J, K, Lahiri

Creative expression has a momentum and a spiritual imperative, I told J tonight. Five kids into this thing we call this life, she's feeling the need to tell her story, get it out there, and I said, YES. If I am learning anything, it is that our stories are all we have and to tell them is to open ourselves truly to the universe. Boy, it sounds like I'm writing a self-help book, no? She and I agree that it's in our emails to each other that we express ourselves most truly, most genuinely, most without-bullshit-y. But I'm writing this now.

One month and seven days, writing every day. Wha-hoo! I've given up on sitting; writing is my practice for now. Every day, often last thing before bed (like tonight) despite good intentions to the contrary. Tonight I had to finish my novel (The Namesake, Jhumpa Lahiri, devistating in its inevitability), then my friend K came over to return something. A glass of water turned into impromptu tapas: left over curried cauliflower, quickly spiced chick peas, blue corn chips, red wine. Brainstorming about where and how she might position herself to meet the man she is sure the universe is preparing for her. Then J called. Now I write.

Curried cauliflower:
2 bay leaves, 4 cardamom pods, half a teaspoon of cumin seeds, cooked in 2 T. oil.
Add and saute half a chopped onion, 2 chopped cloves of garlic, 2" of fresh ginger, chopped.
When the onion is soft, add 1 t. curry powder, a generous pinch of red pepper powder, 2 T. tomato paste, 1 T. harissa, 1 cauliflower cut into florets, enough water to cover.
Cover and simmer, stirring occasionally, until all is soft. Remove lid at the end to evaporate the excess water.
Serve hot, or warm, but it was better rewarmed two days later.

Quickly spiced chick peas:
Half a can of chick peas, water to cover, 1 T. olive oil, salt and pepper in a pan.
Bring to a boil. With a fork, mash the chick peas. Add paprika and ground cumin, a half teaspoon of each. Cook uncovered until the water has evaporated and it's a spreadable consistency. Serve in a bowl, drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with paprika. Eat with chips, crackers, whatever's around.

After the savories we had dark chocolate, almonds, raisins, more red wine. Lovely.

absolutely perfect

Tonight I ate the most perfect meal. As with many things in life, perfection is often a matter of timing. So this evening, a perfect confluence of attitude, occasion, sunshine, and culinary perfection joined to create my most perfect meal to date.

My attitude was beyond positive as I'd just gotten off the phone with my life coach, who pointed out that today is the one-month anniversary of incorporating an important action into my daily life. And, I was headed toward a networking opportunity that seemed amorphous and felt right. Attitude, occasion: chicken, egg? Perhaps. At 5:00 when I stepped outside, the sun was shining brightly in the blue sky. The temperature hadn't yet dropped enough to warrant hurrying, so I enjoyed my stroll to the restaurant, soaking in the rays of premature daylight savings.

Ah. Upon entry I knew I had found an oasis, that I would be well cared for here. The gentleman who told me to "sit anywhere" quickly deduced that this task was beyond me in my post-school-day condition, and pointed me toward a table (there were only three!) near a window, away from the door. I sat and took in the white tablecloth, pressed but not stiff; the sparse, elegant Asian-influenced floral arrangement (berries, pussy willows, leaves of various shapes, sizes, and textures, and two simple tulips) in a heavy rectangular glass vase; the comforting cloth napkin with its autumnal print.

I love a restaurant that offers fancy labeled wines by the glass, and saves its best wine for the house--a simple italian red in a wonderfully ample glass balloon was smooth on my tongue and underscored the comfort offered here.

The food was absolutely perfect, with apologies to Kevin Henkes. The soup was an African vegetable, and as I often tell people, Africa is a big place made up of 67+ countries. I lived in one African country that never came close to a soup like this, and I'm glad I experienced this one. Two different kinds of sweet potatoes--the dense, dark orange and a lighter, crisper variety--and white potatoes swam in a thick coconut milk base, accented by thick slivers of coconut meat and lots of bright basil. Onions, etc, were most likely pureed into the base of the soup, which was intensely flavorful from start to finish. On the side, half a pannini-grilled sandwich of pesto, olive tapenade, and just the right amount of jack cheese. I actually managed to savor this and finished the last bite after I finished the soup, a self-discipline coup if ever there was one.

The salad portion consisted of tender greens, two bites of roasted red and yellow peppers, and a few thick shavings of Parmesan cheese, lightly dressed in a dressing notable for its absence of distracting flavor.

And as I contemplated which local coffeehouse to hit for a sweet treat, the waitress brought my bill--and a Lindt truffle. My only disappointment of the evening--it was milk chocolate, not dark. But Nina Simone played on the stereo and the sun was nowhere near setting. It was still, absolutely, perfect.

Tonight I ate the most perfect meal. As with many things in life, perfection is often a matter of timing. So this evening, a perfect confluence of attitude, occasion, sunshine, and culinary perfection joined to create my most perfect meal to date.

My attitude was beyond positive as I'd just gotten off the phone with my life coach, who pointed out that today is the one-month anniversary of incorporating an important action into my daily life. And, I was headed toward a networking opportunity that seemed amorphous and felt right. Attitude, occasion: chicken, egg? Perhaps. At 5:00 when I stepped outside, the sun was shining brightly in the blue sky. The temperature hadn't yet dropped enough to warrant hurrying, so I enjoyed my stroll to the restaurant, soaking in the rays of premature daylight savings.

Ah. Upon entry I knew I had found an oasis, that I would be well cared for here. The gentleman who told me to "sit anywhere" quickly deduced that this task was beyond me in my post-school-day condition, and pointed me toward a table (there were only three!) near a window, away from the door. I sat and took in the white tablecloth, pressed but not stiff; the sparse, elegant Asian-influenced floral arrangement (berries, pussy willows, leaves of various shapes, sizes, and textures, and two simple tulips) in a heavy rectangular glass vase; the comforting cloth napkin with its autumnal print.

I love a restaurant that offers fancy labeled wines by the glass, and saves its best wine for the house--a simple italian red in a wonderfully ample glass balloon was smooth on my tongue and underscored the comfort offered here.

The food was absolutely perfect, with apologies to Kevin Henkes. The soup was an African vegetable, and as I often tell people, Africa is a big place made up of 67+ countries. I lived in one African country that never came close to a soup like this, and I'm glad I experienced this one. Two different kinds of sweet potatoes--the dense, dark orange and a lighter, crisper variety--and white potatoes swam in a thick coconut milk base, accented by thick slivers of coconut meat and lots of bright basil. Onions, etc, were most likely pureed into the base of the soup, which was intensely flavorful from start to finish. On the side, half a pannini-grilled sandwich of pesto, olive tapenade, and just the right amount of jack cheese. I actually managed to savor this and finished the last bite after I finished the soup, a self-discipline coup if ever there was one.

The salad portion consisted of tender greens, two bites of roasted red and yellow peppers, and a few thick shavings of Parmesan cheese, lightly dressed in a dressing notable for its absence of distracting flavor.

And as I contemplated which local coffeehouse to hit for a sweet treat, the waitress brought my bill--and a Lindt truffle. My only disappointment of the evening--it was milk chocolate, not dark. But Nina Simone played on the stereo and the sun was nowhere near setting. It was still, absolutely, perfect.

Good or interesting food I have eaten lately

Quick chick pea curry:
Chop half an onion, 3 carrots, and 3 cloves garlic.
Saute all in 2 Tbsp. oil until softer, only 3-4 minutes.
Add 1 can chick peas, drained; 1 heaping teaspoon good curry powder, some salt, a fair amount of black pepper, and enough water to cover the chick peas.
Bring to a boil, reduce heat, cook 5 minutes.
With a potato masher or the back of a big spoon, mash the mixture so that some of the chick peas are broken up and some stay whole. Simmer for another 5 minutes.
Add 1 cup kale (chopped) or spinach, washed, stir, and cover until the greens are soft, about 3 minutes.
Serve over rice. You're done!
Serves 3-4, depending.

That was Saturday night. It was really surprisingly good. The kale added some texture as did the carrots, which were not overcooked, and the whole chick peas. R doubted me when I directed him to mash the chick peas, but he later conceded the genius of my ways.

Sunday, we went to K and E's. She made tamale pie with beefalo, eg, buffalo meat, which tasted like cow beef, maybe a little drier--I think it's leaner. It was a combo of meat, kidney beans, whole corn, onion, and tomato, probably sauteed; then covered with a cornmeal-quinoa batter baked to a cornbread-like crust. It was fantastic, if a little dry. The crust was really substantial--not one of those wimpy biscuit crusts. There was as much crust as filling, which makes it a winner in my carb-loving book. She served it with a nice salad--baby spinach, cabbage, sliced white mushrooms, bean sprouts, dried cranberries, feta. The cabbage gave it a nice crunch and the cranberries gave it sweetness. E made black and tans (Bass and Guinness, authentic to the yesterday's St. Pats) and it was very relaxed, cozy, and neighborly, even though we live 30 minutes away.....that's practically next door in Vermont!

I can imagine

This afternoon I had coffee with two girlfriends, one of whom is 3 months pregnant (she just told me yesterday) and the other who has a one year old. After coffee, the newly-pregnant friend left to meet her husband, and I joined the mama, her husband, and son for dinner at a local BBQ place that has a children's play area. The play area and surrounding portion of the restaurant were packed with toddlers, their infant siblings, and their weary parents, who took turns monitoring the play area while their spouses drank beer and reveled in the luxury of sitting down to eat.

We talked about our friend, newly-pregnant to us, and about my lack of interest in having kids, and about the oft-perceived, sometimes-expressed differences between "people with kids" and "people without kids." I said that I couldn't imagine my life without my friends' kids in it. Which is almost true--my friends' kids are, for the most part, hundreds if not thousands of miles away. As I have a day job and am not independently wealthy, visiting these kids on a regular basis is an impossibility. In actuality, I am doing more than imagining my life without my friends' kids in it--I am living my life, most days, without my friends' kids in it. And that makes me sad.

Which returns me to the matter of this friend, this night, at this restaurant with this kid, this year-old boy crawling at a good clip. There is undoubtedly a difference in the lifestyles, at least, of "people with kids" and "people without kids." Maybe in our constitutions, innate or cultivated. But I was prompted, by my friend's comment, to consider the "difference" between our two "types" as yet another example of dualistic thinking--I am like this, you are not me, therefore you are like that, we are different, insert judgment here.

The more that my friends have kids (and I am definitely moving into the minority in some of my circles), the more this is relevant. Are we so different that we can't enjoy a meal together? The better question: Am I flexible enough to be able to enjoy a meal differently? The three-hour, three-bottle dinners of last year have been replaced for the time being with a different mode of eating. Can I imagine my life differently enough to enjoy the very transient moment of this toddler's current fascination with ice cubes? And what am I missing if I can't?

A glorious moment

An open letter to the Burlington Free Press:
I would like to thank and congratulate the members of the Vergennes and Mt. Abraham girls basketball teams, as well as their coaches, cheering sections, and parents, for a wonderful playoff game this Wednesday in Barre. The energy, perserverence, dedication and good sportsmanship displayed by both teams was commendable. It was a pleasure to watch you play! I wish each of you continued good luck in your athletic, academic, and personal endeavors--all of you demonstrated that you are committed to reaching your goals!

This is the letter I sent to the newspaper, but it does not even begin to scratch the surface of the evening's experience. Everything about the game was blinding--the bright florescent lights that lit the gleaming court; the raw energy as the girls ran the ball up and down the court with each turnover (and there were a few); the shrill screaming from (overly?) supportive parents. We arrived a minute or so into the second quarter and it was immediately apparent that we had already missed quite a lot.

We sat in the parents and public section, with a good view of the players' benches and the student cheering sections behind them. On the wall behind the Mt. Abraham section, a series of hand-lettered posters--many highlighted with glitter--encouraged many players by name and/or number. Vergennes didn't have posters, but did have its cheerleaders there to encourage the girls and the crowd.

As the game progressed, too quickly, really, I began to discern personalities among the players: the tall, confident player who grabbed passes with ease, her dark eyes flashing; the short, scrappy guard whose ponytail bounced with her determined dribble; the lanky forward who jumped away from a stray ball and silently dared the ref to call a foul. Raw emotion exuded from every pore in the place and practically condensed and dripped from the ceiling. Parents screamed and it was easy to see how wars begin and are continued--their ferocious demand for justice on their daughters' behalf was almost as intense as their daughters' determination to grab the rebound, run the ball, make the shot.

When Mt. Abraham won, the jumped around and hugged each other like teams of any age, size, gender do when they win. They smiled for the newspaper cameraman and lined up to low-five their opponents (the number one seeded team). When they were released from their huddle and ran across the court to their waiting, adoring parents, the girls hugged their dads first. Who knows why? It was a special moment to witness, fierce hugs of deserved congratulations and naked pride exuding the love that teenagers eschew from their parents in all moments except for these championship hugs. The dads didn't argue, hugging their little girls--almost in college, some of them--tight. Then on to mom, and the moms soaked it up too, this public adoration from their teenage daughters. Only a moment, perhaps; a glorious moment. I'm glad I was there.