Ode to a Pear

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Ode to a pear

Venus rustic,
buddha seated,
bottomly knob,
overturned
not hardly —

who’s to say
your ripening,
still on the sill,
ponderously
unburdened,

all sweet pale,
by a window glazed,
till just tooth
tender, into
a perfection of age

awe-full-y to
decay approaching,
nearly one day
fluid, fermented —

who is to say that then
just before that end
you are not
the fruit
of all
most choice,
delectably
surrendered?

Poetry should be heard.

Did you know that pears don't ripen on the tree? They should be picked full sized and firm, set in the fridge for a day or two to prolong them, then set out at room temperature to ripen in a few more days. Best eaten the day before starting to rot, still sweet, almost dissolved more than chewed, in a quick minute.

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Poem: The earth's economy

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The earth's economy

Just when I thought the day
had nothing left to give,
when heat was ladled across
the shallow dry plate

of the nation, working or not, alive
or not, my country
road home from work
an affair of sour radio news and roadkill —

the furred skunk, possum, cat,
squirrel, raccoon, in the
special economy of the outward-
facing nose, lost in final scent,

the surrendered open mouth,
forehead pressed back in frozen
tragedy, tension gone, time done,
appetite dissolving into skull —

I find myself at the kitchen counter
in a different Americana, tearing
kale ruffles from their spines
for a chilled supper of greens with lemon

and oil, Dijon, garlic, cucumber —
live, wet and impossibly cool from the
earth garden just outside the door,
where the farmer’s wife one hundred

years ago also opened her apron
like a cradle, gingerly receiving
into thin billowing cotton pockets
as much as she could carry

as much as she could carry

Listen to a podcast of this poem here.

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Ode to a Cantaloupe

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Ode to a Cantaloupe

Ripe woman

so long in the sun,

skin thick, leathery, with veins

etched like filigree scars

of knowing,

one flat cheek

where you listened

to the earth,

I feel for you

among the rock hards,

fingertips perching, alert

on heads, searching

for you alone,

who have begun to return

inside to the waters

of yourself,

retreating slightly

at the meridians

that circle like rivers

to enter you.

With simple hope,

I carry you home

tucked in my elbow,

sweet

mystery.

On the board

on the table,

at the horizon

of the knife, heavily,

with a groan,

you fall open, glistening —

Rippling sunrise of fruits!

ascending

from Michigan lakes

and soil,

pastel and vibrant orange

wet soft firmness,

mellow honey,

gentle watery

weight.

A good spoon

and I scoop

dripping seeds out

of your natural bowl

then slide into the easy

flesh, shining spoon

cradling a moon bite

to my

warm trembling

tongue, momentarily

apprehensive

of flavorless

disappointment.

But you are achingly yes —

cool, tender,

a velvet miracle

of flesh,

light

and water,

part musk, part honey,

a quiet rising,

unearthed, clean

into sky,

morning sun

baptized into my happy,

eager

new-day body.

A poem about something I love, humbly, in the tradition of Pablo Neruda, master of elementary odes.

Photo of cantaloupe shared via Creative Commons by John Bosley.

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Mind walks

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The Norwegian Jøtul wood stove in the family room (where we spend most of our home awake time -- where I write, read, work on photographs, blog, paint and watch movies) radiates heat into much of the house, and the forced air propane furnace rarely kicks on. We feed the wood stove dead, seasoned wood from the fallen trees that stripe the back acre of the farm. Ash borers have defeated many tall, straight ash trees, and thanks to that tiny, mighty pest, we have some of the densest, longest burning firewood there is, for a long time to come.

On Saturdays, just after sunrise, while snow falls and floats like ash outside the glass deck door, and chickadees, juncos, mourning doves, cardinals and blue jays rise and fall from the ground to the spruce and back again for scattered bird seed on the ground, I put our biggest pot on the radiant Jøtul. Into olive oil I drop chopped onions and celery that quickly begin to sizzle. Then what’s left of vegetables in the fridge, rough chopped, and scraps I’ve saved in the freezer, get added and filled almost to the brim with water. (My gourmand ex-brother-in-law Larry scolded me once for not saving every dear peel, rind, stem and shaving from vegetables in a freezer bag for a Saturday broth-fest; within the scraps are contained the same elements of vegetable goodness. I changed my ways.) For a few hours I cook this potful that’s almost as big as the cast iron heat-box itself, creating tasty veggie stock that I’ll use in cooking for the next week. Cabbage becomes fragrant (!), and the low winter sun shines on the spruce where at least a dozen red cardinals are tucked in the branches, looking like soft, exotic fruits.

Like birds picking up seeds, I have been flitting from pillar to post gathering ideas and thoughts. I feel as if I'm back in college classes, pushing myself to do close readings of the writers I read. They join in the pot of my head like scraps from the fridge. But what soup is being cooked up there? I read passages from Rilke and Rumi at the daily blogs. Synchronously they link arms and walk like twins separated only by centuries. See the parallel lines from the readings posted a couple of days ago:

Rumi: I would love to kiss you.
The price of kissing is your life.  (~ from "The Price of Kissing")

Rilke: I would perish in the power of his being.
For beauty is but the beginning of terror. (~ from "If I Cried Out")

Each day friends come into the comment boxes and reflect on the passages posted in those blog salons, filtering them through their own separate experiences and patterns of thought. Paths emerge, merge, and sometimes lead into dense thickets where I have to focus hard, keep up and try not to get lost. I love mind walks, even when I'm in danger of losing my way. (Have you seen the wonderful 1990 film "Mind Walk" with Liv Ullman, Sam Waterston and John Heard? Nothing but stimulating conversation, while walking around Mont-St Michel . . . ahhhh.) I collect thoughts and words that smell good, and throw them into my pot-head ☺. Does this make me wishy-washy? Maybe. Like water, shaped by the vessel it's in. And what's inside the pot? Fragments of this and that . . . these, and all.
                                                                       
                                                                                       .
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                                                                                    . . . . .
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                                                                                  . . . . .
Steam rises from the pot, walking a ribboning path . . . . .

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Tofu is not as boring as I thought, in fact . . .

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Tofu Steak

. . . it can be pretty amazing.

But "delicious" and "tofu" are not words I ever dreamed of pairing not too long ago. I had enjoyed fried tofu in Pad Thai and other dishes where it was tossed in for good non-animal protein, but I had never even considered eating it as its own course, big and geometric on the plate. That texture, and the blandness. Bleh. Once again, my ignorance of what has been enjoyed for 2,000 years is mind blowing. When ignorance leads to aloofness, or worse, arrogance, it's not good. And, it can prevent you enjoying tremendous offerings. This is how I was about tofu. Then a few months ago, my boss (who lessened my ignorance of Early American Lit eons ago) took me to lunch at Omi, a terrific Japanese restaurant near the university, and since Don and I were on a path to eat less of the beef steak variety, I saw tofu steak on the menu and the description convinced me to try it. After the first bite, I thought I'd die (from enjoyment, not from choking). My boss, Steve, looked incredulous at my enraptured face, and when I offered him a bite, he declined and started off on something about Nathaniel Hawthorne and witches . . .

With tofu steak, the outside of the tofu is delicately crispy, while the inside is creamy. Those textures coupled with the sweet-savory sauce are a winner (you can leave it savory without any sweetness if you prefer, as in the original recipe, below. Also, If you don't like mushrooms, just leave them out.)

Now, whenever Don and I go for sushi and rolls, we also get tofu steak. In fact we love it so much we decided we ought to learn to make it at home. We dug around for a recipe online, and so I want to share the one we picked and tweaked, because it's so simple and yummy, and I want you happy. Making it together takes about 10 minutes prep (mostly chopping) and 10 minutes cooking; Don sautés the tofu, and I make the sauce. Tofu may be bland alone, but it absorbs flavors beautifully, so I'll keep trying new dishes. Maybe you have favorites you'd like to share.

The online recipe is here. Our tweaks in autumn rust. Here is a podcast of me reading the recipe. . .  Just kidding!

Tofu Steak With Japanese Mushroom Sauce (or without mushrooms, if you prefer)

Yield: 4 Servings - We halve the recipe for the two of us, since this doesn't keep well.


Ingredients


4 firm tofu - we use soft tofu, which gets crispy outside and stays creamy inside
1 c fresh shiitake mushroom
1 c fresh enoki mushroom
1 pk regular white mushrooms - we use whatever mushrooms we have on hand
1/2 green onions
2 cloves garlic
2 tablespoons sake (Japanese rice wine) - we don't have sake and use Sherry

4 tablespoons soy sauce

2/3 c dashi (Japanese fish stock) - I need to find some of this, but we use about 1/3 c fish sauce mixed with 1/3 c veggie broth
2-3 tablespoons brown sugar, to taste (Whenever we've eaten tofu steak at several sushi places, it has been sweet, though this original recipe does not call for sugar.) 

          2 teaspoons cornstarch

         a few teaspoons cornstarch on a plate.

         1 teaspoon salt

        4 tablespoons vegetable oil

Instructions

1. Place a clean cloth towel in a shallow plate (something like brownie
pan would be good) and put Tofu on it for 30 minutes to drain water. Wipe the surface of Tofu with paper towels and sprinkle some salt (to make the surface of the steak crisp and brown when done.)


2. Cut off the stem of mushrooms and slice them. divide Enoki into small
bunch. Cut green onions in 2 inches long. Finely chop garlic.


3. Dredge Tofu in cornstarch on a plate covering all sides 
and ends with cornstarch. Put 2 Tbsp of vegetable oil in a
 frying pan and fry all sides of Tofu in medium-high heat 
(we slow it down a little and sauté on medium heat),
until Tofu turn golden brown. Put them on serving plates.
We buy packaged soft tofu in water and cut it in half for two people,
halving this recipe. After draining per #1, we cover all surfaces
with cornstarch and sauté all six sides of the oblongs
(what are oblong "cubes" called? Oh, Don says they are rectangular prisms.)


4. Wipe the frying pan with paper towel and add another 2 Tbsp of vegetable oil. Saute garlic and the mushrooms in medium heat quickly. Add Sake, soy sauce and Dashi stock and bring it to boil. Add green onions. We wait and add the green onions at the very end, since we like them better barely cooked. Dissolve cornstarch in 2Tbsp of water and add to the sauce. Stir from the bottom of the pan and pour it over the cooked Tofu. Serve while hot! (4 servings) We cook the sauce in a separate pan while sautéing the tofu.

NOTE: Dashi is the basic soup stock used in most Japanese dishes such as
Miso Soup and Udon. You can get the powdered stock called 'Hondashi' in any Oriental stores. Substitute it with chicken stock or veggie stock if you like. Shiitake and Enoki are very expensive in the U.S., but they are very flavorful. Try not to cook them too long.

Allow me to share one more great tip for preparing tofu for adding to stir fries and soups. Rather than frying (I'm trying to use less oil), you can bake it and get that nice fried texture. I found the instructions here.

BAKED TOFU: Buy one pound of extra-firm tofu and bake it in the oven using this easy method: Heat the oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit (200 Celsius); cut the tofu into 1/2-inch slabs; marinate it for a few minutes in a couple of tablespoons of soy sauce, a tablespoon of honey, and some minced garlic; then spread the tofu on an oiled baking sheet and bake until crispy on the edges and golden brown (about 25 to 30 minutes).

It contributes greatly towards a man's moral and intellectual health, 

to be brought into habits of companionship with individuals unlike himself, 

who care little for his pursuits, and whose sphere and abilities 

he must go out of himself to appreciate. 

~ Nathaniel Hawthorne

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Mind, Body & Spirit

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Friday we went to our son Peter's CD release party for his band April to Fall. 

Brian, left center, and my son Peter, right, are April to Fall;

Jeff and Jen contributed considerable vocal talent

to the new album "Straight Line to Your Heart"

Click this link to go to their site where you can listen to clips of the tracks on the album. Their sound is similar to Morrissey, with pleasing strong vocals and acoustic guitar, though in other venues they rock it out when Peter plays his electric guitar. I am not here to sell you anything, but you can figure out at the site how to buy the album on iTunes. I don't know yet how they are selling the CD. At the gallery at the site see photos of Peter and Brian I shot in my studio that Don and Peter converted from a chicken coop. At times I have felt that this studio - l'atelier - where I don't really create anything, except deep sleeping breaths in my hammock chair, is the center of the universe, my kilometer zero, so I'm happy this special place is featured at the center of the CD cover, below. The party was in Rochester, Michigan, which has a homey 100-year-old downtown. (Downtown Rochester photo found here.)

Brian and Peter inside the CD cover -- a photo I took in l'atelier

Besides the big celebratory joy of one of Peter's musical ventures, I was geeked to finally tour and eat in the first-and-only certified organic restaurant in Michigan, Mind, Body & Spirits. The upstairs dining room was the venue for the party. Mike, the owner, is also the one who started the record label (Lazy Day Records) releasing its premier album, April to Fall's "Straight Line to Your Heart". Mike has his entrepreneurial hands in several companies, all of them organic in one way or another.

That's Mike in the middle, with Dennis, my niece Amy's husband, to his left;

I don't know who the gentleman looking at the woman with the camera is - nice smile!

Last October, Mind, Body & Spirits was awarded the Certified Organic Restaurant status (the first and only one in Michigan). Mind, Body & Spirits is one of just thirteen restaurants in the U.S. that not only serves organic and locally grown food, but is also where each and every aspect of the physical building and furnishing is eco-conscious.

I ate certified organic rib-eye steak, though I eat beef only a few times a year;
the finger-length potatoes and Bernaise sauce were YUM;
(I didn't eat it all, there was plenty for lunch the next day)

From their web site:

Mind Body & Spirits was built to inspire and help people…

Mind..

Our 100+ year old building, which was renovated using many of the latest and century old technologies to operate as sustainable as possible, continues to provide a public classroom to progress our children and adults through its education.

Body..

Being a certified Organic restaurant, we only use the purest ingredients for our menu, and as our customers consume our seasonally inspired dishes it will help their bodies on its natural path to wellness without compromising the flavor or your pocket book!

Spirits..

I truly believe that when a person consumes food made with a “conscience” or love, your inner spirit begins to burn stronger….and I will toast to that with a nice glass of organic wine!

My inner spirit was flying around the room as I took pictures. Snapping photos really is a good way to sneak around and nose in and get closer to people you want to get closer to. They don't mind you doing that if you have a camera, at least that's what I've found. I just ate up their smiles.

Everything in the restaurant is made of recycled and/or sustainable materials, from reused and reconstituted brick, to bamboo and cork floors. Every piece of furniture is made from sustainable structural materials and fibers.

 Jeff, Lindsey and Andrea chatting
on furniture made from recycled and sustainable materials

The heating and cooling system is geo-thermal, which means plumbing goes 10 feet deep (3 meters) and water circulates through the earth with its core temperature of 55°F (12.8°C), naturally cooling the building in summer and heating it in winter. There are solar panels on the green roof. Mike would like to get off the electrical grid eventually, with a wind turbine and solar panels providing all the power they need on site.

The roof terrace is covered with tiles made from recycled tires. Vegetables are grown in pots, used for the menu and also for decoration, though the nasturtiums, peppers and tomatoes below are a bit summer-weary now that September is almost done. The tables and chairs on the terrace are manufactured from recycled plastic milk bottles.

 Roof terrace tiles made from recycled tires;
I think maybe a few glasses of wine have dribbled on these tiles

My niece Amy (Ginnie's daughter), next to terrace furniture

made from recycled plastic milk cartons

Potted terrace plants of vegetables, now a little summer-worn

My favorite part of the building is the greenhouse. To go to the restrooms, you have to walk through this space, which is brilliant, since part of Mike's vision is to educate not only the children of Michigan about renewable practices, but also adults. The "wall of water" consists of tubes full of standing water that absorb heat from the sun through the greenhouse windows, then radiate it to keep the greenhouse warm. The solid cement brick wall to the right in this photo absorbs the sun's heat in the winter months when the sun shines lower through the windows. I'd like to go back during the day, for lunch and a daylight tour.

 Wall of water lining the greenhouse

Don stands by the wall of water, which absorbs heat 

from sunlight through the greenhouse windows
for heat in long cold Michigan winters

Herbs and other plants for the restaurant are grown here in the greenhouse.

Amy is standing by the rain water receptacle;
rainwater is used to water the plants.

The quick composter takes 200 pounds of food garbage a day (vegetable and animal matter except bones), then dehydrates it. The water removed is used to water the plants throughout the restaurant, and the dried matter is composted further, since it is still too "hot" to be used by farmers. Restaurant staff set it out every Saturday morning for residents and farmers in the community to help themselves, and compost it for their own use. Have you ever seen a restaurant without a dumpster out back? Mind Body & Spirits has no dumpster. They recycle everything. The restaurant Director of Operations, Ed, along with his dad, take the leftover cooking oil from the restaurant and make bio-diesel for his 1970s Mercedes Benz, which smells like French Fries while he drives.

Quick composter-dehydrater

Dehydrated and composted food ready to take out back 

to the receptacle for pick-up by local residents and farmers

Among the savory food, the groove-inducing music of the band, Peter's musical accomplishment, family from Atlanta and friends from around Michigan, all wrapped in cozy intimacy, and the eco-consciousness of the restaurant, I was energized and stimulated in mind, body and spirit all the way until midnight! Me!

But will I be able to stay up all night for the Willow Ball? Two late nights in one week. Maybe Willow has a sofa, like this one I had my feet up on . . .

And Man created the plastic bag and the tin and aluminum can and the cellophane wrapper and the paper plate, and this was good because Man could then take his automobile and buy all his food in one place and He could save that which was good to eat in the refrigerator and throw away that which had no further use.  And soon the earth was covered with plastic bags and aluminum cans and paper plates and disposable bottles and there was nowhere to sit down or walk, and Man shook his head and cried:  "Look at this Godawful mess."  ~Art Buchwald, 1970

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Oatmeal

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When I was a pixie-haired kid, oatmeal was a gelatinous mass of gray putrescence in a shiny stainless steel serving tray in the breakfast line at camp. I have no memory of eating oatmeal at home. I watched as a smiling, steamed lady behind the counter served up a wedge of gray mush-matter onto the food tray of the camper ahead of me in line. Shudder. Thankfully there were scrambled eggs, triangles of toast and colorful honeycombs of juice glasses filled with orange, grape or apple liquid. Oh, and those one serving size boxes of cereal that you could cut open and eat from the box if you wanted. The oatmeal shudder has colored my memory darkly of that pretty log dining hall with a huge fireplace that crackled us awake while it rained outside. Dark room. Dark memory in an otherwise bright camp.

Leap forward like a grasshopper to now, when oatmeal with dried or fresh fruit, walnuts and vanilla almond milk is one of my most pleasurable meals. Before deciding something is putrid, a person really ought to taste it, in a well prepared and presented state. Steel cut oats are less milled than rolled oats, so they are a better source of fiber. For years we had brought steel cut oats to a boil on the stove the night before, boiled one minute, covered, let sit overnight, then simmered in the morning for 10 minutes, stirring all the while. This method kept me from just going to my overstuffed red leather chair and waking up with a cup of coffee, which is what I really wanted to do. (See those precarious stacks of books in the top left photo below? That's my table, next to said chair, in the family room next to the kitchen.) My sister-in-law Wilma taught us a new quick easy method for cooking steel cut oats. With this slow cooker method, because it isn't cooked on the stove, we even eat it in the summer. In fact, we eat this almost every single day and never tire of it. The amount we make provides leftovers for the two of us for a couple of days. We refrigerate what's left right in the Pyrex bowl, plastic wrapped, then we reheat it in a double boiler.

By the way (post script), we find steel cut oats at the health food store, and at Whole Foods. Those of you outside the U.S., you're on your own! But you can ask for this, and see if they laugh (at my literal translations via an online translator): Spanish: avena de corte de acero; Portuguese: aveia de aço de corte; French: l'avoine en acier de coupure; British English: porridge?)

You’ll need a slow cooker. Ours is a big one.

And a Pyrex-type (heat-proof) bowl. Ours is 2 ½ quarts (2.5 liters).

Before going to bed at night, set the bowl in the slow cooker. Fill the slow cooker, not the bowl, with about 2 inches of water.

Into the Pyrex bowl, pour 2 cups steel cut oats, 6 cups water (any 1-3 ratio), a handful of dried fruit if you wish (we do dried Michigan cherries), and a little salt. Stir.

Cover the slow cooker, and turn it to Low. (Don't forget to plug it in.)

Next morning, you’ll awaken to a house filled with a warm, nutty fragrance, and your delicious oatmeal is ready to serve and eat, though I usually turn it down to Warm and drink two cups of coffee first. Ahhh, time to read the NYTimes Op Eds Nicholas Kristoff and Gail Collins, and some blogs . . .

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My tongue speaks French and Chinese

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Chinese long beans

I have tried to keep up with my personal farmer and his vegetable garden this summer by gathering and preparing the goods for the table. Just a few footsteps from our door we've picked strawberries, rhubarb, tomatoes -- green for frying and red, yellow and orange fresh or in sauce -- green & red peppers, jalapeños, banana peppers, kohlrabi (oh so crisply satisfying dipped in hummus), beets, peas, carrots, garlic, scallions, sweet corn, cucumbers, zucchini, bush beans and pole beans. From the herb bed: basil, parsley, thyme, chives, sage and rosemary.

While ordering seeds from his piles of catalogs back in January's blue ice days, Don discovered Chinese long beans and ordered some and even built a special trellis. These long beans are also known as long-podded cowpeas, asparagus beans, snake beans, chopstick beans, yardlong beans, dau gok in Cantonese and jiang dou (豇豆) in Standard Mandarin. They are thua fak yao (ถั่วฝักยาว) in Thai, right Dee Dee? (I sort of feel that I shouldn't say that out loud.) When the first beans were ready to pick, I was impressed with their length, but I asked myself, Does size matter? I am a green bean lover. When I go to Paris, a supper of haricots verts, baguette, Roquefort and a glass of red wine suits me very well after a day out on the rues. I like a thin, delicate bean, with a warm, mellow flavor and texture that is tender and smooth.

Chinese long beans next to a handful of bush beans; 

the long beans are about 18"

As we learned more about Chinese long beans, we discovered that they are all the rage in fancy restaurants. Chefs have fun sculpting them into different concoctions, like an entertainer does with balloon animals. I decided to create nests, and Don suggested the little onions that were strangely anchored on the surface of the soil under the scallion leaves, for "eggs".

I am trés heureux to report that Chinese long beans are délicieux! They are tender and warmly savory, the way haricots verts are. And you get to create something clever if you want. These are what I call bird's nest beans, which I believe my tongue tells me is les haricots verts d'un nid de l'oiseau in French and 鳥的巢穴豆子 in Chinese, but I could be wrong.

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Ode to Quinoa

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quinoa seeds

If you came from One Stop Poetry for the One Shot Wednesday poem, it's at the end. (Of course you're welcome to read the preamble, I hope you will, since it builds to the ode.) 

I really don't understand how one civilization knows something important for 6,000 years, and I just heard about it a few months ago. Now, if I'm browsing online for recipes (while my beautiful cookbooks lie, unopened in the cupboard), especially healthy ones, it's hard to miss it.

These are quinoa seeds. Quinoa isn't a grain, it's not in the grass family. It's a leafy vegetable, related to spinach, kale and beets, of the Chenopodium species. Quinoa was the second most important food source for the Incans, after the potato, but more important than maize. It's Inca's gold, sacred, the mother grain. They could grow it in the Andes at 13,000 feet (but not maize).

This excellent 1999 article on the history and exciting prospects of quinoa becoming a sustainable major source of food for the world, explains:

By the beginning of this century, quinoa had lost its status as the Mother Grain. Foreign crops, such as barley, had been introduced and surpassed quinoa in importance. Further decline occurred in Peru in the 1940s when the government began to import large amounts of wheat. Between 1941 and 1974, quinoa cultivation plummeted from 111,000 acres to 32,000 acres. Compounded with the growing acculturation of indigenous populations and the stigma of indigenous identification attached to its consumption, quinoa lost its grandeur and became just another subsistence crop for poorer rural families.

Thankfully, with the exploding demand for quinoa from people like me way up here in Michigan, exports from countries like Bolivia are increasing, and quinoa is also being eaten by the masses in the Andes again.

You can see Thomas Jefferson's handsome profile there on the nickel, appropriately resting his head on pillows of quinoa seeds. Among the many geniuses of Thomas Jefferson, one was a passion for experimenting with fruits and vegetables, hundreds of varieties in his 1,000-foot garden at Monticello. He ate mostly vegetables and considered meat a "condiment." (Read here about his favorite vegetables.) I don't know if he knew of, tasted, or experimented with quinoa, but it wouldn't surprise me if he did. An interesting bit of history is how Jefferson smuggled rice from Italy in his pockets, risking punishment by death, to develop a new breed mixed with Carolina rice, so that the French would import it, which you can read here.

I visited Monticello at age 13 with my parents and Virginian aunt and uncles;

the top sketch is Jefferson's first of the house he designed;
his inventions, architecture and design sense really captured
my aesthetic imagination. 

 Mulberry Row, Vegetable Garden Terrace, & South Orchard
(Photos borrowed from monticello.org)

I was intimidated by what I didn't know about quinoa, not the least of which was pronouncing it (KEEN-WAH). At last, after my niece potlucked a quinoa dish at the family reunion, we cooked some for a perfect summer Sunday meal. Here is the simplest method for cooking quinoa that I've found. Be sure to rinse it before cooking, although apparently most quinoa at the market now has been rinsed already to remove the bitter outer coating called saponin.

Do you want to know why you might want to eat it? It's delicious - mild and nutty, and the texture is nice, like rice. It's super easy to cook in 15 minutes (don't overcook it). You can even pop it like popcorn apparently. It's high in protein (a half cup serving has 11 grams!) and contains all the amino acids to make it a complete protein to boot. It's gluten-free. It has fighto-chemicals that phyt against cancer and prevent cholestrol from clogging your arteries. It's loaded with potassium, magnesium and manganese. I mean seriously, was this secret buried in stone at Macchu Picchu? Sometimes I really think we "civilized" peoples have unlearned almost every useful bit of wisdom readily available to mankind.

Perfect Summer Sunday Lunch

Black Bean & Tomato Quinoa

Pesto & Crostini

Fried Green Tomatoes

Black Bean and Tomato Quinoa

(we added crushed garlic, cucumbers, chopped spinach,
zucchini, and green peppers to this recipe)

I love the little curlies.

Pesto and Crostini

I use the pesto recipe from The Silver Spoon.

(I do pull The Silver Spoon down off the shelf, often.)

Blend in a food processor:

25 fresh basil leaves

scant 1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil

1/3 cup pine nuts

1 cup Parmesan cheese, freshly grated

1/3 cup romano cheese, freshly grated

salt

& I add 1-2 cloves crushed garlic

Fried Green Tomatoes

(Don's specialty)

The garlic and basil flavor-bursting pesto

with the milder quinoa and fried green tomatoes

made a nice balancing act.

Accompany with iced tea, lemonade or Pinot Grigio.

Bon appetit!

It was Chilean poet Pablo Neruda's birthday Monday, July 12 (1904, d. September 23, 1973). He was famous for his odes to simple ordinary things, like an artichoke, socks, maize, a lemon. Neruda's sensuality and mindfulness of the universe in every small thing is inimitable, but the inspiration he keeps shining from Chile is a prompt for this Ode to Quinoa anyway. I think quinoa is a good candidate for a Nerudian ode, since it was spurned by Spanish conquistadors as merely food for Indians.

Ode to Quinoa

My fingertips
roll the beads,
miracles of asymmetry,
tiny as toad eyes,
hard as coriander,
the color of my skin.

A bed of it
would be like thick
sand, my knees
and elbows,
hips, my toes
would not be able
to find the bottom.
Happy
airy mattress.

An ocean
or a cup,
softened in a pan,
a spoonful
of autumn sun,
a pillow of
downy earth.
Useless teeth,
a tongue, a mouth,
the wet pads
of my cheeks
massage it into life,
down through the funnel
of my craving,
and into the well
of my stomach’s
open empty hand.


~ Ruth M.

Listen to a podcast of this poem here.

My ode is part of One Stop Poetry's One Shot Wednesday poetry gathering, where all poets are welcome to share, and readers will find delights. Leslie (Moondustwriter) is this week's host.

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morel alchemy

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Joy! There's gold in these here woods! At the end of April here on the farm we start hunting for until-now buried treasure: morel mushrooms. Although they look like it, they aren't brains, or Prometheus' liver, but they do grow again overnight, as big as the palm of your hand in a few hours. At the first silver of morning, we slip into jackets and farm shoes and out to the fallen apple tree, and to the woods by the pond, to comb the grass (and new poison ivy shoots if we're not careful) like Sherlock Holmes.

Morel mushroom cells don't reproduce. These fruits of the mycelium organism under the surface of the ground expand with water, which is why they appear after rain storms. They have the same number of cells when they're big Titan thumbs as they did when they were tinier than a baby's toenail and sprouted from mycelium legs underground.

These filigree toes magically dig up through the woodsy soil into the air where we pinch them from their lacy underground body - sort of like that eagle snatching poor Prometheus' liver, then carefully tuck them into deep pockets, empty them onto the kitchen table, bugs and all, soak them in salt water, throw out the bugs, toss the preciousness in flour, and sauté until the filigree turns to gold.

Morel season is just a couple of weeks, and I can't bear to add them to any other food and lose a single sliver of their identity. Sautéed in butter (or in our case, Earth Balance soy margarine) is the only way we eat them.

And after each small plate of delectableness, when I've absorbed the earthiness into my body through my tongue and blissed-out mouth, I swear I never need to eat anything, ever again.

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