The Cure for Cabin Fever

So long, January. I, for one, am glad to see the back of you. February has the decency to be a shorter month. She also brings us two more minutes a day of light, three by the end if you want to get technical. We Northerners will take it. We steel ourselves against the icy wind and greet a day when temperatures hover around freezing as a sure sign of spring. We hope not to catch the flu or any other winter ailments. But I feel a bout of cabin fever coming on. (Cabin Fever: “A condition that produces restlessness and irritability caused from being in a confined space.”)

The cure, ladies and gents: spring flowers, and of course, chocolate. Try these Rocky Road Cookies to smooth the path to spring. 

It’s out there. I know it is.

A bowlful of comfort: Tricolored lentil soup with Swiss chard

The last few weeks have not been kind. On a global level, and for many people on a personal level, the world has been a cruel place. It is easy to feel helpless in face of such large-scale pain but we do what we have to do. We get up in the morning and look in the mirror and say hello. We might not feel too cheerful, but we smile and fake it. Sometimes faking it works, and our mood lifts. If our troubles loom large, it may take a little more heavy lifting. When troubles appear, the question always comes down to: ‘how much is in my mind and how much is real?’

            I had a conversation with my friend Bruce Rubin the other day, and we were talking about the t.v. show the Dog Whisperer. I haven’t seen too many episodes, but there is one in particular I can recall where the dog in question hurls himself ferociously against a wooden fence every time someone walks past the driveway. Now in this dog’s experience, each time he hurls himself against that fence it has no effect. But does that keep him from repeating the exercise again and again in the course of a day, and getting very worked up about it in the bargain? No, it does not! Bruce pointed out that our minds are a lot like the dogs on that program. They wander about in all sorts of crazy and unfulfilling ways. Our thoughts are out of control. What we forget to do is hold out our finger, just like the dog whisperer, and say, “Stop!”

I am trying to incorporate this lesson. It’s not all that easy to remember it. My mind, disobedient as ever, wants to have its own way. So when troubles arise, I must hold out my finger. Stop! Get a grip. Don’t go there. Is it real? Accept and do what you can do. Don’t go into denial, but take sensible action and move to a better and more real place. Be grateful and count your blessings.

            There is no avoiding the ups and downs. It is part of living, and sadly, some of those ups and downs are seismic in nature. At some point you have to turn off the television because the news is too sad and devastating. You do what you can do: you send resources and prayers to the people in need. Then you go into the kitchen and perform a simple act; you make something really healthy and satisfying. You savor each spoonful and take some to a friend who is hurting. Then you count your blessings again.

Tri-colored Lentil Soup (Vegetarian)

This vegetarian soup is more like a robust stew. It has plenty of flavor—you don’t need any stock which is fine because that makes it fit the new, healthy and clean eating program you’ve probably resolved to take up in the new year. Don’t get too excited about the red lentils, they turn brownish when they are cooked but they’re fun to use nevertheless. I like to use Le Puy green lentils because they hold their shape—they are available at Whole Foods. You can substitute plain ol’ green lentils if you wish. If you can find red chard it will add some color to the soup, along with the greens. This is the kind of soup that you will want to pack up and put in the freezer for a rainy day. That is, once you’ve had your fill of it the first time around.

Serves 8

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 large cloves garlic, finely chopped

1 medium onion, finely chopped

2 teaspoons ground cumin

1 teaspoon dried thyme

1 teaspoon ground coriander

1 tablespoon salt

1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper

2 stalks celery, finely diced (about 1 cup)

2 carrots, peeled and finely diced (about 1 cup)

1 cup green lentils

1 cup red lentils

1 cup yellow split peas

1 bunch Swiss chard (Ruby chard is nice)

Finely grated zest and juice of 1 lemon

2 to 3 rounds of crisply toasted pita bread (white or whole wheat)

1. Heat the oil over medium heat In a large (6 quart) pot until it shimmers. Add the garlic, onions, cumin, thyme, coriander, salt and cayenne pepper. Cook until the onions begin to soften, about 5 minutes. Add the celery and carrots and cook for 2 more minutes. Add the lentils and the 12 cups of water and simmer for 45 minutes.

2. Meanwhile, separate the chard stems from the leaves: stack the chard and slice along either side of the stems. Cut across the stems to make 3/8-inch wide slices. Add the stems to the soup and cook for 10 more minutes.

3. Stack the leaves and cut them in 2-inch wide, long strips. Cut across the strips 1-inch ribbons. Add them to the soup with the lemon zest and juice. Cook for 5 minutes, or until the leaves are wilted. Taste and add more salt if needed. Crumble some toasted pita on top of each soup bowl for garnish.

Total cooking time: about 1 hour

Take The Bitter With The Sweet Broccoli Rabe

Thank God we’ve turned the corner into January. I always look back on December with relief that it’s over. The darkness is waning now, even if for only a few minutes a day. I won’t be tempted to eat one more Christmas cookie. It’s time for clean food. That’s what my friend Judith and I used to call it. There was clean food and there was dirty food. We ate French fries with abandon and then we’d say, ‘Gotta eat some vegetables.’ And then, ‘Technically fries are vegetables.’ In our hearts we knew that clean meant green. But way back then, we’d never heard of broccoli rabe.

           

It’s because broccoli rabe is grown-up food. It has an edge. In other words, it’s a little bitter. Escarole, dandelion greens, endive, frisée, arugula: they’re all for grown-ups. They taste of the earth. They demand an acquired taste, a taste that comes with time. They’re not for sissies raised solely on mashed potatoes.

Their bitterness is like the lines on your face. You earn them: laughing, crying, yawning, squinting, frowning, smirking. A history of eating brings the same kind of experience to your palate. When you’ve lived a little you know you have to take the bitter with the sweet.

Take the Bitter with the Sweet Broccoli Rabe

If you have a very large bunch of broccoli rabe, you may want to pump up the garlic and the raisins. You could also tart this up (literally) with some balsamic vinegar, but I love the unadulterated simplicity of the raisins and slightly bitter broccoli together with no frills. If you do add vinegar, remember that acid turns green vegetables drab and olive-colored quickly, so wait until the last minute.

Serves 4

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 large clove garlic, peeled and thinly sliced

1/4 cup golden raisins

1 large bunch broccoli rabe (rapini)

Salt

Freshly ground black pepper

1. Pour the olive oil into a large (12-inch) skillet and add the garlic and raisins. Set it on the stove, but don’t turn on the heat yet. Fill a large (5 to 6-quart) pot with about 2 inches of water and bring it to a boil over medium heat.

2. Rinse the broccoli rabe and discard any yellowed or discolored leaves. Line up the stems and cut a sliver off the bottom to remove the tired looking ends. Discard the ends. Cut across the stalks, leaves and flowers to make 3-inch lengths.

3. Add a couple of generous pinches of salt to the boiling water and toss in the broccoli rabe. Cook at a low boil for 2 to 4 minutes, until the leaves are wilted and the stalks are crisp-tender. Drain.


4. Meanwhile, turn the heat under the skillet to medium.  As soon as the garlic starts to sizzle and the raisins soften (about one minute or less) add the broccoli rabe to the pan. Remove the pan from the heat, season with salt and pepper, and toss to mix the broccoli with the raisins and garlic . Serve immediately.

KISS (Keep It Simple Stupid) In The New Year: Homemade Applesauce

I decided ahead of time not to make any new year’s resolutions this year, and I’m sticking to my plan. It’s so much easier than sticking to resolutions. Still, not only is it a new year, it is also a new decade, so I have been thinking about the future and how I want it to be different from the past. Not that the past has been bad, mind you. This last decade has been the best ever. I’ve watched my son grow from a 10-year-old sweetie pie, to a man (though still a sweetie pie, he’s now a manly sweetie pie.) In fact, for me, motherhood has been the best job ever. Yet it is a job with a clear-cut expiration date, and I’ve hit it.

So many thoughts have been swirling in my head over the first few days of January that I’m feeling dizzy. It’s like a treadmill of ideas. As soon as you cross out one idea, another one pops up and the list stays the same size. Actually, it keeps growing. I resolved to keep my eye on the list for a while without doing too much editing. As it grew, I saw a pattern. I continue to sit with it, adding and sometimes subtracting. In an effort to simplify, I've identified one over-arching objective for the year that encompasses all the little goals. I was getting hung up on the minutiae.

I am once again pulling out Laura Day’s book The Circle and working through her new one How to Rule the World from Your Couch.  Laura’s books are full of really good tools to stay focused and use all your senses to navigate the steps to lead you where you want to go. (Take a look on Amazon; there's a world of help in them!) So I’m hopeful.  
I’m not going to demand that I stop being a glass-half-empty person, but I am going to demand that I notice it. When the gloom and doom scenarios arise, I am determined to examine them and ask myself if they are true. I’m also going to allow myself to imagine and feel the potential of different, more positive scenarios with all my senses. That’s about as close as I can come to a new year’s resolution.  Only the simple and basic will work for me right now—as simple and basic as the applesauce I am making by the pot-full for the manly sweetie pie while he’s still at home on winter break.

Really Simple Applesauce

Right now, most local New England apples are past their prime, not as crunchy and sweet as they were a few months ago. The Rome apples I used were a tad mushy, but they made superb applesauce with a gorgeous rosy color. This is not so much a recipe as a method. The amounts are simply supplied as guidelines. You need some liquid in the bottom of the pot to keep the apples from scorching. If you happen to have a little cider around, pour about 1/8-inch of it in the bottom of the pot. If not, water will do. Also, a little sugar (white sugar, brown sugar, sucanat or agave syrup) in moderation will brighten the sauce and bring out the apple flavor. By moderation I mean a few tablespoons. Taste and sweeten accordingly.

While I am not a fan of single-purpose gadgets, I have hung on to my food mill through several moves. I acquired it at a yard sale for fifty cents. I could use it for potatoes or other purees, but I don’t. You bet I am glad to have it through most of the winter, though. Without it I would have to peel and core the apples, and I would miss the beauteous pink that cooking them with the skin provides. If you want to invest in one, you can buy this food mill. Or keep your eyes out for one in a second-hand store or garage sale.

For about 10 cups of applesauce

6 pounds apples

About 3/4 cup apple cider or water

1/4 cup Sucanat, agave syrup, brown sugar, or white sugar, more or less

1. Pour about 1/8-inch cider or water into the bottom of a large pot. Quarter the apples and add them to the pot. Cover the pot with a lid and start cooking the apples over medium heat until you hear the sputtering, bubbling sound of the cider coming to a boil at the bottom of the pot, about 5 minutes. Decrease the heat to medium-low and move the lid an inch or two so that it partially covers the pot. After about 10 minutes, check the apples. Fold the firm apples on top under the softened pulp on the bottom of the pot.  Check every once and a while, and push the uncooked apples down into the bubbling pulp.  Cook until all the apples are soft and falling apart, 25 to 35 minutes in all.

2. Place a food mill over a pot or bowl. The job is easiest if the food mill fits snugly over the container it is resting on. If you use a pot, you can grasp the two handles together, and if you do the whole operation at a lower level (in an empty sink, for example) it is even easier. Pass the cooked apples through the food mill in batches and discard the peels and seeds. Taste.  If you think the applesauce needs sweetening, stir in the Sucanat. Pour into clean jars and store in the refrigerator.