So, Back To Cooking . . .

I did some ambitious cooking over the weekend. Or at least I think bagels are ambitious. They're so easily bought and can be really good when bought, so what's the point, right, but the LA Times did a big spread last week on bagels that included a recipe and tips, and I wanted to give it a shot even though they take two days to make. Here's the hook for me though: The more things I make from scratch, which is really a lot as of late, the more hearth-like I feel; like gather 'round my loving and modest yet inventive kitchen where I'll make you a pot of perfection from two beans and a carrot. I feel pioneering, resourceful, like a magician of sorts; a master nurturer, a creator -- it always comes back to some sort of Goddess Theory for me. Every time I put a good meal on the table that I created from the ground up, I feel like I'm saving the world, kinda. How the entire world and her ailments are connected to a few quinoa dishes and pie, I'm not sure. I'm only going off of raw feeling, like I usually do.

So the bagels. . . they took finesse. But every time I cook or bake I say that. I mean, what skill shines without finesse really? The bagels were close to perfect, though I think I know how I can make them perfect truly; perfect enough for Husband to eat at least. His heart is pure Cali now, but his palette remains true to New York. He said the bagels were a bit doughy, but the taste was there. I took this as a compliment even though he only had a bite. The girls, however, gobbled them up in a day. I had a couple myself. Doughy schmoughy.

Sunday morning, I made a mushroom Tofu Scramble and baked blueberry muffins. Mina woke first and when she came out of her room she said, "It smells funny in here," which wasn't really what I had hoped to hear. I had just added nutritionals yeast to the pan and it did smell a little funky. She is an extremely picky eater though I have to say that lately every home cooked meal has been a hit with her. She has requested seconds and asked that leftovers go into her lunch. Maya and I have almost the same exact taste in food so it's a thrill to cook for such an eager recipient. But with Mina I just hope for the best. I love that she has liked most everything in the great From Scratch Experiment. But when she said, "It's smell funny," I thought, Feh I can't win them all. When breakfast was on the table, I gave her much less tofu than I did Maya. I said, "Mina, the tofu tastes a little like soy sauce." Mina has tried to drink soy sauce straight from the bottle she likes it so much. She said, "Are you just trying to get me to try the tofu?" I said, "Pretty much." After the first bite, she yelled out, "Why does Maya have so much more than me!?" I said, "I didn't know if you'd like it. You said it smelled funny." She said, "Just because it smells funny doesn't mean it doesn't taste good." She demanded more. However, she wouldn't touch the homemade blueberry muffins. "You know I don't like blueberries," she said. "Uh, since when?" And Maya said, "Shoot, good, more for me," as she practically shoved muffins in her PJ pockets.

Steaming plate of scrambled mushroom tofu and muffins. If I didn't like blueberries, I might've still eaten these. Did I tell you that I took a raw food day-long class back in August? Back when I was pumped on transitioning more to raw foods? The class was given by the owner of Leaf Cuisine, who was intriguingly aloof and sharp-witted. He seemed a bit over it all in a weathered way. It seemed, with no obvious indication, that he internally struggled with the compassion and patience he projected and the fire of whirling insults and eye-rolling that possibly came instictually yet he suppressed. I loved this. He was handsome with greying blond surfer hair that was cut and swept back in a mature way. In between processing dates and chopping lemons and half-heartedly walking us through the menu hand outs, he'd casually drop snippets of his life in relation to the food. "Did you know that falafels were originally a raw dehydrated food, centuries ago? I learned this from the nomads of Egypt when I had that scuba diving business on the Red Sea." Huh? Later, I looked up his story and it was a doozy. He was basically run out of the town he lived in on the Red Sea with the end of a broken bottle by unsympathetic business partners who took over his business and any possessions with what he couldn't flee. He tried to fight these partners in the Egyptian courts, defending himself in Arabic.

So we learned how to make his kale salad. And raw mushroom soup. Oh and he lived in Paris in his early 20's, studying fine cuisine, then lived with a grandmother in Rome.

I signed up for the more advanced class that would be given in October. I was jazzed about learning more complicated stuff. As the weeks rolled on between courses, my raw food interest waned though I tried quite a few things. I found the amount of nuts in recipes upset my stomach a bit. Fruits and vegetables are obviously still by best friends, but I faltered with consistently experimenting with raw recipes. I gave in to the comfort of vegan cooking and baking, though I don't bake any where near as much as I used to. But when the second class came around, I was still intrigued to get more advanced raw instruction. When I showed up on the last Saturday of October for class, the kitchen of the rented synagogue was closed. No one else was there. I waited, and felt foolish after ten minutes. I called the restaurant and they said, "Oh yea, that was cancelled because only two people registered." Sigh. Thanks for telling me. I guess I won't be hearing any more swashbuckling raw chef stories.

Alright, I'm out. The dill rice is almost done.

Waiting For Tuesday

Husband left for New York on Wednesday night. He's going to his 20 year high school reunion, then he's bringing himself and Mina home on Tuesday. Some have asked why I'm not going to the reunion with him, and frankly, that's not fun. "Hey, 'member when we peed in the bushes near the locker room??" Yea, no. Knock yourself out, Husband. Betsy and I escorted each other to our reunion and I couldn't've imagined boring Husband to tears with more obscure and insider reminiscing. Betsy and I had a blast though. I did, however, make sure that Husband took the hottest pictures of me to show off. He was completely on board with this because my husband was not granted a growth spurt until AFTER high school, where, I believe, he then slowly sprouted into a big hunk of a man. But he still thinks not-to-fondly of being scrawny and un-hot in high school. "Would you have dated me in high school," he asks. And I say, "No." But I didn't really date in high school at all, number 1, and I'm three years older than him, so definitely not. Anyway, he's going to show up to his old high school, a big hunk of a man; Mr. Cool in a seersucker jacket and great jeans showing off photos of his trophy wife and beautiful children. Get all the ex-cheerleaders questioning why they didn't fawn all over him before. Knock 'em dead, baby!

He left on the red eye and by Thursday morning I hadn't received a text or a call reporting that he had arrived safely. And you might know by now that I'm not too fond of planes at the moment -- or, they're ok, just causing me some recent panic -- so, I see no text or call and I say to myself, "It's ok, he's fine." I try to call him, y nada. "He's fine. Should I turn on the news? Don't turn on the news." My anxiety was at a very low burn but burning none the less. I tried calling Mina. Nothing. Finally I called Mama Luz and I said breathlessly but cool, "Did he make it ok? Is he there?" And she said, "Oh yea. He and Mina are sound asleep curled up together in the guest bed." My anxiety melted to soft and squishy tenderness. I miss them both so much.

Husband sends me random one-line texts throughout the day. "Stupid humid - want to come home." Or "Your baby smells like onion chips!" (Meaning Mina's caught a case of baby B.O.) Or "I can easily turn into a fat slob in Long Island." Or "I haven't showered yet." Or "Did I tell you how beautiful our baby is?"

I really can't explain well enough how perfect this guy is for me. It's at a molecular level.

The reason I was able to keep Husband's plane-anxiety to that manageable slow burn yesterday morning, I believe, is because I haven't been drinking coffee. WHAT THE!? I know. When I got back from New York I just thought maybe I shouldn't really drink coffee anymore. It wasn't a grand announcement or goal. I just didn't. When I thought about it deeply, I knew that coffee was starting to effect me more dramatically than it has in the past. Some days I was fine, like I've been for most of my life, and other days I was becoming much more nervous and anxious and agitated than I've ever been before. Also, with the raw experiment, I'm not feeling the soy creamer. I know, deep down, that soy creamer should go, or so much of it anyway. In the couple weeks that I've been back, I've had a couple cups of coffee. Almost like, are you sure? And nothing. I'm not craving it or begging myself for it every morning. I have been drinking tea, green and black, but I feel much more calm and unnervous with the tea. I miss coffee, but in a symbolic sense. I love the smell still. I love the idea of coffee, of getting coffee, of loving coffee. I just haven't been drinking it. It's an odd concept for me to which I'm still adjusting. I can't even say that I've given up coffee. I just haven't been drinking it. My coffee pot still sits on my counter. We're like amicable ex-lovers who have always enjoyed each others company, but know it may be time to move on. I'll touch it and think fondly. But I don't turn it on. P.S. I've been drinking the sickest teas from Teany. I visited Teany during my last two trips to NY. I order online now too. The selection is overwhelming, but I'll recommend a couple: Earl Grey Creme -- sort of a lavender-y, vanilla-y black tea that's delicious; Japanese Cherry Green - fantastic! Almond -- very nutty and rich. Oh and they sent me the Celosia Blossom tea on accident, and watching the bound buds open up in the tea pot is beautiful.

I realize that when I'm all alone, I shop more. So hard to drop all vices at once. I bought this apron yesterday.

Raw Begets Raw

Since being home from NY, and since that exclamation point that I experienced on the air plane, I have been eating mainly raw. The experience on the plane made me more honest about who I am without all the extraneous examination. The favorite parts of myself became more clear, and that was that. So far, I've managed to hold on to a lot of that feeling. And after that experience I couldn't deny that even though I've blathered on about food and baking and this and that and blah blah blah, I mostly really like to eat a raw, fresh simple diet.

The raw cooking class last week helped that come into focus too. It was a beautiful class taught well and engagingly by Loren Bruni, and it demystified fancier raw recipes. It was much easier than I thought it would be. It was so stimulating on every sensory level that I couldn't deny how much it moved me. The food we prepared was bursting and intense and we all groaned and yelled out after every bite. The day after the raw class I took Fran's elegant vegan cake class which was a lot of fun, I have to say, but mainly because Fran is such a joy and such a great person and I love to be around her. To my total surprise, Bahar from Where's The Revolution was also taking this class, and we got paired in the same group which was great. She is as sincere and as lovely as she comes across on her blog. Along with Fran, Bahar made the experience completely worthwhile. Our group made a Black Forest Chocolate Cherry Cake that was outrageous. Of course, my camera battery had died mid-trip, and I believe Bahar will send me some photos of our work soon. After the class had completed all of the assigned baking, we were encouraged to sample it all, but I couldn't get through what I had put on my small plate before a severe stomach-ache stopped me from sampling anything else. I just couldn't do it. I couldn't try the truffles I had made with the chopped dried cherries and rolled in a clove sugar. I couldn't try the hazelnut opera cake that another group had made and that looked really good. The only thing that didn't make me double over was the Cherry Granita, a sort of cherry-juice, lemon-zest slushie that was so good.

So, am I going to over analyze all the time I've put into baking, all the money, all the thought, all the posturing and back-patting. During the cake class, I still felt hopeful. I was jazzed to bake Fran's lovely recipes and be around her energy. I absolutely love the kitchens at the Institute. I felt comfortable and able; I know I am a competent and fine baker, but after the testing and when I felt immediately terrible, I knew I would have to come to terms with where I was taking this. I couldn't even talk about this before the trip, but whatever happened on the plane allowed it all to drop to the ground like a heavy, velvet curtain. I still can't articulate what I'm not anymore, but I feel pretty good about what I am.

The shake pictured above is an adaptation of one I had at Cafe Gratitude years back. Young coconut water and the meat, dates, raw almond butter and lot o' ice. On top there is a raw mix of dried goji berries, nuts, cocoa nibs, and tiny coconut shreds. I bought this mix premade over at Juliano's. He puts it on all his shakes and it's brilliant and delicious.

I'm not even going to say out loud what I am. I'm just going to be it, for once.

My girls are still in New York. Maya leaves today for Las Vegas where she'll spend another six weeks and Mina will be in New York another three. I miss them terribly. At certain times of the day it hits me hard, but I know not to squander the entire time lamenting their absence. I might as well enroll myself into Codependent Summer Camp for Adults if that's the case. Sometimes their absence is a surprise in good ways. On Thursday, I got out of work early and I day dreamed about taking an adventure to Thai Town to buy a case of young coconuts. I had been pissed that Whole Foods and other local stores were selling their coconuts at $2.50/each. Then I realized there was absolutely no reason I couldn't just get in my car and take an hours-long adventure to any funky market I fancied no matter where in LA. I double checked my mind: "Right? No where to be? No one to pick up? No homework to oversee? I'M OUTTA HERE!" I had a great time.

Thai Town is on border of Hollywood and the part of Los Angeles that's on its way downtown. I went to a good-sized store called Bangkok Market. Any place that has an altar in the parking lot is ok by me.

The market was great, stocked mainly with things that were fascinating and unrecognizable.

There were about ten kinds of coconut milk. And many flavors of whatever this is.
Essence of durian? Whoa.I bought my case of young coconuts, which took a few minutes to get because the cashier barely spoke English. I pantomimed, really, and eventually got nine coconuts for ten dollars. Score!I also bought kaffir lime leaves because I'm obsessed with nailing a fantastic raw Thai coconut soup and I had convinced myself that these were a key element. These leaves are gorgeous and smell phenomenal. Two leaves are connected together like a figure eight, in Spanish they are called hoja de ochoThis afternoon, I did nail the soup. I drew components from about four different recipes, considering only the ingredients that would make it the most flavorful to me. It was fantastic, and later there were no signs of a stomach ache.