food, wine, poems

In preparation for a small gathering last night, I baked a Pissaladiere. It's a French quiche (as if you couldn't figure that out) and I make it when I want something savory and impressive. I don't know where I first found the recipe but through the years I've modified it to my own tastes and it probably doesn't have much resemblance to the original anymore. I add lots more fresh basil and black olives, sweet onions, less milk and cheese and farmer's market tomatoes (when available). I also baked a small loaf cake using a recipe my mother cut out of the New York Daily News in 1926 when she was first married. I've used it in endless variations (just as she did) for most of my adult baking life. For this one I threw in some raisins and sprinkled powdered sugar on top. Simple and Yum! I haven't spent much baking time in my kitchen lately and must admit it felt good. Unfortunately, when I start to bake, I can't make only one of anything. I made 3 loaf cakes (gave two away) and two quiches - one of which we ate tonight for dinner.
   The occasion that prompted all of this was the gathering of seven poets at a friend's house to eat, drink wine (everyone brought a bottle) and read our poems to each other. Some poems were rough first drafts, others were being primed for soon-to-be-published poetry collections. The women are all well published, award-winning poets and I feel honored to be invited to be among them. They are beautiful, ages 40s to 80s. After filling plates and wine glasses and because the evening was mild, we went outside onto Phyllis's patio overlooking Taos Valley. We watched the sun set, lights in houses turn on, the stars appear, and read aloud until all the light faded and we had to commandeer flashlights to finish. We donned shawls and light sweaters, I wore the new lace cashmere shawl over my shoulders. The warmth held until about 10 o'clock when the breeze picked up and the temperature fell dramatically. Here, nights are always cold - even in high summer (which it is not).
     I felt warm and comfortable in the shawl for most of the evening, but the next one will have to be made wider - by two or three pattern repeats. It's lovely and soft as it is, but if it is to be worn the way I chose, it doesn't cover enough body. So. What does this mean? I have to order a third skein of the new color from Sarah's Yarns. Blast! Another expense and another shipping charge. But it's my own fault for being impulsive and not waiting until I'd actually worn the shawl in various circumstances to test it out. But really, how unimportant is that? Last night's experience will carry me through the rest of this week and has prompted me to get back down to revising and editing my rough collection of new poems.

One needs to work to achieve enlightenment
and then return to the common world.
                                    Basho