Jumping in Puddles

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PEAR!!!

Hey all! This is Jonathan, a sometimes contributor to Eating on a Napkin. If you’ve read my posts and are used to/maybe enjoy their rambling style that takes a theme, runs with it, forgets it, then returns to it hoping that you haven’t noticed that I’ve forgotten it, then you have something to anticipate. If not, prepare yourself for something either personally meaningful or entirely meaningless. Either way, you’re in for a space of emotional intimacy that may or may not be awkward for you.

Sometimes you make plans to be awesome, but then you forget to be awesome and are sad instead. Maybe you don’t become sad, but you end up being something other than awesome, like engendering a dormant mode of awesomeness that broadcasts your ability to be awesome but never quite fulfills your awesome potential. Take, for instance, me. No more than ten months ago, I was preparing myself to graduate from college with a B.A. in English (“What do you do with one of those?!” you or your mother probably are asking) from one of the most prestigious universities in all the land. I knew what I wanted to be and had mapped out a four year plan (or so. I’m not great with planning, but I had a more or less concrete plan to do something) to become a teacher and maybe get my M.A. along the way. This process included being a substitute teacher for a bit of time, saving enough money to pay for my return to school, earning a single subject credential so that I could teach high school English (advanced, honors, or A.P., please), then actually teaching.

The disjunction between reality and expectation is startling, though.

(Before I move on, please don’t think this is going to be one of those things where I whine for pages and pages on end. “Where is my life going? What am I doing now? Will I EVER FIND LOVE?!?!?!” I definitely wouldn’t say/haven’t said to myself, shoving cookies into my sad mouth. Puh-lease. This is neither the second act of a rom-com nor a painful bit of nihilist angst.)

I’m one step into that plan and am already beginning to question it. In case you have never thought about it (as I evidently had), being a substitute teacher is hard. You constantly have to reconcile your desire to be an awesome person that personally connects with each and every student with the fact that there are strict disciplinary and formal structures in place with which you may not agree. These modes of behavior are not exclusive, but they are frequently at odds with each other. Teachers may or may not run classes the way that you would want to, but you have to respect these methods. Not only do you have to compromise personal pedagogical and disciplinary approaches, but sometimes you have to be an outright jerk whose public persona is significantly at odds with your personal/private/intimate self. The disjunctions inherent to being a substitute teacher, or at least inherent to my vision of being a substitute teacher, wear away at me. It makes me my less awesome self. It makes me question my desire to be an actual teacher, one who has to deal with 150-odd students every weekday for 180 days of the year.

Which brings me to pears.

I had a particularly heavy lunch this last Saturday and decided that it was more appropriate for me to have a lighter supper. Thus, I figured a salad was in order. I was totally ready to buy some ingredients for dinner: pears, kale, and some balsamic vinegar for a wonderful-sounding, grilled salad (grilled pears?! Grilled kale?! Ricotta?! Come to me, please!!!). When I got to the store, I realized that the available kale was wimpy, and so were a bunch of the other bitter greens I could have used. I picked red chard instead. That was cool, I guess. I could grill the chard instead, or maybe just dress it lightly. I didn’t need kale.

But then as I was driving home, it started to rain. There went the possibility of grilling (for your information, no, I do not have an indoor grill). I was in a poop mood, from the rain, from my existential crisis, from eating too much at lunch and then regretting it. Then, wonder. The smell of petrichor filled my nose, reminding me of days long past spent sipping tea in my room and doing chemistry or calculus, listening to Feist or Death Cab or some other band I was way into back in those days (high school! Four years have passed swiftly). I became happy as I remembered the feeling of security that defined/defines high school in spite of any sentiments I had to the contrary. Sigur Rós’s “Hoppípolla” came on the stereo, and there was no way I was going to continue to feel bad.

It was one of those moments where I forgot how bad I was feeling, or how weird of a week/month/year I was having. Even as I was fully aware that the joys of both olfactory and aural reactions were going to leave me, I was reminded of how awesome life is and could be. It didn’t really matter that being a substitute was possibly less than ideal, or that I wasn’t sure about what I actually wanted to be when I grew up (if ever I did), or that the rain was prohibiting me from grilling. I was literally feeling ecstatic, beside myself.

Things are sorting themselves out, and the disjunction between potential and manifested awesomeness is diminishing. I’m learning how to adapt myself to imperfections and to the reality of things. I also learned how to roast pears. They’re pretty swell. This hot mess of a person is slowly becoming less hot, less messy, more inclined to draw in MS Paint-y.

Swiss chard salad with ricotta and roasted pears, adapted from The Gouda Life

Note: This recipe, as written, makes about 4 servings.

Bunch of red chard (or however much is appropriate for the number of people you’re serving)
Pears (choose pears that are slightly under-ripe and firm. Again, buy based on quantity of people. I found that one pear per person worked well)
Ricotta cheese (I recently made Smitten Kitchen’s successfully, so I’ll suggest that. I recommend about 2-3 tablespoons per person)

For the dressing:
3 T extra virgin olive oil
3 T balsamic vinegar
1 t honey
1 t vanilla (or, if you’re adventurous, more)
Salt
Pepper

1. Preheat oven to 425 F. Line a sheet pan with foil, parchment paper, or a silicon mat.

2. Whisk all the dressing ingredients together, seasoning to taste. Feel free to adjust proportions and quantity based on the number of people you’re serving.

3. If you want, peel your pears. If you can’t tell by my illustration, I did not peel the pears, and they turned out just swell. Core and slice into quarter inch slices. Coat with dressing. Reserve excess dressing. Bake for 15-20 minutes, until tender.

4. Wash your swiss chard. Tear or cut off the leaves from the stem. Tear or cut leaves into bite sized pieces and place into bowl with extra dressing. Slice stems into quarter inch pieces. Put in bowl with leaves and dressing. Toss lightly. The leaves hold up well, so feel free to do this step as the pears are roasting.

5. To serve: place a healthy amount of chard into the center of a plate. Fan out six or seven slices of roasted pear alongside the chard. On the side, dollop a healthy serving of ricotta. The adventure of eating this salad is making different flavor combinations. As an alternative, you can definitely just roast the pears and eat them alongside the ricotta as a dessert. I’m not going to regulate your red chard consumption.

And now for more MS Paint (I admit: it’s actually Paintbrush, but MS Paint is way better) magic:

RED CHARD

Learning, we are

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I am on top of all academic obligations. I have submitted the application to rent a house. Raw goat’s milk is now at the farmer’s market! This morning I devoured a blissful chocolate coconut milkshake thick enough to eat with a spoon. I know that bread will emerge hot from the oven in 45 minutes and a solid 1.5 hours of yoga are in my imminent future. I am a happy, happy girl.

Besides being happy with having friends who share my passion and enthusiasm for nourishing food, I’ve noticed that I am happy with food itself. I have been enjoying the bounty of differing fruits and vegetables that each season has to offer. Winter has provided beautiful crops of kale, cabbage, blood-red beets, and flavorful grapefruit, but these are all coming to an end. Spring has sprung with the arrival of dainty asparagus stalks, ripe strawberries, and locally raised spring lamb. I don’t know exactly what the summer holds but I do know for certain that I will savor all it has to offer. {I have my fingers crossed for sweetcorn!}

I will savor summer by highlighting its flavors, making that the focal point of the meal, and utilizing simple preparations. More and more I find that simple meals are best and I have come to recognize their full worth. I mean, what more does one need for lunch than a baguette, Herbs de Provence goat cheese, a handful of almonds, and one single apple? The more I know, the less I fool around with the ingredients and the more I enjoy. It’s simple: all one has to do to learn about food is to follow a recipe.

I think I can confidently say that am an experienced home cook. With this sense of prestige, recently I’ve delved into the idea that I’m above following recipes; strict measurements and amounts are silly and wiggle room is more than okay. But then I realized something: I’ve learned about food by following recipes. I’ve learned from my successes as well as my failures and I’ve learned from authors who have guided me from sifting flour to inserting a toothpick in the center of a cake to ensure proper doneness. But, by gosh, this learning process is constant! Just last night I learned that green vegetables should be puréed into risotto for maximum flavor and visual appeal and a friend showed me how stunningly unassuming a breakfast of bread and a bowl of yogurt drizzled with olive oil can be.

I may not necessarily learn from following each and every recipe anymore, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t more to be learned.

Learning can be done by all, especially in the kitchen! Recipes aren’t strict laws to be followed, they are guidelines and a means for someone to recreate exactly what someone else already has. If you substitute or omit certain ingredients, the recipe will not fail, it will just be different. It will be yours. {And just to be completely clear, I’m talking about recipes for cooking not baking.}

So if you’re trying to embrace mint, substitute it in a pesto recipe. If you really like cinnamon {ahem, me} then try adding up to a teaspoon to any quick bread recipe. I even like to whip butter with cinnamon and honey to lather onto cornbread, which is possibly the only time I enjoy buttered bread.

So read blogs and cookbooks for recipes, follow them to learn more, swoon over their impeccable photos, and add your own flare to experiment and to learn. There is such a skill to cooking simply – the pros make it look easy – but you too can learn to identify flavor combinations and ingredient substitutions and you too can call yourself an experienced home cook.

Being a home cook is something that all people should aspire to be. The ability to prepare delicious and nutritious meals for yourself, your friends, and your family is quite special. And let me tell you, it is highly appreciated. A home-cooked meal is truly a gift and knowing that it came from your hand is thrilling and should be celebrated.

Even the passing of March should be celebrated.

I’ll celebrate simply. I’ll celebrate with juice.

Ginger grapefruit juice with lime
serves one

Throw these through the juicer in order:

1/4-inch knob of ginger
1/2 lime, peeled
1 grapefruit, peeled

Serve it up!

Let’s keep things simple

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Sometimes the simplest things remind you of what’s important in life: spending a gorgeous day in Napa with my best friend and her family, an unexpectedly delicious flavor combination (goat cheese, honey, and ham crêpe), finding something you’d been searching for (sumac for homemade za’atar), yelling YAHTZEE!, laughing and smiling so much that your cheeks ache, a leisurely breakfast on the porch, and being excited for these subsequent (but dwindling) days of spring vacation.

I am equally as excited when I finally make an obscure recipe that I’ve had saved for years.

 

You know, the kind where you save the recipe for the sole reason that it looks super interesting but may be something that you would never actually make? You know the kind, I know you do. I call it Recipe Collecting and it’s something I try not to do.

But this I’ve had saved under my ‘holiday dessert’ recipe tabs for quite some time and even though Christmas is nowhere in sight and winter is near its end, the time couldn’t have been more perfect for a gingerbread cake. A gingerbread cake with stout beer.

Chocolate stout gingerbread
recipe adapted from The Crepes of Wrath
recipe yield: 1 cake

Preheat the oven to 350F and spray a 9×9 square pan with spray oil.

In a small saucepan, bring to a bare simmer and remove from heat until ready to use:

2/3 cup Trader Joe’s Chocolate Stout

In a medium bowl, mix:

1 cup unbleached, AP flour
1 cup unbleached whole wheat flour
2 tablespoons cocoa powder
1 1/4 teaspoon baking soda
2 teaspoons ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon ground white pepper
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

In a large bowl, beat together:

2 eggs
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup brown sugar
2/3 cup molasses
3/4 cup canola oil

Scrape down the bowl to make sure it is all mixed well. Add a third of the flour mixture, then half the beer, then a third of the flour, then half the beer, and, finally, the last third of flour. Pour batter into prepared pan and bake for approximately 40 minutes or until set and the batter no longer jiggles when moved. Cool completely and serve sprinkled with powdered sugar and a mug of chocolate stout, a stout float, or good old-fashioned milk.

I’m in love, I’m in love and I don’t care who knows it!

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You know that feeling in the upper-left area of your chest cavity? The kind that’s a bit overwhelming at times, like you swallowed a butterfly and it’s trying to escape? I think I’ll call it love. I’m in love.

You might be wondering, ”With who?!” Well, a few people actually.

“With what then?!” A lot of things really, I would say.

oh the seeds!

A routine yoga and running regiment.
Living in the moment and being grateful.
Beautiful whole foods provided by Saturday morning farmer’s markets {7:30am, bright & early}.
Eating breakfast on the “patio” again.
Tahini.
Bread.

There’s a lot to appreciate and so much to love.

Everyday I appreciate something and today I appreciate friends. Friends are fickle to some. There’s no use in resisting it but they come and go in and out of our lives. I’ve learned so much from the people who have come and gone {or stayed}. They may not be prominent figures in my life anymore but friends aren’t necessarily meant to last forever. Even if we never speak again, there are a few people who will live in my heart, forever my best friends. In my heart they may not be who they actually are today, but they will remain who they were during our time together.

I’ll remember my high school boy friend, evenings of marching band practice, my friend who was always so intrigued by my lunchtime snack of edamame, my first college roommate and her Rice Flower and Shea lotion, apartment dance parties, and 4:00am yoga sessions in the dorms: each will be the way they were. I can’t even think back about them all and not smile.

I have also come to appreciate local produce, a thing I have become fully seduced by. Fueled by weekly visits to the farmer’s market with Grace, on-campus Organic Vegetable Project, and a new membership to the Co-Op, I have fallen even harder for the wonders of buying fresh and seasonal. Always in moderation though. I’m not trying to break the bank. Carrots can be called “juicy” after being pulled straight from the earth, there is excitement after seeing what is fresh and available at the morning market, and nothing is quite as beautiful as a gorgeous cabbage spritzed with morning dew.

I’m just in love with so much right now. It’s a nice feeling.

There’s so much going for me that when I breathe in it feels fresh and new and when I exhale I feel cleansed. I smile as I walk to class. Everyone should smile as they walk. Scowls aren’t nice. Smiles are nice.

I smiled the entire day today. Maybe because I knew that today bread would be made.

soda bread

Six-seed soda bread
recipe from 101 Cookbooks 
recipe yield: a single loaf

Preheat the oven to 400F and place the rack in the center of the oven.

Combine in a small bowl:

2 tablespoons sunflower seeds
2 tablespoons pepitas
2 tablespoons sesame seeds
2 tablespoons poppy seeds
2 tablespoons flax seeds
1 teaspoon fennel seeds

In a large mixing bowl, combine:

1 3/4 cup spelt flour
1 cup unbleached white flour
1 cup rye flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon sea salt

Add all but 2 tablespoons of the seed mixture.

Make a well in the center of the flour and pour in:

1 3/4 cup milk

Stir until the dough just comes together. Shape into a loose ball, mark with a deep cross across the top, and place dough into cast iron dutch oven. Brush the loaf with a touch more milk and sprinkle with the remaining 2 tablespoons of seeds, making sure plenty of seeds get down into the cracks.

Bake for 35-45 minutes or until the bread is golden crusted on the top and bottom. Cool on a wire rack.

Economy: An Argument with the Self, in Negation

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Hey everyone, this is Jonathan, a sometimes guest-writer for this wonderful, wonderful blog. He would like to apologize in advance for the “sometimes” part of this, as he is neither good at photography nor particularly good at remembering that he has urges to write. If you’re a completist and read each and every single post on this blog, a bit of self-deprecation: this post may have nothing particularly novel to say about what it means to eat and to cook, but who knows? You may end up loving the post.

It should be no surprise to readers of this blog that both Kala and I are cooking through Alice Waters’ wonderful The Art of Simple Food: Notes, Lessons, and Recipes from a Delicious Revolution. If you don’t already own it, I couldn’t recommend it enough. While the text certainly includes helpful recipes, its meat consists of ideas and techniques. Waters is more content with teaching skills than simply writing (admittedly amazing) recipes. After reading and re-reading various sections of the book, I become more inspired to generate ideas, to learn more about cooking techniques, and to experience more modes of eating food. As a result, I’ve come to learn that Waters is more of a culinary educator than a recipe writer or cook. Continue reading →