reverb

Here I am in Arizona, where my dad jokes with my grandmother about her non-existent nipple rings, and both grandparents claim the other has Alzheimer's, and we light fireworks in the street, and it's 72 degrees, and there's Led Zeppelin instead of Christmas music.

It's been a privilege to be with my family again after a long absence. For the first time, I noticed the heirlooms my grandmother keeps in her dining room. Delicate, gorgeous teacups collected from all over the world. Bone china plates and tiny pewter salt dispensers with minuscule spoons. Suddenly I feel like an old lady that I can appreciate such things. I can appreciate my grandmother, too, who is beginning to remember the past better than the present. She has stories of her days as a nurse that I may never get a chance to hear. I'm coming from a lineage I've never understood. I'm afraid to lose her before I really get to know her.

I apologize for the poor quality of this blog as of late. I've dropped the ball in so many ways. But you have been in my thoughts, readers. I want to know, what can I do to make this place more welcoming for you, warmer and more engaging? I realize that my blog is, like me, cobbled together and indistinct, without clear delineation. I post long, navelgazing diatribes, followed immediately by a recipe. I know that's weird. But that's who I am. I suffer my overthinking but I always return to the kitchen.

What an interesting year this has been. We moved into a house we love. We got chickens. We grew a fabulous garden. We bought a Subaru. We found community. We discovered beauty like we've never known. I finished school. Jeremy almost lost his job. This last has rocked our family. Though the school did not ultimately dissolve, it still shook us tremendously, convincing us of several important truths and catapulting us into an uncertain, but certainly very different, future. All of which makes me think that the defining word for our year of 2010 is "compromise."

I feel like a very different person than I was a year ago. A year ago, most of my friends were Mormon, if disaffected to some degree. Today, I'm not very interested in maintaining connections to my Mormon past. I mostly view it as something that happened to me, similar to the weirdness of skipping a couple of grades or having a serious illness at 18 -- strange, minor traumas that are mostly related for context, not because I'm still in the middle of it. This year, I hope to move past that history altogether.

A year ago, I was grappling with social anxiety so severe that it probaby bordered on agoraphobia. Now, hardly a day goes by that I don't see friends. I'm still a strongly solitary person, more inclined to curl up with a book than head out to a bonfire, but it's balanced with close relationships that sustain me in new ways. This year, I want to be a better, kinder, more present friend.

A year ago, I struggled to define myself professionally. I harbored dark doubts about my career path that I hesitated to speak aloud, having invested so much in this ideal. The unrest with Jeremy's job both forced me and freed me to seek a more practical profession, one that that will likely serve my family, my community, and my own heart in more concrete ways. Nobody else seems to think I'm selling out -- nobody who matters, anyway. This will be the year I embrace this new path, with all its possibilities and pitfalls.

A year ago, I wondered if I'd ever get my hands in the dirt. Now I have chickens, and a large garden, and a wide open acre, offered by a lovely friend, in which to experiment. Will I have the time and resources to take her up on it? Oh, I want this so much. I scheduled my classes around my kids' school schedule, so I have fantasies of picking them up from school and taking them straight out to Redwood Valley to plant things and harvest, turn soil and weed, munching on tomatoes and beans right off the vine in that irrepressible California sunlight. Do I have the strength to make all of this happen at once?

And as for my little blog? What plans are in store for chicken tender? I admit to being anxious about my involvement here. I'm going to be taking five classes starting in January and then in the fall I'll be commuting to Santa Rosa. I'll have work here and there and other projects in the making, including this acre of food. We might move this summer. It's possible that the quality of the blog, specifically the frequency of posting, will continue to suffer. I hope not. I still get "the itch" to write. I still use my camera. Sometimes, I even cook! Whatever comes, I will share it with you.

This year, I'd like to take you on a journey through my kitchen. I only have one counter, my friends. My kitchen is no fancy thing. But it's a place that is wholly mine, and if I don't have the benefit of making tea for you there I'd still like to let you know how I make the magic happen in a fairly small space.

I still hope to do an introductory series on transitioning to "real food." I backed off on that idea because I saw so many bloggers coming out with paid courses or e-books on the topic. What can I offer that hasn't been done before? Honestly, I'm still not sure. But I sure as hell won't charge you for it.

Dear friends, how can I express my gratitude that you are here? I truly don't know why you continue to listen to me. Sometimes I fancy myself to be a Real Life Writer and I think about submitting my work for publication, but then I'm reminded of my humble virtual abode and my kind and long-suffering readers, who forgive me so much, and I think I'm not inclined to put myself so far out there when things are so warm and cozy in here.

Thank you, and many good wishes for the turning of your year.

kabocha! (recipe: chipotle-maple kabocha with beans and greens)

I am really beginning to love kabocha. It's one of the few squashes with an edible skin (after cooking), so you don't have to bother peeling it, and the flavor is dryer, less sweet, and more flaky than other kinds of squash, so it's better for savory preparations.

Kabocha squash is also smaller than some squashes, and easier to handle. It has a wonderful flavor and is, in my opinion, one of the more versatile autumn vegetables. It can even be sliced thinly and baked or fried for chips.

Plus, it's really fun to say. Kabocha-kabocha-KABOCHA!

For this meal, I sliced the squash and rubbed it with a blend of chipotle powder and maple syrup. After a quick roasting, it's ready to be piled with cannellini beans and wilted collard greens.

This is one of my favorite easy autumn meals. I hope you like it, too.

Chipotle-Maple Kabocha w/ Beans & Greens

kabocha:

1 medium, kabocha squash, halved and sliced

2 T. maple syrup

1 T. olive oil

1 t. chipotle powder

1/2 t. sea salt

beans & greens:

1 shallot, peeled and sliced

1 garlic cloves, peeled and sliced

1 bunch of collard greens, chopped

2 c. cannellini beans, cooked and drained

splash of sherry vinegar

Preheat oven to 400F.

Stir together the maple syrup, oil, chipotle, and salt. Brush this mixture on each side of the kabocha.

Arrange in a single layer on an oiled baking sheet.

Roast the squash for 20 minutes, flipping halfway through.

Heat 1 T. oil in a deep pan. Add the shallot and garlic and cook until soft. Add the collards and cook, stirring lightly, until barely wilted. Stir in the beans and add a splash of vinegar. Remove from heat and season to taste with sea salt.

Pile the squash on four plates and top with beans and greens. Enjoy!

grandpa's lesson (recipe: pickled pearl onions with thyme)

My grandfather is the condiment master.

I have memories of opening his refrigerator as a child and being overwhelmed by the great number of hot sauces, olives, mustards, salad dressings, jams, pickles, and relishes in the door. There seemed so much possibility from those jars, and I loved all the different colors and flavors and spices they contained.

My grandfather introduced me to grainy Dijon mustard, horseradish, raspberry vinaigrette, wasabi, and flavored mayonnaise -- all essential ingredients in my refrigerator now. In the process, he taught me (however inadvertently) the inestimable value of a good condiment.

Thanks, Grandpa.


(He also taught me how to burn off just enough taste buds so that you can enjoy something outrageously spicy without dying from it. This is an extremely important skill that I'm working diligently to pass on to the next generation.)

With all that training, I hope my grandpa will like these onions, and appreciate the sentiment behind them. Don't be put off -- they're quite mild, very good thrown on top of a salad, or sliced onto a sandwich. (Or fished out of the jar with your fingers.)

Pickled Pearl Onions with Thyme

10 oz. red pearl onions (a bit more than 1 cup), peeled

8 garlic cloves, peeled

2 sprigs of fresh thyme, or 1/2 t. dry

2 bay leaves

1 c. white wine vinegar

1/4 c. unrefined sugar

1 T. sea salt

Layer the onions, garlic, thyme, and bay leaves in a pint jar.

Bring the vinegar, sugar, and salt to a boil in a small pot. Let the brine cool for 10 minutes before pouring into the jar.

Tighten the lid and refrigerate for one week before eating. Enjoy!

a turning

I must apologize for posting a bit less than usual. I'm crunching to get through my last month of school before graduation while preparing to immediately re-enter the education system, but in a different way. This is causing me some extreme anxiety. Thank goodness for my wonderful friends who have been talking me down for the last week.

I don't want to become even more endlessly boring than I usually am, but I have so many thoughts about what I'm going to be doing next, it's hard to contain them. I'm wanting to give as much of myself as I can to friends who are experiencing significant heartbreak or difficult transitions, and also to Jeremy, who is under quite a lot of pressure, and of course to my children, who are in need of so much love and affection at the moment. Oh, and to the chickens, who are fluffing out in preparation for a cold winter. But in January I'll be returning to school to complete the prerequisites for nursing school. From semester to semester I'll be moving between two colleges, one that is ten minutes away and one that is an hour away, while my two small children are in school, and Jeremy is working, and we're sharing a car.

Beyond logistics, I have some sincere ambivalence about this plan. Nursing is an excellent career, and certainly from the point of view of adult responsibility, this is a good choice. But this is the first time I've embraced an idea largely without passion. In its place is a steely resolve to Do What It Takes.

Grow the Fuck Up.

Get Over It.

Move On.

I hope that I will love nursing. I hope that it will provide my family with what we need. We're in a safer place than we've ever been, and thanks to California's amazingly cheap higher education system, we can even afford for me to go back to school without student loans. I am very grateful for that! But we're not getting ahead, not providing for ourselves in any significant way. So if I must compromise I think this is a good compromise.

It's hard to imagine being in school for another four years (even saying it out loud feels like a punch to the solar plexus). I think it will be worth it, but it will require some fairly momentous effort. I'm already wondering how I will handle planting an acre in the spring in addition to taking six classes. So I can't promise that this-here sweet li'l blog isn't going to suffer some neglect. But this is an important creative outlet for me, so despite how long I may stay away, I will undoubtedly return.

I have other changes in mind, as well. I feel like I've spent a whole year hovering over the scale, to the detriment of my mental health. So I'm getting rid of the scale altogether and focusing on more tangible evidence of good health. Ideally, I'd embrace my height and strength and commit wholeheartedly to my inner Amazon. (Slicing off one of my breasts will probably drop ten pounds alone! But that's... not the point.) Practically, I'd just like to be wicked strong. I'm starting tomorrow by stacking firewood. Yeah!

I'm also growing into a different relationship with food. This year has been tumultuous as I've moved from vegan to chicken tender to omnivore. Now I'd like to approach food in a completely different way. There are places in the world where food is not seen as a keen statement of politics and virtue, where energy is not wasted on defining one's diet by an -ism, where all the "wrong" things are eaten and still the people are healthier than we are. These cultures seem to approach food as a simple thing of sustenance and pleasure. They eat slowly and enjoy the rich things. They rarely eat alone but instead view meals as communal events. They don't worry about fractionated "nutrients," following after trends of the newest and hippest "superfood." I think most of these people would probably laugh at the term "flexitarian."

This is the sort of connection I'd like to have with what I eat -- by turns casual and loving, reverent and lighthearted. I'd like to take my commitment to sustainable agriculture and apply a more "sustainable" approach to the act of eating as well.

What else is in store for the new year? Well, I might learn to play the banjo. I've often thought of returning to the violin, but I have some serious insecurity about having lost whatever spark made it so natural and easy for me as a kid. So instead of backtracking I think I should move forward. Whenever I see my friend Jeff playing the banjo in the Dirt Floor Band I am totally enthralled by that instrument. I'd like to pick it up and see what I can do with it, if anything. I need a creative practice that doesn't translate to death by a thousand thoughts.

Do you have any plans for the new year?

chop the wood (carry the water)

One of my favorite things about this house is the woodstove. I'm writing in front of a roaring fire right now.

We're quite dependent on firewood because gas heat is so expensive and it gets relatively cold here (30s and 40s) during the rainy season. A friend had to chop down a tree on his land so we went out there with a chainsaw and brought home lots of wood, but it still needs to be broken down into smaller pieces most days. So Jeremy woke up early this morning and went outside with the maul. He brought in a few loads and pronounced that he loves chopping wood. He proceeded to chop quite a lot more over the next two hours, then he called out the kids to haul the wood into our garage with their wheelbarrow.

The kids were game; they had a blast. But before they went outside to help him, they sat on the shelf in front of the window and watched him chop up all that wood. For two hours. After a while I had to check out just what exactly was so interesting.

Jeremy is one of the most brilliant people I've ever met. He is one of those crazy-smart people who somehow manages to avoid diminishing those around him, unlike so many crazy-smart people. He could do anything. He could be making buckets of money as a chemical engineer, which was his first career path. Instead, he spends his days enriching the lives of children. For the kids in his class he is a nurturing, balanced presence, a person who accepts them unequivocally, who loves them but expects the best from them.

Jeremy could do anything with that brain of his, but that is what he chooses to do.

And this is also what he chooses to do. He makes chicken coops and brews beer and follows a wild hair about developing a blacksmith forge. He glories in physical labor. I know he has thoughts of someday running a working farm, and when that day comes I've no doubt he'll get it done. He's the strongest person I've ever met -- in mind, in body, in soul -- and I love to watch him in all three stations, especially when they come together as one, in something like chopping wood in the backyard with knee-high boots to protect his pajamas from chickenshit.

People who are academically successful are expected to follow journeys that lead them away from physical labor. Physical labor is almost taboo in places where advanced professional success is the rubric of virtue. We have mechanical devices and various technologies and people in poverty to keep our hands soft and clean, to free our minds from our bodies and the earth's grounding nature. But I'm beginning to think it might be healthier to work for a living by working for a living.

Does that make sense?

Well, it makes perfect sense to me, when I watch Jeremy chopping wood.

new territory (recipe: lamb and vegetable stew)

I haven't been cooking much that is interesting, and even when I do, I can't get a picture of it since it's already dark by 4:45 pm. Even in this case, I caught photos of the raw ingredients but nothing of the final product. I'll come back for that, as I'm sure I'll be making it again soon.

 I made this stew twice a week for several weeks last year. I just love the flavors, and the smell of it, and how rich and warming it is. I had the recipe down so pat I figured I could mix it up with meat, for the first time, without any problems. So I used lamb stew meat, purchased from the farmers market.

Even before I went vegetarian, I wouldn't consider eating lamb. Something about my grandmother's famous roasted leg of lamb (with mint jelly, naturally) just seemed so bizarre. But it's hard for me to say, now, why some types of meat are stranger or more objectionable than others. Lamb are fluffy and adorable, so it's less ethical to eat them than a chicken? Well, my chickens are fluffy and adorable, too.

There's got to be a better rubric for measuring animal foods. For now it's primarily important to me that this meat comes from my community.

I feel a bit of panic every time I cook meat. I have a few cookbooks on hold at the library (and suggestions are very welcome!), but remember that I'd never cooked meat myself before this dietary change? I always think I'm doing something wrong.

But this stew was very easy -- I just swapped out the mushrooms for stew meat in our half of the meal (since the kids didn't want to eat meat that night). I love the huge chunks of celery, carrot, and potato in this stew, and I don't think anything is missing from having it with mushrooms alone.

In the comments to this post I explained that one of the ways I compensate for the relatively high price of local, pastured meat is by stretching it with tons of vegetables. The lamb stew meat I bought from the Owens in Hopland was $6 a pound, not too terribly expensive, but with tons of vegetables and a rich broth, I stretched it into two meals.

We have some excellent organic and biodynamic wineries nearby, and friends from elsewhere sometimes ask if we spend a lot of time at tastings. I guess the corollary is that friends here ask if we snowboarded or skied all the time when we lived in Utah. We didn't do that, either. And I'll take visiting friends and family to tastings but it's more like a touristy thing to the people who live here.

However, gifts of wine are ubiquitous. Jeremy came home with 10 bottles on the last day of school. He has a student from the Frey family, who produced the first organic and biodynamic vineyards in the U.S., so I was pretty happy to see a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon in his basket. I admit to not being too fond of red wine, but I love to cook with it, and yes, I do believe you should cook with quality wine -- don't just save it for drinking. It makes a difference.

This wine was so mild that I actually did enjoy a glass while cooking. "...sometimes I even add it to the food!" Wine aside, I think this dish is best enjoyed with a glass of apple kefir (recipe coming soon), in front of a fire if possible.

Lamb (or Mushroom) and Vegetable Stew

1 lb. pastured lamb stew meat

OR

1 lb. cremini mushrooms, halved

1 onion, chopped

3 garlic cloves, minced

3 carrots, roll-cut

3 celery stalks, chopped

1/2 lb. baby red potatoes, quartered

2 c. Cabernet Sauvignon (or another red wine)

2 c. vegetable broth (or bone broth)

3 T. tomato paste

2 bay leaves

2 sprigs each of thyme and rosemary

Heat 2 T. olive oil in a heavy soup pot, over medium. Add the lamb and brown on each side. Remove the lamb to a plate.

Add the onion and garlic to the pan. Cook until the onion is translucent. Add the carrots, celery, and potatoes, and return the lamb to the pot. Add the wine, broth, tomato paste, and herbs. Bring to a boil,

then reduce heat and simmer for about 1 hour. Season to taste with unrefined salt and pepper.

For the mushroom version, heat 2 T. olive oil in a heavy soup pot, over medium. Add the onion and garlic and cook until onion is translucent. Add the mushrooms and a splash of the wine. Cook until the mushrooms begin to sweat. Add the carrots, celery, and potatoes to the pot. Add the rest of the wine, broth, tomato paste, and herbs. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for about 30 minutes. Season to taste with unrefined salt and pepper.

Enjoy!