Manolo for the Big Girl

The last few days have been revoltingly hot around here. No, I’m not going to get into a discussion about how much hotter it is where you are or ‘well at least you’re not freezing your nipples off, Twistie.’ I am hot. This bothers me. It’s nine in the damn morning and I’m already doing everything in my power to cool myself off. This is Not Okay.

My cat is particularly unhappy with the situation because he wants to be cuddled and he’s wearing a fur coat…and determined to give back all the heat he sucked from my body in the winter when I was freezing my damn ass off.

In case you couldn’t tell, hot weather makes Twistie grumpy, and I ain’t talking Snow White’s army of little people, either!

And so it is that I turn with longing to the refreshing, cool drink.

Today’s recipe comes from Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone by Deborah Madison. Trust me, even if you’re not vegetarian (and I’m not) Deborah Madison’s books are well worth every penny, being full of delicious, easy to follow, fabulously imaginative recipes for vegetables. Whether or not you serve them with meat, you’ll definitely find some great stand bys to serve you well for years to come.

Anyway. There’s a small section in this book devoted to breakfast drinks, but many of them are also perfect for cooling down on a hot afternoon. Being fond of nectarines, I’m particularly enamoured of the Nectarine-Mango Frappe. Mmm…nectarines.

2 Nectarines or Peaches

1 Large Mango

1 1/2 Cup Buttermilk or Yogurt

A few drops Vanilla

6 Ice Cubes

Fresh Lemon or Lime juice to taste.

Peel and slice the fruit, then puree in a blender or food processor with the yogurt, vanilla, and ice until smooth. Add lemon or lime juice to taste and serve. Serves 2 - 3.

That’s it. It’s easy enough for me to do even with my brain melting like a clock in a Salvadore Dali painting.

And if I might recommend, these glasses would be superfantastic to serve this in!

Look, the simple and versatile pump by the name of Nanico, which usually sells for $235 or more, is on 40% sale at both Zappos and Shoes.com, at a savings of 94 American dollars!  (Francesca frets that the American dollar is not worth as much as it used to be, but such is life. We who earn our income in dollars and spend much of it abroad console ourselves with the beautiful, well-made shoes.)

Happy weekend!

xoxo,

Francesca

Can you even imagine how unspeakably fab you would be in these robin egg glories? They are, of course, by il Maestro Manolo, from his new Pre-Fall collection.

It is to sigh.

Do you know what you really need to show these off to their best advantage, though?

A yacht.

Growing up we had the sweetest little yacht in the whole wide world named The Night Owl and it still wounds my patent leather soul that I never had the opportunity to wear any of my fabby shoes acquired later in life aboard The Night Owl.

I feel that many of my shoes really need a yacht to truly be shown to their best, and I suspect that when I die and if by some clerical error through the pearly gates (how Chanel!) my celestial residence won’t be a bunch of martyrs in cotton voile maxi-dresses perched on clouds, serenely plucking upon the ten-stringèd lyre. Instead, I will repent from my previous evil ways –namely scuttling about on deck like a sartorially challenged crab in clear pink glitter jelly sandals and sneaker-type monstrosities with neon corkscrew laces and a good deal more layers of rolled-down socks than the weather and confines of good taste required.

Francesca simply adores the relatable, homespun, theologically honest works of Anne Bradstreet, who moved to the Massachusetts colony from England as a newly-married teenager and vented her frustrations and faith into wonderful verse.

Here is  a collection of Bradstreet’s complete works.

And here are  two  biographies of Mistress Bradstreet. Francesca has not read them yet but looks forward to it!

Happy reading!

xoxo, Francesca

A reader from Portland, Oregon writes:

Dear Francesca,

 I am a poor working girl who saves her money to buy nice clothes. My wardrobe is not very big, but what it is in my closet is carefully chosen and sometimes hard-earned. Unfortunately, even the best-quality clothes wear out eventually. I have beautiful skirts whose hems are fraying after several years, a jacket with fraying wrists, and a few items with missing buttons  (which went missing after I’d already used the extra buttons that came with the shirts, to replace other buttons which had gone missing). And let’s not talk about the zippers, which I seem to abuse more than normal. Is there any way to hide these flaws? I hate to get rid of clothes that cost so much and which I used to wear constantly, until the constant wear started to show. Help!

 Frayed at the Edges

 Dear Frayed,

 Good for you for picking a few items from which you get much use! That is, ultimately, the best use of your money. It is far better to buy a $100 skirt which you will wear 50 times (at $2 per wearing) than a $30 skirt which you will wear twice (at $15 per wearing). Francesca does wonder what you are doing to those buttons and zippers – perhaps you need a cup of coffee in the morning before you get dressed? — But, as you say, even the best purchases eventually will show their age, even if you are very gentle and careful.

 Francesca cannot repeat often enough: Make friends with a seamstress! All of the clothing you mentioned can be saved.

 First, the buttons: Get thee to a store which sells pretty buttons, and replace ALL the buttons on those shirts. Francesca once did this, replacing plain black velvet buttons on a wool winter coat with fancy gold ones, and many of her friends asked where she had purchased her new coat. Remember to buy extra buttons for future emergencies!

 Second, the hems. There are two possibilities here. First, a seamstress may be able to “roll” the hem without too much deleterious effect. It will make the skirts a little shorter, but if they are not already very short, this may not matter.  Second, is the possibility of hiding the flaws in the hems. Depending on the design, you may be able to replace the material (for example, if the jacket has a decorated wrist which can be removed and replaced with other fabric) or with ribbons or lace. Get thee to your nearest fabric store and have fun!

Third, zippers are quite easy to replace; bring the item to the fabric store and ask for replacement zippers. If you are handy with a sewing machine you can replace them yourself, or your seamstress can do it for not too much money – certainly less than the cost of  replacing the skirt!

 It is worthwhile to spend a little money at the fabric store than to spend much, much more money at the fancy clothing boutique.

Happy mending!

Xoxo,

Francesca

No.

I like Yoox. I have no idea how to pronounce it (in my head it rhymes with gadzooks though the internet says Yo-Ox) and the idea that an XXL is a 12 makes that weird vein in my head get all throbby until it looks like my forehead is pregnant with an alien baby but I do like it. Anyway, there are many great steals to be had, but I’m not mentioning any of them until I buy what I like. Last time I recommended a pair of Alexander McQueens and you heartless twitches bought them right out from under me! Hateful!

Velvet Goldmine. Anyone who has any interest in 70’s glam has got to see this film.
Unbelievably gorgeous, as all Todd Haynes films are wont to be, Velvet Goldmine stars Jonathon Rhys Meyers and traces the rise and mysterious fall of David Bowie-like sensation Brian Slade and his alter ego Maxwell Demon. After a staged assassination attempt, his fans turn on him and Slade disappears completely. On the ten year anniversary of the hoax, a journalist (Christian Bale) is sent to uncover the truth about Slade’s disappearance. Toni Collette is a treat as the jaded Mandy, Slade’s (ex)wife who switches effortlessly between American and British accents, and Eddie Izzard is note perfect as Slade’s smarmy agent in big rings and raccoon coat but it’s Ewan MacGregor looking like Kurt Cobain in Iggy Pop drag as Curt Wild the strung out, hopped up visionary of the Next Big Thing…Punk.

The soundtrack is killer with excellent selections from Brian Eno, Shudder to Think and The Venus in Furs (featuring Thom Yorke from Radiohead) but understandably features no David Bowie. This is one of my favorite movies and, had I not had the hangover that ate Manhattan on Monday, would have taken the first spot. For what it’s worth, I do not prefer the director’s cut as I find it too dark.

There, that’s enough of this celluloid stuff, let’s get back to shoes!

When my mother was a new mom, my father started a tradition: breakfast in bed. Scrambled eggs, toast, crisp bacon, her inevitable strong fresh-brewed coffee, and a bowl of sliced strawberries dusted with sugar and doused in half and half.

As the years went on and my brothers and I got bigger, the tradition continued. Of course, it grew to involve three young children bouncing around on the bed with her arguing over who got the sunday comics first. The menu, however, remained the same. Scrambled eggs, toast, crisp bacon, strong fresh-brewed coffee, and a bowl of sliced strawberries dusted with sugar and doused in half and half.

Even when the children all grew into responsible adults and began leading lives away from Mom and Dad, the tradition continued. Those of us in town continued to perch on the bed with Mom and eat that same breakfast. I took over brewing the coffee since I turned out to be the one who followed in Mom’s footsteps while my brothers grew up to be tea drinkers like Dad.
Then Mom told me a secret one Mother’s Day - her very last, as it turned out. Every year she looked forward to and dreaded Mother’s Day. She loved the presents, she loved the breakfast menu…but she detested beyond expression trying to eat it in bed! She just never had the heart to tell Dad because he was so proud to have come up with something that romantic on his own.

So who out there has a Mother’s Day tradition that involves food? I’d love to hear about it!

Once upon a time in San Francisco, city of fog and whimsy, there was a restaurant - nay, a Mecca for burger lovers and fans of a now-obscure puppeteer and children’s book illustrator known as Wolo - that showed how a humble foodstuff, when done with love, care and a touch of ingenuity could be an amazing thing. That place was known as The Hippo.

The Hippopotamus Hamburger Restaurant awed me when I first walked through its doors at the tender age of ten. The walls were covered in glorious murals of cartoon hippos doing decidedly non-hippo-like things. The girl hippos wore polka-dotted hairbows. The ones viewed from the rear were seen to wear matching bows on their tails and little heart-shaped tattoos on their rumps. The boy hippos looked smitten at the girl hippos. Some of the boy hippos wore spotted neckerchiefs and tall chef’s toques. They looked proud of their work, and well they should have. What was done in the Hippo kitchen was positively magical.

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