Wednesday: tortilla pizzas

October 25, 2007 by Lauren in food, glorious food

Wow. What wonderful, thoughtful comments. It's such a big part of what I love about this whole blogging thing...that it's not in a vacuum. That it's a conversation. That we think about things and carry on a conversation. This nourishes me as much as any meal I make. And thank you so much for each kind and thoughtful comment you made. For nourishing me. Shoshana, I'm so glad you said something about being a dork, because you so strike me as so not-a-dork. Come on, you guys have ice cream night for dinner! Fully! Sanctioned! So not a dork. I guess we all do what we can.

I've been remembering other meals too. Corn fritters. Breakfast for dinner. Sarah, when we were driving across the country and stopped to stay with you guys for a few days, you made us a chicken enchilada casserole with slices of avocado, carrots and grape tomatoes. And corn. It was Nebraska, so I feel sure there was golden yellow corn. It was deep summer, and that plate of vibrant jeweled colors was so beautiful and so delicious. A perfect meal. I wish I had a picture. If only I'd been blogging back then.

And Ellen, your comment was so sweet and reassuring. It reminded me of something Sarah and I would say all the time, "If I'm not going to be hard on myself, who will?"

Neel and I made the tortilla pizzas together last night. Try cooking with a scientist sometime. All the time he was saying "Scientists are great at improvising," he was also freaking out because he couldn't find the dried basil or the sauce wasn't boiling. Oh Mr. Clean-Genes, it's a tortilla pizza, not rocket science. And there's a pot of fresh basil right outside the back door. It'll be fine.

And you know, it was. Paired with a simple green salad tossed with my same favorite dressing, it was a great dinner. The rain came down, our first real rain in months, and Callum told some great stories. That's what it's all about right? More than just knowing what we're going to have for dinner. Dork or no, dinner or no, it's the time together that counts.

But Megs, don't think I'd forget you, dearest. As requested, Leek Custard.

4 to 6 thin leeks, cleaned, sliced and then chopped to the pale part of the green
2 1/2 T butter
1/2 onion
1t sea salt
1 C half and half
3 eggs
freshly ground pepper
2 ounces goat cheese

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Melt butter in a skillet. Use some to brush four 1/2 cup ramekins, then add the leeks to the skillet. Add 1/4 water or white wine and onions and cook gently over medium low heat until soft, 12 minutes.
2. Add half and half and heat until warm but not boiling.
3. Beat eggs well and stir in leeks. Season with salt and pepper and stir in cheese.
4. Divide among ramekins; place in a baking pan and surround with a hot water bath. Bake until custards are set and a knife inserted comes out clean, 30-35 minutes.

Now, if you really want, I could give you the recipe for tortilla pizzas as well, but seriously, they're tortilla pizzas. Not that hard. Tasty, but not difficult.

food experiment

October 24, 2007 by Lauren in food, glorious food

Do you feel like you think about food all the time? Some times I feel like I do. And not always in the good, exciting, engaged, try new recipes, lazily browse cookbooks and sunnily putter in my kitchen kind of way. I've been living away from home for almost 20 years, married for nearly 12 (as of next week!) and a mother for eight. You'd think that somewhere along the way this cooking and feeding of my family would have become, if not necessarily effortless, than at least relatively predictable and painless.

Instead, more often than not, our regular weeknight cooking feels exhausting, laborious and frustrating. And I like to cook. Cooking soothes and relaxes and refuels me as much as the food itself does. So clearly, as with so many things (like being still), I'm not getting something right here. Meals had a regular rhythm when I was growing up. My dad cooked a couple nights of the week, and my mom cooked a couple nights of the week. You guys, help me out. What kinds of things did we eat during the week? I remember details better than whole meals. I remember setting the table and pouring the milk. I remember asking what was for dinner. I remember frozen Lima beans or corn steaming from a plastic bag in a pan of boiling water on the stove. I remember some kind of french-style green bean, the smell of which always sent me into a tail-spin of misery (sorry Mom!). We ate together in the dining room every night and rarely went out.

Friday night was "McDonald's Night." It cracks me up now to think that we had fast food once a week. A regular thing. Even "McDonald's Night" was tinged with ritual. We all went to get the food together and brought it home to eat at the coffee table in the living room in front of M*A*S*H* and Barney Miller. Our dog Muffin had her own place mat (a napkin) because she drooled so much waiting for her french fries. It was the only time she was fed from the table.

Saturday mornings my mom worked, so my dad and I went to the grocery store together and Saturday night they cooked together. I don't remember those meals very well either, except that they were more intricate and we were all involved. I remember mostly the feeling of well-being. All of us in the kitchen, snacking on goldfish crackers while my mom and dad cooked, Phoebe Snow or Al Jarreau on the record player, three or four albums stacked up. It was the one time during the week that they drank wine (Ha! That cracks me up now too!), and I'd have coke in a wine glass and feel so grown up.

Somewhere along the way I learned to enjoy cooking. Somewhere among the frozen corn, garlic powder and Parmesan cheese in a green can ("Lauren, it was the seventies, we didn't know any better," my dad reminds me."), I started cooking. There was the great funnel cake debacle of seventh grade home ec. Knowing how tired I am when I come home from school in the evenings, I can just imagine how my dad felt when he got home from work to find me making funnel cake at 4:30 in the afternoon...the batter was everywhere. (Dad, I am SO sorry.) The summer after college I did a lot of cooking for my mom's psychotherapy practice. I made a lot of messes, but they had food in the kitchen between sessions, right Mom? Right? I was trying to re-establish myself as myself somehow. Cast adrift between my college life and life after, knowing nothing more than that I liked to cook and that I wanted it to be with Neel. Through every stage of my life, cooking and writing were the constants. Sometimes burned and messy, but those things stayed and stuck.

So I'm not quite sure why I feel like I'm getting it wrong now. Why cooking feels more laborious and chore-like these days. But I walk in the door worn out and just as inclined to throw up my hands and say, "Let's go out," as dig around for something to make. In the early days of my marriage to Neel, my mother-in-law (back when she actually had conversations with me) once asked what kinds of meals we ate. When I told her, she said, "Really? Is that enough for Neel?" So maybe that one well-placed, disdainful comment put me on the path of feeling the need for a bells-and-whistles dinner every night, not just Saturday night. So there's enough for Neel. Whatever. Seriously. That man appreciates good food, but he's just as happy with a piece of cheese microwaved between two slices of bagel.

It's more than that though. Making a home for my family has always been so important to me, one of the most important things I could ever do really. And cooking is such a significant part of that. Nourishment is about so much more than food, but food... feeding your family and your friends is how you show it.

I want us to sit at the table every night. I want to have more than one or two dinners a week in me before throwing in the towel. I want a repertoire of meals we can fall back on each week. I want it to fall somewhere between bells-and-whistles and corn from a can. So here's my plan. A friend of mine bemoans the nightly question from her husband, "What were you thinking about for dinner?" And that's where I think I fall down. I don't want to think about dinner. I want to come home and make it and eat it. I don't think I have it in me to summon the energy to think of the meal and cook it all on the same night. So this week I did my meal planning for the whole week on Saturday and we did our grocery shopping then too. I tried going super-Type A and making a list of each meal and the night we'll have it. There are some old stand-bys as well as some newbies on there. I picked recipes that will nourish us quickly and easily, maximizing our time together. Because we had so much fun last month, Neel's writing another grant, so I may do all the cooking this week and next, but if not, he can just look at the list. It may be too rigid, and I know I'm a total dork, but for now, I want to see if this structure gives me a little something that I need.

So one night we'll have these, already a favorite around here and last night we tried something new. Leek custards, from Local Flavors by Deborah Madison and a squash salad loosely inspired by Orangette.

At the last minute I discovered a sad lack of tahini to make the vinagrette, so I improvised, using my all-time favorite salad dressing recipe. The results weren't too bad, for being on the fly.

So Tuesday. Squash salad and leek custard. Despite the surprises once we got here (no tahini), I have to say it felt pretty nice to come home and know exactly what to do. And tomorrow, Neel says he'll cook and he'll know exactly what to do too. We may be dorks, but we'll be dorks with nice dinners. Let's see what the rest of the week brings.

home of my heart

October 23, 2007 by Lauren

Oh San Diego. To all of our dear friends. To all of our favorite places. We love you. Be safe. Be safe. We're sending you lovingkindness.

Lauren, Neel and Callum

making soup

October 22, 2007 by Lauren in food, glorious food

I've been having a yen to make some soup and yesterday seemed like a good day. Long, lazy Sundays are good for soup, you know.

Chop an onion, a carrot (peel it first, please), a stalk of celery and a couple of cloves of garlic and saute them until the onion is limp. Take off the heat and add a cup of peanut butter and blend until smooth. Add six cups of chicken broth, some diced baby Yukon gold potatoes, some cayenne pepper, cumin, and some sherry. Return to heat and bring to a boil for about fifteen minutes, until the potatoes are tender.

Add some cooked, shredded chicken, and if you're not ready to eat it yet, slap it on the warming zone of your stove top (or on a regular burner on low heat) and let the house smell delicious.

We had it with corn fritters and a corn and avocado salsa, and I'm having some for lunch today. What's on your plate?

friday morning still life

October 19, 2007 by Lauren in this little life of mine

Ah, still. life. I need some still life. Neel, Mom and Dad, I know that you will be able to picture the look that would have been on my Grandma Charlotte's face when I say this: I'm about ready for daylight savings to end. She hated the end of daylight savings, hated dark and early evenings, so if I were to say this to her, she would take it as a personal slight. But I'm ready. Bring fall on. The picture above was taken at seven this morning and I'm tired of the sun not coming up for two hours after I do.

We're aided in our cozy morning by leaden skies and the threat of much-needed rain. I've been yearning for a day like this. Neel has taken Callum into school, and I'm home from work today. It's how my schedule is meant to be, but somehow part-time jobs never quite work out the way they're meant to. I have some thoughts on work and craft and balance that I'm not quite ready to share, but I will soon. I've been thinking about it a lot lately.

I told Neel that all I want to do this weekend is sit. Why is it that the very thought of being still engenders so much guilt? Callum and I come home from work and school and a half-hour commute, and rather than simply sitting and resting and talking, even for a few minutes, I immediately move to the refrigerator to think about dinner or start straightening things. I work so hard during the week, and still, somehow every weekend I feel compelled to move from one thing to another. Yard work, groceries, fix the screen door, do the laundry. We could do a better job at being still, that's for sure. Last week, when we pulled into the driveway Jean and Paul were across the street, and Callum and I never made it into the house. We walked straight to their front porch and sat down. Callum, who had finished his homework at school, started throwing the football, and when Neel got home, he walked across to join us too. As I sat there I could feel, kink, kink, kink, my muscles relaxing. Okay, so this is how I need to do it.

So here's my day today. Nothing more taxing than grafting the toe on my monkey sock, doing some planning for Christmas gifts, finally, finally flipping through Last Minute Patchwork + Quilted Gifts which I've carried from work to home and back again for days with the hopes of actually getting a chance to look through, browsing some catalogs and a movie or two. If I'm lucky I'll do it again over the weekend.

celebrate

October 18, 2007 by Lauren in this little life of mine

Despite a crummy start to the morning and me being grumpy all day, Neel got some good news, a scientific paper accepted (and that's been a long time coming), so we did a wee bit of celebrating. A sip for each of us. And a fresh start tomorrow.

the more things change

October 17, 2007 by Lauren in the hood, this little life of mine

So we're having a bit of work done around the place.

At least the street is. And what a process it has been.

These blue pipes have been lined up in a field at the end of the street for months. All summer. Our friend Zach yells "BLUE PIPES!" every time his car goes past. Then one day the BLUE PIPES marched to the end of the street, and slowly, slowly they've been making their way back down, underground. Jean, Zach's mom, and I would take him on walks, and she'd stop in front of the ginormous holes, and say things like, "See the shovel Zach? Look at all the dirt." Man that took me right back to Callum's toddler-hood. We had a big digging-up-the-street project in front of our condo when he was Zach's age...an overnight project. That was a big deal. Every night after dinner we'd pop Callum in the wagon, put his plastic construction cap on and go check on the progress. The guys would stop their work (any excuse, I suppose) and tell us what was happening, and I'd say things like, "See the big shovel, Callum? See all the dirt?" I don't have conversations like that with him anymore.

Anyway, after weeks of steady progress, these guys got to our block. By trash day this past week, they were in front of our house. You should have seen me on Thursday, trying to go to school. Two dumpsters in the street, the diggers, the BLUE PIPES, the trash truck, a school bus and me trying to back out Blanche, our Mini Cooper. It was a near thing. When Neel drove us to school on Friday, he just drove through Tyler's front yard. Wish I'd thought of that.

The men of the block, young and old, have watched this process with much interest. I've watched the dust accumulate on my car and wondered how much windshield wiper fluid I have left. Each night we would come home to stories of shaking of windows and breaking of water mains. Lots of excitement. They've moved quickly. The pile of BLUE PIPES that the kids were playing in on Wednesday are already underground. The boys are fascinated with the big scoop of the digger and the tread of it's tires. I feel antsy when I have to peer around it to try to cross the street.

On Saturday, I ran out to grab a few last minute things for dinner and I noticed an older man walking to the end of the street. He was clearly there to check on the progress. It was a lovely Saturday morning. Perfect for a quick walk up to the street with all the work. This reminded me of my Grandad. At some point in my late childhood, maybe even early adulthood a giant street refinishing project was undertaken on a street a block from his home. He was in his eighties at this point I think, or at least late seventies, and each day he'd walk to the end of the block to check on the progress. Every single day. I like works in progress myself. Maybe I get that from him.

What I know is that I like it that men at the beginning of their lives and at the end of them too like diggers and BLUE PIPES and works in progress and dust and gravel, and any given man at any age on this street could probably tell me how deep these pipes are placed, how long they last, how much over budget they are on time and what exactly they are being put here for. I like that.

grub club

October 16, 2007 by Lauren in I can tell that we are gonna be friends, food, glorious food

Just when you thought you'd seen my last blog post about Greece, here I am, back on Spetses again. Oh how I wish. I wonder what it's like in the autumn. Hang on a sec....Okay. About the same as here actually. Highs in the mid to upper 60s. But still...Spetses...Okay, I know, I know, I digress. Seriously, this post isn't really about Greece. It's more about food and friends, and how we decided that we should start cooking together but we mostly ended up eating out a lot together and now we're broke so this weekend, as promised, I made us all some Greek food. Opa.

I know I mentioned awhile back that I love having dinner parties. We just don't do it much any more, and I find that I miss that part of our lives. I think the plan for this whole grub club thing (correct me if I'm wrong, guys) is that we cook together or all bring stuff to share (Clearly, we've been pretty fluid and laid back in our planning so far.), but it was Greek Night, and I really wanted to cook for my friends.

I love the feeling of getting ready for a dinner like this. I spent the day in my Crocs, the same shoes that saw me up and down the steps of the Parthenon and all across the islands of Santorini and Crete. A little shopping, and then chopping, chopping, chopping. Setting the table, washing serving spoons and lining up wine glasses. It's soothing and special, opening your home to your friends. Making your hearth shine while at the same time knowing they don't care if the bottles on your liquor cabinet are dusty. It's a good friend who doesn't mind that kind of thing.

You have to start with Ouzo, of course (that's how I discovered the dusty bottles). The Greeks are known for their ebullient nature, and a lot of people assume it's all that Ouzo. Not really. This is more of a sipping drink. Greek men would sit in the taverna over their mezedes (appetizers) all the long lazy afternoon and could easily sip away on just one Ouzo. Have it straight or with pineapple juice and a handful of smoky pistachios.

With the Ouzo came mezedes. Dolmas (stuffed grape leaves), olives (of course), several dips and spreads (bean dip, olive jam, and red pepper and feta spread with bread), and Halloumi. Let me just take a moment and tell you about "the cheese that grills." First off, I don't mean a grilled cheese. Secondly, we never have much success with it on the grill. Thirdly, it's entirely possible that you've tasted nothing finer. It's the cheese that squeaks. We use a saute pan with no oil. Just medium high heat until the cheese is brown on both sides. Slide it on a plate and squeeze some lemon juice on top. I mean it. This is seriously good.

And then we had dinner! One of my favorite evenings on our trip was when we were still in the science portion. Each day, the organizer of the trip, Dimitrios would go off to scout out some restaurant. He'd talk with the owners, taste the food, try the wine and ask if they could accommodate a group our size. I want his job.

It was at one of these spots, this one in fact, a little taverna by a slip of the sea and the setting sun that I thought I might die from eating too much. They brought so many mezedes. Anchovies and tapenade and shrimp wrapped in bacon and zucchini fritters. The food just kept coming and coming. And I thought, great! My favorite kind of meal. But then dinner came. It was the simplest, loveliest piece of swordfish I have ever seen. I was so full, but how could I not at least try some of that swordfish? Dinner on Saturday was kind of like that. We ate and ate and ate. Then we had dinner.

Horatiki salad (your basic Greek salad, of course), gigantes plaki (giant lima beans), braised Greek-style green beans, beef baked with orzo and chicken and fennel stew with quince. All pretty basic recipes. All google-able, but perhaps the chicken. I'm going to share that one with you here. Although I'm going to say that I'm a little hesitant to share it...because what if, once you know how to make it yourselves, you don't love me anymore.

Kota me krasi, maratho ke kydoni
chicken and fennel stew with quince

1/4 cup olive oil
3 thick slices pancetta, diced (about 6 oz)
1 lb. organic chicken breasts and 1 lb organic chicken thighs
2 lg. onions, halved and thinly sliced
3 carrots peeled and cut into pieces
1 large fennel bulb, halved and sliced
1 quince halved, cored and sliced*
4 garlic cloves, sliced
1 cup Mavrodaphne or sweet wine
1 cup dry red wine
1 t thyme crumbled
1 t rosemary
1-1 1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes.
2 bay leaves
1 t salt

*I couldn't find quince, so I used almost a whole jar of quince preserves instead. It seemed to work just fine.

1. In a large skillet with lid or Dutch Oven, saute the pancetta over medium heat for about a minute. Add the chicken in batches and saute, turning until golden brown on both sides. Transfer to a plate and set aside.

2. Add onions, carrots, and fennel and saute for five minutes. Add garlic and quince. When it starts to sizzle, return the chicken to the skillet and add the wine, bay leaves, pepper flakes, thyme, rosemary and salt.

3. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to low, cover and simmer for 1-1 1/2 hours or until chicken is very tender.

I adapted this recipe from The Foods of the Greek Islands by Aglaia Kremezi. It was one of those things where I knew it would be good...I could even conceptualize how it would taste, but some how it was better than the sum of all of its parts. Better than me, really. It was that good. And I can't take the credit. Try it. You'll see.

We finished with this. It's called Tentura. A Greek liquer that tastes like cinnamon. And baclava and a fire in the fire pit. The food was great. The wine flowed freely.

It's friends that really make a meal, don't you think? And just look at these two. Don't they look ready for a puppy? Good friends show up early and dig in and stay late and take home leftovers. And that's what a good meal is really all about.

pain has been and grief enough

October 15, 2007 by Lauren in this little life of mine

I was all set to write a post about this awesome dinner we had on Saturday night, but we went to a memorial service yesterday, and I've been thinking about it a lot, so here I am. Writing about death instead of food.

This is actually the second memorial service Neel and I've attended in the past six weeks. One was in a Quaker Meeting House with the late summer sun streaming in through the windows, the other, yesterday was held in a windowless lecture hall in the medical school where Neel works. At the first we were surrounded by my colleagues, at the second by Neel's; dark suit-and-beeper-clad doctors. An old boy's network the likes of which I haven't seen in a long while. Both services were standing room only. Both were personal and quirky, at times sweet and funny. Both men loved the outdoors, at each was a great story of a hiking or camping trip. Both had threads throughout the various stories, one of how fiscally responsible (read "cheap") the guy was and one of hot dogs and tacos. Both men left behind a wife and grown or nearly grown children. Both loved their work and adventure, but they loved their families more.

I barely knew the man who was being remembered at today's memorial service. I have no right to "out" him here, and I won't. He was a colleague of Neel's. Had the office next door, and Neel talked often of dropping in just for a break or a quick chat. We had barely moved here when I first met Dr. B. It was at an after-Thanksgiving party at another colleague's house, and I immediately liked him. We were new enough here that everyone swam in a sea of barely-recognizable faces (and believe me four years later, not much has changed). We talked about dumb stuff, not at all memorable, but I took note of both Dr. B and his wife in a I-might-want-to-be-them-when-I-grow-up kind of way. In the handful of times that we met afterward, nothing happened to change that feeling. He was a no pretense kind of man. You were getting the genuine article with him and his spirit shone through in even the most casual of conversations. On the drive home from that first meeting, when Neel told me that he was sick, I thought, "Oh no, I don't want him to die."

That was nearly four years ago. I last saw Dr. B late this spring on a rainy night. His son was graduating from the Governor's School and having an art show. His work was good. Surprised us for someone so young. We met someone there named Callum. How cool is that? And there was Dr. B. Clearly tired, but proud and happy with that same sweet smile. I'm so glad we went. I feel so glad that he got to see his son's show. Got to see all those little red "sold" dots along the titles of the pieces.

I'm not sure what the word is for what I feel when I cry at these things. Fraud is as close as I can come right now. How dare I? This is not my loss. Seriously, I can probably count the number of times I'd met this man on one hand. It seems intrusive of me to be weeping when this loss is so acute for his wife and children. Neel feels it keenly. This man was his nearest neighbor in a hall of offices, an older brother who been this way before and jovially helped Neel navigate the world of Assistant Professorship. When Neel got up to speak his emotions took over, but he was eloquent and funny nonetheless. He crashed out on the sofa for the rest of the night. If we were that tired, how must that poor family feel.

Don't really know where I'm going with all this, just to pause and take note of what all of this feels like. Mourning and sadness and acknowledgment of grief. Not bad stuff necessarily. Just stuff. Just my Sunday this week. But sometime overnight I realized something. We were sad all evening. Neel is so low. He keeps thinking of things he wishes he'd said. Understandable, of course. We all do that. And for me at least it isn't just that I'm feeling the wellspring of another person's emotions and riding the tide of their sorrow. Some where in the dim recesses of the night, I realized that it wasn't fraudulent for me to cry for this man's death. If I, who'd met him only a handful of times could feel his loss so keenly, what an amazing person he must have been.

May you be filled with lovingkindness

May you be well

May you be peaceful and at ease

May you be happy.

Tomorrow, dinner. I promise.

nip in the air

October 12, 2007 by Lauren in this little life of mine

Oh my god people this global warming bit has got to stop. I love living in the coastal south, but it's October already. Apple bobbing time! Sweater wearing time! Blue jean time! Not 90 degree weather time. Finally, finally yesterday it started to feel like fall around here. A breeze, sun-swept skies, and a nip in the air. It was a seriously, lovely bit of cool. If I hadn't been so busy I would have toddled over to Target to get myself a sweater.

I am warily eyeing some eighty degree temps at the end of our seven degree forecast, but for now I can put down the sock knitting and pick up the sweater knitting. I can start thinking about making chili, and I can scrounge around for some lap blankets to use when we have our fire pit this weekend.

I *heart* fall.

halloween sneak preview

October 11, 2007 by Lauren in the boy, the hound

The dog does not approve.

hey look! it's (not quite) recipe tuesday

October 10, 2007 by Lauren in food, glorious food

When we lived in San Diego, Neel had a miserable commute. He had to leave our house at 6:30 in the morning in order to have a half an hour drive into work. Any later, and he'd be in the car for forty five minutes or longer. I was at home with Callum, so I had no commute. In California, driving is no big deal. We often would drive thirty minutes or longer just for a half an hour swim lesson or play date. But it takes its toll, driving that much. So when we made our trek across the country, it was really important that we live close to work for Neel. And now he has a lovely 2 mile, four minute commute. What we didn't bank on was choosing a school for Callum that was half an hour away. Or that I would eventually start to work at Callum's school. So now I have the commute. Lucky me.

On Tuesdays and Wednesdays Callum stays late for various after-school type things, so we're home late and man, by the time I've finished an extra-long day and tacked on a long drive, I'm beat. Now that ding-dong the grant is done, Neel's going to start cooking on those nights. Aren't you Neel? So last night Neel cooked, and what you see above is what we had. And let me tell you, it could have been sticks and rocks, just having someone else cook would have made that dinner delicious, but this was really delicious. Here's the recipe.

Curry Noodles with Chicken

1 pound boneless skinless chicken breast, thinly sliced into 1/4 inch strips

18 oz. fresh pasta, like egg noodles

1 can (14 oz) coconut milk

2 Tablespoons Thai peanut sauce

1 to 2 Tablespoons curry powder

2 to 3 Tablespoons Asian Fish Sauce

1 Tablespoon sugar

1 Tablespoon seasoned rice vinegar

3 Tablespoons fresh basil leaves

1. Boil noodles according to directions. Drain, rinse in hot water and drain again. Set aside.

2. Rinse pan and set over medium high to high heat. Combine coconut milk, peanut sauce and curry powder. Add chicken and stir until no longer pink in the center. This takes a few minutes...under five maybe. Then add 1/2 cup water, 2 T. fish sauce, sugar, and vinegar and mix.

3. Return pasta to pan and mix until noodles are hot throughout, about four minutes. Pour into a bowl, add basil leaves, mix gently and serve.

Oh, yes, it was so delicious. Nice sweet-spicy kick that wasn't too spicy for the for the eight-year-old set. The recipe comes from one of my favorite old magazines, from back in our California days. It's called Safeway Select and was published by Sunset for our local grocery store (For those of you Californians, have you ever noticed how a lot of CA grocery stores have men's names? Von's? Albertsons? Ralphs? Around here we have Farm Fresh and Food Lion.). How lucky is that? A little mini-Sunset, in addition to the real deal each month. I lived for this monthly publication, the way I lived for the weekly TV Guide issue to tell me which Little House on the Prairie episode was coming on in the next week. A super-extra-wonderful bonus to my grocery trip. (In fact I'm sure that this is why I don't subscribe to Everyday Food. I'm trying to re-create my Safeway Select thrill.) Safeway Select has taught me how to make a meringue, Indian Butter Chicken, Five Spice fish and Beef Wellington. It has a Week Night Survival Guide in every issue that has five recipes that you can make in thirty minutes or less. I have kept every magazine I purchased (and moved them across the country) going back to 1999. Sometimes I miss California so much the back of my throat hurts. And dinner last night was really, really good.

finally

October 09, 2007 by Lauren in sometimes I make things

The Vols won.

The Chargers won.

The Eagles didn't lose. (Okay, they had a bye.)

I started my socks.

Okay, I hate, hate, hate the flash. But it's dark and early here, and really, the flash gives you the best indication of the colors of the yarn I'm using. Lorna's Laces Shepard Sock in Clay. I'm trying to get as much autumn mojo as I can since it's going to be over 90 degrees today. Icky, icky blech. I want chili and soup simmering on the stove and scarves woven around my neck and Fetching on my wrists. Instead it's short sleeves and swishy skirts and air conditioning and iced coffees for awhile longer yet.

But Socktoberfest is on and the Monkey is on my back.

almost there

October 08, 2007 by Lauren in the little gray house

Remember this?

And this?

Well, all in good time, I said. All in good time. The bedroom is almost finished. We're nearly there.

It's an autumn bedroom now. We have drapes instead of sheers. The featherbed is back on and last night we sank into deep cloudy soft-piled marshmallow loveliness. These were our first new pillows in years and seriously folks, I floated into sleep.

On pillows this soft, how could you not have sweet dreams? I got new pillow cases too. Bamboo...and cotton, I think. I'll have to take another look at the fiber content. But they're soft too! Like buttah... Or silk.

It was fun, at first to sleep on the floor. In a lush, mattress-and-box spring-on-the-floor-kind of way. It reminded me of this picture from Little House on the Prairie.

Pretty cozy, huh? And it was cozy for awhile. But I had no idea it would take the bed as long to stain as it did. Dratted humidity. And it still didn't come together quite unscathed. I'll have to go and do some touch-up sometime along the way. Besides, after awhile cozy starts to hurt your back. And look like your first apartment. And Lucy starts to get restless. Up and down, up and down. Until finally, Friday night, she most insistently woke both me and Neel in order to be let out to chase a raccoon out of our back yard. At four a.m. Time to put the bed back together. We all slept like babies. If those babies aren't Callum.

We've never really decorated our bedroom. It was just a place to put our bed and dresser and night stands. Even Neel's nightstand is an old tv table that was left behind by the previous owners which he now claims he wants me to stain (Uh, Neel, my staining days are DONE...you are on your own.). But this is coming together. This is nice. I want to get a rug. We need (you know, when need means want) to reframe some photos. I had some pictures of Callum enlarged, re-worked into black and white and framed for Neel for Father's Day several years ago and they hang above our bed ("Imagine if we had six Callum's..."). They now need darker frames, and that is proving harder to find than anticipated.

And finally, I really, really want to make us a quilt. My original thought was gray and red. Now I'm thinking gray and chocolate and caramel and red. It'll probably take me the next ten years to do it. But this room needs a quilt.

Until then, "Well it's bedtime," Ma said.

meme

October 05, 2007 by Lauren in this little life of mine

I first saw this meme over at wisecraft and thought it quite interesting. I love Blair's blog. There's something about its, I don't know, clean palette, that really appeals to me. Her work is always inspiring. Not just the crafting she's doing, but the blogging as well. She's one of my daily stops and this project was particularly inspiring to. It's made the rounds since I first saw it, but as you know, it takes me awhile to get my act together these days.

1. Do you promote your blog?

In a word, no. Unless you count shyly admitting that I actually have a blog. I've finally started doing that.

2. How often do you check hits?

Well, I don't really. I know that I can, but I almost don't want to. I'm asked often if I can determine where my readers are coming from and how many I have, and while I know it's possible to do that, I'm not sure I want to just yet. And I'm not sure I could tell you why. Every comment, from those from friends to those from folks I don't know, is a lovely and special surprise. I certainly recognize an obsessive part of my personality, so do I want to start checking hits and mess with that? Tap, tap, tapping the refresh button? I'm not sure.

3. Do you stick to one topic?

The subheading of bluerainroom is "home, craft, life," and I guess that says it all. Someone else, when working on this meme wrote: me, me, me, me, me, me!!!! Okay, fair enough. I was first drawn to blogging by the abundance of knitting blogs, but soon saw that those blogs that were about life and how it's well, lived (not even necessarily well-lived) were most appealing to me. When we were still in California and I was struggling with adjusting to motherhood I spent some time trying to find a therapist who might help me navigate this new and challenging phase of my life. Have you ever tried to find a therapist? It's almost as hard as finding a good hairstylist. I spent several sessions with one woman until one day, after I'd said (yet again), "I don't know, I just feel..." She cut me off with this: "I don't care how you feel. I want to change what you feel." After a horrified moment where I thought (audible gasp), "But all I care about is how I feel!" I never went back.

This is my memoir. My love letter to my family and my life. If I'm good at anything, it's at crafting a life for my family, that's what's most important to me, and this is my chronicle of that. I've been interested in memoir for a long time, but never felt memorable enough or clever enough to produce one of my own. Our life here, and what I craft of it is as close as I come.

4. Who knows that you have a blog?

I was slow (and still am) to come out of the closet about this. I wanted to get my feet under me before going very public, and man, talk about wearing your heart on your sleeve. I want people to know now, but I hope they understand that it was nothing more than shyness that kept me from cluing them in from the beginning. Who knew I could do it or would even like it? It doesn't really come up in casual conversation either. "Hi. I have a blog." So what started with a very few friends and family is growing. They are telling friends, I assume. I hope they are, because I'm still not brave enough to wear this:

Ripples in a pond. That's fine by me. Stop in and say hello.

5. How many blogs do you read?

Did gazillion really become a word? It must have because typepad spellcheck caught it. (Typepad spellcheck did not catch "typepad" or "spellcheck" however.) Seriously, I have many. Again, because I'm lame I don't subscribe to anything (I know I need to get a handle on this), but I have a nice ritual of checking in on my faves when I need a break from whatever it is I have my hands in at the time.

6. Are you a fast reader?

This seems a funny, somewhat random question, but yes, I can be. My only time to read these days is before bed and that doesn't allot a lot of time. Falling asleep gets in the way. So I've slowed down.

7. Do you customize your blog or do anything technical?

Oh to change my masthead each month or with each changing season. Oh to know how to do those little buttons on the sidebar. Oh thank you Typepad for doing everything for me.

8. Do you blog anonymously?

No. We're all right here. I toyed with the idea. But I wanted to be myself. I wanted us to be us. I totally understand why people use the barrier of nicknames or hide behind DH or DS or other monikers, but it didn't feel right to me.

9. To what extent do you censor yourself?

Well, you know. You've been around for some of the sadness and laments! Some of the details I will stay sketchy on, but the heart of what I'm feeling is pretty much out there. At one point during this post I almost asked for permission to write some of the things I wanted to say. And then I thought: No. My blog, my feelings. I need to just go ahead and say these things.

10. The best thing about blogging?

Well, for starters, you. I can't tell you how exciting it is to get comments on my posts, whether we've never met or I had coffee with you that morning and you heard already, in great detail the story I just posted about. So, on a broad stroke, it's the conversation. The global conversation. Knowing that something I've written is impacting someone enough for them to want to tell me. Me! (my own little Sally Field moment) It's exciting and thrilling. I can't tell you or thank you enough.

For me it's the opportunity to write nearly every day (I promise I'll get back at it. I'm writing a lot at work right now, and the ability to string sentences is pretty much wrung out of me when I get home at night.) that is measured and thoughtful and crafted. For me, blogging is not journaling. It's not free-form, and while sometimes it flows, it's not loose or necessarily easy. I like thinking about my life in terms of writing. I like setting on a theme for a post. I like having an image catch my eye and adding pictures. I like the work of crafting the words and living with them. I look more closely at my life now, and I'm grateful for that. I circled the idea of blogging warily for the better part of a year. Now I CAN NOT imagine not having it in my life. I'm enriched beyond measure.

how I know I'm happy

October 02, 2007 by Lauren in this little life of mine

I look up from this (picture of my desk) and it's noon, one, two o'clock...Where did the day go? It's not wigged-out, over-worked stressed kind of where did the day go. It's a happy, fulfilled and absorbed kind of where did the day go.

not another lament, really

October 02, 2007 by Lauren in sometimes I make things

I know you guys must think I'm the queen of the unfinished project around here. But seriously, we've had a lot going on lately.

Remember this? All in good time, my friends, all in good time.

But about Miss Josephine. Oh, Miss Josephine. I just dug back through the archives and I cast on for her way, way back in July. Well, I finished the back at least, but it was hard fought, that's for sure. And here comes the "not a lament" part. Because sometime during the life of my own poor Miss Jo, we were blindsided with woe over here in the little gray house. Enough woe to keep me up all night one night, knitting, knitting, knitting. A fair amount of crying was done, but there was a lot of knitting too. You could argue that Josephine saved my life that long night, and she surely did, but it raises a question for me. Do we knit our feelings into the work we do? Our joy and our sorrow too?

I finished the back and got about a quarter of the way through the front before I saw the mistake. I was almost relieved for an excuse. As pretty as she was, she was pretty easy to put down too. The mistake was not on the back part of the pattern, but I had poured a lot of sorrow into those stitches; had knit them through more than a tear or two. The bottom line was that I couldn't imagine wearing all of that heartache on my back. It was an easy pattern to memorize. I was so glad to have it just when I needed it, but somehow even in July, I knew I'd never wear it. And what a relief! When I saw an article on cnn.com about cutting your losses actually being a healthy thing, I knew that frogging the damn thing was all I needed to do. It didn't annihilate the midsummer sadness by any stretch, but it certainly managed to mitigate it just the tiniest bit.

One little snip was all it took, and wind, wind, wind, of the ball-winder, and I'm so relieved. On to better things. We worked through the sorrow. We're on the other side. Fall is nearing (as near as a dry eighty degrees can be) and a Somewhat Cowl is calling.

October 1

October 01, 2007 by Lauren in sometimes I make things

Soctoberfest here I come. I applaud Lolly's efforts to minimize her efforts (!), so I have no more plans than to try to knit some socks this month while I work on some other things. Okay. I need to clarify a little.

1. I'm not sure which of these three yarns I'm going to use. I'll probably cast on for two pairs (although where the hell all of my small dpns have gotten to, I have no idea), One is destined to become my "Desk Drawer Sock." I need something to keep at work to give me a computer break now and again. The other I'll work on at home.

2. I only have a couple of goals in this whole process, and really, none of them is even to finish a pair. (Finishing would be an added side bonus to be sure, but A) I'm a slow knitter, B) I'm already working on some other projects, C) I'm easily distracted, D) I do my best knitting when it's not daylight savings and we hunker down in the evenings, E) I'm a slow knitter, F) have I mentioned that I get distracted easily? I do.)

3. So knowing that I only have a few goals, here they are. A) Avoid the vile ladder. I really struggle with these, especially when I use DPNs instead of circulars. B) Use some pattern, such as this, this, or this. And C)... (sound of crickets chirping)...huh. Okay. Maybe that's it. If I think of anymore, I'll let you know. Really, C is just to knit on the damn things consistently throughout the month. Shouldn't be too hard, should it? Happy Socktoberfest.

Now that I've said all this here...I'm gonna go say it all over here. I just got my invitation!

peeking out

September 28, 2007 by Lauren in this little life of mine

Callum's rumpled bed is exactly how my life feels right now (And if you, your spouse, partner, child or beagle is an academic scientist who relies on grant funding for a living, you may not want to read on. This post might inspire flashbacks.). We have grant-fatigue around here. Poor Neel, he bears the brunt of it, I mean, of course, but we all live it. We have every year at this time for the last four years. It's been better this year, no question, but I'm beat. I know, excuses, excuses. But Callum started back to school, I started back to work, Neel's writing, writing, writing, barely stoping to sleep or eat or acknowledge our presence (love you, honey!). I miss my blogging juju. I miss my sweet house. I miss sewing. I miss cooking. I miss you guys. And my camera is acting funky, so I feel a little heistant to pull it out (I know, enough with the excuses already), and so often it's a photo that really kicks off a blog post for me. I'm pulling it together. I'm figuring out what to say "no" to. If I could just clear off some of the surfaces, even just in the kitchen, I'd feel better.

Okay. Off my chest. Bear with me just a little longer, can you? Neel crawls out from under his rock next week, but I fully intend to be out there already in the sunshine, waiting for him.

back to school night

September 25, 2007 by Lauren in the boy

So last night was Back to School Night at Callum's school. Each kid in his second grade class had an essay written and waiting for their parents. Here, transcribed, exactly, is Callum's.

Whet its like binging Neel and Lurens child. Last yere Neel and Lueren took me to greece and sandiego (ca). Neel and Luren tout me to take care of my dog. They are nice and genoris. Sometimes I get mad at them no mater whet I still love them. I will never hate them. I love them very much. I will never hit them. My mom and dad by me good food.

When I am upset they will help me and take care of me. When I am hurt they will snogle me.

Neel and I each wrote an essay back, but I can barely remember what because I was so, so proud.