Simple Pleasures

Great works of art come in all forms. Some with spices, others with colors.

I recently had a fascinating conversation with a painter about the parallels between working on a canvas and cooking. While I was standing in the midst of the most beautiful collection of artwork I have seen in a long time. The artist’s studio being one of an entire tower of studios, arranged Berlin-style in the second courtyard of a set of beautiful Art Deco townhouses. Gorgeous round staircases with wooden handrails.

Since I was on a larger tour of the nearby creative district of the former artists’ village where we live, we had already done quite a bit of walking. The weather was, well, a little ‘spicy’, but you already know my attitude towards that: There is no such thing as bad weather, only more or less appropriate clothing – and food. So we went to that classic little Italian place on the corner. You know, the one with the old black and white photos on the wall of movie goddesses and elegant picture gangsters in striped suits. Red and white checkered cloths covering little square tables.

There we had focaccia. Only this was the first time I really understood that dish. Crusty, thin bread with only olive oil, a few rosemary needles and coarse salt on top. Plain and yet deliciously composed. Rossini would have written an aria about it, I am sure.

After that (and a spectacular plate of pasta) we returned to our tour. Where I found vivid scenes of the Mediterranean painted on the walls of the entrance hall of an old apartment building. You could almost feel the sun and hear the leaves rustle as you walked down the sandy path to the charming white villa by the sea.

And I smiled at art made from “Strandgut” (jetsam and flotsam) – skillfully made and very witty.

On my way home, I picked up some beet juice. I mixed it into one of my favorite drinks (see today’s other post, “Liquid Grandeur”) and sat on the sofa to see that the large lime trees outside our balcony were starting to change color.

Which reminded me of another great art exhibit I had just seen.

Only this was the first time I really understood that dish. Crusty, thin bread with only olive oil, a few rosemary needles and coarse salt on top. Plain and yet deliciously composed.

Side Notes:

• The reference to ‘There is no such thing as bad weather …’ is, of course, from my post [‘No Rain Today‘].