Dreary Day Brighteners

We are in the doldrums of winter now. Cold rain dominates our weather, with temperatures hovering right around freezing. Brrr. There is nothing quite like miserable weather to drive people inside to a warm hearth! When the weather outside is miserably cold, I am drawn to spicy flavors that warm me from the inside out. We found just the thing last night - a spicy red curry with fish. The flavors in curries can be immeasurably complex, but eventually they center on the back of the throat with a heat that both soothes and energizes. It eases whatever ails you, just like your grandmother might have made (if your grandmother was Thai, perhaps!).

This fish curry recipe works well for us, plus it is flexible enough that almost anyone can adapt it to fit individual taste preferences. We serve it with a fresh lime and coconut salad. Enjoy!

Ritual

A recent magazine from the makers of my beloved Nespresso interviewed a number of notable people from the art world. Five questions were posed to each interviewee. Of the five, the most interesting (to me) was, “Do you have a daily ritual that you absolutely could not do without?” It is a curious question because rituals are one of the ways in which we define ourselves.

I’ve previously mentioned that making a cup of coffee each morning serves as a steadfast ritual to steer me forward through the day. Perhaps that is one I could not do without. I have other regular activities as well: checking email in the morning, writing a little bit each day, things like that. With the possible exception of writing, most of those regular activities are the normal flotsam and jetsam of life. They don’t really rise to the level of ritual. They are necessities perhaps, needed activities to keep life from going off the deep end. But routine practices and chores are not really a ritual. To be a ritual, I think the practice must be 1) regularly performed, 2) essential for self, and 3) a point of departure for greater experiences. Maybe that is too much importance to place on one cup of coffee or a morning jog, but ritual should be more than a mere habit. Even the ordinary can become special.

Rituals can be grand, of course. Nations and organizations create bold, stirring rituals that are shared communally. These are important for a collective identity. But the most significant rituals are those that are personal and quiet, private moments in which you center yourself, place your feet firmly on the ground, and ready yourself for what ever follows. They are yours and yours alone.

So think about it. Do you have a daily ritual that you absolutely could not do without?

Jolt!

The first day back at work after a long break is always a shock. No more sleepy mornings snuggling deep under a comforter, without even a toe brave enough to creep into the cold morning air. No more late breakfasts that stretch into lunch. No more reading books late into the night or midnight movies. Holiday breaks are lovely and sometimes decadent, but unfortunately they cannot last forever. Eventually we must be brave and face those regular routines that, after all, pay for our vacation.

There is no need to suffer, though. There must be a way to easy back into the grind, to create a semblance of dignity to the rude awakening of a back-to-work schedule. Coffee served in a favorite mug fills that need for me. No sissy sugar or cream. No hazelnut or mocha. Just pure coffee, black and strong, points the way through the fog.

I like the ritual of selecting just the right mug, heating the espresso machine, waiting for that familiar sound of water pressing through beans. I like the look of steam rising off a perfect crema. Mostly, I like the jolt of caffiene finding its way into my consciousness.

Call me a java junky. I can live with that.

Good Luck

There are some culinary experiences that you must have at an early age or else it is nearly impossible to have those tastes imbedded in your soul, a part of your identity that has no beginning or end. When I harken back to my childhood days, it is tastes and smells from my grandmother’s kitchen that resonate deep within me.

My grandmother was a practical cook. She grew some of what she cooked or made use of what was available to her in the local stores. She had the essentials of any modern kitchen: 4-burner stove and a double oven (really quite fancy for her day). She had a big Sunbeam Mixmaster and a percolator. She didn’t own any appliances we now think of as important, such as a microwave, food processor, or blender. She probably never heard of espresso, yet there was always a simmering pot of water in case someone wanted a cuppa instant Folgers. Instant coffee aside, grandmother was a great cook before Julia or Jacques taught the rest of us how to cut up a chicken.

My cooking roots grow deeply into that history. In the subsequent years we’ve increased cultural awareness and expanded culinary horizons by having access to fresh food from the other side of the world at our doorstep overnight. We’ve watched chefs on TV teach, compete, and entertain. We have more restaurant options. From my home, I’m within an easy walk of Thai, Salvadoran, Greek, Italian, and French eateries, not to mention burger or pizza joints.

But those early tastes and smells are the ones that call to me from a not so distant history. When I cook those foods again, I share my meal with those who first shared theirs with me.

Today is such a day. Our family (and if you are from the South you already know this) ate a heaping mess o’ black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day. If you didn’t have a bowl of black-eyes, you were doomed to a luckless, miserable year. Eat the peas and you will have good luck. Eat a lot of peas and you will know joy and fortune from January to December.

It is said that there are folks from up North who think of black-eyed peas as beneath them, people who don’t really understand why such a big deal is made of eating them on the first day of the year. I cannot explain good fortune to those people, nor can I explain how their very well being depends on a particular pea. One of those people lives in my household. It is with grave responsibility that I see to his good luck every year. It is a heady responsibility, but one that I do not shirk.

So, from my home to yours, I wish you good luck and great fortune this year. But to be on the safe side, you should eat a heaping helping of black-eyed peas!

Good Morning Mangosa

Most mornings in our house fall into a familiar routine that propels us forward into the blinding light of day. I’m a coffee person. I love (translation: am dependent upon) strong coffee, but do not have the skills to make it in the morning or the energy to get the pot ready (all but the push of a brew button) the night before. My life was changed once I discovered Nespresso, which allows me to have a strong and fast caffiene jolt with minimal energy or planning. Husband is entirely a tea man. We have a fairly large stash of tea (including Stash, not so ironically), both with and without caffiene.

There are special mornings, however, when a little extra sparkle is required. Holidays are such an occasion. Or you might need sparkle on a lazy Sunday when a late breakfast followed by a good book and a nap are the only activities on the schedule.

For such occasions, we like to make the house specialty – mangosas – like a mimosa with a twist. Mangosas must be shared with someone you love. Or they can be shared with people that you like. Mangosas will even make those people you merely tolerate seem a whole lot more interesting. No matter, they are fun, easy, and even make you a very interesting person.

New Beginnings

There is something exciting about New Year’s Eve. It is a time to toast friends or flirt a little with your beau, even the beau you’ve been married to for a quarter century. You can even forgive those who get a little bit tipsy (but don’t let them drive home for Pete’s sake). I love the fun evening that says goodbye to the holidays, and offers one last hurrah before it is time to get back to regular workaday schedules.

Several years ago we started making Swiss cheese fondue on New Year’s Eve. From time to time we’ve invited friends to share a meal, and other times we’ve made it for the two of us. OK, occasionally we might accidentally drop a bite for our faithful four-footed pooch. She is on high alert during the dinner hour, and snaps up any dropped morsels before they hit the floor. How she can be on both sides of the table at once is proof of teleportation, I’m certain. But I digress.

Last year I went to my favorite market just prior to New Year’s Eve. A most gracious gentleman appeared out of nowhere to offer his help. I asked what he could suggest to accompany fondue, he replied, “Fondue? Swiss fondue?? Is this what you are making? For New Year’s Eve?” His slight accent was hard to place, but made his questions seem Very Important. Soon his face broke into a smile and he said, “I am from Switzerland! Fondue comes from my home! I will tell you how to make fondue!” And with that, he instructed me how to make fondue the way his mother made it. I would hazzard a guess that his grandmother made it that way too.

We made fondue his way that year, and it was exactly what I had hoped it would be – warm, smooth, cheese that coated the cubed bread like a silken coat of yummy goodness. The blend of cheeses paired beautifully together, and melted into something smooth and creamy.

A few days after our meal, and for months after that, I searched in vain to thank him for sharing his delicious recipe. He was nowhere to be found, and I eventually concluded that he was either a fondue angel who appeared out of thin air to assist willing students, or that perhaps he found a job somewhere else or even returned to his homeland.

Then, today, one year later, I went back to that same market in search of fondue ingredients. And there he was! I went to him and asked the silliest question: “Do you remember helping me a year ago?” He looked confused, but then I said the magic words: “You helped me with fondue!” Once again a beatific smile spread across his face. And once again he shared with me his family’s recipe. I learned something else new - if a lady loses her bread in the cheese, she must kiss the cheek of the man to her right. And if a man loses his bread, he must buy the next bottle of wine! I wonder if it is considered acceptable to use your fondue fork aggressively to assure that your dining companions have to pony up wine or kisses.

The fondue beckons, however. We will make it again this year because it is our Swiss angel's tradition. And now, because it is our tradition too.