I moved to Seattle last February so this January business is all new to me. I remember pulling into the city in the U-Haul we lovingly named Hugh on a sunny February afternoon. We were eager with anticipation and hope, schlepping everything into the house in tee-shirts with a few strong helpers and occasional mild cursing. Seattle really made a showing that day. I’m gathering that wasn’t exactly typical, although I really do appreciate the gesture. This year the winter mornings have not been warm enough to encourage tee-shirts. They’ve been quiet, extremely cold but — lately — startlingly sunny. That bright light, despite the layer of ice on my car, has helped get me to yoga when I’d much rather stay inside nursing a cup of coffee. It’s been enough to inspire me to send letters to old friends, organize all of my tax documents, make some pretty great oatmeal and take long winter walks with Sam. I’m not letting myself have the space or the moment or the luxury to miss those warm summer days that now seem like a distant memory. I know they’ll come back (they will, right?). For now, there’s just putting one foot in front of the other, getting my work done, and sneaking out in that light whenever it decides to make a showing.
It all feels dutiful in a way, but it also feels just right. The excess of the holidays is behind us; it’s time to focus on what’s ahead. There’s not much outside to distract me this month (although Sam would –and does– sing the praises of hoar frost), and it seems like many friends are hibernating in the evenings. It’s been quiet and cold. I’m sure you can relate.
On the evenings when I don’t fall asleep the second I crawl into bed, I’ve been slowly reading a new book that I’m really loving. It’s called Daring Greatly by Brene Brown (do you remember her TED talk?) Yes, it’s a touch on the Self Help spectrum of things and I don’t often venture over to that part of the bookstore, but for Brene Brown I make an exception. As I started the book, I kept thinking that anyone in a relationship should really, really read it. And then I thought that anyone with siblings should read it, parents should read it, anyone with a boss, anyone creative who puts out a product that other people will see. That other people will judge. So, really, I think we all should read it. At its core, it’s about learning to be vulnerable — or, in other words, learning to fully let down your guard and realize that other people’s expectations of you don’t have any bearing on who you really are or what you’re worth. That your work isn’t who you are. That you must learn to show up fully. A tall order for a dark winter day, I realize.
The first line in the book that struck me was this one: “Scarcity thrives in a culture where everyone is hyperaware of lack. Everything from safety and love to money and resources feels restricted or lacking. We spend inordinate amounts of time calculating how much we have, want, and don’t have, and how much everyone else has, needs and wants…we’re called to ‘dare greatly’ every time we make choices that challenge the social climate of scarcity.” There are days when it feels like all of our friends are out traveling somewhere great, days when I feel my business should be something it’s not, days when I wonder when we’ll own our own house or whether people will like cooking from my book. It’s all questions and doubt. It’s all lack. And it serves no one well at the end of the day, certainly not me. It’s the opposite of just putting one foot in front of the other and showing up fully — instead, it’s allowing myself to get distracted by fears of what others think, feelings that my work won’t be enough, feelings that our friends are getting ahead in ways we’re not (or, at the very least, just have way cooler weekend plans).
In speaking about the term “Daring Greatly”, Brown’s referring to a speech Teddy Roosevelt gave in 1910 called Citizenship in a Republic. In it, Roosevelt talks about the average, everyday men who have to show up in the arena and “who at the best know in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly.” It’s really easy to not even step foot into the arena for fear that we’ll fail or for fear that we’ll be judged for lackluster work. It takes a whole lot just to show up and put our whole selves out there. It’s dutiful. It’s important. And on a really minute level, it’s how I’ve been feeling this week: I’m just showing up at my computer to do the work that needs to get done. Showing up to see a few friends in the evening. Showing up to talk with Sam about his day.
About halfway through the book, Brown notes, “If you own the story, you get to write the ending.” I love this line because there’s an element of choice to it. There’s a lot of factors we don’t get the luxury of controlling, but showing up each day in the arena ready to face whatever it may look like? That one’s all ours. Some days the arena looks really daunting to step inside: the days when you get your manuscript back from your editor and realize people are actually going to see the thing you wrote and it all starts to feel really big. And some days the arena is smaller. These scones were born from one such day. I was up early before Sam and didn’t want to peek at my email just yet. The night before I’d taken a marmalade class from Rachel of Blue Chair Fruit, and I had four bright little ball jars of sunny marmalade basking on the counter. I thought about Kim Boyce’s Buckwheat Scone recipe and how I’ve been meaning to try them for ages. I put the coffee on. I steamed a little milk. I cut up a stick of butter, preheated the oven, and began to make scones. Dutifully, just following the directions before me.
Quick Note on Buckwheat: In the U.S., buckwheat is most often ground down into flour with its beautiful purple/gray color. Naturally gluten-free and high in protein and fiber, buckwheat groats have a really assertive flavor (some call it grassy), but when they’re ground down into a flour, the flavor and texture somehow changes and becomes quite mild and wonderful. For this reason, bakers have started adopting it in everything from quick breads to muffins to cookies. It’s fine, soft and a dream to work with in these scones, and it should be relatively easy for you to find in the bulk bins of a well-stocked grocery store or Bob’s Red Mill will always come through for you online in a pinch.
In her lovely book, Boyce fills her scones with a fig jam, but I used marmalade instead. Be careful because the chunks of citrus in the marmalade can burn onto the bottom of the pan if you over-bake these, so just keep an eye on them, and check their bottoms every now and again. Besides that change, I used natural cane sugar instead of white sugar because it’s what we had on hand and added in a little orange zest for extra citrus flavor in the scone itself. Next time, I may just sprinkle in some dark chocolate bits as well (if you do, let me know how it goes!)
Adapted from: Good to the Grain
Whisk together all of the dry ingredients in a large bowl. Add the butter to the dry mixture and rub it between your fingers, breaking it into smaller bits. Continue rubbing until it’s coarsely ground and feels like grains of rice. Work quickly so as to avoid letting it get too warm. Add the cream and gently mix with a spatula until the dough comes together.
Transfer the dough onto a very well-floured work surface. It’s a sticky dough, so make sure your hands are floured, too. Roll the dough into a rectangle that’s 8-inches wide and 16-inches long and about 3/4-inch thick. Feel free to use your hands to help guide it. As you’re rolling, run a spatula under the dough to ensure it’s not sticking (if it is: more flour!).
Spread the marmalade over the top of the dough. Roll the long edge of the dough up, patting the dough as you roll so it forms a neat log, 16-inches long. Roll so the seam is on the bottom and the weight of the rolls seals the edge.
Use a sharp knife to slice the log in half. Carefully transfer to a plate and chill in the refrigerator for 30 minutes (or covered with plastic wrap for up to 2 days). While the dough’s chilling, preheat the oven to 350F.
After chilling, take both logs out of the refrigerator and cut each half into 6 even pieces, about 1 1/4-inches wide. Place each scone flat on a baking sheet, with 3-4 inches inbetween each one (they spread). Give each a little squeeze to shape them into perfect rounds. Bake for 38-40 minutes, rotating the sheets halfway through, and checking periodically to ensure the bottom of the scones aren’t burning. They’re done when their undersides are golden and the tops are golden brown and firm.
The scones are best eaten warm out of the oven or on the same day they’re baked. That being said, cover any leftovers, store at room temperature, and warm before eating the next day.
Glimpses of Spring
We returned home from San Francisco on New Years Eve just in time for dinner, and craving greens -- or anything other than baked goods and pizza (ohhhh San Francisco, how I love your bakeries. And citrus. And winter sunshine). Instead of driving straight home, we stopped at our co-op where I ran in for some arugula, an avocado, a bottle of Prosecco, and for the checkout guys to not-so-subtly mock the outlook of our New Years Eve: rousing party, eh? They looked to be in their mid-twenties and I figured I probably looked ancient to them, sad even. But really, there wasn't much sad (or rousing, to be fair) about our evening: putting Oliver to bed, opening up holiday cards and hanging them in the kitchen, and toasting the New Year with arugula, half a quesadilla and sparkling wine. It wasn't lavish. But it's what we both needed. (Or at least what we had to work with.) Since then, I've been more inspired to cook lots of "real" food versus all of the treats and appetizers and snacks the holidays always bring on. I made Julia Turshen's curried red lentils for the millionth time, a wintry whole grain salad with tuna and fennel, roasted potatoes, and this simple green minestrone that I've taken for lunch this week. Determined to fit as many seasonal vegetables into a bowl as humanly possible, I spooned a colorful pesto on top, as much for the reminder of warmer days to come as for the accent in the soup (and for the enjoyment later of slathering the leftover pesto on crusty bread).
It turns out shopping for wedding dresses is nothing like they make it appear in the movies. Or at least it hasn't been for me. Angels don't sing. Stars don't explode. Relatives don't cry. There isn't a sudden heart-stopping moment that this is, in fact, "the one." To be honest, I always knew that I wasn't the kind of gal for whom angels would sing or stars would explode but I did think I'd have some kind of moment where I could tell I'd found the best dress. Instead, my mom flew into town and we spent three (yes, three!!) days shopping for dresses, and since then I've been back to the stores we visited -- and I'm more undecided than ever. Tomorrow morning I'll return with my friend Keena to try and tie this business up once and for all. Cross your fingers.
When I was single and living alone in the Bay Area, I made virtually the same thing for dinner each night. I ate meals quickly while in front of the computer. Or even worse: the television. This most often included what I call "Mexican Pizzas" which were basically glorified quesadillas baked in the oven until crispy. Sometimes, if I was really feeling like cooking, I'd whip up a quick stir-fry with frozen vegetables from Trader Joe's or a mushroom frittata using pre-sliced mushrooms. Mostly, though, it was Mexican Pizzas -- a good four or five nights a week. Today, thankfully, dinner looks a lot different. Meals in general look a lot different. How would I explain that difference? I think that ultimately how we feel about our life colors how we choose to feed ourselves and the importance that we place on preparing our own meals.
Today was 75 degrees in Seattle and it seemed the whole city was out and about drinking iced coffee in tank tops and perhaps not working all that hard. When we have a hit of sunshine like this in April (or, really, any time of the year), we're all really good at making excuses to leave the office early -- or, simply, to "work from home." I just got back from LA last night, unpacked in a whirlwind this morning, and took Oliver to meet up with three friends from our parents group at the zoo. The only other time I'd been to the Seattle zoo was once with Sam a few years ago when we arrived thirty minutes before closing and ended up doing a whirlwind tour -- sprinting from the giraffes to the massive brown bear to the meerkat. The visit today was much different: we strolled slowly trying to avoid the spring break crowds and beating sun. I managed to only get one of Oliver's cheeks sunburned, and he even got in a decent nap. A success of an afternoon, I'd say. Coming home I realized we didn't have much in the fridge for lunch -- but thankfully there was a respectable stash of Le Croix (Le Croix season is back!) and a small bowl of this whole grain salad I made right before I left town. It's the kind of salad that's meant for this time of year: it pulls off colorful and fresh despite the fact that much of the true spring and summer produce isn't yet available. And for that reason, I make a few versions of it in early spring, often doubling the recipe so there's always the possibility of having a small bowl at 1 p.m. while the baby naps in the car seat, one cheek sunburned, windows and back door open -- a warm breeze creeping into the kitchen.
On Monday our little family of three is headed to the airport at 6 am to board our first with-baby cross-country trip. We'll be visiting Sam's family in New Jersey for a few days, then renting a car and driving over to meet up with my family at my mom's lake house in the Adirondacks. Sam's younger sister and her kids have yet to meet Oliver; my grandpa has yet to meet him, and Oliver has yet to take a dunk in a lake, see a firefly, or spend quality time with energetic dogs -- of which there will be three. A lot of firsts. This week my family has been madly texting, volunteering to make certain meals or sweets on assigned days while we're at the cabin and it got me thinking about really simple, effortless summer desserts -- in particular, ones that you can make while staying in a house with an unfamiliar kitchen and unfamiliar equipment and still do a pretty bang-up job. I think fruit crisp is just that thing.