It would appear that this whole hippie thing's pendulum has swung its groovy way again. Read, it's in. This could be attributed to many things: a disenchantment and exhaustion (or sheer anger) with current politics, climate change (save water, shower with a friend), the way we view and approach our food, or just the wave of fashion. Everything comes back around, you know.
Though I was born in a particularly
pointedly hippie period with hairy, bell-bottomed parents (who named
their daughter Elliott), the whole hippie thing, with its ins
and outs in my lifetime, has had little effect on me. In high school
and even college, while many of our peers donned the gauzy, flowy
shirts and floor-length paisley skirts, Birkenstocks, and the
god-forsaken patchouli, Paz and I were listening to NWA, drinking 40s
and seeing how much cleavage we could get away with.
I had an old friend back in LA, a real
meat and potatoes guy and proud Texan, who had a saying when I –
or anyone for that matter – got a little, er, out there,
a little too magic-y or feel-y or granola-y (think Anne Heche's 4th
dimension circa 2000, or just Gary Busey, in general).
'Call me when the shuttle lands,' he would say wryly.
Regardless of the dude's generally great deadpan, comedic timing, this was always
hilarious and perfect to me. And so, of course, I have long since,
and with much frequency, adopted the comment.
I, for the most
part, am pretty even-keeled and pragmatic when it comes to social
politics. I understand the motivation for going green, buying local,
being responsible with my carbon footprint, etc. But I equally
understand that it is a very high maintenance and prohibitively
expensive lifestyle to adapt. Go ahead, buy a week's worth of
groceries at Whole Foods and a week's worth of groceries anywhere
else, and tell me the price difference. How much did you spend on
kombucha or fair trade coffee last week?
I'll never forget a
photo assignment I had when I first moved to LA and was working for
the LA Weekly. I was in my twenties and really struggling financially. I was asked to photograph a woman (married to a
extra, super, mega famous actor/comedian) whose personal crusade it was to
abolish Hummers and the like and get everyone to drive a Prius. She
actually threw stones at people's environmentally cruel vehicles.
Needless to say, I parked my banged up gas guzzler far, far away and
lugged my photo equipment on foot to her house for the shoot. Oh, her
house that was a ginormous manse in the famously richer than rich
Pacific Palisades neighborhood (Steven Spielberg was her neighbor). Parked in the driveway were a minimum of five various hybrid and
electric cars.
My point is: I
appreciate that she wanted to share the gospel, so to speak, but COME
ON. And by the way, I still can't afford a Prius. I try in other
ways. I have a vegetable and herb garden, I recycle, I buy seasonal
and local – when I can, I read, I think, I don't drive a gas
guzzler – actually, I hardly drive at all. So keep your judgment,
your stone throwing (literally) to yourself, step down from that
fancy-ass high horse and, hey, call me when the shuttle lands.
Here's the funny
thing: the same girl that would steal Paz's sister's hippie outfits and dress up in them to poke fun at her, the same
girl whose eyeballs roll out of her head when she hears a little too
much about whatever this acai berry is, and the same girl who knows
absolutely nothing about your or her own astrological sign has
turned in a decidedly bizarre direction whilst pregnant.
And here it is: currently I have my own
doula, a small troupe of midwives, and a tiny library of books with
such titles as Spiritual Midwifery (where the vagina is
sometimes referred to as a Yoni and contractions are called
rushes), and am having an entirely natural childbirth. Like,
no drugs. And in water. And now that I am large and in charge at
seven months pregnant and counting, I'm pretty much wearing the exact
clothes I would have derided twenty-five years ago: long, flowy
maxi dresses (if we're going to call a spade a spade, muu muus),
colorful, decorative scarves – around my head, and even the
Birkenstocks. You should see all my wicker and canvas totes. I'd like
to think I'm channeling Elizabeth
Taylor in the Sandpiper.
I've also been listening
to Van Morrison's Astral Weeks on repeat for, well, weeks.
If I knew me and
heard all of this from me, my response to me would, without a doubt, be, 'Elliott, please, PLEASE call me when the shuttle
lands.'
Fortunately, thanks
to Portlandia, Pinterest, all things DIY - pickling, craft beers,
chickens in the yard, salad greens 'foraged' from the vacant lot,
Mason jars and twine, I feel the pregnant, muu muu-wearing me has just
so happened to luck out in the roulette of current fashion. This whole hippie
thing has returned. Again. Sort of. With a twist. It's more
lumberjack-self-reliant than bongs and tapestries, more sweat than
patchouli, more Airstream than school bus. It's far more conscious, I
suppose.
Fred and I have a
lifestyle that adapts some of this ethos. Like I said, we have
our garden. We sometimes shower together (though I'm too large for
shower sharing these days). Fred sort of looks like a lumberjack. But
we also live realistically. We enjoy our creature comforts. We watch
our shows on HBO. We pay taxes.
But one major
do-it-yourself that we, Fred in particular, has been super keen on
for a few years now is making ice cream. In the ice cream-y months he
likes to make a different batch each week, always experimenting with new
ideas. And, while some aren't as successful – conceptually (coconut milk and Sriracha, for example) – his actual ice cream is undeniably delicious.
In the spirit of
this post, we picked up some local, just-in-season rhubarb from our local, green grocery and got to it: a rhubarb-swirl ice cream. While
Fred usually takes the reins with the ice cream, we
collaborated for this one. He prepared the ice cream part and I made
the swirl part. It was our first swirl (well, in the ice cream
department - how do you think I got pregnant, after all?).
In the end, we made
a beautiful and tasty new ice cream. I need to tweak the swirl method
I chose but otherwise we were very pleased with the outcome. Even
better than the local farm eggs, milk and cream used was that the ice
cream matched the tie-dye pattern of my muu muu...
Oh, Jesus. Call me
when the shuttle lands, right?
Makes 1 ½ quarts
INGREDIENTS
2
1/2 cups half and half
2
cups whole milk
1
cup + 2 tablespoons sugar
Dash
of sea salt
3
egg yolks
1 Tablespoon vanilla extract
Rhubarb
Swirl
4
cups rhubarb, chopped
1/4
cup sugar
1/4
cup fresh orange juice
DIRECTIONS
In
a heavy bottomed sauce pan, combine half and half, whole milk, heavy
cream, 1 cup of sugar, and salt. Whisk to combine. Taste for salt.
In
a bowl, whisk together egg yolks and 2 tablespoons of sugar.
Over
medium-high heat, heat milk mixture until sugar dissolves and begins
to simmer. Slowly pour about one cup of the simmering milk mixture
into the egg mixture, whisking constantly to temper the eggs. Add egg mixture to sauce pan,
stirring occasionally for about 5 minutes. Turn heat off. Add vanilla
extract.
Pour
mixture in a large bowl over a fine mesh sieve to catch any clumps.
Cover and place in fridge to cool, about 3 hours. To speed up the
cooling process, place bowl in an ice bath in the fridge, or place in
the freezer sans ice bath.
Rhubarb Swirl:
Place rhubarb, sugar, and orange juice in a sauce pan. Cover and cook over medium heat until rhubarb is soft, about 10 minutes. Puree mixture in food processor until smooth. Once ice cream mixture is cold, make according to your machine’s instructions. Add rhubarb in at the end, swirling through the ice cream (here's what I did). Place in freezer again for ice cream to become hard enough.
Place rhubarb, sugar, and orange juice in a sauce pan. Cover and cook over medium heat until rhubarb is soft, about 10 minutes. Puree mixture in food processor until smooth. Once ice cream mixture is cold, make according to your machine’s instructions. Add rhubarb in at the end, swirling through the ice cream (here's what I did). Place in freezer again for ice cream to become hard enough.
One year ago: Belmont Food Shop
Two years ago: Zebra Tomato, Pistou Basil & Burrata Crostini
Three years ago: Classic Tuna Salad
Four years ago: Potato Salad with Creme Fraiche, Mint & Basil
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