I realized two things about myself this week:
1. I live by lists
2. I love to clean
Number 1 might be a new fact about me about which I will discuss in a later blog, but for those of you who know me number two is no surprise. In fact, for those of you who know me from way back may recall 2am bursts of vacuuming during slumber parties. My siblings labeled me 'clean freak' as I ordered them to pick up their socks or dust the furniture.
Cleanliness has always comforted me, helped me to breathe. Cleaning also gives me a feeling of control. The rote motions of scrubbing sinks, toilets, furniture, or floors helps my mind relax.
My love of cleaning has reached a new height as of late. I am lusting after a extraction steam cleaner that costs 750 dollars. I presented my case to my husband a few nights ago.
I praised the power of the machine. "This steam cleaner extracts dirt like no vacuum cleaner can. You clean and sanitize any surface with the power of hot water. Just think, I can clean the floors, the walls, the counters, the car interior, even the oven with water."
Knowing my husband's love of documentary, I even shared the home video of a woman effortlessly cleaning her seven layer caked on grease oven with the machine. She waved the handle like a wand and the grime washed right up with the gentle touch of her rag.
My husband's response: "You are a clean freak."
My comeback: " Don't judge me. You get off on computers."
He laughed.
I will buy a steam cleaner once I save for it, it seems essential for eco-friendly deep cleaning.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Friday, August 6, 2010
Thankfulness
I am thankful for my beautiful and gifted husband, my family, my friends. I am thankful for a home to live in and the beautiful changes that are being made there. I am thankful for my health, for good food, sunny, relaxing days. I am thankful for beauty and cool summer breezes. I am thankful for chocolate chip cookies and milk.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
A Food Revolution!
Yesterday, Ryan and I went shopping for breakfast to eat on our road trip. We opted for bagels because they travel well and they satiate. After scrupulously reading all of the bagel labels to find the one without a lot of sugar, we finally settled for a generic whole wheat bagel.
Whole wheat has got to be healthy and fibrous right? Wrong! The next morning, as I pulled two bagels out of the bag and proceeded to break the two pre-cut slices apart, I felt revulsion rise within me. These bagels had a glossy, gummy, manufactured look that made me distrust their integrity.
As I smothered organic peanut butter over one half, I glanced at the bagels food label and read the appalling fact that the third ingredient in these 'whole wheat' bagels is High Fructose Corn Syrup. WHAT!?!
First, I was shocked, not because food manufacturers inject whole wheat bagels with poisonous HFCS ( I knew this already), but shocked that this package had innocently made it into my shopping basket after I had mindfully steering away from bagels with added sugar, I had let the most potent and toxic of sugar additives slip past my scrutiny. After forgiving myself for paying to eat garbage for breakfast, I gloomily took a bite from my prepared bagel.
After taking a bite from my bagel, I was surprised at its lack of flavor. It had no real taste. I chewed on the gummy, gooey, uniformed dough with little pleasure or satisfaction. Although a bread-like substance, it did not taste of yeast or even grain. It mostly tasted like peanut butter.
As I thought more about it, I became upset and not because I willingly ate bagels with added HFCS for breakfast (because they did fill my hunger) but for the fact that bagels have HFCS in the first place and that no matter how many packages I read, all bagels have HFCS or added sugar. I became angry that such a simple and wholesome food as bread has been degraded for convenience and efficiency. To ancient civilizations bread was the source of life and these civilizations made it with a simple mixture of water, yeast, grain, and salt. I expect gummy candies and soft drinks to have high amounts of added HFCS, because that is how they are made, there is nothing 'real' or 'whole' about these foods, so when I buy them, I know without a doubt, exactly what I am paying for. Bread, on the other hand, labeled as 'whole' wheat made primarily out of grain and HFCS has little 'real' about it. I expect faux foods to carry this toxin, I do not expect it to be a common ingredient in my bread.
These bagels had no real taste, no real nutrition, more like cake than bread, and we buy them every day to feed ourselves and our children because its cheap food and sometimes its our only option. This must end.
Interestingly, the French Revolution reportedly broke out after Marie Antoinette insensitively and condescendingly exclaimed, "Let them eat cake!" in response to her hearing that the French people were starving to death because of the outrageously high price of bread. The French responded to her apathy with a fight for liberty, equality, and fraternity. And they not only succeeded in achieving these ideals, they also dethroned and decapitated Marie Antoinette, and they lowered the price of bread. (In many ways, they got their cake and ate it to...).
In America today, Marie Antoinette's words, spoken more than two hundred years ago, have sadly come to fruition because of our apathy. Sadly most of the food we find in the grocery stores is not food but engineered, heavily sweetened, or heavily salted psuedo-food that satiates without nourishing. Much like the French people of 1789, we are starving to death because we have traded in wholesome bread for cake--- and it is making us a sick and fat nation. It is our turn to step up and fight for our right to eat good food.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Paris
I love food and I love Paris. I want both together.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Hosting a Dinner... Check!
A wonderful night of satisfying tastes, light-hearted conversation, laughter, and joy.
I woke up this morning at 7:15 riding the elation still spilling over from the night before. My dream-lined dinner was an outstanding success! I could not be more pleased or proud. And I have not felt such overwhelming joy since Ryan and I were married almost three years ago.
Yes, I will unashamedly compare a four course meal I served to five lovely and willing guests to my wedding day because in many ways it is the same. Like my wedding day, I waited for the day to come in anticipation, I planned (in fact, in both cases I waited to a few weeks before to plan most of it) and on the day I felt too anxious to eat real food thinking that it might turn my mind away from the tasks at hand, but nervously snacked all day on gold fish crackers. I ruminated over the evening-- the experience I hoped people would have and what kind of candle sticks I wanted to burn. And like my wedding, the evening was the fulfillment of a commitment and a dream that I made to myself and my lovely and willing guests.
The whole dinner might have been a disaster had I not heeded Ryan's explicit advice to follow the recipe. Some days I fantasize that I am an experienced chef working out my creativity in the kitchen and I think that it won't affect the integrity of a loaf of bread if I omit a teaspoon of salt to save my heart, but of course, it always does. The miracle of bread is that it satisfies the palate and the appetite and it is made of only three ingredients. Salt being the third is vital to the bread's integrity.
I tested his advice the night before on our pizza dough. I wish I had a before picture, because when I made pizza dough a couple months ago, it was slimy and gooey. Though I left the pizza in the oven longer than recommended the dough did not rise or cook. Ryan and I literally scraped the toppings of the goopy-gloppy dough and shoveled them onto the crispy-burned parts trying to rectify what was too far gone. We ate dissatisfaction and disappointment that night.
That night Ryan promised to make dough the next time, and he did. Much like everything Ryan tries, he is sickeningly good at it the first time. I bowed down and swore never to make the dough again, but we were in a crisis this week and it was either I made the dough or no Friday night pizza. The Greens can't go without their pizza I suppose.
As I made the dough, I hoped for the best, because if it didn't go well, it would be an ominous foreshadowing for my dinner party the next night. Thankfully for my self-esteem, it did go well and in fact I made the best looking pizza I have ever seen. When Ryan took it out of the oven, he exclaimed, "Now this is why they call it a pizza pie!"
If preparing an outstanding four course meal is comparable to my wedding day then the pride that comes from baking a perfect pizza pie must compare to the feelings a mother has for her first born.
With the success of the pizza, I added homemade Italian rustic bread to the menu. The bread became one of the four courses to keep my guests mouths watering as I finished off the main course. I am glad I included the bread in the menu because it also ended up providing the rhythm for my cooking schedule on Saturday.
My Saturday morning started off like many others. A trip to the farmer's market. I love the farmer's market, especially in Spring. Fruits and flowers are coming out, which are a welcome distraction from the usual root vegetables. I love the bustle of the market, tasting the farmer's produce, talking to the vendor, and listening to both he and my taste buds before I buy.
Though I entertained my taste buds, as I walked from stall to stall, unlike other Saturday's, today, I was on a mission. For the last several weeks, I had been scouting out the fresh fare and knew which farmer I wanted to buy my asparagus from and who would sell me their potatoes. I also planned to spend more than my allowance on beautiful flowers. The week before lilacs made their grand appearance, and it took all my restraint to wait for my dinner to buy them. I could hardly sleep with anticipation of having a bunch of my own. When I finally walked away from the market, weighed down with flowers and produce, I sunk my face in the vibrant purple bundle of lilacs on my arm and giggled with joy that usually only comes from a child's heart.
My plan for Saturday was simple: clean the house, set the table, cook dinner for six. Though simple enough, I actually planned almost every minute of the day from the time I woke up to moving the chicken from the bottom rack to the top rack at 6:45 pm. On the menu :
Homemade bread takes attention and care if you want it to turn out right, and I wanted it to be perfect. I kneaded it, pounded it, then fluffed and folded it every hour for three hours. Shaped it and finally baked it, all combined for a total of seven hours of preparation before service. When it was served, oh, chewy, crusty, crunchy, airy, yeasty heaven on earth. It was delicious and I will toot my own horn. I think the secret is in following the recipe and baking with bread flour. I will never go back to all- purpose again.
I spent about as much time preparing and cooking the thyme & wild mushroom bisque. While the bread rose for the first hour I prepared the wild mushroom broth. And continued to cook the bisque throughout the day until guests arrived. I was most excited about the wild mushrooms. I love the mushroom stall at all farmer's markets, because it looks like they are peddling food for gnomes or creatures who inhabit a mythical planet. I felt very French buying a few pounds of wild mushrooms from chanterelles to weird antenna-like shrooms that look like they had been severed from a burnt-orange race of space alien.
The wild mushroom bisque was all and more than I could have hoped for: completely vegan, delicious, satisfying, stand alone taste of the good earth.
The bread and thyme & wild mushroom bisque were crowd pleasers (even those who afterwords admitted to a distaste for mushrooms), but the succulent, moist, lemon herb chicken held its own too. I almost strayed away from meat entirely to avoid the common cooking blunder of over (or in the case of chicken under cooking) the meat. I decided I could not, not cook meat for this experimental feast, every chef has to at least know they can cook meat, even if they choose not to.
Thankfully, I experienced no meat cooking catastrophes last night. Instead, myself and my guests were pleasantly surprised.
I was so nervous about the main course meat that I read over the recipe ten to fifteen times during the day and consulted my mother about a step that was up for interpretation. She shared her years of cooking experience with me and we came up with a reasonable revision to the recipe. And it worked!
Becca repeatedly commented that it tasted like ham, which is weird, but a compliment none the less, because people usually say that anything bland tastes like chicken. I guess the fact that it tasted like ham to her means it was well-flavored. I am glad the chicken came out, because I tossed and turned several nights in angst about the chicken and how I wanted to prepare it.
The entire evening was a delight. The only thing I would change is my timing. Everything was ready on time except for the main course. The rosemary herb potatoes and steamed asparagus finished cooking before the chicken, so I would time things out differently, and perhaps just bake the chicken and potatoes together next time like a roast.
After the bread and the chicken, my dinner guests so fully believed in my magic abilities in the kitchen, that they thought I hand-made the wonderful fresh mint and carob chip ice cream we enjoyed for dessert. I wish, and maybe next time, but I bought it from Caramello at the South Pasadena farmer's market. Did I mention that ninety-nine percent of the food came from our farmer's market, and most of it I picked that day. It is no wonder the meal was fresh and satisfying.
Bon Appetit!
And there will be a next time. I am high on dinner parties. When I woke up this morning, I was coming up with ideas for possible themed dinners...
I woke up this morning at 7:15 riding the elation still spilling over from the night before. My dream-lined dinner was an outstanding success! I could not be more pleased or proud. And I have not felt such overwhelming joy since Ryan and I were married almost three years ago.
Yes, I will unashamedly compare a four course meal I served to five lovely and willing guests to my wedding day because in many ways it is the same. Like my wedding day, I waited for the day to come in anticipation, I planned (in fact, in both cases I waited to a few weeks before to plan most of it) and on the day I felt too anxious to eat real food thinking that it might turn my mind away from the tasks at hand, but nervously snacked all day on gold fish crackers. I ruminated over the evening-- the experience I hoped people would have and what kind of candle sticks I wanted to burn. And like my wedding, the evening was the fulfillment of a commitment and a dream that I made to myself and my lovely and willing guests.
The whole dinner might have been a disaster had I not heeded Ryan's explicit advice to follow the recipe. Some days I fantasize that I am an experienced chef working out my creativity in the kitchen and I think that it won't affect the integrity of a loaf of bread if I omit a teaspoon of salt to save my heart, but of course, it always does. The miracle of bread is that it satisfies the palate and the appetite and it is made of only three ingredients. Salt being the third is vital to the bread's integrity.
I tested his advice the night before on our pizza dough. I wish I had a before picture, because when I made pizza dough a couple months ago, it was slimy and gooey. Though I left the pizza in the oven longer than recommended the dough did not rise or cook. Ryan and I literally scraped the toppings of the goopy-gloppy dough and shoveled them onto the crispy-burned parts trying to rectify what was too far gone. We ate dissatisfaction and disappointment that night.
That night Ryan promised to make dough the next time, and he did. Much like everything Ryan tries, he is sickeningly good at it the first time. I bowed down and swore never to make the dough again, but we were in a crisis this week and it was either I made the dough or no Friday night pizza. The Greens can't go without their pizza I suppose.
If preparing an outstanding four course meal is comparable to my wedding day then the pride that comes from baking a perfect pizza pie must compare to the feelings a mother has for her first born.
With the success of the pizza, I added homemade Italian rustic bread to the menu. The bread became one of the four courses to keep my guests mouths watering as I finished off the main course. I am glad I included the bread in the menu because it also ended up providing the rhythm for my cooking schedule on Saturday.
Though I entertained my taste buds, as I walked from stall to stall, unlike other Saturday's, today, I was on a mission. For the last several weeks, I had been scouting out the fresh fare and knew which farmer I wanted to buy my asparagus from and who would sell me their potatoes. I also planned to spend more than my allowance on beautiful flowers. The week before lilacs made their grand appearance, and it took all my restraint to wait for my dinner to buy them. I could hardly sleep with anticipation of having a bunch of my own. When I finally walked away from the market, weighed down with flowers and produce, I sunk my face in the vibrant purple bundle of lilacs on my arm and giggled with joy that usually only comes from a child's heart.
My plan for Saturday was simple: clean the house, set the table, cook dinner for six. Though simple enough, I actually planned almost every minute of the day from the time I woke up to moving the chicken from the bottom rack to the top rack at 6:45 pm. On the menu :
Homemade bread takes attention and care if you want it to turn out right, and I wanted it to be perfect. I kneaded it, pounded it, then fluffed and folded it every hour for three hours. Shaped it and finally baked it, all combined for a total of seven hours of preparation before service. When it was served, oh, chewy, crusty, crunchy, airy, yeasty heaven on earth. It was delicious and I will toot my own horn. I think the secret is in following the recipe and baking with bread flour. I will never go back to all- purpose again.
The wild mushroom bisque was all and more than I could have hoped for: completely vegan, delicious, satisfying, stand alone taste of the good earth.
The bread and thyme & wild mushroom bisque were crowd pleasers (even those who afterwords admitted to a distaste for mushrooms), but the succulent, moist, lemon herb chicken held its own too. I almost strayed away from meat entirely to avoid the common cooking blunder of over (or in the case of chicken under cooking) the meat. I decided I could not, not cook meat for this experimental feast, every chef has to at least know they can cook meat, even if they choose not to.
I was so nervous about the main course meat that I read over the recipe ten to fifteen times during the day and consulted my mother about a step that was up for interpretation. She shared her years of cooking experience with me and we came up with a reasonable revision to the recipe. And it worked!
Becca repeatedly commented that it tasted like ham, which is weird, but a compliment none the less, because people usually say that anything bland tastes like chicken. I guess the fact that it tasted like ham to her means it was well-flavored. I am glad the chicken came out, because I tossed and turned several nights in angst about the chicken and how I wanted to prepare it.
The entire evening was a delight. The only thing I would change is my timing. Everything was ready on time except for the main course. The rosemary herb potatoes and steamed asparagus finished cooking before the chicken, so I would time things out differently, and perhaps just bake the chicken and potatoes together next time like a roast.
After the bread and the chicken, my dinner guests so fully believed in my magic abilities in the kitchen, that they thought I hand-made the wonderful fresh mint and carob chip ice cream we enjoyed for dessert. I wish, and maybe next time, but I bought it from Caramello at the South Pasadena farmer's market. Did I mention that ninety-nine percent of the food came from our farmer's market, and most of it I picked that day. It is no wonder the meal was fresh and satisfying.
Bon Appetit!
And there will be a next time. I am high on dinner parties. When I woke up this morning, I was coming up with ideas for possible themed dinners...
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Career Conundrum
It is no surprise that God told me to change my attitude towards work. He intends for me to work that is why jobs keep opening up and I keep getting hired. I am curious whether or not the adage "The grass is always greener on the other side" applies to my job situation, or whether I would actually be happier working another job, or if I would be happier teaching if I put intention behind my career and stopped waiting for whatever comes next, but made my career what I want it to be.
The more I seek God on this topic, the more I realize there is no right answer. As long as I do whatever I am doing with all of my heart and serving God, I really cannot go wrong.
This realization is both freeing and un-fulfilling. It means I can step out of teaching and try something else, or stay with teaching and change my attitude and intention to make it what I want it to be. It means if I try something else, I will likely find things I don't like about that something else, and may find myself in this same conundrum in a different line of work.
The more I seek God on this topic, the more I realize there is no right answer. As long as I do whatever I am doing with all of my heart and serving God, I really cannot go wrong.
This realization is both freeing and un-fulfilling. It means I can step out of teaching and try something else, or stay with teaching and change my attitude and intention to make it what I want it to be. It means if I try something else, I will likely find things I don't like about that something else, and may find myself in this same conundrum in a different line of work.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
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