Loss and Recovery in a Spoon of Macaroni and Cheese

Loss.

That moment when someone tells you that you have lost a child, the world either spins ever faster until all the colors become a white blur or else the world slows down until all its banality is frozen in place. Either way those words about that loss just hang in midair for a moment. Then they fill your head displacing any other thoughts that might have resided there but a minute prior. You stand still for that moment. The words are just heavy in your brain. That minute might seem to be forever or not long enough. But, at that moment, you stand there alone just you and that terrible news.

And, then the world might start again with a sigh or a cry. You might fall to your knees and hope that the earth swallows you whole. You might find that all your limbs have stiffened and left you still as a stone statue. You might fall numb and deaf. You might shake so uncontrollably that every tooth feels like they will be dislodged from your mouth. But, with that loss, you certainly feel a small fissure form in your heart.





In time, that break might callus over. You will walk around the world as if your heart is whole. You will go on with your days.  You will picnic on the lawn.  Eat--and taste what you are eating.  Maybe you will spoon macaroni and cheese into a little ones mouth.  That callus on your heart will not keep you from laughing and playing again. 

October 15 is a national pregnancy and infant loss remembrance day in the States. Loss such as this is pervasive, but a quiet truth in people’s lives. Maybe we can all spend that day being kind and caring indiscriminately. You have no idea who might be silently suffering.


Recipe:
Confetti Alphabet Macaroni and Cheese

Boil 2 servings of alphabet pastina according to the package directions and 1/3 cup diced carrots.  Drain.

Grate 2 cups of cheese (parmesan, cheddar and smoked gouda.)

While pasta is hot, add cheese, 1 T dijon mustard, pinch paprika, 1/3 cup frozen peas, 1/3 fresh corn.

Take three handfuls of breadcrumbs and toss with olive oil, paprika and turmeric.

Put mac and cheese in single serving oven proof containers and top with bread crumbs. (we used alphabet shaped breadcrumbs)

Peach Upside-Down Cake

My husband likes to call me the laziest overachiever he knows. There is truth in that. Four layer chocolate cake with basket-weave piping and coffee macaroons as a thank you gift, sure, I will do that. But, run out and buy the cake flour called for in the recipe, heck no. I have never bought cake flour, not because I am ethically opposed, but because I am lazy. (And, I do love the MacGyver, self-sufficiency, could hack myself out of any recipe nature of a good substitution.)

When I received a sample box of Unbleached Cake Flour from King Arthur, I decided that the universe was trying to show me what I have been missing.

King Arthur was generous enough to participate in BloggerAid Changing the Face of Famine by sending out products for bloggers to review on their sites. And I decided to match their generosity by trying their product in a series of small batch baking experiments. Over the next month, I will be posting many baked goods as part of my review.

First up, peach upside-down cake…I have a love/ hate relationship with this genre of cake. I love the concept of the fruit on the bottom and my husband will devour anything that smacks of caramelization. But, I think the cake part can be tough and chewy. This seemed like a good start to prove to myself that AP flour is not truly all purpose. I went with Alton Brown’s recipe for mini-cakes, and made one small skillet’s worth. Fruit, butter and brown sugar already took me on the path to success. The cake component was a breeze (though I did add some ginger juice to it.)

The resulting cake was moist and almost flaky. It really was quite a success. And, said cake would be a wonderful thing to serve warm with ice cream for a small plated dinner with friends. Since this test, I have been thinking about making a sweet and savory version for thanksgiving with pumpkin. (But I digress.)

Test 1 completed, it looks like King Arthur Unbleached Cake Flour 1, my incredible laziness 0. Stay tuned for other tests.

Plum Yogurt Muffins

Please take a moment to marvel at these thighs. (And, disregard the gratuitous add for the brand name diapers that we received from the hospital.)



While generally I would not be so bold as to be so self-promoting, in this case, those thighs are thanks to me. My little Tiger loves to eat, and I have been on call 24-7. It is a very new sort of relationship.

My Belle has always been far too busy to enjoy a meal. (Though now at the ripe age of 2, ice cream is something I have found she can make time for.) When I nursed her, I remember tickling her little toes to get her to eat. During those feedings, there was frustration on my part and snoring on hers.

At the hospital with the Tiger, she fed more than any other baby. No, I am not being hyberbolic—the lactation consultant came to give me a gold star for my efforts. (Yes, we thought the gold star was hokey too.)

So what have I been eating in this one-handed life? Well not as much as I had hoped after the year of nausea. I am trying to make and eat grab and go food heavy on the nutrients but easy to eat when you are carrying around a small human. I have also been adding flax seeds, chia seeds, brewer’s yeast, and wheat germ to things—pasta sauce, calzones, gratins, salad dressing. My husband has been surprisingly calm and silent about this. After going through pregnancy and post-pregnancy before, he has clearly wizened up to the ways of the hormones. And, apparently in it for the long haul, he knows better than to start the great “Flax Seed Fight of 2009.”

In some cases, he has even endorsed these recent experiments outright. These muffins, he said, are “actually really good. I mean, you should have made a double batch.” The “actually” does of course imply a sense that there were other items in the past that were the opposite of good and that his comments in those cases weremisleading if not actually false. But, hey, why should I start the great “ACTUALLY??!! Fight of 2009”



Recipe:
Plum Yogurt Muffins
adapted from Rose's Recipes

Separate 2 eggs. Whip whites.

In a large bowl, mix:
3/4 cup plain whole-milk yogurt
2 large egg yolks
1 T ground flax seeds
3 T orange juice
1/2 t vanilla
1/4 cup canola oil
1/2 t almond extract

To that bowl add each successive ingredient and stir to combine:
3/4 cup whole wheat flour
¼ cup ground almonds
2 tsp. baking powder
pinch of salt
3/4 cup granulated sugar
¼ cup brown sugar
3 T wheat germ

Fold in the whites.

Fill muffin tins to ¾ full. Top with thinly sliced fruit.

Bake at 350 for about 10-12 minutes. (Watch them and check at 8 minutes and then 10.)

Fennel Bud and Mint Herb Butter on Corn

Belle’s was not having good luck with the animal kingdom this weekend. First there was an unfortunate incident with some fictional birds. And, then Saturday morning, my husband and I realized we had forgotten our CSA basket overnight.

Thanks to the cold rainless summer we hadn’t receive a single share yet. If this had been 1850 we would have starved. (That said, if it were 1850 my husband’s family would be alternating surviving a potato famine, farming rocks in Italy; and I would be eating rice on the west coast of India. But why split hairs?)

So Belle trotted off to the front door with her father to pick up the vegetables. “Mommy, oh look.” and “Bring your camera” were both mentioned after the door opened. The front stoop was littered with the detritus of many a happy raccoon. The fastidious little buggers had cleaned all 12 ears and left the silk, cobs and husks for us to clean up.

It was the final straw for Belle. Tears were spilled, punctuated by the phrase, “those raccoons.”



We decided to run to the farmer’s market to pick up replacement corn. Then we came home, steamed them and topped them with Fennel bud and Mint Herbed Butter. (The adults added nanami—Japanese Chili powder with orange rind and black sesame seeds) Basically combine 5 T of soften butter with 2 young leaves of finely chopped mint and 1 full fennel flower bud also chopped. Finished with coarse sea salt.

Fennel and mint are wonderful herbs as they engender feelings of being a successful gardener no matter your skill, ability, interest or soil. At some point in the summer we completely forget about our fennel, it first goes to bud and then flower and finally to seed. We use all of the forms of fennel in our food. The fronds and buds are definitely stronger an anise flavor than the bulb. We put the buds or the flowers in tossed salads, with roasted vegetables, or in ago to put on sandwiches. (The seeds are commonly used in Indian food.)

That evening, my husband wondered if she was dreaming of hunting them corn-fed raccoons; but I am fairly confident she was dream of the herbed butter that she ended up licking off her plate.

This post is also my entry for Weekend Herb Blogging run by Haalo of Cook (Almost) Anything at Least Once

Veggie Stuffed Shells

It turns out to be true—we do turn into our mothers.

Or maybe just me.

In the last two weeks I have gained just enough energy to start getting everything ready for baby two. The house has vacillated between organized and disarray. Our assessment of our readiness ebbs and flows accordingly. Luckily, we have plenty of help. We have a handy-man helping with things like putting up curtain rods, removing any poisons from the garage, etc.

The other day, I asked him to come by in two weeks to disassemble Belle’s crib. This piece of furniture is something that I never cared for as a child. I learned the skill of breaking out early and never looked back. Belle on the other hand, who was able to break into child gates before turning one, has never made any overture to leave the confines of her wooden sleeping quarters. Instead, she has made her crib her sanctuary, taking blankets, animals, books in with her at every nap and every bedtime.

Last night, J—was putting Belle down to sleep. I could hear them trekking up the stairs singing the classic medley of abcd-itsybitsyspider-hushlittlebaby. (Or is that choral pastiche only classic at my house?) I could hear them discuss how many books would be read at bedtime. I could hear the laughter. Then there was a moment of silence. I wouldn’t have noticed it except that it was followed by “Mommy.” First from J—and then from Belle. I couldn’t place their tone. It wasn’t quite happy. It wasn’t angry. But there was definitely an underlying sense of urgency.
I waddled upstairs as fast as I could, both hands clasped under my sizeable, 9 months pregnant girth. When I got upstairs, J—was standing silhouetted in the door looking at me— face paled. I walked into the room. The space where the beloved crib once stood was now a square of dust bunnies punctuated by a couple long forgotten chew toys.

Belle asked, “Where is my bed?” It might have been obvious to J—what had happened but for a two-year old the question was full of earnestness.



And at that moment, the shock—I am blaming the shock—turned me into my mother. When I was Belle’s age and my mother had a hard time weaning from my bottle, she told me a bird came in and flew away with the whole cabinet of glass bottles. And, that is what I told me daughter. The bird came in and borrowed her crib. It sounded stupid coming out of my mouth. It sounds stupid as I type it now.

Luckily we had set up the toddler bed. So we got it all ready with Belle’s menagerie. Then we read every book on her shelf. We tucked her in. And, closed the door.

The rattle and pleading coming from the other side of the door were disquieting to say the least. J—just stood and watched the door for a while. Still stunned from the emptiness of the room and the fact that I was turning into my mother, I went downstairs and drowned my sorrows in some carb-based leftovers.

We had some delicious shells in the fridge stuffed with Ohio ricotta, fresh Ohio mozzarella, Swiss chard from our garden, local peas that I had frozen, local mushrooms and sweet onions from the Farmer’s market, and shredded carrots from our garden. Top with a cream sauce or with tomato sauce (as we did.)

When my mother heard of the whole story, she was fairly unfazed. She reminded me that I didn’t join the bird hunting society of America or have a deep-seated desire baby bottles. I guess turning into your mother isn’t the worst thing in life.


Recipe
Veggie Stuffed Shells

For ½ a box of medium shells, use the following filling:

Sautee:
½ sweet onion
1 small head of chard
1 cup grated carrot
1 cup sliced mushrooms

When cool add sautéed veggies to:
1 cup ricotta
½ cup grated parmesan
½ cup fresh mozzarella pearls (quartered)
½ cup frozen peas

Stuff into shells and place in butter lined baking pan. Top with tomato sauce or cream sauce and more parmesan.

Bake at 375 for about 20 minutes until cheese looks bubbly.

This recipe is my entry for One Local Summer for this week. This week the parmesan and pasta continue not to be local—but as the chard and carrots are from the porch, I feel it was an okay trade-off. And, finally our CSA has given us a share, so this week we should have too much zucchini localness to speak off.

This is also my entry for Presto Pasta Nights started by Ruth of Once Upon A Feast and hosted by Pam of Sidewalk Shoes.

Strawberry Thyme Stuffed Cupcakes

Reverberations… The concept has been hovering in my mind. I doodled through high school and college physics but even I remember that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. But in the case of human life, I wonder if actions should be described as having often exponentially larger reactions. One man cheats two friends. Those two friends are without money and they need their children and family to take care of them. Those children and families need to do more work to do so, and the stress affects their life adversely. You get the story.

My work has confoundingly stressful. Work environments are network of people. In general, the actions of small inconsequential people have small reverberations onto their fellow man. And some people have enormous wakes of reverberation; Madoff anyone? So this week at work, we are all standing in the wake of one man’s choice making a guess on how large the waves of change will get.

The pull and push of the ocean on your bare feet can be so comforting and enticing, but the ebb and flows of stress that will be upon me at work are frightening. So, how are we going to make it through? In part, the plan is to find those moments where all the stress exists squarely outside your consciousness—touchy feely as it is. My Belle is a whole cloud of such moments.

She is starting to love to bake. Baking with her takes some amount of concentration. I measure everything out and then bring it to the table for her to dump and stir. Inevitably overzealous actions occur; messes are created. I don’t know how to meditate but baking with Belle seems to me very close. My mind empties of work and life and instead I am focused on the actions at hand.



For these cupcakes we had too many ohio grown strawberries (great problem to have) and I needed to use them up quickly. But, I did want a cake that was dense and a little more complex than straight strawberries. Belle has been growing some herbs and vegetables with her dad (garden might be overstating it.) So, she and her dad grabbed some lemon thyme from the garden. I have been consciously adding various herbs to Belle's dishes recently so that she acquires a taste for lovely fresh food but also so that she can enjoy the tastes of her labor. Thyme might be good in savory dishes, but I think it really works well with the chocolate and strawberries in these cupcakes. Very little is used so it is subtle but I think it adds a wonderful element to the cupcakes.

I am also sending these cupcakes to Weekend Herb Blogging hosted by Laurie from Mediterranean Cooking in Alaska run by Haalo of Cook (anything) Almost Once and started by Kalyn of Kalyns kitchen.

Plan
Strawberry Thyme Stuffed Cupcakes
The grape cupcakes at Cupcake Bakeshop gave me the idea for these.

For the cake, I used the recipe at a Dash of Sass but added ½ tsp fresh thyme and a dash of balsamic

For the filling, strawberries macerated with sugar, thyme and balsamic

For the frosting, chocolate/cream cheese/ buttercream (basically my coconut frosting but without coconut or lime and with chocolate) with a bit of balsamic and brown sugar

To stuff them, think jack o lantern. Take off a top, cut a bit of cake from the core. Fill and replace the top.

Raspberry Clafoutis

Prior to having children, morning was about sleeping, stretching, reflecting. There were quiet mornings of sipping spiced tea and reading the newspaper.

Belle’s idea of morning is action and reaction. By 10:00, we have read many books, eaten breakfast, walked the dog, run to the market, done laundry, taken a shower, cleaned our room… Most mornings we have accomplished what needs to be done.

This morning the rain soothed the whole family into sleeping longer and sounder. Instead of roaring out of our beds and into our chores, we milled in bed. We spoke quietly and giggled. Rather than running out to a quick breakfast dive, we sat around the table and made breakfast.



Yesterday was one of those chore-filled days; we made it to the market early enough to get raspberries. My husband suggested with raspberry sauce. Pancakes are not my favorite. To me, they are messy and labor-intensive at a time when my synapses are at their slowest.

So, this morning it was raspberry clafoutis with Ohio maple syrup for breakfast following the perfectly scaled recipe at Eric Ripert. In keeping with our relaxing morning, the labor of making clafoutis is thankfully incommensurate with delicious decadence of the results.

It is also our entry for One Local Summer with farmer’s market raspberries (didn't get the farm's name because Belle was trying to steal the strawberries from the table), Snowville Creamery half and half, Snake Hill Farm maple syrup, and Maple Valley Sugarbush eggs.

Orange and Corn Salsa

Do animals have the terrible twos?

Belle loves birds. Duck was one of her first words. For her first Christmas, we bought her an Audubon bird guide and she was excited. So, this spring, she enjoyed seeing the baby ducklings at the park. In my delicate condition, I felt a strange empathy and connection to the ducky mom. I might have been projecting, but I swear I could see the ambivalence in her eyes. But a few months ago, she was a one-woman show and now all of sudden she had an army following her.

Sure those little duckies were cute, but that adorableness comes at a price. Each little one had its own mind. Two or three babies were the easy going sort; they were amiably picking at the water plants. And, in every family, there are one or two who don’t follow the rules. One was tipping back and forth in a way that would worry me; though of course the ducklings were born to swim. And, another little one kept trying to swim away.

Of the scene, the duck mom vacillated between giving her young some knowing looks and munching away on lunch. I couldn't help but wonder if some of those little duckies were more ornery than others. Dogs have distinct personalities. Why not birds? I wondered if she was tired at quacking at the ones who strayed. Then again, the consequences of disobedience for a baby duck are life-threatening.




At our house, the consequences of disobedience are so much smaller. If she doesn't listen to me, there is but the chance of a spoiled brat. For fear that I would only encourage pickiness, I have tried to turn a blind eye to her caprices. Until she turned 2, she was not picky at all.

Then, she learned the power of no. Oh, I never really knew how much I would hear that word. Now, even when we make food she likes, it is a 50/50 proposition that she will consume anything.

We try to make a mix of new foods and givens. Grilled cheese is one such given; we did quesadillas. Oddly enough, beans are a perenial favorite; we made black beans. And, then as she is half-Asian, rice is a staple; we did tomato rice. For the grownups, we made a quick orange, charred corn, red onion, lime juice, cilantro salsa/ salad. Of course, we offered this salsa to Belle, but she is really not a fan of oranges.

So other than the salsa, it should have been a home-run dinner, but the little missy didn't touch it. I don't know about birds, but humans sure experience the terrible twos.

Mango Oatmeal Cookies

The act of defining oneself is an obsession of youth. When I was in high school, I wouldn't be caught dead in brown shoes. Mind you, they were a requirement of our uniform. Everyone morning, we would line up for assembly in our too short navy blue tartan skirts. Down the line, spindly legs ended in penny loafers and brown saddle shoes. Somewhere in all that order and propriety, I stood with my friends with my steel-toed Doc Martens. We all need to learn to take a stand and that was mine, inconsequential as it was. (Adulthood it seems to me is about shedding the need to assume xyz are the only things that make you cool.)

Recently, Belle has become increasingly verbal. She has explained many things about her life that I did not know: at school when they watch a movie, there is always popcorn; her sitter lets her do whatever she wants; and her grandfather's car is messy. She has also started telling me who she is. She is someone who wears pretty shoes, who wears pink dresses to birthday parties, and who does not like potatoes. Most importantly, she eats cookies. I don't actually mean Belle eats cookies; I mean she defines herself as a cookie eater. When introduced to strangers (donors at my work, her second-cousins, her doctor), she tells them, "Hello, I eat cookies." It is who she is, apparently. Of course, like all good mothers, I impede her abilities of self-definition. I have never actually given her a cookie. Graham crackers, cupcakes, sure. But cookies? I don't really like cookies and never even thought to give her one.

Children, of course, have plenty of influences. In my daughter's case, many of them, like my father, are bad ones. Clearly she has tasted and liked cookies somewhere. I wonder what that first taste was like. It must have really made an impact. Because, now, I have a little cookie monster on my hands.

Belle has been unsettled in the last few weeks as I have been fairly incapacitated. My mother thought making cookies with the two year old would lift her spirits. While the process was messy; it was fun. There were some tears when Belle realized the cookie batter needed to be baked before consumption. (Usually when I bake with her, I make vegan so she can taste the batter.) The result once baked was delicious (though I can't really consume lots of cookies right now.) My husband had two after dinner--apparently, he too eats cookies.



Recipe
Mango Oatmeal Cookies

Cream:
1 stick butter
1 cup sugar

Mix in:
1 egg
2 T light brown sugar
1.5 cups flour
1/2 t salt
1 T baking powder
2 t cardamom powder
1 cup overripe mango, diced
2 t rose water
1/4 cup pistachios, roughly chopped
2 T yogurt (I used Mango Lime flavored but vanilla would be okay)

Fold in
1 1/2 cup rolled oats

Bake at 350 for 8-12 minutes. Makes about 36 cookies.

This is also my entry for Mango Mela held by Srivalli of Cooking 4 All Seasons.

Orange Glazed Tofu with Acorn Squash and Whole Wheat Noodles

I have become on the fence about tofu.  Tofu-haters might say what took you so long.  But, I have always loved tofu in all its forms.  Recently, I have really begun to consider the ecological implications of farming soya beans.  And, tofu hater and meat-eaters shouldn't feel that they are out of this, soy has become so much part of our food economy, it is right after corn production-wise.  At some point, tofu was on the menu all the time at our home, and now, we eat it much less often--and use beans and lentils and quinoa as a protein source.  When it is on the menu, we are using organic to lessen the pesticides that impact them.  Alright, let me climb down from my soapbox.

I do love crispy oven baked tofu (as does Belle), so moderation my friend.  the other night, I sliced up some tofu, spritzed it with oil, placed it in the oven.  At the same time, I boiled some pasta and used some of the boiling water to steam some acorn squash.  I made a glaze of orange juice, sage, ginger, garlic, soy sauce, pinch of brown sugar, agave nectar, and water (basically, combine in a saucepot and simmer).  Then, at the last minute, sautee some garlic, toss in the al dente pasta, brown slightly, add tofu and acorn squash, add glaze.  Serve.  This meal was very low work and quick. I spent much of my time playing with Belle rather than cooking which was the goal on a night when Maybelle's Dad was working.  

Kawaii Lunch Fare

In general, Belle eats what we eat (or refuses to eat what we eat.) And some dishes I post are more toddler-friendly. She really enjoyed the carrot salad the other day and the rasam (mind you, as an Indian baby, she eats spicy food.) But, sometimes for her lunch, I get excited about making her lunch baby pretty. This usually coincides with one of her refusing-to-eat phases. Or sometimes with her, I will only eat cheese and nothing else phases. While it is clearly a petty form of bribery to gussy up the food for her, it also fills my need to craft and beautify; so win-win I say.

The other day, I cut her omelet into animal shapes, including a fish and then accompanied it with a variety of vegetable options. Finally there were tiny fava bean hummus sandwiches (shown here opened up.)

What did she eat? First the chickpeas and egg, then the bell pepper and carrots, finally toast. But, the corn ended up going to the dogs.