Some days all I can really manage to do is make an omelet. Not that I'm fishing for compliments — I'm aware and confident that this was a fucking phenomenal omelet, filled with beet greens sautéed with garlic, lemon zest, great-tasting olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and just a touch of brown sugar, then rounded out with grape tomatoes and goat milk blue cheese, and finished with cilantro. Tremendous. One for me, one for Ryan. And our kitchen conversation during the omelet forging somehow led to me drawing the following charts about the Cycle of Productive Capital:
Both of these charts represent my still-dim comprehension of the concept, and if someone else has better charts or corrections to add, please share! Minimally, this illustration should probably be in the shape of a spiral to show how M'>M, and the extra (profit) gets re-invested? I dunno.
ahhhhhhh bowl o' otsuRyan's perfectly pan-fried tofuRyan's lovely diced cucumbers
Celebrating our usable kitchen, now that the water’s back on in the building, Ryan and I busted out a batch of otsu. With practice, we’ve refined our skills: his tofu frying is money, I’ve learned not to toss the cucumbers in with the soba noodle salad (to keep them bright green: they turn a murky brown when coated with the red cayenne) and my ginger-lemon-cayenne-honey-sesame dressing is extra-fly these days thanks to improved emulsifying techniques. Grateful to keep cooking and learning.
It’s been a rough few days, folks. A really rough few days. No running water in the apartment — and that’s the least of it.
Despite the plumbing obstacles, I managed to whip up a batch of cookies for a cookbook signing -slash- potluck by my culinary crush Heidi Swanson. Her new book, Super Natural Every Day, has already made the NYT Bestseller list after like a week on the market. I didn’t even have time to let the hot cookies cool down before popping two dozen of them into two empty egg cartons (an impromptu innovation in pastry transport) and hopping on my bike to dash across the border to Berkeley.
Those that didn’t make the carton cut found their way over to my friend Noa’s place, with its lovely succulents.
When things fall apart, I’m grateful for generous, loving, and and precious friends, and for cooking. At times when I’m feeling down, or, even more precisely, when I’m focusing very intently on uncomfortable and difficult emotions and experiences, my appetite plummets and gets very particular. I crave fruit and whole-milk yogurt, water, leafy greens, things like that. (Again, this is when I’m bringing mindfulness and patience to the difficulties. When I’m flat-out stressed, and especially rushed, it’s a whole ‘nother matter, and that’s when I turn to the sugar, the French fries, the “numbing” foods, as Noa calls them — not pejoratively, but descriptively.) I feel lucky and privileged that I’m able to feed my healthier, deeper cravings as they arise. So in this case, with little appetite for anything that wasn’t recently growing on a tree, I wasn’t as keen to devour these delightfully tart versions of my favorite jam thumbprint cookies. But the act of creating food for others is grounding and healing, too.
Incredible image of Brooklyn Ballet, (c)2005 by Lois Greenfield bikes on the landing
Being sick for over a week means I’m way behind on work, so today’s post is just a tiny glimmer of an idea. Lately I’ve been thinking about choreography as it relates to political action. Now that EBSol is underway, I’ll be participating in the planning of collective direct actions — hopefully for the next year or two. Thinking about this planning as choreography is helping to uplift and inspire me to think creatively.
How can we employ different sounds, smells, textures, and movements into our actions? How can we use space creatively? How can we create productive tension among multiple people in a space?
Not all actions will involve explicit audiences to choreograph for: we’ll be doing our share of postering, flyering, and letter delivery. But even in these simpler actions, are there ways we can bring color and intentional physical movement?
I’m reminded of Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche’s advice about the garb of a warrior:
For the warrior, clothing actually provides an armor of discipline, which wards off attacks from the setting-sun world. It is not that you hide behind your clothes because you are afraid to manifest yourself as a good warrior, but rather that when you wear good, well-fit clothes, your clothing can both ward off casualness and invite tremendous dignity.
Sometimes if your clothes fit you well, you feel that they are too tight. If you dress up, you may feel constricted by wearing a necktie or a suit or a tight fitting skirt or dress. The idea of invoking internal drala [energy beyond aggression inside oneself] is not to give in to the allure of casualness. The occasional irritation coming from your neck, the crotch of your pants, or your waist is usually a good sign. It means that your clothes fit you well, but your neurosis doesn’t fit your clothes. The modern approach is often free and casual. That is the attraction of polyester leisure suits. You feel stiff if you are dressed up. You are tempted to take off your tie or your jacket or your shoes. Then you can hang out and put your feet up on the table and act freely, hoping that your mind will act freely at the same time. But at that point your mind begins to dribble. It begins to leak, and garbage of all kinds comes out of your mind. That version of relaxation does not provide real freedom at all. Therefore, for the warrior, wearing well-fit clothing is regarded as wearing a suit of armor. How you dress can actually invoke upliftedness and grace.
I also remember reading, somewhere, from someone, an invitation to move through the world as though we were exploring a spectacular golden palace. This sense of awe and decorum, of self-awareness that helps us relate to the external world, rather than getting caught up in our own worries. Golden palaces may not exactly be my thing, but I know what they’re getting at. Bringing some air of ceremony, some sense of choreography, can help us engage more deeply with our everyday actions — with people, places, beings, and inanimate objects.
Just thoughts. I’m a believer that political action should be fun and mindful, you know? So we’ll see.
Meanwhile, the weather outside is blowing my mind. Didn’t think they made days like this anymore. Happy Wednesday, everyone!
cars in the yardryan makes asparagusMr. Posie takes a rest from weed-whacking near his collard greens
Do any of y’all celebrate Pi day? π = 3.14 = March 14th! My high school math teachers were the first to introduce me to the holiday, which is honored by eating pie. Sign me up!
This morning I headed down the block to Lois The Pie Queen’s place and picked up a couple slices from the wonderfully warm folks there. Having just read my friend ChakaZ’s thoughtful, incisive piece touching on gentrification in Oakland (a process that often leads to the overthrow of pie queens, and the replacement of barbecue shacks with fancy coffeeshops), it was even more gratifying to support a Black-owned, Black-cultural business that’s been in the neighborhood — and in their family — for 50 years. And clearly not, might I add, as a gimmicky “exotic Southern food for upscale whites” kind of establishment, but as a low-key, proud-yet-humble, neighborly sort of place.
Image from Sweet Mary
In addition to the beauty above, I also got a piece of banana cream, but a bumpy ride on the bus left it unfit for open-casket photos.
Later in the day, being unable to finish both slices by myself, I would leave the leftover banana cream in its takeout pod in a big paper bag, hidden conspicuously behind a bush in Berkeley. Fortunately, my hopes were realized: a man named Terry found and enjoyed what remained of the treat. Unfortunately, I know that Terry found and enjoyed it because Terry also found my cell phone, which I forgot inside the paper bag.
I must have had some good karma on my side, though, because Terry seems like a really nice guy. Tomorrow we’ve arranged a hand-off for the mobile. I think I’ll bring him another slice from Lois’. He was really wild about that banana cream.
I’m not a baker, so this go-to cookie recipe fits my standards. Incredibly simple;* truly delicious. I tried to do it with rhubarb jam today, actually, but when I opened the jar there was a bit of mold inside. :( Next time!
I found this recipe about three years ago on The Post Punk Kitchen website, a great vegan cooking resource. But this morning when I went to look it up, it was gone.
PPK has apparently undergone a site overhaul since last I checked. Whereas before it was essentially just text (very, very useful text) on a dark red background with a few graphics, now it’s got a super-sexy layout loaded with stunning photos. Even though my beloved Jam Thumbprint page got lost along the way, I can’t say I’m sorry for the progress.
And luckily, there’s Gmail archive: I’d typed and e-mailed the recipe to some friends following rave cookie reviews at a potluck. Funny karma moment, huh? Sharing with others = preserving for oneself.
Enjoy!
JAM THUMBPRINT COOKIES
1 cup almonds
1 cup rolled oats or oat flour
1 cup whole wheat pastry flour or all-purpose flour
pinch sea salt
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 cup coconut , canola, olive or grapeseed oil. I like olive the best.
1/2 cup maple syrup
all-fruit jam (raspberry is nice, or blackberry…or some unusual berry!)
Preheat oven to 350 F. Lightly oil a cookie sheet.
Chop almonds into coarse meal. This can be done with a knife (which takes a long time and is messy) or in a food processor (or a blender, but a food processor is ideal) by pulsing a few times. For a chunkier cookie, grind the almonds only into small pieces.
Grind oats to flour in a small food processor, flour mill, or a blender. You can also use oat flour. For a chunkier cookie, don’t grind oats all the way.
Combine almonds, oats, flour, salt, and cinnamon.
In another bowl combine oil and maple syrup. Add to dry. Mix lightly.
Roll into walnut-sized balls. Place on an oiled cookie sheet. Press an indentation in the center with thumb.
Fill indentation with jam. Do not overfill, do not underfill. What you see is what you get, basically – the jam shouldn’t overflow too much when heated, and the cookies shouldn’t spread a lot, so you can pack them in pretty close together on the sheet.
Bake 15-20 minutes, or until bottoms are lightly browned. Cool 10 minutes.
*I should note: simple with a food processor. Which I now have at our new place. Thanks, mama! If you live near me and don’t have one I’d be happy to loan ours out.
Boston. (Roughly.) Glued to the radio for both weather and Egypt. Watching movies; bundling up. Making food; eating food. Lovin’ on a kitt’en. Drinking tea. Sleeping a LOT. And catching up with this one.
I know, friends, I know. Almost every recipe I post basically amounts to: me quoting Heidi Swanson quoting someone else.
But, you know, most of the time in the kitchen I’m not shooting for originality. I’m shooting for total deliciousness.
This bulgur pilaf with spicy harissa shrunken tomatoes, lemon-cinnamon caramelized onions, wilted spinach and minted yogurt fits the bill. Try it. You’ll see.
As per our plan, for our one-year dating anniversary, Ryan and I made our own hot sauce. It took 20 roasted habañeros (a.k.a. Scotch Bonnet peppers), four cloves of roasted garlic, and some elusive smoked paprika to blend up this incredibly delicious condiment. (Full recipe below, slightly tweaked from one we found online.) Some of the habs came straight from Ryan’s dad’s backyard garden — part of how we cooked up this idea in the first place.
And after it was finished, we took one of the two bottles on a journey down to the Mission for some pupusas.
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Celebrating an extraordinary year with this wonderful person, near the annual TransgenderDay Of Remembrance, I was especially aware of the privileges and basic safety that we enjoy in our loving partnership. We are a legibly cisgender, hetero, same-age couple, both U.S. citizens, living in a time of war but unaffected by it directly. We live in a time and place where interracial relationships are largely accepted and even commonplace; where open relationships are at least acknowledged, if frequently maligned or misunderstood; and where I am not likely, as a woman, to be openly attacked for asserting my own sexuality, and seeking control over my own reproductivity.
I truly wish that loving — and simply living with integrity, with basic safety — did not require so much courage from so many people.
May my life’s work, and Ryan’s, contribute to bringing about conditions that encourage everyone to love in the best ways we know how.
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Habañero Hot Sauce Recipe
20 habañero peppers
3-5 cloves of garlic
1/2 cup distilled white vinegar
2-3 Tbsp lemon juice
1 tsp smoked paprika
1 tsp brown sugar (we used light brown)
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp chili powder
Equipment: Oven, baking sheet, food processor.
Set oven to 350º.
Peel and halve garlic.
Cut off stem tops and halve peppers (keeping the seeds).
Roast together on an oiled baking sheet until golden brown
and smelling amazing (about 20 minutes).
Add peppers and garlic to the food processor with dry ingredients.
Pulse to combine.
Slowly pour in wet ingredients while blending.*
When you've got a smooth, uniform consistency, adjust to taste.**
Bottle (we used a couple old hot sauce bottles) and refrigerate.
*Adding liquid too soon may result in splashing, necessitating turkey-baster triage.
**Ignore any eggings-on, and taste only a tiny bit at a time. Think twice before,
for instance, dipping a hunk of bread in the hot sauce as though it were hummus.
My dear friend Leora Fridman in published online form. So much lovely. Miss you, sistercat.
Not much more from yours truly today. Just thinkin’, readin’, cookin’, meditatin’, and trying not to catch pneumonia. (Slowly, slowly, my Cambridgewear is trickling into my Tenderloin closet. Yesterday, an enormous white scarf.)
Have a wonderful weekend, friends! See you next week!
Kloncke 