“As both a seeker and a writer, I find it helpful to hang on to the beads as much as possible, the better to keep my attention focused on what it is I’m trying to accomplish.” Elizabeth Gilbert, on the usefulness of prayer beads, Eat, Pray, Love
It is Sunday morning, and my sink is still filled with dirty dishes from last night’s dinner party. I am ignoring the dishes right now—although I’m sure I’ll wash them before lunch—and pausing my reading of the new book that my friend Elizabeth gave me so that I may indulge in the pleasure of writing. I’m hoping to figure out exactly what my beads are.
Last night was two months to the day from my 27th birthday. I did something I haven’t done since I was nine: I threw myself a birthday party. And it was wonderful. I do believe it was one of the happiest nights of my life, and I say that knowing full well I still have more dishes to wash! It was a pretty simple affair: five friends, me, and a spread of magnificently homey food. I invited people whose company I adore and whose friendships inspire me to be the best person I can be. I was especially excited to gather them all in one room since there were introductions to be made, and there’s nothing more wonderful than letting your friends meet each other. I’m always very confident that my friends will like each other. They tend to have a certain honest straightforwardness that makes them quite endearing. They are funny and genuine, skeptical and caring, and above all, whip-smart and not afraid of heavy conversations. They are deeply empathetic and with that deep empathy, they dole out the best advice I’ve heard yet. Their advice might be the best birthday gift I received.
Every single one of them, in their own unique ways, contributed to the dinner itself. Ammie, who is slow and steady and whose company is as refreshing as a whispering forest stream, came over early to help prepare dinner with me before the others arrived. Together, we made a giant batch of roasted potatoes in a tahini-parmesan-lemon-garlic sauce—a riff on this recipe—and she worked some sort of onion-garlic magic on the big pot of beans that was simmering on the stove. Ammie is fast becoming one of my favorite people, and I can only thank my lucky stars that she’s willing to put up with me. Cooking with Ammie is really lovely. We’re both incredibly enthusisatic about cooking, but we’re also amateurs, so we have no illusions about our skills. Ammie is a thoughtful and talented cook. We’re a good team in the kitchen; both of us are able to give and follow directions, so it makes the cooking very relaxing and enjoyable.
After Ammie arrived, Elizabeth and her husband Michael were next. When I grow up, I want to be Elizabeth. She just blows me away with her intellect, curiosity, wry sense of humor, and deep compassion. Elizabeth and I met long ago, right when we started grad school together in the same neuroscience program. She impressed me back then, and she continues to inspire me. Elizabeth and Michael brought a roasted red pepper hummus, little pita breads, and this intoxicatingly fragrant spice mixture that Michael made himself—his own personal za'atar blend. There was just enough olive oil left for him to dab pita wedges with the oil before sprinkling on the spices and throwing them in the oven. By this time, Daphna and Ian had arrived, and as the pitas were toasting, Ian exclaimed, “It smells like Dave’s in here!” Which is about the highest compliment Ian can give because we all love Dave’s Italian Kitchen, one of the best restaurants in Evanston.
As soon as Ian arrived, he parked himself in front of the sink and lathered up a sponge. Ian’s not much of a cook, but he sure knows how to make himself useful in the kitchen. Daphna, in true Daphna fashion, became my kitchen consult and dessert guru for the night. She offered her opinion on the roastiness of the potatoes and gently pointed out that I wasn’t really following instructions if the recipe said 450 degrees F and my oven was set to 400 degrees F. Um, yes, I suppose technically that’s true. But what I really needed her advice for was the dessert. This whole party may have been secretly inspired by a recipe for Orange Pudding Cake published in the December 2008 issue of Gourmet. I spotted the recipe while standing in line at the grocery store, and I was immediately entranced by the idea. A pudding cake? How strange and exotic and totally delicious-sounding! I just needed an excuse to make it, and what better reason to cook than for people you love?
In the days leading up to my party, I studied up on the details for this cake. I read a section in The Cornbread Gospels on Beating Egg Whites, and I asked Daphna if she might let me borrow a big metal bowl, since plastic bowls are not ideal for beating egg whites. I figured out that my glass 8x8 pan was the perfect volume for baking the cake, and it fit snugly in my 9x13 pan, which would be used as a hot water bath during baking. That night, surrounded by friends in the kitchen, I knocked on wood before I started separating eggs, secretly thrilled by the physical challenge. I measured and mixed. I sniffed. The batter was thin and fragrant with fresh orange, more like a smoothie than cake. And when it came time to beat the egg whites, I asked D for her expert opinion, and she coached me happily. When the egg whites were thick and white and still a tiny bit floppy, I folded them into the orange smoothie batter and poured the whole thing into the waiting 8x8 pan. The 9x13 pan was transformed into a hot water bath with the boiling contents of the tea kettle, and the whole thing was tucked into the oven just in time for us to eat dinner.
As should happen during every meal, I totally forgot about dessert while I tucked into the crispy-creamy roasted potatoes and beans that were worthy of second helpings. I served the potatoes on a bed of fresh spinach (a little salad makes every meal better), and we ate the beans out of deep bowls. I had intended to serve everything on one plate, but the beans were soupier than I imagined—all the better to eat with spoons and handfuls of grated cheddar melted into them. There were tortilla chips to eat with salsa and/or beans—no party of mine is complete without tortilla chips. There was wine to drink, and I was glad Matt wasn’t there to watch me make a fool of myself. “What kind of wine is this?” I asked. “Should I put it in the fridge?” (Um, no, it’s a red wine.) Then I massacred the cork with my wine opener (one of those corkscrew thingamabobs) and handed it over to Michael so he could open the wine. It was embarrassing. Ian announced we should make an emergency phone call to Matt, STAT!, for our wine needs. It wouldn’t have been the first time I called him with a wine question, but between the six of us, one would hope that SOMEone could figure out how to serve a bottle of wine. Yeesh. Apparently that someone is not me.
But that’s the beauty of having friends: one doesn’t need to figure everything out on her own. I’m happy to let others show me the way. I let them call the shots because really, who wants to be in charge all the time, even at her own party? After dinner was eaten, Daphna asked innocently about the Orange Pudding Cake, so I fished a serving spoon out of the cupboard and let her be the first to dig into it. As she sunk a spoon into the cake, she exclaimed, “It worked! It really worked!” Indeed, there were actual layers: a creamy pudding on the bottom, a slightly firmer soufflé-like layer in the middle, and a thin cakey-crepey layer on top. We scooped our pudding cake into bowls and retreated to the living room, which was marvelously free of dirty dishes. The cake was ethereally delicious: infused throughout with orange and lemon, it was still warm from the oven, creamy and light and rich all at the same time. Had I not been so full from dinner, I would have gone back for a second scoop, but I was totally and completely satisfied—one more bite would have pushed me into a food coma.
The whole evening was perfect. It was just what I needed, including the serious conversation that emerged as we were winding down. I am, in a word, distressed. My happiness at work has taken a precipitous drop in recent months, and I’ve been blaming myself for it: maybe I’m just lazy or dumb, or I don’t care any more, or it’s so boring that my eyeballs are going to fall out one of these days while I’m staring down a microscope. All of those things may be true, but what I haven’t been owning up to is that I have outgrown my advisor’s management style and it’s seriously impeding my ability to thrive as a scientist. I am not engaged in the work because he is doing too much of the intellectual work for me. This is a delicate situation: how does one tell her advisor, who holds her future in the palm of his hand, that his way of doing things is not working? In order to soar, I must be able to spread my wings, which means I need more space. It means I have to stop responding to his e-mails with panicked, eager-to-please responses. I have to honor my own list of priorities, or else nothing will get done. It isn’t that I don’t want his input or his opinions—I just want to have a chance to work through things on my own. I need time to dig around in the data, get messy with the experiments, imagine alternative outcomes. I need time to think. Most of all, I need the courage to have this conversation with my advisor, and I need the faith that things will be better as a result.
So we talked about my distress. It was a sober and unfestive topic, but I needed it. Elizabeth made a pretty convincing argument that I am not as powerless as I feel. She’s right, of course, in that practical Elizabeth way of hers. It’s hard to imagine a more unbalanced power relationship than that between science professors and their graduate students. There are no rules about expectations—no contracts, no protection against abuse of power. Grad students work for five, six, seven years, all that time hoping to leave with three little letters after their name, a powerful symbol that tells the world, Hey, I SURVIVED graduate school. I’m no different—I want my letters! And I’m terribly afraid that even at this late stage in the game, with multiple papers and a grant behind me, that my advisor will deny me the one thing I have left to complete. The fear is paralyzing; I feel tears springing to my eyes now just thinking about how afraid I am. I don’t necessarily need a PhD to do what I want to do (teach science, in case you are wondering), but I want to reach the finish line of this race. I feel like I’m barely limping along right now. I want to believe there’s a better way to do this. I’m just not sure my advisor will be willing to give up some of his control so that I may learn and grow and finally spread my wings and leave the nest.
Elizabeth’s pep talk and Michael’s words of wisdom have convinced a tiny part of me that it’s time to face this problem with some maturity. I am mentally rehearsing what I will say, and I’m clutching my beads in between my fingers so that I might find some comfort in this difficult situation. My beads are honesty and truth, goodwill and compassion, knowledge and wisdom. The beads, although metaphorical in nature, will keep me focused on the task at hand, which is perhaps all I really want in any given moment.
But before I go, I have one last thing to share with you: the recipe for Orange Pudding Cake! I do believe it’s the first cake I’ve ever shared on this site, but I know I’ll be filing it away for safe keeping. It is such a cool recipe—fun to make and eat. It might become my signature January Dinner Party cake; I’m thinking I should do this belated birthday celebration every January. That way, I always have something nice to anticipate in the depths of winter.
Orange Pudding Cake
From Gourmet (December 2008), with additional notes from me
Makes one 8x8 pan of cake—six very greedy servings or up to twelve dainty servings
This cake requires a small leap of faith. As I said above, the batter will seem more like an orange smoothie than cake batter, and it won’t seem like enough for six party guests. But it will bake into something magical, and it’s rich enough that you should have no problem feeding your small crowd. I did, however, serve these Apricot Butter Cookies alongside*, mostly for the sake of having something sweet to munch on. I’d say it was one of my most successful dessert courses.
Nonstick cooking spray
1/3 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
Rounded 1/4 tsp. salt
Juice and zest from 1 large navel orange, or 3/4 cup fresh orange juice and ~2 heaping tsp. orange zest
3 large eggs, warmed to room temperature and separated (place the egg whites in a large metal mixing bowl)
1 cup whole milk
4 tbsp. (1/2 stick) butter, melted and cooled
2 tbsp. fresh lemon juice
1) Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F with a rack in the middle. Spray a glass 8x8 pan with cooking spray and set it inside a 9x13 pan. Fill a tea kettle with water and set it on high heat in order to bring the water to a boil while you prep the cake batter.
2) Whisk together the sugar, flour, and salt in a small bowl. Set aside.
3) Whisk together the orange juice, orange zest, egg yolks, milk, butter, and lemon juice in a large bowl. Whisk the flour mixture into this wet mixture, mixing just until blended.
4) Now it’s time for the fun part: beating the egg whites. In a large metal mixing bowl, beat the egg whites with an electric mixer until they hold soft peaks. This will take a while. First the egg whites will become foamy and then they will turn white and start holding a shape. I stopped beating them when they were soft and a little floppy but able to hold a peak when I lifted the beaters out of the egg whites.
5) Gently stir about one-fourth of the egg whites into the batter, then fold the rest into the batter thoroughly such that there are no big pockets of egg white.
6) Pour the batter into the baking dish. Pour the now-boiling water into the 9x13 pan to create a water bath. Bake for 35-40 minutes or until puffed and golden brown on top. Remove the 8x8 pan to a cooling rack to let the cake cool for a bit. I thought this cake was delicious served warm.
*Special thanks to ttfn (Shannon) and her blog Tri to Cook. She inspired Ammie and me to make these cookies with their improbable sounding combination of apricots, fresh thyme, and pine nuts. They are quite unusual and quite delicious. Foodies are nothing if not ravenous in their search for new and interesting flavors. Thank you, ttfn! We definitely got a kick out of those cookies.
**Another thank you, this time to Matt, who wrote me an e-mail last fall entitled, “Fall, perfected.” He’s such a poet. He’s my muse. I just steal all of his good stuff and repackage it, hence the title of this post.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Monday, January 19, 2009
A Polar Bear's Survival Kit
Polar bears don’t like to be kept inside when it’s cold and snowy outside.
I must be a polar bear. It’s the only way to explain why, on a night when the ambient temperature was in the negative digits, and the wind chill ten or twenty degrees below that, I just had to walk home from work. There are only so many days a girl can skip her daily walk, and I think by “so many,” I mean one. After a long week at work and frustration on both ends between my advisor and me, my soul was feeling rumpled and deflated, like it hadn’t been stretched and aired properly. The only real answer to this predicament is to walk and breathe. Outside.
So I put on my polar bear suit and went outside for a romp. It was certainly cold—that wasn’t a surprise—but the wind was silent and the air felt crisp and clean, like it was just waiting for me to inhale it in big, happy gulps. The stars glittered and winked in a dreamy velvet sky, and as I made my way home, one booted step after another, I began to feel like myself again. I felt better.
The daily walk is perhaps one of the most misunderstood forms of exercise. My parents are daily walkers, although my mom is a little skittish of the snow and the ice since she feels like a bad fall is imminent in those conditions. On Christmas Eve, my dad and I tackled the heavily snowed-over sidewalks to take our daily walk together, a treat if there ever was one considering I see my dad about once a year. The daily walk is a multipurpose event. I love it fiercely. It is great exercise for your body, certainly, and I’m convinced it is the reason my weight is so stable. But beyond calories and muscles, the daily walk is great exercise for your soul. Walking outside, underneath that big starry sky, I feel the same way that I imagine others feel when they pray. I feel small and secure, like I am just one tiny part of a whole too large to comprehend. Walking lets me do the thing I love most without guilt: it lets me daydream, forgetting about the crush of responsibilities. Best of all, it lets me plan what I’m going to eat for dinner.
It turns out that I’m not exactly built like a polar bear. I’m rather short and compact, a lot of muscle packed onto a small frame. I weigh more than people think, although to be honest, I can’t even tell you what I weigh now because I don’t know. Without polar bear-like body fat, not to mention that thick white fur coat, my metabolism needs a little something extra to keep up with all this running around in the cold. I think a polar bear’s best bet is to maintain, at all times, a well-stocked pantry of food. A lovingly filled fridge is particularly nice, as one can prepare vats of homemade soup and then tuck them away for practically instant lunches and dinners that will warm you right up. Soup may be my top pick for essential winter pantry foods, but there are lots of nibbles that you really ought to consider for your polar bear’s survivial kit.
* Let us begin at the end: dessert! Even polar bears have a sweet tooth, or at least this one does. I love simple desserts like brownies and cookies. These Excellent Brownies freeze really well. In the winter, my favorite way to eat them is to pop them, still frozen, in the oven in a ramekin for a few minutes until they get all warm and gooey. Eat straightaway. If you stock your freezer with a couple of brownies, you’ll never be without a weeknight dessert.
* Another dessert item that comes in handy in the winter is frozen cookie dough. I find that most raw cookie doughs freeze nicely. When I’m really craving fresh, homemade cookies, I fish the dough out of the freezer, let it thaw on the counter for a while, and once it has thawed enough to shape it into balls, I prep my cookie sheet and go. I’ve had good results with frozen cookie dough for Toasty Oatmeal Cookies and Ian’s Thumbprint Cookies.
* I am convinced that eggs are the perfect food. They are compact, nutritious, perform amazing tricks in baking, and can be served in a thousand-and-one different ways. My newest favorite egg trick is baking them, shell-less but otherwise whole, in a ramekin that’s been lightly greased. Mollie Katzen gives thorough egg-baking instructions in her treat-of-a-cookbook, Sunlight Café. I just make a baked egg for one and I’m all set.
* A pantry without homemade granola is a sad place indeed. For me, the question is never, “Should I bake granola?” but rather, “Which granola should I bake?” I have a feeling that the granola gallery on this site (see the right-hand side bar) is just going to keep getting longer…
* Real polar bears don’t eat citrus fruits, but for us fake polar bears, there is no better time to eat citrus than right now, in the depths of winter. I think I’m behind on my orange-eating quota, but I’m hoping to catch up ASAP. I will confess that my dessert collection is lacking in lemon-based recipes, but give me a lemon and I’ll make you a pot of Greek Avgolemono Soup. After dinner, we can cheat on dessert and pop some frozen brownies in the oven.
* At no other time of year do I crave tomato soup ALL THE TIME. It’s a little ironic since tomatoes are a summer crop, but is there anything more heartwarming than a bowl of tomato soup? I feel better just thinking about it. I’ve been on the hunt for another tomato soup recipe to add to my collection for years, and until just recently, my search had come up empty. I wanted a soup that was unequivocally a tomato soup, but I didn’t want it to taste like I just dumped some canned tomatoes in a pan and heated them up. A while back, I tried a Rachael Ray recipe that called for adding fresh basil pesto to a soup made with crushed tomatoes. The soup seemed so promising, rich with summery tomato and basil flavors, but the whole thing fell flat on its face. The tomatoes were just too much, and the basil was impossible to taste. The whole thing was a sort of muddy reddish brown, so it looked as good as it tasted. No, thank you. I won’t be having seconds of that soup.
But Leanne Ely, my Saving Dinner heroine, came to the rescue. I’ve written about Ms. Ely once before, and I always intended to come back to her because I do love flipping through her book Saving Dinner the Vegetarian Way, an impromptu gift from my sister-in-law, Amanda. Right this moment, my copy of the book has four post-it notes, one of which marks the recipe for Chunky Tomato Soup. I have never made the soup as written; instead, I used it as a template to make another run at a tomato soup worthy of eating again and again. I’m happy to report that I’ll be adding this soup to my polar bear’s survival kit. It’s good enough to make me wish winter was a little longer…on second thought, maybe I’ll just keep making this soup while I welcome spring with open arms.
Tomato Vegetable Soup with White Beans
Adapted from Saving Dinner the Vegetarian Way by Leanne Ely
Serves 4-6
This flavorful soup is a hearty tomato number, jazzed up with some chopped vegetables, a bit of dried basil, and a BOATLOAD of garlic. I was very grateful to have a garlic press when I first made this soup (thank you, Matt!). The white beans provide some chew, as well as protein and fiber.
It is the ultimate challenge to make a tomato soup that is deliciously, decidedly tomato without being too acidic or one-dimensional. This soup solves that problem by using a flavorful vegetable broth in addition to some potent herbs and spices. My homemade vegetable broths tend to be sweet from lots of carrot scraps, so they add a vegetal sweetness to this soup. If you find your soup to be too acidic, you can add a teaspoon or two of sugar and then taste again. Repeat as needed.
2 tbsp. olive oil
1 large onion, chopped
2 stalks of celery, chopped
2 large carrots, peeled and diced
6 cloves of garlic, pressed
1 1/4 tsp. dried basil
1 28-oz. can crushed tomatoes
4 cups tasty vegetable broth, preferably homemade
1-2 tsp. sugar or to taste, optional (see headnote above)
1 16-oz. can white beans, drained and rinsed
Salt and pepper to taste
1) In a large soup pot, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the onion, celery, and carrots. Saute until the onion is soft and translucent, about 4-5 minutes. Add the garlic and basil and saute for another minute until everything is fragrant.
2) Add the crushed tomatoes and vegetable broth. Bring everything to a boil, and then turn down the heat and simmer for 20 minutes. Taste the soup and adjust the sweetness as needed with sugar. Add the white beans and season with salt and pepper to taste. Serve hot in deep bowls, preferably with good bread and cheese.
I must be a polar bear. It’s the only way to explain why, on a night when the ambient temperature was in the negative digits, and the wind chill ten or twenty degrees below that, I just had to walk home from work. There are only so many days a girl can skip her daily walk, and I think by “so many,” I mean one. After a long week at work and frustration on both ends between my advisor and me, my soul was feeling rumpled and deflated, like it hadn’t been stretched and aired properly. The only real answer to this predicament is to walk and breathe. Outside.
So I put on my polar bear suit and went outside for a romp. It was certainly cold—that wasn’t a surprise—but the wind was silent and the air felt crisp and clean, like it was just waiting for me to inhale it in big, happy gulps. The stars glittered and winked in a dreamy velvet sky, and as I made my way home, one booted step after another, I began to feel like myself again. I felt better.
The daily walk is perhaps one of the most misunderstood forms of exercise. My parents are daily walkers, although my mom is a little skittish of the snow and the ice since she feels like a bad fall is imminent in those conditions. On Christmas Eve, my dad and I tackled the heavily snowed-over sidewalks to take our daily walk together, a treat if there ever was one considering I see my dad about once a year. The daily walk is a multipurpose event. I love it fiercely. It is great exercise for your body, certainly, and I’m convinced it is the reason my weight is so stable. But beyond calories and muscles, the daily walk is great exercise for your soul. Walking outside, underneath that big starry sky, I feel the same way that I imagine others feel when they pray. I feel small and secure, like I am just one tiny part of a whole too large to comprehend. Walking lets me do the thing I love most without guilt: it lets me daydream, forgetting about the crush of responsibilities. Best of all, it lets me plan what I’m going to eat for dinner.
It turns out that I’m not exactly built like a polar bear. I’m rather short and compact, a lot of muscle packed onto a small frame. I weigh more than people think, although to be honest, I can’t even tell you what I weigh now because I don’t know. Without polar bear-like body fat, not to mention that thick white fur coat, my metabolism needs a little something extra to keep up with all this running around in the cold. I think a polar bear’s best bet is to maintain, at all times, a well-stocked pantry of food. A lovingly filled fridge is particularly nice, as one can prepare vats of homemade soup and then tuck them away for practically instant lunches and dinners that will warm you right up. Soup may be my top pick for essential winter pantry foods, but there are lots of nibbles that you really ought to consider for your polar bear’s survivial kit.
* Let us begin at the end: dessert! Even polar bears have a sweet tooth, or at least this one does. I love simple desserts like brownies and cookies. These Excellent Brownies freeze really well. In the winter, my favorite way to eat them is to pop them, still frozen, in the oven in a ramekin for a few minutes until they get all warm and gooey. Eat straightaway. If you stock your freezer with a couple of brownies, you’ll never be without a weeknight dessert.
* Another dessert item that comes in handy in the winter is frozen cookie dough. I find that most raw cookie doughs freeze nicely. When I’m really craving fresh, homemade cookies, I fish the dough out of the freezer, let it thaw on the counter for a while, and once it has thawed enough to shape it into balls, I prep my cookie sheet and go. I’ve had good results with frozen cookie dough for Toasty Oatmeal Cookies and Ian’s Thumbprint Cookies.
* I am convinced that eggs are the perfect food. They are compact, nutritious, perform amazing tricks in baking, and can be served in a thousand-and-one different ways. My newest favorite egg trick is baking them, shell-less but otherwise whole, in a ramekin that’s been lightly greased. Mollie Katzen gives thorough egg-baking instructions in her treat-of-a-cookbook, Sunlight Café. I just make a baked egg for one and I’m all set.
* A pantry without homemade granola is a sad place indeed. For me, the question is never, “Should I bake granola?” but rather, “Which granola should I bake?” I have a feeling that the granola gallery on this site (see the right-hand side bar) is just going to keep getting longer…
* Real polar bears don’t eat citrus fruits, but for us fake polar bears, there is no better time to eat citrus than right now, in the depths of winter. I think I’m behind on my orange-eating quota, but I’m hoping to catch up ASAP. I will confess that my dessert collection is lacking in lemon-based recipes, but give me a lemon and I’ll make you a pot of Greek Avgolemono Soup. After dinner, we can cheat on dessert and pop some frozen brownies in the oven.
* At no other time of year do I crave tomato soup ALL THE TIME. It’s a little ironic since tomatoes are a summer crop, but is there anything more heartwarming than a bowl of tomato soup? I feel better just thinking about it. I’ve been on the hunt for another tomato soup recipe to add to my collection for years, and until just recently, my search had come up empty. I wanted a soup that was unequivocally a tomato soup, but I didn’t want it to taste like I just dumped some canned tomatoes in a pan and heated them up. A while back, I tried a Rachael Ray recipe that called for adding fresh basil pesto to a soup made with crushed tomatoes. The soup seemed so promising, rich with summery tomato and basil flavors, but the whole thing fell flat on its face. The tomatoes were just too much, and the basil was impossible to taste. The whole thing was a sort of muddy reddish brown, so it looked as good as it tasted. No, thank you. I won’t be having seconds of that soup.
But Leanne Ely, my Saving Dinner heroine, came to the rescue. I’ve written about Ms. Ely once before, and I always intended to come back to her because I do love flipping through her book Saving Dinner the Vegetarian Way, an impromptu gift from my sister-in-law, Amanda. Right this moment, my copy of the book has four post-it notes, one of which marks the recipe for Chunky Tomato Soup. I have never made the soup as written; instead, I used it as a template to make another run at a tomato soup worthy of eating again and again. I’m happy to report that I’ll be adding this soup to my polar bear’s survival kit. It’s good enough to make me wish winter was a little longer…on second thought, maybe I’ll just keep making this soup while I welcome spring with open arms.
Tomato Vegetable Soup with White Beans
Adapted from Saving Dinner the Vegetarian Way by Leanne Ely
Serves 4-6
This flavorful soup is a hearty tomato number, jazzed up with some chopped vegetables, a bit of dried basil, and a BOATLOAD of garlic. I was very grateful to have a garlic press when I first made this soup (thank you, Matt!). The white beans provide some chew, as well as protein and fiber.
It is the ultimate challenge to make a tomato soup that is deliciously, decidedly tomato without being too acidic or one-dimensional. This soup solves that problem by using a flavorful vegetable broth in addition to some potent herbs and spices. My homemade vegetable broths tend to be sweet from lots of carrot scraps, so they add a vegetal sweetness to this soup. If you find your soup to be too acidic, you can add a teaspoon or two of sugar and then taste again. Repeat as needed.
2 tbsp. olive oil
1 large onion, chopped
2 stalks of celery, chopped
2 large carrots, peeled and diced
6 cloves of garlic, pressed
1 1/4 tsp. dried basil
1 28-oz. can crushed tomatoes
4 cups tasty vegetable broth, preferably homemade
1-2 tsp. sugar or to taste, optional (see headnote above)
1 16-oz. can white beans, drained and rinsed
Salt and pepper to taste
1) In a large soup pot, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the onion, celery, and carrots. Saute until the onion is soft and translucent, about 4-5 minutes. Add the garlic and basil and saute for another minute until everything is fragrant.
2) Add the crushed tomatoes and vegetable broth. Bring everything to a boil, and then turn down the heat and simmer for 20 minutes. Taste the soup and adjust the sweetness as needed with sugar. Add the white beans and season with salt and pepper to taste. Serve hot in deep bowls, preferably with good bread and cheese.
Monday, January 12, 2009
The Year I Wrote
2008 was an incredible year for me.
It was, as the old saying goes, the best of times and the worst of times. It is not a year I would wish to repeat, but my oh my, it was incredible.
It was one of the darkest years of my life. The manuscript on which I am the first author spent a long time in what I now call “Paper Purgatory,” a place where science papers go when journal editors can’t decide if they should accept them. I myself fell into despair. I was in agony over the direction of my career and the aimless feeling that told me I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I deeply resented myself for choosing to pursue a PhD. I hated science and wanted to drop out so I could pursue a writing career. The only thing I liked about my job during those dark months was my paycheck, which was blissfully reliable and paid for my humble but comfortable lifestyle.
And then, like the first rays of sunshine at dawn, my paper made it past experimental revisions and on to textual revisions only. That’s when I knew it would be accepted, even though it would still be several more weeks before the paper was officially accepted. That’s when I could breathe again, and I knew that I would finish my PhD. I hope 2009 will be the year that I do finish my degree.
2008 was the first year that I finally felt at ease in a romantic relationship. 2007 was all wild flirting, disbelief, saying no and saying yes, then saying yes again. 2008 was calmer, and I have to admit, it was nice. It was a year of two canceled visits that tested our resolve. In July, with Matt, I finally met mountains. We got along splendidly. I also met the Sonora Desert, many cacti, horny toads and tarantulas, and too many lizards to count. That trip to Arizona was the single most breathtaking travel excursion I have yet experienced, but I hear the California coast is also quite lovely, and that’s where we’ve set our sights for 2009. I’m saving my pennies now to pay for a plane ticket.
2008 was the year that Daphna and I became close friends. Ours is not an unusual friendship except for our obsessive passion for food and all things food-related. With no one else do I compare such detailed notes about recipes and techniques, products and ingredients. This year I learned that D’s favorite course is dessert, yet she’s fickle about sugar and almost invariably decreases the amount of sugar except when Ian and I talk her out of it. She loves making beautiful cakes and pies. She’s tempted to make everything that appears on Smitten Kitchen. D and I couldn’t be more opposite in cooking style: I like to cook slowly and thoughtfully, stopping to sniff everything and savor the experience. D is a speed demon, whipping through her recipes in a whoosh of activity, practically counting the minutes until dessert is ready. Her speediness will serve her well when she’s got a gaggle of hungry kids to feed; for now, it’s just a race to the cookies. She’s shocked (and perhaps a little appalled) by my turtle-like pace, but I’m perfectly content to drink my tea and chat a while before nibbling on a cookie, fresh from the oven. I fear I lack her passion for dessert, though heaven knows I’ve got a long sweet tooth!
And oh, the food! 2008 was a very good year in the kitchen. It was The Year of the Onion. I fell in love with food all over again this year, and when I cooked with Matt, I fell a little more in love with him too. The stars were aligned just right when they brought us together in a warm kitchen because it’s one of our favorite places to be—together. It is an underrated blessing to find a cooking companion with whom you are highly compatible. I have lots of friends who like to cook, and I like to eat their food, but we don’t always cook well together. Some of them have cooked professionally; my slow and amateur ways make them roll their eyes in annoyance. Other friends are always cooking for big crowds and don’t understand that since I’m usually cooking for one, one doesn’t need to chop with lightning-speed efficiency. In fact, when you cook for one, some things, like a few leaves of kale, don’t even need to be chopped. You can just tear the tender outer leaves away from the tough spines with your hands. For me, cooking for myself is as much about preparing a meal as it is taking some time to putter in the kitchen. Not everybody understands that last part, either. D tells me the difference between us is that she cooks because she likes to eat, while I cook because I like to cook. I think she’s right.
Matt and I seem to get along just right when we cook together. I love that he’s as passionate about the process of cooking as he is about eating. He’s also passionate about high-quality cooking equipment, and now, I have seen the light. The light has lit up the truth: good knives, pots, and pans make cooking seductively pleasurable. One can get by with mediocre equipment, as I did for years, but the good stuff is worth every penny if you can afford it. A year ago, I was spoiled by Matt when he bought me (or should I say my kitchen?) a well-chosen set of new supplies, including awesome knives, a roasting pan I use all the time, and a pretty little garlic press. Now I wonder if that gift was an investment in our cooking happiness: he saw that I had crappy equipment, thought I’d be happier with some new things, and knew that he would be happier to cook with me if I had better knives. Matt, when he isn’t being hopelessly romantic, can be very practical. I appreciate his foresight about our cooking future.
Did I mention he bought me a tea kettle? Yes! The man bought me a kettle. That’s another thing we really like about each other: we love tea. I cannot count the hours we have passed drinking tea and catching up on our lives. This tea-drinking ritual is so lovely and so warm that it reminds me, every time, that our relationship really is that of an incredible friendship, glowing with the magic of romance. I like the hugs and the kisses and all of that, but sitting across from him while we drink tea, I could spend the rest of my life loving him.
Matt has been kind enough to let me write about him here. You’ll notice, dear reader, that he is still very much anonymous to you, and that’s the way he likes it. But everything I have shared about him and about us is the truth as I see it. It is a joy to write about Matt because it makes my feelings even more vivid, poignant, and heartbreaking. It is a way of feeling his presence even though we spend most of our time apart in very far-away places.
2008 was the year I wrote: a full year of writing at least once a week for this space. This commitment to writing has changed my life—there is no going back. I sometimes feel like writing has peeled away all my layers of self-deception and self-protection, and I am left with nothing but the bareness of honesty and truth. Writing has opened my eyes even wider to the beauty of everyday life, the small details that I would otherwise overlook. One of my favorite fantasies is to think about what I’m going to write next. I have no road map, no logical progression of thought from week to week: I just throw all my ideas together like clothes in a dryer and let them whirl around. I rather like the randomness of this type of writing: it’s more fun for me because even I don’t know what next week’s post will bring. I have an idea that I’ll be sharing with you my new favorite granola recipe, and I’ll be shooing you into the kitchen with my wooden spoon, but I’ve also got a new soup recipe up my sleeve, and oh, I made blueberry-banana muffins on Saturday and they were delicious! So you can see that there’s no shortage of new recipes tumbling around in my thoughts. I think 2009 will be a magnificent year for both of us. Thank you for spending a little time with me each week. I hope our conversations here leave you feeling refreshed, inspired, and perhaps a little hungry. I’m looking forward to another year of cooking, eating, writing, and loving every minute of this life. I hope you are too.
It was, as the old saying goes, the best of times and the worst of times. It is not a year I would wish to repeat, but my oh my, it was incredible.
It was one of the darkest years of my life. The manuscript on which I am the first author spent a long time in what I now call “Paper Purgatory,” a place where science papers go when journal editors can’t decide if they should accept them. I myself fell into despair. I was in agony over the direction of my career and the aimless feeling that told me I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I deeply resented myself for choosing to pursue a PhD. I hated science and wanted to drop out so I could pursue a writing career. The only thing I liked about my job during those dark months was my paycheck, which was blissfully reliable and paid for my humble but comfortable lifestyle.
And then, like the first rays of sunshine at dawn, my paper made it past experimental revisions and on to textual revisions only. That’s when I knew it would be accepted, even though it would still be several more weeks before the paper was officially accepted. That’s when I could breathe again, and I knew that I would finish my PhD. I hope 2009 will be the year that I do finish my degree.
2008 was the first year that I finally felt at ease in a romantic relationship. 2007 was all wild flirting, disbelief, saying no and saying yes, then saying yes again. 2008 was calmer, and I have to admit, it was nice. It was a year of two canceled visits that tested our resolve. In July, with Matt, I finally met mountains. We got along splendidly. I also met the Sonora Desert, many cacti, horny toads and tarantulas, and too many lizards to count. That trip to Arizona was the single most breathtaking travel excursion I have yet experienced, but I hear the California coast is also quite lovely, and that’s where we’ve set our sights for 2009. I’m saving my pennies now to pay for a plane ticket.
2008 was the year that Daphna and I became close friends. Ours is not an unusual friendship except for our obsessive passion for food and all things food-related. With no one else do I compare such detailed notes about recipes and techniques, products and ingredients. This year I learned that D’s favorite course is dessert, yet she’s fickle about sugar and almost invariably decreases the amount of sugar except when Ian and I talk her out of it. She loves making beautiful cakes and pies. She’s tempted to make everything that appears on Smitten Kitchen. D and I couldn’t be more opposite in cooking style: I like to cook slowly and thoughtfully, stopping to sniff everything and savor the experience. D is a speed demon, whipping through her recipes in a whoosh of activity, practically counting the minutes until dessert is ready. Her speediness will serve her well when she’s got a gaggle of hungry kids to feed; for now, it’s just a race to the cookies. She’s shocked (and perhaps a little appalled) by my turtle-like pace, but I’m perfectly content to drink my tea and chat a while before nibbling on a cookie, fresh from the oven. I fear I lack her passion for dessert, though heaven knows I’ve got a long sweet tooth!
And oh, the food! 2008 was a very good year in the kitchen. It was The Year of the Onion. I fell in love with food all over again this year, and when I cooked with Matt, I fell a little more in love with him too. The stars were aligned just right when they brought us together in a warm kitchen because it’s one of our favorite places to be—together. It is an underrated blessing to find a cooking companion with whom you are highly compatible. I have lots of friends who like to cook, and I like to eat their food, but we don’t always cook well together. Some of them have cooked professionally; my slow and amateur ways make them roll their eyes in annoyance. Other friends are always cooking for big crowds and don’t understand that since I’m usually cooking for one, one doesn’t need to chop with lightning-speed efficiency. In fact, when you cook for one, some things, like a few leaves of kale, don’t even need to be chopped. You can just tear the tender outer leaves away from the tough spines with your hands. For me, cooking for myself is as much about preparing a meal as it is taking some time to putter in the kitchen. Not everybody understands that last part, either. D tells me the difference between us is that she cooks because she likes to eat, while I cook because I like to cook. I think she’s right.
Matt and I seem to get along just right when we cook together. I love that he’s as passionate about the process of cooking as he is about eating. He’s also passionate about high-quality cooking equipment, and now, I have seen the light. The light has lit up the truth: good knives, pots, and pans make cooking seductively pleasurable. One can get by with mediocre equipment, as I did for years, but the good stuff is worth every penny if you can afford it. A year ago, I was spoiled by Matt when he bought me (or should I say my kitchen?) a well-chosen set of new supplies, including awesome knives, a roasting pan I use all the time, and a pretty little garlic press. Now I wonder if that gift was an investment in our cooking happiness: he saw that I had crappy equipment, thought I’d be happier with some new things, and knew that he would be happier to cook with me if I had better knives. Matt, when he isn’t being hopelessly romantic, can be very practical. I appreciate his foresight about our cooking future.
Did I mention he bought me a tea kettle? Yes! The man bought me a kettle. That’s another thing we really like about each other: we love tea. I cannot count the hours we have passed drinking tea and catching up on our lives. This tea-drinking ritual is so lovely and so warm that it reminds me, every time, that our relationship really is that of an incredible friendship, glowing with the magic of romance. I like the hugs and the kisses and all of that, but sitting across from him while we drink tea, I could spend the rest of my life loving him.
Matt has been kind enough to let me write about him here. You’ll notice, dear reader, that he is still very much anonymous to you, and that’s the way he likes it. But everything I have shared about him and about us is the truth as I see it. It is a joy to write about Matt because it makes my feelings even more vivid, poignant, and heartbreaking. It is a way of feeling his presence even though we spend most of our time apart in very far-away places.
2008 was the year I wrote: a full year of writing at least once a week for this space. This commitment to writing has changed my life—there is no going back. I sometimes feel like writing has peeled away all my layers of self-deception and self-protection, and I am left with nothing but the bareness of honesty and truth. Writing has opened my eyes even wider to the beauty of everyday life, the small details that I would otherwise overlook. One of my favorite fantasies is to think about what I’m going to write next. I have no road map, no logical progression of thought from week to week: I just throw all my ideas together like clothes in a dryer and let them whirl around. I rather like the randomness of this type of writing: it’s more fun for me because even I don’t know what next week’s post will bring. I have an idea that I’ll be sharing with you my new favorite granola recipe, and I’ll be shooing you into the kitchen with my wooden spoon, but I’ve also got a new soup recipe up my sleeve, and oh, I made blueberry-banana muffins on Saturday and they were delicious! So you can see that there’s no shortage of new recipes tumbling around in my thoughts. I think 2009 will be a magnificent year for both of us. Thank you for spending a little time with me each week. I hope our conversations here leave you feeling refreshed, inspired, and perhaps a little hungry. I’m looking forward to another year of cooking, eating, writing, and loving every minute of this life. I hope you are too.
Monday, January 5, 2009
On Family, Food, and Freedom
I am very blessed. That thought crosses my mind frequently. It’s a good way to describe how fortunate and content I am, despite the storms of anxiety. All the big things are in place for me: excellent health, loving family, wonderful friends, insatiable curiosity, a well-stocked public library. Everything else is just nitty-gritty detail.
Life gets easier as I become more mellow. “Mellow” is, perhaps, not a word that applies very strongly to me, but the distinction here is that I’m becoming more mellow. I may always be a bit more high-strung than is useful or healthy, but I’m trying to make life easier for myself by prioritizing the important things and taking deep breaths. I find this perspective is especially useful during the times when I am taken out of my comfort zone, such as out-of-town visits with family. It’s easy to be mature and responsible, cool and collected, when you are feeling safe and happy in your own home. It’s another thing altogether to maintain your status of Mature, Responsible Adult when you spend time with people who have known you since you were in diapers. I consider every family visit a success if no one throws a tantrum or storms out of the house in frustration.
I readily empathize with anyone who gets stressed out when either a) visiting her out-of-town family or b) entertaining her out-of-town family in her own home. Any type of visiting is bound to disrupt the natural rhythms of the house: we stay up too late, we smell bad because someone else is in the shower, we sigh at the amount of stuff cluttering the house. It’s chaotic! Add into the mix an energetic two-year-old and you have a recipe for temper tantrums.
But when the ethos of the house is happiness and mellow contentedness, the temper tantrums just never happen. For me, this is the joy of staying with my niece and her parents. The house radiates peace and joy, despite the trail of toys that leads to the two-year-old. The kitchen is alive with cooking and food projects, visitors pop in to say hello, the washing machine hums with a load of diapers whirling around inside. It’s a happy chaos, a level of activity that tells you the people inside are busy living their lives, clutter and dirty dishes be damned. Lydia, the two-year-old, plants herself in the middle of the action, and her presence makes life infinitely sweeter.
I’m a little stunned by how kind and helpful Lydia is. Yes, she’s two, so when I say that she’s helpful, I don’t mean that her help gets things done faster. Rather, it’s the idea that we can do grown-up things, like cooking, and we can include Lydia in the process. Of course a two-year-old is going to slow things down, but with a little love and patience from the grown-ups, tasks get completed, Lydia learns a little bit more, and everyone feels a glowing sense of accomplishment. It’s a winning situation all around.
I mentioned a few weeks ago that because of food sensitivities, the best meals for Lydia’s household are free of gluten, dairy, and corn. Soy is also suspect. That’s a pretty comprehensive list of foods that are off-limits. Cooking a decent meal becomes a daunting task. Seven years of vegetarianism have instilled in me a sense of sympathy for anyone who must avoid certain foods. I don’t have to avoid any foods because I don’t have any food allergies, but I choose vegetarianism, so I know what it’s like trying to eat your way around an entire category of food. It’s hard! But Lydia and her mother, Amanda, have it much harder than I do because the foods they are trying to avoid are building-block foods, the foods of which so many of our meals are made. By comparison, not eating meat is a breeze. (I hope you appreciate my effort not to say “not eating meat is a piece of cake.” Har har!)
Here’s the secret that I’ll confess if you lean in close: I kinda like a cooking challenge. It gives me something to chew on, cookwise. By convergence of time and place, another cooking challenge emerged a few months before my Michigan trip, and the list of off-limit foods is very similar to Amanda’s list. My friend Ammie took up the challenge with gusto! Since October, each month she has organized a group cooking event for what we call a “Candida dinner.” Our friend Nicholas is following a diet that restricts or bans gluten, cow dairy, corn, soy, fruit, and most sugary foods. The reason? To clear up an internal overgrowth of a yeast, Candida albicans. I think all of us were hesitant about how good the food would be if we followed the rules for Nicholas’s diet, but my goodness, we’ve been shocked and elated by our success! Almost everything we have eaten at the Candida dinners has been delicious. Nicholas and his girlfriend, Anna, even came up with a brownie recipe that Ammie dubbed “Miracle Brownies!” The brownies, which are made with yummy ingredients like almond butter, carob, and coconut oil, are amazing: luscious, rich, sweet, hauntingly good. They are a miracle indeed. We all love them.
The Candida dinners introduced me to my favorite new cracker, those made by Mary’s Gone Crackers. These crispy little rounds are free of all offending ingredients, and they taste a bit like potato chips to me. Perhaps I’m biased here, but don’t most of us expect gluten-free baked goods to taste like cardboard? As I’ve said before, tasting is believing. These crackers are so good that I’ll eat them even when I’m by myself and I could, if I wanted, eat all the gluten I want. I like their crispiness, their toasty-nutty flavor. Most of all, I like how they complement my Roasted Garlic and Pea Dip, which might be my new favorite appetizer. This vibrantly green spread, a riff on Nigella Lawson’s Pea and Garlic Crostini, is a lovely party offering. It’s rather sweet in a vegetal way, with the subtle flavors of mint and roasted garlic playing on your tongue. It goes superbly well with the onion-flavored crackers from Mary’s Gone Crackers; the cracker provides a strong savory backdrop for the sweetness of peas.
But the sweetest thing about Roasted Garlic and Pea Dip, when accompanied by the right crackers, is that Nicholas, Amanda, and Lydia can eat it without a wink of worry—a sweet victory indeed. It’s enough to make me think that in the kitchen, anything is possible.
Roasted Garlic and Pea Dip
Adapted from “Pea and Garlic Crostini” in How to Eat by Nigella Lawson
What a recipe! This dip is my appetizer offering to those who must eat food that is free of most common allergens: gluten, corn, soy, dairy, and nuts. It would be right at home as part of a platter of crudités and crackers. So far, my favorite crackers to serve with this dip are the onion-flavored ones from Mary’s Gone Crackers.
Got any other recommendations for gluten-, corn-, and dairy-free crackers or snacks? I’d love to hear about them in the comments.
1 beautiful head of garlic
1 tsp. plus 2 tbsp. olive oil, divided
About 2 cups frozen peas
1/4 tsp. dried sage
1/4 tsp. dried thyme
Salt and pepper to taste
A handful of fresh mint leaves
1-2 tbsp. fresh lemon juice, optional
1) Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Slice the top of the head of garlic such that each clove is exposed in the cross-section. Place the garlic, cut side up, on a small rectangle of foil. Drizzle 1 tsp. of olive oil over the exposed cloves. Wrap the foil around the garlic to make a little parcel. Place the parcel on a cookie sheet and roast for 40-60 minutes. When the garlic is done roasting, remove it from the oven and let it cool for 5-10 minutes, long enough so that it’s cool enough to handle.
2) Cook the frozen peas according to package directions until tender.
3) Place the cooked peas in a food processor. Unwrap the garlic from its foil pouch. Squeeze the cloves of roasted garlic out of their peels and add to the peas. Add 2 tbsp. olive oil, the dried herbs, and a bit of salt and pepper. Buzz in the food processor, stopping to scrape down the sides as needed. Taste the mixture and add more seasonings if needed, especially salt. Buzz until smooth and creamy.
4) Spoon the pea mixture into a nice serving bowl. Rinse and dry the mint leaves and then chop them finely. Sprinkle them over the peas to make a nice tasty garnish. If you like, dribble some fresh lemon juice over the leaves. I like the flavor that lemon juice adds to this dip, but strictly speaking, it’s not essential.
Life gets easier as I become more mellow. “Mellow” is, perhaps, not a word that applies very strongly to me, but the distinction here is that I’m becoming more mellow. I may always be a bit more high-strung than is useful or healthy, but I’m trying to make life easier for myself by prioritizing the important things and taking deep breaths. I find this perspective is especially useful during the times when I am taken out of my comfort zone, such as out-of-town visits with family. It’s easy to be mature and responsible, cool and collected, when you are feeling safe and happy in your own home. It’s another thing altogether to maintain your status of Mature, Responsible Adult when you spend time with people who have known you since you were in diapers. I consider every family visit a success if no one throws a tantrum or storms out of the house in frustration.
I readily empathize with anyone who gets stressed out when either a) visiting her out-of-town family or b) entertaining her out-of-town family in her own home. Any type of visiting is bound to disrupt the natural rhythms of the house: we stay up too late, we smell bad because someone else is in the shower, we sigh at the amount of stuff cluttering the house. It’s chaotic! Add into the mix an energetic two-year-old and you have a recipe for temper tantrums.
But when the ethos of the house is happiness and mellow contentedness, the temper tantrums just never happen. For me, this is the joy of staying with my niece and her parents. The house radiates peace and joy, despite the trail of toys that leads to the two-year-old. The kitchen is alive with cooking and food projects, visitors pop in to say hello, the washing machine hums with a load of diapers whirling around inside. It’s a happy chaos, a level of activity that tells you the people inside are busy living their lives, clutter and dirty dishes be damned. Lydia, the two-year-old, plants herself in the middle of the action, and her presence makes life infinitely sweeter.
I’m a little stunned by how kind and helpful Lydia is. Yes, she’s two, so when I say that she’s helpful, I don’t mean that her help gets things done faster. Rather, it’s the idea that we can do grown-up things, like cooking, and we can include Lydia in the process. Of course a two-year-old is going to slow things down, but with a little love and patience from the grown-ups, tasks get completed, Lydia learns a little bit more, and everyone feels a glowing sense of accomplishment. It’s a winning situation all around.
I mentioned a few weeks ago that because of food sensitivities, the best meals for Lydia’s household are free of gluten, dairy, and corn. Soy is also suspect. That’s a pretty comprehensive list of foods that are off-limits. Cooking a decent meal becomes a daunting task. Seven years of vegetarianism have instilled in me a sense of sympathy for anyone who must avoid certain foods. I don’t have to avoid any foods because I don’t have any food allergies, but I choose vegetarianism, so I know what it’s like trying to eat your way around an entire category of food. It’s hard! But Lydia and her mother, Amanda, have it much harder than I do because the foods they are trying to avoid are building-block foods, the foods of which so many of our meals are made. By comparison, not eating meat is a breeze. (I hope you appreciate my effort not to say “not eating meat is a piece of cake.” Har har!)
Here’s the secret that I’ll confess if you lean in close: I kinda like a cooking challenge. It gives me something to chew on, cookwise. By convergence of time and place, another cooking challenge emerged a few months before my Michigan trip, and the list of off-limit foods is very similar to Amanda’s list. My friend Ammie took up the challenge with gusto! Since October, each month she has organized a group cooking event for what we call a “Candida dinner.” Our friend Nicholas is following a diet that restricts or bans gluten, cow dairy, corn, soy, fruit, and most sugary foods. The reason? To clear up an internal overgrowth of a yeast, Candida albicans. I think all of us were hesitant about how good the food would be if we followed the rules for Nicholas’s diet, but my goodness, we’ve been shocked and elated by our success! Almost everything we have eaten at the Candida dinners has been delicious. Nicholas and his girlfriend, Anna, even came up with a brownie recipe that Ammie dubbed “Miracle Brownies!” The brownies, which are made with yummy ingredients like almond butter, carob, and coconut oil, are amazing: luscious, rich, sweet, hauntingly good. They are a miracle indeed. We all love them.
The Candida dinners introduced me to my favorite new cracker, those made by Mary’s Gone Crackers. These crispy little rounds are free of all offending ingredients, and they taste a bit like potato chips to me. Perhaps I’m biased here, but don’t most of us expect gluten-free baked goods to taste like cardboard? As I’ve said before, tasting is believing. These crackers are so good that I’ll eat them even when I’m by myself and I could, if I wanted, eat all the gluten I want. I like their crispiness, their toasty-nutty flavor. Most of all, I like how they complement my Roasted Garlic and Pea Dip, which might be my new favorite appetizer. This vibrantly green spread, a riff on Nigella Lawson’s Pea and Garlic Crostini, is a lovely party offering. It’s rather sweet in a vegetal way, with the subtle flavors of mint and roasted garlic playing on your tongue. It goes superbly well with the onion-flavored crackers from Mary’s Gone Crackers; the cracker provides a strong savory backdrop for the sweetness of peas.
But the sweetest thing about Roasted Garlic and Pea Dip, when accompanied by the right crackers, is that Nicholas, Amanda, and Lydia can eat it without a wink of worry—a sweet victory indeed. It’s enough to make me think that in the kitchen, anything is possible.
Roasted Garlic and Pea Dip
Adapted from “Pea and Garlic Crostini” in How to Eat by Nigella Lawson
What a recipe! This dip is my appetizer offering to those who must eat food that is free of most common allergens: gluten, corn, soy, dairy, and nuts. It would be right at home as part of a platter of crudités and crackers. So far, my favorite crackers to serve with this dip are the onion-flavored ones from Mary’s Gone Crackers.
Got any other recommendations for gluten-, corn-, and dairy-free crackers or snacks? I’d love to hear about them in the comments.
1 beautiful head of garlic
1 tsp. plus 2 tbsp. olive oil, divided
About 2 cups frozen peas
1/4 tsp. dried sage
1/4 tsp. dried thyme
Salt and pepper to taste
A handful of fresh mint leaves
1-2 tbsp. fresh lemon juice, optional
1) Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Slice the top of the head of garlic such that each clove is exposed in the cross-section. Place the garlic, cut side up, on a small rectangle of foil. Drizzle 1 tsp. of olive oil over the exposed cloves. Wrap the foil around the garlic to make a little parcel. Place the parcel on a cookie sheet and roast for 40-60 minutes. When the garlic is done roasting, remove it from the oven and let it cool for 5-10 minutes, long enough so that it’s cool enough to handle.
2) Cook the frozen peas according to package directions until tender.
3) Place the cooked peas in a food processor. Unwrap the garlic from its foil pouch. Squeeze the cloves of roasted garlic out of their peels and add to the peas. Add 2 tbsp. olive oil, the dried herbs, and a bit of salt and pepper. Buzz in the food processor, stopping to scrape down the sides as needed. Taste the mixture and add more seasonings if needed, especially salt. Buzz until smooth and creamy.
4) Spoon the pea mixture into a nice serving bowl. Rinse and dry the mint leaves and then chop them finely. Sprinkle them over the peas to make a nice tasty garnish. If you like, dribble some fresh lemon juice over the leaves. I like the flavor that lemon juice adds to this dip, but strictly speaking, it’s not essential.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Happiest Chaos
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Life continues to surprise and delight me.
Today I write to you from aboard the Amtrak train. We are heading west, straight across Michigan, on our way to the Windy City. I’m feeling a bit teary again—apparently I cry a lot when traveling—but today they are tears of joy and sadness. I’m trying to breathe and be thankful for what I have rather than sink into the melancholy of missing my family with the kind of heartache that makes my chest hurt and my throat feel tight. They are, along with my tribe of friends, my world. This life would be pretty shabby without them.
I never thought I would say this, but it’s much harder to be a long-distance aunt than a long-distance lover. My niece, Lydia, doesn’t have the whole long-distance relationship thing down the way Matt does. I mean, she never calls or e-mails me. The only time she has visited me thus far, she was in the womb. That means it’s up to me to keep up our relationship, and the best way to do that is to spend a good week with her in Michigan. The time that we have together is so precious and so much fun that it’s worth every mile, every minute, every penny that it takes to see her. I even told her mom, Amanda, that I’d give Lydia a kidney if she ever needed it. Thankfully for us, Lydia is exquisitely healthy and vibrant, but just in case, I’m going to take good care of my spare kidney. Pass the green tea, please!
Lydia trusts me, and her trust makes me feel warm and sparkly. Each time we see each other, she lets me know that I am welcome in her world. During this visit, we spent a lot of time playing together. It was fabulous. Before this visit, I’d been feeling bad about missing her birthday party in September. I was even delinquent in the gift department! I’m torn between buying her fun toys that she can play with now versus investing money in her future. Like her parents, I want the best for her. Lucky for me, Amanda and Charlie (Lydia’s daddy and my brother) are too easy-going to be upset about birthday delinquency. Amanda and I decided to have a shopping date with Lydia. We thought it might be a memorable occasion for all of us, and Lydia could pick out a special gift with me that would remind her of how much I love her and love to play with her.
On a slick, snowy Tuesday afternoon, we hit the road with Lydia buckled snugly into her carseat. Our destination: The Doll Hospital & Toy Soldier Shop in Berkley, Michigan. The drive was inchworm-slow; the roads were covered in slushy ice, and snow was falling like powdered sugar from a grey sky. As we crawled toward Berkley, Lydia spotted a playset outside and asked if we could go play on the slide.
“No, honey, that playset belongs to someone else, “ her mother answered. “I know it doesn’t seem right, but we can’t go play with someone else’s toys.”
“Huh,” said Lydia, satisfied with Amanda’s explanation. She settled back into her seat, tucked her thumb into her mouth, and watched quietly until we pulled into a parking lot. We tumbled out of the car, snuggled Lydia against one hip to carry her into the store, and marched inside.
I’m not a regular visitor to toy stores, so with nothing else in mind but entertaining Lydia and finding an excellent addition to her toy collection, we wandered up and down the aisles. Amanda had a short mental list of things to find, like dustless chalk for Lydia’s bedroom chalkboard, so while she shopped, I tagged along with Lydia to see what kind of fun we could find. At the back of the store, a beautiful, ready-for-climbing playset beckoned to us. It was two stories tall and the perfect size for Lydia. Not one, not two, but three different slides stood waiting for someone to put them to good use. A sign posted on the playset asked us not to climb up the slides, so as long as we could get Lydia up to the top of the slides, it looked like her earlier request could be fulfilled.
I offered to climb up the ladder with my niece, but to my surprise, she said, “No, myself.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you?” I asked.
“No, me do it. You stay,” she said firmly as she took her first big step up the ladder.
“You can climb all the way up?”
She grunted at me and made her way up the ladder, one big step after another. I watched, delighted by her excellent climbing skills and offered to catch her at the bottom of the slide. She grunted again, so I walked around and waited eagerly for her big descent.
“Whoa, Lydi, are you ready?” I called to her. She pushed off and slid gracefully down into my arms. I caught her awkwardly, bonked her head against the slide, and she looked at me, stunned by my ineptness. We both stared at each other for one panicked moment before I cried, “Oh, Lydi, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” She looked at me with wide eyes, both of us wondering if she was going to start crying. I picked her up, rubbed her little head with my hand, and she immediately demanded that I put her down.
“Okay, baby, here you go.” I set her down gently. She trotted toward the ladder and said to me, “You stay. No catch me.”
“Okay, Lyd. I’ll just stay here and watch you.”
“No catch me!”
“Okay, I won’t catch you. I’m just going to watch you here.”
Like a pro, she scrambled up the ladder again, zoomed down the slide, landed on her feet, fell forward, and caught herself on the floor with her hands.
“Oh my goodness, Lydia! You did it all by yourself!” I could hardly believe how fast and nimble she had become. Last year, she’d just begun walking by herself and this year, she was zipping up ladders and down slides like a little blonde monkey.
I cheered her on as she went up the ladder and down the slide a thousand more times. Inside the playset, on the second story, there was a little house. If you entered the house by opening a little wooden door, you could go down another slide. I wanted to show Lydia how to get to the other slide. Like a clumsy giant in a leprechaun-sized house, I climbed up the ladder. Lydia followed behind me. I showed her how to open up the door, and half-walked, half-crawled into the house. We looked at the slide, and Lydia pointed at me and cried, “Down!” So on my giant-sized bottom, I slid down the slide, landed on my feet with a thud, and Lydia laughed and slid gracefully down the new slide. We both laughed, and she ran back around to the ladder to do it all again, this time by herself. Which she did, again and again and again. Lydia is a fast learner; after a few times down the slides, she was landing on her feet with nary a stumble. She didn’t really need me at all to entertain her on the slide, but I stuck around just to watch and cheer for her like a good auntie.
Eventually, Amanda and I coaxed her into looking at toys with us. Back in September, I had looked at the toy puppets sold on-line by this store, but every time I clicked on an item, it was listed as sold out. I was disappointed because these toy puppets were very cool: beautiful stuffed animals with a big slit for a hand. With a little bit of imagination, these were animals that could really come alive! I perused the puppets, found a nice big bobcat, and while Lydia played with a toy train set, I introduced her to Bob.
Bob and Lydia hit it off right away. Lydia nuzzled and kissed Bob. He purred when she scratched behind his ears; Lydia leaned in close to hear his purring. Bob tried to kiss Lydia, but she pushed him away, insisting that instead, she would kiss his back or the side of his face. Later, she said, “He’s got pokies,” and gestured to her nose. Bob’s whiskers were a little pokey, so we made sure Bob’s pokies didn’t scratch Lydia. As we got ready to leave the store, Lydia cried, “No, kitty-cat come too!” With that, Bob became the newest member of our family. As long as he keeps his pokies to himself, I think he’ll be welcome to tag along with Lydia wherever she goes.
* * *
It’s funny: I’ve never thought of myself as being particularly maternal, but somehow, Lydia and I get along very well. I’m happy being her aunt, and I know I'm not her mother. Her parents are awesome. But it's true that loving Lydia is, for me, a tiny taste of the love a mother feels for her child. I am utterly smitten with her, and I am delighted that she is thriving. It never occurred to me that I could love Lydia even more as she grows older. Lydia’s babyhood is fading. I used to be upset by the idea of her growing up; perhaps what really upsets me is the idea of missing so much of her childhood. But she is teaching me that our bond is special and strong, and even as time whisks us into the future, she’s still my L Ro, and I’m her Aunt Ro. I just hope that my heart is big enough to hold all of this love. If it breaks a little bit, then maybe she’ll give me a big hug and let me hold her in my arms until we both feel better.
Life continues to surprise and delight me.
Today I write to you from aboard the Amtrak train. We are heading west, straight across Michigan, on our way to the Windy City. I’m feeling a bit teary again—apparently I cry a lot when traveling—but today they are tears of joy and sadness. I’m trying to breathe and be thankful for what I have rather than sink into the melancholy of missing my family with the kind of heartache that makes my chest hurt and my throat feel tight. They are, along with my tribe of friends, my world. This life would be pretty shabby without them.
I never thought I would say this, but it’s much harder to be a long-distance aunt than a long-distance lover. My niece, Lydia, doesn’t have the whole long-distance relationship thing down the way Matt does. I mean, she never calls or e-mails me. The only time she has visited me thus far, she was in the womb. That means it’s up to me to keep up our relationship, and the best way to do that is to spend a good week with her in Michigan. The time that we have together is so precious and so much fun that it’s worth every mile, every minute, every penny that it takes to see her. I even told her mom, Amanda, that I’d give Lydia a kidney if she ever needed it. Thankfully for us, Lydia is exquisitely healthy and vibrant, but just in case, I’m going to take good care of my spare kidney. Pass the green tea, please!
Lydia trusts me, and her trust makes me feel warm and sparkly. Each time we see each other, she lets me know that I am welcome in her world. During this visit, we spent a lot of time playing together. It was fabulous. Before this visit, I’d been feeling bad about missing her birthday party in September. I was even delinquent in the gift department! I’m torn between buying her fun toys that she can play with now versus investing money in her future. Like her parents, I want the best for her. Lucky for me, Amanda and Charlie (Lydia’s daddy and my brother) are too easy-going to be upset about birthday delinquency. Amanda and I decided to have a shopping date with Lydia. We thought it might be a memorable occasion for all of us, and Lydia could pick out a special gift with me that would remind her of how much I love her and love to play with her.
On a slick, snowy Tuesday afternoon, we hit the road with Lydia buckled snugly into her carseat. Our destination: The Doll Hospital & Toy Soldier Shop in Berkley, Michigan. The drive was inchworm-slow; the roads were covered in slushy ice, and snow was falling like powdered sugar from a grey sky. As we crawled toward Berkley, Lydia spotted a playset outside and asked if we could go play on the slide.
“No, honey, that playset belongs to someone else, “ her mother answered. “I know it doesn’t seem right, but we can’t go play with someone else’s toys.”
“Huh,” said Lydia, satisfied with Amanda’s explanation. She settled back into her seat, tucked her thumb into her mouth, and watched quietly until we pulled into a parking lot. We tumbled out of the car, snuggled Lydia against one hip to carry her into the store, and marched inside.
I’m not a regular visitor to toy stores, so with nothing else in mind but entertaining Lydia and finding an excellent addition to her toy collection, we wandered up and down the aisles. Amanda had a short mental list of things to find, like dustless chalk for Lydia’s bedroom chalkboard, so while she shopped, I tagged along with Lydia to see what kind of fun we could find. At the back of the store, a beautiful, ready-for-climbing playset beckoned to us. It was two stories tall and the perfect size for Lydia. Not one, not two, but three different slides stood waiting for someone to put them to good use. A sign posted on the playset asked us not to climb up the slides, so as long as we could get Lydia up to the top of the slides, it looked like her earlier request could be fulfilled.
I offered to climb up the ladder with my niece, but to my surprise, she said, “No, myself.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you?” I asked.
“No, me do it. You stay,” she said firmly as she took her first big step up the ladder.
“You can climb all the way up?”
She grunted at me and made her way up the ladder, one big step after another. I watched, delighted by her excellent climbing skills and offered to catch her at the bottom of the slide. She grunted again, so I walked around and waited eagerly for her big descent.
“Whoa, Lydi, are you ready?” I called to her. She pushed off and slid gracefully down into my arms. I caught her awkwardly, bonked her head against the slide, and she looked at me, stunned by my ineptness. We both stared at each other for one panicked moment before I cried, “Oh, Lydi, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” She looked at me with wide eyes, both of us wondering if she was going to start crying. I picked her up, rubbed her little head with my hand, and she immediately demanded that I put her down.
“Okay, baby, here you go.” I set her down gently. She trotted toward the ladder and said to me, “You stay. No catch me.”
“Okay, Lyd. I’ll just stay here and watch you.”
“No catch me!”
“Okay, I won’t catch you. I’m just going to watch you here.”
Like a pro, she scrambled up the ladder again, zoomed down the slide, landed on her feet, fell forward, and caught herself on the floor with her hands.
“Oh my goodness, Lydia! You did it all by yourself!” I could hardly believe how fast and nimble she had become. Last year, she’d just begun walking by herself and this year, she was zipping up ladders and down slides like a little blonde monkey.
I cheered her on as she went up the ladder and down the slide a thousand more times. Inside the playset, on the second story, there was a little house. If you entered the house by opening a little wooden door, you could go down another slide. I wanted to show Lydia how to get to the other slide. Like a clumsy giant in a leprechaun-sized house, I climbed up the ladder. Lydia followed behind me. I showed her how to open up the door, and half-walked, half-crawled into the house. We looked at the slide, and Lydia pointed at me and cried, “Down!” So on my giant-sized bottom, I slid down the slide, landed on my feet with a thud, and Lydia laughed and slid gracefully down the new slide. We both laughed, and she ran back around to the ladder to do it all again, this time by herself. Which she did, again and again and again. Lydia is a fast learner; after a few times down the slides, she was landing on her feet with nary a stumble. She didn’t really need me at all to entertain her on the slide, but I stuck around just to watch and cheer for her like a good auntie.
Eventually, Amanda and I coaxed her into looking at toys with us. Back in September, I had looked at the toy puppets sold on-line by this store, but every time I clicked on an item, it was listed as sold out. I was disappointed because these toy puppets were very cool: beautiful stuffed animals with a big slit for a hand. With a little bit of imagination, these were animals that could really come alive! I perused the puppets, found a nice big bobcat, and while Lydia played with a toy train set, I introduced her to Bob.
Bob and Lydia hit it off right away. Lydia nuzzled and kissed Bob. He purred when she scratched behind his ears; Lydia leaned in close to hear his purring. Bob tried to kiss Lydia, but she pushed him away, insisting that instead, she would kiss his back or the side of his face. Later, she said, “He’s got pokies,” and gestured to her nose. Bob’s whiskers were a little pokey, so we made sure Bob’s pokies didn’t scratch Lydia. As we got ready to leave the store, Lydia cried, “No, kitty-cat come too!” With that, Bob became the newest member of our family. As long as he keeps his pokies to himself, I think he’ll be welcome to tag along with Lydia wherever she goes.
* * *
It’s funny: I’ve never thought of myself as being particularly maternal, but somehow, Lydia and I get along very well. I’m happy being her aunt, and I know I'm not her mother. Her parents are awesome. But it's true that loving Lydia is, for me, a tiny taste of the love a mother feels for her child. I am utterly smitten with her, and I am delighted that she is thriving. It never occurred to me that I could love Lydia even more as she grows older. Lydia’s babyhood is fading. I used to be upset by the idea of her growing up; perhaps what really upsets me is the idea of missing so much of her childhood. But she is teaching me that our bond is special and strong, and even as time whisks us into the future, she’s still my L Ro, and I’m her Aunt Ro. I just hope that my heart is big enough to hold all of this love. If it breaks a little bit, then maybe she’ll give me a big hug and let me hold her in my arms until we both feel better.
Monday, December 22, 2008
On Assignment in the Mitten State
Dear reader, I had hoped to write you a sunny message en route to Michigan today. Instead, I just had one of the worst mornings of my life, but thankfully, I’ve stopped crying and it looks like I just might make it home before Christmas.
I was supposed to be on an 8:30 AM Amtrak train today. I arrived at Union Station at 7:15 AM, ready to roll. Instead, at 7:45 AM, my train was CANCELED with some vague promise of a bus to get me to Dearborn. Then I waited. And waited. And waited. Then I started crying, great big chest-heaving sobs of exhaustion, frustration, anger. Because this month, I just cannot deal with any more stress. My nerves are completely frayed, and the only thing that got me through these last few weeks was the promise of a week-long vacation with my family. They would soothe me, feed me, comfort me, and generally help me forget about graduate school and this frantic urban life of mine. I need a week without public transportation, packed lunches, timers, and fruit flies.
So here I am, sitting on a coach bus, waiting to leave Union Station, my packed lunch sitting next to me like a cat. Luckily, I do have a tasty meal with me, and I even packed enough for an afternoon snack, the thought of which is making me very happy right now, even though my fingers are kinda numb as I type. My fellow passengers are making me laugh: our bus driver does not know how to get to the Dearborn Amtrak station, but all the passengers are assuring him that they know how to get there, so I feel like I’m in good hands.
Yes, Amtrak sucks, but my family does not. My dear sister-in-law, Amanda, braved my sobbing and tried to find me a one-way plane ticket to Detroit, but my wallet is feeling pinched these days. I didn’t really want to shell out $100+ for yet another ticket, and just as she was on the phone with Southwest, they called for Dearborn passengers to board, so I decided to take my chances on the bus. I’ve said it before, but this time I really mean it: no more Amtrak. Seriously. My peace of mind has a price, and I’m willing to pay that price.
I believe, though, that this trip will be worth every last penny. For one thing, I haven’t seen my niece, Lydia, in a year. She’s two now, and she talks. Best of all, she remembers me. My greatest fear as a long-distance aunt is that Lydia won’t remember me. She’s so young, and I spend such precious little time with her. But she remembers me! I was talking to Amanda about my fear and she told me about this little conversation:
Amanda: Do you remember Uncle Scott, Lydia?
Lydia: He fixes trucks!
Amanda: That’s right! And do you remember Aunt Rose-Anne?
Lydia: She plays with me!
Yes! I can hardly think of a better way to be remembered by my pint-sized pumpkin. This week, there will be lots of playing, I hope, and lots of eating and sleeping and drinking cocoa. There will be presents and music, maybe even a little dancing if Lydia is in the mood. Last year, she liked to dance for us by stamping her feet and twisting her torso back and forth. She’s the cutest little dancer I’ve ever seen.
There will be tea with friends tomorrow morning followed by food shopping at Whole Foods with Amanda and Lydia. I’m cooking a family dinner for Amanda, my brother, and Lydia, which is another thing that makes me happy. When I asked Amanda if I could cook dinner for her family, she laughed and said, “Well, if you can make something without wheat, dairy, or corn, then be my guest.” I smiled and told her I was up to the challenge. I’ve got at least two awesome contenders for entrée position. One option is a big pot of Stewed Lentils and Tomatoes, perhaps served with rice or oat groats and a nice salad. The other option is a stew to which Matt introduced me, and it’s my top choice right now.
Matt has excellent taste, and this stew is no exception. It is, in fact, one of my very favorite things to make and eat. I know I say that a lot, but I think it’s okay to have lots of favorite things to eat. One of the fun things about cooking with Matt is the pleasure of surprise. I never know what he’ll want to do with the food in front of him, or, in the case of this stew, which recipe will capture his attention when he has a cookbook full of choices.
I remember that stewy evening with fuzzy clarity because it involved lots of delicious red wine. It was about a year ago, and Matt was visiting me in Evanston. He’d caught a wicked cold a few days earlier, so we spent a lot of time in our pajamas, laying on the couch. We did get dressed to go shopping for the groceries together, our teeth chattering in the bitter cold as we walked back to my apartment. After changing back into his pajamas, Matt put his palate to work. I happily played the role of sous-chef, chopping vegetables, finding various pots and pans, tossing together the salad according to Matt’s instructions. Matt chopped and tasted, insisting on a sample of the butternut squash puree that I pulled from the freezer (I love being the kind of woman who can pull squash puree from the freezer at a moment’s notice). We oohed and aaahed over the simmering vegetable stock, the intensely aromatic onion-and-spice saute, the incredible wine that Matt picked out. All of these sensory pleasures were a prelude to the outstanding stew that was being conjured out of simple ingredients. Rich with herbs and spices, Matt’s Chickpea and Artichoke Heart Stew is like a peasant stew gone glamourous. There’s a remarkable synergy between the fresh sage, paprika, and tumeric, three flavors I never would have thought to put together. But they work, magically and beautifully here. The stew’s broth, thickened with that squash puree, tastes almost creamy, or at least it did that night with red wine lingering on our tongues.
We ate our stew with Matt’s Spinach and Orange Salad, the recipe for which I promptly filed into my own collection because I liked it so much. It’s one thing to cook for someone whom you are trying to impress; it’s another thing to cook with someone who has already impressed you. I don’t know when Matt and I crossed that threshold between cooking to impress and cooking to love, but I must confess that I love that we cook together out of love. And because we’re hungry.
My bus is now on the road—I think we’re somewhere in Indiana—and I’m feeling much better. Writing is so very relaxing, and you are sweet to put up with me even when I’m feeling bad. Today, a year after promising you the recipe, I present Matt’s Chickpea and Artichoke Heart Stew, complete with Matt’s adaptations as best I can describe. I’ll be making a big batch of stew while I’m on assignment in the Mitten State. Your assignment, should you choose to accept it: have too much fun this week, sleep in, eat cookies, play in the snow, laugh until your belly hurts, and if you feel motivated, make a batch of stew. It will warm you deeply, belly and soul.
Happy holidays, dear reader.
Matt’s Chickpea and Artichoke Heart Stew
Adapted from Moosewood Restaurant Cooks at Home
Serves 4-6
Technically, this recipe is about 95% Moosewood and 5% Matt. But that 5% is significant to me! Matt uses a strategy he calls layering to deepen the flavors. Basically, layering is the addition of the same ingredient at different times during the cooking. For example, in this stew, Matt adds most of the sage at the beginning of the cooking to infuse its perfume into the body of the stew. Then at the end, a little more fresh sage is added after the stew is taken off the heat so that there’s a bit of uber-fresh, sprightly sage sitting right on top of the flavor profile. Genius, that Matt is.
4 cups excellent vegetable stock (good-quality bouillon cubes plus water work well here)
3 tbsp. olive oil
2 medium onions, chopped
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped, divided
1 tsp. tumeric
1 tsp. paprika
4 medium waxy red or white potatoes, such as Yukon Golds, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
6 leaves fresh sage, finely chopped, divided
Generous pinch of dried rosemary
1/2 cup pureed winter squash, such as butternut squash
2 15-oz. cans chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1 14-oz. can artichoke hearts, halved and rough spots removed
Salt and pepper to taste
Grated Parmesan cheese (optional but tasty)
Lemon wedges for serving (also optional but tasty)
1) In a large saucepan, bring the vegetable stock to a simmer.
2) Meanwhile, heat the oil in a large pot. Add the onions and saute until soft. Add about 2/3 of the garlic and cook briefly with the onions. Stir the tumeric and paprika into the onions and saute for about a minute.
3) Add the potatoes, minced sage from about 5 leaves, and simmering vegetable stock. Crumble the dried rosemary into the stew by breaking its needles with your fingers. Cook this stewy mixture for about 10 minutes, until the potatoes are just shy of tender. Stir in the pureed squash, then add the chickpeas and artichoke hearts. Simmer for a few more minutes until both the potatoes and the chickpeas are tender. Add the remaining garlic and sage. Taste; add salt and/or pepper to taste.
4) Serve in deep bowls, topped with Parmesan cheese if desired, with lemon wedges on the side for squeezing over the stew.
I was supposed to be on an 8:30 AM Amtrak train today. I arrived at Union Station at 7:15 AM, ready to roll. Instead, at 7:45 AM, my train was CANCELED with some vague promise of a bus to get me to Dearborn. Then I waited. And waited. And waited. Then I started crying, great big chest-heaving sobs of exhaustion, frustration, anger. Because this month, I just cannot deal with any more stress. My nerves are completely frayed, and the only thing that got me through these last few weeks was the promise of a week-long vacation with my family. They would soothe me, feed me, comfort me, and generally help me forget about graduate school and this frantic urban life of mine. I need a week without public transportation, packed lunches, timers, and fruit flies.
So here I am, sitting on a coach bus, waiting to leave Union Station, my packed lunch sitting next to me like a cat. Luckily, I do have a tasty meal with me, and I even packed enough for an afternoon snack, the thought of which is making me very happy right now, even though my fingers are kinda numb as I type. My fellow passengers are making me laugh: our bus driver does not know how to get to the Dearborn Amtrak station, but all the passengers are assuring him that they know how to get there, so I feel like I’m in good hands.
Yes, Amtrak sucks, but my family does not. My dear sister-in-law, Amanda, braved my sobbing and tried to find me a one-way plane ticket to Detroit, but my wallet is feeling pinched these days. I didn’t really want to shell out $100+ for yet another ticket, and just as she was on the phone with Southwest, they called for Dearborn passengers to board, so I decided to take my chances on the bus. I’ve said it before, but this time I really mean it: no more Amtrak. Seriously. My peace of mind has a price, and I’m willing to pay that price.
I believe, though, that this trip will be worth every last penny. For one thing, I haven’t seen my niece, Lydia, in a year. She’s two now, and she talks. Best of all, she remembers me. My greatest fear as a long-distance aunt is that Lydia won’t remember me. She’s so young, and I spend such precious little time with her. But she remembers me! I was talking to Amanda about my fear and she told me about this little conversation:
Amanda: Do you remember Uncle Scott, Lydia?
Lydia: He fixes trucks!
Amanda: That’s right! And do you remember Aunt Rose-Anne?
Lydia: She plays with me!
Yes! I can hardly think of a better way to be remembered by my pint-sized pumpkin. This week, there will be lots of playing, I hope, and lots of eating and sleeping and drinking cocoa. There will be presents and music, maybe even a little dancing if Lydia is in the mood. Last year, she liked to dance for us by stamping her feet and twisting her torso back and forth. She’s the cutest little dancer I’ve ever seen.
There will be tea with friends tomorrow morning followed by food shopping at Whole Foods with Amanda and Lydia. I’m cooking a family dinner for Amanda, my brother, and Lydia, which is another thing that makes me happy. When I asked Amanda if I could cook dinner for her family, she laughed and said, “Well, if you can make something without wheat, dairy, or corn, then be my guest.” I smiled and told her I was up to the challenge. I’ve got at least two awesome contenders for entrée position. One option is a big pot of Stewed Lentils and Tomatoes, perhaps served with rice or oat groats and a nice salad. The other option is a stew to which Matt introduced me, and it’s my top choice right now.
Matt has excellent taste, and this stew is no exception. It is, in fact, one of my very favorite things to make and eat. I know I say that a lot, but I think it’s okay to have lots of favorite things to eat. One of the fun things about cooking with Matt is the pleasure of surprise. I never know what he’ll want to do with the food in front of him, or, in the case of this stew, which recipe will capture his attention when he has a cookbook full of choices.
I remember that stewy evening with fuzzy clarity because it involved lots of delicious red wine. It was about a year ago, and Matt was visiting me in Evanston. He’d caught a wicked cold a few days earlier, so we spent a lot of time in our pajamas, laying on the couch. We did get dressed to go shopping for the groceries together, our teeth chattering in the bitter cold as we walked back to my apartment. After changing back into his pajamas, Matt put his palate to work. I happily played the role of sous-chef, chopping vegetables, finding various pots and pans, tossing together the salad according to Matt’s instructions. Matt chopped and tasted, insisting on a sample of the butternut squash puree that I pulled from the freezer (I love being the kind of woman who can pull squash puree from the freezer at a moment’s notice). We oohed and aaahed over the simmering vegetable stock, the intensely aromatic onion-and-spice saute, the incredible wine that Matt picked out. All of these sensory pleasures were a prelude to the outstanding stew that was being conjured out of simple ingredients. Rich with herbs and spices, Matt’s Chickpea and Artichoke Heart Stew is like a peasant stew gone glamourous. There’s a remarkable synergy between the fresh sage, paprika, and tumeric, three flavors I never would have thought to put together. But they work, magically and beautifully here. The stew’s broth, thickened with that squash puree, tastes almost creamy, or at least it did that night with red wine lingering on our tongues.
We ate our stew with Matt’s Spinach and Orange Salad, the recipe for which I promptly filed into my own collection because I liked it so much. It’s one thing to cook for someone whom you are trying to impress; it’s another thing to cook with someone who has already impressed you. I don’t know when Matt and I crossed that threshold between cooking to impress and cooking to love, but I must confess that I love that we cook together out of love. And because we’re hungry.
My bus is now on the road—I think we’re somewhere in Indiana—and I’m feeling much better. Writing is so very relaxing, and you are sweet to put up with me even when I’m feeling bad. Today, a year after promising you the recipe, I present Matt’s Chickpea and Artichoke Heart Stew, complete with Matt’s adaptations as best I can describe. I’ll be making a big batch of stew while I’m on assignment in the Mitten State. Your assignment, should you choose to accept it: have too much fun this week, sleep in, eat cookies, play in the snow, laugh until your belly hurts, and if you feel motivated, make a batch of stew. It will warm you deeply, belly and soul.
Happy holidays, dear reader.
Matt’s Chickpea and Artichoke Heart Stew
Adapted from Moosewood Restaurant Cooks at Home
Serves 4-6
Technically, this recipe is about 95% Moosewood and 5% Matt. But that 5% is significant to me! Matt uses a strategy he calls layering to deepen the flavors. Basically, layering is the addition of the same ingredient at different times during the cooking. For example, in this stew, Matt adds most of the sage at the beginning of the cooking to infuse its perfume into the body of the stew. Then at the end, a little more fresh sage is added after the stew is taken off the heat so that there’s a bit of uber-fresh, sprightly sage sitting right on top of the flavor profile. Genius, that Matt is.
4 cups excellent vegetable stock (good-quality bouillon cubes plus water work well here)
3 tbsp. olive oil
2 medium onions, chopped
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped, divided
1 tsp. tumeric
1 tsp. paprika
4 medium waxy red or white potatoes, such as Yukon Golds, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
6 leaves fresh sage, finely chopped, divided
Generous pinch of dried rosemary
1/2 cup pureed winter squash, such as butternut squash
2 15-oz. cans chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1 14-oz. can artichoke hearts, halved and rough spots removed
Salt and pepper to taste
Grated Parmesan cheese (optional but tasty)
Lemon wedges for serving (also optional but tasty)
1) In a large saucepan, bring the vegetable stock to a simmer.
2) Meanwhile, heat the oil in a large pot. Add the onions and saute until soft. Add about 2/3 of the garlic and cook briefly with the onions. Stir the tumeric and paprika into the onions and saute for about a minute.
3) Add the potatoes, minced sage from about 5 leaves, and simmering vegetable stock. Crumble the dried rosemary into the stew by breaking its needles with your fingers. Cook this stewy mixture for about 10 minutes, until the potatoes are just shy of tender. Stir in the pureed squash, then add the chickpeas and artichoke hearts. Simmer for a few more minutes until both the potatoes and the chickpeas are tender. Add the remaining garlic and sage. Taste; add salt and/or pepper to taste.
4) Serve in deep bowls, topped with Parmesan cheese if desired, with lemon wedges on the side for squeezing over the stew.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
When Left Alone in a Grocery Store
My Fridays have turned into a crazy science marathon. It seems no matter how early I get into the lab, I can never quite get everything done. I spend hours as a fly matchmaker, hoping my randy little male flies will charm their female companions into an intimate encounter. It’s true: I’m a fly madam. And I’m so crass about it. All I care about is that these little creatures make lots of baby flies for me so I can do it all over again.
Fly matchmaking is just one part of Crazy Fridays. I spend another couple of hours putting fruit flies, one at a time, into tiny glass test tubes. The tubes are then inserted into computer boards that will monitor the flies’ locomotor behavior by shining an infrared beam through the center of the tube. Every time the fly walks through the middle of the tube, he breaks the beam and the computer board reads that beam break as an activity count. You’d be surprised at how willing flies are to pass the time by just pacing up and down their tubes. Using this locomotor behavior assay, we’re able to generate data that can be analyzed for circadian, or daily, activity rhythms as well as sleep behavior. Yes, flies sleep! Isn’t that cool?
Then there are all the random tasks, the ones that have to be squeezed around everything else: giving my flies fresh food, returning e-mails, collecting data, coordinating with other people about details large and small. This science gig is a pretty good job—it’s paying the bills for now—but it is EXHAUSTING. And it makes me hungry.
On a recent Friday, I tried so hard to leave the lab by 6 PM. The plan was to take the train home, toting my laptop on my back. Once home, I would drop off the computer, do a quick 20-minute work-out of some type, have a little snack to soothe my belly (already getting fussy), and then walk or take the train to downtown Evanston, where I’d be having dinner with some friends at 8 PM.
6 PM approached, and I still wasn’t ready to leave. The clock kept ticking. I kept finding more things that HAD to be done. My belly started grumbling a little louder. The clock approached 7. My nerves were shot. I declared my work day done, grabbed my things, and with no time to go home before dinner, I walked over to Whole Foods to find a snack.
I thought deep and hard about what kind of pre-dinner snack would be appropriate. I wanted something light and healthy, maybe a little bit sweet but not too much sugar because I wanted to have a glass of wine with dinner. Cottage cheese and a banana sounded tasty, but I wasn’t sure Whole Foods sold single-serving containers of cottage cheese. On my way to the dairy case, I picked up a bunch of perfectly ripe bananas (sweet!) and a big bag of dried black beans for Saturday night dinner—a variation of this black bean soup, with oat groats instead of rice. With snack-ready bananas waiting patiently in my basket, I strolled over to the dairy case, thinking about how lovely and rare it is to have a few unhurried minutes in a grocery store, especially after a week of dashing here-there-and-everywhere. It was the perfect opportunity for perusing the dairy shelves for new arrivals, a little something treaty.
I have a deep and meaningful relationship with dairy. I’m madly in love with it and think there are few eating circumstances that aren’t improved by a dairy accessory. It’s a serious wallet commitment for me, especially as I am inching my way over to the organic dairy way of life. It’s expensive, but I make it a weekly habit to buy organic milk and with increasing frequency, I buy organic yogurts and cheeses. But I’ll confess that I hardly ever buy organic cottage or ricotta cheeses, and, during my desperate moments, a block or two of [non-organic] cheddar has been tossed haphazardly into my basket at Jewel. These are the moments that come to mind when I tell myself and everyone around me that we do the best we can with what we have. Sometimes we are starving for time and dinner.
But on that particular Friday night, I wasn’t starving for time or dinner and I was in Whole Foods, where you really have no excuses for not buying organic food unless you are flat broke (in which case, might I suggest you hit the bulk section? You can buy a LOT of black beans with just a handful of quarters!). In front of me sat a plethora of new items and brands, eager to come home with me. Ever the bargain-hunter, even in Whole Foods, a new cottage cheese grabbed my attention with its 2-for-$4 sale price tag and simple ingredient list. The tubs were 16 ounces—much too large for an evening snack—so I added them to my basket and continued looking for a daintier snack.
With my mind on something small and satisfying, I turned to the yogurts, all standing at attention, labels boldly announcing their deliciousness. I wanted to try something new and preferably not too sweet. A new offering from Kalona Organics caught my eye: Cultural Revolution. I think it was the sweetly simple picture of vanilla beans on the container that really got my attention: I love vanilla and am on a sort of vanilla-snob kick these days. Cultural Revolution’s Vanilla Organic Yogurt is more than just a pretty face, though. It’s minimally sweetened (9 grams of carbohydrates and 7 grams of sugar in 6 ounces, which is very, very little sugar for a flavored yogurt) and the vanilla flavor just wafts right into your brain when you peel back the foil lid. On that frigid Friday night, I used my lunch spoon to slice banana chunks into the yogurt. I sat in Whole Foods, eating my snack and enjoying the scene on Chicago Avenue as passers-by scurried along.
I was so intrigued by this yogurt, and so eager to tell you about it, that I decided it was necessary to do a second tasting. This yogurt is pricey--$1.25 for a 6-ounce container—but you, dear reader, are worth it! During the first tasting, I found myself wishing the yogurt was just a smidge sweeter with say, a teaspoon of extra sugar in it. But after a second tasting a week later, I feel it’s just perfect as it is. Either way, what really sells me on it is its texture and rich flavors. It’s wonderfully creamy but a little runny too; Kalona describes it as having a “marbled body.” I agree. Perfumed with vanilla, it rides the line between sweet and tart—it will tickle your tastebuds with its refusal to pick a side! It’s tasty enough to eat by itself, but I really like it with a ripe banana. The banana’s sweetness helps to balance everything on the palate. I’m feeling apprehensive about how much I like this yogurt since its price gives me pause, but apparently, the vanilla flavor also comes in 24-ounce containers, which, one presumes, will be a little easier on the wallet compared to the 6-ounce containers.
I didn’t realize until several days later that the cottage cheese I bought is also from Kalona Organics! The cottage cheese is every bit as good as the yogurt. I’ve eaten it plain and tossed into scrambled eggs (a staple weeknight dinner for me) and find it as tasty as the cottage cheese from Dean’s. Lest you think that’s an insult, since Dean’s is a ubiquitous grocery store brand, let me assure you that I love the products from Dean’s. I just wish they were organic, too. Kalona’s cottage cheese is sold under the label Farmers’ All-Natural Creamery. Its flavor is lovely and pure; it tastes of cream and a little bit of salt, with that familiar squeaky, curdy cottage cheese texture. What’s especially nice about this cottage cheese, though, is that it contains no funky stabilizers or texturizers. It’s just cottage cheese, nothing more, nothing less.
The best part about Kalona Organics, though, is that in addition to making fabulous dairy products, they are a local company for me. Headquartered in Iowa, they are an answer to my wish to purchase more than just my farmer’s market produce from local suppliers. With Wisconsin to the north and Iowa to the west, a Chicago-area denizen like me shouldn’t have to look too far for dairy, and voila! Here is local dairy, on sale at Whole Foods and just perfect for Friday night snacks and scrambled egg embellishment. It’s wonderful enough to make me think I should spend every Friday night in the grocery store. Between the food, the free samples, and the window seats, it’s got everything I need.
Fly matchmaking is just one part of Crazy Fridays. I spend another couple of hours putting fruit flies, one at a time, into tiny glass test tubes. The tubes are then inserted into computer boards that will monitor the flies’ locomotor behavior by shining an infrared beam through the center of the tube. Every time the fly walks through the middle of the tube, he breaks the beam and the computer board reads that beam break as an activity count. You’d be surprised at how willing flies are to pass the time by just pacing up and down their tubes. Using this locomotor behavior assay, we’re able to generate data that can be analyzed for circadian, or daily, activity rhythms as well as sleep behavior. Yes, flies sleep! Isn’t that cool?
Then there are all the random tasks, the ones that have to be squeezed around everything else: giving my flies fresh food, returning e-mails, collecting data, coordinating with other people about details large and small. This science gig is a pretty good job—it’s paying the bills for now—but it is EXHAUSTING. And it makes me hungry.
On a recent Friday, I tried so hard to leave the lab by 6 PM. The plan was to take the train home, toting my laptop on my back. Once home, I would drop off the computer, do a quick 20-minute work-out of some type, have a little snack to soothe my belly (already getting fussy), and then walk or take the train to downtown Evanston, where I’d be having dinner with some friends at 8 PM.
6 PM approached, and I still wasn’t ready to leave. The clock kept ticking. I kept finding more things that HAD to be done. My belly started grumbling a little louder. The clock approached 7. My nerves were shot. I declared my work day done, grabbed my things, and with no time to go home before dinner, I walked over to Whole Foods to find a snack.
I thought deep and hard about what kind of pre-dinner snack would be appropriate. I wanted something light and healthy, maybe a little bit sweet but not too much sugar because I wanted to have a glass of wine with dinner. Cottage cheese and a banana sounded tasty, but I wasn’t sure Whole Foods sold single-serving containers of cottage cheese. On my way to the dairy case, I picked up a bunch of perfectly ripe bananas (sweet!) and a big bag of dried black beans for Saturday night dinner—a variation of this black bean soup, with oat groats instead of rice. With snack-ready bananas waiting patiently in my basket, I strolled over to the dairy case, thinking about how lovely and rare it is to have a few unhurried minutes in a grocery store, especially after a week of dashing here-there-and-everywhere. It was the perfect opportunity for perusing the dairy shelves for new arrivals, a little something treaty.
I have a deep and meaningful relationship with dairy. I’m madly in love with it and think there are few eating circumstances that aren’t improved by a dairy accessory. It’s a serious wallet commitment for me, especially as I am inching my way over to the organic dairy way of life. It’s expensive, but I make it a weekly habit to buy organic milk and with increasing frequency, I buy organic yogurts and cheeses. But I’ll confess that I hardly ever buy organic cottage or ricotta cheeses, and, during my desperate moments, a block or two of [non-organic] cheddar has been tossed haphazardly into my basket at Jewel. These are the moments that come to mind when I tell myself and everyone around me that we do the best we can with what we have. Sometimes we are starving for time and dinner.
But on that particular Friday night, I wasn’t starving for time or dinner and I was in Whole Foods, where you really have no excuses for not buying organic food unless you are flat broke (in which case, might I suggest you hit the bulk section? You can buy a LOT of black beans with just a handful of quarters!). In front of me sat a plethora of new items and brands, eager to come home with me. Ever the bargain-hunter, even in Whole Foods, a new cottage cheese grabbed my attention with its 2-for-$4 sale price tag and simple ingredient list. The tubs were 16 ounces—much too large for an evening snack—so I added them to my basket and continued looking for a daintier snack.
With my mind on something small and satisfying, I turned to the yogurts, all standing at attention, labels boldly announcing their deliciousness. I wanted to try something new and preferably not too sweet. A new offering from Kalona Organics caught my eye: Cultural Revolution. I think it was the sweetly simple picture of vanilla beans on the container that really got my attention: I love vanilla and am on a sort of vanilla-snob kick these days. Cultural Revolution’s Vanilla Organic Yogurt is more than just a pretty face, though. It’s minimally sweetened (9 grams of carbohydrates and 7 grams of sugar in 6 ounces, which is very, very little sugar for a flavored yogurt) and the vanilla flavor just wafts right into your brain when you peel back the foil lid. On that frigid Friday night, I used my lunch spoon to slice banana chunks into the yogurt. I sat in Whole Foods, eating my snack and enjoying the scene on Chicago Avenue as passers-by scurried along.
I was so intrigued by this yogurt, and so eager to tell you about it, that I decided it was necessary to do a second tasting. This yogurt is pricey--$1.25 for a 6-ounce container—but you, dear reader, are worth it! During the first tasting, I found myself wishing the yogurt was just a smidge sweeter with say, a teaspoon of extra sugar in it. But after a second tasting a week later, I feel it’s just perfect as it is. Either way, what really sells me on it is its texture and rich flavors. It’s wonderfully creamy but a little runny too; Kalona describes it as having a “marbled body.” I agree. Perfumed with vanilla, it rides the line between sweet and tart—it will tickle your tastebuds with its refusal to pick a side! It’s tasty enough to eat by itself, but I really like it with a ripe banana. The banana’s sweetness helps to balance everything on the palate. I’m feeling apprehensive about how much I like this yogurt since its price gives me pause, but apparently, the vanilla flavor also comes in 24-ounce containers, which, one presumes, will be a little easier on the wallet compared to the 6-ounce containers.
I didn’t realize until several days later that the cottage cheese I bought is also from Kalona Organics! The cottage cheese is every bit as good as the yogurt. I’ve eaten it plain and tossed into scrambled eggs (a staple weeknight dinner for me) and find it as tasty as the cottage cheese from Dean’s. Lest you think that’s an insult, since Dean’s is a ubiquitous grocery store brand, let me assure you that I love the products from Dean’s. I just wish they were organic, too. Kalona’s cottage cheese is sold under the label Farmers’ All-Natural Creamery. Its flavor is lovely and pure; it tastes of cream and a little bit of salt, with that familiar squeaky, curdy cottage cheese texture. What’s especially nice about this cottage cheese, though, is that it contains no funky stabilizers or texturizers. It’s just cottage cheese, nothing more, nothing less.
The best part about Kalona Organics, though, is that in addition to making fabulous dairy products, they are a local company for me. Headquartered in Iowa, they are an answer to my wish to purchase more than just my farmer’s market produce from local suppliers. With Wisconsin to the north and Iowa to the west, a Chicago-area denizen like me shouldn’t have to look too far for dairy, and voila! Here is local dairy, on sale at Whole Foods and just perfect for Friday night snacks and scrambled egg embellishment. It’s wonderful enough to make me think I should spend every Friday night in the grocery store. Between the food, the free samples, and the window seats, it’s got everything I need.
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