I haven’t posted here since the beginning of the summer, and if you haven’t read that post you need to go there because it’s the most delicious salad that translates into fall with maybe just sturdier greens and some quinoa.
I’ll wait.
But now, this post, which doesn’t have anything to do with food, really, except that I have made white bean and kale soup, gluten-free bagels, and GF and vegan doughnut holes from Minimalist Baker (among other delights), and am working on a ruby chocolate truffle that may make it onto the blog (along with Ruby Chocolate World Peace Cookies, in progress). But this post is not about that.
This post is about this quote:
“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone had told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit.
Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know it’s normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take a while. It’s normal to take a while. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.” – Ira Glass
My creative work has gone through some changes with the publication of my book Healing Where You Are: An Introduction to Urban Foraging; the shitty voice in my head has been back for awhile now, and my creative practice in the past eight months or so has simply been to get it to STFU.
I do that by pressing on. By walking. By jotting things down and editing when I get the urge. By saying no to mercenary writing that sucks the life out of me and yes to putting paint on canvas. By starting big projects that might lead to bigger projects (spoiler alert: #tinycabinbiglife).
Have I done as much as I should? Could?
Not likely.
But winter is coming, and for me that just more opportunity to dig deeper. To fight my way through.
To let go, even.
Also to start baking again. So there’s that.
What’s unfolding for you? Curious to know how people are moving forward after the first pandemic years.
Crabcake egg rolls in collaboration with spicy pineapple dipping sauce. And yes, my crabcake recipe is the best one. #IYDKNYK
Collaboration is a funny thing. Everyone claims to want to do it, but in reality, the bare fact of working with another person to create something together is infinitely challenging. This applies to everything from creative work to child-rearing; it seems as if in collaboration, there is always the potential for someone to feel like they have not been heard, respected, or valued in a partnership.
KWeeks and I are trying to feel our way into creative collaboration. It makes sense that this is a step we would take. Even if our respective creative practices are quite different, many of our sensibilities align, and where they don’t it’s possible to find some fertile ground.
Our first “collaboration,” of sorts, was building a camping platform in New Brunswick, Canada – a bit of a struggle until we figured out that one person needed to be in charge each day. In the end, the final product is something we are both proud of, even if the road to it was sometimes rough.
And now we are feeling our way towards a new collaboration, a creative one, that is embryonic and still being negotiated and not even more than something ethereal. It feels good to think this way, in love and creative partnership with my person. I am most grounded when I have found a home in someone, and KWeeks feels like that.
The idea of “home” comes up frequently in our conversations. KWeeks isn’t exactly nomadic, but he has managed to move at specific times in his life in a way that prevented him from ever feeling too attached to one place.
I, on the other hand, spent the first 25 years of my life in Maryland. I camped every summer in Assateague and roamed the mountains in western Maryland for my formative years. I am attached to this region in a way that is cellular, and much of this is grounded in food of this region, particularly the beautiful swimmers – Maryland blue crab.
It has been two years since I have had crab, and those who know know that fall crab is the best, fatter than the lean crabs of spring and early summer. Years ago, right around this time, I did what was long overdue and created my own crabcake recipe in the form of Maryland Crabcakes With Green Papaya, Carrot, and Jicama Slaw With Pineapple Vinaigrette.
This past weekend, KWeeks and I had a brief sojourn at John Cage Memorial Park in Chance, Maryland, continuing to feel our way towards a potential collaborative project. We picked up two pounds of jumbo lump crab from a roadside stand called How Sweet It Is on the way home, and this recipe is a result of that sweet, delectable bounty from the Chesapeake.
Eating these crabcake egg rolls is a bit like coming home for me – sweet, fresh crab barely held together with minimal binding and just a hint of Old Bay, wrapped in a gluten-free rice wrapper and fried. The spicy sweetness of pineapple and chili complement the crab and the crispy wrapper.
Ultimately, the goal in this life (and the search for home in food, in people, and in place) seems best summed up in a quote from John cage himself:
“Our intention is to affirm this life, not to bring order out of chaos, nor to suggest improvements in creation, but simply to wake up to the very life we’re living, which is so excellent once one gets one’s mind and desires out of its way and lets it act of its own accord.”
Crabcake Egg Rolls With Spicy Pineapple Sauce
(makes 10 spring rolls)
Khristian – not a native Marylander but a smart man nonetheless – reminds me that your crabcakes are only as good as your crab. Make every effort to find local crab, caught in the Bay and picked on the Shore. You’ll be very glad you did.
Ingredients
2 teaspoon Old Bay
¼ cup chopped fresh parsley
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 slice bread without crusts, torn into small bits (see Recipe Notes)
1 tablespoon mayonnaise
1 egg
1 pound jumbo lump crab
10 spring roll wrappers (rice)
½ cup fresh pineapple
½ cup chili garlic sauce (see Recipe Notes)
¼ cup water
Method
Start with the crabcake mixture. You can make this a day ahead if you like, but fresh is best.
Combine Old Bay, parsley, mustard, bread, mayonnaise, and egg in a large bowl. Stir well to combine.
Add crabmeat and mix with your hands very, very gently until the mixture is completely combined. Keep in ‘fridge until ready to make the spring rolls.
For the sauce, combine fresh pineapple, chili sauce, and water in a saucepan. Heat to a simmer, then pop in a blender and blend until smooth. Set aside.
There are multiple ways to fry these. If you have one of those countertop fryers, have at it, and follow the directions for that.
I used a wide, straight-sided saucepan and about two inches of oil. If you are following this method, use a splatter guard, and heat your oil to 350 degrees before you fry.
While your oil is heating, prepare the spring rolls.
FULL DISCLOSURE: My technique SUCKS. It’s ok, because I don’t do this very often (fried or unfried spring rolls), but the more you do it, the better your results will be. So practice by making lots and lots of these.
Grab a wide bowl of hot water. Place the spring roll wrapper in the hot water until it softens – probably not more than 30 seconds. Lay the wrapper on a flat surface, and spoon a generous two tablespoons of the crab just inside the edge closest to you. Roll away from yourself once, fold in the sides, then continue rolling. Tight spring rolls = less chance of bursting and more even browning.
Keep rolling until all the crab is used. Don’t let the spring rolls touch each other while they wait for the frying pan – they will stick and tear each other and then you’ll just have to eat crabcakes.
When your oil is ready, slip spring rolls into their bath, only as many as you can fry at once without them touching. Fry for about five to seven minutes total – until the outside is golden brown.
Remove to a plate covered with paper towels and allow to drain.
Serve HOT, with spicy pineapple sauce on the side.
Recipe Notes
Real Maryland crabcakes use white bread or saltines as a binder. I am a born-and-bred Marylander who happens to be gluten-free, so I used gluten-free bread, and it worked just fine.
You could definitely get high-tech and make your own chili garlic sauce. I chose to leave that to the professionals and used Huy Fong Chili Garlic Sauce, which is delicious and perfect.
Even four or so weeks into Pandemic 2020, memes pushing productivity over peace, especially for artists, persist.
I was talking with my friend Irene, co-owner of the amazing local restaurant Dylan’s Oyster Cellar, after she posted a quote by Toni Morrison on the artist’s role during societal upheaval.
First, the quote from the extraordinary Ms. Morrison:
“This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.”
I have been struggling with my own creative practice since this began, and I know many others who have struggled as well. It has been hard for me to put into words why I react negatively to the quote above, but talking with Irene helped clarify my thoughts around this particular time and place.
This pandemic reminds me of 9/11. When the planes hit, the U.S. stopped. Planes were grounded, people stayed home. For four days the bones of the U.S. were exposed, flesh laid bare in the sunshine.
And for many years after, there was no art surrounding this event. Writers talked about how hard it was to write anything around that day – the risk of trivializing something so catastrophic was high, and there was a kind of respect that silence afforded that words and dance and painting could not.
Even now, art surrounding 9/11 is mostly commemorative, writing is more reportage than creative. It is missing a “call-to-action” element, though, which seems appropriate and thoughtful. After the boo-yah, racist energy of going to war subsided, the creative work from 9/11 is memorial, not activist or nationalist.
This is not to say that coronavirus-specific work isn’t being done, but for some reason there seems to be a sense of social justice-style urgency surrounding this pandemic. Like all artists have to be productive and write towards what’s happening right now, and if you are not working in that way, you aren’t really worth much as an artist.
What about people whose work was not in that style to begin with? I write about love and nature, and I paint abstract impressionist paintings. I believe that love and nature are inherently healing; I don’t need to manipulate those things in order to micromanage healing or connection. I paint intuitively, as many layers as it needs and for however long it goes until it’s “done.” My work is not oriented towards social justice, and it never has been.
But, if I am honest (which I always try to be), I have not felt much of a creative impulse, or rather, the creative impulse I have felt has been different this past month. I have felt a deep need to be in the woods, by the water, away from people. My fellow humans are weaponized with virus right now, and many of them are not exercising the sense god gave a turnip. Avoiding them makes sense to me.
Meanders in nature, looking for edibles and studying them, writing recipes and experimenting with teas and tinctures: this is where my creativity has rested for the past several weeks, and I am here for it. It’s comforting to provide for myself with what’s available, to watch how nature is responding to this strange weather (no winter to speak of and spring temperatures that fluctuate wildly, with fewer flowers bursting, not like 2019’s ostentatious floral gluttony), and to winnow the wheat of my life and relationships from the chaff.
Of course, no one should sail their ship guided by memes on the Instagram, but in the small sphere of my blog I am here to advocate for silence, stillness, and observation.
If you are an artist struggling to find a voice in this time, listen.
If you are normally running yourself ragged with work and school and kids and art, let the stillness settle into mystery.
If you have felt that the world is spinning too fast and all is a blur, watch.
I give you permission to exist in this state of dormancy, like the slow trickle of water under the frozen stream. It’s ok to not be churning out creative work. It’s ok to feel stuck, blocked, stymied, and frustrated.
Everything passes, including this virus and this life and this time.
Silence, stillness, observation: creativity in the pandemic era can take many forms. Let yourself be ok with whatever form yours takes.
Now a question: how has your creative practice changed, if at all, over the past month?
I have forgotten what day and week of social isolation/distancing we are in. I am reminded it is April 1st, only because Instagram tells me so, but my normal markers of time are all thrown off. I rely on KWeeks and his schedule to let me know when the weekend is, but in the words of Morrissey, every day feels like Sunday.
But, shockingly, I believe in dreams. In my very best moments, when I am not beset by the constant thrum of anxiety, I like to imagine and plan and design and create.
Side note: all of the posts talking about how you should stay busy and MAKE THE BEST WORK OF YOUR LIFE can fuck right off, though. Right now I am just trying to find my ass with both hands, and that’s the best I can do most days when so many uncertainties are afloat.
But I digress.
If I can, for just a few moments, put aside the facts of the day, the very horror that is not only this lurking virus but also the dawning realization that no one in our government gives a rat’s ass, so long as we KEEP SPENDING MONEY, then I can magically transport myself to sunnier times.
Like this.
And so it begins.
This is the basic floor plan of the house that we will build in Canada. We taped it out at Khristian’s studio this morning, against official orders to stay at home. This was not a strictly essential trip, as the state defines it, but we saw no one and properly sanitized ourselves before, during, and after our foray.
The cabin will be hand-built and 144 square feet. To the right, between the two unconnected taped lines, there will be a large glass window overlooking the Bay of Fundy. All of the other necessaries are there, too (bed, kitchen area, wood stove), and we will eventually build a walkway to another platform so we can watch the seals and pilot whales as they rest in the Bay.
For now, it was enough to get the outline of the place and to imagine drinking coffee, overlooking our foggy spot, or falling asleep to the glow of the stove and the light of the moon.
One day, Canada will open back up to filthy Americans such as ourselves, and we will travel gratefully north to start construction.
The state of Maryland may not feel that today’s trip was essential, but for me it was. It was essential to remind myself that there is work to be done, things to create, and lands to see.
This is about a delicious cake, and the creative life, and how they are intertwined with each other.
It has been almost exactly a month since my last blog in this space, and I think that might just be my rhythm now. I never wanted this blog to be a space where I felt obligated to post – where’s the fun in that?
Such irregular posting does violate the cardinal rules of Building An Audience, though. I also don’t stuff my posts with keywords (long-tail or otherwise) or have ads on my site. I have only just within the last year or so started putting the recipe in the title, but my titles still won’t win any awards (or drive much traffic, if I am honest, which I always try to be).
But here’s the thing: this blog, and the recipes I make and share IRL and in this space, reflect my creative practice as it evolves.
This year has been a bit of a revelation for me in terms of seeing myself, finally, as an artist. Part of that is due to a supportive partner who is, himself, an artist. I have not had a romantic partner who has ever seen me in that way. It would be easy to say that they were to blame, or they were unsupportive, but that’s not it.
It was me.
In the last couple years I have been feeling something beneath the surface, like there was this Thing That Was About To Happen. I thought it might be some breakthrough in this blog, or some incredible opportunity or travel experience. Although I have traveled and made some incredible food and had opportunities arise, that wasn’t it.
You know that feeling when someone keeps telling you something about yourself, and you sort of nod and smile, thinking you are agreeing when you actually are only taking it in on the surface, and the largest part of you isn’t all there, agreeing, even as you nod and smile?
That was me when Khristian referred to me as an artist or a creative.
That was me even when I told people I was a writer.
This year, the switch flipped.
I ended 2018 writing a lot for other people. Last year, I wrote the equivalent of five full-length novels for other people (and one novel for myself). This was valuable and good in that it financed some incredible things last year (trips to Amsterdam and Canada, plus a writing retreat and a piece of property in Canada), but at the end of the year, I was tired of writing for other people.
So I cut back, starting in February, and have been working on my own work, my own creative life, since then.
I attended an incredible workshop called Making Your Life As An Artist, set some goals as a result of that workshop, and have been steadily working at them since the workshop.*
I have been working on a real artist mission statement.
I am exploring new media, moving into the visual arts and seeing how that fits with my writing life.
I am submitting to publications, residencies, retreats, and galleries.
I am committing to spending more time IRL with people I care about or want to get to know better, and less time on social media (which sort of screws the whole driving-traffic-to-your-site thing, too, but that’s ok).
I am committing to my work, even as I make less money for other people’s work (but stay open to opportunities there, too).
And good lord. What a difference it has made. I feel energized by my practice and have been pushing past doubt and insecurity. I am still plagued by Imposter Syndrome, but it is a low hum on occasion instead of a daily shout. I find myself trying to figure out a better way to keep track of ideas, and I am exploring how I truly work best (spoiler alert: I am not particularly disciplined).
But let’s be honest (which we should all always try to be). I can still procrastinate like nobody’s business. I still have days when the Call of the Bed is mightier than the Muse. When the roar in my head and the worthless feeling and the anxiety start to creep in the darkness around the edges of my vision, clouding my ability to create much of anything.
Enter procrastibaking (not my word, but apt).
In the last ten days I have felt a bit listless, a bit unsettled. A massive anxiety attack, the first in months, left me feeling wobbly. Even as the visual aspect of my creative practice exploded, my writing has begun to flail a bit.
My simple solution? Bake cakes.
Bake cakes, and give them to people.
Bake cakes, and eat them for breakfast.
Take a long walk with the dog, by the water, then come home and have some cake.
I have made three cakes in the last ten days: a carrot cake, a lemon bundt, and this glorious bastard: the Smith Island cake.
Smith Island cake is Maryland’s state dessert. I blogged about it once on this site but was not impressed by the results of my baking and did not post them (just a blog with some links). Even the person who claims to be THE Smith Island cake master USES A BOXED CAKE MIX (which makes me sick. REALLY? Just makes Maryland bakers look like a bunch of amateurs. But I digress.).
But I was definitely casting about for something to take my mind off of my creative work. And this cake is a good bet. Consisting of eight layers with a nearly-pourable, ganache-like chocolate frosting, it requires, at the very least, a system for baking (unless you happen to have eight, 9-inch layer cake pans. I have two.). You need to time your cakes precisely, and you need to have a little something to occupy your mind in eight-minute intervals while you perform the oven dance of shifting cakes and cooling cakes and lining cake tins. I worked on my artist statement in fits and starts that didn’t allow me to think too deeply about what I was creating (a good thing).
IT IS WORTH IT. This cake was absolutely incredible.
The recipe that inspired it is from Saveur, with some changes. The cake is, as ever, gluten-free, and I swapped out the milk (mostly because I did not have milk and didn’t want to leave the house). Their method seemed ridiculous to me, so I changed that around a bit, too. Read all the way through before you start, then follow the instructions for best results.
Better yet: if you are local, I am now selling a limited number of cakes every month. Made to order and good for at least 12 servings, so you don’t even have to get your hands dirty. Get in touch early in each month, even if you don’t need it until the end, to reserve your spot. More details here.
Otherwise, here’s the recipe for Smith Island cake that will inspire swoons. #Trust
Smith Island Cake
Ingredients
Cake 3 sticks butter, melted and cooled 3 1⁄2 cups all-purpose gluten-free flour 1/4 cup baking powder 1 1⁄2 teaspoons kosher salt 2 1⁄4 cups sugar Milk: 1/2 cup evaporated milk and 1 1/2 cups oat milk (or just 2 cups whole milk, see Recipe Note) 1 tablespoon vanilla extract 6 eggs
For the Icing 2 ounces unsweetened chocolate 2 ounces semisweet chocolate (I used chips. Hey now.) 2 cups sugar 1 cup evaporated milk 6 tablespoons butter 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
Super helpful special tools: parchment paper, baking scale, cake turntable, offset spatula
Method Get ready: Get out two 9-inch cake pans and trace their bottoms on parchment paper. Cut out eight parchment paper circles and set aside. Preheat oven to 350°.
In a large bowl, combine flour, baking powder, and salt. In another large bowl, combine cooled butter, sugar, milks, vanilla, and eggs. Whisk to combine all wet ingredients well.
Add dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and use a whisk to get most of the lumps out of the flour (some will remain).
IMPORTANT: If you use regular flour (not gluten-free, do not overmix. You will develop your gluten, and the cakes will be tough and awful. Whisk until just combined, no more, than proceed).
Allow batter to sit and collect its thoughts for 15 minutes. While it sits, spray your pans with cooking spray, line the bottom with parchment, and spray again. Alternately, you could butter and flour but WHAT A PAIN IN THE ASS.
Stir batter until smooth.
Here’s where it gets technical. I used a baking scale to accurately measure the total weight of the batter and then divided it by eight. This makes your layers even and ensures you actually have eight layers (fewer than that and it’s technically not a Smith Island cake). If you don’t have a scale, each layer has a little over one cup of batter.
Move each cake pan around so the batter spreads evenly over the bottom. Bake for eight minutes, then swap pan position in the oven (left moves right; right moves to the left), and bake for another seven minutes (or until the cake is lightly browned).
Remove from oven and place in the freezer for 10 minutes. Remove cake from pan, and place on a wire rack to cool completely. Re-spray and re-line cake pans, then re-peat for remaining batter. I gave my cake tins a wash and dry after the second layer in each.
Let the layers cool completely before frosting. I started my frosting as I started my 7th layer.
Make the icing: Place chocolates, sugar, evaporated milk (should be the remainder of the can), butter, and vanilla in a high-sided, heavy-bottomed saucepan. Bring to a boil, stirring often and watching carefully.
I sort of forgot mine a little and neglected the stirring, but that forgetfulness was brief. I used a whisk to beat until it was smooth and shiny. Remove from heat and cool. I did not find this frosting to thicken much at all, which was absolutely fine. Don’t expect a buttercream texture, but it should be thicker than a glaze.
Cake assembly: Use a cake turntable if you have one. Place one layer on the turntable and top with 1/4 cup of frosting. Use an offset spatula to spread all the way to the edges – the layer of frosting will be thin. Repeat with all layers but leave the top bare (for now).
Place cake in ‘fridge for about 15 minutes, then finish icing. If the icing has gotten too thick to pour, heat slightly, then pour over the top of the cake and use your offset spatula to smooth the sides. The icing on the sides will be thin, but that’s ok. #Trust
Chill cake completely before serving. Serves 12.
Recipe Notes
I am a big fan of using what you have and avoiding excessive trips to the store. I had oat milk and used it rather than buy milk I would not drink. I have not tested this recipe with other milks.
I did not test this recipe with regular flour. As long as you are careful with the mixing, you should be fine.
*Making Your Life As An Artist is a part of ArtistU, and I encourage any creative people out there to take advantage of the class if it rolls into town. Even if you don’t go, they offer their materials for free – a free book and a free workbook. Check them out.
