spring, summer, asparagus

 today i bought first asparagus of the season.

eating seasonal is marvelous. not only healthy, as you can easily go organic there, especially with markets like the one near my house, where many people come during summer and sell even the smallest amounts of their own fruits and vegetables. last year we had asparagus three-four times a week during the season and tried all kinds of recipes, but with the precious and sentimental first time i settled for something as simple as it gets. it was dreamy.

so i prepared scrambled eggs with asparagus. the result was creamy and soft, with more barely more eggs than greens, and i yet again assured myself that nothing can be better than easy good quality dished. rustic  even, although i wouldn’t exactly say childhood-like. i ate my first asparagus when i was a teenager. scrambled eggs though is something i grew up with and i like to prepare in it all different ways. every sunday morning since i can remember, since i have been two? three? we have been eating soft-boiled or scrambled eggs for breakfast and i feel like even when i move out, i will never ever change. and i will insist to add milk to it, or better yet fresh sour cream, no matter what everyone says. it gives the dish its creaminess and even texture, prevents the eggs from getting too dry and hard, enables to mix in the other ingredients easier. it’s a really brilliant idea.

the weekend was short and seemed rushed, like most days recently do. i had a presentation in my italian class, about sweets, and all the things i prepared were happily eaten to my pleasure. i will definitely make crostata ai mirtilli again, as well as cantucci, and a lonely square of second batch of lemon egg white cake is still lingering somewhere in the kitchen.  

i went cycling four times in the morning during the week and it felt amazing. all those times i went to church at 6:30 mass and then went off to one of my favourite roads. it’s 23 km and my usual time is a round hour, what satisfies me completely. when i come back home slightly tired and sweaty and immediately drink a glass of cool water, i feel so assured that the day will be good. i wish that would be possible every day, but i could never fit such exercise in my normal week’s schedule, especially thuesdays and thursdays when i actually leave home at 6:30.

it is a week off now, for we have national holiday on may 1^st and 3^rd, so the whole week is basically free for whoever can, and my university holds classes only on friday and it’s only two i should go to.  the weather makes it feel like holidays and i quite like that deception, but it is disquieting. knowing that there will be two month of intense work after this week, two months where i will need to do by best and not to fail myself, that will make big impact on lots of things. it makes me tired to even think of that, especially that most of the work is for uni and subjects i have not even slightest interest in, but i will do well. i have to do well.

and the other day, i was wondering about what i should do with my future, if the plans i keep making have any sense, and possibility to become real. then when i went to church i was praying, and i came to an wonderful and clear conclusion, laughing at myself for not figuring it out sooner:  if there is a church where i am, and god, then wherever i go, i will feel at home.

cycling numbers:

fast : 170 km

slow: 40 km

asparagus scrambled eggs recipe

a quiet weekend

this weekend i was mostly alone in the house and it put me in a great mood. i miss quiet times, when i would not have to hurry, when i can take my time and organize my days according to mu wishes. family life is important, lonely time on a beautiful day is invaluable. 

saturday morning i spent in a hospital where i volunteer. i incorporated it in my bike exercise, cycling there and back fast. it is near my usual route, i only change way at the very end, so it felt more like free ride than an answer to a task how to get there on time. using a bike takes half an hour, taking train and bus/a walk – at least forty minutes. only that, this year, this was the first warm saturday when it was not raining. i came home around two, having stopped by two shops to buy some cooking ingredients and drinks for the weekend, including a huge bottle of aloe vera that i spotted in my local shop, half cheaper than everywhere else. 

just when i got off my bike, it started raining. the sky was blue with little clouds, but rain was heavy and lasted for a few hours; i looked out for a rainbow but there was none i managed to spot. so instead of taking alexander and continuing to ride, i stayed home with windows open to the scent of warm air and rain and it’s singing on all tin roofs in the neighbourhood. i made some cookies, marshmallows, an amazing coffee cake with duck eggs that i’m introducing today, and soaked cashews for a raw vegan ‘cheesecake’ that i wanted to try. there was loud music playing from my radio, alternated with news every half an hour, and random advertisement. i hummed to myself, dressed in shorts and a tshirt, running around the kitchen. not having to worry about keeping it clean for once was nice and i managed to get my multitasking to an admirable level. the sky cleared before seven and i decided to go cycling some more. it was strangely warm and lovely, scarce people walking slowly around puddles, umbrellas in their hands, and i rushed down the streets manoeuvring to avoid water that would splash all over my bare legs. 

i went to sleep at three, after a bath that lasted two hours and a half, listening to an amazing soundtrack reputedly all the time, imagining i am in a ghost world movie. three songs of skip james, including devil got my woman, and jaan pahechaan ho. i even contemplated myself in an emerald green hair, like enid, but i decided that, if anything, blue would blue much better. i was too lazy though, and too comfortable in the deep warm rose-scented water to fetch blue hair dye that is in in my cupboard, waiting to be used. 

i woke up ay seven, unhappy with myself since i planned to go out of the house at half past six. it was beautifully warm, for april morning, and there was an amazing fog. for half an hour i didn’t meet a single soul, just a few cars passed me. the streets were quiet and mysterious. birds were singing so, so loud, and i couldn’t keep myself from sliming. i don’t think i need to describe it. 

and, the weekly bike update: 160 km of fast cycling. i didn’t bother with slow this week, there was not enough time between rain and rain. 

 

novel excerpt: 

‘it is years and years and years and i am afraid to do anything because there is no way to be assured that what i do will make me happy. and fulfilled. i do not care about much more. we are taught to care about so much. too much. i want simplicity. newness. comfort. i want to be satisfied with the present. i want to make myself assured, like saint augustine, that i do not care too much about the past and the future. i want to concentrate on the present, not be afraid of what is to come. but when i think about those wastelands, about that vastness, endlessness of hours and hours and hours that are yet to come, i do not have any idea what to do with myself. since i know that, they way i am now, i can never find rest. i am too tired already, already when i am young, and i cannot imagine what will i be in two, or five, or twenty years, how deadly tired and heavy i could become. but i do not want to be ignorant either. i do not want this burden to be taken from me because i learn how to dismiss and hate and overlook things, or that i grow accustomed to being a failure to myself. i do not want to become such a pitiful creature. i cannot see the point of living if i cannot be myself. really. no compromises, because it feels like fooling yourself. if i am not myself, what makes sense? how can i know that anything else is real? though the distorted me i can only see the distorted world. but i do not know how to forget. i do not think i want to forget. or change, but i do not know how to change. i have no strength. the nothingness paralyzes me.’ 

‘yesterday i was in my room, at night, after i left you, and i though: it is a warm spring evening when everything seems to bloom and the air smells of newness and calmness, and the soft wind brings hope of sunrays and the breath of other earths, remote universes. the ground is pulsating slowly with the rhythm of blood flowing steadily though veins, following the heartbeat, following the tune of life. a lot of stars, i knew without looking up. the air smells of no mist, there must be so many stars out there, another universes, mirror universes, maybe unending places where things went differently, where things went better, where there was no death. but maybe not. would you take a chance?’

duck egg coffee cake with pear recipe

elderflower ice cream

elderflower picking is always such a big deal for my family. this year we broke the tradition, though. we used to always go on sunday afternoons, me, mum and dad. this year we made two trips: mum&dad and a week later mum&me. it is like a well-known and comforting ritual: dressing in long sleeved hoodies and old jeans, tucking them into socks, putting on worn-out sports shoes.

mid-june. it is always the time, and the same place, 20 minutes drive from home, among breathtaking calm countryside. we park the car next to new soccer pitch that is hidden from curious eyes in the forest armed with scissors and bags we go by its edge, where sunlight is enough to let elderberry bush survive and it’s flowers blossom. this year we went there on tuesday, it was roughly midday. looking quite eccentric in our outfits, we walked through the fields, giggling at ourselves and enjoying sunrays brushing our faces, and the buzzing of countless bees and wasps hidden around us. walking from bush to bush, cutting rich open flowers we managed to fill two big bags and also catch a lot of green bugs and ants. it always has some amount of child-like adventure to it, walking though waist-high nettles and grass, looking out for huge snails, trying not to fall into deep and dirty ponds. in the end, walking back with face bitten by mosquitoes, hands itching from scratches and bags filled with creamy-white tiny flowers, we smile and immediately think of next time.

at home, we put the flowers into the biggest pots we own and pour water over them. then i sit cross-legged on the floor and pick bugs and ants from the surface of water with a teaspoon. the mixture is left overnight and house fills with sweet nauseating scent. next morning i bring bags of sugar from the basement while my sister squeezes dozens of lemons. the water without flowers is brought to boil and whole kitchen is filled with hot fragrant steam. this year there are 80 big jars of cordial stocked on shelves in basement-kitchen, altogether.

we always leave a bit to drink immediately, mixed with peppermint and lemon balm infusion. it tastes like childhood.

elderflower ice cream recipe

laziness

the next time i went there, it was a marvelous early autumn, a perfect day of late indian summer. i left early like usually, to get the bus, but yet again i turned into that mysterious enchanting path and run all the way to his house. i did not meet him anywhere, but i reckoned he could be anywhere. the forest was an amazing canvas for shadows and strong light coming through crowns of trees, mist still in the air and rays cut beautifully thought it. i stopped a few times just to take deep slow breaths and stare, amazed by the dynamics of stillness and silence. i saw some spider webs spread between trees, huge and fragile, with drops of dew hanging lazily and moving delicately with every softest blow of the wind.
every time i halted i shook my head and whispered to myself silly, silly to break the magician’s spell and rushed, run, towards my destination.

ΔΔΔ

but i was happiest all alone, whispering to myself. when i could i was walking the hills, leaving at sunrise and coming back at sunset, often soaked from the thick fog that made it impossible to see any views from the tops. there was no one up there but me and foresters, sometimes, and birds. i could hear birds all around – could recognize them by their songs easily – even though i couldn’t see them, they might have easily flown just above my head and i would not notice that, i would not notice the smudges of their bodies, i would not notice the tunnels their movement makes in the multitude of grey droplets hanging in the air.

there was a challenge between me and my dear friend, to write a short story. we decided on up-to-five-pages piece of writing, with words to use that each of us picked randomly from the neared book: sick and tea.

i ended up writing fourteen, without leading, and ended up with a beautiful wide smile, before saving the document and starting to work on my latin homework. it was half past midnight.

(earlier) i also ended up with making tea.

rooibos is the only tea i drink.

rooibos with lime, chilled. i later added some honey and it was much better, with sweetness to balance the tangy bitterness of the lime.

   ΔΔΔ

sunday bonus: bike challenge

i have a close relationship with my favourite amazing bike, alexander, i go out with him as much as possible. this week was beautiful, filled with sun and warmth and clear sky, so i managed to go cycling six days this week. today was rainy and gloomy, so i did not even get five km, and i was left restless and almost itching to sneak alex out despite the rain, but it was too cold to get wet. i try hard no to get sick, even with a cold, since i have a performance in a hospital next weekend and i need to be there, sound and ready.

to sum up, from the whole week:

160 km - fast (approx. 20-25 km/h)

25 km - slow/moderate (10-15 km/h)

after easter. spring

the weekend four weeks ago i wore shorts and a tshirt on my way home and it was warm enough, giving me a nice brush of sunlight on my skin. then we had snow. easter was colder than christmas. but yesterday, just a day too late, the weather changed, but only today it was finally warm, in a consistent and fulfilling way. i went cycling without a coat, wearing only a checked shirt instead. it finally felt right, even more so when the warm evening full of bright starts appearing on the clear sky smelled like spring. my body was made of shivers. i am still shivering, and smiling.

i took my bike alexander, the faithful friend, and cycled around the neighbourhood for some time, noting all the little changes that happened during the winter time. it looks a bit depressing, now, will everything grey and dull, but there is a certain charm to it. i could picture clearly in my head the trees full of leaves, the blooming flowers and people wearing smiles. stories kept running though my head, some of them new and some of the ones that i know by heart, as i hummed to myself and pedaled quickly and fervently. it was just after noon so the streets were mostly empty, i passed the usual mixture of elderly people with dogs and a few mothers with their kids in pushchairs. after an hour i changed the route and cycled the opposite way, to make the first ride through the pristine area, too. i felt very holiday-like, with sunglasses and sun licking my neck with its rays, passing rows of low houses that remind me of little towns by the seaside.

 on my way back i stopped off at a cemetery to pray and light some candles. in the very middle there is a big monument where i always go: a memento of soldiers who died in the area after second world war. i lit a candle there too, and wandered between the graves of hundreds of people, so many unknown, some of them only being stars found on their uniforms. the place was silent, like always, birds’ songs seemed loud contrasting with the swelling silence. 

when i came back home, i also came back to duties. one of the was very pleasurable: eating leftover pascha from easter. pascha is a traditional dessert in eastern europe, mostly russia, ukraine and poland.  it is only eaten once a year. it is prepared with quark (curd cheese), sugar, butter and lots of dried and candied fruits – those used to be luxury products, so they symbolized all the wealth that people wanted to offer to god to celebrate his resurrection.  certainly worth the effort. it is lush and creamy, a bit crumbly in texture, and full of flavours . i like mine with lots of candied citrus peel that gives it a fresh note and an interesting bitter aftertaste. it is very filling and deceptively rich, so a small piece per person will suffice. it is customary to decorate it nicely with nuts or candied fruit – it should look as good as it tastes.

pascha recipe

prosecco cream cake

this recipe is old, i made the cake three years ago for the first time, a very special rich one to celebrate easter. it is heavy but remarkably creamy, with pronounced flavours and distinguishable tastes.  the cake it is called provençal in the book is used as a guide, a big polish cuisine of the most productive and rather underestimated polish food author, marek łebkowski (most of polish books from 80s and 90s are at least edited by him, if not written.)  there is no explanation of the name, but i would guess because the cake is remotely similar to macarons, an obvious specialty of france.

perfect for all buttercream lovers, it brings the simple element to a new level, making it elegant and worth sharing at a party.  the little detail of sprinkling the top with almond flakes gives a nice finishing touch. the time i took the photo i did not use the currant glaze, but i would strongly recommend doing so as it perfectly breaks the sweetness of the cake with sour tangy finish (my dad loves redcurrants, too, so he would not let me omit them)

prosecco cream cake recipe

easter, 2012

a human has to learn to take small steps. it is an ability i lack and i will be paying for that my whole life. that, and daydream a nature that is a part of me just a bit too much to discard it and run. i am content with easiness and beginnings, with being nobody and doing nothing, but a part of me wants to achieve irrational fairytale goals. there is nothing in between. everything or nothing. i do not know how to go from one to the other. and that applies for all little everyday things (and for all big everyday things): food, work, friends, writing, faith, hope, time.

e a s y

and then i think, the little things suddenly turn into monsters and i don’t know where to go anymore. i have dreams, but they are too big for me, too big for most, and it’s impossible to forget them. at the same time i cannot act towards making them come true because my mind refuses to work that way. you will gain nothing. yes, i agree, i will gain nothing.

so i do minimum and then proceed to my own restlessness. when i am here i want to be somewhere else; when i am somewhere else i want to be here. the problem of my whole life: i miss things before they happen. i miss things that have never happened. i miss things that will never happen. i miss things instead of making them happen, i always have and i always will.

i think now is time to change, though.

i do not like admitting that i have said that too many times before, and never succeeded, but it is as much as i can do for myself. the key is to learn that small steps, lesson by lesson, note by note, day by day, and i will not fail this time. there is not point to living a life that i mostly hate, and i will never understand why i, why most people, keep doing so.

easter is the best time to change. people try january first usually, or other days that signify some change or break from the usual, but easter is the best time. i believe in god. i believe and so now, after lent, it is the time to change for better, because i am assured that i have the power of my lord that is with me, always, stronger now than ever when we sing glory to the resurrected. if i cannot change myself now i never will, because all by myself it is impossible. so i would like this: this words and this place, to be a testimony of who i was, who i am and who i will become.

this year will be a hard one, with many changes and a difficult trial for me, but i need to go on, i need to grow, to bloom, to smile. with god by my side i will not fall.

this year i will learn to take small steps and, slowly, go on.

mors et vita duello
conflixere mirando:
dux vitae mortuus,
regnat vivus.