It's a boy!

The Bow Tie Guy and I have given birth to a baby boy, Archibald J. McNeil!

Perhaps I should clarify. While it has been almost nine months since my last post here, the gestation has not resulted in a life form. No, the blood sweat and tears produced a lovely little business:

What is Archibald J McNeil, you ask? We are purveyors of exceptional accessories for the maverick gentleman. Our products are handcrafted by an expert metalsmith here in grand ol’ USA, and while we presently offer nine cuff link designs, we will be expanding our range of gentleman’s essentials in the near future.

So please, stop by and take a look around. And I promise to spend a few more hours tending to this neglected space posthaste.

http://www.archibaldjmcneil.com

MT

AGAINST THE GRAIN

I have never strived to be ordinary. Strike that. As an adult, I have never strived to be ordinary. I did come of age in a small Midwestern town where fitting in was more a means of survival than a character flaw. Yet secretly, in the depths of my psyche, I longed to march to the beat of my own drummer. I consider my swift decampment from that region evidence of this inner desire.

No longer hemmed in by the threat of abuse from others, or rather not caring about their trifling opinions, the opportunities are limitless. And yet, it only occurred to me today that I had unwittingly submitted to the confines of convention regarding one most basic principle of life, mealtime.

Allow me to elaborate. Modern Americans subscribe to the idea of three meals a day. Some may even incorporate a couple of snacks scattered throughout. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Even those who skip breakfast acknowledge the meal’s existence. I have always gamboled along in this rhythm, never pausing to question what works for me. In fact, upon careful examination, I found I rather dislike the concept of lunch. Lunch, for me, has always been an unconquerable obstacle. I’ve spent hours thinking about what to eat for lunch. While, yes, this may sound a bit compulsive, and maybe admittedly it is, I simply have never jived with that midday meal. It always occurs a tad too early or far too late. I’m not even a fan of standard lunch fare - sandwiches of grey meat slapped between two overly thick slices of bread, salads that fill on demand yet never truly satisfy, soups that sedate, and on and on. Which is not to say I don’t enjoy salad and soups and sometimes sandwiches. I do indeed, just not midday.

Henceforth I will be ruled by this intrepid declaration: I’m abolishing lunch. No longer will I fret about what to eat at the noontime hour. Instead I will fill my day with quaint dalliances, simple affairs to quench my hunger. Breakfast, Elevenses, Afternoon Tea and Dinner. It all sounds quite delightful, doesn’t it?

Dear readers, how do you live against the grain?

THE BOTTOMLESS PIT

Image from Vogue Paris, by Inez van Lamsweerde and Vinoodh Matadin

Today an annual event occurs where sweat meets tears and glory is reserved for only one. It goes by many names, officially and unofficially, and has spawned countless imitations (Lingerie Bowl, anyone?) but I have reserved my own moniker for this beast which has consumed me for the past few months (see above). Today is my day of rest. Tomorrow will be ripe with results and metrics culminating in a crowning of the game’s winner. Oh, this has absolutely nothing to do with football, reader. Have I mentioned I work in advertising? No? Welcome to my world. If I didn’t get paid to do this, I’d shutter myself indoors, run a steamy bath and settle in with a good book and a pot of licorice tea.

I know I have many blog items to attend to since my absence of several weeks and I promise they are coming. I just need to unplug and reboot for 24 hours.

FROM THE MT KITCHEN: GRANOLA

Granola scattered across a mountain of greek yogurt is a favorite in the Modern Traditionalist's home, especially when BTG and I are monitoring our waistlines, a perpetual hobby of ours. The high price of most store bought granola is really a bit silly when most of us have the ingredients in our pantries. So apron up, dear reader, and let the spicy-sweetness wash over you.

MT's Granola

2 cups of rolled oats

3/4 cup sliced almonds

3/4 cup pecans

1/2 cup raisins

1/2 cup dried cranberries

1 tablespoon of cinnamon

1 teaspoon of allspice

pinch of nutmeg

1/2 cup honey

2 tablespoons of apple juice

2 teaspoons of vanilla extract

Preheat your oven to 250F. Mix all dry ingredients together in a large mixing bowl. Heat honey, apple juice and vanilla in a small saucepan over medium-low heat until it has a thin consistency. This should take only a minute or two, so keep a watchful eye on it. Mix the honey mixture with the dry ingredients and stir until coated. Spread out onto a large baking sheet (if not non-stick, coat the sheet with oil). Cook for approximately 1 hour, stirring 2-3 times.

I must add, all ovens are different. I've attempted plenty of recipes which instruct one to bake at 350F and my granola has always burned at this temperature in an electric oven but not in my shabby NYC gas oven. Cooking at a lower temperature increases the baking time but eliminates any fears of burning. Burnt granola is quite unsavory. I encourage you to feel your granola for doneness. It should crisp up nicely which may take longer than 1 hour in your oven.

Enjoy as a topping or on its own with milk.

I WANT TO BE IN PICTURES

Some say a person’s character can be revealed through their choice of footwear, others in how they treat wait staff. I choose to believe you can glean quite a bit from a person’s choice in portraiture. I’m sure you’re thinking I’m a bit off my rocker. Nobody commissions portraits any longer outside of their final year of high school and who wants to be judged by those? I certainly loathe that idea! I enjoy the thought of eventually having my likeness immortalized, but by whom?

My immediate response would be to dig up and reanimate Giovanni Boldini to let him have a go at it. His portraits of Marchesa Luisa Casati smolder and haunt me.

Marchesa Luisa Casati with a Greyhound

If he proved unavailable, I would then seek out John Singer Sargent and channel his Spanish Dancer.

Spanish Dancer

Speaking of lingering appeal, you can’t deny the aftereffects of this Vermeer.

Girl With a Pearl Earring

[Insert gratuitous Warhol plug here.]

Carolina Herrera, 1979

Possibly an homage to Etienne de Silhouette, the embattled French finance minister with a proclivity for cutting portraits from paper, featuring an assortment of family and friends. I do hope they don’t mind being celebrated in the bathroom.

Lonny Magazine, Jan-Feb 2011

Photography is currently the most popular medium for portraiture and the abundance of gifted shutterbugs no doubt helps. Coco Rocha has said of this wedding present from photographer Steven Meisel, “I’ve never liked hanging my model photos in my home, but this is an exception because it almost looks like a painting.” (I simply love her name, Coco Rocha. Coco Rocha. I could say it all day long.)

Photo by Claiborne Swanson Frank courtesy of Style.com

Photo by Steven Meisel

But what about something unconventional? A novel approach from a true original, I could have Lisa Borgnes Giramonti embroider me onto a scrap of burlap. I adore the notion of having my visage stitched onto an accent pillow, allowing me to supply much needed lumbar support throughout afternoon tea or keep a watchful eye on my guests even after I’ve left the room.

(The Fabulous Mitch by Lisa Borgnes Giramonti of A Bloomsbury Life)

I dare you to ask this question at your next dinner party. You're sure to gain far more insight into your guests’ psyches than inquiring about their careers or commutes.

Who would you commission for your portrait?

A MYSTERY

It's a curious thing when you happen upon a flash of something enchanting and then cannot shake its hold on you despite all efforts otherwise. Such is the case of the eatery pictured above which flashed for an eyeblink in this video on Finland. I know nothing other than my desire to sit within and stare alternately between the frolicking roosters adorning the wall and passersby on the street. It also makes me desire a bicycle something terrible.

WHO IS THE MODERN TRADITIONALIST?

I’ve been ruminating as of late on what I mean by the term “modern traditionalist”. Truth be told, when this blog began I had a vastly different idea of what it meant. Much of that was an accumulation from the molten amalgamation of others’ ideas, of trends and of what I thought I was supposed to be. That has been a bit of a motif throughout my life, always trying to fit in with the crowd. I’d affix myself to a theme and take a barnacle’s journey through life. Not unexpectedly, it isn’t very gratifying.

And yet there are ephemeral flashes where the real modern traditionalist surfaces. A sudden gasp of air and she’s gone again. At times I fear I’ve lost her forever and then she arrives once more. Now I trust she’s here for good.

But who is she? She’s not twee or precious, two sisters who commonly get stirred up in a fit of possessiveness whenever “traditional” enters a room. She’s also not preppy, an equally domineering cousin. All of this bickering has caused “traditional” to have an identity crisis of her own. I’m not one for math, but maybe a simple equation is in order:

modern = the superficial (style & design)

traditional = the soul (behavior, hobbies, beliefs & passions)

modern + traditional = me

The best summation of this equation can be located in my profile, Elizabeth Bennet as styled by newly anointed Vogue Paris EIC, Emmanuelle Alt (astoundingly excited about Ms. Alt’s new position, but let’s remain focused, shall we?). For a more visual representation, imagine if this cool chick invited you to tea for which she baked all day and presented you with a hand-knit scarf upon leaving. She would be a modern traditionalist.

Photo by Terry Tsiolis from Vogue Paris.

Photo via here. Photographer unknown.

Photo via here. Photographer unknown.