Color: Lentil Stew

I couldn't listen to the radio this morning.

My car is usually tuned to NPR during my commute, in both directions.  Though I read the NY Times headlines (and sometimes the articles) from the electronic version delivered to my inbox, filling in the embarrassing gaps with The Skimm, and grazing more leisurely on the relevant items in the Chronicle of Higher Education and Inside Higher Ed, NPR is mostly how I get outside my bubble.

But there are some mornings when the additional stimulus is too much.  I don't want to know what's going on.  Today, as I drove through the sparse snow falling on a world drained of color, I listened to the silence, or more accurately, to the sounds of being in my car on the way to work: the heater fan, the constant hum of my tires on the road.  I wallowed in February-ness, thought about pulling over to stand in the snow, wondered what would happen if I didn't show up on time, wondered if they'd wonder where I'd gone.

As I made my way across the top of one ridge, I was reminded of Frost:

The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep ...

I wonder how he felt about February.

*****

I was thinking the other day about how I seem to have surrounded myself with artists, with people who are careful observers of color and form and light and texture.  Our circle of friends includes a textile artist/weaver (who can also make art out of pretty much anything), several painters, graphic designers, a potter, photographers.  People who actually make art for a living.  I wonder if this is unusual, or if everyone has as many artists in their lives as I do.  And I wonder, sometimes, how this happened.

Am I drawn to them because I need their lens on the world? Because I need the color on the landscapes that I flatten into monochrome?

Is art like closing our eyes, and seeing the color that we can't see with them open?

Colour fades away
Tell who are you for anyway?
[...]
Colour
Fades to grey
I dream so exciting
But, I, I feel so bold ...

Red Lentil Stew
Adapted from the Kinfolk Table, this stew offers a good contrast to the monochromatic-ness of February in New Jersey.


1 c. red lentils, picked over
2 t. coconut oil
1 lg. onion, finely chopped
1 t. salt
5 garlic cloves, minced
1 T. minced fresh ginger
1 T. ground cumin
15-ounce (425-gram) can diced fire roasted tomatoes
2 slices of lemon
3 c. vegetable stock
chopped fresh cilantro for garnish

Rinse the lentils well under cold running water until the water runs clear.

Melt the oil in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat.  Add the onion and salt and saute until the onion is translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic, ginger, cumin and cayenne and saute just until fragrant, about a minute. Stir in the tomatoes, lemon slices, the stock and the lentils.

Bring the stew to a boil, then reduce the heat to medium-low, cover and simmer for 20 minutes or until the lentils are just tender.

Serve the stew over brown rice and sprinkle it with the chopped cilantro.

Asking For It: Stew with Chickpeas and Farro

I don't watch American Idol.  I think I've seen it a few times over the years it's been on TV, and while I found it oddly fascinating, in that train wreck sort of way, the setup was sometimes also a little too close to home.  As someone who spent a significant part of her formative years being taunted by people who had no business judging her, and as someone who lived in fear of the disapproval of people who did, I found the entire enterprise an unnecessary exercise in self-torture, on the one hand, and an undignified glamorization of bullying and bullies on the other.

I was, it seemed, in the minority.  People really loved American Idol.  Viewers fell for Simon, hook, line, and sinker, crowning him the King of Snark. Maybe those who auditioned were fully complicit in their humiliation, but most of them, I think, just wanted a chance to sing with someone listening.

There's been a lot of talk this week about the new kinder, gentler Idol.  The judges actually pay attention to the people auditioning, even if they're not very good.  They let the the most disastrous failures down gently.  They offer constructive criticism.  They joke with each other in ways that are friendly, not mean-spirited.  J-Lo, Keith Urban, and Harry Connick Jr. seem to actually like each other; it's like they're part of some collaborative project.

It's an interesting shift, ratings notwithstanding.  People agree that it was definitely time for something new, and that everyone tired of the catfights of last season.  But I wonder if something larger might be happening: now that bullying goes viral in a matter of minutes; now that people's careers, reputations, or entire lives, are destroyed in a series of 140-character tweets; now that everyone is an easy target, we're beginning to agree that maybe tearing people down isn't such a great idea, and more of us than we'd initially realized live in houses of glass.  We've watched people get shredded in the Twitterverse, and know that there but for the grace of the Internet we go, too.  And maybe we're beginning to re-think what social media is for.

I read this thoughtful piece on the NPR blog MonkeySee the other day about publishing and social media, and perhaps the shift we're seeing is the result of a lesson that social media makes more transparent.  Holmes suggests that social media is misread by journalists (and I'd argue, by lots of people):

"I wonder sometimes whether the self-disclosure and informality of Twitter leads journalists to conclude they have different obligations to those who write on Twitter than to those who write elsewhere, because once you step outside of traditional publishing, you're in a sort of free-for-all where whatever anybody says is your own fault, because you opened your mouth"

(Once you've agreed to audition for Idol, you've agreed to be terrorized by Simon Cowell.) Holmes argues that people who publish the personal on Twitter aren't asking for critique; rather, they're talking with people who have opted in to read:

"Twitter (like the Internet in general) is a "pull" medium, not a "push" medium; it is fed by specific and fluid choices, not longstanding trust in curation[.]"

I'm not sure that I agree entirely with her point that social media is unlike an op-ed.  In some ways, social media freed the op-ed: instead of relying on the Times to select them for publication, would-be opinionators were empowered to disseminate their ideas through blogs and microblogging platforms.  But where at one point the medium itself seemed to invite critique, even in the writing of things like memoir, I wonder, are we becoming a kinder, gentler social public?  And what does that awareness do, if anything, to the way we write and read each other's work?

What is it that we're asking for when we write (or sing) in public?

Chickpea and Farro Stew
Every time I put something new on the table, I feel a little like I'm sitting in front of American Idol judges.  My family can be pretty harsh critics.  Luckily, this was pretty well recieved, even by my daughter, who plays the role of Simon Cowell.

1 onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced (divided)
5 c. baby spinach, rinsed, pat dry
4 c. vegetable broth
2 15 oz. cans chickpeas, rinsed and drained
1/2 t. ground cumin
1/2 t. smoked paprika
15oz. fire roasted diced tomatoes
3 1/2 T. olive oil, divided
4 c. water
2 eggs
kosher salt
black pepper
1 c. farro
(fried egg, optional)

Add 1 T. olive oil to a large pot and heat on medium until oil is just shimmering.  Add half of the garlic and sauté a minute or two, until fragrant but not brown. Add the spinach and continue to saute until spinach is just wilted, 2-3 minutes. Set aside in a bowl; you'll add this back in later.

In the same pot, over medium heat, heat 2 T.olive oil over medium heat. When oil is shimmering, add diced onion and remaining garlic and saute 3-4 minutes, until the onion is just translucent. Add ground cumin and smoked paprika and stir until fragrant, 1-2 minutes. Add chickpeas and diced tomatoes and their juices, and continue to stir until the juices are mostly evaporated, 8-10 minutes.

Add vegetable broth and farro to pot and bring to a simmer over medium-high heat, scraping up any browned bits from bottom. Reduce heat to medium and simmer, mashing chickpeas, until stew is thick and farro is no longer chewy, 15-20 minutes. Fold in spinach. Add water if it's too thick.

If your family likes them, serve with a fried egg on top.  I don't much like fried eggs, but I put a token piece on the picture, because the males in my family required it.

Perfect Moment Monday: A Porch Swing, and Mulligatawny

On the last Monday of each month, my lovely friend Lavender Luz at Write Mind Open Heart sponsors Perfect Moment Monday, a blog hop/writing prompt that offers an opportunity to notice and reflect on the "perfect moments" in our lives, rather than create them.  These moments can be ordinary, momentous, or somewhere in between.  Everyone is welcome to join.  

***

Though the days have been colder lately, sometimes bitterly so, I still try to get outside in the afternoons with N.  We haven't been to the park much lately, though, and I suspect that she misses the swing, which she tells me, jubilantly, is "like flying."

On a particularly raw day, we'd just gotten back from the grocery store, and I was going to head inside for the few minutes before I's bus made its appearance down the street, when to my surprise, N. stopped on the porch, demanding, "swing, mama": which meant, "come, sit on the porch swing."

"Really?" I said.  "Now?  N., you haven't wanted to sit on that swing in months."  I had some mulligatawny cooking inside, and I wanted to go check on it, really, to inhale the fragrant smell of curry and apple and leeks and coconut and feel warm again.

"Yes, yes ... SWING."

It was too cold to swing, really.  The thought of more cold air on my face made my body temperature drop another five degrees.  But she was adamant.  So I perched her on one end and sat down next to her gingerly, waiting for the creak and snap of the cold teak, bracing myself for the chill that would begin to seep through my seat.

We started slowly, and as she giggled, the swinging got a little more raucous.  My nose felt frosty.  I giggled, and she laughed, and I pushed the swing a little higher.  She laughed, and I laughed more.  Eventually, we were laughing at the laughing.  Has this ever happened to you?  The laughter spirals out of control, and soon you don't even know what's funny and what's not.  Because it's all funny.

And you know what?  The mulligatawny waited until we were done.

Mulligatawny with Chicken (or Chickpeas) and Apples
adapted from Arctic Garden Studio and The Unofficial Downton Abbey Cookbook
Perfect for frosty February days.  You can veganize it if you like by simply substituting chick peas for the chicken.  I love the addition of the banana, which gives this version a different flavor dimension, unlike the version I've made before.

1 lb. boneless chicken, cut into bite-sized chunks (or 1-2 cans chick peas)
2 T. olive oil
2 carrots, diced small
2 celery stalks, diced small
1 medium onion, diced small
2 leeks, sliced thin, white and light green parts only
3 cloves of garlic, minced
1 1/2 inch piece of fresh ginger, minced
1 T. curry powder
1  t. cumin
1/2 t. cinnamon
6 cloves
1 t. salt
freshly ground pepper to taste
8 c. chicken (or vegetable) stock
1 1/2 medium banana, very ripe and mashed well
1 c. long grain white or brown rice
1/4 c. unsweetened coconut
2 granny smith or other tart apple, diced medium
2 T. lemon juice
1 can coconut milk (I used light)

Toppings (optional)
chopped cilantro or parsley
1 cup yogurt
slivered almonds, toasted

Heat 1 T. oil over medium-high heat in a saute pan.  Add chicken and saute quickly until browned on the outside but not necessarily cooked on the inside. (If using chick peas, skip this step.)

Heat oil over medium heat in a large stock pot or dutch oven (at least 5 1/2 quart).  Add carrots, celery, onion, and leek. Saute, stirring often until onions are soft and translucent.  Add garlic and ginger and stir for a minute or two until fragrant.  Add spices and stir for one minute. Add stock, add banana, chicken (or chick peas) and rice.

Bring to a simmer, then turn down heat to medium low and simmer for about 30 minutes.  Add apples and coconut; simmer another 15 minutes. Turn heat down to low. Gradually stir in lemon juice and coconut milk; do not boil! Top with cilantro, yogurt, and almonds.

Change, and Slow Cooker Chicken Tikka Masala

Each month, my good friend and fabulous blogger Kathy Benson, who writes (among other places!) at Bereaved and Blessed hosts a blog hop and writing exercise called Time Warp Tuesday.   The Time Warp invites us to revisit an old post from our blog, and think about where we are now, how our thoughts about the post may have changed from its original writing.  This month, during the season of resolutions and goal-setting, Kathy directs us to find an old blog entry about change:

The new year is often a time for new beginnings and changes in our lives. Choose a post from your archives in which you wrote about change. Maybe you wrote about a change that you chose to make or one that happened without warning or intention. Then write a new post on your blog about why you chose the post that you did and what has happened in your life since.

Read more: http://bereavedandblessed.com/2013/1/time-warp-tuesday-change/

From the very beginning this blog has been all about and my attempts to cope with change (half-baked is, by nature, something in process), but the one that its feeling most important for me these days is a post I'd written back in 2011, in which I submit my letter of resignation.

I had struggled for months, composing that letter in my head, as conditions became untenable for me at work.  I worried about what it would mean to give up a 12 year career, in which I had won accolades from my supervisors and earned the respect of literally hundreds of people.  I worried whether I'd ever be employed again.  Leaving my job was both a change I initiated and something that happened without much warning.

I chose this post because I've needed to remind myself, especially lately, about how proud I felt, taking that step into the unknown, risking my career to maintain my sanity and integrity.  As busy stay-at-home-parent life took over, and as the economy continued to lag, the job opportunities evaporated.  Now, nearly two years since my daughter was born, and over a year and a half since I left my job, I'm still not employed outside the home.  I've questioned my decision to resign more times than I can count.  I've questioned my credentials, my intelligence, the fabulousness of my resume, my network.  It's hard going some days.

But sometimes even when we initiate change, life takes us in directions that we didn't anticipate.  We create the catalyst, we set things in motion, but there's a world out there to contend with, much of which is beyond our control.  Our choice is to find acceptance, to be more like water, flowing with change, rather than trying to work against it.

And, like cooking sometimes, change is slow.  I need to keep reminding myself that worthwhile changes can take time. 

The first time I read through this recipe I was a little reluctant to try it.  After all, isn't the whole point of the slow cooker to minimize your cooking time, rather than requiring that you essentially cook something twice?

But for someone who doesn't eat all that much meat, I have to say: cooking the chicken this way made it practically melt in your mouth.  Slow and steady for the win.

Slow Cooker Chicken Tikka Masala
based on the original at tasty kitchen

9 boneless, skinless chicken thighs
1 T. coriander
1 T. cumin
1 t. kosher salt
1 c. yogurt
4 T. butter
 for the sauce
4 T. butter
1 large onion, peeled/diced
6 cloves garlic, minced
1 T. kosher salt
3 T. garam masala
2-3" piece fresh ginger, peeled/grated
4 c. crushed tomatoes
2 t. agave nectar
2 t. cornstarch
1-½ c. evaporated milk (or cream)
cilantro (optional for garnish)

Cut the chicken into 1" pieces, place them into a bowl, and sprinkle with with spices. Stir in the yogurt to coat the chicken thoroughly. Cover lightly and let sit for 10 minutes to allow flavors to blend.

Melt 1 T. butter in a large saute pan over medium heat. Brown the chicken in four batches, using one tablespoon of butter with each batch, and transfer the browned chicken to the slow cooker.

For the sauce, melt 4 T. butter over medium high heat. Add the onions, garlic, and salt, and stir. Saute until the onions just begin to brown around the edges.

Stir in the garam masala and ginger and cook about 1 minute before raising the heat to high and adding the crushed tomatoes and agave. Scrape the caramelized bits from the bottom of the pan, and bring to a boil. Pour the sauce into the slow-cooker.

Cover and cook on low for 5 hours, or until the chicken is so tender that it falls apart on your fork.

Use a fork or whisk to stir the cornstarch into the evaporated milk until smooth. Pour into the slow-cooker and stir gently until the color is even.  Cook for 10 minutes or until bubbly around the edges; the original recipe suggested that you re-cover the slow cooker, but I found it worked better without re-covering (perhaps because I used evaporated milk).

Serve with rice (tasty kitchen suggested rice with peas), and whatever else you like!

Difference at the Table: Moroccan Root Vegetable Stew

Despite my love of the harvest, and the falling leaves, and the apples and squash, and even the raking, I don't love November.

It's something about the darkening sky, the full-tilt rush towards Christmas and the pressure to give extravagant gifts, the starches of the Thanksgiving meal, the conversations I'm doomed to have around our Thanksgiving table.

World War Three, the Passive Aggressive version, came early this year.  With my mother's fall down her stairs, and her move to our house for her recovery, we've been dancing around difficult conversations for weeks now, me sometimes biting my tongue, and sometimes not.  Imagine Thanksgiving, with all of its family land mines, stretching out for three, then four, then five weeks, and you'll get some sense of what it has been like around here.

Reflecting on the difficult topic of religious pluralism in church this week, our minister reminded us of another meal that wasn't exactly the most congenial of meetings.

Edward Winslow wrote, in a letter dated December 12, 1621:

Our corn [i.e. wheat] did prove well, and God be praised, we had a good increase of Indian corn, and our barley indifferent good, but our peas not worth the gathering, for we feared they were too late sown.  They came up very well, and blossomed, but the sun parched them in the blossom.  Our harvest being gotten in, our governor sent four men on fowling, that so we might after a special manner rejoice together after we had gathered the fruit of our labors.  They four in one day killed as much fowl as, with a little help beside, served the company almost a week.  At which time, amongst other recreations, we exercised our arms, many of the Indians coming amongst us, and among the rest their greatest king Massasoit, with some ninety men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five deer, which they brought to the plantation and bestowed on our governor, and upon the captain and others.  And although it be not always so plentiful as it was at this time with us, yet by the goodness of God, we are so far from want that we often wish you partakers of our plenty.

Can you imagine?  The Pilgrims had invited Massosoit to sign a peace treaty, and spent three days eating with ninety surprise guests with whom they couldn't communicate (except through Squanto), warriors who were bearing arms, not really sure whether they were going to be killed.  And you thought your Thanksgiving table conversation was a little tense?  Not that I am entirely sympathetic with the colonists, but it sort of puts things in perspective, doesn't it?  At least we're not armed.  And the one thing I've noticed is that over time, even if the conversations are still difficult, they've become less charged, as if time has diffused them, just a little bit.  Maybe we are figuring each other out, even if that understanding doesn't make us best friends.

Much has changed since 1621; though we haven't entirely abandoned our "roots," there's a lot on our Thanksgiving tables that is hardly "traditional" fare.  This dish is a nod to those early settlers and to their native American guests at the table, a stew made with traditional root vegetables, most of which actually were around for that first Thanksgiving (no potatoes, since they hadn't yet made their way across the Atlantic).  It's a perfect example of the meeting of cultures, American vegetables fused with the flavors of the Middle East.  Even if peace may be hard to imagine, perhaps at least we can appreciate the result of the marriage of flavors, knowing that the longer we sit around the table together, the more likely it is we'll at least achieve some kind of understanding, if not agreement.  And we can give thanks for that.

What--and who--will be at your Thanksgiving table this year?  What do your Thanksgiving roots look like?

Moroccan-Style Chicken and Root Vegetable Stew

4 c. canned low-salt chicken broth
1 T.olive oil
1 lb boneless skinless chicken
1 1/2 c. onion, chopped
3 garlic cloves, minced
2 t. garam masala
2 t. ground cumin
1 cinnamon stick
2 c. sweet potatoes, peeled, 1/2" cubes
2 c. parsnips (I used kohlrabi, because I had one) peeled, 1/2" pieces
1 1/2 c. turnips, peeled, 1/2" pieces 
1 large carrot cut in 1/2" pieces
1 c.  rutabaga, peeled, 1/2"pieces
1/4 c. golden raisins or apricots (chopped)1 14-oz can fire roasted diced tomatoes, drained
Juice and zest from one lemon

In a small pot, bring chicken broth to a boil, continue to boil until reduced by half, then set aside.

Heat oil in heavy large pot over medium-high heat. Sprinkle chicken with salt and pepper. Sauté chicken for about a minute until light golden and remove from pot; set aside.

Add onion to pot and sauté until golden and translucent, about 4 minutes. Add garlic and stir 1 minute. Add spices and stir 30 seconds until just fragrant. Add sweet potatoes, parsnips (kohlrabi), turnips, carrot, rutabaga, broth and currants. Cover and simmer until vegetables are tender, about 20 minutes. Add tomatoes, lemon zest with juice, and chicken, and simmer over medium heat about 5 minutes, or until chicken is thoroughly cooked. Sprinkle with cilantro if desired.

First Grade Homework and Chicken Chili Verde: The Dilemma of the Overachiever

Last week, my son came home with his long-anticipated first homework assignments. I'd been hearing parents talk about homework for two years already, and was dreading this transition for all of us. Luckily, I. seemed to take it all in stride, and sat down on the first day immediately after he arrived home from school, and set about doing his homework. (He doesn't know enough yet to complain about it, I guess.)

I debated for a bit whether I hang out with him to help, or if it would be more helpful for me to keep his sister occupied in another room. I finally came down on the side of peacekeeping, and left I. to his own devices in the kitchen.

About half an hour later, I peeked in, and was surprised to see him still plugging away at the spelling worksheet I'd left him with. Words are his strength: he reads two levels ahead of his grade, and can write fairly well for his age, though his spelling is definitely ... creative, at best. One glance over his shoulder, though, revealed why: instead of writing the words twice, as the directions stated, he'd written each word multiple times, filling the page as he went, and getting a little more sloppy with each iteration.

I bit my lip. Should I rebuke him for not following the teacher's directions? Or cheer him on for going above and beyond what the assignment required? What would the teacher be looking for? And what would she think of me, the parent who was supposed to be supervising?

Yes, I was totally overthinking first grade homework.

I decided to first congratulate him on his ambition, then point out how the writing suffered when he was getting tired of the assignment and tell him it was OK to take a break, and then ask him if/how he thought it might have been different if he'd followed the directions. I'm not sure if covering all of the bases was the way to go, but the incident made me realize just how often we're given directions that place limits on our own creativity or industry. I know that children need structure, but it would have been just as easy for the directions to say "write the words at least two times." Or "write the words two, three, or four times."

Because these children, the ones given limits, are the ones that turn into the college students who used to ask me, "how long does that paper have to be?" and who are stymied by the answer, "as long as it takes to make your point."

That's one thing I love about cooking. You start with a recipe, and maybe you follow it the first time. But once you're comfortable with the ingredients, with the process, you start to take liberties with it. You get creative. You end up with something completely different. The best recipes actually encourage that experimentation, rather than stifling it.

What do you think? Have you ever been given a structure that actually limited your creativity? And do you think that there are ways to give people structure that makes them more creative?

Chicken Chili Verde
The original for this recipe, located at Grubarazzi, is fabulous. But I like my small variations, and the original also inspired me to make a similar green sauce with the first roasted ingredients that turned out to be excellent as a base for chicken/white bean and spinach enchiladas. Somehow, I am embarrassed to admit that I completely missed taking a picture of both dishes, which sort of suggests how they were devoured here.  (Luckily, there is a picture at Grubarazzi.  Go salivate there.)  I would recommend making double the amount of green sauce, and saving some for a future experiment of your own.

1 large red onion, peeled and quartered
7 garlic cloves
2 green bell peppers, cut lengthwise
2 jalapenos, cut lengthwise and seeded
15 tomatillos, husked, cut in half
Pinch of salt
Drizzle of olive oil

3 pounds skinless boneless chicken thighs, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
5 tablespoons stone ground corn meal
Pinch of salt, oregano, cumin, and pepper
3 tablespoons olive oil
4 cups canned low-salt chicken broth
5 cups frozen corn kernels, thawed
1 tablespoon dried oregano
1 tablespoon ground cumin
2 tablespoons chili powder
1 teaspoon paprika
½ teaspoon cinnamon
1 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1 avocado, thinly sliced (for garnish)

Preheat the oven to 450. Place onions, garlic, bell peppers, jalapenos, and tomatillos on a large baking sheet in a single layer, cut side down. Drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with salt. Roast for at least 20 minutes, or until caramelized. Remove and allow to cool, about 10 minutes. Transfer the roasted vegetables to the blender, and blend until smooth. Set aside.

In a large bowl combine corn meal, salt, pepper, oregano and cumin. Toss the chicken in this mixture until coated.

Heat olive oil in a large heavy pot over medium-high heat. Add half of chicken to pot and sauté until golden brown, about 10 minutes. Transfer to a bowl. Repeat browning process with remaining chicken. Return all of the chicken (including its juices) to the stock pot. Add blended vegetables, chicken broth, corn, oregano, chili powder, cumin, paprika and cinnamon to pot. Bring liquid to boil. Reduce heat and simmer until mixture thickens and flavors blend, stirring occasionally, about 2 hours. Season with salt throughout the cooking process to taste.

Mix cilantro into chili. Garnish with slice avocado (or your garnish of choice) and serve.

Friending My Mother, and the Need-To-Know Basis: Tomatillo Stew

About a month ago, I got a facebook friend request from my mother.

I sat, staring at my screen in disbelief for a while, and then, I confess: I pretended that it never happened.  The notification is still sitting in limbo in the friend request tab, glaring at me accusingly every time I open that page, shaking its virtual finger at me, neither accepted nor ignored.  Because I simply didn't know what to do with it.

I've been on facebook since July 2005, a bit longer than most people my age.  I originally used it as a professional tool, for the purpose of hunting down students, because they weren't responding to email any more, and hadn't yet been sucked into their little text bubbles.  It worked remarkably well: my students both responded more promptly to my questions or requests to see them, and sought me out more often, saying that they found me more approachable because I had a facebook profile.  My policy was not to friend students unless they friended me first, using the tool primarily as a messaging device until they made the decision to use it to build a relationship.

A few years later, my high school and college friends found facebook, and my personal and professional lives collided online.  Suddenly I'd been tagged in pictures from the third grade.  Not long after that, my family started to find me on Facebook, and I could see who my brother had been out with, and where my father-in-law had taken his homemade rail bike.  Unlike some of my colleagues, I have been OK with this collision, because I felt like it represented a more complete picture of me to my students.  I've never posted anything particularly objectionable.  I don't really have anything to hide from one group or another.  There are no pictures of me with a red Solo cup in hand (mostly because those pictures don't exist).  I've never (as far as I can recall, anyway) used facebook to gossip or to say anything derogatory about other people.

Now.  My mother isn't exactly a Luddite, but she is a slow technology adopter, and not an avid user.  As of a week ago, she still receives and forwards chain mail with animated gifs.  Google isn't exactly a verb for her.  Even if I were to accept her friend request, it's unlikely she'd troll through my archives looking for dirt.  She may or may not look at the pictures I've posted, most of which are dated.  She certainly would not read my status updates with any regularity.  At least, I don't think she would ... though the fact that she only has 14 other friends might make me stand out.

So why am I so hesitant to friend her?
 
When I lived in West Hollywood, I was mugged at gunpoint late one night by a small group of teenagers while on my way to Starbucks for a cup of coffee.  I'm sure it was a small time gang dare, because they seemed nervous, and the "give us your money, bitch" that they whispered in my ear as I felt the cool barrel of the gun at my head inspired more indignance than fear.  I'd grabbed my purse back from them, told them to "hang on a minute," and gave them the $20 I had for groceries, taking my credit cards back and feeling pissed off because I was a poor graduate student.  They seemed satisfied, we parted ways, and I called the police to make my report.  I didn't call my parents to tell them until about a week later, because I didn't feel like they needed to know; they were 3000 miles away, and would have been upset about something they could do nothing about, something that was already over.  I didn't want to dwell on it.  When it finally did come up, I told my mother that the situation was information I shared on a "Need to Know Basis," and that at the time, she didn't need to know.  Though I didn't mean them hurtfully, I know that she has carried those words in her heart since then; it colors all of our interactions, all of our careful stepping around one another's lives.  As I've been thinking about the facebook problem, I've been wondering if I could draw parallels between my reaction to my mother about her friend request, and the fact that I didn't tell her about getting mugged.  Is this about trying to control what I think she Needs To Know? [updated: I am aware of, and use, various custom groups for making some posts more private.  For some reason, that doesn't affect the way I feel about this situation; I would feel uncomfortable accepting the friend request and then excluding her from my posts.]

The other night, I was talking with a friend whom, I was surprised to hear, was experiencing the same dilemma.  Only in her case, her mother was demanding that she friend her.  Unlike my mother's friend request, which was quietly brooding, only creating guilt because I was inviting it to make me feel guilty, her mother's friend request was like a Howler arriving at Hogwarts, screaming in real life, at the top of its lungs: "you'd better friend me or else."  Her mother was actively looking for pictures to which she didn't have access, feeling left out of an imagined circle of communication.  She threatened my friend with hurtful consequences if she continued to exclude her from her friend list.

I told my friend that this amounted to harrassment in my book.  That she shouldn't have to experience this.   That it was wrong of her mother to make such an unreasonable demand of her adult child who, in my opinion, should be allowed to decide whom to friend.

When we were talking about this, I compared my facebook account to a private room in my virtual house.  I may not have anything to hide in that room.  There are no sex toys, or hidden drugs, or anything that my mother should be worried about.  I bring anything that might be of interest to her directly to the recliner in my virtual living room, where I've invited her to sit.  In fact, she has more access to the things in the rest of my virtual house, where she gets to browse freely.  But if I found her in that one room snooping around, or felt like she demanded to have access to that room, I'd be upset.

The irony, of course, is that I find it perfectly acceptable for mothers of children going off to college to expect that their children friend them (which is a conversation I had with another friend just the day before).  I'm not sure if this is a generational division in my mind.  Do I find it acceptable because the younger generation has always lived with their parents looking over their virtual shoulders?  Or because these children are not yet old enough to be completely individuated?

Facebook friends are not really our friends.  It's a poorly-conceived term.  Some of them are friends, some are acquaintances, some are colleagues.  Some are people we probably don't care very much about at all, especially if we're not vigilant about purging our friend list.  And maybe that's just it: the people I don't care about at all are like people on the street who see my public self when I'm walking downtown with my children; what I post on facebook means nothing to them.  My real friends are the ones for whom my posts have meaning.  So perhaps if I considered my mother my friend, I would friend her ... or, ironically, if I didn't care about her at all, I wouldn't mind accepting her friend request?  What does this say about my attitude towards social media?

I'm stewing.  What would you do?

Tomatillo Stew
Here's something different we decided to do with our CSA tomatillos last week.  It requires a green sauce, but uses that green sauce in a slightly different way than usual.  It's easy to make vegetarian/vegan by using chayote squash as a substitute for the chicken.  Adapted from here.

1 1/2 lbs. tomatillos
2 T. canned chopped green chiles (mild)
1 clove garlic, chopped
1 t. kosher salt
2 T. lime juice
pinch of sugar

2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1" cubes & patted dry OR 3/4 lb. chayote squashkosher salt & freshly ground pepper, to taste
extra virgin olive oil
2 yellow onions, chopped
1 t. ground cumin
1 t. ground coriander
2 more cloves garlic, minced
1 1/2 c. chicken or vegetable stock
1 t. dried oregano1 bunch fresh cilantro, chopped

Preheat the broiler to high. Line a baking sheet with foil and set aside. Remove the papery husks from the tomatillos and slice them in half. Place them cut-side down on a baking sheet about six inches from the broiler and roast for 5-7 minutes, until blackened in spots and cool enough to handle.

Add the tomatillos, any juice they released, chiles, garlic, salt, lime juice, and sugar in a blender and puree until well blended.

Heat enough olive oil to coat the bottom of a large skillet over medium high heat. Salt and pepper both sides of the chicken or squash and drop it in the hot skillet. Brown the cubes on each side (they don’t have to be cooked through); remove from the pan.  Reduce the heat to medium and add the onions. Cook until softened and the browned bits on the bottom of the pan have loosened.  Add the cumin and coriander and stir until fragrant. Add the garlic and cook for a minute more.

Once the garlic has become fragrant, add the browned chicken or squash back to the pan. Stir in the tomatillo sauce, stock and oregano. Bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer and cook, partially covered for 20 minutes, until the chicken or squash is cooked through. Add cilantro just before serving.

Try It: Aloo Matar

My daughter's vocabulary is growing at an astounding rate.  She's always been a very social baby, but language makes that even more evident; where I remember my son first communicating in nouns, my daughter has begun her study of language in verbs, and mostly in the imperative.

The most amusing of these, I think, is "tryit."  Usually phrased with the intonation of a question, and a gesture indicating that you (in most cases, I) really ought to try whatever it is she's doing, or eating, or reading, or ... you get the idea.  I've been thinking about why this might be, and I guess it's partly because we're constantly asking her to try things: new foods, clothing, walking, experiences.  So it stands to reason that she would ask us to do the same.

Sometimes she's just offering me things that I've given to her.  A piece of avocado.  A chick pea.  A doll.  A particular book.

Sometimes it's more imaginative.  The top half of a plastic egg, in which there is a hole that she's managed to turn into a whistle by sucking her cheeks in over the rounded tip.  A soft Tigger-shaped pillow onto which she flops her head grandly, bending her small body in half.  "Tryit," she says, encouraging.  Demonstrating.  Like this.  (flop.)

 And honestly, there hasn't been a single time when I've regretted "trying it."  (Oh, that Tigger pillow is so soft, and so comfortable, and who knew -- what a wonderful thing to lay your head down just for a moment!)

I love the fact that my daughter has opinions of her own.  Though there are times that makes life more difficult (during dinner, for example, when her mouth clamps shut if she doesn't like what's on offer), it will certainly serve her well in the future, when people are trying to get her to do what they want her to.  But I also hope that she retains some of this delight in the universe, and excitement at sharing her discoveries with me, and with anyone else who might be willing to "tryit" too.

Aloo Mattar
(because you really ought to try it.)


1 large tomato, chopped
6 garlic cloves, peeled
1/2-inch fresh ginger, peeled
1-inch piece cinnamon
2 cloves
2 green cardamom pods
3 T. canola oil
1 t. cumin seeds
1/2 medium onion, cut into thin slices
2 medium potatoes, peeled and chopped into 1/2-inch cubes
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 t. turmeric
1 1/2 t. garam masala3 c. frozen peas
2 T. cream (I omitted this)
fresh cilantro, for garnish

In a blender, combine the tomato, garlic, and ginger. Puree until smooth. Set aside.

Add the cinnamon, clove, and cardamom to a large pan set over medium heat. Dry roast, stirring constantly, until very fragrant, about one minute.  Pour in the canola oil, and add in the cumin seeds. When the cumin seeds start to sizzle, add the onions. Stir well until the onions are evenly coated with the fragrant oil. Turn the heat to medium-high, and cook until the onions are just starting to brown, two to four minutes. Stir occasionally.

Add the cubed potatoes, and cook, stirring often, for three minutes. Pour in the contents of the blender, and stir to combine.  Add the salt, turmeric, and 1/4 cup of water. Stir well, and then reduce heat to medium. Cook at a steady simmer, stirring occasionally, until the potatoes are starting to become tender, and the oil starts to separate from the sauce, about 12 minutes. You may need to turn the heat down to keep it from boiling.

Add two more cups of water and the peas. Simmer about 10 minutes, until the potatoes are tender. Add the cream (optional) and garam masala, and simmer gently for an additional two minutes. Season to taste with more salt, if necessary. Garnish with fresh cilantro leaves.

Stewing: Cioppino (with a vegan option)

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.

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

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.

Difference, Kids, and Argentinean Beef Cook Up

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!

Showers, and Fish (or Vegetable) Chowder

First thing's first: don't eat vast quantities of wonton soup when you're pregnant, no matter how much you might think your body wants it.  The eight pounds I gained in a recent post?  All but half a pound gone by my appointment this past Wednesday.  I'm chalking it up to water retention, due to too much salt.  Of course, I celebrated by having an enormous piece of cheesecake (apologetically thinking about those of you who have gotten pregnant and have to deal with GD).  And JeCaThRe's right; it's all well within the range of "normal," and I need to stop obsessing.

I'm going back to work tomorrow, provided I don't go into labor overnight.  There are still some loose ends I am trying to tie up.  I've scheduled one meeting on both Monday and Tuesday, and have left myself open for the rest of the week, with the exception of an all day meeting on Friday, which I will attend for everyone's amusement if I still haven't given birth.  I am definitely having "practice labor" this time around (my hynobirthing instructor says we shouldn't be using the words "contractions"), which is a little bit freaky; last night, I was lying on the couch, trying to decide whether to worry about the tightness I was feeling, and decided to go to sleep, figuring I'd wake up if I were really in labor.  I did wake up, but by then the feeling had subsided.

My work shower was nice: a light lunch, (purchased) cupcakes, people mingling.  The only really uncomfortable part of it for me was opening gifts: I already feel like we have enough stuff, and even though there were some things we needed and got (case in point: why were the bottles from 4 years ago not BPA free?!), I don't like having to open gifts in front of people, especially if I'm the only one doing so.

My virtual shower, on the other hand, was amazing.  :)  Thank you to everyone who attended ("latecomers" included--though that's the beautiful thing about a virtual shower: you can't be late!), and to JeCaThRe, who is not only an incredibly creative human being, but one of the most thoughtful, generous, wonderful people I know.  My love to you all.

I. had another snow day on Friday, and there's vague talk of yet another storm system here on Tuesday into Wednesday.  Part of me is wondering if we should demand partial tuition refunds from I.'s day care for all of the school closings this year; another part of me is wondering if Mother Nature is trying to ensure that Bean is born in a blizzard, just to make it memorable.

Though I'm feeling less and less like cooking these days, soups and stews are still my meal of choice, and this one is good for wintry days.  I've offered some options to make it vegetarian.  Miso is salty enough (and every so slightly fishy tasting to me) to stand in for clam juice/dashi, and you can toss in beans rather than fish.  If you're living in the Northern Hemisphere, stay warm ... and if you're living in the Southern, please soak up some sun on our behalf.

(Fish) Chowder

2 1/2 c. frozen whole-kernel corn, thawed and divided
8 (vegetarian) bacon slices, chopped
3 c. chopped onion
1 1/2 c. finely chopped celery
1 1/2 c. finely chopped carrot
1 c. finely chopped shallots
4 garlic cloves, minced
1/4 c. chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
1 T. chopped fresh thyme
1 T. paprika
3 T. butter
1/4 c. all-purpose flour
3 c. whole milk
1 t. salt
1/2 t. freshly ground black pepper
2 (8-oz) bottles clam juice (or dashi or miso soup broth)
2 bay leaves
1 1/2 lbs. Yukon gold potatoes, 1/2" cubes (about 4 cups)
2 lbs. firm white fish fillets, bite-sized pieces (use large white beans for a vegetarian version)

Place 1 cup corn in a food processor or blender, and process until smooth. Set aside.

Cook bacon in a Dutch oven over medium-high heat until crisp. Remove bacon from pan with a slotted spoon, re-serving 1 tablespoon drippings in pan; set bacon aside. Add onion and next 4 ingredients (through garlic) to drippings in pan; saute 5 minutes or until tender. Stir in parsley, thyme, and paprika. Remove vegetable mixture from pan; set aside.

Melt butter in pan over medium heat. Gradually whisk in the flour. Cook over medium heat 2 minutes or until browned. Gradually add the milk, stirring with a whisk. Add vegetable mixture, salt, and next 4 ingredients (through potatoes); bring to a boil. Reduce heat, and simmer 10 minutes or until potatoes are almost tender. Stir in fish (beans), pureed corn, and remaining 1 1/2 cups corn kernels; cover and cook 15 minutes or until fish flakes easily when tested with a fork. Discard bay leaves. Top with bacon.

Removing Obstacles: Autumn Vegetable Stew with Wheatberries

Two weeks ago, after my yoga class began with a chant to Ganesha, I was going to write a post about removing obstacles (Ganesha is known as Remover of Obstacles).  I abandoned it because it was taking me too long to write, and because I was feeling too beleaguered by obstacles myself, but after my teacher came back to the theme again this week in class, I felt like it was too perfect a fit not to talk about here.

After our beginning-of-class chant, my teacher, in her infinite wisdom, commented that the obstacles rarely go away (e.g., a diagnosis of IF is not likely to change any time soon); rather, it's a matter of changing perspective on the obstacle by returning to the present, by stripping away the complications that make dealing with it more difficult, and being able to see how to approach the problem more clearly.   Yoga teaches us to recognize and acknowledge difficulty when we encounter it, and then realize simplicity by coming back to what is immediate: our breath, our bodies, the way we feel right this very instant.  This sort of makes sense to me: when I'm in an asana, sometimes if I breathe, I find that I can go deeper into the pose or become more balanced on the exhale.  I haven't removed the obstacle; by staying present, I've managed to work through it.

This isn't to say that we can make difficult things "easy," by any means -- but rather, simplify them, make them less complicated, by looking at them in the present tense.  According to this line of thought, when we're looking too far ahead into the future, worrying about too many things, the simple things begin to look more complicated than they actually are, and what could be clear becomes muddled; we lose the ability to focus and problem-solve.

This exactly describes where I am, in this pregnancy, with my professional life, with everything.  I'm practically hyperopic ... I can't focus on things that are right in front of me, in the present tense, because I'm so worried about the immediate and not-so-immediate future: about how I will deal with a baby and still pay enough attention to my son (I imagine scenarios in which my husband spends lots of time away from me with my son [whose company I just love most of the time], thinking he's doing me a favor, and leaves me to feel completely alone with an infant), about how I will deal with coming back from maternity leave to a situation that will be very different from the one I left, about how we will manage financially and how I will manage psychologically and intellectually if my career will take a different turn.  I love going to yoga class because it helps me to leave all of this behind, or at least to put it where it belongs--in the future--and to concentrate on my breath, the way my body feels, the way that Bean is shifting and moving in my abdomen, the sound of the eternal Om playing during savasana.  Type-A personality aside, I can't do anything about some of these possible futures, because they haven't happened yet ... so trying to deal with them is not only a waste of psychic energy, but complicates what is happening right now.

Though I don't often cook wheatberries, I like this stew because of its satvic properties, and because it's so uncomplicated.  It's adaptable (like most Mark Bittman recipes) to the season, and to your tastes: substitute dried fruits, or summer vegetables like leeks and zucchini and tomatoes, or whatever you like.  There are no "obstacles" in the way of appreciating the tastes of the vegetables and grain: no heavy sauces, no overpowering spices.  While those things have their place, too (ayurvedic eating, like pretty much everything else in yoga, is about finding the balance that is right for you), this can be the base for any meal, and you'll leave the table feeling satisfied, but light enough to tackle the next challenge.

Autumn Vegetable Stew with Wheatberries

3 T. extra virgin olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
Salt and pepper to taste
¼ lb. green beans, 1" slices (1 scant c. ... you could also use carrots)
1 acorn squash, peeled seeded and chopped
½ c. white wine or vegetable stock
2 c. cooked wheat berries
1 heaping c. kale
1 t. dried sage

Put the oil in a large saucepan or deep skillet with a lid over medium-high heat. When hot, add the onion and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until soft, about 2 minutes. Add the squash (and carrots, if using those instead of green beans) and stir to coat with the oil. Stir in the wine.

Reduce the heat to medium-low, cover, and cook, stirring once or twice, until the squash is just starting to get tender, 20 minutes (if you're using green beans instead of carrots, add them after about 15 minutes and continue to cook the whole thing for 5 minutes more). Raise the heat a bit and stir in the wheat berries.

Cook, stirring frequently, until hot and bubbling, a minute or two. Stir in the kale, season again with salt and pepper, cover, and turn off the heat. After about 5 minutes, add the herb and fluff the stew gently with a fork. Taste and adjust the seasoning. Serve right away or at room temperature, drizzled with a little more olive oil if you like.

The Waiting Place: Lentil Mushroom Spinach Stew

Christmas and New Years' have been put away, the baby clothes and toys washed, the baby gear set up, and a few weeks' worth of meals frozen (chicken soup, lasagna, dal, african peanut stew, 10 bean soup, and a cornmeal-crusted pot pie); so now I'm back at work, in the Waiting Place.

(Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting.  Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite or waiting around for Friday night or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil, or a Better Break or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.  Thank you, Dr. Seuss.)

So far no one has said to me "what? you're still here?" which is refreshing; honestly, I don't know what I'd do right now if I were home all day.  Read some non-required reading, I guess.  Eat chocolate (I do plenty of that anyway).  Gain weight (check: doing that, too, courtesy of Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Years' goodies).  Maybe get my hair cut?  But I still have a month or so to go until my EDD, and so I figured I could keep myself occupied by having somewhere to be each day.

They're throwing me a work shower on January 20.  I'm not sure if I'll still be at work then (babies have a knack for arriving when they feel like arriving, and while I. came late, it's anyone's guess what this one will do), but I appreciate the intention, nonetheless.  I told them we didn't need anything (really, we have more clothes for the 3-6 month size than this baby could ever wear out, and we've re-borrowed baby gear), and I feel awkward about accepting gifts when we've already had one child, but the truth is, it's sort of nice to celebrate the tail end of this pregnancy, and doing so is helping me to get ready mentally for the arrival of this baby.  They threw me a small work shower before I gave birth to my son, but ironically, I never had a shower to celebrate with friends; my mother didn't throw one (she didn't throw me a wedding shower, either--claimed she "didn't know how"), and I guess I just never had anyone else "take charge"; my friends are scattered all over the state, the country, the world.  This pregnancy has felt so long, partially because it's been so emotionally complicated for me, that a little hoopla might not be so bad.  As long as no one comments on the size of my abdomen.

Tomorrow I go to my ob/gyn, and from here on in I have weekly appointments.  Do you think they'll believe me if I tell them that this is what I've been eating, when I weigh in five pounds heavier than last time?  Yeah, I didn't think so, either.  Hey, pregnant women are entitled to the December Holidays weight gain, aren't we?

Lentil Mushroom Spinach Stew

1 T. olive oil
1 small yellow onion, large dice
2 medium carrots, large dice
1 medium celery stalk, large dice
1½ c. sliced mushrooms
1 c. flat brown lentils, rinsed
7-8 c. low-sodium vegetable broth
1 bay leaf
½ t. dried rosemary, crushed
½ t. dried oregano
½ t. dried basil
¼ t. crushed red pepper flakes
3 medium cloves garlic, minced
4 c. (packed) baby spinach
Sherry or sherry vinegar (optional)

In a medium soup pot, heat olive oil and sauté onion, carrots, celery, and mushrooms until onions are just tender, 3-5 minutes. Stir in lentils.  Add 7 cups broth, bay leaf, rosemary, oregano, basil, red pepper flakes, and garlic. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and cook on medium, covered, for about 20 minutes, until lentils are tender.

Remove bay leaf. Purée half of the mixture and return to pot. If desired, add remaining 1 cup stock to reach desired consistency. Stir in baby spinach leaves and cook for 1 minute. Season with salt and pepper. Top each serving with a spoonful of sherry or sherry vinegar, if desired.

Comfort (and Joy?): New Mexican Stew

The other day, my yoga teacher began class by asking us all to get comfortable.  She begins class this way every time, of course, but this week she stressed the importance of finding that comfortable space, and settling into it: to really feel what that comfort felt like.  Maybe it's sitting in lotus position, but maybe it's kneeling, with our hinds on a block for support.  The practice of yoga is not about whether we can all do exactly what the person in front of the room is doing, but whether we can find our own ways to achieve mindfulness, using our bodies as a tool,or a pathway.  Patanjali, in the Yoga Sutras, writes that only when experience comfort can we experience true awareness (or joy).  This makes sense to me, as most things in yoga do: if I'm not comfortable, all I can think about is getting comfortable.  But rarely does anyone invite us to revel in comfort, to find it and to explore it, to be mindful of how we feel in that state.  My yoga teacher said, too, that it's important to remember that our experience of comfort may change from pose to pose, day to day, even minute to minute.  So the way I flop on the couch one day may not work for me the next day.  This, too, makes lots of sense, but I'm particularly biased right now, because it takes a while for me to get comfortable; I'm just in my own way all the time.

This lesson about the body is just as applicable, I think, to our environments and our dinner plates.  If you're like most people I know, the holidays can be stressful.  Even if you're the sort of person that cheerfully hauls out the holly in October, there are worries that come with gift-giving and socializing during this time of the year; if you didn't have to do so at Thanksgiving, chances are you'll be invited to a gathering that you'd really rather not attend, feel strangely obligated to give a gift that doesn't come from the heart.  This season, given all of the craziness at work, and the impending arrival of this child, I've been thinking a lot about what makes me comfortable.  While I wouldn't consider myself a grinch, for example, I did skip our division's holiday party this year at work, because I just felt like I didn't want to socialize with that group right now.  And though we don't always have the luxury of opting out, the least we can do is to figure out how to be comfortable where we are, and to allow ourselves to be comfortable, even if what we discover we're feeling isn't exactly joy.

I invite you to soak in the comfort of this winter stew, too.  You can alter it to your tastes (and your diet) pretty easily.  And when you're done licking the bowl and sopping up the broth, you're invited over for cookies (though I didn't win the chocolate recipe exchange contest; it seems I was beat out by, among other things, creme de menthe and spicy sugar in a chocolate cupcake.  Still, fifth place out of 26 entries isn't all bad, right?  And oddly enough, this week's competition, which opens tomorrow, is focused on comfort foods ... maybe this means something?).

New Mexican Stew

1 lb. fresh ground turkey, chicken or pork (I used a 15-oz can black beans for vegetarian/vegan)
1 onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon chili powder- hot or mild, to taste
1 1/2 cups peeled butternut squash, diced
2 large yellow or white gold potatoes, peeled, diced (I used sweet potatoes, or you could toss in some zucchini if you prefer to have some green in here)
3 medium carrots, chopped
1 cup roasted chopped green chiles- mild or hot, to taste (I use the canned kind)
1 quart chicken or vegan broth
Sea salt and ground pepper, to taste

Before serving:

Juice from 1 large juicy lime
2-3 tablespoons fresh chopped cilantro (as you can see, I forgot to get cilantro at the store)
1-2 teaspoons raw sugar or raw agave nectar, as needed

If using turkey, brown the ground turkey in a skillet and pour off the fat, if any. Add the turkey to the slow cooker/Crock Pot and add the remaining ingredients- through sea salt and ground pepper. Stir to combine. Cover and cook on low for about 7-9 hours.

About 20 minutes before serving, stir in the lime juice and cilantro; taste test. Add a dab of sweetener, if needed, to balance the spice. If you prefer it to be more like soup, add more broth. Heat through.

What I've Learned from my CSA: Moroccan Root Vegetable Stew

As I mentioned, this past weekend marked the last delivery of the season from our CSA.  I have mixed feelings about it: on the one hand, I'll miss the fresh produce, and knowing exactly where my food comes from, down to which plot of dirt it was grown in.  Heck, I probably walked by my own heads of lettuce and cauliflower more than once while I was visiting the pick-your-own fields.  On the other hand, I won't miss the frenzied Friday search for recipes using oddball ingredients before my late night Friday shopping trips (which have become a ritual for me since Ian was born).

Here are some things I learned from my CSA this year:

1. What they say about the effect of weather on crops is absolutely true, and can be felt by the end consumer, provided that the end consumer doesn't have the option of buying the Guatemalan version of the produce in question.
2. Things really do have harvesting seasons.  Some are short, some are much too long.
3. Fresh cut flowers really are lovely, especially when you pick and arrange them yourself.
4. I like fewer vegetables than I thought I did, and the vegetables I do like tend to be heavy: zucchini, tomatoes, broccoli, cauliflower, squash, tomatoes, pumpkin.  
1. Corollary: I could probably never be a full-time vegan.
5. I really don't love chard.  But I like radicchio and other bitter greens even less.  
1. Corollary: there are more varieties of greens than I thought there were, and I was pretty well-studied in greens (including several Asian varieties) even before this summer.
6. You can turn almost anything into soup.
7. Spinach and kale and collards and chard are actually fairly interchangeable when you're faced with cooking a mountain of them.
8. Have I mentioned that I don't love chard?
9. I like the challenge of cooking new things; I dislike feeling pressured to cook them.  (Hm, maybe no Iron Chef competitions in my future, eh?)
10. We eat more curry than I thought we did, and my four year old seems to be most amenable to eating new things when they have curry in them.

The last box had a bunch of root vegetables in it, so you can expect to see them featured over the next week or two.  There was rutabaga, turnips, carrot, celeriac.  We were having some friends over this past weekend, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to get "back to my roots."  This stew was hearty, fragrant, and nice for company without being terribly fussy; I also made it ahead of time, and it reheated well.

Here's to eating local, but also to the freedom of choice.

Moroccan-Style Root Vegetable Stew

1 T. olive oil
1 lb. boneless skinless chicken (or two cans chick peas)
1 1/2 c. chopped onion
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 T. curry powder
1 T. ground cumin
1 cinnamon stick
2 c. 1/2-inch pieces peeled red-skinned sweet potatoes
2 c. 1/2-inch pieces peeled parsnips
1 1/2 c. 1/2-inch pieces peeled turnips
1 large carrot cut in 1/2-inch pieces
1 c. 1/2-inch pieces peeled rutabaga
4 c. low-salt broth (vegetable or chicken)
1/4 c. dried currants or raisins
1 14-oz can diced tomatoes, drained
Juice and zest from one lemon
Chopped fresh cilantro

In a small pot, bring broth to a boil, continue to boil until reduced by half, then set aside.

Heat oil in heavy large pot over medium-high heat. If using chicken (otherwise, proceed to the onion step below): Sprinkle chicken with salt and pepper. Add chicken to pot and sauté until light golden but not cooked through, about 1 minute. Transfer chicken to bowl.

Add onion to pot and sauté until golden, about 4 minutes. Add garlic and stir 1 minute. Add curry powder, cumin and cinnamon stick and stir 30 seconds. Add sweet potatoes, parsnips, turnips, carrot, rutabaga, broth and currants. Cover and simmer until vegetables are tender, about 20 minutes. Add tomatoes, lemon zest with juice, and chicken (or chick peas) to pot. Simmer until flavors blend, about 5 minutes longer. Sprinkle with cilantro and serve over couscous.