Mindful Meals – Page 9

Don’t Give Up on Healthy Eating

Posted on September 22, 2009 by Lia Huber — 4 Comments ↓

Sometimes life seems to conspire against our good intentions when it comes to healthy eating. Tomatoes don’t ripen. That bundle of herbs we intended to use wilts on the window ledge. McDonald’s ends up the only “food source” available within a very tight window of time (my experience recently when sprinting to catch a plane). We all have days where no matter how hard we try to eat well our efforts are thwarted, and it can be tempting to just give up. But if you trip on the way out the door, do you toss in the towel and conclude you’ll never make it down the street? Of course not. You straighten up, find your balance, remove any obvious obstacles and continue to put one foot in front of the other.

The truth is, it isn’t about the stray French fry or the well-intentioned vegetables that didn’t get eaten. It’s about the cumulative effect, the overall trajectory, of each and every choice we make about our food. We all have different schedules, budgets, priorities and responsibilities that pull us in different directions and sometimes those directions will lead to a meal we’re not so happy about. But if we intentionally make nourishing choices most of the time, then ultimately we’re on the right track.

If you find yourself in a bind this week that prevents you from eating the way you want, don’t let it send you into a tailspin. Instead, plan your next meal to be a more conscious one and notice how you differently you feel after each. That, in and of itself, is positive progress and the foundation of mindful, healthy eating for a lifetime.

Yes . . . We Can

Posted on September 18, 2009 by Lia Huber — 1 Comment ↓

Odds are you have a food bank in your community. It’s not something we think of often, if at all; yet it’s nice to know it’s there to take care of those in need. But what if that food bank were to run out of food? Who, then, would feed the growing number of hungry in our communities? That’s the question that Aletha Soule from Slow Harvest, a program that connects excess food in western Sonoma County with the people who need it, is helping to answer.

The need is becoming critical. According to a survey by Feeding America, the country’s leading domestic hunger-relief agency, more than half of food banks reported that they had to turn people away due to lack of food in the last year. There are a record number of new clients relying on America’s food banks and over 20 percent more food dispersed this year over last. Federal and state programs are certainly a help, but people like Aletha are tapping into a resource closer to home—the manpower of community members themselves.

tomato-can

Last Tuesday I was part of a canning initiative through Aletha’s Slow Harvest. Fifteen of us signed on to can 400 pounds of tomatoes gleaned from local growers, a number that climbed to 1,000 pounds due to incredibly generous donors, to donate to two local food pantries.

We gathered at Relish Culinary Center here in Healdsburg and made a quick round of introductions before setting to work. A crew manned the stove, plunging bunch after bunch of tomatoes into boiling water to loosen their skins. Then onto the table the tomatoes rolled to be peeled, chopped and—what to call it—squished by hand into a sort of chunky sauce. That sauce got poured into huge stock pots and brought to a boil, then ladled into jars to be ‘processed’ in a steam bath.

After about half an hour we’d all found our groove and conversation began to blossom, despite the fact that most of us were strangers. This is the type of activity that has been the glue of families and communities for countless generations and there was something humbling—for me, anyway—about stepping into such well-worn shoes. Even just a century ago, the majority of Americans were intimately tied to agriculture; their very survival depended on what they could bring up from the land, and canning and preserving were part of that cycle. Nowadays, very few of us are connected to the farms that feed us, and our family size and generational span has dwindled. So in many ways a gathering like this—using surplus food picked from neighboring farms and labor supplied by willing hands—is really just an extension of a much deeper, traditional pattern that has been playing out over millennia.

And the “extended family” of our communities needs us now. Vicki Escarra, president and CEO of Feeding America, noted that “most economists project that unemployment lags the return of economic stability following a recession by one to two years. This means that the incredible strain on the nation’s charitable food assistance network is not likely to dissipate any time in the foreseeable future.”

The good news is . . . you can help. If you want to join a gleaning project near you, click here. If you’d like to learn more about preserving so that you can organize a gathering similar to the one I attended on Tuesday, check out the canvolution. Or if you’ve got an excess of those darned zucchini we talked about earlier this week, call your food bank or contact a gleaning organization near you to donate.

With all of us coming together, we’ve got enough. We can do this.

Get Connected

Posted on September 8, 2009 by Lia Huber — 10 Comments ↓

Last night, we made our usual end-of-the-weekend pilgrimage to the Plaza here in Healdsburg, only this time we were joined by dozens of others participating in the Eat-in organized by Slow Food USA in an effort to change school lunch policy. Like a big picnic potluck, tables were filled with bowls of salad, local bread and cheeses, fruit fresh from the trees and vegetables both roasted and straight out of the garden.

get-connected-post

I’d known for a while what dish I wanted to bring: Pollo en Jocon. My friend, food writer and cooking instructor Sandra Gutierrez, sent me this recipe so we could bring the tastes and scents of Guatemala, our daughter’s native land, into our own kitchen. Somehow it seemed an appropriate dish to share. I also made it in honor of Ana Maria and Mayra, a Guatemalan mother and daughter who have become as close as family despite being thousands of miles away. Our paths first crossed through Slow Food, and I wanted to bring something from their country so they’d be with us in spirit at the plaza.

One dish. And yet it connected me to Sandra, who was kind enough to share the recipe, and Pedro, the farmer who grew the tomatillos we used. It connected us to our daughter’s birth country and others we love dearly there. It connected us to the people who dug into it at the Eat-in, and even to the hope of a healthier future for our children.

Food is about so much more than just feeding ourselves. This week, be aware of how many ways it connects you.

The Kitchen That Sings

Posted on August 7, 2009 by Lia Huber — 6 Comments ↓

La Cocina Que Canta; the kitchen that sings. It’s the name of the cooking school at Rancho La Puerta Spa in Mexico where I’ve been teaching classes this week. My aim here, as it is with NOURISH Evolution, is to show people how to enjoy food that’s healthy for both our bodies and the earth. Nothing fancy, nothing extravagant; just incredible flavor coaxed from inherently healthy ingredients eager to give it.

RLP-1
[ photos clockwise from top left: a storm brewing; one of the many fountains gracing the grounds; sunrise on ancient “metate” divets in stone; sunny flowers swaying along the pathways ]

We start in the garden harvesting basil or spinach or greens or eggplant—and a bundle of fresh herbs for centerpieces—with Salvadore. Salvadore is the man in charge of the six acres of organic gardens. The man whose eyes twinkle with pride as he lifts handfuls of soil up to people’s noses. The man who brings me “dancing carrots” each morning, of roots entwined together in odd shapes. The man who stops to point out a bee burrowing in a head of romaine to explain that it, too, is looking for food.

RLP-2
[ photos clockwise from top left: a sculpture blessing the garden; rich, organic earth; Salvadore’s “dancing carrots”; students ready for the garden ]

Then it’s inside to the airy tiled kitchen where I encourage the students through chopping and slicing and pounding and grilling their way towards our meal. Some learn new techniques for chopping garlic. Others reconnect with roots through long-forgotten words and scents. Still others discover the ease and enjoyment of pounding the day’s pesto with the basalt molcajete mortar and pestle.

RLP-3 [ photos clockwise from left: slicing figs for the mini oatmeal tarts with figs and honey; a very content instructor; pounding several varieties of basil for the pesto ]

What we do in the kitchen is really just gilding the lily on what’s already been accomplished outside in Salvadore’s soil, whether the end form is a creamy corn polenta, a fig and oatmeal tart or a smoky melizansalata with Mexican spices. This is healthy cooking. This is cooking that’s gentle on the earth. This is cooking that brings a smile to the soul . . . and to everyone seated at the table.

Si, this kitchen sings indeed.

Salvadore’s Garden

Leaves rustle,
A rooster crows,
Laughter wafts over fields of green

And gold and crimson
And plum and rose.
More than a meal, a feast.

Teach Our Children Well

Posted on July 17, 2009 by Lia Huber — 10 Comments ↓

When I say I’m a food writer, people often impose a gourmet status onto me that’s just not so. Sure, I can whip up a stellar chichi meal, but nowadays that happens about twice a year. The rest of the time I still enjoy cooking, but it’s a simple affair. I’ve spent a good deal of my career, in fact, trying to bridge the perceptual chasm between how America defines “gourmet” (people who love food) and “normal” (people who think people who love food are “gourmet”).

{My daughter, Noemi, triumphant with the one and only bunch of carrots we reaped from our garden this year}

Which is why I’ve been so delighted to see Michelle Obama digging in the kitchen garden with middle-schoolers and teenagers rather than with Eric Ripert and Thomas Keller. The strategy Obama is using, says Jane Black in her recent Washington Post article, is to link “the personal to the political by gardening, cooking and eating with students.” Note that Obama isn’t trying to impart to the children that they, too, can become Top Chefs if they learn to cook. Nor that arugula is only for the elite. Exactly the opposite, in fact. As Josh Viertel, president of Slow Food USA, puts it in the article, Obama and her team are “normalizing something that should be normal.”

It may sound simplistic, but it’s working for Obama. By getting kids to interact with their food—shucking corn, cleaning lettuce—the first lady is transforming something that was loathesome (vegetables, blech!) into something cool. I’ve seen this scenario play out firsthand with our daughter, Noemi. People balk when they hear she loves figs, for instance, thinking we’re raising her to be a food snob. But it really has little to do with us. When she peeks under our tree’s broad leaves every day to see if any figs have ripened, how can she not adore them? To her, they’re not some exotic fruit, but a playmate in an ongoing game of hide and seek.

The principal is simple: when you engage food in its raw state it changes the way you think about it, whether you’re 3 or 30 or a 103.

I agree with Obama and her team that the earlier we get children interested in their food—how it grows, what it tastes like, how it makes them feel, how good it is to sit down and share a meal—the more likely they are to remain engaged throughout their lifetime. I also agree that the first step to dealing with all the complex issues surrounding food policy (which we’ll be addressing little by little here on ) is simply to care about the food we’re eating, not from the perspective of a gourmet chef, but the perspective of a human being.

Don’t miss, though, that by her very actions Michelle Obama is also sending a secondary message that bears voicing. Sure, children are our future . . . but we’re their role models today.

Practice Pleasure

Posted on July 13, 2009 by Lia Huber — 2 Comments ↓

When I lived in Paris, I never saw a French woman sneak into a patisserie or assume a guilty hunch over their dessert. Yet it’s true that the French are a lighter lot than we Americans. Entire books have been written pondering this paradox, but today I want to focus on one key aspect: pleasure. The French know how to enjoy their food and this week, with the celebration of Bastille Day, is a great time for us to do so too.

Learning how to enjoy our food is about more than just happy thoughts. One initial study showed that tuning in to our food can lessen the likelihood of binge eating and reduce feelings of anxiety and depression. Another study of brain activity revealed that the anticipation of eating is what triggers a pleasure response in obese people, rather than the actual food itself. The message in both of these findings? When we learn to take pleasure from each and every bite, it will help us break harmful eating patterns and establish healthier ones.

Not sure how? Try these five steps:

Step 1: Recognize that no food is off-limits. Do you see French women skipping over fruit tarts in favor of something “lighter?” Low-fat Oreos probably aren’t going to bring you as much pleasure as a slice of chocolate cake will.

Step 2: Wait to eat until you’re hungry; wait to eat a treat until you really crave it.

Step 3: Eat slowly and pay attention with as many of your senses as you can while you gauge how much pleasure you’re getting from each bite.

Step 4: When you realize that the flavor has dulled or that you’re not really thinking about the food in front of you anymore but about a pile of clothes you need to take to the dry cleaners, or an e-mail you need to send, or what you’re going to make for tomorrow’s dinner, stop. Put your fork down and push the plate away.

Step 5: Notice how you feel and note how many bites you’ve actually taken–probably less than ten. There. You’ve proven to yourself that you can enjoy your favorite foods without feeling guilty or compromising your weight or health.

This week, practice these steps. Soon you’ll be oh-so-Francais by enjoying food . . . without overindulging.

Happy Quatorze Juillet!

Growing Beyond the Garden

Posted on July 8, 2009 by Lia Huber — No Comments ↓

Relatively speaking, our garden is small. In the past, we’ve designated two narrow beds in back for vegetables and managed to shoe-horn in about half a dozen tomato, eggplant and pepper plants along with some basil, cucumber and pole beans, most of which we grew vertically in cages or along trellises or running up ropes towards the sun. I’ll admit to longing, though, for sprawling zucchini and melon vines, and beans that bloomed at a height my daughter could reach without having to sit on Daddy’s shoulders.

bean-garden-vignette

And then about a month ago, inspired by the creativity of urban gardeners, I began to look at my yard differently. Suddenly, I saw those spots in the front where weeds had choked out the chocolate cosmos not as eyesores, but as sunny spaces for zucchini to unfurl. The narrow strip of bare earth along the side of the house, where leggy dahlias had once stood, now beckoned me to bury some seeds.

I complied and today, sunny orange squash blossoms mingle with the hues of our Joseph’s Coat roses in the front yard, a watermelon vine snakes along the edge of a walkway and the broad, green leaves of bush beans ripple in the breeze beneath our fig. Allowing myself to mingle fruit, vegetable and flower has turned our whole yard into a virtual garden and will bring us nearly half again the amount–and variety–of food as in years past.

This week, suss out your own yard and pick a place you might be able to tuck a stray vegetable or two. Then see how much pleasure the bonus brings to both yard and table throughout the summer season.

Make a Mess

Posted on June 29, 2009 by Lia Huber — No Comments ↓

There are times when it enriches the soul to set order and tidiness aside and make a mess, and summer is one of them. Watch a kid eating ice cream or watermelon or a Popsicle and you’ll see enormous intensity and range of emotion. There’s an uninhibited presence-of-moment that arises from the complete indifference to being soaked or stained or sticky.

There was a point for each of us during childhood when food was made up of “wow’s” that had little to do with taste, and those memories lie within us now waiting to be tapped from time to time.

This week, slice up a wedge of melon and take a chomp out of the very center; eat some cherries and have a spitting contest with the seeds; pick some plums–from the farmers’ market or tree–and eat them without a paper towel in sight. If you’re around kids (and you know you will be at some point over this Fourth of July weekend), take a break from keeping them clean and make a mess right alongside them. Then notice the new–or renewed, really–perspective it brings to how you experience food.

Nourish Traditions

Posted on June 28, 2009 by Lia Huber — 1 Comment ↓

I have such vivid memories of visiting my grandparents when I was little. The smooth whir of pavement turning to the rumble of cobblestones a block away from their house. The sweet scent of sycamore as we turned up the drive. And, of course, the pot of Nan’s barbecue–my grandma’s version of a sloppy Joe–which in some unspoken agreement between she and I had become the de facto welcome dish for our visits.

Yesterday, as we made the cross-country trek for a visit with my daughter’s grandma (yes, that would be my Mom), I wondered what sensations about going to see Grandma and Grandpa would stick for Noemi. And, more to the point, what dish would establish itself between my mother and my daughter as the one that says, “I am so glad you’re here” in the universal love-language of food.

We Americans, so independent and progressive in our ways, can give the impression that we’re just not interested in the traditions born in the kitchen and passed down from generation to generation. But we are. Memories of food, unique in the way they engage all our senses, nestle themselves deep within us and shape us in significant ways. Just think of what your grandma used to have simmering on the stove or baking in the oven when you walked through the door and you’ll see how powerful they are. But the torch (or the pot, or the corn cob, or the ice cream maker) has been passed to us. Now we have the opportunity to carry on–or create entirely new–food traditions with the little ones in our lives so that they have their own to cherish.

This week, as we roll into summer and a season full of family gatherings, ponder what traditions you’d like to pass on.