Vernal Equinox, One Day Late

An attempt at taming the scheduling madness

I know it's finally spring because:

--we have been fighting the nasty virus of no-name for the past 4 weeks
--baseball and soccer season are in full swing
--horse riding lessons are happening again
--the Alaska conversations are occurring much more frequently now
--Samuel's allergies are back in full-force
--the long-wished-for banjo will arrive in a week
--I start teaching French at the college in two weeks.

I could go into great detail about the hacking cough that kept Grace and now me up all night; trying to keep all the practices and games and clinics straight (which involves exhausting and exhaustive flurries of emails arranging carpools); half-hour drives to horse lessons at $3.45 per gallon of gas; Alaska wishlists (refrigerator in my room, paved-over gravel for forklift safety, a dry floor in my office), Alaska discussions with my immediate supervisor who happens to be in Thailand about hiring or not hiring; trying to remember to give Samuel his nightly Claritin; wondering how to take banjo lessons, practice, and juggle all of the above; and finally but certainly not least, keeping panic at bay as I quickly approach the beginning of Spring Quarter, having not taught college-level French in 6 years. However, as I find it exhausting just thinking about it all, I can't imagine trying anyone's patience with a rant on any one of the subjects.

So instead, here are some pictures of the less-complicated heralds of spring.

Plum tree blossoms

The ugly hedge

My forsythia is trying to make a comeback after being "helpfully" hacked"--I mean "trimmed"--by my chainsaw-wielding neighbor.

Rhubarb planted last year, vigorously reappearing--hooray!

Newly planted hollyhocks--optimism reigns despite the chaos

Local Wildlife

Evening Quiet

My Monday Soup

I'm not sick like Grace, but I am craving soup. Specifically, soups with legumes and greens and spice. I found one today to make for lunch and I really hope no one else likes it because I want to keep it all for myself.

Red Lentil Soup with Greens
from Moosewood Restaurant Simple Suppers

1 1/4 cups red lentils
1 t. salt
2 T olive oil
1 1/2 t. black mustard seeds
1 1/2 t. anise or fennel seeds
1/4 to 1/2 t. red pepper flakes
2 T minced fresh ginger (or 1 t. ground ginger)
1 garlic clove, minced
4 cups rinsed, drained, and chopped fresh greens
(I used kale, but mustard greens, chard, or spinach would also be good.)
1/2 t. salt
3/4 cup coconut milk

--Rinse lentils and drain. In a soup pot, bring 5 cups of water, the lentils, and salt to a boil. Reduce heat to a simmer, cover, and cook until tender, about 30 minutes.

--While the lentils cook, warm the oil in a saucepan on medium heat, add the black mustard seeds, and cover until they pop. Stir in the anise/fennel, red pepper flakes, ginger, and garlic and cook for a minute, stirring constantly. Add the greens and the salt and cook, stirring frequently, until the greens are just wilted. Stir in the coconut milk and simmer for a minute. Remove from heat.

--When the lentils are soft, stir in the greens and coconut milk mixture and add salt to taste.

This made a nice amount, probably good for 3 or 4 lunches. I also had beet salad with it, from the same cookbook.

Grace on Monday

Two and a half weeks of a cough, stuffy nose, runny nose, cough again. Our fault for letting her keep going to school, soccer practice, and vaulting lessons. Now I'm the bad guy for making her stay home today. She's her father all over--never time to slow down, always looking to do something physically active, loving school and all her new friends.

A Story of Muesli: Fifteen Years in the Making

Sometimes you just have to wait for the right moment for inspiration to hit. Or more likely in my case, I wait around for the universe to slap me on the forehead, prompting a "duh!" moment.

Take muesli, for example. Fifteen years ago, Dave and I were living in Paris. I was ostensibly researching and writing my dissertation. He was trying to finish his dissertation. Really what we did was hang out in coffee shops like Deux Magots in the morning, eat our lunch in the Luxembourg gardens if the weather was nice, shop for dinner at the market and then eat that dinner in our little apartment. In other words, we did a lot of eating and absorbing of life, not much else. And one thing that we really liked was the muesli we bought in the store. It was so tasty and so unlike any cereal we'd ever had at home.

Since leaving Paris, I'd like to say that my life's ambition has been to find the perfect muesli again. I guess that would stretching the truth a bit, since a lot of life has happened since then (I left grad school, Dave got his PhD., we moved to the middle of nowhere, had kids, etc. etc.) but the quest for decent muesli has always been there in the background. Temporarily forgotten but never abandoned. Needless to say, it didn't matter how expensive or exotic the box of muesli, it never seemed to measure up to the stuff we had in Paris. Of course, it only takes a little bit of self-knowledge to recognize that Paris itself probably had a lot to do with the whole flavor of those breakfasts.

I recently found a great granola recipe from Mark Bittman that I've been making fairly regularly for the past year or two. It's wonderful, no oils, flavorful, and it holds you till lunch. The only drawback is that sometimes I'm just too lazy to deal with the minimal amount of cooking involved. It's the dishes, really, the dirty cookie sheets, that put me off. Sometimes the prospect of a dirty cookie sheet is all it takes to obliterate good intentions, prompting me instead to slice off a chunk of gingerbread for breakfast. Tasty, but not sustaining.

This was the situation this morning. The granola jar is dry as a bone. The gingerbread practically jumped off the counter at me, tempting me to take the easy path to breakfast. And then I remembered something I'd read in Bittman's Food Matters: "Swiss-style muesli is basically uncooked granola." The big hand of the universe just whopped me on the forehead and this time I had to the good sense to pay attention. A little raw oats, some chopped almonds, shredded unsweetened coconut, jumbo raisins, a sliced banana, some maple syrup and a bit of milk. In the time it took to throw all this into my bowl I'd re-created that muesli nirvana (minus the atmosphere, of course) from fifteen years ago. It particularly helped that I got distracted after pouring the milk, so everything had a chance to soften up, making the absolutely most perfect bowl of muesli I've ever had.

Now if I could only get a copy of Le Monde delivered to my door and have a boulangerie down the street I'd be set.

Rainy Tuesday

Slow Cooker Beef and Barley Soup and fresh baked Gingerbread with Pears.

Maybe a curl-up on the couch with Jean de Florette by Marcel Pagnol.

And hopefully the rain will stop in time for Grace's first soccer practice this afternoon.