Tag Archive: Dill

  1. Spring on a Plate

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    It’s 3pm and raining now. I feel like Hayden’s here in the room. It’s been long time. Maybe it hasn’t. Maybe I just haven’t been present to it. If I’m honest, staying present has been difficult lately. The season has turned over so fast, it’s like I woke up this morning and the trees are just now suddenly green, tulips are blistering at their ends, and the garden has creeped back to life. Before you left, you pointed out the one tree in the back alley that is holding out. It’s naked and just barely budding while her sisters are already flanked and beaming. In my mind, I’ll pretend it has been waiting for me to stop spinning, settle my mind, and catch up to the miracle that is this season. I hate when you’re gone but I loved how quiet things were today. I’ve needed it, desperately.

    When I am silent, I have thunder hidden inside. – Rumi

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    Spring On a Plate

    This recipe is for my mom whose beauty is matched only by her grace, passion, and strength. I am nothing without your love. Happy Mother’s Day. You are my sun and moon and all of my stars.

    • ½  lb fresh green garbanzo beans
    • ½ lb green asparagus
    • 3 stalks rhubarb
    • 2 yellow potatoes
    • ¼ lb ramps (baby leeks)
    • Handful watercress
    • (optional) heel of stale bread, ¼ cup breadcrumbs
    • ¼ cup olive oil
    • salt and pepper to taste
    • 16 oz unsweetened greek yogurt
    • ½ cup dill, minced
    • ½ cup mint, minced
    • 1/2 cup parsley, minced
    • 3 lemons, juiced
    • salt and pepper to taste
    • (optional) 7-minute egg

     

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    Preparation:

    Bring a small pot of water to boil. Shell the garbanzo beans and blanche in the boiling water for 2 minutes. Remove from heat and rinse with cold water. Set aside. Preheat oven for 350.’ Cut potato into small wedges and place on a baking sheet. Drizzle with olive oil and send them to a hot oven to roast for 20 minutes. Remove tough ends of asparagus, thoroughly yet delicately clean and remove roots from ramps, and cut stalks of rhubarb in half and then slice length wise into 3 smaller strips. Place in the basin of stone or glass baking dish and drizzle with olive oil and a dash of salt/pepper. Place on the available rack in the oven and bake for the remaining time on the potatoes (+/- 10 minutes).

    In a medium bowl, combine yogurt, and lemon with the minced fresh herbs. Pour herb-y yogurt onto a large serving platter. Spread with a spatula to create a yogurt bed. Arrange vegetables on top of the yogurt to your liking. Garnish with watercress, blanched garbanzo beans, a sprinkle of bread crumbs, and a halved medium-boil egg.

    Enjoy immediately with warm flatbread or alongside a nice lentil salad.

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  2. Feel It Coming

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    There were fleas. Millions, it seemed. They loved my ankles. I suppose the outbreak was the last farewell from the foster dogs of winter and spring who nestled under our bed on the blankets from Morocco. We dragged every single modality of fabric from our house to the industrial washers up the road and watched the pesks drown in the suds while eating pizza by-the-slice and studying French verb conjugations on the linoleum. A grizzly looking man in worn denim took laps around the dryers selling yellow squash and strawberries from a wagon. Nancy Grace blared from a mounted television in the corner. Where had the time gone? A few years ago we spent every weekend at this laundromat playing out the same routine (sans fleas), dumping out the stink and work of our week and sorting it with the rest of the neighborhood. We felt like real “grown-ups” with our own washer and dryer when we moved to this place a year ago, the one we will say goodbye to in 10 days. Ten. In ten days I will have packed the car, thrown the tasseled cap, and baked through the last of the flour in the freezer. We’ll hand over the keys and take I-5 North for the last time, waving goodbye with big, big smiles to the coast that has truly held me together in more ways I could possibly repay it for. We’ll come back again, one day, but not soon. Not like this.

    Folding the sheets, I hmmmm’d at Shaun… “I think we need to do one more post before we leave.” Oatmeal seemed like a strange note to end on here. Of course, the saint that he is, agreed to whatever, whenever. Between the last exams, last bike rides, last get-togethers, last trips to goodwill… I wanted there to be tacos. Yellow squash seemed appropriate. And I wanted there to be music. I made you a mix to listen to while you make these. Songs from my story, our story, songs that maybe can become a part of yours. Sometimes I think a few minutes of lyric and instrument can say more about the swells of emotion that rise and fall during times like these better than I possibly could.

    This is it folks. This is where the good stuff is. Swimming it all right now, arms stretched wide, lapping up the last bits of sweetness from this bowl of lessons. I feel it coming. Newness. So, so Happy. Ready.

    Soft Shell Squash Tacos

    Inspired by Suzie’s Farm

    • 4-6 yellow crookneck squash
    • 1 cup of fresh dill, minced
    • 1 red onion, minced
    • 1 shallot, minced
    • 1/2 cup crumbled feta
    • 1 tsp olive oil
    • 1 tsp red wine vinegar
    • 1 tsp dijon mustard
    • salt/pepper
    • (optional:) chopped spinach or other green mix
    • 2 cups masa harina
    • 1 + cup hot water
    • 1 tsp salt

    For the tortillas, dissolve salt into the measured glass of warm water. Pour over the bowl of masa harnia slowly, stirring as you go. Mix until combined; smooth but not sticky. Knead/press into a ball. Cover, and let rest for as long as you can wait 30 min-2hrs.

    In the meantime, cut squash into small diced bits. Combine with minced red onion and shallot over medium heat with the olive oil and vinegar. Coat and stir until you get a bit of steam going, about 3-4 minutes, tops. Remove from heat, mix in dill, mustard, and salt and pepper. Set aside.

    Back to the tortillas. Layout a few (2-3) sheets of parchment paper and fetch a flat plate or dish to help you press out the dough. Pinch off a golf-ball sized chunk of dough and roll into a smooth ball. Set between two pieces of parchment and start to flatten a bit with your hand. Continue with hands, or for even edges, grab a heavy bowl and put your weight into it over the sheets of parchment and the ball. Remove, peel back parchment, viola. Cook for two minutes on each side in an non-greased frying pan. Set aside and begin to stack ‘em up.

    Before you’re ready to eat, mix feta into the squash mixture and toss with a bit more salt and pepper. I like these with 40 percent greens, 60 percent squash, but feel free to experiment.

  3. Greens + Herbs + Roasted Radishes

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    I feel like I’ve been awkwardly bumbling about here the last few weeks. Stalling. Filling the white space up with words that I can justify clicking the publish button with, but void of the kind of truth or vulnerability that I usually challenge myself to share in this space. It’s all part of the process, though. I think. I hope.  Still learning what it means to be on the web like this.

    While it excites me that there actually people (like you) who tune in each week to this nook, it is also sort of presses on that weak spot in my psyche that is constantly egging on to “be perfect.” Ugly business. You know, the virus of  “should be, should say, should do” that holds us all back from being our best, truest possible selves. Every so often when I get down to business writing here, I get stuck on an idea where it’s like, rats, I can’t say that or I can’t talk about this because I don’t want to offend or upset someone. There is a quiet nagging voice warning: “must be poised, must be calm, must be wise, must not ruffle too many feathers.” And okay, to a certain degree the conscientiousness is good – even necessary. The world would be a much nicer place if we all just learned to check ourselves now and then when we have an outrageously passionate thought. But too much editing, filtering, and accommodating makes me feel like a robot.

    Yet, as it were, this week I did not feel calm. I did not feel rational. I did not feel yogic. So many things that made me want to light the kitchen on fire, really. There was not a stable emotion to cling to for more than a few hours as I boomeranged between elation, empowerment, anger, sadness, frustration, confusion, joy, and crushing heartbreak. I chopped off 10 inches of hair on Tuesday with unabashed lightness, yet on Friday my chest was so heavy with sorrow for all the suffering, depravity, and cruelty of this world that I could barely stand as Shaun held me in his arms. A mess I tell you; imagine me later over a cutting board shouting “Society, Society!” at the top of my lungs with a clenched fist of radishes just like Eric McAndless from the film Into The Wild when an article on Texas abortion laws push it all over the edgeCrazy person, crazy.

    I have a food blog. We take pretty pictures and share healthy recipes. That’s nice. Sweet. But on the other side of the editing table is an intense passion for “stuff” other than vegetables that floods my veins with purpose, intention, and deep conviction. The perfection trap can’t even put up a fight today because  right now my heart is too swollen, my spirit soggy with the weight of a million weary voices and divisive ideologies that I alone cannot bring together or make better. There is a lot I really, really don’t understand about the world right now. I’ll keep kicking here, but it’s hard to profess my great love for salad in this state.

    So I suppose I’ll stall a bit more. Stalling with grace, hopefully. It’s what I’m holding onto through all of this and I think you should too, whatever it is you see in the world, your world, that concerns you. Grace is everywhere in everything. Grace during moments of distress. Grace for times of great joy. Grace through the angst. Grace in failure. Grace for the good fight. Grace for the radish-rants in the kitchen. Grace for the people and ideas and things we don’t understand. Lets just have some grace, sound good?

    Greens, Herbs, and Roasted Radishes

    • 3 bunches of radishes
    • 1 head butter lettuce
    • 1 head romaine
    • 6 endives
    • 1 avocado
    • juice of 2 lemons
    • 1/2 cup olive oil, divided
    • 1/4 cup shallot, minced
    • 2 tbsp dill, minced
    • 2 tbsp mint, minced
    • salt/pepper
    • (optional) smoked salmon

    Rinse and remove greens from radishes. Halve or quarter (depending on the variety you go with) and coat with olive oil and salt and pepper on a heavy baking sheet. Roast in a 400′ oven for 20-25 minutes until blistered but not totally browned. Set aside to cool.

    Combine chopped butter lettuce, romaine, and endive (cores removed) in a large bowl. Slice and dice avocado into cubes over the bowl, then add chunks of salmon (optional) and the cooled radishes. For the dressing: whisk together olive oil, shallots, dill, and mint with the lemon juice in a small bowl. Pour over the salad, add some sea salt and fresh pepper, and toss with your hands or wood tongs.

    (ps) I’m giving away books on Facebook this week. Just because I feel like it. Hop on over to get in on the party.

  4. Guest Post from “The First Mess”

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    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…

    keep reading…

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Let's get in Touch

I wish I could make coffee dates with you all. In the meantime, feel free to drop me a line with questions, comments, concerns, or just to say Hi. I like that. There is nothing more uplifting than an email from a a fresh contact or kindred spirit.

I can be reached through this contact form and at happyolks [at] gmail [dot] com.