The Ritual Master I don’t know about you, but coming out of winter and slowly back into the sunlight makes me both happy to be out and about, but also craving the comfort of my cocoon. To be fair, I have been spending the last few months perfecting this indoor living situation, so it’s only normal not to trade it the first chance I get for a walk in the sun. This got me thinking about the idea of comfort and how different it must look from one person to the other. For some, comfort is the absence of negative emotions or situations. For others, it is a pleasant feeling of being relaxed, or a kind of satisfaction that comes from relief or peacefulness. I tend to be in the second category, and get my comfort from simple gestures and yes, rituals.
The month of March has been dedicated to my comfort, and that also meant a break from filming in order to practice what I preach : mindful living and reading. While my balcony is starting to show colour from all the bulbs I planted back in autumn, I am already planning my summer landscaping. Three colours of snapdragons will make beautiful bouquets, so these are my first trays of seeds ready for sprouting. As for right now, March is the month of tulips in a vase, and the delicate mix of yellow and white brings me so much joy. Not to mention the pleasure of making the simplest of floral arrangements in a vase, one of my favourite meditative moments.
When it comes to comfort reading, I am most unpredictable and can find my pleasure in surprising subjects. Recently, I’ve been indulging in the first of the Cazalet family novels by Elizabeth Jane Howard, The Light Years. The first chronicle in the series details the life of a rather large and well-to-do English family, as the grand parents, three sons and their wives and children spend their summers in the countryside. And let’s not forget the servants. This feels like a very Downton Abbey atmosphere, only a few years later, since the series begins in 1937 and takes the family right after the Second World War. There is family drama, but also that lightness of the English countryside we’ve all come to love through the classics. The Light Years is almost 600 pages long, and the 4 others are about the same, so there is time to get lost in the story and get comfortable with the characters, of which there are many and beautifully contoured, each with its charm and weaknesses. I’m looking forward to reading the whole series, even if, with the war starting, I might not get the same comfort reading experience as in this passage :
Sybil got up from bed and went to the open window; the air smelled warmly of honeysuckle and roses, there were the metallic sounds of blackbirds settling down for the night and the sky was turning apricot streaked with little molten feathery clouds.
― Elizabeth Jane Howard,The Light Years
I was pleasantly surprised to find very fond memories of reading the Cazalet chronicles in another comfort read this month, Cathy Rentzenbrink’s memoir Dear reader : the comfort and joy of books. This one I chose to listen in the author’s interpretation, and it was a moment of true relaxation. A retrospective of the meaningful moments in the author’s life and the books she was reading at the time, this reads as a never ending book recommendation from a dear and trust worthy friend. I was happy to find some of my favourite titles, while others were completely new to me, so going back with a pen and paper this time is a must. A beautiful stop for any book lover, with this special quote :
Don’t allow anything to dent your reading pleasure. Don’t let anyone tell you that what you like isn’t proper, that what brings comfort and ease to your soul isn’t good enough.
― Cathy Rentzenbrink, Dear Reader: The Comfort and Joy of Books
While most of the winter I read with a background of crackling fire or snow blizzards from YouTube, the Spring has brought silence into my reading time. I find I can immerse myself in the stories a lot easier when in total silence these days. But when I’m not reading, there are certain melodies that I consider to be my comfort music. And one of them is…
Yes, we’ve heart Vivaldi’s Four Seasons over and over again, by themselves, in movies, commercials, postcards and hotline jingles. I for one, have spent many years getting away from them, wanting to broaden my musical culture and maybe being a little snobbish in the process. But I cannot deny that there is great comfort in the familiarity of Vivaldi. I’ve mentioned this before, but for me, Baroque music has a certain spring in its step that makes me joyful, and with the Four Seasons I can instantly go to that happy place where there is light and colour, serenity and yes, comfort.
And how could I not include a food memoir in this cosy list, since comfort food is what life is all about. Molly Wizenberg’s New York Times bestselling memoir A homemade life is the perfect mix between emotion and appetite. If Cathy Rentzenbrink associated books to memories, Wizenberg does the same with food, and takes us on a journey across France and the United States, with joy, some sorrow, and lots of chocolate. This feels intimate, a chat about real life and ideal food, family connections and acquired tastes. You’ll love the recipes, the humour, but mostly, you’ll love her writing :
Like most people who love to cook, I like the tangible things. I like the way the knife claps when it meets the cutting board. I like the haze of sweet air that hovers over a hot cake as it sits, cooling, on the counter. I like the way a strip of orange peel looks on an empty plate. But what I like even more are the intangible things: the familiar voices that fall out of the folds of an old cookbook, or the scenes that replay like a film reel across my kitchen wall. When we fall in love with a certain dish, I think that’s what we’re often responding to: that something else behind the fork or the spoon, the familiar story that food tells.
― Molly Wizenberg, A Homemade Life: Stories and Recipes from My Kitchen Table
Did someone say comfort food ? For me, that will always be pasta. The carbs, of course, but the never ending possibilities are what I love most. The Queen of pasta, in my humble opinion, is the classic roman caccio e pepe. But for Spring, I’m giving in to the ritual that is the artichoke, and making a carbonara inspired linguine. For years I found artichokes to be the most intimidating vegetable around. That was until I discovered the pleasure of the ritual. I start by putting on some music, since I know I’m going to be a while. Lemon water, then gloves to avoid black fingers for a week, and I’m off to artichoke land. I finely slice them, then sauté in some olive oil until they get a little colour (I like to season them with some powdered garlic since it’s milder and doesn’t cover the rest of the flavours). Then a splash of water and steam under the lid. The creaminess of the sauce comes from a generous amount of grated parmigiano and three egg yolks seasoned with black pepper. Add some cooking water to make it just creamy enough and turn off the heat as soon as it starts to thicken, we don’t want an omelette. The instant you start rolling the pasta around your fork is my ideal moment of comfort and ritual. And the parmesan doesn’t hurt either…
I’d love to know what is your idea of comfort and how you achieve it. Drop by in the comments, I’m always happy to see you there.
Until next time, enjoy your reading and your comforting rituals !
If you would like to support The Ritual of Reading, please consider purchasing your books from the Bookshop.org dedicated site by clicking the link below. You get to support local bookstores and I make a small commission with every purchase. Thank you !
