h o m e * e c o n o m i c s

hail kale

It may seem that I am failing to make good on my intention to post more frequently and at lesser length, but from my perspective this is only half true. I have a few half-written posts on my desktop, whereas before those posts would have existed only in my head. So I’ve improved my getting-started rate, which is something, but not my finishing-up rate, which...I hope comes with time and persistence.

Instead of central air, we have window units in our bedrooms only. On the very hottest days last summer we repaired to Bee’s room to play. Most of the toys are downstairs, though, where we usually play, so we invented some new games for cooling off. The most popular one was “house of cards.” At first I could barely construct a single-level structure with a roof, but after a couple of days of practice, I had a few tricks up my sleeve. It’s an old lesson but one I can’t learn too many times.

I had some thoughts on persistence and poetry and dieting (beauty is truth!) that I will spare you (for now, at least), but I do need to jot these recipes down before I lose track of them. In January I (mostly) did the Whole Living Magazine detox-cleanse-thingie, which means that I ate kale much more frequently than is my habit (and my habit was already to eat kale approximately once every other week, switching off with chard or mustard greens or whatnot for the in between weeks, so it isn’t as if I had been ignoring my leafy greens before). Anyway, I discovered that I love smoothies that incorporate kale, and that no one can convince me that kale is a salad green. I like slivered kale with lemon juice, olive oil, and ricotta salata, a la Dinner a Love Story, but don’t just tear kale up into bite-size pieces, toss it with two teaspoons of vinaigrette, and tell me that’s salad. I have discovered one exception: bite-size kale pieces tossed with Caesar dressing are mighty fine, although even then I think it’s best to use lacinato kale and give it a few hours to soften up.

DRAGON JUICE

I invented this before the cleanse, when I was just beginning to investigate the idea of kale juice. Two cups apple cider, two cups lightly packed baby kale (this comes in a clamshell at my Whole Foods), blend until the kale is almost completely broken down. Andrew liked it; Bee said she wanted her own glass after having a taste but then refused to drink it. Maybe not so healthy because of the cider? Serves 2.

CREAMY KALE SMOOTHY

This one was inspired by a Whole Living smoothie: 1 cup kale (again, the baby kind is best), 1 banana, 1 cup unsweetened pear nectar. Blend until smooth. This one is creamy and delicious, a great breakfast. Even Bee drank up a cup. Serves 1 generously or 2-3 as part of breakfast.

CAESAR DRESSING FOR KALE, adapted from Tartine Bread

The Tartine Bread recipe includes a raw yolk and more oil than I cared to use, so I did this instead, for about 8 ounces of torn lacinato kale (no stalks): In a mortar and pestle, pound together one anchovy (I use oil-packed), one chopped clove garlic, and a big pinch of salt. Pound until smooth and then scrape into a bowl. Whisk in 2 tablespoons lemon juice and 4 tablespoons olive oil. Toss with kale, top with grated Parmesan to your taste, and add salt and pepper as necessary. Even better with warm croutons, but also good without. I also tried whisking some plain yogurt into the dressing to make it creamier when I had not Parmesan and liked it that way, too. Serves 2-3.

P.S. I loved a lot of the Whole Living recipes and hope to post about them! Go poke around if you need healthy meal ideas. For instance, raw sweet potato slaw...who knew? This has become something I actually crave. The first issue of Whole Living I ever picked up turned me off because it had a box about simplifying your life by, for instance, slowing the rate at which you acquire yoga pants. To be clear: sometimes I still wear my high school gym clothes for exercise, and I am sad that we live in a society where some people are helpless in the face of Lululemon. But outside of the realm of fitness fashion, they have my number, and now I am a devoted subscriber.

love life

Our wedding ceremony was very short and very secular. We were in a walled garden, and we had a little acoustic guitar music and two readings. My sister insisted that a marriage could not commence without a reading of first Corinthians; when I said that I wished I could have a Quaker wedding, in which the bride and groom stand alone before the assembled to make their pact, and anyone who wishes to speak may do so, Becca said that if I did that, she would stand and read first Corinthians. But I had something else in mind.

One reading was a poem by Donald Hall called “Summer Kitchen.” I had found it through the Writer’s Almanac (the only email newsletter I never unsubscribe from, no matter how thorough my e-purge) and thought it captured everything beautiful about life and love. I later read an interview with Donald Hall in which he explained (and I hope I am not mangling his meaning too dreadfully here as I paraphrase from memory) that sound is the thing in poetry. That the “meaning” or story of the poem is quite secondary. I am happily mired in story and image, though; I don’t know if it’s too late for me to become attuned to the music of poetry, or if I have a better chance now that I’m older and better read.

The other reading was Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116, which I was reminded of this morning when it appeared in my inbox via, yes, the Writer’s Almanac. Since it is public domain, I can type it up here:

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.

Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle’s compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me prov’d,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

My boss, who attended the wedding (very sweet), mocked this choice (less sweet, but unsurprising) as entirely inappropriate for nuptials. Critical opinion on this matter seems to be divided, and I must admit that I did not put the poem through rigorous analysis myself before choosing it. For me it calls to mind a high school English teacher of mine who told us that he read this poem to his wife every year on their anniversary. That stuck with me.

What struck me this morning is “It is the star to every wandering bark.” In the past year I’ve been thinking often about what Buddhism might mean for Western literary traditions, depicting and celebrating (and creating?) the persistent self as they do. A poem that straightforwardly insisted on the permanence of any state should seem misguided to a Buddhist. (Which I am not, I should make clear; my interest is strong but neither deep nor formal.) But I like an idea which Shakespeare definitely did not intend, and that is Love as “the star to every wandering bark”—not a specific love, but Love as an ideal and a daily practice that helps us constantly reorient ourselves.

The pictures above are some recent gifts of love not directly linked to Valentine’s Day. I knitted Bee a Zimmerman Tomten which she has no interest in wearing. Since its main purpose was to occupy my hands on the long flight to India last year (remember that?), and since it might fit into next year, that’s fine. This sweater was begun in 2010 and finished in 2012; but my favorite thing about it is that the yarn came from Houston (green), San Francisco (bright blue), and Cambridge (navy). I kept running out of yarn. Oh, and I had to order the zipper from Purl; although it was shipped from California, I am counting it as New York so that this sweater has it all. Although I am a faithful knitter of swatches, I somehow always end up in the wrong gauge and needing much more yarn than called for.

The tray of shiny things is my estate sale plunder from last weekend. (My gift to myself, if that isn't obvious.) I also drove home with a dresser strapped to the top of the station wagon—a first time for everything! The hobnail glass pitcher is for a handwashing station for Bee. The candlesticks are because we had none. The silver tray has a spot of corrosive tarnish that may be unmendable, but at $2, who’s complaining? And the sweet little cup is inscribed “Margaret.” I was thinking of sending it to one of my two friends with babies named Margaret, but I may not be able to give it up. It reminds me, actually, of the wedding band I wanted. We bought our wedding bands online at the last minute from a dealer of new and vintage jewelry. I wanted a specific Civil-War-era silver band with etching similar to the cup’s, but it was a size too small. “No problem,” the proprietor said via email. But when I called to arrange the sale, the proprietor’s husband said, “No way. I’m the one who has to take these things to the jeweler to be resized, and he won’t be able to do it.” I ended up with another vintage band that suits my engagement ring much better, although Andrew says it looks like something out of a Cracker Jack box—flimsy. I prefer “delicate.”

In early January I finally started another batch of Tartine starter, hoping to be able to bake bread for Andrew on Valentine’s Day. The starter grew mold, which never happened in San Francisco, a forest of tiny spores. The next batch grew flat little dark spots of mold. The next batch stayed clean and took, and yesterday I baked. It was wonderful to get my hands into a big mass of dough again, and now I have plans to try at least three recipes from the book with the almost four (!) pounds of bread I produced. I know I am pushing it here, but I really want to say that baking is another star to this wandering bark.

NOTES ON TARTINE BREAD, schedule altered to suit the preschool-centric schedule

Day 1: Made leaven in morning. By 8pm, it floated. At 11pm, I mixed up the dough with room temperature water and used half regular bread flour and half regular whole wheat flour (book recommends higher percentage of whole wheat flour—90%, I think). Also used 15 grams salt instead of 20. At midnight, I gave the dough four folds and then covered it up for the night, leaving it on the counter.

Day 2: At 7 a.m., started folding the dough about once every 30 minutes. The dough seemed perhaps too stiff, maybe the result of the overnight rise. At about 11 a.m., divided and shaped the loaves. By noon they were in their floured-cloth-lined bowls. Prepared to bake at 3 p.m. The dough seemed oddly wet; it wet the cloths, which I don’t recall happening before.

Results: These loaves were not as high as I would have liked, and their sides seemed more sloped than rounded. I think this is a nice balance of whole wheat and white flour but know everyone else would prefer pure white. The crumb is oddly moist (as all of my bread seems to be now?), and I don’t think it has the pearlescent sheen it ought to; it definitely doesn’t have ideal bubble structure. Actually, it reminds me a lot of no-knead bread, which would have been easier (but less fun!) to make.

she pops up again

I was hoping to come back when life looked a lot like the picture above. But there comes a time when one must adjust one's expectations and just jump back in, thankful, perhaps, that things aren't quite as bad as they are in the picture below:

It isn't clear what terrible misfortune has befallen the doll family, huddled together in the attic, but poor Grandpa camped out next to his bucket gives my heartstrings a special tug.

I did a not insignificant amount of freelance editing and copyediting work this fall. This does the brain a great deal of good and the bottom line a small but just-tangible amount of good. It almost completely obliterates the leisure-and-dream department, which is fine, actually--I find a way to squeeze some fun in on an as-needed basis, and when a wider expanse of time opens up, as it has now, I have plenty of plans stored up. 

It now seems to me that the best plan for this space would be to post more frequently and at lesser length. There is (bien sûr!) a theoretical framework supporting this decision, and also a story from the beginning of my blogging days, but the only important thing is that this is what I think will work for me. Anyway, it is what I am going to try now. I'm imagining I will continue my own trend of posting fewer recipes, too, and more links to recipes, since I usually don't reimagine anything enough to make it my own. It seems odd to type something up verbatim, but I'm still mostly a verbatim kind of cook.

It turns out that we have a pretty okay Chinese restaurant near our house. They don't deliver, but they do carryout, and although I've only actually taken advantage of that once, it's a comfort to know that someone else will make dinner for me if necessary. That one time we had carryout, we got three perfect fortunes, but each ended up in the wrong hands. I got Bee's: "Many new friends will be attracted to your friendly and charming ways." Bee got Andrew's: "Learn to enjoy every minute of your life." And Andrew got mine: "Make decisions from the heart and use your head to make it work out."

I know it looks a little bullying typed out like that, but it is good advice (and also a bit of a brainteaser).

Anyway. I've been making mental resolutions left and right, but I have decided that there is one resolution I want to share in public. NO PROCESSED FOOD IN 2012, and I am looking pointedly at you, Doritos, my shameful crutch in weak moments, but also at you, cereal, you insidious pantry-dweller. Pasta gets a pass; if I meet potato chips at a party or in a restaurant, fine; but buying chips or having a bowl of the cereal I keep on hand for stronger-willed family members...no. (I think I have an affinity for MSG, since I have no other explanation for my Doritos passion. They are objectively Not That Good, but something keeps me coming back.)

There will still be snacks and treats. The spicy popcorn in At Home with Madhur Jaffrey, for instance, is actually much better tasting than Doritos and will not send you--or me, in any case--into paroxysms of guilt. I have simplified her recipe and cut a lot of salt:

Pop 1/2 cup popcorn kernels. (I do this by putting three kernels in a big pot with a big glug of olive oil, turning the heat to medium, and then covering. When those kernels have popped, I add the 1/2 cup popcorn kernels and shake the pot vigorously and frequently--but not continuously--until the popping has pretty much stopped. I keep the heat on medium the whole time.) Toss with 2 tablespoons olive oil, 1/4 teaspoon salt, 1 teaspoon sugar, 1/4 teaspoon cayenne, a dash of ground cloves (optional), and a dash of ground cinnamon.

I am a buttery-salty popcorn woman and was not sure how this would work out, but it is so good. A quarter teaspoon cayenne sounds like far too much, but it's just barely spicy, as long as you make sure to toss toss toss.

*UPDATE* I served this to Andrew for the first time, and he does not like it (although he did manage to eat his half of the bowl). So there you go. I think it's amazing.