Frieze Frame: Leo Friedlander at the Oregon Capitol Building

While in Italy two summers ago we spent nearly every day looking at art, a major portion of which was sculpture on a monumental scale. Not surprising, since sculpture is so integral to the cultural landscape of Italy – from the ancient ruins, monuments and elaborate fountains, to the architectural flourishes that adorn churches and public buildings.

But despite having lived for 10 years in a town teeming with monuments and public sculpture (Washington, DC), I’d never really spent that much time looking at sculpture. I mean REALLY looking at it: tracing the lines, admiring the hand of the artist and reflecting on the intentions behind the work. Even while visiting museums, I tended to gravitate toward the two-dimensional works. I mostly gave the marbles the cold shoulder.

Perhaps it was the environment – we are talking Italia after all – but it was impossible not to be moved by the sculptural works we encountered. From the drop dead gorgeous and otherworldly dynamism of Bernini’s sculptures in Rome’s Galleria Borghese, to the imposing equestrian sculpture of Marcus Aurelius and the Colossus of Constantine, both at the Capitoline Museum.  These pieces stopped me in my tracks.

Back to earth and back home, I began to take notice of the monumental sculptures around me. Like most state capitals, Salem has a fair number of monuments and tributes in stone – most of which I’d only given a passing glance. But when I started to look closer, to really examine what’s here, I found there’s quite a bit to get excited about.

Take the two monumental relief sculptures flanking the steps to the Oregon Capitol Building. Sculpted by artist Leo Friedlander (American, 1888-1966), a New Yorker who studied at the Art Students League and later in Brussels, Paris and at the American Academy in Rome, they were conceived as part of the architectural design for the state’s third Capitol building, which was completed in 1938. The lead architect, Francis Keally, an associate with the New York firm Trowbridge and Livingston, was no doubt acquainted with Friedlander (they were contemporaries) and his work by reputation, and chose him to complement the pared down classicism of his Capitol design.

During his time in Rome circa 1915-16, Friedlander would have studied some of the same works we saw on our trip. Perhaps they even inspired his interest in large-scale public monuments. But in contrast to the Baroque, Classical and Renaissance works he would have encountered in Europe, Friedlander’s aesthetic grew to be spare and minimal, reflecting the Art Deco style that dominated during the heyday of his career. He may be best known for the gilded equestrian sculptures, Valor and Sacrifice, flanking the east entrance to the Arlington Memorial Bridge in Washington, DC.

(The genesis of these sculptures had many twists and turns; originally commissioned in 1929, they were completed in 1939 but then placed in storage because of budgetary battles and political maneuvering of the time. They were cast and eventually installed in 1951. An interesting side note: the bronze casting and gilding was completed in Italy, as a gift from the Italian people, using Marshall Plan funds. A nice full-circle story for Friedlander.) Friedlander is also well-known for two bas relief panels he created for Rockefeller Plaza.  Radio and Television, sometimes collectively called “Transmission,” are spare, Art Deco sculptures installed in 1939.

The reliefs at the Oregon State Capitol Building are similarly minimal, but not as severe in execution. While the 30 Rock sculptures have an other-worldly, futuristic feel, these have an earthly warmth about them. On the east side of the entrance is Lewis and Clark led by Sacajawea, with the inscription Westward the star of empire takes its way, and on the west side of the entrance, a piece titled The Covered Wagon, showing a pioneer family navigating the Oregon trail above the inscription Valiant men have thrust out frontiers to the setting sun. Maps on the backside of each sculpture show the route of Lewis and Clark, and the Oregon Trail respectively. Both sculptures are rendered in the same Vermont marble as the Capitol building. One of my favorite parts of each sculpture is the attention paid to the botanical landscape – each panel features a plant found in Oregon’s high desert. It’s a deliberate detail that stands out in this monumental scale – a homage perhaps to the landscape, both hospitable and hostile, that explorers and pioneers encountered as they traversed our state. Standing back and taking in the whole, what strikes me is how harmoniously the sculptures blend with the Capitol facade. Sculpture and monuments are often an afterthought, or added piecemeal as history unfolds; but in the best instances, as found here, the art and the architecture speak to one  another, their conversation delighting the eye.

Last week, I happened by the Capitol while facilities personnel were giving the sculptures a spring cleaning. As they showered the panels with a pressure washer, I couldn’t help wondering about questionable conservation practices…yikes…but with the recent layers of exhaust and grime removed, they now await your gaze.

What do you think? What makes a successful public monument?

Oregon Road Trip

We just returned from a weekend in Southern Oregon, traveling to see my niece, Olivia, graduate high school and also to celebrate my nephew’s graduation from college. It was a fun-filled weekend of family, food and a trip back to the area where I grew up. I know the road from here to there like the back of my hand, and always enjoy visiting familiar haunts. But I always discover some new things along the way, like this hot pork sundae from Smokin’ Friday BBQ in Roseburg, where we stopped for lunch on the way down. It was a heavenly layered concoction of garlic mashed potato, gravy, pulled pork and green beans! Seriously – who would pass up the opportunity to try that?!

The graduation was held in Ashland’s Lithia Park, a delightful oasis in the center of town. Of course I took time to visit some of my favorite places…

Clockwise, top: Mix for patisserie; middle: Prize windows, gifts at Prize; bottom: Hilltop coffee for a pick-me-up, costumes from Antony and Cleopatra at Oregon Shakespeare Festival, a street side poesy.

And what visit would be complete without touching your lips to the famed Lithia waters?

Elena Ferrante

To say I’ve been gripped with an obsession for the Elena Ferrante Neapolitan series that starts with “My Brilliant Friend” would be an understatement. I started the four-book epic about a month ago and have whipped through each tome at breakneck pace. I’m about 25 pages from the end of book four and starting to drag my heels; not because I’m indifferent about finishing, but simply because I’m already dreading the void that will be left behind.

When we were in Italy a couple of years ago, we spent two nights in Naples. The primary purpose of our visit was to see the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli – which houses the word’s largest collection of art and artifacts from Pompeii, among many other incredible things. We stayed just down the street at a charming hotel in the neighborhood and when we weren’t at the museum, we walked as many square inches of the city as we could.

Before we arrived, I was filled with a bit of trepidation (not unusual, I’ve since discovered), as Naples has a reputation for being a gritty, inhospitable place for tourists. You hear warnings about street urchins and thieves, and are advised to keep to the well-traveled areas. What we discovered instead was a vibrant, lively city under a veneer of decay – self-inflicted, and from the ravages of nature and time. I’ve never been anywhere like it. There’s something to look or to capture your imagination with every step – from the beautiful buildings to the quirky characters on the street. We left wanting more, and vowed to return and peel back the layers of this enigmatic city.

So it was this fascination that provided me a prologue to Elena Ferrante’s novels, which pick up in post-World War II Naples and carry through to the current day. The time period is one of incredible change in Italy, with the country – especially Naples, which suffered terribly during the war – literally picking up the pieces amid tremendous political and social upheaval.  These changes form the backdrop and the backbone of the series, as the protagonist, Lenú, navigates childhood, adolescence, marriage, career and motherhood, while juggling familial and social expectations. She challenges socioeconomic boundaries, escaping her poverty-stricken neighborhood to attend college and marry well, but is ultimately called back to Naples by the strong bonds of friendship and the pieces of the city she carries inside. It’s a moving exploration of how where we come from shapes us, even when we change outwardly, and how those outward changes affect our ability to fit back into those places – if it’s even possible to ever go back.

As I’m wont to do…I’m now on a jag. The series has rekindled my interest in Naples, its storied, centuries-old history and the centuries-old love affair with Italy that’s played out in art and literature. So I ventured to the library, gathering up books on Italian history, travel essays on Naples, and stories of The Grand Tour, letting my curiosity fuel my summer reading list. Ciao!

 

 

Rhubarb Compote

Both of my grandfathers were avid gardeners who tended efficient kitchen gardens just beyond the back door.  Always close at hand were traditional English staples like runner beans, carrots, cauliflower, cabbage, potatoes, beets, parsnips, peas and of course, rhubarb.

As I child I was especially taken with rhubarb. There was something otherworldly about it – from the outsized leaves and scarlet stalks, to the repeated warnings that the leaves are poisonous. I don’t think anyone thought I’d nibble the leaves, but it was oft-repeated and added to the allure.

One of my favorite ways to eat rhubarb is as a compote mixed with strawberries. While I enjoy the tart, astringent flavor of rhubarb, adding strawberries to the mix tempers the flavor and makes it more appealing to the pickier palates in my household.  Making up a batch of this compote only takes a few minutes and it’s great on vanilla ice cream, or as pictured here, spooned over a simple cake (or a scone) with a dollop of whipping cream. It’s also a quick way to gussy up a store-bought pound cake, and even tastes good on a piece of toast.  It will keep in a jar in the fridge for up to a week, though I doubt it will last that long.

Rhubarb Compote with Strawberries & Ginger

Coarsely chop 4 or 5 stalks of rhubarb. Quarter enough hulled strawberries to produce about 1 cup of fruit. Combine in a heavy sauce pan along with a teaspoon of fresh grated ginger and 3 tablespoons of sugar. Cook over medium-low heat until the rhubarb and strawberries are cooked to the desired consistency – this is largely a matter of taste – but takes about 15 minutes, give or take.

8 Favorite Cookbooks

Last week I bumped into a friend at the Borders Food aisle. I was picking up the Best Food Writing of 2009; his arms were weighed down with a stack of the latest cookbooks. As we browsed the culinary eye candy, talk turned to cookbooks that look great as opposed to those that actually are great. Sure, I love those luscious photos, but if the recipes aren’t up to snuff, then what’s the point?

This isn’t to say that I haven’t been seduced by food styling. My cookbook collection includes several that are the culinary equivalent of blonde bimbos.

With that in mind, I thought I’d share a few of my tried-and-true favorites. These are the books I turn to again and again, and they rarely disappoint. What are some of yours?

The Barefoot Contessa Cookbook (Ina Garten)
I’m usually not sucked in by celebrity chefs, but when it comes to simple, elegant preparation, Ina Garten is a genius. This is my go-to cookbook for casual entertaining. Garten’s recipes play up the inherent deliciousness of fresh ingredients, whether appetizer, main dish, decadent dessert or brunch, and rate high on the comfort-food scale. She also provides a bevy of helpful tips for hosting a stress-free gathering.

The Martha Stewart Cookbook (Martha Stewart)
Seriously, if I’m facing dinnertime and a collection of oddball ingredients, Martha’s bound to have a recipe that pulls it all together. I’ve carted this book around for near 15 years and, at 600-plus pages, that takes some dedication. Martha includes several recipes for every imaginable foodstuff; witness six different pound cakes and 23 recipes using pears. In my kitchen it functions as a comprehensive resource. I like to think of it as a more adventurous Joy of Cooking.

Sunday Suppers at Lucques (Suzanne Goin)
After checking out this cookbook from our local library about 14 times (apologies to patrons who may have wondered why certain pages are oil spattered), my husband gave me a copy for Christmas. It’s become a fast favorite.  Not only is it lovely to look at, the recipes are keepers. Goin, a Chez Panisse alum and co-owner of the LA restaurant Lucques, has organized the book seasonally, offering three-course menus for winter, spring, summer and fall.  While the dishes tend to be a step above basic, they prove worth the extra effort. This is the book to peruse when you are planning a special meal or have a day to indulge your inner chef.

French Country Cooking (Elizabeth David)
I am a HUGE fan of Elizabeth David. While she’s not a household name, a la Julia Child, her influence on home cooking can’t be understated. She did for England’s palate what Child did for the U.S. Two seminal books are French Country Cooking, published in 1951, and Italian Food, published in 1954. My husband will tell you that David’s coq au vin recipe is proof-positive that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Her cookbooks are the kind you can curl up with, dog-earing recipes to return to later. They read like culinary travelogues, steeped in historical references, giving the how and why of technique and ingredients.

The Minimalist Cooks at Home (Mark Bittman)
Love, love, love Mark Bittman. Like Ina Garten, he focuses on the basics, marrying fresh ingredients with simple preparation. His recipe prologues demystify a particular dish and point to ways that a creative cook could tweak or build on his basic recipe. It’s a great one to turn to if you have a piece of fish, or a chicken and need some inspiration to get you started. A bonus: most of the ingredients (beyond the main ones) are spices and staples you are likely to have on hand.

Fresh from the Farmers’ Market (Janet Fletcher)
This is one of those wild-card cookbooks, which I have no idea where it came from. A bargain bin somewhere, probably. In any case, it has been well worth the $4.99 I may have paid for it, providing a ton of inspiration. The recipes are organized seasonally and around what’s available at the farmers’ market.  This is the book to turn to when you bring home a vegetable that you’ve seen a million times but never actually purchased and cooked. Fletcher also gives in-depth tips on selecting produce at its best and storing it. She has a fabulous white bean soup that I make again and again.

Silk Road Cooking (Najmieh Batmanglij)
I bought this book from The Textile Museum Shop, drawn in by the beautiful photography of people, places and food. The recipes run the length of the Silk Road, from Italy to China, and trace the transfer of techniques and foodstuffs from culture to culture. Between the pages are lessons on art and culture, historical asides and recipes that introduce unfamiliar ingredients, or present familiar ones in new ways. Whether labeled pilaf, polow, pilau, pullaou, risotto or good old sticky rice, the book contains 24 different recipes for this humble grain.

The New Moosewood Cookbook (Mollie Katzen)
I think this may have been the first cookbook I purchased. It was circa 1988 Eugene, afterall. Despite some dubious uses of tofu, Moosewood does include many delicious recipes that have stood the test of time. And, who can resist Katzen’s charming illustrations? Brazilian Black Bean soup (I’ll be posting this one soon) and Hungarian Mushroom soup are two favorites that I make to this day. I recently bought the New Moosewood Cookbook because Katzen has updated many of the recipes, making them more healthful (not as much wanton use of cheese) and more straightforward, in some cases.

Preserved Lemons

Last week my neighborhood Safeway was offering Meyer lemons for $1.99/lb, so I rushed in and picked up three pounds. I was thinking about making this lemon tart, but thought better of it when I noticed the filling included one stick of butter. Yikes! (Maybe one day when I’m feeling carefree, I’ll give that a whirl.) In the meantime, I decided to sacrifice my lemon bounty to a batch of preserved lemons.

Lemons preserved in salt show up as an ingredient in many Middle Eastern and Moroccan recipes, most notably tagines, a North African braised stew.  However, the salty, pickled charms of preserved lemons lend themselves to many uses — from perking up rice and couscous dishes, to soups, vegetable dishes and salad dressings. And, don’t they look gorgeous?

Preserved Meyer Lemons (from Gourmet by way of Epicurious)
12 Meyer lemons (you may need a few more than this)
2/3 c coarse salt (do not use table salt – kosher or coarse sea salt are needed)
1/4 c olive oil
1 quart jar with tight-fitting lid, sterilized

Wash all of the lemons well. Bring large pot of water to boil. Blanch 6 of the lemons for 5 minutes and then plunge them into bowl of cold water.  When the lemons are cool enough to handle, use a sharp knife to cut each one into eighths. Gently coax out any seeds and discard them. Toss the lemons with the salt in a large bowl. Gently rub the salt onto all sides of the lemons. Meanwhile, juice the other 6 lemons. Pack the sliced and salted lemons into the quart jar and then cover with the lemon juice. If the lemons are not completely covered, make more juice to add to the jar.  (This is important so that the lemons don’t spoil.) Put the lid on the jar and let it sit at room temperature for five days, gently shaking the jar once a day. After five days, add the olive oil into the jar and refrigerate. When you use the lemons, rinse each one well to remove excess salt before adding it to your recipe.

Ruby Red Grapefruit Marmalade

If summer is defined by the berry, then I’d argue that citrus is the essence of winter. I know, I know, there’s the eat local thing. But really, winter without citrus? I just can’t do it.

Juicy grapefruit, lemons, key limes, oranges, Meyer lemons, and kumquats are so versatile and enliven a multitude of dishes, from simple pound cake to marinades and salads, and everything in between.

When I ran across this recipe for grapefruit marmalade I had to make it. Immediately. The process was so simple – no zesting required – and I could see using it in so many ways. Slathered on toast, added to a salad dressing, or even as a glaze for meat or baked goods.

Essentially, you simmer two grapefruits, for what seems like ages, until they are soft; chop them finely and then simmer again with sugar until the set point is reached.

The result is a vivid, saffron-colored marmalade that’s bright and bursting with grapefruit flavor — the essence of winter, captured for your pleasure year-round.

Ruby Red Grapefruit Marmalade (adapted, barely, from Nigella Lawson’s How to be a Domestic Goddess)
makes 4 pints

2 large pink or red grapefruits
water
5 cups sugar
2 lemons

Place the grapefruit in a large pot with ample water, so they are bobbing about, and boil for 2 hours, until they’re soft. (You may have to top up the water here and there.) Drain and slice the grapefruits thinly, and roughly chop as well. Remove any large seeds.

Return everything to the pan, along with 5 cups of sugar and the juice of 2 lemons. Boil for a good 15 minutes or so (it may well take longer, be patient!) and then test to see if the setting point is reached. This is done by placing a teaspoon of the jam on a small plate and cooling it in the refrigerator. If the mixture thickens and creases when you press on it, it’s ready. If not, keep cooking and test again in a few minutes.  When you are testing, take the marmalade off the heat so it doesn’t overcook. Also, skim the marmalade as you cook – this will keep the finished product from becoming cloudy.  You can jar and process the marmalade at this point.  If not, use within one month.

Paradise Chutney

Earlier in the fall I picked up several pounds of quince at a local farm. Since then I’ve made several quince crumbles and have been scouring cookbooks for other recipes. Many looked promising but I couldn’t settle on how to use the last few quince.

Last week while poking around Value Village, one of my favorite haunts, I stumbled on a copy of Nigella Lawson’s How to be a Domestic Goddess. She’s one of my favorite cookbook authors, so I bought it on the spot. I really love her voice. When I read I can distinctly hear the same cadence and phrasing used by my mother, aunts, grandmother and other English women I know, plus I love how enthusiastic she is about making food that is unabashedly delicious and always slightly decadent. She’s someone who clearly loves to tinker in the kitchen and bring friends and family together for a great meal. Her cookbooks are the kind that you can curl up with and read like a good novel. Every recipe has a story.

Reading through How to be a Domestic Goddess, I found a few quince recipes:  quince brandy, quince glaze, quincemeat, and an intriguing concoction called Paradise Chutney.  I settled on Paradise Chutney because it means we can enjoy the quince for months to come, and it’s also versatile. It will be wonderful on sandwiches, or alongside meats, curries, and cheeses.

Of course, I couldn’t resist a bit of my own tinkering. Instead of Nigella’s apples, I used pears, as that was what I had on hand. I sampled a bit of the chutney before canning it and it was a nice balance of sweet (pears) and tart (cranberries), with the ambrosial floral notes of the quince. In a month or so, I’ll pop open a jar and give it a real try.

Paradise Chutney (adapted from Nigella Lawson’s How to be a Domestic Goddess)

1 lb quince, peeled, cored and cut into chunks
3 1/4 c water
1 lb pears (about 2 1/2 pears), peeled, cored and cut into chunks
1 medium onion, chopped
6 oz fresh cranberries
5 oz dried cranberries
2 1/4 c sugar
4 whole cloves
2 cinnamon sticks, slightly crumbled
1 T English mustard powder
juice and zest of 1 orange
juice and zest of 1 lemon
1 1/2 c cider vinegar
4 or 5 1-pint jars

Save the quince peelings and cores; place saucepan with water and boil for about 15 minutes, or until you have 1 1/c of liquid remaining. Strain and reserve liquid. Put all other ingredients, along with quince cooking liquid, into a large pot and let the sugar dissolve slowly over low heat. Then bring to the boil and cook for about 1 hour or until everything has cooked down and thickened. When it’s ready, most of the chutney will be soft and fairly pulpy; the quince will be visible. Ladle into sterilized jars and process. (This recipe yielded 5 pints for me.)