stick shift

My favorite Thai place is just down the hill from my most recent yoga endroit. For a while I was going there after yoga class, though recently I’ve forgone the yoga altogether and just go to gorge myself on number 75, vegetarian, mild plus. Number 75 is a coconut milk-based stew, flavored with fried red onion slivers and pickled mustard leaves, swimming with tofu, crunchy vegetables, and slender noodles, and topped—the piece de resistance—with fried egg noodles. It’s divine. If eaten all in one sitting (usually the case), it’s decadent.

Without the yoga that originally justified this decadence, I arrive at 6, the prime dinner hour. There is only one free table when I arrive, and the host/owner/kitchen dictator is either disturbed that he has to seat a single or amused that I am alone, I can’t tell which. Before I can sit down I am greeted by a woman seated at a table near mine; she is with her teenage daughter, another woman about her age, and another girl whose back is to me. It’s been forever since I’ve seen her so I have to confess that (a) I still have her knitting needles (b) I haven’t finished the scarf yet (more than a year, and only 30 stitches wide), (c) I’m still with the guy for whom I am knitting (or not) the scarf, and (d) I’ve moved. This leads to another several minutes of discussion, what town, which road, which house, oh! I know that house; which mailbox? She promises to drop off something she’s been saving for me (a professional publication); I insist she should come for tea. I retreat to my table at last.

I order and number 75 comes quickly, with only enough wait time for me to read my mail and wonder at the low figure on my telephone bill. As I begin to slurp the steaming hot broth, I begin my foray into The Nation, the newest of a series of magazines in my mailbox. Lost in the relentless liberal dirge, I twirl noodles, crunch broccoli, and consciously ignore the fact that I am, once again, eating all of it. How many minutes and a few diatribes later, the bowl is empty and I am feeling just this side (which side?) of fat and happy.

Leaving presents another conversational intersection. Practically drunk on coconut milk, I somehow promise to teach the teenager to drive a stick shift. She is insistent: When? When the snow is gone. What did I just say? I am channeling someone and I’m not sure who. I discover the fourth at the table, the other girl, to be a former student, an insightful girl with a little too much self-knowledge for public school. She’s absent from the table, and those remaining grumble dismissively; she’s in an adolescent funk and sulking outside. It’s above freezing tonight, practically balmy at 33; perfect weather for pre-teen angst. I promise to harass her on my way out and take my leave.

We pass, she and I, and I stop her to ask about things. She readily admits that sixth grade is hard. I ask: the classes, or the friend thing? Both, she replies. I press on a bit; is it the girl thing, where you don’t know who your friends are anymore? She nods, says yes; is she tearing up, or am I projecting? Both are possible. She has such beautiful clear brown eyes, and a spirit that knows better than the bullshit of middle school. Of course she’s sulking outside. I’m thankful to know who my friends are, with more certainty than I know most things. And I’m wondering: how in the name of all that is holy do I think I’m going to teach anyone to drive a stick?

Growth is just the lessening of fear

I met Kerrie at a Shambhala Buddhist meditation sitting. She was new to Montpelier and so was I. We met occasionally after sitting for dinner at a local vegetarian buffet, but I didn’t know we would be friends until I called her once several months later and she replied to my generic greeting thusly: “I’m contemplating the karmically correct way to engage in Match.com. I think the best way to approach it is with pizza and magic hat number 9 (a tasty local brew). Want to join me?”

I did, and I did, and we’ve been friends ever since. Kerrie has shown me what it is to be fully spiritual and fully human at the same time. Tonight she came over so that we might toast and smudge the simultaneous but very different (or are they?) transitions currently occurring in our lives. She brought a sweet and fruity white, Serenity Reserve White 2004, Vin de Pays des Cotes de Gascogne, and some divine double chocolate brownies (five and one-half tablespoons butter, melt half the chocolate chips, reserve half to add with the flour mixure….). After Cabot’s Hunter cheddar, Suzie’s Kamut Olive Oil Flat Breads with Rosemary (www.good-groceries.com), and some crisp fuji slices, I served this simple meal, perfect for warming up on a sub-zero Vermont evening. After dinner and brownies, we lit some sage and let the Buddha on the wine bottle (really!) guide us through our intentions, thanks, and requests. “Growth is just the lessening of fear,” Kerrie reminded me, us, as we contemplated what we have recently experienced and what is yet to come. Ho.

Warm White Beans with Saffron-Infused Couscous

2/3 cup whole wheat couscous

½ t. salt

pinch saffron threads

1 c. boiling water

1 T. olive oil

1 small onion, diced

3 thin carrots, sliced

¼ t. salt

1 vegetarian bullion cube dissolved in 1 cup boiling water

1/3 cup dry sherry or white wine

1 can great northern beans or other white beans, drained and rinsed

2 cloves garlic, coarsely chopped

¼ teaspoon thyme

½ teaspoon paprika

freshly ground black pepper and salt to taste

In a medium bowl, combine the dry couscous, salt, and saffron. Add the boiling water, stir to combine, and cover with a plate that forms a seal. Set aside, and do not lift the plate until you are ready to serve the couscous!

In a large skillet with a tight-fitting lid, warm the olive oil, and add the onion, carrot, and salt. Stir to combine, cover, and cook on medium, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are soft, about 8 minutes. Add the sherry, stir, and cook for one minute, uncovered. Add the bullion, beans, garlic, thyme, paprika, and several turns of the pepper mill. Stir, reduce heat to low, and cook, covered, for 10 minutes. Salt to taste.

Fluff the couscous with a fork and serve the beans over a generous helping of the couscous.

This is a soft meal in texture and color, so for contrast, serve with a crunchy vegetable, like pan-seared broccoli or kale, and a colorful seasonal vegetable, like baked acorn squash drizzled with butter and maple syrup.

Serves 4.