juli's blog

first salad of spring

juli — Wed, 25 Apr 2012 03:30:54 +0000

Spring is here! Spring is here! As the weather changes throughout the year, I try to create at least one salad that represents the season and its bounty. Here’s my first crack at spring:

_{arugula, kumato tomatoes, sauteed asparagus and corn, crisped prosciutto,
peppery goat cheese, and a poached farm egg from Birch and Kristine‘s chickens}.

It’s not mind-blowing but it’s a damn good start. I have some more ideas, and who knows, maybe one of them won’t involve goat cheese.

Or pork.

Unlikely, though.

lensbaby

juli — Tue, 10 Apr 2012 22:08:59 +0000

For my birthday last month, finack gave me an amazing lensbaby that I swear I had totally not been dropping hints about for six months. On a recent trip to Tahoe, I got to test it out for the first time. They’re no great works of art, but I’m pleased anyway. It takes a lot of time to get used to this lens, and I can only use it for short periods of time; it tends to give me a bit of a headache, constantly searching so hard through one squinty eye for the “sweet spot” of focus.

I still don’t ski (skis belong in watery water, not frozen water), but it turns out I don’t hate the snow as much as I thought. Having appropriate footwear in which to tromp around and take photos sure helps. The full album is here.

trees

juli — Sun, 05 Feb 2012 18:45:36 +0000

I had a surreal moment yesterday driving around, running errands. I was going down San Antonio towards the freeway, when all of a sudden I had the sense that I was lost.

Nothing looked right, the horizon was strange to me; I could see buildings in the distance that didn’t belong there. The schema of what I should be seeing was contradicted by what I actually was seeing, and I felt very strongly that I was in the wrong place. But hadn’t I driven this route hundreds of times? Of course I know I’ll cross Middlefield, then take a right on Leghorn shortly thereafter. Still, I felt lost. I kept going, figuring my brain was just having a moment of extra special navigation deficiency, and slowly realized what had happened.

All the trees were gone.

Dozens of giant redwood trees that once lined San Antonio road on both sides were gone. Massive stumps, hacked at the base, now lined the road. Buildings a quarter mile away that had once been obscured by trees were now plainly visible. The newfound absence of green was jarring.

I read online later that afternoon that they were removed due to invasive roots, and to make way for the installation of new, young, native trees. I suppose that makes sense, and I don’t know enough to argue the politics of this particular instance of tree removal.

Once I got past the realization, and the annoyance of all those beautiful trees having been taken, I was blown away by how something so simple as a change in landscaping could throw my brain for such a intense loop. I grew up here, yet felt genuinely lost; like I’d taken a wrong turn and somehow ended up someplace that vaguely resembled where I needed to be, but wasn’t that place at all. Like an alternate universe.

I think this could be a cool basis for a short story. Like maybe a girl comes home from traveling the world, with only enough money for the bus fare to get her there, and that’s it. But her town has changed so much that once she arrives, she doesn’t recognize it at all. She becomes convinced that she’s ended up in the wrong place, but can’t afford to keep going to find her real hometown. So she settles there until she can make some money, and meets new people, and starts to build a new life for herself; meanwhile, her family and old friends are in the same town, expecting a girl who never arrived. And they live side by side, but somehow never running into each other.

Is that a stupid idea? For a few months now I’ve been wanting to try my hand again at writing fiction. I suppose now is as good a time to start as any. In the meantime, I’ll be avoiding San Antonio Road.

yes please

juli — Sat, 29 Oct 2011 16:05:43 +0000

Found here.

so much summer

juli — Mon, 03 Oct 2011 04:44:06 +0000

Summer is officially gone, but it’s still warm in northern California, and I still have several dozen green heirloom tomatoes on one of my plants. I’m already starting to think about what to plant for fall, because to be honest with you, I’m sick of summer produce. I ate more caprese salads with delicious olive oil, fresh basil, and tart balsamic vinegar than any one individual has any business eating. I popped figs into my mouth like they were going out of season. They are, but still … that was a lot of figs. I made fig puree for cocktails and fig jam for toast. And I’m sure there’s still tomato sauce in my future after all these bad boys ripen.

My little farm (I know, I know, it’s a “garden” but just let me have this one) looked pretty good this year. I bought barrels off a nice man from Craigslist, and put some corn in the ground too. I had a lawn put in, and pretty as it is, I’m strongly considering ripping it out in favor of actual crop rows this year.

I was disproportionately excited about growing corn. I felt like this was a step beyond just plain old vegetable gardening. Corn is some straight up farmer shit, and I was going to grow some badass corn. So I put it in the ground, and discovered a couple months later that I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. The leaves and silks turned purple due to either too much or too little potassium (internet fail), the plants toppled over, and each stalk produced one harvest, then they were done. I now know that is to be expected, but I had no idea. I wasn’t entirely sure when to harvest them either, and accidentally did so a bit prematurely so the tips were kind of stunted and malformed, but no matter; to me, they were perfect.

I ended up with six smallish ears, which isn’t exactly a bumper crop, and didn’t leave me with a whole lot of wiggle room for cooking, so I only got three meals out of it. The quesadilla was a lovely, indulgent dinner for one … but this steak dish was a complete showstopper. I made it twice. Sweet corn and scallions, sharp garlic, lemon juice, cherry tomatoes and anaheim chiles from PB’s garden all on top of deliciously rare skirt steak. You should probably make this before the fresh corn disappears. Your family/significant other/dog will thank you.

I grew more than just tomatoes and corn; there was eggplant that got salted, drained, and served up in all manners. Cucumbers that actually seemed to accessorize glasses of ice water more than anything else, now that I think of it. And green beans that I blanched and dressed with olive oil and lemon juice once or twice before the slugs claimed that plant as their own. Once I was done obsessing over the things I was growing myself though, I set my sights on sweet, sweet figs.

Last year, my dear friend Melissa made a fig gastrique to mix with bourbon, among other things, and got us all wonderfully wasted for Thanksgiving. That was right around the time PB and I were sniffing around the DIY food scene in general, so thoughts of preserving and canning and jamming and gastrique’ing started floating around in my head. Canning, quite frankly, seems scary. I’m not known for being good at getting things super clean, and that’s kind of a crucial element.

So, I decided to go the jam route. Oh, and to make a puree to mix up with bourbon and whatever else. Not quite as fancy as the gastrique, but you know, baby steps. Half the figs got boiled into a molten state with peppercorns, sugar and balsamic. The other half went into the oven to roast with yet more balsamic.

When all was said and done, I had a sense of accomplishment and a remarkably sugary dinner. For the cocktail, I used this roasted fig cocktail recipe as a guide, and ultimately ended up mixing rye, sutton cellars vermouth, some peychaud’s and the puree. Not too sweet, which is how I like it, but YMMV. The jam – despite cutting the recipe‘s sugar amount by about 1/3 – was still very sweet. Not overly so, but inching its sugary fig butt right up to the line. I had it on crackers with cheese (no, that is not butter), and the next day on a bagel, and the day after that on La Brea toast … then I gave the rest away before I ended up with diabetes.

So, with all that, I say goodbye to summer. I truly am sick of tomatoes. I don’t imagine I’ll be buying any more figs, either. I’m ready for butternut squash and brussels sprouts. I want a goddamn cassoulet.

meditation on relationships

juli — Mon, 12 Sep 2011 23:26:05 +0000

I told my boyfriend from the start, “you have to be patient with me, I’ve never done this before.” I was 26 when we met, so obviously I had dated before. I’d had a handful of boyfriends, one of whom I was with for 6 years. Being in a relationship was nothing new to me; it was being in a good, healthy relationship that I’d never really done before and struggled with at the beginning. At first I thought that made me unique in a sad sort of way, like some kind of bad relationship refugee. I thought to myself, how many other people in their mid-20s believe that up until now, they simply haven’t been treated very well? And what does it say about me that I lived like that for so long, and what part did I play in those dynamics? So I thought my situation was uncommon, and regarded myself as someone with an above-average amount of learning to do about how to be in an adult relationship, how to treat my partner, and how to treat myself.

Eventually I realized that everyone’s situation and relationship past is unique. Everyone has had their trials and tribulations and I challenge you to find me one person who thinks the path that led them to the one they ultimately chose to spend their life with was a gilded one. I wasn’t a special case by any means; we’re all a little fucked up, and comparatively speaking, I really haven’t had it that bad. Neglect and craziness are a picnic compared to what some people go through, and I had the option to leave at any time, even if it took me years to learn how to exercise that option with any sort of permanence.

So now here I am, immensely grateful for the situation I landed in, the person I landed in it with, and for the sanity to do my part in maintaining it. It’s a lifelong lesson though, and in the back of my mind as I continue to learn about life and myself in general, I’m constantly thinking about how he and I are enmeshed. To what extent. With what frequency. Where do you draw the line? Where does “me” end and “we” begin? Obviously there are no right or wrong answers that are universally applicable, but I strongly believe that there’s a right path for every individual, and when the path that’s right for the individual is also right for the partner, and for the relationship between those two individuals … well, that’s when you’ve really lucked out.

Generally speaking, the notion of “two people becoming one,” as a result of marriage – the idea that you each cease to exist individually, and are instead absorbed into a new living entity that is your relationship like some kind of fucked up osmosis – truly offends me to my very core. In fact, it makes me angry. But I’ll let it go for now.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not some insanely independent, cool-as-a-cucumber girlfriend, not by any stretch of the imagination. During our first year together, much to his dismay, I obsessively pointed out all eleven of our “monthaversaries” until we hit the one year mark, at which point I magically stopped caring. I have no explanation for that, but it’s better this way, believe me. To make matters worse, I’m affectionate to the point of clinginess (fortunately I benefit from a pretty high degree of reciprocity), and I experience my fair share of separation anxiety, and associated self-guilt (“grow a pair, woman!”).

But my point is this: my goal is to have a kick ass relationship, and I’m willing to work at it. And as time goes on, I continually refine my philosophy about what makes a good relationship and what makes things work. Recently, I’ve settled on the notion that to be truly happy, you shouldn’t need to be with someone; you should choose to be with them. If you can’t be happy without them, then you’ll never be happy with them, and everyone will be miserable. You need to be able to survive apart, either temporarily or permanently. I understand that this is in direct conflict with the stories we hear about a person losing their partner and remaining in mourning for the rest of their lives, their hearts and genitals holding vigil to the lost love for eternity. Yes, it’s romantic, but I think I’m willing to let it go. Maybe.

Another fact about me: I’m a neurotic worry-wart and massive control freak. My lovely boyfriend with his buddhist-leaning tendencies is constantly and gently reminding me to live in the now. Be present. A year ago, my general response to this urging involved my middle finger – literally and/or figuratively – and a dogged continuation of my obsessive planning and fretting. But I’m starting to wonder if attempts at mapping out and planning the future is less advantageous than simply working on making the daily bond so strong, so solid and so enjoyable that we can endure whatever does come our way, even if it’s not what we’d hoped for.

This is all particularly timely right now, as he is in the middle of an 11-day meditation retreat during which we’re having exactly zero contact (it isn’t just me, by the way – he’s not allowed to talk to anyone). And while I think there some amazing lessons to be learned in this vein regarding mindfulness, detachment and going with the flow (technical term), I’m not 100% convinced that overcoming attachment is the key to happiness; in fact, I believe that personal relationships and the attachments that come along with them are crucial to happiness, and I’m not alone. But I know myself well enough to know that the inability to even exchange quick little text messages for a longish period of time stood a good chance of stressing me out. And I started wondering why that was. Was it going to be a simple matter of “I miss you,” or something deeper? Something with roots I can trace back to relationships in my past? Something more about me, and less about him or us?

Was this an opportunity to do more than binge on wine and pasta for a week and a half? Perhaps some introspective self-work?

Yes.

(But I’m still consuming a ridiculous amount of wine and pasta.)

dad and grandpa

juli — Sun, 19 Jun 2011 20:27:10 +0000

Father’s day has been a bit tough for me since my dad died in January of 2008. Yesterday, we lost my grandpa too. He went peacefully in his sleep, leaving behind the pain and illness that clouded the past two years of his life.

Representing both the Swinyard and Fischer families, these two men in my life were leaders, providers, storytellers, and perhaps most importantly, absolutely hilarious. I mean pee your pants, don’t care if 100 people are staring at the strange shit that’s going down, hilarious.

My grandpa taught me how to fish and pilot a boat. He passed down his love of rivers and sunshine, and because of him I will always gravitate to the nearest body of water to feel complete. My dad taught me how to change a tire, make coffee, and throw a punch. I have his eyes, his silliness, and his temper. I inherited his love of learning, camping, excellent meals (with drinks to go along), and perhaps most importantly, amazing music.

I’m grateful to have had them both for as long as we did. Happy Father’s Day.

jamaica

juli — Tue, 19 Apr 2011 04:06:49 +0000

In Jamaica, we found many things. Lovely people, delicious food, a bounty of Red Stripes and rum drinks. Most of all though, we found beautiful sunsets and lots of quiet time on the sand and rocks. Enjoying the world at an almost painfully slow pace, where hours go by without more than 5 words passing between you and a loved one just 2 feet away? That’s my kind of vacation.

Last November seemed like forever ago until I started playing with these photos. Now I feel warm, and it’s not just the whisky I’m sipping (which, appropriately, was aged in a Caribbean rum cask). It’s humbling to be reminded of the wonderful pleasures afforded to me by life, not the least of which is the amazing people I get to share my experiences with. Namaste, friends. <3

presence

juli — Fri, 18 Mar 2011 23:47:01 +0000

I’m starting to see more and more that I’ve spent a good deal of my life so worried about what was going to happen next, that I frequently forgot to enjoy or at least fully experience what was happening right then.

This is a profoundly hard habit to break. But I believe it will be worth it.

january’s over

juli — Wed, 02 Feb 2011 02:28:34 +0000

Oh dear. Okay. So it seems as though several of the goals I put forth at the beginning of this year are seeing movement.

Making and growing food and eating it: check. Finack and I attended a salumi class at The Fatted Calf, from which we came home with 2 types of sausage and some guanciale. My first garden harvest produced a very full bag of delicious arugula (the guanciale and arugula made for an awesome salad with caramelized onions, goat cheese and toasted pine nuts). Last night we went to a whole hog butchering class at 4505 Meats, and have more pork than we know what to do with. I’ll be cooking up some bone-in chops this weekend, and also have visions of pork confit and pork cassoulet dancing in my head. I have some pretty fantastic photos from the Fatted Calf class, and some random cooking stuff that I’ll be posting soon, hopefully.

Professional situation: check. I’ve left my job after three and a half years, and start a new position at a startup in San Francisco tomorrow. I can’t really say too much about that simply because there’s not much to say yet. Except that I feel like someone untied a giant anchor from around my ankle. A talking anchor that was constantly threatening to eat my soul. Or something to that effect.

Exercising: check. We’ve been going to yoga a good amount, but still need to go more. 2 years ago this time I was going to yoga three times a week and felt awesome. I’d like to get back to that place. YogaWorks in Walnut Creek is a pretty good spot. It’s not the tiny, cozy, candlelit environment I’m used to – it’s a bit more sterile and pretty huge, but we’re learning which classes and teachers work for us and it’s a positive place. I’m in week four of the Couch to 5K running program, but it’s worth pointing out that I started it nearly 3 months ago, and haven’t lost a pound. However! I’m pleased with my running endurance progress, and that’s what matters. I just need to up the frequency of my exercise, and reduce the frequency of my bourbon and pork consumption (grumble grumble).

Money … well, we don’t need to talk about that, do we?