Crumbs on the Floor

January 22, 2012

Back in the kitchen again; things are well with my soul. There are no pressing questions that need attending, no decisions that need making. I answer only to the boil, simmer, crackle, melt. From where I prepare vegetables I can see children with kazoos across the yard and I can hear the new neighbors moving furniture upstairs. I wiggle my toes on the linoleum and I can feel a few breadcrumbs leftover from before Christmas. It’s good to be here, good to be home.

January has lived up to it’s reputation. Turbulence. Upheaval. Shifting. Stirring. The boozy eve of the new year has long since passed, but it wasn’t until today that it felt like the glass ball actually stopped dropping. I fell in love (or lust?) with a new city on the first, my intuition took a sabbatical around the third and by the thirteenth (until, well, yesterday) I was scrambling on the floor searching for my good sense. New places, new faces, and new ideas shook me in ways that were at once thrilling and dislocating. A strong under-toe of emotion leeched at my ankles. Panic set in. Suddenly I found myself clinging to things in the temporal world to validate and repair the disequilibrium I felt at my center.

Who are you? What will you do? And, where are you going? 

I held on. I pushed away from the ledge. I wrote. I forgot. I remembered. On the plane home I let it rush in. We (humans) can be so hard ourselves when we get off track. We fight those ugly parts of our being so fervently without stopping to look at the mess and think about it before cleaning it up. I’m generally in the “one foot in front of the other” camp of life wisdom, but sometimes it’s okay not to move at all. Just sit. Kneel. Stand in the kitchen with breadcrumbs on the floor. Just be there. Just swim in it for a little. See what comes up.

It may take a day, three, or a whole lunar cycle. It settles. I promise.

Sweet Potato, Curry, and Quinoa (in a bowl) 

  • 1 cup fair trade quinoa
  • 4 medium sweet potatoes
  • 1 large red onion
  • 1/4 cup ghee (clarified butter)
  • large handful of spinach
  • 1 cup vegetable or chicken broth
  • 1/4 cup currants
  • 1 clove garlic
  • fresh ginger
  • 1/4 cup curry powder of choice
  • 1 tsp sea salt

Scrub potatoes. With skins on, cut into 1″ cubes and lay out on a baking sheet. Toss with a bit of oil and salt. Bake at 475′ for 20 minutes. Combine two cups of water to one cup of quinoa (remember to rinse first!) in a medium pot and bring to a boil. Cook for 12-15 minutes until water is fully absorbed. Remove from heat.

Roughly chop red onion and saute in a large saucepan with the ghee until softened. Add minced garlic and grated ginger to the onions and saute for a bit longer, adding stock if it seems to stick to the pan. Remove from heat. Add sweet potatoes when they are just beginning to brown and crisp on the edges. Add a cup of stock and the curry powder, stirring to coat. Let simmer for 5-10 minutes, adding stock, a bit of ghee, and some salt to develop flavor. Add some well chopped spinach and toss to barely wilt.

Serve over a bed of quinoa with a sprinkling (or more) of currants.

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Guest Post from “The First Mess”

January 12, 2012

I had the pleasure of meeting Laura through her blog over the summer and was instantly captivated by her honesty, authenticity, and food philosophy. There is a light about her too, the kind you gravitate to, the light that makes your heart feel full. I’d like to call her a friend in real life, one day. At her blog, The First Mess, Laura shares seasonal recipes that are accessible, and full of gratitude. When she sent over the writing, recipe, and gorgeous photos for today’s guest post, I had to resist an urge to make a second trip to Whole Foods for the day and pick up some dill for this recipe. This is the kind of thing I could eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Thank you, Laura, for sharing your passion and light in this space.

Throughout my adult life, food has been there. I would say it’s been a driving force of empowerment; rather than just simply “there”. I grew up with a local produce market as the family business. It was my first job as a teenager. We always had giant tomato plants and greens in the garden in the summer and beautiful preserves to brighten the cold months, to remind us of preparation, knowledge, hard work and its virtues.

In university I began to examine virtue in depth. Along with it came gluttony, suffering, thirst, the danger of mono-crops, cultures that live and breathe with the land, famine, commodities, freedom and community feeling. In college I learned how to poach an egg, make pie pastry, clean and filet a whole fish, sharpen a knife and how to convert ounces to grams.

Working in restaurants tends to develop ones education greatly, regardless of the seeming triviality of any given task. I’ve learned that no one is ever too good to slice a pear or scrub a pot. Your reasons for pursuing the industry? To serve others, to fill their bellies and delight them completely. Repetitive, lower skill set tasks are a bit part of that dining room experience. It’s never about you, not even for a second. If serving others means something to you, and it pays your bills, do it well.

I still learn things all the time. When I started assisting with a youth program that focused on empowerment through food education, I realized how unusual my own upbringing was. The constant presence of fresh food, the every-night family dinners, a big garden in the summer and a jammed cellar in the winter, a job, a sense of community at the table, everything. It made me incredibly grateful and hopeful at the same time. I was awe-struck by these kids reaching for all of the built-in facets of my upbringing on their own because they could see and feel the inherent good in all of them independently.

You know what else blew me away? This amazing grain salad that I learned how to make when I was there. It’s more of a technique that you develop and work with according to the season as opposed to a prescribed recipe. A handful of dill one time, cilantro for the next batch. Walnuts and chopped fennel or mango and sesame seeds, whatever you like. As you develop your own take, share it with others and enjoy it over time, you will definitely start to feel quite mighty. I promise.

Mighty Grain Salad 

Created, photographed, and shared by Laura from The First Mess

  • 2 cups cooked grain (I used bulgur)
  • 2 cups finely diced vegetables (I used shallots, carrots and fennel)
  • 2 cups beans or lentils (I used red lentils)
  • 2-3 stalks of leafy greens, chopped fine (I used lacinato kale)
  • 1 heaped handful of chopped fresh herb (I used dill)
  • 1 handful of toasted nuts or seeds (I used walnuts)
  • 1 handful of dried fruit (I used currants)
  • 1 handful of crumbled soft cheese (I used sheep’s milk feta)
  • ¼ cup oil (I used extra virgin olive oil)
  • ¼ cup acid (I used a mix of orange juice and apple cider vinegar)
  • salt and pepper to taste
  • optional: 1-2 tsp ground spices (I used some ground coriander)

Combine the grain, vegetables, lentils, chopped herbs, leafy greens, nuts, dried fruit and cheese in a large bowl. Mix the oil, acid, spices, salt and pepper in a small bowl. Pour mixture over the grain and vegetable mixture and toss to combine. Taste for seasoning and serve.

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Guest Post from “So Good And Tasty”

January 8, 2012


When I began blogging in 2010 I was completely blown away by the prolific community of food writers and home cooks who shared their stories and their inspiration on the web. Come to think of it, I barely visited blogs let alone food blogs, until giving it all a go myself… It was one of those “jump before looking how deep the water was first” sort of things. Needless to say, I spent countless hours pouring over gorgeous, articulate web pages, trying to learn as much as I could. So Good And Tasty was one of the first to educate me on this crazy, cool world of food blogs. Beautiful photos, authentic writing, and Jacqui’s detailed consideration to the process of  creating wholesome, seasonal meals was (and still is) incredibly inspiring. I was thrilled and totally honored when she agreed to guest post this week. In addition to her beautiful blog, Jacqui owns and operates her own creative studio, Slide Sideways, with her husband Scott. They make some of the coolest graphics, logos and other goodies on their etsy shop. Thank you Jacqui for sharing this stunning lemon tart. You’re the best.

Connections are made every day. Sometimes they’re large or life changing. Other times they’re as simple as a smile to a passerby on the street or stopping to observe Spring’s first flowers pushing through the cool, heavy earth. These little connections are made everyday whether you stop to take notice or not.

One connection that continues to intrigue and inspire me is food. It’s amazing to think that one little seed, when loved and cared for, grows into something that nourishes the body and mind. That those little seeds make a meal that I can then share with friends and family, making even further connections, that soon become memories of those meals and times past.

When I take the time to photograph a new recipe I’ve made and post it to share with others, who then take the time to read it, I think about all those connections I’ve made with people I don’t even know and it blows me away. I’ve entered their lives in some small way and it feels good. So when Kelsey asked if I would be a guest on her blog, I couldn’t say yes fast enough. The food, photographs, and writing she shares on Happyolks inspires me and it’s another connection I’m glad I’ve made.

This lemon tart is the perfect way to end any meal. The yogurt keeps it light and the lemon is refreshing and bright. It’s on the tart side though, so if you prefer something sweeter you can add a little more sugar to the filling (about 3/4 cup total), although I’m a big fan of tart meets slightly sweet desserts. The rosemary in the crust is very subtle, but adds the perfect earthy touch to make the tart more interesting.

 Lemon Tart with Rosemary Crust

Created, photographed, and shared by Jacqui at So Good And Tasty

for the crust

  • 1 1/3 cup spelt flour
  • 3 tablespoons cane sugar
  • 1 tablespoon fresh rosemary, chopped
  • pinch of salt
  • 1/3 cup cold butter, cubed
  • 1-2 tablespoon ice water

for the filling

  • 1 cup plain Greek yogurt
  • 1/2 cup cane sugar
  • 2 eggs
  • 1/2 cup fresh lemon juice
  • 1 teaspoon lemon zest

Preheat the oven to 350˚F. Lightly butter a 9-inch tart pan and set aside.

Place the flour, sugar, rosemary, and salt in the bowl of a food processor and pulse a few times. Add the butter and pulse until little pea sized bits start to form. Add in the ice water, starting with just 1 tablespoon. Pulse a few more times, then check the dough to see if it holds together when pressed between your fingers. If not, add the 2nd tablespoon. The dough may still seem crumbly, but as long as it holds together when pressed it will be perfect.

 Dump the dough out into the prepared tart pan. Starting from the center, work your way out to the sides by pressing the dough firmly into the pan. Make sure you press it up along the sides evenly. Pierce the bottom with a fork a few times and place in the oven to bake for about 15 minutes. Cool on a wire rack for at least 5 minutes before filling.

Meanwhile prepare the filling. Place the yogurt and sugar in a bowl and whisk until thoroughly combined. Whisk in the eggs, one at a time, then add the lemon juice and zest. Whisk until smooth and everything is evenly combined.

Pour the filling into the crust and bake in the oven for 25-30 minutes or until the center is set and only slightly jiggles when shaken lightly.

Allow to cool completely then place in the fridge to chill for at least 1 hour before serving. Tart can be made the day before and kept covered and chilled in the fridge. Serve with fresh whipped cream if you’d like.

 

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Guest Post from “The Yellow House”

January 2, 2012

Greetings from Washington DC! I’ll be here for the better part of January for a presidential politics seminar; dress pants and heavy coats are the name of the game and my food adventures will be limited, unfortunately. A few months ago I asked a few of my favorite food bloggers from around the web to help share their talents in this space during my absence. Each contributor has been so generous and kind with their time and talents, honestly their gifts floor me.

Today’s guest post is from Sarah, of The Yellow House. You can read more about the where the name originated on her about page, but Sarah describes that her blog is about living well in a way that’s unfussy (sign me up, now).  She’s a prolific writer,  sharing stories and recipes in her space with an understated sophistication and ease. She speaks to me. I think she’ll speak to you too, as Sarah provides the kind of room for reflection and consideration that, to me, make a blog meaningful. Plus, anyone who has the gumption to go on a hike with a ceramic mug of coffee is a woman I’d like to call friend. Okay, enough of me. Thank you, Sarah, for sharing your talents and wisdom here on Happyolks….

As I write this, New Year’s Eve approaches. I find myself thinking a lot about gathering friends and family into my home and what it’s all really about. I’ve come to a conclusion: we’re simultaneously too serious and too flippant about entertaining.

Our priorities are misplaced. On one hand, there are material goods and preparation to worry about: the menu, the drinks, cleaning the house—-these seem to occupy most of our time and energy. On the other hand, there are the immaterial aspects of a gathering—the camaraderie, the forks clinking on plates, the laughter. These we spend no time preparing for—rather, we expect them to just happen. Usually, of course, they do. But somehow, I really doubt that there’s a direct link between amount of time and money spent preparing menus and wine and the level of laughter at a dinner party.

This is not to deride the planned menus and the wine —- I like those very much. It strikes me, though, that some of my best “gatherings” have been impromptu late night affairs, sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor with cheap beer, the ends of a loaf of bread, and some butter and pesto. The laughter and the camaraderie were there, but the menu planning was notably absent.

But I am guilty, perhaps more than most, of focusing over-much on these material aspects of gathering, convinced that my hospitality and love and welcome are best conveyed through abundant food and seamless presentation.

The flipside of all this is that we fail to take seriously the simple act of gathering people in, of welcoming them to our home, of the opportunity that entertaining implies. In 2012, I’m going to try and relish the facilitative role of gathering. Less stress over the details, and more emphasis on what a privilege it is to be surrounded by friends. Good things happen when you bring people together for the sole purpose of enjoying each other—whether or not you include all the trimmings.

Goat cheese toasts with yellow split pea spread

Created, photographed, and shared by Sarah of The Yellow House

Stress-free gatherings are well-complemented by simple finger foods like this. Constructing the toasts is also a good job to give to guests to keep hands busy, bringing the gathering into the kitchen.

  •      A crusty baguette
  •      1 cup dry yellow split peas, picked through and any dirt or pebbles removed
  •      1 tablespoon olive oil
  •      1 teaspoon kosher salt
  •      6-8 ounces soft goat cheese (if you find herbed chevre, that works well here)
  •      Black pepper

In a saucepan, bring the yellow split peas and 1 1/2 cups water to a boil. Cover and reduce to a simmer. Stir occasionally, cooking 20-30 minutes until split peas are very tender. If they need more water, add it and cook longer until they’ve cooked through. Remove from heat.

Slice the baguette into 1/4-inch slices. Arrange the slices on a cookie sheet and toast them under the broiler until golden brown. Keep a close eye on them because bread under the broiler can go from golden to burnt in a minute (guess what? I scorched mine a little and it still tasted good! You can see it in the photos. So it’s okay. Stress-free, yes?) Remove toasts from oven.

Add olive oil and kosher salt to the split peas and stir with a wooden spoon, mashing a bit to the desired consistency. I left mine pretty chunky, but this could become much smoother depending on your preferences.

On each toast, spread a layer of goat cheese. Then, top with the split pea spread and black pepper. Variations on this are endless—use lentils instead of split peas, or top with a garnish like microgreens or chives.

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Every Little Bit

December 16, 2011

I love this season. It’s cold. There are lights. There is hand holding. There is fellowship among strangers. Joy elevates the mundane, and cultivates memories to satiate and linger through the early months of another year, a new year. The blankets come down from the closet, there is ample excuse to bake, and we somehow find time, make time to connect.

For no particular reason, there are some days when I am shaken by the absurdity of my blessings. I learned at a young age that the holidays are not all gingerbread and champagne for everyone. I remember that when everyone seemed to be getting out of school and taking time off, my mom’s private practice was just ramping up. While the “other moms” were planning progressive dinners, she was helping the mourning, lonely, and lost to navigate the hardest part of their year.

There can be just as much sadness as there is joy associated with this season. I try to remember this everyday. While I indulge in the sweet embrace of loved ones next week, I know that someone, somewhere, is alone. Someone, somewhere, is piecing together a semblance of celebration after deep, confusing loss.

It’s startling, to witness your own luck. How mind-blowing it is to have so much, again, another year.

Of course there are moments throughout the season that frustrate. Our relatives can make us crazy. You’ll bump into that person from high school you really would have rather avoided. You’ll feel obligated to attend certain neighborhood functions. Your partner will exceed the 50lb baggage limit. You’ll be late to work. Someone will forget to change the roll in the guest room. There will be thousands of crazy, maddening moments and interactions this season.

Remember that someone, just like you, somewhere on this planet doesn’t get those crazy, maddening moments. They have no one to burn the biscuits for. They are trying to understand the meaning of tradition when there is now an empty seat at the table.

Here’s the thing… I want every single crazy moment that comes with this time of year. I know that one year, if I am not so lucky as I am now, that I will cling to the taste and the touch and the sounds of all these moments and how they made my life so rich and full. I want to do the things I don’t want to really do, I want to see the people I don’t really want to see, I want show, express, and appreciate every bit of it.

Roasted Chestnut Spread 

  • 1 lb Chestnuts
  • 1 1/2 – 2 cups water
  • 1/2 cup + 2 tbsp sugar
  • 1 tsp vanilla

Roasting and shucking chestnuts is more fun with a partner, so grab a partner and tell them to set the oven to 425.’ As the oven preheats, begin working with the chestnuts by cutting a large x on the rounded side of each shell. Place flat side down on a pan. I cover mine with parchment because it’s a bit “seasoned” if you know what I mean. Pour a cup of water over the cross-hatched chestnuts and roast for about 22-25 minutes.

Remove from the oven, the skins should have peel back a bit by now. Let cool for about 10 minutes before getting started on the peeling process. You’ll need to discard the tough, dark brown shell as well as the thin brown skin that coats the actual soft nut. From all my research, each nut has a different story. Some shells and skins are a nuisance while others come off quite easily. It’s a tedious job, but definitely worth it. Toss naked chestnuts into small pot and cover with 1 1/2 – 2 cups of water, depending on how many nuts you ended up yielding. I usually come out with a few nasty moldy dudes and some that crumble apart when I’m trying to peel, so my best guess is that I have about 8-10 ounces of actual nut when it’s all said and done. Add sugar and vanilla. Bring to a boil and stir, allowing to simmer for about 15 minutes.

Remove from heat. Let sit in the pot for a bit before transferring to a food processer with the blade attachment. Process for about 5 minutes, adding a tiny bit of water or warm milk to the mixture to help things along. Transfer to a jar or serve immediately with crepes, toast, or apple slices.

Recipe adapted from Jennie. Cowl/Scarf made by Melissa. Find more music by the amazing (22 year-old!!) Ben Howard Here.

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