Blue sky this morning, clear air, and the leaves and small branches of the tall maple on the back lane are moving gently in the breeze. Looks like a perfect day. I hope my cousin Jennifer, whose birthday is today, is up in the Gatineau watching the water and the trees and feeling good.
bees harvesting, on coneflowers in my garden
Last Thursday evening I pedaled under a dull sky to the first evening of Diffusion, a four evening festival of experimental short films. A dear friend had told me about it. We watched them in the courtyard of 401 Richmond, a four story industrial building that was transformed decades ago into a creative hub, with studios and arts spaces of many kinds. The courtyard was packed with people sitting on chairs and benches, the projection was digital and clear, and the audience – mostly people in the 25 to 45 age range – was attentive. I was taken out of my immediate preoccupations by the need to focus on each film (I especially liked Kalil Haddad’s My Secret Boyfriend Died in a Mass Shooting).
the scene just before the start, in the 401 Richmond courtyard
As I pedaled home in the dark and then ate scavenged leftovers from the fridge, unheated, from their containers, I felt as if I’d retrieved an earlier self, who didn’t hesitate to stay out late and juggle many commitments. It felt good, a re-stretching of my wings. I’ve been living quite a structured life these last couple of years, very focused on maintaining equilibrium in the household and in my larger circle as Tashi lived through his hard last eighteen months. That was a rich intense time. I relive moments of it in my mind’s eye almost every day.
Finding ways to carry that richness forward while shifting my patterns and loosening my sense of responsibility is an exhilarating prospect. I know Tashi would be pleased to see me lifting my gaze to new possibilities. It’s about finding lightness, even when there are burdens and responsibilities. And then staying light!
a wild combo, on Augusta in Kensington Market
Speaking of responsibilities: I’ve written here about harvesting summer, making jam or other versions of storing summer bounty. And now the crabapple tree, a large forty-plus year-old tree by the sidewalk in front of my house, is loaded with fruit. The apples are smaller than usual, and bountiful, most of them a rainbow of warm colours ranging from patches of rich red-purple to a deep cherry-pink to pink-gold. I had been assuming that I wouldn’t be making crabapple jelly this year. But the tree’s load is giving me a strong nudge. (I need to spread a sheet on the ground to help catch the fruit, for otherwise gathering it from the sidewalk and from the low “forest” of lilies of the valley in the front yard is a discouraging preliminary task.) As I sit outside on the front step writing this there’s an occasional thud as an apple hits the ground or bounces off the step.
close-up of the tree, taken from my second-story window
I’m also hearing forceful conversations in Mandarin from the work crew next door. My neighbour’s place had a fire last summer that started on a back deck. The smoke and water damage meant the building had to be gutted and rebuilt from the inside. The crew that has been working on the rebuild is Spanish-speaking, mostly guys from Mexico, who play music and sing along with it when work is going well. It’s been fun to have a little Spanish around. But today’s workforce, new to me, is a different crew, Mandarin-speakers who are working up high to replace the gutters along the rebuilt roofline. As I write this they’re sitting outside having their lunch. I can catch the odd word, but otherwise I’m just hearing the hard “r’s of Mandarin and the rise and fall of their sometimes argumentative conversation. It’s a form of travel while at home…
Another option would be to be aggravated by the noise of their work and their talking. But it’s going to happen, it has to happen, so there’s no point in reacting against it. Instead – apologies if this is too Pollyanna-ish - it feels more juicy to find ways of enjoying what’s going on
more Pollyanna: I goofed and broke one egg; but they were still a treat…
Speaking of enjoyment, I had lunch the other day at Pho Hung, the excellent Vietnamese restaurant on Spadina that recently celebrated its fortieth anniversary (they gave away hundreds of bowls of pho that day, I was told). I was lucky to stumble on the restaurant long ago, and I’ve learned a lot from the owner and his wife. (She taught me some basic Vietnamese before the trip I took to Saigon and the Mekong Delta in monsoon season 1998, when I was doing research for Hot Sour Salty Sweet.) He is now in his eighties and is still around, but mostly the management is done, and done well, by the next generation.
Ozoz Sokoh (@kitchenbutterfly) of Weekend Wednesdays was already at the restaurant when I got there. She was up for ordering anything I chose, so we shared my faves: canh chua (sour soup) with eel and banh xeo, plus rice to accompany the canh. I love the layers of repetition and memory in a well-loved restaurant. At Pho Hung I am always reminded of meals I’ve eaten there with other people, some of them far away (hello Jodi), some long gone. All those echoes add depth to the now.
canh chua on the left; banh xeo on the right
KTCHEN EXPLORATIONS – tomatoes, peaches with smoked trout, grilled sliced zucchini & eggplant
At last we’re in full tomato season. The luxury!
The cherry tomato plants in my garden (three in tall pots and two in the ground) have been yielding ripe fruits for several weeks. I grab them quickly as I see them, to stay ahead of the squirrels. It’s a daily routine. Though my biggest tomato love is for the larger fruit, I don’t try to grow full sized tomatoes, for the squirrel risk and the amount at stake is so much greater.
Last night I roughly chopped three heirloom tomatoes from Soznicki’s one of the farmers at Wychwood Market. I picked basil from the two plants I have this year, washed and dried it and then mashed it in my shallow stone mortar until it was bruised and broken. I stirred it into a little olive oil (a gift from a friend), added some processed garlic scapes (put up in a jar a few weeks ago), and then poured the dressing onto the tomatoes. That plus a little salt… heaven. I’m going to eat the leftovers today once I finish this post.
The rest of the meal was a repeat of something I made last week: slices of eggplant and zucchini, lightly coated with a little olive oil and a splash of fish sauce, and then grilled over charcoal. I chopped them up and put them out just like that, with a sprinkle of salt. The texture as you bite into the grilled vegetable is a great pleasure. And there was also grilled corn.
grilled eggplant and zucchini with a little herb-laden olive oil
In my house things repeat frequently during the season. I love the repetition, because too soon the season will be over. There’s no point pre-mourning the end! I fend off thoughts of the end by going overboard while the season lasts.
peaches, smoked trout, tarragon, with the sliced onion to one side, so people could choose their onion intensity
A few days ago we had a seductive salad: smoked lake trout broken into small shreds, with chopped peach, thinly sliced white onion, and tarragon. Peaches and nectarines are another “eat them while they last” category. And so we do, at all times of day.
peaches, buffalo yogurt, a generous dash of under-sweetened black currant jam…
I hope there’s plenty of seasonal bounty where you are, and that you’re able to dive into it with pleasure.
Tash would definitely approve of this return to a lighter mode of engagement. Bravo, Nom.
Another wonderful piece of writing—'shifting my patterns'—thank you, Naomi.