Tree of Life - A work of fiction

“Enjoy your evening.” He said “Oh, and happy anniversary, I’m so envious of you spending a romantic evening with your man!”

She waved goodbye in answer to her co-worker as she pushed through the heavy glass door of the store front. “Envious he says” she muttered “hmmmft”

He was envious.  He was envious of the one who would have this beautiful, talented woman cooking a romantic dinner for him this evening.  His imagination drifted to what would happen after dinner.  Distracted by his fantasy, he at first did not notice that she had left her jacket.  She could get it tomorrow, or maybe he would take it to her on his way home this evening. 

They lived in the same apartment building, though she never seemed to notice.  He first began falling in love with her through her cooking. He spent his evenings drifting on the fragrances wafting from her apartment.  The waves of olfactory delight carrying him through elaborate fantasies of a life shared with her.  The reality was that the only thing they shared was the leftovers she brought to work almost every day to share with her co-workers.                                                        

She made a mental shopping list as she walked the two blocks to her grocery mart.  She had a perfect job doing what she always wanted, being a window dresser for a prestigious department store.  She enjoyed using color to create beauty.  It was an easy four block walk from her apartment to the store and the Whole Foods Market was the halfway point. 

Really, her life was pretty perfect.  Sweet perfection precariously perched on a constantly shifting foundation of lies.  She set that thought aside as she concentrated on dinner.  It had to be right.  This would be her last chance to get it absolutely right.  In the produce aisle, she found an unblemished beautifully white head of cauliflower.  A thought began to coalesce in her mind. Roasted cauliflower…yes that would be perfect, but what else?

She added fresh parsley, a pomegranate, and some forbidden black rice to her cart.

Then she perused the fish market deciding on three sea scallops and a four ounce cut of wild caught salmon.  Should she get two?  No starting right now she would be honest, at least with herself.  A perfectly beautiful fruit tartlett and a perfectly red rose rounded out her shopping. She paid for her groceries and began her short walk home.

Home, not really.  She imagined home to include a family, a partner, someone to share her dreams.  That was not to be.  In spite of years of prayer, hoping beyond hope, she was still alone. Countless daisies giving up their petals hoping for finally a “he loves me”, but always ending on “he loves me not”.  Eventually, she created a family life, one that she talked about at work, with people who didn’t really care.  It was a perfect life to go with her perfect job.  She lied.

She would talk about what was for dinner and then go act out the fantasy cooking for two every night then not even having the appetite to eat for one.  She was happy when she was cooking, though.  Pretending her perfect husband would be home soon.  Every night it was the same.  Cooking completed, she would neatly pack the food away, everything labeled in beautiful glass dishes with colorful plastic lids.  But tonight was different.  This was her last supper, and it had to be perfect.

She set the bag down on the impeccably clean counter.  After putting the fish in the refrigerator, she opened a bottle of wine.  She had been saving this bottle for a special occasion.  It was a bottle of 2002 Renwood Sierra Series Red Zinfandel.  It was a complex, beautiful wine from the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California.

She poured herself a glass and turned on the “watercolors” station on the XM radio.

She went into the bedroom and stripped off her work clothes, carefully folding them before placing them in the bottom of the clothes hamper.  She went into the bathroom and washed her face then shaved her legs.  She rinsed the razor and carefully removed the razor blade.  She placed the blade on the side of the bathtub mesmerized by the way the light shined off the metal in contrast with the white porcelain tub.  It was like a star shining in the blue and yellow bathroom.  The silver gleam seemed out of place among the happy yellow moons and stars which festooned the dark blue shower curtain.

Tonight, she would be honest.  No lies.  She was cooking for one, a nice romantic dinner for one.  After washing all the vegetables, she contemplated what she wanted to do.  She cut open the pomegranate and extracted the arils from half.  She washed the blood red juice off her hands watching as the stained water swirled down the drain. Using scissors she carefully snipped the very ends of the parsley stems creating a pile of emerald green florets.  After putting the rice on to cook, she set the scallops and salmon out on the counter.

She put the bright blue table cloth on the table and placed the knife, fork and spoon on top of a deep red cloth napkin.  The tartlette went on a small yellow saucer, the varying colors of fruit created a perfect contrast.  She put the rose in a crystal vase which she placed in the center of the table.  The opposite side of the table she left empty.  This night was for honesty, no lies.  

She cut a half inch slab from of the center of the cauliflower.  After browning the slice on both sides in some butter, she finished cooking it in the hot oven.  The slice of cauliflower was now crispy and golden brown as she salted it with oversized grains of kosher salt.  Pouring another glass of wine, she stared at the cauliflower.  It looked like a Tree of Life.  The salt glistened like a fine frost on a perfect winter morning. Now that’s some irony for you, a tree of life for your last supper.

She put the cast iron skillet on the stove to pre heat over a high flame.  She carefully placed the cauliflower in the center of a round bright yellow platter and then began to decorate the tree with the parsley florets and pomegranate seeds.  Using tweezers she placed a floret then the ruby red seed in the center.  It was beautiful, like Christmas!  It could be Christmas, but no, this was an evening for honesty.  It was not Christmas, it was her last supper.

She took the pills down from the cabinet and took two with the last sip of wine.  She poured another half glass and took two more pills; she wanted to save the last glass of wine to enjoy with the salmon.  She oiled and seasoned the salmon and seared it for 4 minutes on the first side then turned it and added the scallops to the pan.  After a couple of minutes, she turned the scallops then a couple of minutes later scooped salmon along with the scallops onto a plate to rest.

She mounded the black rice along the base of the tree, placed the salmon on top of the rice on one side and the three scallops on the other side creating perfect symmetry. She sprinkled a few parsley florets and pomegranate arils over the fish and rice.  It was perfect, a serene beautiful scene.  She placed the platter on the table and poured the last of the wine into her glass.  A drop of wine escaped to the bright white counter top looking like a drop of blood.  She wiped up the drop of wine with the tip of her forefinger and with her finger in her mouth she turned to the table.  She took a moment to enjoy the sight.  The table looked beautiful with all of the bright, vivid colors and the food looked inviting.  She sat down and with a deep breath she took in all the aromas of this fine dinner.  This was a perfect last supper. She picked up her knife and fork.

He finally finished his task and grabbed his jacket as he headed out the door for home.  He was turning the key in the lock when he saw her jacket on the hook by the office door.  He paused for a moment then unlocked the door and tossed her jacket over his shoulder.  It smelled like her, sweet and earthy with hints of the spices he knew she used in her cooking.  Her jacket held a complexity of fragrances like a fine wine.  They were probably having wine right now.  Maybe he shouldn’t take the jacket to her tonight.

“Fuck it!”  He thought.  He wanted to see this guy who was all perfect and see if he was deserving of this woman.  A woman more complex than any wine he’d ever had.  He wanted to knock on her door and see her smile welcoming him home.  She would greet him at the door with a kiss and a “How was your day?”  Then he would walk in and smell a great dinner cooking from inside the apartment instead of from down the hall.  He would surprise her with flowers and linger as he held her.

He could smell dinner as he turned down the hall towards his apartment.  What was he doing?  He should just stop at his own door and return her jacket tomorrow.  His feet betrayed him.  In less time than it took to question why, he was standing in front of her door.  He could hear soft music and the smell, the smell was intoxicating.  He could smell her standing next to him, or maybe it was the jacket in his hands.  He could almost feel his arms around her.  His heart was pounding the rhythm of his fantasy.  With a sweaty palm, he made a fist and softly knocked on the door.  

Stirring Memories Along With My Soup

This past weekend, we celebrated David’s 22^nd birthday.  David is Paula’s son and he wanted a cookout with our family tribe.  So we prepared ribs, smoked sausage, curried potatoes and corn on the cob for 20 or so of our closest friends.  As usual, we had a great time of fellowship and eating.  Our friend Linda gave me a great idea for cooking and serving the corn.  I am always looking for easy ways to prepare food for a crowd.  We loaded a cooler with the fresh corn on the cob and poured salted boiling water over it.  Shut the lid and waited for 30 minutes.  That was it.  Really, it was that simple.  The corn stayed warm through the whole evening.  It was sweet and succulent, fresh and crisp.  I melted some butter and provided a basting brush for those who wanted to butter their corn.  This was so easy! 

I paid a bit more and bought the corn already cleaned from Sam’s.  That made it super simple and was worth the extra cost.  I also bought the ribs and smoked sausage there.  I miscalculated on the ribs.  I thought they came 2 to a pack, so I bought 3 packs to get 6 slabs.  Imagine my surprise when I opened the first package to find 3 slabs of ribs.  We had such an abundance of ribs that I didn’t cook all of the sausage.  So now I am left with a 3 pound package of smoked sausage.  I started thinking back to a time when I was 22 and a soup that I made.

This is probably the first recipe I made up totally on my own.  I was 22 years old, newly divorced and living in an old 10 X 50 foot mobile home.  I was living on my own for the first time, struggling with my sexual orientation and just trying to be happy.  Boy, thinking back on those times makes me nostalgic for my cockatiel Sammy who whistled the theme to the Andy Griffith Show.  He would also say “I love you”, which was a comfort to me in those days.  I remember falling asleep to Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart” feeling lonely, helpless and hopeless.

I tried so hard to be straight.  I struggled with myself and God.  I married to prove I wasn’t gay.  I wanted to be good.  My marriage was a dismal failure, for many reasons.  I felt trapped in the tangle of my decisions.  I attempted suicide.  I was proven a failure again.  I couldn’t even kill myself right.  After that, I divorced and moved back in with my parents for a time.  Moving into this mobile home was my first attempt at real independence.

That old trailer was frigid in the winter and suffocating in the summer.  The trailer park was located next to the train tracks.  The train felt like it was barreling through my bedroom at night vibrating by bed and deafening my ears with the sound.  Sometimes I thought the trailer might shake right off its foundation.  I lived there for a year, and in the spring, I moved into a nice apartment close by.  A few weeks later, that trailer was indeed shaken off its foundation by a tornado.

Ultimately, it took me 8 more years to come to terms with my sexuality and finally come out.  Coming out was like being reborn for me.  I discovered a bright new life full of promise and possibility.  Though my struggles for happiness weren’t finished yet, being true to my self lifted a huge weight off my soul.  Eventually I was able to find my way back to God.

Our memory is a funny thing.  Thinking about making this soup, I think through the years since I first made it.  I have changed it some, improved it I think.  The flavors are certainly more complex and interesting than that first soup I made when I was 22.  The same could be said for my life.  I love being married and having such a complex and diverse friendscape.  .

To start this soup, I put my dutch oven on the stove to preheat.  I add some olive oil and when it begins to shimmer, I add a chopped onion.  After the onion becomes translucent, I add a couple of tablespoons of chopped garlic, red pepper flakes and some of the smoked sausage that I have cut into cubes.  I will add the rest later.  I want to render the cubed sausage to infuse the soup with flavor.

When the onions are beginning to turn brown and the sausage has given up its fatty goodness, I add some sliced mushrooms.  I let the mushrooms cook for a little while then add some quartered red potatoes.  I like the red potatoes for this dish because they hold their shape and don’t break down so quickly.  Then I add enough chicken broth (you can use water) to just come to the top of the potatoes.  I turn the heat up so the liquid begins to bubble. 

Now I add some Greek Seasoning.  This is something that I have used since the first time I made this soup.  You add whatever seasonings you have on hand.  Just as the potatoes begin to soften, I add the cabbage.  Chop it or shred it however you want.  I add enough that it looks like the pan is going to overflow.  It will wilt down and be fine.  When the cabbage has cooked down some, I add the rest of the sausage that has been cut in 2 or 3 inch pieces.  I cover the pot and cook for 20 or 30 minutes then I then taste for a final seasoning.  The Greek Seasoning has salt in it and if you use chicken broth, that will add salt as well so I normally don’t add any more.  Just taste and adjust.

As I look back over the past 30 years since I first made this soup, I am so happy I am where I am today.  Back then I struggled most everyday for a bit of happiness.  Now those struggles are just sometimes and I most always can see past the moment and realize the struggle is temporary.  When I was 22 I could not imagine being married to someone who treats me with respect and love.  I could not imagine a life filled with friends and joy as I have now.

On most days, I am confident and at peace; at peace with God and myself.  I am at peace with my past and look forward to the future.  I am happy. I wish for David to have the same experience of growing and changing as he ages.  It certainly makes life more interesting.

Blue Moon Reflecting on My Mother

Friday, August 31^st is a blue moon.  We haven’t experience one since 2009 and the next one will be in 2015.  August 31^st is also my mother’s birthday. There have been 10 blue moons since her death in 1987, but none in August and certainly none on her birthday.  Although Mom is never far from my mind, this really brings her much closer to my heart this week.

A few months ago, I had the great pleasure of meeting a woman through Facebook and this blog.  Ernestine Clark and I met for the first time at Beans & Leaves.  As we sat visiting, I was struck by her upbeat personality and sweet spirit.  As our time together continued, I was struck by something else, something that almost brought me to tears.  Ernestine looks so much like my mother.  So much so that I had to go home and dig out some old photos of Mom to make sure.

The second time we met at Beans & Leaves, Ernestine was very excited about a new coffee shop that some friends of hers opened on Film Row.  We followed her over there to check it out and have some lunch.  The Paramount OKC is located on the corner of Sheridan and North Lee in downtown Oklahoma City.  This coffee shop is another wonderful independently owned business.

As we approached our destination, I realized that this intersection was very familiar to me.  My mother spent the last decades of her life working for International Crystal Mfg which was located directly across the street from The Paramount.  I have to admit that it was a bit odd to be enjoying lunch within feet of a place that my mother spent so much of her life, with a woman who bears such a physical resemblance to her.  Mom would have loved this place, I’m sure.

Mom always enjoyed trying new foods and restaurants.  Her adventurous culinary spirit is a strong part of the legacy I carry of hers.  Some of my most fun childhood memories centers on trying a new restaurant or food trend.  I was thinking of this while I planned our Leo Birthday Party this month.  A friend of mine recently introduced me to Gado Gado which is an Indonesian salad dish served with a flavorful peanut sauce. I thought this would be perfect for the party.  As I was gathering the ingredients and studying on how to make the sauce, I thought of how my mother would have so enjoyed this.

I decided on fried tofu for the protein and steamed purple fingerling potatoes for the starch.  I also steamed some baby bok choy.  I sliced some cucumbers into rounds, served baby cut carrots and mung bean sprouts raw.  I sliced a jicama into matchsticks.  Now jicama is a fun new vegetable for me.  It reminds me of a cross between a radish and potato.  It is crisp and satisfying, perfect for dipping into the sauce.  I finished by frying up some shrimp chips.

Now, I’m not sure why they call them shrimp chips as there is no shrimp involved.  They start out as little plastic looking discs and when they hit the hot oil, they expand ten times or so to these beautiful crispy chips.  That was the most fun cooking.  I called everyone into the kitchen to watch.  Yes, Mom would have really enjoyed trying all of these different new foods.

As much as she would have enjoyed the food, I know she would have enjoyed meeting all of my close friends.  I regret that she did not live long enough to see me past the struggles of my early life to my life now full of love and happiness.  I never came out to her.  I believe she would have accepted me fully, but I did not progress to that point while she was living. I wish that Mom could have met Paula, Joey and David.  She would have loved Paula and been thrilled to accept her new grandkids.  Joey especially would have been spoiled by her, I’m sure. 

The night of the Leo party was a joyous night for me.  There was drumming and dancing, laughing and singing, and lots of wonderful conversation.  There were old friends and new friends enjoying the night.  It was a beautiful experience with some beautiful people.  My mother loved a celebration and this was a fantastic celebration.

One of the biggest adventures my mother and I had together was the August that I turned 25 and she turned 50.  We went to Las Vegas to celebrate the one time that I would be exactly half her age.  Neither of us had ever been to Las Vegas and we were very excited.

We arrived at 10 pm local time and couldn’t wait to get to the casino.  We got to bed very late that night and it was still difficult to go to sleep knowing all of the activity still happening downstairs.

The next day after some sightseeing, my mother ended up at Slots of Fun and I met up with a friend of a friend who was a dealer back then.  He showed me how to play all the games and we went to several casinos.  I had so much fun touring the town with someone who knew it so well.  My luck was amazing I won at everything!  I was shocked when I realized it was 2am.

This was before cell phones and I was concerned that my mother would be worried about me.  I hurried back to our hotel.  After sharing the winnings with my friend, I rushed upstairs…to an empty room.  My mother arrived an hour later with hands blackened from feeding so many coins into the slot machines.  This woman who was in bed nightly no later than 10 pm at home stayed up past 3 in the morning playing slots.  Vegas is indeed a different world.  We had such a wonderful time together on that trip.  A little over 2 years later, she was gone from my life forever.

So, this Friday is a blue moon and my mother’s birthday.  It will be a good time to reflect on her life and how my life has progressed since her death.  I think about her legacy.  My mother was compassionate and kind.  I see this in my sister and I hope I carry some of it as well.  I want to sit on my deck gazing on the moon and raise a cup to my mother.  She was a very special woman, one that you might only meet once in a blue moon.

My Activism Lies in Waffle Fries

When I was a little girl, I loved Campbell soups.  My favorite was cream of potato.  I would crumble saltine crackers in the bowl to soak up all that soupy comfort.  In those days, I could think of nothing that tasted better and more soothing to my appetite.  Then I started reading labels.  What at one time tasted so wonderful, now just tastes highly processed, salty and tinny to me.  I have to admit, though, I still long for that bowl of perfectly cubed potatoes, easy to make and easy to eat.

The soup did not change.  It is the same now with me in my fifties as it was when I was a pre-teen.  My perception changed and my palate developed.  Even though I sometimes long for the simplicity of opening a can for dinner, I don’t want to go back to my ignorance of nutrition, or give up the wonderful knowledge of the diversity of food that enriches my life now.  The potato soup I make today is so varied and complex and is still my favorite comfort food.

You may think this blog is another one of my “comfort food” blogs, but it is not.  In these past few weeks, I had my eyes opened again, and my heart broken a little.  My impression of a world that is kind and accepting was shattered.  I was astounded as I watched crowds of people flocking to Chick-Fil-A demonstrating against the sanctity of my marriage. 

This came on the heels of discovering that Oklahoma will not recognize my marriage with Paula and was followed by news of a man gunning down people in a Sikh Temple.  A few days later, Bryan Fischer of The American Family Association came out advocating an “Underground Railroad to deliver innocent children from same-sex households.”  You may recognize this group as one of the recipients of Chick-Fil-A corporate dollars.

I have always looked for the best in people and I avoid conflict like the plague.  I have never considered myself an activist.  I just live my life.  Period.  In the past few weeks, I have been trying to gather the shards of a shattered vision and put it back together.  I found myself not trusting anyone. 

I have not been able to write in this blog recently because all I could express was my anger, hurt and disappointment in the events of the past few weeks.  That’s not what I want this blog to be.  My vision for this blog is to bring people together through food.  For a little while, I wasn’t sure I could do that anymore.  Then a good friend of mine sat me down and gave me a “talkin’ too”.  She cautioned me to not let these events change my relationship with Paula.  She reminded me that the world is the same as it always has been and that my friends are the same they have always been.  She counseled me that maybe I care too much.  If I didn’t care so much, I wouldn’t be hurt so much.

I can’t help it, I am changed.  I cannot unsee what I have seen, nor unlearn what I have learned in the past few weeks.  I do know that I have a burning in my belly that wasn’t caused by one of my spicy dishes.  I have a churning in my gut that is only relieved by the expression of my emotions. 

I feel closer to Paula, my wife, than ever.  I feel more committed to our marriage than before.  Our marriage license is more than a piece of paper and no one, not the State of Oklahoma nor the crowds of Christians demonstrating against us can take that away from us.  I am working on embracing my new world view and realize the wealth of friends I have.  I have decided that caring is worth the hurting.  I do believe in love and goodness. Call me naïve, maybe, idealistic, certainly, but this is how I am. 

In the midst of all this turmoil came my 53^rd birthday.  We had a wonderful gathering of my closest friends and a joyous celebration.  My wife gave me a fun new culinary toy.  I have wanted a mandoline for quite some time and she bought me an excellent one.  And guess what?  It makes great waffle fries.  So my expression of activism lately has been perfecting pan grilled chicken and waffle fries.

I have never been a big fan of chicken breast, but this way it is flavorful, moist and healthy.  I use paper towels to pat the chicken as dry as possible.  Then I season it with salt, pepper and whatever other seasonings I have on hand.  I drizzle both sides with olive oil and then massage all of this into the meat.

In the meantime, my trusty cast iron skillet is heating over a high flame and the oven is set at 500 degrees.  When the skillet starts to smoke, I put the chicken in and leave it undisturbed for 4 minutes.  Then I turn it and put the skillet in the hot oven.  After 5 minutes, I remove the chicken from the pan and let it rest for at least 10 minutes.  The result is a perfectly cooked chicken, crispy on the outside and moist on the inside.

I easily assemble my new mandoline and use the large ruffle cut blade.  The trick here is to make a quarter turn with each cut.  Then I fry the waffle cut potato circles in 350 degree oil.  Serving my family healthy chicken sandwiches and crispy waffle fries made with intent and love makes me very happy!

I don’t want to go back to canned potato soup and I don’t want to go back to a rose colored glasses view of the world.  I will honor my God, myself, my marriage and my friends.  I will express my opinions in the most loving way I can.  I am witness to the birth of my own brand of activism, one waffle fry at a time.

Three Sisters Chowder

I wanted to cook a meal with intent.  I planned to make what I would call Three Sister’s Chowder.  Remember the three sisters planting from my last blog?  I wanted to build a chowder based on those three ingredients; corn, beans and squash.  I also wanted as many of the ingredients as possible to be homegrown.  I made my weekly trip to the farmer’s market with this in mind.

I only stopped at booths that displayed the “Homegrown” sign and visited with each vendor inquiring as to who grew the produce.  I made my purchases based on this information as well as my instincts.  It was important to me that the food was grown with a positive intent.  I chose corn, butternut squash, onions, new potatoes, heatless jalapenos and sweet & spicy peppers.  On the way home, I stopped by Whole Foods and picked up some organic chicken broth and a can of organic black beans.  I had cream in my refrigerator, so I was set.

I wanted to make this chowder for our writer’s group.  Paula started this group about a year ago mostly to provide motivation for herself and a friend of ours, Linda, to keep working on their novels.  Linda is writing novel, Call of the Loon, and Paula was working on the revisions of Shadowboxer.  We have grown into a group of eight on a path to explore our writing.  My blog was birthed in this group.

 This group is as diverse as the writing projects we bring to it.  Our ages range from 14 to 60ish and much of the spectrum of life experience is represented here.  Besides Paula and Linda, there is Joey, 14. Although she is but at the beginning of her life, I often think she is wise beyond her years and on the precipice of genius.  It has been a joy to watch her writing improve in content and structure over this past year.

Another member of our group it has been fun to watch grow is Jacob.  At 18, it is wonderful to see him coming into his own as a young man and his writing has certainly reflected that.  He has a talent for weaving a tale of suspense with an unexpected ending.  Jeff is a dungeons and dragons sort of guy and currently writes for a young audience.  His themes focus on bullying.  I encourage him to get his stories published.  I think there are children, victims of bullying, who could benefit from what Jeff has to say.  He has managed to finish two manuscripts in the relatively short time he has been a part of the group.

Jessica is our newest member.  I am looking forward to getting to know her better as we hear her novel unfold from week to week.  She is also a chef at a local Italian restaurant.  Her second week, she brought handmade manicotti for dinner.  Oh my goodness!  Those were the best manicotti I’ve ever had the pleasure of eating.  I am not only looking forward to hearing more about her novel, I am looking forward to learning from her in the kitchen as well.

Chris is our biggest fan.  Although he isn’t a writer, he is an equally important part of the group.  He has been here every week as Paula struggled with revisions on Shadowboxer and he was here to help us celebrate as it was finished.  Fittingly, the first shipment of the Shadowboxer books was delivered on a meeting night.   I am so proud of Paula and we are all fortunate to have an accomplished writer to lead us in our endeavors.

Paula is currently working on a novel, Graveyards, about an Oklahoma City cop struggling with her sexual identity along with realizing she is a vampire.  The main character, Ash had a passing role in Shadowboxer.

We all wait anxiously each week to hear the latest installments of Graveyards, Paula’s new novel; or to hear what has transpired in Jo’s life. Jo is the main character of Linda’s book.  A Call of the Loon is a whimsical reflection of Jo and her chosen family.  I feel like I know Jo and I genuinely care what happens to her.  Linda has made me laugh and cry.  She has made me get a bit pissed at Jo, too.  That is the beauty Linda’s writing.  She creates characters that are full and complex.  I will be so happy for Linda when she finishes this project, but I will be a bit sad, too.  I will miss Jo.

We generally gather for a meal before we begin our meeting.  It is a time of wonderful fellowship.  I wanted to prepare this soup with loving intent for a group I have come to love.

As I began cooking, I was filled with pride knowing that the result would be a pot of loving nourishment and comfort to share with our friends.  I began this dish as I do many with chopped onions, garlic and red pepper flakes sautéed in olive oil until they have merged into a perfect base for the soup.  Meanwhile, I split the peppers and roasted them in a 425 degree oven until they were roasted to point of almost blackened.

 

I took about half the peppers and added them to the onion mixture saving the rest to add near the end of the cooking time.  I cut the corn off the cobs and set it aside with the peppers.  I processed the squash into cubes and then quartered the potatoes.  By this time, the onions and peppers had been transformed into a flavorful paste that would infuse the chowder with its goodness.  I added the corn cobs to the pot and covered them with chicken broth.  I also added a little salt and black pepper to boost the flavor.

When the cobs had added there intense corn flavor to the broth, I removed them and added a few bay leaves.  This was after about 20 minutes or so.  I then added the squash and potatoes.  After about 20 more minutes, I checked the vegetables to make sure they were tender.  I removed the bay leaves and added the corn, beans and the last of the peppers.  After about 10 minutes, I did a final tasting for seasoning and turned off the heat.  I wanted to add the cream and finish the chowder immediately before our writers arrived.  I was proud of the result and knew it was wonderful.

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The evening of our meeting, I put the pot on the stove over a medium heat and added the cream.  I stirred the chowder often and kept a close eye on it.  I wanted it to gently heat as the cream blended with the other ingredients.  Soon, the chowder was heated waiting for our group to convene.  I had decided to pair the chowder with fresh tamales from Mariachi’s, a local Mexican market.

It fed my soul to watch everyone fill their bowls enjoying the meal I prepared for them.  Jessica hugged me telling me it was delicious.  This meant a lot especially from someone who is a professional chef.  Conversation was as abundant as the chowder and I could feel the camaraderie of our group as we enjoyed our meal together.

 As I began to eat, I felt the tension of my day begin to leave me, replaced by the comfort of the creamy, spicy chowder.  The sweet corn and butternut squash blended with the spicy peppers to create a complexity of flavor that I so love.  The cream brought it all together, just as I intended.   I planned this meal for the comfort of my friends, but I have to say, the comfort was all mine! 

From Seed to Table, An Organic Journey

A craving for farm fresh vegetables sent me on a trip to the farmer’s market recently.  My favorite one is in Norman, overflowing with local and home grown choices.  We were up and ready to roll at 7am.  The market doesn’t officially open until 8:00, but I know from years of experience that the selling begins long before opening time. We found a place to park, gathered our bags and off we went to gather the bounty.  I was hoping for some culinary inspiration.  I have been in the mood for the kind of nurturing that only fresh vegetables can bring.

We made our way through the outside booths before entering the building.  I mostly do a walk through first and then go back to make my final choices.  I did see some marble sized yellow and red tomatoes that I had to get before they were all gone.  The vendor let us try them and they were so very sweet.  She only had three cartons of them so I bought two of the three. 

The first booth we came to inside the building had a young man so excited about his organic offerings.  He had heirloom okra, tomatoes and cucumbers.  What I remember most about him was his enthusiasm for his product.  He was proud not only of his produce, but of his process as well.  He spent quite a bit of time explaining his use of a portable shop vac to pluck grasshoppers off his plants as he harvested.  Then he empties the grasshoppers over his pond to feed the fish.

This got me thinking.  I believe that when I cook with love the food tastes better.  I also believe that my intent, my love, infuses the food and helps to nurture my family and friends.  What if this begins with the seeds, or even before?  A friend and I took a road trip to Sulphur over July 4^th.  This is one of my favorite places on Earth.  We spent the morning walking the nature trails and meditating by the springs. On our way out of town, we stopped by the new Chickasaw Cultural Center.  This is a beautiful place, worthy of more than just an afternoon’s stop next time.

There, I saw a film about the “Three Sisters” way of planting crops.  After preparing the soil, a corn stalk is planted on a mound.  In a few weeks, after the corn stalk is a couple of feet tall, beans are planted then a little later squash seeds are added to the mound.  The corn stalk provides a place for the beans to climb.  The transpiration from the leaves of the stalks helps to cool the beans and gives them shade.  The beans help provide much need nitrogen for the corn and the squash covers the soil acting as a mulch.  Talk about planting with intent! 

Imagine a seed being planted and nurtured with not only water and nutrients from the soil, but with loving intentional care.  Then imagine that seed growing into a beautiful squash and being prepared with the same intentional love for the nurturing of your family.  I’m sure that the vegetable would be more nutritious physically, but what about the spiritual nutrition?

My Dad loved his garden.  He would come home from a long day working construction and spend his evenings cultivating his plants.  I didn’t understand it at the time, but now I think I do.  The hard work in his garden fed his soul.  He in turn fed our souls with the produce from the garden.  He was so very proud to share this bounty with his friends as well.  This makes me think of the vendors at the Farmer’s Market.  Herein lies a difference. 

You can go to the grocery store and buy beautiful produce, but to see the pride on the faces of the farmer’s market vendors is another thing entirely.  Those fruits and vegetables must be infused with intent, pride and I believe love.  That’s the produce I want to buy and prepare for my friends and family.

I was conservative in what I chose at the farmer’s market because I didn't want to waste anything.  I wish I would have bought more.  Along with the marble sized tomatoes, I chose some cucumbers, onions, brussel sprouts and an abundance of yellow squash.  I had in mind to try a squash soup sometime over the coming weekend.  I also got some peaches, a cantaloupe, watermelon and some of the finest grapes I have ever tasted.  These were homegrown and she had a purple variety and a golden variety.  I bought the golden ones.  They are so very sweet and full of juice, amber drops of grape flavored honey.  She also had some perfect looking heirloom tomatoes, but I had already bought some from a vendor earlier.  I will definitely go back if just for those two items.

After the farmers market, I met a friend at Whole Foods for lunch.  I finished my shopping there getting some burrata cheese, polenta, lamb, some maple link sausages and chorizo cherry sausages along with cherry walnut bread and cream cheese.  I was now ready for my weekend of nourishment.

Saturday evening’s dinner was lambs chops marinated in yogurt and curry then cooked on the grill, pan roasted brussel sprouts and creamy polenta.  The amber grapes were a perfect touch of sweetness to compliment the curried lamb chops.  Sunday morning found us munching on the Cherry Walnut Bread slathered with cream cheese, sliced cantaloupe, maple flavored breakfast sausage and fresh farm eggs cooked over easy.

Sunday evening was perhaps the simplest but to me the best meal of the weekend.  I made a cous cous pesto salad using some pesto I made from some basil which was a gift from a friend’s garden.  I used Israeli cous cous because I wanted the larger pearl shaped pasta for this salad.  I started by browning the dry cous cous in some olive oil until it was toasty brown.  I then added organic chicken stock, brought it to a boil then let it simmer until the cous cous had absorbed all the liquid.  In the meantime, I seeded and chopped a cucumber and washed the cute little tomatoes.  I added these ingredients to the cous cous and dressed it with the pesto.  I remembered some chopped pecans in the freezer so I added some of those. 

This salad is so full of texture, the tomatoes popping in your mouth releasing their sweet juice.  My original plan was to add some pearl style fresh mozzarella but decided to serve it with the buratta and heirloom tomatoes instead.  Burratta cheese is fresh mozzarella that has been filled with a combination of mozzarella, cream and sometimes ricotta.  I love this cheese.  It comes in a ball shape the same as mozzarella, but when you slice into it, the creamy interior oozes out onto your plate.  I plated with the cous cous in the center and wedges of the heirloom tomatoes on one side, the buratta on the other.  I drizzled balsamic vinegar over all of it and sprinkled a little finishing salt along with a few grinds of black pepper over the top.  It was so colorful and refreshing.

I served this salad plate with a bowl of summer squash soup.  The soup started as many of mine do with chopped onions caramelized in oil, chopped garlic and red pepper flakes.  In this case, I used the fat left from rendering several slices of bacon.  Before adding the onions, I crispy fried a few thin slices of the patty pan squash.  I intended to use the bacon and crispy squash to garnish the top of the soup.

I wanted to intensify the squash flavor in the soup, but didn’t want to cook the yellow squash too long.  I cubed the patty pans; I had a total of three.  I added this to the onion, garlic mixture.  I let it all cook down until the squash was very soft.  I wanted a thick and creamy soup, so at this point I added some wheat flour creating a thick rue.  I browned the rue for about 10 minutes or so then I added a quart of organic stock.  Now I had a gravy that was really tasty.  I could taste the squash clearly at this point so I was happy.  

I added another quart of stock a few bay leaves and the yellow squash sliced into rounds.  I had about 3 pounds of yellow squash.  I let this simmer for about 15 minutes until the squash was tender, but not too soft.  Then I fished out the bay leaves and added about a cup of cream.  This soup was marvelous!  All that I love about creamy potato soup without all the carbs.  The fresh squash flavor came through mingling with the richness of the bacon and cream.  There was just enough spice at the end to wake up my taste buds.  I know I will be making this again.

This weekend once again took me back to the summers of my youth and my Dad’s bountiful garden.  Today, I don’t have my father or his garden, but I do have access to the farmer’s market.  This Saturday, I will set my alarm and once again make an early trip to Norman.  Once I’ve gathered the vegetables grown by people who love them, I will come home and with loving intent prepare to nurture my family and friends.

Flamingos and Frogs Forevermore

This past weekend, we had the great pleasure of receiving a dinner invitation to the home of some new friends.  Sarah and Sue are a delightful couple and are planning to be married soon in Iowa.   I am so excited for them!  When we arrived, Paula and Chris went into the living room with Sue and I joined Sarah in the kitchen.  Watching her prepare our dinner, I knew I had met a kindred spirit.  It was obvious that she cooks from her heart and with an eye for beauty.

She was chopping sweet potatoes adding them to some other vegetables for roasting and on another counter was a chocolate cake next to a bowl of fresh raspberries promising a scrumptious ending to our feast.  I asked if I could help and she told me that she didn’t know what I could do.  I understand that.  When you’re in a flow with cooking, it can be more disruptive than helpful to have someone step in.  I decided to join the others in the living room. 

Sharon arrived shortly after.  She will be travelling with the happy couple to be a witness to their wedding.  It wasn’t long before the tempting smells wafting from the kitchen became such a distraction that all conversation was about how hungry we were.  Sarah called us to fill our plates.  The plates were a simple pattern accented with the same pink of the flamingos which abounded all around the house.  Sarah collects flamingos and I think they are a perfect complement to her graceful nature.

I was struck by the beauty on my plate.  The Parmesan Chicken was succulent and moist with a salty flavorful crust.  The roasted vegetables were caramelized to sweet perfection.  The sweet potatoes created a great contrast to the turnips and cauliflower all having the dark brown edges indicating intense flavor.  Along side was a most beautiful Summer Salad.  The greens were tossed with the sweetness of strawberries and blueberries along with the tang of blue cheese.  My plate looked like a work of art.  I knew it was going to taste just as beautiful.  And it did.

As we were enjoying our meal, Sarah and Sue were sharing with us their plans for travelling to Iowa.  They received their marriage license by mail and had their hotel reservations made.  Sue was so excited to have found a hotel with an outdoor pool.  She was planning on spending her time by the pool while Sarah and Sharon went shopping.  I thought this was funny especially since Sue collects frogs and it seems very “froglike” to be drawn to the water.  Their house is filled with frogs and flamingos of all kinds and I loved it.  I thought it fit them very well.

Visiting with them about their plans certainly brought back memories of when Paula and I married.  That was certainly an adventure!  I am not a particularly political person, nor am I an activist.  I just live my life and you can think of me what you will.  I have to admit, though, the marriage equality issue is one that is close to my heart. 

I remember going to Dallas to get our marriage license.  We had all kinds of documents in a bulky folder to support our claim to the license.  We arrived in the appropriate office bright and early one Friday morning.  There was one other couple waiting and we let them go first.  We were ushered into the inner office as the young woman explained that she was substituting for the regular person who was off sick that day.  I thought “Oh honey, you are going to be glad you’re here today.”

We sat down, started spreading out our documents: my birth certificate and driver’s license and Paula’s birth certificate, passport under her former name, change of name documents, and driver’s license. The young woman politely looked at us pushing away all of the documents and simply stated “I’m sorry, we don’t recognize same sex marriage here in Texas.”  We started to explain that Paula was transgender and she interrupted us saying that she was going to call upstairs.

We were instructed to go upstairs to another office.  This office was a large open area with lots of hustle and bustle.  We were met at the counter by a woman obviously not so happy to be there.  We explained our situation and she quickly deferred to her supervisor.  This next woman was as diminutive in stature as she was huge in attitude.  She was stuck on the fact that both of our driver’s licenses had “F” for female therefore we could not obtain a marriage license. 

We asked to speak to her supervisor, a very quiet man who stood by as she continued her argument.  Paula started quoting a lawsuit ,Littleton vs Prange, and it was obvious the woman had neither heard of nor cared about this lawsuit. Littleton vs Prange was a 1999 lawsuit that voided the marriage between a man and a transsexual woman, thus establishing a precedent of recognizing only the birth sex of a transgender person as applied to marriage. Both Paula and this woman were becoming polarized in their arguments and Paula began to lean over the counter raising her voice, the woman standing toe to toe with her asserting her rightness about our driver’s licenses.  As the pressure mounted, I felt tears of disappointment sting my eyes with the regret that were would not be able to get our license.  Then a thought occurred to me.

I did research online before we went to Texas and remembered that you only needed certain documents to obtain a marriage license.  I interrupted these two and swept all of the documents aside on the counter.  I said “What if I give you this” handing her my drivers license “and this” handing her Paula’s passport along with the document changing her name.  “Would this work?”

The woman looked over the documents, thought for a moment and said “Yes, that would work.”  She walked away going about what ever process it took to get the license.  Paula and I did not look at each other, we did not speak.  The woman came back, handed over the document.  I said “Thank you” and we turned to go to the elevator not saying a word until we reached the sidewalk outside and finally able to breath.  It was quite an experience for sure! 

We were married the following weekend in the gardens in front of Cathedral of Hope Dallas.  That ceremony changed my life.  It changed our relationship and it changed me.  It was then that I really came to realize the importance of being able to be legally married.  There is something about having a legal document recognizing your relationship.  I realized then that this is why the fight for marriage equality is so important.

I wish for Sarah and Sue a wonderful experience in Iowa.  I’m looking forward to hearing about all of there adventures, shopping or sitting by the pool and getting married.  I’m sure we will share these stories and many more over shared dinners as we get to know one another better.  Congratulations to you both! 

Chili Today and Hot Tamale

The other day, I received an email from my friend Rae.  Her daughter and son-in-law were coming for a visit and she wanted me to meet them.  She told me that Charlotte was going to give a lesson in making tamales and I was invited.  Tamales are definitely one of Paula and Joey’s favorite Mexican foods and I had been researching recipes.  I knew enough to know that making tamales is quite an undertaking.  I excitedly accepted the invitation.

The plan was to meet at Rae’s house about 3:00 in the afternoon, make the tamales and then stay for a wonderful Mexican feast in the evening.  When I arrived, Charlotte and Rae were already mixing the first batch of masa.  They started with 5 pounds of masa and a pound of butter.  They had it in a big bowl and were using Rae’s KitchenAid stand mixer to blend this stiff dough.  Rae had already prepared the fillings for the tamales, shredded pork for some and then cheese and chiles for others.  After a time, Rae got the cooking liquid from the pork out of the refrigerator.

This cooking liquid was thick and rich, making my mouth water when the spicy aroma reached my nostrils.  I could just imagine what a great addition it would make to a spicy green chili pork stew.  But, we were here to make tamales, so this went into the masa to bump up the flavor.  After the mixer ran for what seemed a really long time, Charlotte took a marble size ball of the dough and dropped it in a cup of water explaining that we would know the masa was ready if the ball floated.

With the masa complete, we were ready to assemble.  There were 5 of us sitting around the table assembling the tamales.  When it came time to start with the chile and cheese filling, I took the liberty of a taste.  Rae told me she roasted the jalapenos bought from the local farmer’s market.  After de-seeding the jalapenos, she added them to some caramelized onions and chili peppers.  The mixture smelled heavenly and as I brought the spoonful to my mouth I was transported back to Santa Fe, New Mexico.

A couple of summers ago, Rae, another friend of ours Rita, and I travelled to Santa Fe School for the Deaf for an ASL Immersion Week.  What an adventure!  We spent our days immersed in a world of American Sign Language and our evenings exploring the food of Santa Fe.  Rae was on a quest to explore the world of chili peppers and I gladly joined her.  No matter what meal or where you were, there were chilis to be sampled.  In bread, on eggs, in stews, in chocolate, chilis permeated the air and culture of Santa Fe.

One evening, we went to a restaurant some of the other students had recommended.  We were seated outside in a very pleasant area lush with flowers and alive with the smells and sound of Santa Fe.  Rae is Deaf and was thrilled to be immersed in a world of Sign Language.  I was just learning and struggled a bit with communication.  This dinner was quite comfortable, though.  We signed, ate and laughed, generally having a wonderful time.  We rose from our table, bellies full and our hearts overflowing with the laughter of blossoming friendship.  As we were leaving, Rae realized she had left her receipt on the table.

Rae went back to the table and I went on the meet Rita at the front of the restaurant.  She was standing next to the host who was leaning on a podium looking a bit bored.  He was a rather tall man with extremely curly salt and pepper hair.  He was dressed in black slacks, a white shirt and was wearing the biggest turquoise cross necklace I’ve ever seen.  I rounded the corner and was signing to Rita explaining that Rae had gone back to the table to get her copy of the receipt.  Rita signed back to me that she needed a copy of hers, too but had left hers on the tray.  I suggested maybe she could get a copy of it from the cashier.  I said she should ask the host if this was possible.  All of this communication took place using Sign Language.

Rita then turned to the host and said out loud “Could we get a copy of our ticket?”  This man about jumped through the ceiling exclaiming “Oh good Lord I thought you were Deaf!”  I burst out laughing at his exaggerated reaction, Rita followed suit as did the host.  The three of us were recovering when Rae came around the corner signing that she had not found her ticket.  The man looked at her and said “Now don’t you start!” which just started Rita and me on another fit of laughter.  We had to explain to Rae what had just happened and to the man that Rae was truly Deaf.  Oh my goodness, that was such a fun time!

Rae, Rita and I were still laughing when we returned to the school that evening.  We staggered up the sidewalk towards our dorm rooms.  In the distance, we saw a woman from our cottage and she made the sign for “drunk” with an inquiring look on her face.  Of course, this just made us laugh harder having to lean on each other for support.  No, we weren’t drunk on alcohol, but our souls were drunk on laughter and good times.  I suppose to the bystander it looks the same.

These were the memories evoked by that spoonful of chili filling.  As I looked around this table of women stuffing and rolling tamales I was struck once again with the importance of preparing meals in our lives.   This time together allowed opportunity for us to get to know each other better and for Rae’s daughter to catch a glimpse of her mother’s rich life.  I can picture a family spending all day preparing tamales and bonding during the process.  Hours later we all sat outside enjoying the summer breeze and wonderful meal of tamales. 

Flowers on the Table and Stew in the Pot, It's all good

Before Paula and I met and married, I was a florist.  I loved my job and felt very blessed to be able to wake up and go to work every day doing something that I loved.  I was surrounded by beauty and interacted with so many wonderful people on a daily basis.

Then a bitter break up forced me to sell my family land and close my business, I was left feeling empty.  The one bright spot in my life was Paula. The profession that had once filled me with pride now left me feeling bitter and depressed.  It was now a chore to drag myself out of bed in the morning to fulfill my obligations for the day.  I had lost my love for flowers.

My passion turned to building a new life and home with my new family.  Slowly, my brokenness began to heal as I redefined myself.  I was no longer defined by my job, but by the total of life.  Paula and I got married and life was once again good. 

One evening I was sitting on our couch visiting with one of our new friends, Christa.

Christa worked as a Sign Language Interpreter and was sharing with me that her boss was looking for a new scheduler.  This was just a casual conversation as I wasn’t particularly looking for a new job.  The more we visited, though, the more interested I became.  The clincher was that the position offered benefits rarely offered in flower shops.  I contacted Stephanie and we agreed to meet the following week.

The thought of working in an office environment was a bit alien for me.  More than motivated by the benefits the new job offered, I felt lead by God that this was the path for me.  I have grown so much as a result of this decision.  Three years later, I have a renewed passion for my work.  Stephanie has taught me so much about advocating and Deaf Culture.  I have met many wonderful and interesting people through my job.

Stephanie is not only my boss, but my friend.  I have much respect for her and have grown to love not only her, but her family as well.  Stephanie’s birthday is in May.  As I often do for my friends, I prepared a meal in honor of her birthday.  We share a culinary passion, so we prepared this meal together.  The dish she chose is Beef Bourguignon.  It’s a little complicated, but well worth the effort.

I went to the new Uptown Market in Edmond to do the shopping.  I love this store!  My first impression was the wall of fresh flowers as you come in the front door.  I chose a mixed bouquet of orange purple and bright green flowers for my dining room table.  I knew just the vase I was going to use.  A bell shaped green art glass left from my florist day.  Slowly my love for flowers has started to re-emerge recently.  As I rounded the corner, I was startled as someone called my name.

A young woman I had met recently was working behind the cheese counter.  We spoke for a moment and as I meandered on, I looked up to see an old friend working in the deli.  I haven’t seen her for a number of years and she rushed up and hugged me so tight, it was wonderful!  She reminded me of some of the best times in my former life.  We exchanged numbers and said our goodbyes.  I gathered my ingredients and as I headed to check out, I ran into yet another friend who works there.

This is a new friend who lives in our neighborhood.  As we walked out to my car, she told me about a medical condition which was causing her to lose her hearing in her left ear.  She was very distressed about it.  I was pleased to be able to share with her my work, and my experience with my own hearing loss.  We too, exchanged numbers and I’m sure this conversation will be ongoing.

Having gathered the ingredients, I was ready to start.  I begin by rendering a few slices of thick cut bacon in a dutch oven.  While the bacon is browning, cut a nice thick chuck roast into about 2” cubes.  When the bacon is brown I take it out of the pan and set aside.  Make sure that the cubes of beef are dry by patting all sides with paper towels.  Add a little olive oil to the pan with the bacon fat.  Season all sides of the beef with salt and black pepper and brown in the mixture of olive oil and bacon fat.  This will have to be done in batches.  If you crowd the pan, the meat will steam, not brown. As the meat is browned on all sides, set it aside with the bacon.  This process takes a bit of time, but be patient.  It is well worth the effort and this is a crucial step.

After the cubes of beefy goodness are all browned to perfection and set aside, brown the mushrooms and set them aside, too.  Soften a large chopped onion in pan before adding a few cloves of crushed garlic along with some salt and pepper and red pepper flakes.  When the onions are just beginning to turn brown add several carrots cut into 2 inch pieces and a bag of frozen pearl onions then stir everything together.  Let all of this cook together for 5 minutes or so before you add a tablespoon or two of tomato paste. 

Incorporate the tomato paste into the vegetables then deglaze the pan with a bit of the wine.  I think any full bodied red is fine.  Just make sure it’s not a sweet red wine.  Now it’s time to add everything back in.  Place the meat on top of the onions and carrots, then the mushrooms and bacon on top of that.  Now pour most of the bottle of wine, adding some beef broth to bring the liquid level almost to the top of the meat.  Leave the top exposed.  Bring this all to a simmer, replace the lid and braise the stew in a 350 degree oven for 1 ½ hours.

Set out 4 tablespoons of butter at room temperature.  After 1 ½ hours, bring the stew back up to boil on the stove top over medium high heat.  Combine 4 tablespoons of flour with the room temperature butter and drop this mixture a spoonful at a time into the boiling liquid to thicken the sauce.  Then turn the heat down to low and simmer for at least half an hour with the lid off.  At this time, we could hardly wait as the savory aroma from the stew was wafting throughout the house.  Serve with nice crusty bread for a very satisfying experience.  It is also very good with a side of mashed potatoes or egg noodles.  This is such a heartwarming, belly satisfying dish, every spoonful is filled with comfort and complexity and is only improved by the addition of a glass of Irony Pinot Noir. 

While we were preparing the stew, the doorbell rang and there was a floral delivery for Stephanie.  A friend had sent her a beautiful bouquet of brightly colored flowers.  The red tulips, yellow snapdragons, pink lilies, bright red spray roses and chartreuse mums were designed artistically in a window box garden style.  I must admit I felt a pang of nostalgia looking at them.  Yes, I loved my time being a florist.  But life does move on and so have I.  I once again wake up in the morning thankful to have a job that I love.  

Have Yourself a Merry Paseo

When I moved to the Paseo Arts District in Oklahoma City, I had no idea how my life would change.  I came from a country setting in which trips to the grocery store had to be integrated with commutes to and from work and nobody ever just dropped in.  I do admit to missing the crisp mornings on my deck watching the wildlife around me.   Then there were my gardens…sigh.  I do truly miss all of that.

The trade off is definitely worth it, though.  Obviously I gained a wonderful family.  A spouse I love dearly who treats me with respect and love, and two kids that I never knew I wanted.  Now I cannot imagine my life without them.  I have traded morning coffee on my deck for morning coffee on my front porch watching my neighborhood awaken.  This is never better than during the Paseo Arts Festival.

These days my whole year revolves around this weekend.  I look more forward to Memorial Day than I do Christmas.  Paula and I throw our biggest party of the year during this time.  I love the carnival atmosphere and excitement the festival brings.  Our neighborhood is transformed overnight into a magical kingdom.  I can’t wait to wake in the morning and watch as the street fills first with vendors and artists then the festival goers full of anticipation as they walk down to Paseo Blvd.  Many wave as they go by and for this weekend it is as if there are no strangers.  We are all part of the same shared experience, embracing diversity and art.

It is wonderful to hear the music drifting up from the festival and the aroma from the various food vendors mingling with the cookouts cropping up all over the area.  Then there’s our party.  This year will be our 8^th annual party.  This party is different every year.  We have had as few as 30 and as many as 120 people come through our house on this evening.  I have long since stopped trying to plan the activities too precisely. 

I make sure there is a good spread of food and space for everybody.  Then I just let it flow.  The guests determine how it goes from there.  We have had drum circles and karaoke in the living room, dances in the kitchen and poetry readings on the deck.  You can move from one area to another and have very different experiences at this party.  It takes quite a bit of preparation to get things in order.  Though several people usually help me, I especially look forward to one particular person.

My friend Sydney and I have a tradition.  She takes off work the Friday before and helps me set up for the party.  I have learned a lot from her about catering for a large group and she has helped me settle into an easy menu and routine resulting in the least amount of stress.  My menu usually includes pulled pork, grilled chicken and smoked sausage, confetti rice salad and baked beans.  This year, I am adding Devil’s on a Horseback for the first time.

I got the original recipe for my baked beans from Mary Jane Rutherford.  I of course have tweaked it a bit to suit my taste.  I render a pound of peppered bacon and set the bacon slices aside for later.  I start with a pound and after greedy fingers steal a piece here and there, I’m probably left with more like ¾ of a pound.  I then take 20-30 cloves of garlic and poach them very gently and slowly in the bacon grease.  When the garlic is soft and golden brown, I set it aside with the bacon.  I find that the garlic, too, begins to disappear as the once pungent cloves are now soft, buttery and mild in flavor.  I pour most of the grease into a container for a later purpose and then I caramelize a couple of yellow onions along with a couple of pinches of red pepper flakes in the remaining oil using the same skillet.  I want as must flavor as possible.

As the onions are cooking, I prepare the beans.  I use a variety of canned beans, black, pinto, butter beans, green limas, navy beans and then finally a big can of pork and beans.  I drain all of the beans with the exception of the pork and beans.  I empty all of this into a big mixing bowl and add some red pepper sauce, molasses and ketchup.  Sometimes I add brown sugar.  This is really just to your own taste.

I add the onions, garlic and most of the bacon.  I leave the bacon in big bite size pieces and save a few whole slices for the top.  I bake all of this at 350 for about 45 minutes.  It is so beautiful with all of the different colors and shapes of beans.  The differing texture of the beans is what really gives this recipe interest for me.  Add the sweet earthiness of the molasses, spiciness of the red and black pepper and the saltiness of the bacon and well, you’ll just have to trust me on this one.

By the time Friday comes, I will have the rice salad and the pulled pork ready to go.  With Sydney’s help, I will season the chicken legs and put them in bags to marinate until they are ready for the grill, prepare the baked beans and assemble the bacon wrapped dates to be broiled right before the party.  We will also ready the deck and set up the chafing dishes. 

Sydney started coming around about our 3^rd Paseo Party.  She lived in another town and was wrestling with coming out. I met her the first time shortly before our party and she was eager to participate.  We have since become close friends, family really.  Over the course of the next couple of years it was a privilege to witness her transformation as she came to terms with her sexuality.  We don’t get to see each other as often these days, but Memorial Day is a time we get to reconnect.  We chat and laugh our way through the chores of party preparations.  With plenty of deck time in between work, we might even build a fire in the chiminea.

By the time Friday evening rolls around, I will have everything in place for the party.  Saturday afternoon, I will grill the chicken and sausage and broil the Devils.  By 6pm, I will have the food in the chafing dishes and be ready to greet our guests.  I will be like a kid on Christmas Eve excitedly waiting for the arrival of Santa and squirming with anticipation for the contents of his sack of goodies.  Only Santa will be the spirit of Paseo and the sack of goodies will be you.

It will be interesting this year to see how this party evolves.  I am looking forward to seeing old friends and spending time with new ones.  Paula and I have met so many new people this year through her newly published novel and my school and blogging.

If you’re coming, bring your favorite dish (if you want to), drink (if you imbibe), or instrument (if you play).  Most of all, come early, stay late and come prepared for a great, interesting time. 

A Merry Paseo to all and to all a good night!

Happy Birthday Papaw

My grandfather was blind, but he was not disabled.  There were certainly things that he was not able to do, like drive a car, paint a picture, or thread a needle but I never thought of him as disabled.  My Papaw was my father figure.  I loved him so much and still miss him terribly.  He was the finest man I’ve ever known.  Papaw was compassionate.  He was strong and slow to anger.

Papaw loved his wife, his family, his church and his community.   He and my grandmother had raised their three children in the small town of Holdenville in southeast Oklahoma.   From my young perspective,  I thought they were icons in this small world.  I still think so today.  It seemed everyone in town knew my grandparents and I was so proud.

Papaw was a man of God.  He would read his Bible every day.  The Braille Bible took an entire book case and occupied a prominent place next to Papaw’s chair in the living room.  He would sometimes read to me from this Bible.  I was fascinated to watch his fingers move knowingly across the thick pages of the oversized book in his lap as he slowly read to me.  I felt proud and amazed that he had this special ability to discern meaning from bumps on a page.  When I closed my eyes and ran my fingers over the page all I felt were bumps.

Papaw was also Hard of Hearing.  He wore black plastic rimmed glasses which held his hearing aids.  Of course the frames had no lenses.  Their main purpose was to hold the hearing aids and help protect his face from the occasional cabinet door or other unseen obstacle.  I remember many a child poking their little fingers through the empty lenses, trying to reconcile eye glasses for a blind man.

It seemed to me that Papaw’s blindness brought him closer to God.  Sometime in the early 80’s, my grandmother was having issues with her sight.  I drove to Holdenville to bring them to Oklahoma City for her appointment at Dean McGee Eye Institute so was there when the doctor came in.  He asked my grandmother several questions and was quickly able to resolve the issue.  He then turned his attention to my grandfather.

He asked Papaw when he became blind and what caused it.  I felt the doctor’s excitement and Mamaw’s, too.  It seems the doctor really thought that something might me done for my grandfather.  Papaw stopped the doctor in mid sentence.  He explained that he had made a deal with God.  If God would give Papaw Peace in his heart and a good life, he would be satisfied.  That was the end of discussion.

I've thought a lot about that day.  I think it showed strong faith and courage from my grandfather.  He took what some would call a tragedy and made a good and full life in spite of his blindness or maybe because of it.  I felt that day in the doctor’s office that Papaw rejoiced in his blindness.

My grandfather loved life.  He was eager for new experiences and to try new cuisines.  We took many family vacations together.  The summer after I graduated high school, we travelled to Germany to visit my uncle and his family.  Every Easter, my family would have a picnic at Lincoln Park in Oklahoma City and then go either to the Zoo or Springlake Amusement Park.  One year, a friend of my sister’s came along.  That particular year, we went to Springlake.  Papaw even rode a roller coaster called the Wild Mouse.   Having had a day filled with fun and food, we were headed to the car and he tripped over a curb in the parking lot.  It wasn’t a big deal, just a little stumble.  It was enough to draw attention to Papaw’s blindness.  Gwen’s friend was surprised as this was the first time all day she realized he was blind.

That’s how my grandfather was.  Being blind did not define him; it was just a part of who he was.  I am proud to be his granddaughter and I hope that I carry some of his finer traits with me.

Papaw loved to eat and I wish that I could now cook banquets for him.  He really loved his sweets.  He had a sweet tooth about a mile long.  No meal was complete without a little sweetness at the end.  This could be as simple as some jelly on one of Mamaw’s homemade biscuits at the end of breakfast, or a slice of pecan pie to top off a fine dinner.

May 10^th marks my grandfather’s birthday.  If he were still with me today, I know what I would prepare for him.  This is my favorite dessert and I think he would agree.

I start this dish of sweetness with a sheet of puff pastry.  I cut the sheet into triangles and brush the top with an egg wash and some raw sugar.  I then bake them in a 425 degree oven for about 15 minutes or until they are golden brown on top.

I use a package of frozen dark unsweetened cherries.  I find using a sauté pan works well for this part.  I heat the cherries until they start giving off some of their sweet juice, then I turn the heat down and just let the juice reduce and thicken.

While the cherries are cooking, I whip some heavy cream.  I add some sugar and amaretto to the cream for a bit of extra flavor.  When the cherry juice has thickened a little I take the pan off the heat and add a couple of pours of brandy.  Using a match, I light the brandy and let it flame, then put in back on the fire and let the brandy reduce and become one with the cherries.

The presentation is pretty simple.  The triangles of pastry are first on the plate covered by a few spoonfuls of cherries.  A mound of whipped cream for the top and finally I drizzle a bit of the ruby red cherry juice over the fluffy white cloud for a final flourish of color.

Though Papaw wouldn’t be able to see this dessert with his eyes, he would see it through my grandmother’s description of it.  I believe he would smile and taste my love for him with every spoonful.  Happy Birthday Papaw, I love you.