The Generous Mirror Salad

Close your eyes and tell me where you are. Whether standing on a podium, addressing your country, or sitting at the dinner table addressing your family, notice how the words feel coming out of your mouth. Are you speaking out of love or out of fear? Are you hoping to gain power by making false promises, or do you realize that you are powerful already?

I sat across from her this morning, a mirror image of myself at certain times, and listened as she spoke about a softer way. She described a situation where she had listened instead of filling up empty space with words. For once she had waited to be asked before forcing her help on others, flowing in and out of a crowd without stirring a storm of land spout resentments. In this moment she understood that wherever she was, whatever she was doing, however much she had, her inner reality was the only world that mattered. Through her imagery I re-discovered these lessons that I had forgotten.

In food, the type or quality of the ingredients means nothing if the taster is not tasting. I thought about how, with my busy schedule, I have been shoveling food in while walking from place to place (eating crackers while doing laundry, that sort of thing). Last night I vowed to slow down, and take the time to taste my food. I lasted exactly 12 hours before I had completely forgotten my vow and was shoveling down this salad (for breakfast) while packing my things for work.

The dressing
3 Tbsp olive oil
1 ½ Tbsp lemon juice
2 tsp sherry vinegar
salt and pepper
1 tsp raw honey
2 green onions
¼ tsp lemon pepper

The salad
½ small head red leaf lettuce
½ large kohlrabi, sliced into long flat pieces
6 fresh baby carrots, peeled and sliced
2 stalks celery, diced
½ large tomato cut into wedges
½ cup Gorgonzola cheese

Christina's vote "This salad was generous"

Immortal Adventure Salad

I opened the door and they were there, wearing vibrant colors and filling my nostrils with their fresh smelling cologne.

There were short, deep red, plump, rich and rosy tomatoes with skin smooth and tight, brimming with natural mid-western beauty. They huddled together in a giggling group, whispering garden secrets, there hopes and dreams limited by previous experience.

There were long and slender, pimply cucumbers, earnest and bright, and much stronger than they appear. They were wearing shades of dark green and roaming around free in the crisper, the lone wolfs that they are.

There was basil, flighty and free, whispy and eccentric, she danced in the air shaking her leaves like long flowing scarves. Her tangled roots were bare, and she cast an olfactory snare that demanded she be noticed and labeled as having witchy ways.

Smooth artisan mozzerella, sculpted and tender as a male ballarina. He huddled in his bowl, wrapped in quiet unassuming emotion.

I invited them all into my kitchen, and offered them some oil to drink. They brightened to colors that seemed impossible in nature. Lusty basil tangled us all in her aroma, ensnaring the whole kitchen in memories.

I traveled back in time, back to the garden, back to skinned knees and dirty fingernails. Time extended, and we were surrendered to immortal adventure.

Classic Caprese with Cucumbers
1 cup sliced cherry or grape tomatoes
1 cup sliced Persian cucumbers
1 cup sliced fresh mozzarella cheese
1/2 cup chopped basil
salt and pepper to taste
2 cloves garlic
1-2 Tbsp olive oil

Everett's vote: "A proper reward for a troll rescuing handy man"

Blanched and Gingered Pea Salad

Today I am reminded that rain comes from a cloud, vegetables come out of the ground, and friendship is born out of adversity. The market was a quiet ghost town this morning, not the bustling crowd that we expected. I stood at the demo stand, quietly shucking peas, hoping that a few more people would gather before the 10:30 demo. I was tired. I was feeling shy. I was dressed too warmly and I was beginning to break a sweat.

The farmers market is a family run non-profit business. Larry, Sandy, and their daughter Rachel, are wonderful people and a true joy to work for. Even though all the chairs in front of my tent were empty, they just kept gathering equipment, as though preparing for a rush of people to come in and start demanding salad. The growers eyed me from over their shoulders. They have gotten used to me walking around asking questions, but still they seem wary.

"What are you cookin?" Asked one of the orange vested market workers.
"She's gonna cook you breakfast" Larry joked.
"I am doing a demo" I said "I'm going to make a couple of salads".
"oh" the man said "I was hopin it was bacon and eggs".
A light bulb went off over Larry. "We can do that, I'll go get the ingredients!" Larry said, and he rushed off.

As 10:30 approached, two friends came shuffling in. They sat down and grinned up at me, waiting for the private show to begin. Sandy handed me a microphone. The speaker wailed some feedback.
"hello?" my voice boomed, I cleared my throat.
"HELLO AND WELCOME" I shouted, pasting the words over my fear, blanketing myself with a cape of self confidence. My heart started to pound at a running cadence. People began to gather and fill up the chairs. Normally, people come and go in waves when a demo is going on, but today, with so few people around, to leave the talk would have been noticeable. Out of social obligation most people stayed until the end, and since we had an intimate crowd, I got to know them and they got to know me. Many of the people who gathered were runners, and we had a good time sharing running tips as well as cooking.

After the demo, Larry showed up with eggs, bacon, and cheese. Including the vegetables, I had everything I needed to cook something spectacular for the farmers. I was asked to make breakfast for every grower at the market. It wasn't something I had planned on doing, but I had a blast doing it. As we began our cleanup after everyone had been served, the farmers came over, one by one, to offer thanks. They brought peas, tomatoes, or cheese curds. Some of them just brought over a smile. I felt welcomed into their village, and felt I had an important role as a part of the community.

On my way home, a single dark cloud rained down, dumping heaps of water onto my windshield. A moment later I was driving on a dry sunny street. The change happened so quickly that I hardly had time to be upset about the rain.

I made this salad in honor of the farmers.

Blanched pea and gingered carrot salad
shell about 2 cups of Queen Anne or English peas
blanch them in boiling water (about 2 min) then shock in an ice bath to stop the cooking.
cut 6-8 small carrots into matchsticks.
Heat 1 Tbsp grape seed oil and 1/8 tsp salt
add 2 tsp mirin and carrot sticks
cook 2 min, then add 4 diced garlic scapes
add 3 green onions, diced.
remove from heat and mix with peas
add 1 Tbsp toasted sesame oil
1 tsp lemon juice
1 Tbsp rice vinegar
1 tsp minced fresh ginger
1 cup finely chopped green or red lettuce

Christina's vote: "This salad helped me find my way"

Dare To Be Bare Salad

In celebration of independence day I decided to run naked, then thought better of it, and decided instead to run nakedly.

I left the ipod in my drawer and the running shirt in my closet. I wore a sports bra, but my tummy was bare leaving me with a slight feeling of vulnerability and self consciousness. I said goodbye to the mirror, leaving my critical self image standing there looking desperate and worried. I let go of the regimented route planning, and knowledge of exact mileage, instead opting to carry a watch for the sole purpose of making sure I get back in time for our evening plans. I shed the city, watching it fade as I followed the paved, winding river path.

The city towers looked like blocks stacked on an island. The sky was covered by gray clouds with braille like slits of scattered birds, which moved and wove in and out of formation like notes cut into a sheet of music for a player piano. It wasn't until I took off the pavement, which lay beside me in great folds, that words began to have their way with me.

Every day I am alive my story changes completely. Every action, every moment, is both simple and impossible, interesting and a drag, mean and gentle, selfish and misunderstood. It is my mind that does the changing.

After realizing my own mortality, I took a recipe for living, unloaded my identity, and began to pick berries. The ingredients don't matter as much as their flavor.

Christina came home while I was putting the finishing touches on this salad. "I ran to the top of that mountain we ran yesterday" I said, while thinking about the heavy rich greens of the forest.
"I want to do that too" she said.
"Okay, wanna go now?"
"you can't go twice" she said "That's excessive, you'll get injured again."
"Nope" I said.
"oh yeah, well then what injured you before?"
"my ego. I ignored my body and the cues it was giving me because I imagined that winning something would bring me happiness. I forgot that winning doesn't bring happiness, living does."

It's not about running fast, or running far, or how much I run compared with other people. It's not about the composition of my diet, the origins of the potato I am eating, or how many calories and grams of saturated fat, salt, or cholesterol. It's about flavor. Pure, rich, creamy, bitter, salty, sour, tangy, spicy flavor.

Lemony chicken, kale, and pasta salad
Heat 1/4 cup olive oil in a large dutch oven.
add 1/4 tsp salt
1/2 yellow onion, diced
1 large split chicken breast
brown chicken on both sides, moving it around the pan often to prevent sticking.
Add 2 cloves minced garlic and about 1 Tbsp cooking wine (white).
Flip the chicken and add 2 diced zucchini.
Cook until chicken is almost done, then add 1 large bunch kale and 4 more cloves garlic.
Cook until kale is wilted.
Remove mixture from the pot and fill the pot with water and a pinch salt. Boil water and cook 1/2 lb pasta.
Meanwhile, slice chicken breast into bite sized pieces, prepare some fresh grape tomatoes by slicing them into pieces, and squeeze the juice and zest from 1 lemon over the top of the kale.
When the pasta is done, drain and add.
Toss everything together and add some fresh mozzarella.
Season with fresh ground pepper, basil, and 2 Tbsp white wine vinegar.

Christina's vote "This salad dared me."

Letter to Shadow Salad

Dear Shadow
With the sunrise at our backs I followed you into the morning.
I watched you in fear as your shape changed sizes, from short and fat to tall and ghostly, with long claw like fingers.
Your edges blurred and rippled in the heat of the day.
We ran together toe to toe. Sometimes you disappeared into the rustling shade of a tree. Sometimes I disappeared into my own rustling mind.
Always we were reunited by the bright sunlight, which perched like a watchful parrot in the expansive palace of an empty sky. When at last we reached the turnaround, I expected to leave you behind.
The sun had passed through her zenith, and there you were, running with me, toe to toe into the dusk.
I watched, this time with joyful amusement, at the shifting of your form, and shouted my gratitude to the sun for our introduction.

Dark Toasted Sesame Dressing
2 Tbsp toasted sesame oil
2 Tbsp tamari
2 Tbsp rice vinegar
juice from 1/2 lemon
2 tsp raw honey (sweet clover is nice)
2 Tbsp tahini
1 clove minced garlic. Whisk together.

The salad
1/2 head red leaf and 1/2 head green leaf lettuce
10 very small (just out of the ground) carrots, peeled and diced, or 4 large carrots
2 Persian cucumbers, peeled and sliced
2 hard boiled eggs, sliced (place eggs in pot and cover with water. bring to a boil and boil for 1 min. Remove from the heat, cover, and let sit for 8-10 min. Drain, then rinse with cold water to stop cooking).

Christina's vote: "This salad could set a firecracker ablaze"

Dill-icious Cabbage Homecoming Salad

Giant neon signs lined the airport terminal, and I scanned them for directions to a decent cup of coffee. The Boston airport is free of the corporate emerald green of Starbucks, the beatnik black and red of Dunn Bros, and the campy brown and blue of Caribou. Instead, the early morning lines snaked like snap beads in front of the cartoon orange and pink colors of the coffee of my childhood. The Dunkin Doughnuts. I stood in line anticipating a trip down memory lane.

White styrofoam cups stood in height formation on the counter top. Super sized is the new large. Vanity sizing has hit both clothing and food. I ordered a medium coffee with cream, and then marveled as the teenager across the counter flipped a switch on the cream dispenser and half of my glass darkened. He then poured the coffee. The concoction tasted like exactly what it was, cream diluted with a tiny bit of coffee-flavored water. Nostalgia can only add so much flavor, the truth about my beverage was detectable. It was terrible, and it made me feel sick.

In desperation for a positive reconnection with old times, I went back for a chocolate doughnut. That only made me feel worse. The man sitting across from me was reading a running magazine and happily nibbling on a homemade egg sandwich. I had breakfast envy. I felt displaced sitting in that little chair in the airport. There were too many clocks, each one reading a different time. It was happy hour in one restaurant and breakfast in another. A woman walked by in surf shorts, dragging little children wearing flip flops. Passing her in the other direction walked a bearded man wearing a heavy winter sweater. All of the cues that remind me of where I stand and who I am, were confused by mismatched cues of time zones and weather.

The man across from me slowly, calmly turned the pages of his magazine and chewed on his sandwich. I finished my doughnut, tossed out what was left of the coffee and prepared to board the plane. As the plane made it's descent, so too did I. My lids drooped and my nerves felt raw. I had a stale and sour taste on the roof of my mouth. I felt depressed and irritable. Poor Christina had to greet me in my moodiness at the airport. I kept thinking about the mountain air, about being out in the trees, about the freshness I felt and the freedom of movement. My body was heavy and tired from the sugar. For dinner, I decided to make a light salad, and fill it with herbs which would pull me into the present. I used up every herb that we had left in the fridge.

Fridge cleaner cabbage salad
Chop 1/2 green cabbage
2 peeled diced carrots
add 1 large bunch dill, chopped fine
3 diced garlic scapes
2 chopped green garlic stocks
1 inch grated fresh ginger
1 Tbsp rice vinegar
2 Tbsp olive oil
1 tsp packed brown sugar
1 tsp ume plum vinegar
1 tsp lemon juice
1/2 tsp soy sauce

Christina's vote: "Creativity at its best"

Fajita Vacation Salad

The house was ablaze with clattering dishes, thumping suitcases, and scattered goodbyes. Now I sit overlooking the lake, sheltered from the cold morning air yet listening to the dull whir of the fan which had been neglectfully left on in the excitement of last nights dinner and this mornings departure. The horizon is pregnant with the morning sun, which has only begun its journey into the day and will soon be crawling across the lake to sit upon my lap. I will wait for it.

My family, which was once a playground of rides, cliques, and cash dispensers, is now filled with people. Beautiful and complex, each one a complete book of memories, that I have only just picked up to read. I want to bring each one to a quiet corner, and read them through from beginning to end, and see our world through their eyes.

"Isn't it funny" I said, while bringing a giant, colorful, vegetable stuffed fajita up to my face, "that we all grew up in the same house, yet have such different taste in food?" I looked over to my left and my right. I was wedged between my two older brothers, one of whom ate a slim packed white tortilla with chicken pieces and the other held a similar skinny white wrap with steak pieces hanging out of the sides. For them, the color in this particular meal would come in the form of little candy coated chocolate pieces that they would have for desert while the rest of us slurped down some homemade blueberry strawberry buckle. My older brother Jim slowly lowered his chicken fajita and looked at me over the rim of his glasses. "That's because we didn't grow up in the same house. By the time you and Andy came around, Tom and I were out of the house and mom and dad were gone. Nobody told you that you couldn't eat m&m's, which is probably why you don't want them."

It isn't entirely true that my parents were gone, but it is true that Andy and I didn't have any food rules as far as junk food is concerned. Perhaps this is why m&m's don't give me the same sort of satisfaction of forbidden pleasure that they seem to give others.

In my family, nobody eats the same way. Dietary restrictions, political choices, and past food fears line the trails of our individual journey. They are planted like sign posts dictating what is food and what is not. Fajitas are a good way to offer options to everyone without cooking individually for each person.

Chicken fajita salad (feeds 8-10)
Marinade the chicken in
1/4 cup lime juice
3/4 cup olive oil
2 tsp fresh ground pepper
1/2 tsp salt
3 cloves garlic
1 Tbsp honey
After the chicken marinated for about 6 hours I turned it over to my father to grill. He is a fantastic grill chef.

Bean and corn salsa
In a saucepan, heat 1 tsp olive oil and add 1/4 yellow onion (diced small). Add 2 cloves minced garlic. Mix in 1 can black beans, rinsed and drained, and 1/4 tsp salt. Cook for about 4 min, then remove from heat and add the juice from 1/2 lemon. Let cool.

Dice and mix together
2 red tomatoes
2 yellow tomatoes
1 red pepper
1 bunch green onions
corn from 2 corn cobs, raw and cut off the cob
salt to taste
2 tsp pepper, or more
juice from a lime
chili powder (optional)

Fajita peppers
slice and cut in half
1 yellow pepper and 2 red peppers
Chop 1 red onion into large pieces
toss in olive oil and 2 cloves minced garlic
season with a pinch of salt and allow the mixture sit for about 30 min.
Heat a frying pan until it is very hot. Add a little olive oil and watch it slide around, then immediately add pepper mixture. You want the outside to char a bit, but the inside to retain some crunch. Cook for about 3 min, then remove from the heat.

Enjoy fajitas with all your favorite fixings with your family. The next day, you can build a fajita salad with the leftovers by mixing the peppers, salsa, and chicken with some nice lettuce from the garden. The salad needs no dressing, but if you want you can squeeze some extra lemon or lime juice over the top.

Christina's vote: "This salad was too far away"