Humble Family Rituals

At one point during my childhood, my dad was in charge of waking me up in the morning. He'd tip toe into my room with a whole-hearted grin on his face and sit quietly at the foot of my bed. With my small body snugly secured in basal metabolic mode, my eyes full of sleep, and my hands clutching my ragged stuffed animal dog "Waldo," I had no intention of leaving the comforts of my bed for the realities of the conscious world. In fact, as soon as I felt that foreign weight pinning the sheets against my legs, my heart would fill with the dread of having to open my eyes and face the music. Indeed, my dad loved to sing:

"Good morning Kelsey sunshine! How are you to-"

and that's when I'd sock him. Right in the shoulder. There was nothing that would get between me and my 6 year-old sleeping needs! Luckily, my dad had pretty quick reflexes, so he dodged most of my throws.

Yet, Sundays were different. Sundays carried special meaning. Whereas most children were woken up, scrubbed down, and dragged to varying religious institutions in their Sunday best, I had quite a different ritual to expect. It was all my dad's idea- Bagel Breakfast Day. And there was no way that I'd lay a punch when there was a trip to the bagel shop in store.

It wasn't necessarily the bagels that I liked, but rather the trip itself. My dad would lift my brother and me out of our beds as my mom pulled sweatshirts on over our heads and wrestled shoes onto our feet. Once settled into our mismatched outfits of sneakers, pajama pants, and hooded sweatshirts, my brother and I would jump into my dad's red Ford truck. We'd all drive to Berkeley, and as my dad entered the bagel shop, we'd stay outside and talk to the man selling newspapers on the street. We'd skip around the storefront, blinking into the morning sun, and laughing at whatever things six-year-olds find entertaining. Then we would run straight towards my dad as he emerged from the steam-filled shop with a giant paper bag full of bagels, lox, and cream cheese.

When we returned home we'd join my mom for orange juice and hot chocolate (both of which somehow would end up all over the morning paper- clumsiness is already present at early stages I suppose). Then would come the time to dive into that brown paper bag and hand the bagels to my dad, who was qualified to wield the coveted bagel knife because he was above the age of 10 (might I add, the knife looks like it's right out of the seventies, with a long thing serrated blade and a faded wooden handle). Needless to say, we would then engage in a glorious and gluttonous feast.

Bagel Breakfast Days slowly faded away as my parents split and my brother and I grew busy with other things. Yet, I'm constantly amazed as to how comforting rituals like that can be- it always seems that when one disappears, another surfaces in its place. I have so many with family and friends that I cherish so deeply, and will remember quite fondly if they happen to disappear. Those that have departed are still etched in my memory with such detail that I love to reminisce over them as I stare at the clouds. I guess that in such a routine world, everyone needs a little tug at the heartstrings once in awhile.


Ironically this recipe doesn't fit too well with the story (that's partly why I can call this a "Stream of Consciousness Blog"!) As far as I know, beets are the only food item that my dad refuses to eat, and I'm not so into bagels myself. So I thought I'd make some kind of compromise. This is something I've dreamed about making as I walk through the Berkeley streets and pass by open markets bursting with Spring vegetables. It's an open-faced beet panini with a chive-ricotta spread. Don't ask me exactly how I got here from Bagel Sundays, but I think the cheese spread is a decent connector :)

Beets are in season right now- so go grab some of the good stuff! And don't you dare throw away those greens! They make wonderful additions to stir-fries and scrambles. Let me know what you do with yours!

Open-faced Beet Panini with Chive Ricotta Spread

I actually also used chopped parsley in the ricotta spread, which added a really refreshing note to counter the strength of the chives. Feel free to use real French bread, but I found that a regular slice of whole wheat bread worked just fine.

3 medium to large sized beets
1 cup ricotta cheese
1/2-3/4 cup chopped chives and parsley
3 tbs. extra virgin olive oil (divided)
2 tbs. lemon juice
2-3 pieces of bread... could be baguette or sandwich bread

Beets:

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Chop the greens and ends off of the beets (discard ends and save greens!) Place beets in a oven-friendly pot with a splash of water and cover. Cook in oven for 1 hour and 15 minutes, or until you can pierce the beet with a fork.

Meanwhile, measure out 2 tbs. olive oil and 2 tbs. lemon. Combine in a medium bowl.

When done remove beets from oven and peel off outer layer of skin with your hands (careful, they can be quite hot). Cut into slices and toss in medium bowl with dressing. Let sit until beets cool down a bit.

Ricotta Spread:

Combine cup of ricotta with herbs and 1 tbs. olive oil in a bowl. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Assembly:

Lightly toast the bread and let cool slightly. Spread ricotta combination on the toast and slide some beets on top. That should do it!

Pad Thai - Guest Post from Frances

One of the most amazing things about my life this semester is that I'm living with two really incredible roommates. I can't emphasize enough how fulfilling it is to share good conversation, laugh, and embark on spontaneous adventures with them each week. One added bonus is that they're both amazing chefs!

Frances works wonders with vegetables and grains- I once claimed not to bat an eyelash at brussels sprouts, but after tasting her brussels sprouts- enhanced tabbouleh I fell in love with them. That said, I'm so lucky that she was willing to post this delicious pad thai recipe (which I definitely savored both hot and cold this past week!) Enjoy! -Kelsey

Part of the fun of cooking pad Thai is the melody of sizzle, crackle, pop, hiss that results from tossing cold, watery onions and mung beans into a wok full of hot peanut oil. Because of the heat intrinsic to preparing pad Thai and the fact that Berkeley experienced an unexpected heat wave this week, I couldn’t bring myself to start cooking until the sun had set and the air had cooled, around 8:30 in April. The disgustingly hot weather had stinted my appetite during the day, and pad Thai proved itself nutritious dinner I needed.

Pad Thai is a noodle dish with broccoli, spinach, and mung beans and is high in vegetarian protein from tofu, egg, and peanuts. The ingredients for the sauce are simple, just peanut butter, brown sugar, soy sauce, and vinegar, but their interaction creates the tantalizing blend of sweet, sour, and saltiness characteristic of Asian cuisine. Each component of the dish absorbs the flavors differently so that every bite is unique.

Pad Thai makes great leftovers if you can’t finish the entire batch in one night. Don’t worry if you lack a microwave, it’s just as delicious cold and makes a refreshing lunch.

Most of this recipe comes from Mollie Katzen’s Still Life with Menu but the spinach and broccoli are my dad’s ingenious additions. Enjoy!

Pad Thai

6 oz. uncooked rice noodles
5 tablespoons soy sause
2 tablespoons peanut butter
1 tablespoon brown sugar
3 tablespoons peanut oil
3 eggs
6 scallions, sliced into 1 inch pieces
1 lb. fresh mung bean sprouts
1 lb. spinach
1 lb. broccoli florets
3 cloves of garlic
1 1/2 teaspoons crushed red pepper
1 lb. firm tofu cut into small cubes
1/3 cup cider vinegar
1 1/2 cups chopped toasted peanuts
wedges of lime

1. Cook your noodles in boiling water for 3 to 5 minutes. Drain, and rinse with cold water.
2. Mix the soy sauce, peanut butter, and brown sugar into a thick paste.
3. Scramble the egg in a tablespoon of hot peanut oil and set aside.
4. Heat the wok. Add more peanut oil. Stir fry scallions, garlic, mung beans, red pepper, broccoli, and spinach for a few minutes. Next add the tofu and stir fry and couple more minutes. Add the noodles (make sure they're completely drained) and stir fry about 5 more minutes.
5. Add the paste from step two and vinegar. Stir and cover. Let it cook for several more minutes.
6. Lastly, add the scrambled egg.
7. Serve with toasted peanuts and lime.

That Feeling in the Pit of your Stomach

I'm sure you're familiar with it.

Perhaps it strikes when you've just said something utterly awkward, bringing an exchange of light-hearted banter among friends to a complete and painful stop... or maybe it hits when you've just encountered the pivotal question on an exam, only to discover that it focuses on the one concept that you didn't review the night before.

For me, it happens when I'm baking. Whenever I open the oven door, my stomach does a perfect flip, and then proceeds to free-fall towards the floor.

I guess it's some kind of evolutionary defense mechanism- the mind communicating quite expressively to the body: "Don't do this again!" So it'd be logical to assume that my brain is telling me, for goodness sake, not to bake. I mean, ever! My survival depends on it!

Yet, for some reason I keep coming back to that imposing oven. In the last two weeks alone I've opened its monstrous metal door only to find rock-hard chocolate cocoa cookies, tasteless granola, and sickeningly sweet banana nut instant-oatmeal cookies (admittedly an experiment) in the warm cavity within.



So that's why you might not see too many baking recipes on this site. I think I'm more evolutionarily fit to prepare slow-cooked vegetables, green salads, hearty soups, and stir-fries of varying proportions rather than the mouthwatering fruit crisps, tarts, chocolate cakes, and flawless cookies that you'll find elsewhere.... but this also means that if a baked recipe does happen to show its face in this domain, it is either (a) foolproof and/or (b) pretty delicious.

I promise though, until that day when I can open the oven without my stomach fearfully fleeing the scene, I'll tip-toe surreptitiously into baking territory and save you from the struggle that ensues.

This particular recipe somehow worked for me- even with my usual tweaking of the recipe in lieu of missing ingredients (yes. I know. I believe this might be a reason for my blackened thumb in baking... but let's not go there yet!) It's from a beautiful blog called 3191 miles apart. I'll attach the link to the original recipe as well, since mine is a bit different.

Sesame Oatmeal Cookies

adapted from this recipe

1 cup whole wheat flour
1 1/2 cups rolled oats
1-1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup unsweetened coconut
1/2 cup sesame seeds
1/2 cup honey
1/2 cup melted earth balance butter*
3/4 cup vanilla yogurt (or try Trader Joe's "vanana" flavor- it's divine)
1/2 cup nuts, dried fruits, and/or chocolate (I used golden raisins and sunflower seeds)
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

*this is soy butter... feel free to substitute canola oil (1/2 cup) or real melted butter (unsalted!)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. If using butter, melt it in the microwave or heating oven

Combine dry ingredients (flour, baking powder, salt, oats, coconut, sesame seeds, nuts/raisins/chocolate, and cinnamon) in a bowl and stir until well-incorporated.

Combine the honey, melted butter, and yogurt in a bowl. Stir until well-incorporated.

Pour wet ingredients into dry ingredients and stir until everything is mixed in- it'll be a pretty wet batter. Spoon onto a baking pan with a regular tablespoon. I like my cookies to be substantial so for me this recipe makes only about 9-12 cookies. Feel free to size them however you'd like.

Cook for 5-8 minutes, checking pretty often. They'll be done when the tops (and bottoms) are slightly browned.

Of Poetry and Paella

I've taken it upon myself to memorize poetry on my way to class. The inspiration for this seemingly insane measure is a very convincing article in the New York Times.

It's a wonderfully entertaining exercise- I find myself constantly laughing or furrowing my brow as I make those routine steps towards campus. Yet there is a downside as well. The author makes plenty of warnings about the strange looks that reciting poetry outloud (or even quietly) to oneself in public might elicit. However, he makes no mention of the fact that in saying poetry to oneself, it is quite easy to tire of one's own voice! Yes, in diligently memorizing these poems of woe and happiness, I have become absolutely annoyed by the sound of the voice in my head. I can't seem to stop REPEATING these lines to myself for fear that they'll stealthily escape around a back corner or fall off the cliff of consciousness to the depths below.

Before you dismiss me as a lunatic, I'll try to get to the point here. You see, while I'm sick of my own voice, I must tell you that there is one other voice that I'll never quite be able to get out of my head. This particular voice is slightly raspy, extremely quick, and prone to oscillate up and down in pitch with bursts of energy. It makes its presence known to me in phrases like "¡Ay! ¡Hija mía!" and "¡¿Pero qué haces!?" I swear, when I'm thirty-five I'll still wake up with it reverberating throughout the walls of my cerebellum. It's none other than the voice of the señora that I lived with in Spain- Loti.

If I could define Loti in one word I'd say "fierce". Although she had lived in a few different Spanish cities, she was a pure Madrileña- energetic, obstinate, and a true individual. Standing at a prominent 5 feet and pushing her late 60's, she dominated the streets of our small, quiet neighborhood. In fact, I'm pretty sure that she went out and enjoyed the restaurants, bars, and theatrical spectacles that Madrid had to offer more than my roommate and I did. On nights when we decided to stay in, it was Loti that immediately and pressingly questioned as to why we were wasting our time when we could be out reveling in the life of the city. She would then proceed to get dressed and head out of the door. My roommate and I would breathe a quick, simultaneous sigh of relief, brush our teeth, and go straight to bed.

Loti was also not one to fool. I had the unfortunate experience of somehow breaking the hinge of her 300 year-old cabinet. I tried to hide the shameful evidence of my blunder (I had to sacrifice not wearing a few necessary articles of clothing for a week!) but she caught me and unleashed a tirade in Spanish that is too studded with expletives and witty insults to publish on this site.

No matter how much I complain, I admire and love Loti more than words can say. I really enjoyed her energy and spirit. To me she was not only Spanish but was Spain itself. She nagged not for the sake of nagging, but rather because deep down, she felt as if she was our Spanish mother. Every night I'd sit with her in the "salon" and watch Spanish game shows as she smoked cigarettes. She'd whir through the answers as I'd stare blankly at the screen, just trying to grasp the questions that the game show host was asking. The one day (and there was only one) that I answered a question correctly, she exclaimed "Anda!" and I let a smug smile escape my lips as I deeply inhaled her second-hand smoke. Ah, I miss those days.

Because each of us had a busy schedule during the day, the one time that we really all shared together was our nightly (10 pm) dinner. Typically, the largest meal of the day in Spain is the "comida", or lunch. Yet, as a working woman, Loti was in no position to come home midday to cook for us (and force us to come home between classes as well). So we'd eat large dinners together at the end of the day. We'd sit in her tiny kitchen with fold-out chairs and talk about the news, the price of bread, boys, or the fact that I could not roll my "r's" to save my life. Dinner itself was always a gamble- sometimes we'd eat a boiled potato, microwaved vegetables, and broth. Sometimes though, she'd make something incredible. That's where the paella comes in.

Loti's paella was phenomenal. Golden rice, beans of various sizes cooked to the perfect consistency, juicy chicken, ah! The flavors! She knew I loved this dish, and even cooked it on the last night we were together. Thank you Loti.

So when I came across a simple paella recipe, I could not contain my excitement! Armed with saffron, rice, vegetables, and broth, I re-created what I had grown to love and associate with Spain. Well, it's certainly not Loti's paella, but it's pretty good. I guess I'll have to go back to that apartment in Madrid, deal with some nagging about the status of my haircut, and watch some more "pasapalabra" to taste that paella once more.

Vegetarian Paella

adapted from Whole Foods

I happened to make a vegetarian version, but feel free to add chicken, shrimp, etc. and/or substitute chicken broth for vegetable broth. If you're really lucky, you'll have two incredible roommates that want to partake in a Spanish feast, replete with "pan con tomate" (picture below) and sangria :)

Ingredients

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
4 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 cup uncooked jasmine or basmati rice
1/4 teaspoon saffron strands
1 (14-ounce) can whole tomatoes, drained
1 small green bell pepper, cored, seeded and chopped
1 small yellow bell pepper, cored, seeded and chopped
1 cup frozen lima beans
2 cups vegetable broth
1 cup frozen peas
Lemon wedges for garnish

Heat oil over medium heat in a large skillet. Add onions and garlic and cook for 3 minutes. Add rice and saffron and continue to cook, stirring constantly, for 1 minute more. Add tomatoes and stir to break up with a large spoon. Add peppers and lima beans and cook, stirring, for 1 minute more. Add broth and bring to a boil. Boil for 2 minutes, then reduce heat to a simmer. Cover and cook for 10 minutes. Check to see if more liquid is needed to prevent sticking. If so, add about 1/4 to 1/2 cup water, then cover and cook another 5 minutes. Stir in peas and cook until just tender and liquid is absorbed. The rice should not be over-cooked, but just slightly al dente. (If not tender enough, you may add a bit more water and continue cooking.) Serve garnished with lemon wedges.

Spontaneous Poetry

I plunge into the icy water on Monday,
And trudge through the waves of paper trails on
Tuesday,
Wednesday, and
Thursday
Only to resurface on Friday
and pound my feet freely along the boundless seashore,
drinking the tea that we made that morning.

An Ode to Spring... and the Avocado

Once upon a time, I attended the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. I say "once upon a time" because I could only survive one Midwestern winter before I knew that I wouldn't be staying there for long. Now, that's not to say that I didn't have an incredible experience at the institution, or meet some of the best friends I've ever had in my life. However, I'd like to attach a scientific explanation for my flight from the mitten state: given empirical evidence, my positivism and energy shrivel up and hibernate for a good five months when exposed to temperatures below 35 degrees Fahrenheit. Believe me, nobody wants that to happen!

Yet, the University doesn't help much to assuage the weather-induced fears of out-of-state students like myself. The school year comes to a close at the end of April, when Spring is just in sight but has not fully enveloped the city. It's still cold, there's still a chance of snow, and the specter of winter still chills each possible breath of air.

Needless to say, when I left the frosty Midwest to come home to California, I was full of pure, unadulterated angst. I wanted to bravely open each door leading outside without the anticipation of the impending chill in the air. I wanted to run in shorts and a T-shirt instead of spandex and a sweatshirt. I wanted warmth. I wanted color. I wanted flowers. I wanted Spring...

...but most of all. I wanted an avocado.




Yes, the golden fruit of California- with its cragged, coal-colored exterior and buttery (and oh-so comforting) green center! It provided a well-needed welcome back to my home state!

And eat those beacons of verdant goodness I did. I'd slather avocado on whole-wheat toast with a sliced tomato and a drizzle of olive oil. I'd sever it from its shell, mash it with some lime, and call it guacamole. I'd even eat it plain, licking off the dark green remnants from my fingers as I smiled to myself in absolute glee. Ah! I don't know what the afterlife brings, but if there are avocado trees there then I know that I'll be happy!

Still, there was one combination including avocados that I didn't anticipate... and boy, am I excited to share it with you! I remember my first encounter with this foreign arrangement- my mom, conscious of my tenderness from the harsh winter, took me out to a new restaurant in the area. We ordered an interesting-looking salad that combined avocado, citrus, and a brilliant gathering of scallions- all lightly accented by a sweet vinaigrette. We daintily tasted each piece, only to find that together, the components merged in the most harmonious way.

So enough chat! The original recipe combined endive, scallions, avocado, and kumquats... but I only had an orange and shallots on hand. So, I tried to create a more accessible version. This salad is an open invitation for improvisation- as long as you combine the avocado, a citrus, and some kind of onion then you're in business. If you're a ravenous college student like myself, then slide the "composed salad" right on top of a bed of greens and toss with the extra dressing.

Citrus Avocado Salad

adapted from Chez Panisse Vegetables

I admit that I'm experimenting around with portions- this is what I used for one person, however feel free to double or triple the ingredients as you see fit!

Salad:

1/2 of an Avocado
1 Orange (try using a Cara Cara orange if you can find one!)
2 tbs chopped parsley
*bed of romaine or soft lettuce (optional)

Dressing:

1 tbs lemon juice
1 tbs orange juice
1/4 of a shallot, finely diced
2 tbs rice vinegar (white wine or champagne vinegar will work fine)
3 tbs extra-virgin olive oil

Cut the rind off of the orange, removing the pith and separating the wedges. If you can, use one segment to generate the tablespoon of orange juice in a separate bowl. Arrange the orange slices on a plate and sprinkle with the parsley.

Combine the lemon juice, orange juice, rice vinegar, and diced shallot in a bowl- allow to macerate for a few minutes as you prepare the rest of the dish.

Cut the avocado in half, removing the pit. Cut lengthwise slices along the avocado, then use a spoon to remove the slices from the shell. Arrange them on the plate with the orange and parsley.

Combine the olive oil with the rest of the dressing. Drizzle as much as you'd like on salad and enjoy!

An Introduction...

About two months ago I made a grand discovery within what many call the "blogosphere". After trudging through numerous sites that were full of depressing economic predictions and long-winded political squabbles, I came across a collection of blogs with some pretty refreshing content. These blogs documented the agony and ecstasy of both the cooking and writing process. Not to mention, they were replete with wonderful stories and beautiful pictures of food! Apparently, many of them had been around since 2004. Upon discovering this fact, my first thought was: "What have I been missing!?"

The great perusal began! I couldn't stop reading and cooking. There was a continuous film of flour on the kitchen sink, empty cans of chickpeas in the recycling bins, and chopped parsley in my hair. I happily skipped through the streets, envisioning my dinners and how I might capture them through pictures and words as well!

That said, I never thought that I'd actually venture into "blogging" territory myself- it seemed vast, profoundly more mature, and slightly egocentric to me (do you really want to hear about my day? really?) However, it also presented an opportunity that I could not resist- the possibility to write again...and I don't mean that analytical paper on Hobbes' Leviathan that is looming over my thoughts as I write. Allow me to explain:

I had the fortune to study abroad in Madrid, Spain last Spring. Perhaps one of my favorite things to do was recount my experiences stumbling across Spanish culture to family and friends. I'd do this through a group e-mail that I sent every two weeks. I loved weaving together images of the winding, narrow, cobble-stoned streets that I trounced upon and the ancient Cathedrals that I chanced to step inside. So this blog offered another opportunity to write to the people that I love. Why not take it?

So thanks for reading thus far! The people that know me know that I'm pretty bad at making and sticking to decisions, so we'll see how long this lasts! However, I'm grateful for your attention- let the food blog begin!