Health

My weekday lunch is never something planned. It's inspired by my mood and defined by whatever is available in the fridge and pantry. Occasionally I will do leftovers, but not very often. Whereas G will often eat for breakfast what we dined on the previous night, I like to eat something different every day and generally keep it light. Soups can be quick, easy and satisfying, and especially appealing when it's cold out, but I also find myself craving salads with bright, bold flavors. I like easy tosses of greens, nuts and cheese; jumbles of quickly blanched vegetables dressed with vinaigrette; combinations of chopped things like fennel, pecorino and hot chile; even mayonnaise-glossed seafood stuffed into avocado halves or piled on top of crisp lettuce. Perhaps my favorite, in the classic tradition of the salade composée, are distinct but complementary elements arranged together in a wide shallow bowl. The composed salad needs an artful balance of textures, flavors and colors, so it demands consideration and creativity, which I'm always willing to exercise when it comes to lunch.
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New year. New you? Probably not. The same you, with fresh intentions, perhaps. If you didn't read Frank Bruni's recent piece, now would be a good time to do so. It's about what he calls "these wretched vessels," the bodies we are so actively engaged in criticizing at every step of the journey, but especially at the new year when we all resolve to whittle away at them. Here's what he proposes: We should make peace with them and remain conscious of that, especially at this particular hinge of the calendar, when we compose a litany of promises about the better selves ahead, foolishly defining those selves in terms of what’s measurable from the outside, instead of what glimmers within. Though I couldn't agree more that losing ten pounds will not make you a better person, it's only natural to want a little palate cleanser after all that holiday eggnog and gingerbread and short ribs and chocolate. Something cool and frothy, vegetal and light. Or straight from the sea, saline and frigid. So I can't actually say that getting G one of these as a stocking stuffer was completely without guile.
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It's a moment for feasting. Wherever we turn, we're inundated with images of glistening roasts and spun-sugar delights—and with the real things, too. No one arrives without a bottle of champagne or a plate of cookies. Fudge abounds. The scent of bacon permeates the air. No wonder we're all bloated and cranky, popping Tums and yearning for naps. Go for it, if you must. But remember, every meal doesn't have to be a pig-out just because "it's the holidays." While everyone else is tempting you with nutella-frosted monkey bread and seventeen-cheese lasagna, I'm going to present you with a lighter option that doesn't skimp on luxurious flavor. It's great cocktail party fare and makes a lovely lunch, or a light supper if you've had an over-indulgent day. Consider it my gift to you.

(And don't forget to leave a comment here to be in the running for my giveaway of three superb spice blends from La Boîte à Epices!)
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There really is something about this time of year that invites a heightened emotional state. As much as I want to resist the cliché, I find myself steeped in memories, haunted by the ghosts of Christmases past. The minute I've digested my last bite of Thanksgiving turkey, I begin playing our family's traditional holiday music: Handel's Messiah, Noel by Joan Baez and Misa Criolla. It fills me with joy and sorrow in equal measure, and I wallow in both. I don't want to seem maudlin, nor to keep forcing you into unwanted introspection, but there are some more things I want to share with you and this just seems to be the right moment. Bear with me; inspiring cookbook recommendations and cheery holiday recipes are coming soon. Some of what I want to tell you is tied to this post, inspired by my time in the hospital with G—who is doing great, by the way...
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It has been a challenging week. My husband had surgery on his leg on Tuesday, to remove the steel hardware that repaired the shin bones he shattered in a motorcycle accident in Indonesia in April of 2011. Compared to the original surgery, this was nothing, though the surgeon did take an hour to scrape away at the healed bone in order to retrieve the 7 screws and one long plate from G's tibia. So I have no recipe for you today. Instead what I have is a heavy scarf of mixed emotions that I knit while waiting in the hospital, striped with painful memories and fringed with hope. I'm sorry to grieve you but I must unburden myself.
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You may have noticed my total disregard of the upcoming holiday. Perhaps this is because we are going to a friend's home for Thanksgiving this year and I will not be in the kitchen. Or maybe it's just that I am weary to the bone of online discussions about the best way to cook a turkey and the incessant chatter about "sides." Upon receiving my latest issue of Lucky Peach, I was especially delighted to see that there was no burnished bird or puffy harvest casserole on the cover. (It's actually the Chinatown issue and, yet again, it's jam-packed with some of the most engaging and entertaining long-form food writing out there.) In fact, if I never hear anything more about quinoa, delicata squash or cranberry compote it will be too soon. Yet we must eat, and most of us will be sitting down to a major chowdown on Thursday, so I felt this was the perfect opportunity to continue the conversation about green sauces.
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Sweet or savory? If forced to choose, I know where I stand. Not that I lack the sweet tooth that is hard-wired into our shared biology—all mammals have a propensity for sweetness because it's a good predictor of high nutritional value—but sugar is hard on my body, and over the years I have gradually learned to resist its addictive pleasures. I was not raised on soda, so thankfully I never had to wean myself from that. Nevertheless, with the holidays coming up there will be lots of temptation, what with the pumpkin pie and the eggnog and my own yearly batch of caramels. Between my resistance movement and the gluten intolerance factor, our kitchen sees very little baking action. For all that I have loved and adored lemon meringue pie and chocolate chip cookies and German chocolate cake and cheesecake over the years, we've simply grown apart. So when the lovely people at Tate's sent me a review copy of owner Kathleen King's new Baking for Friends: Over 120 Scrumptious Recipes from Southampton's Favorite Baker, I was curious if it would inspire me. (I had some inkling of what was possible, because we're occasional and enthusiastic fans of Tate's gluten-free chocolate chip cookies, which are excellent facsimiles of their crisp and buttery wheat version.)
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On the heels of the storm, I flew to California for a long-planned and eagerly anticipated retreat at The Ashram, a uniquely wonderful haven in the Santa Monica mountains. I had been once before, nine years ago, and so was prepared for the grueling daily hikes, restorative yoga sessions, simple vegetarian meals, extraordinary massages and deeply supportive staff. What I was not prepared for was the hideous chest cold that came on as I stepped off the sub-Saharan plane flight and had me straining for every breath as I climbed steep hills in the unseasonal 90-degree heat. After much struggling and malaise, I simply succumbed and flew home, just two days into the week-long program. Words cannot express the depths of my disappointment. On the bright side, in those brief days, I received some very valuable insights that I'm excited to share with you. (And at the end, there will be a recipe for sunchokes that will help you stop gazing at them in that perplexed fashion once and for all.)
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Attention: This post contains some very graphic photos! If you are not prepared to see the actual process of a chicken being slaughtered and processed, read no further.

For those of you who eat chicken and would like to understand how it goes from being a living being to a nourishing food on your plate, please read on. The photos are not meant to distress or sensationalize, merely to document the steps necessary in a small, hands-on operation. I encourage you to familiarize yourself with this, as I'm hoping it may affect your desire to consume industrially raised and processed animals. I think it's really important to understand how the animals we eat are fed, treated and killed; to make every effort possible to ensure humane treatment; and to refuse to eat anything whose origins are uncertain. For a more thorough explication of my beliefs on this subject, go here.
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The storm came and it took so much from us: our electricity, our water, our phones, our internet. It took our connections. Our lights. Our power. We became vulnerable, alone and in the dark. We were frightened. And then we rallied and made do. We foraged for water. We built roaring fires and lit candles. We strapped on battery-run headlamps and cooked hands-free. We traveled to friends' houses to swap stories, plug in and reassure each other that all was well. Everywhere we went, the horribly splintered and gaping maws of downed trees reminded us of Sandy's strength. When we finally saw the images of those places truly under water, we were humbled. For what does a little time without the trappings of civilization compare to life irrevocably changed by devastation and death? We were the lucky ones. As I always say, those of us left behind must lift our heads, set our jaws and move forward. One sure way to reclaim our power? We voted.
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