Tag Archives: Mint

Spring-y Spring Rolls with Carrot Ginger Miso Sauce

April 9, 2012

When I start a copywriting assignment with a new client, the most important question I ask to get to know them is “where are you, what are you doing, and who are you with when you most feel like yourself?” They often smile, get a little quiet, and start to tell a story. Somewhere they visited, Saturday rituals at home… little details that reveal their personality and perspective. It’s more anthropological experimentation than it is helpful writing tool. Often, how they answer this question is entirely different than the manner in which they answer all the others. They haven’t prepared for this sort of prompt, so they have a chance to share in their sincerest form. How interesting is it that?

Using the exercise on myself, I become overwhelmed with a deep and exhilarating sense of peace and understanding as I am instantly transported to a time and space where things were just as they should be. When I find myself drifting off course or am sorting through serious life decisions, I try to practice this mediation. It has a funny way of bringing my head and heart back into alignment when the wires get crossed or cut. I’ve recently come to think of it as my “happiness compass.”  Ultimately, when we are able to live out the truest, most authentic versions of ourselves, we can be the most happy.

I think so often we get caught up in creating an idea of happiness that we look too far outward, forward to things and elaborate ideas that will slingshot us out of a current state of fatigue, frustration, fear, etc. While I totally think happiness is something you can and should work to manifest, in times of uncertainty, it is best guided by the reminders living inside us all. Memories can’t provide direct answers for our troubles, but the process of remembering may lull the voices, our own and otherwise, that may be pulling/pushing us into a direction that leaves us feeling unsettled. It creates space for us to truly consider all that we know to be true, trust all that is yet to be taught, and go forward with a sense of empowerment to just be. It brings everything back to center. There may be chaos, there may be distraction, there may be consternation… but in our own answer, there can be stillness. And that is enough.  

So I ask you this question, today…

Where are you, what are you doing, and who are you with when you most feel like yourself?” 

Close your eyes. Listen. Let those places, people, spaces wash over you and fill you with love and light.

Feel free to shred, julienne, or dice anything your heart desires for these guys — spring rolls are incredibly versatile. I’ve mixed soft greens, crisp cabbage, and creamy avocado to diversify the texture. Add or subtract herbs as desired. Play with the sauce to your liking too, I spotted it in the magazine and knew it had potential.

And… get this: Happyolks has a free app for iPhone. Um, What!? Speaking of things that remind us who we really are, my incredible/handsome/kind little brother spent the semester in one of his engineering courses developing it for us. Hugs to Austin for his hard work. Download it from the App Store and check for updates and new features as the year progresses.

Spring-y Spring Rolls 

  • 1 dozen medium rice paper sheets
  • 1 head napa cabbage, shredded
  • 3 cups escarole (or soft lettuce), shredded
  • 2 cups micro basil
  • 2 cups whole mint leaves
  • 3 avocados, segmented

Carrot Ginger Miso Sauce - adapted from Bon Appetit

  • 2 tbsp miso paste
  • 1/4 cup minced spring onion
  • 6 tbsp olive oil
  • 2-3 tbsp finely grated carrot
  • 2-3 tbsp finely grated ginger
  • 1 tbsp toasted sesame oil
  • t tsp rice wine vinegar
  • 2 tbsp honey (brown rice syrup for vegans)
  • juice of one lemon
  • sprinkle of salt

Submerge a single spring roll wrapper in a bowl of hot water until completely pliable, about 15 seconds. Remove, and gently set on a flat surface. Layer with cabbage, escarole, avocado, and herbs. Construct a roll like a burrito; start with the bottom and cover the horizontal line of veggies. Fold in both sides and press to seal. Roll up tightly to the top and seal the edge. Set aside. Repeat.

For the sauce “Place all ingredients plus 1/4 cup water in a resealable container. Cover and shake vigorously until well combined.”

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Greens + Herbs + Roasted Radishes

March 18, 2012

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 edge. Crazy 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.

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Good Ju Ju

August 12, 2011

Ju Ju means energy; the experience of positive and negative forces all around us that charge our lives and shape each unique day on this planet. You know Ju Ju. It’s that thing when you enter a space and get that “off” feeling in your gut telling you it’s time to leave, it’s the woman who smiled at you when you were crossing the street yesterday, the long, warm embrace of your loved ones, the sensation of sand between your toes walking on the shore. It’s the powerful stuff that we pick up on everywhere when we let our intuition take the reigns.

We can give it, receive it, create it, share it, leave it behind, pass it on; you can even give Ju Ju a good kneading like homemade yeast bread. We need good Ju Ju. We need bad Ju Ju too though. The polar forces help guide our decisions, steer our relationships, and challenge us to think about life in new, interesting ways. It’s a balancing act; I think the potential for both kinds of ju ju live in us at once and can be used to direct people when we least expect it. Some people call it vibe, at yoga you’ve probably heard it referred to as Prana… but whatever name you give it, you know that it’s some powerful stuff.

Despite the fact that each day I generally rise to the blessings of good health, supportive relationships, and an intentional purpose; my Ju Ju reserves can still get a little low from time to time. Life gets messy, our heads get fuzzy, and the spark within us can grow dim. When I need good Ju Ju, I call my Mom. She shares her wisdom and light and helps re-ignite my own to honor and pass on to others.

This week my Mom was flanked with a host of givers. I received more good Ju Ju than I knew how to process all at once. Surprise coverage from The Kitchn, Food52, FoodieCrush Magazine, Food In Jars, an interview feature with Kaileen Elise, and the positive affirmations from readers and friends have been a needed nudge. Thank you. Thank you for sharing your energy with me this week. If I could bottle it, seal it with wax, and send it right back to each of you ten-fold I would.

Too often we disregard the profound impact that our simple words, actions, and intentions can have on the world and one another. Don’t. Seriously. We carry each other; everyday we take turns by sharing our Ju Ju. Give it away and watch it grow.

 Chickpea Fritters with Tomato Jam 

Slightly adapted from Whole Food by Jude Blearau

Tomato Jam 

  • 2 tsp olive oil
  • 1/4 cup crushed ginger
  • 4 garlic cloves, minced
  • 1/4 cup apple cider vinegar
  • 3 cinnamon sticks
  • 5-6 large heirloom tomatoes, chopped and most of the seeds removed
  • 1/3 cup brown sugar
  • 1 tsp cumin
  • 1/2 tsp ground cloves
Heat olive oil in a saucepan over gentle heat. Add ginger and garlic and saute for 3-4 minutes. Add the vinegar and cinnamon sticks and cook until reduced by half. Add tomatoes, sugar, cumin, and cloves. Cover with a lid, and cook for 5 minutes over gentle heat. Remove lid, increase heat, and stir for 5-8 minutes to thicken. Reduce heat again and let simmer until thick.

 

Chickpea Fritters 
  • 1 1/2 cup dried chickpeas, soaked for at least 8 hours
  • 1 small sweet onion, chopped
  • 2 cloves of garlic
  • 1 tsp ground coriander
  • 1 tsp cumin
  • pepper to taste
  • 2 eggs
  • 1 handful of parsley, chopped
  • 1 handful cilantro, chopped
  • 4 tbsp mint, chopped
  • 2 tbsp chickpea flour
  • olive oil, for frying
Pour soaked chickpeas into a strainer, rinse and drain. Put soaked chickpeas in a food processor with minced garlic. Pulse for about a minute. Add the spices and pulse for another minute until finely ground, then place in a large mixing bowl. Add chopped onion, herbs, and flour and eggs and use your hands to combine. Form the mixture into small patties about 1/2″ thick. I started out thinking these would be chickpea burgers, but with half a loaf of bread on hand and no intention of running to the store, these became open faced sandwiches. Oops.
Heat a little olive oil in a frying pan, just enough to cover the bottom well. Place patties in the pan and cook over medium heat (with a gentle sizzle) for 5-7 minutes on each side. Jude warns “don’t rush the process, the insides take a while to cook.” Serve with grilled olive oil bread and tomato jam.

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Real Life

July 27, 2011

Afternoon walks are my new thing. For about an hour each day, the dog and I take to the streets to stretch our legs and quiet the mind.  One foot in front of the other; exhale. The simple act of unplugging to appreciate a bit of late sun with my curious friend has been such a tonic as of late.  On most walks, I have a strict “no-thinking” policy. We over-thinkers need a break from time to time. No thinking, just being. When I pass walkers now in the car, I feel solidarity with them – sort of the way my dad feels when he spots another mini cooper on the road: I’m with you, I get you, keep walking woman!

Things have been exceptionally busy this month and for that I really can’t complain. A full plate of work and opportunity for growth is a gift, and I try not to take it for granted.  I spend all day writing for other institutions and publications, so Happyolks is getting a bit of the short end these days. It’s okay. This is real life. We’re trying to strike the balance. The walks help; I highly recommend it (smile).

A few months ago we agreed to do a guest post for The Ravenous Couple, which you can find the recipe for the above photos on their site this Friday.  They’re getting married! Love, light, and good ju ju to them.

Take a walk today; leave your thinking cap at home. Unless, of course, you live in the Midwest. In that case. Dance around your air-conditioned room to this video.

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Fava Bean Crostini

May 11, 2011

My head is full, my heart is ready. A few more days and it all shall pass, as they say. The last few days of the semester are the hardest, but most important, times to practice balance and moderation. In Sanskrit, moderation is matannuta, knowing the right amount: where well-being and contentment come together. I’m thankful for this Buddhism exam. It throws me beautiful and thought provoking buoys while navigating the sticky stuff.

Cooking provides the time and space to step away from what crowds our day planners, our thoughts, and helps us to practice “the right amount.” Too much vinegar will overpower your salad, not enough yeast will leave your loaves lifeless.

I love this fava bean crostini, for it is just the right amount.

Creamy Fava Bean Crostini (adapted from Kay Chun, Gourmet)

  • 1 cup shelled fresh fava beans (1 1/4 pounds in pods)
  • 1 1/2 cups packed baby arugula (or spinach if bitter greens aren’t your party)
  • 2 medium sized ripe avocados
  • 1/4 teaspoon lemon zest
  • 1/2 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
  • 1 garlic clove, finely minced
  • 8-10 mint leaves, finely minced
  • 1/2 tsp salt
  • 1/2 tsp pepper
  • sliced multi-grain baguette
  • 1/4 cup olive oil
  • (optional) wild caught Alaskan salmon

Preheat oven to 350°F with rack in middle.

Remove fava beans from their pods, and cook in a pot of boiling water for 3 to 4 minutes, then drain and transfer to an ice bath to stop cooking. Gently peel off skins, and set aside.

In a food processor, pulse avocados and arugulua until very coarsely chopped. Add fava beans, lemon zest, lemon zest, salt, pepper, and minced fresh mint. Pulse for 1-2 minutes.

Cut bread into thin slices,and lay flat on a cookie sheet and smear with olive oil, salt, and pepper. Bake until golden crisp, 8-10 minutes.

Spoon fava-bean mixture onto toasts with a few sprigs of arugula, then drizzle with oil. Lemon broiled salmon makes a perfect topper… just saying (smiles).

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