I read my last post the other day in the bathtub. Not because I haven’t read it, I read things quite literally over and over while I’m writing, again when I’m done, and so it goes.
If you’re thinking, that’s not what these errors/typos say, I already know.
I felt affirmed and was comforted by my own tenderness as I read with a more aerial view, nodding my head at my own Hair Pulling moments. Then I came to the part where I mention going to Italy and felt tricked, like I had skipped over something or was reading someone else’s words. Surely, I didn’t just haphazardly toss Italy in there. Surely, I didn’t grow up and actually go to Italy.
I did both. Well, I did/am supposed to do both.
It seems dystopian to travel right now, at all, ever.
Similarly to how joy, whether big or small, feels the same right now, at all, ever.
My therapist tells me, “what good are your offerings and activism if you’re unwell?”
I’m doing my best to own my access with softness and acknowledgment. I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel shame sometimes. Making dinner or putting our kids to bed- watching their tongue flicker in search of a nipple from anywhere or any kind, all forms long gone. The fact that I get to remember that version of them while they’re both still here. Or when I let the water run too long in the shower. Or when I can sit amongst my weeds in the dirt, tossing about wildflower seeds just to see what will happen. I waited a long time for simple and safe pleasures. I am still getting used to simple and safe and pleasures that don’t contain an asterisk or an At What Cost sign.
This isn’t an invitation to tell me that I’m deserving of joy. My healed and healer brain knows that just like rest, joy and pleasure are acts of resistance. I know this. I know that while I’m here the best I can do is hold duality. That I can reckon with the horrors that persist while using my privilege to also persist. Lord knows we don’t need to get a bunch of white femmes and women together to discuss how sad, how awful it all is before a performance in tsking profundity. The kind that says sad, but better you/them than me.
xxx
Growing up, Italy was Diane Lane and paintings of countrysides. Later it became escapism through hamlets and dishes mentioned in food-writing I regaled over. Italy was my Disneyland as a child.
Now I’m going.
I’m realizing that by not saying the things out loud, and I don’t just mean our access to travel, but safety and security and and and as a whole, I’m still holding onto those parts of me that were scared and scarce.
I think I toss Italy or Greece or traveling anywhere around because I still can’t believe it? That it’s me that is actually going? It’s actually me that has gone. I think I blurt it out and leave it there because if I give it too much it will go away.
It feels scary to say “not only did I promise my tiny self I would go here someday but now I’m actually doing it while the world continues to burn.”
But/and hasn’t it always?
The Poor Kid Goes To Italy meets Dystopian Hell meets Not In My Wildest Dreams
I’m having feelings.
xxx
I watched an Instagram reel of Alicia Kennedy (her newsletter, books, and work as a whole are some of my favorites) explain why she lowered her Substack prices and initially I thought, I cannot afford to regardless of how important access it to me, but then she arrived at the part where deciding to lower her pricing meant less pressure and less pressure is something I can (and need to, really) get behind. Because accessibility is important to me, and because the majority of my newsletters and recipes are in fact free, listening to her explain how a more cost effective subscription meant less pressure to create paid content felt like a lightbulb. Duh. That makes sense to me. With that, I’ll be lowering my paid subscriptions to $5/month and $50/annually from the original $7 and $70. If you’ve been around since the beginning and have paid the original price but would like a refund for the difference- 1. Please let me know. I’m happy to do so B. The fact that you’ve been around and supporting me so hard is quite literally never lost on me. This doesn’t feel like a cop out or like I’m cheapening my work. It feels like I can clear out some brain space to dedicate to other spaces that pay our bills faster and more consistently while still honoring my work here which is highly important to me. I have to remind myself often that it is this, it is the writing I want to do, and the other things- the workshops, the freelancing, the classes, the sex work that I do- I love them all. But this I want to sustain me and us and our family as the thing that I do as it is the heart of everything else, long after I hang up my tripod.
xxx
The other day we stopped at a just-fine chain restaurant to grab a snack and a drink after therapy. There was some kind of blueberry cheesecake thing on the menu that I wanted, our server got slammed, it took a long time to get our check, I am impatient, I didn’t leave with said blueberry cheesecake thing but I did come home and stare into the abyss of my pantry, honing in on the still very full container of cornmeal and let my wheels turn for a bit.
The next day this blueberries & cream cornmeal tart was born. I didn’t want to fully fuss with a cheesecake thing and if I’m being honest, cheesecake isn’t actually a favorite of mine. What I did want was the fat and the salt from cream cheese so I quite literally just whacked a couple ounces in, leaving some pieces quite large, just to see what would happen.
It’s delightful, really. It’s not too sweet which is a must-have for desserts in this house and really simple to make. I used two bowls, and it was done start to finish in under an hour. I fucking love cornmeal- the texture, the nuttiness. I used fresh blueberries because we always have copious amounts due to the children and if the cream cheese isn’t your thing or you’re dairy free, you can simply leave it out with no other alterations to make.
Double it if you want to do a 9 inch tart pan or if you want more than two (big ass, more like 4 servings. Anaya and I split each one) desserts. Or breakfasts. Or snacks.
Blueberries & Cream Cornmeal Tart
Crust/Topping
100 grams all purpose flour
30 grams cornmeal
60 grams brown sugar (light or dark, whatever)
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
85 grams (6 Tbsp) unsalted butter, melted (melt the butter in a big glass bowl before adding the remainder of the crust ingredients so you can truly only dirty two bowls)
Filling
225 grams fresh blueberries (try other berries if you want. I don’t think there’s a wrong answer here but don’t get weird with strawberries right out the gate. They typically need to be handled a bit different)
50 grams brown sugar
9 ish grams all purpose flour (about a Tbsp)
Generous pinch of salt
Zest from half a lemon
Juice from half a lemon
2 ounces cold cream cheese cut into chunks
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and decide what vessel you’re going to use. I did two ramekins you might make creme brûlée in. Use a 9 in pan, get fancy and use the removable side tart pan (double the recipe though, obvs)
I set a piece of parchment in either ramekin because I wanted to be able to lift them out and serve them on plates which is fussy and unnecessary if I’m being honest, but here I am. Eat it out of the damn ramekin, truly. Less dishes.
Melt the butter and let it cool for a minute before stirring in the remaining crust/topping ingredients, mashing it all together, making sure there’s no more dry spots.
Add half of the cornmeal mixture to either ramekin/whatever pan, pressing firmly on the bottom and the edging it up the sides of the dish. This doesn’t need to be perfect or even perfectly even. I love a rustic dessert.
In another bowl, combine all of the filling ingredients saving the cream cheese for last. Once everything else has been incorporated well, drop in the cream cheese, once again abandoning any notion of perfection here. Some of it will smear into the blueberries like wisps. Some will be in pea-sized shapes, and some will be full on globs. Great.
Add half the blueberry mixture to either dish, press it down a bit, and then add the rest of the cornmeal mixture evenly between the two. Once again, leaving some larger pieces and chunks, and letting some of the sandy bits be just that.
Low pressure.
I like to set the ramekins on a baking sheet so I can get them out of the oven easier. Bake for about 45 minutes until the cornmeal bits are starting to brown a bit on top and the blueberries seep into its turning jammy and sexy, honestly.
Serve it with vanilla ice cream or don’t. We loved it both ways.
xxx
So, I’m going to Italy with my husband for our honeymoon this weekend. I haven’t quite accepted this fact but word is that it’s happening. We’ll be staying in southern Tuscany and while we were initially vacillating between a couple destinations where we might rest our head each night, we did discover that we will be there during Tuscany Pride, so, that was any easy choice.
We’ll be staying in Viterbo proper, renting a car, and getting all up in the countryside and Rome and even the coast. If you have recommendations I’d love to hear them. With that, and because I don’t have the type of executive function that allows me to schedule posts (what can I say, I like to write about and tell y’all things in real time), there will not be a newsletter while I am gone but I’ll get right back to it and to you as soon as I return.
Biggest love,
AR
Updates:
Evocative (virtual) CNF workshop (for literally everyone, I promise) will be held at 11 am MST this Thursday, May 23rd before taking a two-week hiatus while we’re gone. Come hang! Just reply to this email and I can send you the Zoom link
Enjoy your Italy sojourn. Italy gets into your pores and it’s hard to leave even from us from poor working class backgrounds. Many many in Italy are too. The food is sublime, simple, and delectable. In Rome, I highly recommend Rosciolli’s, near the campo dei fiori. Need to reserve. Amazing! Love to you … Arrevederci💖
Enjoy the trip and thanks for your honesty and wisdom. It is inspiring