Two years ago, my grandmother passed away at the age of 100. Two months ago, we scattered her ashes in New Mexico.
Lately, even breathing has been hard work and uncomfortable. The slightest movement adds to the sticky stress of the heat. I’m a native Angeleno, and yet, I still complain (and act surprised and overwhelmed) by the inevitable summer heat that strikes us every single year without fail. And, on top of being one of the weather whiners, I’m a hypocrite. I beg for all of the booty that the sun gods provide us, and then I carp about the seasonal circumstances that help to create the harvest.
There are many things that I’m proud of in my life, but one of the greatest is my immense group of very close friends. For ages, we have been celebrating the 4th of July at the Farrar’s in Malibu. The “grown-up Farrar’s” (Sam’s parents), that is. We’ve gone from being debaucherous 20 year olds to the grown-ups themselves. The house has been host to many great parties and monumental moments over the years for all of us. Granted, the parties do look different now. There are bouncy houses and juice boxes replacing the glory days of our 20’s. But, one thing has maintained over time, all of the faces are the same. The unwieldy strength of “the bros” is a true force with which to be reckoned. You Can’t Stop Us remains our battle cry (thank you Uniform Circa!).
Not too long ago, a few friends joined Sierra and I for a summer bowl of soup, cornbread, mango micheladas, mint margaritas and a key lemon tart with blueberries. Even on a hot summer day, a bowl of soup can work… as long as dear friends share a seat in the shade and join us sipping something cold.
When I first started following food blogs, I ran across a Los Angeles based blog called Cozy Kitchen, and was immediately drawn to Adrianna’s light sense of humor and addiction to her kitchen. One of the first posts I salivated over was her Ginger Fried Rice. So I decided to try it. My first note: remember how difficult I said it was to bread and fry a soft boiled egg. Just saying it now.
I’m positive Sam was a fish in a former life. If you are what you eat, then I am spot on. He eats more fish than most and because of it has moderately high cholesterol. I should encourage him to get into swimming again. Or maybe start eating Cheerios?
I have loved Gin for a very long time. I even capitalize the word when I don’t need to. If I’m able to go out for a nice dinner with my husband and perhaps don’t have to wake at dawn the next morning, I will start my night with a Gin martini. Extra dry, basically zero vermouth, and tons and tons of olives. I’m an olive fanatic. It’s even possible I drink Gin so I can eat the olives. No wait, I love Gin. But the olives really help soak up the booze while I’m waiting for an appetizer, hopefully Malpec or Kumomoto oysters.
A few months ago, I began to feel toxic. Too much wine, too many verditas shots (thank you Esme and Cayman), not enough sleep. As a temporary single parent, I started to feel a little anxious. Sam was still away on tour. I’d been cooking for one and a half for two months and finding it creatively challenging.