By paddloPayday loans
It has been over three months since I have visited this space. I have been running away from it, actually. Running away from the work it requires, Running away from knowing that SliceOfFeist is no longer the fusion of a couple’s artwork, Running away from the fact that cooking rarely occurs in my home now, and Running away from how much I love to nurture this space. Each time I have typed something beginning with an “s” into my browser, sliceoffeist.com would pop up, and I would run away. Closing my eyes. Pushing any button to make it disappear. With panic rising in my blood, teeth clenching and heart ache taking over, I would promise myself that this space still patiently waited for me. That I could always return.
I awoke on August 2nd, one year older and absolutely alert. Alert to the choices begging to be made and alert to the bluish fog that had been blurring my vision. So, I had to leave this little space for a wee time to 1. fully launch into my cake business, Slice Of Feist, (located at The Niwot Market!!!), 2. re-charge and re-ignite my creative powers, 3. learn how to do a handstand 4. understand the art of alchemy 4. and walk away from my almost 8 year relationship with the ever lovely and talented Mr Lentz. Yes, it has been quite a ride. And although it has been hard and trying, it has also been a wonderful, empowering and hugely productive ride. Every day I wake up and say “thank you.” My grandmother worked like hell to infuse me with her guts and grace, and I think perhaps she may have succeeded.
If there’s anyone who can convince me to bake with artificial colors and decorate a cake just for the heck of it, it’s Sarah. When she proposed that we make a rainbow cake, tall and majestic, I worried. She has always been the more spontaneous girl while I have been the practical worry monger. With only a couple of sticks of butter in the fridge, what could we possibly do? But when Sarah went crazy with a glue gun and created these cute flags, I knew that we had to make the most rockin’ cake ever to have been assembled in a farmhouse.
If I could kidnap anyone, preventing them from returning home, it would be my bosom buddy. I cried during half of this photo shoot. I couldn’t make eye contact with Sarah because the waterworks would start streaming. So I just kept my eyes on the cake and pretended she wasn’t about to board a plane back to Virginia.
So get out those radical, ADHD causing colors and go mad. Make something for only yourself and those you love most. Let the colors shine and go just a bit overboard.
Sarah, thank you for being the best.
All photographs were taken by the man who is allergic to red food coloring, our very own ginger, Evan Lentz.
If Sarah hadn’t existed, I would probably have been a rather lonely and pitiful kid. I would have played more games of Moniply and Scrabble by myself and I would have watched more episodes of Matlock with my grandmother. But Sarah found me when I was 3 years old. She wandered into my backyard, having run away from her home yet again, and rescued me from my solitary life as an only child. She introduced me to adventure, country music and her wild sense of humor.
Sarah came out to visit a few months ago, towards the end of our windy, sunny winter. As I filtered through these photographs, I came to realize that because of this feisty city girl, I have always had a sister. No one can make me laugh as hard, weep as freely, sing as loud or feel as safe as the lovely Sarah. Adopted sisters, yes we are, and I thank the heavens for that.
When we were younger I would carry her and tote her anywhere she wanted to go. So tiny, she was like a little monkey that would cling to my back as I did things that could have killed us both.
And then one of us….or both of us would get hurt. But we found that there’s nothing which laughter, sparkling juice and Utz chips can’t fix. So get up, brush the dirt off your filthy clothes and keep tackling life.
And keep running towards the people and things you love without hesitation. Run, leap, sprint, jump and cartwheel your way blissfully down life’s road.
All photographs were taken by the very talented Evan Lentz.
Knowing how much you have missed Evan’s presence around here and his otherworldly food photography, you might want to catch a glimpse of the amazing stuff he’s creating.
Evan has been pumping out original, one-of-a-kind pieces of wooden jewelry, as though possessed. He is selling them like mad at Etsy.
He features reclaimed wood, natural and handmade stains, and simple dried mosses.
To see more of his projects…..follow me!!!!
“What are you eating?” I whispered to my great aunt. “What in the world is that?!”
Stopping mid-bite, she slowly glanced around the room, wondering who else had caught her. When her eyes finally reached mine, her head was tilted downward like a pitiful golden retriever who had been caught eating the Thanksgiving turkey.
Auntie Phoebe sat perched at her kitchen table, daintily fondling some peculiar looking sandwich. With only the tips of her fingers touching the bread it was like she either didn’t want to crush her delicate lunch or she didn’t want to fully claim the meal as her own.
“Oh, it’s absolutely scrumptious. You really must try it,” she said with a slightly Southern accent. Between two very white pieces of bread were slivers of something green nuzzled into puddles of brown goo. Pushing it towards my face she instructed, “just close your eyes and taste it.” Following her directions, I blindly ventured into my 80-year-old aunt’s culinary world. “Don’t you love it?,” she asked, quietly clapping her hands? Crunchy, salty, tart, nutty and barely sweet. O.K. I loved it.
A peanut butter and pickle sandwich taught me to never be skeptical of strange flavor combinations. Fried chicken and chocolate glaze? Bring it! Avocado buttercream and wheatgrass scented cake? Hell yeah! Thank you Auntie for always surprising me and tricking me into thinking outside the box.
Peanut Butter And Pickle Sandwich recipe by Phoebe Myers
2 pieces of Bread
2 Pickles, thinly sliced
2 Tablespoons Peanut Butter
Spread your peanut butter evenly over a piece of bread. Pile your pickles on top and place the other piece of bread over the pickles. Devour.
When a country girl sweetly requests a ride into the city, she’s not trying to be cute. Her intention isn’t to steal your heart or dine with your family. A country girl is anything but incabable. She can rope a hundred cattle in a row and ride a horse bareback. Yes, a country girl is a force. Nothing frightens her, because there is nothing that spit, fire and bit of style can’t fix.
That is except for city streets and treacherous highways. When a strong woman of the prairie finds herself driving towards skyscrapers, like a bat out of hell, her breath quickens and her heart painfully flips in her chest. White knuckled at the wheel, she shoots prayers to the heavens that she will make it home unharmed and vows to never make the trek alone again. Seeking refuge from the massive trucks threatening to suck her into their wheels, this country girl drives down a residential street. A car heading straight for her honks violently. Ducking into a driveway, embarrassed that she missed the one way sign, her gas light screams at her. The blood pulses in her brain.
What a country girl lacks in city driving skills, she makes up for with classic charm and pretty teeth. She summons a sweet gent, whom is riding alongside her to roll his window down. “Hello, sir. Would you happen to know where the nearest gas station is? I seem to be frighteningly low!” The man, who always wished to live on a ranch, tips his imaginary hat. Exhausted from living in such a solitary place and craving human interaction, he finds this friendly lady refreshing. A country accent begins creeping into his bones. “Why yes, Ma’am. How ’bout you just follow me. I’ll guide you there,” he says warmly.
Wherever a country girl travels, she disperses simple kindness and warm sunshine. She reminds city people to talk to one another and laugh a little more. And when she drives back home, shaking from a place that holds a million people, a parade of cars follow her. They follow her into the lush fields of wheat and sunflowers, craving community and grilled peaches with rhubarb compote. The country girl offers the visitors tall glasses of sun tea, feeds them a hearty dinner, and thanks them for helping her navigate their treacherous roads.
Grilled Peaches With Rhubarb Compote-Serves 6 Hungry Folk
1 Cup Thinly Sliced Rhubarb
1/4 Cup Sugar
2-3 Tablespoons Water
1 Tablespoon Lemon Juice
Pinch of Salt
1 Teaspoon Vanilla
Sweetened Whipped Cream
To make your compote, place your rhubarb, sugar, water, lemon juice and salt in a small sauce pan. Heat over medium. Once the mixture starts to get hot, stir and simmer. You want the rhubarb to cook down and thicken. This takes about 5 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in your vanilla.
Turn your grill onto medium high heat. Rinse your peaches, cut each in half and remove pits. Brush all sides with melted butter. Place cut side down on the grill, and grill for about 3-4 minutes. Place each peach cut side up on a perty plate, top with compote and sweetened whipped cream. Beware, though….the city folk will never leave after eating this deliciousness.