Grasshopper Tart
Time for a reset.
Since the New Year I’ve noticed a shift, but I’ve felt this way many times before. I’ve adopted old habits, familiar to me, invisible to others. It’s time for a reset. I don’t shy away from the cycles of death and rebirth. To me, there is no use holding onto what is or what could’ve been. In the past, these transformations would manifest in moving locations or new jobs. I have experienced this feeling most recently when I consciously left restaurant work (full time) to prioritize personal growth and creativity. My mind has been inundated with previous lives I’ve been lucky to live. The difference now is I’m reminiscing about the softest dreamer I used to be.
Callousness is a stain I’ve worn well. In this hell-scape rat race of life, I can easily lose my sense of compassion and kindness for others. Greediness plagues my thoughts as if certain aspects of living turn into objects of desire. Most people would never know and honestly, it’s so subtle and I’m a master at hiding things that I rarely share those thoughts. Not sharing is also a superpower. Rarely do those initial ideas or carried over feelings hold weight or legitimacy. They come from a mind operating under duress and fatigue.
Somewhere along the way I lost the plot. I used to meditate twice a day, even paying for the meditation course so I could ceremoniously be endowed with my own mantra. I wrote page after page of morning pages until my wrist would cramp from all of the hopes and dreams I was casting. I read book after book about “self help” and alternative modalities to broaden and expand myself as a human. The further I dig into the “why?,” the quicker I understand an insidious toxin I’ve let cloud my judgement. Entwined into the inception of most pursuits is a genuine “good” I desire for myself. Many practices that are supposed to be good for me morph into tools of optimization. The first initial weeks/months of working a new practice into my life always shows its benefits, until it turns.
The key I’ve kept (metaphorically) losing is the ember of my internal compass. When I lived in Colorado during the pandemic, there was an absence of light pollution and the night sky would be on full display with brilliant frequency. Full moons are especially an event to behold. In New York City, we rarely get a moment to observe the stars and their unique radiance. There is a connection, (again metaphorically) between a visible night sky, nature, the sheer presence of awe and where we intuitively know to go next.
In rural Colorado, I felt really small in comparison to the mountains and distance between civilization. Here in New York, there are motions that are supposed to make life feel easier, more convenient, but it comes at a cost. I crave a night sky and a cacophony of critters vying for your attention. There is a parallel between thoughts, I promise. Nature abides by a compass, one of love, forgiveness, beauty, change, uncertainty and releasing control.
With every passing hour/day/week/month I can sense the shift. I am grateful to know this pattern and its strength in accepting the inevitable. A great lesson I learned while performing improv is to remind yourself of your characters autonomy in a scene. A fresh start is approaching and instead of feeling like I have to rebuild from the ground up, I’m mindfully piecing the best parts of myself that actually feel like me back together. Only I know those past lives intimately and each one has a tender, beautiful nugget that has a place to live (fully) on display for others to see. Long story short, in the words of Rocky Horror Show, “don’t dream it, be it.”
Grasshopper Tart
A chocolate mint dessert lovingly situates itself in the shoulder seasons. Not quite a full blown refreshment and certainly not a 100% decadence. I strongly wanted to make a grasshopper pie, but I’m bound by my limitations and therefore, a tart. The recipe is rich enough where it’s happenstance identity serves it well. A buttery chocolate cookie crust, filled with a chocolate custard and minted whipped mascarpone topping. I insisted on using green food coloring here to denote some resemblance of its famed predecessor. My verdict, I actually like the tart version more, pretty damn chic (I’d say).
p.s. I know this recipe uses liquid measurements two ways, please trust the process.
Serves 8
ingredients for minted whipped mascarpone:
