Your Blue Girlfriend

“Your blue girlfriend is very pretty.”

The year was 2008 and it was springtime in Paris. My mother had come to visit me while I was on my romp across Europe. That was the year between high school and university when, fancying myself a real “beetnik” who drank wine under bridges and wrote poems under persimmon trees, I cycled from farm to farm and harvested olives or planted tulips in exchange for room and board.

Neither of us had much money, but we were staying (free of charge) in spitting distance of the Champs Elysées in my mother’s Italian boyfriend’s former lover’s stylish pied-à-terre, and we were feeling luscious.

One afternoon while we strolled around the Île St-Louis, we saw a beautiful blue velvet coat with floral embroidery in a shop window, and though she really couldn’t afford it, my mother insisted that she had to buy it for me. Walking out of the shop wearing that dreamy confection, I felt a little guilty about my mother’s sacrifice, but there was something in her face that said I shouldn’t - she was proud.

Later on, still high in the azure on the cloud of this purchase, we descended into the metro station at Cité, and an elegant pair of Frenchmen in their early twenties - beautiful men - smiled at us, and one of them said to my mother: “Your blue girlfriend is very pretty.”

While it was flattering, this small Frenchy flirtation, I’ve never been one to dress for the male gaze. There’s nothing inherently wrong with doing so (all the power to every femme fatale who looks a million bucks!) but for me, the greatest sartorial pleasure is in wearing clothes that I find pretty, that speak to me, that float my boat.

Clothes have been on my mind more than usual, lately, as I’ve committed to getting out of a bit of a rut in terms of my self image. Full disclosure (and this is me being vulnerable): I’m currently recuperating from some mental health challenges that have also affected my physical experience. For a long time, I’ve been wallowing in shame, contemptuous of my body, most days hiding it in the same couple of things that disappear it - a big, black Nirvana sweatshirt, a coat like a sleeping bag, a now-threadbare pair of leggings. I’m not saying that clothes make the woman, but I certainly do feel a pep in my step when I dress myself well - and when doing psychological battle, I think it’s fair to say that making this effort might help secure the little wins that add up to better days.

So: a commitment, in April, to wearing something cute every single day. Importantly, it doesn’t have to be for the entire day. Before cooking or cleaning, say, I usually change back into my old (faithful, comforting) rags. We’re a third of the way through the month today, and so far I’ve kept up the experiment/kept the promise to myself. It’s been fun, putting together new outfits, actually wearing the clothes I thought I couldn’t wear unless I felt more confident in my skin. Turns out sometimes you have to fake it til you make it.

One thing I will say about the journey I’m on to figure out my style: I don’t know much yet, but I know I still - and will always - love blue. From the linen wrap-around work dress I wore everywhere on my honeymoon to the trusty men’s button-down I wore all last summer on repeat to my shifts at the farm, I always feel most at home in this colour. Most truly myself. True blue.

The initial idea for the garden bed that borders the outdoor dining area at Maison Blum was to have only white flowers that would glow in the half-light as we sat out for late dinners - I imagined a sort of Sissinghurst vibe - but blue crept her way in. First she came in the form of some stubborn lupins that had been there already for some time, and then she came in a frank, welcome wave of everything from delphinium to sea holly to hydrangea.

If I were to choose a perfect shade of blue, it might just have to be that of this grape hyacinth pictured above. Muscari armeniacum has such a lovely springtime scent, and with the little white frills at the edges of each bell it reminds me of a bygone time of lace gloves and ballgowns. I can hardly wait to plant it out at Maison Blum. Apparently, it’s as easy to grow as dandelions (almost) and it is eager to naturalize and spread. The bulbs do not require lifting, but every few years or so it can be done in early fall to manage overcrowding, and you’ll get bonus plants by dividing the clumps.

Now, to get out of this housecoat and on to the day in something cute and, likely, blue! I will leave you with these lyrics from Joanna Newsom who looks quite like a grape hyacinth herself in this perfect dress from Rodarte: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/46936021092204507/

THIS SIDE OF THE BLUE

Svetlana sucks lemons across from me,
and I am progressing abominably.
And I do not know my own way to the sea
but the saltiest sea knows its own way to me.

The city that turns, turns protracted and slow
and I find myself toeing th'embarcadero
and I find myself knowing the things that I knew
which is all that you can know on this side of the blue

And Jamie has eyes black and shiny as boots
and they march at you, two-by-two (re-loo, re-loo)
when she looks at you, you know she's nowhere near through:
it's the kindest heart beating this side of the blue.

And the signifieds butt heads with the signifiers,
and we all fall down slack-jawed to marvel at words!
While across the sky sheet the impossible birds,
in a steady, illiterate movement homewards.

And Gabriel stands beneath forest and moon.
See them rattle & boo, see them shake, see them loom.
See him fashion a cap from a page of Camus;
see him navigate deftly this side of the blue.

And the rest of our lives will the moments accrue
when the shape of their goneness will flare up anew.
Then we do what we have to do (re-loo, re-loo)
which is all you can do on this side of the blue.

In Praise of the Savoy Cabbage

Amongst the snapdragons and foxgloves, the red beard scallions and the apricot strawflowers - all the new varieties of seeds I’m trying out under my grow lights for the first time this year - the one that seems the most eager to please is the relatively humble Savoy Cabbage. I’m aware that she’s bound to give me trouble as soon as she’s transplanted out into the garden; that along with all her brassica sisters she’ll need netting - one long, white wedding veil for their row to keep the wights at bay. She’ll also require frequent inspections for these pests which, at their larval stage, wreaked havoc on my purple Napas two years ago, before I started netting. Last year’s success with broccoli, cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, and my precious purple Napas was thanks to the netting and also to several judicious applications of BT (Bacillus Thuringiensis, a safe and natural bacterial pesticide that is approved for use in organic farming). But for now - before Mademoiselle Savoy has me fluffing her veil, hand-picking her caterpillars, and spritzing her down for good measure - she's growing fast and strong and not too leggy.

In these bizarro days of Trumpian aggression and idiocy, I, like many of us north of the border, have been doing my best to buy Canadian at the grocery store. It may be a tough go in the winter at times, sacrificing all that Californian produce, but the forced return to the way our ancestors ate (primarily local) is an opportunity to reconnect with nature and the seasons. Buying Canadian might seem limiting to the vegetable-lover in these early days of spring, pre-Asparagus, but we’ve still got all the root cellar things: beets, onions, rutabagas, certain squashes, potatoes, turnips (neeps and tatties, anyone?) In addition, there’s a wide variety of frozen or canned things grown in Canada last summer - peas, corn, broccoli, you name it. There’s also a growing demand for our greenhouse tomatoes, cucumbers, microgreens and even strawberries that will hopefully become more affordable with increased supply. And let’s not forget mushrooms! We’ve got plenty of local options on that front, too. The only thing I’m particulary hurting for at the moment is fresh dark greens - I’m talking big bunches of crunchy purple kale, rainbow chard, fresh lettuce. Forgoing American products has made it necessary to get creative when it comes to our salads. Enter: the Savoy cabbage and her cousins, red and green, all currently available and just as Canadian-grown as The Red Green Show.

Speaking of shows, do you remember that episode in Portlandia with the peerless Steve Buscemi as a hapless salesman stuck selling celery to the masses (good luck!) while Fred Armisen lives large as a bacon mogul? Too good. I often think of that episode while I’m experimenting with new ways of using this or that vegetable. With the Savoy cabbage, it’d be almost too easy. She’s versatile as they come. It’s nearly a “boil ‘em, mash ‘em, stick ‘em in a stew” situation (Sam Gamgee fans will catch the reference). In lieu of “mash”, though, which doesn’t really apply to cabbages, we might say “macerate,” “pickle,” “roast,” “sauté,” “stuff”… and the list could go on.

When I was in London last spring, we were told it was a must to experience the British tradition of the Sunday Roast. On my dear friend’s late husband’s suggestion, we went to Coin Laundry in Exmouth Market - it was his favourite spot - and the single leaf of steamed Savoy as a bed for the meat in its pool of gravy was a pure revelation. So mild and wholesome in its taste so as not to distract from the carnivorous pleasure of the succulent roast, yet still counterbalancing vice with its pretty, green virtue.

Another example, but this time the leaves go on top: for our last New Year’s party, I made several types of lasagne, including one vegan version which, instead of cheese, was topped with a patchwork quilt of Savoy cabbage.

Most recently (yesterday) I made the salad pictured above, and it was so damn good (healthy, tasty, riffable) I think it’s worthwhile sharing, so here goes:

1. Roast, with a little oil, salt, pepper: chopped Savoy, drained canned chickpeas, and an entire (small) halved zucchini (okay, I’ll admit I cracked and bought the zucchini from our friends down in Mexico)

2. Make this “Liquid Gold” dressing: https://thefirstmess.com/2020/07/18/liquid-gold-dressing-recipe/

3. Prepare Freekeh (or whatever grain you like - quinoa, rice, farro…)

4. Top the grain with the vegetables, dress and enjoy!

And if my praises of the Savoy cabbage have been prosaic today, it is the better to leave you with this piece by the German-American poet Lisel Mueller:

FOUND IN THE CABBAGE PATCH

The shiny head is round,

full term, between

the spread leaves of its mother.

I come as the midwife,

a kitchen knife in my hand.

There. No lusty cry,

this child is silent.

Two white moths

hover and flutter,

milky attendants

in perpetual motion.

I leave the mother’s wound

for the sun to heal.

The stump of the newborn

dries in the crook of my arm.

I am the witch, cradling

the pale green head,

murmuring, “Little one,

you look good enough to eat.”

ASAP: As Soft As Possible

T.S. Eliot said it: April is the cruellest month. Last year on this day, we were at Maison Blum for the solar eclipse and it was warm enough for a nap in the grass and a picnic dinner. This morning in Toronto, we woke up to snow.

I’ll admit that Lu and I considered eschewing the morning walk to school, but in the end we swaddled ourselves in our warmest coats and woolly hats and went out to brave it. At the end of our street, we bumped into a friend, and so the walk was not only good for our bodies but also good for our social butterfly souls. And en route home I spent a long moment communing with the pussy willow by the main gates in Trinity Bellwoods. She is in her silvery glory, her catkins sleek and plump.

As northern gardeners, we often wish that we could hurry time along and make the mercury rise. We want to put winter firmly behind us and get down to the exciting enterprises we feel entitled to engage in as soon as the vernal equinox has come. And yet, we’ve all seen snow as late as early May - there’s still a ways to go!

What if, instead of pining away for what we can’t have as soon as we might like, we tried to soak up the last few weeks of relative calm and live by this alternative vision of ASAP that you may have seen floating around the web:

As Slow As Possible

As Soft As Possible

As Sustainable As Possible

As Sincere As Possible

As Steady As Possible

Allow Space And Pause

And though we yearn to put our winter things away and bare our shoulders to the long-awaited sun, we can still enjoy the beauty of this transitional season, especially if we stay wrapped up like Pussy Willow in this sweet ditty by Kate L. Brown:

Pussy Willow wakened
From her winter nap,
For the frolic spring breeze
On her door would tap.

It is chilly weather
Though the sun feels good,
I will wrap up warmly,
Wear my furry hood.