humble foods for soothing a tired traveler

there has been homecoming, home leaving, home-getting-back-to and home-with-which-we-will-begin-to-visit-less-frequently. with the summer's whirlwind of social this-and-that, trips, house guests and the like our little pack over here hasn't had its usual high summer equation that combines panes of sunlight, shady patios, sighing aspen leaves, late breakfasts, quietude, painting and book reading to render that deeply nourishing summer sloth that we all look forward to and need.  it sometimes looks like this:

of course we've certainly had more than enough adventures and for that we are grateful and certainly more worldly and wise.

but sometimes we ache for simplicity, solitude and a lack of vagabondage.  and these kinds of times, when we awake late in the morning and spend time slowly pressing coffee and turning records on and off the turntable, the best kind of food is the very plain and the very soft.

these crispy little ingots were inspired by this (as i have previously said) but also from here where their funny little edges and accompanying explanation were the clincher in trying them out. (it's possible that i'm always a sucker for a bright and fierce young woman, living alone and trying to make her way through life through the filter of the kitchen. that seems an almost guaranteed methodology for revelation.)

 

the best part about these, for me at least, is the forgiving nature of this kind of potato cake. you start with a base of mashed potatoes, roll it about in egg and crumbs and fry it. very little can go wrong as the frying is not what cooks the potatoes (as this happy medium of just-right-temperature oil can sometimes evade a kitchen lady despite having her thermometer and somewhat sensitive stove dials). you can get fancy- or not. you could, say, fold in leftover bits of grilled salmon, preserved lemon and tarragon. or browned onions, flecks of cheddar cheese and a good coarse grinding of black pepper. you could more subtly spruce things up with a knifepoint of raw garlic and the finest veil of chopped herbs. ad nauseum. we went the route of digging up the strata of the vegetable bin to those growing things that were in direst need of metamorphosis. and it was a tasty, humble venture. especially with good, velvety scrambled eggs.

infinitely adaptable potato croquettes

(adapted from Nigel Slater's potato cakes with taleggio and chard (from Tender, Volume 1) and from Rachel Eats' potato croquettes)

1 pound potatoes

1/2 stick (4 T butter)

pinch salt

half bunch kale (stems removed)

1/3 - 1/2 cup taleggio, fontina or gouda finely diced

small milk bowl full of bread crumbs (to which you have added a grinding of pepper and a little salt)

small milk bowl into which you have broken 1 egg and whisked it slightly, maybe thinning it with water if it seems too thick)

oil for frying 

*bring a small pot of salted  water to boil

*while waiting scrub and quarter the potatoes

*when  boiling, plunge the kale into the water until bright green and tender, about five minutes. run under cool water to stop cooking, squeezing out water, chop finely and set aside

*boil the potatoes until quite tender

*pass them through a food mill or mash by hand with the butter and season with salt (pepper wouldn't hurt)

* into the potato mash stir the kale and the cheese. 

*form into little cakes using two large spoons, rest to cool on a parchment lined cookie sheet for about a half an hour (this is an important part, don't rush them!)

*bring a few inches of oil to temperature in a heavy bottomed stockpot or skillet. the optimal temperature for this is 350 but the general visual clue is a 'shimmer' on top of the oil. you can also put the tip of a wooden chopstick into the oil and if a myriad of bubbles form instantly around it that's the go-ahead.

*while the oil is heating dunk the cooled potato cakes into the egg and then into the seasoned bread crumbs

*fry the cakes until golden on each side, turning frequently. depending on the size of the cakes it should take about 3 - 5 minutes.

*drain briefly on kitchen paper or a paper bag

*eat at once!

*perhaps with an egg

thoughts

desert times

thanks to some generous donations of time and effort (and expenditures!) the residents of this humble residence took up to explore the southern part of our dear state (in ways previously unmapped) to celebrate the general goodness of being in love, having time off, wanting to indulge the inexhaustible dogs, etc.

such an equation resulted in the perusal and exploration of the quaint town (...) of Escalante (pronounced es-c'l-AWNT by the locals and/or practiced visitors from nearby) as well as the unbelievably kind, delicious and quaint services rendered by the Boulder Mountain Guest Ranch (which, in truth, should include the words "tipi" and "well-dressed-up-with-acoustic-equipment-and-attractive-moss-and-desert-plants-but-nevertheless-an-ill-disguised-bomb-shelter-slash-bunker) if it seeks to do itself justice. see also an on-site organic garden replete with earth-maidens swathed in head scarves and treading about on slightly (likely?) substance-induced wobbling legs and something called a cowboy breakfast which included a hamsteak so large it draped, stately, over the rim of the plate.

needless to say we enjoyed ourselves fully, never mind the almost-silly low rates charged to us and the very excellent broad, velvety egg noodles (made in house but of course) dressed with various things we saw snipped from the patio garden much to our gastronomic delight.)

we also undertook to trudge down into the dusty depths of a canyon that was crackling with the excessive and histrionic lack of greenness (to make it plain we were in a seasonal drought) for the pure sake of swimming in one of the lovelies, most crystal clear swimming spots known to man. (drive past Boulder, over the Hog's back and turn at the oreo rock...)

yes the equation of quietude + sage + bird abundance + tipi + lovely dinner + battling hummingbirds + cowboy breakfast and grits + extra whiskey bottle + swimming hole + tired and exhausted dogs cannot help but = delirious and grateful humans BUT we do feel all the details made a difference and we wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else.

the opposite of bon voyage

whew! a welcome return after much traveling, eating, visiting with friends and sleeping in strange places. it is odd to ache for the mundane from afar, especially when in somewhat exotic surroundings, (see below...) but that is what summer is for

it is hard to come back to a series of note-taking with so many gaping yawns of time in between. therefore it is best, i think, to sum up images when words do not suffice and endeavor to reflect back and reference gypsy-time when present and future times permit.

let it be summed up that while there was much of this...

(ok i can't really contain myself: yes, we stayed in a TIPI)

 

(pinxto boquerones)

we were really, quite swiftly, aching for this

very very grateful to renounce sealegs. hello mountain midsummer!

three days

we used our long weekend, used the hell out of it.

on softness

   

getting back into the swing of the Collecting. this is an unofficial and ongoing project that documents nothing whatsoever, and everything at once. at times it is sheaf of tickets and lists fastened into the sketchbook, at other times something more deliberate and opaque.

reading this lately and it's been changing me in delightful and deep ways.

Judith Lasater is interested in living through a yoga practice whose sanskrit yoga is meant to convey a 'sense of wholeness,' and not, necessarily, the bodywork we associate with the word. as this alternate definition of yoga is unpacked, Lasater has neat spaces carved out around unruly words like "discipline," and "detachment," which are words that tend to me make squeamish. however, as with the ayurvedic equation of seeking balance by adding to life instead of restraining it, Lasater navigates through the weedy rushes of the concepts with similarly holistic ideas. part of what appeals to me about her direction is the simple comfort of knowing there are others in the world whose fiercest Life intentions become bedraggled, dull and ragged when they are all in flight together. this kind of knotwork, she says, can be resolved through ideas of detachment and discipline.

discipline, she opines, embodies intention and commitment, no necessarily accomplishment. "practice is discipline in action...discipline is doing what is possible with consistency..." and is not necessarily task-oriented behavior.

the room is a bell to me when i read this in failing twilight last evening, every object is resonant with the simplicity of this revelation.

she continues, "when you notice that you are pushing yourself to complete a task, soften and be merciful with yourself."

soften? and be merciful?? with yourself???

this must be that kind of Buddhist detachment that gets swung around in misty philosophical conversations, the idea of viewing yourself, momentarily, from the third person. observing yourself by yourself. for if it is possible to be soft and merciful with yourself, then it follows that such constraint and heavy loads are strapped to our bent backs, for back of a better phrase, on purpose.

on a totally different note, the kids at my school are learning about aboriginal artwork and the concept of self-portraiture. particularly, they are learning about a departure from realism and representationalism- painting the way things feel not the way they appear. to manifest this in person, they are being traced, life-size, on a butcher paper and painted in. clearly this does not present the problem that arises in adults- struggling to relinquish control over aesthetics and to engage in a purely sensory experience of art-making.

 

   

before the discussion about representation in art-making constraint abounded. a glut of self-doubt prevailed. there was discomfort with the medium, the tools and yawning chasm of between the imagined (an idea in the head) and the realized (that idea projected onto the page). but when it was made clear that the goal was simply enjoying the markmaking it was universal epiphany. a crackling and brilliant thing. i think this is the kind of merciful softness we strive to pull around us when we approach the abyss, seemingly the results are ravishing.

                : :

is this where we live, in this place, at this moment, with the air so light and wild?

                      --A.D