I like this skirt.
Christmas!
After.
The palm trees swirl violently in the wind and the rain is relentless. All day long…
Our original guiding stars are struggle and hope, but there is no such thing as a lone struggle, no such thing as a lone hope. In every human being are combined the most distant epochs, passivity, mistakes, sufferings, the pressing urgencies of our own time [and] the pace of history … There is no insurmountable solitude. All paths lead to the same goal: to convey to others what we are. And we must pass through solitude and difficulty, isolation and silence in order to reach forth to the enchanted place where we can dance our clumsy dance and sing our sorrowful song - but in this dance or in this song there are fulfilled the most ancient rights of our conscience in the awareness of being human and of believing in a common destiny.
Pablo Neruda
sushi soon,
and some more beautiful writing from Orangette:
The top and bottom are white chocolate, onto which you sprinkle crushed peppermints, and the middle layer is a bittersweet ganache, ever so slightly soft and truffle-like, spiked with peppermint extract. It’s pretty, for one thing, but it’s also unusually delicious: heady with mint, only moderately sweet, and surprisingly sophisticated, crunchy in parts and smooth in others, like a proper chocolate confection. It’s Americana, yes, but Americana in a vintage designer dress. If the butter cookies I made last week bore a faint resemblance to my grandmother, this peppermint bark is my fantasy great-aunt: the one who lives in San Francisco, wears Jackie O. dresses and glasses with vermilion frames, makes hot chocolate from scratch, and always knows what’s showing at SFMOMA. What a lady she would be. I wish she actually existed. At least I have peppermint bark.
A potential new favorite blog… A woman studying for her PhD in art history and proceeding to cook around five recipes from each of her myriad cookbooks.
Tonight I’m going to my friend’s house to eat the enchiladas I prepared and to watch Gossip Girl. What better a Sunday night?
