa powder and salt in a small bowl.

Combine the butter and ½ cup of sugar in the bowl of a stand mixer or hand-held electric mixer. Beat for about 2 minutes on low speed, until fluffy, then add the egg yolk, cream and vanilla extract; beat on low speed until combined. Add the flour mixture and beat until just incorporated.

Place the remaining sugar in a shallow bowl.

Scoop heaping tablespoons of dough onto the baking sheets, I got about 24 from this recipe. Shape each mound of dough into a ball, then roll it in the remaining sugar to coat evenly. Space the balls 2 inches apart on the baking sheets, then use your thumb to make an indentation in the top of each cookie, gently flattening the cookies a bit as you work.

Bake one sheet at a time for 10 minutes or until the edges are just set; the tops of the cookies will be soft. (If the indentations have lost definition, press the centers again immediately after you remove the cookies from the oven.) Transfer the baking sheet to a wire rack to cool. Pipe or spoon the Nutella into the center of each cookie while the cookies are still slightly warm.

The other way I have been spending my days lately has been catching up on a list of reading. To start my current bed side list looks like this.

THE SPIRIT CATCHES YOU AND YOU FALL DOWN, By Anne Fadiman; BIRD BY BIRD, By Anne Lamott; SUPER NATURAL EVERY DAY: Well-loved Recipes from My Natural Foods Kitchen, By Heidi Swanson; MY FATHER’S DAUGHER: Delicious, Easy Recipes Celebrating Family & Togetherness, By Gwyneth Paltrow.

Happy Choco-loting and Reading,

Ramona