I am digging this weekend. On Friday we got a new mattress. For the first time in years I am not sleeping on something shaped like a hotdog bun. Yesterday I woke up after precisely 8 hours of sleep, totally refreshed, sans backache. Yes! The husband and I went for a sunny walk, and then he dropped me off at the salon for a haircut. My new hairdresser looked at the pictures I showed her and totally delivered on the texture and shape I wanted. Just as I was thinking that I’d finally gotten the kind of cut and service I was accustomed to getting in San Francisco, the woman at the front desk handed me my bill. $30? I was so astounded I tipped 50%.
Later we made plans to have a few people over for nachos & game night. I’d wanted to make gluten-free cupcakes for a few weeks now, so I fired up the standing mixer and got to it. As it was whirring away I had the thought, “I would way rather drive this mixer than any car.” The icing for the cupcakes was billed as ‘spreadable’ in my Better Homes and Gardens New Cook Book. But it turned out more like a glaze, running in drips down the sides of my surprisingly springy, light cupcakes. Not to be defeated, I put just a dollop on the top of each cupcake to keep the moisture in and stashed the rest of the icing in a bowl in the fridge. When it was time for dessert, I brought out the extra frosting and smiles popped up all around. Apparently, nothing makes up for runny icing like MORE runny icing.
Good friends, a game of Apples to Apples, good sleep, a decent haircut: all of these have added up to an impressively satisfying and relaxing foundation that carried into today.
Today has been spent getting up late, reading the New York Times, taking a leisurely walk, chatting briefly on the phone with some of my nearest and dearest, and menu planning for Kevin’s birthday celebration. If there is anything I enjoy, it is a good menu planning session. There have been 10 different cookbooks on the table, several serious discussions about minute variations of the original menu concept, internet research on cocktail recipes and even a brief tangential inquiry into how long it takes, exactly, to make Worcestershire sauce from scratch (not long, but it has to cure for 3 weeks). Now I am eating the dinner my husband made for me - white beans, with spinach & parsley cooked in bacon fat – while I make little happy food moves.
Before I wrap up, you may remember the part where I said nachos. There are probably a million different topping combinations to make mind-blowing nachos. But I want to share with you one of the most important things about making nachos: the foundation. You don’t just make nachos, you build them. So choose your chips wisely. They should be sturdy - at least medium thickness – and salted. To start your foundation, lightly coat a baking sheet in cooking spray. Spread a layer of chips on the pan. The chips should overlap a little so that toppings do not seep through and fuse to the pan in the oven. If you are having meat, distribute it on top of the chips fairly evenly. We use ground beef or turkey prepared as if for tacos with a spice packet, onion and tomato paste. The second structural element of your nachos is cheese. You simply have to have cheese. We use a shredded blend with cheddar and jack. Spread cheese thickly over the meat (if using). It needs to be thick enough to stick to the layer of chips that you will place on top of the cheese. Do not chintz out. Being generous with your cheese makes your meal go from nachos to NACHOS.
Now place that second layer of chips over the cheese. This time you don’t need to worry about them overlapping as much, and this layer can have a smaller circumference than the original layer of chips. You are building a mound, so it will be higher in the middle than the edges. Next do another layer of meat. After that, you get to improvise and add whatever other toppings you like. We add sliced black olives and pickled jalapenos. The last layer is another layer of cheese. This one is less for structural integrity and more for good looks and mouth-feel. But put enough cheese on there so that when it melts it has some substance to it and will stretch when you pull the chips apart.
Put your architecturally-sound nachos in a 450 degree oven for about 10 minutes. They are done when the chips around the edges begin to brown and the cheese on top begins to bubble and brown. The point of baking your nachos is to fuse the ingredients together, nothing more. Since the oven is so hot, keep a watchful eye on everything and check the pan at 7-8 minutes.
When you are satisfied with how the cheese has melted and fused everything together, pull the nachos out of the oven and serve with whatever appeals to you most. At our house we tend to just want a little Cholula sauce. But for company, we serve them with chopped scallions and sour cream as well. Whether you’re making a meal for one or feeding a crowd, building a good foundation ensures that you will enjoy the heck out of your NACHOS.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
take two sazaracs
Two sazeracs were in order when we got home from work. We'd made them the day before as well. The sazerac redux was motivated by the ugly reality that Kevin's paycheck never materialized last month. It's his department's fault, and the payroll department will not fix it until August 31st. Don't worry - we have emergency savings, we will not go without food or a roof over our heads. But this type of situation boils the blood, just like the North Carolina summer sun. We need something substantial and good to focus on. The sazerac, with a nice sturdy rye base all brightened up with Pernod and bitters, definitely fits the bill.
We always consult Mr. Boston when we are hankering for a cocktail. Rather than reprint their recipe here (since I wouldn't alter it) I found one on Chow that will work perfectly: http://www.chow.com/recipes/10330-sazerac. If you are at all inclined to like amber liquors, you should give the sazerac a try. All you need is rye (or whiskey), bitters (Mr. Boston calls for Peychaud's), Pernod (or other absinthe substitute), fresh lemon twists, sugar cubes (or 1/2 tsp. simple syrup per drink) and ice for chilling the glasses.
I like to list the ingredients here because it reminds me of my new passion: mise en place. It's just getting your workstation stocked and ready. But that is the part I have always rushed through, which means I often work with too little/poorly organized counter space or without some ingredients in reach (or even in the house). Now that I am finally recovered from back pain and can focus, I seem to have lost my patience for disorganization in the kitchen. It's like a switch has been flipped, and at age 33 I am all of a sudden using my ramekins as prep bowls and keeping my countertop clean and clear.
I find this pretty hilarious, since after 33 years of just jumping right into most endeavors, I have virtually no organizational skills in my repertoire. You may find this hard to believe, especially if you can picture the calm and collectedness I always attempt to project. Believe it. I have never kept a datebook/calendar longer than a month, even in grad school. My filing system is a large bin, overflowing. When we moved out of SF and I finally got rid of some old records, I had to pay $30 to shred the massive lot. If for some reason you are not convinced, you should visit me at work. I am one of those people who holds fast to the belief that if you can't see it, you will forget about it and it won't get done. So every tiny pending task sits out on my desk, haphazardly and at weird angles, collecting coffee stains and creases from things I set on top of them.
Sometimes I explain my ability to function despite the chaos I tend to encourage around myself as a testament to how well my mind is organized. Yay for my mind. But I am relieved to have finally reached a limit to my disorganization tolerance, even if it is only happening in the kitchen right now. We all have to start somewhere. And with a such a pretty mise en place for a sazerac, who could resist making one more? Take two sazeracs and call me when my husband gets paid.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
fake ice cream for dinner
Today has been one of those days. I am withholding the boring details. All you really need to know is that I resorted to eating fake ice cream (the soy-based stuff) for dinner. I could have heated up some soup or made due with more of what I had for lunch. But I was just not feeling it.
There’s mostly good news to report, which I’m hoping evens out a little of the badness of the nutritionally-bereft meal I just shared with you. The strained ligament in my back has decided to finally knock it off and no longer hurts or restricts my movement. A month-long battle with random fleas on the cats seems to have been won by Frontline, some serious vacuuming, laundry, upholstery pesticide spray and tons of elbow grease. We are also making progress on putting the house together. Kevin put up some snazzy wine glass shelves above the sideboard.
Until we settled on the shelves we were sure we needed a china cabinet, and there was simply no china cabinet to be had that fit our budget, our existing furniture and both of our tastes. The closest we came was a 1960s wooden bar cabinet with a fierce metal handle that was finally deemed, “too H.P. Lovecraft.”
In other good news, it was crazy temperate this past weekend and I got to make one of our favorite meals that just won’t work in the summer heat: spaghetti with meat sauce. As I’ve done before, I based my recipe on one that appears in The Best Light Recipe from the Editors of Cook’s Illustrated. I love using a really tasty healthy recipe and then fattening it up a bit. Do more people do this? Well you should, because it makes you feel like a genius. It’s so much easier than taking a fatty recipe and trying to keep the magic while also attempting to keep it real in terms of nutrition. But it only works if you start from a truly good healthy/light recipe source, like the folks at Cooks Illustrated. They may be wordy as all get out, but they have impeccable palates and will figure out every tiny way you can tweek your recipe to make your food taste exactly how you want it. Plus, they like science.
So on Sunday we opened a bottle of chianti and I got to work on the sauce. It takes a long time, and I recommend that you have a glass of wine to pleasantly smooth over the drawn out simmering parts. I am posting the recipe for a double batch, which can make up to 8 servings, at least for small appetites. You definitely will want this stuff in your freezer on days when you might otherwise find yourself reaching for the fake ice cream at dinner time. Here is a shot of my bounty.
My only excuse is that we ran out of pasta.
Meat Sauce for Pasta
Based on The Best Light Recipe by the Editors of Cook’s Illustrated
1 large or 2 small onions
2 Tablespoons olive oil
Salt, divided
8 medium garlic cloves (or to taste)
1 lb. grass-fed ground chuck*, divided
4 Tablespoons tomato paste
2 (28-oz) cans diced tomatoes
4 cups vegetable or chicken broth**
2 bay leaves
½ teaspoon red chili pepper flakes (or to taste)
Mise en place: chop the onions fine and mince the garlic. Measure out the remaining ingredients and puree the tomatoes in their juice until they reach your desired consistency (I like to put them in the food processor and pulse for about 5-10 seconds).
Build the sauce base: place the olive oil, the onions, and ½ to1 tsp.salt in a large sauté pan and heat over medium, covered, stirring occasionally, until they are soft. Add the garlic and stir for about 30 seconds (it will become aromatic). Turn the heat to medium-high and add ½ lb. of the ground beef. Break beef into small pieces and cook for about 5 minutes, until it no longer shows any pink. Stir in the tomato paste, mix in thoroughly and cook for about 2 minutes or until the tomato paste begins to brown.
Add liquid: add the pureed tomatoes, broth, bay leaf, pepper flakes, and about 1 tsp. of salt. Bring to a simmer, reduce heat to medium, and allow to simmer uncovered for 45 minutes to 1 hour, stirring occasionally.
Beef it up: Add the remaining ground beef and break it up into small pieces. Continue simmering the sauce until the beef is cooked through and the sauce is reduced to a desired consistency, about 30-35 minutes, stirring occasionally.
Refine the seasoning: Remove the bay leaf, and add any desired salt or seasoning.
It will be perfect for serving right then, but you can also freeze it for up to 6 months. It reheats very easily on the stovetop with a little added water.
Ingredient notes:
*We prefer grass-fed beef because the fat profile is pretty darn healthy, sporting Omega-3s and everything.
**I always use Better Than Bullion Vegetarian No Chicken Base instead of stock.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
the slow plunge
It’s a hot sunny day and I have no plans to go outside. Today is a stabilization day for the ligaments in my back. Sitting is swiftly becoming boring, so I’m standing at the butcher block in my kitchen as I type.
You can see it here, through the dining room doorway, with the paint samples we tested out for the dining room. Orange turned out to be a TERRIBLE idea, and the samples are now under several layers of paint, the topmost being a peachy vanilla that reminds me of our honeymoon in Charleston. It has a way of keeping light in the corners, unlike the previous color, which had a most drab effect on our moods. Our living room is now a Charleston-esque color as well. We selected a light blue-green that lends the space an airy, classy feel. Sometimes I look around and realize our palette might be construed as pastel. But these colors do something more complex than the word pastel can convey. They have a harmonious, intricate relationship with the light in the house. They transition from the first rays of sun in the morning to the bright elegance of the afternoon to the softness of the evening in such a knowing way that makes me wonder if the colors have an intelligence of their own. And these colors like to dance with other colors, like the bright reds and oranges on our mantel.
So many things have changed since I wrote last. We are living in Durham now, in love with our little house and new city. Kevin and I got married in Durham Central Park, surrounded by our amazing families and friends. I’ve been working as a permanent employee for 3 months now. The benefits seem so alien to me. I’ve got health insurance cards in my wallet and a giant life insurance policy arrived in the mail today. Talk about a morbid piece of mail. But some things have stayed very much the same. I still need this space to focus on my domestic life. Things have become somewhat of a blur in the process of moving & getting married, and that is partially due to my not taking the time to write. It’s awesome that I’ve got all this life in my life. But I’ll just be left with some variation of blur if I don’t take some time to write, to process, to share.
What I want to share today is the slow plunge. It’s a technique of Kevin’s. On mornings when we make coffee at home (which means, we somehow are able to deny the siren call of Joe Van Gogh’s, one of the best coffee shops that ever existed) we tend to make French press. It has more mouthfeel, probably due to the fact that there’s no paper filter to absorb the oil coating the beans. We aren’t sure if it actually enhances the flavor, but there are claims that pressing the coffee slowly avoids bruising the grounds and gives the coffee a more mellow character. So we practice the slow plunge. I spend maybe 8-10 seconds to press the coffee instead of 3. That’s doable.
Doing things slowly is a generally little scary for me. I really like doing things quickly, being productive, getting caught up in momentum, feeling that I am working towards mastery. Slowing things down leaves room for questions, doubt, and the possibility of losing direction. It’s no wonder I love the term slow plunge. “Plunge” totally hits upon the element of fear and yet the addition of “slow” makes it sound a bit ludicrous, laughable, like the danger is easily avoided. I’m keeping this in mind as I slow things way down to mend the ligaments in my back. The fact that my back has been hurting so much is a sign that I need to shift my momentum anyway. So I’m taking the plunge, slowing things down, and writing to stem the blur.
You can see it here, through the dining room doorway, with the paint samples we tested out for the dining room. Orange turned out to be a TERRIBLE idea, and the samples are now under several layers of paint, the topmost being a peachy vanilla that reminds me of our honeymoon in Charleston. It has a way of keeping light in the corners, unlike the previous color, which had a most drab effect on our moods. Our living room is now a Charleston-esque color as well. We selected a light blue-green that lends the space an airy, classy feel. Sometimes I look around and realize our palette might be construed as pastel. But these colors do something more complex than the word pastel can convey. They have a harmonious, intricate relationship with the light in the house. They transition from the first rays of sun in the morning to the bright elegance of the afternoon to the softness of the evening in such a knowing way that makes me wonder if the colors have an intelligence of their own. And these colors like to dance with other colors, like the bright reds and oranges on our mantel.
So many things have changed since I wrote last. We are living in Durham now, in love with our little house and new city. Kevin and I got married in Durham Central Park, surrounded by our amazing families and friends. I’ve been working as a permanent employee for 3 months now. The benefits seem so alien to me. I’ve got health insurance cards in my wallet and a giant life insurance policy arrived in the mail today. Talk about a morbid piece of mail. But some things have stayed very much the same. I still need this space to focus on my domestic life. Things have become somewhat of a blur in the process of moving & getting married, and that is partially due to my not taking the time to write. It’s awesome that I’ve got all this life in my life. But I’ll just be left with some variation of blur if I don’t take some time to write, to process, to share.
What I want to share today is the slow plunge. It’s a technique of Kevin’s. On mornings when we make coffee at home (which means, we somehow are able to deny the siren call of Joe Van Gogh’s, one of the best coffee shops that ever existed) we tend to make French press. It has more mouthfeel, probably due to the fact that there’s no paper filter to absorb the oil coating the beans. We aren’t sure if it actually enhances the flavor, but there are claims that pressing the coffee slowly avoids bruising the grounds and gives the coffee a more mellow character. So we practice the slow plunge. I spend maybe 8-10 seconds to press the coffee instead of 3. That’s doable.
Doing things slowly is a generally little scary for me. I really like doing things quickly, being productive, getting caught up in momentum, feeling that I am working towards mastery. Slowing things down leaves room for questions, doubt, and the possibility of losing direction. It’s no wonder I love the term slow plunge. “Plunge” totally hits upon the element of fear and yet the addition of “slow” makes it sound a bit ludicrous, laughable, like the danger is easily avoided. I’m keeping this in mind as I slow things way down to mend the ligaments in my back. The fact that my back has been hurting so much is a sign that I need to shift my momentum anyway. So I’m taking the plunge, slowing things down, and writing to stem the blur.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
party * time
It is always surprising how much I actually like cleaning when I have guests coming over. It is the perfect activity to burn off party jitters and it is fun to watch as your home slowly starts looking its best. I love that moment when you put the last thing in place and suddenly the stage is set. Our place looked far from perfect – cat hair is ever present on all upholstered surfaces and we are not the sort of people who dust regularly. But there was a distinct moment when we looked up and the place was ready. It proclaimed: cue the music, light the candles, and bring out the candy dishes, because we are having a party.
Kevin’s concept was simple: drinks and dessert. He asked that people just bring themselves, but if they desired to bring something, a gluten-free sweet or a drink to share would be welcome. Two guests brought desserts they had made from scratch – a very decadent flourless chocolate torte replete with caramel sauce and some wonderful, crisp chocolate chip cookies. Other guests poured in with all manner of toffee and chocolate barks, as well as luscious red wine. Everyone milled about, meeting new people and sampling the sweets. It was so deeply satisfying to have a house full of new, lovely friends.
One of my favorite things about the South is that people say they are leaving, but then stay for another half an hour. Kevin calls it the Southern goodbye. It is not done out of good manners, it’s a result of wanting to stay longer and linger over the interesting things to say that only manage to pop in your head the moment you put your coat on. So while someone may have to go, they will take their time about it, and you can continue savor the party. It’s very charming to me that just because someone has announced they are leaving doesn’t mean you can’t have a perfectly engaging long conversation with them on their way out the door – in fact, it’s encouraged.
Eventually, all the guests left. We did the dishes and played with the cats and poured over all the great little moments of the night. In the morning our house still looked good and the champagne glasses in the dish rack struck me as downright insouciant. They seemed sparkly and smug knowing what fun they had facilitated the night before. While I don’t feel smug, I do feel a little sparkly inside after having such a nice get-together.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
taco night!
Truth be told, a few weeks ago I’d lingered over a taco seasoning packet, much like the Old El Paso ones my mother favored for taco night. This one promised no MSG and no gluten ingredients. I felt ashamed as I handled the packet, worried someone might see me. Seasoning packets are in the same category as bottled salad dressing and Molly McButter – a category of products I had decided was not for me. If you rely on these products, how can you learn to season your food properly? Since I was committed to learning, I decided a long time ago to beef up my spice collection, purchase a variety of vinegars, keep lemons and garlic in the house, and use a lot of salt. Becoming familiar with how to use these ingredients has brought me some confidence, and apparently a bit of snobbishness. Despite wanting the strangely alluring packet, I put it back – after reading the ingredient label and confirming that it wasn’t something I couldn’t make myself.
As I registered my intrigue at witnessing someone purchase hard taco shells, I remembered this taco seasoning packet. Before my internal censor kicked in, I suggested taco night to Kevin. His face lit up. We quickly loaded up the seasoning, shells, organic ground beef and a fancy ‘Mexican’ blend of shredded cheese. Tonight was going to be taco night, and we were excited.
We both grew up loving taco night. My mother remembers me telling her as a child that we always laughed more as a family when she made tacos for dinner. Kevin has plenty of positive associations with taco night as well. He makes great food shoveling gestures as he describes how he used to fill the taco shells at the table & chow down on them.
When we got home, I realized for the first time that I’d never made tacos before. Luckily there are instructions right on the little seasoning packet. I started with the suggested chopped onion sauté and then added the beef and the spices. It surprised me to learn that a can of tomato sauce was recommended. I didn’t have tomato sauce, but I did have some tomato paste, which I stirred into the beef just before taking it off heat. I was scared to taste it, afraid I’d outgrown my taste for the kind of tacos I loved as a child. But this was taco night. We were destined to have a good time. So I sampled a bit of the beef on a chip and it was good. It was rather spicy, in fact. We now expectantly set about the task of structuring our tacos to very particular specifications. Separately, we grew up preferring to layer the hot, seasoned beef in the shell first, then sprinkle on the cheese, so it would melt. After that one would pile on other cold-temperature toppings, which included iceberg lettuce in both of our houses. My mother would always have chopped tomatoes and sliced black olives on hand. Kevin’s mother provided salsa. The one element we added to our taco night that had not been present in either of our childhoods was avocado slices.
We each started off with two tacos and couldn’t help but fix a third. It was discovered that one must heat up the taco shells in the oven, instead of eating them right out of the package, despite how impatient one is on taco night to get to the taco eating part. We ate, we laughed, we remembered fun family dinners, and we made a tiny sailboat out of broken shell pieces and an avocado slice. The phrase “I love taco night” was uttered several times throughout the evening.
It’s hard not to get rigid about food rules or let my food snobbishness take over in the grocery store. But this time I’m really glad I followed my intuition. Our dinner involved a seasoning packet, but one that opened up a feeling we both wanted – memories of family dinners where our mothers didn’t have to work too hard and together, everyone ate happily.
The next day Kevin introduced me to his family’s tradition of making taco salads for lunch with the leftovers from taco night. He lamented the fact that we don’t have Wishbone Italian Dressing, which was a keystone ingredient for his childhood palate. We used homemade white balsamic vinaigrette to which we’d added a little garlic powder. It sufficed. But I think we’re going to buy some Wishbone dressing.
Monday, February 8, 2010
a pause
My Dad recently unearthed this picture of me; I’m about 5 years old here. It captures something that feels relevant to this moment: it’s a pause. Lately my more involved domestic undertakings have been turning out wonky. The no-fail Bolognese sauce recipe suddenly produced much too watery results. The comforting mushroom risotto dish which required a lot of arm strength turned out bland and unappealing. While the latter disappointment was mostly caused by a dearth of parmesan cheese, I can still take a hint. I am not at the top of my game. I need to pause.
A week ago I lost my Grandma. My body has been reacting to the grief with tightness and pain in the muscles around my sacrum. What with the recent severe weather, the grief and the pain, it seems there is a strange confluence of forces acting to keep me at home, resting, and still.
Luckily, there is nothing wrong with feeling down, with feeling grief. I am grateful to have had some extra free time during this past week. Given that my concentration has been a bit compromised, it’s a relief that my schedule was mostly cleared of important tasks – so I was not at risk to muck up anything terribly vital.
My time off at home has been filled with lots of little wedding-related tasks and coffee and slumbering cats. I’ve assigned myself the project of.uploading photos to our wedding website. It seems to be well chosen, as the photos of our good times in SF, roadtrip across the country, and new life here prove to be smile-inducing. Projects, if selected carefully, help me immensely. I love feeling productive. I have ideas of moving on to making paper flowers later. But I am trying not to get too ambitious. I need tasks with small steps that I can undo if I get something wrong. Since paper flowers involve quick-drying glue, they should probably be put on hold for now.
Yesterday I put together a simple recipe that I’d like to share with you. Since it has so few ingredients I knew it would be perfect for right now. The concept came from my trusty copy of The Silver Palate New Basics (original, not 25th anniversary edition). After reading its suggestion to add Cointreau to the milk/egg mixture I got the idea to throw in some bourbon, since I like bourbon’s caramel notes.
French toast with lemon and bourbon
2 eggs, beaten
about ½ cup milk (eyeball what looks good to you)
1 oz bourbon (I used Bulleit)
1 tsp lemon zest
tiny pinch nutmeg
5-6 pieces of bread, very lightly toasted
butter, for pan
maple syrup, warmed for topping
Combine first 5 ingredients and let mixture sit for 15 minutes. I’m not sure if this is necessary, but I did it and I was happy with the way the flavors combined. The bread should be toasted very lightly, just enough to take a little of the moisture out of it – we don’t want soggy French toast. Put your frying pan over medium heat and melt the butter. When pan is hot enough, stir the egg mixture. Immediately after stirring, dip the pieces of bread into it, on both sides. You may let them sit/soak for a few seconds, but be careful of sogginess here too. However, if your bread is multigrain you probably should let it sit for a few seconds, since it is harder for very grainy bread to absorb a coating. Place the coated bread in the pan and let cook until a nice golden brown color develops. Flip the toast and let the same color develop on the other side. If your pan is small or you are cooking them in batches, be careful to lower the heat after the first batch, or the pan will be too hot and the golden brown color will develop too quickly.
Serve the French toast with warm maple syrup.
The next time you need to pause, but you also need a nice breakfast, give this a try.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Snow days
Here in NC, if there is a “snow event,” things tend to shut down quickly. The roads are not easily cleared and there are too few plows and salt trucks. So here we are, at home, staring at a blanket of snow outside.
The last snow day I remember was in1991, the day I was supposed to get my braces off. My orthodontist called me himself to announce the bad news that none of his staff could get to the office to yank those dreaded things off my teeth. This weekend is far superior to that experience. We haven’t done much. But that’s the beauty of it.
Our one major excursion was a walk to the local market in search of hot chocolate. We were not the only people to venture into the world, but there were very few signs of life outside. By the time we reached the market it was 5pm, an hour past the store’s appointed severe weather closing time. We didn’t care – hot chocolate is not a necessity. At least, it didn’t feel like one at the time. Something came over us on the way home and we decided to run the last few blocks. It inspired a perfect giddiness. Something had cracked open the normal order of things and now almost everyone was inside with no plans to leave the house for days. Being outside felt like silliness itself. Our lungs filled with cold air, we laughed our way back inside.
The cats are logging some serious lap time. Quick meals have been in order, to maximize the time spent with those little guys and huddled under blankets. Strangely enough, not all the meals we’ve been enjoying are served hot. Today I wanted my tuna and chickpea salad for lunch. I stumbled on the idea for it months ago after having an impressive tuna and white bean salad at the wonderful La Osteria in San Francisco. Fresh out of white beans, I experimented with chickpeas. I also swapped out the balsamic vinegar in their version for lemon juice. The results were good – I had created a light, bright and filling meal. But something was missing. Every time I made it I wanted to add a depth of flavor; it needed a darker, almost dirty note. This weekend, my mind cleared from traipsing through the snow, I finally hit that note with the simplest of additions: freshly ground pepper. Finely ground, coarsely ground: I don’t care. But freshly ground pepper matters. It has a meaty flavor, deep and dark on the back of the tongue in addition to the spark that we associate with pepper. Don’t be shy with it.
Tuna Chickpea Salad with Lemon & Capers
Ingredients:
1 6-ounce can tuna, packed in water, drained
1 15-ounce can garbanzo beans, rinsed & drained
2-3 stalks celery, chopped fine
1-2 Tbsp capers
pinch red pepper flakes
1-2 Tbsp olive oil
juice of ½ to ¾ lemon
freshly ground pepper, to taste
Directions:
Add tuna, garbanzo beans, celery, capers (to taste), and red pepper flakes to a medium-sized mixing bowl. Add 1 Tbsp. of olive oil and the juice of ½ lemon to mixing bowl and combine all ingredients. Taste salad to see if it needs more olive oil, lemon juice, or other seasoning. Cover bowl and chill for 15-20 minutes before serving.
Makes 2 large or 3 small servings. Salad will keep in the refrigerator for 4-5 days.
Best enjoyed under a blanket with a cat on your lap.
The last snow day I remember was in1991, the day I was supposed to get my braces off. My orthodontist called me himself to announce the bad news that none of his staff could get to the office to yank those dreaded things off my teeth. This weekend is far superior to that experience. We haven’t done much. But that’s the beauty of it.
Our one major excursion was a walk to the local market in search of hot chocolate. We were not the only people to venture into the world, but there were very few signs of life outside. By the time we reached the market it was 5pm, an hour past the store’s appointed severe weather closing time. We didn’t care – hot chocolate is not a necessity. At least, it didn’t feel like one at the time. Something came over us on the way home and we decided to run the last few blocks. It inspired a perfect giddiness. Something had cracked open the normal order of things and now almost everyone was inside with no plans to leave the house for days. Being outside felt like silliness itself. Our lungs filled with cold air, we laughed our way back inside.
The cats are logging some serious lap time. Quick meals have been in order, to maximize the time spent with those little guys and huddled under blankets. Strangely enough, not all the meals we’ve been enjoying are served hot. Today I wanted my tuna and chickpea salad for lunch. I stumbled on the idea for it months ago after having an impressive tuna and white bean salad at the wonderful La Osteria in San Francisco. Fresh out of white beans, I experimented with chickpeas. I also swapped out the balsamic vinegar in their version for lemon juice. The results were good – I had created a light, bright and filling meal. But something was missing. Every time I made it I wanted to add a depth of flavor; it needed a darker, almost dirty note. This weekend, my mind cleared from traipsing through the snow, I finally hit that note with the simplest of additions: freshly ground pepper. Finely ground, coarsely ground: I don’t care. But freshly ground pepper matters. It has a meaty flavor, deep and dark on the back of the tongue in addition to the spark that we associate with pepper. Don’t be shy with it.
Tuna Chickpea Salad with Lemon & Capers
Ingredients:
1 6-ounce can tuna, packed in water, drained
1 15-ounce can garbanzo beans, rinsed & drained
2-3 stalks celery, chopped fine
1-2 Tbsp capers
pinch red pepper flakes
1-2 Tbsp olive oil
juice of ½ to ¾ lemon
freshly ground pepper, to taste
Directions:
Add tuna, garbanzo beans, celery, capers (to taste), and red pepper flakes to a medium-sized mixing bowl. Add 1 Tbsp. of olive oil and the juice of ½ lemon to mixing bowl and combine all ingredients. Taste salad to see if it needs more olive oil, lemon juice, or other seasoning. Cover bowl and chill for 15-20 minutes before serving.
Makes 2 large or 3 small servings. Salad will keep in the refrigerator for 4-5 days.
Best enjoyed under a blanket with a cat on your lap.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Mollie and Florence
Lately my moments at home have been dominated by the impending reality that my grandmother is not long for this world. She is my mother’s mother, Florence. I did not have the luxury of seeing her very often, as I grew up in Michigan and she lives in Portland, OR.
When I moved to San Francisco and the distance to Portland was shortened, we were able to spend time together on Thanksgiving weekends for 5 years running. During those visits she taught me how to make pastry crust and properly assemble a killer apple pie. She once made me an unforgettable meal of Pacific-caught salmon, asparagus, and spinach salad with her famous bacon vinaigrette. I can still recall choking on the vinegar fumes because I breathed in too quickly as I devoured the salad. We would always make one wild card dessert to round out the traditional Thanksgiving apple, apple-mince and pumpkin pies. One year it was a coconut cream pie to which my grandmother added almond extract, a trick she had learned from the cook at her high school cafeteria. Another year she indulged me in my desire to make a pumpkin cheesecake served with whip cream and caramel sauce. My grandmother always wanted things done her way in the kitchen and wasn’t easy to please. But she taught me so much in that kitchen: basic baking skills, family recipes, and an approach to cooking that values tradition, variety, joy, and always learning new things.
I’d like to say that I’ve been making a bunch of pies and other stuff to nurture my sense of connection to my Grandma. But I haven’t. I’ve been sitting on the couch and eating too many chips. So many, Kevin had to take the bag away. Luckily he has been on the couch with me, lending me his shoulder as I feel the pain of being about to lose my Grandma.
He’s been listening to stories about my grandmother. I explained to him that Florence did not know how to cook when she married my grandfather, Adam. Adam was a particular challenge in the food arena, given his juvenile diabetes. My mother recently told me that my grandmother often served wine jellies for dessert at their dinner parties, because they have a very low sugar content. Florence would never allow the guests to help with the dishes, because my grandparents savored those moments of reminiscing the evening’s socializing while tidying up in the kitchen together.
It’s helped me to tell the stories, since I’m not at a point in the grieving process where I can honor my Grandma in the kitchen. This weekend I’ll be making a Bolognese sauce for a hearty winter spaghetti dinner and freezing some sauce for later use. We’ll be eating well and filling the apartment with the aroma of onions and tomatoes and that deep, almost caramel scent that results from slow cooking.
As I picture us enjoying the meal and then clearing away the plates, I can see one way in which I am strongly connected to my grandmother right now. The stories I told Kevin made me realize just how amazing an influence my grandmother has had on me, down to my understanding of married domestic life. It may have taken a while for me to find the right man, but I managed to pick one that I can enjoy washing dishes with while we discuss the evening’s happy moments.
When I moved to San Francisco and the distance to Portland was shortened, we were able to spend time together on Thanksgiving weekends for 5 years running. During those visits she taught me how to make pastry crust and properly assemble a killer apple pie. She once made me an unforgettable meal of Pacific-caught salmon, asparagus, and spinach salad with her famous bacon vinaigrette. I can still recall choking on the vinegar fumes because I breathed in too quickly as I devoured the salad. We would always make one wild card dessert to round out the traditional Thanksgiving apple, apple-mince and pumpkin pies. One year it was a coconut cream pie to which my grandmother added almond extract, a trick she had learned from the cook at her high school cafeteria. Another year she indulged me in my desire to make a pumpkin cheesecake served with whip cream and caramel sauce. My grandmother always wanted things done her way in the kitchen and wasn’t easy to please. But she taught me so much in that kitchen: basic baking skills, family recipes, and an approach to cooking that values tradition, variety, joy, and always learning new things.
I’d like to say that I’ve been making a bunch of pies and other stuff to nurture my sense of connection to my Grandma. But I haven’t. I’ve been sitting on the couch and eating too many chips. So many, Kevin had to take the bag away. Luckily he has been on the couch with me, lending me his shoulder as I feel the pain of being about to lose my Grandma.
He’s been listening to stories about my grandmother. I explained to him that Florence did not know how to cook when she married my grandfather, Adam. Adam was a particular challenge in the food arena, given his juvenile diabetes. My mother recently told me that my grandmother often served wine jellies for dessert at their dinner parties, because they have a very low sugar content. Florence would never allow the guests to help with the dishes, because my grandparents savored those moments of reminiscing the evening’s socializing while tidying up in the kitchen together.
It’s helped me to tell the stories, since I’m not at a point in the grieving process where I can honor my Grandma in the kitchen. This weekend I’ll be making a Bolognese sauce for a hearty winter spaghetti dinner and freezing some sauce for later use. We’ll be eating well and filling the apartment with the aroma of onions and tomatoes and that deep, almost caramel scent that results from slow cooking.
As I picture us enjoying the meal and then clearing away the plates, I can see one way in which I am strongly connected to my grandmother right now. The stories I told Kevin made me realize just how amazing an influence my grandmother has had on me, down to my understanding of married domestic life. It may have taken a while for me to find the right man, but I managed to pick one that I can enjoy washing dishes with while we discuss the evening’s happy moments.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
a celebration of peanut butter and honey
This morning I bit into a celebratory breakfast of toast spread with peanut butter and a generous drizzle of honey. I have good news: one of my part-time jobs is now becoming a full-time job. There is even the possibility (though not a guarantee) that I will become a permanent employee, with benefits. But here is the true, immediate payoff: I will now have two days off in a row to rub together, every week. Insert several thousand exclamation points here.
While this blog is dedicated to sharing my domestic life, it bears mention that lately I’ve been coming to the conclusion my home life and my work life are inextricably linked. They are separate worlds, but what I need from my time at home definitely changes with each shift in my work.
What I needed last night, as I tried to wrap my mind around the impending change, was to let myself feel how exhausted I’ve been. Kevin and I had enjoyed a poor man’s feast out at our favorite local Mexican restaurant. We came home stuffed full of corn chips, pork, and salsa verde. With my belly so abused, it didn’t take long to feel the five months of six-day work weeks add up. I made it to the couch, but it was unfathomable to sit upright. Two cushions joined forces to stabilize my fetal position as I reflected upon just how much work-related desperation I was trying to sublimate with this blog.
When time for bed approached, I pried myself off the couch clumsily. As is my routine, I navigated my way to the kitchen sink and reached for the contents of my lunch bag. Carefully I washed my thermos, my Tupperware and my Sigg bottle. I cleared the grinds out of my Bialetti stove-top espresso maker and rinsed it clean. Usually, I dread these tasks. They mean that I have been at work this day and I will be at work the next. But last night I was surprised. Somehow I felt lighter.
My dreams are a blur except for a snippet about an exercise I started doing to firm up my abs. I awoke disappointed that I hadn’t really done any exercises at all. But it was just a little easier to get out of bed today. My head immediately started filling with all these things I wanted to do, now that I will have more precious time at home. I was awash in images of roast chicken and chicken pot pie, ideas of learning how to put together a weekly meal plan, and a desire to start documenting the paper flowers I’m making for the wedding.
As I breathe deeper and acclimate to having more time in the domestic sphere, you can expect to find roast chickens and meal plans and handmade paper flowers here. In the mean time, I highly recommend a meal or snack of peanut butter and honey on toast. There is something so joyful and comforting about slightly melty peanut butter with a sticky glaze of honey on warm bread. Lingering over it this morning, my thoughts and plans faded into simple pleasure. My mind was clear and a smile materialized on my face. You may not have a radical shift in your work life to celebrate, but I’m sure you can find something to serve as an appropriate occasion.
While this blog is dedicated to sharing my domestic life, it bears mention that lately I’ve been coming to the conclusion my home life and my work life are inextricably linked. They are separate worlds, but what I need from my time at home definitely changes with each shift in my work.
What I needed last night, as I tried to wrap my mind around the impending change, was to let myself feel how exhausted I’ve been. Kevin and I had enjoyed a poor man’s feast out at our favorite local Mexican restaurant. We came home stuffed full of corn chips, pork, and salsa verde. With my belly so abused, it didn’t take long to feel the five months of six-day work weeks add up. I made it to the couch, but it was unfathomable to sit upright. Two cushions joined forces to stabilize my fetal position as I reflected upon just how much work-related desperation I was trying to sublimate with this blog.
When time for bed approached, I pried myself off the couch clumsily. As is my routine, I navigated my way to the kitchen sink and reached for the contents of my lunch bag. Carefully I washed my thermos, my Tupperware and my Sigg bottle. I cleared the grinds out of my Bialetti stove-top espresso maker and rinsed it clean. Usually, I dread these tasks. They mean that I have been at work this day and I will be at work the next. But last night I was surprised. Somehow I felt lighter.
My dreams are a blur except for a snippet about an exercise I started doing to firm up my abs. I awoke disappointed that I hadn’t really done any exercises at all. But it was just a little easier to get out of bed today. My head immediately started filling with all these things I wanted to do, now that I will have more precious time at home. I was awash in images of roast chicken and chicken pot pie, ideas of learning how to put together a weekly meal plan, and a desire to start documenting the paper flowers I’m making for the wedding.
As I breathe deeper and acclimate to having more time in the domestic sphere, you can expect to find roast chickens and meal plans and handmade paper flowers here. In the mean time, I highly recommend a meal or snack of peanut butter and honey on toast. There is something so joyful and comforting about slightly melty peanut butter with a sticky glaze of honey on warm bread. Lingering over it this morning, my thoughts and plans faded into simple pleasure. My mind was clear and a smile materialized on my face. You may not have a radical shift in your work life to celebrate, but I’m sure you can find something to serve as an appropriate occasion.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
purrs, lentils, and malbec
My apartment smells like butter and onions. I am drinking a rather satisfying glass of $5 Malbec during a lull in the tasks associated with my favorite lentil & chard recipe. The boy cat is purring up a storm on my chest. His affection has increased since we restricted the kitty bitties to a measured amount rather than the 24-hour buffet. I am still a little zonked from the 3 hours Kevin and I just spent at Crate & Barrel pouring over merchandise with discrimination and glee. Registering was our reward for getting out the save-the-date cards last week. They were designed, printed, stamped, and hand addressed all by us. Our house was quite a little Detroit-style assembly line last weekend. While that was good to get done, we definitely needed something involving scanners and cheese domes today.
You see, today is Sunday. It is the one day I do not work. So technically, it’s my fun day. I never thought it would be; that line in the song Manic Monday always rang hollow to me. Ever since I grasped the idea of there being seven days to the week, I have been aware of how absolutely distinct my associations are with each day. My brain even assigned each day a color. Monday is red – a bright red, the color of emergencies. That red taints Sunday, which is a kinda mellow, pumpkin-y orange. But here I am, loving Sunday up. The way I look at it, it’s pretty much my responsibility to get the most joy and relaxation out of Sundays as possible.
Enter the killer recipe I got from Cooks Illustrated for french green lentils with chard (and a second glass of wine). The only mistake the amazing folks at America’s Test Kitchen made was to use olive oil instead of butter. I will forgive them though, since the recipe comes from their The Best Light Recipe collection. Also, this recipe pre-dates the things we learned from Michael Pollan’s In Defense of Food, especially the part about full-fat dairy from pastured cows. My butter comes from Maple View Farms, and I can assure you that their cows are happy in the pasture. Here is my version of their fabulous lentils with chard:
Ingredients:
2 med. onions
2 bunches chard – green, red, rainbow – any will do
2 Tbsp. butter (preferably from local, pastured cows)
3.5 cups chicken or vegetable broth
2 cups Puy (French green) lentils
1 tsp. dried thyme
Juice of one lemon, or to taste
Salt, to taste
1) Chop the onions and place them in a dutch oven. Separate the chard leaves from the stems. Chop the chard stems and place them in the dutch oven along with the onion, 1 Tbsp. of the butter and 1 tsp. salt. Stir well, turn the heat up to medium, and cover. Stirring occasionally, cook until onion and chard stems have softened, about 10 minutes. Slice the chard leaves into 1.5 inch wide strips and set aside.
2) Add the broth (I used Better than Bullion No Chicken Base), lentils & thyme to the onion mixture. Bring to a boil, uncovered. Then cover & reduce the heat to low. Stirring occasionally, cook until the lentils are almost done – they will have the slightest bit of tooth to them. This should take around 35-40 minutes.
3) Remove the cover and add the chard leaves to the lentil mixture in several batches, stirring with each one. Allow lentils to cook for 8-10 minutes more, until they are properly tender. Take dutch oven off heat and add the lemon juice, remaining 1 Tbsp. of butter and salt to taste.
This makes about 6 generous entrée servings which freeze quite well. Given each one only has 1/3 a Tbsp. of butter and about 300 calories each, you are getting quite a healthy meal. If you want to make it part of a larger meal, decrease the serving size and serve the lentils with a nicely sautéed chicken breast or grilled pork sausage as well as a salad with garlicky balsamic vinaigrette.
And enjoy your Sunday!
You see, today is Sunday. It is the one day I do not work. So technically, it’s my fun day. I never thought it would be; that line in the song Manic Monday always rang hollow to me. Ever since I grasped the idea of there being seven days to the week, I have been aware of how absolutely distinct my associations are with each day. My brain even assigned each day a color. Monday is red – a bright red, the color of emergencies. That red taints Sunday, which is a kinda mellow, pumpkin-y orange. But here I am, loving Sunday up. The way I look at it, it’s pretty much my responsibility to get the most joy and relaxation out of Sundays as possible.
Enter the killer recipe I got from Cooks Illustrated for french green lentils with chard (and a second glass of wine). The only mistake the amazing folks at America’s Test Kitchen made was to use olive oil instead of butter. I will forgive them though, since the recipe comes from their The Best Light Recipe collection. Also, this recipe pre-dates the things we learned from Michael Pollan’s In Defense of Food, especially the part about full-fat dairy from pastured cows. My butter comes from Maple View Farms, and I can assure you that their cows are happy in the pasture. Here is my version of their fabulous lentils with chard:
Ingredients:
2 med. onions
2 bunches chard – green, red, rainbow – any will do
2 Tbsp. butter (preferably from local, pastured cows)
3.5 cups chicken or vegetable broth
2 cups Puy (French green) lentils
1 tsp. dried thyme
Juice of one lemon, or to taste
Salt, to taste
1) Chop the onions and place them in a dutch oven. Separate the chard leaves from the stems. Chop the chard stems and place them in the dutch oven along with the onion, 1 Tbsp. of the butter and 1 tsp. salt. Stir well, turn the heat up to medium, and cover. Stirring occasionally, cook until onion and chard stems have softened, about 10 minutes. Slice the chard leaves into 1.5 inch wide strips and set aside.
2) Add the broth (I used Better than Bullion No Chicken Base), lentils & thyme to the onion mixture. Bring to a boil, uncovered. Then cover & reduce the heat to low. Stirring occasionally, cook until the lentils are almost done – they will have the slightest bit of tooth to them. This should take around 35-40 minutes.
3) Remove the cover and add the chard leaves to the lentil mixture in several batches, stirring with each one. Allow lentils to cook for 8-10 minutes more, until they are properly tender. Take dutch oven off heat and add the lemon juice, remaining 1 Tbsp. of butter and salt to taste.
This makes about 6 generous entrée servings which freeze quite well. Given each one only has 1/3 a Tbsp. of butter and about 300 calories each, you are getting quite a healthy meal. If you want to make it part of a larger meal, decrease the serving size and serve the lentils with a nicely sautéed chicken breast or grilled pork sausage as well as a salad with garlicky balsamic vinaigrette.
And enjoy your Sunday!
Friday, January 22, 2010
The low down
The truth is, I need this blog. It’s a way to focus me, to ground me, to hone a practice, and become accountable to the parts of me that need much more than my default hurry-up-and-relax approach. You see, my life is teeming with life. Let’s start with the good stuff: I am getting married to an amazing man – Kevin - in June. North Carolina, my new home state, is a fabulous place to live. I am lucky enough to have 2 part-time jobs that are rife with wonderful co-workers. My fiancé and I have two adorable kittens. We are going to move to a fabulous house in Durham in April. We live close to his kind, thoughtful and generous parents. We already have friends in the area, which is an accomplishment and a blessing after only 5.5 months living here. The wedding we are planning is going to be awesomeness incarnate.
There is, of course, a whole set of negatives that go along with these positives (I am truly attempting not to whine here): The wedding planning and budget are big monsters. I am grieving for what I gave up in California - extraordinary friends, natural beauty everywhere, a lifestyle that did not require a car, and a strong sense of who I am in that context. I work 6-days a week for about a third of the pay I earned in San Francisco. The kittens cause adorable wreckage wherever they go. For now we live in an apartment that gets very little light, giving one the feeling of being in a shoe box with a few holes poked in either end. With our demanding schedules, we rarely have the time (or energy) to see family or friends.
So there it is, the low down on what is going on with my life. Whew! Are you exhausted just from reading it? When I got home from work yesterday I was very focused on the content of the paragraph immediately above. But with this blog in mind, I envisioned using my home life to create the kind of space I need to get back to appreciating the content of paragraph numero uno. What did I do? I cleaned the bathroom.
Backing up for a second: I am not the type of person that could ever be labeled a clean freak. There are certain things that I like a certain way, and I get a little rigid about them. But those are pretty few and far between – mostly just the bathroom cabinet and the fridge door. Oh, I should add the kitchen counter and the dish rack. Perhaps I’m being a little conservative here. Kevin could give you a more realistic account. But when it comes to the bathroom, as long as the stuff in the cabinet is organized, I can put up with a whole lot of mess. This high mess threshold is bad. Why? Because the litterbox is in there.
Let’s not go into the specifics of how gross a litterbox can make a bathroom. If you have an imagination like me, you are already picturing it. Sorry. Suffice to say, dirty litter even found its way into our bathtub. I saved that for last. I dug in, and methodically wiped away the grime that I’ve been pretending doesn’t bother me.
That’s the key: I think I have a high mess threshold, that a mess doesn’t affect me negatively. But really, I’m just neglecting myself by living with grime.
My clean bathroom is not perfect. There are fresh paw prints on the counter and I missed a couple spots. But I did something small to make my home and my life a little better. I decided I deserved a nicer environment and I did something about it. I probably could have done anything from reading an enriching book to making a nourishing meal in order to get back to a more positive attitude. Knowing that makes me smile.
There is, of course, a whole set of negatives that go along with these positives (I am truly attempting not to whine here): The wedding planning and budget are big monsters. I am grieving for what I gave up in California - extraordinary friends, natural beauty everywhere, a lifestyle that did not require a car, and a strong sense of who I am in that context. I work 6-days a week for about a third of the pay I earned in San Francisco. The kittens cause adorable wreckage wherever they go. For now we live in an apartment that gets very little light, giving one the feeling of being in a shoe box with a few holes poked in either end. With our demanding schedules, we rarely have the time (or energy) to see family or friends.
So there it is, the low down on what is going on with my life. Whew! Are you exhausted just from reading it? When I got home from work yesterday I was very focused on the content of the paragraph immediately above. But with this blog in mind, I envisioned using my home life to create the kind of space I need to get back to appreciating the content of paragraph numero uno. What did I do? I cleaned the bathroom.
Backing up for a second: I am not the type of person that could ever be labeled a clean freak. There are certain things that I like a certain way, and I get a little rigid about them. But those are pretty few and far between – mostly just the bathroom cabinet and the fridge door. Oh, I should add the kitchen counter and the dish rack. Perhaps I’m being a little conservative here. Kevin could give you a more realistic account. But when it comes to the bathroom, as long as the stuff in the cabinet is organized, I can put up with a whole lot of mess. This high mess threshold is bad. Why? Because the litterbox is in there.
Let’s not go into the specifics of how gross a litterbox can make a bathroom. If you have an imagination like me, you are already picturing it. Sorry. Suffice to say, dirty litter even found its way into our bathtub. I saved that for last. I dug in, and methodically wiped away the grime that I’ve been pretending doesn’t bother me.
That’s the key: I think I have a high mess threshold, that a mess doesn’t affect me negatively. But really, I’m just neglecting myself by living with grime.
My clean bathroom is not perfect. There are fresh paw prints on the counter and I missed a couple spots. But I did something small to make my home and my life a little better. I decided I deserved a nicer environment and I did something about it. I probably could have done anything from reading an enriching book to making a nourishing meal in order to get back to a more positive attitude. Knowing that makes me smile.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
A beginning
Welcome to my blog. This is an account of how I am cultivating a radical domestic life.
I started this blog with the realization that I want to get more out of my life at home. My tendency is to be very focused on getting things done so that I can hurry up and relax. You can imagine how well the hurry up and relax philosophy actually works. So my goal is to become more present with myself through the domestic arts: cooking, baking, entertaining, crafting, canning, etc. And I want to share it with you.
Thank you for joining me here, as I breathe life in to my home, my hands, my writing, and a connection between all of them.
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