Life is Like Rhubarb and Strawberry

The combo of strawberry and rhubarb always makes me think of my Mom. Her strawberry-rhubarb pie would grace the table each spring as surely as tulips would burst from the ground. When I was a child, I turned my nose up at it for being so tart. By the time I grew up and learned to actually like it, it had become to me like a painting that’s hung on the same wall in the same place for twenty years–I didn’t pay it much attention.

I first made this crostata four years ago as my own spin on mom’s traditional pie. A year and a half later, in the dead of winter, mom had a massive stroke. There were no pies on the table that spring, and there never will be by her hand again. I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t kicking myself just a little now, wishing I’d appreciated her version more while it lasted.

But those if-only’s only sour the present moment, which is quite sweet when I choose to see it as such. Whereas in the past, Mother’s Day meant a card and a gift exchanged across the country, now Mom–and Dad–live right here in Healdsburg. For the second year in a row, we get to celebrate with three generations of mothers and daughters in my family, and I can finally ask mom for her recipe … while serving her my Strawberry-Rhubarb Crostata.

At the risk of sounding a whole lot like Forrest Gump, life is like rhubarb and strawberry. A little bit sour, a little bit sweet, each one intensifying the properties of the other. There’s balance there, and both need to be tasted in order to embrace the full pleasure of the whole.

From my family to yours … happy Mother’s Day.

What is Your Comfort Food?

I posted something on Facebook yesterday that got me thinking as I struggled to find my own answer to the question.

The alarming regularity of unthinkable tragedies as of late have taught me something about myself. When tragedy hits I, like so many others, ache to do something to make things better and to offer comfort. But in this world where we’re all so interconnected and yet so far from arm’s reach, it’s just not possible to hug those who are grieving, or care for them in the coming days. So I tend to just cocoon.

This time–and I hate that there is a this time–I wanted to break that pattern and go outward, finding a way to bring comfort to others as they deal with what’s happened in their own way. Whenever anyone I love is hurting, I get an overwhelming urge to cook for them. It feels to me like I’m handing them a piece of my heart and saying “I hurt for you too, and I hope that makes this a little less lonely and painful to go through.”

So I decided to ask a question: What dish would you bring to a friend who was grieving?

What struck me after asking it was how difficult it was for me to choose. Cakes or cookies felt inappropriately celebratory. Some dishes felt too fussy, others too much like a cocktail party. This one, though, spoke to my heart–it’s full of warmth and good things from the garden, and the dollop of pesto is a reminder of the inevitability that brighter days do lie ahead.

This whole circuitous train of thought brought to life something I’ve said a gazillion times before and I’ll probably say a gazillion times again: food is about so much more than just what we eat.

I’d love to know … what would your answer be?

The 2013 State of the Kitchen Survey is Here

I’m conducting a never-been-done-before “State of the Kitchen” survey for 2013.

Would you do me a huge favor? Would you please take just a few minutes to fill out these nine questions?

To thank you for your time, I’m going to save you time with a free copy of my Make Ahead Meals e-book. PLUS, when you take the survey you’ll automatically be entered into a drawing to win a fabulous NOURISH Evolution market bag (it really is the coolest bag out there).

You can take the survey here.

REAL-MEALS-COVER

It was you all, really, who inspired this survey. With every conversation and e-mail I have, I’m struck by how unique your stories are—you’ve got four kids and no time to cook, you’re newly married and still rely heavily on take-out—and yet there’s a common chord resonating beneath it all. That’s what I’m driving to get at with this survey.

In addition to unearthing empowering insights for busy women everywhere, your answers will also help me shape both the free content on NOURISH Evolution, in socialville and in my weekly e-mail, and the paid offerings we’ll be developing in the future to be spot-on helpful to YOU. In the moment. When you really just want to pick up the phone and call the pizza man.

To take the survey, just click here

Please complete the survey by Saturday, April 20th. (It’ll take you less than 5 minutes … I promise).

Thanks a million for your time and thoughtfulness!

All the best,

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PS – You’ll automatically get my Make Ahead Meals e-book for free when you take the survey. I’ll announce the winners of the NOURISH Evolution market bags (5 random picks from those who take the survey) on Monday, April 22nd on our Facebook page.

P.P.S. – If you know other busy women who would like to add their voice, by all means please share. The more the merrier!

Slow-Roasted Mechoui (Moroccan-Spiced Leg of Lamb)

I was lucky enough to nab a leg of organic, sustainably-raised lamb from Montana’s Willow Spring Ranch at Shelton’s Market for this and was rewarded with succulent, juicy meat spiked through with Moroccan spice. To find a source for grass-fed lamb (and other meats) near you for your Easter meal, check out Eat Wild. Serve this with quinoa, mixed greens, sliced black olives, thick slices of orange, thinly sliced fennel and red onion tossed with the dressing from this salad here.

Slow Roasted Mechoui Lamb

5 garlic cloves
1/2 medium onion
1 small lemon, trimmed of top and bottom, quartered and seeded
1/2 teaspoon allspice
1 teaspoon coriander
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon ginger
1/2 teaspoon cayenne
1/4 cup pomegranate syrup (or 1/2 orange juice and 1/2 honey)
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
3/4 teaspoon salt
5-6 pound boneless leg of lamb, trimmed of excess fat

Puree garlic through olive oil in a blender or food processor. Stir in salt. Lay lamb in a shallow dish or roasting pan and carefully pierce deeply all over with a paring knife. Slather on the marinade, pushing into the holes, then coat all over with any remaining marinade. Cover and refrigerate overnight.

Preheat oven to 325. Transfer lamb to a Dutch oven, cover and roast for 3-1/2 to 4 hours, until lamb is fork tender. Let rest for 20 minutes, then pull apart into large chunks to serve.

Serves 8

 

Make Corned Beef From Scratch … On Sunday

You have to promise not to laugh when I tell you this, about how many years this corned beef recipe was in the making. I’d always wanted to make corned beef from scratch, but I have a tendency to forget about St. Paddy’s day until the day of, despite all the leprechauns and clovers sprouting up in every store. So given the grueling three-day rigamarole that’s normally involved in making corned beef, I missed out year after year.

And then I got really into my pressure cooker. One night, I was experimenting with pressure cooking spare ribs in the marinade I’d normally soak them in to see if the flavors permeated the meat (they did), and I thought … “hmmmm, I wonder if this would work for corned beef too …” So I jotted down a note to give it a try the following March.

Did I remember? No.

But I did the next year. The light bulb went off, and I got all excited and scurried off to the store on St. Patrick’s Day to buy myself a beef brisket. I enthusiastically rattled off to my butcher what I planned to do with the brisket, and he nodded knowingly and handed me a shrink-wrapped piece of meat. I eyed it suspiciously. “This is a brisket?” I asked. “Are you sure?” He nodded that same knowing nod. “Yep. That’s what you want.” So I went home, put my little experiment into action and pulled the meat out less than two hours later. It was succulent, it was flavorful … it was like sucking on a salt lick. He’d sold me a pre-brined brisket. So I missed out that year too.

Absolutely determined to get the bottom of my “hypothesis” (6-year old Noemi is throwing that word around a lot lately, with a science fair coming up), I marched back to that butcher the next day and made him sell me a straight-up, unadulterated brisket wrapped in good-ole butcher paper. And guess what? My little experiment turned out splendidly. Now, umpteen years later, I can finally state that you can forget St. Patrick’s Day until the day of and still have your corned beef too.

Carrots with Coconut, Lime and Cashews

Deborah Madison’s Vegetable Literacy came in the mail yesterday and I had about 40 recipes tagged within the first 40 minutes. This dish featuring carrots was one of them. I’ve been on the lookout for seasonal vegetable recipes that take a different direction than I might, while keeping everything short and simple for busy nights. This one from Deborah Madison hit that spot perfectly. I’ve embellished a bit to make it into vegan main dish, but you could pull back to the basic carrots, coconut oil and lime and serve it as a side dish. Either way, I cannot recommend  heartily enough.

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Crazy for Kohlrabi

I spent over a quarter-century not having the fainest clue what kohlrabi was. The first time the root vegetable registered on my radar was in a friend’s garden when I asked what the Sputnik-like things were poking from the ground (a name that stuck for us Hubers). She answered “kohlrabi,” I went “huh,” and that was that. Until I spotted them, years later, at a farmers’ market and asked the farmer what on Earth she did with such a vegetable.

kohlrabi-whole
raw-kohlrabisteamed-kohlrabi
Whole kohlrabi “Sputniks” (top); raw kohlrabi wedges (bottom left); steamed kohlrabi wedges (bottom right)

I listened carefully, bought a few, then went home and followed her advice, steaming wedges of the bulb and dressing them with a drizzle of olive oil and a pinch of salt and pepper. Initially, the stinky feet cabbage-like smell turned me off while they were steaming (it’s actually the hydrogen sulfide emitted from all brassica oleracea vegetables–like broccoli and cabbage–when cooking), but all that was forgotten on first bite.

It had the texture of a perfectly cooked potato mingled with a raw carrot, and an earthy, complex, spicy-sweet flavor that was unlike any other root vegetable I’d tasted — like I’d added a dash of soy sauce or soaked porcini to the bowl. Wow, I thought. And so kohlrabi became a staple in my home. I steam kohlrabi for a snack; I make pickles from it; I roast it; and I substitute it whenever possible for potato.

How to Choose and Store Kohlrabi
You can see from the pic above that kohlrabi comes in both purple and greenish-yellow hues. When peeled, though, the flesh is always light green. Choose small to medium bulbs; I’ve found the larger ones to be more fibrous. Cut off the leaves as soon as you get home (you can zip them and use them like kale or chard), and you can store the bulb in the crisper for weeks.

How to Prepare and Cook Kohlrabi
Cut off the top and bottom, then peel off the outer layer with a Y-peeler until you get to tender flesh. I like to cut them into thin wedges for steaming or chunks for roasting. They’re also great raw; grate the bulb into salads or marinate matchsticks in brine and vinegar for quick pickles.

Give kohlrabi a try … these little Sputniks might just rock your world like they did mine.

 

White Bean and Chard Soup with Sausage

Perked up with chard and Italian sausage, this white bean soup recipe straddles the line between fresh and green and rich and hearty. So much so, in fact, that it would be perfectly appropriate in any season.

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Nourishing Resolutions: Give Yourself Time to Change

OK, let’s have it … how many of you have stuck to your New Year’s resolutions so far this year? If you’re grimacing right now, you’re not alone. Statistics show that somewhere between 78% and 88% of people give up on (or forget) their resolutions before the days on the calendar hit double digits.

give yourself time ot change

My theory is that people get frustrated when their lives don’t do an about-face after seven days of good intentions. I know I used to. Then one year, about eight years ago, I gave myself an entire year to lose the 20 pounds I’d been trying to lose and everything changed. I changed.

In the years since, as I learned about behavioral change, it became clear that time was a major key to my success. It makes sense if you think about it; a habit is something we’ve done so consistently for so long that we do it without thinking. The cool thing, though, is that we can use the same process to develop new, healthier habits.

How we form habits

There is a proven progression in learning:

1.     from unconscious incompetence (not knowing that you don’t know)

2.     to conscious incompetence (knowing that you don’t know)

3.     to conscious competence (you know what you want to do, but you still have to think about what you’re doing)

4.     to unconscious competence (you automatically do what you want to do).

It’s the shift from conscious competence (the “I should”) to unconscious competence (the “I want to”) that creates sustainable change. You get to the place, in fact, where it feels uncomfortable to go back to your old ways. I hear this voiced all the time with My Nourish Mentor participants near the end of the program. They say, “I look back on how I used to eat and I wouldn’t even choose to do that any more.” Not only have their behaviors shifted, but positive emotions and experiences have reinforced those new behaviors and cemented them into place.

Getting there takes time, though. One 2009 study found this long-term shift takes an average of 66 days (incidentally, My Nourish Mentor takes 90 days … I like the extra padding for peaks and valleys).

Reforming habits in real life

Let me give you an example of how this worked in my own life. For years and years and years, I was frustrated with myself because I couldn’t lose the weight I wanted to. I tried diet after diet, but still couldn’t get the dang pounds to stay off. At that point, I was at the first stage of unconscious incompetence; I had no idea what I really needed to do to make sustainable change in the way I ate.

When I finally walked away from silver bullets and diets of the month and dug into learning sound nutritional truths, I knew what I needed to do to lose the weight for good—eat more vegetables and whole grains, and less calorie-dense meat and refined foods—but I didn’t know how to get there without feeling like I was giving up all I enjoyed (sound familiar?). I had gotten to the second stage of conscience incompetence.

I decided to tackle one area at a time. To start, I set out to double the amount of vegetables I ate each day. Sounds easy, sure, but when you’re not used to consuming vegetables in large quantities, there are a lot of hurdles. Like refrigerator space, for instance—I had no idea how much space a pound of kale could take up! And then there was repertoire. Most of my go-to’s at the time centered on refined grains and meat—sandwiches made with deli meats for lunch, pasta with meat or sausage and a bit of veggies for dinner. I was in this third stage of conscious competence for quite some time, working at how to get more vegetables on my plate in a way that got me excited about—not dreading—eating them.

But I did get there over time, and I eventually reached the fourth stage of unconscious competence. Now if I don’t get enough vegetables during the course of the day, I feel a bit off kilter and will crave them for dinner; eating an abundance of veggies has become my norm.

So if you’re struggling with the resolutions you made earlier this month, I urge you to give it time. Set your sights on something you want to change and, over the next two months, experiment, work out the kinks, mess up and try again. Most important, though, consistently practice the way you want to be.

Temptation in the 20%: How to Stop Eating When You’re Full

Hara hachi bu is a Japanese term that roughly translates to “eat until you’re 80%  full.” It sounds simple, I know, but many deeply profound concepts wear a simple shell. This is one of them. Hara hachi bu is sound advice for many reasons. It takes your brain about 20 minutes to register how much your body has eaten, for instance, so stopping when you feel about 80% full means you’ll likely top off around 100%. It also gets you tuning in to every bite rather yielding to the temptation to mindlessly barrel through a burger.

temptation-stop-eating-full

For me, though, that 80% is the border over which the battles of will are fought. Here’s a snippet of what my brain sounds like when I’m eating a so-juicy-and-delicious-all-I-can-do-is-close-my-eyes-and-hum burger and I hit my 80% mark.

Willful Me (turning a shoulder to Mindful Me): “Shut up, I’m eating.”

Mindful Me: “You know, you’re just going to feel like crap if you eat the whole thing.”

Willful Me: “I’m not listening, I’m not listening …”

Mindful Me: “Seriously, why don’t you just put the rest down and take it home.”

Willful Me: (suddenly taking faster bites): “But there’s really not enough left to take home.”

Mindful Me: “Then why don’t you just put down those last couple bites so you don’t stuff yourself and you can feel a bit better about this whole thing.”

Willful Me: (holding the last bite in front of my mouth): “But I WANT this burger!”

I’ll bet if you miked everyone’s minds at that burger joint you’d hear a lot of conversations that sound like this.

The problem is, we don’t have much experience in listening to our bodies and stopping when we’re full—much less 80% full. Instead, we’ve just re-engineered our food so that we can eat more and more and more of it (oh, I remember the glee when Snackwells would come out with a new cookie flavor). Or we’ll “lighten” something up with the implicit notion that we can eat more of it.

But that’s missing the point.

When we ignore our body’s cues for the sake of … MORE … we’re snubbing our nose at the complex, wonderful system that connects our brains to our tummies.

FYI, I did feel awful after eating that whole burger. I was nauseous and uncomfortable all night, and was mentally flogging myself with guilt (“what was I THINKING?”). But I had another experience with another burger a few months later that felt entirely different.

I cut the burger in half and luxuriated in every bite of the first half. Then I noticed myself starting to feel full. I waited for a few minutes, sipping my beer, and noticed that I continued to feel more full even without eating more. Sure, I was still eyeing that other half. But I remembered how it had felt when Willful Me had had her way last time and, finally, I pushed my plate away.

“I’m done,” I said.

“Aren’t you going to have any more?” Christopher asked?

“No,” I answered. “I’m done.”

I felt great. I felt respectful. I felt at peace.

I’m not saying I’ve mastered the territory struggle for that 20%, but I have learned a few battle lessons. Here’s what helps me stop when I’m 80% full:

  • If you’re at a restaurant and you’ve got a big plate of food, create a smaller portion of it for yourself somewhere on your plate. If you’re at home, start off with a smaller portion. Then let yourself enjoy it with abandon (no guilt allowed!) and less temptation to keep eating.
  • If you catch yourself having a conversation like mine above, try to deliberately subvert your Willful Self. Argue back (“you know what, YOU shut up!”). Throw in some hot buttons (“Fine … if you want to feel like a helium balloon all night, go ahead. I’ll bet you’ll feel great at the pool tomorrow too.”). Your Willful Self is not playing by the rules or being rational, so throw in some curve balls to take control away from her.
  • Know, KNOW that you are not saving any starving children by eating the second half of your burger. Yes, it’s probably going to go to waste. So next time, you find someone to share it with.
  • Take a break. When you start to feel not hungry, just hit the pause button for a few minutes. It will give you time to check in with how you feel and helps disengage the autopilot that your Willful Self may have you on.
  • When you’re feeling somewhere around 80%, DECLARE it. Say, out loud, to yourself and/or the table, “I’m done.” It’s powerful.
  • Don’t believe your Willful Self when she plays the card of “but if you don’t eat it all, you’ll be hungry again in an hour.” If you get hungry again in an hour, you can have a snack.

Give these a try and let me know if they work for you!