Everything’s produced locally, in small batches and sourced by our resident scavenger, Susan Forker, an artisan herself.
The holiday season is one of my favorite times of the year. The temperatures cool, the fires are stoked, and we reflect on giving. Buying handmade and local has always been an integral part of my gifting for many reasons, not in the least, the foothold it provides to the small businesses in our community. Mostly, though, it’s an opportunity to support the artisans who create unique, thoughtfully made products that have a story behind them. Here’s what caught my eye this season.
Woven Tote/Caryall | arden + james | from $320
A technically skilled artisan with the keenest intuition, Bri Brant’s work draws its beauty from natural media and her deep respect for the environment. The leather in her handmade bags is produced locally at a historic tannery, one of only two in the country that employ an eco-friendly, vegetable tanning process. The other materials in this tote, a true keepsake, are treated with the same level of care, right down to the hand-hammered copper rivets.
Artisan Candles | Zoet Bathlatier | from $20 each
Beautifully packaged and made in small batches from 100-percent vegetable wax and pure essential oils, these candles will intoxicate your senses. With fragrances like Fir Needle & Clove, The Woods, Caramel & Woodfire, simply light one and you’re transported to another place. The stated desire is to provide a sense of renewal and wellbeing with each. Mission accomplished. And then some.
Daisy Necklace | earth and wears | from $30 (each)
Lyn Carey recently celebrated the eighth anniversary of her Dallas, Pennsylvania, shop, earth and wears, and the ninth of her pottery and ceramic jewelry line, which goes by the same name. Finding inspiration in natural tones and textures, Lyn hand-forms and -glazes these stunning pendants, leaving the back untreated for diffusing essential oils. One drop lasts about eight hours.
Assorted pillows | Tamme Handmade | $20 (each)
Funky. Flirty. Retro-glam. Tamme McClelland’s eclectic line, Tamme Handmade, has a definite swagger. The images are printed directly onto the fabric with water-based, eco-friendly dye. These pillows are especially appropriate for the literature lover, the nautical enthusiast and the anglophile on your list. Frida Kahlo and Eleanor Roosevelt are her best-sellers. I’m partial to Charles Bukowski.
DIY Stitch Kit | Popped Stitches | $12
Popped Stitches is the brainchild of Melissa McCullough, who displays a wicked sense of humor in her original cross-stitch and embroidered creations. Much of her work references an affinity for pop culture, geekery and salty quips, like, “Don’t summon my inner bitch, she doesn’t play nice,” that are bound to make you laugh out loud then race to hang it. This stitch kit (available exclusively at Philadelphia Independents is the gift that keeps on giving—because the recipient is bound to brag about his/her ability (and neglect to mention the kit) to anyone who comes into contact with it.
Susan Forker is the owner and designer of the Doylestown-based joeyfivecents, a line of one-of-a-kind jewelry and accessories.
With the counsel of a few seasoned pros, we amp up the flavor (and the moistness) while also simplifying a notoriously overwrought recipe.
By Kendra Lee Thatcher
Thanksgiving 2002. My best friend, Lisa, introduces me to what will become my new holiday obsession. The evening is a perfectly orchestrated scene from Martha Stewart’s playbook. Summoned to the dinner table, we gather around the glistening turkey, a fire roaring behind us, Bruce Springsteen roaring over the fire.
Until tonight, I’d only known flavorless, white breast meat drowned in gluey gravy. With ninja-like swiftness and precision, Lisa grips a leg, rips it from the carcass, places it on my plate, then repeats the process and places the other on hers. Sisters in legs. Not really. I stare at mine for a good while, trying to figure out the best way (read: the least embarrassing way) to go about this. Finally, I look over at Lisa, who’s already polished off hers. No help there. Screw it. I pick it up and start gnawing away like I’m at Medieval Times. The skin, caramelized and crisp, seduces me at first bite. The dark meat’s so, so moist and laced with herbs, nutmeg and orange. This is what turkey’s supposed to taste like?! How did I make it into adulthood without realizing this?
Every year since, I’ve had dibs on the leg. It won’t be so clear-cut this year, though, because I’ll be playing the role of Lisa for the first time. Those legs aren’t naturally that moist, and nutmeg-y and citrus-y. Which means I’m in trouble. So I called around and asked a few friends who should know, flat-out, “How do I not f— up my turkey?” The following is the step-by-step plan I assembled from their advice and tested during a recent trial run.
Step 1: Buying
Convenient as those massive grocery store-birds are, shell out for a fresh, local, heritage turkey. They tend to be smaller and more manageable.
“The smaller the bird, the less time in the oven. The less time in the oven, the juicier the meat,” says Ian Knauer, who established The Farm Cooking School in Stockton, New Jersey.
I bought an 11-pound, Lancaster-raised turkey at None Such Farm Market in Buckingham. I had it quartered, based on the recommendations of Emily Peterson, the host of “Sharp + Hot” on Heritage Radio, and Matthew Martin, the owner/chef of More Than Q BBQ Company. The butcher broke down my bird into two breast-wing and leg-thigh segments, bones-in, skin-on and odds and ends packaged to make stock with.
Step 2: Prepping
Pour yourself a glass of wine. Proceed.
I’m a fan of adding fat under the skin. So when Ian reiterated this, I felt completely validated. I mashed up zesty-herb butter and massaged it into the meat. But I didn’t stop there. I then slathered the reserve fat from smoked bacon all over the skin and seasoned it with salt and pepper.
Also: “Lightly trussing the quarters will ensure the skin stays on and the juices stay in,” Matthew says.
I mixed brandy, fresh orange juice and star anise to roast and baste the turkey in. I picked that little cocktail up from Diana Paterra, the owner/chef of DeAnna’s Restaurant and Bar in Lambertville, NJ, and now I’ll never use another.
Step 3: Roasting
Preheat your oven to 425 degrees. In two large roasting pans, place a “veggie rack” comprised of carrots, parsnips, onions and citrus and cover it with a bed of herbs. Add your breasts to one pan and the legs to the other. Pour the brandy-OJ-star anise mixture evenly over both pans and then stick them, uncovered, in the oven.
Step 4: Timing
Never—seriously, nev-er—lose track of your bird. Roasting it hot and fast is the way to go, but it requires constant attention. It’ll take about 30 to 40 minutes for the turkey to turn golden brown, which seals in those juices that make so much of the difference between a remarkable turkey and a blah bird. (Note: The breasts will cook about 10 minutes faster than the legs.) At that point, pull the pans from the oven and brush the turkey with the drippings. I then reduced the heat to 375—my oven runs a little hot—and basted every 20 to 30 minutes for the next hour or so.
In an hour and 45 minutes, my turkey had hit the sweet spot—crispy on the outside, tender on the inside—so I slid it out and let it sit for another 45 minutes, as per Diana’s counsel. From there, I sliced it up with an extremely sharp knife, as per Emily’s counsel, arranged the pieces on a platter and drizzled them with the remnants of drippings.
I still reached for the leg out of instinct, but, really, there was no boring bite with this turkey. And that’s not to say that I’ve mastered Thanksgiving. The turkey, it turns out, is actually a very small piece of that headache. But, dismantling the intimidation was as critical as any step in this, ultimately, fairly simple recipe.
Bethlehem-based fashion designer Lauren Midlam is nurturing a devout following through her subtle-but-empowering collections.
By Sean Downey
Butter Knit Ruched Dress in sapphire, $218, and Butter Knit Wrap in blue topaz, $198
Caught between Philadelphia and New York, as we are, it’s easy to fall into the trap that stipulates that all forms of modern culture—music, cooking, fashion, for starters—worth serious consideration must be tethered to one or the other. Sure, that once held. But this is a different day. And Lauren Midlam is walking proof.
Classic Window Pane Dress in navy and carbon, $328
Her focus, when she launched in 2012, was online sales, namely because it didn’t require much infrastructure. But the Internet has never served subtlety particularly well. “I found out it was hard to gain traction that way because consumers couldn’t touch and feel the fabric and fit, which are two of the biggest differentiating factors in my clothes,” Midlam says.
LM StyleBar’s collections are built around tailored, minimalist, foundational pieces—dresses, pencil skirts, jackets—that can be seamlessly incorporated into a wardrobe and just as easily become its staples. “I use a lot of standard colors and clean lines that stand the test of time,” Midlam says, “so when you buy something in one season, you can match it with something from the next.”
Like life in general, the fashion houses with the brashest patterns and most aggressive silhouettes tend to receive most of our attention. But to truly appreciate Midlam’s designs, we need to run our fingers down a blazer’s silk charmeuse lining and eye up the princess seams, or notice the total lack of a side seam in a pencil skirt. All of it is a study in subtly. The results, though, are anything but: fabric that caresses you skin and forms that look downright bespoke.
Ponte Knit Classic Dress with three-quarter sleeves in carbon, $325.
Which is to say Midlam’s fortunes changed dramatically once her label started getting picked up by local boutiques.
“Fabric plays a huge role in an item’s look and a wearer’s attitude,” says Midlam, who likes to mix silk with synthetic fibers, like viscose and spandex. Together, they mold to a figure and then move, fluidly, with it. Which seems to be emboldening said figures in ways once reserved for those sporting oversized, gold Gucci clasps and screaming Dolce & Gabbana prints. “My customers,” she says, “have been requesting larger and larger sizes, which tells me that they appreciate clothes that show off their curves.”
Imagine that: Fashion that enhances self-image, instead of masking it.
Nowhere else do the increasingly sophisticated flavors of the region come together as well as they do at the Easton Public Market. The trick is not filling up too fast. Follow us for the way.
By Kendra Lee Thatcher·Photography by Jennie Finken
If I’ve learned anything, it’s that everyone should have at least one person in her life who embodies these three qualities:
1. He/she is nonjudgmental, especially in the presence of slurping.
2. He/she is always down to eat, no matter the time and place.
3. He/she is always thinking ahead.
That last one proved especially valuable, because I approached the Easton Public Market with the singular (and narrow-minded) ambition to eat as much as I could, where my Ride or Die thought to bring a large cooler.
Culinary halls may be all the rage (even though the concept is old-old-school), but Easton Public Market is not a loosely wrought trend. It’s smart (the cooking demos arm you with ideas so you don’t get home and stare blankly at all that delicious food), conscientious (it’s grassroots, but it’s designed to be self-sustaining, and the vendors are all local) and on point (the diversity rivals that of any urban hall). It’s also overwhelming. With all those aromas competing for your attention, it’s very easy to walk in and fill up on the first thing that catches your eye. But a little poise will carry you far. So here’s a field guide that’ll ensure you hit the most appetizing spots with a little room to spare.
Begin at Mister Lee’s Noodles (1) for kick-ass, authentic ramen. The dishes don’t lend themselves to sharing, but you won’t want anyone else hanging their heads over your bowl anyway. The ingredients are local and the noodles are made by Sun Noodle Co., which supplies revered ramen houses in Manhattan and Brooklyn. If you’re the kind who appreciates the astonishing amount of labor and the time-honored technique that go into constructing that bowl, grab a seat at the bar.
The Kitchen proved to be a good palate cleanser. We walked in on a juicing demonstration and sipped the extracts of beet, ginger and kale while we plotted our next meal.
Welcome as that little detox was, it had to be five somewhere, so we headed to Tolino Vineyards (2) next to sample some chambourcin (which happens to be the official grape of the Lehigh Valley). It’s a not-too-bold red that paired well later on with our Chocodiem (3) truffles and the live acoustic music.
(More on those truffles: Chocodiem collaborated with other Easton Public Market vendors on several varieties. I fell in love with the More-Than-Q BBQ (4) and the Fieldstone (5) Espresso truffles, both of which were unlike any truffle I’ve had before.)
We indulged next in the arnabit at The Taza Stop (6). It’s breaded, fried, mildly spicy cauliflower served with a scratch-made garlic sauce. Think cauliflower calamari. From The Taza Stop, it’s an easy walk to Youseff’s and Olive with a Twist, between which you’ll find deep inventories of hard-to-find spices, unusual balsamics and handcrafted soaps and body butters.
At this point, I strongly advise checking your parking meter. Time has a way of getting away from you here. That’s not, however, a legitimate defense in a Northampton County court. Also: You’re going to need to grab that cooler.
Now, let’s get down to some shopping. Don’t be afraid to ask the butchers at Dundore + Heister what’s good. They’re likely to turn you on to cuts you’ve never heard of before, but’ll become your go-tos from here on out. Then, stock up on produce, Alderfer eggs and Apple Valley Creamery raw-milk cheese at Highmark Blue Shield Farmstand (7). There should still be room in the cooler, but not much, so head back to Chocodiem for macarons.
Your appetite’s probably returning by now. A beer and Neapolitan-style pizza at Scratch (8) will satisfy those pangs. Scratch is the epitome of the Easton Public Market experience: comfortable and familiar, yet elevated. And don’t think that a pizza joint is going to be held to any less of a standard. Nearly every ingredient comes from Apple Ridge Farm and the beer is from nearby Shawnee Craft Brewery. (The taps rotate often, so be adventurous. Even if you luck into a new favorite, which we did with the lambic, it likely won’t be there your next time through anyway.)
The women manning the wood-burning oven flick pies in with a fluid motion and lunge after them without so much as a flinch. We split the Garlic 3 Ways pie, which arrived with a large, artistic swirl reminiscent of aged balsamic. Really, it’s pureed black garlic and worchester sauce. The crust was beautifully charred. And the ricotta was so impossibly creamy, I’d a been happy eating it alone with a spoon.
As we wheeled our cooler toward the exit, our stomachs full to bursting, we hesitated and wondered aloud whether we maybe should try something else before we called it a day. You will, too. The market starts to feel like an amusement park for adults. Dizzy from being knocked about ride after ride, you still want to hit the rollercoaster one more time because the moment you step outside the gates, the next decision you make isn’t going to be determined by your id.
HEALTH + FITNESS
This time around, what you can eat. Plus, a fresh, fast-but-effective workout you can take on the road with you.
By Todd Soura
Piggybacking off of last year’s column, where I highlighted the most notorious of the holiday dinner table mainstays, this time around, I’m going to carve a clearer path. Health-conscious as we’ve become, we cling to our traditions come the holiday feasts, and that means a whole lot of butter, a whole lot of sugar and a whole lot of booze. But there is a way to navigate those minefields without sabotaging your diet and fitness. And, really, let’s be clear: One indulgent meal is not going to break you. But the holidays are more of a month-long series of indulgent nights. So, while I’m tailoring this guide to one big meal, it can easily be applied to every other situation you’ll encounter over the next couple of weeks—parties, snacking, parties.
Proteins
Let’s start where we all naturally begin: with the protein. Turkey isn’t just the smart choice for holiday gorging, it’s the smart choice period. A three-ounce serving of breast meat contains a yuge amount of protein (26 grams) and very little carbs and fat, all in a mere 120 calories.
Beef is almost as high in protein and low in carbs as turkey, but it carries a much higher dose of fat and calories per serving. Ham, you’ll want to avoid as much as you can, but not for the reason you’re likely thinking. Pork is not inherently bad for us. A pork loin, in fact, is high in protein, low in carbs and relatively low in fat. But ham is not pork loin. Nor is it really pork. It’s a highly processed slab of factory-made fillers and chemicals. As a general rule, avoid any kind of boneless meat in an unnatural form.
Sides
Salad is a no-brainer. If there’s one on the table, consider yourself fortunate. You’ll want to heap it on your plate, not in that tiny little bowl. Those greens and all those veggies are loaded with fiber, which is going to help you feel fuller faster and longer than three helpings of sausage-spiked stuffing. Just be mindful of any potential landmines buried within that lush foliage—candied nuts, fist-size croutons, marshmallows.
Veggies, likewise, are all too frequently the casualties of some sinister doctoring in the name of bolstering their appeal or remaining true to Aunt Joanne’s tried-and-true (and 40-year-old) recipe. Don’t be scared off by a little seasoning. But if they’re drenched in butter, you’re better off passing. And if they’re embedded in a casserole, definitely pass. The casserole is a staple, but its time has come. Regardless of whatever vegetable is featured in its name, understand that there is no nutritional value whatsoever.
If you’re given the option, reach for the sweet potato or the yam over the Russet potato. Sure, they’re all technically veggies, but they’re not created equally. The sweet potato and yam are packed with nutrients. The Russet, not so much. Mind you, that rule does not hold in the case of candied yams and pretty much every other traditional variation. In fact, unless it’s naked, just let it be. Otherwise, the brown sugar and butter it was slathered in has long since drowned the nutritional value.
Dessert
It’s impossible to turn around this time of year and not walk into a plate of cookies, or brownies or a rack of cooling pies. You can navigate your day like an Olympic slalom skier only to be handed a plate of homemade truffles on your way out the door. You’re only human; go ahead and enjoy one. I would. I do. But cut yourself off at one. Dump the rest of those truffles off on your family after dinner, or just dump them. The longer they linger, the more the temptation will grow.
The same holds for dessert spreads. Pick one and move on. Whether you load up your plate or hang out within grazing distance of the table, you’re going to continue to munch without thought or reservation—until later on that night. Savor those few bites. You earned them. They bring you no ill will. But the others will haunt you.
When we’re hosting, it’s my chance to flip the script. There’s an entire corner of the Internet filled with healthy dessert recipes. My go-to is apple crisps, one, because they’re delicious, and two, because they’re simple as hell to make.
No one gets through the holiday season unscathed. Not even me. But if that’s your objective through the rest of the year, you’re probably living a very sheltered life. For these next couple of weeks, and the new year beyond that, aim simply to eat clean 80 percent of the time. You’ll feel healthier for it, and those occasional indulgences will taste even better.
The Holiday Express Workout
The holidays mean unyielding schedules and lots of travel. This workout can be done almost anywhere and in 15 minutes. Get your sweat on and then get on with indulging the in-laws.
Perform three rounds of the following circuit. Rest as little as possible.
(*Position yourself as you would for a pushup, only move your hands and feet together. Simultaneously—and quickly—move your hands and feet to your sides, about a shoulder-width apart. And then snap them back to the starting position. That’s one rep. If you have difficulty with the movement, just move either your hands or your feet.)
There comes a time in our adult lives when we realize that it’s time to let go of the secondhand stuff, the piecemeal collections and the flat-out old and begin forming our own identities. Mine arrived this summer as my seven-year-old nephew gulped milk from an Oktoberfest pint glass. We promptly nicknamed him Sluggo, but the site unsettled me, nonetheless.
We held on to souvenirs from college, like that glass (and many others of its kind), because they’re still totally functional, and we don’t like waste. Clearly, though, more appropriate drinkware was in order. So I made a pact with myself: My purchases would be purposeful, sustainable and as local (sourced and made) as possible.
I found Owen Moon, a budding artisan, and his 10-ounce Ceramic Dart Cup Set ($60) at the Wrightstown Farmers Market. Yep, those Dart cups, the kind we used to drink from, maybe gnaw around the lip a little and then toss into the garbage. Owen casts the Styrofoam cups in his studio at Alfred University (he’s still in school) and glazes them in faint, glossy shades of indigo, cranberry and cream. The Dart logo on the bottom of the cup’s still very much intact. It was the nostalgia that pulled me, but the ingenuity sealed the deal.
The pint glasses are stowed away, safely out of reach of lil’ Sluggo, awaiting my husband’s future cave. We’re serious adults now; we drink from Dart cups. —Kendra Lee Thatcher
The way that those handsome Billykirk bags only seem to get better with age, that’s not by accident. That’s the sweet spot that Chris Bray, one of the two brothers behind the brand, has been chasing after his entire life. Here, he invites us into his New Hope home for a glimpse of his countless points of inspiration.
By Scott Edwards Photography by Josh DeHonney
Bray, pictured with his family at their New Hope home. Above and below, some of his collections.
The large rooms and modest décor give the 18th-century New Hope home a lived-in, English manor feel. Chris and Tracy Bray moved their young family here from Jersey City, New Jersey, a few years back for the schools and, as Chris describes it, a “little bit of land.”
In the tiny plot behind their brownstone, he managed to nurture a rather robust garden. “I had plants that had, like, 250 different habaneros,” he says. And, “I was probably one of the only people that had chickens in my backyard.” Also safe to say: His rooster was not popular around his block.
Chris has spent almost all of his adult life in major northern and western cities, but he exudes an easy charm that stems from his Tennessee roots. He’s animated at turns, but he’s never rushing. A formal interview with him almost immediately becomes an organic conversation.
He and his brother, Kirk, founded the leather and canvas goods company Billykirk 17 years ago in Los Angeles. A little over a decade ago, they moved it east. And today, they maintain a studio in Jersey City, a flagship store in Lower Manhattan and a presence in fashionable boutiques around the world. This month, they’re launching a new line with J.Crew, a longtime partner. Billykirk is a brand that’s become synonymous with boundless utility, old-school craftsmanship and aging handsomely. And in those same ways, it’s also become a pure extension of Chris.
Losing ground
“This, right here, was found in our backyard in Jersey City,” Chris says, as he deposits the object in question in my cupped hands.
Is this a cannonball?
“Yeah. That’s Revolutionary War right there,” he says.
It weighs 12 pounds, but it feels heavier. Chris consulted a historian who told him that Communipaw Cove, which no longer exists, teemed with British gunboats during the war, and their yard was well within the range of their canons.
“He said there’s a good chance that it hit our backyard and it stayed there until now, because it was deep,” Chris says. “He also said, when they were leveling out the land, there’s a chance that it was dug up and planted there. I like the first story.”
He restores the cannonball to the mantel over a large fireplace in the more formal of two living rooms. Chris is a guy consumed with stuff, but not in the manner of a collector, nor in the way of a hoarder. He’s more of a historian, because it’s the stories that he connects with. The objects, whose value he cares little about, not that there’s much of it in most cases, are merely remnants and physical cues.
He used to be much worse. Tracy’s reined him in. A personal trainer with an online supplement program called Leany Greeny in development, she shares little of his fascination with artifacts. Moving cross-country has a way of doing that. And as a Briton, she’s done that and then some.
“When she first met me, she thought I lived with my grandfather because I had pipes and smoking stands,” Chris says.
There’s still some evidence of his collections scattered around the house—the cannonball, a candid portrait of Marilyn Monroe that was taken and given to him by the revered photographer William Woodfield, whom Chris befriended toward the end of his life in LA—but most of what remains has been relegated to his third-floor office and his workshop in the basement, where he crafts small sculptures with various found objects. So we head upstairs first.
On a wall outside of his small office that faces the third-floor landing, Chris has arranged a stylish vignette that could hold down the display window at the Billykirk flagship. It’s comprised of some of his oldest Billykirk possessions—a well-worn, black watchstrap that dates back to the company’s inception, a hand-stitched leather satchel inspired by a World War II-era Belgian map bag—and some of his most prized personal ones—swatches of olive drab canvas from his uncle’s Vietnam boot bag, a Swiss medic case.
Inside the office, beside a spare desk and an old lamp and chair, there’s an enclosed, built-in closest and a slim dresser that sits between them. The closet and the dresser are crammed with loose ends.
“These are my dad’s boots … Just an old switchblade, came out of my neighbor’s place. He passed away. Again, they were throwing everything out in that house,” Chris says, taking partial inventory of the dresser’s contents.
I spot a pair of Dorothy-looking, red-sequined girls shoes in a corner. “My daughter went through a couple pairs of these,” he says. “I just kept them because she beat the hell out of them, and I just liked that.”
Earlier, in the course of a conversation that intertwined references of this stuff with his and Kirk’s ambition to turn Billykirk’s bags, belts and cardholders into the kinds of possessions that get passed down, I asked, finally, where this obsession with heirlooms comes from.
“My family’s an old, old American family,” he says. The Daniel Bray Highway, that stretch of Route 29 that runs between Stockton, NJ, and Frenchtown, NJ, it was named after a relative. “When that happens, you’ve got just this huge family that, by and large, most of them kept stuff. We keep stuff. We pass stuff down. The connection we have with stuff, it’s just important. For me, it’s just important.”
And yet, even standing among these crowded shelves and drawers, the stuff’s not as important as it once was. Since Tracy’s intervention, Chris describes himself as “sort of a minimalist.”
“I’m not gonna kill myself trying to save any of it. I just won’t. At the end of the day, I’ve sort of realized it’s just stuff,” he says. “I mean, my wife really kind of helps me remember that.”
Do your daughters (Matilda, 11, and Willa, 6) have any interest in it?
“Yeah. You know, there’s something,” Chris says. “They want to go through my junk drawers. They’re not ready, because they’ll lose stuff.”
So there’s still some value to him, more than he’s likely admitting here, considering the ease with which the stories come and the degrees to which he lights up telling them. Matilda and Willa are curious kids, even though they hardly act their ages. Matilda’s working with a former Bucks County Poet Laureate to publish her first book of poetry. And Willa, “She’s a piece of work,” Chris says. “Fiercely independent.” It’s inevitable that some of his sentimentality is likely to rub off on them, but Matilda and Willa appear to be firmly entrenched on Team Tracy.
A beautiful mind
The sculpture, Chris has been doing for a while now, “getting my mind off stuff.” From the third floor, we’ve descended many steps to reach a cave-like room in a corner of the short but sprawling basement. Chris’s collections have migrated, literally, to the extreme reaches of the home.
Relatively organized clusters of found objects are scattered across a workbench just inside the doorway. Within arm’s reach, there’s a small table, atop which sit several assembled pieces, all about the size of a fist.
“I’m just making shapes here,” he says. “Here’s a piece I just did. That’s a frog gig. This is part of a wooden loom.”
Chris retreats to the other side of the room—in order to do so, he shimmies around a massive, old nautilus machine that occupies at least two-thirds of the floor space in this room—to retrieve a weathered lobster buoy so that he can assemble a loose mock-up of a lamp he plans to create. I’m cynical until it comes together. There’s an unlikely cohesiveness in his creations, even the lobster buoy lamp.
He also powdercoats everything and anything that looks like it would be improved by being powdercoated. He picks up a little iron weight plate. “I like olive. So I powdercoated this little weight olive,” he says. “It takes sort of a weird brain to go for it. That’s sort of what makes me tick.”
You can find Billykirk (@billykirkinc) locally at The Selvedge Yard in New Hope, Modern Love in Frenchtown and Art in the Age in Old City.
In spite of the prevailing trends, traditional (read: decadent) dishes continue to anchor our holiday dinner tables, from Thanksgiving right on through New Year’s Day. The likes of stuffing and any kind of casserole almost sound foreign in our modern vocabulary. Yet, the thought of bellying up and not reaching for one or the other (and then, instinctively, the gravy boat) would be downright sacrilegious. In that vein, we’re offering up a dish for your consideration that may not be as familiar but should fit in quite nicely with your rotation. If we’re going to indulge, why hold back?
Recipe + photography by Yelena Strokin
Chicken Liver Pâté with Red Wine and Cranberry Jelly Serves four.
FOR THE PÂTÉ 3 tbsps. extra-virgin olive oil 4 tbsps. unsalted butter 1 large yellow onion, chopped 1 medium carrot, peeled and chopped 5-6 white button mushrooms, sliced 1 small garlic clove, crushed 1 lb. fresh chicken livers, cleaned and trimmed 2 tbsps. dry Marsala wine Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
FOR THE JELLY 1 cup red wine ½ cup cranberries (fresh or frozen) 2-3 tbsps. sugar Pinch of salt ½ tsp. freshly ground nutmeg Zest from half a lemon 1 tsp. gelatin
TO SERVE 1 baguette, cut into inch-thick slices
To make the jelly In a small saucepan over a medium heat, mix together the red wine and cranberries and let them simmer for 10 minutes. Then, add the sugar, salt, nutmeg and lemon zest and mix well. Add the gelatin next and stir until it dissolves.
Turn the heat off and let the mixture sit for a minute or two. Then, carefully strain it through a fine sieve into another pot, where it will sit and cool.
To make the pâté
In a large frying pan over a medium heat, warm the olive oil. Add the onion, carrot and mushrooms and sauté them until they soften, about five minutes. Then, add the garlic and cook until it becomes lightly fragrant, about two minutes.
Add the chicken livers next, season with salt and stir to coat them in the olive oil. Then, add the Marsala wine and allow the alcohol to cook down, about three minutes. Reduce the heat to low and cook uncovered, occasionally—and gently—turning the livers until they achieve a rich brown on the outside and a light pink on the inside, eight to 10 minutes.
At that point, allow the livers to cool slightly. Then, using a food processor, blend them until they reach the consistency of a thick paste. Blend in the butter next until it completely dissolves into the paste. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
Divide the pâté among small glasses. Reserve the last quarter of the glass for the jelly. Once you’ve topped them off, stick the glasses in the refrigerator so the jelly can set.
To serve, simply slather the baguette slices—toast them lightly first—with generous portions of the pâté, making sure to get a good dose of the jelly on there, too.
Yelena Strokin is a Newtown-based food stylist and photographer and the founder of the blog Cooking Melangery.
Ayesha Curry is everywhere lately, as a lifestyle expert, a blogger, a magazine contributor and now, an author and a TV personality. We caught up with her ahead of her appearance at the Philadelphia Taste Festival this month to discuss all that she’s got cooking.
By Jessica Downey
It’s already been a whirlwind fall for Ayesha Curry. Aside from holding down the homefront with her husband, reigning NBA MVP Steph Curry, she’s been promoting her first cookbook and shooting her new Food Network show. She’s also likely been squeezing in some shooting practice. Video of a three-pointer Curry sank during a pickup game last August in China promptly went viral. And there’s more to come. Later this month, she’ll be headlining the Philadelphia Taste Festival of Food, Wine and Spirits October 22 at the Valley Forge Casino Resort.
If you’re already on familiar terms with the 26-year-old Canadian-born, Charlotte, North Carolina-raised mom of two daughters, just wait. You haven’t seen anything yet. This may be that elusive moment when we’re able to pinpoint the precise turn when someone becomes a household name.
Already, Curry’s lifestyle blog and YouTube channel, Little Lights of Mine, where she shares her love of food, family and her approach to living a balanced life, have quickly become go-to resources for millions looking for a lift in and out of the kitchen. Curry also contributes to TheBump.com and CALLED magazine, and she’s been featured in Food & Wine, Time, InStyle, People, USA Today, Brides, POPSUGAR, Hello Beautiful and Diablo Magazine. And, she launched her own brand of extra-virgin olive oil in 2014.
Before her trip to Valley Forge, Home + Table talked with the San Francisco resident about growing up in a foodie household, how she makes her family her top priority and her cookbook, a collection of about 100 of her favorite recipes, many of which she learned growing up, including Cast Iron Biscuits and Smoked Salmon Scramble.
And, of course, we asked if she’s hiding some serious game in deference to Steph.
What were you first introductions to food, growing up in Canada with a Jamaican mom?
ACAt my house, we always had ginormous family get-togethers with incredibly flavorful food.
What kind of influences did your mom’s heritage play on what you ate as a kid?
I think all those flavors really helped to broaden my palate and my taste buds.
What was your favorite thing to eat growing up?
I loved my mom’s oven-roasted, brown-sugar chicken, which I made this spring on “Rachel Ray.”
The food industry has been revolutionized in the last decade by so many celebrity chefs and cooking shows. Where do you fit in?
I’m a young mom of two whose passion for food really stems from family togetherness. My whole message is about cooking with love in an effort to gather your family together. I hope it will help people communicate with each other and keep their sense of family alive.
What do you love most about cooking, especially now that you have your own family?
I absolutely love getting the family involved in making the meals and then seeing the smiles on everyone’s faces when we’re done.
During the NBA season, which is pretty long, are you able to have regular dinners together as a family?
Yes! It’s actually the time when life is the most normal for us. We try to keep an everyday-regimen in place. Most nights are spent together unless there’s a game.
What made you want to write a cookbook?
I really wanted to put my love for food into words. I also wanted to share my joy of cooking for my family and getting everyone to gather together in hopes that one day they would do the same. And I wanted to leave a legacy for my girls.
How does your family-first approach translate to the recipes?
Many of them are family favorites that have been passed down from generation to generation. The others are some that I created over the years. Everything that went into this book is meant to be quick, easy and approachable.
We can’t let you go, of course, without discussing that three-pointer. Was it a fluke, or are you hiding some serious game?
In my dream, it goes in every time. But that shot was a little luck along with some pointers I got from someone I know.
Photo courtesy Little, Brown and Company / Coeur de la Photography
For a couple precious weeks each year, we can enter the homes of complete (and, sometimes, not) strangers and gawk at their stuff. To ensure that you satisfy your curiosity, we offer a brief guide to the prime snooping—err, tours.
By Scott Edwards
‘Tis the season to scope out some of the most inspiring halls around us, public and private. And, of course, soak up some holiday vibes. But, let’s be honest, we drag the dog out for a walk out most nights as a convenient excuse to peer through our neighbors’ floor-to-ceiling windows. These are the couple of weeks of the year when we can drop the act and walk right in. What follows is a guide to the season’s most promising house tours. Rest assured that every property will be decked out. You’re probably more interested in what lies beneath the garland, though. As are we.
Newtown Historic Assoc. Holiday Open House Tour | December 3
Six homes and seven public buildings, all in Rockwell-ian Newtown Borough, comprise this year’s self-guided walking tour, which dates back to 1963 (when admission was a buck-fifty; it’s $30 now). You’ll find some of the most impressive examples of colonial-era architecture in Bucks County among this collection. Chadds Ford Historical Society Candlelight Christmas Tour | Dec. 3
Several historic Chadds Ford and Pennsbury township properties will be decorated and awash in candlelight—or, rather, sunlight; the tour starts at 1 p.m.; but candles will be burning, or plugged in, at least—for the self-guided tour. This one’s most appropriate for the history savant. Most of the featured stops played a role in the 1777 Battle of Brandywine.
Fonthill Holiday Lights Meander | Dec. 10
There’s only one stop on this tour, but it’s a doozy. In broad daylight on an average Tuesday, Henry Mercer’s personal castle in Doylestown, Fonthill Museum, is akin to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory, if Wonka was a freak craftsman instead of a sugar fiend. Adorned with garland, candles and designer Christmas trees, it’s sensory overload. Haverford Holiday House Tour | Dec. 11
Five homes, the oldest dating back to the 19th century. Expect lots of wide-plank floors, short doorframes and built-in shelving and cabinetry. In other words, the kind of authentic nuances that, despite our boundless innovation since their inception, have become impossible to replicate.
Pottsgrove Manor by Candlelight | Dec. 11
On the 12th day of Christmas, the English colonists got down with their God-fearing selves—indulgent dinners, lavish parties. So, here, actors will be recreating some of those scenes throughout the 264-year-old mansion of Pottstown’s founder. There will be something on all three floors—dancing in the parlor, cooking in the kitchen and, we’re expecting, a secret rendezvous in the servants’ quarters.
