Baltimore, I Cain’t Quit You: Of Fruit Horses and Strawberry Freezer Jam

Open jar of mixed berry jam on faded wood.
Simple and delicious, every time.

Any time I get to feeling pretty low about Baltimore, like I maybe don’t want to stay here or I need to run away for a long time, something quintessentially Baltimore happens.

Tonight our local arabber* came through with his rhythmic jingle and frisky horse. He has been a fixture this spring, more so than in years past, but I never seem to have cash or need for vegetables or fruit when he hollers his way past my house. Tonight was different – I had both – and so slipped into my Converse, grabbed my dollars, and headed outside.

As I walked up, he was finishing with another customer, who was taking a picture of her young charge as he barely kept it together sitting on top of the horse. Once the kid slid down, he turned to me. I asked the arabber if he had any strawberries. He sighed, reached over the top of his fruit and handed me a pound that looked slightly worse for the wear.

“I just gave her all my berries,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and looking disappointed. “They was getting on. Don’t me wrong – some of them is still good. Go ask her for some. Let’s go ask her. I’ll hold your hand, and we’ll go ask.”

He grabbed my hand and we walked across the street, where the previous customer was already waiting with three more pounds of strawberries in her hands.

“I can’t use ’em all,” she said. “How many you want?”

“Put ’em in pancakes, or something,” the arabber said. “They still good.”

And waving off my offer of money, he simply said, “That’s just what you do for people.”

Baltimore is this scrappy little city that can’t find an honest mayor, likes to keep its races segregated, and has a hard time holding onto police chiefs.

But it’s also a city of 238 neighborhoods, neighborhoods that sometimes come together in ways that expose our shared humanity and the value of simple human kindness and generosity. Maybe I am grasping at straws(berries), but it was a beautiful, unexpected bounty that went beyond a standard bit of commerce.

So I came home with a warm heart and four pounds of strawberries, most of which, if I’m being honest (which I always try to be), were no good. I hulled and cut up the good ones and bundled the rest up for the chickens at The City Ranch (where I volunteer) – they will come running and be thrilled at the turn their morning takes when the strawberries come tumbling down.

The good ones made this small batch, use-it-up refrigerator/freezer jam that would make my Depression-era grandmother proud. Could not be simpler, and it is great for those who don’t want to make massive batches of fresh jam.

Some days, this city is a really great place to be.

Strawberry Freezer Jam

Ingredients

1 pound fresh fruit (strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, raspberries)

1 cup sugar

3 tablespoons lemon juice

Method

Clean the fruit. If you are using strawberries, roughly chop them, but otherwise, leave every other kind whole.

Place a small plate in the freezer. This will become clear shortly (or you could read through the whole recipe – always a good idea).

Combine fruit and all other ingredients in a heavy, high-sided saucepan and bring to a rolling boil for 20 minutes. You are looking for the jam to thicken a bit, but it will still be fairly thin while it’s hot.

A test: spoon a small amount of jam on the cold plate and let sit for two minutes. Drag a finger though the jam. If it stays separated, it’s ready. Otherwise, give it another couple minutes and check again.

Once it’s a good thickness, scoop into clean jars (any size, really) and set on the counter to come to room temperature before popping onto the freezer or refrigerator. If you freeze (up to four months), leave plenty of room for expansion. Otherwise, this fresh, delicious jam lasts for up to two weeks in the ‘fridge.

*For more on arabbers, read this excellent longform article on how arabbers are a dying (and crucial) part of city life in Baltimore, and watch this 2004 documentary We Are Arabbers to see them in action.

Medical Cannabis

I have been waiting my whole life to link a picture to this song. Even if the jury is still out.

On March 1, 2019, after paying the required $50 fee, I hit “send” on my application for medical cannabis.

This afternoon, I pulled my Subaru into the crusty parking lot of Charm City Medicus on North Point Boulevard to pick up my first prescription.

If you aren’t for cannabis, medical or otherwise, maybe best to pick a different post. I am all for hearty debate, but there is evidence that cannabis helps with seizure disorders, chronic pain, and some mood disorders (including depression and anxiety). For the most part, though, findings are mixed, and most studies are neither scientifically valid or adequately funded, which means that most of the “research” on cannabis is largely anecdotal. One nice fat review of studies done by Canadian researchers showed that medical cannabis exhibits promise in the treatment of PTSD and substance abuse disorders (including opioid addiction). Otherwise, pickings are slim, and results both pro and con often come from seriously flawed studies.

I’m not here to argue about what or who it does or does not help. I am just desperate.

I have had diagnosed generalized anxiety disorder since 2006, but I have experienced anxiety for as long as I can remember (legit). I remember anxiety attacks from as young as five, but I would not have been able to paste that label on them at that time. I think most people just thought I was overemotional or too loud or too something.

My anxiety manifests itself in a physical way with a charming combination of gastrointestinal effects that only manage to increase the anxiety (I will spare you the details. But just imagine food poisoning for four to six hours, once or twice a week at the height of anxiety and you’re close). My worst attacks from as far back as I can remember are accompanied by fainting.

Picture this: you are driving a car with your child inside on 495 in DC, and the edges of your vision start to get fuzzy and black, darkness creeping towards the center. Your lips go numb, and you can feel your head start to swirl in a circle on the inadequate stalk of your neck. This happened to me racing from a baby shower in Middletown, Maryland to my brother’s house in northern Virginia in order drop my daughter off and then catch a plane at Dulles. I thought we were going to crash. I had to get off on an exit that turned out to be pitch black with no shoulder. I pulled over on the side of the road as far as I could go, and threw myself out of the car to a grassy area on the passenger side where I let myself faint for a few seconds. Sicily – used to this by now – just asked, “Are you okay, mama?” I don’t think it even phased her. She was seven.

These days, some of the pieces of writing and art that I am working on seem to have found an extra gear in the transmission of my anxiety. A low-level buzz of anxiety is ever-present and has been for the past six months. At night, I have been waking up every two hours for the past month or so. It’s as if in reliving some trauma I have actually given birth to myself as a newborn (see what I did there?).

On top of that, due to a fivefold price increase in my anxiety medication, I have not refilled my prescription, so what I am taking is fairly expired. So that’s not working.

But even if I could routinely buy clorazepate, I would like to be done with it. Benzodiazepines increase the risk of dementia by 40%, more if you use them daily (which I do not – just as needed, which is sometimes daily). Although they were a lifesaver in the past, they don’t seem to be working anymore. Whether it’s the fact they are expired or that I have some kind of tolerance, I have no idea. It’s just not working for me anymore.

So here I am in my kitchen, a few hours after the doctor I paid $200 said yes, and the lovely lady at the dispensary helped me pick out a Tangie cartridge and a vape pen (and some higher THC mints for insomnia), about to sit down to Canadian gluten-free fusilli with pesto, arugula, and chicken, legally high after figuring out how to work my vape (which, friends, is harder for old people to figure out. There’s counting and paying attention involved, which seems paradoxical to getting high, like a stoner Zen koan).

It’s strange. I spent a lot of money to figure out whether or not this will work for me. Right now I just feel like sitting down. A lot.

It is important to me to mention that in the entire series of transactions I conducted in getting prescribed medical cannabis, the only person of color to cross my path was the doctor who certified me. The receptionist and the patients at the doctor’s, the security guards, receptionist, and patients at the dispensary, all three bud tenders, the greeter – every single person was white. Yet another system in which privilege gives me access, and I don’t know what to do about it.

It’s not just a fleeting thought as I walked back to the car from Medicus. It’s the entire process from the application to the fusilli, peopled almost exclusively with white people. I wonder if other people are thinking about it, and almost asked the bud tender about it but felt dumb enough trying to understand what she was talking about and nodding like I got it when she explained to me for the zillionth time about sativa, indica (“In the couch,” she offered as a mnemonic device), CBD, and terpenes.

As I finish up and proofread this post, I am less high, uncomfortably full of pasta, and still unsure how to think about the color of my experience versus the experience of people of color who are disproportionately arrested and overwhelmingly prosecuted for the same substance that I legally obtained (even after cannabis is legalized in many states).

Maybe I use my voice at the polls and my dollars at the dispensary to champion black cannabis cultivators. Still seems inadequate, especially given the fact that my consumption will probably be very, very low.

We’ll see how it goes – Charm City Medicus offers cannabis cooking classes, and I foresee some interesting concoctions coming out of those. At the very least it’s maybe another tool for sleep.

Have you considered medical cannabis for what ails you? Interested in your experience, if you’d like to share below.

Fondant Fancies, Or How To Get Back On The Horse

This recipe inspired by the Great Canadian Baking Show.

I just watched The. Dumbest. Movie. about unicorns on Netflix.

Call it boredom. Call it curiosity. Call it straight-up avoidance, but I clicked “play” and watched the whole thing. There goes 90 minutes of my life I will never get back.

Part of my clicking “play” on a really stupid movie is me floundering about a little, trying to figure out whatthefuck is next. After a month off of social media and with a few important deadlines looming, deadlines that have nothing to do with mercenary writing and everything to do with my own personal creative practice, my brain and body just don’t really know which end is up. It’s like riding a horse backwards, a little. Possible, but ill-advised.

Adding to the mental fog, this week has been a wild ride in other important ways.

Started off by putting my stressed out kid on a plane to Paris for a month.

Then I picked up my dog’s ashes and pawprint, which sent me back into grief, not just for the loss of the dog but also for every bit of loss from the past decade and a half – a long series of just having something or someone I love ripped away on a regular basis. In no particular order: A baby. A houseful of belongings. A parent. A house. A school. A husband. A horse. More belongings. A dog.

It’s a lot to deal with on a random Tuesday.

So I baked some things. It doesn’t really matter why or how, but a month ago I committed to donating four dozen sweet things to a writing conference my friend organized for Baltimore City College, and the due date for those sweet things was this week.

Two of the four dozen were Fondant Fancies, fiddly little things that required several hours of baking and fussing over. In conjunction with the other two dozen sweet things (individual Chocolate Covered Cherry Cream Pies), this baking occupied enough time and mental space to get me to the end of the Tuesday of Loss Remembrance.

And then after I delivered them on Wednesday morning, I took the remaining dog for a five-mile walk. As we got back to the car, sweaty and thirsty, I felt an overwhelming sweep of gratitude, even among all of the Lost Things, that I could bake all day for a friend, and then go out on the first truly beautiful spring day and walk through the woods with my dog. It’s a privilege and a blessing that I do not take for granted.

If you are feeling the need for making something special or avoiding something or just want to distract yourself with something other than a really, really dumb movie, give these a try. I didn’t find them too technically challenging – just time and patience-intensive.

p.s. If you want the recipe for Chocolate Covered Cherry Cream Pies, comment below the recipe.

p.p.s. Oh, and hey, if you like what you read, think about subscribing to this blog. You get one email when I post – that’s it. No ads, nothing more.

Fondant Fancies(makes 25 pieces)

Ingredients

Cake

2 sticks very soft butter

225 grams sugar (about 1 cup)

4 room-temperature eggs

225 grams gluten-free all-purpose flour (about 1 1/2 cups)

2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

grated rind of one lemon

Buttercream and topping

1 stick very soft butter

3/4 cup powdered sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 jar seedless jam (your choice, but I used raspberry and you won’t use it all in this recipe, so get something you like)

1 tube marzipan paste (see Recipe Notes)

Powdered sugar for rolling

Two bags Wilton candy melts (see Recipe Notes)

1/2 cup coconut oil

Dark chocolate, chopped (optional, for decoration)

Equipment: parchment paper, 8″ square cake pan, cooling rack, rolling pin, ruler, two rimmed cookie sheets, piping bag, squeeze bottle.

Method

For the cake: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter an 8″ square cake pan and line with parchment paper, then butter the paper, too. Set aside.

Place butter and sugar in a stand mixer and cream with a paddle (this paddle is the best – not a sponsored post!) until light and fluffy. Add eggs one at a time, mixing to combine thoroughly after each egg.

Combine flour, baking powder, salt, and grated lemon rind in a bowl and mix to combine. Add to butter mixture and mix to combine, scraping down the side of the bowl. Batter will be pretty thick – this is ok.

Tip batter into prepared tin and level the surface with an offset spatula.

Bake for 30-40 minutes or until the top is light brown and springy and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Do not open the oven while it’s baking or it will sink in the middle.

Cool in the pan for ten minutes and then cool completely on a rack. You can make the buttercream while you wait.

For the buttercream: Add softened butter, powdered sugar, and vanilla extract to the clean bowl of your stand mixer. Use the whip attachment to beat until light and fluffy. You want frosting that is completely smooth and easy to spread. If it seems stiff, add some milk, just a teaspoon at a time, and whip thoroughly in between additions.

When the cake is completely cool, cut it into two horizontal layers. Spread a thin layer of raspberry jam evenly on the bottom layer, then place the top layer back.

Spread an even layer of buttercream on the top of the cake only and place in the ‘fridge.

Note: You will have leftover buttercream. Place it between graham crackers. Eat all the time.

Dust the clean counter liberally with powdered sugar and roll your marzipan paste to an 8″ square that is 1 /16″ thick (or thereabouts).

Place the marzipan on top of the buttercream and press down very lightly, then chill for another ten to 15 minutes. Have a coffee. Check your email.

Once chilled, remove the cake and, using a ruler, cut squares that are 1 1/2″ by 1 1/2″. Try to keep your cuts straight and neat, and remove any stray crumbs to keep the sides clean.

Set on a cooling rack over a rimmed cookie sheet (like a jellyroll pan). Place in ‘fridge while you prepare the candy melts.

Melt the candy melts in and coconut oil in a saucepan (or in the microwave if you have one – I do not), then transfer to a squeeze bottle with a wide opening (I cut mine wider).

Remove the cakes from the ‘fridge, and carefully coat each square with candy melt mixture. Periodically transfer the cakes to another pan and scrape the candy melt mixture that has dribbled off into the pan under the cakes and put it back in the squeeze bottle (use a funnel).

Make sure each square is fully coated.

If you’d like, allow the candy melt mixture to set (not in the ‘fridge – on the counter is fine) before melting some dark chocolate, placing it in a piping bag with a tiny opening, and drizzling all fancy-like over the squares.

Pro-tip: You can make this cake over several days, and finished squares are delicious for about a week (although the cake is not as springy).

Recipe Notes

Marzipan paste can be homemade, but I wanted to control some of the variables and so used pre-made paste. It can be found in the baking aisle. I have made my own in the past, and it’s worth the effort if the marzipan is the star.

Technically, fondant fancies use something called pâte à glacer as a coating. This is very, very similar to Wilton candy melts, and candy melts are widely available and much, much cheaper. I used vibrant green candy melts, but I also experimented with Mary Berry’s suggestion to use powdered sugar thinned with milk and tinted with food coloring. MISTAKE. Thin, too sweet, and flavorless. The coconut oil added to the candy melts makes the glaze more supple and adds a delicious flavor that complements the lemon, raspberry, and vanilla. If you want a neutral flavor (no coconut) you could use vegetable oil instead of coconut.

31 Day Social Media Fast: This Is The End, Plus Five Lessons

In which I skip out on Instagram and Facebook for the month of March but still allow myself the internet.

Ok, so technically I have not avoided social media completely this month.

I have been on the Instagram five times, once out of necessity but the other four out of something else. Boredom? Curiosity? Procrastination?

Unclear.

Whatever happens next (also unclear), I have learned the following five things from my month-long hiatus from the dark world of social media.

Thing The First: It Really Wasn’t That Bad

I am not sure what I thought might happen if I stopped regularly visiting The Facebook or posting to Instagram. While it’s true that I missed some birthdays, and I am sure some stuff happened that I might have liked to know about, really, I don’t feel deprived or like a piece of me was missing without Facebook and Instagram (I have two Twitter accounts but they were never the issue).

Thing The Second: I Gained Massive Blocks of Time

In the early days, I found myself with a surfeit of time, time I used to take three weeks off (still getting paid).

Yes, you heard that correctly.

By eliminating my consumption of social media, I finished all of the writing work I had on tap for March and the first ten days of April by the end of first week of March and have not written for cash in three weeks.

If I eliminate social media for just one more week in April, I can have three weeks in April off, too.

Huh.

Thing The Third: Social Media Often Makes Me Feel Bad About Myself

To be clear, this is not social media’s fault. But I do blame the Cult of Perfection that exists in social media for perpetuating the notion that everyone’s life is airbrushed beauty and happy families. Even the accounts that have hopped on the “I have social anxiety” bandwagon feature images like polished photographs of a single teardrop falling from a perfectly made-up eye (usually in some exotic locale).

As a person who regularly struggles with actual anxiety, I can tell you that this is not what anxiety looks like. It is sloppy and frantic and sometimes raging, and it most certainly does NOT wear makeup of any kind.

The pictures we post online rarely tell the real story of our lives in all of their messy, complicated glory. And because of that, I sometimes fall prey to Imposter Syndrome – who cares what I have to say? Who wants to look at my shitty pictures?

I have had to sit back and really evaluate for myself what, exactly, I am getting out of my social media, including why I am using it and when. If I am looking for something substantive when I log on, some version of connection, it’s probably best to go for a walk instead. Or take a nap.

Thing The Fourth: Social Media Creates A Lot Of Static

Social media is loud and does not leave much room in my head for other intellectual pursuits.

As my particular friend pointed out to me the other day, even when I am not writing (my own writing, as opposed to the mercenary stuff), there is a lot going on in my brain. There is work beyond placing words on a page, intellectual as well as physical work, and it is invigorating and draining at the same time.

Being off of social media for 30+ days has cleared the static in my mind somewhat. I never realized what shadows it left when I logged off – almost like the shadows burned into pavement and brick walls after the atomic bomb was dropped. While this may seem a dramatic comparison, consider the fact that routine use of social media triggers a threat response in the brain, especially if that social media is confrontational. This means that your brain is in a heightened state of arousal, and not in a sexy way, when on social media. We want likes and validation, and when we don’t get them, the let down has a physiological effect.

The static from social media has cleared. It’s quieter in my brain. This is helpful for not only creative pursuits but also in dealing with what appears to be my actual mid-life crisis (not the artificial one when Dane died, but god help us all if I live to be 96. No thank you).

Thing The Fifth: Well, General Last Thoughts, Really

I didn’t exactly miss social media. I felt more peaceful as I decided what news I wanted to catch up on and which to tune out (for my sanity) instead of passively receiving what came through my Facebook feed. Not having the tyranny of the “like” button and the constant metrics of success measured by social media made for a calmer month, too.

Side note: There are, of course, the metrics of this blog, which has far fewer subscribers than I would like and can be very, very debilitating to my self-esteem. That was in full force as I posted nearly every day and didn’t see a corresponding rise in readership. But as I am not posting to any social media, this is problematic. But I digress.

But at the same time, there are a few people I have connected with on social media that I don’t really know outside of the interwebs, and I miss those people.

Do I miss them in a real way, or just idly as a by-product of knowing them online? Hard to say. I have not had time (incredibly) to really reach out IRL yet, but I am trying to do more of that so that A) I don’t give into my agoraphobic tendencies, and B) I create a network of real human beings to counteract all of the strangers I can’t stand when I walk out of my house.

I felt less inclined to compare myself with others this month, and even with the ultra-shitty weather (So. Freaking. Cold.) I have been out to more readings, art stuff, and performances around town. This is a big fat bonus, and it has helped my writing.

Time away from social media (and the corresponding time off I was able to create for myself) has opened some things up for me, creatively, and I am anxious to keep pursuing those openings.

On the other hand, I have taken way fewer pictures this month than in months prior. Is it that I am not planning on sharing that holds me back? Is that a good thing – I get to be in the moment and not behind a lens – or a bad thing – another form of self-sabotage? Hard to say. I could have pulled out my DSLR and taken “real” pictures but also left that behind, too, this month.

I have not yet made a decision about Instagram, but I am leaning towards deleting my Facebook account. You can download all of your data before you delete your account (which I did), and I feel like it’s time. It’s only making me feel bitter and left out – like the outsider of the cool kids’ clique in middle school.

Thanks to those of you who have followed along with me. If you feel like sharing this on social media, that would be great – there are buttons for that below.

If you decide to take your own little break, I’d love to hear about that, too.

31 Day Social Media Fast: Day 29

In which I skip out on Instagram and Facebook for the month of March but still allow myself the internet.

I am bone-weary.

Maybe it’s still the transition of seasons.

Perhaps it’s the frantic rush of my baby bird as she sorts her belongings and packs for a month in Paris and then comes home to a new job and the search for her own place.

It’s certainly in the lingering illness in my lungs.

Maybe it’s saying goodbye to our old dawg and the grief that it stirs up. He was so related to Dane – Dane was Winston’s person, and when Dane died Winston never really recovered.

Sicily and I have discussed that we would really like, for Winston’s sake, for heaven to exist. If it does, he is eating peanut butter and bacon and sitting on all of the furniture there. We are not convinced that Dane is actually there, but we hope there are allowances for visits, because Winston would really like to go with Dane for a ride in the brown Dodge he came home in.

Go easy, Winston. Flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.