The Colors of Home

One of the best parts of the holiday week was the abundance of colored leaves on all the trees.

I wasn't expecting much. I had heard rumors of several big storms, and was sure I'd arrive home to bleak trees and lawns piled with dead leaves.

Instead, there was an astonishing array of color: red, yellow, orange, brown and green. The leaves crunched under my feet and the air smelled delightful -- dry and rich, like toast. There were morning walks, evening walks, and pre-Thanksgiving dinner tromps in the Utah foothills. It is, without a doubt, my favorite time of year.

As long as autumn is on the brain, don't you think we better make this pumpkin curry for dinner? Sean and I had it on Halloween and I promise it's so easy and so satisfying.

I'm heading into the kitchen to butcher our last small sugar pie pumpkin now.

Isn't It Enough?

Simply Lit

 

Often toward evening,

after another day, after
another year of days,
in the half dark on the way home
I stop at the food store
and waiting in line I begin
to wonder about people—I wonder
if they also wonder about how
strange it is that we
are here on the earth.
And how in order to live
we all must sleep.
And how we have beds for this
(unless we are without)
and entire rooms where we go
at the end of the day to collapse.
And I think how even the most
lively people are desolate
when they are alone
because they too must sleep
and sooner or later die.
We are always looking to acquire
more food for more great meals.
We have to have great meals.
Isn't it enough to be a person buying
a carton of milk? A simple
package of butter and a loaf
of whole wheat bread?
Isn't it enough to stand here
while the sweet middle-aged cashier
rings up the purchases?
I look outside,
but I can't see much out there
because now it is dark except
for a single vermilion neon sign
floating above the gas station
like a miniature temple simply lit
against the night.

Poem by Malena Mörling

Postscript: I'm going away for a few days. If I don't get the chance to tell you, have a lovely and abundant Thanksgiving.

Pretty and Ugly: Anchovy Onion Tart

When it comes to writing, one of the things I struggle with most is pretty versus ugly. I want to be honest in my work. But the truth is, it takes skill to produce writing that reveals both the bad and the beautiful. Often it's easier to be glib than it is to invest the time needed to write words that artfully convey the frantic, sugarcoated malaise that is often life.

It's a lot like the conversations most of us have every day:
"How are you?" They ask.
And I say. "Great." "Fine." "Super."

But really, it's always more complicated than that. There are disappointments, and scuffles, and funny things that make me laugh but that nobody else would understand, and stories that are just too long to tell because they require sitting and listening, something we don't do enough of these days.

Already I sound malcontent. But I promise, I'm not. Like everyone, I'm just tired of trying to do it all.  I'm tired of eating out; I'm tired of cooking. I'm tired of laundry and a cluttered house, but who wants to clean up? I'm tired of deadlines and being chained to my computer, and hugely embarrassed that almost every day this week I've worked in my pjs till 3PM.

And so, instead of trying to make it seem like all is easy and perfect in my world, I'm going to be honest. I've been working a lot lately. We've been eating out more than usual, and the rest of the time Sean's been in the kitchen. I've been demoted to breakfast and lunch service (and as we all know, my lunch is usually pretty monastic).

A couple of Sundays ago I did make an onion-anchovy tart. It was inspired by this recipe and article I wrote for FoodShed, but this time, instead of filo, I used the pre-made pizza dough from Whole Foods. You know the stuff -- it costs less than two bucks and all you have to do is plop it on a floured surface, roll it out, spread on the toppings, and bake.

To me, this is the perfect pretty/ugly meal. It isn't exactly a beautiful, but one bite of this intensely savory, salty, and sweet combination will make you realize what a quiet stunner this dish is. It's a meal made for those who feel like they don't have enough time, but it satisfies enough to instantly transport you to Southern France. 

"Hey," you might think. "I really can do it all."

And maybe you can. Or maybe its best if we all (myself included) gave up trying?


***
You can find the Recipe for Anchovy-Onion Tart here. I made the topping as directed, dumped it onto a pre-made pizza crust that had been rolled to 1/4 inch thickness, and baked it in a hot (400 degree) oven for about 20 minutes.

Secret Breakfast: Everyday Oatmeal

A few weeks ago at a party a woman pulled me into a corner.

"What I really want to know," she said, "is what you eat for breakfast."

She said it like I had to have some secret menu up my sleeve. I don't. My breakfast is usually healthy and often ordinary. Occasionally I eat eggs, but mostly I prefer something lighter and a little on the sweet side. I'd eat toast and jam every morning if I could, but usually find that my energy sputters out mid-morning. So toast and jam, just like scones and muffins, are a weekend thing.

So what do I eat? Lately its been oatmeal, lots and lots of oatmeal. But even oatmeal can be kind of a pain. Instant oatmeal is unacceptable, microwaved oats are too. But who has time to cook stove top oats every morning? Not even this work-from-home writer can commit to that.

Some people swear by baked oatmeal or slow-cooker oatmeal. I have a different trick. At the beginning of the week I make a batch of Ina Garten's Sunday Oats. Then, I reconstitute it every morning on the stove-top with extra milk. I know -- reheated oatmeal sounds a little bit like a bad morning at the cafeteria. But I swear this trick works. Adding extra milk and using stove-top heat makes the oatmeal milky and soft, not gummy or rubbery.

My favorite way to eat it is with dried cherries, but this week I added raisins and dried apricots. Bananas are a must, as is a big spoonful of almond butter.

Secret breakfast? Not anymore.

Everyday Oatmeal (aka Ina Garten's Sunday Morning Oatmeal)
Adapted very slightly from The Barefoot Contessa at Home

1.5 cups milk -- for every day eating I use skim or 1%. Ina likes whole.
1.5 cups quick-cooking oatmeal
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 banana, sliced*
1/2-1 cup dried fruit: cherries, raisins, apricots, apples...
Pure maple syrup and almond butter for serving

Heat the milk plus two cups water in a medium saucepan until it starts to simmer. Add the oatmeal, salt, and cinnamon and stir vigorously. Bring mix to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer for 4 to 5 minutes, stirring occasionally, until thickened. Off the heat, stir in the banana (if using) and dried fruit. Place the lid on the pot and allow it to sit for 2 minutes. Serve hot, drizzled with maple syrup and almond butter.

*The banana is option. Truth be told, if the oatmeal sits in the fridge for a few days the bananas turn brown and a bit unsightly. I don't mind this. I actually kind of liked the cooked banana bread flavor it brings to breakfast. You might prefer to top your oatmeal with fresh sliced banana or omit it completely. You choose.
** To reconstitute the oatmeal: Place cold cooked oatmeal in small sauce pan with 1/4-1/2 cup milk. Heat over low heat till cooked through, stirring occasionally to encourage cooked oats to warm and soak extra milk.