"The Best Twenty-five of twenty-five," part III

After another late night at work, I'm grateful for this opportunity to assertively focus my attention on positive thoughts, specifically, the most positive things that have happened to me this year.

11. The best decision (possibly ever)

Going to France.

12. Best vacation spot

The South of France.

Is it logical that a place could make me want to have children, just so that I could bring them there and share it with them? In any case, I fully intend to return to the South of France, and the affordable, easy-to-use transit system, vibrant countryside, and warm-spirited people ensure me that, even if I have a family in tow, it would be an ideal travel destination.

13. The best language

French.

14. The best new addition to my culinary repertoire

For some reason, I always assumed that quiche was exceptionally complicated and the method of preparation elusive to my present food-preparatory capabilities. After witnessing it made a few times in the kitchen of the family whose farm I was WWOOFing on, however, I was happy to learn that, with the help of a few eggs, some cream, some good cheese and chopped veggies, and a fresh pie crust, I could whip up the delectable dish and have it out of the oven in less than an hour. If it weren't for the sky-high calorie content, I'd make quiches nearly every day.

15. The best online community

I had heard from several friends who had tried it in the past that CouchSurfing was great, but I never got around to looking into it for myself until right before leaving for France. Though I was, admittedly, a bit concerned over the prospect of staying with complete strangers in their homes--generally, worried more about awkwardness than safety issues--I had nothing but positive experiences with my French hosts. And, since returning to San Diego, each opportunity I've had to welcome CSers into my and my parents' home has been fun, inspiring, and educational. I will never stay in another youth hostel again, if I can help it.

Recent CouchSurfers from Barcelona, Spain

"The Best Twenty-five of twenty-five," part II

Tonight I continue my itemization of the the twenty-five best "bests" of my twenty-fifth year. Beginning with...

6. The best concert

Sufjan Stevens at the Wiltern in Los Angeles, October 23, 2010. It was unequivocally the greatest combined celebration of outer space and dancing I have ever witnessed. My experience was actually incredibly similar to that of my friend, Casey. She saw him perform in Phoenix the night before and shared her thoughts about it on her blog, here

After the concert, I joined several of my friends in enjoying some good eats from a local Korean taco truck. That's right: Korean tacos. You can get anything in L.A.

7. The best wedding

I attended four in the last year. All were good, but Mike and Lindsay's was exceptional. The ceremony, which took place on the cliffs of Point Loma, was simple, picturesque, beautiful. The reception, which took place at our home, was intimate, lively, and one of the best parties I've been to in my life.

8. The best feminine hygiene product

For a considerable time I had been interested in finding a more eco-friendly alternative to tampons and maxi pads. After researching several brands of organic cotton tampons, cloth pads, sea sponges, and menstrual cups, I decided to order the Diva Cup. Excellent decision. Though it's a bit pricey, the fact that it can be reused for over a year indicates that, in the long run, it's a more economical option than disposable menstrual products. As an added bonus, I've noticed a significant decrease in the severity of my menstrual cramps since I switched to the Diva Cup. I'll never go back to tampons, and I would be remiss if I didn't share this revelation with any friends who are looking for a means of dealing with their lady times that is gentler on the environment and, ultimately, on the wallet.

9. The best new skill

Skills Month was a bust, but I still managed to pick up some helpful new knowledge and abilities this year. My favorite by far, however, is my newfound ability to milk a goat. During the week and a half that I spent WWOOFing on a goat farm in France, I went from barely being able to eke out a few drops from the poor goat's utter to filling a whole bucket with frothy milk in ten minutes flat. Though I took great pleasure and satisfaction in several of the tasks I was asked to carry out while on the farm, milking the goats was, without a doubt, my favorite chore.

10. The best Eastern European cuisine

It was so good. Since the evening that I visited Pomegranite Russian-Georgian Restaurant with Mike and Lindsay, I've been dreaming of going back. I've made several attempts at replicating their amazing borscht in my home kitchen, but I've yet to concoct anything remotely as delectable.

Waiting

About two and a half months ago I put six tomato plants in the ground. For several weeks now, the plants, which have long outgrown their cages, have been heavy with fruit. And yet, not a single tomato has reached ripeness. Each morning I go out to the garden and sit with my tomato plants, carefully examining the dozens of green orbs hanging heavily from their vines, paying especial attention to the monstrosities that now number well into the twenties on the Yellow Brandywine plant, gently checking the green varieties for firmness and scrutinizing the striped and yellow varieties for shifts in hue. And I might venture to predict that, by the end of next week, I will be eating my very own homegrown heirloom tomatoes. Hopefully. In the mean time, however, I wait.

Having accomplished the remarkable feat of getting all my grad school application documents in by the posted deadline, I'm now beset with the rather undesirable task of checking my email inbox obsessively for updates from the Office of Admissions. With only a little more than a month until classes begin for the fall quarter, I dislike having to be kept...waiting. Unlike my situation with the tomato plants, it is not altogether assured that my efforts to get accepted into my desired program will come to fruition. And yet, like the mysterious chemical processes by which a plant absorbs light and nutrients and produces fruit, it's out of my hands. I am bemusedly grateful that, in less than a week, I managed to get this far.

Good Life

It was an unprecedentedly fine day.

I slept in, had fresh blueberries on my cereal, and watched two episodes of Rebound, which, despite the fact that it makes me feel a little insecure about my body, is so incredibly ridiculous that I can't help but love it to pieces. I made my new favorite pasta sauce--avocado pesto--for lunch and enjoyed it alongside fresh homegrown tomatoes.

I was behind the cash register at work when I overheard the next two customers in line conversing with one another in a familiar tongue. I could not let the opportunity slip by. "Vous êtes françaises?"

They were very sweet girls, in town to study English for the summer, and they told me that I spoke French well. It was early in my shift when they left the store, but the encounter was enough to put a spring in my step for the rest of the evening.

Granola Bars

Slowly but steadily, I am eliminating processed foods from my diet. It seemed only natural that the next step would be for me to ween myself off CLIF and start making my own granola bars.

There are some excellent, ethically run, organically focused granola-bar producers out there. CLIF and LUNA Bars are my favorites. What hinders my enjoyment of these products is the waste inevitably incurred through the commercial production, shipping, and packaging process. However, granola bars have become a convenient and reliable option when I need a little extra energy before a trip to the gym or if I simply don't have the time to sit down to a full-course meal; I'm reluctant to find a replacement for them in my diet. Hence, my interest in the more economical and eco-friendly option of making my own.

Last night I tried a granola bar recipe that had received several rave reviews. Indeed, the results were tasty, but that was because the "granola bars" were really more like cookies, very high in fat and sugar and certainly not suitable as an emergency meal replacer if I wasn't looking for a sugar high and subsequent crash. I searched on.

Tonight I experimented with a recipe that takes a much different approach to sweeteners. The natural sugar from mashed bananas makes the granola bars sweet--but not too sweet--without the need for added sugars or sweeteners of any kind. I adjusted the recipe slightly, using a total of one cup's worth of dried blueberries, cranberries, and chopped apricots, about half a cup of chopped almonds, a tablespoon or so of ground flax seeds, and some shredded coconut in addition to the cup of oats and the wet ingredients originally suggested. The results were, I'm happy to report, chewy, yummy, and more than satisfactory.

I wish I could conclude that the second recipe is one I can now add to my repertoire and revisit often; but I can't. Ever since reading Barbara Kingsolver's persuasive argument in Animal, Vegetable, Miracle against buying bananas, I hesitate to purchase fresh fruits or vegetables that I know have traveled tens of thousands of miles before appearing at my local grocery store. I was happy to put to use the browning bananas that my dad purchased over a week ago and were sitting in the fruit bowl, about to go bad. But I don't think I'm going to be buying bananas on a regular basis in order to make my granola bars. No matter how delicious they may be.

My search for the "perfect" granola bar recipe persists. Meanwhile, all this experimenting has given me a bit of a tummy ache.

This is France in a Nutshell: "Ai! 'elp me! I'm een a nutshell!"

In mid-December 2006, after the conclusion of Michaelmas term but before I returned home to the U.S. from my semester abroad in Oxford, I went for an evening stroll in Port Meadow. Bundled up against the crisp night air, I walked through the dark field, gazing up at the starts, and I knew deep down inside, beyond a doubt, that this was the best life was ever going to be.

My two months in France were better.

Tonight I leafed through the journal I kept while I was traveling. Inhibited by an erratic schedule and my own pure laziness, I didn't write about my experiences as regularly as I would have liked; but, occasionally, I did take the time to jot down at least a few thoughts on the beautiful, marvelous, challenging, humorous, life-changing experiences I was going through.

Since I was unable to be faithful to this blog during most of my time in France, I'd like to share a few key passages from my journal, just to fill you in a bit on my activities and impressions from the months of April and May:

26 mars 2011
...Deciding to stay in Paris for three weeks was a really good decision. It's basically the world capital of art, literature, and philosophy, and attempting to take it all in while staying in a hotel or hostel for a week or less would be exhausting and incomplete...

12 avril 2011
...Time's winding down so quickly. On the metro I read A Moveable Feast and when I get off the metro I find myself thinking the way Hemingway writes, only less clean and far less gripping. The other day, as I was walking along, I started imagining that Hemingway was walking beside me and we were talking and he was telling me I only need to write one true sentence, but he was talking more about life in general than about writing when he said this...

17 abril
Time to start thinking in Spanish...
...I'm very satisfied with my time in Paris. It was more expensive than I ever would have anticipated. But Paris is worth it. Paris will always be worth it. Even though it's expensive. Even though it's touristy. It's still Paris...

4 mai 2011
...Since returning to France after the stint in Spain, it seems I love each place I visit even more than the place before. Arles was amazing, but I liked Avignon even better. And Vaison la Romaine pretty much sealed the deal today on an inkling I've been having this week that I ought to come back here in a few years with my kids. I almost want to have kids so that I can bring them here...

9 mai 2011
...I really like milking the goats. That's something I look forward to. That and eating. Eating! It is an event! As it should be! I love eating in France...

17 mai 2011
...At Taizé, I'm able to slow down a bit and do some thinking. But it seems I have too much to think about. There's my education. My relationships. What I have experienced on this trip and how does/will it contribute to my decision-making process for my future. Should I extend the length of my trip? No. I think not. But maybe...

20 mai 2011
...As I was walking down to the Source just now, I had the thought that prayer and art are an awful lot alike. Both require so much work, but the rewards, when they come, are sublime. Because truly nothing in this life compares to the goodness of that moment when I feel the closeness of the Spirit, I will continue to search and to wait. How do we grow? We force ourselves to look past the unpleasantness of the current situation, to focus on the loveliness of the thing we are working for. And yet, when we get it, it is a gift. The closeness of the Spirit, the awareness of God's love, when it comes, is so much greater than anything we could ever get to by our own efforts. Great authors and painters have made similar observations about their work: you spend time with your work every day and often it is frustrating and essentially fruitless. But when the masterpiece at last reveals itself, it is something beyond you. It is a gift. It is grace...

May 24
Aboard the plane, awaiting take-off. Two months in France sounded like it might be too long; but, now that it's over, I know I could have stayed longer...

And that, in a nutshell, is what two months in France looks like.

P.Y.T.

Pie

My mother's favorite treat is boysenberry pie. Every year, around this time, the vines in my parents' back yard overflow with tart, juicy berries. Some of the boysenberries get eaten fresh off the vine. Some get put into plastic bags and stored in the freezer. And some get put into a pie. Today, all three happened. When I was younger, we used to can dozens of jars' worth of preserves, slap them with the label "Janssenberry Jam," and give them away as Christmas gifts. I still sort of think of boysenberries as our berries.

Yoga

My gym recently hired a yoga instructor and I attended one of her classes for the first time today. The class wasn't very good. I spent the time thinking about the last yoga class I went to, during my first weekend in Paris. The girl whose couch I was surfing invited me to come with her. As it turned out, the instructor was Polish, and the class was conducted in English. The instructor was very dainty, had knobby feet, and pretty hair.

Tomatoes

Micah gave me some heirloom tomato seedlings that he didn't have the space to plant. I put them in the ground and they started to grow. I love them. The healthy green color of the leaves is thrilling to me. They haven't yet started to produce fruit, but I'm already bursting with pride over them.

This is my Brain on Harry Potter

I'm not sure if the fact that I hold a degree in English Literature should make me feel more or less apologetic about my love of the Harry Potter books. I've always attempted to justify myself by categorizing them as a "guilty pleasure." However, for the sake of getting through this post, I'm setting the guilt aspect aside and focusing, at least for tonight, on the pleasure.

I'm as excited for the July 15 as any Harry Potter lover. Despite the fact that the last two films have been, in my opinion, unsatisfying, the hype surrounding the end of the film saga and my sentimental allegiance to the story itself are enough to make me completely overlook any shortcomings in the film adaptations. It doesn't matter how much they botch up essential plot elements in favor of gratuitous make-out scenes or how wince-inducing the acting may be at times; I still love it, and I'll still pay whatever they charge to attend one of the midnight screenings.

Here is a picture of my sister, Lindsay, and me, getting ready to leave the house on the evening of November 18, 2010:

In preparation for July 15, I've been rereading the series. I'm in the middle of book four, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, right now. Since the plot no longer holds any mysteries for me as it did the first time around, I'm more than ever drawn into J. K. Rowling's magical world. I'm enchanted and inspired. I want to bring a little bit of the wizarding world to my own mundane life, and I've been thinking up a few ways to make that happen.

For instance, the Weasley family's clock, mentioned the first time in book four, sounds like it could translate very nicely into a fun craft project. But I figured that I wasn't the first person to have that notion, so I did a quick Google search and, sure enough, someone devised a real-life family "clock" that would update the whereabouts of his family members according to his Twitter updates.



Wow. I'm not going to do anything that involved (like I even could), but I may still try a hand at my own interpretation. My version would probably focus more on appearance than functionality (although the one above obviously does an excellent job on both counts).

And, of course, there are a countless number of recipes on the Web aimed at imitating magical food items mentioned in one or more of the books. Certainly not the least appealing of these are the recipes for butterbeer. The standout recipe that I've come across so far has been this one, mostly because it's a real Tudor butterbeer recipe that actually contains both butter AND beer. Judging from the list of ingredients, I'd say there's about an equal chance of it being either surprisingly yummy or downright gross. But I guess we'll just have to try it out and see.

Well, there you have it. I'll continue to contemplate ways to translate inspiring items from the wizarding world into real-life fun and keep you posted if my contemplations lead to anything interesting. And, if this confession of my love of Harry Potter has in fact caused you to lose some respect for me, then...

Obliviate!

Donuts for Dad's Day

The donuts that I started last night turned out okay. I was a little skeptical about the instructions to "use your finger to poke a hole in the middle of each of the mounds to give them a donut-like center," and rightfully so: once the dough had risen, the holes all but disappeared. Still, the consistency and flavor of the end product were pretty good. Not quite as light and delicate as I would have preferred but, still, pretty good. I think I've eaten about eight of them today. Baked donuts, though certainly a little less tasty than their fried counterparts, nevertheless successfully satisfy that donut craving, minus the yucky stomach-achey after affects.

The donuts came out of the oven just in time for a late Father's Day breakfast. My dad grabbed a few and took them out into the back yard with him, so he could munch and work in the garden at the same time.

I have a great dad. I don't think I demonstrate often enough just how grateful I am for all he does. He's such a hard worker, generous, thoughtful, and a good friend. Both my parents have been absolutely amazing these past months, while I've been forgoing searing for a job in order to travel the world or just sit around the house reading a book. They never pressured me or tried to make me feel guilty about taking some time off just for me. They never tutted or made me feel ridiculous after all the times I've changed my mind about what I want to do next with my life. They've given me space. They've let me live in their house. Whether I was thinking I wanted to go to seminary or start a second bachelor's degree, stay in San Diego or backpack around Europe, they've been nothing but supportive. And I appreciate it. Deeply.

Right now I can hear them in the living room, watching 30 Rock on Netflix. I'm also grateful that I'm able to share common tastes with my folks, like our tastes in sitcoms and in donuts. I think I'll close my laptop now and go join them in a little of both.

Inspiration/Motivation

Four years ago at this time, when I was smack-dab right in the middle of a mission to write an entire novel in just 30 days, I established a set of "rituals" to help guide me along and keep me focused. One of these rituals was a specific dress code: whenever it was time to write, I would change into a bright red whale-print sarong and a tank-top without a bra (for obvious reasons). It was an extremely practical costume, considering I lived on the second floor of a two-story apartment building and it was the middle of summer in east L.A. county. But it also helped to get me into the mindset that it was now writing time, a time set apart from all the other times of the day when I might be found wearing something a little more--um--fashionable?

A second ritual manifested itself in the form of the food I ate. Perhaps I have been too swayed by the marketing claim on the Old Spaghetti Factory's menu that Homer, while composing the Iliad, lived on Spaghetti with Mazithra Cheese and Browned Butter; but, I swear, it is the most inspirational/motivational dish I know. And I devoured it almost daily throughout my one-month journey to novelisthood.

I also sort of took up smoking. But that's a story for another day.

For lunch today I had a nice big bowl of pasta, topped with shredded myzithra cheese, melted butter, and a sprinkling of dried parsley flakes. Did it inspire me to sit down and write? I don't know. But I'm writing now, aren't I?

Rituals help us to keep our lives in check. They keep us organized. They give us direction and motivate us to complete tasks that we might otherwise have a difficult time finding the motivation to complete. When I started this blog, with the earnest intention to make updating it a daily practice, I didn't establish any rituals to help me toward my goal. That was a mistake. As I leaned in my eighth-grade Study class--a course that I and all the other Seminar Program kids with ADD were forced to take that year if we wanted to remain in GATE (Gifted And Talented Education)--I need rituals in order to accomplish my goals. Without rituals, I get distracted. And fail.

So, obviously, I haven't been updating my blog on a daily basis. While I was in France I had an awfully good excuse, because I didn't have my computer with me and I spent large chunks of time--especially toward the end--away from Internet access altogether. I wasn't going to pass up the chance to work on a goat farm in rural France or to stay in a monastery with monks and young people from all over the world just so that I could remain somewhat dedicated to my cyber-duties! But that still doesn't account for all the other times in the past nine-and-a-half months that I've gone for days or even weeks without so much as a photo or a recipe.

Concerning the mission I had for this blog when I started out, I've already failed. But that doesn't mean that I can't make the last eleven weeks of this little blog's life the best ones it's ever known!

So...a ritual. Here's what I've got in mind:

There are seventy-eight days left until my twenty-sixth birthday. Seventy-eight more days of twenty-five. Just now, right before I started this sentence, I took a very brief break and ran up to the attic to find a big glass jar. It is now sitting on my dresser, empty. Every day, after I have written something on my blog, I will drop a (can you tell I'm making this up as I go?) button...no!...a dollar! in the jar. If, on September 4th, I have at least $75 in the jar, I will use the money to buy something beautiful. If, however, I have less than $75 in the jar, I will write a check for $75 to Sarah Palin's Political Action Committee (do you see a slight Radio Lab influence creeping in here?). My parents would definitely disown me. I'm dead serious. It's on.

However, since this ritual is really more of a psychological device designed to deter me from laziness, I'm adding one extra piece of positive reinforcement: Whenever I'm writing something for my blog, I also get to have some ice cream. Starting now!

Fruity-herby muffiny goodness

I rubbed my fingers against a head of lavender and then brought them up to my nostrils. A sweet, elegant aroma. In a stroke of genius, I said to myself, "Imma gonna make a muffin out of that."

Just in time for late spring, with the garden overflowing with fresh lavender and the farmer's market abounding in bright red sugary strawberries, I've formulated a recipe that brings these two things together in the form of a vegan breakfast pastry. These muffins have a sweet but delicate flavor and seem to beg to be consumed alongside a soy latte (which I haven't tried yet but I'm sure they would go together amazingly).

Muffins aux fraises et lavande 

(Yeah, I'm kinda into giving things French names now; deal with it.)

Ingredients:

• 3-4 heads fresh lavender, rinsed and dried (I dried mine in the toaster oven for 30 minutes at 150°F, but air drying is fine, too.)
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1/4 cup sucanat (or brown sugar, or white sugar)
• 1 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/2 cup whole wheat flour
• 1 tbsp baking powder
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1/4 cup vegan margarine
• 1/2 cup unsweetened applesauce
• 3/4 cup soy milk
• 2 tsp vanilla
• 3/4 cup chopped fresh strawberries

Method:

1. Preheat oven to 375°F. Lightly grease at 12-cup muffin tin.

2. Remove lavender blossoms from the stem and place in a food processor with sugar. Mix until the lavender seems to be broken up and the sugar takes on a purplish-greenish tint. Add sucanat (if using), flour, baking powder, and salt and pulse to combine. Cut in the margarine in pieces and pulse until well-combined. Empty the mixture into a large bowl.

3. In a separate bowl, combine the applesauce, soy milk, and vanilla. Mix well. Add wet ingredients to the flour mixture and mix just enough to combine. Fold in strawberries.

4. Fill muffin cups almost to the top. Bake for 30-35 minutes. Allow to cool at least 10 minutes before consuming.

Chocolate Cake. Period.

Remember the scene from the movie Matilda, based on the children's classic by Roald Dahl? The one where the evil headmistress, Miss Trunchbull, punishes a kid by forcing him to eat an enormous chocolate cake in one sitting? If you ever saw this film as a kid, I'm sure you're rolling your eyes right now and muttering, "Duh. Of course I remember."


Now, remember--despite the fact that the scene was supposed to be gross--how delicious that cake looked? As a child, I didn't even like cake. But when I saw that colossal confection, my mouth watered.

Today I am pleased to share with you a recipe that was inspired by that iconic depiction of decadent deliciousness. Apparently, there is a Roald Dahl cookbook where you can find a more official recipe for "Bruce Bogtrotter's Cake," but my version, which I formulated several years ago, just happens to be vegan. It is also rich, moist, and basically everything the perfect chocolate cake is meant to be.

The Perfect Chocolate Cake (which just happens to be vegan)

Ingredients

• 2 cups sugar
• 1-3/4 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 cup cocoa powder
  
• 1-1/2 tsp baking powder
• 1-1/2 tsp baking soda
• 1 tsp salt
• 1 (6 oz.) container plain soy yogurt, plain or vanilla (I use Whole Soy & Co.)
• 1 cup soy milk or rice milk
• 1/2 cup vegetable oil
• 2 tsp vanilla extract
  
• 1 cup hot water
• chocolate frosting (recipe below)

Method

1. Lightly grease two 9-inch round spring-form cake pans. Preheat oven to 350° F.

2. Sift all dry ingredients into a large bowl. In a separate bowl, mix the soy yogurt, soy milk, oil, and vanilla. Add the wet ingredients to the dry and whisk vigorously until there are no clumps and the batter is smooth.

3. Boil some water. Measure out 1 cup and slowly pour it into the batter as you stir. The batter will be thin.

4. Pour equal amounts into the two cake pans and bake for 30-35 minutes, until a knife inserted into the center comes out clean.

5. Allow the cakes to cool completely before frosting.


Vegan Chocolate Frosting

Ingredients

• 1/2 cup (1 stick) vegan margarine
• 3/4 cup cocoa powder, sifted
  
• 1/3 cup soy milk
• 3 cups powdered sugar
• 1 tsp vanilla extract

Method

1. Melt margarine in a saucepan over low heat. Add cocoa powder and whisk until completely blended.

2. Remove from heat. Alternately add powdered sugar and soy milk, until completely incorporated. Mix in vanilla extract.

3. If a creamier frosting is desired, add a teensy bit more soy milk.

4. Frost cake and enjoy immediately. Fresh frosting is the best frosting.

Friends, enjoy! And pour yourself a tall glass of soy milk: you're gonna need it.

Nabe Flop

According to the cookbook, Japanese Cooking: Contemporary & Traditional, by Miyoko Nishimoto Schinner (from which I derive most of my Japanese recipes), nabemono (hot pot) dishes "are designed for communal eating" (120). Indeed, in light of my experiences eating nabe in Japan, it never would have occurred to me to think of it as a dish that could possibly be enjoyed without a group. Everything about the way it is prepared and served indicates that it is meant to be partaken of communally. So, to me, the very thought of eating it by oneself is laughable.

Yesterday, as it drew near dinnertime and the hour for my family members to begin returning from their respective jobs, I enthusiastically began to chop vegetables and tofu in preparation for a dish I was sure would truly impress. Nabe is the perfect autumn meal; the entire process of preparing and enjoying it warms the body and the spirit. Typically, all the ingredients are cooked together in a large earthenware pot over a portable burner that sits in the center of the table and continues to warm the soup throughout the meal. Generally, this meal lasts a couple of hours.

I don't own a nabe pot, nor do I have a portable burner that can be used indoors. But I figured--no bother--I would simply prepare the soup in a ceramic pot over the stove and bring that to the table. My family and I could keep a lid on it to retain warmth and even reheat it on the stove intermittently, if necessary.

However, much to my dismay, each member of my family, upon returning home, informed me that he or she had a prior engagement that that evening and could not stay for dinner. And so I was left to eat my nabe by myself. Nobody in my family could understand why this should make me laugh and shake my head so much. They, never having partaken of an authentic nabe experience, could not possibly grasp the absurdity of the present situation.

I ate my nabe alone. Kimchee nabe: The best kind. It tasted good, yet everything about it was...wrong.

I need some San Diego friends.

The Best Hummus Recipe Yet

After years of trial and error, at last: a hummus recipe worth sharing. I've yet to perform a side-by-side taste taste to gauge whether it's as good as my favorite store-bought brand, but if you were to throw a few toppings on there--say, some pine nuts, roasted red peppers, and chopped parsley--it would likely surpass the competition.

The main problem with a lot of hummus recipes that I've experimented with in the past is that they call for crushed raw garlic--an ingredient that gives the finished product a flavor that I personally find too intense and spicy. And if I, a devout garlic lover, feel that way, imagine how a picky eater like my mom would respond to it. I've tried substituting fresh garlic with powdered, or using garlic salt instead of regular table salt, but it seems the end result lacks a certain dimension in freshness and texture.

Roasted garlic to the rescue! Yes, roasting the garlic beforehand requires additional time and preparation, but the outcome, I believe, is well worth the effort. This recipe is excellent as is, but it also works well as a canvas for additional flavors and mix-ins.

Triumphant Roasted Garlic Hummus

Ingredients:
• 4-6 cloves freshly roasted garlic
• 1 can chickpeas or 2 cups cooked chickpeas
• 1/2 cup liquid reserved from can or cooking pot
• 2 tbsp tahini
• 2 tbsp olive oil
• juice of 1 lemon
• salt and pepper to taste
• paprika and additional olive oil for garnish

Method:
Allow roasted garlic to cool before proceeding so that you don't burn your fingers. Combine all ingredients through salt and pepper in a blender or food processor and pulse until smooth. Transfer to a bowl and garnish with paprika, olive oil, parsley, pine nuts, roasted red peppers, jalapeños, or what have you.

Enjoy immediately, with some nice crunchy carrot sticks. Or, cover and place in the refrigerator for a few hours. I don't know if this is really a thing; but, in my head, this allows the flavors to "set."

Bad Habits: A Food Confession

In her book French Women Don't Get Fat: The Secret of Eating for Pleasure, author Mireille Guiliano invites her American readers to adjust the cultural lens through which they view food in order to acquire a healthier, happier, more "French" way of thinking about eating. Recently I read Guiliano's self-purported diet book that is not a diet book, and her words had their intended effect of getting me to think more intentionally about the food I consume; lately I’ve been creating diverse and well-balanced meals for myself and my parents and enjoying wine and cheese with greater titillation and joie de vivre than usual. However, as per the opinions of Professeur Guiliano, I also seem to have adopted a rather supercilious disapproval for anything that could be labeled as “American” cuisine or food culture. And it's clear that I'm in need of an attitude adjustment.

This has sort of been a problem of mine for a while now: I believe my views on food are ethically and gastronomically superior and I have a bad habit of scolding close friends and family for eating fast food or buying tomatoes out of season. I realize that I certainly don’t need someone like Guiliano--who clearly feels that the French woman is socially and culturally superior to her American counterpart--egging me on. Sometimes, when you sense that your beliefs and values are truly good and that the actions of your loved ones directly conflict with those beliefs and values, it’s tempting to assume that it’s your duty to educate them.

I never want to give the impression that I view others' beliefs and actions as inferior to my own. And creating divides between us and others over food is a tragic offense because perhaps nothing in the world has greater power to bring people together than food. As L. Shannon Jung says in his book, Sharing Food: Christian Practices for Enjoyment, “Eating together is one antidote to individualism; sharing is a school of sociability” (42). The way we relate to and share with one another around the table is a microcosm for the way we relate to everyone, from our close inner circle of family and friends to our much broader global community. The things we eat with one another and the manner in which we eat them (for example, a home-cooked meal or a microwaved one; around the diner table or in front of the t.v.) speak volumes about the nature of our relationships. The foods that we choose to purchase may have direct impacts--either positive or negative--on the people who produce those foods or on the countries where the foods are produced.

How can I spread love through my food choices? According to Jung (and I wholeheartedly agree), one of the ways we are able to eat with the greatest amount of pleasure and satisfaction is by knowing that no people have been mistreated or taken advantage of in the process of bringing that food to our table. We might achieve this by purchasing as much of our food as possible directly from local farmers or by growing and preparing it ourselves. These, certainly, are important practices that we should all, to the extent of our ability, strive to adopt.

But, for me, I see especial importance in always reminding myself to spread love among those I am sitting down to share a meal with. And that is inevitably going to mean toning down this food-snob persona I've recently come to identify so strongly with. It means saying thanks to the people who provide, serve, or sell me my food--regardless of what that food looks like or where it came from. It means saying a blessing before each meal that reminds me to pass the goodness I have received on to others. And it means sharing meals that I have prepared out of a spirit of generosity and sociability rather than out of a desire to indoctrinate or impress.

My bad food habit may not look the same as the bad food habits of many Americans: I don't consume soft drinks or Big Macs and I'm not addicted to sweets. But, nevertheless, it's a nasty habit that I'm determined to break. Eating is an inextricably social act, and insisting on furthering one's own personal agenda in any social arrangement may eventually jeopardize the community. If the dinner guests in the film Babette's Feast had succeeded in their pious resolve to ignore the taste of the rare delicacies and expensive wines that were placed before them, then they would have missed out on the relationally redemptive and unifying joy the feast! Food is love and love is food. Let us never attempt to separate them.


*** If you want to know more about either of the books referenced above, you can read my reviews of them here. If you haven't seen to movie Babette's Feast, rent it now! Or, even better, check it out for free from your local public library! ***

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Today I accomplished one of my life goals.

It is on this day, September the eighth, two-thousand-and-ten, that I, Meghan Elizabeth Janssen, have, for the first time in my very own kitchen, made cheese.



Yes! I made cheese! The procedure basically followed the instructions outlined on the website, Food Wishes, with the small exception that I used goat's milk instead of cow's milk and plain yogurt instead of buttermilk. Pretty good, eh?

The recipe and method for making this type of cheese is relatively quick and simple. Still, after having heard laments of disaster and disappointment from friends who had dabbled extemporaneously in fabrication du fromage, I was prepared for my first attempt to end in utter failure. And yet, miraculously, as I stood above the pot observing, the curds separated from the whey and formed a soft, mild, very fresh and yummy cheese (yes, I am gloating a little)!

Perhaps the next step is to mailorder some rennet or live cultures or something and try my hand a something slightly trickier. Maybe I will try to find a home cheesemaking class to attend. Either way, today marks a momentous baby-step toward another one of my (tentative) life goals: owning goats.

Vegan Raspberry Chocolate Muffins

Once upon a time I imagined that I was some sort of superior cook. This was mostly just because I tended to spend a lot of time cooking. Then I come back to America and suddenly it seems that all of my friends have been spending a lot of time cooking, too. And they all seem to be pretty good at it. So, oh well, there's one more reason why I'm not all that special, but I made these vegan raspberry chocolate muffins tonight and they were delightful.

So delightful, in fact, that I didn't even think to take a picture until after I'd already eaten two of them.