black bean & quinoa veggie burgersMay 20th, 2013 | 1 Comment »I have an embarrassingly high number of veggie burger recipes neatly tucked away in a three-ring binder in the kitchen cupboard where all my cookbooks reside. There are more on my Pinterest site where I stash all the tidbits and delicacies found on the Internet. Every time I come across one on someone’s blog, I’d gaze at it longingly, mouth watering, as I glance over the ingredients. But up until last week, I had made exactly ZERO of these recipes.
this is my realityMay 13th, 2013 | 5 Comments »Not the most novel thought concept, but there is way too much noise in our lives, and not just the auditory kind. For anyone who spends time wrapped up in social media outlets, you end up bombarded with a mega-dose of someone else’s perception of their lives, a constant barrage of images, minutiae pieces of information, air-brushed and filtered beyond any sense of reality. At it’s root, it can be a great avenue for sharing life. At it’s worst, it’s a psychiatrists dream; an entire population of people driven to a state of self-induced perfection that no one will ever achieve.
(eggs at room temperature, bananas thawing for bread. Not posing) We’re better than this. Aren’t we? We know that behind every softly filtered photo of a smiling child is probably a wasteland of strewn toys, messy rooms, crumbs on the floor and a host of other perfectly normal images that are conveniently ignored for the one single moment of perfection in an otherwise chaotic day, and Mom probably hasn’t even had a shower yet. For the mouth-watering image of one’s meal, lovingly created from scratch and poised on a battered wood background (is that really paint chips under that food?? Is that even safe??) and against a backdrop of artfully scattered food, or a smeared spoon, the errant drizzle of vinaigrette, or oil, we all know there lurks a mound of grimy dishes, a messy stove and probably something that got burnt in the process.
(making gremolata, not posing for the camera)
(yikes…. messy pizza making, NOT posed) This is not our reality. But it’s become our touchpoint, and it’s alternating between making me sad- as I see how it drives others to do, create or strive for the impossible- and making me angry. It’s a wholly false reality.
I spent an afternoon recently making these cracker breads. And one of them was browned a bit too much because I was more interested in the song playing than watching what was happening in my blazing hot oven. It was placed right next to the others when I snapped a photo- see it in the back there? The photo is a bit blurry. It would never be accepted to Tastespotting. But it was my reality, and why should I hide that? Everyone burns something. We just don’t want to admit the imperfections. By the time I was done making those cracker breads, the floor was covered in scattered seeds, flour and salt flakes. The photo I took of it was also blurry, a bit too much or I would have showed you that as well. Does anyone bake anything without making a mess? Doubtful. And for each perfect photo bathed in soft light there are likely dozens that got dumped for being not perfect, like Tastespotting perfect, though. As if they ever will be. We all know it, and do it. Somehow, we’ve been programmed to think our food photography has to reach a level of perfection that someone else decided is right. In the end though, when all these crackers were done, I’ll be darned if that burnt one wasn’t the best tasting disc of the bunch. My Instagram feed isn’t perfect- as you can see from the photos above-, but for some reason I will never understand, someone on the West Coast named it as one of the Top 10 Foodie accounts on Instagram last Fall, and it kind of made me shake my head in disbelief. The only time I tend to arrange my food photos is to cram things closer together so I can get them all in the same shot. The moments that take my breath away are so ordinary, but so mind-boggling in their simple beauty; fresh chopped herbs on a cutting board, a pile of pale, translucent shaved fennel, the way milk swirls through dark, black coffee. The crumb of a bread crust, and how morning sunshine makes any food all that more remarkable. The photos of my cooking are really what is happening in my kitchen. Sometimes they’re really nice; other times they’re blurry, or it’s messy. Like life. But it’s always delicious. And there are no bits of food scattered around a perfect photo of perfect food. That’s not a reality I can even understand, those bits of food everywhere- and if I went to dinner at someone’s home and their table was covered with scattered bits of food and messy spoons and stuff dribbled everywhere, I might seriously wonder about them. It’s lovely, in a sloppy and not-at-all-right way, but my urge is to pick up a dishcloth and get busy with that mess, not eat it. Yet this has become the fulcrum that everything hangs on for a food blogger. It’s just not mine. I’ve loved using mason jars ever since I was in college when they were a cheap and useful means of storage and consumption, and long before they became de rigueur on food blogs, especially with a striped straw sticking out of them. I don’t have burlap pieces with frayed edges, or tea towels with stripes or the ubiquitous battered wood background with chipped paint. People don’t really eat off that chipped paint, do they?? What I do here is not winning me a fan base or making me even one cent of income. I’m not writing a cookbook, nor will I ever. If you’ve read this far, I’m glad. Thank you for that. And I hope you keep returning for more. I promise a clean table and good food when you stop by to visit, even if there might be a few crumbs on the floor. If it’s not your thing, I’m not offended; there’s plenty out there to keep you occupied. For those of you who read every post, enjoy the Instagram photos, and make yourself comfortable in this space, peanut butter quinoa blondiesMay 10th, 2013 | 3 Comments »With chocolate chips- as if they need anything else. It’s a creamy, dreamy taste overload and entirely gluten-free, if you need or want that sort of thing.
the scandalous world of olive oilMay 6th, 2013 | 2 Comments »I just finished reading Tom Mueller’s eye-opening book ‘Extra Virginity- The Sublime and Scandalous World of Olive Oil’. Spurred by a sound bite in Lynne Rosetto Kasper’s e-book that I recently reviewed, I checked Tom’s book out of the library and within a few chapters became fully engrossed in the disreputable world of olive oil.
just write {83}April 30th, 2013 | 9 Comments »Warm sun quickly filled my bedroom that morning, and I was struggling to put on clothing that felt right for the sudden jump in to Spring. What if the church where I was going would be air-conditioned and cold? What if I looked like I’d spent too much time on this? It was only a short conference, only a group of women, immersed in faith, coming together in the flesh to adhere as a body, to understand community and relationships and trust in one another. It wasn’t that big of a deal, really. I kept telling myself that. My bare legs felt odd. My shoes felt odd. I felt odd. I wanted to shrug off the skirt, the clothing that wasn’t yet right, the feeling in my chest of my heart jumping in anxiety and just stay home. Stay safe. The smiling faces of two dear friends greeted me in the parking lot, making my anxiety less acute. I knew a dear friend waited inside. Why did I feel apprehensive? All of us that day live our lives in faith and attempt to seek grace on a daily basis. We are not so different. But we were the one thing that most of us fear; we were strangers. I thought I would be safe, seated with people I knew and trusted, who’s faces gave me comfort, smiles that made my heartbeats calm. I could breathe among their energy, feel safe and secure there but the dreaded icebreaker came along and everyone started talking. The room closed in immediately and heat rose within me, breaking beads of sweat on my face that made me want to cry. I wanted to flee, run as fast as I can away from the fear and into the safety of myself. I hate feeling so uncomfortable, so vulnerable and wide-open and yet so closed off and insignificant all at once. What did I have to offer them? What could they possibly gain from me? Who did I think I was bringing myself among strangers, to try and let down my guard and climb over my walls and in to another garden to see what life is growing there? I wanted to run, to withdraw and disappear and not smile and talk and exchange knowledge and information or anything that would remove the bricks I had placed, one by one. Among friends I am at ease. I am soothing and comfort, hugs all around. Among strangers I become the old and broken, the one left behind too many times, the one forsaken. I won’t extend myself or reach out. I will stay shrouded in my own broken self. I listened when the words began to flow, when the voices spoke out from the screen about community and relationships. I listened when the voices spoke of staying through the turmoil and hardships, through the dark valleys and tears that don’t stop and time that feels sluggish and muddy. Through times of hurt and misunderstanding. Through days that aren’t crystal clear, bright, and perfect. When we commit to one another in friendship, in marriage, in God and hope, we commit to stay, regardless. We have time to heal ourselves and others; time to build and understand, time to grow and accept and appreciate. We don’t have to be in the same places as those we choose to sit with on our friendship benches. We don’t have to have children the same age, be at the same stage of life, or live within the same neighborhood. We don’t even have to be the same age. And I have lamented endlessly that I seem to be the grand dame of my friends, the oldest one, sometimes by far and away over what feels like too many years. How can I relate to them when ages make them young enough to be my children? But the words spoke clearly to my heart that God draws those together who can most learn from one another and age, time and distance means nothing when the heartstrings are bound with His love. I’ve crashed around on rough seas and been thrown, tumbling heels over and over, sandpaper roughed up with life’s cruelest touches and maybe, just maybe I have something to say that they need to hear. The room was stuffy and the coffee was good. There were cupcakes so delicious that I may have eaten more than one. I may have stayed in my chair and not ventured around the room to meet many others, but my heart was filled with words that spoke with razor-sharp truth to exactly what I needed. I’m home, in this world, with the people God has placed in my life, just for me. And I needed to climb over that fence of apprehension, drive across miles of concrete, greet friends I’ve never met, sisters in Christ and stay, regardless. Just for us. We’ve found our bench where we can gather. And all we have to do is show up.  {{sponsored by (in)courage- home for the hearts of women, on Saturday April 27th, 6,000 women met in 590 places in 20 countries around the globe to connect beyond the computer screen and embrace community and friendship. This is the 2nd year I’ve gone and despite my anxiety, it was clearly the place I needed to be.}} loss, and loveApril 16th, 2013 | 3 Comments »Loss is everywhere right now, as the country reels from the horror at yesterday’s Boston Marathon, but the loss I’m going to talk to you about today is much, much closer to home.
sunday morning pancakesApril 12th, 2013 | 3 Comments »If there is one thing I know for certain, no one needs another pancake recipe. Without a doubt, we all stand true to the ones that work for us and think that we don’t need to branch out, try something different or find a new favorite. And to that I say “Bosh.” eating in, with lynne rosetto kasperApril 4th, 2013 | 1 Comment »Lynne Rosetto Kasper is the host of The Splendid Table, radio broadcast through American Public Media on Minnesota Public Radio since 1997. She is the author of numerous books as well, like The Splendid Table, The Splendid Table’s How to Eat Supper and The Italian Country Table. The books are beautifully photographed and relish in the simple preparations of good food shared with others. I was recently sent a copy of the first in her new e-book series, Eating In, with Lynne Rosetto Kasper and was once again treated to the lovely pictures and simple creations that these books offer.
Lynne’s books are comforting and so simple to explore. Never intimidating, these books urge home cooks to let go of complicated recipes and entertaining, and instead focus on easy preparations that utilize food on hand, requiring no more than a desire to make delicious meals. This new e-book series begins with what Lynne refers to as “Sunday food” delighting in “the unexpected places that a recipe can take you.” She talks about how to eat all week on recipes created on Sundays, ‘work night encores’ and the fascination in “the way a recipe keeps on giving. Each recipe is like the fingers on your hand; it can take you in so many directions, and open up so many possibilities. Each direction becomes a lesson in the power you gain when you know what’s happening beyond the written recipe.” The book also talks about shopping tips, offers feedback on brand tasting for canned tomatoes and stock, and offers a sound bite interview with journalist Tom Mueller (‘Extra Virginity; The Sublime and Scandalous World of Olive Oil‘) about choosing a good olive oil for your home cooking. The interview itself would be worth the price of this book, which is a bargain at $3.99. I learned more from listening to Tom’s interview than I’d ever known about olive oil, and now want to find his book. You can find the information in the interview on his website as well. I really found a lot to relate to in this book, loving the explanation of how a recipe can drive your creativity, as that is exactly how I enjoy cooking the most. I love having leftovers on hand to re-create in a new form, delighting in making more than one meal for pennies on the dollar. I appreciate all the work that goes in to her books, especially her tastings and descriptions of store brands that either delight or disappoint. Her palate is trustworthy, no doubt. I’m excited to see the next in the series, and what delicious tastes and information await.
{I was provided a code to download this e-book at no cost. All words, opinions and feedback are solely my own} just write {79}April 2nd, 2013 | Comments Off on just write {79}April thoughts: The garden plot where I grow my food is free of it’s snow cover. This makes me deliriously happy. It also makes me far too eager to pick up my shovel, and all I would get for that is the ‘tink tink’ against the frozen ground underneath. I didn’t transfer the two Peony plants last fall. I should probably trim back the Japanese Lilac this Spring. There’s another garden patch that was overcome with weed last year, where my Clematis grow and I need to fix that. I want the fire pit to drain and dry out so I can burn wood that stirs my senses with it’s deep, woodsy smell. I want that flattened grass to come back, the patch that’s been buried under all the snow we’ve pushed off the patio all Winter long. I want my patio chairs back. I want to crack open that one amazing bottle of white wine that I have on hand, anticipating the very first beautifully warm day that I can sit there, sipping liquid gold elixir in celebration of Spring. Last year, I sat outside on March 17th, in a skirt and alabaster legs, in awe of the warmth around me. March certainly came in like a lion, and most assuredly didn’t go out like a lamb. We went for a walk on Easter, the last day of March this year, and my earlobes were numb from the wind. My thighs burned and were bright pink when we got home. That’s not lamb-like. The light changes daily, stays longer, grows warmer. Morning chill still penetrates the windows, but the afternoon sun drowses me, lulling me to think I can shed layers, pull off the socks and absorb its rays. Still not there yet. The cats sit on the steps, eyes half shut to the softly blazing sky, nose high to the wind as the endless parade of Spring dances across their faces. I lift my own nose high in the air and can smell the earth awakening. It stirs in me the need for change. I place my hand on the warmth of the brick underfoot, delight in birdsong, watch carefully for buds on trees, the first green shoots pushing through last Fall’s remnants, the Crocus and Poppy rising from their Winter sleep to wave in the breeze as if saying Hello. April is sweet and soft and perfectly Springtime. It’s a slow and delicious transition to light and less, to green and storms, thunder and rain. April is soft earth rejoicing in renewal; cold mornings and warm afternoons and long walks in the twilight after dinnertime. It is promise and hope and redemption and the finest reward after a long Winter. There is nothing quite like April. |
