Almost fourteen years ago my son was born in Minneapolis, on a freezing day in May. When we took him home for the first time, I remember carefully treading my way along the walkway from the garage to the side door. Carefully because I was still wobbly from an emergency C-section, but also because the ground was patched with ice and clods of snow. [Read more…]
I can’t imagine there’s anything I wouldn’t love about the city of Venice. Since I haven’t been there yet I remain a vicarious traveler; picturing a sepia-colored city like no other, floating over an ancient network of canals, all those mysterious alleyways winding through a landscape of crumbling palaces.
Twenty-seven summers ago my best friend took off in the direction of Europe, with no real itinerary or return date. I’d planned up until the last minute to go with her, saving all my waitressing cash in a box under my mattress, but drama overrode – it became suddenly necessary that I break up with my then-boyfriend and find a new apartment. How unromantic!
Everything worked out fine in the end, but missing that adventure was my regret. In the middle of her travels, my friend called me from Venice; she was running out of money but still hoping I’d change my mind and meet her there in Italy.
I felt a tiny bit jealous that she was in a place I’d only ever dreamed about seeing, until she described the harrowing time she was having there; getting off the train alone in the middle of the night, finding the Piazza San Marco teeming with rats and also a few human ones intent on stealing her backpack and who knows what else.
It can happen in any city anywhere, but somehow, knowing it was less than paradise at that moment in Venice made it a little easier to accept what I was missing.
My favorite sentences start with three little words: Pop the Cork.
Along with the words, the actual sound of a cork emerging from a bottle with a pop, bang or that slow phssssstt indicating the energized presence of fizzy bubbles, has the power to lift my spirits in the blink of an eye. Like magic.
It’s one of the purest sounds of celebration that I know, and such a simple thing, really.
This bubbly concoction is much like the strawberry version of a Bellini – a Rossini. Its pretty pink color and fresh strawberry essence make it seem like just the thing you’d want to drink for lunch, brunch or while watching the sun going down somewhere.
- 1 pound strawberries, hulled and sliced in half
- 1/4 cup sugar
- 1 tablespoon strawberry flavored liqueur or vodka (optional)
- 1 teaspoon fresh squeezed lemon juice
- 1 750-ml bottle Prosecco, chilled
- Puree the strawberries, sugar, liqueur and lemon juice in a blender until very smooth.
- Pour through a fine strainer set over a container with a pouring spout.
- Pour the puree into glass flutes to fill by 1/3 ; slowly pour Prosecco over the puree; stir gently.