...you must sing to be found; when found, you must sing.
--Li-Young Lee
Radishes, Raphanus sativus (from Latin, radix, meaning root)
Member of the Mustard Family (Brassicaceae)
These are my first crop--the very first thing I harvested from my new garden. I made a simple radish salad: sliced the radishes, tore up the greens, tossed them with a little salt, lemon, and olive oil. Delicious!
I'm carrying this around in my pocket today.
photo by Karen Ballard
Poem composed for President Barack Hussein Obama
on the occasion of his Inauguration
as 44th President of the United States of America
January 20, 2009
Praise Song for the Day
by Elizabeth Alexander
Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others’ eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, “Take out your pencils. Begin.”
We encounter each other in words, Words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; Words to consider, reconsider.
We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, “I need to see what’s on the other side; I know there’s something better down the road.”
We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.
Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.
Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.
Some live by “Love thy neighbor as thy self.”
Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.
What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.
In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light.
Osso Buco
by Billy Collins
I love the sound of the bone against the plate
and the fortress-like look of it
lying before me in a moat of risotto,
the meat soft as the leg of an angel
who has lived a purely airborne existence.
And best of all, the secret marrow,
the invaded privacy of the animal
prized out with a knife and wallowed down
with cold, exhilarating wine.
I am swaying now in the hour after dinner,
a citizen tilted back on his chair,
a creature with a full stomach–
something you don’t hear much about in poetry,
that sanctuary of hunger and deprivation.
You know: the driving rain, the boots by the door,
small birds searching for berries in winter.
But tonight, the lion of contentment
has placed a warm heavy paw on my chest,
and I can only close my eyes and listen
to the drums of woe throbbing in the distance
and the sound of my wife’s laughter
on the telephone in the next room,
the woman who cooked the savory osso buco,
who pointed to show the butcher the ones she wanted.
She who talks to her faraway friend
while I linger here at the table
with a hot, companionable cup of tea,
feeling like one of the friendly natives,
a reliable guide, maybe even the chief’s favorite son.
Somewhere, a man is crawling up a rocky hillside
on bleeding knees and palms, an Irish penitent
carrying the stone of the world in his stomach;
and elsewhere people of all nations stare
at one another across a long, empty table.
But here, the candles give off their warm glow,
the same light that Shakespeare and Izaac Walton wrote by,
the light that lit and shadowed the faces of history.
Only now it plays on the blue plates,
the crumpled napkins, the crossed knife and fork.
In a while, one of us will go up to bed
and the other will follow.
Then we will slip below the surface of the night
into miles of water, drifting down and down
to the dark, soundless bottom
until the weight of dreams pulls us lower still,
below the shale and layered rock,
beneath the strata of hunger and pleasure,
into the broken bones of the earth itself,
into the marrow of the only place we know.
from “The Art of Drowning” by Billy Collins
(University of Pittsburgh Press)
Thanks to Daron for introducing me to this poem, and to Matt, who was inspired to learn to cook Osso Buco because of it. Poetry and cooking--now there's a happy marriage.
Here are some links to recipes for Ossobuco. There seem to be 2 versions: those made with just meat, flour, butter, and wine, like Mark Bittman's recent recipe in the New York Times; and those also made with carrots, celery, and tomatoes, like this version by Giada de Laurentiis. Ossobuco alla Milanese is traditionally topped with gremolata (a chopped garlic, parlsey, and lemon zest garnish).
And here are two Italian recipes, one simple version and one with vegetables. Like many Italian recipes, the latter has no quantities, just a list of ingredients and how to prepare it. Just put in enough meat for the number of people you are serving, it says. Così.
Finally, no discussion of veal would be complete without mentioning the horrific conditions that crated, "milk-fed" (actually formula-feed) calves are raised under. (The white color of the meat is due to anemia, a lack of iron in the animal's diet.) Marian Burros chronicles how consumer outrage and boycotts over inhumane treatment of these animals have led to changes in the industry. Thankfully, it is now possible to buy humanely-raised veal. Not only are the calves allowed to move, but the rosy-colored meat from animals raised on grass actually tastes better, too.
As always, knowing where your food comes from is key. It starts with you. The more you know, the more you can do. Ask your butcher or grocer where their meat comes from and how it was raised.
Some sources for pastured veal: Eatwild, Grass Run Farm, Local Harvest, American Pasturage, and Bobolink Dairy, run by my favorite, passionate cheesemaker/breadmaker, Jonathan White. His website says it all: cowsoutside.com.
This month, I did something I have been wanting to do my whole life.
I wrote a book.
A novel.
In one month.
I wrote a novel in one month!
I just finished less than an hour ago and now I am sitting here unable to leave my desk, not really believing it's true.
But here it is right in front of me. The Dream Thieves. It's a ghost story (or a "gross story," as one person misheard). It's a story about a war and the clash of cultures and generations. It's a story about mothers and daughters and the memories that haunt us and redeem us. And food, of course! How food defines us, nourishes us, and holds us together.
Some people have compared writing a novel to giving birth. Having given birth to three beautiful, healthy babies, the loves of my life, I can tell you, it's not even close. Or maybe it's just that I know from experience, that conception and giving birth is the easy part. The hard part is raising them and then sending your babies out into the world.
That comes next.
But for now I am happy to just sit here stunned by my accomplishment, the fulfillment of a long overdue promise to myself.
I'm am so, so grateful to my real-life daughters for believing in me and supporting my dream.
To Tyler, who inspired me and is writing her third novel!
To Kelsey and Siena, who helped with dinners and the dishes and fed the cats so their mother could go out to her office and bang her head against the keyboard day after day: I love you more than all the words in the whole "entier" universe!
And tomorrow I will answer all the email and pay all the bills and return all the phone calls and buy some groceries. I promise.
Love,
your Mom, the writer
"Those who discourage your dreams likely have abandoned their own."
Sweet Dreams...
Looking forward to going trick-or-treating with my daughter in our new North Park neighborhood. I hear Halloween is quite a big deal around here. One estimate put the number of trick-or-treaters at 400!
Our house is covered with spiderwebs and pumpkin luminarias light the way to our door. We had a couple of jack-o'-lanterns on the front porch until the 90 degree Santa Ana weather this week turned them into rotting, fly-infested corpses. And if I really wanted to scare the neighbors I could have put a McCain/Palin sign in the yard!<g> (This is definitely Obama territory around here.)
While out walking on 30th Street my kids and I spotted these fabulous jack-o'-lanterns in the window of Vagabond Restaurant. (Look carefully and you can see owner Jerome Gombert reflected in the lower right-hand corner.)
Happy Halloween!
May all your fears be exorcised and the coming year be a sweet one.
It’s another Santa Ana week in San Diego.
On these days when the temperature hits 90 degrees (in October!) and the humidity hovers around 10%, all I want to do is eat something cold. Right now I’m craving one of the ice-cold, homemade popsicles made by Lisa Altmann of Viva Pops.
I met Lisa and her partner, Jack, on their first day at the Saturday morning Little Italy Farmers’ Market. Lisa makes all of the popsicles herself, using only organic fruit that she buys from local vendors. Right now, in late (California) summer, she is getting her nectarines, peaches and plums from Lone Oak Ranch, which also has a stand at the Little Italy (and La Jolla) market.
Of course, I love the fact that she uses local, organic ingredients, but what I really love are all the different flavors she offers. Like Mexican paletas, Viva Pops come in a variety of flavors and textures, both creamy (made with milk) and icy, flavored with tart fruits and spices (chile, mint, ginger).
The mango-chile and nectarine-basil were two of my favorites. My daughter went straight for the chocolate-banana, her favorite flavor combination. At $3 a pop, they are not cheap. But for coffee drinkers used to paying that much for a cup of chain-store coffee, I don’t see how you can complain. The intense flavor and freshness of these pops sure beats those artificially flavored, sugary ice cubes you get at the grocery store. And Lisa says her flavors will change with the season. Naturally.
Red Flag Fire Alert
On these hot Santa Ana days, when the temperature in San Diego rises and the humidity falls below 10%, the National Weather Service issues a red flag warning. This warning means that critical fire weather conditions are occurring: a combination of strong winds, low humidity, and warm temperatures which could create an “explosive fire growth potential.”
It’s been nearly a year since the Witch Creek Fire and other fires burned over half a million acres in southern California, destroyed over 2000 residences, caused a billion dollars in damages and led half a million people to evacuate their homes.
Once again, we are watching the hills and watching the news.
for every drop of water
for every day
every season
give thanks
to the firefighters who risk their lives
to the farmers whose livelihood depends on our support
Kids Photograph the Food They Eat Over One Day
If you get the chance, check out What Kids Eat, a new exhibit currently being shown at several locations around San Diego. One hundred kids from 10 schools in San Diego County were given disposable cameras and asked to document what they ate over the course of one day.
It’s fascinating to see not only what the kids ate, but also what they chose to document. They are many shots of school lunch trays, fast food, and junk food (cheetos, soda, candy), but just as many shots of fruit and salads, too.
The kids (age 8) also answered questionnaires about what they had eaten: “Did you enjoy eating your food today?” “How did the food make you feel?”
My favorite question was “If you could have eaten anything else today what would it have been?”
One answer: “it would be spegtey (spaghetti).” Another: “it would of been brokly (broccoli).”
Not all of the photos are particularly of great quality (many of the images are blurry, partly the limitations of the small lenses on the disposable cameras and sometimes the result of the camera being close to the object being photographed), but there are some images of striking beauty:
Of equal or, perhaps, even more interest than what the kids ate is what is behind the food: glimpses of people and backgrounds in the photos. There are shots of siblings, parents, classmates, kitchens, dining rooms, the inside of refrigerators:
I’m fascinated by these photos for the same reason I love Peter Menzel’s books Material World and Hungry Planet.
They offer a brief glimpse into how others live and eat—but this time the subjects control the camera and choose how they are portrayed, an idea employed so effectively by Zana Briski’s Kids With Cameras in their Oscar-winning documentary film Born into Brothels.
This exhibit, sponsored by the Sugar Musuem, runs through October 31st at the following venues around the county:
Chula Vista Civic Center Library
City Heights/Weingart Branch Library
City Heights Wellness Center
College-Rolando Library
Grants Market, South Park
Mission Hills Branch Library
North Park Branch Library
Pacific Beach/Taylor Library
If you can, visit the City Heights locations—the Wellness Center and Library are on the same block of Wightman Street (at Fairmont, one block south of University). If you go on a Saturday morning you can also check out the nearby City Heights Farmers’ Market—a culturally diverse, affordable market that is the first in the city to accept EBT (food stamps) and WIC vouchers.
Oh, and while you’re there, don’t forget the broccoli.
