The trick to visiting the island of Capri is to either go out of season or to sleep on the island. Taking one of the boats that ferry tourists back…
Month: August 2017
It’s been a bizarre week. On Wednesday, I sat in a hushed room listening to an 82-year-old Holocaust survivor talk about her experience for 90 minutes straight: her move into the Lvov ghetto when she was five; hiding in a basement for two weeks; her father securing fake Aryan papers for her and her mother; the flight to the countryside, then to Sweden once the Soviets invaded; her eventual passage to the United States and all the harrowing details in between.
I find more and more excuses not to go into Santa Monica in the Summer – this year seems to be worse than ever, with throngs of people to rival Venice, Italy, traffic that snarls at snail’s pace and fellow drivers ready to knife any rivals for a parking spot. As far as I am concerned, I can wait to go to Santa Monica until next October.
If it seems like I am on a gluten-free pizza quest, it is entirely coincidental. When I want pizza, I eat real pizza (or make it at home). But I do love different bases for different toppings. This week it was the turn of chickpeas flour, in an effort to use up the different flours I buy, experiment with once and then sit in my pantry until I happen to remember them.
I am not a great writer. Not a particularly good one either but I do have a firm belief – even utter reverence – for words. Whenever I come across a beautiful sentence, a string of words arranged in an unusual or striking manner, I can bask in it at length, reading and re-reading it, going back to it, letting it swirl in my head. Sometimes I can be more attached to individual sentences than to a whole body of work.