on giving old things for Christmas

In Praise of the Ancient [RECIPE]

An antique watercolor paint box (not the one described below)

I am a fan of the British artist and writer, Jackie Morris, whose magnificent watercolor illustrations are so evocative —- imagine fox like a Zen ensō — that I find myself regularly going down rabbit holes to just gaze at her work (which includes The Lost Spells, The Lost Words, The Unwinding, and others that I love). But a few years ago, in the throes of lockdown, I found myself watching Morris do something I’d never seen done before: bringing back to life antique watercolor paint blocks, some dating back centuries. Asleep for generations.

Not long ago, I wrote in this space about visiting an exhibit at the Yale Center for British Art, for which there was an audio component; I listened and heard a squadron of RAF pilots inadvertently flying over the field where the recording was being made, on their way to execute a bombing run on Nazi Germany. Listening was like reaching my hand through a scrim of time and space, and into another dimension. I’m fascinated by quantum physics and the sense that time as we know it is purely a human construct. In truth, I believe, in a quantum physics-like way that times coils back on itself in a circular fashion. The great Rob Macfarlane speaks of traces — remnants of another time that exist in the present, linking the two:

We all carry trace fossils within us – the marks that the dead and the missed leave behind. Handwriting on an envelope; the wear on a wooden step left by footfall; the memory of a familiar gesture by someone gone, repeated so often it has worn its own groove in both air and mind: these are trace fossils too. Sometimes, in fact, all that is left behind by loss is trace – and sometimes empty volume can be easier to hold in the heart than presence itself.

When Jackie Morris breathed life back into watercolor blocks that had been asleep for centuries, I could not help but think: who had used them last? What had been painted? Had the American Civil War taken place yet? I think of time as a grand expanse that will not be corralled, but I also think of it in the sense of the mundane, and the manner in which it effects our day-to-day: the tools we use, the gifts we buy, the books we read, even the recipes we cook. The traces of our lives and the lives of others that cross years, decades, generations, centuries. In a world subsumed in this season by things for which time is both expandable and expendable (How long will it take before your child gets bored with shiny plastic object A; how long will the plastic/rubber kitchen tool you’re giving your sister-in-law sit in a land-fill?), and by single-use objects and trendy must-haves and desperately-needs beginning to grow dim long before the holiday is over, I find myself considering the issues of time and life of an object when choosing one to give as a gift, or to bring home for my own use.

Primitive tiger eye maple wooden spoon, early 1800s

Aunt Ethel’s 1930s peeler

I stand firmly on the side of things that are old, and that can be measured in increments of years: old cookware, old books, old furniture, old houses, old pens, old fabric, old guitars, old recipes, old albums, old friends. I found kinship last year with a Maine-based woman named Catherine, who posts an Instagram feed called In The Fields, and who makes it a habit of giving her family holiday gifts of vintage sweaters, and — just generally — older things. Or things that are made by her hands, or someone’s hands. I cannot recall the last time I bought a new piece of cooking equipment; we inherited jet black Griswold and Wagner skillets from my wife’s late Aunt Ethel, and when her Aunt Millie passed away, we inherited not her wedding china or her silver (she had no children, like Ethel) but her wooden spoons, which spawned my love of all good wooden spoons and rice paddles, well-used and often warped with time. My favorite: a primitive tiger eye maple spoon found in the bowels of our favorite antique store in Camden, Maine. There is Aunt Ethel’s circa 1934 peeler, so effective and sharp that when we found another just like it buried in a box of kitchen things at the same antique store, we bought it as a back up, for $2. A 1940s Bakelite herb chopper so weighty it’s almost tiring to use. Susan’s Uncle George’s old oak tool chest —- complete with original tools from the 40s —- that now sits on my writing desk, which will hold my own watercolors, pens, and pencils once I pass along the tools to my friend and chosen-family RF Jurjevics, who spends a lot of time making amazing and complicated metal things by hand. My fire engine red woolen hunting coat, circa 1952, also found in Maine. Heirloom woolen blankets for which there is no compare. The amazing 1950s aluminum alloy citrus juicer that my dear old friends and former camp counselors Pam and Richard sent from Bristol, Engand, which caught their eye because it’s emblazoned with the name LISSY on it (my longtime nickname and how they knew me as a child). My father’s leather three-ring binder from 1930. A first edition of One Man’s Meat, by E.B. White.

I’m not saying new is bad; I’m not a Luddite. But before we hit SEND on the Christmas stuff in our digital shopping carts, it’s worth it to dig a little bit deeper, to trade ease-of-purchase for the actual act of looking and searching for just the right thing in an off-the-beaten-path reseller, or antique shop, or Goodwill, or a Habitat for Humanity ReStore. Something that had once been used and loved.

Something that shows the traces of time.

Uncle George’s tool chest, now housing paints, brushes, and pens

(A Recipe To Make Over and Over Again in Late Autumn)

Skillet Greens and Beans with Anchovy Breadcrumbs

I cannot count the number of times that Susan and I have made this recipe, which comes from my friend Sarah Searle via Melissa Clark possibly via Heidi Swanson. It’s a great recipe to make in late autumn, when the best bitter greens are available, and I always prefer making this dish with mustard greens or kale (or both). Leftovers are wonderful, especially re-heated the next day and topped with a poached egg.

Serves 4 as a side dish; 2 generously as a main dish.

2 8-ounce cans of cannellini beans, or beans of your choice, or dried and cooked bean equivalent

3 garlic cloves, crushed, peeled, and finely chopped

4 anchovy filets, finely chopped

1/2 cup olive oil + 2 tablespoons, separated

1 cup breadcrumbs from a day old loaf of bread

1 cup grated firm or hard, slightly funky, aged cheese of your choice, such as manchego, gruyere, or pecorino romano

Kosher salt

Freshly ground pepper

Juice of one half a lemon

4 cups leafy greens, or chopped mature kale, mustards, collards, or other leafy greens

1. If using canned beans, rinse them well in a colander and let drain. Similarly, use a colander to drain cooking liquid away from cooked dried beans. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.

2. Mix together garlic, anchovies, and 1/2 cup olive oil. Toss breadcrumbs with a few tablespoons of the garlic-anchovy oil to coat. Sprinkle in a pinch of salt and few grinds of black pepper, and add half of the cheese. Toss again to mix.

3. Spread the breadcrumbs in a skillet or on a baking sheet and bake in preheated oven for about 20 minutes, stirring occasionally, until dark golden.

4. Add several teaspoons lemon juice to the remaining garlic-anchovy oil. Taste for seasoning and acidity, and add salt and pepper or more lemon juice to taste.

5. Heat a heavy-bottomed pan with remaining two tablespoons olive oil over medium heat. Add the beans, spread them out into a single layer, and allow to cook without moving for several minutes. They should sizzle. You want the beans to brown slightly but not char.

6. After 3 or 4 minutes, use a spatula to flip the beans and stir them around a little, about one more minute. You just want to brown the beans and heat them through. Do not over cook, or your beans will turn to mush.

7. Add the greens and stir to mix evenly with the beans. Remove the pan from the heat and allow to rest for a few minutes as the greens wilt a bit more. Add the garlic-anchovy-lemon dressing and toss. Top with breadcrumbs and remaining cheese. Serve immediately.

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