Millet flatbread

Millet flour flatbread

Millet flour flatbread

Hello, kids! It’s Saturday storytelling time! Just kidding, of course, It’s Tuesday. It’s just taken me that long to finish this story. My original plan of not thinking too much about the stories has given way to a reality in which I think about them all the time! For some reason that makes it harder for me to finish them. But I think that’s a good thing. As you may recall, each week I post a vernacular photo, and I write a story about it an invite others to as well. Here’s this week’s photo. Who is this man and why is he on the road? Where is he coming from, and where is he going?
537595_10151466385864589_1275313182_n

I bought some millet flour a while back, because I love the taste of millet. I tried baking something using only millet flour, and it didn’t turn out too well! So this is a mix of both. It’s a yeasted batter, poured into one of my beautiful new old French pans. You could use any smallish baking sheet with a shallow edge. The bread is soft on the inside and a little crunchy outside, and it has an intriguing, pleasant flavor…I’m not sure how to describe it! Nutty, I guess, like regular millet.

Here’s Sitting on Top of the World by the Mississippi Sheiks.
Continue reading

Whole wheat & cream cheese drop biscuits

Whole wheat & cream cheese drop biscuits

Whole wheat & cream cheese drop biscuits

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. 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. Who are these boys? What are their lives like?
946803_10151625957199589_306027429_n

Isaac likes cream cheese, but nobody else in the family does. As a result, we don’t go through it very fast. I thought I’d better bake it into something before it all went downhill, so I made these whole wheat cream cheese biscuits. They were soft and tender on the inside, and very light and crispy on the outside. They had a nice whole wheat hearty nuttiness combined with a slight tang from the cream cheese. And they were easy as can be!!

Here’s Nina Simone playing Bye Bye Blackbird (thanks, mom!)

Continue reading

Roasted grape tomato crostini, and penne with zucchini, spinach, olives, capers and almonds

Roasted grape tomato crostini

Roasted grape tomato crostini

A while back I was standing in the kitchen at work waiting for food to run, and I chatted with the food runner, who was standing in the same place with the same intent. For some reason, I mentioned to her that you’re not supposed to be sarcastic in front of children because it confuses them. She laughed and said, “your kids must be confused all the time.” Well! This gave me pause. I hadn’t spoken often with the runner or even said much in her presence. How could she know about the sarcasm? Had my inner-sarcasm somehow seeped through the cracks of my professional and friendly demeanor? Because I don’t think you’re supposed to be sarcastic in front of bosses or customers either–they get confused, too. I started to think about what it means to be sarcastic in front of your children. It’s true that my boys get confused when you say something they know isn’t true. When Isaac walks into a room, don’t say, “Well, who are you? I’ve never met you before,” because he hates it as much as if your words could actually negate his existence. (Although apparently he’s allowed to say, “Mom, my right arm is attached to my left hand and my left hand is attached to my right arm, and both my arms are put on backwards!” and I’m supposed to take this alarming information all in stride.) Honestly, children ask a lot of questions. Sometimes you don’t know the answer, sometimes it’s too complicated, and sometimes it’s too dull, and like Calvin’s dad, you find yourself presenting a different version of the world. So when they ask you why the subway is so much hotter than the street, you might find yourself answering, “because it’s closer to the fiery earth’s core,” instead of the actual answer–that it’s the cumulative temperature of all the pee that’s been peed there, which can’t cool and evaporate so far under ground, because this is obviously too scientific an explanation for little minds. But surely this is just using your imagination to present an alternative view of the world, and surely the world is always shifting and mutable anyway, so that there are no constant and correct answers. Obviously, if your child is uncomfortable you abandon the joke, but most of the time they recognize a good story, and if nothing else, they learn to become very skeptical of everything they’re told, and that can’t be a bad thing. I did a little research on the subject of sarcasm and children. Apparently, you’re not supposed to be sarcastic at all, in front of anybody, ever, because it’s cruel and dishonest. Well! (again) this gave me even more pause, because I love sarcastic humor, but I abhor cruelty and dishonesty. Sarcasm comes from the Greek meaning to tear or cut the flesh, and I realize this does sound cruel, but like anything else in life, it’s how you use it. You can use sarcasm to be snarky and bullyish and make people feel bad about themselves, certainly. But why would you? You can also use sarcasm to cope with an unpleasant situation, to make fun of yourself, to express something that you’re not allowed to come out and say. It’s a coping mechanism, and it’s a tool I’d like my children to posses. I always admire people that can disarm a tense or nasty confrontation with a joke. At its most effective, sarcasm can demonstrate the absurdity of a predicament and help you to change it or wade through it. And, far from being dishonest, sarcasm, like all humor, is a way to speak truths that otherwise couldn’t be spoken, that wouldn’t be accepted in any other form. With sarcasm and irony you can turn the world on its head, and sometimes that needs to happen. So I’m not going to teach my boys that sarcasm is bad, I’m going to teach them that pettiness and cruelty are bad, however they’re expressed. And when they each inevitably develop a sarcastic sense of humor (they’re sarcastic on their father’s and mother’s side, so it’s only a matter of time), I’ll be glad to step back from the world with them, have a chuckle at the absurdity of it all, and forge back into life better prepared to shape it the way we like it.

Zucchini and spinach with olives and almonds

Zucchini and spinach with olives and almonds

I’m combining these two recipes because we ate them together, but they’d each be fine on their own. They’re both super-simple, so this is a nice summer meal. I roasted some grape tomatoes with olive oil, balsamic and herbs (use fresh if you have them!) and piled this on little toasts spread with goat cheese. That’s it! A nice combination of flavors, though. And then I made a stir fry of zucchini with spinach, capers, olives, and topped the whole thing with almonds. The boys ate it with pasta as a sort of pasta primavera and I ate it over greens as a sort of warm salad. Good either way!

Here’s Jelly Roll Morton and his Red Hot Peppers with Hyena Stomp. Need a laugh? This has plenty.
Continue reading

Whole wheat umami scrolls

umami scrolls

umami scrolls

I read yesterday that the Elizabethans categorized five types of wit. Aha! I thought: the self-deprecating aside, the broad bawdy tale, the absurd jest, the clever quip, and the knock knock joke. Of course, this isn’t what they meant at all. They defined five wits to correspond to the five senses. “The five wits were sometimes taken to be synonymous with the five senses, but were otherwise also known and regarded as the five inward wits, distinguishing them from the five senses, which were the five outward wits.” The five inward wits are common wit, imagination, fantasy, estimation (instinct) and memory. I’ve been reading some of Hobbes’ Leviathan, which dates from a similar time, and he explains how this works. When a person senses something physically, it makes waves inside of them as the wind makes waves on water. This decaying sense leaves an impression or an image, and this is the source of imagination or fancy. “And it is found in men, and many other living Creatures, aswell sleeping, as waking” This decaying sense, as it recedes, is called memory, and memory of many things is called experience. The imaginations of them that sleep are called dreams, and such imaginations that we don’t recognize as occurring during sleep, because the sleep is so quick, are called apparitions or visions. Imagination expressed in words or any other voluntary sign is Understanding, and “is common to man and Beast.” Predictably, I love this! I’m not very comfortable defining or deciding things, but I love to watch other people do it in an attempt to explain the strange workings of the world around them and inside of them. I love to think about how carefully Hobbes defined vagaries of sensations and emotions that seem impossible and indeterminate. Apparently, today, even scientists say that the notion that we only have five senses is outdated and limited. Of course we have more than five senses! We sense balance and movement, we sense warmth and cold, we sense time passing. If we close our eyes we know the position of our hand, even though it’s not being detected by any of the five traditional senses. And I identify other senses not defined by Hobbes or science (as far as I know), but possibly the most important of all. Emotional senses, maybe. Sense of empathy, sense of decency, sense of humor–which brings us back to the beginning, when sense and wit collided in all of their shades of meaning. Even in Shakespeare’s time, wit meant not just sense and intelligence, but humor as well–the ability to see the absurdity of all of this confusion of sensations. What complicated creatures we are, moving through the world, taking it into ourselves and making it part of our memory and dreams. And this is true of man and beast, as well sleeping as waking.

We used to break down the sense of taste into four categories: bitter, salty, sweet and sour. And then we identified a fifth! Umami is that flavor. It’s a pleasantly savory, meaty flavor. As a vegetarian, I love the challenge of trying to create an umami flavor whenever I can. These rolls are a companion to the chocolate-covered cake of yesterday’s post. They, too, were meant for a wine tasting of Australian shiraz(es?). They, too, are very loosely based on the recipes of The Guardian UK’s Australian baker, Dan Lepard. Apparently, in Australia, one can find cheese and vegemite scrolls, which are like savory cinnamon buns. So I made these with marmite, tamari, spinach and balsamic. I thought these would be nice with wine.

Here’s Common with The Sixth Sense.

Continue reading

Smoky spicy cornmeal cheese bread

Cheesy smoky yeasted cornbread

Cheesy smoky yeasted cornbread

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.

Here’s Belle and Sebastian’s cheerful The Magic of a Kind Word.
Continue reading

Yeasted chickpea flour and sage flatbreads

Yeasted chickpea flour flatbread

Yeasted chickpea flour flatbread

On Saturday evening a restaurant gets cacophonous. The people at the bar get louder with each drink. Children who have missed their naps are crying for their dinner. Conversations cover conversations till all you hear is a sea of noise. At one point last night we stood in the wait station craving a pocket of quiet, and a waiter said, “Do you ever just stand here and get lost in the noise?” Letting it wash over you is your best defense, trying to make sense of it only gives you headache. There’s a festival in town this weekend, and it’s noisy from morning to night. Caravans of cars and trucks, bringing in booths, engines idling as they set up. Hordes of chattering tourists. Yard parties that stretch into the night. It leaves you wanting some peace and quiet. It makes you yearn for Sunday morning. Waking slowly, speaking quietly or not at all. Whether you go to church or not, maybe remembering times you did, remembering times you had to be calm and good. Maybe nursing a headache lingering from the raucous night before. So this morning we’re looking for Sunday songs. Songs about Sunday, songs that make you feel like Sunday morning, or songs that you like to listen to on a Sunday morning. As ever, the playlist is interactive. So add what you like, or leave a song in the comments and I’ll add it for you as soon as I get a chance.

What? Another flatbread recipe? That’s right! This time of year my favorite way to eat is lots of little dishes that you eat with your hands, so I’m constantly concocting some sort of flatbread to use as a utensil and a sopper-upper. This is a sort of version of socca, the french chickpea flour flatbread. I love socca, but I find it very difficult to make, so in an attempt to limit the amount of cursing I do in front of the boys, I like to develop less frustrating methods. I’ve added eggs, and that helped. But in this case, I added yeast and some regular flour. It’s still vegan, but it’s not gluten free any more. It was simple to work with, though! It all came together like a charm–easy to roll out and bake. And tasty, too!

Here’s the Sunday Songs playlist. Have a peaceful Sunday, everyone!

Continue reading

Parsnip and semolina flatbreads

Parsnip rosemary flatbread

Parsnip rosemary flatbread

It’s been a heavy sort of a week. Everything feels a little more dangerous and uncertain than it generally does in our part of the world. It would be easy to fall into an anxious frame of mind, and hide under the covers all day. I’ve got all sorts of heavy thoughts in my head, because I’m that kind of person, and all sorts of serious things to talk about. But the thoughts that keep rising to the surface are much lighter, brighter thoughts. They’re about a cartoon. We have a fairly strict NO TV BEFORE SCHOOL policy in our house. But, like all our fairly strict policies, it’s made to be broken. Lately we’ve been watching one 11-minute episode of Adventure Time each morning, and I can’t tell you how much it’s grown on me! It’s the story of Jake the Dog and Finn the Human, they live together (without parental supervision!) in a giant rambling tree house. They go on adventures. They wander their strange world looking for evil to fight and people to save–they’re self-proclaimed heroes. The beautiful thing about them is that they’re like children–they’re like my children–they’re silly and they make dumb fart jokes, they don’t fully understand the adult world around them, but they wade through it anyway. They don’t fully understand their own emotions, but they try. They’re cheerful, they’re pranksters, they’re good friends, they’re up for anything. They seem fearless, and in many episodes it’s their fearlessness that saves them. Because in the cartoon, as in life, oftentimes the evildoers’ only real power is to cause fear and manipulate people based on their fear. But they’re not fearless. In my favorite episode, Finn confronts his fear of the ocean, using Jake’s five-step method (which includes rhyming couplets!). I’m scared of the ocean! It was bizarrely comforting to learn that Finn is too. And he never overcomes that fear, he learns to embrace it, because all heroes have a flaw. Finn and Jake live in the land of Ooo, which is a very strange place. But while all the strange situations feel so familiar, and the characters feel so human–flawed and morally complicated, petty and generous, brave and foolish. There’s a childlike logic to the show that makes it feel so perfect–that makes it comforting and inspiring in the way that talking to Malcolm and Isaac is comforting and inspiring. The way they look at the world is so rationally nonsensical and hopeful. I like to walk to school with Isaac humming the end credits theme song in my head. “We can wander through the forest and do so as we please.” That’s what we do! We wander through the forest together. And it’s a little easier to face a heavy scary world if you do so as heroes, looking for adventure, trying to be righteous, trying to muddle through.

These flatbreads contain some pureed parsnip, which makes them nice and soft and flavorful. And they have rosemary and semolina, which makes them even nicer and more flavorful. Malcolm loved them and asked if he could have one for his lunch the next day, but the dog ate the leftover flatbreads right off the table! Bad girl!!

Here’s the ending theme of Adventure Time.

Continue reading

Honey tamari bagels

Honey tamari bagels

Honey tamari bagels

I’m in a mood to submit things! I want to send out a million stories and queries and copies of my film or my screenplay, I want to send them to anybody I can think of! Maybe it’s the spring weather, making me feel as though I need to plant a lot of seeds, so that I can sit by and eagerly watch them rise up out of the ground! In my dreams I’ll have a whole garden of bright, unfurling green shoots, and who knows what they’ll become? Who knows? I want to be on tenterhooks every time I check my email or collect the real mail, because you never know what could happen! Somebody somewhere might like something. It’s not impossible. It happens to people sometimes. Not me, ever, but you never know! And they’ll be all, “well we want to pay you hundreds of dollars for this remarkable two-page story, and set you up with a lucrative contract for writing novels and cookbooks and making films–you’ll have complete artistic freedom, and you’ll really have no financial worries for the rest of your days.” And I’ll be all, “don’t insult me, man. It’s not about the money, it’s about the art, you can keep your contract.” Yeah. I was searching for places to submit things, this morning–you know, any random place accepting any kind of submission, and I came across the online version of a very hip literary magazine. And the funny thing about this online version of a very hip literary magazine was that all of the contributions were hip, ironic little pieces that disparaged ironic hipsters!! I don’t even know what that is. It would be self-loathing, if it involved that much passion, but it obviously didn’t, because it’s very hard to maintain a sarcastic tone if you’re feeling any actual emotion. I felt very curmudgeonly, reading this online literary magazine. I felt cranky about the fact that the word “ironic” is so overused that it no longer has much meaning. I felt cranky because what I was reading wasn’t satire, it could barely muster the energy to be sarcastic, it was just clever and snarky. And I felt a little sad because nothing beautiful can come from such insincerity and soullessness. It’s so easy to be negative and critical and cruel. It’s so easy to elicit a response to mockery and hatred. These are the kind of seeds that grow fast and hardy. They’re bright and colorful and hard to miss. They crowd out the more fragile, less impressively-blossomed plants. They have a funny smell, and they don’t last very long, but there will always be plenty more to take their place.

I said I’d been putting tamari and honey in everything lately, so of course, sooner or later it would be bagels. I thought these were really good. The flavor is very subtle, as I believe flavor should be in a bagel. But it’s a nice mix of savory and sweet. It’s umami, mama.

This is beautiful! It’s Sara and Maybelle Carter singing Sweet Fern.
Continue reading

Chickpea flour cake baked with tarragon and artichoke hearts AND spinach sauteed with white beans and black truffle butter

chickpea flour cake baked with tarragon and artichoke hearts

chickpea flour cake baked with tarragon and artichoke hearts

Malcolm wore flannel pajamas under his trousers all winter long. Why did he do it? He has his reasons! Was it for warmth? for comfort? for a sense of extra security? Out of laziness? Was it a nouveau-grunge look? (Grunge is more than a stylistic choice for Malcolm, it’s a way of life, and if you doubt his devotion to the cause, look at his fingernails.) These last few days, the unseasonably cool weather has given way with complete submission to the unseasonably warm weather. No peaceful transition of balmy spring-like days. Cold to hot, just like that. We took a walk after dinner one evening, and we were all a little overdressed and a little warm, and none more so than malcolm, with flannel pjs inside of his flannel-lined trousers. We said, “Are you really still…?” He said, in a sweetly funny, sighing voice, “I regret it.” And, of course, this got me thinking about Malcolm and regrets. It really seems as if children have no regrets – my children anyway! Perhaps they’re prodigiously lacking in compunction, but it seems as if their friends are just the same. And this is yet one more way that I wish I was more like them. I feel as though I live my life under the weight of a vast network of regrets. They cling to me like spider webs as I pass through my days. They seem silly, but they add up, and they slow me down. Why did I have that last cup of coffee when my heart already feels like it’s going to explode? Why did I have that last glass of wine when my head feels as if it’s going to explode? Why did I say what was on my mind when I knew nobody wanted to hear it? Why was I so snappish with Isaac when he hadn’t really done anything bad? Why did I curse angrily in front of Malcolm when I know it makes him sad? And on and on it goes. Sometimes, I’ll have a faint hint of uneasiness, a nagging feeling that I’d done or said something regrettable, and in trying to unravel that one string, I’ll pull on a million others, so I can feel my heart sinking over something foolish I said decades ago. But my boys aren’t like that. They move right on with their lives. They’re never angry for long, they’re not resentful. They don’t store up bitter feelings about something somebody else has done, and they do themselves the same favor. This makes them light of heart despite the fact that their hearts are endearingly full at all times. Sometimes they’re irritatingly on-with-the-next-thing. Sometimes I have to stop myself from shouting, “You just spilled a pint of juice on your homework! Show some remorse you little psychopath!!” I think I’ll try to be more like them. I think I’ll imagine myself throwing away my regrets the way the boys throw rocks into the water–joyously and wildly, never worrying about the splashes, never regretting the loss of the stones.

Chickpea flour tart

Chickpea flour tart

I thought this dinner turned out so pretty! I’m not even sure what to call it. I made a batter such as I might make for puffy socca or chickpea flour crepes. I cheat and add eggs and a bit of white flour, as you may recall, and this makes the batter lighter and easier to work with, whilst retaining the singular taste and texture of chickpea flour. So I did this, and then I arranged artichoke hearts, grape tomatoes, tarragon leaves and mozzarella cheese in a pretty pattern on the surface of the batter, and then I baked it! I thought it tasted very good! I love tarragon, but my boys were disconcerted by whole leaves of it, so you might want to chop it up. Or use rosemary or basil instead. Chickpea flour tends to result in a slightly dry texture, so we ate this with sauteed spinach, white beans, and black truffle butter. The combination was absolutely delicious!! You could eat it with any kind of soft sauteed vegetable or even a simple tomato sauce, though.
spinach sauteed with white beans and black truffle butter

spinach sauteed with white beans and black truffle butter

Of course it’s going to be Edith Piaf, with Non, Je ne regrette rien, isn’t it?
Continue reading

Cinnamon egg bagels

Cinnamon egg bagels

Cinnamon egg bagels

If you love something, set it free, if it comes back, it’s yours, if it doesn’t, it was never yours to begin with. Remember that old chestnut? That old motivational adage from the seventies? It was usually printed in some flowery font over a blazing sunset that was meant to be inspiring but always looked more apocalyptic to me. Because the adage is all very well, but what if it goes, “If you love something set it free, and it probably loves you very much and fully intends to come back to you eventually, but it might chase a squirrel across the street and get hit by a car before it has the chance”? What about that scenario? This is how my mind works! When I love someone, I worry about them, and I like to keep them close beside me in the gentle prison of my anxiety. But I’m an equal opportunity worrier! Everybody gets this smother-love – David, the boys, the dog – there’s plenty to go around, because it feeds on itself and grows like a little worry culture. Putting a positive spin on this characteristic, I would say that it’s the result of my prodigious imagination. I can’t not picture a million different outcomes to every event, most of them dire. Sure they’re unlikely, but they could happen, they probably have happened, some time in history! Apparently there’s a name for this – David heard it on the radio. It’s called catastrophizing. He does it, too, which means that our boys are in for a real treat as they enter their teenage years. In an interesting turn of events, it’s Malcolm–my firstborn baby and probably the recipient of my most intense anxious affection–who is helping me to overcome it. Our old dog, Steenbeck, was a racer. If you let her off-leash, she’d take off, and she was scarily fast. She was a hunter, so her doggy instincts would override her sense of obedience and any persuasive influence of the comforts of domesticity, and she’d be gone. So I never ever let her off-leash. I never set her free. Well, things have changed this time around. Malcolm and I take Clio for walks. We came to a field way down the tow path, far from the street. “Let her go, mom,” Malcolm said. “Oh no no,” I replied, “we have to wait and see what kind of dog she is. We don’t know her well enough yet. In fact, we probably won’t know her well enough until she’s about fourteen, and too old to get very far very fast.” And then Malcolm just…dropped her leash. She raced around a bit, and then she came back! He threw a stick, she ran after it, and then she came back! She made little circles and explored different areas of the field, but we were always the center if her attention, and she always came back to us! The other night after dinner we went for a walk on the other other side of the canal, and I took her leash right off! She raced along side of us, collecting the boys when they got too far ahead or lagged too far behind. She danced between Malcolm and Isaac, and always came back to me, white paws flashing in a blur of grey, eyes bright and happy. And I felt happy, too, I felt nearly ecstatic. It feels good to let go for a time. The other day, Malcolm told me that I could have a lifelong play date with him until he’s eighteen. “What happens when you turn eighteen?” I asked. “Oh, I’ll probably live on the other side of the world.” And you know, I hope he does–for a while–when he’s ready. I hope I’m strong enough to let him go. It’s a comfort to know that when it comes time, he’ll be the one to help me through it.

My boys don’t like cinnamon raisin bagels. But they love cinnamon. I can’t find plain cinnamon bagels anywhere, so I decided to make them myself. I’ve been making bagels nearly every week since I first made the pumpkin bagels some months ago. I’ve been trying to perfect the skill. One week I burned them, one week I added whole wheat flour, which was good, but a little coarse. I think these turned out really well! Light and dense and chewy, just like a bagel should be. They have a little cinnamon sugar folded in, as well as cinnamon in the original mix, but it’s quite a subtle flavor. You could add another teaspoon of cinnamon if you’re interested in something pow-ier.

Here’s The Velvet Underground with I’m Set Free.
Continue reading