“A bullet need only happen once to work, but for peace to work, we must be reminded of its existence again and again. My fellow Americans, only we can prove that we will not be divided, again and again. Only we can prove that we have the grace, character, and common humanity to end this senseless violence, to reduce fear and mistrust within the American family. That is who we are and who we always have the capacity to be.” -President Obama
Several of us were chatting in the hospital this morning about how what happened in Dallas could happen anywhere, how it could have happened here, and then minutes later someone looks at her phone and relays that, in fact, it now has. Baton Rouge. Awful times we are living through, and tensions are running high. I am so grateful that we have the president that we do, that he offers Lincoln-like prayers on behalf of our aching American family—may our wounds, over time, heal. “Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray…” I choose to hope. There is nothing more beautiful than light on the horizon.
Salsa is a snack that always has me meditating on how good it is when differences blend together. Again and again.
Bean and Corn Salsa
Adapted from Penzeys
2 14.5-oz. cans diced tomatoes (or 2 lbs. fresh tomatoes, diced), drained
1 11-oz. can white shoepeg corn, drained
1 15-oz. can black beans, drained
1 bunch fresh cilantro, chopped (about 2/3 cup)
1 4-oz. can sliced black olives, drained
1-2 tsp. fajita seasoning
1-2 tsp. cumin
Mix everything together. Enjoy.
These sunset pics were snapped on the Skyline Trail out on the mountain hillsides of Cape Breton. KP and I hiked out to the cliffs at sunset one evening last week, and it was breathtaking. Hopefully a foreshadowing. Peace.
We chose to vacation on the Cape Breton and Upper Maine Atlantic Coast over the last week—a needed break from the thick New Orleans summer climate and also all things medicine and education (however, my dreams only ceased featuring scenes from various hospital call days on the last night of vacationing slumber…) The scenery was as breathtaking and naturally wondrous as had been promised, the company, beyond compare. The culture of Prince Edward Island, Nova Scotia and Upper Maine I found best described in a character from Joan Didion’s Book of Common Prayer which I happened to pick up and thumb through on the last plane home, “As a child of comfortable family in the temperate zone she had been as a matter of course provided with clean sheets, orthodontia, lamb chops, living grandparents, attentive godparents…ballet lessons and casual timely information about menstruation and the care of flat silver as well as with a small wooden angel to sit on her bed table and listen to her prayers.” The hillsides of Cape Breton seem like a place totally removed from the struggles featured on the news and in the daily dramas at my workplace. In future weeks I will blog a lobster roll or scallop dish, so inspired. But here, vacation as soup for the medicine woman’s soul.
Fresh herbs (such as Thai basil, cilantro, and/or mint)
Freshly ground black pepper
Chili oil and lime wedges (for serving)
Toast cloves, cardamom, star anise, chiles, cinnamon, and peppercorns in a large pot over medium heat, tossing often, until fragrant, about 2 minutes. Add cilantro, shallots, garlic, lemongrass, ginger, broth, and fish sauce and bring to a boil. Reduce heat; simmer until flavors meld, 1–1 ½ hours. Strain into a large bowl, pressing on solids. Return broth to pot; season with salt and pepper.
Pulse cashews in a food processor until very finely ground. Add shallot, chile, lemongrass, ginger, brown sugar, and shrimp paste; process until smooth. Heat oil in a small skillet over medium and cook paste, stirring, until beginning to brown, about 2 minutes.
Cook noodles according to package directions. Drain; rinse under cold water. Bring broth to a simmer, add shrimp, and cook until cooked through, about 2 minutes. Divide noodles among bowls. Add 2 Tbsp. paste to each and ladle broth over; stir to incorporate paste. Top with shrimp, sprouts, scallions, and herbs; season with pepper. Serve with chili oil and lime wedges alongside.
Happy Fourth of July! Grill, grill, grill! There are few things that make me feel more American than standing over a barbeque, basting corn with spiced butter and charring a few chorizos. Perhaps a bulldog festooned in patriotic boat parade beads adorned with an American flag. Another good one I’ve included below is flat-iron steak with a spicy/sour chimichurri sauce.
Cast-Iron-Grilled Romano Beans with Garlic Aioli and Chile-Buttered Corn
AIOLI
1 small head of garlic, halved lengthwise
6 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
Kosher salt
Pepper
1 large egg yolk
1/2 teaspoon whole-grain mustard
1 tablespoon Champagne vinegar
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1/4 cup canola oil
Pinch of cayenne
BEANS
4 chorizo sausages, intact in casing
4 teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 pounds romano beans
2 shallots, thinly sliced
Kosher salt
Pepper
Lemon wedges
MAKE THE AIOLI Light a grill. On a sheet of foil, drizzle the garlic with 1 tablespoon of the olive oil. Season with salt and pepper and wrap tightly. Grill over moderately high heat, turning, until tender, 50 minutes. Unwrap and let cool.
Squeeze the garlic cloves into a mini food processor. Add the egg yolk, mustard, vinegar and lemon juice; pulse to blend. With the machine on, slowly drizzle in the remaining olive oil and the canola oil until incorporated. Season the aioli with cayenne, salt and pepper.
GRILL THE BEANS In a large cast-iron skillet set on the grill, cook half of the chorizo in 2 teaspoons of the olive oil over moderate heat until softened.
Add half of the beans and cook until lightly charred and tender, 12 minutes. Stir in half of the shallots and cook until golden, 3 minutes. Season with salt and pepper. Transfer to a platter and repeat with the remaining ingredients. Serve the beans with the aioli and lemon wedges.
Oven-Roasted Chile Butter Corn
Adapted from Better Homes and Gardens
8 ears fresh sweet corn with husks
Chile Butter (see below)
Cornflakes
Green onions, and/or lime
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Place the corn, untrimmed and in the husks, directly on center oven rack. Bake for 45 minutes or until corn is tender.
Peel back husks and remove silks. Spread 1 tablespoon Chile Butter over corn. Sprinkle with crushed corn flakes. Top with green onions and/or limes. Pass remaining Chile Butter.
A few minutes before serving, remove outer dark husks, peel back remaining husks and remove silks. Brush with 1 tablespoon of the Chile Butter.
To keep grilled corn warm, cover with foil and let stand up to 10 minutes. Store prepared Chile Butter, covered, in refrigerator up to 1 week. Let stand at room temperature 1 hour before serving. I figured out that this chile butter also tastes amazing with eggs on toast.
Chile Butter
2 limes
½ cup butter, softened
2 teaspoons ground ancho chile pepper
1 teaspoon ground chipotle chile pepper
4 cloves garlic, minced
Finely shred the peel from the limes and juice the limes. In a small bowl whisk together butter, and the lime peel and juice. Stir in ancho, chipotle and garlic. Transfer butter mixture to a serving bowl.
Grilled Flat Iron Steaks with Chimichurri
adapted from Better Homes and Gardens
3 boneless beef chuck top blade (flat iron) steaks, cut 3/4 inch thick
1 teaspoon kosher salt or salt
½ teaspoon garlic powder
½ teaspoon ground cumin
½ teaspoon chili powder
½ teaspoon cracked black pepper
¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 cup firmly packed fresh cilantro leaves
1 cup firmly packed fresh Italian (flat-leaf) parsley leaves
¼ cup white wine vinegar
8 cloves garlic, cut up
½ teaspoon kosher salt or salt
½ teaspoon ground cumin
½ teaspoon crushed red pepper
¼ cup olive oil
Directions
Trim fat from steaks. Place steaks on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper or plastic wrap.
For rub, in a small bowl combine the 1 teaspoon salt, the garlic powder, 1/2 teaspoon cumin, the chili powder, black pepper, and cayenne pepper. Sprinkle mixture evenly over both sides of each steak; rub in with your fingers. Cover with plastic wrap and marinate in the refrigerator for 1 hour.
For chimichurri, in a food processor or blender combine cilantro, parsley, vinegar, garlic, the 1/2 teaspoon salt, 1/2 teaspoon cumin, and the crushed red pepper. With processor or blender running, slowly add oil through opening in lid in a thin, steady stream until mixture is smooth. Set aside.
For a charcoal grill, grill steaks on the rack of an uncovered grill directly over medium coals for 7 to 9 minutes for medium-rare (145 degrees F) or 10 to 12 minutes for medium (160 degrees F), turning once halfway through grilling. (For a gas grill, preheat grill. Reduce heat to medium. Place steaks on grill rack over heat. Cover and grill as above.) Serve steaks with chimichurri.
I love coffee most on the mornings when I don’t NEED it. I awoke this morning on the other side of intern year, rested enough to feel philosophical and nostalgic. I began to scoop coffee grinds into the French Press and drank in the smell of the reddish earthen soot. Turned on a loop of Pearl Jam songs and stood still in the kitchen waiting for the water to boil.
Going onto vacation after a season of hurry, for me, is almost coma-inducing. I come to a stand still with myself when presented with a two week ocean of free time. A tsunami is coming, my resident-hood, but those clouds are just a speck on the horizon today, for now, there are blue skies, thick summer sunshine, fresh buckwheat bread loaves I folded together last night, and a steaming steeping column of coffee still to be enjoyed.
Back to chocolate, I endeavored to make some gelato. Very time intensive, and the result is good, but needs to go with something. Like pie or coffee. Working with chocolate this year has afforded me many Willy Wonka moments. That is, hypnosis by swirling liquid chocolate. Or, having to face my Veruca-ness.
Don’t care how, I want it now.
Dark Chocolate Semifreddo
Adapted from Bon Appetite
6 ounces bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, chopped
2 teaspoons Mexican vanilla extract
¼ teaspoon kosher salt, plus more
2½ cups heavy cream, divided
3 large egg whites, room temperature
⅔ cup sugar
Combine chocolate, vanilla, and ¼ tsp. salt in a medium heatproof bowl. Heat 1½ cups cream in a small saucepan over medium until barely simmering. Pour hot cream over chocolate mixture and let sit until chocolate is melted, about 5 minutes. Whisk chocolate mixture until combined and smooth. Chill, stirring occasionally, until cold, about 1 hour.
Beat egg whites and a pinch of salt on high speed in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with whisk attachment until soft peaks form.
Meanwhile, cook sugar and ⅓ cup water in a small saucepan over medium-low heat, stirring, until sugar is dissolved. Clip thermometer to the side of saucepan; increase heat to medium. Bring to a boil without stirring and cook until thermometer registers 250°.
Working quickly and with motor running, pour syrup into egg whites in a steady stream, avoiding whisk so syrup doesn’t splatter. Beat until glossy, stiff peaks form (be careful not to overbeat).
Using an electric mixer, beat chilled chocolate mixture until soft peaks form. Gently fold in meringue, leaving a few streaks.
Scrape into a large loaf pan and cover. Freeze until solid, at least 3 hours and up to 3 days.
Just before serving, let semifreddo sit at room temperature 15 minutes. Beat remaining 1 cup cream in a small bowl until soft peaks form. Serve scoops of semifreddo in small bowls with whipped cream.
“I just want your extra time…” Today we officially celebrate the longest day of the year, Summer Solstice! This year marks the first semiannual Swamp Solstice Bike Parade—a festival conjured by me, KP and our dear friend the Joneses. We noticed a summer lull in New Orleans’ social calendar, probably because most find the weather intolerably muggy and hot. Indeed, the heat index over the last week was well over one hundred in the Crescent City. We also selfishly wanted to have a parade, but most all other holidays are already taken with well-established leadership. THUS, we created Swamp Solstice—an evening Bike Parade complete with music along the ride and poetry readings at each stop. This year’s theme is “I just want your Extra Time,” inspired by the passing of Prince. T-shirt design is my department, and behold:
Our slogan, “let’s get tilted.” The first twenty got free tank tops, and then riding along to Prince tracks DJed from speakers in a bike basket, we went from Urban South to Courtyard Brewery to Barrel Proof to Nola Brewery and back.
Thank you to the intrepid first krewe of Swamp Solstice; we look forward to the next solstice on December 17th when we celebrate the contrast, from light to dark.
Let us not forget the celebration of yesterday, that of all Good Fathers everywhere; I know at least three:
Get thee to a grill and bring in the summer with flavor, flame and char. You don’t even need real meat to enjoy a juicy summer burger, y’all. Believe me, I was the last to convert, and here I am on the otherside, drooling over bean and mushroom veggie burgers. A little spice goes a long way to replace saturated fat…
Black Bean and Shiitake Burgers with Banana Pepper Mustard
Adapted from Food and Wine
1 ounce dried shiitake mushroom caps (about 12)
Boiling water
1 1/2 cups lightly packed parsley leaves
1 large shallot, chopped
3 garlic cloves, chopped
1/2 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest plus 3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
Banana Pepper Mustard, mayonnaise, lettuce and tomato, for serving *** see below for mustard recipe ***
In a heatproof medium bowl, cover the shiitake caps with boiling water and let stand until softened, about 25 minutes. Drain well, then coarsely chop and transfer to a food processor. Add the parsley, shallot, garlic, lemon zest and lemon juice and pulse until the parsley is finely chopped.
Meanwhile, in another heatproof medium bowl, combine 1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons of boiling water with the soy sauce and agave. Stir in the textured vegetable protein and let stand until rehydrated and tender, about 15 minutes.
Stir in the shiitake-parsley mixture, black beans, flax meal and salt. Using a fork, lightly mash half of the beans against the side of the bowl and stir to combine.
Using moistened hands, form the mixture into six 3/4-inch-thick patties; pack tight. Transfer to a parchment paper–lined baking sheet.
Light a grill or preheat a grill pan; oil the grate or the pan. Grill the burgers over moderately high heat until charred on the bottoms, about 5 minutes. Using a spatula, carefully flip the patties and cook until lightly charred and heated through, 3 to 5 minutes longer. Serve the burgers on the buns with the Banana Pepper Mustard, mayonnaise, lettuce and tomato.
Banana Pepper Mustard
Adapted from Food and Wine
1/4 pound yellow banana peppers—stemmed, seeded and chopped
1/2 yellow bell pepper, seeded
1/2 small yellow onion, finely chopped
2 tablespoons minced peeled fresh ginger
1/3 cup water
1/4 cup apple cider vinegar
1 1/2 teaspoons sugar
1/8 teaspoon ground turmeric
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
Salt
In a medium saucepan, combine everything except the mustard and salt and bring to a boil. Simmer over moderate heat until the peppers and onion are soft, about 5 minutes. Transfer to a blender and puree until very smooth. Add the Dijon and puree until just incorporated. Season the mustard with salt. Transfer to a bowl and let cool completely, then refrigerate until well chilled, about 30 minutes.
Enjoy the heat. You can generate your own good breeze by hopping on a bicycle–pedal from one Live Oak shade spot to another.
Making my way again through the book that may very well be the best work of literature produced in our country in the last fifty years, Gilead, the very book an attempt to answer Jeremiah’s question with blessed less certainty and blessed more sincerity than the sung spiritual. Yes, there is a balm, and there is ever a wound, and somewhere there is a blessing in it, I suppose. The preacher narrator says, for him, writing has always felt like praying. My feeling exactly. The same with stirring up an almond-paste frangipane, cutting angles into the pastry roof of a norther French brioche king cake (ahem), or kneading my bread dough into window pane cohesion.
Gilead is an old father’s letter to his son, a telling of all the stories that come to consciousness so as to be known, but probably also just simply to etch his life itself into narrative; every writer scratches at the immortal itch with their plumes, each word a clarion call into the ether so that one’s lonely interior may live on in dialogue with and in company of readers for years beyond those one can claim with mere flesh.
How lovely, this Reverend John Ames’ recollection of baptizing a litter of kittens when he was young.
“…He told us no effect at all could be achieved by our methods, and we could not prove him wrong…I still remember how those warm little brows felt under the palm of my hand. Everyone has petted a cat, but to touch one like that, with the pure intention of blessing it, is a very different thing. It stays in the mind. For years we would wonder what, from a cosmic viewpoint, we had done to them. It still seems to me to be a real question. There is a reality in blessing, which I take baptism to be, primarily. It doesn’t enhance sacredness, but it acknowledges it, and there is a power in that.”
How silly, really then, all this writing so as to be known, as if that were a real question. Perhaps I write to perform the same comfort as Piglet when he reaches to touch Pooh, as they walk together side by side. “Yes, Piglet?” “Nothing. I just wanted to be sure of you.”
Treat yourself to a blessing and make this for a Sunday morning treat.
In a large saucepan, bring 1 cup milk to a boil over medium-high heat, whisking constantly. Remove from heat. In a medium bowl, whisk together egg yolks, ¼ cup sugar, 1 tablespoon cornstarch, and flour.
Add about ½ cup hot milk mixture to eggs, whisking constantly. Add egg mixture to remaining hot milk mixture, whisking to combine. Strain mixture through a fine-mesh sieve; discard solids.
Return mixture to pan, and cook over medium-high heat, stirring constantly until mixture is thickened, 5 to 7 minutes. Refrigerate pastry cream until cold, at least 1 hour.
In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, combine butter, orange zest, and remaining ¼ cup sugar. Beat at medium speed until combined. Add 1 egg and orange liqueur, and beat until combined. Gradually add salt, almond flour, and remaining 1 tablespoon cornstarch; beat until smooth, 3 to 4 minutes. Refrigerate almond cream until cool, at least 30 minutes.
In a medium bowl, combine pastry cream and almond cream. On a lightly floured surface, trim each sheet of puff pastry to an 8½- or 9-inch circle. Using a fork, lightly pierce both rounds all over. Brush the edges of one round with water. Starting from the center and moving outward, pipe almond cream onto pastry round, leaving a 1-inch border all the way around. Place almond or candied fruit somewhere in the cream.
Top with second puff pastry round and press with fingertips to seal the edges. Flip galette and re-seal edges from the opposite side. Use a sharp pairing knife, cut a design on top of galette, I like a six-point star that has slashes like below because it ends up looking like a patterned leaf when it bakes– and notch the edges. Transfer to a rimmed baking sheet.
In a small bowl, combine remaining 1 egg and remaining 1 teaspoon milk. Brush dough with eggwash, and refrigerate at least 1 hour. I like to use the extra dough for little mini bite-size galettes:
Preheat oven to 400°. The egg wash is key, be sure to lather it on. Bake galette for 15 minutes. Lower oven temperature to 375°, and bake until deep-golden brown, 35 to 40 minutes. Let stand on a wire rack until cool. Brush with maple syrup, and serve. Most beautiful pastry I think I’ve ever made.
First musical debut in New Orleans on the stage of Café Istanbul ten nights ago. Costumed in a metallic green taffeta dress that has seen me through fifteen years of diva moments. My hair has been there since the beginning, still reaching.
A thunderstorm is cracking the sky on glorious Memorial Day, somehow seems appropriate. Holed up inside on the couch to soothe my trembling bulldog while fat raindrops fog the living room windows, as though to seal us inside our steamy imaginations. The new grill is being christened with hail instead of raw meat sweat. That’s okay, how about roasting a red snapper in a bed of kosher salt?
Pimenton-Roasted Red Snapper with Herb Salad with Oven-Baked Saffron Rice
Adapted from Food and Wine
Ingredients
1/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
2 teaspoons pimentón de la Vera (sweet smoked Spanish paprika)
1 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest, plus 1/2 lemon, sliced
6 cups kosher salt (30 ounces), plus more for seasoning
3 large egg whites, beaten
One 2-pound whole red snapper, cleaned
Ground black pepper
3 large bay leaves
5 medium celery ribs, thinly sliced on the diagonal
1 cup celery leaves
1 cup parsley leaves
1/2 cup tarragon leaves
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
Preheat the oven to 425°. In a small bowl, whisk 3 tablespoons of the olive oil with the pimentón and lemon zest. In a large bowl, mix the 6 cups of kosher salt with the egg whites and 1/2 cup of water until it resembles moist sand.
Spread a 1/4-inch-thick layer of the salt mixture in the center of a large rimmed baking sheet. Season the fish inside and out with black pepper and brush all over with the pimentón oil. Stuff the cavity with the lemon slices and bay leaves and lay the snapper on the salt. Mound the remaining salt mixture on top, lightly packing it to completely cover the fish.
Bake the fish for about 30 minutes, until an instant-read thermometer inserted into the fish through the salt registers 135°. Remove from the oven and let stand for 10 minutes. Crack the salt crust and discard it. Brush off any excess salt and transfer the fish to a platter.
In a large bowl, toss the celery with the celery leaves, parsley, tarragon, lemon juice and the remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Season the salad with salt and pepper and serve alongside the fish.
Oven-Baked Saffron Rice
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 medium onion, minced
1 bay leaf
Kosher salt
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
Small pinch of saffron threads
2 cups Carolina Gold or Carolina extra-long-grain white rice
1/2 cup dry white wine
3 1/2 cups chicken stock or low-sodium broth
Preheat the oven to 375°. In a large ovenproof saucepan, melt the butter. Add the onion, bay leaf and a generous pinch of salt and cook over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until the onion is softened but not browned, 5 to 7 minutes. Add the lemon juice, coriander and saffron and cook until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add the rice and cook, stirring, until translucent, about 3 minutes. Add the wine and simmer over moderately high heat until nearly absorbed, about 3 minutes. Stir in the stock and a generous pinch of salt and bring to a boil.
Cover the saucepan and bake the rice for 20 minutes, until all of the liquid is absorbed and the rice is tender. Let stand for 15 minutes; fluff with a fork and serve.
Happy Memorial Day, y’all. Stay dry, stay alive, and stay vivid.
“Well, there’s no sense in nonsense when the heat gets hot.” Favorite line from Safety Not Guaranteed, a marginal film that I loved but most everyone else did not. This line comes to mind here on the porch, where summer feels just about ready to settle in for a heavy, thick bear hug. I love the heat and humidity. I imagine myself a thickening sauce. The more I sweat, the richer my flavor. Nothing better than a cool pie on a hot summer day.
Izzy requires q15-30 minute PRN ice cubes to tolerate porch sitting. I have a dinner party tonight with the lady interns in my program, and I have the best quick dessert to share. Thanks once again to Equal Exchange for all of the chocolate, which made this pie with its thickened chocolate sauce possible.
Chocolate Graham Cracker Pie
Adapted from Penzeys Spices and sponsored by Equal Exchange
1 9-inch pie shell (see below)
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup flour
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 cup cocoa powder
2 egg yolks
1 1/2 cups coconut milk
1 cup nonfat milk
1 tsp. pure vanilla
1 tsp. melted butter
Crust:
1/4 cup sugar
1 cup graham cracker crumbs (about one standard package)
1 tsp. cocoa powder
1/3 cup butter, melted
For Crust:
Combine all of the ingredients right in the pie plate. Press firmly along the bottom and up the sides of the pan. Chill while making the filling.
Sift together (this is important so there are no little cocoa flecks) the sugar, flour, salt and cocoa. Set aside. In a second large bowl, whisk the egg yolks. Gradually add the milk and whisk well. Gradually add the dry ingredients and whisk until smooth. Pour the mixture into a heavy saucepan. Heat over medium-high heat and stir or whisk constantly until the mixture begins to boil, which should take 5-7 minutes. Reduce the heat to medium and stir until thickened, probably another 5 minutes. Make sure you are stirring the mixture all the way to the bottom (a flexible spatula works great for this), as that thickens first. Once it is good and thick, remove from heat and stir in the butter and vanilla. Pour into the pie shell and set aside to cool for at least 2 hours. Graham cracker crust pies can be refrigerated, but if you used a regular crust it can get soggy in the fridge.
Thanks again Equal Exchange! You have got a fabulous product that I can’t get enough of!
Thank you, unexpected minor surgery, for treating me to a summer’s afternoon on the sick bed I’ve constructed on my front porch, complete with a bulldog nurse and the best novel I’ve read all year. Literati, I recommend you dive into The Driftless Area by Tom Drury as soon as possible. It’s like Guy Noir meets Amy Tan with Holden Caulfield guest starring as the protagonist. It’s terse and yet philosophical and suspenseful. I started the book in Florida, ass planted in the sand, and there I sat still as a kelp as I devoured it whole for the first time. I’ve been combing through it again this morning, and underlining little gems like,
“Pierre had learned something in college that he always remembered, and this was that everything that succeeds creates the conditions for its own demise. A professor with a prematurely bent posture and white beard had said this about an ancient kingdom that had disappeared, and Pierre thought it was true of many things. A simple example would be a fire, which burns the fuel that feeds it and goes out. Supposedly this would happen to the sun. Or a hero, who rights some great wrong and finds that his services are no longer needed.
It was the only philosophy he had, although he was not sure it was philosophy. It meant that nothing sufficiently good or bad can last. The only things that might last are the things that make no difference.
Yet it was like Pierre to magnify simple questions into large abstractions about which nothing could be done. All he meant in thinking of this formula for dissolution was that if he and Stella moved in together, they would put an end to the living apart that made them want to live together in the first place.”
I didn’t know it at the time, but I lived in the Driftless Area, while KP and I were in southeastern Minnesota. The name refers to the lack of tectonic action in the area around the Mississippi River bluffs. There the sediment from the last million years rests layered more or less neatly into one of the best geological diaries our country has kept. The book returns again and again to the notion of fate. Pierre suggests that one might think of the future as a place we have yet to visit—it already exists, like Australia already exists, we just haven’t been there yet. And according to Pierre, what is already out there cannot be drifted by the feelings we have or the choices we think we make. Ooh. Such a rich thing for an emplotted character to think, for indeed his ending was surely written before the author pulled out his quill.
If you are like me, I’m sure you have been combing through your bookshelves to assemble the Summer Reading List, thanks to the way the Sun seems to settle us in chairs fitted with beach towels and cold drinks. Do add The Driftless Area to the top of your list!
Speaking of drifting, KP and I were able to enjoy the Bayou Boogaloo festival this weekend, and set our Minnesota-made canoe out on the murky waters of St John’s Bayou. Boogaloo allows you to paddle up and downstream to visit the different concert stages. We shared the waters with many other jazz pirates and a surprising squad of turtles who must have been scandalized to wake up to a sudden infestation of boogalooers. The world has a gentle way of reminding us all of us that we are not alone, if we think we are.
Our lemon trees out back are starting to bourgeon again with plump sours. Try out these delicious fancy beverage recipes at your next grill out, hopefully the coming Memorial Day Weekend!
Roasted Lemon and Bay Leaf Hard Lemonade
3 lemons, quartered lengthwise, plus 6 wheels for garnish
3 fresh bay leaves, plus 6 more for garnish
1 cup superfine sugar
3 cups water
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons vodka
Ice
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons club soda
Preheat the oven to 400°. In a small roasting pan, roast the lemon quarters with the 3 bay leaves for about 20 minutes, until the lemons are softened and browned in spots. Scrape the lemons, bay leaves and any pan juices into a large pitcher. Add the sugar, water and vodka and muddle with the lemons. Let cool completely, then refrigerate until chilled.
Strain the lemonade through a fine sieve into 6 ice-filled glasses. Top each drink with 3 tablespoons of the club soda and garnish with a lemon wheel and bay leaf.
The strained hard lemonade can be refrigerated overnight.
Here is another perfect summer porch beverage. What is yuzu? Mystery fruit. I must have more.
Sparkling Yuzu Gimlets
Adapted from Food and Wine
2 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons hot water
2 cups lightly packed mint leaves, plus small sprigs for garnish
1 1/2 cups lightly packed basil leaves, plus small sprigs for garnish
1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons yuzu juice
2 cups chilled vodka
2 1/4 cups chilled sparkling water
Ice
In a small bowl, whisk the sugar with the hot water until dissolved. In a pitcher, muddle the mint and basil leaves with the sliced cucumber and the sugar syrup. Stir in the yuzu juice, vodka and sparkling water. Serve in ice-filled collins glasses garnished with small sprigs of mint and basil and a cucumber spear.
“Baby I know times are a changin! Time to reach out for something new, and that means you too!” -Prince (may he rest in peace), from “Purple Rain.” Which, I will be singing tonight at Café Istanbul with my new band of intrepid musician Tulane residents. We’ve had two rehearsals, we don’t really know what our sound is yet, likely funkishness, but at least we’ve got a snazzy band name that I fully believe in— “External Medicine.” Great for a group of internists to be. A bright bunch headed into the field as evidenced by my Tulane cohort who presented at the Society of General Internal Medicine in Florida last week:
Over the years, music has certainly been one form of external medicine for me, that is, a creative vehicle by which I can drive my soul away from the often painful and frustrating here and now, a little red soul corvette, let’s say. Cooking is another form. But writing, oh writing, how you have been my solace. I believe it is important to invest in whatever your form of external medicine may be—if that means buying a guitar and forcing yourself to hop the stage of open mic nights, or getting a cookbook and firing up the stove daily until you’ve baked your way through all the recipes… when it comes to wellness, it does no good to say you have hobbies, just like it does no good to say you like chocolate and orchids; you must dedicate the space and time to lavish in the practice and company of that which you love.a
To take more ownership of this blog project, I recently did some big engineering/computer science-y/techno overhaul of this blog that I’m not sure I yet totally understand, so that I am now self-hosting this domain—this little happy bread-baking island out here in the internet world— (so if there are weird little quirks now and then it’s because the only class I took in the Computer Science building at Seattle Pacific was Differential Equations—which may as well have been Cantonese, while challenging and therein entertaining in the same way Scrabble is a nerdy gaff, it is of no use to me in learning the coding needed to self-host a blog.) This transition to a self-hosted space is both practical and symbolic. Practical, because now I can better control the features of the page which is snazzy when trying to seduce you (and potential sponsors) to read; symbolic, because financial ownership necessarily improves my intention with what this space means. Writing is, and ever has been, a way of being for me, a personal discipline I believe worth the investment to foster and protect.
I am coming to the end of my intern year in medicine and psychiatry, an experience I had thought might be equivalent to gruel. Well it was, but thankfully the gruel wasn’t so bad. In fact, at times, it was even delicious. Just like this corn soup I stumbled on. I was skeptical that a bowl of corn gruel would taste fabulous. But it was fabulous.
Corn Soup with Vadouvan
Adapted from Food and Wine
12 ears of corn, shucked
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 large onion, thinly sliced (2 cups)
2 tablespoons vadouvan (a delicious new spice for me, some mix of turmeric, etc—I bought mine from The Spice House online)
Kosher salt
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lime juice
Cut the kernels from the cobs (you should have about 8 cups); reserve the cobs. Set aside 1/3 cup of the raw kernels for garnish.
In a juicer, juice 3 cups of the corn kernels. Reserve the juice.
In a large pot, combine the corn cobs and 4 quarts of water and bring to a boil. Simmer over moderate heat, occasionally skimming the foam, until the broth is reduced to 6 cups, about 1 hour. Strain the corn broth through a sieve into a large bowl; discard the cobs. (Note— I did not actually have corn on the cob, only frozen corn but this ended up saving me a whole hour of this nonsense, and instead I substituted the six cups of “corn broth” (about which I remain skeptical) with 2 cups of vegetable broth and 4 cups of chicken broth. Tasted GREAT anyway.) I’m open to trying the cob broth someday when I unwittingly have twelve real corns heaped up on my kitchen counter.
In a large saucepan, melt the butter. Add the onion and cook over moderately low heat, stirring occasionally, until softened, 10 minutes. Add the remaining corn kernels and the vadouvan and season with salt. Cook, stirring, until very fragrant and the kernels are well coated in the spices, 2 minutes. Add the corn broth (or my 6 cups of veggie/chicken broth medley) and simmer over moderate heat until the liquid is reduced by half, 1 hour. Stir in the reserved corn juice.
In a blender, and working in 2 batches, puree the soup until smooth; add water if a thinner consistency is desired. Strain the soup through a sieve into a large bowl. Stir in the lime juice and season with salt. Serve warm, garnished with the reserved raw corn kernels.
