Spring-ing

Now that I've answered Wyatt's big questions about Easter, Passover, God, Jesus, and Moses with various versions of "Some people believe," "Maybe," and "I don't know," it's time to raise a basket of naturally dyed eggs in celebration of spring: May we all enjoy liberation, renewal, and rebirth.

Surely you remember that we're all about annual egg dyeing? Last year's eggs were pretty spectacular. This year, we took a comparative approach and tested two natural dye kits (I purchased both of them). We also prepared dye baths of onion skins (gold), red cabbage (blue), and beets (red) in which to simultaneously cook and dye eggs. This year, we used our new Joule immersion circulator to achieve "perfect" hardboiled eggs. This cooking method is pretty straightforward when you're simply cooking eggs you'll dye in a kit--cook the eggs however you like them (we followed all the recommended steps to make them easiest to peel and went with 45 minutes at 165F), cool them to a temperature you can handle, and then dip-dye-away.

The dye kits are the most fun, because you get almost instant results and can get creative. You can play with resists like leaves and rubber bands, see what works, and then adjust as you go. You can also use multiple colors on one egg. Of the two kits we tried, ColorKitchen, which includes three colors, delivered the most vibrant color the quickest. The other kit, Natural Earth Paint, has four colors, including green. Green has always been difficult for us to get when we try to blend dyes on on our own. Both kits' powdered dyes were contained in individually sealed plastic sleeves. Both kits cost about $10.

The homemade dye baths were a little less straightforward. Last year, I used this method to dye and cook the eggs at the same time. The resulting colors were great; the texture and doneness of the eggs, however, left a lot to be desired. This year, I figured I'd use the same dye recipes but cook the eggs in the dye with the circulator, in one pot.

This part of the experiment? It was a giant pain in the ass. It required so much more temperature testing and fiddling that I anticipated. In the end, I found I was able to keep the individual jars of dye bath at 165F only if the water bath was around 175F. Time will tell whether all the effort was worthwhile in terms of egg texture--we'll turn all these eggs into egg salad tomorrow after Wyatt finds them.

The dye baths we made from food gave a really deep color, but it took 2 days sitting in the dye bath in the refrigerator to achieve it.  I also noticed that the dye coating got weirdly bubbled in spots. The mottling that resulted looks interesting, but it is definitely not interesting enough for me to bother with this particular method ever again.

In conclusion! If you like active egg dyeing, get a kit. If you want a natural egg dye kit that colors eggs pretty quickly and with more time can give you a really deep color, go with ColorKitchen. If you don't mind waiting longer for a more pastel look but like having control over blended colors, go with Natural Earth Paint. If you want to use food to color your eggs, embrace the fact that the dyeing will be mostly NOT interactive. Prepare your dye baths, cook your eggs to your liking, and then place and leave the eggs in the bath in jars in the fridge for several days to color them.

Christmas Toilet

". . . They're gonna build a toilet around the Christmas tree . . . Mom. How would you even do that? Build a toilet around the Christmas tree? And WHO EVEN DOES THAT?"

"It's TOYLAND. Not TOILET."

"Ah! That makes more sense. Toys. What's a toyland?"

I love the English language, don't you? And Wyatt's mondegreen might be the best thing that has happened to "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town." I mean, would they move the toilet? Or would they move the tree? Or would they, as Wyatt also mused, "Get like a dozen port-a-potties and line them up in a circle around the tree?"

This week, we are working steadily to get all the things done before school lets out for winter break on Friday. In case you are (or your partner is) engaged in the seasonal emotional labor of creating thoughtful, pretty, handmade gifts that someone might actually want, look just the right amount homemade, and are low enough value that no one would mistake them for a bribe, this post is for you.

We opted for edible gifts. Here are some ideas.

Apple Butter. Here's a recipe. Personally, I washed the apples, cut out the cores, and then roasted them, unpeeled, in large chunks in baking dishes with about 1/4 inch of water in the bottom of the dish. Once soft, I pureed the apples (skin and all) in the Vitamix. And then I reduced the purée over many hours in the slow cooker on low. I added lemon juice and honey to taste just before canning. The yield is low (just over a half pound of apples made 4 ounces of apple butter), but it's delicious.

Herbed Nuts. These are the best nuts ever. I always use more sage than the recipe says because the dried sage leaves are easily the best part. Also? They keep way longer than 3 days in an air-tight container.

Granola. Granola would also be a lovely gift. I like this recipe a lot.

Caramel Corn Clusters. Yes, we make them every year. If you omit the peanuts, use more salt. This year, we substituted slivered almonds and I used 1 1/2 teaspoons of Diamond Kosher salt, and the result was perfect.

Choose appropriately-sized mason jars and then conscript the other members in your family to decorate and label them. We used a gold paint pen, some address labels, and a snowflake paper punch with a glue stick to make these jars fancy. We also used tie-on tags to personalize them. Double-sided-satin ribbon around the top of the jar looks pretty great, too. (The caramel corn clusters would work in jars, but I usually use treat bags because the shape is more forgiving, and I tie them closed with red and white baker's twine.)

Stitch It To The Man

Do you curse?

Some people don't, and I respect that. I, on the other hand, enjoy a well-placed, well-timed "bad f-word," even if it's only in my head because Wyatt's around. Strictly speaking, curse words aren't necessary, but neither is cheese, chocolate, or whiskey.

The subject of cursing brings me to my latest pattern: Stitch It To The Man. It's my tenth published pattern and last pattern for 2017. All three of the designs in the pattern—from clean to full-on curse—came together easily for me, and I finished knitting the sample quickly. But then I got stuck. I couldn't, for the life of me, name this pattern. Even worse, I could only write terrible, stilted descriptions of it. Good thing I have clever, irreverent, and generous friends. My high school friend, Molly, and her oldest daughter (both in Massachusetts) named the pattern. Isn't it perfect? Once the pattern had a name, Sarah (in South Carolina) wrote the best blurb ever:

Let’s work together to dismantle white supremacy. With delicate snowflakes and a gut punch of solidarity, this beanie roars the message you choose: “end white supremacy” for your grandmother, and “fuck white supremacy” for your daughter. Choose a character mark for a whiff of mystery, or pick a vowel to make your point loud and proud. Suggestions for customizing the ribbing band are also included.

We’re serious. This privilege absurdity needs to end. 100% of proceeds for this pattern are donated monthly to the Equal Justice Initiative (EJI).

And then? My editor (in Texas) decided to charge me exactly zero dollars to work on this project.

I love all the generosity that went into this hat. And I love how this project, thanks to all five of us, spans so much of the United States.

Of course, the proceeds are going to the Equal Justice Initiative (in Alabama):

The Equal Justice Initiative is committed to ending mass incarceration and excessive punishment in the United States, to challenging racial and economic injustice, and to protecting basic human rights for the most vulnerable people in American society.

While I was knitting the sample for this pattern, I listened to Bryan Stevenson's book, Just Mercy. I won't try to describe the book here, but I will say it's an absolutely essential read, and it is the reason why I chose to support EJI with this project.

I'd love to count you as a collaborator on Stitch It To The Man. Whether you're a knitter or a friend of a knitter, you can buy the pattern here.

Other books I've been reading while working on this project are: Michael W. Twitty's The Cooking Gene, and Rivers Solomon's  An Unkindness of Ghosts. Both of these incredible books are written by authors of color, and they address in their own distinct and riveting ways how truly critical it is to end, f*ck, or fuck white supremacy. Read these two books, too. Or give them as holiday gifts. Or both!

That's right: it's the holidays. This weekend, we decorated the Christmas tree, in and around doing about a zillion other things. And I finally used the butternut squash that arrived in our CSA box during the week of Thanksgiving. I made soup with a recipe that went as far away from sweet butternut squash flavor as I could find: Butternut Squash and Tomato Soup. I'm pleased to report it is a new family favorite. All three of us happily ate it two days in a row (it's gone now, or we'd still be enjoying it), and that never happens with squash soup. I served the soup with a kale Caesar salad. This Caesar vinaigrette is the best. And don't roll your eyes when I tell you that you need to massage the kale before you dress it. It only takes five minutes and it makes all the difference. Here's what to do: Once you've washed and stemmed the kale, chop the leaves into salad-sized pieces and put them in a big bowl. Drizzle a little olive oil on the kale, and with your (super clean) hands, squeeze and smoosh the life out of the kale. The volume of leaves will shrink by about 1/3 or 1/2. When you're done with this step, add dressing to your taste, and toss. The salad will keep beautifully for several days in the fridge if you have left-overs. Some good cheese and bread rounded out our plates nicely.

Giving and Getting

This is the face of a happy volunteer.

I thought I wasn't the kind of person who needed the attention that comes from appreciation parties. True givers do the work for the sake of the work, not to be celebrated for it. Right?

We've been volunteering in the Presidio for the better part of this year, and last Thursday was the annual Volunteer Appreciation Dinner where the staff throws a terrific party. The staff cook several turkeys, and everyone who attends brings a dish to share. I debated whether Wyatt and I should go. We'd be out late on a school night, and we didn't really need to be appreciated. We'd show up to work next time with or without a party. But parties are fun, and we like to dress up. So we went, and we are so glad we did.

As we drove up to the party, Wyatt noticed another car arriving at the same time and he said, "Hey! I know those people! That's Abby's car. The convertible BMW. It's got to be her." And sure enough, it was her. She was driving, and had given a ride to several other women we know from the garden and nursery. Once we had said hello, Abby asked if we could carry in some of the things she brought to share. Of course we could.

We checked-in, made our name tags, wrote a label for our shared dish (vegan! gluten-free! with nuts!), and then went in to mingle.

The staff had transformed the office into the most festive dining hall, and they were all still hard at work. Rebecca was tending bar, and she made Wyatt's night by mixing him a Unicorn ("Ginger ale, cranberry juice, and as much sparkling water as your mother would like.") Jean made sure we knew to look for the dressing with the gluten-free sign--she made sure they made some special. And Desmond brought us back to what looked like a gift shop and told us we could choose anything we wanted off the table.

Wyatt chose the orange blanket and I opted for a fleece vest that says "Golden Gate National Parks."

Dinner was truly spectacular. Best potluck ever. While we ate and chatted, they played a slide show of photos from previous years' appreciation parties. Wyatt kept spotting people we know, laughing at goofy photos, and trying to figure out where the photos were being projected from. On the drive home, we debated which side we liked the best (it was the dressing, but so many of the salads were close seconds!), discussed why halvah tastes weird (we tried every gluten-free offering on the dessert table), and exclaimed how glad we were that we went.

It was such a good night, and while we didn't need to be fed an amazing dinner, the truth is we kind of did. It felt good. And it reminded me of a Brené Brown quote: “Until we can receive with an open heart, we're never really giving with an open heart. When we attach judgment to receiving help, we knowingly or unknowingly attach judgment to giving help."

The dish we made to share was the Brussels Sprouts, Apple, and Pomegranate Salad from Smitten Kitchen. It's fancy (thanks to the pomegranate seeds), fast to prepare, and delicious. I couldn't find any brussels sprouts at the store, so I went with a savoy cabbage instead. It was terrific.

Ikea and Memory

Do you remember the first time you went to Ikea? I do. I was in high school, and I was on a summer exchange program in Oslo, Norway. My Ikea guides were two young Norwegian women who had befriended me and were shopping for furniture for their new apartment. I remember being totally bowled over by the size of Ikea, its blue exterior, the clean lines of all the designs, and how comfortable I felt trying everything out.

My memory of the shopping trip is still so vivid. It made such an impression on me that I thought for sure I had taken photos of it. But I looked back at my album, and there’s no sign of Ikea anywhere. In fact, there’s only one photo of my two friends, and it is of them with their new sofa(?), in a shop that’s not Ikea. I suppose at the time, the photo mattered because they had maybe accomplished their mission. Decades later, though, I can’t help but notice that I was really into taking photos of unremarkable things that were only worthy of forgetting. That is, except for the farty street signs (and you know the photo of the flowers is terrible if you have to label it "flowers.").

The second time I went to Ikea was when I went to college. I was with friends looking for bookshelves when I suddenly realized I had been there before, only in Oslo. I hadn’t bothered to remember “Ikea” because I thought the store was a Scandanavian thing I’d never see again. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Memory is such a funny thing. Some memories are so vivid, some just disappear, and there are the hazy ones where you know you were there because there’s a photo of it. There is also all the science that tells us that every time we retrieve a memory, it changes, so we can’t really trust that we remember everything exactly as it happened. Right? Maybe. But for the purposes of real life, getting hung-up on the very specific details is to miss the bigger picture. I mean, if your boss jerked-off in front of you, his aiming into a potted plant is a good detail, but totally not the point.  I’m so glad that, this week, from my perspective, people seem to be believing more victims’ accounts than usual. As I read all the #MeToo statuses on social media and reflect on my own #MeToo, I realize that I’ve always assumed that every woman I have ever met has been, at the very least, sexually harassed during her life, and likely worse. We’ve all learned to deal with it. “Dealing” takes many forms, including tolerating, ignoring, avoiding, and getting therapy. Consider all that daily effort by so many women, while the perpetrators carry on as usual with the patriarchy’s support. Do you remember the first time you experienced or witnessed harassing behavior? It starts early. I remember in second grade being told to “grow a tougher skin” so the daily, stomach-churning harassment of a boy could continue but wouldn’t bother me. After all, the refrain of the grown-ups was, “Aww. It's fine. He just likes you!” Unchecked, bad behavior of course only gets worse. Like in seventh grade wood shop when the boys would surround me, the only girl, to taunt me with talk and gestures of blow-jobs while the teacher hid in his office. I eventually transferred into an art class. And then there's what we deal with as high schoolers, and as grown-ups. We must raise better boys, and we must also hold accountable the grown-ups who are behaving terribly.

But let me get back to Ikea. Memories of Ikea. And the reality of Ikea today! I hadn’t been to Ikea in years, but we took Wyatt this weekend. As far as I can tell, Ikea has only changed for the better since I was there last. The small living spaces with perfectly arranged, just colorful enough furniture and accessories make me feel like I could totally move in. I mean, there are even clothes hanging in the closets.

We weren’t shopping, but we did buy hangers and dishtowels (I dare you to go to Ikea and buy nothing), and Wyatt got a stubby pencil and catalog as souvenirs. More importantly, though, Wyatt left with context for Catherine Newman's One Mixed-Up Night, which he has now heard twice. I read it to him the first time and Marc the second time. “Didn’t you love it?” I asked Marc. “It’s one of the saddest books I’ve ever read. But yes, it’s great,” he responded. While I didn’t find it that sad, I do understand where Marc’s coming from. No spoilers here, so you’ll have to read and decide for yourself.

This trip to Ikea, I didn’t forget to take photos.

And in further recognition of Catherine Newman's work, and my own need to not spend a moment more in the kitchen than absolutely necessary, we ate nachos for dinner on Sunday. Her nacho cheese sauce is really good. Our somewhat unconventional toppings included tomatoes, chopped fermented dill green beans, hearts of palm, lettuce, pepperoncini, and black beans. Weird salad on chips. With nacho cheese sauce! You know you want to try it.

Fruit Butter, Misunderstandings, and Awkwardness

This week, I'm turning my post format upside-down. Trust me. Fruit butter takes a long time to simmer, so we'll start with it first. 

First, you get the Concord Grape Butter. I got the idea from Food In Jars' Instagram feed. These preserves taste and smell more like grapes than anything I've ever had. They are the grape soda (or gum) of your childhood, only way better.

Basically, we took all the grapes, washed them, cooked them on their stems until the fruit was soft, pulled out the stems (they were hot! and the juice stained my fingers for days! good thing I'm so selfless!), Wyatt put the grapes through the food mill to get rid of seeds and skins, and then I cooked down the puree until it was fruit butter consistency. I added a couple of tablespoons of sugar until it tasted right. We funneled the butter into jars and then processed the jars in the water bath. (The basic formula for fruit butter is here, and I've got plum butter simmering in the slow cooker as I type.)

Now that you know about grape butter (I mean, I had no idea, did you?), I feel like it's fair to share my recent thoughts on showing up in life.

I'm realizing that talking with Wyatt about race, justice, and fairness is, on one hand, completely necessary, and on the other hand, impossible for me to get right all the time. (And who doesn't like to get things right?) For example, last weekend, we were making dinner and Wyatt was, for the first time in his life, in charge of frying fritters. He was focused and attentive, and there was a lot of frying to do, so he was there for awhile. Over the sizzling pans and the whirring exhaust fan, we were discussing fairness and classmates being kind (or not so kind) at school, and I was trying to make the point that we (and he) should always be ready to help others. As I was saying something like, "...so Wyatt, if we see someone being hurt, or treated badly, it's our job to check in with the person so we can help them, stick up for them..." he cut me off and declared with a degree of solemnity I didn't know was possible, "Yes. I know. Stand up for them. And I could get killed for it."

Marc and I looked at each other, not sure how to react. I did a quick mental sift and suddenly realized Wyatt must have been referring to the (totally inspiring) profiles in Rad Women Worldwide where women had (1) stood up for their beliefs and (2) had been killed for it. Doing our best on-the-fly-repair-job, Marc and I went on to talk about how getting killed for your beliefs can be an outcome (I mean, obviously), but it's a very unusual outcome in our community. Most importantly, getting killed for standing up for his beliefs and for others is not a thing Wyatt needs to worry about, at all. I wonder how much of all this he grasped. Marc and I later agreed that we'd pay better attention to and talk with Wyatt about examples we noticed where we, or someone else, supported others in the course of everyday life.

But that wasn't the only misunderstanding that weekend. On Saturday, Wyatt was listening on the kitchen speakers to his beloved cassette where Diana Ross sings "Workin' Overtime." He asked, "Mom. Diana Ross has brown skin, right? Was she enslaved?" I said, "No, slavery was over before her time, but her..." He cut me off, "Her ancestors probably were enslaved?" "Yes," I said, "You've got it. Why do you ask?" He responded, "Well, because she's singing, 'I'm working ALL THE TIME.' So it made me think she was enslaved.'" Of course it did. Everything and everyone is impossibly old when you're six; 1863 was a long, long time ago, but so was 1989. I explained the words were actually "working overtime," and we discussed how that was different from "all the time," and from slavery.

And then this weekend? I got the awkward-over-thinker award. We were headed to a baseball game! I realized after we had invited Wyatt's big-kid-buddy from school to join us that we might be at the park in time for the national anthem, and since we'd have someone else's child with us, I had better find out where his family was on the anthem protest issue. So I texted his mom. I felt a super awkward, and in the end, we missed the anthem anyway.

What's my point? My point is that we have to actually show up in life. And part of showing up is feeling awkward (ugh), getting stuff wrong (which sucks), learning to do better (yay), and then showing up again, and again (no, it doesn't end). Humanity needs me, and it needs you. Just these last few weeks have shown this fact over and over again, from devastating hurricanes, to the United States' failure adequately to aid Puerto Rico, to the terrorism in Las Vegas, to the United States' continued preference for the Second Amendment over human lives.

Yes, it's a lot. And this week? I didn't feel like volunteering in the garden like Wyatt and I usually do. But as Wyatt said, "Of course I want to go. Why wouldn't we go?" So we showed up and did our work. As always, it was worth it.

So Long, Summer

We had a great summer, full of fun camps and new friends for Wyatt, and room for creativity with less driving for me. We closed summer out with a truly wonderful family vacation. Then, back to school arrived with a clattering crash. We're all still adjusting.

When Wyatt was a toddler, I remember complaining bitterly about how hard transitions were. Getting from one place to another, literally and figuratively, when he was a preschooler, was daunting. And you know what? I was too hard on him. Transitions suck for everyone, including me.  I mean, surely you noticed there was no blog post last week. Oh, you didn't? I'm sure you're in good company. I was too deeply in mourning over the end of summer and too busy trying to finish a knitting project to write anything.

Wyatt has been back in school for 7 days; today, he is home sick. Such is the magic of back-to-school. Usually, sick days are pretty boring, but this morning we were treated to a naked guy doing a high-step-saunter past our house. My neighbor called to tell me about him, and to suggest we not go outside just then. Such a good neighbor.

Of course I'll take naked-sauntering-guy (or just boring) over the storms and floods so many people are dealing with right now. Climate change is real, and the effects are intense.

Last week, in recognition of the end of summer and library due dates, I returned the final third of our summer reading list. All the books were, once again, terrific. In reading to Wyatt, I learned about music and musicians I knew little about (I And I, Esquivel! Space Age Sound Artist, Jimi: Sounds Like a Rainbow), and Wyatt began to understand about boycotts (Joelito's Big Decision). Wyatt said his favorite book of this group was I And I. He isn't sure why, but I can guess it's because the poetry and illustrations were so beautiful, and because the prose explanations were so clear. We're still reading Rad Women Worldwide, so we renewed that one.

Lest anyone think I only read picture books this summer, I let me assure you that's not true. I joined Audible a few months ago and have recently finished listening to the audio version of the novel, Homegoing, and the podcast, The Butterfly Effect. They're totally different types of work (obviously), but I found both totally engrossing. I also listened to The Sympathizer (it was fine), and Between the World and Me (an absolute must-read-or-listen). Also, I enjoyed Lincoln in the Bardo with my eyes instead of my ears, but I understand the audio recording is remarkable.

I just started reading The Cooking Gene. I had the pleasure of hearing the author, Michael Twitty, speak at Omnivore Books recently. He was so engaging in person, I wondered how his written word would compare. I'm so delighted that his writing is equally captivating. As one reviewer put it,

Should there ever be a competition to determine the most interesting man in the world, Michael W. Twitty would have to be considered a serious contender. Twitty, a self-taught independent culinary historian who lives in Rockville, Md., is partial to dressing in the period attire of antebellum slaves, picking tobacco to get a sense of how his African American ancestors once lived and cooking using ancient methods so fiery that he singes the hair off his arms and eyebrows. He is a man of substantial girth — and proud of it. He has described himself as “four time blessed” — 'large of body, gay, African American and Jewish.'"

There's a fascinating interview with Mr. Twitty on Civil Eats here. And you can buy a copy of the Cooking Gene (signed even!) from Omnivore Books, or wherever you like to buy your books.

Speaking of food, well-meaning friends suggested that after a week of vacation in a hotel, where I couldn't cook, I'd be so happy to get back to it when we got home. Guess what? They were wrong. I didn't miss it even once, and getting back to it has been kind of annoying. I have, however, made one new dish, thanks to my aunt's urging. You all know I am no fan of substitute foods (zuchhini as noodles, for example), but this Spice Merchant Cauliflower Couscous is terrific.  I doubt it tastes like couscous, but it looks a little like it, and is a delicious way to prepare cauliflower. Against my better judgment, I even included the golden raisins, and they were actually good. I know. This recipe is breaking all my rules. I'm going to make it again this week.

Abundance: Beads and Summer Squash

"Mom. Do you think there are people in Ghana who like making beaded necklaces as much as I do?"

"Probably not."

"Really? I mean, THEY HAVE ALL THESE BEAUTIFUL BEADS THERE. OF COURSE there must be people who love doing this as much as I do. There HAVE to be."

Summer of craft is on fire, I tell you. If there's a thing to be sketched, fabric to be stitched, or beads to be strung, we're there.

Wyatt's necklace project was inspired by a quick trip through Qoio on 24th Street. While walking among the cases of all the gorgeous creations, Wyatt spied a box containing strings of beautiful recycled glass beads and announced we should absolutely buy the cobalt blue string so he could make himself a necklace. A quick look at the beads made me think they had been made by Cedi Beads Industry in Odumasi/Kobo, Ghana. The shopkeeper confirmed my suspicions. (Check out this video of a tour--the work the artisans do making the beads by hand is truly remarkable.)

Marc and I toured Cedi Beads Industry in 2010 when we traveled to Ghana to visit my aunt and uncle and other friends and family. The entire trip was amazing, and seeing this particular craft, where people recycle old glass bottles into beautiful beads, was incredible. (Seriously. Watch the video.) As you might guess, I bought a fair number of beads from Mr. Cedi's shop at the factory, and I had some left as of last week. Now I have fewer, but I also have an ecstatic, bead-stringing, necklace-wearing six-year old. That feels like a win to me.

Making a simple necklace is easy, but you do need some supplies. Because I wasn't sure we had everything we needed, I made Wyatt wait a whole day to make his necklace. It wasn't pretty, but he survived. Meanwhile, I dug out the jewelry making kit that I hadn't touched for about eight years, I found one remaining clasp, a bunch of crimp beads, wire, pliers and wire cutters. Wyatt was in luck: we had enough hardware to make one necklace. (If you want to try this project, this tutorial is great and shows exactly the way we made our necklace, down to the Soft Flex Wire.)

Wyatt had so much fun choosing which of my beads to use, and how to alternate them with his beads, taking them off and putting them on the wire to see how different multiples of different colors changed the effect. He couldn't believe how lucky he was to have so many options when making his necklace.

He proudly wore his necklace to camp the next day, and the next. That second day, though, it broke because some kid yanked on it (somewhat mean-spiritedly, apparently). But the teachers helped Wyatt pick all the pieces up and we put the necklace back together with new wire and new crimp beads that evening. Lesson: It's always good to have extra supplies, in case of a catastrophe.

Having an abundance of good craft supplies is the best. Summer is supposed to be about abundance, right? Time, crafts, sun, books, and even fruits and vegetables, too. One thing I'm never excited for this time of year, though, is the abundance of summer squash and zucchini. We got about two pounds (or more?) of it in our farm share box last week. As I unpacked it, I actually said "Ugh," and Wyatt asked, "What are you going to do with THAT?" You see, he's not a fan either. I know, I know, you're shaking your head and thinking zucchini is great! You can make it into noodles! Zoodles! It's healthy! Low carb! Paleo! Whatever. I can't even. It isn't ever going to be a noodle. It's zucchini. And it suffers from being irretrievably watery and terribly textured if you cook it for even a moment too long. Also? It doesn't taste very good. But, I noticed a recipe on the insert with our farm share, and I thought, "This sounds so weird, it might taste amazing." It was for Creamy Courgette and Tarragon Cobbler (by Yotom Ottolenghi, so, there's credibility behind it). And the dish was outstanding. It's not a quick recipe, but it was so good I'm almost looking forward to having too many squash again in a couple of weeks.

Here's how ours looked (after we ate most of it). I didn't think to check for the online version of the recipe with photos until I decided to write this post. When I made the recipe, I could not figure out how I was supposed to pipe the mashed potato. Looking at the recipe photo after the fact, it's obvious. At the time, however, I thought, my poor piping might be the closest I'd ever feel to failing a Great British Baking Show technical challenge.

My New Favorite Cookbook

... is Salt Fat Acid Heat.

I suspected it would become my new favorite after I volunteered to test recipes for it over a year ago. Marc, Wyatt and I agreed that all of the recipes we got were so good, I should save them to reference and use again and again until the book was published. So that's what I did: Tuna confit and sauces galore!

I bought my copy of the book from Omnivore Books a couple of months ago. This weekend, Wyatt and I headed over to Omnivore to meet Samin Nosrat and Wendy MacNaughton, and to get our copy signed by both of them.

We were a little late, and the shop was packed. So we waited outside and met some lovely people and their dogs, including Willy the Terrier (who did circus tricks for us) and Tess the Bulldog (who is so sweet, has one eye, and still manages to do all the important things in life). Our sidewalk status meant we didn't get to hear Samin and Wendy's talk. But never mind! We figured we'd just wait in line for the book signing. But like I said, it was packed in the shop, and after we had been in line for awhile, the line got reconfigured. Suddenly, we found ourselves totally OUT of the line, so I asked a woman who was still IN line if we could merge in front of her (doesn't merge sound better than cut?). She was very generous, we merged, and when I asked her what the talk was about, she gave me an incredibly detailed description of what went on. It was almost as good as being able to hear it myself.

We got our book signed, and we got some really heartfelt gratitude for having been recipe testers.

The book is unlike any cookbook I have ever used. Part extremely friendly textbook and part recipe reference, it reminds me a little bit of the online class I took and loved, Science & Cooking. By reading the book, you learn the "why" and "how" behind the four elements of cooking, but in addition to that, you start to build a deep understanding of how to best combine ingredients, flavors, and textures to make delicious food. There are beautifully illustrated charts, examples, and explanations. It's a book from which you can actually learn to cook and free yourself from being tied to recipes.

I've read the sections Salt, Fat, and Acid. I've just started reading Heat. And despite Samin's written admonition not to, I have skipped ahead and made some of the recipes in the second half of the book already. This weekend, we had the Vietnamese Cucumber Salad (I used toasted pepitas instead of peanuts). I served it with Baked Panko Rockfish (substituting GF flour and GF panko breadcrumbs) and coconut-herbed steamed rice. The salad was my favorite part, and the little bit that was left over was still terrific the next day.

Prince: The Painted Lady Butterfly

"Mom. Prince doesn't want to leave. Can you set the house back up so we can let him stay another night? It's kind of nice, actually, because I still have one butterfly left. It was sad to see all of them go."

On Mother's Day evening, as we sat on the sofa in the kitchen trying to decide what to do about dinner (after a large and delicious lunch that included this bloody mary for me at the Presidio Picnic), I heard a rustle-rustle. I looked over to the pantry, hoping desperately I was imagining things.

"You guys. I heard a rustling sound. I'm worried it's a mouse. I do NOT feel like unpacking the entire pantry right now."

"It's probably the butterflies, Mom. OH OH! IS IT THE BUTTERFLIES? DID THEY HATCH?"

Wyatt's grandparents sent him a butterfly kit for his birthday, and the butterfly house with chrysalides was right beside me, under a little table in the corner. We hoisted the house out, and sure enough, two butterflies were out of their cocoons, fluttering around. Within a day, the remaining three butterflies had emerged.

Today was the day we were planning to let them all go. But it was misting and raining a little bit, and Wyatt protested--it was not nice enough weather to send the butterflies off into the world. Eventually, though, when the sun emerged, he changed his mind and headed outside with them.

"Mom, wouldn't it be great if we could just tie a little paper tag to their leg, that said, like, maybe, 'Josh,' so that when the butterfly flew back, we could be like, 'Hey, look! It's Josh!' Or maybe Michael?"

Yes, butterflies flying around with tiny nametags on their legs would be pretty great.

Four out of five butterflies eventually took flight and disappeared out of our garden. Of those, two stopped on our fingers or jeans to bid us good-bye, and the other two just flapped away furiously, as fast as they could, wanting absolutely nothing to do with us. Pretty standard butterfly behavior. The fifth butterfly, though, is oddly lovely--a little like a lap dog. The smallest and last to emerge from a cocoon, it was also the last one left in the butterfly house today. It wouldn't leave until Wyatt eventually coaxed it out. And then it flew around the garden three separate times, only to return every time to the wilted parsley stalk in Wyatt's hand. After over 40 minutes of playing with the butterfly (it was walking from Wyatt's finger to the parsley stalk, then to a chive flower, and back to the stalk , then back to Wyatt's finger, pausing with wings open, and wings closed, over and over again), Wyatt said, "I don't think Prince is going to leave today. I don't want to leave him outside. Can you set up his house and food again? Maybe he'll want to leave tomorrow. Or maybe not."

How could I say no? We'll see what happens tomorrow. Prince has been very still since he came back inside. I keep checking to see if he's dead, and every time I start to unzip the top of the house, I swear he waves an antenna or a leg at me: "Not dead!"

It was a great Mother's Day even before the butterflies emerged (and I learned it was not a mouse in our house). I got to read in bed in the morning, Marc and Wyatt made breakfast, then I went back and read MORE in bed. I am the proud new owner of a 16 kg kettlebell, and at school, Wyatt got to make MORE FELT BALLS for a Mother's Day felt ball necklace for me. I about died when I opened the gift. He explained he had to make five balls, everyone had to make five, but you could make more if you wanted. "WHY WOULD SOMEONE MAKE MORE THAN FIVE?" he asked incredulously. He, understandably, did the minimum.

I, on the other hand, have been doing more than the minimum in the kitchen, lately. Spring vegetables! They're so welcome after a winter of frittatas made from sturdy, leafy greens.

We had an amazing Salade Nicoise (The Un-Composed (i.e., Best) Niçoise Salad Recipe) the other weekend. Hooray for green beans! Make everything, including the potatoes, the way they say. They're astonishingly good! Also? These two guys are great at veggie prep.

We also had a quinoa salad for days (and no one minded the leftovers, for once), inspired by one of the meals we had with our friends in Los Angeles. For the quinoa salad, soak the quinoa seeds (grains?) overnight, and then drain and cook them according to the package directions, using vegetable broth instead of water. Grill or broil asparagus, some sugar snap peas and leafed brussel sprouts, grill (or just blister the heck out of on your gas stove burner) a sweet red pepper, peel it, and then cut all the vegetables (except the brussel sprout leaves) into bite sized pieces. Toss all of the vegetables together with some chopped herbs and the quinoa. Dress with a vinaigrette, add salt and pepper. Eat warm, cold, or reheated.

Spring Color

In honor of (the first of two weeks of) Spring Break, and in recognition of the fact that I have less than a week left to finish what feels like endless clearing out, this is a short post about three things.

First, we have reached another level in volunteering. That's right, there's at least one level beyond getting a t-shirt. Wyatt and I were invited to join the small crew of people who work in the Secret Garden. I think I'm permitted to tell you that we went, we weeded, and we found ourselves thoroughly charmed. But the rest? It's a secret.

Second, we have found a new vegetable to love: ramps (also known as wild leeks). In the past, I mostly avoided them because the annual hype surrounding them made me suspicious. What a mistake. I have really been missing out. We made David Lebovitz's Bear's Garlic (or Ramps) Pesto this weekend, and it was incredible. We had it on pasta, with a simple green salad, and Wyatt and I had bratwurst with ours. Why bratwurst? The butcher swore it was "the perfect sausage to go with ramps pesto." He was right. Also? I love that he offered such a strong, specific (and correct) opinion on this particular food combination. Next stop is pickled ramps. (Any ramp pickle recipe suggestions? Please leave them in the comments.)

Third, it's time to dye some eggs again! This year, we have a two-part plan. We will be using this kit. Believe it or not, I not only have but have also located the replacement kit the company sent me last year after I groused nicely in an email about how some of the color didn't work as well as in years past. We will also be following this tutorial, written by two of my favorite experts, Samin Nosrat and Kristine Vejar. If these two women say that we can get delicious and beautiful eggs by simultaneously cooking and naturally dyeing them, we must try. Better yet, we must do. Want to play, too? I'll post photos of our process on Instagram. 

Springtime!

It's April! This week, we're cleaning (so boring and yet so annoyingly necessary), cooking (asparagus! hooray!), and beginning to read 31 children's books featuring people of color.

As I have mentioned in several previous posts, springtime means clearing out our house. This weekend left me feeling old and dusty. We all cleared out the attic, which is where everything old (other than Marc and me) lives, and I continued on to the bathroom vanity and Wyatt's closet. I still hate the process. Also? ACHOO. But I am pleased with how our acquiring less stuff makes clearing out easier every year. And I love how when I finally get rid of a thing, it stays gone. I can't tell you the number of times I opened a box or door this weekend and thought, "Oh boy. I'm going to have to decide whether to keep [that thing I don't really want but feel bad getting rid of] this year," only to find that it was already gone! What a delightful surprise! And such a contrast to the repetitive nature of day-to-day life and all the things I do every day that get undone, or need to be done again (like cooking, or applying sunscreen), or the things I avoid doing, like repairs on shabby household items.

One of those shabby household items used to be our kitchen cart. It was one of the first things Marc and I bought for our house, and after eleven years of nearly continuous use, the finish on the top was beginning to fade away in the most unattractive dirty grey kind of way. Over a year ago, I bought the stuff to refinish it, and I have been putting off doing the work ever since. This weekend was sunny, not too windy, and we had time. So Wyatt and I washed, sanded, varnished, wet-sanded, and varnished the top some more.

The cart looks great now. In fact, it looks way better than the rest of our kitchen. Sigh.

Springtime also means asparagus. I made this recipe for Absurdly Addictive Asparagus (sans pancetta) and it's fabulous. I advise making it now.

Springtime is about renewal, too. It's a time to think about things in new ways, challenge old patterns, and make new friends. Wyatt and I participated in our first racial justice playdate last weekend. We met lots of new people, learned about each others' families, and did art projects about our ancestors while having a potluck lunch. I've also started following Embrace Race, an organization dedicated to "building an online community to discuss and share best practices for raising and caring for kids, all kids, in the context of race." Their emails are full of excellent resources, including podcasts, articles, and more.

Our family is also about to start reading some terrific books that, in one way or another, champion diversity. The other day, I was chatting with my favorite Cheese Monger/Elementary School Librarian over the cheese counter (of course). She was bursting with excitement because she had just been to Marcus Books ("Offering books by and about black people everywhere, since 1960") in Oakland. For her own reference, she had taken photos of the covers of many of the outstanding children's books she had found, all of which feature people of color. Because I am shameless around cheese and books (and she is infinitely patient), I took a photo of each of the 31 photos of books in her phone. Then, I compiled a list of all those books. That list appears below. Some of the books tackle challenging subjects. For ease of reference, I have included the publisher's recommended age or grade ranges.

I have read very few of these books, and I can't wait to dive in. It will also be fun to find more by the same authors and illustrators. If you have more suggestions for similar books, please leave them in the comments.

Happy spring reading (and cleaning and cooking, too)!

(When I checked, listings for individual books were limited on Marcus Books' website. I've included links to Amazon here. Please remember to support your local library and local booksellers by borrowing or purchasing from them whenever possible.)

• Drum Dream Girl, by Margarita Engle (Author), Rafael López (Illustrator) - Grades 1-4
• My Name is Celia/Me llamo Celia: The life of Celia Cruz/la Vida de Celia Cruz, by Monica Brown (Author), Rafael López (Illustrator) - Grades 2-4
• This Is the Rope: A Story from the Great Migration, by Jacqueline Woodson (Author), James Ransome (Illustrator) - Grades K-3
• A Dance Like Starlight, by Kristy Dempsey (Author), Floyd Cooper (Illustrator) - Grades 1-4
• Kenya's Song, by Linda Trice (Author), Pamela Johnson (Illustrator) - Ages 4-8
• Buffalo Bird Girl: A Hidatsa Story, by S. D. Nelson (Author) - Grades 1-5
• Hiawatha and the Peacemaker, by Robbie Robertson (Author), David Shannon (Illustrator) - Ages 4-8
• Sweet Music in Harlem, by Debbie A. Taylor (Author), Frank Morrison (Illustrator) - Ages 6-9
• I and I Bob Marley, by Tony Medina (Author), Jesse Joshua Watson (Illustrator) - Ages 8-11
• My Night in the Planetarium, by Innosanto Nagara (Author) - Grades 2-5
• Jimi Sounds Like a Rainbow: A Story of the Young Jimi Hendrix, by by Gary Golio (Author), Javaka Steptoe (Illustrator) - Grades 4-8.
• Leontyne Price: Voice of a Century, by Carole Boston Weatherford (Author), Raul Colon (Illustrator) - Grades 2-5
• Dear Primo: A Letter to My Cousin, by Duncan Tonatiuh (Author) - Grades K-3
• The Girl Who Helped Thunder and Other Native American Folktales, by James Bruchac (Adapter), Joseph Bruchac Ph.D. (Adapter), Stefano Vitale (Illustrator) - Grades 3-6
• Esquivel! Space-Age Sound Artist, by Susan Wood (Author), Duncan Tonatiuh (Illustrator) - Grades 2-6
• There is a Flower at the Tip of My Nose Smelling Me, by Alice Walker (Author), Stefano Vitale (Illustrator) - Ages 4-8
• The Princess and the Warrior: A Tale of Two Volcanoes, by Duncan Tonatiuh (Author) - Grades Preschool -2.
• Joelito's Big Decision: La Gran Decisión de Joelito, by Ann Berlak (Author) - Grades 2-4
• Thunder Rose, by Jerdine Nolen (Author), Kadir Nelson (Illustrator) - Grades K-3
• Pancho Rabbit and the Coyote: A Migrant's Tale, by Duncan Tonatiuh (Author) - Ages 6-9
• The Upside Down Boy/El nino de cabeza (Rise and Shine), by National Geographic Learning (Author) - Grades 2-5
• Her Stories: African American Folktales, Fairy Tales, and True Tales, by Virginia Hamilton (Author) - Ages 4-8
• Hip Hop Speaks to Children: A Celebration of Poetry with a Beat, by Nikki Giovanni (Author), Alicia Vergel de Dios (Illustrator), Damian Ward (Illustrator), Kristen Balouch (Illustrator), Jeremy Tugeau (Illustrator), Michele Noiset (Illustrator) - Grades 4-8
• Ruby's Wish, by Shirin Yim Bridges (Author), Sophie Blackall (Illustrator) - Ages 4-8
• When the Slave Esperança Garcia Wrote a Letter, by Sonia Rosa (Author), Luciana Justiniana Hees (Illustrator), Jane Springer (Translator) - Grades 3-6
• Rad Women Worldwide, by Kate Schatz (Author), Miriam Klein Stahl (Illustrator) - Grade 6 and up
• The Story of Ruby Bridges, by Robert Coles (Author), George Ford (Illustrator) - Ages 5-9
• Of Thee I Sing, by by Barack Obama (Author), Loren Long (Illustrator) - Grades 2-5
• Tasi & Matina: The Story of the First Clown Fish, by Alison Taimanglo Cuasay (Author) - No age range listed
• Just the Two of Us, by Will Smith (Author) - Ages 4 and up
• Daniel's Ride, by Michael Perry (Author), Lee Ballard (Illustrator) - Grades 2-4

Monday, Redeemed

On Monday, I woke up with Marc's alarm and swore. I had been dreaming it was still the weekend and I was in no mood to be an adult. To make things worse, for the next hour, most things I did--or even touched--confirmed I really should not have gotten out of bed. I became so grumpy, in fact, that Wyatt started remarking on my face, eventually saying, "Every time you come out of the laundry room, you look more and more grumpy. I think you're thinking about the stuff you just dropped behind the dryer and that you can't reach, right? Maybe you should stop going in there."  And then he gave me extra hugs.

I got Wyatt to school on time, and then I organized my day around a bunch of stuff that didn't end up happening. But I focused on the bright spot: Monday was the day our new quilt was arriving! Or so the package tracking report said.

Have you ever made a quilt? Me neither. But my Aunt Lauren has now made several, including ours. My role was merely to help plan our quilt. In case you're interested, it's the green quilt in this collection, but in a queen size, which looks like this (and not the colors I wanted), so I did some pattern tracing, color reassigning, and yardage calculations to start. Then Lauren did all the actual work, cutting, piecing, quilting, and hand finishing it. She shipped the masterpiece to me a week ago.

As Monday continued to slip by with no visit from UPS, I mused that they only seem to deliver late in the day when I'm waiting for something. And while they probably would have left the package for me, I didn't really want to risk not being home for it, so Wyatt and I hung around all afternoon.

Around 4:00 pm, I could wait no longer to get ingredients for dinner. I decided to just leave a note for the UPS driver. Wyatt and I walked over to Baron's Meats, the butcher shop that had opened, for the first time, four hours earlier. When we arrived, we saw full cases of meat and seafood, but no signs identifying cuts or prices for any of their wares. I asked about the missing information, and one of the butchers explained the signs were stuck in traffic on a UPS truck. Imagine that.

I let Wyatt choose dinner, and he went for mussels. We cooked them using the recipe for Steamed Mussels with Parsley and Pepper from the cookbook Simply French. This recipe is pretty similar to the one I used. I made a green salad with red wine vinaigrette, and Wyatt fried some potatoes, because why not. We also had some homemade gluten-free sourdough bread on the side. I saved a third of the mussels to cook for Marc when he got home.

At 7:00 pm, just as I was resigning myself to the quilt arriving on Tuesday, it came! The quilt is so much more amazing in person than I had imagined it would be. Marc and I are thinking it deserves (and, yes, we deserve) at least some new sheets and shams to do it justice.

Bye, February

Welp, there went February. And on March 1? We begin the annual 40-day clear-out. Marc and Wyatt are soooooooo excited. (That's what it means when you groan and roll your eyes, right? That you're excited?)

Okay, so maybe no one is really excited about doing it. But we'll be lighter and happier when it's done, so we'll get there. Or we'll get through it. Either way, it's happening.

But February! I shouldn't be so dismissive. It has been as good a short month as anyone could ask for. Last week was "ski week" for people who do that. For us, it was just a regular week, only there was no school. We visited the Botanical Garden one day between rain storms. We sat by the fountain and explored all the paths. We saw camellias, daffodils, and magnolias in blossom.

We also spent three glorious hours working in the Presidio Nursery on Wednesday afternoon in the sun after days and days of pouring rain. We're planning to go again this week. Weed by weed (and for me, call by call as well), we are becoming the volunteers and citizens we need to be.

I also finally made it to an Asian grocery store to find the ingredients I was missing so I could cook from the amazing book that Sarah sent me, The Food of Thailand: A Journey For Food Lovers. The grocery shopping adventure was humbling. It took me 90 minutes, but I got the five items on my list. Tonight's dinner was Neua Phat Bai Hohrapha/Beef with Thai Sweet Basil Leaves. If you follow the recipe here and substitute 1 medium onion, finely sliced, for the shallot, you will have the recipe I used. If, like Marc, you want to skip the beef, substitute 1 large Asian eggplant, cut into 1/2 inch cubes, and stir-fry a few minutes longer with about three tablespoons of oil.

And speaking of Sarah! Wyatt received the most delightful craft from Benjamin today. Perfect timing, once again, after a rough day getting back into the school groove.

Wyatt lifted the box and shook it gently, remarking, "This is so light it feels empty! I AM SO EXCITED TO SEE WHAT IS AS LIGHT AS AIR!"

Is this not the most delightful, quizzically-wise-looking needle-felted owl in a nest? After examining the owl and taking it in and out of the nest, Wyatt remarked, "Mom. Can you BELIEVE Benjamin made this whole thing? It must have taken him FOREVER, because you know how hard it is to needle-felt big things like this owl...and the nest! Look how they fit so perfectly together. Do you think we should make some eggs for the nest? We could, right? They're like the balls we made for the trivets."

Of course we could make eggs for the nest. (And how great is it to give a craft to someone who knows how hard you must have worked on it? I love that part.)

The owl is currently keeping watch over everything important from Wyatt's nightstand.

All Over the Place

"I love you so much. You are my best friend! Mom. Do you know why I love this SO much? It cooks THE BEST FOOD. Don't you wish it were also a robot? A Robot Instant Pot. Then it could do ALL THE COOKING BY ITSELF."

YES to the Robot Instant Pot. A thousand times, YES.

I'm still getting the hang of this multi-purpose-miracle appliance. There is a learning curve.

The first thing I cooked was risotto from an Instant Pot Cookbook. It was great, although, maybe a tiny bit overdone. Second was a whole chicken. Major failure. Do not make the mistake I did of reading a (free online) recipe and thinking, "Huh. That's weird. No water in this pressure cooker recipe?" and then making the recipe anyway. Just as I had thought, the pressure cooker never sealed, and then I had to trouble-shoot cooking the vaguely steamed bird from there. In short, UGH. Third, I cooked chicken broth, and that went terrifically well, but no one in my family cares about broth other than me. Fourth up was Rancho Gordo Mayocoba Beans, and the beans did not turn out well at all--15 minutes under pressure left them 1/3 cooked, and an additional 5 minutes turned them to mush. Good thing there is no better refried bean than a Mayocoba. I am currently welcoming all helpful tips on pressure cooking or slow cooking beans. Please leave your suggestions in the comments.

The recipe that had Wyatt swooning was Lemongrass + Coconut Chicken (with Cauliflower Rice). It's terrific. And it reheats like a dream in the oven. We ate it for dinner several nights in a row last week, by candlelight. So after you make the recipe I gave you last week, if you have a pressure cooker, try this one.

A meaty dinner by candlelight--no other lights, so yes, it's pretty dark dining in the winter--is the best way to cheer a grumpy, sad Wyatt when Marc isn't able to make it home in time for dinner. It makes dinner look a little different, and when you're finished eating, you can make shadow animals on the walls and talk about how "dad does them the best of all."

And Marc? He got lots of refried beans in the kitchen for dinner last week. I'm all over the place as I (and we) integrate new work routines and get back to usual life ones. And let me say that there's nothing like starting a teeny-tiny weekday morning meditation practice, where instead of feeling serenity and calm, you find you're as together as a handful of confetti someone just tossed into the wind. For example, this morning, as I sat for a minute after lighting our beeswax dinner candle (teeny-tiny practice, I tell you), I realized that last night, I never baked the bread that had been rising all day. So I baked it (slightly deflated) this morning before we left for school, but of course I managed to bake it at the wrong temperature the whole time. Poor little loaf of bread. It never had a prayer. And neither did the rest of the stuff I've already completely blown today.

In other news, I finally filmed, edited, and published two knitting tutorial videos for my Tiny Bubbles Beanie pattern. If you've been thinking you want to knit that hat, but are feeling a little tentative, hoping for some support or instruction, you can now watch my hands knit it whenever you want.

Finally, and most importantly, next Monday is Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Have you chosen a service project yet? Either way, read Jelani Cobb's terrific and important piece about the holiday. It will put you in the right frame of mind to work in support of Dr. King's ideals this year, and in the coming years. If you're in the San Francisco Bay Area, you can sign-up here for an MLK Day Project with the Golden Gate National Parks Conservancy.

Dude.

"Dude" is such a versatile word. Sure, it's really casual and not particularly respectful, but I love it. It is one of the few words in the English language where you can apply many different intonations and get an equal number of different meanings.

"Dude" even works beautifully without voice intonation, like in texts, as my friend Sarah proved this week. She texted me, "Dude," followed by a photo of her poor son, Benjamin, who was sitting as close as possible to the toilet, resting his head on the seat. "Dude" says it all, including the sarcastic, "Thanks, barfing flu," the frantic, "I know I should really seriously avoid using bleach on everything, but here I go anyway," the weary, "How long will this last?" and the empathetic, "My poor, sick, sad child."

It's December, or The First Month When Everyone Gets Sick, and after hearing from Sarah (they're across the country from us, but that fact matters little to a worrier of my caliber), I've been annoying my family even more than usual by reminding them to really wash their hands, like for at least the entire recommended 20 seconds ("Sing the alphabet, but slowly!" Or, "Sing 'Happy Birthday' twice!"). But some version of the barfing flu squiggled into our home anyway. Wyatt woke upon Sunday yelling for me and saying with a quiver in his voice and chin that his stomach felt "oogie." Of course it did. Sunday was his school's Winter Fair, the one-day, super fun, winter holiday fairyland extravaganza that everyone, including him, looks forward to all year. Woe. It was not to be this year. Marc went to the fair to handle his shift for the little passenger train that would carry children up and down the road, and I stayed home with Wyatt. I texted Sarah, "Dude," followed by a photo of Wyatt in a similar pose to Benjamin on Thursday. She welcomed me to the Galactic Wormhole of Doom and Sh*ttiness ("GWODAS"), and I thanked her for her hospitality.

Over the course of the next several hours, I sat on the bathroom floor and read the rest of Laura Ingalls Wilder's On the Banks of Plum Creek to Wyatt. The end of Plum Creek really puts the GWODAS of a short-lived barfing flu (he perked-up before noon) in a modern home into perspective. I seriously cannot imagine living the last hundred pages of that book (or really any of it, but especially the end). The endless swarms of noisily munching grasshoppers who blocked out the sun and ate all the crops two years in a row, Pa's having to walk 600 miles round-trip (once in holey boots) so he could earn some money before winter, twice-weekly blizzards that would easily blind you, swallow you up and freeze you and your children to death, fiery fireballs of tumbleweeds that jumped over trenches to burn your house down, and don't forget all the regular work of being a farmer and homesteader. The whole scenario is its own, special kind of uber-GWODAS, and I am a spoiled whiner by comparison.

Comparisons aside, however, the truth remains that community improves whatever GWODAS we find ourselves in. Mr. Nelson helped beat back the fiery fireballs of tumbleweeds to save the the Ingalls' house from burning to the ground; Sarah helped me keep my perspective and sense of humor while I was wedged into the corner on the floor of the bathroom near my inconsolable child on Sunday morning.

Community matters, and friendships across many miles matter, too. This story about the Transcontinental Barfing Twins reminded me that I have not yet shared the most recent installment of our Craft Pals exchange (read about earlier exchanges here and here). It's awfully heartwarming.

At the end of September, our doorbell rang. The mail carrier had a package for Wyatt. It was from Benjamin, and Wyatt was so surprised and pleased he could hardly contain himself. Benjamin had sent Wyatt the most glorious set of homemade, handpainted story stones, all about a fishing adventure. There's a trout, a fishing pole, a mystery trout that got away, a worm on a hook, an island, a dock, a sailboat, a whale, the weather, an umbrella, a buck-toothed shark, assorted bait, another hook that the mystery trout ate the bait from and sneakily escaped, an octopus, and a jellyfish. This set has all the elements of so many epic adventures, and we have enjoyed many excellent stories thanks to these stones.

It took Wyatt and me awhile to figure out what to send Benjamin in return. We were thinking about it, and talking about it, but we were also working on the felted trivets all the time, so the weeks got away from us a little bit. Inspiration struck after our friend, Anne, gave Wyatt a National Parks Journal for writing and sketching. It's a great little book, and Wyatt has been working on drawing plants from our garden and things from his imagination ever since he received it. Wyatt thought Benjamin would enjoy a notebook, but not just any notebook. It needed to be special. I suggested we get an unlined blank notebook and decorate it somehow. Wyatt agreed, and he and I made a trip to SCRAP in San Francisco for inspiration and supplies.

SCRAP is a magical place. The flamingos at the top of this post greeted us outside, and after that, we explored pretty much every corner of the shop. We found everything we needed at SCRAP for the bargain price of $3.15. Everything, that is, except for the notebook (which we were particular about), and the yarn, glue sticks, googly eyes, and thread that I already had.

Wyatt decided he wanted to make a cat notebook. And he sketched this prototype.

We made the notebook by ironing the fabrics, cutting lightweight batting the same size as the cover, covering the batting-covered cover with fabric, and decorating the book like a cat. Sadly, our hot glue-gun didn't work well for sticking the fabrics together (because it's a low-temperature version, maybe?), so I did more stitching than I had anticipated, but that was fine. Wyatt finger-knitted the whiskers, tail, closure, and collar. He also chose the button, applied all the hot glue we could use, and held me to a high standard in terms of his art direction.

The hardest part about sending off this package was parting with the working kick-scooter key chain that Wyatt had found at SCRAP. He searched in endless bins there, but only found one (in contrast to the boxes and boxes of medals; he got himself a medal, too, because he "had always wanted one, and Benjamin probably had, too.")

Once the package had arrived, Sarah sent the best ever thank you video from Benjamin. It brought Wyatt the biggest, goofiest grin and giggle each time he watched it.

I know I've said it before, but I absolutely love this tangible exchange of thoughtfulness, care, and creativity.

I hope everyone reading this post enjoys a healthful December and beyond. But just in case that proves impossible, here's a recipe for pancakes that has proven delicious and easy on recovering stomachs in our house for the last couple of years. The recipe is courtesy of Sweetsmith in Adelaide, South Australia. Gluten-free, dairy-free, and refined-sugar free, these pancakes would also be good in times of good health.

Ingredients:

• 1 cup rice flour
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• 2/3 cup rice milk (or nut milk)
• 1 egg
• 1 teaspoon of cinnamon
• 1 tablespoon honey
• 1 grated apple

Directions:

Sift flour and baking powder. Mix with all other ingredients. Cook on a griddle (I use coconut oil on the griddle) and flip once they are golden brown on the first side. After both sides are golden brown, eat!

Hapa Zome (The Beauty of Hitting Flowers with Hammers)

In June 2015, I attended a workshop by Plants People at West Coast Craft. The workshop was on one of those Sundays when there couldn't have been more traffic or less parking around Fort Mason. It was so bad that, looking back, it is remarkable that my friend Margaret, her friend Aisling, and I all managed to make it to the class, never mind create beautiful flower prints. But we did.

"Hapa Zome" is the name that India Flint gave the natural dyeing process of placing flowers on fabric, folding the fabric, and then hitting the fabric firmly and repeatedly with a hammer (or mallet) to transfer the flower pigments to the cloth. The color transfer and prints you get are incredible. Even when you think you've totally messed it up, the petals move, and you don't achieve even remotely what you had imagined, the result is lovely. And there's no better craft than this one if you're feeling impatient, frustrated or you just want to hit stuff. 

Ever since the workshop, Margaret and I have been saying how much we wanted to do the project again.  We finally got around to it a few weekends ago. Margaret (whose many talents include floral design) picked up the flowers from the Flower Mart and bought the alum, Maja got the silk scarves, and I brought spray bottles, mallets, and towels.

We sprayed our scarves with a solution of water and alum, and then got to hammering, spraying more of the alum solution as needed. (Alum is the mordant we used, and mordant is what helps color stay on fabric rather than just disappear).

We put cardboard on the table under the towels, but three strong women hammering is no joke. By the time we were done, one of the bolts holding Margaret's table together had worked its way off a screw and onto the floor. My point is, choose your hammering surface carefully and look for loose bolts when you're done. You might opt for no towels, as well, if you want a crisper imprint of the flowers. Try it and see what happens. We mixed our alum and water solution without any regard for science or dyeing authority. If you want to do it "right," you can consult natural dye resources for ratios of the amount of mordant to use for a given amount of fabric and prepare the fabric accordingly. You can also choose flowers that are commonly used for natural dyeing in order to get a more lasting result. The wonderful thing about this process (or disappointing thing, depending on how much you love your initial result) is that over time, the colors of the flower imprints shift, fade, and change. As that happens, or as you find other flowers you like, you can add more prints to your piece.

Wyatt was more than just a little bit jealous that I spent the afternoon with Margaret (she was his teacher before she became my friend), and he refused to accept that he wouldn't be hammering flowers himself. So he and I did another scarf the next day.

He loved the whole process. I mean, who wouldn't? Swinging a heavy mallet also tired him out, so there's that, too.

So, definitely try flower hammering.

Also! I have a new soup recipe to share: Sweet Potato Coconut Curry Soup. No photos, but it's orange like the sweet potatoes in it, and it's great. Don't let the list of ingredients scare you off--most of them are for the spiced chickpeas/garbanzo beans (which I haven't yet made because we had some leftover from Nopalito). The soup is so great, in fact, that Wyatt brought it for lunch a couple of times last week, and the teachers asked for tastes and then asked me for the recipe. My adjustments to the recipe as are: a pinch or two of cayenne (instead of 1/4 tsp, because one of us doesn't like things too spicy), 1 tablespoon of curry powder (instead of 2 tablespoons), and a sprinkle of coconut vinegar or sherry vinegar to finish the soup just before serving. The recipe also doubles very well, and when I added a cup of water that one time I was short on coconut milk, the soup was still just as good.

Last but not least, I hope your Halloween was as good as this little panda's was.

Make Every Bite a Delight

I love knowing people who are experts at their craft. In an age when it's all about who has the loudest voice or best story propelling their marketing, my favorite master crafts people and professionals are the ones who consistently and confidently do great work, have little need for fanfare, and are happy to share about their process and projects when I ask. These are the people I love to have as my teachers.

My favorite master of woodcraft (and a favorite person in general) is Al Henry. Al has described himself to me as a cabinetmaker. Doesn't that sound infinitely practical? I can attest to the fact that Al designs and builds beautiful, functional, and as far as I can tell, perfect cabinets. But cabinets are just the beginning of what he can make, and has made. Work tables, desks, toys, unique bookshelves, and stunning large-scale inlaid and woven artwork. I'm pretty sure that if something can be made out of wood, Al can make it, and make it beautifully.

A month or so ago, I was on the hunt for a step-stool for Wyatt (who has outgrown his Learning Tower). I went to all the usual places one might find a step-stool, but none were the right height. I then checked Etsy, and I found someone who'd make me a custom-height stool. Just as I was about to place an order, though, I wondered if Al would consider doing a step-stool project with Wyatt and me. It seemed like it might be too small a job, or maybe too much to ask of him to have our "help."  But I ultimately concluded that I should let him decide for himself whether he wanted to do it.

Lucky for us, Al said he would be happy to help. And within the span of a few text messages, he had vastly improved on the step-stool design I had imagined.

Wyatt and I went by Al's shop after school one afternoon to build the stool.

Before we arrived, Al had pre-cut the pieces and drilled pilot holes in all the right places. Wyatt and he assembled everything. As you might imagine, this is no ordinary step-stool. The pieces fit perfectly, reflecting the precision of an expert cabinetmaker. Al also placed tape on the front piece so that Wyatt could write his name. Al then carved Wyatt's "signature" with his dremel tool. Wyatt sanded the edges of the stool when we got home, and has been taking impeccable care of the stool ever since. As he says, "There aren't many kids who have a step-stool as nice as mine that Al built with them!" He went on to create and send Al's thank you card with unmatched exuberence.

This step-stool has changed our kitchen life. Wyatt can now wash dishes and cook with ease. When we saw Chef Kellie, culinary expert of Chicks & Love Pizza Patio, last week, she asked Wyatt if he would like to know what she always taught her culinary students. "YES!" he said, and then he stood listening with all his being. "Make every bite a delight," she said. He nodded solemnly. She went on to explain that when she makes anything, she looks carefully at what she's creating and her goal is to make every single bite delicious.

Wyatt has taken this motto to heart. With this guiding principle and his step-stool, he has become a force in the kitchen. Our latest creation was Delicata Squash Nachos. And before you make a weird face, just try them. Remember, I am not the biggest fan of squash. In fact, I bought delicata squash with deep skepticism tempered only by a willingness to give them a try, just this once, after hearing people sing its praises. Boy am I glad I did, because delicata squash is show-stoppingly good when sliced into little crescents (unpeeled!) and roasted. Those slices were so good out of the oven that Wyatt and I had to summon a lot of willpower not to just eat them all off the baking sheet. And before I forget, be sure to save those seeds! Rinse them clean of squash goo, let them dry, then toss in a bit of olive oil. Roast for 20 minutes or so, at 325-ish stirring occasionally, until they are golden. Sprinkle with salt while they are hot. They're better than pumpkin seeds.

We sort of followed this recipe, which is to say we followed the directions for roasting the squash. Then we layered on top of the mountain of squash crescents most of a can of drained black beans, grated cheddar and monterey jack cheese, and homemade green enchilada sauce. We broiled the whole mess until the cheese melted and started to brown. Once out of the oven, we added mild salsa and slices of ripe avocado. We served our "nachos" with sprouted brown rice, but I'm sure there are more exciting accompaniments.

I understand that delicata squash season is short. Go get yours before we eat all of them up.

Tomato, Tomahto

"Mom! Dad said to ask you if the tomAHtoes are done yet!"

[squeals and peals of laughter followed]

I used to love heirloom tomatoes best, but after I met dry farmed tomatoes, I barely looked back. Dry farmed tomatoes tend to be firm, on the small side, and I've only seen them in red instead of striped, purple or green. They look like a classic tomato—like those tomato pincushions that you might find in a sewing box. But unlike a pincushion (or any other tomato I've had) their flavor is intense and, frankly, outstanding.

Tomatoes are everywhere lately. In fact, Wyatt and I recently saw a stunning sculpture made of tomatoes (the pincushion variety) at the Museum of Craft and Design in San Francisco.

This piece, made of tomato shaped pincushions, wood, plaster, and mirrors is called "Rose Window," and it is part of Marianne Lettieri's exhibit, "Reflections." It is on display at the Museum of Craft and Design in San Francisco through January 22, 2017.

I've been meaning to go to the Museum of Craft and Design since it moved to the Dogpatch neighborhood three years ago. When I learned that Poco Dolce chocolates was having their tasting week just a couple of blocks away, though, I suddenly decided it was time to actually go. I was looking forward to Marianne Lettieri's exhibit, which she obviously created with me in mind. As the website describes, "Reflections contextualizes overlooked relics of home making. The ritual of repetitive acts and the accumulation of objects in the domestic sphere each create a physical reminder of the passage of time." Wyatt was excited to pump water through Anja Ulfeldt's "Of Sound Mind and Objects" installation, "Domestic Infrastructure #2." After walking through all the exhibits, both of us considered the "Beyond the Pour" to be a delightful bonus. Seeing glimpses of artists' creative processes and how art can find its way on to a wine bottle was fun.

"Domestic Infrastructure #2"

"Sisters of Biscuits and Pies"

"The Art of Manliness"

The chocolate tasting up the street was outstanding, too. After trying three of the chocolates twice (just to be sure we could rank them properly), we agreed that the Peanut Butter and Honey Cups were the best.

On the way back to the car, Wyatt spotted an ice cream sign and thought that it would be best to see what they had inside. So we did. Sure enough, they had ice cream. Wyatt had bubble gum flavor and I chose toffee brittle.

But back to tomatoes! Stuffed tomatoes, specifically. Until this weekend, I've never eaten one I loved, but I'm now a convert. On Friday, I heard a great review of Rachel Roddy's cookbook, My Kitchen in Rome. The commenters highly recommended her recipe for stuffed tomatoes. Lucky for all of us, the recipe is available online at Roddy's website and through The Guardian. The recipe takes awhile, although most of the time is waiting time. But I promise, it's worth it. In fact, all three of us agree it is worth every single minute.

The recipe creates a baked, creamy and vibrant tomato-basil flavored risotto inside a beautiful tomato shell. I used dry farmed tomatoes, but choose whatever tomato you like the best.

I'm going to make this recipe at least once more before tomatoes are no longer in season, and you should, too. Here are my tips for getting the most out of the recipe:

• Roddy advises letting the arborio rice soak for at least 45 minutes. I let it soak for 2 hours at room temperature, and I'm glad I did. The rice had absorbed a lot more of the tomato juice at the end of 2 hours than it had after 45 minutes.
• The recipe The Guardian provides says to cut the potatoes (whose function, as far as I can tell, is to absorb the tomato juice in the pan--don't skip them!) into "chips." Had I consulted Marc for a British to American translation of this description, he would have told me "little wedges." I didn't consult, bought little potatoes, left them unpeeled, and I cut them into small rounds. This approach worked fine.
• If, like me, all of your rice doesn't fit in the tomatoes, oil a little baking dish and put the remaining rice in it. Cover the dish with an oven-proof lid or tight foil and pop it in the oven with the tomatoes. The rice cooks up perfectly, and it will be done when the tomatoes are done.
• Make more than you think you want to eat in one day. The tomatoes reheat extremely well, covered, in a 350 degree oven, with a splash of water in the bottom of the dish. Plan for leftovers!

Tomatoes filled, before baking.

Hats back on! Ready for the oven.

Baked, rested, and ready to eat!

Summer Squeeze

Last week, we attended our big family reunion in Hyannis Port and I managed to take exactly zero photos at any of the gatherings. The only photos I took were of our Kids Fishing Trip, and of my shoes while knitting Wyatt's halloween costume in the steam room (a.k.a. outdoor patio) of our hotel room.

Some might argue that a big family reunion is a terrible time to consciously leave one's phone in the car,  but I would argue otherwise. You're welcome, relatives.

I stepped-up my photo game a little bit once back at my parents' house: Lawnmowing! Chipmunk-hole-filling! Dog walking! A visit to Ann and Steve's farm! Ice cream! Bumper boats!

And then suddenly (after six hours on a plane), we were home again. Trips are like that, I guess.

Since we've been back, I've been looking to squeeze a little bit more out of summer before school starts next week. Yesterday was Sunday Streets, so we walked what felt like all of Valencia Street, twice, and we spent extra time in the Pirate Store.

Today, Wyatt and I took a pedal boat around Stow Lake: "Mom. You be the engine. I'll be the rudder." I agreed because his legs were too short to pedal. We did marvelously, alliding only once with some rocks at the shore.

And I can't forget summer food! Even though it's chilly here, in the last few days, I've revisited some stellar (and easy) recipes featuring summer produce, including Grilled Eggplant Parmesan and Charred Corn Tacos with Zucchini Radish Slaw (no photo; we were too hungry). I've also tried a new one: Burrata with Lentils and Basil Vinaigrette. Wyatt was not a fan of that recipe, but everyone is wrong sometimes. And as the photo at the top suggests, we have also been eating artichokes (steamed, with a drizzle of olive oil, sprinkle of salt, squeeze and slice of lemon, and homemade mayonnaise for dipping).