I Love Your Face

"Mi piace la tua el faccia"

Cheat sheet

I have been a photographer my whole adult life. I have photographed thousands of people. I have found it so easy and fulfilling to photograph children, but adults are usually a little trickier. However I am always confident that I will get the shot. Part of the reason is that I have mad connecting-with-other-people skills. I really do. But one of the ways I am able to make a connection with someone is by talking with them.  

When I first landed in Italy, I instantly fell in love a hundred times before I even left the airport. But not with another person, necessarily but with the language tumbling off their tongues, with their fashionable outfits, with their architecture, with their laid back rules, with their appreciation of everything beautiful, with their food, drink, way of life and their FACES. 

I knew right away that my first sentence I needed to learn was going to be, "I love your face".

Fast forward to a beautiful afternoon in Pisa, my eyes bulging from the beauty, my jaw dragging on the ground, my words not even coming out right in English because I was so speechless by the things I was seeing. I was focusing my camera down a spectacular street across from the tower to get this shot:

Then I noticed the two guys waving at me in the doorway, so of course I had to go make friends. Before I knew it a group of them had gathered in the door and I needed to tell them that I loved their faces!

   Luckily one of them spoke a little English and translated my sentence for me while the others flirted and surely thought I was a crazy American girl while I photographed them. 
And so I learned my only Italian sentence:
"Mi Piace la tua el faccia".

And another thing I learned was:
Adults love to hear that you love their face. 
Every person who heard those words from me beamed. They laughed at my poorly pronounced Italian, they blushed a little, got a sparkle in their eye and I got the shot. 

Here are some of my favorite faces from my journey:

  And one more thing that I learned from speaking 
my new sentence: 
I need to keep using it. I want to continue to see into the faces that I pass in the street or interact with during the day. I want them to know that I love their face. I want to give them the same smile and sparkle in their eye and a little boost of love to carry them on their way.
Hey you: 
I love your face.
Pass it on...

quote of the day:

“His dress told her nothing, but his face told her things which she was glad to know".

A.A. Milne

I'm having this dream...

Central Park NYC - 3.2015

I'm having this dream. It begins like any other day. I kiss the faces of my three amazing children, I am kissed by an amazing man that has fallen out of the sky and into my cafe and my life. I work, I feed people, I make art, I make connections. I am fed by nature and love. Things are good and pretty simple and a lot of fun. It is always warm and there is always someone around to laugh with. A dog sleeps next to me in my mushy, comfy bed. Life is really really good. And still I know that there is a whole world out there full of even more of the same goodness that already fills every day of my life. I know that I have a hunger for it. I know that from somewhere deep within me, I have a craving, a calling, an itch, a need. 
And here's where the dream gets crazy...
I'm on the streets of New York City. The wind claws through the layers of sweaters, jackets and scarves and bites down on skin, heart, blood. But not viciously - it's a sexy bite meant to say: You are alive, flesh, blood, bone. My eyes seem to open wider and I actually see more. I look into the endless river of faces that flow past me on these frozen streets and I see them. Our eyes are not supposed to meet - some rule I heard about long ago - but they do anyway. And I see humanity, a story, a life being lived. And then they are gone, floating away on their own path. More flow to me. Old, young, angry, busy, fancy, important, insecure, confident, young, old, young, old...
And I am cold. But the cold on my skin makes me know that I am very, very alive. And then I realize that I have walked all the way to Times Square, where everything is larger than life. TV's on the sides of buildings broadcast 100 foot tall images: faces, products, places. They flash in an endless reel of lights and colors. Below, cops congregate on the corner, protestors gather for peace, steam rises from below the streets. People continue to rush from here to there, there to here. And I stop for a glass of whiskey. 
And then suddenly I am in Central Park and everything is this amazing stark palette of white and grey and brown. There is snow everywhere and none of the trees have their leaves. Their branches like arms spread to the heavens. And I am there in the midst of this whole other world. I walk and walk and walk and I am wide open, and it fills me and some of it spills out of my eyes because I simply can't contain it. There is too much love to keep it all in. There are words of appreciation and birthday wishes and praise and well wishes that have also been poured into me and I am this vessel that begins to overflow right there in Central Park.
And then I realize that I am not alone. The man that kisses my face has led me here. I see him walking next to me for blocks and blocks past rows and rows of buildings and stores and the endless sea of people and I feel like it's all for me and I can't figure out why. I spend a lot of the dream somewhere between being completely in the moment, to watching it all from a distance. I feel incredibly connected but equally far away. 
And then I wake up.
The wind is raging outside my window and I can tell that the air outside of my heavy blankets is cold. The shutters bang quietly inside but somewhere outside things crash in the wind. I step out of bed and my bare feet touch the cold stone floor of a castle in Italy, on the hillside in Tuscany. I stumble around trying to find a light. I layer on shawls and scarves and walk out into my quarters. There is an unfinished bottle of chianti on the counter, a row of white espresso cups line an antique hutch and the wind continues to rage in the courtyard. 
I pull out my journal and write about driving too fast down ancient streets of Florence, eating fresh pasta recommended by a waiter named Rafaele and feeling the rain coming down from the Italian sky. And I realize It's only been one day. The dream is my reality. I breathe in the cold air and I exhale a breath of pure life. I am filled with gratitude like I have never known. Thankful for all that exists in my world and the world that I walk through. Thankful for the arm that hooks into mine and leads me through streets and adventures. I decide to absorb every moment of this dream and we set out to dickwolf Italy...

Castle Rooftop - Tuscany Italy - 3.2015

Castle Rooftop - Tuscany Italy - 3.2015

A new word for your collection

A message from my kitchen chalkboard

I would like to introduce you to a word that I invented last year. When I tell you what it is, you're going to think it's something dirty. But it's not. And as with most things, I have over used it to the point where my children cringe when I way it. But I don't care. It's a perfect word in my eyes, and that's probably because of it's meaning.
It's a word that has evolved and become its own creature. 

Dickwolfing.
Yes, that's the word, the word is dickwolfing.
And it's not what you think. 

What are you thinking? That would be funny to know. 

Before I define this wonderful word, I want to tell you a story. 

My brother from another mother is from Morocco. He has a pretty distinct accent and his use and knowledge of the English language always cracks me up. Sometimes he hears a word in English and he makes it more fun just by the way he says it. 

He and his wife used to watch Law and Order and sometimes at the end of an episode they would shout in exasperation at the T.V. "Dick Wolfe!!" as the credits rolled and named the producer; 
none other than Mr. Dick Wolf. 

Stay with me, It's all gonna make sense in a minute. 

This brother of mine is also my dear friend who gave me my cafe. 
There were times early on when we would be working together in the kitchen and he would just say it. "Dick Wolf!!!", in his thick accent, and it always made me laugh. 
Then there were other times when he would come through my back door and say his customary statement: "I'm hungry".  And would then begin eating and drinking anything in sight, and like a tornado, he would blow in, wolf down everything and then leave. 

I told him he was like a wolf. 
I started to call him Dick Wolf. 
Then it became a verb: dickwolfing

When the word dickwolfing makes it into the dictionary, it will have nothing to do with the producer, although I'm thankful for his wonderful name. It will look something like this:
dickwolfing
/dik wulfing/
verb
1. to voraciously put food and drink into one's mouth with great pleasure and enthusiasm.
2. to voraciously consume any thing, person, place, or experience with great pleasure and enthusiasm.

SO, as you can see. This word is awesome. But even better than the word itself, actually dickwolfing something is even more satisfying. And this is why I feel the need to share this word with the world. I would like to encourage you to unleash 
your own inner wolf. 

Here are some rules and suggestions for dickwolfing.

1. Definitely dickwolf food and beverages. Especially if there is booze involved. 

2. Do not worry about consequences of overindulgence or calories or reputation or any of that nonsense. This is dickwolfing we're talking about, not dieting or acting in a responsible manner. This is very important to remember.  There's a time to dickwolf and a time to be responsible. You decide.

3. Remember, you can dickwolf anything. You know that cute guy that you've been hanging out with as a friend but you know there's something more to it? DICKWOLF HIM. Do not be afraid.

You know that party you've been invited to and you know it might  be awkward and boring but you're committed to going? DICKWOLF THAT THING. Bring your fun friends, go in there, jack the music, get the conga line going, get people out of their chairs, dance, make some new friends and then leave. THAT is dickwolfing at it's finest. 

Dickwolfing means swimming after hours in a pool that's not yours, and getting yelled at and running. Dickwolfing is when you see a bridal party at a bar and you go over and make that party even better. Dickwolfing is when you look someone in the eye and say the thing you want to say even if it scares you. Even if it's brutally honest. Even if it's "I love you".

4. It's very possible to dickwolf something and savor it at the same time. So savor it. Savor every tasty, dangerous, gluttonous bit of it. 

5. Repeat steps 1-4 often. When you're with your people and when you're alone. When you're at home and when you're out exploring the world. 

Which brings me to the whole reason I wanted to share THIS word with you at THIS time.

It's time to dickwolf the world. It is for me anyway. 

Obviously you can see from the contents of this blog that I have been dickwolfing things long before I gave birth to the word. 

But this is my year. In a few months I will set out on some new adventures across this amazing planet of ours - (More details about that later).

And so, I consider all of this my training, and I will share many more adventures while I swig and grind my way through life. 

Look out world, you are about to be dickwolfed. 

Quote of the Day:

“I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.”

Aldous Huxley, Brave New World

 

Be Careful What You Ask For

Hello Food Friends. It's been awhile! Again. 

I've missed you and this spot that exists to talk about food and the way it connects us together. Although I haven't been active here, I have been spinning many other plates - literally and figuratively. 

If I were to choose a word for the last couple of years it would, without a doubt be: Reinvention. 

At first I didn't truly realize this was an option for me, I didn't even have a relationship with the word. But now we're close. 

Reinvention comes, much like invention, from necessity, but also from a place of freshness and possibility.

I like what Miriam-Webster has to say on the subject:

re.in.vent

1: to make as if for the first time something already invented

2: to remake or redo completely

3: to bring into use again

And so, the story is about this girl, who grew up around gatherings of family and friends and food, with parents who had a restaurant, and food constantly on her brain.

She was a weird kid who, while most kids were making an after school snack of instant ramen, she was making lamb chops and sauteed mushrooms.   

She eventually tapped into her creativity in the form of photography and the written word. While photographing children and families paid the bills, photographing and writing about food became an exciting outlet. 

She became good at cooking because she was really just very good at eating. 

She always laughed off the comments of friends that she "really should open a restaurant" because she grew up in one and knew how much work it really is.

And then reinvention started to gain momentum. 

When her life changed around her and she began questioning the kind of work that really made her happy, A New Years Eve conversation happened where she said to a chef friend, "maybe I should just get a job in a kitchen". To which he said, "Well the money is actually in waiting tables, if you want to get into the restaurant business." 

But no, she said, that isn't it. "I want to cook. I want to chop stuff in the kitchen".

Fast forward two years to a conversation with a friend who had a little cafe in a residential condo building. She was hired to design his new restaurant and during the process he offered her his Cafe. He would remain involved, but gives it to her to change the menu, the decor, the name, she is free to reinvent it and herself in the process. Just like that. It wasn't something she could say no to.  

At first this seemed like it was out of left field and materialized out of nowhere. I mean, who has this kind of stuff happen to them? She does. Then she remembered her New Year's conversation, her childhood, and her new found appreciation of reinvention, and it all made sense. 

It's like she's making for the first time a restaurant girl that already existed. Although she is being remade and redone completely, she's really just bringing into use again all those skills from before. It is reinvention, for sure. But is also a coming home. 

And so here I am. 

A girl with a cafe. 

People actually pay to eat my food. 

And they like it!

And they keep coming back!!

And most importantly, I'm really having fun. 

 My Menu is basically the kind of food I cook at home. 

Healthy, Hearty, Homemade, Real Food. 

I serve pizzas, sandwiches, salads, coffee, smoothies and weekly specials.

My children are my wonderful staff and my customers are awesome. 

And now, I will have lots more food stuff to share with you!

Who says you can't have it all! 1/2 bbq chicken with tomatoes and carmelized onions, 1/2 Brie and grape with green pea pesto

Monster Brownies

Chicken Enchilada Special

Tomato Soup with Grilled Cheese Croutons

Whose afraid of a green smoothie? Mango, pineapple, papaya,  banana, kale, fresh grated ginger and a squeeze of lime

Yellow Chicken Curry Special

Rib Eye Steak Sandwich Special 

Lilikoi Cheesecake

Stuffed Baked Potato Special

Chicken Tacos Special with Tomato, Cucumber, Quinoa Salad

Chicken Parmesan Sandwich Special

For all the Cookie Monsters out there...

 So now, during my break when I'm eating food, reading a book about food, while a cooking show plays on TV and food cooks in the oven it's not so strange. Right?

 Cheers to reinvention!


Quote of the Day:

“I believe that one defines oneself by reinvention. To not be like your parents. To not be like your friends. To be yourself. To cut yourself out of stone.”

Henry Rollins

Bacon JAM!

I need to talk to you. It's important. See that little jar of brown stuff up there? It is a revelation.

Bacon Jam. 

I know, when I saw it on a menu recently, I too thought, "What the hell???".

And so I ordered the bruschetta as well as the slider that it accompanied just to get to the bottom of this "bacon jam" mystery. 

And I think I figured it out. 

It's diabolically simple. 

A perfect blend of caramelized onion and bacon. 

Forget my last post about eating healthy. That carrot cake could have benefitted from a little 

bacon jam, I'm sure. 

But a better plan is to toast up some baguette, slather some of this on and maybe top with some chopped tomato. 

Or better yet, make yourself a mini slider and you will realize that bacon jam is much friendlier than having to wrestle with those two slices of bacon that normally sit upon your burger. There will be no trying to ration a little bit of bacon for each bite of burger because, I tell you, bacon jam is a revelation.  

It's as easy as this:

Onions. Maui Sweet onions if you're lucky, as I was to have my Chef friend gift me with two bags of. Slice them, chop some bacon, toss 'em together with some salt & pepper and let them do their thing slowly and relaxedly until they are brown and lovely. And make a lot. Like the whole pack of bacon and a ton of onions, because it's that good. Then right at the end, perhaps you should throw in a dash of brown sugar just for fun. 

Let them cool a bit and then chop them up all together. It almost becomes tapenade-ish.

And then you really should build yourself (as my chef friend says with his Moroccan accent): 

Tiny AM-bergers. 

Oh. Yeah. Baby.

   

Bribery Carrot Cake

I know I just posted that I am trying to be healthy and all, but really, I made this for my landlord!

I called it Bribery Carrot Cake because I'm trying to remind him how much he loves me living next door to him, don't sell the house, lower my rent, etc... Also it was his birthday and he's trying to be healthier too.

The recipe came from iwannatalkaboutbrooke.blogspot.com. I used olive oil instead of whatever the  recipe called for just to make it a bit healthier too (and that's all I had).

How bad can a cake be that comes from carrots be anyway?!

Also, I baked it in a ginormous tin can because I liked the shape it would make. It came out cool, but took about ten years to bake. 

So, although I didn't even eat the finished product, I thought I'd share it with you anyway. 

Enjoy!

Homemade Granola

Strange things have been happening with me. 

The strangest perhaps is called "aging."

I used to be one of those people that others described with disdain like this, "You can eat whatever you want and not gain weight"!

Which, of course was not true. However, I could eat whatever I wanted without major consequences.

But I just had my 39th birthday and with it came the sad realization that my days of butter and cream and never exercising really have to end. 

That's when the next strange thing happened. 

I have started to eat healthier, drink water and even..... exercise. 

Gasp.

Truth be told, I've always cooked somewhat healthily, but that nub of butter, handful of chips, drizzle of bacon fat has all started to make itself visible.

So in the spirit of true stereotypical healthy stigma, I'm posting about homemade granola. 

Granola used to be associated with being a hippy thing. In fact it was an actual adjective when I was a kid to describe someone with hippy-like tendencies.

As in, "oh my god, your Birkenstocks are so granola!" 

Eventually the truth was revealed that granola could actually be not so good for you because of the oils and fat hidden inside. BUT, when I was recently doing some research on healthy foods, it was confirmed that whole grains, fruit, nuts and even olive oil are what we're supposed to be eating. 

The beautiful thing is that when you make your own food, you can control exactly what's in it. 

Alas, homemade granola.

I used this recipe from Ina Garten. But in true Swigs and Grinds form, I used what I had and changed it up a bit. Mine consisted of oats, coconut, sliced almonds, walnuts and dried cranberries. I also substituted olive oil and used a bit of honey to sweeten it. It has been my morning go-to now for a couple of weeks and it really rocks. 

  My favorite is with Greek yogurt, flax seed, some other mystery seed my sister gave me, sliced strawberries and a drizzle of honey. 

Healthy CAN be decadent!

Picky Lunch

I've talked about my love of "picky dinners" right? Not to be confused with a dinner for picky people, no a picky dinner in my house is one that you casually pick at. There are no silverware involved. Everyone shares from the same platter of little piles of food. 

I suppose if I were in Spain this would be close to tapas. But, alas, I am at the Country House and so it is  called a picky dinner. Or in today's case "picky lunch".

The thing I have noticed about my picky lunches is that they are usually when I am by myself. I have gotten slightly better at cooking a meal for one, but the problem is, when I am working at home I usually get so wrapped up in whatever creative project that is at hand and the limited time that I have to work on it, that lunch usually happens as an after-thought and I'm so hungry by the time I actually get around to it that I really don't want to wait for something to actually be cooked. 

And therein lies the beauty of a picky lunch. In the time it takes to cut a few pieces of cheese, grab a handful of crackers, toss some tomatoes in olive oil & balsamic, and throw on a few chunks of last night's bbq chicken, lunch is served. 

As I make my way back down to my studio, and resume my spot at the computer, I can simply PICK. A tomato here, a cracker there. 

Ahhh... delighting in simple things. It's one of my favorite things....

What are your favorite items for picky food? Do tell..... 

Lucky Peach

Two Christmases ago a very thoughtful boy gave me a Kitchen-aid mixer. How could he possibly top that this past Christmas, outside of a trip to Italy, of course? Well, he came pretty darn close with a subscription to Lucky Peach. A very cool food magazine that I knew nothing about. 

This is not your mother's (no offense mother) food magazine. 

This magazine is brand new, as in just birthed. In fact the first issue that I received was only the second one published. I must say I feel like I am in on something very cool and sort of underground. Rebellious almost.

Lucky Peach is "a quarterly journal of food and writing". It is published in June, September, December and March. When I opened the cover of my first issue I read this from Editor in Chief, Peter Meehan: "After we wrapped up the first issue and I had a minute to stand back and look at the thing, I felt like it was the magazine equivalent of throwing an M-80 into a bowl of ramen and taking a crime-scene photo of the results. That was a good thing, at least for me".

Well, Mr. Meehan, it was a very good thing for me too. With such articles titled: "More Things Were Eaten", "Miso Horny", "Eat, Drink, F*@k, Die", and "Nobody doesn't Love A Cake With A Runny Center", what, I say WHAT is not to love. 

Yeah, I said it. I am head over heels in love with the brash, raw writings about things beyond appetizers and cocktails, not that I don't love a cocktail and an appetizer. I mean all you have to do is behold the covers of this magazine to know that you will be in for a ride. Who thinks of tattooing a pigs hind quarter with the body map of a human, for god's sake?! I love it. 

And a small disclaimer, if you are easily offended by the F-word, it's written about seven times in the first seven pages, but that too, I must confess - I love. I mean we're talking about FOOD. But not just the romantic, touchey-feeley aspect of food, but the boiling hot kitchens, the long hours, the hard work. And it's not just some foodie blogger such as myself ranting about such things (although, in my defense I did grow up in my parents restaurant and am currently dabbling in my friend's cafe, I do however know my place on the food chain) the writings in Lucky Peach are coming from the big dogs of our food culture. The likes of David Chang of Momofuku, Daniel Patterson of Coi Restaurant, Mario Batali, etc. etc... In fact, in both issues so far, my (*)boyfriend Anthony Bourdain has written a story woven around a random movie of all things.   

SO, with all of that said, I urge you to get your subscription to Lucky Peach. Heck, now that I think about it, it may even have been the catalyst for my recent return to Swigs and Grinds. For that I thank you Lucky Peach folks, because I have missed my little spot here in the blogoshpere. Till next time.....

(*) Ok, maybe I don't want him to be my boyfriend as much as I actually want to BE him. But that's another story....  

Quote of the Day :

 "A human being is primarily a bag for putting food into".

~George Orwell

(as quoted in issue 3 of Lucky Peach)

Imperial Stout, a new love

Alright, alright...  I've been missing in action. Again. I HAVE been busy with the art of survival, not to mention the art of photography, painting, raising children, making food, eating, drinking, being merry etc, etc... My 11 year old daughter has been disturbed by my absence here and has several times told me that some concoction that I've whipped up needs to be photographed & shared, stating, "Mom, you have followers that are waiting for you!"

I'm not so sure if the breath of my followers is bated or not, but here I am none the less...

There have been some things recently that have been inspiring me in the Swigs & Grinds department and so, at long last, I have finally decided that today is the day when I shall share them.

The first is a new swig in the form of beer that I have discovered.

I am learning that my taste in food AND beverage is similar: big, bold and brazen. Sheesh, sounds like much of my life - but that's another story. This beer is Sam Adams Imperial Stout. If you like dark beer this is a serious treat. It's almost not just beer. It's like a hybrid of coffee, chocolate and malty booze. It's thick and creamy and you only need one because it's over 9% alcohol.

Look for it at specialty stores and do pick some up!