Eat Peas Weekly

forgetting to remember

2009-07-11T13:27:00.003-04:00

This morning, Penelope & I went to the Farmer's Market. Burlington is hosting the "Quadricentennial" celebration for Lake Champlain, and the Market expanded to fit the occasion. We both felt a different energy flowing through the crowd. It seemed calm and inviting, we felt compelled to linger, not in spite of the crowds, but because of them, with them. There were vendors from all over selling all sorts of delicacies and delights.

Once we had satisfied our immediate need for fresh veggies to get us through the weekend, our wandering brought us to the wine tents. As a rule, I generally ignore all local wine. I tried a few some years back, and found the quality to be so far below my palate's standards that I subsequently have deemed any North-Eastern wine to be irrelevant. The one genre that escapes this judgement is Quebecois Ice Wine. And so, when I saw that a local Vineyard was sampling their versions, I was legitimately curious, though my expectations were very low.

We tried a cassis ice wine first. And it was good! Expecting a thick syrupy sweet sipper, we were delighted by it's refreshing lightness. Then onto an ice cider, which was frighteningly delicious, and just happened to come from West Charleston, a little town up north near our hometown of Newport. Feeling brave, we tried a white. It didn't suck! I actually tasted layers of subtle complexity, and felt humbled.

I've been thinking a lot lately about how to be grateful in the moment, and not get caught up in the little prejudices. They grow so slowly that sometimes you don't see how your vision is tinted by them, or how you make choices because of them. For example: "Ugh, I don't want to go to Farmer's Market, it'll be so crowded and this huge social ordeal and I'll spend too much money and blah blah blah." I want to be able to address my perspective and turn it around so that I can truly enjoy the beauty of every day, the gifts of this life that I've chosen. To be near my family and friends. To live in a small town where everybody knows everybody. To have the option of riding your bike or walking, depending on how much time you've got. "Let's go to Farmer's Market! We get to buy beautiful fresh food from people that we know, we get to see our friends and acquaintances in a setting infused with art and life, I can make a difference by choosing to support the local economy!"

Every day offers new gifts. If I can't see them, I should look harder, or create them. And take time to savor the surprises that teach me to forget to remember what I think I've learned. Because with every passing season, I realize more and more that I know nothing at all. And that's good, I think, because it gives me permission to try old things again as if they were new. Even if it hasn't changed, maybe I have.

burlington farmer's market

2008-09-14T22:25:00.005-04:00

I know I haven't posted in a while. Here's my attempt to get back on track! Nourishment is: having Colin home on a Saturday, seeing lots of beautiful things at the market, nesting.

strength and beauty in sweetpeas and life

2008-06-22T15:42:00.002-04:00

By Sally A. I. Wall

This afternoon, the storm clouds broke up for a few minutes, minutes enough for me to go out to the veggie patch and gently pull the newly rooted baby crab grass, which was threatening to choke out the courageous sweetpeas, who had braved the stormy blasts of May and early June. The day I planted out those tender seedlings in early May, the North wind came with a vengeance, bringing with it freezing temperatures, blasting out the life from my little sweetpeas, and laying them on the ground. Most of them succumbed. I left them alone, not believing that they'd come back, but I just didn't have the heart to turn them under. It's now the middle of June, and I'm astonished that something so fragile as a sweetpea can turn its nose up at the North wind, and with a little sunshine, plenty of rain, and some lovely muggy warmth, pick itself up by the bootstraps and start again from the ground up! That is precisely what has happened to about half the row. The roots were unscathed by Jack Frost's kiss, and they simply formed 'tillers', an Old English term meaning by-shoots, forming a stronger plant by way of a rotten trick of fate carried on the wings of the wind.

It can be that way, too, for humankind. Fate's ugly hand can come knocking at your door, and before you know it, there you are, lying alongside the fallen sweetpeas. Some really do succumb, like the little seedlings, too weakened by the blow to form 'tillers'; but many, even if they lie there for a while, will be brought back to health by the warm love of friends, the encouragement of those who have been there before, and by the grace of God find new life, stronger life, in this far friendlier environment. It's very important to make sure that this new strength is not choked out by even the tiniest, tenderest baby 'crab grass' of life; it must be kept clear and clean. Before too long, that poor devastated life has branched out, reached out, and has become far stronger than it could ever have imagined. Now that life is an encouragement to others, rather than the victim of circumstance, and people draw from that well and are nourished.

In the same way, in a month or so, I shall draw in my breath deeply, as I take in the delightful aroma of the beautiful sweetpeas, and be nourished. A scent full of memories of my childhood, so long ago, yet so present in this dear, tendrilled flower.

café expres, a perfect date

2008-05-27T21:49:00.004-04:00

One of my favorite things about being in Paris is the wonderful tradition of café expres (espresso). You can pop in any old place, sit with Romance at the bar, stare at fabulous people and cool your elbows on the smooth marble countertop, while you sip a little cupful of rich, fragrant coffee. It's a very romantic, European thing—to be so grandiose, so spontaneous—to make such an event of drinking a thimble-full of anything. That anybody can accomplish such a stylish, nostalgic moment for less than $2 makes it that much more appealing.

Lately, Colin and I have been making a habit—albeit spontaneous—of popping into cafes for a little restoration. In Burlington on Church Street, there are at least two good places I can think where you can experience the inexpensive luxury of espresso, elevated to an art form. But all you really need is a bar, a good atmosphere, and of course an espresso machine (there are some really wonderful restaurants in town that, sadly, do not have one).

Lake Champlain Chocolates is perfect, because not only do they serve espresso, but they also sell what is, in my mind, the best chocolate around. The two really go hand in hand (that's why in Paris and elsewhere, they always serve espresso with a chocolate-covered coffee bean or almond). It takes the edge off the dark Arabica brew. Lake Champlain Chocolates has a little bar where you can sit and enjoy your moment while watching the passersby on the street. Colin and I dropped in the other day while we were out running errands and ordered two espressos and one square of dark chocolate (to share). The entire thing cost around five dollars, but it felt much more extravagant than that.

I know I talk about Leunig's Bistro a lot, but I can't help it. We love to eat there. And while it's true that you can get a little over-the-top with the menu, some of my favorite moments there have been the simple and spontaneous ones, sitting at the bar, with just a glass of wine and Vermont cheese plate. You could just linger there all night and really feel like a neighborhood regular by the end of it (for under $10 a person). Last night, we stopped in before a movie date for some espresso and one of their amazing maple creme brulees to share—it's the best creme brulee in town, and I'm an expert.

I don't know why I'm telling you any of this. I just felt very good when I remembered these two moments. They reminded me of other espresso moments. I love that these moments are at the same time economical, romantic, and memorable. What more could you ask for in a date?

just what the doctor ordered

2008-05-19T20:39:00.001-04:00

I came home from work tonight and found a neat little note sitting on my kitchen counter. It was from Hannah (she left this morning) and I hope she doesn't mind, but I'm writing it here, just so I can have it for always.

Dear Soupy ~

I'm so glad that we got to hang out this weekend, it really was lovely, just perfect. Thanks for having me at your sweet little home, with your cute little kitties who I adore. Can't wait for the next time to see you... in CA? Or VT? Or NY? We'll see...

Love you love you love you. Just what the Dr. Ordered—a weekend with my sistawrs...

Hannah Poopy

rhubarb & custard

2008-05-12T21:28:00.006-04:00

I grew up thinking that rhubarb and custard was some gross mush that mummy's used to make their children eat for breakfast. Rhubarb sounded gross and custard sounded even grosser.

It wasn't until many years later that I realized custard is the wonderful creamy goodness that makes many of my favorite foods happen: homemade ice cream, creme brulee, yummy quiche. And it wasn't until very recently (this year in fact) that I tasted rhubarb for the first time in years and was reminded how much I do love it. I was hit by a wave of nostalgia with every bite.

Rhubarb and cream were meant for each other. The buttery sweetness is the perfect balance to rhubarb's tangy, mouth-puckering flavor. I'm determined to experiment and come up with as many riffs on the classic combo as I can.

On our recent trip to England, my Aunt Carrie served a delicious rhubarb fool (that is cooked, sweetened rhubarb folded into whipped cream). I was hooked. Now that it's rhubarb season in Vermont, I just can't get enough of it. I made my own variation on the fool this past weekend by cooking rhubarb with some lemon and orange zest and a little sugar. Then I folded it into maple syrup-sweetened plain yogurt. Divine!

Tonight, I'm really pushing the limits of ultimate creamy tart flavor: strawberry rhubarb ice cream. Strawberries & cream meets rhubarb & custard. And the result is soooo good. The secret is in the lemon juice. You wouldn't think that rhubarb would need any more acid but it really does help bring out the flavor against all that creamy custard.

What's next? Tomorrow, I'm having rhubarb in my yogurt for breakfast. I hope I don't get a stomach ache!

better to be right—or happy?

2008-04-28T22:20:00.005-04:00

By Penelope Wall

I wrote this post last week for Penelope Post and thought it was very fitting for Eat Peas as well. Sorry if you've already read it...

Colin's been working a lot of late—I mean late—nights these days. So much so, that this afternoon when he told me he wouldn't make it home for dinner again and he probably wouldn't be home before I went to bed, I completely lost my cool. I told him this had to stop—if not for his sanity, then at least for his health. I told him he had to figure it out once and for all. Talk to his boss. Talk to HR. Just figure it out. I mean, this isn't Wall Street, for crying out loud, this is Burlington, Vermont. After a few more terse remarks, we both decided that conversation was not appropriate for the phone—or the workplace—and hung up feeling shitty and down.

"I need a run," I thought to myself. "I need to come up with a plan so that we can figure this out once and for all." I drove home from work completely distracted. Fuming that Col was so willing to come up with reasons (excuses in my mind) why this time was so important. Why this week is so busy. Next week will be different.

During my run, I almost completely missed the beautiful sunset—and the beautiful evening—because I was so worked up on working things out. But finally towards the end of my run, I started feeling better. I knew I was right and I was going to show him. In my mind, I had come up with a punch list of all the items that were wrong with our situation and all the ways he was going to fix them.

I ran up the stairs and into our apartment loaded with ammo, but feeling a sudden knot of recognition in my stomach. "We've been here before," I thought. "If this approach didn't work then, why would it work now?"

And then I wondered: Why was I so angry? Was it because he really let me down? Or was it simply because I wasn't in control? I had to admit, I think it was the latter. After all, all I really wanted was to have dinner with him. And if that was all, then I had a very simple solution.

I picked up the phone and dialed Col's work. He answered right away.

"Hello?"

"Hey Luv," I said. "How ya doing?"

"Okay." He sounded tired.

"I'm sorry about earlier." I said.

"Me too."

"Are you hungry? Have you eaten today?"

"I'm starving. All I've had to eat all day is chips from the vending machine."

"Can I bring you dinner? I can make you a sandwich. And salad. How's that sound?"

"Would you really?? That would be so awesome."

That horrible weight, that horrible knot—it immediately melted away. And after we hung up, I whipped up the best brown bag dinner ever:

2 salami cheddar sandwiches on honey bread
Romaine salad with blue cheese, tamari almonds and homemade Buttermilk Ranch Dressing
Pretzel sticks with my homemade Boursin cheese dip (Col's favorite!)
An entire sleeve of Girl Scout thin mints (his other favorite!)
And a Corona

I drove to Burton and presented my peace offering to Col with great pride. He was so excited to see me and tell me what he was working on. We set up his little picnic at one of the work tables, and there—admidst papers and charts and fabric samples—we had dinner together, while the cleaning ladies vacuumed around our feet.

Yes, it was a proud moment. Relationships teach you a lot about yourself. Tonight I learned that your faults—no matter how deeply ingrained—are easily remedied if you take the time to pause and consider your options. In the same moment that I realized I'm a control-freak, I learned to tame the "control" urge and use it for good: by taking control in a fragile situation. Not by pushing, but by leading. And that is a good feeling.

Phew! Another crisis diverted!

ramps, scapes and other foraged treats make for a great quiche!

2008-04-21T20:08:00.014-04:00

By Penelope Wall

In Vermont, you know it's spring when ramps, fiddleheads and the like start springing up at the local market. Or, if you're lucky, in your own back-yard, fragrancing the air with earthy, oniony smells. But apart from being inspired by their fresh green goodness, what the heck do you do with them?

I'll tell you what I do when in doubt: bake a quiche. The creamy, cheesy filling and buttery crust complement just about every spring vegetable—its bright, newborn flavor balancing the richness of the custard.

I had the first sign of spring at my local market this weekend with a pile of ramps, or wild leeks, tempting my olfactive senses as I walked through the entrance. I grabbed a few handfuls and was immediately inspired to bring them home and get to work. Ramps smell and taste just like a mild onion. And they're beautiful too. Especially once you wash off all the dirt and trim off the roots. Once that's done—and you've discovered their stark white stalk tipped with a rich eggplant neck, then a bright green leaf—you're ready to make your springtime quiche!

To prep the ramps, all you have to do is saute them in olive oil, garlic, a little lemon juice, salt and pepper. (Just be sure to cook the stalks first, till tender, and add the leafy tips at the very end.)

To make the quiche, put your nicely cooked ramps in a bowl. Add some fresh chopped tomato, chopped artichoke hearts (canned), fresh minced chive, salt and pepper. Instead of shredded cheddar, a favorite go-to quiche cheese, try something brighter to complement the mild ramps. I like using a mixture of fresh goat cheese and cream cheese with Boursin herbs (from Arcana). That combo makes for a very rich and creamy quiche! Fold the cheese mixture gently into the ramp mixture. Don't mix too much—you can even leave some lumps. Pour the mixture into a prepped quiche crust (in a pinch, I love Maple Lane Bakery's frozen whole-wheat pie crusts) and fill in the holes with an egg and milk mixture. Add a little nutmeg and throw it in the oven for about 30 minutes at 350 degrees, give or take a few minutes.

The beauty of quiches—and springtime foraged greens—is: the simpler the preparation, the better. Let the fresh flavor shine through!

Fresh spring ramps

april showers, cakes and flowers

2008-04-14T22:05:00.006-04:00

The shower season has officially begun. And no, I don't mean rain! Bridal showers, baby showers, weddings and the like pepper—or should I say "sugar"—the weekends on my calendar through October! If you're not careful, and don't write everything down, it can be a daunting view of the summer ahead. But once you've got it down, this is really a special time. When else do you get the excuse to dress up, travel, party with your friends, hang out with the fam, and give presents to people you adore?

Showers are a celebration of love. They are a symbolic demonstration of that love. Shower them with your love (or presents). That's the whole idea, right? Nourish them as a whole, so that they can carry on a wholesome and healthy life on their own, as a couple and as a family.

I had two showers this weekend—one for a bride and one for a baby. I could only make it to one or the other, so I chose the bride-to-be, Colin's sister Jill. It was a lovely luncheon, with lots of ladies!

Afterwards, Jill, Colin's mom and I went to a cake tasting for the wedding cake at Anjou, a sweet little French patisserie in Mount Kisco. The chef, Patrick, brought us about 12 different mousses to try and two different cakes. We mixed and matched flavors and finally decided on two mousses—raspberry and pear—with vanilla sponge cake. Yum!

4 foodie blogs, 1 fabulous dessert

2008-04-07T21:58:00.006-04:00

Sometimes it's enough to read what other people have to say about food in order to feel nourished oneself. There are a lot of food blogs out there—they're not just about food either. Here are some that I find nourishing tonight:

Mostly Eating
Lobster Squad
Orangette
Becoming a Foodie

And here's my own contribution—a picture of what I had for dessert tonight: homemade strawberry frozen yogurt, adapted from this recipe (sans chocolate) and a real English shortbread biscuit. Yum!

the english roast

2008-03-31T18:57:00.006-04:00

For every wonderful adventure there is a beginning and an end. These are oft the moments we remember most, because it is there we pause and take note. These moments are the bookends to an wonderful story—the first impression and the final moment.

The bookends of our recent trip to Southwest England (and to be honest, every day in between) consisted of—dare I say?—the traditional English roast. I do say this with some hesitation, for, it seems to prove a simplemindedness to be thus impressed. By crunchy crackling rather than architecture. By artful Yorkshire pudding rather than English art. By potatoes browned to perfection. Aromatic bread sauce and gravy. Oh woe is me and my vegetarian heart! The English roast had its way with me last week.

I'm sure there are more wonderful things to remember. Shouldn't I instead be raving of museums and historical sites? Of castle ruins and the Cerne Abbas giants' arrangements?

Doesn't matter what should or shouldn't be. It's not just what the roast entails; it's what the roast implies: good food tenderly prepared, sitting with family around the table, a warmth of spirit, a sip of Scotch whisky, letting the candles burn low, and singing a final goodbye to good 'ol Granny Dot.

real estate

2008-03-17T23:04:00.002-04:00

I've been watching a lot of those reality real estate shows on TLC lately. Flip that House. Moving Up. Property Ladder. They suck you in. The people—happy couples—desperately searching for the perfect home. Always on a deadline. Always maxing the budget. Wanting more.

I wonder about that. Everyone aspires for the perfect home, don't they? Everyone has the right to. In its rudimentary form, a good home offers security and protection. To the lost and nomadic, it offers permanence. A perfect home is where you want to stay, where you feel good and happy and contained. And it proclaims this in all its physical luster to the outside world.

Even the origins of the term real estate refer to property that is immovable—that is planted to the land. The French call it immobilier.

Every human has the innate right to aspire for a home. But sometimes I wonder about the wanting more, and more, and more. We attach bits of our personal property to the house like flashy ornaments onto a Christmas tree. Adding new things/ornaments each year. Buying bigger and better houses to hold all of the things we've accumulated. The old things pile up in the basement getting mouldy. They get hauled out to the dumpster during renovation.

We do find comfort in those material possessions. I certainly do. I can't bear to get rid of my books, though they gather dust. The shiny new things are physical proof of our successes in life. But possessions can also be a burden. With each gratification, you lose a little bit of inspiration. Isn't that true? The more you build yourself up, the further you are from solid ground.

Sometimes, I wish I could just give it all away. But I'm not that strong.

how to have breakfast at "hom"

2008-03-10T18:53:00.007-04:00

By Hannah Wall

"Hom."

That's the name of the house that Granny and Gaffa used to stay in when they came to visit us in Pawlet, Vermont, the little town we grew up in. The house was shingled with red and green trim, and sat on the curve of a hill with a river running behind it.

This morning I had a breakfast that reminded me of home. First, I woke to the sound of Alexis' voice, which was strange, because I was dreaming about her at that very moment. So her voice pulled me out and away from her voice.

Second, I had an orange to eat from the tree in the back yard, and for me right now, this is the essence of the house I live in, and a big part of what makes it a home. We've had a lot of wind lately and there are oranges all over the back yard. I looked them over, trying to find one that hadn't been damaged by the fall, or succumbed to those weird potato bugs that also love the sweet treat inside. I found one, it was covered it dirt and webs, there are a lot of spiders living in that tree... but once rinsed it looked like a miniature sunshine, and it was warm from sitting in the morning heat. I've learned that the very best oranges are the ones that the tree gives me. Those are the ones that are at their peak of sweetness. The ones that I pick are always good, but they have less sugar.

Third, coffee. Need I say more? Well, I will anyway. I have found the most wonderful coffee shop where they roast their own coffee. I hate to say this, you know that I do, but I think it might be better than speeder's. They roast it in the same style, full city roast, to the point of the best flavor highlights for the bean, but not so dark that the bean is burnt. And, I re-confiscated my little sugar jar from Brian that he'd been using for q-tips. It's one of my favorite pieces I ever made. That and the mug I'm drinking the coffee out of...

Fourth, and the inspiration for this piece, Wasa rye crackers with butter, and honey on one, Marmite on the other. When I was staying with Granny in the summer after 7th grade, every morning consisted of this combination for us. She would make toast and place the pieces neatly in the little toast rack on the table. The we would butter each one and choose between all of these wonderful options: Marmalade, thick cut in the white jar and appointed by Her Majesty the Queen. Marmite: one of my favorite things in the entire world. So wonderful to have a cucumber and tomato sandwich with Marmite, veggies fresh picked from the garden, still warm from the sun, in the afternoon. So comforting to know that even when the bank was empty, the garden was always full of the very best of the best.

And honey: all of my life I've had a love affair with honey. We had friends up on the hill in Pawlet, the Winpennys, they kept bees and had the BEST honey! Their bees were happy bees, and the honey was raw and unfiltered, like cream. (pause for coffee refill) There is a wonderful apiary in Ferrisburg, Vermont—Honey Gardens—that makes all kinds of honey products. I fell in love with their cough syrup one year when I was very sick for a long time. I don't know how effective it was medicinally, but it was soothing and tasted like heaven. Good thing you can't really o.d. on that stuff! Guess what? I found a jar of raw honey from Honey Gardens apiary at the local market! And I am savoring it like the rarest jewel, like golden flowers from that tree that grew underground where the Twelve Dancing Princesses would go every night.

Fifth, I have my Meow, Mister the Terrible, nesting at my feet in a pile of freshly hand-washed sweaters. His ear is FINALLY healing. And we are happy and content this morning.

This post was originally published on Hanushka's blog.

my grandfather's walks

2008-03-03T20:15:00.007-05:00

By Sally A. I. Wall

Over the hills? Or by the honey lady? Whichever way we chose, it was sure to be an exciting adventure back to Pa and Gramsie's house in "the Old Grey Mare," one of the Austins that my grandparents owned in the fifties. If I knew ahead of time that we would be going through the New Forest, I would always make sure that I had a sturdy piece of string, in case we saw the wild ponies...

My mother's parents lived on the south coast of England, right on the cliffs, but far enough back from the edge to know there was little danger of the house sliding down, as was the case further down the way towards the Bears. So-named were the white cliffs, afar off. On a clear day, 3 polar bears carved by the wind into the chalky cliffs, plodded along toward the east.

Pa loved to walk, and walk, and walk, and walk. "Miss A." he'd say. "Please go and get my walking shoes."

Pa's room was a room of strict order. His bed was always made, tops dusted, everything in its place, including his shoes, which were lined up under his bay window which overlooked the sea. His driving shoes, walking shoes, eating shoes, shopping shoes and shoes to wear to the barber were all lined up, ready for inspection! They all looked pretty much the same to me, beautifully polished leather, some with tiny holes that formed feathery patterns on the sides. His walking shoes were just plain brown lace-ups.

There were a few things that absolutely had to come along with us on Pa's walks: his penknife, a crisp juicy apple such as Cox's Orange Pippin, and his "ticker" pills. Invariably, we'd walk to the pier, a good 5-mile trot there and back. He'd let us choose: Along the top there, and back along the sands and up the Zig-Zag. Or, down the Zig-Zag and along the sands there, and back along the top. Really, the only way to experience the Zig-Zag was to fly down it, arms stretched out and slightly back, with a high-pitched whirring sound, Sopwith-style!

Pa was no fool! A couple of hours walking by the sea in the strong wind, and we'd be sleeping like babies before you could wink an eye. We'd have to stop every now and then, to give Pa's poor old heart a rest, and to perk it up with one or two of his "ticker pills" and off we'd go again.

If we were lucky, and it was clear, we'd watch the huge ocean-liners sailing along the English Channel, America bound. Pa was a whiz at identifying the different ships. You could tell by how many funnels they had. We saw the Queen Mary, now docked permanently at Long Beach, California. There was a band-stand at the pier with deck chairs lined up in front, so we'd sit and listen: oom-pah-pah, oom-pah-pah. And out would come the pen-knife and the Pippin.

Everything Pa did was quite deliberate, and extremely perfectly executed. Never was anything done slap-dash, but with the utmost care and attention. And so it was when he peeled the apple. The trick was to start at the top and peel a thin snake round and round and round until you reached the bottom of the apple, and it absolutely was not allowed to break! I don't remember it ever breaking...We'd eat the snake, and he'd divide the apple equally among us. Pips and all, down it would go, even the stalk. Not one bit of the apple was wasted.

Then we'd go down Fisherman's Walk and feed the squirrels some nuts, then the dreaded walk home. The wind was always strong along the top, and he'd have to hang on to his titfer (hat) ((Tit for tat - hat)). I remember the most awful earaches in those days, from the constant buffeting of the wind, I expect. The final climb up to the house, off with the shoes, wash the sand glittering on our feet in the pan of warm water set out by the back door.

Gramsie would have warm milk waiting for us, then bath, then bed. If there was a story, after a line or two, I'd have drifted off, to the muffled voice of a loving Gramsie, and the constant pounding of the wind and waves through the open window...

—Sally Wall, Moss Fairy

Photo: The author as a girl with two of her brothers.

extreme pleasures

2008-02-25T19:06:00.005-05:00

By Emma H. W. Kouri

I’ve never liked the idea of extremism. Actually, people with extreme views really turn me off. Extreme religion, extreme lifestyle, extreme political views… it’s all so extreme!

Because I live in America, I am constantly exposed to extremism. In America, extreme is the way to go. And as an American, you must try to reach your goals via the most extremely efficient route possible.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not perfect. I am the first to admit that I get sucked in. I love being efficient, and my husband loves it too. I’m always on the search for the latest extremely cool thing, especially when it comes to luxury bath products, and make-up. I’ll call my sisters and tell them they have to try this or that, that it has really changed my life. Then 2 weeks later, I’ve forgotten about it.

Here’s another thing that I don’t like: obsessing about my weight and my body. We all do it, especially in America. Just to let you know, I am 5 foot 10 1/2 inches. I weigh between 140-145 pounds, and my size is a tall 4 or 6, depending on the brand. I’m in excellent shape, walk and run daily, and eat healthful food (I am an extremely loyal EatingWell fan). Why does someone like me obsess about my weight? Maybe it’s because I was chubby as a child and ridiculed for it. Maybe it’s because I’m addicted to People magazine so I constantly have an unattainable image in my head. I really don’t know what the reason is, but I am sick of it.

The two topics mentioned above can be combined together to form one of the other things I can’t stand: extreme dieting. Or extreme diet choices. What is this all about? Why does America love it so much? The Atkins diet, the liquid diets, the milkshake diet… I could go on forever. My girlfriend told me she is reading this new book, called Skinny Bitch, which informs the reader that they are not taking care of themselves if they are eating meat or drinking milk. So now my friend's eating lots of fish. Guess what would happen if we all did that? That’s right, there would be no fish left to eat.

This feeling of frustration with my own obsession and America’s obsession with dieting really came to a head this weekend. I was walking on Church Street with my husband, and we walked into Borders. I was browsing, and caught sight of a book: French Women Don’t Get Fat. For some reason, I picked it up and bought it. Kevin got a book too, and we went home and read together.

Only 70 pages in, and I’m hooked. Seriously, in 2 days, I have felt a total revolution and a huge weight lifted off my shoulders! Based on the philosophy of a French woman, I have come to realize that I need to love food (and I really do love food, especially good cheese and chocolate) and not hate it! What good food (not low-fat high-sugar loser foods, but the real foods) needs is to be respected—and relished. Embrace it, and embrace yourself. Take each bite slowly and seriously, and consider all the different textures that you feel and the flavors that you taste.

I immediately poured a glass of Le Freak, and made a cheese plate for my husband and me. I carefully took 1 Carr’s whole wheat cracker, and placed a slice of Cabot Private Stock Cheddar on top. Then, I placed on top of the cheese a small dollop of homemade hot pepper jelly (from Liz’s friend).

I sat down, and took a small bite. Closed my eyes, and chewed. It was orgasmic! Amazing! I’ve never tasted anything so outrageous. It took 4 bites to eat this cracker, and guess what? I didn’t want a second. Anyone who knows me will find this hard to believe. But it’s true, and I was more satisfied than I’ve ever been even after scarfing down 5 crackers with cheese.

My new-found approach can be illustrated with this: imagine that you have to drive somewhere, and you have a choice: interstate or back roads. The interstate will no doubt get you there faster, but the back roads will be filled with character, scenery, picturesque moments and maybe even a little meditation! This is what the French do when they eat. It is an experience, not a chore. It is a friend (or lover), not an enemy. Savor every moment, and you’ll find yourself only needing one bite of that cake, because one bite was enough to send you reeling into ecstasy. After a while, you’ll find yourself being more thoughtful while you eat, and automatically eating less. Then you won’t feel guilty afterwards. If you’re lucky, you’ll find yourself indulging in extreme pleasure every time you sit down for a meal.

Delectable fruit and cheese plate from Leunig's Bistro in Burlington, Vermont.

early blossoms

2008-02-19T18:52:00.002-05:00

frozen peas & cozy kitties

2008-02-12T19:07:00.003-05:00

Frozen peas. That's what Mummy said to me when there was no Eat Peas entry yesterday. I'm sorry to you all. A sickness kept me feverish and bed-ridden throughout the night and I just couldn't make it to my blog. Nourishing, the experience was not. But if I had made it to the computer in time, I probably would've written something like this:

6 Things That Nourish When You're Sick
(when you're all alone and there's no one to take care of you)

When you're sick and icy-hot, achy and coughy, cough, cough, cough, it can be difficult to pinpoint what will make you feel better. Especially if you're all alone and have to take care of yourself. Last night I was alone and sick (Colin is away for work) and managed to find some nourishing options without too much exertion. Whether they're truly healthful is another story altogether, but they got me through the night and that's really what matters.

Cheesey Toasts: Toast a piece of bread. When it's nice and crispy, take it out and layer some nice, yummy cheese on top. (Gruyere and Cheddar are my favorites). Put it back in the toaster until nice and melty. Voila! Hot cheesey toasts are the best comfort food when you're sick. Or any time really. Frank's Red Hot goes nicely with this combo.
Homemade Peach Ice Cream: I made this last week using frozen peaches, lemon and a touch of Grand Marnier. So good and soothing on the throat and to calm a raging fever. I was lucky I had some ready to eat in my freezer. In my mind, everyone should always have homemade ice cream or sorbet on hand in their freezer. But I realize that's not very realistic. You could just chew on an ice cube. Or make a quick smoothie in the blender with ice, fruit, honey, and yogurt or milk.
Hot Garlicky Chard: After all that creamy, cheesey goodness, you'll probably be craving some vitamins to fight the bug. Last night, I had a bunch of gorgeous yellow chard in my fridge and wanted to make something really quick and easy that required little time on my feet. Here's the trick: slice up the chard and put it in a hot skillet with a little olive oil. Cook it down a bit on high heat for a couple of minutes. Then add a clove of minced garlic and cook for another couple of minutes. Take off the heat and stir in 2 teaspoons of balsamic vinegar. Serve with Frank's Red Hot (I was all about the Frank's last night). This was so delicious, I ate the entire batch and am convinced it's the thing that drove my sickness away.
Hone-gar (honey + vinegar): This one I learned from my mother. Combine equal parts honey, apple cider vinegar or lemon juice, and boiling water (a couple tablespoons of each; maybe a little more of the water). Stir till dissolved. Sip slowly. This is a perfect concoction for chest congestion or sore throat.
Warm Kitties on My Belly: Enough said. When you're feeling crummy, there's nothing better than two little friends to warm you all over. It's better than hot water bottles!
Cadbury Mini Eggs: I just had to throw this one in there, because if you know me at all you know I'm obsessed with them. And you may even have read my Penelope Post last year about the scarcity of my favorite Easter candy. Last night, since I was alone, I had to go to the drugstore myself to stock up on flu medicine, cough drops and what-not. Well, wouldn't you know it, there were shelves and shelves of mini-eggs (right next to the Valentine's hearts) and in my feverish delirium, I bought 3 lbs ($15 worth). Still, today and feeling better, I don't regret the purchase at all.

There, I hope these tips help all of you in your time of sickness. They certainly helped me.

functional foodz

2008-02-04T21:11:00.000-05:00

Nourishment also has very much to do with nutrition and eating to promote good health. Your body is your temple, right? Here's what my friend Jess has to say about that—plus 11 foods she thinks we all should eat every week.

I took a class last semester called “Functional Foods” and it has really influenced me. Just yesterday I spent a fortune on blueberries and amazing green tea without a trace of guilt. Anyway, I am just going to quote from my teacher Dr. Mingruo Guo’s book, “Functional Foods: Principles and Technology” for a little clarity on functional foods.

“A food may have three functions: (1) providing energy in the form of carbohydrates, proteins and/or lipids, and basic nutrition; (2) giving us pleasure, i.e. aroma, color and taste and (3) having health benefits. A functional food may be similar in appearance to, or is a conventional food, is consumed as a part of normal diet and has physiological benefits and/or reduces the risk of chronic disease beyond basic nutrition.”

Here are the selected foods that my functional foods teacher, Dr. Mingruo Guo, recommends consuming weekly.

Tomatoes (lycopene)
Spinach (folic acid)
Broccoli (fiber, antioxidants, vitamins, sulfur compounds)
Nuts (vitamin E)
Oats (soluble fiber/prebiotics)
Yogurt (probiotics)
Pink color fish like salmon (omega-3 fatty acids)
Berries such as blueberries (antioxidants)
Garlic (antioxidants)
Green Tea (antioxidants)
Soy Foods (isoflavones)

Dr. Guo is also a huge fan of cranberries and pomegranates because of their high antioxidant content, as well as cold-pressed olive oil for its oleic acid and antioxidants.

Hope to see ya soon and remember…we are what we eat.

—By Jessica Lynn Mateik

a cool and wet winter

2008-01-28T21:32:00.000-05:00

Every month, I receive a welcome missive from my good friend Madeleine Vedel. Together she and her husband Erick run a cooking school in Provence, France. It is there I stayed for several months after college, and the memories from that time run deep and vivid in my mind.

The most recent missive in my mailbox talked about mushrooms and reminded me of when we went mushroom hunting during a stay in the gorgeous lush hills of the Cévennes mountains in Southern France. I was very homesick at the time, and the green, rolling forests reminded me very much of my home in Vermont.

At the end of an adventurous treasure hunt, I had found a total of 3 large cèpes (also known as porcinis). A proud moment! We brought them by the local pharmacy (to check for poisonous varieties) and then whisked them home to cook up a fabulous supper.

And here is Madeleine's letter...

When it rains... mushrooms come popping up! And Provence, a land of agriculture and outdoor beauty, soaks up the gentle bounty of the skies. The beekeeper is pleased for her bees, and the future rosemary honey; the farm next door is pleased as he'll not need to irrigate this winter (and nor should he! this is "normal" winter weather for us... but the past few years weren't too normal). Already the dark fields are sprouting tender green shoots of winter wheat.

Next week brings us our special week of winter decadence: truffles, foie gras, duck confit, chocolates, Chateauneuf-du-Pape wines... mmm I can't wait! We get our barbary ducks, well fattened from a farmer in the Southwest who raises them in a small, hands-on operation. Though for many, foie gras is not "politically-correct" I must admit to truly loving it -- in moderation. In my defense, I could mention that the Egyptians already enjoyed it thousands of years' ago, after noticing that both geese and ducks store extra energy in their livers in preparation for the long flight over the Mediterranean to their nesting grounds in France...

Of course, we'll also be liberally sprinkling our food with truffles -- those rough and funky lumps that our friend Rene's dog will find for us. We'll imbibe the potent aromas of this rare species in the cafe beside the market -- now smoke free!!! Yes, France has turned smoke-free in public spaces. Amazing, hm? T'will be interesting to see to what degree they abide by the new laws.

As we begin the year 2008, I treasure the memories of 2007, and all the wonderful visits of friends of friends, past clients and so many more. We were the happy beneficiaries of oodles of word of mouth contacts. Thank you! and please, feel free to share this email missive and your stories of your time with us with any and all. Provence is our home, and we love sharing it with you.

—Madeleine Vedel, Association Cuisine et Tradition, www.cuisineprovencale.com

Photos: Penelope, Madeleine and friends mushroom hunting in the Cévennes in Southern France, 2002.

fat protection

2008-01-21T18:49:00.000-05:00

By Kathleen De Simone

Much of my childhood was lived with my Irish foster mother. She was gloriously funny, always busy, loving, old enough to be my grand mom, and had a delightful brogue, so thick you could cut it with a stick. And it was so full of music... I just adored listening to her, well on cold winter mornings, after filling us with big ceramic bowls full of—made from scratch oatmeal—what she called porridge. It was dotted with butter and brown sugar, to which she would pour on top in a small river of cream.

Oh heaven, the aroma alone could make you swoon!! On especially cold days she would do this extra special thing. When we were leaving for the bus stop, on our way to school, she would walk us to the front door and hand me and my 3 half siblings rashers of crisp, crisp bacon—the thick old-fashioned kind, hand-sliced—and slabs of fresh Irish soda bread she had just fried brown in bacon fat. She would put them in our mittened hands saying in her lyrical Irish brogue, and with much solemnity…

“Here now children, take this with ya’ while your waiting for the bus, and the fat will keep out the cold.”

Now, I knew she knew everything and was so loving and good, but I was troubled. I was never quite sure how this “fat” protection worked? Did you wave the bacon in the air to drive the cold away? Did you hold it in front of you like a crucifix warding off Dracula? I would keep it in front of me at the bus stop long as I could, but eventually I would succumb and eat the delightful, crunchy, salty fatty strips and the divine toasted soda bread, willing at last to take the chance of being out in the cold without a bit of fat protection... and it was so divine I didn't even care…

Photo: The author all grown up.

lucky girl

2008-01-14T20:36:00.000-05:00

By Emma H. W. Kouri

I am a lucky girl. Really. Not a day goes by that I am not grateful for my life and my family. Each day is filled with joy; I love my house and my dog, and of course my parents and my sisters. I also love my boss and I love school. But today, I am especially grateful for my husband.

Kevin has several unique characteristics that make him a desirable mate. First, he has a great appreciation for expensive and well-made women’s lingerie. If that isn’t enough to convince you, he also loves expensive and well-made women’s shoes. These two things together make my life much easier than most of the women I know, because I never have to think up an excuse of why I need this bra or those fabulous shoes. To the contrary, I sometimes have to convince him that I don’t need them!

Despite these amazing attributes, the best thing about Kevin is his ability and desire to provide constant emotional nourishment. Today, I am particularly grateful that he is so supportive and loving. During this busy week, he decided to do all the cooking. Right now, he is making us breaded pork chops. He is taking the task very seriously and is following the recipe to a T. A little bit of Mama Sonia came out in me tonight, as I lingered in the kitchen…

“Are you going to pre-heat the oven?”
“What are you doing with that milk?”
“Why did you cook the garlic and then throw it in the sink?! The recipe says to set it aside!”

It turns out the garlic was just to flavor the pan, and the recipe said to set it aside if you want to use it for something else. So I poured myself a glass of wine and banished myself to the office, where I should be working on my grant.

I can hear pots clanking, and I know Kevin is now working on his homemade pasta sauce for dinner tomorrow night. He is a very good boy and I am a very, very lucky girl.

figgy pudding

2008-01-07T20:21:00.001-05:00

Sometimes things that are nourishing don't necessarily taste good—like cod liver oil or lima beans. I don't think I'll ever love those little buggers, and I don't care. But sometimes there are things that you don't like, but that you really want to like—because they're so cool—that you end up liking them eventually. Even if they still taste kind of yucky. You just crave them. Such is the case with me and Marmite. And figgy pudding.

Both foods have been passed down from my English roots. Our mummy has been making traditional figgy pudding every Christmas since we were kids. Made from lots of dried fruit and a little flour and Guinness to bind it, figgy pudding is really nothing more than a glorified fruit cake. And how many kids like fruit cake?

But then mold it in a mound, add a sprig of holly on top, a splash of Grand Marnier, light the whole thing on fire and you've got another thing altogether. A pyrotechnic site for sore eyes.

Since childhood, I've tried very hard to love it. I really, really wanted to crave the dark, rich dessert. But it was so bitter, the only way I could get it down was by drowning it in a sea of melty brandy butter. In fact, to this day, that's really only the way I can eat it. But I still really, really, really want to like it. To crave it like my parents do.

For now, at least I can still love the experience. This year, the lighting of the figgy pudding was so exciting. It was Colin's first time. We banged our forks on the table and sang, "Oh we want some figgy pudding, oh we want some figgy pudding, so bring it right now!" Papa poured some brandy on the pudd while Mummy stood by with the match. He was a little overzealous and spilled a heap of the precious Grand Marnier over the side of the dish and the tablecloth caught on fire! Then some of us screamed. And then we started laughing. And then it took forever for all of the alcohol to burn off. What a commotion. I think Kevin got it all on video—I'd really love to get my hands on that and post it here. But for now, here are a couple of photos (the second one was taken about 5 minutes later—usually the brandy burns off in 5 seconds):

snow!

2007-12-17T21:33:00.000-05:00

oranges

2007-12-10T20:43:00.000-05:00

This time of year, we bring oranges to the table and the smell alone is enough to evoke Christmas memories and remind us of the traditions we once loved dear.

In our house growing up, oranges were a holiday treat. We'd shave the zest into Mummy's English shortbread. We'd flavor the brandy butter for the figgy pudding with orange liquor. Every year we'd receive a large box of fresh Florida oranges from Mama Sonia and Papa Roger—each fruit individually wrapped. When Santa came he'd always leave an orange in the toe of our stocking. (That's how we knew we were at the bottom!)

We'd make pomander balls by poking a plump orange with fragrant whole cloves and hanging it to dry. As a child this was one of my favorite Christmas activities—and it still is! Moreso than gift-giving, carol-singing, Christmas-shopping and cookie baking. Now, whenever I smell orange and clove, I think, "Christmas, special, family, shortbread, happy, cozy, pomander ball!"

I love the idea of relegating the orange—such a special fruit—to holiday enjoyment. These days, when we're able to get any kind of food or fruit any time of the year, I yearn for the simplicity of yesteryears' traditions. When having certain things at certain times made those things special (oranges in December, strawberries in June). We find nourishment in that simplicity and we pass it on so that others may also know that feeling and grow from it. So here, I pass on our beloved pomander balls to be enjoyed during the holidays:

How to Make Pomander Balls

You'll need: 1 orange, ribbon and whole cloves.

Wrap the ribbon around the orange once, then twist and wrap the other way like a present. Tie the ends into a bow. Insert the cloves into the skin of the orange until the surface is evenly covered. If the fruit is juicy, you can roll the pomander ball in ground cinnamon to absorb the liquid. Then hang the fruit to dry in an airy place. Retie the ribbon every couple of days as the fruit dries and shrinks. Eventually, after a few weeks the fruit will harden and become completely dry. At that point, you can tie off the ends of the ribbon into a knot and hang as an ornament on the tree!

hugs & love

2007-12-03T20:24:00.000-05:00

By Emma H. W. Kouri

My sister Penelope and I have spent 4 days with our grandmother in Winter Park, Florida. This is the first time we've been to visit (together) since Papa Roger died last February. Everything is different now.

Mama Sonia is not the peppy, let's-go-shopping-and-out-to-lunch grandmother anymore. She doesn't want to go out, or even leave her apartment. She doesn't want to get dressed, and just wants to sit in her chair and think (and read, and watch T.V.).

When we were growing up, Mama Sonia was our sassy Puerto Rican grandmother who always spoiled us. She never forgot a birthday, she always took us to the latest Disney theme park, and she loved to go shopping. She was an amazing cook and loved to entertain. She has spent much of her life entertaining and socializing; nurturing others with her culinary skills and her knack for conversation.

Papa Roger always chose the route out of the building where he would run into the least amount of people. However, if he was with Mama Sonia, they had to go out the front so she could see/greet everybody who was out and about. Wish them happy birthday, tell them she is so sorry for their loss. Whatever people were experiencing, she knew it and she even knew the names of their loved ones. That Mama Sonia is not here now.

Mama Sonia does not remember birthdays or anniversaries, and most of the time she forgets what day it is. She has a new routine now, and it is one of solitude and peace. I have to say that I was extremely worried about her—she hasn't walked out of the door since we've been here! But, when I was having a glass (or two) of wine at Park Plaza Gardens today with Penelope, we talked and tried to understand. Here are some points that we came up with:

1. We could never, ever, understand the pain and loss that Mama Sonia is experiencing right now, since Papa Roger died
2. We cannot imagine what it's like to be (almost) 84
3. Mama Sonia's needs NEED to come first.

So, we came home today with a new attitude. Mama Sonia needs to be showered with love, and not judged for her actions. We bought her roses and the chocolate-covered popcorn that she loves. We made her (well, she asked actually) drink 2 glasses of wine with us. We made her laugh.

We had a talk with her and discovered her own take on things. First, she says, everybody is different in how they deal with things. She really doesn't want to go out and really doesn't feel sad when she's alone. She feels badly that people are worried about her. We told her that she needs to follow her heart; that she should not go out for anybody but herself. Only she knows what is best for her, after all she is 84 and full of wisdom. She still looks amazing, has great skin, and even smells wonderful! The old Mama Sonia may never come back to us. But the new one is real, honest, and just as nurturing as the old one. But she needs to be nurtured and accepted now. She needs to be nourished. By nourished, I mean (using her own words, after 2 glasses of wine):

To be hugged
To love others
To love yourself.

We love our grandmother and hope we have many more special times with her in the future.

hungry creatures

2007-11-26T22:45:00.000-05:00

All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.

Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
He made their glowing colours,
He made their tiny wings.

The purple headed mountains,
The river running by,
The sunset and the morning,
That brightens up the sky;−

The cold wind in the winter,
The pleasant summer sun,
The ripe fruits in the garden,−
He made them every one:

The tall trees in the greenwood,
The meadows where we play,
The rushes by the water,
We gather every day;−

He gave us eyes to see them,
And lips that we might tell,
How great is God Almighty,
Who has made all things well.

All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.

(Amen)

—All Things Bright and Beautiful, hymn by Cecil F. Alexander

gratitude

2007-11-19T18:57:00.000-05:00

By Penelope Wall

For Americans especially, this particular week leading up to Thanksgiving is one in which nourishment is inextricably linked to the idea of gratitude. We give thanks for our bountiful feast and the bounty in our lives.

We should always be grateful, not just on Thanksgiving. But it's human nature, I think, to want to compartmentalize our rituals--and to say, for example, "On this day I'm going to be especially grateful," and "on that day I'm going to be especially loving." And to put marshmallows on top of sweet potatoes for just that one meal during the year.

What if we had marshmallows on top of our sweet potatoes all the time? For one, the dish wouldn't be special anymore. We might lose sight of its importance (do we know what the importance of marshmallows on top of sweet potatoes is?). And, we might all become overweight, because marshmallows on top of sweet potatoes is certainly indulgent.

We reserve that wonderful treat for special occasions so that all of the other days may build up in anticipation. In other words, we give our symbolic moments strength by letting them shine just one day of the year.

And we like traditions to dictate how we spend our days and how we celebrate--with roast turkey, of course.

But in our family at Thanksgiving, turkey never really took center stage (my mother's English after all). Some years, we just couldn't afford it. Other years, one of us was vegetarian and it was tofurky or bust. Other years, we'd say, "let's just have fish!" And so, when I look back and take note of the common thread throughout the years, it wouldn't be the roast turkey or the marshmallows; it would have to be, well, the gratitude--ritualized by going around in a circle and saying out loud something we're thankful for.

If you really think about it though, what you're thankful for changes every day, every hour. What you're thankful for on Thanksgiving is really just a snap-shot in time. You might wake up thinking, "I'm grateful for the sunshine on my face." And you might go to bed that night thankful for the dark to woo you into slumber. Such is the fleeting nature of human emotion. Which is why, Thanksgiving is one holiday that doesn't really benefit from the build-up of anticipation. Rather, it should glow beneath the surface throughout our days.

And so in the spirit of gratitude every day, I want to say:

Right now, I'm thankful that I didn't hit the two deer that leaped right in front of my car on the drive home from work tonight. I'm thankful for the wild (alive) turkeys in my parents' yard (and they're thankful, I'm sure, for the tofurky). I'm thankful for Suki kneading my belly and Au Lait warming my feet. For the birds on the feeder and the entertaining squirrels. I'm thankful for all the creatures in this world that live beside us nourishing us quietly and perfectly in their own way.

to be pregnant

2007-11-12T20:59:00.000-05:00

Essay and Artwork by Elisa Freeman Smith
Photograph by Brett Smith

As I sit here with my laptop, feeling my unborn child shifting and kicking about in my belly to the point where this action jars my arm and affects my typing (well, almost!); I realize that I have indeed come into a new awareness. Thoughts on nourishment are central to this new consciousness, ranging from digesting the endless media regarding pregnancy do’s and don’ts, to the daydreams about how my child is growing inside of my own body and how nourishing myself will in turn nourish her.

Feeling my baby tap-dance on the flip-side of my popping belly-button evokes such a feeling of awe—I tell my husband, Brett, that I can’t help but feel so special. I am just so lucky to be the one who gets to carry this tiny, magical life form (cue holy music and spotlight shining down on me)—I must be the only person on earth who has ever experienced such a sacred event… REALITY CHECK—Cut Spotlight. As soon as I come back down to earth I see moms and kids everywhere. Yes, this is happening every day. More than once. More than twice. In fact, every glowing, smiling basketball-bellied lady in my whole pre-natal yoga class is sitting next to me every Wednesday with their hands on their stomachs feeling the EXACT SAME THING!! (Not to mention a thousand or so other prenatal yoga classes around the continent every day…) Well, not exactly the same thing, but you get were I’m going. I feel like I go through this little roller coaster of emotions almost daily—they say it’s hormones. Luckily, I’ve settled somewhere in between feeling very happy to have this experience, but at the same time, glad to have others that share it with me. Nourishment, especially during pregnancy, definitely feels like a community experience.

As many others who have participated in this blog have declared, nourishment means far more to them than the food that they eat, and my feelings about nourishment during pregnancy are not much different in that I feel an increased desire for overall nourishment – body, mind, spirit. However, the direct connection between the food that nourishes me and in turn nourishes my baby cannot be denied. It’s the topic of many a panic-stricken Q & A session in the online pregnancy forums. ‘I ate goat cheese last night, is my baby going to miscarry due to Listeriosis?’ ‘I had 2 glasses of wine last week before I knew I was pregnant—is my baby going to have Fetal Alcohol Syndrome?’ ‘I didn’t know I couldn’t eat more that 12 oz of fish per week—is my baby going to have mercury poisoning??’ That last one is a good example of why all of this media hype must be taken with a grain of salt. The official “rule” according to all of the pregnancy-related books, websites, etc. when I became pregnant last May was that you should not eat more than 12 oz of seafood, and that was from a limited list of seafood based on each species’ mercury content. Flash forward to October 4th, just a month ago, and the headlines read: “Pregnant and breast-feeding women should eat at least 12 ounces (340 grams) of fish and other seafood a week because the benefits for infant brain development outweigh any worries about mercury contamination, a group of U.S. experts said on Thursday.” Oh yes, this did totally contradict my carefully regulated weekly seafood regimen of the previous 5 months of my pregnancy. After a moment of panic related to my feeling that there was no doctor, no website, no book that could tell me exactly what to do to take care of my baby; I realized that I am the mother and that I need to have faith and trust in myself and my own motherly instincts, as mothers have been doing since the very first child was conceived.

My instincts have basically led me to enjoy everything I’ve always enjoyed, in moderation. Although this may mean only an occasional sip of my favorite wine, it means way more chocolate milk, which is almost as good to me. It may also mean a slightly larger portion of dinner- particularly vitamin-rich leafy greens, which I can never seem to get enough of. Getting enough iron and folic acid is one of those tried and true pregnancy “musts,” that drives this urge. Not only do I eat spinach, kale and brussels sprouts whenever possible, but I also diligently add a couple of tablespoons of wheat germ to my yogurt and hot cereal every day. Oh, and, the girl definitely gets her fair share of ice cream! For me, there isn’t an exact science to it, but all of this in addition to a daily pre-natal vitamin give me piece of mind that I am doing the best job I can of physically nourishing myself and the baby. Every time I feel a healthy kick, I think about how I am helping my baby develop and grow strong.

So, as Brett and I sit here eating seafood to our hearts’ contents, I’m confident that I’ve come to a sort of pregnancy-food-nourishment-self-actualization. Now I’m free to focus on other forms of nourishment that will promote our daughter-to be’s development. Brett and I have talked a lot about the nourishment of our own characters, with a belief that leading by example is one of the best forms of parenting. We are sure that in this new phase of life the need and opportunity for all types of nourishment will be abundant, but that may be another blog entry…

—Elisa Freeman Smith, Artist & Mother-to-Be

unexpected pleasures

2007-11-05T23:04:00.000-05:00

From my sister...

My husband and I have re-discovered China Express on Shelburne road.
Anybody who knows us will be surprised to know that we eat there (since
we are such food snobs). Actually, we really like the food, and have
been ordering take-out from there once a week for the last month. The
same guy answers the phone every time, and is always a pleasure. Once,
he convinced me to have my shrimp breaded and fried (he said it tastes
better, which it does, but I didn't feel very good eating it). In fact,
we're eating it right now and we're both in ecstasy. Here is our
regular order:
Steamed veggie dumplings
Steamed shrimp shumai
Beef with garlic (extra spicy for Kevin)
Shrimp with garlic (for me)
Brown rice.

We share the appetizers, and always have a ton of food left for lunch
the next day. The main dishes are sauteed with lots of veggies, like
carrots, snow peas, broccoli, water chestnuts, and onions. Kevin likes
to eat his dinner with a beer, and I like seltzer.

Yummy!

—Emma H.W. Kouri, M.S., Graduate Teaching Assistant, Animal Science Department, University of Vermont

provision from above

2007-10-29T19:09:00.000-04:00

Though not traditional American fare, in England goose is saved for the most special occasions like Christmas or celebrations. Growing up, I remember singing the nursery rhyme that my mother taught us, "Christmas is a-coming and the goose is getting fat. Please put a penny in the old man's hat. If you haven't got a penny, a ha'penny will do. If you haven't got a ha'penny, a farthing will do. If you haven't got a farthing, then God bless you!" But the closest we ever got to the real thing was running away from the mean, honking (alive) beasts at the Thorson's farm in Dorset, Vermont. We never actually had goose (farmed or wild) for Christmas. Perhaps this year will be different... though I'm not sure I'm quite there yet with my dad who can look up in the sky at the signature V-formation and think "dinner."

The Fall, my favorite time of year! One of the things that I love about it are the geese that fly over our house on the way to warmer climate.

It was on Saturday morning that we saw several flocks when I said to my wife Sally, (please don't be offended) “Wouldn't it be nice to have one of those on our table.”

Wouldn't you know it that that very evening my good friend Stewart presented me with two beautifully cleaned wild Canadian Goose breasts from geese that had been shot that very day. (They are huge.) We have put them in the freezer to save them for a special occasion. (Like maybe my birthday coming soon 11/6.) I will try this recipe.

For wild goose, it is best to soak the breasts in buttermilk for a day beforehand.

Goose Breast à l'Orange

Ingredients:
2 breasts of goose
1 pkg. dry onion soup mix
1 apple, sliced
2 cups water
2 tbsp. frozen orange juice (undiluted)

To make:
Fillet breasts. Place breasts on platter and cover with apple and orange. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight. Place apple, and orange and fillets in 1 1/2 quart oblong baking dish. Empty onion soup into dish; add water. Bake at 300 degrees for 2 hours. Serve with pan drippings. Serves 4.

—Larry Wall, Newport, Vermont

nourishing the people

2007-10-22T20:45:00.000-04:00

Nourishment is a sexy word and naturally conjures up the warm and fuzzy sentiments—the extra-special things—that make us feel, well, nourished. These are the things we are wont to explore and write about. But what about those everyday commodities that nourish us behind the scenes? Those things—such as milk or water—so common, yet so important to our daily nourishment. We take them for granted. Is milk just not sexy enough to warrant our attention?

While most of us think of nourishment in terms of our own experience, there are some, like my brother-in-law, who can’t think about nourishment without thinking about those who nourish us. For Kevin Kouri, a dairy nutritionist from Burlington, Vermont, understanding what it takes to get the milk from the cow to the table is a part of what he does every day. He visits the farmers of Franklin County; he listens to their stories and helps troubleshoot their dilemmas. He’s not only a consultant, but a friend and confidant. His phone is always on, even on weekends. That’s just the nature of the business.

Here Kevin helps us dig a little deeper for the story behind milk and explains why we should all try to understand a little bit more.

Nourishment comes in many different forms for me. Playing golf with friends and family, skiing down the slopes of the Green Mountains, taking in a day on the waterfront or watching the people on Church Street in downtown Burlington, spending time with my beautiful wife and my English black lab are all things that gives me fulfillment and nourishment.

What I would like to explore in this short essay about nourishment is not what I find nourishing to my own body, mind or soul. Instead, I would like to focus on those individuals who bring nourishment to all of the people who reside on this planet: farmers.

Farmers are purveyors of all things good, natural, clean, healthy and pure. They are stewards of the land and protectors of the environment. As consumers of their goods, we do not celebrate enough their hard work, commitment and sacrifice they make to support our own lifestyle. Popular press articles about agriculture typically spin a story about big agriculture and the pollution it generates. It’s convenient for us to read these stories and believe they are true, without seeking out the truth on our own. I hope that I can convince the readers of this essay to seek their own truth about agriculture.

Farmers’ markets have sprung up as the new vogue thing in the last couple of years. We have taken ourselves out of the grocery stores to shop directly from the small-scale producers and support local agriculture. As a person who works day in and day out in the agricultural world, I find this enlightening and beneficial to our environment and economy. When I stroll the Burlington farmers’ market I see signs boasting catch-phrases like “local,” “community-supported,” “organic,” “natural,” “hormone- and pesticide- free,” “family,” “low-intensive” and “sustainable.” Words that make us consumers feel great, happy to buy what they have to sell, and that we did our good deed for the day.

The idea of “big agriculture” isn’t so recent and in the United States dates as far back as the early Twentieth Century when U.S. agriculture saw a tremendous boom primarily due to World Wars I and II. The largest growth tended to be the dairy sector. Not only did we need to supply milk and cheese to our troops and foreign allies, but also we needed to feed the citizens of Europe. This forced the agriculture industry to grow in order to meet the demand. Over time the phrase of “big agriculture” has become ugly and some people feel that big farmers, primarily livestock and dairy farmers, are ruining the landscape and the environment.

These forces have started to collide pinning small agriculture vs. big agriculture. This is bad policy and it could signal the change to the future of agriculture in Vermont and other New England states.

Both can exist and they should exist. How is a 500, 1000, or even 2000 cow dairy farm bad? Have you ever stepped onto a farm of this size or seen the regulations they must follow for animal husbandry and environmental protection? Would you ever consider they are milking that many cows because the farmer has a family of 10-15 sons and daughters who all work and hold stake in the farm and who are each supporting their own family? Some dairy farms such as these support 20-30 employees and must provide a livable wage with health insurance and sometimes a 401K plan for all of them.

This is not big agriculture this is the size of a farm that can sustain its family members with a livable wage during good years, and provides jobs to citizens of the community. The farmers work an honest day to make an honest product that we all enjoy. So if size is the issue, remember what comes with that size and the families that operate these dairies, big or small. These are third- and even fourth-generation farms that have cared and nurtured the land year after year to bring a product like milk to everyone’s table. To make a product that is pure, safe and wholesome.

Currently, most consumers do not buy locally made milk. As a region, we are short on providing milk due to large fluid markets such as New York City and Boston. So a lot of milk flows in from the West. If we want to buy locally supported produce and meat at the Burlington Farmers Market, we should make the same conscious decision at the dairy case.

Read and ask questions. It’s up to us as consumers to understand where our food comes from and what is behind it. If we do not try to understand, then it’s too easy for policy makers and lobby groups to dictate the future of our food sources. Agriculture needs to have a unified voice not a divided force.

I am a believer in regional food production and I feel dairy needs to be number one in this category. Agriculture is the number one revenue-generating industry in the state followed by tourism. It is not IBM, Burton, General Dynamics, UVM or Pratt and Whitney that are the number-one employers in this great state of Vermont—it is the farmers.

Next time you drive by a big dairy on 22A in Addison County or on Route 105 in Enosburg Falls, try not to focus on the fact that the farm smells or looks intrusive in such a pretty landscape. Instead think about the number of people working there—the people who are caring for the land and animals—and the family that’s trying to make a living like everyone else.

—Kevin M. Kouri, M.S., Dairy Nutritionist/Sales, Poulin Grain, Inc.

transparency

2007-10-15T20:53:00.001-04:00

In order to minimize my impact here on Earth, I’ve thought about what it would mean to lead a transparent life. What it would mean to untangle the complexity of this world, and truly understand and find meaning in the basic elements that contribute to my existence here.

It would mean taking nothing for granted. It would mean having a hand in the decisions I make. A literal hand. It would mean mixing my dough rather than pulling it from the package. It would mean raising the chicken if I’m to have eggs. Growing the wheat to make the flour. It would mean walking to work. 12 miles down Route 7. And 12 miles back. On shoes that I made from tree bark or, if I have the stomach, from the leather of a felled doe. That I felled myself. It would mean fetching water from the lake (a 15-minute walk there and 15 minutes back). And then to boil it to purify it. On fire that I built by rubbing some dry wood with a piece of stone… And that’s just to start.

To iron out the complexities of life would mean intangible things as well: being honest and true, pursuing knowledge while being sensitive to the needs of others, yearning for community, taking time to understand.

To reach transparency is a huge task. We can only get there one step at a time. I might not have room or time to raise my own chickens, but I can choose to buy eggs from my local farmer and I can make an effort to visit his farm and understand his practice. It is there in our search for understanding that we build community and sensitivity. We nourish one another. And we learn that our efforts have the power to build exponentially upon each other.

Blog Action Day

cuisine & tradition

2007-10-08T20:37:00.000-04:00

This time of year always reminds me of Arles, an ancient town in Southern France, where I was an au pair girl for several months after college. I lived with a culinary family—an Arlesien father and an American mother named Madeleine—who runs a cooking school there specializing in the ancient foods of the region. I was there in the fall and early winter. I was there for mushroom hunting and truffle season. I was there for foie gras and fig nougat, olive harvest and Chateauneuf du Pâpe. Erick made a wonderful pâte de coing (quince patty) that's like a glorified fruit roll-up, only thick and chewy and we would cut it into ruby red squares and serve with a lovely sheep's tome from the nearby farm.

There were the luxurious chocolate truffles from Joel Durand, showcasing exotic regional flavors like lavender, chestnut, honey, and basil. And there was so much more. When there were students there were six-course meals. When there were none we ate up the leftovers of magret de canard, smoked salmon, and milles feuilles. We'd spread foie gras on our toast for breakfast. It was beyond nourishment at times and bordered on excess. But that was the nature of the business. And I was lucky enough to plunge into this crash course of French cuisine and Provencale culture.

Madeleine and I still stay in touch. And at the beginning of each new season, I enjoy receiving her e-mail missives describing all of the lovely goodies they're finding at market right now (Arles has one of the largest outdoor markets in France that wraps around the main boulevard right outside the city walls), what their friends and farmers and artisans are up to, and of course what's cooking in the kitchen. Below is an excerpt from one of my favorites called "Early Winter in Provence."

I'm baking more bread with my lively starter that's been bubbling since last March. Sometimes I pour in some muesli, sometimes some leftover spelt berries, a bit of chopped dried apricots. As the whim takes me. Hot cocoa and hot honey laced tea for breakfast, a rich red wine for dinner. Warm soups of every possible winter root vegetable are a weekly event (that is, I make enough to savor each one for a week!) Rutabaga, parsnips (ooh I love these!), turnips, squash, leeks, potatoes... often these are enriched with a bit of broth I've culled from a duck carcass, or rabbit bones.

The French see this time of year as chocolate weather. As we begin our preparations for the season many Christmas fairs are sprouting up, and chocolate stands with dark rich truffles, fruit puree laced ganaches and more are always a prime feature. The weather is ideal -- though a bit less humidity would be better. And with the lessening daylight hours, a bit of extra magnesium just feels good. Time to sample that black currant ganache recipe we learned from the chocolate maker... perhaps as a filling in my buche de Noel? (I've put this recipe below. Enjoy!)

We're also feeling the need for a bit more nourishment -- a bit of foie gras perhaps? Rich for some, forbidden fruit for others, the French see it as a seasonal delight. Now through the New Year's is a time for a bit of indulgence. Mistakenly (if happily so) I enjoyed a bit of foie gras during my two pregnancies, thinking "ah, extra iron." Ah well, whatever excuse is necessary. And yes, I too have adopted this winter "habit."

Cassis/Black Currant Ganache

This recipe is straight from the chocolate maker with only minor adjustments on my part. All the measurements are in grams, so rather than cups or other utensils, you'll only need a gram scale, a sauce pan, a sturdy knife for chopping the chocolate, and a large bowl with a whisk for mixing. To use this recipe in a cake, let sit for a half hour or so at room temperature (or table to cool quickly) and then spread on your cake. Let set before putting on your second layer, or, before rolling in the case of a log cake.

Ingredients:
240 grams black currant purée
40 grams sugar
4 grams pectin
100 grams sugar
125 grams UHT heavy cream

To make:
Boil all the above ingredients together then pour over in batches:

500 grams dark chocolate (55% or more) couverture - chopped finely
125 grams milk chocolate couverture - chopped finely

After the mixture is fully incorporated, and reduced in temperature, add the 125 grams creme de cassis liquor.

You can table this mixture to cool it, and then pour it into a square mold to set over night, or for 36 hours. Till ready to cut and dip in dark chocolate.

Take care, and our best to you.

—Madeleine Vedel, Association Cuisine et Tradition, www.cuisineprovencale.com

autumn clarity

2007-10-01T18:42:00.000-04:00

When you ask a person to write something for you, it is a very intimate request. That's because when you ask someone to write, you are essentially asking them to shave away a layer of skin—of privacy—and expose a little bit of their innermost being for the world to see and judge.

I was a little hesitant to ask my boy Colin to write on nourishment. I had to be careful that the experience would not put us as odds in any way, that it indeed be nourishing—for both of us. I needn't have worried. He gladly accepted, and as I watched him typing his words out last night, I realized: this is the first bit of writing I will have read by him. This is nourishment in its most honest and real form: to share a part of yourself with someone you love, to make yourself vulnerable, to discover, to trust. To bring down your barriers and let someone in. Because in the peeling away, our bonds grow stronger. We become, in all irony, more richly layered through our experience. Col's eventual theme, then, of "shedding skin and growing new layers" seems quite fitting.

The changing time… the kids are back in school, it’s getting cold out, the landscape is shedding new colors, and the summer is officially over.

From summer into fall, it is my favorite time of year. The time of autumn, where there is so much change around us, in preparation for the coming winter. It’s where we find nostalgia in putting our sweater on for the first time since the previous season, where apples never tasted so sweet and savory, and where we feel that another year has just ended and a new one is beginning (even though it doesn’t officially happen until January).

My surroundings alert the involuntary sustenance all over again, and it makes what is a new year, come in the most positive and assured light.

It is here, I feel nourishment within me—a time of reflection and preparation—a time of shedding my skin and growing a new layer.

—Colin Alger

balance

2007-09-24T10:20:00.000-04:00

From A(vocadoes) to Z(en), each person has his or her own interpretation of nourishment. For some, like my dad, spiritual nourishment has a lot of weight in daily life. As a spiritual leader, he doesn't have the leisure to differentiate between what he does and what he preaches; between what he eats and what he serves up in communion to his congregation. I respect him for taking on that task. It's so easy for us, as laymen, to compartmentalize our needs and our actions: but for full nourishment, all parts of the whole must complement each other--must be balanced by each other.

We need a more holistic approach; an over-arching theme that places equal emphasis on what we eat, on how we interact, and on how we connect to a higher being. In academia, they like to call this interdisciplinary. Essentially meaning: everything connects.

Windy field by Colin Alger

Laurence, Father & Spiritual Leader

Beloved: Grace and Peace be unto you. As we look at the topic of nourishment, we need to understand that, as human beings, we are "triune," which literally means "three in one," and that we are comprised of body, soul and spirit. The body is our physical presence. The soul is that part of our being which has to do with emotions and feelings; through the soul we are able to know about ourselves as well as others. The spirit is the part of us which enables us to worship, to pray and to have communion with God.

In order for us to be fulfilled, all three areas must be well nourished--understanding that balance is essential. In the Gospel of John 4:34, we read the words of Jesus: "My nourishment comes from doing the will of God, Who sent me, and from finishing His work."

In the scriptures that precede this one, we have the story of a woman to whom Jesus reached out, who was in desperate need of help. She had been married five times, and was presently living with Number Six, who wasn't her husband. Her life had been one of pain and disappointment, and was in need of help. Jesus reached out to help. The woman's life was transformed, and in the helping, He received nourishment.

For me, the greatest nourishment I receive is when an opportunity to help someone arises, and I am able to make a difference in their life.

I have committed to spending my life mending broken people. This brings me nourishment. I also must guard what I take into my spirit. I am sure you have heard the line: "You are what you eat!" in referring to our physical bodies; but the same applies spiritually.

If I am properly nourishing my spirit, the outcome will be love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. How are you doing with your spiritual nourishment? Are there areas in your life that need attention? Is there someone that needs your help? Contact me at ncog@verizon.net.

Grace, peace and love to you!
Your friend,
Larry Wall

family on nourishment

2007-09-17T20:00:00.001-04:00

When I think of what nourishment as a concept means to me, I think of my family. And so, in undertaking this project—of asking others to contribute their ideas on nourishment—I went first to my mother and sisters.

hannah, sister

The first one who responded was Hannah, my oldest sister. Three time zones and three thousands miles away, it turns out we had the same exact thing on our minds. Her response:

That's whack. I wrote this poem yesterday:

If we measure the time between our meeting
by the rotting of tomatoes and
avocados,
I would hope that these pieces
and our movement
is organic,
So they'll rot quicker
And no one goes hungry
with want and waiting in the interim.

Let me be clear:
I want to see you
before the vegetables decay.
I want to see you before you are filled with regret
at the waste, of time and food.
One day we will grow these fruits
together
And feed each other daily,
Nourishment springing up around us
to build a house of trees and vines.
Till then, we place carrots and radishes at acute angles,
pointing to passing,
and posing for decomposition.

xo love you.

—Hannah Wall

emma, sister

My other sister came next, and she said a lot of the same things that I myself have been feeling. I love that supple skin is just as important as relaxation and comfort. All of these things are evidence of bodily and spiritual nourishment.

I have thought about it and decided to tell you words/thoughts that come to mind when I think of nourishment:

Warmth, flavor, drink, comfort, peace, laughter, love, satisfaction, health, blood flow, supple skin, happiness, culinary creations, relaxation, family. When I feel nourished, I feel complete and mentally at peace.

—Emma Kouri

sally, mother

Finally my mother. First I received a voicemail at work: "Nourishment. Certainly is not when your daughter doesn't answer the telephone." I finally got in touch with her and she asked, "is it too late to write something and is it okay if it's not about food?" I said, of course it wasn't, and of course it was (wondering if she would remember how to email it to me). She did.

The other day, Sadie and I went down to the river. It had rained incessantly for a couple of days, and the earth smelt as it should: mossy, heaving with life, warm, wet, dark...and so we went, she and I, unable to resist the call. On the way down, I bumped into a tree, who, indignant, released the captive raindrops she had been hoarding. Drenched from the unexpected 'gift', I could only laugh. I felt a little silly! Sadie, certainly, had no idea what all this mirth represented.

On down to the river, but not to stop at our usual hole. Some adventure beckoned, and we picked up the gauntlet. Ploughing ahead through uncharted bogland, for so it is, black and foreboding, we were astonished at the beauty of the red and orange toadstools, no toads were sitting, however; red cedars sat above the bogs, standing on tippy-toes, high on their snake-like roots, keeping dry. Following the river, we won't get lost now; we came upon a huge rock, covered in moss. Right by the river...deeply swirling.

Sadie plopped into the water, and swam and swam. Oh, my Lord, nobody knows where I am! What if we get sucked into the black, black earth in one of those bogs, we'll never be found! What if there's a bear behind this mossy rock!

All of a sudden, it was very important to head on up to the clearing in the treetops shining all yellow against the blue sky... Don't worry about deer-paths, just plunge and go, quickly! I know that if we just keep going in this direction we'll come to...and there it was! The old familiar path, through the ferns, that wends its way down to Clyde Pond. Ahh...nourishment!

—Sally Wall

on nourishment

2007-09-10T22:35:00.000-04:00

What does real nourishment taste like? Does it taste like an expensive meal? Does it taste of discovery or love or nutrients? Does it taste like a childhood story?

There was a crucial moment a few years back when I learned that nourishment has many manifestations. Nourishment for the body, for instance, tastes and satisfies in a very different way than nourishment for the soul. A meal that fills the tummy can in other ways leave you feeling very empty.

During that particular time in my life, I was eating very, very well. I was in good company. I was in a constant mode of discovery. But emotionally speaking, I did not feel nourished. And for that reason, my stomach was in constant turmoil.

Nourishment for the soul and nourishment for the body go hand in hand.

Nourishment does not necessarily mean an expensive full-course meal at a nice restaurant. On the contrary, the best and most memorable meals are the ones you scrape together with what you already have in your fridge and your garden (if you’re lucky). Perhaps because there’s an even greater summit to reach, the taste is that much sweeter.

Growing up, we never had much money, so we had to be very resourceful. If I wanted cookies or cake, I would make them from scratch. That’s how I learned to bake. It’s also how I learned to be experimental in the kitchen—mixing unusual flavors and ingredients to make something tasty.

I’ll never forget running out to the garden patch and plucking a cucumber from the vine. We would eat them skin and all—still warm from the sun—dipped in vinegar and salt. A poor man’s salad to be sure. But nourishing to the core.

Originally published on Penelope Post Blog, May 2007.