broken rituals.

It’s a summer evening. I’m sitting cross-legged on the couch, sans pants, because that is my animal instinct on how to manage the heat and any heat-induced rage that might follow. There are the sounds of cicadas mixed with the rush of the fan and the rumbling of the HVAC next door. Cicadas are my favorite summer sound. (Even more after listening to this!) For whatever reason, they always transport me to the summer I lived in St. Louis as a child. Summers were hot there, too, and we had an enormous yard at our second house and an enormous yard at our third house. Those yards were a wonderland for a kid with plenty of imagination. And whatever I spent my nights doing was soundtracked by cicadas.

It’s been nearly a month now since we moved. Like it or not, in our old place, I had formed a weeknight ritual. Walk or take the bus home, make dinner, feel exhausted, watch TV. We don’t have a TV in our new place, and although I can just as easily dive into Netflix on my laptop, it feels less obvious. So the ritual is happily broken. I’m biking home from work now (which is the best! I love it! I love it so much! I want to bike everywhere all day every day!) and there are little projects to be done around the apartment, and everything about the new space is inviting me to cook and to write and to read. Even with the best of intentions (believe me, I have them) sometimes a circumstantial nudge is what I need to get back on track. 

We’re choosing to keep the air conditioning off in our apartment, to save money, to save the earth, and I think now also as a badge of honor signifying how tough we are. There are moments when it feels a little much, but the answer is easily enough: sit down and stop moving, take off the pants, and eat/drink something cold. For this reason, I’ve switched aggressively to salads this summer, more than I ever have before.

In addition to salads, there have been plenty of sardines, because they’re wonderful and sustainable and Jacob is working nearly every night at rehearsal these days, so in his vegetarian absence, I can fill the apartment with sardine-smell and no one will complain (in fact, Rat the Cat will rejoice, because I always give him a bite).

There are so many stories to tell. They overwhelm me, bursting out of my eyes and ears. But my sardine tartine is its own story tonight.

My Favorite Way to Eat Sardines
Crack open a tin of sardines packed in oil (I like the boneless ones from Trader Joe’s). Give your whining man-cat a bite. Toast two pieces of hearty, wheaty bread (sprouted grain bread is the best). Using a mandoline or knife, thinly slice a couple radishes. Spread the toasted bread with a good amount of delicious butter, then layer on the radish slices, then top with chunks of sardine. Give everything a sprinkle of salt and pepper. Drink an ice water or a cold beer while you eat it in front of the fan.

p.s. I’ve been meaning to try this to up my sardine game, but haven’t gotten to it yet. It looks amazing.