The Modern Traditionalist has moved. Please make the leap and find us here!
Sunday, July 10, 2016
Tuesday, December 15, 2015
Sunday, March 8, 2015
INSTA-STALKED : ROBYN MIZRACH
Sunday, March 1, 2015
WHAT'S IN A NAME?
Names are the labels we keep with us for life. Yet it is something which is completely out of our control unless, of course, the stage is your calling and no ordinary moniker will do. After all, Norma Jean Dougherty and Archibald Leach aren’t as marquee-worthy as Marilyn Monroe and Cary Grant.
As a parent, one of the more important decisions you will make is determining the name of your child. Techniques vary from searching the Social Security registry of names starting from the bottom to assessing the characters of your favorite book to researching the surnames of your ancestors. And all of this hard work can crumble when you see the chosen one stitched onto a faux-fur, bean-bag chair in the latest Restoration Hardware Baby & Child catalogue. Nobody wants their child to be one of ten Olivers in their classroom, or do they? I happen to have a name that was not common until 1973 when both the Allman Brothers and Seals & Crofts released singles titled Jessica. Needless to say, I know a lot of Jessicas.
When I was pregnant, my husband and I procrastinated on choosing a name for our baby. About a week before my due date we had our list narrowed to about 5 strong contenders. Our intention wasn’t to choose one name before the birth; we wanted to meet our little guy before we decided. We went into the delivery room with two finalists. Twenty-four hours after he arrived, with the birth certificate form in our hands, we were forced to finally choose. My husband had his favorite and I had mine. And then lightening struck me.
“It really comes down to what kind of man we think he will become,” I explained to my husband. Each name conjured up a different image, a completely different aura and personality. Would he be a Steve McQueen, Paul Newman, rough and tumble, daredevil, masculine guy? Or, would he be a smooth and polished, debonair, aristocratic, Fitzgeraldian gent?
Did I mention our little one had already completed countless circuits on the Sonoma Raceway at top speed in utero and, despite all medical predictions to the contrary, flipped from breech position at 37 weeks? There was no denying it any longer. He was anointed Wesley, our future fast-driving, risk-taking and daring boy.
A few months later a work colleague inquired as to our little one’s name. “Wesley….Wes Miller. He’s going to be a race car driver,” he replied without prompting. Stunned, I immediately recounted the story of that night in the hospital. A few days later a DVD of The Great Escape, The Magnificent Seven and The Thomas Crown Affair arrived at my desk. Outside of a rare whiskey, it was the perfect baby gift.
So what was the other name we considered? Ah, well we’ve locked it away in the event a dashing, gallant and elegant younger brother makes his big debut.
Sunday, February 22, 2015
ROUTINE VISIONARY
I’ve long been obsessed with learning about what makes the iconic and visionary tick. Many of these pioneers have long been identified by their eccentricities and extraordinary quirks. After all, marching to the beat of your own drummer is arguably prerequisite to making a meteoric cultural impact. And while the anomalies that contribute to greatness pique my curiosity, I’m most fascinated by their slips into the prosaic. What are the metronomic essentials providing the rhythmic undercurrent to their vibrant melodies?
For most of us, lunch is a mere pitstop, a necessary inconvenience. Nothing reaches the depths of ordinary more than the “office lunch”, that which is taken at your desk and likely involves an unremarkable sandwich or, worse yet, an unevenly hot tray of gelatinous goo posing as lasagna. I was thrilled when I found the lunch instructions of the legendary Diana Vreeland, proving that even the most captivating individuals had to slog through an office lunch on their way to immortality.
Mrs. Vreeland always took her lunch at her desk and it was always ordered in from the equally legendary William Poll. A simple sandwich, raisins and black coffee - it’s hard to see any difference between D.V. and oneself, except for perhaps the Scotch and cigarettes. She even ate her sandwich from a napkin, no plate. And if I’ve learned anything from studying the routines of these folks, it’s that having order and routine in the most trivial details is essential. It’s as if having ultimate control of the minutiae helps clear the fog for one’s genius to radiate. I don’t know that I’ll ever be in a position where someone is tasked with arranging my desk on the regular, but if I do, I will be sure to have a highly specific diagram to help guide them.
(Illustration of Diana by Miyuki Ohashi, which can be purchased from Buddy Editions. Lunch instructions and desk diagram courtesy of Diana Vreeland: Immoderate Style.)
Monday, February 16, 2015
INSTA-STALKED : PAUL COSTELLO
I have a shameful secret. When all is quiet and darkness affords me a level of anonymity, I have an uncontrollable desire to peek into the windows of homes. At dawn I witness these domiciles spring to life, as the inhabitants gradually surrender to their morning routines. With the advent of Instagram, we can now glimpse into these windows with permission. The gorgeous mid century modern abode. A quivering Eton Mess. Gorgeous tiles snapped on vacation in Morocco. They are all curated for our pleasure, inspiration and envy.
When we were still in the embryonic stages of dating, my husband and I peered for an inappropriately long time into the window of a Georgetown row house. The details can still be summoned in my mind, the beautifully decorated living room with the toy truck and building blocks abandoned so perfectly. This room was lived in, not a sterile masterpiece with any hint of life stowed away in a cupboard. Just beyond, a small gathering was in full swing on the patio, adults and children were mingling and mixing and, I'd like to believe, sipping French 75s. A knowing glance between us confirmed our shared desire for the same quintessence of family life.
I also find myself leering a bit too long at snapshots from the life of Paul and Sara Ruffin Costello and their gorgeous children. They have that perfect blend of high style meets family practicality which I hope to imbue into our lives. Take a peek with me:
A new home
I have big plans for 2015 and as part of those, I will be relocating my blog to its new location here. The decision to eventually leave the Blogger platform was a difficult one but this new format will allow me greater creative flexibility and I do hope you join me there. I will continue to add new content here for those of you who prefer this platform until it becomes too burdensome.
MT
Sunday, December 21, 2014
A Big Year
I had spectacular plans for 2014 and, specifically, for this blog. Unfortunately, I find myself up against the final weeks of the year and having only written my New Year’s post in the past 12 months. My absence certainly hasn’t been for lack of enthusiasm or out of laziness. In fact, 2014 has been a rather big year for my husband and myself.
Beginning in March, we learned that we were expecting our first child in November. This realization put us both in a tailspin - we were renting a townhouse that would never work for our needs as a growing family. Our house hunt went from casually enthusiastic to aggressively anxious. We looked at building a new home in a development, a bit of the lazy man’s approach to getting more home in an ever-expanding region. (Seriously, I fear that Northern Virginia is quickly becoming the next Southern California). Our hearts were never truly sold, even after walking through the perfectly antiseptic model home several times. Yes, the layout and execution were ideal - but we’d be on a street of similar homes with mere inches between them. It was all too cookie cutter for my taste.
With every early morning dog walk I became more sentimental about our town, small and quaint with a rich history including such characters as JFK and Jackie, Elizabeth Taylor, Bunny Mellon, Linda Tripp (for real!) and a Hitchcock film (Marnie, if you’re curious). As much as it would be easier to raise a child on street full of other small children, I’d rather raise a child in a place with character and history, eccentrics and the infamous.
As time ticked by, we became ever more nervous. We looked at homes in our neighborhood in a goldilocks fashion - too small, too much work, too restrictive. There was that one home, though, that was just right except for the price. It was slightly out of reach for us at that very moment. “If only it were a year from now,” was a constant refrain. Each morning we’d wake and check for our Zillow alerts as the price began to drop but not quite as much as we needed. And then it did. And we jumped on it. On my husband’s birthday, we officially made an offer and a month later we were moving - literally across the street from our rental.
Because of the baby preparations, we haven’t made much headway in decorating and finishing the home which would certainly be featured here. That excitement will come in the new year as we adjust to life with our little man. So, while 2014 was certainly a big year for us, it was a very personal and intimate one.
Thursday, January 2, 2014
A BOLD NEW YEAR
**Live! Or rather, be more spontaneous. I believe my husband will benefit the most from this one. I’m rather rigid and fixed in my plans and do not like to deviate from them with regularity. Here’s to a new year of impulsive movie nights and impromptu cocktail parties!
**Speak! I want to learn a new language in 2014. In the far reaches of my brain lives some German and even less French which have gone relatively unused in about 20 years. Perhaps I will return to French or start fresh with Italian...
**Be kind! Have you ever noticed the change in someone’s face when you call them by their first name? Bank teller, the teenager cashing you out at the market or even the unsung heroes of customer service who deal with irate individuals on the phone every day - they all brighten when someone is considerate enough to use their name. Best applied after two underused words, “thank you”.
**Bite the bullet! Forget what the Chinese may say, 2014 is the year of the house. After renting for my entire adult life, which has worked to my advantage as my career has taken me from the Midwest to Los Angeles back to the Midwest to New York and eventually the Washington, D.C. area, I’m now keen to put down some roots.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Have a remarkable celebration as we say goodbye to 2013 and ring in 2014. Here's to living boldly in the new year and never losing your curiosity of the world around you.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Sunday, January 27, 2013
"Life is a banquet...
...and most poor suckers are starving to death."
Auntie Mame
Wiser words have never been uttered. My one and only resolution for 2013 was to LIVE and I consider Mame Dennis my personal life coach.
This gentlemen doesn't need to be reminded to live with abandon. We should all take a cue from him.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Monday, July 30, 2012
Bridesdress Revisited
I mean, a new dress doesn’t get you anywhere; it’s the life you’re living in the dress, and the sort of life you had lived before, and what you will do in it later.
Diana Vreeland, D.V.
BTG and I had an expedited engagement. While both of us were incredibly fond of throwing a large celebration in honor of our union, we chose an intimate ceremony only four months following the proposal for rather unromantic reasons involving shared health care coverage. Despite this sprint to the altar, we are still planning a fête next fall for our family and friends who were unable to attend our nuptials.
 |
| Photo by Modern Traditionalist |
The event will be held at the Great House on the Crane Estate in Ipswich, Massachusetts. The house lends itself to a Gatsby or Gosford Park feel, does it not?
 |
| Photo by Modern Traditionalist |
 |
| Photo by Modern Traditionalist |
I want our guests to feel as if they’ve been invited out to our country estate for an elegant dinner, dancing and parlour games. My mother, who due to our earlier haste was unable to fashion a wedding gown, will be tasked with the vital assignment of outfitting me for this affair. Since I’m already wed, I’m not seeking a wedding gown. Instead, I want to embody another time and place.
 |
| Diane Kruger and Joshua Jackson |
This Jenny Packham dress has been in my files since the day BTG proposed.
But then I thought, maybe a little color would do me some good. Blue?
 |
| Kate Hudson, Harper's Bazaar, September 2007 |
Or the green that captured everyone’s attention in Atonement.
But then I saw this champagne number on Drew and I gasped for breath.
 |
| Drew Barrymore, Grey Gardens Premiere |
I’d love to hear your thoughts!
Monday, July 23, 2012
A Big Day
It is a curious thing, really, that one can consume tremendous amounts of champagne on their wedding day and, yet, never find themselves inebriated. I will always measure my wedding day by bottles swilled and be astounded every time I reminisce.
We had a traditional wedding luncheon, which is to say, we galloped out of the gate early. By three in the afternoon, my father’s head was a bit wobbly and our mothers could be found dozing in our wedding suite.
This Friday past was our three month anniversary. Our wedding wasn’t extraordinary in size, but it was a big day for us. I would have it no other way.
Monday, July 9, 2012
The Tortoise and the Hare
I’m a speed demon. I love the wind in my hair and driving fast. Not surprisingly, I’m a bit impatient in life. I want things to happen. Now. I even prefer short sprints to marathons. I’m unequivocally a hare.
An Aston Martin DB2 (my dream car)
Something has materialized, though, since moving to a sleepy, pastoral hamlet. My weekend to-do lists have been abridged and transmorgrified; they now include small luxuries like “reading the paper” and “take a long bath”. It is very American of me to want everything at the push of a button but I’m reminded of my love for the relaxed rhythm of life in Italy, where even time dedicated to an espresso can be carved out of a workday.
I was running behind schedule for an appointment a few days back, which is highly against character for my resolutely-early self, and I had yet to walk the dog. I had the choice to hastily run him out to the corner or to unselfishly provide him with exercise and fresh air. I chose the latter figuring if I’m late, that’s life. Rather than a perfunctory route through town, I elected to wander the local cemetery for the first time. That is where I discovered this:
A commissioned sculpture by Auguste Rodin. Had I hurried through and not absorbed the world around me, this treasure would’ve remained buried in the far corner of a hidden cemetery.
Open your eyes, dear reader, and devour the world.
(All photos by the Modern Traditionalist)
Saturday, June 30, 2012
At Dawn
Every morning, even weekends, I rise at 6 am. This is in part due to our recently adopted pup’s biological demands but I voice no protest. I welcome my mornings of solitude with a snoring dog and the daybreak serenade of my winged neighbors.
There is something bewitching about the world as it’s just blinking awake. Vistas become heavenly and even the truly quotidian transforms to majestic when bathed in a lemony glow.
Morning is when my head is cleared of clutter and just enough glitter remains from my slumberous adventures. I’m at my most creative in the early hours, unburdened by the constraints of daily minutiae. Research shows that women tend to be morning folk, while men are more likely to take up with the owls. I know this is true in our household, where Phil sleeps until forced awake. I’m hardwired as an early-riser, both my mother and my father are up with the birds (to be fair, my father was a firefighter and prior to that worked delivering newspapers - I think his predilection for dawn stems from environmental conditioning).
Are you a morning person?
Friday, March 9, 2012
Required Equipment
The past few weeks have been a fury of activity for BTG and me. What with signing the papers on our new country home and beginning all the necessary improvements, I haven’t had much time for myself. Really. You should see my nails, they are in desperate need of attention.
What stirs me through all of the tireless renovations are the images of our future days in bucolic paradise, those which appear with every languid close of my eyes or during those last flickering moments of consciousness before slumber. In them, I’m adorned in full rural regalia with all the trimmings.
Alternative forms of transportation are mandatory.
Princess Sovereign by Pashley
Protective equipment, a non-negotiable.
Boots by Le Chameau
Heading to the market will no longer be dread-inducing.
Home Farm Store, Middleburg, VA
And new forms of nourishment will be discovered.
Victoria Sponge with Lemon Curd via Eating for England
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Allow me to introduce myself...
I am the Modern Traditionalist.
Now let me brush aside these cobwebs over here and blow the dust off that table over there. Much improved, yes? If you will, have a seat here and I will pour you a spot of tea. We have volumes of catching up to do, don’t we? Oh my, where shall I begin? I’m not sure if you’ve heard the news, but BTG and I are to be wed soon. Twice, even! Yes, yes, we will be married in a cozy ceremony here in rural Virginia this April. And, for all those we cherish who are unable to attend in April, we will be reveling again in 2013 here. Isn't it divine?
Oh, and then there is the matter of the move. BTG and I felt that the best way to start our lives together would be in a new home so in two short months we’ll finally realize our dreams of living in the country. Have you heard about Middleburg, Virginia? After spending weekend after weekend walking the streets of this hamlet, we figured it would be more practical to call it home.
I know, I know, I keep chattering on and on about myself. I hope you have all been well during my absence. And I do hope I haven’t lost your friendship with my silence. I’ll certainly be around more often what with a home to decorate, my upcoming nuptials and the extended celebration to plan.
I must admit, I’m living on lettuce and cottage cheese at the moment, which has left me desiring everything which isn’t lettuce or cottage cheese. Therefore, for each of the next 56 days until we exchange vows, I will be selecting a recipe which I will make for my new husband after the gown has been packed away (and I’m able to exhale). Although we’ve had unseasonably warm weather here in the mid-Atlantic, I’m hoping for one of those Wellington-mandatory days in April, when the ground is too saturated and the sky too grey to ponder anything other than a warm blanket and this:
Recipe and photos are courtesy of a new favorite of mine, Katy Elliott.
Ingredients
3 (about 1 1/2 pounds) Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/4-inch slices
Coarse salt
1 cup heavy cream
5 cloves garlic, crushed
1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
Freshly ground pepper
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
3-4 medium leeks, white and light-green parts only
1/4 cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
1 large egg yolk
1 (14 ounces) frozen puff pastry, (such as Dufour), thawed
All-purpose flour, for work surface
1 1/2 cups grated Comte or Gruyere cheese
Cover potatoes with water in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil over high heat. Add a pinch of salt; cook until just tender, 13 to 15 minutes. Drain. Mash and let cool.
Meanwhile, bring 3/4 cup plus 3 tablespoons cream, the garlic, and nutmeg to a boil in a small saucepan over medium-high heat. Cook mixture until reduced by half. Season with salt and pepper; set aside.
And one more pan to clean; which makes me bonkers! Melt butter in a skillet over medium heat. Add leeks; cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat. Stir in parsley; season with salt and pepper. Set aside.
Divide thawed puff pastry onto a lightly floured surface.
Whisk together 1 large egg yolk with 1 tablespoon of cream. You’ll use this to seal the pastry and create a glaze over the top.
Scatter the mashed potatoes on the pastry, then layer with leek and Gruyere making sure to leave a 1/4″ inch border. Top with the other piece of thawed pastry. Crimp the edges and brush with egg wash.
Make a few slits in the top of the tart (you’ll pour the heavy cream mixture in the slits during the cooking process.) Stick the tart in the fridge for about 20 minutes.
Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
Remove the tart from the fridge and place in the preheat oven to cook for 35 minutes or until the tart is golden brown and puff. Remove the tart and pour the reduced cream mixture into the slits taking care and allowing the cream so soak in. Place back in the oven for an additional 10 minutes.
Let cool and serve warm or at room temperature with a simple green salad.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)