I am doing fine, but know that this spring is going to be a time of transition for me. I would like to be totally zen about transition - I truly believe the constant is change and that we are happiest when we embrace that - but my nature is to grapple with that truth. In January, my goal to ski every day and the "star chart" with other goals I filled in kept me engaged, despite the darkness and much to be done.
I realized yesterday, on Kiska-Dog's first day back with me, that she is an organizing force in my life. I get through all the duties and days without her, but having her waiting when I arrived home from work inspired me to put on my tennis shoes (with ice grippers layered over them) and go for a run at the dog park. It got me out in the afternoon sunshine, and we both enjoyed it.
This was probably my first formal exercise in February, though I have taken a couple of dance classes and skiied once, while visiting Kiska at my parents' house. That realization reminded me that January's star chart was good for me - I made a point of earning my stars and it scaffolded a hard, dark month. That effort was time-bounded though, between arriving home from Seattle and leaving for the conference in Las Vegas, and when the month ended with travel and Kiska leaving town, those brand new baby habits went into hibernation.
Although I still have lots of good habits, focusing on adding a few more could enrich and scaffold this time of transition. I still have to make the chart, but here are the goals I plan to embrace through, at least, Summer Solstice:
Everyday, I will -
- Make something (words, soups, and knitted fabric all count)
- Live in my body (run, dance, get a massage)
- Go outside (15 minutes).
- Connect (have a real conversation, compliment a stranger, write a letter)
- Vitamins. Floss.
- No Sugar Added. (there are some exceptions here for dark chocolate in small quantities, since sanity matters, but overall I mean it).
- Eat veg (x3). Veg = fruits and vegetables, and the number will go up as I gain ground there.
The new star chart will officially begin tomorrow - Thursday February 25th - and will run through Summer Solstice. Solstice, June 21, falls on a Monday this year. From 2/25 to 6/21 is 117 days. It's a funny number, but I plan to begin as I mean to go on. As soon as I eat the last brownie in the house.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Lentil Soup OR Shelf Stable Cooking OR Eating with My Peculiarities
I am infamous in certain circles for my unreasonable dislike of the grocery store. I am stressed by crowds and fluorescent lights, and find making decisions about money and decisions about food stressful. Ergo, the grocery store - where you pay money for food, with lots of people and too bright lights and lousy music on the PA system - is a place I go as infrequently as possible.
One side effect of this (admittedly dysfunctional) habit is that I am very, very good at making meals from shelf-stable goods. Tonight's new dish was lentil soup:
Cupboard Lentil Soup
Saute one diced onion in olive oil.
Add 1 teaspoon dried oregano, 1 teaspoon dried basil, and a bay leaf.
Pour 1 can diced tomatoes and 8 cups of water.
Stir in 2 cups dried lentils.
Cover the pan and simmer, stirring occasionally, until the lentils are soft (~75 minutes for me, today).
Fish the bay leaf out, add salt and pepper to taste, and serve.
It was excellent.
If you have carrots, celery, sweet potatoes, etc. dice up a cup or two of them and throw them in with the onion. I was thrilled to have a sweet potato to chop in today, but discovered it was infiltrated with thready white mold, although the outside was perfect. That reminds me: smell or taste every single ingredient - including the oil and the spices - before you add it to a recipe. One rancid or 'turned' ingredient can ruin the whole thing.
And, to share a Very Important Tip I learned from The Bakerina: if you forget to stir your project and something burns to the bottom of the pan, DO NOT scrape it up, into the rest of the batch. Instead, pour off the non-burned portion. As long as you haven't scraped the blacked, charcoaly parts into the rest of the soup, it's salvageable. This wise tip saved a whole bucket of Jambalaya at a Mardi Gras party, a few years ago, and will serve you well.
One side effect of this (admittedly dysfunctional) habit is that I am very, very good at making meals from shelf-stable goods. Tonight's new dish was lentil soup:
Cupboard Lentil Soup
Saute one diced onion in olive oil.
Add 1 teaspoon dried oregano, 1 teaspoon dried basil, and a bay leaf.
Pour 1 can diced tomatoes and 8 cups of water.
Stir in 2 cups dried lentils.
Cover the pan and simmer, stirring occasionally, until the lentils are soft (~75 minutes for me, today).
Fish the bay leaf out, add salt and pepper to taste, and serve.
It was excellent.
If you have carrots, celery, sweet potatoes, etc. dice up a cup or two of them and throw them in with the onion. I was thrilled to have a sweet potato to chop in today, but discovered it was infiltrated with thready white mold, although the outside was perfect. That reminds me: smell or taste every single ingredient - including the oil and the spices - before you add it to a recipe. One rancid or 'turned' ingredient can ruin the whole thing.
And, to share a Very Important Tip I learned from The Bakerina: if you forget to stir your project and something burns to the bottom of the pan, DO NOT scrape it up, into the rest of the batch. Instead, pour off the non-burned portion. As long as you haven't scraped the blacked, charcoaly parts into the rest of the soup, it's salvageable. This wise tip saved a whole bucket of Jambalaya at a Mardi Gras party, a few years ago, and will serve you well.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Food as Adventure: Pad Thai
I have hobbies. I am training for a half marathon, making beaded jewelry, knitting socks, and letter-boxing.
The Boyfriend has hobbies. He is a wine connoisseur, a gamer, and a reader of terribly complicated fiction (I love to read, but want a staff genealogist and note-taker before tackling some of those tomes).
We like each other. We each have our own passions. And, we don't have very many hobbies in common.
I was squawking about this (since I am gaming and drinking wine too, while The Boyfriend has thus far declined to take up knitting), and we decided that cooking, with its "sharp edges, open flames, and risk of trauma," might qualify as a common interest. Our first foray into adventure-cooking was shumai, of dim sum fame. (The Boyfriend wrote it up here). The dumplings were good the first night, and even better once we trekked to Whole Paycheck for better quality won ton wrappers.
Our next adventure was Chicken Pad Thai, based on the recipe / formula found at Chez Pim.
Unfortunately we did not find Tamarind Paste in cute little jars, even when we walked to 'Little Vietnam' and prowled the aisles of the 'Asian SUPER Market.' There was only one employee in the store, and I stood patiently in line to ask for Tamarind. He agreed they had it, and strode off to the furthest wall, reached under a shelf into a closed cardboard box and handed me a brick of gelatinous dried Tamarind fruits. Damn.
I took my gooey brick home, and followed Pim's directions to unmold the gel into a large bowl and pour four cups of very hot water over it. While it soaked, I went through our kitchen armaments, despaired, and walked over to the grocery store to buy a wire strainer. It was that, or push all four cups of water and two cups of fruit through my tea ball.... um: No.
After the water cooled and I was properly armed, I reached into that bowl of weird goop and massaged away. I am a very tactile person - I like to touch things, I like to eat with my fingers, and novelty is good. Even with that as my baseline, this still felt weird and odd. Fortunately after some strenuous kneading, I was able to dump the whole brown mixture into my strainer and shove it through with the back of a ladle. It left me with about four cups of slightly-gooier than ketchup goop and a really gross colander.
I added half a cup of the tamarind goop to half a cup of fish sauce and a third of a cup of sugar, melted it, and stirred in chili powder. Unfortunately it was still sickly sweet, so it took more tamarind, more fish sauce, more chili powder to balance the sugar out a little. Next time, I think I just wont put sugar in at all.
Once the sauce tasted right (well, right-ish), we moved on to setting up the mise en place - aka all the stuff I needed to cook it - in cute little bowls. I call this 'Cooking-Show Style' and enjoy it, even for recipes which are not time sensitive. For wok cooking, it is practically mandatory.
We had sliced chicken, but no tofu (since The Boyfriend believes Sheldon Comic's claim that tofu is "the bastard love child of styrafoam and jello," and resists it mightily), sliced limes, roughly ground peanuts, chopped green onions, scrambled eggs, and chopped garlic. Oh, and the rice noodles.
In this version, you do not actually cook the rice noodles. Instead you pour hot (we used nearly boiling) water over them, and let them soak until they are almost-soft-enough. That almost thing appears to be key - that way they finish cooking in the wok. So, we soaked 'em and drained 'em and added their bowl to my collection on the counter top.
Then I stuck the wok over the flame until it began to smoke, and poured in some olive oil. The chicken went first, and a minute later I added a tablespoon or so of garlic and a slug of sauce. I stirred that up, then dumped in some peanuts, then the noodles and more sauce. I let that all cook for a couple minutes, moving the contents around, and then added the scrambled eggs. I stirred some more and let the eggs cook, then squashed in some lime juice, stirred in the green onions, and pulled the whole thing off the heat. It felt like it happened fast.
To serve the Pad Thai, I lifted the tangled portions into bowls and garnished them with more ground peanuts, green onions, and slices of limes. The results of this first experiment tasted good, but looked and felt sort of pale and sticky. I was pleased, but not totally satisfied.
My sous chef and dishwasher also noted that, in this inaugural attempt, I'd managed to dirty just about every bowl in the kitchen. I consider this just revenge for getting stuck de-veining the shrimp for the shumai. We both may like having staff just a little too much...
There was lots of Tamarind and about three-quarters of a cup of the Pad Thai sauce left over. I put them each into the freezer, and was fascinated and a little terrified to realize the Pad Thai sauce did not freeze. It worked out for the best though, since I was able to use it for Monday lunch, without having to defrost.
Monday's repeat went much better - I was less intimidated by the preparation, and didn't have to make the sauce or grind the peanuts. Instead, I just assembled a collection of ingredients, turned on the stove, and away I went. It came out infinitely better, which I think is due to adding more of the protein and about doubling the amount of sauce. Using so much more sauce didn't make the noodles sticky or funny-tasting, instead it gave them that beautiful orange color and subtle flavor I just hadn't managed Friday night.
One of the best things about making Pad Thai this way is that it seems endlessly customizable. We were out of of lime slices Monday, so I slugged a couple tablespoons of grapefruit juice into the mixture, and it was fine. The Boyfriend isn't a fan of peanuts, so I can make his without them and then stir them into mine.
I will definitely be making this again, as soon as I buy more rice noodles.
The Boyfriend has hobbies. He is a wine connoisseur, a gamer, and a reader of terribly complicated fiction (I love to read, but want a staff genealogist and note-taker before tackling some of those tomes).
We like each other. We each have our own passions. And, we don't have very many hobbies in common.
I was squawking about this (since I am gaming and drinking wine too, while The Boyfriend has thus far declined to take up knitting), and we decided that cooking, with its "sharp edges, open flames, and risk of trauma," might qualify as a common interest. Our first foray into adventure-cooking was shumai, of dim sum fame. (The Boyfriend wrote it up here). The dumplings were good the first night, and even better once we trekked to Whole Paycheck for better quality won ton wrappers.
Our next adventure was Chicken Pad Thai, based on the recipe / formula found at Chez Pim.
Unfortunately we did not find Tamarind Paste in cute little jars, even when we walked to 'Little Vietnam' and prowled the aisles of the 'Asian SUPER Market.' There was only one employee in the store, and I stood patiently in line to ask for Tamarind. He agreed they had it, and strode off to the furthest wall, reached under a shelf into a closed cardboard box and handed me a brick of gelatinous dried Tamarind fruits. Damn.
I took my gooey brick home, and followed Pim's directions to unmold the gel into a large bowl and pour four cups of very hot water over it. While it soaked, I went through our kitchen armaments, despaired, and walked over to the grocery store to buy a wire strainer. It was that, or push all four cups of water and two cups of fruit through my tea ball.... um: No.
After the water cooled and I was properly armed, I reached into that bowl of weird goop and massaged away. I am a very tactile person - I like to touch things, I like to eat with my fingers, and novelty is good. Even with that as my baseline, this still felt weird and odd. Fortunately after some strenuous kneading, I was able to dump the whole brown mixture into my strainer and shove it through with the back of a ladle. It left me with about four cups of slightly-gooier than ketchup goop and a really gross colander.
I added half a cup of the tamarind goop to half a cup of fish sauce and a third of a cup of sugar, melted it, and stirred in chili powder. Unfortunately it was still sickly sweet, so it took more tamarind, more fish sauce, more chili powder to balance the sugar out a little. Next time, I think I just wont put sugar in at all.
Once the sauce tasted right (well, right-ish), we moved on to setting up the mise en place - aka all the stuff I needed to cook it - in cute little bowls. I call this 'Cooking-Show Style' and enjoy it, even for recipes which are not time sensitive. For wok cooking, it is practically mandatory.
We had sliced chicken, but no tofu (since The Boyfriend believes Sheldon Comic's claim that tofu is "the bastard love child of styrafoam and jello," and resists it mightily), sliced limes, roughly ground peanuts, chopped green onions, scrambled eggs, and chopped garlic. Oh, and the rice noodles.
In this version, you do not actually cook the rice noodles. Instead you pour hot (we used nearly boiling) water over them, and let them soak until they are almost-soft-enough. That almost thing appears to be key - that way they finish cooking in the wok. So, we soaked 'em and drained 'em and added their bowl to my collection on the counter top.
Then I stuck the wok over the flame until it began to smoke, and poured in some olive oil. The chicken went first, and a minute later I added a tablespoon or so of garlic and a slug of sauce. I stirred that up, then dumped in some peanuts, then the noodles and more sauce. I let that all cook for a couple minutes, moving the contents around, and then added the scrambled eggs. I stirred some more and let the eggs cook, then squashed in some lime juice, stirred in the green onions, and pulled the whole thing off the heat. It felt like it happened fast.
To serve the Pad Thai, I lifted the tangled portions into bowls and garnished them with more ground peanuts, green onions, and slices of limes. The results of this first experiment tasted good, but looked and felt sort of pale and sticky. I was pleased, but not totally satisfied.
My sous chef and dishwasher also noted that, in this inaugural attempt, I'd managed to dirty just about every bowl in the kitchen. I consider this just revenge for getting stuck de-veining the shrimp for the shumai. We both may like having staff just a little too much...
There was lots of Tamarind and about three-quarters of a cup of the Pad Thai sauce left over. I put them each into the freezer, and was fascinated and a little terrified to realize the Pad Thai sauce did not freeze. It worked out for the best though, since I was able to use it for Monday lunch, without having to defrost.
Monday's repeat went much better - I was less intimidated by the preparation, and didn't have to make the sauce or grind the peanuts. Instead, I just assembled a collection of ingredients, turned on the stove, and away I went. It came out infinitely better, which I think is due to adding more of the protein and about doubling the amount of sauce. Using so much more sauce didn't make the noodles sticky or funny-tasting, instead it gave them that beautiful orange color and subtle flavor I just hadn't managed Friday night.
One of the best things about making Pad Thai this way is that it seems endlessly customizable. We were out of of lime slices Monday, so I slugged a couple tablespoons of grapefruit juice into the mixture, and it was fine. The Boyfriend isn't a fan of peanuts, so I can make his without them and then stir them into mine.
I will definitely be making this again, as soon as I buy more rice noodles.
Why liminal?
I'm not sure where I learned the word "liminal," but it means a cusp, a threshold, an expectant between.
Liminal space is the 38th week of pregnancy, the wait in the hallway after your dissertation defense (while the committee decides your fate), the moment between buying the ring and proposing. Liminal space is exciting and sacred, and also bloody hard to bear at times.
I'm not pregnant, haven't bought any jewelry, and lived through that hallway moment (there is actually a funny story there I may tell you another time). It still feels liminal though: I am finished with my degree, but not graduated. I have interviewed for jobs, but not heard decisions. My relationships are in flux, And, on other fronts that are less about me, my parents are moving out of the last home I lived in with them, as I type this. I am taking advantage of the flexibility between my dissertation defense and graduation to get out of Dodge, and spend time with my darling boyfriend. He is excellent company, but this means I am disconnected from my life in College Town, Virginia, but we don't have a life together here either.
And, I am at the dawning realization stage when it comes to all those 'someday, when I graduate...' half-formed plans and dreams. Some of my cherished hopes will be realized, and some wont. I'm not ready to say out loud which doorways I suspect will open to fields of daisies and which to yawning chasms, but the dawning itself is hard, too.
**Drafted February 23, 2009, Elsewhere**
Liminal space is the 38th week of pregnancy, the wait in the hallway after your dissertation defense (while the committee decides your fate), the moment between buying the ring and proposing. Liminal space is exciting and sacred, and also bloody hard to bear at times.
I'm not pregnant, haven't bought any jewelry, and lived through that hallway moment (there is actually a funny story there I may tell you another time). It still feels liminal though: I am finished with my degree, but not graduated. I have interviewed for jobs, but not heard decisions. My relationships are in flux, And, on other fronts that are less about me, my parents are moving out of the last home I lived in with them, as I type this. I am taking advantage of the flexibility between my dissertation defense and graduation to get out of Dodge, and spend time with my darling boyfriend. He is excellent company, but this means I am disconnected from my life in College Town, Virginia, but we don't have a life together here either.
And, I am at the dawning realization stage when it comes to all those 'someday, when I graduate...' half-formed plans and dreams. Some of my cherished hopes will be realized, and some wont. I'm not ready to say out loud which doorways I suspect will open to fields of daisies and which to yawning chasms, but the dawning itself is hard, too.
**Drafted February 23, 2009, Elsewhere**
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
La Liminalia
I am in a liminal space these days, between jobs and lives. I am staking this little piece of ether out, to talk about it all.
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