August is for deadheading, and coconut lentil soup

Perennials start to feel cold in August, so they begin to draw their energy back down, turning yellow and sprouting roots instead of flowers. Deadheading -- cutting the flowers off -- encourages the plants to be more prolific in blooming because their whole purpose is to reproduce, and without the flower, they think they haven't done the job just yet. 

I deadhead flowers routinely in the fall, but always think about how instinctive it feels as I'm getting my hair cut in August, which seems to be a ritual before school starts: trim off the dead ends, shock the plant, get it healthy, prepare for the shorter days ahead. I guess in some ways it's a little zen; don't get too attached to the flowers, let them go, others will come. 

But it's hard to be so ruthless when it comes to the things you love, isn't it? My daughter refused a back to school haircut this year, not wanting to change anything, despite the fact that the ends were split and dry. I finally made the appointment for her and shamed her into going, because she wouldn't NOT show up. And as for me, my kid left for his sophomore year of college yesterday, and I feel a little unmoored. I don't know if he'll come back, at least not in the way that he was with us. The whole point of leaving is for him to bloom, in a sense, but not here.

Over and over, we learn what Elizabeth Bishop called One Art, the art of losing. Sometimes, when you've lost enough, you start to wonder whether it's wise to love anything at all. You love your job; your job screws you over. You say OK, I'll focus on what's really important: my family. Maybe you are able to have a child, maybe two, after more impossible losses along the way. You cherish them. But then your children grow up and begin to start their own lives, exit your orbit. So maybe you decide to focus on a hobby, but then your body fails you. You can no longer run, or tapdance, or see the tiny stitches to knit (which maybe you didn't do anyway but aspired to learn), or read for long periods of time because your eyes don't focus like they used to. It's all terribly unfair, this pruning process, when we’re so prone to attachment.

My kid sent me a photo today of his breakfast, in his new apartment, and another of his dinner. Maybe the bloom takes another form, after all.

Coconut Lentil Soup
(from 101 Cookbooks)
A warming soup for when you're feeling sorry for yourself and it's just on the edge of cold outside. Easy enough for an apartment dweller.

1 cup / 7 oz / 200g yellow split peas
1 cup / 7 oz / 200g red split lentils (masoor dal)
7 cups / 1.6 liters water
1 medium carrot, cut into 1/2-inch dice
2 tablespoons fresh peeled and minced ginger
2 tablespoons curry powder
2 tablespoons butter, ghee, olive oil or coconut oil
8 green onions or scallions, thinly sliced
3 tablespoons golden raisins (optional)
1/3 cup / 80 ml tomato paste
1 14- ounce can coconut milk (or less)
1 teaspoon fine grain sea salt, plus more to taste
one small handful chopped cilantro (and/or lots of kale chips)

Give the split peas and lentils a good rinse, until they no longer put off murky water. Place them in an extra-large soup pot, cover with the water, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to a simmer and add the carrot and 1/4 of the ginger. Cover and simmer for about 30 minutes, or until the split peas are soft.

In the meantime, in a small dry skillet or saucepan over low heat, toast the curry powder until it's fragrant. Be careful not to burn it ... you just want to toast it a bit. Set aside. Place the butter in a pan over medium heat, add half of the green onions, the remaining ginger, and raisins (if using). Sauté for two minutes, stirring constantly, then add the tomato paste and sauté for another minute or two more.

Add the toasted curry powder to the tomato paste mixture, mix well, and then add this to the simmering soup along with a splash of coconut milk and salt. Add more coconut milk if you want it creamier.

Simmer, uncovered, for 20 minutes or so. The texture should thicken up, but you can play around with the consistency by adding more water (or coconut milk), a bit at a time, if you like. You can keep it more brothy and soup or stew-like, or simmer longer for a thicker consistency. 

Sprinkle each bowl generously with cilantro and the remaining green onion

 

Acceptance of Terms

I shouldn't say something like "I've not been to the emergency room for a long time, which is a win," because that is Universe-baiting.

But in a weird way, a lack of catastrophe can make you wonder if you're imagining what you thought were substandard conditions. Because inevitably, you regard other catastrophic events and circumstances locally and globally, and think, hm, maybe I am totally fine? even when you can swear it wasn't always like this.

I used to write symptoms down in my notes app to reassure myself that I was not making them up, to see if I could connect the dots. Vision overconvergence and tracking abnormalities, check. Tinnitus, check. Insomnia, check. Constantly parched, check. Achy knees, check. Tendonitis, check. Hair loss, check. Brain fog, check. Weight gain, (ha) check check check. Vestibular weirdness, check. Abdominal pain, check. Shooting pain down my left forearm, check. Wrist pain, check. Random bleeding, nope, menopause, maybe check? But that has come to feel like an exercise in futility.

In the interest of controlling the things I can control, I'm finally doing vision therapy this summer (where I get to pick a snack or a toy after every session because most of the people doing vision therapy are under ten) and I finally went to the orthopedist the other day for the wrist and arm pain that is starting to make it hard to do things like lift pots. He was lovely and told me that I definitely have tendonitis and likely tennis elbow. I told him that's impossible because I don't play tennis. He arched his eyebrows and opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, and I preempted him: "oh, it's something that happens to old people."

"No," he responded, "more like a rite of passage for midlife."

And offered me a cortisone shot for the tendonitis.

Midlife can bite me.

Yesterday I had coffee with a friend from an earlier lifetime who was near town because of her kid's college orientation. It was so good to see her after too long, and we talked about all sorts of things, including kids growing up, appropriate developmental milestones for young adults with an underdone prefrontal cortex, and bodies that frustrate us and really do just seem to get in the way. Because the Universe was apparently eavesdropping, after we parted ways she forwarded me the most recent Terms and Conditions piece, just published in McSweeney's. It was so perfect that I texted it to a few friends. And now I'm sharing it with you. Because it will affirm what you're feeling, even if you're looking around you and thinking maybe you are feeling fine because comparatively speaking everything else is really going to shit. Also, because there is something to be said for looking at the breakdown of the fragile human body as acceptance of the terms, even though I've never really liked acceptance as a final stage of anything because it feels like giving up or giving in.

"This body will expire. You do not know when. There is no backup. Please do something tender with the time."

Do something tender with the time.

Not quite acceptance, but more like achievable challenge.

Probably the best advice I've heard in a while.

Cucumber, Corn, Black Bean, Tomato, Avocado, Red Pepper Salad

This is an easy summer salad I made after the CSA box arrived yesterday afternoon and I had to start cooking a week's worth of food on a Tuesday. I can't believe I've never published it before because it's frequently in rotation over the summer, mostly with frozen corn but fresh tomatoes. It hasn't let me down yet, unlike this flesh prison I occupy. Maybe it will make you feel better, too.

1 cucumber, peeled, seeded, chopped
1 c. tomato (cherry, halved or chopped)
1 avocado, chopped
1 red pepper, seeded and chopped
1 1/2 c. corn, frozen or fresh and blanched (about 3 cobs)
1 can black beans, rinsed and drained
2-3 T. lime juice
1/3 c. chopped cilantro
salt to taste

Toss it all together, chill, and eat. Or don't bother with the chilling part because your family is hungry and you are moving at the speed of light to make dinner and process all of the produce.

Deconstructed Summer Rolls, and Reconstructing Community

So my kid tells me I don't post much any more. Which is true. But it also means he found my blog and read it, or at least part of it. He also says he doesn't like to read through people's life stories just to get to the recipe.

But for me, life stories and food have always been intertwined. So hey, kid, if you're still reading ... stick with me, OK? And I'm glad you found me here. I wondered if you would, someday.

(My kid is 18 now, and goes to college, and has an apartment for next year, which is both awesome and a little bittersweet for me. Despite what he thinks I think, I know he's adulting, and it's always hard to let go when you like your kids.)

~~~~

This summer I decided to commit to a CSA again. It's been a while since I've done so; it sometimes felt like more trouble than it was worth, it wasn't clear that my family enjoyed it, and honestly, even when it seemed like they were giving us choices, there was just SO. MUCH. FREAKIN. CABBAGE.

But two local brothers who knew nothing about farming started a farm near us a few years ago, and they've been successful enough to move to a larger plot of land in a neighboring town, and they work with other farmers to put a substantive share together that has a lot of variety, and they donate to the food pantry that I work at sometimes ... so I figured it wasn't just about the food, but about putting my money where my mouth (ha, see what I did there) is.

Besides, they deliver. So it's like having a present show up every Tuesday after I get home from work, which can be a very lovely thing when the world feels like a shitty place and people have forgotten how to care for, feed, and nurture each other (quite literally, since our politicians have just voted to make it harder to get SNAP benefits). I may not be able to change what's happening at the national level, but I have some modicum of control over my own little corner of the universe, where I can make a difference, where I can support a local farmer who in turn supports local business and local people, so that we can reconstruct community from the ground up.

Deconstructed Summer Roll Salad

I borrowed the idea for this recipe from the NY Times, and then riffed based on what I had in the CSA box and my garden and my refrigerator. It was a perfect solution for a hot first day of July when I didn't really feel like cooking. Deconstructing in order to reconstruct.

For the Salad

8 ounces rice noodles, cooked
1 handful of fresh cilantro and/or mint leaves, chopped
2/3 c. roasted and salted peanuts, chopped or crushed
2 medium carrots, shredded
1 cucumber, peeled, seeded and shredded
1 handful baby lettuce leaves, torn if large
1 lb. cooked protein (tofu, shrimp, chicken, etc.)

For the Dressing

1 Thai chile, thinly sliced (optional for a milder dressing)
1/4 c. lime juice
6 T. smooth peanut butter
2 t. soy sauce
1 t. oyster sauce or hoisin sauce tablespoons
2 cloves garlic, minced/smashed
2 t. freshly grated ginger
1 t. sugar
1 1/2 t. canola or vegetable oil
1 t. fish sauce

Cook the rice noodles according to package directions. Rinse with cold water, and toss with the carrots, cucumber, peanuts, cilantro, and lettuce.

Mix the dressing ingredients together, thinning with 2 T. water and more water or lime juice if necessary.

Let people assemble the salad individually: rice noodle mix first, then cooked protein, then dressing on top. Usually salads like this suggest that you mix the rice noodles and dressing together, but whenever we do that the noodles end up dry, and when we did it this way, the noodles stayed slippery. If you have any leftovers (I know, I know, what's that?!), store the noodles and protein and dressing separately, and run the noodle/veggie mix under some lukewarm water to separate them again if they become stuck together.