Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Life on toast ...

The words still hesitate, but photos peek through.


The tomatoes for the sauce ...

The spirit of Fall. It warmed my heart as people passed by, stopped and smiled for a moment in their day. I would watch them from the window...

Lunch one day ...

A peek through the houseplants ...

Roasted tongue sandwich on pumpernickel ...

Love.


Sleeping angels on earth ...

More sleeping angels on earth ...

Crystal chandeliers that let in the prism every day ...

Peace and love and hot tea ...

Lunch another day ...

Life on toast ...



Sunday, September 30, 2012

Just me and the tomatoes ...

Holy crap does the time ever fly. Yes yes, eloquent, I know. I've been laying low. I am also an expert at stating the obvious. And writing in broken sentences. Ummm, yeah, there I go again with the whole stating the obvious thing. Alright...ahem ...focus ... it's been a while... So this low laying business was so low, I had not even realized how the time has passed.

I'm going to tell you something dear readers. Something that I probably should not be telling you because I mean, what kind of writer (especially of a blog) thinks such things or even worse, says such things but ... well ... the thing is, I've wanted to keep it to myself for a while. The cooking, that is.

To hug it close to my heart and not share it with anyone. It's strange, I suppose, but I have wanted to cook on my own, just me and the tomatoes and the grassy olive oils. Me and the peppers bubbling in the pan while I gently coaxed them into a beautiful paste. I've wanted to hang the herbs and the flowers I have collected for the teas and to not take one single photo of anything.

Instead, I have been gallivanting around and want to share some other photos with you. Here's some of what I've been up to this last little while ...

Time to dish. Dish up some photos that is.


Camping by the sea and looking through tent skylights ...

Lounging lazily by eastern beaches ...
Camping not by the sea in this too authentic teepee freezing my butt off while pregnant spiders dangled in my face. Quelle horreur. I'll tell you about it.

Reminding myself ...

Massaging ...

Travelling back in time ...

Finding hearts ...
Losing it a bit with my first lobster bib ...

Creating counter carnage art ...

Eating the best blueberry pie of my life. Period.

Watching my baby get cleaned by the cutest parrot ever. She was licking his stubble. Yep. It happened.

Reading...

This is what made me lose it with above mentioned bib. I just could not contain myself.

And of course, taking pictures of Napa...

Lots of them ...

Because she is just so cute. And precious. And I love her.

And I just want to squeeze her. Bebek.


Tomorrow, I have a recipe.

Happy Fall dear readers.

Saturday, August 11, 2012

Summer sadness...

It is eight in the morning on a corner, at this cafe. The world has stopped. It is completely still. Not one thing is moving. Not one leaf sways on a branch. Nothing flutters except my heart. The rich, creamy, ebony espresso which I shouldn't have always makes me jittery. The air is heavy with moisture in a sky still carrying rain. The morning fog oppresses the mountain and the sun hides behind billowy, blue dense cloud, but I know he's there. He scorches my skin and fills my nostrils with hot, still, heavy air. My cheeks are hot. My heart beats faster. My summer sadness. I need the wind. Things must move. I pray for downpour and the gray, soft beauty in the aftermath.



And tonight, I make bomba.

Time to dish.

Marissa's Bomba recipe

Here is what you need:


  • Cherry bombs, aka hot cherry peppers, chopped. Leave in the seeds baby!
  • A clove of garlic, smashed.
  • Coriander, just a handful.
  • Sea salt and good olive oil.


Here is what to do:


  1. Get your lovely pot out and get everybody in there. Cook on a low heat for about half an hour. After which, pound it all in your mortar and pestle or buzz it in the processor adding oil as needed. Until dear friends, you have a rich, red, spicy bomb!


Should be enough to get things moving...

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

My intersection ...

Some days, all I can do is wait to feel normal. For the sharpness to pass, for the winds of change to die down. They always do, you know. It's something I keep reminding myself. On these days I sit on corners. I watch people intersecting while I wait for my selves to merge. They cycle and walk and run and glide. Trying to avoid one another. Trying to avoid collision. Trying to get across safely.

I watch one of the travelers run by and read her t-shirt.

Stay calm, and slay the dragon.

I sit and watch, and wait. I wait for the answers to appear, for the awkwardness of life to pass and for another moment.

My stormy desert. My intersection. My calm.


Monday, August 6, 2012

Today I breathe ...

For the first time in what seems like a very long time, today I was able to breathe. To open my door and walk outside in the brisk air and take a deep, full belly breath. To expand my greedy nostrils and inhale this new life air with gratitude and gusto. It rained like mad yesterday, the kind of rain that slightly scares you but when you are tucked away somewhere to watch, makes you kinda' giggle with glee (which is precisely what I did). If truth be told, in the morning, I even stood right under it in our yard and let the drops fall all over me. With that lovely bath, all the stifling heat that has been on our chests and hearts was whisked away by the torrents and the wind. I'm not pretty in the heat dear readers. I swell right up, like right up, like nasty up, like marshmallow man up...ahem ... I get cranky, slow, sticky, icky and I don't really want to do anything. Which kind of bites because it's not really conducive to working outside, which is what I do, naturally.

But today, today I breathe. And take a walk through a stormy desert.

Stormy, beautiful desert roads ...





Friday, July 6, 2012

Her beloved ...

Once upon a time, in a jar far away, lay Brassica Oleracea. For many years, she had been nursing a quiet and profound loneliness in the land of cabbage. Time had long gone on since she had first come over from her native home along the Mediterranean seacoast. She often sat in the stillness, and missed the rich soils and the salty sea air breezing through her leaves on a sunny day. She had had a good life, served her loved ones well, providing the most robust of offspring, blooming for them to enjoy every Summer and Fall and of course, the most delectable of fares. And even though she was often overlooked for her prettier friends, Capsicum, Citrus Sinensis and many other relatives, she offered her quiet, powerful life force to those who stopped to look. She had felt very fulfilled for many years. But there was something missing. And through all that time, through all her lives, the very deepest part of her, waited.

She knew one day, they would meet again. She had prepared for him many times before. She enjoyed her ritual of peeling off all her old leaves, cutting off the hardest middles, and visiting her friend Mandoline to have herself finely prepared. She would enlist the help Mandoline's grandfather, Hands, to place her in the jar, and there she would wait. But he never arrived. 

And so her seeds were sown once more, and she grew again, year after year waiting for him. Hands had long gone, and Mandoline missed him dearly. Brassica waited still. Days and years melting together like the butter she had so often been braised in. 

But today was different. She could feel it in her leaves. She could smell it in the air. It was a smell she recognized well. For a while now she had felt the difference, but she had dared not hope. Her seeds had felt different in the soil. But today, today she was certain. She was back home. Brassica was back home on her beloved seacoast, the salty sea air tousling her leaves and she knew with everything in her being, that today they would meet again.

There were new Hands and a new Mandoline to help her prepare and she began her beloved ritual one final time. Peeling off her old leaves, as she had done countless times before, she thought of him.  She thought of how much she had longed for him, of how perfect they were together, of the sounds they made and of how time would make them better and better. Every moment was a gift.

She was ready then. Mandoline and Hands had done their job and she was in the jar. Curvy and colorful, the rich soil had given her an extra boost in her red, and she waited for her beloved. She could hear him coming. The unmistakable sound of Mortar crushing him before the final step. And so, after all these years she had spent waiting, all these lives and soils gone, here he was before her. Grey and distinguished as she had remembered him, she could smell his mineral scent as Mortar approached the jar. Her breath caught. There he was. Sodium Chloride. Or as she affectionately called him, Salt. Her beloved. And in one moment, he was cascading onto her from above, his grains slightly bruising her and releasing her juices as he tumbled in. Just like that, in that one moment, Brassica Oleracea and Sodium Chloride were complete again, and the dance began ...


The End


Time to dish.

Lacto-Fermented Red Cabbage Sauerkraut
Please read about the i.n.c.r.e.d.i.b.l.e. benefits of lacto-fermented cabbage, and then make this.

I took a workshop here with Haley and it was so awesome I am sharing a recipe with you. It was the best Sauerkraut I ever had. And not just because I made it.




Here is what you need:

  • Mason Jars
  • 1 Organic Red Brassica Oleracea (aka Cabbage) Medium sized (about 1kg)
  • Sodium Chloride (aka sea salt) about half a cup
  • 1 tablespoon of caraway seeds


Here is what to do:


  1. So simple guys. Slice Cabbage as thinly as you like with a knife or dear Mandoline. Then put it in a giant bowl. Now, pour Salt over Cabbage and here comes the fun part, knead it all together until juice starts to flow. This part must be done well. Salt will bruise Cabbage and release her juices. Takes about 10 minutes or so. 
  2. In your impeccably clean Mason Jar, add your caraway seeds, and then Cabbage until the jar is almost full and then press down really hard. You want Cabbage squashed as much as possible. Pour the liquid from the bowl in to cover Cabbage in jar (leave about an inch for bubbles and expansion), seal and voila. They will dance together in the jar for a few weeks, ideally 3-4, making sounds of love, the jar usually pops, and once done, they and you will be in heaven.
**Use your nose** with all fermenting, if it smells funky, like more funky than usual, you have to start over. You can taste it if you want but it might not be that ...shall we say ...delectable ...