A Little Bit Of Your Love To Me

I don't owe you an explanation, but here is one: art is life. Here is another: in life as in dreams, things may be what they represent, not what they are. Drusy is playing with a jar of cardamom seeds.

The boxes opened, the pans, jars and boxes neatly set up in rows resembled nothing so much as crooked houses on crooked streets leading to a villa. I rearranged a few things until I could see children ducking down alleys and a church parking lot, a pool and tenements. Maybe you see it; maybe not. We know I'm a crappy photographer and it wasn't a permanent installation. I've put away the pans. I have no idea what to do with a gallon of frijoles negros except it could take me all winter to eat that much rice & beans for breakfast.

When your father, a chef and food writer, dies and you get one-quarter of his spice cabinet, I recommend you too try miniature urban planning.

Some items pictured won't look familiar to the home cook. The reason for this is when Dad heard about interesting new products or additives, he wrote to their manufacturers for samples. I'm not kidding when I say he had a big bucket of Splenda left after a few years of road testing it all sorts of ways. So. I don't know what to do with agar-agar or xanthan gum, but I will find out. Let's hope they're not explosive.

Over the weekend, a conversation about peppermint stick ice cream at Harp & Sword went a little pear-shaped. It was not my intention to criticize, or imply I had credentials other than taste buds and - you know - experience with eating dessert - I adore Minstrel Boy, and my suggestions were offered with respect and affection. I don't claim to have Dad's encyclopedic knowledge of food or contribute as he did to one. Nope. My point, which I failed to articulate, was that if dinner was a big hit you only need a small sweet, just to finish the meal gently. Dessert is an embellishment. So. If Grandma's supernaturally fantastic peppermint stick ice cream is enough to send guests into paroxysms of joy, don't weigh them down with a catastrophically rich brownie unless it's a microscopic portion. It's all too much! In other words: you can be so generous with dinner guests that they puke. Sure, that'd be funny - yakking always is if you're not mopping it up - but is that the goal?

Oddjob, dear Oddjob dislikes almonds. In the boxes Daria packed, I found sliced almonds, marzipan and something called almond bark. I despise marzipan but recognize it as a better decorative medium than caulk, so I'll use it. Somehow. This almond bark thing, though, I don't know. It's greasy to the touch and tastes like white chocolate. The first ingredient on the list is palm oil, a big no-no for friends with heart and cholesterol problems. Unless you don't like your friends and want to duke it out chemically with your old nemesis Lipitor.