"Solitude is not happiness. Solitude kills. Life together is happiness; it is joy." Bodaado woman, Niger
This gem was printed adjacent to the recipe I prepared from Extending the Table for dinner, Chasoh Juhn, vegetable croquettes, from Korea. Now these are strong words for an introvert like me. Solitude is a restorative. Solitude is a necessative. Solitude is sinking into a trashy novel with a hot cup of roibos tea, Vivaldi in the background, without refereeing spats, redirecting mischief, or wiping bottoms.
Yet I have a life together, with two boys that giggle and whine and stomp their feet as they smash towers to the ground. I also have a partner who shares in the noise, graciously allowing me my moments curled in my favorite chair with a fuzzy blanket. And lately planted in front of my laptop typing away on my lastest project.
This shared life is my greatest joy, however noisy it might be. So I find my solitude creatively these days. Cooking is one of those outlets. With my kitchen open to the main living area of the house, I can lose myself in a recipe, potatoes, carrots and cauliflower grated and fried golden into a delicate croquette. I surface, of course, to redirect the rowdiness and kiss away the bumps. And I expand my culinary joy with little hands that pour in the sugar and salt and stir the batter with two hands on the spoon.
And we share meals, like Chasoh Juhn. We share the day between the bites. What's the story about this week at preschool? (Firemen!) Why did the littlest get a time out at daycare? (Launching through the window of the playhouse!) What veggies are in this croquette? (Two out of three ain't bad!)
There will be moments for my introvert nature can grasp a moment or two of solitude throughout the day, but for now I am going to embrace the noisy joy.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Thanksgiving Thoughts
This week I've been thinking a lot about food, more so than usual if that's even possible. Naturally, Thanksgiving has been the focus of much of that thinking. What to make, what ingredients to get, when and how to make it, what ingredients I forgot the first time I went to the store, the usual. Then came the feast. Turkey, stuffing, gravy, cranberries supplied by my mom, while I made sweet potato casserole, corn pudding, green bean casserole, and pumpkin pie. Both of us got so busy cooking and chatting that we forgot the mashed potatoes! Everyone agreed they weren't necessary with the bounty before us. It was a lovely day in which we were all well fed in good company, for which I am thankful.
I've also been thinking though about those without food this week, again more so than usual. My school has a food shelf for the students, and our family commits to weekly donations. Each week I clip coupons and scan the circulars for deals, then use the savings to purchase a bag of groceries and toiletries. This is a very, very small effort on our part to begin addressing hunger in our own community, but one that is a lesson for our boys. They help pick out items as I explain the need, and then see me leave for work each Monday with our offering.
I've been thinking about the abundance in my life. I've never used a food shelf for the purposed of feeding my family. My experience with these organizations are as a donater, supporter, or volunteer. I've always felt full when I've wanted to feel full. That is not the experience of my children though, who have their own unique histories with eating and hunger, ones that have shaped our family. These experiences have molded them in ways that we haven't even fully begun to realize. And so we think about food.
I've been thinking about what it might feel like to be on the other side of the shelf. This year my son's school won a grant from Target for a media center makeover. Part of this grant included Target providing groceries to every family in the school, once a month, to promote healthy eating. This week I went to my first distribution and even with the knowledge that this was a gift, it was a very humbling experience. It was very organized, with volunteers shuffling us quickly through the line. I held out my bags at each station to the smiling volunteers who offered milk, potatoes, pasta, meat and more, confirming I only had one child in the school, which determined how much I received. I could decline items if I chose, but I took one of everything they offered, not wanting to seem ungrateful, though there were some I wasn't sure I would use. I said thank you after each product I received, and though several volunteers offered to help me take my bags to the car, I declined, even though the bags were heavy. I left feeling a little overwhelmed by it all. And thinking.
I've been thinking about the process of feeding those in need. I As I was driving to pick up the food, I was listening to NPR's Talk of the Nation. I kid you not, the host discussed a recent editorial, "It's Time to Can Food Drives" in the Albany Times Union. The author wrote about the ineffectiveness of food drives because "For the same amount of money spent on buying cans for a food drive, donors can feed 20 times more families by providing cash, not cans." This is absolutely true. I've volunteered at food shelves to know that the best support they can receive is financial. Some callers expressed this same sentiment, and some callers argued for the value of donating actual food. The needs of those were fully affirmed by the guest on the program as valid. She just wanted to let people know that sometimes cultural, medical or even logistical issues prevent people from eating the food that is given to them. If you've never eaten sauerkraut, then getting a can of it may not be the most practical meal.
So this is my food for thought (sorry, it had to be said). I don't have any answers for how to address the challenge of feeding those who are hungry, but I can start at home and think and ACT locally and then globally. I can challenge the few people who read this blog to do the same, and share that challenge with a few others. And I can put my children into their warm beds with full bellies with not only a prayer of Thanksgiving, but a prayer that I may always be of service to others.
I've also been thinking though about those without food this week, again more so than usual. My school has a food shelf for the students, and our family commits to weekly donations. Each week I clip coupons and scan the circulars for deals, then use the savings to purchase a bag of groceries and toiletries. This is a very, very small effort on our part to begin addressing hunger in our own community, but one that is a lesson for our boys. They help pick out items as I explain the need, and then see me leave for work each Monday with our offering.
I've been thinking about the abundance in my life. I've never used a food shelf for the purposed of feeding my family. My experience with these organizations are as a donater, supporter, or volunteer. I've always felt full when I've wanted to feel full. That is not the experience of my children though, who have their own unique histories with eating and hunger, ones that have shaped our family. These experiences have molded them in ways that we haven't even fully begun to realize. And so we think about food.
I've been thinking about what it might feel like to be on the other side of the shelf. This year my son's school won a grant from Target for a media center makeover. Part of this grant included Target providing groceries to every family in the school, once a month, to promote healthy eating. This week I went to my first distribution and even with the knowledge that this was a gift, it was a very humbling experience. It was very organized, with volunteers shuffling us quickly through the line. I held out my bags at each station to the smiling volunteers who offered milk, potatoes, pasta, meat and more, confirming I only had one child in the school, which determined how much I received. I could decline items if I chose, but I took one of everything they offered, not wanting to seem ungrateful, though there were some I wasn't sure I would use. I said thank you after each product I received, and though several volunteers offered to help me take my bags to the car, I declined, even though the bags were heavy. I left feeling a little overwhelmed by it all. And thinking.
I've been thinking about the process of feeding those in need. I As I was driving to pick up the food, I was listening to NPR's Talk of the Nation. I kid you not, the host discussed a recent editorial, "It's Time to Can Food Drives" in the Albany Times Union. The author wrote about the ineffectiveness of food drives because "For the same amount of money spent on buying cans for a food drive, donors can feed 20 times more families by providing cash, not cans." This is absolutely true. I've volunteered at food shelves to know that the best support they can receive is financial. Some callers expressed this same sentiment, and some callers argued for the value of donating actual food. The needs of those were fully affirmed by the guest on the program as valid. She just wanted to let people know that sometimes cultural, medical or even logistical issues prevent people from eating the food that is given to them. If you've never eaten sauerkraut, then getting a can of it may not be the most practical meal.
So this is my food for thought (sorry, it had to be said). I don't have any answers for how to address the challenge of feeding those who are hungry, but I can start at home and think and ACT locally and then globally. I can challenge the few people who read this blog to do the same, and share that challenge with a few others. And I can put my children into their warm beds with full bellies with not only a prayer of Thanksgiving, but a prayer that I may always be of service to others.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Bolo Formigeiro (Brazil)
By now my family has become accustomed to the many recipes I foist upon them as I experiment with this blog and the cookbook, Extending the Table. Whenever I make a new recipe, they are game for the flavors and textures. It's a wonderful thing actually. I love that my boys see eating as an adventure and my hubby supports each new venture with a smile.
Now I've started to venture out though with sharing my cooking. Last week I made the rollos for my SEED class, and this week it was Bolo Formigeiro, Anthill Cake, from Brazil, for the department potluck on conference night. We always have a theme, and last night it was 'salad bar.' Now, I like salad, and as I am not in charge of organizing the potluck, I am willing to participate with whatever is planned. But, for whatever reason, I was not excited about this particular salad bar event. Maybe my Minnesota roots require a little more cream cheese and cream of mushroom in my potluck. So my small act of rebellion was to make a cake that was absolutely decadent.
This cake is loaded with sugar, coconut milk, coconut flakes and grated chocolate, the final two ingredients accounting for the 'ants.' It's also got a whole cup of cornstarch in there to give it a fluffy texture. So good! But I'm not quite confident enough to make a brand new recipe as an experiment for the masses/co-workers, so I made a small loaf of cake for my very best taste-testers to try out the night before. Suki's boisterous "More!" was all the endorsement I needed. Even the rollos of last week was a recipe I had made prior to starting the blog, so I knew it was good enough to share.
Cooking is one way that I show the people in my life that I love and care about them. It is a creative outlet for me to experiment and explore. It is supremely fulfilling to put together a recipe thinking about what it might taste like and how my family and friends will enjoy it as well. I didn't subject my coworkers to a lengthy lecture about the cake and the cultural components involved. In fact, I didn't even mention it was a recipe I would be blogging. I simply baked it with the intention of enjoying the thirty minute dinner break with people I am privileged to work with everyday. This sharing of food is a phenomenon that I am sure cooks around the world embrace, a true cultural connection making us part of a global community.
Now I've started to venture out though with sharing my cooking. Last week I made the rollos for my SEED class, and this week it was Bolo Formigeiro, Anthill Cake, from Brazil, for the department potluck on conference night. We always have a theme, and last night it was 'salad bar.' Now, I like salad, and as I am not in charge of organizing the potluck, I am willing to participate with whatever is planned. But, for whatever reason, I was not excited about this particular salad bar event. Maybe my Minnesota roots require a little more cream cheese and cream of mushroom in my potluck. So my small act of rebellion was to make a cake that was absolutely decadent.
This cake is loaded with sugar, coconut milk, coconut flakes and grated chocolate, the final two ingredients accounting for the 'ants.' It's also got a whole cup of cornstarch in there to give it a fluffy texture. So good! But I'm not quite confident enough to make a brand new recipe as an experiment for the masses/co-workers, so I made a small loaf of cake for my very best taste-testers to try out the night before. Suki's boisterous "More!" was all the endorsement I needed. Even the rollos of last week was a recipe I had made prior to starting the blog, so I knew it was good enough to share.
Cooking is one way that I show the people in my life that I love and care about them. It is a creative outlet for me to experiment and explore. It is supremely fulfilling to put together a recipe thinking about what it might taste like and how my family and friends will enjoy it as well. I didn't subject my coworkers to a lengthy lecture about the cake and the cultural components involved. In fact, I didn't even mention it was a recipe I would be blogging. I simply baked it with the intention of enjoying the thirty minute dinner break with people I am privileged to work with everyday. This sharing of food is a phenomenon that I am sure cooks around the world embrace, a true cultural connection making us part of a global community.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Pul Goki (Korea)
"A festive Korean meal includes a variety of dishes, perhaps as many as 20. Nevertheless, the hostess will apologize for the inadequacies of her offerings, saying, 'There is nothing here, but eat much!'"
--Extending the Table
This quote accompanied the recipe I made this evening, Pul Goki, grilled sesame beef from Korea. The dish was easy and delicious in its simplicity. Yet it was this little nugget of cultural information that stuck with me as I prepared the marinade and the meat soaked in the sweet and salty of the soy sauce, sesame oil and sugar throughout the afternoon.
Lately our family, our beautiful Ethiopian-Thai-American family, has met with a variety of tough moments and decisions connected to our cultures. And inadequate doesn't quite capture what I feel inside as I maneuver the complexities of parenting children of color as I confront my own white privilege. There are 20 different factors to consider and confront in even the most simple choices.
Our neighborhood, in the heart of the city, reflects our family. When we leave our home, our neighbors, the patrons at the library, the kids at school, represent a wealth of diversity in which we simply blend and exist as we our. But a short jaunt up the highway and our sanctuary becomes a hostile land where inquisitive glances become incredulous and unwelcome stares. Anxiety and defensiveness take over as I clutch my children to me tightly or secure them in the safety of our cart. Even close to home, the occasional sucker punch sends us reeling. A phone call from a local business questioning my child's integrity based simply on the ethnic tones of his precious name.
It would be very easy to wallow and complain, but we chose this life. I had 30 years of comfort in my white privilege. My children didn't have a choice about the color of the skin in which they walk the world . So I read, we take classes, go to workshops, read some more, discuss it to death, seek out mentors, professionals, art, music, language, toys, books, games, recipes anything that gives us the resources to raise our children to be happy and proud and armed with the tools to maneuver the trials and joys of being who they are.
At times I've seen the nature of this blog to be somewhat shallow. What can I accomplish in a recipe? But this little project keeps me thinking and gets me talking with my kids. About Korea, and where it is in relation to Thailand, and the amazing women that cook 20 dishes for special guests and how exactly one pronounces Pul Goki. And it broadens their horizons beyond the interior of our home, reminding them that our family is part of a world community. It's one of 20...50...100 pieces that makes this complicated life a life in which there is much to eat.
--Extending the Table
This quote accompanied the recipe I made this evening, Pul Goki, grilled sesame beef from Korea. The dish was easy and delicious in its simplicity. Yet it was this little nugget of cultural information that stuck with me as I prepared the marinade and the meat soaked in the sweet and salty of the soy sauce, sesame oil and sugar throughout the afternoon.
Lately our family, our beautiful Ethiopian-Thai-American family, has met with a variety of tough moments and decisions connected to our cultures. And inadequate doesn't quite capture what I feel inside as I maneuver the complexities of parenting children of color as I confront my own white privilege. There are 20 different factors to consider and confront in even the most simple choices.
Our neighborhood, in the heart of the city, reflects our family. When we leave our home, our neighbors, the patrons at the library, the kids at school, represent a wealth of diversity in which we simply blend and exist as we our. But a short jaunt up the highway and our sanctuary becomes a hostile land where inquisitive glances become incredulous and unwelcome stares. Anxiety and defensiveness take over as I clutch my children to me tightly or secure them in the safety of our cart. Even close to home, the occasional sucker punch sends us reeling. A phone call from a local business questioning my child's integrity based simply on the ethnic tones of his precious name.
It would be very easy to wallow and complain, but we chose this life. I had 30 years of comfort in my white privilege. My children didn't have a choice about the color of the skin in which they walk the world . So I read, we take classes, go to workshops, read some more, discuss it to death, seek out mentors, professionals, art, music, language, toys, books, games, recipes anything that gives us the resources to raise our children to be happy and proud and armed with the tools to maneuver the trials and joys of being who they are.
At times I've seen the nature of this blog to be somewhat shallow. What can I accomplish in a recipe? But this little project keeps me thinking and gets me talking with my kids. About Korea, and where it is in relation to Thailand, and the amazing women that cook 20 dishes for special guests and how exactly one pronounces Pul Goki. And it broadens their horizons beyond the interior of our home, reminding them that our family is part of a world community. It's one of 20...50...100 pieces that makes this complicated life a life in which there is much to eat.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Rollos (Bolivia)
Every week I faithfully sit at the kitchen counter planning our meals for the week, then writing them in on the calendar. I make sure we have all the ingredients in the house, evening activities and meetings are taken into account and a recipe from Extending the Table is included. While I do most of the cooking, John usually takes a preassigned night and Thursdays are ALWAYS easy heat-up meals or leftovers. This keeps us sane and fed and open for time with the boys.
So today I couldn't understand why it had bothered me all day that I couldn't remember what was for dinner tonight. There were two items clearly on my cooking agenda, pumpkin cookies and rollos, a Bolivian cheese pastry. These are treats I am making for my SEED (Seeking Educational Equity and Diversity) class that I take through work. Cooking for my family from ETT has been so fun, and now I get to share a festive dish with others on a cultural journey as well. I've been thinking about it all week. The problem is I forgot to plan a meal for tonight. That's why I couldn't remember.
When I walked in the house this afternoon I went straight to the calendar before I even took my coat off. No meal. No plan. A wide open evening. I set the boys up at the counter with Playdoh and cocoa, and we chatted away as I made the treats. Occasionally, I would poke around in the freezer or a cupboard for inspiration, but nothing took hold. Instead I focused on the rollos. And the Playdoh cookies, snakes and jewelry my boys proudly displayed.
This is a pastry that is made in anticipation of a journey, a travelling snack sold at bus stops. It makes for an easy meal with its flaky dough stuffed, then topped, with a cheesy mix. I am definitely on a journey. Sometimes I focus so much on the planning though, that I forget about the beauty of spontaneity that comes from the imaginations of my boys.
So tonight I forgot about dinner. John made it. And I enjoyed the ride.
So today I couldn't understand why it had bothered me all day that I couldn't remember what was for dinner tonight. There were two items clearly on my cooking agenda, pumpkin cookies and rollos, a Bolivian cheese pastry. These are treats I am making for my SEED (Seeking Educational Equity and Diversity) class that I take through work. Cooking for my family from ETT has been so fun, and now I get to share a festive dish with others on a cultural journey as well. I've been thinking about it all week. The problem is I forgot to plan a meal for tonight. That's why I couldn't remember.
When I walked in the house this afternoon I went straight to the calendar before I even took my coat off. No meal. No plan. A wide open evening. I set the boys up at the counter with Playdoh and cocoa, and we chatted away as I made the treats. Occasionally, I would poke around in the freezer or a cupboard for inspiration, but nothing took hold. Instead I focused on the rollos. And the Playdoh cookies, snakes and jewelry my boys proudly displayed.
This is a pastry that is made in anticipation of a journey, a travelling snack sold at bus stops. It makes for an easy meal with its flaky dough stuffed, then topped, with a cheesy mix. I am definitely on a journey. Sometimes I focus so much on the planning though, that I forget about the beauty of spontaneity that comes from the imaginations of my boys.
So tonight I forgot about dinner. John made it. And I enjoyed the ride.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Pilaki (Iran)
Today marks the official end of the fresh produce from my garden. This makes me a little sad after months of eating out of the backyard. Oh, I still have many, many jars of pickles, bags of frozen peppers and pints of frozen tomatoes. We won't suffer through a long winter. Much. But those warm afternoons with my two sweaty boys exclaiming over the organic treasures they uncovered beneath the leaves and vines can't be jarred or frozen.
The final super started with three very ripe tomatoes perched on the kitchen window sill just waiting for the right recipe, their siblings gobbled or foisted upon coworkers long ago. Paging through my cookbook (ETT, of course) I tried to find an inspiring recipe. The cooler days and early dark led me to a stewed bean recipe from Iran, Pilaki. White beans, potatoes and carrots gave the dish a hearty base, but my tomatoes added a delicate touch to the perfect dish for a fall evening.
And I did manage to make enough to freeze. So when the snow is deep and my boys are ensconced in polar fleece, I'll heat this stew up for the passing taste of fresh tomatoes, by then perhaps merely memory.
The final super started with three very ripe tomatoes perched on the kitchen window sill just waiting for the right recipe, their siblings gobbled or foisted upon coworkers long ago. Paging through my cookbook (ETT, of course) I tried to find an inspiring recipe. The cooler days and early dark led me to a stewed bean recipe from Iran, Pilaki. White beans, potatoes and carrots gave the dish a hearty base, but my tomatoes added a delicate touch to the perfect dish for a fall evening.
And I did manage to make enough to freeze. So when the snow is deep and my boys are ensconced in polar fleece, I'll heat this stew up for the passing taste of fresh tomatoes, by then perhaps merely memory.
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