A Half Baked Life

Making More Heroes: Banana Oat Mini Muffins

2012-01-24T19:22:00.000-08:00

Today I got one of those calls that every parent dreads.

"Mrs. Half Baked?"

"Yes?"

"This is Miss T., from I's school. Do you have a minute? I wanted to talk with you about I.'s behavior lately."

It turns out that I. has been using potty talk in the classroom, and today, no less than four times, called another child names, presumably using said potty language. At my son's school, they work a lot on teaching respect for others, and though the teachers always try to find out what caused the child to behave inappropriately (treating each child with respect, as well), name-calling to this extent crosses the line. I.'s teacher was particularly concerned because he's generally been a good kid. I thanked her for calling, and promised her we'd talk with him.

I have to say a word about the bowl here, which
was made by my neighbor, who even makes
his own clay ... beautiful, no?

We had a long chat with I. about what happened from his perspective, why he has been acting this way (he claims that another child was saying mean things to him first), how he would feel if others treated him this way, and what he might be able to do differently if he finds himself in the same situation again. It was one of those times when I've felt like I'm having an out-of-body experience, wondering whether I'm actually making any sense to a five year old, and wondering who in the world thought that I might be qualified enough to raise a human being. It's a complex thing, helping your child learn how to strike a balance between speaking up and walking away from a situation that is just not acceptable, fighting back and deciding not to retaliate, being kind to all others and protecting themselves. And it's particularly difficult when what you've got to teach the lesson is the five-year-old's version of what transpired.

The other day, after the Costa Concordia disaster, I read an article about heroism that described the general lack of human decency aboard the ship as people tried to evacuate, lauded the noble acts of a few people, and wondered whether it is possible to get more people to behave like the few heroes on that ship did. One of the researchers mentioned that it's possible to give children the tools to make change and "build up social influence" long before disaster strikes, to help them to feel empowered. But to me, that's not a recipe for altrusim. This researcher also found that heroes tend to live in urban areas, be more educated, and volunteer. Though it's unlikely that we're ever going to move to an urban area, we hope to give our children a good education, and model volunteerism for them so that they feel like it's an important part of their lives, too.

And as I'm having a discussion about name-calling and potty language, I'm thinking about the Costa Concordia, hoping I can instill in my son (and daughter, eventually) enough respect for himself, for his fellow human beings, and for all living things, that even if he doesn't leap in front of a subway to save a stranger (actually, I hope he doesn't do that), at least he won't fight over life jackets, push aside the elderly, or launch a life boat before it's full. Because those seeds, I suspect, are planted very early.

We sent these muffins to I.'s school last week for snack for his classroom (each family takes a turn at providing snack for the week). They're packed with all kinds of things that are good for you, and they're not overly sweet (you could even sub in apple juice concentrate for some of the sugar, if you reduce the amount of milk a bit). Because the littlest heroes need the right kind of fuel to learn the important lessons of kindergarten--the ones that last a lifetime.

What do you think? Can heroism be taught? What would you have done aboard to Costa Concordia? Do you think you'd risk your life to save a stranger?

Banana Oat Mini Muffins

3/4 c. all-purpose flour
3/4 c. whole wheat flour
1 c. rolled or quick oats
1/4 c. sugar
1/4 c. packed light brown sugar
2 t. baking powder
1 t. baking soda
1/2 t. salt
1 egg (or 1 T. flax meal w/ 3 T. water)
3/4 c. milk
1/3 c. applesauce (or canola or coconut oil)
1 t. vanilla extract
1 c. mashed bananas (about 3)

Preheat oven to 400, and prepare two mini muffin pans: line cups with paper liners or spray lightly with oil.

Combine flour, oats, sugar, baking powder, soda, and salt. Beat egg lightly in a large bowl and then stir in milk, applesauce (or oil), and vanilla. Add mashed bananas and combine thoroughly. Stir flour mixture into the banana mixture until just combined, making sure not to overmix it.

Divide the batter among cups of mini muffin pan. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes.

Resolutions for Breakfast: Overnight Steel Cut Oats with Pears and Cranberries

2012-01-22T07:20:00.000-08:00

So I still haven't posted resolutions for this year. Keiko had the fabulous idea to set micro-challenges in six focus areas, mapping out something that she could do every day for a month. In my experience, it's this kind of commitment, not the grand, sweeping resolutions, that actually promote changes in habits and--therefore--in lifestyle. I still working on my list of micro-challenges, but so since I don't have one for January, I was hoping Keiko wouldn't mind if I borrowed hers ... because imitation is the highest form of flattery, right?

One of the characteristics of a successful resolution, I think, is that it's characterized not by deprivation, but contribution to your life. Not "I'm going to lose 20 pounds," but "I'm going to be good to my body." Because for each resolution like that, you can assign yourself a concrete task, like eating a healthy breakfast, for example.

Actually, quite a few people I know have resolved to eat breakfast this year. I'm notoriously bad about this; though I feed my kids a healthy breakfast every morning, I tend to down a double latte made with almond milk and rationalize that I've eaten a handful of nuts and drunk a glass of milk. Which is totally breakfast. Um ... yeah.

The curious thing is that I really like breakfast foods. I remember luxuriating over brunch when I lived in L.A., at the Kings Road Cafe or one of the places on Melrose whose names have since evaporated from my memory, feeling like I was epitomizing decadence. There's something about breakfast that both fills you up and slows you down, putting you in a better frame of mind to face the day.

We let I. choose his own breakfast (from a few different options), and he's been eating oatmeal every morning of late, studded with dried cranberries, sprinkled with cinnamon, and kissed with maple syrup. I happened to have some steel cut oats in my pantry that have been begging to be used for a while, and decided that it would be nice to wake up to warm oatmeal and snow, which was predicted for this weekend.

I read about toasting the oats years ago in a Cooks Illustrated article given to me by a colleague, and I've done it that way ever since. It makes a world of difference, and it only takes a few minutes. A few more minutes of preparation, and you've got yourself a week's worth of breakfasts that you can customize to your taste. So that whether you're running out the door, or getting everyone else out the door, or both, you can still do something good for yourself.

Overnight Steel Cut Oats

1 T. butter
1 c. steel cut oats
2 1/2 c. milk
2 c. water
1 large pear (or apple), diced
handful of dried cranberries (apricots, raisins ... even candied ginger bits!)
1 t. cinnamon
3/4 t. cardamom
2 T. brown sugar or agave
dash salt
Nuts (optional)

Melt butter in a small skillet over medium-low heat until just bubbling. Add your oats and stir to toast, until the oats begin to turn light golden brown and smell like popcorn. Be careful not to overtoast them! They will change color quickly.

Put oats, along with the rest of the ingredients (except nuts), into an oven safe bowl or casserole dish that will fit into your crockpot with the lid on. Wad up a bit of aluminum foil to put on the bottom of your crockpot, to lift it the bowl a bit off the main crock; this will prevent your crockpot from cracking. Fill the crock with water until the water level more or less matches the same height as the cooking liquid inside the bowl. Congratulate yourself on your bain-marie. (You've essentially turned your crockpot into a double boiler.)

Set the temperature to low, and cook for about seven hours. When you wake up, your kitchen will smell wonderful, your oats will be ready, and you won't have to spend an entire day scrubbing burned oats off the side of your crock.

Add oats and whatever other toppings you might like. If you're doing this in a regular double boiler instead of a crockpot, you'll want to cook the oats for about 1 1/2 hours over a double boiler.

Free Advice: Wave To Your Garbage Men (and Winter Vegetable Soup)

2012-01-18T20:10:00.000-08:00

So you've heard about SOPA and PIPA. And you've heard about the internet blackout today by many of the big sites protesting the passage of these bills.

Mel, over at Stirrup Queens, had an awesome idea (because she is full of awesome ideas, and full of awesome, in general): that instead of going dark in protest, she was going to sponsor a Free Advice Day, a positive alternative to the blackout, proving what good the internet CAN do when people are given the opportunity to put their heads together (which they should really do to brainstorm a better way to prevent piracy).

I realize that I give advice all the time on this blog. I probably sound downright preachy sometimes. Cook this, do yoga, love your neighbor. Hopefully it doesn't come off sounding like I know anything about the answers to Life, the Universe, and Everything, because the best response I've got for that was 42, and I got that out of a book I read a while ago (I bet you've read it, too).

So, from someone who doesn't really have the answers to anything, here's my unique, never-printed-anywhere-else contribution to Free Advice Day:

Wave to your Garbage Men.

This is actually a corollary to a more comprehensive piece of advice, which is Appreciate the People Who are Underappreciated and Underpaid, and includes administrative assistants, clerks, the people at the DMV, the people working the counter at your local post office, your mail carrier ... you get the idea. But let me elaborate.

On garbage day, my street usually looks like this:

Note the upturned garbage cans, tossed to the side of the road. This is actually an unusually good day, too. More often they're rolling around, halfway down the street, especially on a windy day like today. In fact, about a year ago we invested in a turn-over-proof garbage can, because ours became so damaged from the weekly abuse.

Now before you start thinking I'm critiquing the garbage men (and yes, they are men, so that's what I'm going to call them) ... this is not a job I would want. Maybe it pays well, but it's smelly. It's thankless. People heap all kinds of stuff at the curb that they are barely willing to touch themselves. And in the wintertime, like this morning, it's damn cold.

But, dear readers, I submit to you, our garbage can, post-collection, without any manipulation:

Yes, it has been rolled back up our driveway.

I have no idea whether it's legal for our garbage men to do this, but they do, without fail, every week, starting about two months ago. So, what's my secret? To what do I owe this remarkable garbage can treatment?

Waving.

Every Wednesday morning, on garbage day, I stand with my 11 month old daughter at the door, and I wave to them. And she waves to them. Because I taught her to wave to them. And I stick my head out the door and say thank you. And they honk the horn, and they wave back, and they smile, and they roll my garbage can, right side up, back up my driveway.

Think about it. How many people do you think stop to wave to the garbage men? How many people do you think remember that the garbage men exist? When was the last time you waved at the garbage man?

Or, to put it another way: when was the last time you appreciated the people who do the crappy jobs that make your life easier? (I'd love to show you Pete Souza's picture of President Obama fistpumping a janitor here, but I'm not sure SOPA would let me. So I will offer a link instead: http://www.flickr.com/photos/whitehouse/4190811941/ ... )

Now, it's unlikely that if everyone waves at the garbage men, they will begin to roll everyone's garbage cans up their driveway, because it takes more time to do that, and they have a route to finish. But perhaps they wouldn't toss them down the street. Besides, would it really kill us to be thankful? Even if they're "just doing their job"?

Recipes are an interesting form of intellectual property, because as I understand it, they both are and are not protected. While all of the pictures and thoughts are my own, a lot of the recipes I share here are ones I've taken from somewhere else and tweaked. Sometimes I attribute, sometimes I'm less diligent about attributing. I suspect that if SOPA passed, I could be shut down, that is, if anyone cared about my blog enough.

So while the internet is still a free place, here's one that was simmering on the stove as we watched the garbage truck drive by. Make it for people you need to appreciate, and make the world a little warmer place to live.

Winter Vegetable Soup
adapted from the New Basics Cookbook

3 T. olive oil
3 T. unsalted butter2 c. diced leeks
1 1/2 c. diced onions
1 c. diced celery
1 1/2 t. dried tarragon
1/2 t. dried thyme
smoked sea salt and pepper to taste
5 c. stock
2 1/2 c. diced potatoes
10 oz. frozen spinach, thawed (or 1 lb. fresh, cut into chiffonade)

In large soup pot, heat olive oil and melt butter, then add leeks, onion and celery. Cook over low heat until the vegetables are beginning to become transparent. Add herbs and spices, and stir well.

Add stock and potatoes; simmer until tender but not mushy (about 15 minutes). Add half the spinach, simmer 1 minute.

Remove from heat. Puree half the soup (a stick blender doesn't work as well here because the spinach doesn't seem to puree, so I recommend using a blender) and return it to the pot.

Simmer the soup over low heat and add the remaining spinach and the cream, being careful not to boil. Heat through, adjust seasoning, and serve.

Truth, Grace, and Rice: Crockpot Risotto

2012-01-17T07:18:00.000-08:00

The drive to my Thursday evening yoga class takes about twenty minutes along a mostly dimly lit country highway. After a day of being with N., of sounds and bright colors, of introducing and repeating words and phrases and sentences, the darkness and stillness is both welcome and overwhelming. I don't listen to the radio or to a CD. I don't make any phone calls. It's twenty minutes of my week when everything else is stripped away, and I'm left with nothing but my raw self. I've always thought it's a good preparation for class, which starts with a mantra, and with setting intentions for our practice.

Last week my teacher gave us a mantra that she said she wouldn't translate for us. She told us to think about the thing that we consider our highest truth, whatever that might be for us, and to imagine ourselves in the presence of that truth. And if we didn't have something like that, to ask that it be revealed to us, that we be ready to receive something that we might call grace. The mantra was this: om namo bhagavate narayani namo stutey. The closest translation I could cobble together was "Om (the vibration of the universe), the Personality of Godhead, I offer my respectful obeisances unto you; Exposer of Consciousness, I bow to you." I can sort of see why she didn't translate, because imagining yourself in the presence of your highest truth, asking for understanding, feels a lot more powerful and humbling than those slightly pompous sounding tongue-tripping words.

When I asked myself what my highest truth was, I found that I didn't have a quick and easy answer. God? Not exactly ... at least not in the way I usually think about God. Love? Not quite. There was something even deeper, even more pervasive than either of those concepts, that I couldn't put my finger on. Whatever it was, it saw me, without everything I usually hide behind, and it made me feel both small and honored at the same time.

After class, the mantra stuck with me. My world is so full of noise, of all kinds, and though I love a lot of it, sometimes my ears and eyes are too open, and my heart is too closed. Sometimes I need to walk away from the Facebook and Twitter streams and shut down my computer. I need to stand in the presence of my highest truth. Why do I resist this?

I love Mary Oliver's poetry for its starkness, for its ability to bring me back to what is nearly primal, to strip away all of the lenses that distort the world. Her poems remind us that the ordinary world is suffused with extraordinary wonder, and she demands that we look at it, and leave ourselves open to grace. As I stirred the last ingredients into risotto for dinner this week, I remembered this one, and wanted to share it with you. As you are picking up your spoon, take a moment to strip away everything else that complicates your world, fill your hands with mud, and stand in the presence of your highest truth.

Rice

It grew in the black mud.
It grew under the tiger's orange paws.
Its stems thicker than candles, and as straight.
Its leaves like the feathers of egrets, but green.

The grains cresting, wanting to burst.
Oh, blood of the tiger.

I don't want you to just sit at the table.
I don't want you just to eat, and be content.
I want you to walk into the fields
Where the water is shining, and the rice has risen.
I want you to stand there, far from the white tablecloth.
I want you to fill your hands with mud, like a blessing.

--Mary Oliver

Crockpot Risotto
This doesn't come out quite as creamy as regular risotto, but it's a good stand-in when stirring simply isn't an option.

1/4 cup olive oil
2 shallots -- peeled and minced
1 1/4 cups Arborio rice -- uncooked
1/4 cup dry white wine
1 teaspoon salt
3 3/4 cups low-sodium chicken broth
1/2 to 2/3 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese -- preferably Parmigiano-Reggiano
whatever else you like in your risotto: steamed vegetables, cooked chicken, etc.

Heat the oil in a small sauté pan over medium heat and sauté the shallots until they have softened. Scrape them into the slow cooker.

Toss the rice in the insert to coat it with the oil. Stir in the wine, broth and salt. Cover and cook on HIGH for about 2 hours or until all the liquid is absorbed. Just before serving, stir in the cheese. Then stir in anything else you might like to have in your risotto.

Stewing: Cioppino (with a vegan option)

2012-01-10T20:42:00.000-08:00

I've been stewing in my own Fail today. Does this ever happen to you?

A friend and former colleague had invited us for lunch. Playing with N. as biscuits baked, I realized that I'd forgotten to bring a gift, even a small token. I never go places without bringing something, and instantly felt awkward, especially given that it's her birthday this week. My brain decided that since I was worrying anyway, I might as well worry that perhaps I hadn't brought enough to entertain N, who, after half an hour, was starting to look for trouble.

Lunch was lovely: an omelet, a salad with beets and white beans and baby greens, a few pieces of fruit, a French aperitif. Good china. Crystal. Feeling strangely like this spread was too fancy for me (yes, I know, JeCaThRe, the good china is for using), I ate with N. on one leg, who was mostly content to nibble on melon and cheerios, until of course I let the melon slip into her mouth and had to fish it out so it wouldn't choke her. Ever tried removing a piece of food from an infant's mouth? Yeah, they don't like it.

Sitting there with my still-sobbing daughter and a beautiful salad and a brilliant former colleague who was trying to make polite conversation, all I could think was that my brain had turned to mush, and I no longer had anything interesting to say. In my self-absorption, I completely forgot to even offer to help clean up. I realized this later as I was putting on my shoes on the way out the door, and felt awful.

After lunch we went for a walk to a local knitting store my friend wanted to show me, and N. started to get antsy in the Ergo. I let her out to stretch her legs. Predictably, she wanted to eat yarn balls. Well, what infant wouldn't? They're soft and colorful. When I took them away, she had a mini-tantrum. As I scooped her back into the Ergo, all I could think was that this visit wasn't going as I'd hoped. Why did I let her out of the carrier? I worried whether I should be buying yarn. And why couldn't I make intelligent conversation?

On the way back, wanting to give her something, I asked if I could buy my friend coffee. She agreed, and we circled back around to a small local cafe. I glanced at my watch, thinking about N's naptime, and decided we had time. Then, after sitting down, I realized I hadn't nursed her. Of course she was getting antsy. The cafe was crowded, and N. was quickly distracted. Then even more antsy. I was sure my boob was hanging out for the world to ogle. It was clear that I'd misjudged N's nap schedule; I asked if my friend minded getting our drinks to go; she graciously said of course not.

N. fell asleep in the Ergo on the way back to her house. Which meant I had to wake her up to put her in the car seat. Unhappy baby. Oh, and did I mention I'd also forgotten to change her diaper? We said our goodbyes and headed home, me wondering what my friend would think of the afternoon, feeling like I'd been pretty lackluster company.

I arrived home to hear a message on our answering machine from my friend, who had called after I left, not even knowing for sure that we were coming today, and felt even worse.

Then I opened my email to find a note from the new president of our fellowship, asking for my availability for a meeting to discuss merging the committee I chair with another more active one. I've been worrying for a while that my leadership of this committee has been less than stellar, and today it was easy to imagine I should get the boot. I forwarded the email to my committee members, and within minutes received one upset response, demanding to know why she was being notified about this for the first time via email. She was right; I should have called everyone, even if the idea was just a germ of a possibility. I rely too much on electronic communication. I should boot myself from leadership.

The little voices of self-doubt who spout negative self-talk have sat on my shoulders for years. They take small blunders and turn them into disasters. They freeze time, turning minutes into years, and when time finally moves, they take to the stage, performing awkward and embarrassing moments over and over again so I won't forget. They take up residence in my heart, and they thrive on my anxiety. Being unintentionally unemployed has made me more vulnerable to their taunts.

In a letter to his daughter, Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote: "Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense."

You're right, Mr. Emerson. The only kind of stew I should have around here is cioppino.

Easier said than done, though, isn't it?

Cioppino
(Cioppino is a traditional Italian fish stew. You can vegetarian/veganize it, though, by adding tofu along with a piece of kombu (Japanese seaweed) instead of the seafood, and 1 heaping T. miso at the end.)

3-4 c. tomato juice
1/2 c. onion, chopped
1/2 c. celery, sliced thin
1 t. garlic powder
1/4 t. rosemary
1/4 t. marjoram
1/4 t. oregano
another 1/2 lb. fresh fish, boned (or tofu)
1 c. mushrooms, sliced
1/4 c. red wine
6 clams in shell
6 lg. shrimp in shell
1/2 lb. fish chunks, bite sized (or tofu)

Bring tomato juice to a summer. Add onion, celery, spices, add the first 1/2 lb or fish (or tofu) and simmer for an hour. Add the mushrooms, wine, and remainder of ingredients (and miso if doing the vegan version); simmer until seafood is cooked.

Top with fresh Parmesan, parsley, or lemon.

Community, Yoga, and Vegan Gin and Tonic Cupcakes

2012-01-08T22:01:00.000-08:00

(You're intrigued by the title of this post. I know you are.)

This past week I got back to yoga class for the first time in weeks, and it felt really, really good. Not only to practice, but to be back in that room, part of the community, the sangha, of my yoga studio. Sure, I could practice on my own (and sometimes do). I could watch yoga videos. But I've come to the conclusion that my practice of yoga both is and is not about me, a lot like blogging, and quite honestly, a lot like everything in my life that is meaningful to me.

A friend of mine posted this video caricature about yogis to her facebook wall, and I've now watched it at least five times, laughing out loud every time.

I probably don't need to tell you that most yogis aren't really like that. Shallow. Self-centered. In fact, every class at my studio ends with the chant Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu: may all beings everywhere be happy and free. My teacher talks about practice as something that is for us, but also something that we do with an intention for something greater ... that our yoga touches everyone we touch, which again touches everyone they touch, and so on. Because yoga is about allowing prana, the life force, to flow better through you, out into the world and back ... not about achieving some kind of smug satisfaction from turning yourself into a pretzel.

I remember when I was younger my old world Catholic father telling me that nuns did good for the world by praying, and thinking that being a nun must be a good gig (discounting the poverty and chastity bits, of course), since it looked to me like what they were doing was a pretty self-centered form of nothing. But I think now that I see it a little bit differently: that the most inward-facing activities, the most mindful activities, can be the ones that affect us, and therefore everyone else, the most. I suspect that's why some of us self-censor a bit in our blog writing: because we know that there is an audience out there, and if we're lucky enough to get comments, we begin to know who they are, and how our words become larger than ourselves.

My husband sent me a link to a NYTimes article about how yoga can wreck your body. I told him that my teacher wasn't like the teachers in that article; that she doesn't push us to go deeper (though she does "adjust" our asanas). In fact, what she says is that we know we're doing it right when we don't feel depleted after class, but renewed and rejuvinated. To me, the community is part of what makes that renewal possible.

Today was my husband's birthday. When I asked him what kind of a cake he'd like, he told me that he wanted a "custom" flavor: gin and tonic cupcakes (because gin and tonics are one of his favorite adult beverages, and because I've done adult beverage cupcakes before) ... and then he said that if it was too much trouble I shouldn't worry about it. The thing is, when I bake, even late into the night, as I'm wont to do, I'm not depleted. I'm renewed. Because I know that what I'm doing is going to make other people happy. It's why I used to bake for my classes, or for my colleagues. Feeding people feeds me. In both the literal, and the not-so-literal, sense.

Yoga doesn't exactly go with adult drinks, unless you're doing wheat grass shots, I guess. But I'm posting these in the hopes that you'll know we're not lushes.

Lokah samasta sukinoh bhavantu, and happy birthday, S.

Gin and Tonic Cupcakes

1/4 c. tonic water, stirred vigorously for about a minute to get some of the fizz out
1 1/2 t. lime zest
a few drops of lime juice
1 c. unsweetened soy milk
1/4 c. vegetable oil
1 T. gin
1/2 t. vanilla extract
1 c. sugar
1 1/3 c. flour
1/4 t. baking soda
1/2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. salt

Preheat oven to 350F. Fill a 12-cup muffin tin with liners. In a large bowl, mix together tonic water, lime juice, lime zest, soy milk, oil , gin, vanilla and sugar. Sift in flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt. Whisk until just combined. Divide evenly into muffin tins. Bake for 20-24 minutes, until a tester comes out clean and the cakes spring back when lightly pressed. Cool completely before frosting.

Gin and Tonic Frosting

1/2 c. butter (or equivalent), softened
2 T. vegan nonhydrogenated shortening
2 t. gin
2 t. tonic water
a few drops of lime juice
2+ cups confectioners' sugar

Cream together butter/nonhydrogenated shortening (depending on whether you want the frosting vegan or not). Add confectioners' sugar. Add lime juice, gin, and tonic. Beat well and add in more sugar as needed to make frosting desired consistency. Spread or pipe on cupcakes.

(Not)Hibernation Day: Baked Potato Soup

2012-01-05T13:00:00.000-08:00

On the day before winter break, my son's school celebrates "Hibernation Day." All of the kids come in their PJs, and they learn about the ways in which animals hunker down for the winter.

Now that the holiday madness is over, I'm ready for hibernation, myself. I've probably gained at least five pounds, and I'd like to just sleep for a long, long time, preferably under a mountain of blankets.

But that doesn't really work very well when you have an 11 month old who demands to be picked up and fed at 5:30 a.m., and a laundry machine and stove that continue working well into the night.

So yesterday I went to the YMCA to claim the free month membership that I won in a raffle back in October, and this morning, I dropped N. off at the Child Watch and went to kickboxing class.

The memory of the physical body is an amazing thing. If you've ever danced, or done gymnastics, or done aerobics of any kind, you'll know what I'm talking about: even years later, you remember your form, you move without thinking. I'd pulled out my old kickboxing wraps from before I was married, and as I pulled them onto my thumbs, I was impressed to discover that I still remembered how to wrap them. And as the class began to bob and weave and punch and kick, I was brought right back to that sweaty basement room where I first took kickboxing classes, more than ten years ago. It felt good to be sweating, even if I did spend a good chunk of the breaks in class peering into the Child Watch window to make sure N. hadn't melted down. (Truth be told, it was probably as good for her as it was for me.)

This recipe is adapted from an old Cooking Light issue. I stopped subscribing years ago because its name no longer seemed to reflect the calorie content of its recipes, but at least this one isn't quite as bad as the original you sometimes see around the web. You could probably veganize it by using soy products, but I haven't tried that; let me know if you do with any success. As it stands here, it's comfort food: the sort of thing you eat in your winter cave, hunkered down over a fire and watching the snow fall, but can also feel not too badly about when you're sweating away in the gym, fulfilling your New Years' resolutions.

Baked Potato Soup

4 baking potatoes (about 2 1/2 lbs.)
2/3 c. all-purpose flour
6 c. 2% milk
1 c. reduced-fat shredded extra sharp cheddar cheese, divided
1 t. salt
1/2 t. freshly ground black pepper
1 c. nonfat greek yogurt
3/4 c. chopped green onions, divided
6 bacon slices, cooked and crumbled (optional)
cracked black pepper (optional)

Preheat oven to 400°. Pierce potatoes with a fork; bake at 400° for 1 hour or until tender. Cool. Peel potatoes; coarsely mash. (You can also microwave the potatoes; I did this and it worked out just fine.)

Lightly spoon flour into dry measuring cups; level with a knife. Place flour in a large Dutch oven; gradually add milk, stirring with a whisk until blended. Cook over medium heat until thick and bubbly (about 8 minutes). Add mashed potatoes, 3/4 c. cheese, salt, and 1/2 t. pepper, stirring until cheese melts. Remove from heat.

Stir in greek yogurt and 1/2 c. onions. Cook over low heat 10 minutes or until thoroughly heated (do not boil). Ladle 1 1/2 c. soup into each of 8 bowls. Sprinkle each serving with 1 1/2 t. cheese, 1 1/2 t. green onions, and about 1 T. bacon. Garnish with cracked pepper, if desired.

Handmade Sekret Exchange: A Guest Post!

2012-01-02T07:19:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year, friends! We're just back from a week of visits and visiting, and I look forward to catching up on blogs, but in the meantime, I have a wonderful guest post for Audrey's Holiday Handmade Sekret Exchange! I signed up for the exchange thinking that it would be fun to send and get things in the mail from amother blogger, and then panicked when I started to think I couldn't possibly be good enough or crafty enough to send something to one of the fabulously creative people on the list (more about THAT in a post to come ... and about thinking differently in 2012). Suzanne sent me a truly amazing package with a tea cozy, tea, and a lavender neck warmer, all of which I'm using today on a blustery day in my little world. Thank you, Suzanne!! :)

Without further ado, here's Suzanne!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi! I'm Suzanne from bebehblog, my corner of the internet where I write about my two red-headed kids, our adventures, what I cook, what I knit, what I take pictures of and what I love. I've been online friends with Audrey for a really long time now, so I was excited to participate in her Holiday Handmade Sekret Exchange.

My crafty skills have definitely improved over the years, but stop just this side of my sewing machine. AND YET for some reason I decided a knitted gift just wasn't going to be enough. I happened to have a gorgeous bouquet of dried lavender a friend gave me from her garden and I've been looking for something to do with it. I saw this DIY heating pad floating around Pinterest and figured it couldn't be that hard.

HA. No wait, it actually is a super easy project. I am just incompetent when it comes to any kind of sewing, especially the part where I have to thread and set up my machine. After a few attempts, some frantic tweets and a few extremely bad words I finally got it to work.

It is definitely not the prettiest sewing project you've ever seen, but I'm proud of myself for finishing it.

To go with the heating pad, I knit up a quick cup coozie. I searched for a pattern online but couldn't find something easy enough and ended up making my own.

Easy Button Cup Coozie

Yarn & gauge doesn't really matter, just pick something washable in case of spills. I used a few yards of worsted I had sitting around and knit on size 9 needles.

Cast on 12 stitches
Knit for 5 rows (garter stitch)
Next row, knit 4, cast off 4, knit to the end of row
Next row, knit 4, cast on 4 (I used the backwards loop method), knit to end of row
You should have 12 stitches again
Continue knitting every row until it measures about 10 or 11 inches - remember the yarn stretches and you want it to be tight around your cup to avoid slipping.
Cast off and sew on a button about an inch from the end

I figured I'd cheat a little on the "handmade" part and throw n a box of tea to make it a relaxation kit.

I really hope J enjoyed her gifts - the pillow smelled fantastic even if it WAS shoddily made. And thanks again to Audrey for setting up this super fun exchange!

Eggnog Cookies: HumanLight, the Happy Holidays debate, and a Cup of Cheer

2011-12-26T20:09:00.000-08:00

I should preface this by saying that I celebrate Christmas. Though I am Catholic by birth, my husband's family was Jewish, and we are now both UU by choice, we go to our fellowship's Christmas services, put up a tree, and track Santa via NORAD.

But I've felt particularly shell-shocked this year by the "war on Christmas" on both sides of the fence. You've got the "keep Christ in Christmas" people who shout back -- in an annoyed tone of voice -- "Merry CHRISTmas" to the waving antlered Girl Scouts who are wishing people "Happy Holidays" from the float in our holiday parade. And then you've got people who get all offended when random strangers wish them a "Merry Christmas" because, well, it's not their holiday, and one shouldn't assume.

I find the "war on Christmas" especially ironic because, after all, it's a holiday that is supposed to celebrate peace. And joy. Now, I know that Hanukkah and Christmas and Yule and Kwanzaa are fundamentally different kinds of holidays, celebrated in very different ways. I realize that Christmas dominates the store decorations and sale advertisements for months leading up to the day, and the other holidays barely get any billing. As someone who dated Jewish men serially during college and graduate school, I got first hand exposure to the frustration with the Christmas takeover, and it was useful perspective.

BUT: when most people wish others a "Merry Christmas," I feel like it has much more to do with good will towards other human beings than it does to do with Christ. It's like someone wishing you a good day, only in a different language. AND: when someone wishes me Happy Holidays, I appreciate that they understand that everyone has different traditions. I don't get offended either way.

A friend of mine recently shared with me a link to a page about the celebration of HumanLight on December 23. It's a movement/holiday founded in 2001 to celebrate the ideals of reason, compassion and hope--to be a positive expression of humanist values. Though it originated among atheists, skeptics, agnostics, and other people not affiliated with a faith community, there's a lot to be said for the common ground it shares with religious holidays during December. Isn't it time we put down the word-weapons and stop second-guessing expressions of compassion and hope?

Join me for an egg nog cookie, and tell me: which side of the holiday fence do you come down on, if at all? How do you feel when people wish you Happy Holidays or Merry Christmas? How do you wish people joy at this time of year?

Iced Egg Nog Cookies

2 1/4 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1 1/4 cups sugar
3/4 cup butter, slightly softened
2 egg yolks
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 cup egg nog

Icing

1 1/4 cup powdered sugar
3 tablespoons egg nog
ground nutmeg (for garnish)

Directions
Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Mix flour, baking powder, cinnamon, and nutmeg in a bowl and set aside. In another mixing bowl, mix sugar and butter together. Add egg yolks and vanilla to the mixture and beat until smooth. Finally, add egg nog and mix on medium speed until smooth and creamy. Slowly add flour mixture into egg nog/sugar mixture until completely combined, but be careful not to over-mix.

Drop spoonfuls of dough onto a prepared cookie sheet and bake for 20-22 minutes. Remove immediately to a cooling rack.

For icing, whisk powdered sugar and egg nog together. Add more sugar or egg nog, depending on the consistency you prefer. (I like a “barely thick” icing for these cookies.)

On Moderation: Vegetarian Corn Chowder

2011-12-23T21:19:00.000-08:00

(Welcome ICLW visitors! If you want a brief back story, click here: the short version is that I'm mom to two after experiencing RPL and secondary IF. I make, talk about and take pictures of food, because doing so makes me happy and keeps me mostly out of trouble. I believe in the power of good food to nourish the body and soul. I also muse about life, yoga, and being a compassionate, mindful human being. I hope you'll poke around and stay a while.)

On Friday, my son came home from school with a gingerbread house.

By Sunday, it was starting to look sort of like post-WWII Dresden. He decided to attach a little note to it:

Truth be told, I was helping to demolish this cultural artifact. But you sort of have to love the "soup-na.zi" tone.

In many ways, this really is perfect, isn't it? How many of us overindulge during the holidays? In food? In shopping? In something else?

My son's note was a nod to moderation. Yes, you can nibble on the gingerbread house. But remember what happened to Hansel and Gretel?

This corn chowder was something I threw together last night; it's perfect for rainy, chilly days, and it uses things you probably already have in your pantry. It's also a good stand-by for when you've overindulged: comfort food without the discomfort that usually comes with it.

Vegetarian Corn Chowder

2 T. butter
1 T. olive oil
1 onion, chopped
1/2 c. scallions, chopped
1/2 t. thyme
1 stalk celery, choppped
2 carrots, chopped
1/4 c. flour
2 c. vegetable stock
2 c. milk (or half and half, or non-dairy milk of your choice)
2 potatoes, peeled and chopped
4 1/2 - 5 c. corn (about 6 ears' worth)

Melt the butter and olive oil in a large heavy pot over medium heat. Add onion and saute until tender, about 5-7 minutes.

Add scallions, thyme celery, and carrots; saute about 2-3 minutes.

Add flour and stir to coat, cooking until the flour begins to brown and become fragrant, about 2-3 minutes.

Slowly add vegetable stock and milk, bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium and cook, stirring continuously with a whisk until the mixture begins to thicken. Add potatoes and corn, and cook until potatoes are soft, about 10 minutes.

Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Through the Window: Stained Glass Cookies

2011-12-18T20:29:00.000-08:00

Growing up in suburbia, it's sort of hard not to look in people's windows at night. If you walk anywhere when it's dark, your eyes are bound to be drawn to the light. And I confess, I've always liked looking in windows ... not in a creepy-peeping-Tom kind of way, but in a curious "gee, I wonder what those people are like" kind of way as I'm passing by.

When I was younger, I made up stories about the people in those houses. I gave them dialogue. I imagined what they were having for dinner. Their lives were mostly more perfect than mine was.

Now, the older, wiser me knows that you can't know what someone is thinking, or feeling, or experiencing, just by looking in the windows. Even if the lights are on and you can see them, admire the color of their living room and their taste in wall sconces, see what they're watching on TV ... you never have the full story, and you certainly can't know what is going on in their heads. I've known people who lived next to victims of domestic violence for years, and never guessed what was happening. On the flip side, I've known people who didn't even realize that their next door neighbor was pregnant until after the baby arrived.

The same is true for anything. Facebook (which is a pretty self-selected public persona). Blogs (ditto: remember Trey Pennington?). Even reality TV (Michelle Duggar comes to mind). Just because we think we can see every lovely or sordid moment of someone's life doesn't mean we know them. Or can understand them. Or feel their pain. Or can speak on their behalf. Or that we have the power and right to judge them. The fact is, we simply don't have all of the evidence.

These cookies come out like beautiful stained glass windows. They taste wonderful. But don't try to look through them. Because everything you see will be colored by Jolly Ranchers.

Stained Glass Cookies

2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for work surface
1/4 teaspoon coarse salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
1 cup sugar
1 large egg
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
7 ounces assorted clear colored hard candies, such as Jolly Rancher, colors separated and finely chopped (about 30)

Directions

Sift together flour, salt, and baking powder into a large bowl; set aside.

Put butter and sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment; mix on medium speed until pale and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add egg; mix until smooth, 1 minute.

Reduce speed to low. Add flour mixture, and mix until combined. Stir in vanilla.Wrap dough in plastic, and refrigerate until cold, about 45 minutes.

Preheat oven to 325 degrees, with racks in upper and lower thirds. Roll out chilled dough on a well-floured surface to a little more than 1/8 inch thick. Cut out shapes using a 5-inch tree-shape cookie cutter. Using a metal spatula, space 2 inches apart on baking sheets lined with parchment paper. Using the tip of a paring knife, make a triangular cutout in center of each cookie for candy filling. Reroll scraps, and cut.

Sprinkle candy in a single layer in hole of each cookie, avoiding edges of triangle. Refrigerate until dough is firm, about 15 minutes.

Bake cookies until candy has melted and completely filled cutout and cookie edges are just starting to turn pale golden brown, 11 to 12 minutes. Do not let the cookies brown, or the candy centers may become bubbly. Let cool completely on sheets on wire racks. Use a metal spatula to remove cookies from parchment.

The Darkest Hour: Chai Shortbread Logs

2011-12-14T12:05:00.000-08:00

The days continue to get darker earlier. I find myself lighting the candles in our windows now at 4:00, looking out into the dusk. Even though the solstice is still a week away, the afternoons have me feeling a strange primal urge to build myself a fireplace and burn a very large log. Nature draws inward for the winter, gathering energy for the lengthening days and the beginning of spring. I find myself drawing inward, too, even though everything else around me draws me outward in celebration of the season; perhaps it's no wonder that I'm feeling a little overrun by the holidays.

And yet, at the darkest time of year, we celebrate the coming of the light and the spring. The festival of Yule was initially celebrated by the ancient Germanic people, where at this time of year the hours of daylight are limited, if they exist at all, as a recognition that spring was on the way. Last year we were invited to a Yule gathering, and I learned that the holiday is also a fertility celebration: the ashes of the yule log were scattered on fields to ensure a productive harvest during the coming months.

I've been thinking a lot about the IF community lately. The winter holidays can be very dark days when you're grieving a loss, or when the cards plastered with photos of happy families remind you constantly of what you don't have. Even those of us who "crossed over" feel the darkness at this time of year: old wounds become tender, we feel strange pangs at happy announcements. And the sad announcements are even worse: I was heartsick to hear about the friend of a friend who, after six years of TTC and several rounds of infertility treatments, just lost his wife to complications from a C-section with twins (you can read about them, and reach out, here).

One of the first poems I ever had to memorize in school was Robert Frost's "Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening." I remember being struck by the stillness that the poem evoked, and feeling like my tweenaged self could identify with the traveler: drawn by the darkness, but determined to go on, to reach the hearth waiting at the end of the journey. Especially now, we owe it to each other to stick together, to keep each other moving through the darkness. To embrace the turning-inward that comes naturally when we are attuned to the seasons and to our life experiences rather than struggling against them, but to prepare together, quietly, for what comes next.

These look a little like logs, and you can pretend that the white chocolate drizzle is snow. I hope that it's not too dark where you are; at least you are with friends, and eventually, there will be a warm hearth to come home to.

Chai Shortbread Yule Logs

1 c. butter (or a combination of vegan margarine and shortening)
3/4 c. powdered sugar, sifted
1/2 t. vanilla
3/4 c. flour
3/4 c. whole wheat pastry flour
1/2 c. almond flour (or more regular flour)
2 t. cinnamon
1 1/2 t. cardamom
1/2 t. cloves
1/2 t. nutmeg
1/4 t. coriander
1/4 t. fresh ground pepper
1/4 t. baking soda
1/4 t. salt
1 t. chai tea leaf blend
4 oz. white chocolate, melted
1 t. (or more) oil

Preheat the oven to 350. Line two baking sheets with parchment.

Cream the butter; fold in powdered sugar and vanilla and cream together until smooth.

In a separate bowl, sift together flours, spices, baking soda, salt, and tea. Add to the butter mixture in two parts, mixing well after each addition until a dense dough forms.

Divide the dough into two logs about 8x3" and 1/2 inch thick. Slice into 1/2" slices and place onto parchment about 2 inches apart.

Bake 12-14 minutes, until the edges are just turning golden. Cool 5 minutes.

Melt white chocolate (either over a double boiler or in 30 second intervals in the microwave, stirring after each interval). Add the oil and mix well. It should now be a good consistency for drizzling (it should run off a fork pretty smoothly). Drizzle over the shortbread and allow the chocolate to firm up before storing tightly covered.

More Food in the Mail and the Great Food Blogger Cookie Exchange: Mostaccioli

2011-12-11T21:03:00.000-08:00

Every year during the holidays, I try to get involved in some kind of cookie exchange. I love the tapas approach to eating (this drives my husband nuts, because I can often be found grazing in my kitchen), and cookie exchanges are like the potluck tapas of the dessert world. I have fond memories of cookie exchanges from childhood: my mom was a teacher, and every year around the holidays she'd leave with a Tupperware full of our cookies and come home with new treats for us to try.

You learn a lot about people when they break bread--or cookies--with you. There's an immediate intimacy that comes from sharing food ... and perhaps that's what I love most about cookie exchanges: not just trying new things and sampling in small bites, but feeling like a member of an instant community. And during the holidays, when family gatherings can be complicated, these gatherings can make you feel at home.

(Those readers who knew me in my professional
life will get a good chuckle over the name of the
winery and the vintage date!)

Last year, I happened across Steph Chow, a food blogger who was running her second annual blogger cookie exchange. I signed up, and was paired with Emily from Life on Food. She sent me two kinds of cookies and a bag of peppermint bark, in beautifully tied bags, and I sent her three of my favorites packed in Tupperware (and was a little embarrassed about my presentation, or rather lack of presentation, in the interest of airtight-ness). This year Steph has been busy with work and with the launch of Foodiacs, but when I did a search on blogger cookie exchanges, I discovered I was not too late to sign up for The Great Food Blogger Cookie Swap, hosted by Lindsay and Taylor of Love and Olive Oil. This swap required participants to send one dozen cookies to three different bloggers, and three additional bloggers would send a dozen cookies each to me. All in all, you get to meet six new bloggers and try three new kinds of cookies, and there's a round-up at the end wherein one could salivate over all cookies in the exchange. Though I don't consider myself just a food blogger, it sounded like a fabulous plan.

The challenge for me was that I blogged all of my usual holiday favorites last year, so I'd be testing something new on people I'd never met. Still, if I wanted to write at all during December, I'd have to start trying some new recipes at some point, so I crossed my fingers and fired up the oven. This recipe caught my eye for its unusual list of ingredients (including WINE!), and I thought I'd give it a try. I had to adapt them a bit because I preferred a slightly different balance of spice, and I found that the dough was too sticky to roll, but I thought that the end result was really quite delicious: definitely an "adult" cookie with a complex sweet and spicy and ever-so-slightly fruity flavor that will keep them guessing.

I sent out my cookies just after Thanksgiving, and in the past week I got the best kind of mail:
Sarah from Healthy Mom on the Run sent me cranberry orange cookies and gingersnaps.
Kisha from Kisha's Kitchen sent me butter toffee cookies.
Nicole at Life's a Batch sent me Cinna-Mas.

Thank you to the three of you for spreading holiday cheer across the country! I hope that the people who got my cookies liked them ... and that they were something a little fun and different. And I hope that you get to share something sweet with someone new this season, too.

Chocolate Spice Cookies/Mostaccioli
(adapted from an adaptation from Nick Malgieri's Great Italian Desserts)

1/2 c. natural (not Dutch process) cocoa powder
3/4 c. flour (you may actually need more than this to make the dough manageable)
1/4 c. granulated sugar
1/2 c. almond flour
1/2 t. cinnamon
1/4 t. cloves
1 t. baking soda
1/4 c. honey
1/4 c. molasses
1/4 c. dry red wine (I used Merlot)
Glaze:
1/4 c. confectioners' sugar
1 T. water

Into a mixing bowl, sift cocoa powder. Add flour, sugar, almonds, cinnamon, cloves and baking soda. Mix lightly to combine. Add honey, molasses and wine. Mix til a smooth sticky dough forms. Allow to stand 1 minute to absorb the liquid, then cover and refrigerate for 30 minutes (up to a few hours).

Preheat the oven to 325. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

Turn the dough out onto a generously floured work surface. Pat into a rectangle approx. 1/4" thick. Flour the dough lightly and roll over it once or twice with a rolling pin to even it out.

Cut the dough using a pizza cutter or sharp knife, into 2" squares. With a dry pastry brush, wipe off any excess flour. Transfer the squares to the baking sheet spacing about 2" apart. Bake for 15 minutes.

Remove the baking sheet from the oven and let the cookies sit for a minute. Then lift the parchment with the cookies on it, and place on a wire rack. While the cookies are still warm, make the glaze by stirring the confectioners' sugar and water together til smooth, then brush the glaze onto each cookie top. After a minute or two, brush on another coat of glaze. Cool and store in an airtight cookie tin.

Putting Christmas on Standby: Pumpkin Muffins

2011-12-07T18:36:00.000-08:00

I don't know what I was thinking.

No, actually, I do know what I was thinking. I was thinking that it was the second rainy day in a row, and I needed to get out of the house with N., and that she needed to have something in her stocking this year (for the sake of appearances for I.), even if it was something small. I was thinking that it was a weekday in the middle of the afternoon, and that perhaps the stores wouldn't be so crowded. I was thinking that I had a few gift cards that I needed to spend, and what better way to use them up than on Christmas presents.

I thought wrong. Forgive me, friends: I went to the mall.

And honestly, after about an hour there, I felt dizzy. The bright colors, the noise, the crowd, the toys that went "dingalingaling" and the toys that talked ... I couldn't handle it. I walked with N. back out into the rain and I could hear myself think again; I could breathe again. I started to wonder what kind of freak I am that I can't go shopping in T.oy.sRu.S any more.

I haven't been to yoga in a few weeks because S. has been traveling. But one of the last times I went, my yoga teacher talked about restoring vata, the dosha (one of three humours that comprise the body according to ancient Ayurvedic medicine) comprised of wind and space. When things are swirling around us, and in us, she said, vata can get very off balance. We might experience nervousness, anxiety, irritability, sleeplessness and loss of range of motion: our bodies feel stiff, tight and contracted. And so go our minds, following our bodies. We practiced re-establishing equilibrium by breathing, imagining the place where the inner and outer air are connected. We also did partner yoga, which made us all laugh as we played with the asanas, trying to balance each other in a blooming lotus asana, and inevitably toppling over.

Laughing, playing, breathing ... all of these things are supposed to restore equilibrium between the inner and outer air. And during this time of year, it's essential: our own equilibrium will go a long way towards helping those around us to stay calm.

Standing there in the rain, breathing, I thought to myself: yes, I need to bake cookies and write cards and get some gifts. But I also need to do the holidays on my own terms, not on someone else's.

These are not Christmas cookies. They are good for breakfast, when you need something to hold in one hand while you're holding ten things in the other hand, on your way out the door. They are equally good with a cup of tea, as you're sitting at the window, looking out at the rain. Which is where I am tonight, in a much saner place.

Buttermilk Pumpkin Muffins

Cooking spray
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup whole-grain pastry flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg
3/4 cup packed dark brown sugar
3 tablespoons unsulphered molasses
1/4 cup canola oil
2 large eggs
1 cup canned pumpkin
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3/4 cup lowfat buttermilk
1/4 cup raw, unsalted pumpkin seeds

Directions

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Coat a 12-cup muffin pan with cooking spray.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the all-purpose and whole-wheat flours, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and nutmeg.

In a large bowl, whisk the sugar, molasses, oil and 1 egg until combined. Add the other egg and whisk well. Whisk in the pumpkin and vanilla. Whisk in the flour mixture in 2 batches, alternating with the buttermilk. Whisk just until combined.

Pour the batter into the prepared muffin pan and sprinkle with the pumpkin seeds. Tap the pan on the counter a few times to remove any air bubbles. Bake for 20 minutes or until a wooden pick inserted in center of 1 of the muffins comes out clean.

Let cool on a wire rack for 15 minutes. Run a knife around the muffins to loosen them and unmold. Cool completely on the rack.

Happy Birthday To Me: Vegan Thumbprints

2011-12-05T07:03:00.000-08:00

It's been over a month now since our freak October snowstorm. Though it's definitely cooler and the days are definitely shorter, it hasn't quite felt like winter since then, and for the first time in many, many years, it's not going to snow on my birthday, or on the day before my birthday, or on the day after my birthday. (If you want the story about why it used to, click over here ... it's worth the read.)

There's a lot weird about this birthday: no snow, S. is traveling for business, I'm not going to an office to work. S. was feeling pretty guilty about this, I think, and left me with a box of chocolate, which I have managed to restrain myself from eating in its entirety just yet.

I'm not feeling alone, though, oddly enough. Despite the fact that it's been a year of change and uncertainty, I feel more supported, in many ways, than I have at almost any other time in my life: I have a wonderful family, friends both far and near (including former colleagues who stuck with me as I've questioned my professional identity), and a network of people that I've gotten to know here, in the blogosphere, whom I call friends, too.

I've been studying the trees as I've been running lately; now that their leaves are gone, you can more easily see the damage done by the snowstorm, when the snow sticking to the leaves made branches so heavy that they snapped like toothpicks. I feel sorry for them, and I've been wondering which ones will endure the winter, which ones will come back in a different shape than they'd been before, but thriving nonetheless. There's an important trend I've noticed, too: the ones that seem to have fared the best were the ones that were stuck together in clumps, whose branches supported the other trees despite the weight of the ice. Yes, they lost limbs, too. But they lost those limbs only on one side, or randomly all over. They are the walking wounded, the survivors.

It's a useful metaphor. We shouldn't expect to come out of the freak snowstorms of life unscathed. We change shape, we lose "limbs"; we may not even be immediately recognizable. But if we're lucky, we're standing close enough to other people weathering their own natural disasters that we support each other, reaching out to collectively bear the weight of the ice. I'm thankful, this year, that I've been lucky enough to be surrounded by so many other survivors. If you're reading this, you are among them. Thank you for the gift of you.

I didn't want to bake an entire cake for myself and my son, who eats mostly frosting anyway, so I decided to whip up a batch of cookies that I could stick a candle into, and kill two birds with one stone: these could be Christmas cookies, too! Many of the vegan recipes for thumbprints on the web have "healthy" ingredients like honey, or oat flour, or flax. These are basically unapologetic sugar and nut cookies, the kind I remember my mom making every Christmas (though she made them with eggs and butter). The two great things about vegan baking is that it's a lot easier to scale the recipe (I halved this one for today) and that you can eat the dough completely guilt-free (which I did). I hope you'll join me with a cup of your favorite beverage as I blow out my candle and celebrate another year of being here.

Vegan Thumbprint Cookies
(adapted from Vegan Cookies Take Over Your Cookie Jar)

1/2 c. canola oil
3/4 c. sugar
1/3 c. brown sugar
1/4 c. nondairy milk
2 t. vanilla
1 2/3 c. whole wheat pastry flour
1/4 c. cornstarch
1 t. baking powder
1/4 t. salt
1 1/4 c. finely chopped walnuts
1 c. jam of your choice

Beat together oil, sugars, nondairy milk, and vanilla. Sift in flour, cornstarch, baking powder, and salt. Mix to form a stiff dough (it shouldn't be too dry, but should roll easily into a ball).

Pour the chopped walnuts into a bowl. Roll the dough into balls about 1 1/2" round, and place them on baking sheets about 1" apart. Push your thumbprint into the center of each ball, taking care not to break them.

Bake 16-18 minutes, until cookies are firm. While the cookies are still warm, scoop about 1 t. (or however much you like) of jam into the center of each cookie. Allow the cookies to cool for about 5 minutes and then transfer to wire racks to allow them to finish cooling.

Syndicated! A Blogger-Made Gift Guide

2011-12-01T10:00:00.000-08:00

When I started this blog, I wanted a place to write. I was afraid that I was forgetting how. And I had a lot to work out.

Almost two years later, I've learned a few things. First, I still have a lot to work out. But perhaps more importantly, I have been remembering how much I enjoy this kind of work, and I think I've been in denial all these years that I'd really love to be a freelance writer.

SO: I'm thrilled and honored that one of the bloggers I admire most asked me to write a syndicated post for BlogHer on buying blogger-made for the holidays! It's a post about gift-giving in a more thoughtful way, by getting to know the people who create the stuff you buy, and buying because things have meaning, not because they're on sale at Walmart; it includes links to some bloggers you might want to read and to their stores. Please go check it out and leave a comment (especially if you can think of other bloggers that we should add to the list) and then go visit these talented folks to do your your holiday shopping! Thanks to all who helped me in my search for blogger entrepreneurs, and thank you, BlogHer for giving me such a wonderful opportunity!

Because I couldn't include everyone I found, I also wanted to archive a more complete list here (but go read and comment at the post on BlogHer first!):

Jessica Perkins makes beautiful Montessori-style toys for infants and preschoolers like matching games, story starters, and grabbable gadgets; her blog chronicles her journey as a mother and as a teacher.
Jennet Jones-Rau (Feathered Nest Studio), an arts educator and fabric designer, sells her original artwork stuffies, playmates and more.
Keli Faw (Bread & Salt) blogs about modern quilting has some beautiful baby items (bibs, burpcloths) and tea towels on offer.
Ashley Ray (One in the Hand) makes coffee cozies and headbands from repurposed materials, and donates10% of the profits from each sale is donated to the Emergency Fund, which provides financial assistance to help low income Chicago area individuals and families through a crisis or transition.
Karen Mitzel (the June Bride) also donates a percentage of every sale to charity; she blogs about living an imperfect life (sharing recipes and craft tips) and sells adorable cashmere hats and brooches from reclaimed wool.
Melissa McAllister (Handstamped Originals) is an attorney-turned-SAHM who makes personalized jewelry, some of which mixes handstamped silver with typeface.
Jodi LeBrun (Creative Life By Design) is a creativity-coach-in-training with a blog full of inspiration for your creative mojo, and she also does handstamped work celebrating the creative spirit. These could be great gifts for the crafters, bakers, artists, or writers on your list.
Melody Joy, who captures her family and thoughts in instagrams, is a talented knitter, and is offering a sushi scarf (which even my geeky engineer husband thought was cool) or a charcoal grey cowl for the guys.
Jodi Burton takes doodling to a whole new level. How about one of her magnet sets for your favorite science or photography geek?
Pam (Baby Wanted: Apply Within), who blogs about her quest for a child, can ship cookies and brownies to your loved ones in and near Canada! Check out her shop, and get additional information on holiday cookie shipping here.
Jenna (Sweet Fine Day) and her husband blog about their business and family life, and projects both in and out of the kitchen at and offer up unique droolworthy confections like Massaman Peanut Butter Cookies and Chocolate Gingersnaps.
Lucille in the Sky, who does philosophy through mommyhood, sells teas that sound amazing.
Jess and Pete (a Little Blog about the Big Infertility) have breathtaking photography prints; proceeds go towards their adoption fund.
Dawn Marie Black (Much Madness is Divinest Sense) sells art and cards at fineartamerica.
Stumbles and Stitches is a blog conversation between two crafty friends and mamas who work with repurposed and upcycled materials. Jenny Bartoy’s shop right now is filled with bags and wall hangings in burlap and cotton; Angel Funk’s shop has more wool (she loves all things Waldorf).
Rachael Gander (Imagine Gnats) sells beautiful fabric bags, scarves, and paper crafts.

Now ... go read some new blogs and meet some really fabulous people! Happy shopping ... and commenting.

Brown Tuesday: Gluten Free Dark Chocolate Cookies

2011-11-29T17:55:00.000-08:00

There are people I know for whom Black Friday is like a religious experience. They start out at midnight, armed with sales flyers and coupons and large mugs of coffee, determined to get their holiday shopping done, and they post Facebook updates along the way, as if on a pilgrimage. It's tradition.

Me, well ... I make cookies.

At least, I usually make cookies. Somehow, as I mentioned in my Black Forest Cake post, I'm way behind on cookie-baking this year. I've been thinking about why this might be, and decided that despite my participation in the upcoming Great Food Blogger Cookie Swap, maybe it's because I don't have as many people to bake for this year, and I'm having a hard time getting motivated. I'm the kind of person who goes to the gym if I'm enrolled in a class ... you know, because if I don't show up I'd be letting the instructor down. (I realize that this is bizarre logic, but it works. Yes, I was raised with a healthy guilt complex, thank you very much.)

I started to make a list of people who might need cookies. The woman down the street with a new baby. The gluten-free piano teacher and her daughter up the block. (Do you need cookies? Why yes, yes, you do.)

In the middle of my list-making, I got an email from Mel, who mentioned that her family bakes for a shelter during the holidays. That was enough to send me over the motivational hump. Baking for other people somehow defines the season for me, and with newfound purpose, I found myself getting excited about the holidays, feeling less beleaguered by the anxiety of having to search for expensive gifts (which is something my family argues about every year, because I prefer homemade gifts with meaning); less depressed about the fact that my husband is embarking, starting today, on three weeks of business trips. So today, on a rainy, unseasonably warm, anticlimactic Tuesday, I fired up the oven.

The thing about having a food (or even a food-and-life) blog is that you feel this weird pressure to one-up yourself every year. Sure, you can make the things you've already written about, but you'd better be prepared to come up with something new and even more spectacular to post. It's almost like preseving anti-tradition.

I came across a recipe for these last year around this time, when I already had too many chocolate cookies on deck, and bookmarked it to try later. They are chewy, fudgy, decadent, and a safe bet for your gluten-free friends (though you'll have to find something else for vegans and friends with nut allergies!) and they come together in a jiffy. You could even whip them up on short notice if you find out that you're about to have company. They remind me a lot of the traditional Chocolate Crinkle cookies; a quick sprinkle of powdered sugar would make them even more festive. Most of the fat comes from the almonds, and they're full of antioxidants because of the dark chocolate. So they're practically healthy, right? Er ... right.

Tell us: what are your favorite cookies during this time of year? Do you have any holiday baking traditions?

Gluten Free Dark Chocolate Cookies

6 oz. dark chocolate chips or chunks (preferably 60% or greater)
2 large egg whites, at room temperature (this is important!)
1/8 t. cream of tartar
1/4 c. sugar
1/2 t. vanilla extract
3/4 c. almond flour (or ground blanched almonds, not roasted)

Melt 5 oz. dark chocolate in microwave at 30-second intervals on 70% power until smooth, stirring after each interval. Add the last ounce of chocolate (if you have time to chop it, do so) and stir until they're just mostly melted, so that you get very small pieces--these will turn into micro-bursts of chocolate when the cookies are baked. Set the chocolate aside to cool slightly.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a cookie sheet with parchment (or lightly oil them if you don't have parchment on hand). Using an electric mixer, beat egg whites and cream of tartar until soft peaks form. Continue beating, adding in sugar and vanilla slowly, until mixture forms stiff peaks.

Gently fold in chocolate and almond flour until fully incorporated. Drop rounded teaspoons of batter onto the prepared cookie sheets, leaving one inch between cookies.

Bake 10-12 minutes. Cookies are done when there is a light crust on the outside, but they are soft on the inside.

CSA Fail, Thanks-givings, and Vegetable (Beef Optional) Barley Stew

2011-11-26T20:09:00.000-08:00

One of the reasons I've been posting less often of late is the lack of inspiration in my kitchen. It's not that I'm not cooking; rather, it's that I'm dealing with the same head of cabbage and the same husk cherries and the same sugar pumpkin for the SEVENTH week in a row, and I hit the cruciferous wall somewhere back around week four, when my family threatened to stage a coup. I have been bravely soldiering on nonetheless, but I'm not going to shoulder you, dear readers, with yet another week of cabbage stew. (If you're having the same problem I am, please do feel free to peruse the archives ... that's what I've been doing.)

It was a pretty bad CSA year for us. Our farm was feeling its way through a new program, and though we'd heard great things about their produce, and had seen them at our farmer's market last year with lots of great fruits and veggies, every week we got a box that was half full of rotten--or on their way to rotten--items. The things that weren't rotten were the things that we couldn't stand to think about eating any more of. I know I whined and moaned about the chard last year, but I would have given my left arm for some chard this year: at least chard is something you can do things with. Our Thanksgiving box had no sweet potatoes, no arugula, no dinosaur kale, or radishes, or anything else you'd expect to find at this time of year. Really? I thought when I saw it. And because our farm was not very good at communicating with us about what has happening, we're left to wonder: was it just a bad year? a bad program? bad luck?

Between that, and the fact that our own garden was decimated by rabbits, groundhogs, deer, and all manner of other woodland creatures who are reclaiming suburbia one squash, one tomato at a time, it would be easy to throw in the towel and decide that it's easier to drive to the grocery store than to live off the land.

The weird thing is, I'm not. The season is officially over now, and we're back to meal and menu planning on our own. But I'm already scoping out CSAs for next year, and my husband is collecting and browsing seed catalogues.

The experience got me thinking. For some people, 2011 was a year of prosperity, but for many more it was marked by uncertainty, hardship, despair. People are out of work, in debt, in distress. We're supposed to be grateful at Thanksgiving, but it's easy to feel overwhelmed by all that we didn't harvest this year.

Still, though we may not feel much like we have blessings to count, it's pretty likely that we're still holding on to hope for the next year. By the end of November, we can see the new year approaching, and we project ourselves into a happier future, another chance. If you got to break a wishbone with someone, I'll wager that you made a wish for something to change for the better in the year to come. And it seems to me that especially when life throws us against a wall (cruciferous or otherwise), hope is itself a blessing that deserves to be counted.

Here's to the harvest, such as it was, with gratitude for our capacity to sustain the hope that what is needed is on its way.

This body-and-soul-warming stew is full of the vegetables of the late fall and early winter (and is adaptable for vegetarians and non-vegetarians), the barley stretches your dollar a little father, and it doesn't even have leftover turkey in it. If you use a slow cooker, combine everything except peas and cook on low for 8-10 hours; stir in peas during the last 10 minutes of cooking.

Vegetable (Beef Optional) Barley Stew

1 T. extra-virgin olive oil
2 lbs. tempeh or beef stew meat
1 T. all-purpose flour
2 c. chopped onions
1 c. sliced celery with leaves
4 c. low-sodium beef stock or broth
1 bay leaf
¾ c. hulled barley, rinsed. drained
4 c. peeled sweet potato chunks, 1-inch squares (about 1½ pounds)
2 c. sliced carrots, 1-inch rounds
1½ c. cubed parsnips
½ T. Worcestershire sauce
1 t. dried oregano
1 28-oz can whole tomatoes in juice, broken apart
1½ c. frozen peas (optional)

Heat oil in a Dutch oven or large saucepan on medium-high. Add tempeh or meat and sprinkle with flour, stirring well to coat. Cook until browned. Stir in onions and celery and sauté for 5 minutes or until onions are soft. Add stock or broth and bay leaf. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer, covered, for 1 (if you're using tempeh)-1½ hours (if you're using beef).

Add barley, sweet potatoes, carrots, parsnips, Worcestershire sauce, and oregano. Cover and simmer 50-60 minutes or until vegetables are tender.

Stir in tomatoes and peas. Reheat and simmer for 10-15 minutes. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Imperfect: Black Forest Cake

2011-11-20T19:36:00.000-08:00

In years past, by this time in the season, I would already have at least several dozen cookies in my freezer waiting for the holiday open house I held for my students. It's strange not to be preparing for that event this year. I'm participating in the Great Food Blogger Cookie Swap, though, which will be good motivation to inaugurate the holiday baking.

In the meantime, I've been busy with cake: last weekend I made two dozen chai tea latte and red velvet cupcakes for a birthday party, this past week I was asked to make a Black Forest cake, and this week I have an order for a red velvet cake for Thanksgiving delivery. I'm not exactly rolling in profits, but cake makes people happy, and I like making people happy, so I like making cake.

Layer cakes are my nemesis. Put a piping bag in my hands and I can serve up some drop-dead gorgeous cupcakes. Pie crust? A snap. Layer cakes, though, refuse to unmold themselves from pans; layers become lopsided; crumbs leap out of the frosting despite my careful attempts at "crumb layers." This week I learned that I clearly need to work on my whipped cream frosting; the cake has sort of a "stucco" look to it; charming, to be sure, but not quite what I was going for. I stopped trying to smooth it out because I didn't want to ruin the sides entirely. I wanted to post this cake today, and in a momentary lapse of sanity, I almost Photoshopped the side of it to make it look smooth and even.

Then I thought, what am I doing?

There's been a lot of talk in the blogosphere lately, it seems, about people's self-portrayal of perfection online, in Facebook and in blogs. It's true that I am my father's daughter, and I am a perfectionist. But it's also true that the blogs I like reading the most, and the people I feel closest to, are the ones who honestly portray flawed lives, who experience the range of human emotion, who meet adversity and have to figure out what the hell they're going to do next. Because that's really what the adventure is about, isn't it? Loving what is, even as it's falling down around your ears?

The holidays sometimes produce more stress than joy, because of expectations (yours, theirs) of perfection. This week, I'm reminding you to go easy on yourself. Life is not a Norman Rockwell picture or a Martha Stewart magazine layout. And if you have to excuse yourself from the Thanksgiving table, pull up a chair over here. There's a lopsided, but really delicious, piece of cake waiting for you.

Black Forest Cake

Devil’s Food Cake (recipe below)
cherry preserves
cherry filling: 1 14.5-ounce can tart cherries (drained) + 1/4 cup cherry preserves + 1 tablespoon kirsch (optional)
whipped cream: 2 pints heavy cream + 2/3 cup confectioner’s sugar
3 tablespoons Kirsch, divided
Maraschino cherries
1 ounce shaved, semisweet chocolate (use vegetable peeler on room temperature chocolate)

Bake and cool the Devil’s Food cake layers.

Prep the cherry filling.

To make the whipped cream: In the bowl of a standing mixer, whip cream and confectioner’s sugar until stiff. Place in the refrigerator.

To assemble the cake:

Place the first layer on your base.

Spread a very thin layer of cherry preserves on the cookie bottom. Evenly spread 1 1/2 cups of whipped cream over the cherry preserves.

Carefully place the top layer of cake, top-side down, on the whipped cream. Brush the cake with 1 1/2 tablespoons of kirsch.

Spoon half (for a triple decker cake) of the cherry filling evenly on top of the cake. Top with 1 1/2 to 2 cups of whipped cream. Top with the remaining chocolate layer, bottom-side up. Brush the cake with the remaining kirsch.

If you have three 8 inch layers, repeat the steps above with your last layer.

Pile most of the rest of the whipped cream on top of the cake (save a cup or so), and gently spread the whipped cream to cover the top and sides of the cake. Fit a pastry bag with a large decorating tip, and fill the bag with whipped cream. Pipe a rosette on each eighth of the cake.

Place the maraschino cherries on a clean kitchen towel to drain, and pat them (as dry as possible) before placing one in the center of each rosette. Decorate the top by piling the shaved chocolate in the center.
If you have any whipped cream left, pipe a border along the bottom edge of the cake.Refrigerate the cake until ready to serve. Use a long, sharp knife, and wipe it off with a damp towel between slices.

(thanks, Mia, for sending photos of the sliced cake!)

Devil’s Food Cake

Adapted from Kathleen King’s “Tate’s Bake Shop Cookbook”

Makes two 9-inch cakes or three 8-inch cakes

2 1/4 c. cake flour
2 t. baking soda
1/2 t. salt
1 c. salted butter
2 1/4 c. packed brown sugar
3 large eggs
3 oz. good unsweetened chocolate, melted
1/2 c. buttermilk
1 c. boiling water
2 t. vanilla

Preheat the oven to 350. Butter and flour two 9-inch or three 8-inch springform pans or round cake pans (I used cocoa powder instead of flour).

In a large bowl, sift together the flour, baking soda and salt.

In the bowl of a standing mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, cream the butter and sugar. Add the eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Stir in the melted chocolate.

Alternate adding the flour mixture and the buttermilk in three stages, ending with the flour. Add the boiling water and vanilla. Mix well, but don’t overmix. (The mixture will be VERY thin.) Pour the batter into the prepared pans.

Bake for 30 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Place the pans on a wire rack, and let the cakes cool completely in the pans before unmolding. (If the middles dip a little, the cakes are still OK.)

Once the cakes are cool, you can wrap them in plastic wrap and store them in the refrigerator.

Seeking Crafty/Creative Bloggers Who Sell Stuff!

2011-11-16T11:48:00.000-08:00

Just a quick note: if you are a crafty/creative blogger who has a small business in gift-able items (food included), I want to know! I'm writing an article, and am scouring the web for great reads and great gifts. Leave a comment below with your blog address and a link for your shop (Etsy or otherwise), if you have one.

I'll be back soon with more droolworthy posts. :)

Boot Camp and Red Velvet Cake

2011-11-13T22:50:00.000-08:00

I've never really been very good at going to the gym. I don't like the loud music, or the close quarters, or using machines that make me feel like I'm on a hamster wheel. As winter approaches, though, and I'm home with N. (so I can't exactly go running when it's below freezing like I did when she was still in utero), I'm starting to feel like I need to explore indoor options. When the Boy was still a babe, I went to a 24 hour fitness center at 11pm, after kid was bathed and fed and the laundry was done and the dinner cooked for the next day. I came back feeling completely wiped, and finally decided that it wasn't worth it for me to lose sleep in order to go to the gym. This time, I won a free month membership to our local YMCA, which I'll activate at some point, but in the meantime, I confess: I went back to boot camp.

There's something about the format of boot camp that appeals to my competitive Type A personality. First, you're expected to show up. I ace showing up. Second, you are working out with other people. This is great motivation for me because unlike yoga, I can compare myself to every other person there, and there is always someone more svelte than I am. Third, it's generally outside or in a public place (this one is in a very low-traffic mall early in the morning), so no special equipment is necessary, and you can potentially get some fresh air. Sort of like running, but a bit more varied, and someone yelling at me to go faster or higher, which I tend not to do on my own (quite the opposite, exactly). And this particular boot camp is just for relatively new moms, so even though I can't get there every day, or even every week, I get to work out with N, who now can't go in the jogging stroller to sleep for her standard half hour, because she's in nap boot camp.

N has been a horrible napper since we brought her home from the hospital. She's been a pretty good sleeper at night, though, so our pediatrician is convinced that she can do better during the day to self-soothe and put herself back to sleep after the first sleep cycle of half an hour is over. She prescribed nap boot camp: we are to put N. down for a nap twice a day, and leave her there for an hour and a half, checking on her every 15 minutes or so while she's awake, soberly reminding her that it's nap time.

In case you're wondering, no, she's not enjoying it. But yes, it seems to be working.

The up side of this, for me, is that I've had not one but three orders for baked things this week, so with her doubling up on her nap time twice a day instead of doing three shorter naps with lots of fuss before putting her down, I actually have time to do more than go to the bathroom and fold a half load of laundry.

This cake is technically one of Martha's wedding cake recipes, but it's a drop-dead awesome cake to serve for any occasion. In this case, it was the request of a friend who was being showered for her second child, and I believe that second showers are all about the mom (because often the family has enough baby gear), so her wish was my command. Especially because I was invited, so I got to eat said cake.

AND ... this one happens to match our barn. How did I never notice that before?

The down side: I need to go back to boot camp for moms to work off the pounds I put on eating my share of the frosting.

Martha's Red Velvet Cake

Unsalted butter, softened, for pans
2 T. unsweetened cocoa powder, plus more for dusting
2 1/2 c. cake flour (not self-rising)
1 t. salt
1 1/2 c. sugar
1 1/2 c. canola oil
2 large eggs
2 T. red food coloring
1 t. vanilla
1 c. low-fat buttermilk
1 1/2 t. baking soda
2 t. white vinegar

For the frosting

12 ounces cream cheese, softened
3/4 c. (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
3 c. confectioner's sugar
1 t. vanilla

Preheat oven to 350. Butter pans; line with parchment paper. Butter lining; dust with cocoa, tapping out excess. Set aside. Whisk together flour, salt, and cocoa in a medium bowl; set aside.

Mix sugar and oil on medium speed in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whisk until combined. Add eggs one at a time; mix well after each addition. Mix in food coloring and vanilla. Add flour mixture in 3 batches, alternating with the buttermilk and beginning and ending with flour, mixing well after each addition. Scrape down sides of bowl as needed.

Stir together baking soda and vinegar in a small bowl. Add baking-soda mixture to batter, and mix on medium speed 10 seconds. Pour batter into prepared pans. Bake until a cake tester inserted into centers comes out clean, 30 to 35 minutes. Let cool completely in pans on wire racks.

Once the cake is cooled, using a serrated knife cut off the convex tops from both cakes, leaving your cakes with flat tops (unless you have perfectly flat cakes, in which case, you're out of luck). Crumble the discarded cake tops into tiny crumbs to be used as a garnish for later. Set aside.

While the cakes are baking, prepare the frosting. In a large bowl, using a mixer on medium speed, mix together the softened cream cheese, butter, and vanilla extract. Add the confectioner's sugar in batches until the frosting comes together and there are no lumps. Let cool in a refrigerator until the cakes are ready to frost.

Frost your cake as you normally would, using about a third of the frosting for between the two layers, the top, and the sides of the cake. Finally, sprinkle the cake crumbs around the sides of the cake, spreading evenly.

Harvest: Broccoli Tomato Soup

2011-11-08T07:19:00.000-08:00

I am cresting the hill next to a field near our house, half-running, half-walking on the gravel trail to avoid jolting a sleeping N in the jogging stroller. At the edge of the field, two tractors, a mower, and a rotary rake stand silent in the early morning mist. It's harvest time; the hay has been cut and raked into neat rows, and is now ready for baling. There is something immensely pleasing to me about the neat symmetry of the mowed field, waiting to be cleared.

At the bottom of the hill, there are black figures moving through the rows. As we get closer, suddenly I realize what I'm looking at: turkey vultures. Perhaps twenty of them, scattered through the field. I shudder as I pass them, quickening my pace. For some reason, looking at them feels like looking at death.

And yet, they are taking care of the field, too ... only clearing away the carrion left by the mower, which made hay, cutting down life in order to sustain other life. Most people think of harvest as a time of abundance. But that abundance is inextricably intertwined with loss. The hay is cut to sustain livestock through the winter. The vultures pick through the hay to find the rabbits and mice and voles who didn't escape the mower in time. Death brings life brings death brings the possibility of life again.

There are so many things that are like this, aren't there? We can't have abundance without loss; we can't have loss without abundance.

We've officially entered the season of the One Pot Wonder around here. Soups and stews and baked things dominate the menu at our house during the fall and winter, and I'm glad; I like both the kinds of things that simmer all day and the things I can throw into a pot and turn into a meal in a matter of minutes. This one is an unexpected twist on the harvest, too; people don't normally conjure broccoli when they think of fall -- usually we get stuck on pumpkins and winter squash and corn -- and I don't usually put tomatoes in broccoli soup. My husband calls bacon the Noble Meat; he's a chemical engineer, so he thinks of things in terms of the Periodic Table. But you don't need to use bacon to appreciate the harvest from a slightly different perspective; simply omit it for a vegetarian version.

Broccoli Soup, Monastery Style (from the Monastery Soup Cookbook)

1 lb. broccoli
3 garlic cloves
6 c. water
6 parsley sprigs
4 strips lean bacon (or veggie bacon or smoky tofu or skip it entirely or perhaps use a smoky cheese below)
6 T. olive oil
1 6-oz can tomato paste
salt and pepper to taste
Gruyere or Parmesan cheese, grated

Wash the broccoli, slice into small pieces. Chop the garlic, parsley, and bacon.

Pour the olive oil into a soup pot, add the broccoli, garlic, parsley, and bacon, and saute them for a minute or two. Add the tomato paste and 2 cups warm water. Stir well. Cover the pot and allow the soup to cook for about 5 minutes.

Add the remaining water and cook the soup over medium heat for about 30 minutes. Add salt and pepper and simmer for a few minutes. Just before serving, puree the soup in a blender. Soup can be served hot or cold. Garnish hot soup at the last minute with some grated cheese.

Occupy Halloween: Pumpkin Bars with Cream Cheese Frosting

2011-11-05T19:37:00.000-07:00

(with apologies to Stephanie, and others who have had their fill of pumpkins and are just too kind to say so ...)

Our street is Halloween Central. The houses sport giant cobwebs, the walkways are lined with pumpkins, the trees filled with filmy ghosts hanging from the branches. People drive from miles around to drop their kids off for trick or treating because the houses are closer together than in the surrounding townships (more candy bang for your walking buck). And most of the residents on the street take on this responsibility without too much complaint; even though it's pretty expensive to supply treats for over 300 kids (especially for folks like my ninety year old neighbors), it's something we've always done. Very few people turn their lights out for Halloween.

Which makes it even more frustrating when this kindness is taken for granted.

Every year I have my "pet peeve" trick-or-treaters. One year it was the two moms pushing babies in strollers up to people's doors (the babies couldn't have been more than a year old, if that, and were not walking), collecting candy "for the kids." Ummmm, right. Other years it's the kids who come to the door without even an attempt at a costume.

This year, two groups stuck out. (Here, friends, is where I completely toss the teachings of my kind Buddhist friend from the other day about not being able to change others, but only my own perspective. No, I'm not proud to say that. I am going to try again tomorrow.) The first, tweenaged twins, came to the door, and stood there, pillowcases open. My husband, jokingly, opened the door and said, "Can I help you?" To which one of the kids replied. "Yeah, give me candy." My mouth hit the floor. "Seriously?" I said, frowning, storming up to the door. "Take a hike. That was really obnoxious. How about 'please' and 'thank you' and 'trick or treat' and 'happy Halloween'?" The kids looked at each other in disbelief, as if no one had ever said anything like this to them before. My husband, who is more of a nice guy than I am, urged me to let it go; he was probably thinking he didn't want our house egged. He gave them the candy and they walked away, snickering nervously.

A while later, the second group of offenders, a pre-teen boy and his father, rang the doorbell. Both of them were holding sacks. "Trick or treat," said the boy. It was nearing the end of the night, and so I gave him a few pieces, instead of just the one we'd been handing out to each child. As I turned away, the father held out his sack, too. I looked at him quizzically. Really? I thought. "It's for my daughter," he said, gesturing towards a group on the sidewalk. "She's right down there. She's just tired." "If she's tired," I said, "maybe she should go home. I don't do parents collecting candy for their kids." "Oh, all right," he said, turning away. Did I mention he was dressed as a Jesuit monk? The irony did not escape me, though perhaps it escaped him.

The evening got me thinking (and I realize some people will hate me for this, but I'm going to say it anyway): if people don't like the Occupy movements, they should look at what we're teaching kids, starting with Halloween. I'm not advocating for socialism or communism, just human decency. Teaching kids compassion. Saying please and thank you. Helping them to understand that the night is not about bankrupting neighboring towns just to amass a stockpile that's going to end up rotting your teeth anyway. And you know, while we're at it, maybe we should Occupy Thanksgiving. And Occupy Christmas. And Occupy Hanukkah. And every other holiday, and every other day of the year. Because (again, completely disregarding what the monk told me about people being able to give only what they have) the reason we're in the mess we're in is that some people forgot the lessons they learned the first time they ever went trick or treating: how to be polite, and thankful, and know when you have enough and should go home for the night, and maybe even when you might be able to share with someone else.

Like these, for example.

Pumpkin Cream Cheese Bars

1/2 c. flour (or spelt flour, oat flour, etc.)
1 t. cinnamon
1/2 t. ginger
1/8 t. nutmeg
1/8 t. allspice
1/2 t. baking powder
1/4 t. baking soda
1/4 t. salt
1 egg (or 1 T. ground flax stirred with 3 T. water until gelatinous)
3 T. brown sugar (or agave, though you may want to lower the oven temp by 25 degrees)
2 T. regular (white or turbinado) sugar
1/2 c. cooked, pureed pumpkin
2 T. nondairy milk
2 T. coconut oil (vegetable oil will do)
3/4 t. vanilla
for frosting: cream cheese mixed with a little agave or honey or maple syrup to make it spreadable, or use your favorite cream cheese frosting recipe

Preheat oven to 350 F. Combine dry ingredients, then add in wet. Spread into an oiled 8×8 pan and bake for 20 minutes. Allow to cool fully before frosting.

A Meal for the Monks: Pumpkin Apple Soup

2011-11-03T19:58:00.000-07:00

Six monks from the Gaden Shartse Monastery, who have been traveling around the U.S. for eighteen months, arrived in my little corner of the universe on Saturday night in the middle of a freak blizzard. I can only imagine what the drive down from New York State was like for them; I was driving my son and daughter home from a birthday party, and every muscle in my body was tense as I watched huge tree limbs snap all around us under the weight of the snow on the leaves that hadn't yet fallen. It still looks like a war zone around here, worse than when the hurricane hit. Lots of people still have no power, which means no heat (with temperatures outside below freezing) and no water (unless you're lucky enough to live in town, like we do).

It was pretty amazing to meet Tibetan Buddhist monks on tour, and their visit brought some useful perspective and calm to the county in the aftermath of the storm. They were down to earth (three of them actually went trick or treating with some kids in the neighborhood), and yet, somehow unearthly--both their chanting (which sent chills down my spine) and their air of calm acceptance made them feel different. They talked about a lot of things I've been thinking about recently anyway: that life is like a great ocean, and that the ups and downs are little ripples (even if they feel like tsunamis at the time); that you feel the most suffering when you spend the most time thinking about yourself and your inappropriate attachment to things that just go away or change anyway; that people can only give what they have, and that people who are suffering cannot give joy.

(This last one is the hardest for me to swallow. My conversation with one of the monks went something like this:
me: "So what about people who are malicious?"
monk: "They're not malicious to everyone. And they are suffering."
me: "But why be malicious to me, then?"
monk: "That's what they have to give."
me: "I'm not feeling very compassionate towards these people."
monk: *smiling* "No one said it was easy.")

Now I don't think that I'm going to become a Buddhist any time soon. In a perverse way, I think I enjoy the highs and lows of human existence. But I confess I've been feeling more than a little sorry for myself lately, hearing nothing but crickets from the resumes and cover letters I keep sending into the abyss, especially as we're turning the corner into winter (and I'd thought that by now I'd be re-employed), doing the endless loads of laundry and dishes (which I'd be doing anyway, but breaks in the monotony would be nice), cooking until late into the night only to get up at 5am and start the whole thing over again. And it would be wise of me to remember compassion, and appreciate simplicity (gee, isn't it nice to have heat and running water?), and be a little less cranky.

I volunteered to bring the monks a meal while they were staying with another family in town, and I made this soup, along with a lentil salad and homemade bread. It's the sort of soup that warms you body and soul, and makes you remember that the world is a fundamentally good place, and that just as the good things come and go, so do the power outages and the crappy days filled with laundry.

Pumpkin Apple Soup
(with thanks to Brown Eyed Baker for the original)

1 T. olive oil
1 small onion, diced
2 Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored and diced
½ t. kosher salt
6 c. vegetable stock
2/3 c. natural (no sugar added) applesauce
½ t. ground white pepper
½ t. ground sage
½ t. dried thyme
¼ t. ground nutmeg
2 (15-ounce) cans pumpkin (3 1/2 c.)
¼ c. brown sugar (or 2 T agave)
½ c. light cream (or half and half)

Heat a Dutch oven or large soup pot over medium heat. Add the olive oil and heat until it shimmers. Add the diced onion, apples and salt. Saute until onions are translucent, about 7 minutes. Add the vegetable stock, applesauce, white pepper, sage, thyme and nutmeg. Bring to a boil and cook until apples are very tender, about 5 more minutes.

Add the pumpkin and brown sugar and cook for 10 – 15 minutes over medium heat. Use an immersion blender to blend soup until it’s smooth. (You can also use a blender to blend the soup in batches.) Add the cream to the soup and heat through over very low heat. (You can add more cream or water, if desired, to thin out more.) Remove from heat and serve.

Difference, Kids, and Argentinean Beef Cook Up

2011-10-25T13:30:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up, I was a frequent flyer at my local library. Though I read wide and deep, there were a few books I remember checking out again and again, like a chain-reader: Louisa May Alcott, Girl of Old Boston ... Free Stuff for Kids ... and Many Friends Cooking.

Many Friends Cooking was published by UNICEF as a "hey, look how much fun other cultures can be" educational tool for kids, back when we thought intolerance could be overcome by international cuisine immersion. Though we are now a little more willing to admit that food and "cultural dress-up day" isn't the answer to getting kids to appreciate and embrace diversity, I still like the book; it gets kids to think about sampling new, non-threatening but different foods and making that experience fun.

When my son was about two, I started to hunt for Many Friends Cooking, wanting to pass on to him my love of cooking and international foods and stories from around the globe. I found a used copy online, along with its companion Many Hands Cooking, and every once in a while we pull them out and cook something together; most of the recipes are extremely kid-friendly, so much so that a child can take the lead in the kitchen. I hope that I can teach both of my kids that difference isn't insurmountable; that we can learn each others' languages; that we can work alongside one another in the kitchen and in many places; that we can be friends.

This recipe isn't all that "different" from a traditional stew you'd find in the U.S., but its origin is Argentinean (hence the meat ... which is apparently what the cowboys eat). You can veganize it by omitting the meat and tossing in some beans after sauteeing the onions and pepper. It's a perfect dish for the chilly nights that are starting to become more the norm now here.

Beef (or Bean!) Cook-Up

2 lbs. stew meat, 1" cubes (or equivalent beans of your choice)
1 large onion, chopped
2 green peppers, chopped
3 tomatoes, chopped
6 potatoes, 1/2" cubes
3 ears corn, 1" rounds (1 c. canned)
3 T. vegetable oil
4 c. broth
1 bay leaf
1 T. oregano
salt and pepper to taste
4 peaches or apples, sliced

Heat oil in a Dutch oven over medium heat and brown meat on all sides. Remove it to a plate.

Add onions and green pepper to the pan and cook until soft, about 5 minutes. Add broth and bring to a boil. Return beef to the pan and add the tomatoes, potatoes, and seasonings. Cover, reduce heat to simmer, and cook 1 1/2 hours.

Add corn and fruit to the stew and cook 5 minutes longer. Enjoy!

Compassion: Gluten Free Carrot Cake

2011-10-20T04:32:00.000-07:00

Imagine the most honored guest you could think of was coming to dinner. What kinds of preparations would you make? What would you serve? How would you make that guest feel comfortable and at home?

Now: imagine that you are the honored guest.

When was the last time you treated yourself that way?

I'm not talking about hedonism here. I know the six bags of candy you bought for Halloween are calling your name. That's not compassion; that's the kind of thing that gives you a hangover the next day. I'm talking about being kind to yourself, making yourself comfortable.

In yoga class last week, we chanted the Tibetan Buddhist mantra "Om Tāre Tuttāre Ture Svāhā": a call to Tara, who is considered to be both symbol of light and life, and provider of compassion. Devotees also believe that she can grant wishes, eliminate suffering of all kinds and bring happiness. When called upon, she instantaneously saves us from eight specific calamities. The First Dalai Lama interprets them as representative of corresponding dangers as follows: 1) lions and pride 2) wild elephants and delusions 3) forest fires and hatred 4) snakes and envy 5) robbers and fanatical views 6) prisons and avarice 7) floods and lust 8) demons and doubt.

I don't know about you, but I could use saving from wild elephants.

The mantra is really more of a heart opener, though, than anything else. To ask for compassion for ourselves, and to call ourselves to the work of compassion. My teacher asked us to imagine the heart as a box that can hold everything: all of our worries, all of our struggles, all of the nagging thoughts that won't go away. All we need to do is give those things to the heart, and the heart will take care of them, giving us comfort.

In my case, I think this means I shouldn't beat myself up for imperfection. For yelling at my daughter, in one of my more unattractive moments today, to "go the F to sleep" (have I mentioned that she's a horrible napper? Yeah, that didn't work so well). For not landing a job, despite the resumes and cover letters that continue to go out. For a host of other things.

It's funny; I don't usually get upset about imperfection in the kitchen. I might stress over something in the process, but once it's done, if it's not right, I either eat it anyway or throw it in the trash. (Yes, I realize that this is wasteful. Trust me ... things don't often get trashed.) Sometimes when cupcakes sink, I confess: I just put more frosting on them, and no one knows the difference.

That happened here, because I was making gluten free cupcakes as a surprise for my neighbor's birthday, and didn't have gluten free flour with xanthan gum in it. But they only sank a little, and they were pretty awesome anyway: moist, warm, sweet without being cloying. So what if the cream cheese frosting isn't centered?

Gluten Free Carrot Cake

2 cups sugar
4 eggs
1 1/2 cups light olive oil OR your favorite vegetable oil
2 cups all-purpose gluten-free flour mix (see notes)
2 teaspoons baking soda
2 teaspoons gluten-free baking powder
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 cup chopped nuts
3 cups freshly grated carrots
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 ounces cream cheese
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 1/2 cups gluten-free powdered sugar (See note)

Preheat oven to 350 F

Use two round 9-inch cake pans, one 9x13 pan or 36 muffin cups for this recipe. If using round cake pans, lightly grease and place a circle of parchment in the bottom of the pan for easy removal. Use paper lining cups if making cupcakes.

Cream sugar and eggs in a large mixing bowl with an electric beater or stand mixer. Add oil and vanilla and beat just until smooth.

In a separate bowl combine gluten-free flour mix, baking soda, baking powder and salt. Whisk to combine. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and beat until blended.

Stir in grated carrots and nuts. Pour the batter into prepared pans.

Bake in preheated oven for 45-55 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the middle of the cake comes out clean. For muffins, reduce baking time to 30-35 minutes or until they pass the toothpick test. Cool on a wire rack.

While cake or muffins are cooling prepare the frosting: place butter, cream cheese and vanilla in a large mixing bowl and beat on high until smooth. Add powdered sugar and beat until smooth and creamy. Frost when cake is completely cooled.

Notes:

Most powdered sugar products are made with granular sugar processed with cornstarch or tapioca starch. However, when buying powdered sugar, read labels carefully to be sure that the product you are considering is not made with wheat starch.

You can use Bob's Red Mill Gluten-Free Pizza Crust Mix in this recipe with good results. It contains xanthan gum, eliminating the need to add more gum to this recipe. Use your favorite gluten-free flour mix in this recipe and add 1 teaspoon xanthan or guar gum to the recipe if the mix you're using doesn't contain one of these baking gums.

Kicking Ass and Taking Names: Cancer, Loss, and Oat Fudge Minis

2011-10-16T19:01:00.000-07:00

So it turns out that my college roommate has lymphoma. She's in her late 30s, has a kid in elementary school, skateboards for fun, wears pigtails and badass shoes. Not the sort of chick you'd imagine would wake up some day and find out she has cancer.

She made a FB announcement about this the other day, asking us all to put our "grown up pants on," assuring us that her GI said it was "very treatable with chemo," and her wall was immediately filled with people posting support and love and offering to bake brownies (not exactly the kind of brownie I bake here at aHBL.)

I am confident that my friend will kick cancer's ass. Because that's just the kind of person she is. She is one amazing, resilient, determined woman ... and that doesn't even begin to describe her. I'm going to think positive thoughts, send her all of my good energy, and cheer her on through the suck that is going to be chemo.

My friend's announcement was yet another reminder of how vulnerable we are, how everything we know can turn on a dime, how precious this gift called life really is. I've had a lot of reminders lately, it seems: my friend my age who needed a heart transplant, friends with sick kids, and now this. Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something?

Yesterday was Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, a day that thousands of people all over the world light candles in remembrance of lives that never had the chance to be lived, and in solidarity with people who never imagined they would lose a child. I've written about my own losses here, but yesterday I was thinking about so many other women and men I've met who felt alone, adrift, silenced. Unlike cancer, pregnancy and infant loss tends to be invisible, or at the very least taboo. But it needs to be something we can talk about, not so that we can "get over" it, but so that we can learn to live with it. To support each other, to be there, to bear witness.

No matter whether you're pro-life or pro-choice, no matter when you think life begins, no matter whether you know someone with cancer or have been lucky enough to avoid that happening to your loved ones, I ask you to take one moment today and marvel at the fact that You. Are. Alive. To realize that the odds against you, specifically you, being born, are actually pretty friggin' incredible. To give thanks for that gift, and to decide that you're going to do something with it. And to ask that one of the things you do with that gift is offer compassion to families and individuals who grieve and struggle and hope.

I made these the other day as a healthier-than-usual treat. They're full of fiber and protein, are a little lower on the glycemic index than your standard cookie, contain antioxidants and other immunity-boosters, and give you energy. They're the kind of thing my college roommate made in our makeshift kitchen; she's probably long since forgotten, but I remember her experimental "healthy" cookies fondly. Here's to kicking ass and taking names, my friend.

Oat Fudge Minis

1 medium banana
2 T. coconut oil (you could use canola or an oil of choice…but this stuff is more buttery)
1/4 c. egg whites (or 1 egg, or applesauce)
4 T. agave (more if you like it sweeter)
1/4 t. salt (salt joins the liquids because it dissolves)
1 1/2 c. rolled oats
1/2 c. spelt flour
1/2 c. oat bran
1/4 c. ground flax seeds
1/3 c. mini dark chocolate chips (or more)

Preheat oven to 350.

Mash banana and add other liquid ingredients into banana mixture. Add dry ingredients, one quarter cup at a time, mixing until well blended. Line mini muffin pan with liners (or grease it) and spoon 1 tablespoon into each cup. Press chocolate chips into each mini and cover each mini with remaining oat mixture. Press a few more chocolate chips into each one and bake for approximately 15 minutes.

The coconut oil is good for you. They're sweetened naturally. They have lots of antioxidants, if you’re using dark chocolate, and lots of fiber. Spelt and oats contain protein. All excellent for ass-kicking.

Slow Food: Vegetable Biryani

2011-10-09T19:08:00.000-07:00

I know you've all been wondering ... where are the new posts from AHBL in my reader?

There have been a lot of reasons for my silence, but basically they come down to: repeat performances in the kitchen (lack of blog fodder), not much news to report (lack of blog fodder), feeling like I can't come up with interesting things to say (i.e. lack of blog fodder), too much time spent commenting on other people's blogs (and therefore less attention paid to my own blog), making baby food (not exactly blog fodder), and sick kid (anti-blog fodder). Oh yeah, and I actually finished reading a book cover to cover for the first time in a loooong time--and it wasn't even Goodnight Moon.

I also went to yoga this week for the first time in a few weeks (for more various reasons, including an out of town husband and a milk-demanding infant who had no regard for yoga schedules two weeks ago). It was good to be back; I really missed my teacher, and even though switching nights and times means that there will be chaos to get me out of the house on Thursdays in order to get to class on time, I'm willing to accept the fallout. As an added bonus, it's a mixed-level class, so there were some new asanas and more challenging variations--something I've been wanting anyway.

I love the way my teacher talks through the class, blending mythology with philosophy with contemporary life experience, sometimes reading to us, all the time adjusting our asanas, getting us to notice our own bodies. Her voice and the music and the movement through asana are all part of the seamless experience of her class. She makes teaching yoga look effortless.

If you're anything like me, you sometimes like to make simple things appear complicated. We end up looking good, we think, if it seems like we had to put more time and effort into something than it really cost us. But the real trick is to make something complicated and time-consuming appear easy.

One thing my teacher talked about this week is the balance between exertion and release in yoga: while we work to go deeper into our asanas, we also need to figure out what we can release--what muscles, what parts of our bodies, we are not using. And this got me thinking that maybe the secret to making something look effortless is to let go a little. Not necessarily not-caring, or even aspiring to mediocrity, but knowing how to work efficiently in order to achieve our goals. (For those Christians out there, that understanding is sort of like the Serenity Prayer: knowing what we need to accept, and what we need the courage to change.) I was running downhill today, thinking that while running downhill appears easy, there's quite a lot of effort that goes into making sure I don't fall flat on my face. It's a matter of figuring out what I need to tighten (muscles somewhere around my midsection), and what I can surrender to gravity. Once I get it right, it's almost like flying.

Biryani is a complicated dish that looks basically like a casserole, but it takes time and care to prepare, and for that reason, is actually one of the most popular menu items in Indian weddings. Don't be daunted by the long list of ingredients: most of them are spices anyway (and if you really can't find things like garam masala, just use the equivalent of good curry powder for all of the spices in the biryani section). And maybe while you're making it, you can let go of something that's not really as important as you thought it was, after all.

Spiced Rice: Base for Biryani
(this is good even on its own)

1 1/2 T. vegetable oil
2 med. onions, quartered and thinly sliced
2 cinnamon sticks
4 cardamom pods
4 cloves
2 allspice berries
1 1/2 c. basmati rice
3 1/2 to 4 c. water
3/4 t. turmeric or a pinch of saffron
1/3 c. raisins

Heat oil in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Add onions, cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, allspice. Cook, stirring occasionally, until onions are tender and slightly golden, about 15 minutes.

Add rice and cook, stirring constantly, about 2 minutes. Add 3 1/2 c. water, turmeric, and raisins. Cover and cook, gently bubbling (not boiling) 20-25 minutes. If the water boils out, add a little extra.

Vegetable Biryani

2 1/2 t. garam masala
1 1/2 t. turmeric
1 1/2 t. cumin
1 1/4 t. coriander
2 t. sugar
2 cloves garlic, minced
1" piece ginger, minced
1 1/2 t. salt
1 c. plain (Greek) yogurt
1 1/2 c. peeled butternut squash or sweet potato, 1" cubes
2 c. cauliflower or broccoli, bite sized
1 1/4 c. sliced green beans
3/4 c. fresh or frozen peas
1 c. cooked brown lentils, chickpeas, or kidney beans
2 bay leaves, broken in half
1/2 c. water
3 T. toasted almonds for garnish

In a large bowl, combine spices through yogurt. Add vegetables and let stand 30-60 minutes.

Lightly grease a 2 1/2 to 3 quart baking dish and set aside. Prepare rice.

Preheat oven to 350. In a large saucepan over medium low heat, cook vegetable spice mixture, stirring often, about 5 minutes. Be careful that the yogurt doesn't burn!

Spread half the rice in the bottom of the prepared baking dish and top with beans/lentils. Cover with all of the vegetables. Layer remaining rice over vegetables. Insert broken bay leaves into rice.

Pour water into the baking dish. Cover with aluminum foil and bake 50-60 minutes, until vegetables are tender. Garnish with toasted almonds.

Once in a Lifetime: Roasted Corn Salad

2011-09-16T21:27:00.000-07:00

Summer is waning here; we're seeing the last of the season's corn, and already today there was a noticeable chill in the air. Because I am still unemployed, N. and I took the train into the city on Wednesday to visit the Union Square Greenmarket (we were on a top secret reconnaissance mission that involved seeing what our CSA had on offer to city-dwellers), and I found myself salivating over early season apples.

It's been very strange to watch school starting--and continuing--without me. It's the first time in 34, maybe even 35 years that I haven't been at an academic institution for the beginning of the fall term, either as a student or as a professional. The longer I am unemployed, the more I feel like my identity is changing. I enrolled myself in a two week free trial of the equivalent of Strollercize (which, incidentally, kicked my sorry butt on Monday), and I went today to attend a meetup of some local SAHMs from the group that I was kicked out of when I had my son, because I couldn't attend enough meetings. It was actually not bad; N. enjoyed herself immensely because she got to watch other kids (which makes her jump up and down in my arms as if she's on a bungee). I mark the days in terms of playdates and errands and other commitments; I've been trying to keep busy, so that the days don't all blur together. Some days I worry that I will forget how to work in the adult world. Other days I worry that no one will ever hire me again.

In the meantime, I am really starting to enjoy my daughter. I feel like I get her now, more than I did, say, three months ago. I know what she's whimpering about, and can often fix it. She plays games with me like peekaboo and "helphelpI'mbeingeatenbythebaby" (this is a game she invented, in which she bites my nose gently with a very wide mouth and her two small bottom teeth; hilarity ensues when I fake-scream).

And yet, I feel like she isn't quite mine. Like I'm borrowing her. Like this isn't exactly my life. I'm reminded of that Talking Heads song "Once in a Lifetime": "You may tell yourself, this is not my beautiful house. You may tell yourself, this is not my beautiful wife." On the train back from New York, N. was sleeping on my chest, and I found myself looking down at her, almost afraid to breathe, afraid that somehow this moment would evaporate, and life would be "same as it ever was."

While I do want to go back to work, I also think that we owe it to ourselves to be awake. To not let life simply flow underground into the blue again. To be present for the change in season, even if we're not going back to school. And if we are going back to school, to let this be something other than just the beginning of another academic year, the cycle beginning again. Because every day is once in a lifetime.

This salad celebrates the end of summer, and reminds us to enjoy the end, as we embrace the beginning of what comes next.

Roasted Corn Salad

3 cups fresh corn kernels (about 4-5 ears)
1 tablespoon vegetable oil, divided
Cooking spray
2 tablespoons white balsamic vinegar
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 cup chopped seeded tomato
1/2 cup chopped red bell pepper
1/2 cup chopped green onions

Preheat oven to 425°.

Combine corn and 1 teaspoon oil in a jelly-roll pan coated with cooking spray. Bake at 425° for 20 minutes or until browned, stirring occasionally.

Combine 2 teaspoons oil, vinegar, mustard, salt, and black pepper in a medium bowl; add corn mixture, stirring well. Stir in tomato, bell pepper, and onions. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Winning, Losing, and What's Left: Vegan Chocolate Chip Cookies

2011-09-05T18:53:00.000-07:00

Over the past few years I seem to have had a streak of good luck at winning things. I won a stroller, a bicycle for my son, an ice cream block party for my neighborhood, a Coconut Bliss party for the youth group I was advising at the time, a nursing cover, a shipment of guacamole, a large bottle of chicken soup, two tickets to a kids' show in NYC, packets of oatmeal, a basket I helped to weave at our local Earth Day celebration. I've sometimes thought that winning things is part of the great karmic wheel ... I win something, then I give something away, then I win something else, then I give something away.

Apparently my winning streak does not extend to job-hunting.

I got an email late Friday saying that the people who had interviewed me couldn't come up with the funds they thought they could, and so they will not be able to hire me after all. They've asked if I'd be interested in consulting work for an interim while they look for another person who can work for less. Well, shit.

I feel like I shot myself in the foot. Maybe I shouldn't have asked for a higher salary. Maybe I should have tried to make child care work better, put N. in a place that cost less so that I could take this job, even if the care wasn't what I wanted (after all, parents make do with what they can afford, and many of them are not as lucky as we have been). Maybe I should have accepted the step backwards in salary and in grade, knowing that I can't just expect to move laterally or forward when I jumped ship, even if the conditions were such that I couldn't stay and still face myself in the mirror every morning.

Then again, maybe it wasn't mean to be, and I just haven't found the right path yet.

The fact remains that now I've got a big fat lot of nada.

Except cookies.

Actually, I don't have these any more, either, because I packed them up with the dinner I made for my friend whose husband--the heart transplant recipient--is still in the hospital (though he may be coming home on Wednesday, hooray!), because their little boy is allergic to eggs, and because little boys need chocolate chip cookies.

But you could have them, in a jiffy. They're easy to make, and they are--honestly--even better than regular non-vegan chocolate chip cookies. Not exactly good for you, because, well, they're cookies. But if what you want is a cookie, then they do quite nicely.

And it's important to keep perspective here. Even if I don't have cookies, or a job, I haven't lost what those folks in Vermont have lost (BTW, thanks, Keiko, for posting the link to the Vermont Farm Disaster Relief Fund; that's a great organization, if you feel like you would like to help those folks out), or even what folks in our back yard have lost (I heard today about the family of a friend whose entire town will be bulldozed in November). My basement didn't flood. Even my freezer full of mama-milk survived the hurricane. I have a husband and two beautiful children. And I still have self-respect. It's harder to muster up some days than others, but it's there.

Vegan Chocolate Chip Cookies

1/4 c. unsweetened almond or soymilk
2/3 c. canola oil
1/2 c. brown sugar
1/4 c. sugar
1 1/2 t. cornstarch
2 t. vanilla
2 c. all purpose flour
1/2 t. baking soda
1/2 t. salt
3/4 c. chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350 F. Lightly grease two large light metal baking sheets.

Mix together sugars, oil, milk and cornstarch in a mixing bowl. Use a strong fork and mix really well, for about 2 minutes, until it resembles smooth caramel. Mix in the vanilla.

Add 1 cup of the flour, the baking soda and salt. Mix until well incorporated. Mix in the rest of the flour. Fold in the chocolate chips (you may need to use your hands)

Roll the dough into about ping pong ball size balls. Flatten them out in your hands to about 2 1/2 inches. They will spread just a bit. Place on a baking sheet and bake for 8-12 minutes – until they are just a little browned around the edges. Let cool on the baking sheet for about 5 minutes then transfer to a cooling rack.

Come On, Irene: Peach Pie

2011-08-29T04:16:00.000-07:00

We filled up a 5 gallon tub of water, put our small basement freezer (the one with the breastmilk library) on cinder blocks, removed most of the stuff from our porch, bought a few containers of shelf-stable milk, and hunkered down to wait. In the end, we were lucky. Hurricane Irene came and went, and though at 2 a.m. it was an impressive--even scary--storm, the worst of it for us was a little bit of water in our basement, where it always gets wet anyway when it rains hard. We lost power for a few hours, and I was sweating, thinking about the freezer, but it came back on at around 3:30, and I fell asleep in about five minutes.

Other people we know didn't fare so well: our neighbor across the street had the fire department come help her pump our her basement last night when we lost power, my friends dealing with the heart transplant also have a flooded basement, FB friends in northern NJ are dealing with broken and flooded dams, and my mother has been told she'll be without power until next Sunday. The good news is that people are helping each other out. There is something about crisis that drags people out of their houses and away from their facebook feeds (not that one can't help there, too, like they're doing over at Bloggers Without Borders for a fellow blogger with two little girls who just lost her husband to a suddden heart attack). Disasters put things in perspective, remind us of what we do have, even while we're entitled to hope for something more or something different. I hope that right now if you're in a place to do so, you can lend a hand to someone who needs it; that support is part of what I love about the blogging community.

I think, in part, we were lucky because Irene is the name of my grandma-in-law, and she always took good care of me, until she could no longer care for herself. I never knew my real grandparents, but my uncle's wife's mother was the best stand-in I could ask for. She was a matriarch, a woman who ruled her house with a wooden spoon and a rolling pin. It was Grandma Irene who let me stay up to see my first New Years' Eve and have a sip of champagne, raised me on coconut bread and pumpkin pie. The kitchen was her domain, and I was one of the few people she'd allow to go in there while she was cooking. My book of recipes still has some of her favorites, scrawled in her handwriting.

Our CSA has been sending us peaches each week, and this week I simply couldn't keep up, since we also had a watermelon and a cantaloupe to eat. S. doesn't like cooked peaches, but I decided to make a pie anyway and hope for the best. The verdict was positive: he said it was actually pretty good, and my son, who has been awfully vocal about his perpetual hunger of late, had three pieces. (We are reading Farmer Boy together at bedtime, and I've been struck by how often the nine year old boy talks about eating, and what enormous meals he eats. I. has been reveling in the descriptions, saying, "mmmm, that sounds good. I'm hungry.")

So in honor of my grandma Irene, who was a hurricane in her own right ... if you still have power, bake one of these up and take it over to share with a neighbor. It's a little lower in sugar than some other recipes I've seen, letting the flavor of the peaches themselves shine through.

Tell us ... how did you fare in the storm, if you're on the East Coast? Have you ever had to weather a natural disaster? Do you have a Grandma Irene of your own?

Fresh Peach Pie

Pie crust

2 c. whole wheat pastry flour
1/2 t. salt
1/2 c. oil (canola or very mild olive)
1/4 - 1/2 c. boiling water

Filling

1/3 cup all-purpose flour
3.4 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
3 T. butter, at room temperature
8 to 10 large fresh peaches, pitted, peeled and sliced
1 egg whisked with 1 Tablespoon water (or a little milk of choice if you don't eat eggs)
course sugar for topping, optional

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

Fork together flour and salt, make a well for the liquids. Combine oil and water (I know, they don't mix) and dump them into the flour. Fork together all of the ingredients until it forms a ball. If you need to add more flour and water, do so. The dough should be a little bit springy. Divide the dough in two balls, roll one out and place one in a 9" pie pan.

In a medium bowl, use a pastry blender or fork to combine flour, sugar, cinnamon and butter. Mix until crumbly.

Scoop one layer of peaches into crust. Top with some of the crumbly sugar mixture. Layer more peaches and more crumbles. Continue until you've used up all of your peaches and crumbles. Roll out your second pie crust, and top your pie as desired. I cut mine into strips and created a lattice topping. If you'd like to cover the pie completely with the 2nd crust, just be sure to cut a few slits into the top crust to give that crust a chance to breathe while baking. Crimp the edges decoratively.

Brush the top with the egg wash (or with milk), and sprinkle with coarse sugar if you wish (I skipped this part).

Bake on the center rack in the oven for 1 hour to 1 1/2 hours. I start checking on my pie at 45 minutes, just to make sure the crust isn't browning too quickly and all looks good. Then I check every 15 minutes until I'm satisfied that it's done. Mine took an hour and 10 minutes, and it was nice and golden brown along the crust with the peach filling bubbling a bit in the center.

Cool until ready to eat.

Shreds of Summer: Korean Zucchini Pancakes

2011-08-25T21:56:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure what it is lately, but I've been a pretty negligent blogger. Part of it is the CSA. Apparently, the universe is having the last laugh after all of my complaining about chard last summer: we have had eight (8) weeks straight of mostly zucchini/summer squash (which might as well be the same thing, in my book) and cucumber this year. I've eaten about as many cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches as I can stand. I've also just about exhausted the variations on squash-for-dinner, and I hate to subject you, my dear readers, to yet another one. (I will anyway, but that's besides the point.)

But the other part of it is that life has sort of gotten away from me this summer. Here's a quick update, in shreds, like the zucchini waiting to be added to the next round of dinner.

* * *

I always get an itch to chop off my hair at this time of year. It must be something about the beginning of the academic year; working in academe for 12 years has irrevocably tied my biorhythms to the academic calendar. I got a sort-of job offer about four weeks ago now, back at the same university I'd left, working for a very different group of people, doing something that's quite a bit different. Down side: huge salary cut, too much to justify day care for two plus the commute. Up side: they're trying to work something out. Down side: I'm in employment limbo. I guess I'm preparing myself for the first day of school, just in case.

* * *

My son I. will turn five this year, and he's decided that he wants a friend-party this time, all about space. We're doing a party at home, and I have been scouring the internets for party activity ideas. So yes, among other things, I'm making cereal-box jet packs (complete with NASA stickers; now THAT was a find) and molding baking soda paste around small astronaut figures, which I am baking into "moon rocks," to be hunted for in a kiddie pool full of balloons. Partygoers will drop said "moon rocks" into vinegar, oooh and aaaah at the fizzy effect, and retrieve astronaut for a souvenir. I have tried this once so far and it worked, impressing I., so I'm hoping it wasn't a fluke. I wondered briefly if it was sacrilegious or something to be baking an astronaut, and then decided it was OK.

* * *

I got a speeding ticket recently for which I had to appear in court. Mind you, I am generally not an unsafe driver; it was a particularly bad day, and I was paying no attention to how fast I was going, my mind in Philly with my heart-transplant friend, on being unemployed and not on unemployment, and on my destination (knowing that I was going to have a screaming child in my back seat at any minute, since N just LOVES her car seat ... not). Of course, I had to take N to court with me. Of course, she was due to be hungry just as court was to begin. Of course, I tried to nurse her in the back row of the courtroom, and she proceeded to squirm and scream. At the front of the courtroom, someone said "lady with the baby, please come forward." I was so flustered by the whole experience that I didn't rebutton my shirt or tuck my boob back into my bra. No, friends: I walked right down that aisle, exposed lactating boob covered only in my Moby, and that not even very well. They reduced the penalty so that I would plead guilty and get the heck out of court. I quickly agreed to this arrangement, and returned to the courtroom, where N proceeded to squawk like a parrot, and I was asked to leave until fetched by an officer to record my plea. I'm not sure if she's going to be a lawyer or someone who practices civil disobedience.

* * *

My friend who had the heart transplant is still in ICU, after yet another surgery to close a "flap" and remove an infection that had spread the length of his torso. I can't even begin to imagine what this has been like for him and his family. His boys have been coming here for playdates once in a while, but I feel incredibly powerless to help, short of meal delivery, which I've been coordinating.

* * *

And my mother also managed to get herself stuck in the hospital with a kidney infection. She insists that she is fine and doesn't need me to visit, but I am, of course, concerned; even if our relationship is imperfect, she is still my mother. And while it may not be very serious, it would be nice to know that she's getting out soon.

* * *

A hurricane is apparently coming, and I have a freezer chock full of breastmilk. Anyone want to lend me a generator?

How about you? Are you preparing for a hurricane? Drowning in squash? Baking spacemen? Pull up a chair, stay and chat, and have a zucchini pancake. Take my zucchini, please!

Zucchini Pancakes

600g – 700g zucchini or summer squash
2 t. salt
2 carrots, grated
1 large onion
2 c. flour
2 large eggs
2 cups water
Salt and pepper, to taste

Dipping sauce ingredients
4 tbsp soy sauce
2 tbsp rice wine vinegar
** Optional: 1 tsp gochugaru (Korean chilli flakes)

Top and tail your zucchini, then slice it into matchsticks.

Toss the zucchini with the 2 teaspoons of salt, then set over a colander for 30 minutes to allow the zucchini to soften and the liquid to drain out.

While the zucchini is softening, lightly beat the eggs together till combined.

Add the flour and whisk in till thoroughly incorporated, then add the water gradually, ensuring that you whisk well after each cup addition. Once the batter reaches the consistency of thin pancake batter (thin but not watery), add the strained zucchini and mix in.

Grate in the onion for a little sweetness, then add the grated carrot and stir in till everything is well combined.

Heat a non-stick frying pan (preferably cast iron for the even heat distribution and retention) with a little oil over low heat, then add about 1/2 to 1 cup batter to the frying pan.

When you pour in the batter, it should be no more than about 3-4mm thick at most in the pan. Feel free to spread the vegetables out into an even layer with a spoon to ensure even thickness and cooking.

Once the bottom of the pancake is browned and the top is dry and set, carefully flip it over and cook till the top layer is also browned, then set aside on a paper towel to drain. Serve warm.

Passing the Baton: Summer Squash and Mushroom Mini-Pies

2011-08-15T23:22:00.000-07:00

I haven't really been running very much lately. It's impossible to do on the weekdays, with N. to consider, and it's even a challenge on the weekends, given all of the things we have to fit into those 48 hours. So it should come as no surprise that I'm pudgier where I wasn't before, and that I get more winded than I used to, and that I'm just generally not in as awesome shape as I was before N. was born.
I got a chance to go this past weekend for a quick 5K loop, and was dragging my sorry butt past the bagel store when I spotted her. Fiftysomething, tanned (but not withered), muscular (but not sinewy), rubber-band like, platinum blonde in skin-tight black running clothes, adjusting her water and goo belt. She looked at me, and there was a moment of recognition: perhaps she saw in me my former skinnier more energetic self; perhaps she saw herself from a previous life. Whatever it was, she grinned as I drew nearer, and said, "lookin' good, sister!"

I shook my head and made a "ugh" face, but she held out her hand for me to slap as I passed her by. I hesitated for a split second, and then extended mine. SLAP. "There you go," she shouted after me. "That's your energy now, girl. Remember that when you're running out of steam at the end."

I thought about a lot of things during the rest of that run. I thought about the times when I've said something like that to someone else I thought might need a little inspiration. I thought about what I must have looked like to elicit such a response from her. But most of all, I found myself thinking about that hand slap, and the energy that she claimed got transferred as we passed each other.

The thing is, I could swear I ran a little faster. My hand tingled, and if I let it, my arm tingled. If I really thought about it, my toes tingled.

Life is like the love-child of a relay race and a marathon. In some ways, we run the distance alone. But in others, the passing of the baton, the slapping of the hand as we pass by our fellow runners, especially the ones who are outpacing us, already on the way back, can make all the difference. How many times have we extended our own hands to pass that energy on to another? How many times has someone offered that hand to us? And how many times have we accepted it, despite the fact that it means looking in the face of success, and maybe feeling a little bit like we haven't reached the place where we want to be just yet?

These are good for days when you're on the run. And they're also good to drop into the hand of someone you love as they pass by on a parallel track.

Summer Squash and Mushroom Mini-Pie

Crust
2 c. flour (I use at least half whole wheat pastry, sometimes all whole wheat pastry)
1/2 t. salt
1/2 c. oil (canola or olive)
1/4 to 1/2 c. boiling water

Preheat oven to 350. Combine flour and salt. In a glass measuring cup, combine oil and water. Pour wet ingredients into dry ingredients, and fork together until the dough starts to form a ball. It should be smooth; if it's too sticky, add more flour until it bounces back just a bit when you poke it. Divide into two balls.

Filling
1 T. olive oil
5 oz. mushrooms
1 medium to large zucchini
1/2 onion
1-2 t. oregano or rosemary
salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup greek yogurt
1 egg, beaten

Chop up veggies into large bite sized pieces. Heat olive oil in a large saucepan and saute the zucchini and onion until the onion is starting to become translucent, about 5 minutes. Add mushrooms and herbs and salt/pepper and saute until almost dry.

Let cool, and add the greek yogurt. Mix well.

Assembly
Roll out the first ball of dough and cut small pieces of your crust (about 5 inches in diameter, maybe) and press into a small silicone muffin tin (you can use regular muffin tins but I loved how they just popped right out of mine). Fill with filling. Roll out the second ball and use a drinking glass to cut circles for the tops of the pies. Crimp the edges shut.

Brush with egg and bake for about 30 minutes.

The Value of a Life, and Zucchini Fritters

2011-08-08T23:01:00.000-07:00

The lovely Athena from A Field of Dreams awarded me a Blog of Substance award. I'm humbled to receive this considering that I've been the world's most unpredictable post-er lately ... but I'll try to have substance today, and pass the award on next time (so I have a good reason to get my arse in gear and write again).

I've mentioned before how I was raised by parents who were both frugal and extravagant when it came to money. We pinched pennies at the grocery store, but my father drove a Mercedes Benz. We patched clothes, but I went to dance and piano lessons. We ate, but we went on a family vacation every summer, often to some international (Spanish-speaking, because my dad was from Spain, via Cuba) destination. I inherited this somewhat bipolar approach to finances; from a young age, I evaluated and appreciated things in terms of their monetary value, pinching pennies at home so that I could afford the occasional big ticket items for my family (and, so I'm not kidding myself, the occasional Frapuccino).

Which makes being a professional-turned-SAHM a bit of a psychological challenge. How do I appreciate the value of my work if I'm not being paid? And then, how do I reconcile this kind of value with the fact that I'm bleeding money these days without replenishing the family bank account? There are the usual expenses, of course, and then there was a small car accident earlier this summer, and a speeding ticket that will require a court appearance (I'm really not a reckless driver ... don't judge me on the basis of these two events!), and little outings with my son (like the trip to a place in our town that serves high tea for children -- his request), and the things (mostly consumables) I buy because I'm home wandering the streets, and ... well, you get the idea.

To make matters worse, there is the small matter of the potential salary cut I'd be taking if this job offer does come through ... and the fact that almost every other job people have been sending me is at a range lower than where I was before. Does this mean that my potential value on the market is really so low, even if I were making money to contribute to household expenses? Was my former position a fluke?

It sounds mercenary to think in these terms, but it's hard not to when there are bills to be paid, and when I seem to keep generating so many of them myself.

And yet, when I think of the value of others, I don't think in those terms at all ...

My friend who is in heart failure has been struggling over the past week with a balloon assist, with various meds, and finally with an external pump to help his heart recover. None of this has been proving particularly successful, and they finally decided, today, to go forward with a transplant. So they're waiting for a heart to "harvest," possibly as early as within the next 24 hours.

It's a very strange feeling to be praying for someone's death so that someone else might live, but that's where I am right now. The world would be a measurably darker place without my friend; I need him, selfishly, to live. His two little boys and his wife, who are among the most wonderful people I know, need him. His fellowship needs him. His friends need him. And yet, how can I tell the universe (or whoever happens to be listening) that his life is worth more than the life of someone who might be a potential donor?

These fritters are supposed to be inspired by Southern cooking, so I'm posting them here in honor of my friend, who is a stay at home dad and probably the best example of Southern hospitality I know. One of the things that I love about him (among so many things -- his centeredness, his faith, his generosity) is that he seems not to question the value of his contribution to his family and to the world; he's comfortable knowing that his living makes a difference. Though it's almost a morbid thing to hope for, I hope that there is someone out there who can live on in him through their heart. I know that he would take good care of it, and put it to the best possible use.

Zucchini Fritters

2 c. grated summer squash or zucchini
1/4 c. all purpose flour
1/3 c. cornmeal
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 egg, beaten
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
Kosher salt and black pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 400F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

Press the squash between layers of a clean tea towel to get rid of excess moisture. In a bowl, mix all the ingredients together. It should form a sticky mass. If at first it seems dry, continue to stir—the salt will cause the zucchini to ‘sweat’, and it will get wetter.

Drop heaping spoonfuls onto the parchment paper, and then flatten with the spoon to form 2-3 inch rounds. You don’t want these to be very thick, as we want them to crisp up.

Bake for 15 minutes or so, until the fritters are deep golden brown on the bottom. Then broil on high for 2-3 minutes, until the fritters are completely crunchy on the outside, and still give a bit on the inside.

A Lesson in Versatility: Calabacitas

2011-08-05T21:25:00.000-07:00

One of my most vivid summer memories from childhood is the view from the back stoop of our house, looking out at the lush greenery of my father's small but overgrown garden. There were always too many tomato plants, too many kohlrabis, too many of everything ... especially zucchinis. My father took great pride in his "bastóns," though, growing them as large as baseball bats, just because he could. My mother would curse them under her breath as they lined the counters; she didn't have much counter space to begin with. I would often be charged with the responsibility of bringing paper bags full of the vegetable to unsuspecting neighbors, who would always politely accept the "gift." I also recall selling them from a small shaky plastic table on our street corner, which, in retrospect, must have seemed pretty weird to passersby, given that I grew up in the middle of suburbia, New Jersey.

Now, as an adult with a CSA membership, I have come to understand that it's better to be armed with an arsenal of summer squash recipes than to make innocent children responsible for your oversupply. My mother's repertoire was somewhat limited to sauteeing in olive oil or grating into zucchini breads, but I've learned that they're a lot more versatile than that. As I've worked our way through yet another week of the stuff, I'm reminded of that great quote from Forrest Gump: "You can barbecue it, boil it, broil it, bake it, saute it. Dey's uh, shrimp-kabobs, shrimp creole, shrimp gumbo. Pan fried, deep fried, stir-fried. There's pineapple shrimp, lemon shrimp, coconut shrimp, pepper shrimp, shrimp soup, shrimp stew, shrimp salad, shrimp and potatoes, shrimp burger, shrimp sandwich. That- that's about it." Bubba nailed it: just substitute "zucchini" for "shrimp," add "cake" and "bread," and you're pretty well prepared for the onslaught.

This is a pretty, quick, simple Southwestern vegetarian dish that also takes advantage of the local corn that's also in abundance at farmers' markets at this time of year in my corner of the world. It's good with tortillas for a light meal.

Wouldn't it be nice if we were all as versatile and agreeable to all dinner companions as the humble summer squash? Yes, yes, it would be.

Calabacitas

3-4 T. olive oil, divided
1 c. finely chopped onion
2-4 cloves of garlic, minced
2 1/2 c. diced summer squash
2 1/2 c. diced zucchini
2 c. corn kernels, fresh or frozen

6 scallions, chopped (3/4 cup)
1/2 c. chopped mild green chiles, roasted, with skin removed (or a small can of diced green chiles)
1 cup diced ripe Roma tomatoes
1/2 c. firmly packed coarsely chopped fresh cilantro leaves (I totally forgot this in mine, and it was OK)
1/2 c. cream or grated Jack cheese (optional)
1/2 teaspoon salt

Heat 2 T. of the oil in a large skillet and saute the onion for about 4 minutes over medium-high heat. Add the garlic and saute 2 minutes longer. Add the squash and zucchini and saute 5 minutes longer, until softened.

Add the remaining 1 to 2 T. of oil with the corn, scallions, and chiles and saute 3 minutes longer. Stir in the tomatoes, cilantro, and cream (if desired) and heat through, about 5 minutes.

Season with salt. Serve hot or warm.

Devotions: Chocolate Zucchini Muffins

2011-07-26T19:50:00.000-07:00

I've been terrible about posting lately. It's funny; you'd think that I'd have more time, being a stay at home mom and all. But life has had a funny way of catching me up in the current, and it's been moving pretty quickly. I found myself nodding in agreement with Mel's recent posts about not being able to keep up: with Facebook feeds, Twitter feeds, blogging comments ... all of which I tend to put before my own writing. Probably not ideal if you're aiming for regular writing practice, which was, once upon a time, the original purpose of this blog.

And then there's the job scene. It turns out that I did, indeed, nail that interview. I've had a tentative offer, and I'm going to talk with them about numbers tomorrow. The down side is that the numbers are not good. It's a grant, and they have a limited budget. Like, $20K less than I was making limited. And I'd need to pay for another child in day care (part of the craziness has been the search for, and interviews with, potential in-home day care providers), which makes the numbers look even worse. And it's a grade lower, though that's a blow to my ego. On the plus side, they are good people. And it's an important project. The question is whether it's the right decision for me. I'm still not sure ... and am hoping I get some clarity, in a hurry.

In the meantime, one of our best friends was diagnosed with heart failure. He is only a few years older than I am, and in incredible shape: runs half marathons without sweating, bikes miles and miles without a second thought, swims ... and is the energetic stay at home dad to two truly wonderful kids, aged 2 and 5. It was such a shock to hear the news, and right now, it's hard to think of anything else. Though today he's doing better, and his heart is beating on its own, there is still the possibility of a transplant, and even without that, the figuring out of what to do about help with the kids over these next few months. Though this is going to sound ridiculous, part of me doesn't want to go back to work, so that I can help take care of his kids while he heals. I've been watching my friends go through this, admiring their calm, level-headed strength, and wondering if I'd be capable of the same if I ever found myself where they are right now.

And in much more mundane news, our CSA continues to teach us to make do with what we're given. As my son says (or rather, as his teacher taught him), "you get what you get, and you don't get upset." It's been four weeks straight of not much else besides cucumbers and zucchini (and not even good produce, at that), and I've been trying to keep the menu interesting, with squash soup, zucchini frittata, calabacitas, zucchini crusted pizza, zuccanoes, zucchini pancakes (unlinked recipes coming soon) ... and these chocolate zucchini muffins. They actually turned out quite well, and I froze them, and then ... well ... defrosted them and ate them. Because they're, like, healthy. Right?

In yoga this month, we were practicing Hanumanasana, which is basically a split. Years ago, when I was taking regular dance classes, I could do splits; now, I am thankful for bolsters and blankets that my teacher surreptitiously places next to us as class is in session. Hanumanasana teaches us to be completely open, but also to love where we're at instead of cursing ourselves for not getting it "right." It symbolizes (and actually looks like) a leap of devotion, not necessarily to another, but possibly to ourselves, understanding that knowing deep love and knowing our highest selves is one in the same. So much of where I am right now is mid-leap. Perhaps that's the same for all of us?

Chocolate Zucchini Muffins

2 eggs
2 cups shredded zucchini
1 3/4 cup flour
1 cup buttermilk
2/3 cup sugar
1/2 cup oil
1/2 cup cocoa
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon cloves
1/4 teaspoon allspice

Preheat oven to 350. Grease and flour or line 12 wells in a muffin tin. Set aside. In a large bowl, mix together the eggs, oil and buttermilk. Add in all of the dry ingredients, including spices. Mix thoroughly. Stir in zucchini. Fill the prepared wells about 3/4 of the way. Bake 30-40 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the center muffin comes out mostly clean.

What's a UU? 7th Principle Muffins: In Which I Get Religion

2011-07-15T20:23:00.000-07:00

I'm about to talk about one of the things you're never supposed to talk about in polite conversation. Hopefully you'll stick around at the table.

I had the occasion, at a party the other day, to mention that I'm Unitarian Universalist (UU). When I tell people this, they usually look at me like I'm Satan spawn, or at least like I'm a little less credible in the realm of spirituality.

It's sort of funny that I ended up a UU; my husband and I were married by a UU minister, simply because my husband was raised without religion, I was raised Catholic (and had long since left the church because it just wasn't a good fit for me), and we wanted something more than just a civil ceremony, but I never in a million years thought that I'd be a member of a UU fellowship. I remember sitting in the parking lot of the church where the minister who married us was going to meet us, watching people come out, and thinking "hm, so that's what Unitarians look like. They're sort of ... weird." My father, old-world Catholic that he was, almost had a heart attack when we told him what we were doing for our wedding, saying that UU's didn't believe in anything, begging me to reconsider. Luckily for him, I guess, he didn't live long enough to see me sign the book in our church. (Though in all seriousness, he probably would be glad that I at least go to a church.)

After a long hiatus from organized religion, when I was pregnant with my son, about five years ago, we started to look for a spiritual home. It was less that I felt like I needed one, and more that we both wanted a community of somewhat like-minded people to help us raise our child with the kinds of values we espoused. And though we happened upon this particular community by chance (it was a potluck picnic day when we arrived ... how ironic is that, given what you know about me?), it's really come to fit us. Our fellowship is full of young families like ours (though there are plenty of older members, too, and single people, and divorcees, and every other kind of family configuration you can imagine), and the people really do live their values: they're people I find myself looking up to, and wanting to be when I grow up.

So what's a UU? There are seven principles which Unitarian Universalist congregations affirm and promote:

The inherent worth and dignity of every person;
Justice, equity and compassion in human relations;
Acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth in our congregations;
A free and responsible search for truth and meaning;
The right of conscience and the use of the democratic process within our congregations and in society at large;
The goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all;
Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part (more on this, and muffins, in a minute).

Sources of wisdom include

Words and deeds of prophetic women and men which challenge us to confront powers and structures of evil with justice, compassion, and love;
Wisdom from the world's religions which inspires us in our ethical and spiritual life;
Jewish and Christian teachings which call us to love our neighbors as ourselves;
Humanist teachings which counsel us to heed the guidance of reason and the results of science, and warn us against idolatries of the mind and spirit;
Spiritual teachings of earth-centered traditions which celebrate the sacred circle of life and instruct us to live in harmony with the rhythms of nature.

For me, those principles are a no-brainer. They describe how I want to live my life. And the sources of wisdom are the things I've read all my life, that have shaken my foundations, or made me stop and hold my breath.

And it's funny ... I really do find myself thinking twice about my actions, sometimes, because of the community I belong to, and the way that it's required me to articulate my values.

The other day, I interviewed with an office, back at my previous employer, that seeks to recruit and retain women faculty members in the sciences ... to diversify the field. I think I nailed the interview, though unfortunately, it would probably mean a drop in both salary and in title, if I were offered the job (not that I'm jumping the gun here). Thing is, I may be offered the opportunity to live my values. To do something important for a change, besides cater mostly to people who would do just fine without me. It's not often that such an opportunity falls into our laps, is it? Do you get to live your values in your line of work? (SAHMs are definitely included in that question!) Should I can this whole return to higher education, and just open a bakery already, or an online mail-order baked goods supply company (K, from Pull Up Your Potty Seat, says I should ... and even sent me a lovely gift toward my startup supplies ... thank you, K!)

These muffins are another way I get to live my values. They're vegan (so they affirm the 7th principle of recognizing/appreciating the interdependent web of existence, and our role in tending that delicate web), and incredibly delicious. This recipe is modified from one that was developed by one of our fellowship members; I promised not to reveal his secret, but I think I can share my version with you.

7th Principle Fruit and Nut Muffins

1/2 c. raisins
1 c. dried apricots, chopped
1 c. prunes, chopped
1 c. chopped walnuts, lightly toasted
1 c. chopped almonds, lightly toasted
4 T. flax seed neal mixed in 3/4 c. water, set aside to thicken 2-3 minutes
2/3 c. canola oil
2 t. vanilla
1/4 c. orange juice
2 c. white whole wheat flour
1 c. evaporated cane juice (fair trade, please)
2 t. baking soda
4 t. cinnamon
1/2 t. ginger
1/2 t. salt

Place dried fruit in a small saucepan and add enough water to cover. Bring to a boil, remove from heat and let sit 15 minutes to plump fruit. Drain.

Preheat oven to 400. In a large bowl, blend dry ingredients with a whisk. In a small bowl, blend flax mixture, oil, vanilla, juice; pour into a well in the middle of the dry ingredients and mix until just blended. Fold in nuts and fruit.

Line 12 muffin tins with large liners, and fill each cup with a generous helping of batter. Bake at 400 for 20-25 minutes, until lightly brown and springs back to touch.

Pretzels with My Son, the Rock Star

2011-07-06T18:55:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago was the final week of "church" services before our minister's summer break, and our annual celebration of the cool people who make our fellowship function, which, once you start taking stock of what committees people are on, is pretty much everyone sitting in the pews.

There are awards, though: Angel (for someone who gives of themselves to others in the fellowship), Rock Star Youth (for someone who lives their UU values), and Rock Star Child (for general cool UUness, I think).

Well, you can imagine my surprise when they arrived at the child award this year and called I's name. S. and I looked at each other, our jaws on the floor. Really? Our child? Sure, he's a happy kid, but it's not like he's baking pies to raise money for the homeless or anything (as one child actually did last year ... no lie).

But really, truth is, he's a good kid. They talked about how he always has a smile for everyone, and makes people feel happy and at home. That's true; in fact, it's been true since he was a baby. And though I will take partial credit for who he is becoming, I also suspect that a lot of it is hard-wired. I've neglected him in this blog lately, but really, without him being who he is, I would be a lot less sane right now. No, he's not an angel. (See the mischievous twinkle in his eye?) But he's a doting big brother (his sister adores him, and clearly thinks that he walks on water), and when he does listen to directions, he's pretty agreeable. He says things that are funny as hell, and more insightful than many adults I've known. He stands up for himself most of the time, in a way that is gentle but firm. He's a follower, but he can also be a leader. And when I finally recovered from hearing his name called from the podium, my heart swelled with pride.

I. often likes to help in the kitchen (and has been known to take pictures of his food recently, claiming that he's going to post them to my blog. Then he deletes them from his camera. Nut.). Last week we made soft pretzels, as a means of keeping the neighbor's kid entertained for 20 minutes during the day while we were taking care of him. Though his friend had a hard time sitting still for the activity and it's probably more frustrating than I realized to work with pretzel dough the first time around, I. really did beautifully. I'm picturing him here, showing off his "house," which no longer has any doors or windows because they got eaten. Actually, it doesn't have much of a foundation any more, either. But who's looking that closely?

If you have little people in your life, whether they live with you or not, this is a great activity for rainy days or hot days when you're stuck indoors (yes, I know, I shouldn't be turning on my oven on hot days, because my air conditioning works harder, sapping energy from the grid, etc. etc. ... trust me, this is not an every day occurrence). And if you don't know any little people, it's still fun to play with the dough as an adult; it can take a pretty good beating, and it's not as temperamental as a loaf of bread. The nice thing about this recipe is that you don't even have to wait for the dough to rise ... which can be difficult for people with a short attention span (no matter how old you are)!

Soft Pretzels

1 T. active dry yeast
1 ½ c. warm water
1 T. sugar
1 t. salt
4 c. flour
1 egg, beaten
kosher salt for sprinkling

Dissolve yeast into water. Add in sugar and salt, mix well. Slowly add in 4 cups of flour. Mix and knead well for about 5 to 10 minutes. Add flour as needed to reduce stickiness. The dough is finished when it is smooth and elastic. Now you can begin shaping pieces of the dough. Place on a cookie sheet covered in parchment and/or lightly sprayed with old, brush with beaten egg* and sprinkle with salt. Bake at 425 for 15 minutes or so until golden brown.

*you can also dip pretzels in a baking soda bath (½ cup hot water and 1 ½ tablespoon of baking soda), which is a nice option if you're vegan.

Finding My Tribe: Vegetarian Tortilla Soup

2011-07-01T20:30:00.000-07:00

There have been some interesting posts around the blogosphere lately about friendship. Mel wrote a great post about female friendships that has inspired quite the lively discussion and remembrance of friends past. Trinity has been writing about her efforts as a relatively new SAHM to forge new relationships with others in that position, about how different she suspected they might be, and how, later, she discovered that they might not be so different after all. Esperanza wrote about her relationship to the blogging community, and her difficulty finding friends in "real life" that she connects with in the same way she connects online.

All of these have had me thinking about my own friendship history, or lack thereof. It's not that I don't have friends, but rather, that I've never had the kind of female friends that Mel describes, the ones that "profoundly change you" and set you on a new life path. In elementary school, I was too smart and too different to be included. I did have a series of "best friends" back then, but they were more like "only friends" than anything else, other social misfits like me. In high school, I had another series of "best friends," but I've drifted apart from nearly all of them, for geographical and ideological reasons, though we now stalk each other on fb. In college, I had a group of great friends, many of whom I'm still in touch with, but I connected better with the males than the females--so much so that I had a "dude of honor" at our wedding, instead of a maid or a matron.

Soon after I had my son four years ago, I joined and was soon kicked out of the stay-at-home-moms group because I wasn't attending enough of their meetings, despite the fact that I actually took days off to attend playdates--talk about neurotic! They weren't really my tribe anyway, and I started a working moms group in my county, in the hopes of finding other women who were dealing with the same challenges I was. Now, four years later, oddly enough, though I do count many of those women as friends, I feel like it's created more close relationships for the other members of the group than it has for me. To be honest, I've always been a little bit jealous of those women for whom those relationships seem to come so easily, and wondered what I was missing, what I was doing wrong.

In the past year or so, I've noticed that I finally seem to be developing more friendships with women. I still don't think I would call them at three a.m. for a two hour conversation, but they're people I trust, and to whom I relate. I don't know what's precipitated the change, other than the fact that maybe I'm becoming more willing to let down my own guard; it could just be that I've finally met the right people. It could also be that technology has given me a platform that allows me to build relationships in a safer space, strange as that may sound. We've all read about the ways in which social media isolates us, but in other ways, I suspect that it enables relationships that would never otherwise exist.

This recipe was originally from Ree over at Pioneer Woman, but I've adapted it to my own tastes and dietary leanings. It's particularly apt because as I was enjoying a long walk with a friend this past week we discovered that we'd both just been looking at it recently. This soup is good for summer: unfussy, but filling, a little spicy, and highly adaptable ... just like good friends should be.

Tell us: do you have a "best friend" as Mel describes? How did you find your "tribe"?

Vegetarian Tortilla Soup

1½ t. cumin
1 t. chili powder
½ t. garlic powder
½ t. salt
1 T. olive oil
1 c. diced onion
½ c. diced red bell pepper
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 can (10 Oz. Can) Rotel tomatoes and green chilies
32 oz. (4 c.) low sodium vegetable stock
3 T. tomato paste
4 cups hot water
2 cans (15 Oz. Can) black beans, drained and rinsed
½ c. frozen corn
3 T. cornmeal
5 corn tortillas, cut into 2-3" strips

garnishes:
sour cream/greek yogurt
diced avocado
diced red onion
grated monterey jack or cheddar
cilantro

Heat olive oil in a pot over medium high heat. Add onions, red pepper, and minced garlic. Stir and begin cooking, then add the spice mix. Stir to combine.

Pour in Rotel, chicken stock, tomato paste, water, and black beans. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to a simmer. Simmer for 45 minutes, uncovered.

Mix cornmeal with a small amount of water. Pour into the soup, then simmer for an additional 30 minutes. Check seasonings, adding more if needed—add more chili powder if it needs more spice, and be sure not to undersalt. Add the frozen corn. Turn off heat and allow to sit for 15 to 20 minutes before serving. Five minutes before serving, gently stir in tortilla strips.

Ladle into bowls, then top with whatever garnishes you like!

Inventing Fatherhood: Caldo de Perro

2011-06-24T20:38:00.000-07:00

I had intended to post something for Father's Day, and then Father's Day came and went. But I've been thinking about how we celebrate fatherhood in this country, especially after reading (thanks to the Prompt-ly list and some Facebook friends) the recent NYTimes article about a single woman whose sperm donor is a friend who now lives part-time with her and her son (the other half of the time he lives with his partner), and goes by the title "uncle." There are a host of issues about secrecy and identity that I could talk about here (e.g. how one tells a child where he/she comes from), but I will leave those for another blogger to tackle. What I was struck by was how the labels we have for the people who shape the lives of our children, and the celebration of those contributions, are woefully inadequate, especially given the way families vary now.

I come from a family that is pretty "traditional" according to most standards: a dad, a mom, both of them my biological parents. And yet, when I was growing up, there were a host of other really important parental figures in my life. If we're just talking about male figures, there are at least two: my high school friend's father, whom I referred to as "Dad," gave me the kind of open affection that my own father could not. Twenty years later, though he lives an hour away, he baked a big pan of pasta for us when N. was born, and had his daughter deliver it. I'd ask him for parenting advice in a heartbeat. My high school English teacher, though he was a little more avuncular, was the kind of confidante I had always wanted in a father figure. He made it possible for me to survive high school with my self-esteem intact, and gave me a safe haven to escape to when I needed it. I felt like I had a safety net in that relationship that I didn't feel I had at home.

The family arrangement described in the NY Times article is imperfect. But what family arrangement--even the traditional one-mother one-father household--is? Fatherhood (and motherhood, for that matter) is a construct that we've invented--a problematic one, at that, given how we put parents on pedestals--and what really matters is that our children feel loved, have role models and caregivers of both genders, and have parents who are supported in the important work of nurturing the next generation.

Did you know that Children’s Day observations in the United States (during which parents are also celebrated) predate both Mother's and Father's Day, though a permanent annual single Children's Day observation is not made at the national level? And there is a Parent's Day, celebrated on the 4th Sunday of July, signed into law by President Clinton in 1994? (Interesting aside: U.S. Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg said that "Replacing Mother's Day and Father's Day with a Parents' Day should be considered, as an observance more consistent with a policy of minimizing traditional sex-based differences in parental roles."

It's funny. As I was mulling over this post, I realized that I miss the person I wish my father might have become. In a way, the longer he's been gone, the more I invent him. It's not that I don't have good memories, or that I don't appreciate what he gave me when he raised me. It's just that my relationship with him didn't follow the Hallmark script, and certainly didn't involve barbecue, beer, a tie, and a lounge chair by the TV set. (Actually, scratch that ... there was a recliner in front of the TV set. But the TV was playing Sabado Gigante.) And that he wasn't the only one who made me who I am.

So here's to important men in our lives everywhere. Not just the biological fathers, or the adoptive ones, but the men who mentor us, who hold our hands as we take our first and four hundredth steps, who make sacrifices for us, who teach us and scold us. It doesn't matter, in the end, I think, what name they go by ... what matters is that they were there.

Caldo de Perro
(a recipe my father would have liked more than barbecue, made for me by some good friends just before I had N.)

1 T. olive oil
2 onions, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
grated zest 1 orange
4 c. fish stock
1 1/2 lb. firm white fish, chunked
8 small new potatoes, halved
4 c. spinach
1/2 c. orange juice
1/4 c. lime juice

Boil potatoes

Saute onion in oil for 5-7 min. Add garlic and zest for 3 min. Add stock and boil/simmer for 10 min. Add fish and simmer until opaque

Put potatoes in bowl, will slotted spoon, transfer fish to bowls. Add greens and lime juice to broth until wilted. Season and pour into bowls.

What Neighbors are For: Low Carb Gluten-Free Cheesecake

2011-06-20T19:31:00.000-07:00

When my husband and I first looked at this house, we wondered whether it was on the "right" side of the tracks. It was early March, and things were dead in this hemisphere, and the road was completely torn up, in the process of being repaved. Trees had been uprooted to make way for new sidewalks and curbs. But at the time, we knew nothing of the planned improvements, and it just looked a little scary. And no one was outside to tell us differently.

We wound up loving the house, though, or at least loving it more than we'd loved others we'd looked at, and seeing as we were essentially being evicted at the time, we decided to take the plunge.

It turned out to be one of the best possible moves we could have made. There's something about this street that cultivates community in a way that I've never experienced it anywhere else: I know not only my immediate neighbors, but many of the people up and down the street. I feel like I could walk over to any house and ask to borrow and egg, or a cup of flour, or a pair of jumper cables. People bake casseroles when babies are born and when family members are sick. The guy who owns a painting business has painted many of the houses (though whether he follows through on promised touch-ups is another story). You can hear the neighbors playing their homework at the piano teacher's house. We have babysitters three doors down. I carpool to yoga with two of the women on the street. It's really an awesome place to live. And oddly enough, people who move here seem to fit right in, even if they don't stay long. (How I can say this just after a post about my inability to connect with the SAHMs on the street is complicated ... let's just say it's a different kind of relationship.)

This week I'm watching one of the neighbors' children for a few days, because his mom is a teacher, and has a gap in care between the end of his daycare and the beginning of her summer break. I'm not doing it because I'm a great human being; it's more that I know exactly what it feels like to be in a bind for child care ... those snowy mornings when we got an early phone call, and S. and I both had to go to work, are the worst. He's a very active little boy, and I've kept my own son home from school/camp this week to play with him, but honestly, I feel a little drained after today ... especially since I'm also managing the (minimalist) napping and (insatiable) nursing schedule of my four month old. I've been rummaging in the pantry for stamina, and finding dark chocolate and multigrain tortilla chips, instead. No wonder I can't lose these last 10 pounds.

But the thing is, it really does take a village to raise a child ... or to do anything else, for that matter. While I celebrate the blogging community and the rich landscape of social media (I am still trying to manage Twitter, and am drowning in Tweets), I also mourn the loss of real-life community that makes so many people turn elsewhere for support.

It's not like I expect the world to be like the Truman Show. There are times I don't feel like talking to my neighbors, and times they don't feel like talking to me. We piss each other off with regularity. I just wish that community were more evident in more places more often than when the nor'easter hits, or when you need to activate the casserole brigade.

Last week, one of my neighbors asked me to bake her sister, who is on a very strict diet, a no-carb (or very low carb) birthday treat. It was fun to brainstorm with her about what she could eat, and even more fun to cook something up that she really enjoyed. She wound up paying me, insisting that she was building my catering business, but I would have done it even if she hadn't. I know that the karma will come back around, anyway.

I don't like to use artificial sweeteners, but I did so this time because of the circumstances. You could use regular sugar and it would work just as well. Go make them for a neighbor, or for a dozen neighbors. What better way to celebrate the beginning of summer than with the people you share your daily space with?

Low Carb Cheesecake

3 packages (1 and 1/2 lbs) cream cheese (room temperature)
4 eggs (preferably room temperature)
1 1/2 t. vanilla
1 1/2 t. lemon juice
1 1/3 c. sugar equivalent of artificial sweetener
1/4 c. sour cream
Crust: (double if using muffin cups)
1 c. almond meal
2 T. melted butter
2 T. sugar or equivalent in artificial sweetener

Heat oven to 375 F.

Tip: If you have bricks or a pizza stone, put them on the lower rack of the oven. This will hold the heat in the oven. This is good for cheesecakes not baked in a water bath. (Well, actually, it's helpful for any kind of baking, as it keeps the heat in the oven more constant. I keep a pizza stone in the oven most of the time.)

Combine ingredients for crust, and press into the bottom of a springform pan or into 24 muffin cups. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes, until fragrant and beginning to brown.

Raise oven heat to 400 F, or lower to 350 F if you're using a water bath (see below ... I used the non-water-bath method, and it worked quite well).

Put cream cheese in mixing bowl, and beat until fluffy. Add other ingredients, scraping the bowl and beaters each time (this is very important), fully incorporating each ingredient. When all ingredients are combined, scrape one more time, beat one more minute, and pour mixture into pan over crust.

Instructions for water bath: Wrap the bottom and sides of the springform pan in foil, put it in a baking pan and pour boiling water around the sides. Bake at 350 F for 60 to 90 minutes, checking often. When the cake is firm to touch but slightly soft in the center, or the center reaches 155 F, remove from oven.

Instructions for non-water bath: For this method, you start the cake at a high temperature, and it slowly drops. If you have stoneware, bricks, etc, this allows it to happen at a slower rate, and you'll get better results in less time. Put the cheesecake on a sheet pan in case of drippage. After putting the cheesecake in the oven at 400 F, turn the oven down to 200 F. Bake for 60 to 90 minutes, checking often after an hour. When the cake is firm to touch but slightly soft in the center, or the center reaches 155 F, remove from oven. (Mini cakes will take less time; start checking after 30 minutes or so, but be careful not to open the oven too often, as it will drop the temperature more rapidly.)

Chill completely. Top with fruit, if desired

The Way of the Warrior and the SAHM: Kale Chips

2011-06-15T10:16:00.000-07:00

Around this time last year, when I didn't think I was going to be having a baby, and was mentally preparing myself for yoga teacher training as a way of distracting myself from loss and infertility, I started to read the Bhagavad Gita.

In some respects, it's an easy book to read. But it's also a difficult text to wrap your mind around, if you start thinking about it enough. And I'm an expert at overthinking things.

It was interesting to me that a text that's supposed to be about a more peaceful way of being in the world is situated in a war. Technically, though, the protagonist of the story--and, by extension, the yogi--is a warrior against his (her) own ignorance.

This month in yoga class we're focusing on Virabhadrasana, or Warrior Pose. If you've ever practiced yoga, you know that Virabhadrasana's a humbling posture: you're balancing, half-squatting, reaching, grounding all at the same time. If you attempt to stay in the post for any length of time, chances are you'll confront your own bodily, emotional, or mental weaknesses. But Virabhadrasana isn't about experiencing pain; it's about rising up out of your own limitations: whatever limitations you have, the pose will reveal them so that they can be addressed. When viewed this way, Warrior can be seen as fighting the good fight, seeking the triumph of spirit.

It occurs to me that being at home with my four month old daughter is a lot like practicing Virabhadrasana. Increasingly, each day, I find myself asking, who am I, anyway, this stay at home mom person? I'm juggling a host of new things that I never really had to juggle before in this particular way (though I had to do them all, I had time away with adult conversation and contact that refreshed me a bit). I'm reaching in ten different directions simultaneously. And I can see my limitations all too clearly.

I'm still a control freak. When N. doesn't want to nap, I feel like my brain is going to explode. When she naps for a long time, I keep orbiting her, trying to figure out when she's going to wake up. I keep my calendar like I did at work, full of things, only to have people cancel or forget or need to change plans. I need to be "busy." And sometimes being busy prevents me from actually enjoying parenting.

And yet, at the same time, I have trouble going out of my way to make friends. There are four or five other stay at home moms on the street. I've known them all in passing for a while. So why am I not walking over to these people's houses to ask if they want to take a walk or have coffee? I'm so wrapped up in my solitary routine, needing to be a good one-on-one parent, thinking that I have to play with my daughter Every.Single.Second (I feel guilty doing laundry while she's awake) that I don't build in the kind of relationship-building that I will need if I'm going to do this for any length of time.

I need to remember what the Gita teaches us about acting and not being attached to the result of the action, what we can't control, and giving ourselves the right tools to fight the good fight, against our often stubborn ignorance, against our unwillingness to let the universe unfold as it will around us.

These are good for snacking when you need extra strength to fight the good fight ... and when your access to the kitchen is a little too easy for your own good.

Kale Chips

1 bunch (about 6 ounces) kale
1 tablespoon olive oil
Sea salt, to taste

Preheat oven to 300°F. Rinse and dry the kale, then remove the stems and tough center ribs. Cut into large pieces, toss with olive oil in a bowl then sprinkle with salt. Arrange leaves in a single layer on a large baking sheet (I also lined mine with parchment for easy clean-up but there’s no reason that you must). Bake for 20 minutes, or until crisp. Place baking sheet on a rack to cool.

Learning to Eat: Vegetable Jalfrezi

2011-06-13T05:23:00.000-07:00

(First, thanks for the lovely comments on my last post ... I swear, I wasn't fishing for compliments!)

This weekend, at the suggestions of the pediatrician last week at N.'s four month checkup, we fed N. rice cereal for the first time. She's been eying my plate for over two weeks now when she sits on my lap, sometimes very intently batting at it with her hand, and in the last few days, she has been following the food with eyes that say, "c'mon now, really? you're not even going to give me a bite?!" At coffee hour, when I'm wearing her facing forward, she strains towards the plate of cake, and at a barbecue this weekend, she actually interrupted the fork en route to my mouth. While I know that the introduction of solid foods is controversial, especially among breastfeeding mamas, and that now many people recommend starting at six months or even later, we did it this way with my son when he seemed ready (also at four months), and it seemed to work, so we decided to do the same when N. was ready, too, provided it was suggested by her doctor. I think that learning to eat should be a fun activity, and though we don't plan to make solids her sole source of sustenance for a long, long time, we will likely combine the approaches of "give the baby a bunch of mushy food on her tray and some of it will get into her mouth" and "feed the baby by hand." We started with the latter, and she actually pulled my hand, holding the spoon, into her mouth, where she gobbled it up. Not much came back out, either. She's a quick study, that girl. I almost felt badly about feeding her something so bland, and had to restrain myself from running to the kitchen for some garam masala to season it.

On the one hand, the milestone made me sad that my little girl is growing up so fast; as much as I don't love being on constant Bo.oby Call at the All Day Cafe, I love how she looks up at me, nestles into me, when I am feeding her. I love her wide eyes, her little half-smile when she's awake and nursing. I waited so long for her to come ... and already, in imperceptible ways, she's leaving. At the same time I'm excited that I'll soon be able to introduce her to the rich diversity of foods that I have come to enjoy. Our CSA starts soon, and I'll be able to feed N. some of the amazing fresh organic produce that comes from a farm just down the road from us. She is a lucky child, to have summer vegetables for her first foods.

As I scooped away the leftovers of this dish the other night, I thought to myself that it would make an excellent advanced baby puree. Move over, Ty.ler Flo.rence.

Vegetable Jalfrezi
Serves 4-6, adapted from Marcus Samuelsson's New American Table

1 lb unpeeled sweet potatoes, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
1/2 c. lentils
1/2 c. peeled and diced carrots (2-3 carrots)
2 eggplants, cut into 1-inch cubes
2 T. olive oil
4 green Thai chiles or 2 dried chiles de arbol, seeded and chopped (optional; I omitted these)
6 cloves garlic, chopped
2 red onions, chopped
2 T. garam masala
1 t. yellow mustard seeds
1 t. ground cumin
4 tomatoes, chopped
1 c. coconut milk
Juice of 2 limes
1 T. chopped cilantro
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
4-6 pita rounds
Lemon-tahini sauce (recipe below)
Whole wheat pitas (for serving)

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the potatoes, lentils, carrots, and eggplants and boil for 10 minutes. Strain and set aside.

In a large saute pan, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the chiles, garlic, onions, garam masala, mustard seeds, cumin and tomatoes and saute until softened, about 5 minutes. Add the coconut milk and reserved sweet potatoes, lentils, carrots, and eggplants and simmer until the veggies are softened, another 10 minutes. Stir in the lime juice and cilantro and season with salt and pepper.

Slice the pitas to form pockets. Spoon in the vegetables. Drizzle with lemon-tahini sauce.

Lemon-Tahini Sauce

1 Twater (plus more to taste)
3 cloves garlic, chopped
1 t. sesame seeds
1 t. za'atar (I made my own - 1/4 cup sumac, 2 tbsp thyme, 1 tbsp roasted sesame seeds, 2 tbsp marjoram, 2 tbsp oregano, 1 tsp coarse salt - whiz together in food processor/blender/spice grinder)
2 T. tahini
Juice of 1 lemon
1 T. hopped chives
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Combine the ingredients in a food processor. Puree until smooth. Add more water and salt/pepper to taste.

How Blogging Saved the Day: Gluten Free Vegan Chocolate Cupcakes

2011-06-07T06:20:00.000-07:00

In my church, coffee hour is a big deal. It's not that we don't come for the service. It's just that the fellowship is every bit as important as what happens in the sanctuary. We talk about the sermon, our kids, surgeries and illnesses, social justice efforts, new jobs, good books. But one of the things I really like about coffee hour is that adults don't just chat with other adults; we also talk with the children, who come and go from the fenced in playground. This past week, for example, I learned how to "eat" honeysuckle nectar from a ten year old, who was completely shocked that I'd never done it before. (It was absolutely delicious, in case you've never tried it either, and I now need to find a way to replicate that flavor in baked goods.)

I'm a firm believer that some of the best conversations happen when you break bread with someone, and because my fellow UUs agree, there are always treats at coffee hour: kids and adults alike orbit tables filled with home-baked muffins and scones and cookies, and fruit and cheese and crackers. People linger after services, and for good reason.

Recently, one of the little girls in the fellowship was diagnosed with a host of food allergies: to gluten, to wheat, to flax, to eggs, to peanuts, and to dairy. Needless to say, she's been very sad at coffee hour (and at church in general), and wouldn't talk with anyone about her allergies. Come to think of it, she hadn't been talking much with anyone at all ... she'd mostly been burying her head in her mother's lap. I decided that I needed to put my baking talents to good use, and so I asked if I could make her some treats. She nodded shyly, eyes wide, flashing me a half smile.

When I showed up with chocolate cupcakes this past week in a special container with her name on it, you would have thought I'd given her the moon. I assured her that there were other people out there who had the same sensitivities she had (in fact, I had some great blogs for her to read), and that it was possible to make some really tasty treats ... that this was a chance for her to learn how to be an expert baker. She agreed, picking up a cupcake with a wide-mouthed grin, and taking a big lick of frosting.

As someone without any food sensitivities myself, honestly, I probably would not have delved into the world of alternative ingredients had it not been for the blogsophere. Elana and Karina educated me about gluten sensitivities. Lots of others helped me to learn about the ins and outs of vegan baking (though these are adapted from Isa Chandra Moskowitz and Terry Hope Romero's excellent Vegan Cupcakes Take Over the World). And strangely enough, it was through food blogs that I learned about the ALI blogging community, which continues to be an incredible source of support for me, even after my successful pregnancy. I've been thinking about Mel's post this week about the "small blog," and how much I love the fact that blogging--even the small blogs about mundane things like food--has helped people to connect with each other and do something good. This is "enough." It's not about having a gazillion followers, but making some small difference in the world, just by adding our voices and our perspectives to the conversation. And who knows what the ripple effects might be?

(Of course, this is making me even sadder that I'm not going to be able to swing a trip to BlogHer'11. Wah.)

Here's the recipe for the cupcakes. It's usually recommended to use xanthan gum with gluten free flours, but I can't bring myself to buy a $10 box of the stuff to use only a tiny bit ... so I did without it, and it seemed to work fine both times I tried it. The secret of these cupcakes is to use really high quality vanilla and high quality cocoa powder (I use a fair trade variety), because that's the taste that comes through!

Gluten Free Vegan Chocolate Cupcakes

1 c. soy milk
1 t. apple cider vinegar
3/4 c. granulated sugar
1/3 c. canola oil
1 1/2 t. vanilla extract
3/4 c. fava bean and garbanzo flour
1/4 c. potato starch
2 T. arrowroot
(or substitute the above three with 1 c. Bob's Red Mill Gluten Free all purpose baking flour)
3/4 t. xanthan gum (optional)
1/3 c. good quality cocoa powder, Dutch-processed or regular
3/4 t. baking soda
1/2 t. baking powder
1/4 t. salt

Preheat oven to 350°F and line a muffin pan with paper or foil liners.

Whisk together the soy milk and vinegar in a large bowl, and set aside for a few minutes to curdle. Add the sugar, oil, vanilla extract, and other extract, if using, to the soy milk mixture and beat until foamy. In a separate bowl, sift together the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Add in two batches to wet ingredients and beat until no large lumps remain (a few tiny lumps are OK). Be careful not to overmix; you'll find that if you do, your cupcakes will sink in the middle after baking!

Pour into liners, filling 3/4 of the way. Bake 18 to 20 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Transfer to a cooling rack and let cool completely.

Gluten Free Vegan Chocolate Frosting

1/2 c. nonhydrogenated shortening (Spectrum organic)
1/2 c. nonhydrogenated margarine (Earth Balance Vegan)
3 1/2 c. powdered sugar, sifted if clumpy
2 t. vanilla extract
1/4 c. plain soy milk or soy creamer
1/4 c. or more of cocoa powder

Beat the shortening and margarine together until well combined and fluffy. Add the sugar and beat for about 3 more minutes.

Add the vanilla and soy milk, and beat for another 5 to 7 minutes until fluffy.

You can add cocoa powder to the frosting to make it chocolatey ... add until you like the taste.

Make them for someone you love!

Spackling and Sanding, and Old Fashioned Lime Pie

2011-06-03T19:13:00.000-07:00

This week marked my husband's and my ninth wedding anniversary. It's hard to believe we've been married that long, though then again, it's hard to believe that we have a four year old son and a four month old daughter. We celebrated by getting a babysitter and slipping away right after N. went to sleep for her first "long sleep" of the night, and we were able to eat dinner -- at a nice restaurant! -- and get home before she started to stir.

I've been doing some work in the kitchen these past two weeks in preparation for new countertops (the old ones are actually mold-filled pressed wood, so we need new ones, despite the somewhat inconvenient timing that coincided with our shift to a single-income household), and I've been thinking that spackling and sanding is a lot like marriage, or really, any long-term committed relationship. You start out with something that looks pristine, but then, over time, things change, and you create holes that you have to patch up, so you get new drywall, and you spackle and sand. You probably spackle and sand three times--maybe you even prime it once somewhere in there, hoping that will help--before you realize that you can never smooth the rough patches over entirely; your wall has changed. Heck, maybe your house was a little crooked to begin with, so you couldn't possibly put the new drywall in without incident. Still, you put a whole lot of time and energy into this project, and the wall is whole again, and that's what's important, even if it's got bumps and divets. You take the next step and prime it, and then you paint, knowing that paint will hide a lot of flaws. And chances are you'll have to go through the whole process all over again more times than you will care to before you leave the house for good.

Part of the sanding and spackling in a good relationship is compromise. Though it will seem like a silly example: S. loves citrusy desserts. The more tart and tangy, the better. I made this pie for him before we got married, knowing that the quickest way to many people's hearts is through their stomachs. S. lovingly refers to it as "blood lime pie" because I have a tendency to grate my skin when I'm grating lime peel, and I also sliced my finger open the first time when I was slicing limes for the garnish. It's one of the few desserts I have in my cookbook that I don't much like (I'm sure that it came from someone's church cookbook years ago), but S. likes it ... and so when I have a chance to make it and serve it to more people than our intimate little clan, I do.

Happy anniversary, S. Here's to many more years of home maintainance.

Old Fashioned Lime Pie

36 vanilla wafer cookies (4.75 oz)
1/4 c. unsalted butter, melted
1/2 t. plus 1 T. grated lime zest
14 oz. sweetened condensed milk
3/4 c. fresh lime juice
2 large eggs
Lime slices or lime peel curls

Preheat oven to 350°F. Finely grind vanilla wafers in processor. Add melted butter and 1/2 teaspoon grated lime peel; process until moist crumbs form. Transfer to 9-inch-diameter glass pie dish. Using plastic wrap as aid, press crumbs onto bottom and up sides of dish (crust will be thin). Bake just until crust begins to turn golden on edges, about 10 minutes. Remove from oven. Maintain oven temperature.

Meanwhile, whisk condensed milk, lime juice and 1 tablespoon lime peel in medium bowl to blend. Whisk in eggs.

Pour filling into warm crust. Bake until filling is set, about 20 minutes. Cool. Refrigerate until chilled, about 3 hours. (Can be prepared 1 day ahead. Cover and keep refrigerated.) Garnish with lime slices or curls of lime peel. Cut into wedges; serve.

Purging: Curried Chopped Vegetable Salad with Pesto Pita Wedges

2011-05-28T20:10:00.000-07:00

I am not a hoarder. I think this is partly reactionary: in the house where I grew up, there is so much food in the basement, for example, that I know it would be my shelter of choice in the event of a nuclear fallout. My mother has bags of clothes she's never worn, in multiple sizes, crowding around the bed in her room. Piles of magazines tower in the corners, dating back to the 80s. When my father was alive, he was able to keep the clutter to a minimum, but now that he's gone, it's gotten progressively worse.

And so throughout my life, I've lived as minimally as possible. Every week, by Friday, my refrigerator is almost completely empty, save a few standard condiments. My wardrobe, such as it is, has not changed much in the past 12 years ... I hate to go clothes shopping. And I seem not to accumulate things.

Except for books.

When I moved to LA, books took up most of the space in my car. When I moved back, they took up three times as much room. Each time, there were more and more boxes. I couldn't bear to part with them: even the ones I never read again were like trophies, signifying some kind of survival. Like Gravity's Rainbow. God, I hated that book.

But in the past few years, we've been trying to purge our book collection every once in a while, to make room for new books, and to make some space on just a few shelves for children's things (I will say here that our house still looks like a house owned by adults, where children live, which I think is a positive thing). And as I've emptied my office back into our house, I've had to make some difficult decisions about what will stay and what will go. In the process, this time, I had to let go of a lot of books on English literary theory that I collected during my first graduate program. It was hard -- I felt like I was shutting a door on a room that I would never open again. I didn't want to let those books go: they defined a part of me. But I chose a different path, and it's partly disingenuous of me to keep them.

The first time I went to the White Dog Cafe, I was being wooed by U Penn for graduate school. (The White Dog is a pretty cool place, if you've never been there: founded by social activist Judy Wicks, it's known for its unusual blend of award-winning contemporary American cuisine, civic engagement and environmental sustainability). I remember feeling very grown-up, and sophisticated, and intellectual. These people wanted me to come join them badly enough that they would pay for my lunch at a nice restaurant! Little did I know that though I would not end up there for graduate school, I'd find myself there years later with my to-be-husband, who would buy me the cookbook for my birthday. And little did I know I'd befriend a woman who worked there, moved to VT, and then found herself living practically in my back yard. Karma works in strange ways.

I made this dish from the White Dog Cookbook the other night for dinner, thinking about the beginning of that graduate school career, and the ending of my current career, and the transitions we make throughout life, but how, too, there are those strange constants in the background. And that no matter what I've purged from my shelf, I am the same person who was wooed by Penn at the White Dog and who read Gravity's Rainbow in a bathtub filled with ice cubes in LA, in an attempt to cool off during a particularly hot summer day while preparing for my comprehensive exams. And I don't need the trophy to remind me.

(What are the things that you find most difficult to get rid of?)

Curried Chopped Vegetable Salad

1 carrot, finely diced
1 red bell pepper, finely diced
1 green bell pepper, finely diced
1 green onion, thinly sliced
1 cucumber, peeled, seeded and finely >diced
1 rib celery, finely diced
3 tablespoons cider vinegar
1 t. Dijon mustard
1 t. fresh lemon juice
1 T. minced red onion
1/4 t. minced garlic
1 t. Madras curry powder
1/2 t. granulated sugar
1/4 c. olive oil
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper

8 oz. chevre
1/4 c. purchased or homemade basil pesto
(or get a chevre with garlic and basil already mixed into it and skip the pesto)
2 whole-wheat pita rounds, each cut into 2 thin circles

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Combine carrot, bell peppers, green onion, cucumber and celery in a mixing bowl.

In a separate bowl, whisk together vinegar, mustard, lemon juice, red onion, garlic, curry powder and sugar. Slowly whisk in the oil to form an emulsion. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Pour the vinaigrette over the vegetables; toss well. Set aside.

Divide the chevre between 2 of the pita bread circles, spreading the cheese over the surface of 1 side of each. Spread the remaining 2 pita bread circles with basil pesto, covering the surfaces completely. Sandwich each cheese pita half with a pesto-coated pita half. Place sandwiches on a baking sheet and bake until golden, about 12 minutes. Cut each pita sandwich into 4 wedges.

For each serving, arrange 2 pita wedges atop 1/2 cup of the chopped dressed vegetables.

Roll With It: Lasagna Rolls

2011-05-26T06:50:00.000-07:00

First, thanks for all of your supportive and encouraging comments on my last post. It's funny: I remember the last time I left something, also on my own terms (though for more neutral reasons), I was driving back to the East Coast from LA, leaving my first graduate program. It was exhiliarating, realizing that I was free. And I felt the same way this time, practically skipping after I left the meeting where I handed over my letters. I have to see those people one last time, and then no more.

The outpouring of support from my colleagues and faculty members has also been pretty overwhelming. I sent an email explaining my departure to about 200 faculty members (not offering reasons or motivations), and so many responses came back saying things like "you were the heart and soul of this program" and "this is a terrible thing for XYZ University" and "say it isn't so." I imagine that the experience is almost like being at your own funeral, listening to the eulogy: both wonderful and awful at the same time.

At yoga class this week, my teacher talked about how when we are wobbly in our asanas, we should relax into the wobbliness, instead of trying to stiffen our posture in an attempt to balance. In life, we don't like change and uncertainty, she said, so we resist, we become rigid. In doing so, we make ourselves more susceptible to falling, because we can't move to catch ourselves in time. Acceptance of imbalance in order to achieve balance seems counter-intuitive, but it's strangely effective (I tried it myself in class), and it translates well to what I should probably do now. Life is constant change and flux; what we perceive as stasis is only imagined.

Since we are not incredibly wealthy, I will need to look for a job at some point. And I don't want too much time to go by, because I want to ensure that my credentials are still "fresh." But today, I was looking at my daughter thinking how incredibly lucky I was to be here with her, right now, here, to be given the gift of parenting this small life, and to be able to spend time with her.

This recipe is far from gourmet (and not terribly interesting), but it's a different way of doing the same old thing, and a little more free-form than the layers we're used to. Accept the messiness and wobbliness, and you might discover what's really good inside.

Lasagna Rolls

Half box lasagna noodles (or however many you have left: 8-10)
1 T. olive oil
1 bunch chard, spinach, or kale, chopped (you can also use 1/2 lb. frozen, defrosted and squeezed)
1 c. ricotta cheese
2/3 c. shredded mozzarella cheese
1/3 c. shredded parmesan cheese
1 egg
Salt and pepper
1 1/4 c. or more pasta sauce

Preheat oven to 375. Cook lasagna noodles, drain, and lay them flat on a plate or over the sides of a colander in order to keep them from sticking together.

Meanwhile, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the greens and cook until wilted. (If you are using the frozen greens, skip this step.)

In a medium bowl, mix together the ricotta, half the mozzarella, egg, salt, and pepper. You can add the greens to the cheese mixture, or keep it separate – mixing them will reduce assembly time later.

Spread a spoonful of pasta sauce in the bottom of a casserole pan. Assemble the rolls by spreading a spoonful of cheese mixture, then greens (if applicable), and then pasta sauce on each pasta sheet. Avoid the temptation to overfill, as it might leak when you roll up. Leave the last inch of the pasta empty. Roll up pasta, ending with the uncovered edge. Place each roll in the casserole pan with the seam on the bottom. Continue until all noodles are rolled.

Pour remaining pasta sauce over rolls, then sprinkle with remaining mozzarella. Bake for 35-40 minutes.

When Life Gives You Lemons, II: Lemonade Layer Cake

2011-05-23T08:48:00.000-07:00

For three years of my life, while I went to graduate school, I lived in a one bedroom apartment in West Hollywood not far from the Melrose strip. It was an interesting neighborhood for lots of reasons (for example, I lived next door to a drag queen on one side and a rockabilly singer on the other, and upstairs from a large family of Russian Jewish people), but one of the things I still miss is a little bakery called Sweet Lady Jane. It remains, to my knowledge, anyway, one of the few places that specializes in slices of gourmet cake. You walk in, gaze into the case, choose your cake, order some tea, and sit down to revel in the lovely explosion of flavor in your mouth, taking in the other customers and feeling your cares melt away.

Some people drown their graduate school sorrows in Cuervo; more than once, I found myself drowning my sorrows (or joys or frustrations) in cake at SLJ. When I found out that one of my college friends had died from cancer at the age of 25, I walked up the street and ordered a slice of the White Chocolate Raspberry cake, remembering him and his love of sweet and pure things, and mourning the loss of a life cut too short. When I passed my comprehensive exams, I treated myself to a slice of Flourless Chocolate Decadence, savoring the rich, dark flavor of success. When I made the decision to leave my first graduate program ABD (before I knew I would be getting my doctoral degree in something that was a much better fit), I savored a slice of Raspberry Lemon Cake: sweet, but also bitter.

I have just submitted the following letter (names and places changed to protect the people involved, of course). If there's one thing that pregnancy loss and infertility have taught me, it's that life is too precious a gift to waste. If you know of anyone looking for a smart, thoughtful, visionary woman in the NY/NJ area who works her tail off for the right people and a good cause, please put them in touch with me, or me them, or something. (Stupidly, I missed the cutoff for ICLW this time ... would have been nice to be in that mix.) I'm jumping into an abyss, and it's not clear how far down I will fall; I'm hoping to land on my feet.

May 23, 2011

Dear Dr. Boss:

I am writing you to officially tender my resignation from XYZ University as Administrative Director of The X Center (I Built and Ran for the Last Seven Years, Which I Also Helped to Endow at $4 Million ... but I didn't actually write that part). My last day of employment will be June 6, 2011.

I appreciate the opportunities I have been given at XYZ and I wish you and the Center success in the future.

If I can assist with the transition, please do let me know.

Sincerely,
A Half Baked Life

I have mixed emotions about what I have just done, but I hope you'll join me for a slice of cake. When life gives you lemons, you might as well make lemonade layer cake. Somebody hold me.

Lemonade Layer Cake

Cake:
1 1/3 c. granulated sugar
6 T. butter, softened
1 T. grated lemon rind
3 T. thawed lemonade concentrate
2 t. vanilla extract
2 large eggs
2 large egg whites
2 c. all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 t. salt
1/2 t. baking soda
1 1/4 c. fat-free buttermilk
Cooking spray

Frosting:
2 T. butter, softened
2 t. grated lemon rind
2 t. thawed lemonade concentrate
1/2 t. vanilla extract
8 oz. neufchatel cheese
3 1/2 c. powdered sugar

Preheat oven to 350°.

To prepare cake, place first 5 ingredients in a large bowl; beat with a mixer at medium speed until well blended (about 5 minutes). Add eggs and egg whites, 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. Lightly spoon flour into dry measuring cups; level with a knife. Combine flour, baking powder, salt, and baking soda; stir well with a whisk. Add flour mixture and buttermilk alternately to sugar mixture, beginning and ending with flour mixture; beat well after each addition.

Pour batter into 2 (9-inch) round cake pans coated with cooking spray; sharply tap pans once on counter to remove air bubbles. Bake at 350° for 20 minutes or until wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool in pans 10 minutes on a wire rack; remove from pans. Cool completely on wire rack.

To prepare frosting, place 2 tablespoons butter and the next 4 ingredients (2 tablespoons butter through cream cheese) in a large bowl; beat with a mixer at high speed until fluffy. Add powdered sugar, and beat at low speed just until blended (do not overbeat). Chill 1 hour.

Place 1 cake layer on a plate; spread with 1/2 cup frosting. Top with remaining cake layer. Spread remaining frosting over top and sides of cake. Store cake loosely covered in the refrigerator.

A Virtual Baby Shower: Cornmeal Crusted Pot Pie

2011-05-19T05:41:00.000-07:00

(With apologies for my absence ... I miss you all, but I promise, there is a good post coming soon ... and I've been pretty busy with N. this week.)

When I was in the last few weeks of my pregnancy with N., a wonderful friend organized a virtual baby shower for me. The virtual gifts of food and love were overwhelming ... and so I'm pleased to participate in one for someone else this week! I'm hoping I'm not late, but it's on Australia/New Zealand time, so hopefully this will count.

Haidee, may your birthing day be everything you hope for, and may your new adventures with your little one be many. It won't always be easy, but remember that it takes a village to raise a child, and the village is there ... sometimes you just have to look for it. All: go give Haidee some blog love!

My contribution to the virtual baby shower is not sweet (because Athena from A Field of Dreams has already contributed Honey Cookies, and I can't top those ...), but it's something that you can put in your freezer to bake for dinner when you're bone-tired and can't imagine how you're going to feed yourself. We made this pot pie ourselves before N. was born, and froze it ... then one night, enjoyed a wonderful warm pie in just about half an hour. If I were your neighbor, I would be bringing something like this over during the first few weeks you are home with your new addition.

If you're vegetarian, it's just as easy to substitute the chicken with something else (tofu, tempeh, more vegetables, beans).

Cornmeal Crusted Pot Pie

Crust:

1 c. flour
1/2 c. cornmeal
3/4 t. salt
1/4 t. baking powder
2 T. chopped fresh herbs (sage, parsley, etc.)
5 T. butter cut into small pieces
1 large egg lightly beaten

Filling:

3 T. butter
1 medium onion, diced
1 celery stalk, diced
1 medium carrot, diced
1/4 lb. mushrooms, sliced
1 c. chopped cooked broccoli, drained*
2 1/2 T. flour
3/4 c. broth, heated
1/2 c. cream, half and half, or milk, heated
2 3/4 c. cubed cooked poultry or other
1/4 c. chopped fresh parsley
1 1/2 t. chopped fresh thyme
1/2 t. salt
1/4 t. fresh ground pepper
1 T. milk

In a small bowl, combine flour, cornmeal, salt, and baking powder. With your fingers, cut the butter into the dry ingredients until coarse crumbs form. Add the egg and stir with a fork until dough forms. WIth your fingertips, lightly knead the dough until it holds together, 1 minute or so. Wrap the dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate at least 45 minutes before rolling.

In a medium skillet, over medium heat, melt 1 T. of butter. Add onion, celery, carrot. Cook until vegetables are soft, about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add mushrooms and cook another 5 minutes or so, stirring occasionally. Stir in broccoli and set aside.

Preheat oven to 400. In a medium saucepan, over medium heat melt remaining 2 T. butter. Add flour and cook, stirring constantly, 2 to 3 minutes, until caramel colored. Gradually add heated broth and cook whisking constantly. Gradually pour in cream, whisking constantly. Add vegetables and cooked chicken, parsley, thyme, salt, pepper. Stir to mix. Spread into a 9" deep dish pie plate or round 1 quart casserole.

Let dough site a room temperature about 10 minutes. Roll out dough between 2 sheets of waxed paper to a 10 inch circle. Cover the filing with the dough and trim edges so that there is a 1/2" overhang. Lighly press overhand around the outside edge of the pie plate to seal. Mark edges with the tines of a fork. With a sharp knife, cut 3 slits in the center of the crust for steam to escape.

Brush the crust with milk. Plate pie plate on a baking sheet in case of bubble-overs. Baked until crust is golden and hot, about 30-35 minutes. Cool 5-10 minutes before serving.

* Feel free to sub in peas, string beans or corn for the broccoli. You can make the pie and freeze for up to two months in a freezer-proof pie plate. Thaw in refrigerator overnight before baking as directed. Alternatively, bake the frozen pie a little longer, 1 to 1 1/2 hours, until filling is piping hot and crust is golden.

What's Inside: Peanut Butter Chocolate Pillows

2011-05-15T19:30:00.000-07:00

First, overdue thanks again to the following lovely ladies for the stylish blogger award! I'm not going to repost the picture, or write seven more things about myself, but I encourage you to go show them some blog love.

Dawn at http://dawn-black.blogspot.com/
Maria at http://missionfertilesoul.blogspot.com/
Tracy at http://juststoptryinganditwillhappen.com/
Esperanza at http://secondhandhappiness.blogspot.com

I'm still not feeling particularly stylish, but I do feel a bit heroic this weekend. It happened like this ...

My son is a particularly emotionally intelligent little boy. He can read me better than almost anyone I know, and knows exactly what I need to hear. Case in point: when I told him, before N. was born, that I was worried that I wouldn't get to spend enough time with him once the baby arrived, and that I would miss him, he said, very matter-of-factly, "Well, Mom, when the baby is old enough, we'll spend time together. I'll still love you."

Mind you, my son is four. He should charge for therapy.

Yesterday, I asked him if he'd like to go for a bike ride. It had been a while since we've done anything alone together--since N's arrival three months ago, to be exact--and though the timing of children's naps didn't work out for me to go for a run, I thought this might be a good substitute to get me some exercise (not that I'm going to rid myself of my flab in time for bikini season, but whatever). Last summer, we got, second hand, one of those fabulous trailer bikes, which is basically the rear end of a normal bicycle designed to turn your adult bike into a kid-friendly tandem (basically all the kid needs to do is balance him or herself on the bike; pedaling is completely optional). When the kid does not pedal, it's a LOT of work, even though the attachment itself is relatively light. This year it seems that I. actually understands the pedaling concept, though, and we were about two and a half miles from home, enjoying the misty afternoon when suddenly ...

thunk, clunk.

I felt my seat give way, and then, I was sitting on nothing at all.

Crap.

It turned out that the bolt holding the seat onto my bike had snapped in half, leaving bits and pieces of seat hardware strewn across the road. I told I. to get off, and surveyed the damage, holding the seat in my hand. "I don't know, kiddo," I said, "we may have to walk back." My mind was reeling, thinking that at a four year old pace, we'd never get back in time for N's next feeding, and we had no phone to call home. N. is refusing bottles. This could be very, very bad.

"It's OK, Mom," he said, voice trembling, "I was tired of pedaling anyway."

I could have kissed him. And something about the way he said it, so reassuringly, made me think that maybe I could be the hero here, make this work after all. I gathered up the hardware, put the seat on the post, and held onto it with my inner thighs. I told him we were going to give it a shot.

He seemed impressed by this, and climbed back on. Though pedaling was even more of a significant challenge now than it had been before, I somehow managed to keep the seat on most of the way back, stopping twice to keep it from slipping out from under me. After some harrowing run-ins with the downtown traffic, we arrived home, cheering, feeling like we'd survived a great adventure. "We made it, Mommy," he said, beaming. I handed I. the seat and told him to go tell his father that he'd lost me on the way. He grinned and took off towards the back yard.

The amazing thing is, I don't think I would have tried to jury-rig the seat if he hadn't been there. I confess, I surprised myself. I didn't want to disappoint him; I wanted to make it right, to fix it. All I had to do was decide I could.

In food blog world these days, stuffed desserts seem to be all the rage. It's sort of like the turducken approach applied to sweets: brownie stuffed cookies, cookie stuffed brownies, etc. I think the reason we find this concept so appealing is that we love being surprised by what's inside.

And why wouldn't we be? Here's to the surprises in all of us.

Peanut Butter Chocolate Pillows
makes 2 dozen cookies

Chocolate dough:

1/2 c. canola oil
1 c. sugar
1/4 c. pure maple syrup
3 T. non-dairy milk
1/2 t. vanilla extract
1 1/2 c. all-purpose flour
1/3 c. + 2 T. unsweetened dutch processed cocoa powder
1/2 t. baking soda
1/4 t. salt

Filling:

3/4 c. natural salted peanut butter
2/3 c. confectioner’s sugar
2 T. non-dairy milk
1/4 t. vanilla extract

In a large mixing bowl combine oil, sugar, maple syrup, non-dairy milk and vanilla extract and mix until smooth. Sift in flour, cocoa powder, black cocoa if using, baking soda and salt. Mix to form a moist dough.

Make the filling. In another mixing bowl beat together peanut butter, confectioner’s sugar, 2 tablespoons of soy creamer and vanilla extract to form a moist but firm dough. If peanut butter dough is too dry (as different natural peanut butters have different moisture content), stir in remaining tablespoon of non-dairy milk. If dough is too wet knead in a little extra powdered sugar.

Preheat oven to 350°F. Line bakings sheet with parchment paper.

Shape the cookies. Create the centers of the cookies by rolling the peanut butter dough into 24 balls. Scoop a generous tablespoon of chocolate dough, flatten into a disc and place a peanut butter ball in the center. Fold the sides of the chocolate dough up and around the peanut butter center and roll the chocolate ball into an smooth ball between your palms. Place on a sheet of waxed paper and repeat with remaining doughs. If desired gently flatten cookies a little, but this is not necessary.

Place dough balls on lined baking sheets about 2 inches apart and bake for 10 minutes. Remove sheet from oven and let cookies for 5 minutes before moving to a wire rack to complete cooling. Store cookies in tightly covered container. If desired warm cookies in a microwave for 10 to 12 seconds before serving.

My Dad, and Chickpea Soup

2011-05-10T10:34:00.000-07:00

It's garden season. Outside, during the day, the hum of lawnmowers and weedwhackers and rototillers is almost constant now--something I'd never really noticed before, since I haven't ever been home during the week in the spring and summer. Our back deck is populated with small tomato plants, getting a good start in pots before being transferred to the yard where they will grow wild and become like long spindly aliens, leaning--but only partially--against the wire fencing meant to guide them to upright positions.

I think a lot about my father at this time of year, because he was always working in the garden or in the yard. An immigrant from Spain by way of Cuba (which he left after being the next one facing a firing squad, before they decided, somewhat randomly, to stop for the day), he came from a family of farmers, and was sent to a charity boarding school in France so as to ease the burden on the family of nine children. Though he became a teacher, his love of the earth never really left him, and when I was growing up we were known for our beautifully landscaped property, and for the small roadside table where I was charged with selling tomatoes and zucchini in the summer. Later, after he retired, he had an off-the-books landscaping business that seemed to grow by leaps and bounds, and I still have to chuckle to myself, thinking about him driving around the neighborhood with lawnmowers and weedwhackers sticking out from the trunk of his old, impeccably maintained (but tank-like) Mercedes Benz. My father died of stomach cancer in 2003 at the age of 75, and in many ways, I felt like I never got to know him. He was very private about his life before he started a family, especially about his life as a Marist brother before he met my mother.

Not many people can say that they have an ex-clergy member as a parent. My father was an interesting blend of frugal and spendthrift, which I see as a parallel to his split between his devotion to God and his desperate need (for reasons he never made clear to us, unfortunately) to have a family. He met my mother on a trip he was running for students and teachers of Spanish to go to Spain, and, legend has it, the rest is history. He was also torn between his workaholic tendencies and his ability to completely zonk out in front of the TV at the end of the day, watching nothing for hours on end.

I miss him more now than I used to, I think, now that I have children, wishing that he could have seen them, knowing that for all of his faults, he would have been a wonderful grandfather, and his grandchildren would have mellowed whatever austerity and severity was left in him. And I especially miss him when I'm weeding in the yard, listening to the sound of the chimes tinkling in the breeze. He would have appreciated the crossroads where I am right now, and would have felt quite free to opine about it, even if I would have also felt free to ignore his advice.

So, though he would never in his life have eaten a vegetarian (or--heaven forbid--VEGAN!) meal on purpose, I'm going to dedicate this post to my father, a man who, despite my difficult relationship with him, made things grow in the springtime in a way that I always admired, a man who had a hidden passion for landscape architecture, and a man who struggled with balance and parenthood as so many of us do. I'm looking forward to making meals with the bounty from our garden and CSA again, but until then, this simple soup will do.

Saint Joseph Chickpea Soup

2 c. dried chickpeas
10 c. water
15 oz. can fire roasted diced tomatoes
1 large onion, chopped
1 stalk celery, minced
2 carrots, sliced
4 cloves of garlic, minced
1 red pepper, diced
1 bouillon cube
1 bay leaf salt and pepper to taste

Soak chickpeas overnight. Boil them in plenty of water, add all the remaining ingredients, and cook slowly over medium heat for about 1 hour, until the peas and all the vegetables are tender.

Add salt and pepper. Simmer the soup, covered, for about 15 minutes. Remove the bay leaf before serving. Serve hot.

Motherhood and Lentils with Zucchini

2011-05-07T19:55:00.000-07:00

Over the past few weeks N's schedule has settled enough that I've been able to get to yoga at least once every other week, and it's been such a wonderful thing. I am reminded how much I love my teacher, but also how much I love the sangha, the community, of my class: everyone asks me about the baby, asks how I am doing, and really means it.

One of the wonderful things about my yoga studio is that the classes are more than just exercise; there is always a focus for the month, both in asana and in intention, and in the same coincidental way that horoscopes always seem to read your life like an open book, the intentions seems to speak to where I am spiritually with an uncanny precision. During the month of May we are focusing on the lunar asanas and on mothers, both in the form of Kali, fearful and ferocious form of the mother goddess who destroys and takes away what is not necessary, and Durga, the mother of the universe who comes to care for us in our time of need. And lately, that kind of mothering is just what I have wanted.

The celebration of motherhood in May is complicated for the IF community. Many of us celebrate our own mothers, though of course those relationships have their own challenges; I know for sure mine does. Many of us feel conflicted about motherhood, being blessed with children, but knowing loss. Many more are waiting to become mothers, feeling robbed of what seems to come so easily for other women. But I love the way my teacher has been talking about mothers in our class, reminding us that Kali and Durga are aspects of the mother within us, and that we should allow ourselves to be mothered, to be cared for, by our innermost selves.

I've been in a position lately to make some difficult decisions about what is and is not necessary in my life. And as I stood there in ardha chandrasana (half moon pose), I thought about how I am taking steps to take away the things in my life that are not necessary, the things that are hurtful to me, and how I am tending to my own heart. Part of this is eating healthily, part of it is practicing mindfulness, and part of it is something I won't yet reveal here because it's too terrific for a spoiler. Suffice to say that change is coming, and that it will be good.

Happy Mothers Day to all of you -- the women who are biological and adoptive mothers of living and nonliving children, the women who will some day mother children of their own, the women who have mothered others--sometimes without even knowing how much they mattered, the women who wanted to be mothers but have put that dream aside, but also to the mothers, the nurturers, in all of us.

Kali, Durga, namoh namah.

(The Harvard Medical School Nurses study found iron rich foods like lentils to support ovulation and fertility in women ... whether that's true or not is up for discussion, but it doesn't hurt to include more of them in your diet.)

Spiced Lentils with Zucchini

1 or 2 T. olive oil
1 c. sweet onion, finely chopped
2 1/4 c. thin zucchini, 1/2" dice
1/4 to 1/2 t. salt
1/2 c. dried red lentils, picked over Water
1 to 2 t. garam masala
2 T. cilantro, chopped

Add just enough oil to coat a medium saute pan or skillet; place over medium heat.

Add the onion and cook, stirring often, for 2 or 3 minutes, until it starts to soften. Add the zucchini and 1/4 teaspoon of the salt. Cook, stirring often, for about 10 minutes, until the zucchini softens and starts to brown. Adjust the heat as needed so the zucchini cooks but the onion does not burn.

Meanwhile, place the lentils in a small pot and add enough water to cover them by 2 inches, plus a pinch of salt. Place the pot over medium-high heat; once the liquid comes to a boil, reduce the heat to medium-low and cook, stirring occasionally, for about 8 minutes; start checking for doneness after 6 minutes.

When the zucchini is tender and has started to brown, add 1 teaspoon of the garam masala; stir to combine, then taste and add garam masala and salt as needed.

Drain the lentils and add to the zucchini-onion mixture. Cook over medium-low heat for 2 or 3 minutes, until the excess moisture from the lentils has evaporated; the mixture should still be moist.

Remove from the heat and add 1 tablespoon of the cilantro; mix well. Transfer to a serving dish and top with the remaining tablespoon of chopped cilantro. Serve immediately.

Here Comes the Rain Again: Tom Kha Gai

2011-05-02T09:46:00.000-07:00

(Thanks for all of your kind, supportive comments on my last post. I took a deep breath when I hit "publish," and worried that I'd lose all of my followers ... I'm glad that didn't happen! And now for something completely different ...)

Of all of the things that have taken a back seat in my life these past few years, I miss traveling the most. As summer approaches, I start to dream about places I'd like to go, perhaps because that was when my family traveled when I was growing up. I love experiencing new cultures that make me think differently about my own: I've been to South Africa on a study tour of post-apartheid education; I've gone to Brazil with students presenting their undergraduate research at five campuses of the University of Sao Paolo, I have family I've visited in Spain and Puerto Rico, I've biked through Umbria in Italy. And in all of these places, I've eaten well, mostly because I make an effort to stay with (or at least talk to) locals.

The year after we were married, my husband and I decided to travel to Thailand. I'd never been to Asia, and I wanted to go before we started trying to have a family, and S. agreed. We settled on a two week block in July, and started making plans.

The trip was amazing; it was the first time I'd experienced being illiterate, being unable to speak or read anything, even street signs. It gave me a perspective I'd never had before, and made me completely dependent upon other people. But in case you've never been to Thailand in July, there's something important you need to know: it's wet. Monsoons? Are no joke, my friend. We're talking wall of water, advancing across the landscape, drenching everything in its path. You might as well go scuba diving, without the mask. Being silly Americans, we didn't think this would really be a big deal, until we arrived, and found ourselves wringing our clothes out to dry on an hourly basis. You haven't lived until you've ridden on top of an elephant in a basket of sloshing water, as it crosses a raging river in the pouring rain.

One of my most vivid memories from that damp week was a cooking class we took with a woman named Apple, who runs Apple's Guest House. We'd spent the morning at the market, learning about and purchasing ingredients, and were going to spend the afternoon cooking. I remember Apple as sort of a mix between someone's wide-grinned grandmother and a drill sergeant, barking orders at us as the flames leapt under our woks. Like every other day, it rained that afternoon, and her instructional kitchen wasn't yet finished ... it was missing a wall. Important detail when you're dealing with monsoons, na? The rain pounded on the corrugated metal roof, making a deafening sound as we tried to scribble down and follow Apple's directions. It ran down on the slant, creating a waterfall that ended in a growing puddle in the kitchen. Soon we were cooking in ankle-deep water.

We made Pad Thai, Green Curry, Chicken with Cashews, and Tom Kha Gai that day, and I still have the recipes I scribbled down, though I've altered them a bit to reflect availability of ingredients here and our own taste preferences. I pull them out every once in a while on rainy spring and summer days, thinking fondly of the adventure, and hoping that some day I will travel again, with my children, testing their assumptions and mine, and eating well. For now, reading blogs will do.

Tom Kha Gai

1 stalk lemongrass, diagonal cut 1 1/2"
4 slices galanga (or ginger)
4 keffir lime leaves (or grated zest of 1/2 lime)
2-3 mushrooms, quartered
1/2 c. water (or 1/4 c. lime juice and 1/4 c. water)
14 oz. can coconut milk
pinch salt
1/2 lb. chicken or extra firm tofu
1 T. fish sauce
1/2 t. sugar
2 c. water

Boil 1/2 c. water (or water and lime juice) in a wok with lemongrass, galanga/ginger, lime leaves (or zest), stirring constantly.

When boiling well, add 1/2 can of coconut milk, mushrooms, and salt, and continue to stir. Bring to a boil.

Add the second half of the coconut milk and boil for 2-3 minutes without stirring. When boiling well, add the chicken/tofu and cook the chicken thoroughly.

Add fish sauce and sugar and boil for 2-3 more minutes. Add the extra water to make it your preferred consistency for soup (it should not be too thick). Remove from heat and let sit 2 minutes.

Add to your taste: a splash of lemon juice, 2 small ground chiles, fish sauce, more sugar, etc.

Bust a Myth: Loss and IF Aren't As Bad for People With Children

2011-04-27T19:33:00.000-07:00

Warning: graphic post about infertility and loss. No food this time. Read at the risk of being a little shocked; this is not for the faint of heart. This post is in honor of National Infertility Awareness Week, as part of its Bust a Myth campaign.

It seems to be an unwritten rule. You don't talk about the bad things that can happen during pregnancy, and you especially don't talk about them to pregnant women. Sure, you can share stories or morning sickness and cramps and aches and cravings, but the really awful things are taboo. Pregnancy always ends in live, healthy birth in our happy little world. And you particularly shouldn't be complaining if you already have a child; you've got no right to demand another.

I was 32 when I had our son. It was a picture perfect pregnancy. I didn't even experience morning sickness. I was on top of the world with my pregnancy glow. Though the birth wasn't easy, I got a healthy baby. I knew that things could go wrong; one of my friends' children was stillborn. But I thought somehow that I was safe ... after all, I'd given birth. Other children would come, too, if I wanted them.

And then, loss. The first was early, just six weeks. My son was two. I'd made an appointment for my first prenatal visit, and the day before I was supposed to go, I saw pink in the bathroom. No, I said to myself. Shit, no. I tried to believe that it wasn't happening. They took my blood, and confirmed that my hCG levels were dropping. I bled, and I mourned the loss of that baby, its potential. I knew when I'd passed the clot that had contained that small life, and I felt sick; I could no longer trust my body to carry a child to term.

A year later, again. This time, much later; I was just about to begin my second trimester. I had passed the six week mark, and thought, again, that perhaps this time I would be safe. I was developing a baby bump already.

And then, I saw the blood. A light pink stain as I cleaned up in the bathroom at work. Oh, shit, I said, under my breath. No, no. Not again. Oh, god, please. No. I talked myself into believing that it was nothing. That I would check again later. That I was imagining things. But I knew I wasn’t imagining things the next time. I called the doctor, and they said I should come in that day, even though I had a scheduled appointment on Monday, to see the baby, to see that everything was all right. They seemed so confident, that I believed them. I didn’t call my husband. It wasn’t necessary.

Until I saw the monitor, and the technician, searching. Measuring. Quietly. Looking for something that she wasn’t finding. I’m sorry, she said, I’m just not finding a heartbeat. Oh, god, I said. Oh, no. I covered my mouth, open, like an o. They took me to another room, said some things about what I should expect next, let me go. I cried a little. I hugged the midwife as she went to close the door and leave me to collect myself. I thanked her. I dried my tears and opened the door to the waiting room, walking through a sea of pregnant bellies. I saw a woman I knew in the parking lot, with her sick son. I sympathized, told her I would check on them this week. She didn’t ask why I was there. I drove home.

I became methodical: I emailed the people I knew who had known about it. I called the woman who had offered me her maternity clothes to tell her to give them to someone else. I went through the house, throwing away the prenatal paperwork that I was supposed to return on Monday. I threw away the container they’d given me for my first morning urine specimen. I threw away the pamphlets on prenatal nutrition. I threw away the paperwork to register for maternity stay. I told my husband. I cooked dinner, I bathed and put my son to bed, I checked work email, I went to bed.

On Friday, my car battery was dead. I was tired of death. My husband jumped my car. I went to work. I went for a run, not sure if I could, not sure if I should. My body protested. I could feel the blood coming. I walked back. I went to a lunch meeting of mothers, sympathizing with people’s day care stories, feeling like I was talking in a tunnel, listening to myself in some other body. I bled more, and now even more. I excused myself, staggered to the bathroom, hoping that I was not leaving a bloody trail on the historic carpet. In the bathroom, I began to feel as if my body was emptying in great waves of blood and islands of slippery tissue. Would the bleeding never stop? I returned to my office and finished the work day. I drove home. I fed my family, I bathed and put my son to bed. I went to the grocery store to do my Friday night shopping, walking slowly. I came home, put away the groceries. Checked email. Went to bed. Lay awake, listening to nothing.

On Saturday, I baked banana bread while I made breakfast for my son. I walked with him to the library, promising him a trip to the store for a treat. I went to the bathroom in the library. I knew something was coming, and I had to push, but it came — whatever it was, a mass of blood and cells and tissue — it looked like a human heart. It was my heart. I looked into the toilet, trying to see the baby I knew must have been in there, as my son sat reading Dora’s Valentine on the bathroom floor. I knew I couldn’t look much longer before my son would come over, and I didn’t want him to see what I saw. It was surreal. I flushed it away, feeling sick, knowing what I had just done, washed my hands, ushered out my son, closed the door. The pain was unbearable. I walked home, every step a torture. I made my son lunch, put him in the car. I drove the hour to my mother’s house to get her settled after her return from the knee surgery rehab. I ordered her dinner. I entertained my son while feeding him dinner. I drove home, made lemon poppy cake, checked work email, prepped my Sunday RE class. I went to bed, listening to the roaring of my heart and blood in my ears. I lay awake for hours, shifting to make the pain subside. It would not.

On Sunday, I made breakfast, collected our things, drove to church, set out the cakes and fruit for coffee hour. I washed dishes and made polite conversation about the minister’s pregnant wife, due a week before I would have given birth. I drove home, made lunch, returned to church. I taught a sex ed class, beginning with a memorial service for the co-teacher who had died this week of a sudden heart attack in traffic. I drove home, went to the park, watched my son play in the puddles in his rain boots. I came back home, I made dinner, I put my son to bed. I baked a red velvet cake. I took hours to frost it. I roamed aimlessly; I lay awake for hours.

I felt hollow. Empty. A shell full of nothing. I was just tired; not sad, not angry. I was just nothing.

I thought about the minister’s wife, how she would have a baby in August. I thought about my friend, who would have her baby even earlier, in May. Another friend, in May. Another, in June. I wondered how that would feel to me. I would have no baby. I would have no reason to post “pregnant” as my Facebook status. I would have no maternity leave in the fall. I would do the same things I do every day. Nothing would change. My changed plans had changed back to unchanged plans. I felt cheated, maybe even jealous.

I began to wonder if I didn’t want this one, or the last one, for that matter, badly enough. If they knew this, and left my inhospitable body. I began to think about all of the things I might have done: not enough thyroid hormone. A mistake at Starbucks, when a barista might have given me caffeinated coffee. A piece of chocolate cake. Too much exercise. Overheating. A hot shower. Stress. Negativity. I knew, intellectually, that it was not my fault. That didn’t seem to matter to my superego.

And it didn't matter that I already had a child.

No one tells you that you are going to experience something like labor and lose the baby that could have been in the toilet of the public library. They just give you a slip of paper to get your blood drawn when you stop bleeding, to make sure your levels are at zero. You are done bleeding, and they take blood. The irony of this was not lost on me.

Another year, another loss, and then it seemed I couldn't even get pregnant. I went to my ob/gyn, and they told me that I was now officially high risk, that my losses and my age and the length of time it was taking us to conceive meant that I was infertile. I couldn't understand; how was this possible, when I'd given birth to a healthy child? They handed me a slip of paper with "INFERTILITY" written in big block letters across the top, with the names of several clinics, and suggested that I call to make an appointment. There was no explanation for my loss, for my empty body. I felt marked. I felt like a failed woman. I was unable to do the one thing my body was supposedly built to do. I could not create or support life. And the fact that I had a beautiful son whom I loved didn't change how that label, and those losses, made me feel.

Though I did, just this past February, successfully carry a second child to term--thanks, I believe, to an endocrinologist who was willing to listen and who believed that there was something he could do--that pregnancy was full of anxiety. I hold tightly to the children I have been gifted, knowing just how precious life really is, but their presence does not erase the losses that came before. I also know that it would have been good to know more people like me, to know that I was not alone, to know that others had stories, too. To know that one successful pregnancy doesn't equal fertility, and that to have difficulty carrying a child to term after a successful first pregnancy was also normal. And I wish that the stories of loss and infertility were less taboo, so that we could perhaps help other women to be less alone. We should not assume that the woman in our playgroup is fertile. We should not assume that the childless woman doesn't want children.

The other day, one of the bloggers I follow posted a link to a video from a Japanese classroom, as a way of illustrating the Buddhist principle of transforming suffering into happiness. I was struck by the students' display of empathy, and it got me thinking about blogging, about how being able to share a story with an empathetic community can both tap the silent suffering of others and make us stronger people, offering us a new perspective on our own stories. Healing would happen so much more often if we just stopped making assumptions about each other and started listening deeply, instead. I thought that I would share the video here, as a way of ending this post, and as a way of encouraging others to write their own "letters," too. It's about time your voice was heard.

See RESOLVE for a basic understanding of infertility: http://www.resolve.org/infertility101 and for more information about National Infertility Awareness Week® (NIAW): http://www.resolve.org/takecharge.

Best Shared: Peanut Butter Oatmeal Fudgie Bars

2011-04-25T06:38:00.000-07:00

The memory is incredibly vivid. I am at Friendly's, after my first seventh grade dance. I am going to a sleepover party at a girl's house afterwards, which is the only reason I am here; I would never have been invited to a mixed-gender gathering with the boys who are with us. Part of me isn't sure why I was invited to the sleepover party, either, because the girl who is hosting isn't very friendly towards me. Maybe her mother made her invite me? Everyone around me is chatting and laughing and making jokes, but my nose is buried in the menu. I'm trying to figure out what I should order with the five dollars my mom had given me (this is a small fortune in my world), and I'm trying to blend in to the booth so that no one will notice that I am here. I want to be here, among these incredibly cool people, and pretend, for once, that I'm like them, too, but I am also desperately afraid that someone will suddenly realize that I'm in the wrong place

I order a Reeses Pieces sundae. It comes, and it's enormous, but it's a good way to hide and keep my mouth shut, ignoring the laughter and joking around me. I turn inward, and slowly, methodically, I eat the whole thing. I don't remember the car ride back, but I do remember feeling incredibly sick, all night long, in that girl's house, where the air was thick with her mother's cigarette smoke. It was all just too much.

For some people, Reeses Pieces are forever associated with E.T.; for me, even now, I can't eat Reeses Pieces without thinking about that sundae, and that dance, and the seventh grade year, and the childhood loneliness that I hated so much.

But I love chocolate and peanut butter. I can eat it from a spoon or a chopstick. And luckily, I am no longer trying to fit into that crowd. What I know now is that things like enormous Reeses Pieces sundaes are best shared, and that we're all, in some small way, the person hiding behind the menu and the sundae.

Make these for someone you love, or for someone you've just met and want to get to know better.

(And tell us: what are the taste-triggered memories that still return to you today?)

Peanut Butter Oatmeal Fudgie Bars

1/2 c. + 2 T. unsalted butter, softened
1 c. packed brown sugar
1 egg
1 t. vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 t. baking soda
1/2 t. kosher salt
1 1/2 c. old-fashioned rolled oats
1 14-oz can sweetened condensed milk
12 oz. semisweet (or bittersweet) chocolate chips
2/3 c. creamy peanut butter
1 t. vanilla extract
Reese's pieces, for the topping

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line a 9-inch square baking pan with foil, leaving an overhang on 2 sides.

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream 1/2 cup of the butter with the sugar until well-combined. Add the egg and vanilla, and mix well. Turn off the mixer, add the dry ingredient (flour through oats), and mix at low speed until just combined.

Press two-thirds of the oatmeal mixture into the bottom of the pan, and set aside the rest for the topping.

In a medium saucepan, combine the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter, condensed milk, chocolate chips, and peanut butter. Cook over medium heat until the chocolate and butter are melted, stirring often. Remove from heat and stir in the vanilla. Spread most of the chocolate fudge mixture over the oatmeal layer, using a spatula to spread evenly. Save the remainder for hot fudge sauce, or use it all for a thicker layer.

Crumble the remaining oatmeal mixture over the fudge, then sprinkle with the candy.

Bake 15-20 minutes, until the topping is starting to brown. They won't seem cooked all the way through yet at this point. Allow to cool to room temperature, then refrigerate for at least 4 hours to set completely. Cut into squares and serve, or store at room temperature.

Red Tents and Red Curry

2011-04-22T20:55:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Keiko for the Stylish Blogger award (my second)! I've learned so much about blogging and advocacy from her; if you haven't seen her blog, you owe it to yourself to check it out. She is one classy lady.

Keiko wrote, a while back, about her Red Tent Temple, a place where, as in Anita Diamant's The Red Tent, women gather for shared sisterhood, even if that shared sisterhood doesn't (as it does in the Bible) entail the experience of a monthly menstrual cycle. I was struck by that post at the time, wishing that there was a Red Tent somewhere around here. As ICLW (IComLeaveWe, a monthly commenting and new-blog-exploring love-fest organized by one of my other blogging mentors, Mel Ford, over at Stirrup Queens) begins, I've been thinking about that post again, since ICLW has become an occasion, for me, to enter into dialogue with other women, and to celebrate the feminine ... a sort of "virtual Red Tent," if you will. I've noticed, as I look over the list of participants, how few men there seem to be participating in ICLW. Just today, I was with two friends at a park where our children were playing, and we found ourselves discussing uteruses and labia like you might talk about the weather. I can't imagine my husband talking about, say, prostates, with other men, nor do I think I'd be as comfortable talking about my body with men.

I'm curious: do you know the gender of the bloggers you follow? What is the gender balance of your blogroll? What is the Red Tent equivalent for men? Or should our intimate spaces be more inclusive? Is there a real Red Tent in your community? (And can I come visit?)

I made red curry this week, as a way to continue working on our bounty of produce, and perhaps it's a fitting tribute to the virtual Red Tent in the blogosphere this week. Thai curries are easy (provided you're not making your own curry paste from scratch, which I don't), they can be healthy, and they're incredibly versatile. You can substitute in other vegetables that you like; just make sure that you cook any root vegetables (carrots, potatoes, etc.) longer, and leave things like beans or peas or zucchini until the end.

Red Curry

4 t. canola oil, divided
14 oz extra-firm tofu, rinsed, patted dry and cut into 1-inch cubes (I used baby corn in place of the tofu because my husband is not a tofu fan)
1 lb. sweet potato, cubed
1 14 oz. can lite coconut milk
1/2 c. vegetable broth
1-2 t. red Thai curry paste
1/2 lb. green beans, trimmed/cut
1 T. brown sugar
2 t. lime juice
1/2 t. salt
1/3 c. chopped fresh cilantro
1 lime, quartered

Heat 2 teaspoons oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add tofu and cook, stirring every 2 or 3 minutes, until browned, 6 to 8 minutes total. Transfer to a plate.
Heat the remaining 2 teaspoons oil over medium-high heat. Add sweet potato and cook, stirring occasionally, until browned, 4 to 5 minutes. Add coconut milk, broth and curry paste to taste. Bring to a boil; reduce to a simmer and cook, covered, stirring occasionally, until the sweet potato is just tender, about 4 minutes. Add the tofu, green beans and brown sugar; return to a simmer and cook, covered, stirring occasionally, until the green beans are tender-crisp, 2 to 4 minutes. Stir in lime juice and salt. Sprinkle with cilantro and serve with lime wedges.

The Stylish Blogger award requires that you list seven things about yourself and nominate 15 other bloggers. Since it's ICLW, I figured it would be a good excuse to (re)introduce myself in Q and A format. This time, with a food theme. Just because.

What's your favorite thing to eat? Some days my body craves greens, and I love a big salad with walnuts, dried cranberries, and goat cheese. I enjoy Indian and Thai food. Then there's sweets: lately I've been craving chocolate, tiramisu, and cheesecake. I rarely dream about slabs of meat, though. That's my husband's job.
Do you actually post about everything you cook? Mostly. There are some boring things I don't post. And I don't make something new every single day. But we are pretty adventurous eaters, and I like breaking bread (or cake, or soup) with other people.
What's the weirdest thing you've ever eaten? I guess it depends on your perspective. I ate brains once as a child. And turtle. Neither of which were by my own choosing (my father thought it was a good sport to make me eat things I would never touch if I knew what they were).
What is your guilty pleasure? Peanut butter, eaten with a single chopstick. Sometimes dipped in raisins, sometimes dipped in high quality chocolate chips. You'd be surprised at the number of things you can eat with a chopstick. Maybe someday I'll write a book about it.
Why "Half Baked"? Is this a food blog? Well, roughly half of what I post here is baked. And my ideas are sometimes half baked. And my daughter, until recently, was also partially baked. Now she's fully baked, though. Or at least baking on her own. So no, this isn't really a food blog ... it's more of a food-and-life blog. See my tags at right for the IF backstory.
What do you want to do with your one wild and precious life? This blog was supposed to help me figure that out. Someone (who reads this blog, bless her!) actually paid me for my baked goods last week; that was pretty cool. Writing wouldn't be so bad, either.
Where do you get your beautiful pottery? I confess, I am sort of a sucker for pottery. Bill Campbell is one of my favorite artists, but I tend to collect things in that style.
Bonus: Will you send me food? Maybe, if you're really, really nice to me. Baked goods can travel well. ;)

Now, for the bloggers! It's so hard to choose ... I always like to make sure that I give awards like these to new people, so that lots of people get exposure. And this is the perfect week to visit new blogs. So what I'll recommend is that you go here and pick someone to give this award to! Some of my most loyal commenters are also people you should go visit, and give some love ... I'll give this award to them, too (I already gave 9 others the award recently, so look them up!). :)

Rebecca at http://roadlesstraveledblog.blogspot.com/
RunningMama at http://moreroominmyheart.blogspot.com/
Tasivfer at http://tasivfer.wordpress.com/
K at http://mypottyseat.blogspot.com/
Jenn at http://jennsden.blogspot.com/
Adele at http://delinquenteggs.blogspot.com/
Andie at http://conceivablefuture.blogspot.com/
Tracy at http://cookedheads.blogspot.com/
New Year Mum at http://newyearmum.blogspot.com/
Beth at http://ofmusesandmeringues.blogspot.com/
ManyManyMoons at http://manymanymoons.blogspot.com
Lesley at http://theordinaryadventure.blogspot.com/
Pie at http://sliceofpietoday.blogspot.com/
EBC at http://ournewplana.blogspot.com/
Jes at http://allieverwishedfor.blogspot.com/
InBetween at http://survivingacademia.blogspot.com/

And I'd love to hear what you have to say about Red Tents, real or virtual, about the gender balance of your blogrolls, or about curry. ;) Happy ICLW!

What I Stand For, and Quinoa Risotto

2011-04-20T03:41:00.001-07:00

In recent posts after the PETA brouhaha, jjiraffe asks, "Is the advocacy angle necessary to blogging"? and "How are you able to balance activism with your own life activities and not lose yourself? Or is losing yourself necessary to being committed to a cause?"

I've been thinking this issue myself for a while now, and I've decided that you do need an advocacy angle in order to be a successful blogger ... depending on how we're defining advocacy. I don't think you need a "cause" in the way that Faceb.ook defines them, but I think that our stories--regardless of what those stories are about, whether it's food, or running, or pets, or children, or infertility, or meditation, or Capitol Hill--are advocacy, for a way of life, for an approach to the world. And if we're any good at it, hopefully those stories are an invitation to conversation.

I answered jjiraffe's post by saying that I think the way to be an activist without “losing yourself” in advocacy is for it to be part of your life, rather than something you do on top of it. As I thought about it, I realized that the things I am most active about are the things that I am living anyway, and in the communities where I live, and they are things in which I involve my children, so that I’m teaching them my values as I’m acting on them. Like local eating, for example, and environmental stewardship: we belong to a CSA where I took my son to pick vegetables and talk about farming; we frequent the farmer's market up the street and make friends with the beekeepers who make our honey; my son has helped me flyer in our neighborhood for a new charter school focused on sustainability. And so my blog is also a part of those "causes": I write about being a locavore, for example, just as I've written about loss and IF. They're both part of who I am.

And speaking of local ... friends of ours were going out of town this week, and needed someone to pick up their share of organic produce with a local co-op. They called us, and S. told them we'd be happy to oblige. I mentioned that we've joined a CSA again this year (one that has fruit, and only for half a share--see my post about learning that it is indeed possible to have too much chard!); it was fun to get back into the mindset of cooking from what was on hand again. I knew farther in advance what we'd be getting from the co-op, but what I didn't anticipate was the volume. Two heads of lettuce, two pounds of carrots, two enormous bags of beans, two heads of collard greens, two and a half pounds of sweet potatoes ... and I haven't even gotten to the fruit yet.

So I've been busy cooking in an attempt to use it all before it spoils.

This is a recipe I found while scouring the internet for ways to use the most produce in interesting combinations in three meals. I played with it a little bit, and I'm sure there's a lot more you could do with it; it seems like the sort of recipe that would be versatile enough to accommodate all sorts of vegetable combinations. Quinoa is actually a seed, not a grain, as some people think, and unlike wheat or rice, it's an unusually complete protein source among plant foods. It's also a good source of fiber and phosphorus and is high in magnesium and iron. Enjoy this recipe with whatever is coming up out of the ground where you are.

(And I'd love to hear your thoughts on the advocacy/blogging/etc. issue.)

Quinoa Risotto

4 t. butter
2/3 c. chopped walnuts
1/2 sweet onion, finely chopped
2 t. canola oil
1/2 t. salt
1 T. fresh thyme or 1 t.dried
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 1/3 c. quinoa, rinsed and drained
1 c. unsalted vegetable stock
1 c. water
4 medium carrots, chopped
1 1/2 c. sugar snap peas
1/2 c. grated parmesan

Melt butter in medium saucepan over medium heat. Add nuts and cook, stirring frequently, until golden brown, about 5 minutes. Remove nuts and set aside.
Add onion, oil, and salt to same pan and cook 5 minutes. Add thyme and garlic and cook until onion is golden, about 3 minutes longer.
Stir in quinoa and stock. Cover and cook 10 minutes. Stir in 1/2 cup water, cover again, and cook 5 minutes. Stir in carrots and the final 1/2 cup of water if needed to keep quinoa very moist. Cover and cook until carrots are tender, 10 to 15 minutes longer. Add sugar snap peas for last 5 minutes of cooking. Season with salt and black pepper to taste. Serve topped with cheese and walnuts.

Inspired By: Hasufrau's Thursday Blog Hop

2011-04-13T17:16:00.000-07:00

I really wanted to take Audrey up on her Thursday Blog Hop idea. The theme was so promising: "Inspired By." It got me thinking about the things that inspire me, about role models. There are lots: the people at my fellowship, who are generous to a fault in the name of social justice; the people I have met in the blogging community, who write so poignantly and take such amazing photographs; my yoga teacher; great poets and poetry. What to choose?

For some reason, I felt stuck. The things I had on the menu for the week (because really, mostly what I'm making these days is just food) weren't really inspired by any of those amazing people. But as I thought about it some more, I decided I am inspired by spring this week. It's been teasing us here on the East Coast of the U.S.: after an almost eighty degree day, we're back in the 50s with rain. But I can tell it's coming because of the vegetables that are now in season. I love the vegetables of spring; their arrival in the farmer's markets remind me of the promise of renewal, of life defiantly nudging itself up out of the ground, after a long, dreary winter. Though we haven't started our garden yet, there are tomato plants under a grow light in the basement, and whenever I peek down there, the eerie glow makes me smile.

The idea for this soup came from the Monastery Soups cookbook I've been telling you about (so I guess it's inspired by that, too), but I adapted it a bit. First, you can't have too much asparagus. Second, I think vegetables are almost always better in soup if they've been roasted first. And third, though cream is lovely, milk will do just as well.

Tell us, what has inspired you lately? Here's the rest of the hop:

Cream of Asparagus Soup

1 lb. asparagus
1 sliced onion
2 T. olive oil
2 peeled and diced potatoes
1 sliced carrot
8 c. water
1 c. milk (or cream if you must; you could also thicken with arrowroot or a white sauce)
creme fraiche (for fun)

Preheat oven to 400. Drizzle oil over asparagus on onion on a prepared baking sheet, and season with salt and pepper. Roast for about 45 minutes, until browned and tender. Boil the water in a large pot and add the asparagus, onions, carrots, and potatoes. Cook until the potatoes and carrots are tender, and blend well in a blender or with an immersion blender. Add the milk, bring to a boil, reduce the heat and cover the pot to allow the soup to simmer for 10 minutes.

Serve drizzled with a little creme fraiche, if you like. Enjoy on one of those spring days that is a little cool and rainy, and imagine the taste of the season to come.

Let Them Eat Cake (Pops)

2011-04-11T04:10:00.000-07:00

On Friday I had my much-anticipated meeting with my new boss. I entered his office and asked how he was doing, he told me to sit in one of two chairs and sighed, saying he was not long for this job.

The reason he wanted to meet with me, he said, was because there were going to be major structural changes to my program. Because they want more faculty oversight, they've hired a faculty director, to whom I now report, and who now has all decision making authority in my office (involving any hiring--including students, any expenses, etc.). My assistant is no longer my assistant and no longer reports to me, but to him, as well. It's basically a demotion. This is also happening to others in my division.

I was very polite, saying I thought it was great that faculty will be making decisions (honestly I'm thrilled I no longer have to read grant applications), but I'm somewhere between upset and furious. Why not fire me and hire someone at a lesser title with less pay? I know it's not just me, but it troubles me that my boss' boss is letting this happen, when I've done nothing but what I thought was exemplary stewardship of my program and its endowment for the past seven years, winning accolades from the highest-level administrators. I haven't worked so hard here for twelve years to be treated like this.

On the other hand, I was somewhat prepared for this, given the email messages he's sent to me since I've been on leave.

I was lucky enough to get to yoga last week, given a lot of orchestration to feed N. near my studio so she wouldn't need me for a while. We began class again this time with a chant to Ganesha, remover of obstacles. The chant itself is a wonderful balance of rooted sounds that come from your throat and sounds that are lifted through the top of your head, creating a better balance of energy.

The focus of the class was on lifting prana--energy--up ... not getting caught up in what drags us down, but lifting up our breath so as to maintain better balance, appreciating what we have, rather than worrying about what we think we need ... and in doing so, perhaps realizing that we have what we need after all. And honestly, maybe this is the kick in the ass that I need. It's easy to play the victim, but I do have some power to exercise, even if it's the power to make the change I've been thinking about anyway. Maybe I do have what I need.

I had some leftover matcha powder from the biscotti and wanted to make something fun. Cake pops are all the rage these days, so I thought I'd give them a whirl. Next time I will probably add more binder to make smoother balls (most people use frosting; I've used a simple syrup here because the cake is already quite moist) and I'll know to let the extra candy melt drip off before sticking the stick end into a styrofoam block to let the pops dry.

As I munched on them I channeled the serenity and balance of green tea, and told myself if I there was no bread, I'd let myself eat cake. :)

Green Tea Cake Pops

1/2 c. plain or vanilla soy yogurt
2/3 c. almond milk
1/4 t. vanilla
1/3 c. canola oil
1/2 t. almond extract
3/4 c. sugar
1 1/4 c. flour
1 t. baking powder
1/4 t. baking soda
3-4 t. Matcha powder
1/4 t. salt
vanilla flavored syrup (the kind you'd put in coffee; I used Sta.rbucks sugar free)
vanilla candy melts (available in craft stores that have a candymaking section, or use white chocolate, but the shell will be more prone to melting)
lollipop sticks (available in craft stores that have a candymaking section)

Preheat oven to 350. Whisk yogurt, almond milk, vanilla, oil, and almond extract to blend. Sift in flour, baking powder, baking soda, matcha powder, salt and sugar and fold into batter. Pour into a 9' pan, and bake for 25-30 minutes. Let cool thoroughly.

Crumble the cake into a bowl, and add about 12 squirts of the syrup. Work the crumbs with your fingers until you have a pliable "dough" that you can shape into balls (you may need another squirt or two of syrup). You may want to refrigerate the dough for about 20 minutes here to make it more workable. Roll out the balls about 1" in diameter and refrigerate for 20 minutes or so.

Melt the candy melts according to the package directions. Dip one end of a lollipop stick into the candy melts and stick it into the cake ball. Put the balls in the freezer for a few minutes to firm up, and then twirl them in the remaining melted candy. Put them in a styrofoam block to dry (I didn't do this, so mine came out flat on the bottom).

You can freeze these if you need to ... but they may not last that long!

PETA, Infertility, and You (A Food-Free Post)

2011-04-07T18:31:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about how, if at all, I want to respond to the PETA “win a vasectomy campaign” in honor of National Infertility Awareness week. I didn't want to simply ignore it, but I was also not sure what I wanted to say. (update: because of the outcry, PETA removed references to National Infertility Week from their campaign! See Keiko's post.)

A lot of my fellow bloggers -- Keiko and Trinity and Elphaba and Jjiraffe and Inconceivable and Esperanza and Keiko again -- have been posting some pretty amazing letters in protest. Some, like Mel, have chosen not to respond because they feel that this kind of attention is exactly what PETA wants.

I think I want to suggest (and I hope I don't lose readers for saying this) that we do respond, but instead of doing so directly, to the PETA media stunt (or even perhaps in addition to doing so, if we feel that we need to address it), that more importantly we respond indirectly, by working even harder to make our experiences heard, to give infertility "a face and a name"--or, as Esperanza puts it, "7.3 million faces and names in the U.S. alone." I think what we do by blogging has the potential to dispel the myths that organizations like PETA perpetuate (whether you take PETA seriously or not here is besides the point). What troubles me is that the IF blogging community can be somewhat insular; if we want to write about something besides IF, for example, many of us have a separate blog to do so, even a separate identity. And while it's difficult--even painful--to tell our stories to people outside of our community who misunderstand infertility and say hurtful, devastating things to us (I read posts and comments all the time about not being able talk to our colleagues, our friends, or even our families about IF and loss), I think that's the very reason it's so necessary.

I would encourage IF bloggers to take the Resolve Blogging Challenge (Bust an Infertility Myth) as Keiko suggests, but also to go one step further, and make sure that maybe just this once, people beyond your regular readership see your post. Tweet it, Facebook it, do whatever you can do, perhaps just outside of your normal comfort zone. PETA might or might not need to hear from us. But there are so many other people who certainly do need to hear from us, one heart and voice and name at a time.

Tea For You: Green Tea Biscotti

2011-04-05T12:33:00.000-07:00

(Pink Martini's version of Two for Tea playing in the background...)

For a long time, a friend of mine and I exchanged email with a wide variety of tea in the subject headers. There's something about an invitation to tea--different from coffee, I think--that implies a sitting down and lingering, a commiserating, a communion of comfort. It's luxurious to have tea, in a way that coffee, perhaps, isn't: I remember one year, as a teenager, giving my mother the Christmas gift of high tea with me at the Plaza in New York, and savoring the tea and scones and tiny savory sandwiches, thinking that I'd achieved the pinnacle of decadence. It was, of course, a gift for both of us.

But I think you can savor tea alone, too: I've been pouring myself quite a bit of tea during these last few rainy days, and I find myself lingering over it in a way that I don't linger over my coffee in the morning (truth be told, I gulp it down, despite the fact that it's only decaf; I've often said that coffee makes milk drinkable). Tea meditation is becoming a more popular practice in various sanghas, for reasons that are probably obvious. Thich Nhat Hanh says this about tea meditation:

You must be completely awake in the present to enjoy the tea.
Only in the awareness of the present, can your hands feel the pleasant warmth of the cup.
Only in the present, can you savor the aroma, taste the sweetness, appreciate the delicacy.
If you are ruminating about the past, or worrying about the future, you will completely miss the experience of enjoying the cup of tea.
You will look down at the cup, and the tea will be gone.
Life is like that.
If you are not fully present, you will look around and it will be gone.
You will have missed the feel, the aroma, the delicacy and beauty of life.
It will seem to be speeding past you. The past is finished.
Learn from it and let it go.
The future is not even here yet. Plan for it, but do not waste your time worrying about it.
Worrying is worthless.
When you stop ruminating about what has already happened, when you stop worrying about what might never happen, then you will be in the present moment.
Then you will begin to experience joy in life.

The Japanese have been practicing tea meditation for a long time, it seems to me. As I was preparing this post, I read a bit about the Japanese tea ceremony, to which harmony, respect, purity, and tranquility are central.

I made these biscotti, thinking of Japan (our online bake sale for Japan raised $8,269 so far ... and if you still want to donate, you can add your contribution here), and thinking of the meditative qualities of tea.

Don't adjust your computer screen. These really are GREEN.
The matcha and toasted nuts pair well, and made with a little whole-grain pastry flour and chock full of Omega-3 rich walnuts and canola oil these biscotti can be a healthful treat served up with ... more green tea. :) Make sure you stop to really taste it.

Tell us: what is your favorite everyday meditation, alone or with others?

Green Tea Biscotti (adapted from VCIYCJ)

1/4 c. non dairy milk (I prefer almond for this recipe)
3 to 4 t. matcha powder (I found that three was enough)
2 T. ground flax seed
1/2 c. canola oil
3/4 c. sugar
2 t. vanilla extract
1 c. flour
1/2 c. whole wheat pastry flour
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
4 oz walnut halves (about 1 1/4 c.) or pistachios

Preheat oven to 350. Light grease or line with parchment paper a medium sized baking sheet.

In a large bowl pour non-dairy milk, add green tea powder and with a wire whisk beat till smooth and no lumps remain. Beat in ground flax seeds till smooth. Add canola oil, sugar and vanilla and beat till smooth.

Sift in flour, cornstarch, baking powder and salt. Stir to form a smooth dough, then knead in walnut halves, pushing any nuts that pop out back into the dough.

Form a log about 10 inches long by 4 inches, using a rubber spatula to even edges and flatten end sides of log. Bake for 30 minutes until log is puffed and firm. Some cracking is okay. Place baking sheet on a wire cooling rack, turn off oven and allow log to cool for at least 45 minutes. If any edges of the log are too browned gently trim off with a sharp heavy knife.

Preheat oven to 325. Very carefully slide log off of baking sheet onto a cutting board. With a sharp, heavy knife slice log into 1/2 inch thick slices, using one quick and firm motion, pressing down into log. Very gently move slices to baking sheet, standing slices on bottom edge if possible. Bake slices for 30 minutes. Slices should appear dry and nuts should be lightly toasted. Allow to cool 10 minutes on baking sheet then carefully move to wire cooling racks to complete cooling (warm cookies may be fragile). Store in loosely covered container.

A Call to Mindfulness: Harrira

2011-04-01T11:50:00.000-07:00

During the past week, in an effort to combat the silence that creeps in around the edges of our house here during the weekdays, I've been reading Mary Oliver's poetry to N. while I'm feeding her. (I had initially tried reading The Omnivore's Dilemma, because I've wanted to finish it for quite some time now, but decided it simply didn't lend itself well to being spoken, not to mention I was too impatient to read it aloud; my speaking voice was not moving anywhere near as fast as my reading eyes wanted to.) Somehow, I found myself looking for one of Oliver's poems online, and came across this site. He's a kindergarten teacher by day, but also a meditation practitioner, and talks about how both teaching and meditation are part of the same mindfulness work.

And then a friend sent me this site, which is an attempt to get a billion people breathing synchronously by November 11, 2012.

Both things got me thinking about my intentions to be more mindful--not simply to be in the present, but to be present in that present. (Boy, do I miss my yoga class.) I've been meaning to pick up one of Thich Nhat Hanh's books (any recommendations for a good one to start?), but just never seem to get around to doing so. This might be a good time, though; though I consider myself UU, between the observance of Lent and the coming of the Passover holidays, there are a lot of people around the world right now trying to be more mindful. (I love the Passover Seder, for reasons that will be obvious if you read this blog enough--mindfulness through a meal is my kind of meditation.) I suspect that a practice of mindfulness would help me to face the future better, as much as it helps to focus on the present. Because when you don't want to simply "hav[e] visited the world," you both appreciate what is amazing about the everyday, and make sure that you will do so tomorrow, too.

from Mary Oliver's poem "When Death Comes":

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

Esperanza commented recently about how my posts make her think about what she's eating ... maybe my blog does have a focus that I hadn't realized until now. I made a Moroccan Bean Soup before here, but I'm posting another today which I adapted from the Monastery Soups cookbook. This one is the original from ancient Morocco, where it is traditionally served during the 30-day Ramadan fast (another tradition of mindfulness) just before sunset, when the daily fast is broken once to strengthen the faster for the next day's fast. Eat slowly, savor the spices, and be present, even if it presence means looking outside at the snow on the first day of April.

Harrira (Moroccan Bean Soup)

1/2 c. chickpeas, soaked overnight
1/2 c. black beans, soaked overnight1/2 c. red kidney beans, soaked overnight
1/2 c. white navy beans, soaked overnight
1/2 c. lima beans
1/2 c. lentils
1/2 c. split peas, yellow if possible
12 c. water (you'll definitely need more as it's cooking, though)
2 large onions, chopped
1 16-oz can fire diced roasted tomatoes
1/2 t. ginger
1/2 t. turmeric
1/2 t. cumin
1/2 t. cinnamon
1/4 t. black pepper
1 T. lemon juice
1 bunch cilantro, chopped
8 leaves mint, chopped
salt to taste
1 pinch cayenne
1 pinch paprika

Place all beans in a large pot, add the water, and bring it to a boil. simmer for 1 1/2 hours.

Add the onions, tomatoes with their juice, ginger, turmeric, cumin, cinnamon, black pepper, and lemon juice. Stir well, cover the pot, and bring the soup to a second boil. Reduce the heat to low-medium and simmer the soup for another hour.

Add the salt and more water if necessary. Add the cilantro and mint, cayenne pepper and paprika. Stir well and cook over low heat for 15 to 20 minutes. Serve hot.

What I Love: Browned Butter Brownies

2011-03-29T19:05:00.000-07:00

First things first: don't forget to bid at the online bakesale Wednesday March 30th, to benefit Second Harvest Japan! The sale is international, so there's bound to be something that can come to your mailbox!

As I've been thinking about the direction this blog, and my future, will take, I've been taking stock of what I love. And since Audrey sent me a Stylish Blogger Award (Thank you, Audrey! Though anyone who knows me in real life will probably laugh out loud at the idea that I'm stylish ... by most people's definitions I am anything but), which means I have to list some number of things about myself, maybe I'll take this opportunity to enumerate some of those loves (not counting family, of course, which is a given).

1: Writing. Having a blog has reminded me just how much I like to write. Some people have suggested that I'm actually good at it: once upon a time, I actually won a prize or two. I'm less sure I have talent, and this blog is admittedly not great writing (there are much better bloggers and writers out there who actually read my blog, much to my embarrassment ... you know who you are, and I am humbled by your presence here), but having a project has given me a (semi)regular schedule for producing something, which I never had before, other than my dissertation, and let's not talk about that, shall we?

2: Food. In case it's not obvious, I am a foodie, par excellence. It's beyond mere appreciation. I will spend hours gaping at pictures on foodgawker. I plan day trips to bakeries and specialty food stores for tastings. A good day for me is a day when I get to wander the aisles at Whole ~~Paycheck~~ Foods and our local farmer's market. For two months I subscribed to the Foodzie tasting box, and though I cancelled it, I am dropping not-so-subtle hints to my friends and relatives that a subscription would make an ideal birthday gift.

a chocolate bar with whatever you want

3: Yoga. OK, this is related to none of the above. And I don't even have a regular home practice to speak of, so I probably shouldn't count it. But I know that I love the spiritual space I find when I'm in a yoga class, and I love the sangha at the studio where I currently practice when I can get away (which, sadly, has not been at all since N. was born).

4: Problem-Solving. I think that the reason I left my first graduate program and decided to become an administrator instead of a faculty member was because I wanted to help people in a more immediate way, cliche as that sounds. I had thought, years ago, I'd become a psychologist, but that was a no-go for my parents (not to mention that I am not the most tactful person ... a therapist probably shouldn't say something like "pull yourself together, man!" which I, in an unsympathetic moment, very well might). Still, I ended up problem solving for people, anyway. I've also liked problem-solving for community organizations. I'm good at being my own boss, setting my own deadlines, and figuring out how to do something in the most efficient way. In fact, come to think of it, I get pretty ticked off if someone interferes or thinks their way is better. S. can attest to this character flaw.

5: Sustainable Living. This has become sort of a mini-obsession for me. What can I recycle? How can I live more greenly? How can I support local farmers? How can I bring others to the dark side? (Muahahaha.)

So all of this adds up to ... what? Food blogger for a green soup kitchen?

I'll have something more thoughtful and useful to say next time, I promise.

The Stylish Blogger award requires that I share the love by passing on the award to 10+ other bloggers. I will list a few new ones here, as I usually do, with the note that they need not feel obliged to enumerate loves or even pass on the award unless they feel moved to do so ... rather, I'd like them to go comment on a new blog today and pass it on way, instead. I will also share a recipe for something covering my loves 1 through 2a, which I made today in preparation for a visit tomorrow from a sweets-loving former neighbor. No culinary lavender required, and they are incredibly moist and fudgy, especially for a recipe that uses cocoa powder instead of chocolate. I don't think I've ever made browned butter before for a dessert base, but it seems to be all the rage these days in the food blogger community. I hope you love them (the blogs and the brownies), too.

Stumbling Gracefully	AFM	A Moment 2 Think
Lauren vs. the World	Love Life Project	One Year Down, 2 Years Left ...
Sparkling Ink	Three Is A Magic Number	Too Many Fish

Browned Butter Brownies
Adapted from Bon Appetit, February 2011, recipe by Alice Medrich

1 1/4 stick unsalted butter (10 tbsps) cut into 1-inch pieces
1 1/4 c. sugar
3/4 c. cocoa powder
1 t. pure vanilla extract
1/2 t. sea salt
2 large eggs (I beat them first)
1/3 c. plus 1 T. flour
1 c. pecans, chopped (optional) or orange zest (I added about 2 t. dried)
Extra sea salt for sprinkling

Preheat oven to 325 F, and line the inside of an 8x8 square baking pan with aluminum foil, leaving 2-inch overhangs and pressing the foil tightly to the sides of the pan. (If you like, spray the aluminum foil with non-stick cooking spray, though I didn't find this necessary, and it meant that some of the brownie stuck to the foil, which I could scrape off later and eat. Yum.)

In a large saucepan, melt the butter over medium heat, stirring often. The butter will first melt, then foam, then form more clear bubbles. Once the butter has only bubbles (and no foam) and there are browned bits at the bottom of the pan, remove the butter from the heat. (This step requires patience. Cultivate it.) Stir in the sugar, cocoa powder, vanilla extract, salt, and 2 teaspoons water. Let the mixture sit for about 4-5 minutes to cool, then mix in the eggs one at a time, beating quickly after each addition. Once the chocolate mixture looks relatively smooth, mix in the flour, and then beat well for a few minutes. Mix in the chopped nuts (or whatever else you decide to add), and transfer to the prepared pan, smoothing the top before baking.

Bake for about 30 minutes or more, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out almost clean - if there is still a tiny bit of moist batter at the very bottom that is ok. Remove the brownies from the oven and cool completely on a cooling rack. Once cool, remove the brownies from the pan using the aluminum foil overhangs; peel the foil away and cut as you like. Eat immediately or store in an airtight container.