I have nothing prepared

WSG 29 me

Beautiful Boston

Ah, well. It’s been going too fast lately. Everything. And I don’t really know which spinning top I should watch. So, I’m going to sit back for a minute and think.

I’ve gotten used to this rhythm of finding someone to interview and doing all of that. Then interviewing them and producing this blog/newsletter. Lately, I’m wondering about all the other stuff these super organized people are doing, like podcasts and the social media piece and on and on. It’s sort of freaked me out, to be honest. I’m just so not good at the marketing/expanding part of this.

In fact, I have a great woman I’ve interviewed recently for your reading pleasure but I’m not sending it out this weekend. It’s not ready and what with the war…. just kidding, I cannot use the war as an excuse. That’s super bad. It’s me freezing in the headlights of a Chevy Suburban size of possibilities. There are all of these super women out there doing these incredibly super things accompanied by books, and tote bags. I want to emulate their example but I need help.

I did the podcast (Link). It was fun to do and I know I’ll do more of that. I’m a “frustrated” (read: wannabe) actor so, who knows what weirdness I could do with a podcast. I need to listen to some for starters. See the thing is I don’t listen to any. I’ve told you what I listen to. It’s shameful how shallow I am but, I can’t help it. I love the LeCarre novels and damn it all I even love to listen to the Harry Potters. I never read them so I’ve started listening to them while I paint. Ugh, now you know what a total looser I am. You were going to find out anyhow. I like myself fine, though. I can look in the mirror and say “have you adequately insulated yourself from any bad news toady?” and I can honestly say “Yes! I have!” And then I can say “Good girl!” Then someone comes into the bathroom and I pretend to be clearing my throat.

Moving on.

If I’m being honest I really just wanted to write this week. You’re all mine today. With that, here’s a little story:

My favorite early childhood story was about magic ballet slippers. I think it was The Red Shoes. It’s a humdinger. Convince a kid they will be a brilliant dancer if they wear the special shoes. Without them, they are nothing. Then steal the shoes and make the kid perform without them. Terrifying.

I started dancing ballet at age 3. Something to do with the kid. Broaden her little tiny horizons. I have a vague memory of the dance studio and the Russian instructor. She was tough, which makes me snicker now as I write this. Can you picture these near toddlers stumbling around under the stern discipline of a Russian teacher? That’s like using a cannon for target practice. It’s so utterly overkill. I was there for four years, I think. I seem to remember she liked me and I was relieved. It was around that time I was read the red shoes book. I remember my mom would tell me the story rather than read it. So, it changed a little each time. But, the gist was the same.

Stop. Ok. I figured I had better reacquaint myself with the story The Red Shoes, the original fairytale by Hans Christian Anderson. Now that I have, I can with certainty tell you that my mom’s story did not include an executioner sawing off the little girl’s possessed dancing feet shod in red shoes. Nope. No amputations happened in mom’s telling of whatever the story actually was. No little shoes dancing away with her sawed off little feet.

Nor did her version have this really insightful summary, taken from an amazon comment “The moral of the story is a gentle reminder to be careful of what is desired, because what is gained may come at a significant loss.” “Gentle reminder?” Sawing off feet is not gentle at all. It’s criminal. This story is so so so weird. Here is a link. Just read it. It’s no wonder people are so wacko. Look what they are growing up hearing.

No, mom’s version as I remember it was about a girl, (probably very poor and orphaned and long long ago) who is a mediocre dancer in a class and feels awful about herself. A pair of dancing slippers magically appear at the end of her bed one night. She wears them to class and she dances like a pro. Her nasty classmates are dumbstruck and her teacher slobbers all over herself with praise for the girl. The girl is happy and feels secure for the first time in her life. She tries out for the upcoming performance and is cast as the lead! She is celebrated! She feels so happy.

The performance comes and the house is packed to see this dancing wonder. Meanwhile, in her dressing room the girl cannot find her shoes. They are gone. Her teacher comes in and tells her to get her shit together because time is money and she’s holding them up. She confesses her story to the teacher and announces she is a fraud. The teacher scoffs. Nonsense. She says. Wear these and dance like your life depends on it because if I have anything to say about it….just get out there.

She puts on the shoes and gets out there. She dances. And dances as well as she did with her magic slippers. She always could dance but she didn’t have the faith in herself. But it was always there. Who put the slippers at the end of her bed? I think it was actually the teacher? I can’t remember.

I loved this story and played it with my dolls. I envisioned getting the luxurious satin slippers mysteriously at the end of my bed. And dancing like the Russians, because they were the best dancers at the time. The hope that some stranger out there had my back and wanted me to reach my full potential. That I was actually a prima ballerina waiting to be discovered. In fact, I went on to the Boston Ballet and found I really did love it and kept at it for a while until school got in the way.

I asked my mom what story she thought it was that she told me and she thought it was the Red Shoes. I told her about the amputations etc, and she was like, “Huh. Guess it wasn’t.” More importantly, she’s cooking chicken Marbella tonight. So, in honor of the story with no name and mom’s telling of it, let’s do that for our weekly recipe. It’s so good.

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A Recipe You Won’t Hate: Chicken Marbella!

I have always loved this combination of flavors. it’s easy to prepare and nearly a “pantry” recipe. Enjoy….from the NYTimes and Silver Palate.

Ingredients

Yield: 6 to 8 servings

• 1/2cup olive oil

• 1/2cup red wine vinegar

• 1cup pitted prunes

• 1/2cup pitted Spanish green olives

• 1/2cup capers, with a bit of juice

• 6bay leaves

• 1head of garlic, peeled and puréed

• 1/2cup fresh oregano, chopped, or 1/4 cup dried oregano

• 2teaspoons of salt

• 1/4teaspoon freshly ground pepper

• 2chickens, 3 1/2 to 4 pounds each, quartered

• 1cup dry white wine

• 1cup brown sugar

• 2tablespoons finely chopped flat-leaf parsley

Preparation

1. Step 1

   In a large bowl, combine the olive oil, vinegar, prunes, olives, capers and juice, bay leaves, garlic, oregano, salt and pepper. Add the chicken pieces and turn to coat. Refrigerate overnight.

2. Step 2

   Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Arrange the chicken in a single layer in a shallow roasting pan; spoon the marinade over it evenly. Pour in the wine and sprinkle the chicken with the brown sugar.

3. Step 3

   Bake until the thigh pieces yield clear yellow juice when pricked with a fork, 50 to 60 minutes, basting two or three times with the pan juices once the chicken begins to brown. (When basting, do not brush off the sugar. If the chicken browns too quickly, cover lightly with foil.)

4. Step 4

   Transfer the chicken pieces to a warm serving platter and top with the prunes, olives and capers; keep warm. Place the roasting pan over medium heat and bring the pan juices to a boil. Reduce to about 1/2 cup. Strain into a heatproof bowl, add the parsley and pour over the chicken.

5. ---

Coffee:

We had our second coffee talk this past Tuesday. It was fun! Granted most of us knew each other but, it still was a reason to get up and get dressed and be seen. Thank you to those that came: Kate, Kelly, Lisa, Diana, Carolyn, Katherine Christy, Annie. It was really fun. Someday, I’d like to travel around and have local coffees all over the world for WSG. Then we can start a global movement of hot sh-t women who like to do stuff and are intellectually curious. Maybe that can be the difference between WSG and so many other newsletter, podcasts. We are confident, we like to do stuff (super vague on purpose), we keep up appearances, and we are intellectually curious and above all have a sense of humor.

The NYTimes is calling this book “boomer cooking” hahaha. Here is what they wrote along with the recipe above:

“If there’s such a thing as boomer cuisine, it can be found in the pages of “The Silver Palate Cookbook” by Sheila Lukins and Julee Rosso. With its chirpy tone and “Moosewood”-in-the-city illustrations, the book, published in time for Mother’s Day in 1982, gave millions of home cooks who hadn’t mastered the art of French cooking the courage to try sophisticated dishes like escabeche, wild mushroom soup and that new thing called pesto. This recipe, also in the book, came to The Times in a 2007 article celebrating the 25th anniversary edition. The briny-sweet combination once seemed as risky (capers! prunes!) as the East Village, but now it's considered as classic as Grand Central.”

Until next time…

k