Ocean-side Salad

Take a vacation. Do it now. Where do you want to be if not here? Do you dream of exotic lands, new people, interesting flavors, unfamiliar smells? Ask yourself what you are looking for, then find the treasure right here at your desk.

With both hands on the wheel I nervously chauffeured my two out-of-town friends from the airport to their hotel.
"What is that building?" They asked, their necks craned and foreheads pressed against the car door windows.
"I'm not sure" I said, slightly embarrassed at my lack of city knowledge.
"ooh what's that one?"
"ummmm, I dunno"
A voice cut in: a lifesaver "oooo, THAT one is HUGE, what is that?"
"I..uuu...."
"Look at THIS one" there was excited pointing and window tapping, "such beautiful architecture." My hands tightened on the wheel.
How could I know so little about my own city? To be fair, I was in an unfamiliar part of town. After seeing my city through the eyes of a traveller, though, I realized that there is so much here that I have yet to explore. I could take a week long vacation in my own backyard and still not see it all.
What I crave the most about travelling is the different pace of life that I imagine. I imagine sitting for hours at little cafe sipping coffee. I imagine smaller portions and delicate flavors. I imagine meeting new people and laughing more.
In reality, the last time I went to Europe I didn't talk to anyone aside for my travel companions, I passed up the cafe in favor of the local Starbucks and I complained about the fact that, to Parisians a Venti Americano is really a Tall Americano in a Venti cup. The risks I dreamed of taking were lost in the fear of unfamiliar land.
So here we are, and all the adventure I seek will knit itself into stories one risk at a time. A different way home, a new coffee shop, a conversation with a stranger, a small delicate meal eaten for flavor.
A salad made in the spirit of fun.

The dressing:
Blend in Cuisinart:
1 cup sour cream
2 diced green onions (use mainly the whites)
1 clove garlic
1 Tbsp dried lime (you can get this at an Iranian store..they probably have it in the Mexican aisle of the grocery store too, it is really worth buying. It is good in iced tea and on popcorn)
1 Tbsp chili powder
juice of 2 limes
1 1/2 Tbsp rice vinegar
a sprinkle of your favorite spices. Have fun..seriously..the sour cream carries spices really well. I used some cayenne and some salt and pepper. Chipoltle pepper would have been good.

The salad:
Cook ~2 servings of shrimp (your favorite size), peeled and de-veined in
2 Tbsp hot olive oil
1/4 yellow onion diced
1 clove garlic minced
sprinkle of salt
1 Tbsp dried lime
1 Tbsp chili powder
after 4-5 min of cooking, remove from the heat and squeeze 1 lime over the top
set aside

Dice 1 head red leaf lettuce (I made the mistake of buying a head of bitter lettuce from the farmers market. I didn't taste it. Christina and I had to eat around the lettuce in this salad because it was so bitter)
Add 1 bunch of cilantro (the cilantro had a grocery store flavor. We have been spoiled with fresh produce, it is hard to go back!)
1 diced yellow pepper (ah, fresh and sweet)
2 diced green onions
Top with shrimp, dressing, and fried tortilla pieces (cut up 1 tortilla, heat some canola oil until it is sizzlin hot and add the tortilla pieces. If you add them too soon they will just soak up grease, so wait until the oil is noticeably fluid)

Christina's vote: "All that was missing was seashore"

3 Speeches Salad

Every time I give a public speech I find myself giving three. There is the one before the speech, the preparation. Hours are spent going through life from a little podium inside my head where my voice booms and the people throw flowers and I am carried around a room in a chair, a hero. Then there is the real speech, the one where I stumble a bit over my words, and say um a few too many times, but for the most part I am well spoken and nobody throws tomatoes. Then there is the dreaded after speech, the one where I go over every detail of what was said in the second speech and think of all that I didn't say or could have said better. 

I am amazed that a single olive made it into this salad. I stood in the kitchen, blue tooth on one ear like some next generation star-treck character, and listened to Rosemary talk while mindlessly picking olives off of my knife and cutting board. Rosemary, having been a radio personality in a previous career, was giving me the details of my story in preparation for my radio interview this afternoon. When I called her so that I might open my mouth to allow some of the butterflies to escape my nervous belly, she rose to the occasion of embodying all the enthusiasm I felt but was too nervous to express. I was relieved to just listen to her while I popped sweet olive slices off of my knife and into my mouth with the speed of a chimpanzee picking ants off of a log. 

The story of how I am going to be on the radio today goes something like this. I met a woman at a gallery opening. She was a photographer, and a fantastic networker. Soaring with the energy and enthusiasm of those early days of salad blogging, I found myself speaking these words to her: "I am a writer". Had I thought about it for too long, I probably would not have been so bold. I could have introduced myself in so many other ways. It happened before there was time for self doubt. I gave her my card and the address of my blog. Then I made her a salad. 

My brother told me when I was still 15 years old that if you want to be an artist, you start by calling yourself one. He told me not to wait for others to label me as such. He was only a year older than me but he was a local hero in the music scene at the time, and every Saturday I watched him take center stage with his saxophone and microphone and make a crowd go wild. His words were powerful.  

So today I wait for the phone call from the local radio station and my 10 minutes of fame, while sweet vinegar of olives bathes my tongue, reminding me to stay present.  

The dressing: 

In a Cuisinart or mini blender mix:

6 Tbsp olive oil

2 Tbsp white wine vinegar

4 green onions

a large handful of basil

1/4 tsp salt

1/4 tsp pepper

1 tsp honey

The Salad

Rinse and slice into bite sized pieces 1 large head of spinach. Add 1-2 cups medium tomatoes sliced and sliced olives. Crumble feta cheese on top. 

Christina's vote: "I snuck into the kitchen when I was done with the salad and spooned the remaining dressing into my mouth like soup"

The Dog That Bites Salad

The sun cast a crystal clarity which reflected off of the towering windows of our city streets as we rode up the hill to coffee on this late Sunday morning. A crispness in the air delivers fall memories, a perfect reminder to appreciate our summer freedom. The expansive blue sky bathes us in joy, our stomachs trace the hills, up and down like children on swing sets. Friendliness is on everyone's lips at the coffee shop. The only thing that could ruin this day is the fear of it ending. 

Why does it seem it is so easy to lose the things we try the hardest to hold onto?

Fed by your thoughts the dog of fear will break your swing set and rob you of your coffee. It follows you through your daily routine, hoping you throw it a morsel. Perhaps you knew of the dog's coming, so you closed your blinds to shield yourself from dog and daylight both. Tear open your blinds, and reach your hand out to the dog. Give him your love and then send him on his way. Acknowledge your fear and he will leave you alone. Ignore him and he will follow at your heels, driving you to walk in funny patterns. Feed him and he will consume you next. 

I have some ingredients that I have been ignoring in my refrigerator which have been sitting on the fringes of my crisper, eagerly hoping for me to develop inspiration. They are not bad ingredients, just risky. Their flavors can be construed as bitter. Yogurt, sweet red onion and feta are good for clearing bitterness. This salad was made in the spirit of our morning. The clean taste of mint reminds me of our clear sky, the radishes and celery are the nagging bite of fear at my heels, the dressing is the hand that reaches to out to sooth. 

The dressing:

in a Cuisinart, blend:

2-3 Tbsp fresh mint

1/4 sweet red onion

1 cup yogurt

1/2 Tbsp Japanese Ume plum vinegar

1 tsp white wine vinegar

1/2 tsp sugar

The salad

mix 1/2 head chopped romaine lettuce (I used romaine and red leaf mixed)

3 stalks diced celery

2 bunches radishes sliced

Garnish with crumbled feta cheese

dress and serve

Christina's vote: "This salad made me feel like time was on my side"

The Attitude Adjuster

The mood from yesterday is persistent, it hovers in the back of my throat like the flavor of garlic. It sinks to the bottom of my pours and radiates outward, forgotten then caught by it's toe in a happy moment and pulled close again. It is a wet blanket in the cold rain, so heavy that it feels warm and shielding from the pelts of fresh cold water.

A woman was killed by a garbage truck yesterday morning while walking her dog outside our window. That was before 6 am. Then, we walked passed a large bellied man in the lonely streets with a small head who had been badly burned and was missing his ears. There was the chronic alcoholic woman with ovarian cancer from the night before. News casters cover the deaths of pop icons and the nation plays videos of the early years, conjuring sensations of an era lost. My list of grievances builds into a scroll. 45 days of salad have gone by, meaning summer is half over. The cilantro at the farmer's market has gone to seed. 

The new restaurant across the street has already begun building tumbleweed as novelty has taken his dollars elsewhere and the townspeople returned to their homes in fear of the bandit who calls himself financial crisis.

We got home late last night from our failed search for open pizza joints which landed us in the not-so crowded new place across the street where they now have to cut their "blue cheese" with an orange cheese which sweat dark grease droplets when it melts into smooth wax. I told Christina that it feels like we are buried under a dark cloud right now. 

"I don't think so" Christina said. "I think it feels like you are under a dark cloud because all this is happening, but really all this stuff is happening to make you appreciate your life more". 

I heard a fantastic definition of spirituality once. "Spirituality is finding meaning in all aspects of your life."

Sometimes it is helpful to have other people point you to the meaning. 

I decided to stop building my list of grievances and build a list of gratitude. It started with basil. Basil carries strong memories for me, it is the powerful waft of air that surprises me every time I open the fridge, carrying in it's smell fragrances of every other time I opened the fridge to be greeted by basil. 

Basil is the Caprese salad we had in the summer time when families would gather together. Tired from a day of swimming, my friend and I would sit on the deck in the grey night surrounded by adults and citronella and steal finger fulls of basil spiced olive oil from the tops of tomatoes while we swung our feet from the wooden benches and waited for the meat to grill. 

Basil is the flavor of my first Margarita pizza. I remember it was so exotic, so refreshing to me, I never dreamed I would order another boring old pizza again. I was angry that I had wasted so much of my life in ignorance of it. I was probably 10 at the time! 

For every loss their is a gain, there is always something new to gain. In between the gains and losses is a single moment, where hope and despair are both on the menu. 

The salad (this salad is only as tasty as the ingredients you use. We are not hiding anything behind vinegar or lemon here, so really taste each ingredient)

 

Heat 2 Tbsp olive oil and add 3 zucchini cut into half moons. Add some mashed garlic (really mash it with the edge of your knife blade). Sprinkle with salt. Add 1/4 head of cauliflower broken into small flowers. Heat until the zucchini just begins to soften, then remove from heat. 

Slice 1 container cherry tomatoes and mozzarella balls (little ones). Add 1 bunch fresh basil, chiffonade. Drizzle liberally with olive oil (make sure the oil tastes fresh). Add salt and pepper. Add the cooled zucchini mixture.

Christina's vote: "This salad made me feel like I can go home again"

Splash of Cool Water Salad

The evening moonlight shed a grey haze over the hedges which neatly outlined the large brick houses along our evening walk. We meandered with full bellies through the warm summer air, our conversation steady as we moved in and out of the scrutiny of each golden street light. 

A thin old woman stood holding a hose to darkened rosebushes, looking nervously over her shoulder at us as we passed her by. One single light glowed in a corner window of her house. "..a huge house for a single lonely old woman" Christina said as we passed by on our tour. We see her almost daily, fitted in a proper dress wearing makeup and earings and keeping always to the confines of her yard. We said hello and she smiled and looked back to her flowers. 

I was chatting away getting lost in the rhythm of our steps and the circles of my thoughts and Christina appeared to be listening peacefully when suddenly she stopped. A figure moved awkwardly in the shadows along a walk at the bottom of the hill. It was black flowing hair on top of a young female body, bare feet, and the glint of a bottle. "Oh my god, that woman is seriously drunk" Just then the woman stopped and gestured as though having a sudden conversation with a lamppost. In the dark, and given the setting we were in, I suspected some teenager had stumbled out of her parents house and lost her way along the path. We continued on our walk. As we began the descent from the hill of mansions to the sparkling lights of our downtown galaxy, we found ourselves walking behind the drunk woman again. She was not a teenager, but a homeless woman. She appeared to be wearing a beautiful wig, and she had on a 1970's golden bikini top and a pair of black men's boxer shorts. Her feet were blackened on the soles, which she flashed every so often as she picked them up to stumble from one side to the other. 

She hovered dangerously close to traffic and occasionally lifted her arm at the passing cars, but quickly lost herself in drunken apathy. As we passed her by Christina said, "do you have somewhere you can go to get off of the street with that bottle? You are going to end up in jail" The woman looked at Christina shocked, unsure how to react. It was as though she had just been splashed with cold water and she wasn't sure whether she should be angry about it. She quickly decided against anger. 

"am i being too obvious?" she said in a meek voice. 

Christina said "well, you DO have a bottle of vodka in your hand, where are you going?"

"to the river. I was going to go to the river, but they told me the current would suck me under" "do you want to die?" asked Christina. 

"oh, honey" the woman said apologetically "I am already dying. I have ovarian cancer and it has spread to my lymph" 

The woman, who, apart from her swollen belly, was so thin that she resembled a man wearing a bikini began to tell us her stories. She told us about her son who was a professional football player, and about her boyfriend whom she had stolen from, and about her 48th birthday which was less than a month away. She told us about how she felt like 48 sounded really old, and about how she missed her clothes which she had left in treatment, and how she once had 15 years of sobriety, and about how she liked it in the psych ward because they let her play scrabble. 

Christina asked her if she wanted to quit drinking so she could laugh some before she dies. 

"this is nice" she said at one point, barely able to focus her eyes "I don' have female friends, wouldn't it be great to jusss hvvv female friends an wen we see each other we could juss be like, wasssup!! and we wouldn't have to do anything but say hi" At this her face lit up in a huge radiant smile. 

The woman hadn't eaten in five days. She didn't ask us for money or food. She just wanted our friendship. She asked us if she could give us a hug and she kissed us each on the cheek with parched and frothy lips. She had tears in her eyes. "You smell good.. and clean." she said after the hug. We offered to walk her to the hospital. 

"No, I am gonna finish this" she said and held up the transparent bottle. With that she walked off, and we called the police, and followed her from a distance, and waited while she teetered to the ground. When the police drove up, we pointed her out. They nodded a serious nod before driving her way to gather her up for another round of detox. 

The salad: 

dice 3 large cucumbers. Mix with 3/4 container greek yogurt, 5 cloves minced garlic, 1/4 tsp salt, 1/2 tsp pepper, 1 tsp dill. Mix well and serve.  

Christina's vote: "A couple of shots of ouzo and this salad would be complete"

"Chasing Unicorns Salad"

When you were little you stared with wonder at the bright pink disks served before you at dinner. Your eyes traced the exotic patterns, light and dark pink swirls, and your mother smiled and said “these are beets, they are a vegetable” and you felt as if she had just introduced you to a unicorn. THEY WERE PINK and when you touched them they stained your fingers the prettiest color. You were certain that beets were invented just for you, until..you put the pretty morsel into your mouth. The bitter flavor was too adult for your little palate, but you WANTED to like them. Slowly you brought little bites up to your lips, and though your face went sour every time, you forced a smile for your mother, eager to show of your sophistication. Your lips grew pink from the hesitant bites that crammed against the closed mouth forced open. Your mother could not suppress her laughter.
Beets were enticing in the days where all you every wanted to be when you grew up was 16. You skipped over them at holidays on your way to the children’s table. You would not have been able to keep them off of your little white dress. You watched curiously as your towering aunts and uncles neatly nibbled on neon pink beet slices with smiles of delight.
In college you lived with the radical environmentalists, who bought everything free range, local, organic and grass fed. They brought home boxes of dirty round roots with long curly points and leafy green stems. You observed as the short, dark haired, sophomore girl wearing homemade clothing shaved down the dirt of one of these curious creatures and revealed an intoxicating bright pink swirl of beet underneath. She showed you how to slice them thin and cook them with a little bit of water. She showed you how to pinch the salt, to sprinkle evenly, and how when the cooking is done you bathe them in vinegar to cure the bitterness. You ate them with chopsticks then, hungry for any experience not charted on the map of your upbringing.
One day, after the dogma of college years had melted onto your palate of life experience, you stopped into a neighborhood café on the water. You were enjoying the sound of the ocean and the feel of the warm deck beneath your feet as you toyed with the prospect of discretely removing your sandals. The sun still lit up the sky, but hung low enough to reflect golden light on your skin, like a desk lamp, conjuring the pensive glow of evening. A plate was placed before you and you stared with wonder at the bright pink disks on stark white background over tangles of green lettuce. It was the beet and goat cheese salad. The beets had the perfect softness, and your teeth felt like they were made to cut them. These were the beets you had imagined during your childhood, which you were not yet ready to experience. Here at this restaurant, with awakened senses, you finally met the beets that had been waiting for you all along.

The Salad:
I cannot eat beets without expecting the smooth feel of goat cheese on my tongue. After years of eating beet and goat cheese salads they are now like the songs that come on my play list back to back; as soon as beet ends I start singing to goat cheese.
It is a hot day today, so I added some cucumber to this salad for a cooling effect.
Rinse and chop a bunch of spinach (if you have arugula use it instead of spinach. I love arugula, but I don’t have any today). Add 1 medium peeled, diced cucumber. Add ¼ diced red onion. Stir the spinach, cucumber and onion together and drizzle with the juice of 1 small lemon and 3 Tbsp olive oil. Add some salt and pepper. Shave and slice 1 bunch baby beets and cook them in 1 inch of boiling water (optional, add some mint leaves to the water but remove them before serving the beets). When you like the texture, stop cooking and rinse with cold water. Season beets with ume plum vinegar. Pour beets on top of salad. Garnish with goat cheese dollops, or stir the goat cheese in to make a creamy pink dressing.

Christina's vote: "made my tongue burn with delight"

The Treasure of Chaos

Creativity is the child of chaos. These are words I just happened across in a book. What does it mean? Creativity is not born out of order....hmmm makes sense (it certainly agrees with the appearance of my spice cabinet). According to the book I am now reading, chaos is embedded in all of nature (yes, even your mind is filled with the stuff). Chaos is what gives us the ability to respond to the constantly changing environment. A universe in perfect order would have no need for creativity. There would be no problems and therefore no need for solutions. Suppose that the mysteries of nutrition were answered. All of natures secretes unlocked, the recipe for life distilled, preserved and packaged for your convenience. There would be no need to stand over burners, sizzling red onion in curry, unlocking the intoxicating musk of this mysterious tincture. If we knew what our bodies needed from spinach we could encapsulate in gels or press into powders what now wilts eagerly into the bubbling yellow fragrant lava in your pan.
"Wait!" says the television commercial "Before you throw that orzo into the delicately brown, sweet red onion mixture and mix it with those crisp red peppers and crunchy apple bits, and shower it lightly with crystals of salt, try our new nutritionally balanced electrolyte enriched calorie free soda. You don't have to waste time on cooking and eating. You are too busy for that!" Natures secretes appear to be scattered among the proprietary files of nutrition scientists, and delivered to the public in food label format, and yet.. something is missing. Something is driving us to keep seeking nourishment. The food we are eating is not making us full. What could it be?
If I held out my hands and in one hand gave you the gift of time, creativity, the feel of fire in your cheeks, the inhalation of sweet vapors, a clear energized spirit and a belly filled with meaning, and in the other hand gave you a brown rectangle promising "your daily requirements" and "all you need" which would you choose?
Trust your creativity to tell you what you need. Your creativity is a wise guide. It helps you to catch the many bunnies of change, it has moved you to dream the lush and adventurous path you are living, it guides your perception and it will help you to imagine the meals that will nourish you.
This salad is dedicated to C and E in Arizona. Thank you for the inspiration.

The Treasure of Chaos Salad:
Boil a pot of water and cook 1/2 pkg orzo for about 8 min. Drain the pasta and toss it in a little olive oil and salt to prevent it from sticking.
Heat 3 Tbsp oilve oil in a pan and add 1/2 red onion diced and a sprinkle of salt and 1 1/2 Tbsp curry powder and 1 tsp cumin. Cook until onions begin to soften, then add a large bunch of spinach. Cook until spinach wilts. Remove from heat and toss mixture into orzo. Allow orzo to cool. Dice 1 red pepper, 1 yellow pepper and 1 green apple and mix into the orzo. Add 1 juicy lemon. Sprinkle with rice vinegar, salt and pepper.

Christina's vote: "Nice flavors, too many noodles"

The Iceberg Revisited Salad

It was one of those moments, like when you look in the mirror and realize that a new mole has taken residence of your cheek. It snuck in without your noticing, and now you must grieve the passing of smooth skin that, until now, had greeted you every morning. You have a new look, and there is no going back. It was one of those moments.
We sat on the cool grass in the middle of small yard surrounded by dreadlocked, tie died, Frisbee carrying college kids. The crowd was peppered with the occasional grey bearded old mind that expanded too far in college and never quiet made it out of the drum circle, not even for long enough to get a fresh shirt and a bath. Christina and I were seeing a friend play in his band. We sat in the middle of the scene, wearing our beautiful X Factor jeans looking freshly groomed watching the people; every so often ducking filthy, slobbery tennis balls followed by the near pelting of a wet dog. Nobody talked to us and we made no effort to be friendly. We were like Ebenezer Scrooge, visiting our past, ghosts to all the people around us. Soon the bugs drove us from our spot and we were on our way home. We both agreed that outdoor “parties at the homestead” no longer fit in our closet and needed to go in the give away pile.
On the way home we stopped at a place called the “Alien Restaurant” hoping for some sort of adventure. Instead we were served with the predictable pre-formed hamburger patties with artificial grill marks, a light pink tomato slice, some long soggy white onions and a giant umbrella leaf of iceberg lettuce. The side salads were of the classic, all-American side salad variety- iceberg lettuce scattered vegetable pieces and a sprinkling of ready-boxed croutons complete with crumbs. I picked at my salad. “WHAT do you have against iceberg lettuce?” Christina boomed. “Why can’t WE have iceberg lettuce?” This is a reoccurring conversation topic for us. Somewhere along the line, while declaring my independence from the foods of my upbringing (which was during the peak of the salad bar age), I had decided that iceberg was a useless commodity. During my college years I subscribed to a farm crop share and explored new landscapes of mustard greens, arugula, red leaf and spinach. I decided never again would I turn back to the conventional, watery crunch of a flat plastic coated globe of iceberg. Of course, I didn’t think of all that at the time, I simply looked at Christina speechless. “I don’t know, it’s just….bland, or something”
Christina has a way of questioning everything, of pointing out belief systems and challenging them. She is really quite brilliant at it. So here I was, faced with the realization that I have been operating under a belief system based on a decision I made about 10 years ago. The decision, at the time, wasn’t about iceberg. It was about independence. Perhaps it has outlived its usefulness.

In making this salad, I noticed a few things about iceberg. Iceberg is like tofu, it takes on the flavor of whatever it happens to touch (which might explain why your side salads taste like a concoction of onions and dish soap). You can use this to your advantage. I plan to try some techniques out capitalizing on the chameleon qualities of iceberg in the future.

The dressing, whisk together:
2 Tbsp soy sauce
1 Tbsp lemon juice
2 tsp rice vinegar
1 Tbsp toasted sesame oil
3 Tbsp sunflower oil
1 cooked egg yolk

The salad:
1 small head iceberg lettuce, diced
1 green pepper, fillet out the whites, slice thin and dice
2 cups diced or shredded red cabbage
¼ diced red onion
1 cup cherry tomatoes sliced small
1-2 hard boiled eggs cut into pieces

Christina's vote "a good old fashioned salad"

Sweet Pea and Little Sprout Salad

Peas and bean sprouts have a raw garden-like flavor, a vulnerability that is better accented than hidden. Avocado adds a nice creaminess without robbing the sprouts of their chance to shine.

I had, at one time, a pile of secretes that I buried myself under. I asked a friend how to be truthful about something when afraid of the terrible reaction it might ignite. Her response was, "it's simple. Do it at dinner and then immediately say: please pass the peas"

I wrote you a poem:

The things you never say
are the heavy door you carry
hinged by your own shoulder
it shields you from the light

To every eye who peeks
every ear who stops to listen
you rattle iron door grates
then duck clear out of sight

The notches on your cell door
they grow across in number
and your skin sheds it's brown armor
and you start to crave the sun

So with courage that you muster
you sprout out little feelers
you open up to sweetness
you walk before you run

Creamy avocado dressing:
put into a blender, or mash with a fork
1 whole ripe green avocado
1 Tbsp lemon juice
2 tsp white wine vinegar
1/4 tsp salt
2 mashed cloves garlic
1/2 tsp pepper
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp canola or sunflower oil

The salad:
Rinse and dice equal parts sugar snap peas, pea pods and bean sprouts. Toss with dressing until coated to the consistency of a mayonnaise based dressing.

Christina's vote: "A new experience in every way"

Father's Day Salad

It was extremely difficult to ward off Eugene, one of our cats, for long enough to get a picture of this salad. Every time I had everything set up just right, a little nose would poke into the picture, sniffing out the giant scoop of tuna with entitlement. I kept shooing him off of the counter and again he would jump up, just in time to get his curious little whiskers in the photo. My frustration built until it cracked into amusement at the realization that I was expecting a cat to be capable of human understanding and restraint at the sight of something fishy that came from the sound of a can opening. I imagine this encounter to be somewhat similar to how my father must have felt at my inability to sit still in church, solve my math homework, or to "be good" as a teenager. My father is an incredibly patient man with a wealth of experience that seemed to have a quieter voice than the booming demands of impulsiveness which drove most of my behavior throughout my young adult life. I had no more capability of listening to my fathers wisdom, it seemed, than Eugene has to resist the demands of tuna.
Parenting is the ultimate service, it is a thankless job. Your children charm you with their attractiveness, you give them everything, they grow up and begin to resist your gifts. As adults they are accustomed, it seems, to living without you.
Still whenever I need to, I can close my eyes and imagine my father's arms cradling around me.
I remember how it felt like magic when the humming of the car engine finally turned off, my head lifted off of the smooth door interior, and suddenly I was flying through the cool summer night. I remember the feel of his suit, and the smell: chap stick and office papers.
I remember when he would cut my fingernails I would feel the scratch of his whiskers tickling my cheek and I would laugh and laugh.
My brother and I used to wait eagerly for him to get home. Like koala bears we would latch onto his feet and ride down the hallway and up the stairs to bed. Or sometimes, after dinner, he would get out his guitar with the high heel shoe hole in it (actually I think he knocked it against the piano, but it looked like it had been smashed in by a high heeled shoe and it made for a better story), and play us some evening lullaby's.
This salad is for father's day.

Tuna fish is not necessarily my fathers favorite thing. In fact if I were making a salad for my dad it would probably have a lot more garlic, something grilled, a balsamic vinaigrette, perhaps some spicy mustard greens. I still plan on making what I imagine to be my father's salad, but today circumstances called for different plans. Tuna fish is more of an after golf, nothing else in the fridge, something to eat with potato chips and iced tea on a hot day-sort of a food. I made this recipe to be a little crunchy and a little spicy so that it is more reflective of my father on father's day.

Lemon mustard dressing:
in a cup, mix
2 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp canola oil
1 Tbsp lemon juice
1 Tbsp white wine vinegar
1 tsp Grey Poupon mustard

Tuna salad
Mix 10 oz tuna (in water, rinsed and drained) with two large scoops mayonnaise, 4 green onions (diced) 3 stalks celery, 1 Tbsp pickled ginger, 1-2 tsp Grey Poupon Dijon mustard. Taste and adjust.

Rinse and chop 1/2 head romaine lettuce. Add one bunch diced radishes, 3 stalks celery, 4 mini cucumbers, a sprinkle of chickpeas (if you want, I had some on hand so I did). Dress the salad with the dressing and top with tuna salad.

Christina's vote: "This salad made me feel like I was having lunch with royalty in Monaco"

Toasted Procrastinator Salad

What are you putting off? What unresolved encounters rob you of the moment? How bright does this salad have to be to bring you back? Remember the papers you put off in school, mentally building them, one impossible detail at a time, into mountains too high to conquer. Paralyzed by the towering fear of encountering your own monsters of inadequacy along the way, you hesitated, trailing further and further away from the base. Shiny excesses build into operable necessities as you gather that last cup of coffee, or hour of television, or funny Internet photo, or that important shopping trip. All the while the cats are watching you, shaking their heads and wondering when you are going to get that important paper done. Everyone you meet turns quickly from friend to giant finger of shame waving their tips in disgust. A simple "how's your paper coming along" echoes in the dungeons of your mind where you cover it up quickly with the details of how clean you have just made your apartment.

Remember the day when you gathered your courage, sat 3 inches from the computer screen, stretched your eyeballs to their widest setting and felt your back begin to compress as you sat for hours, ignorant of the sky tint at your window, until you were finished? How easy it was after all. How you laughed elated and opened your ears to the praise of your teacher, and walked out of the office like you were floating out of your sneakers and you inhaled, with ease, the calm air of summer? You vowed at this moment never to forget the feeling of relief that comes from facing your fears.

Soon enough, you again find yourself busying your mind with the impossible mountains you mean to climb and the pressing distractions that keep you from your daily salad moments. It is the news you have to break to someone, it is the person you need to apologize to, it is the truth you need to tell, it is the job application unfilled, it is the lifestyle change put off.
Remember the air beneath your feet.

The Salad:
Blanch 2 cups cut up green beans, 1 head broccoli and rinse with cool water. Heat 1 Tbsp canola oil and 1 Tbsp toasted sesame oil and add 4 small cloves spicy garlic (the bulbs should be purple) until the oil begins to slightly sizzle. Remove from heat and add 2 Tbsp toasted sesame oil. Toss the broccoli/ green bean mixture in oil mixture and add 1/2 small head purple cabbage. Add 2 tsp ume plum vinegar and 1 tsp salad vinegar or white wine vinegar. In a small dry frying pan, toast 2-3 Tbsp Sesame seeds until they just release their aroma, then mix them with the salad. If you find you need a little sweetness, ad some carrots or golden raisins or a tsp of sugar.

Christina's vote: "Woke my senses!"

New Eyes Thai Salad

This salad is delightful. The first time I tasted something like it was in boarding school in Massachusetts. My dorm parent ordered Thai food to congratulate us for finishing our final exams. I remember looking apprehensively at the gooey rice noodles and the peculiar smelling green herbs topped with..peanuts and lime? It seemed like a horrible mistake! She smiled a huge smile, from one of her giant mousy ears to the other, before heaping piles of Thai noodle salad between two plastic take-out forks and dropping them onto her plate. I glanced searchingly at my dorm mates, looking for support in my gastronomic apprehension. I would have eagerly signed up for the team of complainers had somebody been willing to lead the revolt. I lived in a dorm with mostly Asian students and vegetarian savvy Americans. The Asian students stood eagerly eyeing the rice noodles. They formed a perfect line of toes wedged between flip flop sandals around the noodle pile which towered on top of the picnic bench. Each of them looked positively thrilled to have something fresh to eat that wasn’t served wedged between two pieces of bread. Chopsticks dangled from the hand less sleeves of their pajama tops. The American students, having grown up with hippy parents, looked thrilled. No one shared my apprehension. I was outnumbered with rice noodle fanatics.
I decided the best thing to do in a situation like this is to just go for it. I passed over the plastic forks and grabbed a set of chopsticks. I heaped the noodles onto my plate, closed my eyes, and was surprised to discover the delightful tang of the lime added just enough of a lift from the richness of the peanut, the crunch of which was the perfect distraction from the softness of the noodles, which diluted well the flavor of the cilantro. Everything was in perfect harmony. I was in heaven.
I had forgotten all about the visceral reaction of complete terror that I had experienced as a teenager the first time I witnessed a plate of rice noodles, that is until I got the brilliant idea to make spring rolls with a group of American high school students as “a special treat” for lunch. The kids, accustomed to fast food diets and apprehensive of vegetables as it was, were expected to eat food that they had grown themselves on the farm for the duration of the summer. I was their cooking instructor. We had gotten off to a rough start when I tried feeding them bean burgers on their first day. Half of the kids had refused their plates in protest; the other half became doubled over victims of too heavy an introduction to the “musical fruit”. It was toward the end of the summer, however, that I decided to make the spring rolls with them, and by that time I had earned their trust.
The kids were unusually quiet while my friend Patrick showed them how to wrap the vegetables. They had been taught to be on their best behavior while working in the kitchen, the alternative being to go back out to the fields and harvest. Then, slowly, the giggling began. A chuckle here, a whisper there, I could not imagine why they were laughing. Finally, after some serious prompting, they finally broke the bad news. “No one is going to eat THIS. It is weird and gross!” I couldn’t believe someone would say such a thing about spring rolls. Spring rolls are delicious! I looked at the tray of sloppily rolled rice cylinders with brightly colored carrot sticks bulging along the sides and burst out laughing as I saw them through the eyes of a teenager.
How easy it is to forget the eyes we looked through yesterday.

The dressing:
At the grocery store today, Elizabeth, in produce, asked me if I meditate. I responded that I do meditate, but perhaps not in the way that one might think of meditation. I like to meditate while doing other things, by just focusing on the thing that I am doing. For example, today I shelled peanuts. Slowly. One at a time I cracked their little shells and peered inside, each time with the eagerness of a child who already knows what present is in the package but is still delighted to feel the anticipation of opening it. I felt the salt on my fingers. I noticed the shells grow. I inhaled their aroma. I did this until I had about 1 cup of shelled nuts to put in my Cuisinart. Then I blended the nuts with 2 Tbsp white wine vinegar and 1 Tbsp rice vinegar (this might have been overkill, I recommend using 1 Tbsp of white wine vinegar instead of 2), ½ Tbsp soy sauce, 4 Tbsp canola oil, ½ cup water, 1 tsp sugar, the juice from a lime and (optional) siracha hot sauce.

Cook rice threads by plunging them in boiling water for about 3 min, then rinse with cool water.

Chop 3 heads baby bok choy, add 3 long skinny diced carrots and 2 mini cucumbers. Add a handful of pea pods diced, a handful of cilantro and some bean sprouts. Top with the noodles. Squeeze lime juice on top and dress with peanut dressing.

Christina’s vote: “I overlooked my noodle rule with this salad, delicious dressing”

Phone-Sister Salad

Steam rose out of the seeping coffee grounds as I slid the top snugly on the french press. Traffic sounds commuting through the cool air of an open window brought the clarity of morning to the stillness of our kitchen. I sharpened my knives without checking if they needed the edge, I simply craved the sound. It helps me think.

I met Rosemary in a hotel spa a few years ago when she was traveling through the states and I was on vacation with my mother. She was a glamorous woman with two children that were close to my age. I was a 25 year old just learning how to behave like an adult. In between spa treatments we met on the couch by a cold fireplace surrounded by old library books, and shared our secretes. Tentative at first, we talked, then listened, until gradually a whole world of friendship was available for us to laugh our way through, leaping over our fears, breaking free from the buried weight of too much time spent in thought. We were like kids giddy over the development of our secret club. By day we walked through the plush hallways stoic and composed in our spa robes, our heads wrapped in towels, our skin red from the serious business of pealing down layers in search of the elusive perfection that lies somewhere unexposed. We exchanged pleasantries in the dining areas at lunchtime. Just before dinner, however, we would meet on the couch and relive the tails of our life's adventuring.

We exchanged numbers before we left and vowed to keep in contact. Miraculously, we kept our vow, talking almost weekly over the phone. My friends know of her as my "Canadian Sister". Over the years, and through all the dramas, we laughed, and sometimes cried, and sometimes felt apathetic, like words were heavy and telephones difficult to find. It was then that a phone call was all we could do. Each of us tried to show up, as if not wanting to leave the other alone by the cold fireplace in a big empty library somewhere, buried in thoughts.

It was not until Christina and I were driving to the airport last night to pick up Rosemary and her daughter, who had arranged to come for a one night visit, that I realized I had forgotten what she looked like. Not that I had forgotten, really, I just had sort of reconstructed an image of her out of her voice. From the airport we went for dinner, and laughed and ate and talked as if we were all old family friends, and yet I felt as though we were meeting for the first time. As we left the restaurant, we roared deep belly laughter and flung it carelessly into the streets. It reminded me of being a college kid, my first nights away from home spent taking over the streets amongst the intimate camaraderie of familiar strangers. We exchanged pleasantries and then a farewell. In the car, on the way home, the flashing red and green streetlights calming the nervous excitement of the meeting of friends, my phone buzzed with a message.

It was Rosemary. "Hi emily it's Rosemary..." The sound of her voice filled me with memories of the amazing friend who has taught me how to laugh, and listen, and be patient, and has valued my words, and has filled the spot on the couch by the cold fireplace when I needed to animate heavy thoughts into words. She has taught me that friendship is ignited through the breath of stories shared.

Heat 2 Tbsp olive oil in a frying pan. Add 1 diced zucchini, 1 diced summer squash and 4 cloves garlic. Sprinkle with salt and cook on high until zucchini starts to brown around the edges. Remove from heat (it will keep cooking a little and you don’t want mush). Add 1 sliced shallot and some diced cherry tomatoes (1 pint). In a saucepan boil some water. Add 1 head broccoli tops. Cook until they turn bright green, then remove, drain and rinse with cold water. In the hot saucepan add 1 Tbsp olive oil, 1 tsp cumin, 1 tsp muchi curry powder and some salt. Toss the broccoli in the spice mixture. Add to the rest of the salad. Drizzle with 1 Tbsp white wine vinegar and salt. Garnish with mozzarella cheese. Optional add some thyme.

Marinate your salad, it will produce some water..this can be drained. Make sure you adjust the seasoning (salt, pepper, vinegar) before serving.

Christina's vote "This salad sent my worries out on a one way ticket"

The Chariot Rider

You felt it for the first time in your playground days when the popular recess fashion was your vulnerability and your mothers love. One day, you showed up at the park as usual and it became clear that fashion trends had changed, and your vulnerability was teased and torn and made to run home crying. Your mother’s love was no longer enough. You vowed never to show your vulnerability again and you buried it under an armor of designer clothing or cult fashion. You painted a fantasy world for yourself where you could never again feel hurt.

You let flattery be your guide and traded your values for others loyalty. As the years went on you realized the fickleness of human loyalty and you imagined your own depreciation. You entered into a circular arena driving a chariot of horses each working toward your own material perfection. A dainty white horse for vanity, a tall black stallion for wealth, you had as many horses as you had hats and you drove them all. From the pulpit of your chariot you whipped your horses until they galloped and frothed to be better, faster, stronger. Soon you became your own horses. You felt the sting of the whip driving you and the sweat on your brow and the dirt beneath your hoofs as you ran and ran into exhaustion. You lost your former self in a cloud of dust. You had become your accomplishments, delicately balanced on the whimsy of the crowd you imagined around you.

One day, you collapsed into exhaustion. 

As the dust began to settle in the arena, you found that the stadium was empty. The cheering crowds had long since moved on to another attraction. The only noise to be heard was the gentle sobbing of the little child with hurt pride who was afraid to be vulnerable ever again. You found yourself sitting face to face with this beautiful, angelic little creature, and saw how all this chaos was needlessly created. The one thing that you were trying so hard to protect, to shield from the horrors of life and people, was stronger than all of your armor. You held the tender thing in your arms and fed it with your own love, and it became your greatest strength.

 Rinse and cook ½ cup dry quinoa. To cook, heat 1 Tbsp toasted sesame oil in a small saucepan until hot and add the rinsed and drained quinoa (I rinse it 5 times to get the bitterness out). The quinoa will sizzle a bit if it is still wet. Toast it for a few min, stirring. Then add 1 cup water, cover and bring to a boil. When boiling, reduce heat and simmer until the little tails sprout and the water is mostly gone. Then uncover and stir until all water is evaporated.

 In a frying pan heat 2-3 Tbsp toasted sesame oil and a little salt. Add 1 small head diced green cabbage. Add 4 cloves garlic minced. Add 1 diced zucchini (when you cut into the zucchini make sure to look at the floral pattern of the seeds, stunning!) While the cabbage/zucchini is cooking, peel and slice 3 long skinny carrots and add to the mixture. Cook for a few min, just before the carrot loses it’s crunch, turn off the heat and add the quinoa to the frying pan. Add 1 cup chickpeas. Allow to cool and sprinkle with salt, 2 tsp soy sauce, 1 Tbsp rice vinegar and 1 Tbsp ume plum vinegar. Serve cool or room temperature.

 Christina’s vote: “Exotic and down home at the same time” 

"Caesar's Paradigm Shift Salad"

Anything is possible. The Caesar salad is physical testament to that. The cook opens up a tin of drippy, smelly anchovies and carefully guards her dressing bowl as the cats circle back and forth at her feet below. She lifts the dreaded little thing up with two finger and hesitantly drops it into the mixer. She is trusting the wisdom of scores of chefs her senior who have gone through cases of the salty little pungent strips. The chefs can't seem to keep them in stock, as the happy diners demand Caesar with the eagerness of seals. She puts her faith in the countless recipes she has thumbed through in preparation for this. Eggs plus anchovies equals..that delicious garlicky creamy concoction that bathes crisp romaine and crunchy crouton? Trusting her seniors she gently boils the eggs for 2 min and drops them into the mixer along with the garlic, lemon juice, Worcestershire, and olive oil. The dressing is delicious. 

To quote Herbert Spencer "There is a principle which is a bar against all information, which is proof against all arguments and which cannot fail to keep a man in everlasting ignorance- that principle is contempt prior to investigation"

This morning I met with a marathon coach, with a goal in mind to improve my speed from a 3:30:44 marathon to a 3 hour marathon. What makes me think this is possible? For one thing I have already done it. In 2005 I ran my first marathon in a time of 4:35:37. In 2003 I was a smoker and couldn't run a mile. What made me think it was possible the first time? I decided to believe it was. I remember watching the early morning runners go by my window with apathy, or maybe a little bit of disdain. I thought people were either born runners, or they weren't. The athletes in school were people who seemed to just be born athletic, and because I felt I could never BE them, I chose to pity them instead. I built a story in my mind about how horrible and restrictive their lives must be. I believed that their athleticism would stop them from becoming something really useful in life. I judged. The more I lay down thick coats of judgement the smaller my corner of the world became until I was painted into a state of complete fear of anything active. Until one day, when I decided to change what I believed in. 

Anything is possible.

Preheat oven to 350

cut 1 mini baguette into cubes

heat a chunk of salted butter, 3 cloves of sliced garlic and olive oil until the butter is melted. Toss the bread cubes into the mixture to coat, then pop them in the oven on a baking dish (~15 min) remove from oven and sprinkle with thyme.

The dressing: 

Blend together

3 large spicy cloves of garlic

the juice from 1 1/2 lemons

1 1/4 tsp Worcestershire sauce

2 rinsed anchovies

1/2 cup olive oil

2 eggs (boiled for 2 min)

1 tsp mustard powder

sprinkle of sugar, pepper and salt 

1/2 cup Parmesan cheese

Chop 1 head of romaine lettuce. Dress with dressing and shaved Parmesan. Garnish with croutons and olive bar olives (this is how we like it)

Christina's vote "a conspiracy of fishes"

"The Food Mobsters Salad"

We walked swiftly up to the counter in the pizza restaurant and ordered a pizza and a salad each. The greasy faced man sporting an outfit of shapes and colors designed especially by marketing teams to leave a brand on your subliminal psyche said, “that will be ready and I will bring it to you in less than 5 min”. For some reason, I noticed my heart sink at his words. We sat at the aluminum table outside, and tried not to make conversation, knowing full well that soon the conversation would be interrupted by food, and then the food would need to be consumed quickly in the interest of freeing up our table. Nobody in particular was directing us to hurry, just invisible guidance of fast food culture where the origins of your food are anonymous, the flavor is irrelevant, and the macro nutrient profile is designed to create an insatiable desire for more.

Where there is guidance, there is rebellion. Sprouting up around local co-ops and farmers markets a counter movement has appeared. The new generation of would be hippies, punk rockers, or gangsters are busy planting gardens, picking berries, and involving themselves in the local meat trade. Everyone, it seems, “has a guy” and can “hook you up” with some sort of local food. We ran into an old friend of Christina’s whom she hadn’t seen in years. After taking a few minutes to deliver the details of his life, he leaned in to tell us about his real life's news. He had found a raw milk connection and he had offered to have his house be the drop off site. He had a twinkle in is eye, as if he believed his connection to something as coveted and unobtainable as raw milk elevated his rank in the food mafia. His real news is that he had become a "made man". He pulled a card out of his suit pocket and slipped it into my hand as though he was confident I would be calling.
Recently I walked out of a Starbucks coffee shop with a giant Alaskan fish wrapped in brown paper, and was followed by a gang of greedy eyes and a few rushed inquiries about the source of my connection. The friend that hooked me up with the fish invited us to a dinner party with some local chiropractors. The chiropractors, it seemed, were plagued by a long list of food sensitivities, which drove them to unplug themselves from the mainstream food line and go scavenging for alternative sources of nourishment. They offered us the best chicken connection in the twin cities.
How does one find these food bandits? Many of them can be found haunting local co-ops with one pant cuff rolled up wearing a bike messenger hat. Most of my food “guys”, however, wear street clothes and deal “on the side”. Like bootleggers during the prohibition era they are normal people forced into this underground food mafia by their refusal to accept the social standard.

Miso-ginger dressing:
1 clove garlic
1 silver dollar sized chunk ginger
3 Tbsp olive oil
½ Tbsp rice vinegar
½ lemon juice
1 tsp miso
1 tsp honey
2 Tbsp water
pinch of salt
Heat the water to a simmer and remove from heat. Add the garlic and miso and stir until dissolved. Add to Cuisinart or mini blender and blend with remaining ingredients.

Toss together: diced fennel, diced red pepper (we actually recommend you omit the red pepper), local mixed greens and local mushrooms. Make sure you add at least one ingredient obtained from a local food gangster.

Christina's vote: "omit the red pepper"

Roasted and Bathed Salad

Dip your toes in the cool water and feel the breeze drop warm wet kisses on your shoulders and around your ears, then blow them dry. Feel the sandy wood beneath your fingers, warm from the sun, weathered from years of battle with the sharp blows of rain's army and the assaults of the his allied waves. Today all is gentle and rhythmic on the sound, and powerful swells humbly and teasingly nip at your ankles. The ocean is a lioness submitting her head to your feet hoping that you will forget her strength so that she can entice you to play. We cannot help what we are. The seagulls around you beg for your scraps, you begin to feel irritated at their screechy cries and hopeful skittering. Those sad eyes, like the eyes of a child begging for toys, you resent them the way you resent the man who plays the victim on the street corner who presents to you a dirty look and a handmade sharpie inked square of cardboard and an open hand. You remember the time that, as a small child, you fed the seagulls right out of your hand. You lift up your cheeks into a smile as the words ring through your mind "we teach others how we want to be treated". You suddenly feel as powerful as the ocean beneath you, and you realize that she is not a lioness begging you to forgive her power, but a mirror lighting the path for you to realize your true potential. You try hard to hold in your mind the beautiful landscape you have just painted. You squeeze your sun creased eyes shut, you repeat the thoughts over and over again the "ocean is a mirror, I have the power to teach people how I want to be treated, we are all equal, searching, powerful, everyone is everything.." but soon you stand up to walk away, and you shed the stillness, and your cells slough away with all the secrets you just stored. 

Every moment you are new. 

Bring this salad to the beach with you. It is good at any temperature.

Bathe 1 bunch asparagus in olive oil. Add 1/2 sliced red onion and 2 cloves thinly sliced garlic and some sea salt. Roast in a 375 degree oven for 16 min. Remove from oven and allow to cool slightly. Cut asparagus spears into bite sized pieces. Add sliced cherry tomatoes and a little sea salt and pepper. 

Once cooled, add sliced, chopped basil leaves, some fresh spinach, and sliced fresh mozzarella cheese. Dress with 1 Tbsp salad vinegar, and sea salt and pepper to taste.  

Christina's vote: "fulfillment in every bite"

Iranian American Slaw

Days and days of eating greens has cast a spell onto our household. An unusual air has seeped in through our window, like a biblical fog and brought a metamorphosis upon our spirits. We have experienced all sorts of unusual side effects, some better left unsaid. One in particular I shall talk about as it pertains to this salad. Yesterday we found that we were both hungry, starving, for a long forgotten food. Hamburgers.
We set out on our evening walk, with the heightened senses of hunters. Every step strengthening the pump of fresh blood to our extremities, fueling our quest. We almost made it to our destination, but, overcome with faintness and the mingling smells of restaurant barbecue, we stopped at an earlier location.
They only had one burger on the menu. Years of french fry indulgent experiences, which nearly always lead to french fry remorse, have taught me to avoid eating french fries whenever possible. So when the waiter asked me what I would like to go with my burger, I ordered coleslaw. There must have been a time when restaurant chefs paid attention to coleslaw. It seems now that ordering coleslaw is more of a social ritual. That chefs, having seen the dishwashers scraping bowl after bowl of unwanted drippy shreds sent back sliding around on greasy burger plates, merely assume that everyone is in agreement. Coleslaw is a social formality. It is a "stand in" for the empty spot that would be left on your plate if you simply ordered what you really wanted, which is french fries. Clearly the restaurant did not expect that we would actually be tasting their coleslaw. It was obvious that none of them bothered to taste it. Christina described it as having the flavor of the old fruit in the walk in. The old fruit probably carried the hovering stench of onions from the cutting board where they lay to be shaped into geometric shapes before they were dished into their poorly wrapped fruit bowls. The customer who orders the fruit has already decided to have a meal which satisfies their intellect over their senses. Their intelligence drove their eyes over to the "healthy options" section of the menu. Eating with their minds, they are ill prepared to notice the flavor of onions on their fruit, the mere idea of eating something healthy has already satisfied their appetite.
Our helplessly rejected coleslaw, clinging to to the sides of the little dish, was to make the long journey back to the kitchen balanced by the thumbs of our waiter. Once handed off to the teenage dishwasher it would be scooped into the giant dripping vat of coleslaw that the industry calls a garbage can.
Today I decided to see if I could make a coleslaw worthy of ordering in a restaurant. I call it the Iranian American Slaw because coleslaw is somewhat of an American picnic symbol and I used two prominent flavors found in Persian cuisine. One is raw onion. Iranians often order a plate of raw onion with their food. The other is the lovely and decadent herb dill.

The dressing:
1 cup mayonnaise
1 Tbsp salad vinegar
1 Tbsp seasoned rice vinegar
1 shallot or 1/2 red onion diced (I think white onion would be better actually, but I used shallot)
1/2 cup fresh chopped dill (you can use dried dill, just sprinkle it in to taste)
1/4 tsp salt
liberal amounts of black pepper

4 medium sized kohlrabi, peeled
4 large sweet carrots, peeled
Either plan to get a good workout with your shredder, or use the shredder attachment in your Cuisinart to make the kohlrabi and carrot slaw
1 bundle of green onions, diced
mix together

Christina's vote: "A state fair winner"

Spirit People Salad

When I unsealed the tightly zipped baggie of freshly grown Swiss chard this morning for today's salad adventure, I was overwhelmed by a powerful presence. Standing there, in my ugliest set of comfortable pajamas, knife in hand, brain still fuzzy with sleep, I suddenly felt surrounded by life. I lifted a leaf of the baby Swiss chard from the bag. It had a weight too heavy for it's size, as if it had been recently loaded with fresh rain. The flavor was a milder, sweeter rendition of a chard I often experienced out of our crop share box in college. I am usually inclined to steam chard, as it borders on being too fibrous for me to eat raw, but this particular baby chard is perfect in texture and has the mouth feel of baby spinach. I am also normally inclined to season chard with a lot of vinegar, as it can carry a bitter bite when left around for too long (I am often guilty of buying chard and then, getting distracted by other groceries, and not getting to it for days). The flavor of this baby chard, was wonderful.
As I stood there before my cutting board, inhaling the freshness of the leaf in my mouth, I felt that strange feeling one gets when walking through a very old forest. Like many eyes (other than our three cats) were watching me, lovingly, encouragingly, like there were hundreds of thousands of them. So many that, frantically scanning, it would be impossible to find just one. It would be impossible to locate the source of the presence. It is like the silent noise of two people signing animatedly in a room. You don't even have to be looking to feel the whole place fill with their inaudible chatter. Producing no noise, there gestures are louder than anything else in the room, so loud you can barely hear yourself think!

Moments like this, when I let myself be lifted, when I let myself be carried by a silent and living force into a state of complete attention to the present, are awesome.

When I took the job teaching cooking classes on the farm out in Hugo, I was also allowed to use a plot of their garden in which to grow beans for the cooking classes, and also for my masters degree research. The farm belonged to a Native American summer camp, the campers were to be the students of my cooking class. The farm had hired a professional farmer, whom I had assumed would be taking on the responsibility of the entire garden and everything in it (including the bean plots). One day, while I was working at my part time job (at a co-op), bent over emptying boxes of products, I heard a gentle elderly voice with an unmistakable Massachusetts accent say my name. "Hello Emily" I looked up into sunken, deep brown eyes behind circular glasses framed by long gray straggly hair. It was Sally, the director of the farm. "Sally, what are you doing here?" I said. "I just wanted to give you this gift of maple syrup" she said "we are so excited to have you working with us. Now, you WILL be planting the beans yourself right" "ppplanting the bbbeans?" I said "I don't really do that Sally. I have no idea how to garden" She looked at me soberly "Listen to me" she said, and I am haunted by these words "it is VERY important that you have a relationship with these beans. The beans are spirit people. We believe that everything has a spirit. Since you will be cooking with the beans, you need to be the one to care for them." Although I suspected lunacy at the time, I planted the beans.
My cooking endeavors with those beans were not unlike what I have described today with baby Swiss chard. A noticeable presence filled me.

Creamy Lemon Pepper dressing:
1 small clove garlic
1 Tbsp olive oil
2 Tbsp lowfat buttermilk
1/2 cup whole yogurt
1 Tbsp lemon juice
1/8 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper
1/4 tsp thyme
1/4 tsp lemon pepper

Rinse and dice
~2 cups baby Swiss chard
~2 cups diced purple cabbage
~1 cup diced sugar snap peas
~1 cup baby beet greens

Christina's vote: "I am reminded of an English garden"

True Vocation Salad

I could have been a celebrity in the 4th grade. When I read the covers of magazines at the grocery store, the scandal, the drama, the NEED to have a small puppy to carry around with you everywhere you go, I think "I SO could have done that!" Here is an example:
In the fourth grade, I had a boyfriend named Dan (someday I may be famous enough to be required to use an alias..sorry Dan, I am not there yet). James found out that I was dating Dan and spread the rumor all over Ms. Berkholder's fourth grade classroom. Enraged when I found out about the "lie James was spreading" (which, of course, was actually true), I insisted in front of the whole class (right there, on the red carpet...of the hallway.. of the elementary school) that James was a liar. Then I reached into my knapsack, pulled out a sort of mushy orange that I had obtained from the lunchroom, and threw it at James forcing him to duck and mushy orange pulp to go sliding down the white painted wall. I pointed at him and, with tears welling up in my eyes (but not down my cheeks, I was totally prepared for the challenges of preserving makeup jobs) insisted that he was a selfish liar and that he was "just lying because he was jealous". Due to my little girl manipulative charm, Ms. Berkholder then rushed over to comfort ME. She took me into the classroom, and poor James was punished and forced to apologize. That story could have gotten me into at least 4 different little squares of grocery store magazine covers.

On our walk today, Christina and I talked about fame, and about dreams, and about how we would be no different famous than we are non-famous. Yet, still, we are compelled to imagine how life would be different if we took our physical bodies and dressed them up in different occupations. Something deeper lies beyond the garb of occupation. It is deeper than naked. It is the thing that drives a person to go on after they have retired or lost their ability to work, or after the layoff. It is what comes after the achievement of goals, when we stop chasing success, when we stop looking for better tools and start using the ones we have. It is our passion, it is the unique gifts we were given allowing us to be truly useful to each other, it is our vocation.

The man who grew the greens for this salad asked for nothing in return when he delivered them, by bike, to my doorstep. An academic and neuroscientist by occupation, he is a gardener by vocation.

To be honest, I had a hard time dressing this salad. The delicate greens melt in your mouth leaving the slightest tinge of spice on the palate so that you remember them when they are gone. The radishes are in harmony with the greens, delicate at first but bold and spicy once they have warmed to your tongue.

The dressing:
1 large slice of ginger (silver dollar sized and about 1/4 inch thick) peeled.
3 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp canola oil
1 Tbsp seasoned rice vinegar
1/2 small nectarine or peach, peeled
(if using a nectarine add 1 tsp sugar)
1/2 Tbsp lemon juice
Blend in Cuisinart

Wash and fluff and pull apart into manageable bites some Italian greens (or a mix of baby mixed greens, arugula, mustard greens. Use whatever you can find, but make sure you have some bold and spicy flavors, remember this is our vocation we are talking about!)
Add some sliced radishes, the spicier the better!

Optional: garnish with baked salmon marinated in 4 Tbsp olive oil, 2 Tbsp rice vinegar, 1 clove minced garlic, 1 Tbsp soy sauce, 1 slice minced ginger, 1/4 shallot sliced. (I marinated for about an hour, but you could bake it right away). You can package the fish in foil and bake at 375 for about 20 min. This makes for a nice, non-dry, flavorful salmon. Let it cool before garnishing the salad and squeeze some lemon juice on top. The lemon juice actually has a molecule in it that combines with the "fishy tasting" molecule making it so that your taste buds don't register the fishy flavor. This is a good thing, because the part that tastes fishy is also a part that contains lots of omega 3 fatty acids.

Christina's vote "A proper salad!"

After The Rain Salad

Do you believe it is always darkest before the dawn? That everything happens for a reason? 

The warm summer rain loosened fragrances from their flowery cages and the musty sweet smell of strawberries filled the air. To pick the sweet berries and taste the smell of summer would require getting wet dirt on my sandal strapped feet. Perhaps they are your neighbors berries and to pick them would require a knock at the door and a friendly gesture or two. Is it worth it? 

Strawberries have always been my favorite fruit. Their presence has always held the power of collecting all my attention when they are in the room. I find that I cannot help but eat until my whole stomach hurts from top to bottom. When I think about strawberries I simply have to smile.

Wrapped in a blanket of  white and brown chocolate large strawberries danced at my prom. Buried in a snowman of ice cream they fueled my kicking legs on the picnic bench on light summer nights after dinner. Dipped in a pool of powdered sugar they tugged me like a yo yo string to the kitchen counter, my childhood play interrupted by frequent trips to the berry bowl. Nothing gave be greater joy than to introduce one of my childhood friends to her first strawberry. I watched for the golden glow of pure pleasure to set off sparks in her eyes and warmth to her toes as she tasted her first bite, and was horrified when she put the half eaten berry back on the counter shrugged her shoulders and ran off to do something else. To me strawberries are pure, mouth watering magic. 

I realize that not everyone shares my love for the berry. So I have added a few other "crowd please-rs" to this salad. Some candied nuts, a balsamic dressing, some sweet peas, fresh basil, red butter lettuce. This salad with it's warm sweet smell and freshly washed greens reminds me of the beautiful gifts brought by the rain.  

First make the candied nuts. Heat 2 tsp canola oil in a frying pan and add 1/2 cup local honey (if you want crispy candied nuts, use sugar instead. If you are eating local or have allergies, use the local honey. The honey makes for stickier nuts, but they have a really nice flavor) Toss 1 cup of walnuts in the honey mixture (once it starts to boil). Stir until the honey starts to turn brown. Remove the nuts with a slotted spoon (leaving excess honey drizzle behind) And lay them flat on a cookie tray to cool. 

The dressing: 

add 2 Tbsp balsamic to the frying pan with the honey mixture

add 4 Tbsp olive oil

1 tsp more honey

1 tsp Dijon mustard

1/4 large shallot (or 1/2 medium or 1 small)

transfer dressing to blender or Cuisinart and blend

add 1/4 tsp salt 

add 1 tsp rice vinegar

6 leaves fresh basil

blend again 

Rinse and chop 

any leftover spinach you may have from the farmers market last weekend

1 head red butter lettuce

a few handfuls sugar snap peas, diced small

1 small head fennel (if you can find some, if not use extra basil)

a handful of fresh basil leaves

2 cups (or so) sliced strawberries

garnish with candied nuts

Many restaurants serve a variation of this salad with goat cheese. If you have some, go for it!

Christina's vote: "A sweet and hearty salad"

"The #1 Offender"

Resentment is a funny thing. I have heard it be described as "when I drink the poison and wait for YOU to die". In my case resentment is when I eat the sugar in the hopes of punishing my dentist. Of course, this sort of behavior is certain to backfire. The only suffering the dentist will endure from a few extra cavities on my part is that he might have to buy a bigger wallet. Still, this ritual I have with the dentist goes back to some of my first dental visits, when I would try to consume as much brightly colored candy as possible directly before my appointments.

My dentist resentments began with Dr. Prelli. He was a nice enough old man, he had sort of a block head with thick glasses and a lab coat. I imagine he moved into that office in downtown New Canaan in the 1950's, and continued to work and live in a permanent state of the 1950's up through our meeting 3 decades later. My mother liked going to his office, mostly because he had a dental hygienist named Sharon, who had a great personality and was fun to socialize with. Sharon was okay, but she was always "breaking the bad news" to me. She would cock her brown curls to the side and say "looks like you have a few cavities, I am going to have to schedule an appointment for you with Dr. Prelli".

Dr. Prelli didn't believe in using Novocaine.

Later in life I learned that there actually WAS such a thing as Novocaine, and that I had been missing out on years of easy dental visits, the sort where you skip out of the front door with your pigtails and toothbrush, your cheeks damp with drool instead of tears. The sound of the dentist drill still brings me pain, no matter how many "slight pinches" of that numbing elixir that the dentist delivers with the sharp cold needle that the eager assistant tries so hard to obscure from view.
Today, at the dentist, I was well mannered. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry hot tears and dart away like I did as a child, rushing around the office dodging their blue and purple fingered grasps. I wanted to rip their drills and suction thingies and implements of torture out of their hands and demand that they go sit in the corner and think long and hard about what they have done. Instead, the only indicator of my boiling insides was the slightest clutch of my fingers and curling of my toes. As I was about to leave, the dentist said "now, watch out for sweets"...

Today's dressing is dedicated to Dr. Prelli, the poor old block of a man, whom I used to torture with my slush puppy blue teeth, and who spent many an appointment chasing me around the office with a lamp on his forehead.

The dressing:
saute 1/2 sweet yellow onion in 1 tsp of canola oil with a sprinkle of salt. When it starts to wilt add 1 clove garlic. When the onion turns slightly brown, shut off the heat. Transfer the cooked onion and garlic to your mini blender.
Add the other 1/2 (uncooked) onion
4 Tbsp canola oil
1 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
2 Tbsp pure white dentist punishing sugar (laugh maniacally while you add this ingredient)
1 tsp yellow mustard powder
1-2 tsp ground ginger
Here is a fun idea (I haven't tried this, but I think it would be really good), add some wasabi powder!

For the salad, wash and chop some spinach. Add diced raw green pole beans, sliced red onion (optional, what dentist wouldn't love a little onion breath?) and sliced cherry tomatoes. Garnish with 1 hard boiled egg (for instructions on hard boiling an egg, see earlier post "Cold Ride Cafe Salad")

Christina's vote: "The green beans were a perfect touch for the flavorful salad"