The other day I was hanging out with a couple of friends. It was pouring rain and we were stuck indoors, lounging about on couches, flipping through magazines and drinking hot tea. Occasionally, we'd comment on what we were reading and sometimes this would spark a conversation, like this one: More

Broiled grapefruit for breakfast. Eating a grapefruit is like inviting a tango into your mouth. The sweetness and the bitterness play with each other in a perfect, taut harmony. Broiling just tightens the rope, concentrating all the elements, making the sweet sweeter and the bitter more pronounced. It's quite an exciting, sexy way to start your day. Especially when it's a rainy Sunday morning and you don't have to hustle out the door. (Pun intended.) More

Housing and shelter has been occupying a big chunk of my thoughts these days. I've had to move a lot lately and am about to embark on another round of apartment hunting this spring. (Any leads?) In the past year, I've set up shop in six different kitchens, delighting in new discoveries and adjusting to odd limitations (one kitchen had five corkscrews but no measuring cups!) It's been a delightful romp but I'm ready to settle down now and hopefully develop some of the focus and depth that comes from staying put. More

In honor of Springing Ahead today, I want to share with you a few things that have been inspiring my kitchen.

• First, Oaktown Spice Shop. If you have ever shopped at The Spice House on Old World Third Street in Milwaukee, then you will recognize the vibe of this new Oakland, CA shop where all the spices are stored in apothecary jars and the proprietor (John Beaver, pictured above) is very knowledgeable, patient and helpful. I bought some Mediterranean Oregano there a few weeks back and I'm slightly addicted, sprinkling it into almost everything, especially if it has garlic.
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There's a poem (one of my favorites) by Mark Doty that was inspired by a trip to the grocery store where he noticed some mackerel on ice at the fish counter. He was so compelled to describe them that he had to write the poem in the car on the ride home, scribbling his notes on brown paper bags.
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The two old leeks that I found in the very back of the very bottom drawer of my refrigerator didn't look like much. Their thick stalks were slightly soft and yellowed, shriveled in some places and slimy in others. It was tempting to pop them into the compost bin and just deal with the guilt for the lost opportunity. But leeks are hearty vegetables, made to survive in cold dark places. A few quick trims from a sharp knife and suddenly they looked much better. More

One of the joys of a well-stocked larder is that when your plans suddenly shift due to weather or sickness or other such capriciousness (car trouble, flaky friends) you can rest assured in the certainty that you will not, for the time being at least, starve.

Even better, a day suddenly wide open and available means you can indulge a little (or a lot) in what you're naturally drawn to. Sometimes it can take a minute or two to sort this out, especially if your life is crammed full of expectations and obligations and you've lost sight of what it is that your heart yearns for. But a few quiet moments with a cup of whatever stimulates your body and mind and a gentle but firm reminder that this is not about cleaning cupboards or sorting spices and perhaps you'll arrive at something that brings a smile to your face. The answer for me this morning was simple, but satisfying: banana pancakes. More

As much as I can, I carefully guard my Sunday mornings from any form of hustle and ambition. No alarm clocks, no obligations, nothing tugging at my sleeve. Even brunch plans are carefully negotiated into a late lunch time slot. I am adamant: Sunday mornings are reserved for a gentle, gradual wake-up on a gentle, quiet schedule. Slow entry. Sloth time. There's nowhere to go and nothing to do but make endless cups of tea to be drunk in bed with whichever novel I've been trying to finish propped up on my knees.

I can wallow in this quiet bliss for a couple of long and lazy hours until hunger arrives, usually in the form of a rather alarmingly loud stomach gurgle. Oh right. Breakfast! Time for phase two of the lazy Sunday morning: toast with butter and honey. More

I've been cooking my beans in a big fat clay pot that sits all day on the lowest possible flame on the back of my stove. Once and a while a little burbly bubble pops up and breaks the surface and slowly, slowly the beans swell and grow creamy. They're flavored with salt and olive oil and a little onion, maybe a bay leaf if I remember or a whole dried chili if that seems appropriate.

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I'm quite taken by the short video (above) by Julia Warr which had been showing up on the internets this week. It features Maia Helles, a 95 year-old ballet dancer/teacher whom Julia met on an airplane a few years ago.

The scenes of Maia watering her garden and doing her exercise routine (which she has been doing for over 60 years) are very inspiring. But my favorite moments are of her tying on her apron and cooking what I assume to be her lunch. Greens and yellows, we hear her say as she dishes up delicious looking plates of Delicata squash and cooked greens. We see her table beautifully and simply set, a bright orange pot hanging on her wall, the translucent cloth that covers her kitchen door fluttering in the breeze. She fusses and primps a little in the kitchen mirror, fixing and fluffing her hair.
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