I’ve been talking so much, this week, here on The Ordinary’s virtual pages. I feel like I’ve had thoughts spilling out of my head messily all over this little blank box. So today we’ll have a bit of quiet, and we’ll return to a video project I’ve been working at off and on for years. Mostly off, I have to admit, but it’s something I want to get back to, and why not now? Why not here? I’ve mentioned the whole idea before, here at The Ordinary, so I’ll briefly plagiarize myself now. I’m a huge fan of stillness in films, and quiet moments. Whether they last the whole film long, or they form a small pocket in a louder busier film. A few years ago I submitted a series of short videos to an online gallery run by the remarkable Peter Ferko, a New York artist. The series was called Now:Here:This, and it involved art made in a moment (or a few moments) by people all over the world at roughly the same space in time. I started making short, static videos. I gave myself some rules…they had to last about a minute. I couldn’t change the frame. The sound would be whatever naturally occurred for that minute. I focused on leaves, or water, or shadows, even dirty dishes in the sink. The sound generally involved my children yelling for me and trying to get my attention, which was an idea that I liked a lot. It captured my life at the time (and to this day.) I became very taken with making the videos – there was nothing brilliant about them, but I liked the way that shooting them made me think about how long a minute lasts, how hard it is to be quiet and still, how my life sounded, how pretty small things could be. We like to have a story, so any small change in the action or the sound becomes significant. The idea wasn’t inspired by Yasujiro Ozu, it’s something I’d started long before I saw my first Ozu film, but it’s reminiscent of a technique that he uses in his beautiful still “pillow shots” between scenes. They’re shots down hallways, of empty rooms, along an alleyway. They’re not entirely static – the camera is still, but there’s movement of light, or of people walking by, clocks ticking, curtains blowing. You sense that the story is playing itself out somewhere nearby. The shots are so cool, so quiet but not silent. I find them incredibly compelling. And then Ozu went and stole the idea from me! I’d like to stop and look at my house, for moments at a time, from down a corridor, when nothing is happening. Of course it wouldn’t be quiet and clean and cool, like in Ozu’s films. It would be a warm messy muddle.
Yesterday morning, as I’ve already told you, we had a thunderstorm. The weather had been mixed and moody for days, in the way that you feel inside your head. I had a lot to do, but I took a moment to sit on the couch with Clio, and listen to the rain, and think about ichneumon wasps, as I’ve also already told you.
You can hear the rain and the thunder. You can hear the cars go by, which has its own sort of suspenseful build-up of sound. You can catch a glimpse of the cool wet world outside of my curtain. You see the legos and CDs that need putting away. And you can see me breathing, because I was holding the camera on my belly, which is an idea that I like…it’s marking time, and it makes the film feel alive. And that’s all I’m going to say about that, because it’s totally cheating to tell you anything about it, it’s against all the rules.
These smoky spicy sweet collards and black-eyed peas in a very brothy sauce went with the smoky cheesy bread I shared yesterday, much in the same way that this video goes with everything I wrote yesterday. They’re simultaneous. We ate them at the same time! I made the black-eyed peas from dried, which was fun. I cooked the peas and the collards at the same time, so that the cooking water becomes the broth for the dish. The smokiness comes from black cardamom, which is such an odd looking thing, with such a mysteriously delicious flavor. We also have pepper flakes and ginger for zing and pomegranate molasses for sweet tartness, Tamari for the umami, and a bit of brown sugar for molasses-y sweetness. A nice warm meal for a chilly rainy spring day!
We had a gloomy, stormy morning. I sat on the couch with Clio listening to the rain and thunder and the cars going by like waves. I thought about ichneumon wasps and the man in Cleveland that held three women hostage for a decade. I thought about neighborhoods and people going about their business, and people being kind to one another.
‘The grisliness and apparent cruelty (at least, from a human perspective) of Ichneumonidae larval cannibalism troubled philosophers, naturalists, and theologians in the 19th century, who found the practice inconsistent with the notion of a world created by a loving and benevolent God. Charles Darwin found the example of the Ichneumonidae so troubling, it contributed to his increasing doubts about the nature and existence of a Creator. In an 1860 letter to the American naturalist Asa Gray, Darwin wrote:
“I own that I cannot see as plainly as others do, and as I should wish to do, evidence of design and beneficence on all sides of us. There seems to me too much misery in the world. I cannot persuade myself that a beneficent and omnipotent God would have designedly created the Ichneumonidae with the express intention of their feeding within the living bodies of Caterpillars, or that a cat should play with mice.”‘
I can’t think of any perspective by which to judge an ichneumon wasp that doesn’t seem cruel, unless there’s an ichneumon deity, in which case we’re all in trouble! It’s a struggle, in the face of inexplicable cruelty, to make sense of things! It’s hard to understand a pattern or a purpose that includes this senseless suffering. I realize all of this is probably inappropriate for a light-hearted recipe blog, but since I’ve started I hope you won’t mind if I careen into a brief and bumpy discussion of my heart-felt beliefs. I believe that there’s a force that we don’t understand that’s bigger than all of us–call it god, if you like. I believe in souls and spirits and a million other things that we don’t understand and can’t explain. I believe that there is a force that wants things to grow and live–in springtime it’s easy to believe this, as the world around us is glowing and green and hopeful. I believe that this is a benevolent force, in as much as our words can be used to describe something so complicated and inexplicable. I don’t believe that humans, or the interests of mankind are necessarily at the center of this force. We’re told that man was created in god’s image, and that man has dominion over animals and all of nature, but I don’t believe that this can be true. I believe that any tenet of religion that can be used to justify cruelty to any living thing, be it human or animal, or that can be used to provoke wars or violence of any kind is a false teaching. I believe that I’m very confused and I’m digging myself into a little hole of confusion and inarticulateness! So humans aren’t the center of the pattern, but we are part of it. The fact that we aren’t god or god’s chosen creature doesn’t cast us into an amoral, uncaring abyss, because we’re part of a pattern of growing and living and caring for each other and for everything around us. Because we’re alive, and we want to stay alive and we want to be happy, we should be kind and compassionate. Everything is connected, and we all work together towards the same goal…we’re all on the same journey at the same pace. And kindness leads to happiness–this isn’t a “we should be moral because we’re rational” argument, although I think there’s some truth to that. Even on a selfish sort of level, it feels good to be kind–not just to your loved ones, but to everybody–to the people bagging your groceries, to the people you serve in your job, to the stranger walking by on the street. To your neighbors, even if you don’t know them. It feels good to have them be kind in return, it feels good to live in a world where people are caring and cheerful. We’re all dependent on the kindness of strangers. Except that it’s not that simple, and I know that, and on gloomy mornings like this it’s hard not to think about it, even though it will never make sense.
Sorry for this mad ramble! Let’s talk about the food! This is a yeasted corn bread. It has some corn meal and some regular flour. It has sage and cayenne, and it has smoked gouda and sharp cheddar baked right in. It’s quite soft on the inside, because I added some milk and an egg, but it’s nice and crispy on the outside. Perfect to cheer a gloomy, stormy day.
If you’re following along at home, you’ll remember that yesterday I very nearly told you the secrets of the universe. I very nearly had it all figured out. But then housework got in the way. It’s hard to ponder the meaning of life while you’re trying to remember not to forget to buy all the boring non-food items in the grocery store. Especially if you’re feeling slightly saddened to realize that the edgy alternative music of your teenage years is now supermarket soundtrack material. Sigh. I haven’t quite collected myself to return to the BIG QUESTIONS, but I have found myself pondering this medium-sized question. I’ve been wondering if the reason that we have so many great men explaining the inner workings of the human soul and mind is that the great women were off cleaning their houses and raising their children (or managing the people they hired to do those tasks). As any mother will tell you, it’s hard to complete a sentence, let alone a major work of philosophical importance, when you have a child bopping around you saying, “Mom, guess what? That’s what!!” and dissolving into giggles and then doing it again. And again. It’s hard to remember all the brilliant thoughts you might have had, when you can’t sit still and write them down until you’ve mopped a few floors and scrubbed a few toilets. It’s hard to look sufficiently erudite in your author photograph when you can’t grow a flowing white beard. For centuries, women haven’t had a voice, because their thoughts weren’t deemed worth hearing. It’s hard to fight against that sort of prejudice and shout, “This is what I know to be true,” when you’re tired out from all your chores and your children won’t eat or sleep the way they’re supposed to. It’s hard to think beyond the tangled present, the cluttered day-to-day. Which I think is a shame, because I think it’s impossible to really figure anything out, if you haven’t spent some time struggling through the humbling sameness of our days. It’s hard to understand how humanity works if you haven’t spent some time raising or cleaning up after humans. It’s hard to understand our place in the world if you shut yourself off from everything real in that world. Obviously, having children and being around children changes your perception of everything forever. It opens doors inside of you, and gives you a glimpse into the pure heart of our place in the universe. It gives you a real feeling of being an animal, full of elemental needs and wants, but it also teaches you about the transcendent quality of love, which connects you to everything else on some indefinable spiritual level. (I’m sorry if this sounds cheesy, but I swear it’s true.) The jobs that are traditionally considered “women’s jobs,”–teaching, nursing, nannying–are not only arguably the most important jobs, they are also the jobs that give you the clearest insight into all of the complicated ways that our minds and bodies grow and work. It’s all very fine to lock yourself in your study and collect your serious thoughts and your beautiful words, but don’t forget the messy, teeming life outside that door. Don’t forget the children screaming at each other in the kitchen, because they understand a lot of things you’ve forgotten. Don’t forget the world outside your window that’s slowly and inevitably rolling and growing and dying and growing and dying and growing again, whether we understand it or not.
Arugula balsamic tart
I’ve been craving arugula and balsamic salads lately! Something about the slightly bitter nuttiness with the slightly bitter sweetness is just such a perfect combination. So I decided to combine them in a tart, because that’s what I do. I added a crunchy walnut crust. I reduced the balsamic and mixed it right in with the custard. I added some sharp cheddar and small cubes of mozzarella. And I added some caramelized onions I made last summer and froze. If you don’t have caramelized onions on hand, and don’t have time to make them, you could always mince up a shallot and cook it with the garlic, if you liked.
Here’s Buddy Holly with I’m Changing All Those Changes, because it just came on as I’m typing, and I like it, and I can’t think of a song about female philosophers or arugula tarts.
I’m in a mood to talk about things I don’t understand! Since David is at work, the dog’s not one for abstract conversations, and my imaginary friends are all busy with their monday morning chores, I’ll write about it instead. Or I’ll write about thinking about writing about thinking about it. (Nooooooo, don’t do that, Claire!) I realized recently that for a vague person I have some very strongly-held beliefs. I’m insecure and indecisive, but I’m oddly arrogant as well…deep down I honestly believe that there are certain inexplicable, inarticulable truths floating around in the universe, and I don’t understand them, of course, but I recognize that they’re there. I do! And it bewilders me that everyone else doesn’t recognize them, but they just don’t! I don’t believe that anybody can ever fully understand, but I believe in the value of trying to understand. I don’t think there are any definitive answers, but I think it’s important to constantly ask questions. I believe that words are confusing and clouding and inadequate, but we should never stop putting them together to help us to understand the world around us, and to share our questions. I’m in a mood to read words that other people have written about the questions–philosophers and theologians, possibly scientists and politicians. But I want to just absorb the knowledge–I want to inhale it, I want to eat it! And then I want to pare it down and arrive at my own explanation for all of the mysteries of the universe, in my own arrogant and insecure way. And then I want to write about it in the simplest and most articulate language possible, but, you know, with a touch of poetry. Luckily for you I have to finish the laundry and go to the grocery store, so none of that is going to happen. But the thinking continues…you’ve been warned!!
Let’s talk about bar cookies! They’re the simplest to make. You can combine all sorts of intriguing layers with practically no fussing and fiddling. I’d been reading in my old mennonite cook book about cakes that have a sort of meringue baked right on top of them, and that’s sort of how this worked. But the meringue is combined with walnuts and coconut. And there are finely ground walnuts and coconut in the bottom, shortbread level. And in between we have blackcurrant jam and bittersweet chocolate chips. Yum.
Here’s some Vivaldi that’s dramatic and tender, it’s beautiful, but I’m not sure what to call it. The first movement of a Concerto for two violins in g minor, maybe? Anyway, we’ve been listening it it a lot lately, here at The Ordinary.
I like connectedness. I like the idea that people connect images to make moving pictures–to make a film. I like that people connect facts to make stories. I like that people connect stories to make history and culture. I like that we’re all connected to each other in surprising ways. I like that we’re connected to the world around us–to the earth and the animals–in ways that we don’t always acknowledge. I like the sparking moment of connection with a stranger, when you realize you have some small thing in common. I like the glowing moment of connection with a well-known loved one, when you delight in the fact that you have everything in common, more so every day. For your Sunday morning contemplation I’ve gathered a few quotes from wiser minds than mine on the subject of connection. Ready? Begin.
“Only connect! That was the whole of her sermon. Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height. Live in fragments no longer. Only connect, and the beast and the monk, robbed of the isolation that is life to either, will die.” EM Forster
“We cannot live only for ourselves. A thousand fibers connect us with our fellow men; and among those fibers, as sympathetic threads, our actions run as causes, and they come back to us as effects.”
― Herman Melville
“Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect.”
― Chief Seattle
“It really boils down to this: that all life is interrelated. We are all caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tired into a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one destiny, affects all indirectly.”
― Martin Luther King Jr.
“Man can no longer live for himself alone. We must realize that all life is valuable and that we are united to all life. From this knowledge comes our spiritual relationship with the universe.”
― Albert Schweitzer
So today’s interactive playlist is an exercise in making connections. Here’s how it works. You start with one song, and you connect it to another with any thread you can think of, be it ever so feeble. And then you think of some way to connect that to the next. The connection can be musical, biographical, autobiographical, collaborative, or any mix of any of these.
I’ll start. Tom Waits’ Jockey Full of Bourbon is in the opening credits of Jim Jarmusch’s Down By Law. Down by Law is a Clash song. The Clash worked with Mikey Dread (Living in Fame). Mikey Dread has a song of tribute to Bob Marley (In Memory (Jacob, Marcus, Marley)). Manu Chao also has a song of tribute to Bob Marley (Mr. Bobby). Fellow polyglot K’naan has a whole album in tribute to Bob Marley. He has a song (America) that features Mos Def. Mos Def first appeared on the De La Soul song Big Brother Beat. De La Soul appeared on the Gorillaz infectious Feel Good Inc. I’ll leave it at that for now, because the Gorillaz is a good point for somebody else to pick up the thread. You can get anywhere from the Gorillaz!! You know what’s funny? I could have gone straight from Down by Law through Mulatu Astatqe (Jarmusch’s Broken Flowers) to K’naan’s Mulatu Astatqe sampling America. Funny, right? I’m happy with tangents and misconnects. Feel free to start from any song you want.
Here’s the playlist. It’s interactive, so add what you like. If you can’t spotify, leave your songs in the comments and I’ll try to add them when I have time.
This beet dip was so lovely and simple! I roasted some grated beets, roasted a red pepper, roasted a garlic clove, and tossed it all in a food processor with some herbs and a can of white beans. I added some lime juice, because I think its tartness goes so well with the sweetness of beets. This made a nice meal with some homemade bagel chips. (I bought some salt bagels, but who knew they were so salty? They made good crackers, though, coated with a little olive oil and toasted. So we had that plus some oven-roasted french fries and a big salad. My favorite kind of meal!!
Hey, kids! It’s Saturday storytelling time! As I’m sure you recall, this means that along with your daily recipe and song, you’ll get a story, too! Each week, everybody in our small salon of auteurs (well, generally me and one or two other people) writes a story based on a found photograph. This week’s photo might be my favorite yet, I think it is ridiculously beautiful. But maybe I say that every week. If you’d like to write a story about it, and I hope you do, send me a copy and I’ll post it here, or send me a link if you have somewhere of your own to post it.
Here’s a funny story about my story this week. Isaac asked me to read what I was writing, so I read the first paragraph. It reminded him of a folk story, which he told to me, and which I wrote into the story. I’d never heard it before, but it was oddly perfect for the direction the photo was taking me. I always think that the exact moment that you write something changes the writing completely, and this is proof of that. If he hadn’t been sitting next to me, if I’d tried to get it done while he was at school, if he wasn’t the sort of boy to ask a person to read what they were writing, my story would have been completely different. Better or worse? Who can say!
Strawberry (chocolate chip) shortcake
Well, is there anything better than strawberries and whipped cream? Yes! Strawberries and chocolate and whipped cream. These shortcakes are more like a cookie than a biscuit. Like a big, soft chocolate chip cookie that you pile high with strawberries and cream. Because the shortcake itself is fairly sweet, you don’t need to sweeten the strawberries or cream that much–I just tossed the berries with a little maple syrup to make them saucy.
Here’s Sister Rosetta Tharpe with Up Above My Head, and if you read the story you’ll know why!
Malcolm’s basketball coach told him that if he keeps his head in the game he’ll be unstoppable. “Keep your head in the game” is now my favorite phrase in conversations with myself. “Keep your head in the game, Claire, or you’ll never get two breakfasts and two lunches made by 7:30!” And Malcolm’s teacher said that with a little more focus he’ll be unstoppable. There it is, the “f” word. It all comes down to focus, it all converges at focus. Isaac has been advised that he needs to focus on his focus, as well. It’s a distracting world! There’s so much going on, so much to see and say and taste! How can anybody concentrate on just one thing? It’s all very well to tell somebody to keep their head in the game, but the game is so complicated! The game is so fast-moving and there are so many things going on at once! One is in danger of getting one’s head bonked, if one keeps it in the game for too long! I’ve always had trouble focussing, too, so that’s probably where the boys get it. I can’t concentrate on one thing very long, with my gnat-like span of attention. My life is strewn with half-read books, half-written novels, half-sung songs, and lots and lots of brilliant ideas that never amounted to much (you’ll have to take my word for it). It doesn’t feel good, and I would wish my boys more success in concentrating on one task until it’s completed. I wish for them the ability not just to focus narrowly on one thing, but to bring everything around them into focus. To adjust the lens through which they view the world so that everything is as bright and vivid and clear as they can make it. Malcolm has discovered the joy of focussing beams of light through a magnifying glass until he makes fire, and this is sort of how I can see him moving through life–focussing his light and energy to set the world on fire. (Safely, of course, as executed with focus’ good friend self-control!) And I hope they’ll be able to concentrate on everything that interests them in the sense that they’ll distill it and make it as pure and flavorful as possible, creatively speaking. Isaac is a rare child who can actually sit and concentrate on one project for a fair amount of time. He’s happy with his own company, singing and drawing or making something out of legos. From when he was very little, his whole face reflects his absorbtion–head on one side, tongue out like Charlie Brown. Here’s Isaac’s picture of a focussed face…
This is how I’m going to imagine myself, from now on, when I want to try to get something important done!!
Millet and chickpea kofta
I wonder if I like cooking because it’s a chance to finish a project – to see it through to its tasty completion. When you start to make a meal, you can’t stop till it’s done. You can’t give up halfway through because you get to a tedious part. If things aren’t going well you have to fix them, you can’t just set it aside for another time and then forget about it completely. And you have the promise of a good meal that you can eat and share as motivation to get it all done. Plus it’s fun! These croquettes were so simple to make. I combined leftover millet with chickpeas and grated cheese. I seasoned them fairly simply, with basil, cumin and lots of pepper. They turned out lovely–crispy and delicate outside and soft and flavorful inside. We ate them with spicy spinach cashew sauce and OOTOs (yeasted semolina flatbreads), as well as avocado and arugula. But you could eat them with pita bread or tortillas, and any sauce you like…tahini or tomato sauce or mustard or mayonaisse, or no sauce at all. Very versatile.
Ricotta tart with red peppers, chard and black olives
There’s a particular pleasure to watching Temporada de Patos that’s hard to define. As I was thinking about it this morning, it came to me…it’s like making a friend, or maybe even falling in love. Which is fitting because friendship and love and the blurry lines between the two are at the core of the film. From the opening credits you like the look of it–aesthetically it’s just your type. Simple, spare, a little bit rundown, but beautifully so. You watch it for a while, and it seems funny and smart, a little bit off-kilter, but in a way you like. And then you hang out with it, and have conversations, and everything it says is charming but sincere. Not “hey, baby, I’m so sincerious,” sincere, but honest and uncalculated and heartfelt. You get a peep at its music collection and it’s all kind of weird but good. Unexpected, but you feel it’s the absolute perfect thing at the perfect time. You keep waiting for it to let you down and say something off-putting, or start telling a story that’s overly dramatic or just doesn’t make sense, but that never happens. It all just clicks, softly and almost imperceptibly. And then you don’t want your time with it to end, you want to spend more time with it, and you think about it after it’s gone, and realize that it’s much more complicated than you realize. That’s what it was like with Temporada de Patos, the first feature from Mexican director Fernando Eimbcke. It’s one of those rare movies where everything seems to come together perfectly, every aspect is thoughtfully combined and there are no missteps. The plot is very simple. Two fourteen-year-old boys, Moko and Flama, have been friends since childhood. They plan to spend a Sunday together at Flama’s apartment when his mom is away. They have all their supplies, soda, video games, money for pizza…and then the power goes out. The pizza delivery man, Ulises, shows up, and they insist their pizza should be free because he didn’t deliver it on time, but he says the deal is off because the power is out and he couldn’t take the elevator. He won’t leave till they pay, and they won’t pay. Their neighbor, Rita asks to borrow their oven to bake a cake. And that’s pretty much it, that’s the story, the story of one beautifully ordinary but unforgettable day. People grow and change and learn about themselves, and forget and start over. Relationships shift, slowly and quietly, and then shift back again. It’s simple, it’s funny as hell, it’s sad but hopeful, and it’s one of the best new movies I’ve seen in years.
Ricotta tart with chard, roasted red peppers and black olives
This tart is a bit like a fancy pizza, and a very delicious one! It has a yeasted cormeal crust, which is very crispy and flavorful. It has a ricotta custard, with mozzarella, and it has sauteed chard, garlic, shallots, and rosemary. Then it’s topped with roasted red peppers and black olives. Salty, sweet, comforting, cheesy, crispy, and flecked with greens. What could be better than that?
Here are a couple of songs from the movie…Puto - Molotov. O Pato by Natalia Lafourcade. And Panorama by Alejandro Rosso.
When I was younger–shall we say early twenties?–I wrote a screenplay about a man who wouldn’t leave his front porch. He’d travelled the world, and then something happened, but I don’t remember what, or maybe nothing happened–I’ve always been a big fan of the anti-drama–and he sat in a rocker on his front porch and refused to leave. His mother fussed over him and consulted various experts to aid in his cure. She talked to ministers and doctors and wise neighbors. He chatted with the mailman and with small children that ran by the house. We worry about him, because he’s not behaving like everyone else, he’s not normal. But he seems okay. He’s a little confused, but he’s pleasant and cheerful. He’s alright. It turns out he’s trying to rid himself of fear and desire, based on some combination of ideas gleaned from several philosophies that I barely understood at the time and understand even less well now, all these many years later, seen through a haze of crumbling memory. I still think about this from time to time. Would I want to rid myself of fear and desire, assuming I had the strength to do so (I don’t)? In all honesty, I don’t think I would. Desire, like hunger, is such a part of being alive. Wanting keeps you wishing and hoping and trying. And fear is so closely connected with imagination and creativity and dreams. The idea seemed good at the time, I suppose. I was confused, myself, and so full of wants and worries. But in thinking about losing myself, I was doing the opposite, I was completely self-conscious and self-centered. We all look at the world through our own eyes, through the prism of our own fears and desires. As Hobbes so delightfully says…
…for the similitude of the thoughts and passions of one man, to the thoughts and passions of another, whosoever looketh into himself and considereth what he doth when he does think, opine, reason, hope, fear, etc., and upon what grounds; he shall thereby read and know what are the thoughts and passions of all other men upon the like occasions. I say the similitude of passions, which are the same in all men,- desire, fear, hope, etc.; not the similitude of the objects of the passions, which are the things desired, feared, hoped, etc.: for these the constitution individual, and particular education, do so vary, and they are so easy to be kept from our knowledge, that the characters of man’s heart, blotted and confounded as they are with dissembling, lying, counterfeiting, and erroneous doctrines, are legible only to him that searcheth hearts.
“Only to him that searcheth hearts”!!! I love that! Where was I? Ah, yes. I’ve been remembering my juvenile struggle with all of these muddled ideas lately because of all the memes! The memes and soundbites and super-designed quotes and quips and words of wisdom. It feels, sometimes, as though we’re taking little pieces of these philosophies that we don’t understand, and spinning them around to become something entirely new. Like all good twenty-first century Americans, we’re stripping them of their original meaning and making them all about making us feel better about ourselves. So that they’re no longer about losing ourselves, but about loving ourselves. We don’t have to rid ourselves of anything, cause we’re okay! Reduce a philosophy to a few pithy phrases, superimpose it over a rainbow or some flowers, and its meaning is distilled–it’s all about me! I know, I know, I sound hypocritical and hypercritical. But it seems as though if we’re going to appropriate ideas we should at least read enough of them to be confused by them, to let the words get us into a muddle, to struggle to understand something of the original wisdom, and not just swallow it down like some sugary pill that makes us feel better with no side effects. We should have more respect for the words than to make them into social-media-ready memes. That’s what kittens are for!
Springtime with its damp fragrant earth and unfurling ferns always makes me crave beets. So I bought a big bunch. My favorite method of cooking beets is one that Malcolm invented…grated, tossed with olive oil and herbs and roasted. So that’s what I did here. And I roasted some buttery butterbeans in butter. And I sauteed some spinach with garlic, and I mixed all of these things together, stirred in a little black truffle butter, added some ripe avocado, piled it into a nest of fresh wild arugula, and grated smoked gouda on top. Delicious! A warm, hearty salad with such lovely melty, smoky, sweet and buttery flavors.
Flourless chocolate cake with salted almond praline
Would you rather have super strength or super speed? This is a question I encounter frequently, in my travels. Usually it’s Isaac doing the asking. But there’s a trick to the question, because Isaac already has super speed! He makes his hands rigid, like knives, and they slice through the air, propelling him forward at a remarkable rate. Malcolm’s new favorite sartorial accoutrement is a button down shirt, usually flannel, always plaid, worn open over a t-shirt. Not because he looks cool, or it keeps him warm, but because if he holds the corners and pulls it up behind him over his head, when a slight breeze blows it feels as though he could fly. We invented a super hero called “Whatever Boy.” His power is that he’s as impervious to discomfort as a ten-year-old boy. Sub zero temperatures? He’s fine in a t-shirt. Sand in his swimsuit? Pour some more in there, he won’t mind. Soaking wet jeans? Bring them on. This was my little joke, and I left it at that, but Malcolm didn’t. He’s expanded the universe of Whatever Boy to include arch enemies, additional powers and side-kicks. All he needs now is a uniform and a theme song. I love this about my boys! I love that they see the potential in themselves and in everybody around them to have super powers. If you think about it enough, your shirt might become a cape, and you might take off into the sky. If you see things in the world around you that are upsetting, invent a superpower to battle it, and it just might work. Of course they’re not always typically heroic powers intended for commbat with evil-doers. Sometimes they’re quite practical. Malcolm invented a scenario in which super heroes live together in a sort of dormitory, and they all have powers that come in handy around the house. There’s vacuum man and hose man and fan man and fire-starting man. Yes, they can save the world, but they can also keep a tidy house, cool you on a hot day and fill your swimming pool. Whilst walking through the woods, Malcolm and I saw a rusty oil drum. He told me that in World Tenn, a universe in which Malcolm and Isaac have different names, powers, sisters and flying dogs, the whole point is to stop things like that from happening. He told me that when they finish writing their book I’ll know a lot more about it. I can’t wait! If you were to ask me what superpowers I’d really like to have, I’d tell you I’d like to be as glowing and funny and singing as my Isaac. I’d like to be as bright and brave and vivid as Malcolm. I’d like to have their super creativity, and their super energy, and their super generosity in seeing everyone around them as capable of marvelous powers and heroic deeds, in seeing a world where you could have any power you want, just by wanting it.
salted almond praline
This cake was gooooood! First I made a praline of salted almonds, skin and all. I keep buying salted almonds because, of course, they make a healthy snack for hungry boys. But nobody else notices they’re there, and I can’t resist them! So I decided to keep myself safe from them, and use up a few of them in a not-at-all healthy cake! Unassailable logic. So, first I made a praline of salted almonds. And then I pulverized that praline into a crumbly mess. Some big pieces, some quite small and powdery pieces. And I stirred this into a batter of ground almonds, melted chocolate, butter, strong coffee and eggs. And the result was a dense, delicious cake that I couldn’t resist! Damn. Very very good with fresh strawberries or raspberries or sliced pears and a dollop of whipped cream.
Here’s Old School by Danger Doom and Talib Kweli. I love it! And they talk about cartoon super heroes. Continue reading →
