90 salads in 90 days

New website

2010-11-30T08:20:00.001-08:00

Dear 90 salad readers,

I have a new website: www.nobleplate.com

Check it out!

~Emily

Salad 90: Reminiscing Miso-ginger Salad

2010-09-17T06:43:00.001-07:00

90 salads have come and gone, like visitors stopping along a journey. Each one has delivered a story, some had tales of cold mornings and long days of laboring, some travelled through forest paths speaking of the business of woodland chatter and the sounds of feet pounding against the scratchy dirt, some spoke of lazy blue skies and summer sun in company of the carnival atmosphere of friendship.

In the mornings I have stood in my kitchen, readying dishes and fumbling about with the anticipation of an innkeeper, wondering what salad was going to come and visit with me that day, and what stories would it tell. I tried to be observant, noticing the colors, textures, and smells, so that after the visitor is gone I could share their story with you.

I hope you have enjoyed the second season of "90 salads in 90 days" as much as I have enjoyed telling it. In the winter months, check in with Leafy Reader at http://leafyreader.blogspot.com for more stories and recipes.

Salad 90: Reminiscing Miso-ginger Salad
peel and cut into rustic bites: 1 bunch small beets
heat 1 cup water in a frying pan or pot and simmer the beets until just tender.

In a food processor, or using a grater, grate 8-10 baby carrots, unpeeled.

Clean and chop 1 small bunch baby Swiss chard

Mix ingredients together and dress with miso ginger dressing:
in a saucepan, heat:
2 Tbsp olive oil
1/8 tsp salt
1 large clove garlic, minced
1 cipollini onion, chopped
heat until just simmering, remove from heat and add 1 inch peeled fresh ginger and 1 tbsp mild miso paste. Transfer to a food processor and blend, adding
1 Tbsp water
2 Tbsp olive oil
1 1/2 Tbsp white wine vinegar
1/2 Tbsp raw honey
adjust seasonings to desired flavor and serve.

Christina's vote: "This salad put a fire under my hinder"

Wild Rice with Apples Salad

2010-09-16T20:36:00.000-07:00

Growing up, I remember how excited my mother used to get when some Midwestern relative or childhood friend would send us a package of wild rice as a gift. As she cooked the rice, she would emphatically tell us about what a nice treat we were about to receive. I would peer over the stove, waiting to taste the mysterious concoction that was releasing woodland odors into our family room. It was black, and creepy looking, and I half expected the stuff to come alive and attack me. My mother's excitement was convincing, contagious even, it was fueled by the fondness of childhood memories.

When at last, dinner was served, I stared apprehensively at the pile of what looked like bird seed on my plate. I remember wanting to like it as I scooped that first bite up to my mouth, but then..
"It tastes like twigs" I whined, feeling let down.

It's funny how our taste changes as we get older. I now understand exactly what my mother meant when she insisted that wild rice was a treat, though I'm not sure exactly when or how it earned my favor. Perhaps it was the first time I experienced wild rice with cranberries, or wild rice in chicken soup. Perhaps it was the first time I tried real, hand-processed, wild rice as opposed to paddy rice which has a more rustic texture.

Actually, I now find that I like both kinds of rice, for different reasons. I used paddy rice for this salad, mainly because I forgot to pick some up from the market and couldn't get any of the real stuff at the store.

Wild Rice with Apples Salad
1 1/2 cups cooked wild rice
1/2 fennel bulb, diced
1 sweet tango apple
2 Tbsp hazelnut infused olive oil
pinch salt and pepper
1 Tbsp rice vinegar (or apple cider vinegar)
1/2 Tbsp finely chopped fresh marjoram (a little goes a long way)

To cook rice:
(If using hand cultivated rice, consider yourself a very lucky individual. It takes a lot of work to hand process rice, and the flavor is supreme. Generally hand cultivated wild rice cooks faster than paddy rice, and needs to be rinsed three times before cooking.)
Rinse the rice before cooking, then toast in 1 Tbsp olive oil in saucepan before adding water (I think it cooks faster this way). Add water in amounts indicated on package for desired serving sizes. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer until cooked (I usually turn the heat off toward the end of the cooking and just leave it on the stove covered for a few hours while I do other things).

Christina's vote: "Strange combination"

Welcome To Reality Salad

2010-09-15T16:25:00.000-07:00

I left work early, determined to finally run some errands. The summer months had come and gone, and it feels as though I spent my hours hopping cars on a train of one commitment followed by another, trying to get to the engine up front. With frazzled nerves, I finally decided that this train has no engine, instead it runs on coffee and stress alone. So after a morning of lab work, I took an afternoon break and simply never went back.

It was a feeling of freedom, the kind that a child experiences when the radio announces that your school is canceled due to snow. I managed to hold on to the feeling while cleaning out my car, which is a testament to the theory that freedom is an attitude and not an achievement. I joyfully wiped coffee grime out of my cup holders and vacuumed sunflower seeds off of the floor mats, happy to be working toward something that fits in the category of self care.

While driving home, I noticed a sign for a hair salon that I have never noticed before, called "Chop". On impulse, I decided to see about have a hair adventure. The salon was upstairs, in what looked and felt like an apartment of a 20 something. The wooden floors were uneven. The walls were painted lime green and decorated with black and white photos. There was an Eiffel tower painted directly on the wall along the way into the bathroom. The decor was a mixture of pottery barn and ikea. The shelves were lined with astrology books and containers of nail polish.

"I feel like I am hanging out at a friends house" I confessed to my stylist.
"I know" she said "we used to serve wine too, but then..." she trailed off, leaving me wondering. "So where do you work?" She asked.

From the confessional booth of my chair, I told her everything. As she relieved me from my tattered ends, I let go of some gnawing stress and mentally recommitted my energy. Sometimes I forget what I am working toward until I am forced to explain it to someone I have just met.

My stylish stylist shared some of her stories too "I had my palm read when I was younger, and I was told that I would have twins at 25. I never did have twins, but I did meet my now boyfriend back then.. and he IS a twin. AND he is a Gemini!" She shrugged and held my gaze as though to say 'come on, who wouldn't believe in psychic energy after that'
"How long have you been together?" I asked, unsure how else to respond.
"Well I am 33 now so.."
"Wow, you don't look 33" I interrupted. She looked to me to be in her early 20's, with dyed red hair, that she sometimes wears up in a mohawk.
"Well I sleep a lot" She told me. That was the moment that I noticed my own wrinkles, and I shot my stylist a sleep deprived look of desperation.
"Coffee?" She asked, and I nodded slowly.

I called Christina on the way home. "I am starting to look older" I said. "Do you think I should start getting more sleep?"
"Welcome to reality" Christina replied. "It's good to have you back."

Welcome to Reality Salad
Mix together:
2 Tbsp tarragon
1 fennel bulb, thinly sliced
the juice and zest of 1 minneola tangelo (substitute orange, or meyer lemon)
1/4 cup sweetened dried cranberries (find some that you like the taste and texture of on their own)
1 large carrot, diced
1/2 cup romanesco, broken into small pieces
1 Tbsp grape seed oil
1 tsp apple cider vinegar
:and serve!

Christina's vote: "A fine crisp blend"

Hayride Salad

2010-09-14T05:48:00.000-07:00

The wagon bounced from side to side, it's giant wheels catching on patches of grass and causing us to hop in our seats the way one does when trotting on horseback. The air had a snap to it, and smells of hay and pumpkins huddled inside my nose, as though they too were trying to keep warm. I nestled my head in the crook of your neck and listened to the crunch of the leaves as we turned off of the field and onto a woodland path. I half expected to see a headless horseman jump out of the woods, or bats soaring overhead, and so I crouched down low in my seat and tried to make myself into less of a target. From my huddled position, I marveled at how sweaters are the perfect armor for this kind of ride, allowing just enough chilly wind in to keep oneself alert in the event we should encounter a hay ghost or a live scarecrow.

The moon provided a blueish tint to the path up ahead, where the trees broke open in a gesture of offering to the sky. The sound of voices laughing, and merriment warmed my fear and melted the exhilaration into a calm and joyous serenity. When at last the wheels rolled to a halt, and we gingerly climbed to the soft, loose, dirt- covered ground, I saw that we were standing in a clearing before a giant cauldron of hot cider. Light emitted from a central fire, and licked the faces of the people as they talked, and listened, and sang into the night.

Hayride Salad
1/2 ronde de nice, cubed
1 sweet tango apple, sliced
1 small bunch sorrel (about 1/2 cup)

Dress with:
2 Tbsp hazelnut infused olive oil
1 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
3/4 tsp dark honey
sprinkle of salt

Christina's vote: "This salad was a freak of nature"

Nature's Treasures Salad

2010-09-13T05:46:00.001-07:00

"Have you guys seen Tammy's garden behind her restaurant?" I asked Shari and Don of Heinel farms.

"Yes she is growing our kale!!" Shari said, excitedly. "I gave her some to plant over there" Don chimed in "How is it doing?"

"Beautiful" I answered, recalling the prehistoric looking mass of rich green kale leaves growing unruly in the back corner of the parking lot. It stuck out oddly in the gravel parking lot, like seaweed growing in the middle of a desert. Tammy had given me a bouquet of kale to take home, and I recalled how the flat crinkly leaves dwarfed the refrigerator crisper. I scanned Heinel's table, and noticed that they had an impressive and diverse array of, not only kale, but also other exotic members of the cabbage family. They had orange cauliflower, and green, spiky romanesco.

I took a moment to express my love for the delicious crunch of romanesco, and Shari told me that romanesco is a natural example of a fractal. In case you have forgotten your high school math (or, as in my case, had difficulty paying attention in high school) a fractal is a geometric shape that can be split into parts, each of which is a miniature version of the whole. See yesterday's post for a delightful salad featuring this bizarre vegetable, which, when cooked on it's own, tastes like a buttery cauliflower.
To my knowledge, today's salad is not an example of a fractal, but it did inspire awe in me this morning, much in the same way as the romanesco. Parsnips, rutabaga, turnips, and potatoes, when freshly dug, are like sweet little jewels buried in the ground. Fire polishes them and enhances their sweetness, and oil brings about their shine. Salt hardens them to crisp little morsels, and kale livens them with color.

Nature's Treasures Salad
Boil a pot of water. Add:
2 small/medium Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and cubed
1 small/medium rutabaga, peeled and cubed
1 small/medium turnip, peeled and cubed
Cook for 10 min or until just tender.

Rinse and chop 1 bunch kale.
mince 3 cloves garlic
heat a frying pan and add 2 Tbsp olive oil, kale, and garlic. saute for about 3 min, then add drained root vegetable mixture.
season with salt
add 2 Tbsp toasted sesame oil
cook until kale is desired texture and color

add 1/2 Tbsp apple cider vinegar,
OR
1/4 Tbsp lemon juice (and zest) and 1/4 Tbsp brown rice vinegar
OR
1/4 Tbsp ume plum vinegar

Christina's vote: "This salad made me believe in the pot of gold at the end of rainbows."

The Restaurateur Salad

2010-09-12T15:02:00.001-07:00

We drove up to the restaurant and parked at an empty meter on the opposite side of the street. The faded sign above the door spelled out the name 'Rainbow' in slanted letters, and a purple awning draped down leisurely over the entryway like the brim of a wide sun hat. Rectangular cafe style tables jutted out invitingly into the sidewalk, like window boxes waiting to be filled. It was early Sunday evening, and all the restaurants on Nicollet were relaxed and breezy.

After cooking with her at the farmers market all summer, we were finally going to check out Tammy's Chinese restaurant for the first time.
"Let's sit in the sun, eh?" Dunja said, and Christina and I emphatically agreed. Jesse stuck close to Dunja, in order to make sure that he secured a seat next to her. Although I was feeling shy about it, I went inside and told the waiter to tell Tammy that we were here to visit. She came bursting out to our table moments later and graced us with her eccentric energy and welcoming love. Soon we were all busy with conversation, and though we were sitting on the sidewalk of a busy city street, it suddenly felt as though we were five friends laughing in a quaint village cafe.

Tammy took us out back and showed us her garden, which at first glance looked like nothing more than a parking lot. As we walked around the perimeter of the restaurant, one by one the vegetables appeared against the brick. It was like when looking at a magic eye image. After staring at what appeared to be a pile of leaves and vines, I spotted a giant cucumber, then another. Tammy stroked one of the leaves, and suddenly one of the vines was filled with little cherry tomatoes. She wrapped her arms around a potted plant, and green peppers appeared. She plucked some shiso leaves for Dunja and I to taste, and then dug up a licorice root for Christina to take home, as though she knew without asking that Christina was into potted plants.

Soon the waiter came chasing us down, and it was time to return to our seats. Tammy grabbed and smoothed out the hem of her apron, the way a little girl would straighten her skirt after playing in trees, and then headed back into the kitchen. As she walked away, my mind followed her into a picture of one of many possible career directions that my heart might cheerfully go.

The Restaurateur Salad
1 package tri-colored ravioli
Boil a pot of water and cook tri-colored ravioli. Drain by scooping out with a slotted spoon and rinse with cold water. Let sit in the strainer.

In the boiling pasta water, cook 1 head romanesco (al dente) remove with a slotted spoon

Pour out the water and add 3 Tbsp olive oil to the pan. Add 3-4 cloves spicy garlic and salt and heat for 2 min (do not burn garlic). Add romanesco back into the pan and cook 2 min. Remove from heat and let cool.

Toss together 1 cup arugula, 3 small sliced heirloom tomatoes, and the romanesco and pasta. Season with salt and pepper (optional add 1 tsp apple cider vinegar).

Serve warm or cool.

Christina's vote: "This salad made me feel fat."

Vibrant Duet Salad

2010-09-11T19:53:00.000-07:00

Dunja showed up at the market one day recently, and within five minutes of her arrival she was helping me wash dishes. We began talking instantly as though we had known each other for years. It was while we were washing dishes that I discovered that Dunja is a friend of one of my original culinary heroes. I also discovered that she practices a cooking style similar to some of my college friends, and one which I don't commonly encounter in the midwest. Perhaps this is partially why our conversation flowed so easily, and our friendship seemed effortless.

Dunja is from Croatia, and though she has only been here for two weeks, she knows more about what is happening in the Twin Cities than I do. I therefore didn't feel too guilty about it when, after offering to show her around Saint Paul, I then took her instead to our apartment and suggested that we do some cooking.

I emptied out all of the vegetables from our refrigerator, and lay them gingerly on the counter. Then I handed Dunja a knife and a cutting board, and took one of each for myself. It was exciting to work side by side with a chef that I admire and respect, and I couldn't wait to see what she would come up with given the choice of ingredients. Christina rushed to grab the video camera, and filmed as we steadily and methodically chopped and seasoned our way through the piles of vegetables in front of us. Then we sat down and enjoyed a nice meal together. Here is what was created.

Emily's Cabbage Radish Slaw
1/4 shredded red cabbage
2 small kohlrabi, peeled and shredded
8 radishes, shredded
1/2 Tbsp ume plum vinegar
2 tsp dark honey
1/2 tbsp brown rice syrup
1/2 tbsp lime juice
1/2 cup ground cherries

Dunja's Arugula Salad with Roasted Garlic Tomato Croutons
1/2 cup baby tomatoes
2 cups arugula
1 small sliced raw zucchini
1/2 clove garlic
1 spring onion, diced
1/2 cup basil
2 Tbsp olive oil
salt
1/2 Tbsp ume plum vinegar
1 Tbsp cider vinegar
1 Tbsp capers
Toss salad together and garnish with:
2 slices toasted sprouted grain bread spread with roasted garlic tomato sauce

Christina's vote: "This salad was wow, wow!"

By Any Other Name Salad

2010-09-10T15:40:00.000-07:00

"Maybe you could put some good recipes for sorrel soup or something on your blog", my CSA farmer said, while gesturing her head toward the boxes of produce stacked inside the farm's shabby green van. She and her partner spend hours each week generating hand written notes explaining the vegetables inside the share, and updating their customers about the growing season. It is for this reason that I assumed that they didn't possess a computer, and so I decided to forgive the fact that, despite my constant reminders, this woman still had no idea what type of blog I have.

It's not that I would expect a stranger to remember me and associate me with my blog, but I did I assumed they would be at least somewhat interested, considering their CSA is called "salad days" and they specialize in growing only salad ingredients.

"People keep asking us what to do with this stuff, I hope you can show them something", she added.
"Sorrel is my favorite" I said, gazing starry eyed into the bag. At least she had remembered that one of the purposes of my blog is to inspire people to use produce that they might not otherwise use.

"Is Nathan coming today?" she asked.
"Actually, his name is Noah" I said, correcting her on one of my friends names, and feeling a little bit better that her forgetfulness of minor important details is not personal, but global.

Actually, I can relate to this kind of awkward encounter that plagues the person with no mind for details. I am pretty sure that I horrified an old friend this morning when, in running into her after 15 months of not seeing her since she had her twins, I gaped at them in amazement, commenting on how surprised I was at how different they appeared.
"That is because they are completely different, just born at the same time" she said, shooting me a worried look. "Right..they are not identical. But which one is which?" I asked, feeling that I might redeem myself by showing additional interest.
"Annie is the girl and Ben is the boy" She said, slightly irritated. I comforted myself by thinking, that in this age of gender fluidity, you really can't assume anything. 'In fact' I thought to myself 'it was a pretty progressive of me to ask. Why should I assume that the bigger baby with the baseball onesy was a boy, girls are growing up faster these days..and isn't it a little passe to assume that boy babies wouldn't be dressed in pink frills with little bows?'

While I was busy congratulating myself, their was a noticeable silence in the conversation, and I decided that the only thing left to do was to cut my losses and run before causing any further damage. Boy, girl, Nathan, Noah, salad, soup.. what difference does it make anyway?

By Any Other Name Salad
4 small-medium sweet carrots, sliced
3 cucumbers, peeled and sliced
3 tomatoes (heirloom), sliced
1/2 cup sorrel, chopped
1/8 cup mint leaves, chopped
1-2 Tbsp olive oil
1-2 Tbsp white wine vinegar
salt and pepper to taste

Christina's vote: "This salad made me quite sure that life is what you make it"

Hitchhikers Guide to Grad School Salad

2010-09-09T17:33:00.000-07:00

"So, what's next?" Dave asked, as I stood across from him in his office. I had two heavy shoulder bags strapped over each shoulder, so that they crossed my chest forming an X like a bandoleer. This is my standard going-to-work look, and it makes me feel like I am actually headed for combat. Dave was still wearing his bike tights and shoes with the little clips on the toes, as though work was just a little break in his day before returning to his real career in adventure sports.
"Well" I said, looking up at the clock "I have to get some samples run, and then I was thinking that I might have some time during lunch to go for a run". I looked back at Dave. He appeared to be having one of those moments when you can't decide whether to interrupt a person to clarify your question, or just let them lead the conversation away from your desired destination.

"No, that's not what I meant" he said "I mean, what happens after the salads?"
"Oh. Um.. well last year I did 'Soup on Sunday's' and then '28 days of dinner at home' as part of another blog "Leafy Reader"... but I think after this I should probably just focus on school." I said, allowing myself to convey my feelings of guilt for spending time and energy on something outside of grad school.

I am not sure where I was when it happened, but somewhere along the line I have picked up a guilty conscience, and I have been carrying her like a hitchhiker along the road to my degree. It doesn't matter that I work long hours both at work and at home, my guilty conscience stays with me, and chastises me for not focusing all of my energy on a single goal.

"Who do you think you are?" She says "you are never going to get anywhere if you don't focus your efforts." Then she likes to point out all of my deficits, and remind me that even the most intelligent people reduce their outside lives to near nothing while pursuing their doctorate.

"This is protein boot camp" one of the post docs had told me one day. She was standing over my shoulder, and I found myself fumbling with my pipetter while trying to work out a western blot protocol. "And you need to start getting manic about it if you are ever going to get this figured out. When it starts to invade your dreams, that's when you know you are on the right track."

I didn't have to take this to heart, but I was compelled. The following week, after working long days in the lab and reading about blotting techniques at night, I had a dream about western blots, and actually felt a moment of pride.

Guilt is a terrible feeling, and is particularly cumbersome when it chooses to accompany things not particularly guilt worthy. Feeling guilty for robbing a bank makes a certain amount of sense, and the bearer might feel that they got a fair deal. Feeling guilty for working too hard just seems unfair. A friend of mine once pointed out that senseless guilt goes by another name.

Shame.

Later in the afternoon, I tiptoed away from my western blot and headed out to meet Dave for a short run. "I was thinking more about what's next" I said, "I think I want to write a book, or maybe a cookbook, or maybe both. Christina suggests that I work on it the way I have been working on blogging, a little bit each day."

Hitchhikers Guide to Grad School Salad
1/6 head romaine lettuce
1 red pepper, diced
1 bulb fennel, quartered and sliced
10 heirloom cherry tomatoes

Dress with:
3/4 cup whole plain yogurt
1/4 cup Greek yogurt
3/4 cup blue cheese or Gorgonzola cheese
1 Tbsp tarragon
1/2 tsp apple cider vinegar
black pepper
1 shallot, diced (or 1 Tbsp red or yellow onion)

Christina's vote: "This salad made me blue"

Talk Show Salad

2010-09-08T14:10:00.000-07:00

Jesse arrived from California with a small suitcase filled with "my importants" as he calls them. Jesse's importants consist of a few chipped back to the future toys, his "Men At Work" albums, an "I dream of Jeannie" costume with matching bottle, a talking ET doll, and a package of cigars. The fascination he has with "Back To The Future" is incredibly fitting, because Jesse himself is like a living, breathing, visitor from the past. Since we are roughly the same age (Jesse is about 5 years older than me), he is like a visitor from my past. He has reintroduced many relics into my life, like spaghetti o's and phrases from old television commercials, like "Be cool, stay in school".

I was unloading the dishwasher when suddenly "wooh wooh wooh JERRY JERRY JERRY" permeated the air, and I felt the way I do when woken from a dream by a sudden volume increase of the television. It was as though I were suddenly sitting in the middle of a live studio audience. I looked up from the dishwasher and saw the forgotten face of Jerry Springer holding a microphone and an index card, and staring out from a screen at a grinning and poised Jesse Christensen. The camera panned to the audience members, who pounded their fists through the air as though they were knocking on some imaginary door. Jesse rocked back and forth, and threw his hands into the air also, but rather than make a fist, he allowed his fingers to fly loose. Each time his hands came forward he would slow his rocking a bit and for a moment he would hold with his hands outstretched as though he were a wizard casting spells. This gesture is not meant to imitate the characters in the peanut gallery on Springer, but is rather the way Jesse expresses his excitement for anything that he especially loves. I wondered if Jesse likes Jerry Springer because the people on the show seem to express their excitement in a similar way to him.

After being reminded of the existence of talk shows, I found myself compelled to surf through you tube, and watch clips of Tyra and Maurie the other night.

"What are you doing?" Christina asked, her tone serving as a reminder that I really don't have the time to devote to watching bad television shows.

"Ummm, I'm..weeeeell..you see.. this man is claiming to be a vampire..and um..Tyra is..never mind" I said, as Christina cocked her head to the side in a 'you'd better not complain to me about how stressed out you are after I just caught you watching this crap' gesture.

It was interesting, this business about vampires. The people on the show were claiming that being a vampire was an expression of their spirituality, and when phrased in that way, I began to draw comparisons between Vampirism and Christianity. Both religions contain a ritual of consuming blood, albeit the Christians use a more symbolic form of blood in the form of wine. Both stress the importance of meditation and prayer, while vampires retreat to their sensory deprivation chambers in the form of a coffin to do this, the Christians seem to prefer kneeling in the company of others. The Vampires on Tyra's show were talking about how they believe that they are spiritually connected to others, and that they feed off of others energy..to which I ask myself, who doesn't feed off of the energy of others (metaphorically speaking)?

Perhaps, with the help of a little of Jesse's energy, in a few more months, I will be fully immersed in my second childhood. Perhaps you will find me, in the winter months, running around the house in flannel pajamas, microwaving spaghetti o's and eating them, cross-legged, in front of the television set, fixated on some pregnant teenage mom lining up possible baby-daddy's for a paternity test.

Talk Show Salad
4 medium Yukon gold potatoes, cubed (about 2 cups)
Boil potatoes in a pot of water (enough water to cover potatoes). Reduce heat and simmer until potatoes are tender. Meanwhile...
Heat a frying pan and add
1 yellow onion
1 Tbsp grape seed oil
a large pinch salt
cook for about 5 min on high heat, then add
4 medium parsnips, peeled and sliced
cook for another 10 min on high heat (until parsnips get soft), then add
4 long skinny carrots, peeled and sliced cook for about 5 min more, adding 2 tsp mirin (Japanese cooking rice-wine)
By the time the carrots and parsnips are done, your potatoes should be done too. Drain the potatoes and toss everything together, adding 2-3 Tbsp olive oil and some salt. Add about 1 inch fresh grated ginger.
Serve warm or cold.

Christina's vote: "This salad reminded me that winter is coming."

Abstract Artist's Salad

2010-09-07T17:41:00.000-07:00

"Could you make me a salad?" Christina asked absentmindedly, her eyes fixated on the monitor in front of her. It was 9:30pm, and we sat at our desks across from each other, back to back, lost in the noiseless clamor of loading screens as we clicked from one page to the next. The light coming through our office windows had long since faded, but neither one of us had gotten up to turn on the overhead lights. Instead we sat, the blue glow of our screens flickering over our skin, brightening and fading indecisively, the way a candle might toy with the features of a scribe.

I swiveled my chair and looked over at Christina. "Really?" I asked, in a mixture of excitement and confusion. I always feel a little tinge of giddiness when Christina asks me to cook for her, mainly because I love cooking for her and it doesn't happen all that often that she asks. It's not that she doesn't like my cooking, it's just that she has never really been big into food. After the initial wave of excitement, confusion slid in like a wake-boarder. 'Wait a minute.' I thought 'Aren't we supposed to be tired of salads?'

For the past 80 days we have had a new salad every day. Every day vegetables get pulled from our refrigerator, sculpted into funny shapes, arranged into a salad, lathered with dressing, photographed, and then set back into the refrigerator. There the plate sits, caged in plastic like a poodle waiting to be judged. Even after the judging, on any given day, one or two picked through plates of salad can usually be found squeezed into our refrigerator. They remind me of fallen beauty queens, their tangled leaves flattened by the weight of some cheese or dressing, their body robbed of precious jewels of avocado or chicken. Recently I have made it my personal mission to eat the forgotten remnants of these salads, eating sometimes two or three bowls of diced peppers and shriveled up carrots.

It has been months since Christina has asked me to make her a salad, and the words seemed out of place. "Really, do you want a salad?" I asked, opting not to take the tack of resentfully inquiring what is the matter with all of the uneaten salads sitting in the refrigerator presently. "Uh. No... not really. I don't know why I said that." She replied, and I realized that we have gotten to the stage where 90 salads are no longer a big production, but are now simply a part of the routine. Since our salad days are almost over, I decided to make this salad which is an abstract rendition of one of Christina's favorites.

Abstract Artist's Salad
1/4 head romaine lettuce
1-2 cups purple cabbage, chopped or shredded
4 small sliced carrots
1/2 avocado cut into squares

Dress with:
3 Tbsp toasted sesame oil
1 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
1/2 Tbsp lime juice
1 garlic clove, minced
1 tsp raw honey
1/4 tsp tamari soy sauce

Christina's vote: "This salad was fun"

Gingerly Sweet Year Salad

2010-09-06T05:23:00.000-07:00

The blood of the beet threatens with stains of colorful proportions, but reminds me that things are not always as they appear. Sometimes the seemingly insurmountable problems in life wash away easily, like beet juice. As the pink juice loosens from my hands and runs down the sink, and I am reminded that stress is a boastful child who targets with weapons not in his possession. The danger comes when I try to dodge one of his imaginary bullets and end up jumping into a creek.

With just two days until a grant deadline at work, I relax. I have worked long, hard hours. I have made a lot of progress, but I am not going to make my deadline. At the thought of this, I picture a grinning child with a slingshot ready to land a rock between my eyes. His freckly cheeks turned into a sadistic grin. I start to feel my heart race, and my palms sweat. Before I begin planning my escape, I am reminded to pause and look at it from another perspective. The boy is just an illusion that I have created. The situations that life presents can't be more powerful than the meaning that I assign to them.

Yesterday at the farmers market Sara Rice demonstrated some recipes for celebrating Rosh Hashanah. Being uninformed about Jewish cooking and customs, I stood beside her asking all sorts of naive questions, like "What does Kosher mean, really?" and "I have heard that this holiday is two days long, how much of that time is typically spent feasting?"

I felt like a complete idiot, but I learned a ton. Sara explained that Rosh Hashanah is a time of atonement for the Jews. It is the time of year for going up to the people in your life and asking for forgiveness. Sweet foods are typically eaten at this time, to welcome in a sweet new year. Round foods are also encouraged, as a symbol of fertility and new growth. Sara cooked recipes using carrots, raisins, apples, and honey. I was inspired by the idea of asking forgiveness, in particular as it applied to my problems of being over committed at work and at home. This salad was inspired by Sara's demo.

Gingerly Sweet Year Salad
Peel and slice 4 small beets (mixed varieties)
Heat a pot of water, and blanch the beets (boil for about 4 min). Shock them in cold water.
Peel and slice 4 small carrots (either slice them small, or blanch them too. Whatever you prefer)
Mix beets and carrots together, and dress with
1 tsp honey
1/4 tsp ume plum vinegar
1/4 tsp rice vinegar
1/2 tsp grated fresh ginger

Christina's vote: "This salad made me want to run with the bulls"

Red Quinoa Tabouli Salad

2010-09-05T12:06:00.000-07:00

I woke up in near darkness and stared at the bright banana sliver in the sky, marveling at how the silvery light of the moon has begun sticking around for breakfast again. I reached for my sweatshirt and pulled on long pants before slamming the windows shut and heading to the kitchen to turn on the tea kettle. The refrigerator was stuffed full of vegetables, round and yellow, green and leafy, tangled, long and bright. Root vegetables knocked against my crisper drawer. They tumbled around like caged animals wrestling. I took a moment to think about them, then decided that I am not ready to move out of summer just yet.

I shut the refrigerator door and turned on my heel to stare at the counter top, where garlic bulbs and tomatoes crowded out every inch of space. A few months ago, a tomato was a rare and expensive treasure, saturated with the concentrated flavor of the summer sun baking in a field. Now they overwhelm my kitchen, and since I lack sufficient foresight to stuff them into jar and save them for the wintery days to come, I simply have let them take over.

I stared at the tomatoes and the garlic for a few minutes, then remembered the cucumbers and the cilantro in the fridge. The tomatoes I have are all heirloom, some purple and yellow, some orange and red, some not resembling tomatoes at all. The cucumbers I have also consist of many varieties in yellow, pale white, and traditional bright green.

I lay out all the ingredients for today's salad on my cutting board, and closed my eyes to conjure the message I wanted to convey with today's salad. The tea kettle whistled, and waves of heat warmed my chest as I reached over the burner to turn it off. Warmth. The salad needs warmth. I pulled out a pot and turned on a pot of water to boil. Here is what emerged.

Red Quinoa Tabouli Salad
1 cup red quinoa
1 Tbsp olive oil
1/8 tsp salt
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 cups water

Heat oil and salt and add garlic. Add dry quinoa and stir until quinoa releases nutty aroma. Add water and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer (covered) until quinoa is cooked.

In a separate bowl, mix together
2 small cucumbers
2 Roma tomatoes
1 small bunch cilantro
1 minced clove garlic
zest and juice from a small lemon
2 Tbsp rice vinegar
3 Tbsp olive oil
salt and pepper

When the quinoa cools, add the quinoa.

Christina's vote: "This salad made me wonder why the cows came home."

Snapshot Salad

2010-09-04T15:11:00.000-07:00

The air had a snappy chill to it, and I spent the morning navigating the long way around the shady tents at the farmers market, desperate to stay in the warm bath of sunlight. It was the sort of weather that invited stealing extra minutes at the sink to feel the warm water running over your hands, to avoid the shock of a cold air dry. The morning flew by in a flash, and I relished every moment of it. We had a Chef from Trinidad who prepared salmon cakes and a raspberry trifle, which caused the children to flock like seagulls when it came time to sample. Some friends took a picture:

When the demo was over, I took a moment to stand in the center of the market and enjoy a roasted ear of corn. I felt like a little kid having a snack after a busy morning of play.

I spent the rest of the day in a dark lab, mixing up chemicals, and watching as the liquids blended into each other. It looked similar to the way cream dances through iced coffee, like swimming angles.

The postdocs in my lab frequently use cooking analogies when they are trying to teach me something new. At first I thought they were just trying to speak my language, but now I understand the similarities. Lab work is a lot like cooking, you have a protocol (like a recipe) to follow, but their are no guarantees that the protocol will work on every given day. A scientist needs to use all their senses when running an experiment, much like a cook needs to be entirely present when cooking. The hours flew by in the lab.

When I got home there was a nice surprise waiting for me. Christina had retrieved some of my favorite of her pieces, and hung them above my desk:

Snapshot Salad
1/4 head romaine lettuce
1 corn cob, raw, with the kernels cut off
1/2 avocado, peeled and sliced
2 heirloom Roma tomatoes (or any tomato that you like)
1 white patty pan squash, cut into pieces
4 sliced tomatillos (peel the outer shell)
1/2 cup cilantro, chopped

Dress with:
3 Tbsp grape seed oil
1 Tbsp lime juice
1 tsp apple cider vinegar
1 clove mashed fresh garlic
1 tsp honey
fresh ground pepper

Christina's vote: "This salad defines creative"

Center Salad (or Chicken and Watercress Salad)

2010-09-03T05:42:00.000-07:00

We trotted through the woods at an even pace, like two horses tied to a cart. Every so often we would have to break stride and flail our arms out to the side in order to navigate through squishy puddles of mud, which were left by the rain that had dragged through the woods earlier in the day. Mud hurled itself up the backs of my calves and dried there, stowing away for an adventure out of it's wilderness home.

"Actually, I consider myself to be more of a Buddhist" my running partner said, thoughtfully, as we discussed our thoughts on religion. We silently chose between two paths of what would be the first of many forks.
"I like meditating. I find that it is a lot like running." He continued.
"I meditate while I run" I said, excitedly. The conversation topic had turned from descriptive religion (as in 'I am a Buddhist', or 'I am...fill in the blank', to practical religion (as in 'this is what I do to help me feel more connected'). We passed another fork, where we had the option of whether to shorten our loop, or go the long way. We chose the long way. My running partner had his five fingered shoes on, and he commented on how he could feel the mud squishing in between his toes. I wiggled my toes, which were wrapped in socks and squeezed up tight inside little leather cages. I regretted not bringing my five fingers along.

"Do you still go to the meditation center?" I asked, turning my attention from my feet.
"No" he replied "and I find it is really hard to keep a regular practice going without it." I was reminded of what someone told me once, about how they remembered to meditate.
"You could try throwing your shoes far underneath your bed at night. That way, when you get up in the morning and go to put on your shoes you will have to get on the floor. While you are down there, you will be reminded to meditate!" I said, trying to be helpful.
"Ha ha that's funny" he replied "It's strange that I forget to meditate. I find it to be so useful when I actually remember."
"Useful how?" I asked.
"Well, it's kind of like this. All day long, we go around telling ourselves stories about what is happening. Someone doesn't like us. Something needs to be finished. Something needs to be organized or controlled. The world is dangerous, or scary, or wonderful. People are mean, or kind, or vindictive, or needy. The story may change, but the reel plays continuously. When I meditate, I get a chance to watch the reel and see it for what it is. A story. A drama. Meditation gives me a perspective in my life that I can carry out into the rest of my day."

I smiled inwardly, thinking about my own little dramas, and the times when I have seen them as illusions. We blew passed the final fork in the path, and completed the circle around the island. Then we turned and climbed the long hill back to work.

Chicken and Watercress Salad
1 split chicken breast, bone in, both halves (drizzle with olive oil and bake in the oven at 400 degrees for 25 min. Remove skin and cut into bite sized pieces)
1 cup chopped watercress
1 Tbsp mayonnaise
Mix ingredients together. Serve with fresh heirloom cherry tomato wedges or sliced cucumbers.

Christina's vote: "This salad made me want to prune a bonsai tree"

Anything Helps Salad

2010-09-02T14:02:00.000-07:00

It was pitch black, yet the alarm had gone off several times already. I rolled out of bed and stared out into the dark blue abyss. A heavy cold rain was pouring down. I hurried to get dressed and stumbled down to my car. My eyes were puffy, and refusing to participate in the day as a rebellious gesture against a deceptive sky.

I was already later than intended, so I stopped at a gas station for throat lozenges and something to drink. Behind me stood a woman in her mid thirties with fluffy short haircut. She had on khaki pants and a tan, rain jacket.
"Is that all you want?" I heard her say.
"Mhhhhm" A man answered, in a gruff voice. I turned slightly sideways so i could spy over my other shoulder. The man she was talking to was tall, with deeply creased, leathered skin. He had long, coarse, gray and white hair, and shaggy eyebrows. His eyes were set far apart. They were somewhat cat like. He had a beard and a moustache, and his rosy cheeks were perched high on his face. He reminded me of a greasy, dirt-caked version of the coca cola Santa clause.

I stepped off to the side and got ready to head out the door. A giant backpack with a rolled up sleeping bag was blocking the exit. I assumed it belonged to the man, as the amount of dirt on the man matched with the amount of dirt caked on the sleeping bag. I pushed the door open, stepped over the bag, and left. When I got back into my car, I looked up for the man leaving the gas station. Clearly he was homeless, and this woman had offered to buy him something to eat. I thought about the times when I have offered to buy food to a homeless person looking for money. Usually my request is met with hostility. 'I don't need your food.' Their eyes would unmistakably say, 'What I need is what I asked you for. Your money. Give it to me, or I will make you feel like a worthless horrible guilty monster.'

I relaxed in my car for a minute, watching for the door. I half expected the man to walk out and then walk back in and return whatever it was she bought for him. I started up my windshield wipers, to get a better view. The radio clicked on, and a man's calming voice was reading something aloud on air. I continued my stakeout.

In a few moments, the door burst open and the man emerged. His face had risen to a bright zenith of sheer elation. He looked both giddy and nervous, as though he were a little boy keeping a newly opened present away from his siblings' greedy hands. He walked in full strides, holding a gigantic sub under his armpit as though it were a football. I had been wrong about him, he really did want food. Had he tried to panhandle me, I probably would've ignored him and he would've continued to be hungry until somebody decided to trust in his story. I looked for the woman, but she had already exited out a different door. I made a mental note to suspend my prejudices the next time I see someone on the street with a sign that says "homeless, hungry, anything helps."

Anything Helps Salad

Heat oven to 400 degrees. Cook 1 split chicken breast (2 halves) bone in skin on for 20-30 min (you can keep the heat high if you leave the skin on, because the skin will keep the chicken from getting dry).

Mix together 1/4 head romaine lettuce, chopped
2 carrots, sliced (peeled or not..your choice!)
1 red-green pepper, diced
1/2 avocado cut into bite sized pieces
1/4 head broccoli (about 1 cup) broken into pieces
2-3 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil (this is a huge part of the flavor of the salad, so use one that you really like the taste of!)
1-2 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
salt and pepper liberally.

Christina's vote: "This is what I would call a salad meal"

Knock It Off Salad

2010-09-01T05:35:00.000-07:00

It was a huge mistake, and one that I am likely to be paying for, for decades.

We stood by the elevator, dressed in our workout clothes. I wore shorts and a tank top, and had my hair pulled into a ponytail. Jesse was wearing long shorts hiked up high and white tube socks stretched out long. Jesse is tall and slim, with blond thinning hair, long arms, and large hands and feet. He has blue slanted eyes, and prominent child-like dimples that appear when he smiles, or smirks, which is most of the time. Jesse has autism, and enjoys repeating phrases that he picks up. A few months ago Christina and I talked about getting a parrot. That was before Jesse came to live with us. Now we thank our lucky stars that we never followed through with the parrot adoption, as already we hear ourselves echoing through the apartment, our voices a few octaves lower and projected theatrically out of Jesse's voice box.

We were waiting for the elevator to open, so that we could go down to the gym for our nightly workout. "You know what your gonna get? Your gonna get a one way ticket back to your parents!" Jesse said, for about the thousandth time. I still don't remember what movie this is from, but I am thinking 'Clifford'..or 'jingle all the way' two of his favorites. "Emily, what does 'a one way ticket back to your parents mean?'" "Jesse, I have already answered that question. and answered it. and answered it. I am not answering it again." I said. Jesse stood smiling, and looked nervously down and to the right.

We stood in silence for awhile. Then Jesse began inching up behind me. He was testing me. Jesse loves the smell of women's hair, but he knows he is not supposed to go around sniffing people. He began inching closer. He towered over my shoulder, and I could see out of the corner of my eye that he had a sneaky looking grin on his face.
"Smell your haiiiir" he sang.
"No Jesse, you may not" I said.
"Why nooooot?" He asked innocently, but his face betrayed the innocence in his tone with a guilty sparkle in his eye. He scuffled in closer, leaning in ever so slightly.

That's when it happened. The words flew out of my mouth before I realized their significance. Actually, in all fairness, to most people they hold very little significance at all, but to Jesse (as I had recently discovered) this particular grouping of words hold a special meaning. There are certain phrases that trigger Jesse, getting him so upset that he obsesses over them. The obsession can last for days, or months, or....years.

"Jesse!!!" I whirled around just as Jesse was gently lifting my ponytail with the fingers of his giant hand and gingerly bringing it up to his nose.

"knock it off!"

Immediately after I said the words I regretted it, knowing that I would never hear the end of it and that for years to come Jesse will be telling the story about how sometimes Emily says 'knock it off' to him.

"wha?? did you just say knock it off to me???"
"yes I did" I said
"why did you say knock it off to me?"
"Because I don't like having my hair sniffed" I stood my ground. Jesse stared down at the floor of the elevator, looking stunned. He looked sadly up at me
"sixteen days ago you said knock it off to me too." He said. I had forgotten. "Why do you say knock it off to me?" I had committed a crime in Jesse's eyes. A horrible horrible crime for which he would punish me by being an inconsolable victim. He flailed around on the exercise bike, gesturing wildly, pointing at imaginary characters and shooting me wounded looks every so often. After 40 min on the bike, I asked Jesse how he was doing.
"You said knock it off to me. Come on, what's the matter with you?" Jesse said, no doubt repeating something he had heard somewhere and looking seriously injured. I couldn't take it anymore. I sincerely apologized, and hoped that he would decide to drop his tantrum. He looked me soberly in the eye, and spoke assertively.
"I don't like it when people say knock it off to me."
"Okay Jesse, I am sorry." I said, knowing full well that the story had already been imprinted in Jesse's mind, and that I will be forever made to regret ever saying those three little words.

Knock It Off Salad
mix together:
3 long thin carrots, sliced
1 large red pepper, diced (the one I used was not fully ripe, so it is red and green
2 cups soaked and cooked, or 1 can mixed salad beans (if using a can, rinse them well)

In a frying pan, add:
1/4 tsp salt
3 Tbsp grape seed oil
1 small head broccoli, broken into pieces
3 cloves garlic
Heat and cook until broccoli is bright green, let cool, then mix broccoli with the other veggies.

Dress with 2 Tbsp white wine vinegar and 1 Tbsp grape seed or olive oil. Add a few sprigs of fresh thyme!

Christina's vote: "This salad is zesty!"

I Dare You Salad

2010-08-31T05:04:00.000-07:00

"Most people will never know what that tastes like raw" Christina commented over my shoulder as I sliced through the side of a patty pan squash.
"What do you mean? They are good raw!" I replied, defensively.
"I know that" She said, stealing a slice of squash from under my knife and popping it into her mouth "but a lot of people don't".

Christina puts things into perspective for me. I forget how strange and intimidating vegetables can be when they are unfamiliar. They trigger a primal fear, and I forget that as animals we are meant to be wary of new foods lest we poison ourselves on unfamiliar berries. Eating new foods requires a sense of adventure. Like kids, we need our friends to dare us, and double dare us, and triple dog dare us to laugh down our fears and boldly walk down the dark path of the unknown.

A flash of lightning blazed up the rain streaked windows. The water trailed down in perfectly chiseled lines and it looked as though the windows had been sliced with a knife. I stood in the kitchen, laughing maniacally as a slice celery greens and patty pan squash, and mixed up a witches brew of plum vinegar dressing. I dare you to try it.

I Dare You Salad
3 small patty pan squash, cut into small pieces
4 long thin carrots, peeled and sliced
1 medium cucumber, extremely fresh so that it snaps
1/4 cup celery greens

Creamy Plum Vinegar Dressing:
3/4 cup yogurt
3 cloves spicy garlic
1 umeboshi plum, mashed (these are a type of salty, preserved plums which can be found at the asian grocery store)
1/2 tsp ume plum vinegar
lots of black pepper

Christina's vote: "Ha ha, ate it all!"

Breakfast Bacon Potato Salad

2010-08-30T05:30:00.000-07:00

I woke up, still lost in a dream and floating in a rainstorm of sizzling bacon. Thick steam weighed down the air like a jungle thunderstorm, and the sound of popping grease was similar to water bouncing off of rocks and leaves. The smell was like a warm wool sweater, comforting, nurturing, delicious.

I sat in my confusion while sensation returned to my fingers and toes, and I became aware of the light weight of the blankets on top of me. They were scratchy, and the comforter was machine stitched and thin, like a hotel bed cover. This was not my bedroom. Whose was it?

The carpet on the floor was light tan and shaggy, and covered in stains that were made by some other child. The walls were dark wood, with knots that could be mistaken for shapes which gnashed their teeth like wolves, or formed pointy hats like gnomes. There was an old cartoon map of a ski mountain hanging on the wall. I focused on the drawing for awhile, and then slowly added together the pieces.

I was a kid, on vacation, in Vermont.

Most likely the sound I was hearing was not a jungle rainstorm, as the window emitted a frozen blue glow in the early morning light. I pulled on my long winter ski socks, which hugged my calves tightly and forced my little legs into sticks. Then I shuffled into the breakfast room, where the entire family was already busy developing pink cheeks and full round bellies.

"There you are!" my mother said "we have been calling you for an hour."
"um.. was it..raining a minute ago?" The entire family looked at me as though I were crazy.
"no, it is below freeing outside. Are you feeling okay?" "Just checking!" I said, as I dragged a strip of bacon onto a plate and sat down to breakfast.

Breakfast Bacon Potato Salad
Cube 3 medium Yukon gold potatoes (leave the skins on) and add them to a pot of water. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and cook until tender.

In a separate pot, bring water to a boil and blanch broccoli (cook until bright green, then plunge in cold water)

Cook bacon in the microwave, between paper towels

In a salad bowl, mix together 1 small, diced, yellow onion, 1/4 cup cubed cheddar cheese, the bacon (crumbled)

When the potatoes are tender, drain them and mix together with drained broccoli. Heat 4 Tbsp grape seed or olive oil. Turn off the heat and add 2 cloves of garlic and a pinch of salt. Add 2 Tbsp white wine vinegar and pour over the potatoes. Adjust seasonings to your liking.

Christina's vote: "Puts grandma's potato salad to shame. sorry grandma."

Try Tatsoi Salad

2010-08-29T13:16:00.000-07:00

I like to think of myself as being pretty well versed in vegetables, particularly in the members of the brassica family. One of the more of the brassicas, broccoli, was my favorite vegetable as a child. My mother would steam it until it was bright forest green and then serve it to me with a little dollop of mayonnaise. My brother, who is one year my senior, didn't want anything to do with the texture of mayonnaise, and would prefer starvation over having to taste anything that wasn't white, brown, or orange. He would recoil in horror at the display of green and white that I would excitedly shovel onto my fork.

The praise that I earned for eating my vegetables was encouraging, but it was not my sole reason for getting excited about them. I know this because I would often trade foods with my brother when my parents weren't looking, sliding my chicken breast onto his plate and taking his asparagus or cauliflower. When it came to broccoli, I almost always favored those bright green little trees over everything else on my plate.

Like many young people, my mind was opened to new experiences in college, the more appropriate of which can be discussed in this blog and includes a long list of brassica vegetables. I prided myself on my familiarity with some of the more obscure varieties, and would smile inwardly when I had the opportunity to introduce someone to something new. When, at the farmers market, I wandered by a booth and noticed a shiny little bunch of unfamiliar leaves sitting decoratively in little metal tubs in a section market 'brassica', I took notice.

"umm..what's this?" I asked out of the side of my mouth, pretending to convey embarrassment.
"That's tatsoi, you have never had it before?" the vendor asked.
"I knew that" I said, in the tone of an eight year old, "I just wanted to see if you knew" the vendor laughed. "It's kind of a buttery, peppery, type green, with a spinach-like texture." My mind conjured up flavors of spinach, which I often to find to be boring, and I slowly began to back away.
"it's kind of like arugula" she added, and I snapped forward like a yo yo and dug out a dollar from my bag. "Sold!" I said, snatching up the tatsoi and handing her the dollar.

The flavor of tatsoi is just as the vendor described. It is grassy and mild, with a buttery texture and a black peppery finish. It has less of a bite than arugula, and a more smooth mouth feel. Delicious!

Try Tatsoi Salad
1 small bunch tatsoi
3 small fresh carrots, sliced
1 medium cucumber, peeled and diced
1 small heirloom red tomato, sliced into wedges
1 small heirloom yellow, sliced into wedges

Dress with:
3 Tbsp toasted sesame oil
1 1/2 Tbsp rice vinegar
1 tsp soy sauce
1 tsp dark honey
grated fresh ginger (if you have it around, I didn't have any when I made this, but I imagine it would fit well)

Christina's vote: "This salad made me want to yell at the cheese curd vendors 'what is wrong with you people!'"

Saturday Cooks Salad

2010-08-28T18:42:00.000-07:00

The breeze was stiff, and cleared the air of humidity. It blew in across the table where I stood in front of Mr. Kelley of 'Mrs. Kelly's teas', and like smelling salts for the spirit, it brought my senses to life.

Mr Kelley noticed it too, and in mid-sentence he leaned in and lowered his voice to a whisper
"it couldn't be a more beautiful day could it?" he stated. I smiled and breathed in the air, reminded of the days when I practically lived every moment exposed to the wind.
"Yeah" I replied, noticing how the crisp blue sky sparkled off of everyone's eyes, "it is beautiful".

I continued on to the demo tent, and discovered that today's chef had already arrived. Bill Roehl, aka the Minnesota pepper king, was sitting at one of the square, black, metal, four-top tables. He had a notebook in hand and a Grateful Dead patch on his hat. He had dark brown eyes and a trim beard, and looked like the sort of person who might have at one time been a shaggier, more dreadlocked version of his former self. Currently, he is a family man with a carrier type job at a University, and a blog where he reports on happenings in local politics. He is a fellow east coaster, and we spent our first few moments chatting about possible connections we might have back in our home towns.

I shopped with Bill, making sure to introduce him to the vendors that might have the ingredients he would be interested in. I almost felt guilty about how much time I was spending chatting with him and the vendors about food, but as my boss walked by she bestowed an encouraging grin, and I realized that what I was doing was actually a part of my job description.

I love my job at the market.

The pepper king was nervous, hence the early arrival, but his performance was exceptional. He had an Emeril like presence in front of the crowd. He pulled them in with the smells of garlic, Italian sausage, and the hazy heat of peppers sizzling. Then he kept them entertained with personal anecdotes and a glimmer of joy. I stood a little off to the right, tending to the contents of two giant frying pans as though I were spinning records. The frying pans were about half the size of me. I lifted them with both hands, tossing the contents into the air and catching them back in the pan. Cooking in front of an audience is exciting, it's like playing a concert. The crowd and the chefs feed off of each other. Local chefs often come to watch these Saturday demos on the days when they are not presenting. The market seems culturally fertile, like a place where a culinary movement might sprout. In any case, we have fun with each other.

I made this salad with the chefs from today in mind.

Saturday Cooks Salad
1 red bell pepper, diced
1 ronde de Nice, diced raw
1/4 cup cubed provolone cheese (optional)
1 small bunch thyme

Dress with:
3 Tbsp hazelnut infused olive oil
1 1/2 Tbsp cider vinegar
1 clove garlic, minced
1 tsp tamari soy sauce
2 Tsp buckwheat honey (or dark brown honey)

Christina's vote: "Incredulous"

Fit Perspective Salad

2010-08-27T17:57:00.000-07:00

My eyes were blurry, as though I were looking through Vaseline smeared lenses. I arrived at the lab at 5:30. Under the microscope of the lab’s stillness I became aware that the weeks worth of mild sleep deprivation was beginning to affect me, altering my state of consciousness. It took four hours for me to complete what should have been a two hour experiment. In frustration, I left the lab and went to stand by the window in hallway, too tired to be upset. I brought an apple a packet of peanut butter with me so that I could have some breakfast.

It was 9:30, and already I had accomplished a half a day’s worth of work. I looked out of the window. The lot was oddly sparse. I wondered if people were taking off work to go to the state fair, or maybe just to enjoy the final days of summer. With the promise of a warm weekend ahead, who could blame them?

When I looked back toward the corridor, a woman was walking briskly toward me, her gaze locked on me. I saw myself through her eyes: a tired, young looking woman with a long brown ponytail, eating peanut butter off of her fingers and wearing a long white lab coat. She looked at me as though she were going to say something, but she didn’t slow her pace as she approached. The wall dead ended behind me, and for a moment I thought that the woman was going to walk right into me, but she swiftly u-turned as though rounding an imaginary cone, and tossed me a cheerful “good morning” as she sped away.

That’s when I noticed that the woman had paired sneakers with her skirt suit, and that her calves were oddly muscular for her size. She was a power walker. I am not sure why, but I found the encounter oddly comforting. In a world where we are supposed to hate our jobs, look forward to retirement, and daydream about the weekend, it is nice to see people making themselves comfortable at work.

The woman made me realize that I had been making myself into a victim. I had begun sliding into a pattern of trying to fulfill imaginary expectations, and chase the illusion of an end which would justify all of these means. How easily I demonize the vulnerable ones who try to offer advice, inventing them as great punishers who are out to spoil my fun.

One day I will look back at all my battles and realize that I was alone in the ring, as both the champion and the opponent, sometimes winning sometimes losing, but always playing to the crowd.

Fit Perspective Salad
3 small peppers, fresh, diced
8 Heirloom cherry tomatoes mainly yellow and orange
1 small cucumber, peeled and diced
2-3 cups frisee
4 diced green onions

Dress with:
2 Tbsp lime juice
3 Tbsp grape seed oil
3/4 Tbsp raw honey
1/4 tsp ume plum vinegar
salt and pepper to taste
2 cloves minced garlic

Christina's vote: "A mighty taste"
Everett's vote: "The freshest tasting salad I have had the pleasure of enjoying. Mmmm"

A Worker Among Workers Salad

2010-08-26T17:59:00.000-07:00

I walked slowly down the hallway, my eyes swollen and red from too many late nights and early mornings. Fitting in the time to assemble somewhat of a balanced life in grad school has presented a challenge in itself, and one that I am starting to actually enjoy.

At 5 am the world is all mine, and I run through the empty streets exploring familiar territory with new eyes. When the sky lifts its dark blue veil I am reminded that I share this planet with other people, people who have ideas about what I need to be doing and exactly what time I need to be doing it. Interacting with them is a game of when to assert and when to gracefully submit, when to lead and when to be led.

At 5 PM I stand on the top floor of the building where I work and watch as the people pour out like ants. Their badges swing from side to side and their shoulders sag under the weight of their shoulder bags. In the corridor on the way back to my apartment I am dropped back into my world as the dusk folds down.

I turn the handle and am flooded with music. Jesse is rocking vigorously back and forth, waving his arms in pure joy and smiling from ear to ear. Christina is standing in the living room assembling new desk chairs for us. She dances around, and I can't tell if she is more excited about the project of assembling chairs or the fact that we now have them.

The cats are playing like crazy, due to the arrival of several large empty brown boxes. They dive from one box to the next, occasionally chasing each other onto one of the old desk chairs and sending it flying across the hard wood floors. They ride with pinned back ears and wide eyes, digging their claws into the leather and holding tight as though embarking on a sleigh ride. The office door has been left open and they chase each other back and forth across the entryway, celebrating the freedom to pass through the forbidden territory.

A cameo appearance from Catherine and Everett comes just as my hands are putting the finishing touches on today's salad. I look down and notice that somehow I managed to make just enough food for all of us, and I wondered how my subconscious self knew that they would be coming. After salad there was tea, toast, and typing, and new comfy desk chairs. The cats were stretched long, and there was Jesse, slowly rocking back and forth, grinning from ear to ear.

A Worker Among Workers Salad
1 bulb fennel, shaved or sliced thin
8 small fresh carrots, sliced
1 small bunch spinach
1 small bunch basil
1 cup pepitas
2 small red heirloom tomatoes

Dress with:
4 Tbsp grape seed oil
2 Tbsp lime juice
3/4 Tbsp raw honey
1 clove garlic, minced
1 tsp tarragon
salt and pepper to taste
1 Tbsp apple cider vinegar

Christina's vote: "This salad made me want to run up a tree"

Worth the Trouble Salad

2010-08-25T16:30:00.000-07:00

This is one of those salads where the flavor of the individual ingredients really matters. It is best made hungry, and after a long day at work. Make this salad when you think that you can't handle just one more task, because you are absolutely right. One more task would put you over the edge. So in this case, you really need a change of perspective.

Start by forgiving yourself for any shortcomings in the performance you are about to give. In other words forget about the outcome. Don't make any decisions, just open the fridge and look. Peer into the crisper and find the things you tucked away. Place a slice of zucchini on your tongue and let it pull moisture out of your salivary glands. Drink some basil through your nose. Feel the peppers to see if they are crisp. Now take one out and cut into it. Smell it. Taste it. Imagine it bathed in vinegar, slightly spiced, and with nutty undertones.

I couldn't handle any more tasks today, so I allowed myself to get quiet and listened to my senses as they worked out this recipe.

Worth the Trouble Salad
Mix together 1 cup kashi, cooked according to instructions on box, then cooled.
1 small, fresh green pepper, diced (green peppers are technically unripe, much like green tomatoes. When they ripen they become red, orange, or yellow peppers)
1/2 small zucchini, cubed
1/2 small yellow onion, diced
8 cherry tomatoes, sliced and cut in half
1 small bunch mixed basil, chopped (I used cinnamon and fruity basil. I have no idea what variety they are specifically, but they smell fantastic).

Heat 3 Tbsp grape seed oil in a frying pan. Turn off the heat and add a pinch of salt and 3 cloves garlic minced. Stir in 1 tsp tarragon, 2 Tbsp apple cider vinegar, and 1/2 tsp soy sauce. Add a little black pepper. Allow to cool, then pour over the salad. Add some olive oil if it needs a richer texture or flavor.

Christina's vote: "This salad made me want to know if June bugs fall in love"

Spicy Steak and Gorgonzola Salad

2010-08-24T06:03:00.000-07:00

Bob Ross painted a smear of titanium white across the pretty blue and pink brushed Minnesota sky, and then dotted the green trees with yellow to signify the beginning of autumn. This time of the year the suburban streets of the twin cities begin to take on a vermont like quality. Each box-shaped, shingled house embodies the charm of a little red barn. I imagined Bob Ross in his jumpsuit and afro rolling paint onto his palate knife and teaching with the high notes and hushed calm of a nursery school teacher. I turned my attention to the pavement ahead as the early morning traffic sporadically zoomed by.

The streets were a runway with neat rows of streetlamps reflecting off of glassy asphault, still wet from a midnight rain.It seemed that me eyes were not quiet done sleeping when I hauled them out of bed and forced them to help me find my running sneakers. Now they were resentfully swollen, and drooping shut, causing the gas stations, street lights, and coffee shops to blend into a streak of neon. I quickened my pace and laughed internally at my luck of having found such a positive way of relieving stress and seeking adventure.

The darkness lifted at about the time that the homeless people began their short walk from the night shelter to the day shelter. The same cast of characters have been walking this strip since I moved here in 2003. A one- toothed, old man stopped to deliver me a thumbs up and a wide smile as I went by. It was a small gesture of encouragement, but it ignited my spirit for the final mile home.

Spicy Steak and Gorgonzola Salad
Mix together:
1 bunch watercress (for the spice. My father always put horseradish on his steak, I find that watercress gives steak a similar kick)
1-2 cups frisee
10 cherry tomatoes, sliced
1/2 large zucchini, cubed
top with sliced pan seared strip steak, cut into strips(I marinated a strip steak in yogurt, garlic and rosemary before cooking on the stove top. Yogurt is an easy way to soften meat)

Dress with:
1 Tbsp olive oil
2 Tbsp grape seed oil
2 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
1 tsp maple syrup
1-2 Tbsp gorgonzola cheese, mixed in well
chopped rosemary, salt, and ground black pepper to taste

Christina's vote: "This salad made me want to darn an old shirt."

Simply Tropical Fantasy Salad

2010-08-23T15:33:00.000-07:00

It's 5:30 pm and I have been working for 12 hours.

It seems like years have passed in this one day.

The fluorescent lighting has cooked my outer layers and hardened me at the core.

I feel like a microwaved frozen-burrito, oddly tough and pasty on the outside and frozen in the middle.

A cup of coffee would melt my icy interior, but the Starbucks has long since closed and my gut has exceeded the capacity limit for burnt office blend.

The sun outside is like a model in a magazine, a voiceless, odorless, temperature-less, tease for the imagination.

I try to get pulled in by it, but the central air fights back hard, and soon I surrender to pitiful begging.

Please sunshine, don't go home before I get out of here!

Simply Tropical Fantasy Salad
cube a local seedless watermelon into odd geometric shapes
sprinkle with lime zest and shredded coconut
sit back and enjoy!

Christina's vote: "a vacation at home"

Luncheon Tea Salad

2010-08-22T14:11:00.000-07:00

The lemonade sat in a globe shaped pitcher propped upright in bowl of ice. It was accumulating a frosty dew as the guests arrived in twos and threes. They set down their bags and offered to help in the kitchen.

The chatter steadily rose to a voiceless chorus, where no individual could be singled out. Everyone was made comfortable by the hostesses impeccable charm, and cunning flattery. The little girl skipped through the hallway, abandoning her pretty patten leather shoes, and freeing her toes and heels from blistering torture. The smooth hard wood allowed her to slide into the kitchen where the caterer offered her an approving smile. She was sent back into the living room with a tray of tea sandwiches, a stack of napkins, and detailed instructions about the nature of the decadent treats on her tray. These are watercress, these are egg, and these are salmon and cucumber.

Luncheon Tea Salad
8 eggs, hard boiled (in a pot, cover eggs with water, bring to a boil over high heat, boil 1 min, remove from heat and allow to sit covered for 9 min)
8 celery heart stalks (the inside pieces which are white)
3 Tbsp chopped fresh parsley
3 Tbsp mayonnaise
sirachi hot sauce (to taste)
lemon pepper (to taste)

Mix ingredients with a fork, mashing the eggs as you go. A note about eggs: older eggs are much easier to peel, but farm fresh eggs are fantastically delicious and worth the peeling hassle. You decide.

Slice 1 large fresh zucchini into rounds. Top with some spicy watercress in a clover pattern. Add a spoonful of egg salad to each one and serve!

Christina's vote: "This salad made me want to correct Emily's grammar."

Fall of Summer Salad

2010-08-21T14:17:00.000-07:00

The smell of familiar spices exploded out of the steam which poured out of the tea kettle in billowing white clouds. It settled neatly on top of the aroma of something crisp and buttery baking in the oven.

The wind rattled the windows. It was calling us to come out and play, but the couch was toasty and melted me back into the moment where everything is exactly as it should be.

I wiggled my toes inside my socks and breathed it all in.

Fall of Summer Salad
Dice 3 cucumbers, of mixed variety
mix with chopped basil

Creamy Umeboshi Plum Dressing
in a food processor, blend
1 clove garlic
2 Tbsp sesame tahini
2 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
1 umeboshi plum (pit removed)
1/2 Tbsp white miso paste
2-3 Tbsp water
2 Tbsp grape seed oil

Christina's vote: "This salad was pure TLC"

Busy Day Salad

2010-08-20T15:53:00.000-07:00

The day was long and filled with the sour alertness of an adrenaline rush. I arrived at work two and a half hours early. The building was dark, and I was able to walk through the empty hallways with earphones in my ears without watching where I was going. By the time my coworkers had arrived I was so engrossed in what I was doing that I hardly even noticed them. I almost missed my opportunity to go for an afternoon run, but finally, the job was finished and I looked up at the clock just in time to catch it.

My running partner, Dave, and I slipped on our five fingered running shoes and chatted our way through a 5 mile run. It felt good to leave the hospital behind, dart across the busy highway, and disappear into the shady woods. On our way back he asked me if I was busier than usual.
"Yes, I am incredibly busy. I have no idea how it happened, but all of the sudden I am completely swamped." I replied. As soon as I said them I was aware that the words fit perfectly, like spandex, and carried a similar uneasiness of vulnerability. I continued on, opening the door as I talked,
"I have also recently figured out that if I want to get any paperwork work done I have to go someplace other than work, because ironically, at work there are too many distractions."

The door swung closed behind me and I was face to face with a complete stranger who looked at me, then looked at Dave, and then launched into a long monologue about his favorite fitness instructor at the gym. My mind was reeling with what I needed to get done in the few remaining hours of the day, but my Connecticut upbringing did not supply me with a socially adequate escape plan from such a situation. Politely I smiled and nodded, ever so slightly backing away. He segued into his favorite weight watcher's recipes. Again I was trapped. I tried not to feel resentful. I tried to listen for some inspired message in his words, but my self absorption was too great, my patience spread too thin. My smile betrayed the irritation that was imprisoned by my cultural upbringing. There was no end in sight.

When at last I had a chance to speak, I lifted my hands to gesture and a giant drop of sweat flung off of my wrist and dropped onto the floor by the man's feet. With a horrified expression, he began to back away. I contemplated fighting to keep him interested in the conversation, as a matter of pride, but I resigned to my busy schedule and accepted my freedom and left.

Busy Day Salad
slice heirloom tomatoes
top with fresh basil, a sprinkle of salt, and sliced provolone cheese. Drizzle with olive oil. Serve

Christina's vote: "This salad made me want to lick the plate"

Pasta Train Salad

2010-08-19T17:24:00.000-07:00

I wondered if I would ever fit in, but after awhile it seemed that the people sitting around the table saw something familiar in me that I had overlooked in the mirror. At first the stares were just a little too long, the heads tilted to the side a little too far, and I had the uneasy awareness that I was being closely scrutinized. Was I imagining things?

The topic jumped from one thing to the next, with pauses like train cars that I hesitated too long to catch. I was intimidated. I couldn't catch my groove. My thoughts were panting, running full speed, striding to keep pace, but the desire to collapse was looming like a dark cloud in a Parisian winter.

My mind wandered to this place. I thought about walking along the cobblestone streets by the river under a cold dark sky. The river climbed toward the city streets, and then, there it was again. The train. The smooth red sides and shiny gold wheels charged steadily along. I stopped and watched as it rippled gently in the wake of a passing river boat. I raised my head to catch it in the glass windows of the boat, and noticed that the train was now still. I turned to search for the engine, which, according to its reflection was positioned directly behind me. When I turned my head I saw that nothing was there.

Pasta Train Salad
Cook 3 cups rice pasta
Heat another pot of water and blanch:
1 small head cauliflower,
2 large carrots, diced
1 large zucchini, diced
when the pasta is done cooking, drain the water and rinse with cold water. Do the same with the vegetables. Mix together and add
4 Tbsp olive oil
1 tsp lemon pepper
2 Tbsp cider vinegar
1 tsp brown sugar
1/2 tsp ume plum vinegar
1 Tbsp tarragon
1 clove fresh minced garlic
1/2 red onion, diced
1/4 cup chopped fresh basil

Christina's vote: "This salad made me go toot toot!"

Lunch in Rowayton Salad

2010-08-18T15:18:00.001-07:00

My feet had toughened to the gritty sidewalk, but once in awhile a pebble dug in to my blackened soles. It reminded me to appreciate the nakedness that my feet were allowed to enjoy in the final days of summer. School was closing in fast. Fall would be wasted sitting at the window, guarded from the leaves as they fought for their survival on the lonely trees outside. At least there was soccer practice, and the basketball net in the driveway, and the warm smell of leaves to heat the chill in the air that was to come.

I tried to put fall out of my head, but the temperature dial of the wind had turned just a tad cooler, the humidity had lifted, and stores had begun stocking pencils and notebooks. Signs of autumn were everywhere. My cousin Faraday and I were walking from the harbor to Rowayton Pizza for a "little John" sandwich. Our over-sized T shirts concealed our ocean drenched bathing suits, and our ponytails were twisted into corkscrews. Salty wisps of hair stuck to my cheeks, and the sun flooded my vision. The cars on the road were overfilled with teenagers and played loud summer tunes as they whizzed by.

We stopped in Rowayton deli to say hello to Simon and Shawn, two boys that came from different families but looked like identical twins. They each had gone from skinny bean poles to broad-shouldered, wide-necked, muscular, bouncer-looking types at about the same time. The way they worked together reinforced the illusion that they were brothers, and although they were both blue-eyed with sandy blond hair they reminded me of young Italian boys in a mafia film.

Those were the days before our crimes were serious, before school took precedence, and before relationships got complicated. I can feel them on these late summer days as I dig my feet into the gravel and feel the pebbles dig into my blackened soles.

Lunch in Rowayton Salad
Heat 2 Tbsp hazelnut infused olive oil in a frying pan. Add 1 split chicken breast (with both pieces still attached so that it looks like a heart). Shake the pan right away so that the chicken doesn't stick. Add a little salt and 2 sprigs of rosemary for aroma. Brown on both sides, reduce heat and add 1 clove minced garlic. Cook until no longer pink on the inside.

In a bowl, mix together
3 celery stalks, diced
1/2 small red onion, diced
2 Tbsp mayonnaise
1 heaping tsp Dijon mustard
1 tsp worchestershire sauce
1 tsp tarragon
salt and pepper to taste
add the chicken, cut into bite sized pieces

Spread some purple cabbage and sliced carrots on a platter. Top with chicken salad.

Christina's vote: "This salad made me throw away my rubber chicken"

Lion's World Salad

2010-08-17T14:59:00.000-07:00

A small yellow glow radiated from the square, red glass on the table. The flame in the center swayed it's hips from side to side, creating shadows that stretched long and lean on the papered walls and then crouched back inward. The shadowy creatures were tethered to the world inside the golden dome. I was careful not to stray too far from the light, fearful that the protective globe surrounding us would shatter and the cold, dark night would seep in.

Before the dusk had fallen on that day, I had made the decision to toss aside the meaning of time and cleared my schedule for an endless night. The waiter came and I watched as you played a friendly game of catch with his smile.

You hardly glanced at your menu. I studied mine as though it were a movie listing, and imagined each cast of flavors before deciding what kind of experience I wanted to enjoy. The waiter brought you a plate of shrimp smothered in a red sauce and you shrieked when you noticed the heads were still attached. Tears welled up. Our eyes were pushed shut by enormous grins as we roared with laughter. As we laughed, the whole expansive room disappeared. The golden light took over, and in that moment I felt completely safe.

Lion's World Salad
8-10 small red potatoes, diced with the skin on
1 head broccoli, picked into bite sized pieces
3 cloves spicy garlic
salt
1/2 cup diced mustard greens
1/2 red onion, diced
4 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
pepper
1/2 tsp ume plum vinegar

Cook potatoes in boiling water for about 25 min. Remove from heat, drain and cool.
Heat about 2 Tbsp water and add broccoli and a pinch of salt. Allow broccoli to steam until bright green (about 4 min). Drain any extra water and add 2 Tbsp olive oil and garlic. Heat broccoli for an additional 2 min. Remove from heat and cool. Pour over potatoes. Add remaining oil, vinegars, mustard greens, onions and black pepper.

Christina's vote: "This salad was bold"

"Release the Hostages" Salad

2010-08-16T07:39:00.000-07:00

This morning I woke up and ran 13 miles before breakfast. Normally, some inspiration will come and visit me on this sort of adventure in the form of a story, a problem that requires some attention, a physical struggle that I have to push through, or a peaceful meditation. This morning I experienced none of these things.

It wasn't a totally unpleasant run, the weather was absolutely perfect and the people in the streets were smiling and waving in friendliness at each other. However, it seemed that my mind had been kidnapped by Insecurity and Fear, which had left behind a sort of emptiness that threatens. I imagine that the pasted together ransom notes would be brightly colored with letters irregular in size cut from magazine titles. The construction paper that they were pasted on would be sticky, with streaks of glue outlining the paper cut-outs.

"WE hAvE yR SELF COnFiDEncE" the letter would say "AnD SErEniTy".

The letter would continue with a bunch of promises coming from Fear that I can have my self confidence back once I become perfect at my job, convince everyone to love me (by any means necessary), and earn a small fortune.

I was devising a scheme for how I was going to fulfill the demands of my insecurities as I was driving past Starbucks this morning. I was too self absorbed to notice who was sitting in the chairs out front as I drove by, but my ears were hooked by the sound of my name, which entered through the open passenger side window.
"Emily" the voice said.

Knowing that I was about to be rescued, I immediately pulled over and parked. It was Richard. I hadn't seen him in ages, but he was hanging out as usual in front of the coffee shop. He gave me a big hug when I got out of the car and I felt embarrassed at the thought that he might have noticed the scowl on my face as I had driven by.

After about 10 minutes of unloading scattered thoughts Richard had heard enough to know that I might be at some sort of crossroads and needed some spiritual guidance that was beyond his human capabilities.

"Want some sage" Richard said, not quiet interrupting me, but rather nudging into a string of words that I was constructing to fill space. I got quiet.

"Yes" I replied, and I felt strangely relieved. Richard is Native American and he had recently attended a Sun Dance ritual where he had acquired a large stash of sage. At that moment he had happened to be carrying it around with him in his car. He brought out a bundle and we set a piece of it in the ashtray on the table and lit the ends. I poured the smoke over me using my hands, the way I had been taught when working for the Dream of Wild Health organization, and instantly I felt my chest open and my breath lighten.
"Thanks Richard" I said feeling like I had just been released from hostage.

"Release the Hostages" Salad
2 cucumbers, peeled and diced
2 Roma tomatoes (San marzanos are best)
1 small bunch arugula
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1/4 cup chopped fresh basil
salt and pepper to taste
1 cup cooked kashi
3 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
The juice and zest of 1/2 meyer lemon (optional)

Christina's vote: "This salad was engaging"

Arugula and Sweet Corn Salad

2010-08-15T13:33:00.000-07:00

With our crates and boxes and mixing bowls we were attempting to assemble the outdoor demo kitchen, but the wind had other plans. It blew hard against the back of the tent, causing the metal legs to slide against the asphalt in the farmers market parking lot. A few vendors, the community service workers, the manager of the farmers market, and even a few customers rushed over to help baton down the billowing white sides. I was reminded of those moments on the ship during extreme weather, when everyone would drop their assigned duties and focus their efforts on survival. We resigned to unzipping the sides, and allowing the wind to scamper through, forgiving the stolen cilantro that was picked up and tossed across the parking lot.

The realization that the people whom I am now working with have the same tradition of community, hard work, and the ability to set themselves aside to help with issues when they arise made me giddy. This is what I loved about the ship. It feels like I have found an identical community among the farmers. There is a common understanding that the health and happiness of each individual is imperative to the health of the whole.

Last night we went to the circus. It was mainly high school and college age kids performing, but they were accomplishing incredible feats with almost as much professionalism and poise as the performers of cirque du soleil. What impressed me the most about the show was not witnessing a 7 year old boy stand on his hands on top of a stack of chairs 20 feet high. It wasn't watching a man be carried across a tightrope on a chair balanced on top of another tight rope, or witnessing a girl swinging through the air like a pendulum, holding herself up by the back of her neck. It was the level of trust that the kids had in one another. Every time one kid lept from one trapeze to another, he knew that another kid would be there, reaching out his arms to catch him. It was the very picture of the world I have experienced at the farmers market, and on the ships. It is amazing how regular people are able to accomplish impossible feats when they understand the importance of being there to back each other up.

Arugula and Sweet Corn Salad
1 small bunch arugula, chopped
2 ears mirai corn, cut off the cob
1 yellow pepper, diced
1/2 cup sprouts
1 medium tomato

Dress with:
juice from 1 lime
1/2 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
1/2 Tbsp white wine vinegar
2 Tbsp olive oil
pepper and salt to taste
1 tsp brown sugar
1/4 small red onion, cut small

Christina's vote: "Tangy goodness"

Shaved Fennel Salad

2010-08-14T04:43:00.000-07:00

Fennel is nothing short of amazing. The cool freshness and snap of every bite of fennel is wrapped in the delicate softness of anise that is both sweet and long lasting. A fennel salad usually has the effect of making me wonder why I don't eat the delicious bulb every day. A few hours later however, I remember. Fennel has powerful medicinal effects. It.. ahem.. gets things moving (in the supplement industry it can be found listed as an ingredient in colon cleansers, and I am pretty sure it is a primary component of "smooth move" tea). In moderation, a nice shaved fennel salad is refreshing and beautiful, and the perfect thing to enjoy for lunch on the patio a hot summer day.

I made a fennel salad this morning before rushing off to the farmers market to sit on a radio panel with Jason DeRusha from WCCO and Jerry Untiedts from Untiedts farm. We were pitted against each other in a trivia competition. I lost to Jason (but only because I had a cramp in my buzzer ;)) After the trivia, the topic turned to tomatoes, and suddenly the three of us were practically tipping out of our seats and butting in on each other to carry the conversation. It was amazing to be surrounded by so many different perspectives all with a common interest in food.

The joy carried on for me throughout the rest of the day. I got to learn from Tammy Wong and Theresa about the importance of love in cooking. Then I met an amazing and adorable couple. They were restaurant owners and food lovers, each of them had rich accents which they wove into our dialogue like strands of colored yarn in an earth-toned blanket. They stopped by for a brief introduction, and inadvertently left me with a spiritual message:

When you are ready to follow your heart, the means to the path will find you.

Shaved Fennel Salad
1 medium bulb fennel (sliced thin)
1 long or 3 small carrots (sliced thin)
8 cherry tomatoes, sliced
1 small bunch basil, chopped

Dress with:
2 Tbsp grape seed oil
1 Tbsp lime juice
1 clove garlic, minced
1/2 tsp ume plum vinegar
lime zest
1 tsp raw honey

Christina's vote: "I drank the dressing at the bottom of the bowl"

Birthday with a Bite Salad

2010-08-13T04:50:00.000-07:00

Time picks up feelings like spices in vinegar and simultaneously the feelings enhance and change. The universe and the beings inside it marinate in each other and two separate entities emerge as one. On days as hot as yesterday it is hard to know where the air ends and where my skin begins, a gentle reminder that our separateness is an illusion. Even my t-shirt appeared to be an inseparable part of self. I tugged at the hem of my clinging shirt as Christina, Jesse, and I walked slowly around the perimeter of Mears park, where a free rock/rap fusion concert was taking place.

The approximate time of the early evening was masked by the heavy, deep rainclouds in the sky, which prolonged dusk into what seemed like an eternity. The band reminded me of being in high school, and I looked at all the people in the park from the perspective of an outsider looking back in. The warmth of the pavement mirrored the heat in the sky. Two children darted past us. They were barefoot, giggling, and chasing each other. The feeling of feet slapping against pavement was audible, and made me grateful for the freedom to relive my childhood through running.

On a side note, today I turn 31 years old. Like many people, I trudged through a time in my life where I never imagined that I would live past 30, but then I think that is a typical thought for adolescents. So at 31, I celebrate more than my age. I am celebrating that the universe exceeds my expectations of the limits of what I once believed was possible.

Birthday With a Bite Salad
2 cups mache greens
8 cherry tomatoes, sliced
5 assorted radishes, sliced
1/4 red onion, diced
1/2 cup mixed salad sprouts
1/2 avocado, cut up

dress with:
3 Tbsp grape seed oil
1 1/2 Tbsp cider vinegar
1/2 tsp soy sauce
1 tsp brown sugar
salt and pepper to taste
pinch soy lecithin

Christina's vote: "This salad says happy birthday!"

Frightfully Delicious Tomato Salad

2010-08-12T16:00:00.000-07:00

I reached into my CSA bag and dug through the piles of leaves, each of which emitted a different scent which stirred the corners of my forgotten memories. My hand brushed against something cool and smooth, and I pulled out a bright green cucumber. I dug a little deeper and pulled out something dry, with deep grooves. It was purple garlic. I reached in a final time. That's when I discovered the thing I have been waiting all season for. It was my biggest reason for signing up for this particular CSA. Heirloom tomatoes.

Fresh heirloom tomatoes are such a rare seasonal treat for me that it is hard to imagine that there was once a time when people considered them inedible, dangerous even. It was once believed that eating tomatoes would cause the body to fill up with oxalic acid, and result in immediate death. It is true that tomatoes contain small amounts of oxalic acid, but then again so do potatoes, peppers, and spinach.

Eating tomatoes today has such associations with health that it is hard to imagine that their was once a time when people believed that tomatoes caused cancer. There was a sort of mass "contempt prior to investigation" of tomatoes in America until the mid 1800's. It was then that a Colonel in Salem, NJ stood on the front steps of the courthouse in town and ate an entire bucket of tomatoes in front of 2000 spectators just to prove that it could be done. He surprised them all by not dying.

My excitement escalated as I pulled out the blood red, deep green, orange, and purple heirloom tomatoes from my CSA bag. I was certain that I would be able to get a picture that would be nothing short of impressive of today's salad, but then...

"ugh, those colors are scary!" Christina said, looking over my shoulder. "What are those?"

"Tomatoes" I replied, staring back at her in shock. Those who don't grocery shop will never know what a treat it is to have heirloom tomatoes appear in your kitchen without having to be weighed and priced in a checkout lane first. "Try one" I said, and I handed an orange slice of tomato over to her on my knife.

"it's so sweet" she said.
"I know, the orange ones have less acid in them, so they taste sweeter. The dark ones are more tart. The red ones, in my opinion, taste like tomato sauce." I said as I cut up the tomatoes and threw them in the salad. Christina stared down apprehensively at the drab colored plate in front of me.

"You'd better blog about the tomatoes. If people don't know what they are, they might get scared that you are cooking with rotten food." She said.

"Okay, good idea" I replied "I think I will."

Frightfully Delicious Tomato Salad
2 small cucumbers, sliced
4 small heirloom tomatoes, sliced into wedges
1/2 red onion, diced
1/2 cup shredded purple cabbage
1/2 fresh green pepper
3 Tbsp olive oil
1 1/2 Tbsp white wine vinegar
salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup feta cheese
mix together and serve.

Christina's vote: "A little fear in every bite"

'Hosta' La Vista Salad

2010-08-11T07:32:00.001-07:00

The giant hosta shook their heart shaped heads from side to side in the breeze, and cast off the water from their evening hose-down. They stood tall in a small patch dirt in the middle of the park and hung over the red granite, which was spattered beneath them.

There was a large stream of water running from the sprinkler hose past my sneakers, which ended in a murky puddle that people were meandering precariously around. They wore helmets and rolled bicycles, or walked authoritatively with their pants hanging low and boxer shorts showing. Some were carrying briefcases and looked slightly preoccupied. Some were carrying briefcases and looked tired and bored. They mostly ignored the hostas, which tossed ever so gently. I would not have paid them one bit of attention were I not waiting in the impossible heat for run club to begin.

I knew no one would come with the humidity being so high but I felt like I needed to show up just in case. People were walking their dogs on leashes, and casting them out as bait. When someone bit, the dog owner would toss their heads back and laugh and then look lovingly at the dog while slowly shortening the leash. When they had the person fully reeled in, they would size them up with a scrutinizing eye and then decide whether their pray was a keeper. The rejected ones were thrown back instantly without so much as a phone number.

At 6:05 I hopped over the tiny stream and made my way back inside, eager to get back upstairs to the salad I had made and then left this morning. It was sweet and spiced with tarragon. It had apple cider vinegar and crunchy peppers and cucumber. It was salty with feta cheese. For once I was excited not have to go running right away after work.

Hosta La Vista Salad
2 cups mache greens
1 small orange bell pepper, diced
1/2 green pepper, diced
1/2 cup sliced cherry tomatoes
1/2 cup feta cheese
1 peeled, sliced cucumber
1/4 red onion, diced

Dress with:
3 Tbsp grape seed oil
2 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
salt and pepper
1 minced clove garlic
1 1/2 tsp raw honey
1/4 tsp ume plum vinegar
1 tsp tarragon

Christina's vote: "This salad made me feel like I could live to 1001"

Fresh and Local Salad

2010-08-10T05:12:00.000-07:00

There is one statement that always seems to leave me feeling totally stumped in the kitchen. It goes something like this:

"Make a list of ingredients for me and I will go shopping so that you can cook dinner."

A list? Where do I begin? There are too many options, and every one of them involves taking a giant risk. What if I say to get eggplant, but the eggplants are all soft and brown at the store?
At this point I usually try to convince the person that I would be happy to cook dinner with whatever they have in their kitchen.

In my opinion, preparation is a very small part of what makes food delicious. When I make something that turns out tasty, it is generally because the ingredients grown are tasty to begin with. Cooking is not a solo activity, but a cooperation between the cook, the gardener, and the creator of the vegetables (Nature, God, the Sun, or whatever you believe generates the spark of life). When asked to generate a list, it is like saying "do this by yourself" or "do this with your eyes closed". The task seems daunting.

There are other reasons that I prefer not to cook from recipes. When using a recipe, every time a meal needs to be prepared new ingredients need to be purchased. Cooking with what you have means that the carrots in your crisper get used instead of piled on top of.

We had very little in our refrigerator today, but I had some cauliflower left over from my farmers market demo, and some beans from my CSA (Webster Farm Organic). I had some basil and carrots grown by Dehn's Farm and some fresh purple garlic from one of the Hmong growers.

Fresh and Local Salad
In a pot of boiling water, blanch
1 small head cauliflower
2 cups assorted cut fresh snap beans
after about 4 min, remove from the burner and drain veggies. Rinse with cold water to stop the cooking, then drain and set in a bowl.
While the pan is still hot, add 3 Tbsp olive oil, a pinch salt and 3 cloves minced garlic. Pour over the veggies. Mix in 2 medium carrots, diced and 3/4 cup chopped basil.

Dress with:
2 Tbsp red wine vinegar,
1 Tbsp olive oil,
1 tsp brown sugar,
1/2 tsp ume plum vinegar
salt and pepper to taste

Christina's vote: "This salad made me want to repel down the side of a building"

Summer Rice Thread Salad

2010-08-09T16:14:00.000-07:00

I sat riddled with anxiety at her kitchen table. It was not that I had anything in particular to be anxious about, but I was in my early twenties and going through a phase of life where everything made me feel insecure.

Kelly floated back and forth from one counter to the next, pulling out drawers and opening cabinets gathering things. She told me a story about a recent food history class she had taught, most of which I missed because I was busy thinking hard about safe ways to fill the empty space in our conversation. My insecurities had rendered me totally preoccupied.

She dropped some salt into a simmering cast iron skillet on the stove. The skillet threw back some steam, which she caught in her outstretched hand. Kelly cooked barefoot, in a minimalist kitchen which contained a collection of mismatched ceramic pottery and her grandmothers china. She was a short woman with short red hair and a liberal sense of humor, which overflowed when she laughed. Kelly was a chef who had left the restaurant business to go to graduate school to study Spanish. In spite of Kelly's Irish heritage, she had found a home in the culture and the cuisine of Mexico. She taught me that I would be okay, no matter where I go or what I do for a living. She inspired me to apply to graduate school.

"What kind of tea would you like?" Kelly asked. I hadn't planned that into my list of things to talk about.
"Oh, whatever you have is fine" Kelly gave me a knowing look, then opened a jar and plopped a tea bag into each of the two mugs on the counter. The radio was on, and playing some pleasant classical guitar music. The kettle whistled and Kelly went over to the stove. She turned off the heat and picked up the kettle, then slowly, in a steady stream poured the water into one of the cups. She put the kettle down on the tiled counter top, and let the steam rise in the first cup for a minute, watching it dance through the brisk kitchen air. Then, with equal patience and slow precision she poured the second cup. She brought the tea cups over to the table and then sat opposite from me, wrapping her hands around her mug. I looked at her quizzically.

"Do you always make your tea like that?"
"Like what?" she asked.
"Like that is all you are planning to do for the entire day?" I elaborated.
"Only recently." Kelly laughed. "It's a Buddhist principle. Don't make the tea to drink the tea. Make the tea to make the tea. You drink the tea to drink the tea. It's a subtle difference, but it helps me not get ahead of myself."

I looked down at my teacup, and watched the tea as it bled into the water. Then I took a deep breath, and gave myself permission not to speak.

Summer Rice Thread Salad
cook 3 oz (1/2 pkg) rice threads by pouring boiling water over the top and letting them sit for 10 min. Drain hot water and rinse noodles with cold water. In hand fulls, lift the noodles up and cut them (as though cutting hair) a few times, so that they can be easily detangled. Mix in:
1 small shredded zucchini
3-4 medium carrots, sliced
1 small bunch cilantro
1 cup shredded purple cabbage
1 small banana pepper (or hot pepper)

dressing:
2 1/2 Tbsp grape seed oil
1 1/2 tsp brown sugar
1 tsp lime juice
1 tsp toasted sesame oil
2 tsp soy sauce
2 cloves minced garlic
1/2 tsp ume plum vinegar
1-2 tsp sriracha hot sauce
whisk together and serve.

Christina's vote: "This salad was interesting, in a good way"

Summer Afternoon Slaw

2010-08-08T14:40:00.000-07:00

"We know that our corn is good when the raccoons start eating it" said the husband and wife team of growers. They both wore black hats with Heinel farm embroidery, and black t-shirts. The man had a goatee on his chin and a bitter sweet sense of sarcasm that made me think he must listen to heavy metal. His wife was undoubtedly also into heavy metal, and seemed to be able to comfortably fluctuate between a sarcastic edge and a genuine sunny disposition. The two of them seemed completely in sync, as though they had been best friend since high school. I was grilling them about their corn.

A local chef recently mentioned that she has been educating all of the staff in her restaurant about how they shouldn't be upset when they find bugs in their produce. The presence of bugs means that what you have is a good product. If the bugs won't eat something, then it probably contains some sort of poison. The husband and wife team at Heinel farms opt not to spray their corn with pesticides, but instead chop the tips off when the corn gets tasty enough for the critters. Corn bugs usually prefer to house themselves in the tips.

I walked around asking all the growers what type of corn they were growing. Some of them rattled off names, like "Supersweet", "Ambrosia", or "Bodacious". Others just gave me the catalogue number. There are many different classifications su is the oldest type of sweet corn, followed by se (sugary extender) which retain sweetness for 2-4 days in the fridge. sh2 are the supersweet varieties with 4-10 times the sugar of su corn, which stay sweet for up to 10 days. The final types are the sy, triple sweet and sweet gene varieties, which combine multiple types of corn genetics on the same ear.

I noticed one vendor selling a brand with a trade mark sign on the name "Mirai" corn. This type of corn supposedly is the sweetest on the market and can contain over 45% sugar. I asked if the Mirai sweet corn was used for making corn sweeteners, but was told that despite the lower sugar content, basic field corn is actually used to make sweeteners. Corn sweeteners are made by taking field corn and allowing a bacteria to break up the starch.

Most of the growers boast about the high sugar content of their crops, which I take to be an indicator that this is a major selling point for most people. This surprised me considering many of the conversations I have had with market shoppers seemed to indicate that many people are of the opinion that corn sweeteners are evil.

I pondered this question as I walked over to one of the vendors, picked up a deliciously pristine ear of corn (complete with worm on the tip) and took a deeply satisfying crunch directly out of the middle of the cob. It was so delicious that I didn't dare buy more, because it never would have made it home without getting eaten in the car.

Summer Afternoon Slaw
In a food processor (or using a grater) shred:
4 medium carrots
1/2 kohlrabi
1/4th medium green cabbage
1/6th medium red cabbage
1/2 small daikon radish

dress with:
1 1/2 Tbsp toasted sesame oil
1 1/2 Tbsp rice vinegar
2 tsp brown sugar
2 tsp soy sauce

Christina's vote: "There was not enough to satisfy me"

Local Beet salad with Virgin Mojito Dressing

2010-08-07T15:43:00.000-07:00

The sky, which had been brewing with clouds of various shapes and sizes, had finally settled on a uniform grey. The air seemed to be saturated with cool water, and together with the color of the sky it felt as though the city were trapped inside a giant glossy rain droplet plastered to a window somewhere. I dropped my self pity about working through the weekends as well as the weeks somewhere along the sidewalk in between my car and farmers market where I work. I love working there, in fact, I love it so much that it hardly feels like a job at all, but it is difficult to be away from my family so often.

As I got to the vendors, my sleepy scowl melted into a smile. Mr. Kelly of Mrs. Kelly's teas was the first person to greet me. He makes it his business to know where all the great pastries are, and is known for creating beautiful appetizers out of the free samples being offered. When he tries something that is really good, say, some elephant ears from Fresh Fields Bakery or some cheese croissants from Ule's, he buys a huge batch of them and walks around delivering some to everyone. He leans in close and talks quietly out of the side of his mouth, as though everything he chooses to say is proprietary information that you are being entrusted with.

"Have you seen the rainbow carrots yet" He leaned across his tea table and asked, ducking his head down low and then looking over his shoulder.
"Of course I have" I replied. "I used them in the kids program two weeks ago! Haven't you been paying attention?" He looked disappointed, but then laughed at my teasing. I kept walk on walking. There was Minnesota herb lady Bonnie Dehn, of Dehn's farms. She was standing at a coffee shop vendor, laughing and rubbing elbows with all of the people waiting for coffee. Her presence made the little stand with the umbrella sticking up feel just like a neighborhood pub.

When I got to the demo stand, I was greeted with the message that the first apples of the season had arrived. The air was buzzing with so much excitement that it felt as though we were all standing in the waiting area of a hospital and had just been told that a baby was just born. I felt like passing out bubble gum cigars. "Where?" I asked, thrilled. "Over in stall 209. Go and see for yourself!" I rushed over and was greeted by a flamboyantly happy man with plastic gloves and a tray of apples, and the rest of the day listened for the signs of autumn creeping in.

Virgin Mojito Salad Dressing
1/2 cup yogurt
1 tsp brown sugar
1 small bunch mint
1/2 tsp ume plum vinegar
1/2 tsp red wine vinegar
salt and pepper to taste

Local Greens and Beet Salad (in honor of the eat local challenge)
Blanch whatever varieties of local beets you decide to use separately, so that the red beet juice doesn't bleed into the lighter color varieties. To blanch them, boil for 3-4 min, then shock them in cold water. Mix with
3 small local carrots, sliced
2 cups local mixed greens

Christina's vote: "This salad made my angst subside"

The Root of Fear Salad

2010-08-06T16:24:00.000-07:00

The man announced his entrance by loudly criticizing the music which was playing in the independently-owned coffee shop.
"This music is crap, the only people who would like this music are morons." The two young women working behind the counter modestly bent their heads, lowering their nose rings deeper into the tray of organic carrots they were prepping. The man appeared to be completely unaware that he might be insulting someone,
"I mean, I wish I had brought my earplugs. This music is terrible. It's so boring. The only people who would listen to this have to be the most idiotic people on earth."

The quiet whispers of a woman's voice responded to him, but she apparently had been taught social graces and knew that if she were not going to say something nice she should talk in a whisper. I assumed she was encouraging the man, because he continued on giving his opinions about everyone and everything as though he had a captive audience. He was trying to impress her.
When he ran out of things to insult, he would turn to his newspaper and look to the movie listings.

"That movie is such crap, I can't stand American movies."
The woman whispered something back. It was clear from their discussion that she was from another country and had just flown in today. I wondered if she enjoyed his company. Clearly he thought that he was impressing her. If she did like the music, or American movies, or French television, she she certainly couldn't share these things with him. I started to feel sorry for her, then agitated that she was humoring him. She got up to get a glass of water and I noticed that she was not a homely woman, and she appeared to be exhausted by him.

I wondered if he would be as impressed with his opinions if he heard himself on tape. I finished the work that I was doing at the coffee shop, and got up to leave. I looked to their table as I walked out, and his eyes caught mine. He had gray hair combed neatly back, and deep wrinkles in his forehead. He looked absolutely terrified. He looked like a young boy trapped in an old man's body. For a moment, I thought that it was my job to try to talk some sense into them both. Then I realized that I was not here to be the tape recorder for them. They were the mirror for me.

I smiled at them both and walked out.

The Root of Fear Salad
5 medium carrots, shredded in food processor
1 small daikon radish, peeled and shredded in food processor
2 small green onions
1 Tbsp toasted sesame oil
1/2 Tbsp rice vinegar
1 tsp brown sugar
1 tsp ume plum vinegar
1 tsp soy sauce
adjust to taste
garnish with fresh celery leaves.

Christina's vote: "A good solid crunch"

August Breeze Salad

2010-08-05T09:10:00.000-07:00

I hung my head back and relied on the pull of the swing to carry me through the wafting smell of corn on the cob roasting on the grill. The children were sent into the garden to sniff out the best vine ripened tomatoes and would soon be arriving with them cradled in the hem of their t shirts. My feet, which were wet from the sprinkler, were now stained with grass and drying in the warm August heat. A kite soared through the air, and dragged the little boy that it was attached to back and forth across the open field. I had a craving to wrap my legs around the cool chain of the swing and flip myself completely upside down to allow the thoughts to just drain out of my mind, but instead I just tightened my grip and leaned back further. A sudden tug pulled me out of my trance like a bucket of ice water and you were standing there with an evil grin on your face. “BOO” you said, laughing. “Mom needs your help in the kitchen.”

August Breeze Salad
Cook 1 box quinoa pasta (boil a pot of water with a pinch of salt in it, pour the pasta in and allow to boil for 8 min). Drain and rinse (in cold water) the pasta. In the empty pot, add
3 Tbsp olive oil
4 cloves fresh garlic
pinch salt
heat the garlic for about 1 min, then pour the pasta back into the pot. Remove from the heat and allow pasta to cool (I stuck it into the freezer) Mix with
1 large local tomato, diced
1 large local red pepper, diced
1 bunch basil, chopped
salt and pepper
1 Tbsp white wine vinegar

Christina's vote: "This salad made me opinionated"

First Trip Abroad Salad

2010-08-04T17:51:00.000-07:00

Kate looked exhausted. She had long straight purple bags under her eyes and her chin length hair, which was tousled and unruly, was kept precariously pinned down by a pair of large black sunglasses. She jangled a set of keys in one hand, and was dragging a small boy behind her in the other. She didn’t notice me as she flew by, with her chin raised as though she were in a hurry. There were many bloggers tucked behind their laptops in the coffee shop. I blended into the scenery like green on army fatigue.
“Kate!” I called after her. Kate stopped abruptly and looked around. The little boy bumped into her legs, and then clutched onto her so as not to fall.
“Kate, over here” I repeated.
“Oh, HI EMILY! So good to see you!! It has been too long.” She said. “I apologize if I am a little spacey, I picked up my two kids last night from the airport. They spent the last two months in Panama with their dad doing volunteer work. Their flight came in at 2 am, but then my daughter and I stayed up talking until 5!” She was excited, and had the sort of manic energy of a person captured by a moment of genius.

A small tan 16 year old with dark brown eyes and a scrunched up ponytail meandered over. Her skin was noticeably glowing and she was sipping an iced coffee out of a straw.
“You remember my daughter Kelsey, don’t you?” Kate said. Kelsey plopped down in the seat to my left, her mother and brother sat down to my right and the three of them began excitedly recounting the details of the trip. Kelsey said all the polite things that a teenager would say to an adult about a trip to a foreign country. At 30 years old it still shocks me when teenagers treat me like an adult. She talked about the culture, about her desire to become bilingual, about the volunteer work that they did (which was community driven), and how scary it was to be 16 years old spending time alone in Panama.

I asked her about the food, and she lit up and spoke a thousand miles a minute. “Everything is fresh, and grown right there in the fields by the house. Our host family was really poor, but they had the most amazing food.” She talked about corn stuffed in corn husks and boiled for hours, triple fried plantains, fresh picked vegetables, and coffee.

She was inspired. The trip had rescued her from her teenage angst, and delivered the promise of a future that she could imagine herself in. I wondered if the memory of the trip would be the touchstone she would refer back to throughout the rest of her high school and college life. I wondered if the memory of fresh foods and sleeping on unpaved floors would be the thing that would get her through the difficult times ahead. As the family got up to leave I had the distinct feeling that it would.

First Trip Abroad Salad
1 bunch arugula, chopped
2 red peppers, diced
1 tomato sliced
1 ear of corn, with the corn cut off

Lemon Garlic dressing
3 Tbsp olive oil
1 ½ Tbsp lemon juice
1 tsp honey
1 clove fresh garlic
salt and pepper
a dash ume plum vinegar
a pinch soy lecithin
lemon zest

Christina’s vote: “this salad made me what to whistle”

Salad For the Birds

2010-08-03T12:05:00.000-07:00

The old man on the park bench sat hunched over like a giant navy blue sack waiting to be taken out. I noticed him as I took my hand off of the back of my head and reached up to swat a mosquito that was about to plunge his stinger into my raised leg. He was in my line of vision, but I had been so focused on crunching out sit-ups that he didn't even register. If it weren't for the gentle rising and falling of his breath, I might have mistaken him for a pile of stained clothes. Grass stuck to the backs of my arms, and I had to consciously try not to think about how many dogs are walked daily in that particular park. It was just about mid-dawn, prime transition time between exercise walkers and newly showered walk-to-work employees. Stacia, my work out partner, looked up from her kettle bell.
"I smell pot" She said.
"Yeah, me too. Where's it coming from?" I looked up and around. There was a woman sitting at the bus stop. She was staring at us. There were too men standing in front of the bar across the street. They had crew cuts and were smoking cigarettes wearing khaki cargo pants and sunglasses. They were also staring at us. I kept scanning the scene. There were a few people walking by with gym bags, a woman walking her dogs, there was a man in a suit with a briefcase. They were all looking at us. I had a moment of paranoia, why is everyone staring?? Do they think we are the pot smokers?

Stacia lifted her kettle bell and swung it in between her legs, then raised it high. That's when I realized why people were staring. It's not usual for two young looking woman to be swinging large iron balls around at 6:30 am in the heart of the financial district of a city. Standing in our little patch of grass in the middle of a concrete sea, we were an island of oddities. The pot smoke coming from the bench was business as usual for this park. By the time we were leaving, the man had already moved from his spot. He left behind a wide scattering of bread crumbs, and the squirrels and birds were enjoying a banquet feast.

"Why does it seem like it is always the hungry and homeless people who feed the birds? I mean, wouldn't you think that the people who have money would be the ones who want to share their food?" Stacia asked.
"Huh, I never thought about it that way. Maybe they can empathize with the little guys, or maybe they just have more time on their hands." I thought about how it's funny what we value in life. Pieces of paper that we trade for things that we have to put places and clean constantly. What a luxury it would be to sit in the shady park all day, watching the squirrels and the birds. I suppose I would get restless with that life before too long. Stacia and I lugged our kettle bells inside, and parted ways to put on our costumes and join in on the flood of people going to work.

Salad For the Birds
Mix together
1/2 cup green leaf lettuce,
1/2 cup red leaf lettuce,
1/2 cup arugula,
1/2 cup snow pea pods,
1/2 cup snap pea pods,
1 purple carrot,
1 white carrot,
1 orange carrot
This is basically the stuff that came in my CSA bag.

1 cup mixed varieties of basil or just straight up basil
2 green onions
4 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp white wine vinegar
1 tsp raw honey
salt and pepper to taste

Christina's vote: "This salad made me feel well"

Salad Christina

2010-08-02T14:46:00.000-07:00

I knew her artwork long before we ever met. Her paintings first entered my psyche in the coffee shop we both used to frequent. They haunted the walls there for a spell. The beautiful abstract figures unlatched themselves from the walls and crept in through the corners of my eyes, and then directed my attention beyond the every day caffeinated stories in my social huddle. They were textured and flat, bright and dark, they were brilliant. They appeared to be fishing for something. They could be everything to everyone, or to the someone who got hooked. I noticed them, and then I noticed her. With the pull of her rod I was reeled in.

Later, when we hung art together, we were without bickering. We were both giddy, like two children building a fort. My job was to stand back and call for her to turn the painting this way or that. Her job was to hold the hammer and climb up on impossible shaky ground, balancing on her toes and stretching her body long. We probably would have been more efficient if we had switched jobs. I watched quietly as she hobbled down ladders in cowboy boots, and when she got down from the ladder the painting was never anywhere near straight.

It never occurred to us that hanging art as a couple was supposed to be stressful until the man at the coffee shop walked by and remarked about how wonderful it was that the two of us were able hang art without it ending in divorce. He had the scruffy beard of a 30 something bachelor, and it was clear that love was fog that settled higher than he had ever dared to climb.

Her paintings now surround the walls of our home. When I stare into them I can allow myself to be pulled into the moment uninterrupted. Like a child writing symphonies I am delivered to a space in my mind that continues to build upon itself.

Salad Christina
3 small cucumbers, locally grown
1 cup cherry tomatoes, sliced
1 cup Greek yogurt
1/2 cup chopped cilantro
1 cup green onions, sliced lengthwise (white part only)
salt and pepper to taste
3 cloves spicy garlic
Mix together and serve!

Christina's vote: "This salad danced down my throat"

Short Fiction Character Sketch Salad

2010-08-01T13:17:00.000-07:00

On the last day of school Yuni arrived home drenched with sweat. The summer sun had come early, and her little classroom was not yet ready to shell out the cash required to pump up the air conditioning. Her teacher had opened the windows, but it seemed that just attracted the flies and the bees. They dragged their wings back and forth across the screen, like prisoners clanging metal cups. They wanted in, and she felt for the little guys. She wanted out. Warm air occasionally wafted across her desk. Like a renegade prankster rushing through the classroom naked, it caused a momentary disruption in her mental fog. Yuni wished she were leaving with the breeze, but then she thought about how guilty she would feel if she were leaving school early.

She got out her pencil and started to draw, hoping that she could distract herself with minimal guilt until the bell rang. By the time the bell sounded Yuni was deep in the middle of a pirate battle. There were cannonballs and ships all over her paper, and the galley wench had met a pirate rebel and coaxed him to be kind to her and to the rest of his crew. She was headed for an island paradise on the bottom right hand corner of the page when the bell caused her to jump and pencil a line right through her ship. She felt a momentary pang of guilt and panic. What had the teacher said? What was the homework?

Ah yes, then she remembered. It was summer. She was simply going to go home and forget any of this year had ever happened. Yuni was so giddy when she got off the bus that she decided to run the quarter mile back home. She was out of shape and her lungs began to burn instantly. She could feel the baked potato chips her mother had packed her for lunch creeping into the back of her throat. Her backpack strained against her shoulders and her books thumped from side to side against her back. Her short hair bounced up and down on her scalp. Her thighs ached, just above her knees. She ran at first just to get home quicker, but once she started going she felt like she never wanted to stop. She would run off the year, and the books and the stress. She would run off the teasing. She would run off her mothers nitpicking and dieting advice. She would run off the college applications. She would run herself free.

1 cup sliced cherry tomatoes
1 cup chopped cilantro
The corn from 2 corn cobs
The white part of 3 green onions, ribboned (slice lengthwise)
1 cup chopped lettuce, any kind that is not bitter
Salt and pepper to taste.

I think this salad is good without dressing, or with just a squirt of lime juice. If you prefer, dress with:
3 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp red wine vinegar
1 tsp mustard powder
1 tsp raw honey
1 tsp lime juice

Christina's vote: "This salad felt like the wind in my hair."

No Need For Dressing Salad

2010-07-31T13:28:00.000-07:00

"Emily, how are you?" Tammy said, as she dropped off a bag of completely foreign looking greens. It's not often that somebody outdoes me at picking obscure produce, so I was very excited about MCing Tammy's demo at the farmers market. Tammy is the owner and chef at Rainbow Chinese restaurant. Everybody at the market knows and loves her. As an outsider coming in to the community, I had always just assumed that this was because Tammy walks around feeding everybody. That was before I had tried her cooking. Tammy, doesn't just make food, she performs alchemy.

"You will help me today, right?" Tammy asked. This I was also excited for. Tammy helped me with my first ever demo, the one where I cut my finger and had to cook with a giant bandage on my hand in front of a large crowd. She stood behind me and executed my recipe with elegance and skill as though she had done it a hundred times.
"Of course I will" I responded. "How can I help?"
"Pick off these basil leaves" She responded, and handed me a bunch of Thai basil. Tammy worked next to me, on a batch of sweet potato leaves. She kept asking me questions, and methodically picking off the leaves as though prepping with me were her sole reason for being there today.

Vines, fruits, and flowers covered the entire stainless steel table where we were setting up. She had giant daikon radishes that looked like white swords, globes of light green cucumbers, warty looking bitter melons, tangles of sweet potato vines, and dark purple carrots. It was exactly the sort of set up I would love to have, but at the last minute I always seem to chicken out and grab a couple of modest ingredients that I think people will be more comfortable with.

"Do you have a set of knives here?" Tammy asked, looking me directly in the eye while julienning some carrots with impeccable speed and precision. She chopped Asian style, by slicing straight down as opposed to rocking her knife. I hope someday to acquire her level of skill. She told me that she has been the chef at Rainbow for over 20 years. When I told her she didn't look old enough for that to be true, she told me it was her fathers idea to open the restaurant. I wonder if Tammy had grown into her love for cooking, or if her father had recognized her passion and insisted that she have a venue. I suspected the latter.

"I am going to make a couple of dishes for you today that I don't have on my menu. This is fancy food, not every day Chinese food." She said into her microphone, as she tossed a large handful of potato leaves into a wok. Everyone laughed, and she looked up and smiled. "no really, it is. Trust me." Potato leaves only cost a dollar at the market, only because most people have never tried them and don't know how to use them. They are rich and decadent with a meaty flavor similar to artichokes.

I could go on for hours about the fun I had today, but instead I will stop here and feed you with this simple salad featuring some local fresh produce from the market.

No Need For Dressing Salad
2 of your favorite heirloom tomatoes
2 unique varieties of cucumbers
1 small bunch of basil (about 1/2 cup chopped)
drizzle with olive oil, salt, and pepper.

Christina's vote: "This conjured memories of Persian rummy in Iran"

Sweet and Toasty Quinoa Salad

2010-07-30T16:15:00.000-07:00

I arrived during a storm, just in time to see the ship come in from a day of sailing. She was crafted of wood, with a broad beam and a high bow, and she was to be my future home. Her sails hung loosely over the boom, having not yet been properly furled. A band of sailors were positioned all over the deck. They wore red, orange, or yellow foul weather gear, and they stuck out against the rain haze. The ship inched toward me, and I prepared to catch her lines. The smell of damp wood saturated my nostrils as the rain poured over the rotting docks. This was the smell I would come to love as home.

As soon as the lines were tied, and passengers were unloaded, I boarded the ship and was introduced to the crew. The current cook, whose position I would be taking over, was sitting on a cabin box pulling slowly on a cigarette and eyeing me with scrutiny. He had deep wrinkles on his face, and curly black hair that had not yet turned fully gray. He was the sort of man to sit with his legs crossed while he smoked, yet despite his loose wrists and his casual appearance, I soon learned that he had a temper which could chase a bear away from her cubs. We called him Crunch, though I never did learn why he was given that name.

Crunch wore dentures, which he often forgot to put in before he scurried up on deck to rage at the interns. This caused the crew to giggle, which only enriched his rage and lengthened the show. Crunch drank whiskey, and whined into the evening hours about why he couldn't stop his pursuit of oblivion. Crunch claimed to have spent 9 years in a Thai prison, though sailors are known to be storytellers.

The only one of Crunch's stories that I was relatively sure was true, was that he had a son who is a famous ballet dancer in New York. I could see the love he had for his son when he talked about him, which was rare but beautiful.

It's raining outside today, and the temperature and the humidity have reminded me of my first days on the ship, and of Crunch. I am wondering where he ended up. Rumor has it he signed on to another ship and eventually went AWOL somewhere in Canada, but then, sailors are known to be storytellers.

Crunch cooked everything in toasted sesame oil.

Sweet and Toasty Quinoa Salad
Heat 1 Tbsp toasted sesame oil and add 1 1/2 cups quinoa. Toast the quinoa until it starts to brown a little. Add 3 cups water, bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer (covered) until all the water is absorbed.

In the meantime, cook the veggies:
1 medium green and white striped zucchini
2 small paddy squash
3 medium orange and purple carrots (or just plain orange)
4 cloves fresh garlic, minced
Heat olive oil in a frying pan, so that it coats the bottom. Add a pinch of salt. Add 1/2 of your zucchini/squash/carrot mixture and 1/2 of the garlic. Lightly cook, so that the outside starts to get soft (al dente). Remove from the heat and place in a salad bowl. Put the bowl on ice. Repeat this until all your zucchini/squash/carrots are cooked (You really can't cook it all at once, because it will turn out mushy).

After the zucchini/squash/carrot mix has been removed, add
1/2 large, diced, sweet vidalia onion to the pan. Saute in olive oil and salt until the outside is a little brown.

Remove zucchini mix from the ice and drain the excess liquid that has sweated out. Mix the quinoa into the zucchini mix. Add a little
chopped basil. Toss in
1 Tbsp ume plum vinegar.
Serve warm or cold.

Christina's vote: "This salad made me want to dive in after my fishing pole"

Warm Heart of the Summer Salad

2010-07-29T16:16:00.000-07:00

"Here is your batch of veggies for the week, we grew 5 different varieties of basil for you" I grabbed the bag with the crook of my arm and propped it against my hip as though it were an infant. I could feel the soft greens through the bag, and the hefty zucchini and cucumbers shifted their weight as I tightened my grip.
"It smells really fruity, what is that?" I asked.
"Oh, that's one of the types of basil" said woman, with a wink. She was short and tan and had dirt stained hands and thick calves. She is my CSA farmer. As I got into my car, I began to brainstorm the ways in which I would use the basil. Every avenue of ideas that I took seemed to end up at tomatoes, but I knew that we had only a few cherry tomatoes at home. I envisioned our refrigerator. After closing my eyes I could see it. There was the little light at the top. There was a greasy line-up of condiments in the door, and the bag of protruding calcium chews that I always forget to eat. There were cheeses and bagels and bottles of water. The shelves were smooth and white.

It occurred to me that there was an awful lot of white space in my mental image of our refrigerator, which means that our fridge is nearly empty. I have been too busy to shop. Luckily, I remembered the potatoes and pole beans in the crisper. The salad started to build. I would cook it in stages, each vegetable would be subjected to heat and either garlic or onion. The oil would be cooked in with the food, the vinegar sprinkled on at the end. I got home and started vigorously chopping zucchini. "Could I use Kleenex as a diaper?" Jesse had come to sit at the table and keep me company while I cooked.
"No Jesse" I knew what was coming next.
"What would happen?"
"Jesse, you are 36 and much to old to wear diapers"
"What would happen if I wore Kleenex as a diaper?"
"People would have quite a shock"
"Would I go to jail?" I didn't answer. Jesse likes to talk about the things that might put him in jail. It's like he is affirming where his boundaries are. Just as I was about to give in and answer, he surprised me by shifting his focus.
"What are we having for dinner?" He asked.
"Zucchini salad." I replied, cheerfully.
"What's zucchini?" Jesse asked. Christina whizzed behind me and stopped at the cutting board, popping a piece of raw zucchini in her mouth. "Try some"
"Hey, don't eat that raw" I said.
"Why not?"
"Cause it is meant to be eaten cooked." I replied, trying to assert myself but realizing the ridiculousness of the statement.
"I like it raw, like cucumber."
"Yeck!" Jesse said, after eating a piece of raw squash. "I'll just have a cheese sandwich"
Christina shouted after him as he got up from the table and walked away "Wait until it's cooked Jesse and try it again"

Warm Heart of the Summer Salad
1 medium green and white striped zucchini
1 medium green zucchini
1 medium yellow summer squash
2 small paddy squash
4 cloves fresh garlic, minced
Heat olive oil in a frying pan, so that it coats the bottom. Add a pinch of salt. Add 1/3 of your zucchini/squash mixture and 1/3 of the garlic. Lightly cook, so that the outside starts to get soft (al dente). Remove from the heat and place in a salad bowl. Put the bowl on ice. Repeat this 3 times, until all your zucchini is cooked (You really can't cook it all at once, because it will turn out mushy).

In the meantime, boil a pot of water and add
4 small diced Yukon gold potatoes
When they are tender (about 15 min) drain the water and set aside.

After the zucchini is cooked, add
1/2 large sweet vidalia onion to the pan,
cut into large pieces. Saute in high heat in olive oil and salt until the outside is a little brown. Add
1 cup diced pole beans (they look like green beans but they are more lumpy and have a nutty flavor).
Pour potatoes on top. Season with a little olive oil, pepper and salt.

Remove zucchini from the ice and drain the excess liquid that has sweated out. Mix the potato mixture into the zucchini. Add a little
chopped basil and some sliced cherry tomatoes for garnish. Toss in
1 Tbsp white wine vinegar.
Serve warm or cold.

Christina's vote: "Wild taste"

Sweet and Spicy Rice Salad

2010-07-28T14:55:00.000-07:00

Being new at a job is is both sweet and spicy. The days fly by, but every moment you are completely engaged. At the end of the day your mind feels saturated. It is only once you begin to wind down that you notice how your hair was out of place and your shirt was wrinkled. All day long you were bounced from one person to the next, learning this thing from that person and that thing from this one. People talk down to you when they are feeling particularly full of ego, but you know better than to take it personally and soon they feel embbarrased and apologize. The best thing to do is to enjoy it, the difficult times never last, and soon the challenge of the day becomes finding new ways to approach a comfortable task. Own your insecurities, but challenge yourself not to be limited by them. Speak your mind, but know that you have a tall ladder to climb before you have a full view of what is actually going on. Above all, stay active, and do not let yourself feel badly about not knowing everything. You are here to learn, so get comfortable being uncomfortable and enjoy the ride. When you get home, make yourself a nice bowl of sweet and spicy rice salad.

Leftover rice salad
1 cup long grain white or brown rice
Rinse rice 5 times before cooking according to instructions on package. Add 1-2 Tbsp oil to the cooking water and 1/4 tsp salt.
1 cup cooked garbanzo beans
3 medium orange carrots, diced
2 medium white carrots, diced
1/2 green pepper, diced
lemon zest
mix ingredients together.

Sweet and spicy dressing
1 Tbsp toasted sesame oil
1 Tbsp grape seed oil
1 tsp muchi curry powder
1/4 tsp cumin
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp pepper
1/2 tsp raw honey
1 clove fresh garlic
1 Tbsp rice vinegar
1 tsp champagne vinegar

Christina's vote: "This salad has moxie"

Tricky Moon Salad

2010-07-27T16:23:00.000-07:00

The moon smiles down, with his unfaltering poker face. Every motion of the earth projects onto his lasting impression, and though his creviced face is fossilized and unchanging, I get a different feeling from him every time that I look.
Moon, how are you today?
Angry and alone.
How are you today moon?
Elated, I feel set free.
How are you today?
Fearful and tired. Too tired to go on. I am glad that you are here.
How are you now?
Restless.
And today, how are you?
feeling satiated and a little sleepy. Thank you for joining me.

When I was small, I leaned my head against the backseat window of our car, and noticed for the very first time how the moon sometimes steals a glance of the world during the day. I noticed how it followed us wherever we went.

I imagined the earth from the moon's perspective, and felt the presence of what some like to call God. I felt that the world was much bigger than me. I felt that the universe possessed infinite tricks, and that I might never understand them. I felt like I was a living breathing dynamic part of it all.

The moment passed. Like the remembrance of a dream I tried hard to hold onto it as it slipped away and got lost amongst the car songs and the games of mad libs.

Avocado tarragon dressing
1 Tbsp rice vinegar
1/4 tsp soy lecithin
1/2 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
1/4 tsp soy sauce
salt and pepper (lots of pepper)
1/2 tsp dried tarragon
1 tsp raw honey
1/6 avocado, mashed
1 Tbsp water
blend all ingredients together and add some lemon zest to taste

Tricky Moon Salad
1/6 red cabbage, diced
1/4 cup red pepper
3 medium fresh carrots, cut into half moons
fresh peas, shelled
fresh pea pods
edible flowers
1/2 avocado, cubed

Christina's vote: "This salad sparkled on my tongue"

Reach and Relax Salad

2010-07-26T16:18:00.000-07:00

"Do you just keep wearing yourself down to the point of near death so that you can feel grateful to be alive?" Christina asked, as I stood hunched over the counter after a 17 mile run. My clothes were soaking wet. My shorts clung to my thighs stinging in places where the hem had chapped my skin. My calves felt like they were being pulled back and clipped tight with clothespins. A thin layer of salt was caked on my forehead, which crinkled and cracked like glazing on a donut every time I wrinkled my brow.

"I guess so, yeah!" I replied, and then I shoved a small piece of Ulle's Honey Pumpernickel bread into my mouth. Ulle's is my new favorite bakery.

Mr. Ulle (I am guessing that is his name) is a large German man who bakes traditional German breads and pastries out of one oven, then sells them at the farmers market. His business is still small enough that he can manage all the baking himself, so the product tastes like it has been made with love. I had been standing in front of his booth for awhile that morning while I was at work. I was questioning him about his business. Every time a person lingered by he would pull out a toothpick, open up a little Tupperware container, and offer them a sample of pastry. Then he would glance sideways, and slowly pull out another toothpick and hand me one, out of obligation. I took the sample, also out of obligation, but felt bad about it. I wasn't really there to shop, technically I was working.

I confess that the only reason I bought the bread was because I felt guilty for gobbling up all his free samples. Now I was so thankful that I did. This one loaf of bread was the only morsel of pre-prepared easily digestible carbohydrate left in the house. I smeared it with salty butter and chewed it slowly until the nausea started to fade.

I forced my legs to straighten, and my calves began to unclasp releasing a tingling acidic burn which washed into the bottoms of my feet. Normally, now would be the time that I would return to my computer and get some work done, but Christina's words sunk to my heart. The pushing yourself to the limit strategy is not completed if I don't take the time to do the other half of the cycle: allow myself to fully feel grateful to be alive.

I was not particularly looking forward to sitting at my desk, so I decided to take the night off. After a hot shower I jumped giddily into bed, pulled the covers up to my neck, and cracked open a good book while moon climbed up the skies golden ladder of clouds.

Reach and Relax salad
1 small bunch baby Swiss chard
baby green leaf lettuce (or mixed baby greens)
1 cup crisp pea pods
1/4 cup shelled peas (for garnish)
edible flowers (for garnish)

Mango Sweet Onion Dressing
1 mango
1/4 medium vidalia onion
1 Tbsp grape seed or sunflower oil
1 Tbsp champagne vinegar
salt and pepper to taste
1 Tbsp poppy seeds

In a small food processor, blend together all ingredients (except the poppy seeds. Fold poppy seeds in and adjust seasonings to taste.

Christina's vote: "This salad was worth the risk of failing a drug test (due to the poppy seeds)"

When I Grow Up Salad

2010-07-25T12:42:00.001-07:00

The little girl sat quietly at the table, watching intently. She knew that this show was for her and her alone. None of the other kids would remember what happened today. They would later think back on this day and recall the corn dog that was the size of their head that their little brother swiped from them, or the bright pink flowers that their mother bought and then put into a vase in the kitchen, or the clown that took a balloon and twisted it into a little dog with a puffy tail. They might think of the smell of the kettle corn popping, the smoke of the bratwurst grilling greasing their hot skin while they sat at the picnic table, or the cool refreshing stream of water down the back of their throats after drinking from blue plastic bottles that their parents seemed reluctant to shell out the cash for.

It seemed the little girl was not even in the same market as the rest of the kids. She was not in a market with carnival noises and mini doughnuts. She was too busy studying, carefully, taking note of every move, to notice the fair like atmosphere. She was going to be a chef someday. She was to cook in front of audiences and she was going to do it well.

It was the same look that I saw yesterday on a little boy who had waited eagerly for the slam poetry competition to begin. He wore a black bandanna on his head, and an unstylishly stylish pair of nerd glasses. He wore a set of headphones around his neck and had a tape player in his hands, which stuck out like a black squirrel in the snow and distracted me from hearing his question when he approached the counter. I was cleaning up from the previous demo, and trying to set the stage for the poets, whom I had only just learned were coming to perform.

"Are the poets here yet?" said the small, inquisitive 11 year-old boy.

"I'm sorry, who?"
The boy looked a little upset at my response, as though fearful that they may not actually be coming.
"The poets..for the Slam poetry. Are they here yet?"I shot a glance around. His desperate voice was so sweet that I wished I could make them appear at that very moment.
"I think they are coming" I said. Soon a lanky group of 20 somethings with 1960's haircuts came sauntering in.

"Yo we are here to present you with our lyrical charm. Where do we set up." I looked at the kid, whose black bandanna matched exactly with the leader of the slam poet crew. He looked as though he wanted to jump out of his chair and tell the poets every joy and pain that has ever beaten him off course in his entire 11 years of life. It was precious.

This was the same look that I saw in the little girl, whose brown eyes lit up the moment the woman began demonstrating how to make a health shake with zucchini. She hardly blinked until the demonstration was over, at which point she gingerly approached the counter to ask the woman if she would be back next week.

Weekend Salad
In a large frying pan, heat 1 Tbsp olive oil. Add 1/4 tsp salt. Add 3 cups sliced, quartered zucchini and squash, 2 cloves minced garlic and 1 Tbsp butter. Cook until zucchini are tender and brown (if your pan is too small they won't really brown, you want just one layer of vegetables on the bottom)

Have ready 1/2 box cooked penne pasta. When the zucchini is done, mix with the pasta and add some diced basil. Dress with leftover creamy herb dressing from the Universal salad made a few posts ago. Serve warm or cold (if you serve cold, revive with some black pepper and 1 tsp red wine vinegar)

Creamy Herb dressing
1/2 cup Greek yogurt
1/2 cup basil
1/8 cup sorrel
4 mint leaves
1 garlic clove
1 tsp sherry vinegar

Christina's vote: "Somewhat bizarre"

Beyond the Barrier Salad

2010-07-24T14:29:00.000-07:00

"Possibly I will need get samples so that you have some cells to analyze" said my new advisor Dr. Wang, in his thick Chinese accent. Dr. Wang has a long wizened face, and dark, kind eyes, which remind me of my grandfather. His hair is impeccably straight, and cut across in the sort of bowl haircut you might see on a small boy. He is remarkably slim, and most of his pants are too big for his belt such that the material cinches at the loops. Most often his belt is covered beneath a long white lab coat that hangs to his knees. Dr. Wang always has a spring in his step and a smile on his face, which reveals a large set of white teeth. Until he became my advisor, I didn't pay too much attention to him when he spoke at meetings. This is mainly because it was so difficult for me to understand what he was saying, both due to his accent and the complexity of the subject that he researches. As soon as I began to work for him, I started listening intently when he speaks, knowing how important it is for me to understand every detail.

"Can you show me how to do that?" I asked.
"YES OF COURSE" he said flashing a huge grin as though this were already implied in his previous comment.
"Okay, thank you" I said, and I followed the tail of his lab coat as he turned and swiftly walked down the hall.

Dr. Wang and I arrived in the laboratory wearing hairnets and booties. I carried a notebook and pen. Dr. Wang had magnifying glasses fastened around his head. His blue hairnet billowed underneath the strap of the magnifier, as though it contained a bun of hair. He looked a little like a lunch lady, and it was difficult for me not to laugh, particularly when he flipped the glasses down and his eyes bulged through the lens. We talked a little, but mostly we worked in the confines of our own language barriers.

As he reached for a tool he mentioned that he used to be a mechanic back in China. This peaked my curiosity. I remembered that he had been a medical doctor back in China before coming here. How does a person go from working as a mechanic in China, to going to medical school? I had thought that Chinese students went to medical school right out of high school. Then I got to wondering: why would someone who had been working for 8 years as a medical doctor in China want to come to the US only to go back to school for a PhD in nutrition? I decided to ask. "Dr. Wang, why did you decide to move to the US?"
"I was not happy with the political climate in China." He stated. Then he launched into his story.

"I was a little boy in China, even though both my parents were highly respected intellectuals, my family was given trouble during the cultural revolution. During middle school, my siblings and I were sent to the countryside to work in the fields. The conditions were horrible. My mother would have cried very much had she known. It was freezing and we had no electricity or running water. We had to work very hard, and live in terrible conditions. We did not know when we would be allowed to return home. After 5 years I was told that I could return home to take care of my parents, but my sister had to stay behind in the field. Eventually she got out and got her degree too, but that is another story.

After returning home, I got a job working in a factory. I worked very hard, and was able to get a good recommendation. After the end of the cultural revolution, when the university opened up, they administered a test to people who were interested in attending. Only the top 5 % were accepted. I worked very hard, and was very fortunate to be accepted. Some of my friends were not so fortunate. After medical school I worked in family practice, and in endocrinology. In 1989 there were the killings in Tiananmen Square, do you remember? That was what finally drove me to leave China. I applied for a scholarship, and the University of Minnesota gave me a full scholarship. I have been here ever since."

I stared, amazed, at the incredible phenomenon of human spirit standing in front of me. He blinked back at me through magnifying glasses, is blue bonnet crumpled onto his shoulder. Then I noticed the shiny silver, oddly patterned designer collar hanging over his lab coat. A symbol of a man determined to enjoy his life.

I had one more burning question. "Dr. Wang, do you miss the vegetables in China?"
"Oh NO!" he replied. "I have a big garden in my yard. I grow all my own Chinese vegetables." He grinned a huge grin.

So there you have it ladies and gentlemen. I am pleased to introduce you to the incredible Dr. Wang.

Frisee salad with fresh tomatoes and sweet peppers
2 cups frisee
1 sliced and diced tomato (fresh from the garden)
1 fresh orange sweet pepper

Dress with sweet Gorgonzola dressing
1 Tbsp Gorgonzola
1 Tbsp fresh basil
1 Tbsp sherry vinegar
1/2 Tbsp lemon juice
1 tsp raw honey
salt and pepper to taste
2 Tbsp grape seed oil
whisk together vigorously for about 5 min. The cheese should partially incorporate into the liquid.

Christina's vote: "A bright surprise"

Universal Connection Salad

2010-07-23T13:44:00.001-07:00

I stood across from one of the vendors tables, at the farmer's market. His products were splayed out on table before him like a dinner waiting to be blessed. We were talking excitedly about food, and about interesting characters whom we know that are involved in the local food movement, which has recently erupted from a grassroots revolution to a mainstream ideal.

"She is sort of a travelling farm warrior, always following around the farmers and volunteering to help on their farms. She also does food photography." I said of a woman I had met recently at the market.
"No I have never met her" The vendor said. He kept talking, but I became distracted. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed an older woman watching me intently. She had dark hair, large eyes, red lipstick, and a bright white teeth. Her smile was huge, and she appeared to be really appreciating our conversation. She looked familiar, like a woman I used to work with in Minnesota. My gut gnawed at me, telling me to include her in the conversation.

"Hi, you look familiar, do I know you?" I asked the woman.
"I was just thinking the same thing about you" She said.
"Do you have a sister?" I asked, thinking of the Minnesota woman I used to work with at the co-op.
"Yes I do" she said "but she doesn't live around here, she lives in Connecticut."
My ears perked up "I am from Connecticut!" I said, "Where does she live?"
"In the Northeastern part." She said.
"oh. Then I wouldn't know her. Does she look like you?"
"No, not at all" the woman replied, in a typical sisterly fashion "She has blond curly hair and is tall. Her name is Barbara. She used to live in New Canaan."
"I AM FROM NEW CANAAN!" I said, getting excited. That must have been it. I must have seen this woman before at Starbucks or something in New Canaan. It would have had to have been 10 years ago, at least!
"Kathleen McClintock" the woman said, and she put out her hand to introduce herself. At the exact same time I had said "Emily Noble" and put out my hand.
"Whaa?? your sister is Barbara McClintock??? SHE WAS MY NEIGHBOR!!" I shouted.

The woman and I looked at each other, mystified. How strange. The look of recognition that we saw in each other was not actually from a previous connection, but as it turned out, from an important future one. Barbara is someone that I had known when I was in a particularly self destructive point in my life. I owed her some words of gratitude, and a major apology. I gave Kathleen my email address and asked her to pass it on. I left our meeting shivering at the mysterious ways that the universe keeps us connected.

Universal Connection Salad
1 cup baby Swiss chard
1 cup baby green leaf lettuce
1/2 cup diced pea pods
1 tomato, diced
1/2 English cucumber, peeled and sliced

Creamy Herb dressing
1/2 cup Greek yogurt
1/2 cup basil
1/8 cup sorrel
4 mint leaves
1 garlic clove
1 tsp sherry vinegar

Christina's vote: "This salad made me want to walk on my toes for 48 hours"

Simply Fruit Salad

2010-07-22T08:36:00.000-07:00

The trail was thick with the scent of cedar, and branches hung heavy with leaves on the moss painted trees. We trotted in unison hiding from the city beneath the shady lid of the forest. It was a vacation from the scratchy, air conditioned grays and whites of the office, a little adventure in the middle of the day. My travel companions were people whom I had only just met, a middle aged man, a young research scientist, and an intern. We talked mainly out of awkwardness at first: how did you start running, where are you from, what races have you done, but it was not long before things got personal. Do you believe animals are sentient beings, how do you feel about your neighbors, what are some of the ways your belief system has changed over the years, do you feel connected to your parents, do you believe that everyone has an awareness of some sort of a God. Do you meditate?

We trotted deeper and deeper into the woods, sometimes talking, sometimes just breathing, and the path grew mossier. The air was laced with pockets of hot and cold. The two men wore 5 fingered shoes, the kind that make your feet look like they have overgrown hobbit toes. They don't provide much support, but protect the soles from rocks and gravel. The intern went barefoot, I am afraid to say, at my encouragement. That was before I gave myself a bad blister and resigned to stopping my barefoot endeavors until I am able to purchase some 5 fingered shoes. I tried to plead with her, but I had already been too convincing yesterday. She had gone home and researched barefoot running online. Now she was determined to be able to claim her first barefoot run on her facebook status. My convincing her just made it look like I didn't want to be the only one wearing shoes, and I had a moment where I needed to question whether that was in fact the case. My role in the group was not to be the 22 year old bad ass pushing the limits. My role is to be the organizer, to keep people engaged, to build a team. At work I have felt locked outside of a world that is foreign. Running is familiar to me, and runners are people I feel I can trust, once I have run with them that is.

Later that day we sat in lab meeting, the few scattered runners whose legs were splattered with dirt under their clothes amid a collection of scientists. All of us with rosy cheeks and fond memories of our sprint during the lunch hour, and our cool down banter of races to come.

Simply Fruit Salad
1/4 cantaloupe, cubed
1 cup blueberries
1 cup sliced strawberries

serve with
1/2 cup Greek yogurt
1 Tbsp chopped mint
zest from 1 lime
juice from 1/4 lime
1 tsp raw honey

Christina's vote: "This salad made me think in stereo"

Almost Paleo For a Day Salad

2010-07-21T13:32:00.000-07:00

ABSOLUTELY NOT.
This was Christina's response when I suggested that we switch to a paleolithic diet. "But... it will be fun and delicious..and we'll have more energy." I replied. I was trying to sound convincing, but I knew deep down that it was a bad idea. Christina sensed it and she was trying to save me from myself. I was reaching for something. A new obsession. The hope of transcendence to yet another layer of well being. In reality, the path to well being is not a path at all, but a glance inward. I experienced it when I took a moment to sit down with a bag of raw trail mix today and experience all of the sweet naked flavor of a walnut, then an almond, surrendering to my new life as a hunter-gatherer. That was before I called Christina.

"Honey, a new diet is too extreme, too expensive, and too time consuming. What is it that you are really hoping to get out of this?" Christiana said.

I thought about the walnut. Earlier in the day I had scavenged the cafeteria at work, looking for signs of something edible within the paleo diet. The only thing that fit the requirements, was a bag of raw trail-mix. It was nice not to have to make the decision, I was hungry and I ate the only thing I could. No stress, no analysis of nutrient content, cost, or health benefit. I could get used to this kind of shopping.

The paleolithic diet involves eating unsalted nuts, berries, vegetables, meats, eggs, and other fruits. Basically, you eat like a hunter-gatherer, you eat when you are hungry and not because it is mealtime, you avoid anything processed, grain, or dairy. It sounds extreme, and it is, but it also sounds practical. On the paleo diet, you are basically forced to eat actual real food, and you have social support from a whole group of people for doing it. Diets that are so extreme are like mini-communities, where like minds congregate on websites promising to take you on a pilgrimage to longevity and optimum health. Last week I met a raw foods blogger who gets 1/2 million hits on her website each month. Tempting.

In a world where billboards, restaurants, television, friends and co-workers, are all constantly selling or offering processed foods, the social support for eating real is highly appealing. Taking on the title of "Paleo" is appealing, but it puts me in the category of having a restricted diet, which usually begins and ends for me, with obsession. I pulled up to a stoplight, next to a bus with a giant advertisement for pizza. Christina was still talking on the other line. I imagined ordering a pizza, then remembered it was off limits, then immediately got sad and missed pizza. I wanted it so badly that it hurt.

Restriction obsession. The next step is overcompensation with diet acceptable treats.

"Your right" I said to Christina "I guess I just feel like I have been eating on the fly too much, and eating a lot of highly processed food. I don't need to go on a paleo diet to eat more paleo foods."

When I got to the grocery store, I shopped like a hunter gatherer. I went around the perimeter, grabbing fresh vegetables and meat. I bought fresh fish and tried to design dressings using mainly foods that could be gathered. Here is what I came up with. My cousin pointed out that corn is not paleo, so if you are eating paleo omit the corn.

Garlic Seared Tuna and Frisee Salad
1 tuna steak
2 cloves garlic
hazelnut infused olive oil
pinch salt (the salt can be omitted if you are a paleo purist)

Get a pan hot and coat the bottom with oil and salt. Sear the tuna on one side until the side turns white half way up the steak. Flip it to the other side. Turn down the heat and add the garlic to the pan, tossing it around until it yellows, but before the garlic browns remove everything from the pan. Set aside.

Mix together:
2 cups frisee
1 corn cob worth of corn (omit if you are eating paleo)
1 avocado
1 small tomato
1 small red pepper
zest from 1 lime
cut up tuna and add over top (squirt tuna with lemon juice if you prefer)

Mango Lime Dressing
In a food processor, blend together
1 ripe mango
juice from 2 small limes
1 Tbsp hazelnut infused olive oil
zest from limes
lots of pepper

Christina's vote: "This salad made me want to strip off all my clothes and run down the street screaming 'I love this woman'"

Peter Pan's Hummus Salad

2010-07-20T12:54:00.000-07:00

Remember the days of feathered hair, high waisted slacks, and men in tight polyester pants with mustaches, when everything seemed to exist in shades of brown and yellow? Yeah, I had forgotten those days too, that is until Jesse discovered youtube.

I lay half asleep on top of the white comforter, enjoying the cool air as it swept in from the giant open windows next to the bed. Due to the arrival of Jesse, we have moved our bedroom into the office, which has a giant wall of windows. Minnesota is relatively flat, and so from our sixth floor apartment, the rest of the world drops away beneath the sill, leaving our bed floating in an expanse of sky. This morning the sky was perfectly blue, with white puffy clouds that blended in with the bedspread. I was listening to the construction going on outside, enjoying a day off from work, and marveling at how tired I must be to not feel one ounce of guilt for staying inside on such a beautiful day. The construction buzzed in a continuous loop of white noise, with the occasional beep of traffic, or a peaceful oceanic wave of a truck, and then.. 'were gonna make our dreams come truuuuuuueeee, doin' t our way'

"Jesse!" I shouted. "Could you turn it down?"
"WHAT IS IT?" He shouted over Laverne and Shirley, who sounded like they were enunciating in an auditorium and not from a computer screen in our living room.

"I said COULD YOU TURN IT DOWN?" He had already shut the volume off and now I was shouting, apparently, for no reason.

"What's the matter? Why are you shouting?" Jesse said, concerned.

"Nothing, Jesse, it's okay, I was just hoping you could leave the volume turned down."

"Okay, sure" he said.

I went back to my nest. Where was I, oh yes, oceanic trucks waves of them, and the buzzing of a motorcycle. I could smell hot dogs grilling, and I imagined the people gathering around the hot dog vendor. An island of grass is just around the corner, where the people wade across the street to vacation for their 45 min lunch breaks before funneling back to the giant towers of the financial district. I imagine myself nested in branches, swaying in the wind. I close my eyes and feel the blue sky on my eyelids, and then..

"GREAT SCOTT" The rumbly, theatrical, familiar man's voice shouts. I get out of bed, resigned to participate in the day. Jesse is sitting in front of the TV, his back to the future toys lined up in front of him. He is rocking back and forth in pure bliss. I suddenly was transported to being a kid in pajamas, watching cartoons on a Saturday morning. There was nothing better. Jesse reminded me of Tom Hanks in BIG, the body of an adult with the child like passions of his youth.

I started to make my salad, and decided to make one of the first recipes I ever learned. Hummus. It was a novelty then, in the days of one meat, one starch, one vegetable cooking, but my mother had some worldly friends who had given her the recipe. We dusted off her food processor one Saturday morning and gave it a whirl.

Hummus:
in a food processor, blend
1 can garbanzo beans, drained and rinsed
3 cloves purple garlic
1 Tbsp lemon juice
salt and pepper to taste
2 Tbsp olive oil
optional: 1 Tbsp tahini paste (some people don't like the flavor)

Dressing (this dressing really needs the sorrel in the salad to have a full flavor)
3 Tbsp light olive oil
1 Tbsp cider vinegar
1/2 Tbsp lemon juice
1/2 Tbsp brown sugar
1 tsp mustard powder
salt and pepper to taste

Salad:
1 small bunch sorrel
1 cup sliced radishes
1 cup sliced cherry tomatoes
1-2 cups mixed baby greens (depending on how much sorrel you have)

Christina's vote: "Delightful"

Simple and elegant cold quinoa salad

2010-07-19T13:08:00.000-07:00

The highway was closed up ahead. Again. I sat in traffic for about a half an hour before realizing that cool air was no longer moving through my open windows. The hot sun pierced my car and baked the sweat out of the back of my legs. The smell of exhaust, and the rhythm of rolling and breaking reminded me of living on the east coast. We rarely get significant traffic in the twin cities, and as it is I have a hard time fitting everything in that I am supposed to get done in a day. My mind began to wander. How is it that I ever got anything accomplished when I lived out there? Maybe my little daily tasks aren't really as important as I think they are? Maybe the world would be just fine if I wasn't holding myself together, if I missed an important appointment, if I skipped a day of salad, if I took a day off from work, if I just sat here forever. In traffic.

I peered into the cars around me. It's funny how I always imagine that I am being watched, yet never bother to watch anyone else. A man with a black moustache driving a maroon car hit his wheel, frustrated at the car in front of him. A teenager in a beat up white accord held her cigarette out of a small crack in her window, and dragged on it as though it were a reed suspended in a lake of mediocrity, and through it she were sucking in the fresh air of independence. A few cars later an old woman gazed angrily into her rear view mirror. Her windows were fully down, and she flicked a cigarette as though it were merely a part of her, as though the ashes were chewed nails that needed to be spit out. We all rolled forward, and stopped in front of a new scene. It was like an amusement park ride, like "it's a small world after all". I settled into the show.

On this block, the buildings were all painted with murals made by children. There was a small convenience store, the clerk stood outside wearing worn pants, his hands shoved into his pockets. A large man rode down the street in a motorized chair. A large woman rode past him from the other side, also in a motorized chair. She held a little dog in her lap. I had a sudden wave of sadness. This is our future. No need to walk, if you get too unfit you can just purchase a motorized chair.

We rolled forward again. A woman hobbled down the street, her hair tied in a bandanna. She was young, but tired, like she had had enough. I imagined her getting a second wind, and filling up with the fire of life. Then I imagined myself getting a second wind. I looked at myself in my rear view mirror, and felt totally disconnected from the person staring back at me. It is interesting that I ended up looking the way that I do. Of all the bodies I could have been born with, why this one? How much of the person that I am is related to the body I inhabit?

We started to roll forward, and soon we were travelling fast enough that the buildings and cars were changing like slides. I felt my second wind blow in through the open windows.

Simple and elegant cold quinoa salad
Coat the bottom of a hot saucepan with hazelnut infused olive oil.
Add 1/4 tsp salt.
Add 1 cup quinoa (rinsed 3 times, or use the pre-rinsed variety). Toast the quinoa for about 3 min.
Pour in 2 cups water.
Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for about 15 min (or until the water is gone and quinoa is cooked).
Allow quinoa to cool completely (I threw mine in the freezer to cool it, but we don't really have any food in our freezer so I could easily fit it in without worrying about heating things up in there).

In a separate bowl, mix 1/4 large vidalia onion (try and get one that is really sweet)
1 small bunch sorrel, chopped fine
1 Tbsp sherry vinegar
3 Tbsp hazelnut infused olive oil
salt and pepper to taste.
Mix in cooled quinoa.

Christina's vote: "This salad made me feel like a food addict."

Higher Learning Salad

2010-07-18T14:25:00.000-07:00

I have always thought of myself as a person who doesn't discriminate. I think most people do. However, all day long, we are making choices based on our previous experiences. If you were to have asked me yesterday if I was a fan of green beans, I would have shrugged and said 'They're okay I guess'. My lack of enthusiasm for them has a long history, filled with canned bean sludge and slivered almond nightmares. There was a time when I loved green beans. When I was little, I used to eat the fresh beans that my grandfather had grown in his garden. My brother and I would sit around a bowl and snap the ends off of the fresh velvety beans, crunching into the imperfect ones after we had declared them unfit for the dinner table. They were so fresh that they would cling to my tongue, and they had a crunch loud enough to drown out the sound of the television. As the years went on, I had one after the other disappointing green bean experiences, and once the memory of that delicious watery crunch wore off, I had to accept that most of the green beans I encountered were dull, limp, and starchy.

As of today, my opinion of beans has once again changed. As part of a farmer's market project I am working on, I had to come up with some sort of demonstration to do with kids using fresh vegetables. I went with making green bean "french fries", which are not actually fried, but rather raw beans placed in a little french fry container that the kids could decorate with crayons. I asked them to come up with a name for their bean snacks, and to write some information on the back that they thought would encourage other kids to try their product. They wrote things like "beans help you to see" (I told them that beans contain lutein, which is a carotenoid that may improve vision) and "beans beans good for your heart" (they didn't finish the song on the package, but we had a good laugh about it).

The idea was that the kids would realize that all of the stuff written on food packages was invented by someone who is trying to sell the product. Additionally, I was hoping to get the kids thinking about some of the finer points of the beans, so that they might like them better. I also brought along some toasted sesame oil and salt to toss the beans in, and some french dressing (because, similar to ketchup, french dressing is mostly sugar with a hint of tomato, and I thought it might be good to have in case the kids hated the green beans). As it turns out, these precautions were totally unnecessary. The beans sold themselves to the kids, and then the kids re-sold me on the beans, in their original plain form.

I bought four different varieties of beans: green, yellow, purple (which turn green when you cook them) and pole beans. The pole beans were mostly for educational purposes. I was going to use the pole beans (which have strings that you have to peel) to show the kids how historically, green beans had strings on them. I didn't imagine that these would be all that tasty, since most of the farmers who sold them insisted that pole beans are meant to be stir-fried and not eaten raw. After I pulled the string off of one during our first round of demos, a little girl reached forward and demanded I let her taste the pole bean.
"I wanna try THAT one."
"No" I said "I don't think you'll like this on..." The little girl had swiped the pole bean out of my hand and snapped a bite off of it as though it were a candy cane.
"MMMMM" she said, and her face lit up. "That one is REALLY good!"
"It is?" I said. "I mean. Yes, of course it is. See, beans taste great and can be eaten as a snack raw, so that you don't even have to ask the adults if you can use the oven." I went on with my demonstration. After all the kids left, I tasted what was to become my new favorite vegetable. The pole bean. It has the nutty richness of a soybean, but with a less pea like flavor, it has a soft velvety flesh and is less sticky than the bush snap bean variety.

While the kids all agreed that the raw beans were good by themselves, they really liked them tossed in sesame oil and salt. I made this salad with the beans that I used for today's demo.

Simply Nutty Green Bean Salad
2 cups mixed purple, green, yellow and pole beans, fresh (so that they snap)
1 cup sliced cherry tomatoes

Toss with
1 Tbsp toasted sesame oil
sprinkle of salt
1/4 tsp soy sauce
1 tsp rice vinegar
pinch of sugar

Christina's vote: "All the world's a stage for this salad"

Mind Playground Salad

2010-07-17T15:02:00.000-07:00

We were driving around the town surrounding my college, listening to music and trying to forget our impending homework. The year was 1999, but we were listening to Joni Mitchell as though she had only just been discovered, as though we were the ones who had discovered her. I pumped the pedal to match the music as we drove slowly through the crisp Massachusetts night, watching the bright stars and masking the smell of cow manure with our tobacco smoke. We pulled into the main strip of the hippy town of Northampton, and I slowly rolled my car into one of the diagonal parking spaces.

“Guys, watch this” I said, impressed with myself for the discovery which I was about to share. I rolled up the windows and changed the CD to Beethoven. I turned around to face the backseat, and looked earnestly into the eyes of the curious motley crew of college kids crammed into the seat.

“Watch carefully how the people on the street move to the beat of the music.” I turned the music up, shifted to face the front again, and hoped to God that this experiment worked for them the same way that it worked for me and that they would not think that I was crazy. One by one excited hoots came from the backseat as the music built to an apex just as a man stood up and caught a running dreadlocked girl wearing a giant knit sweater in an embrace. Your brain will match the music to the movement. It’s amazing.

The mind is a magnificent playground. Emotions like fear and anger are often physical reactions to some sort of visual stimulus that exists before the story of the emotion is ever created. An arachnophobe who spots a spider might experience dialated pupils, rapid heart rate, increased blood pressure, and enhanced senses. The brain makes sense of these responses by registering them as fear, but the initial physical reaction is so rapid that it happens before they even register that there is a spider in front of them.

The messages you give your body affect your thinking. I thought about how this applies to food. When I taste lemony sorrel, as I did today, I am transported to being a kid in the garden eating clovers with my brother. When I taste soy sauce, I think of being an angsty teenager experimenting with a diet of rice eaten with chopsticks, when I taste tahini and garlic I think of college where Annie’s dressings were a staple. I taste these experiences over and over, even though the actual taste buds that first received these foods have long been gone.

Tahini dressing
1 Tbsp sesame tahini
2 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp toasted sesame oil
1 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
½ Tbsp lemon juice
¼ tsp tamari soy sauce
2 cloves garlic
1 small bunch chives (about the size of a dime)
salt and pepper
pinch sugar
Place all ingredients in a small food processor and blend.

The salad
3 cups mixed red and green leaf lettuces
¾ cup garbanzo beans, cooked (or canned)
3 carrots, peeled and sliced

Christina’s vote: “This salad put me on the lookout for bunny rabbits”

Local Friends Salad

2010-07-16T16:25:00.000-07:00

“Are you doing anything fun tonight?” asked the lab tech. He is long and lean, and always wears scrubs with nothing underneath them. Apparently he never got the memo that scrubs are supposed to go on outside of your clothes. It’s a silly ritual anyway, wearing scrubs. Christina and I often talk about it. Most people who work in a hospital setting have a collection of scrubs which they put on at home, then travel to work in. They usually hit up the coffee shop, or maybe the gas station on their way to work, then maybe again on their way home. There is nothing in particular about the scrub that is more sterile than wearing everyday clothing, so really scrubs are a sort of ritualistic uniform akin to the shaman’s garb.

“I am going to pick up our vegetables”
“What do you mean pick up your vegetables”
“We get a CSA.”
“A what?”
“It stands for Community Supports Agriculture. Basically, you invest in a share of a local farm, gambling that they are going to have a successful year. Then, you get a share of their produce. Lot’s of farms around the US participate. Ours is a farm that only grows heirloom variety vegetables, and specifically ones for salad. They are called ‘Webster Farm Organic’ (www.websterfarmorganic.com). Every Thursday the farmers come to the city and bring us our share of what they grew that week.”

“Interesting.” He said, holding one of the four jelly sandwiches that he had packed for lunch in front of him, with his elbows splayed wide on the table. “But what are you going to do for fun tonight?”

“That is fun.” I replied. He turned his head to the side, looking wary.

Meeting new people is often awkward at first, especially when you meet under circumstances which don't imply that you will necessary share similar likes, dislikes, or general world view. It's like getting vegetables from a CSA, I probably would never have chosen to buy baby mustard greens had they not come in my CSA, but now that I have tried them I find that I like them a lot.

Later that night, I pulled into the coffee shop parking lot, which contained a big green van stationed like a lighthouse next to a table filled with cloth bags of vegetables. The farmers, two smiling women with a skip in their step, stood out front handing out the bags. They saw me coming and began sorting through the bags.

“We had a great week, and I mean a great week this week!!! The rain and the sun have been just perfect. You will not believe how good everything tastes this week.” This morning, when I was making my salad, I snapped into a crisp fresh pea pod, and nearly fell over. She was right. Its like a light shell filled with sweet nectar, not at all starchy or raw in flavor. It tasted more like a fruit than a vegetable. Try this salad using the freshest local produce you can find, and tasting each ingredient before you add it to make sure that it carries a flavor that ‘gets’ you.

Champagne Hazelnut Honey Dressing
3 Tbsp Hazelnut infused olive oil
1 Tbsp Champagne vinegar
1 tsp lemon juice
2 tsp raw honey
¼ tsp soy lecithin
¼ tsp ume plum vinegar
salt and fresh ground pepper

Peaches and Peas Baby Greens Salad
3 cups mixed baby greens (local and fresh)
1 ½ cup diced pea pods (sugar snap or snow, fresh and local)
2 sliced peaches or nectarines (I used nectarines)
garnish with edible flowers

Christina’s vote: “this salad was gentle”

I Dream of Sushi Salad

2010-07-15T16:42:00.000-07:00

Jesse lay fully extended on our small, shiny, red IKEA couch. His legs hung off of one end and he looked like a teenager who is not yet used to his full grown length. He had a large grin on his face, causing his characteristic one sided dimple to crease, and his eyes to squint blissfully. In one hand he held a large black genie bottle, the kind that resembles the standard queen piece in a game of chess, with gold and blue painted details. In the other hand he held a worn out plastic bag with two little white handles. Inside the bag was a number of pieces of cloth, all in various shades of pink. For once Jesse didn’t even notice me as I walked in the door. He usually jumps up to come and give me a welcome home hug.

"What are you doing Jesse?” I asked. Nothing.
“JESSE WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” I repeated, louder. He looked up startled.
“I’m playing with Jeannie” he said, and he held up the little bag of pink cloth. From the first time he watched I dream of Jeannie, Jesse was in love. It has probably been ten years since he acquired that I dream of Jeannie costume, but he keeps it in mint condition neatly keeping it wrapped in plastic as though it were a marvel comic book. The mind of Jesse is a complete mystery to me, and I often find myself asking him all sorts of questions to try and figure out how it works, but to no avail.

“Jesse, what do you mean by playing with Jeanie?” and he held up the bag as though to say, isn’t it obvious?

“Do you see Jeanie? Is she here?” I asked.

“Yai yai yadow!” He said back to me, and shook his hands in the air, which I think means that he is happy.

“Does that mean you are happy? Jesse are you happy?”

“Yeah. Can I play with your ponytail?” Change of subject.
“No Jesse, you can’t just go around asking women if you can play with their hair.”
“Why not? Because it would be…” He leaned in waiting for me to finish the sentence. This usually leads to a series of questions about what would happen if he broke the rules. I kept thinking, I am not going in for it. “Why not Emily” I ignored the question. “Hey Emily, I can’t play with your ponytail because it would be.. because it would be… Emily, because it would be…” He will never stop asking.
“Inappropriate” I said, defeated.
“WHAT WOULD HAPPEN?” Jesse’s favorite question. “WHAT WOULD HAPPEN?? Would I go to JAIL???”
“Yes Jesse, they would lock you up and you would go to jail” I think he likes this answer. It’s a schtick, an obsession. The pattern of the phrase, and the way the words sound seem to be more important than the meaning of the words. It’s like when he practices movie lines. He never gets tired of repeating the same scenes over and over again.

Catherine, Jesse and Christina’s mother, recently discovered that Jesse has honed each of our voices and can perfectly parrot every member of the family. “Jesse, how would I say ‘I would like to go to the movies?’ Catherine asked. Jesse’s eyes half closed and in Catherine’s rich and regal voice repeated ‘I would like to gooo to the moovies’. He did Everett, Christina, and Shawn. He did my voice, which sounded like a munchkin on the wizard of Oz, but since he got everyone else’s voice to a T, I have to accept that that must be what I really sound like. He did Karen’s voice with a perfect English accent, and Baba’s voice with his touch of Iranian.

We have decided to start having more regular sit down dinners, so that we can all get better at having regular conversation. During these dinners I keep trying to get answers out of Jesse about what is happening inside his brain, but he just gets annoyed with my inquisitiveness and asks if he can turn on “I dream of Jeannie” on the computer.

I Dream of Sushi Salad
This salad is in honor of the spicy tuna roll.
1 can tuna fish packed in water, rinsed and drained (if you have fresh cooked tuna, even better!)
¼ chopped Vidalia onion
1 Tbsp chopped pickled ginger
1 tsp wasabi paste
1 tsp soy sauce
1 tsp rice vinegar
2 garlic scapes chopped
2-4 Tbsp mayonnaise (depends how you like it)

2 small slicing cucumbers or 4 Persian cucumbers

Mix together the top ingredients and use to top cucumbers with (if you are not worried about presentation you can just mix the cucumbers in with the salad).

Christina's vote: "This salad was unblemished"

Barefoot Pasta Salad

2010-07-14T17:49:00.000-07:00

I walked through the hospital. My feet were throbbing and my head felt light. If it weren't for the name badge swinging from my neck I might have thought my body no longer existed above the shoulders. It was a day filled with too much thinking while standing in one place. I pulled open the Velcro on my shoulder bag, and the ripping sound echoed off of the linoleum floor and around the empty halls. It felt strange to be in those halls when they were empty. A tornado had come and gone that day, but I hadn't noticed. When I left in the morning, the sun was shining. News of the tornado came in periodic spurts throughout the day. It was carried in by the summer interns. Now it was 5:30, and sun poured in from the skylights, as though nothing ever happened. I pulled out my phone and hit the message icon, then put it up to my ear.

"Call me back" click.

It was from Matt. He never leaves more of a message than that. I spent a few minutes guessing what he wants. He usually wants to talk about when we can schedule a run. I knew it couldn't be about running because he was supposed to be on an airplane to Phoenix. I imagined him kicking back on an airplane, his black curls hanging out of his hat. He leans over Pam's shoulder to look out of the window. He entertains himself by joking around with the stranger sitting next to him. He's too quick, and the stranger doesn't have a clue what he is talking about. Matt doesn't care, he mostly jokes to entertain himself. I remembered that I had given him a book just before he left, and I imagined he must have been reading it. I pushed the call back icon.

"Hey, what are you doing?" I said.
"Boarding a plane." He said. "I have a question for you."
"Yes? what is it" I asked.
There was a long pause. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. "Is this book for real?"

The book I had given him, was "Born to Run" It is an incredibly inspirational book about a tribe of runners that are able to cover unbelievable distances at unbelievable speeds, wearing unbelievably minimal foot protection. They usually continue running into late stages of life without injury. As a culture they are humble, modest, and supportive of each other. They appear to run on pure joy, chia seeds, and cornmeal. They are the Tarahumara. After reading the book myself, I felt totally inspired, awakened even. I felt like I had been running for all the wrong reasons. I had been seeking fitness, and speed, and personal successes, but the book introduced me to a new endpoint. It was a more complete form of health. Joy. Run because it is fun. Run because it makes you feel free. Run because it connects you to the air. After assuring Matt that it was supposedly a true story, written by a journalist, he agreed to train for an ultra with me and perhaps try out barefoot running.

After talking to Matt, I looked at my clock and realized that I was going to be late for run club. I also had to make a salad and get a picture of it before I lost the light. I made this salad in 20 minutes (I didn't wait for everything to cool before mixing it together) and it was nearly gone by the time I got back from my run (a sign that the family approved of this one).

Due to the heavy air and heat left behind by the tornado, only a few people showed up for the run tonight. We split up by paces. I ran with John, who has also recently finished "Born to Run" and has been communicating over email with many different barefoot runners. We decided we would take off our shoes for 5 minutes and try out shoeless running.

I was afraid I would stub my toe, or get rocks in my feet. The gravel was warm, and rocky, but the rocks felt like beads, and my feet actually felt like they were getting a massage. I had to hold my body differently to protect the balls of my feet, and I felt my tailbone tuck under, my core engage, everything aligned. It was like having a yoga adjustment in shoulder stand pose. I had muscles working that don't normally work to keep my weight perfectly balanced on top of itself.

"In shoes, the tendency is to lean forward" John said "causing runners to recruit their quads too much of the time".

I felt grateful to have a teacher. We only ran barefoot for 5 minutes, but when it was time to put our shoes back on, my feet felt like they were being confined after a lifetime of freedom. I wanted to take them off again right away. "Give it time" John said. "You need to ease into it. You have been wearing shoes every day of your life. Your feet are not strong enough to handle much more than 5 minutes....yet".
I knew this was only the beginning.

Barefoot Pasta Salad
1 box quinoa pasta shells
1/2 tsp salt
water
Cook the pasta in boiling salty water for 8-9 min. In the meantime, slice into a bowl:
1 cup sliced cherry tomatoes
1/4 large yellow onion, diced
1/2 cup cubed feta cheese
When the pasta is done, drain the water out, and add olive oil and garlic to the empty pasta pan (return to the heat). Add a pinch of salt and pour the pasta back into the pan. Toss in the greens and stir for 1 min. Remove from the heat and pour into an empty bowl. Let cool.
2 cups baby spinach/ arugula mix
2 cloves minced purple garlic
3 Tbsp olive oil
Mix together the two bowls of ingredients. Dress with the below ingredients. Serve warm or cold.
1 Tbsp red wine vinegar
1/2 Tbsp white wine vinegar
1 Tbsp dried basil
1 tsp sugar
Salt and pepper to taste

Christina's vote: "Substantial and damn good"

Kohlrabi-Potato Trance Salad

2010-07-13T05:39:00.001-07:00

I have vague memories of opening my eyes and seeing the smeared blue and white open sky, glowing with red, then pink, then yellow. Each time I blinked I exited a dream and entered a slightly different sky. My eyes were too heavy to stay in the expansive day clouds for long, and before I knew it my alarm was screaming angrily for the fourth time. I shut it off and lay still, staring up at the ceiling, which tipped from side to side as though I were recovering from twirling in circles. It felt good to be exhausted, and I gave myself ten minutes to revel in it.

I was still in a dream like trance when I left the house, which might be why it wasn't until after I hit the Caribou that I realized that I was still wearing my house slippers. No one said anything to me as I ponied up to the register wearing black pinstriped work pants, a pink polo, and brown slippers, or if they did snicker at me, I was too preoccupied to notice. My mind was completely wrapped in figuring out when I was going to fit in a car appointment. When I got back to my car I began thinking about where I was going to park and how long it was going to take me to get from the back of the lot to my office. That's when I noticed that my toes were bare, and I exited the highway to turn back home to switch shoes.

I remembered how my Hungarian professor showed me her slippers behind the door of her office. She confessed that she had been so preoccupied with a class she was teaching that she had forgotten her shoes that morning. I looked at her and thought, 'wow, that is crazy. That would never happen to me.'

Now here I was. A shoe neglect-or. A preoccupied woman, who's mind is never really here nor there, but somewhere in the clouds. It's not one thing that I am fixated on. It's everything. It's running, and writing, and salad. It's BDNF, energy metabolism, and farmers marketing. It's radio, autism, and kettle bells. It's family, errands, and finances. It's life, and it feels good to be totally consumed by it, to be digested and absorbed into nature's circulatory system.

Perhaps it was preoccupation that caused me to dump too much dill into this salad. I suggest that if you decide to try this at home, you use less dill... 1/4 cup chopped fine, or use dried dill instead of fresh. The concept worked well (using the kohlrabi instead of potato) and will lower the calorie count of your potato salad.

Kohlrabi Potato Salad
2 medium red potatoes, cubed
3 small purple kohlrabi, peeled and cubed (can use green)
1/8 tsp salt
Put the above ingredients into a pot of water and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium and boil, uncovered, for about 16 min. Taste to make sure texture is desired (kohlrabi should still have a little crunch).
Drain water out and place mixture in a bowl. Heat 2 cloves minced garlic in about 1/2 Tbsp olive oil and 1/4 tsp salt. Before the garlic browns, pour over the potatoes and kohlrabi. Place the bowl in the freezer for about 10 min so that everything cools off before doing the next step.
Mix together with:
1 cup diced green onions
1/2 cup fresh dill, chopped (use less if you prefer)
1/4 cup mayonnaise
1 tsp cider vinegar
1/4 tsp lemon pepper (or 1/4 tsp pepper and some lemon zest)
1 tsp Dijon mustard
Salt and pepper to taste

Christina's vote: "This salad was like finding a potato in a haystack"

The Joy of New Ingredients Salad

2010-07-12T06:20:00.000-07:00

This morning I discovered a new ingredient, and I was inspired. It was like meeting a new and interesting friend. New friends speak their own language. The nuances of their meaning are unfamiliar to me, I am forced to listen with an attentive ear, and watch with an observant eye.

Going into our introduction, all I knew about soy lecithin was that it was an emulsifier, meaning that it would hold together my oils and vinegars keeping them in one beautiful fluid mixture. What I hadn't comprehended was large difference this would translate into for a ginger vinaigrette.

Vinegar and tamari suspended in thousands of tiny droplets of oil would now be delivered individually to each taste bud, dropped like rain onto a leaf. Slowly, the droplet breaks open, and subtle pieces of mint, ginger, and lime pierce the tongue, like snow pierces cheeks.

The flavors amazed me. I stood in my kitchen, thrilled with the creation, not my creation, but nature's. Like a kid with a paint by number piece I wanted to show everyone what I had done. I felt certain that this dressing would bring me glory. For the first time ever, I began to fantasize about bottling my dressings and selling them.

Jesse woke up and walked into the kitchen wearing his flannel pajamas. His hair stood straight up and his eyes were puffy and pillow creased. He towers over the tops of the cabinets, but he has a childlike softness in his voice.

"Good morning Emily"
"Good morning Jesse"

This is my sign that it is late, and time for me to go to work. I put the dressing and the salad into the fridge, then left the scene.

I kept thinking about my dressing company all day. Christina would do all the design, naturally, and handle the business end. I would do the recipes and the advertising. I rushed home, excited to play with soy lecithin some more. When I opened the fridge and took out the dressing, I was a little disheartened by the goo staring back at me. It was a classic case of too much of a good thing placing the cart before the horse.

Ah, well, if you make this dressing at home (and I still highly recommend it), you may want to ease up on the soy lecithin and not store it in the refrigerator.

Ginger Mint Lime Dressing
3/4 Tbsp soy lecithin granules
3 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp rice vinegar
1 1/2 tsp honey
1/2 tsp grated ginger
1/2 Tbsp wheat free tamari (or regular tamari)
1 tsp ume plum vinegar
1 tsp lime juice
1 Tbsp fresh ginger mint
pinch salt
zest from 1 lime
2 tsp water (if dressing is too thick)

The Salad
2 cups mixed local greens (mustard greens would be good with this salad too)
2 cups chopped fresh pea pods (try to get some really fresh crunchy ones)
1 cup diced purple cabbage
Pulp from 1/2 lime (optional. this will cause the cabbage to bleed, but it really enhances the flavor of the salad)

Christina's vote: "This salad pleased me"

Cucumber Car Salad with Queen Bee Dressing

2010-07-11T15:16:00.000-07:00

I walked down the farmers market aisle, clutching my list and rehearsing my cucumber factoids.

'before the invention of thermoses, cucumbers were used as a water source for people crossing the desert' 'cucumbers originated in India over 3000 years ago' 'cucumbers are technically a fruit, and are members of the melon family' 'the inside of a cucumber is about 20 degrees cooler than the air temperature due to the vegetable's thick green skin'

I imagined, not just the words, but the inflection in which I would say them. I kept bumping into people, then apologizing. It's funny how, with minimal stress, I can talk on the radio every week, appear on television, speak in front of hundreds of adults in an auditorium, lecture college students in a classroom, but schedule me to do a vegetable demonstration in front of a bunch of 5-10 year olds and I completely panic.

"What is the matter with you? You look totally preoccupied right now." Christina said, as a sat at my desk chair staring into space. She was being nice, I looked catatonic.

"I have no idea what I am going to do tomorrow for my little locavores demo at the farmer's market."

All afternoon ideas had been sailing in, then floating away. Now it was evening, and I still felt totally lost. Sometimes I wish I had a magnifying glass which would magically focus my energy to a single point where it would ignite something useful. In a moment of panic, I sent out a call for suggestions on facebook. On a Saturday night, you can always count on grad students to be at their computers.

'Make cucumber cars with tomato wheels' someone wrote.

Perfect.
I started looking up cucumber facts late last night, then rehearsed them at the farmers market in the morning. I was so busy rehearsing that I almost completely missed the cage of bees sitting in front of the honey stand. Out of the corner of my eye they looked frightening, but then again I am afraid of anything in large numbers. For example, I find one bunny to be adorable, but a thousand bunnies in mass movement, grooming themselves and thumping their paws: terrifying. I stopped to look at the bees more closely. They were climbing in and out of perfect little wax hexagons grooming their legs and twitching their antennas. I realized that I have never bothered to wonder how it is that they can create honeycomb built of such perfect geometric shapes.

"The queen is on the other side" Michael, the honey vendor said. I walked over and looked at the other side. Identical bees were scattered everywhere, but one bee was surrounded by a cluster of about 10. She had a yellow dot on her back.
"That's the queen." He said.
"What are they doing to her?" I asked.
"Mostly grooming her and getting rid of her waste. It's not as great of a gig as it seems for the queen. Sure, she gets waited on, but her entire job is to produce eggs. As soon as she starts to fail at that, the rest of the bees kill her."
"How do they kill her?"
"Cuddle death, they smother her and she dies from the heat."
"wow, now that's a lot of pressure"
Suddenly my demo didn't seem so scary. It's not as though a swarm of children were going to kill me if I fail to entertain them..or, would they?

Chopped Cucumber Car Salad
10 small pickling cucumbers, peeled and diced
1 1/2 cups diced pea pods
1 cup chopped mixed greens
radishes (or tomatoes)

Queen Bee Dressing
3 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp white wine vinegar
1/2 Tbsp champagne vinegar
1/2 Tbsp lemon juice
lemon zest
1/2 Tbsp raw honey
1/2 Tbsp dried basil
salt and pepper to taste

Christina's vote: "I needed a shovel for this salad"

Breath Freshener Tabouli

2010-07-10T13:43:00.000-07:00

"Emily, what are you doing home?" Jesse swung his large, blond head around the corner, wrapping one hand of fingers against the wall. I turned the corner and the rest of the picture filled in. He held a vacuum cleaner his right hand, but the rest of his body was.. "JESSE PUT SOME CLOTHES ON" I yelled. Jesse, who had apparently forgotten that he was talking to me, was now standing and smiling, humming strange noises and caught in some autistic paradise of mental obsession.
"JESSE!"
"What?" he looked at me, with wide eyes, mirroring back my surprise.
"PUT SOME CLOTHES ON BEFORE YOU VACUUM" I said.
"OH NO, I CAN"T!!! Chris said I needed to vacuum the cat sand up in the bathroom before I take my shower. I have to do what Chris said. I'm gonna listen to Chris. Gonna listen to Chris. I'm gonna listen to Chris now." He repeated, as though he were coaching himself.
"Jesse" I said, more calmly. "She didn't mean you had to literally vacuum immediately before taking your shower. You could keep your clothes on, vacuum, and then get ready for your shower. Please put something on now."
"Can I wear my snuggie?" he asked. Not being entirely sure what a snuggie was, but assuming it was some article of clothing I agreed, then I went into the office to work on my computer.

I heard the vacuum going, then it shut off. Jesse came flying into the room, wearing what looked like a long flowing blue robe which came up high on his neck and hung long in the arms, covering half of his hands. With his 6 foot 4' frame, scruffy chin, and wavy ear-length blond hair, the robe made him look like a clergyman or a painting of one of the 12 disciples of Jesus.

"LIFE IS JUST A SERIES OF ADJUSTMENTS" he stated. I looked up at him, surprised by his profound philosophy.
"What?" I questioned.
"LIFE IS JUST A SERIES OF ADJUSTMENTS" he repeated, then continued, "I THINK THEREFORE I AM. WATER WATER EVERYWHERE BUT NOT A DROP TO DRINK" He boomed.
"Jesse, where did you hear that stuff" I broke into a laugh. "From George Ferrata in Winona. George died from eating too much fatty food." Jesse said, matter of fact, then he turned around and glided back into the bathroom, unmindful of the fact that his backside was completely bare.

Today I came home to find a fully clothed Jesse. I had been working at the farmers market, helping Bonnie Dehn (Minnesota's herb lady) do a pesto demo. She gave me some pesto with fresh garlic to take home, and I had eaten quite a bit of it for lunch. "Hi Jesse" I said.
"Emily, come in here I want to show you what I did." I followed him into his room. He had marshmallows sitting on his bookshelves, with toothpicks in them and gumdrops stuck to the toothpicks.
"They're water molecules!" He said, proudly.
"Jesse, I think you have a few too many hydrogen's on this one" I said, holding up a marshmallow with 4 toothpicks sticking out. He held his hand over his nose, and looked uncomfortably at me.
"Geez, that's some breath Emily. I think your breath stinks" He sounded apologetic. "You want some gum?" he asked.
"Sure Jesse, thanks" I said, laughing. This is when I decided to make a parsley salad, because parsley is supposed to get rid of bad breath.
It's fun having Jesse around.

Breath Freshener Tabouli
2 cups cooked bulgar
3 cups parsley
1 cup cherry tomatoes, diced
1/2 cup sun dried tomatoes in oil, diced
1/4 cup oil that the sun dried tomatoes was in
salt and pepper to taste.

Christina's vote: "This salad made me think I should eat sun-dried tomatoes every day"

Sun Run Salad

2010-07-09T11:42:00.000-07:00

I felt my lungs expand and contract, like large wings flapping against my rib cage. I opened my heart to set them free, and suddenly my legs were ignited. They moved like pistons, taking cues from one another, one up one down. With this new source of power, I was free to sit back and steer. The wide city roads were empty, and the air was damp and warm like a Florida morning. A giant red sun tracked over my right shoulder. It jumped out from behind the buildings, as though we were children in a forest, and it were surprising me from behind trees. I wanted to stay out and play with the sun until he was called home to bed, but I knew that soon the people would come out and he would retreat up into the sky like a shy drummer, who plays his powerful music hidden from glory. For a moment, I wished that I could live my whole day with the dawn.

I wondered if this is what mothers feel when their children grow up. It is difficult not to get attached to the pinks and whites of morning, but if spend all my thoughts missing them then I know I will miss the yellows and blues of the afternoon.

All day long, underneath a yellow and blue sky, I remind myself not to surrender to fear. I remind myself that as long as my heart is open, my body will align itself, pistons beneath shoulders, feet beneath pistons. I feel the explosive energy, miraculous like the red morning sun. It comes through the opening of my heart.

Hazelnut Apple Balsamic Vinaigrette
3 tsp apple infused balsamic vinegar
1/2 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
2 Tbsp hazelnut infused olive oil
1 Tbsp grapeseed oil
1 tsp raw honey
1/2 tsp dry yellow mustard powder

Radish Pea Salad
1/2 head red leaf lettuce, chopped
10 radishes, sliced
1 1/2 cups chopped pea pods

Christina's vote: "This salad reminded me of gifts I never gave."

Half Moon Zucchini Salad

2010-07-08T11:35:00.000-07:00

"Anyone want to go to Cheapo in Minneapolis today?" Christina's brother Jesse asked, for about the 700th time. Jesse, who is a 36 year old Nordic looking man with a 70's haircut and a 14 year old temperament, is autistic. For the past few days, Christina and her mother have been rearranging the furniture in our apartment in preparation for Jesse's arrival. We moved our bedroom into the office and cleared out the shelves for his ET dolls, his "I Dream of Jeannie" bottles, and his back to the future toys. If given the chance, he would own every back to the future accessory that has ever been made, he would buy every Billy Joel record ever recorded, and his closet would be filled with Jeannie costumes.

"Anyone want to go to Cheapo?" he repeated, with an extra high inflection at the end. It was an unassuming tone, as though he were coaxing a little dog.

"No Jesse, we are not going to Cheapo today. We don't need any more things. We are done collecting things. We are now going to work on collecting experiences." Christina replied.

It seems harsh, but I was impressed. What a cool thing to say. What a cool way to live. I thought, 'yes, I want to collect experiences too!' Then she really impressed me by continuing with
"Do you have any sweatpants Jesse? We are all going to go running."

For as long as I have known her, Christina hasn't been into running. Recently she has come with me on a couple of trail runs, which is my own personal version of having my cake and eating it too. I love being with Christina. I love running. Now I get to do both at the same time. Bliss.

We drove to a paved trail just outside of the city. Jesse's pants were a bit too short, and there was about 2 inches of exposed sock between his high top sneakers and the cuff of his blue stretch pants. His shirt was gray and said USA on it. As soon as we started moving, his eyes got wide and his hair blew back as though it were glued on at the sideburns. He bore resemblance to Steve Prefontaine. Christina ran like she has been running her whole life, with her head and shoulders back and a peaceful look in her eyes. We moved as though we were attached at the shoulder, and though we frequently needed to stop to walk, I knew this was only the beginning. Team "I Dream of Jeannie" was born.

Half moon zucchini salad
Heat 1 Tbsp olive oil and 1/8 tsp salt in a frying pan. Add 1 large zucchini and 2 small light green zucchini, halved and sliced into moons and 4 small diced garlic cloves. Add 1 tsp mirin (japanese cooking wine). Cook until zucchini are soft, but still have a little crunch to them. Add 3 garlic scapes, diced (probably my last ones of the season). Remove from heat.
Add 1/2 Tbsp rice vinegar,
1/4 tsp ume plum vinegar,
1 tsp lemon juice,
1/2 tsp tamari
salt and pepper to taste
when the mixture has cooled for about 10 min, toss in 1 small bunch Swiss chard and 1 Tbsp toasted sesame oil.

Christina's vote: "This salad helped me celebrate the sunny day"

The Generous Mirror Salad

2010-07-07T15:22:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

Christina's vote "This salad was generous"

Immortal Adventure Salad

2010-07-06T04:44:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blanched and Gingered Pea Salad

2010-07-05T11:59:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

I made this salad in honor of the farmers.

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

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

Dare To Be Bare Salad

2010-07-04T11:05:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christina's vote "This salad dared me."

Letter to Shadow Salad

2010-07-03T13:30:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

Dill-icious Cabbage Homecoming Salad

2010-07-02T14:02:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

Christina's vote: "Creativity at its best"

Fajita Vacation Salad

2010-07-01T03:58:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Strawberry Thyme Salad

2010-06-28T08:50:00.000-07:00

The smell followed me around all morning. Their summer sweetness wafted back and forth across the path as I pounded my feet along the asphalt through the sunny breeze of morning. It was there at the farm stand, permeating the air, overtaking the fresh cilantro, basil, and mint. Then again in the car they released a pungent fragrance, a constant reminder of the delicious flavors to come. The perfume bathed the interior of the car, lingering on my salivary glands, conjuring culinary fantasies. They are reeking with joy because it is their time.

Strawberries. When they are gone, they are replaced by stunt doubles. Giant and bland, with only a hint of fragrance. They come from Mexico, South America, and California. A special breed with an indestructible fiber skeleton. They are swollen with water, because bigger sells better, but the memories are more dilute.

The small and sweet little New Hampshire or Minnesota berries would never survive a flight across the country. They are the brilliant red queen of the farm. They command attention, refusing to let me leave them be. There is no need for dressing them up with cream and shortcake, balsamic vinegar, sugar or lime. On their own each bite comes packed with precious childhood memories- Young birthday parties, Saint Mark's Mayfair, Mrs. Vandyke's fruit tart, breakfasts with my cousins in Maine, sailing on the AJ Meerwald, last year's 4th of July salad.

Somewhere between who I thought I was and who I think I want to be, is who I am and who I have always been. In the flavor and the fragrance of strawberries, I can find that girl. She is sitting on a rock, her legs warmed against the dark stone. The sun sets on the horizon, the salty air blows by, and she wears strawberry stains on her shirt.

Strawberry Thyme Salad
The dressing
1/3 cup mayonnaise
1 Tbsp tamari (soy sauce)
1 Tbsp white wine vinegar
3/4 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
1 Tbsp balsamic
1 tsp Florida pepper (Penzy's) or ground black pepper and lemon zest
1 Tbsp fresh thyme

The salad
1 small head green leaf, red leaf, or romaine lettuce (probably romaine is best)
1 carrot, diced
1/2 cup strawberries, sliced

Christina's vote: "This salad made me want to know things"

Runner's Playground Salad

2010-06-28T08:10:00.000-07:00

In the early morning light, I went to the airport and got in an airplane bound for New Hampshire. Half asleep and wedged into my little seat, I looked for something to distract myself with. A magazine, the little safety card, my hardcover book, a neighbor with an 80's perm, a 11 year old child sitting in the window seat. The child was leaning her forehead against the little glass window, her jaw gaping, her wide eyes scanning the land below. I followed her eyes and marveled at the tufts of white cloud against the cartoon blue sky.

Suddenly I felt fully awake. We are flying. We are a group of people, sitting in little chairs and riding through the sky. THROUGH THE SKY!! The child had guided me to a sense of wonder. I managed to hold onto it until the whir of the planes ascent subsided, then I forgot my awe, and returned to my book.

The first thing I noticed when driving through New Hampshire were the pine tree studded mountains, they are groomed and green like a chia pet in full bloom. We drove over the hills and through the woods and to a little house on the lake where my family and nephews were lounging inside. My four year old nephew showed me his train set, and his toy cars. Then I went for a run.

The dirt trail was carved before me, like a wooden track and I felt myself being pushed along, as though a giant finger were digging into my back. I hugged close to the turns and allowed myself to be pushed. The trail opened up to a narrow road, which arched up and down and up again. I imagined myself in a child's toy world. I was a train car, I was moving, noticing, my wheels freely turning. I happened by a garter snake, it reminded me of a rubber toy. I chugged up a steep hill with jolted steps like a roller coaster climb, passed a horses pasture, past a patches of lavender, past a waft of manure, slowly, finally, I reached the top.

Then I was let go. My stomach did a summersault as it shifted from up to down and I went flying, arms flailing, down a steep hill, allowing my legs to turn over. It was quite a ride.

Lime cilantro dressing
3/4 cup chopped cilantro
Juice from 1 lime plus 1 Tbsp lime juice
1/4 tsp salt
2 Tbsp Extra virgin olive oil
1/2 tbsp brown sugar

Pour over
1 kohlrabi, peeled and cut into matchsticks
1 cup chopped purple cabbage

Christina's vote: "This salad put the clouds away"

Coffee Story Salad

2010-06-28T07:14:00.000-07:00

The old man hunched over the table, scattered newspapers spread before him in a table cloth of gray and black. The bend in his back arched over so extreme that it appeared his head was growing out of his chest, and his ears were long and leathered. He hung his head and muttered into his coffee, which nearly graced the tip of his nose. His elbows were anchored firmly in frond of him, and splayed wide in a posture of open assertiveness. Every so often he would gesture, with his hands.

It was this gesturing that first caught my attention. I was waiting at the bar for my embarrassingly large coffee. Though I try to convince myself otherwise, a Starbucks is really just a glorified McDonalds, fast food overindulgence. I was planning to take my coffee and go, so that I could have the illusion of a nice relaxing morning coffee date without the actual nice relaxing morning..or the date. To some people the word coffee is a verb meaning the action of sitting together for a leisurely conversation, lasting anywhere from 1 to 24 hours. Christina and her family define coffee in this way. In Germany, take out coffee is still such a novelty that they actually distinguish "coffee" from "coffee to go". As my German professor used to say "Americans take something perfectly wonderful like a cappuccino, and put it in a paper cup so that they can walk around with it. It defeats the whole purpose of enjoying a cappuccino!" To me, coffee is a beverage that I consume to help me perform my daily activities, much like some people enjoy alcohol to help them perform nightly activities.

The gesturing caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. Next I noticed the mans deeply wrinkled skin and freshly groomed appearance. His hair was parted over to the left and was lined with tooth tracks from what was probably a small black comb. The chair across from him was empty, but he didn't seem to notice. He was eagerly relaying a story, and one that had probably been rehearsed thousands of times. "So then I lay the cards out on the table.." he said, cocking his head to the right and leaning in a bit, toward the empty chair across from him. Aside from the fact that he was talking to an imaginary friend, the man seemed perfectly normal. Besides that, the story sounded good. I had the sudden urge to rush over and fill the empty chair, but I didn't want to break his spell. I thought, maybe I could eavesdrop from another table, and I regretted that I didn't have time.

The stories of elderly people are worth listening to. They are like recipes that have been prepared many times and tested on multiple audiences. You just know that they are going to be good. I thought about this as I reflected on season 2 of 90 salads. I am just a baby in the salad world, and thankful for the audience I have. I hope that one day, when my recipes are tweaked and my skills are fully seasoned, some young people will happen by and fill the seat across the table from me to listen.

Sesame Tamari dressing
1/4 cup toasted sesame oil
1/4 cup vegetable oil (sunflower oil is nice)
1 Tbsp plus 1 tsp tamari
1 Tbsp rice vinegar
1 tsp raw honey
a touch of wasabi for kick (optional)

The salad
3/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1 cup bean sprouts
3 medium carrots, diced or shredded
3/4 cup shredded purple cabbage
1 small head green leaf lettuce

Christina's vote: "This salad un-levels the playing field"

Dill-lime One More Time Salad

2010-06-27T13:33:00.000-07:00

The six of us were gathered around two wooden tables, pushed together in the small, crisp demo kitchen of the co-op. The standing shadow that projected to the back of the room was mine, the rest of the shadows were hunched over, sitting tall, or scribbling on notepads. Dark green bottles of oil and vinegar were spread out before me, in a mottled array of shapes and widths. They were staggered like kindergartners in a classroom line-up. Had I been watching my shadow, I would have noticed how much I fidget when I teach, and how my hair refuses to remain in a ponytail. Had I been looking in from outside, I would have marveled at how the bright glow of the classroom lit up the large square window and cut through the warm dusk sky. Instead I stood staring at the bottles of oil, and feeling the sets of eyes which had only just begun tracing me to make an impression. I poured some olive oil into a tablespoon. A hand shot up in the air.

"Could you use an oil other than olive oil, because I find the flavor of olive oil to be too strong. Or is there one that you would recommend we use that is less strong?"

I put down the olive oil and reached for a different bottle."Yes, I like to use grapeseed oil. It has a flavor that is much milder and a more pale color and.."

I stopped mid-sentence. The oil I was pouring, which I thought was the grapeseed oil, was not pale, but bright blue. It looked like dish detergent. I checked the bottle- grapeseed -then checked the tablespoon- blue. I brought the spoon up to my nose and sniffed. I felt the room wince a little, no doubt because I was now sniffing the thing that they would soon be obligated (out of Minnesota politeness) to taste. In a moment of fear I wondered if someone was playing a trick on me, or if I had grabbed the wrong bottle. If I continued on with the class like nothing was amiss I might risk poisoning someone. As I floundered around up front, one of the students spoke up "is it supposed to be that color?" By this time I had the spoon up level with my eyebrows and I was inspecting it, cross eyed. I dropped the spoon and looked up, exhaling a large amount of air.

"No. I have never actually used this brand before." I confessed, feeling stupid yet relieved. Honesty has that effect on me. I took a taste of the oil. It had a greasy finish, which would swallow all of the delicate flavors of the rest of the evenings dressings.

For the remainder of the class, we discussed how the salads you make are only as good as the quality of the ingredients. Using the wrong oil for example, can result in the need to cover up off flavors with additional ingredients. This doesn't mean you have to buy the expensive oil, in fact, I think it is better not to. Expensive oils move off of the shelf slowly and have a higher risk of being spoiled by the time you open them. I go for a nice middle of the road oil, and try to buy small bottles of ones I have never tasted in case I don't like the brand.

The dressing for today's salad is one I had to make over, because I tried to use that blue green oil.

Dill lime dressing
4 Tbsp Salute Sante brand grapeseed oil
2 garlic scapes
1/4 tsp Dijon mustard
1/4 tsp cinnamon
1 pinch salt
1/2 tsp black pepper
1 1/2 Tbsp dill
1 Tbsp lime juice
lime zest
1 Tbsp sherry vinegar
1/4 tsp honey
Blend together in a food processor.

The salad
1 1/2 medium kohlrabi, peeled and cut into small cubes
2 carrots, peeled and diced
1 cup pea pods
1 small head red leaf lettuce

Christina's vote: "This salad screams 'I love Sunday!'"

Mountain Range Salad

2010-06-26T12:36:00.000-07:00

With sharp crampons, stress creeps up soft elastic shoulders. She grapples the muscles with hooks and lines, pulling and twisting as she goes. When she reaches the throat she hangs and rests, gripping tightly, her legs and arms spread eagled. She makes you swallow hard. Up your jaw she continues, and you clench tight to support her weight. She drives her pick into your temples. She kicks open your eardrums, and the once filtered, clean sound enters in a wave of white noise. She is a subtle visitor, but the path she treads is jagged and rough. It is not until she dives from the summit, and you feel her little toes as they spring down and lift off from your forehead, that you realize she had ever set camp. When she is gone, you miss her weight, to which you had grown accustomed. Without her, you find you move easily and you have to relearn how to shift your balance. I stood in the middle of the crowd, feeling my new weight as stress repelled off of me.

I felt myself standing, I was a mountain among mountains. In my right hand, I was carrying a single ear of roasted corn. I held it by the husk, the charred black pointed leaves stuck out beneath my clenched fist like straw on a scarecrow. I had just finished a morning of work at the market, and for the first time in months I had nothing due, nowhere I had to be, no one I needed to meet with. I thought about how, if I wanted to, I could sit down on the stone wall and eat my corn while watching the people go by. I could eat it kernel by kernel if I felt like it. The thought made me giddy.

Walking through the market with nowhere to be, really made me feel connected. I stopped and asked questions. I tasted cheese from 3 different vendors. I pulled in the carnival smells. I shopped for salad ingredients. I was a mountain among mountains.

As I was leaving, I noticed an old Hmong woman sitting on a stool. She had deep wrinkles on her face. She wore a long dress with a kerchief on her head. She was shelling peas and smiling with her eyes. I thought to myself, 'that looks like a fun thing to do', so I bought some shelling peas.Then I made this salad.

Garlic Scape, Red Potato and Pea Salad
4 cups diced, cooked, red potatoes (cook in boiling water, drain, and then rinse to cool)
4 garlic scapes
1/2 cup shelled peas
2 green onions
2 Tbsp fresh dill
1/2 cup Greek yogurt
1/4 tsp soy sauce (for color)
1/2 tsp red wine vinegar
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp pepper
Toss together and serve. Garnish with chive blossoms.

Christina's vote: "From God's ears to my lips"

Flavor Tornado Salad

2010-06-25T16:07:00.000-07:00

As I write this post, I am walking 2 mph at a treadmill desk. It is amazing. The desk, which can be raised or lowered at the press of a button, is about 6 feet long and 3 feet wide. That is plenty of room for my papers, and my coffee. I could probably even fit a couple of coffee pots on here. The only drawback to this setup is the location. I am in a tiny room in the heart of the library at the VA medical center. In order to be able to use the desk, I have to sign up in advance. Thinking back to a recent experience where I had to complete an exam that required 12+ hour days sitting at a computer, I have to wonder why no one invented the treadmill desk sooner.

During the sedentary month, my back would often ache and my mind would feel stale. The blood would pool in my legs, and my whole body, right down to the toes, would feel swollen and sore. I had to wear arm socks to keep my elbows from bruising. I kept thinking 'I can't believe people live like this.'

I dream of a future where the word desk chair is filed in the graveyard of technological archives, along with the camcorder, the 8-track, and the telephone chord. The chair will be looked back on as a historical torture device, once revered as a symbol of cultural pride, like the corset or the Chinese lotus shoe (which was used in foot binding). It may seem extreme to compare the desk chair to the lotus shoe, which often caused young women to have broken toes and severe disabilities later in life. However, I feel that it is a valid comparison. My reasoning is not entirely scientific, but I did gather some evidence. Christina and I once had a discussion about the prevelence of pain in the American population, she insisted that most people live with pain, I assured her that they do not. The discussion resulted in the formation of a bet. She bet me that if I asked everyone who came through the coffee shop, most people would confess to living with pain. I wish I could say that I won the bet, but I did not. The most common source of pain described was the lower back. The most common job: the desk job.

Here is a link to the treadmill desk http://www.treadmill-desk.com/

This salad is simple and elegant. I added lemon to it at first, and so it was too tart. Christina added soy sauce to hers and brought the tartness down. Then she stood and watched me taste it, and waited for my response. She looked like a proud kid showing me a report card. It was the cutest, but I couldn't let her know I thought so. In the dressing I left out the lemon and the soy sauce, but If you want some more complex flavors, add 1/2 tsp lemon juice and a few drops of soy.

Champagne truffle dressing
1 Tbsp white truffle oil
4 Tbsp grape seed oil
1 1/2 tsp Champagne vinegar
1 tsp honey
2 baby green onions
1/2 tsp pepper
1 tsp fresh thyme

The salad
1 head red leaf lettuce
3 carrots quartered and sliced
1 small tomato
6 asparagus spears

Christina's vote: "I was swirled by a tornado of flavors"

Spicy Caprese Salad

2010-06-23T17:38:00.000-07:00

When feeling uncertain, uncomfortable, or socially awkward, I find that the best thing to do is to wash dishes. I am not the greatest dishwasher, for which I blame my mother because, growing up, she always offered to wash the dishes if I cooked dinner. I stood in the back of the coffee stand at the farmers market. It was one of my first days on the job, and though I was hired to coordinate demos and report on the radio, I found myself eagerly offering to wash the dishes almost instantly. My boss, who has a background in marketing, likes to introduce me to people, and heavily emphasizes my education. While my credentials may be impressive to her, the farmers know better. To the farmers, the hours that I spend sitting at my desk reading, or researching articles online, represent hours missed working with the plants. To them, my degree program is more a symbol of my lack of experience than of my high qualifications, even though I am studying nutrition. So said the cheese man, who is a former researcher and biochemistry PhD. "No offense" he said "but I make it a point not to hang around with you university types anymore. You don't realize how much you don't know, and are missing. I was a researcher, but I got bored with that. I gave it up to study cheese. Cheese is a moving target... blah blah blah blah" he went on. 'You don't understand.' I wanted to say 'I'm not like them. I'm one of you. I just haven't settled in to my place here yet.'Instead the words came out like this, "Could you excuse me, I have some dishes to wash" and I backed away slowly. In the kitchen I overheard a farmer telling my boss's daughter about high tunnel farming(see link below for article on high tunnel farming).

http://www.minotdailynews.com/page/content.detail/id/516927.html?nav=5562

It is because of high tunnel farming that we have Minnesota tomatoes, grown outdoors in the ground, this early in the season. We also have chubs, which are basically pickling cucumbers grown past their regular harvest time. What we don't have at the farmers market right now, are pickling cucumbers. Why not, you ask? The answer is that nobody will buy them now, because it is not pickling season yet. Food is one area where our culture is slow to catch up with our tecnology. When a new food product is engineered, cultural rules must be abided if the product is to sell. "People seem to forget that their local farmers are trying to make a living, sometimes we have to get creative. People won't buy pickling cucmbers now, so we grow them out longer and call them 'chubs'". The salad below was made with high tunnel tomatoes, which can be found right now at the farmers market. They are delicious!

Spicy Caprese Salad (The watercress gives it spice. If you don't like spice use arugula for a peppery variation, or sorrel for a lemony one.)

1 1/2 Tbsp olive oil
1/2 Tbsp red wine vinegar
Add salt and pepper
Whisk in 1/2 cup slivered basil
2 chopped garlic scapes
1 slice diced red onion
1 cup chopped watercress (for spice)

lay out mixture on a plate and add 1 sliced high tunnel tomato. Serve with toast.

Christina's vote: "This salad made me feel right-justified"

Mermaid Tales Salad

2010-06-23T16:24:00.000-07:00

I leaned with all my might against the heavy wind and the force of gravity. The boat had tipped us sideways, kissing her rails to the water. Like an older sibling she teased us, threatening to dump us out and let us fall into the ocean. I knew she wouldn't let us fall, but my hands gripped tightly to her wire shrouds and my toes clenched her fiberglass deck through rubber soled shoes, just in case. I was seven years old, and proud to be a sailor. My mother shouted out at me from the cockpit, volumes of her worry laden voice were seized and escorted away by gusts of wind before they reached my ears. Every so often I could hear a faint
"always keep one hand on the shiiiipppp..", but even when these words reached my ears, they were muffled by my awe. I was mesmerized by the churning, thrashing, dull blue-gray horizon, and the smooth, white sails which were snapped tight. The tell tails wagged approvingly at the authority of the wind. Then there was the sound. Rhythmic like breath, gentle like rain, we rose and fell to the sound of our crashing bow.
"Ready about?" My brother was at the helm. I rushed back to my mothers worried arms.
"Hard to lee" We turned through the eye of the wind, and for a moment the boat went flat and I could feel the wind's breath on both of my ears. Then the ship leaned to the other side. My father took my hand. He smelled like sunscreen and cold air.
"Why don't you go and hang your legs off of the high side, and look for mermaids?"
"Okay!" I said, and I scooted out onto the deck and hung my legs over the side and stared into our foamy wake.
Years later I am still looking for mermaids. As it turns out Christina's mother is a mermaid artist. Born in Minnesota, miles from the nearest ocean, she found herself compelled to create mermaids. They emerged from the depths of her imagination, in all shapes and sizes, with the most curiously beautiful faces. They are too gentle not to be real. As I was going through my salad pictures for this post, I spotted a picture of one of Catherine's mermaids, and I decided to make her this salad to remind her of her home in the sea.

View Catherine's mermaids: http://www.catherinestenhjem.com

Mermaid Tales Salad
Boil water and add about 1/4 tsp salt. Cook pasta for about 10 min, then drain and rinse with cold water to prevent it from sticking. In a large frying pan, add
1 Tbsp olive oil and
1 Tbsp white truffle oil
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 yellow onion
3 cloves garlic
cook for about 3 min, then add the pasta. Cook another 3 min, then remove from heat and dump into a bowl. Add
2 garlic scapes, diced. Put the pan back onto the burner and add
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 head rinsed swiss chard
2 cloves garlic
2 Tbsp water, cover with a lid and turn the heat down. Cook until wilted. Remove the lid and let the moisture evaporate. Add the chard to the pasta. When the salad has cooled, add
1/2 yellow pepper
1/2 orange pepper
1 Tbsp sherry vinegar
1 tsp red wine vinegar
1/2 cup diced basil
fresh ground pepper
Place in fridge and adjust seasoning before serving (you may want to add more oil and vinegar)

Christina's vote: This salad stirred me.

I Dream of Island Ranch Coleslaw

2010-06-22T16:52:00.000-07:00

I dove my spoon into the shredded cabbage and kohlrabi. I was feeling clever, having just created a rendition of one of my favorite salads in town, a coconut lime coleslaw. The version I made is tropical, but with a hint of garden. I think it is best described as an island ranch dressing. I poured the creamy dressing into the spicy-sweet slaw. It folded over itself in beautiful ribbons, then sank into the porous shreds, glazing the carrots with darkness the way water changes sand. Just then, tiny whiskers interrupted my musings, and a nose poked into view. My eyes followed the little white nose up to triangular grey ears, then back to look straight into the most intensely curious eyes I have ever seen. I cocked my head to match his, and held my gaze as he looked from me to the salad and back again. He seemed so happy to be sitting there watching, that I considered going back to my cooking and leaving him on the counter.

Then I noticed the paw. It was poised and ready to dive. It looked like a snake about to strike. I blinked my eyes wider, and zoomed in on the tan burnt auburn stains on the white fur. My eyes walked further, uncovering a track of brown splatter which led to a drip stained mug whose rim was now tracing the counter. I looked back at Eugene. His eyes bulged guiltily. Clearly he had helped himself to some coffee, and now he was planning to help himself to some salad. I dove for my water gun while shouting "NOOOOOO". He turned his head. The snake paw drooled brown. I shook the gun, sloshing the water ominously. He flinched and ducked. He left me no choice. I fired.

Eugene sat on the floor, licking the water off of his legs. He frowned at me, put up his tail, and pranced away. I continued scraping the bowl with my spatula. Since the first time I read Alice Waters "Fanny at Chez Panisse" I have fantasized about having a child who would sit with me while I am cooking, and to whom I could pass along all of my kitchen secretes. I would set the child on the table in a large salad bowl, and spin the bowl from time to time to keep them pacified. I suppose I should have been more specific in my dreaming and imagined that the child be human and not so naughty as to stick their paws into the salad.

Coconut lime dressing
2 heaping TBSP coconut cream (open a can of coconut milk and just scoop out the creamy part)
juice and zest of 1/2 lime
1 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
lots of fresh ground pepper
pinch salt
1 1/2 Tbsp fresh lemon-thyme (I have a plant of it that I got from the farmers market)

Kohlrabi slaw
in a food processor, shred 2 medium peeled kohlrabi and 6 peeled carrots. Add 2 diced garlic scapes and 3 green onions (with a tiny bulb on the end). Dress with coconut lime dressing.

Christina's vote: "I could taste melodies in this salad"

Beet-en and Fried Salad with E Scape dressing

2010-06-21T17:15:00.000-07:00

The thick, humidity had been hovering for days, and the sky smothered our little city under a blanket of rainclouds. In the dim light the heavy leaves brightened and came alive, like pages of a comic book illuminated by flashlight. I lumbered through the intermittent, heavy raindrops, stepping my boot down awkwardly on the pavement to protect my heel from the piercing blister which tore at my ankle. Many of the veterans at the hospital have the same labored walk, probably from grenade blown limbs and amputated gunshot wounds. My injury was a casualty of gender and fashion. I felt absolutely ridiculous. I let the world turn into a jungle around me on the drive home. I turned where the trees arched over the road and allowed them to engulf me into there once skeletal arms. I was exhausted. I was hungry. It was late.

A hard day of work is refreshing, when your mind and body have been pushed to the edges of your own ego, forcing you to dangle your fingers and toes into the surrounding abyss. Your hair blows through the winds of the unknown, and you don't even try to tie it back. You hope that it will gather lofty messages, and bring them to you so that you too can fly freely around this earth. These messages cannot be contained within the confines of an ego.

I got home and opened my computer. The letter finally came. I didn't get the fellowship I had applied for. I turned into a perfectionistic 7 year old, throwing a tantrum. I began compiling a mental list of my failures. I felt like giving up on school, but instead shared my thoughts with Christina and allowed her to put them into perspective.
"Don't be one of those people that never appreciates what they have." She said. That made me laugh. I said those exact words to her yesterday. I love my life, and I can't stop showing up for it just because I have skinned pride. As I began peeling the beets, I went through my list of failures, mentally erasing each one and replacing it with a gratitude.

E SCAPE dressing
1 tsp raw dandelion honey (it melts like butter and turns bitter tongues sweet)
2 tsp white wine vinegar (it just sounds fancy)
1 tsp ume plum vinegar (a deliciously salty, lovely flavor)
2 diced garlic scapes (crunchy, independent child of garlic
1 tsp french basil (As I poured it into the bowl, I thought of Diane Boutin and of my trip to Quebec, I demanded that Christina and I pack up our things and move to Canada at once. She just started at me and slowly chewed her beets.)
lots of ground black pepper (it feels good to grind)
2 Tbsp olive oil (flavor matters, make sure your oil is fresh and to your liking)
1 Tbsp fresh lemon juice (lighten up, it's summer)

Beet en and Fried Salad
Slice thin:
2 small golden beets
2 small red beets
2 small candy striped beets
4 thin carrots
In a frying pan, add 1 Tbsp olive oil and the gold beets. Add 2 small cloves minced garlic and 1 sprig rosemary. Add a pinch of salt. Pour in about 1 tsp mirin and saute for about 4 min. Pull the beets out with a slotted spoon and add the candy striped beets, 2 more cloves minced garlic and about 1/2 cup water. When the candy beets are soft, pull them out with a slotted spoon and add the red beets. Cook to desired texture and remove.
Toss 2-3 cups arugula in 1/2 the dressing and pour onto a platter. Toss the beets and sliced carrots in the rest of the dressing and serve (warm or cold).

Christina's vote: "This salad can do no wrong"

It's about time for more salad

2010-06-20T12:06:00.000-07:00

"Hello, I'd like to speak with Annie please."
"Yeah. Hang on a moment. ANNIEEEE" The woman's voice was blase with a hint of crabby. It was not at all what I would expect from the mother of a responsible high school girl scout, especially one who was mature enough to organize a health and nutrition day for her troop. I peered around the pristine church basement. The face of my cell phone was glued to my ear, causing my cheek to burn and my ear to sweat.
"Hello?" said the young voice.
"Hi Annie, I am here. Where is the group?" The heavy grocery bag pulled at my left shoulder and cut into my hand. I set it on the ground, balancing it against my leg to prevent the long green carrot tops that were bursting out of the top from tipping the whole bag over. I could hear the low drone of the pastors voice whispering through the cracks of the room where a Sunday service was taking place. The thought dawned on me that it was a little strange for a group of girl scouts would be meeting in a church on a Sunday for a workshop, but having never been a girl scout, I wouldn't know how these things work.
"Um, actually it was yesterday." She said.
"What!!!??! But your email said the 20th. That's today! I am here today!"
"Yeeeah, we didn't know where you were. Sorry. I didn't email you last night. I meant to."
I had driven through traffic. I had been to three grocery stores. I had been planning for days, researching the origins of different foods. I was going to do a mindfulness exercise with them. We were going to taste-test organic and conventional apples, ethylene vs high tunnel tomatoes, whole carrots vs baby carrots, and foods with hidden salt. I walked out of the church and into my car with the mixed bag of desirable and undesirable goods and emotions.

There is something about a cow pasture that makes me forget that cars are for getting from one place to another. The sky was gathering puffs of cloud, and knitting them into one large white blanket. The streets were flawed with evenly spaced bumps that gave my wheels a rhythmic industrial clank, like the sound of pistons pumping. I thought about machinery, and imagined the robotic arms picking unripe tomatoes on an industrial farm, sending them down a conveyor belt to be gas ripened with ethylene. I imagined the crates being loaded into a truck, tossed and stacked like mail. I took out one of the bright pink tomatoes and brought it up to my nose. Nothing. It felt greasy in my hands. This is the tomato we have come to know. I took out the other tomato from the farmers market, grown in a high tunnel. It felt soft in my hand. It never would have survived a robotic arm, or being packed, stacked, and thrown around in a crate. It was hand picked, and delivered to me at the farmers market. I know because I met the man who picked it.

A large clang jolted me as my wheel skipped over a hole in the road, and I came into the realization that I was driving aimlessly. The heat was steaming the fragrances out of the strawberries sitting in the passenger seat. I felt bad about missing the girl scouts, but recognized how good it felt to have the intention of going. I pulled over to the side of the road and got out my phone, opened up the text window, and sent a message to Christina.
"I think it's time for another round of 90 salads" I wrote.
Her message came back instantly.
"finally"

Strawberry rosemary balsamic vinaigrette
1 1/2 cups small sweet strawberries
1 1/2 Tbsp balsamic vinegar
1 tsp honey
1 tsp mustard powder
pinch salt
tsp pepper
2 Tbsp grape seed oil
1/2 tsp chopped fresh rosemary
2 tsp white wine vinegar
Blend together the strawberries and balsamic, and transfer into a small saucepan. Heat for 4 min over med/high heat. Remove from heat and add remaining ingredients.

Salad
mixed baby greens with 1 cup arugula and 1/2 cup cilantro
1 cup sugar snap peas or snow peas
1 cup diced purple cabbage
1 cup strawberries for garnish
1 cup dry roasted almonds
Garnish with goat brie if desired

Christina's vote: "Don't see how it could get better than this, but I am sure it will."

Iron Fork Amateur Competition

2009-09-28T12:51:00.000-07:00

Video by George Prine:

I have a new blog

2009-08-17T16:58:00.000-07:00

This project is now complete. I have begun a new blog, called "Leafy Reader". Leafy reader is a collection of short stories inspired by love and produce. I hope you will visit my site and join me in my journey as I discover and re-discover the amazing and expansive landscape of freshly grown foods.

http://leafyreader.blogspot.com/

Salad 90: Fireworks at High Tide Salad

2009-08-09T08:51:00.000-07:00

His skin was brown like leather, his hair oily and straggly and dusted with sand, as though he had been a victim of shipwreck. He began each day before the sky's Great Metamorphosis of gray to green to blue; before the heat of the morning cooked out the calm cool of night and attracted gymnasium sounds of tourists.

They came with polo shirts and knee high socks, smelling of suntan lotion, smothered by mineral shade and cabana umbrellas. They wanted the feeling of home and the idea of beach, the TV version of life. The earlybirds who lived vigilantly, certain that somebody else would take the best spot if they didn't get it first, sometimes arrived in time to witness the man sculpting. He ignored them, mostly. He played aloof. They would never know how much he needed them, how he hid in the shade of the lifeguard post and watched their faces for reactions to his work.

The children were always the first to notice. Their little faces exploded in radiance at the sight of the giant alligator, or life-sized mermaid carved intricately out of sand. The young ones had lips painted with purple kool-aid and orange Popsicle, which opened and flowered into smiles. Their fathers, with fresh combed hair, parted crisply to the side, wearing beach shorts tied with drawstrings and walking in flip flops, lost themselves when they came upon his enormous beach tarantulas and hummingbirds. They simply stood, mouths gaping, silently wondering who and why. The women swooned. Contrary to the men, they seemed to get louder and louder as they closed in on the details of the sand creatures.

Every day, the ocean would come, and wash away the sharp edges of his fish. His mermaids would melt, his tarantula would return to the beach out of which it was born. He would watch as the tide climbed up the dry sand. It would begin with the toes of his carved princess who sat looking out over the waves as if searching for passing ships, or the nose of a giant diving dolphin. The water would lap up to the edge, and in that moment, the artist would surrender himself completely.

The next morning the artist simply moved down the shoreline and started fresh. Every day, he looked to the beach, trusting his foundation for wisdom.
"What forms would you use me for to create today?" he would say.
Always the beach would answer.

The dressing:
whisk together 4 Tbsp olive oil, 2 Tbsp white wine vinegar, 1 tsp Dijon mustard, salt, pepper, 1 clove minced garlic, a drizzle of lemon juice (add tarragon if you like).

The Salad: My purpose in making this salad was to treat each individual ingredient with respect to it's nature before bringing them all together to work as a group. Heat some water to boiling and blanch 1/2 bunch of asparagus for just a min or two. Drain and rinse with cold water. Heat another pot of water to boiling and blanch 8 quartered baby bella mushrooms (or crimini). Drain and rinse. Scatter some diced romaine tops onto a plate. No dressing is needed for the lettuce, because the dressing from the veggies on top will drain down. Now toss each ingredient individually in the dressing and place decoratively on the plate. 1/6 purple cabbage, 3/4 cup garbanzos, 3 diced carrots, 1/2 head fennel, mushrooms, asparagus. Top with 1/2 avocado drizzled with lemon juice.

Christina's vote: "this salad gave me a sense of identity"

What Do You Do With Abundance? Salad

2009-08-08T11:23:00.000-07:00

It is Saturday and the weather woke up stormy. Clouds gathered in an ominous purple sky. When I put on my running clothes I felt like a small child. I had 21 miles to cover before lunchtime and I was sure to get poured on before the adventure was through. I returned my ipod to it's home in the drawer and felt instant pangs of separation anxiety, like a child divorced from her baby blanket. I began to worry. Would I get bored, cold, lonely, struck by lightening? Worry was interrupted by surrender and I chose to focus on using this silent run to pretend I am a tourist and take mental snapshots of the sights. Storms make fantastic imaginary photography subjects. In order to keep form, I imagine wheels where my legs are supposed to be. These wheels seem to power my imagination further, and soon I am propelled into various adventures of lives not yet lived. At mile 16 it started to rain, and the water felt warm and cleansing. The air was like tea steam and inhaling it was like drinking in leaves. I began to think of the vegetables at the farm stand, how they must be speckled with earth from yesterdays rain. I remembered cooking in southern New Jersey, how at this time of the year bags would appear in the galley overflowing with vegetables looking for hands willing to take on the challenge of cooking them.

Squash, zucchini and eggplant. They seem to proliferate faster than people can get rid of them.
Perhaps you have had them before as a part of a vegetarian entree ordered at a fine restaurant in lieu of the escargot. The pasta primavera was a little bland as you recall, but the chef did manage to cook the colorful vegetables on your plate to lovely perfection.

You have had them in Japanese restaurants, sitting around the lovely little fish pond watching the goldfish pick specks of floating vegetation from between the slimy penny covered rocks. A plate of crisp tempura at your place setting revealed edges of purple, yellow and green from where the batter was torn open, and you proudly announced that you could identify every vegetable on your plate.

You remember liking the eggplant Parmesan and batter fried zucchini that you would order from the Italian restaurants, and the ratatouille cooked out of a vegetarian cookbook at a friends.

Here is a salad featuring these three abundant characters (summer squash, zucchini and eggplant), to add to your collection of memories.

First salt the eggplant. Slice off four giant circles and lay them flat on a paper towel. Sprinkle them with salt and let them sit for a bit, until they begin sweating brown liquid from their pores. You are helping them to detoxify. When the beads of perspiration have gathered into little puddles blot them with a towel.

Slice them into bite sized pieces. In a frying pan, add 2 Tbsp olive oil and 1/2 cup sliced red onions. Allow the pan to get really hot before adding the eggplant. After the eggplant has been added, it is time to start moving quickly. Keep an eye/nose/ear on the eggplant, so that it doesn't burn. If your knife skills are iffy, you may want to turn the heat down.

Mince 2 cloves of garlic and add to the eggplant. Now dice 1/2 yellow summer squash and add it to the pan. Dice 1 small zucchini and add it in. The order is important. Cook everything to your preferred texture (I learned today that Christina likes her eggplant thoroughly cooked while I like mine a little firm. It is very disconcerting to watch someone literally spit out their first bite of eggplant after you have just worked to make it just the way you like it. If you plan to cook eggplant for an audience you are going to need to wear your thickest skin.) When it is done, turn the heat off and allow the vegetables to cool. Add some diced cherry tomatoes, quartered.

The dressing (This sauce is really good on sandwiches or as a vegetable dip): Mix together 1/2 cup mayonnaise, 1 1/2 tsp balsamic vinegar, 8 drops soy sauce, 1 tsp thyme (or some chopped fresh basil).

Christina's vote: "This salad made me feel generous"