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How to Make Classic French Madeleines Madeleines are the little French butter cakes that most (non-French) people think of more as a cookie. I don’t think they’re for the inexperienced cook—they are a little tricky and need a fair amount of confidence to turn out just right. That said, I’ve tried to cover all the small details in this recipe so even if you’re a fairly new cook, you can certainly still give these a try. I’m offering the classic lemon-scented madeleines here, but they do come in many flavors. Chocolate, rose, vanilla, lavender, and orange are all popular versions. S...

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” – Marcel Proust Fabio Borg The title of Fabio Borg’s exhibition, Revisited Memories, suggests an exercise in remembering, a summoning of ghosts.   Marcel Proust, in his famous novel Remembrance of Things Past , dwells on memories triggered by the most seemingly mundane of experiences, like the taste of a Madeleine cupcake or an unsteady, loose tile. For Borg, it is the occasional visits to places that have a connection with his childhood that jogs his memory and sends him down memory lane....

Hamid Dabashi’s new book on Edward Said shows how the Palestinian intellectual became “integral to the very alphabet of our moral and political imagination.”

1994-4, Oil on Paper | Photo from the book To say or think that Ayessha Quraishi is simply an artist who creates abstract art is a disservice to her. From her early drawings and doodles that began in the mid-1980s, to muted oils on paper last year, Quraishi has shown us much that we may possibly expect from an inventive, contemporary artist. Her intelligent body of abstract art is chemical, to say the least, for it continues to transmute during an ongoing career that spans over three decades. Readers, collectors and art enthusiasts can now observe the trajectory of her art practice in the lim...

At 26 degrees, though, it is just more summer without the humidity. As my foreign friends like to say, it is what it is. Reconciled to the reality of what it is, and since there are no forests in Dhaka for forest bathing, I go up to the roof with a glass of cool lemonade instead of hot tea, sit among the myriad plants that I have collected, and do plant bathing, while taking deep breaths of what I like to imagine is pure oxygen. Face turned to the sky, I lean back and enjoy the feeling of just being alive. The birds chirp, parrots fly past and a breeze stirs gently in the palms.