Launching Out of Limbo…& Grain-Free Lasagna

After a very long sick leave, I am back. Long story short, there was mold in the apartment and I got sick with bronchitis and a nasty hacking cough that persisted for almost two months. Between moving all our stuff into another unit and trying to recuperate, I felt like I was swimming in molasses. Suffice it to say, I had a lot on my plate. We’re in another unit now, but all our belongings are in boxes that are stacked in the living room. I feel like I’m in a maze and I can’t say that I enjoy living this claustrophobic existence. The solution seems obvious: unpack boxes and put items away. We are moving again, though,  because our current apartment complex is scheduled to have construction begin nearby (think buzz saw cranking up first thing in the morning, carcinogenic dust and particle haze, and leering/loitering construction workers). Not my cup of tea. So, we are moving again. At least we have a tentative move-in date.

All the flux has put a bit of a crimp in cooking, but I’ve managed to crank out a few home-cooked meals for us, including a layered vegetable-cheese delight. A few things before I get into the recipe itself. I bought the produce from my local dollar store because I got three full bags of it for under twenty-five dollars; some of the vegetables that I found were actually organic too, like zucchini and romaine lettuce (for the accompanying salad). The whole point of this dish is the vegetables, so choose whichever ones you like. Also, I opted to make a few extra tins of lasagna so that I could store them in the freezer for nights when I come home from school and have no idea what to feed the family. Also, I would like to credit the concept behind the recipe to the young ladies from a Weight Watchers meeting that I attended in 2006; the ingenuity of it resonated with me all these years and I finally decided to execute the idea. So here goes:

-1 basket of crimini / baby bella mushrooms (I bought them pre-sliced for convenience since there was no difference in price)
-1 eggplant, peeled and sliced width-wise (you could cut it length-wise to mimic lasagna noodles, but my frying pan was small, so I cut my pieces smaller in order to increase surface area and thus cook faster)
-1 large zucchini, sliced
-1 large sweet potato, peeled and sliced
-2 russet potatoes, peeled and sliced
-2 carrots, peeled and cut into medallions (I bought a bag of already washed and cut carrots for convenience)
-canned artichoke, sliced
-2 cups baby spinach, rinsed
-jarred pasta sauce (I chose Newman’s since it was on sale at the grocery store for $1.88)
-1 clove garlic (you can chop up the garlic if you’re so inclined)
-1 onion, slivered
-Pastures of Eden feta cheese (creamiest, best tasting brand I have come by thus far; the quality surpasses common store brands and although it comes in block format at Trader Joes, it is far moister than the crumbled varieties, which have the texture of dry wall and are packed with excessive amounts of salt. Trust me, buying the block is better. Storing the remainder of the block is a cinch too: plastic or glass container + distilled water. I have childhood memories of my mother cutting the feta block into cubes, placing them in a mason jar, then pouring boiled water over the cheese, which had the effect of desalinating the cheese. I’m not sure why she chose to use hot water; maybe to firm up the cheese or to keep it from accumulating bacteria? Anyways, I ended up using a sixth of the block of feta for each tin of lasagna.)
-shredded mozzarella or whatever cheese you like (I chose organic pepper jack from Trader Joes because it was Kosher and used only a little on the top for the melty-gooey effect)
-olive or grape seed oil to prevent sticking
-salt and pepper to taste
-1/2 tbsp dried oregano (optional)
-handful fresh basil (optional)
-sun-dried tomatoes (optional)

After lining up my three disposable aluminum tins and greasing their bottoms and sides (and preheating the toaster oven to 400°F), I lined the bottom with slices of raw potato. I spooned a little pasta sauce onto the potatoes then proceeded to add a layer of crinkle cut carrot medallions. Over that, went a generous layer of spinach since spinach tends to shrivel and shrink when cooked. At this point, I decided to multitask by sautéing the mushrooms, onions, and garlic with a little oil; while that cooked, I spooned on some more sauce and crumbled a little feta over the spinach, making sure to spread the cheese evenly so that there would be flavor in every bite of food. At this point, the mushrooms, onions, and garlic were ready, so I scooped up the mixture of oily vegetables and scattered it on as the next layer of lasagna. Over this went the sliced artichoke hearts. After that, I added more oil to the pan because frying eggplant requires it (unless you enjoy half the eggplant sticking to the bottom of the pan); the eggplant took a bit longer, but once it was browned to a slight crisp on its edges, I transferred the eggplant to the lasagna tin. Over that went another layer of sauce and hand-crumbled feta cheese. The lasagna was starting to look a little full, so I added another layer of spinach, zucchini, a few fresh basil leaves, then some more sauce and a smattering of grated pepper jack cheese. Over what would be the melted topping of the lasagna, I scattered a pinch of oregano, red pepper flakes, sun-dried tomatoes, and a small drizzle of olive oil. One tin of lasagna went into the freezer, one into the fridge, and the final one went into the oven for that night’s dinner. It cooked and filled the house with mouth-watering aromas for forty-five to fifty minutes (until the cheesy topping melted to a golden and bubbly perfection). As soon as it came out of the oven, the lasagna was ready to be sliced because of its densely packed contents (another plus to not having noodles in your lasagna). A neat slice of lasagna paired nicely with a small mountain of romaine lettuce and a sweet poppy seed salad dressing. Everyone had second and third helpings and no one felt guilty about it because we were getting our daily servings of vegetables and then some. Grain-free lasagna was a hit. And it gave us a nice break from the doldrums of perpetual meat dinners.

Bye Bye Balela, Hello Falafel (and my first poem…finally!)

I recently bought a giant tub of balela (Mediterranean chickpea salad) at my local Costco warehouse. If you’ve never tried balela, the brand that Costco brought is pretty spot on and oh so good. The only problem was that there was so much of it (warehouse prices mean warehouse sizes) and I really didn’t want good food to go to waste. I thought about it and realized that there really isn’t much of a difference between balela and falafel; falafel recipes may call for some ground coriander or cumin, but they both contain essentially the same ingredients. I didn’t have to add oil or eggs to make the mixture stick together. Best of all? It makes gluten-free falafel. After preheating my oven to 350°F, I dumped half the container of balela into my food processor, adding a bit of oatmeal baby cereal too (which is what I like to add to my recipe) and gave it a whirl until I had a grainy consistency somewhere between a mince and a rough chop (I like my falafel to have kind of a chunky texture because it looks more rustic). After oiling a baking sheet, I formed golf ball sized balls with my hands, making sure there was at least an inch or so between each falafel ball. Into the oven it went; after twenty minutes, I flipped them so that the other side could brown for another twenty minutes. I wish I could say that I also whipped up some homemade pita bread to go with it, but when you’re on a time crunch, you gotta make do with what you have; luckily, the corner Trader Joes had some pita pockets. They were a little on the thin side, but we drowned the bread in techina, aka tahina sauce, which is easily made as well: one can of sesame paste, two whole lemons (juice and pulp), half of a jalapeño pepper (if you want it less spicy, take out the seeds and veins), 4 cloves of garlic, a handful of fresh cilantro, half of a cup of water (and add more as needed because you want to achieve a creamy salad dressing consistency), and a sprinkle of salt and red pepper flakes blended together in the food processor. As for the salad, I diced the following: Roma tomatoes, Persian cucumbers, yellow pepper, celery, and onion. To assemble the finished product, I heated a pita round in the microwave for ten seconds, cut it in half, placing one half into the other so that the bread would be thick enough to handle the wetter ingredients. Into the pita pocket went three baked falafel balls, a few springs of fresh mint, a couple of tablespoons of chopped salad, and a generous drizzle of the techina. This recipe was so easy that I felt a little like I was cheating. My husband’s reaction after his first bite, though, dispelled my doubts because he declared my falafel sandwich the best in the entire county (I had to laugh because I live in a county full of fast food drive-thru chains and diners, so not too much competition in the way of Middle Eastern cuisine). I still have tons of leftover techina, so I have a feeling I might need to make that fresh homemade pita bread after all (and have the discipline and self-control not to eat any of its gluten-rich fluffy goodness). Yay for plant-based dinner.

As for the poetry segment, I am glad to report that I finally wrote something. Although I thought that I had successfully fulfilled the poetry assignment’s parameters of writing a joyful poem, I was told by members of the meetup that it was not joyful in the least bit. Oh dear. Well, I thought it was joyful in the sense that I was letting go of a painful past in the poem and looking forward to the true happiness and satisfaction that hard work will bring in the future; in the words of Frank Sinatra, the best it yet to come. My defense was futile, though, amidst the poems about laughing children, puppies, and other things that sounded like lyrics from The Sound of Music. Regardless, here is what I wrote. It can either be read across as one poem or downward as two poems. Also, no title.

“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” –psalms 30:5

I unwrite the bad                                                   it never happened
scars disappear, lift past                                   the black leather surgical table
rising above                                                          evanescent ghost
the old gashes vulgarly vermillion                         swallowed up
rust-tinged now swept away
like decomposing bones turned to dust                into a gaping grave.
Dwelling is                                                             the terrible sucking
perpetuating, like acid eating mettle                     a part of me

the pink new skins aching to unfurl.
The angel of death                                               passed…
traced his icy finger down my spine
one too many times–
I shuddered a prayer,
tears and time my shaman.
You can’t sit Shiva for the living.

Tinfoil happiness, the glitter of youth,
flew through me like chaff.
Everlasting joy, that which makes life,
a slow and steady climax built by
purpose and meaning, a connection
to one’s source. Hungry for the sublime,
I do my share and bide my time…

Oh My Aubergine: Budget Balkan Food, Alcohol & Poetry

One of my favorite vegetables to cook with is the aubergine, better known as an eggplant. Although it doesn’t look like much when it’s raw and has somewhat of a spongy consistency, it is fantastic once you cook it with a little olive oil (add some tomato sauce, some roasted garlic too, and it’s officially a party in your mouth). Another great thing about eggplant is the price tag: you can usually snag a nice and plump one for under a dollar. For last night’s dinner, I decided to make Moussaka, a traditionally Greek dish that uses eggplants galore. A little research revealed that this dish is a Balkan favorite with different regions each making it a little differently; the Turkish variation, for example, contains sauteed green peppers, zucchini, carrots, and potatoes, while the Romanians throw cabbage in. I decided to make my Moussaka recipe borrowing more from the Turkish recipes since I had more of the ingredients. I would like to mention that I decided to make my recipe dairy-free and use ground white turkey meat instead of lamb, cutting the meat with ground soy crumbles as well. I know it may not have tasted as good as the melty gooey goodness of a more traditional recipe that uses dairy for the bechamel sauce, but I needed to tweek the recipe to match my family’s budget and dietary restrictions (I recently started noticing pain on my left side and I’m trying to cut back on meat and dairy). Anyways, here’s my recipe:

1 large eggplant, peeled and sliced
5 carrots, cleaned and sliced into medallions
optional: a couple of stalks of celery chopped thick (I had it in my fridge, so decided to use it)
1 large brown onion, cut in half and sliced into slivers
2-3 large potatoes, peeled and sliced
1 bulb of garlic, minced or sliced
1 lb white ground turkey meat
1 lb ground soy crumbles
2 tbsp tomato paste
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp cumin
1/2 tsp basil
1/2 tsp oregano
2-3 tbsp chopped fresh cilantro
3 slices of candied ginger, minced
1/2 cup fresh cranberries
1 egg
1/4 cup olive oil
1/2 cup oatmeal baby cereal
olive oil to prevent sticking
jarred pasta sauce (add as needed)

While the meat and soy was browning in the frying pan with all the spices, herbs, candied ginger, and tomato paste, I baked the eggplant slices on a greased cookie sheet at 400°F for ten minutes. Then I got my greased casserole dish out and lined it with the sliced potatoes. I spooned on a liberal helping of jarred pasta sauce over the potatoes. Checking on the meat, I noticed that it was cooked and added a layer of meat to the casserole dish. The baking eggplant looked like it was adequately roasted, so I took it out of the oven and threw a layer of eggplant into the dish. Then came a layer of sliced onions and garlic, then carrots, more sauce, more meat, etc, until all the veggies were layered in. I had a lot of meat leftover so I froze it for a rainy day (it’s amazing what you can do with frozen leftovers, rice, and a rice cooker). For the pseudo bechamel sauce, I mixed up the egg, oil, and baby cereal and spread it over the top of the veggies and meat. I covered my casserole dish with a sheet of foil and baked it for fifty minutes at 400°F. Tip: wait at least thirty minutes before slicing and serving Moussaka because if you try slicing it while it’s still piping hot out of the oven, the layers fall apart, resulting in a messy mash of ingredients instead of a nice and neat square. As a side dish, I made coleslaw using purple cabbage (an entire head for under a dollar), carrots (2 lbs for under a dollar), and a Fuji apple; the dressing consisted of mayonnaise, the juice of half a Meyers lemon, 2 tbsp Braggs apple cider vinegar, minced candied ginger, and a squeeze of Sriracha sauce for color and kick. Hubby and I put the baby to bed and then dined, enjoying the rich Balkan concoction with shots of Icelandic vodka between sumptuous bites. All in all, delicious and nutritious.

As for the poetry, I am tasked with a writing assignment of penning a joyful poem. I inwardly cringed when I got it, thinking, “How does a pessimist write a joyful poem?” Time to resurrect my inner Pollyanna and write like all the bad things that happened never did. In general, though, how does a person start writing again? I’ve heard it said that one just does, simply clacking away at the laptop keys without cessation. When I was younger, I would get little bouts of writer’s block, but they would pass. I have not written anything worth mentioning since 2009. I can recognize good poetry when I see it, but I cannot write it anymore. My husband, the lucky shmuck, tried his hand at it a couple of days ago and asked me to read his work; in a handful of minutes, he had crafted a very tight poem with carefully chosen diction and economy. I was pea-green with envy. I’m the one that’s always lecturing at him about what makes good poetry and he goes and just writes something great with minimal effort. I snapped my compliments at him and went back to tending to the perpetually crying baby. At the risk of sounding like a whiny adolescent, it’s not fair. Where are my muses and inspiration? Perhaps a better question to ask is what makes me giddy with joy? An old fashioned free write yielded an interesting list: imbibing with friend(s), working up a sweat in Zumba (or zenning out with yoga, prayer, or contemplation), cleanliness and order, twittering birds (not social media, but actual birds chirping because it makes me feel like a Disney princess), hope for a better future, seeing myself in cap and gown after graduating from school, cooking for fun, etc. Now how do I shove this into poetic form? Ugh. Cue Stone Temple Pilots’ “Sour Girl.” Maybe I’ll write a Haiku…

Breathe

I’m trying with every fiber of my existence to breathe and see that it’s not as bad as it seems. It is difficult to maintain perspective and see reality as it is and not distorted right now. Despite my best efforts, I feel like an electrocuted cat. I tried so hard to have everything squared away before I start school again next week: doctor’s appointments, books for school, transportation to and from school, childcare, food, house cleaned, etc. And then havoc decides to wreak. Havoc arrives in the guise of my infant child shrieking for attention and tossing carefully folded laundry off of the couch without a second thought. Havoc also comes in the form of my husband deciding to oversleep and not attend childcare orientations or assessments, which screws me out of childcare, which then potentially screws me out of being able to stay in school because once again I get stuck at home taking care of the squalling baby instead of finishing school. I seriously resent that I am being punished for his lack of agency. And when I proceed to get worked up, he shrugs and says he’ll go next time. “Next time” occurs when I’m supposed to be at school next week. Thanks, just thanks. He then tells me that he’s so tired that he’s sleeping through his alarms and that he’s worn out from taking care of the baby too and that he feels like the baby is holding him back from finishing his requirements (and suddenly he’s been bitten by the ambition bug and his schooling is a priority)…The fact is, we’re both tired from taking care of the baby and not getting enough sleep, which is a recipe for disaster since we’re both in school.

School is the only thing I have going for me; seriously, when my philosophy teacher asked the class what was important to us, like what our reason for living was, my answer was school/knowledge/education. For me, the only thing worth living for, the only thing keeping me from walking into oncoming traffic, is school. Why school? because it signifies hope, that things will indeed get better once I am a contributing member of society with purpose and a place in the world that involves helping other human beings. I feel at peace when I think about that. It’s what I hang onto when the baby is making blood-curdling cries that set my frazzled nerves aflame, when my obnoxious significant other decides to try his hand at oration with conceited monologues about his advancement being the priority, when my mother turns her back on me for all my foolish decisions in life and peppers me with deprecatory remarks. Hope for the future is my lifeline. And school = hope.

My position is precarious, though: I’m probably battling some form of the post-partum blues (I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve begged to give the baby up for adoption), but I’m still fighting. I don’t want pills or sympathy or psychotherapy when I already know what’s wrong. I just want to be left alone to study unhindered. The baby gets in the way, but she can’t help it because she’s a baby. My husband gets in the way, but he CAN help it because, as the social worker said, “he’s a grown man.” So where does that leave me? Depending on the whims of aforementioned “grown man”? We need to work together if we’re gonna make it. I know what I can and cannot control and I cannot control him. I can, however, control what I do and I can set alarm for tomorrow and coax him with drive-thru breakfast to go to the childcare assessment, which I hope they will accept (fingers and toes crossed).

I need to go to the gym to blow off some steam. I’ve gotten into Zumba because it relieves stress and helps me focus on what’s important. Although I am a terrible dancer, probably as coordinated as Kramer from Seinfeld, I enjoy myself. I’m hoping that with regular attendance, I’ll eventually be as good as the trendy clutch of middle aged women who banter with each other before and after each class, intermittently giggling like school girls instead of the working professionals or retirees that they are. They wear bandanas across their foreheads like Rambo and take selfies with each other. Good for them. Some day, I hope I’ll be wearing a bejeweled magenta Zumba shirt and be in the best shape of my life, happily chatting with other Zumba enthusiasts. Some day is not that far away once I finish school. I just have to hang onto my goals, resolutely, fiercely, undauntedly, and remember to breathe.

Old Bones

Back in the city of abundant pollution, illiteracy, and crime. It’s not so bad, though, because I feel recharged from my visit to civilization. Plus, once I got back into town, I was able to attend my monthly poetry meetup (a rare gem out here), which I was very much looking forward to. We discussed the monthly reading and read our free verse poems afterwards (I never was able to write a free verse poem that appealed to the five senses because I felt sapped of all creativity after dealing with the baby each day, so I just read a poem that I wrote in 2006, entitled “I am the Ashtray”). This was an exciting meetup for me because it was the first time that I shared my work and read it out loud (I was so nervous that I started reading with a heavy accent, so that some of the expletives and vulgarities of the poem sounded odd because it was as though a third world grandmother was reading…not what I intended). Regardless of my matronly reading, I think that I impressed my fellow poets because they waited up for me after the meetup outside the restaurant to tell me how much they liked my poem. I think I’ve finally found acceptance. I’d gone reclusive for a spell, far preferring the dry comfort of the realm of academia and being cocooned in my man’s world. But the baby’s birth made me feel a very urgent need to reclaim and reaffirm my Self and indulge Her with favorite pastimes and positive activities. The time to shake out the old bones of my writing has arrived. While I have not composed anything new in quite some time, I am trying to. This is important.
Next month’s poetry assignment is to write a poem that would give people a hundred years from now a snapshot of what existence in my time was like. What shall I write about? GMOs? Ferguson, Missouri? Abortion? Diversity bastardized and manipulated by excessively liberal ideology (i.e. progressive socialism)? Feminism gone awry? Tradition flouted? Selfies? The Great Recession? Gun control? Islamic extremists? My mother, monolithic and terrible, the lemon juice in my wounds? So many emotion-laden topics to pick at, brood over, and mold into art adhering to form (or not adhering to any form, thereby emphasizing the chaos that so negates and, ironically enough, enables and illustrates the concept of form–or utter lack thereof–matching content). Speaking of form, which poetic form should I choose? I’m thinking of an interesting union between Sestina and Elegy, playing with it on paper (I used to be able to bang out phenomenal poetry on my laptop in college, but it seems that I’ve lost that ability for the time being…one can still achieve the White Heat).

Nothing too exciting going on in the kitchen, as we are subsisting on frozen food items thrown together haphazardly in order to avoid going grocery shopping (so exhausted these days). One such meal consisted of frozen turkey and quinoa meatballs, jarred pasta sauce, fried spears of eggplant, onions, carrots, and zucchini ladled over quinoa/corn pasta. Really no rhyme or reason to these flavors being thrown together, except a desire to expend the least amount of effort as possible. Did I mention I was tired? In fact, I’m going to wrap it up and put these old bones to bed.

Lemonade: I’m writing again and I’ll probably wow my in-laws with some exotic culinary feat for Thanksgiving.

Kabob & In-Laws

Two weeks later and I’m just beginning to get over a particularly nasty sinus infection (I knew something wasn’t right when I had to take ibuprofen around the clock to not feel like every bone in my face was broken…thank goodness for antibiotics). Thanks to my in-laws and their help, I was able to rest up, heal, and jump out of the doldrums. They even looked after the baby while I got my hair blow-dried. I have to say that I was not expecting so much generosity from them. Although we didn’t really hit it off at the beginning, my in-laws and I have something in common: my baby (formerly known as annoying baby). I can see that they really care for her and that she is surrounded by love. I am very grateful.

The past two weeks have also been filled with cooking adventures. My kitchen back at our itty bitty flat is like a walk-in closet. Visiting with the in-laws, however, made cooking fun: a real kitchen with ample counter space, cool cooking gadgets that simplify culinary endeavors, an operational dishwasher, and a wonderful variety of fresh ingredients (there’s a Persian market in like every city out here, which is awesome because it’s like a Disneyland of fruits and vegetables within driving distance wherever you are– and with super reasonable prices: five avocados for a dollar and two pounds of pomegranates for a dollar…suffice it to say, I am happy here). The dish that I received the most compliments on, though, was my chicken kabob recipe. I made a really small batch because my father-in-law was barbequing and I did not want to crowd the kitchen. This is my recipe:

-metal skewers (you can use wooden skewers in a pinch, but I’m not a fan of the splinters or the fact that they light on fire every so often)
-large ziploc bag or bowl
-2 large chicken breasts cubed into one inch pieces
-1 tablespoon turmeric
-2 tbsp grape seed oil
-4 tbsp lemon juice
-pinch of saffron
-1/2 tsp sea salt
-1 tsp freshly ground black pepper
-1/2 of an onion, minced

I combined all the ingredients and let it marinate for about fifteen minutes (during this time, I was making veggie kabobs too, skewering thick slices of Italian zucchini, wedges of red onion, and whole Campari tomatoes). Once marinating was done, I took the cubes of golden raw chicken and slid them down the skewer, leaving a fraction of space between each piece of chicken in order to ensure even cooking. I handed over the skewers of meat and vegetables to my father-in-law and he did a great job with barbequing them. Once everything was cooked, the family gathered around the table and we laughed and enjoyed some really good food together. The baby partook in the festivity and food too (she even had pistachio gelato, proving how very much she is my daughter and a total baby gourmand…fyi, her new moniker is the Kronut, which not only pays homage to her diverse cultural background, but also is what we fondly called her when we first brought her home from the hospital). I think everyone tried the kabob and complimented it; my mother-in-law even called later that night to say thank you (seems like global warming is hitting the netherworld these days too).

Visiting with the in-laws was great, but there was a raincloud too: my husband got really sick and had to leave his program. Major bummer. While he was asked to return to the program by the head sergeant and main recruiter, hubby was visibly crestfallen. He made it through the worst of the smoking and yelling and hazing, excelled at the academics, only to get sick. Why does that happen in life? Either way, he is not deterred and I am proud of him for his perseverance and ability to look at the situation as a learning experience. Cue Chumba Wumba’s “Tubthumping” and other such upbeat hits of the nineties. Whatever he does, he’ll be amazing and excel. I know it. As for me, I’m still on the path to my nursing degree, but now with the option of applying to schools closer to the in-laws so that they can help with taking care of the Kronut. Score. In spite of a setback, the future seems bright and teeming with opportunities.

 

 

 

Influenza (or a hiatus from the real world)

It comes as no surprise that I got the flu. After running myself ragged to meet everyone’s needs but my own, I found myself unable to grit my teeth through yet another shopping trip; the sore throat, chills, and muscle aches finally felled the dragon. And I’m kind of glad they did because I got the chance to press the pause button and be still (or as still as annoying baby would permit). In biblical times, if people became sick, it was a sign that they’d sinned or erred on a spiritual level. Fast forward to today’s hectic, fast paced lifestyle and I think the principle still stands (minus getting leprosy): we get sick because our souls are sick with stress and we’re not practicing self-love. A cold is a chance to check in with ourselves, nourish our ailing bodies, and consider slowing down a bit, perhaps even reprioritizing. I went without good nutrition and adequate sleep, eschewing self-care for husband and baby’s myriad needs; skipping lunch so that hubby can have his 8.5 x 11 college ruled paper and lint brush is not okay. It’s codependent behavior and it’s self-annihilating. I need to work on balancing my needs and my family’s needs in a healthy way (this is where I grow three more pairs of arms and maybe a second head…or maybe learn to say no and be okay with it).

As far as cooking this week, I kept it low key with chicken soup. Although modest, the skinless chicken, frozen vegetables, lemon, and turmeric made the most soothing meal; nothing is quite as comforting as sitting in a pair of fuzzy sweats and hugging a steeping bowl of chicken soup to your chest. If I’d had the energy, I would have peeled a bulb of garlic too, but everything is just so achy. How scary to think that influenza caused an epidemic less than a hundred years ago.

Speaking of scary, Halloween is this Friday. I’m visiting the in-laws with annoying baby and I’m kind of looking forward to seeing all the little kids ringing the doorbell in adorable costumes. I’ll probably still be sniffly, sick and taking care of annoying baby, but it will definitely be a nice break from the frenzy and sleeplessness that comes with a husband in training. How funny that the flu and my in-laws are welcome reprieves. Thank goodness for lemons!

I want to work on the poetry assignment that I was given at my poetry meetup. The assignment is to write a free verse poem that alludes to all five senses and it cannot rhyme. I keep tumbling ideas in my head, hoping that one topic will appeal to me enough to bang out a few lines of genius. Alas, I am blocked. Also, I feel like Robert Frost was right when he said that writing free verse was “like playing tennis without a net.” What should I write about? And how on earth should I begin? In media res?

Winter Soup (and a side of whine)

I craved two things when I was pregnant: avocados and a winter soup. While both are rich in folic acid, the soup was the more mouthwatering of the two for me and I would diligently go through the process of making it. This soup was wonderful after the baby was born too because it kept my mood up thanks to the plethora of B vitamins. For some reason, though, annoying baby freaks out when I start cooking it, the aromas of steeping herbs and frying onions driving her to pull her hair in frustration and keen with her fingers to her mouth. Tonight was no exception and I ended up having to ladle some soup into her sippy cup to placate her; the audible “mmm” as she drank was too funny.
Incidentally, this soup is based off a Persian recipe that is called Ash Reshteh. Here’s how I made it:

-2 bunches fresh parsley (trim the stems for a less acrid, medicinal tasting broth)
-2 bunches fresh cilantro
-2 bunches fresh dill
-2 bunches fresh mint (stems trimmed)
-1 bunch of fresh chives
-1 stalk leek
-1 bunch of spinach (fresh tastes better, but frozen will do in a pinch)
-1/2 head of cabbage cut into large cubes
-1/2 cup cooked lentils
-1/2 cup cooked/canned garbanzo beans
-1/2 cup cooked/canned beans of your choice (black eyed are traditionally used, but I’ll use whatever I have in my pantry)
-1 package of Persian vermicelli noodles (Sadaf and Golchin are the only brands I know of that make these noodles, but absolutely feel free to use whatever noodles that you like; tonight, for instance, I used brown rice noodles to keep it gluten free)

For the garnish:
-1 large onion
-1 or 2 bulbs garlic, peeled
-1 tablespoon turmeric
-cooking oil of your choice
-plain yogurt (traditionally, a Persian product called Kashk is used, but regular or Greek yogurt works well too; if the idea of dairy doesn’t float your boat, this ingredient can be skipped all together because only a few dollops are used)

There are two appliances that are a must-have for me when I get down and dirty to make this soup: my crock pot and food processor. I suppose you could use a stock pot, but I think that slow cooking encourages the herbs to express their flavors more properly. Whatever vessel you use to cook with, though, make sure it’s big because the herbs and vegetables release moisture as they cook. The second appliance I rely on is my food processor because it saves me from the tedium of chopping up a mountain of greens by hand.
To get started, I lined up my appliances on my kitchen counter. After thoroughly cleaning my kitchen sink, I put the stopper in the drain and filled it with water. Rounding up my herbs, I cut off most of the stems before immersing them in the sink. You may have to rinse the herbs a number of times, which is what I had to do, in order to fully rid them of residual dirt. After that, the herbs took a spin in the food processor until they were chopped to my liking. Using my food processor spatula, I scraped out the chopped herbs and deposited them straight into the crock pot; repeat this step until all herbs are chopped up. The cubed cabbage went into the pot as well. At this point, I filled up the pot about half way with water, turned it on, and put the lid on it. Next, I rinsed the spinach and leek, especially making sure to get all the dirt out of the crevices. Once they were roughly chopped, those went into the pot. If necessary, add more water. I let this simmer for about four hours before adding the cooked lentils and beans. Also, since I used brown rice noodles, I boiled those in a separate pot, adding the cooked noodles to the pot as well. I dialed the crock pot to the “warm” setting and then focused my attention to the garnish: slicing the onion lengthwise, I julienned onion slivers and threw them into a well-oiled frying pan on medium heat, sprinkling the turmeric into the oil (make sure to be generous with the oil and that it’s nice and hot, otherwise you won’t get crunchy caramelized onion topping. A tip: don’t fuss with the onions. Let them brown on one side before flipping them over). After the onions were cooked to my liking (almost burnt, but crunchy, brown, and sweet), I let the garlic have a go in the hot oiled pan too. Once onion and garlic were done, I scooped them over the top of the soup, which had thickened a bit thanks to the noodles. And voila, dinner was done. Grabbing a bowl, I ladled myself a generous portion of soup, adding a few spoonfuls of whole milk yogurt. It was good; I totally get why this soup is made in the winter– it warms you up and chases away the chill. I went back for seconds. The baby had seconds in her sippy cup, blissfully drifting off to sleep.

I’m tired too. I know I’m tired because my sweet tooth is starting to nudge me. I’m spent, but I need night owl time. Between making the time-consuming soup (and special turkey meatballs for my husband’s muscle building and calorie replenishment efforts) and chasing after annoying baby all day long, I feel like a husk. I know that once my husband is done with his training school and gets into his job, we’ll be able to afford daycare and I can go back to school. We’ll see. As for a positive thought: I did yoga once this week and I’m down to 193 pounds.

Of Wives and Men

 

Behind every great man,
there’s a great woman.

When it comes to military and even paramilitary professions, Eleanor Roosevelt hit the nail on the head with the above quotation. In general, a man depends so much on his wife or significant other, no matter what field he works in. If you ask me, nothing’s changed much since the fifties; in many modern American households, the first lady’s quote still stands. Ask any wife whose husband serves in the military and she’ll tell you that it’s like she’s in too. Okay, so she may not have a red-faced gunny sergeant yelling in her face,  but if she has children, the stress of taking care of aforementioned offspring or (gulp) taking them to the store while they shriek their heads off and create an embarrassing scene is tantamount to being smoked in boot camp (or even worse because your children go home with you at the end of the day and you have to feed them, make sure they’re hygienically acceptable, and then put them to bed…oh the agony). Seriously, women’s lib accomplished nothing except make us have to earn a living and chip in on mortgage payments, in addition to cooking, cleaning, and raising the kids; if you ask me, we got the raw end of the deal.

Anyways, women really are indispensable to their men. Today, for instance, I was responsible for getting the grass and mud stains (from hell) out of my husband’s PT sweats. Soaking them in Oxy Clean and cold water overnight, while effective for wine and blood stains, was ever so pointless for this purpose: I ended up with a bathtub full of lawn clippings, nasty soiled sweats and sudsy mud water. Meanwhile, my husband is asking if his PT garb is clean yet because he has to iron creases into the front and back of them. I knew I needed something stronger to deal with this formidable crucible. With annoying baby attached to me, I made a mad dash to Costco and thank goodness, like every single kind of laundry detergent and stain fighter was on sale.  I grabbed a couple bottles and jetted back home. After reading the directions for the umpteenth time, I spritzed oh about half the bottle of Shout all over his sweats and proceeded to scrub the heck out of them with an old toothbrush until both my arms were burning (using my toothbrush to clean something that I’d rather not touch to begin with? Yup, I’m in boot camp too). I filled up the washing machine with scalding hot water, tossed in the maximum amount of special Tide, sloshed some vinegar in too,  said a little prayer, and announced that it was in G-d’s hands now.

While the laundry churned, I sprinted to the kitchen and proceeded to whip up dinner with my brand spanking new Santoku knife (two of them for like ten bucks; never heard of the brand, but hey, German steel for ten bucks is a steal! Plus, it’s like the only knife that I own. Yes, I use one kind of knife for all my culinary needs). I’m sorry to say that I didn’t make anything too exciting: ground turkey with the usual array of  Italian spices, a chopped onion, ordinary jarred sauce, and pasta. It’s super critical to be feeding the husband pasta for the carbs that he will surely need for the seven hours of PT tomorrow, as well as the turkey for the creatine that it contains. Boring as the food was, it did his body good. Since I was doing a really convincing impression of an electrocuted cat (or perhaps a multi-limbed deity), annoying baby got stuck with bland jarred baby food; I could almost hear her sigh.

After dinner was squared away, I was informed that 8.5 x 11 college ruled paper was suddenly needed because last minute homework needed to be turned in tomorrow. Oh, goody. Once again, juggling keys, purse, and annoying baby, I drove to Target, which only sold 8 x 10.5 filler paper. I was hella hungry by this point, subsisting only on a paltry lowfat cup of chocolate yoghurt all day, but I let the hunger pangs fade into the chaos and made my way to an overpriced office supply store, which, of course, had 8.5 x 11 college ruled paper (in like every color from the rainbow). On my way home, I picked up some more lean ground turkey for tomorrow night’s dinner.

Once groceries were put away, I checked in on the laundry: praise the Lord, the stains were miraculously gone! I practically danced my way to the apartment’s communal laundry room, jubilantly shoving the quarters into the slot, and humming “Oh Happy Day” while foisting the damp sweats into the dryer at one in the morning; the neighbors probably thought I was certifiably batshit.  Oh well. This may very well have been the highlight of my day because I so didn’t think those stains would lift– and they did. Can I get an Amen?

William Carlos Williams wrote a poem entitled “The Red Wheelbarrow,” in which he states the absolute importance of said wheelbarrow: “so much depends / upon / a red wheel / barrow…” (the line breaks I put in kinda kill the effect, but the poem’s stanzas originally look like little wheelbarrows– it’s neat). As a homage to WCW, as well as the many women who have spent countless hours toiling for their families, I wrote the following:

So (very very) much depends
on
a housewife:
loving spouse
doting mother,
caretaker of all
things domestic.
Valorous
keeper
of the hearth,
indefatigable defender
of the home’s warmth,
she protects her family
with steel wool love.
Take that, women’s lib.

Just kidding with that last line. Post on codependency to follow. Happy almost Friday!

Looks like I double majored: MRS & MOM.

 

My Husband, My Lemon (sometimes…and more misadventures)

Music: Stone Temple Pilots – Days of the Week

Every couple has their share of marital woes. Whether it’s PMS, a miscommunication, or the stress of juggling way too many responsibilities (while annoying baby shrieks in the background), two romantically entwined people who have cohabited for some measure of time will go at it now and then like cornered cats brawling in an alley. Whatever it is, couples wrangle, sometimes arguing about the most trivial of things, like dirty laundry carelessly strewn on the floor instead of properly being placed in the hamper. I’m not going to pretend I’m some perfect apron-clad Stepford wife who ‘yes, dears’ her way through life, cleans up everyone’s messes with a face-splitting smile, and then spends the remainder of the day chained to the stove. I’m far too outspoken. Certainly I endeavor to pick my battles, glossing over infinitesimal infractions with silence, self-imposed timeouts, and scrubbing the pots and pans a little harder. Some days, though, I feel utterly spat upon because it adds up: nasty little used pouches of tobacco staining the bathtub indentation meant for soap, curly man pubes all over the bathroom floor, dried food stuck in between prongs of dinner forks, scrambled egg-encrusted pans sitting in the sink for days on end (and subsequently making my sink reek of rancid eggs), my food processor spatula wantonly used to cook aforementioned scrambled eggs (and then negligently melted and becoming unsafe for food preparation because of the melted plastic crumbling off), one roll of toilet paper being used per day (and most of it ending up in the trash bin), the trash bags never being replaced unless I do it (so if I don’t put a new bag in the bin, snotty wads of toilet paper and earwax-smeared cotton swabs end up sticking to the bottom of the unlined trashcan), piles of intermingled clean and dirty boxers and gym socks littering the couch, training gear stacked on the dinner table — the list of offenses seems interminable because I am always cleaning up after one very slovenly husband, a complete and utter slob kabob. I am forever nagging at him to change his messy ways, but I’d probably have better luck getting the annoying baby to learn how to tidy her surroundings. Ugh, I go absolutely nuclear when my husband’s messes build up to a point of no longer being teeth-grittingly tolerable. I’m no clean freak (my mother can attest to it), but I have the decency to clean up after myself and not leave a mess sitting for consecutive days, nor allow it to accumulate to the point of becoming offensive to others. Okay, end rant.

To be fair, my husband does have good qualities too; namely, he puts up with my idiosyncrasies and even loves me for them, claiming he’ll never be able to find another woman with quirks like mine. It’s sweet, really. I also won’t forget how he took care of annoying baby when I had a challenging anatomy and physiology class; I imagine it was six weeks of unmitigated torture for him, but he made sure I could study unhindered, even allowing me to borrow his noise-cancelling headphones (which incidentally do not cancel out annoying baby noise). And, as I was writing this entry, he cleaned up a considerable amount of his mess; he even folded and put away his laundry! Amazing what a little PMS can make a man do.

Anyhoo, I made something quite fantastic last night because I was jonesing red meat like nothing else (once a month, I’ll splurge for the sake of replenishing iron). This recipe is like Hamburger Helper, but way healthier. I started out with a pound of  lean ground red meat, canned tomatoes, a large onion, one bulb of garlic, one bunch of fresh dill, one bunch of fresh parsley (Italian is more fragrant, but ordinary curly parsley will do), one cup of uncooked rice, a handful of golden raisins and prunes, a half cup of fava beans, some turmeric and cumin, and salt to taste. After getting the onion and garlic to a nice chopped up consistency in my food processor, I poured most of the onion/garlic into a mixing bowl (I set aside the remainder of the onion/garlic for my tomato sauce). The dill and parsley also went into the food processor until both were finely chopped. After adding the chopped herbs to the mixing bowl, I threw in the pound of meat, as well as two tablespoons of turmeric and maybe a tablespoon of cumin and my cup of rinsed basmati rice, and started to knead the meat by hand. I find that combining the ingredients by hand, while messy, is actually a more effective method than say using a spoon; it also makes me feel like an old world grandmother because I’m making meatballs exactly how generations of matriarchs before me did. Anyways, back to the recipe: the golden raisins and prunes took a turn in the food processor with a bit of water until I achieved a paste or jam-like consistency. I then formed little meat patties with my hands and spooned a generous amount of the raisin and prune mixture in the center, on top of which I put more meat and formed a large ball (the idea is to form a stuffed meatball about the size of a baseball). After forming the meatballs, I set aside the meat and got my deep cooking pan on the burner. The tomatoes and the remainder of the onion/garlic was added, as well as the frozen fava beans and a cup or two of water (fyi, you can totally use crushed tomatoes, but I personally don’t like the liquified consistency of crushed or diced tomatoes; whole canned tomatoes, on the other hand, tend to retain their form better, even if heated). As soon as the tomato sauce started to give off a bit of steam, I placed the meatballs into the pan and put the lid on, allowing them to cook for a good thirty to forty minutes on medium heat. I knew they were done when the meatballs had almost doubled in size, which is indicative of the rice being fully cooked. When I took the lid off, the aroma of savory herbs and meat wafted into the living room and the baby started freaking out (she knows the smell of Persian home cooking and she crawls into the kitchen bawling like a hungry kitten looking for food). My husband was drawn to the kitchen too and that’s when dinner started. Ah, the domestic life.

This morning, after having stayed up all night helping hubby to pack for his first day of training (half of which was spent looking for his keys, which he had set by his bedside so as not to forget them…go figure), I decided to let off some steam by cooking breakfast. I found a vegan recipe for pumpkin pancakes in a Yahoo article and I made a few tweaks:

3/4 cup gluten-free flour (I used Trader Joe’s Gluten Free All Purpose Flour because it’s so versatile)
1/2 cup buckwheat flour
2 1/2 tsp baking soda
2 tbsp honey (I used Trader Joes Manuka Honey because that’s the only sweetener I had, so no pancakes for baby)
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp vanilla
1/4 tsp nutmeg
1 tsp apple cider vinegar
1 3/4 cups coconut milk (I probably used more like 1 1/2 cups because of the addition of eggs)
2 tbsp coconut oil
1 tbsp flax seeds
1 tbsp chia seeds
2 eggs
2 cups mashed kabocha squash (you can totally use pumpkin purée like the original recipe called for, but I just happened to have a ton of leftover squash)
optional: handful pumpkin seeds as garnish

I cooked the pancakes on medium heat, two at a time, and flipped them when they started to bubble. As the one side cooked, I sprinkled a few pumpkin seeds on the exposed battered side. With the last pancake, I cooked an egg in the center (I think that’s called ‘eggs in a basket’ or ‘eggs in a frame’). This will make a good afternoon snack for the tired husband.

For dinner, I’m defrosting two chicken legs and making chicken soup because I suspect that my sleep-deprived husband will come home hungry and achy from a full day of arduous training. I got a chance to sneak in a short nap, but I am bone tired  from chasing one very obstinate baby who gets into everything (she somehow managed to learn which printer button makes photocopies, so now that’s one of her favorite activities, in addition to gnawing on the polyurethane arms of my desk chair). She’s also learned to scream at dull intervals because apparently she gets bored; thanks, annoying baby, just thanks. Seriously, how do people have multiple children? My husband and I joke about Irish twins, but I think I would climb into a cauldron and hide if there were two annoying babies plaguing me day and night. The neighbor across from us is a chain-smoking stay at home mom with three children and she is perpetually on her patio gossiping on her cellphone while her children catapult themselves across the walls of their cramped apartment. I do not want to turn into that because that mother does not look happy. I mean, how can anyone pursue their dreams or goals in life when anchored down by a sweet and cuddly deadweight? As much as I’d like to have a son some day, I would much rather rid myself of the mommy pouch, go Übermensch, and pursue a fulfilling career– I might even go the same route as my husband (he’s been encouraging me to go through his training program). Now, that’s an exciting prospect and one that is totally feasible since I’ve been doing well with my calisthenics/fitness routine. Here are my stats:

-pushups: 4, 10, 12, 9 = 35 total
-sit ups: 25, 15, 12, 6 = 58 total
-squats:  25, 25, 25 = 75 total

The pushups were the hardest for me because at some point my abdominal muscles just gave out. The funny thing, though, is that I can’t feel my lower abdominal muscles cramping or getting sore during exercise or the day after; I think that the loss of sensation is due to my c-section because my upper abdominal muscles definitely get sore. I’m kinda in the same boat with regard to sit ups because I’m using the same muscles. As far as squats, I could do them all day long and still not feel sore the next day. I guess that’s one positive aspect of being female: our strength is in our legs.

Hubby home, off to make dinner. I’ll try to not to make such long-winded posts in the future. Positive thought to close with: I went to a poetry meetup yesterday and the urge to write has resurrected itself with a vengeance, so I’m going to try to complete the writing assignment (and not sound like Stewie from Family Guy).