april showers, cakes and flowers

The shower season has officially begun. And no, I don't mean rain! Bridal showers, baby showers, weddings and the like pepper—or should I say "sugar"—the weekends on my calendar through October! If you're not careful, and don't write everything down, it can be a daunting view of the summer ahead. But once you've got it down, this is really a special time. When else do you get the excuse to dress up, travel, party with your friends, hang out with the fam, and give presents to people you adore?

Showers are a celebration of love. They are a symbolic demonstration of that love. Shower them with your love (or presents). That's the whole idea, right? Nourish them as a whole, so that they can carry on a wholesome and healthy life on their own, as a couple and as a family.

I had two showers this weekend—one for a bride and one for a baby. I could only make it to one or the other, so I chose the bride-to-be, Colin's sister Jill. It was a lovely luncheon, with lots of ladies!

Afterwards, Jill, Colin's mom and I went to a cake tasting for the wedding cake at Anjou, a sweet little French patisserie in Mount Kisco. The chef, Patrick, brought us about 12 different mousses to try and two different cakes. We mixed and matched flavors and finally decided on two mousses—raspberry and pear—with vanilla sponge cake. Yum!

extreme pleasures

By Emma H. W. Kouri


I’ve never liked the idea of extremism. Actually, people with extreme views really turn me off. Extreme religion, extreme lifestyle, extreme political views… it’s all so extreme!

Because I live in America, I am constantly exposed to extremism. In America, extreme is the way to go. And as an American, you must try to reach your goals via the most extremely efficient route possible.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not perfect. I am the first to admit that I get sucked in. I love being efficient, and my husband loves it too. I’m always on the search for the latest extremely cool thing, especially when it comes to luxury bath products, and make-up. I’ll call my sisters and tell them they have to try this or that, that it has really changed my life. Then 2 weeks later, I’ve forgotten about it.

Here’s another thing that I don’t like: obsessing about my weight and my body. We all do it, especially in America. Just to let you know, I am 5 foot 10 1/2 inches. I weigh between 140-145 pounds, and my size is a tall 4 or 6, depending on the brand. I’m in excellent shape, walk and run daily, and eat healthful food (I am an extremely loyal EatingWell fan). Why does someone like me obsess about my weight? Maybe it’s because I was chubby as a child and ridiculed for it. Maybe it’s because I’m addicted to People magazine so I constantly have an unattainable image in my head. I really don’t know what the reason is, but I am sick of it.

The two topics mentioned above can be combined together to form one of the other things I can’t stand: extreme dieting. Or extreme diet choices. What is this all about? Why does America love it so much? The Atkins diet, the liquid diets, the milkshake diet… I could go on forever. My girlfriend told me she is reading this new book, called Skinny Bitch, which informs the reader that they are not taking care of themselves if they are eating meat or drinking milk. So now my friend's eating lots of fish. Guess what would happen if we all did that? That’s right, there would be no fish left to eat.

This feeling of frustration with my own obsession and America’s obsession with dieting really came to a head this weekend. I was walking on Church Street with my husband, and we walked into Borders. I was browsing, and caught sight of a book: French Women Don’t Get Fat. For some reason, I picked it up and bought it. Kevin got a book too, and we went home and read together.

Only 70 pages in, and I’m hooked. Seriously, in 2 days, I have felt a total revolution and a huge weight lifted off my shoulders! Based on the philosophy of a French woman, I have come to realize that I need to love food (and I really do love food, especially good cheese and chocolate) and not hate it! What good food (not low-fat high-sugar loser foods, but the real foods) needs is to be respected—and relished. Embrace it, and embrace yourself. Take each bite slowly and seriously, and consider all the different textures that you feel and the flavors that you taste.

I immediately poured a glass of Le Freak, and made a cheese plate for my husband and me. I carefully took 1 Carr’s whole wheat cracker, and placed a slice of Cabot Private Stock Cheddar on top. Then, I placed on top of the cheese a small dollop of homemade hot pepper jelly (from Liz’s friend).

I sat down, and took a small bite. Closed my eyes, and chewed. It was orgasmic! Amazing! I’ve never tasted anything so outrageous. It took 4 bites to eat this cracker, and guess what? I didn’t want a second. Anyone who knows me will find this hard to believe. But it’s true, and I was more satisfied than I’ve ever been even after scarfing down 5 crackers with cheese.

My new-found approach can be illustrated with this: imagine that you have to drive somewhere, and you have a choice: interstate or back roads. The interstate will no doubt get you there faster, but the back roads will be filled with character, scenery, picturesque moments and maybe even a little meditation! This is what the French do when they eat. It is an experience, not a chore. It is a friend (or lover), not an enemy. Savor every moment, and you’ll find yourself only needing one bite of that cake, because one bite was enough to send you reeling into ecstasy. After a while, you’ll find yourself being more thoughtful while you eat, and automatically eating less. Then you won’t feel guilty afterwards. If you’re lucky, you’ll find yourself indulging in extreme pleasure every time you sit down for a meal.




Delectable fruit and cheese plate from Leunig's Bistro in Burlington, Vermont.

hugs & love

By Emma H. W. Kouri


My sister Penelope and I have spent 4 days with our grandmother in Winter Park, Florida. This is the first time we've been to visit (together) since Papa Roger died last February. Everything is different now.

Mama Sonia is not the peppy, let's-go-shopping-and-out-to-lunch grandmother anymore. She doesn't want to go out, or even leave her apartment. She doesn't want to get dressed, and just wants to sit in her chair and think (and read, and watch T.V.).

When we were growing up, Mama Sonia was our sassy Puerto Rican grandmother who always spoiled us. She never forgot a birthday, she always took us to the latest Disney theme park, and she loved to go shopping. She was an amazing cook and loved to entertain. She has spent much of her life entertaining and socializing; nurturing others with her culinary skills and her knack for conversation.

Papa Roger always chose the route out of the building where he would run into the least amount of people. However, if he was with Mama Sonia, they had to go out the front so she could see/greet everybody who was out and about. Wish them happy birthday, tell them she is so sorry for their loss. Whatever people were experiencing, she knew it and she even knew the names of their loved ones. That Mama Sonia is not here now.

Mama Sonia does not remember birthdays or anniversaries, and most of the time she forgets what day it is. She has a new routine now, and it is one of solitude and peace. I have to say that I was extremely worried about her—she hasn't walked out of the door since we've been here! But, when I was having a glass (or two) of wine at Park Plaza Gardens today with Penelope, we talked and tried to understand. Here are some points that we came up with:

1. We could never, ever, understand the pain and loss that Mama Sonia is experiencing right now, since Papa Roger died
2. We cannot imagine what it's like to be (almost) 84
3. Mama Sonia's needs NEED to come first.

So, we came home today with a new attitude. Mama Sonia needs to be showered with love, and not judged for her actions. We bought her roses and the chocolate-covered popcorn that she loves. We made her (well, she asked actually) drink 2 glasses of wine with us. We made her laugh.

We had a talk with her and discovered her own take on things. First, she says, everybody is different in how they deal with things. She really doesn't want to go out and really doesn't feel sad when she's alone. She feels badly that people are worried about her. We told her that she needs to follow her heart; that she should not go out for anybody but herself. Only she knows what is best for her, after all she is 84 and full of wisdom. She still looks amazing, has great skin, and even smells wonderful! The old Mama Sonia may never come back to us. But the new one is real, honest, and just as nurturing as the old one. But she needs to be nurtured and accepted now. She needs to be nourished. By nourished, I mean (using her own words, after 2 glasses of wine):

To be hugged
To love others
To love yourself.

We love our grandmother and hope we have many more special times with her in the future.

gratitude

By Penelope Wall


For Americans especially, this particular week leading up to Thanksgiving is one in which nourishment is inextricably linked to the idea of gratitude. We give thanks for our bountiful feast and the bounty in our lives.

We should always be grateful, not just on Thanksgiving. But it's human nature, I think, to want to compartmentalize our rituals--and to say, for example, "On this day I'm going to be especially grateful," and "on that day I'm going to be especially loving." And to put marshmallows on top of sweet potatoes for just that one meal during the year.

What if we had marshmallows on top of our sweet potatoes all the time? For one, the dish wouldn't be special anymore. We might lose sight of its importance (do we know what the importance of marshmallows on top of sweet potatoes is?). And, we might all become overweight, because marshmallows on top of sweet potatoes is certainly indulgent.

We reserve that wonderful treat for special occasions so that all of the other days may build up in anticipation. In other words, we give our symbolic moments strength by letting them shine just one day of the year.

And we like traditions to dictate how we spend our days and how we celebrate--with roast turkey, of course.

But in our family at Thanksgiving, turkey never really took center stage (my mother's English after all). Some years, we just couldn't afford it. Other years, one of us was vegetarian and it was tofurky or bust. Other years, we'd say, "let's just have fish!" And so, when I look back and take note of the common thread throughout the years, it wouldn't be the roast turkey or the marshmallows; it would have to be, well, the gratitude--ritualized by going around in a circle and saying out loud something we're thankful for.

If you really think about it though, what you're thankful for changes every day, every hour. What you're thankful for on Thanksgiving is really just a snap-shot in time. You might wake up thinking, "I'm grateful for the sunshine on my face." And you might go to bed that night thankful for the dark to woo you into slumber. Such is the fleeting nature of human emotion. Which is why, Thanksgiving is one holiday that doesn't really benefit from the build-up of anticipation. Rather, it should glow beneath the surface throughout our days.

And so in the spirit of gratitude every day, I want to say:

Right now, I'm thankful that I didn't hit the two deer that leaped right in front of my car on the drive home from work tonight. I'm thankful for the wild (alive) turkeys in my parents' yard (and they're thankful, I'm sure, for the tofurky). I'm thankful for Suki kneading my belly and Au Lait warming my feet. For the birds on the feeder and the entertaining squirrels. I'm thankful for all the creatures in this world that live beside us nourishing us quietly and perfectly in their own way.

family on nourishment

When I think of what nourishment as a concept means to me, I think of my family. And so, in undertaking this project—of asking others to contribute their ideas on nourishment—I went first to my mother and sisters.

hannah, sister

The first one who responded was Hannah, my oldest sister. Three time zones and three thousands miles away, it turns out we had the same exact thing on our minds. Her response:


That's whack. I wrote this poem yesterday:

If we measure the time between our meeting
by the rotting of tomatoes and
avocados,
I would hope that these pieces
and our movement
is organic,
So they'll rot quicker
And no one goes hungry
with want and waiting in the interim.

Let me be clear:
I want to see you
before the vegetables decay.
I want to see you before you are filled with regret
at the waste, of time and food.
One day we will grow these fruits
together
And feed each other daily,
Nourishment springing up around us
to build a house of trees and vines.
Till then, we place carrots and radishes at acute angles,
pointing to passing,
and posing for decomposition.

xo love you.

—Hannah Wall

emma, sister

My other sister came next, and she said a lot of the same things that I myself have been feeling. I love that supple skin is just as important as relaxation and comfort. All of these things are evidence of bodily and spiritual nourishment.


I have thought about it and decided to tell you words/thoughts that come to mind when I think of nourishment:

Warmth, flavor, drink, comfort, peace, laughter, love, satisfaction, health, blood flow, supple skin, happiness, culinary creations, relaxation, family. When I feel nourished, I feel complete and mentally at peace.

—Emma Kouri

sally, mother

Finally my mother. First I received a voicemail at work: "Nourishment. Certainly is not when your daughter doesn't answer the telephone." I finally got in touch with her and she asked, "is it too late to write something and is it okay if it's not about food?" I said, of course it wasn't, and of course it was (wondering if she would remember how to email it to me). She did.


The other day, Sadie and I went down to the river. It had rained incessantly for a couple of days, and the earth smelt as it should: mossy, heaving with life, warm, wet, dark...and so we went, she and I, unable to resist the call. On the way down, I bumped into a tree, who, indignant, released the captive raindrops she had been hoarding. Drenched from the unexpected 'gift', I could only laugh. I felt a little silly! Sadie, certainly, had no idea what all this mirth represented.

On down to the river, but not to stop at our usual hole. Some adventure beckoned, and we picked up the gauntlet. Ploughing ahead through uncharted bogland, for so it is, black and foreboding, we were astonished at the beauty of the red and orange toadstools, no toads were sitting, however; red cedars sat above the bogs, standing on tippy-toes, high on their snake-like roots, keeping dry. Following the river, we won't get lost now; we came upon a huge rock, covered in moss. Right by the river...deeply swirling.

Sadie plopped into the water, and swam and swam. Oh, my Lord, nobody knows where I am! What if we get sucked into the black, black earth in one of those bogs, we'll never be found! What if there's a bear behind this mossy rock!

All of a sudden, it was very important to head on up to the clearing in the treetops shining all yellow against the blue sky... Don't worry about deer-paths, just plunge and go, quickly! I know that if we just keep going in this direction we'll come to...and there it was! The old familiar path, through the ferns, that wends its way down to Clyde Pond. Ahh...nourishment!

—Sally Wall