Eating

Just shy of a year ago, I wrote a post entitled Imperfectly Fine about my struggle to find balance in life. I had just had my first session with a health coach and, as I do every summer, I was dreaming of spending more time in the hammock. After nearly 50 sessions with my coach, I'm here to report back. I have a meditation practice now. Taking this course in the city kicked it off and, though I may not sit in meditation every single morning, mostly I do. And it's there for me when I really need it, which is most of the time. I am back to exercising regularly. I ferreted out a gym in my town—it's a fairly ghetto set-up at the local high school, but it's open to residents three mornings a week and it's enabled me to reconnect to weight training. All incipient back issues have totally cleared up. I now see a Chinese acupuncturist every couple of weeks and take herbs twice daily and my herpes outbreaks have nearly vanished.

I'm learning to say no to the things that take me away from what I really want to do. After a couple of publishers expressed interest in a Glutton for Life book, I am finishing up a proposal. (I am elated and terrified in equal measure.) My coach helped me with all of this. She gave me the support, encouragement and love I needed to explore my fears and desires and goals and failures and successes. But the process is not "over." It will never be "over." Just this past week I fell into a giant pit of despair, feeling overwhelmed by my life and everything I still have not managed to accomplish. I am not thinner, richer, more famous or more successful than I was a year ago, and I panicked that I was no happier either. But I am taking deep breaths, sitting in meditation, remembering all the things I have to be grateful for, making plans to do the things I care about most, strategizing for the future and trying to fully inhabit the moment. It's incredibly hard work. But it's also exciting and fun. 

I read something by Annie Lamott yesterday that wrenched me to the core and reverberated through my whole being. I am humbled by her ability to write so completely in her own voice. She expresses her wisdom in a way that is so accessible and friendly, yet so profound. I just love how these words give us permission to be equally at home in our own skins. They came to me at a time when I needed them most and reminded me of what is truly important. I hope they fill you with hope and purpose.
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If food is fuel, don't you want to be powered by something that looks this amazingly alive and vibrant? Are you willing to go further afield to nourish yourselves in all the extraordinary ways you deserve? Foraging is one practice that brings you so much more than food. It's a wonderful way to get outside, connect to nature and discover the abundance that is available to all of us. One of the very first wild plants to emerge in spring, and one of the most commonly found in meadows, parks and fields, is the nettle. It's a little dangerous, as anyone who has ever tried to pick it without gloves on knows. But, like most prickly characters, with a little understanding and the proper care, it reveals its better qualities. Before you know it, nettles become putty in your capable hands.
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Cinco de Mayo is not the day to celebrate Mexico's Independence Day. Not to be irritatingly pedantic, but that's September 16th. May 5th is actually a much less significant date on which Mexicans from the state of Puebla commemorate an 1862 victory over French forces. But the U.S. has appropriated Cinco de Mayo as a celebration of Mexican heritage and pride, and that's fine by me. On Monday, I'll be raising a glass in honor of this holiday, my own Mexican genes and a beautiful bottle of aged mezcal I was gifted by Zignum. This grand producer is about as far away as you can get from the tiny artisanal distillers I met on my recent trip to Oaxaca (read about that here) and their mezcal is not exactly comparable. In fact, true mezcal purists might scoff at the notion of Zignum's mezcal añejo, which is aged in oak barrels for a smooth, rich taste. This ages-old spirit with roots in indigenous Mexico is traditionally sipped in its blanco (white) state, which has a decidedly sharper, more fiery quality. While Zignum's almost bourbon-like añejo does not retain the same flavors of smoke and agave, it is nevertheless quite delicious in its own right.

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The Caesar salad is the definition of a classic: something with an established and recognized value that never seems to diminish. Though hackneyed, lackluster specimens abound in airport terminals and chain restaurants everywhere (often inappropriately laden down with flabby bits of shrimp or chicken), when made properly this salad remains truly great. It was invented in the 1920s by Caesar Cardini, an Italian immigrant and restaurateur who lived in San Diego, California, but ran businesses in Tijuana, Mexico, where Prohibition did not staunch the flow of alcohol. According to his daughter Rosa, he came up with the salad on the fly one day when ingredients were low. Apparently the original did not contain any anchovies—that umami flavor came from Worcestershire sauce (which does, in fact, contain anchovies)—and was made with whole leaves of romaine lettuce meant to be lifted by the stem and eaten with the hands. So decadent, so divine. It's all about crunching into that cool, refreshing lettuce and licking that creamy, garlicky dressing off your fingers. I'll never eat it any other way, and neither should you.
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Driving home last night on dark, rain-slicked country roads, we saw the ultimate confirmation that spring is here. Every year, on a wet, foggy night in April, there is a frog exodus. I'm not quite sure where they are going—from one part of the woods to another? from the pond to the marsh?—but they inevitably cross our road en masse (and, sadly, not all of them make it). Now we will hear them getting down to business in the damp nether regions of the forest, and soon we will see the jellied masses of their eggs in the vernal pools, brooks and streams. In the garden there are other signs of spring: the first tentative pink sprouts of my peonies; delicate green leaves and buds on the lilac bushes; my beloved lovage unfurling; a few tender leaves of sorrel. And further afield there are some wild edibles to be found if you're ready, willing and able.
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I know a true vegetative state is no joke, but I couldn't resist this as the title for my current vegan existence. On day 12 of the Spring Detox/Cleanse, I am more than halfway through and I can officially say that this has not been about feeling limited or deprived. If anything, I have noticed how comparatively little food I need to feel nourished and full, and that is without consciously trying to reduce my intake. Although the cleanse calls for three meals a day—with the last one being a simple bowl of soup—G and I have mostly been satisfied with just two. I think this is because we eat our biggest meal of the day somewhere between 3pm and 5pm, something I doubt we'll sustain as it's just not that practical given our work schedule and our desire to socialize with others. Come Friday, I tend to like a cocktail, but have been content with my latest obsession of coconut vinegar with seltzer. Cinnamon tea and the occasional medjool date have been enough to satisfy my sweet tooth. As for some of the vegan dishes I've been enjoying (already previewed on Instagram @LauraSilverman), please read on...
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It's day five of my 21-day vegan cleanse. It's not really going to be a big deal for me, I told my health coach (discover her wisdom here). I basically eat like this all the time. Plus I'm not an emotional eater. Right.

My coach told me to use the advent of spring and the inevitable awakening and clean-up of the garden as a metaphor for my own self. And on Sunday, as I knelt on the still-frozen earth, hacking away at dried twigs and grasses, pushing aside sodden and broken-down leaves and pine needles, I saw that I, too, was badly in need of a refurbishing. It became clear that the extra pounds I have acquired over the last 5 years may well have helped buffer me against the particular pains and hardships of that time. Though I may not be the kind of emotional eater that relies on chocolate to mask a feeling of vulnerability, I am no stranger to taking comfort in food. But things have changed: my husband is healing; spring is here; I am reconnecting with a kind of movement and wholeness that I had begun to forget. Oh, and the cleanse? It's also meant a renewed commitment to daily meditation, which is good since my mind has been racing a lot. Could be that no sugar, no cheese and no alcohol really does have an impact on me. I've been falling asleep early, sleeping for 9+ hours and having vivid dreams. Tectonic shifts. I fear many things, but change is not one of them.

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As I write this, there are two tiny ants crawling around on my desk: proof positive that the world is waking up and spring is imminent. I heard the low trill of an Eastern screech owl the other morning and witnessed four robins sprinting across the lawn. There have already been rumored sightings of bears. Soon the frogs will come out of their deep thaw and the woodland orgies will commence. Tempers can run hot at this time of year, as even emotions lie dormant and come bubbling up as we begin to move and shake our creaky limbs. Be gentle with yourself, and with others. Stretch. Stimulate your blood flow by taking a natural bristle brush or a dry loofah and brushing your skin in long strokes toward the heart. Lighten the load on your organs (especially the liver and gall bladder) by eating fewer processed foods and meat and increasing your intake of greens, especially the bitter ones like dandelion and the chicories.

I was lucky enough to jumpstart my seasonal transition with a few days at Kripalu, a wonderful yoga and wellness center in Lenox, Mass. I've been there several times and really appreciate all it has to offer: yoga, massage, hiking, meditation, privacy, community and delicious, healthy food. As it happened, my reading for the Berkshire Festival of Women Writers took place there on the last day of my stay, so it was incredibly serendipitous and convenient.

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I snagged that title from the 1962 film starring Jack Lemon and Lee Remick as a husband and wife who both succumb to what is referred to as "the alcoholic lifestyle." The pain of such an existence—of any addiction, really—is unfathomable. Life is hard enough without that continual struggle. Both of my mother's sisters were alcoholics and they had complicated lives full of drama. My cousin Lisa died at the age of 48, her liver destroyed, her name still on a long waiting list for a donor organ.

In a recent intervew in Shape magazine, Sharon Stone talks about how, at a certain point in her 40s, she went into the bathroom with a bottle of wine, locked the door, and said, "I’m not coming out until I can totally accept the way that I look right now." (Hey, everything's relative.) Later in the article, she says that, despite her great love of wine, she has given up drinking alcohol because it makes women over 40 look splotchy, puffy and bloated.

So, what am I trying to say here? I guess it's just another opportunity to consider moderation and mindfulness. Too much booze is not a good thing, but I'm pretty sure we can say the same thing about vanity. Which is why I'm not hesitating to offer those of you who can tolerate a little tipple this recipe for a delicious French apéritif called vin d'orange.
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Can you feel it? The axis of the earth is increasing its tilt toward the sun. Days are longer and filled with more light. I’m not fully rejoicing yet because I hear there may be another nor’easter in our near future, but I’m getting ready for greatness. Our palates are preparing for the change, eager for the delicate flavors of spring: fresh goat cheese, the first slender stalks of asparagus and rhubarb, tender greens, sweet peas. These lighter foods act like a tonic upon us, awakening what has lain dormant, much as the sweet air brushing against our skin is revitalizing. This is a wonderful time to do a detox or a cleansing fast, to purge, freshen and take stock. There is something about that sparkling feeling, wiping the slate clean, that allows us to move ahead with great optimism. I urge you to shed some layers and wipe away the cobwebs—literally and figuratively. Soon we will be loosed from the shackles of winter and there is promise of great things to come.

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