Green: Toasted Kale and Coconut with Farro

I am, and always have been, the sort of person who does best in the gym through peer pressure.  It's not that I don't want to go, but more that I just don't enjoy running on the treadmill or using machines; I can't bring myself to watch TV and live in my head for that long while I'm doing reps.  I like the social aspect of group exercise classes; I like the friendly joking, the camaraderie and encouragement of fellow class members, even the collecting grunting and groaning during a particularly challenging class.  Like comments in blogging, it makes me feel a little less alone.  In fact, this is so important to me that it determines where I go to the gym; I go to our local YMCA because I love the mix of people there, I love the fact that I don't feel like I have to walk shamefully through rows of perfect bodies and people primping, I love the fact that people come as they are, in all shapes and sizes, and the goal is not perfection but wellness.

So I was sort of surprised when I realized that I'd been attacked by the green eyed monster at the Y today.

My group exercise classes are mostly "regulars" -- people who show up for the same classes every week.  Some of us show up for class at the same time every day.  Monday is Kick.  Tuesday is Tabata.  Wednesday is Step.  Thursday is Groove.

Usually the instructors are encouraging of everyone, regardless of ability.  But I know that they're also always on the lookout for potential teachers.  And in the class I love most last week, the instructor asked after "friend x," mentioning that she wanted to get her into an upcoming training.

I like "friend x" a lot.  I think she's good at the class.  She is skinny and athletic.  She remembers all of the steps in a routine.  I've known that this instructor was trying to tap her for some time.  And it's not as if the instructor doesn't encourage me, too; she's mentioned that I would be a good fit for teaching a different class (which, in my opinion, is full of people who do it even better than I do).  But still I found myself thinking, "why aren't I good enough to get trained to teach this class?  Why won't she pick me?"

I spent the rest of the class feeling shamefully inadequate.  And envious of my friend.

Yoga teaches us that behind every block, every painful feeling, every surge of resentment, is life force waiting to be freed.  When we get stuck in asana, we breathe, and the breath re-creates the flow of prana, often allowing us to move more deeply into the pose.  Instead of worrying about what we don't have, or where we fall short, we focus on freeing that energy, on allowing it -- as it wants to do naturally anyway -- to shift and move, to become something else, to become more creative.

And then we're called to practice mudita,or empathetic joy.  The more we cling to our selves, the more we get stuck in "I"-ness, in our achievements, the more we are limited.  The reality is, we don't have to be good at everything.  That's not what it's about.  It's about practicing to the best of our ability, and resting in the joy of others as they do the same.

And when I think about it, that's at the heart of the Y, anyway, at the heart of the success of our group fitness classes.  Not to be caught up in what we do best alone, but what we do best together, experiencing joy when others can reach their fullest potential.  The spirit of non-competitiveness.  I can do this when people experience joy in things that I don't want; now it's up to me to practice joy even when the achievement is something I would have wanted, too.  Because the fact that someone is attaining joy near me makes me part of that joy, too ... makes me an integral component of it.  I am part of the energy the makes that joy possible.

So that's what I'll be working on this week.  Looking my teacher and my friend in the eye, cheering her on, and making sure that my green says where it belongs, in my salad bowl.

Toasted Kale with Coconut and Farro

This recipe comes directly from Heidi Swanson's cookbook, Super Natural Everyday, which I bought myself with a gift card as a treat during the holidays.  I haven't bought a cookbook in years, and it was absolutely worth it; I haven't been disappointed in a recipe yet.

Respecting the intellectual property of other bloggers means not reprinting recipes as they are written without permission from the author.  And I didn't alter this one very much, as I usually do.  So instead today I'm posting a list of the ingredients, and a link to Serious Eats, which did get permission from Heidi to reprint her recipe.   I used a bit more kale than she did, which I've reflected below.

Suffice to say that this was the most amazing kale dish I think I've ever eaten.  I literally could not stop devouring it.  If you liked the kale chip phenomenon, this dish will rock your world.  And start to finish it took me about 20 minutes, with minimal effort.  If only working on my other greens was this easy.

1/3 c. extra-virgin olive oil  
1 t. sesame oil 
2 T. shoyu, tamari, or soy sauce 
4 lightly packed c. chopped kale, stems trimmed, large ribs removed 
1 1/2 c. unsweetened large-flake coconut 
2 c. cooked farro or other whole grain (optional)

Read more »

Pratyahara, and a Birthday: Carrot Leek Soup

So I turned 39 yesterday.  It was, in many ways, an ordinary day.  Little or no fanfare, no dinner at a fancy restaurant, just good wishes.  I went to the Y and tried a Boot Camp class that kicked my proverbial arse, but was told by the instructor that I "had potential to stick around."  My son baked me a birthday cake from a box (which I have to tell you about in my next post, because it deserves discussion of its own).  Though it was a quiet birthday, it felt just right.

This month in yoga, we're focusing on the practice of pratyahara.  In a nutshell, pratyahara involves sensory withdrawal, removing the information overload that we live in every day in an effort to draw inward, and pay more attention to the self.

My yoga teacher says that everyone on earth, when we strip away everything else, wants the same things: peace, happiness, and to be seen or known, by ourselves and by others.  Though I'm not sure I can agree with such a reductive statement about humankind, I do think that most of us want to be known.  And I also agree that sometimes all of the noise--both the noise that the world creates for us and the noise we create within ourselves, with negative self-talk or attachments to worldly things--gets in the way of us knowing our deepest selves.  Pratyahara--which we practiced by closing our eyes, blindfolding ourselves, and covering our ears--counters that noise by creating silences: by removing visual or auditory or other sensory distractions.

It so happens that I spend a lot of time in asana with my eyes closed.  I know it's not recommended; it's a force of habit.  And yet, I never realized why it was so natural until tonight.  Yes, in some ways it's relaxing (though I'll warn you, you're going to feel that stretch in your side seam a whole lot more in trichonasana, and it's a lot harder to balance in vrikshasana when you can't focus on a spot on the wall).  But it's mostly relaxing because those distractions go away, allowing me to focus on what's happening in the physical body.  Once you realize that's what you're doing, that sensory withdrawal is like a laser beam, illuminating one small piece of you at a time.

That drawing inward to look at ourselves, and to gather energy for what's coming next, is a perfect winter activity.  The pause, the caesura, the time of waiting.  Just as people do physical cleanses, and get rid of the junk food in their lives, so it's important, sometimes, step away from all of the noise.  To meet our truest selves.  Pratyahara offers one way to withdraw, to restore our senses, to renew.

And in some way, even if I couldn't articulate it at the time, maybe this was my wish for my birthday: to withdraw a little, to go inward, and to prepare myself for what's coming next.

Here's looking at you, 39.  I'm ready.

Carrot and Leek Soup
adapted from The View from the Great Island
Good mental nutrition requires good physical nutrition.  And though I hate to admit it, sometimes you need something a little better for you than cookies.  This is what I ate when I came home from yoga tonight.  You can strain it to get rid of the seeds, but I sort of like them, for a little crunch.

1 T. butter
1 T. olive oil
2 t. yellow mustard seeds
2 t. coriander seeds
1/4 t. tumeric
1/2 t. garam masala
1" piece of fresh ginger, peeled and minced
2 leeks, sliced (white and light green part only)
1 small green apple, peeled and diced
1 lb. carrots, peeled and roughly chopped
4 c. vegetable or chicken stock
salt and fresh cracked black pepper to taste

Heat the oil and butter over medium heat in a large soup pot and saute the spices for a minute or two. The seeds will start to pop.  Add the leeks and saute for a few more minutes, stirring often to prevent browning.

Add the apple, carrots, and stock to the pot. Bring to a simmer and cook until the carrots are tender, about 25 minutes.  Puree the soup in a blender, food processor, or with an immersion blender.  Add additional water if necessary.

Read more »

Stranded: Chicken Pot Pie Soup

Noon on a rainy Tuesday.  The towtruck pulled up in front of my neighbor's driveway and began to slide the bed back, inclining it to the ground.  N. heard the commotion and went running to the door, pressing her face to the glass, where her breath made frosty marks around her small nose.

I'd been expecting the truck; my neighbor told me the other day, in her matter-of-fact way, that the van was going to be towed.  My neighbor is almost ninety, and the van has been uncooperative for a long time; finally, it rusted out completely underneath, leavings its entrails exposed to the elements.  But uncooperative as the van may have been, it was the symbolic representation of her independence.  It was her escape.  To the Amish market.  To the salon.  To the doctor's office.  To wherever she needed to go, by herself.

As I watched her from our doorway, standing on her own porch, I tried to imagine the thoughts in her head.  About borrowing her daughter's car.  About juggling rides.  About not going places.  About having to ask for help.

She stood there for a long time, stoic, half inside, half outside, newly coiffed with an auburn bouffant.  There were no tears; it was as if she was standing watch to make sure it all went right, rather than offering her last goodbye.  Finally, as the driver loaded the van onto the truck, she closed the door.  Perhaps she could take no more.

I believe that part of what has kept her and her husband alive and healthy for so long is their sense of independence, their sense of freedom. I can only imagine how difficult it was for her to give up that freedom.  She was, effectively, stranding herself.

My mother is also now stranded here.  She has no car, no friends, no lunch dates, not even 24 hour access to the Food Network, because we have no TV, much less cable.  She is in some pain; she can walk from room to room, but prefers not to move from standing to sitting positions more often than she has to.  She has to ask for help, and it's as if she doesn't quite know how; she doesn't want to be a burden, and yet sometimes not knowing how to help her is more burdensome than a simple request.  Today I helped her wash her hair in the sink, and take a sponge bath, and felt an awkward intimacy, almost like I was intruding.  These are things I do for my children.

This is a difficult negotiation for us.  There were times, as an adult, when I wanted her to be there, to support me, to tend to me, and she wasn't.  At least, not in the way I wanted her to be.  And I couldn't ask her to be, because that is not the person she is.  And yet now, I find myself in the position of caretaker.  Feeling like I ought not to be feeling sorry for myself, because she is the one in pain.

In her 2001 book Bodhichitta, Pema Chodron writes

"Bodhichitta is [...] equated, in part, with compassion—our ability to feel the pain that we share with others. Without realizing it we continually shield ourselves from this pain because it scares us. We put up protective walls made of opinions, prejudices and strategies, barriers that are built on a deep fear of being hurt. These walls are further fortified by emotions of all kinds: anger, craving, indifference, jealousy and envy, arrogance and pride. But fortunately for us, the soft spot—our innate ability to love and to care about things—is like a crack in these walls we erect. It's a natural opening in the barriers we create when we're afraid. With practice we can learn to find this opening. We can learn to seize that vulnerable moment—love, gratitude, loneliness, embarrassment, inadequacy—to awaken bodhichitta."

The soft spot.  Our innate ability to love.  The crack in my wall.  Maybe this is the moment that Pema would call the "teacher."

There is more soup on the menu this week.  The sort of soup my mother would like.  Because when you're stranded, at least you ought to have something you like to eat.

Chicken Pot Pie Soup
adapted from no, 2 pencil

2 T. butter
1 medium onion, diced
2 stalks of celery, diced
1 large carrot, diced
2 T. flour
2 t. sage
1 t. thyme
6 c. chicken stock - plus additional to thin if soup is very thick
3 c. shredded and 1 c. diced potatoes
4 c. cooked, diced or shredded chicken
1/2 c. evaporated milk (or heavy cream)
1 cup of frozen peas

Melt butter in a large pot over medium heat.  Add onions, carrots and celery and saute until softened. Add flour; stir well and cook about one minute more. Add herbs and chicken stock, increase heat to medium high. Once chicken stock begins to simmer, add potatoes and let simmer for about 15 minutes, or until potatoes begin to break down and thicken soup. Add chicken and let simmer until heated through, then add milk and peas and let simmer about 5 more minutes.

Add salt and pepper to taste, and adjust consistency of soup with additional chicken stock if needed.

Read more »

Coming to Terms and Honey Lavender Ice Cream

I lace up my sneakers, open the door, and step out.  It's only been three days since I've gone running, but it feels like an eternity: my limbs feel like stone.  I have already decided that I'm going farther today.  I reach the street, lean forward, take a breath, take a few steps, quicken my pace, and begin.

***

Before I got pregnant with N., I had a dream that is still vivid in my mind.  I am walking down the sidewalk, perhaps towards downtown, perhaps towards the farmer's market up the street; the sun is warm and the light is dappled on the pavement.  Ahead of me, my son walks with my husband, holding his hand, sometimes skipping away, then running back to him, like a boomerang.  Sometimes he climbs up onto my husband's shoulders, ruffling the leaves playfully when his head nears the branches.  I am walking a good distance behind them, more slowly, carrying a child in my arms.  A daughter.  She is heavy, thoughtful, watching the world go by with solemnity.  I want to hold my boomerang child, too, but I know I must carry this one right now.  I feel like I'm being left behind, even though I'm not alone.  I feel my throat tighten, watching them head into the light without me.  Without us.

***

I am sitting in yoga class for the first time in weeks.  It's been too easy to miss class lately, with my husband's business trips, and our (too short) vacation, and the loss of momentum.  I dragged myself out, knowing that there would probably be a sub because my teacher goes to India every year at this time, also knowing that I need ... something.  Recentering?

The sub is someone I know fairly well, a woman who is in the 500 hour training this year.  My teacher had given me her name as a reference when I was exploring doing teacher training, the week before I found out I was pregnant with N., when I had given up on getting pregnant and had been handed a diagnosis of unexplained secondary infertility, and had decided I was going to give myself a different goal.  Seeing her always reminds me of one of the alternate universes where I didn't end up, the one in which I become a wildly successful certified yoga instructor, but have only one child.

Her style is a little different from my regular teacher, but you can also tell that she was my teacher's student.  She does more than just talk about asanas; she talks about philosophy.  And tonight she is talking about stillness, that we need to find that place in us that doesn't move, the center around which chaos swirls.

I find some irony in this.  On the one hand, I have a hard time not getting swept up in the chaos.  Chaos has defined my life for the past 38 years.  But on the other hand, I am the center now.  I'm the one who isn't changing, who is just watching the world dance around me.  And I don't always find it a welcome place to be.

***

I am running through the better part of town now, through the Mc Mansions.  I hate these houses, this sprawling treeless suburbia, and yet, I want them.  Or more correctly, I want the ability to have them if I wanted them.  There are other things like that, too.

***

You should know this about me: I was a valedictorian.  I was the one who was always ahead.  I was the smart one, the one in the gifted and talented classes.  The first one in my class to take my exams in graduate school.  The one who won the fellowship.  The one who started a new program at my job.

Now I watch with humility and jealousy when the accolades get handed out.  I'm no longer the best in show.  I watch others walk into the light, and wonder if I'm not running fast enough to keep up with the chaos.

***

My son starts first grade in two weeks, riding the bus for the first time.  My daughter is beginning to put words together to form stories: "Eat.  Elmo. Eyeball.  Nomnomnomnom.  bwahahahaaaaa!" (in reference to consuming an Elmo cupcake last week.)  My husband orbits us, coming and going on business trips and busy with work.  My former colleagues' lives march onward in Facebook, with posts about new student orientations and other harbingers of the new academic year.  My non-work friends have their own chaos, some of it not good at all.  My blogging colleagues and friends have theirs, some of it very good chaos, indeed.

And I sit here in the middle of it, just watching.  Feeling jealous of the movement and strangely disappointed by the stillness that this teacher says I should cultivate.

***

I am three miles out from home, my mind spinning, the air thick with jasmine, gardenia, lavender, and I realize I am gasping for breath. I stop, resting my hand on the splintered wooden fencepost, and am surprised to find that I am shaking, dry-heaving.  It comes, like a tidal wave.  My face is wet.  I brush the sweat away, but it's not sweat.

I am shaking my fist ungratefully at the sky, at the miraculously blue sky.   An older couple drives by in a beat up green pickup truck, waving, thinking I am waving at them.  I wave, take a deep breath, curse everyone, and pick up my feet, half skipping to start myself moving forward again.

***

When I first got our ice cream maker, I was surprised to see that the paddle stayed still in the middle while the bowl turned around it.  It makes perfect sense, of course, given that you want to continually give the ingredients new contact with the coldest surface in order to convince them to freeze evenly; it had just never occurred to me that it would work that way.

Maybe it's a useful metaphor.  Maybe I should try to appreciate standing still.  The flower around which the bees work, collecting nectar to bring back to the hive.  Honey.  Lavender.

***

I crest the hill, and turn down, towards home.

Honey Lavender Ice Cream

2 c. milk
1 c. heavy cream
1 T. + 1 t. corn starch
1 t. lavender
2/3 c. honey
3 T. cream cheese (or goat cheese, thank you Healthy Foodie!)

Mix about 2 T. of the milk with the cornstarch in a small bowl to make a smooth slurry.Whisk the cream (or goat) cheese and salt in a medium bowl until smooth. Fill a large bowl with ice and water.

Combine the remaining milk, cream, lavender, and honey in a 4-quart saucepan, bring to a rolling boil over medium-high heat, and boil for 4 minutes, Remove from the heat and gradually whisk in the cornstarch slurry. Bring the mixture back to a boil over medium-high heat and cook, stirring with a heatproof spatula, until slightly thickened, about 1 minute. Remove from the heat.

Gradually whisk the hot milk into the cream (or goat) cheese until smooth. Submerge the mixture partway in the ice bath. Let stand, adding more ice as necessary, until cold, about 30 minutes.

Strain out the lavender as you pour the ice cream base into the frozen canister and spin until thick and creamy. Pack the ice cream into a storage container. Press a sheet of parchment directly against the surface and seal with an airtight lid. Freeze in the coldest part of your freezer until firm, at least 4 hours.

Serve sprinkled with a few lavender buds, toasted almonds, or a square of good bittersweet chocolate.

Read more »

Comfort and Red Curry

I went to yoga last night for the first time in about two months.  Between our own travels, my husband's travels, and missing a week or two to do something with my son, I lost momentum.  Knowing that there are more dates coming up in the next month that I won't be able to get to class was making me feel like there was no point in going, anyway, because I'd begin to practice and then backtrack again.

Of course, I become a much grouchier person when I don't go to yoga.  When I don't take time for myself.  Even when I go to the Y, I know that my daughter is in Child Watch and that all hell could break loose at any moment (most often this happens in the form of an emergency diaper change requiring that I leave my class at once).  And considering that I haven't been in weeks, and that I've been solo parenting on and off during that time, I admit, I have gotten grouchier than usual.  For me, yoga is a spiritual practice that offers me peace, and reminds me, as Rumi says, to "visit myself," but it also helps me to get out of myself, to think outwards, to gain perspective.  I love what Pema Chodron says about this:

For many, spiritual practice represents a way to relax and a way to access peace of mind. We want to feel calm, more focused; and with our frantic, stressful lives, who can blame us? Nevertheless, we have a responsibility to think bigger than that these days. If spiritual practice is relaxing, if it gives us some peace of mind, that's great-- but is this personal satisfaction helping us to address what's happening in the world? The main question is, are we living in a way that adds further aggression and self-centeredness to the mix, or are we adding some much needed sanity? (from Taking the Leap)

In the interest of potentially adding needed sanity to the world, I finally decided to go, despite feeling tired, and when I arrived, I discovered that there was a sub for my usual teacher.  Great, I thought.  I sacrificed the time and money and it's not even my favorite teacher.  I made my way into the room, unrolled my mat, and closed my eyes, feeling grumpier than ever.

I sat listening to my breath, and imagined what my regular teacher would say, about honoring the intention that brought you to class, about putting aside whatever you left to get to class and whatever you were going to have to return to after you left.  I heard her voice suggesting that I let the breath breathe me.  Slowly, the attitude melted away.

And the class was actually just what I needed.  It wasn't my usual teacher's pace, or her humor, but it was gentle enough to allow me to be gentle to myself.  I found myself grateful, in the end, that I'd gone, and that the sub was there after all.  And I felt renewed, able to tackle the world again.

It reminded me of my pickup at the farm two weeks ago, when I was just starting to get over being sick.  I didn't want to go; I almost called my neighbor to ask her to pick up my share for me.  I knew I'd have to carry N. on my back, in the heat, and venture into the fields if I wanted tomatoes.  I felt depleted, and wondered whether perhaps it would just be easier not to go.

But when I arrived, there were two curry dishes to sample, waiting inside the pickup space.  Our farm always has one or two seasonal dishes to sample at pickup, using part of the week's share, along with the recipe.  I've written here before about curry as one of my comfort foods, and it was as if they knew what I needed.  I don't even eat white rice much anymore, that small flowered Dixie cup full of warm rice and coconut milk and squash and red curry was like a small miracle.  It was the first real food I'd eaten in days.  I was grateful, and I told them so.  I know I was a better parent that night.

Sometimes it's hard to go where we need to go, or do what we need to do.  We don't want to go to yoga.  We don't want to write for the fifteen minutes we promised ourselves.  We don't want to see that friend who has been nagging us.  It's inconvenient.  We're tired.  We're grumpy.  But sometimes the nourishment we need is waiting there.

Where do you go or what do you do to nourish yourself?  Is it always easy to make that commitment?  Do you find that this practice, or this space, is self-centered, or does it help you to add sanity to the world?

Red Curry with Summer Squash 
This is slightly different from the previous red curry recipe I posted.  You can still make your own curry paste, but I like the convenience of the bottled kind.

3 medium summer squash cubed (I also tossed in 3 small eggplant)
1 sweet onion, sliced
2 cloves of garlic sliced
2 T. olive oil
2 T. red curry paste
2 c. coconut milk
1 T. fish sauce
1 T. brown sugar
Salt
Sweet (Thai) Basil

Sauté curry paste in olive oil 1 – 2 minutes to bring out flavor. Add 1 c. coconut milk; simmer 4 minutes. Add onion, garlic and squash. Cook until beginning to get tender. Add 1 1/2 c. coconut milk, fish sauce, and sugar. Add salt to taste, remove from heat and add sweet basil May use other vegetables as well

Read more »

Stop-Motion and Larb Gai (or Tofu)

Last night in yoga we practiced sun salutations in slow- and stop-motion.  Before putting a foot down, for example, we would hover it over the ground for a few seconds.  If this sounds like a huge pain to you practicing yogis out there, well, it was.  I've done sun salutations hundreds of times, and though my form is far from perfect, my body naturally glides through the flows of the asanas.  It was amazing to observe how different something feels, and how clumsy and unbalanced you become, when you take a habit out of practice, when you make yourself wait in an in-between.

Part of the point, my teacher explained (besides allowing us to concentrate on our form), was to become comfortable with in-between-ness, with the messiness that occurs when we are attentive to the process rather than rushing headlong to the endpoint or solution.

I am not good with in-between-ness.  It's not that I don't enjoy the journey from point A to point B, but rather that I generally live with my end goals in sight, and I tend to be hell-bent on arriving at them.  That's one reason this year has been a challenging one for me: the goals are fuzzier (though I suppose I could set more tangible writing goals), and the days less purpose-driven (short of the bullet pointed list of things to do that is always in my head, and which always includes laundry and making the next meal, sort of like a shopping list that always starts with bananas and milk).  I am less graceful in this state.  Sometimes it's downright ugly.

On the other hand, sometimes if we disrupt the "flow," the most wonderful, unexpected things can happen.  Not like hovering my right leg an inch above the floor before I put it down for a high lunge (which builds muscle tone but makes my quadriceps scream), but like discovering a new kind of tiny flower that grows in the cracks in the sidewalk, or having a conversation with someone you've never met, or gaining new perspective on how to resolve a difficult situation.

I used to travel internationally as often as I could; we were lucky to have parents who took us on vacation every year to some really remarkable places: Spain, France, Mexico, the Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico.  I had relatives in two of those places, so it wasn't that surprising that we traveled to see them, but saving for those trips was a priority in our house.  When I started living on my own, I continued to make travel a savings priority, and I visited (some with my husband) Alaska (which might as well be another country for me, given where I live!), South Africa, Brazil, Thailand, Japan, Canada, and a host of other places.  And when I think back, I remember that the best trips were the ones in which I didn't, guide-book in hand, spend all of my time worrying about getting to the next place.

So I'll encourage you to do something disruptive today.  Live for an hour in stop-motion.  And become comfortable, for a moment, in the in-between-ness, the point of transition, that makes change possible.

Larb Gai or Larb Tofu
This refreshing salad is generally made with chicken, but the tofu will sop up the flavor and dressing beautifully.  And if the shallot bites, live with it for a minute or so. :)

2 t. jasmine rice*
2 t. coconut or vegetable or peanut oil
3/4 lb. chicken or firm tofu, minced/crumbled (I use my cuisinart)
1 stalk lemongrass, sliced
2 T. fish sauce (nam pla)
1/3 c. broth
3 small shallots (1-2 large ones)
4 green onions, sliced on the diagonal
1/2 c. cilantro, chopped
1/2 c. mint, chopped
3 T. lime juice
1/2 lb. lettuce, shredded
1/4 c. roasted unsalted peanuts

(PSA: this first part is a real p.i.t.a., and we will understand if you decide to skip the rice bit.)
In a small pan over medium heat, toast the rice until it's fragrant.  Grind to a powder using whatever means you have available: mortar and pestle, small and powerful cuisinart, etc.

Heat oil in a medium skillet over medium heat.  Add chicken mince and cook thoroughly, stirring often to break up lumps.  Add broth, lemongrass, and fish sauce, and cook for another 10 minutes (but watch to make sure it doesn't burn; you may need to turn down the heat).  Remove from heat and allow mixture to cool.

Add shallots, green onions, cilantro, mint, and lime juice and stir to combine well.  Place lettuce on a serving platter, top with chicken mixture, and sprinkle with peanuts.

*You could omit the rice entirely, though I'm told that the flavor of the dish without the rice really makes it a different dish.

Read more »

Warrior II: Vegetarian Tamale Pie

We spent a significant part of last month in yoga class doing hip openers in order to practice our virabhadrasana II (warrior pose).  I've always loved that pose: it's named after an incarnation of Shiva, described as having a thousand heads, a thousand eyes, and a thousand feet, wielding a thousand clubs, and wearing a tiger's skin, and when I'm standing there, grounded, arms out, feet spread, I feel powerful.  To practice it correctly, though, is a challenge.  I consider myself pretty open in the hips (I have a dancer's "turnout"), but even for me, after the third week of holding a block against the wall with my knee in vriskhasana, I was actually having a hard time walking around after class.

The practice of the month made me appreciate, though, the necessary coexistence of the seemingly antithetical positions of openness and either defense or aggression.  We often think of warriors as people who take a position and hold it firmly, who are closed-minded, driven, bent on their own goals.  But yoga reminds us that the strongest warriors are also people who are open to their opponents; who stand firmly, feeling the ground firmly under their feet, but who can accept otherness and perhaps even respond based on the actions of their opponent.  There's a definite vulnerability to virabhadrasana II; while you focus on what's in front of you, and your arms and legs are spread wide, your body is completely open.

How many times have I assumed "fight" stance in a closed way?  And how much more powerful might I have been if I'd been flexible, open, strong but still willing to be vulnerable?

We were talking about leadership and conflict in the youth group I work with on Sunday, and one of them said something truly inspiring: she said that she used to be a much more angry and aggressive person, but she's come to believe that if something or someone is persistent enough to find its way into her life, that she should receive it as a gift, with thanks, even if she doesn't like them and doesn't agree with them.  It was an impressive, inspiring thing to say for someone who is only 15, even if she doesn't technically live that belief all the time.

I'm waging quite a few battles of my own these days.  Perhaps a change of stance is in order.

What are your battles?  Have you tried being open?  And if so, have you found it a more effective approach?

(This recipe is good for the days when you're battling against the clock to put dinner on the table.  My husband didn't like it because it has coconut oil in it (though you could easily sub in another fat), my son wanted to eat mostly cornbread, and my daughter picked out the black beans, but I still think it's a good recipe for "clean" eating, which is another war many of us wage on a daily basis.)

Vegetarian Tamale Pie
(a recipe for the crockpot)


3 cloves garlic, minced
1 28-oz box diced tomatoes
1 8-oz pkg sliced baby Portobello mushrooms
1 cup diced yellow onion
1 large zucchini, diced
1 large red bell pepper, diced
1 15-oz can black beans, drained and rinsed
1/4 tsp sea salt
2 tsp ground cumin
3 tsp chile powder
1 tsp dried oregano
1 1/2 cups whole-grain yellow cornmeal
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1 large egg
1 1/2 cups skim milk (almond milk or soy milk is OK)
1 1/2 tbsp apple cider vinegar
2 tbsp melted coconut oil
1/2 cup low-fat shredded cheddar cheese

 In a 5-6 quart slow cooker combine garlic, tomatoes and accompanying juices, mushrooms, onion, jalapeño, zucchini, bell pepper, beans, chile powder, cumin, oregano and salt. Stir to combine, cover and cook on low for 6 hours.

Increase slow cooker heat to high. Meanwhile, prepare cornmeal batter: In a medium bowl, whisk cornmeal and baking powder. In a large glass measuring cup or small bowl, whisk egg, milk, oil and vinegar. Add to cornmeal mixture and stir to combine. Stir in cheddar.

Remove lid from slow cooker. Pour cornmeal mixture over top of vegetable mixture and spread evenly to form a crust. Place a clean dish towel over top of slow cooker and replace lid, resting over top of towel (this will prevent condensation from wetting the surface of the cornmeal crust). Cook for 1 hour, until cornbread sets. Remove lid and towel and slice into wedges.

Read more »

Mindful Eating: Spanish Spinach

I've never really considered myself a food blogger.  Though I appreciate beautiful and tasty food (I think this is the definition of a foodie for me), and I like taking pictures of food to help people imagine that they are there to appreciate it too, for me, food is a metonym for other things: for comfort, for memory, for family, for community, for values (e.g. my CSA soapbox), even for identity.  Those are the things I write about.  I don't think I'm the only person who feels this way: my friend the lovely and talented JeCaThRe is writing a novel with characters who cook (I keep meaning to ask her for the password so I can catch up, and you should, too), and even publishes their recipes in her other blog; I feel like somehow, their food can stand in partially for who they are as characters.

Seeing food as something besides either fuel or art becomes problematic, though, when your eating becomes emotional.  Which, unfortunately, it is for me.  Though I cook healthy, beautiful meals for my family, I am a late night cabinet- and freezer-stalker.  Which, of course, feeds right into my overdeveloped sense of Catholic guilt, and makes me think I ought to be starving myself in compensation, which of course leaves me hungry at night all over again.  I am a yo-yo.

It's not even really an issue of having junk in the house: I do all of the shopping in the house and cook every meal during the week, so my cart contains mostly fresh fruits and vegetables, milk and cheese, cereal, and paper products.  Still, even when I've been particularly virtuous about the weeks' worth of groceries, I wind up eating a half a jar full of almonds, or peanut butter, or sheets of matzoh with butter.

Esperanza wrote a brave post recently about her relationship with food (and how it is complicated by her prescription medication, though, not emotion), and it resonated with me.  Why do so many of us, I wonder, have such difficult relationships with food?  What are the strategies you use to make sure that your relationship with food is a healthy one?

One of the things I need to do more consistently is bring my practice of mindfulness to eating.  Often I eat while I'm doing something else.  When I was pregnant, I was eating and drinking lots of water, but doing so with my full attention focused on the act of eating or drinking.  There have been times in my life when I've cut out sugar entirely, or gone completely vegetarian, or grain-free during certain parts of the day, so I know that mindfulness works.  Am I hungry?  And if not, why am I grazing?

Keiko had a great post a while back about mindful eating and the most delicious oatmeal raisin cookie. Thich Nhat Hanh has written extensively about the practice of mindfulness, and has some wonderful wisdom about mindful eating.  He writes:

"Each morsel of food is an ambassador from the cosmos. [...] Some of us, while looking at a piece of carrot, can see the whole cosmos in it, can see the sunshine in it, can see the earth in it. It has come from the whole cosmos for our nourishment.  [...] When you chew it, you are aware that you are chewing a piece of carrot. Don't put anything else into your mouth, like your projects, your worries, your fear, just put the carrot in.

And when you chew, chew only the carrot, not your projects or your ideas. You are capable of living in the present moment, in the here and the now. It is simple, but you need some training to just enjoy the piece of carrot. This is a miracle.

I often teach "orange meditation" to my students. We spend time sitting together, each enjoying an orange. Placing the orange on the palm of our hand, we look at it while breathing in and out, so that the orange becomes a reality. If we are not here, totally present, the orange isn't here either.

There are some people who eat an orange but don't really eat it. They eat their sorrow, fear, anger, past, and future. They are not really present, with body and mind united.

When you practice mindful breathing, you become truly present. If you are here, life is also here. The orange is the ambassador of life. When you look at the orange, you discover that it is nothing less than fruit growing, turning yellow, becoming orange, the acid becoming sugar. The orange tree took time to create this masterpiece.

When you are truly here, contemplating the orange, breathing and smiling, the orange becomes a miracle. It is enough to bring you a lot of happiness. You peel the orange, smell it, take a section, and put it in your mouth mindfully, fully aware of the juice on your tongue. This is eating an orange in mindfulness. It makes the miracle of life possible. It makes joy possible."

My father, who lived through the Depression and all sorts of other horrendous conditions, used to say "eat to live, don't live to eat."  I don't think that's the answer, at least not for me; simply eating to live means you may be missing the opportunity to appreciate what goes into your mouth before it reaches your bloodstream.  Instead, I'm proposing to eat more consciously, perhaps to "eat to live well."

This recipe is wonderful for mindful eating because of the complex flavors and textures, despite the simple ingredients.  The nutty crunch of the pine nuts balances the chewy sweet of the fruit (this version is a bit different because of the addition of apricots) and the potential bitterness of the greens.  Whoever said that Spanish people can't be vegetarians clearly never had Espinacas a la Catalana.

Spinach with Pine Nuts and Raisins

3 bunches of spinach
1/3 c. pine nuts
1/3 c. raisins
1/3 c. apricots, chopped into pine nut-sized pieces
1 1/2 T. butter (I used salted)

Thoroughly rinse spinach and place in a large pan. Cover and cook until just wilted, about 5 minutes. (You won't need to add any liquid if the spinach has just been washed.)

Drain the spinach. Cool and squeeze dry with your hands. Chop and set aside.

Heat butter in a skillet. Add pine nuts, raisins, and apricots, and cook over medium heat until the pine nuts and apricots are golden and the raisins plumpted. Stir in spinach and toss to combine. Cook until heated through, and serve immediately.

Read more »

Props To You: Falafel Pie

I have always been a competitive person.  When I was younger, my competitive spirit manifested itself at school, because that was what I spent most of my time doing (and because I avoided competitive sports).  But as I grew up, it began to extend to every part of my life. This becomes problematic when you realize that you can't do everything better than everyone else can, especially if you're not particularly athletic.

My addiction to competition has been fueled, recently, by what my husband calls "electronic 'attaboys."  My car, a hybrid, congratulates me when I have get particularly good mileage: "Excellent!" it says, as I'm powering down.  My husband got two free fitbits from work, and I've been wearing one the past two days; one of its displays is a flower that grows as you are more active during the day, and of course, I had to compare the length of my flower with my husband's flower.  (There's probably something deeply and bizarrely Freudian in there that I am not going to explore.)  It also says "walk me" and "climb on" and "cheers" whenever I pick it up.  Because, you know, I need the motivation.

All of this goes away, though, when I'm doing yoga.*

When I first started practicing yoga--or more honestly, up until quite recently in my yoga practice--I refused to use blankets and blocks, thinking myself (I am ashamed to admit this) somehow "superior" for a more "authentic" practice.

But in my current class, my teacher requires us all to use props sometimes, in order to improve alignment, to rest some parts of the body in order to allow others to work more effectively in an asana, or just to improve our focus on the flow of prana or on the breath.

At first I resisted.  I didn't need props.  I could do this asana AllByMyselfThankyouverymuch.

Then, giving in, I felt my body shift.  I felt new awareness in my muscles and my joints.  I felt hips and shoulders opening.  I was able to pay better attention to what I was experiencing.  It was like focusing a beam of light on the part of the body that was moving, helping me to cultivate sattva, or (very loosely translated) harmony, not just a stretch.  Ohhhhhhh, I thought.  Now I understand.

How many times have we done this?  Refused props, or support, because we want to do it ourselves?  Because the competition, the doing it "better," is more important than the experience of doing it, whatever "it" is?  Because we have this twisted idea that doing it without help is somehow more authentic than using our props?  And how many times has that support actually helped us to see things differently, perhaps, if we were able to accept it, rather than trying to compete, or get ahead (which is, in case you are interested, the rajasic way of approaching things, rather than sattvic)?

On the other side of the question, perhaps it's time to support someone, rather than trying to beat them at a game you may both lose?  Perhaps it's time to offer perspective, rather than one-upsmanship?



Sattva is a philosophical principle that also influences diet if you're into ayurvedic cooking.  I give you this (mostly) sattvic, not entirely beautiful, dish, adapted quite liberally from The Vegan Stoner (which you really must go read, because their cartoons are as fabulous as their food, if you're not vegan).  Props to you, friends.

*Except for the fact that I realized I was jealous of Mel's tripod headstand today, having only ever been able to do a headstand of my own against a wall.

Falafel Pie


1 c. falafel mix (which is on the one hand totally cheating, and on the other hand, just a prop)
1/2 c. water
1 c. (or so) hummus
1 cucumber
1 c. plain greek (or soy) yogurt
1 T. lemon juice
1/4 t. salt (or to taste)
dash garlic powder (optional)
1 tomato, sliced

Preheat oven to 350.

Mix falafel mix with water, and spread evenly into a 9" pie plate.  Bake 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, cut the cucumber in half.  Blend one half of it with the yogurt, lemon juice, salt, and garlic.  Slice the other half thinly.  Set aside the blended cucumber mix.

Remove and let cool a bit; spread with a thick layer of hummus, and layer the sliced cucumbers and tomato on top of the hummus.  Pour blended cucumber mix over the top, and serve.

Read more »

Community, Yoga, and Vegan Gin and Tonic Cupcakes

(You're intrigued by the title of this post.  I know you are.)

This past week I got back to yoga class for the first time in weeks, and it felt really, really good.  Not only to practice, but to be back in that room, part of the community, the sangha, of my yoga studio.  Sure, I could practice on my own (and sometimes do).  I could watch yoga videos.  But I've come to the conclusion that my practice of yoga both is and is not about me, a lot like blogging, and quite honestly, a lot like everything in my life that is meaningful to me.

A friend of mine posted this video caricature about yogis to her facebook wall, and I've now watched it at least five times, laughing out loud every time.



I probably don't need to tell you that most yogis aren't really like that.  Shallow.  Self-centered.  In fact, every class at my studio ends with the chant Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu: may all beings everywhere be happy and free.  My teacher talks about practice as something that is for us, but also something that we do with an intention for something greater ... that our yoga touches everyone we touch, which again touches everyone they touch, and so on.  Because yoga is about allowing prana, the life force, to flow better through you, out into the world and back ... not about achieving some kind of smug satisfaction from turning yourself into a pretzel.

I remember when I was younger my old world Catholic father telling me that nuns did good for the world by praying, and thinking that being a nun must be a good gig (discounting the poverty and chastity bits, of course), since it looked to me like what they were doing was a pretty self-centered form of nothing.  But I think now that I see it a little bit differently: that the most inward-facing activities, the most mindful activities, can be the ones that affect us, and therefore everyone else, the most.  I suspect that's why some of us self-censor a bit in our blog writing: because we know that there is an audience out there, and if we're lucky enough to get comments, we begin to know who they are, and how our words become larger than ourselves.

My husband sent me a link to a NYTimes article about how yoga can wreck your body.  I told him that my teacher wasn't like the teachers in that article; that she doesn't push us to go deeper (though she does "adjust" our asanas).  In fact, what she says is that we know we're doing it right when we don't feel depleted after class, but renewed and rejuvinated.  To me, the community is part of what makes that renewal possible.

Today was my husband's birthday.   When I asked him what kind of a cake he'd like, he told me that he wanted a "custom" flavor: gin and tonic cupcakes (because gin and tonics are one of his favorite adult beverages, and because I've done adult beverage cupcakes before) ... and then he said that if it was too much trouble I shouldn't worry about it.  The thing is, when I bake, even late into the night, as I'm wont to do, I'm not depleted.  I'm renewed.  Because I know that what I'm doing is going to make other people happy.  It's why I used to bake for my classes, or for my colleagues.  Feeding people feeds me.  In both the literal, and the not-so-literal, sense.

Yoga doesn't exactly go with adult drinks, unless you're doing wheat grass shots, I guess.  But I'm posting these in the hopes that you'll know we're not lushes.

Lokah samasta sukinoh bhavantu, and happy birthday, S.

Gin and Tonic Cupcakes

1/4 c. tonic water, stirred vigorously for about a minute to get some of the fizz out
1 1/2 t. lime zest
a few drops of lime juice
1 c. unsweetened soy milk
1/4 c. vegetable oil
1 T. gin
1/2 t. vanilla extract
1 c. sugar
1 1/3 c. flour
1/4 t. baking soda
1/2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. salt

Preheat oven to 350F. Fill a 12-cup muffin tin with liners. In a large bowl, mix together tonic water, lime juice, lime zest, soy milk, oil , gin, vanilla and sugar. Sift in flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt. Whisk until just combined. Divide evenly into muffin tins. Bake for 20-24 minutes, until a tester comes out clean and the cakes spring back when lightly pressed. Cool completely before frosting.

Gin and Tonic Frosting

1/2 c. butter (or equivalent), softened
2 T. vegan nonhydrogenated shortening
2 t. gin
2 t. tonic water
a few drops of lime juice
2+ cups confectioners' sugar


Cream together butter/nonhydrogenated shortening (depending on whether you want the frosting vegan or not).  Add confectioners' sugar.  Add lime juice, gin, and tonic.  Beat well and add in more sugar as needed to make frosting desired consistency. Spread or pipe on cupcakes.

Read more »

Compassion: Gluten Free Carrot Cake

Imagine the most honored guest you could think of was coming to dinner.  What kinds of preparations would you make?  What would you serve?  How would you make that guest feel comfortable and at home?

Now: imagine that you are the honored guest.

When was the last time you treated yourself that way?

I'm not talking about hedonism here.  I know the six bags of candy you bought for Halloween are calling your name.  That's not compassion; that's the kind of thing that gives you a hangover the next day.  I'm talking about being kind to yourself, making yourself comfortable.

In yoga class last week, we chanted the Tibetan Buddhist mantra "Om Tāre Tuttāre Ture Svāhā": a call to Tara, who is considered to be both symbol of light and life, and provider of compassion.  Devotees also believe that she can grant wishes, eliminate suffering of all kinds and bring happiness.  When called upon, she instantaneously saves us from eight specific calamities. The First Dalai Lama interprets them as representative of corresponding dangers as follows: 1) lions and pride 2) wild elephants and delusions 3) forest fires and hatred 4) snakes and envy 5) robbers and fanatical views 6) prisons and avarice 7) floods and lust 8) demons and doubt.

I don't know about you, but I could use saving from wild elephants.

The mantra is really more of a heart opener, though, than anything else.  To ask for compassion for ourselves, and to call ourselves to the work of compassion.  My teacher asked us to imagine the heart as a box that can hold everything: all of our worries, all of our struggles, all of the nagging thoughts that won't go away.  All we need to do is give those things to the heart, and the heart will take care of them, giving us comfort.

In my case, I think this means I shouldn't beat myself up for imperfection.  For yelling at my daughter, in one of my more unattractive moments today, to "go the F to sleep" (have I mentioned that she's a horrible napper?  Yeah, that didn't work so well).  For not landing a job, despite the resumes and cover letters that continue to go out.  For a host of other things.

It's funny; I don't usually get upset about imperfection in the kitchen.  I might stress over something in the process, but once it's done, if it's not right, I either eat it anyway or throw it in the trash.  (Yes, I realize that this is wasteful.  Trust me ... things don't often get trashed.)  Sometimes when cupcakes sink, I confess: I just put more frosting on them, and no one knows the difference.

That happened here, because I was making gluten free cupcakes as a surprise for my neighbor's birthday, and didn't have gluten free flour with xanthan gum in it.  But they only sank a little, and they were pretty awesome anyway: moist, warm, sweet without being cloying.  So what if the cream cheese frosting isn't centered? 
 

Gluten Free Carrot Cake

2 cups sugar
4 eggs
1 1/2 cups light olive oil OR your favorite vegetable oil
2 cups all-purpose gluten-free flour mix (see notes)
2 teaspoons baking soda
2 teaspoons gluten-free baking powder
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 cup chopped nuts
3 cups freshly grated carrots
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 ounces cream cheese
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 1/2 cups gluten-free powdered sugar (See note)

Preheat oven to 350 F

Use two round 9-inch cake pans, one 9x13 pan or 36 muffin cups for this recipe. If using round cake pans, lightly grease and place a circle of parchment in the bottom of the pan for easy removal. Use paper lining cups if making cupcakes.

Cream sugar and eggs in a large mixing bowl with an electric beater or stand mixer. Add oil and vanilla and beat just until smooth.

In a separate bowl combine gluten-free flour mix, baking soda, baking powder and salt. Whisk to combine. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and beat until blended.

Stir in grated carrots and nuts. Pour the batter into prepared pans.

Bake in preheated oven for 45-55 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the middle of the cake comes out clean. For muffins, reduce baking time to 30-35 minutes or until they pass the toothpick test. Cool on a wire rack.

While cake or muffins are cooling prepare the frosting: place butter, cream cheese and vanilla in a large mixing bowl and beat on high until smooth. Add powdered sugar and beat until smooth and creamy.  Frost when cake is completely cooled.

Notes:


Most powdered sugar products are made with granular sugar processed with cornstarch or tapioca starch. However, when buying powdered sugar, read labels carefully to be sure that the product you are considering is not made with wheat starch.

You can use Bob's Red Mill Gluten-Free Pizza Crust Mix in this recipe with good results. It contains xanthan gum, eliminating the need to add more gum to this recipe. Use your favorite gluten-free flour mix in this recipe and add 1 teaspoon xanthan or guar gum to the recipe if the mix you're using doesn't contain one of these baking gums.

Read more »

Slow Food: Vegetable Biryani

I know you've all been wondering ... where are the new posts from AHBL in my reader?

There have been a lot of reasons for my silence, but basically they come down to: repeat performances in the kitchen (lack of blog fodder), not much news to report (lack of blog fodder), feeling like I can't come up with interesting things to say (i.e. lack of blog fodder), too much time spent commenting on other people's blogs (and therefore less attention paid to my own blog), making baby food (not exactly blog fodder), and sick kid (anti-blog fodder).  Oh yeah, and I actually finished reading a book cover to cover for the first time in a loooong time--and it wasn't even Goodnight Moon.

I also went to yoga this week for the first time in a few weeks (for more various reasons, including an out of town husband and a milk-demanding infant who had no regard for yoga schedules two weeks ago).  It was good to be back; I really missed my teacher, and even though switching nights and times means that there will be chaos to get me out of the house on Thursdays in order to get to class on time, I'm willing to accept the fallout.  As an added bonus, it's a mixed-level class, so there were some new asanas and more challenging variations--something I've been wanting anyway.

I love the way my teacher talks through the class, blending mythology with philosophy with contemporary life experience, sometimes reading to us, all the time adjusting our asanas, getting us to notice our own bodies.  Her voice and the music and the movement through asana are all part of the seamless experience of her class.  She makes teaching yoga look effortless.

If you're anything like me, you sometimes like to make simple things appear complicated.  We end up looking good, we think, if it seems like we had to put more time and effort into something than it really cost us.  But the real trick is to make something complicated and time-consuming appear easy.

One thing my teacher talked about this week is the balance between exertion and release in yoga: while we work to go deeper into our asanas, we also need to figure out what we can release--what muscles, what parts of our bodies, we are not using.  And this got me thinking that maybe the secret to making something look effortless is to let go a little.  Not necessarily not-caring, or even aspiring to mediocrity, but knowing how to work efficiently in order to achieve our goals.  (For those Christians out there, that understanding is sort of like the Serenity Prayer: knowing what we need to accept, and what we need the courage to change.)  I was running downhill today, thinking that while running downhill appears easy, there's quite a lot of effort that goes into making sure I don't fall flat on my face.  It's a matter of figuring out what I need to tighten (muscles somewhere around my midsection), and what I can surrender to gravity.  Once I get it right, it's almost like flying.

Biryani is a complicated dish that looks basically like a casserole, but it takes time and care to prepare, and for that reason, is actually one of the most popular menu items in Indian weddings.  Don't be daunted by the long list of ingredients: most of them are spices anyway (and if you really can't find things like garam masala, just use the equivalent of good curry powder for all of the spices in the biryani section).  And maybe while you're making it, you can let go of something that's not really as important as you thought it was, after all.

Spiced Rice: Base for Biryani
(this is good even on its own)

1 1/2 T. vegetable oil
2 med. onions, quartered and thinly sliced
2 cinnamon sticks
4 cardamom pods
4 cloves
2 allspice berries
1 1/2 c. basmati rice
3 1/2 to 4 c. water
3/4 t. turmeric or a pinch of saffron
1/3 c. raisins

Heat oil in a medium saucepan over medium heat.  Add onions, cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, allspice.  Cook, stirring occasionally, until onions are tender and slightly golden, about 15 minutes.

Add rice and cook, stirring constantly, about 2 minutes.  Add 3 1/2 c. water, turmeric, and raisins.  Cover and cook, gently bubbling (not boiling) 20-25 minutes.  If the water boils out, add a little extra.

Vegetable Biryani

2 1/2 t. garam masala
1 1/2 t. turmeric
1 1/2 t. cumin
1 1/4 t. coriander
2 t. sugar
2 cloves garlic, minced
1" piece ginger, minced
1 1/2 t. salt
1 c. plain (Greek) yogurt
1 1/2 c. peeled butternut squash or sweet potato, 1" cubes
2 c. cauliflower or broccoli, bite sized
1 1/4 c. sliced green beans
3/4 c. fresh or frozen peas
1 c. cooked brown lentils, chickpeas, or kidney beans
2 bay leaves, broken in half
1/2 c. water
3 T. toasted almonds for garnish

In a large bowl, combine spices through yogurt.  Add vegetables and let stand 30-60 minutes.

Lightly grease a 2 1/2 to 3 quart baking dish and set aside.  Prepare rice.

Preheat oven to 350.  In a large saucepan over medium low heat, cook vegetable spice mixture, stirring often, about 5 minutes.  Be careful that the yogurt doesn't burn!

Spread half the rice in the bottom of the prepared baking dish and top with beans/lentils.  Cover with all of the vegetables.  Layer remaining rice over vegetables.  Insert broken bay leaves into rice.

Pour water into the baking dish.  Cover with aluminum foil and bake 50-60 minutes, until vegetables are tender.  Garnish with toasted almonds.

Read more »

The Way of the Warrior and the SAHM: Kale Chips

Around this time last year, when I didn't think I was going to be having a baby, and was mentally preparing myself for yoga teacher training as a way of distracting myself from loss and infertility, I started to read the Bhagavad Gita.

In some respects, it's an easy book to read.  But it's also a difficult text to wrap your mind around, if you start thinking about it enough.  And I'm an expert at overthinking things.

It was interesting to me that a text that's supposed to be about a more peaceful way of being in the world is situated in a war.  Technically, though, the protagonist of the story--and, by extension, the yogi--is a warrior against his (her) own ignorance.  

This month in yoga class we're focusing on Virabhadrasana, or Warrior Pose.  If you've ever practiced yoga, you know that Virabhadrasana's a humbling posture: you're balancing, half-squatting, reaching, grounding all at the same time.  If you attempt to stay in the post for any length of time, chances are you'll confront your own bodily, emotional, or mental weaknesses.  But Virabhadrasana isn't about experiencing pain; it's about rising up out of your own limitations: whatever limitations you have, the pose will reveal them so that they can be addressed.  When viewed this way, Warrior can be seen as fighting the good fight, seeking the triumph of spirit.

It occurs to me that being at home with my four month old daughter is a lot like practicing Virabhadrasana.  Increasingly, each day, I find myself asking, who am I, anyway, this stay at home mom person?  I'm juggling a host of new things that I never really had to juggle before in this particular way (though I had to do them all, I had time away with adult conversation and contact that refreshed me a bit).  I'm reaching in ten different directions simultaneously.  And I can see my limitations all too clearly.

I'm still a control freak.  When N. doesn't want to nap, I feel like my brain is going to explode.  When she naps for a long time, I keep orbiting her, trying to figure out when she's going to wake up.  I keep my calendar like I did at work, full of things, only to have people cancel or forget or need to change plans.   I need to be "busy."  And sometimes being busy prevents me from actually enjoying parenting.

And yet, at the same time, I have trouble going out of my way to make friends.  There are four or five other stay at home moms on the street.  I've known them all in passing for a while.  So why am I not walking over to these people's houses to ask if they want to take a walk or have coffee?  I'm so wrapped up in my solitary routine, needing to be a good one-on-one parent, thinking that I have to play with my daughter Every.Single.Second (I feel guilty doing laundry while she's awake) that I don't build in the kind of relationship-building that I will need if I'm going to do this for any length of time.

I need to remember what the Gita teaches us about acting and not being attached to the result of the action, what we can't control, and giving ourselves the right tools to fight the good fight, against our often stubborn ignorance, against our unwillingness to let the universe unfold as it will around us.


These are good for snacking when you need extra strength to fight the good fight ... and when your access to the kitchen is a little too easy for your own good.

Kale Chips

1 bunch (about 6 ounces) kale
1 tablespoon olive oil
Sea salt, to taste

Preheat oven to 300°F. Rinse and dry the kale, then remove the stems and tough center ribs. Cut into large pieces, toss with olive oil in a bowl then sprinkle with salt. Arrange leaves in a single layer on a large baking sheet (I also lined mine with parchment for easy clean-up but there’s no reason that you must). Bake for 20 minutes, or until crisp. Place baking sheet on a rack to cool.

Read more »

Roll With It: Lasagna Rolls

First, thanks for all of your supportive and encouraging comments on my last post.  It's funny: I remember the last time I left something, also on my own terms (though for more neutral reasons), I was driving back to the East Coast from LA, leaving my first graduate program.  It was exhiliarating, realizing that I was free.  And I felt the same way this time, practically skipping after I left the meeting where I handed over my letters.  I have to see those people one last time, and then no more.

The outpouring of support from my colleagues and faculty members has also been pretty overwhelming.  I sent an email announcing my departure to about 200 faculty members, and so many responses came back saying things like "you were the heart and soul of this program" and "this is a terrible thing for XYZ University" and "say it isn't so."  I imagine that the experience is almost like being at your own funeral, listening to the eulogy: both wonderful and awful at the same time.

At yoga class this week, my teacher talked about how when we are wobbly in our asanas, we should relax into the wobbliness, instead of trying to stiffen our posture in an attempt to balance.  In life, we don't like change and uncertainty, she said, so we resist, we become rigid.  In doing so, we make ourselves more susceptible to falling, because we can't move to catch ourselves in time.  Acceptance of imbalance in order to achieve balance seems counter-intuitive, but it's strangely effective (I tried it myself in class), and it translates well to what I should probably do now.  Life is constant change and flux; what we perceive as stasis is only imagined.

Since we are not incredibly wealthy,  I will need to look for a job at some point.  And I don't want too much time to go by, because I want to ensure that my credentials are still "fresh."  But today, I was looking at my daughter thinking how incredibly lucky I was to be here with her, right now, here, to be given the gift of parenting this small life, and to be able to spend time with her.

This recipe is far from gourmet (and not terribly interesting), but it's a different way of doing the same old thing, and a little more free-form than the layers we're used to.  Accept the messiness and wobbliness, and you might discover what's really good inside.

Lasagna Rolls

Half box lasagna noodles (or however many you have left: 8-10)
1 T. olive oil
1 bunch chard, spinach, or kale, chopped (you can also use 1/2 lb. frozen, defrosted and squeezed)
1 c. ricotta cheese
2/3 c. shredded mozzarella cheese
1/3 c. shredded parmesan cheese
1 egg
Salt and pepper
1 1/4 c. or more pasta sauce

Preheat oven to 375.  Cook lasagna noodles, drain, and lay them flat on a plate or over the sides of a colander in order to keep them from sticking together.

Meanwhile, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the greens and cook until wilted. (If you are using the frozen greens, skip this step.)

In a medium bowl, mix together the ricotta, half the mozzarella, egg, salt, and pepper. You can add the greens to the cheese mixture, or keep it separate – mixing them will reduce assembly time later.

Spread a spoonful of pasta sauce in the bottom of a casserole pan. Assemble the rolls by spreading a spoonful of cheese mixture, then greens (if applicable), and then pasta sauce on each pasta sheet. Avoid the temptation to overfill, as it might leak when you roll up. Leave the last inch of the pasta empty. Roll up pasta, ending with the uncovered edge. Place each roll in the casserole pan with the seam on the bottom. Continue until all noodles are rolled.

Pour remaining pasta sauce over rolls, then sprinkle with remaining mozzarella.  Bake for 35-40 minutes.

Read more »

The Heart Sutra

Gate gate pāragate pārasamgate bodhi svāhā.

My yoga teacher began class with this chant this week, which means (more or less) "gone, gone, gone beyond, utterly gone beyond, enlightened, so be it."  The Heart Sutra invites us to become more than what we are, more than ourselves, to go beyond what we know, and find that in that going beyond, there are no more expectations, no fears; we are free to simply experience what our new selves offer.  By letting go, by going beyond our mere selves, we can experience wonder.

I'm about to "go beyond" what I know of life, and enter into an entirely new experience, certainly by having another child, and possibly by changing my career.  I could have expectations.  It's hard not to.  Sometimes I feel like I'm hard-wired that way.  But, the mantra suggests, it's better to allow myself to simply grow into this new person that I will be, to immerse myself in these new waters, and to experience this life fully.

A friend gave us some baby clothes, which I washed and organized in the baby's room tonight.  It starting to look like a little girl's closet now.   Am I starting to get anxious about the birth?  Yes ... and I'm trying my best to focus on all of those blessings and good wishes that were showered down on us just a few posts ago.  Going beyond what I know, taking a leap of faith, with confidence.

It's sort of an interesting coincidence that I was just "tagged" by two fellow bloggers for the Versatile Blogger award; versatility, after all, is about going beyond what you know.  Athena from A Field of Dreams gave me one of these, and Lauren from Lauren vs. the World gave me the other.   Thank you both for your kind words and recognition!  The rules of the award are that you link back to the bloggers who gave you the award, share 7 things about yourself, and then award 15 recently discovered great bloggers.  This sounds vaguely chain-mail-like to me, not to mention that I think there are lots of amazing women out there (and I gave the same award recently to some of the bloggers I follow), so I'm going to break the rules and do something different: I'm going to link back to some things about me, but then I'd like you to choose one of my followers at random to give the award to.  I reached 60 followers today (hooray!), so you have lots to choose from. :)  You can tell them that the award is on my site for them to pick up.

I wish I had a recipe for you today, but we've been eating some boring things: more lentil and spinach soup (a different recipe than the previous one I posted, but similar nonetheless), curried ground turkey and peas, a crockpot mulligatawny that disappointed us.  I'm considering making some magic cookie bars tomorrow, after my ob/gyn appointment, so I'll post some tantalizing pictures if I do.  In the meantime, I hope that there are good smells coming from your kitchens, and that you do something small this week to go beyond yourself and your small corner of the universe.

Read more »

Removing Obstacles: Autumn Vegetable Stew with Wheatberries

Two weeks ago, after my yoga class began with a chant to Ganesha, I was going to write a post about removing obstacles (Ganesha is known as Remover of Obstacles).  I abandoned it because it was taking me too long to write, and because I was feeling too beleaguered by obstacles myself, but after my teacher came back to the theme again this week in class, I felt like it was too perfect a fit not to talk about here.

After our beginning-of-class chant, my teacher, in her infinite wisdom, commented that the obstacles rarely go away (e.g., a diagnosis of IF is not likely to change any time soon); rather, it's a matter of changing perspective on the obstacle by returning to the present, by stripping away the complications that make dealing with it more difficult, and being able to see how to approach the problem more clearly.   Yoga teaches us to recognize and acknowledge difficulty when we encounter it, and then realize simplicity by coming back to what is immediate: our breath, our bodies, the way we feel right this very instant.  This sort of makes sense to me: when I'm in an asana, sometimes if I breathe, I find that I can go deeper into the pose or become more balanced on the exhale.  I haven't removed the obstacle; by staying present, I've managed to work through it.

This isn't to say that we can make difficult things "easy," by any means -- but rather, simplify them, make them less complicated, by looking at them in the present tense.  According to this line of thought, when we're looking too far ahead into the future, worrying about too many things, the simple things begin to look more complicated than they actually are, and what could be clear becomes muddled; we lose the ability to focus and problem-solve.

This exactly describes where I am, in this pregnancy, with my professional life, with everything.  I'm practically hyperopic ... I can't focus on things that are right in front of me, in the present tense, because I'm so worried about the immediate and not-so-immediate future: about how I will deal with a baby and still pay enough attention to my son (I imagine scenarios in which my husband spends lots of time away from me with my son [whose company I just love most of the time], thinking he's doing me a favor, and leaves me to feel completely alone with an infant), about how I will deal with coming back from maternity leave to a situation that will be very different from the one I left, about how we will manage financially and how I will manage psychologically and intellectually if my career will take a different turn.  I love going to yoga class because it helps me to leave all of this behind, or at least to put it where it belongs--in the future--and to concentrate on my breath, the way my body feels, the way that Bean is shifting and moving in my abdomen, the sound of the eternal Om playing during savasana.  Type-A personality aside, I can't do anything about some of these possible futures, because they haven't happened yet ... so trying to deal with them is not only a waste of psychic energy, but complicates what is happening right now.

Though I don't often cook wheatberries, I like this stew because of its satvic properties, and because it's so uncomplicated.  It's adaptable (like most Mark Bittman recipes) to the season, and to your tastes: substitute dried fruits, or summer vegetables like leeks and zucchini and tomatoes, or whatever you like.  There are no "obstacles" in the way of appreciating the tastes of the vegetables and grain: no heavy sauces, no overpowering spices.  While those things have their place, too (ayurvedic eating, like pretty much everything else in yoga, is about finding the balance that is right for you), this can be the base for any meal, and you'll leave the table feeling satisfied, but light enough to tackle the next challenge.

Autumn Vegetable Stew with Wheatberries

3 T. extra virgin olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
Salt and pepper to taste
¼ lb. green beans, 1" slices (1 scant c. ... you could also use carrots)
1 acorn squash, peeled seeded and chopped
½ c. white wine or vegetable stock
2 c. cooked wheat berries
1 heaping c. kale
1 t. dried sage

Put the oil in a large saucepan or deep skillet with a lid over medium-high heat. When hot, add the onion and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until soft, about 2 minutes. Add the squash (and carrots, if using those instead of green beans) and stir to coat with the oil. Stir in the wine.

Reduce the heat to medium-low, cover, and cook, stirring once or twice, until the squash is just starting to get tender, 20 minutes (if you're using green beans instead of carrots, add them after about 15 minutes and continue to cook the whole thing for 5 minutes more). Raise the heat a bit and stir in the wheat berries.

Cook, stirring frequently, until hot and bubbling, a minute or two. Stir in the kale, season again with salt and pepper, cover, and turn off the heat. After about 5 minutes, add the herb and fluff the stew gently with a fork. Taste and adjust the seasoning. Serve right away or at room temperature, drizzled with a little more olive oil if you like.

Read more »

Standing in Tadasana: Pearled Couscous Tagine

There's something about a snow day that makes us all slow down a little bit.  Even though the roads were pretty clear by the time I would normally have gone to work, I.'s school was closed, so one of us had to stay home, and there was nothing on my calendar that I couldn't postpone, so today it was my turn.  I was sort of glad; I'm feeling increasingly detached from work (even though I'm still sending and receiving plenty of email, and am wondering when that will slow down), and I was feeling pretty lazy this morning, anyway.

We spent the day playing with Legos, making "a craft" (I. took out his supplies and started gluing things together and making collages), sledding and playing in the snow with friends, cooking dinner for tomorrow night, watching a movie (which I fell asleep on, not that my son noticed!), and going to my midwife appointment, where I was told I gained eight pounds in the past week.

EIGHT POUNDS?

OK, so I've been eating cake and drinking honey-lemon water for my cold, and I stopped running last week, but really ... how does anyone gain eight pounds in a single week?  S.'s theory is that I've been eating salty foods (I've had an inexplicable craving for wonton soup) and am retaining water.  That could be partially true, given that my socks are tight around my legs these days.  My blood pressure is fine, so the midwife seemed unconcerned.  I don't look that much fatter.  My maternity clothes are feeling tight, though. And I am pretty horrified.  Also a little concerned (even if my midwife isn't), because sudden weight gains like that at the end of a pregnancy can't be good, can they?  Or am I being overanxious?  I mean, my midwife teaches midwivery; she'd know if something were wrong, right?

My mother called tonight, and wanted to know if there was any word on when the midwife thought the baby might arrive.  You'd think she'd know better, having birthed two children.  "But I'm just concerned that I'm far away and won't get there in time to take care of I.," she explained. (She lives an hour away.)  I asked her if I was born in an hour.  She said no.  I asked her if my brother was born in an hour.  She said no.  I then informed her that we had two backup people who were happy to take our 2 a.m. phone calls and would spring to action if she couldn't make it.  Part of me is wondering why we have asked her to come stay at all, when she won't do laundry, won't cook, and talks so much about herself that she rarely hears what I. says, and now needs to know the exact day and time of the baby's arrival in advance.

What does any of this have to do with tadasana?

Tadasana is the pose of the month at my yoga studio.  We rarely spend much time in tadasana; more often it's the place we begin as we move into other asanas.  But having a strong foundation, feeling ourselves well-grounded, like a mountain, is so important; without that grounding, we're unable to balance, to flow, to breathe.  Snow days remind us to stand still for a bit, to get firm grounding so that we can deal with the rest of the crap that might be coming our way.  Tadasana is also the way we feel the sky and the ground connect; we become the conduits between the heavens and the earth, reaching in both directions simultaneously, both rooted and aspiring to something greater.

The recipe today is a good snow-day dish.  Like tadasana, it has roots in the earth (carrots and other veggies), but the little pearls of couscous (be sure to get the pearled kind) remind me of snowballs, skyward bound.  I hope that I, too, can ground myself well enough to move onward and upward, for whatever comes next.

Pearled Couscous Tagine

2 T. extra virgin olive oil
1 onion, chopped
1" piece ginger, peeled and minced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1½ t. ground cumin
2 t. ground turmeric
Two 3-inch cinnamon sticks
1/3 c. chopped dried apricots, dates, or raisins
2 c. vegetable stock
1½ c. chopped ripe tomato (about 1 lb. whole, preferably peeled and seeded, or 1 15 oz. can, drained)
1 c. cooked or drained canned chickpeas
2 carrots, cut in bite-size chunks
½ head cauliflower, cut in bite-sized chunks
2 zucchini, cut in bite-sized chunks

Salt and black pepper
1 cup pearl couscous

Put the oil in a deep skillet with a lid over medium-high heat. Add the onion and cook until it softens, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic, ginger, cumin, turmeric, and cinnamon; cook, stirring often, until fragrant, 2 minutes.

Add the dried fruit, tomato, stock, chickpeas, carrots, cauliflower, and zucchini, a large pinch of salt, and a good amount of pepper; bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to a gentle simmer, cover, and cook until the vegetables are just tender. (The dish can be made ahead to this point, cooled, covered, and refrigerated for up to 2 days. Bring it to a simmer before proceeding.)

Add the couscous and cook until al dente, about 10 minutes. It should have a stewy consistency. Taste and adjust the seasoning. Serve hot or store, covered, in the refrigerator for up to 2 days and then reheat.

Read more »