i was cooking ricotta toast
while reminiscing about the dreamy Azores islands
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hello!
it’s been a minute. in september, i went on a trip to a place more beautiful than i could’ve dreamed. time off gave me the space to step outside of my life and reconsider my routines and anxieties. i went away to look at volcanoes, the mighty giants that formed the earth with their magnificent, destructive-generative power. i met strangers who are now part of the story of my life. i walked along the rims of volcanic craters, descended into their insides, and bathed in hot springs heated by roiling underground thermal activity. i’ve never felt so small or so thankful to live in this world.
the last two and a half years made me forget how travel strips away the layers of daily life that reveal the core of yourself. when you stare at a mountain top, or see the bright blue sky from the inside of a volcano’s lava vent lush with native fauna, or a rock in the ocean being beaten daily by the relentless waves—what falls away, and what remains?
for me what was left was a deeper connectedness to the earth and a deep sadness that what i’m seeing in my 20s will be irrevocably changed in my 40s. what remained was that i wanted nothing more than this life that allowed me these moments of being alone, somewhere new, in deep contemplation, feeling untethered so far from home, but knowing that i have somewhere and someone dear to return to.
during this trip i was reminded of the deep privilege of my lifestyle, my passport and american income, and the consumerism that binds me, which contrasted sharply with the reality of climate change around us. i have the feeling that many of us are simultaneously terrified by the visible effects of climate change but struggle to voice these fears. instead of talking about climate change in public (radical, a downer) we torture ourselves with internalising our climate anxiety (normal, socially polite).
in the azores, every conversation with a stranger involved at least a mention of our decaying environment, and i realised living in the usa for so long normalised the view that believing in the climate crisis is a political act, rather than fact, the current reality, which is how climate change is viewed everywhere else. everyone i met spoke about record heat waves and european rivers too dry for ships to navigate. those local to the azorean islands have palpable concern, knowing that shifting climate can decimate their islands’ main export: their dairy and beef industry. The success of their cattle depends on daily rain—rain more similar to the misting that produce receives in the supermarket than Boston’s torrential downpours—and mild climate that keeps their land verdant year round, with cows playing, napping, and grazing outdoors all day long. i wonder if we could feel better if we talked about the climate crisis more, sharing hopeful news with one another and talking about opportunities for involvement in local policy. maybe sharing and talking can jolt us out of our collective paralysis and transform our climate anxiety into climate action.
a partial list of strangers i’d like to think i’ll never forget:
Dimitri, who uprooted his life in Germany for a new start in the Azores, who reminded me that we have one life to live and must do what we want and never worry myself about what others think;
an older Ukranian woman travelling with her longtime husband, who was genuinely concerned for me being alone, but who, over the course of a day touring the island together, realised that the world is safer than what it used to be when she left the crumbling Soviet Union in 1989, that strangers are kinder than you’d think, and that solo travel is very fulfilling if you want it to be, lonely at times but always worth it;
my incredible tour guide Ramiro who left his tiny home island of Faial in his youth for a 3 month trip to Lisbon, Portugal, a trip that turned into 10 years, but, missing his home and the million brilliant shades of green that grew on the island, came back to start up a tour company so he can share his love of Faial with others;
the young Russian woman at my hostel who spoke to me entirely in Spanish (is it possible i understand spanish now?) to tell me the story of her life in Lithuania, France, and Portugal, her divorce, and her adventures around the island we were on, reminding me of how complex a person’s background can be;
an eccentric tour guide, Diogo, loudly anti-modern infrastructure and anti-pollution and anti-fascist and very into the sea, raves, large-scale art exhibits as protest, and the preservation of Sao Miguel island. When he dropped me off at the airport to catch my flight home, he said:
“you’ll come back again? yes, this would be a good destiny.”
when i returned to Boston—and this always happens when i return—i had to relearn the routines of my old life. i knew i needed groceries, but, wandering the aisles, i felt i was a shopping for someone i knew years ago: i knew past me had liked avocados, salt and vinegar kettle chips, and peaches ripe from the summer sun. i remembered past Lala appreciated having fruit to snack on, plenty of lemons on hand no matter what the season, and fresh flowers in a vase. i pieced together my old life, allowed my mind to start writing mental to do lists of chores that needed attention, let my muscle memory take charge of my nightly face serum and moisturiser routine.
that first day back even the routine of mealtime felt alien. eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner alone at home after being in the company of fascinating strangers every day for every meal felt so lonely. i started to feel the real world chipping away at my vacation mode idealism. i thought i would appreciate the time alone, time to rest, but it just felt isolating. sitting in front of a computer for 8 hours felt impossible—why wasn’t i out on a hike or getting pummeled by waves at the scariest beach i’ve ever been to?—and i really missed being outside my comfort zone.
to ease myself back in, i tried to do the things that made me love home in the first place: seeing my friends, having my nightly solo dance party in my room, biking biking biking to see the foliage before it’s gone, and indulging in homey meals that make me thankful for the bounty of this season.
below is a recipe that past Lala enjoyed all summer long and was a welcome comfort my first morning back. past Lala liked it, new Lala likes it, and I hope you can enjoy it with any stone fruit* still in season.
ricotta toast with stone fruit
serves 1
toast 1 hefty (emphasis on hefty!) slice of crusty bread. while the bread toasts, cut your peach (or nectarine, pluot, or whatever other stone fruit you find*) in half, cutting along the natural seam of the fruit. gently twist the two halves apart (there will be juices, don’t waste them) and then carefully poke the stone out with your knife, cutting under and around the stone if necessary. place the two halves on a cutting board, cut side down, and thinly slice.
once toasted, slather enough whole milk ricotta cheese onto the toast to create a lush, pillowy surface on which to rest your peach slices. arrange the peach slices in a neat, shingled pattern onto the toast. drizzle with honey, throw on a few torn basil leaves, some chili flakes, cinnamon, and coarse sea salt. Serve immediately, preferably with maple bacon for a salty-sweet contrast.
*note that i wrote this in mid-september and procrastinated the publishing date for nearly a month. at this point, peaches are quite sad and out of season, but this recipe will still work with figs, ripe pears, or sweet, crisp apples you picked from an orchard.
consuming
Vengeance, starring and directed by B J Novak, a hilarious murder mystery following a self-absorbed New York writer as he reluctantly ends up investigating the death of his girlf- uh, person … he was … seeing? in Texas, all in the pursuit of creating good content. if you see it, please text me your thoughts about the ending.
White Lotus, a limited series on HBO set in a Hawaiian resort. the show mocks the relationships between the wealthy resort-goers and the fed-up employees that cater to them over the course of a particularly dramatic week on the island. even though all the episodes are up already, the show unfolds so deliberately that i’m refusing to binge watch it and instead allowing myself to indulge in a single episode every few days.
The Resort, starring Cristin Milioti and William Jackson Harper as a couple celebrating their anniversary in a resort in Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula, who accidentally stumble upon a clue about the mysterious disappearance of two college students 15 years prior. the couple takes it upon themselves to figure out where in time these disappeared young adults might be, investigating the mysterious and impossible coincidences (including a once-in-a-lifetime hurricane that erased all evidence of a crime) that took place before the young adults vanished. (If you love watching Cristin Milioti navigate between time and space, you would love her in Max Barbakow’s Palm Springs).
i’m clearly following a particular thread with the media i’m consuming, so if you have recommendations about shows that involve travel and time travel, please send them my way.
i was cooking is now officially 2 years old. i don’t want to set hefty goals that i might miss for year 3 (like i did for year 2 lol oops) but i do want to thank you for sticking around and reading :) a special thank you to Olivia Woollett for reading through this one and pushing me to just keep publishing.
see you soon
what a stunningly beautiful place! I loved reading this, especially about struggling to voice climate anxiety
I just love this so much. Your writing is exquisite and it's a treat every time it hits my inbox