Reaching Acceptance & Letting Go

It was three-thirty in the morning when it happened. That same clawing hunger that I thought I’d tempered came back with a vengeance. And it doesn’t just come at three-thirty; sometimes it happens at two. Has it been weeks since I’ve slept over six hours at one time, or months? Regardless, I haven’t slept a full night for quite some time, simply because the hunger pains are relentless. It’s like all I do throughout the morning is eat, and then after dinner before bed I eat. I eat and I snack and I graze. I feel like a black hole that’s always empty, or a pot that never fills, even when you’re making rice for the whole family. 

It's never enough.

I eat and I eat and I’m frustrated. Actually, I’m not as frustrated as I was on Monday (or on Wednesday, when I started writing this post), but still I’m frustrated.

A couple of weeks ago I received a letter from my doctor regarding the bone density scan I had done in February. The results weren’t alarming, but they weren’t rays of sunshine either: my bone density was below average.

I remember watching the machine scan my hip, and how humbling it was to see my bones on the computer screen. It occurred to me how little I thought of what was under the skin, the muscles, the veins, and the blood. Beneath all that I never considered how real my bones were, how instead of being the body of a small universe there were these white masts I used as foundation. It was so grounding a thought that when I received that letter, I felt unreal, deflated, like I could feel the very things that were my foundation giving in to the weight of what it held together.

I was no longer immortal, and I was suddenly aware of my humanity.

The results could have been worse. They could have shown that I had the bones of a one-thousand-year-old mummy with no way of fixing it. Instead, it just merely pointed out that my bone density was below average, and the good news was that there was treatment. (The Doctor had mentioned that too much Armour Thyroid could cause bone loss; however, I think my low bone density was the consequence of years of disordered eating.) So with that in the back of my mind, with some of my early hypothyroid symptoms returning and being Hungry with a capital “H”, you can see how it can leave a girl frustrated.

The hardest part for me is not knowing why I am so hungry, and whether is has to do with: my thyroid condition or some other health factor I haven’t considered (hypoglycemia, mineral/vitamin deficiency, etc.); my fitness regimen of exercising six days a week; or, even with additional meals and snacking, I’m still not eating enough.

And there is the matter of considering that it’s all three.

I usually get emotional when I talk about having a hypothyroid condition. I feel really vulnerable when I do, and that is probably why I don’t write about it very often on Meals With Morri (I’ve talked about the treatment, but rarely the condition itself and how it affects me). I am not the condition, and I don’t view it as part of my identity as a person. There are days, however, when I can’t explain this overwhelming fatigue or when I’m suddenly intolerant of the heat or the cold. I get embarrassed of my cold hands and the yellowish hue when both symptoms flare up. I get discouraged because of the added complications that make it harder to keep weight off or lose weight in general. The biggest fear I’ve had as of late is if I eat more, despite my very active lifestyle, I’ll become the next incarnation of Budai (without the jolliness). 

(source)

So this week I’ve been experimenting by writing out what I’ve been eating, taking my pulse before I go to bed and after I wake up, and working on balancing my active lifestyle with my calorie intake. I’m still waking up early, and I weigh no more than I did when I was weighed before my bone density was scanned. But if getting my bones in tiptop shape means weighing more, or if eating enough to sleep a full night in peace means I am destined to weigh (on average) 125 pounds, I accept those terms.

To be honest, fighting your body for what you believe to be best is hard work, especially when there is more than one way to being right. I could fight (and have been fighting) against my health’s shortcomings or I could work with them and accommodate those needs accordingly.

I’m done being my worst enemy, and I’m finally ready to be my best friend. I’m ready to work with my whole self to finding what works and what doesn’t work for me. Sure, I may get frustrated and I may have days when my symptoms flare up. And yes, there will be days I think it’s unfair that I can’t wear a size 4 dress. But having the health that I have has taught me the importance of pacing myself, being honest, going with the flow, and to never give up trying. It shows how marvelous life truly is in all of its twists and turns and complexities.

I may have gotten up earlier than I wanted to today with a sniffle and a sneeze, and I may have “a rumbly in my tumbly” like a certain Silly Old (Taoist) Bear, but I smile and I enjoy the beautiful spring day as it is.

And really, that’s all we can ever ask for.

Simply Green Brown Rice

360 g Sprouted brown rice
500 ml Water (or more if you want a creamier consistency)
15 ml Unrefined apple cider vinegar
3 tsp. Minced dried onion
1 tsp. Sea salt
1/2 tsp. Herb de Provence
1/4 tsp. Whole cumin seeds
1/4 tsp. Cracked pepper
1/4 tsp. Dried tarragon
1 bunch (126 g) Curly leaf parsley
Juice of 1 Lemon
30 ml Olive oil

1 Lemon, cut into wedges and served as garnish

Combine the rice, water, vinegar, and spices into a pressure/rice cooker or medium saucepan and cook until the rice has softened and taken a creamy consistency (time will vary based on how you usually prepare brown rice and how much water you put in).
Place the parsley, lemon juice, and olive oil in a food processor and pulse until the ingredients form a pesto-like quality.
Fold in the parsley mixture with the rice, and then serve warm with the lemon wedges on top.

Makes 8 servings.

The Great Green Experiment

To celebrate the majesty that is the spring season, albeit a little late, I took photos of all things green around the house. 

Oh, and inside of course.

I love the color green. It’s the color of life, found on many of the fruits and veggies we eat on a daily basis. And besides purple and dark blue (and sunflower yellow, dusty pink, sunset orange... I think you get it.), all shades of green are beautiful to me.

Except, that is, for this color. I call it "muck monster vegan muffin green". 

I shudder to think of the monster I created with spinach, banana, and way too much almond milk in my experimenting with vegan baking. It tasted… okay, I suppose. But it was a spongy pudding type of creation that even I couldn’t pass off as a delicious accident. 

Maybe it was just an off day (or week), but I’ve been feeling like my recipes/posts have been less than awesome. There was a sense of “going with the flow” experimenting and naïve optimism in the beginning of this blog. Now it seems to have progressed into wanting perfection every time I take something out of the oven.

But perfection doesn’t happen every time. Sometimes there’s something missing and you don’t know what it is. Sometimes it takes two or three (or five) times until you get it right. And if everything I made was a godsend to the tongue, I think I’d get rather bored.

No, having flops keeps me humble. It’s like a science equation or mathematical theory you were [un]certain of its success, and when they sometimes fail I look on to figuring out why. 

I think the reasons why this particular recipe failed had to do with the following: I didn’t pay attention to the ratio of ingredients; the batter was too wet and didn’t have the correct binder to keep the muffin together or help it to rise; and, probably the most relevant, my ignorance of working with vegan binders.

So for those who are vegan AND gluten free, I give you major props.

Despite the recipe not turning out as well as I’d hoped, I did enjoy the combination of flavors and think it would be delicious in a smoothie. It also gave me the stubborn perseverance to make a green muffin, even if it wasn’t vegan (or as green). This time it turned out as scrumptiously as I’d hoped it would, with exceptionally green ingredients to add to its already bangin’ nutrition content.  

Sweet Green Spiced Muffins

60 g Garbanzo bean flour
15 g Coconut flour
15 g Flaxseed meal
30 g Pumpkin seed flour*
1 tsp. Matcha powder
1/2 tsp. Sea salt
1/2 tsp. Baking soda
1/2 tsp. Cinnamon
1/4 tsp. Allspice
1/4 tsp. Spirulina powder
75 g Dried cranberries
14 g Cocoa nibs
240 ml Unsweetened vanilla almond milk (or your "milk" of choice)
122 g Unsweetened applesauce
2 Large eggs
Stevia, to taste

Preheat the oven to 350ºF.
Mix together the ingredients thoroughly in a medium-sized bowl, and then pour the batter into greased muffin tins.
Bake for 40 minutes, and then transfer them onto a cooling rack for a few minutes until serving.
Serve warm with your favorite nut butter and enjoy at any time of the day.

*If you don't have pumpkin seeds on hand to turn into a fine powder with your food processor, feel free to use pistachio or opt for hemp protein powder instead.

Makes 9 regular sized muffins.

The Bento Box Snapshot: Tandoori Spiced Chicken, Lemon Parsley Quinoa Salad, & Gooey Sweet Potato

Before I write about the major flop I made the other day (think the offspring of a muck monster with a vegan muffin), I thought I’d share my night of shenanigans with a Bento Box Snapshot. 

I know. It’s been a while since I’ve posted one of these.

I’ve been working at the community center’s BASE (Before and After School Enrichment) program since last fall, and I can honestly say it is the first job I’ve ever had where I felt part of a team. We work together to help each other, to making it a fun experience for the kids that come every day, and it is a growing experience. I’ve learned the art of communication, of true conflict resolution in its purest form, and how to be a team player. Yesterday night we celebrated a friend’s new job by going to Auld Shebeen, the one and only Irish pub and restaurant in Fairfax. I had always wanted to go, and I finally had the chance!

Just so you know, the merlot is fantastic.

Anyway, as I was fairly certain not much of anything on the menu was Morri friendly (save the wine list), I made a bento dinner and ate it outside the community center, reveling in the beautiful weather before joining the group to wish our friend Matt well. 

I had a chicken breast from the tandoori inspired meal we had on Wednesday on top of a lemon parsley quinoa salad (similar to tabouli), and a perfectly baked sweet potato on the side. 

This BBS kept my tummy happy and able to be with my friends while they ate without wanting to eat the table. And come on, if it has sweet potato in it, it has to be good.

Considering

There was a moment in between applying for various volunteer and intern positions this morning where I considered my favorite kinds of foods. 

Morri considering food, you say to yourself, is nothing new. 

I know.

Morri thinks about food all the time, you continue, whether it is recipes, cookbooks, philosophy, or future endeavors regarding the restaurant business or a non-profit organization. 

I know.

It’s nothing new, you conclude. 

I know.

So on this rainy morning, while considering the option to replace today’s running with Monday’s workout, I take a breather before resuming another search on idealist.org, and flashback to a conversation I had with Mama Dazz.

Photos of Community Gardening, 2009

I have a taste for the simple and the holistic, and that shows through the meals I make. Stews, one-pot wonders, and bowlfuls of everything-but-the-kitchen sink are my area of expertise. I yearn for comfort, for days of leftovers, and for food sources that don’t drain your bank account. These are the recipes that I enjoy sharing, and they are the ones I am the most proud of.

But I want to take it a step further, to show people the significant difference food from the backyard garden can make in a recipe, and to learn how to be a leader in the movement toward sustainable development in the community. I want to document all of the wonderful contributions being made by the unsung heroes of the movement, and I want to be part of it, either as a volunteer, a post-graduate intern, or having a decision-making position in the cause.

Mushroom picking in Sweden, 2010

I’m tired of waiting around for the world to give me heading; it’s time I got my hands in the soil and did something to change the way people look at food. I have to be the change I wish to see in the world, and it's time I prove it.

As mentioned before, I have a penchant for bubbling stews and soups on the stove, filling the house with enticing aromas and warmth only a well-used kitchen provides. There is one soup that I am always in the mood for, and I needed to work with what I had.

Onion soup is an amazing kind of recipe. I searched for different kinds of onion soup, but the French version is the most popular, if not the only one out there. It has everything one could ever ask for in the attempt to using up whatever is lying around: onions, leftover beef stock, stale bread, and cheese you haven’t used up yet. It is a stick-to-your-ribs kind of soup, rich and dense, with essentially all of the main food groups provided. So to no offense of the French, since I have the privilege of knowing quite a few amazing people from the country, I made my own kind of onion soup, something lighter and with a homemade chicken stock base. What’s so marvelous about this recipe is that you essentially have two meals: the onion soup and the chicken and veggies for another day. (You can also place the meats and veggies from the stock at the bottom for additional nutrition.) I made skillet cornbread, modifying the ingredients but otherwise made the same way as I usually do.

Onion Soup in a Homemade Chicken Broth

For the Homemade Chicken Broth:
2 qt. Water
30 ml Unrefined apple cider vinegar
450 g Chicken thigh meat*
6 Garlic cloves, whole
85 g Leeks, coarsely sliced
4 (156 g) Carrots, whole
2 (76 g) Celery hearts (preferably the innermost hearts**), whole

Combine all of the ingredients in a pressure cooker or large pot on medium-high heat until the meat and vegetables have softened (to the point of falling apart) and the liquid has colored slightly.
Remove the chicken and vegetables and set the broth aside.

For the Onion Soup:
Homemade chicken broth, recipe above
1 Bay leaf
2 tsp. Sea salt
1 tsp. Cracked pepper
30 ml Coconut oil
3 White onions, halved and thinly sliced horizontally
3 Red onions, halved and thinly sliced horizontally

Gouda cheese, finely grated as garnish

In a large flat-bottomed skillet pan or pot on medium-low heat, melt the coconut oil and cook the onions until translucent and caramelized (be careful not to burn).
Transfer the onions to the broth and add the remaining ingredients, cooking on medium heat for thirty minutes to and hour (I let it simmer while preparing the cornbread).
Pour the soup in up to six bowls, garnish with the desire amount of Gouda cheese, and serve hot with a side of cornbread***.

Yields 6 servings.

*This is what I had on hand, but you are welcome to use whatever parts of the chicken (or any meat) are accessible to you.
**You can use whichever part of the celery, but the innermost heart stalks are the ones I noticed people don’t eat raw, and thus perfect to use in soups.

***Goat milk Cornbread

240 g Masa flour
1 tsp. Baking soda
1/2 tsp. Sea salt
240 ml Water
240 ml Goat milk
2 Large eggs
42 g (3 tbsp.) butter
50 g Unsweetened applesauce

For instructions, click here.

Makes 1 batch and 8 servings.

Fitness Progression & Bread Rising

This has been quite an interesting albeit exhausting day, and I’d thought I’d share a few things before I went to bed. Besides successfully baking a "dark" version of Irish Soda Bread, I have also modified my fitness regimen. Running and rock climbing each three times a week has really brought a positive change in my physique. When the boyfriend visited over the weekend, he (and others) couldn’t help but notice my legs getting firmer. When we went rock climbing with his brother at the SportRock in Sterling, I successfully completed trails higher up and harder than the ones in Alexandria, trails I’d never climbed before.

At some point, however, I felt that something was missing in my routine, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. I mean, I had the upper-body workout with the bouldering and the aerobic/lower-body work out with running, so what else was there? For many months, Cheryl had been asking whether or not I’d considered yoga, mostly for stress relief but also for days I didn’t feel like running or rock climbing. Mama Dazz was also flabbergasted by my hesitation, because I took Kundalini Yoga in college and loved it. After four days of yoga at least once a day (each only being a couple of minutes long), I’ve noticed significant change in my arm strength, my balance, my breathing, and my focus. Even better, my dear readers, is that I’m sleeping and sleeping well.

(source)

After adding yoga, my stress level has decreased and I’m not randomly hungry throughout the day. And when I do eat, I don’t have the desire to continue eating after I am full. I can now look at remnants on a plate and save it for a later time. It’s only been four days, but I’m rather happy with the progress I am making.

Now, about the recipe.

On Saturday I attempted to make Irish soda bread for that night’s family hullabaloo, but impatience and uncertainty got the better of me and I took it out too soon. Part of it had not finished baking and it fell apart. This is one of the few recipes I actually used a mix (part of it was King Arthur’s all-purpose gf flour mix and another was a various combinations of flours I pre-made), but I thought the taste was that of soda bread. And a note to all of you if you don’t have buttermilk or yogurt on hand, goat milk works very well for it.

Determined, I decided to try a different recipe for Irish soda bread from Williams-Sonoma's Cooking at Home (2010, p. 430), one of my go-to cookbooks these days. I was inspired to make the “dark” or brown version of Irish soda bread, something with a molasses color and flavor. Naturally, I looked to teff and I was ecstatic of its success.

This bread can be made the night before, but if you are going from fridge to the oven, you need to add ten minutes on your cooking time (I found it easier to mold it in the desired shape, plus lightly carve a small cross on top for ultimate leavening… and to let “little people” out). If not, simply baking it at 425ºF for 30 - 35 minutes as the cookbook recommends. Also, this is the halved version of the recipe, and it still turned out wonderfully. To double, add an additional gram to the oats (45 g), flaxseed meal (15 g), and yogurt (375 g).

Brown Irish Soda Bread

180 g Teff flour
22 g CGF rolled oats
7 g Flaxseed meal
3/4 tsp. Baking soda
1/2 tsp. Sea salt
30 g Unsalted butter, chilled
187 g Greek yogurt, full fat

Preheat the oven to 425ºF.
In a food processor, pulse the teff flour, oats, flaxseed meal, baking soda, and salt until just combine.
Cut the butter into eight pieces and scatter throughout the dry ingredients.
Press the “pulse” button again ten consecutive times until the mixture resembles a coarse meal.
Add the yogurt and blend the ingredients as evenly as possible, until it forms a ball.
Chill covered up to thirty minutes or overnight, and then turn out the dough with your floured hands onto the baking sheet lined with parchment paper you intend on using. (The dough should be soft to the touch).
Flatten the ball into a 7-inch dome and, using a sharp knife, cut a shallow “X” from one side of the loaf to the other.
Bake 25 – 30 minutes, or until there is no give on the crust in the center.
Transfer the loaf to a wire rack to cool slightly, then serve warm.

Makes 1 loaf. Serves 4.

The New St. Paddy Tradition

The day of and following St. Paddy’s had greener than green flora and overcast skies. There was leftover corned beef and cabbage from Friday (we started early this year), and a trial run of gluten free soda bread sliced on the counter. There were good conversations and rock climbing. There was family and good food and laughter around the table. Oh, and naturally there was green everywhere.

Since I was a wee lass, St. Paddy’s Day was celebrated with corned beef and cabbage, talk of leprechauns, and wearing green. Sometimes leprechauns left little trinkets in my shoddy shoebox trap, in place of the potato I’d left beneath it. There was a year green Ken doll footprints were found all over the furniture in the classrooms of my school. This isn’t the religious holiday my Irish cousins observe overseas, but for one day out of the year the U.S. is enthusiastically Irish.

Contrary to popular belief, the corned beef tradition on St. Paddy's doesn’t come from Ireland, as beef was considered a luxury at the time. In the 19th century, with the potato famine sending many Irish families to the United States, many say it was because beef being more readily available and the close cultural interactions with Jewish butchers that made corned beef a staple in Irish American cuisine. Thus, the corned beef and cabbage, the beef replacing the bacon for the traditional dish, became associated with St. Patrick’s Day.

Corned beef and I have had our rocky years. At one point, I wasn’t all too fond of the dish, though I did enjoy corned beef hash (oh yes, the canned kind) immensely. Though I started to develop a taste for it, only to realize that the store-bought corned beef in brine wasn’t as Morri friendly as it could be. Sugar is the basis for many types of brine, and I was determined to have corned beef and cabbage this weekend.

The answer was to make it from scratch, homemade brine and all.

I should have let it marinate longer than five days (the bare minimum amount of time for a decent corned beef), but it was a wonderful experiment and I consider it a success regardless. Since we bought a rather large brisket and only used half (the other half was then halved again and frozen), I’m going to make it again when I have a craving for corned beef hash. Another difference is that I will use whole spices instead of ground, because it was all I had at the time and we just restocked from Penzeys this afternoon.

The recipe for the brine comes from The Caveman Bistro’s post “The Brining of the Beef – a Paleo Experiment”. Most, if not all the brines I looked at for inspiration were in fact gluten free. But refined sugar free was harder, and this paleo brine saved the day. 

Corned Beef Brisket Brine

2 qt. Water
30 ml Unrefined apple cider vinegar
8 Garlic cloves, crushed
1 tbsp. Sea salt
6 Dried whole bay leaves
1 tbsp. Whole peppercorns
1 tbsp. Mustard seed powder
1 tbsp. Allspice powder
1 tbsp. Ground cloves
5 -7 lbs. Beef brisket, trimmed of heavy fat (though some fat can be left on for flavor and texture)
   
In a large pot on the stovetop, combine water, vinegar, garlic, salt, bay, pepper, mustard, all spice and cloves and heat to a boil. 
Reduce heat and simmer for 10 minutes, and then remove from heat and allow to cool until room temperature. 
Place brisket in the large pot with the cooled brine mixture and push the brisket down so that it is completely submerged in the brine. 
Place pot in fridge and marinate for minimum 5-7 days and up to 3 weeks.
When ready, prepare as you would a commercially prepared corned beef brisket…

Now that you have a delicious corned beef recipe waiting to happen, let’s make it even more amazing with a few additional ingredients!

The following recipe was the inspiration of the cookbook Irish Pub Cooking (2009), something I picked up at the GMU bookstore two years ago.

Corned Beef and Cabbage

Corned beef, after the desired period of marinating
1 tsp. Sea salt
1 Large white onion, sliced
6 Carrots, cut into chunks
1 Turnip, thickly sliced
6 Red skinned potatoes, cut into chunks
1 Green cabbage, cored and cut into wedges
9 g Parsley (or 1 oz stemmed), coarsely chopped
Mustard, as garnish

… Drain the meat, discarding the soaking liquid, then rinse (I discarded the garlic cloves, but held onto the bay leaves and peppercorns).
Put the meat and spices (including the salt) back into the pot, and pour enough water to cover.
Bring to a boil and then reduce the heat to a simmer and cover the meat to cook for 1 hour and 45 minutes or longer (I recommend using the pressure cooker to cut the time).
At the one-hour mark, add the onion, carrots, turnip, and potatoes to the pot, re-cover, and simmer for the remaining 45 minutes.
Add the cabbage and parsley on top of the broth and let it cook for another 25 – 30 minutes, or until the meat is tender.
Remove the beef, cover with aluminum foil, and let stand for 10 minutes to firm up.
Strain the vegetables (but keep the broth!) and put them into a warmed serving dish, discarding the stray bay leaves.
Carve the meat into slices and serve immediately with the vegetables, accompanied by the mustard.

Makes 8 – 10 servings.

Stumped & Flopped

I’ve been producing quite a few “half-baked” recipes lately. It’s a term I use to regard a recipe as having the potential to be delicious, but it’s missing something crucial. There were two of which I was particularly bummed about, because I was really looking forward to blogging their awesomeness and I’m usually quite good at figuring out what recipes need.

These two, however, have stumped me silly. 

So if anyone out there in cyber space with some time and the ingredients could make it and tell me what’s missing, I’d gratefully appreciate it.

The first of these borderline flops was a smoothie similar to the “Sweet Pea Pucker Smoothie” recipe I made early on in my Meals with Morri blogging. I had a bag of key limes I needed to use up and was craving a key lime pie sort of smoothie. I don’t think it was nearly tart or sweet enough (that, or the sweet and sour flavors weren’t balanced correctly), and could have possibly used a banana in the mix.

Key Lime Pie Smoothie

Juice of 6 Key limes
1/2 Ripe avocado
81 g Frozen spinach
150 ml Coconut milk
120 ml Almond milk, unsweetened vanilla (found in Trader Joe’s refrigerated section by the milk)
122 g Applesauce, unsweetened
Stevia, to taste

I blended the ingredients until smooth and poured it into two jars lined with almond meal and flaxseed meal (the “crust”). It tasted okay, but I wasn’t very much impressed with it overall.

The second one was also a disappointment, though edible. I wanted to make an indulgent oatmeal breakfast with cocoa nibs and powder. I’ve had issues with cocoa powder before (see this post for my cocoa powder flop moment), so maybe baking chocolate would have worked better. It also wasn’t balanced in flavor, a little to bitter and not sweet enough. Instead of water, I think almond milk would have helped in making it creamy and decadent instead of strong and grainy. It’s also quite possible that the cocoa nibs should be on their own, like a chocolate chip or something.

Chocolate Crunch Oatmeal

20 g Steel cut oats
20 g CGF rolled oats
240 ml Water
5 ml Unrefined apple cider vinegar
7 g Cocoa nibs
5 g Unsweetened cocoa powder
1/4 tsp. Sea salt
1/4 tsp. Bourbon vanilla
Stevia, to taste
1/4 tsp. (1 ml) Coconut oil

I combined all of the ingredients except for the coconut oil the night before to soak, and then cooked it over medium heat the next morning (oil included). I poured it into a bowl and garnished it with a whole banana, a spoonful of peanut butter, chilled coconut milk, and a dash of cinnamon. Again, I think if the garnishes were integrated in the oatmeal, it would’ve tasted phenomenal.

Let me know what recommendations and alterations you’d make with either (or both) recipe, and I’ll make them again and credit you for helping me in its success.

My Peace in a Pan

In February, my Dad took me to see Arlo Guthrie after a scrumptious meal at Walker’s Grille. I mention this a month later because I couldn’t think of a post (nor the recipe) to share this story. It’s a very special story, and I wanted to share it in the right context.

Which part of the story was special, you ask: the dinner or the concert? They both were special, in the sense that I felt a connection. I felt a connection with my Dad, with the staff at Walker’s Grille, with Arlo and the band, and with the audience (the majority of which have been loyal fans of the Guthrie family even before Woodstock). Feeling connected is the most awe-inspiring experience you could ever give to yourself; it is the best gift on Earth. 

Mama Dazz and I met up with an old friend of hers a few weeks later at Walker’s Grille for lunch. I had the same dish as before: trout en papillote. This is the only fish dish I’ve ever had that I can remember eating the entire thing, skin and all. Both times the fish was light and moist, flaky and melt-in-your-mouth delectable, and it is light enough to match whatever time of day you are craving it. I hope to recreate this dish in the summer, but to continue on with my story…

There was something about being in that audience and watching Arlo Guthrie play alongside his son, his grandson (named Krishna, which I adore), and his go-to drummer that had me stupefied and bewildered. Like Tori Amos, the Indigo Girls, and Neil Gaiman, this man told stories with his music. I went from one dreaming sequence to another at each song, my desire to tear up immediately replaced by my desire to laugh and kiss the stranger next to me like an old friend. I felt safe and loved while I listened on, my eyes growing heavy at the warmth of positive energy coming from the stage. Other artists inspired Arlo Guthrie, and it was his magical ability turning his father’s poetry and Steve Goodman’s song “City of New Orleans” into infamous works of art any generation could relate to.  

He sang of social injustice and protest. He talked about love, and the story of how he and his wife met. (They have been married since 1969, and I was inspired and humbled by their love story, which is still going strong.) He joked about Woodstock, about where his music has taken him, and he spoke like he’d known us all our lives.

The thing I loved about Arlo is that he legitimately loves people, no matter if he agrees with them or not. This man, who in my mind resembled both physical attributes of Mozart and Einstein, is that grandfather whose tales you hear at his knee, the man who has taken the little steps to making the world a better place, and the person who understands what it means to be a positive force in the world. He’s at peace with himself, because when you come right down to it, that’s all anyone has.

I’ve been at peace before, so I know what it feels like. But he embodies it, and then shares it with others.

The last song of the night was “My Peace”, a short poem his father Woody had written that Arlo turned into the most moving song I’ve had the pleasure to sing. It was the “Kumbaya” on a grander scale, and one that shook me to my core. The entire audience was swaying and singing along, smiles on everyone’s faces and tears of joy threatening to fall. It is the song I go to on an otherwise cloudy day, and I hope it brings a smile to your face like it has mine.

My Peace

Words by Woody Guthrie, Music by Arlo Guthrie

My peace my peace is all I’ve got that I can give to you
My peace is all I ever had that’s all I ever knew
I give my peace to green and black and red and white and blue
My peace my peace is all I’ve got that I can give to you

My peace, my peace is all I’ve got and all I've ever known
My peace is worth a thousand times more than anything I own
I pass my peace around and about ‘cross hands of every hue;
I guess my peace is justa ‘bout all I’ve got to give to you

This is the poem/song I go to when I'm feeling less than peaceful, and the recipe I'm about to give also provided a slice of peace in a pan.

Before that night, I’d never heard of Arlo or his father Woody. Before that night, I’d never heard of (let alone eaten at) Walker’s Grille, a place that is all about sustainable development and meeting the needs of the community and the individual diner.

So thanks, Daddy-O, for giving me that connection and a little bit of peace in an otherwise hectic post-graduate world.

Speaking of peace, I’ve noticed that I am at peace when I eat certain foods. My household was infamous for its one-pan-wonders. Layers of many flavors, textures, and colors were on each and every spoonful. It ranged from fish (tuna casserole) to beef (enchiladas) to chicken (lemon pepper chicken with mushrooms) to eggs (frittatas and quiches). One of my most favorite one-pan-wonders, however, was lacto-vegetarian, a deep-dish polenta casserole with a hearty helping of spaghetti sauce on top and (of course) smothered with cheese. It was one of those stick-to-your-ribs, only pretty in the pan type of concoctions, but it was delicious all the same. This dish doesn’t exactly resemble the polenta casserole of my childhood, but it’s easy to make, quick to bake, and the layering is optional. And if you have a lactose intolerant or a vegetarian who does not consume dairy or eggs in the household, add another vegetable, an extra helping of beans, or a non-dairy “cheese” substitute. 

Deep Dish Polenta Pie

510 g Precooked polenta, cut into small cubes
258 g (or 1 can) Black beans, drained
1 White onion, finely sliced into crescents
1 Green Bell pepper, quartered and coarsely chopped
822 g (or 2 cans) Diced tomatoes
1 Zucchini, sliced into thin circles*
112 g Parmesan cheese, finely grated
5 Garlic cloves, finely chopped
1/4 tsp. Powdered rosemary
1 tsp. Italian herb blend
Salt, to taste
Coconut oil, to grease the pan

Preheat the oven to 350ºF.
In a small bowl, thoroughly mix the cheese, garlic, and spices and set aside.
Put the cast iron pan over medium heat and grease the pan.
Put the ingredients, excluding the grated cheese, garlic, and spice combination, in descending order as listed into the pan (i.e., first the polenta cubes, then the beans, and so on) and cook for twenty-five to thirty minutes until the vegetables have softened.**
Evenly garnish the top with the cheese mixture and put it in the oven for fifteen minutes (or until the cheese is browned in some places and the garlic has caramelized).
Pull from the oven and garnish with additional cheese or guacamole.

Serves 3 – 4.

*I used the zucchini as a "crust" along the edges, but you can just put in top of the tomatoes if you'd like.
**As I mentioned before, you don’t have to layer this perfectly in order to get the dish to taste amazing. If you’d like, just add the ingredients in the way they are listed and mix to your desired preference.

Always a Way

I keep meaning to post my – what seems to be – growing list of recipes, but over the past week life was throwing me curveballs left and right. There are so many headings and paths I could take. Do I choose culinary school or grad school? Sustainable development and food security or a restaurant and community center? Portland, Oregon or Uppsala, Sweden? There is only one me, and I want to do so much for the world, to do it all and do it now.

More than one person has called me a Leaper, or a person who thinks the big steps you take in life are the only important ones you should be considering as personal evolution. The experience I am gaining now (i.e., working with kids, blogging, cooking, networking, and exercising) just wasn’t as grand as my growing dreams. I wasn’t interested in the small steps, and so the small steps I was taking looked like I was doing nothing in comparison. I wanted to jump those small steps two or three at a time. In the three months since I’ve graduated, I have taken out my diploma from the envelope it was sent in only twice. This piece of paper, which tells the world I’ve completed higher education, has thrown me out into the world without structure or a syllabus.

I am not scared, because life seems to sort itself out without my input. I am, however, frustrated, simply because I don’t know where to start.

Some days I just stare at my resume, eighty-five percent completed in over a period of a month. I want to go out into the world and help people, apply to jobs near and far, in and out of the country, and that means making an effort. As a Leaper, I want to take that plunge, that ultimate Leap of Faith; I just want to know what my heading is. I want to be part of something I can pour my heart into, something where I work with like-minded individuals who desire progression for all sentient beings and heal the world of the problems humanity has made in the name of progression.

If I’m going to leap into something, I’m leaping into something I believe in.   

So, what do I believe then? I wholeheartedly believe there is always more than one way of doing something in life, and recipes are no different. Take this as an example: pancakes, the blueberry kind, with the same kind of flour, liquid, number of eggs, and spices. The difference was in how the blueberries were used.  

Blueberry Socca Pancakes

60 g Garbanzo bean flour
90 ml Water
5 ml Unrefined apple cider vinegar
1 Large egg
1/4 tsp. Sea salt
1/4 tsp. Bourbon vanilla
1/4 tsp. Baking soda
88 g Fresh blueberries

In this recipe, I made it the night before without adding the baking soda until fifteen minutes before cooking. I think I would have enjoyed it better if I had added the blueberries on one side of the pancakes while cooking, because adding it to the batter resulted in the blueberries bunching up in the center.  Oh, and it needed the additional sweetness of stevia to make it perfect.

Pureed Blueberry Socca Pancakes

60 g Garbanzo bean flour
60 g Fresh blueberries
30 ml Water
5 ml Unrefined apple cider vinegar
1 Large egg
1/4 tsp. Sea salt
1/4 tsp. Bourbon vanilla
1/4 tsp. Baking soda

I’ll be honest about this recipe: I’m writing it from memory, so I’m not exactly sure how many blueberries I used (though it is within the 60’s range). As long as the amount of blueberries and water is a third more (i.e., 90 g) than the garbanzo bean flour, I don’t see you having much difficulty.

I blended the blueberries with the water with my emulsion blender’s food processor accessory, and then added it to the flour followed by the remaining ingredients. This recipe was not made the night before, but cooked well regardless. It did not require additional sweetness in the batter, but coconut milk and jam did wonders as toppings. The overall color of the pancakes was a bluish green, which I enjoyed immensely.

Both recipes make one serving.

Missing my Kitchen Groove

After the various “Oh, crepe!” moments mentioned in my last post, you could say I’ve lost my groove in the kitchen. Z from Z’s Cup of Tea called it her “kitchen confidence”, and I could relate to what she was going through. My various pancake recipes smoked up the house. My experiments lacked something crucial in every recipe I tried. Multiple meals stuck to the bottom of the pan. Even my fitness regimen seemed to be lacking something.

"You threw off my groove!" (source)

I don’t think I’ve lost my kitchen groove (mojo, confidence, or whatever floats your boat), but it has been misplaced and I miss it terribly.

Despite being thrown off my game, I do what I can to remain positive. For instance, my runs seem less exhausting, and although my face is often the color of a sunburned tourist who couldn’t tan to save their life, my breathing is less haggard and I’m running faster for longer periods. As for rock climbing, I seem to have hit a wall (ha.), but I can go up and down E4s – E6s in seconds and I’m falling significantly more gracefully than before. There’s a V0 that requires transferring from one wall to another with a protruding corner, and then using that wall to get to the incline with the remaining holds to reach the top (this is the same one that I fell off of and my chin and chest collided with each other) that I want to conquer next week. That, and the E5 right next to it that is similar in difficulty, only without an incline.

Anyway, it’s Sunday. It’s daylight savings. We’re one hour closer to next week, and one hour closer to getting my groove back. In the meantime, I want to share a lunch I had earlier in the week that’s high in protein, keeps you full, and isn’t wasteful of leftover batter.

I was intrigued by Ashley’s use of leftover French toast batter and turning the “cinnamon eggs” into scrambled deliciousness or a fruit-filled omelet with yogurt on top. Still in a crepe-y mood, I wanted to embody that waste-not mentality. Thus, after lightly breading egg washed chicken tenders in almond meal, I combined the remaining amounts of both and turned it into a wrap for my chicken, green beans, and leeks.

Garnish with tomatoes, and you’re good until dinner.

Almond Meal Omelet with Chicken Tenders, Green Beans, & Leeks

3 (187 g) Chicken breast tenderloins
1 (52 g) Egg
52 ml Water
25 g Almond meal
Pinch of salt
85 g French cut green beans
50 g Leeks, thickly sliced

Preheat the oven to 350ºF.
Cook the green beans and leeks together until tender over medium heat and set aside.
Mix together the water and egg thoroughly to make the egg wash, and set aside in a bowl.
Pour the almond meal in another bowl of the same size and also set aside.
Generously dip the chicken tender meat into the egg wash and transfer them to the almond meal to cover with “breading”.
Lay them on a baking pan lined with greased tin foil and bake for twenty minutes*, flipping them over midway (you can also pan-fry them, in which case the oven is not needed).
Combine the remaining egg wash and almond meal together, and place a skillet pan (or in my case, a cast iron griddle pan) over medium heat.
When ready, grease with your cooking oil of choice and cook as you would a crepe (the crepe is very delicate, so I found it handy putting it under the boiler instead of flipping it).
When cooked all the way through, plop the crepe onto a plate, line the center with the greens and the cut up chicken tender pieces, and cover the edges.
Garnish with tomato wedges and your favorite savory condiments like sour cream or mustard.

Serves 1.

*Note: the meat came out a tad dry, and I'm not sure if it had to do with me leaving them in the oven after it was turned off or if it needed something else to keep it moist. Thoughts?

Russian Blini for Two

I am being perfectly honest with you all when I say that this month’s GFRR was hard. I’m not sure it had to do with my mindset, or if it truly was the multiple crepe recipes that weren’t working out. Now, with the final recipe written and posted, I’ve learned a few valuable lessons I’d like to share.

I try really hard not to use this blog as my place to rant about whatever grievance may come my way, as I did my first few months of blogging. And whenever I do talk about things that are less than rays of sunshine, I do what I can to not come off as some whiny, self-centered princess. Every time I do the GFRR with the other amazing participants, I am always humbled by the journey I took to get to that winning (or not so winning) recipe, and also by the recipes the others made.

For this particular challenge, I focused too much in the beginning of what kind of crepe I wanted to make and not at all on making a simple batch successfully. And I do this outside the kitchen all the time: daydreaming the details, doing what I can to making it exotic and outlandish, and not even thinking about mastering the basics first.

As I said, I’ve made crepes before. And yes, this implies I did so successfully. I've made them in a (gasp!) non-stick skillet and recently in a cast iron griddle pan. I expected victory, demanded triumph. What I got was a smack of humility and the Universe telling me to chill the crepe out. If you want to make something as temperamental as crepes, you have to have a cool head, patience, and remain optimistic even when you mess up a crepe (or, you know, half the batch… twice in a row).

Michael Ruhlman called crepes a “vehicle” (Ratio p. 81). I know he meant literally, as in “a vehicle for foods and flavors.” But for me, food is just as figurative as it is literal. Figuratively, the crepe is a vehicle for introspection and perspective. You know where you are in life when you make crepes. If all goes well, and you have a batch of freshly made crepes on a plate just waiting to be devoured, you start thinking how wonderful your life is and how wonderful you are. And if it doesn’t, if the crepes stick to the pan, break apart when you’re getting ready to flip them, are too thick or too thin or too something else, a storm cloud forms above your parade and you start grumbling “Oh, crepe!” like it was an expletive.

To be fair, even the not so pretty crepes in the batch tasted just fine, so I don’t think it had anything to do with the ingredients. It was the execution of making said crepes: not a hot enough pan, not a thin enough spatula, not a balanced enough stovetop, not patient enough, not a positive enough mentality… the list could go on if I let it.

While making crepes, I struggled to remain optimistic as my spatula pierced through yet another one in my flipping attempts. I started thinking of the uncontrollables and uncertainties I tried to keep from surfacing. As I said before, I don’t like to talk about myself when I’m feeling less than awesome. When things are less than kosher, I become introverted and do what I can to fix it myself so I don’t worry people.

The truth of the matter, my dear friends, is this: health isn’t always a sunny pasture with organic fruits and veggies on rolling hills as far as the eyes can see. While making crepes, I was upset, though upon asking I wouldn’t know what to say. I don’t really talk about my hypothyroidism very much on this blog (as of yet), nor about my adrenals or my internal health. I talk about disordered eating and fitness and my trials with both. I philosophize about food and life and love. The things I don’t talk about are only mentioned in passing, simply because I don’t know much about them except by how they make me feel. And throughout the entire month of February, I was frustrated and upset. Frustrated and upset, because I didn’t know why I was frustrated and upset. Was it a hormonal imbalance? Am I taking too much or too little Armour Thyroid? Why do my hands still have that slight yellowish hue from time to time, and what do my nails say about my overall health? Have I developed hyperthyroidism in my attempts to remedy my hypothyroidism? (These are ask-the-doctor questions, I know.)

I can always tell something’s wrong whenever I begin nitpicking at myself. It usually comes in the form of criticizing my body, and then wondering why my exercising and my eating habits weren’t transforming me into a shorter version of Wonder Woman in a matter of twenty-four hours.

Sometimes the conditions for making amazing crepes don’t happen. Sometimes you don’t understand what’s going on with your body or why your day was laced with moments where all you could say was “Oh, crepe!” Sometimes less than pleasant things happen, like crepes looking like badly formed discs of dough or falling twenty feet from a rock climbing wall and your chin painfully colliding with your chest.

These things happen, and the best thing you can do is brush off the hand chalk on your shorts after climbing or the splatter of crepe batter on your apron.

February and the start of March was a challenge in every right, and T.R. from No One Likes Crumbly Cookies picked the ratio that embodied it perfectly.

The concept for the crepe ratio is simple enough: 1-1-1/2, or one part egg, one part liquid, and half parts flour. (I focused on how much the eggs weighed and went from there.) But when it comes to the science of bringing them ingredients together… that’s where it gets iffy.

Some say to make sure the ingredients are at room temperature before blending, while others don’t even mention it. Some say refrigerate to let the batter “bloom” up to an hour or overnight, while others use it immediately. They vary in the use of a crepe pan, a non-stick skillet, or a cast iron griddle pan. And on what heat I ask you, medium or medium-high?

I tried different liquids, the most notable being the batches I made with sparkling water and goat milk. I tried different fillings for different kinds of crepe dishes, like the ricotta-cream cheese combination for a blueberry blintz recipe. The recipe that I am using for this month’s GFRR was originally going to be little fluffy canapés with random toppings, both sweet and savory. But as time went on, it ended up a little different than I expected. They have a taste of Russia in them complete with sour cream, a cornichon pickle, and chia “caviar”.

So, without further ado
I give you Russian blini… for two.

Russian Blini

2 (119 g) Large eggs
60 ml Goat milk
59 ml Lukewarm water (about 110ºF)
5 g Active dry yeast
3 g Creamed honey
30 g Buckwheat flour
30 g Garbanzo bean flour
1/4 – 1/3 tsp. Sea salt

Coconut oil or butter, for greasing the pan

Pour the eggs and goat milk into the blender and set aside to get to room temperature (at least an hour).
Combine the flours and salt into a bowl to be used later.
In another bowl, bloom the yeast with the water, honey, and at least 10 g of the dry ingredients for twenty minutes.
Add the flour and yeast mixture in the blender and pulse on low until just combined, and allow it to rest on the counter for another hour (you can then make the crepes or put it in the fridge overnight).
Heat your pan over medium heat.
Pour just enough batter to coat the bottom as you tip and tilt the pan.
Allow it to cook untouched until it’s set, at least a minute or so, and then gently turn the crepe and briefly cook the other side.
Remove the crepes to a rack as you make more to be used immediately or allowed to cool.

Makes 6 – 8 crepes. Serves 2.

Want to see what the others of the GFRR made this month? Well, scroll on down and click on their links!

Thank you, T.R. We couldn’t have had a better host for crepes.

Adina | Gluten Free Travelette     Breakfast Crepes Three Ways

Angela | Angela's Kitchen     Savory Buckwheat Crepes with Sweet Potato, Mushroom and Kale Filling

Caitlin | {Gluten-Free} Nom Nom Nom     Buckwheat Crepes

Caleigh | Gluten Free[k]      Banana Cinnamon Crepes

Caneel | Mama Me Gluten Free     Slightly Sweet Crepes with Caramelized Bananas and Nutella Sauce

Charissa | Zest Bakery     Black Pepper Crepes with Chicken Tikka Masala

Erin | The Sensitive Epicure     Socca with Za'atar & Sumac (Garbanzo Flour Crepes)

Ginger | Fresh Ginger     Sweet 'n Savory

gretchen | kumquat     nutella crepe cake

Heather | Discovering the Extraordinary     "Southwestern" Crepes

Jenn | Jenn Cuisine     Braised Duck, Fennel and Chestnut Crêpes

Karen | Cooking Gluten-Free!     Gluten Free Crepes Savory or Sweet

Mary Fran | FrannyCakes     Gluten-free Peanut Butter Crepe Cake

Mary Fran | FrannyCakes     Gluten-Free Vanilla Bean Crêpes Sucrées

Monika | Chew on This!     Dessert crepes with caramelized plantains, toasted coconut and chocolate sauce

Morri (me!) | Meals with Morri     Russian Blini for Two

Pete and Kelli | No Gluten, No Problem     Key Lime Crepes

Shauna | gluten-free girl     Gluten Free Buckwheat Crepes

*T.R. | No One Likes Crumbley Cookies     Brownie Crepes with Strawberry Wine sauce

*T.R. | No One Likes Crumbley Cookies     Basil Tomato and Feta Crepes

*T.R. | No One Likes Crumbley Cookies     Fresh Fruit Crepe

Tara | A Baking Life     Breakfast Crepes with Eggs and Kale

Jonathan | The Canary Files     Vegan Crepes for Filipino Spring Rolls

Rachel | The Crispy Cook     Raspberries and Cream Crepes

Mrs. R | Honey From Flinty Rocks     Crepes - Spinach & Dessert