Building Blocks and Baby Steps
On Sunday afternoon, Sebastian and I took a walk through Prospect Park and saw a father playing badminton with his daughter. Her serves kept going straight into the ground, and as we passed, he marched up to her. “If what you keep doing isn’t working, trying something different.” He was kind of a jerk about it, but his message was sound. I mean, he was paraphrasing Einstein, after all.
So I tried something different this week. Instead of looking for increasingly shortened recipes––dinner in 20, 15, 5 minutes!––I tried a chef’s approach of mise en place, thanks to a an article in Whole Living. After our walk, I came back to the kitchen (where the lightbulb burned out as I flipped it on––isn’t that always the way?) and turned on the oven for the first time in I-can’t-remember-how-long. It felt good to settle into an unhurried kitchen rhythm: stirring a pot, reducing a sauce, seasoning a chicken. I had forgotten about the quiet hum of productivity that can happen in while you’re cooking, how the busy work with your hands can help your mind be quiet for a bit.
This summer, I traded in my chef’s knife for a swimming cap. Fluttering kicks and land breathing hard at the end of the lane became another way to escape all the chattery thoughts of the day. But with the light changing, the kitchen feels like a welcome place to be again.
It felt good to chop, wipe down the kitchen counter, and set water to boiling. And the results? A roasted chicken, cut into pieces; a huge tray of chopped eggplant, tomatoes, and thyme roasted alongside the bird; a crazy good raisin vinaigrette, cauliflower purée, and figs in balsamic glaze (fancy!).
These pieces all came together in different ways: a lunch of quinoa, roasted vegetables, and a bit of feta tossed in the golden raisin vinaigrette; a dinner of roast chicken, polenta and balsamic-glazed figs; an autumn salad of chopped kale, shredded chicken, and more of that crazy good vinaigrette. All week, there was something so satisfying about knowing those bits and bobs were in there, like the assurance of having a wardrobe of really solid, stylish basics, and realizing they can be combined in near-infinite ways. (At least that’s what the magazines tell me.)
Stacking up all these boxes of tupperware in the fridge reminded me of some lean years in my childhood, when opening our fridge produced the same sight. My parents were newly divorced, and my mom worked long hours, bookended by a longer commute. She often wouldn’t make it home for dinner, but when I opened the fridge on those dark New England evenings, there were always neatly stacked containers portioned out with dinners for each of us. I realize know what a generosity and act of love that was, how tired my mom must have been when she cooked those dinners and packed them away for us, how much she probably would have rather sunk into a bubble bath or slipped in bed with a novel. But those homemade heat-and-eat dinners served their purpose well, in more than one way. With a mom absent from her 19-year nightly appearance at the dinner table, those plastic boxes managed something quite extraordinary: they made me feel cared for.
This week, those building blocks tucked away in the fridge felt like an act of self-care. When I had 7 minutes before a conference call and a panicked feeling that there was no time to eat, I would suddenly remember: Toss some quinoa and roasted veggies in a bowl, and you’re done. What’s more, it really was delicious. Huzzah!
So that was the idea anyway, and it worked more times than it failed. But I confess there was one night when I was too exhausted even for building blocks. We ordered falafel and watched The West Wing, and I liked it. Baby steps.
Some bits and pieces I’ve been collecting for you:
The very lovely Clotilde at Chocolate and Zucchini interviewed me about cooking on vacation.
I can’t stop listening to Widowspeak.
Have you read this incredible book? It’s been keeping me up late.
Have you seen these beautiful free art downloads at IndieFixx?
I watched Bill Cunningham New York over the weekend and haven’t stopped thinking about it (or recommending it to people!) since. It’s such a wonderful study of a man’s work, of his humility, and infectious joie de vivre. See it!
If you’re looking for something to bake this weekend, I humbly suggest these.
Golden Raisin Vinaigrette
from Whole Living
makes 1 1/4 cups
The purée of this comes out quite thick, almost like a tapenade or a pesto. You could spread it on bread and have it with a bowl of soup, or thin it out with a bit of water to toss on salads and grains.
1 cup golden raisins
4 tablespoons sherry vinegar
3 teaspoons whole-grain mustard
5 teaspoons capers, plus 1 teaspoon caper brine
1 shallot, minced
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
1/4 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
In a small pot, bring raising, sherry vinegar, and 2 tablespoons water to a boil. Remove from heat, cover, and let steep until cool. Add mustard, capers and brine, shallot, lemon juice and cumin. Pulse in a food processor, adding oil in a thin stream. (Adjust consistency by adding warm water 1 tablespoon at a time.)
Cadi: What is it about the rhythm of cooking that makes all seem right in the world? The gentle stirring of pots, dicing of things, measuring, tasting. It’s something I find so cathartic, though there are days when I just can’t fathom getting dinner on the table. Those are the nights where that wad of pizza dough I made in the bread machine on Sunday afternoon is a godsend: I can send the hubster into the kitchen to make us a deep dish pizza with his choice of toppings, and I can sit with a glass of wine and zone. Thinking ahead has saved us more than once.
And a treat of takeout when you can’t even send in the reinforcements? That’s when I’m thankful for the long hours and the added income it creates so I can spring for Indian takeout.
Have a nice, hopefully relaxing, weekend!33 weeks ago
Cadi, You write it so beautifully: yes! It can make all seem right. I hope your weekend is lovely as well!33 weeks ago
Kristina Strain: Happens every year. Summer comes, we change, we feel guilty for not spending time with our kitchen, we fear the change will be permanent… and then soup weather comes back, and so do we– and relief ensues.
Balsamic glazed figs sound so lovely.33 weeks ago
Sage: Thanks for the reminder that sometimes taking it slow can make an experience that much sweeter. I LOVE filling my fridge with tupperware. Every weekend I make several meals and sides to get us through a busy week. It’s so satisfying to know that everything is taken care of by Sunday night.33 weeks ago
Cadi: Oh, and about that amazing raisin vinaigrette: did you buy it or make it? And if you made it would you be willing to share the recipe?33 weeks ago
Sara Rose: I’ve been in hiding myself- from the world, from my kitchen, from myself too, most likely. But, like you, I’ve tried to keep building blocks around so that I can find a way to more easily refigure myself into ways of doing the things I love- cooking a good pot of soup for my family for a week night dinner, knit a couple rows of a blanket, type up small parts of an article because I’ve outlined notes, do one or two household or life things. Somehow though, mostly I keep hanging on until I figure out a new way of making my little life click along instead of hiding out. I feel you.
33 weeks ago
Julie: I like these bits and pieces! Fair and Tender Ladies is keeping me up late, too. I have about 100 pages left, and I’m already feeling so sad to leave Ivy soon.
Happy weekend to you!33 weeks ago
Amanda: Gorgeous post, Sarah! My mom called those meals “TV dinners,” but of course they were homemade portions of her homemade lasagna or mac n cheese, etc. What a great memory.
And I also watched Bill Cunningham a couple weeks ago–really one of the best docs I’ve seen in a long time.33 weeks ago
Tricia A: I adore those salted krispy treats! I’ve made them before! Those and your salted Toffee-Chocolate bars are my favorite!
great post…..remember to be kind to yourself always….baby steps is soooo right! : )33 weeks ago
Lane: The golden raisin vinaigrette sounds great. Will you be sharing the recipe?33 weeks ago
Kristina, You’re so right, and yet year after year I fail to see the pattern!
Sage, It is a nice feeling that I could feel myself doing more often. Don’t you love that I’m-so-on-top-of-my-life feeling when you climb into bed on Sunday night?
Cadi and Lane, Doh! I dug up the recipe and will add it to the post.
Sara Rose, I know you’ll find your way again. Sometimes a little hiding out is just what you need in order to find the new way. Thinking of you…
Julie, I KNOW! I don’t want it to end!
Amanda, They are TOTALLY TV dinners, but the best kind. And I’m so glad you saw that documentary! Sebastian and I must have literally had 4 separate conversations about it over the 24 hours after we watched it. It raised so many ideas…and left so many things intriguingly unanswered (and made me dig up stories about the Carnegie Hall Studios!).
Tricia A, So funny because my friend Jess makes both of those recipes on the regular! They’re her favorites, too!33 weeks ago
Mallory: You’re always so inspiring!
I’m with Cadi: would you care to share the vinaigrette recipe? I want to try it!33 weeks ago
eak: i read the same article in whole living and thought it was pretty genius – and so simple and doable!
and i really loved reading your memories of your mom’s dinners. i find that my understanding of my parents’ love gets so much deeper and more complex the more i grow up, and i find myself feeling grateful for what they’ve done… many years after the fact. looking back can be bittersweet, but you put it into words so eloquently
33 weeks ago
domestikate: Love this post, it’s all so true. You can’t/don’t want to do it all the time but sometimes a weekend afternoon in the kitchen is just the perfect thing.33 weeks ago
Hey Mallory, I added the vinaigrette recipe to the end of the post. Enjoy!
eak, it was kind of life-changing, that article. I wish it were a regular feature,
domestikate, it was the first time I’d done it in awhile–and who knows when I’ll do it again–but the weekend cooking was just what I needed.33 weeks ago
Erin: How I love Lee Smith, how I love that book.33 weeks ago
Sara Rose: I did manage to make a few glorious soups this week and get some fall projects done. Some work got accomplished and Halloween costumes were decided but MOST IMPORTANTLY- since I have NOW HEARD over 8 people mention Fair & Tender Ladies, I just ordered it for a new read! Thanks all! Thank you, lovely Sarah. I’m slowly snapping out of it. It’s a self created ennui, methinks. But that’s for another time. I’m slowly working out of it. As you said, baby steps.
33 weeks ago
Ronna Welsh: Dear Sarah,
My name is Ronna and I am the chef and owner of Purple Kale Kitchenworks, and the subject of the Whole Living piece you write about. I’m thrilled when I hear success stories using the Purple Kale/”2 minutes” method. Thanks for helping to spread the word. I love this post, and your blog.
If your readers want more information, they can go to http://www.2minutestodinner.com and http://www.purplekale.com. I am based in New York. Again, thanks.33 weeks ago
Kelly: I took you up on your offer for both the documentary and the baking project this weekend. Both excellent ideas! Bill Cunningham- what a wonderful man. I have never seen such humility and passion (in equal parts!)- I think we all would love to have a piece of what he has (though with a closet, and a working kitchen…) And the rice krispie treats were a huge hit. Thanks for the stellar recommendations
33 weeks ago
jackie: That article in Whole Living was totally inspirational!!! I freakin loved it. The recipes sound fantastic, too. I can’t wait to incorporate this – genius. Something about it made it so much better than the other times I’ve heard people say to weekend prep for cooking throughout the week.
I’ve only read 3 articles in this month’s whole living, but i feel like it’s the best one i’ve read in a while – the articles on better sleep and time management were spot on.32 weeks ago