Marrakech: and a tale of Thanksgiving at Peacock Pavilions

Oh just because we live in Morocco doesn't mean that we don't celebrate Thanksgiving.  

And so it was that invitations were made...and the Peacock Pavilions kitchen was abuzz....with good food.

We gathered in the salon where a fire was roaring.

There was a late harvest cocktail and appetizers:

* pears wrapped in prosciutto and arugula, with shaved parmesan drizzled with balsamic vinaigrette

* white bean paste crostini with black Hawaiian sea salt 

* mini zucchini cakes (zucchini, toasted bread crumbs, scallions) with a dot of spiced yogurt 

Then we moved to the Peacock Pavilions dining tent and friends filled their plates....

 

We sat at low tables that had been dressed for the occasion.

We dug in...

The menu included:

*2 kinds of turkey, one smoked and one slathered with organic honey, and two accompanying gravies & cranberry relish

* Roasted pumpkin with sage brown butter sauce (made with pumpkin from our garden instead of squash)  

* Mashed potatoes with crispy shallots (We added roasted garlic as well as toasted garlic.)

* Sauteed parsnips with dates and spiced yogurt

* Roasted brussel sprouts with garlic and onion 

* Green bean and roasted red pepper salad in a sherry vinaigrette

* Wild rice with mushrooms

We went around the table and gave thanks, all 20 of us.

We were thankful for friends & family, a freshly elected president and even a book that had been published.  We were also grateful we weren't living in Gaza and our hearts went out to families living in conflict.....

One 13 year old boy was thankful there were girls in his class....

While another thirteen year old was grateful that we had evolved from homo sapiens to be the very people we are today...

And after the gratitude there was....dessert:  

* pumpkin pie made from scratch (no canned pumpkin here) with whipped cream

* apple tart with vanilla ice cream

And tea, of course.

Why we ate so much that even the fancy dogs that had been invited for Thanksgiving could barely roll out the door....

Happy Thanksgiving to you no matter where you live today and every day....

PS  Merci to Michelle, Alexia, Bob, Lise and Kimo for all their help in making this Thanksgiving so delicious and pretty.  You all are swell.

Marrakech: and a tale of a J Crew shoot for Madewell at Peacock Pavilions

They arrived at Peacock Pavilions, 18 of them --a crew from the UK, from Japan, from Canada, from the US.... and, well, from J Crew.... (Can it be?  Pinch me!) 

With their cameras....

and with their huge screens set up in our olive grove...

They were at Peacock Pavilions to keep a watchful eye on their model, Alana...

And watch her they did....

There was hair....

And there was makeup...

And by the light of the moon, by the light of the stars...

Alana was transformed.....(but I can't show you those pictures.  You'll have to wait for the Madewell April lookbook....)

Suddenly Madewell gave a whole new meaning to what it is to be in  Marrakesh by design....

Special thanks to the adorable Tara Rehak from J Crew!

PS New stock of gorgeous Moroccan handiras (wedding blankets) and Beni Ouarain carpets in Red Thread Souk.  Check it out!

Egypt: and tales of walking like an Egyptian

Oh the tales....the many tales I've told about Egypt.....

Yes, that's where I...

Considered a tattoo.

Contemplated faith 

Played with a naughty little boy.

Spent time with a polygamist.

Was bejeweled.

Got lost in the Khan el Khalili.

Was enlightened.

Witnessed intrigue

Drank coffee with Naguib Mahfouz.

Wore gold colored glasses.

Was crowned the Queen of Juice.

Had color therapy.

Skimmed the surface.

Tried to crack a secret code.

Shopped and shopped.

Couldn't get a girl out of my mind

Shared a love story. and...

Had visions of Paradise.

I'm in Egypt now, searching for another tale to tell.

Images from here and here.

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Mirleft Morocco: and a birthday tale for my son, Tristan

My husband hadn't wanted to know if we were having a boy or a girl.  And so after the sonogram, the Nepali doctor, his eyes unblinking, had solemnly handed me a little piece of folded paper.  On it in lower case letters was simply written the word, boy.   

I had been brought up by feminist parents.  I was prepared for a girl.  I knew just how I might raise a girl.  But a boy?  Well, that was something altogether different.  Now that was likely to be tricky.  

Tristan was a tiny baby with delicate features.  He didn't have rolls or dimples or pudgy fingers like the other babies.  Seeing my furrowed brow, the doctor had told me to massage his limbs every day to encourage growth.  And I did, with the vigor and determination of a first time mother.  

Tristan grew and grew and grew.  And now he is, well, big.  He woke me up early this morning by whispering in my ear that he was a teenager.  Oh.  

Dear Tristan, Happy Birthday.  May you continue to be kind and funny and brave, and well, sort of amazing. May you continue to set up impromptu chemistry labs to test out your theories (even though they make a mess). May you continue to eschew linear thinking in favor of free association -- like a firecracker display flashing in every direction.  And may you continue to create crazy personas with Southern drawls and gangster attitudes.    

If I could make a special request that you also continue to dance with your mother by the side of the road for absolutely no reason, no reason at all.  

I'm so glad that that folded piece of paper said, boy.  I wouldn't have had it any other way.

PS Images by the very talented Delphine Warin.