Thoughts about eating well to feed your body and spirit.
This spring I decided to for the second time growing a fig in a container. It has about five figs, all of which I intend to eat before the squirrels can get them (I’ve beaten them and the birds to the three blue berries that have ripened so far; I have high hopes for the figs). I don’t think my fig in its container is suitable for sharing as “Neighborhood Fruit.” Do you have a fruit tree that has too much fruit for you? Let people know.
This morning I went to my community garden plot around the corner before I got ready to head into Georgetown to volunteer at The Lantern Bookshop.
I ws delghted to find enough snowpeas for a good-sized stir-fry and several zucchini almost ready to be picked (I only get zucchini at the very beginning of the season before the squash borers invade, but if I start early enough, I can get a few pounts of squash and a couple of meals worth of blossoms before I surrender and plant something else).
The tomatoes were flourishing (no sign of blight. If you have your own plants, keep an eye close for blight; it’s aleady been seen in Maryland. Cherry tomatoes are more resistant, so I’ve concentrated on those).
I should have the first cucumbers big enough to pick next week, and I have plenty of lettuce.
The radishes, though, had exploded. “Should I have a radish-themed dinner party?” I thought. “What am I going to do with all of them?” I am not especially fond of radishes. I plant them because they mature very early, they thrive on benign neglect, I have friends who like them, and they give the same crunch I’d prefer from a cucumber weeks earlier.
I’ve also discovered I like them cooked. Just as you can prepare turnips and their greens together, it also works well with radishes.
As I was walking home with a bunch of radishes that I could hardly get my hands around, I bumped into a neighbor. I don’t know her well, just recognize her face. “Do you want some radishes?” I asked, hoping I did not sound like I was begging. She hesitated, but then seemed to realize that she would be doing me a great service by accepting them. “You can cook the greens,” I said as I handed her a nice-sized bunch, “and also the radishes themselves if they are too strong.”
“I’ve never done that,” she said.
Here’s the recipe I gave her on the street (with a little more detail here):
Wash radishes and their greens well. Cut radishes into thick coins (this works best with oblong radishes sich as French Breakfast). Cut off the white part of stem nearest radish. Then cut the bunch horizontally so that you have half inch wide shreds. Mince some garlic, onion, and ginger. Stir-fry aromatics in peanut, safflower, or canola oil until translucent. Add the radish coins and stir until well-coated with oil. Add greens, stirring continuously until all the greens are wilted. Add some rice wine vinegegar and cook until absorbed and the grrens are just tender. Take off heat and sprinkle with soy sauce or Bragg’s Amino Liquid and toasted sesame oil to taste.
“What a nice morning,” my neighbor said, “fresh radishes from the garden and a recipe.
Last night, after yoga class, I went with a couple of students to the new Italian restaurant at Eastern Market, Acqua al 2. I’d been shown the inside before it opened, but this was the first chance to go and eat. A long-time neighbor, yoga student, and friend is the mom of one of the co-owners and has known the other owner since childhood. The co-owners were both were raised in the District and have returned after college, along with many of their friends to live, and work, and be with family. I went to eat with the eagerness of knowing my friend and her family better and supporting them, more than for the purpose of needing to be one of the first to check out a new dining opportunity on the Hill, although that was certainly another pleasure.
As we planned the dinner (we have been awaiting the opening for some months and talking about going since then), I thought about how different it is to go to a business where I feel a connection to the proprietor or the workers. I felt more open to what would be there, more joyousness at its very existence, and a yearning to find it wonderful and be supportive. When the business is run by a stranger, or even more removed, some corporation whose duty is mostly to shareholders, the natural forgiveness for quirks that we have for those we like, welcome, and love is missing, and we ourselves miss out the essence of true relationship. Getting to share this new place with my friends was a superb reminder how important is community and how we can support it and cultivate it.
What a delight that, even as a NY-bred food snob, I can cheerfully recommend the restaurant. It is larger than most restaurants on the Hill, so it does not feel like a neighborhood-style Hill restaurant. but I think the neighborhood was ready for something larger. The atmosphere is lovely: communal seating in front near the bar for those who have forgotten to make reservation (yes, you already need them, unless you are coming after 9 [kitchen serves until 11]), spacious, pleasantly lit, comfortable tables, and a great mural on the outside, which transforms a concrete wall a foot along the side of the restaurant into a view of Florence.
We started with the “zuppa del giorno,” which yesterday in keeping with the unseasonably cool weather, was a warm bread and tomato soup that was a rich and flavorful concoction. Given the lateness of the hour, we didn’t have the entrees (though I’ve heard good reports). We shared at our table for three, the pasta sampler (for two), which was five different vegetarian pastas of the chef’s choosing, and the salad sampler (which you can get as all vegetarian if you ask). We each had different favorites of the pastas, but all were good and very classic in preparation and presentation. The salads were light and fresh, with an emphasis on bitter greens, which I like, and were an excellent foil to the rich pastas. The pastas came out one by one, giving an opportunity to have two or three bites to savor, with then a little wait in between for the next one. This was not a meal to be hurried; things come at a European pace. I was too full for dessert, but my friends insisted. The cheese cake is the kind that is more like mousse than the heavy American cheese cake and my companions raved. I had a fruit tart that was well-prepared — most of which I took home. I will enjoy eating it today after speaking on a telephone seminar with people I know are asking challenging questions.
The restaurant is still getting its rhythm. It was packed with lines out the door even at 8pm on a Tuesday night just two weeks after its opening, which is no doubt inviting the staff to live up to intense challenges. The food is sure to be good, and if you go with the generosity you would have for family and friends starting out on a new venture, you will have a delicious experience.
Note: Plenty of vegetarian options with the pastas and salads, but it would be harder to find vegan on the menu (given that it is a Florentine restaurant). My only wish based on last night’s meal, is that the restaurant would use more environmentally friendly containers for taking things home. Right now, it is using foil trays with a plastic cover, so if you anticipate bringing part of a dish home, try to remember to bring your own carry container.
This year, along with a mesclun mix, arugula, mache, and the tender green and red leaf lettuces, I planted several heads of romaine. It is not my favorite lettuce for salad; I have become spoiled by having baby arugula, spinach, and assorted greens and lettuces. As a replacement for bread, though, it is far and away the best lettuce. It’s flavor is green enough, but unobtrusive. It’s shape and sturdiness make it easy to use as an alternative for tortillas, pancakes (think mushu tofu), or pita or other flat bread. Tonight, I picked several leaves of romaine, which I rolled around sprouts, avocado, and sweet and spicy tofu (saute onions until golden; crumble and saute firm, silken tofu; stir in until just hot and thickened, a bar-b-que-like sauce of tomato paste, molasses, apple cider vinegar, garlic, Bragg’s amino liquid or soy sauce, chili sauce–proportioned to taste).
Which lettuce works when depends on all the other elements of the meal. One is not better than the other in the abstract, though you might have a taste for one more than another. One type might be better for a particular meal. So too, we each have our place in the web, and will be better aligned when we offer certain aspects of ourselves at particular places and times. Part of the discrimination (viveka) we learn in yoga to serve us in this life is developing an understanding of how best we can serve and where and when.
How do you plan your return home from a retreat or vacation? Do you come home at the very last minute, so that the travel is exhausting and the first day back at work is a struggle? Or do you plan to have a day — or at least several hours — to unpack, make sure you have fresh food to eat, and have brought the feeling of vacation back into your home life before getting back to work?
When I was studying on retreat in Arizona, Paul Muller-Ortega took particular pains to emphasize the importance of doing savasana for at least a few minutes after sitting for meditation for a “slow re-entry.” Without the resting time in between practicing/adventuring/celebrating/retreating and working, it is like eating a loaf of bread right out of the oven, rather than giving it at least 10-15 minutes to rest. Right out of the oven, the is too hot and the texture is not right, and we cannot taste how good it is. Give it a chance to rest, and it is exquisitely hot and fresh and perfect.
We need to rest, to reintegrate, to settle or we can feel like there is no point in going on vacation. How many people do you know (perhaps you have said this yourself) who say there is no point in going on vacation because it just makes work harder on return? When I take a shorter vacation/rest/retreat to account for reintegration time, and then fully reintegrate, the rejuvenating properties of getting away definitely last longer.
I returned very late Sunday night. Yesterday I practiced at home, did my laundry, cleaned the yoga room, petted the cats, had a massage, did a little reading, cooked delicious food (homemade granola, kitcheree, greens from the garden), and went to sleep early. Now I am off to work, seeking to bring what I learned into my day.
Cooking is not only an exquisite opportunity to notice and appreciate the various characteristics of the elements of our meal and how they react to heat and fat and cooking times and methods, but a wonderful way to appreciate how everything is ordered in time and space and to honor Kali — the Goddess of Sequencing.
Brussels sprouts seem to be fashionable this year. I’ve always liked them. My preferred method is to braise them: saute lightly in olive oil and/or butter in a heavy pot with a lid, splash some dry sherry, wine, or vermouth into the cooking pot and stir until the liquid is absorbed, add some broth or water (not quite to cover) plus salt and herbs of your choice, simmer until the brussel sprouts are tender and the liquid is absorbed.
My friends are gushing about roasted brussels sprouts. I think the tenderizing, fat-adding delight of roasting has made the much maligned brussels sprout more accessible: toss with olive oil, salt, garlic, and herbs such as rosemary and thyme. Roast at 400F until tender and browned (15-20 minutes). Use peanut oil, ginger, garlic, and soy sauce or Braggs amino liquids for an Asian meal. Try safflower oil, turmeric, ground ginger, garlic, and ground coriander seeds to serve with Indian food. Use just butter (or if vegan a light, relatively flavorless oil such as safflower or canola), salt, paprika, and pepper for an Eastern European flavor.
Whenever I roast vegetables, I toss in an extra head of garlic (separated into cloves), and serve some with the vegetables and reserve some for cooking something else with roasted garlic. Include a variety of vegetables. Just remember that different vegetables need different cooking times. To recognize the mysteries of the Goddess of Sequencing in time and space — you have two choices in roasting vegetables. You can cut the vegetables into different sizes (so you would leave brussels sprouts whole, cut winter squash or turnips into cubes a little smaller than the brussels sprouts, and potatoes into wedges or rectangles that are narrower than the brussels sprouts for them all to be golden and tender, but not overcooked at the same time. As an alternative (as we do with sauteing or stir-frying), you can add different vegetables at different times. You might need a combination of both techniques. If you wanted to add mushrooms to the mix, since those would need to be larger than brussels sprouts, you would want to add the mushrooms later lest they get withered — how much later depends on the size of the mushrooms relative to the other vegetables.
Enjoy (and give homage)!
I realize that this blog entry was in my drafts page; I never hit the publish button. As I ponder the few intervening weeks of snow (in some ways it feels as if time just stopped, except for the work that piled up and the lengthening of the light of day), I treat this as a reminder to myself to come back to “first principle” to respond with the most light — even in this unusually harsh winter:
On my way to Friends Meeting yesterday, I stopped at the Dupont Circle Fresh Farm Market yesterday to buy whatever was fresh. When I got in line with a daikon radish, a bunch of turnips, and a couple of leeks, I noticed the way the woman in front of me in line was holding her selection: sunchokes. Her hands were held as if she had just received prasad — the offering sometimes made after a puja so that the fruits of worship may actually be tasted and injested, incorporated with our senses and our whole bodies into our being. “Your hands and those sunchokes are so beautiful,” I said, “may I take a picture and use it for my blog?” “Sure,” she replied, “and shifted her hands a little so that it would be easier for me to frame the picture.” We talked while we waited in line about potential ways to cook sunchokes and how happy we were that the farmers (these particular farmers’ must be incredibly good at working with cold frames) were out all year.
Seeing this offering of the earth itself, the farmers who tended the earth and grew the vegetables, the workers who made and repaired the vehicles that enabled the food to be brought into the city, the city and neighborhood for allowing the market to block off a street, the shoppers for supporting it, brought me back to my contemplations this week of what “first principle” means to me. I mentioned in an earlier post that my focus for winter classes would be Anusara sequencing principles. No matter what else we are doing or focusing on, it always starts with “first principle.” The “first principle” is what we call in Anusara “opening to grace.” For me, a large part of “opening to grace” is a recognition that all the nourishment we receive is a gift. When we practice such a recognition, then we practice receptivity, openness, gratitude, courtesy, respect, delicacy, and reciprocal desire to serve and make offering. How could one mindfully receive nourishment such as this fresh, beautiful food on a bitterly cold winter day, and not want to celebrate it by giving thanks, nurturing the earth, supporting the farmers and the market, learning how to prepare it as tasty and healthful as possible, and share it and other things with those around us?
A rather conservative co-worker, who was one of the people who would have to go grocery shopping last night lest the family be without perishable food for a few days, was talking to me about the impending snowstorm (including me advising him of the one forecast for next Tuesday/Wednesday). “It shows,” he said, “how easily our infrastructure and food supply can be disrupted.” I gave it a little pause, and then replied, “this is why I talk about gardening in our own yards and switching away from agribusiness to a more sustainable and self-sustaining way of living and seek to shift myself, though it is difficult.” He said, “hmmm,” letting the idea stick in his mind, but not wanting to carry the discussion further. I know him well enough to have dropped it for the time, but also know he will think about it and perhaps over the years, for his beloved daughters or out of perceived necessity, start making small shifts.
In yoga practice, the concept of suddha vidya — illuminative wisdom — is both revealed and practiced. When we start practicing or even before, we may have occasional and early insights into fundamental truths of being, but without steady practice and contemplation they will be fleeting and not shift our way of living. If we practice and study continuously, though, our insight will become steadier, more consistent, and will start to illuminate all states of our being on and off the mat. The more I practice, the more it is illuminated for me the connection of all beings and my need to live in a way that is more open, tolerant, loving, and aligned with the complex web of our interconnection. My co-worker’s insight might not have been “yoga,” but it was indeed a moment of illuminative wisdom in its recognition of a misalignment of society that tears at the fabric of our being.
By order, I mean how things are arranged in space or time. Even chaos theory presumes order in that sense. On and off the mat, there is a certain order to things that is optimal. We do not plant seeds and then till the soil. Or think of the difference between peeling and chopping vegetables and then cooking them or cooking them and then peeling and chopping them. One or the other is not necessarily wrong if you do not have a specific dish in mind, but which you choose will dictate the results. Once you have gotten started in the sequence, though, the path shifts and is partly set. To reach an exquisite rather than a disgusting result, the next steps are ordered by the initial choice.
If only one musician is playing a single note, then there is no possibility of discordance. Add more musicians and more notes and who plays what notes when can mean cacophony, a catchy tune, or an extraordinary and ecstatic work of art. None of us are alone and none of us are playing just a single note, so in the great fabric of our being, it is best to understand how to make music.
Sequencing on the mat is more subtle than what poses should be done in what order in a particular practice to emphasize backbends v. forward bends and twists to be able to do the strongest poses with the least possibility of injury, as important as that is. The order in which we apply the Anusara principles not only aligns the physical body, but brings symmetry to the physical and energetic bodies, helping us to feel more in harmony in everything we do on and off the mat. I am, in this, a decent musician and not Bach, but the more I pay attention to the optimal sequence of things (keeping in mind that over most things we have no control as to when, whether, and how they happen) and the more I learn and appreciate the exquisiteness of order, the more I feel, understand, and experience the subtleties and joys of harmony.
