Once in a while, a grownup walks into a child’s life and changes it forever in wonderful, meaningful ways.  But because the child is just a child, she simply can’t know how important that grownup is; not until she herself is a grownup and the tides of time have carried everyone forward… and apart.

This is the story of someone special who came into my life when I was young, how she drifted away in the tide, and how the forces of nature and circumstance–by some miracle–brought her back to me.

I grew up in a quiet neighborhood in Orinda, a bedroom community east of San Francisco.  It was a neighborhood in transition; most of the homes had been built in the 1940s and 1950s.  By the early Eighties, many of the homes were still occupied by their original owners; elderly folks whose children had moved away.

My parents were among the first in a wave of younger couples to move in, but there weren’t many kids for me and my sister, Kate, to play with.  In fact, there were so few children in the area that the local elementary school had closed and we had to take a bus to a neighboring school.  After school we were left to our own devices, children of working parents that we were.  We wandered around the neighborhood amusing ourselves in other people’s gardens and digging up moss in the swampy gutter that ran along our street.  When we were feeling particularly adventurous, we would sneak into the backyard of a senile old woman whose rotting swimming pool was alive with wriggling tadpoles.  It was thrilling.

And then Kathy moved in.  Kathy was technically a grownup, but since she was renting a room in Mr. and Mrs. Ward’s house down the street and had no children or husband of her own, Kate and I (ages six and eight) figured she couldn’t be much older than we were.  In fact, she was forty-four.  But we didn’t know and we didn’t care.  She had soft brown hair and a lovely way of speaking that sounded like singing.  And she played the piano like nothing we had ever heard before.

Indeed, she was a piano teacher who was staying with the Wards while she looked for an apartment big enough for her piano.  Since she didn’t have a nine-to-five job like our parents, Kathy always seemed to be home. Which meant Kate and I spent a lot of time in her company just following her around, our brindle boxer in tow, babbling on and on about nothing.  She sometimes made us lunch and we had more than a few little adventures together, one involving a stray donkey that turned up in the neighborhood one bright and sunny Saturday morning.  That story demands an entire post of its own, but suffice it to say… Kathy was a big part of our lives for about a year and we loved her.

But she eventually found a place to live and moved out. I don’t remember when she left and I don’t remember saying good bye.  And not long after she left, my parents moved us to Los Angeles.  I was soon a SoCal pre-teen with more pressing things to think about than Kathy.

I moved back to Northern California for college and I occasionally wondered what ever happened to Kathy.  But I never looked her up, I don’t know why.  You know how it goes, you get so busy.  Too busy for the important things.

But about a month ago, 23 years after my sister and Kathy and I found that rogue donkey wandering the streets of Orinda, my phone rang on a cool Sunday morning while I was at brunch with a friend.  It was a local number I didn’t recognize, so I let it go to voice mail.  I listened to the message later that afternoon; it was a political campaign call.  A random volunteer calling numbers from a list.

I was about to press delete when I heard the caller say her name, just before she urged me one last time to vote.  And when she said her name, it clicked.  It was Kathy.  I listened to the message again and I was sure of it.  There was no mistaking her voice, a voice that was talking but sounded like it was singing.  She had no idea who she was calling, but I knew exactly who was calling me.

I tried calling the number back but the mailbox was full.  I called again and again that day and the next, but to no avail.  Eager to connect with her and confirm what I wanted so badly to believe was true, I Googled her.  Sure enough, I found Kathy in the Bay Area teaching piano at a prestigious music school.  I called the school and they gave me her email address.  I wrote to her.  I waited.

Kathy wrote me back and confirmed she was indeed the Kathy I thought she was.  She was so pleased I had written.  We talked on the phone a few days later, for nearly an hour.  We set a date for lunch.

She’s in her late sixties now, and I’m thirty-one.  But she looked the same!  She talked the same way, she laughed the same way.  I, on the other hand, looked quite different at 31 than she remembered me at eight.  I had to bring photos of myself and Kate as younger children so she could remember us.  We ate matzo ball soup at Saul’s Deli in Berkeley.  She brought a paper bag full of Flavor King pluots for dessert.  It was a great reunion.

I don’t have a recipe for this post, just a photo of some dahlias from my garden.  I guess a photo of roses would have been more appropriate, so I could have ended with something about how important it is to stop and smell them.  But I don’t have roses in my garden, just dahlias this year.

So roses or dahlias, an old friend, a long lost neighbor.  Your mother, your father.  Your sister.  Your fourth grade teacher.  Whoever deserves to be recognized and appreciated for the beauty they’ve brought to your life… go do it.  Don’t leave it to the tides of time to give you another chance.

Why tomatoes? Well, just look at them.  They’re pretty and they’re so fun to photograph… bright shades of green and gold and red.  Is there any other fruit that comes in so many lovely colors?  I can’t think of one.  Plus they’re nutritious little guys… packed with vitamin C, antioxidants and lycopene.  They’re like colorful little multivitamins that taste like candy.  At the peak of summer, they’re unbelievably sweet.

Besides these peppy little cherries, I’ve got heirlooms coming, but it’s been such a cool summer here in the Bay Area that it’s taking for-ehhhh-ver for them to mature.  They’restill green and hard and gnarled in their heirloom-ey sort of way.  Yesterday, at long last, we got a blast of warm weather.  A few more weeks of weather like this and I’ll have my heirlooms by the end of September.

For now, I’ve been buying heirlooms at the farmers market and making my favorite summertime soup: gazpacho.  My dad, who indeed descends from the Spaniards (gazpacho is a Spanish soup), used to make it from veggies picked from our home garden and serve it for dinner.  I still associate the fresh, peppery flavor of gazpacho with the warm, lazy summertimes of my childhood. Recently, I went through a couple of weeks where I was going on a lot of business dinners (too many, actually) and I kept coming back to gazpacho as a sort of detox/weight-maintenance dinner in between rich restaurant meals.  The soup is filling but pretty light, and packed with nutrition — really a giant salad in soup form.  It makes me feel great. 

I also love gazpacho because it’s about the easiest soup in the world to make, and it’s forgiving: I mess around with the proportions all the time depending upon what I’ve got in the garden (or in the fridge) and it always turns out just fine. Just dump whatever fresh produce you’ve got into a food processor (or blender), season, whirl, and serve.  That’s the basic formula and it works every time.

Dad’s Gazpacho

1 medium heirloom tomato
1 handful cherry tomatoes
1/2 cucumber, peeled (about a four-inch piece)
1/2 red bell pepper, seeds removed
1/4 cup olive oil
2 T balsamic vinegar
1/4 cup champagne vinegar
salt and pepper to taste

Chop the heirloom tomato and cucumber into 1-inch cubes.  Combine with the rest of the ingredients in the bowl of a food processor.  Process until liquefied.  Chill at least 20 minutes, re-stir and serve cold.

Well I’ve finally gotten my head out of the show-biz clouds and I’m back to the ol’ bump and grind.  My TV pilot is in editing now and there’s nothing for me to do except sit and wait.  It’s killing me to be idle, but I know the editing team is working their magic on the more than 24 hours of film we shot for a 23 minute episode.  Isn’t that crazy?!  That’s a helluva lot of footage. I know it’s going to be great.

So I’m back at work (oh yeah, still have that day job) and making time for all the fun things I enjoy: hitting the farmers markets a few days a week, taking care of my vegetable garden, and doing some road biking in the early mornings.  I suffered a running injury over Fourth of July weekend, so I made the plunge on a spiffy new Specialized.  I love the wind on my face and being able to cover such great distances in a short amount of time.  I’m seeing more of my neighborhood (the whole city, actually) than I could ever see before on foot.

And I’m spending more time with friends than ever.  With school behind me and the pilot wrapped up, I’m loving leisurely dinners at some of my favorite spots in the Bay Area.  I had a fabulous dinner with two of my closest girlfriends earlier this week at Farina in the Mission.  It was a farewell meal for my friend Richa, who is off to trek in Nepal for a month.  She is a brave, adventurous girl with a big heart and a strong spirit; We were missing her before the meal even ended.  We had tender house-made pasta and a bottle of spectacular red wine, Occhipinti SP68, which is bottled by the beautiful 28-year-old Sicilian winemaker, Ariana Occhipinti.  (Here’s her website, if you happen to read Italian.) The woman herself will be at Farina next Tuesday for a special wine dinner in Celebration of SF Natural Wine Week and I’ve already made a reservation.  Come join if you’re in the Bay Area!

And of course I’m cooking and baking a lot.  I’ve been having squash with almost every meal because I seem to have planted the world’s most prolific squash plant this year.  (And squash is a pretty prolific crop to begin with, as you may know already if you’ve ever grown one.)  And I’m baking a lot, mostly cobblers and pies because I buy too much fruit at the farmer’s markets and I hate throwing it away.

Which leads me to the Best Fruit Cobbler Ever recipe and the story of Berk.  Berk is a colleague of mine, a Turkish-born software engineer who knows his sweets — he always brings delicious little candies and desserts back from Turkey when he goes home to visit his parents.  And when his mother comes to visit him here, she bakes decadent homemade goods that Berk brings in to share with all of us.  But Berk is also a man of few words.  And that is why, after I brought this cobbler into the office a few weeks ago, it seemed notable that Berk stopped me in the hallway to tell me it was the best fruit cobbler he had ever had.

The BEST.  Ever.

Those were his words.

Try it for yourself and let me know if you agree.

Filling

8 cups pitted and sliced stone fruit*
1 cup sugar
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
grated zest and juice of one lemon

Crust
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, melted
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 cup plus 3 tablespoons sugar, divided
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup buttermilk, room temperature

To prepare the filling, combine the sugar, flour, and lemon zest in a small bowl.  Whisk to combine.  Place the sliced fruit into a large bowl and toss with the lemon juice.  Sift the flour mixture over the fruit and stir gently with a wooden spoon until no white flour remains.

Grease an 11 by 9 by 3 inch baking dish with cooking spray.  Pour fruit filling into dish and set aside.

To prepare the crust, mix together the flour, 1/4 of the sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a medium bowl.  Whisk to combine thoroughly.

Combine the buttermilk and melted butter in a separate bowl and whisk to combine.

Slow add the buttermilk mixture to the flour mixture and stir to form a soft dough.  Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for about 20 minutes or until the dough is firm enough to roll.

While the dough chills, preheat the oven to 375F.

With lightly floured hands turn the dough onto a clean, lightly floured work surface and roll into a 12- to 14-inch round, about 1/4 inch thick.

Using a sharp knife and a ruler or straight edge, cut strips of dough and arrange them over the cobbler in an alternating basket-weave pattern, leaving 1-inch gaps for steam to escape. Trim any long ends even  with the edge of the baking dish.

Brush the strips with egg wash (I egg beaten lightly with 1 tablespoon water), sprinkle with turbinado sugar, bake for 40 to 45 mins until fruit is bubbly and the top is golden brown.

*Peaches, nectarines, plums, apricots, blueberries, or any combination of the above work great.  You can peel the fruit if you wish by dunking it in simmering water and removing it with a slotted spoon after 60-90 seconds.  The skins should just peel off once the fruit is cooled.  Note that apricot skin is so delicate, there’s really no need to bother.  And if you’re using blueberries (as I did in the photo) they just go in whole.

Wow!  Can you believe it?  That’s me on the set of the pilot for my new TV show.  We started filming last month, and we wrapped it up last weekend — it’s so new we don’t even have a title yet.  What is this new show all about, you might ask?  It’s about bringing people together for food, connection, and laughter.  It isn’t just about cooking, it’s about relationships.  We all know that when you entertain, you build relationships with your guests, whether they are old friends, relatives, or perfect strangers. But you also build relationships with farmers, merchants, and artisans.  You spend more time at farmer’s markets and local shops, and you get to know the people who grow and raise the food we eat.  On this program, we celebrate all the ways that cooking and entertaining enrich the social and emotional aspects of our lives.

The concept for the show is precisely what I’m passionate about and it’s the lifestyle I live every day.  I love having dinner parties and brunches at my place, and I love bringing people together—sometimes people I don’t even know very well—for simple, wholesome human connection over a good meal.  So it wasn’t at all difficult for me to have a ton of fun on the set.  I loved every minute of it!  The kitchen we filmed in was fantastic and the crew was out-of-this-world.  Everyone showed up with unbelievable energy and enthusiasm for the project.  One crew member, in fact, brought me a cooler full of fresh herbs from his home garden to use on the set.  That’s his basil in the foreground of the photo above!  Now if that isn’t going above and beyond the call of duty, I don’t know what is.

On Day One of filming, I spent a good hour in hair and makeup, and then guess what happened?  I promptly got pooped on by a pigeon.  I swear, not a minute after I walked outside.  Luckily Mr. Poopy Pigeon only got my skirt.  And they say that’s good luck in showbiz, right?  (For your sake, I did not take a photograph of this event!)

Naturally, we started filming at the San Francisco Ferry Plaza farmer’s market.  The market stalls were teeming with summertime produce: bright green and yellow squash, purple hydrangeas, fire engine red tomatoes, and leafy green basil.  I had a blast chatting with the farmers who bring their goods from all over California.  We also filmed inside the Ferry Building, where I visited some of my favorite shops: Cowgirl Creamery, Acme Bread, San Francisco Fish Company, Stonehouse Olive Oil, and Farm Fresh to You.   These stores are all locally owned and operated, so they are near and dear to my heart as a native San Franciscan.  The shop keepers are passionate about their products and extremely knowledgeable; I learn something new every time I stop by to say hello.

Then we headed over to my favorite bakery in all of Northern California, Tartine.  I felt it was important to incorporate an element of convenience into the show. Why spend all day making dessert when you can pick something up instead?  I’m all about making things easier for myself, so I can be a better hostess when my guests arrive.  The gals at Tartine helped me pick out a luscious lemon cream tart — the perfect finishing touch for a light summery meal.  And then it was time to head back to the set and start cooking!

Back on the set, I started preparing dinner for eight: salmon with a tomato-nectarine salsa, oven-roasted fingerling potatoes, and some gorgeous green and yellow zucchini.  I did most of the work on a grill pan, which made all the food prep super easy.  But I won’t give the recipes here, you’ll have to watch the show!

And it couldn’t be a show about entertaining if I didn’t actually invite all my friends over for a party, so that’s just what I did.   We dined and drank and laughed until the wee hours, and the film crew caught it all on tape.   It was a real party, with real people, amazing food, and genuine connection.  We had a really, really good time.

And that, dear readers, is why this show is going to be the best new show on television!

Click here for more photos from the set!

]]> http://www.mirileigh.com/2010/08/sneak-peak/feed/ 20 http://www.mirileigh.com/2010/07/switzerland-and-france-a-photo-journal/ http://www.mirileigh.com/2010/07/switzerland-and-france-a-photo-journal/#comments Mon, 19 Jul 2010 06:37:30 +0000 miri http://www.mirileigh.com/?p=1450 Continue reading →]]>

No budget for that trip to Europe this summer?  Click no further.

I spent a short week in Geneva, Switzerland, for my 31st birthday and it was… fabulous.  I fell in love with Geneva: The lake, the trains, the Old City, the countryside.  It’s as European as European cities get–with fantastic wine and food and music and parks–but it’s small enough and easy enough to get around that you feel entirely at home, even as a tourist.

My favorite day trip was to Yvoire, France.  It’s a 20-minute train ride to Nyon, then a 20-minute boat ride across Lake Geneva. You start to think that the boat ride alone is worth the trip until you get to Yvoire, which tops the boat ride with its gardens and cobblestone streets and perfectly preserved medieval village, castle and all.  The Garden of the Five Senses, in the center of the village, is a traditional maze garden in five sections: one each for smell, taste, sight, sound, and touch.

Another great day trip is La Gruyere, where you can tour the Gruyere cheese factory, more medieval architecture, and yet another castle. It’s a bit of a longer trek: two hours from Geneva via train through Palezieux.  But the train ride is lovely; it takes you through the lush, green Swiss countryside into the pre-Alpine terrain just north of Lausanne.

But you really needn’t leave Geneva at all to have a great time.  Reservations are not required for dinner in Geneva. Simply stroll the streets of the Old City until you find a spot at an outdoor table.  The fondue is good, of course, but so is the fish and game.  My favorite dish was something of breakfast for dinner: a fried egg over hashbrowns with steamed vegetables and melted cheese.  It was darn good with a glass of red wine.

If you’ve slashed your vacation budget this summer, simply click the movie file below for a quick virtual getaway.  I shot three times this many pictures, to be honest, but did my best to pare them down for you.  With the gorgeous light and beautiful scenery of Geneva, it was hard to take a bad shot.

This is my gift to you, a virtual vacation, free of charge, with no jet lag and no suitcase to unpack.  Enjoy.  Happy Summer.

Do you find yourself shedding a small tear when you realize that cherry season will end just as abruptly as it started?  Well, cry no more my friend.  You can preserve cherries by soaking them in brandy and then canning them until winter.  Just imagine for a moment that it’s December (hard to imagine in this heat, I know) and you’re serving this summer’s sweetest cherries in a rich liqueur syrup over vanilla ice cream at your holiday dinner table. It’ll blow pumpkin pie out of the water.

Knowing what we now know about botulism and other scary bacterial illnesses, canning can seem a little intimidating at first.  It’s true that if you’re not careful, you can make yourself and your loved ones very sick.  Washing the fruit carefully, heating it to the appropriate temperature, using sterile equipment, and following all directions very carefully are super-duper important steps.

I am by no means an expert on canning, but I’ve done it enough to feel pretty comfortable with the process.  (And I even think it’s fun. Such a food nerd, right?)  It all started about five years ago when a neighbor brought over three grocery bags full of navel oranges one cold winter morning, harvested from their small orchard.  I stared at those oranges for about half a day before I realized there was only one thing to do with them: make marmalade.  I did a little online research, bought some canning jars at the grocery store, and ended up with enough jars of marmalade to check about 30 people off my list of friends and family for whom I otherwise would have had to buy a holiday present. And they loved those little jars of homemade goodness… there’s nothing like a gift from the kitchen.

The National Center for Home Food Preservation at the University of Georgia is really the authority on the subject of canning, so definitely set aside some time to do a little browsing there before you dive in.  If, after reading up on canning, you decide you don’t even want to mess with it,  you can simply store the finished cherries in their syrup in an airtight container in the fridge for up to three weeks.

But I hope you’ll try canning.  If you have a garden or are part of a farm share, you’ll quickly learn that canning is a great way to preserve all that leftover produce.  And don’t put this project off because cherries will be all but gone from the farmers markets by the end of July.  You’ll be sorry come Christmas Eve when you have nothing but boring ol’ pumpkin pie on the table.

Brandied Cherries

3 1/2 pounds Bing cherries
2 cups granulated sugar
1 1/2 cups water
juice of one lemon
1 cinnamon stick
1 1/4 cups brandy
1 tablespoon vanilla

Rinse, stem and pit cherries. Combine the sugar, water, lemon juice and cinnamon stick in a saucepan. Heat to a boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Pour 1/4 cup syrup into each clean, hot jar. Fill jars with cherries. Add 1/4 cup brandy and more syrup as needed to fill each jar, leaving 1/2-inch headspace; seal. Process in a boiling water bath 20 minutes.

Yields 5 pints.



(And definitely try the recipe — I’ve been having strawberry smoothies for breakfast since we shot this a month ago!)

www.youtube.com/watch?v=xXwNnB_kHhc

So I photographed everything else there was to photograph… marigolds, lobelia, tomatoes (now blooming!), squash (with tiny baby squashes sprouting!), and my sunflower seedlings.  Yes, I realize I’ve gone a little wild in the gardening department this summer; I’m determined to make good use of the terraced beds in my backyard that have sat empty since my landlord tore out the landscaping two years ago.

It feels good!  Growing the stuff you eat is really pretty amazing.  And having fresh flowers to cut is a real treat.  Every day I come home excited to get outside and see what’s blooming.  (Am I total garden nerd or what?)

When I was growing up, we had apple trees and a pear tree and even grape vines in our yard.  My dad kept a vegetable garden and grew many of the same things I’m growing this year: tomatoes, beans, lettuce, and carrots are what I remember.  I know it’s because I had an early exposure to gardening that I find so much pleasure in it now.  Literally, the smell of a tomato vine takes me back in time.  And it doesn’t hurt that my aunt, who lives within walking distance of where I live now, is also a devoted gardener with a lush garden that looks like it belongs in a magazine.  She’s always starting seeds in small pots and then handing the young plants out for adoption, and many of them come to me.

I hope you’re keeping a garden this summer, even if it’s just a pot of herbs on your windowsill.  What are you growing, and what do you wish you could grow if you had more time, more space, or better weather?

This photo pretty much sums up my weekend… beautiful, relaxing, and a tad bit decadent.  Saturday morning I hit the Grand-Lake farmer’s market and loaded up on all kinds of edible treasures I didn’t really need but simply couldn’t resist: cherries, strawberries, apricots, eggs, herbs, green kale, garlic, turnips, lavender honey, and a loaf of mushroom-potato flatbread.  Just as I was wondering what I was going to do with all that food, my friend Yvonne called and asked if  I was free to get together.  Sure! I said.  C’mon over for brunch tomorrow.

Meanwhile, I had the rest of Saturday all to myself with no plans whatsoever.  I finished graduate school five weeks ago and I’m still not quite accustomed to the stillness of my school-free weekends.  But I’m working hard at adjusting: I spent the rest of the day on the couch with a book.  I’m halfway through a riveting piece of historical fiction, The Help, which fills me with utter dismay one moment and unbounded hope the next.  It’s hard to believe that less than fifty years ago folks in Mississippi were building separate bathrooms—outdoors—for their African American housekeepers because they thought it unsanitary to share a toilet.  And yet it’s painfully, painfully true.

Saturday night I had the pleasure of attending a dinner party with some of my Wharton classmates at our friend Prasad’s house in Fremont.  You’ve never seen such a fabulous home!  It must be 5000 square feet and his lovely wife Risha has filled it with some incredible pieces of artwork and sculpture.  But in traditional Indian style, dinner wasn’t served until after 10pm, so it was a late night.  I stumbled into my apartment (which suddenly felt very much like a shoebox) well past midnight.

This morning, by some small miracle, I got myself out of bed for an early run and then put together a pretty fantastic spread with Saturday’s farmer’s market bounty.  Yvonne and I feasted at my breakfast counter and got lost in conversation for a good couple of hours.  But when she left, I realized I had forgotten the apricots: There they were still in a paper bag tucked behind some cookbooks on the counter.

And so I thumbed through the June issue of Martha Stewart Living, and lo and behold… there was a recipe for apricots in all their luscious, golden glory: Almond-Apricot Tart.

I think I’m legal in printing the recipe here because I’ve modified it just a bit.  The original version yielded too much filling, so I pared it down.  I also think whipped cream needs a little sugar and vanilla when it’s paired with uncooked, unsweetened fruit, so I added both.  But you can leave it unsweetened if you prefer.

Still, you should pick up a copy of the magazine, not only for this recipe but because it’s filled with all kinds of other fun things this month: Some lovely photography of the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, some great recipes for summertime libations, and a fun piece on collecting antique citrus juicers.  I know we all love to hate Martha, but she really does publish a beautiful magazine.

Make the Crust

3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup blanched almonds, toasted*
4 tablespoons softened unsalted butter
1/3 cup confectioners sugar
1 large egg yolk
Pinch of salt

Pulse the almonds and flour in a food processor and set aside.  Beat butter and confectioner’s sugar with a mixer fitted with the whisk attachment until pale and fluffy, about 5 minutes.  Add flour mixture, yolk, and the salt.  Mix until the dough comes together, then turn out into a 9-inch tart pan with a removable bottom.  Using the heel of your hand or the bottom of a lightly greased drinking glass, press the dough over the bottom and up the sides of the tart pan.  Refrigerate one hour.

Make the Filling

6 tablespoons unsalted butter
4 large egg yolks
1/4 cup light corn syrup
3 tablespoons brown sugar
3 tablespoons Myers rum
3 tablespoons heavy cream
1 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 325F.  Heat the butter in a saucepan over medium-high heat until browned, about 3-4 minutes.  Remove from heat and allow to cool at least 10 minutes.  Meanwhile, beat the yolks, corn syrup, and brown sugar in the bowl of a mixer fitted with a whisk attachment until pale and fluffy, about 2 minutes.  Mix in the browned butter, scraping the bottom of the pan to get all the browned solids.  Add the rum, cream and vanilla and continue to beat until smooth.

Remove the tart shell from the refrigerator and pour the filling into it.  Bake until the crust is golden and the filling is just barely set in the middle, about 40 minutes.  Allow to cool on a rack.

Prepare the Topping

6 medium firm-ripe apricots, pitted and sliced thinly
2 cups heavy cream, cold
1/4 cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla

Arrange the apricots in concentric circles, starting at the outside edge, until the surface of the tart filling is covered.  Beat the cold cream with the sugar and vanilla until soft peaks form.  Serve each wedge of the tart with a dollop of whipped cream.  (Note, the apricots will start to turn brown within 30 minutes, so you’ll want to assemble this tart as close to serving time as possible.  If you must make it a few hours ahead, brush the apricots with melted, strained apricot jelly to “seal” them, then cover with plastic wrap.)

*To toast the almonds, spread them in a single layer over a cookie sheet and toast in a 325F oven for 5-10 minutes, stirring them with a wooden spoon every two minutes.  Alternatively, you can toss them gently in a hot, un-greased cast iron skillet over a medium-high flame.  Be careful not to let them burn.  Allow to cool completely before using.

My parents have retired to Santa Maria, on California’s Central Coast, and I’m so happy about it I feel like I’m the one who has retired. Most of California is great, no question, but Santa Maria is… perfect. It gets a cool breeze from the Pacific Ocean and provides awesome access to beaches, hiking, restaurants, and all kinds of great recreation.  It’s not densely populated, it’s pretty safe, and it gets bonus points for being less than a four hour drive from San Francisco.  And a beautiful drive at that!

I was there for Memorial Day weekend and we had a fantastic time just roaming around. We enjoyed the lovely garden at the Back Bay Inn, just a few miles north of Santa Maria in Baywood Park, which is where most of these photos were taken. The Inn sits right on the water and the grounds, while meticulously kept, convey a sort of whimsical, relaxed ocean-inspired state of mind. The abundance of Salvia, roses, iceland poppies, fuschia, and hydrangea is visually intoxicating.

Later that evening we stumbled upon a car show by West Coast Kustoms, which drew hundreds of spectators to downtown Santa Maria as car owners, many of whom had driven their four-wheeled beauties the distance of several states, cruised up and down the main drag. Each car was more impressive than the one that preceded it: custom paint, hydraulics, colored lights, plush interiors. Each was unique, and each reflected hours (and hours, and hours!) of love and labor.  I’m not really a car girl, myself, but I was enthralled by what I knew those people felt for their cars:  dedication, pride, and passion.  It was palpable.

And then it hit me. I was standing there on the sidewalk watching these cars roll by, surrounded by men and women of all shapes and sizes and children who had ice cream dripping down their chins, and I realized that I’m really into people who are into things. Whatever it is–as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone or cause excessive damage to the earth–I say pursue your passion! Pursue it, and pursue it with vigor. Being into something, whether it’s fixing up your 56 Chevy or writing a food blog or making quilts or collecting seashells, is what makes life worth living.

What one thing are you really into? I’d love to hear what you’re passionate about. Here’s a seemingly simple challenge a very wise woman once posed to me: See if you can finish the following sentence in seven words or less.

“I’m {insert your name} and I’m someone who…”

It’s harder than you’d think, isn’t it!  If you’re stumped, don’t worry… it’s never too late to develop a passion. My dad, for example, discovered wood working at the age of 65. My friend Cheri started a boutique matchmaking service after her husband passed away. You might just discover your passion when you least expect it.