Give yourself a break

I made a kick-ass minestrone soup the other night, and instead of beating myself up for not making homemade bread, or biscuits, or cornbread to go with it (why do I think this is necessary when I’ve already made the soup?!?) I bought already-baked cornbread at Whole Foods. This was not cornbread mix in a box, to make at home. It was pre-made, wrapped in plastic, good to go, ready for the table. It even had little jalapenos in it.

It was great.

Why do I so often think I have to do everything by hand in order to make the meal perfect, truly homemade, really authentic? It’s not like my mom didn’t pour pre-made dressing on canned pears and iceberg and call it a salad – a salad that I really liked. And there are plenty of great people who use cream of mushroom soup for casseroles and box cake mixes for desserts on a regular basis. How about those parents who buy packaged cookies and disguise them as freshly baked for the school bake sale? You do what you gotta do.

Except I don’t. Instead, I’m the person who wants to make homemade versions of “store-bought” treats like Hostess Cupcakes and Ho-Hos. I have to make my pie crusts from scratch, as a matter of principle. I feel like a hero if I can turn out something from my kitchen that I’ve kneaded, stirred, rolled, whipped or roasted myself.

Usually I love this. Except when I don’t.

There are times when I look up and it’s way later than it should be for the start of some cooking project or other. Times when I run short of energy or incentive or inspiration. Times when I need to give myself a break.

For those times, I’m learning that in addition to loving the satisfaction of having made it myself, I can also love the shortcuts that make life just a little easier. That cornbread, for instance. It was delicious. 

 

p.s.: This photo is not "homemade," either, I took it from a web site that's even more committed to doing everything yourself than I am. Check it out, these kids are shucking and grinding the corn with a hand crank before they make the bread! Farm to Table.

(Homemade) Minestrone Soup

2 teaspoons olive oil

1 medium-sized onion, chopped
1 tablespoon or more dried oregano (thanks, Simeone, I used some I dried from your mega-harvest!)
4 garlic cloves, minced
3 cups yellow squash, chopped
3 cups zucchini, chopped
1 cup corn kernels (I use frozen, great to have on hand)
3 cans chopped tomato (or 4 cups fresh)
5 to 6 cups veg broth (yes, I make my own! Whenever you’re cutting up veggies, just throw the trimmings (like onion ends, chard and collard stems, celery leaves, carrot stubs) in a Ziploc and keep it in the freezer, adding to it until there is enough to cook up. Then put them in a pot with plenty of water, a cut up onion and maybe a stalk of celery or a carrot, simmer for a while (an hour?), then drain all the veg out, pour into carryout containers in one-cup increments, and freeze. I like to pop out the frozen cup-size chunks and store them in Ziplocs for whenever I need ‘em. If you’re really thinking, you’ll defrost them early in the day – if not, just zap in the microwave. Of course premade is also TOTALLY FINE)
½ to 1 cup dried pasta – I like penne
1-2 cups cooked white beans (yep, I do ‘em from dried. Sometimes. Or just use 1 15.5-oz. can of pre-cooked)
1 bunch fresh chard, chopped (you can use spinach if you prefer, I happened to have chard on hand)
Salt and pepper to taste
Parmesan or Asiago cheese, shredded, for on top

    Heat oil in a soup pot (love my Dutch oven) and add onion. Sauté until soft. Add oregano and garlic, sauté a minute more. Stir in the rest of the veggies, except for tomato, until tender.

    Place 3 cups tomato and 1 cup broth in the blender, process ‘til smooth. Add tomato mix to pot, stir in remaining tomato and broth, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat, and simmer 20 minutes.
    Add pasta and beans, cook another 10 minutes or until pasta is done. Stir in chard, salt and pepper.
    Ladle into bowls and garnish with cheese. Serves 8.

Not your mother's grilled cheese

Grilled cheese always makes me think of my mom making me lunch. It was my favorite: Velveeta from the big, long box, Wonder Bread from the package with the balloons on it, and sliced tomato, served beside a bowl of Campbell’s Condensed Cream of Tomato Soup. I sound like I’ve just stepped out of a 1960s food advertisement.  

Actually, I still love grilled cheese -- it means I’m home – working, usually, but in my own kitchen, taking a break from the deskwork, able to take a few moments to put together lunch.

This is not my mother’s grilled cheese, but it is good. Really good: fully of gooey smoothness against whole-grain heft with a bright hit of fresh tomato and, sometimes, some other veggie tucked in between the bread.

The transformation from Velveeta to, well, healthier (and tastier) starts with the obvious: whole grain bread. Even though the little girl in me is still in love with the Wonder Bread commercial that told me it “Builds Strong Bodies 12 Ways!” and then showed a child magically shooting up a yard stick, getting older and taller instantly! Sadly, Wonder Bread is processed until all the nutritional value of the wheat has been sucked out of it, then supplemented with vitamins that are harder to digest than the original vitamins, minerals and fiber in the raw product. Go figure.

I also go for real cheddar cheese, instead of Velveeta, which is perhaps the poster child of all processed foods. Labeled “pasteurized processed cheese food,” it was a squishy, orange block of something that felt like a cross between butter and cheese, and it was super creamy with a great melting quality. A step away from Cheez Whiz.

I use sharp cheddar now, and mix it with goat cheese to get that same, melty, Velveeta affect. It also adds a more complex flavor  – as if grilled cheese needs complexity.

I’ve kept the sliced tomatoes just as they were in Mom’s grilled cheese, and they really make the sandwich, cutting  the rich cheese and bread combo with a burst of tangy freshness. Once, when I was out of tomatoes, I used leftover mustard greens I’d sautéed at dinner the night before, and the bite they lent was an unexpected and delicious substitute. Thinly sliced apples can work, too, but make sure they’re crisp – mealy ones are just a disappointing substitute that makes me wish for those tomatoes after all.

If I’m lucky, I’m serving up this re-invented grilled cheese with soup, but not Campbell’s, with its corn syrup and mystery “flavorings.” Instead I like a homemade squash soup, or maybe potato or beet. Something thick and rich. I’m still looking for a favorite.

Hold on loosely

There's nothing like a bike ride to shake off the torpor of an all-indoors day, especially in winter. Just before the light is gone (it fades so quickly this time of year), I bundle up, pump up my tires and take off into Sligo Creek Park, trusting that the dim halo of light carved by my bike light will be enough when dusk turns to dark.

There’s something edgy about riding a bike in the dark: You can’t quite see what’s in front of you, but it just keeps on coming. Shadows disappear with the light, erasing dips and ridges on the bike path. To compensate for lost vision, my other senses crank up the volume. I feel the trail, rather than see it, and ride in ready-set-go mode, my body raised slightly off the bike seat, just enough above it so the bike seems to take on a life of its own, moving under me with the slightest of guidance. I clip along fast, exhilarated by each curve and bump, pavement speeding beneath my tires.

And then a hiccup in the trail sends me flying.

It’s my loose grip on the handlebars that saves me: there’s enough give so the bike jostles underneath me without taking me with it, enough control so the bike is still there for me when I regain my balance. I keep my momentum, stay upright – and land hard back on the seat. Ouch. But also, wow. And wheeeee! It’s like surviving my own personal (and very small) roller coaster. I keep pedaling down the trail, laughing at the surprise.

And I think about hanging loose, being flexible, rolling with the punches. If I’d been more rigid, followed the “hold on tight!” advice I’d probably have given my kids, I’d have jammed my wrists and very likely toppled over, scraping my knees, cranking my 51-year-old bones around, maybe worse.

Lesson learned.

Eventually I turn around to head back home, still congratulating myself on my flexibility, considering how a balance of control and quick response and adaptability is relevant not just on the trail but at work, in the family, at home. Then, wham! I go flying off the seat. Again. Same exact bump in the trail, same flight, same hard landing. Same recovery.

 

Next time I'd like to land more softly. I guess I have something more to learn.