Flowers on the Wall

I started my blog thinking that I managed to hide myself in a cocoon of obscurity, buried behind the computer monitor and  printer, in a dark room that rarely saw a beam of light. Facing the blank page was a challenge I accepted eagerly, filling the space with words and continuously chasing the elusive tail of the adrenaline rush. I chuckle when I compare the process of writing to a vigorous downhill ski run, but there is the sense of anticipation, a moment of getting it all together, followed by an initial rush, accelerated heart beat, and an almost blissful sense of calm, relief, and accomplishment once your fingers stop touching the keyboard and your feet finally remain in one spot.

I love to ski and I love to write, but lately, skiing has lost in the game of priorities, leaving me to live my most adventurous moments through fighting the sterile whiteness of my computer dashboard. Inadvertently and with no intention, I floated above the desk and became visible, a wallflower becoming three-dimensional, unable to conceal its petals as the veil of invisibility (Where is Harry Potter when you need him?) slips away.

Skiing is a solitary experience, but I always felt better if there was a friend on the chair lift with me, someone to share a a few slices of lemon dipped in sugar I kept in my pocket before the drinking spots appeared on the slopes. We’d start from the same point, take our time, or rush through, weave through the trees, or find a stretch of untouched, virgin snow, slicing through the powder surrounded by that uncanny and utter silence that you can feel only in the winter on a mountain. We’d meet at the end of the slope, adjust our sunglasses and hats, and move on, cheeks flushed, eyebrows covered with ice, and hearts slowly returning to normal rhythms, following the swooshing sounds of the skiis.

For years, I did not need anyone to follow me on my writing expeditions and keep me company, but it felt good to find an understanding soul waiting for me at the next turn offering an extra nudge, a virtual lemon wedge dipped in sugar. But as I kept on publishing my blog posts, the encouraging words and helpful advice appeared from nowhere, and I found myself in a world completely foreign, filled with friends who knew exactly what I was feeling, and happy to sit by me on my imaginary ski-lift chair, warming my frozen hands and offering a caramel to make me feel better.

So many things happened to me since I moved from Ohio to Southern California. Not all of them were great (in fact, many of them have been heart-wrenching experiences that left me utterly destroyed and despairing, dreading every new sunrise), but many brought me exhilarating moments that made me feel as if I were capable not only of walking on the beautiful expanse of the majestic Pacific, but also on clouds, if they ever appeared to mar the uninterrupted blue of the California skies.

It slowly dawned on me that writers can be social creatures. Yes, we are all introverts who fight our inner demons every single day and force ourselves to leave the happy place we made in our dimly lit, but very comfortable caves, hidden from the outside world, to journey forth and face the scary and forbidding world full of strangers. But if you give it a chance, it is not a scary place at all. In fact, it is a world that allows wallflowers to bloom and detach themselves from their invisible spot. It is a world where awkwardness is not met with ridicule and meek smiles are not extinguished with frowns and rude comments.

I found that world in Southern California, and even though I have not managed yet to get to the wineries of Napa and Sonoma, I have gotten inebriated many times on laughs, stories, energy, and an inevitable glass or two of bubbly. Every time I see there is an event our blogging group planned, I get that tingling, wonderful warm sense of anticipation, and I almost feel the frigid mountain air beckoning and promising the best run ever.

Last Saturday we gathered in Orange County in Todd and Diane’s studio. I don’t think that I have to do an introductory speech for this talented couple that share their soulful, emotional, and warm work on the blog White on Rice Couple. During their presentation we were all silent, and many eyes glistened with tears. They talked about their vision, showed us a series of truly inspirational and encouraging photos and videos, making us all feel welcome, strong, unique, and capable of telling our own story in our own personally crafted voice. After the first moments of awkwardness, I felt an enormous jolt of adrenaline, and after we all stood up, still dazed, trying to take in everything we heard, I felt alive and strong, able to tackle my most insidious demons and face my worst fears.

But the day was just beginning. After we walked around, saying hello to the friends we had met before, and shaking hands to the ones who were strangers, boosted by deliciously strong coffee and refreshing mimosas made with hand-squeezed orange and grapefruit juices that flowed from the spouts of two magnificent-looking KitchenAid mixers, nibbling on light appetizers set out to tease our palates, the main part of the show commenced. Todd and Diane wanted to bring the community of food bloggers and aficionados together and they did a wonderful job with that.

But we also experienced a touch of fairy dust when we met Cristina Ferrare, accompanied by her daughter Alex, and Joy Wilson (aka Joy the Baker). I met Cristina and Alex for the first time in the line for the bathroom, and they were both warm, genuine, and real. I shook hands with them, and did not feel  like I wanted to be devoured by a precipice.  I felt no fakeness, no pretense, no haughtiness, no mightier-than-thou vibes. Of course I was smitten, as I get smitten every time I encounter sincerity and kindness in people I consider more popular than me. Alex is also glutten-free and  (as our Zoe is Type 1 diabetic and we always worry about the possibility of Celiac disease) I am looking forward to reading her brand new blog Against the Grain.

I met Joy last April at . OK, I did not really meet Joy, as I was too shy to approach her and even say “Hi!”, but just like Husband counts all the airports he ever landed at as bona fide visits to foreign countries, I can count a slight wave I managed to throw her way as a definite “I know her.” I felt all kinds of trepidation when I brought her cookbook for her to sign (and I have to say that I was astonished when I saw that both Cristina’s and Joy’s books were in our swag bags). I could see that once upon a time she used to be a wallflower that managed to detach itself from its hidden spot in the corner. She has become a butterfly with its tropically colored wings spread wide, and only a faint trace of her shyness lingers, just enough to give me hope and remind me that there is a thing called metamorphoses. She is beautiful and nice. And I really like the combination.

Cristina, Alex, and Joy presented some of their recipes to us, while we shoved and pushed to get the best photo, raising our iPhones high above bobbing heads, closing our eyes and praying to the gods of photography to pull a miracle, while apologizing to our neighbors for usurping their private space. My efforts were short-winded, as I spent more time talking, munching, and drinking than taking photos for posterity. But I pride myself on getting out of my comfort zone and using my iPhone, at least.

Once I got home, I spent some time inhaling the fresh-off-the-press smell of the two books, and I perched them on the counter next to Doree Greenspan and Rick Bayless, anchored by a tortilladora I bought in Valladolid, Mexico. They were in good company, but just ogling the pretty covers was not enough.

My girls were on their way home from school and I knew they would run into the house crying for food like newly hatched birds. And I knew they would love the special snack I had made for them, taking the ideas from the the dish Cristina Ferare made for us. Of course, I decided to do it on the spur of the moment and the ingredients were very much an improvisation, but the theme is there. In her original recipe, Cristina calls for smoked salmon, creme fraiche, red onions, and scallions on top of her beautiful and so creative potato plates.

I gathered what I had and what I thoughtwould work. Potato plates were delightful and easy to make. Out of one big Idaho potato I managed to make eight potato plates, each consisting of several almost transparently thin slices, even though I did not have the beautiful and shiny KitchenAid food processor to aid me and had to use my really scary mandolin.  Once the potato plates were baked, I topped them with some thinly sliced smoked ham, placed a dollop of sour cream and horseradish sauce on top, dotted it with small dice of red pepper and a few thyme leaves, some freshly ground pepper, and a few drops of good olive oil.

You can find the original recipe for Potato Plates with Smoked Salmon and Creme Fraiche in Cristina Ferrare’s beautifully photographed new book . They were so good and my girls went through the whole pan in minutes, so I had to make another batch (using just one more Idaho potato).

I cannot wait to make Alexandra’s Zucchini and Cucumber Carpaccio which she prepared for us on Saturday (also included in the book), already accepting the fact that my experience will not include that friendly and witty banter between mother and daughter.

I have already made many of Joy’s recipes from her blog (Pull-Apart Cinnamon Bread is still one of my favorites), but Swiss Meringue Frosting seduced me with its soft, billowy, and smooth texture. I failed to take the photos of the cupcakes I made and decorated with it, but the girls did not leave one single crumb on their plate. The images of cupcakes and frosting are already dancing in their heads, but I am not afraid, as I have  to help me along the way.

Todd and Diane opened their home and their hearts to us, generously sharing with the community a world of beauty they face every day, a world they made beautiful by searching deeper and looking beyond the obvious, scratching the surface and uncovering the essence of people that wander into their view finder.