Donuts, hindsight, etc
Hi, my love.
I was supposed to write liner notes for my album today. I made donuts instead.
(in my defense the donuts were extremely excellent)
The recipe was for cardamom donuts filled with saffron custard, which would have been fabulous if yer girl t could make a custard to save her life. But yer girl t cannot, in fact, make a custard to save her life. If, for some absurd and nonsensical reason a custard-or-death competition occurs, the likelihood of me surviving is small.
(this is because I am terrified of a Great-British-Bake-Off “scrambled egg” situation)
(wherein I cook the custard for too long and have chonks all through said custard)
(no one on earth wants a chonky custard so I err on the safe side and end up with un-donut-fill-able chaos)
(a custard you could … almost drink … from a cup)
(which is not better)
(and sounds like a semi edible horror movie that also no one on earth wants)
Forever doomed in the future definitely possible custard-or-death-a-thon.
But it’s fine.
The custard was nonsense, the donuts were magnifique. I filled them with cherry jam instead. Here is a badly lit / hastily snapped photo to prove it.
Girl I casually made sufganiyot from scratch this week for the first time and they were delicious. If that’s all I did I’m not mad at it.
After I made them I went on a mad delivery run to some of my favorite humans because JJ and I fly to NYC tomorrow and can not eat 9 donuts on our own, no matter how hard we may want to.
Five minutes to midnight now. I’m intent on not losing the ttalk streak after 2 years. That would be a really silly thing to do, write it for two years then bake donuts and give up.
(And how would I keep practicing for the definitely possible custard-or-death-athon?!)
It’s fine, it’s great. I did bake donuts I did not write liner notes I did not pack suitcases.
(in my defense there is nothing really to pack)
(these days I bring empty suitcases on every flight east and return with the same suitcases full of what was left in storage)
(but I will cede, nonetheless, that it is v silly / on brand for me to bake donuts for the first time tonight and shuttle them around LA rather than, I don’t know, relax or consider the couple of weeks of travel I have coming up)
The week was good, the week was great. I didn’t write liner notes, but on a visit to Palm Springs I ingested a pastrami surrounded by latkes instead of bread. The magnificence was procured at Sherman’s Delicatessen, and there is no way to explain this to you other than to show it to you.
The week was good. The week was delicious.
My veins are very full of oil and we’re on a plane in less than 12 hours.
I’ll pick up my perfect bobi stepdaughter in less than 48.
I am going to give her every hug on the planet of earth and also a piece of mint chocolate chip cake (oh that’s a custom cake I make yes it very much is) I’ve had in the freezer with her name on it.
Liner notes will happen when they’re supposed to (maybe on the plane?)
I know better than to think I know what’s best after these past few years.
Take, for instance, this postcard I wrote to Lili and Steven in 2019 just six months before the world ended. I guess I never sent it, never got their new address.
So dreamy I feel like I can never leave.
I met Lili when I was 18 years old. We were in a hilariously bad band called “unexcused absence” together. Did I scour my old email account to find a photo of us on stage in 2006 with me in a captain’s hat for you? Yes tf I did. Yes. Tf. I did.
Lili met Steven at some point in our 20s. He is perfect, gentle, brilliant. The exact person you want your favorite friend to end up with.
In any event, a reminder to never hold on too tightly to anything.
(Did I know when I wrote that postcard that I was predicting the future?)
Three years later and I’ve left, so much. I’ve lived in four different cities. And now we’re here, and I feel like I can never leave again, while finally also knowing that we’ll exit when we’ve outgrown the pot.
But for now this pot is just fine. I bake donuts. I write to you. I trust that the liner notes will get done.
Lili and Steven came to visit last week, 18 years after Unexcused Absence’s super sold out stadium run. I met them in Palm Springs. Took them to Sherman Delicatessen’s, of course.
16 years of friendship looks good on us.
(That sounds darker than it is!)
Maybe I’ll finally mail that postcard to them, or maybe I’ll hold on to it. Frame it in the kitchen to remind myself that even when I chance on the right answer I often can’t sit still long enough to realize it.
Which, of course, is all the more reason to bake donuts / not blame myself for not working too much. I’ll stay working on that custard, though, because lord knows I can’t be dying this early in the death-a-thon.
(Too much left to see!)
More next week.
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