Artichokes growing in Hyla’s garden. Artichokes, for goodness sake! Who knew you could grow artichokes in Vermont?

And the mist rising out of the river valley at sunset last Thursday evening:

One of the things we did in Toronto was go to this fabulous new restaurant: Colborne Lane.

After The Fat Duck experience, Laurel and I were looking forward to trying another molecular gastronomy restaurant, and though Colborne Lane can’t quite compare with the Duck in sheer playfulness and entertainment, Claudio Aprile is one fine chef. He knows how to handle his ingredients to get just the flavors and textures he wants, and he incorporates enough MG tricks to make it all fun and a bit surprising without overdoing it.

Without hesitation, we both chose to go the tasting menu route, and we were very full, very happy diners at the end of our three hours. Here’s a brief recap of the meal:

• amuse bouche – watermelon granita with frozen (nitro’d) feta, pumpkin seeds, and spearmint leaf
• Riesling – St. Urbans HOF Kabinett (2007)
• wild salmon tartare and salmon sashimi; cauliflower tempura and puree; saffron aoli; cucumber pearls; powdered sour cream; sprig of dill
• crispy wokked squid; mango ketchup; peanut brittle; crispy fried leeks; chinese sausage
• spicy tomato soup with cilantro; dehydrated olives; mozzarella foam; capers; dried black olive noodles
• miso-glazed cod; crushed pistachios; fried tapioca; baby bok choy; sesame panna cotta; chive and scallion sauce
• Rioja – Ondalan (2006)
• shredded pomello; lemon curd; frozen lemon pearls; peach lemon ice cream with pop rocks
• tripled seared sirloin; short rib; bacon foam; bacon dijon mustard crisp; roasted potato; salsa verde and smoked tomato sauce; green bean and bacon and mushrooms
• passion fruit popsicle coated with mango-raspberry jelly; freeze dried raspberries
• dense chocolate bar covered with edible gold leaf; rooibos ice cream with chocolate snow; brûléed banana
• white chocolate covered frozen coffee “nitro bomb”

For both of us, the high notes in this dinner were the squid, cod, and sirloin/short rib dishes. I have never had squid that tasted so good, or that had such a perfect texture. Miso-glazed cod is not an invention of this chef (you see it all over the place), but it was so wonderfully cooked, tender and flavorful; the fried tapioca added a touch of fun and texture. The sirloin and short rib dish was simply stellar. One small piece of each, cooked just right. The sirloin was tender and juicy and almost delicate – completely beefy yet not heavy; the short rib was dense and rich and overflowing with complex flavors.

In my opinion, the only real mis-step was the coffee “nitro bomb”, not because it was bad (it was fine – though it paled in comparison to the mouth cleansing nitro bite that opened our Fat Duck dinner), but because it was last. I just don’t like coffee flavor that much, and it pretty much obliterated any other lingering flavors from the rest of the meal. But I won’t hold that against Chef Aprile.

We liked it so much, that we joked about going back for lunch the next day. It’s too bad we didn’t.

I know, I know. I’ve been back from Toronto for a week now and I still haven’t posted anything. I have no good excuses, but I do have some photos to share…

Toronto was wonderful. We expected rainy weather, and got it in downpours our first full day there, but, after that, we had mostly sunshine and even temperate weather. We visited our old favorite spots, tried some new places, and even “discovered” a very old place that was entirely new to us. And, on top of all that, we had a really nice time celebrating Laurel’s birthday with family. Oh, and we ate well, too.

Our first day there it was pouring, but that didn’t deter us from going straight to Gryfe’s for our fix. The place simply does not change much, and for that we are grateful. It’s small and nothing special to look at, and it keeps cranking out the bagels, little “pizzas”, and apple turnovers we love, and that still taste exactly the same way they did when we were kids and walked over with our grandmother to “go buy bagel”.

On the day we visited, there was a modest line out the door (yay!). When we made it to the doorway, I saw a woman unloading tray after tray of fresh pizzas:

By the time we made it to the head of the line, most of the poppy seed bagels (the ONLY ones to buy – they certainly didn’t sell flax bagels in my day!) were gone, but we weren’t worried. We were happy. This meant that FRESH bagels would appear shortly. Fresh, HOT bagels. And here they are, in the same metal baskets they’ve always been displayed in:

We left the bakery with one dozen fresh bagels, two bags of pizzas (6 to a bag), and one dozen apple turnovers (for Terry and his family). We emerged from the bakery into a downpour, dashed for the car, and then sat in the warm, steamy car, eating two bagels each. When they’re hot, they’re just irresistible.

Our next stop was the house. Two blocks from the bakery. There’s not much to say. The house that was our summer home, the stable house of our childhood, was entirely wiped away. There’s a giant in its place, pressing its large shoulders against the tiny bungalows on either side.

We stood in the pouring rain and looked at it for awhile, and agreed that we’re glad, at least, that no one else is living in the old house — that it lasted just as long as my grandparents needed it, to raise their family, and for us to know it. In spite of the rain, we took a walk a block up to where my great grandparents used to live. Their house is still pretty much the same as always, and I wanted to take a picture, but the woman living there now spotted us staring at the house from across the street and she was watching us carefully though her living room curtains. I didn’t want to worry her, so we turned and walked back to the car.

When I reread my last several posts, I get this feeling that only good things are happening in my life and that I’m always chipper and cheerful and creating new things. This isn’t the whole picture. I also have my down days. Maybe I just don’t write very much on those days. Like everyone else, I have days where nothing at all goes right, and sometimes terribly wrong (but that’s usually computer-related). I have sad days and useless days where I get nothing done and even the thought of writing seems overwhelming.

But I’ve been making a conscious decision over the past couple of months to really look for the good things and to really appreciate what I have. And to be creative. And to plan for the future even while I know we can’t count on the future. I think this is a reaction to the last several awful years, when our lives were focused on illness and loss and worry. That’s all part of a human life. We can’t escape it, but I’m grateful for this calm patch in our lives (even as others I love are in the midst of their own worries).

I heard this poem on The Writer’s Almanac this morning, and it fits my current frame of mind fairly well.

Sing we and chant it…

While love doth grant it.
Not long youth lasteth,
And old age hasteth.
Now is best leisure
To take our pleasure.

All things invite us
Now to delight us.
Hence, care, be packing!
No mirth be lacking!
Let spare no treasure
To live in pleasure.

“Sing we and chant it…” by Anonymous. Public Domain.

Two in a row. And a third coming, too, because I’m headed to Toronto next weekend to celebrate Laurel’s 40th birthday in style. Whee!

In the middle of Friday afternoon, the swing set we ordered at the beginning of June (and should have ordered about 4 years ago) arrived. 940 pounds of pre-cut and drilled redwood, with a box of bolts and hardware that alone must have weighed 30 pounds. Our neighbors ordered from the same company at the same time (they were the ones to point us to this company), so both arrived together and we helped each other unload.

Here’s what a swing set looks like before you “just add water”:

Friday afternoon was also the first session’s Parent Open House and show at Hyla’s camp, on the shore of Lake Fairlee. The campers are divided into groups by age and, after a point, by gender (this is the first year that Hyla’s in an all-girl group). Each group has a animal identity (this year, Hyla’s a “Raccoon”) and a cabin where they can hang out at quiet time and discuss the pros and cons of “court sports”. At the end of every two-week session, families are invited to come to camp, get a tour, see the cabins, see a show (put on by some of the campers), and sing some camp songs.

Here are the Raccoons:

Hyla’s the one crouching in front, with a (cat) puppet in front of her face.

After the tour and the cookies and the show (you can bet Hyla was a performer) and the singing, and a very moving slide show — how can you not get teary when you watch a five-minute slide show of your children and their friends having fun at camp, accompanied by some instrumental guitar music? — we headed south, back to Hanover, to pick up our registration numbers and t-shirts for the Prouty walk.

The best way I can describe the Prouty is that these folks really have their act together. They have over 700 volunteers working for the event, and, I believe, somewhere around 4,000 participants this year. They have generous sponsors who have donated everything from computers to food to paper goods to water bottles. Everything is choreographed. From a participant’s point-of-view, nothing is forgotten. You arrive the night before and are efficiently “processed”: given your bib numbers, your t-shirt and water bottle, any other prizes you’ve earned for reaching certain donor-level thresholds, and then you’re released out to the tents, where there is a virtually unlimited amount of pasta, bread, salad, drinks, and cookies. All free to participants. And all before the even has even begun.

We went home, sated and tired and happy.

Saturday morning we drove back to Prouty central (Michael conveniently works near the Prouty site, so we can park at his office), and met up with friends who were also walking. We had intended to also meet up with members of our team, but signals were crossed or something happened and we missed each other. If only someone had invented portable telephones that we could all carry with us to make meeting up easier. Oh wait…

But, in any case, we met up with friends and we were treated to an extensive, free breakfast buffet of bagels and yogurt and fruit and I-don’t-know-what-else because I was already full from the first three things.

With full bellies and water bottles, we headed out for our 5k walk in the woods For all of us over 8 years old, the walk was a breeze — and when the 8-year-olds weren’t bored out of their minds, even they found it easy:

Next time, we need to do the 10k.

There were people everywhere, with some 100-mile bike riders starting out at 5.30 or 6 am, other walkers starting throughout the morning, people coming and going, all ages, cancer survivors, families, community members. It was an astounding sight. And of course, when you reach the end and walk (or ride) under the balloon archway, there is, you guessed it, a feast — with music — and prizes — and face painting — and free massages — and golden coins showering from the sky. Ok, not that last one, but everything else is true.

We went home, a bit tired, a little warm, and very happy. And then we sat on our porch and did very little for the rest of the afternoon. We had a friend/fellow walker with us (she’s an iron woman; she rode 25 miles on her bike and then walked with us!), and Hyla’s friend, Wiatt. We drank cool drinks and watched the valley and enjoyed a summer afternoon with nowhere to be and nothing that had to be done.

Except, oh yeah, that swing set is still in pieces, isn’t it?

Who cares? We’re off to the annual Norwich Fair instead. A dinky little carnival on the Norwich green: fried dough and french fries, rides that will make you sick, games, and all your friends and neighbors out on maybe the most gorgeous evening of the summer so far. Hyla heaven.

Sunday, we woke up, got moving slowly, and started work on that swing set at 11 am. We worked steadily through the day (and were blessed by cloud cover all day, and even some cooling sprinkles from time to time) and finished it at 5.30 pm:

By 6, we were grilling burgers and Hyla had convinced us to have a picnic up in the swing set’s tower. By 7, I was completely out of energy. Deliciously so. Dog tired. Ready to do nothing.

How can some weekends seem so short and useless, and others feel nearly endless and full of time for everything? Time is magical.

Today’s my Mom’s birthday. She would have been 64.

On my 16th birthday, my Mom gave me a dozen yellow roses. I don’t know why, exactly, but I do know that they were yellow because that was my favorite color at the time. She gave me (or sent me) yellow roses on my birthday every year thereafter, except last year, and I kind of understood why.

The other day, my friend Amy and I were out riding bikes and we stopped at a garden nursery to take a break. Amy spotted some rose bushes on sale. Yellow roses. Amy said she’d been thinking about planting a yellow rose bush for awhile, so she thought she might come back later with a car and buy a bush. We both ended up getting one.

And today I planted mine in my new front garden, so every summer I’ll have yellow roses blooming, maybe not for my birthday, but certainly for Mom’s.

Happy birthday Mom. I’m thinking of you.

Love,
me