Does the Recipe Need More Cream? A Shower of Dark Black Pepper? Straw & Hay and "Ashes & Ink"

By Alice Garbarini Hurley

    Many Italian chefs offer a pasta classic called Straw and Hay. On Friday, I made Lidia Bastianich's version from her book of favorite recipes. The straw is regular (straw-colored) fettuccine and the hay is green (spinach) fettuccine. Add Parmigiano Reggiano, chicken broth, heavy cream, EVOO, prosciutto, baby peas, scallions.... It's an appealing idea, the recipe takes only one page in the book and is prepared in a skillet. I enjoy Lidia, and I enjoyed making it. But it wasn't exactly all I hoped for. 

Spice, teen taster, thought it needed salt, and I thought it needed more clingy richness, like that first Fettuccine Alfredo sauce I made at Dumont High School in the International Chefs' Club. I opened The Pollan Family Table cookbook (Corky, Tracy and Michael Pollan) and found another pasta in a white cream sauce---with butter, garlic, grated Parmesan, and more cream and black pepper than Lidia uses. Also: Plenty of spinach to boost the nutrition. So I made those additions.

In the end, it was good enough. But I think next time, I will also add some grilled chicken.

***  

 

Julian Shatkin as Quinn and Kathryn Erbe as his mother, Molly, in "Ashes & Ink," about addiction. Photo by Thomas Mundell.

Another two-noun title this week that was not quite everything I wanted/expected it to be: The off-Broadway production of "Ashes & Ink," a drama about addiction. The A word is almost a character.

Molly (Kathryn Erbe) is a pretty widow in an Eileen Fisher-style sweater coat. She lives in her tidy city apartment, wearing a headset, cataloging an extensive library of birdsong with a computer program. It's her business. She and her belated husband listened to birds of all feathers. The recordings also include their son, Quinn. Listen: A baby babbling, then the chirp and trill of a juvenile song sparrow. As a young mother, Molly compared the two sounds.

Now an addict in his 20s, Quinn (handsome standout Julian Shatkin, a boy in the 2014 film "Like Sunday, Like Rain") returns from Serenity House rehab, drops his duffel, sits in the chair where Molly had arranged a folded, fringed throw--stylish, homey. "That place was bullshit," he says. Right off, you know. His disorderly conduct and unpredictability are in stark contrast to the calm home, with a few bright Post-it memos on the wall and yellow No. 2 pencils neatly arranged in a cup.

Good luck with such serenity when an addict's sure foothold (in this case, in black Converse high-tops) is in the house. With his black leather jacket and silver rings, Quinn's surprise return is jarring. Molly's love partner, Leo (Francisco Solorzano at this performance) is a widower with a young son, Felix (Rhylee Watson), who adores Quinn but finds a crack pipe big brother buried under an oak tree at the country house. Felix was digging for acorns when he cut his hand. A deep cut for a parent. Shame. Your older child modeling substance abuse for a younger sibling. Making a faint effort to bury it, but no. You failed once, now might fail again because you could not nip the problem in the bud. What a loser you are. Two lives now about to be wasted at your hands.

That's how "fixers" talk to themselves. People who drain their own sanity and health, thinking it is their responsibility to solve the problem, rather than remain standing, even personally thriving, in the face of it. To be better and do better, to do their best, family members eventually arrive at acceptance. 

The Al-Anon part is good. We learn about a secret society. First, Molly faces the hand she was dealt, which takes a lot out of her, out of us all. "Where are you? Where’s my little boy who loves spinach and pirates and snowy owls?" Molly asks. "You hold your beautiful baby in your arms and smell the breast milk, crusting a little behind his ears. I’d dip Q-tips in baby oil and clean back there, really gently. Rock him to sleep and then...who knew... you end up holding a body bigger than yours and pray that he’s still breathing." 

Quinn (Julian Shatkin) and his mother, Molly (Kathryn Erbe). Photo by Thomas Mundell.

"Take Care of You. Who?" She tells of "a drudgy meeting in a dark church hall," code for Al-Anon. Molly's blue denim jacket looks small, so small on her dainty frame, but she is a fighter, a would-be warrior, silvery streaks in her hair, faint crinkles around her eyes. Life's badges, which we mothers see, and celebrate. We know the little creases are hard-earned and true. No mother wants addiction at her door. She loses precious time that could go toward, among other things, bedtime beauty cream rituals. Or work, or creativity. Or other family members. 

We are tiny but mighty in the face of A's force and grip. Like Molly, we learn the three C's of Al-Anon. "I didn’t cause it, I can’t control it, and I can’t cure it." It lifts the blame.  

"Having you here and not knowing where you are is a fucking nightmare," Molly finally says to her son. "Hand me your keys. Leave me be until you can learn to stay alive. You know where to go for help."

Only problem, the story may be a bit too neatly tied up with a square knot. Molly's clearheadedness, bravery and hope, her success at getting Quinn out, at least for now, with support from Leo. IRL, it can take what feels like a lifetime to get there, and maybe there is a catharsis in watching others struggle with us, not pull it together. There's nothing neatly tied up about addiction, for the addict or a bystander. Still, this story helps us ponder, find inner strength. Know we are not alone. We wonder from seat F1 how the writer, Martha Pichey, knows all this.

The play is directed by Alice Jankell, mother to the actor who plays Quinn, with that great hair, ripped* muscles--and a tattoo that may or may not be made from both his father's ashes and studio ink.

Ashes & Ink
At the AMT Theater, Manhattan.

Performance time: 90 minutes. Running through the 2 p.m. matinee on Sunday, November 3.

Leo: Javier Molina.

Bree (Molly's sister): Tamara Flannagan.

Scenic Design: Tim McMath.

Costume Design: Kaitlin Feinberg.

Sound Design: Alexis Attalla.

Lighting Design: Paul Hudson.

Al-Anon Family Groups: alanon.org.

*Merriam-Webster says "ripped" means

1. being under the influence of alcohol or drugs: high, stoned
2. having high muscle definition

The Hands of Fear

Above: Madame X, the mysterious woman burglar on “I Love Lucy.” I stole her name for this post. The role was played by a woman named Alice. My Madame X looks much more menacing.

Too often, fear drives the car of my life, a scary thought in itself. Let’s face her as the villain she is, Madame X. Green skin, dark cloche, shapeless dress, severe black lace-ups with heels. So evil that she chases adorable little dogs and daughters and sons and parents, especially parents, probably mothers most of all. Not someone you want to trust driving your vehicle, especially with you in the passenger seat.

She haunts me. With her at the helm, life feels unsteady, unmanageable, shifting, out of gear. It’s hard to think clearly, calmly and capably, to ask my editor why my writing payment is taking so long, or to trust that things will go right with Punchy’s school placement. No, I can’t do those things, not if Madame X is at the wheel.

If I give Madame X permission to hold the wheel and the gear shift, no wonder I am prone to catastrophize and think my car--or even yours, since you’re traveling life with me--will careen off the road. 

I realize as I write here that I have skills and ability to change that, to take back the wheel. I can firmly and steadily wrest it from the cold, bony hands of Madame X. I trust myself not to careen off the road. I am a safe driver, not erratic and mean (at least if my brain is clear, not clouded with sugar, my substance of choice). All Madame X does is feed my nerves, add to the troupe of worry dancers in my head, and enjoy watching the show.

When I was a little girl in Dumont, I was afraid of the big hole in the lower trunk of an old tree in the forest behind Bedford Park. I thought a witch lived inside that dark, damp hollow and I didn’t want to take any chances and stand alone near that tree. Also under Witch heading, I was terrified of “The Wizard of Oz." I clung to Pudding, my blonde dolly in red and white smocked dress, alone in my bedroom when the movie played on T.V. downstairs.

Now, I am not phased by those hollowed out tree trunks. I love to walk through forests and feel small in big, sweeping, strong nature. 

Now, I can return to clear and steady driving on life’s road. I think I can. But moment by moment, day by day, it will require the wherewithal to remember that I hold the wheel in my hands, that I don’t hand it over to wily Madame X--not if I want to travel safely, eyes on the road.

Oh, wait a minute. I do hold the wheel, here on earth, here on crazy Route 46 West, but truthfully, I believe that some spirit or starry galaxy or mother above holds me while I drive the car and if I pause and ponder, I get guidance to make the right turns.

Crazyland: My New Story on Medium

Here is the link:

https://alicegarbarinihurley.medium.com/a-food-addicts-waking-words-before-stashing-cookie-dough-under-the-bbq-lid-e263142ee066

Sweet dreams,

New Medium Story: Goodbye, Marshmallow Fluff

 

I took a break from sugar addiction writing but this happened today. Here is LINK. Good night.

Remembering Mom on My Journey

My parents on their New England honeymoon in 1951.  I love what they are wearing, and love seeing them in their late twenties.

Here is the story link:

https://alicegarbarinihurley.medium.com/recovery-story-36-queen-annes-lace-on-old-cape-cod-a63879866b9f

Signing Off for the Night

The next flower-titled story is #29, Hydrangea.

This morning, I started writing #29, Hydrangea, in my Medium flower-titled story series about sugar/overeating addiction recovery.

But as happens some days, I thought I HAD BETTER get dressed and get ready for the day rather than sink into the writing, which will often take several hours. I thought I’D BETTER get out of my sleepwear, shampoo my. hair, put on a skirt and top. GET UP from my perch on the green living room couch.

Then, as also happens, I didn’t. I DIDN’T get dressed and ready until 6:30 p.m. And I DIDN’T do the writing, either.

I like to stop on the sugar/overeating journey IN THE MOMENT to capture the feelings and the progress in real time. But I cannot always do that.

My mind sashays back and forth: You HAVE TO get dressed first. You SHOULD get dressed first. 

Then, you have other writing assignments to do. You SHOULDN’T take that long luxury of time to do the story series.

I feel good writing the stories in the series.

 I have to find the right balance.

So here I am at 9:25 p.m. At least my hair is freshly shampooed.

TCOY

1. Healthy eating included: Ezekiel English muffin, Fage 0 percent Greek yogurt (sooo good), raspberries, blackberries, almonds, Dan’s tofu stir-fry, Chinese shrimp and veggies.
2. Important work re. Skipper’s return--thinking, praying, talks with Dan and Mimi.
3. Important texts.
4. Nice nap.
5. Weekly journaling group on Zoom, 8 p.m.

One Lump or Two? Another Sugar Story

 https://alicegarbarinihurley.medium.com/this-moment-is-different-45a31eb8799e