on getting inspired

here are some basics, for a day when you feel like human sludge:



1. have a soft belly. breathe deeply. sit for a little while. grow your spine. open your eyes. (literally, open your eyes.)

2.  leave your house. this is key on the really sludgy days. keep eyes open. taking public transportation will seem unappealing, but it might help. music might be nice, or maybe you'll want to eavesdrop? grow your spine.

3.  respond to things. hold a door open, say hello. if someone complains to you about how long the train is taking, you don't have to really talk to them, but you should at least smile. be with the people you're with. open yourself up*.

4.  put your hand on the trunk of a tree.  do it for longer than feels normal. try to figure out what kind of tree it is. it's okay to use your phone for this. in fact, it's okay to use your phone. it's okay to instagram a picture of yourself, or tweet a thing about yourself. the internet is not going away. but after doing that, quickly get back to the business of existing quietly. (imagine that it is 100 years ago, imagine that it is 1,000 years ago.) if a person interrupts this, that's totally fine. be present with them. maybe even tell them what you learned about the tree.

5. get a library card and actually use it. you can just walk into a library and get one! it's crazy! reading will heal you up and crack your thoughts open. if reading isn't your thing, listen to one of the million podcasts that will teach you something that you didn't know. they're free. visit the inside of another person's brain. for FREE!

6. at this point, or at whatever point, at some point: take stock of your creative impulses, then follow your favorite one. this could mean you make something that not even your MOM would think was good. a clay pot, a big drawing, a pile of sticks. or conduct an interview. or write a weird song. write anything about anything that you just saw. call someone and ask them something you've always meant to ask.


VERY IMPORTANT: You don't have to be "good" at something for it to be worth doing.


You don't have to be "good" at something for it to be worth doing.

You don't have to be "good at something for it to be worth doing.




take stock. be gentle. be intentional. look at your project and be kind. display it proudly or put it in the back of a closet. take stock. be gentle. be intentional. you don't have to be good at something for it to be worth doing.




love,
heather









*closing yourself off can be a vital skill. feel free to close off when necessary. just don't forget to open back up.

check in

drinking lots of water: does this help 

y or n

taking flowers off of the plants on your fire escape and putting them in your hair when you are alone in your apartment: does this help 

y or n

baking a pie for yourself. is this activity

a) meditative

b) a waste of unsalted butter

if someone asks you if you have 'goals,' do you tell them that sometimes in Ireland people spell jail 'gaol?'

when you walk down the street do you have an inner monologue that you deem 

a) publishable

b) noteworthy

c) important

d) all of the above

is this

a) vain

b) human

c) something worth mining in therapy

d) all of the above

when you do things are you

a) constantly comparing yourself to others

b) never comparing yourself to others 

c) aware of the possibility for comparison, but able to avoid it simply by creating a secret list of people who will never be invited over to your apartment

are you

a) afraid of losing it

b) afraid of never having it

c) afraid of wasting it

d) unafraid

plant diary #1

we're gardeners! (sort of! sort of.) 

simplified

basil, sage, rosemary, mint, parsley, rosemary, lavender, tomatoes, nasturtiums, begonias, and escarole now live on our fire escape, on our front steps, on the windowsills.

I water them every morning. I make coffee for myself, open the window, touch the dirt, feel new astonishment that these everyday processes can take place, even on a fire escape, even in new york. purple flowers and lemon verbena reaching for light, soil smells like soil even when it's on newspaper in my living room.

there are still so many opportunities for introduction. here we are, getting acquainted with a root system. Squeeze the plastic container gently, hold the plant by the stem, settle it into a new pot, fill the pot with dirt. You are still a child, holding a little thing that will delight you with its perfect complexity.

the dirt dries out quickly, especially for those brave ones on our front steps. those are the tomatoes, nasturtiums, begonias. the tomato plants have doubled in size in two weeks, the nasturtiums are this astonishing explosion of orange blossoms. they inspire wild thoughts, like "I will make a gigantic salad covered in orange flowers, I will host a dinner at a long table, I will share everything I have with everyone I know!"

your scrambled senses // hungarian shortbread

it wasn’t until her initial panic had subsided that she regained her ability to perceive the outline of people’s bodies with clarity. figures had, for the past five years, remained globular in form, swirls of illogical tempera color, their voices a clak claw clam folk calk of tone and meaning. she was able to move through the world unassisted, but trusted smell and touch alone to guide her, nose perpetually upturned, hand held out, like a fox in pause, like a person sealing a questionable deal. sans smell, it might be her roommate approaching, or it might be the car she'd parked on a nameless side street sometime in 2011, now, could it be? drifting down the sidewalk in second gear? once, when coping with seasonal allergies, she really thought she’d seen it as she rounded a corner, but it turned out to have been a doberman pinscher.

the air outside, so full of water, did quiet the caterwauling of her brain. she could sit on her front steps and inhale and exhale and inhale without even having to think about it, and maybe petals were pulled off of trees by the slightest wind or moss grew on the shaded side of a rock or the wet concrete radiated heat and it all could have been anything else but for the way these things alone landed with such certainty in her mind. it seemed in these moments that her body took such care of her, if only sometimes.

bring this to a birthday party OR eat it all yourself! is the tagline of this blog.

hungarian shortbread
serves 8-10
(slightly adapted) from saveur magazine 

2 cups flour, plus more as needed
1 tsp. baking powder
1⁄8 tsp. fine salt
1⁄2 lb. unsalted butter, plus more for
   pan (all at room temperature)
1 cup sugar
2 egg yolks
1/2 cup raspberry jam

::  Using a sieve over a bowl, sift together flour, baking powder, and salt; set aside. Cream butter in a large bowl, using a hand mixer on high speed, until fluffy, about 2 minutes. Add sugar and egg yolks; mix until sugar is dissolved and mixture is light, about 4 minutes. With mixer on low speed, slowly add flour mixture; mix until dough just begins to come together, about 1 minute.

:: Turn dough onto a lightly floured surface; bring it together with your hands. Divide dough in half and form 2 balls. Wrap each ball in plastic wrap; freeze for at least 30 minutes. The recipe says "or up to three hours," but I froze them overnight and continued baking a few hours before I needed the finished shortbread.

:: Arrange an oven rack in center of oven; heat to 350°. A springform pan or a tart pan with a removable bottom would be easiest to use for this recipe, but I used a regular 9 inch cake pan and it ended up being fine. (Round is best so that every piece has crust!) Grease whatever pan you're using with butter. 

:: Remove a ball of dough from freezer, unwrap, and grate, using the large holes of a box grater, directly into prepared pan. Gently pat grated dough to even it out. Bake this bottom layer for about 20 minutes.

:: Remove from oven, and spread jam evenly over dough, leaving about a 1⁄2" border around edges. Grate remaining dough over jam layer; pat gently until surface is even. Bake until light golden brown, another 25–30 minutes. Let cool completely in pan, on a rack.

If you're using a pan with a removable bottom, you'll be able to easily lift the shortbread out. If you're like me and left the bottom of your tart pan at someone's house three months ago, gently turn the shortbread out onto an even surface. Do this in whatever way seems least likely to allow the shortbread to crack. I usually turn cakes out onto my hand (wearing an oven mitt,) because it makes contact with most of the 9 inch surface. Than I'll hold a plate or the rack to the top, and flip it over. If that makes sense, I'm glad, and if it doesn't, my point is just that you'll have to be gentle and whatever you're baking will need to be supported or it risks falling apart. Like a person?

:: Cut into wedges. This shortbread should have a slightly crunchy bottom and a chewy top. I refrigerated it for a few hours before serving, and it was fine! yumm.

first three minutes // raspberry ricotta cake

her sleeping form lies beneath a quickly retreating fog, which rolls and roils backwards and towards the bedroom door, sucking itself down into a vent, exhaling and dissipating onto the street near the sidewalk with a thin and elegant hiss. dampness and the smell of mulch remain. each morning the air is new in perpetuum, and hangs above her head like time suspended night upended, space prepared to wait without hurry for eyes to open up into it. a sheen of sweat on a forehead, an exhale of decay, the room gives a final unobserved heave, the molecules rearrange and then settle. 

she wakes to rain. trees just outside are laced with new green. she is blank and full and she watches the rivulets on the window by her bed, shifts in the sheets to touch a giant leaf from the potted plant on the windowsill, it is smooth and rubbery and thin. under the canopy of her own ceiling there is the smell of coffee from the kitchen, there are dust motes light and drifting, she holds loosely to the plant, she is heavy inside of herself, alert and childlike and newly landed.




for a balanced breakfast:

raspberry ricotta cake           from bon appétit 

vegetable oil spray
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup sugar
2 tsp. baking powder
3/4 tsp salt
3 large eggs
 1 1/2 cups ricotta
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, melted
1 cup frozen raspberries

:: preheat oven to 350°. Lightly coat a 9" round cake pan with the cooking spray.

:: whisk flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt in a large bowl.

:: whisk eggs, ricotta and vanilla in a medium bowl until smooth; fold into the dry ingredients until
    just blended.

:: fold in butter, followed by 3/4 cups of raspberries.

:: scrape batter into the pan, and scatter the remaining 1/4 cup raspberries over the top.

: bake until golden brown and a cake tester comes out clean, approx. 50-60 minutes. Let cool for at
  least 20 minutes before removing from the pan.

first week of april // cardamom orange yogurt cake

today you could:
go to work and even still! open some windows, make some coffee, feel the weight of a stone in your hand, shake out the sheets of your bed, paint something with bold and irregular stripes.

this week saw:
the acquisition of a giant plant for our bedroom. welcome, monstera deliciosa.
a first spring walk through red hook.
this cardamom and orange yogurt cake*
nighttime rehearsals in the financial district. (stony and damp outside, brightly lit and filled with freshly cut wood inside. elements of nature even at the epicenter of capitalism and commerce, ascend the subway stairs and see a freedom tower in the waltzing fog.)

and I learned this word: archipelago. an expanse of water with many scattered islands, or a group or scattering of similar things. like a crowded street. arched ceilings pelicans flying long long ago.

*cardamom orange yogurt cake 

ever so slightly adapted from this recipe. (made mostly because I had all of these ingredients already, which absolutely never happens.)

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
2 tsp baking soda
3/4 tsp kosher salt
1 1/2 tsp cardamom
1 1/2 tsp orange zest
1 cup of sugar
3/4 cup plain greek yogurt
1/2 cup olive oil
2 eggs
1/2 tsp vanilla extract



:: preheat oven to 350

:: butter and flour a standard loaf pan. tap out excess flour.

:: whisk flour, baking soda, salt, and cardamom in a medium bowl.

:: rub the orange zest into the sugar with your fingers, then mix well with yogurt, olive oil, eggs and
   vanilla in a large bowl.

:: gently fold dry ingredients into wet ingredients. mix until just combined.

:: pour into loaf pan and place on a rack in the middle of the oven. Bake for 50-55 minutes, or until
  the top is lightly browned and a cake tester comes out clean.





ps. if you're interested, check out our apartment tour on Scissors and Sage this week!

rate of change // best birthday cake

I've been thinking about the sculpture court at the met. Where there is light and it is cool, where things are smooth, where the echoes bounce up and all of the toes seem similarly clenched against their marble slabs.

This week marked my last brunch shift as a waitress. It was also the week that a gas explosion caused a building to burn to the ground on Second Avenue, one block from the cafe where I work. Thick smoke on a familiar street. If life is so random and unpredictable, then how have I stayed at this job for so long? What glues a person to a place despite the constant shifting of the plates? I once saw a yellow cab crash into a Staples on Fourth Avenue; and/or I keep thinking: we're like the moon, we have phases. The breadth of rates of change.

This week also contained celebration and more vernal rebirth! (Go ahead and cheerfully say that to someone you don't know.) Best friends turned 26, everybody ate many vats of pasta and this cake*, rehearsals started, things kept growing, shifts took place with varying degrees of perceptibility.

Yesterday I was babysitting and my babysittee lay down on the floor, unmoving, and said "look at me, I'm a glacier!" No statues here.

*best (dare I??) best birthday cake      (adapted from this recipe)

a rich chocolate cake. not too sweet. just right. 

cake

• Nonstick vegetable oil spray

• 2 cups unbleached all purpose flour

• 1 3/4 cups sugar

• 3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

• 2 teaspoons baking soda

• 1/4 teaspoon salt

• 1 cup freshly brewed coffee  (I stuck mine in the fridge to cool it down a bit.)

• 3/4 cup buttermilk

• 3/4 cup vegetable oil

• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla

• 3 large eggs

ganache

• 2 1/4 cups heavy whipping cream

• 6 tablespoons seedless raspberry jam
• 18 ounces bittersweet chocolate (do not exceed 61% cacao), chopped

and (optional) loose raspberries for serving

// (to make)

• :: preheat oven to 350°F and place rack in the middle of the oven. Coat two 9-inch-diameter cake pans with 2-inch-high sides with nonstick spray. Line bottoms with parchment paper rounds; spray rounds. Sift flour, sugar, cocoa powder, baking soda, and salt into large bowl; whisk to blend and form well in center. Whisk 1 cup water, buttermilk, oil, vanilla extract and eggs in medium bowl to blend. Pour wet ingredients into well in dry ingredients; whisk just to blend. Divide cake batter between prepared pans (about 3 cups each).
  
  
  :: Bake cakes until tester inserted into center comes out clean, about 30 minutes. (If cakes form domes, place kitchen towel atop hot cakes, then press gently with palm of hand to level.) (Satisfying.) Cool completely in pans on cooling racks. (Cakes can be made one day ahead! if you do this, cover in pans and leave out on counter.)
  
  
  
  

  • :: Place chopped chocolate in medium bowl. Bring cream just to boil in a saucepan. Pour over chocolate. Let stand 1 minute, then stir until ganache is melted and smooth. Transfer 1 1/4 (ish) cups ganache to small bowl. Cover and refrigerate until ganache is thick enough to spread, stirring occasionally, about 1 hour. Let remaining ganache stand at room temperature to cool until barely lukewarm.
    
    
    :: Place the rack inside of a rimmed baking sheet, (or on a cutting board, or over whatever you don't mind getting covered in ganache.) carefully remove the first cake from its pan, and place it on a cardboard round, or the removable bottom of a 9-inch tart pan, or a plate is also fine if you don't have either of those. (This will just make the cake more easily transferable from the cooling rack.) Peel off the parchment paper. (Flat side of the cake should be up.)
    
    
    :: Spread 3 tablespoons jam over top. Spoon dollops of chilled ganache over, then spread evenly. Carefully invert second cake, and place it flat side down on the first cake.  Spread remaining 3 tablespoons raspberry jam over top of second cake layer. Pour half of barely lukewarm ganache over cake, spreading over sides to cover. Freeze until ganache sets, about 30 minutes. Pour remaining ganache over cake, allowing to drip down sides and spreading over sides if needed. (I had to do a lot of spreading on mine! no big.)
    
    
    ((the original recipe calls for concentric circles of raspberries on top of the cake, but I just served a few on the plate with each slice.))