This week's CSA box includes a beautiful bunch of carrots. I have always loved carrots (except when I was pregnant, when cooked carrots absolutely turned my stomach), but the carrots that come from our CSA are above and beyond the carrots you get at the grocery store. If you can grow carrots yourself or purchase them from a farmer's market, you really should, because the difference is amazing. I don't peel my carrots - just scrub them well under cold running water, leaving an earthy flavor and texture intact.
My friends know that I have been a vegetarian in the past but am currently eating some meat if I can find locally, humanely raised products (which is easy to do around here). I feel the need to preface any recipe including meat with that statement, because I still have a lot of internal conflict going on about eating meat. That being said, this recipe, adapted from a Martha Stewart Food recipe, is delicious. I purchased bone-in, skin-on split chicken breasts from Alison's Family Farms, and they are humanely raised in North Carolina and free of antibiotics and hormones.
This easy dish made leftovers for our small family - we had two meals out of it, plus I'll be making chicken salad and stock from the leftovers. Great for fall!
roasted chicken with carrots, onions, and thyme
two bone-in, skin-on chicken breast halves
5 or 6 fresh carrots, scrubbed, trimmed, and halved lengthwise (halve again if large)
1 medium red onion, peeled and cut into eighths
6 cloves garlic, peeled and halved if large
2 - 3 Tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
salt
pepper
several sprigs fresh thyme
Preheat oven to 450. Spread the onions, carrots, and garlic in the bottom of a glass baking dish. Place chicken breasts, skin side up, on top of vegetables. Rub skin with a tablespoon or two of butter. Season with salt and pepper and top with fresh thyme sprigs. Bake for about 40 - 50 minutes, until chicken is cooked through and instant-read thermometer measures 165.
I'm feeling a little on-edge tonight. I have been looking forward to this evening for a couple of days now - Brian is working, Dora went to bed early, and I can now focus on a couple of projects I've been wanting to get to all weekend. Writing, organizing a website-redesign project for a friend, making a gift for another friend's birthday. Perhaps its just that I have such high hopes for tonight, and so many objectives, that I know I can't do it all.
I don't want this blog to become another stressor for me. I don't think it is - yet. But it has been on my mind a lot in the past few days. My goal is to write every day. For one thing, I want to start "marketing" this blog in some way - even if it's just casting a wider net with my friends and family. I don't want to ask people to look at a post that's two weeks old. I'm also taking the advice of one of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott, who advises aspiring writers to write, and read, as much as possible. As a full-time working mother, wife, pet-owner, friend, etc., that can feel like a tall order indeed. But, to be honest, most days I feel like I have something I'd like to write here - even if it's just a short recipe or exclamation about my day with Dora - I just don't always have the time. I have all of these snippets of posts floating around in my head, waiting to be written. Jotting the ideas down sometimes works, but usually if I don't have the chance to write about the topic when the idea comes to me, it later feels a little bit untruthful, a little bit contrived.
I've been meaning to write for several days about something that happened on Thursday - a little incident, somewhat humorous, somewhat disturbing, that makes excellent fodder for a blog. I wanted to write about safety - the illusion of safety, the desire for us to keep ourselves and our families safe, and how this affects our behavior - and how sometimes, ironically, we can be confronted with feelings of danger even when we try to line everything up in our favor.
I couldn't get to it that night, though, but I tried to keep the idea alive in my mind - like fanning a tiny flame to try to get the fire started. The odd thing is that I ended up experiencing several other things over the weekend that could be used for the post about safety. It was almost as if my desire to keep the blog concept alive in my mind led me to these situations in which I experienced a feeling of insecurity, loss of safety, even danger. Perhaps I was just more aware - I don't know. Regardless, over the course of several days we encountered people acting strangely (not that unusual for Asheville actually), were nearly hit by a car while out walking, removed a giant splinter from Dora's hand, narrowly avoided Dora being severely bitten by a dog, and lost a large amount of blood. Okay - the last one is a bit of a stretch. I donated blood on Friday - an experience that can definitely be frightening, but was decidedly voluntary.
Still, all of this - even the voluntary blood donation - comes down to the constant struggle to be in control. I want to be in control of my time, in control of my environment enough to keep my child safe, in control of my home enough to keep my pets healthy, in control of my marriage enough to keep us happily in love. I haven't flown for years and I know exactly why. It's not the act of flying itself that scares me - in fact, I love it. It's fast, convenient, relatively inexpensive. It's the potential for a bad ending that keeps my tightly connected to the ground. It's the knowledge that, no matter what I do, once I set foot on a plane, it's out of my control.
I'm not sure why exactly this is such an issue for me, but I have a few ideas. My mother was really into worrying about things, and trying to control her environment. She was averse to many things - heights, small spaces, snakes, flying, doctors. In the end, her fear of doctors, and her addiction to tobacco, took her life. My mother was many things to me - my best friend, my guide, my champion, my book club president, my advisor, my mentor. She was also a great model for anxiety, and losing her only confirmed for me that terrible things do, in fact, happen.
I know this kind of fear, this intense desire to control, doesn't work. I've watched it not work and I know it's not keeping me any safer to stay on the ground. For example, I don't think a guy, in this age of intense security on airplanes, could have gotten away with flashing me his hot pink bra if we were on a flight together. But, this did happened to Dora and I a few nights ago in our safe, cozy, middle class neighborhood. I don't want my girl to grow up afraid of as many things as I am. If her behavior thus far is any indication, I think she's going to be fine. She seems to be kind of a daredevil.
But, even so, I've worked and worked, and continue to work, on my anxiety levels and the way I convey those fears to her. And I really, really want to go back to Europe, and being on a boat in the middle of the ocean for a week isn't my cup of tea either, so I've got to get back on the horse (or plane, as the case may be) - and I know that.
This is going to be one of those things that I struggle with for my entire life. I don't say that to be overly negative or to create some self-fulfilling prophesy. I say it because, although I don't know what I want to do with my life, and I don't know how to prioritize all of my tasks, and I don't know how to crochet, I do know that trying to be in control, trying to stay safe, is a part of who I am. It's as much a part of me as nearsightedness and long, skinny toes. If I were to remove this part of me completely, well, I might finally like rollercoasters, but I would lose some essence of myself, too.
The key, I guess, is to strike some balance between the two. I have to try to be the nervous flyer who prays, or drinks, or holds tightly to the seats, instead of the nervous flyer who just never buys a plane ticket again. I have to be the creative writer who takes notes, writes as frequently as possible, and gives myself a break when I miss it for a day or two. After all, I have a child to take care of, a husband to love, pets to snuggle, and a penchant for anxiety that I'll continue to respect and work through, no matter how impossible it sometimes feels or how long it takes. I'll aspire to be less paralyzed by my fears, and more like my dog - aware enough of her surroundings to sense an unfamiliar voice on the street or a storm cloud gathering on the horizon, but secure enough to sleep vulnerably in the sunshine.
When I was a kid, my mother would often make what she called "egg special" for dinner. Usually this was either scrambled or sunny-side-up eggs (my favorite) with thin, white squares of Pepperidge Farm bread, toasted and buttered. It seems like we had egg special at least once a week - at least enough that I remember it very well. I kind of thought "egg special" seemed like a big deal with a name like that, but now I know it was just a quick, easy, inexpensive dinner for which my mother always had ingredients on hand.
I've followed this approach myself, and I make egg special on a pretty regular basis now, too. Usually I make it on nights when Brian is working late, or if I'm not feeling that great. I guess because I grew up eating it, it's become comfort food for me. I try to dress up my version of egg special with good cheese, fresh herbs, cherry tomatoes, leftover chicken sausages, etc. Or, sometimes I just go for the old stand-by, sunny side up, with a piece of buttered toast or english muffin.
Recently I discovered a tasty and easy recipe for fingerling potatoes in Jack Bishop's "A Year in a Vegetarian Kitchen". He suggests a few variations, and I've tried the recipe twice now in two different ways and I LOVE it. It's one of the few potato recipes I can honestly say I really love. Because we now have many, many fingerling and other potatoes from our CSA, egg special with a variation on fingerling potatoes seems like a great easy meal.
egg special with thyme fingerling potatoes
a handful of fingerling potatoes per person
olive oil
one clove minced garlic per person
several bunches fresh thyme
salt
pepper
1 - 2 eggs per person
Scrub and rinse the fingerlings well. Slice in half lengthwise. Heat the olive oil in a skillet over medium until shimmering. Add the garlic and cook until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add the potatoes and stir to coat with oil and garlic. Season with salt and add enough water to cover the bottom of the pan by about a 1/2 inch, bring to a low boil, cover, and simmer until tender, about 15 - 20 minutes. When potatoes are tender, remove lid, raise heat to high, and cook the potatoes until all remaining liquid has evaporated and potatoes begin to brown. Stir in thyme leaves when liquid has evaporated.
Remove potatoes from pan and set aside. Return pan to medium heat and add another bit of oil. Add 1 - 2 eggs per person, season with salt and pepper, cover, and fry over medium until done to your liking. Serve eggs over potatoes, eat once a week, and watch that cholesterol!
I've been thinking a lot about the kindness of friends lately. The stories you always hear are the ones about the kindness of strangers. I guess it's more entertaining to hear about someone saving a stranger's life or helping someone they've never met find their way to the interstate. I'll admit that I, too, have been the benefactor of the kindness of strangers, and I agree the experience has its own special place in our world. There was the time I was in Scotland, plopping down heavily in my seat on the train I almost missed, only to discover I had gotten on the wrong train - heading in the right direction, but arriving too late for my connecting train. I confirmed my mistake with the ticket-taker, who came back a few minutes later and quietly said, "I've had a word with the driver, miss. She's going to put her foot down to get you there in time." The ticket-taker even met me on the platform and showed me just where to go to catch the next train. I can't say I think that would ever happen in the US - but it was a lovely example of the kindness of strangers.
I have also, of course, been the benefactor of the kindness of friends throughout my life. It would be impossible for me - for anyone - to accurately list and acknowledge a lifetime's worth of kindnesses. It feels the same way I feel when I walk into a great bookstore - even if I stopped everything I'm doing right now and just read books for the rest of my life, I would never be able to read them all.
There are the moments that really stand out, though, times when friends offered themselves to me and my family in selfless, loving, remarkable ways. There was the time a good friend who worked at our vet clinic made ceramic impressions of our beloved dog Lucy's feet after she died, knowing we would cherish them even though it must have been heartwrenching for her as well.
We experienced so many kindnesses when my mom was sick - meals delivered, pets cared for, heartfelt letters written. Friends who were willing to listen, and those who were willing to talk about something other than cancer for once. There were the friends who dropped what they were doing and drove many hours to be with me after my mom died, or who made the effort to attend mom's funeral in the middle of a busy winter quarter, or who sent baskets of blooming pink tulips in the middle of January.
A family illness and death is a great test of friendship - a real opportunity for error as well as selflessness. Moving is another time when your friends show up. When we left Athens, one of my friends came over and literally finished the move for us - packing up shopping bags full of stuff to be donated. Brian's uncle - he counts as a friend even if he's family too - along with my dad and others packed our UHaul so full of stuff it was a work of art. Items were actually suspended from the ceiling with rope. It was amazing. When we got to Asheville - Brian and I and my dad, two dogs, five cats, three cars, and a UHaul - colleagues from my new job and our new landlord helped us move Brian's baby grand piano into the new house. Moving a grand piano is NOT an easy job - one wrong move and someone is getting seriously hurt. These were people who weren't even really friends yet - they were banking on a future friendship.
Since becoming a parent - actually since becoming pregnant - the kindnesses we've experienced seem to have increased exponentially. There have been so many times when I have felt unable, or at least less-able than I used to be, to do the things that I needed to do to take care of myself, my home, my pets, and my family. When Dora was born, a whole contingent of friends formed to take care of the house and pets, bring us food, offer us support.
These friends have been the first people with whom I have entrusted Dora, and to this day I have many friends here and elsewhere who have helped with childcare over, and over, and over again, never asking anything in return. These friends don't just watch Dora, or stick her in front of the TV - she comes home fed, bathed, and ready for bed. There is nothing sweeter in this world than receiving a child back from the babysitter who can be snuggled, read to, and put to bed with so little effort.
I have had some dark days as a new mother, too. I had friends who stood by me through terrifying, troubling, unexpected anxiety - friends who listened at all hours of the night, who offered peaceful tones, who prayed for me and with me. I had friends during that time who would faithfully have me over for dinner every single weekend, knowing that when Brian was working was my most fearful time. These people sacrificed of themselves - giving up every weekend to take care of a friend who was in a fragile mental state. I think we need to amend the old saying - there but for the grace of God, and my friends, go I.
I cannot possibly list every kindness I have ever received from a friend, nor can I list all those wonderful friends by name. I feel like an actress giving an Oscar speech - I'm not going to name anyone lest I forget someone. I can't possibly include photos of all of you either. What I will do, to thank all of you, to remember all of you and how you've given me your grace to help me survive, is try to be that friend for someone else whenever I can. I will try and try and try to pay it forward, as best as I can, and when I fail I'll try again. What better lesson can I teach my daughter than that by offering herself to others - strangers and friends alike - she's taking a tiny step towards improving the world? I can't teach her to list all the friends who have helped her - already in her tiny life there are too many to list. In the meantime, though, let me just say this: you know who you are.
I made the most delicious blackberry chutney last night, which I served with a fine piece of local mountain trout, roasted balsamic beets with fresh thyme, and rosemary orange fingerling potatoes. Almost everything in the meal was local - mostly from our CSA, a few things from my backyard, and the trout from nearby. We had a busy day yesterday, so the pictures are somewhat limited. But trust me, it was really fantastic!
Blackberry Chutney
1 small shallot, minced
1 Tablespoon fresh ginger, finely minced
olive oil
1 cup fresh blackberries, rinsed
scant 1/4 cup sugar (or less, if the blackberries are really sweet)
3/4 cup water
2 Tablespoons lemon juice
salt
freshly ground pepper
Heat the olive oil in a small saucepan over medium heat until warm. Add the shallot and ginger and sautee until soft and fragrant, about 5 minutes. Add the blackberries, water, sugar, and lemon juice. Stir to combine and melt the sugar. Raise the heat to high and bring to a boil. Lower heat to a simmer and cook, stirring frequently, until thickened, about 15 - 20 minutes. While cooking, smash the blackberries with the back of a spoon to thicken. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
Can be served hot, cold, or at room temperature. Tastes great over baked fish, but would probably be great with grilled porkchops or baked chicken. Also delicious the next day on a toasted english muffin with butter!
This day went from fall to summer and back again. It was a typical late summer day in the mountains - ever-changing, beautiful, tugging at your emotions as you ponder bidding summer farewell. It was a spectacular day - featuring a number of activities I was very blessed to participate in - yet I felt like my emotions were on a seasonal roller-coaster as well. I felt as unpredictable as my toddler, and I don't even know why.
The day started out nicely enough. Brian and I had a gift certificate for a kayak trip on the French Broad River. Our friends Kim and Jeff kindly watched Dora for us and we set off at 9 am with the requisite laid-back, hippy outfitters driving us to the put-in near Bent Creek. There were two other women and a man in the van with us, but we quickly left them behind. Aside from the Blue Herons, Kingfishers, and dragonflies, we were alone. The morning started out cool, but slowly the clouds burned away and the sun came out, warming up the trees enough to stimulate long, slow songs from the Cicadas.
It was magical - floating through the Biltmore estate, insulated for most of the trip from anything other than each other and nature. We chatted, we sat in silence, we laughed, we argued about how to steer through the rocks and other obstacles. It was the first time in over 2 years that I have been separated from Dora and inaccessible by phone or any other way. It was fairly liberating to let it go, trust that everything would be fine (which it was, of course). When we returned home, I walked down the steps to the car and felt the same calmness inside that I had felt on the river. Ahhhh, I thought, I have finally figured out how to maintain the stress-relieving affects of leisure activities after they end! It only took me 33 years to figure it out - what a relief!
Dora came home exhausted from her own happy adventures, falling into bed for her nap. She didn't sleep long though - a foreshadowing of things to come. Brian left for a gig, and we went to a friend's child's birthday party. It was a warm, loving group and no one minded that Dora kept horning in on the gift opening. A few cupcakes later, we proceeded to a couple of errands. Things devolved from this sunny scene to a low point - me yelling sternly at Dora, who had run away from me in the checkout line and was lying on the floor of the cereal aisle at the grocery store, laughing. In hindsight, I realize there were a few variables stacked against us, and I pushed it too far with the errands. But at the time I wondered how it was that I could have such a beautiful morning - a break from toddlerhood that should have left me feeling refreshed and patient - and have an afternoon that involved yelling at Dora in front of all the other Ingles' shoppers.
As a parent, it is so easy to feel guilty about what we do. I feel guilty about working, spending 40 hours a week away from my child at a job that, while it is valuable and important, doesn't result in lives saved, diseases cured, or wars ended. I feel guilty about going to the gym, asking Dora to spare me a few more hours a week than she already does so I can blow off some steam with the other sweaty ladies. I feel guilty when we hire a babysitter or trade hours with a friend so we can have some time together. I think these feelings are only natural, but I also think that I have to let that guilt go whenever I can. A friend who is also a mother told me recently that her philosophy is that taking care of her marriage IS taking care of her kids. I think she is right. I want Dora to grow up with parents who love each other, and the only way I can make that happen is if Brian and I take some time to focus on each other now and then.
I put Dora to bed early tonight, and her level of exhaustion became apparent when I nursed her before story time. She fell asleep in my arms, something she rarely does anymore. Instead of promptly depositing her into bed, I held her close, letting her rest her head on my shoulder, listening to her breathe. We used to sit on the couch holding Dora for at least an hour after she fell asleep when she was tiny, both of us getting weepy at the thought of how fleeting these sweet moments would be.
Tonight as I held her, I felt another sense of loss as I considered how big she feels, and how soon she will be too big or too independent to let me hold her while she sleeps. I closed my eyes, matching the rhythm of her breathing, thinking back even further to my pregnancy, when we were one body, one spirit, wrapped up together in our own sweet space.
It is amazing - painful, even - to think of how much she has changed in just two short years. How did we go from sitting on the couch watching my belly move around to where we are now, stealing moments away from our baby so we can reconnect, chasing her through the grocery store angry, embarrassed, exhausted? I guess we've come all that way because we're human - we're imperfect, and we do our best, which isn't always that great but is also sometimes quite spectacular. I believe we all have to work towards forgiving ourselves for our own humanity. I must also believe that, like carrying the stillness of the river back with me to land, the love we have for Isadora holds steady and true in our hearts, overarching and outlasting everything else, even our imperfections and our virtues. It is that love, more than anything else, that makes us who we are now. And that, my friend, is truly magical.
I have had varying levels of success when growing basil, but this year has been a good year for it. We have gotten bag after bag of basil in our CSA box and, for some reason, I felt it necessary to plant two basil plants in my backyard. With the help of our friends Mandy and David, we completed a huge landscaping project in the backyard earlier this year, so I finally had a sunny spot in which to plant some herbs and a blueberry bush. Basil seemed like a good filler while the other perennials got established. I now have two giant basil plants in the backyard. Between those plants and our CSA box, I am going to be making a LOT of pesto.
You can make a lot of different variations with pesto. The basic combination is basil, olive oil, Parmesan cheese, garlic, pine nuts, salt, and pepper. You can throw in other herbs, replace some (or all) of the cheese with another type of hard cheese or lemon juice, or experiment with other types of nuts. Pine nuts are so expensive, that's usually the ingredient I play around with the most. My friend Mandy says it's scary buying them in bulk and I agree - you don't have that much control over the lever, and you could easily end up with a two pound bag of pine nuts and a much higher grocery bill. Pecans, sliced almonds, and walnuts all work well. I like to toast them first for about 5 - 7 minutes in a 350 degree oven, or until fragrant. Watch sliced almonds closely, as they can burn easily. The key is to taste your pesto frequently until it reaches the right consistency and flavor for you.
I don't have a food processor, so I make my pesto using an immersion blender. I find this works better than a standard blender, and clean-up is easier. But, food processor devotees probably prefer to use them for making pesto. Pesto also freezes well, which is a real bonus this time of year. Spoon pesto into ice cube trays, wrap tightly in plastic, and freeze for 24 hours. Pop out of the ice cube trays and freeze in a glass jar or freezer bag. I use roughly one cube of pesto per serving of pasta. Pesto discolors quickly when exposed to air, so freeze or cover tightly immediately.
Here is a pesto starting point - you take it from here!
Basil Rosemary Pesto
2 cups fresh basil leaves
2 tablespoons chopped fresh rosemary leaves
2 - 3 medium garlic cloves, minced
1/4 - 1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1/4 cup toasted almond slices
salt
freshly ground black pepper
Puree the basil leaves, rosemary leaves, and garlic in a food processor or using an immersion blender. Drizzle in 1/4 cup olive oil and puree again. Add Parmesan and almonds, puree, and add additional olive oil as needed to reach desired consistency and flavor. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Freeze, or serve over pasta, boiled potatoes, on warm crusty bread, on a fresh tomato and mozzarella sandwich, or any other way you think of to serve it!
