My Idea of Fast Food #3

I can't believe it happened so quickly, but here's another in this little series of mine. It's that kind of season, a time for speedy suppers, maybe even assembly only. Again.


This throw together salad supper is zippy and zingy by virtue of kalamata olives, pepperoncini, and pepperoni. (Dang, I should have said peppy!)  The beans and cheese, along with the pepperoni, add creamy, chewy texture and protein, so it feels like dinner instead of a bowl of leaves. Gotta have that bottom note to make it to bedtime without a snack.  A hunk of crusty bread to mop up the last of the viniagrette helps, too.  Quite continental, but so easy.  A little slicing and stirring, and dinner's done.


The stirring would be for the vinaigrette.  Please promise me that you'll make your own.  It's just too simple and easy to leave to some factory and their God-knows-what additives.  I mean, you're not even cooking.  What's a little whisking?


This is another dinner that doesn't need a recipe really, but since it's handy I'll include it. Now, gotta go.  I just thought of two more things I need to do tonight.  Yikes!


Pepperoni and White Bean Salad
Adapted from Cooking Light Super Fast Suppers
Serves 4


6 cups baby spinach
2 cups grape tomatoes, halved
24 pepperoni slices, cut into thin strips
1 15-ounce can of white beans (navy or cannellini), drained and rinsed
1/3 cup sliced pepperoncini peppers, drained
1/4 cup sliced kalamata olives (or other black olives)
1/2 cup chopped parsley if desired
1/3 cup of your favorite vinegar
2 tablespoons or so extra virgin olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup shredded Parmigiano-Reggiano


Combine the first 7 ingredients in a large bowl.

In a small bowl, whisk together the vinegar, olive oil, salt, and pepper.  Pour dressing over mixture and toss well. 


Spoon salad onto individual plates. Sprinkle with cheese.

My Idea of Fast Food #2

For folks on the academic schedule, things are starting to heat up.  The first day of school will be here before I know it, and before that there are meetings to attend and syllabi due and, for some of us, new buildings to move into as well.  I've been petting the head of that part of myself I call Anxious Annie of the Clipboard for days now. (She likes that much better than being denied.)

Thankfully, yesterday was Friday.  I had made a little headway against the to do list in my head, and then Dave called to say that an impromptu guy night was happening.  I didn't even have to make dinner!

Oh, but I like to make dinner. Dinner is the sensual punctuation at the the end of all the efforting that the work day requires.  I won't give it up, but I will turn to what I consider fast food, especially when the stress is falling away and cooking isn't even required, a welcome bonus in the heat of summer.  


A few days ago, a latent craving had appeared on my mental horizon, an item added to the list of things to eat and record soon.  When the evening became just for me, I knew it was exactly what I wanted: white bean and tuna salad.  Creamy and umami-laden in an oceanic way, yet light and virtuous,  because virtue thy name is beans-and-omega-threes.

To add a vegetable in the absence of the leafy greens I usually nestle the salad into,  I made a bed of what I'm calling zucchini carpaccio--mandoline-thin slices of zucchini drizzled with extra virgin olive oil and lemon juice, and sprinkled with kosher salt, freshly ground black pepper and one finely diced oil packed sun dried tomato for jewelry.  That was a pretty good idea, too.  Accompanied by a well-chilled glass of rose` wine, it was the perfect bowl for my unwinding evening.

(Public service request: If anyone knows how to produce a real accent mark on the average keyboard, would you please enlighten me?  Thank you.  We now return to our regular programming.)

Again, this is dinner that doesn't really require a recipe.  Throw some drained tuna and cannellini or other white beans in a bowl, add red onion, chopped parsley, lemon juice, olive oil, and salt and pepper to your taste, and you're done. If you want to be fancy, add capers, tomatoes, other herbs, or whatever strikes your fancy, so that your super easy home made fast food dinner hits that appetite spot that makes you lay down your spoon and say, "That was just what I wanted."  


This dinner is proof that with the right pantry ingredients and fridge staples around, anyone can  whip up dinner with next to no effort and without the negative load of resorting to greasy takeout.  Definitely another one of my ideas of fast food.  Filed! (Along with  #1 here.)

Souvenirs

Tourist Town


The pizza house man 
plants his open flag. 
Soon he'll feed hungry
tourists searching for that
experience to tell their
friends about or recall
together in a warm moment.
(Remember honey?)
That's what we've all
come in search of--
a pleasant memory,
the feeling of away, 
with a parking place.
We hunt it down
while the swans 
bob on the bay
with nowhere to go,
not even moving
with the chop.






Sea Glass


surf pounded jewels
tumbled and
journey clouded
broken and rounded
beautiful debris

Be The Swans

Dave and I returned recently from a six day trip to Rhode Island.  It was lovely, but arduous, more an adventure than a vacation. 

We experienced many challenges just getting there: torrential, visibility-destroying rain across the entire state of West Virginia;  Manhattan traffic; and three hours of bumper to bumper creeping across Connecticut.  We thought we'd arrive at our destination at 6:30pm.  We didn't make it until 10:00pm.  So much for getting pleasantly settled in.


Once we did finally make it to the B&B I'd booked, I was disappointed.  It wasn't as well kept or decorated as I'm accustomed to for that mode of lodging.  But I knew I wasn't in great shape for accurate perceptions after two days of difficult travel.  I cemented no judgments. Instead I focused on the cool breeze and lapping water sounds wafting in through our window and the view from our private deck overlooking the bay that takes up one third of the state.  Then I got a good night's sleep. 


As I expected, the next morning, sitting in the dazzling sunlight watching dozens of swans bobbing gracefully on the water only feet away while we ate a three course breakfast delivered to us by the very sweet innkeeper, it all looked a bit better. 

While Dave was in the stone carving workshop that caused the trip, I was free to tour around.  I thought for sure that this was where it would all turn around decisively.  Unfortunately, I chose to visit three of the most tourist-mobbed destinations in all of Rhode Island.  They were so packed that I didn't even feel up to trying to find a parking place in Jamestown and Narraganset or agreeable to paying $15.00 to $20.00 for one in Newport. I ended the day disappointed, even though I'd also helped Dave do the one other thing he wanted to do while in the area--find H. P. Lovecraft's grave.  He was experiencing satisfaction.  I was still waiting. 


I've learned not to sing along with negative feelings every time they appear.  The bonus of  gaining the wisdom that I am not my feelings means that even when I experience them (the negative ones that is--the positive I'll gladly own), I know that they can and will change.  Many an experience starts out rough and ends happily.  I was sure that I'd be blessed with that transformation eventually.  Until then, I reminded myself that it was OK for this trip to not be about me.  When I have traveled with my son to major league baseball games, my personal preferences have been second tier to making a memory and a dream come true for my young man. Surely my husband deserved no less consideration. 


So many times I've come up against this grasping, which is really based in fear that I won't get what I want.  As I recently did on my clouded shopping trip, I let my agenda go and waited.  Dave kept apologizing, feeling badly that I wasn't enjoying this trip that he felt responsible for, given that his workshop was the impetus.  I kept telling him not to worry about it, and I meant it.  Having bad feelings arise, more out of habit than anything else, and buying into them can be two different things.  I still felt sure that the experience could turn around at any time.

The second day, after counsel from locals, I found my personal state of vacation while Dave was tapping away at slate.  I went to the little bay side town of Wickford and strolled a shaded street lined with colonial houses so venerable that they all bore plaques noting the date of their construction and the name of the builder.  I prowled in a few charming shops and found the perfect souvenir, then cached myself on a vine bowered bench to watch the tourists and find the poem in what I saw.  Scribbling in my Moleskine, I felt like a real writer, which was wonderful in itself.  Over lunch, sitting by a breezy window held open by a tall jar of sea glass, I felt inspired to jot a few more lines.  My little visit lasted only two and a half hours, but it was all I needed to feel that the trip was complete for me.  I note that, as so often happens, I got what I wanted when I was quite through with trying to insist on getting it. 


Yet, it got even better. I bought chocolate sea salt caramels made on the premises of another small town's shop on the way to pick up Dave.  Then I took him back to my new favorite Rhode Island town to enjoy the peaceful sights and a good, affordable dinner on a breezy dock with a view of boats in the harbor, after which we shared my precious and highly sufficient chocolates.  We ended the day reading peacefully on our deck as the light slid away and delighting in a fireworks display put on across the bay after dark. All was righted, as I had known it would be.


Well, there was the trip back, with multiple (I lost count after four) traffic slow downs and torrential rain in West Virginia AGAIN.  But there was also an easier route past New York City recommended by the locals that yielded a bonus for Dave of lunch in Sleepy Hollow, and the lovely room and delightful innkeepers in Pennsylvania.  


Oh, I almost forgot the news of the cat sitter's spill down our steps, which caused us some guilt.  But that didn't matter in the long run either, since there was no serious injury.  Life rolls in waves that we label good and bad.  It just doesn't pay to get too upset about, or by, any of it, if we can at all help it, for the bumps in the road are neither the journey nor the destination. They undeniably exist but aren't worth remembering prominently. 

When I look back on this trip, I'll remember the driving hassles and brief disappointments, but I want to highlight the pleasures: morning sun more brilliant than I've ever seen before; the rippling shadows on the ceiling cast by lapping water; graceful swans resting confidently on the deep bay; the sounds of children playing in the evenings as we read quietly; the most successful mix-and-match travel wardrobe I've ever been able to assemble; the kind of innkeeper who has to hug you when you leave.  


When I let go of my expectations and insistence, some very "imperfect" people, places, and times can be deeply satisfying.  Inconveniences and disappointments will arise, but so will sufficiency.  I just have to be like the swans we watched--unruffled and graceful, trusting buoyancy, riding the current but never swept away. 

What Wants to Be Written

What wants to be written

is the mystery of despair,

the majesty of the sky,

the marginality of existence.

These are the truths unborn

moving under our skin.

They strain to emerge,

to take face and breathe,

blinking in the light,

announcing their presence.

They are eternal and newly born

each time we pause,

write it down,

outline the feeling of being,

with all its tears and joys.

What wants to be written

is me and you and the

cloud changing chaos of

trying to live until we die.

Another Super Salad

Two potluck dinners in one week means two favorite salads.  This one boasts the crunch of finely chopped broccoli and toasted sliced almonds, the sweetness of raisins, and the nip of red onion, bound lightly with tangy, creamy dressing. It's perfect for when you want the aforementioned tangy and creamy in a salad that doesn't involve cabbage.

I was introduced to the idea by Deb at Smitten Kitchen, although I have of course adapted it to my own tastes because I can now.

Deb uses her buttermilk dressing.  I most often use the standard homemade cole slaw dressing combo of mayonnaise, white vinegar, and sugar, although sometimes I add a little buttermilk if I feel in that mood.  (This time I did.)  It's good either way.

My other customization is dispensing with measuring.  I start with what broccoli I have, using the stems as well as the florets.  Please consider doing so, too.  The stems are eminently edible, in case you didn't know.  Removing the withered end and the tough outer covering reveals a juicy-crisp, almost tuberous bonus ingredient--the very thing that's in those plastic bags of "broccoli slaw" at the grocery store, except that you didn't pay $2.99 for it, and it's not dried out! Run it through the food processor's shredding disk or your hand shredder and feel frugally victorious.

As for the other ingredients, I adjust them to my tastes.  Instead of dried cranberries, I use raisins because they're always in my pantry.  I like more of them, too, as well as more nuts, and less onion.  The dressing I just eyeball, in much the same way as I make my ranch-like dressing.

I do totally agree with Deb about one step: toasting the almonds.  I know about the magic of this step. I can't believe it took me this long to do it for this salad!  Do not be the dope I was.  Toast the nuts and toast yourself for doing so.

One note about getting broccoli florets finely chopped: not as easy as it sounds.  Deb suggests using the slicing blade of the food processor.  That technique seems to yield me a goodly number of thin slabs that still require some knife work to qualify as small and and harmonious with the shredded stems.  I've also tried doing all the chopping and shredding by hand, but that's a bit tedious.  I usually settle for the compromise of using Deb's suggestion and fine tuning it by hand.  And no, I can't just leave the slabs.  Why, that's like leaving the blankets uneven on the bed!  Crazy talk!

I've produced a recipe here, but do as you feel led, because you can, too. 

Broccoli Slaw

Adapted from Smitten Kitchen

Makes about six cups of slaw

2 heads of broccoli
1/2 cup thinly sliced almonds, toasted
1/3 cup raisins or dried cranberries
1/2 small red onion, finely chopped

            

Dressing
1/3 cup mayonnaise 

Buttermilk to thin, if desired
2 tablespoons cider vinegar
1 tablespoon sugar

Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste, if desired

Trim broccoli and cut it into large chunks. From here, you can either feed it through your food processor’s slicing blade or simply hand chop it into smaller pieces. I used the florets and the stem, shredded, but if you have a broccoli stem aversion you can just use the tops.

Toss the sliced broccoli with the almonds, raisins or cranberries, and red onion in a large bowl. Meanwhile, whisk the dressing ingredients in a smaller one.  Pour the dressing over the broccoli and toss it well. Season well with salt and pepper to taste if desired.

Store in refrigerator.

My Little Mantra

 

I went shopping in the city last Thursday.  It did not go well.  I wandered Target in a fog for about two hours selecting and then rejecting things, unsure why I thought I needed them or convicted because I wasn't sure the money was there to buy them.  My acquisition urge was raging, but I had no clear soundings for choosing.

This fuzzy wanting state descends upon me sometimes when I'm shopping, usually when I'm alone.  I see so many things that seem desirable. I want that, and that, and that other thing, too!  I just want until it seems a twitching, almost compulsive urge that needs to be, not satisfied, but relinquished. 

With that in mind, and after accomplishing the task that caused the trip and more (Discontinued nail polish matched! Sherry vinegar obtained! Deeply discounted winter shoes found!), I saw the wisdom of letting it all go and heading home.  When the winter shoes didn't fit at home the way they had in the store, I lost grip on contentment once again. My felt happiness was still disturbed that night, which made it difficult to write with fun (Unhappiness is not a good muse. It's taken me days to write this.),  but reflecting on the experience did remind me of something I've often fallen back on in times like these.

Ten years or so ago I was newly separated, busted down to a studio apartment and adjusting to getting by on....less household income, shall we say.  I remember an evening when I entertained myself by leafing through a catalog and turning down corners of pages containing items I wanted. When I closed the catalog and saw all the folded corners, I realized that there was no way I would ever be buying all those things.  This was a depressing thought, a limiting thought.

I had run up against this knowledge before.  I had always thought I wanted a great many things and never had money or debt tolerance to buy even a fraction of them. The situation had always been a downer.  But that night I decided that I didn't want to be miserable any more about a situation I could not change and a desire that felt outsized and misguided.

After all, I did not need any of those coveted things.  I decided that I would let my life tell me what I needed, and that's what I would buy.  I found myself saying these words in my mind any time I felt full of that bottomless want:

 Let your life tell you what it needs. 

The phrase served as a reminder that I had what I needed and the ability to supply those needs.  Anything after that was a bonus.  Neither advertisers and manufacturers, with their promotions and persuasions, nor my own compulsions were the arbiters of my purchasing power.  My own genuine life needs were.

After a few instinctive fall backs, the phrase achieved official mantra status.  I didn't avoid feeling disturbance last Thursday, but I did fall back on my self created wisdom while lost in Target.  That's why everything went back out of the cart except the $8.00 nail polish that I was clear I wanted and knew I could afford, and why I looked for winter shoes whose absence had been noticed last season.  When the inner toddler gets a case of the gimmes, it's time to walk away and breathe and only buy what I'm clear I've had an inner order for.

Of course, sometimes I wish later that I'd walked away with an item that haunts me. This is the collateral damage of acquisitive attacks, when true desires become indistinguishable from passing ones. I still remember the sandals that made my feet say "Ah" two summers ago in Richmond.  And now there's the pewter ones I left at Target on Thursday.  I regretted that omission as soon as I was on the interstate home. But letting go is the only way to find peace about it, and they might have felt different at home, too!  Producers will continue to make pretty things to want and then try to convince us to buy them. There will always be more to acquire, and happiness isn't found in obtaining any of it.  Life truly does go spinning on, and just as happily.

The greater wisdom of my little mantra is that I'm instructing myself to look within for purchasing guidance rather than without. Desires that arise from authentic living in that way are worth honoring.  They are usually meaningful, even if they are also for shoes.  They come from and augment the process of becoming my truer self. They are not about acquiring, or holding on to something, so much as expressing, or letting something out. That twitching wanting is a need to fill an emptiness.  Fully funded and soul-led shopping is about adding to fullness. Like distinguishing salt and sugar, two purchases may look the same but taste very different.  One is sweetly free, the other bitingly tight.  Only the buyer knows the difference.

I'm thankful to know that difference now.  I can't avoid being human and therefore vulnerable to attacks of the wants, but I can choose wisely to pat that urge on the head and say, "Now, now.  You know that's not the way.  Put your little hands down and let's go home where we have all we need."

The best part is more enjoyment of what I do buy.  New pretties without a guilt hangover make life finer indeed.