remember when

When I was 12, I went to summer camp for 2 weeks. In this span of time, I made about 100 lanyards, went backpacking for the first time, and skinny-dipped in the chilly Tuolumne river. The experience from that summer that I remember the most, however, was the night of the all-camp dance when I danced my very first slow dance with Zach Rose. I knew he liked me (we had been spending rest hour doing Mad Libs together for the last week and he made me a tie-dyed T-shirt at arts-and-crafts), so it was just a matter of time. Of course, the song he asked me to dance with him to wasn't even slow (Brown-Eyed Girl by Van Morrison), and he had no idea what he was doing, but the combined feeling of nervouness and exhiliration as he guided me by the hand to the middle of the dance floor (our respective bunkmates giggling and pointing at us) is a feeling I've been trying to recreate with new dance partners (so to speak) for the 15 years that have followed...with varying degrees of success.

Despite my dedicated Facebook and Google searching efforts, I have been unable to find Zach Rose anywhere--which is a little sad, but maybe it's for the best. Because maybe Zach Rose is a jerk now. Or maybe we have nothing in common. Maybe Mad Libs and pre-adolescent awkwardness wouldn't be enough to carry us through a conversation in our late twenties.

People change, I've come to learn. I change, all the time...and sometimes old memories are better when they stay memories instead of being thrust into the daylight and squeezed into awkward, sometimes painful interaction. As curious as I am about Zach Rose, I think it might be better to leave him alone (along with the 15 Zach Roses on Facebook whom I have confirmation are NOT him) and save the memory of the goofy, awkward evening of my first taste of romance for whenever a decidedly unromantic day might come my way in the future.

The thing about food and cooking is that there is plenty of room for both old memories and the present. Old recipes can be made fresh and different by adding new and interesting twists. It feels safe, probably because I know I can always return to the original recipe. One old favorite recipe that I've tweaked over the years is a take on the cinnamon toast my mother used to make for me. I find that her traditional version of it--bread, butter, cinnamon, and sugar is what I crave when I'm feeling nostalgic. When I'm busy making new memories, I prefer my version:

Orange-Cinnamon Toast

4 slices good-quality fresh bread (I like to use thickly sliced sourdough)
zest of 1/2 an orange
2 tsp cinnamon
4 tbsp brown sugar
dash nutmeg
4 tbsp unsalted butter at room temperature

Combine the zest, cinnamon, brown sugar, nutmeg and butter in a small bowl until it forms a thick paste. Spread evenly on the slices of bread. Toast in a toaster oven or in a conventional oven preheated to 400 degrees.


Love
Gabi

27

I turned 27 this weekend.

I thought I would freak out...I really did. In fact, I almost did freak out when an extremely charming 23-year-old man I met in the bar where I was celebrating my birthday told me that in his experience, age 27 was when women started to freak out.

But I managed to keep my cool.

27 does feel markedly different from 26. Every year on the morning of my birthday, I must admit I've looked in the mirror and wondered if I look different than I did the day before when I was technically a year younger...and I swear, this year I actually did...in a good way. And I feel different too. I don't know why exactly, but since Friday, March 13 around 9:45 AM, I've found myself feeling what I can only describe as more grounded, honest, and happy.

I had a few friends over on Saturday night before we went out dancing. We had all the usual party accoutrements: beer, rum, vodka, soda and juice...and guacamole. I have to say, among the things I do really, really well is making guacamole. My friend Danny described its flavor as as "perfectly simple, straightforward, and clean." It had few ingredients--just some really fresh, ripe avocados, cilantro, jalapeno, lime, garlic, onion, a little sour cream, salt and pepper...and that's it. If you mess too much with guacamole you can ruin it.

Now, I know this might be a bit of a stretch, but I'd like to think of my guacamole as akin to how I've been feeling about turning the big 2-7. The changes I'm noticing in myself are that I feel comfortable in my own skin in a way I've never felt before--both physically and emotionally. I'm finding myself speaking more honestly about how I feel and fearing judgment less. Since guacamole is only as good as its ingredients (the avocados ripe, the cilantro fresh, etc) it's important to to use only the best so the flavors really shine. There is little technique involved--just a little practiced balancing of flavors and textures...which I suppose is the essence of how I'm feeling about my age: I like what I'm made of, so I'm focusing less on the technique and more on refining the balance.

So here's my 27th Birthday Guacamole. Remember, good ingredients = effortlessly delicious guacamole.

Ingredients
2 very ripe avocados
1/2 small white onion, chopped finely
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 small bunch cilantro, chopped finely
1/4 cup sour cream or Mexican crema
1 green jalapeno, seeds removed, chopped finely
Juice of 1/2 lime
salt and pepper to taste

Directions
Smash the avocados using the back of a fork or a potato masher, leaving them relatively chunky. Stir in the sour cream until fully incorporated. Gently stir in the remaining ingredients. Serve with vegetables and/or tortilla chips.

Love,
Gabi