Child (well, Young Adult) Labor

My cousin Emily was visiting from NYC over the weekend, and she was anxious to get into the kitchen to make some cupcakes (really, I swear). We came home from an afternoon at the museum with about an hour to spare, and whipped up some Red Velvet Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Frosting in practically no time. Can I just say, I love having a sous chef? Emily is a good baker herself, so she knows her way around a measuring cup and a stand mixer, which helps tremendously. To be honest, I think I was the sous chef and she was the one in charge.

I had to go to an event that evening, so I left her to finish the frosting and decorating. She did an awesome job! I guess that sweetness just runs in the family.

Christmas in CT

Not Christmas in Connecticut, but Cape Town, South Africa. We are here for over two weeks, visiting with family and having a great time. I will say it again and again - I am never happier than when I am traveling. It stirs something deep inside me, something restless that needs to connect with the rest of the world, and likes to be humbled by the realization of how small we all are in relation to it. Being away during a holiday is something even more special, especially if you are in a third world country, because all of the commercialism is immediately stripped away and you are left with just yourself, and if you are lucky, friends and family around you. The meaning of the holiday becomes so apparent when you are simply thankful to be surrounded by people that you love, and that that is truly the most important thing.

On Christmas Eve, the day of our arrival, we found an Italian restaurant not far from our rental house and had a wonderful home-cooked meal while we waited for the rest of the family to arrive. As in many parts of the world, service is slow slow slow, so a meal for 4 can easily take over 3 hours. Once you understand that, you just relax into it, because there is nothing you can do about it. The owner of the restaurant went from table to table singing a capella songs, from Christmas classics to opera. It was a special night.

On Christmas Day, we spent the day doing as we wished. We are all staying in a large house, and this allows the wonderful freedoms of not having to adhere to a schedule. You eat when you want, sleep when you want, and at the same time you are all together. In the evening, my aunt and uncle hosted a braai, or barbeque, at their house. I was reminded of a similar event, also on Christmas Day, at our cousin's house in Johannesburg - exactly 30 years ago. I was 12, and we were on our Winter Holiday, and I remember thinking how strange it was to swim in the pool and wear shorts on Christmas. Now, as an adult, I had a wonderful appreciation for being in such balmy weather, standing on the balcony with a glass of local sparkling wine in my hand, taking in the stunning view of Table Mountain. We sat around the table in our paper hats from our Christmas crackers, laughing and enjoying the food and each other.

At night, I looked up at the sky. The sky in Africa is blacker than black, like velvet, with a delicate scattering of stars like pinpricks to light it up. This is something that I always remember from my trips here. I remember thinking about how lucky I was to be in this place, full of good food, tired from laughing, and with a renewed appreciation for life's many gifts.

Lord of the Rings

This Olympic season, we actually have family bragging rights. Charles's 1st cousin, Scott Gault, is on the rowing team for the US (quadruple skulls). We are able to communicate with him and follow his adventures on his blog, as well see him live on t.v. Exciting stuff! And, not only is he in our family, he is a Bay Area native, born and raised in Piedmont.

We're very proud of you, Scott!

Don't Look a Gift Dog(ue) in the Mouth

My Mom is in town, and she is always very generous in bringing and sending gifts. I would say I like her gifts about 50% of the time (this percentage has improved over the years), but when it comes to art...well, I just think that art is a very difficult thing to give someone. What do you do, take down something else and put it up only when they come over? Art is just very personal, and therefore hard to predict what someone else will want to showcase in their home.

However, on occasion she will succeed. Yesterday she gave me a print called Le Bouledogue by an Illinois artist called Keith Grace. I really love it, and he has captured the dog's expression perfectly. The map of France used in the fur adds dimension and a really unique touch (if you click on it, you can even see it in the shadow). I already have a primo wall spot picked out for it!

Thanks, Mom!

Cheap & Cheerful Chicken

I made this dish for the first time in London, with my cousin Viv, as a thank-you dinner for her parents. That was on my "Jamie Oliver" trip when I did so many things related to Jamie Oliver that it became kind of a running joke - dined at Fifteen, visited his parents' pub in Essex, the Cricketers, and made this dish from his book "Jamie's Dinners" (which I bought, signed, on that trip) for my aunt and uncle. We put it together in her ill-equipped flat (she is many great things, but not a cook) and it came out perfectly.

I love Jamie's food and his casual, intuitive style of cooking, but to me what really differentiates him as a celebrity chef is his commitment to giving back to the community and making real changes in the way that we eat. He created Fifteen as a way to give disadvantaged kids a chance at a culinary career, and he has been working on his campaign "School Dinners" for the past several years to show how inexpensive meals can still be tasty and healthy. "Jamie's Dinners" takes this philosopy home, as an attempt to show people that everyday meals can be easy, more cost effective, and healthier than take-away.


Recently my brother was hit by a car - he's OK! - but had found himself laid up on the couch and in danger of going into a fast-food coma. I went over to his apartment (and ill-equipped kitchen...sigh!) and made this dish to last for several meals throughout the week. I had to sub chili beans for the cannelini beans, and used 8 drumsticks instead of 4 whole legs, but the beauty of the recipe is that you can't really mess it up.

"Everyday Crispy Chicken with Sweet Tomatoes"

• 4 chicken legs, jointed
• sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
• a big bunch of frsh basil, leaves picked, stalks finely chopped
• 2 big handfuls of red and yellow cherry tomatoes, halved, and ripe plum tomatoes, quartered
• 1 whole bulb of garlic, broken up into cloves
• 1 fresh red chili, finely chopped
• olive oil
• 1 can cannellini beans, drained

- Preheat oven to 350.
- Season chicken pieces all over and put them into a snug-fitting pan in one layer.
- Throw in all of the basil leaves and stalks, then chuck in your tomatoes.
- Scatter the garlic cloves into the pan with the chopped chili, and drizzle over some olive oil. Add the beans.
- Mix around a bit, pushing the tomatoes underneath.
- Place in the oven for 1 1/2 hours, turning the tomatoes halfway through, until the chicken skin is crisp and the meat falls off of the bone.
- Squeeze the garlic out of the skins before serving.

Pretty Little Things

Today we are celebrating our 15-year wedding anniversary, and in keeping with tradition, I did receive flowers and chocolates. The interesting part is - they were from our parents! My Mom sent this adorable arrangement today, and my mother-in-law sent a box of delicious brownies that we gobbled up well before the actual day. So thoughtful!

And in keeping with the tradition of slightly tweaking traditions, we are going to celebrate the occasion with a weekend away...with 40 of our closest friends! I am really looking forward to it - the weather forecast looks great, and everyone seems very excited.

This is one of the cards that I gave Charles this morning which made him chuckle. I have to say, being married to someone for 15 years is many things (mostly good!), but one of them that can't be denied is that it is very, very real. And the one thing that will get you though a plethora of challenges and situations is a good sense of humor.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

I'm back from a Week of Family - first, my brother's college graduation from KU (wooo! congratulations, Josh) and a few days seeing friends and family in and around Chicago.

Whenever I am back "home" (my husband hates when I say that, as he reminds me that San Francisco is our home), it is always bittersweet. At first I am transported back to the idyllic existence that I had growing up - manicured lawns, Norman Rockwell houses, big leafy trees, a shining lake. I inhale the smell of freshly mown grass and allow myself to feel 16 again. Then, little by little, reality starts to creep in. I do not have a permanent room in my parents house, and the living room is overtaken by my mother's latest obsession: birds. A Himalayan parakeet named Mango (in the photo), and an African Parrot named Zippora. It is so interesting to watch her with them - how she coos and nurtures them, but because of her busy lifestyle, ultimately leaves them alone for hours at a time, stuck in their cages, barely pacified by the classical music playing in the background, singing for their lives. Man, I know how they feel - I remember it well. Trapped.

So, when I have the chance, I take them out of their cages and let them have a bit of freedom. We have a strange relationship, me and my new feathered siblings. We know that we are just there to keep each other company, poor substitutes for any real kind of closeness, but better than nothing. And like siblings, we fight, sort of - feathers get ruffled, posturing is made, all to declare who is the boss of whom in our temporary hierarchy.

There are friends of mine who have stayed in the area where we grew up, and it's wonderful to see them and their families, in their own houses, doing things that are so familiar to me and yet so new because they are so far away from my West Coast lifestyle. I have thought from time to time how nice it would be to live like that, following the path of familiarity and tradition, like our parents and grandparents did. But then I realize, it would not be the same for me. They stayed, but I have moved away too many times, and too far. I am no longer a part of that world, although it does live inside me in a comforting, sentimental way. It might be nice at first, but then the walls would start closing in, and my thirst for adventure and newness would take over, burning like an itch.

Ultimately, my childhood home and I will remain memories to each other. It is a place where I bicycled over cracked sidewalks made uneven by tree roots and harsh winters, where I sailed on Lake Michigan, and had tanning contests with my friends in summer, and ice skated outdoors in the winter. It is a place of unlocked doors and warm summer nights with the sound of crickets in the background. And I was that idealistic girl, standing on the beach, looking out at the water and wondering what lay ahead, waiting for my moment to fly.

This American Life

What a week. Upon receiving the happy news that my friend Bruce is ok and home from the hospital, I was given some sad news. My great-uncle Tom, one of my favorite relatives and overall people, passed away on Wednesday night.

Tom was one of those people who was always interested in what you were doing, and he wanted to explore and dissect every issue. I remember having Christmas dinner with him, my aunt Martha, and his daughter and grand-daughters a few years ago. The table was so alive with conversation and lively discussion. Disagreements and passionate offense or defense were normal fare at a Hartmann dinner, and I would always catch Uncle Tom chuckling to himself in the corner as the opposing arguments played themselves out, usually spurred on by something he instigated. My aunt Martha, forever strong, proper, and demure, rarely participated in these discussions, but you couldn't miss the smile forming at the corners of her mouth when someone made a particularly colorful remark.

Aside from his many accomplishments, Uncle Tom was first and foremost a family man. His daughters, Betsy and Darcy, were taught to be independent, thinking women who should be confident in being themselves.

I heard from my mother that right before he passed, he asked the question "Why am I dying?" While this may seem tragic, I saw it as Uncle Tom being himself - challenging life just as he challenged all of us, his inquisitive mind never willing to rest.

His was a life well-lived. In 85 years, he accomplished much more than any one of us can imagine, and affected so many people's lives. I feel like on of the world's mentors is gone, and I will miss his presence greatly.

Below is his obituary:

Thomas Buchan Hartmann of Montgomery Township, New
Jersey, died peacefully on November 7, 2007, at
Stonebridge, with his loving family by his side. He
was 85 years old.

Tom was born in Somerville, NJ, the youngest of four
siblings in the family of John A. and Janet Buchan
Hartmann. He was educated in local schools and then
attended Phillips Academy in Andover, Massachusetts,
graduating in the class of 1941. He later served for
many years as class secretary.

He entered Princeton University in the fall of 1941,
and was one of the first Princeton undergraduates to
volunteer to serve in World War Two. He enlisted in
naval aviation and trained as a dive bomber pilot. He
selected the Marine Corps for his commission and
joined the Ace of Spades, the oldest Marine squadron,
as his combat unit. Stationed in the central Pacific
on Midway Island and the Gilbert and Marshall Islands,
he flew eighty-nine combat missions and received the
Distinguished Flying Cross with a cluster and an Air
Medal with two clusters.

He married Martha Bothfeld of Wellesley,
Massachusetts, on April 14, 1945. It was unusually
warm and happened to be the day of President Franklin
D. Roosevelt’s funeral. To the physical discomfort of
the guests and the political discomfiture of some, the
couple observed half an hour of silence in FDR’s
memory before their wedding ceremony.

In fall 1945, Tom returned to Princeton to complete
his undergraduate degree. Upon graduation, his first
job was as a history teacher at the Hun School in
Princeton. In honor of his inspiring teaching, the Hun
School Class of 1951 recently established the Thomas
B. Hartmann Faculty Fellowship Award. He later taught
at the Tower Hill School in Wilmington, Delaware, and
then became headmaster of St. Mark’s School in Dallas,
Texas.

He returned to New Jersey in 1963, and served as
Assistant Director of the NJ Office of Economic
Opportunity and as Deputy Director of the Governor’s
Commission on the Newark Riots of 1967. He helped to
develop Livingston College at Rutgers University, and
joined the faculty there as professor of Journalism
and Mass Media. In 1992 the University bestowed on him
the Presidential Award for Distinguished Public
Service, citing “his contributions to advancing and
understanding the development of public policy, his
extension of educational service to government by
placing student interns in public offices, and his
unselfish personal service to public institutions and
leaders at the municipal, state, and national levels.”
He worked closely with Senator Bill Bradley in his
campaigns.

His volunteer work was extensive. He served as chair
of the New Jersey Advisory Committee for the Foster
Grandparents program, and was a member of the Advisory
Committee for Channel 13. He was a founding member and
trustee of Outward Bound, USA. He also served a term
on the Princeton Township Committee. More recently, he
joined the Board of Trustees of New Jersey Policy
Perspective.

An avid sports enthusiast, he was a scout for the
Detroit Tigers baseball team and assisted the Women’s
Sports Foundation in their annual journalism awards.
He was a passionate golfer and belonged to the
Hopewell Valley Country Club where he spent many happy
hours.

Tom loved people and knew a great many. In a
proclamation issued on his retirement from Rutgers,
Governor James Florio of New Jersey noted that “Tom
Hartmann’s colleagues have been known to remark that
he has gone to school with, taught, or worked with
every person on the planet.” He had a prodigious
memory for people and events, especially concerning
New Jersey’s history and politics.

He is survived by his wife of 62 years, Martha; his
three daughters, Darcy Hartmann of Lafayette,
California, Betsy Hartmann of Amherst, Massachusetts,
and Anna Wexler of Brookline, Massachusetts; five
grandchildren; and his son-in-law James Boyce of
Amherst. A memorial service will be held December 1,
2007, at the Unitarian Universalist Church in
Princeton. In lieu of flowers, gifts may be made to
the Thomas B. Hartmann Faculty Fellowship Award at the
Hun School.

The Writing on the Wall

We woke up early this morning so that our cousin Jana could take us on a tour of several synagogues in the Jewish ghetto. The first one we visited, Pinkas synagogue, is a memoriam to the 80,000 men, women and children of Bohemia and Moravia who died in the Holocaust. In the 1950's, the names of each one of these people was inscribed on the wall, with their date of birth and date of death.


Normally when you visit a site that honors a tragic event in history, you have a sense of compassion, but from the distanced view of your modern life. In this place, there are the names of four of our family members on the wall. Seeing those names - suddenly, we were no longer removed from the event, but a part of it. The feeling when you see it is hard to describe. I was very moved, and deeply saddened. I can only imagine how Jana felt, seeing the names of those so close to her and being reminded of that time once again.

All in the Family

One of the most meaningful things about coming to Prague has been getting to meet some of our extended family. On Saturday we had a reunion at the hotel, with speeches, introductions and gift-giving. As my brother correctly said, it was more of a union than a reunion. Despite language and cultural differences, it felt that we already knew each other.


We all met at a traditional Czech restaurant for dinner, which was very unique. There were 30 of us in our own room, with its own bar and piano player. It felt like we had stepped back in time at least a century. This was a great find, recommended by a friend of my dad's who had lived in Prague. Thank god we went here, and not to one of the other group-friendly restaurants that we had seen on line, which all looked like they were straight out of Medieval Times. This place, whose name translates to be The Blue Duckling, offered a charming experience all around.


Dinner was an experience - not everything was to everyone's liking, but I loved it all - probably a testament to the fact that I was meant to be a fat hausfrau in another life. Czech food is very rich and not for the calorie-conscious. The restaurant did a great job with our meal, keeping the wine flowing and the courses well-prepared. They even made a special vegetarian meal for my brother Josh. Our first course was pork knuckle, which tastes like ham.


For our second course, we had liver-dumpling soup, which was heavy with oil but very, very tasty. Just the kind of thing that would fortify you on a cold winter's night.



The main course was a dish that you see on a lot of Czech menus - duck leg with dumplings and sauerkraut. It's very similar to duck confit. As a dumpling fan, I was excited to try the dumplings, but these are not the doughy filled kind that you would expect, and I didn't like them. However, the duck and sauerkraut were delicious.


Dessert was these sweet pancake-like cakes with a blueberry yogurt sauce on top.


It was wonderful to enjoy this home-style meal in such an intimate setting. Going from table to table, you could hear stories being told by different members of the family, from all generations. This was definitely a night to remember.

In the Nick of Time

We walked by this building on the way to the synagogue on Friday night. My dad explained that it was a former SS building during the war. When his father, my grandfather, was trying to emigrate, he was told to arrive at the building at 1:30 to collect his papers, which he planned to do. Then an official took him aside and mentioned that he should come in at 1:15 instead. When he arrived at 1:15, he received his papers to go to South Africa, and he was told that he must use the exit papers before midnight. Good thing, as they closed the border at 12;30, and was one of the last people to get out of Prague. Without this guidance, it would have been a whole different story. And most likely, he would not have been here to tell it.