Word of the Week: Halcyon

Sand Hill Crane by James John Audubon

"A halcyon is a mythical bird—often identified as a kingfisher—said to breed in a floating nest at sea during the winter solstice, during which time it charms the wind and waves into calm." 

So goes the first sentence from the Wiki entry “halcyon.”

Nothing inspires me to write like my love of language and the interconnected world that language shows us…so I jump back into this blog with a short recap of why the word halcyon is my word of the week. It begins with the new restaurant at the Mint Museum of Art’s new uptown location - Halcyon, Flavors of the Earth. For one, I love that the restaurant’s name could be the (perhaps overly romantic) title of an art history paper. Secondly, I’ve been excited to dine here based on their menu’s focus on locally sourced ingredients and the rumor of presentation that befits their location in Charlotte’s leading museum.

In brief, the restaurant and meal was amazing. The interior conveys a welcoming feel - an accomplishment considering the scale and materials of the museum’s architecture. Tables made from an oak tree felled by a storm along Queens Road last year lend warmth and history and a bit of restrained magic to the space.

Continue to that afternoon, post-lunch, reading a review of Asian hotels, mostly in China (of course- where else is any building occurring right now?). The article referred to a hotel along Shanghai’s Bund standing as a “21st-century landmark that would also reflect the Bund's halcyon days.” What? I thought halcyon referred to tranquility and calm? So I went to my dictionary; halcyon also refers to a previous era or yesteryear.

As any good contemporary citizen would, I then searched wiki and found: “a mythical bird…said to breed in a floating nest at sea during the winter solstice, during which time it charms the wind and waves into calm (1).”
The image called to mind by that description – I wish Audubon had watercolored that though Turner may be a better fit. That height of naturalist paintings in the 19th century where fantasy met reality brings me back to a lunch where a beautiful dish spoke to the exquisite flavors that the earth provides and the art inspired by it.


1. The name of the halcyon bird is based on the Greek myth of Alcyone, who, as is the case in most ancient myths, attempted suicide because her love was killed by the gods. Of course, as she throws herself into the ocean, the gods regain their compassion (typical) and change her and her restored lover into halcyon birds.

Canned Beer

Call me a snob, but I refuse to let the metallic taste of aluminum interfere with a good beer experience. I understand there are advantages to cans - lightweight, more easily crushed against the average frat boy's skull, etc., but food and drink is one area in which I fail to see how the utilitarian argument prevails.

Then comes along Oskar Blues Brewery out of Colorado, and, you guessed it, their line of specialty brews are available in cans only.

Why?! Our local beer guy (here's the plug for Brawley's in Charlotte) told my boyfriend that it's designed for campers (the lightweight factor coming into play), but we all really know that the cans raise the beer's hipster quotient. That alone made me want to dislike the beer, but... erg... it's actually good beer.

Oskar Blues started with Dale's Pale Ale, the "first hand-canned craft beer,"  but the label has now grown to seven brews. We tried the foundational Dale's Pale Ale as well as their Gordon Ale, which the company describes as an Imperial Red/ Double IPA. Being an IPA fan myself, you can guess which I prefer, but I'm not cool enough to say I didn't notice the metallic tinge.

So while I'll admit this is worth trying, my advice to all those hip campers: carry a glass or, er, enameled tin cup for pouring.

On Top of Spaghetti...

Last night I satisfied my boyfriend’s cravings for – you got it – meatballs. Don’t ask me why this is funny to me (and it’s not just their name), but I find meatballs to be one of those hangovers from mid-century housewifery, complete with vinyl tablecloth and Technicolor food photography. I nearly donned an apron for it but have yet to find one cute enough but not so precious as to prevent me from wearing it while working with tomato sauce.

The Ravenous Boy, 1954. Image Source: Plan 59 Prints

Don’t get me wrong – I dig a nice, polished modern kitchen in the fifties mode. But meatballs? After the mental image of that kitchen, the next words that came to mind were bad, duo-chrome man food. Being the amazing girlfriend I am, however, I cracked open Cook’s Illustrated Best Recipes and turned to that entry you never would have thought you’d turn to in a Cook’s Illustrated: Spaghetti and Meatballs.

What I learned from making meatballs:

1. Meatballs are easy to make. Really! Perhaps that’s why they became a fifties staple. They’re something the ole wife-y can pull off with more or less ease and still satisfy her family. And, yes, my boyfriend was very, very happy. I was actually nearly offended by how happy he was considering the many exotic recipes from Food & Wine I’ve made for him over the years that registered modest applause by compare.

2. Meatballs are NOT heavy, dense, fried balls o’ meat. No, these meatballs prepared per CI’s directions, were light, almost fluffy (if you can call meat fluffy). As the cookbook called it, if I’d rolled the balls too tightly or over-compressed them before frying, they may have turned out according to my preconceived notions. It turns out that a light hand is just the trick.

3. Now this wasn’t a surprise really but still a bit of a revelation. Eating meatballs over spaghetti with the sauce prepared in the same sauté pan as the meatballs – how to say this – well, it did induce an uncanny sensation of déjà vu. I don’t know if it was the texture or the color or the taste (probably a combination of all three), but the dish channeled the spirit of June Cleaver into our living room. Maybe this is the true definition of comfort food.

So there you have it. I apologize for prejudging this long-loved dish and encourage you to try it out on your nearest manly appetite.

A Late Arrival.

To all those who know me well, I know what you're thinking. For years I've commented on the self-aggrandizement and narcissism of blogging, my upper lip curling when thinking of the mundane drivel that so many bloggers take for content, a smug smile when wondering "really, who's listening?" Yet, here I am, equipped with my formal apology to (most) of the blogosphere. I'm here because like so many others, I wanted an outlet that (1) got me writing on a regular basis; (2) increased the web presence of my new small business venture; and (3) allowed me to participate in the vibrant virtual community of designers, writers, architects, and scores of other creative professionals out there (many of whom have probably been blogging all this while, dismissing my snears as ignorance - and justly so).

So what is this blog about then? The good stuff. Ok, some days I may write about writing. Other days, in fact most days, I prefer to talk about the latest article on architecture I read or the new bottle of wine I discovered. I love the arts and design, and these days those words cover a lot of territory: architecture and cool products, sure, visual culture and dance, of course, but, also, food & wine, fashion, and travel. Basically, this spot is for me to talk about what's interesting to me today. Is that narcissistic? Perhaps a little, but maybe it's interesting to others as well. And if it is, let me know? I'm all for connecting to a creative community that sees the traditional boundaries between disciplines as suggestions rather than requirements.

Background:
This blog represents part of the new act of putting myself out there in ways I never would have previous to my experience of the past year, namely unemployment which took me to various levels of uncertainty and despair before converting to resolute determination.

One day, I just woke up and realized the plan I've nurtured for myself was not working. In fact, the plan was dead in the water. No life plan is foolproof. None can stand up to Great Recessions or government bailouts or other catastrophic circumstances without giving way. Some plans bend, some break. I decided mine was broken for the fact that it was never flexible enough in the first place.

So what to do? Cliché as it sounds, I decided that if I was going to live life, I better start now. "Waiting for the right time" became the most ridiculous phrase to me because there's never a "right time." There's now and there's later. And if this little niche business was (surprisingly) bringing in work, then stop half-a**ing it and take the world by storm.

Thus my new year's resolution: To be a "better boss of me." I'm investing all my spare energy into really seeing if this self-employed bit can work for me in the long term. So now the stack of books on my coffee table are all new non-fiction, not cultural history or theory as usual but, rather, books on business strategy, viral networking, and start-ups. I've become one of those people... but with spunk.