Smithing

Site Has Moved

2009-03-09T14:18:00.001-04:00

Live, at foodsmithing.com

Check it out.

Work In Progress.

Thank you, dear friend, Jason Simanek for all your work and help.

Also check out
joshuaraysmith.com
Jason built josh a site. It's also a Work In Progress, but beautifully progressing!

2009-03-08T11:14:00.002-04:00

cheese, story of my existence and lack of my productivity.
why do i treat myself with sleep when I really want to make cheese?!
i've heard that botox doesn't allow your face to look angry. or sad.
maybe if i used botox i would make cheese.

Homemade Pizza

2009-03-07T21:08:00.004-05:00

I think it's reasonable to want to make pizza every day of the week. It's so versatile, and can be as eclectic as your fridge and cupboards allow. You know those crazy Chicago style pizzas, stuffed to an overflowing and greasy pillow of calories? Hmm. I'm not so into those these days. I like the Italian pizza, the one without drippy sauces and doughy crusts. The crust can be mistaken for a flaky cracker and the toppings are not ruled by cheese and cheese alone. Sitting atop a pizza Italian style can be tomatoes, potatoes, anchovies, pears, bleu cheese, mozzarella, eggs, asparagus, and whatever is locally available. It really does transcribe to so many different cultures.

Our pizza the other night for all intensive purposes was a sausage pizza, with a thin crust, less flaky and more crunchy actually. I'm thinking that maybe the flour we used was less than ideal, maybe lacking proteins that bread flours need, as opposed to cake flours. But delicious nonetheless, and really entertaining. We used the pizza crust recipe from the most amazing encyclopedia of Italian cooking, The Silver Spoon. The recipe has you mound your flour and salt into a volcano, and then into a space created in the middle, pour half a cup of water with dissolved yeast. all this happens directly on your kitchen counter. It takes strategy, planning ahead for how you will deal with the river of yeasty water running across your non-level counters. But once you figure it out, damming the river with flour from the volcano, the whole concoction becomes smooth and cohered with a kneading shoulder work-out.

We chose sausage because we had some ground beef that needed to be used. Here's the fantastic and simple recipe for that, from The Art of Simple Food by Alice Waters:
using your hands, lightly mix together:
1 lb. ground pork
1 tsp salt
1/4 tsp fresh ground black pepper
2 tsp fresh or 1 tsp dried sage
a pinch of freshly grated nutmeg
a pinch of cayenne
Mix well enough to distribute the seasonings evenly, but avoid mashing the meat. Make a small patty of meat, fry it ina small skillet, and taste. Adjust.
OR replace the sage, nutmeg, and cayenne with 2 tsp fennel seeds, toasted and lightly pounded; 2 garlic cloves, pounded to a puree; 3 TB red wine; and optional 2 tsp chopped parsley and 1/2 tsp dried chile flakes.

After forming our pizza crust, we gently distributed some sliced cherry tomatoes and chopped garlic on the crust, drizzling olive oil over the top of these. We baked the pizza at 425 for 18 minutes, and then added our homemade pre-cooked sausage, cheese, and dried basil for 7 or 8 more minutes. The crust really was cracker-like on the edges, but still really good. Next time I'll try a change in flour and see what happens.

The basic pizza dough recipe from Silver Spoon cookbook (You've never heard of Silver Spoon? I want a semester of my life to be spent dwelling in this book, so many more recipes to explore!):

1 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 tsp. salt
1/2 ounce yeast
1/2 cup lukewarm water
olive oil for brushing

Sift the flour and salt into a mound on a counter and make a well in the center. Mash the yeast in the water with a fork until very smooth and pour into the well. Incorporate the flour with your fingers to make a soft dough. Knead well, pulling and stretching until it becomes smooth and elastic. Shape into a ball, cut a cross in the top, place in a bowl and cover. Let rise in a warm place for about 3 hours until almost doubled in size. Flatten the dough with the palm of your hand and roll out on a lightly floured surface to a round about 1/4 inch thick. Brush a cookie sheet with oil or line it with baking parchment. Put the dough round on it and press out until it covers the area. Make sure the rim is thicker than the center. Sprinkle with the topping ingredients, leaving a 3/4 inch margin around the edge.

2009-03-07T11:52:00.000-05:00

okay, so I'm really really busy right now. So much has happened this month that I haven't even begun to tell you about! We've been to California, and we just got back from a trip up north for Josh's 30th birthday. So many great things! But we also are cleaning and painting and working on our house to get it up on the market. Anyone want a cute and wonderful home full of good energy right in the middle of a really hip and lovely town? I do, but nonetheless we must sell.
So stay tuned to updates on the new blog in another week or so, once life has succumbed its grueling demands...
xo

this needs to be made

2009-03-02T19:52:00.002-05:00

Home cured, home made, home cooked corned beef.

Check it out, people. It takes days to cure before cooking. And it is that time of year. It's a good sign that it's finally corned beef and stout season. Longer days are already here and warmer days supposedly are slipping around the corner. I also love the theory behind this roast, soaking the meat in a brine solution with stout beer and pickling spices, the house filling with complicated smells as it cooks. Yet it's so easy to put the whole thing together on the stove and forget about it- welcome to my week. Ahh... forget about it.

The recipe, from epicurious.com:
Homemade Irish Corned Beef and Vegetables

Pound Cakes and Stomach Aches!

2009-03-01T12:11:00.010-05:00

The pound cake, so misunderstood in the world of the grocer. So easily made and so easily kept, but so often purchased full of chemicals and complicated words at the chain markets. After some digging, I found my original pound cake recipe. It's the one that every time I make it and share it, the receiver never forgets it and deliberates back and forth in her mind whether or not she really wants the recipe. It's so good that any level headed person knows that it's better left unmade. It makes one crazy with desire- for the pound cake, that is, and only the pound cake. You can think of nothing else but just one more moist, soft, crumbly bit. And then your stomach turns over with glee from its richness- ouch.

The reason I searched high and low for the recipe- I really need to invent some sort of an organizational system for myself (it'll never happen)- was that I had found a pound cake recipe in gourmet this month that called for cardamom. I've been home alone the past 4 days, Josh still being in California, but I haven't touched more than the damn microwave. I wasn't into it. After being in heaven the past week myself (aka San Francisco), I just wasn't in the mood to be domestic. I was like a little bachelor, going out to dinner with girlfriends I don't see enough of, going to the bar by myself, drinking whole milk and not much more for breakfast, not touching laundry or dirty bathrooms that were supposed to be cleaned before we left... and it was fantastic. But last night I was tugged to do something, preferably something that was less than productive, but more than drinking beer or wine and reading off the computer.

I received some pretty severe news yesterday afternoon, news that overwhelmed me with sadness and further debilitated my motivation. It's nothing involving my life, but life changing news for a friend. So I decided to make this friend homemade yogurt and pound cake. She's a very competent cook and I think would not appreciate a meal just yet, but this pound cake you can freeze and the yogurt lasts for at least 2 weeks. It's something, right? And it took my attention for a good while, filling the house with sweet smells.

Last night I actually made the new recipe from Gourmet, but pulled out the original pound cake recipe discovered back in 2003 in Bon Appetit for comparison and options for you. Funny to think back to when this pound cake entered my life. Was I really an adult with a real job in 2003? It sounds like so long ago, but I was married, paying back students loans, working a couple of jobs, making this pound cake and shipping it to family when we couldn't be there for holidays. Let me tell you, it seems like a great and economical idea, but it is a pound cake people. It's a bit heavy. Maybe now that we have evolved to smarter postal ways since then (sigh, I feel so old) you could actually send in the flat rate box and send all over this country. Other than its weight, it's great for shipping because it lasts so very long. It's actually better the next day and is naturally preserved by it's sugar content.

So here they are; take your pick. Honestly, I like the cardamom flavor, but it is not bashful so use cautiously if sharing with a timid eater. All in all I think the 2003 recipe is a bit more addictive, but I think it's because it remains a little moister from cooking at such low temperatures. The Gourmet recipe has fewer eggs and less sugar, but does have more butter due to not having cream cheese in the recipe. I think in the end I would stick with Gourmet, but cook for less than an hour. I actually diviated from the recipe by using vanilla extract (saddly I felt that I couldn't spend the $11 on the vanilla beans at Whole Foods yesterday- I wish I could have had specks of compost black vanilla bean seeds in this cake) and adding some sour cream to the milk just because we had it. It was great and would have been better a little less cooked (unless you are sharing with those people that like their cookies crispy- then it would have been cooked just perfectly).

March 2009 Gourmet Cardamom Vanilla Pound Cake
3 c. flour
1 tsp ground cardamom (I used more)
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
2 1/4 sticks unsalted butter (I buy by the pound and calculated it to be just over a pound)
1 3/4 c. granulated sugar
2 vanilla beans, halved lengthwise (or 1+ TB extract)
4 large eggs
1 TB fresh lemon juice
1 c. whole milk (I used 1 1/2 TB sour cream, scooped into a measuring cup, and added milk to the cup)
For whipping cream (which I didn't make):
1 1/2 c. chilled heavy cream
2 1/2 TB confectioners sugar
1 1/2 tsp pure vanilla extract

}Preheat oven to 350 with rack in middle. Generously butter pan and dust with flour, knocking out excess.
}Whisk together flour, cardamom, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Beat together butter and sugar in mixer at medium speed, scraping side of bowl occasionally, until pale and fluffy, about 5 minutes. Scrape seeds from vanilla beans with tip of a paring knife into butter mixture, reserving pods for another use, and beat until combined well, about 1 minute. Add eggs 1 at a time, beating well after each addition, then beat in lemon juice until combined well. At low speed, add flour mix and milk, alternately in batches, beginning and ending with flour mixture, mixing just until combined.
}Spoon batter into pan, smoothing top. Gently rap pan on counter to eliminate air bubbles.
Bake until a wooden skewer inserted into center of cake comes out clean, about 1 hour. Cool in pan 1 hour, then invert onto a rack and cool completely, about 1 hour more.
}For whipping cream: Beat cream with confectioners sugar and vanilla extract using whisk attachment of mixer until it just holds stiff peaks. Serve cake with whipped vanilla cream.

And from December 2003 Bon Appetit:
Cream Cheese Pound Cake

The cake is put into a cold oven and then baked slowly at gradually increasing temperatures.

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
1 8-ounce package cream cheese, room temperature
3 cups sugar
1 teaspoon salt
6 large eggs, room temperature
4 teaspoons vanilla extract
3 cups sifted all purpose flour

}Butter and flour 12-cup Bundt pan. Using electric mixer, beat butter and cream cheese in large bowl until fluffy, about 4 minutes. Add sugar and salt; beat 10 minutes, occasionally scraping down sides of bowl. Add eggs 1 at a time, beating until blended after each addition. Beat in vanilla. Beat in flour at low speed until batter is smooth (do not overbeat). Transfer batter to pan.

}Place pan in cold oven. Set temperature at 200°F; bake 20 minutes. Increase temperature to 250°F; bake 20 minutes. Increase to 275°F; bake 10 minutes. Increase to 300°F; bake cake until tester inserted near center comes out clean, about 1 hour longer. Cool cake in pan on rack 15 minutes. Turn cake out onto rack; cool completely. (Can be made 3 days ahead. Wrap; store at room temperature.)

Cast Iron Apple Pancake

2009-02-15T09:00:00.002-05:00

Oh geez. You should make this for Valentine's Day.

But since it's past and beyond, you should make this for the week of Valentine's Day, in the morning, before going to work. It's that easy and it will surprise your loved one with oven baked warmth and scent, even if that loved one is only you. Don't even mention that you are making breakfast. Just beat your housemate to the kitchen before they have time to reach for their habitual box of cereal or oats. Give yourself 25 minutes- 5 minutes to prep and 20 to bake it. It's that easy. And it's so good. Of course, if you want to take some pretty pictures of the whole thing, give yourself a few minutes there. I was about to miss the bus so have little to show for this impressive bit of goodness.

It's best day of, so if you have leftovers don't be afraid to share with a neighbor or co-worker. You will lift her spirit and she will wonder how you knew her spirit needed lifting.

The recipe comes from everybody likes sandwiches. The recipe below has a few changes from her recipe, so follow whichever you like.

Cast Iron Apple Pancake
2 T butter
3 small apples, sliced (keep that skin on)
1/4 cup golden raisins
1 T cinnamon
1 1/2 T brown sugar
4 large eggs
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup milk
Grated nutmeg
Lemon peel or orange peel (if you happen to have)

For the topping:
juice of ½ lemon
powdered sugar

Preheat oven to 400. In a large cast iron pan, heat butter and add in sliced apples, raisins, cinnamon and sugar. Saute until the apples are golden brown and the sugar has melted into a delicious caramel sauce.

In a large bowl, whisk the eggs together and add in flours, milk, nutmeg, citrus zest. Whisk until combined and pour over the apple mixture. Place skillet in oven and bake for 20 minutes or so, until the pancake is fluffy and golden brown. Remove from oven and squeeze lemon juice over top and sprinkle generously with powdered sugar. Serve immediately with some yogurt on the side.

Valentine's Flowers

2009-02-14T11:29:00.003-05:00

My dad sends both my sister and I flowers for Valentine's Day every year.
It's nice to be loved.

Steamers and Such....

2009-02-14T09:35:00.002-05:00

There's been this habit that I just can't seem to break this week: steamers. Whole raw milk, warm, rich, and fragrant, comfort poured into a glass ball jar and topped with just grated nutmeg. We buy our milk in advance, receiving a gallon every Sunday evening. That's sort of a lot of milk for two not really into milk people. Not that we're not into milk. I mean, we are now. I want to make ricotta, mozzarella, raw milk yogurt, paneer. But the time to do so just hasn't presented itself to me in recognizable form or fashion. So at the end of the week we end up making non-raw yogurt, bringing the temperature of the milk up to about 180 degrees, in a sense pasteurizing it. This yogurt is extremely delicious and such a treat, but we usually still end up with a little milk at the end of the week that we try to save and savor, the milk itself unexpectedly going sour. Thus, the resulting and habitual end of the evening winter steamer.

I know there is a lot of fear generated out there about fat and whole dairy, and I'm not attempting to renounce it, but I'm not sure I really believe it. I would so much rather drink this decadent product, coming straight from a cow I met practically down the road, then a less fresh industrially produced rendition. It sort of bewilders me that so many of us drink dr. pepper, eat high-fructose corn syrup cereal, snickers bars with a mighty long list of ingredients, cheeses wrapped in individual portioned plastic and advertised with "real milk." I choose the raw whole milk over all of these things. I don't want them. I want my local udders! My comforting sweet treat! I can't stay away from it!

So here's how I do it.
Milk
Vanilla or almond extract
Honey
Heat this in a sweet little pot, being frugal with the extract. If you really want to try for a steamer you can whisk the milk and make it somewhat frothy. My slippers are usually forcing me up the stairs by this point, so I don't usually get into the whole froth thing. Pour into a medium glass ball jar. Top with a hearty grating of fresh nutmeg. Sniff the goodness, the nutmeg, the aromatic milk, filling your body with restful intent. Appreciate the leathery and marbled texture to the nutmeg, and then simply rest.

Sugo di Carne

2009-02-10T11:54:00.006-05:00

Oh baby, pat that rump. Rub that salt and pepper into that tender roast.
Sounds so seductive, so ooh la la like. But eugh yuk, I hate that part.
And I would do it all over again, tossing my groans and shrieks frivolously out to the nonexistent members of my pity party.

Have I told you about Culinate before? It's a great site, culinate.com, that comes to us from Portland. I haven't even begun to explore all the nooks and crannies of their pages. But they have many attainable recipes out there, all free and accessible to all us free people! I usually prefer to dream my meals from under my feather comforter, eventually taking to the kitchen in a flurry, whipping out all the things that need to be used; things I am down-right irritated with, sick of, or items about to go bad. Other times, though, there's nothing better than perusing blogs and sites like culinate that allow me to find inspiration for particular dishes, developing a list of ingredients that I can shop for on my way home from work. Yesterday before leaving work I found five recipes that I wanted to make and eat straight away. I finally narrowed the options to two. We ate at 11pm. Of course the two recipes I chose took 2 & 4 hours to make.

Let's start with the recipe we actually did eat for dinner last night, and one that I will duplicate with some variation for the rest of my life. It was seductive, rich, so flavorful, and beautiful. The flavor is amazing, the ingredients are few. It's quite simple and worth the wait. A normal person, though, would make this on a weekend, so that the hour of eating is reasonable and kind to your stomach.

The recipe calls for a 2 pound rump roast, cooking it in a wine, espresso, tomato based medley, at the astronomical temperature of 475 degrees for 3-4 hours. We used a 2 1/2 pound roast, so unfortunately the entire roast wasn't submerged in braise. I think it would have been substantially more fork tender had we been able to cover the roast in liquid. Keep in mind that the liquid reduces as it cooks. I also prefer my pasta to be saucier than meatier, so we actually didn't even use half of the meat in our sauce. Josh is more than okay with that- more meat to snack on throughout the week.

So here's the recipe:

Sugo di Carne

Total Time 4½ hours

2 to 3 Tbsp. olive oil
2 lb. beef bottom round
~ Salt and pepper
2 medium red onions, chopped
1 can (28 ounces) whole peeled tomatoes, chopped
1 bottle (3 cups) red wine
6 oz. brewed espresso
1 can (6 ounces) tomato paste
1½ lb. penne pasta
~ Parmesan cheese

1. In a large, heavy-bottomed, ovenproof pot, heat the olive oil. Season the beef with salt and pepper, transfer it to the pot, and cook over medium-high heat until browned on both sides.

2. Add the red onions and cook 8 to 10 minutes or until softened. Add the remaining ingredients (except the pasta and Parmesan), cover, and cook in a 475-degree oven for 3 to 4 hours, checking the meat after 2 hours and replenishing the liquid if necessary (use water or broth). Continue cooking, covered, until the meat is fork-tender.

3. Remove the beef from the pan. When cool enough to handle, shred the meat and return to the sauce to reheat. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

4. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and cook the pasta until al dente. Drain and toss with the meat sauce. Serve warm with freshly grated Parmesan cheese.

Today already!

2009-02-10T11:46:00.002-05:00

I finally have some new clothes. There is this sweet deal I've discovered where I donate a bunch of stuff I've had around but never wear to a consignment shop, and then use any credit from those clothes to buy different things. Ah... new to me clothes that I don't feel bad about their sweat shop origins. And to top it all off, the store had half off the entire price after you've spent $10. I got 3 long sleeve shirts, 3 sweaters, a cutie zip up hoodie, and a pair of gap cords for $20. I just love it. For all you Ann Arbor/Ypsi'ites, the store is on Rosewood (btwn Industrial and Packard) and called Woman in the Shoe- a hidden treasure chest.

All that after a good nights sleep, a good meal late last night, a good breakfast of oats and apples, and a great walk with Josh while the sun was coming up, the birds started singing, and the air warmed as we moved through it. Fantastic. And it's not even lunch time yet.

I made two different meals last night to get us through the week, both worth telling you about. So that is to come!

Mixt Bejangles

2009-02-05T22:16:00.007-05:00

Frenetic, frenzied,and frantic. How to cope? The day disappeared out from under you like the magic genie got friskie and whisked it away. There was one task after another, each of them seeming to simultaneously build towards a greater nothing, a pyramid to nowhere.

But alas, my dears, it went to a heaping, helping bowlful of fried rice. Leftover, coconut oil cooked white basmati, tossed in almost as an after thought to the celery, onion,garlic, pine nut, coriander, cumin, cayenne, tahini des coupage. That's right. That's it.

Oh; and olive oil plus a fried egg.

Let me ask Josh what is in the fried egg.. ah, yes: salt, anise, cloves, cinnamon, fennel, and pepper.

What to do when you are paupers, hungry, meek and mild. Little for cash flow these days, but spilling over with passion and desperation for all things life.

I think we're ready.
A little fried rice.
Smith house style... in February... when it's below zero... and that fridge seems all together empty. Hooyah! It's not. It's fried rice.

Another Gourmet Roll

2009-02-03T10:41:00.007-05:00

I bridged that gap again, the one between all things domestically intimidating and all things inherently, clumsily me. I successfully employed this living yeast from our fridge to make a yummy, wheaty, and hearty bun. This living organism once again rose to the challenge of foaming and momentously gained that smell of beer even in its chilled and slightly dank abode, and despite my homely fears. These rolls are perfect accompaniments to vegetable tomato based soups, and we're going to make some egg sandwiches for lunch with them. And not only that, they're really fun! Tying knots with bread is revolutionary! It's mischievous! It's almost something you are afraid your grandma will refuse to condone, heaven forbid she catch you in the making!

To achieve the shape of these rolls, you first roll the dough out to about twelve inches in length. You then simply start the knot tying process like you would your sneakers, leaving space in the middle to continue the snake-like bread through that hole. They are satisfying and abundant, making about 24 rolls, just enough to please your those in the office that can't take one more calorie in cupcake form.

There are two parts of these rolls that were devilishly pleasing to me. There is a flaky salt that you twinkle over the tops of the egg washed knots, and there is whole medium bulgur mixed into the bun batter. On an afternoon adventure last weekend, Josh and I ran over to a local Mediterranean shop just because. We found olives, french feta, cream cheese filled baklava, and lo and behold, four different grades of bulgur! I want to know what you do with all these different grades, but most importantly I do know what to do with the medium (grade 2) grain. We soaked the grain in water, drained the water, and it became part of the mix. It's nice to have whole grains in your bread, you know? Just feels like you're doing something good for yourself. Anyway, enjoy this recipe. It's attainable, fun, and great to be able to share with those around you. From Gourmet's February edition...

Cracked-Wheat Topknots

1 1/2 cups boiling hot water
1/2 cup medium bulgur (also called cracked wheat)
1 TB table salt, divided
1 1/2 cups whole milk
1 stick unsalted butter, cut into pieces
2 1/4 tsp active dry yeast, a 1/4 oz package
1/4 cup warm water (105-115 degrees F)
1 TB mild honey or sugar
1 1/2 cups whole-wheat flour
3 cups all purpose flour plus more for kneading and dusting
1 large egg white beaten with 1 TB water for egg wash
1 1/2 TB flaky sea salt (Maldon)

Stir together boiling-hot water, bulgur, and 1/2 tsp table salt in a small bowl and let stand until bulgur is tender, about 40 minutes.

While bulgur soaks, heat milk with butter in a small saucepan over low heat just until butter is melted.

Stir together yeast, warm water, and honey in a large bowl and let stand until foamy, about 5 minutes. Start with new yeast if mixture doesn't foam. Add flours and remaining 2 1/2 tsp table salt to yeast mixture.

Drain bulgur in a sieve, then mix bulgur and milk mixture into flour mixture with a wooden spoon or rubber spatula until a sticky dough forms.

Turn out dough onto a well-floured surface and knead, dusting surface and your hands with just enough flour to keep dough from sticking, until dough is elastic and almost smooth, 6 to 8 minutes. Form dough into a ball.

Put dough in an oiled large bowl and turn to coat. Cover bowl with plastic wrap and a kitchen towel and let dough rise in a draft-free place at warm room temperature until doubled, 2- 2 1/2 hours.

Line two large baking sheets with parchment paper.

Punch down dough (do not knead), then halve. Cut half of dough into 12 equal pieces (keep remaining half covered with plastic wrap). Roll each piece into a 12-inch-long rope with floured hands (flour surface only if dough is sticky). Make a loop with each rope, wrapping it around fingers of one hand, then knot dough twice through loop, leaving one end in center on top and tucking bottom end under. Transfer to a baking sheet, arranging rolls two inches apart.

Make more rolls with remaining dough, transferring to second sheet. Cover rolls with a kitchen towel (not terry cloth) and let rise in a draft-free place at warm room temperature until doubled, 1 to 1 1/2 hours.

Preheat oven to 375 with racks in upper and lower thirds.

Brush rolls with egg wash and sprinkle with sea salt. Bake rolls, switching position of sheets halfway through, until golden brown, about 20 to 25 minutes total. Transfer rolls to a rack to cool at least 20 minutes.

For using leftover bulgur, gourmet suggests going here.

2009-01-30T18:21:00.001-05:00

Love has a hem to her garment
that reaches the very dust.
It sweeps the stains from the streets and lanes,
and because it can,
it must.

- Mother Teresa

Bread making begins

2009-01-24T10:35:00.006-05:00

My friend Lisa has promised to teach me how to bake bread. It's an intimidating notion, this prospect of baking with living yeasty organisms, shaking your spatula at them and asking them to grow. I decided to take the task in parts, starting with less of a bully, parmesan pull-aparts. They sound so playful, don't they? Their picture in Gourmet magazine shows them as stately, golden, gazing up at the camera with a look of obstinate professionalism. For some reason I neglected to take after photos. So you'll just have to believe me that they are quite gorgeous and glazed.

I was ecstatic when I mixed the warm milk with both the honey and the yeast, and in just a couple of minutes the yeast decided to break into action, foaming and frothing and proving to be alive. I always fear these tasks in a cold home, but if you give it just what it needs, like the right temperature of milk and maybe even heat your mixing bowl, it'll feel the love and rise up to your every request. Probably a close second though, to seeing the yeast and then the dough rise is the satisfaction of punching that dough down and feeling the air poof and collapse the entire thing.

I made a double batch of these, mostly because I had lots of everything they needed, and took one portion to work. They disappeared, leaving traces of golden crumbs throughout the office desks and floor. They gave an extra sort of reason to persevere on a below zero winter day. Hm. These rolls are actually very similar to the rolls I grew with my mom making. The parmesan definitely is very evident and a good savory punch to accompany a nice winter bowl of soup.

Next, before my lessons with Lisa begin, I want to make salt-speckled cracked-wheat topknots.

Parmesan Pull-Aparts
From Gourmet, February 2009 edition

2 tsp active dry yeast (from a 1/4-oz package)
1 tsp mild honey or sugar
2/3 cup warm milk (105-115 F), divided
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour plus 2 TB for sprinkling
1 1/4 cups grated (with a rasp) Parmigiano-Reggiano (1 1/3 oz)
1 tsp salt
3 large eggs
5 TB unsalted butter, cut into TB pieces and softened
1 TB water

Stir together yeast, honey, and 1/3 cup warm milk in mixer bowl and let stand until foamy, about 5 minutes. If mixture doesn't form, start over with new yeast. Whisk together 2 1/2 cups flour, cheese, and salt, then mix into yeast mixture along with remaining 1/3 cup warm milk at low speed. Increase speed to medium and beat in 2 eggs, 1 at a time, beating well after each addition, then beat, scraping down side of bowl occasionally, until a very soft dough forms, about 3 minutes. Beat in butter, 1 TB at a time, until dough is elastic, about 2 minutes. Dough will be very sticky.)

Scrape dough into center of bowl and sprinkle with remaining 2 TB flour. Cover bowl with plastic wrap and a kitchen towel and let dough rise in a draft-free place at warm room temperature until doubled, 1 1/2 to 2 hours.

Punch down dough (do not knead) and turn out onto a floured surface. Cut dough into 12 equal pieces and roll each into a ball by cupping your hand and pushing dough against work surface as you roll in a circular motion. Arrange rolls 1 inch apart in a buttered 9x2" round cake pan and cover with a kitchen towel (not terry cloth). Let dough rise in a draft-free place at room temperature until doubled and dough fills plan, 1- 1 1/2 hours.
Preheat oven to 375 degrees with rack in middle.

Whisk together remaining egg with water and brush on tops of rolls. (You will have leftover egg wash.) Bake until golden brown, 20 to 25 minutes. Loosen edges of rolls from pan with a sharp knife and invert rolls onto a rack, then reinvert and cool at least 20 minutes.

NOTES: We keep our house quite cold, so I usually turn the oven on low, open it to release some of the heat, turn oven off and oven light on, then place rolls to rise in the oven. Also, if you make a double batch of these, you will only need five eggs, not six. They freeze fine, but are best fresh. Thaw them completely if you freeze a batch, then reheat on a baking sheet at 350 degrees for 5-10 minutes.
In retrospect, I would have cooked the rolls closer to 20 minute then 25. They continue to bake a little when they are removed from oven, and I love my bread a little less dry.

Savory & Sweet

2009-01-11T20:16:00.002-05:00

One of the Ann Arbor establishments that will stay forever in our iconic memory as an icon is Morgan & York, previously known as the Big Ten Party Store. Classic, huh? Big Ten refers to Ann Arbor's obsession with football, and "Party Store" is used to designate liquor and junk food spots, the drunk person's oasis. This store, though, is far from junk. It's filled with delicacies and specialties from near and far. While the atmosphere could be perceived as elitist, I think of it as just being a phenomenal food and drink resource with an interesting and kooky persona. The clerks in the store are extremely knowledgeable and wear long and literal blue collared garments. They offer samples, engage you in pairing your foods and drinks, teach you more than you want to know about fondue cheeses, and arguably make the best cappuccino in the county. I love going in there, almost as much as my wallet loves the freedom of its weighty contents once we've gone.

Being in the poorhouse as of recent, we probably should not continue to think that it's reasonable for us to shop there, regardless of the desire to comply with our expensive tongues. But I can't help but believe everyday is a beatific celebration in food and substance, worth tastes that bring satisfaction and comfort. It's really a solace, like a massage for my palate and brain. This most recent trip we came home with a delicious bottle of French red wine, pastrami from Sal Ginsberg in Detroit, Comte cheese sliced for sandwiches, and a soft cheese called Pave Sauvage. Oh my, my, my... it was so delectable.

We had a nice loaf of farm bread that was ready to be used at home and a croak of fermenting sauerkraut that recently reached it adulthood. With great rumbling tummies, we cut thin slices of bread, toasted each piece, and then layered the sandwiches with the Comte cheese (crusty rind still attached), perfect peppery pastrami, forkfuls of sour homemade sauerkraut, and dijon mustard. The sandwiches ended up being about $2 a piece, which isn't necessarily cheap when they are made at home, but oh so worth it and so much cheaper than if we had bought them at the party store or zingerman's.

With the soft, spreadable tarragon and pepper crusted Pave Sauvage we made a pear salad. Earlier in the week I bought a bag of organic red pears and had tired of eating them by the fistful. To rejuvenate the fruit we diced the pears, tossed them with fresh crushed pepper, very flavorful and syrupy balsamic vinegar, walnut oil, sliced almonds (I wish we had pecans), some dried herbs, bacon (Yes! Bacon!), and this three pepper and tarragon crusted cheese, smooshy and tangy. I could eat a bag of pears a day in this style. I had been inspired by a co-worker who saw my weary afternoon face on Friday and offered me a bite of her pears with bleu cheese. My thoughts just brewed as I chewed that delicious quick bit of sweet and savory.

Beef, potato horseradish cake, endives!

2009-01-05T22:14:00.008-05:00

I always feel a little jumpy blogging about meat dishes, as though spirits of the beef will rise in my dreams and haunt me through my vegetarian friends (and I have a lot of those.) But I haven't blogged in forever, and Josh made a really assuaging dinner so this just needs to happen. You need to hear about this over and again fabulous book, the marinade that you can use twice, and the absolutely brainy potato and horseradish cake. Josh swears the secret is in the rosemary we have bunched and hanging daintily on our kitchen wall, pounded with three cloves of garlic in a positively heavy and murderous cast iron mortar and pestle. I'm always a fan of a good recipe that incorporates red wine. This inevitably means that you buy one bottle for cooking with and one bottle to drink as your cooking and eating. Perhaps by the end of the meal you are a bit more smashed than you otherwise would be because you had two bottles of wine open; a true recipe for unabashed sleep and cozy moments around an otherwise imperfect day. This recipe comes yet again from a library borrowed cookbook, Jamie Oliver's: Jamie's Kitchen. The recipe is somewhat adapted and abbreviated.

I have no idea how big our roast was, but I do know that it was a rib roast not too hefty or huge. This should be generously seasoned and patted and prodded with salt & pepper (this would be the husband's part, if not the whole meal, in my meager opinion.) Then with that mortar and pestle, don't be shy, pound and press the rosemary and garlic together (1-3 cloves). Loosen this with some olive oil, more than you might think (up to 5TB) and rub into the beef (call for the husband or male counterpoint again.)

Preheat oven to 450. Parboil (which means blanche) six or so medium waxy potatoes in boiling and salted water for about 5 minutes. Drain, transfer to bowl and coat with olive oil. Season well. Using a non-stick and greased cake pan or a nonstick metal frying pan, layer half the potatoes and then smother with 3TB (more or less depending on your tastebuds) of creamed horseradish. Then finish layering with other half of potatoes. Put aside for now.

Brown the beef on all sides in a snug-fitting roasting pan. Add garlic to pan and place beef on top. Place in oven with the pan of potatoes below. Cook for 20 minutes, then turn beef over, baste, and add 1/2 bottle of red wine and 1/4 cup butter. Remove the potato dish, place a clean towel carefully over the potatoes and apply pressure to compact potatoes into a tight cake. Replace in oven and cook for 15-20 more minutes.

After this time, remove and test roast. Cook to your desired temp, then allow roast to rest. Brown potatoes in oven about 5 more minutes if needed. Serve juice as an au jus, or cook to a gravy. We chose the au jus, and had plenty left to use for another dinner tonight.

In addition to this we had wild rice, a simple roasted squash, and endives we dipped into an equally simple and homemade vinagrette adapted from Nigella Lawson's Feast, Food to Celebrate Life:
Use 1 tsp grainy mustard, 1 TB tahini, 3 TB extra virgin olive oil, 1 tsp sherry vinegar, few drops of honey, salt & pepper. Whir all these together and toss with the endives or just dip like we did, the wild and civilized pair we are. It was refreshingly raw and crunchy and bitter. Yum.

These little endives look like soldiers preparing for the feast here.

A note on the separated role of male as rubber, believe me, I am a fairly independent woman. All friends who knew me prior to Josh would probably say this was my most endearing and irritating quality. But I know my limitations, and rubbing, seducing, or pulverizing meat is one of them. Forgive me, ladies, for assuming you partake in a similar process of thought.

And just to mention tonight's experiment, I roasted the other half of the roast we had bought, salt, pepper, thyme, savory, and oregano sprinkled and tossed on (Josh was in class and unavailable to assist in the rub down). This roast was cut in half length wise, and then half a large onion situated in between the two halves. Two pears were chopped, cores removed, and tossed in, and the remaining au jus of dinner past poured on the whole concoction. Another simple roasted squash and some short grain brown rice on the side made for a very balanced dinner. I was terrified when Josh came home and thought the pears to be potatoes. I realized that he was about to be shocked, and I felt terrible that he would be disappointed with finding that his chewing would result in fruit, not potato. Potatoes are, afterall, really all he needs in life. And these were pears. He was anything but disappointed. He loved them. They were beautifully tainted purple, as were the onions, from roasting in the red wine au jus.

I guess the idea of this second dinner could easily be transposed to tofu, pork, chicken, or potato cakes. But one reason the au jus was so good the second time around is that there were meaty juices that resulted from the original roasting. Pretty hard to make vegetarian. And not an ounce of disappointment to report.

The Mad Farmer

2009-01-02T12:51:00.002-05:00

You know those moments when you are slapped around by the jolting movements of time, your neck aching with heaviness of its own weight and measure? These moments can be so revitalizing when you back against the wall, breathe into the empty pipes of your body, and curl into a good book of words and thoughts. Last night with a quiet spirit for New Year's Day, I sat mesmerized by the words of Wendell Berry, farmer, poet, and novelist. After such rushing through the holidays, a day to sleep until 3pm and then think of nothing but beautiful words put into thoughts was sanctifying to say the least...

From Wendell Berry's The Mad Farmer Poems

Don't worry and fret about the crops. After you have done all you can for them, let them stand in the weather on their own.

If the crop of any one year was all, a man would have to cut his throat every time it hailed.

But the real products of any year's work are the farmer's mind & the crop land itself.

If he raises a good crop at the cost of belittling himself & diminishing the ground, he has gained nothing. He will have to begin over again the next spring, worse off than before.

Let him receive the season's increment into his mind. Let him work it into the soil.

The finest growth that farmland can produce is a careful farmer.

Make the human race a better head. Make the world a better piece of ground.

American Hunger

2008-12-15T22:04:00.004-05:00

Putter patter putter tonight in the kitchen, making a thick and speckled soup. Potatoes from Tantre Farm were on sale a couple weeks back, and of course many were still lounging in their private drawer, sprouting leggy new parts. Oh these morphing vegetables must be used before they walk out of my drawer and into a fighting match with the carrots. After shopping for a cabbage to include in this wintery soup, and restocking our supply of caraway seeds that unabashedly went MIA, I brewed a pot of tea and made this really comforting soup. Some fresh and crusty bread from an Ann Arbor bakery lay in wait, crumbs pouring forth from the paper bag as though ready to be scooped into an utter, soupy destiny.

That was tonight. But two weeks ago things felt a little different.

I was in Chicago, spending a week in a room with a lot of people agreeing to spend a year volunteering, earning wages from the government as a stipend based on the local poverty line. Most local poverty lines lay between the $12-13,000 a year range. I was one of those people preparing for a year of volunteer service. Being that so many of those gathered were from Michigan, a state whose failing businesses are begging for some sort of relief from the government, you can imagine that many of these people were accepting this volunteer year because it provided them with more than they currently earned. The days were fairly intense, the entire group being divided into sections of 30 people, all of which have personal stories of poverty to some degree or in some fashion.

The first day our facilitator gathered us in a circle, dark faces and light faces, thick accents and thin, and presented us with the questions: “What is poverty?” & “What causes poverty?”. Maybe stop for a second. Think about what comes to your mind. As a person in the country where you exist, what does poverty mean? I’ve seen poverty in a third world nation and I’ve seen poverty in East St Louis, in Detroit, in Omaha, so many American towns. I didn’t like seeing the repercussions of poverty, either. As the passing of thoughts circled in that room, I listened to lots of single women, many with multiple children, discuss what it’s like not knowing where their family’s food, clothes, books will come from. It affected me, not being at a level where I was there to help those in this group, but being a part of the group. Often I have found myself in positions where I am there to aid, help, teach, fight injustices. But then, there I was, with people choosing a similar path, many who were deeply and authentically experiencing poverty. Together we discussed this nation that has so many discrepancies with health, with hunger, with obesity, with malnutrition, with diet-based diseases, with poverty.

Tonight there was an NPR On Point program about hunger in America. Joel Berg, the executive director of the NYC Coalition Against Hunger, fielded discussion about hunger, subsidies, food banks, food stamps, and many economic issues that hover around food. It was satisfying for me to hear this while being in the depths of thoughts on hunger and poverty. My present week has been spent studying outreach, gardening, and preparing to lessen the divide for access to healthy food. The radio show was distressing, as they often can be, listening to the statistics on depleting food banks, lines of people that are turned away from food banks, and the increasing health issues that are arriving daily on our neighbors doorsteps due to a lack of understanding, education, and/or access to healthy food. However! There are a few counter thoughts to dwell on: 1) Joel Berg ended the show saying, “The Economic Stimulus Package signed into law by President Obama on January 21st of next year can have a serious down payment on ending hunger in America." So that’s a possibility. And, 2) the research I have been doing surrounding my new position as Ypsilanti’s Farmers’ Market Manager is really quite positive, the statistics all returning to increasing numbers of vendors and customers, increasing sales, and an increasing usage of food stamps and other low-income food coupons.

I live in a vibrant community that is full of opportunities for local, fresh, healthy food. There are nearby restaurants that create menus based on that philosophy. I have at least six stores in walking distance where I can by high quality groceries and produce. This is not the norm. On the other hand, low-income neighborhoods are more likely to live in a food desert where the candle lit dinner is accompanied by a two liter bottle of soda and a bag of chips that came from the corner gas station. It’s not really fair, this creamy potato soup I ate for dinner tonight. Well, maybe it is fair that I ate that soup, and it’s even okay that I relished the time spent making it. But it’s not really fair that so many others don’t have that chance to be hugged by their very own kitchen. Food and its preparation is a given right to all life. And I think good food, whole and free of preservatives, should be included in that right.

It’s a good thing that the Farmers’ Market phenomenon is growing! And people can use food stamps at growing numbers of them! And that small farmers are fighting for their rights! And that we understand the connection between diet and obesity and so many diseases…. Things will be okay. We just need to watch out for each other. I think we can do that. It’s pretty natural.

NY Times Article with a title I found to be strange and, um, disconnected

2008-12-11T21:45:00.003-05:00

Great Meals for Two, Under $100 (It’s Possible)

I haven't even begun to get past the title of this article. Maybe it will shock me with some grassroots thesis. But unfortunately, it probably will just isolate me even further in my fight with DHS for foodstamps, but remind me how worthwhile our "expensive" and delicious our homemade Indian meal last night was, cooked for a friend's birthday. What a weird thing to say, surprised by good food under $100.

Josh wrote a(n) Haiku

2008-12-09T21:59:00.000-05:00

He is so sweet, that husband of mine. He wrote his very first Haiku in honor of a new start to the winter. He is committed to writing one a day for brain stimulation. I do love striving to hold true to ideals these days.

her day begins now

no time to spark remember

her revolution

oh, what a day.

2008-12-08T21:41:00.004-05:00

And it all ended with my eyes closed and breathing rythmic... sleep sleep sleep come to me. I must go to bed, but before the inevitable crashing of my bones, I want to relay a wonderful soup recipe that Josh prepared last night to eat today. Also I must elatedly bombard you with this really exciting news:

We are now partial owners of a really beautiful red jersey cow!!! Josh was able to meet her today while I started my first day at my new job as Farmer's Market Manager in Ypsilanti. I've been reading and dreaming and wondering over raw milk for many months, almost reaching the category of years, and finally the desire crossed paths with reality.

So here are the three things I think you must know about the good life of cold December Michigan....
1) this recipe, Coriander Orange-Scented Red Lentil Soup, that Josh overheard on the Splendid Table (NPR) and then made for dinner. It's really quick, really easy, and perfect for sweet and spicy teeth.
2) this delicious raw milk, more descriptions to ensue
3) the new workplace at a non-profit called Growing Hope, with more info to come hopefully sooner than later

Homemade Waffles Finally Make a Post

2008-11-23T08:00:00.001-05:00

Waffles are an almost weekly shindig in our house these days. We've made so many varieties that I can't keep them straight; whole wheat with dried coconut, standard wheat with blueberry, and our favorite cheddar and bacon blend. I can't believe how many house guests we have served our cheddar and bacon waffles to with bacon on the side, validating their breakfast with an explanation of the wheat and flax added to the mix. They always say something like, why not? We are on vacation, right? And I always find some kind of sick glee in feeding so many delicious calories to those I love so early in the day. I feel like I'm introducing them to long lost guilty pleasures, doing them some kind of favor.

But today we made perfectly guilt-free buckwheat waffles (topped with honey butter and sunflower seeds). They were hearty, filling, and wholesome. No battered house guests questioning their dietary worth today. Michelle came by for breakfast and we leisurely enjoyed trapping the cold outside, sipping strong french press coffee, snacking on pomegranate seeds, biting into our honey butter slathered waffles. I always seem to burn the last waffle in the iron, forgetting that it's in there while I relax with my plate of syrupy or buttery waffle and some good morning conversation.

Just a little warning, you do need to start the batter the night before, but that makes breakfast itself just that much easier in the morning.

Buckwheat Waffles

1 pkt yeast
1/4 cup hot water (100 to 110 degrees)
2 tbl honey plus
1/3 cup honey
2 cup buttermilk
1 tbl oil
1 cup flour
1 1/4 cup buckwheat flour
1 1/8 tsp salt divided
1/2 cup butter softened
2 eggs lightly beaten
1/4 tsp baking soda
1/4 cup toasted sunflower seeds

Sprinkle the yeast over the water and stir until the yeast is completely dissolved. Let it stand until bubbles begin to form. Stir in 2 tablespoons honey, the buttermilk and oil.

Combine the cake flour, buckwheat flour and 1 teaspoon salt. Stir in the yeast mixture just until blended. Cover and refrigerate overnight.

For the honey butter, combine the softened butter, one-third cup honey and one-eighth teaspoon salt. Cover and set aside until ready to serve.

One-half hour before cooking the waffles, remove the batter from the refrigerator and let it stand at room temperature. Then stir in the beaten eggs and baking soda. Combine thoroughly.

Make your waffles in the iron, then spoon the honey butter over hot waffles and sprinkle with sunflower seeds.

This recipe, found at the site "Food Down Under", yields 6 to 8 servings.

Cranberry Bean, Lacinato Kale and Pasta Soup

2008-11-21T08:28:00.000-05:00

It's true that I stalk the blog, Wednesday Chef, and have written many a post about a recipe that she has documented and I have tried. This week I tried her Cranberry Bean, Lacinato Kale and Pasta Soup that she found in an article written by Amy Scattergood of the LA Times. This soup made me feel normal after a week of eating (and drinking) at the pub. I spent a lazy afternoon preparing it, knowing full well that I still had a 10 hour shift that I was going to have to go in for early evening.

The soup was finished just in time for me to slap it in a big ball jar, layered and beautiful, and run out the door leaving a pile of worthy dishes. It was as though I left the dishes there to tell a story in case I never returned. Nonetheless, I returned home to piles of dishes at 3am, the story left untold. Josh and I did the dishes together in the morning, neither of us once regretting the soup or its efforts.

The soup works in layers, the broth being some vegetables and beans that boil for almost two hours complacently on your stove until the beans are tender. These go into a bowl along with a handful of al dente cooked chunky pasta, topped with a bean blend, similar to hummus, that works as a thickener. Stir it up in your bowl and finish it with a sprinkle or downpour of parmesan cheese, whatever you prefer.

Raw Goodness

2008-11-19T14:51:00.003-05:00

We made a stop by the library yesterday to return some overdue videos. We decided to embrace the cold and walk. I always leave the library with twice what I've just returned, and yesterday was no different. Here we were, bundled against the cold, gritting our lips together, cradling 8 books a piece. It was a silly struggle but so worth it. One of the books I brought home was a Jamie Oliver cookbook called Jamie's Kitchen. I don't know a whole lot about him seeing as we don't own a TV and therefore miss all Food Network shows, but from what I've read I like him. This book is also the name of his non-profit restaurant in London that brought in 15 London kids to learn about food and cooking.

I only made it through the first 30 or so pages before I was hungry and ready to make food. Watch out. No cream or bacon in this recipe. This recipe consists of a bunch of raw foods, all perfect right now in November, that are tossed together like notes in a song that all come together. We made plain couscous to eat with it, fried some haloumi cheese, and had roasted chicken on the side. They mingled and met and all really liked each other on our plate. We barely looked at each other as we ate, Josh and I. We were too enamored with how something so simple and raw could be so good.

Here it is, adapted from Jamie Oliver's book:

moorish crunch salad

Finely slice into matchsticks 1 1/2 c. carrots, slice thinly 6-8 radishes and 2 small or 1 large crunchy apple. Put these into a medium to large bowl and add:
+some raisins (I used golden)
+handful of fresh parsley chopped (freshly frozen in our garden and retrieved not a moment too soon!)
+handful of fresh mint chopped (also freshly frozen in our garden!)
+3 TB red wine or sherry vinegar
+6-8 TB olive oil (I used the lesser amount)
+1 TB tahini
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper (I'm just realizing that I forgot this in ours!!! And it was still so good....)
Toss like happy friends on the playground, and then add some toasted sesame seeds sprinkled on the top, about 2 TB.

Like I mentioned above, halloumi cheese fried and eaten in conjunction is just such a treat. And maybe why we didn't exactly need salt on the salad. Jamie Oliver suggests this with some chili sauce also. Maybe we'll try that with our leftovers tonight.

Another vegan recipe to come! But the next one is cooked, a soup smooth and sultry for your winter palate.... I've obsessively been thinking about it since it was made. This is the kind of food that makes me find a reason to appreciate winter. yum.

The Stalk of the Sprout

2008-11-09T13:19:00.004-05:00

There are few vegetables that grow in a more suspicious way than the brussel sprout. This seemingly under represented and less than appreciated vegetable grows up a hefty stalk, bundled in bunches that look as though they are homely sorts trying to orderly stay with their respective members. I've seen brussels sprouts as of recently sold in stores on the stalk. They are so regimented and controlled, patiently awaiting the delicious future they hold. Shoppers pick these up and examine them, surprised and unsure if they really know what these green round orbits are. FYI, nutritionally Brussels Sprouts are an excellent source of vitamin C, vitamin D, folic acid and dietary fiber that found their original popularity in Belgium.

Last night Josh and I went to a phenomenal fundraiser and gathering for a non-profit called Avalon Housing. A family volunteered their personal home for the gathering, and food from gourmet spots all over town filled each and every room. We tasted and toasted to all things good and delicious. Brussels sprouts hailed an interesting position as design accents, placed within lanterns as decoration. My favorite bit of food was a round platter with a scoop of butter sat in the middle. The platter held an assortment of home cured meat, each piece almost bowing to the throne of butter in the center.

One night last week before we headed out for an evening with friends we made a scrumptious fettucine with brussels sprouts sauce. This meal would have probably been better on a night where we planned to hole up and stay in under blankets with a movie. We were sleepy after the heaviness settled contently in our bellies. But it's a pretty simple and quick recipe that fits this season with its daunting chill. It hints spiciness with horseradish and dijon mustard accenting the flavors of cream and bacon. This will make 4-6 servings and comes from a really great and rustic sort of Vermont book, From the Cook's Garden.

1 1/2 pints Brussels sprouts, roots trimmed and outer discolored leaves discarded
4 TB unsalted butter
2 TB olive oil
1/2 cup pancetta (we just used bacon)
1 large onion, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 roasted red pepper, seeded and chopped
2 cups packed spinach leaves
1 1/2 cups shredded sharp cheddar
1 cup half-and-half
1/2 cup freshly grated parmesan
1 TB Dijon mustard
2 tsp freshly grated or prepared horseradish
2 TB finely chopped dill (optional)
1 tsp dried tarragon
Salt and pepper to taste
1 pound fettucine

Bring medium saucepan of salted water to a boil. Cut a shallow X in bottom of each sprout for even cooking, and cut largest ones in half lengthwise. Add the sprouts to the water and cook for 6-8 minutes until tender. Remove with a slotted spoon and save the water for the pasta.

Melt 2 TB of butter with the oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the pancetta or bacon and cook until lightly browned, about 3-5 minutes. Add the onion and garlic, cook and stir often until onions soften, about 5 minutes. Stir in the roasted pepper and spinach, cooking until spinach wilts about 2 minutes. Add the sprouts, cheddar, half-and-half, parmesan, mustard, dill, horseradish, and tarragon, stirring to melt the cheese. Season with salt and pepper. Remove from the heat and cover to keep warm.

Meanwhile, cook fettucine in saved pot of water until just tender. Drain, return to pot, toss with remaining 2 TB of butter. Section pasta into separate bowls and top with sauce.
Makes 4-6 servings.

It's here! Election Day!

2008-11-04T15:46:00.002-05:00

To celebrate the day, Josh and I had Roos Roast coffee to start off the morning. We love the paper bags our roasted beans come in, printed with authentic art, the beans freshly roasted. Saturday we treated ourselves at the farmer's market to a half pound bag and a fresh cup of lobster butter roasted coffee. The coffee we drank from the cup had been brewed cowboy style, boiled in water and then strained from the top. John, the roaster of Roos, is an interesting and somewhat addicting guy, his pores seeping from either a severely optimistic mindset or a lot of coffee. I would wage on the coffee side of things. We love this business. It's so local, you know?

So we voted today. Our lines were about one hour and it was phenomenally satisfying. Marking in our presidential candidate with a solid black oval made my lungs fill with pure Ann Arbor oxygen. Tonight I have the privilege of bartending my last real bartending shift at the pub. We are bringing in many tv's for the results, and voters from all over will be coming in to the watch. It's almost the way things are supposed to be, finishing my unexpected career at a bar, heading into the late fall with new beginnings, personal and political. I'm ready. I really think I'm ready. Speaking of... I'm running really late! Here we go, stepping into an emotional night! It's really here.

Contemporary Art Institute in Detroit

2008-10-27T20:35:00.002-04:00

We receive emails from CAID, the Contemporary Art Institute in Detroit. They do a lot of work within and for the city of Detroit. The ideas that they produce are inspiring and inventive, crossing the boundaries of social issues in Detroit and using fine art to better its surrounding civilization. Here is one such email that we received this week that is a curatorial statement from a past show called Shelter. This copied in its entirety from the email sent by CAID.

How can you expect a man who's warm to understand a man who's cold?
-Alexandr Solzhenitsyn

One Day In The Life Of Ivan Denisovich

In the early pages of Solzhenitsyn's signature work we get a palpably bone chilling description of the gap between those who experience and expect comfort and those who do not. The problem is simply and starkly stated. The gap is one of understanding. The out side temperature is 17 degrees, Ivan's is 99 - not enough to get him a work release for the day -- a decision made by the man sitting comfortably behind a typewriter who thinks Ivan is a slacker.

First comes understanding then comes solutions.

No, that's not right.

First comes experience then comes understanding then comes compassion then comes the attempt to find solutions.

The poor you always have with you.

Until we understand.

We are the poor.

I wish there was a requirement that anyone aspiring to become an elected political official would have to spend at least four years living below the poverty level (college would not count)

I wish those aspiring to the Priesthood or the Ministry or the position of Rabbi or Mullah would actually have to spend at least two years raising sheep. (Mohammed said that no one could be a prophet if they were not first a shepherd.) If they spent all night delivering lambs in the minus10 degree temperatures of February they would understand what it's like to have cold so deeply rooted in their bones that they couldn't get warm enough to fall asleep. (Preferably, this requirement would take place in Michigan)

And for every lamb lost they would experience grief and guilt beyond their imagining without the sound of rifles or bombs.

(Ok, this should be a requirement for politicians as well.)

I wish those in need would have shovels. There is no tool that gives a person such a sense of power.

A garden is power (even if a house is cardboard) and potatoes are easy to cook.

But what do I know?

I am (when all is said and done) a stonecutter, a shepherd, the father of seven children, the maker of hundreds of dollars a year, the builder of my own house, a man sitting uncomfortably cold behind his computer, writing.

Shoveling,
Shoveling,
Shoveling.

Seeking potatoes.

In the course of putting this exhibition together, I had the amazing realization that "shelter" is a noun and a verb - the measure of our humanity and culture.

Hugh Timlin, Shelter Exhibition Juror
September, 2006

It's all about the jam this summer

2008-10-25T12:42:00.006-04:00

The biggest food hurdle I wanted to launch myself across this summer was the making of jam. And it was a bit intimidating. But with Josh's help, and some assistance from his aunt and parents, we did well enough to enter three different jams into the Downtown Home and Garden's jam competition. There were sixty some entries, and with great dismay I have to admit that none of our jams placed. The winner of the competition was a spicy little rendition called The Deer Ate Everything but the Hot Peppers Jam. Admittedly, it was delicious. The recipe will be below. The three that we entered were 1) Zen Michigan Peach Cardamom, 2)Homegrown Sour Cherry with Leopold's Blackberry Liqueur, and 3) Empress Plum with Indonesian Vanilla Bean. Besides these jams we also made an apricot chutney, a plum jam from the remaining pulp of our plum wine, and a three berry with cherry and rose water jam.

I've never thought of myself as a jam eater. I love some buttered toast, drippy in almost erotic flavors, feeling like you're engaging in a secret something you wouldn't dare share. Jam, however, has found a place on our shelves with its sweet and sour flavors, the full and good ingredients competing for their ideal place on our plate. The sour cherry jam is probably my favorite, partially because it seems to find itself spread in its bumpy way across the grid of my waffles or falling in streaks down the sides of scooped vanilla ice cream. But I look forward to attempting a spice filled coffeecake sandwiching the peach cardamom jam, and the empress plum swept onto a pumpkin cheesecake.

There's a balance with jam in terms of cooking time and the gelling of the fruit. You don't want to have jam that tastes overcooked and too sweet, but you also don't want your jam to be too runny. Some fruit contains enough naturally occurring pectin that adding more is not necessary. Our plum jam gelled beautifully and spreads in a perfect purple pool of flavor. The cherry might have benefited from bought commercial pectin, but also was really interesting in its flavor complexity.

I suppose in most parts of the world these recipes come a little late, but perhaps there are some hot peppers still lingering in corners of refrigerator drawers. Here are a couple of recipes.

The Deer Ate Everything But the Hot Peppers Jelly
8 Sweet green peppers
4 jalapeno peppers
1 1/2 cup vinegar
1 1/2 cup cider
1/2 tsp salt
5 c. sugar
1 pkg powdered pectin
green food coloring

Wash peppers, remove stems and seeds. Cut into 1/2 inch squares. Puree half of the peppers and 1/2 cup of vinegar in food processor. Puree remaining peppers and vinegar. Pour all into a large bowl and add cider. Cover and refrigerate overnight.

Measure 4 cups into a sauce pot. Stir salt and pectin into juice. Bring to a rolling boil over high heat, stirring constantly. Add sugar and return to a rolling boil. Boil hard for 1 minute. Remove from heat and add a few drops of green food coloring.

Pour into hot, sterilized jars, leaving 1/2 inch headspace. Adjust caps. Process for 5 minutes in hot water bath.

Suggestions include: Wear gloves while handling jalapeno peppers, make one batch at a time (don't double), and it's delicious poured over a brick of cream cheese!

Homegrown Sour Cherry with Leopold's Blackberry Liqueur & Zen Michigan Peach Cardamom Jams

I adapted these recipes from this blog's recipes, the cherry jam substituting a local distillery's blackberry liqueur for the kirsch and cherries grown at home. That local distillery has since moved to Denver and is called Leopold Brothers. Here's the description of the blackberry liqueur. Their products are phenomenal.

Josh's mom, dad, and aunt were in town for the beginning of this jam making shenanigan and were the laborers that picked and pitted the cherries. I'm sure it was just what they anticipated doing after a 22 hour drive!

The peaches were all bought at Ann Arbor's Farmer's Market when Michigan peaches were in season. Remarkably, Michigan has some of the most amazing fruits in the entire world. I've become enamored with Farmer's Markets. Shop at them as long as they are open, braving the chill and toting your eggs and squash while all the while admiring the frigid farmers manning their stands.

The pricey and delicious Empress Plum with Indonesian Vanilla Beans Jam was adapted from this site:
Tartlette.

And finally, the Apricot Chutney from the book Preserving Summer's Bounty:
1/2 cup honey
1/2 cup apple cider vinegar
1/2 cup coarsely chopped onions
1/2 tsp ground allspice
1 TB chopped raisins
1 TB crushed, minced, peeled ginger
5 c, fresh apricots, pitted and quartered

In a large enamel or stainless steel pot, combine the honey, vinegar, onions, allspice, raisins, and ginger. Simmer for 10 minutes. Add the apricots and simmer for 30 minutes or until thick, stirring occasionally.

To can: Pour into hot, scalded half-pint jars, leaving 1/2 inch headspace. Seal and process for 10 minutes in a boiling-water bath.

Lists!

2008-10-23T15:29:00.004-04:00

Cut the herbs to dry
Make wheat bread with the local mixed grain bought from Market
Make apple butter
Dehydrate apples
Make an apple pie
Roast pumpkin seeds
Plan Halloween costume since I'm closing managing at the pub
Cut back the raspberries, sour cherry bushes, peonies and hostas
Pull the rest of the carrots
Save the basil seeds
Make granola
Make yogurt- DONE!
Make sauerkraut
Organize a clothing exchange
Post about jam!!- DONE!
Plan a grub party
Finish reading Botany of Desire- DONE!
Finish reading A Field Guide to Getting Lost
Dry clean my nappy winter coat and gold pants from Kathmandu
Go to Kathmandu.... hmmm.... maybe not feasible this week tho....
Organize closet and throw a personal search party for my favorite missing long underwear shirt
Get a bicycle helmet
Turn the compost
Finish my hundred things to do before I die list.

I know, I know...pathetic list for anyone who has children. But I still have a lot I want to do before winter hits even heavier!

He does it again...

2008-10-15T14:58:00.002-04:00

Michael Pollan somehow speaks my thoughts so eloquently as to America's food system and the network of political issues it impacts. Check it out here in the New York Times magazine, and be prepared to either skim or spend some time with it!

Comfort Food for Tough Days

2008-10-14T11:41:00.007-04:00

Lots of contrite worries these days, it seems. I'm in the process of making job changes. Our days are filled with unsettling financial news. And October 13th, I quiver just typing the date. But Alice Waters brings it home again with her recipe for Tortilla Soup, the scent of warmth wrapping my worries in it's aromatic blanket. I didn't think I was hungry last night after ferocious grazing all day, but once I smelled the chicken cooking down and the onions and garlic traipsing throughout the house, I couldn't help but anticipate my very own bowl of Tortilla Soup.

At market on Saturday we picked up radishes, kohlrabi, an anaheim pepper, garlic and onions. I think we might need to go back, bundle all these ingredients together, and freeze them so we can make this soup any day that comfort is craved.

Simmer 1 1/2 quarts of chicken broth. Then add 1 chicken breast half, preferably with skin and bones. Continue to barely simmer for 20 minutes. Turn off the heat, transfer the breast to a plate, and let cool. Remove and discard the skin and bones and shred the meat.

Using an 8-inch heavy-bottomed skillet, heat on med-high 1/2 cup peanut or vegetable oil. Then add 4 corn tortillas, cut into 1/2 inch strips. Fry in small batches until golden brown and crispy. Drain on paper towels and season with salt.

In a large heavy pot, heat: 2 TB olive oil, add 1 Anaheim pepper, seeded and thinly sliced, 1/2 medium yellow onion thinly sliced, 2 garlic cloves thinly sliced, salt. Cook until soft about 5 minutes. Pour in the hot broth, then add: 2 tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and diced, or 3 small canned whole tomatoes dice and with juice.
Bring to a boil and then turn down to a simmer and cook for 30 minutes.

Add the shredded chicken meat and heat through, but do not boil. Taste for salt and adjust as needed. Serve the soup with the crispy tortilla strips and bowls of these possible garnishes:
1/2 cup chopped cilantro
6 lime wedges
4 ounces crumbled queso fresco or grated monterey jack
1/2 cup peeled and shredded jicama (we substituted local kohl rabi peeled and cut into matchsticks)
1 cubed avocado (our avocado never made it to the table- it was one of the things I grazed on throughout the day).

We have plenty for lunch today, too.
We also made a Hopi Blue Cornbread to accompany the soup. The corn meal, which is truly a dynamic stormy sky blue color, came from Jennings Bros. Stone Ground Grains in Nashville, Michigan.

Here's the recipe:
1 1/2 cups Hopi Blue Cornmeal
1 TB baking powder
1 tsp salt
1/3 cup white flour
Combine these four ingredients in a large bowl. Then mix the following in a medium bowl:
2 eggs, beaten
3/4 cup buttermilk
1 TB olive oil
1/4 cup chopped jalapeno pepper
1/4 cup chopped onion
1/4 cup chopped green peppers
1/2 cup whole kernel corn
1/2 cup shredded cheddar
Mix these wet ingredients into large bowl of dry ingredients until moistened. Pour into pan and bake at 350F for 30-35 minutes.

The Girl Effect

2008-10-05T23:39:00.003-04:00

http://www.girleffect.org/#/home/

Cabbage Poriyal

2008-09-14T23:02:00.005-04:00

In Tamil, India's most southern state's language, Poriyal literally means stir-fry. This is a way to prepare any vegetable. The cooking method is fast and flashy. The lentils, mustard seeds and cumin seeds cook in a pool of coconut oil. The onion is added, sizzling and beating in a song of satisfaction. After just a minute you add with an extra bit of heat the onion, garlic, and chili powder. With the flair of a lounge singer, the cabbage is added with yet another turn of heat. No liquid should be allowed to escape and dissipate from the cabbage. Finally, cilantro and lemon juice are tossed into the mix, dessicated coconut finally ending the whole sultry affair.

If cabbage isn't to become kraut in the sourest of ways, it should become poriyal, crisp and tender at the same time.

Here's the recipe from the Noon book of authentic Indian cookery:
Heat 5 TB of coconut over low heat, add 1 tsp. urad dal (black gram beans), 1/2 tsp cumin seeds, and 1/2 tsp. mustard seeds. Let crackle for 15 seconds. Add 1/2 of a large onion chopped, stir-fry for 5 minutes. They should be limp but not colored.

Add 2 tsp. chopped ginger, 1 tsp. chopped garlic, 10-12 curry leaves,and 1 finely chopped green chili. Saute for 1 minute. Raise the heat and add 1 shredded, large white cabbage and some salt. Stir-fry until the cabbage is hot but still crisp.

Finally, add 8 TB of dessicated (shredded) coconut, 4 TB of chopped fresh cilantro, and 1 TB of lemon juice. Mix well. Add salt as necessary.

Thanks to my husband for cooking a delicious dinner tonight.
xoxo

Saving Lettuce Seed

2008-09-14T21:29:00.008-04:00

It's crazy how intimidating new things like saving seeds can seem. But perhaps it will be like many other things... once done, simple to repeat.

This year I let all my lettuce bolt (see varieties mentioned in the previous post. Also grown this spring was Italian Lacinato nero Toscana Kale, an heirloom variety). Sadly my hands were full with fermenting and canning projects, so gardening and growing were not on the top of the priority list. Instead we chose to enjoy the colors and shapes in the lettuces, allowing them to grow and flower once they were bitter and no longer edible.

These bolted adolescent lettuces seem to be seeking not only acceptance but a chance for the next generation to survive! I'm finding it difficult to find consistent information on saving lettuce seed. Any suggestions on how to save the seeds from our Butterhead Speckles lettuce?

The description on this Butterhead Speckles lettuce package from Botanical Interests, Inc. is appealing: An heirloom that originated from the Mennonites who brought it with them from Germany and Holland over 200 years ago.

Here's some info that I'm guessing is pretty accurate,
found on highmowingseeds.com:

Seed Saving Instructions for Lettuce:
Self-pollinated. Lettuce varieties will not cross pollinate with each other even at short distances, but beware of any wild lettuce which can cross with lettuce. Allow plants to "bolt" and eventually flower. Under wet conditions lettuce plants may need to be covered with a rain cover or grown in a greenhouse to prevent fungus from infecting the plant and seed heads. Carefully shake the seedheads into a paper bag to allow the mature seeds to be collected while leaving the immature seeds and flowers to keep growing. Gather every few days until no more seeds remain. Also, you can simply harvest the entire plant when about half of the seeds are mature and allow the rest to mature inside by standing up the plants in a box and on a cloth or tarp. Use an 1/8" screen to help with cleaning. Lettuce seed can remain viable for 3 years under cool and dry storage conditions

Lettuce Plantings

2008-09-14T20:44:00.004-04:00

Today was a day to not leave the house. When I looked at the weather on-line, trying to decide if I would overheat if I went jogging, there was a mass splotch of green plodding along towards Ann Arbor. I gauged that I had about three and a half minutes before the skies opened and I would be saturated. This meant no running, but a prime chance to plant the fall lettuce seeds that have been haunting me, secure in their packages. This week was somewhat dreadful, long and lame, mostly work with little play. So when I realized that the rain was marching forward, destined to drench, I grabbed the packets of seeds, pulled at the bolted spring lettuce, made shallow trenches, and planted four different greens: Bright Lights Swiss Chard, Correnta Spinach, Butterhead Speckles Lettuce, and Bon Vivant Spicy Mesclun.

Today was successful. I didn't leave the house, and finally the pestering seeds, anxious in their packets, were placed in the ground to grow tasty and colorful.

You Must Love Your Tomatoes

2008-09-05T00:13:00.005-04:00

because your tomatoes love you. They are abundant little fruits, these juicy and colorful round orbits. So versatile, the tomato easily transforms a dry meal to saucy, a plain dip to special.

Tonight we were hungry. My desire was to cook, but not to think. I was leaning towards an Indian Vegetable and Paneer Biryani, but that conflicted too much with my desire to not think. Finally, sitting on my porch with cookbooks in tow, I saw my inspiration: the tomato plant. Neighbors have been heralding us with their ripe tomatoes, and the market tomatoes cat call us as we walk past. At some point we surrender. I'm not ready to make salsa or dedicate my evening to jarring homemade marinara. But tonight we were ready to peel and de-seed our pile of tomatoes, puree them into a rich pulp of sweet raw goodness. We were to eat pasta tonight.

First, we needed pasta. We ran to the store and bought fresh pasta made in Madison, WI at RP's Pastas. We also picked up a block of parmesean, some slices of side pork, and a pineapple for dessert. We started with frying the pork in a bit of olive oil. Even though it hadn't been aged like bacon, the fresh smokiness of it was reminiscent of hearty breakfasts around a campfire. We added some minced garlic and a small onion. These browned with the pork, and when they turned a sufficient shade of golden we tossed in chopped parsley and thyme from the front yard garden. My patience was waning at this point. It all smelled so good. Onto the stove went a pot of water. One by one we dropped our tomatoes, so at home on the windowsill, into the water, blanching them so the peels and seeds were easier to remove. They were chopped and then pureed in the CuisineArt, and slowly added to the sputtering pork mixture on the stove. The sauce started to thicken, we added salt and pepper, and before we could scoop up the whole darn mess with our tasting spoons, the pasta and sauce were ready to dish up. We grated the parmesean on top, mostly for good measure, and dug in, slurping the whole thing with great satisfaction. The flavor was surprisingly intense and savory, bite after bite seeming to fuse more fully.

Needless to say, there was no room for the pineapple. But we did accompany our food preparations with a large bottle of Jolly Pumpkin Bam Biere Farmhouse Ale. Oh so good.

Huitlacoche

2008-08-28T13:43:00.003-04:00

Josh and I bought these funny little Mexican mushrooms at market yesterday. They're only Mexican because the culture there has embraced the fungus as an edible delicacy. The actual home where these huitlacoches grew was on the corn found at Tantre Farm in Chelsea, MI.

Aren't they goofy? I'm a tad afraid of their slipperiness on my tongue, but they were affordable so worth the experiment. Before you know it these gourmet little truffles will be $29 a pound. Josh has some pretty serious ambitions for these guys, and I think he will be inspired by some of these sites: Professor introduces unusual edible fungus to Madison, Corn Fungus Tamales: Tamales de Huitlacoche, and this information straight from Mexico.

Would you, could you, try these? They are fascinating.

Open Faced Peach Custard Pie

2008-08-26T11:58:00.003-04:00

This recipe certainly was a bit on the extravagant side for me. Lately I've found that I am only interested in two or three ingredient combinations, and they usually contingent upon what currently lives in my fridge. But this, ah this recipe, I couldn't look wayward from my Joy of Cooking's description: "A Joy Classic".

I had all that I needed for this recipe sitting in my cluttered cupboard, and there were fragrant peaches hanging in my fruit basket, causing my mouth to water every quick moment I went in the kitchen. The anticipation of what to do with these soft and sweet Michigan peaches finally won over my fear of commitment involved in pie making. I always fear that devastating moment of the crust pulling apart as you attempt to lay it in the pan after cautiously rolling it out, or the taste not being equivalent to time. But believe me, every moment that I was away from this luxurious yellow beauty, the memory of it balked at me to return. The way this pie melts on your tongue burns your brain with it's well rounded taste. You want to reward any good or bad events throughout the day or night with a sliver of the pie. It's mildly obsessive. When the peaches are this good, you want to grasp them in any form before you lose them for the year. And the tandem custard only accents the peaches in a happy spousal manner. It's especially hard to cope with seasons changing when life makes sense because of a pie. I found the recipe in Joy of Cooking's index under "peaches" titled modestly, Open Faced Peach Custard Pie.

By definition, a custard involves milk and eggs and is thickened with heat. The thickening of this custard happens in the oven. The pie is only complicated in that there are multiple steps with the crust. The actual filling for the pie is simple. The crust however had me under gauge the total time needed. Now that I understand this, the second go around will be predictable and easier.

So here it is, in all its length, starting with the flaky crust. This recipe in particular calls for one baked flaky crust, however any bottom crust that you bake before adding the filling should work:
Mix
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon white sugar or 1 tablespoon powdered sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup solid vegetable shortening, or 1/2 cup shortening and 8 tablespoons (1 stick) cold unsalted butter
1/3 cup plus 1 to 3 tablespoon ice water, divided
Using a rubber spatula, thoroughly mix flour, sugar, and salt in a large bowl.
Break the shortening into large chunks; if using butter, cut it into small pieces, then add it to the flour mixture. Cut the fat into the dry ingredients by chopping vigorously with a pastry blender or by cutting in opposite directions with 2 knives, one held in each hand. As you work, periodically stir dry flour up from the bottom of the bowl and scrape clinging fat off the pastry blender or knives. When you are through, some of the fat should remain in pea-sized pieces; the rest should be reduced to the consistency of coarse crumbs or cornmeal. The mixture should seem dry and powdery and not pasty or greasy.
Drizzle 1/3 cup plus 1 tablespoon ice water over the flour and fat mixture.
Using the rubber spatula, cut with the blade side until the mixture looks evenly moistened and begins to form small balls. Press down on the dough with the flat side of the spatula. If the balls of dough stick together, you have added enough water; if they do not, drizzle 1 to 2 tablespoons ice water over the top.
Cut in the water, again using the blade of the spatula, then press with your hands until the dough coheres. The dough should look rough, not smooth. Divide the dough in half, press each half into a round fiat disk, and wrap tightly in plastic. Refrigerate for at least 30 minutes, and preferably for several hours, or for up to 2 days before rolling. The dough can also be wrapped airtight and frozen for up to 6 months; thaw completely before rolling.
*Note: I actually used the pastry attachment of my food processor for this recipe. It was easy and worked great.

After making the dough, proceed by rolling out the dough and fitting it into a 9-inch pie pan. Refrigerate for at least 30 minutes. Position a rack in the lower 1/3 of the oven and preheat to 400 degrees.
Smooth a sheet of aluminum foil, shiny side down, over the bottom and sides of the crust, flaring the excess foil, like an awning, over the crust edge to keep it from overbrowning. Fill the liner with raw beans or rice or metal pie weights, banking the weights against the sides of the crust if you do not have enough to fill the crust to the brim. Bake the crust for 20 minutes with the weights in place to set the pastry. Carefully lift out the foil with the weights inside. Prick the crust thoroughly with a fork, return it to the oven, and bake until the crust is golden brown all over, 5 to 10 minutes more. Check the crust periodically; if it puffs along the bottom, prick it with a fork, then press down gently with the back of a spoon. Brush the inside with 1 large egg yolk and a pinch of salt. Return to the oven to set the glaze for 1 to 2 minutes. Fill the shell with the below filling recipe.

Here's the filling:
Keep the rack of your oven on the lower 1/3 and the temperature set at 400. Whisk together until well blended:
1 large egg
3/4 cup sugar
6 TB unsalted and melted butter
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 teaspoon salt

Arrange in a single layer, cut side down, over the bottom of the crust: 3 to 4 fresh peaches, peeled and halved.
Pour the egg mixture over the peaches. Bake the pie for 10 minutes. reduce the temperature to 300 degrees and bake until the custard is brown and crusty on top and appears firmly set in the center when the pan is shaken, about 1 hour longer. Let cool on a rack. Serve warm or at room temperature.

I did find that my crust browned too much originally, and that it continued to brown even with the glaze. I think next time I would probably wrap the edge of the crust with aluminum foil, and butter the sides of my pie pan to keep the pastry from sticking.

The Joy of Cooking never fails.

We Have Carrots! Scarlet Nantes, to be exact.

2008-08-22T15:39:00.004-04:00

We grew these in our backyard garden of weeds. They are absolutely delicious- nutty and sweet. Last night for dinner we cleaned out the fridge, foraging red peppers, red onions, parsley, lemon, green beans, and these carrots. A savory couscous was in store, accompanied by homemade yogurt and pita from the mediterranean bakery down the street. We also steamed the homegrown carrots and beans, then tossed them with chervil and butter. The picture below is the meal recreated for lunch today. The taboule salad is on a bed of greens with a touch of balsamic and dijon mustard, raw broccoli, and an egg hard boiled.

Taboule Salad
About 1 and 1/4 dry couscous, mixed with 1/2 cup boiling water. Add about 1/3 of a cup extra virgin olive oil, 1/3 of a cup lemon juice and stir completely. Cover the mixture and let sit for about 5 minutes. Fluff the whole batch with a fork. Add any fresh things in your fridge. Try bell pepper, tomato, carrot, onion, celery, even fennel, but to be somewhat authentic you must add at least 4TB of chopped parsley. You won't even need to add S&P- at least we didn't. Toss lightly and refrigerate for a bit for all the flavors to meld and set. Fluff before serving.

Oh, and the jar in the background is pickled beans and zucchini with basil. That recipe will come soon.

A Poem

2008-08-20T11:09:00.002-04:00

I've just discovered Goodreads. They have a "poem of the month". I am atingled to have discovered this poem written by a woman named Louise Mathias. I thought it was rhythmically beautiful and exactly the kind of art I need to wake up to today.

Four Drives in the Heart of the Desert

Went out to the edge of my life. Tumbled soft,
by wind and by sun, by ocean, by elsewhere, Anza

Borrego—
Less of a schism

between man and sky; less democracy really.

Remembered the terrible theatre

of the rental car, that summer, my father
turning slowly into lava. This is the country

they say, where no one can live. Shed it

like shale. Where stars will refuse

to fasten themselves to the sky,
will stream down in contrails

& stammer.

Crocks, Crocks Everywhere

2008-08-17T13:40:00.003-04:00

A quote by Sandor Ellix Katz:
"Not everyone can be a farmer. But that's not the only way to cultivate a connection to the Earth and buck the trend toward global market uniformity and standardization. One small but tangible way to resist the homogenization of culture is to involve yourself in the harnessing and gentle manipulation of wild microbial cultures. Rediscover and reinterpret the vast array of fermentation techniques used by our ancestors. Build your body's cultural ecology as you engage and honor the life forces all around you."

We are drunk on the philter of fermentation. Our house is alive with the scents of pickles.

We invested in some beautiful ceramic crocks. I'd had enough of scavenging the local thrift stores, only to find cracked and leaky vessels that made me feel like I was in a mud wrestling battle with wet dirt caking my ears. Or something like that. But now we have 2, 3, and 5 gallon crocks and two large Ball jars, all with their own living concoctions. The crocks themselves are inspiring. Check them out here. Right now these crocks contain kombucha, pickling green beans, sauerkraut, dill cucumber pickles, and plum wine.

The pickles that we decided to make are sour and salty, the flavors hitting the inside of your cheeks with a pithy punch. These pickles aren't preserved in vinegar like store bought pickles are generally. They age in a salt brine with multifarious other vegetables and spices. The brine allows for this food to be alive, aiding in our digestion, and helping our systems to fight against sickness and disease. The first pickles we experimented with turned out a bit too salty, and the cucumbers were a bit cumbersome in size. Many of the larger ones ended up being hollow on the inside. No one wants to eat a hollow pickle. But this second batch, they seem to be approving of the current alchemy and process. As they ferment it's important to taste the evolving product. These smaller cucumbers are starting to turn that shadowy mossy green, and as our jaws chomp them, they satisfactorily crunch.

Here's a few hints when you pickle those extra cucumbers. Into the crock, add some grape leaves or leaves that have a good amount of tannin in them. The tannin provides what the fermenting foods need for crunch. In addition to the grape leaves, add lots of peeled and punched garlic, fresh dill, and whole peppercorns. The ceramic crock you choose only needs to be big enough for all the ingredients and enough brine to cover them. Once you layer the ingredients and add your cucumbers, just top the whole thing off with brine, cover the food with a plate and weight it down with a water filled jar to keep everything from floating to the top. Brine strength requires a bit of math, but it's easy. Josh found that diluting 3 tablespoons of salt in one liter of clean, filtered water is perfect for our climate in Michigan right now. He fills a capped one liter bottle (like a Nalgene) half full with water, adds the 3 TB of salt, shakes it to dissolve, and the fills the rest with water. So adjust as you see necessary. Just remember that the brine is what controls the action of microorganisms. So more salt will help slow fermentation in the summer, and probably cut down on mold growth on top of the pickles. Just don't fear the mold! Expect it, and when you discover it just carefully skim it from the top. Cover the whole thing, though, with a clean cloth to keep debris and bug invaders from feasting on your concoction. Once you are completely in love with the flavor of your pickles you can slow the whole thing down by putting the pickles into the fridge or jarring them with the correct canning techniques. You lose a lot of the health properties of the pickles when you can them under high heat, though.

Josh also put together a batch of bean pickles. He used the same brine recipe above for the cucumber pickles, but used a hot pepper from our garden, zucchini, and green beans. We are using a glass jar instead of a ceramic crock for these, so this is a bit of an experiment.

Do it! Try out these simple pickles that evolve with time and the other invisible creatures that are so beneficial all around us. I think of all the anti-bacterial products we are surrounded by and love the idea of making friends with some of these enemies.

Here's the pickle recipe I've found before.

Up Next!

2008-08-13T15:06:00.002-04:00

My husband's parents and aunt are in town visiting. We just had an extremely productive visit to the farmer's market with them. Josh and I are brewing up multiple batches of new found discoveries. We have sauerkraut, yogurt, a peach jam and a cherry jam, our brined pickles, and a plum wine all awaiting their next fully fermented lives. Our personal garden is lacking this year, but we are brimming over with crocks and fresh Michigan produce. I'm sure we'll have some winners and some losers, but I guess that's what this learning process is all about!

The Pickles Are Pickling!

2008-08-04T21:29:00.004-04:00

Our pickles have now been fermenting for one full week and two days.

We've run into a couple setbacks already, though. Our original thrift store find crock had a crack in it, and after the first night of pickling there was a moist layer of saltwater on both the protective towel covering the crock and on the countertop. So we bought a new crock at my favorite store, Downtown Home and Garden. This new crock is a classic and something we will hold onto for years to come. Strangely enough, though, it too sweats the salt water from its insides! Perhaps these cucumbers are feeling effervescent with their change to immortal pickle, splashing their bathwater around in an excited flurry.

We were inclined to grab another batch of Farmer's Market cucumbers since this new crock was oh so large. We decided that it would be a brilliant idea to start the new batch by adding the old batch in with it. This help to jumpstart the fermentation process, right? Well, with the new batch, we absentmindedly used hard water. Now we aren't sure if the tap water that we've used is going to obliterate any good bacteria that may have already been flourishing. The minerals and chlorine that is added into our normal tap water will actually kill enzymes that the cucumbers naturally produce as they are fermenting. Just an FYI tidbit, this also happens to the intestinal flora that grow in our bodies, too. That's one reason fermented foods are so highly regarded in our day and age.

In this little pickle pot we have a salt water bath, dill, grape leaves (to keep the pickles crunchy), garlic, and peppercorns. We haven't deviated from the rules here too much yet. More variations on pickles to come!
See the recipe for this simple pickle adventure here, with one of my favorite authors.

Sickly Golden Tomatoes

2008-08-04T21:00:00.005-04:00

Does anyone know what's going on with my Orange Banana tomatoes? I started these from seed and then gave several plants to a few friends, and it seems mine are the only ones that are ill. Hmm. I didn't plant them in the same place as I planted tomatoes last year, so I really don't know what nasty bug has my plants in this sincerely despicable twist of fate.

On the other hand, my Sainte Lucies and Green Velvets are flourishing (no pictures).

Genuine Saturday

2008-07-27T12:48:00.006-04:00

The day started at 10am. Any Saturday where I actually untangle myself from the cozy blankets and greet the day before noon is almost rare, to say the least. Josh left for a gallery meeting downtown around 9am and I woke up completely on my own at 9:45. I padded down the stairs, poured myself as black a cup of coffee I could find, and sat down with my partially glazed eyes to browse through email. A friend of mine sent a mass invitation to pick blueberries and then head to the lake in the afternoon. I thought the idea was glorious. Thus, I surmised my strategy for the day. The goal was to meet Josh downtown before he started heading home after his meeting. First, we needed to head to market and pick up ingredients for both pickling and a couple days worth of food. Second, we would head to the blueberry farm about 15 miles west and pick these clusters of berries until our mouths were stained blue. And third, we would find our way to the most beautiful lake in Michigan, a retreat with no motor boats allowed. So I made my piles of needed materials and supplies for blueberry picking, farmer's market, and the lake. After some strategic backpack packing, I pedaled away on my bicycle, reaching downtown sweaty faced and alive before it was even noon.

We were able to pick up more pickling cucumbers, swiss chard, peaches, eggs, scallions, new potatoes, shallots, dill, and cherries. We packed these in coolers and, as planned, headed to the blueberry farm. We picked blueberries until our stomaches screamed of fullness and we forfeited our battle with the mosquitos. You can see from the pictures that this was very serious business. Then we wound our way through a few little curious Michigan towns, eventually finding the much needed respite of the lake. The water was unusually choppy, the small beach a bit full of people, but it was oh so refreshing.

We made it home and in bed for a nap at 6:45pm. I guess the "early" morning had me slightly worn out. We didn't rise from our evening nap until 9:15. At that point, we had to shift into high gear in order to finish the list of tasks for the day. We wanted to harvest swiss chard from our garden to make a Chard Gratin, make a homemade pesto with basil from the garden, eat dinner, and make these pickles that I've been obsessed with fermenting. And we did it. All of it.

The chard recipe is from Alice Waters cookbook, The Art of Simple Food, but I was made aware of it on the great food blog The Wednesday Chef. She has the recipe outlined on her blog, so if you want to try it you'll find it there.

The dish was simple to make and a perfect use of many ingredients that needed to be used in our kitchen. We were able to use bread that was a couple days old and dry, milk that was set to expire, and chard from the garden that was patchworked from bugs feasting on it's leaves. This dish will jive with any Sunday brunch or early afternoon meal. I can't wait to heat it up again for our Sunday lunch.

Cucurbitaceae

2008-07-23T13:39:00.004-04:00

My hiatus from blogging was a result of feeling lost in time.

And then I became inspired by the cucumber plant, lounging on our porch, hastily growing by the day. It's squash like personality had me wondering if it was possibly related to the squash. Low and behold, they are in the same family: Cucurbitaceae. We don't have summer squash this year unfortunately, and actually lack the playground of veggies I was hoping for this summer. But we do have lots of herbs and this fancy pants cucumber. I've listed in my squished brain a few goals that I hope to complete by the beginning of September. I'll share more later, but at the top of the list is making pickles. Dill ones, actually. So Saturday I will be off to market to search out fresh dill and maybe a few more cucumbers. I didn't realize that I might need more than one plant to actually have a significant portion of salty, crunchy, savory pickles.

There are a few books that I have on hand to guide me on this pickle making adventure. The most promising of them is Wild Fermentation, The Taste of Country Cooking, and Preserving Summer's Bounty. I'm so excited to try my hand at this antique art of fermentation! Keep tuned...

And a few other plants...

Goblin flower, echinacea, and sneezeweed.

Joe Pye Weed

Bek and Sarah go to Colorado

2008-05-11T16:32:00.005-04:00

Rebekah and I sped off to Colorado for a quick post-graduation trip. We drove through the Oklahoma pan handle, skimmed through the New Mexico Northeast corner, and headed on through to Buena Vista, a Colorado valley surrounded by massive heights of 14er mountains. We stayed at Liar's Lodge, a bed and breakfast that faces Mt. Harvard and Mt. Yale. We had a little porch off of our room, our bed facing Sleeping Indian mountain.

The next day, after a scrumptious and somewhat ludicrous breakfast of orange almond french toast, we hiked with heavy lungs to the top of the sleeping indian.

Soon after the hike we headed north to Denver and went to a Rockies/ Cardinals game where we partook in Coors Light and rooted for the underdog.

Colorado was great, but a bit too short. Maybe next time we'll try a longer stint in Spain. Or Greece.

Beka is a Doctor

2008-05-11T15:43:00.006-04:00

She might not want to admit it, but we all know: Rebekah is now a certified, bonafide, genuine Doctor of Veterinary Medicine. Here are some photos of the weekend in Stillwater, Oklahoma.

Sarah, Rebekah, Momma Heinz

Keri, Geni, Beka, Tisha

Mom, Jeannie, Sarah

Geni & Rebekah

Keri, Geni, Tisha, Beka

Rebekah, Josh, Sarah

Sarah, Uncle Kent, Josh, Dad, Grandma, Aunt Dana, Mom, Rebekah

Belated Juicing Update

2008-04-16T12:20:00.003-04:00

Okay, so things got a little hairy last week. We did juice, and we did fast, but I won't lie: the fasting lasted 24 hours. The juicing, however, lives on!

Monday was a day off of work for me, so we started the fasting the night prior at 7pm, knowing that we would have the time then to start juicing immediately in the morning and throughout the day with little interruption. That morning was actually a tad bit frantic as I rushed about town, my stomach proclaiming its resent, collecting a myriad of fruits and veggies. My heart beat strange and insecure as I bought oranges, lemons, limes, bananas, greens, cucumbers, etc. I tend to avoid non-local, non-seasonal, non-organic produce and this shopping venture shamed me slightly. But the juicing mission had begun and I hadn't yet had my juice breakfast! I had to bite the bullet and heave products from California, Mexico, and Argentina in my ever expanding cart, ignoring the moral cues that taunted me.

My good friend Michelle had agreed to be in on this juicing extravaganza and was going to supply the juicer. So with fruits and veggies in tow, and my obnoxious receipt in hand, I called her to let her know that I was on my way over. Three times I called her, but to no avail. Her sleepy head would not budge. So I decided that Josh and I were on our own with this one. Next to the store whose heat bill I probably just paid for with my hefty bill was a KMart. Uh oh. Talk about moral obligations. I haven't been in a KMart or Wal-Mart for 3 years. But I was having the inner turmoil of my conscience and my stomach. And not surprisingly, my stomach won out. I bought a juicer that was made in China.

When I got home, Josh and I juiced. Watching Josh with that first glass, his nose recoiling in contempt of taste, had me worried. Had our three person fast become me alone? But Josh kept with it, religiously squinting his eyes and shaking his head as he downed the multiple concoctions and combinations of all his not-so favorite foods.

You'd think that all the calories we consumed throughout the day would have us full and satisfied. But it seemed that this juice created new empty voids throughout our system. We were starving to the point of moodiness and a threatening lack of motivation for the remaining tasks of the day. At some point I called Michelle to whine and she somehow rationalized with me that we should go eat Thai food and be happy that we made it 24 hours. So that's what we did. It was phenomenal. Ah, the art of cooked vegetables in coconut milk, particularly on a day where your mind is consumed with thoughts of food (or lack thereof).

The rest of the week gradually became less fast-like, but still reminiscent of our new juicing knowledge. Tuesday was primarily juice but also unjuiced fruits and veggies, Wednesday we had brown rice, and then on and on...

I'm so happy to have a juicer, even if it is from China, and so happy to have experimented with a bunch of recipes. Here are a few of our favorite combos:

Apples (6 of them), Beet (one large), Limes (two juiced separately)

Carrots, apples, beet, parsley

Carrot, cucumber, celery, spinach

Carrot, apple, orange, ginger

Pineapple, carrot, orange, watermelon, cranberry (pre-bought juice)

Pineapple, grapefruit, parsley, spinach, watermelon, beet greens

There are multiple thoughts that spun from this one single day of fasting/week of juicing. Hopefully those thoughts don't dissipate before I have a chance to write them. But in the meantime, I can definitely recommend juicing! If not for how good it feels, for the change in complexion it can bring. Friends were shocked at my healthy color this week. I think I turned orange from all the beta carotene.

A Week of Juicing

2008-04-06T21:34:00.002-04:00

This is exciting! I think I'm going to try doing a fast. But not a hardcore, Jesus on the mountain, water only fast. I'm going for a highly nutritious and full of enzymes juice fast. Last week thoughts of fasting traipsed through my brain, and oddly enough then synchronized with some reading and a couple of quotes that landed on my desktop.

I'm not one to share things before they happen, the reality being that they often don't happen. I hate to be held accountable for personal things, not to mention that things are always more feasible when you've had a day off and feel more like yourself. So it's questionable whether or not this fast will last as planned. But I wanted to blog it, thinking that maybe some of you non-pregnant, non-nursing friends of mine would be interested in joining.

Throughout the week I'll include recipes that taste and feel good. So if you're in, get a juicer and get ready! Tomorrow is all juice.
Plan for day 1: carrot, ginger, beet, parsley, cabbage, apple, celery, cucumber, kale (in different combos)

March 31st, The Day of Cesar Chavez

2008-03-31T21:39:00.003-04:00

"If you're outraged at conditions, then you can't possibly be free or happy until you devote all your time to changing them and do nothing but that," he said. "But you can't change anything if you want to hold onto a good job, a good way of life and avoid sacrifice."

Today, in eight states, is a day that is spent in remembrance of Cesar Chavez. California even shuts down their libraries. Cesar Chavez is a farmworker rights activist that died in 1993. He fought for Labor Unions, worker rights, and the rights of workers to not be exposed to pesticides. No, pesticides aren't good when we eat them, but they are even worse when you are directly exposed to them, i.e. a farm worker. Working on farms is hard enough when you can breath, but I can't imagine what it would be like in a murky fuzz of chemical spray similar to what they poured on our "enemy" in the Vietnam War.

Without healthy soil, we can not be healthy people. Plainly speaking, without people, healthy or unhealthy, maybe the earth would exist in a more balanced way. But until that happens, I'm going to fight tooth and nail to be a healthy citizen. Even if this means sacrifice. But think of the sacrifices we ask of (primarily immigrant) farmworkers every single day... wow.

"Cesar Chavez, who insisted that those who labor in the earth were entitled to share fairly in the rewards of their toil, would never be forgotten."

VIVA LA CAUSA
Long live our cause

In Defense of Food

2008-03-30T18:22:00.002-04:00

I just finished reading In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan. Much of the book is devoted to the somewhat controversial discussion of "nutritionism." He aims to educate readers on eating food that is real, prepared from whole and original food stuffs. In other words, if it's wrapped in plastic and has more than five ingredients, any of which you don't recognize or can't pronounce, peel your hungry little nubs of fingers away. It's not to be reckoned with due to their false impersonations. They are more than likely only imitations of that thing we call food and rely upon for our survival.

I enjoyed the more applicable part of his book that came in the third and final section. I often struggle with validating the amount of money I spend on our household food. But Pollan makes the point:
"Is it just a coincidence that as the portion of our income spent on food has declined, spending on health care has soared? In 1960 Americans spent 17.5 percent of their income on food and 5.2 percent of national income on health care. Since then, those numbers have flipped: Spending on food has fallen to 9.9 percent, while spending on health care has climbed to 16 percent of national income. I have to think that by spending a little more on healthier food we could reduce the amount we have to spend on health care."

So now's the time, spring in tow, to research and find a local CSA- Community Supported Agriculture- where you can buy a share and in return gain a diverse and delicious assortment of fruits and vegetables. And maybe this is even the year that you plant a few herbs or a couple varieties of tomatoes!

Interviewing Josh

2008-03-26T12:00:00.003-04:00

I was feeling a little somber. What better way to feel cheer than to interview your partner, getting into his thoughts when he otherwise is slightly inaccessible with an opposing schedule? The interview questions I copied from a blog online quite awhile ago. Me and my poor organizational tendencies lost the site address. Can I be sued for such slander? Well, here goes:

What inspires you?
Art & artists, mountains, the desert, the dalai lama, the love and support of my wife (ahhh...)

Happiness is....
Peace, close family, feeling productive in mind and body

Browsing often...
Tools and equipment

Wishing for...
Stability, the right studio, future commissions, not to mention an air compressor, slip roller, V bandsaw, portable wire feeder, and a trailer.

Listening to...
A lot of NPR

Escaping with...
Sarah on a spiritually good day, alcohol on a bad!

Morning....
discipline, habit, ritual, coffee, going out for or Sarah's breakfasts.

Noon...
Bustin' it out... working

Night...
Computer browsing, a little beer, nighttime reading.

What are you looking forward to?
Finishing this project and the gallery show with it.

The future is...
Hope and anxiety, freedom and a trap, a plan and the ephemeral unexpected, what I want to be, risks to find joy, family, art, exploration, food, community, metal and clay, earth and wind, and maybe horses. Definitely breakfast.

The past is...
every demon and every joy. Who I am, who we are, a collection of phenomonological experience that makes present consciousness. This is Josh's study for the gallery show coming through.

Today...

2008-03-25T11:46:00.005-04:00

I want to return to here:

Here, I can think and not feel watched. Here, all I know from the world is what I've learned before, and what I learn in the present exists only because of that present I'm experiencing.

I'm so tired. The New York Times slideshows today included Tuberculosis hospitals in South Africa, and Tibetan riots being beat out by Nepali police. On the radio is Senator Chuck Hagel from Nebraska speaking on political strategies and Iraqi policies. My brain is so sad, my body so obliterated by journalistic bombs. My trust has been confiscated by the government.

There has to be some form of outcry. And I suppose this is it, my outcry for the 4,000 dead, the five years at war. I wait for the time when I do more, whatever that is, whatever it is that is not just me trying to be obscure and cling to my daily rituals. Because right now I am paralyzed by these real life moments, realizations that there is so much more to do than stay safely in my cove.

Turmeric: Spice of My Week

2008-03-18T20:57:00.003-04:00

So this week I'm in love with turmeric. It gives conglomerations of food glorious color, it's full of flavors and nutrients, and it is so reminiscent of the smells and tastes of India. Turmeric is in the ginger family, and similar to its relation, it also is a rhizome.

Turmeric has many ayurvedic (medicinal Indian practice) purposes. Included in these are uses that include its antiseptic and antibacterial properties.

I have it in a handy and easy to reach glass vessel, throwing it in as the flexible and friendly bitter little spice that it is. This morning we engaged in leftover chimichurri sauce and turmeric eggs. It makes eggs just that much more sunny in the morning. And all of us here that live in Michigan know how welcome anything is that is reminiscent of sunniness. Come, spring equinox, come!

Even more interesting, what is your favorite spice right now? Do you have the pleasure of having one? If not, please, by all means borrow mine. And then look up Bong Mom's Cookbook to learn more!

Josh is having a Birthday Week

2008-03-14T13:18:00.002-04:00

Josh turns 29 this week, so this means it is celebrate josh week- at least in my world. It's a busy month for him. He's in the midst of curating the upcoming show at Gallery Project in Ann Arbor, planning the exhibition and creating the two pieces he will contribute. But he came home a little early last night to humor my week of celebration and partake in a thursday night birthday dinner. The dinner consisted of Seared Ribeye with Chimichurri Sauce that I found on a great food blog, and extremely scrumptious and rich scalloped potatoes. Our theme was parsley, one of those obscure flavors Josh isn't terribly fond of, and porterhouse steaks cut thicker than my forearm. The parsley flavor was surprisingly a hit, savory and blended with multiple spices and extra raw garlic. Sometimes foods that are less appealing just need a bit of a makeover (like brussels sprouts, right dad?). To drink we had Red Snapper and a Cotes du Rhone wine. Delic.

And we split this chocolate guiness cupcake from Cake Nouveau for dessert.

A couple of months ago I met a photographer by the name of Marco Mancinelli at the Ann Arbor artist's market. I bought this print yesterday from him for Josh's birthday. Mother Teresa represents selflessness and real life to me. I love her starkness. The garb at her feet is what the nuns in Calcutta wore when Josh and I volunteered at Mother Teresa's. Good memories and inspiration for life are enraptured in this photo.

Sticky Buns

2008-03-10T16:08:00.005-04:00

We woke to a snowy and cold morning, grayness making its way through the blinds, so I took action for our growling bellies and decided to make sticky buns. 31 hours later, we had sticky buns. Perhaps this will teach me to read ahead in cook books before I start such lofty, hunger driven adventures? Probably not, but in the meantime we can continue to highly anticipate our baked goods that actually take time to rise... multiple times.

These were mysterious and then delicious, rich and buttery and perfect for the following day which was similar in atmosphere and chill. The layer of stickiness forms to your buttered pan, the rolls cook on top of this pecan and sugar medley, and when turned over after being cooked you have the bun and the stickiness adhered into one scrumptious comfort food. This can now go down in the records as one of my first attempts baking bread. Who knew that sticky buns would be in the bread category for novices? Well, I suppose the The Joy of Cooking knew. And I could have too, if I had read ahead.

Thrift Finds

2008-03-10T15:21:00.007-04:00

I've started collecting clothes from my friends and co-workers with the hope of selling them at a consignment store for profit, and then donating the money I receive back to non-profit. When I was dropping some clothes off last week (wearing a nice new sweater I circumvented from the pile) I came across these two beautiful kitchen pieces, a kettle and a cast iron pot perfect for scalloped potatoes. We made the potatoes the other night, scooping from its yellow depths, feeling as though we were partaking in something very special indeed- something to partake in on holidays in our forever. And the corning wear kettle is the size of three cups of chai, creamy milk from Calder Dairy, heated directly on the stove with this honey you see in the picture, produced by the hardworking bees of Petoskey, Michigan. Seeing this kettle on our stove always makes me want to call my mom. When I was growing up she was constantly reaching for her corning wear pots and pans. Not bad finds, I say. Something used made new to me! They make me oh-so happy.

Poignant People

2008-02-26T11:01:00.002-05:00

Sometimes people drift into your life, and then they are there awhile before you realize the tides changed when they arrived. One such person sent me a note this weekend that made my spirit waver. He has seen me struggle both at work and with my health, and it meant a lot that he noticed and cared enough to say anything. And he made me think...

Within me is the worry that people born of my make and model are destined for torture. I’ve been deliberating specifically today on whether there is a life I can choose to lead that will bring me to a path of peace, not sickness and utter overwhelming life adherence to a burning notion of safety. Is it possible to choose a dedication that both sustains and inspires me? That alone should be the ultimate goal of humanity, but we tend to allow the forceful systems of society to assault us in an opposing trajectory.

I decided this week to surrender to this breeze that swept by. I heard slight sounds of encouragement speaking, softly parading ideas of simplicity and solitude. In an honest and earnest moment I realized that I haven’t truly been alone in what feels like years. And now that I see this, I have the chance to grasp the best of two worlds I have known; the world of withdrawn dissolution, spiritual, lonely, yet productive, and the world of quiet companionship, full of acceptance, dedication and sacrifice.

There are lives out there that are honorable influences for us all. And while there is no perfect answer to the meaning of being alive, felicity is a human quality that is not only achievable, but also natural. So by stripping away skin that is not natural, the complexion of the spirit cleanly and smoothly reveals itself.

When life, death, and regret face you with its unreadable glassy eyes, thoughts begin to resemble understanding in a truer sense. Material things, false words, crazy fallacies begin to lose their grasp. I remember facing death 6 years ago, my hunger and realization of the world around me became only a charade and hallucination. People, words, advertisements, money danced around me and I was the ghost lingering in the center, staring at Josh cemented to a hospital bed. When I thought he was going to die, time itself began to move in slow motion. Nothing more mattered that whole year, not angry kids I worked with, not awkward wedding plans, not the size of my jeans or condition of my car. When you see life at its most vulnerable, you yourself have the opportunity to become vulnerable and reflective.

There are no enemies to be had, only enemies to be made. I know I can hold no one but myself accountable for my feelings or the sick setting my surroundings can become. Because change should be for the good, it shouldn’t be feared. I don’t dismay that my body won’t sustain, but I do grudge the passing of time. So this should be an inspiration to live moments for moments, to hold ourselves accountable for these moments, and to hope our moments seep into the spatial quality of our world. Our light then can diffuse through our cracks, not be sucked from our cavities.

Awareness is a gift. Now we just need the gift of a trampoline to bounce us when we jump, shooting us wherever it is we will land.

Our Recent New York, New York Journey

2008-02-26T10:15:00.005-05:00

This beautiful face you may not recognize is that of our friend Michelle that joined us in the travels. She was about to partake in her first genuine skateboard display shop/sushi bar sake bomb.

South Indian Dinner

2008-02-06T14:45:00.001-05:00

Sunday we spent some time with some friends of ours that are originally from southern India. We introduced ourselves five years ago when we recognized their accents as being from that region. When we met it didn't seem like our trip to India had been that distant, but now time has definitely lapsed.

It's been 8 years since Josh and I first started getting to know each other. I can imagine where we were eight years ago today, the beginning of February. It was just starting to get really warm in India, we were probably on the train to Maduraii by after spending a month in Nagercoil, preparing for classes in Indian Geography, Religion, and History. Evenings were spent on rooftops drinking King Fisher beer, listening to our (tape!) walkmans, writing emails to family that rarely made it past Indian electrical glitches, and eating homemade curries, briyanis, and dosas.

Anytime we spend with our Michigan Indian friends we are transported to the days of sweat on our brows, cameras by our sides, thoughts racing through our heads about global issues. It's good to remember days that were so molding to who we are now and to the relationship that we have.

Here are photos of our friends and the day we spent- them trying to teach us about cooking, and an afternoon with bloated rice bellies, watching Bollywood films and nodding off to the smell of tea and curry.

Pain to Peace

2008-02-05T11:39:00.000-05:00

Let's just be honest here. I'm a slightly prideful person. But I have a feeling that everyone, in some way, has a bit too much pride for healthy existence. My husband and I seem to have a clear channel of communication even when our single selfish selves get the best of us. We come around, apologize, remember the days before we were married that we swore fighting could never happen between us. And I certainly don't have a lot of pride with my appearance anymore. The staff at work laughed at me on Friday because of my attire. I had to explain that the shiny black button up shirt was from a friend of my sister's five years ago, the pants were from my housemates sister, the tshirt was from a festival Josh and I went to, and the boots are a hiking staple bought back in 1998. But when it comes to putting my stress on other people by asking for help, it stresses me out even more.

The past six months have been really tough in that this healthy 28 year old has had to eliminate exercise beyond walking and deal with feeling shabby about 70% of my days. I've had the flu and a case of mono that just went on and on and on. I'm not sure if it was brought on by the late nights, getting home between 3-5am, or the gray, cold Michigan days, or the stress of lifestyle changes. But 70% of the past six months has been spent full of exhaustion, disbelief, and cold and flu symptoms. So this weekend, when I started to get a cold, I decided to amp up my vitamins, oregano, kumbucha, and sleep. Because I was so congested I boiled some water on the stove, threw a towel over my head, and stuck my head in the cavity made by towel and pot. I was really enjoying my own personal steam bath until I dropped my towel in the water and then decided to drop the towel directly on my leg. As a result I've burned myself. To what degree, I have no idea. I should just call my childhood best friend's husband who is a surgeon, but no, here's the pride I was talking about earlier. This morning, 15 hours after the episode, I walk around in circles in the kitchen, I call my father who is a family minister, my sister who is a veterinarian (and does know some things), my husband who is an artist, but I don't just dial Joseph the surgeon's number. But really, he's not my personal surgeon. It's not like he doesn't work 60 hours a week as it is.

So I'll call him. I promise. It's just rough when you feel like you don't have much to offer in return, like, "Hey! joseph! Give us a call if you ever have any questions about Robert Smithson or Richard Serra! Or if I can help you understand the difference between ales and lagers. We're your experts!" I suppose it feels like I'm asking Joseph to be responsible for the fact that we don't have health insurance. And that's not fair. But they always tell me to call, never worry, it's always fine. I should believe them. And I should move on to one more thought, the title to this post.

I finished another book by Paulo Coelho, the author of the Alchemist. This book that I read comments on pain and how if you avoid the pain, and if you don't allow yourself to live that pain through until the pain can no longer be felt, until you've risen about that pain, you can't have the value of peace that comes through the pain. These past months, as I've labored on in less then perfect health, there have been thoughts, processes that I've worked through, that I wouldn't have had time for if it wasn't for the pain. I have a long way to go, but I realize that I've been given the gift of a different perspective because of all this irritating sick time. I didn't succumb to hours spent in a gym or running (knowing that my body could handle the muscle recovery), and I didn't spend hours busying myself with tasks that swaddle themselves in lies about needing to get done. I simply stayed quiet and still and read many books in the time that I couldn't be rushing. And so while I hate that my immune system is weaker than any other 28 year old I know in my functioning society, and I hate the fact that I somehow pored boiling water on my knee, I can move past that. I can simply hate the fact that I don't have health insurance, yet embrace the fact that life has surrounded me with knowledgeable and loving people who as much as I hesitate asking for help, are always willing.

And I love the fact that when I feel most rushed and as though the world will cave in if I don't finish all those tasks on my list, but then am pounded to my bed by the weight of sickness or burns, peace kind of sidesteps in. And I think I'm just going to let it. And call my personal surgeon.

Making Mayo Makes It Better

2008-01-14T16:30:00.000-05:00

I’m not one to suggest people must see things as I do, such as love the feel of warm compost on the softest part of the hand, or love the folkiest of music. To make grand statements gesturing that others should land in the same sentiments as I land is presumptuous, if not risky. After all, it only makes sense that different shoes taking different steps lead to different outcomes. That being said, forgive this one presumptuous and slippery thought- you and everyone you know needs to make mayonnaise.

There, I’ve said it, my inner and true thoughts. I think that it is a great loss to any individual who never makes homemade mayonnaise in his or her lifetime. The anticipated moment when the mixture transforms from oily to silky is a segment of time when all is beautiful, regardless of war and weather. The moment makes you feel like a kid who’s experiment finally just proved itself- the kid knows it is good. Just after that moment where the whisking leads to the smooth texture of subtle yellow, lip smacking wonder, you spread the goo on freshly toasted, slightly steamy bread. Voila, you have a delicious version of something you once thought you had to buy from a stranger, a mass producer.

So round up your partner, neighbor, spouse, housemate, sister and make yourselves some mayonnaise. Whisk some egg yolks together, and remember that the fresher, more local, more organic the egg the more scrumptious the whole endeavor. Mix those eggs with one or tablespoons of vinegar or lemon juice, some salt and some pepper. Whisk, whisk, whisk. This is where a friend comes in handy: One person whisking and one slowly dripping oil into the mixture. You’ll drip up to about 1/3 cup of oil into the whole thing before it really starts to solidify and strengthen, and then slowly drizzle the remaining 2/3 cup of the oil while continuing to whisk steadily. You and your partner together will beam with the beauty of this yellow French concoction. After you are fully satisfied with the whisking you can add Dijon mustard, yogurt, salt, pepper, etc to eternity. This condiment just keeps on giving! It’s so easy, so exciting, and so not necessary to buy from a big producer in a big jar with a big lid. Good luck. Everyone should learn to make mayonnaise with a friend and then eat some stacked BLT’s. It will make this endless winter a little more bearable.

A Noble Cause

2007-12-04T11:08:00.000-05:00

You ask what we were doing over there all those years: what it was all about? I'll tell you pure and simple: it was a noble cause. -- Ronald Reagan

I fell asleep last night with thoughts of a shaky and scotch ridden man (M.) lingering in my mind. He comes in almost daily to the pub and, depending on the time of day, he drinks red wine, pitchers of iced tea with lemon, or watered down scotch on the rocks. He is accompanied by a large wallet and an intimidating bag of meds. Generally he is a pleasant being to encounter, calling you “buddy” and chatting about your school studies, the weather, or his time spent in Vietnam. I haven’t actually seen him in weeks; he tends to patron the business during the daylight hours in winter, I think. But last night I turned the corner into the smoking room and he was leaning over booth 55, cash in hand, expressively and emphatically talking to two twenty-somethings. I knew I needed to watch carefully as to why he was interacting with another table, money falling from his hands, and that if it was anybody else I would interfere and more than likely ask him to leave. But when he had finished talking with the table I stopped by to make sure they weren’t uncomfortable and then sat down with M., smoke from his cigarette pouring around my cheeks. I counted his money for him, all $1021 of it, and inquired as to why he was trying to give it away to customers and why they refused it. His hopes were that these guys, his age while he was in Vietnam, would take the $2 as retribution for going to the VA Hospital and talking to the veterans there.

M. found out yesterday that his compensation from the US government is increasing by $53 monthly. They have finally found research to prove that an herbicide used in the Vietnam War can cause mental and physical dysfunction. M. is 54 and takes 31 medications everyday. M. is pissed. Well, as pissed as a kind, sick, drunk, traumatized and underpowered person can be. He showed me the paperwork he received in the mail. The government is taking responsibility for about 10% of M.’s ailments, like his neurological disorders, the lack of function and feeling in his extremities, and maybe even his cancer. Why is he emotionally charged about this government, the very organization that awarded him sergeant status and placed him in leadership of 60-120 troops in 1973? Because his life is comprised of medications, a torn apart family, and a wait for death- from his own words- that has only just begun to be validated.

The herbicide that was used in Vietnam was called Agent Orange and was created and distributed by the very masterminds that currently hold the patents on most of our seeds and the chemicals that they sell with those seeds. This corporation is as powerful as ever and has been held responsible for a minuscule amount of the damages- something in millions of dollars.

US service men, who at most only served a few months tour of duty, have suffered from cancers, skin disorders and liver disorders. In an out-of-court settlement in May 1984 the manufacturers wore forced to pay $180 million in damages for exposure to Agent Orange, little more than 'nuisance value'. Monsanto as the key defendant was forced by the presiding judge to contribute 45.5% of the total pay-out.

Vietnam won’t stop seeing the damages done to their country for generations still, and M. won’t stop feeling the repercussions until he is laid in the grave. There are millions of affected people, let alone the parched Vietnam landscape, and Monsanto receives a slap on the wrist.

These Agent Orange births are normal for us ... Every now and then we have what we call a foetal catastrophe - when the number of miscarriages and deformed babies, I am afraid to say, overwhelms us. -- Dr Pham Viet Thanh, Tu Du hospital

“The Vietnamese surprisingly bear no animosity to the US aggressors and their allies who destroyed their country. The aggressors were the victims, it was the US who slunk away completely demoralised with their tails between their legs. Noam Chomsky has always taken a different view, the Vietnamese may have won the war, but their country was defeated. The Americans achieved their objectives by destroying a country that dared demonstrate a different political system than that which the US wished to impose on the world. Vietnam is now once again being destroyed by US Imperialism as the vanguard of US transnational corporations move in to mop up what little is left. All done in the name of the new imperialism, globalisation.”

I know it seems like a wayfaring concern, but everyday you are affected by those that control our food systems. Those of you that live in the great plains drive through fields of corn that are doused in the very chemicals that are driven by money, not human and environmental well-being.

It should never be forgotten that the people must have priority. -- Ho Chi Minh

And M. wanders the streets of Ann Arbor with anxious thoughts, shaky hands, and a bundle of medications. He’s not angry for himself so much as he is the others, the past victims, and the current state of affairs. The war being fought in vain and based on more lies.

Never again must the US or any other country interfere in another country's affairs. -- Len Aldis, secretary Britain-Vietnam Friendship Society

My hope is that we try- we try to know where our food comes from, what our money represents and supports, and why we are sending troops to Iraq. I don't want to be passive, to hide my head, close my ears, and hope it goes away. It is here to stay, never to be resolved in my lifetime, inflicting those that return without arms or legs, those that don’t return, those that returned years ago with ageless consequences, and those that are natives in a pillaged land. And we are afraid to admit that cause might not be so noble after all.

Credit for quotes (distinguished by italics): The Legacy of Agent Orange

Into The Wild

2007-11-25T00:11:00.000-05:00

Society by Eddie Vedder

Oh it's a mystery to me.
We have a greed, with which we have agreed...
and you think you have to want more than you need...
until you have it all, you won't be free.

Society, you're a crazy breed.
I hope you're not lonely, without me.

When you want more than you have, you think you need...
and when you think more then you want, your thoughts begin to bleed.
I think I need to find a bigger place...
cause when you have more than you think, you need more space.

Society, you're a crazy breed.
I hope you're not lonely, without me.
Society, crazy indeed...
I hope you're not lonely, without me.

There's those thinkin' more or less, less is more,
but if less is more, how you keepin' score?
It means for every point you make, your level drops.
Kinda like you're startin' from the top...
and you can't do that.

Society, you're a crazy breed.
I hope you're not lonely, without me.
Society, crazy indeed...
I hope you're not lonely, without me
Society, have mercy on me.
I hope you're not angry, if I disagree.
Society, crazy indeed.
I hope you're not lonely...
without me.

The Revolution Will Not Be Microwaved

2007-11-16T11:43:00.000-05:00

A quote from a book that I'm reading:

"Seed germination is a miracle to behold. In its dry form, a seed is life in suspended animation, dormant, a bundle of potential. Once it is wet, a seed drinks in the water of life and begins to transform and become alive. A seed can remain in suspended animation for quite some time without losing its spark of life;"

Strawberry Roan Home in Vermont

2007-11-16T10:32:00.001-05:00

We must be entertained by late night (or, as the norm might call it, "early morning") driving. We sure seem to do it, well, all the time. A week ago today, on a standard Friday evening, I was free from managing the pub at 4am. Josh pulled up to the brewpub almost right on schedule, astride the enormous Budget moving truck intended to take us east. The true purpose for our travels was to deliver cast iron sculptures by Steinunn Thorarinsdottir to Boston Harbor to be shipped home to Iceland. But we made several stops along the way.

Rebekah, in her desperation to avoid cooking, passed off to me a few years ago a book she had called "Moosewood Restaurant Daily Special". The restaurant itself specializes in vegetarian cooking, and everyday has a daily special that pairs a soup and a salad- . I've been addicted to this book for years, so much so that my mom and dad ordered another cookbook for me from the restaurant last christmas, and went so far as to have it autographed by the cooks in the kitchen. Needless to say, I am smitten. We pilgrimmaged to Ithaca, NY, to have lunch at Moosewood. We were not disappointed, only wished that there was more time to lounge and to explore Ithaca. But we had a mission to make it to Vermont for a short stay with Dave.

Which we did at 9:30 that night. After many hours on the road, me still in my work clothes, David welcomed us and I quickly slid into comfy clothes, and we relaxed in the kitchen by the woodstove. We had salmon and squash at midnight- a true feast- and then slept like babies until mid-morning. We woke to a scrumptious fire in our bedroom's cove, music by our personal morning DJ lulling us awake, and a Vermont blue sky beckoning us to come and play.

Our task for the day was to place the Strawberry Roan on Dave's property. Josh's first instinct for placement was eventually (not without deliberation) where we all agreed it should go- playfully overlooking the pond on rolling hills, white birch and golden leaves the backdrop behind. With the lift of the truck, gumption, and some homemade engineering, we successfully placed the piece with no injuries to us... always a feat.

Josh had made stakes by hand to protect the Roan from windfall. These stout stakes are beautiful, too, sharpened and shaped by his machines. The day was perfect for this almost ritual-like process. It's always thrilling to place a sculpture.

Here are pictures that we just couldn't bring ourselves to eliminate, at least not yet...

Josh's work often speaks to the color variations and changes that happen when metal rusts. Up to this point, Roan's life has been lived indoors. Trying to maintain the brilliant oranges and reds is always experimental. Josh settled on a sealer that seems to achieve the integrity of the color.

We ended up staying one night longer than expected with Dave, cutting our time in Boston next to nill. The extra day made leaving hard, but we had a deadline in Boston Harbor to keep. We headed to the industrial harbor, twisting and turning on the narrow city streets, until we finally found our destination- a building decorated in polar bears. This company ships products from Iceland to the U.S.and vice versa. It was really interesting in many ways. The harbor itself was reminiscent of a wasteland, semis passing us with layers of crushed cars on the trailer, freights being loaded with cranes, and produce companies every which way you look. I so so so badly wanted to stay and photograph, to ask questions of those working, to find out where this food was coming from and heading to. Invariably this is produce and food shipped globally. The shipping company we were working with ships in ingredients from Iceland for Campbell's soup "New England Clam Chowder" and for different McDonald's items. Ironic.

We had another deadline in Mt. Kisco, NY. There were a few pieces that needed to be dropped separately for a different gallery show. We had met the man receiving the pieces before, an accomplished artist who had visited Ann Arbor for a show Josh had helped hang previously. His home was a complete contrast to what we had just been enjoying in Vermont. Dave, also an artist, lives with found items of natural beauty, is refinishing a beautiful but old barn, and lives in an old Vermont farmhouse. This home in NY was a museum- polished artwork hung professionally with perfect furniture and the kind of kitchen where the refrigerator is the same finish as the wood on the floor and walls. It was really a beautiful home that mimics a lifestyle of art that can be so varied.

We made it home Wednesday at 7am. It was such a good trip.

Va-kay Summer 2007

2007-09-20T17:11:00.000-04:00

We left on a Saturday morning, not too long after I had gotten home from a long night at the pub. Josh had fully prepped the car for packing. All I really had to do was throw the food in a box that I thought we would need for the ride. We already had all our directions printed out, all our calls made, our schedule set and ready to go.

Our first stop brought us to the gray skied, lapping shorelines of Lake Michigan where the groom announced his bride, and the bride her groom. Colorful fabrics and foods, all locally grown and tastefully prepared, helped cheer through the chilly temperatures and foreboding drops of rain. The groom, of Iranian heritage, helped to slaughter the lamb that was feasted on before the ceremony, and friends of the bride aided in the growing and preparation of the savory dishes- ratatouille, salads, pastas. As guests we scooped up kernels of corn that have been passed down through the generations of family farmers, and we blessed the corn that they might continue to bless this newly married couple.

That evening we drove onto Chicago to spend the night with Joel and Brenda, a fun and relaxing time, and left early the next morning for Richfield, Minnesota. We drove through sheets of rain, but eventually made it to a best friend of mine, Sarah Werner, who I hadn't seen in four years. Her and her spouse, John, just this summer bought their first house. It was a beautiful home and perfectly comfortable. We always did love walking together, so it was time well spent walking around a neighborhood lake, the sky dark and the lake bouncing light off its water. The moments were amazing and generous, allowing us to catch up on journey's taken and life lived after far too long.

The next day came quickly and we packed up and settled into the car for a long day of crossing Minnesota and North Dakota. We stopped for lunch in Fargo. Don't ever do that. It was weird. Fargo, ND is as strange as we could have imagined.

Once through most of ND, we were looking for Watford City, not too far away from the Canada or Montana border. We were sidetracked briefly by “The Enchanted Highway”, a meandering section of road with folkart metal sculpture. We started the drive, not sure how long the enchantment would last. We saw two sculptures, both enormous, both interesting, and then saw a man in a field off of a parking lot. We decided to stop and ask this man, most likely local, if he could just tell us how far the highway would take us. We turned around after passing him, pulled off the road, and creaked our bones out of the car. Interestingly enough, this wiry man had a welder in the back of his truck. Could it possibly be the creator of the Enchanted Highway? It was. He was working on a 50 foot sculpture that had been toppled by the western winds. He described the drive to us, and explained that it was a 32 mile roundtrip venture. Being that we had already been on the road 10 hours and were anxious to see Grandpa, we decided we would have to see it on our next trip out that way.

But we finally made it, and the final 100 miles of the drive was incredible. Cowboy culture started to creep in, mountains stretched their arms and yawned in the distance, and the sky crawled into itself, revealing spatterings of stars.
After a good nights rest, we got in the car again and Grandpa showed us around the Badlands in Theodore Roosevelt National Park. I couldn’t believe that we were willing to get in the car again, but the landscapes that we saw were just amazing. You can see in some of these pictures the layers upon layers of rock, color, material, years. It was amazing.

Grandpa also took us that day to the farm where he grew up. There is no longer anyone living there, but there are a few old buildings, the foundation for the house, the old outhouse, and a bunch of old farm equipment. There is still wheat growing in the fields but it increasingly is being replaced by corn. Corn that is probably subsidized by the government to be sneaked into our food and feeds the lies we are told about ethanol. But that's for another blog. The wheat we saw swaying seemed to be reminiscent of all that used to be.

It was really hard to leave North Dakota. The time was too short with Grandpa. It was the first time I had ever been on his territory, and such an experience to see the place where Josh's mom and aunt cindy were raised. The relics, from antique guns to antique tractors, remind me of a time that is gone. But it's not gone. The stories we heard from Grandpa are proof that I should try harder to learn from those who have come before and created the life that I now live. I guess it's a perspective thing.

Our drive out of Watford City and towards Wyoming took us through both the Northern and Southern North Dakota badlands. We did a little hiking and then turned up the volume on the ipod. I mostly blasted Brandi Carlile and Josh some crazy Mocean Worker music. When we crossed over the Wyoming border there was almost an immediate change. The clouds hung in the sky differently, the range rose and fell with more drama, the air was crisp and dry.

We pulled into Sheridan, WY and were greeted by Rebekah Smith and her fiance David. They took us for an amazing dinner at an old historic hotel that is recognized as being the playhouse for Buffalo Bill Cody and friends. The food was such a treat after diner food and zucchini bread we had brought along for the ride. Josh had a Buffalo ribeye, and I chose the entree that was comprised of entirely local and free range lamb. I know, it's hard to believe, but one ambition for me this trip was to avoid any chain or non-local food/entities. I think it worked primarily.... wait. I did get a cappucino at Starbucks. And Josh broke down in the middle of nothing Nebraska and had Sonic tater tots. We were starving and just not feeling the local Chinese establishment. Anyway, Sheridan was really beautiful. We saw an amazing photography show of Wyoming birds at a contemporary gallery and residency program called UCross. And then we started noticing all the amazing birds. Sheridan was really interesting and beautiful. The main street had flashing cowboy bar signs and a really quaint and cozy coffee shop.

After a day or two Josh and I drove out to the Big Horn Mountains to set up camp and a cook out that Rebekah and David were going to join us in. These mountains are amazing and I can't believe we didn't get hardly any pictures of them. There are signs on towering rocks as you drive by that date them back to different millenia. So powerful... But after a chase down the mountain to catch Bekah and David as they passed our spot, we finally set up camp along a stream and cooked a delicious dinner.

After Sheridan, our destination was Cowfish Brewery in Lander. Ma & Pa Smith met us there because they are just that crazy to drive two hours to have dinner with us. More steak was involved, I had a wasabi tuna salad- not local, of course- and microbrewed beer. It was so much fun to finally see Sue and DonRay after a week of traveling, and then to sit down and have steaks in Lander, a town that holds really great memories from our trip last summer. We made it to Rawlins that night and collapsed into a real bed. The five days we were there we were able to have delicious meals, eat Rawlins Mexican, travel to Laramie with Sue to explore and think about future possibilities, hike the highest point- Medicine Bow Peak- in the Snowy Range where we were married five years ago, and spend some much needed quality time with Josh's grandma, recording memories and stories using Cindy's computer. It's difficult to even begin to document the pictures and stories Gramma shared with us. She's always been someone who could just talk and talk as long as I've known her. I remember the first summer I came to Wyoming to meet the family in 2000 and she sunk me into the ancient brown couch to ask me questions. I think I said about 15 words that day as she entranced me with stories of this ranch, coloring each story with the history that reminded me of old western movies I've only barely seen. It's a little overwhelming to realize the life lived by this 78 year old woman. If only I were a filmmaker and could immerse myself in documenting the old west stories she and others around there tell.

Josh's dad took us to a part of the ranch he recently discovered that he thinks is work done by people who probably pre-dated the tribes we know as Native Americans. DonRay's father had told him about rocks that had been purposely arranged in a circle, but the reason they are there and when they were placed there is all a complete mystery. The ranch has always been a zone to discover arrowheads and indian artifacts, but to find see something for the first time on the very land you have always known, and to know it holds history not yet studies is very reverential. We had a tea party on this rim, overlooking the ranch. Watching the sun slowly settle within the humps of landscape, we saw a herd of elk and antelope moving silently far below, and at this distance they appeared to be moving slowly, almost as though they dragged the hills behind them. We watched the moon subtly rise in front of usand toasted to the world around us that had no idea we watched on.

After our time in Rawlins we were on the road again, headed towards Fort Collins, CO. We took a scenic route, although really, is there any unscenic route in Wyoming? Some would argue that the entire interstate 80 is a barren desert. I wouldn't argue against that, either. Anyway, we went over through Saratoga, home of some smelly hot springs, and then over the Snowy Range. We chugged over these high mountains, lightning an encore to our journey. Worries slightly shrouded our hopes of hiking to the highest point in this range, but once we reached the trailhead we knew there were no options. We were going to risk it, and take pictures on our camera phone on the way up. We pulled on those rusty old hiking boots, and layered ourselves in whatever clean clothing we could find. Unfortunately our memory card on the camera phone is malfunctioning, so we can't do more than describe the sky, land, rocks, and animals. I don't think I've ever had the opportunity to truly experience Alpine Lakes. Here we were, trucking our way a couple of miles to the top, walking alongside crystal clear and calm bodies of water. The entire atmosphere was like an under water scene, with greens and blues, lightning and clouds rolling over and ahead as though we are fish peering out below the fresh water. It wasn't the easiest hike, but definitely manageable. We were the only ones out that day on that specific trail, so between our staggered somewhat labored breathes at the higher elevation, we could just be, remembering aloud all the friends and family that joined us five years ago in these very mountains to seal our marriage. But this time we were completely alone, and once we reached the final part of the climb, jutting rocks and birds flitting in and out of the rocks crevasses, we just sat silently on top of this spectrum of colors, once again realizing the finality of time and space. We hunched down, trying not to trip on the rocks, and turned 360 degrees, looking down upon a dozen or so alpine lakes, and looking out towards the clouds rolling in. We knew we didn't have much time to get down to lower ground (a.k.a. safer ground) once the sky started spitting drips of rain on our chilled skin. The way down we saw rocks changing into brilliant colors as they got progressively wetter.

We eventually made it to Fort Collins and met some of Josh's old camp friends from Boy Scout Camp who were all gathering for a wedding reception. I had met them all at our wedding, but never got to spend time with them. So we had some drinks, talked about times past and times to come, and thoroughly enjoyed being with these guys. I even got to see the rustic camp where all they all got to know each other so well. They lived at camp and in soldier like tents for full summers, doing crazy things.

We left early on a Sunday morning for Omaha to see my folks. I got pulled over because I had created a lane that didn't actually exist while stopping at a stoplight. That was a first. It was five o'clock on a Sunday morning in a rural Colorado town of about 2000 people. I cannot figure out what he thought he would find out there at five o'clock in the morning. But he found me, and then proceeded to tell me what yellow and white lines on pavement mean in the state of Colorado, and then looked me over. He must have thought I looked like a sketchy character considering my rear bumper is falling off, we had granola in the backseat, and Josh hadn't shaved for a week. I mean, who wouldn't? He thought it necessary to ask me if I had any "knives, guns, grenades, weapons of mass destruction, or Al Qaeda pamphlets". How do you not laugh at that, especially when it's 5 o'clock in the morning? We made away with little more than a reprimand, but he had my wheels turning about where I would possibly have found a place to hide weapons of mass destruction in my car.

Omaha was cozy, pleasant, and so enjoyable. We had yet more delicious meals and were able to hike around an art exhibit at Fontanelle Forest. Josh and I spent an afternoon downtown, walking around the Old Market and checking out Bemis Art Center. We bbq'ed, played cards, went for walks and bike rides, and saw my mom's new classroom. At some point closing in on the time I was able to settle into my parents deck, thinking back on the trip, the family, the conversations. Sitting there, the smells were all reminiscent of BBQ- spittles of bone, marrow, charred veggies. Hollering air crept through the catterwauling of locusts as I sipped coffee of recycled, second use grounds. This was the tail end of our 2 week plus five day roadtrip. Looking at my feet, they showed stripes of brown, shrugging their way through my bulky blue sandals like crevasses in a canyon. These feet carried me into the hugs of college best friends, uncles and aunts, in-laws and grandfathers, cowboys and cow women, moms and dads. These generations that have made their way into my ancestry. The land I remembered as I thought on these things remain as shifting dust, grass, sage, brush, rocks, stones, sticks- all living memories.

Going Up North

2007-06-11T17:28:00.000-04:00

We finally did it- we wandered far enough north to catch the sparkle of life in Michigan's Upper Peninsula.

Sprinkles of showers hit our greasy windshield as we pulled east out of our driveway in Ann Arbor. Our first destination was to be Bob's Yurt, the infamous grounds for many a sledder during Michigan's wet, northern winters. We've spent many a morning with the legendary Bob, sipping dark coffee and chowing dense, moist hotcakes made by Josh in preparation for a day of drywalling. After a week of drywalling with Bob, we jotted down a few obtuse directions and targeted ourselves onto the interstate towards this structure that we had spent hours discussing. Four hours into our drive, intermittently napping, singing, and chatting, we find ourselves crawling on the blacktop at 30 miles per hour, rain being our culprit. We are only miles from our beckoning exit, but realize that while it's pouring a couple mile hike into an unknown, slightly sketchy structure with our homes on our backs might not be an ideal beginning to our vacation.

So on to plan B. Further north is a completely different land mass, one that we've never tread upon. And it summoned us. We had heard of fudge shops and masses of water existing only 60 miles north of where we presently were, so our thoughts were to travel there, look for a weather radar, gorge on a bit of chocolate, and forge ahead. Reaching Mackinaw City we were greeted by the Mackinac Bridge, a structure that manipulates your being, immediately narrowing your physical self into a miniatured version of form. It creeps along the width of water between Michigan's two land masses, crystals of water lapping against its weighted outline. Stepping out of our moving machine, we brought ourselves to the waters edge, sandy toes chilled and degrees of awe bumping up on our skin. Not being from water, the two of us were a sight, snapping pictures, laughing, and wondering what in the world we were to do with all this wetness around. Rain slipped behind our ears, our rainjackets drooped on our icy shoulders, and our eyes were slits against the water that fell. And at our feet was a body of water dividing this state we'd been occupying for over four years yet had never known.

We crossed this bridge, found a Visitor's Center to guide our wayward journey, and saw that all around us was rain. But there was hope in the northwest. Not far out of St. Ignace, the town the bridge led us to, we were greeted by clearer skies and Lake Michigan to our south. We traveled along highway 2 with the intention of finding Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore and setting up camp. A couple of hours later, night threatening to come, we found ourselves in Grand Marais, the northern tip of the National Lakeshore, buckets of rain cascading down the sides of our Little Honda. A hopeless situation with no hostels in site.

Time for Plan C (or was it D?). Onto the Buckhorn Resort, an hours trek south. This meant backtracking. We wondered why we saw few signs of human life until our route took us to washboard roads, our bums hopping up in down in our foam seats, an encore of rain slapping the exterior. A day of driving in the rain and we both knew we were lucky to still like each other. But we pulled through, found the Buckhorn Resort, and realized it was little more than a storage barn.

Plan D (possibly E): On the way to our storage unit ("resort"), we had passed a sign leading to Otter Lake Campground. Driving in the depths of the forest we found a bin of firewood for sale and stuck a damp $5 bill in the cash register coffecan. Loaded with splintering wood and fingers crossed we drove along the dirt road to the campground. Now the air hung with water, but little actually fell from the sky. Otter Lake had a cloud of steam rising from it's belly. We were thrilled. This was adequate housing. Knowing that the wetness breathing down on us could at any point spill over it's sides, we worked quickly to make a fire and set up our tent. Darkness set in all around us, thoroughly covering our faces, our belongings, and all that was familiar. Leaning into the fire, we kept ourselves awake with the delicious smell of homemade, roasting potatoes Josh had prepared. Complete gratification.

I woke to the sound of small pelts of rain on our shelter and the sounds of wood chopping. Josh made a fire in the light rain that fell and we slurped our coffee true to good form. An hour later we were drenched, dripping in 40 degree rain and huddling next to our struggling fire. We realized the desperate situation we were in. Being the only people in the entire campsite, we out loud allowed ourselves to vent our extremes- laughing and wanting to cry all at the same time. The campsite, tho, had a bathroom. Little did we know that the bathroom actually had a shower until in desperation I ran across through the grounds to the edge of the water to where the bathroom structure sat. A hot shower wearing my flipflops never felt so good. It was a lottery win of such great proportions.

The weather didn't seem to want to let up, so we folded our wet tent into the back of the car, threw in our belongings, and cranked on the heat. We drove into the town of Munisey and decided to continue our drive on Highway 2, going into Marquette, MI. The town is built on water culture, fresh fish and boats all around. We spent time in the quaint town shooting photos, walking through their food co-op, and stopping into a brewery.

The rain hid itself in the afternoon hours so with great ambition we headed back towards Munisey, curious as to where the night would take us. It led to Lake Superior. We found 12 Mile Campground, an unimaginable scape of land in forest and sand and water. The wind wailed, a sure fire way to dry a soggy tent. After setting up camp, the Lake sprawling and lapping loud waves just beyond us, we decided to take an evening hike. We were headed towards a lighthouse- the lake on our left, the woods on our right. It was phenomenal.

We slept to the sound of the water and the wind. We woke up to chilly air and our coffee pot begging to be set on a fire. And the pictures that follow here are from an amazing 10 mile hike up and down land and water. Few people braving the weather led to almost completely desolate hikes, campsites, and roads. The trip can never be repeated. It was truly gorgeous, unexpected, and amazing.

Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore

2007-06-10T15:50:00.000-04:00

Mackinac Bridge- This bridge celebrates it's 50th anniversary this year, and is the access between Michigan's upper penninsula and lower state.

These five pictures were from our campsite the second night of our rustic stay in Pictured Rocks. We were right on Lake Superior. The wind was raging and the waves emphatically spilled onto the shore just feet below us. We had to make wind blocks for our campfire so as to slow the burning of our precious wood.

After establishing our campsite and setting up our tent to dry from the previous night's downpour, we set off on a three mile round-trip hike. We were chaperoned by unfamiliar plants and hiding moose (I really want to believe a moose was in those woods, completely enthralled by our every footstep), and serenaded by thunder. We found historical remains of shipwrecks (pics below), and this lighthouse, insinuating an aura of lake times past. This lighthouse was placed at this point as a means to slow the wreaking of ships- a tragedy that occurred far too often at that point in time- as they traveled from Whitefish Point to Munisey. The only way in is by foot now, and we were the only ones harebrained enough to brave the cold, threatening weather. That's the beauty of adventure.

And finally, a pictured rock....

Chapel Rock to Mosquito Falls

2007-06-10T15:35:00.001-04:00

On the third day of our adventure there was a reprieve from the rain. The clouds made way for a beautiful, pastel sunrise, and the wind spurred our morning along by encouraging our fire to brew a quicker cup of coffee. We set out around noon on a 10 mile hike (which happens to be part of the North Country Trail that leads from New York to North Dakota) that would wind us around beach and forest, sand and loamy soil, waterfalls and plateaus. We caught sight of a kingfisher, an army of chipmunks, a mink, and yet again the quiet, hiding moose that we never could catch site. One of the first stops on the hike, only accessible by trail, was Chapel Rock. The site of this tree, perched on a massive form of rock, gazing out among the water with it's roots stretched across open sky is breathtaking and exhilarating. The ability of plants and trees to reach for life in adverse situations should remind us all to be extra thankful for their endurance. Without such survival techniques on the part of plant and animal life, our outlook on human existence might be even graver yet. Respect that of which we are the caretaker.

The Great Lake Superior....

These are the Pictured Rocks. We saw a sailboat glide by in the distance and it was from these rocks that many a seagull and the kingfisher floated overhead. Sitting there I wished that I, too, could fly, catching the wind on my wings and diving into the cold water for food....

Marquette

2007-06-10T15:00:00.000-04:00

Marquette is the home of Northern Michigan University and was not at all on our roadmap for the trip. We ended up there after our multiple attempts to enter Pictured Rocks were thwarted by literal downpours. And yes, we did find a local brewery that sympathized with our chilled bones and hungry bellies.

Josh was awed by this enormous concrete structure, stained rust from iron.

House of Grime

2007-03-14T13:08:00.000-04:00

Layer upon layer- plywood, plaster, dirt, dust, curtain rods, maps, asbestos, insulation, lathe, and more insulation. This was the demolition of 85+ years worth of a ceiling's life. My dad came to help install the drywall two weeks back. Well, we bought the drywall and took the ceiling down. The job was larger than expected, and dirtier than even the most creative can imagine. Armed with dustmasks, eyewear, and layers of junk clothes we exasperated that ceiling, leaving it exposed and confused. But soon enough, it will be covered and safe again. Josh is responsible for leveling the ceiling- there are inches of discrepancy in this old home's first floor ceiling. Then together we'll hang the drywall, and I will do the taping, compounding, and sanding. All in good time to become yet another unsold home in Ann Arbor's struggling market. At least we can hear the birds that have nested in our roof much clearer now. It's only slightly creepy to hear the outside world so indubitably and pieces of the ceiling intermittently falling throughout the day and night.

Hummingbirds and Hobos

2007-01-30T13:18:00.000-05:00

I can't even count the number of times I cried his week. But last night was the kicker. The tears started and stopped with this story:

There was a fire in the forest. The flames raged and the animals scattered. They flew and fled to the far edge of the forest. Except for the hummingbird. The other animals taunted the hummingbird, critical of her foolishness. But the hummingbird couldn't bring herself to leave the forest. She looked around her, she felt the heat on her wings. But with all the weavings of an irrational mind, she flew to the nearest source of water, and returned with a single drop of water. She flew back and forth, back and forth, her wings looking still in their constant motion. The animals stared in disbelief, saying "Hummingbird, why do you tire yourself with no purpose?" On and on, she tirelessly dropped the smallest bits of water onto the fire. Finally she breathed, her song breaking, and told the others, "I am moving because I can't bring myself to stand still. I am trying, I am one single bird, tiny and small, dropping these tears of water because it is all I know to do. I can't not do this."

I think that I have been in the fire all week, fluttering my wings in disbelief, feeling the edge of burn on my dry wintery skin. Wangari Matthai spoke at the Fountain Street Church in Grand Rapids, MI last night, finishing her talk with that story. Wangari is the 2004 Noble Peace Prize winner, leads the Green Belt Movement in Kenya, and has been the first woman to receive her Phd in Central and Western Kenya. She has been a member of Parliament, the first woman to teach at the university level, and so many other things. As she told that story, I waited on edge for some radical and clever ending of the story. I expected an ending that was triumphant, an ending that brought the fire to a beautiful and fruitful close. But it was so simple, and so applicable.

When I heard that she would be speaking for free in Grand Rapids, Josh and I freed our schedules so we could go, and with a severe winter storm warning and our first trip after a $1700 repair to our Honda, we left with plenty of time to be there early and obtain good seats for the 7pm talk. Twenty-eight miles from Grand Rapids I felt the car lose control. Stopping on the edge of the interstate, Josh walked around the car, braving the side sweeping snows from passing semis. Without knowing what was going on, we dragged the car on the interstate, clutching our seatbelts, to the nearest exit. We traded spots, Josh drove up and down the streets not feeling anything unusual, and then veered back onto the interstate. With the snow, the wind, and the open road Josh finally felt what I had felt and we surmised that we needed new tires. We located a tire place that was still open, all of a sudden with just 10 minutes to go until Wangari began speaking. The tire place had us in and out in 20 minutes, assured us that the new tires would solve our fishtailing and feeling of floating, and told us the easiest way to get back on the interstate. Fabulous.

Approaching Exit 77C, I start to finally feel relief. Then suddenly we are swept past the exit by multiple orange barrels. We end up on another highway, irritated and lost. We stop at a gas station, I walk in and broadly ask to whoever might be listening, "Where is Fountain Street Church?". A man paying for his smokes careens his neck to look at me, smiles with his four tooth grin and says, "Fountain Street Church? I can take you there, if you trust me." I say, "Sure, I'll follow you." To which he says, "Well, it might take awhile to follow seein' as I'm walking." I it's an awfully cold night to be walking, and crawl into the back seat, clutching my cell phone. He tucks on into the front seat, adjusting his belongings into his roomy coat. I immediately start thinking about the weapon he must be trying to comfortably reach. He introduces himself as Martin, and after directing us where to head, starts telling stories of the buildings that we pass, mentioning that he got pneumonia from drywalling in the cold at an ominous looking building just east of us. I tell him that I've spent my week drywalling our upstairs and I am just not patient enough to make that compound smooth. After giving me really great tips on how to improve my skills we finally arrive at the church- it's 7:45. He jumps out of the car saying "Have a good life!" and I look at Josh, making sure we are both still alive and not in a dream. Martin was a very kind homeless man that asked nothing of us, just got us where we needed to go as quickly as he could and gave me tips on drywalling.

We walk into the massive stone church and after a few wrong turns hear the strong, deep voice of a Kenyan woman. We tiptoe to the balcony and catch the last half of her talk. She talked about her initiative to plant a billion trees in 2007 as part of her organization, the Green Belt Movement. She talked of the overthrow of the dictatorship in Kenya and the transition the country has finally made with democracy. She spoke about the time that she and many other women spent in jail for fighting the deforestation of Kenya. And she talked about the relationship between not maintaining the environment and conflict. The poor are reaping the devastation of countries not caring for the environment. Eventually the poor will rise up and fight. But no one wins in these conflicts.

Her overall message seemed simple- Kenya used to survive on their backyard forests and trees, but then Kenya became desert with only 2% of their land remaining forest. So she started planting trees and raising her voice in opposition of the Kenyan dictatorship. I felt such awe for her, but at the same time I was feeling a deep personal discouragment. We live in a democratic nation, and supposedly the strongest democracy in the world. We have trees and clean water. But our leaders choose to lie and deny that they daily make choices which take advantage of our limited resources. We have the information, the science, the knowledge, the money, and our leaders knowingly choose to void these things. What can I possibly do, a drywalling girl with a psychology degree that works at a brewery.

This hummingbird recycles, reads, reuses grocery bags at the store, denies plastic bags when offered, shops at the Salvation Army and trades clothes with friends, buys local, grows some of her own food, talks to friends, questions her governement, votes on her values, listens to people that have been challenged and in turn challenged these issues, keeps her heat down, doesn't buy food wrapped in plastic or food processed with chemicals, avoids meat from feedlots and cramped coops, bikes, carpools, walks, and is learning the Ann Arbor bus system, works locally, cleans with baking soda and vinegar....

I don't know what else, and really this isn't exactly the point. The point is that Wangari spoke to a thousand people last night, and I heard her say that by my living a life where I choose to think and listen and then live, I am doing enough. I will bring the drops of water, and just by doing something rather then nothing, I am making a difference. This week was so discouraging, each day a new set of tears appearing unexpected. But all of a sudden the overwhelming notion that I fail and don't make a difference in this life that I live has completely dissipated in the very same fire I humbly drop water on.

Halloweeeeeeen

2006-11-07T15:52:00.000-05:00

It was a weekend sandwiched between crazyness. Halloween in Stillwater, Oklahoma. We had such a great time! I loved meeting Rebekah's friends, and as much as I can dread wearing anything besides a grey t-shirt and jeans, the costume action was quite fun. And according to everyone we know who was at the party, Rebekah and I won the costume contest but weren't there to claim the honor.

The weekend included a lot of animals sleeping at/on my head and stomach, hiking in the Wichita Mountains, and an Evil Jungle Prince (thai food).

And it wouldn't be a weekend with my sister if she wasn't wearing crazy wigs.

Ode to my Sista (the hipsta)

2006-10-11T21:36:00.000-04:00

here is a toast to my sister Rebekah, soon to be a DVM. She took these beautiful pics with a couple of friends out in Southwest Oklahoma this weekend. Proof that good was had despite a wallet being lost. I love my sister very much and am very happy to know that she never will change- she'll always be wonderful and crazy and empathetic and loving and a genius with those animules of hers. So, to Beka.

natural sickness

2006-10-11T15:30:00.000-04:00

I knew it would happen- I could feel it coming. Sickness. And it might seem weird, incomprehensible even, but being sick can be so beneficial. It stops you right in your self-centered, circular tracks. Here I've been, jogging around my life, just going where my schedule in my non-existent planner takes me. So it says I go to the pub, I go to the pub. Drive to NYC, off to NYC. Throw clothes in the laundry, round and round they go in the washer. But there's no time to consider why I do what I do. No time to think to myself about the washing machine we have, or the trees changing colors in Pennsylvania, or the conversation to be had while putting the chairs on the table at the end of the night at the pub. So where does it all lead? In a circle, perhaps. But the great thing is that I got sick. So I sat here, wallowed a little, begged my partner to go buy some juice, and slept, and slept, and slept. And then, intermittently, I would wake up and send an email, write an email, read a few pages in a book, and try to functionally manage an impending 5 year anniversary from Josh's accident (hence some of the emails).
Most of all, I've been wondering, in this short span of life we've been given, at least until it's gone, what is worth doing? What validity does art really hold? What should we be doing with our time? It only makes sense to me that life is about survival, and the first priority to survival is maintaining our biosystem and land and the people living on this land. Where is the balance in this? So I've been learning to grow food and thinking outside the confines of agro-business of which we almost all partake. I've started thinking that there are no other options in this world but to dedicate the self to healthy lifestyles in our relationship with the earth and food.
This morning I have been reading a book called "The One-Straw Revolution" by Japanese author Masanobu Fukuoka. He is not only a subscriber to "natural farming", he goes beyond techniques of even the organic farmer. While not using fertilizers, insecticides, herbicides, or pesticides, he also does not plough or disrupt the soil. I know this is becoming tedious to read, and I apologize to those that love me... but here I am, reading, thinking of all that I know, which is really very little, and wondering if I am somehow going to have to learn how to be an entomologist and soil purveyor in order to live a life of meaning. And then Masanobu says these things after describing the silk of spiderwebs resting on his field of rice:
"The spectacle is an amazing natural drama. Seeing this, you understand that poets and artists will also have to join in the gathering."
Also, "And so the use of chemicals is not a problem for the entomologist alone. Philosophers, men of religion, artists and poets must also help to decide whether or not it is permissible to use chemicals in farming, and what the results of using even organic fertilizers might be."
Also, " Since advanced technology had nothing to do with growing this grain, it stands as a contradiction to the assumptions of modern science. Anyone who will come and see these fields and accept their testimony, will feel deep misgivings over the question of whether or not humans know nature, and of whether or not nature can be known within the confines of human understanding. The irony is that science has served only to show how small human knowledge is."
ah, I love sick, rainy days, the water pouring horizontal from the sky. Time suspended and out of your control. That's just it- sometimes when you think you are most in control and so suave in your choices, you are smacked with horizontal rain, humbly shaking your finger at it while you lie, your back against the ground, laughing just the little bit amongst your sneezes.

Dippin' in the Desert

2006-08-08T16:07:00.000-04:00

We landed in the smoggy and sprawling city of Denver on July 27th, eager for our reunion with family. Josh’s loving parents picked us up at the airport, ready to embark on the four hour return trek to Rawlins, Wyoming. Ironically, the first reunion we came upon was “a new hometown- Reunion, Colorado.” They named a town Reunion, and claimed it to be everything any perfect suburbanite might ever want, and in driving distance to every box store imaginable! Needless to say, the arrival into the state of Wyoming was glamorous and glorious, a relief to be seized and appreciated. The 12 days spent there was devoid of our cell phones and internet. We spent time making and eating delicious dinners, enjoying Aunt Cindy’s backyard gardens, moving cattle on horseback and via truck, celebrating Sadie’s birthday, hiking, enjoying time with Grandpa Bellin and Gramma Smith, and spending time at the ranch.

Josh and I took a trip to Sinks Canyon near Lander, about two hours northwest of Rawlins. We hiked to some falls and slept under the stars. It was both wonderful and refreshing. We were able to make the same trip with DonRay, Sue, Cindy, Sadie, and Rebekah, hiking and then sharing in a wonderful campfire meal.

Traveling often seems to bring about recognition of contradictions- this time proved to be no different. Wyoming offers stillness, darkness, quiet, beauty. But you can’t find an organic apple to save your life. Cattle, elk, antelope, and wild horses roam free. But the ranchers and cowboys don’t get compensation for lean and healthy hormone-free cattle. Nights are cool and the air is clean, but the state is in its eighth year of drought. It’s a place of immense history left unscathed, but being stripped of its ancient rocks and landscape. Coming back, flying over fields of lush green plants, arriving to a garden overgrown, was a bit trippy. Wyoming is dusty and dry. The people are worried and wondering. Water tables are dropping.
Going there, or maybe just going away, really makes you think about things… things you believe in, things you love, the steps you walk. The steps that most recently I’ve been walking have been over farmland, gardens, farmer’s markets, and food co-ops. Being in Wyoming and not being able to buy fresh, local produce really threw me for a loop. It is not available in Rawlins unless you actively grow in your own backyards (applause to Cindy and her tomatoes). The only organic option at the single Rawlins grocery store was a jar of 505 salsa. And I think that’s only because they offer almost a whole aisle of Mexican salsa. It isn’t an affluent town or a town with booming businesses or universities. It’s the hub of Carbon County, a county that spans 7900 square miles and has 15,639 people (I’m not kidding), but none of that land mass features a farmers market or a marketing organic farm. I guess that’s not too hard to imagine considering the elevation of 7,000, 8 year drought, and the fact that it really is a desert. But even so, shouldn’t these members of this community have available to them pesticide and chemical free food, free of corporate schemes? Food available that benefits the local economy and the local people? The very things I love about Wyoming, the things that are so opposite of what is happening in Denver, are exactly what submerses the citizens of Carbon County in a world lacking healthy options. Even crazier and more contradictory is the fact that all this beautiful, slick cattle wanders free on the range, lean, healthy, and happy. Yet the carnivorous people aren’t feasting on this meat, the animals they dedicate their land and resources to. They feast on what City Market, the monopoly grocery store offers- fatty, “choice” beef that may have once been theirs, but is now full of fat and cholesterol, chemicals and hormones.
So anyway, that was our vacation. It was time spent comparing worlds and places that are both from the earth, and both full of people who come from this earth. It was time enriched with home, family, and lots of love.

organic reality

2006-06-25T00:07:00.000-04:00

Daylillies, potato, watermelon,tomato, polebeans, our porch, mesclun and sunflowers, and strawberries.
Now all we need is a little time so we can make some progress... it's been so crazy busy working all these jobs and preparing for the show- not my idea of a wise use of time when you can't even say a sentence without spinning in your steps. But anyway, here are a few simple shots of some things we're attempting to grow. Most of the strawberry plants got gnawed to the root crowns by some critter.... we need a watchdog.

Did you say nemesis?

2006-05-28T16:42:00.000-04:00

Sunday morning arrived without asking, so Josh and I didn't keep it from coming into our chaotic little establishment. Yesterday we went to our neighbors family sheep farm and shoveled sheep shit, and today we spread it. The compost is now nourishing the garden and the raspberry bed (provided by Aunt Cindy earlier this year). Our garden now consists of five varieties of potatoes, asparagus starts, pole beans, radishes, eight varieities of tomatoes, onions, spinach, mesclun, arugula, okra, oregano, basil, sunflowers, raspberries, an apricot tree, thyme, parsley, sage, and mint (contained). We've been trying to pull our invasive oregano, honeysuckle, mint, thistle, and wretched something or others with these thick and long roots that reach almost straight down to Mongolia. They are going to be our doom... I even asked my bosses at the organic landscaping company what to do about them and they wouldn't look me in the eyes the rest of the afternoon. I'm afraid there's no answer but to just keep digging. And then there's the torpedo Maple tree seeds. They are our other nemesis. Anyway, we'll see what happens. Here are pictures of the garden in progress. So overall the garden's a bit risky considering I'm extremely impatient and messy, and Josh is a bit methodical and precise. As long as I can keep convincing Josh that it's not humid and hot, he'll keep working and we can balance each other out. We still have watermelon, carrots, and squashes to grow. We are hoping to expand the vegetable garden, plant strawberries still, and get rid of as much yard as possible in the front, replacing grass with native Michigan plants. Grassy lawns that span neighborhoods are a terribly ludicrous actuality. Chemical additions to make things greener, when they only enter our water and trip us into thinking the mono-lawn is normal. I was trying to explain to my mom the other day that being a hippie isn't so bad... you save on things like razors, deodorant, sweat shop clothes, and your husband brings you a plate of crackers and cheese shaped like a peace sign...

Dimensions of Photography exhibit

2006-05-15T13:22:00.000-04:00

Josh curated his first gallery show last week. May 11th was the opening reception, and I have to say that it was a complete stampede of fun and artsy folks. There was a good turn out, and the work looks really phenomenal. He found and chose 6 area photographers that approach the medium with different insightful and thoughtful techniques- medium and subject wise. You can see the gallery here and him standing tall as curator. He even bought his first jacket (I couldn't get him to buy one for our wedding, but his art show, yes- just kidding). He'll have a show in July with 3D work, including work of his own and probably mostly friends of his.... it's been fun getting to know the art scene in Ann Arbor.

day after easter

2006-04-17T21:41:00.000-04:00

Schmoly, it has been a really long winter. Finally, though, things are starting to turn green- amazing, I'd almost lost hope, and there they go proving me wrong- proving they will come again. Proving that the wild charges through our tiny little house and home, producing these beautiful and intricate offspring that need just a bit of water and a bit of trimming. It's not too hard to get back to the roots- well, maybe it's harder then I claim. I think maybe a bit of unplugging does the human mind well. Unplugging from the chemical side of life, I mean, not the philosophical, although that might be good to unplug from occasionally too. One thing I've never learned from tv was how many earthworms live in our backyard, or how to transplant bulb plants, or what wet clay feels like in your hands when it goes from being wobbly on the wheel to centered and controlled. Life embraced is a completely different story then hopelessness. One thing that easter this year actually reminded us of is hope. Our pastor told us that the number one thing survivors from the concentration camps sited as their means to coming out alive was hope. Why hope, though, when so many of us feel we can't trust the leaders that define "American" to the greater world? Leaders of nations, even in these advanced times, are propogating not only violent but also subversive measures that intend only good for themselves, not the people of their nation. Why else do we find genes of plants, created from the earth in the beginning, literally owned by corporations, not the people that have for generations and centuries grown the green of life. Animals are being treated as profit, not life. And we ignorantly partake, even commune, of these beings. BUT, I almost forgot! Easter is a time of hope. Why? Because it means that life does exist and has existed and always will continue to exist, but will only be better beyond. Because we are all young (ALL of us), we are all learning, and we all do really hurtful things to those we love, yet we are forgiven by our loved ones and have stronger and deeper thoughts and loves through and through. I think lately Josh and I search for our way home, to a place that makes sense, with people that make sense and understand the world in a similar vein we do. And while the paths have been a little prickly with our bare feet plodding, I love to feel when it changes from the prickly to soft and sensual growth hugging at my skin, knowing it can only get better in the end.