Hot Honey Fig & Prosciutto Sandwiches
Good morning, friends! I am writing this letter on Saturday evening after a spectacular day of September-like weather. I was truly giddy at the temperatures this morning, which stayed around seventy degrees till noon. I drove up to Williamsburg for one of the final farmers markets of summer. While I walked from my car to the market a bubbling of delight took me over. Mary Oliver’s words flung out from me into the green, green day: “…joy is not meant to be a crumb.”
I hope that your weekend contained something more than a crumb of joy.
Do you want to know a secret? I think I am going to be better at things than I sometimes am. I am not sure if we have yet discussed this relatively neutral characteristic of mine that, glimpsing a specialized field of expertise thinks, “Surely it isn’t that hard, I’ll figure it out.” I think of this characteristic as neutral because it has yet to ruin anything for me. Most often this quality is what pushes me out of my comfort zone and into interesting experiences. I suppose it helps that I’m not always in it for a specific outcome, but for the experience in general: an asset in situations where I find out that yes, it actually can be that hard to do the thing (whatever it is), and people have devoted years to proper training for a reason. Of course I’ve also run into things that I am good at, seemingly for no reason. But more often, I’m quickly humbled. I look at my mantel right now (pictured above) and see several examples of former audacities:
The clay bust of a woman which, from this angle, looks actually decent but upon closer inspection shows all the marks of an amateur modeler. Indeed, it is so off-balanced that it is propped up on a short stack of coins so it doesn’t topple over. You can’t see the coins unless you move it, so I just don’t move it. And are those snakey-tendrils meant to be hair or is she, perhaps, Medusa? I produced this clumsy statuette during the one week wherein I thought I was better at airdry clay than I am. The last time I moved it, an entire one of her braids crumbled off into my hands.
Or the watercolor illustration of “flowers on my record table”, framed in a secondhand wooden frame. I actually am pretty fond of this little illustration I did a few weeks ago (hence going to the length of sourcing its frame), but it is temporarily propped next to a professional antique still-life, and the juxtaposition is painful. I am clearly a hobbyist, not a true artist.
Or the plants on my mantel: a half dead orchid and a half-alive prayer plant. We know I am a willing horticulturist, I’m just a little clumsy. The prayer plant is actually doing well but its one rust-tinged leaf reminds me of its early travails in my household. Likewise, I have never known how to take care of an orchid but I blithely buy one every so often, then watch it die little by little under all of my fatal (but good) intentions. I didn’t think orchids were really so hard to keep alive.
These examples are not final pronouncements, of course. I have a strong interest in learning pottery, watercolor illustrations are not meant to resemble professional oil paintings, and each time I buy an orchid I get a little better at guessing what it needs - the one on the mantel even put out a timorous leaf last week! But I guess what I mean is this: inspiration, vision, innate good sense, and intuition take me pretty far. And then? Well, eventually I just have to put in the work to actually learn the stuff. Thank heavens my flareups of innovation are matched by a work ethic that doesn’t mind putting in the hours to truly learn.
I can think of many areas in life where this has been (or is) true for me. Chief of these right now is the task of rebuilding my wardrobe to fit my new job. Yes, the sabbatical is over! If all goes to plan I should be starting a new position a walkable distance from my house (a dream) by the end of the month. The environment (a public, professional place) is novel to my work experience. What this is means is that I don’t have anything to wear. It isn’t so much that “business casual” is a hard ask, it is that my life has never asked a business casual moment of me so that, prior to a few recent purchases, everything I owned skewed either “nanny” or “very fun.”
This process of shopping for this new closet category has felt so odd, a little exciting, and a little alien. I haven’t really had many occasions to put together outfits in the last 5-6 years. My body has changed, my taste has changed, the styles have changed, and anyway, I had never needed to discover my workwear style. This is not a renovation, this is new build; super fun, but also a big project.
I am no Enneagram 4 but my sense of aesthetics is strong and loud. Everything in my home, my closet, or on my body have been chosen to reflect a particular story, vibe, essence, aura, main character energy…you get the picture.
Most of the time I’m not trying to curate, I’m just led by a well-developed inner sense of what I like and why, and I don’t have trouble making decisions. So when I checked in with myself about a preferred workwear vision, the answer was immediate. I took to Pinterest (always a first step) and found plenty of photos to match. What I ended up pulling together has all the charm of a Nora Ephron heroine combined with a touch of academia and a dose of Dutch street style. It is all about layers and quality fabrics, clean makeup, and rich colors gleaming out among sensible neutrals. It is sturdy shoes and cozy sweaters, trousers, blazers, and knits. It’s clothing that says “I’m a professional, but not high maintenance. We could be at work, but afterward let’s have coffee or browse a bookstore together.” It’s a look that relies on fewer items of higher quality, and if we’re being honest it’s a look that is only weather-appropriate for four months out of the year in Virginia. Nevertheless, it has me in a chokehold. It helped me pick out new glasses after my eye exam. It is trying to convince me I need bangs. It’s ridiculously specific. But oh, I see it.
This can’t be that hard, right? It’s not like stylists are a whole specialty industry. It’s not like you might want more than a two-week leadup to source your fully kitted-out aesthetic before “launch day.”
Oh, Rache.
To begin with, quality pieces that are workplace-appropriate and fit the prescribed vision are few and far between. Add to this my desire to source as much second-hand as possible (for budget and sustainability purposes) and you’re looking at a lengthy timeline for this build. Secondly, although I have been all over Pinterest sourcing inspiration photos, I have yet to see this Ephron-esque style mastered by a plus size woman. Is this because the clothes don’t suit our bodies? I doubt that, having seen people of all sizes rocking virtually every clothing style. Rather, the offerings in upper sizes are so limited that I think we haven’t seen it because it’s so hard to find items with which we can build these dream closets. We have the vision, and we lack the materials: I was in a store last week holding multiple items that fit this dream look in my very hands and forcing back tears because they did not offer them (not in store, not online) large enough for me to wear. The clothes exist, they are just not accessible to women in large bodies. (Oh, and let’s not forget that when you’re a lush pear shape and you’re looking for trousers that are made of non-stretchy material, you’ll need to size the heck up - if them items even exist - and that fact might hurt your feelings even though it shouldn’t because you’re the same shape you were ten minutes ago. And that’s a whole thing.)
Nevertheless, she persisted, and found some luck doing it.
I have been scouring Mecari, Poshmark, and other sites for secondhand items in the styles I want. Does it feel like dumpster diving? Sometimes. Will it be worth it? I think so. I’ve gone to a local consignment shop and bought some very non-Ephron (but also inoffensive) blouses on sale for a dollar apiece, along with a pair of trousers I am excited about. I plan to skulk through some thrift stores and see if there is anything not totally hideous in size 2X (a rarity). And yes, I bought a couple of items new from a trusted site whose sizing I recognize, like a sensible person who knows that curated wardrobes are a great thought, but you can’t go to work naked next week.
I promise you that one day I will be better at turning this plus size Ephron heroine thing into a tangible reality. I think vision and standards and great taste are wonderful things. And if my optimistic self thought I could look like Kathleen Kelly from day one on the job, well, my work ethic will see me through the whole wardrobe build-out, even if I do have to suffer polyester for a few months.
Tonight I put away the style conundrum and all the things I want to be good at, but am not quite yet. I step into my kitchen and pull out a collection of good things sourced for a great sandwich: soft ciabatta, prosciutto, local figs gifted to me, camembert, hot honey, arugula bright with lemon. I might not be good at everything, but I am good at this, at cooking. The kitchen is the one place where anything I dream can be produced as soon as I think it. When I grow tired of being new at something (who doesn’t?) I repair to the kitchen because there, I am instinctive and expert. We all have a skill we call our home; mine is food. I will make a sandwich for our dinner, runny with melted cheese and juicy figs, toasted under the broiler. We will eat our sandwiches over favorite plates, and I will think of the archetypical sweater I still cannot find, and then thoughts of Blundstone boots will vanish as we split open a perfect melon for dessert. Time enough for sartorial dreams later: for now, it is dinner.
Hot Honey Fig & Prosciutto Sandwiches
1 ciabatta loaf, or two ciabatta buns
3 ounces prosciutto
6 large figs, sliced
3-4 ounces of camembert, or another soft mild cheese, sliced
2 handfuls baby arugula
1-2 teaspoons hot honey
olive oil
salt and pepper
juice of one lemon
Turn on broiler. Split ciabatta loaf in half and drizzle with olive oil. On one half (I prefer the bottom half), layer the cheese and figs. Place under the broiler for 5 minutes, or until bread is toasty, the figs are warm, and the cheese melted.
Meanwhile toss arugula with lemon juice, olive oil, and a little salt and pepper. When the sandwich comes out of the oven, drizzle the figs with hot honey. Over this, layer the prosciutto, then pile the greens on top.
Finish by adding the “roof” of the sandwich, then slice into portions and serve immediately!
P.S. Speaking of figs, I’m going to be making this fig cake from last year’s fig season and just wanted to link to it again in case those of you who joined our Substack family after that very early post had missed your chance to bake it!