Women

June 14, 2013 by Applied Eatables

I watched with swelling pride as my daughter danced across the classroom in her pink tutu and tiny ballet shoes. A permanent smile was plastered to her face as she performed in her year-end recital. At the end of the performance, she bounced over to her group of loyal supporters greeted by flowers. She couldn’t contain her excitement that several of her favorite people were there to watch her do her very favorite thing – dance.

Walking out of the classroom, I was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for the women in her life. She had four beautiful, intelligent, strong women who took time out of their Tuesday morning to be an enthusiastic audience. Relief unexpectedly swept over me as I began to realize that these are just a few of the astonishing women my daughter gets to learn from. They model what it looks like to be confident and strong, while remaining tender and gentle. These are the women who will help her challenge the norms that society tries to place on her and will help her grow more comfortable in her own skin. All I could think was how incredibly fortunate she is and how very grateful I am for this community.

I long believed that once women became adults, the cattiness, and competition would dissipate and we would all become BFF’s like the end of a bad 80′s movie. Much to my chagrin, I have witnessed women become more strategic at tearing each other down; more cunning in the way we make someone else feel less than excellent. We slowly chip away at each other, thinking that adding that small piece to ourselves will make us feel bigger and better. We criticize how a mother feeds her child, and whether or not she works. We have become experts at analyzing how put together another woman looks and what shape her body is in. We feel that if we can just be better than this person, we can be okay with our own imperfections. Instead, we have thousands of women walking around who are far from complete, often feeling insecure in the decisions they make, and the beliefs they hold.

We pull value from making others agree with us, to nod that our decisions are the best and our beliefs are more superior than other’s. I find that this limits my perspective, keeping me stuck in these tiny boxes of life, only letting others in who are as close to the same as possible. Accepting others choices and beliefs allows life to be far from vanilla. It adds richness and depth to my short life. It goes beyond merely tolerating those different, continuing to believe in my own mind that my life is actually better. It’s believing that I am not always right and that I have something learn and gain from those who hold different perspectives.

As much as I adore the men in my life, only other women can fully understand what it’s like to be a mother, daughter, wife and sister. And can fully empathize on how challenging it can be to fit into an ever-changing world.

As we walked out of the classroom, I considered myself incredibly lucky to be surrounded by so many good women in my life, who challenge me to be better, and support me when I have missed the mark.

Garlic Roasted Chicken with a Roasted Tomato Salad

4 tablespoons of olive oil, divided

1.5-2 lbs chicken thighs, bones and skin removed

salt and pepper

5 cloves garlic, finely minced

1/2 cup dry white wine

2 cups cherry tomatoes, halfed

1 baguette, chopped into bite size pieces (you need roughly 4 cups)

2 tablespoons of fresh basil, roughly chopped

In a large oven-proof skillet, heat the two tablespoons of oil over medium-high heat. Dry the chicken thighs, and season them with salt and pepper. Place in the heated pan and cook for 3-5 minutes on each side until a golden crust forms. Don’t rush this step. Flip the chicken and let it brown on the other side. Remove the chicken from the pan. Add the minced garlic and sauté until fragrant, careful to turn down the heat if the garlic begins to burn. Add the chicken back to the pan and place in a 350 degree oven to finish cooking. Cook for 12-15 minutes, or until the chicken is no longer pink in the middle.

While the chicken cooks, heat a tablespoon of oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Place the tomatoes in the skillet and stir often, until the tomatoes are soft and the skin begins to wrinkle. Remove from the heat and set aside. Place bread cubes in the same pan, with remaining olive oil. Sauté over medium high heat until the bread becomes golden, seasoning with salt and pepper, to taste. Set aside.

Once the chicken is finished cooking, remove it from the pan to rest. Heat the remaining juices over medium-high heat. Add the wine and simmer until it is reduced by half.

Toss the bread, tomatoes and basil together. Place chicken on the mixture and top with the reduction. Serve warm.

Home

June 7, 2013 by Applied Eatables

With the bump of wheels touching down, I was officially home; back in the state where I took my first breath, held my first child, and met my husband. It is where the majority of my family still resides. My heart does a little flip of affection every time I think of the place that holds so many beautiful memories.

After dealing with the nuisance of grabbing baggage, finding our rental car and loading up, we were finally on the road. As our car pulled us deeper into the city, things felt similar but different. Two years can drastically change a city. As I gazed out my window, I kept waiting for the sense of relief to sweep over me. The feeling of being home – the spot where memories mix with a comfort of being known. It’s the feeling of wearing an oversized old sweater that fits just right. But the feeling never came. Instead it felt like someone had shrunk my favorite sweater and it only fit in certain places.

When we walked in the door to my sister’s house, I was sure that the only places that still fit were my family. A relief washed over me as I was able to talk, laugh, and be with my brothers and sisters in the flesh. Most things hadn’t changed: I still tried to embarrass my little brother, stood in my sister’s kitchen discussing cooking and new meal ideas, and was able to play around with my niece and nephews, even if they towered above me now. After being away for two years, it was exactly what I needed to feel connected to them.

But going back to my hometown and expecting it to feel like it did when I was a kid was like trying to shove myself back into the mold of myself six years ago. A few places still fit but parts jutted out, and there are places that no longer fill in the mold. I was suddenly aware how quietly time can change us. It’s a slow progression that chissles away places and add to others. I am no longer the girl that lived in that city six years ago, mostly for the better. Being away from the place I called home for such a long time has stretched me and forced me to grow in ways I didn’t know possible.

But I long for that place to call home – the place that holds untold stories, memories both wonderful and embarrassing, and comforts you when you are crying really ugly tears. As Oklahoma grew more distant in our rear view mirror, I wrestled with leaving my family whom I miss terribly and a place that doesn’t feel like home anymore. In between car bingo, allergies, and talks about an upcoming wedding, a cool balm was placed on my aching heart. The three people chattering away in the car were my home. A city or town may never hold that feeling of home but my little family does. They are my place of safety, the sweater that always fits, and a place I am free to be my odd self. With them, I am reminded of memories of old, inspired to make new ones and have a sense of belonging. My family is my home.

Whenever we travel, I always try and have homemade snacks ready. Airport and gas station food ranks low on the list of foods I want to eat. Having snacks ready decreases our need to fill up on the junk.

Cashew Clusters

This recipe is flexible. You can use a variety of nuts and seeds. These pack a kick of spice. Feel free to omit the cayanne pepper if you’re serving them to kids or those sensitive to heat.

2 1/2 cups of cashews, chopped in small pieces

1/3 cup almond meal (or other nuts ground in a food processor until fine)

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

2/3 teaspoon cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon cayanne pepper

1/4 teaspoon paprika

1/4 cup honey

2 T. maple syrup

Combine the chopped cashews, almond meal (or other nut meal), salt, cinnamon, cayanne, and paprika in a small bowl. In a separate bowl, mix the honey and maple syrup. Pour the honey mixture over the cashews. Stir until well combined.

Using a teaspoon, scoop mixture onto parchament paper lined baking sheet and bake in a 300 degree oven for 15-20 minutes or the nuts begin to look golden. Remove from the oven and let them cool on the baking sheet. Once the clusters a warm but cool enough to touch, firm them together and let them finish cooling. Store in an airtight container for up to a week.

Sisters and Muffins

May 25, 2013 by Applied Eatables

I felt conflicted when my history enthusiast of a dad broke the news that we would be moving to New York for a few months. I wish I could say that I fully embraced this new and exciting adventure but the truth was, at fourteen, my friends and the boys I liked held high priority in my life. I remember the morning we hopped in the car: silent, hot tears slipped down my face as I imagined spending the next three months without my friends, without dance class, and without my favorite distractions. Venturing outside my small realm of comfort was more than I wanted to do.

When we finally arrived at our house in the tiny town of Quogue, ignoring the cool gentle breeze of the salty ocean air, I became fixated on the fact that I had to share a room with my sister. We were the closest in age but rarely got along. Different temperaments and general sibling bickering characterized our relationship. The first couple of days were rough as we struggled to coexist in our tiny room. Having a duct tape line down the center to divide our room would have done very little to help the annoyance we had with each other. But without our individual interests and companions, we slowly evolved into friends. Every time we walked into the tv room to see my dad watching the history channel, using the only tv in the house, we would look at each other, roll our eyes and get up. I vividly remember the day we realized our twin beds were on rollers. We pushed each other all around the room and throughout the house, making an ambulance sound and frequently crashing into other furniture. And I still laugh when I see the picture of my little brother, when we forced him to dress up in our girliest dress and shoes, complete with a matching handbag.

Waiting out Hurricane Floyd together, equally disliking our teacher, and our many other adventures on the beach help characterized our time together. Little did we understand that this trip would cement our bond and create an unspeakable trust and lifelong friendship. When we returned from our trip, we looked out for each other. She would threaten boys that weren’t kind to me and I would help her sneak out of the house. I remember crying the day she left for college, incredibly sad that my in-house best friend was gone. Now today, I know that she is the one I can always count on to tell me when my shoes don’t match my dress, and to grab drinks and laugh about seemingly insignificant things. She will always be the person who is willing to drive around belting out Patty Griffin and to love my kids as only an awesome aunt can.

The trip not only gave birth to a wanderlust that continues to be a close companion in my life but more importantly, it created the space for me to understand my sister. Without the many distractions, I was able to see the kind and genuine nature that characterizes my sister. The trip was the catalyst of creating a lifelong friendship. Sometimes, the things we dread more than anything else, the things we feel trepid or unsure about give us the most. What we fear will be awful, can turn out to be what we needed more than anything else.

Every time we visit my sister, she always makes my kids fun breakfasts that I never do at home. She is always finding a way to make others feel cared for and loved well. As we speak, we are currently flying high above on our way to visit my home state of Oklahoma and I cannot wait to see her.

Coconut Millet Muffins

Makes 1 dozen muffins

¾ cup brown sugar

1 ½ cups all-purpose flour (I often substitute half with whole wheat flour)

1 teaspoon baking powder

¼ teaspoon kosher salt

a pinch of cinnamon

½ cup coconut oil

1 cup buttermilk

1 egg

1 ¼ cups shredded coconut, divided (I used sweetened coconut)

1/3 cup millet

Whisk the sugar, flour, baking powder, salt and cinnamon in a large bowl. Heat the coconut oil until it melts. Mix the oil in with the butter milk and egg. Whisk until well combined. Add the oil mixture to the flour mixture. Stir until just combined. Fold in one cup of the shredded coconut and the uncooked millet. Pour into prepared muffin tins. Bake in a 350 degree oven for 12-15 minutes, or until a toothpick interested in the middle comes out clean. Cool for 5 minutes in the muffin tin before removing.

Inspiration

May 17, 2013 by Applied Eatables

Lately I have found myself standing in front of my refrigerator or computer feeling completely blank. My mind feels vast and empty. The few ideas that drop into the space often lack depth, and feel uninteresting. I imagine myself following through on the idea and immediately want to go to sleep. They often feel that boring. A flood of a hundred ideas that aren’t related to work pop in and I am convinced that I should follow up on them, immediately. I pace through my kitchen and office, waiting for the bright idea to finally illuminate.

Inspiration is a flaky friend. I never seem to know when it’s going to show up. Most days, I feel like it has better friends to hang out with. I will myself to keep on working, and occasionally glancing out the window, excitedly anticipating the moment it finally walks through the front door to join me. When it saunters in, several hours (or days) late, I quickly forgive its lack of dependability and spend the duration of its visit making up for lost time. The days when it’s around in full force, I have difficulty getting down everything that swirls around in my head; my fingers don’t seem to type fast enough as ideas and thoughts pour out. At least fifty percent of the time, the ideas that come out are terrible. But terrible quickly evolves to decent, and with work it eventually moves to good.

When I feel stuck in a particular rut, I know I can always open up a worn cookbook or watch an old cooking show by Julia Childs to feel reinvigorated. Julia Childs exuded grace and humor. I always find myself leaning in closer to the screen to watch the way she comfortably moved in her kitchen while walking her audience through often difficult steps. Her passion for mastering techniques and making food as incredibly delicious as possible always leaves me feeling a little lighter and slightly more brazen. I walk away ready to tackle the same recipe that has eluded me five times in the past. I believe a good teacher fuels new inspiration and makes you feel more confident in your ability to push past your own limitations. While studying her cookbooks, I am convinced that creating excellent work takes dogged perseverance and showing up, even when you feel less than inspired.

The same alert goes off on my phone around the same hour nearly every day. I usually pick up my phone already knowing what it says. ”Dinner?” or some variation flashes across the screen. I always smile and and quickly type back what we are having that evening or what I have made and inquire what my girlfriend prepared for her family. For months, we’ve shared on a daily basis what our dinners look like – at home, restaurants and friend’s houses. Being able to share with her new food ideas, what we are baking, and experimenting with different techniques, has kept me more inspired than anything else. It’s given me the ability to view things from a completely different perspective and has challenged me to move past where I feel comfortable.

Recently, my friend handed off this recipe and I couldn’t wait to get my hands on some fresh rhubarb. We enjoyed the compote over cold vanilla ice cream, I couldn’t stop the flood of various ideas of how to use this compote: over oatmeal (per my friends suggestion), over a tender pork loin, with yogurt, with a moist shortcake….

Rhubarb Compote (Adapted from Bon Appétit)

2 cups Pinot Noir
1 cup sugar
3 2-inch-long strips orange peel
2 2-inch-long strips lemon peel
6 cups fresh rhubarb cut into 1/2-inch pieces (my batch weighed just over 2 pounds)
1/8 teaspoon salt

In a heavy saucepan, combine the wine, sugar, orange peel, and lemon peel. Bring to a boil and stir until the sugar completely dissolves. Add the rhubarb and salt. Let it simmer until the rhubarb is tender but maintains it’s shape. Use a slotted spoon to remove the rhubarb. Cool rhubarb on a baking sheet. Bring the wine mixture to a boil to thicken and until it reduces to approximately 1 1/2 cups. Pour the syrup over the rhubarb and chill in the refrigerator until cool. Once cool, remove from the baking sheet and store in the refrigerator in an airtight container for up to one week.

Mexican Pot de Créme

May 3, 2013 by Applied Eatables

Every time Cinco de Mayo comes rolling up on the calendar I get excited to cook some of my very favorite comfort foods. Mexican food feels like a reminder of home.

We’ve lived in Seattle for nearly six years. There is no place like this city that makes my heart nearly jump out of my chest every time the sun comes out. The mountains that surround the city paired with beautiful Sound views captivate me in a way that no city ever has. The culture and the community that we’ve chiseled out makes living here so very sweet.

But there are days when I miss my home in the south. I miss seeing my family on a regular basis. I miss the ease of spending time on the farm. I struggle to feel connected through Skype, texts and phone calls. Sometimes I just want to see someone in the flesh, to hug them, laugh with them and spend time without a staring into a computer screen.

Last week my sister-in-law gave birth to my nephew. In the days leading up to his birth I found myself wide awake in the middle of the night, checking my phone in the off-chance my sister went into labor. When he finally made his debut, I was able to Skype with the family and see the newest arrival. In that moment, I wanted more than anything to be close, to hold him, to bring my sister a homemade meal and celebrate. It was cause to rejoice! Joy is increased ten fold when we have someone to celebrate with us; to scream excitedly, hug and feel giddy with.

As I made the Pot de Créme, I felt a little closer to my family. It eased a bit of the homesickness that had crept up into my chest, making it a bit more bearable to wait a few more weeks before visiting. Food has a wonderful way of uniting us, even if we cannot be physically together.

Mexican Pot de Créme

Serves 4

4 ounces of bittersweet chocolate

4 ounces of Mexican chocolate (*see note below)

1 cup of heavy cream

1/2 cup whole milk

4 egg yolks

Finely chop the chocolate and set aside. Whisk the egg yolks until combined. Combine the cream and milk in a medium sauce pan. Heat over medium heat until it reaches a simmer. Keep your eye on it because it will quickly go to a boil. (If it reaches a boil, turn it down and let it cool before continuing). Pour approximately 1/4 cup of the cream mixture into the egg yolks and whisk until well incorporated. Pour the egg mixture back into the sauce pan with the remaining cream and stir over low heat until thickened (1-2 minutes). Remove from heat and whisk in the chocolate. Once the mixture is well-combined, push it through a fine mesh sieve (using the back of a spoon to help the process speed along). Pour into individual ramekins, cover and refrigerate for 2 hours. Top with whipped cream immediately before serving.

*Mexican chocolate can be found in Latin markets and well stocked grocery stores. If you cannot get your hands on it, you can combine one tablespoon of cinnamon in the cream mixture. Add in 1/4 teaspoon of almond extract when you mix in the chocolate.

The Process

April 26, 2013 by Applied Eatables

Saturday morning came quickly. I dragged myself out of bed, earlier than I would have liked. I groggily dressed in my tights and leotard, pulling my hair into a quick bun before jumping in the car for a half an hour ride to the studio. It was an early call time for our quickly approaching performance. The next eight hours were spent rehearsing the same choreography, always stumbling at the same place. Those two counts of eight continued to cause me to fumble and wish I hadn’t gotten out of bed. The blisters on my feet and my aching body caused me to question if I had what it took to make this work. The look on my dance teacher’s face every time I stumbled began to take a toll on my self-confidence. I constantly struggled with doubting myself and my ability to pull off the brilliant performance I so desperately desired. But I pushed through, believing that if I kept at it and pushed past the discomfort, I would eventually get those steps right. And when the spot light came out, I performed the dance with near perfection. The exhilaration I felt when I ran backstage was intoxicating. Over fifteen years later the hours of practice and hard work is what I look back on with the most fondness. The dedication I poured into my craft, pushing my body past what was easy or comfortable, and the many times I excused myself to the restroom just to give myself a pep talk is what has taught me the most.

I always simultaneously gag and roll my eyes when I hear people quote, “It’s not about the destination but the journey,” annoyed by the overly-used cliché. But recently I am even more convinced it’s the destination that pushes us to continue on. It provides the driving force that makes us put up with unforseen difficulties and problems. Striving for the shining moment of success that makes us stay up late and pour all ourselves into the process. The hunger deep down makes us roll out of bed early and try again each and every day. The stirring to do something more, to attain something better is what keeps us going.

And if we finally reach the moment of realizing our dreams, it is a moment of celebrating the hours we gave, the tears of frustration we shed on the kitchen floor, the many, many failures that taught us so much. I look back on my time here and in the kitchen. It feels good when I get a recipe right on the very first try. But when I learn the most is when I have to work on a recipe a few times before it comes to its place of near perfection. Instant gratification often lacks the satisfaction that we yearn for. It’s the many hours of “rehearsal” that creates character and shapes us into more determined, perseverant people. It’s what makes us less likely to crumble when difficulty arises. It creates a sturdy frame to stand on. I am beginning to believe that it is the process that teaches us the most. The hard work that is poured in makes our success so sweet. Those beautiful moments of success are not what teach us the most.

This rhubarb bread has been a work in progress for over a year. I have tried playing around with the bright spring fruit, only to create something that I was less enthusiastic about. Finally this year, the bread finally came together. And with the first bite, I was grateful for the hours spent testing, the loaves that ended in the trash and the frustrations along the way.

Rhubarb Streusel Bread

Bread:

1/3 cup brown sugar

2/3 cup granulated sugar

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

Zest of one lemon

4 tablespoon unsalted butter, melted and cooled to lukewarm

2 eggs

2/3 cup créme fraîche (you could substitute with sour cream)

1 1/2 cups rhubarb, chopped into 1/2 inch pieces

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter and flour a 9×5 loaf pan. Whisk the sugars, flour, cinnamon, baking powder, salt and lemon zest in a large bowl. Set aside. Whisk the eggs. Add in the melted butter and créme fraîche. Mix the wet ingredients into the dry. Stir until just combined. Fold in the rhubarb and place in prepared pan.

Streusel Topping:

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

1/4 cup brown sugar

1/3 cup all-purpose flour

dash of ground cinnamon

Whisk the sugar, flour and cinnamon until combined. Break the butter into small pieces with your hand and place in the sugar mixture. Mix until crumbly.

At the Table.

April 19, 2013 by Applied Eatables

With the announcement that dinner is ready, cell phones, tablets and computers are left on tables, desks and bookshelves. Everyone scurries to the table with clean, damp hands.

At the table is where we gather in joy, clinking our glasses together in celebration. It is where we come after long, tiresome days. It is where we momentarily put away all our distractions to feed ourselves and to focus on being with one another. We reconnect at the table, listening to stories of triumph, frustrating defeat, and most often jokes that have us falling out of seats. Sometimes silence fits best, as we are content to just be near each other. It is at the table I am able to stare at my most favorite people and give thanks that they are healthy and whole. It has become a place of solace – a respite when the world seems to be crumbling around us. When we can’t make sense of the hurt and pain, the table is where we come to rest and exchange knowing glances that sometimes life really sucks. It is at the table we gather with close friends for a simple dinner and plenty of laughter. It where we celebrate our favorite holidays.

With each bite, whether simple or extravagant, we taste foods both familiar and foreign. We sample different textures and flavors. While coming to the table is primarily for the nourishment of our bodies, I find it is often my heart that feels most full when I leave.

I’ve been focusing on dinners that give us the opportunity to gather around the table more often without requiring me in the kitchen for too long. This is one of my recent favorites. It’s comforting, filling, and extremely satisfying.

Soba Chard Bowl

Serves 4

Dressing:

1/3 cup of sesame oil

4 tablespoons rice vinegar

2 tablespoons white balsamic vinegar

2 teaspoons soy sauce

4 cloves garlic

ginger, (1 1/2-2 inch piece)

The Salad:

2 tablespoons of olive oil, divided

2 bunches of chard

8 ounces of crimini mushrooms

1 cup of edamame, shelled and cooked

10 ounces of soba noodles

4 eggs, cooked according to preference ( I recommend poached or soft boiled)

Cook the soba noodles according to the package directions. Finely mince the garlic. Peel and grate the ginger. Whisk the vinegars and soy sauce. Add in the garlic and ginger. Slowly whisk in the sesame oil. Set aside.

Remove the tough bottom stem from the chard and into small pieces. Chop mushrooms into bite-sized pieces. Heat a tablespoon olive oil over a large saute pan over medium heat. Cook until the mushrooms are dark and no more moisture remains in the pan. Set aside. Wipe pan down with a paper towel. Heat remaining olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the chard. Sauté the chard until it is tender, approximately 20 minutes. Add the cooked vegetables to the soba noodles. Toss with the dressing. Serve warm of cold. This stores well. The flavor deepens after a few hours in the refrigerator. When ready to serve top the pasta with an egg for each serving.

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