The last couple of Easter breaks we have gone away for the week. But this time, we are waiting it out, in a combo of not really feeling like contending with the masses shifting their way around the various cities of Europe, and wanting to save a bit of kroner for the eventual move. Still, I took Tuesday and Wednesday off, specifically because Mabel and Nick were doing a three-day IT camp at Microsoft, which meant I could be home alone for about 8 hours each day. I mentioned this plan to a coworker with kids and she said, “that is heaven.” And it was, at least the first day. I watched a movie, did a tiny tiny little bit of writing, read, napped. It was delicious. The second day, the cracks began to show a little. I started to get a little itchy, a little restless. I did a bit more writing — just enough to get a fix on the decrepitude, the complete festering rot that remains of my writing ability/enthusiasm. This was a bit painful, and then I read this article in the New Yorker, about Nico Muhly, a 26 year-old composer who had done more creative work by the age of 15 than I have done by 42. And that made me feel even better.

There are people like this guy who are sort of irrepressible in their creativity, like they can hardly stop themselves, it just has to come out. And people like them tend to think that if it’s not gushing out of you, then you should just become an insurance adjuster. In fairness, Nico Muhly, seems quite pleasant and never said any such thing in the article. But I assume it’s the people who gush who assert that those who don’t should just give up. I don’t really believe this is true, but it makes me panic a little. So I console myself by thinking about a woman who had a story in a collection sometime in the last 10 years, who said she had to take up jogging to get herself to write, and this makes excellent sense to those of us who can forget to do either writing or exercise for months at a time because we are distracted by the Simpsons and having jobs.

Anyway, here is what I am attempting to do now: make kulfi (Indian cardamom ice cream). A couple of months ago, James and I went to a French restaurant downtown where they served kulfi for dessert, and I have been craving it ever since. So I found a pretty simple recipe, which is to combine the following ingredients and then pour the mixture in popsicle cups and freeze:

  • 1 (14-ounce) can evaporated milk
  • 1 cup heavy cream
  • 1 (14-ounce) can sweetened condensed milk
  • 2 teaspoons ground cardamom
  • 1/2 cup ground pistachio nuts

    • Sounds easy enough, but I couldn’t find evaporated milk or sweetened condensed milk, or even dried milk, so I am attempting to evaporate and then sweeten it on my own. I’ll let you know how it comes out.