The Mad March Hare
Spring is on our doorstep!
If winter is when the dreamscaping and plotting for warmer climes occur, March is when we start getting down to business. Like the mad march hare, we run wildly about, oiling up the garden tools, adding those military olive pants to cart, and making our lists of wine bars to visit when the temperature climbs.
Windows are thrown open, pollen be damned. Workwear is in its most applicable season. The spring book stack is at its best and the to-be-read pile is star-studded.
It’s time to dust off the cobwebs and lean in. Personally, while my excitement for ramp season and blazer-with-no-coat weather is through the roof, I need a big fat attitude check concerning New York, which I’m not the most stoked about, probably because of my job, but so it goes.
We’re finding the good creativity elsewhere—particularly in the form of good menu type and woodsy, whimsical art. When I’m not living in the land of cover copy and AI headlines, I’ve been enamored with the interesting and appealing editorial work on Shop AD, reading articles on moon gardens and mushroom foraging in G&G, and trying every way known to man to get past the eight-article paywall on Prior, because I’d very much like to read everything they’ve ever produced.
I have also been donning my Hunters and spending a few hours every weekend clearing out a little patch of creekside woods at the farm that brings us bushels of ramps each year. It was a windy winter, so there are lots of sticks to be pulled and downed trees that need slicing up; none of us wants to be stumbling when we get down to the business of harvesting the gorgeous green alliums that crop up for a short window each spring.
Like many, many other people, I am borderline obsessed with ramp season. I love the harvest aspect of it—it always feels good to be out in the woods, and foraged food is usually flavored with some element of accomplishment.
People tend to kind of freak about ramps (I’m looking at every single New Yorker). You can find them at pretty much any farmer’s market in your city, and any restaurant worth its salt will probably be debuting a ramp-centric dish on its menu any day now. The hubbub might feel a bit silly for a tiny member of the onion family, yes, but don’t we need more little things to get excited about? Plus, the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it season means it comes and goes with fair speed.
This is much like spring itself, which feels like it’s just toed over the doorstep and will be sitting down to breakfast shortly—then back out the door and off again before the coffee’s had a chance to get cold. Enjoy it!
Is the period of March—mid-June the best stretch of reading time all year? I think so. March Madness on and it’s drizzling outside. First short sleeves of the season while sitting on a stoop, the curb, a park bench with a stranger on the other end. In Charleston, I used to sit in the library parking lot with the windows cracked, just to read the first chapter of my new pick-up. It’s unbeatable.
The best book I read this month, and possibly the best book of my literary year so far, is Lily King’s Euphoria. King’s two recent books, the very popular Writers & Lovers and Heart the Lover, were both five-star reads for me, but this Kirkus Prize winner from 2014 is, in language and concept, miles better. Loosely based on the life of famed anthropologist Margaret Mead, we follow a group of anthropologists in New Guinea in the 1930s, who get themselves into this impossible love triangle.
On the one hand, it’s this gorgeous, human story about communication and understanding. But it’s also propulsive, always just shy of being stressful. Towards the end, the plot hurtles forward—an aside, but the research this book must have taken floored me—and it’s a rare book where I was there for its entirety, so wholly immersed I could look up and see them in conversation in front of me. I loved it so much that I have already ordered a copy to reside on my shelf.
I also read this splendid, truly funny book called Now Is Not the Time to Panic by Kevin Wilson, whose other book, Nothing to See Here, is the object of all my affections. One minute you are literally laughing aloud and then you’re halfway through and crying at the coming-of-age of it all.
This was a fun premise: Bored to death in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee, Frankie and the new boy in town design a poster with a mysterious (and completely meaningless) slogan, distribute it around town, and tell no one—and then the poster spirals into a national phenomenon. Of course, it’s about so much more than the poster. Wilson never shies away from the awkwardness and earnestness of adolescence, and it’s what makes his writing so endearing.
If you like Kevin Wilson, you will almost certainly like Annie Hartnett’s The Road to Tender Hearts. The cast includes a cat who can read and is an “agent of death,” a very irreverent old man, his troubled daughter, and two odd children. I was all in on this road trip novel from the beginning and was enchanted by its weirdness. It handles heavy topics with levity and makes the weird feel normal; at no point did I know what was coming next. Hartnett explains her reasoning in the acknowledgments, which you should always read, but this book will grab you by the scruff of the neck and pull you right out of a reading slump.
Read some Steinbeck, too; his slim Cannery Row is a content, slice-of-life piece that feels more like a play than it does a novella. East of Eden has been sitting on my shelf, unread, but I’m kind of waiting to take a trip to California to read it.
Ali Smith is always up to something and her latest, Gliff, is the first in a duology that takes on classic dystopians (here, it’s Huxley’s Brave New World) through a different lens. I think the work of Percival Everett is a great comparison here, because if you’re not willing to be a little lost, confused by wordplay that’s cleverer than you, and generally venture into the experimental, this probably isn’t for you. In Smith’s brave new world, contemporary commentary on the surveillance state abounds. Stick with it; it does pick up, and Smith’s grasp on language is worth the mental work you need to commit to here.
And lastly, worth a callback just for its earthy atmosphere: Lanny by Max Porter is an odd, stunning spring novel I read last year that you should pick up in the next month or so, if you haven’t already.
For my birthday back in February, Kathleen and I spent a weekend in Philly hitting some really great spots, including dinner at Dancerobot, which is chef Jesse Ito’s secondary, more casual project. The name of the game is lots of shared plates from chicken katsu curry to pan-fried gyoza to fresh kanpachi. Kathleen had a green negroni (with shiso, my beloved) that was out of this world.
Wine Dive, an utterly delightful bar, was our repeat favorite—packed to the gills, with a great selection of by-the-glass options, stellar cocktails, and fun late-night snacks, like a fries-flavored soft serve. But the most entertaining spot on our hit list was Hop Sing Laundromat, the infamous Chinatown bar known for its formidable proprietor who is capital c crazy.
The vetting process to enter this bar is oddly long, and so is its list of rules (no phones, a list of banned clothing items, etc). The owner, who I guess is also essentially the bouncer, has this decades-long list of people he’s banned for rule infringement. We watched, unable to look away, as an entire group was rejected because one of their party had taken her phone out on April 24th, 2024 (oh, yes, he lists the specific date for all to hear).
The drinks were pretty incredible—the man has a back bar that rivals the best of them and his bev director is the proud owner of a JBA—and possibly we had the best margarita we’ll ever taste, but the experience is what makes it worth it to visit at least once.
At home, I made a good coffee cake from Claire Saffitz’s Dessert Person, the scones from The Big Sur Bakery Cookbook again because they are the best, a bright pork noodle soup with broccoli rabe from Alison Roman, and the most slept-on Ina Garten recipe, these cauliflower toasts, which you should definitely make this spring because they are the best, ever.
I also made this stenciled tiramisu, which I’ve never tried before, with Roman’s Classic Tiramisu recipe as my base. It turned out quite sweet, actually, and very on theme for Easter weekend and March in general.
All of Cherry Bombe’s podcast episodes are lovely, but I particularly enjoyed listening to Kerry’s interview with Ballymaloe all-timer JR Ryall, their incredible pastry chef, this past week. He talked Darina Allen, stewed rhubarb (it’s finally time!), and chocolate eclairs that I am both excited and a little afraid to attempt.
Seven songs I’m jiving with this spring, from a mix.
Where Are We Going? by Marvin Gaye
Brown Thrasher by Animal Collective
Hendrix with Ko by Caribou
The Ballad of San Marino by JIM
Beside April by BADBADNOTGOOD
Honey Hi by Fleetwood Mac
Golden Meadow by Ancient Infinity Orchestra
Love Makes Magic by JIM manages to sound both classic and new, borrowing some disposition from the acoustic alternative of the sixties and adding tasteful layers of production. “The Ballad of San Marino” is a great way to spend seven minutes, “Across the Street” opens the album with a dreamlike quality, “Phoenix” is unique, and “Love Makes Magic” closes us out with something reminiscent of folksy Seal.
For The Birds is completely new to me. The Birdsong Project put together twenty LPs inspired by the beauty of birdsong back in 2022, and includes both music and poetry/spoken word by all kinds of fantastic musicians, poets, and actors. It’s beautiful, unique, and the cover art for the vinyls are radiant.
Neil Young claims to have written “Mr. Soul,” the most well-known song off of Buffalo Springfield Again, in just five minutes—but I’m just happy he wrote it at all. The creation story behind this album (for example, literary icon Eve Babitz created the album art) is as convoluted as you would expect.
Jazzy, semi-ambient, and possessing surprising levity, It’s Always About Love is everything I love about listening to albums at random and stumbling upon a true gem. I’ve had it on repeat all month and it’s a fantastic album to soundtrack a long walk.
Raoul and the Kings of Spain, a 1995 album from Tears For Fears, has been on heavy rotation. The eponymous title track is fantastic—it has that very distinct nineties sound, which feels unexpected coming from a band so associated with the eighties.
Beach House’s ethereal, sometimes heart-rending sound is a source of comfort and nostalgia, and B-Sides and Rarities is required listening. “Baseball Diamond” and “Equal Mind” rise to the top.
And what I’ll be listening to in April: moved down south, springy chicky flicks, Genesis, Led Zeppelin’s Presence, sleepy jazz/the last guests are leaving, and New England.
Sours. “I want my cocktail to taste green and also a little bit like grass” are words I often utter. But before the haul of summer produce hits, I’ve been turning to freshness via acidic citrus. Things such as the “fluffy sour” (for all you negroni lovers), a Glaswegian twist on the White Lady, and the bourbon-based, Southern-steeped classic have crossed my desk. It’s sometimes a love-it-or-don’t situation, but I’m a big fan of egg white, particularly for aesthetic reasons. The most beautiful drink I shook up this month was the Milano-Torino Sour—I cannot imagine a better drink to serve to friends, preferably in a Nick and Nora glass.
SWURL Media. I've been loving this little indie wine magazine, whose interesting interviews with wine legends and up-and-comers alike, guides to the quietest and swankiest places to sip, and deep dives into wine history and culture make for some fun reading. I found them through this great article whose thesis was “you should work a wine harvest once in your life, preferably in France,” that I drooled over while dreaming of work that involved minimal time in a desk chair.
Unrivaled Basketball League. As a big women’s basketball fan, I started watching Unrivaled in its inaugural season in 2024 and think it’s just the best thing ever. Kathleen and I beelined to Brooklyn to watch the semifinals the first week of March, and it was absolutely electric. Played 3v3, it’s a scrappier, skillful showcase of the WNBA’s best ballers. Their social media and player presence off the court is phenomenal, and I can’t wait to see how the league continues to grow. With the shiny-new CBA agreement, this WNBA season won’t be one to miss, but to me, Unrivaled is becoming the superior league.
Thanks for reading this month! Seeing lawns regain life and this warm, blustery weather really does things for the mood. I hope everyone who celebrates is having a lovely Easter Sunday; we’re prepping our soft-boiled eggs and mouillettes and setting the table with the cabbageware (my favorite!). Cheers to April, and to spring at last!
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See you next month!
Sincerely yours,
Grace