Little Black Diamonds

I think it was at Bin 36, a restaurant across the street from my hotel on a business trip to Chicago, that I first tasted truffles. I should mention that Bin 36 is of a new breed of restaurants. They don't serve actual entrees. They serve tapas with six carefully selected wines to match. You order six appetizers and get six "flights" of wine to place against them. It's okay, I reasoned. I'm within legal stumbling distance of my bed. While highly civilized, it's pure hedonism.

The truffles were shaved over a cheese I selected. I like cheese. No, I love cheese. It's the fudge of the dairy world. I love mild, milky mozzarella with fresh basil and tomato slices as much as I love the feared Gorgonzola which smells like sweat socks. But the truffles ... while I enjoyed them, I felt a certain reserve. Musky, earthy, pungent – it was almost as if it was inappropriate to eat them in public. There's something utterly debauched about the taste of truffles, which explains their history.

Until recently, a truffle farmer would take his pig out to an oak grove to locate a truffle buried underground. The pig would prance along at a normal pace until he caught a whiff of something and was suddenly filled with this inexplicable urge to locate the exact origin. It smelled like a sow in heat, or, to his nose, his true love. Once he homed in on the origin of this heavenly scent, he would start digging furiously to get to her, never questioning why his true love was buried at the foot of an oak tree.

I'm not sure how this tradition changed. Perhaps the farmer felt guilty for misleading the pig into such disappointment and had to deal with the subsequent depression. Perhaps the pig dug so furiously that he destroyed the truffle itself. Now truffle farmers use dogs to locate truffles, and apparently truffles don't smell like bitches in heat. It seems that the dogs are equally voracious in locating truffles, not for any romantic attachment, but because they taste good. In fact, farmers need to carry treats to replace it so the dog doesn't devour the truffle.
I'm due for another business trip to Chicago soon and plan on staying in the same hotel, and even visiting Bin 36. But perhaps this time I'll order my meal to go and enjoy it while reflecting upon the relationship between the canine and human palette. And I'll remain mildy disturbed at the relationship of the pig's palette to both.

Memory and Desire

When I was teenager, my oldest sister Carol, who lived in New York City at the time, represented everything glamorous to me. When she would come home for visits, her embrace radiated a scent by Lancôme called Magie Niore. Unapologetically sensuous and feminine, this blend of cedar wood, musk and jasmine became for me the epitome of elegance. It remains a scent loaded with memories and associations to this day.

Carol gave me my first grown-up perfume when I was sixteen. Youth Dew, launched by Estee Lauder in 1953, is an oriental fragrance with a blend of warm rose, geranium, and amber. Wearing it daily, I felt connected to my sister. It became my ‘signature scent.’ Later, I got bold and bought Jardins de Bagatell by Guerlain. It was a heady blend of bergamot, jasmine, gardenia, tuberose, neroli and sandalwood.

Perfume companies understand that fragrance is not merely several scents blended together and bottled. Scents trigger memories, and create psychological associations. Cleopatra, the famous queen of Egypt, understood this when she drenched the sails of her ships with rose oil. Perfumes give us a feeling of being taller, thinner, richer, and beautiful. They wrap us in mystery, instill desire and inspire memories. And for those of us who cannot afford haute couture, buying a designer’s perfume is the next best thing.

Today I own several perfumes, and still manage to lust for new ones. Having married into a generous family, I have Hanai Mori’s entire line of quirky and sophisticated perfumes. I no longer have a signature scent; rather I determine what mood I’m going to set for my day with my choice. With names like Fleurs du Chocolat, Haute Couture, Butterfly, and Magic Moon, each carries its own message. One makes me feel graceful while another makes me feel edgy and tough.

I have yet to find that one perfect perfume that clearly expresses every nuance of my personality, but I’m enjoying the search, one bottle at a time.

Design by Committee

If you've ever designed something by committee, you understand.

The Inner Longings of an Adolescent Girl

As a child, I had stick-straight hair with bangs, freckles, and eyes too big for my face. I wasn’t a wild success in sports and I wasn’t in the inner circle of popularity. I always turned in my homework on time and the teachers liked me.

I try to account for my grown-up interest in fashion; and then I remember that I had to wear a wool plaid uniform for so many years. That restriction was both a saving grace and, for a creative child, a hindrance. Our uniforms leveled the playing field. There was no contest for who had the coolest clothes because we all wore the same thing. So when I hit the open road of high school, with all of its freedoms, I went a little wild. The profusion of colors, textures and patterns rejected all simplicity, and all understanding of a good fit, clean lines, and flattering shapes. But it was the eighties.

Today I stumbled upon a blog called Deep Glamour. The launching entry (August 15) is a thought-provoking essay on what defines glamour. In discussions with friends today, we hit upon the plasticity of glamour, much of that plastic found in wallets. But it’s not just about spending, it’s about spending selectively.

To quote Virginia Postrel, Deep Glamour’s blogger, glamour is much more than clothes.
Glamour is...not a matter of style but of psychology. It is not a physical property but an imaginative quality that creates a specific, emotional response: a mixture of projection, longing, admiration, and aspiration. By binding image and desire, glamour gives us pleasure, even as it heightens our yearning. It is this emotional experience, this pang-filled pleasure, that we hope to recapture once "glamour is back."
Sometimes I wish I could go back to a daily routine wearing a uniform. It would take the guesswork (performed half-awake and in the dark) out of every morning. But this time, do you think Gaspard Yurkievich would design my uniform?

The North Market

I LOVE markets, and I go to them every time I visit a new city, but my review of farmers' markets would be entirely incomplete if I didn't mention the North Market in our own town. Every time I go, I ask myself why I don't visit more often.

My favorite vendor, Jeni's Fresh Ice Creams, has some of the world's most intriguing flavors, and you can have a six-pack delivered to your door packed in dry ice. My pet flavor is Aztec Chocolate. Who knew ice cream could have heat?

With dessert out of the way, you can have some serious difficulty choosing a place to have lunch. With authentic cuisines from around the world, you can have Flavors of India, Firdous from the Mediterranean, humble Mexican fare from El Paraiso, or pick up a bit of Italy from Pastaria.

On your way out, don’t forget to pick up some flowers from Marty and Bob at Market Blooms, a loaf of bread and some cheese from Curds and Whey.

Most importantly, don’t forget to get chocolates from my favorite chocolatier, Pure Imagination. If you like your chocolate with a kick, try the Theobroma, modeled after the truffles made famous in the movie Chocolat. Eat them all yourself or give them as a gift. They are the perfect way to say ‘I love you,’ ‘I’m sorry,’ or ‘It’s Wednesday.’ One taste of these truffles and you’ll think Dan has a crush on you too.

Simplicity is the Ultimate Sophistication

My husband and I received a visit from my sister and a friend of hers this past weekend. As I mentioned before, they are traversing the country with a final destination of Arizona. One of the things they both did to make this move possible is sell all of their belongings, save a handful of things that they either needed or loved, which they squeezed into their cars. While it seems simple enough to say, “I’m selling all of my personal belongings,” it’s an enormously tedious, time-consuming and labor-intensive job … depending, of course, on how much stuff you’ve collected over the years.

While I have no intention of doing this myself, my friends and family have heard more than a few times over the past few years how eager I am to declutter, shed the excess, unload the junk. I have more than my share of odd, quirky, and unnecessary objects that I neither need nor love. I fantasize about a home that better reflects the essence of those who dwell in it, unclouded by the confusion of things that don’t quite fit. A home where you notice the people in a room more than the room itself or the stuff in it. And as Debbie Millman says, "we can either talk about making a difference, or we can make a difference." And, while my husband has more books than God, I intend to leave them alone. (Though on reflection, do we need two copies of Ulysses?)

This is my goal for the balance of the year, a gift to myself; to streamline my material world until I no longer feel distracted by the visual confusion. I want my home to have room for discussions and ideas, and whatever material things remain are there because they have honest meaning and value.

Oh, and the title is a quote from Leonardo da Vinci.

You're Not The One For Me

I know this song has been around for some time. Since I only listen to the radio when I'm driving, that's the only time I ever hear it. Yes, I'm the driver in the lane next to you singing about the big black horse and the cherry tree at the top of her lungs.

What's On Your List?

The List

We all have a list of things we turn to again and again, that we depend upon and that deliver. They turn around a bad day, or ensure a good one.*

Here’s my list in no particular order:
1. MAC’s Russian Red lipstick, a timeless favorite for years, with a slight vanilla flavor. And when you've used up six tubes, bring them back to your MAC counter and walk away with one free one.

2. Timberland black biker boots. I know who I am and what I’m about when I’m wearing these.

3. Dyson vacuum cleaner. I asked for it as an anniversary gift and my husband bought it because he understands me. This is the one I vacuum the cat with.

4. Dr. Bronner’s Magical soap, mint flavor. Or eucalyptus, either will do.

5. J. Crew jeans, boy fit, dark wash. Dress them up with pearls and cashmere; dress them down with Chuck Taylors. You know the drill.

6. Trader Joe’s French Roast coffee. Do you require an explanation?

7. PhotoShop. To misquote Ohio’s state motto, “With God and PhotoShop, everything is possible.”

8. Altoids Curiously Strong Peppermints. An article detailing the effects of peppermint on the human person revealed a happier disposition, aiding the digestive system and waking you up if you’re sluggish. They’re great if you’re about to walk into an accounting class.

9. Aveda’s Madagascar Aroma Oil. I have light bulb rings discreetly placed throughout my home, dispensing this sweet, spicy scent.

*I'm not on the bank roll of any of these companies, but wouldn't mind if I was.