wave hello

werner knaupp via wit + delight

liquid / solid via Roparaggi

 

beirut, sails and gulls and dyed skies

big water, the big grey pool, it's just been raining so much, cotton-headed heat.
when sky and water collide, it can lift you up, the ocean.

off to the coast for the weekend with some good people, friends in high places. literally though, cliff top cottage, i will wake with the waves.

weekend warmth

we always wait for that first day. the first day of sunshine, it draws us out, stumbling into the street, without a coat, and sunglasses perched.

meeting my friend atop the hill, we had a cheeky pint, and then we had another.
touch of pink and i'm tipsy, back on my couch.

i clutched my my groceries after the sunday market, hurrying home to make lunch, don't want to miss the sun. lay in the park, jacket off and on and off. i made him this cake, and he came home to me by the evening.

Coconut mik Cake with Choco-Chunks

via Bon Appetit

one and three quarters cup flour

one teaspoon salt

two teaspoons baking soda

one cup shredded coconut

three quarters cup sugar

half cup unsalted butter

two large eggs

one teaspoon vanilla extract

one cup unsweetened coconut milk

six ounces chocolate

half cup shredded coconut

preheat oven to 350°F.

butter spring form cake pan, dust pan with flour, shaking out excess.
mix flour, baking powder, and sea salt. stir in shredded coconut and set aside. beat sugarand butter in large bowl until light and fluffy. add eggs one at a time and vanilla, and beat well.
add flour mixture in three parts, and add in coconut milk, beating just until blended.
fold in half of chocolate pieces. spread batter evenly in prepared cake pan. sprinkle remaining chocolate pieces over batter, then sprinkle with a touch of shredded coconut.

bake cake for sixty or seventy minutes until golden on top and toothpick inserted into center comes out clean. cover with tin foil if top browing too quickly. transfer cake to rack and cool in pan for an hour

oven warm and still light out.
the best cake i have ever made, no joke. you really should make this.

brunch

weekends and quiche go hand in hand. most recent lunch in clifton was less than disappointing though, flavourless with long cumbersome vegetable pieces, and i can only assume it was eggwhite only (boring).

this sunny saturday i was determined. brunch would be served, quiche would be had.

spinach + feta quiche

shortcrust pastry sheet

red onion

raw spinach

feta cheese

lemon zest

four eggs

one cup soy milk

ground nutmeg

salt and pepper

preheat oven 190C.

roll out the crust into flan dish. tiny pinches and pop into the oven until golden brown, twenty minutes.

meanwhile, wilt spinach, then squeeze extra liquid out, chop. caramelize chopped onion in butter or oil, cooking slowly until softened. layer onion, spinach, crumbled feta, and top with lemon zest.

separate the eggs, whisk whites and then add back in yolks, plus milk and spices.

pour egg mixture over the crust, patting down any cheeky bits.

bake in oven for twenty minutes, take out of even and let rest for ten minutes.

perhaps the greatest quiche i have ever made, no word of a lie. sweet and simple, flaky and light. served well to a man who worked the nightshift and needs coercion out of bed.

she sparkles

planet blue holiday campaign

styling by ashley glorioso, purse n' boots

to touch, lace and velvet and crunchy jewels

to be lazy in the middle of the afternoon, i miss this with such guilt.
processionary times, we wait for two days tucked neatly together. these days could be anything, they could be the best i've ever had. bed and food and drink, and maybe tonight cold air in my lungs. let's roll in the sheets, roll in the leaves, drop the ice cubes down and drink full. simplicity comes naturally, if you let it.

these days

just the past few days, little bits.

a break from english breakfast, finally tucking into some white pear tea lauren gave me back in toronto.

tiny but gorgeous shop i stumbled upon in clifton, clare pirie, nabbed a handprinted card. clearly very carefully chosen bits and pieces, and some lovely friendly smiles from clare herself.



photos from clairepirie.com

then clare recomended maze to me, around the corner.

found a dress for the wedding, mine and yours. funny i tried it on months ago, i should always go with my gut.

bristol so far, so good. running in the sunshine this morning along the river, and then a couple of cans of cider in the park, praying for sunshine and strong winds to subside. happy days

friday to sunday

bundled up in freezing white spaces, how did we all end up here. his hands with hints of grey paint, her soft words self depricating and that scruffy scarf. two girls so keen, so shiny and right, but just babes really. and i liked her eyes, and how they caught me from across the room, and later her parka, like mine, with bell sleeves, and i thought, simply, we might be friends. it's cold though, inside and out, my hands are wrapped tight around my tea, but i'm telling my story. this story of mine, the words drop from my lips. i'm in england, i think as i push through tunnels on the way home, each overpass darkening the empty car for a second. pacing further forward, i'm forgetting my stop.
then home with you, tomato pizza and shiraz, i'm licking my fingers, i'm licking your fingers. this bottle is finished.

in the morning, after coffee, we go hunting for junk. poking though sopping skips, slowing down past crooked alleyways, and then, sighing over typewriters and alarm clocks and tin kitchenware, adoring the rounded edges crafted over and over in teak. i almost forget what we are building, this imagined future. but we keep searching and choosing, and somehow it's unfolding without certainty and without even walls or rooms or doors.

later, the fog rolled in slowly as the sun set, and the strip was crisp, the sky like paper and the waves never pausing not even for a minute. i'm smiling and running and laughing at dogs, and finding your hand in my pocket.


i'm waking you up, and it's early. red plums and soy milk, then we head out for the bridge. nobody shows, wrong day, i'm really not sure.
'we seem to have bad luck with these things', 'no never. we are the luckiest', but how can that be? so inseatd tea at the piano and a bite of your salted caramel, and a familiar face across the cafe. finally a familiar face.