my war against baking, coffee shop culture, and how purses changed my life

weekly recap .02

Hey stranger.

Welcome back, I hope your week was lovely.

This week has been uneventful in the best way possible. Fall, as always, brings a fresh perspective to the year and I find myself feeling invigorated to read more, cook more, wear new things, see old friends, the list goes on. It’s like I know this is my last hurrah before the dreary winter and the hibernation-like mindset everyone seems to get in. So I go to the football games, I see old friends, I wear my cozy clothes for the first time all year, and I enjoy my newfound energy.

I am sure I’m not alone in feeling like the pinnacle of human existence is to go to a cute cafe in a cute outfit and order a cute cappuccino. Accepted activities to do at said cafe are: type away furiously on a laptop, write in a pen and paper journal, people watch, or gossip with your friends. Any of those would complete the day. I adore getting coffee, and I especially adore it on a rainy day. Some of my favorite cafes in Seattle, recently:

01. Cafe Solstice in U District — my favorite cup of coffee in U District is from Allegro, but nothing beats Solstice in regard to the ambience, the atmosphere, the vibe if you will. Perfect place to gossip and avoid doing work. Also a perfect place to order a diet coke and watch the people go by along the ave.

02. Zoka Coffee in Greenlake — talk about the ambience, this place beats Solstice 9 times out of 10. It’s located in the neighborhood of Greenlake, so it feels more home-y and certainly looks it. All of the tables and chairs are unique, the space is both cozy and full of light, and and the fall menu is to die for.

03. Monorail in Westlake — I mean, I don’t need to explain this one. They make a perfect hazelnut latte, hot or iced, and the people watching here is insane. If it’s raining, go to the lobby of the hotel next door, it’s open to the public and absolutely beautiful. This place makes me feel very New York / Kate Moss in her Acne sweater and boots / Matt Bomer in White Collar — esque.

04. Local Coffee Spot in SLU— lol.

By the way, I am a firm believer that a cappuccino is the sexiest espresso item you could order. And you better not get it with oat milk.

As I sit in my favorite cafes and write my little blog, I’ve been thinking about writing style and who I get inspiration from. I think I would have to break it down into categories. If I were to write poetry like anyone in the world, it would, without a doubt, be Mary Oliver, my favorite of all time. No one writes like she does, and no poem makes me want to cry like Wild Geese. Emily Dickinson is a contender, and oddly enough so is Charles Bukowski. He makes me laugh because some of his writing is so impactful, and then he writes something like

“the goldfish sing all night with guitars,
and the whores go down with the stars,
the whores go down with the stars
I'm sorry, sir, we close at 4:30,
besides your mother's neck is dirty,
and the whores go down with the etc.,
the whores. go down. with the etc.
I'm sorry jack you can't come back,
I've fallen in love with another sap,
34 Italian and 1 2 Jap,
and the whores go
the whores go
etc.”

and I think he might be the worst writer in the world. But he gets points for writing the most absurd things you’ll ever read.

If I were to write a novel, I would want to write something as beautiful as Maggie Steifvater wrote The Raven Boys. She’ll write some Rothfuss level lyrical prose and supplement it with dialogue like Terry Pratchett or Douglas Adams, so she essentially mixes all of my favorite things. The Raven Boys had such a grip on me and are shelved under the very exclusive list of books that are branded on my soul.

If I were to write non-fiction, I’d be torn between Joan Didion and Kurt Vonnegut, though I’d probably end up going with the latter. Vonnegut both makes me laugh and reminds me of my grandfather, and I feel quite confident that if I was able to get dinner with anyone, alive or dead, it would be between him and Freddie Mercury. It’s always between Vonnegut and someone else, it seems.

Anyway. Last spring I bought my very first purse, an exquisite tan leather saddle bag. I quickly became enamored by the idea of carrying a purse, the things you put in it, the way it completes an outfit, and I realized — purses are what I’ve been looking for this whole time. In particular, old vintage leather purses that look worn and well loved. I’ve grown my collection bit by bit, and as a result, perfected the list of essentials I carry with me. I feel naked without my keys, my denim Coach wallet, black sunglasses I got from Amazon, a lip balm (preferably my Laneige jar), eyeliner pen, travel mascara, at least 35$ in cash, my Pentax film camera if I can fit it, and a hair clip if I don’t have one in already. These are the things I absolutely could live without but would hate to have to. Something about carrying a purse changed the way I wore my clothes, I finally understood the age old association between women and purses. The same thing happened when I started buying shoes that weren’t just sneakers. I understood Carrie Bradshaw in a way I hadn’t before. I used to shy away from really feminine stereotypes in an effort to feel unique, but I think the more I grow up the more I realize that clothes are fun, being feminine is fun, and caring about the way you look is not always inherently a shallow thing. But I digress.

Onto my next topic I’ve been itching to discuss: baking. I loathe baking. It has none of the spontaneity of cooking, where the measurements of things are merely guidelines, not rules that when broken result in soggy bottoms (GBBO reference for the cultured). However, unfortunately for me, all of the wonderful fall treats are baked goods: pumpkin bread, zucchini bread, banana bread, molasses cookies, the list goes on. So I decided to make pumpkin bread for a dinner party. And I’ve determined the problem is I just couldn’t be bothered measuring things perfectly, making sure the oven is exactly 350°, etc. I have no baking intuition— if the dough is runny, I have no idea if it’s supposed to be that way, what to add to fix it and not fuck the whole thing, what runny dough even results in. So I make my Trader Joe’s pumpkin bread mix, freak out because the dough is like water, add way too many chocolate chips, make a streusel without measuring any of it so it ends up being way too buttery, and bake it at the wrong temperature for 15 minutes less than it’s supposed to. The logic here is that if it says to bake it at 350° for 45 minutes, I figure 30 at 375° is just about the same thing. Idiocy! The bread was quite moist in the middle but we ate it anyway because it was fucking delicious. So baking still sucks.

What I love about cooking is I have a good amount of intuition built up from years of doing it, so I can make a decent soup, stir fry, or pasta sauce without needing a recipe. If I’ve made something once, I can typically make it again from memory, and I can tweak the ingredients to my liking without worrying about ruining the flavor. I’m sure I could feel the same way about baked goods if I gave it an honest effort but I just can’t be asked.

That’s all for now! I love writing these and I love that my friends are reading them. See you next week.

xoxo, ev

my beloved classical favorites playlist: