It’s midterm season. You hit the quad, half walking, half running, panicking because your bike got a pinch flat back on University Avenue and you had to lock it up and ditch it by Mumford Hall, but your class is over off 6th St.
You had five minutes then. Now you’re down to three.
You didn’t sleep last night; you didn’t have that luxury. Eating, that wasn’t exactly on the agenda either. You’re breathing though, running over a general timeline of early medieval history again in your head. Professor said exact dates weren’t necessary, so you subconsciously purged those. Diocletian. Constantine. The Council of Nicaea. You know this is all living in your short-term memory, trying to bleed back out.
You need to get this down on paper. Now.
You bust through the auditorium doors. Heads turn, people stare. Whatever. You’re past embarrassment. You sit, loudly. That TA, the one who always wears the sweat-stained Cardinals hat and a smug, condescending frown, he hands you the exam. Your eyes close. Open. You check the essay questions first. You always check the essay questions first. Pressure releases, you’ve got those on lock. Multiple choice takes care of itself. You write, and write, and write, shaking slightly from the triple espresso you put down a few hours ago. But it’s not long before it’s all over. You turn in the exam, with an unexpected confidence in your performance. You leave content. You’re walking back across the quad, tired, but more than elated that that midterm is over. Maybe just more excited that you have an opportunity to relax.
And it’s then that you stop and look around. You take it in. The leaves. The colors. You’d been ignoring them for the past few days—too busy. But your studying is over now. You hear the soft rustle of leaves being trampled underfoot. You inhale the crisp air. It feels good. And your once overwhelmed and over distracted mind can ignore it no longer.
Fall is here.
Fall, for me, is primarily about two things: layers and fabrics. Flannels, wools, thick-knits. Jackets over sweaters over shirts, with scarves on top. Hats too, sometimes. Put on boots, any boots. And don’t forget tweed. Fall is your time to experiment. It’s your chance to find who you are, sartorially. Throw on some sportcoats. Or don’t, it’s your call. But really, above all, have fun. Clothes can be fun. They should be fun.
Wear a watch. You should know what time it is without fishing your iPhone out of your pocket. Plus, watch straps are the new way to display your personality (sarcasm). But in all seriousness, start collecting. Or just buy this.
Fall is also a great time to break in a fresh pair of raw denim. Or, if your selvedge collection is already three or so deep, get on that duck canvas jam. You’ll be glad you did.
On Cameron: thrifted herringbone blazer by Hill and Archer, thrifted heather grey sweater by Ireland Group; Kurabo denim in the 77 fit by Baldwin Denim; thrifted blue oxford by Gant, beeswax desert boots by Clarks; military watch by Timex.
Photography by Mallory Wiegers.
The third in a series on the interplay of food and style, with Blake Royer, of the exceptional culinary website The Paupered Chef. We’ve already dispatched with breakfast in bed and a working lunch. Next up: the dinner party.
To say you’re an accomplished character is putting it lightly. That time you sumitted Kilimanjaro during a snow storm. The month you took a vow of silence. The day all the stoplights turned green.
Roast something. Inviting people to eat requires skill, timing, and artfulness. Roasting takes tremendous pressure off one of those things; with a thermometer and a few basic tips, the timing of the meal becomes far more forgiving.
On toasting: Let’s bring it back. Toasts are a delicate alchemy. They require a strange combination of humor, sincerity and unspoken permission from your audience. They’re hard. Which is why people respect a good one. You have to make them laugh, steer a wide berth around cliches, and remain earnest. The formula: begin with something polite, transition to something clever, and end with something true. Best bet is one you’ve spent enough time preparing that it seems effortless. But really, all that’s required is a simple and genuine thanks for showing up.
Embrace the performance. Dinner parties are funny things. People are watching themselves and watching each other, and that’s okay. People are watching themselves and watching each other, and that’s okay. The cast of a dinner party will always be new (if it’s just close friends over for a meal, it’s not a dinner party), so the dynamic is unfamiliar. A little mystery is a good thing.
Never mention your own cooking. Whether you’re fishing for compliments or lamely apologizing for the “dry meat” you’re lowering the tone. Take Julia Child’s advice: “You should never apologize at the table. People will think, ‘Yes, it’s really not so good.’” If the food is great, it speaks for itself. If it sucks, don’t mention it. They won’t remember.
Greetings and farewells. Much like giving a good compliment, hellos and goodbyes are best when simple and heartfelt. You’re excited they’re here, you’re so pleased they enjoyed themselves, and you hope to see them soon.
And if you’re the guest, bring a gift. Hosting a dinner party is a sacrifice of time, money and energy, so offer something that shows you appreciate the effort. Booze always fits the bill. Though if you’d like to take it to the next level, bring something that reminds you of the host. It shows you’ve paid attention. Bonus points for a handwritten note the next day.
And now, about that roast…
Adapted from The Zuni Cafe Cookbook by Judy Rogers*
For the pork:
For the polenta:
*Possibly one of the best cookbooks in the world to learn from. Highest recommendation.
Lay the pork out on a cutting board and examine the natural seams in the meat. Using your fingers and the tip of a knife as needed, excavate the seams to expose as much internal surface area of the pork as possible, carefully freeing the muscles along their natural separations. Season the pork inside and out with salt.
In a small bowl, mix together the capers, lemon zest, garlic, sage, rosemary, fennel seeds, and black pepper. Pack the herb mixture into the crevices of the pork, rubbing it into the meat and ensuring the seasoning reaches all the exposed surfaces. Using kitchen string (or if your roast came with a net, use it) to tie the roast back into its original shape. It should take 4-5 strings crosswise and one lengthwise to accomplish this (for detailed tying instructions, see this post on making lamb pancetta). An even shape will also cook evenly.
Cover, refrigerate, and allow the seasoning to penetrate the meat, at least 1 day and up to 3.
When it’s time to cook:
Heat an oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. In a large (14-inch) ovenproof skillet or roasting pan, heat the olive oil over medium heat until shimmering. Add the pork (it should sizzle) and transfer to the oven. Roast, uncovered, for an hour (the pork should begin to color; if it hasn’t, up the temperature to 400.)
While the pork roasts, bring the water to boil in a large saucepan, then pour in the polenta in a slow stream while whisking to prevent clumping. Once it’s all added, add the salt and reduce heat to low, stirring often as it thickens and the cornmeal becomes creamy, 25-30 minutes. If it appears too dry and the cornmeal is not yet soft, add more water and continue cooking; you can always cook it longer to evaporate any excess water. Once soft, turn off the heat until ready to serve. To finish, reheat and stir in butter and Parmesan.
Meanwhile, halve the fennel lengthwise and cut out the core. Put the halves cut-side down and slice thinly crosswise. Toss with enough olive oil and salt to coat it nicely.
Once the pork has been in an hour, use tongs to flip it over and tuck the sliced fennel into the roasting pan around the porchetta, tossing it well in the roasting juices. Return the roast to the oven and continue cooking for another 1 to 1 1/2 hours, to an internal temperature of 145º F.
Remove the pork to a cutting board and keep it loosely covered in foil while it rests for at least 10 minutes (the meat will reabsorb the juices, ensuring it’s as moist as possible). Put the roasting pan on the stovetop (with the fennel still in it), pour or spoon off any excess fat, and turn the heat to high. Add the vermouth to the pan, using the liquid to scrape up any caramelized bits left from the pork in the roasting pan. Cook, stirring often, until the fennel is soft and caramelized and the vermouth has mostly evaporated.
Slice the pork and serve with the polenta, along with some of the caramelized fennel and rich pan juices. Finish with some of the fennel fronds that (ideally) came attached to the fennel bulb. Serve.
We live in a day and age where our lives our dominated by choices. We wake up, decide where to get our coffee, what to eat for lunch, what to watch on TV, where to get our haircut, etc. When it comes to denim, we’re blessed with luxury of a few dozen purchase-worthy brands. Take your pick: Baldwin, Rogue Territory, Tellason, Left Field, A.P.C., Kicking Mule Workshop, Imogene + Willie, Apolis and so on and so forth. It’s a little crazy to think that when we turn back the clock a few decades, this vast sea of quality constructed jeans is reduced to just one stand-out brand. I think you know where I’m going with this. Levi Strauss and Co. has been the king of denim since they started churning out their signature 501′s at the turn of the 20th century. And there’s no garment more iconic in the gritty subcultures of America than the Trucker jacket. Just because we live our lives in the indigo of a new brand doesn’t mean we have to forget who invented the wheel.
These black 501s were my Dad’s. They’re some of my favorite jeans in terms of fit. They’re a straight leg that’s slim through the thigh and they have a higher rise that sits at my hips. That is, of course, where pants are supposed to sit. Not that a low rise is bad. It’s just a little less natural, in terms of your body’s dimensions. Your legs begin at your hips. Conversely, that’s where your torso ends. Dropping the rise means that we’re visually elongating our torso, thus shortening the appearance of our legs. For some, that’s the desired effect. Other times, it can look goofy. It’s a subtle thing, but hey, life is in the details.
Something about a black tie makes a man feel alive. Not to mention, a man’s best accessory is always his facial hair. Or if you don’t have any, I guess your best accessory is your awesome personality, or something like that.
Levi’s branding is spot on. And it looks even better after a few decades of wear and tear. The jacket was an eBay acquisition. Note: half of my closet is comprised of eBay acquisitions. Also, the presence of white tube socks denotes #swag.
On Cameron: vintage Trucker jacket by Levi’s; heather hoody by American Apparel; vintage white OCBD by Gant; black tie by J.Crew; black leather belt (stolen from dad); old black 501s (stolen from dad) by Levi’s; military watch by Timex for J.Crew; black PTBs by Florsheim Imperial.
Photography by Mallory Wiegers.
Lately, I’ve been into this website called, “The Color Collective.” I’ve been reading this blog for a little over a year. It’s a huge source of inspiration in my presentation. Essentially, it’s a simple blog with various runway images, fashion photography, illustrations and landscapes all neatly complemented with highlighted colors from the image.
I usually like what I wear to reflect a mood, a theme, a story, a tone. The Color Collective picks those ideas out and translates them to workable color stories. Give it a try. I did with this post. Granted, most of the images are of women, but let’s get over that and source their inspiration, shall we?
From behind, it’s a field jacket, grey jeans and desert boots. From the front, it’s a scoop-neck, slub-knit tee and a draping open cardigan. A neat contrast from different angles. This is another one of my go-to outfits for this fall. It’s relaxed but not boring.
My thrifted, dirty canvas and leather backpack has come a long way from undergrad, especially for being such a great three dollar find my sophomore year in Kansas City. It’s a very understated, cool backpack: nothing fancy, minimal padding, no laptop sleeve. It’s like a broken in baseball glove after a couple of seasons. Trusty and well-loved.
Also, swap out your laces on your desert boots. It’s refreshing.
Second also, can we talk about grey denim? It’s the best.
Finally pulled the trigger on this puppy, the Giles & Brother brass railroad spike bracelet. I hate the word “man jewelry,” so I’m just going to pretend that we’re all secure enough in our own genders that we don’t need to put an extra adjective in front to assert that, cool? Haha. It’s “men’s jewelry” if anything, not man jewelry. I’ll step off my soap box, now. HAPPY MONDAY!
On Jeff: Cotton hunting jacket by Levi’s; unixex silk/rayon blend scoop-neck tee by T by Alexander Wang; slate-colored cardigan; grey straight-leg “Kane” 5-pocket pant courtesy J Brand; brown desert boots by Clark’s; grey interchangeable boot laces from J.Crew; brass railroad spike bracelet by Giles & Brother.
Photos by Seth Putnam.
This is the second installment of the “tiny cookbook” Blake Royer (from The Paupered Chef) is producing for us. If you’re just joining us: The idea was born over drinks at a tucked-away Chicago bar with the idea that, in addition to knowing how to dress, a man should master a couple of go-to recipes. We’re preparing one for each meal of the day: breakfast, lunch, dinner and dessert—and styling Blake in the process. The recipes will be constrained by situation (e.g. lunch while working from home), budget (e.g. $5, or maybe what you’ve got in the fridge) and time (e.g. you’ve got 10 minutes to throw an elegant breakfast together before heading to work.)
First, we did breakfast. Now: Lunch.
On Blake in the home office: Oxford shirt purchased in Buenos Aires for 75 pesos (joke’s on them, because that’s $25 US) by Felix; belt by Cause and Effect; khaki chinos ($20 sale) by Levi’s; mocassins by Quoddy.
You’re a hard worker. Unfortunately for you, that means you don’t always give lunch its due. That, or you order something “fast” a little too often, a one-way track to needing bigger pants in a couple of years.
We get it; it’s tempting. You’ve got a good workflow going, and no time to waste on a leisurely lunch out of the office. But you need a bit of fuel to be doing your best work. But in the interests of adequate fuel (and your waistband) you should really think about whipping up something at home.
Here, then, is a dish that’s quick to prepare and easy on the pocketbook. This is one that will take a slight amount of foresight—which is fine, because a man should know how to plan ahead.
A few thoughts from Blake about his lunch philosophy:
I’ve worked enough days in my life, from my desk at home to mind-numbing office temp gigs, to have developed some theories on lunch. To me, the working lunch is a series of balances: it should be fast, yet not fast-food; it should be a break from work, but not so indulgent you can’t get moving again; it should be fulfilling, but not a cause of sluggishness. Lunch should work for you, but so often it’s the other way around.
Here’s the idea: Work ahead, do a little bit of planning, and go vegetarian. And above all keep in mind: Healthy doesn’t have to mean it tastes like cardboard.
Start with a hearty grain, ideally with a high protein content—like farro, brown rice, or quinoa—and pair it with a vegetable, a touch of olive oil for slickness, and some kind of dressing. Sometimes just lemon juice works. Other times I rely on my stash of homemade vinaigrette that keeps for weeks in the fridge (speaking of, you should never buy salad dressing again after learning that recipe). But I’m most proud of my secret two-punch you see here: soft goat cheese and homemade pesto. It will blow your mind.
A few tips that make this a breeze:
Delicious, nutritious lunch is never more than ten minutes away. Now get back to work.
Farro with Pesto and Goat Cheese
Makes: One serving
Prep time: 10 minutes (plus 30 minutes or so the Sunday before)
1 clove garlic
1/4 teaspoon salt
A heaping handful of fresh basil
Olive oil as needed
2 tablespoons pine nuts
1/4 cup grated hard cheese (such as Parmesan or Pecorino)
Combine one of the garlic cloves with the salt in a mortar and pestle. Mash the garlic into a paste with the salt. Roughly chop the basil leaves and add them to the mixture, pounding them into a smooth-ish paste, then pound in the olive oil a little at a time to bring everything together into a sauce. Continue with the pine nuts and cheese and pound until smooth. Taste and season with salt, if needed.
NOTES ON PESTO: Alternatively, you could do this whole process in a small food processor, or quadruple the recipe and do it in a blender. But if you do that much (which we recommend), leave out the pine nuts and cheese before freezing in small quantities. When the time comes, defrost and mix in the cheese and pine nuts fresh.