Travel Returns
I like the way the sky looks in Colorado. The ceilings are high. The clouds pile up with quiet drama and somehow there's always a snow capped peak in the distance all backlit by the sun. The sky is also very blue, very often. Do you Colorado people even appreciate this?!
I also like the neighborhood of Park Hill in Denver—where my sister lives, where all the houses are made solidly of brick in the fashion of an old plains city accustomed to wildfires. I like how when a snowstorm comes in the night (long after you fall asleep) and also leaves in the night (long before you've woken up), you can peek out onto a quiet row of houses blanketed with powder and feel transported straight back to the 50s or something.
I'm up in the mountains now writing to you from a sunny kitchen table (and wheezing with the altitude). But I gotta go! More later, I promise.
Life-Affirming Soup
The term "March" turns up on your calendar. Your one spindly spring flower falls over in the rain. Your L.A. Instagram friends post on the excitement of getting to wear rain boots and watch movies. You think it's cute (but kinda sad!). Life unfolds.
So I'm getting ready to leave town tomorrow. But I wanted to tell you about this soup—because it's important. It's important if you've been cooped up all weekend and need something to give you courage. Spicy Sun Dried Tomato and White Bean with Chard, my friends, you should get on this.
I first slurped this stuff from a spoon at a holiday potluck I had at my house a few years back. The Coulons brought it over and served it up from a steaming vat.
I like how the title doesn't pull any punches with ingredients. But it also doesn't tell you how bright and warm it feels in your stomach—how thick and rib-sticking it is after you emulsify part of it in the blender and then stir that part into the rest for extra creaminess. This is a soup to fortify the spirit, if you believe in food being able to do that sort of thing—which I do.
*If I were you, I'd throw in twice as much red pepper flake—shit, maybe even three times! This is March and we NEED THAT HEAT.
- 2 Tbs. olive oil
- 3 cloves garlic, minced (1 Tbs.)
- ½ tsp. red pepper flakes
- 1 medium onion, chopped (1 ½ cups)
- 2 medium carrots, sliced (1 cup)
- 2 ribs celery, chopped (½ cup)
- 1 small zucchini, sliced (1 cup)
- ½ tsp. chopped fresh rosemary
- 2 cups low-sodium vegetable broth
- 2 15-oz. cans diced tomatoes
- 1 15-oz. can small white beans or cannellini beans, rinsed and drained
- ½ cup oil-packed sun-dried tomatoes, drained and chopped, plus 2 Tbs. oil from jar
- ½ bunch (6 oz.) Swiss chard, chopped
- ½ tsp. chopped fresh thyme
- 1 cup torn fresh basil
1. Heat oil in large saucepan over medium heat. Add garlic and red pepper flakes, and cook 1 minute, or until garlic is fragrant. Stir in onion, carrots, celery, zucchini, and rosemary, and cook 10 to 15 minutes, or until onions are soft.
2. Add broth, 1 can tomatoes, and beans. Scoop 1 cup mixture into food processor or blender, and add remaining can of tomatoes, sun-dried tomatoes, and sun-dried tomato oil. Purée until smooth, stir mixture into soup, and season with salt and pepper, if desired. Simmer 10 minutes.
3. Add Swiss chard and thyme; simmer 5 minutes more, or until chard is wilted. Remove pan from heat, and stir in basil.
Operation Shasta Lake
Today I'm thinking about Shasta Lake. It's a bright-blue splash of water on the border of Oregon and California. Maybe you've glimpsed it on your way up or down I-5?
Anyway, the above picture popped up in my Insta feed last week (via natgeo). Due to drought, the lake's ancient submerged stumps now know sunshine again after 70 years under water. It's an odd scene—very empty.
It reminded me of a spring trip I took two years ago, when I left Portland and drove south with a cooler full of bread and brie—down across the flats of Salem and Eugene, up through the creaking trees of Grants Pass, down onto the parched plains of Redding and out onto the gray-green olive groves north of Sacramento. It was a journey involving pick ups and drop offs and one quick night camping in Yosemite.
On the way home, the car was hot, the air rushing past the window was hot, the dog was very, very hot.
Enter Shasta Lake—like a mirage ahead as we drove doggedly north. Should we stop? It's always hard to get off the highway when there're so many more miles to go. But we did! Thank god we did. The beaches very steep, dropping away quickly into cool depths. The water impossibly clear and impossibly blue. The beach mud a bright volcanic red. And NO ONE THERE. A rope swing down the way dangling unused, waiting for us.
I often think about going back. It's strange to think that if I did I'd have to tromp down through the dirt to reach sad puddles of water.
Current Needs
Unlike the Buddha, I'm always in the process of wanting a bunch of stuff that I probably won't ever end up having. It's okay.
There is no equilibrium in my home to how much pleasure I get from coffee vs. how much time/money I put into it. I have the cheapest coffee maker, buy middle-of-the-road beans, and then I expect an incendiary cup of coffee? Makes no sense! Due to having spied renegade whole beans in my jar of coffee grounds—and also an inability to remember the origin of my current coffee grinder (I suspect it goes all the way back when I moved out at age 17)—I've been coveting a "nice" grinder.
Maybe someday I'll tell you all about my adventures in plantar fasciitis, how I never paid any mind to taking care of my feet (running in shoes until they disintegrated, skating in Vans slip ons or the equivalent, etc.), and how now those same feet bring me to my knees on a daily basis. Instead, I'll just say this: doesn't rubbing your sorest foot on a nobby massage ball while you watch TV episodes sound nice?
A gardeny gin without the juniper—made instead from elderberry, pine, black tea, rose, dry orange peel, cubeb, angelica, sage (obvi), lavender, spearmint, dandelion, thyme, sumac, rosemary, licorice root, and fennel. Wow, right? I have this feeling—call it intuition—that squeezing the juice of one blood orange into a glass of this stuff and topping it with soda water might transform your whole day, maybe even week, maybe even life.
Giant Jar Of Easter Lilies
During times such as this when we aren't getting as much sunlight as we should, a jar of fresh flowers gives hope to tired men. These flowers in particular—they come surrounded by a thundercloud of deep, spicy perfume. You'll catch a whif every time you walk by.
Origins
Oh, hi! It's spring here, kinda. And this year, I'm forgoing buying vegetable starts and growing ’em all from seeds.
It's not that huge of deal. But honestly, I've tried it before, with little success. There were bunk seeds that didn't sprout, there were mysterious silvery mildews, there were slugs that put a smack down on my spindly starts within seconds of me stuffing them into the garden beds. It was a bloodbath.
This year will be different! ’Cause I'm really for real serious about trying—not half-assy like in year's past.
Yes, yes, I like the idea that I can walk out into my yard and forage for food there. But this year, in particular, I'm interested in getting to the beginning of things. How much closer to the beginning of food (which is the stuff of life, right?) can you get than this?
Here's what I'm growing this year: lettuce (spring mix), herbs (cilantro, dill, basil, arugula), kale, tomatoes (yellow pear, red cherry, red beefsteak heirloom), pattypan yellow squash, sugar snap peas, cucumbers.
Who's got knowledge they wanna drop on me about growing any of the above stuff in the Northwest?! I'm here and I'm listening.
New beginnings, et cetera.