Birth, Health & Wellness

Date with my Daughter

2012-02-06T12:55:00.000-05:00

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

2012-01-16T10:42:00.000-05:00

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

D.I.Y. Olives - Part 3

2012-01-09T18:49:00.000-05:00

So I go away for three little days and I come home to discover the olives have been seasoned. Flavored. Spiced. After waiting all this time, done without me. Without pictures. Without capturing the image, without documenting the process. I'm breathing through this. I'll get through this moment. I will survive.

I took some pictures today so you can see what's ~~happening~~ happened (without me).

After much arm-twisting, I was able to drag the recipe out of Pinny: olive oil, salt, lime and dried chili peppers. Lime because we're out of lemons.

This jar has dry red wine, olive oil, salt, dried chili peppers and some Italian seasoning.

I'm wondering why I don't see any garlic in either of these. Or fresh herbs. Cumin seed. Oh, right, because I wasn't part of the process.

Just in case somebody thought that wrapping up these olives without me was not offensive, my housekeeper told me that my children were very well behaved while I was gone. "When you husband go away, they fight. When you go away they very nice."

Maybe I should leave more often...

Off to plan my next getaway,

Chana

PS If you missed the beginning of the journey: Olives Part 1 and Olives Part 2.
Part 4 to follow when they are fit for consumption.

On Codependence

2012-01-02T20:13:00.000-05:00

G-d, grant me the serenity

To accept the people I cannot change,

Courage to change the person I can

And the wisdom to know it’s me.

________

It’s difficult to remember the particular instance when I discovered that I am codependent. It was shocking, that’s for sure, but there was a comfort, a validation of sorts, in finding a label, in knowing that I was not alone. Codependency is part of the addictive spectrum. As with other addictions, codependency is essentially a coping mechanism used to lessen emotional pain.

A codependent may display some of these characteristics:

-Easily absorbs the painand problems of others.

-Value of self comes fromthe approval of others.

-Uncomfortable expressingtrue feelings.

-Wants to be in control.

-Overwhelming desire tofeel needed by other people.

-Feels guilty for thebehavior of others.

-Difficulty trusting otherpeople.

-Keeps quiet in order toavoid confrontation.

-Uncomfortable acceptingcompliments from others.

-Feels terrible aboutmaking mistakes.

-Difficulty refusingsomeones request.

-Remains loyal, even if theother person or situation is harmful.

When I initially heard the character descriptions of a codependent it was difficult for me to comprehend that this was a problem. I thought I was SUPPOSED to take responsibility for other people’s behavior. I thought it was good that I accepted the weight of the world on my shoulders. I was meant to fix other people’s problems, wasn’t I? To help them change and have better lives? I thought I was being a good Jewish wife and mother.

Well, I was obviously doing something wrong so I tried harder to make things work. To make things better. I pushed myself a little further and inevitably, I would feel overwhelmed and become resentful. This in turn would lead to guilt over my feelings. How hard is it to make someone else happy? Am I so selfish that I can’t give a little more to resolve this issue for another person? Isn’t it easier to take responsibility for an error that belongs to somebody else than to deal with the aftermath, with their feelings of inadequacy? Oh yes. It was the most efficient way to exist. Take care of everything myself. After all, if I wanted it done right, I needed to do it myself.

As my awareness grew about codependence and its patterns, the more I recognized myself. I began to realize that I was being dishonest. I didn't always want to be that accommodating yet I felt that I had to. That it was expected of me. I wasn't really accepting - I wanted people to change. I noticed that my resentment would follow an instance where I pushed myself too far. Where I gave more than I wanted to. Where I ignored my boundaries.

Codependents see things in black and white. Or always and never. (You never take out the garbage when I ask you to. You always leave your socks in the living room.) This faulty thinking pattern prefaced an over-reaction in my life, about a million times. Maybe more. It also led to my feeling defensive and antagonistic.

Another faulty thinking pattern I had perfected was “expecting the worst”. Constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop and the emotional chain reaction that ensues is exhausting. I wish I could take back the many hours I willingly gave to planning for the worst case scenario.

Our experiences during childhood forge our adulthood. When a child is raised in a negative environment (be it addiction, neglect or abuse, etc.) they devise survival mechanisms that develop into social/emotional habits such as compulsive caretaking, martyrdom, controlling, people-pleasing, and approval-seeking. As adults, codependents frequently surround themselves with unhealthy people. Something reminiscent to that which they are accustomed to from childhood.

How is caretaking different from parenthood? How are people-pleasing and martyrdom different from friendship? How is controlling different from marriage? These questions leave me most challenged, yet they are also the ones that give me the most clarity.

As parents, we give to our children in a selfless way so that they learn to give to themselves and ultimately to others. We care for them completely, allow them to grow, learn and gain independence.

Friendship is an interpersonal relationship that is mutually beneficial. Two distinct people share a respect for one another, a deep bond, enjoy each other's company and bring out each other's potential.

Marriage is a relationship where two parts of a soul merge and find completion. It is where two people become one, yet remain individual, with their own needs and desires.

Giving from a place of kindness and love is not enough for me. I need to give from a place of well-being, a place where I remain within my boundaries. As long as I hold on to that value I can give the world. As soon as I give outside of my boundaries, it becomes a destructive behavior.

My therapist initially mentioned codependence to me and helped me recognize my telltale signs. The exhaustion, the guilt, the resentment, the emotion. Now these are my cues, my reminders, that I've gone too far. I am developing the ability to track these symptoms before they become full-blown.

I have gained tremendously from the work of Rabbi Shais Taub. Shais's book, God of Our Understanding discusses the Jewish perspective of the 12-step program. Many people I have spoken to about the 12-step program expressed concern about its source. Shais allays those concerns in his book and describes the spiritual principles and their compatibility with Torah. The work of Melody Beattie, a codependent herself, include many books such as Codependent No More, The New Codependency and The Language of Letting Go. I recommend reading any or all of her writing and also the work of Pia Mellody.

Most beneficial has been my participation in a CoDA (Codependents Anonymous) meeting. As with all 12-step programs people facing similar challenges meet and share and provide support for one another. I am particularly grateful to my fellow codependents, as we face ourselves and each other with honesty, dignity, acceptance and compassion.

My name is Chana and I am codependent.

_________
PS

Some affirmations that I value from my CoDA meetings

Just for today I will respect my own and others’ boundaries.Just for today I will be vulnerable with someone I trustJust for today I will take one compliment and hold it in my heart for more than just a fleeing moment. I will let it nurture me.I am beautiful inside and outside.I love myself unconditionally.I can allow myself ample leisure time without feeling guilty.I deserve to be loved by myself and others.I deserve love, peace, prosperity & serenity.I forgive myself for hurting myself and others.I forgive myself for letting other people hurt me.I am not alone.I am whole and good.I am capable of changing.The pain that I might feel by remembering cannot be any worse than the pain I feel by knowing and not remembering.

Chanukah Day in Pictures

2011-12-26T09:28:00.003-05:00

Happy Chanukah all from our cozy den up north.

Having a minyan in my home imbues its walls with holiness

It's hard to disconnect, even when talking to G-d

Doughnut dough. I got a recipe! Look for it on the bottom of this post.

frying in olive oil & coconut oil

cooling

spice jars need replenishing

glazed and hardening

drizzled with agave and sprinkled with cinnamon

decadent

yup, it's chanukah. our fried food of choice is falafel

I needed a little downtime. Pinny hooked me up well.

what's a chanukah post without a menorah...

...or colored candles?

doughnuts waiting patiently for consumption

all at once...

master chef

frites

cumin carrots

falafel - recipe here

Israeli salad, cut beautifully by Zalman, 11

s'chug

remnants of last year's olives. follow this year's process here

the beginnings of a creative plate

Freida's dinner. nutritionally sound....

stuffed into her pita.

Zalman's well packed falafel

So that's a day in our (Chanukah vacation) life.

To good health and abundant light,

Chana

PS. The doughnut recipe. You didn't think I'd forget the doughnut recipe, did you?
This is not the original recipe of the picture I posted a few weeks ago. I did manage to get that recipe, but unfortunately we found ourselves in an egg shortage, on the single day of the year that all stores are closed. The gas station convenience store was open, but they don't carry organic eggs.
I went online to find a recipe for vegan doughnuts. Master chef Levik thought doughnuts without eggs wouldn't work, but offered to experiment. I found a recipe and turned out we had no yeast either...
Levik adapted and came up with this. These doughnuts were D.E.L.I.C.I.O.U.S. to say the least.

7-8 cups spelt flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons baking powder
1/2 cup agave
1 cup water
1 cup coconut milk
1/4 cup grapeseed oil
1 teaspoon vanilla

Combine ingredients. Add flour as needed to get a working dough.
Deep fry according to your favorite method.

The glaze was a combination of cocoa powder, cocoa butter, coconut oil and agave.

D.I.Y. Olives - Part 2

2011-12-22T08:46:00.000-05:00

Brief Olive Update:

It's been a while since I posted about the olives and I haven't shared any updates. Oops. There wasn't any intentional withholding of information, I promise. It's not been all that exciting. The tedious work of rinsing and filling the jars. Pinny's been taking care of that. He left for a weekend retreat and asked me if I would take care of the olives while he was gone. I said yes and immediately forgot about it. Oops again. The olives are forgiving though, and so is Pinny. I am truly blessed.

So here we are, 5 1/2 weeks later our olives look like this.

All that's been done is rinse, fill, repeat - on an almost-daily basis. Pinny tastes them every now and then, grimaces and spits them out. It takes time, patience and fresh water for the oleuropein, the naturally-present chemical in raw, uncured olives to leach out. But those grimaces seem less intense, there may be some more chewing going on before the spit, so I have a hunch that one of these days we'll be seasoning the olives.

I was a little tempted to photograph the taste, grimace, spit, but that's not so aesthetically pleasing...

in case you forgot what they looked like 5 weeks ago.

and what they look like now
taken with our super duper canon 60D - but you knew that

Look out for the olives being seasoned post.

To good health,

Chana

P.S. How appropriate for me to share this update when we celebrate the miracle of olive oil...

From Victim to Victor. Somehow.

2011-12-18T09:59:00.001-05:00

I was witness to my in-laws as they married off their 15th child, their baby boy.
Through great effort, they saw to it that every single one of their children and spouses, grandchildren and spouses and great grandchildren were present and able to participate in the celebration.

Of all the incredible experiences life has offered me, that’s got to have been of the top ten.
The energy was palpable, emotions ran high. What a momentous occasion. It’s hard to imagine what that means. I think it’s always huge for parents when their children get married.
Especially so when it’s their youngest. But the 15th? Mind boggling.

The kids had a great time spending time with their cousins, doing cartwheels down the long hotel corridors and made great use of the swimming pool and water slides.

We arrived the night before the wedding and my brother and sister-in-law prepared a feast for us. We had succulent organic rib roasts (the last ones!) roasted cauliflower, moroccan chicken, green bean salad, Israeli salad, red cabbage salad, beautiful gigantic potato knishes and for dessert organic cherries and grapes. Thank you Z&M, I'm still stuffed.

Why didn't I take pictures?

It wasn’t all fun and games though. The last few days before our trip had us in a mental health crisis with one of our children and I wasn’t sure that we would all make it there. I reached out to a particular family member for support and received a lot of self righteous indignation in response. I felt judged, misunderstood and invalidated. It was with great sacrifice that my entire family ended up attending. A sacrifice that I didn’t feel was justifiable. I hardly slept the night before our travels. I didn't get anything done either, I just stayed in bed and worried and cried and made an absolute mess of myself. When morning came, I was completely dysfunctional. I had my kids prepare the clothing they needed for the trip. My four year old emptied her drawers on my bed and I flipped out. My 13 year old helped her choose just the clothing she needed for the 2 days. All I did was prepare my own things, and my husband packed it all up. If you know me AT ALL....

I had coordinated the hair stylists and make up artists for a number of family members. Most of whom were very grateful for the time and effort it took, but what stood out most was the following email, received the day before the wedding: “...I feel very let down. I am always late and....” Hmmmm.

During the wedding I took my daughter up to my hotel room for a little down time. As we made our way back to the wedding hall I noticed some younger nephews, completely unsupervised, playing in the elevators, visiting random hotel floors. I sent them back to the wedding area and upon returning to the hall, I told one of the moms what her boys had been up to. She screamed in response “WELL WHERE IS THEIR FATHER”. I took a giant step back, shocked and disturbed. Please don’t shoot the messenger.

Now that a few days have passed and I’m safely on the road to recovery, I look back and see an underlying common denominator. I saw myself as a victim in these situations. I felt victimized by a situation, by the lack of support, understanding and compassion directed at me. By the harsh words I perceived in that email. By the scathing tone of the mom with whom I shared that her children were unsafe.

But I am only victim to myself. I am victim to my thoughts. When I provide the compassion and validation that I need, it doesn’t matter whether or not it comes from external sources. Of course it’s nice to receive it when I reach out for help. But when I do reach out, I need to expect that people will respond with their own agendas, and that does not necessarily include my well being.

I have the choice to focus on the 10 emails that said “thanks for organizing”, “awesome” “you’re the best” rather than join the pity party of the one that felt “let down”.

And I realize that when someone lashes out at me, that same someone is feeling inadequate and it has nothing to do with me.

When I am grounded, when I provide validation to myself, when I am not affected by the words and behaviors of others, I am victor. Yet when I am unsteady, reaching out, feeling vulnerable, the tiniest wind seems to knock me down. These don’t need to be mutually exclusive. My goal for myself is to find a way to validate myself within a vulnerability, regardless of how grounded I feel.

So I leave myself with this: If I had to do it all over again, how would I do it differently?

To begin with, I would get enough sleep. Everything seems to function, everything is more manageable when I sleep my 8 hours.

In a place of well-being I wouldn't reach out to passive aggressive people for support. This same person has previously tread upon my wounded feelings and provided invalidation. Why would I do that to myself, AGAIN? I would acknowledge the difficulty and the magnitude of the decision I needed to make without the judgement and anxiety.

In a place of well-being I would receive my emails without emotion.

In a place of well-being I may find the compassion to say to screaming mom “I remember when my boys were little. It’s so hard to keep them in your line of vision all the time”... or something else that doesn't include me being shocked and taken aback.

I hope I remember to apply all this because next time can't be too far away...

To good health,

Chana

Mushroom Induced Mania

2011-12-11T19:00:00.000-05:00

I’m fortunate to be one of the 16,000 exclusive members of the Park Slope Food Coop. I feel a little less fortunate when my monthly work shift coincides with a religious holiday and I have to scramble to find a replacement, but for the most part I really love the Coop. Like everything else in life it has its pros and cons. I’ll name just a few. Pro: lots of like minded people. Con: lots of self righteous people. Does that mean I’m self righteous? Hope not. Con: some communist inspired red tape. Pro: the most delectable selection of affordable organic produce. Which brings me to my Thursday shop at the coop among a vunderbar variety of mushrooms.

I can’t just take a few. I’ll have to try them all. So here we have some portobella, shitake, maitake, king trumpet, oyster, chanterelle, bunashimeji and bunapi. (I did leave some mushrooms at the coop. There were cute little enoki mushrooms, but those came from Korea. I’m not buying food that comes from Korea. Sorry.)

Left: King Trumpets (top and bottom) Right: maitake - top, shitake - bottom

I’m a little bit embarrassed to say that I came home with approximately $42 worth of fungus.
I may be exaggerating. It might just have been closer to the $50 mark, but $42 could be interpreted as $40 and that just seems a little less daunting.

Chanterelles Oysters

So what do we do with this many shrooms? Considering that winter is upon us, with a vengeance at that, this is really a no brainer. Soup. To be quite frank, I’d probably choose soup in any season. But with today having been the turning point from the autumn that would never end (yes I remember the freak snow storm in October) and a few delightful days of spring, soup seems justified. Mushroom soup it is.

bunashimeji bunapi

As with most of my soups, I start with chopping some onions. Sauté them in olive oil.

just a friendly reminder that all these pix were taken with our super duper delightful canon 60D

chopped shitakes

I chop my many mushrooms and add them to the pot. The beefier mushrooms go in first, like portobella and chanterelle. I add the shitake, maitake, trumpets and oyster and let them cook down. The smell of mushrooms cooking really can induce a state of mania. When the mushrooms have released lots of liquid and have started to color I add the more gentle beech mushrooms. (Bunashimeji are beech mushrooms and bunapi are the white beech mushrooms.)

When all the mushrooms are somewhat softened, I add water to cover the mushrooms and couple of inches more.

steaming, oh yeah

After a half hour of a gentle, rolling boil I add the seasoning. It's a very simple seasoning, because the broth is rich with wonderful flavors of the mushroom varieties.
I add sea salt, freshly cracked pepper, a little paprika and some fresh dill.

chopped dill

Give it a quick stir so that the flavors blend and spoon it out.

So, I clearly have a hard time choosing. Mushrooms, Pictures, Shoes, Lipstick. GULP

The bright side. Always look at the bright side. I'm consistent. Woohoo.

... and that's my mushroom soup. I really like the rich earthy broth. Best of all, it's a little different every time.

- Sometimes I cook up some unhulled barley and add that too.

- I don't measure the mushrooms.

- The available varieties differ. Lobster mushrooms make a great addition. They weren't available this time around. Good thing there were enough other distractions...

mushroom fest

To good health, good soup and keeping warm,

Chana

Stating the Obvious

2011-12-06T18:34:00.001-05:00

Just want to point out the obvious. Your comments are valuable. When someone relates to something I've shared and makes the effort to comment, I am grateful.

In the particular case of my previous post - food as victory - this experience would not have been possible without a comment on a previous post.

I know that many of you read my blog. Some of you mention it in an email. Some of you hit "Like". Some of you feel a rush of familiarity and relief that you're not the only one. Some of you will say something when you pass me in the street. Some of you are thinking how weird it is that you know this much about me, but all in blog form. And then there are the exclusive few that comment.

Thank you to those that do. Your feedback is much appreciated. And to the rest of you. Drop a line. Get out of your comfort zone. Relate. Tell me what you're really thinking.

To good health,

Chana

Food as Victory. OUCH.

2011-12-04T10:56:00.001-05:00

Thanks to Chanale's comment on a previous post, I borrowed the book “Women, Food and God” by Geneen Roth from the library. The writing in this book found its rapid way into my soul. It’s funny and moving, extraordinary in its simplicity. This author is a real person who acknowledges real life issues in a very appealing way. In short, it spoke to me. Loud and clear.

My post on Eating Mindfully was an early part in my journey of awareness and my eating habits. Not a totally committed journey, unfortunately. I need lots of reminders, and while I had this brief thought of hanging up posters all over my kitchen and dining room that said “think, taste, eat”, ...I don’t live in a food camp and I am a little vain... Poster idea scratched.

Back to the book. I borrowed the book from the library and it arrived just in time for me to leave on a mini getaway. I took it with me to a lovely spa hotel in North Jersey and read the first 20 pages soon after I got there. There’s a reason for everything, but let me say, it was a really good time for me to be re-inspired to eat mindfully. I had way too much food with me and was grateful for the reminder to eat in a way that was respectful to my body.

I voiced a minor complaint at the front desk and the manager I spoke to sounded rather patronizing. I walked off in a huff and decided it wasn’t worth my effort. I heard her calling after me and chose to keep going. I made it into the elevator, pressed the button and the door closed. She was fast enough, sigh, and the door reopened.

Ms. Manager apologized for my unhappiness and I used the opportunity to explain myself. She offered me a discount on the room rate and I accepted. She also offered an upgrade for a return visit. I thanked her.

The elevator opened on my floor and I exited feeling victorious. I walked into my room and reached for food. My hand dropped, instantly. I had just finished a big breakfast. I recognized that I was not hungry. I was feeling victorious. I removed myself from that food situation and pulled out a pen and paper. The untold truths had to be just a few pen scratches away.

Why do I associate food with victory?

Back to the front desk. I wasn’t actually asking for something. I just wanted to be validated. Why then am I feeling victorious? I didn’t even get what I wanted. I allowed myself to be consoled by a thing, money in this case, when what I wanted was validation. My emotional need was not met, I was just handed a distraction. Could that be the reason I reached for food? Ouch.

Either way, I am glad that I didn’t eat. Glad I got some money back. Glad that I’m capable of validating myself.

Very grateful to Chanale for recommending the book, Geneen for writing it, the library for making it available just in time and to myself for maintaining the awareness needed to not eat unconsciously.

I am hereby resolving to read something every day about mindful eating. It’s not the knowledge that I’m lacking, but the constant reminder and inspiration. Nothing too long, even just a page or a quote or something. To start, I ordered a copy of this book on Amazon. I have taken note of a number of websites devoted to mindful eating. And I can read my own writing. I realize that I have everything I need, I just have to tap into it.

To good health,

Chana

Letting Go Takes Love

2011-11-27T07:40:00.001-05:00

I lean over to kiss my son and he pulls away. My eyes well and my heart constricts. He’s a day shy of his thirteenth birthday. He’s been avoiding physical affection for a year now, but it doesn’t get easier for this momma, who just wants to hug and kiss her little boy. Little boy. Wouldn’t he like to hear me say this, my boy-man...

It’s hard for me to believe he’s turning thirteen. Wasn’t it yesterday that I was tripping over lego and matchbox cars and now four of my sons wear black hats. My husband and sons make half a minyan. I get a little emotional about these milestones. Just a little? I become a weepy mess.

My oldest son turned eighteen this past spring. I spent his entire birthday crying. My friend was hosting a bar mitzva party that night and it took an hour of laying in bed with cucumbers on my eyes for the swelling to come down enough for me to apply some eye makeup. What’s so hard about eighteen? Some people celebrate their children’s eighteenth birthday.

I can’t believe they’re all grown up. It’s what we pray for, that our children grow up happy and healthy. We wait for these milestones and somehow they come and I feel like they hit me, really hard, out of left field. Whack. It feels so final, this growing up. I want a retake. I didn’t do it all the way I wanted to. I wanted to do better. They deserved better. I haven’t always exercised all the patience I possess. I haven’t always listened completely. But wait. Look at these kids. They’re great. They turned out fine. More than fine. They are finding their way in their journey of life. Discovering their true selves. Without me.

I’ve been entrusted with these precious souls and they are wholly dependent on me for the first part of their lives and as they grow up and move away from me, slowly, so slowly, I don’t realize it’s happening, but then suddenly, a milestone, and I reflect on their lives and realize that they don’t belong to me. That they never did. A part of me lives in them but they belong to themselves. They have no idea what a stronghold they have on my heart.

So a makeup artist will come and I’ll ask her to waterproof my face. My friends and relatives will join us to celebrate, and sure, I’ll be happy and proud, but that won’t stop me from crying, my heart from breaking, or from feeling like an essential part of me is slowly slipping away, out of my grasp.

In the meantime, I’ll be grateful for a four year old that climbs all over me, plants hundreds of kisses all over my body and says “I love you” with such intensity. I will allow myself this sweet denial and refuse to believe that one day she too will be a teenager. I am still tripping over things, but now I'm tripping over dolls and shoes and ipod wires and other electronic accessories. And I know that my bar mitzva boy will come around. It may take a few months, or a little longer, but I'm pretty confident that within the next year he'll find that it's not so bad to give your mother a hug and kiss or at least tolerate her affection.

I will continuously thank G-d for entrusting me with this gift, with these cherished souls. I will persevere as I embrace this exquisite pain of motherhood, in which I do my best to hand my beautiful children the keys to my heart and the tools they need to leave me.

Chana

PS This poem brings me great comfort. Me friend Elana shared it with me. I would love to find the author and share my personal gratitude.

Letting Go Takes Love

To let go does not mean to stop caring,
it means I can't ...do it for someone else.
To let go is not to cut myself off,
it's the realization I can't control another.
To let go is not to enable,
but allow learning from natural consequences.
To let go is to admit powerlessness, which means
the outcome is not in my hands.
To let go is not to try to change or blame another,
it's to make the most of myself.
To let go is not to care for,
but to care about.
To let go is not to fix,
but to be supportive.
To let go is not to judge,
but to allow another to be a human being.
To let go is not to be in the middle arranging all the outcomes,
but to allow others to affect their destinies.
To let go is not to be protective,
it's to permit another to face reality.
To let go is not to deny,
but to accept.
To let go is not to nag, scold or argue,
but instead to search out my own shortcomings and correct them.
To let go is not to adjust everything to my desires,
but to take each day as it comes and cherish myself in it.
To let go is not to criticize or regulate anybody,
but to try to become what I dream I can be.
To let go is not to regret the past,
but to grow and live for the future.

To let go is to fear less and love more
Remember: The time to love is short

~ Author Unknown

Chanuka Teaser

2011-11-22T06:24:00.001-05:00

My kids made these a few years ago. Developed the recipe and all. Back in the day before our super duper canon 60d. Maybe if I'm good they'll make them again. These are dangerous donuts. Maybe if I'm really good they'll share their recipe too.

Accepting What Is

2011-11-20T12:40:00.001-05:00

A number of fair weather friends that find themselves transplanted to the Northeast have been lamenting the inevitable winter. I relate. While I’ve been raised in this climate, I am inherently summer. I crave the sun, the sand, the water - you’ve heard me carry on about this. When I hear the story of Avrohom’s search I understand why he thought of the sun.

The winter brings me down. I feel crippled by the frost. The cold, dry air burns my lungs and I feel as though there is not enough oxygen in the world. I layer and bundle up but there is a core part of me that can’t get warm enough. I come in from the outside and stand in a hot shower and cry. The water is so hot, it’s burning my skin, but deep inside I’m still cold. It’s long and miserable, this winter. It feels like it never ends. I cannot get comfortable in this cold. I am handicapped by this season.

I have spent the last year working on accepting what is. It’s been a trip, this journey of life, recognizing that I am not in control. Accepting people, situations, myself. Why is it so hard to accept the weather?

ac·cept·ance/akˈseptəns/
Noun. The action of consenting to receive or undertake something offered.

In his book The Happiness Trap, Dr Russ Harris writes:
“Acceptance does not mean ‘putting up with’ or resigning yourself to anything. Acceptance is about embracing life, not merely tolerating it. Acceptance literally means ‘taking what is offered’. It doesn’t mean giving up or admitting defeat; it doesn’t mean just gritting your teeth and bearing it. It means fully opening yourself to your present reality – acknowledging how it is, right here and now and letting go of the struggle with life as it is in this moment”

This paragraph really speaks to me. Acceptance, for me, has become breathing into a moment. Acceptance is recognizing that life happens, that G-d has a plan for us all, that we are mere puppets in the master plan. Accepting is acknowledging that what’s meant to be happens, every time. Even when I cannot fathom. Even when I am uncomfortable, sad, angry, or frustrated.

I make a decision to accept or resist. When I am being honest, I can accept and acknowledge the truth. Even if I dislike it. I accept what is because it’s my reality. When I struggle or deny the truth, I shut myself out. This denial, this struggle, this resistance, it’s me preventing myself from moving forward.

FYI, It’s not just the obviously difficult things that I resist, like winter and traffic and arrogance and stench. I resist good things too. It’s hard for me to accept help, compliments, my talents and abilities. But they are also reality. I have forgone many a good thing in this spirit of resistance. It does not serve me well.

I am trying to feel and process. To learn from these experiences, from these realities. I accept that I have not treated myself as best as I could. I resolve to do better. I am learning to recognize feelings of resentment and resistance. I notice that when I feel resentful or resistant, I tighten up inside, my head hurts and I want to avoid everything. I am crippling myself.

I liberate myself when I accept myself, another or a situation that I don’t like.

This winter I am determined to accept the reality. The cold will come and I will not fight it. I will not handicap myself. I may not yet embrace it, and I don’t have to, but I will choose to accept it, because that is what is real.

To keeping warm and accepting what is,

Chana

PS. Some exercises that help me get past resistance and into acceptance:

1. Sitting back in a chair with my feet firmly on the ground, I put my hand onto my chest and breathe. I inhale kindness and compassion and I exhale denial, resistance and anything I don’t need. It’s hard to maintain resentment while inhaling compassion.

When I practice this regularly I am able to envision this being grounded, even if I’m running or engaged in another activity. Doing the physical activity is always more beneficial but the imagery works - provided that I’m in practice.

2. Utilizing the Serenity Prayer - G-d, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.

3. When all else fails, or I can’t seem to get it together, I reach out for help. That’s a big step for me and one that I’m especially proud of.

4. Byron Katie - TheWork.com. Many inspirations available there.

Sweet Potatoes. Sweet.

2011-11-17T08:00:00.000-05:00

japanese sweet potatoes - photo compliments of google images

If I had to name my favorite root vegetable, it would have to be the sweet potato. They're, well, sweet. Dense. Satisfying. Then there's the Japanese sweet potato. A little less sweet. More dense. More satisfying. Plus a chestnut-like flavor. This oriental variety has a reddish skin and a creamy white color on the inside.

There are many creative things people do with sweet potatoes. I'm frequently inspired by beautiful sweet potato recipes, but mostly I prefer them simply roasted. A sweet potato, in its jacket, straight out of the oven on a cold winter day... comfort.

I usually peel & chop a variety of sweet potatoes (japanese & garnet are my favorite), and ask them how they'd like to be seasoned.

Just checking if you're still reading. I might be weird, but I don't talk to my sweet potatoes.
Sometimes I add chopped garlic and rosemary.

my super duper canon 60d hard at work

Drizzle with olive oil, sprinkle with salt, and lay them flat on a baking sheet.

Roast them at 400 until I see some brown edges - usually about 1/2 hour.

Try not to eat them all by myself.

Do you ever find yourself talking to your vegetables?
Would you like to see some other sweet potato recipes?
What are your favorite things to do with sweet potatoes?

To good health,

Chana

Roasted with olive oil, salt and just a smidgen of paprika

DIY Olives - Part 1 of a series

2011-11-13T10:36:00.001-05:00

Virgin America had this great sale over the summer that came right at the same time as a few dollars in our bank account. We jumped on that and booked tickets to spend Sukkos in Rancho Mirage, California with family out there. There were many benefits to spending time in Cali at the end of October. Extending the summer, for one. Spending time with relatives on their turf. If I may add, relatives who have olive trees in their backyard.

I envisioned a blog post with videos and pictures of my sun-kissed kids filling buckets of olives. I planned a blog mini-series of the olive curing process. Nice planning. We arrived in California to find bare trees. Lots of sun, no clouds and no olives. Plan A, out the window.

Comes Plan B, I googled olive picking in the surrounding area and found an Olive and Wine Fair in Cherry Valley - on the very last day of our trip. It sounded great. They offered olive picking, olive oil products, a farmers market (you know how obsessed I am with farmers markets....) live music, and other options that didn't include us like wine and food. We looked at a map, found it to be on the way to the airport, and planned to leave early enough to take olives home with us.

Whew, olives out of the way. We had a lovely sukkos, enjoyed the very hot weather, good company and food, a resort quality pool at a friend's house, and overall a great getaway.

On leaving day we packed up, left early enough to fill up on olives and headed out. We arrived at a festival that was high spirited and lively. We walked around from booth to booth and searched, in vain, for olive picking. There were some lovely olive trees, but alas, they were bare. At the olive press booth, they were selling olive presses for $998, but no fresh, raw olives. Plan B, out the window.

We ordered olives online.
They arrived on Friday. The bell rang and USPS unceremoniously dropped the box at the door and disappeared before I got there. A little anti climactic, wouldn't you think?

- Opening the door and finding one lone box of olives, sitting there. But olives we have. And the process has begun. And I am sharing it with you.

The olives have arrived, the olives have arrived
(think "the Russians are coming, the Russians are coming).

Arrived indeed. It's Friday afternoon and there are now 10 pounds of olives in a box that need to be processed. With Shabbos starting at 4:24, dare I put these away till after Shabbos? I don't think the choice is actually mine.

Note the great cutting knife we use.

now if I could only get my hands on some olives.....

The olive process is long and tedious. It involves months of patience, something that is hard to come by in this day and age. Raw olives are very bitter. Olives are soaked in water and the bitterness leaches out. The water needs to be changed very frequently. It takes months until the olives are no longer bitter and ready for seasoning.

Step 1: Get your olives into a bowl.

I actually have 42 pictures of this process. My super duper canon 60d allows me to do that and oh so much more.
Aren't you glad I chose 6?

Step 2:
Pick through and rinse.

Step 3: Fill jars/containers that you can spare for the next many months.

It's an hour left to Shabbos, "the day is young...."
Can I go off on a little tangent here?
Pinny (of the Über-Talented, of Pinny's Perfect Pickles, of Falafel experiments, of sourdough bread, of father to my children, of husband extraordinaire who keeps me on my toes) has this great habit of doing things on Friday afternoons that have nothing to do with Shabbos.

For example: Back in the day when we used to have a fish tank, Friday was the day he chose for cleaning the fish tank.

A few years later he was growing a veggie garden, and yes, Friday was the day he spent the most time in the garden. If I may add, Friday afternoon, after the floor was mopped and the bathroom cleaned, he would come in muddy and sweaty and happy.

It's the first Friday back on Standard Time, which I love.
I would not have chosen this day/time as olive processing, but who asked me?

Step 4: Leave jars on the counter, near the sink, in the way of everything, for the next 6 months.

What comes after this is rinse, soak and repeat, many times over.

I'm thinking to have a monthly olive post until they're ready, but if anything exciting happens in between, I'll be sure to update you first.

Would like to give a shout out to Chanale Fellig Harrel, of 'Chanale' for sharing some blog photo tips, and for inspiring me to get this post out of my head and into a blog. I'm hoping your drive is contagious.

To good health and an abundance of patience,

Chana

PS. Part 2 of D.I.Y. Olives here.

Forgiveness

2011-10-04T11:35:00.000-04:00

It's hard to forgive, because to forgive is to let go. Letting go of my resentment, bitterness, outrage, fury, indignation. I tell myself that I have the right to be upset. My boundaries have been violated. I need to stick up for myself. It’s a good thing that I’m expressing rather than suppressing my feelings. How dare anyone treat me like that? These sentiments stew and evolve and I experience grief and torment.

The situation that hurt me is no longer current, yet I offer a generous space in my head and my heart to these negative thoughts and feelings. By harboring feelings of resentment and despair, I am hurting myself. When I am in this place, I shut out positive opportunities and interactions. I am less likely to reach out to another, less likely to accept help or feel gratitude. This negativity grows like mold and creeps into cracks and crevices deep inside me. It takes over my entire being, my mind, my spirit, my soul.

I recognize and validate my hurt. I have been wronged by another. This experience is a stumbling block that can bring me to my knees. This experience is a stepping stone from which I can learn and grow. Choosing to retain my stronghold on this pain is me inflicting pain upon myself. Choosing to forgive gives me the ability to rise above the situation. To experience it without emotion and judgment. To recognize the many lessons I still need to learn.

Forgiveness does not deny, excuse or tolerate the wrongs. Forgiveness is my gift to myself. I remove the shackles that bind me. I allow myself to let go and create space for the joy in my life. I no longer hold on to something that does not serve me.

It’s the season of forgiving. Asking for forgiveness. Praying for forgiveness. Offering forgiveness. Accepting forgiveness.

To tapping into the strength and courage necessary to forgive,

Chana

Moving Day

2011-09-15T15:36:00.000-04:00

J-WHO, my neglected child, has just moved to a new Facebook page. Would you do me a personal favor and like it? If you asked me to like your page, you know I would.

What is J-WHO? You read my blog and you don't know what J-WHO is?

J-WHO is an organization that Shayna and I started. Its primary purpose is to educate women in our community about different health options that are available to us. It provides an opportunity for all of us to think and make decisions, rather than blindly follow.

We do this by hosting events that incorporate different practitioners and professionals. They share valuable information and we get to hang out with some pretty cool women.

The information shared is generally interesting, frequently interactive, sometimes controversial and always fun.
So go ahead and like us. You'll be glad you did.

Looking forward to greeting you at a J-WHO event soon.

Chana

so long summer

2011-09-06T18:54:00.000-04:00

so long froggel

It's that bittersweet time of the year. I'm sad that the summer is over.
I love the summer, the pool, the farmers market, the sun. I love the ocean, the sand and drinking margaritas. I haven't been to the beach or had a mixed drink in a long time (a girl can dream), but I like the way that sounds - and it's the association that I love. I'm not a fan of the cold. At all. Although I do appreciate that apples need 100 days of frost to bear fruit.

So the bittersweet... I'm hopeful about the new year, new opportunities, a fresh clean slate.

This summer we made a tough decision about taking our boys out the school they've been attending since kindergarten. Pinny and I have come to a place where we want something more for our children. We want them in a kind and gentle environment. We want them in an environment that promotes respect - respect of others and respect of self.

While we realized, years ago, that their old yeshiva wasn't the ideal place, we were kind of complacent about the whole thing. After all, there are another 1500 kids "in the system" that are going through the same thing and surviving.

so long sweet summer plums

~~Surviving~~. Not good enough. No more complacency at the Lews. The comfort of complacency is actually a form of denial. There is no authenticity in complacency - more of a numbing of the feelings. We have come out of our anesthesia. We are in the process of recovery. We will not settle. We are real people, with real kids, that have real feelings and deserve to be recognized as the incredible individuals they are.

So for now, while we sadly say goodbye to our ducks, summer sisters, swimming pool, bonfires and all the other wonderful things that make up our summer experience, we are hopeful about the new year, a new school, new opportunities and new affirmations.

To recovering from complacency,

Chana

PS My boys came home from their first day of school and said "Our first day of school and nobody screamed at us, could you believe it"? Thank you G-d for making this happen for us.

Kabbalah of Pickles

2011-08-28T20:54:00.002-04:00

ready for storage. taken with our super duper canon 60d

Pickle making has been an essential part of our summer experience for the last 7 years. I remember back in the early days, returning from the farmer's market with just a few bags of fruit and vegetables (nothing like our current habits) and Pinny taking all the cucumbers and pickling them. It was a tug of war, I wanted cucumbers for salads, he wanted to experiment. So I started buying more cucumbers and he thought he had more to experiment with. It's been a struggle, but we have reached a happy medium, where he now asks me "have I left enough for you?" We are so grown up, Pinny and I. Also helpful is that I now purchase many, many cucumbers.

persians

In a similar fashion to our falafel journey, pickle making didn't come easy. The (failed) attempts resulted in pickles that had too much salt, not enough salt, wouldn't sour, were way too spicy or tasted just plain weird. What has evolved (if I may) is the perfect pickle. Crunchy, salty, sour.

How to make a 1/2 gallon of Pinny's Perfect Pickles:
10-15 cucumbers - depending on the size. Kirby or Persian cucumbers work best
2 tablespoons coarse sea salt
2-3 garlic cloves, sliced
1/2 teaspoon whole peppercorns
1 sprig fresh dill
1/4 teaspoon coriander seed
1-2 fresh bay leaves
1 jalapeno pepper
water

garlic

Pinny of Pinny's Perfect Pickles

Directions: Place salt, garlic, dill and spices in a jar. Add cucumbers. Fill with water. Seal well.

Variations: Add carrots, turnips, whole green tomatoes, peeled and sliced lemon (not too much)

Teeny tiny tips and other points from Pinny:
* Buy the freshest cucumbers you can find. If there's a little sticker on them that says Product of Mexico, that won't do (unless of course, you live in Mexico). Farmers Markets are a great source (for markets in the US click here), but if you go into a supermarket during cucumber season, ask the produce manager for locally grown cucumbers.

* 1/2 gallon Ball jars are great for pickling.
* Pickles don't need cooking. Many recipes call for cooking, but Pinny's Perfect Pickles don't.
* Pickles don't need vinegar. The sour flavor is naturally developed.
* Refrigerate pickles after opening. (don't refrigerate earlier)
* When pickling a cucumber in salt, you are essentially encouraging the pickle to ferment. The salt preserves the pickles.
* Fill the jar with water till it's overflowing and seal well - this is as close to airtight as you get.
* Don't use pickling spices! Pickling spices have a very distinct flavor that don't belong in our pickles.
* Don't think of eating them until they've pickled for 3-4 weeks, but a few months is all the better.

a summer worth of pickles. (we've already enjoyed some)

Happy Pickling!

-Chana

PS. This post made possible by the efforts of many. Thanks first to Pinny Lew, Pickle Maker Extraordinaire (among his many talents), who tries and tries and never gives up. Also, for being such a great sport and letting me post a wacky picture of you. Thanks to Cheved for taking some of the pix for this post, and to Zevi for the title. I'm surrounded by talent!

The Call of MY Shofar

2011-08-26T10:47:00.000-04:00

Many have asked about my experience at Call of the Shofar (“but what did you DO there”). My experience was unlike anybody else’s - but then, everyone had their own experience.

Call of the Shofar was an opportunity for me to connect with my intimate self. Many gentle reminders came to think with my soul and not with my brain. It was a great effort for me, turning off my logical brain – inducing the state of submission that was needed to tap into the spiritual, intuitive part of myself. There was nothing shocking or earth shattering about my discoveries. Instead there was a nurturing and supportive environment where I could face myself, my hopes and dreams, my demons.

I tapped into a part of myself that’s generally under wraps. Mummified, really. This part of me, in case you’re wondering, is my integrity. My authenticity. Not that I’ve been living a lie, but I haven’t been so honest with the world, not even with myself.

Sarcasm has been a good friend of mine. Well, I used Sarcasm to mask my feelings, and Sarcasm controlled me. My sarcasm was a result of resentment and judgment. It was a way for me to feel sharp and angry, rather than sad or wounded. In my perception, I was choosing to emanate an image of strength over vulnerability. Vulnerability was weak, the lesser, the underdog, the victim – certainly not the person I was.

I’m wondering where this association of vulnerability and helplessness stems from. Maybe it’s because I’ve seen strong people abuse their power over weaker people – physically, emotionally, socially, religiously and financially.

How can authenticity exist without vulnerability? I don’t think it can. I’m learning that there is strength in vulnerability. The strength that comes with truth; with being genuine with myself. I may want to run away from the sadness I feel, but I desperately want to stay in touch with my truth. My truth is that I sometimes feel inadequate and ashamed and overwhelmed and vulnerable. I can allow myself to feel these feelings and the sensations they bring and not worry about the behaviors, words or judgments of others.

My safety, my self-worth is not dependent on nor is it affected by others, only on my own perception of my own reality.

I did a lot of writing in between sessions. Most of this post stems from writing that came to me early on in the program, along with the following letter I wrote for my daughters. It’s called “What I want for you”. The reason I’m sharing it is because it’s ultimately what I want for all of us.

To my beautiful little girl, I love you so much.

What I want for you:

I want for you to find love, but first within yourself.

I want for you to look in the mirror and see beauty, but more than that, when you reflect upon your inner self, to see how beautiful and special you are.

I want for you to feel good about decisions you make and to own those feelings. Don’t let anyone else claim ownership to your decisions or to your feelings.

I want for you to respect yourself. If a little red flag goes off in your mind, or your stomach feels queasy, pay attention. Trust your intuition; it will save your life. Your intuition talks to you through many different parts of your body and soul. Try to be open to them all.

I want for you to ask for help when you need it.

I want for you to feel safe.

I want for you to never be ashamed.

I want for you to believe in your abilities.

I want for you to always be honest, especially with yourself.

I want for you to know that the love I feel for you is bigger than words, and it hurts so much, but I wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world.

I want for you to always feel that there is a Higher Power watching over you.

I want for you to raise your families with these examples, not just with the words.

I want for you, someday, to be able to say, my mommy lived like this.

...............

Sharing this is a big step for me. I’m leapfrogging from acknowledging these thoughts, to putting them on paper, to publicizing them. I’m claiming ownership to my feelings. When I am true to myself I can be true to the world. I don’t need small talk or distractions. I need myself and my feelings. I accept myself the way I am, imperfections and all. I recognize my qualities, my abilities, my achievements. I am endurance. I am commitment. I am capable. I am vulnerable. I am honest. I am good. I am safe. I am free.

…So that was my Call of the Shofar,

Chana

Cabinet Peeking

2011-08-14T11:47:00.003-04:00

taken with our super duper canon 60d

Do you ever want to peek into people's kitchen cabinets? Here's a peek into mine.

Top row left to right: turmeric, cumin seeds, himalayan rock salt, coriander seeds, zante currants, raw pumpkin seeds.

2nd row front, left to right: dried cherry hot peppers, cocoa powder, kombu, dried chili peppers, prunes, slivered almonds.

2nd row back, left to right: black salt, walnuts, black sesame seeds, dried tart cherries, raw macadamias.

3rd row front, left to right: shredded coconut, pecans, raw cacao beans, sunflower seeds, sea salt, hazelnuts.

3rd row back, left to right:
sliced almonds, brazil nuts, sesame seeds, adzuki beans, black beans, poppy seeds.

Bottom row front, left to right:
green lentils, raw almonds, garbanzo beans, raw buckwheat, yellow split peas.

Bottom row back, left to right:
quinoa, brown rice, dates, basmati rice, oats.

There you have it.
What were you hoping to find?

To satisfying our curiosities,

Chana

Falafel Journey

2011-08-07T12:46:00.007-04:00

Mediterranean spread, entirely homemade. Taken with our super duper canon 60d

This was such a loaded dinner, I don't know where to start... Starting at the beginning sounds right, but not sure where the beginning is. The beginning of time? The beginning of the process? Which process?
I guess this was about falafel, and everything else was built around that. We'll start with falafel.

We really like the occasional falafel. It's rather hard to find without wheat and other commercial additives so quite a few years ago, Pinny went on a falafel making journey. To be completely honest, it was not a journey I encouraged or even supported. Lots of messes were made. Many recipes were tried that simply didn't work. Lots of 'wasted' ingredients, gallons of organic extra virgin olive oil were tossed. The flavor was really good, but the texture was off.

When the perfect recipe was finally developed, it proved worth the hassle. This is the way falafel is supposed to taste. What made the big difference? Uncooked chick peas. You read correctly. Don't cook the beans.

soaked and sprouting

Olives, picked by Pinny & Zalman
October 2010 in Arizona

Making falafel is somewhat of a "patchke". You need to start soaking the garbanzos a day and a half in advance (at the minimum). Drain and rinse and refill a few times. After adequate soaking (24 hour minimum) the beans are drained and left to start sprouting. The beans pictured here soaked for about 28 hours. They drained for at least 6 hours. You can see the tiny tails as the sprout starts to develop.

The fixings are also mess making. Pita, hummus, tahini, Israeli salad, pickles, olives, hot sauce, fries. None of these are too time consuming, but making them all at the same time... that's a serious commitment. The pickles and olives were made a while ago. (There will be a post on homemade pickles coming soon - I promise. Olives might be a while... but will happen eventually.)

tahini

The raw tahini had been prepared earlier. I make a batch every month or so. Hmmm, does that call for its own blog post? The short of it: Using a quality food processor like cuisinart (a lesser motor will burn out), drop in a pound or two of sesame seeds. Turn your machine on and walk away. The process takes about 10-15 minutes. Scrape down the sides every few minutes. Find something else to do in between because watching your sesame seeds become sesame paste is kinda boring and not the most efficient usage of time. When the oils are released, the paste will get hot and steam will come out the top of your food processor. This is totally normal. When it's smooth and white you have raw tahini. You can easily purchase unprocessed tahini, but my friend Yaakov Citrin introduced me to the process and I've since made my own. I add some garlic, water, cumin and lemon juice. Voila, tahini.

The hummus was also made earlier in the week. I freshened it up by browning some sliced almonds in olive oil. Drizzled my hummus with olive oil, cumin and a tiny sprinkle of paprika, topped with the nuts and there's hummus.

The Israeli salad is not so messy, but chopping everything into tiny little pieces was pretty time consuming. I happen to enjoy this process and find the repetitive chopping motion to be very therapeutic. In addition to the chopping therapy, having pretty things on my counter is always helpful. The red and yellow tomatoes combined with persian cukes made for a perfect focal point as I bustled around the kitchen.

My in house bread and dessert chef made the pitas. Levik makes rugelach, pizza, muffins, beautiful cookies and breads. All this talent under my roof, I am incredibly fortunate.

The potatoes were sliced and set to soak in a bowl of salted ice water. They would be fried

after the falafel and missed the group photo. By the time they were ready we had dug into everything and it was, well, messy.

So, back to the falafel process. The recipe:

1 lb. garbanzo beans – soaked and sprouted

1/4 bunch flat leaf parsley

1/2 bunch cilantro

1 onion
1-2 garlic cloves

2 teaspoons cumin

1 tablespoon coriander

2 teaspoons sea salt
1/4 - 1/2 cup water (as needed)

Olive oil for deep frying

Heat oil. Place the onion, garlic, herbs & chick peas into the food processor. Process until well combined, occasionally

scraping down the sides of the bowl. If your mixture seems dry and crumbly add a little water. Pour the batter into a bowl and add the spices.
Wet hands to shape the balls. Drop into hot oil and fry. The balls will rise to the top of the oil and will need to be turned after 2-3 minutes or when the bottoms are browned. Cook for 2 more minutes or until uniformly browned.

Looking at my dinner table filled with beautiful foods that are all homemade gives me a great sense of satisfaction. I didn't do this all myself. My husband did a lot, my kids had their parts and thankfully, I had help for the cleanup.

...The recipe, the history, the fixings. The most frustrating part of this creation is actually getting this blog post up. I have such a hard time getting blogger to place my pictures where I want them. I have a vision of how this blog post should look, but my mode of communicating that vision to blogger feels very limited. Oh well, at least we have great falafel....

To good health,

Chana

PS If anybody has any blogger experience and can offer some tips on how to make posting with pictures less traumatic, please share the wealth.

falafel by pinny lew. photos by our super duper canon 60d

Very Easy Sea Bass Recipe

2011-08-02T14:24:00.001-04:00

taken with our super duper canon 60d

Are you scrambling for fish recipes? This is one of my favorites.
More of an inspiration than a recipe.

tiny flame.

olive oil - more than a coating to the bottom of the pan

sliced garlic - a few cloves

a bunch of cilantro

paprika

jalapeno pepper

sea bass on top. a lil more paprika on fish.

cover tightly

walk away and come back when it smells really good. ( a couple of hours is nice)

variations:

add sliced red peppers

add sliced tomatoes

add cooked chick peas

To good health,

Chana

Caught Making Ketchup

2011-07-27T13:30:00.003-04:00

you say tomato, i say tomahto...
either way, there's a lot of them sitting on my counter

We have not had ketchup in our house in many years. I am not going to go off on a tangent here about the harmful ingredients in popular, mass produced ketchup. Just sharing a recipe that I stumbled upon, my family loved and even impressed my foodie friend John Bernstein who uses ingredients like white balsamic vinegar and truffle oil.

Making this ketchup took a little more time than I would have thought to spend on ketchup, but then there were all these tomatoes sitting on the counter and I was picturing restocking at the farmers market and it's the summer and there are bbq's and I wanted to do something nice for my kiddos and if this isn't a run-on sentence, I don't know what is.

peeled n chopped n ready to go

So, the ketchup:

4 whole cloves
1/4 teaspoon whole allspice
1/4 teaspoon celery seed
1/4 teaspoon chile flakes
1 cinnamon stick (3-inches long)
4 cups peeled & chopped tomatoes
1 large onion, chopped
1 garlic clove, peeled and smashed
1/2 jalapeno, seeded and chopped
1 1/2 teaspoons sea salt
1/2 cup apple cider vinegar
2 tablespoons honey

but alas, the cinnamon stick
did not make the spice blend photo op

1. Place the cloves, allspice, celery seed, chile flakes, and cinnamon stick together in doubled-up cheesecloth - tie at the top.

2. Place the tomatoes, onion, garlic, jalapeno, salt, vinegar, spices and honey in a heavy pot. Cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the onions and peppers are very soft, about 1 hour.

3. Remove and discard the spice bundle. Let the mixture cool slightly and puree.

4. Return to your pot and cook over medium heat, stirring to keep from scorching, until the mixture has thickened and darkened slightly in color, about 30 minutes.

all cooked and ready for the processor

5. Transfer to a glass jar and cool. Cover and refrigerate for at least a few hours to allow the flavors to blend.

white fuzzy looking thing is cheesecloth

my cuisinart gets a daily workout. does yours?

Your homemade ketchup should keep in the fridge for about three weeks - unverified - it was finished pretty quickly.

You can substitute a 28-ounce can of whole peeled tomatoes with their juice for the 4 cups peeled & chopped tomatoes. Doing this would have saved me a significant amount of time, but then I wouldn't have made a dent in my tomato surplus.

could not capture the richness of the color.

guess my super duper canon 60d in not all that super...

My only regret in this process is not having made a double or triple batch. That would have been much more efficient use of my time (and my bumper crop). The yield was a little less than two cups. Simply inadequate as far as the time invested, but absolutely compensated with the full bodied flavor.

To good health,

Chana

Just Biscotti

2011-07-25T11:30:00.004-04:00

biscotti with cacao beans and brazil nuts

Is it possible that I have never posted my biscotti recipe? Could it really be? This recipe is requested by nearly everyone that tries it. I'm a little surprised that I haven't posted it before. I actually went through every blog post to confirm. A little biscotti info before the much coveted recipe. Biscotti means twice baked in Italian. The batter is baked as a loaf, then sliced into cookies and baked again until crisp and dry; hence the name. Pulling out the moisture gives biscotti its very long shelf life. I don't know how long exactly, but its said to keep for years. We've never had the opportunity to test the shelf life as our biscotti flies off the shelf pretty quickly. The original recipe, followed by variations:

brazil nuts

Maple Pecan Biscotti
-2 cups white spelt flour
-¼ cup ground golden flaxseeds
-1 teaspoon baking powder
-pinch of salt
-2 lightly beaten eggs
-½ cup maple syrup
-1 teaspoon vanilla
-½ cup chopped pecans

Preheat oven to 350.

loaves out of the oven

Combine flour, flaxseeds, baking powder & salt. Add the eggs, maple syrup and vanilla. When it's just smooth (don't over mix) add the pecans. You will have a very wet batter. On a cookie sheet lined with baking paper, spoon dough into two logs. Wet hands to help form the log shape. Bake for 25-30 minutes until firm and lightly browned. Allow to cool for 10-15 minutes.

Lower oven temp. to 325.

Slice loaves into ½ inch thick slices.

Lay flat on cookie sheets and return to oven for 10-15 minutes.

The biscotti will still be somewhat soft, but will continue to harden as they cool.

Allow to cool before storing in an airtight jar.

sliced and ready to go back in

whole raw cacao beans

don't forget my super duper canon 60d

Variations:

1. Replace ground flax seeds with a little more flour - about 1/3 cup.

2. Replace pecans with another nut of choice

3. Chocolate Hazelnut - Replace 1/2 cup flour with 1/4 cup cocoa. Replace pecans with hazelnuts.

4. Lemon Poppyseed - add the juice and rind of 1 lemon. Add 3 tablespoons poppy seeds. No nuts here.

5. Cherry Macadamia - add 1/2 cup dried tart cherries and replace pecans with macadamia nuts. This is a dangerous combination. Consider yourself forewarned.

6. Cranberry Pistachio - add 1/2 cup dried cranberries. Replace pecans with pistachios. We get Eden dried cranberries - they are sweetened with apple juice instead of sugar.

7. Chocolate Brazil Nut (pictured here) - add 1/4 cup chopped cacao beans and replace pecans with Brazil nuts.

8. Add 1/4 cup cacao beans to any of the nut variations. Chocolate and biscotti blend really well.
9. Sesame Almond. Add 1/4 cup sesame seeds. Replace the pecans with sliced or slivered almonds. Add 1 teaspoon almond extract. (another personal favorite)

Buon appetito!

Chana