The Mint Patch Monologue

Tag: gardening

  • The dinner party, for 1.

    Gladys Taber loved to entertain, she wrote often of whipping up a spread for guests in no time. Somehow, she made washing up the dishes… the whole kitchen… sound like a chore of love. She was thoughtful and kept things frozen in anticipation of a gathering of friends and neighbors, she loved sharing meals with people. I on the other hand am in a bit of a social pitfall. There are strange transitions of being in and out of the company of others when everyone is living their own lives. Mine has recently consisted of throwing my own dinner parties.

    For the love of a theme, that’s where I generally start. I decide what kind of mood I’m in on a Friday night: what kind of meats, what kinds of wine, if I’m going to lounge in linen or denim, big and flowy or simple and neat attire. I consider the things I miss, and the things I prefer to think about; sometimes solemn and sometimes festive. I might mix margaritas and make cilantro lime chicken, or dirty martinis with cheese and crackers. I use my glassware, and my vintage floral print napkins, I eat slow, I sit and cross my legs.

    Last Tuesday I found myself missing the coast, a place of salt-healing and soul-settling. I bought a cheap bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and made crab cakes. They were perfect, honestly. I used lump crab meat, one large farm egg, bread crumbs, a scoop of mayo, lemon zest and lemon juice, and Cajun seasoning. I pan fried them in shallow avocado oil and then I made the sauce; I topped everything with more lemon juice and fresh cut parsley from my herb garden. I set a rickety table next to my fountain, and pretended to inhale the salt air of the ocean. As the sun set over my own dinner party, I savored the moment of quiet, and indulged in the sweetness of satisfying the senses.

    If you read my last post you understand my love for beauty, and this was a beautiful meal. I finished it off listening to French café music, and the night was perfect.

    The weekend was rainy, so an indoor event took place. I had a hearty meal of beans and beef topped with a bit of cheese and some cherry tomatoes. The fresh flowers are always left behind before my husband leaves town for work, nothing makes a dinner more special than a hand picked bouquet from a lover.

    Sometimes it’s really a brunch that you’re wanting to plan, instead of dinner. This calls for the perfect bloody mary, and by perfect I mean adding salty snacks. A bloody mary can be a drink and a snack all together. This one featured turkey pepperoni, cheese, olives, celery, and a good lemon slice, all rubbed up against a seasoned salt rim. Next time I’ll make one even bigger, add a couple of cocktail shrimp or a fat slice of bacon?

    Have yourself a little party for 1 this week if you’re alone, or make something special about just another meal. Choose a country, choose a culture, something nostalgic, bust out the charcoal grill and have you’re own block party, buy a watermelon. Think of me, and Gladys Taber, and all of the minds of wonder that you’re a part of too. Eat slow, sit and stare, feel the salt air enter your lungs, even if you’re in the desert.

    email me, share your photos, I certainly can’t be the only one enjoying my own company.

    Don’t forget that I do love to chat and love hearing from you, cheers!

    justicesarah67@yaho.com

    Garden update coming soon, I promises!

  • Only, for the sake of Beauty

    On gardening

    I learned something, some sort of secret whispered into my ears from the sweet pea vines. As I lay in the grass, comfortably, gazing up at them I realized that I might get only a pint (probably less) of peas from this massive row of intertwined vines I had growing before me. “why then, am I really doing this” I contemplated for only a second before I heard them say back to me… you created beauty. I’ve always felt clever and frugal as a gardener, someone with enough knowledge to stick it to the man, a way around buying bell peppers for 5 dollars a piece at the grocery store. Seeds have always enchanted me, but mainly gardening feels like a duty, a wise practice, clever. I realized after spotting the first few pods, that I could probably buy a 1/2 pound bag of frozen peas for a few dollars, and that would be clever compared to tying the homemade trellis I’d made with 78 tiny knots. But then what would I have to gaze upon in the quiet moments of my life, what could I explore the growth and change of, everyday. A plastic bag of frozen peas is good to eat, but my garden isn’t just for eating, it is an expression of my unexplainable adoration of sheer and perfect beauty. Words are inferior compared to the sight of a tender, living element of the whole that we all belong to. Only a careful and soft inspection of the garden with the eyes can cleanse the tired spirit that endures the fluorescent lights of the day. I am an artist of garden beds, of thriving colors, shapes, and textures. I can travel to art museums, and beaches; I can drive through the mountains and pull off the side of the road at over look stops. I can watch the sunset over the river, and I can read poems; no other beauty however, is more close to being my own, an extension of the way I see the world more so than my own masterpiece of vegetable plants and wildflowers. They are their own star, especially when the sun pours through their hues in the evenings. I cannot take any more credit than appreciating enough to set them into motion, and to care for them. It gives me pause to consider that we eat food without ever enjoying the sights of blooms, or the smells of the vines; that we can visit the grocery store, and stand amongst piles of produce but never saw the orchards. I spend hours studying my peach tree, well before the first July bite of the cobbler.

    This is all a consideration of creating in lieu of consuming. We soak up so much information in a day, we take in the news and fill up online shopping carts. We suck dry the reels, the shorts, 5 seconds, 10 seconds at a time; and we garden to make something else, something real. It’s an experience to be apart of with your hands. June is the perfect month to stare at the peas, their blooms, and to watch the translucent pods fill up slowly with little sweet bites of what you brought into existence. No pixels, nothing digital, just pastel hues and a million shades of green.

    As always please write to me, as I do love to chat!

    And please don’t forget to notice beauty, anywhere you may find it.

    justicesarah67@yahoo.com