Leafy Reader

New website

2010-11-30T08:11:00.000-08:00

Dear Leafy Readers,

I have a new website: www.nobleplate.com

Check it out!

~Emily

Demo Nostra!

2010-05-28T11:12:00.000-07:00

Come to "Demo Nostra" at the Minneapolis Farmers Market this Sunday (5/30/10) where I will be preparing these recipes as well as one salad from http://90saladsin90days.blogspot.com

I remember coming home from soccer practice on night with dirty knees and elbows. I was starving.

“What’s for dinner mom?” I said.

“We are having ‘pasta nostra’” she replied proudly. My mother had learned a new word, the implications of which changed our lives forever. Pasta nostra means ‘our pasta’, and it was one of the first things my mother dared to cook for us that did not require a recipe or a microwave setting. The ability to be flexible in the kitchen requires letting go of old ideas, taking risks, and trusting one’s senses. I generally find that frequent tasting along the way is essential.

On Sunday’s Farmers market demo (at the Minneapolis Farmers market) I will be making duck egg omelette's, the shell of the recipe is written here, but I probably will deviate during the demonstration depending on what the earth provided and the farmers delivered for the week.

Here is the tentative menu:

Mushrooms stuffed with asparagus and amaranth (featured above)

½ cup dried amaranth

1 Tbsp olive oil

¼ tsp salt

1 bunch fresh asparagus

2 cloves garlic minced

½ tsp mirin (Japanese cooking wine)

1 lemon (for zest)

1 small bunch lemon thyme (about 5 sprigs)

1 sprig of mint

1 bunch chives, (about 1 Tbsp chopped)

¼ tsp pepper

about 13 large mushrooms for stuffing, brush and remove stems

1 Tbsp olive oil

½ yellow onion

sprinkle of salt

2 cloves thinly sliced garlic

Thyme (optional)

Cook the amaranth: in a small saucepan, add 1 ½ cups cold water to ½ cup dried grain, bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer, covered, for about 15 min.

In a large frying pan, add 1 Tbsp olive oil, the salt, and the asparagus (minus the tips) diced into very small rounds. Add the minced garlic and the mirin and saute, covered, for about 3 min. Add the amaranth and cook, uncovered. Add the herbs, all minced. Cook until some of the moisture has evaporated (about 5 min) and remove from the heat. Stuff mushrooms with the mixture.

In a separate pan, add oil salt onion, garlic asparagus tips, thyme, and stuffed mushrooms. Cover with a lid and cook on med-low flame for about 10 min.

Top with asparagus tips and garnish with lemon zest.

Side note: these can be enjoyed without cooking the mushrooms, or alternatively the mushrooms can be oven baked at 350 for 15-20 min.

Duck egg omelette's with asparagus and herbs

1 Tbsp olive oil, or a really good non-stick pan and a tiny bit of oil

2 or 3 duck eggs, whipped (duck eggs have a large yolk, and lots of protein. This makes them energetic risers)

salt and pepper to taste

filling

1 tsp oil or clarified butter

asparagus

onion

tomatoes

morels (if they are still around)

fresh herbs

locally farmed bacon

cheese

Cook the bacon in the oven or in the frying pan and set aside.

Heat oil in a pan and saute asparagus and morels in a little diced onion and salt. Remove from heat and add tomatoes and herbs. (you will need about 1/3 cup cooked veggies, per omelet). In a fresh pan, heat oil with a dash of salt and pout in egg mixture. When the edges are cooked, add hot veggies and bacon to one half. Reduce heat to med-low and cook. Flip carefully and serve garnished with herbs or salsa.

Day 28: The empty cup overflowing

2010-04-17T17:12:00.000-07:00

"What about the skis?" Christina said, looking at me. "You have not used them since you moved to Minnesota, in 2003. Can we please move them out of the storage area?" My gut reaction to this, was to look wounded. My skis? Not my skis!!! I NEED them. Then I realized that I had promised her that this would be the last year I would keep them if I found no occasion to use them during the winter. It has, after all, been seven years.

"What is that look about? Your skis will be outdated by the time you go to use them again, and you never go! If you do decide to go, you can rent for the day. Why are you wanting to hold onto them?" When I was little, my family and I used to drive from Connecticut to Vermont on the weekends during the winter to go skiing. My friends and I would ski all day, chasing each other down the mountain, flirting with strange boys on the chairlift, coming home for hot chocolate. I remember how a blissful state of exhaustion would always hit the moment I peeled my tight ski socks off, as though the socks were the sole bit of non-jellied structure left to my legs. Sometimes my brothers and I would build forts in the snow at night, sometimes we would go back to the ski mountain for some sledding.

Why can't I let go of the skis? I think I imagine those times to still be out there somewhere, happening without me. It is as though I believe that at any minute, I might be called in to that scene, but only provided I still have my skis. I have to wonder if what I am experiencing is similar to the psychosis of a hoarder.

"What is it? Tell me what is happening with you right now? This doesn't have to be so hard." Christina said.

"I think I just don't want to have to feel sad about the fact that skiing is no longer a part of my life now that I live in Minnesota." There, I said it. It seemed to fit. In one conversation the skis had transformed from a childhood security blanket to an inanimate piece of cloth, ragged and old and ready to be given to Goodwill.

All throughout the day, furniture was moving in and out of the house. The cats rushed to claim every shelf or table that was set down for a moment to rest; then they would dive off of the structure when it would begin moving again. By the end of the day, we had a living room in our office, a large dining room table, and a library in the bedroom. At long last, we sat leisurely around the dining room table, which was a beautiful gift from Catherine and Everett, enjoying the last of the 28 dinners.

Yellow split pea soup with edamame and zucchini
In a large saucepan, heat
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 diced yellow onion
1 tsp salt
3 cloves minced garlic
1 cup diced mushrooms
1 cup diced celery
2 tsp muchi curry powder
add 1 cup dried rinsed yellow split peas and
4 cups water
bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer, covered, for 40 min. Adjust seasonings, adding black pepper, cayenne pepper, and salt. Blend the soup with a hand blender until smooth. Add 2 cups frozen shelled edamame. Saute 1 zucchini, diced, it a little olive oil, salt, and garlic and add to the soup.

French baguette
1 cup water (lukewarm)
1 tsp active dry yeast
2 tsp sugar
mix together and allow to sit for 10 min.

Mix 2 cups bread flour and 2 tsp salt together.
Add the yeast mixture to the flour, and knead for 10 min (the dough should be a little sticky, but not too sticky). Toss the dough in a little olive oil, cover with plastic wrap, and allow it to sit for 2 hours. Punch dough down and kneed for a few min again. Then cover and allow it to sit another 2 hours. Roll the dough out into a flat sheet and then roll into a long thin baguette. Place on a cookie sheet with cornmeal on top, to prevent sticking. Bake at 375 for about 30 min, spraying occasionally with water to crisp up the crust.

Root vegetable puffs
In a large pot, heat
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 large diced yellow onion
1 tsp salt
2 cloves garlic
add 2 large diced russet potatoes, peeled
1 large rutabaga, peeled and diced
1 turnip, peeled and diced
Add about 1 cup water and cover with a lid. Cook for about 20 min. Add 4 Tbsp unsalted butter and return the lid. Cook another 15 min or until tender. Mash the vegetables together, add 1 Tbsp tarragon and a pinch of sage. season with salt and pepper as needed.

In a separate bowl, mix together 1 large egg, 1 cup flour, 1/2 cup half and half. Grease the cups of a muffin tin with olive oil, and heat in a 400 degree oven. Take the tin out and spoon a dollop of the egg/flour dough into each cup. Top with a dollop of the root vegetable mixture. Bake at 400 for 15 min.

Watercress salad with mango honey mustard dressing
Chop 1 bunch of watercress. Add some diced sweet peppers and shaved fennel. Dress with mango dressing:
1 ripe mango, blended in a mini food processor with 1 Tbsp grapeseed oil, 1 Tbsp brown rice vinegar, 1/2 Tbsp white rice vinegar, 2 tsp Grey Poupon Dijon, 1 tsp dark honey, 1 Tbsp water, 1/4 tsp salt.

Christina's vote: "A perfect grand finale"

Day 27: Birth of Frankenstein

2010-04-16T18:11:00.000-07:00

Mary scarcely looked out of the window anymore. It was the summer of 1816, which would go down in history as the "year without a summer". Weeks had passed since their arrival at the Villa Diodati by Lake Geneva, and still the air carried a lonely chill and a gray haze covered the world outside. She no longer changed out of her morning dress, which was black and flowed from the empire waist. Instead, she spent the days sitting by the fire, her hair loosely tied leaning in to Percy whom she knew that she would one day marry.

He spoke of things she always felt but never reached her world in any socially acceptable way. He presented her with vegetarianism, and the naturalist movement, and he told stories of his wild nudist friends. The things he spoke of were unthinkable, and yet his courage and his wit were both captivating and convincing. With him she felt valuable. He saw something precious in her, and she wanted desperately to embody his vision. Together they would change the world.

As she leaned into Percy, the cloth on her dress brought the cool fabric to the skin on her wrist and provided relief from the heat of the fire, which showered her entire right side with gold.

"I've just the plan for us to pass these dreary hours." Lord Byron addressed the group as though he were on a stage. "We'll have a contest. Everybody must contribute. Mr. Polidori, you are educated in medicine, surely you must have written something during your years of schooling. Mr. Shelley, and the soon to be Mrs. Shelley, you are both brilliant writers, and Claire you too must contribute something to the challenge."

Lord Byron paced around the room as he spoke, and gestured wildly with his hands as though he were plagued with hysterical inspiration. "A frightful tale to fit the frightful mood of this dark, wet, sunless summer." They all agreed, and as the evening went on, Mary felt herself get pulled out of the conversation and into the crackling fire. Words from their earlier discussion about galvanism and the supernatural haunted her. Could it be possible to return a body back to life?

She often would lay awake at night to wish that she had the power to awaken the dead. She would bring back her mother. She would channel the thunder and the lightning, harness the power of the universe, and watch as her mother breathe life again. She imagined herself seeing her mother, and then not being able to get over the invisible barrier of fear that would be built into her ghoulish exterior.

She saw the story, and all the pieces of it. They fell like ashes, one by one, into her lap. She would make the creature gentle, but hideous. She would make the scientist well meaning, but human. A typical portrait of a Christian soldier trying to impose God's will on the natural world. She could see the creature lying on the table, she could taste the dampness of the lab, she could see the pale scientist, weary from his work.

Percy shook her arm, "Darling, it is time for dinner." She heard her sweet poet say. "mmm, yes I will join you." She said.

Barbecued tofu
Heat oven to 375. Drain 1 block of extra firm tofu by wrapping it in a paper towel and placing a plate on top (to press the water out). Slice the tofu into squares and lay flat on an oiled cookie sheet. Bake for 15 min.

Barbecue sauce
heat 1 Tbsp olive oil and add 1 diced vidalia onion, 1/2 tsp salt, and 2 cloves minced garlic. Add 1/4 tsp chili powder and 1/4 tsp chipoltle chili powder. Cook until the onions are brown and sweet, then add 6 oz tomato paste and 8 oz water. Whisk in 1 Tbsp soy sauce, 1 Tbsp Worchestershire sauce, 1 Tbsp brown sugar, 1 sprinkle cayenne, 1 tsp black pepper. Adjust to taste.

Mix 1 Tbsp BBQ sauce with 2 beaten egg whites. In a separate bowl, add 1 cup flour, 1/2 tsp salt and 1 tsp pepper. Coat the tofu in the egg mixture and then bread with the flour and put in a frying pan with hot oil (mix grapeseed and olive oil). Brown on all sides, remove and drain on a paper towel. Place the tofu back on the tray, and top with BBQ sauce. Broil on high for 7 min on each side.

Quinoa and amaranth side
Cook amaranth by boiling 1 cup of grain in 3 cups of water, reduce heat and simmer for 25 min. Heat 1 tsp black truffle olive oil and 1/2 Tbsp olive oil with 1/4 tsp salt in a saucepan and add 1 diced yellow onion. Add 1 1/2 cups diced mushrooms. When the mushrooms are cooked, mix in 1 large scoop of the amaranth and about 2 cups cooked quinoa (leftovers). Heat through and serve with a little butter on top.

Toasted lemon ume kale
Heat 1 Tbsp olive oil in a frying pan and add 4 small cloves minced garlic and 1 bunch rinsed kale. Cook covered, stirring often. When the kale is cooked, add fresh lemon zest and 1 tsp ume plum vinegar.

Christina's vote: "This dinner made me want to do some boot scootin' at the burning man"

Day 26: Ending at the beginning

2010-04-15T16:37:00.000-07:00

We all leaned back in our chairs, comfortably watching as someone else stood in the hot seat presenting her data to the lab group. Most of the group are post-docs, and I imagine their comfort to be both a product of practice and circumstance. They are not trying to impress anyone, there is no higher degree to qualify for, they have nothing left to prove. They have come together to do what they do best, critically analyze methods and data.

I sat desperately trying to figure out how to move myself from outsider to insider, and thinking about how to best get through the early stages of my doctoral program with minimal discomfort and embarrassment. Unfortunately, I have noticed that the only way to become an insider is to speak up wherever possible, which requires that I be willing to be uncomfortable and embarrassed.

As the presenter spoke, I tried to follow along with the methods she used. A man from India asked her a question. As she answered him my ears experienced a bizarre shock. The presenter had been speaking in a Minnesota accent, but when she answered the man I noticed that she suddenly was carrying a thick and authentic sounding Indian accent. I was amazed. The second she turned to address someone else, the accent was gone. I looked around the room, but no one else seemed to notice. Had I imagined it?

When the meeting was finished, I caught up with the presenter in the hallway. "Hey, I noticed that you picked up that guys accent when you answered his question, are you a musician?"

"Oh no, that is my real accent. I grew up in India, I have just lived here for the last 8 years."

We talked as we walked out of the building, and then stood outside for awhile still talking. We both went to boarding school. She moved around a lot when she was young. She is an only child, and her parents recently moved back to India from the states. She wishes she had picked a field that would allow her to move around more.

"I am going to tell you something that I wish someone would have said to me when I was getting my PhD, and don't take this the wrong way, I am not suggesting that you should quit or anything."

I tried to smile genuinely.

"Make sure that you think about what you want to do with your degree before going through with the program. It is a lot of work, and it is terrible to come out on the other side of it and still not know what you want. After the PhD, it is a lifetime of grant writing and publishing papers that you have to look forward to.. that is, if you want to do research. If you want to teach, you can do that now. Only one percent of the US population holds a PhD, and only 6 percent contains a masters degree. I'm not saying that you should back out, I am just saying think about it. I wish someone would have said this to me."

We said goodbye and exchanged niceties, but my mind was reeling. The sun was incredibly bright, and the whole world seemed yellow. Her words hung like a mirage in the air. They followed me down the road, their meaning was constantly shifting form. What are my goals, what do I hope to accomplish, will I need the tools that I am about to sharpen, would it hurt me to have them? Am I sure that I want to be in research, or teaching in a University setting.

I thought of the lab meetings, and how present everyone is. No debatable comment goes unchallenged, no idea is neglected of feedback, it makes me feel alive just to be there. Then I thought about how there are no wrong turns, what else are we here to do in this life if not to explore our own minds and bodies, to find out what challenges us, to see how much ground we can cover? The storm of uncertainty passed, and I was able to see my horizon again. Once the clouds were clear, dinner emerged.

Mushroom, broccoli and onion frittata

In a frying pan, heat

1 Tbsp olive oil

1/2 tsp salt

1 yellow onion, diced

add 2 cups mushrooms, chopped

2 small heads broccoli, broken into small pieces

1 Tbsp unsalted butter

cook uncovered until the broccoli is bright green and the mushrooms are cooked. Remove from the heat. Grease a 8 inch square baking dish with butter and olive oil (you don't need to use much, but the combination works well to keep the butter from burning but give it a brown color). Beat 8 eggs with 1 Tbsp cream. Add 1/4 tsp salt, 1/2 tsp paprika, and 1 tsp pepper. Pour the egg mixture into the glass pan and add the vegetables. Sprinkle with a little cheese (optional). Bake at 375 for 30 min.

Brussel sprouts

In a frying pan, heat 1 Tbsp olive oil and 1 Tbsp unsalted butter. Add 1/4 tsp salt. Add 2 1/2 cups brussel sprouts, halved and soaked for 10 min. Add 3 cloves minced garlic and 1/4 red onion, sliced. Cook covered on medium until the brussel sprouts are bright green and soft. Serve with 1 tsp of vinegar sprinkled on top, or Sunny Spain seasoning.

Walnut and sun dried tomato couscous

Boil 2 cups water with 1 Tbsp roasted walnut oil and 1/2 tsp salt. Add 1 1/2 cups dry couscous and remove from the heat. Let sit for 7 min., then fluff with a fork. Add 1 tbsp basil and 1 cup chopped sun dried tomatoes.

Christina's vote: "Light as a spring breeze"

Day 25: "What's in a name?" towers

2010-04-14T16:26:00.000-07:00

"What vitamins should you make sure to have an adequate supply of in order to lower your risk of heart disease?" I asked the two students, then looked at the answers on the study guide that the professor had handed out. They had come in for my TA office hours and I was quizzing them for their next test. The options were vitamin A, vitamin E, or the B vitamins (B6, B12, and folate). The correct answer was supposed to be the B vitamins, but recent studies have shown that the believed mechanism by which B vitamins act to prevent heart disease (reduction in homocysteine), may not actually reduce your risk for heart disease.

Vitamin E would be a logical answer because Vitamin E prevents fatty acid oxidation, which is one of the proposed mechanisms for the initiation of plaque formation in the arteries. However, recent studies which provided high doses of vitamin E and vitamin A supplements found no reduction in heart attack risk.

"This ees ridiculous" The Hungarian professor exclaimed during my advances in nutrition class, when our guest lecturer was explaining how large scale clinical trials to test the benefits of nutrients using a pharmacological mindset. "Vy are ve treating nutrients like they are pharmaceuticals. Nutrition does not vork that vay. You cannot give people Vitamin E after they are older, or maybe have some plaque vormation already and expect it to act like a drug. It has to be eaten during the lifetime vrom food."

Her passion spoke for us all. There is a major problem with the way nutrition research is done. We want to see which nutrients specifically are having an effect on disease prevention, so we test them one by one in large clinical trials. When tested this way, sometimes the individual vitamin results in the opposite of the intended effect. In these cases, the study has to be stopped early, as was the case during a study of the effects of vitamin A on lung cancer risk in smokers. The vitamin A that was used in the study was in much higher doses than the vitamin A that one would encounter from food, which reflects the cultural world view of the researchers. We want to see an effect, so we will choose to "hit it with a hammer", because vitamins are benevolent and more is always better.

If the study turns out a positive result, the news is rushed to your cereal box and bottles of juice, but this is often misleading also. The vitamins in your food are different than the vitamins in the bottles, mainly because food is a complex matrix. Take the example of spinach. Spinach is considerably high in iron, however the iron that you get from spinach is not absorbed very well due to other compounds in the leaves which bind to the iron and make it not absorbable.

I looked up from the study guide, at the two 18 year olds concentrating hard in the chairs in front of me. They had underlined their textbooks, memorized segments of the lectures, they had taken notes, word for word. I leaned forward in my chair. "By the time you graduate this information will have been disproved." I said. "I wish we would teach you more about how to ask questions, and where to go for answers to those questions, but we don't. We expect you to memorize facts that will soon be obsolete. It is too bad, really." They both stared at me like I had an alien growing out of my shoulder, and so I continued. "What is the effect of omega 3 fatty acids on inflammation?"

Everett's "What's in a name" tower
2 cups chick peas, soaked and cooked (or canned)
2 cloves garlic
1 Tbsp olive oil
1/4 tsp salt
Heat until the garlic infuses into the chickpeas (about 5 min)

In a separate pan, heat
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 tsp black truffle olive oil
1 tsp salt
1 yellow onion, diced
4 cups diced dutch yellow baby potatoes
3 cups green cabbage diced
3 cloves minced garlic
1 tsp cumin
cook on med-high until potatoes are soft, covering and reducing heat after about 10 min. Add 3 large carrots, diced, turn off the heat and return the cover. Allow to steam while you make the rest of the food.

Asparagus
In a frying pan, heat 1/2 Tbsp olive oil and 1/2 thinly sliced onion. Add 1 bunch asparagus and saute. Season with salt and pepper.

Sauce (for asparagus and cabbage dish)
4 oz cream cheese
1/2 cup Greek yogurt
1 Tbsp lemon juice
1 tsp ume plum vinegar
2 Tbsp tarragon
1 tsp black pepper
1/4 tsp salt
Heat ingredients and whisk together.

Cheese bread
I used the dough from yesterday (I made some extra and put it in the fridge overnight to slow the rising). Roll out the bread dough and sprinkle with cheese and herbs (basil). Roll it up tight and bake at 375 for about 40 min (spray occasionally with water so that it gets crusty).

Catherine's vote "A festival of delicious nutrition for tired bodies"

Day 24: Dinner at the table

2010-04-13T15:19:00.000-07:00

I was standing in the elevator holding a bag of groceries, my laptop slung over one shoulder. The paper bag was cutting into my hand, and the laptop was pulling at the skin on my neck, so I was glad to feel the upward motion did not stop at the first floor like it usually does between the hours of 4 and 6. A moment later, I felt the elevator shake and the doors slide open.

Floor 3? Nobody ever goes up from floor 3 in our building. I looked from the lit number, to the elevator entrance and saw that it was our neighbor Jerald.

Jerald and Melissa moved here from New York, which is the first thing that I liked about them. Melissa is an actress and a voice coach. Beautiful sounds often emerge from their apartment, and the air fills with the potent emotion of the opera singer. I try to return the gift with the smells of garlic simmering and bread baking. I imagine that together we are contributing to some invisible canvas of culture. Jerald is a PhD who has written books about recovering from divorce. He has a program called "smooth divorce recovery" (www.smoothdivorcerecovery.com).

He is a friendly and genuine fellow, with a trimmed beard and a kind smile. It is always a joy to run into him.

"Hello, what are you doing on the third floor?" I asked.

I can be so nosey sometimes.

He chuckled, "Does it look like I am just wandering around? I started a divorce recovery support group in the building. I am trying to get resource known among the recently single community. We have a pretty big group some weeks."

I wondered if some of the recently single in his divorce recovery group ever couple up.

"What are you up to these days?" He asked.

To many people, this question is more of a formality than an invitation to present a monologue. They reply with a polite sentence or two, something that they think the listener might find interesting and then leave it at that. Perhaps they use the opportunity to talk about someone else in their lives, but not me.

I prefer to take my listeners hostage. Sometimes I hear myself speaking, and wonder how Christina can stand to listen to me over and over again.

"..and I have another blog going..." I say, after having told Jerald about my research, my masters project, my teaching assistantship, my job for the farmers market, and my taxes. "Oh really?" he said "What's the address?"

I heard somewhere recently that one of the top CEOs of some corporation said that his number one tip for success was 'be less interesting, and more interested'. In Jerald, I witnessed direct evidence of the power of this statement. His interest in me has caused me to feel a strange alliance with him. Curious.

Suddenly there was a thundering blast, followed my the faint sound of laughter. I looked over Jeralds shoulder and saw a woman carrying a large piece of wood. Opposite her were two men shuffling backwards. It was Christina, Gerry, and Everett, and they were cheerfully clamoring down the hallway with our new dining room table. Every once in awhile Gerry would shuffle sideways causing a horrible crashing sound.

Jerald chuckled politely when he did this. I used the opportunity to say a little something more about myself. "My inlaws are moving in to the building, they are bringing me a dining room table! I am so excited I can hardly stand it."

Thus begins the new, civilized chapter of dinner at home: 'dinner at the dinner table'.

Pizza pocket dough

1 cup water (lukewarm)

2 ¼ tsp active dry yeast

2 tsp brown sugar

Pour yeast into the water. Explain how yeast are single celled organisms who breath in oxygen and burp out carbon dioxide, just like humans. If you have a child, have them “feed” the dissolved yeast some brown sugar.

In a separate bowl, mix together:

2 tsp salt

2 ½ cups flour (unbleached white or a mixture of unbleached white and whole wheat)

1 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil

Add the liquid to the flour and bring together with a spatula. The dough should be sticky. Turn it out onto a floured surface and sprinkle with

½ cup unbleached white flour

Split the dough into sections and give a little to everyone to help with the kneading. After about 10 min of hard labor, coat the dough with olive oil and cover. Allow it to rise 1 hour.

Filling

2 cups part skim ricotta

1 egg

1 cup mozzarella

1 bunch fresh basil, chopped

Mix together the above ingredients. In a frying pan, heat 1 Tbsp olive oil and add ½ diced yellow onion and 2 cloves of minced garlic (in that order). Add a pinch of salt, which will help the onions to brown. Now add vegetables (Swiss chard, spinach, tomato, mushrooms, zucchini, whatever suits your fancy!) and cook until just tender. I cooked swiss chard and mushrooms for this filling (pictured on the side). Remove from heat and add to the cheese mixture.

Assemble the pizza pockets by rolling out small sections of dough, filling one half with the cheese mixture, folding the dough over and sealing it shut with your fingers. Coat the bottom of the hot pockets with cornmeal to prevent from sticking to the pan. Brush with

Egg wash:

1 egg

2 tsp water

Bake at 400 degrees for 18-20 min. Serve with tomato sauce (Serves 4-6)

Tomato sauce

Heat 1/2 Tbsp olive oil and 1 tsp salt in a sauce pan. Add 1 diced yellow onion and 2 cloves garlic. Add 1 large can diced tomatoes, or tomato sauce. Add fresh chopped basil and fresh ground pepper to taste.

Christina's vote: "Heartwarming"

Day 23: Quinoa balls

2010-04-12T17:18:00.000-07:00

In the weeks leading up to the competition, I tried everything I could think of: filet mignon, seared scallops nested in an artichoke with hollandaise sauce, potato scale encrusted halibut, carrot and rutabaga encrusted pork chops, lobster tail in a golden beet sauce, king crab legs, whole herbed chickens. It is impossible to prepare for a cooking competition when the ingredients that will be made available to you are kept secret, but it didn't stop me from trying. On a grad students salary it is difficult to justify eating this way, but since it was for the sake of research and furthering my career as a chef, I considered it a business expense. I shudder to think of what our blood cholesterol looked like during that week, but every delicious, buttery, mouth watering bite was worth it.

Christina assisted by sitting at the counter opposite the kitchen, whittling carrot flowers. It was a technique we had picked up a few days earlier from a chef at a Thai restaurant. We had stopped in for a bowl of soup and a brainstorming session.

"We need to focus on practicing with the presentation." I said, just as the young waitress set the two giant bowls of lemongrass soup down in front of us. I picked up one of the floating carrot flowers with my large metal spoon and looked at Christina.

"Excuse me miss?" Christina called after the waitress as she turned to walk away.
She turned back. "Yes?"
"Do you know how these carrot flowers are made?"
"Oh, aren't they cute? I can go get the chef to come out here and show you how to make them."
"That would be great, thank you!"

Christina and I looked excitedly at each other as the woman went into the kitchen; in a few moments, an older woman exited. Without saying a word, she stopped in front of our table, retrieved a carrot and a knife from her apron pocket, and began to produce little flowers right before our eyes.

We turned our heads this way and that, leaning in close and sitting up tall, trying to study every angle of the process. Within moments, the carrot was gone, and on the table sat an orange bouquet. The woman nodded her head, with a slight smile, and returned to the kitchen. Christina slipped one of the flowers into her pocket. She began practicing as soon as we got home.

Christina was the only person I would allow to help me in the competition, but she also has no cooking experience. I tried working with a professional assistant for a night, but that ended in disaster. I was too bossy with him, and he resented me thoroughly within our first 5 minutes together.

"Just put the nuts in the bag and hit them with a hammer." I yelled, shoveling pine nuts into a Ziploc. I can only imagine what Christina must have thought from the other room.
"Are you serious? With a hammer? Why can't we bring proper equipment?" He whined. "Just trust me, and stop questioning me" I barked. It is no wonder that I was labeled "bossy" by a local magazine writer that was covering the event.

In the end, the secret ingredient was squash. I made a butternut squash ravioli with a coconut golden beet reduction, while Christina whittled a beautiful garden until her fingers were bright orange. I would have made these quinoa balls had I not made them in the earlier qualifying competition. They are delicious stuffed with chicken and herbs, squash and tellagio, or sweet potatoes and cabbage. I am sure they would be good with mushrooms, Swiss chard and herbs as well. If nothing else I can only hope that I will one day be remembered as the inventor of the quinoa ball, and not just the bossy chef that crushes nuts with a hammer.

Toasted Quinoa balls

In a saucepan, heat 1 Tbsp olive oil and 1 tsp salt. Add 1 1/2 cups rinsed quinoa. Toast the quinoa until a nutty aroma is released, then add about 3 cups of water. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer, half covered, until the water is gone (about 15 min). In a separate pan, heat 1/2 Tbsp olive oil and add

1 tsp salt

1 diced yellow onion

1 large sweet potato

2 cloves minced garlic

1/2 small head green cabbage

1 Tbsp butter

cook until the sweet potato is soft, and the cabbage is sweet. Cover and let sit with the heat off while you prepare the salad. When the quinoa is finished cooking, remove lid from the sweet potato and cabbage mixture. Have ready 1 small block of Havarti cheese. Allow the quinoa to cool a bit (maybe put it into a large mixing bowl and stir it around so that the air can help it cook. Add 1 1/2 Tbsp corn starch and 1 tsp salt. Form the quinoa into a flat thin patty in your hand. Place a lump of cheese and some of the sweet potato mixture in the center, and bring the rest of the quinoa around it so that you have an encapsulated ball. Make as many as you can, then heat 1 Tbsp of sesame oil and 2 Tbsp olive oil in a frying pan and pan fry , turning each ball so that they get toasted on all sides. Alternatively, brush the balls with sesame oil and bake in a 400 degree oven until brown (I usually pan fry, but I imagine this would work as well).

Salad

1/2 head romaine lettuce, chopped

6 mini sweet peppers, cored, halved, and sliced thin

1 large cucumber, peeled and chopped

Avocado and red onion dressing

in a small food processor, blend together:

1 small avocado

1 Tbsp lime juice

1 Tbsp olive oil

2 Tbsp water

1 tsp brown sugar

1/4 red onion

1 clove garlic

1/2 tsp black pepper

1/2 tsp salt

Christina's vote: "Lovely balls"

Day 22: The gift of a storm

2010-04-11T17:15:00.000-07:00

I leaned my head against the cold glass window, and watched helplessly as the snow collected on the driveway. The faint smell of cigarettes, fireplace, and library books clung to the chill in the air of my grandparents house. I had come with the intention of stopping in for a quick visit, but I had stayed for just a few moments too long. I had taken one too many of one of my grandmothers infamous mismatched teacups, and played one too many hands of gin rummy. The snow was now past the invisible line of where my grandmother would say, "You'd better stay with us. Your mother would not be pleased attall if I let you drive in this weather." I had to admit, it did look pretty bad out there. The trees, which were heavy with snow, were blowing sideways and flapping in the wind. They shook out white glitter, the way giant carpets fling dust.

If I had known how brief my time with her would be, I might not have wasted so much time at the window.

I was new to driving, and to my freedom. I was only a freshman in college. I wanted to get back up to school. I had parties to go to, and friends to be with.

"Have you got a sweater miss Em? It is drafty by the window."
I felt guilty for wanting to leave. "I'm okay, thanks grandma. You know, I think that, if it is okay with you, I will stay here after all. "
I turned away from the window. My grandmother looked pleased.
"Wonderful, I'll call your mother!" She said, and she jumped up from the dining room table, and put out the end of her long Tareyton cigarette (because ladies do not walk and smoke at the same time). She headed to the kitchen for the phone. I wandered out of the dining room and and into the bright white hallway, where my aunt Beth was working on a portrait.

Beth had moved her art studio over to my grandparents house, so that she could spend more time with them. My grandfather, who was losing his mind to dementia, played solitaire through most of the afternoon, so having Beth around was probably really nice for my grandmother.

Aunt Beth hummed softly, peering at her canvas through dark rimmed glasses which magnified her eyes. She wore a skirt that hung at her ankles, and a button down flannel shirt. Her hair hung in exactly the same way that is always has over the entire course of my life. It is jet black, and comes down past her ears with bangs straight across.

I was first taught the meaning of the word "eccentric" in reference to my aunt Beth.

"Well, I think I am going to stay here for a few days."
"mmm?" She swung her head around to look at me with those giant, scrutinizing eyes.
"I mean, it's snowing pretty bad out there"
"is it? I hardly noticed." She was delicately stroking her paintbrush over the canvas, and where she stroked a cheek appeared.
Suddenly, she turned toward me. "Why don't you go get a chair. I am going to show you how to paint. "
"um, what?? I can't do that. I am a terrible artist."
"Oh? Why do you say that?" she asked.
"well, I have even had an art teacher tell me that before.." my aunt glared at me "okay, well the art teacher didn't use those exact words, but I could tell she didn't think I had any talent..."
"just grab a chair, and we'll just see about that"

The next two days came and went in a blur. My aunt showed me how to squint my eyes and paint the blobs of color. She showed me how to paint the colors I actually saw, and not the ones I believed should be there. We sifted through postcards of the works of the old masters. I picked my favorites and copied them as best as I could. My grandmother fluttered in an out of the hallway, watching us work. When the sun went down, we packed up our paints and pastels, and washed the blue and peach colored markings off of our hands, arms and faces down the muddied up art room sink.

At the end of the second day, my aunt turned to me and said, "isn't it about time you get back to school? I think the roads are clear now." I could have stayed there forever. "Maybe I will just quit school and become an artist." I said, with a sly smile.
"Oh no you don't" my grandmother chimed in "your mother would never forgive me!"

I am reminded of my grandmother tonight.

Cold sesame soba noodles:
1 package of soba noodles (4 servings)
sauce:
2 Tbsp natural peanut butter (creamy, with no sugar added)
1 1/2 Tbsp sesame oil
1 1/2 Tbsp soy sauce
2 Tbsp rice vinegar
1/2 Tbsp lemon juice
1/4 tsp chili powder
1 sprinkle cayenne
a few shakes ume plum vinegar (optional) or salt
1 tsp peeled, chopped fresh ginger
vegetables:
3 large carrots, peeled
1/4 purple cabbage, shredded
3 green onions, diced
1 tsp peeled, chopped ginger
1 tsp toasted sesame oil
sesame seeds

Whisk together the sauce ingredients and taste to adjust to your palate. Cook the noodles by simmering in boiling water for 6 min. Drain and rinse with cold water. While the noodles are draining, heat 1 tsp sesame oil in the pot and add the carrots, cabbage, ginger and a little salt. Cook for about 4 min. Add the sesame seeds and green onions, remove from the heat and add to the sauce. Pour the noodles in. Mix well and serve!

Vegetarian egg rolls:
Heat 1/2 Tbsp olive oil in a frying pan. Add 2 cloves minced garlic and 1/4 large green cabbage, shredded. Add 4 carrots, peeled and diced and 1 cup cubed tofu. Add 1 Tbsp minced fresh ginger, 1 1/2 Tbsp soy sauce, 1 Tbsp mirin. When the carrots are cooked (but still crunchy), turn off the heat and stir in 2 beaten eggs. Pour the mixture into a bowl and clean out the frying pan.
When the mixture has cooled, assemble the egg rolls (use egg roll wrappers from the grocery store. They have instructions inside with pictures that explain the rolling technique. You can also find instructional videos on you tube.)
Fry the egg rolls lightly in grape seed oil, then, right before you plan on eating them, place them in a 350 degree oven for 10 min. Alternatively, you can just brush them with oil and bake them for 25 min without frying them at all.

Serve with dipping sauce:
2 Tbsp rice vinegar
2 Tbsp soy sauce
1 Tbsp brown sugar
1 Tbsp minced ginger
1 Tbsp chopped green onion

Christina's vote: "worthy of a man-sized bite"

Day 21: Problem solving

2010-04-10T17:47:00.000-07:00

I remember it vividly. I was lying on the pinkish-red, shag carpet,watching a television with a dial that you had to get up to turn. A woman in a commercial is about to burst through the living room door, carrying a tray of Rice Krispies. Before she enters the room where the husband and children sit in anticipation, she sprinkles a little flour on her face to make it look as though she has been slaving for hours. Her smile is bright, and she flashes the camera a knowing wink. The message, "tastes great and you don't even have to work for it".

The messages are subtle, but they are everywhere. Advertisers have inadvertently sold us on a cultural expectation. Cooking is a bother which nobody ought to have to endure.

It has never been my experience that cooking is a chore, for me it has always been a delight. The strong messages about how we are not supposed to enjoy anything that could be construed as work, are overwhelming at times. Christina has even been scolded by complete strangers in the elevator of our apartment complex for talking about work on a Sunday. Through the generation of voids and the desire to fill them, it seems we have forgotten how to love what we do.

Similar to selling whitening toothpaste, or eyelash lengthening medication, we have been sold our problems along with our solutions. This line of thinking was stirred in me this morning, when I went to the medicine cabinet in a sleepy daze and reached for a medication that a doctor suggested I take to help improve my calcium absorption. I read the side of the box,

"may cause blood clots, stroke, migraines, weight gain, potassium imbalances, and sudden death"

I have read it before, but somehow was desensitized to it's meaning. I reached for a glass of water. That is when the insanity of the statement hit me. Who is governing my life? Why is it so easy to accept the idea that something is wrong with my body that needs to be fixed? Would I follow the pursuit of health to the gates of sudden death?
I tossed out the medication, and began to ponder the various forces that guide my decisions. Often it is fear that causes me to grab hold of one idea or another, coupled with the desire to have an achievable goal. I could tackle a few crest white strips from time to time, and the fear of being unattractive to people is a pretty good motivator. Sometimes it is love that drives my decisions, as in, Catherine loves soups, and Everett loves lentils, Christina loves salads, and I love brown rice. This is how dinners are born.

Lentil stew
1 1/2 yellow onions, diced
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 tsp salt
2 cups diced mushrooms
4 cloves garlic, minced
6 stalks celery, diced
6 carrots, peeled and diced
1 bay leaf
2 cups lentils, rinsed (various colors, if you can find them. I bought these at the farmers market)
6 cups water or vegetable stock
1 tsp cumin
1 tsp black pepper
1/2 tsp turmeric
1 tsp powdered ginger
a pinch of cayenne

Heat oil in the pan. Add salt and diced onions. Saute for a few min, then add the remaining ingredients. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer, uncovered for 40 min. Season to taste with salt and pepper and remove the bay leaf. Serve with crisp fried onion topping (optional).

Brown rice pilaf
1 Tbsp olive oil
1/2 yellow onion
2 cups brown rice
3 1/2 cups water
2 Tbsp butter
1 tsp salt

Saute the onion in the olive oil with a little bit of salt. Add brown rice, and toast the rice until it releases a nutty aroma. Pour in the water, bring to a boil and reduce heat to med-low. Cook, covered, to desired texture (about as long as it takes for the lentils to be done).
1 1/2 cups diced parsley.

Mixed green chopped salad with apple and dried lime balsamic vinaigrette
1/2 cucumber, peeled and diced
1 avocado, cubed
3 carrots, peeled and chopped
1 cup cherry tomatoes
1/2 small head romaine lettuce, chopped

3 Tbsp olive oil
juice from 1 lemon
1 Tbsp apple infused balsamic vinegar
1 tsp Dijon mustard
1 tsp dried lime
lemon zest
1 tsp french basil
salt and pepper
Whisk together and use to dress the salad. If the apple infused balsamic is not sweet enough, add a bit of honey to your dressing.

Christina's vote: "Damn good honeybunz"

Day 20: Feast for the soul

2010-04-09T14:45:00.000-07:00

"You are a real runner, most of us just run a few miles here or there, but you are a runner." People say this to me often, and they touch my arm, and not their head up and down, and look me directly in the eye as though they are knighting me with the title. I get lost in those words, because somewhere in their diagnosis, I find too many questions.

Does it matter that my feet have not pounded on pavement for months? When is a person no longer considered part of the population count of runners. How many hours would I need to spend on the couch to be considered a couch potato? Not a day goes by that I don't encounter someone who refers to me as a "runner" but I don't feel like one anymore.

It's been six months since my injury and the longest run that I have been on is four miles on the treadmill. To further my confession, I should add my indoor running has been at a snails pace while watching reality television shows. Sometimes I gaze longingly outside, enticed by the shin shattering pavement, but then I have to avert my eyes back to the television and remind myself to take baby steps.

It is a hard pill to swallow.

Last winter I ran every day, in sub zero temperatures, wearing a tight black suit with my head wrapped like a ninja. This year, the winter running clothes were excitedly unpacked, but as the days went by they were gradually buried under a pile of clothes, and then repacked with my winter attire without witnessing even one snowflake.

I skipped my workout and went to school early today. It was cold when I got there, but as I sat at my desk looking out of the window I began to notice the layers disappearing from the ambling students. A red T shirt with stark white arms walked passed, followed by some flip flips, and I knew it was time for me to take action. I went to the locker room of the pilot plant in the food science building, pulled on some shorts and a t shirt, laced up my shoes and headed for the street. The bright sky bleached my eyes, as though I were emerging from nightclub. My body remembered it's comfortable cadence, but my muscles and lungs were not ready to maintain it.

There was nothing that I could do but accept it and keep moving on.

I passed the Zoo, and swung in through the entrance. It was here, in the primate hut, that I was afforded the opportunity to witness my own evolution- from the small child tapping on the glass, to the angsty teenager with ridiculous clothing, to the couple hanging on one another, combing their fingers through each other's hair. I recognize that I am still young on my path, but old enough to have an evolutionary history to observe. I hold the door open for a mother and child in a stroller, and then for an elderly woman in a wheelchair, and I feel grateful to have full use of my body.

As I rounded the corner to home, with the wind at my back, I basked in the ecstasy of returning to the sport that I feel inspired by. It was then that I began thinking about dinner.

Eggplant dip with flat bread

Preheat the oven to 350. Poke some holes, with a fork, into 4 baby eggplants. Place them in the oven (directly ) with a pan underneath to catch the drippings. Bake for 1 hour. When the eggplant is done, cut the top off and peel it. In a saucepan, heat 1 Tbsp olive oil and 1/4 tsp salt. Add 1/2 yellow onion diced and 3 cloves garlic. Cook until the onion is caramelized. Add the eggplant and about 3 Tbsp yogurt and blend together with a hand blender. Top with crispy onions (can buy at Persian market, or just use the ones you would use for green bean casserole).

Flat bread (this is the same recipe as on day 1)

1 ¼ cups warm water

1 tsp active dry yeast

1 tsp sugar

4 cups all purpose unbleached flour

1 ½ tsp salt

1 egg beaten

2 Tbsp melted butter (I think this makes a crisp bread, so leave it out if you prefer something softer)

olive oil (to cover)

yellow cornmeal.

Dissolve the yeast in the water and add the sugar. Let sit for 10 min. Add 3 cups of the flour, mixing well (about 5 min). Add the egg and butter. Knead the last cup of flour into the bread (using more or less if you need to). Cover with olive oil and plastic wrap and let rise for 1 hour. Punch the dough down and separate into 5 balls. Let sit 5 min. Roll the balls out and top with poppy seeds or sesame seeds. Place on a hot baking sheet in 400 degree oven (sprinkle some cornmeal underneath the dough to prevent it from sticking). Bake for 10 min. on one side, then flip the breads over and bake for 10 min. on the other side.

Sweet tofu curry with mushrooms and broccoli

Remove 3/4 of a block of extra firm tofu and wrap in a paper towel to drain the water out. Once the tofu is wrapped, place a plate over the top (this helps get the water out).

In a frying pan, heat 1 Tbsp olive oil and add 1/4 tsp salt. Add 1 yellow onion, diced, and 2 cups of chopped mushrooms. Add 3 cloves minced garlic. Cook until the onions and mushrooms have browned a little, then add the tofu, cut into small squares. Add 1 1/2 tsp muchi curry powder and a little more salt. Add 1 head of broccoli, broken into pieces. When everything is cooked to desired texture, add 2 Tbsp cream cheese (or full fat yogurt) to the pan, melting it and stirring into the rest of the food. Serve over reheated rice with saffron water on top.

Saffron water : Place a pinch of saffron threads into hot water and let the color come out. Spoon this water over the rice.

Christina's vote: "Indian, but not Indian- Vietnamese, but not vietnamese- extravagantly vegetarian"

Day 19: Two becomes four

2010-04-08T16:41:00.000-07:00

Today was the day that two became four. Christina's mom, Catherine, and her husband, Everett, arrived this evening for a permanent visit. They are moving in to an apartment directly above our own. My mind was absolutely buzzing when I left school this afternoon. On my drive to the store I began sifting through memories of my vegetarian days, trying remember which meals I found to be the most satisfying, because Catherine and Everett are vegetarians. The timing of their arrival couldn't be more perfect, for a number of reasons. The first of which, being that I have 10 days of dinner left to prepare, and I have discovered that I consistently am cooking for 4 instead of 2.

"Hon, look at all the leftovers we have in our fridge." Christina said bent over and peering into the bright white refrigerator, her hand gripped firmly on the handle.

I shot her a hard look, as though to say 'are you sure you really wanna complain about that, cause I will pull out the resentful housewife routine so fast that it will make your head spin.'

"...I mean to say..isn't it wonderful that there is so much food in our refrigerator..bbbecause mom and Everett will have something to snack on when they arrive." She shut the door slowly, and tiptoed out of the kitchen.

It really isn't easy to cook for just two people, especially when you are trying to incorporate a diverse array of ingredients. One has to constantly think about what needs to be used immediately, or else food ends up wasted. When you don't listen to the food to hear what needs to be used up next, you run the risk of filling up your trash or compost too fast.

"Jeez, you sure know how to fill up a trash can" Christina said. Then without looking up, as though she could feel the daggers in my eyes, she slowly shut the trash and tiptoed out of the kitchen.

So Everett and Catherine's arrival is just what I needed to help me start using food more efficiently, and to encourage me to incorporate some more vegetarian recipes, which I consider to be my specialty, into this dinner blog.

Now I am going to sip my tea through saffron sugar cubes, and bask in the excited chatter of family.

Vegetarian Burritos
In a small saucepan heat
1 Tbsp olive oil
1/2 yellow onion, diced
1/4 tsp salt
cook for about 3 min, then add
1 cup washed white rice
Stir the rice into the onions until the rice begins to smell toasty. Add about 1 1/2 cups water or stock and bring to a boil. Cook uncovered until the water is gone (about 15 min) or until the rice is cooked to desired texture.
In a frying pan, cook the other half of the onion (diced) in 1 Tbsp olive oil. Add 1/4 tsp salt and 2 cloves minced garlic. Add
2 cups black beans
1/2 diced green pepper
1 tsp cumin
1/4 tsp salt
4 small sweet peppers, diced.
Have ready:
shredded cheese
diced tomato
fresh cilantro
re-fried pinto bean
whole grain tortillas
fill the tortillas with desired filling and roll by first folding one end over the filling, folding the ends in and rolling it up. Spread a little olive oil on top and place in a 350 degree oven until crisp.

Serve with steamed broccoli and garlic.
in a saucepan, heat 1 Tbsp olive oil and 1/4 tsp salt. Add 3 cloves minced garlic and immediately add 1 head of broccoli split into pieces by hand. Toss the broccoli in the garlic oil, then add a little water to the pot and cover until the broccoli is bright green and cooked to desired texture.

Everett's vote: "The burrito I always wanted when I was in Arizona"

Day 18: You are here

2010-04-07T19:12:00.000-07:00

I fit the ear buds snugly into my ears, and heard fingers sliding down the metal ridges of a guitar. Each enunciated string was pulled and released with purpose. I followed the notes, clinging to them like feathers on an arrow. They pulled me, squeezed me in through my ear canal, and shot straight into my chest where they exploded and shook like a thundering echo....

I was coming in from the dusk, when the wind quits playing on the ocean for the day, and the surly bugs come out to swagger in the mist of the evening. Inside the boathouse the family had finished with dinner and aunt, uncles, cousins, and brothers stood, and sat, draped over guitars. They raised their glasses and sang together, swaying in harmony. The music had taken them. Each one had a blank look upon their face, as though they had evacuated their bodies. I lay there with my head resting on my father’s knee, and felt the power of the music which had devoured the souls of my family. I waited for it to take me too, but it only teased.

The arrows flowed in, and suddenly it was the fourth of July. I sat watching the outline of the giant elm tree appear and disappear in the strobe light of fireworks. I had returned from college, and now I had a guitar of my own. The strings hurt my fingers, but I pressed into them hard. One by one, I plucked and listened until the sound disappeared, resting my head on the smooth polished wood. Sometimes I would strum out a rhythm and let my imagination fill in the music that my fingers were too clumsy to play. I drank until my head couldn't hold it’s own weight, and flopped to one side like a baby. It was then that I heard nothing save a slight humming of air, like the wings of a fly.

More arrows, and now I am in the hospital. The doctor has allowed me to have my guitar, he has helped me to smuggle it past the nurses. I am sure the smuggling wasn’t necessary, he was just trying to show me that he could speak my language.

I had been chasing a lie and got caught by the truth.

He ripped the guitar from my hands as I played a manic version of “house of the rising son”. He wanted to show me how it was done. He played it slow and low, his face stretched into that of an emotional captive. 'No, don’t go.' I thought. 'Don’t leave me here. I am afraid. What if there is nothing inside of me?' When he had finished, I grabbed my guitar and stormed out of the room. “What do YOU know about soul, DOCTOR.”

I can’t tell you when or how it happened that I learned to grab hold of the arrows and follow them inside. It was inside that I learned that the vacancies are hollow, but never empty. I learned to love the explosions of past memories. It their light, the ominous storm clouds of boredom that threatened me and drove me to act insane gradually dissipated.

When I returned from the song, the man with orange hair on the elliptical next to mine was wiping down his machine. The woman on the other side had already left, a single, torn, people magazine was the only sign of her real existence. I took out my ear buds, and let the world back in.

Grass-fed local burger (come on, try it, it's trendy!)
1/2 lb ground grass fed beef
1/2 small yellow onion
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper
10 shakes Worchestershire sauce
1 egg
1/4 cup chopped parsley
1/4 cup panko bread crumbs
Mix the above ingredients together by hand. Form into burgers and place on an oiled cookie sheet. Bake at 350 for 20 min. Remove from the oven and top with 1 slice manchego cheese. Turn the oven to broil and broil on high for 4 min, until cheese is bubbly.
Top with
sliced onions
sliced tomato
arugula
sourdough bun (I was going to make this, but I ran out of time, so instead I went to the bakery)

Serve with purple cabbage slaw and sliced cucumbers topped with ume plum vinegar and fresh ground pepper

Purple cabbage slaw
2 cups cabbage, diced
2 large carrots, peeled and diced or shredded
1 head fennel
1 Tbsp toasted sesame oil
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp rice vinegar
1/2 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
1 tsp sugar
Toasted sesame seeds (black or tan)

Christina's vote: "This meal stirred my insanity"

Day 17: Listen to learn

2010-04-06T16:25:00.000-07:00

It was something that I probably never would have heard about had I been able to open and close my mouth.

She had recently joined a religion, it was her husband's families religion. She admitted that at first she felt a little hesitant about the strict rules of the church, women and men sit on opposite sides of the room. Women are not allowed to wear make-up. She didn't really subscribe to that strict philosophy at first, and she told the minister that she considered herself a visitor of the church the day that he handed her a book about proper attire for women. That's when the minister said that there is no joining ritual and that he already considered her to be a valuable member.

She took the book from his hands and brought it home, and has since given up her makeup, which she mostly wears to cover her imperfections and not to be glamorous or anything. Still some days she finds it hard, and she misses her cover-up and her mascara.

Of course, her daughter doesn't like the strict rules of the church, she doesn't like that the church doesn't believe in women ministers either, but she is just 16 and hasn't had her turn to try her own way yet. She is afraid that her daughter will be scared away from the message of the church because of the strict rules. She lets her wear pants to school, but still has her dress up for church on Sundays. Her son doesn't mind it so much, because the rules are more lenient for boys. His only restrictions are that he is not allowed to have piercings, and he is not allowed to listen to certain kinds of music.

Giving up alcohol was tough, even though she only drank about 6 times a month and has never been tipsy, still she used to pour herself a nice fruity drink once in awhile and sip it out of her favorite glass. Sometimes she makes herself virgin daiquiris and sips them out of that glass, just like old times, but her husband gets upset by it. He thinks she is glamorizing drinking. He used to drink more that she did, but she was the carb queen of the household.

She never realized how addicted to sugar she was until she had to give it up for the south beach diet. Of course, she wasn't really on the diet for weight loss, more for the insulin control factor. Her chiropractor pressed on this spot that represented her pancreas and her heel pain went away, which meant that her pain was related to dis-regulated sugar metabolism. She had a really difficult time giving up the sugar, but after she had tried it for awhile she was amazed by how delicious a piece of honey wheat bread tasted. She didn't reincorporate white bread back into her diet though because everything white is naughty...

"Are you getting tired dear, I have noticed that your jaw is clenching an awful lot" She removed her nylon coated fingers from between my teeth, I almost bit off a piece of her glove when she did. My mouth felt gritty from the toothpaste and I was covered in my own drool.

So many words that I had been dying to say, I felt like an overfilled balloon ready to pop. My opinions, my judgements, my desire to manipulate her to change her beliefs, feelings that she needed to be rescued by me, the arrogance. Maybe it was because at the end of an hour of forced listening I realized how much I really liked this person, or maybe it simply doesn't make sense to give advice to the woman who has just lovingly scraped all of the plaque off of my teeth, but for some reason I let the balloon go. I thanked her for her service, and I left in peace.

Shrimp cakes (serves 4)
1/2 lb shrimp, raw, de-veined, peeled
1 large clove garlic, minced
zest and juice from 1/2 lemon
1/4 tsp salt
1 tsp Grey Poupon Dijon mustard
1 egg
Pulse the above ingredients in a food processor, scrape into a bowl and add
1/2 small green pepper, diced small
the whites of 4 green onions, diced small
1/4 cup cilantro, chopped
1/2 cup panko (Japanese breadcrumbs)mix in more or less panko as desired, you want the mixture to come together in patties. Refrigerate while you prepare the salad and the topping.

Garlic Dijon dressing
In a large salad bowl whisk together
zest and juice from 1/2 lemon
1 Tbsp rice vinegar
3 Tbsp olive oil
1 tsp Grey Poupon Dijon mustard
2 small or 1 large clove minced garlic
fresh ground pepper and salt.

After adding 2 tsp of the dressing to the topping (below) mix in torn baby arugula greens to the remaining dressing (about 4 cups)

Festive Salsa Topping
diced 1/2 yellow bell pepper
3 green onions, diced
1/4 cup cilantro diced
4 or 5 cherry tomatoes sliced
mix together and dress with the salad dressing (above)

Now, heat a frying pan and add 2-3 Tbsp grape seed oil. Make 4 or 5 patties with the shrimp mixture and press the outsides into panko before frying. Cook for about 4 min on each side, or until golden brown. Serve on top of the greens, with the topping. Add a little Dijon mustard if you like.

Christina's vote:"There is no other word but lovely"

Day 16: Joyful dinner

2010-04-05T15:18:00.000-07:00

I skipped my workout and left early for school this morning, determined to get a significant amount of work done before class. It felt really nice to leisurely drive through the neighborhood, to ease up on my foot, to lift the pressure off of my day. I stopped for coffee where I used to work. The regulars still remembered me, and greeted me with raised paper cups when I walked in. I was feeling shy, so I didn't stop to chat.

I had plenty of time to walk to class, so I was able to get free parking. The cool air cleared my mind, but the sun relaxed me with warm massaging rays on my shoulders. On the corner of the campus drive, I ran into Noemia. She was out for a power walk, and was looking both confident and incredibly content. She looked so happy that she was almost glowing.

"Hello Emily, how are you?" she asked. Noemia is from Brazil.

I am not sure if it is a Brazilian custom, or just her own unique expression of assertiveness, but Noemia will use a persons name several times during a conversation. It is because of this that I always leave a conversation with her feeling like she really knows me well, and cares about my sense of well being. Usually I leave planning to use this communication skill on other people that I meet, but I never actually have remembered to do it.

"I'm good... Noemia, are you..power walking??" I asked.

When I think of power walking, I think of groups of ladies talking excitedly, wearing pinks and powder blues, and swinging their arms around wildly in an extreme frenzy for the extra calorie burn. Noemia looked like a University power walking athlete, not that we really have such a thing.

"Yes Emily, I have class this morning and I find it helps me focus to walk for just 20 min first, and you know something Emily I tried running but I don't think my body likes it. I thought about running a marathon Emily, but you know, I think I realized that it would have killed my joy. I like walking and.."

"I'm sorry, did you just say killed your joy?"

"Yes Emily, there is this really great book that I am reading about the neuroscience of joy and these researchers who are claiming that all this stuff that the public health movement is trying to accomplish with preaching about diet and exercise is just treating a symptom of a more serious disease, and you know something Emily, that disease is simply lack of joy. If we foster the true joy in our lives, the symptoms go away."

At that moment, those words struck me as the most profound thing I have ever heard. Yes, of course, life is about joy. What else is there, really? Is not joy exactly what we are all seeking? When we overeat, isn't it really a sense of joy we are grasping for? When we struggle for material success, are we not really attempting to secure the time to cultivate joy? The hours that we spend at the gym imagining that we are making ourselves more attractive to people who will shower us with feelings of joy, wouldn't they be better spent seeking joy directly?

I stood there frozen by the revelation.

"Well, I'll see you later Emily, I am going to go finish my walk." Noemia said, and she waved over her shoulder as she left. I continued into my office, and began to create in my mind the premonition of the rest of my day filled with joy.

Lemon caper chicken penne with mushrooms and broccoli (I have always loved this flavor combination) (Serves 4)
Boil 6 cups of water and 1 tsp of salt and cook 2 cups of dried penne. Rinse with cold water when it is cooked to desired texture.
In a separate pan, heat
1 Tbsp olive oil
1/4 tsp salt
add 1 cup chopped mushrooms (white, crimini, or portabello)
3 cloves minced garlic
another 1/4 tsp salt
2 cups broccoli, broken by hand
2 Tbsp butter
cook until the broccoli is bright green. Add
about 1 1/2 cups chopped white meat chicken, cooked (I used one of the breasts from yesterdays roasted chicken)
2 Tbsp capers, rinsed to remove some of the salty brine
2 more Tbsp butter
add the pasta
and
1 tsp sherry vinegar
the juice and zest from 1/2 lemon
salt and lots of pepper (to taste)

Christina's vote: "This dinner reiterates the question, which came first the chicken or the egg?"

Day 15: The very important chicken dinner

2010-04-04T15:31:00.000-07:00

There is something about walking swiftly through a hallway wearing a lab coat and a badge that makes a person feel really...important. The quick cadence is an essential part of the romance of the whole deal, and I find a long stride to be the most effective way to accomplish this. A long stride makes a person appear more confident, while a short stride with high turnover makes a person look like they are on a desperate trip to the toilet. If you are walking with 3 or 4 others, it is best to slow down to a contemplative wandering pace, and furl ones brow, and lean in while talking in a whisper.

I was playing around in the hallway of the medical center this morning, feeling very impressive in my lab coat, when it struck me. It is a holiday Sunday, and I am at work doing research. The reality of my status sink in deeper when I began noticing that many of the other graduate students and post-docs were also present. One even brought her husband, who sprung out of his chair when we walked into the break room and bashfully rushed out into the hall. As we were leaving I noticed that he was standing with his nose 4 inches from a poster on the wall, he stood remarkably still embodying the pain of his shyness.

I get like that too, sometimes.

The other student I was working with said that he calculated his hourly wages based on how much he actually comes in, and figured that some weeks he makes only a few dollars an hour. What is the real payoff, I wonder, to doing research. Is it status, the hope of a lucrative future, the mental engagement, the drive to prove ones intellectual prowess, or maybe it is strictly some sort of faith that the universe contains discoverable secrets, secrets that it will offer to those who seek.

While the Christians go to their Easter morning services, the scientists offer their prayers to the God of research. I am not sure what I believe about science, but personal experience has shown me that it is much better to be committed to what I am doing, than to torture myself with thoughts about doing other things.

As I stood in the checkout lane at the only open grocery store in town, the checkout guy began making small talk,

"You planning on cooking something this Easter?" He was in his mid 20's, long and lanky, and he positioned himself in a stance of cool apathy. I looked blankly at him. "...because, I'll tell you that the chicken you are buying costs 7 dollars, but just for today you can get an already roasted chicken for 5.95, cause it's Easter. "

"Um, no thank you, I would rather cook"

He looked at me in shock.

"I have a cooking blog and the whole point is that I actually cook something so that I have a recipe to post every night."

"oh, is that what you do for an occupation?" He asked.

"I wish. No I am a grad student"

The very idea that there are people in the world who get paid just to do what I do for a hobby suddenly made me feel extremely jealous and resentful.

I rushed out of the store with my uncooked chicken and reminded myself that I have the most wonderful struggles, and that I am already doing everything I ever hoped to be able to do and more. I have plenty of clothes in my closet, I have a career that entertains my mind, I have hobbies that stimulate my imagination, I have a family that loves me, a partner who both loves and understands me, and I have a perfectly good uncooked free-range, local, organic chicken to put in the oven. The memory of just one day of that is enough richness to last for a lifetime.

Roasted Chicken

I find roasting a chicken to be easier than operating my microwave. Preheat the oven to 375, remove the insides of a small chicken (whatever they include), rinse the bird and pat it dry. Rub the skin with butter and salt, and stuff the inside with fresh poultry herbs (marjoram, rosemary, sage, thyme) and garlic. If you have some string, tie the legs together, otherwise you can use toothpicks to pin them together, or just skip it. Throw the bird into an oiled roasting pan, breast side down, and put it in the oven. Set the timer for 30 min. Remove the roasting pan and flip the chicken over, basting it in butter. Cook for another 20 min breast side up (so that the skin gets crispy on top. When the timer goes off, remove the bird and turn the heat up to 450. Baste and salt the skin. Return to the oven for 10 min more, or to desired brown-ness.

Purple Potatoes

In a separate roasting pan, add

4 purple potatoes, cubed

5 cloves garlic (in the skin, but with the ends cut off)

3 cloves sliced garlic

4 stocks celery, diced

1 sprig rosemary (for aroma)

1/2 tsp salt

1-2 Tbsp olive oil to coat

Cook alongside the chicken, but remove before the oven is turned up to 450.

Boiled Artichokes

On the stove top, after the chicken has been in for 30 min, boil 4 cups of water in a large pot with 1 tsp lemon juice. Add 2 trimmed artichokes (pull off outer leaves and cut off the prickly ends, peel the stem). Cook the artichokes in the boiling water until you can easily pierce with a fork (should be done at the same time as the chicken if you start 30 min after the chicken has been in).

Christina's vote: "A hearty meal"

Day 14: The mother of invention

2010-04-03T16:19:00.000-07:00

It is amazing how inspiration can be born out of a perceived time crunch. I can avoid a project for months, gently stewing in the stress of it, with no sign of a palatable, imaginative product in sight. Then at the last possible moment, the final brown crust forms, the flavors weep into the broth, and the manuscript appears.

This morning I sat at my desk and leaned into the computer, offering my thoughts to the screen and wishing that it were able to just take them directly lest my fingers miss something. I had a deadline to meet by this afternoon, and suddenly all of the information that I needed to incorporate was clear in front of me. By 3:00, when Christina got home from her art studio, I had finished the assignment.

That's when it hit me.

A wave of nausea so intense it was as though I were in 10 foot seas.

"Are you alright?" Christina said "I don't think I have ever seen you look so miserable.."

"No, I have to lay down for a sec." Talking was difficult. I flopped down on the bed and closed my eyes.

With the door to the bedroom left open, it was not long before all three cats had nestled on top of me. I had melted into and was now a part of, the comforter.

Time passed.

"Are you going to make a leafy reader?"

"ung" I answered. I focused my attention on Eugene as though he were the horizon. Then I got out of bed, and began cooking (more like assembling) dinner.

It only took me about 10 min, and Christina said that she though it turned out well. I ended up eating plain toasted tortillas, which reminded me of "boat toast" a horrible creation that we used to subject ourselves to on my parents boat that involved burning white bread directly on top of a burner. Despite the acrid aftertaste of charred sugar, I think it was the toasted tortillas and the memories that cured my sickness.

Here is a fairly easy recipe that required very little preparation time. You can substitute in any vegetables that you like.

Easy Tostadas

1/2 green pepper, diced

1/2 yellow pepper, diced

1/2 yellow onion, diced

2 tsp olive oil

a few shakes of salt.

cook the vegetables above on a high heat, keeping them moving around the pan, until the onions are slightly brown (but the peppers are still crunchy). If you cut the peppers slightly bigger than the onions it will help you get to this point without going past it. Remove the veggies from the pan, add 2 Tbsp vegetable oil and heat until the oil is hot. Add 1 tortilla at a time (2 total), and brown on both sides. Remove tortilla to a paper towel (to blot off some of the oil). Spread the tortilla with warmed re-fried pinto beans and top with shredded romaine lettuce, peppers, salsa, sour cream (or yogurt), and shredded Dubliner cheese.

Christina's vote: "This dinner made me feel like dancing to La Bamba"

Day 13: Kabab by any other name..

2010-04-02T14:34:00.000-07:00

"Am I supposed to put the towel in the rice?" I was standing about 10 feet behind Christina, in the doorway of the office. She sat in the dark, lit by up by the desktops of her computers, red from the left, blue from the right like a pair of 3D glasses.
"Yes, cover the rice with a towel" She said, half paying attention to my question, half absorbed in her work.
"really?? okay.." I turned and walked back into the kitchen, puzzled. I opened the giant rice pot and gently "tucked in" the rice, using a towel. Then I placed a lid on the pot, and continued my cooking. About 10 min later, Christina walks in.
"How's the Persian crispy rice comi..?" She stopped mid-sentence, and then blurted "where is the towel?"
"uh..it's inside the pot, like you said.."

I could tell by her confusion that I had not understood her right.

"Hahahahaha, no not inside the pot, around the lid. My grandmother would always wrap the lid in a towel, like this!" She took a towel and wrapped it around the lid of the pot. It never would have occurred to me to do that.

It is difficult to venture into the world of Iranian cooking without a cultural guide. For example, when I asked the salesman at the Persian market if the baby eggplants had seeds in them, he replied proudly, "oh yes they do, were you looking to make eggplant caviar?"
"Eggplant caviar?? Really?? But the seeds are so bitter!!!" I said, in shock.
"Oh, yes, we sell the seeds separately, in fact, a lot of people come just for the seeds. They have many health benefits."
This, also, never would have occurred to me.

Whenever I dabble in Persian cooking, I rely very heavily in Christina's descriptions of her grandmother's food, and on the delightful writings of Najmieh Batmangli (who has translated traditional Persian recipes for the American cook). I recommend her "New Food of Life", from which this modified tadig recipe originated.

Dill rice with tadig (crispy rice)
3 cups basmati rice
6 cups water
1 1/2 Tbsp salt
1/2 cup grapeseed oil
1/2 cup ghee (clarified butter) + 1/2 cup water
2 Tbsp Greek yogurt

Rinse the basmati rice in a fine mesh colander until the water runs clear (or about 8 times). Boil the 6 cups of water and add the rice and salt. Cook for 8 min, uncovered. Remove from the heat and rinse the cooked rice in cold water. Mix 2 cups of the cooked rice with 2 Tbsp yogurt and the grapeseed oil. Spread the mixture on the bottom of the rice pot. Scoop the remaining rice on top of the yogurt rice, but only in the center, so that the rice forms a pyramid. Cover and cook on Medium heat for 1o min. Pour the ghee and water on top, and cover with a lid with a towel wrapped around it. Cook over medium low heat for 1 hour, or until you get a crisp layer on the bottom of the pot (test with a spoon). Remove from heat and place the pot onto a cool wet towel to loosen the tadig. Carefully scoop out the rice, and then invert the pot onto a plate. Add 2 cups of chopped dill to the rice.

Kabab by any other name...
Marinate 1 lb of cubed prime sirloin steak, 1 package organic mushrooms and 1 red onion chopped into large pieces in:
3/4 cup yogurt
2 Tbsp olive oil
2 tsp black pepper
1 Tbsp brown rice vinegar
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 yellow onion, diced
The juice from 1 lime
cover and set in the refrigerator for the day (about 8 hours..or you could prepare the night before). Pre heat oven to 350. Skewer the meat on long skewers, top with a cherry tomato. Cook for 40 min, or to desired done-ness.

Salad
whisk together
1 Tbsp sherry vinegar
1/2 tsp red apple balsamic vinegar
2 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp roasted walnut oil
1 tsp Dijon mustard
2 tsp dried lime (from Persian market)
fresh ground pepper and salt
a pinch of sugar
add mache leaves until the desired proportion of dressing to salad is reached and 1 diced red pepper

Christina's vote: "Grandmother would be proud"

Day 12: Bucket list lettuce wraps

2010-04-01T16:39:00.000-07:00

Nature has sent us her relief. The end of winter crept in like a slow flood, so slow that I hardly noticed until one day I had to pull up my knees and rock myself for comfort. Almost everything in me had withdrawn by the end of winter. I felt like screaming from the rooftop, waving my arms, sending out smoke signals "Help me"!! How foolish of me to forget, I only needed to hold on a little longer.

Stepping outside this morning reminded me of walking off of a plane after having left in a blizzard and then arrived in a tropical vacation getaway spot. It felt foreign to breathe in warm air, and to feel it on my skin. Like swimming in lukewarm water, my body couldn't tell the difference between self and surroundings. Everyone had a smile and a gaze. A woman crossed the busy intersection wearing business clothes. She was barefoot. Her feet were clean, an indicator that her insanity was only temporary and driven by extreme joy.

I got into my car, and turned on the radio. How nice to not wear a coat. The radio began talking to me, as I drove through the streets of my city. "A 51 year old woman who had 'non-terminal' leukemia robbed a bank in Florida. She said she did it because it was on a list of things she wanted to do before she dies".

I think of this again later when I am reading a journal article about a study where women subjects volunteered to be confined to 60 days of bed rest to examine potential physical adaptations to microgravity (how astronauts adapt in space).

'Wow' I thought to myself 'I never want to experience that'.

This thought was immediately followed by a moment of grief

'I might live my entire life and never get to know what it feels like to be on bed rest for 60 days'

It was then that I understood. Don't get me wrong, I don't endorse bank robbery or scofflawism of any kind, but there are moments where I am hyper aware of my own mortality. We don't get to experience all things on this earth, we can't be all ways. Without the tools to be able to properly grieve, a person can be paralyzed by their inability to be satisfied with the choices they have made (or perhaps sit on their hands and not make any choices at all).

"I just don't know what I want to do next, and it is frustrating" I said to my mother on the phone. A grown woman calling her parents for guidance. It happens.
"It is hard to tell the truth about what you want. It is even harder to tell the truth on yourself." Bless her and her moment of clarity. She didn't try to tell me what to do. I probably would have argued with her, no matter what she suggested.

The outer journey is colorful and diverse, but what happens on the inside appears to be universal.

Lettuce wraps (you could make this vegetarian by using tofu instead of pork, or just use extra eggplant and burdock)
marinate
3 pork loin rib chops, thin cut, in
3 Tbsp Bulldog Japanese worchestershire sauce. Add
1 tsp soy sauce,
2 tsp toasted sesame oil,
1/2 tsp black pepper, and
2 large cloves of garlic, minced.
In a frying pan, heat
1 Tbsp olive oil. Add
1/2 diced yellow onion and
3/4 cup diced eggplant (pre-salted to extract bitter compounds..see day 7 "let it be easy" for details).
Add 1 stock of peeled, shredded burdock
Add the pork and the marinade, searing it on both sides and then turn down the heat and cook slow. When the pork is cooked (about 10 min) remove from the pan, cut the meat into small pieces and mix back into the fry mixture.

Serve with: shredded carrots, iceberg lettuce leaves and a dipping sauce (I mixed Greek yogurt with garlic chili sauce that I got from the Asian market)

Christina's vote: "La-la-la-licious"

Day 11: Stuffed Mushrooms

2010-03-31T11:42:00.000-07:00

"I have been enjoying watching you eat" said the self proclaimed food addict.

"I'm sorry, what?" I replied, in a sleepy yet caught off guard daze.

"Your apple, and peanut butter. You take these tiny little bites, spreading just a little peanut butter on each one. You savored that apple over the course of an entire hour." To this, I thought to myself

'I cannot wait to tell Christina'.

It's not that the woman's comment was out of line. This morning, while she was watching me eat, I was having coffee with a group of women. The conversation was interesting, and I wanted to be prepared in case I felt compelled to blurt something out. I wanted to keep my mouth free, in case such an occasion were to arise. I also was feeling self conscious about the fact that I had chosen to eat such a loud and juicy snack in front of a bunch of other people, who were not themselves eating. So on this occasion, I was, in fact, eating in exactly the way she had described. However, this particular occasion is by no means representative of the way I eat.

I know this to be true, because I have watched myself.

Let me explain.

Christina is in the habit of documenting our everyday lives on film. She imagines that one day our nieces and nephews will want to be able to make up a nice batch of popcorn, hunker down in front of the TV, and watch the two of us perform normal day to day tasks. It is because of this hobby of hers that I have been afforded the opportunity to watch myself eating (which is apparently an activity that I am nearly always engaging in). I therefore cannot help but laugh when Christina teases me about it.

"Do you have to always take such man sized bites?" she asks me. Then she does her imitation of me, turning the food over and over in my hands, looking at every corner, and finally taking a gigantic bite and smacking my lips after I swallow.

"Yes I do," I reply "so that I can feel it..."

"I know, I know, so you can taste the bite on your whole palate" Christina says with a chuckle.

This is one of the few things that she can tease me about without me getting overly sensitive. Turn to the section on "relationships" in nearly any astrology book and you will find that Aquarius (Christina) and Leo (myself) are doomed to battle due to the terribly sensitive nature of Leo, and the overly critical nature of Aquarius. What makes our relationship work, is that we are both willing to watch ourselves, and each other, from a loving perspective.

"see, right here. That is where I started to feel angry, and listen to me deny it" I said as we huddled in front of the computer watching an argument accidentally caught on film.

"I could so tell you were angry, look at how you are itching your head. You always itch your head when you are mad."

I reached for the popcorn dish, took a man-sized handful of popcorn, and we both started to laugh.

Stuffed mushrooms with edamame salad

In a small saucepan, heat 1 Tbsp olive oil and 1/4 tsp salt. Add 1 small yellow onion, diced. When the onion starts getting clear, add 1 cup short grain brown rice.

Toast the rice briefly until a nutty aroma is released. Then add 2 cups water and an additional 1/4 tsp salt.

Bring to a boil and cover (mostly), reducing the heat to low. In about 5 min, come back to the rice and place the cover firmly on, so that no steam can escape. Cook the rice for about 30 min, checking it and stirring occasionally.

Pre heat the oven to 350.

Rehydrate (using boiling water) about 1 cup sun-dried tomato halves (this will take about 10-15 min)

While you are waiting for the rice to cook, heat about 1 cup of frozen shelled edamame on the stovetop (boil some water, add the edamame and cook for about 2-3 min, drain and rinse with cold water immediately). Dice some small sweet peppers (about 1/2 cup). Wash some mache (about 2-3 cups). Toss the greens, edamame and peppers together and dress with 1/2 Tbsp olive oil, 1/4 tsp ume plum vinegar, 1/2 lemon juice, 1/2 lemon zest, and 1 tsp soy sauce.

When the rice is done, allow it to sit, covered for 10 min off the heat. Then add 1 cup chopped parsley, the sun-dried tomato halves (diced into small pieces), 1 tsp black pepper, and the zest from 1/2 lemon. Fill 6 portabello stuffing mushrooms with the rice mixture and place in a baking dish greased with toasted walnut oil (or olive oil) bake for 20 min in the oven.

Christina's vote: "Enjoyed every big mouthful"

Day 10: Caution takes flight

2010-03-30T07:05:00.000-07:00

We sat in rows of chairs, before a white dry erase board. One designated student "presenter" sat in the front, her article underlined and highlighted, with circles, arrows, and comments in the margins. She presented an article about the introduction of television into Fijian culture, which happened in 1995, and the influences on body image and eating attitudes in adolescent girls. Fijian culture has historically revered a more robust physique, but the introduction of television sparked tension between generations as the younger girls expressed a desire to look thin like the women on Beverly Hills 90210.

"This is all very interesting to me because in my culture I am coming vrom a communist country vhere eating disorders did not exist. Nobody cared vhat your body looked like and for the most part everybody vas normal veight and novone vas fat. Food vas precious, and you didn't eat snacks..." The Hungarian professor continued on talking about her home land, "vone girl vas fat, but ve all knew she had some hormonal problems and that vas that.."

As she continued on I was reminded of my grandmother, who hungered for an audience, and never stopped to breath once she started talking. It didn't matter if she had already told you the story a hundred times (or even if you had been the one who originally told her that particular story). My grandmother could talk for hours, and often did.

"and ven I had my son, he didn't vant to be eating anything he vas very picky..." the professor continued. By now, everyone was shuffling in their seats. The professor was breaking the unwritten rules of science. She was sharing her experience of life, she was straying from the data. Here was our opportunity to talk about our experiences with food, completely unrestricted by scientific evidence, the only problem was that nobody could get a word in edgewise. The whole class seemed to be leaning forward. Eyebrows went up and down, lips pressed together in the beginnings of words, but still the professor continued.
It was agony.

Tonight is a perfect night to throw out the rules, roll down your windows, push back your chair, turn the music up, and have some quiche.

Quiche

1 1/4 cup unbleached white flour

1/2 cup whole wheat flour

1 1/4 sticks of cold unsalted butter

1 tsp salt

8-9 Tbsp cold water

small drizzle of black truffle infused olive oil

Mix the flours together with the salt. Drizzle in the black truffle oil. Add the butter in using two knives, a pastry blender, or your fingers, being careful not to melt the butter too much (you want coarse "peas" of butter flour). Add the water,1 Tbsp at a time (you may not need it all, or you may want to use more) bring the flour together into a dough. Do not over mix, you will end up with a tough crust. Wrap the dough tightly in plastic wrap and put in the fridge for 30 min. On a floured surface, roll out the dough and roll it into a 9 inch cake pan (I don't have a pie plate, if you are using a pie plate, you will want to use less eggs for the quiche).

Cut the excess dough off so that it hangs about 1 inch over the side, evenly all around. Pinch this dough up with your fingers and use it to make pleats for the crust. Poke a few holes with a fork in the bottom of the pan. Cover the dough with tinfoil and pour about 1 cup of dried kidney beans on top (for weight) Bake the crust at 400 for 20 min, then take it out and remove the tinfoil and beans.

Pour in 4 Tbsp shredded cheese (whatever kind you like, I used mozzarella because I had some leftover), vegetables (see below) and egg mixture (see below). Bake at 400 for 25 min.

Note: The quiche will rise a bit, so you don't want to overfill the crust with egg mixture.

Vegetable mixture:

1/2 small yellow onion, diced

1/2 bunch asparagus, cut into small pieces

1 cup chopped portabello mushroom

1 Tbsp olive oil

salt pepper and paprika

Heat the oil and a little salt and add the onion, mushroom and asparagus. Cook for about 10 min, stirring occasionally. Add chopped watercress and turn off the heat.

Eggs:

Whisk together 8 large eggs

1 Tbsp cream

1 tsp pepper

a tiny drop of black truffle flavored olive oil

Christina's vote: "This dinner made me feel less afraid of the dark"

Day 9: Ocean Dream

2010-03-29T15:44:00.000-07:00

I can't squeeze a lime without thinking of it. The ocean, the beach, the dome of sky which is thick with water and wind and whips at your cheeks saying "wake up, you are alive, WAKE UP" The dome covers the earth like a lid for a great big chafing dish, revealing cracks of light when the child of the universe peeks in to see what is being served. Smears of green and red seaweed litter the shoreline like herbs. The little children perch like frogs and stick out their fingers to poke at it.

I close my eyes and bring a section of lime to my lips. The sour juice delivers more memories. I am drinking in the wind on my father's boat. I can feel my jacket flapping like a sail. My eyes are full of shade, his sunglasses are heavy on my nose. He smiles at me and asks me if I want to drive. The boat slams against the waves, jolting my small arms as I clutch the smooth metal wheel. A bird soars overhead, screeching, screeching, "meow, meoooooow, meoooooowrrrr"

Charlie looks up at me from his dish, he wants to be fed. The other two cats have been creeping in toward the shrimp bowl. "Get down" I say, and squirt the water bottle at them. Neither one minds getting wet. It is like a game for them, which totally defeats the purpose of trying to train them with a water bottle.

I feel dazed from my the memories, and try to capture more of them, like holding on to the end of a dream. I steep my senses in the garlic. I hover my nose above the coconut. Lemon pepper is standing on a kitchen stool in my nightgown stirring scrambled eggs. Rice noodles, my first restaurant. Chilis, a moment at boarding school. Coconut, my college apartment.

The handle turns and brings a burst of animation into the room. A light cracks open the dome, and a child of the universe curiously enters.

"What's for dinner?" she asks.

Chili, lime, and coconut shrimp

1/2 lb peeled raw shrimp, medium to large size

3 New Mexico chilis, dried

4 large cloves garlic

1 1/2 tsp sugar

1 organic lime (you will be using the rind as well as the juice, so you want to go for the organic!)

salt and cayenne pepper

1 Tbsp salted butter

1/2 package "Thai stir fry rice noodles" or rice linguini

1/2 can coconut milk, shaken before opened

1 Tbsp olive oil

3 carrots

1 bunch watercress

1 onion

lemon pepper (salt free, we like penzeys)

If you are using frozen raw shrimp, thaw them out in cold water and drain. In a saucepan, heat 2 cups of water and add the dried chilis (first cut off the stems and empty out the seeds by shaking the pods). Simmer the chilis until soft (about 5 min) and drain the water. Transfer them into a mini food processor and blend with 2 Tbsp hot water and 2 cloves of the garlic. Add the sugar and juice from 3/4 of the lime. Season with salt and cayenne pepper (to taste). Marinate the shrimp in this sauce, while you prepare the noodles.

In a saucepan boil some water (about 6 cups). Remove from the heat, add the rice noodles and let sit, submerged, for about 10 min. Drain the noodles and rinse with cold water and set aside. In a large frying pan, heat 1 Tbsp olive oil and about 1/4 tsp salt. Add the onion, diced into large pieces, and the carrots, peeled and sliced into rounds. Add the remaining 2 cloves of garlic, minced. Remove from the heat and cover for about 5 min (so that the carrots steam a little). Replace the pan on the hot burner, and add the noodles and coconut milk. Cook for about 5 min, then add the watercress. Remove from heat and squeeze the remaining lime onto the noodles. Add some cayenne, salt, and lemon pepper to taste. Add some lime zest.

In a separate frying pan, heat the butter. Add the shrimp and chili sauce and cook for about 4 min, until cooked through. Top the noodles with the shrimp. Enjoy!

Christina's vote: "This dinner made me want to search for mermaids"

Day 8- Quinoa in the face of fear

2010-03-28T14:20:00.000-07:00

"What are you thinking about?" Christina asked me, as I stood stirring a pot of melted chocolate.

We had a bar of bitter dark chocolate in our cupboard that was given to us as a gift and is so bitter that it is practically inedible. It was the sort of chocolate my grandmother would have eaten, but then, she was the type of person who would eat black licorice flavored jelly beans, and didn't seem to care whether candy actually tasted sweet. After coming home from our walk today I decided to do something about the chocolate, so I heated it over a double boiler with some sugar and cream. Nothing completes a cool sunny walk like sweet, velvety chocolate.

"You have a funny look on your face, seriously, what are you thinking about?" Christina asked again. Her cheeks were pink from the wind, and wisps of hair framed her face. Looking at her made me forget myself for a moment. I walked through my memory, tracing my steps back up the hill to Grand Avenue, where we sat outside on the park bench with our latte and croissant. We were watching the people go by and admiring their mannerisms and oddities as though they were Alexander McQueen models on a runway. After a few minutes of hard remembering, I finally located the thought which had prompted the funny look.

"I was thinking about how you leaned over and kissed me on the park bench, in front of everyone. I was thinking about all of the people who came before us, who walked through fears and lived lives full of meaning. I was thinking about the positive impact that they had, and how many people never live to see how their courage strengthens the world, or how they are celebrated when they are gone. I was thinking about how happy I am to be living with you."

Maybe it was the chocolate, but I was feeling absolutely saturated with love.

"oh..thanks.." Christina said smiling from ear to ear.

This meal has been floating around in my imagination for years. Each time I have attempted to pull it into existence, some piece of it eludes me. I keep grasping for it, quinoa, orange, asparagus, zucchini, onion, garlic, olive oil, pepper, I have tried dozens of combinations and never quite hit the mark. I once added orange juice to the quinoa, but the orange flavor was too dilute, and the texture of the quinoa was all wrong. I have added too little garlic, used the asparagus that was too thin, over cooked it, under cooked it, added too little salt. With all of these failings peppering my memory, I nearly gave up on the dish, but tonight I felt a renewed sense of courage. I am happy to report, that the dish of my subconscious finally came to life. I feel so happy that I never gave up on it. Should you decide to make it, I hope that you enjoy it as much as we did!

Warm Quinoa and Zucchini Salad
In a small sauce pan add about 1 cup rinsed quinoa and 2 cups of water.
(Quinoa has a bitter taste to it if it is not thoroughly rinsed before cooking, many companies pre-rinse their quinoa, but I still wash mine anyway until the washing water runs clear.) Bring the water to a boil with a lid on the quinoa. Reduce heat and simmer uncovered until the quinoa is soft, has sprouted little tails, and the water is gone. In a separate saucepan, heat 1 Tbsp olive oil. Add
1 very small yellow onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 large zucchini, diced
1/4 tsp salt
1 tsp Florida pepper (penzys spices.. or just use lemon pepper, or pepper and dried lemon and orange peel)
Add the quinoa
1/2 Tbsp brown rice vinegar
Remove from the heat and spoon onto a butter lettuce leaf. Serve with-

Asparagus and Carrots in Toasted Orange Butter
Heat a frying pan and add
2 Tbsp water
1/2 bunch trimmed asparagus
2 carrots, sliced diagonally
add about 2 Tbsp butter
a sprinkle of salt,
3 cloves garlic, minced
Zest 1/2 orange onto the mixture and cook until the water is gone and the butter has started to brown. Turn off the heat and serve warm.

Christina's vote: "This meal made me feel like I could tame lions."

Day 7: Let It Be Easy

2010-03-27T15:04:00.000-07:00

"Emily honey, what do you want for lunch?" the camper bumped from side to side, trotting along the sandy desert road. "Ummm, I'll have, a butter sandwich!" "A butter sandwich?" my grandfather asked, confused. "She loves butter" my mom said, shrugging her shoulders.

I feel so fortunate to have grown up in an era where food was simply...food. Fast food was still a novelty, we were blissfully unaware of the potential consequences of eating it. We used to go to McDonalds for a treat, which now seems as ridiculous to me as smoking cigarettes to relieve stress, or having a shot of whiskey to loosen up before giving a speech.

A few weeks ago, I met for lunch with Dr. Katja Rowell. After finishing med school, Dr. Rowell worked as a family physician. She soon recognized a common theme in many of the families that were coming in: disordered eating and obsessive dieting. She started up a practice, called "Family Feeding Dynamics". She helps families learn how to help guide their children at the dinner table, without teaching them restrictive food rules or to place significance on what they are eating. She advocates instead, for showing your child how to listen to their own hunger cues. Check out her website, it is a really cool thing that she does!

http://www.familyfeedingdynamics.com/FFD/home.html

Childhood obesity is a hot topic these days, and many people in the medical profession believe that being overweight is synonymous with increased health risks. "Your child needs to lose weight" the doctor points to a health chart. "We want to get their numbers down so that they fit inside this curve". The parent feels waves of shame and panic. They decide to put their child on a diet, restricting certain foods that they believe to be "unhealthy". The child begins to covet the forbidden foods, and experiences shame when they find occasion to indulge. The disordered eating pattern establishes, restrict, indulge, regret, remorse, restrict, indulge, regret, remorse.

While it is true that many of the lifestyle patterns that lead to being overweight also are associated with chronic diseases, it is possible to be overweight and still be healthy. We can't control the shape that our bodies will grow, but we can control how we treat them, talk to them, and listen to them.

Messages of the thin ideal, and how to achieve it, are everywhere. The magazines at the grocery store promise us that we can lose 10 pounds of fat in 3 weeks, which would require that a person accumulate a deficit of about 35,000 calories. Given that an average dietary recommendation is about 2000 calories a day, over 21 days, most people would need to consume about 21,000 calories total. So even if you starved yourself for the entire three weeks, you would still need to burn about 15,000 calories to lose the 10 lbs of fat. This you could achieve by simply running 150 miles over the course of the 3 weeks (average of 7 miles a day). So...don't eat and run 7 miles a day..does this sound healthy to you?

Earlier this evening, I walked across the park and yanked on the smooth metal handle of the YMCA entrance door. It was locked. Damn. My health insurance covers 75 % of my gym membership provided I go to the gym 17 times a month. I have been slacking off a bit this month, requiring that I need to go every day for the rest of the month to reach the 17 day mark. I didn't realize that they closed early on Saturdays.

As I turned to walk back to the apartment, the irony hit me. Every time I have been to the doctor over the past year, it has been to treat some sports related injury. Rather than reducing my risk for insurance costs, my exercising is increasing it! My insurance company is rewarding me for costing them money. In black and white thinking, things are either "good" or "bad", with no regard for the dose that makes the poison. But black and white are limited shades in our vibrant multicolored world. I returned home calmed by the thought, and slipped into my chair where Christina brought me a steaming cup of orange tea.

Eggplant and Zucchini Parmesan

Slice 1 medium eggplant into 1/4 inch thick rounds. They the slices flat and sprinkle with salt (allowing the brown liquid to sweat out). Damp the liquid with a paper towel and turn them over, repeating on the other side.

Slice 1 large zucchini on a slant, so that the rounds are about 1/4 inch thick.

Set out 2 bowls in front of you, one with flour, one with egg, and one with coarse cornmeal. Dip the zucchini and eggplant in flour, then into beaten egg (use 2 eggs), then coat with coarse ground cornmeal. Season with salt and pepper and place in a hot frying pan with olive oil coating the bottom. Brown on both sides, using a fork to turn, then remove and place on a paper towel to soak up excess oil.

Layer the eggplant on the bottom. On top of each eggplant, place about 1 Tbsp of tomato sauce (from yesterdays pizza recipe), and some fresh mozzarella cheese. Add some shredded fresh basil and top with zucchini. Repeat to desired height. Place in a 375 degree oven for about 10 min, or until cheese melts.

Serve with

1 large head butter lettuce, lightly dressed with 1/2 Tbsp Sherry vinegar and 1 Tbsp olive oil and fresh ground pepper.

Christina's vote: "This meal aroused my palate, multiple times"

Day 6: Nutrition vs food science

2010-03-26T15:59:00.000-07:00

Nutrition and food science are both housed in one building at the University of Minnesota. They are like two siblings, always bickering about who is right and who is wrong, each one fighting for the attention of some parent audience, the public at large. The food scientists say,

"look at the exciting flavors we can make! See how we can make your food last on the shelves. We are the ones who prevent your cheese from growing listeria, and who can make your food low in fat, or devoid of sugar. In fact, we can even make magical fats and sugars that your body won't absorb! You can eat forever and never gain a pound! We will dehydrate your veggies so that they won't spoil, we will salt your meat so that you don't have to refrigerate it, we will pasteurize your eggs and your cream."

The food scientists study what happens to food when the food is processed in various ways at the level of the food. With so many chemical reactions happening to food before it even reaches the consumer, the food chemist never gets a chance to hear the rest of the story (ie. what happens to the food products after they have entered the human body). Here is where nutrition chimes in.

"See how those dehydrated foods are constipating you! You need fresh vegetables with water still in them. I know that you are used to the salty flavor, but that salt is causing you to bloat and stressing your heart. Try some fresh mozzarella instead of that salty shredded stuff. Add more vegetables to your diet, for vitamins and phytochemicals and to reduce your intake of saturated fat. Stop eating white flour, it will cause your insulin to spike and you will become tired. Try some fiber rich whole wheat flour instead."

While the food chemist knows little about the health consequences of their delicious concoctions, the nutritionist learns very little about how to make your healthy meal delicious. Although we are housed in the same building, their is an invisible wall that divides us. Like republicans and democrats, each group imagines that if the other group really understood their point of view, they would change their ways.

The cook is both a food scientist and a nutritionist, though he usually doesn't think of himself as such. His hands, eyes, ears, and nose are always gathering data about the chemical properties and nutritional benefits of foods. The first few times he puts something together he follows a recipe exactly, but soon he learns that foods are seasonal and that so too are recipes. He begins to notice the differences between high gluten whole wheat flour and unbleached white flour. He discovers that some grocery stores have low turnover of certain types of grains and consequently they are likely to be rancid when bought from there. He learns about where to get the freshest meat, how to pick the tastiest produce, how to combine foods to get the most complementary flavors.

Often these food combinations yield nutritional benefits, though the cook wasn't thinking about that when he chose to combine them. Vitamin C from the tomato sauce helps increase the absorption of calcium from the cheese. Vitamin C also helps with iron absorption from the basil, and from the pepperoni. Fats increase the absorption of vitamin E, which is in the whole wheat flour and olive oil.

Cooking is what happens when food science and nutrition meet for dinner.

Pizza (makes 2, 7-8 inch pizzas)

Dissolve 1 tsp active dry yeast (quick rise) in 1 cup water. Feed the yeast with 1 tsp sugar or preferred sweetener by dissolving it into the water. In a separate bowl mix together:

1 cup whole wheat flour

1 cup unbleached white flour

1/2 tsp salt

Add the yeast water to the flour and pull together with a spatula. Turn the dough out on the counter and knead for about 10 min (you probably won't need extra flour, I found that the amount was just about right). When the dough is smooth, and doesn't break easily, coat the dough with olive oil and let rise for about 1 hour in a bowl covered with plastic wrap or a wet towel.

In the meantime, make the sauce. Heat

1 Tbsp olive oil

1/4 tsp salt

in a saucepan and add

1 small yellow onion, diced

4 cloves garlic minced

cook until the onions begin to soften, then add

1/2 small yellow onion, diced (I like a more raw onion flavor as well as the sweet cooked onion flavor)

Add 1 29 oz can of tomato sauce (or if it is summer, about 5 cups diced tomatoes. This will make a chunkier sauce, but I think it will be delicious)

Add 2 Tbsp fresh chopped oregano, 1 Tbsp fresh Thyme leaves, 2 Tbsp fresh chopped basil, 1 tsp black pepper.

Cook until it begins to bubble, then turn off the heat before things get messy.

Preheat oven to 425. Cut the pizza dough into two sections and form it into a flat circle using your fingers. Try to make it thin in the middle and give it a bit of a crust (spin it if you know how). Place the formed dough on a cookie sheet with yellow cornmeal spread underneath to prevent the crust from sticking to the pan. Ladle some sauce onto the middle of the crust and spread it around with the back of the ladle. Now top with either pepperoni and then shredded mozzarella, or fresh mozzarella only. Spray both crusts with a squirt bottle filled with water. The steam will promote a crispier crust. Place them both in the oven and set the timer for 10 min. After 10 min, take the pizzas out and rotate them (switch racks). Before putting the fresh mozzarella one back in, top with 1/2 cup chopped fresh basil and a few more slices of fresh mozzarella. Cook pizzas for about 8 more min, or to desired doneness.

Christina's vote: It's important that people understand how delicious this pizza is.

Day 5: All Streams Lead to the River

2010-03-25T16:31:00.000-07:00

"How do you have time to do all that cooking? Don't you ever do research?" I was sitting in my usual seat in Biostatistics, crammed into a little desk chair in a huge lecture hall between Drew and Norman. Drew, Norman, and I are all PhD students at the University of Minnesota in the department of Nutrition. The major difference between us is that they are both funded, both well into their research, and both on a straight path to graduation. I took a slight detour from the PhD to get my masters degree in...beans.

In case you are wondering, fresh beans are higher in antioxidants, tend to cook faster, and have an incredibly rich flavor when compared with beans bought from the grocery store. When buying beans from the store, try to look for something grown locally (check out the bulk section of your co-op, or try to find them at a farmers market). If possible, try to find some beans that have been stored in dark packaging... (I digress..)

I am now branching into the field of nutrition and neuroscience. Because I have chosen to change my research direction from studying beans to studying brains, I am, in a way, starting over. Norman is absolutely right. I probably would be much further along in my research were I not continually picking up these little side projects along the way.

"I don't watch television". I explained to Norman, in a whisper, as the professor clicked through his slides. This is the way I typically respond to such a question. It's a rationalization. The truth is, I can't help myself. I feel compelled to cook and write.

"Listen to your passion" said Bill, a fellow chef/nutrition student. Bill has a shaved head, black rimmed glasses, and stretched out piercings in his earlobes. He is currently researching ways to help chefs incorporate more whole grains into their menus. "You have a gift, see where it takes you" he said.

During the moments of sheer terror, I begin to worry that some decision needs to be made. I begin to doubt my lack of commitment to a specialized area. I am more than just a student, just a chef, just a writer, just an athlete, just a partner, just a daughter, just a teacher. I am all of these things, yet sometimes I fear that I can't have it all. I worry that some precious piece will slip between my fingertips while I am not paying attention and be lost forever. In these moments, I fell calmed by the thought that the only decision I really need to make is the one right in front of me, which happens, at this time, to be "what's for dinner".

Navy Bean Burgers

You can do this one of several ways. You can use canned beans (just rinse them well), you can pre-soak your beans (this reduces the cooking time by a little over half), or you can forget to pre-soak your beans and simply boil them for longer. This is what I did, it only took me about an hour and a half to cook the beans. I added the kombu to help with digestibility of the beans (since I didn't pre-soak). Kombu also adds natural glutamate, which adds a surprising amount of flavor appeal to your food. Whatever you do, do not add salt to the cooking water when cooking beans. Adding salt will increase the cooking time by..a lot. Boil about

3 cups of water

1 cup rinsed navy beans

1 inch piece dried kombu (optional)

reduce heat and simmer for about 90 min (or until beans are soft). Remove from heat, drain, and add to a food processor with

3 cloves of garlic,

1 tsp salt,

1 tsp Florida seasoned pepper (Penseys..or just use salt-free lemon pepper).

Add 1/2 small diced onion,

1/2 cup finely shredded cabbage

1/4 cup fine ground yellow cornmeal

this will hold the patty together loosely. I prefer not to add anything more, because I like it to be light and soft, and I don't really care if it holds together perfectly. If you prefer a richer, meatier, vegetarian burger then stay tuned..it will happen one of these nights I am sure!

Form the burgers into patties and dip each side into coarse ground cornmeal (optional). Fry for about 5 min on each side in a few Tbsp hot grapeseed or vegetable oil. Top with:

Greek Yogurt Dipping Sauce

3 Tbsp Greek yogurt

1 Tbsp Grey Poupon Dijon mustard

1 tsp tarragon, basil, or chipolte pepper

Garnet Yam Fries

These are really easy and good. Preheat oven to 425. Cut 1 garnet yam into fry shape slices (with the peel on). Place fries in a bowl and completely coat with olive oil. Add 1 tsp salt and 1 tsp Mrs Dash salt free seasoning. Spread the fries into an even layer on a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper and bake for about 15 min. Flip them around and bake for an additional 10 min.

Garlic Brussel Sprouts

heat 1 Tbsp olive oil in a saucepan and add 4 cloves minced garlic. Very quickly (before the garlic burns) add about 4 cups of quartered and rinsed brussel sprouts. Pour about 1/4 cup water into the pan and cover. Simmer until the water is gone. If they have not reached desired doneness, add a little more water and continue to steam. Before serving, squeeze the juice from 1/2 lemon on top (if you like the lemony flavor add the zest). Season with salt and pepper. If you love brussel sprouts with butter on them, then add a little butter to yours.

Christina's vote: "I think this is the most original thing I have ever tasted."

B is for basil and burdock- day 4

2010-03-24T16:20:00.000-07:00

A nutrition researcher at the U of M was on MPR today talking about childhood obesity. She introduced a relatively new term, which identifies an issue facing adolescent populations today. "Food illiteracy". She told a story about a 9 year old boy to whom she was providing dinner. She placed a baked potato in front of the kid.
"What's that" The child asked, totally ignorant of the relationship between the brown crusty thing on his plate and his favorite side dish which comes in waffle, shoe string, steak, seasoned, and chili cheese variety.

I confess, I didn't actually hear the program first hand. I was walking back from the gym, watching a squirrel greedily dig up a hidden stash of acorns, and marvelling about how similar his stare down resembled that of a park junky. The phone buzzing in my pocket caught me off guard. I hit the green button.
"Oh hi" I said. In an era of caller ID there is no need for formalities.
"Do you realize that some kids don't even know what a potato looks like?" Christina launched right into her reason for calling.
"I am not surprised" I said, remembering my experience working with the Minneapolis high school kids on a farm.

"Will you go and pick some basil for me?" I once asked a kid.
"Whazzit look like?" he replied, puzzled.
"Well, um, it's green and.." Words failed me. The baggy clothed student cocked his head to the side and rolled his eyes and said.
"howm I supposed to find that. It's ALL green out dere!"
"Okay I'll come with you" I said, slightly bitter because I did not want to leave the stove. We shuffled out into the field, and I felt my bitterness fade as I watched the kid bend down and pick the leaves I pointed to. He brought them to his nose and sniffed a little.
"Damn, that smells goooood" he said (I didn't want to break the moment to scold him for swearing, so I let it slide). We filled our basket with basil, and went back into the kitchen. He clutched a sprig of basil in his hand for the entire rest of the day, wafting it in front of his friends, braving the risk of being taunted, and teaching them how to read in the language of food.

B is for basil and burdock

Kinpira Gobo
Peel and shred (using the shredder attachment on a food processor makes this process easy)
3 burdock root pieces (about 1 foot long)
5 large sweet carrots
In a large frying pan, heat
1 Tbsp toasted sesame oil
1 Tbsp grapeseed oil (or just use 2 Tbsp toasted sesame if you love the flavor)
add the shredded burdock and carrot and
4 cloves of minced garlic
1 Tbsp soy sauce
1/2 Tbsp mirin
cook for about 15 min on medium to high heat, stirring constantly. Turn the heat off and add 1 Tbsp toasted sesame seeds and 1 tsp rice vinegar
This is a slightly different version of the traditional Japanese dish, I am told that the Japanese do not use vinegar and add a bit of sugar to their recipe.

Basil and citrus honey mustard dressing on chopped romaine
In a large salad bowl, whisk
the juice from 1 lemon
the juice from 1/2 orange
2 tsp honey
2 tsp grey poupon Dijon mustard (I considered using wasabi, but I couldn't find any in my cupboard)
1 1/2 tsp french basil
1/2 tsp ume plum vinegar
3 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp chopped leeks
When the dressing is thoroughly mixed, add about 1/2 a large bunch of chopped romaine lettuce. Season with salt and pepper (and orange zest if you want to get fancy)

Salmon
Rinse and pat with a paper towel until it is EXTREMELY dry 12 oz of salmon (assuming 2 very hungry people are eating this dinner) Now, here is my salmon trick. Coat the bottom of your frying pan with olive oil, and heat the pan until it is really hot, almost smoking. Place the whole fish face down in the oil and immediately shuffle the pan a little so it doesn't stick. It is really important that the fish is dry, because otherwise the oil will pop up and burn you (and you get a better brown that way). Cook for about 1 min, then flip to the skin side and do the same thing. Remove from the pan and place into a baking dish. Squeeze the juice from 1 orange on top. Add the whites from 2 leeks, some salt, pepper, and orange zest. Shake about 1/2 tsp of soy sauce on top. Sprinkle lightly with brown sugar (as though it were salt). Bake at 350 for about 15 min (or 12-18 min, less if you prefer it pink, more if you like it a little well).

Enjoy!

Christina's vote: I would consider doing time for this dinner.

28 days of dinner at home- Day 3 Equipt dinner

2010-03-23T15:13:00.000-07:00

The little shih tzu sat perfectly poised on the spongy black matted floor, his paws turned out like a ballerina in first position. The fur around his eyes was stained brown, and contrasted with his perfectly groomed white fir like smeared makeup on a fashion model. His head moved gently up and down, eyes never blinking, as he followed the repetition of my pulls. I was hanging, lengthwise, from a low bar, my legs splayed out in front of me like a person lodged under a car.

"10 more reps! Go!" Leslie said, her voice pure with cheer. "Pull from your lats, not your biceps" Said Jeff. "Imagine pulling your elbows down" Leslie chimed in. The dog just stared, coaching me with his eyes. He was the toughest critic in the room. "Tomorrow you are going to feel like you have been kicked by a mule" Jeff said. The disconcerting thing about this statement is that if anyone knows exactly what being kicked by a mule feels like, it's Jeff.

Jeff was raised on a farm, then after moving to the twin cities entered into a career as a personal trainer. It was here that he met Leslie, an established marathon coach with the most impressive endurance running history of any woman I have ever met. Leslie has run for over 100 miles straight around the same 3 mile stretch. Together Leslie and Jeff started up Equipt fitness, a small personal training studio, where they employ the many marvelous uses of the kettle bell. They have a keen eye for poor form, and can tell you exactly how to adjust your movements so that no time in the gym goes to waste.

When Leslie asked me if I wanted to work on a fitness challenge with her, I felt honored, and jumped at the opportunity. Specifically, we are planning to build up to being able to do a respectable set of pull-ups. Why pull-ups? Why not pull-ups! So this afternoon, I found myself hanging from a bar with crooked arms, shaking to near convulsions, watching the shih tsu on the floor silently stare me down. 'is that all you got' the dog seemed to say. His bottom teeth protruding out of his mouth. Then I heard Leslie's voice, "Three, two, one".
I dropped to the floor.

Simply roasted chicken with zucchini saute and sweet leek rice.

The chicken
Preheat the oven to 425. Rinse and pat dry
2 split chicken breasts (with the bone and skin on)
Take 6 cloves of garlic and cut the tops off, leaving the rest of the skin on. coat the bottom of a casserole dish with a few tsp of olive oil and place the chicken and garlic in the dish. Massage the top of the chicken skin with about 1 Tbsp butter, then sprinkle with a little salt. Put the dish in the oven, uncovered, for 20 min. Then take the chicken out and turn it over and cook for 5 more min. Take it out a final time, flip it over again and sprinkle with fresh thyme and oregano (or dried). cook for 10 more min, until the juices run clear. Take the garlic out of its shell and use as a garnish.
optional: Before cooking the chicken, bruise some fresh lemon grass with the side of your knife and add it to the pan. I swear it gives the chicken a lemony flavor (Christina said she didn't notice it, so I have left it out of the recipe).

The zucchini
2 zucchini
1-2 Tbsp olive oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 tsp salt
6 sun dried tomatoes, re hydrated in hot water and drained
fresh ground pepper
fresh thyme
fresh oregano
Heat the oil and add the salt and zucchini. If you wait until the oil is hot to add the vegetable, the zucchini will absorb less of the oil and not will have a more fresh flavor. Add the garlic as soon as the zucchini starts to sizzle. When the color of the zucchini changes from stark white to greenish yellow, sprinkle the herbs and sun dried tomatoes (diced into small pieces). Season with ground pepper.

The rice
Take yesterdays Persian rice out of the fridge (assuming you have leftovers). If you do not have leftovers, see the previous post. In a small pot, heat a tiny bit of oil (enough to cover the bottom). Add 1 leek, rinsed, halved, and sliced (use only the white part). After they soften but before they brown, add 1 cup of the cooked rice to the leeks. Give a few stirs, turn off the heat and cover the rice until ready to serve.

Christina's vote: I got to eat a good meal and work my bicep bringing my fork to my mouth!

28 Days of Dinner at Home: Day 2- Letter to Friend

2010-03-22T15:53:00.000-07:00

Dear friend,

I know that things are really hard right now. You feel like you have just stepped out of the warmth, and everything is cold and unfamiliar. Sharp edges dog your path, threatening to bite you with steel teeth. The world is moving so fast that it makes you spin, and you just want to pull the covers over your head and scream. With each clumsy new task you attempt, you feel more and more doubtful. Gravity threatens to pull you down, like a baby spoon dropped from a highchair. With a splat everything is messy. You clench your fists and close your eyes and hope to wake up when it's over.

Upon the backdrop of your inner eyelids, you watch a movie of your life. See how you dropped the edge of the table, lifted your little sausage link legs, stomped out a little march, and then promptly toppled over. How good it felt to cry hot tears, and to be swooped up and held!

Remember when you walked into the new school. You screamed because you didn't want to leave those arms. You couldn't imagine a whole day without them! After you were too tired to carry on, the little girl sitting next to you handed you a piece of macaroni. It was not long before you discovered a new talent for macaroni art. Your were so pleased with yourself!

Remember when you failed that history test. You were so embarrassed that you hid your test score from all the other kids, and ran out of the classroom. Something made you tell your brother when you got home, and he made you laugh at your attachment to the idea of instant perfection.

Remember when you learned, as an adult, how to swim freestyle? You could barely get from one end of the pool to the other, and you felt humbled and out of breath every time you tried. "Enjoy this time" your friend said "because soon you will swim with ease and you will take it for granted". She was right.

With every encroaching shadow you have learned to grow toward the sun, twisting this way and that, adding new rings to the pattern of your life. Each time the shadow comes you seem to forget how to find the sun, until the gentle wind whispers against your leaves and you suddenly feel yourself glistening.

Just wait.

It always comes.

Eggplant Kuku with Persian Dill Rice and Sesame Carrots

Note: I have never made Kuku before, so I loosely followed a recipe out of the divine Najmieh Batmanglij's "New Food of Life"(I highly recommend this cookbook if you are at all interested in the elegant and labor intensive art of Persian cooking.)

Eggplant Kuku

1 medium eggplant

~1/2 cup grapeseed oil

salt

2 small yellow onions, sliced thin

2 cloves garlic, minced

2 eggs

2 Tbsp Sabzi (can buy from Caspian if you are in MN, or other Persian market)

3 tsp saffron water (dissolve 1/4 tsp saffron into 1 Tbsp hot water)

1 1/2 tsp lemon juice

1/2 tsp baking powder

3/4 Tbsp all purpose flour

salt and pepper to taste

I made this recipe with the eggplant skins on. You can peel them if you prefer. If you peel the eggplant, do that first..then slice the thing into rounds. Lay them flat and sprinkle them with salt. Allow them to sweat out their brown and foul tasting liquid. Squeeze them into a paper towel and pat them dry (they should be quite spongy now). Heat about half of the grapeseed oil in a frying pan and add the eggplant. Add the onions, and a pinch of salt, and stir until everything browns and gets a little mushy. Add more oil as you need to to prevent sticking. If things get too hot, you can de-glaze with a little water or wine (I actually accidentally used sherry vinegar, we'll see how it turns out!) Add the garlic and cook a few min more. Remove from the heat, pour the mixture into a bowl and mash with a fork.

In a separate bowl, whisk the eggs with a fork and add the remaining ingredients. Mix well. Then add the eggplant mixture, blending thoroughly. Lightly oil about 8 or 9 muffin tins and spoon in the dough. Bake at 350 for 30 min.

Persian Dill Rice

2 cups long grain Basmati rice

2 tsp salt

1 1/2 Tbsp oil (enough to cover the bottom of the pan)

4 cups water

liberal amounts of dill

Saffron water for color (see above)

Wash the rice until the water runs clear (or about 10 times haha) in warm water. Persian rice is fluffy and light, and not at all sticky. This is why it needs to be washed, so that each grain exists as an exquisite, individual entity. Pour the washed and drained rice into a pot with the oil and salt already in the bottom. cook until the rice dries, then pour in 4 cups of water. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer, uncovered, until the water is gone. Remove from the heat, and fluff with a fork. Sprinkle with dill and saffron water before serving.

Sesame Carrots

slice 4 carrots thin

season with 1 tsp rice vinegar, 1 tsp sesame oil and some toasted sesame seeds. Adjust to taste.

Christina's vote: A dinner filled with love.

28 days of dinner at home- Day 1

2010-03-21T16:22:00.000-07:00

Inside Out Pork Cabbage Wraps With Chili Spread, Warm Root Vegetables, and Home Baked Lavash:

Recently, while flipping through a magazine, I saw an article about a New Yorker who committed to dining only at home for 2 years. This I consider to be quite a remarkable feat considering the wealth of restaurants in the city, and the cultural tendency for New Yorker's to rely on them for nourishment. Most of the people I know who live in New York use their refrigerators mainly to store restaurant take out cartons and condiments (with the occasional appearance of a fancy cheese or some Looza juice). I was impressed by this woman's resolve to commit to cooking for herself. I brought it up to Christina. “Do you know what this woman did? It’s amazing, why aren’t we living that way!” Christina raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to do that?”

I thought about what it would mean to give up restaurants. There would be benefits. There would be no more driving around full parking lots on Saturday nights, slowly stalking people as they amble out toward their cars hoping that we can snag their spot. There would be no more interruptions during critical moments in our conversation by overly ambitious waiters. No more super salty food and puffy eyed morning after regrets. No more filling our stomachs to the point of pain because of not being able to decipher a normal portion size out of the mound of food which had been presented to us.

There would, of course, be drawbacks. What about our evening walks, where we sometimes find ourselves called by the fragrant wafts of onions grilling and bread toasting. Wouldn't we long for the leisurely ease of slipping into a cushioned booth and having delicious treats placed before us. What about the people watching in restaurants that Christina loves, and the menu reading that teases my taste imagination. Neither one of us has forgotten about our raw foods experience, and the dis-ease that comes from the act of restriction. “No, I don’t really want to do that,” I said. “but I do like the idea of doing more than soup and salad recipes…how about dinner?”

Lavash

Lavash is a type of Iranian flat bread. I found many different recipes for Lavash and modified them to fit the ingredients and the amount of time I had.

1 ¼ cups warm water

1 tsp active dry yeast

1 tsp sugar

4 cups all purpose unbleached flour

1 ½ tsp salt

1 egg beaten

2 Tbsp melted butter (I think this makes a crisp Lavash, so leave it out if you prefer something softer)

olive oil (to cover)

Poppy seed, sesame seed, and cornmeal.

Chili spread

Remove stems and seeds and simmer 1 dried Ancho chili and 1 New Mexico dried chili in 1 cup of water. Turn the water off and blend the chili's with 3 cloves of garlic in a mini food processor. Add 3 tsp sugar, 1 tsp red wine vinegar, 2 tsp olive oil, 3 tsp apple cider vinegar, ½ tsp soy sauce and 1 tsp Worcester sauce. Adjust seasoning with salt and pepper, or whatever else tastes good to you.

Pork

Pound out 2 pork loin chops by covering the chops with a Ziploc bag and pounding with a hammer (don’t actually put the chops in the bag, just put the bag on top of the meat so that there is some protection from the hammer). Paint one side of the chop with chili spread. On one side add some of the cooked vegetable mix (see below..you can add this even if the veggies are not quite done cooking yet as they will cook more in the oven). Roll the pork loin chop and place in an oiled baking dish. Spread some melted butter on the top. Bake at 350 for about 45 min. Remove from the oven, slice and top with chili spread.

Warm Root Vegetable Dish:

In a frying pan, heat 1 tbsp olive oil. Add 1 very small sliced onion and 2 cloves of minced garlic. Add ¼ rutabaga and 2 cups diced green cabbage. Add 1 Tbsp butter and ½ tsp salt. Add about 2 Tbsp water, cover and simmer until the water is gone. Add 2 diced carrots, and recover. Turn the heat off and let sit until the rest of dinner is ready. When dinner is ready, reheat the vegetable medley and season with a little rice vinegar.

Christina's vote: Couldn't ask for a better beginning. Five stars on the chili spread!

Vacation at Home Posole

2010-03-14T14:56:00.000-07:00

It is Spring break and I have been pining for a vacation. The travel magazines stared out at me from their racks at the gym, like puppies in a pet store. I could have visited with one for the afternoon, but at the end of the day Morocco would have had to be placed neatly back in her pen, and I would have left with my imagination salivating. All last week, my Hungarian professor had been calling me to come in and assigning me typing projects

“I just need you to draw just a few more structures for me…is that okay?” She would say.

No, actually, I am too busy, I thought. You should have asked me to do this last week and not last minute.

“Sure, no problem” I say, smiling sweetly, yet beneath my eyes I am overcooked. I aspire to fool the world into believing that I can handle everything.

“I will be out next week” she says “ve are going on vacation to Mexico..what’s the matter, are you okay, you are not veeling vell?” She says as my eyes start to water. “I am fine, just a little tired, thanks for asking.”

In reality, my craving for a vacation is really just a sign that I need to give myself permission to take a break. I don’t travel well, I never have. I am a notorious vacation ruiner in my family. I once pouted through an entire two week trip to Puerto Rico.

I reflect on this at my desk at home, as I sift through the chemical structures she has asked me to draw. “She makes me so mad” I say to Christina, looking for empathy. “No she doesn’t, you are mad at yourself for not knowing how to say no”. Then mutual laughter. I think of the plaque above my parents sliding glass door that says ‘just say no’. A friend of theirs made it for them because they are unrelentingly over-committed.

The day after finishing my work for the professor, I stopped into her office. “are you all packed for your vacation?” I asked her. “you know somesing” she said, “ve are not gowving!”

“why not?” I asked. “I am too tired. Ve are going to rest and have a vacation at home.” Yes, I thought, this is what I will do too.

When I woke up this morning, I reminded myself that I am on vacation. I also said it about 50 times yesterday throughout the day. “I am on vacation” I said to Christina, during a silent moment in the car. “I know honey, that’s great.” she said. I said it again when we got to the coffee shop, then when we got back into the car again. “I know, I know” she said “that’s great”.

I decided to make a soup that I could really relax with, something that has many levels. Something that releases smells all day long. This pozole recipe begins with roasting a chicken, which is a perfect thing to do on a 60 degree spring day, when you can heat up the kitchen and open the windows without freezing.

Chicken stock:

You can buy this, but I suggest making your own since you will need the cooked chicken to go in the soup.

In a 400 degree oven, roast

1, 4 lb chicken. (brush the outside with butter first, and stuff the inside with 5 garlic cloves, a small bunch of fresh oregano and a small bunch of fresh thyme). When the chicken is done, remove the skin and the meat and set aside. Put the carcass in a large soup pot (about 12 inch diameter) and cover with water. Add 1 Tbsp salt, 2 chopped yellow onions, 5 peeled and chopped carrots, 4 stocks celery. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer about 2 hours.

Hominy

In a separate pot, boil 2 cups white hominy and 1 cup red (if you can find it, if not you can use canned hominy). If you are lucky enough to have a source of hand made hominy, then it won’t take long to cook it. Just bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer for about 45 min. If you have a dried store-bought variety, you will need to begin boiling the hominy when you put the chicken in and let it slowly boil all day long (about 4 hours). Alternatively, you could soak it overnight and then cook it as you would hand made hominy.

Take the stems and seeds out of 5 large dried New Mexico chilis, and 3 ancho chilis. Simmer them in some water, then blend in a small blender. Drain out the liquid and set aside.

In a large soup pot, add

1 tsp grapeseed oil

1 large white onion, diced.

3 cloves garlic mashed

2 tsp salt

heat for 4 min, then add the chili water.

Add the chicken meat (all of it)

½ small green cabbage (shredded)

the stock (the desired amount)

the hominy, drained

garnish with limes, radishes, and cilantro

The co-op shopper vegetable soup

2010-03-07T12:16:00.000-08:00

“Just to clarify, how much of the flour do you use for the ravioli?” said the smokey voiced newspaper editor on the other end of the line. I paced nervously around the living room, a hot phone glued to one ear causing a stream of sweat to form at the base of my ponytail-lifted temple. “Um, well you won’t end up using the whole pile, it really depends on the weather..just enough until the dough is sticky” I said, feeling stupid. “People will follow your directions EXACTLY” she said “you need to give precise directions, and we don’t have the space to explain all that” I began wishing I were more careful in recording my recipes, more organized.

“I loved that soup you made last week” our friend Gerry said “and I wanted to make it, but the recipe looks difficult to follow”

I am reminded of the saying: when one person tells you that you have a tail it is probably not worth worrying too much about, but when two people tell you you have a tail you better check to see if it’s true. The good news is, once the tail is identified, something can be done about it. One could accentuate one's tail, cutting slits in the backs of their pants so that the tail could break into the light of day and be waved around free in the wind. In the case of my recipe vagueness, embracing the quality is extremely tempting (who wants to bother with bookkeeping in the kitchen?). It is not very useful, however, and does not fall in line with what I am trying to do.

"What ARE you trying to do Emily?" I ask myself.

If I had a mission statement, it would sound something like this: “To try to inspire people to cook at home, and to inspire the home chef with ideas about how to palatably use fresh produce in everyday cooking.” While sharing my love of food, some stories, and some vague recipe ideas is nice, and entertaining for me, it is not incredibly useful if my recipes can't be replicated. Thus, I have lined up the measuring cups like soldiers ready for battle. I have a pen and some paper on my kitchen counter. I have called in for the backup set of measuring spoons. I am ready to face my tail head-on, and to begin a new phase of blogging. The mission: to share love, stories, AND recipes that are easy to follow.

On a side note, today is my father’s birthday. I got a lump in my throat while talking to him on the phone this morning, as he told me about what everyone ordered at his birthday dinner last night. I wished I could have been there, but he lives halfway across the continent. The people in my family have very different tastes and dietary restrictions, and finding something that can be enjoyed by everyone can be extremely difficult.

Macrobiotic, paleo, vegan, vegetarian, gluten, casein, soy free, Midwestern-New England vegetable soup. This recipe has a lot of ingredients, however I made sure to record careful measurements of everything I put in, so hopefully it will be easy to follow!

The stock

In a stock pot, add:

2 small yellow onions, chopped

½ Tbsp salt

1 cup water

4 cloves garlic, mashed

bring to a simmer. Prepare the remaining vegetables while the first group of vegetables simmer (about 10 min). Roughly chop and add:

1 cup white mushrooms

½ package of celery

6 carrots

½ Tbsp salt (again)

8 cups water

4 Thai basil leaves

1 Tbsp four peppercorn blend

Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer (uncovered) for 1 hour. After the hour is up, turn off the heat, strain the stock, return it to the burner and begin the soup.

In a medium sized soup pot, add:

1 Tbsp olive oil

½ tsp salt

½ small yellow onion, diced

½ large russet potato, diced

2 cloves garlic, minced (the smell that reminds me of college)

¼ rutabaga, peeled and diced

2 cups stock

simmer, covered, while you prepare the remaining vegetables (about 10 min)

Add:

5 white mushrooms, diced

1 zucchini, diced

¼ cup cauliflower, broken into small pieces

2 more cups stock

simmer covered for about 10 min. Then add:

12 ounces crushed tomatoes (I used a can of organic, seasoned with basil)

1 tsp dill

¼ tsp white pepper

½ tsp french basil

½ tsp cumin

½ tsp salt

the remaining stock

Simmer for 15-20 min, covered

garnish with 2 chopped green onions and 1 bunch chopped Thai basil

~enjoy

Moon Over Watercress Soup

2010-02-28T10:39:00.000-08:00

I could feel the light on my eyelids as I savored the last few drops of a dream. It wasn’t a particularly happy dream, but it was a deep sleep and saturated with emotion. In the dream I was sobbing, swallowing sorrowful tears as though I were gulping down rain. My whole body shook with raw emotion. The most beautiful part of the whole thing- it was not real. The source of my sorrow was nothing more that a short scene clipped from my imagination. I woke up feeling cracked open and refreshed, as though I had been sprouted. In my search for dream analysis, I came across these words:

“if you dream you are crying, your mind is helping to achieve emotional balance while you sleep. You are getting out frustrations that would slow you down in your waking life.” (from smartgirl dream dictionary).

It felt true. After the dream, a trance bled into the rest of my day and I began to notice things obscure. The moon, whose late afternoon appearance I have only half paid attention to over the last few days, was now swollen to a loud, round circle. It pierced the blue day sky like a silver studded earring, causing freedom to reverberate through the sky. It was the sort of freedom that George Michael sings about, uncorked and pummeling like a tsunami surging out of a bottle. I leaned forward in my car to get a better look. The glare of the streetlight beamed lollipop red, holding the traffic and giving us all a moment to take it in. I needed to share this with you. I need to remember that this world exists.

Now it is time for some soup.

“Watercress is a good vegetable, we eat this in China, but not very much in the United States” The professor said, with a large toothy smile. He then proceeded to tell us about the studies which we would be reviewing that link watercress to a reduction in both incidence and scope of tobacco carcinogen associated lung cancer. It has been over 6 years since I have had a cigarette, however I am attracted to powerful things and watercress, in my mind, now falls into that category. I decided to feature watercress in this version of Thukpa. Smokers enjoy.

Vegetable Stock

1 white and 1 yellow onion, chopped (you can leave the skins on, but make sure to take off any grocery tags!)

4 cloves garlic, smashed

1 package organic mushrooms (I have noticed that the non-organic mushrooms at the store have no flavor at all)

1 bunch celery, chopped

5 large carrots, chopped

Liberal amounts of salt added in intervals each time you put a new vegetable in (about 1 Tbsp total)

1 tsp peppercorns

1 tsp galangal (Thai spice)

6, 4-inch pieces lemongrass

Add the vegetables and spices to a soup pot and cover with cold water (about 8 cups). Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer uncovered for 90 min. You may want to periodically sprinkle with salt (if you prefer a more intense flavor)

Thukpa

Boil a pot of water with a little salt and add ½ package of rice fettuccine. Turn the heat off immediately and let sit for 6-8 min. Drain noodles and rinse with cold water. Return the empty pot to the burner and add

2 Tbsp butter

1 large yellow onion, diced

8 cloves garlic, minced

1 medium zucchini, diced

1 medium yellow squash, diced

4 large carrots, peeled and diced

2 inches of ginger root, peeled and minced

1-2 cups snow peas, chopped

½ lb (or more) shrimp, peeled and de-veined

1 Tbsp salt

2-3 tsp cumin

1 tsp galangal

2 tsp turmeric

cayenne pepper (as much spice as you like)

1 tsp cinnamon

1 tsp coriander

Cook until the squash is tender and then add the noodles and stock. Add chopped watercress and 3 green onions. Adjust seasonings as desired.

Rising Tide Blended Soup

2010-02-21T11:26:00.000-08:00

I stare into the white wall across from our bed, and beneath the mermaid painting I imagine an expansive shoreline. The ocean rolls in, riding powerful crests and picks up the sand, the way a horseback warrior might charge through a quiet household and steal his forbidden love. The birds flap hard against the horizon generating eddies of air, which swirl in their wake like gasoline on water. A single lighthouse perches against the gray skyline like a cadet in a crows nest. From shore he is pointing toward the promise of discoveries, from sea he brings home new insights embroidered in distant memories. A single ocean ebbs and flows beneath his watchful eye. I imagine digging my toes into the cold sand, and close my eyes to hear the seagulls squeal…

mrmeow..mrmeow..mrmeow the cats are pawing at the door. Their full body stretches against the wall are traced by claws scraping down wood. It seems like magically they grow four feet taller when behind closed doors. I resign to getting out of bed and letting them in. The moment I turn the door handle, Eugene jumps and twists into the air, and prances toward the kitchen. He looks back over his shoulder like a child hoping to be chased.

I follow him, but am distracted by a sudden lightness. The sun has decided to take Minnesota back into his good graces, and we are getting extended visits from him these days. It is hard to be sad or serious in the presence of such a captivating, and energetic house guest. He dances his toes lightly against our hard wood floor, making shadow puppets out of house plants. He fashions toy birds that bounce off of our computer screens and cellphones, and flutter about on the walls, sending the cats into a wild and playful chase. He takes our coats and hats, and warms our hands and feet. He teases us with stories of barefoot walks, and outdoor swimming. He promises an abundance of gifts from his garden.

With spring floating on the horizon, I begin to consider whether I have fully allowed myself to appreciate winter (as opposed to just surviving it). Since it is not yet too late, I gather together some of my favorite winter vegetables so that Christina and I can indulge in one last cold comfort soup.

Heat the oven to 375.

1 acorn squash

2 parsnips

1 sweet potato

1 head of garlic

2 Tbsp olive oil

1 tsp salt

½ cup beef stock (or onion, or veg stock)

½ small or ¼ large green cabbage

2 Tbsp butter

¼ yellow or red onion

salt to taste

3 cups stock (beef or veg)

2 cloves minced garlic

1 Tbsp muchi curri powder

½ tsp smoked paprika

1 tsp turmeric

½ tsp chili powder

1 pinch of brown sugar (optional if the veggies are not in season)

salt to taste

Prepare the vegetables (cut the acorn squash in half and remove the seeds, peel and cut parsnip into large pieces, cut sweet potato in large pieces, cut the top of the garlic head for roasting). Place them in a roasting pan and cover with olive oil and salt. Cover with tinfoil and roast for 20 min. Add stock and roast for an additional 40 min. Remove the squash and the sweet potatoes and (if the parsnips are not yet done) roast the parsnips and garlic for an additional 20 min.

On the stove, heat butter and salt and add diced onion and garlic. Add diced green cabbage. Cover and simmer until tender, slowly adding the stock as it cooks (about 20 min).

Place all roasted vegetables in a soup pan (removing skin of squash and garlic). Add cabbage. Blend well with hand blender. Add seasonings. Garnish with cubed carrots (if you like).

Valentines Day Miso Soup

2010-02-14T10:53:00.000-08:00

“I am getting a double chin” I whined, one crisp winter morning while gazing into the bedroom mirror. Christina was sitting up on the bed, her neck and shoulders scrunched against the wall.
“You’ve always had a double chin” she said, in the tone a person takes when they have grown all too accustomed to calming a loved one’s neurotic hyperactive sense of vanity.
“really?” I said. “always?”
“Yes” she replied, “it’s like baby fat”
“Baby fat??” I said, horrified by the words.
“yeah, it’s cute” she replied.
When Christina says things like this, she completely interrupts my self loathing. She crashes my pity party. It’s like she is hovering over my shoulder, waiting for me to reach my hand over to touch a hot stove and then WHAP, she slaps my hand away. I wake up from my trance, both more in tune with reality and less afraid of it.

It is exactly the opposite of what I was inviting her to say. Instead of denying my foibles she says “let me get a better look at that” and then “oh yeah, that’s a bad one.. and I love you even more” How can a person hate anything about themselves in the presence of such love?

When I was younger, I didn’t believe in romantic love. When a boy would tell me he loved me, I would respond with some ridiculous task, some quest to make him prove his feelings. Fortunately for me, the proving of love is just the sort of adventure that young men seem to enjoy. It rouses their competitive instinct, else I doubt that any of them would have put up with me.
“I love you” He would say.
“You don’t really love me” I would respond “you love the idea of loving someone”

My first boyfriend brought chocolates or jewelry to my locker every morning. The second started a fight in my honor in the playground. Of course playground love isn’t real love. It is not even a real drama, more like a rehearsal of lines with the professionalism of a Christmas pageant. Throughout my early twenties, I wore my relationships like an over sized costume, too immature to grasp that their was something more meaningful in love than the satiation of my ego. I didn’t stop doubting the sincerity of love until I met Christina. Her incredible ability to laugh at herself, to turn a mountain back into a molehill, makes me willing to share myself out loud. Perhaps it is my own sincerity that has relieved me of my skepticism, but with Christina I have no doubt of love. Happy Valentines day everyone!

Extra Rich Miso Soup
With mushrooms, tofu, and edemame

Dashi
(do not be afraid of the fish flakes in this recipe, you will scarcely notice the fishiness in the flavor of the soup..although the smell of fish will permeate your kitchen…still the fish adds a richness that would be hard to get without adding them)
8 cups water
2, 4 inch sheets Kombu
¼ cup anchovy bonito (fish flakes)

Soak the kombu in cold water for 45 min-1 hour. Then bring slowly to a boil, removing the kombu before the boiling starts (when the little bubbles form). Add the fish flakes and boil for 5 min. Turn off the heat, leaving the pot on the burner and cover for 15 min. Strain through a Paper towel (Viva brand works well for this), or fine mesh cloth.
Soup
½ large yellow onion sliced thin
1/3 package firm tofu cubed small
mushrooms (I used 6 oyster and 3 shitake), diced
edemame (optional)
3 Tbsp mild white miso (or 2 Tbsp dark miso)
1 Tbsp butter or oil
Wakame (dried and shredded)

Make dashi above, and keep warm on the stove. Add the wakame (optional if you like seaweed in your soup). Remove a steaming cup of the liquid and stir the miso paste in. Then pour the melted paste into the rest of the broth.
In a separate pan, heat a little oil or butter. Add onions and mushrooms and cook until they soften. Add tofu. Cook until heated through and add to the soup. Garnish with shelled edemame (optional)

The next big thing: Ash-e reshteh

2010-02-07T06:04:00.000-08:00

"Emeelee I vas vunderings if I could talk vith you for a moment" said the short, Hungarian professor. Her black rimmed glasses dangled from one corner of her mouth. She pursed her wrinkled lips around them and furled her brow as though she were thinking hard, so as to communicate something telepathically to me. I felt sort of dim witted for not being able to hear her thoughts.
"Uh sure" I said. She whisked around and began to walk swiftly down the hallway. I was expected to follow, which I would have known had I been following along with her thoughts.
She walked quickly and freely for a woman her age, and I had to skip my step to keep up. I was lugging along my laptop and various books, and had not yet taken off my coat. She stopped before the door of her office and began to search her pockets for keys. For a moment, she was just a little old lady, and not the strict, accomplished chemistry professor, with a reputation for being intimidating. Her red hair was thin and flat in the back, and her scalp showed through in swirled patterns which had undoubtedly been created by her pillow. Her shoes were flat and sensible, and around her neck she wore a string of pearls. She turned the key and then turned her head to look at me over her glasses.
"Come in" she commanded. "Sit down". Obediently I sat.
"I vas vundering if you could halp me vith my slides." Silence.
"yes, of course" I said. Then she leaned in close and took her glasses off.
"I cannot type, you see, it is my great handicap. I have never learned. All ov my notes have been typed by the secretary and converted to overhead. I need somevone to turn them to powverpoint."
"Sure" I said.
She pulled her pursed lips back into a smile and said,
"GOOD, I vill be taking you to lunch then, have you been to Caspian?" and she swiveled her chair, put on her glasses, and with her nose two inches from the monitor began meticulously scanning the screen for the email icon. "Yes, I was there yesterday, actually. I had the ash reshdeh"
"Ah yes" She said, "that is very good". Still facing her computer,she looked first over, then under her glasses. She then squinted and furled her brow, as though trying to communicate telepathically now with the machine.

Her bookshelves were lined with scientific journals, which were dusty with age. The bound journal, which was once the booming metropolis of scientific information, is now a ghost town. Bright young minds no longer walk the printed lines of written word. The academic world has built a new glowing city, in front of which my professor now sat and peered into like it were a snow globe.

On the way home from school, I thought about my professor. In her career, she has isolated three of the different isomers of vitamin E, has published numerous articles in the field of antioxidants and lipid chemistry, has taught at major universities for over 30 years. Now the world that she has thrived in has moved out of the physical realm, and I wondered if she felt lonely.

Over the next few days, I began noticing how much of my life is lived online. Nobody really calls me anymore (except for my professor). I communicate with friends over facebook or text message. Emails are reserved for the more formal relationships. If I need to call a plumber, or order a movie, or buy new clothes, I just look online.
"Maybe she just doesn't want to be a part of the new world" Catherine said, as I told Christina and her mom about my professor.
Maybe she doesn't feel she needs to, as she has students to navigate it for her". I thought about how before I left her office, she asked me to look on my computer and research a few things. I imagined how we would sit at the Caspian, over two steaming bowls of rich and flavorful ash, and exchange stories from our adventures in our two different homelands. The physical and the virtual meeting over a common interest in chemistry and food.

Vegetarian Ash-e reshteh (this recipe is loosely based on one from Najmieh Batmanglii, I modified it so that it would be vegetarian by substituting a mushroom broth for a beef broth. The Persian cookbooks of Najmieh Batmanglii are wonderful.)

rinse and soak overnight:
1/3 cup kidney beans
1/4 cup great northern beans
1/3 cup garbanzo beans

In a soup pot, fry:
4 small onions, diced
6 cloves garlic, minced
olive oil
a punch of salt
1 tsp turmeric
Add 12 cups of water and the soaked beans. Simmer uncovered for 45 min-1 hour, skimming the yellow foam off of the top (but try not to lose the onions!) In the meantime, add
3 packages fresh, organic mushrooms, and
1 chopped red onion
to a wide dutch oven and cover with water. add some
salt
and bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer, uncovered. When the beans are cooked in the soup pot, add the strained mushroom liquid to it (about 5 cups), and
1 1/2 cups of dried lentils.
Cook uncovered for 50 min. Slice and cut into small matchsticks:
1 large red beet
and add to the pot. Add 1 cup of
chopped fresh dill
chives
parsley
and a pinch of fenugreek
after about 15 min. add
1 Tbsp flour
1/2 lb fresh whole wheat linguini
8 cups fresh chopped spinach
cook 15 more min and add
1 tsp sherry vinegar (optional)
garnish with
minced sauteed garlic, onions, turmeric, fresh mint, and a dollop of Greek yogurt.

Chicken Tortilla Offering Soup

2010-01-31T11:50:00.000-08:00

I stood in front of a panel of professors, self-chosen, but intimidating none the less. Before me lay a spread of home baked bread, bean dip, chocolates, fizzy water in dark green bottles, coffee, and tea, all of which I had earlier placed on the table like an offering. I began to worry, will they think I spent too much time baking and not enough time preparing my thesis defense? While carrying in the food, I had been ensnared by a memory......

I was seven years old, and small for my age. My legs had years to grow before they would grace the wrapper-littered bus floor. My mother sent me to school in headbands, which pressed hard against the side of my head and made my temples ache. I leaned my head, which was thinly padded by a soft, wispy layer of young hair, against the window. The glass felt cool. It was a perfect moment for gulping in the blissful moments of time before the embarrassment of elementary school classroom learning began.

Suddenly the students all around me began to shuffle. A horrible, brutish voice permeated my meditation. "All right kiddies, listen up! This is my bus and you do what I say!!" I looked up into the face of a ninth grade bully. She had chestnut brown hair that was pulled into a ponytail which stuck out in the back like a straw broom. She had a prominent jaw, which was held together by neon rubber bands, and metal encrusted teeth. Every day, she picked on a different underclassman. She hardly took notice of me, but still I shuddered and averted my eyes as she walked by.

From my lunch bag, I noticed the round golden end of a Twinkie poking out. The inside wrapper was greasy with a moist dew, the kind that promised an eternity of freshness. Twinkies were useful at home for whenever I wanted to safely trespass into my older brother Jim's room. He had us convinced that there was a monster in his closet that wouldn't hurt you as long as you appeased him with Twinkies. Because there is no more fun place for a child to play than the forbidden room of one's older brother, we younger siblings would dutifully serve Jim's closet with a steady supply of processed sugar throughout the day.

I took the Twinkie out of my bag, and slipped out of my bus seat, and pulled up my tights (which were constantly bunching in all the wrong places). I followed the bully down the aisle, and tugged on the back of her shirt. When she turned around, I gave her my most pathetic puppy dog eyes and held up the Twinkie. She hesitated for a minute and then said, "thanks kid, your really sweet". From that day on, the bully was my ally.

As I walked into the corner classroom, carrying my bean dip, I marveled at the miraculous power of food. Food is a peace offering, a gift of love. Even when it is intended as a tool of manipulation, the message received from the food itself is "here, I hope that you live well for another day".

Chicken tortilla soup

The chicken

roast a 4 lb chicken (rinse the bird, remove the neck, pat dry, rub with butter, salt, rosemary, thyme, and stuff with onions. Bake at 425 for about 75 min.

The stock

Remove the skin from the chicken, remove the chicken from the bones. Place the bones (carcass) in a pot and cover with cold water. Add 3 small yellow onions, 1/2 bunch celery and 6 carrots (peeled and chopped). Add 2 bay leaves, some cumin, and some chili powder and salt. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer for 3-4 hours.

The soup

In a soup pot, saute 2 yellow onions, and the remaining celery. Add some diced green chilies (fresh or canned..if you use fresh coat your hands with olive oil before cutting..mine are burning right now!) and some salt. Add about 2 cups of chopped tomatoes (fresh or canned), and the chicken which was removed from the carcass (cut up). Add 2 cups of corn or hominy. Add the chicken stock. Heat through, seasoning with chili pepper, paprika, a little brown sugar, salt, pepper, cumin. Before serving garnish with tortilla strips, avocado, monterey jack cheese, cilantro and green onions.

~Enjoy!

Bird Watcher Soup

2010-01-23T16:43:00.000-08:00

I shuffled my feet against the brown, hotel-style carpeting on the sixth floor of our apartment building, dragging along a gym bag which was hooked over my shoulder and swinging around wildly like a Jack Russel terrier. Pool soaked, un-groomed hair dripped slowly against the back of my winter jacket, causing the puffy dull black nylon to brighten into a patent leather shine. Not bothering to blow dry my hair is one of the many reasons that I continue to be mistaken for a teenager, even though I am now 30. I vowed to start dressing more presentably recently. I even bought several pairs of dress pants and high heeled boots, but most days I still pull on my jeans and snow boots, and melt into the University student crowd as though I were camouflaged. I expected to come home and find Christina sitting at her desk as usual, working in front of her various computer monitors, with a blinking headset hanging from her right ear. When sitting at her desk Christina looks like a person who is maintaining ground support for a space shuttle. On this particular day, however, she was lounging on our living room couch, the three cats snuggled around her breathing and twitching to the rhythm of their kitty dreams. She was paging through a giant coffee table book entitled "BIRDS".

"What are you doing?" I asked, as though it weren't obvious. What I really meant to say was, 'why are you doing something that I wasn't expecting you to be doing'

"I felt compelled by the idea of birds today, so I went to the bookstore and bought a book about them" she answered.
We paged through the book together, and although I was only half interested at first, I soon felt enchanted by the beautiful pictures of feathered multicolored wingspans and plumage.

Over the following weeks, we began researching breeds, looking at interesting cages, and fantasizing about having a bird as a pet. We decided on a Senegal parrot, a bird similar to the kind my grandparents had when I was growing up. I really wanted to be able to get the bird for Christina for her birthday, which is coming up, so I suggested we swing by a pet store today on our way back from her art installation.

I called around, but found that most pet stores stopped stocking parrots due to what the store managers described as a "down economy for parrots". I was so resigned to the idea of the great parrot recession, that when calling a business listed as 'Avalon Parrots' I found myself asking the store manager if they actually carried parrots.

"um..yes.." she said "that IS what we carry" and I experienced a wave of awkward embarrassment.

"we are a parrot rescue organization, you can adopt a parrot from us, but we ask that you come and visit them and get to know them before we allow you to take them home." She said that they currently had 2 Senegal's, so we told her that we would be right over.

When we walked into the store, we were greeted by a beautiful red and blue parrot, who was bizarrely half plucked. The plucking looked almost intentional, stylish even, as though he were emulating a poodle. He had a pink pimply neck, but his head was poofy with brilliant ruby red feathers, and he wore a coat of blue wings. He looked, to me, like a unique sort of a bird, a lovable rebel, and I assumed his ensemble to be intentional..that is, until the store manager described him as a "self plucker". I wondered if birds suffered with self esteem issues which lead to self deprecation. I pictured the bird fighting with his owners, and then locking himself in his cage and plucking, the way a human teenage self mutilator would.

"You never listen to me" the bird would say, and then he would take out his emotional pain on himself, picking out each feather in a misdirected act of revenge. Perhaps, he was tired of being admired for his looks, and to prove that there was something more behind those beautiful feathers, he decided to shave a la Sinead O'Connor. Or maybe he felt like a freak on the inside, and in a desperate act to make his insides and his outsides match, he decided to pull out his feathers. The latter being an act akin to a teenager dying ones hair purple with a jar of manic panic.

"Maybe we should get.." I began whispering to Christina, my eyes locked on the exotic rebel. Just then the half plucked bird squawked so loudly that I knew we would never be able to stand him in our apartment.

"The Senegal's are over here" The woman said, leading us through a labyrinth of birds to a little black iron cage with two Senegal's in it.

"Sammy is a floor walker" she said, and one of the little birds, as though he were being cued, hopped down from his cage and waddled confidently toward us.

"Cooper is shy, she sticks mostly to her cage". I leaned in a bit, to get a closer look at her. She had a helmet of green feathers, with a few yellow ones marked in like strokes on an impressionist painting. She shuffled along the side of her cage and bowed her head in front of me. I stood awkwardly.

"I think she wants you to scratch her neck" the manager said. "oh, um right" I said, and I reached in to scratch her. We stayed in the store for hours, getting to know the birds. Sammy ignored us, for the most part. He rocked his rope swing in a circular motion like a rambunctious child improperly using a swing set, as though to say "pick me and I will run you into exhaustion". An Amazon named Monty climbed onto my shoulder and repeated telephone conversations into my ear. He laughed at all of my jokes, which really made me feel like we had a connection. Cooper looked longingly at us while Monty was perched on my shoulder, as though to say

"if only I were more brave, it would be me on your shoulder. Take me home, and give me a chance. I belong with you." When we got in the car to leave, Christina said she felt this connection to Cooper too, as though he were our estranged pet separated from us in another life. When we got home, I began to assemble a soup, slowly, patiently, carefully. I worked as though I were still carefully approaching that shy little bird.

The stock (Vegetarian)

In a soup pot, add 2 sliced yellow onions, 2 cloves smashed garlic, 2 cups water and some salt. Add 4 cups chopped mushrooms, 1/2 bunch diced celery, salt, and 4 cups cold water. Heat until simmering and add 4 peeled sliced carrots, 2 peeled sliced parsnips, some dried mushrooms (shitake if you like it sweet), 1 bay leaf, some pink peppercorns and water to cover. Bring to a boil and simmer for 1 hour, uncovered. Sprinkle in some salt and thyme and basil along the way, as though leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for the birds.

The beans

soak and cook separately 1 cup Great Northern Beans, 1 Cup black beans, 1 cup kidney beans. When they are done cooking, heat some olive oil and saute onion and garlic, then add the bean mix. Season with salt, mirin, thyme, soy sauce.

The Soup

In a soup pot, heat some olive oil or ghee. Add a little salt. Add 3 peeled diced Scarlett turnips, 3 peeled, diced, rutabaga, 2 peeled, diced parsnips, 1 peeled diced onion and 1/2 bunch diced celery. Cook, stirring.When the vegetables are almost soft add the beans. Then drain in the stock. Mix a little dark miso with some of the hot stock until it forms a paste and add to the soup. If the flavor is too light and the stock is too liquids, cook it down uncovered for 20 min. Optional~drop in 1 Ume plum (a very salty Japanese pickled plum).

Sedaris's Side-splitting Pea Soup

2010-01-17T14:01:00.000-08:00

It's hard to laugh and run at the same time. I mean real laughter, not of the contrived polite type. Much like sneezing real laughter is a complete loss of control, and so I try to avoid it, especially at times where my laughter might be construed as inappropriate or out of place. I realize that I sound like someone who is really uptight. I'm not. At least I think I am not. I enjoy laughing while doing it, and have warm feelings toward anyone who can bring me to tearfully convulsing bouts of it. I suppose it's just that I have a hard time letting go. Were I to ever go skydiving I would probably be the last one left on the plane, hanging onto the exit door, nauseous with fear. And I would probably be the first one back in line to re-board the plane to do it again. Once it came time to jump I would again balk, digging my fingers into the doorway and peering into the blue and white, windy abyss.

Yesterday I went running with a new running partner, David Sedaris (or rather, the voice of David Sedaris). I had downloaded a copy of “When you are engulfed in flames”, and decided to listen to it on my run to help get me through what I knew would be an exceptionally long time out. Having recently recovered from a stress fracture, I'm not as speedy as I once was and I realized that a 12 mile run was now likely to take close to 2 hours. I tucked my ear buds into the new balaclava that Christina got me, the kind that covers your whole head and neck leaving only your eyes exposed. The mirror reflected an all black figure with white running shoes, and over sized gloves. I looked like a cross between a ninja and a Mr. Potato head.

'At least I can protect my identity with this mask on' I thought, and I headed toward the elevator. Outside, the weather was deceivingly warm. Despite the snow and ice littering the ground, people were walking about without big heavy winter coats on. I ran for about a mile listening to Sedaris' squeaky voice before I had to pull my balaclava up and run with it hanging awkwardly on my head like a hat.

“You look like a Dr. Suess character when you do that” I recalled Christina saying. Then she begged me to wear the thing as my permanent winter hat, laughing as she suggested it. Christina has no problem with free and easy laughter. My mother is the same way, she has a wonderful laugh and has never been afraid to express it. I envy them.

I rounded the street corner and headed to the river road, which was covered with a thin layer of crusty snow, and caused me to shorten my stride so that I looked like a person running on hot coals. That is when it started. I don’t remember the details of the book now, but something the screechy voice said in my ear was so ridiculously funny that I began to giggle uncontrollably. My knees gave out and my stomach dropped, which caused me to slide around on the icy path like a dancing corpse, or a ghost in a puppet show. The book poured into me like a shot of vodka, causing me to sway, smiling and giggling along the path. The expressions of the passing runners were somewhere between fear and amusement. It's hard to laugh and run at the same time.

Side splitting pea soup

1 large yellow onion

1 small bunch celery (a few stalks can be missing), diced small

1.7 lb smoked ham hock (meat attached)

1 small sweet potato

2 bay leaves

pinch of salt

1 Tbsp olive oil or ghee

1 lb split peas (green)

½ lb split peas (yellow)

5 medium carrots, peeled and diced small

basil

Water

Additional ham (if desired)

Heat oil (or ghee) in a soup pot and add onion, sweet potato, and celery (and a pinch of salt). Saute for a min and add ham hock, bay leaves, yellow split peas and ½ the green split peas. Cover with water, bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer for 1 hour. Add carrots, remaining split peas, and salt and simmer uncovered for another hour. Remove ham hocks. Use a hand blender to blend until smooth. Tear ham off hocks and cut into pieces. Add to the soup. Enjoy.

Sweet and Salty Miso Beet Soup

2010-01-10T12:31:00.000-08:00

We spent the morning sitting on the long, black, leather couch at Starbucks, bathed in a box of sunbeam, which gave all skin not bandaged with winter attire a golden glow. Amy, my coffee companion, was speaking fast and excitedly about her recent trip to Japan. Her stories were so vivid that I felt as though I were watching pictures in a slideshow.

“The toilets are heated in Japan”, she said “and they come with a built in bidet”

“the people wear surgical masks on the train” she recounted “to prevent them from catching a cold”

I listened, and tried to taste her experience. This is not characteristic of me, I usually view coffee dates as an opportunity to exhibit myself to all audiences whose attention I can grasp by talking too loudly (I am in this way, a typical leo). It is only since I started writing that I find myself working on becoming a better listener. As her story began to slow, I felt overcome by a serene exhaustion. It was the feeling I get when finishing a good book. I felt as though I had just gone to Japan myself, however the trip was completely flawless, without the usual frustrations and irritabilities I usually experience during travel.

“What are you doing this afternoon? “ She asked.

“I have a few hours free, why?” I replied.

“I want to take you to the Asian market and show you some of my favorite Japanese foods” she said.

That sounded fantastic. We loaded ourselves into her black Audi, chatting excitedly about Japanese cooking the whole way. As she told me about the shredded carrot and burdock dish she sometimes makes, she drove right past our exit making me realize that Amy is as passionate about Japanese culture as I am about food.

I remembered hearing about the store, United Noodle, from a Japanese friend in graduate school. It is a little treasure that can be found hidden behind some large warehouses in Northeast Minneapolis. The market is large, specializing in many different types of Asian cuisine. Due to its off-the-beaten path location, and the wealth of obscure exotic ingredients they stock, walking into United Noodle made me feel like I was being initiated into an exclusive club. Amy led me directly to the Japanese section, and started excitedly pulling items off the shelf and giving them to me. “The Japanese” she explains, as she places a dark green package of sesame-toasted seaweed into my basket “eat with their eyes, not with their stomachs.” She turned to reach for a jar of miso and I discretely slipped the package of dried fish she had given me back to the shelf.

This past weekend we had a surprise visit from a 4 year old little girl. Grace showed up in a little pink jacket ready to lead us to dinosaur museums, and to remind us how fun it can be to make pancakes, and to show us that Chip and Dale really are very funny chipmunks. This morning I stood at in the kitchen peeling beets while Grace tearfully pulled on her little pink outfit, and Christina convinced her that she would get to see her daddy and mommy soon so their was no need to fuss. Weekends with four year olds are a balancing act between the sweet and the salty.

“Oh Emily, I love you” she says when I give her a chocolate.

“I don’t love you and your not my friend” she pouts when I refuse her a second one.

This soup is sweet and salty (but mostly sweet), in honor of Grace.

Sweet and Salty Miso Beet Soup

2 pieces Kombu (optional, but will enhance flavor)

3 Large beets, peeled and sliced into short matchsticks

2 yellow onions, quartered and sliced

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 Tbsp minced fresh ginger

1 Tbsp salt

5 dried shitakes, reconstituted in 1 cup hot water (save the water and discard the shitakes, unless you like their chewy texture)

2 parsnips, peeled and diced

2 carrots, peeled and diced

2 Tbsp miso (dark)

3 cups water, beef or vegetable stock

Soy sauce to taste

In a large soup pot add 5 cups of water and Kombu. Simmer while you prepare the beets and onions. Add beets, onions, garlic, ginger and salt to the pot. Simmer while you prepare carrots and parsnips. Add carrots and parsnips and simmer uncovered until tender (about 25 min). Add shitake liquid. If the soup is too thick, add 3 cups water, beef or vegetable stock. Scoop up a cup of the soup and mix in miso, then pour this liquid into the soup. Once you have added the miso do not allow the soup to boil, if you plan on reheating the soup only bring it to a simmer. Add soy sauce to taste.

Broccoli in the Face of Winter Soup

2010-01-03T12:28:00.000-08:00

Winter is chasing you. You cannot escape her. You are not quite sure if the cold that you feel is real, or if it is anticipation that gnaws at your skin like teeth. Outside your cheeks are slapped by the wind, bringing tears to your eyes causing you to feel cast out like some rejected lover. You hurry inside, where your body boils and sweats like a child in the throws of sobbing hot tears. Your wool socks itch and your sweater chokes you, and the dry hum of the heater causes your brain to swell. This is winter: pure, unabridged discomfort. Your only chance of survival is to pull on your strongest armor, stare her directly in the face, put on a hearty smile and roar “Alright winter! I don’t like you and you don’t like me, but you can’t break me that easily!!! I am not going anywhere! BRING IT ON!!!!”

Shake the dark circles from under your eyes. Toss aside the covers from your tomb. Elevate you mind above the sleepy haze that enchants you and casts your eyes down. Sip in the orange and pink light of morning sun, so that you can breath out the story of it’s beauty. This sunrise tale will cause perfectly framed hooded faces to awaken like sunflowers toward the light.

Christina and I shuffled over the banks of ice that line our Minnesota streets. These banks were once fluffy with new snow, but have since thawed and frozen over again. With gloved hands we opened the swinging glass door to Cecil’s Jewish deli. Inside I felt my body thaw as I was greeted with memories of my east coast upbringing. Minnesota has a large population of Germans, as well as people of Scandinavian descent. In the twin cities you are more likely to encounter lutefisk than challah. Attached to the deli, Cecil's has an old-fashioned diner style restaurant, the likes of which was somehow passed over by the low-fat and low-carb diets entirely. I settle into my laminated menu, looking forward to a good old-fashioned water bagel with lox and cream cheese. At the table next to ours, an older couple eats a piece of lemon pie with 6 inches of meringue on top. The smell of rye and butter sizzles off of some far away griddle and permeates my taste buds. Our waiter, is not from Saint Paul, Christina and I recognize him immediately from some parties around town.

“It’s Matt, isn’t it?” I say.

“Yeah, that’s me” he says.

“We were wondering if you and your girlfriend Emily wanted to come over for soup on Sunday” Emily is a friend of ours from around.

“Yeah, we would like that!” Matt says.

“One more thing" I add "what is your favorite kind of soup?”

“Cream of broccoli” he answers.

The Stock

3 yellow onions, chopped (leave skins on)

3 cloves garlic chopped (leave skins on)

1 1/2 Tbsp salt

1 bunch celery, diced

1 bunch carrots, peeled and diced

1 parsnip, peeled and diced

¼ bunch Italian parsley, chopped

12 cups water

Heat 3 onions in 2 cups water. Add garlic and salt and simmer together while you prepare the remaining ingredients. Add remaining ingredients (omitting the parsley until the last 15 min) and simmer 1 hour uncovered. Strain.

The Roast

3 parsnips, peeled and chopped

2 yellow onions, peeled and sliced

salt

2 Tbsp olive oil

6 cloves garlic (chop the tips off and leave in skins)

Mix ingredients together and roast at 400 degrees, covered for 25 min. Uncover and roast at 350 for an additional 15 min or until the garlic is caramelized.

The Soup

1 yellow onion, diced

½ bunch celery

2 bunches of broccoli

salt

2 Tbsp ghee or unsalted butter

4-6 oz Gruyere cheese

In a soup pot, heat 2 Tbsp unsalted butter of ghee (if you use ghee there is less chance that you will burn the onions). Add yellow onion, celery and a pinch of salt. Cook a few min, then add roasted vegetables (make sure you remove the garlic skins). Add one bunch of broccoli, chopped and ¾ of the stock and simmer, covered, until the broccoli is cooked. Blend with a hand blender. Meanwhile, chop the second bunch of broccoli into bite sized pieces and simmer, covered, in a separate pot in remaining stock. Add the bite sized pieces of broccoli and stock to the soup blend so that your soup has larger pieces of broccoli in it. Add the cheese in slices.

Down the Rabbit Hole Soup (vegetarian)

2009-12-27T11:39:00.000-08:00

Christina sat on the other side of the kitchen counter, her pointy boots rested on the chair opposite her. She looked like a lanky teenager, and she was telling goofy stories trying to lighten my mood. I was chopping my way through a thick cloud of post holiday depression. My knife was too dull, causing me to have to work hard to get through the springy outer skin of the potatoes. I looked up just as the knife came down to miss its mark and slice my left thumb. The pain throbbed instantly. I looked up at Christina, who had a worried look on her face. "Is it bad?" she said. "No" I said, but the pain in my thumb just bubbled up all the emotion that I have been keeping inside. The feelings that lay beneath the surface, the distance I feel from my family, the fear of being a disappointment, the resentment for expectations unmet, the friends that have moved on. I tried to freeze over, but the cap had been cracked and the emotion began to ooze.

My pity party was interrupted by a message of divine inspiration.

"I saw that coming"

"What?" I said to Christina.

"I swear, I just saw you cut yourself..and then, you did"

"weird" I said, although I was not one bit surprised.

"and remember how we both were oddly struck by the look of that one woman last night, and then she told us that she was pregnant"

"yeah, that was strange" I said, feeling lifted by the notion that the universe is guided by some sort of intelligence which can be accessed by keeping an open heart.

The stock

water

1/2 white onion

1/2 bunch celery, diced

2 bay leaves

1 tsp peppercorns

1 Tbsp salt

1 large parsnip, peeled and diced

2 carrots, peeled and diced

3 large purple cloves of garlic

the carrot tops

Simmer the onion in 1 cup of cold water while you prepare the remaining ingredients. Add the rest of the ingredients as they are prepared and 8 cups of cold water. Simmer uncovered for 1 hour. Strain.

While the soup stock is simmering, cook 1 1/2 cups black eyed peas in 3 cups of water. (throw the peas and the water in cold and bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer until tender. Do not add salt or seasonings at this point, because the beans will take longer to cook.

The soup

4 oz cippolini onions, diced

3 medium Yukon gold potatoes, diced

1/2 bunch celery, diced

4 cloves garlic, minced

1 head fennel, diced

4-5 carrots, peeled and diced

the black eyed peas (the food not the band)

some salt and pepper for seasoning

In a soup pot, heat 2 Tbsp grapeseed oil. Add 4 oz cippolini onions, diced, and a little salt. Add the potatoes, cook on high until the onions are caramelized. Add 1 cup of water and the garlic and celery and cook for 5 min. Add the fennel and cook for 5 min. Add the soup stock, carrots and black eyed peas. Season and serve.

Rock Your Own Style Tomato Leek Soup

2009-12-20T11:13:00.000-08:00

The sky spits out a constant rain of glitter. It intoxicates the imagination from a safe distance, like crackling runaway sparks of a fire that dance their way through chimney smoke. The scarf wrapped tightly around my neck is unbearably scratchy, and the groceries pull my shoulders into a submissive shrug.

The grocery store was a tumultuous ocean, a sea of arms in winter coats, hat tassels and little feet poking through grocery carts. We steered our way through moms wearing furrowed brows, with children crying salty tears, and ruddy faced dads with a far away look as though searching for signs of land.

"Go pick out some brown sugar" I say to Christina "I am going to go get us some water".

"Alright" she says as she clunks her way through the billowing swells of grocery carts down the baking aisle. When I get back she is still standing in the aisle empty handed, while a little old lady stands by her side, helping her navigate through the selection. I laugh "what is taking you so long?" The woman shoots me a scornful look as though to say I should have known better than to send Christina off by herself in these rough waters. The woman turns her cart in a huff and sails down to the cereal aisle.

We part ways again, I send Christina to the tea aisle and head over to the produce. When I get back I find her pacing slowly. "What are you doing? Did you find the tea?" "No" she said "I forgot what I was looking for". Christina, who can take on a job in technology with no previous experience and in weeks climb her way to the ranks of the top performers, is lost in a grocery store. On the way home I wondered if anyone in the history of the world has ever had as much fun together as Christina and I do.

Christina wears cowboy boots with snow pants and a big weathered motorcycle jacket with a sheriffs badge pinned to the front. Sometimes she likes to catch total strangers off guard by saying "there's a new sheriff in town" causing them to crack a nervous smile. The sight of her winter ensemble throws me into fits of laughter. "Ma'am" Christina said to the 20 something in the elevator one morning "does this outfit make me look like a freak?"

"Are you talking to me?" the woman looked up surprised. Christina nodded "Naw, you look like you just like to rock your own style".

Rock Your Own Style Tomato Leek Soup

Quick veggie stock:

throw 1 diced onion, 1 bunch celery, the ends of 1 bunch asparagus (the part you wouldn't serve), 2 bay leaves, 2 carrots, some peppercorns, and the greens of leeks into a pot and cover with water (about 6 cups). Add a pinch of salt. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer until fragrant and flavorful (about 1 hour).

Strain stock and bring to a boil. Add 4 large tomatoes, and 2 packages heirloom cherry tomatoes (pierce the skin of tomatoes with a knife first). In a separate pan, saute 2 yellow onions in a mixture of oil and butter (~2 Tbsp) with a pinch of salt until brown. Add to the simmering tomatoes. Cook about 30 min. Blend with a hand blender, then strain. If you prefer a more textured, fuller tomato soup, add 1 can crushed tomatoes (or just don't strain!). Add 4 sauteed leeks using the white ends only, some diced fresh dill, some fresh diced basil and some fresh ground pepper. Before serving add a little cream if you like. Enjoy!

Summer Visits Winter Soup

2009-12-13T14:10:00.000-08:00

Wind blew fierce and wild onto the cold winter’s morning, scattering wayward snow like sand along the jet black streets. Our blinker clicked, and the windshield wipers squeaked hard against the glass, which was tired from fighting chilly winter battles. The rhythmic back and forth of the wipers unveiled lighter shades of morning continually until we were paused at the airport terminal. We eagerly scanned the smiling, red-faced travelers for signs of our own family. An icy shell encased our car, and there was a sound of shattering glass as we cracked the trunk open...

I am caught between a memory and a premonition, rhythmically stirring the vegetables and lavishing the pot with salt and basil. The holiday storm has unloaded banks of red and white Starbucks cups unto the garbage cans lining our town. The grocery stores are sampling eggnog and the flower shops carry wreathes and poinsettias. Everyone lingers a little longer at the coffee shop, weighing in with the Year’s Christmas card milestones. We cheer each other into the conversation, as though the finish line to 2009 stretched right around our circle of chairs. I will miss this place when it goes.

“Do you have to squeeze the tomatoes and make a mess like that when you make a tomato based vegetable soup?” Christina asked. “Shhhhh” I whispered, as though trying to convince her not to discourage the soup from going through this process of transformation. For some reason, she obliged and looked apologetically at the soup. It was a funny moment.

Summer Visits Winter Soup

4 cups vegetable stock (here is my recipe for vegetable stock)

3 onions

1 bunch celery

2 cloves garlic smashed

1 Tbsp peppercorns

salt

1 tsp fennel seeds

1 bunch carrots, peeled

2 cups mushrooms chopped

8 cups water (or to cover

2 bay leaves

Simmer vegetables for 1 hour in cold water (add the water and the vegetables in increments. Simmer the three onions in about 2 cups of water for awhile. Then add the celery and more water..etc..) Strain into the vegetable soup.

The Soup

3 medium potatoes

1 large yellow onion

8 peeled diced carrots

3 summer squash diced

2 cloves garlic minced

Basil

Salt

Pepper

2 cups green beans

2 cups kidney beans cooked

2 cans peeled whole tomatoes

Dash of Worcestershire sauce (optional)

Dash of hot peppers (optional)

Cook the potatoes, onions and salt in a little oil. Add the remaining vegetables and cook, uncovered (about 10 min). Add vegetable stock and tomatoes (squeeze them in). Cook covered until tender.

Thyme and Patience Soup

2009-12-06T08:55:00.000-08:00

Clunk, clunk, smash, the muffled sounds of catastrophe rattled my pillow, reverberating into my eyelids and snapping them open like blinds. I shot out of bed and skidded across the smooth hardwood floor toward the sound of the noise, like a child playing around the house in their socks. I stood at the entrance of my bathroom door, where the scene inside confirmed my worst suspicions about the origins of the sound. Sasha, and Charlie frozen by my sudden appearance, stared wide eyed up at me from their perches on the toilet and bathroom floor (respectively). Eugene, too mired in mischief to notice my arrival, was helping himself to the contents of my medicine cabinet. Toothpaste smeared on the sink with little tufts of cat hair sticking out, my jewelry dish was smashed to pieces on the counter.

Sasha blinked her wide blue eyes, which against the dark background of her face fur, seemed to hover in space. Charlie, propelled by a train of meowing that characteristically starts the moment I open the bathroom door and ends when his little orange nose gets to the food, waddled right past me. Eugene pricked up his grey ears and turned toward me, one white paw still hovered in the air as though to say, one false move and I'll knock the rest of this loot right off the shelf. My anger subsided when he twisted his little face in an awkward way that reminded me that he was a cat.

I picked him up and placed him down on the living room carpet. The winter air delivered a cold blue stillness to the morning. It was beautiful and calm, but soon was chased away by the yellow light that climbed across the carpet. I was feeling irritable and inconsolable. I walked out into the afternoon, too bundled to feel the light of day. The farmers market was closed. It was too cold to smell the pine trees at the Christmas tree lot, and I walked by un-enticed. It wasn't until I exited the elevator on our floor of the apartment building, and smelled the root vegetables cooking from all the way down the hall, that my chilly mood began to lift. This soup is made of bitter vegetables that can only be sweetened with thyme and patience. It has a creamy texture and the flavor of the crispy caramel richness that gathers at the bottom of the frying pan. It is the perfect way to sooth a winter mood.

Thyme and Patience Soup

3 golden beets

4 parsnips

3 Yukon gold potatoes

1 1/2 Vidalia onions

salt

1 Rutabaga

1 leek

thyme

6 cloves garlic

vegetable stock (or chicken stock, or water)

olive oil

3 Tbsp butter

Heat oven to 400 degrees. Peel beets, rutabaga and 2 of the parsnips and cut into 1/2 inch pieces. Place in a roasting pan, salt bath veggies in oil. Add 1/2 sliced Vidalia and the garlic cloves (peeled). Roast covered for 40 min, then remove cover, add 3 Tbsp butter and roast for an additional 20-30 min.

During the final 20-30 min of roasting, heat a soup pot and add 1 diced Vidalia, some olive oil and some salt. Cook the onions until they begin to brown, stirring patiently and constantly to release their sweetness. Ignore the noise around you. Ignore the noise in your mind. Focus. Enjoy the time you have set aside to stir the onions. Add a little thyme to the mix and inhale deeply. Now add the potatoes, peeled and diced, and the remaining parsnips. Stir until they begin to soften. Add 1 cup of stock and cover.

Now is a good time to clean off the counter. When you are done, add another cup of stock, and a pinch of salt and cover again. When the timer goes off for the veggies in the oven check to see if they are done..not yet? add another ten min. Continue cooking the potatoes. Add the white part of the leek (diced) and continue cooking. When everything has reached it's desired softness, pour the roasted vegetables into the soup pot, add stock to cover and cook together. Blend with a hand blender and serve thick (Christina said she likes it when she finds a potato or beet that has escaped the blender in her soup, so if you prefer, don't blend it all the way!)

Refrigerator Drawing Soup

2009-11-29T15:28:00.000-08:00

“Jeuicy, get down!” I blew a gust of air into the cats little gray face. It ruffled his fur and made him squint and glue his little paws even tighter to the back of the kitchen stool, which we were now sharing.
“Get DOWN!” I blew a stronger gust of air, which rustled past his ears causing him to wag his tail slowly from side to side. His ears were pinned back, and his eyes were squinted low. We were having a stare down; me kneeling on the edge of the chair as though it were alter, Eugene hanging on for dear life braced against the chair as though it were a raft. We both turned as the clomping of Christina’s cowboy boots, rounded the kitchen corner and halted to a stop. The pointy toes pulled back like two bridled stallions.
“What is going on in here?” She said. We both looked up, as though to say “s/he started it” Christina pulled Eugene off of the chair, and put him on the ground, from where he looked up at her with bruised eyes. She turned to me.
“What are you doing?” Christina looked inquisitively up at me. I had a wet towel in one hand, and a jar of peppercorns in the other. The entire contents of our kitchen now lay littering the counter tops, and I was stark naked.
“Cleaning” I replied. She shrugged her shoulders and walked out of the kitchen. What I was really doing was taking inventory. Each item in our kitchen connected me to an intention I once had while walking the labyrinth of the grocery aisle. The time I bought that jar of rose petals because I was going to cook an Iranian dish weekly. The coriander that was going to be ground into a salmon rub, still sat unopened. The dried limes we were going to use for iced tea in the summer. These were the promises yet to be fulfilled. Then there was the container of bay leaves, almost empty, the last of which floated like fish food on the top of a simmering soup stock on the stove beneath me. There was the cumin, half of which swam away in an ocean of yogurt sauce, and the brewers yeast emptied from movie nights with ritual popcorn. I followed the ingredient trail through my kitchen cupboards, and gradually a picture emerged. Who am I in these moments when I am creating my potential? What sort of person do I want to become? I sprinkle the last of the white pepper into the soup and give it a stir.

Refrigerator Drawing Soup
1. make a turkey stock (see last weeks soup for instructions on this) If you prefer the flavor of mystery, substitute fresh bay leaves.
2. Simmer 1½ cups of dried black eyed peas in 3 cups of water for 1 hour (until soft)
3. Cook 1 ½ cups wild rice in turkey stock

In a soup pot, heat 1 Tbsp grape seed oil. Add 1 diced yellow onion and 3 diced peeled carrots. Pour in 2 cups soup stock. Add 1 head diced kale and 1 Tbsp salt. Add 2 more cups soup stock. Let simmer until the kale is cooked to your liking. Add the beans and the rice. Add a few more cups soup stock. Add 2 cups diced turkey. Season with salt and pepper, French basil and a few drops of tamari (soy sauce).
Enjoy.

Thanksgiving Turkey Leftover Soup

2009-11-22T08:10:00.000-08:00

"Hey, can you meet me in the garage in 5 min? I have a turkey" I shouted, phone balanced on one ear.
"you have a what?"
"Just meet me in 5 min and I'll explain"
"Alright" Christina said.
As I backed into the parking space, Christina appeared in my field of vision and I felt an overwhelming sense of joy.

It had been a strange morning. Through fate, circumstance and cooking, I have recently become acquainted with a friend who is a very active member of a Catholic church. We are planning a cooking project together based out of one of their kitchens, and while trying to come up with a time to meet and tour the facility he asked me if I would like to join them in handing out food boxes for Thanksgiving.
"Sure" I said, without thinking.

So at 8am on Saturday morning, I got in my car and headed to Saint Philips church in North Minneapolis. I walked up to the massive wooden doors with the curiosity of a cat discovering a cabinet ajar. It is not that I haven't been in a church before, however in the current religious political climate with media images of evangelical Christians holding anti same sex union signs, I wondered if I might be tarred and feathered at the door. Inside the walls of the church there was holy water, a giant crucifix, and an organ. These images reminded me of itchy tights and hard wooden pews and controlling my manners.

The volunteers stood around the coffee and donuts. They were nervous and fidgety, and eager be of service. I got the sense that I was not the only person in the room feeling that they were waiting to be found out and expelled from the premises. The group was so diverse, that no comfortable division of "us vs them" mentality could be constructed as the shelter of false intimacy.

It seemed everyone there was trapped in their own labyrinth, seeking answers to the riddle of which parts of them fit in with the group. It was the perfect opportunity to investigate the question of which pieces of me are mine alone, and which ones are common to fabric of the quilt of humanity? And then their was turkey. Fifty five boxes of turkey came and went in a flash, the remaining boxes sat, and sat, and we in the church began to slump into chairs in the sunset of our exhilaration. At around noon, a little girl showed up alone for her family's box of food. "Where are your parents child?" one of the volunteers asked. "They're sleeping" she said. It was a heartbreaking moment.

Many of the families who had registered for turkeys never came to pick up their dinner boxes, and the volunteers ended up taking boxes home. I backed my car slowly into it's parking spot, Christina waiting with open arms to help me carry the 15 lb turkey up to our apartment. "What are we going to do with a whole turkey?" she said. "Well roast it and share it for soup on Sunday!"

Thanksgiving turkey leftover soup:

Step one: have a delightful thanksgiving dinner. Save the carcass once the turkey has been carved (carving is meditative for me. I try slice and lift each piece off balanced carefully between fork and carving knife, just like my father always does.)

Step two: make a turkey stock. Break up the carcass and put it into a soup pot with the pan drippings (if you have any left), some peppercorns, 5 bay leaves, 1-2 yellow onions, and 4 stocks of celery. Cover with water bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer for 3-4 hours.

Step three: When the soup stock is almost done, place a small rice pot on the stove and add 1/2 small diced yellow onion and a pinch of salt. Add some dried sage and 1 cup of rinsed wild rice. Pour 2 cups of turkey soup stock directly from the stock pan into the rice (avoid vegetables and fat layer on top). Cover rice and cook until tender.

Step four: In a separate pot, place 1/2 small onion diced, some salt, 3 stocks celery diced, 4 mushrooms diced, 4 small carrots peeled and diced, and a pinch of salt. Add some cut up turkey leftovers. Add 6-8 cups of turkey stock (strained) and the wild rice. If you prefer, use a gravy separator to skim off the fat layer on the top of the stock before pouring it in. Season and serve!

Cream of Broccoli, Tarragon and Fennel Soup

2009-11-15T11:01:00.000-08:00

Patience is a virtue. I wonder if the original statement was something like patience has a virtue, or perhaps the inverse impatience has consequences. I am standing over a steaming, rich, creamy, fragrant cream of broccoli soup. Green flowers bubble to the surface, ensnared in thick white lava. I am hypnotized by the intoxicating smell of it, and the promise of tasting memories of cafe lunches and coming in from the snow. The bright lights of our kitchen, which Christina has recently transformed into a television set for filming instructional cooking episodes, beads sweat on my brow like an Island sun. I bring a steaming spoonful to my lips, the steam burns me before I even get the soup into my mouth. I have to drop the spoon and get an ice cube to sooth the burn.

As soon as the pain subsides, it is forgotten. I put the ice cube down walk over to the stove and take a huge scalding spoonful to my mouth. A large tree of broccoli with both flavor and heat trapped in its branches, releases steamy wrath on first my left cheek, then over my tongue before finally clearing all the taste buds from my right. My whole mouth, having suffered a brush fire, is now devoid of taste buds. Once again, I had gotten ahead of myself. I allowed my actions to become a chain gang, tethered together working toward some imagined outcome with no individuality of moments.

A few days ago, while driving through the city, I was whining about my life. Not that I have much to whine about, I really don't, but restlessness has a way of finding useful and beautiful things to toss in the trash. "I feel like I have missed my chances, that I reached the edge of my potential, and jumped just short of the other side" The minute I said it out loud I felt foolish, but also relieved. "That is ridiculous" Christina said "you are just getting started. You are just upset because you imagine the payoff to be more than it is. You are working toward something, and that is your life. The working. You are upset because you want more than you have worked for, and you want it because you imagine it to be something that it isn't". I looked at her for a moment in shock. How funny that I have forgotten. We have played these words back and forth, because one of us always forgets. Sometimes we hold them in the same moment, and at these times we can have a good laugh at ourselves.

Christina walked into the room looking for the soup. "I hid it in the oven, be careful it is really hot." "I don't think it is" she said, and she popped it into the microwave for a min. When cooking, it is important to know your audience, and listen to their likes and dislikes. You can present your own idea of perfection and still some people will think that you have missed the mark completely. Fortunately, Christina and I like similar flavors, although we have a very different idea of temperature.
"This soup is amazing" she said, finishing her bowl "the flavors are really unique. It has to be shared. "

Cream of broccoli, tarragon, fennel soup (makes 4 servings)
3-4 Tbsp butter
1 small vidalia onion diced
2 large heads broccoli
1 head of fennel (use the fronds)
1 bunch tarragon (to taste)
3 cups chicken stock (or vegetable stock)
salt, pepper, white pepper
1 cup cream, half and half, or milk
3 Tbsp flour
2 Tbsp cave aged smear rubbed redstone cheese (or some other slightly pungent cheese)

In a large saucepan heat 2 Tbsp butter and add diced onion (with a little salt). Add broken up broccoli flowers, shaved stems (diced) and diced fennel. Pour in chicken stock and add tarragon. Cover and simmer for 20 min, until broccoli is tender. Season with salt and pepper.
In a separate pan, heat remaining butter and add flour. Cook until flour begins to brown. Add ~1/4 cup of soup to the flour and stir until thickens into gravy consistency. Add this "gravy" to the soup and simmer until the soup thickens a bit. Mash up the broccoli with a potato masher. Add milk/cream/half and half and cheese and stir until cheese melts.
Cool slightly and serve!

Designing the Impossible Potato Leek Soup

2009-11-08T10:30:00.000-08:00

Dark blue slices cut through a flat, billowing sheet of clouds in the dawn sky, lighting it into the face of a shivering fall pumpkin. I lay on the down comforter trying to remember, the feel of the shag carpeting, the smell of my room, my parents house. I begin to deconstruct it, remove the decor, peel the wallpaper, down to the wood placed by the previous owners. Each time I remove an object, I imagine the decisive moment of its placing. The driving force, invisible and gravitationally compelling: houses need walls, walls need wallpaper, beds have bedspreads, cultural ideals passed through generations by bucket brigade. The bucket of "baby blue is an acceptable color for a bedroom" splashed onto the bedroom of my youth. I slice leeks down the center and imagine a room painted from the center out in the spectacular bright yellows and smooth greens of the leek. The thought makes my heart open but my head ache. Too bright. Culture will set your mind free of indecision, but parameters allowed to set too long unquestioned will broaden the moat of shame around your castle.

The rules that built my parents house frame my expectations, but in the end we each become our own architect fitting our lives to accommodate growing technology. To replace the existing structure takes work and understanding of its original function. These are the thoughts that drive me to deconstruct my parents house.

The apartment is filled with the aroma of leeks, onions, peppercorns and bay leaves. The cats are curled up with Christina on the couch. Our walls are decorated with beautiful paintings into which a person can steal an intimate moment with their own psyche. Last night we huddled into the glow of candlelight across from each other at the restaurant table. A gold rimmed coffee cup, the size of a children's tea party set turned upside down between us. The cardamom sweetness of the Turkish coffee still lingered on my breath. We waited for the coffee sludge to fall before flipping it over to read the grounds. I held the cup close and stared into the shapes like it were one of Christina's paintings.
"What do you see?" she asked, leaning forward.
"I see a pregnant unicorn".

Potato leek soup
2 giant leeks (use the greens for the stock and the whites for the soup)
6 peeled carrots
1 yellow onion
3 cloves garlic
6 bay leaves
a handful of marjoram
1 tsp peppercorns
1 tsp chicken base (optional)
in a wide pot, build a soup stock using the ingredients above (about 8 cups of water). Allow to simmer uncovered for about an hour. In the meantime, dice potatoes and leek whites (leave skins on potatoes for added nutrition).

"Spice Trail" tangine spice (recommended) (if you live in the Twin cities, you can get this from chef Sameh Wadi of Saffron, who took the title of Iron Fork in the 2009 competition.)
cumin and turmeric (optional)
5 cups diced yukon gold potatoes
salt
2 Tbsp butter
2 Tbsp olive oil

Melt butter and olive oil in a soup pot. Add potatoes and leek whites. Season with seasonings (have fun with this). Drain soup stock into potatoes. Cook 30 min until potatoes are tender and blend with a hand blender (leave some chunky if you like). Garnish with fresh crisp celery (much better than crackers, seriously!)

Christina's vote: "Genius!"

Alien Acorn Squash Almond Soup

2009-11-01T11:38:00.001-08:00

6:45 am. I stood in the dark at the bus stop, looking for signs of the mobile fluorescent waiting room to zoom by, but it was too early for buses. I shook out my umbrella and began following the school of workmen headed toward campus. They were uniformed in dirty Carharts and had coolers swinging like briefcases from their giant hands. The rain painted streets reflected headlights in all directions, and my mind stirred with the transient reflections of a passenger waiting on an airport runway. I was late, but hesitant to quicken my stride due to the dull ache of my left shin. A nagging reminder of where I was going and what I didn’t want to find out.

As I walked through the revolving doors, I marveled at the pristine cleanliness of the university hospital. Everything was perfectly squared or curved, with clean glass and polished edges. The whites were perfectly white, like new teeth, as though born from a paintbrush overnight. The hospital workers had a relaxed alertness about them. They were immune to the predawn haze that fell on those of us coming from the world outside.

Down the long white corridor, on the left, there was a little waiting room. There I sat, shuffling my feet and assessing the germ content of the side table magazines. Like everything else in this building, the edges were crisp and pristine, germ free. A short stocky man with a helmet of dark hair and the protruding ears of a politician approached me. He wore a white coat with gold buttons and shoulder bars. He looked like a Star Trek character. I blinked.

“My girls are Cinderella characters this year, I am supposed to be prince charming. Follow me please, right this way.” I had forgotten it was Halloween. I followed the little man as he guided me to a large room. In the middle of the room, was a circular white machine with a smooth human-sized hole. I lay obediently on the table while he strapped my feet together.
“How does it work?” I said, my voice echoing into the vacancies.
“We will be shooting magnetic waves into your body. The waves will bounce off of the iron in your blood. We will be capturing an image of your insides by capturing those waves.” He then turned and walked out of the room.

If I leaned my head back on the table I could see wide eyes peering though the tinted glass of the control room, peeping out, then disappearing behind square monitors. Aliens. The machine began to hum. The operator spoke to me in a gentle voice over a loud speaker, parroting an automated machine voice “next picture, three minutes”.

We are all aliens. Everything we imagine comes from our experiences. Every day we operate machines we don’t understand from bodies we don't understand. We poke and prod at ourselves trying to figure out how it all works. Then, one day, the aliens of our future become the ghosts of our past. The magnetic waves pulled at my ring and I heard Christina’s voice in my head. She had interrupted me in the car when I was whining about not being able to run.

“Reinvent yourself" she said, with little sympathy for my self pity. Her mother once warned me that one would have to be a strong person to be with Christina. Reinvent myself, yes.

Here I stand, with my aliens and ghosts just at the doors of my beginning. Here I revolve, changing uniforms as I build myself, or work myself, or break myself down. From Carharts, to lab coats to hospital gowns, building, working, studying, breaking down, shifting, building. Sundays are good days for aprons.

Alien Acorn Squash Almond Soup
1 large acorn squash (a lot of people don’t think highly of this variety, but it can be very amicable once you get familiar with it)
½ yellow onion
1 Tbsp oil
1 Tbsp butter
2 cups almond milk
1 tsp vanilla
fennel seeds
salt
ground clove, cinnamon, nutmeg

Preheat the oven to 390 degrees. Cut a LARGE acorn squash in two (this recipe only feeds 2-4 people). Scrape out the seeds and rinse and drain them in a colander. Place the squash face down in a casserole and pour 2 cups of water into the pan. Cover with tinfoil and bake for 40 min until soft.
When you take out the squash, turn the heat down to 300 and bake the seeds (toss in oil and salt and lay flat on a cookie sheet)

Dice ½ yellow onion. Saute in a soup pot with 1 Tbsp oil and 1 tsp salt. Add 1 Tbsp butter. Scrape the squash into the onions (you may want to wait until it cools a bit). Add about 2 cups of almond milk, 1 tsp vanilla, 1 tsp fennel seeds, a sprinkle of cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves (optional). Use a hand blender to puree the soup. Garnish with a drizzle of maple syrup and toasted squash seeds.

Christina's vote: "Best soup I have ever had"

Never Too Muddy for Lentil Soup

2009-10-25T09:02:00.000-07:00

We walked up the long winding steps and into the party. Christina carried a wrapped painting as a housewarming gift. The painting was titled "Separate Lives", but I had a feeling it should have been called "Separation Anxiety" which is what I knew she would be experiencing later in the night. Christina misses her paintings, deeply, when they are gone.

Having been unusually busy over the past year, the party was a Christmas card style reunion. Everyone was a little older, a little more married, a little more settled into a career, a little less fearful and searching. There was no time for gossip, there was simply too many other things to talk about. The new kids, the job, the cooking lessons, the house, the summer vacation, the workout plan. I was in the middle of explaining to Noah how I was thinking about giving up running and finding a new sport. Apparently he had heard this story of mine before because because he looked at me in bored disbelief and said, "yeah, sure, ok.."

"Speaking of running, do you ever see Matt anymore?" someone asked as I stuffed caramel drizzled apple into my mouth. At that exact instant, my pocket buzzed. A text message from Matt. "Funny you should mention" I said. I opened the screen to find a cryptic message [trail run. Tomorrow morning. Early. I'll pick you up.] Trail running? We never go trail running. I haven't run a step since the marathon. Adventure is a seductive temptress. Of course I would go.

At 6:30 sharp I found Matt waiting in his car outside, drinking coffee and listening to Sting, which I found to be really funny. I have probably spent thousands of hours running with Matt and up until this morning had no idea what kind of music he listens to. We drove about five minutes out of the city, and pulled up to a foggy parking lot from which began a little trail. I looked at the shiny leaf plastered path ahead

"It's raining" I said. "and it is dark."
"I know" Matt said "I probably should have brought a flashlight".
We set out slowly and carefully through the muddy woods. The chill in the air caused the moon to wrap herself in cloudy blankets, and our trail was a flat shadowless abyss. I bounded with the cheery spirit of adventure, wet leaves clinging to my shoes like toddlers. The rain was not an adversary, but a diamond cut detail in the story of that time we went trail running through the mud and forgot flashlights. We dodged tree branches, hopped over rocks, shimmied down rock ledges and jumped brooks. At times we were climbing vertically through mud paths sculpted by descending water, grasping at branches to secure new heights. The view from the top of these climbs was autumn leaves against a purple sky, breathtaking.

When I got home, I immediately went to the farmers market. It is the last market day of the season. I loaded up on root vegetables, because, like me they were covered in mud. I must have carried 50 lbs of root vegetables up to our apartment, still my expression was that of a 10 year old kid just coming in from building forts in the woods. Christina looked cold in the apartment. The cats looked curious. I turned the oven on and the cooking was magic.

Never too muddy for lentil soup.

1 local ham hock purchased from a farmer who has been thoroughly questioned (your education is a part of the soup preparation)
1 1/2 cups of lentils purchased from the woman who grows only "soul food" ingredients (we are lucky to have such interesting characters at our farmers market!)
5 stalks celery (watch out for the really bushy celery, it is bitter and has ladybugs all over it)
5 carrots sweet enough to eat without peeling (you are already covered in mud, you don't to be covered in carrot peelings too!)
1 red and 1 yellow onion (for diversity!)
1 clove garlic
3 bay leaves
3 medium potatoes (not the green ones)
1 rutabaga
Salt, muchi curry powder, cumin, turmeric, sweet basil, pepper, 1 chili pepper (if you like it hot).

Fill a soup pot with water and add the ham hock, red onion and celery trimmings. Allow this to cook for about 40 min. Then, in another soup pot, add 1 cup ham hock water, bay leaves and onions. Dice potatoes and add to onions with another cup of the liquid. Add more liquid and the lentils. Add another cup of the liquid and the rutabaga diced. Keep adding your ingredients and the liquid from the ham hock. Season to taste. When you are done simmer uncovered until the lentils are cooked and the potatoes are soft. Adjust your seasonings. Dice up the meat from the ham hock and add to the soup.

~enjoy~

Hopping the Apple Train

2009-10-22T06:46:00.000-07:00

I spent most of the chilly morning on Saturday at the Minneapolis farmer's market. I sat huddled around a propane heater with three lovely Midwestern ladies, we were chatting live on AM950 talk radio. We began the show lined up across a long table under a little white tent, a microphone perched before each of us as though we were announcing at a sporting event. It didn't take long for our formality to break, and the excitement of sharing trade secretes with fellow vegetable lovers brought us huddled together like a couple of freight hoppers standing over a trash can fire. All of us were heaped with layers of winter clothing and cheeks whipped pink by the wind. Our boisterous chatter was as loud and continuous as a long steam train, heirloom tomatoes leading into spaghetti squash, followed by basil, fresh garlic, and roasted chicken. The caboose came trudging in brimming with seasonal apples, Harelsons, Honeycrisp, Zestar and Golden Delicious!

After the show I walked slowly through the aisles of the farmers market, the chill in the air made the public scarce, and the tables were packed with colorful and fragrant treasures. My toes were like two blocks of ice and my nose was in need of a plumber, but I was too exhilarated to care. One of the ladies on the show, the one they call the herb lady, had given me some lovely fresh basil from her farm -Dehn's Garden-which I carried on my wrist. Another lady from the show, Gwen, took me over to her family farm stand -Smith Gardens.

At Smith Gardens I found some spicy icicle radishes (for Christina), some delicious homemade blueberry and blackberry jam (yum), and a diverse array of fresh snappy apples. If only I had brought a shopping cart! I left weighed down by two giant bags of apples, three of each variety, with the intention of getting to know my local varieties. What is apparent thus far, is that seasonal apples bought from the farm stand can not be compared to their grocery store cousins. A Gala picked from the top of the grocery bin speaks a softer, milder dialect than the sweet and snappy Gala from Smith Farms. My first exploration with the apples involved the assembly of an apple pie with a butter crust.

Crust:
1 1/2 cups flour
1 tsp salt
1 1/4 stick unsalted butter
cold water

Using two knives, cut the butter into the flour salt mixture until little the butter is pea sized (do not over mix, and do not use hands. The butter needs to stay cool and not completely mixed into the flour for the crust to be flaky). Add cold water slowly, folding it into the flour. When the dough is just wet enough to be gathered, gather into a ball and knead one or two times. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate until ready to use.

The filling:
Peel and cut
3 medium Prairie Spy apples: tart, starchy, mild
3 medium Fireside: sweet, a perfect snap (it will be hard not to eat these before they make it into the pie)
3 medium Sweet 16: soft, anise flavored
juice from 1/2 lemon
brown sugar, to taste
cinnamon
pinch salt
a shake of cornstarch (to thicken the juice)

Roll out the dough and place in a pie pan. Add apple filling. Roll top crust over the top and pinch around the sides. Cut steam holes in the center of the pie. Bake at 425 for 15 min, reduce heat to 350 and bake for about 30 more min.

~enjoy~

Soup on Sundays!! Cold Buster Soup

2009-10-18T10:48:00.000-07:00

The sun turned on the white painted walls of our 6th floor apartment bedroom. I opened my eyes in the blinding light to the feeling that I was being choked by a very strong grasp. Feeling my neck it became apparent that, overnight, my glands had swollen to the size of golf balls. "I think I am getting sick" I croaked to Christina. I suddenly felt waves of depression and anxiety, which hurled me through a minefield of potential horrors until I fell tentatively to rest on the bank of denial.

Denial, although I find it both shallow and bland, seemed an appetizing option when the alternatives were considered. I ran through each scenario over the span of about an hour before I settled on denial and Christina and I left for the coffee shop.

The discarded alternatives are as follows:
1) reveling in the illness, shuffling around with a pitiful look, channeling the soft weepy eyes of my neediest inner child. I did this for about ten minutes, but Christina was not at all biting at the bait of my whine.
2) conjuring up some anger, at all the people who may or may not have given me their cold. Feeling hostile toward those vengeful souls who had the nerve to sneeze and cough in public. This I decided was not a good option, because I have to go to school tomorrow and today's self-righteous anger would result in tomorrows self-deprecation.
3) Start in with a dose of self flagellation today! I searched my mind for all the ways I allowed for my immune system to run down. How could I let this happen!! This got old quickly.

After my hour of anger and pity and victimization was up, we cheerfully headed out Starbucks; Christina appeared slightly confused by my polar changes of mood.

On the way home, we stopped at the Asian grocery store to pick up some kaffir lime leaves. The Asian market smelled strongly of fish, and was chilly inside. The aisles were lined with cans of exotic fruit jellies and mochi balls, and cuts of meat that revealed the animal of origin. We walked slowly through the aisles. It gives me a thrill to imagine the unfamiliar flavors and textures. Foreign foods deliver the promise of recreating childhood first food discoveries.
"I wish we had a Chinatown" I said leaving the store, feeling slightly embarrassed about my lack of home city pride.

Making soup is a beautiful form of alchemy. The most tired vegetables revive themselves to a sort of creamy, soothing, liquid gold. The kitchen windows gather steamy blinds, which turn the contrast of day and night to a foggy shade of gray. Making soup puts me in a timeless world, and with the loss of "day" and "night" go "past" and "future", "depression" and "anxiety".

I felt my throat loosen in the misty kitchen, and my voice return back to it's original form. It was like brewing up a magic potion, and experiencing fairy tale voice box transformation from frog to princess (it's my story, I can say I have a princess voice if I want to!!!)

As the soup simmered on the stove, I looked up some stuff about Tom Kha soup (Tom yum soup with coconut milk). Apparently it is a wonderful natural immune booster and a remedy for colds and the flu. I haven't checked the research on this, but I am happy to accept the idea based on folk wisdom alone. Tom Kha soup is an easy pill to swallow :)

Ingredients
4 cups chicken stock
6 cups water
Salt
3 stocks lemon grass (fresh)
6 large slices ginger
1-2 carrots
15-20 kaffir lime leaves (buy fresh at Asian food store in produce section)
1 tsp oil
1/2 yellow onion
4 cloves garlic
1/2 pkg firm tofu, drained (shrimp can be substituted)
a dash soy sauce, miso or fish sauce (fish sauce is the traditional ingredient, I didn't have any so I went with other high glutamate ingredients. The cells of the immune system are fueled by glutamate)
1/4 cup dried shitake mushrooms
1 can coconut milk
cilantro to garnish

In a soup pot, heat 4 cups of chicken stock and 5 cups of the water with 2 tsp salt. Add lemon grass (peel outer layers, cut tip of bulb and dice bulb until the stalk gets woody texture. Add diced lemon grass to soup pot, then smash the stalk tips and add them whole to the pot (you will discard these later). Add ginger slices, lime leaves, and peeled diced carrots. In a separate pot, saute onions and garlic lightly in oil (with salt) and add cubed tofu. Pour in remaining cup of water and a few dashes soy sauce. Add the tofu mixture to the soup pot and toss in 1/4 cup chopped shitake mushrooms. Add 1 can coconut milk. Season and let simmer to release flavor. Serve with rice.

~enjoy~

Iron Fork Competition Minneapolis 2009

2009-10-17T08:51:00.000-07:00

Today I will share my recipe from the Iron Fork competition, In which I was the sole amature competitor against 5 local chefs from some of the great restaurants in the Twin cities. The competition was a fundraiser for Second Harvest sponsored by City Pages. Over a thousand people were watching as we battled to prepare tasty and inventive dishes in one hour featuring one secret ingredient. What an honor to be a contestant!

Before the competition, I got to rub elbows with the chefs. The sous chef from the "Happy Gnome" introduced me to fermented garlic, a black sticky substance with a flavor of roasted garlic and the sweetness of a date. I love it when I meet a new flavor!

The secret ingredient was squash. The "Happy Gnome" chef (who came in second place) made an acorn squash and ouzo cocktail (which I thought was very clever) and a halibut dish that looked amazing! The winner of the competition was the chef/owner of "Saffron", who let me use his olive oil (imported from Pakistan) in my arugula fennel salad. The olive oil was so wonderful that it made my eyes tear up and my knees go weak. He used his own line of spices in all of his dishes. They were delicious.

I made a tarragon and butternut squash ravioli with fresh lemon zested pasta and a golden beet reduction, coconut cream sauce (our friend Jelena said that complicated layers of flavor are all the rage in restaurants these days, which based on my iron fork experience I would have to agree with!) The side dish was an arugula, fennel, orange salad and a single carrot flower.

The weeks leading up to the competition I was like a traveller in a foreign country isolated by an unfamiliar language. I kept searching the minds of people I came in contact with, for clues as to how to get around in this thing. I looked at every person I met as a potential guide, a messenger placed in my path to reveal some secret which would help me be able to cook something impressive for my moment in the culinary sun. It did seem that angels were appearing in my path that week. The morning of the marathon I met a woman who told me how to make hollindaise without using heat (I decided this would be too risky, I wouldn't want to give the judges salmonella!) When I got home from the race, Christina and I went out for Thai food at "Ruam Mit", and the chef came to our table to show us how to make little carrot flowers (which I decided would be Christina's job for the competition, and she plowed through three bags of carrots practicing!! The things we do for love.)

So here is the recipe, the whole thing takes about an hour. It wasn't the winner but I was happy with how it turned out!

Ingredients:
~2 cups unbleached white flour
2 eggs
salt
1 Tbsp olive oil
lemon zest
1 small butternut squash
1 orange
1 can coconut milk (use the cream)
fresh tarragon
thyme
pepper
2 golden beets
1 lime
1 Tbsp brown sugar
1-2 tsp cornstarch

The pasta:
Make a volcano of flour with a pinch of salt in it on a sheet of wax paper taped to your kitchen counter (it is less messy if you use wax paper, but you don't have to). Make a well in the flour and add egg, olive oil, and fresh lemon zest. With a fork, beat the egg and slowly bring the flour mixture into the egg mixture. When the dough begins to come together, knead with flour until smooth (you may not need all the flour). Roll the dough thin with a rolling pin (as thin as you..or your sous chef..can get it!) Cut into squares using a knife or a square cookie cutter (we found a great set at Cooks of Crocus hill on Grand Ave).

The filling: Boil a pot of water. Peel the skin off of a medium butternut squash and scrape out the seeds (you can toast these and use as a garnish). Add the squash to the water and boil until tender (~20 min) remove the squash and mash with a drizzle of coconut milk, orange juice and fresh diced tarragon using a food processor (or a fork if you prefer rustic squash) Salt, pepper and thyme to taste.

Assemble the ravioli by filling one square, lining the edges with a wet finger, and then adding the other square.

The sauce:
Peel and cut 2 golden beets. Place in ~1 1/2 cups water and boil until the water gets yellow. Remove beets (you could have as a side dish, but we did a crisp salad instead) and continue to cook liquid down, adding a few Tbsp coconut milk. Cook your ravioli in this liquid (about 3-4 min). Remove ravioli and set aside. Add 1 Tbsp brown sugar and the juice from 1/2 lime to the sauce. Remove some of the liquid and mix with a little corn starch (1 tsp) then pour the cornstarch liquid into the sauce and cook to thicken. Put the ravioli back in the thickened sauce. When you are ready, plate your ravioli and garnish with an arugula, fennel, orange salad (olive oil, garlic and orange juice dressing) and a bit of orange zest and sugar over the top!

~Enjoy~

Meeting Winter

2009-10-16T18:52:00.001-07:00

Last weekend I tucked away my journal articles, I left the dirty dishes and the carpet covered with cat hair, I packed up my computer and I drove four and a half hours North through the golden leaves to meet Winter on his journey to Minneapolis.
It had been so long since I had seen the quiet and mysterious blue of Winter that walking out into a snowy dawn felt somewhat like discovering the tracks of a Bigfoot. Friends in the cities widen their eyes in polite amazement when I tell the story of waking up to run the Whistle Stop marathon in Ashland, WI and discovering an October snow.

The reality of winter is just as elusive to them as it was to me. Winter painted slowly over the long summer days is a gentle creature, with soft fur and rosy cheeks and a warm chocolate laugh. Winter painted in the eve of February is a viscous unforgiving beast, with heavy eyelids, scratchy wool and a runny nose. Last Saturday morning my lungs drank their first sip of cold air while I stood smoking my breath in the society of a thousand runners who wore numbers and arm socks. We all danced a few hundred precious calories away just waiting for the start, and we stood awkwardly close together, desperate to absorb some heat.

The trail on which we trotted, scrambled or scuffled the entire 26.2 miles was not the soft, forgiving, yet compact ground I had been dreaming about. Recent rain and joyriding tires of teenage four wheelers had made a loose beach out of our route. We filed into the tent at the finish line, one by one, collapsing onto the shoulders of those whose faces we would never remember. I sat on the pavement by one of the tent posts, and a woman rushed to my side.
"Are you okay??" she asked.
"Yes" I said.
"Then would you mind sitting on this bucket?" Out of nowhere, a giant white bucket, with dirt stained circular rings was hovering inches away from my eyes.
The woman's features were large and distorted. She looked worried. Was she worried about me? No,the tent. She feared I would knock down the tent. I must not lean on the post. I must...but it feels so good to lean..just a little...Suddenly I came to my senses. I pulled myself off the ground and reached for a sugar cookie from the table. I decided I needed to focus on something besides my own pain.

"HI!" I said, in a half manic shout fueled by false energy to a group of older masters runners sitting on buckets. "I'm Emily" I said, popping a miniature doughnut into my mouth. "Am I hallucinating or is that a heater you are sitting in front of?"

"wha?? I didn't even notice the heater haha" one of the runners said. "Please, pull up a bucket!"

The rest of the afternoon flew past. I forgot about missing my goal of running a sub 3:15 marathon while reveling in the joy of the 60 year old man who had just qualified for Boston for the first time. I listened to the sad story of the woman who had to drop out, regretfully, at mile 18. Fueled by the desire to achieve goals, I had become rigid with expectations. Their stories set me to thaw. Their stories were my stories. I was sitting on a bucket, in a tent, laughing and crying at myself in various caricatures. There was the time gave up, the time I succeeded, the time I just came to have fun. There was the first time, the best time, and then their was this one. This was the time that it was never easy, not even for a moment. The story falls delicately among my shuffle of persona's collected over years, which are stacked like leaves and stored like costumes perfectly fit for that one occasion.

Iron Fork Amateur Competition

2009-09-28T12:52:00.000-07:00

Video by George Prine:

Olfactory Tales

2009-09-20T19:17:00.000-07:00

I shook open the flat sheet and kicked up a wind of memories hidden in the heavy damp smell of the linen closet. It was the smell of holiday tablecloths, sun soaked curtains, and cool summer evenings slept away on the porch (the year we decided to put a bed out there, just for the fun of it). Every evening I would watch the silvery moon through the screens, and watch the leaves toss shadows on the still grass. The crickets, whose brilliant song in the evenings fades in and out of backgrounds like a classical tune at a cocktail party, would play a live symphony for me in my porch bed. I often had the fear that if I payed too close attention I would discover that the sound was not real and the crickets would disappear. They never did.

I stayed out there every night through soccer season. The musk of the muddy leaves, which had been crunched by cleats kicking soccer goals in the make believe championships of my backyard, would rise up through the cool air at night. When the fall air turned to ice, and tinted the night sky with softer shades of blue, I simply piled on more blankets and trapped my hair and feet in wool. Every morning I awoke triumphant, and refreshed and arrived at the breakfast table with ice cold air still clinging to my pajamas wrapping me in the spirit of adventure. The best pancakes, it seems, are always those eaten while ruddy faced and wearing winter air and wool socks.

Christina just walked into the room carrying a steaming plate of crispy rice (Tadig) and my latest creation, thinly sliced stir fried pork with Bok Choy and pickled ginger. The smell of maple syrup saturates the air, which must be imagined, as neither recipe contains the stuff.

2 portions pork tenderloin
2 small baby bok choy heads
1/4 small onion
2 cloves garlic
1 Tbsp toasted sesame oil
1 Tsbp grape seed oil
salt, soy sauce, white wine vinegar to season
2 Tbsp flour
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 cup cooking wine (white) or wine for cooking. You could substitute apple cider.

Slice the pork thin and coat in a mixture of flour and baking soda. In a frying pan, heat both oils until they are very hot. Put the onion (diced) and a little salt in the pan. Add pork and brown on all sides. Pour in the wine, and be careful not to excite the fire. Add garlic (minced) and bok choy (diced) and a bit of soy. Garnish with pickled ginger!

Recipe for Rejuvenation

2009-09-10T08:50:00.000-07:00

Three years have gone by and I am sitting in the exact same lecture hall, in the front row, while the hungry eyes of the undergraduates try to figure out where my good side is and how they will secure a seat for themselves on it. We, the teaching assistants in the front row, are the graders. As professor drones on about grading percentages and study habits, I can feel the eyes of the students boring their way into my brain. The power they think that I have is imagined, largely because in a class of 200 students, I cannot even keep track of their names. There will be no favoritism, no easy A’s. This doesn’t discourage the students from flashing enthusiastic smiles, laughing too hard at my jokes, and boldly stopping by to introduce themselves to me after class.
We are all trying to be noticed. No one wants their genius to go unrecognized, their voices to be lost in the thunder of the trees falling in the woods. I wish that I could sit with every one of these fresh minds and have them tell me their most brilliant moment. Instead I sift through essays, and read carefully from the lines, and sometimes try to read between the lines, searching for the wisdom I once had but have forgotten. I have changed, and the shoes they are wearing don’t fit my feet, which have grown calloused from traversing paths of resistance. I am more guarded with my battles now.
Walking swiftly from the classroom, I am floating in a sea of bouncing backpacks. The occasional bike whizzes by. Scruffy teenagers and twenty something’s wave paper flyers with caged and tortured animals bearing the PETA logo. There was a time where I would have talked to them. A bearded man hands out information on socialism. I did not stop to hear about where and when the meeting will be. A young boy wearing a tie recites the King James Bible. I ignore him.

I feed the love in my heart and it repays me with an abundance of energy. It sweetens the mealy apple, and fills my day with meaning.

Recipe for rejuvination:

Find someone.
Anyone.
Sit with them for a bit.
Listen to their words, and hear what they say with their actions.
Don’t try to help them.
Don’t try to think of answers, solutions, jokes, or something to say to break silence.
Forget about your own problems and how they relate to theirs.
Just let them talk.
Be with them for the discomfort between words.
Offer love.

Now go home and repeat this recipe for yourself.
Find yourself.
Here.
Sit with yourself for a bit.
Listen to your words and hear what you say with your actions.
Don’t try to help yourself.
Don’t try to think of answers, solutions, jokes, or some thought to break the silence.
Forget about their problems and how they relate to yours.
Just listen to your thoughts.
Be with yourself, even though it may feel uncomfortable.
Offer love.

Culture in a Pill

2009-09-06T11:57:00.000-07:00

How to live. How to get the most out of life. Somehow we have become convinced that the treasure chest of life's enjoyment is unlocked by the key to perfect health. Perfect health is something that we measure in numbers, for no other reason than because we have found no better measurement and it fits into the protocol of modern science.

We can't really rely on asking people how they feel, because how one feels is not objective, so we instead measure weight, height, bone density, blood pressure, muscle mass, tooth color, hair texture, oxygen consumption. If you fit into the ideal, that you have achieved success and therefore qualify for the gift of happiness. Of course, there is always room for improvement, so if for some reason you have achieved the right measurements and are still un-fulfilled, you might want to try getting your teeth a few shades lighter.

The concept of the "French Paradox" illustrates what happens when one culture tries to describe what is happening within another from outside of the cultural context. What is the French paradox? As Americans who struggle to tailor our diets to fit within the recommended pyramid structure (in order to stay healthy) we are baffled by the French with their diet of fine cheeses, white bread, rich sauces, and wine. The French seem to have lower incidence of chronic disease and trimmer waistlines, and yet they eat from the top of the pyramid! How can that be, we cry out!!

Nutrition sciences, do to lack of funding, rely on technology from pharmaceutical companies when analyzing food. As a result, we place a lot of significance on what is in food, and less significance on how the food is eaten. American scientists rush to find the key to life hidden within the French diet rather that observing the differences in how the two different cultures approach the dinner table (or the drive through dinner drop-off).

A team of young scientists in white lab coats are unleashed on France. They take out the measuring tape and calculate BMI, and abdominal fat. They measure blood pressure, insulin resistance and cardiovascular disease. Yes indeed, the French seem to meet the requirements for optimal health and therefore the gift of happiness. The American scientists sit back and scratch their heads. There must be something in their food that we don't know about.

In 2006 a team of scientists at Harvard medical school purified a polyphenolic compound found in red wine which originates in grape skins called resveratrol and fed it to mice, along with a high fat diet. (reference: Vol 444| 16 November 2006| doi:10.1038/nature05354) The results were amazing. The mice, while they had no less propensity toward obesity, maintained youthful liver profiles. They lived much longer lifespans than their non-resveratrol consuming controls. They had improved insulin sensitivity and cholesterol, and decreased organ pathology.

Current regulations in the United States do not require FDA regulation of supplements. Anyone can place a supplement on the market, and until somebody reports getting hurt, people are free to experiment on themselves at will. Resveratrol, though it is a promising longevity pill in certain animals, has not been tested much in humans yet. The team of scientists from Harvard launched a product line of resveratrol and could probably all now retire!

One recent human study reported that resveratrol is metabolized quickly and is not highly bioavailable in humans from supplements. The study found reveratrol to be safe in the short term at doses of up to 150 mg 6 times per day, however. (Mol. Nutr. Food Res. 2009, 53, S7 –S15). (The S in front of the reference means that this article was published in a supplement journal and did not have to be scientifically peer reviewed, so take it with a grain of salt!)

If you are looking for the key to health as measured by western science, you can play lab rat with yourself in the supplement aisle of your local co-op or by clicking on the ads which have no doubt found their way to this page by my mention of the word "resveratrol". Of course you could also try the pursuit of a perfect moment and enjoy a fine cheese, some fresh baked bread, and some grapes with a loved one, at a leisurely pace, under the umbrella of a late summer sky.

Hide and go seek

2009-09-04T14:08:00.000-07:00

"12..11..10..9..8..7..6..5..4...3..2......1 here I come ready or not!!"

I am walking gingerly through the cleared path between the trees, which are newly colored with autumn. I place my feet carefully on the soft grassy dirt, until I reach the edge where the sun cannot reach and no longer feeds the grass with her light. The earth is much cooler here, forcing a chill up my legs, which are still free with summer shorts. I hear whisper, and evil chatter, which I am certain is a part of some scheme to terrorize me. I peer behind a tree, my heart lurches and then settles into a strong pound.

They are going to get me, I am sure of it. If I don't find them first, they will find me. I begin to walk faster.

I am frantically looking now. Running, from tree to tree, branches crunch beneath my feet. Just when I see one, it eludes me and I feel crazy, like I have imagined it there. I run faster, eyes bulging, breathing rapid and shallow, frothing like a racehorse, I am hyper-vigilant. AHA! I swipe with my hands at a figure, but my hands come up empty. I am crazy. I am sure of it.

I slump against the tree, sliding to the cool earth, resigned, surrendered, they will get me I am sure but my legs are cramped and my stomach uneasy and I cannot go on looking.
"Hi"
I look up into soft brown eyes and hair golden with sun.
"Hi" I say.
"What are we looking for?" She asks.
"Problems" I say.
"They are all around us" she says. I look beyond the little girl to the trees in the forest, and snickering little problems camouflaged to blend in with the trees and the rocks and the dirt are doing somersaults and handstands and playing games with one another. They are mischievous, but innocent little creatures.
"Who are you?" I say.
"Solution". She says, and she takes me around the woods and introduces me one by one to my imagined attackers. One of them steals my wallet and leaves me spinning in circles trying to catch him, another one trips me until I fall on the forest floor. Innocent little creatures looking to have a laugh. I make a mean face at them, yelling and trying to look threatening.
Solution begins to giggle, "You should really see your face right now, it is hilarious" I imagine myself terrified of these little tricksters, and using my strongest defenses, and I start to laugh too.

I often find problems to be impossible to see clearly without the help of solutions. When I am in the woods, I try to call out for the hidden solution before seeking out problems.

Squash soup:
The comfort of nutmeg in the early fall.

Preheat the oven to 400.
cut in half (and remove seeds) 1 large butternut squash
place squash face down in a baking dish and add a little water to the pan.
cover with tinfoil or a lid
bake for ~40 min (until tender)

in a soup pot, heat 2 Tbsp olive oil and a little salt
add 1 large yellow onion diced
cook until the onion is sweet

Scrape squash and onion into a food processor and blend
add back to the soup pan and thin with

EITHER
1 1/2 cups milk
OR
1 1/2 cups almond milk (yummy)
OR
1 1/2 cups half and half
OR
1 1/2 cups orange juice

What you add depends on your personal beliefs, preferences, tastes, politics, etc...

grate some fresh nutmeg on the top. Serve with love.

3000 a day keeps a runner at play!

2009-09-03T14:02:00.001-07:00

"You don't look like you love food enough to be a decent chef." One meal with me would eradicate this statement from the mind of it's deliverer. I am never good company at restaurants, because I have to read the entire menu slowly, imaging each flavor combination and how it would feel in my mouth at that very moment. Fortunately for my waistline I have always had a preference for the crunchy, the tart, and the more acidic foods, leading me toward binges of tart apples and crunchy salads instead of cakes and ice creams. I remember as a little girl sitting on our shag carpet, crunching through apple after apple and lining the cores in front of big bird as he danced happily in the square television before me. I felt satisfied when I had completely blocked out his scratchy voice with my crunching.

According to an old school mentality, a proper chef must have "dimples on the elbows" as my grandmother used to say. Of course, my grandmother lived most of her life in the days before American culture developed a strong taste for endurance exercise. ~3000 calories a day. That is what I am supposed to eat to maintain my body weight in these days of high intensity marathon training. I remember reading recently that it is common for chefs to be marathon runners, and for marathon runners to be foodies. Makes sense.

Here is an interesting scientific bit of information: the hungrier you are, the more your brain releases pleasurable chemicals in response to food. We might say something like "food tastes good when you are hungry" but what is really happening is the brain is being bathed in mood altering neuropeptides including endocannabinoids and endorphin which make us feel a heightened sense of pleasure. Since the brain's response to a calorie deficiency is to make food more rewarding, dieters are told not to get too hungry.

Today, on my run, I saw an old friend who I used to work with. He was on the grass stretching, his bike lay obediently beside him. I recognized him from the prominent scar on his shaved head.

"HEY!" I stopped (I always forget I don't have to scream for the other person to hear me when my music is on).
"Hey" he said rubbing his finger in his ear.

"sorry" I laughed. I looked at the bike, bicyclists seem to have a relationship with their bike that goes beyond appreciation of it's function. "you are biking again???" I pointed out, as if he didn't know. It really surprised me to see him on his bike, because he had spent weeks in a coma after a near death bicycle accident a few years ago. His whole head is covered in scars, and he lost entirely his sense of smell as a result of the accident.

"Yeah" he said "I took some time off, and then one day I thought to myself 'what am I so afraid of' and now I am back to doing tricks on my bike and riding fast on the street." This caused me to feel a little embarrassed about my own refusal to bike after a minor accident I experienced two years ago which caused me to chip a tooth. "I have been meaning to ask you" I said. "Without a sense of smell, can you taste anything?"

"Nope" he said. "Well, I can tell if it is sweet, salty, bitter, or sour, but I can't detect flavors like cherry or watermelon. I know if something is good!" I had a million more questions, but I was starting to get cold and stiff muscles from standing there. I ran off with my questions, wondering if his food preferences changed at all after the accident, or if he lost his appetite for certain foods entirely. I wondered what he thought of fast food now that their aroma enhancers were powerless over his olfactory blindness.

As I write I am having a delicious lunch of pasta with cauliflower, green onions and shredded cheese. I have an ice pack on each leg. For breakfast I had two sandwiches with almond butter and raisins, for first lunch I had grape-nuts cereal and a protein smoothie, for second lunch I am having the pasta. Dinner tonight will be Thai coconut soup with chicken and some spring rolls. I think that should come out to about 3000, and if not I am sure my brain will let me know.

Stacked and Elegant Vegetable Towers

2009-09-02T11:53:00.000-07:00

Here is one of the dishes I will be preparing at my "market talk" at the Minneapolis farmer's market on Saturday, Sept 5, beginning at 10:30 am. If you live in the area, please come out and join us!

Stacked and Elegant Vegetable Towers

2-3 eggs

1-2 cups yellow cornmeal (plain, don’t accidentally use cornbread mix)

1-2 cups flour

Canola oil (for frying)

salt

1 medium eggplant

2 medium zucchini

2 heirloom tomatoes (or beefsteak, or whatever kind tastes good to you)

2 medium balls fresh mozzarella in water

1 bunch basil

salt and pepper to taste

Slice the eggplant thin and lay out on toweled surface. Salt the eggplant liberally and allow to sit until it starts to sweat brown liquid. Mop up the brown beads with a paper towel, flip eggplant and repeat on the other side. Slice zucchini thin and tomatoes (salt the tomatoes if you like).

Crack the eggs into a bowl and beat with a fork. Pour flour and a little salt onto a plate (about 1 cup). Pour cornmeal onto a separate plate.

Heat ~1/2 inch of oil in a frying pan until very hot. Dip eggplant in flour, then in egg mixture, then in cornmeal to cover. Fry carefully in the hot oil until tender and brown. Repeat with zucchini. Using a fork, carefully transfer fried zucchini and eggplant to paper towel.

Assemble stacks layering first eggplant, then basil, then sliced cheese, then basil, then tomato, basil, zucchini, basil etc.. until you have the desired tower height. Season with fresh pepper and salt!

Late August delivered big red jellyfish to long island sound, bringing a deterrent to the waters just as they became warm enough to comfortably swim. I remember the courage I needed to summon just to dangle my limbs into the salty abyss. Home, in the late summer months, was a portable fiberglass hull with an enormous white billowing sail. She was a beautiful family sized sailboat. We bought her when I was five. That evening my family sat around the dinner table, shouting out names and competing to be the one to come up with the most clever. "Panacea" my parents settled on "because it is the cure for what ails you".

Panacea was not a part of my 5 year old vernacular, but I thought it was clever that it had the sound of "sea" in it. The accompanying dinghy (most sailboats carry a small motorboat or rowboat to use for emergencies, or when at anchor or mooring to bring passengers to shore) was named "the little pill".

I felt a certain pride about being a boat kid. I loved to show off, how I could climb around on the boom, how I could balance when the boat was heeling, her rails skimming the water. Some days we heeled over so far that the sound threatened to devour us, it seemed. On these days, the really windy days, I would beg my father to allow me to take the wheel. I especially wanted to steer when it was rainy or stormy, so that I could imagine myself as a heroic captain battling with a turbulent sea. "Not right now", he would say. When the sound had returned to a calm glassy pool, he would call below for me and, swelling with fatherly pride, ask me if I still wanted to steer. He would tell me where to point the bow of the boat and I would old the wheel steady, feeling the thumping of waves against the rudder as we glided along.

Our home port was just to the left of a blue tower with a smoke stack attached. It had two square windows, which resembled two black eyes to me. When my father said "point to the left of that tower" my heart would sink a little. I knew it was time to leave our summer adventures behind, and school concerns would soon take residence in my curious mind.

The salt flakes, the tangled hair, the tanned skin, these things were badges of honor as far as I was concerned. When we got home my poor mother used to have to chase me around the house with a comb to relieve me of the salty dreadlocks that I so desperately wanted to keep, in an attempt to hold on to the last glow of summer as she set.

Cucumbers, because hydration means life

2009-09-01T13:37:00.001-07:00

The two hours of leisurely running felt as colorful and relaxing as flipping through a magazine. No matter how much faster I believed I wanted to go, my legs resisted. My quads felt like they were draped in vests of lead, the kind you put on before taking an x-ray. I wondered if this humbling challenge of pushing unrested legs is a step to the magic arch a person must push through to enter the ranks of an elite runner, or if it is simply an exercise for my ego. The meaning depends entirely upon the interpretation. I was drifting down the street, like a lazy boat carried by an asphalt river, while others zoomed by. I felt the sun soak into my skin, the last lingering heat of summer. Soon there will be reds and golds and autumn smells.

Food is a constant desire in these 60 mile weeks. I left behind the salads in favor of more energy dense foods to keep up with my training, like crackers and cheeses, meats, almonds, Eggs Benedict and cupcakes. Today I felt a longing in my heart for heirloom tomatoes and cucumbers. Last year I worked, briefly, doing marketing research for farmers markets. My job was to surf the Internet all day extracting material about the nutritional and nutraceutical value of different types of produce. I had a long list of vegetables to research, all of them were very marketable: blueberries, a powerhouse of antioxidants! Apples, soluble fiber to help lower cholesterol! Carrots, beta-carotene for night vision! Tomatoes, heart healthy lycopene! and then I came to cucumbers. Cucumbers are....hydrating.

Suddenly cucumbers seemed totally uninteresting to me. They had no fancy pharmacological activity, not many flavonoids or polyphenols to brag about or fancy pants phytosterols, no great vitamin contribution, no omega 3 fatty acids to ward off inflammation.

They simply hydrate.

Then it hit me. Hydration is really important, although generally not very marketable in the food product world (unless you are selling beverages). Our bodies contain about 65% water. Manufacturers of food products have a different relationship with water in food, it increases the likelihood of spoilage causing a limited shelf life. A limited shelf life is a major roadblock for a country that relies on shipping food around to keep everyone fed. This is one reason that the frozen foods and the snack sections of the grocery store seems to just keep spreading. Many of the snack foods available in stores are dehydrated or low in water, so that they keep for longer.

Cucumbers, because hydration means life.

The Salad:

dice 1 whole large cucumber and put it in a salad bowl. Add some sliced heirloom tomatoes (or heirloom cherry tomatoes yum!!) Dress with red wine vinegar and oil. Top with 1/4 avocado, 2 slices of turkey, 1 slice of nice Italian salami, and some broken up mozzarella cheese. Garnish with crackers.

Christina's vote: (Poor Christina, I ate this whole thing by myself! By the time she got home I was licking the bowl)

Tricks From The Vegans

2009-08-31T10:03:00.000-07:00

Every once in awhile I get the opportunity to do some nutrition consulting and I find myself loving every moment of the ordeal, and having a hard time charging the going rate for my services. It just doesn't feel like work to me. It could be because my "consulting services" involve a trip to the grocery store together, followed by a high intensity cooking class where I try to incorporate as much of what I have learned about nutrition and technique into an afternoon as humanly possible. I feel alive to the fingertips and toes during this "consulting" extravaganza.

This week I will be helping a friend alter her diet to incorporate more cholesterol lowering foods (she has recently been diagnosed with high cholesterol). This will be a fun one for me, because cholesterol lowering foods involve foods that are high in soluble fiber, plant sterols, and mono and polyunsaturated fatty acids, which translates to produce, produce, and more produce, and of course some olive oil, nuts, whole grains and fish.

This morning my friend was telling me about how she tried bringing home some kale from the grocery store and her daughter said that it looked like a scary monster. I thought back to my first experiences with kale, they were not unlike my first experience with seaweed. Totally terrifying. A few tricks that I learned from some vegans on proper seasoning, however, converted this frightening green ruffled mass into one of my favorite foods. I cannot wait to see if these tricks have the same effect on my friend and her daughter.

High cholesterol (I am talking about the LDL cholesterol here) is not always the result of diet or lifestyle factors. We all make our own cholesterol, as well as getting cholesterol from animal foods. Doctors used to recommend that people with high cholesterol remove high cholesterol foods from their diet, and the beef, egg and dairy industry suffered as a result. Don't feel sorry for them, however, they have the USDA on their side (the people who have shaped the way America views food and nutrition by delivering to us the food pyramid, which will always reserve a prominent spot for dairy, soy and beef, no matter what the research reports).

Current research focuses more on which foods to add to the diet, as opposed to which to take away. The psychology of this works much better for me, I am far more likely to indulge in something I am not supposed to have than to resist adding new foods to my diet. Since we can make our own cholesterol, it makes more sense to eat foods that lower cholesterol than to simply remove cholesterol from the diet and hope for the best.

I borrowed some taste sensations from the vegans for today's lunch. Nobody is better at making vegetables taste good than the vegans, to whom eating vegetables is a matter of pure survival. I think that you will find this as baffling as I do. Nutritional yeast (which can be found in co-ops) combined with a tad of soy sauce (I use tamari) and rice vinegar or lemon juice creates a lovely flavor on pasta similar to cheese. It absolutely blows my mind. Seriously, it is delicious.

Boil some water for pasta, only cook what you will eat (unless you plan on saving it, but I find pasta is really easy to overeat and then I am out for the rest of the day). I am cooking with whole grain omega-3 enriched pasta. When the water comes to a mean boil add the pasta, and add about 1/6 head of cauliflower to the water (broken into bite sized pieces).

While the pasta is cooking, heat some olive oil (~1 Tbsp) in a frying pan or wok and add 2 cloves of minced garlic. Do not leave the garlic alone in the oil for too long, because it is sensitive and will get bitter and burn if left isolated. Add 1/4 head chopped kale and a pinch of salt. Pour in a few Tbsp water, to steam/braise the kale. When the pasta/cauliflower are done cooking drain and add to the kale. Add a few sliced cherry tomatoes, and 1-2 more Tbsp olive oil. Dress with ~ 1 Tbsp rice vinegar, a few drops soy sauce, 2 Tbsp

nutritional yeast, salt, pepper, and oregano/basil.

By the way, this lunch is perfect recovery food from that half marathon I ran yesterday. The omega 3's in the pasta are anti-inflammatory and the nutritional yeast is high in B-12 which, combined with the folate in the pasta and greens will help with cell damage repair (and of course, it has carbs to help with glycogen replacement).

The Longer The Run, The Sweeter The Fig

2009-08-30T13:08:00.000-07:00

The most gentle alarm sounds become anxiety provoking after just a few days of being subjected to the snooze ritual. At 4:45 am, when the gentle strumming of the harp function buzzed from the bedside table, my heart lurched into my throat. Time to get up. The next half an hour took place in the dark: Feed the cats, running clothes, shoes, ipod, headband, guzzle coffee, teeth brushed, lucky socks, kiss goodbye, out the door. I headed to a small nearby suburb to do a 20 mile training run with a half marathon race in the middle. The race started and finished in an outdoor mall with a gigantic parking lot. Since I didn't want to miss the start, I ran a slow pre-race 3 miles in circles around the parking lot while watching the runners arrive. It was the sort of cool morning that brings to the imagination the smell of fall leaves and fires burning, being that it is August I am certain these smells were imagined.

One woman stood out from the rest of the crowd at the starting line. She was tall and lean yet bumpy with muscle. She had a long limbs, short wispy hair, and wide round glasses, giving her the appearance of a gazelle. No doubt she would beat the rest of us, but maybe I had a shot at second. I looked around and tried to guess who I would be chasing, and who I might try to pace with. The sound of the star spangled banner interrupted my crowd scan. My stomach began to turn. The gun went off and almost instantly we were separated by pace, there was no competition in the woman's race. Within minutes the gazelle was out of sight, and I watched as second place's ponytail gradually bounced out of view. She was surrounded by a group of men who were desperate to hold pace with her at all cost. I ran a steady 6:54 min mile placing me in 3rd. After the race their was bagels, and pizza Gatorade and coffee, followed by another slow 4 miles around the parking lot.

I am always shy at these things, except when I am running. I don't really engage with anyone before or after the race, I listen to music and avert my eyes when walking through the crowd. It is an interesting phenomenon, the instant my legs begin to turn over, my mouth won't stop motoring. Running is like alcohol for me, it cures me of all social phobia.

After the race, Christina and I went to Meritage for breakfast. This restaurant has a wonderful menu, and it's patio seems to attract an interesting international crowd. The tables are set close together, encouraging table to table interaction. Having brunch at Meritage feels like dining at a luxury hotel, though the prices are very reasonable. I ordered the pork rillette with fig puree, though I have to confess I wasn't exactly sure what I was ordering. The pork rillette came in a little glass jar and the fig puree was spread on top. Rillette, it turns out, is a meat spread similar to a pate. It is salty and rich and perfect for replacing calories after 20 miles of running. It came with old fashioned mustard and grilled bread, on which to spread the pork and fig mixture. I wanted to drink the sweetness right out of the fig puree. Perhaps it was my ravenous hunger, but I truly understood why figs were historically considered a food of the Gods.

Fresh figs are a delightful treat. I feel that they pair particularly well with arugula, which can be found in the herb or the greens section of the grocery store, or at the farmers market around this time in Minnesota. I like to slice the figs in half, to showcase their beautiful figures, and use them to decorate arugula salads dressed in a sweet vinaigrette.

Making Breakfast For Your Love

2009-08-29T08:41:00.000-07:00

One by one crack three farm fresh eggs (you want them to be fresh and local if possible, so that the shells are thick) and toss the yolks from shell to shell allowing the whites to discard themselves into a designated bowl. When you are done you will have three bright orange or yellow little yolks shimmering proudly and standing round and tall against a stainless steel bowl. Whisk them together for about a min and add 1 Tbsp cold water and the juice from 1 lemon. Have a stick of unsalted better melted on the stove.

If you have ghee, use 8 Tbsp of ghee instead of unsalted butter.

Forget about your finances. Forget about the fun party you went to, the people you met and the dancing you did or didn't do. Forget about your troubled cat that bites and claws at the door at night. Forget about the work left undone, the things left unsaid, the errands that await your Monday morning arrival. Stir it all into the bright yellow moment of a Saturday morning light reflecting off of the green plants in the windowsill. Your hair is glowing the way it did when you were little, and you bounded down the stairs in children's pajamas and slid along the smooth kitchen floor, halted by the smell of breakfast.

Heat a pot of water until it bubbles and steams like a cauldron. Add 2 Tbsp of the melted butter to the egg mixture and mix together. Set your stainless steel bowl on top of the steam (or use a double boiler) and whisk the egg yolks vigorously to prevent the egg from separating and cooking (if it does, add a little cold water to save it) No matter how tricky or hopeless your efforts may seem, don't give up on the hollindaise sauce. Your energy and attention will keep it together. When the sauce is thick and creamy, remove from the heat and slowly drizzle in the remaining butter, whisking all the while. Keep the sauce on the edge of the stove so it stays warm while preparing the rest of breakfast. Season with a little salt, pepper, lemon zest and hot sauce.

Eugene nips at my ankles while I am poaching the eggs. The water is covered in egg froth and bubbles up a glimpse of yolk from time to time, it is like looking for jellyfish along a foamy seashore.

"Can we take a month off and go to the beach next year?" Christina says from the long red couch where she lounges with her coffee.

"Sounds good to me" I said, putting two pieces of toast in the toaster and heating up some oil in a wok to fry some kale.

"We could invite our families too, your parents and my parents. Or maybe we could go to Stone Harbor, to get everyone together to meet." She says.

"That would be nice. " I say, although it seems like an impossible dream. We are living in black and white. It is the great depression of the 21st century, in between the newspaper headlines. Christina and I are on a rocky boat in a tempest building card houses as though floating on a calm sea. When the storm passes we will have built a grand palace.

When the toast pops, and the kale is cooked and eggs are poached, assemble them together so that they resemble two row boats side by side, floating on a sea of kale with an egg in each boat. Top lovingly with hollindaise.

Brussel Sprouts a Memory

2009-08-27T08:18:00.000-07:00

Moment to moment, stroke by stroke, our lives are painted. Everywhere I go, when I feel clear enough to listen, when not tormented by some past obsession or some future plan, whispers of opportunity roll in and out. With windy fingers, they gently sway the hairs around the ears, moving ever so gently, tickling you with their little voices. Like the tiny feet of a fly they beg for your attention. Distracted by some grand idea, I might run through them, swatting as I go as though they are a nuisance. Sometimes they are. Sometimes, if I take the time to truly examine them, they are jeweled and precious like the discovery of a new friend, or the invention of a new recipe when the original plan was to have toast for dinner.

Brussel sprouts. There, I said it. Brussel sprouts were a dirty word among my generation of the kid's table at family gatherings. The children would sit around the large dark wood table, a chorus of whines filling the antique beauty of my grandparents dining room. Our little fingers defiantly filled up white napkins with the mushy, green, mini cabbage heads, or dropped them into little piles at our swinging feet as though we were innocent little uncoordinated animals. It started with a rumor, the way children are outcast in a school yard. One of our ranks decided they didn't like brussel sprouts, and dislike spread palate to palate around the table like gossip. My grandparents used the traditional method of vegetable preparation characteristic of their generation, cook them until they are pale yellow and then smother them in butter and pepper. They were probably quite delicious, but I wouldn't have known. Actually, cooking long and slow is a technique used for brassica vegetables (members of the cabbage family, like collard greens, broccoli, turnips, and mustard greens) to remove bitterness.

For a brief science lesson, brassica vegetables contain glucosinolates, packaged neatly and isolated from an enzyme myrosinase. When myrosinase meets glucosinolate, through the action of chewing or chopping, products are formed known as isothiocyanates (or "mustard oils") These products tend to be really bitter and children are especially sensitive to them. They may actually have some anti-cancer properties, so it is good that adults tend to develop a taste for them. Cooking brassica vegetables lightly actually speeds up the process of releasing the bitterness, while cooking long slow causes the bitter compounds to cook away and a sweetness to overpower.

Last night I reached into the refrigerator for some quick energy after an amazing run, where I felt like I was easily flying over mountains. My hands hovered over the bread and cheese, then I noticed some brussel sprouts pleading to be appreciated lest they wilt in hopeless apathy. I felt sorry for the little guys, and in my exhaustion I reached down and offered them my attention. As I peeled off the outer layers, they offered me the most brilliant greens and yellows. I felt energized by their color! I sliced them in quarters and soaked them briefly in cool water to begin leaching out some of the bitter compounds. I heated some salt, garlic, and olive oil and added the drained brussel sprouts with a little bit of water. Vapors filled the room, circling my head with inspiration. I reached for some Iranian spice mix that I made last week (crushed rose, cinnamon, cumin and cardamom). I added a sprinkle. I like to eat brussel sprouts while they are still crunchy, so I stopped cooking them after about 15-20 min. (cover them to speed up the process) To disguise the bitterness, I added a dash of red wine vinegar. I added a tsp of butter, for the memories.

A few years ago I was working on a sailboat that was docked in Philadelphia. I remembered from one of her cookbooks that Christina Pirello lived in that city. She was my hero at the time, in my opinion she possesses culinary genius with whole foods. I listened to the opportunity nagging and looked her up in the phone book. I called her and offered her a trip on our boat. She answered. She showed up. She listened to the opportunity to meet new people and have a sailing adventure. She taught me to braise brussel sprouts with balsamic vinegar and fennel. She inspired me to keep cooking and follow my dreams. I am so thankful that we were both open to the opportunities offered to us on that day.