Pink of Perfection

At first I didn’t think I was going to tell you about this recipe at all. I ate it one evening, on the couch, served alongside a veggie burger, and the whole experience was desperately underwhelming. But then the pot of leftovers sat in the fridge for a day or two, and when I finally rose from bed on Saturday where I busy with a summer read until late in the afternoon, I spooned myself a bowl. It surprised me: the cumin, smoked paprika, and lemon had somehow become both pronounced and mellow, mingling with each other like people at a high school reunion after their second round. As life gets increasingly busy in the summer, it’s nice to have recipes like this on stand-by: the ones that make a lot, and can be popped in the fridge and eaten, bowl by bowl, on warm nights. It’s nice not having to lift a finger.

Continue reading “Quinoa with Grilled Zucchini, Chickpeas and Cumin” »

Sometimes I’m a guest on radio shows about various lifestyle topics I feel really passionate about, like how to live a life that feels luxe without breaking the bank. Recently, I was on a show talking about saving money on groceries in November. The segment idea was based on the cost of the holiday meal itself. Many hosts are spending the equivalent of their entire monthly grocery budget on a single meal. And that means having to get by with less than usual on the rest of your meals this month.

Some people know that terrified let’s-rub-two-pennies-together-and-call-it-dinner feeling. It is an insistent, heavy stress to not know where how you’re going to get by. This weekend, when my own future looked uncertain, these old familiar feelings came rushing back, as dogged and insidiously intimate as ever. It’s as if your normal thoughts of are now overlaid with a pertinacious sense of dread. Worry trails you everywhere. On a walk in the park: The yellow leaves sure look pretty. How am I ever going to pay the rent? It’s an unrelenting downer of a companion.

But I had the feeling that the radio host I was talking to had never been in this situation. He couldn’t understand being so low on money that you choose to make your own wholesome, homemade bread with pantry ingredients instead of buying a supermarket loaf for $3.99. His version of roughing it was a grocery store rotisserie chicken. He had probably never chosen dried beans over canned; the necessity of that choice for some was lost on him.

And that’s fine, in a way. I wouldn’t wish the feeling of grocery store poverty on anyone. To worry constantly about money is to lug over your shoulder a sack of bricks that you have to carry everywhere; it immediately affects all aspects of your quality of life. But I did feel, talking to this fellow on the radio, that it is a real badge of honor, and an important life skill to know how to still make your life feel beautiful, your home cozy, and your relationships nurtured with no money. It involves a little creativity sometimes, and often a bit of extra elbow grease. But to know how to create something out of nothing is to feel armed with the sense that you can provide for yourself and the people around you no matter what. And that’s a feeling I wish on everyone.

Continue reading “$5 Dinner: Spaghetti with Pepper and Cheese & Spicy, Lemony Broccoli” »

Yesterday was a take-a-glass-of-wine-and-a-chocolate-chip-cookie-into-the-bathtub kind of day. But with the soul-crushing doubt and epic lowness that led me to carry glassware into a bubble bath, came also a reassurance in the ability of the simple things to set me right again: a sweet email from a friend, a simple pasta dinner, an episode of Family Guy, and, of course, alcohol and chocolate.

There was a surprise spirit-lifter yesterday that I hadn’t anticipated, though. I hope in two weeks time I don’t regret admitting what I am about to admit, but here goes: I’m doing National Novel Writing Month this year. If you don’t know about NaNoWriMo, allow me to introduce you. In the month of November, a bunch of crazy people with a wild sense of adventure and can-do spirit decide to write a 50,000 word novel by the stroke of midnight on November 30. The goal isn’t to write the next Great Gatsby, of course, but just to get yourself writing a lot, fueled by community and a deadline.

So yesterday, when what I really wanted to do was crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head, I couldn’t. I had a word quota I had to meet (and who wants to throw in the towel on Day 2?). So I propped myself up with pillows––I could still indulge the woe-is-me feeling by writing from bed––pulled out my laptop and got to work on my story.

I have never, mind you, written a word of fiction in my life (unless you count the stories I wrote in grade school, including one I was particularly proud of with the scintillatingly original title, “A Girl and Her Horse.”) I like real stories, and spinning some kind of worthy yarn out of the everyday. But what I hadn’t anticipated was how absolutely delightful it would be to sink into my own imagination and follow wherever it leads. You can write the book you’ve always wanted to read!

It’s Day 3, and technically, you are already 5,001 words behind. But if you have even the tiniest spark of interest, I recommend jumping into NaNoWriMo with both feet. I kind of think of it like quitting smoking––even if you have to try a bunch of times before you can successfully do it, each attempt brings you closer to your goal. But maybe that’s just what I’m telling myself to make the whole thing a hell of a lot less scary.

A few words about this bread: when my friend Gregor sent me the recipe the subject line was “Make this and fall in love with the fall all over again.” He need not have said another word, especially since I have a soft spot for dill and find it underutilized in general. The magical thing about this bread, in addition to the lovely golden crust it achieves in the oven, is that it somehow manages to taste even better the next day. It’s an absolute star buttered generously and served alongside a bean soup for the best kind of humble, homey dinner, and––though this will probably come as little surprise–– equally delicious topped with an oozy poached egg for breakfast.

Continue reading “Gregor’s Dill Bread” »

I think there’s something really magical about the morning. In Walden, Thoreau calls it the heroic hour, and while I’m rarely accomplishing great feats, I do like the routine of setting up the coffee, powering up the laptop, and sitting down to write for a few hours, straight away.

At least, that’s the weekday routine. The weekend routine involves the heroic act of a handsome husband walking four blocks to slay a cappuccino and return with it to his sleepyhead wife. This is always my favorite part of the weekend. Sitting upright, tucked into white sheets, and talking about the future––distant or that day’s––all still so filled with possibility. Will we be East coast or West? Will we live in town or country? Will it be eggs or pancakes? Saturday morning, the world is utterly at our feet.

But it’s kinda hard to get me up and at ‘em. Even after the coffee there is a certain amount of cajoling and bartering, sometimes including the bribe of a second caffeinated beverage. And poor Sebastian, who suffers through all this lazing, loves nothing more than getting up and eating breakfast, while I just want to talk, talk, talk.

So I decided to be a heroine in my own right by making a weekend breakfast that might please us both: roasted sweet potatoes and beets taste so earthy, and when paired with crisp-edged quinoa, woodsy thyme and topped with an oozy egg, the result is the kind of meal a health-minded farmer might swoon over after milking the cows and picking up a few pumpkins from the patch.

Never mind that it was at this breakfast table I learned to add quinoa to the company of salmon and bok choy on the list of “foods my husband hates.” I thought this was autumnally delish, if a little time-consuming. Roast the vegetables ahead of time to throw this together in a flash on Sunday morning.

Continue reading “Fall Vegetable Quinoa Hash with Poached Eggs” »

Sometimes you sink into a period of un-wellness. Your friends are talking about meditation. They are writing every morning, going to yoga thrice weekly, digging deep into linguistic anthropology and composing songs for their lilting, lonesome voice, practicing from the front porch. They’re doing all the work required for self-actualization, and you, over there with your second bowl of raisin bran, can’t help but feel a little envious.

Earlier in the summer I wrote about the upside to being in a rut. But this isn’t rutness exactly. It’s stuck-ness. Somehow, there’s a difference. The former, let’s say, is about being widely disinterested in just about everything: nothing sparks excitement. But the latter is about wanting change, feeling drawn toward ideas and inspiration, but feeling unsure how to get there, how to reach and catch hold of those boot straps for a quick, momentum-building pull.

Perhaps this is a seasonal thing and an unwillingness to get on board with change. We wait and wait and wait through August’s blazing days for a respite, an apple, a cool morning. But then when it comes, we have trouble letting go. Something, my friend said, feels like it’s being lost forever. Does September make you feel dramatic like this, too? Does part of you––no matter how much you love plaid and the falling leaves and cozy afternoons spent reading––resist the change of the seasons?

And what does this have to do with soba noodles, exactly? Well, I can think of few things so oriented toward wellness than these slender strands of buckwheat and delicately poached salmon. Sometimes the way to usher in a new era––at least, the easiest, most concrete way––is through our daily bread. This light and lemony dish just might help ease the transition from steamy days to fall mornings. Maybe it will even spring some of us from our stuck-ness.

Continue reading “Getting Unstuck: Soba with Salmon and Watercress” »

This August is so strange. Some days I can almost feel a shift in the air toward cooler days. We’ve slept with the air-conditioner off these past several nights, and someone told me they saw turning leaves (“Dry summer,” explained my brother). But then we’ll get that familiar wall of humidity or a fierce summer thunderstorm. The air-conditioner and sunglasses go back on.

I was at the farmer’s market last Friday. It had been a lovely day. The air was just right, I had spent the morning writing, and I met my co-workers for lunch in a restaurant that transported me to the New England seashore. (I ate a lobster cobb salad which, let’s be real, didn’t hurt.) I went to the market and asked myself what the quintessential elements of summer food were. Corn, tomatoes, basil. I scooped up all three, and figured the rest of it out on the subway ride home.

Very often, the simplest solution is the best. We scratch our head for days trying to figure out the right course of action: what should we make for dinner, how should we rearrange the furniture, how can we cheer up a friend? When the answer comes, we wonder what took so long.

And when the solution doesn’t come so easily, I am trying to remember that, like a road trip, the process of getting “there” is part of the journey. Practice and play are just as important, and actually, pretty damn fun.

Continue reading “Simple Summer Supper: Penne with Corn, Tomatoes, and Pesto” »

Last night, there was just the slightest hint of coolness in the air, like a whisper at my bedroom window. I’m not usually one to wish for coziness in summer, or even to wish for fall while the warm days are still stacked up; I know they’re out there, in September, with their softer, slanting light. They’ll come.

But even still, because of the air last night, and because of this cold I’ve been fighting (day 5 and counting), I’ve been craving a particular kind of comfort. The Boden catalog came, and I dogeared page after page of striped wool cardigans and plaid miniskirts. Yesterday I ate a bowl of cereal and watched Kate & Allie, and after pulling on my long white nightgown, I climbed in bed with Anne.

It was also, you might imagine, a night on which something like pasta with creamy zucchini sauce fit the bill perfectly for dinner. The question of what to do with the glut of August zucchini is one of my favorite cooking quandaries. I think to think that I’m providing my mom with lots and lots of ideas. This recipe, from the River Cottage Cookbook, is a very good one indeed. Sumptuously simple, this is most certainly a keeper.

Continue reading “Pasta with Creamy Zucchini Sauce” »

I am floating on a cloud of farmer’s market bliss. Last week I fell in love with garlic scapes––so spicy, so alien-looking!––and this week I swooned over a pint of raspberries so tender and sweet, I ate them with a spoon straight from the stained green cardboard. In the past I’ve been cautiously drawn to the familiar. But this year, I am striking out. What, pray tell, is red mustard? (It’s a kicky green that’s wonderful in stir-fries.) There’s a whole world of exploration to be done under those white plastic tents standing brightly in the middle of a concrete city at the intersection of Broadway and 14th Street.

But that poetical waxing is neither here nor there, as the recipe I’m about to tell you about has no exotic ingredients. In fact, you likely have everything you need for this dinner in the pantry. Which, as far as I’m concerned, makes it a shoe-in for dinner tonight. It doesn’t hurt, of course, that for those nights when you need a bowl of pasta for dinner––and I know you know what I mean––this supper fits the bill. With the front door closed on the unpredictable and tiresome indignities of the world out there, the salve to the cruelties of the day is this rich, nutty pesto, vibrantly green and alive with garlic, tossed with a tangle of noodles. We may now consider ourselves fortified for whatever lays ahead tomorrow.

Continue reading “Pea, Parsley and Walnut Pesto” »