I just opened a jar of delicious homemade bread and butter pickles (a formal recipe and a separate blog is coming) and, there’s something about “putting up” foods that make me really want to be a good gardener, which I’m NOT. Oh, you don’t believe me?

Here, look at this years “crop”… (and it’s already the middle of August!)

My ENTIRE crop of peppers!

 Oh, forgive me but I spoke too soon!

I just found one lonely green bell pepper...

And…

  Here’s my load of baby carrots (No, I’m not proud of this…)

Can you believe the size of the tops in comparison to the carrots?

 
 
Jon actually did the picking. He, I’m sure, was SO excited when he saw the height and lushness of the tops…
 
Thinking “WOE, we’re going to have a MOTHER load of man-size carrots!”
 
Well, when I saw those teeny-weeny carrots laying in my kitchen, all I could think about was when I was pregnant. Each time I gave birth I weighed a ton (only slightly exaggerating) and, after pushing out the children, each time I would hold them in my arms and think “all this weight for such an itsy-bitsy person?
 
THEN, there are the tomatoes…
 

Yup, this is it, so far.

An embarrassing update…(regarding the above tomato). Jon just read my blog and told me (sheepishly)… “That tomato on your blog isn’t ours.” I said “What??”  He said “I got it at the farmer’s market. I said “but it was sitting next to that pile of embryonic carrots… I thought for sure we at least grew that tomato!” (Actually, I found it pretty hard to believe that I could grow an heirloom tomato, but I thought that maybe it was some kind of poetic justice, considering the sorry shape of everything else).
 
Ok, back to the so-called garden.
 

I think there's an onion in there, somewhere...

At the beginning of the season, we started out fine… we planted tomatoes (as usual) but this year, with all the rain, the plants just disintegrated and we had to remove the entire lot….

This section was originally filled with tomato plants.

And that’s not the only area that’s defunct…

Yet another sorry section...I think we planted zucchini here (have no idea what happened--I thought ANYONE could grow zucchini!)

So, this is all that’s left of my 2009 garden… a lot of bushy carrot tops, a few tomato plants and, of course, that one (albeit a lovely one) green pepper. 

My only hope ...

Ok, so up until this point, I’ve been a lousy vegetable grower. I admit it. And, although I know it’s too late for this year’s garden, it’s never too late to get better at something that’s deemed important. Actually, having a so-so garden never really bothered me before but, this year, after seeing the total demise of a plot of land that I always trusted to at least produce SOMETHING respectable… I’m finally motivated to fix this. And, I think you’ll agree that the only place to go from here is up!
So, as of today (it’s now a public commitment), I am determined (by this time next year) to become good at growing delicious vegetables! And so, for those who actually know what they’re doing, I would truly appreciate any (and all) the advice I can get! (I really get so turned on by being a beginner! So much to learn and then “do”…love it.)
 
First things first, after consulting the Internet, I’ve decided to create a compost…
(Oh, this part should be easy since I create more food-scraps than anybody in the county–make that COUNTRY!). I’ve ordered a compost bin from my local hardware store and it’s scheduled to be delivered this Friday (I’ll show you what it looks like, when it arrives.)
To get ready, everyday this week, I’ve been accumulating coffee grinds, egg shells, CARROT TOPS, potato peels, and any other kind of  food-scrap that’s not animal protein (and no bones)…which attract animals (I already have enough problems with squirrels). 
 
This is how I set up when I’m doing my food prep…

When cooking, I have one bowl out for food-scraps and one bowl for trash.

 As I cook, I just keep adding to the separate bowls…

And I keep dumping the scraps in a big garbage bin (which is now in my kitchen but will SOON be going outside …)

Almost to the top and this is after just three days!!

I keep it closed and I’ve attached sticky tags so no-one mistakenly adds anything inappropriate. I’ve become VERY protective of my baby compost (don’t cross me, here)!

My "inside" compost container...

So, I’m feeling ready (and excited) to begin this new journey. I hope you’ll come along for the ride. And, please, DO share your words of wisdom with me. (Really, I would appreciate it. I need all the help I can get.) Wish me luck!

Next blog…about those pickles!

Tags: advice on creating a great compost, how a lousy gardener becomes a good grower of great vegetables, how to create and maintain a healthy compost, how to finally become a good grower, the journey to becomming a good food grower

Comments (1)

I was asked to share a few words of wisdom for a written “Guide” that’s being assembled for a young, beautiful bride who is to be married this October.

Ok, here goes…

Over the years, I’ve learned many things about the overall (and ongoing) pursuit of happiness. Not just from being blessed with an extremely special marital relationship but, oddly, I’ve discovered so many answers about inner, emotional freedom from teaching in prison, a place of confinement and considerable darkness.

The secret for creating and maintaining a life of love and light…

For most of us, we wait for others to be for us what we need so we can “be happy.” We want to be loved, to be acknowledged, to be appreciated and, ultimately, to be “heard.”

Instead of waiting for life to bring you love–which is what we normally do, you can choose to “be” what you want to see! If you speak and act in ways that epitomize what love and compassion are in ALL your interactions, you’ll see how quickly you will generate the feelings and quality of life you’re after– all by yourself! I’ve found that this is the most efficient way to be in control of your own happiness and to become a source of light to others.

Of course, making a great roast chicken certainly helps, too…

Tags: advice on a happy marriage, happiness, happy marriage, How to be in control of your own happiness, how to get emotional freedom, how to have a happy marriage, life lessons on maintaining a happy life, pursuit of happiness, recipe for a happy marriage, rules for a happy marriage, secrets of a happy marriage, words of wisdom for a new bride

Comments (3)

“OH, I SO WISH I COULD SING LIKE THAT!”… I said to myself as Jon and I sat glued to the TV. We were watching Jennifer Nettles, the lead singer in the band Sugarland,  and we were mesmerized.  ”What a power-house,” Jon said..  and I added “What a gorgeous example of having real ownership of one’s craft!” We both couldn’t (wouldn’t) budge…we didn’t want her to stop singing (ever).

While watching her, I actually started having an inner conversation with God (Jon didn’t know…). Without moving my lips, I whispered to God…”You know, I’d actually consider coming back and taking this life-long ride again if you would promise me that I could sing like her…PLEEEASE, I want to make music!…My WISH of wishes is to move people like that! “

As I write to you now, I’m listening to her, through my headphones. My head is tilted down, my eyes are closed (Yes, I can type with my head down and with eyes closed. I’m in a “feeling-place” where I’d like to stay.

It’s so interesting how easy it is to isolate what we see and hear and then form all kinds of broad-stroke opinions …

Like “she must be happy because she sings like an angel” and “If I could sing like that I would never have a bad day–I would be able to just show up, open my mouth and everyone would love me because my voice would carry with it that kind of command; the kind of power that propels people to sit up and listen…to pay attention and really hear what’s in my heart.” Then I started thinking about what the lyrics say in the most successful (embraced) songs, especially in Country Western music. They’re all about experiencing extreme heartache and doing the best one can to hopefully overcome (at least until the next time she/he (we) need to climb back up the emotional mountain…). Hmmm….do I really want to trade places and “be” in someone else’s shoes??

I started to think about musical power, defined…

Great music seems to encapsulate humanity’s truths, softened by and wrapped around foot-tapping, torso swaying, feeling-inducing melody and, of course, by that most important component; the vessel that helps the package actually penetrate…. a real person. Personal conveyance. …even in a song without any words–it’s the body that enables the inner spirit to unleash itself onto a keyboard, a set of drums and/or in any instrument used in any band or orchestra. 

Something about this topic started to feel oddly familiar and got me wondering if this kind of power is limited to music…

Today, August 8,  is the two year anniversary of my father’s death. 

I remember the afternoon before he passed, I was standing in my kitchen and suddenly became filled with a sense of urgency.  The night before, I had been with him and my whole family at his dining room table. We were all eating dinner together, my father at one end, in his usual spot, and my mother at the other. His head stayed tilted down, eyes fixed on his plate while moving his fork slowly around the food, taking in only a few small savory bites. We were all trying to keep the mood bright by talking as usual but my dad stayed silent–it was as if he was trying to record the sound of every-one’s voice so he could take it with him forever. I swear I could hear his thoughts! I’m sure that he knew that this was the last time he would have his family all around him at the table. He was right.

The next day, although I certainly couldn’t know that my dad was just hours away from the end, I felt an overwhelming need to bake for him–somehow knowing that, this time, it would be the last time.  There was a raw pastry dough in the refrigerator and, being peach season, I decided to make my father a fresh peach tart. As I drove to his house the tart, still warm and beyond aromatic, sat next to me in the passenger seat.  While driving, my right foot and both hands, by this point in his cancer,  felt numb and the car seemed to kindly carry me and my tart on automatic pilot.

Fresh Peach Galette

I came into the house and he was, as usual, propped in a therapeutic chair, with the back of his big, round, silver head visible. The TV was on. So, tart in hand, I stood in front of the 5 o’clock news and managed to muster my usual “up” tone with “Hi Dad, wanna see what I made you?” For the first time, my dad said “Laur, I’m in bad shape. I can’t even look at it.” 

Up until this point in his ordeal, my cooking would always really perk him up. For a few minutes he would try to forget that his belly was full of cancerous fluid and he would pretend that he could eat all his favorites. Not today. Not ever again.

So, I put the tart aside and, at that moment, I realized that it wasn’t about my dad eating the tart since he hadn’t been able to eat more than a few mouthfuls of anything in 4 1/2 months. I think the sense of urgency I felt, standing in my kitchen, was because I so wanted him to be able to experience my love for him, one more time. To be serenaded by my peach tart, a song made just for him.  

So, I guess I’m a musician, too! (Who knew??) 

At first, I must admit, I felt a bit bummed, after succumbing to the truth that (in this lifetime) I’ll never sing like Jennifer Nettles. But, then I remembered another truth; that there’s all kinds of ways to make music and, clearly, my way of creating and sharing a lifetime of “greatest hits” is in and from my kitchen. Here, I’ve formed a rock-solid partnership with my instruments forming another, albeit different, type of “power-house.” 

By cooking, all throughout my adult life, I’ve fixed sad days, calmed worried souls and conveyed the deepest devotion I could muster. I’ve been able to create soothing food aromas that have, like clockwork, lured and captured people, bringing them to their seats. Cooking has evoked a kind of trust so intimate that people actually take, deep inside, things created with my bare hands. Whether sweet or savory, simmered, seared, baked or roasted, when food is prepared and presented fearlessly I’ve, most often, been rewarded with wide-eyed wonderment and have provided toe-wiggling comfort. And, like a great song, each dish is built, shared, digested and then able to be revisited.

The Point: I think that it’s a waste of precious time to wish I was like anyone else and that, regardless of the industry, it’s the passion in a person’s heart, their devotion to hone their particular skills and their unwavering determination to share both–it’s this marriage that provides the key elements to creating a true concerto which, to me, is being a positive force to another being–without necessarily having a picture perfect story.  And so, like in those sad songs, although in the end we can’t always be triumphant, sometimes it really can be enough to just show up and sing our hearts out.

Comments (2)

If you want to know if you’re a truly “self-mastered” person, don’t spend so much time examining what you do when things are sailing smoothly along. No, no…It’s when the tide turns, the buttons are pushed, the emotions run high–now those are the times that shine a big fat bright light on how you’re really doing and where your issues are still.

Two nights ago, I really lost it emotionally and it was jarring. Especially as someone who works diligently to overcome negativity. On this night I was in a situation that, from the get-go, felt sticky–one that brought up all kinds of historic wounds and perceived lack. And, although I had thought that I was beyond reverting to childish over-reactions in these specific areas, I was (apparently) dead wrong.

Oh, did I mention that this all happened while entertaining?…I’m not sure if that’s what you call it when your mother comes for dinner with her live-in beau.

OK, so I guess I’m not over losing my father (August 8, it will be 2 years). I wonder… does anyone ever truly get past that?

Anyway, my saving grace, in the midst of everything, was (no surprise to anyone that knows me) my kitchen…thank goodness for my kitchen! Every time I felt choked with painful feelings, I would slip out of the room where we were having drinks and some savories, and I’d B-line it for the kitchen. Feeling as if I was trapped under water and in serious need of oxygen, once I was safe in my kitchen, the soft “blipping” sound and potent scent of chicken simmering with sausage and herbs seemed to throw it’s arms around me, as if wanting to assure me that everything will be alright.

Well, after two days, several good cries and a couple of long walks with Mango, my dog, I’ve finally become centered again.

And, I’ve learned a few things from this emotionally charged episode. I learned that suddenly going backward, while being committed to an upward path is not the end of the world (although it sure felt like it at the time). I learned to forgive myself for being soft because being soft is an important part of both, loving others and being able to let the love of others in. I learned, yet again, that blaming others for my reactive tendencies is totally self-sabotaging when wanting to move forward, and that it takes enormous strength to pause instead of heading into an old familiar dark place. I learned that, although there is always a lesson to be learned, thus a blessing to be had, it isn’t always immediately visible and that’s when trust needs to be found so it can provide comfort and the hope of clarity. I learned that when feeling overwhelmed, it’s a perfect opportunity to practice patience with myself and with others.

So, I learned that having the ability to, especially when feeling pushed, to pause, to trust and to exhibit patience are three very clear indicators of one’s level of self-mastery. I clearly have some work to do…

I also learned that my kitchen is not just a place to cook; for me, it’s a room where I can really breathe.

On this morning’s long walk with Mango, I enjoyed the amazing scent of honey suckles, linden trees, roses, lilacs, jasmine and even the magnificence of gardenias. Once on a busier street, the smells went from grassy to positively gassy. And, as we traipsed along the water, the salty smell of the sea filled my head along with the occasional stench of dead mollusks. Then, as we headed back home, I got to revisit the best and the worst of it all.

The point: Like the ups and downs we experience in life, I guess it’s all just part of a good, long walk.

Here’s a new recipe that represents the sweeter moments of “that night.” For a brief time, there was no pain at the table, and we were all just happily eating.

Vanilla and Amaretto-Laced Poached Apricots with Greek Yogurt, Honey and Toasted Almonds

Purposely, this is a large recipe because we finished the first jar so quickly that my family wanted to eat it again the very next day. So, I made it again, this time, doubling the original amounts. Although you can certainly halve it, these apricots make a wonderful gift and they also stay well in the fridge for several days.

Yield: serves 8 to 10 (may be halved)

Special Equipment:

• 5-quart saucepan
• 2 quart-size jars with screw-top lids

Ingredients

• 4 cups granulated sugar
• 4 cups water
• 1 supple vanilla bean, slit lengthwise, on one side only
• 20 firm but ripe, medium-size apricots, rinsed and drained
• Amaretto liquor, as needed
• Plain yogurt (preferably a Greek brand)
• Honey (mild-flavored)
• Sliced toasted almonds (to toast almonds: place the nuts on a shallow baking sheet in a preheated 350F oven for 10 minutes or until golden. Shake the pan occasionally, to help redistribute the nuts so they brown evenly.)

To make the poaching liquid and poach the apricots: Stir the sugar and water together in a 5-quart saucepan, over high heat, until mixed but still cloudy. Add the slit vanilla bean and continue to heat, stirring occasionally, until the mixture comes to a boil. Once boiling, let the syrup cook briskly for 2 minutes, which will totally dissolve the sugar and help disperse the vanilla specks throughout. Add the apricots to the boiling syrup and, keeping the pot on the original burner, reduce the heat to low. Let the fruit poach very gently, uncovered, for 5 minutes (start timing right after adding all the apricots –the syrup will not come back to a bubble).

The apricots poaching...

Carefully spoon the apricots into a large bowl and pour the hot syrup over them. Let cool, uncovered, until just warm. (It’s important that the apricots stay submerged with the syrup or some brown spots might form on those exposed. So, once just warm, it’s important to transfer the apricots, syrup and spirits to their jar(s).)

Here are the poached apricots steeping in the syrup...Soon you'll add the Amaretto (which really makes this yummy...)

To finish flavoring the apricots and to store them: Remove the vanilla bean and rinse and dry it so it can be used again. Carefully spoon the apricots into 2 quart-size jars and pour enough syrup over them to come 1 1/2 to 2 inches from the top of the jar. Pour in enough amaretto to fill the jar, leaving ½-inch head room at the top. (Expect to have some leftover syrup. You can keep it in the fridge to use in summertime drinks (it’s totally delicious). Cover the jars and tilt sideways to help the amaretto mingle with the rest of the syrup. Chill until ready to serve. Although the syrup will take on a deeper hue, the apricots as well as the syrup will be fine for several days, kept chilled and well covered.

Jars of poached apricots are so beautiful, don't you think?

To serve: Spoon two or three apricots into individual serving dishes and add some of the poaching liquid. Spoon some yogurt over the top and drizzle the yogurt with honey. Sprinkle some toasted almonds on top and serve with a spoon, fork and knife.

A delicious reprieve… I feel better just thinking about this dessert!

Tender, sweet, creamy and crunchy...just delish!

Tags: a sweet summertime gift of poached apricots, almonds, amaretto, amaretto disaronno, amaretto liqeur, amaretto recipes, apricot, apricot recipes, apricot syrup, apricots, dealing with the death of a father, how to be a self-mastered person, How to judge if you're truly a self-mastered person, how to poach apricots, how to roast almonds, how to stop being over-reactive, how to toast almonds, mothers and daughters after the death of a father, roasting almonds, roasting almonds home oven, the road to being a self-mastered person, what i've learned while trying to grow

Comments (5)

I was walking my dog this morning and, as it usually happens, I started thinking… 

“It’s not surprising that the word “Dog” is “God” spelled backwards; not when you watch a dog in their everyday interactions. Most dogs really do exhibit Godly qualities, albeit some more than others…” 

Here’s Mango and Rosebud… 

Can you tell which one is a saint?

Although the one on top is clearly the rascal in the family, I’ve learned valuable things from and have been inspired by both, Mango and Rose. 

Today, as Mango and I traipsed around the neighborhood …or I should say (for a more accurate account), as my almost three-year-old yellow Lab. dragged me around by her leash, I couldn’t help but think “I need to be more like her.” Mango is absolutely the happiest dog I’ve ever met. 

The face of one who really loves life!

Ecstatic just to be alive and able to breathe it all in, Mango approaches other dogs and people with equal abandon. It’s as if everyone she sees are long-lost, favorite relatives; all adored, with no questions asked. No matter how many times she gets growled at by dogs of all sizes, her optimistic approach never changes. No matter what yesterday brought, each day…each turn of the corner brings with it all kinds of brand new loving, exciting and just flat-out fun possibilities. She’s open, present, trusting, forgiving and just ridiculously jovial. (“I’ll have whatever she’s eating….”) 

As I watched Mango this morning,  I couldn’t help but think about the one who really helped to shape her. 

This morning’s walk was filled with memories of Rosie. 

In loving memory of Rosebud Groveman, our sweet Rosie. Born: August, 1994 Died: August, 2008.

Rosebud was a real gem. She passed away last summer, just a few weeks before her 14th birthday. Rose never stole food from my children or from my guests, when entertaining. She loved us with all her might and trusted us completely with her heart and physical well-being. I never worried about her running away since all she ever seemed to need or want was right in her own back yard. And, although she was always a shining example of what it means to love unconditionally, it wasn’t until her later years, that I really got to see and appreciate how special she was. 

When my son, Ben, was in his last year of college, he got a puppy, a gorgeous French Mastiff, he named Luke. 

Luke as a baby...could you just melt!

I loved when they would come home to visit…. 

Luke loved my cooking...

Everything was great until Luke, at about 1 year old, had his first seizure. After several months, it was clear that having a sick dog at college was too much, so we had Ben leave Luke with us. Things were good for a while. Luke was eating well and seemed seizure free. I actually allowed myself to think that “my mothering” could keep him well…but no, the seizures returned and we knew our “Lukie” was very sick. 

Those days were unbelievably trying for all of us. Luke, because he had to take barbiturates twice a day to help prevent and/or control the severity of the seizures, he would often tumble down the stairs, bump into walls, become fixed in a standing position, just staring into space and there were even times when he forgot how to eat. During those few months (which felt like several years) I rarely left home and, when I did, it wasn’t for long. Twice a day I would feed Luke by hand, trying to make sure he would get enough food in his system to be able to tolerate the medications. It was a real catch 22. If we took him off these debilitating medications,  not only would his seizures return with more severity, but he would also go through severe withdrawal. Oh, it was a mess…. Thank goodness for Rose. Luke loved Rose! 

Here’s Luke before things got really bad… 

A big beautiful lug.

Rose took Luke under her wing like a mother would a cherished child. Although he was much larger than she, Rose instinctively understood his fragility and would stay by his side all day long, watching to see if he needed help. 

They were always together… 

Rose and Luke were a fine team! (For a while...)

Here’s when things got really bad… 

Luke near the end...

Several months after Luke passed, I really needed another dog. Although I knew Rose was fine with a sick dog, I wasn’t so sure how she’d feel about having a frisky puppy around. But, you know…once a mother wants another baby, there’s just no stopping her! 

The day I met Mango, she was five weeks old… 

And it was love at first kiss....

And so, when Mango came home, at just 7 weeks, although Rose was already 12 and had acute arthritis, she, once again, welcomed a new life into our home. I was so grateful to her. 

As a baby, Mango slept A LOT…. 

baby Mango

Hey…Rose loves to sleep A LOT, too! 

Seems we had a match made in heaven!

And, when awake, Mango was glued to Rose....

And, as she grew, she stayed glued to Rose...

During the last years of her life, Rose had more fun than ever before. Despite having painful arthritis, she embraced her relationship with Mango with the same spirit of generosity and tolerance that she gave to Luke. Rose knew that, although elderly, she could still teach Mango. She also was smart enough to know that, although old, she could (if she remained open) learn so many wonderful things from Mango…. like how to dig outside and to eat dirt with gusto! You might think “well, that’s what dogs do,” but Rose, with her regal demeanor, never did. She had never before romped outside with the kind of deep-down-dogginess that Mango seemed to naturally possess…a farm-dog mentality, you might say. And so Rose, in the end, got to really play. 

During her last year, Rose rarely wanted to be alone; as if to instinctively reveal life’s truth, that time with those you love is so very precious. 

The Point: Although “today” many of us spend lots of time trying to figure out how to maintain happiness, whether by devouring books and magazines about metaphysics and/or spirituality, or by practicing yoga and meditation, or by traveling to some ancient cave in a remote part of the world, hoping to revamp one’s karma, we often overlook the incredible “at home” clues that sit right in front of us. It’s as if God gave us dogs as this four-legged, tail-wagging, daily reminder of what it is to really live and love. Happiness, as a state of mind, I think has more to do with one’s ability to appreciate and cultivate the essence of simple goodness than anything else. And, especially in this way, Dogs rock. So, the next time I encounter a bump in the road of life, before I let it ruin my day, I’m going to ask myself “how would my dog handle this?” ….I have a feeling I won’t be surprised at how profoundly applicable some of the answers will be, for all of us humans. 

Here’s a recipe I wrote when Rose was a young dog, in honor of my love for her. 

Biscuits for My Sweet Rosie 

Rose and me...

I can’t think of a more deserving soul on earth to be presented with a homemade tub of crunchy nibbles than my wonderful dog, Rosebud. When she was alive, Rosie would sit and stare at the filled container and actually drool at the sight of these biscuits. (Mango loves them too, but she would happily eat a can…)  As the list of ingredients indicates, these are not just any dog biscuit! If I had to guess, I think the component that always made Rosie swoon, is the glaze. Flavored with either chicken or beef and mixed with egg, milk and honey, I think it’s this dimension that made my dog go ape when she got one of these biscuits between her teeth. Speaking of teeth, be prepared to hear quite a “crunch” when your dog bites down on these biscuits, since they’re intentionally hard. This way, in addition to making your pup feel happy to be home, each bite will also give your dog’s teeth a good cleaning! (It’s the mother in me…)  For a preview of the video showing detailed instructions about how to knead dough, click here and/or here. 

Yield: about ninety 2 1/2-inch biscuits 

Ingredients:

• 3 cups unbleached, all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting, as needed
• 2 cups whole wheat flour
• 1/2 cup coarse rye meal (available at the health food store)
• 1/2 cup cornmeal (coarse or medium ground)
• 1 cup cracked wheat or cracked wheat cereal
• 1/4 cup toasted wheat germ
• 1/2 cup non-fat dry milk
• 1 to-2 teaspoon salt (optional)
• 1 3/4 cup defatted beef or chicken stock (no salt added or omit above salt), vegetable stock can be used as substitute (for a chicken stock recipe, click here and for a preview of the video of me making all kinds of stock, click here.)
• 1/2 cup dark brown sugar
• 1/4 cup mild honey
• 1 package active, dry yeast (2 1/4 teaspoons)
• 1/4 cup warm water
• Pinch of sugar
• Glaze Ingredients:
• 1 egg
• 1 tablespoon milk
• 1 teaspoon mild honey
• 1 teaspoon ”Better Than Bouillon” (beef or chicken-flavored concentrate); available in well-stocked supermarkets

First, set up: Position the oven racks to the upper and lower third shelf positions and preheat the oven to 325oF. Line 2 large baking sheets with parchment paper and set them aside, for now. 

Now, make the dough: In a large mixing bowl, use a whisk to combine the white and whole wheat flours, rye meal, cornmeal, cracked wheat, wheat germ, dry milk, and salt, if using. Heat the stock in a 2-quart saucepan, over low heat, until tepid (just warm to the touch) and stir in sugar and honey. Turn off the heat. Dissolve the yeast in 1/4 cup of warm water with a pinch of sugar, until visibly bubbly, about 3 minutes. Pour the sweetened stock into the flour mixture and add the dissolved yeast. Stir until a firm but shaggy dough forms. When the mixture pulls away from the sides of the bowl, turn it out onto a lightly floured wooden surface and knead it, adding more white flour as needed, until the dough is smooth and quite stiff (but not so stiff that it’s too hard to roll out). (For a video of me showing you how to knead dough, click here or here.) 

Now, roll and cut the dough:Cut the dough in half using a pastry scraper and cover one piece while working with the other. Using a straight rolling pin, roll the dough out on a lightly floured surface until it’s about 1/4-inch thick. Using sturdy cookie cutters, in a variety of shapes, cut out as many biscuits as you can and place them on the prepared baking sheets. Gather the scraps and re-roll the dough until you’ve cut out as many biscuits as possible. (Since tenderness isn’t the goal, don’t worry about overworking the dough.) Fill up both baking sheets, leaving 1/2-inch in between each biscuit. If desired, use the tines of a regular fork to decoratively prick the center of each biscuit. (If you fill the sheets before using all the dough, and if you don’t have a double oven, you’ll need to wrap any remaining dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate it, overnight. Allow it to come to room temperature, before rolling and cutting more biscuits.) 

OK, it’s time to glaze the biscuits and bake: Combine the egg, milk, honey, and beef, chicken or vegetable flavor-concentrate and strain this through a medium-mesh wire sieve, positioned over another bowl. Using a pastry brush, paint some of the glaze over each biscuit. Place the baking sheets into the oven and reduce the temperature to 300oF. Bake the biscuits for 45 minutes, switching the shelf positions of the baking sheets after half the baking time. Turn the oven off and allow the biscuits to sit there, undisturbed, overnight. In the morning, bring on the pooch! Store the biscuits at room temperature, either piled in a tightly covered cookie jar or in an airtight tin, with a sticker with your dog’s name on it. 

Timing is Everything: 

• The stock can (and should) be made weeks (or months) ahead and stored in the freezer.
• Each time you make a batch of dog biscuits, make an additional dry mixture and freeze it, in doubled, well sealed, freezer bags.

  

Tags: dog biscuits, dogs and happiness, homemade dog biscuits, labrador retriever

Comments (3)

Yesterday (actually, most of this past week) I had many, what i believe to be, “spiritual” experiences. What I mean by that is I used my physical-ness to connect to and reveal the things that I feel embody (epitomize) my spiritual-ness.

I know, I know, this all sounds SO esoteric and “New Age-y”….but before you roll your eyes and chalk my talk up to being a bunch of flighty bologna, please know that what I’m talking about is older than the hills themselves.

I know that the word “spiritual” can sound really vague, even for those who feel a perpetual inner tug to experience this realm. Although many might think that being spiritual is a choice, it’s not. We are all spiritual beings living a human existence and we’re here to fully experience both. But that doesn’t mean we will because we have lots of choices.

That’s the game!

The goal of the “game,” for lack of a more visually expressive word, is to connect these two realms (the physical and the spiritual) with our words (both inner and outer) and deeds. You see, both realms need each other to be experienced (in an inner and outer way). If this sounds easy, trust me, it’s not. Although being more aware (awake) and mindful (discerning) regarding the quality of our thoughts and what we do in response can, with practice, get much more automatic, weaving the spiritual and physical together is a lifetime job and not just something to practice for an hour a day. It’s a minute to minute (choice by choice) thing…and I mean that literally.

Do we choose to stay fixed in our physicalness; focused on our personal desires, paralyzed by our fears and/or fixated on how others percieve us? Or will we choose to stay stagnant, suspended in the pursuit of enlightenment by sitting on a rock (or a meditation cushion) all day contemplating “what’s it all about,” coming up with some private interpretations without making the commitment to bring beneficial insights into everyday, physical life? We could also choose to declare that we’ve found “the way” and then judge others harshly because their personal protocols seem to contradict our own.

All of these choices create scenarios that cause suffering (to ourselves and to others) because they propel the stance that we are all separate from one another. “This is mine. That is yours. Go over there until I feel safe enough (with what’s mine) to stand next to you and attempt to co-exist.”

Disconnection is always joyless.

As spiritual beings, we’re here to exude our authentic essence, which is love and connectedness. And, as human beings, in order to do this, we need to use our physicality. That’s the way for the human-spiritual connection to be made so we can experience wholeness (which translates as the sensations of joy and fulfillment).

Ok, now that’s another lofty word, “Joy,” that’s too often misunderstood as always conjuring stereotypically happy affects (smiling, laughing out loud, having no room for the feeling of (or appreciation of) sadness. But the truth is that joy usually has both a sad and glad component…Many times, it’s the sad part that provides the treasure that conceals the glad part, just waiting to be revealed and experienced as joy. So, you could say that sad and glad need each other –think of them as two sides of one coin. (Yes, I will admit that on some days the coin, when laying sad-side-up, feels as big as a boulder…requiring incredible muscle and determination to lift and turn over…But, if it’s any consolation, I’ve personally found that the weight of the coin is in direct proportion to how much joy sits waiting underneath!)

I know…this all still sounds “out there”…not grab-able or hug-able. So, in hopes of helping you to connect to your spiritual core, I thought I would share with you, in an on-going way and in concrete physical terms, how this all looks and feels to me, through my own day to day human experiences, starting with this past week.

In this one week, I taught cooking to incarcerated adolescent girls on Rikers Island (which takes me a few days to prepare for), I’ve baked breads (both sweet and savory) for a friend to tote to her husband (a way-too-young man) who’s dying in a hospice hospital (for something that could have been prevented) and I brought chopped liver and cinnamon babka (NOT to be eaten together!) to my weekly visit with an 89 year old woman, living in an assisted living facility in the Bronx, who lost her husband a year ago at 95 (his age was the good part) from Alzheimer’s disease (that’s the bad part) and she is now virtually alone in the world (the very sad part).

So, you might say, “what a sad week!” Working with young adults who’ve been locked up for breaking the law, a family shattered by illness and an elderly woman whose mind is so sharp that she’s been left fully lucid to her potentially lethal condition; loneliness. But, guess what? I had the best week!…Not because I was laughing all the time (or hardly any of the time). And don’t think i wasn’t constantly bleary-eyed from exhaustion, because I was (actually, I still am…). But, because I chose to utilize my physical abilities to connect me to my spiritual essence (which is, in all humans, a core of basic goodness), as a result, as I reflect back on my week, I feel a sense of personal accomplishment and interpersonal connectedness, which makes me glad in an almost indescribable way–and in a way that can’t be taken away, not ever. This also helps to make the other challenges that I experience a bit easier to deal with.

So, this is my way to become a “generator” of love, not just for myself to enjoy (by being “in joy”) but equally for others. And that, to me, is a very important part of the on-going process of living a spiritual existence in a human’s body.

Here is a link to the challah bread recipe that I made for my student who has become a good friend, to enjoy with her husband in the hospice hospital. For the first time, while I was shaping the loaf, I started to cry. Not because I was sad but because, in all these years of bread making, I had never before moved my hands with such a loving, healing intention.

Shaped, risen, glazed and about to be gilded with a sea of seeds...

About the shape: Although traditionally, challah bread is shaped into braids (and that’s how it’s featured in the recipe provided), here, I purposely made the loaf into a coil instead. I wanted the coil to represent a smooth upward journey.

Here’s the loaf, after baking…

A Round Challah Bread for Rita and Greg

Although not as handsome as a regal, six-strand braid, the intention behind this loaf’s existence makes it my most beautiful one yet.

Tags: baking bread, Challah bread, growth, higher consciousness, joyg, Rikers, spirituality, teaching

Comments (0)

Why would anyone “do” take out pizza when it’s SO (so, so) easy and so much better tasting to do at home?? Yes, even when you’re so tired that your hair hurts! I know because tonight my hair has been killing me…  

Can we talk??  

I know that some (ok more than some) people think that I, because I love making bread at home, that I would absolutely refuse to purchase dough built by someone other than myself. …This is not true.  

Here’s the truth. I adore making homemade bread (including pizza dough). But, when I don’t have the time or patience on a given day to do it the way I love to taste it, I will definitely buy it from someone who does…And, the very best place to get a raw pizza dough when wanting hot, crusty homemade pizza (when tired, hungry and you actually would like to NOT feel obligated to apologize for it’s sloppy texture and/or lowered temperature) is…. (ta-dah…) the neighborhood pizza shop!  

I did it tonight and it worked perfectly. I was totally exhausted from teaching on Rikers (up at 4:30 am to shower and load my car…and that’s just the tip of it all, trust me…).  

The Point: If you want homemade pizza at the end of a hard day and you haven’t had the time or given the forethought to make the dough yourself, this is what you do (listen up!). 

  Here’s a bit of motivation for you to keep reading… 

 Go to your local pizza place, pick up a dough (ask for it to be placed in a regular “small size” pizza box (not a bag). You can even ask to purchase some of their shredded cheese (ask for extra cheese since it’s been a hard day…Pick up a tub of marinara sauce at the supermarket (a refrigerated brand is best since it tastes freshest). And, if you weren’t able to buy shredded cheese at the pizza shop, buy it now (at the supermarket). Also, pick up some crushed red pepper flakes, sliced mushrooms (sliced pepperoni is a favorite with me) and fresh basil. 

Come home: Preheat the oven to 550 F and give it enough time to get to that temperature (this takes a while so pour a glass of wine, turn on he music and take off your shoes)… It would also be best if you had a large pizza stone on the rack (there should only be one rack in the oven and it should be in the center position). Mince a good dose of garlic and add a lot of it to the marinara sauce (with some chopped basil along with some crushed red pepper flakes). Sauté the mushrooms until tender and caramelized with some of the reserved garlic (but save the last dose for the top of the pizza). By the way, don’t be shy here, with toppings…You can sauté onions, or slice some roasted peppers…there are at least 1,000 things I could give you to do but, then again, let’s remember you’re exhausted.  

OK, once the oven is VERY, VERY, VERY hot, fill a spray bottle with very cold water (I actually keep a filled spray bottle in the fridge so the water is always cold) and sprinkle a large wooden bakers peel (or a flat cookie sheet if you don’t have a peel) with cornmeal. Stretch the dough until a very thin 15-inch round as it sits on the peel. Spread a thin but even layer of sauce on the dough and, if using browned meat (like sausage), scatter it over the sauce. If not, strew a GENEROUS amount of cheese over the sauce. Now is the time to add any sautéed vegetables (and/or sliced pepperoni…) over the cheese and then add some grated aged parmesan, if you have it (great parmesan is highly suggested …)  

Ok, now shove the pizza into the oven, sliding and releasing it onto the top of the VERY, VERY, VERY hot pizza stone and, before shutting the oven door, spray the oven with cold water (shooting the mist over the pizza in three or four shots). Shut the door and bake for 12 to 18 minutes (or until the crust is deep (way deep) golden and crisp and the cheese is sizzling).  

Slide the peel (or the flat cookie sheet) underneath the cooked pizza and remove it from the oven –and slide it onto a warmed pizza pan (a 15-inch pan, remember?…) Now, using a large pizza wheel, slice that big, gorgeous, round thing into 6 to 8 large wedges…  

If you hurry, hurry… you will end up thanking yourself for making pizza at home. This is SO much better than doing “take out” and trying to convince yourself it’s “hot, oozing and perfect…” when you know it’s far from it.  

Homemade pizza....there's just nothing like it!

And, when you have some time and want to make pizza from scratch (and even have a pizza party!…) I can show you how on my video. So, whether you need some great pizza when tired and hungry or when you want to do it all yourself and have a really fun time, I hope you’ll enjoy it the way it will always taste best, at home.

Tags: homemade pizza, tasty pizza, tired and hungry

Comments (0)

Have you ever left someone’s home after sharing a fabulous meal and said to yourself “I wish my home could smell as wonderful, or I wish I knew how to entertain with such ease, or warmth, or If only I knew how to cook like that!”? If you let those comparative thoughts or feelings stop you from trying, I’d like you to remember how you felt after experiencing the first few rounds of a new sport. Did you feel like less, when watching a person on the next court who had a relentless back-hand, or when the skier, who flew by you on the slope, exhibited extraordinary skill? I doubt it. Usually, we allow those people to inspire us. We use glimpses of proficiency to reinforce the notion that, if we make the act of practicing a priority then we too, could become more comfortable and knowing in that particular arena. Well, why should cooking and entertaining be any different?

Choosing to make quality home cooked meals a more regular part of daily or weekly life is one of the best ways to develop “cooking muscles,” which is what will give you the ease, confidence and ultimate ability that you admire in others. So, like with any sport or art, the only way to embellish your strength and endurance and to become self-trusting, is to “do” as often as possible. And, believe me, it’s a lot easier to become a great cook, then it is to consistently hit a golf ball down the middle of the fairway. (No joke….)

When new to entertaining, allow yourself to embrace the characteristics exhibited by those you admire, and be more “present” to the best parts of your experience, when in their homes. This is one of the best ways to learn more about yourself and about what makes you happy. Rather than setting out to do and be everything for others, ask yourself “What type of home life would make me feel the most comforted and the proudest to share?” Then, make yourself happy. Those around you will gladly come along for the ride! Cooking and entertaining is all about sharing your individual interpretation of deliciousness with those you care about. So, instead of worrying that you’re not like someone else, figure out how to bring more of YOU into your home-life, using the proficiency of others to inspire and guide you.

Comments (0)

Is abundance, which is something that we all want, a thing or a feeling? I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately. I’ll bet many of you, too, might have also been tossing a question something like that around, with money being so tight and with the nose of the impending holidays pressing on the window. I mean, if “things” are a necessary prerequisite to being able to experience abundance, then it makes sense to think that we would (should) be forced to relinquish this experience when we have to live with fewer “things” because of outer circumstances that change.

Unfortunately, it’s this “common-sense” assumption that, I think, is at the crux of a problem that plagues many of us, me included, who like to live a life that reflects a tangible interaction with robustness and sensory lushness—both of which is what I’ve come to believe accurately defines what the feeling of abundance is and what’s at the heart of what we’re truly after. For me, it’s the spiritual essence buried within what a table bursting with aromatic, gorgeous foods symbolize; a life that exemplifies ones power to deliberately create a scene that evokes the feeling of fulfillment, and on several levels. So, what’s the problem?

Although the economy is a factor, I didn’t just start thinking about this. And, although I’ve had no trouble trimming the extraneous from my day to day existence, when I’m cooking, it’s different. I’m different. Since the kids have all been away at school, I’ve had a really tough time scaling down and adjusting my food purchases to reflect that I am now, on most nights, cooking only for Jon and I. Friends who’ve, over the years, experienced meals in my home would, I’m sure, laugh out loud since they know first hand (as do my children), that saying that I cook a lot of food is an understatement of huge proportion, regardless of how many people I’m supposed to be feeding. Trust me, though, no one ever complains. Who would complain about the opportunity to dive into the amazing look, scent and taste of a table sprawled abundantly with deliciousness? That doesn’t mean, though, that they don’t make some necessary adjustments….Some of my friends literally ”train” before dinner at my house; purposely not eating much and work-outing out extra-hard for two days!  Funny—we actually have one friend who always eats more than he can comfortably hold, and (like clockwork) this causes him to promptly have what’s become a ritualistic sneezing attack!

(OK, I do get a warped sense of satisfaction knowing that and, yes, I do love the look of abundance on the table, but I don’t like feeling captive to it; and I’ll admit that at times I do (but this blog is evidence that I’m seriously working on it…).

It’s not that I don’t know that I should be making amount adjustments in my food purchases, especially now that it’s just the two of us, because I do. And I’ve been getting better but, whenever I’m about to talk to “Dom” my butcher or when moseying down the produce aisles, I still feel this very discernable tug of war going on inside my head. One side (the “big-girl” side) always asserts that it’s really and truly time to scale down. But the other side–the feeling side (dare I say, the scared side)—seems to, most often, win. The victor, the voice of vulnerability, always jabs back with a defense like “but you NEED three bags of spinach (which is what I buy when feeding six) because it cooks down so much”—or “a plate of four double-cut lamb chops wouldn’t look nearly as sexy on the table as a platter of six would—And we can always use the leftovers (which I have yet to do) …And don’t forget that Mango, the dog who will always stand by you even when your children get married, she loves those lamb chops!” I must say that Miss Mango has really lapped up in all of this!

Back and forth the voices spar: “Leftovers are one thing, Lauren, but this is just silly!” And then the other (clearly, the Jewish mother in me) will chime in with “Oh, you’ll buy less next time, remember that someone could unexpectedly stop by and it’s always (always) better to have too much than not enough.” It’s as if both voices use this (uninvited) inner chatter to shake me by the shoulders; one urging me to wake up (maybe grow up) and the other, wanting me to stay stuck –fearing the feeling of experiencing something smaller. Clearly, to me, smaller (at the table) means something very big. 

Yes, I’m onto something….

So, a few weeks ago, instead of continuing to snuff these voices out like some annoying telephone solicitation, I finally decided to stop rebelling and, instead, slow down and spend some time listening and learning.  (I’ve found that once I decide to figure things out, it’s not nearly as gratifying to resist responding intelligently to my “issues.”) 

I began to understand that the importance I’ve attached to my adult-ability to create a sumptuous scene whenever I want (regardless of how many people are able to interact with it) represents how I transformed my home-life as a child into something more wonderful, and that’s good. But, I also learned that I secretly felt that scaling down somehow equaled living with less joy which was (is) not something I’m prepared to do. So what did I do?  I hung on to an old version of my definition of abundance out of the fear of loss. With this realization, I became determined to start to make the obvious alterations to my every-day lifestyle and prove that “size isn’t everything.”

The other day, I finally pushed myself to buy only one chicken. You might be thinking “so what” but (TRUST ME) toting home one lonely bird in a bag was, for me, a really big deal. When I think about it (and believe me I do)…I haven’t bought only one chicken in probably 20 years! When the kids were home I would never leave the market with less than three chickens regardless of how I planned to prepare them.

So, on this night I cooked one chubby roasting chicken until crisp and gorgeous and then I sectioned the bird and arranged the pieces slightly overlapping on a plate (no, not on a platter). I also served two kinds of fresh vegetables, which is what I always do, but this time the amount was appropriate for just us. I also had on the table a bowl filled with wispy baby arugula leaves and another with some home-roasted red and yellow peppers, which I always have in the fridge. There was a plate holding a wedge of soft, creamy blue cheese and next to that were two carafes; one of balsamic vinegar and the other, filled with a favorite extra-virgin olive oil from Lucca. I heated up only half of a crusty Italian loaf, saving the rest for the next night to make garlic toast and intending to slice, toast and pulverize the rest into breadcrumbs. The table was set, the lights were dimed, the candles were lit and the wine was poured. Jon and I ate together and, as usual, had a great time.

That night I came away from the table seeing (and trusting) that the “size” of the platters had nothing to do with maintaining the feeling I so valued in my home. That treasures of the heart, when fueled by nurturing intentions, are not shrinkable. And that the excitement and joy I feel when creating and sharing a colorful, texturally diverse, aromatic and love-filled landscape is something I will never have to part with (and neither do you!).

Anyway, these days I’m anxiously awaiting my children who are coming home this week for Thanksgiving. So, once again, I get to lug out my big pots!

 I’ll soon be exploring and sharing more about the concept of abundance, the desire for success and about  what’s at the heart of both of those; the on-going pursuit of achieving and sustaining the feeling of happiness …

Until then, no matter how many there are at your Thanksgiving table, enjoy every minute!

Love to you and yours…

Lauren

Comments (2)

The word “change” has been used a lot lately, especially politically. Treated as “occupied territory” on slanted slogans that insinuate that if a person (or a group) chooses to go in one direction (or not) they’ll then get to either experience or bypass change. As if change was an option, which it’s not. It’s not the actuality of change that should be the subject of debate, rather it’s the way we, as individuals and as a country, choose to take on the responsibility of shaping the quality of change that matters most and is what’s always up for grabs.

So, before the abuse of the word “change” starts to trigger America’s collective gag reflex (as did the obnoxious overuse and eventual condemning of the phrase “family values” during the Dan Quale era), let’s remember that using such consequential words in such a manipulative way is not only counterproductive, it’s truly dangerous in a country who’s prowess is measured more by its technological strides than in it’s ability and commitment to develop and strengthen the character of it’s citizens; especially it’s youth.

Tags: abuse of words, annoying phrases, change in America, overuse of words, political words, youth of America

Comments (0)