On Creativity and Basil and Cucumber Infused Gin

When I was a teenager I was creative every day. I always carried around with me a large, bound black book with empty pages that were thick enough to stand up to drawing, painting and writing. I expressed myself on a daily basis through writing poetry, journaling and art. I copied down song lyrics and poems and taped photos I'd taken and developed myself in the pages. I wrote about my highs and lows- all the love and loss that a teenager prone to melancholy endures- and my dreams for what the future would hold. I wrote poetry and while a good portion of it was full of angst and somewhat embarrassing, some of it was quite good. At any rate it was an outlet and it carried me through some of my harder years when I struggled with depression and uncertainty. It was hard for me, when I was a teenager, to exist within my mind. Now, although the beast still occasionally rears its ugly head, my life is much happier. I moved away from the small town that stifled me, I have good love in my life, I have control over how I spend my days and altogether am not a teenager anymore. Being a teenager is so fragile and high stakes. Everything feels important, everything matters so much. Your body has a million mood controlling hormones pumping through it and all of your emotions, which change so rapidly, are just right there at the surface. I wouldn't go back to that time in my life for any amount of money or bargaining, but I still love and appreciate the girl I was when I was 17. She was creative and artistic, she wrote and drew and took pictures and painted and was very much in touch with that side of her soul. Somewhere along the way I lost that. I don't remember the last time I had an empty page in front of me and filled it with my thoughts. I don't even own charcoal pencils anymore. When I moved to San Diego four years ago I left my manual Minolta camera with my parents and besides some sporadic journaling I've hardly written a thing lately.

I've spent the last four years on many worthwhile pursuits; I fell in love, worked full time, studied for and attained my Certified Specialist of Spirits through the Society of Wine Educators and my First Level Sommelier certification through the Court of Master Sommeliers (currently studying for further certifications), I have a beautiful home that I love and many good friends. I've read countless books. My family weathered a hard time and we are just now, in the last few months, coming out of it happy and healthy with only a few scars. I haven't been complacent by any means, but I also haven't accessed that creative side of myself that it so vital to who I am. I realized this sometime last fall and it was the catalyst towards starting this blog. I thought that writing about and taking pictures of the food I make and the drinks I drink would be an easy outlet and come naturally. Its with some sadness and more shock that I realize its been quite difficult. I'm having trouble finding my voice and as I read through several word documents I had always planned on posting here my short essays seemed disingenuous, the writing mediocre. Even the photographs I clicked through were displeasing. I had expected to sit down and be creative on a regular basis for the first time in years and be pleased with and proud of the outcome. It shouldn't have surprised me that this unused side of my brain was not quite up to par, but it has. Its going to be a journey to find my voice here. It's going to be challenging intellectually and technically. It is going to stretch me creatively and I'm sure the way will be paved with some disappointments along with the feelings of satisfaction and achievement, but I've learned by now that life is like that. May the writing and photography improve, the voice become clear and may I remember to be gentle and patient with myself.

Meanwhile, I want to tell you about some gin.



Infused liquor is so simple it seems to hardly qualify as a recipe, let alone a groundbreaking concept to write about. However I still feel compelled to share because sipping this gin in the form of a French 75 last week while sitting in the sun in my backyard felt absolutely luxurious. I put basil from my garden and half of a sliced cucumber into a jar and then filled it with the gin. I let the concoction sit in my fridge for two days then strained the liquor back into the jar. As I did this infusion with fresh produce, as oppose to an ingredient that would last indefinitely, I'm keeping the gin in my fridge and will use it up within the next few weeks- not that I think that will be a problem. I've had it simply shaken as a martini, with a squeeze of lemon and a splash of good tonic on the rocks and of course the aforementioned French 75 which I plan on indulging in again in a couple of hours. Although it is uncharacteristically chilly and overcast in San Diego today (64 degrees Fahrenheit- send help!) I expect it to brighten my afternoon and bring a bit of summer to my day.

For the infusion I used Sapphire Gin- I usually prefer St. George or Hendricks but because I was flavoring the gin myself I went with something a bit less pricey. Please steer clear of cheap booze even in cocktails where the poor flavor can be masked- its cheap because less care is taken in the distilling process and more toxins are left in.

Cucumber and Basil Seventy-Five

2 oz  Cucumber and Basil infused Gin

.75 oz lemon juice

.5 oz simple syrup

a good splash of sparkling wine (for cocktails I prefer something crisp and more neutral than a champagne- I usually go for a Prosecco or Cava)

Mix gin, lemon juice and simple syrup in a cocktail shaker with ice. Shake and strain the concoction into a flute, martini or coupe glass. Top with a float of sparkling wine and garnish with a twist of lemon peel. Feel like the adult child of royalty with no real responsibility but to have good hair and a good laugh. Cheers!

Begin in the Kitchen

I am not, by nature, a centered and calm person. My mind seems to either be racing a million miles a minute through a million different topics or overwhelmed with a tired trail of smoke drifting out of it, like a cartoon. Even as I sat here, at my kitchen table, I glanced outside and noticed the morning sun beckoning to me and thought I should stop typing and wander outside. A mere moment later I thought I should make another cup of coffee and then make my bed and then write a grocery list and then started thinking about work yesterday and then my dreams last night and the confrontation I had in my dream that represents unresolved conflict I have currently in my life. This is how my brain works and it can be exhausting. At 28 it has taken some hard work and serious growth over the last ten or so years to discipline my mind and attention span and learn to be patient with my heart (and other's hearts). Through many life experiences- some beautiful, some tragic, some mundane- I've learned to recognize when I need to take a moment and breathe, gain perspective, find my starting point for the next five minutes or five years. I've learned a few techniques for this but far and away the most constant, fail safe thing for me to do is to step into the kitchen and make something.

For me, everything begins in my kitchen. It is where I start my day with a cup of coffee, where I sit with friends when they visit, where I read the news and write in my journal and of course, where I nourish myself and others. It’s around my kitchen counter where I cook with my boyfriend several nights a week, chopping vegetables together, him tasting and tweaking the seasonings, catching up on our day while we offer each other tastes of soup and sauces. It’s where my favorite Aunt and I sat for hours, catching up on the major life events of the last several years and drinking a bottle or two of champagne. Around my kitchen counter is where my sisters know to sit while I cook paella for them, where we always have a cheese and charcuterie board out and I keep everyone’s wine glass full. My mother and I have spent countless hours together in the kitchen since I was a child, cooking for each other and our family and friends. The kitchen is the room where everyone gathers at parties, where people let their guards down, work together, feed each other, talk to each other. I’ve had many a long, lovely conversation there, a few difficult ones, and innumerable run of the mill but no less important “how was your day” exchanges. My kitchen is a creative, comfortable place. It centers me and speaks to me. It’s where I feed my body, mind, heart and soul. It’s where I begin.