Broccoli Lemon Spinach Lasagne

Just so I remember this awesome dinner I just made up after stealing a magazine (fine, it was Martha Stewart Living) from the hospital yesterday (didn't really need the magazine because I didn't follow the recipe anyway, so I sort of feel bad about the stealing part--my alien baby made me do it). I couldn't follow the other recipe because I needed to get rid of the shit-ton of broccoli my CSA is giving me. But I did steal the lemon idea from it. But really, I promise, this recipe is all me me me mine myown myself me:

Ingredients
oil
1 onion, sliced
3 cloves garlic (skins on, whole)

1 container of ricotta
1/2 c Kefir, plain
spinach leaves
basil leaves

broccoli, finely chopped

2 lemons

No-boil noodles
mozzarella, grated
parmesan, grated

Directions
Preheat oven to 400F. Toss onion slices with oil. Roast onion and garlic for 30min.

Meanwhile, thinly slice lemons, put in a pot of water. Bring to a boil. Boil 7min. Take out of water and lay on paper towels to drain (take seeds out of lemons).

When onions and garlic are done, reduce oven heat to 350F. Combine onions, garlic (squeeze out of skins), ricotta, Kefir, spinach, and basil in a food processor. Puree.

Oil casarole pan, spread the puree on the lasagna noodles and layer as follows:
noodles
broccoli
mozzarella
lemons
parmesan

Repeat layers two more times (3 total).

Bake covered for 30 min. Then uncover and broil on high for 5 min (okay, so I also stole the bake time).

Broccoli will be crunchy.

This is good. I promise.

Two Books, Two Pictures

Yay! It's finally spring and my CSA is delivering again.

I am making a soup from the oyster mushrooms tonight (and a kale and baby mizuna salad--baby mizuna not shown). These absolutely gorgeous mushrooms makes me think of a rainy San Francisco morning, walking through a bedraggled farmers' market in the financial district. Shining bright yellow through the wet grey were a bunch of yellow oyster mushrooms as if the earth had actually sprouted the missing sunshine. An impulse purchase of these mushrooms left me holding a soggy paper bag and munching on a piece of Northern California turf while walking up to Caffe Trieste in North Beach. The mushroom's earthy smoke flavor perfectly complemented my coffee.

It was indeed never a waste of life.

(The book is one of my 2011 reads. It is very good scifi/post apocalyptic reading. I will be sending it to my Australia wife shortly).

This picture is for @coldfuture. He is teaching me the name of the wind.

I thought something as rare as fantasy that covers the big questions of life (such as when truth can be as damaging as a lie and how to achieve the ability to do things simply because they are right no matter what they are) should be paired with something as incongruous as sparkling wine in a juice can with a kicky pink straw.

'nuff said.

(okay, so it is actually three books)

Soup is my Soup-er Power

So, I make soup a lot. Like three times a week. And they are awesome (usually, sometimes they look like my garbage disposal backed up, and I served bowls of the fluid that is sitting in my sink--but only sometimes).

Here is the soup I made tonight because
a) it kicks ass so much that it is WAY,
b) I made it up myself, and
c) it is vegan so if you eat it you will be better than everyone else (like the super power of an evil ex)


Celeriac, Apple, and Fennel Bisque
Ingredients:

olive oil
4 leeks, cleaned and sliced (white and pale green parts)
6 parsnips, peeled and sliced
2 celeriac thingies, peeled and cubed
4 stalks celery, cleaned and sliced
5 apples (maybe Fuji, but really whatever you want), peeled and cubed
2 TBS fennel

no-chicken broth or any non-tomato veggie broth(2 cups + more for thinning if needed)
3/4 c raw cashews

Salt and pepper to taste
Truffle oil (optional)

In a stock pot, heat olive oil. Add leeks, parsnips, celeriac, celery, apple, and fennel. Saute until tender making sure nothing gets brown or burnt. While that is going on, take 2 cups of stock and blend with the cashews until creamy like milk (could take a minute or so). Add cashew milk to the pot. Add a bit more stock to an appropriate amount. Simmer until everything is super soft. Blend until super velvety (again, patience, this could take a minute or so). Salt and pepper to taste. Simmer a bit more until it is the temperature you want.

Serve in bowls with the truffle oil drizzled over the top.

Oh wow. So good.
Make it!
Do it!
Now!

Oh My, Oh Bounty

Wedding in the Ashes

On Sunday, 21 October, I went to a wedding.

This wedding was interesting for two reasons.

a) It was my first wedding where kids aren't invited, and

b) I caused a glorious scene by coughing through the bride's maids' entrances.

I'm serious about a. I've never been invited to a wedding where my wonderful, so well-behaved, absolutelythecutestkidontheplanet son hasn't been welcomed with open arms. Apparently, childless weddings are all the rage. And who can blame people? I love dancing a sober jig with my darling boy, but I love dancing a slightly buzzed jig without him all the more. Leaving baby behind does have a touch of that date night, devil-may-care excitement--except I am still waking up at 6am to a whiny toddler.

What is so odd about this childless wedding is that apparently the bride and groom didn't realize they didn't want rug rats cutting capers until after the invitations had been sent and RSVPs had been returned. In short, we were given a two-week (Lynn Truss, eat your heart out) notice to find a sitter for this wedding via a slightly abashed call from the groom, clarifying that the RSVP was for two not three.

At first my motherly ire rose and I railed about how my gift to this blessed couple would be the $10-an-hour sitter I would have to find. However, I was quickly set straight by all of my more wedding savvy friends about the normality and propriety of this exclusion by my son. And more importantly, my grandparents came down that weekend and watched my sweetest one for a whopping free dollars.

Lucky couple. They still got their gift certificate to Crate and Barrel (to which I had happily found out at the wedding they had actually registered at).

Now on to part b. As many of you already know, I am prone to ridiculous coughing fits. However, no matter how ridiculous they are, these fits are no laughing matter. These moments of extreme cough-dom can last for as long as 30 minutes, in which I am literally gasping and retching. I simply can't control them.

They've happen when I've been teaching. All I could do was wave a weak hand at my horrified students as they watch me hack up a lung with horrified expressions on their faces. Happily, they've all left the classroom with minimal fuss (since I am in no shape to argue with them), and I've recovered after agonizing minutes of searing explosions and possibly a little pee leakage (I'll never tell . . . but I did have a baby. Mommies everywhere can attest that your bladder is never the same).

They've also happened during important interviews. One of which I failed to mention was when I interviewed to be in the lab I currently am performing research in. Yes indeed, I did begin a coughing fit. For about five or six awful minutes, I frantically scanned my no PI's desk for any type of device to swab my watering eyes and running nose with. To no avail. He finally noticed my plight and gave me permission to flee to the ladies' room where I proceeded to streak my linen shirt with tears and snot. Oh yes, I walked back into my no PI's office to continue that interview, red nose, eyes, face, and all.

However, in both of the above situations, I have had the option to flee when such fits start. Not so with this wedding. The fit started when the ash from the then unremarkable southern fire (Harris for all of you in the know now) became lodged in my throat. The air was already bad because of the smoke, and this particular ash was merely the straw that broke my civilized throat's back.

I erupted into hacks and gasps . . . just as the bride's maids began their sssssssssssllllllllllllloooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwww march down the aisle to Pachelbel's Canon. Now this bride and groom are very lovable which was evident by the mass of people who attended their wedding. Seating was at a premium and very cramped. I happened to be four rows from the front of the action and two seats from the center aisle, crammed in so tight that to exit right then would have entailed a mess of "excuse me's" and chair shifting (we were outdoors) and people standing and calling a lot of attention to myself.

I was faced with a quandary: which is the greater disturbance? Poorly suppressed coughs or clumsy evacuation of wedding. I choose the former as being the most discrete. My thoughts were that if I didn't breathe for a bit, I could refrain from coughing too loudly until people stood for the bride and then in the jubilant confusion I could make my escape.

Unfortunately for my plan, I didn't have enough breath for the bride's TEN FREAKING BRIDESMAIDS! All marching as slowing and inexorably as time does to tasteful classical music. These lovely ladies (and they were lovely) were followed by TWO ring bearers and a flower girl.

I was in agony. My breath-holding had turned into a sort of beached whale gasping, snot and tears soaking my newlypurchasedforthisevent sassy dress.

Finally, the bride appeared, and I booked it for the nearest watering hole. I ended up watching the wedding from a discreet distance. The bride was indeed beautiful. The wedding indeed touching. And ultimately, I am thankful for the kid ban. I don't know how I would have wrestled my kid along with my errant bronchi.

So, what do you serve grandparents (also great-grandparents) when they are watching your kid for free? Goat-cheese stuffed burgers.

hamburger meat
goat cheese
buns

lettuce
tomato
onion
pickle
avocado

Roll hamburger meat into small balls (about half the size you would for a regular patty). Pat the small balls flat (yes, I know how that sounds . . . you think of a better way to say it). Place goat cheese slices on top of one flat patty. Top with another. Seal. Repeat.

Grill.

Assemble a burger.

Enjoy a wedding without your kid.

A Spoonful of Sugar. . .

At this moment, I am watching Mary Poppins for the fifth time in two days.

I do love this movie. The songs are like a magic ticket back to childhood for me; however, I am feeling that 5 times in two days is a bit excessive.

My son does not agree.

Now, I am not one of those moms who parks her kid in front of the TV for a few moments peace. I am not one for three primary reasons: a) my husband often takes the role of entertainer with our son; b) I have a gift for being able to tune out my son's whines for me to play with him, causing him to have learned to play by himself; and c) I regard movies as a secret weapon for when I really really really need him to be quiet and relax.

Because of his lack of TV viewing, my son thinks the television is truly magical. You can put on almost any movie, and he will be transfixed in front of the magic screen of color moving pictures. This power of fixation is key when I am in situations that my son has to be still and quiet (i.e. the airplane, meetings, a pub).

So I rarely indulge his pleas for movie time at our house let alone watching movies over and over again ad nauseum. However, my son has chosen to sport a fever of 104F as his newest accessory. And I have a rule about TV viewing and sickness: when you are sick, there are no rules (okay maybe a few little ones here and there but virtually no rules). If you want to eat cold mac and cheese nonstop throughout the day, you can. If you want to wear your pajamas all day, you may. If you want to watch Mary Poppins over and over and over again, be my guest.

There are worse movies he could be begging for. Trust me.

Besides Mary Poppins has the added benefit of the scene where Jane and Michael take their medicine and love it. Perfect for inducing a toddler to sip down some fever-relieving, candy-colored concoction. So now my son is not only begging for the movie, he wants to take his purple or orange medicine every few hours or so. Indeed, the problem is telling him he has to wait the prerequisite 4 hours or gnarly fever spike before he gets the "lime cordial delicious" as he calls it.

So right now, having just taken his medicine, he's sitting on the couch, mesmerized by the chimney scene in Mary Poppins, sippy cup of water in one hand, sippy cup of milk in the other, and a wet rag on his head that he insists is making his head feel better.

This is not my son's first fevered illness; however, it is his first illness where he can communicate his various ails and desires. I get to hear how his "tummy hurts," "head hurts," and how he "wants to talk to Dr. Rash" (our pediatrician--no joke, I promise).

In fact, my son has gotten so adamant about talking to Dr. Rash, that I had to pull the super-secret-suspect mom move of calling my dad (aka Papi) and asking him to impersonate said doctor. The conversation went roughly as follows:

Papi impersonating Dr. Rash: What do I ask him?
Me: Ask him how's he's feeling.
Papi: How are you feeling.
My son: Dr. Rash, I sick.
Papi: Oh, you're sick? What hurts?
My son: My tummy hurts, Dr. Rash. And my head.
Papi: I'm sorry to hear that.
My son: I have a fever.
Papi: Oh. . . .
..... awkward silence .....
Me: Tell him to take his purple and orange medicine to feel better.
Papi: Take your purple and orange medicine and you will feel better soon.
My son: Okay, Dr. Rash.
Papi: Okay, bye bye
My son: Bye, Dr. Rash. Thank you.

I don't even think my son noticed that the good doctor sounded so much like his Papi.

Because my baby is eating cold mac and cheese, I decided to unabashedly cook something full of green goodness he wouldn't touch if his life depended on it: Greens and Beans Ragout.

I got this recipe from my CSA newsletter and love it because it's quick and can be majorly tweaked. Tonight's incarnation is as follows:

Sweet Italian sausage, cut up into bite size chunks
1 onion, chopped
3 garlic, finely chopped
1 zucchini, chopped bite-sized
2 carrots, chopped bite-sized
1 turnip, chopped bite-sized
lots of misc greens (chard, dandelion, turnip), raggedly torn up
2-3 cans of beans (usually great northern, but tonight I did garbanzo, black, and pinto), drained
1 28-oz can of diced tomatoes
Salt
Herbs de Provence

Saute the sausage with the onions in a tiny bit of olive oil until sausage is browned (use a large pan over med/high heat).

Add the fresh vegetables and herbs de Provence. Saute until veggies are soft.

Add the beans, tomatoes, and greens. Bring to a boil. Cook about 5 more minutes or until greens begin to wilt.

Salt to taste.

Double Booking

There seems to be social trend going around my group of friends that we call double booking. What double booking entails is agreeing to attend multiple social engagements on the same day and sometime the very same evening. Actual attendance to the engagements appears to be optional.

I hate double booking.

Perhaps it is the fact that I have a toddler, so I don't have the prerequisite devil-may-care-go-where-the-wind-blows attitude you need to attend multiple events. Or perhaps because of said toddler, I don't have the luxury of moving about once I've made social camp. Or perhaps, I just feel that time spent with true friends shouldn't be rushed or an afterthought or plan b.

I'm all about letting an evening take shape with little to no agenda. If that shape takes the form of house hopping (or in my younger days, party hopping), then wonderful. But to plan truncated time with people you care for because you have also planned time with others shows these persons that you don't consider them a priority.

The above stated, I am about to finish a weekend of double booking not only on Saturday night, but on Sunday as well. I have become what I abhor, yet I seem to have an uncanny knack for pulling this feat off not only successfully but also with no stress or inconvenience to others.

Saturday, the family unit made the trek up to North County to visit two groups of friends who had the poor taste in making that area their homes. Both of these friend-groups have returned from far away places that I would most likely never ever go in my entire life (Idaho and Iceland) to San Diego county. And their presence here is a great joy; however, when I heard that they had decided to make their homes in hard core suburbia (topped only by Scripps Ranch), I told them that they might as well have stayed in their respective I-lands.

As you all know, I have some very strict boundaries that circumscribe where I spend my time. North County greatly exceeds these boundaries--and I can't even ride the trolley there. So, it seemed reasonable to combine two social events in the far north on the same night to prevent me from dying of asphyxia or something like that.

Fate also aided me in my plans of social hypocrasy: the female of the first friend-group who has boys my son's age and a little younger was running a triathlon on Sunday, so she didn't want a late evening. We agreed to a 4pm to 730pm social time. Fortuitously, the second friend-group called and asked us to meet them out for drinks around 8pm after their date night and oh-so-generously offered their babysitter to watch our (we hoped) sleeping son.

Excellent.

The evening went off without a hitch. Both times with the friend-groups proved satisfactory and fulfilling. Unfortunately, I think I am addicted now to this trend of double booking because not one day later, I not only double booked, but triple booked.

This time the family unit did lunch with a friend whose husband is in Iraq. I then went home to prepare for a later meeting with the Dinner Divas (of which I made cucumber salad cups), and followed that up with quiz night at the local British pub.

Again a success.

The salad cups are cool and crisp and perfect for the dog days of summer we are so definitely in.

I cribbed them from from Vegetarian Times and the dressing from Epicurious.com.

1 medium zucchini, finely chopped
1 bell pepper, finely chopped (I used red, but I think yellow would be better for the color)
1 carrot, grated
1 clove garlic, minced
1/4 cantaloupe, finely chopped
1 heirloom tomato, finely chopped
3/4 cup mix of herbs, dill, basil, parsley, mint, finely chopped
1/4 cup parmesian cheese, grated

1/4 cup balsamic dressing (I added about 2 tsp of honey)

3 cucumbers, striped peeled, sliced into about 1/2-inch thick rounds, and middle of rounds scooped out with sides and bottom in tact (harder than sounds)

Mix all the chopped stuff. Toss with the dressing. Scoop into the cucumber cups.
Quick. Easy. So good.

Just like double booking.

I am starting to wonder how many of these things I have in me before I encounter a spectacular failure. I'm already planning a double booking for this coming Friday . . . concert in the park followed by a movie, anyone?

Spontaneous Generation

Today I made RNA. How many people do you know who can say that? Well, I guess depending on which circles you travel in, possibly a lot. But still, talk about freaking cool. I made the molecule responsible for communicating cellular instructions.

In all actuality, the making of the RNA is kind of anti-climatic. I didn't design and then produce something novel and ground-breaking in molecular biology. I just demonstrated that I could produce RNA from the control DNA template provided in a kit. Yes, that's right, a kit.

It seems that a lot of science is about following directions that outline the mixing of provided ingredients and then heating them up for a bit. Two people can follow the exact same protocol--literally, everything exactly the same--and get drastically different results. Because apparently science isn't really an exact . . . science.

Sound familiar? A bit like following a cooking recipe? It really is. There's a list of ingredients, an explanation about the order and amounts they should be mixed in, and a person to put them all together (scientists even get to wear the little white coats that chefs wear). Every person in the lab unwittingly adds his or her own touch so that one procedure done over and over again by one person with constant success can be mimicked by another to no avail. And there is always room for improvisation if a certain procedure doesn't work or deliver the desired results. Yes indeed, a lot like cooking.

Except science is cooking without all of the sensory experience that makes working in a kitchen so amazing--an experience unparalleled. Lab work is like cooking without all the wonderful odors and colors and tactile sensations. In the lab, there's no burst of green scent that fills the air when you chop parsley or cilantro. There's no melodic motley mix of orange carrots, green and white cucumbers, red tomatoes, yellow bell peppers, pink radishes, brown mushrooms, and emerald lettuce in a salad. There's no rhythmic pulse of the knife hitting a worn wood cutting board.

Granted, lab has its pleasures. There is nothing better than getting a result you thought you didn't have or solving various problems. My mind is never idle. Nor is it stirred to poetic heights from a contrast in texture or smell.

So, while I love my new job and am excited about continuing, I find my thoughts often turning to the pleasure of my kitchen with its tacky orange and black tiles and too little counter space. I look forward to the end of the day where I can hold my chef's knife in its comfortable groove in my right hand as I prepare yet another meal.

Mexican Lasagna (tweaked from Vegetarian Times October 1, 2006 p.72)

• 3 Tbs. olive oil, divided
• 1 big onion, diced and divided in half
  
• 2 tsp. ground cumin, divided
• 1 tsp. ground coriander
• 2 cups pinto beans, cooked
  
• 1/4 cup chopped cilantro
• 3 Tbs. lime juice
• 
  
• 4 grated carrots
• 4 grated zucchini
• 4 bulbs garlic, chopped
• 1 can Chipotle chiles in adobo, pureed and added to taste (this is super spicy. Add slowly and cut with some tomato)
  
• 
  
• corn tortillas
• 1 cup shredded Cheddar and jack cheese

1. Preheat oven to 350F. Coat 9x13-inch baking dish with cooking spray.
2. Heat 1 Tbs. oil in skillet over medium heat. Add 3/4 cup onion, and sauté 5 minutes. Add 1 tsp. cumin and coriander, and cook 5 minutes. Purée onions with beans, cilantro and lime juice in blender.
3. Heat 2 Tbs. oil in skillet over medium heat. Sauté remaining onion and garlic in oil 5 minutes. Add carrots and zucchini, and cook 5 minutes more. Stir in remaining cumin, and cook 3 minutes. Add pureed chiles, and simmer 2 minutes.
4. Layer tortillas, bean mixture and vegetable mixture in prepared pan. Repeat one or two times, and top with cheese. Bake 30 minutes, or until cheese has melted.

Serves 6

Dependency?

In one month, I will officially cease to be a wage earner. In fact, strictly monetarily speaking, I will become a gaping sucking black hole of needs (a cavern of want--if you will) rather than providing any type of economic reciprocation to my family unit. Much like my three-year-old son is now.

Does this bother me? Yes.

Will I cease my current plan to be a student (of SDSU as well as life) in order to find a more lucrative way of passing my time? No.

I've been taking a hard look at why my financially insolvency is niggling at the back of my mind. It's not like my adjuncting job provided all that much money. It's not like I really care about how much money I have nor does my husband make me feel bad for cutting our family income by several thousands of dollars so that I can play scientist for a few years. In fact, he's incredibly support of my scholastic goals of being a student for the rest of my life so that I never have to a) teach or b) get a real job. We've always shared the money equally, and I don't foresee this arrangement changing just because I will be making even less money that before.

I think the biggest reasons why I am bothered by my pending lack of personal income are as follows:

1. I am currently reading The Price of Motherhood by Ann Crittenden. In this book, Ms. Crittenden outlines the heavy wage "tax" placed on people (primarily women but also some men) who choose to take a few years off or part time in their careers to do the necessary job of raising productive members of society. It's an amazing book. Crittenden nicely outlines the economic value of said child rearing and discusses the sad truth that our society does not give the value this rearing-sacrifice deserves. I recommend this book to any woman who a) has children, b) intends to have children, or c) advocates for women's rights.

This book boldly pushes to the forefront, the possibility of lost goals and dreams because of the choices we make regarding family life. And I know that having a child is a choice (even if you were on the pill and it didn't work . . .); in no way am I looking for a pity party because I have a beautiful and bright son. However, I will never be able to put in the research time in my lab because I want and choose to be home for my child. I will possibly never be as successful as my fellow grad students in our field because I won't sacrifice my family life for the sake of career laurels. And (as Crittenden has put into sharp relief), I probably will never be as successful as my husband in a chosen career because we've laid out the roles in our family, and mine is not that of the primary breadwinner.

These are hard facts to swallow: especially when your whole life you are told you can do anything you want as long as you work hard--your merit will win the day. Sometimes there just isn't enough time to juggle all the hard work. And sometimes people will refuse give your merit its deserved value because you have so many things to juggle in such a finite amount of time.

After I've swallowed these facts would I have it any other way? Hell no! (Well, maybe I'd be skinnier and have better hair. . .) I'm just working on the reconciling that my meaningful work (and both raising a child and being a professional student are meaningful work) requires me to be financially dependent on someone else. Trust me, I know life is pretty good for me.

2. (Remember: "Reasons" for being bothered by lack of personal income?) My meaningful work in the family isn't as Martha Stewart nurturing and home-making as I envisioned it would be when I quit working for money and started working for personal edification. I thought I would have free time to do some flower arranging, grow a garden, re-upholster the couch using fabric I made from eucalyptus leaves, serve up that dirty martini every day at 530pm to a tired and grateful husband home from the rat-race of the office--in short, do the whole June Cleaver home-making that sets apart the great housewives from the desperate ones. But reality is so different.

Science is hard. All of those tiny drops in bitty tubes. I'm wiped at the end of my 6-hour day. It's about all I can do to open that bottle of wine and sip directly from the bottle while sprawled on the couch. . . . Okay, honestly, I am blessed in that I have do very little around my house. We have officially entered yuppie-hood and have a house cleaner who comes in twice a week. My husband and I both pretty equally share laundry and childcare stuff. So my one major contribution to the family is in cooking. Here I so feel like this is cheating because I so love cooking.

So, the other thing that I am reconciling is that meaningful contribution to my family unit can be something I love like cooking or spending time with my child. And it still matters. It still is a sacrifice I'm making to ensure the well-being of our family unit. Showing love and being a vital part of the family doesn't have to be an un-fun thing like scrubbing toilets or working 9 to 5 in an office. Being an integral part of the family is showing love in the manifestations that are needed at the moment: sometimes that moment is 3 meals a day.

Love in the moment Portobello and Swiss Chard Sandwiches with an Herbed Salad:
*both of these are from last year's July Veg Times with a few modifications (below are my modifications; click the links above for the real deal).

3 portobello mushrooms, well cleaned
sherry
olive oil
salt
pepper

Swiss chard, coarsely chopped
garlic, finely chopped
onions, coarsely chopped


Directions
1. Place mushrooms, stem side up in a dish that has a lid. Add sherry and olive oil plus a few grinds of the salt and paper. Shake up to coat the 'shrooms. Let sit a bit and start your grill.
2. Grill until mushrooms look done and are oozing some juices.
3. Meanwhile, heat 1 tsp. oil in large skillet over medium-high heat. Add garlic, and cook 30 seconds. Add onions and cook until translucent. Add chard and a few splashes of sherry, and cook 5 to 7 minutes, or until leaves begin to wilt, turning frequently with tongs. Cover; remove from heat.
4. Put one mushroom and a pile of chard and onions on bottoms of rolls. Cover with roll tops, and serve.

Make a salad with whatever you want. In my case, lots of lettuce, tomato, chopped cilantro, chopped dill, mizuno, arugula, cucumber, mushrooms.

Dressing:
equal parts olive oil, sherry, white wine vinegar
about 2 Tbs chopped chives, cilantro, and basil (mixed together)
2 chopped shallots
1 Tbs honey
1 tsp Dijon mustard

1. Mix up all of the dressing stuff.
2. Put it on your salad.

3. Feel as if you are a productive member of society as well as your family for nurturing their minds with your amazing company and their bodies with this nourishing food.

Dining with Divas

We had another meeting of the Dinner Divas. It’s been a few long months since our last one because a) one of our members realized she hated cooking and quit and b) another one had a baby. But now we are back in business and cooking like we mean it.

We take turns meeting at our houses for each meeting. This month's meeting took place way up the 15 in one of those eucalyptus-filled suburbs that are oh-so desirable and self-contained.

I am unabashedly geo-centric. I love California. I don't want to live anywhere else in the United States (outside the U.S. is another matter). Specifically, I love San Diego. I find other cities in California to be both beautiful and amazing, but I always want to come back to San Diego.

My geo-centricities become very apparent when I leave California. I know that other places in the U.S. have value. There are rich and amazing things to be discovered everywhere. But somehow what I know never matches up with how I feel or how I respond. When I moved to Florida a few years ago, I kept being amazed that this whole other state--this whole other coast--had the same things I was familiar with in California. One embarrassing moment that lasted about three months was my constant referring to the Gulf of Mexico as the Persian Gulf. Another time (and more recently, I am embarrassed to admit), I told a friend I was visiting in New York how it was "back home in America." Again, I knew the right names for things, but they just didn't feel right. I felt out of place. Out of my state both geographical and being.

In San Diego, my geo-centricities have taken a finer focus. I have issues going too far north and east out of the city of San Diego proper. My boundaries for living here are quite specific: I don't like to go north of the 8, east of the 805, south of the 94, and (of course) west of the ocean (note that Coronado is "west" of the ocean boundary, so I don't like to go there). I joke that I can't breathe beyond these boundaries, but in reality, it's only a half-joke. I love San Diego. I love the neighborhoods that make up this beautiful (albeit screwy city). And the area within I choose to conduct most of my living consists of the best and most diverse neighborhoods--the ones most true to the socio-economic and cultural diversity that makes up any large city. The places outside of my chosen boundaries do have some merit and cultural diversity, but many of these neighborhoods are just rows of cookie-cutter houses, strip malls, large chain grocery stores, Starbucks--in short, southern California suburbia at its worst and most homogeneous.

Of course, I do leave these boundaries when I have to; in fact, I go far far east of the 805 everyday to work in my lab. However, I've found loopholes/exceptions to my boundaries that work for daily functioning. Here are my rules:
1. I can leave my San Diego with impunity if I use public transportation (or if I am carpooling with someone else). This rule is how I make it out to SDSU Monday through Friday to work in my lab.
2. I can leave my San Diego if a neighborhood starts within my boundaries but ends outside of them. But I have to be walking.
3. I can leave my San Diego if I am going a) north of Del Mar, b) south of the border, or c) east of the Colorado River.
4. When I am going north, the 5 becomes my eastern border until I get to Sacramento. Then the Rockies become my eastern border. But once I get into Washington State, the 5 becomes my eastern border again.

I'm sure there are more rules. Quite frankly, I make them up as I go.

I've found that when I leave my San Diego outside of these rules, alcohol makes the air just a little bit easier to breathe. So for this Divas event, I made a booze dessert that ostensibly goes by the name of Strawberry Tiramasu. This desert also had the merits of using up all of the CSA strawberries I've been accruing.

1 1/4 cups strawberry preserves
1/3 cup plus 4 tablespoons Cointreau or other orange liqueur
1/3 cup orange juice
1 pound mascarpone* cheese, room temperature
1 1/3 cups chilled whipping cream
1/3 cup sugar1 teaspoon vanilla extract
52 (about) crisp ladyfingers (boudoirs or Savoiardi)
1 1/2 pounds strawberries, divided

Whisk preserves, 1/3 cup Cointreau, and orange juice in 2-cup measuring cup.

Place mascarpone cheese and 2 tablespoons Cointreau in large bowl; fold just to blend.

Using electric mixer, beat cream, sugar, vanilla, and remaining 2 tablespoons Cointreau in another large bowl to soft peaks. Stir 1/4 of whipped cream mixture into mascarpone mixture to lighten. Fold in remaining whipped cream.

Hull and slice half of strawberries.

Spread 1/2 cup preserve mixture over bottom of 3-quart oblong serving dish or a 13x9x2-inch glass baking dish. Arrange enough ladyfingers over strawberry mixture to cover bottom of dish. Spoon 3/4 cup preserve mixture over ladyfingers, then spread 2 1/2 cups mascarpone mixture over. Arrange 2 cups sliced strawberries over mascarpone mixture. Repeat layering with remaining lady fingers, preserve mixture, and mascarpone mixture. Cover with plastic and chill at least 8 hours or overnight.Slice remaining strawberries. Arrange over tiramasù and serve.

*Italian cream cheese available at supermarkets and at Italian markets.
Bon Appétit, April 2006

I added a lot more alcohol than called for (about double) and did more preserves than the recipe said. The desert was a hit. And the alcohol induced sense of well-being allowed me to appreciate the lovely home and neighborhood of a fellow Diva.

Because I Freaking Want to Post a Blog Instead of Stressing Over the Draft

So, here goes:

It's been a stressful week. I started working as a Real Scientist (no more teaching English or literature for me. I'm now a student again, getting my master's in biology--it's all in a blog I've drafted but have yet to post. Stay tuned.) and have been taking out my insecurities and lack of sleep on those I love.

It's not easy being a Real Scientist for a few reasons:

a) I am secretly convinced that Iamnogoodatscience. Really. I tricked the people in my undergrad when I graduated cum laude with a BS in biochemistry, and now I've tricked the people at my new university who accepted me into their program based on 5-year-old credentials and letters of recommendation. I know that really I probably am okay in science. That I will be able to hold my own in my lab and my classes. But I feel that what I know really isn't the case and that I will eventually be exposed like the man behind the green curtain for the fraud I am. And then I will be sent back to English purgatory where I will teach remedial composition for the rest of my life.

b) In addition to my emotional instability (see above), I have to juggle care for a family with commitment to my research (look at me, only a week in and I am already claiming to have research--but you get my point). I now feel guilty for every second I am either 1) not in the lab or 2) not spending with my son. So, I am getting up at an ungodly hour every morning to catch a workout before my son wakes up. Also, I am staying up to ungodly hours at night, prepping for dinner the next day (not blogging, I promise).

BUT

being a Real Scientist does have its ups:

a) telling other people who are not Real Scientists but fake ones (you know who you are) that you are Real (much like the Velveteen rabbit).

b) experiencing the joy of putting teensy tiny amounts of fluids (presumably containing genetic material and proteins and such) in itty bitty test tubes and then either 1) freezing said tubes or 2) putting them in a warm water bath.

c) no longer working for small private school with stringent employee drinking rules (i.e. you can't drink at all) so that now I can openly discuss my boozing and debauchery without fear of being fired.

d) no longer having students at a small private school for much of the above reasons.

e) riding the trolley to school. Seriously, the trolley rocks! I love public transportation. And I can finally feel good about owning my terrorist-supporting SUV because I am not driving it.

As you can see, the goods outweigh the bads. Which is often how life works.

To celebrate the first morning in 6 days where I didn't have to get up when it was still way too long before sunrise, I made a frittata of sorts. I'll have to admit, I got the base of this recipe from Atkins, but I do not in any way condone this diet. In fact, as a Real Scientist, I have to tell you this diet is way bad for you.

Actually, I really just don't like meat or eggs, so this diet never worked for me. But this egg dish doesn't actually taste like eggs so that is why I love it. Plus it uses whatever vegetables you have moldering in your fridge.

Frittata of Sorts

olive oil
1/2 onion, chopped
2 garlic, finely chopped
1 Serrano, finely chopped

5 mushrooms, washed and sliced
1 zucchini, chopped
1/4 c fresh cilantro, chopped
3 pieces bok choy, chopped
anything else you want.

4 eggs
1/4 c cottage cheese (but you don't have to use this. I've done it with or without)
dash milk

cheddar cheese, grated

Heat olive oil in a cast iron (or any other oven safe) skillet at med to med/low heat (use your judgement). Add onion, garlic, and chile. Saute for a bit. then add the rest of the vegetables.

While the vegetables saute, blend the egg, cottage cheese, and milk together. Add to pan. Stir once or twice and then cover. Check periodically to see if the egg has pulled away from the sides of the pan. Then add the cheese on the top.

Cover again for a few more minutes until the eggs seem firm. Then place skillet, uncovered, in the broiler for a few minutes until top is brown.

Serve with salsa and avocado.

And lots of coffee because you are still way exhausted from blinding people with science all week.

Sad Facts of Life

I've come to the realization that pretty much no one in the world reads my blog. Not that it really matters since I rarely actually post a new entry. But still, when you post a blog all about a friend's wedding, shouldn't she at least read it (and if you are reading this . . . oops)?

Okay, that's out of my system. Moving on . . .

Today is the kind of perfect San Diego day that gives this city the repuation for saccharine weather (seriously, everywhere I go, when I mention I'm from San Diego, the first thing out of any person's mouth is "oh you have great weather" or something to that effect). For the record, we do not have perfect weather. In the summer time, if you live near the beach, often you experience more cloud cover than Seattle because of the marine layer that smothers the life out of the San Diego coastline.

I live in on a hill that overlooks the San Deigo Bay and Point Loma. Some mornings I awaken to the rustling of the wind in the pepper tree in the neighbor's backyard, the shush of the 5, and sun--glorious sun--pushing through my window and into my bed. My first act (after reaching for my glasses) is to look out my window at the Point. More often than not, I can't see the Point because it is shrouded in the marine layer. So then I have a decision: dress for the weather at home (sunny and warm), assuming the marine layer may lift by noon, or dress for the weather at work on the Point (cold and overcast), assuming the marine layer will not lift. Whichever choice I make, it is the wrong one.

Sometimes the marine layer can be tricky. It can hide just behind the top of the Point so that I can't see it from my house. I'll then don my lightest summer fare, only to be greeted by gloom as I crest the hill on the way to work. Incidentally, my son also suffers from my matching-clothing-to-the-weather deficiency. He's gone to daycare so many times in sweaters and pants on days that are hot and in shorts and tees on days that are frigid (somehow, even though I pack his little back pack with a change of alternate weather attire, his care providers don't ever figure out that they should maybe take his sweatshirt off when his hair is soaked with sweat and his face is red from overheating).

But I digress.

Today, ah glorious today, makes everything ever said about how San Diego is the best place in the world true. And not because the stupid weather was perfect (it was) but that the quality of the air itself just causing you to feel good about being alive and in that exact physical location at that very moment.

Today I ran the race for kids who can’t read good but really want to. It was an interesting prospect considering I’d returned home from my 7 year wedding anniversary party not a little buzzed and then proceeded to pass out in my son’s toddler bed with him on top of me. I awoke at 1am, five hours before I would have to go to a race, make-up on, a million bobby pins pushing into my head, still in out clothes with a toddler lying on top of me who was producing more body heat than a volcano.

I deposited said toddler onto his bed and did the teethbrushing and bobbypin removal (must have been a million). Hydrated and slid into bed. Only to wake up at 530 to a full moon on my face.

The race went well. My son ran about 1.5 miles of the almost 5-mile race. He then did a knee-scraping face plant on the asphalt and traveled the remainder of the race in his stroller. The rest of the day followed with unfurling of simple pleasure after simple pleasure that only happens when you've gotten up ass early to run a race: breakfast at Cafe 222, good conversation, good friends, a good bask in the sun in the lingering heat of the day.

Tonight's warmth called for a farewell to winter fare (though my CSA will probably continue to swamp me with this stuff):

Roasted Vegetable Tacos (stole part of this from Vegetarian Times)

Marinade:
olive oil
apple cider vinegar
garlic salt
cumin

Veggies to Roast:
sweet potatoes, cubed
butternut squash, cubed
5 carrots, sliced
3 serrano chiles, chopped
onion, sliced
mushrooms, sliced
4 celery, sliced
5 cloves garlic, minced

Heat oven to 375. Mix the first four ingredients in a little bowl. Add half of that mixture to the next four ingredients in a large bowl. Mix until well coated. Spread on a baking sheet and bake about 25 minutes. Meanwhile, mix the last three ingredients in the same large bowl and add the rest of the oil/vinegar mixture. After the first 25 minutes are up, add this to the baking sheet and bake another 15 minutes until the potatoes and squash are fairly soft.

Meanwhile . . .
juice one lime
olive oil
applecider vinegar
1 garlic clove, minced
1 seranno chile, minced
cumin
chopped cabbage
matchstick carrots
radishes, thinly sliced

Mix the first six ingredients together. Mix the last three ingredients together. Combine.

slice an avocado; warm tortillas In a tortilla, layer the cabbage, roasted vegetables, and avocado (can add cheese if you want). Wrap up and enjoy.

Switching Gears

I have a habit of about faces in my life. I'm not sure where this trait comes from, but when confronted with an obstacle, I tend to do a 180 and move on to something completely different.

Example: Got in a car wreck, subsequently did very poorly at school, didn't get a lot of support from my faculty adviser, so I changed majors . . . five times -- before changing back to my original major (biochemistry) with the addition of a second one (literature).

Since this time, science and literature have vied for the primary place in my heart. Typically, literature has been winning. I got an M.A. in English; I teach it; I read it; etc . . . But a new development has occurred: my application to the PhD program in Literature at University of California, San Diego, was rejected.

In all honesty, I didn't have a huge chance of getting in. My literary interests don't really match that of the department's, and choosing a graduate school based solely on physical location (in this case San Diego) is not the wisest route. However, I figured I'd give it a try. Anything to be able to stop adjuncting. Even if that means I will be shifting from on field of study to another that is completely different.

So, now I am divorcing literature and returning to the love of my youth: biology. Biology is the science for lit majors: it doesn't have a huge amount of math and the math it does have is very basic. I made this decision about three weeks before the application deadline for Fall 2007 admissions at SDSU, so needless to say, I've been doing a bit of scrambling.

It's been five years since I've used glassware for anything other than vases or guacamole servers. It's been five years since I've talked about any chemical formula other than H2O (and that's only at cocktail parties when I wanted to impress someone with how scientific I could be). Five years since I've seen any bacteria purposefully grown (stuff in my expired yogurt doesn't count). Five years since I've read something talking about peptide libraries and P53 and understood it.

Frankly, I feel unready for this endeaver; however, I didn't get a BS for nothing (think about it: BS . . .). I can do that activity with the best of them. And my literary skills are holding me in good stead: I've been researching and reading up on faculty like a madwoman in the attic.

And all of this reading has been helpful in determining exactly which lab I'd like to join (think more bench work and less math) . . . as well as in insulting the professor whose lab I really really really want to get into.

I didn't mean to insult him. I came into his lab all smiles, ready to ask a few questions and answer a few.

"I cannot accept you into this program," he greeted me.

Taken aback, I stammered through my train wreck of a thought. Did he mean that I was so unqualified that I wouldn't get accepted into the school? Did he mean that he just didn't want me in his lab? Did he mean that I shouldn't take this interview as an acceptance into the program but it could only help me that we were having this interview?

Apparently he meant the last. But that didn't become clear for a bit. And in that bit, I managed to tell him that he didn't have that many publications--a deathly insult to anyone in academia.

I didn't insult him exactly in so many words . . . it just came out that way. And after back-pedaling and digging my hole all that much deeper, I decided to call that interview a loss.

Except apparently, it wasn't a loss. This faculty member decided he liked my grit and candor (my mom always just called it diarrhea of the mouth), so when I did get accepted into the Master's program at SDSU, he accepted me into his lab.

Oh happy day. I am now going to be a scientist. I am going to work with viruses. And I don't have to teach freshman comp ever again (if I don't want to . . .).

Who needs to cook today? I'm throwing the apron away and going out!

Company Cooking

There are some dishes that you save for company. These dishes either are so amazingly good that you don't want to waste them on a regular night. Or they are so amazingly complex that a regular night just doesn't have the time in it for preparation.

One of my dishes like this is enchiladas. At first glance, this dish doesn't seem complex enough to warrant its being classified as company food. I even used canned sauce (gasp!!!) rather than make my own homemade. Yet somehow I manage to make the seemingly simple steps turn into a situation whose complexity rivals that of the synaptic network of the human brain.

Luckily for me, I have a friend who a) I love very much and is way worth any complex company food I could ever make and b) is from New York so doesn't realize that canned enchilada sauce isn't the best ever and therefore c) requests enchiladas every time she comes to visit.

So while our boys played together, offering us a reprieve from the seemingly constant barrage of "Play with me, Mommy," she and I chatted while I used up every dish in the kitchen making enchiladas (which, by the way, uses exactly 0 vegetables from my CSA).

Green Enchiladas

Filling:
whole chicken, boiled then meat picked off of the bones (if you are feeling particularly productive, you can boil the chicken with leeks, carrot, celery, parsley, thyme, etc . . . and make a stock which you can freeze for other dishes)
onion, finely chopped
black olives, chopped
jack cheese, grated
sharp cheddar, grated
green chiles, chopped

Assembly:
oil
corn tortillas
canned green sauce (I like to mix La Palma (childhood brand my mom uses) with Hatch)
more cheddar and jack cheese, grated

Mix this stuff all up in a big bowl to taste. I like more onion and chile to my cheese and chicken.

Now this is where it gets way messy:
heat the oil in a small pan that is large enough to lay a corn tortilla flat in it. When the oil is hot, add a corn tortilla until it starts to soften. Transfer tortilla to a plate. Spoon a little sauce on it. The spoon a little filling on it. Roll it up and transfer to a baking dish that has been sprayed with cooking spray. Repeat this process until you have filled the baking dish. Pour the rest of the green sauce over the rolled enchiladas. Top with cheese. Bake covered in a 350 oven for 30 minutes. Then covered for another 15. Let it sit for about 15 minutes before serving.

Serve this will rice and beans and guacamole. Your New York friends will love it.

I Should be Grading

Right now I am trying my damnedest to not accomplish any work tonight. Yes, I am giving a final in one of my classes tomorrow. Yes, I will be recieving 50 10-page papers tomorrow to grade along with 50 finals that have ten short answer questions I will also have to grade. Yes, I have about 65 2-page papers to grade right now. And yes, I should really be grading so that I am not smothered, overwhelmed, drowned in to-be-graded essays over my spring break (next week).

BUT

I am not. I am browsing the web. I am looking at other blogs (two of note: http://www.susannassketchbook.typepad.com/ and http://www.mmarquis.blogspot.com/). I am chatting to mother and friends on the phone. I am decidedly doing the exact opposite of grading. I am living according to the maxims of that great philosopher Calvin . . . and his buddy Hobbes. Maxims I followed quite stringently when I was a student.

Here is one of them:

You can't read this image too clearly, unfortunately, so I'll recreate the text:

Hobbes: Do you have an idea for your story yet?
Calvin: No, I'm waiting for inspiration. You can't just turn creativity [or productivity] on like a faucet. You have to be in the right mood.
Hobbes: What mood is that?
Calvin: Last minute panic.

And indeed, I am waiting for that panic which will inevitably set in tomorrow about the time I am giving the final and handing out faculty evaluation forms (which I was supposed to hand out last class and completely forgot to do because I was so excited about how amazingly-freaking-awesomely I was wrapping this class up with a nice tie-in back to the very first lecture I gave in January).

Fortunately, my students are also accomodating my procrastination by frantically emailing me and calling me with last-minute questions about their final paper.

I hate to tell them that at 9pm the night before a paper is due there is absolutely no hope of their producing a great essay. It's like a victim of a decapitation being taken to the emergency room. Sure we might be able to attach the head, but really you ain't gonna live.

My New Year's resolution really should have been that I will focus and prioritize and get-things-done-in-a-timely-manner-so-that-I-am-not-a-frantic-mess. But it wasn't. Instead, I resolved to do two things I love on a regular basis: 1) listen to Science Friday on Talk of the Nation on NPR and 2) go to the Ocean Beach Farmer's Market every week. I have caught Science Friday once so far. I am doing better with the farmer's market.

Today is Wednesday. Farmer's Market Day in Ocean Beach. OB has the perfect-sized market. It is exactly one block. You can circle it twice (once to scope out what is being sold-once to make your purchases) in about an hour. Perfect for a toddler who measures the size of the market in cookies: two circles is two cookies (and a stolen strawberry) in length.

I love Farmer's Market day because it's the day I supplement all of the stuff I wish my CSA would give me and doesn't. I get onions, potatoes, mushrooms and garlic. Today, I also got olive oil, asparagus, and green onions. I did not buy lettuce. Not one tiny shred of lettuce since I have four heads mouldering in my fridge as we speak.

I love this farmer's market also because you can get to know the vendors who will then hook you up with what you need or want the next week. Case in point: I talked to the honey vendor today and asked if I could get honey in jars instead of those stupid bears. He said it was no problem and promised to bring two jars of honey for me next week. Way rad.

For dinner today, I did not make a salad. Rather, I made a winter vegetable soup from Epicurious. This soup was perfect because it used up a lot of CSA stuff in one handy swoop.

WINTER VEGETABLE (of course I have tweaks and didn't do any of the measurements)

olive oil
1 cup coarsely chopped onion
1 chopped leek
3 heads of chopped garlic
2 chopped seranno chiles

1 cup peeled, cored and coarsely chopped apple
1 cup peeled and coarsely chopped turnip
1 cup peeled and chopped butternut squash (seeds discarded)
1 cup coarsely chopped carrot
1 cup peeled, chopped sweet potato
chopped parsley
chopped cilantro
chopped celery
two rainbow chard leaves, chopped
all of the turnip greens that came with turnips, chopped

5 cups vegetable (or chicken) stock (enough to cover vegetables; use your judgment)
1/4 cup maple syrup (so don't need this much. just go to taste)

For soup, heat oil in a large saucepan on medium-high heat. Add onion, leek, garlic, chile and sauté until translucent.

Add all the vegetables; season with salt (don't really need to), then sauté 5 minutes. Add stock, bring to a boil and simmer, stirring occasionally, about 30 minutes or until vegetables are tender.

Cool slightly. Puree with a handheld mixer, food processor or blender. Add syrup to taste.

Nutritional analysis per serving: 289 calories, 12.5 g fat (4 g saturated), 40 g carbohydrates, 8.5 g protein, 4.5 g fiber

Makes 6 servings.
SELF

The calories are probably off. But who really cares. This soup is awesome. The perfect comfort food for my frantic grading in the coming days.

As for now, I will quite possibly start grading. Or I will quite possibly not. There is still time before tomorrow to find other things to do.

Superstar

So far this blog has not brought me the fame or book deal I expected when I read Julie Powell's Julie/Julia. Is it because I do not share the same name with a snazzy cooking icon? Or because I don't cook crazy stuff that requires me to suspend an egg in jelly made from boiled calf hoof? But come on, cow tongue? That's pretty freaking crazy. Or maybe because I only blog about once a month now? Hmmm, I guess if you want to be a writer, you do have to actually write on a fairly regular basis. And I'm thinking that writing grades on exams don't count as writing. Too bad. I'm really good at that.

Anyway, this blog has brought me one cool perk: I am now a member of the San Diego chapter of the elite DinnerDivas cooking club. I have been vying for membership to this group for months ever since I learned that one of my friends was a member (and a fabulous cook in her own right). In September or so, I asked her how I could be a part of that group, and she nicely said that it was kind of exclusive but she would put a word in for me.
Well, months and months passed and then my friend saw her opening for bringing me up and forwarded my blog to the head of the group. And I was in!--at least for a trial. For my audition, I made the raviolis from my epic pasta blog, moving me instantly into the group's open and loving arms.

Being a Dinner Diva is way fun. We have a very eclectic group of woman who all like to tell stories, eat good food, drink good wine/adult beverages, and laugh. A lot. All of my favorite things in the world (well excepting maybe one or two other things that are also my favorites).

The group rotates hosts every month. The host gets to pick the theme of the meal and provide the main course. This month, I am the hostess with the mostess. And because it is Mardi Gras on the 20th and because I have access to a really cool Caribbean cookbook, I decided our theme would be Carnival.

So now to find a main course. Of course, in the presence of such accomplished and discerning chefs, I couldn't just make something I haven't tried first (like cow tongue); I needed to test a few recipes (okay, or maybe a lot). I perused the Caribbean cookbook and marked about 15 things I wanted to try. All meat.

Cooking a big meat meal kind of freaks me out. First, I don't really like meat all that much. Second, I don't cook meat very well. It usually comes out overdone or stringy or whatever. The solution to these issues manifests itself in the meat acting as some sort of side and someone else cooking the meat after I've prepared it. But after cow tongue, I think I can handle anything. So meat, give me your worse.

The first thing I made was a coffee and pepper crusted tenderloin.

olive oil
garlic, minced
unflavored coffee beans, ground
black pepper, coarsely ground
cumin

meat

Soak the garlic in olive oil. Rub the meat with that.

Mix equal quantities the pepper and coffee and 1/4 ground cumin in a big baggy. Add the meat to the baggy and shake to coat well.

Grill the meat, turning every 4-5 minutes until done.

Of course with the whole "grill the meat" part, I had to have my friend grill it because I would have screwed it up.

However, the meat turned out very nice. I served it over a mix of spinach and arugula that had a squeeze of lemon on it. In theory the heat of the meat was supposed to slightly wilt the leaves. In theory.

The coffee was a nice complement to the meat and the lemon had just enough tang to make it interesting.

Along with the meat, I served asparagus, baby broccoli, bread, and wasabi mashed potatoes.

Potatoes

cream
butter
wasabi powder
green onions, finely chopped
Yukon gold potatoes

mix some wasabi powder in the cream. boil the potatoes. Mash with the cream, butter, and onions.

I think I may have a winner for my DinnerDiva hostess debut.

I've Got a Fever . . .

and apparently the only cure for it is more cow . . . tongue. Yup, that's right folks. After being silent for so long, I've returned in full force with the large licking muscle of a bovine.

You might be thinking to yourself, "I thought the CSA only delivered vegetables; how did she get such an odd cut of meat?" or "What would possess this woman to cook cow tongue?" or "Is she freaking crazy?" And those are all valid questions. Or you might be thinking to yourself nothing of the sort. But if you belong to the latter group, I don't care and I will answer the questions of the former.

It all starts with the college-level, biology/English class I teach to a bunch of high schoolers. Part of this program entails a weekend-long retreat to a camp outside of Ramona. I am loathe to do anything outside of the class since my eyes hemorrhage regularly from grading horribly written essays, but since I've managed to evade this event three years in a row, I figured I was due. Don't get me wrong; this is a great group of kids this year. In fact, this is the best group we've ever had, but I'd rather spend the weekend hanging out with friends and family than with students.

In addition to not being able to get out of the trip, I also couldn't get out of actively participating in the planned events: namely one talent show. I was in charge of writing a skit for a group of five students to perform at the talent show. Bursting with creativity and originality, I took my pen in hand and copied out a skit I'd seen at a high school summer camp when I was--oddly enough--in high school.

The details of the skit aren't important. Just know it featured a dentist, a pair of giant pliers, and a cow tongue. Oddly enough, cow tongue isn't as difficult to find as I thought. Whole Foods had one.

Before you ask: no, I did not decide to cook the cow tongue after it had been mauled and tossed around by my students (though honestly, I wouldn't put that past me). The retreat was actually enjoyable and full of fun activities. So full, in fact, that we never did get to the talent show.

So there I was: the proud owner of a very large cow tongue. Of course I had to cook it.

Cow tongue is an amazing cut of beef. It is so exactly like a giant . . . tongue. Mottled and bumpy. Rough and heavy. Now, I am not a squeamish person. I have no problems with seeing where my meat comes from. In fact, I've even skinned a deer, plucked many turkeys, and castrated both goats and rats (don't ask and definitely don't tell anyone). I don't need to have bones removed from meat (like one of my friends does). I eat steak so rare that it is raw and cold in the center. However, cow tongue is a horse of a completely different color (if you'll excuse the metaphor).

As I pulled it from its packaging, I felt an involuntary surge of nausea come over me. I couldn't understand it. Why would this meat be different from any other I've encountered? I quickly placed the meat in the crock pot with the other ingredients and crock-potted the shit out of it overnight. The recipe calls for boiling, but I figured crock pots are just as good. Also, since it is so disgusting raw, I thought cooking it a bit might make it palatable.

Because I know you are dying to cook cow tongue on your own, here the recipe I used:

TONGUE WITH MUSTARD-HORSERADISH SAUCE
Active time: 30 min Start to finish: 3 1/2 hr

For tongue
1 (3‚-lb) fresh beef tongue
1 large onion, sliced
6 garlic cloves, smashed
1 bay leaf
1 whole star anise
1/2 teaspoon black peppercorns
2 tablespoons salt

For sauce
1/4 cup chopped shallot (1 large)
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 1/2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/4 cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons whole-grain Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon bottled horseradish
1 tablespoon chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
1 tablespoon chopped fresh dill
1/2 teaspoon fresh lemon juice

Cook tongue: Rinse tongue well with cold water and place in a deep 6- to 8-quart pot. Add cold water to cover by 3 inches, then add remaining tongue ingredients. Cover pot and bring to a boil. Simmer, partially covered, until tongue is fork-tender, 2 1/2 to 3 hours.

Transfer tongue to a cutting board (reserve 1‚ cups cooking liquid) and, when cool enough to handle, peel off skin and trim any fat or gristle. Skim off fat from cooking liquid and pour liquid through a paper-towel–lined sieve into a large bowl, discarding solids. Keep tongue warm, covered.

Make sauce: Cook shallot in butter in a 2-quart heavy saucepan over moderate heat, stirring frequently, until softened. Whisk in flour and cook, whisking, 1 minute. Gradually whisk in reserved cooking liquid and cream, then bring to a boil, whisking.

Simmer sauce, whisking, until slightly thickened, 2 to 3 minutes. Whisk in mustard, horseradish, herbs, lemon juice, and salt and pepper to taste.

Slice tongue and serve with sauce.
Serves 6.
Gourmet
Sugar and Spice
May 2000

I fell asleep that night to a house full of the smell of cooking cow tongue. It is a tangy greasy smell that manages to permeate the oddest things--like my hair. The next day (after a shower to get the cow tongue smell out of my hair), I took the crockpotted tongue out of the water and "skinned" it as commanded "Aha!" My mind reasoned. "It is only nasty because of the taste bud-coated skin." Ummm, yeah.

Getting through the tough taste bud-coated skin is actually kind of hard. I had to firmly grip the tongue to pierce the hide. With the first successful pierce, a spurt of unidentified and foul-smelling liquid sailed into the air. I'm not sure if it was the crock pot water or maybe we have a layer of liquid under the skin of our tongue. I'm not about to pierce my own tongue to find out.

However, once pierced, cow tongue does "skin" with surprising ease. The "meat" inside is stringy and flaky. Oh, and it doesn't smell any better skinned or not.

My skinning efforts were rewarded with a very sad and distinctly unappetizing cut of beef.
At this point, a small part of my mind asked me, "Are you really going to continue cooking this? Are you really going to eat this?" And the other part of me, the part that insists every six months or so that I can run even though I have more metal in my left foot than bone, answered, "HELL YEAH!"

I then stared on the sauce, thinking that since this is such strong-tasting meat, the sauce will both tame and complement it, leaving me (as the brave cook) to garner the accolades of my doubting friends and family for attempting such a serious task.

And really, I think that's why I even tried to cook this cut. Do I really like beef? No. Do I regularly eat exotic cuts of any meat? No. Will a meal of meaty goodness really make me feel as satiated and good as one that is full of green vegetables? No. Honestly, I took on this task because I think a truly good cook should be able to successfully cook and serve anything that is handed to her (or him). I think a good cook should be able to shape the wildest of ingredients into something that the people who eat her food will like and enjoy. Because cooking is about skill and about pleasing others. A good cook should be able to do both with anything

. . . except cow tongue. I also think there should be exceptions to the above rule that don't compromise your status as a good cook. Sometimes there are just cultural palate preferences that we just can't overcome.

Or maybe not. Maybe I am not as good a cook as I thought I was. Maybe I am a mediocre cook who can do a limited number of things fairly well. But there is room for growth. Room to gain skill.

Maybe cow tongue is my Everest. . .

Or maybe not.

Yes!

Yes! I have in my hot little hands the hot off the presses new edition of Vegetarian Times. And this baby is loaded with awesome recipes. I can't wait.

And I didn't.

Tonight I cooked the curried penne because I need to get Christmas cards out and finish grading, so I need a quick meal.

Christmas cards have to be one of my least favorite social obligations out there (actually any card giving for that matter--I hate it). For a long time I didn't even do them; then I had a baby and suddenly it's required that you update everyone you've ever met in your entire life on the state of your child. I don't mind catching up with friends and family I haven't seen or spoken to for a while. With a military life, sometimes this card is the only contact I'll have with people I do love, but because of geographic hardships and my own inability to keep up a long-distance relationship, we just don't speak that often. However, when I print out 100 letters and pictures of my son and then have to print more, there is some sort of problem here. I don't have over 100 people who need a yearly update. I don't know how this whole card giving thing spiralled so completely out of control.

Curried Penne

penne pasta (I bought this fresh at Assenti's)
3 Tbs slivered almonds (didn't have, didn't use)
1 Tbs canola oil (I used olive oil)
1/2 onion, finely chopped
1/2 tsp whole cumin seeds (didn't have because I didn't have my spices here at this house, so I had to use powdered)
1 small tomato, diced
1 1/2 tsp mild curry powder
cayenne
1 cup frozen peas, rinsed under hot water
1 cup low-fat buttermilk
2 Tbs chopped cilantro

Cook pasta. Meanwhile, heat a large skillet over medium heat. Add almonds and toast 2 to 3 minutes, or until lightly browned, stirring frequently. Transfer to a small bowl.

Heat oil in the skillet over medium-high heat. Add onion, and cook 2 minutes, or until softened. Stir in cumin and cook 1 minute more or until fragrant.

Add tomato, curry powder and cayenne. Cook 1 minute or until liquid has evaporated. Add peas and cook 1 minute more. Remove from heat and stir in buttermilk.

Drain pasta and transfer to a large serving bowl. Toss with the sauce and top with the almonds and cilantro.

Okay, rampant use of commas in their instructions aside, there are some things to note about VT's recipe. First: don't use powdered cumin. The sauce with be too gritty. Second: make damn sure you are away from heat when adding the buttermilk because it will become lumpy. Third: the use of some pasta water during the addition of the curry powder might be helpful for dissolving the powders and thickening the sauce.

That said, this pasta was unusual and good. Not amazing but a nice weeknight dinner.

Anyway, after dinner, my husband graciously addressed the cards for me while I finished grading two of my classes. Of which I did until one in the morning. But now I am done with my comp classes! Yes! And with Christmas cards. Yes!

Only one class and 20 ten-page research papers to go. Ye--oh.

The Unknown

Today was supposed to be the day we found out about the state of the house and the timeline of repair.

We didn't.

We are now supposed to know by Friday. I know you can't hear it, but I am sighing in frustration. It's not that we aren't comfortable in our Christmas-decorated new home; it's not that my friend isn't being completely awesome and welcoming even though his place has been invaded by the queen of clutter and her loud two-year-old (my husband is amazingly neat and clean, so he is compensating for my and my son's messes); it's just that I want to know what is going on. And I want. to. know. now.

But I can't, so I am going to cook and forget the annoyance of limbo. When I cook, I can somehow release all of my stress and frustrations. The rhythmic chopping, savory smells, mix of textures and temperatures, and the orchestration of dinner always calm my soul. When I am upset I do one of two things: cook or sleep. Cooking is the more productive of the two.

Tonight, I decided to just make a sauce of my own using the fennel.

Pasta

olive oil
fennel bulb
garlic
1/2 onion

beet greens

white wine
basic tomato sauce

Chop everything up very finely. Saute the fennel, garlic, onion in olive oil until onions turn golden. Add beet greens and saute a bit more. Add white wine. Simmer a bit. Add the tomato sauce. Simmer more. Salt to taste.

Serve over spinach fettucini.

Serve with a salad: lettuce, mushroom, red bell pepper, celery, radish, avocado, tomato.

The problem with strictly CSA cooking is that I miss some of my most beloved vegetables. So I cheated on my CSA and bought broccoli and artichokes to serve with dinner (I steamed the broccoli and boiled the artichokes in water with lemon and olive oil for about 45 minutes). Luckily I did. The pasta sauce lacked something; a little je ne sais quoi. It was edible and tasted okay but way way bland. So sad. At least the cooking was theraputic. I won't stress about the house again until tomorrow.