Purim Pix, Food and Dill Rice Recipe

Been taking the easy way out and posting my culinary creations on facebook. No writing required. Upload photos and share. The pictures go exactly where I expect them to, which is more than I can say for blogging. But I have a standing tradition here of purim/food posts, and this seems like a tradition worth holding on to. 

my son read the megilla for us

 The last couple of Purims had us feasting on various ethnic foods.  We had an Indian theme and a Persian theme. This Purim brought us the Keep it Simple theme. There's a new, precious little person in our lives, and we have different priorities. I may have experienced a brief twinge of disappointment with the realization that something's gotta go, but that would have been so brief, it may not even have happened. What I definitely experienced, was gratitude for the awareness of my limitations. And let me tell you my friend, I am limited.

The menu I wrote included:
Herbed Bread
Fennel Salad in a Citrus Marinade
Chumus
Arugula Salad with Roasted Beets and Sliced Pears
Herbed Chicken 
Persian Meatballs 
Roasted Baby Bok Choy
Dill Rice - recipe below
Hamantaschen
Chocolate Fudge Squares

I was super organized and marinated the fennel salad on Friday - and forgot to serve it. I also prepared the chumus on Friday, but when it came to party time, I decided against it.

The hamantaschen were finished long before the festivities began, and the chocolate fudge squares never happened.

hamantaschen - basic cookie dough and poppy seed filling

Then there were a couple of unplanned add-ons: Sliced avocado & blood oranges over baby spinach, lightly dressed, and sourdough flatbreads that were originally supposed to be herb breads, but the dough didn't seem to be rising well so Pinny decided to turn that into flatbreads and I prepared a batch of yeast dough for the herb rolls. I also made a simple baby chicken for my picky eater.

pomegranate seeds patiently waiting to top the meatballs 

bok choy - drizzled with toasted sesame oil and salt.
 layered to prevent the leaves from burning. 

baby bok choy, roasted and ready

Baby spinach and blood orange 

Perfectly ripe avocado slices for my salad

very lightly dressed with olive oil, parsley, lemon, salt and pepper

baby arugula with roasted beets and sliced bosc pears

sourdough flatbreads - topped with sesame seeds, nigella and zaatar

chicken with mint, parsley, cilantro, garlic, sumac and amchoor

persian meatballs. about 50% meat. The other half consists of
pistachios, hazelnuts, parsley, cilantro, tarragon and onions.
Roasted rapidly and then topped with pomegranate molasses and baked a lil longer.
 Sweet and savory and sticky and delicious.

hope you're not tired of seeing this salad

I derive such satisfaction from being creative in the kitchen with food, photography, and especially when I get to share said food and photos with loved ones. My kids also enjoy playing with food and the camera, and I cherish those moments of inconspicuously observing their joy, and the pride they experience, as they admire their own creations.

Enough about me. Here's the recipe. Best dill rice ever (if I may).

Dill Rice

1 large onion, diced

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 teaspoon ground cardamom

1 jalapeno pepper, seeded and diced

2 cups white basmati rice - rinsed well

1/2 cup fresh dill, chopped

1 teaspoon sea salt

4 cups water/veggie stock

Cook onions, cardamom & jalapeno in olive oil for a few minutes.

Add the rice and stir until the grains are well coated.

Add the dill and salt and cook over low heat for a few minutes.

Add the liquid and cover and cook on low until the rice is tender and all the liquid is absorbed – about 25 minutes.

Allow to rest for 5 minutes and fluff with a fork.

This recipe is really simple and tastes wonderful. The bite of the jalapeno blends perfectly with the sweet cardamom. Be sure to remove all the seeds of the jalapeno so that your rice isn't spicy.

Promise me you'll only use fresh dill for this one.

freshly chopped dill mixing in with the seasoned rice

There you have it folks, the Purim roundup. I'm a little disappointed that I didn't get pictures of the herb rolls. Beautiful rolls, pillowy soft with flecks of golden saffron and vibrant green herbs. Next time... and I hope to have a chocolate fudge photo op soon. If you haven't seen it in the next week or so please remind me.

To good health,

Chana

I'm back, did you miss me?

I've been afraid to write.

There. I said it out loud.

Sometimes I start writing and the things that come out are shocking. Alarming. My words seem to self propel – they take on a different direction than any I might have intended. A can of worms might open, one that I didn't know existed. All unsettling.

A recent example: Do you ever want to run away from home and never come back? I do... far more frequently than I am comfortable with.

I wonder how I ended up here. How this journey became mine. How did I acquire this vast responsibility of caring for others – some days I can hardly care for myself. I feel overwhelmed, exhausted, scared. Scared that my love is not bigger than my exhaustion. Scared that one of these days I will fall apart and break into a million tiny pieces. And that all the kings horses, and all the kings men, won't be able to put me together again.

Another example: I'm tired of the bickering that goes on around me. I'm tired of putting out fires, preventing meltdowns, anticipating needs, being responsible.

And if that hasn't sufficiently depressed you... I'm tired of apologies. Other people's apologies that is. It's so easy to say I'm sorry, but when the behavior is repeated over and over, 'I'm sorry' loses value. Stop being sorry, start being responsible.

And now you know why I haven't been blogging. I'm not afraid of the brutal writing, per se, but that's not my purpose. My intention when using this mode of communication or expression is the soul-searching, tapping into my inner child, finding direction from within. I haven't been giving myself the space to do that. Not that I don't value the spewing. I do find it productive, or at least validating. When I put the words on paper I no longer need to hold on to them. I am able to question what's behind them. What was the trigger? Why do I feel resentful? Am I meeting my needs? Am I being kind to myself?

Allowances, permission, forgiveness – I grant myself these and more. I recognize that some of this stems from funky hormones, less sleep than I am accustomed to, reacclimating to life with a little one. Yet when I look just a little deeper there is a common denominator for all these rough (multiple definitions) drafts. They all stem from expectation.

When I have an expectation, I set myself up for disappointment. This is something that I have struggled with for most of my life. Doing it all myself, being unable/unwilling to ask for help, waiting to be desperate before reaching out, finally asking/begging from a point of despair - with an expectation that “I never ask, so obviously, when I do, you better show up for me...” So much faulty thinking there. Learning how to separate asking for something, from expecting a result has been beneficial, but I'm a work in progress. Making the decision to detach the emotion is something I grapple with, regularly.

Detaching can come through building walls to protect myself. I can easily 'harden my heart', cut off feeling and do what I gotta do, from a distance. That form of detachment is a survival mechanism, one that I need to reserve for a situation that requires survival skills.

The detachment I strive for is that which stems from presence and mindfulness. I am aware that I need to take responsibility for my thoughts, my speech, my behavior. I recognize that I have no control over the outcome. Expecting to control the outcome is trying to control the thoughts, speech and behavior of another, and those are not mine to control. When I blame a person or situation for my the way I'm feeling, I am essentially handing over my control panel, and that's a power I want to hold onto. The effort belongs to me, the outcome does not. When I abandon the word should, I have a much more peaceful existence.

This is not simply a decision, it's a practice. It begins by picturing that peaceful existence. I keep my eye on the prize. I question the patterns that prevent this tranquil reality. I recognize that they are my own doing. I acknowledge that it is within my ability, within my grasp, to make it real.

I have learned to ask for little things, without expectations. “Would you please make me a cup of tea.” Or “please bring me the phone.” Don't roll your eyes at me. These are my baby steps, and they allow for me to gain sure footing. When I successfully ask for something small, I move onto bigger things. Sometimes I'm a little shaky, but I have been asking for things that matter, without emotion. While I may find myself cringing deep inside, I simultaneously believe in my capacity to carry out the vision of a peaceful existence.

I'm going to go out on a limb here, and take on a stretch. I resolve to be undaunted by my own words, to give them freedom of expression, through which I grant myself an opportunity for discovery.

To peaceful existence within all of us,

Chana

p.s. I'm back, did you miss me?

Bais Chana in the Berkshires. 2012 review

I spent the first part of last week in the beautiful Berkshires. Went back for more of Bais Chana, thought provoking classes, fresh, sweet smelling air, some downtime, and with a small hope of getting some studying done for a neonatal resuscitation class I’m taking.

The studying didn’t happen, although there was a brief, albeit pseudo attempt. Not as much downtime as I anticipated, because the classes were so interesting and I didn’t want to miss anything. What I did get was a nurturing, nourishing experience; physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Honestly, I forgot how awesome it was going to be.

I spent time with an eclectic group of women from all over the country and came home renewed and recharged. I learned a lot about the feminine soul, joy, existence, love, the ego, near death experiences, the inner child, myself, and most importantly, of how I would like to treat myself. I'm choosing just a few to share with you.

On Joy
Laughter, like music, dance and love, is beyond intellect. Being joyful is an inherent part of all us. When we experience joy we have an expanded state of consciousness. Laughter induces  neuroplasticity in the human brain. That means we have the ability to change the structure and function of our brain, or in other words, to alter our auto response.

Human nature dictates that we give more attention to negative experiences than we do to positive experiences. We do this as a survival mechanism, to prevent danger. But when we live our lives expecting trouble, trouble finds us. A great goal would be to expect a best case scenario. It’s a matter of retraining our brains, and laughter can help us do that.

Did you know that children laugh approximately 150 times per day? Guess how many times the average adult laughs? I found the number shocking, but when I thought about it some more, it rang true. We just take ourselves too seriously. Ready? An adult laughs an average of 6 times per day. That’s right. SIX. Ouch. I’m trying to laugh just a few more times a day. Consciously. Mindfully. With purpose. I tend to have the darker side of humor. I’m making an effort to change that.

On existence
Existence is for the purpose of life, existence does not define our lives. Existence is simply taking up space. The reason we can survive unfortunate circumstances is because we are willing to sacrifice existence for living life. Death means a person existed and lived. While there is no longer existence, whatever impact was created during the lifetime, lives on. Most of us give too much attention to our existence, and not enough attention to our lives.

On how I would like to treat myself OR Everything I need to know I learned in a yoga class
I walked into yoga class and was greeted by Shelly, a fabulous yoga instructor who came all the way from Columbus, Ohio (Hello Buckeyes). Shelly was setting up a room full of chairs. Chairs? Did I walk into the right place? I looked around, somewhat confused and Shelly explained that the mats were at another location and for today we were going to have chair/standing yoga. I glanced at the door and made a mental note of how long it would take me to get back to my room and into running gear. Somewhere in the background I could hear her begin to speak. She mentioned something about that what we want isn’t always what we need, but when we walk into a situation that is unexpected, it’s usually for a good reason. I stayed for chair yoga and was pleasantly surprised to find that it really was a good workout and more so, that it really was exactly what I needed. What I'm left with is the impact of her message. This is the gist of it: 
I’m hearing that I don’t need to operate at 100%. That I can push myself to the edge, become aware of that edge, and take a step back. That I don’t need to live on the edge. Can this be true? This goes against the grain of how I operate. Definitely calls for more attention and a deeper look.

On love
Isn’t everybody, and their mother, the ultimate authority on love? I don’t think anybody really is, but I heard some insights that had me thinking enough that I would like to share them with you.

Emotions exist to bridge the gap between the self and others. Love is a feeling. It’s devoid of action. We feel in our hearts and souls. Our hearts and souls are a few steps removed from behavior and actions. Which is why there is plenty of behavior that is inconsistent with love, that comes from the very people that profess their love for us.

Once you love someone, you can’t get to know them. We become aware of our creation of our loved one. Our image. Our perception. Our brains try to make sense of another. That’s not knowing another, that’s our agenda. Our brains don’t recognize truth, rather they look for logic, they seek to make sense.

I found this interesting and a little disturbing. It also helped me understand why many people who ‘fall head over heels in love’ can’t seem to get along on many simple levels, and why a relationship that is cultivated, one that is built on mutual respect and values, where love grows, has a much better rate of survival.

On Inner Child Work
“Anything that can be destroyed is worth destroying sooner than later, so that you can start over and build something indestructible.” I found this line very empowering. How many times have I found myself in a situation that was clearly not right, yet I chose to expend good energy trying to bandaid something that needed an overhaul? Many more than I would care to admit.

Every person has an aspect of masculinity, of femininity and that of a child.  Our masculine self seeks to conquer. Our feminine self seeks connectedness. Our childlike self receives. In my relationship with G-d, I am always a child. I ask for that which I need in the way a child asks of its parent. In order to be that child, I need to be open and willing to absorb, to receive.

When the Jewish nation made their initial descent to Egypt, they were counted as 70 souls. Baby Yocheved, just a few days old at the time was included in this count. G-d’s message to us? Our value is not attached to productivity. By virtue of existence, we are accomplished. We need to find that place in ourselves where our value is not limited by achievement.


-----------

I have pages and pages of notes that I'm so happy to refer back to. I remember coming home from Bais Chana last year and the inner struggle that followed; I had a fabulous time while I was there, but couldn't hold on to the experience. When I left, it seemed to fall apart in my hands. Not sure where the shift has been in my life, but I am grateful to have the palpable energy alive and flowing within.

To finding inspiration in our daily lives,

Chana

PS You can find out more about Bais Chana programs here. Should you want to join me, I'll be going again next spring...

Relating and Imperfection

"Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive."  ~Howard Thurman

Ever since I went to Freida's class with my birth ball, to talk about what I do, I have been privileged to enjoy a 4 and 5 year old following. What a great opportunity to tell these future moms that home birth is the safest option and that hospitals are dangerous places for healthy people.

Do you think I actually said that? Just checking if you were really reading.

What I did say was that birth is hard work and also fun and it's really special to be a mommy even though it's really hard. I explained that I helped mommies when they were having babies and that sometimes they like to sit on the ball (all the little girls got to try) and sometimes I get them drinks and sometimes I just sit with them quietly so they feel safe. Ever since then, every time I go into the class the girls tell me about their mommies and babies and remind me that I visited with my ball. As if I could forget.

Friday morning I went into class and one of the girls said "Freida's mommy, Freida's mommy, guess how old I am." I guessed 5 and she was so pleased. Then she told me to guess how old her sister was and I guessed 3. "How did you know," she asked. I told her I was a good guesser. I also guessed that her older brother was 7 and her baby was 1. She was floored. Then she told me that when her mommy had her baby she was very sad and she was crying. I squatted down so I could look her in the eye and asked "Were you sad because your mommy wasn't home and you missed her?" She nodded her head. I just sat there, maintaining eye contact and offering compassion to the vulnerability I was privileged to witness in this little girl's eyes. She switched gears suddenly and told me "I was sad because you weren't helping my mommy." 

My heart did some funky tightening. My compassion grew deeper. I suggested that I might help her mommy next time and she perked up and ran to play with her friends.

This conversation replayed itself in my mind a number of times on my walk home. First there is the feeling flattered. Little girls want to talk to me. They drop their puzzles and blocks and come to share of themselves with me. Sweet, innocent girls. Then there's the connection. The more attention I gave this child, the more she wanted to share about herself. How humbling is that? And finally, the vulnerability. I was moved to the core that this little person could tell me about her sad feelings and when I probed a little deeper - and maybe that was inappropriate - she was able to go inside of herself and sit with that feeling, with that truth, with that sadness. And finally, when those feelings became more than she was prepared to deal with, she moved over to empathy. "I was sad because you weren't helping my mommy."

Which got me thinking: why, as a people, do we think it's okay for us to feel sad for others but not ourselves? How can we truly be empathetic with others if we can't be there for ourselves? 

I just finished reading a fabulous book called "The Gifts of Imperfection" by Brené Brown. The book was entertaining, insightful, poignant, moving and was written with a raw honesty to which I found myself relating. It's all about  belonging, boundaries, (giving up) control, courage, compassion, faith, vulnerability, gratitude, breaking the shame cycle and living in authenticity. It's about engaging with ourselves from a place of worthiness.  If you have been following my blog at all this might sound a little repetitious. 

For all of our differences, we are pretty much the same. We all share the same basic needs. To feel loved, cherished, to be listened to, taken seriously, treated with respect. We all need someone safe in our lives, but first we need to be able to meet that need for ourselves. The way I treat myself is the message I give to the world of how I would like to be treated. 

There are so many wonderful lines in this book, I think half of my book will end up highlighted. Will share a few.

On fear and joy: "The dark does not destroy the light; it defines it. It's our fear of the dark that casts our joy into the shadows." It's our perception that creates our reality. When we don't allow ourselves to fully experience something positive, for fear it will end, we are limiting ourselves.

On resilience: "...there is no such thing as selective emotional numbing. There is a full spectrum of human emotions and when we numb the dark, we numb the light."  If we suppress our negative emotions we are by default also suppressing our positive ones. The pendulum will only swing with the amount of force we give it. Our bodies create balance. That is the nature of a human being, of homeostasis. If we don't allow ourselves to feel the power of our pain or sadness, when we limit them so that we may stay within our comfort zones, so that we don't fall apart, we are also limiting our experience of happiness.

On expressing ourselves creatively: "When we value being cool and in control over granting ourselves the freedom to unleash the passionate, goofy, heartfelt and soulful expressions of who we are, we betray ourselves. When we consistently betray ourselves, we can expect to do the same to the people we love. (I would add, we can expect others to betray us as well.) When we don't give ourselves permission to be free, we rarely tolerate that freedom in others." How many times do we not allow ourselves creative expression? Singing out loud, dancing freely. We are so busy worrying about being in control and how we are perceived by others we forget about the basic needs of our souls.

It's the season of breaking through our personal boundaries. I'm hoping to allow myself this authenticity in my life. It's a practice, not a decision. A practice that requires many repetitions before becoming my default setting. I hope to embrace my vulnerability, recognize my shame and face it, embrace my full spectrum of emotions and give myself permission to dance in the rain.

To good health,

Chana

DST, Purim Pix, Busy Life, Recipe, ETC

Questions, recipe requests, blog post demands. They’ve been coming in.

It’s been busy, this last month. What’s been going on? Off the top of my head, I
- am taking a coaching course (spontaneous decision).
- spoke to my daughter’s kindergarten class about my birth work (was really fun).
- attended a beautiful birth (incredibly rewarding).
- provided support at a miscarriage (hard). 
- have stopped using agave. Too much conflicting info on fructose, etc. Junior bakers in this household were furious (don't ask me questions, I don't have the answers).
- broke the news to my father in law that his brother was no longer alive (really hard) and learned more than I wanted to know about the shiva process.
- have been doing gemstone therapy and Anat Baniel Movement with my child (fascinating).
- visited Fairway (all the fuss about nothing).
- planned and executed a fabulous purim menu (pix to follow).

My coaching lessons played an active role in all these. I’m learning great new things. Hope to share some of them soon.

While I haven’t been as actively blogging as I would have liked, I have been writing. Raw, uncensored writing. From somebody that exposes herself, when I tell you it’s stuff you don’t want to read, trust me. Grateful for my discretionary abilities, and back with lots of little things to share.

First things first, I really need to get this out of the way: I HATE DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME. I don’t want to get into the nitty gritty of how/why it was instituted, I just want to say that my internal body clock is NOT digital and does not adjust so easily. I love the spring, the summer, the sunlight. I do not love that the day never ends or that Shabbos starts so late. I propose banning DST. In the meantime, as with my winter worries, I plan to “accept what is” (read about it here). Thanks for listening.

Onto Purim. Remember last year? I prepared an Indian menu and wore myself out making it happen. (you can read about it here). This year I planned a Persian menu and hired help. Yes, I totally rock. There was still a lot of effort on my part, but I was not drained by the effort. I really enjoyed the process.

So, Purim food pictures, but first the menu.

Barbari Bread - a Persian flat bread topped with nigella seeds

Persian eggplant salad - pulp of grilled eggplant stewed with onions, garlic, tomatoes and turmeric. Seasoned with salt, pepper and lots of lemon.

Gondi - turkey balls with garbanzo flour - they look like matza balls

Savory Sanbouseh - persian kreplach 

Sweet Sanbouseh - nut pastry - recipe included

Kubide -  ground beef sausage

Chicken Kabob - baby chicken with persian marinade

Persian Rice I - basmati with carrots, currants and saffron

Persian Rice II - basmati, steamed Persian style

Zucchini - seasoned with dill and cumin

Shirazi salad - (the Persian name for Israeli salad)

Olive tapenade - olives, walnuts, mint, parsley, pomegranate juice, garlic

Stuffed Grape Leaves I - vegetarian - filled with rice, parsley, mint, onions, in a lemon sauce

Stuffed Grape Leaves II - filled with rice, beef, onions, parsley cooked in a tomato based sauce

Sanbouseh

filling for vegetarian grape leaves

grape leaves in the process

persian rice in assembly. Layered basmati, carrot mixture, saffron. repeated until the pot is full.

said carrot mixture. Onions, shredded carrots, zante currants cooked in olive oil and turmeric

saffron, toasted, ground in my trusty mortar and pestle. Water added so I could sprinkle it uniformly(ish)

tables in the setting process

zucchini

barbari bread

not persian, not on the menu. Pinny made sour dough bread with chunks of chocolate. Soft and delicious.

chicken kabob 

Gondi

meat stuffed grape leaves

vegetarian stuffed grape leaves - recipe and instructions here

Persian rice with carrots, currants and saffron

koubide

birds eye view - or view from a chair:)

Sanbouseh - the kreplach version

I promised you a Sanbouseh recipe... adapted from the Food of Life cookbook I borrowed from the library. (if anybody wants to buy me a present) UPDATE: as of 4:00 on Tuesday afternoon, I own this book. Somebody did buy me a present! My fans are quick. Thank you.

The Dough (This is the best puff pastry style dough I've ever made. I frequently avoid recipes that call for rolling dough, but this was the most pliable, user-friendly dough, EVER.)

2 egg yolks

1/2 cup plain yogurt (I used Wildwood probiotic unsweetened soy yogurt)

1/2 cup olive oil

1 3/4 cup spelt flour

Mix, adding flour gradually until it does not stick to your hands. You may need a bit more flour.

The filling:
1 cup chopped walnuts or pecans

1/4 cup maple syrup

1 tablespoon ground cardamom

1 tablespoon rose water (i omitted because I couldn't locate with a hechsher. I've since heard that Pomegranate carries it)

Refrigerate the dough for 3 hours.

Prepare the filling. Toast chopped nuts in a small pot for a few minutes until nuts are fragrant. Add maple syrup and mix well. Remove from heat and add cardamom and rose water. Allow to cool.

Preheat the oven to 350.

Roll the dough using a rolling pin.

Create circles using a glass.

Drop 1/2 teaspoon of nut mix into the center.

Fold the circle and press into crescent shapes.

Bake until golden 16-18 minutes (depending how thick the dough is)

Remove from oven and brush with more maple syrup.

I garnished with chopped pistachios.

the nut mixture

 ...and there you have it folks. Hope I won't make you (or myself) wait another month for another post. A lot going on in this head of mine. Will to try to sort it out and post again soon.

Until then,

to good health,

Chana

PS. as usual, all the photos are taken with our super duper canon 60d. Go ahead and buy yourself one, you know you want to. And a special shout out to Pinny for putting up with my mishagas, taking pix, editing unmentionables, and being a great sport about it all.

PSS. Almost forgot, this could almost be another blog post, but I'm not giving it that much attention. This time of year I'm frequently asked how my "poor" kids cope with Purim, with the treats, what I 'withhold', etc. This is how it goes. People that love them buy them treats that they eat. For example: my mother bought them sushi and grape juice. Good friends send spelt pretzels, Stretch Island fruit leathers, pure juice boxes. My daughter's teacher gave her a box of strawberries - she was THRILLED! Everybody else's stuff goes into a huge box that goes home with the housekeeper. My kids get paid very well for their stuff and I have not heard a peep of disagreement in many, many years. In the early years, when we were first starting out with a healthier lifestyle, every kid chose 1 thing to keep and the rest of the  stuff went on a scale. I paid them $1 per pound of junk. This money does not go to the bank. They get to spend it as they please. I still pay them, but do a rough guess. It's about $15/kid. WORTH EVERY PENNY. Hope this clarifies. 

Date with my Daughter

It's 4:00 on a cold day and I'm waiting for my daughter, outside of her school, in the safety of my warm minivan. I'm responding to texts and emails when the door slides open and a breathless child propels herself onto my lap and shoves a colorful flyer into my face. 
Mommy, please can we go, it's only $10? 
Hi honey, I'm so happy to see you too. Did you have a good day? I missed you.
Mommy, mommy, it's a CHANALE CONCERT AND ITS ONLY $10, PLEASE CAN WE GO?
Of course we can go.
Thanks, you're the best. mother. EVER. I'm starving, is there anything to eat in the car?

Yup, it really happened, exactly like that. Moussia and I arranged a date. It would be just the two of us, no little sister invited. We posted the flyer on the fridge when we got home and had been whispering about the concert ever since. It's very exciting going to a concert with your daughter. And apparently, it's very exciting going to a concert with your mother (not that I've ever done that).


The royal countdown began. 5 days left, 4 days left, 3 days left, after Shabbos I'm going to a concert. Moussia considered cancelling her Sunday plans and I assured her that there were plenty of hours in the day available to do all her Sunday activities and still get ready for the concert. Come Sunday evening, we dressed up (makeup and all) and floated down Troy Ave. to the Razag Ballroom for the much awaited, eagerly anticipated event.


We got there a little earlier than I might have - had I gone alone -  but it was totally worth spending extra time with my daughter. We experienced a mild disappointment when we came in and discovered that 'all the good seats were taken'. Moussia really wanted to sit up front, first row.  We managed to get 3rd row, center stage seats (thank you Shuffi) and had a fabulous time.


Chanale sang songs from her new album, from her old albums, from other people's albums and an impromptu set of niggunim. As she introduced each song Moussia asked me, "do I know that one? do you?" Regardless of the answer she was singing along to all of them, as was I. We had a blast.


Experiencing the energy of a room filled with Jewish women and girls, singing songs of connection and hope and faith and love, through my daughter's eyes, was nothing less than incredible. 


If you haven't experienced that, I encourage you to take your daughter by the hand, whether she's 7 or 17 or 47 and go to a concert. And sing - even if you don't know the words, or the tunes. And leave your judgments at home. Just go have fun and let loose.


To wonderful dates with our daughters,


Chana


PS, as I'm about to publish this, Chanale just posted a video recap. You can watch it here - and because we had such great seats, you can see a lot of me and Moussia, up front waving our arms and rocking back and forth. (Good thing you can't hear us singing.) I'm wearing purple and a long shaitel, Moussia's shirt looks grey. 

Self Medicating

This past week was of the longest and most challenging in my recent memory. I say recent memory because having been overdue with 6 out of my 7 children, I think there were some long and challenging weeks there too.

I spent the previous shabbos staffing at “Call of the Shofar” in Baltimore. It’s an incredibly humbling process to witness. Jewish women, bound by their common desire to move past a hurdle. To do better. The time and commitment required is the least of it. It’s the getting deep into the “self”, reaching into the core, vulnerable part that generally stays tucked away, hidden deep down, almost untouchable.

Very rewarding, very gratifying, but it brought up so much stuff for me, I think I need another 100 years of therapy.

So it’s Friday and I’m still a mess. I self medicate in my kitchen, cooking and baking and crying. (I’m thinking my challa may have been a little salty.) Professionals in the field like to call it “self-soothe”. Me, I like the way self medicate sounds. I cook, I bake, I take pictures, I share them - with you... Your welcome.

I always do challa first thing in the morning, for a number of reasons. 

#1 There's enough surface space early in the A.M. As the day progresses I'm piling things, using awkward surfaces and there's a teeter-tottering going on that wouldn't work for a giant bowl of challa dough. 

#2 I want to bake the pareve stuff before the chicken goes in.

#3 I like making challa dough and the later in the day it gets, the more pressure I feel and the more of a chore it feels like.

#4 When I prep the dough bright and early I end up shaping it just after I take my kids to school and then I don't have to tap into the patience required to let them 'help' me.

But I made an executive decision to keep my 7 year old home from school (I hope her teacher isn't reading this) and my 4 year old is getting over something so reason #4 is out the door for this time.

I love the way the dough feels in my hands. The rolling, the shaping, the creating. Instead of rushing though the process I make tiny little six braided challas. I call this culinary therapy.

As I said, reason #4 out the door. I did have some challa baking help. Moussia, age 7, made this one. Isn't it beautiful? I'm very proud of my big girl.

Freida, my 4 year old made a number of challas from the same piece of dough. After each completion, she gingerly placed it on the tray and within seconds was falling apart about a do-over. (hence, reason #4). 

Challa #1: a rosh hashana challa

Challa #2: Yes, all by herself.

Challa #3. Final attempt. "Look Mommy, I made a helicopter." Hmmmm.

My standard little knots. Notice the empty space? That's where Freida's challa kept going.

Making challa in our house is a multi faceted operation. I make traditional(ish) challa and Pinny makes sourdough bread. He doesn't like it that I call it bread, and not challa. He also thinks that sourdough is far more traditional than the egg 'n yeast stuff I bake. I don't have a strong opinion either way (shocking, I know), but a. this is how my kids differentiate and b. I want to give you a little glimpse of my life.

Pinny starts the night before by placing some sourdough starter in a bowl with a little flour and water. Come Friday morning he adds oats, flour, water and salt and leaves it to rise for hours. Pinny uses the biggest bowl and smallest fork he can find. My day is filled with things that make you go hmmmmm.

In between the shaped challas rising and baking, I start a cookie dough. I'm feeling sorry for myself so I make my neiman marcusesque cookies.

I measure out oats and grind some raw cacao beans in my mortar and pestle.

Huge lapse of judgement there. I end up eating way too much cookie dough. 

While the cookies were baking I cooked up some chick peas with cilantro, garlic, olive oil and paprika.

I cooked them until they smelled good and were somewhat browned.

We sample the cookies after they have cooled. Freida doesn't like them and asks me "to make another treat". More cookies. Why not? We just have to get the fish and chicken happening.

I prep the chicken with lemon, rosemary, garlic, homemade olives and cumin.

My fish order arrives just in time. I ordered ground whitefish and filleted red snapper. I add chopped garlic, cilantro, a bit of turmeric, salt, pepper and couple of eggs to the ground fish.

I heat up the olive oil and dredge balls of fish in flour. This is a step that I frequently skip, (the flour, not the oil) but today is one of those days where I want to go all the way. I feel like covering all the little details.

When it's closer to Shabbos I will put these into a frying pan. Add olive oil, paprika, water and a jalapeno pepper and cook. I serve them hot Friday night and cold Shabbos afternoon.

The fish takes a while. In between batches we get the next set of cookies going. Freida wants 'plain white' and 'some with jelly'. My basic cookie recipe is just right for this. Freida sits on the counter and helps me. I measure and she pours.

I drain the fish, set the next batch frying and get back to the cookies.

I put some jam into a sandwich sized ziploc bag and snip the corner off. I am squeezing with my left hand, taking pix with my right hand. It's one heavy camera, that Canon 60D,  I am so capable. Freida approves of these cookies. Whew.


When the fish patties are done I prepare the snapper. I dredge it lightly in flour and fry until golden. I sprinkle it with sea salt and freshly ground pepper. This is a delicious dish if you can get it really fresh. Don't buy previously frozen snapper. It stinks. 

I'm sure I've mentioned this before - Pinny is a fabulous cook. He's creative, experimental, persistent and messy. He gets back to his sourdough as I'm finishing up with the fish. Pinny takes up a lot of kitchen when he cooks, and I take up the whole kitchen so we try and pace ourselves. He is learning to come do his thing before the housekeeper cleans up after me. This is a learning process. He used to wait for a clean kitchen...


Pinny takes his dough very seriously. He shapes some into loaves, rounds and then the awesome sesame braids. He rolls each strand into sesame seeds before braiding. Then he coats the whole braid with sesame seeds again. Yum. 


I'm having a hard time here choosing pictures. There are 105 pictures of the bread process and I don't know what to do. Don't judge me, I told you I was having a hard day.

--can I just say that this was harder than choosing pictures for my wedding album--

The breads rise, their tops are scored and they make their way into the oven.

During the first 15 minutes of the baking process, the oven door is opened frequently and water is sprayed. This creates a steam, and I'm not totally sure what the purpose is, but the bread is delicious. Don't try this with pyrex or other glassware. We did and it took hours to clean up the mess.

I took 581 pictures, but somehow, lots of other food didn't get photographed. Roasted eggplant salad with garlic, tahini, baba-tahini, fennel salad with granny smith apples and citrus marinade, roasted golden and chiogga beets, roasted cauliflower, red quinoa salad with zucchini and red onions, green goddess dressing, miso dressing, and chicken soup. I think that's all. I took a picture of my fridge. It's rather messy though. Wanna see it?


Hey, thanks for listening. I'm feeling better already. Why did I eat all that cookie dough?


And my emotional state, well that takes a little more effort. Applied mindfulness. Tapping into the feelings that I'm afraid of. Acknowledging them. Validating them. Giving them space to grow and ultimately, to be released.  When I find it challenging to provide self care, I find comfort in being creative, by playing with food, with dough, with the camera. I recognize that therapeutic activity is a substitute, a temporary fill in, one that I am grateful for. It's a tool that helps create a space in which I can ultimately address that which is plaguing my soul.




To good health,


Chana