Eating

Hello, it's me. Remember me? I think this is the longest I've ever gone without writing here since I started this blog in 2010. I'm pulled in a different direction these days, as I have founded The Outside Institute, a new venture that is keeping me extremely busy. I encourage you to visit the site and read about our mission to help people connect to the healing and transformative powers of nature. Consider signing up for one of our Events—hikes, workshops, forest bathing—including a limited series of six-course dinners for twelve I am serving in my screened-in porch. The first two sold out and were, quite frankly, a blast. The next one is on July 29th (see details here) and there are still a few seats left. Maybe you'd like to come up for the weekend? Sullivan County has some lovely new inns and restaurants, which I've listed here. As passionate as I am about this project, Glutton for Life still has a firm grip on my heart, if not my schedule. So, here I am with a recipe for a summer cocktail featuring rose petal syrup, fresh strawberries and gin that I'm hoping will allow me to slip back into your good graces. 

As I write this, I can hear the steady thud of logs being stacked in our screened-in porch. We're expecting a major snowstorm in these parts and that requires preparation. With a fire in the hearth and soup on the stove, coziness is assured. G does firewood; I do soup. Between us, we get it done. A few warmer days last week and, despite an ensuing freeze, the butterburs emerged from beneath their blanket of pine needles. These common plants, known as petasites, belong to a genus of the sunflower family that also includes coltsfoots. Perennials with thick, creeping underground rhizomes, they spread over the years and their large, rhubarb-like leaves are fodder for slugs in the summer. But their beautiful, cold-hardy buds are a late-winter/early-spring delicacy in Japan, where Petasites japonicus, also known as fuki, grows like a weed. I was lucky enough to receive some of these plants a few years ago from my Japanese friend Tomo and they have adapted well to my garden (lots of shade and pine). 

I'm not sure where I got the idea for this addictively crispy spiced rice. Did I read about it? Eat it somewhere? Was it an offshoot of my savory granola? All I know is that it satisfies my need for a crunchy garnish, which comes up surprisingly often. For soups. For salads. For yogurt parfaits. For casseroles. Croutons are out for the most part (husband is gluten-intolerant) and toasted nuts can be a bit rich. So this puffed rice—puffed millet works well, too—tossed with fat and spices and then crisped in the oven is a simple and delicious solution. I don't know about you, but I crave a mix of textures and flavors in my mouth. Something smooth and creamy cries out for a punch of acid, a contrasting crunch. My arsenal of condiments and garnishes is always stocked with chutneys, pickles, syrups, oils, hot sauces and salts to add punctuation notes to my food.  

Porridge is having a moment. It's grain-based and fits into the one-bowl meal trend. And it’s also supremely comforting—something we all seem to be in need of, now more than ever. (To say that porridge is "hygge," would not be a stretch.) At the Great Northern Food Hall in New York City's Grand Central, there is a Scandinavian porridge bar with all sorts of sweet and savory options. The latest addition to Jean-Georges Vongerichten's empire of restaurants at ABC Home, ABCV—self-described as "plant-based, non-GMO, sustainable, artisanal and organic whenever possible"—is serving congee, an Asian porridge, made with forbidden rice and millet. Further downtown, Good Sort, a vegan café in Chinatown, offers several kinds of congee, including a turmeric-and-coconut version topped with Champagne-poached cranberries. Porridge, a simple, easily digestible nursery favorite, is essentially a blank canvas for flavors and textures. Virtually any grain, from rice to oats to buckwheat, can be gently simmered in water, stock or milk—flavored at will with aromatics like ginger, chiles and herbs—until it breaks down into a pleasingly soft mush. What goes on top is another free-for-all: chopped toasted nuts, sprouts, infused oils, raw or cooked vegetables...

I developed a series of porridge recipes, the first of which is this kitchari, an Ayurvedic classic made with split yellow mung beans and basmati rice. I had such fun shooting with the supremely talented husband-&-wife team of Steven Randazzo and Bette Blau, who work together to create the most lush, richly textured images. They are masters of light and color, with a love of detail that really sets their work apart. We enjoy collaborating as our tastes—culinary and aesthetic—are aligned. (Remember this?) You can follow them here and on Instagram @whatbettefound.

February has arrived and it's been brutal over here. The days are short and grey. The sun is elusive. Fortunately, the birdseed with which we carpet the yard attracts a lively crew of feathered friends that brings some welcome distraction. Prehistoric-looking wild turkeys stroll in on spindly legs and scratch at the snowy ground with their long toenails. Woodpeckers go at the suet cakes like red-headed sledgehammers. The stellar jays are pugnacious but the petite chickadees—the sorority girls of the bird world—never seem to notice. It's dark by 5:30 and, to be perfectly frank, thoughts turn quickly to cocktails. Just so you know, I'm not much of a drinker; have never been able to hold my liquor. Two cocktails will often be one too many, so I go easy. But lately, there have been a lot of sharp edges that need softening and there's something so comforting about the ritual of closing the day down with a drink. Know what I'm saying?

The events of the past week have been overwhelming, provoking widespread anxiety as well as organized resistance. When life becomes unwieldy, when the world turns into a place you can scarcely recognize, sometimes all you can do is focus on what's right in front of you. As I've said before, regardless of the momentous happenings, sooner or later it's time for dinner. I hope you're cooking warm, nourishing foods these days. Now more than ever, we need to keep up our strength and our spirits. When you break bread with friends and family, set politics aside for a moment and give thanks for simple deliciousness. Compared to the enormity of what's looming, it may seem like small potatoes, but sometimes that's exactly what we need. 

The year 2017 is upon us! I'm a January baby, so this month always feels like a fresh start. I'll be turning 54 in a couple of weeks; well past the halfway mark, which is a bit startling somehow. I think about death a lot—have done ever since my father died when I was 26 (he was 64), and then my husband died when I was 40 (he was 41) and my mother died that same year (she was 76). For me, a big part of living is preparing to die and I don't feel this is morbid or maudlin. I want to die in peace and without regrets and this means striving to live in a state of grace. For those of you who haven't yet made it to this age and are curious about what lies ahead, here is what I can report: I have plenty of energy, dreams and plans. The world continues to be full of surprises and challenges. I am never bored. Slowing down is something I do to improve the quality of my life. There is always something new to learn, including about myself. The longer I live, the more I turn to nature for guidance, nourishment and wisdom. Any time I can be outside or interacting with plants is a source of joy for me and making bitters is an extension of that. 

How about we start with the sweet and move on to the bitter? Nothing would please me more than being able to send every one of you who commented a bag of my caramels, but I just can't swing it this year. (The postage alone is prohibitive!) But I do have three bags and they are going out to randomly selected Diane, Teresa and Jack. (I will email you separately to get your snail mail addresses.) Thank you to all for sharing your beautiful traditions and thoughts on celebrating at this time of year. I am very moved by how thoughtful and graceful you are and feel lucky that I am part of this ad hoc community.

And now, for the bitter. Or, actually, bitters—a new project of mine. I gathered a number of roots late this fall and decided to make a few different varieties of bitters. (If you'd like to learn more about how I got into foraging, here is I piece I wrote for a recent issue of Edible.) My witchy work is still in progress...

Have you been sucked into the December vortex? Standing in long lines, eating too much sugar and feeling like a loser because you can't afford to buy all the presents are some indications that the holidays are getting the better of you. Resist! I say. Go simple. Stay true. Be calm. It's a challenge, I know. Just the other day, as I sat wrapping gifts, I was overcome with sadness. Both my parents are gone, what little family I have lives on the West Coast and most of my friends are far away. I never had children. I live in a tiny cottage and my home doesn't overflow with several generations. My life suddenly seemed very thin to me and, I confess, I felt a little sorry for myself. And I start every day with a gratitude practice in which I carefully review all my many blessings! What is it about this time of year that preys on our vulnerabilities? I didn't really snap out of it until my husband came home and took me in his arms and talked me through the realities: I am healthy. I am safe. I am lucky. I am loved. There is no way to happiness. Happiness is the way.

Big changes can unseat us, make us feel wobbly and uncertain, as though the ground beneath our feet has shifted uncomfortably. Though we can't see the future, we often operate under the delusion that we know what's coming and that brings some measure of comfort. But, inevitably, our roots are disturbed and we must find a way to regain our equilibrium.

A few months ago, my life unexpectedly changed shaped and fear and anxiety threatened to overtake me. It required a lot of strength (and support from people in my life) not to react from a place of despair. Instead, I have chosen to remain calm, to give myself space and to simply exist in the in-between moment—a limbo I have historically found untenable. The eternal temptation is to take action to fix a problem.

This is where a regular meditation practice can be very helpful. It turns "Don't just sit there, do something!" into "Don't just do something, sit there!" The very act of sitting calmly allows you to feel grounded—in yourself. Your root chakra, located at the base of the spine, the pelvic floor and the first three vertebrae, creates a solid foundation that provides a sense of safety and security from within, regardless of your circumstance. Bit by bit, I am starting to feel more connected to myself, to my true nature.