Strawberries in a Salad and Siblings Who Skip

It snowed last year too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.  -Dylan Thomas, Welsh poet

"Mom, it's so embarrassing! Do you know what he does all day at school?"

"No, please tell me."

"He skips."

"Well, he's in kindergarten."

"Well, it's embarrassing. My WHOLE class was lined up to go into the gym and guess who came out of the bathroom and skipped past my WHOLE class and all the way down the hall?"

This eldest son of mine then proceeds to go through a litany of infractions committed by his younger brother. "He makes weird noises. He hums. He kicks my seat. He takes my Lego guys without asking. He follows me around at recess with his hands like binoculars. He barks at me with those stuffed dogs. And...he skips!"

I did not grow up with brothers. Brothers, plural, that is. I have a brother. My "little" brother. He had the distinct honor of providing me with a worthy subject on which to practice my mothering skills. And that was just it. I was more "Mommy Jr" to him than sibling rival. And so now, when confronted with this up-close sibling rival between brothers, I sometimes feel at a loss of what to do.

"Just stop it!! Stop it!!"

Hearing the screams and crying from the garage, I leave the kitchen (where I've been trying to make and eat a quick salad for lunch) and head out to investigate. Upon seeing me, the kindergartner cries out, pointing in the direction of his older brother, "He threw a basketball at my legs."

In defense the 5th grader shoots back, "Yeah well, I wasn't even doing anything and he did this to me." He then proceeds to put his thumbs in his ears, wiggle his fingers and stick out his tongue. Choking back a smile, I said to myself, "I thought they only did that on TV." But judging by the way the 6-year old was covering his guilty face with his arms, apparently my children do that as well.

Both boys looked at me as if to say some justice must be done. Not sure what to do, I thought back to a peace-making method my elder son's kindergarten teacher used to use and I enact my own version of it.

"Okay boys, come here. Closer. Face each other. Hold each other's hands."

"No."

"Hold each other's hands and look at each other."

The 11-year old rolls his eyes and begrudgingly grabs his brother's hands. The littler one opens his eyes wide like a zombie, grabs his brother's hands and then, proceeds to jump up and down, over and over, like a kangaroo.

"Now I want you to compliment each other. Say something kind about your brother."

This is not a new concept to them. During our family dinners on Sundays (when they actually happen) we take turns complimenting other family members. I can usually count on the 11-year old to come up with a little gem about his siblings.

"Come on guys. we're not leaving til you say something kind to each other."

"He's not holding my hand," cries out the little one.

"Stop jumping! That's so weird," the older one shoots back.

Finally, there is a moment of calm and a bit of silence. I can see the older brother gathering his thoughts and the littler one, no longer jumping but still wide-eyed, not knowing what to say.

"C'mon. Surely you can think of something," I say, looking at the older brother, hoping he'll set a good example.

"Okay, okay," says the older one as he gathers himself together. And then, looking deep into his little brother's eyes, he says with all sincerity, "Brother....your farts don't stink."

The little one's eyes grow even bigger, he starts jumping again and with a huge smile on his face, he fires back, "Yeah, well.....your poop doesn't stink!"

They both start cracking up. I try to stifle my smile, throw my hands up in defeat and head inside to finally eat my lunch, muttering, "Boys."

While I sit at the kitchen table enjoying the first of this season's strawberries, my eldest son walks through the kitchen and I say to him, "You know, you'll never be in school with him again...in your whole life. You two could grow up to be best of friends but it depends on how you treat each other now. You're going to miss having him around next year."

He continues walking past me but I can tell he's listening.

At the foot of the stairs, he says back to me, "I know I'll miss him."

And then further up the stairs, "But I won't miss the skipping!"

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A Strawberry, Hazelnut, and Goat Cheese Salad Drizzled with a Bit of Balsamic Vinaigrette

I have been reading about pairing sweet, luscious strawberries with piquant balsamic vinegar for quite sometime now and I thought it would be fun to try them out in a salad together. Sprinkle on some tangy goat cheese and nutty hazelnuts and you've got a salad fit for a Queen....or at least fit to keep you seated long enough to ponder on the intricacies of sibling rivalry and what to do about it.

I also show in the the photos above a clay ramekin from the talented guys & gals over at Olympic Provisions. Last weekend at the Farmer Market, they had kindly given me a ramekin of their homemade rillette to try on the baguette I was carrying around in my bag. I had never, knowingly, tried rillette. If you're curious to learn more, here's a wonderful post by the über-talented Matt Wright describing how to make and how to eat pork rillette. Once I figured out that I should bring it to room temperature and mix it all together (as opposed to just scraping the cold fat off the top), I discovered a luscious, rich meaty spread, perfect on a little piece of bread. Thank you, Olympic Provisions!

Ingredients:
1 tbsp balsamic vinegar
1 tsp shallot, minced (optional)
pinch o' salt
2-3 tbsp olive oil
couple handfuls of baby greens
1/2 cup or so of sliced strawberries
a sprinkling of crumbled goat cheese (feta might be good too.)
a sprinkling of roasted hazelnuts (or walnuts, almonds, whatever nuts you have on hand and I don't mean your children)
freshly ground black pepper

Directions:
Combine your vinegar and shallots, if you're using shallots, in a small bowl and let rest for 5-10 minutes. If not using the shallots you can skip the "resting" part.

Add your salt and whisk together. Then slowly, while whisking, drizzle in your olive oil.

Place your baby greens on a plate. Top with the strawberries, the goat cheese and the nuts. Drizzle on the balsamic vinaigrette to your liking. Add a few cracks of black pepper and...voila!

A couple slices of bread with rillette (or butter...or just plain), a glass of sparkling water and with each mouthful of your delicious salad you'll be able to feel summer drawing near. I realize that that is near impossible for those of us in Portland seeing as we haven't even had a spring but, nonetheless, I suggest giving it a try. Enjoy....

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Organizing Project
Rien. Nada. Nichts. Nic. Niente.

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Question for You
I get approached, from time to time, by vendors offering me products and cooking supplies to giveaway to you kind people who read my musings. Some of them are a good fit (coffee, chocolate, kitchen gadgets, etc.,) others (Ugg knock-offs) not so much. I am headed to Atlanta next week for the BlogHer Food Conference where I will undoubtedly be hit-up for these kinds of "giveaways."  Because I try to be sensitive to the amount of email that lands in your in-box, especially those of you who are so incredibly generous to subscribe to La Pomme de Portland, I have hesitated doing too many of these.

But you tell me, "Would you like to have me do more giveaways...provided they are a good fit?"

You can let me know in the comments below or in an email or ping me on Facebook.

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A New Look
And speaking of comments, I realize my "commenter" is cr---- (rhymes with pappy)....and not that I want you to feel obligated to comment but if you felt inclined to do so, it's almost impossible.

Well right now, behind the scenes, La Pomme de Portland is getting a face-lift. Part of this face-lift will include an easier way to comment/ask questions as well as an easy way to print the recipes or subscribe by email or search for recipes. And most importantly, hopefully it will just be easier to read.

If any of you have ever thought, "I sure wish Carrie would...." or "Why doesn't this....work better on Carrie's site?" or "Has Carrie ever considered...?" or  "I would like Carrie to post more about ...."

Please, please, feel free to send me your thoughts.


Thank you so much for reading!! You kind, sweet souls, taking time to read La Pomme....it makes me weep!


All original text and photographs copyright: Carrie Minns 2009-2011

Tiny Bits of Hope Wrapped Up in Goat Cheese Love

Yes, it's absolutely true that it rains here. I mean really rains. As in November through May you can expect a 50% chance rain on any given day which is most days. Half the year. Half the year with gray skies, wet shoes and saturated, moss-filled lawns.

There's a large percentage of us who welcome the start of the rainy season in the fall. We're ready to head inside. To have some quiet time of introspection. To pull out wool scarves, down jackets and rain boots. To make soups, pots of chili and braised meats. I am one of those people. As a matter of fact, being a native of this wet world, if I go too long without rain I start to get itchy.

Of course, fall leads into winter which is welcoming in its own stark way. A lack of clutter. A time to clean our mental house. To take blank sheets of paper and write out our goals, our dreams, our hopes for the new year.

Which brings us up to the last moments of winter, just days from the start of spring. Those days when I know we still have at least 3 1/2 more months of rain but when I am ready to have this heaviness lifted from my mind. To see my family in bright, clear detail as opposed to dim, hazy light. To trade in the movies on the couch for bike rides along the river. To retire the soup pot and fire up the grill. To see the outside world decorated in something other than neutrals.

And just when I can't take the gray and rain one more day and feel like I'm going to start scratching the ceiling....

The days grow longer. And while not sunlight per se, it is light...later. And that light bekons me outside where I welcome the chance to do even that never-ending chore of weeding...in-between rain showers.

And while I'm outside I start to look around and notice that there are little bits of color waiting to be found.

Little nubs on trees.

New shoots poking their way past rain soaked leaves.

Chives that have filled in with their long, slender green leaves. Leaves that are just waiting for me to snip and use in a recipe.

And overnight it seems, those lovely daffodils raise the curtain on their spring spectacle. The viewing of which does wonders to lift the spirits.

And even though these are all but tiny hints of what's to come, they help. Somehow the gray sky doesn't seem nearly as oppressive. The rain not nearly so inconvenient since the air is warm(er). The mind somehow less foggy.

And it is my dearest hope that all of the people in Japan who have lost so much after the terrible wreckage and destruction of the earthquake and tsunami may start to see tiny hints of hope. Fragments of color. Something, anything, that can help to lift the extraordinary sense of loss and despondency they must surely be feeling.

Hints of Hope
Here are some folks trying to help out. Trying to send a tiny hint of hope to our friends across the ocean.

Portland's own Wieden+Kennedy designed a print to raise relief funds. The first run of posters already sold out but a second one is in the works. Click here to see their lovely creation.

Here is another beautiful print designed by Los Angeles artist, Nan Lawson, to raise relief funds for Japan as well.

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Tiny Bits of Chive All Wrapped Up in Goat Cheese Love
I cannot get enough of this goat cheese spread. I make it year-round with whatever kind of fresh herbs are available in my garden. For the past few months I've been using rosemary...that winter-hardy herb...but I'm delighted that I can give good ole rosemary a rest and snip some fresh chives. In the summer, I love to use basil. Of course, you could use a medley of any of your favorite herbs. My daughter and the 5-year old love this spread as well and are always thrilled to find it set out on the table along with some flatbread crackers, dry salami and cucumber slices. My 3-year old nephew will inhale an entire 8 oz portion of this spread if left alone with the bowl. Needless to say, it's a winner, unless of course, you don't like goat cheese but then I can't really help you out. Sorry...

Ingredients
8 oz plain goat cheese, softened
3 tbsp olive oil
2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1 tbsp fresh herbs, chopped: rosemary, basil, chives, oregano, thyme or any combination of these

Directions
In a small saucepan, heat your olive oil over medium-low heat. Add your garlic cloves and let "simmer" for about 3-5 minutes or until the garlic is soft and fragrant but not brown, stirring often. Careful not to burn your garlic. Turn down your heat if necessary.

If I'm using rosemary, I usually add it in with the garlic cloves and let it simmer as well to help mellow its flavors. You can also do this with any of the other herbs. 


Once the garlic has finished cooking, remove the pan from the heat and allow the oil to cool to room temperature. After that, remove the garlic from the pan either by straining it or doing like I do and just picking it out with a fork. (Goodness knows, I don't want to have to clean a strainer.)


Put your goat cheese in a medium bowl. Add in 1-2 tbsp of the garlic infused olive oil. I usually add in 1 tbsp and taste it and then add more as I desire. Using the same fork I used to pick out the garlic, I stir up my cheese and oil. Then, I add in my fresh chives and gently stir to evenly combine.

Spoon your delicious spread into a lovely bowl. Top with a few sprigs of the herb you used. Set out with some crackers, cucumber slices and dry salami and Voìla!...an appetizer to impress. (Although I've been known to eat it out of the container, standing at the counter, with no one to impress but myself and it's still good.)

Enjoy.....

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AM Northwest
Spent Wednesday morning down at AM Northwest as part of their Pacific Disaster Relief fundraiser. I was on hand to talk about what you should have in your pantry.


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St. Patrick's Day
In case you're looking for a little inspiration for St. Patrick's Day reveling, here are a couple sites to check out:

One of my absolute favs, They Draw & Cook, has a collection of 6 recipes for a Happy St. Patrick's Day currently on their home page.

Something I'd never hear of before...Colcannon....a classic Irish potato dish you'll find over at Food for my Family.

Some Lucky Green Velvet Baby Cakes that Jenny has whipped up over at Picky Palate.

My sweet friend, Katie, has some Honey Marmalade Mustard Glazed Corned Beef over at GoodLifeEats. My stomach is growling just looking at the pictures.

And this recipe over by Aran over at Cannelle et Vanille isn't "Irish" per se but I thought all of the lovely greens help set the tone for ye olde leprechaun holiday.

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Organization Project
Moved bags to be donated from entry-way to hall-closet alcove. People kept tripping over them.

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PS:
I'll be back in two weeks. Spending some quality time with the family during spring break......
Cheers!



All original text and photographs copyright: Carrie Minns 2009-2011

A Refreshing Grapefruit and Greens Salad...25 Years in the Making

Just as I was putting on my coat and preparing to leave my dear friend's annual cookie party, her father says to me, "So, Carrie, would you like a case of grapefruit before you leave? I still have 15 cases in the garage. You know, we've been selling them all these years. They even gave us a plaque at our 25th year." How could I refuse him? His twinkly big eyes and sweet smile. Plus, the guilt. In some twisted way I felt a tiny bit responsible for his grapefruit selling endeavors all this time. I winced a smidge and said, "I would love a case."

Perhaps it was a Friday night. Maybe Saturday. I can't be sure. But I do know I was babysitting. My regular babysitting job. Which was how I spent most of my weekends in high school. (And let me tell you, that's not exactly a bad thing. Kept me out of trouble. For the most part.) One of my dear friends, whom my father to this day continues to call "my little Ice Cube", was with me. I'm not sure if she just stopped by or if I had invited her earlier in the day but there we were. At the Belli's. I had my portable typewriter and white-out in front of me and I was diligently working on my application for an AFS student exchange program. I had been unsuccessful at convincing my mother to let me go for my entire junior year and had finally succumbed to the realization that a summer exchange would be better than nothing.

I don't know if it is because my father was in the Navy, traveling the world and then coming home to share his tales or if it's a genetic tic I was born with, but I have always had the travel bug. And I can't help infecting other people with it especially when I'm in a particularly hyper energetic state in regards to travel. And so it was that in that one seemingly benign evening, I convinced my dear friend to fill out an exchange student application as well. Until she walked in the front door of my babysitting job, she had no intention of leaving home the following summer. And her parents didn't realize that they'd spend the next 25 plus years selling grapefruit.

Isn't it fascinating to look back in your life and pick out those times when your life changed in an instant? Or when you changed somebody else's?

We sent out our applications that fall and spent the next few months being interviewed, hosting other exchange students for a week or two, anxiously awaiting our placements and selling grapefruit at Christmas...the annual AFS fundraiser. Ok, ok, I should probably say that my parents actually sold the grapefruit. For a few years.

The following summer, my dear friend saw me off at the airport as I boarded a plane for Portugal. A few weeks later she would board one for Iceland.

We often talk about how that summer away changed our lives. About how that one evening changed hers. And until a month ago, I hadn't realized how my insistence that she fill out an application had changed her parents lives as well. Keeping up the grapefruit beat and all.

A Refreshing Grapefruit and Greens Salad

Yes, I am certifiably soup crazy. My family has soup at least 4 nights a week. I can't help it. It's easy. There is only one pot to clean. And it keeps me warm on cold winter evenings. (Nevermind that it's been 10 degrees warmer than usual for this time of year for the past month.) Sometimes though, I don't want soup. I want something lighter. More refreshing. And with the lack of fresh produce at this time of year, that request can be challenging. But lucky me, I have an entire case of grapefruit I'm still trying to get through, and so I've been turning to this salad to fulfill my request. And let me just say that each forkful is like a bite of summer here in the depths of winter. And right about now when my Vitamin D levels are at their annual low point, I can use all the summer I can get.

If you've never sectioned a grapefruit before, get ready for some fun. I'm attaching a couple "How To" videos for your viewing pleasure. Click here for the Granny demo or here for the young dude demo.


Ingredients:

a handful or two of salad greens - arugula, red lettuce, baby spinach, etc.
thinly sliced red onion
5 or 6 sections of Ruby Red grapefruit
optional: crumbled goat cheese

1 tbsp red wine vinegar
1 tbsp minced shallot
1 tsp fresh thyme leaves, coarsely chopped
pinch of salt
3-4 tbsp olive oil

Directions:

Combine your vinegar, shallot, thyme leaves and salt in a medium-sized bowl and set aside. This will allow the vinegar to "pickle" the shallot a bit before you stir in the olive oil.

Meanwhile, section your grapefruit. Then, put a handful of greens on a plate. Top with your grapefruit sections, the red onion and your goat cheese.

Go back to your vinaigrette bowl. Slowly pour your olive oil into the vinegar mixture while continually whisking the mixture together. This will allow the oil and vinegar to emulsify or to blend together.  How much olive oil you add depends on how "vinegary" you like your dressings. I prefer 4 tablespoons.

Spoon the desired amount of vinaigrette on your salad. Then pick up a fork and enjoy the unexpected sweetness of the grapefruit as contrasted against the tartness of the vinaigrette and all held together by the greens. Ahh...le pamplemousse!



Organizing Project:
Jan 17-23: Cleaned out dreaded toy/game/puzzle shelves.
Jan 24-30: Pull everything out of dreaded under-stairs closet including the Bat Cave at the far end. (Do you see how I'm giving myself baby steps? I'm not saying organize the whole darned thing. Let's just start by pulling everything out. I'm frightened.)


All original text and photographs copyright: Carrie Minns 2009-2010

Une Petite Pomme: The First Ever La Pomme de Portland Dinner Party

I simply must tell you about one of my dear, dear friends and an entertaining endeavor she took on. She recently had a dinner party. For three families. Including all offspring. Before I go any farther into her story, let me stop and ask you, "Aren't you impressed with just these details I've given you?!" Three families! Including kids! For dinner! I find that we seem to be at an age where nobody is doing much entertaining. Remember all those Christmas parties, "wine club" parties, block parties, progressive dinners, Birthday dinners, drinks on the deck, kick-off to camping barbecues?? Nope. No one's doin' them anymore. We're all just too dang tired. So the fact that my dear friend actually threw a dinner party, during this frenetic stage of life, leaves me duly impressed.

But wait, there's more. She didn't serve frozen lasagna and a Caesar salad from Costco. No. She made everything. From scratch. And to top it off, each and every recipe was from right here. From La Pomme. I feel quite honored and thank goodness I didn't exactly know what she was doing ahead of time or I would have felt a tad bit stressed out, worrying about the caliber of my recipes I've posted here and whether or not they are dinner party worthy. When I hooked up with her afterwards, she flashed me one of her beautiful, infectious smiles (the fact that she was still smiling is saying quite a bit) and shared with me that the party had been a huge success. The dishes had been so simple to prepare, so delicious to eat and....quite healthy to boot. Even the kids had enjoyed the offerings.

So you can share in the astonishment OR perhaps throw a dinner party of your own, I give you her La Pomme de Portland Dinner Menu:

Herbes de Provence Goat Cheese Spread

A Simple Salad

String Beans and Caramelized Shallots

Braised Pacific Halibut with Mushrooms and Leeks

Cinnamon Apple Crostata

I also feel compelled to share with you that another friend let me know that she made the Ginger and Garlic Stir Fry and her kids ate some particular veggies in that dish for the first time. Veggies they had not been willing to try before...and loved them.

And then, just the other day, another friend told me that she made the Pasta e Fagioli Soup I recently posted but instead of pasta, she used cheese tortellini. Her kids lapped it up. And another friend's husband proclaimed after she made him this same soup, "Well, we're never going to have that again, are we?" "Why not?", she asked. "Because I really liked that." She and I have the same problem of making things that the whole family loves but then, never making them again simply because we can't remember what we made. And so the hubbies, much to their dismay, never see that tasty dish again.

Thank you Kim, Laura, Suzi and Tammy for sharing your culinary adventures with me. I love hearing about them but then again, I love food....actually it's more than love. A small obsession is more like it...

Happy Weekend to All....wherever you may be!!



All original text and photographs copyright: Carrie Minns 2009-2010

A Simple Salad & The Sound of Silence

The boxes have been put away. The vacuum has been run. The cheery red of the holidays has been replaced with winter whites. Linen. The poinsettias with bare branches. (Well, actually I didn't have any poinsettias but I like the way that sounds. Don't you?) The children are back at school and the only sounds I hear are those of my own footsteps and the soft, furry ones padding quietly behind me.

After the richness of the holidays, I want anything but.....so, here I sit with a simple salad laid out before me. A salad of spinach leaves, chevre sec (a dry goat cheese...you simply must), toasted walnuts and a homemade vinaigrette. Now don't be fooled by this salad's unassuming presence. One bite and you'll see that together the flavors are a carnival for your tongue. My fork hits the plate with a clank as I leave it to pick-up a piece of bread. A sip of water. And here I sit. Just me....and the cat. And listen. To the sound of silence.

Now, nevermind about the fact that my home happens to be located under the landing pattern for our local airport or the fact that a fleet of leaf blowers shows up every afternoon without fail (or so it seems) and fires up those dastardly things for what seems like hours when clearly the leaves are long since gone. What exactly are they "blowing around" out there? And is someone paying them to do this? And, yes, there's the train that seems to rumble right past my house blowing his horn even though in reality he's at least 5 miles away and we can't forget the most recent development....that of the apparent, afternoon, chainsaw session that takes place in the woods behind my house. Although, I have yet to see a felled tree or the chainsaw operator. What are they doing back there?

So, really...nevermind about all that. Silence is relative. I'm alone in my house. Just me...and the cat. Eating my salad. And it's silent.

A Simple Salad with Homemade Vinaigrette

I absolutely LOVE this salad. I cannot stop eating it. So simple to make. In the winter, I make it with baby spinach leaves but once arugula season hits, I switch the spinach out for that. No matter which "leaves" you use, it's the homemade vinaigrette that ties together all of the flavors. And, if you have a daughter like mine who wanders into the kitchen, asking, "Watcha makin' Mom?" and then wanders out after having polished off the last bit of the vinaigrette on her own salad, you may want to make a double batch. As for the cheese, I was turned on to "chevre sec" (literally - dry goat cheese) a few years ago. It has a creamy texture with a consistency more like feta as opposed to the regular soft goat cheese. There is a fromagerie right here in Mollala, Oregon making this type of artisan cheese - Goldin Artisan Goat Cheese. I happened to find a tiny, little wedge of her Tomme Cuivree at New Seasons the other day. Needless to say, it is now gone.

The Salad

A handful of greens - spinach, arugula or baby

Crumbled goat cheese - I prefer the "chevre sec" but regular goat cheese will work just as well

Toasted walnuts - 350 degrees for 10 minutes or in a pinch, one minute in the microwave

Freshly ground pepper on the top

Sometimes I put a few sliced mushrooms in it, a few cucumber slices but not much else. I try to keep it simple

The Homemade Vinaigrette

(Inspired by David Lebovitz) While I have made many different types of vinaigrettes over the years, I recently stumbled upon this one and it is my new favorite.

1/8 tsp sea salt (or kosher salt or whatever salt you use)

1 tbsp sherry vinegar or red wine vinegar

1/2 small shallot, peeled, minced (about 1 tbsp)

1/2 tsp Dijon mustard (I tend to use Maille or Edmond Fallot)

3 -4 tbsp olive oil (I usually use 4)

1. In a small bowl, mix together the salt, vinegar and shallot. Let stand for about ten minutes while you prepare your salad and/or roast your walnuts.

2. Mix in the Dijon mustard, then whisk in 3 tbsp of olive oil. Mix well, then taste. If it's too strong add the final tablespoon of olive oil and a bit more salt, if necessary.

Drizzle on your salad. Toss to lightly coat every little bit of salad on your plate with this golden vinaigrette. Eat. Sigh. Enjoy.

Yield: About 1/4 cup, enough for one large green salad.

All original text and photographs copyright: Carrie Minns 2009-2010

Herbes de Provence Goat Cheese Spread

We are of the opinion, our household that is, that the tooth fairy is an unreliable, flighty little thing. That she is prone to wild mood swings and is picky. Picky, picky, picky. Our dear children, having just survived another round of the molting process, bless their hearts, will wrap their precious little gift, carefully, ever so carefully, in a tissue. I then instruct them to place the tiny object into an envelope, carefully, which they will then seal and place under their pillows to await the arrival of the tooth fairy. More often than not, come morning, their little eyes will be filled with tears instead of joy. The tooth fairy did not come.

Just as disappointed as they are, I shrug and say, “Maybe she doesn’t do envelopes anymore. That’s what I did when I was your age but maybe now, she prefers the box.” “Which box?” “You know. The special little box that holds teeth?” So, into the box the wee bit of ivory goes. And, believe it or not, come morning, there are times when she even snubs the box. To my children’s questioning gaze, I sigh, strike the thinker pose and pause, before exclaiming, “Ah ha! Maybe you just have to leave it out in plain view. Otherwise she can’t…she can’t sniff it out. Her sniffer doesn’t seem to be working.” At which point, they become suspicious.

Say what you will about the tooth fairy, there is; however, one area in which she can be consistently relied on. If her prize is a molar, the payment to the child is always, a Susan B. Anthony dollar. Now, as the child races down the stairs to show me her reward, I brace myself in anxiety-fraught anticipation. You see, to steal a quote from a dear friend, "I should have been born Catholic I have so much guilt." And, as the child opens her sweaty palm to show me the warm coin, I have to force myself not to recoil. Not to recoil away from that face. The face with the look of disappointment on it. The stern, Susan B. Anthony face that seems to say to me, “What are you doing to further my cause? My life’s work? What? What I ask you?!” I quickly fold up the child’s hand, pat her on the head and say, “Good job, now why don’t you go put that somewhere safe.”

I have often pondered what it is I’m doing. What I’m actually doing to further the cause of women put in motion over a hundred years ago. My mood swings between the elation of being alive, at this point in history, where women enjoy freedoms not even conceivable hundreds of years ago and the despondency I feel when I hear the latest report of tragedies incurred by women around the world. And, just when I feel that bit of panic rise up my throat, that feeling of “What can I, one person, possibly do?” I turn on Pink Martini’s Una Notte a Napoli, pour myself a glass of my favorite “cab of the moment,” and start chopping. Something. Anything. Today it’s the herbs gone wild in my garden’s last push of the season that I’m using to liven up an Herbes de Provence goat cheese spread that is irresistible.

My chopping tool of choice today is a beautiful, perfectly sharpened, Wüsthof chef’s knife. The prized possession of my 10-year old son. Perhaps the sole reason, he skipped out the door without a single complaint the entire week of his summer cooking camp. He knew that for a week’s worth of work, he would come home with the King of Cooking Tools. The tool to trump all others. The tool for which, using his Birthday money, he purchased a locking case and into which he carefully and ever so deliberately placed his prize and had to really think about whether it would be okay for me to borrow it from time to time.

On the other hand, another possible explanation for why he didn’t complain is he’s always known that when he turned the correct age, he too would begin to go to cooking camp each summer, just like his sister before him and his baby brother behind him. Because, perhaps, furthering the cause of women is less about how I raise my daughter and more about how I raise my sons. Perhaps. Perhaps, not.

Do you think, dear friend, that if I can teach my sons to nourish themselves, to have an appreciation for the preparation of a meal, to gaze out at their yard and recognize it as the support-system from which they too can harvest herbs, tomatoes, carrots, lettuce, then, maybe, just maybe, they will treat their yard, the earth, the soil a little more tenderly? Maybe they will be a little more deliberate when deciding what to put in their mouths? Maybe, just maybe, they will know the feeling of satisfaction that comes from making and sharing a meal? Of nourishing themselves and their families?

I must admit that not much cooking has gone on since the completion of his camp but occasionally, like today, he will pass through the kitchen when he sees me chopping and say, “Hey, Mom. Do you want me to do that? I really like to chop.” And, once I pass the knife over, he’ll instruct me by saying, “Now, Mom, you’re really supposed to hold the knife like this. See? With this finger like this.” I’ll try not to smile and simply be grateful that a tiny, little seed has been planted. I can’t know if it will grow but I’m just glad it’s there. And, maybe the next time I see Susan B. Anthony’s face, I’ll realize that it’s not a look of disappointment but the very real fact, that nobody but nobody smiled in pictures back then. That’s it. Plain and simple.

Herbes de Provence Goat Cheese Spread

(Adapted from Herbed Goat-Cheese Toasts, Epicurious)

6 oz. mild goat cheese, room temp

¼ c chopped, mixed herbs – oregano, basil, rosemary & thyme – heavier on the first two, lighter on the second two

1 1/2 tbls minced chives OR minced shallot

½ tsp black pepper OR to taste

a pinch of salt

1/3 c well-chilled heavy cream OR for a tangier version, ¼ c plain, yogurt

Stir together first 5 ingredients. In a separate bowl, beat the cream with a whisk until it just holds soft peaks, then fold into cheese mixture. If using yogurt, add it once the first 5 ingredients have been mixed-together. Enjoy immediately or let the flavors mingle for a day. Delicious.

“What do I do with this?” you ask, my friend. I keep mine in a little glass container in the fridge that I can serve it from whenever the moment arises. At times, I’ll set it out with our favorite seeded flatbread crackers and sliced pears as an after-school snack. Or, the other night, I set it out with sliced bread as an accompaniment to pre-made spinach & cheese raviolis topped with Dave’s Gourmet Red Heirloom Pasta Sauce, which is currently at Costco and I can’t say enough good things about it. Or, use it as a spread on my aforementioned, Heirloom Tomato Sandwich.

Whatever you do, though, take it out of the fridge at least, 20-30 minutes before you serve it. The other day I plopped it down for some friends straight from the fridge and then had to painfully watch as they politely tried to stab at it and awkwardly tried to “spread” it on their crackers without breaking them. I heeded Julia Child’s advice and did not apologize for the mistake but I had to avert my eyes from the rather uncomfortable situation.

PS: My favorite “cab” of the moment is a cheapie. Black Mountain Vineyard (Fat Cat) Cabernet Sauvignon which you can find at Trader Joe’s for $6.99 a bottle. Definitely let it breathe before drinking. And, if you happen to stash one in the back of your attic, improperly stored for say, 9 years, can I tell you that upon finding it and drinking it you will be treated to a most exquisite glass of cabernet sauvignon. Try it and let me know if you agree.

All original text and photos copyright: Carrie Minns 2009

Heirloom Tomato Sandwich

Clearly, the baby has not yet grasped the concept of “sleeping-in.” In my semi-conscious state, my mind barely registers that he is speaking to me. “Mom?” Pause. A little louder, “Mom? What animal sleeps during the day?” As I try to break through the fog that has not yet lifted from my mind in this pre-dawn hour and make sense of the question, I do manage to perceive the familiar, soft fur resting against my arm. As I begin, with the smallest of motions possible, to gently pet our seventeen-year old cat, I reply, “I don’t know. Which animal sleeps during the day?” To which he replies back, “Mom. Just think. What do you think?” “A cat.” Silence. I begin to drift back toward slumber land.

“Mom?” Pause. A little louder, “Mom? What if there was a slide from heaven to all the way down here? What would happen? What do you think would happen?” Snapped out of my dozing, once again, I sleepily reply, “I don’t know. What would happen?” “Mom. Just think. Just what do you think would happen?” “I don’t know. Granddad could come visit us?” Silence.

“Mom? Mom? What if a real missile…a real one…got shot in your eye? What would happen then?” “I don’t know.” “Mom. Just think. Just what would happen? What do you think?” “If a real missile shot you in the eye, you would die.” Pause. “What if it just shot you in the arm?” Gads. At this point, I throw the towel in and say to the baby, “I don’t know. Let’s go downstairs.” He follows after me, crying out, “Just think, Mom. What do you think?”

I am not a morning person. I would, however, love to be a morning person. I have close friends who are morning people and I deeply admire their spunk and energy at the beginning of the day. The way in which they can rise at 5:oo am, rattle through emails, check off To Dos and fit in an hour-long yoga class all while I’m still in a deep REM sleep.

Because of this, breakfast is never a grand affair in our home. For all my affinity toward food and cooking, if you are a guest in our home, you will never be served eggs, bacon, waffles or sticky buns. Instead, I will point you toward the counter where I have, with great effort, managed to lay out granola, yogurt and some fruit. Sometimes you will get coffee and sometimes I will direct you to the nearest Starbucks. And take note: if you are actually served pancakes made from the Snoqualmie Falls Lodge NutraRich box mix with real maple syrup on the side, consider yourself royalty. It takes me a good hour or two to become fully conscious in the morning and unfortunately, it is during those couple of hours, that Monday through Friday, nine months of the year, I have the job of assembling school lunches.

With the baby stumbling down the stairs behind me trying to keep up, I head for the pantry. I grab a tea bag. Take my favorite mug out of the cupboard. Pull back the water on the insta-hot. Set the timer for three minutes. And, just stare…out the window. The buzzer manages to bring me back to full-consciousness at which time, I pull the bag out of the mug. Take the honey from the cupboard. Put a dollop in the mug. Stir. Sip. And, feel the hot liquid make its way down my throat and begin the very difficult task of waking me up.

I’ve realized over the years, that because of my impaired mental state in the morning, I have to tone it down. Simplify the lunches. I am a big fan of sandwiches. I find them to be a well-balanced meal all in one tidy package. And, I find I am not alone in this thinking. An article in the Aug/Sept ’09 issue of MIX - Portland’s Magazine of Food + Drink - declared 2009, The Year of the Sandwich. I do try to vary the type of sandwiches and the bread over the course of the year; however, my 10-year old would be perfectly happy with peanut butter and jelly every day. So, I try to make sure he gets the best possible peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Dave’s Killer Bread, organic peanut butter (we like the kind from Costco) and Nana’s homemade blackberry jam which we look forward to receiving every Christmas. (Not to be greedy but…we just wish she would make a little bit more of it since we always seem to run out before the end of the year.) Today; however, I decide to mix-it up a bit.

I heave the cutting board up onto the counter. Walk the two feet from the counter to the refrigerator, open the door and stare. With the door held wide open (as I’ve instructed the children not to do,) I try to remember what it is I need from this appliance. Oh, yes. Cream cheese. Goat cheese. Pesto. I grab a heavenly perfumed tomato from the bowl. A baguette. And go to work assembly these simple yet delicious sandwiches. For the 10-year old, I spread a layer of cream cheese on his sliced baguette and goat cheese on my daughter’s. Next, a slathering of pesto. Today, I happened to use basil pesto from Pesto Outside the Box which I picked up at the Farmer’s Market – and can I say, the way they make this pesto with pistachios as opposed to the usual pine nuts creates a pesto with such full, rounded flavor, I could eat it with a spoon - although, you could use pesto from your local grocery store or go hog wild and make your own. Thick slices of heirloom tomatoes, just at the peak of their harvest, come next. I place the other half of the baguette on top of the creation, put the sandwich into their containers and then, drop them into their respective lunch boxes. Next, I go to work slicing up the Maryhill peaches whose season has almost ended and a few plums, which are just arriving on the scene. I gave up giving the children chips, pretzels, crackers and the like years ago because it was just one more decision for me to make in my grogginess. Now, I just give them double the fruit and they are thrilled. I break off a piece of dark mint chocolate for each child, toss it is in a wee container and slap it in the lunch box. I fill their “canteens” with water. Yes, water. I stopped giving them anything but for the same reason as the chips – too much for my decision-challenged mind - and really, what else do they need? And furthermore, it’s free. By now, I’m starting to pick up steam. I place the lunchboxes by the door. Holler to each child that it’s time to go. Kiss the tops of their heads…well, in the case of my daughter who is as tall as me now, the side of her head…and send them and my sweetie out the door with a “Have a great day! I love you.”

I close the front door, turn back into the suddenly silent house and sigh. Fully awake and energized, I can now begin my day. Walking back to the kitchen, it dawns on me that there still remains the presence of a little person in the house. A little person who has been sitting on the couch, through the entire morning frenzy. Patiently waiting. Watching my every move like a stalking cat. Just waiting for the right moment. And, then, as if we were still back upstairs, snuggled up under the covers and hadn’t just sent everyone out the door, he says to me without missing a beat, “But, Mom. What would happen if a real missile shot your arm? Just think. Just what do you think would happen?”

All original text and photographs copyright: Carrie Minns 2009