The Looming

Do you see that ladybug on the wall in the lamplight?  We are currently enjoying our annual ladybug invasion.  They are everywhere in the house, marching across the sunny windows, holding meetings in the laundry room, congregating on the ceiling in The Boy Wonder's room, and lolling about on the houseplants.  Princess Hazelnut likes to sing songs to them.  It's ridiculous.  The sort of cuteness overload that makes your heart hurt.

I have a silly amount of recipes I have been stockpiling to share here when time allows.  Alas, there are only so many hours in the day, and only so many neurons continuing to fire properly in my (scatter)brain by the time the kids are in bed, the lights are turned off in my office, and I find my way to my favorite corner of the living room.  Or the bedroom.  God bless that warm, comfortable bed.

This weekend, I finally cooked from Moosewood Daily Special, and I think I might have fallen in love with the cookbook.  A few months ago, I ran across an entire box of incredible vegetarian cookbooks at a yard sale, and this was one of my finds from that day, but as with so many of the finer things in life, it got put on the back burner while the rest of life swirled around in its busy way.

It is a lovely cookbook, full of the soups and salads that Moosewood Restaurant would have as their popular - wait for it - daily specials.  So you turn to a page for a Creamy Onion Soup (be still my beating heart), for instance, and at the bottom of the page, it lists three or four of the salads that marry well with it.  Menu planning at its absolute best.  When I simply cannot bear to take the time to think through multiple components for a meal, I can turn here and know that all I will need to add is some fresh focaccia bread or a baguette from the bakery I am so blessed to have as a client.

Don't hate me because I have beautiful clients.  With offices in perfectly wonderful locations.  And more work than I know what to do with at the moment.

And tonight's dinner - oh my - of blue cheese ravioli made with wonton wrappers (because I barely had the time to be stuffing the wrappers much less time to make pasta dough from scratch this afternoon).  So delicious.  I really, truly should have been in my office rather than carefully sealing those ravioli, but a girl must have her priorities.

Recipes to come.  All in due time.  With pictures and descriptions and my usual absurdities.  And my newest and best-yet recipe for natural deodorant.  For now, I leave you with my new favorite album to listen to online - perfect for a rainy day indoors (I would know, we just had four days of grey skies and rain - it was a minor miracle and we loved every soggy minute of it).  If you need me, I will be in my office, madly and hilariously attempting to finish these infernal W2s and 1099s before that looming IRS deadline.

Honey Facial Wash

Honey is such a miracle product.  I love to purchase raw honey from local farmers, using it to sweeten the kids' oatmeal, to soothe sore throats and coughs, to dab on tiny boo-boos, to drizzle on homemade biscuits slathered with butter, and to make granola.  Such a simple, pure, amazing product.

Studying bees during The Boy Wonder's science lessons only added to the honey idolatry around these parts.  It's just good, good stuff.  And honeybees are perfectly amazing creatures.

Honey has antibacterial and antimicrobial properties, and because local flowers are used by the honeybees, it is thought (but unproven) that the consumption of local honey can help with allergies.  The fact that it tastes like heaven doesn't hurt.

Last summer, Crunchy Betty wrote a detailed series of posts on using honey as a face wash, and I was stunned by the idea.  I had never even heard of it, and here she was suggesting that honey was good for acne, for aging skin, for dry skin or oily skin, for sensitive skin and for normal skin, and it was healing to boot, and would even help heal acne scars.

See, I have bad skin.  For many, many years I fought a losing battle with cystic acne that cost absurd amounts of money, wreaked havoc on my self-esteem, and resulted in scars over most of my face.  It has only been in the past seven years that I have found a cocktail of cleansers and creams that do not aggravate my skin, but I have long been uncomfortable with the amount of chemicals in these products.  And it has occurred to me more than once that all these drying products would possibly exacerbate the onset of wrinkles as I age.

There is no end to the injustice.

I do not care to speak about this usually, for even as the intervening years have softened the blow of that decade in which I wore heavy makeup to cover my blemishes, I get a little nervous still about the thought of changing my cleansing routine and possibly causing problems to resurface.

But this honey face wash had my interest piqued.  So I went for it.  And I haven't looked back in months now.

Using raw honey is important (Crunchy Betty explains the reasons here), and I have easy access in my area to local, raw honey, but you can find raw, truly unheated honey at most health food stores as well.  I have also used regular old store-bought honey in a pinch, and found it worked just fine.

I follow Crunchy Betty's routine almost completely.  In the mornings, when there is no makeup to be removed, I simply wet my face with warm water, rub about 1/2 tsp of honey onto my face, and then rinse off.  I follow that with a tinted moisturizer that contains sunscreen, and some loose powder, and I'm good to go.  No need for toners or acne creams or anything else.  {Well, there is usually mascara and eyeliner involved, but that has more to do with vanity than with skin, so we'll skip the boring parts about how I do my eye makeup}.

At night, to make sure I have completely removed my makeup, I again follow one of Crunchy Betty's routines: I wet my face, squeeze about 1/2 tsp of honey into my palm, and then add about 1/2 tsp of baking soda to the honey, mixing it up with my finger.  I apply the scrub to my face, and rinse with warm water.  Following that, to rebalance the pH of my skin - because the baking soda will alter the balance somewhat - I use a homemade toner comprised of 50% water and 50% apple cider vinegar.  I then apply a little bit of tea tree oil and jojoba oil to my face for moisturizing and blemish-preventing protection.

I've followed this cleansing routine for the past six months now, and I cannot help but think it's a whole lot of fabulousness.  Facial cleanser is one more item crossed off the shopping list, and yet another notch that can be added to the belt of consumer anarchy.

Gah.  That might be my worst metaphor yet.

This post was featured on Natural Mothers Network.

Homemade Almond Milk

Sometimes, when I find out how easy it is to make something that I never thought twice about purchasing at the store, I feel like a Class-A dummy for not having figured it out sooner.  Did you know all it takes to make your own almond milk is a few almonds, some water, and a wee bit of vanilla extract?

This, my friends, is another feather in the hat of consumer anarchy.

Or something like that.  My metaphors rarely make sense.

Almond milk is silly good stuff, as creamy as whole milk, but much lower in fat and calories, and loaded with a variety of vitamins and minerals.  I stopped using regular milk in my cereal a few years back, partly because I was mildly alarmed at the processing involved in creating skim milk, and also because cow's milk simply stopped tasting good to me.

For a while, I used soy milk, and then I switched to rice milk or almond milk, but I wasn't big on the over-processing or the stabilizers that were used, so I did what I generally do when presented with options I'm not crazy about:  I walked away and said "Aw, just forget it."  I say that more often than I would like.

Hence the water in my oatmeal, and the lack of granola in my diet lately.

Then I overheard someone talking about making their own almond milk.


Well, good grief.  That had not even occurred to me.  You take some almonds and soak them overnight in a bowl of water.  Then you drain the almonds, put them in a blender with water, add a little vanilla extract and some sweetener if you need it, and voila.  You have almond milk.  Thick, creamy, fresh, almond milk with the purest flavor imaginable.

Want to blow your kids' minds?  Get them to help make it.  And then serve it with their cereal instead of regular milk.  Princess Hazelnut actually cried this morning when she found out I had not soaked some almonds overnight to make more almond milk for her breakfast.

There are solids left over after making the almond milk, and I could not bear the thought of throwing them away, so I put them in a jar in the fridge for a day or so and did a little searching.  There are, as should be expected, some wacko ideas online for what to do with the leftover paste, but my favorite, by far, suggested laying the solids out on a cookie sheet and baking it for about an hour until it is dried out and it becomes - Ta Da - almond meal.

See that little jar of clumpy almond solids up there?  Yeah, that's going straight into the oven now.  I have big plans for the resulting almond meal.  Cookies, I think...

*****

ALMOND MILK (yields 3 cups)

• 1 cup raw almonds
• 3 cups water (in addition to the water used to soak the almonds)
• 1/2 tsp vanilla extract, optional
• 2 pitted dates or 2 tsp agave syrup, optional

1. Soak the almonds in water for six hours or longer.
2. Drain the almonds, discarding the soaking water.
3. Place the almonds, 3 cups water, vanilla extract and dates or agave syrup (if using) in a blender and blend until almost smooth.
4. Pour through a strainer to remove the solids (and save the solids for other uses).
5. The almond milk will keep in the fridge for 3 or 4 days.  Shake before using.

Space Held for The Morning

I have overbooked myself again, taking on another new client slightly in advance of the end of a large project with another client, and I feel our family's pace picking back up now, just as The Carnivore has entered his busiest period in months.  The good news always seems to be that the busier we are, the more we are able to accomplish.  Tasks constrict or grow to fill the space they are given, I think, so when I attempt to cram a growing pile of clients into a day already filled with the children's learning time, pressing household duties, and a couple of personal pursuits as well, I find that efficiency can go through the roof.  In a good way.

But then again, my ability to take this all in stride might have more to do with recent enhancements to my morning routine than with any sort of brilliant insights into competency that I may have to offer.

Waking myself up, it turns out, is far preferable to that jarring feeling of being shaken awake by a child who already has a list of demands that need to be met.

I just don't work well under those circumstances.  This new habit of being the first one up (on purpose, no less) has been nearly perfect.  And I recently took away the kids' morning cartoons during the week, so the absence of advertising and bright colors and loud noises has had a positive effect on the overall tone of the morning as well.

I should have done this a year ago, but I had grown so fond of the electronic babysitter handling the first few minutes of the day that I sunk into a rut without giving it much thought.

The days are beginning to flow a little more smoothly now.  I arise at seven, and I practice yoga, get myself dressed and ready for the day, get some quiet time, and then, at eight, I wake up the kids, snuggling and playing with them for a few minutes before racing them to the breakfast table and getting some protein and fiber in them first thing - before they have a chance to let hunger affect their delicate temperaments.

I do not say that disparagingly, mind you.  When I have not eaten enough protein, I feel weak and a little bit dumb.  When I haven't consumed enough fresh fruits and vegetables, I feel sluggish.  A lack of whole-grain fiber makes me moody.  Have you ever kept a food diary and tracked the way your moods and energy levels change according to the types of food you eat?  I highly recommend it (and it beats blindly trusting the FDA or a faddish diet book for generic nutrition advice).

We listen to classical music during breakfast and lunch, and that too has been a pleasant addition to our daily rhythms.  It calms the kids when they are getting feisty; it settles mama when I start feeling edgy.  Our history lessons this year are focused on the Baroque period, so I chose Bach and Vivaldi for our composer studies, opting to fully immerse in only two composers rather than cramming in as many as we could.  Such a lovely part of our day.  Especially when we were listening to Vivaldi at dinner one night, and The Boy Wonder schooled The Carnivore and I on some facts he learned about Vivaldi in music class at his homeschool academy.

Homeschooling in our family is two parts frustrating, one part challenging, and one part rewarding.  That moment landed solidly in the rewarding column.  I need to keep a running list of those events as they happen.  They do not occur as often as I originally assumed they would, but when they do, it is pure magic.

And so the mornings are beginning to improve.  An earlier and less distracted start time allows us to move more deliberately and intentionally through breakfast and our lessons, which in turn keeps all of our moods in check so that the afternoon lies ahead of us with just a little bit more promise and a lot less frustration.

Deliberate.  Intentional.  Those are good goals for the day, I think.

When Homeschooling Is Not Lovely: Chaos and Space

Homeschooling can be such good, good stuff.  Getting to spend so much of our time together during these early years, attending classes at the nature center and the botanical gardens as a family, learning simultaneously with our children, enjoying dinner conversations about classical music and art and history.  

It is a great life.  

Except for when it's not.  

Normally, when we hit a brick wall, I know well enough to step back and take a few days off from our lesson plans, to let the learning happen organically as we set aside the worksheets and the assignments and explore other interests, seeing where they take us.  

But our Christmas break was only a few weeks ago, and I think some of our current problem may be that we are in need of more structure rather than less.  The Boy Wonder would have seen it as a reward to go in a freer direction for a few days, and that was not the sort of message I wanted to send after the whining and foot-dragging that has been going on as of late.

Now, he is a boy, of course, and a seven-year-old at that.  Being a slowpoke is in his job description, and even on the best of days, I have to say "Come ON, buddy," at least 57 times.  Eating a sandwich takes 45 minutes.  Brushing his teeth takes a minimum of 5 minutes.  Feeding the dogs can take up to an hour, allowing for time to watch a lizard, to pee off the porch steps, and to completely forget what he is doing and head to the sandbox for a while.  Luckily, he is able to focus when he is reading a book, but then the focus is so complete that he doesn't hear me calling him unless I use a megaphone.

Sometimes I understand why teachers are so quick to recommend Ritalin.  A classroom full of distractible children does seem like it could get the tiniest bit frustrating, doesn't it?

Oh, of course I am kidding.  Mostly.

I like structure, you see.  Schedules, to-do lists, and the like.  Where this gets dicey is when I don't notice that some tweaks need to happen to our routine and I just keep trying to force a square peg (The Boy Wonder) into a round hole (my schedule).  

Before we had children, structure was so much less important, but as Life with Baby began to sink in, I realized the only way anything would ever get done again was if I paid attention to the baby's internal clock and scheduled all other responsibilities around it.  It would work for short periods, and then he would shift his napping or nursing schedule, and I would put all my clients on hold for a few days until a new rhythm was established and then I would juggle the rest of our life around it and move on again.

Until a new schedule shift happened, at which time we would repeat the whole cycle.  We were living on the edge, you understand.

The real issue right now, I think, is that we have been following this current routine for so long that it didn't occur to any of us that it wasn't working any longer until, lo and behold, it very much was not working at all.

Oy.

And I'm the one who keeps espousing a desire to be more present, yes?

So embarrassing.

Small changes have been happening on their own lately, with me recognizing the need to rise before everyone else and to make time for yoga and scripture reading before I wake the rest of the household; and then to end the day with a little bit more time for reading or writing once the kids have closed their eyes and have again begun to resemble the angels they can be.

It is those 12 hours in the middle that merit adjustment, and it is there that I have aimed nearly all of my attention in order to ferret out what must change.  Heather from Beauty That Moves posted her household routine recently, and there was one thing she said that has been my overriding inspiration and comfort while I have contemplated shaking up my kids' (and my) previously set-in-stone routine.  Her daily rhythm is set out in blocks of time, which is the same sort of way my own mind works when attempting to fulfill each of my roles on a daily basis.  As she stated in her post, "Blocks of time are not meant to be filled to the very minute, rather they are space held for certain tasks or projects to be completed within."

Yes.  

[Breathe in.  Breathe out.]

It is a most lovely way to think about it.  Somehow everything seems so much more doable when I think about space being held for each of the responsibilities of our day.  I can hold space in the early morning for my quiet time.  Space will be held at 5:30 for our family dinner time.  The children's story- and bedtimes are less of a chore when I realize I have held space for that time in the late evening.  

I simply need to rearrange our time blocks right now, until we find a way to work and learn during the best times of day for those things to occur for each of us.  I must only hold the space for work, for learning time, for the children to play and run around.  Out of chaos, I will hold space.

On the Nourishing

Sometimes I can be terribly dense about recognizing ways to nourish myself.  I can occasionally dredge up moments of intelligence, at least enough to realize that in the hot, muggy days of summer, I prefer cold, sometimes astringent foods.  Marinated cucumbers, cottage cheese topped with fruit, granola stirred into yogurt, cold bean salads.  And if that is the case, the idea that cold foods are best in the summer, then the inverse must also be true at the opposite time of year, yes?

In a perfect world, I would be aware of the correlation, but the truth is, even though I do begin craving hearty soups when the weather turns colder, I seldom remember to stick with warming foods throughout the season.

Inevitably, on a chilly afternoon, I will crave a coffee treat, and so I will shoot into the kitchen to whip up a coffee milkshake, only to find myself shivering and cranky an hour later.  Or I will make a green smoothie for breakfast when it is 30 degrees outside and our hardwood floors feel like sheets of ice, and then I won't quite understand why my mood is so edgy and my stomach feels tense.

Self-awareness stumps me when I get too flighty to pay attention to my surroundings.  This past fall, when I was a bit desperate to re-balance myself, and I embarked on a seven-day cleanse, I began to read up on Ayurvedic constitutions and its corresponding nutrition information, and I finally began to put a little more thought into the types of food I was consuming at this particular time of year.

I should point out that I do not fully subscribe to Ayurveda as a way of life, but I do think a lot can be learned by studying its holistic and preventive approach to health.  If you are interested in reading just a little snippet on what it is all about, this is an easy-to-understand and very non-threatening primer on the subject.

My constitution, according to what I have read and understood thus far, is almost equally balanced between two of the types, so I find the nutritional advice a bit confusing and disjointed, but what I have gleaned is that at this time of year, when I have trouble getting warm, and focus is harder for me to come by, warm, moist foods are very important.

Knowing this, and following it relatively closely, has had an immeasurable difference in my energy levels and concentration for the past few months.  At a time of year when I am often out of sorts and prone to very mild depressive tendencies, I have found myself calmer, less prickly, and much more inclined to think creatively.

This is nothing to sneeze at, my friends.  Last winter was brutal.  And it followed a very emotionally draining fall in which we lost my beloved grandfather and came dangerously close to losing The Carnivore as well.  To have gone through such sadness and stress so quickly, immediately before the coldest months of the year, was a recipe for disaster, to be sure.  This year was almost certainly going to be a walk in the park in comparison, but I was brooking no uncertainty this time around.  Thus the focus on internal awareness, on being more present in each moment, on practicing yoga daily, and on altering my diet just enough to provide a more nourishing atmosphere.

And the difference is striking.  Dinners include more chili, lentils, casseroles, and roasted or braised vegetables.  In addition to my steel-cut oatmeal, I have experimented with other hot breakfast cereals, using barley or quinoa (as shown in the photo at top, with blueberries and bananas).  Cinnamon and ginger find their way into each of the cereals, as do cooked fruits.

It is so simple, isn't it?  Raw, cold foods in the summer.  Hot, moist, stewed foods in the winter.  Working with the weather to find a way to a proper place of nourishment.  It is simple, yes, and also so very comforting.

Chocolate Vegan Death Cake

I have lately taken to carrying my camera around in my purse again.  For too long now, I have relied on my phone as my primary camera, and the result has been that I no longer remember to take daily photographs.  Habits are important to me, little rituals to keep me focused; without them, I flounder around forgetting to do simple things like washing my hair, or going to the grocery store.

We had dinner at a friend's house last night, and I was so glad I remembered to bring my camera.  The evening was lovely, and deserved to be commemorated.  There was a scrumptious African sweet potato stew, a baby who charmed us with his gummy grin, and the only two pictures I have of myself and A.M. together were taken about 25 years apart.  Last night would have been a great time to have taken another, and to have gotten a snapshot of that glorious stew.

If only I had remembered to take my camera out of my purse.


Gah.

At least the first part of the day was preserved for posterity's sake.  After suffering through the excesses of Christmas, we have gone mostly dessert-free around here for the past few weeks, but I finally reached the end of my rope.  I needed chocolate, you see, and I had one particular recipe in mind.

My friend B.S. (you have no idea how happy I am that those are her initials) has a little bit of cake magic in her, and she has been known to show up at tough times with magical foods.  It will likely irritate her that I mention her inherent goodness in a public setting, but I don't really care.

She turned up at the hospital last year when my grandmother was having surgery, and put her hilarious pudgy baby into my anxious mother's arms.  Then she reached into her purse and pulled out a few pieces of this cake, wordlessly handing them over to me.  I nearly wept.  Not because it meant so much to me that a friend would come to the hospital with goodies (even though that was weep-worthy), but because the cake itself was so ridiculously delicious.

I mean, it is a vegan cake.  How good can it be, right?  This cake is absurd, it's so good.  So moist it is shocking that it even holds together, with a tender, chewy crumb, and a purity of flavor.  There is no butter, which is normally the overarching taste in a cake (not that there is anything wrong with that).  In this case, rather than butter, there is coffee and chocolate, melding together into a perfect simple essence.

Love songs should be written about cakes like this.  The recipe is from my favorite vegetarian restaurant The Grit, which means it already has The Boy Wonder's stamp of approval - he has, after all, eaten his way across their entire dessert case and back, at least twice.  As a matter of fact, this is probably the fourth of their cake recipes that I have now baked at home (although one or two of them had to be replicated to the best of my ability, because those recipes were not in their cookbook).

This one is in the cookbook, but because B.S. (best initials ever) serves it without the frosting, and that is therefore how I crave it now, I chose to go without the icing as well.  Also, I did not want to trouble myself with running to the store to pick up some silken tofu.

Other than that, I changed very little about the recipe.  I made it using raw sugar and homemade vanilla extract, and because I do not care for caffeinated children, I used decaf coffee in the recipe.  Decaf does not have the freshest flavor though, so if you can hide the cake from your own heathens children, I strongly recommend using full-voltage coffee.  I also added about 1/4 cup of cacao nibs to the batter, partly because I didn't have quite enough cocoa, but also because I have been trying to find a way to use these nibs.  They gave great texture to the cake, adding a bit of crunch , but the nibs are intense in flavor, and if you don't dig extremely bitter chocolate, you will not want to even consider such a thing.

Also, since it's vegan, feel free to call this cake a health food (even though it is the farthest thing from it).

*****

CHOCOLATE VEGAN DEATH CAKE, adapted from The Grit

Note: I used a 10-inch, super deep springform pan for this cake.  You can also use a Bundt pan, but do not fill more than 3/4 of the way - if there is leftover batter, just make a few cupcakes and freeze them (this cake freezes beautifully).  If making a layer cake and frosting as well, bake this in three 9-inch round cake pans.

• 4 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 3 cups sugar
• 1 cup cocoa powder
• 1 Tbs baking soda
• 2 tsp salt
• 1 1/2 cups vegetable oil
• 2 Tbs pure vanilla extract
• 3 cups strong brewed coffee
• 1/4 cup cider vinegar

1. Grease and flour pans (see head note), and preheat oven to 350 degrees.
2. In the large bowl of your electric mixer, sift the dry ingredients together.
3. Add oil and vanilla extract.
4. On low speed, blend until fully combined.
5. Increase speed just a little, and gradually add coffee.
6. When mixture is smooth, reduce speed to lowest setting, and add vinegar, blending only until combined.  Do not overmix.
7. Divide batter between pans, and bake for 20 to 30 minutes, just until a knife comes out clean when inserted into the middle.

The Accidental Vegan-'Til-Six

I have long toyed with the idea of eating more vegan meals.  Not going entirely vegan, mind you.  I love cheese and eggs way too much for that sort of thing, and I do not believe in giving up anything I love unless the reason is compelling.

At a point though, It seemed to me that I was including unnecessary dairy in my meals, and so I switched out milk for soy or rice milk in my cereal a few years ago.  Then I got a little cranky about the processing involved in packaged non-dairy drinks, and in lieu of learning how to make my own almond milk, I just began to avoid cereal altogether.

Maybe a year ago, I started leaning vegan for breakfast.  Green smoothies, oatmeal, peanut butter toast, or baked apples and the like.  I started feeling more energetic in the mornings.

Not much later, due to better dinner planning, leftovers became more scarce and I had to start re-thinking lunch as well.  Without giving it much thought, I began falling back on my old staple of brown rice with beans and olive oil for lunch, or a big green salad topped with garbanzo or cannellini beans and a homemade vinaigrette.

Have you heard of Mark Bittman's habit of vegan before dinnertime?  It is what he credited for his weight loss a few years ago, along with other improvements to his health, and I thought it was a great idea when I first read it, especially for someone like me who enjoys challenging the mindless eating habits that are so easy to fall into.

But of course I forgot about it rather quickly.  Like so many other things I read.

A few days ago though, I realized I had gone the way of the part-time vegan myself.  Breakfast and lunch just happened organically {snort}, but even my snacks had gone vegan as well.  Instead of a piece of cheese or a small carton of yogurt, I found myself reaching for an apple or a handful of pumpkin seeds.

Huh.  And it's been going on for a while apparently.

Well, except for that day last week when I had an hour to kill in between appointments and I found myself both childless and flush with cash.  I snuck into a coffee shop with my computer and a wicked grin, and ordered a ginormous, completely ridiculous, overpriced and fully decadent, highly caffeinated drink.  With full-fat dairy.  And an extra shot of high fructose corn syrup.

And it was goooooooooood.

Spicy Cornbread

I used to joke that I married The Carnivore for his cornbread.  Even at the point when I took over all the cooking for our little family, cornbread was still his purview.  He claimed to not have a recipe, you see, so I couldn't take it over.  And I kind of liked it that way.

The only cornbread I recall having as a child was made from a box mix, or it had the unmistakable sweetness of sugar in it, and I just didn't care for any of that.  Then I fell in love with The Carnivore, and he began cooking for me, and he kind of blew my mind with his cornbread.  It was spicy rather than sweet, dense instead of fluffy, with a crisp crust and actual corn kernels inside.

Ridiculous yummy.

But we had two flaws in the system, the first being that The Carnivore never got home from work in time to make the cornbread when we needed it to go with lentils, or with Cuban black bean soup, or black eyed peas and collards.  The other problem, and a crucial one, was the waste factor.  We never managed to eat an entire batch in one sitting, and the leftovers didn't warm up well on the second day.

Waste makes me a little bit nuts.

Then I bought The Art of Simple Food with some birthday money a few years ago, and Alice's simple cornbread recipe started calling my name.  I knew enough of The Carnivore's tricks (add cheese, onions and jalapenos to the batter; and preheat the pan with a little bit of fat) that I thought I could adapt the recipe from the book to suit our purposes, while adding a few touches of my own.

The crowning touch was that I finally got wise enough {slaps forehead} to realize if I baked half the batch in my smaller 5-inch cast iron skillet, then I could also avoid the waste problem.  The other half of the batter could be refrigerated until the next day to go with the inevitable leftover beans.  Eureka.  Fresh cornbread two nights in a row.  No waste.

I cannot believe it took that long to figure that out.  Please, someone, anyone, act like this is the best advice you ever heard and that I am a genius for imparting my wisdom here.  Pretty please.  My ego is smarting.

I made quite a few changes to the original recipe in The Art of Simple Food - so many, in fact, that attribution is hardly necessary.  But here is the beauty of that particular cookbook, the whole thing is written so that you can take the general outline of her ideas and then run with it to make it your own.  She is lovely that way, you see, with her pure joy regarding food and the grace she allows for others to take her knowledge and change it all up a little.

I love that in a cookbook.  When I open the pages, I want to be inspired, not overwhelmed by recipes that seem to complicated for home use.  I want general advice, and cheeky little headnotes, techniques that make me excited to get into the kitchen.  This cookbook is perfect that way.  In fact, it is probably one of my handful of desert island cookbooks when it all comes down to it.

Which, by default, makes this my Desert Island Cornbread.

*****

SPICY CORNBREAD (inspired by The Art of Simple Food), makes 8 pieces

• 1 cup cornmeal (the coarser, the better)
• 3/4 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
• 2 tsp baking powder (you can make your own)
• 1 1/2 tsp coarse salt
• 1 tsp olive oil
• 1/2 onion, diced
• 1 to 2 hot peppers, minced (or 1 to 2 tsp crushed red pepper), optional
• 1 cup grated sharp cheddar cheese
• 1 cup corn kernels
• 1 cup milk
• 1 egg
• 4 Tbs butter, melted (plus 1 Tbs butter for the pan)

1. Preheat oven to 425 degrees.  
2. For the crispiest crust, put a 9- to 10-inch cast iron skillet into the oven while it preheats, with 1 Tbs of butter in the skillet.  
3. In a large bowl, add the cornmeal, flour, baking powder, and salt.  Stir together.
4. In a small skillet, heat the olive oil over medium-low heat, then add the onion and peppers (if using) and saute until onion is translucent, about 3 to 5 minutes.  Let cool for a minute or two.
5. Add the sauteed onion & pepper to the flour mixture, along with the cheese and corn kernels.  Stir together.
6. Pour the milk into a small bowl, and whisk in the egg.
7. Add the milk & egg to the flour mixture, and stir until well-mixed.
8. Stir the 4 Tbs of melted butter into the batter.
9. Take the skillet out of the oven, tilt it to distribute the melted butter, and pour in the batter.
10. Bake for 20 minutes, until cornbread is nicely browned on top, and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.

The Ritual of Morning

There is nothing quite so peaceful as a gray early morning, cloudy and still, the air full with the promise of an impending storm.  I awoke today to the loveliest heavy cloud cover, grateful to know the darkness would keep the kids in bed even longer than usual (bless the long silent minutes before the daily bloodshed begins).

As I have for the past few weeks, I began the day with yoga, so much better for me than my former habit of waiting until mid-morning to begin my practice.  With the house completely quiet, and only a lamp on in the living room for muted light, the time is perfect.  Just me and my mat, and the beautiful women of Namaste Yoga.  And a touch of lightning this morning, which I found nearly intoxicating.

After yoga, I sip hot water with lemon, in my chair by the fireplace, where I also spend a few minutes with my Bible, which I am currently reading in chronological order for the first time.  Have you ever read the Bible this way?  Fascinating to put the spiritual realm into a more historical context.  I wish I had tried it sooner.

Then comes coffee, a phone call to my mother, a little blog reading, and then (with a bang) comes the day.  If I didn't stay up so late reading, I swear I would wake up at 5 am just to revel in that beloved early morning stillness.  Today, though, with the bedroom still so dark, the children slept in and I didn't have the heart to wake them.  Why rush the day, yes?  The homeschool lessons, the nonstop Hobbit meal schedule, the work on my desk, the endless onslaught of emails.

No need to hurry, you see.  Intentional living means enjoying this moment, this serene time before the clamoring begins.  And so I took my coffee to the porch, in the welcome sixty-something degree January temperature, and I listened to the rain and the muted sound of distant thunder, and I watched the brilliant red cardinals fluff themselves up in the bare colorless trees.  And it was perfect.

Tranquil.

Languid.

And now here it is, nearly ten o'clock at night, and I can still hear the heathens giggling in bed.  It's a fine how-do-you-do, my friends.

As God is my witness, I will never let them sleep so late again.