A few months ago, I spoke here about the meals I was planning to make before the baby arrived. I made beef carnitas and pulled pork, and cooked and froze lots of whole grains. I prepared a few different soups and froze a handful of brownies and blondies. Ziplock bags were neatly labeled and freezer shelves were organized by type of food. Clearly, I wasn’t messing around. About that time, a friend emailed me and suggested we do a meal train and even offered to organize it. My initial thought was that we really didn’t need it and could take care of feeding ourselves on our own (apparently, I’m not big on asking for help). The freezer was stocked and we had family visiting who would surely cook … but the more I thought about it, I knew our friends would want to swing by and having a little structure would probably make them feel more comfortable.
Taking the uncertainty out of it (What time should I bring food? Is now a good time? Should I text or call? What if I wake the baby?) turned out to be a good thing for everyone and before we knew it, we were getting little email notifications from friends who had signed up to bring us meals. Some indicated what they’d bring (quiche! lentils! “something delicious”!) and others left it as a surprise; some stayed for a cup of tea and others dropped a bag at the door. Regardless of the meal, the gesture felt overwhelming and I realized that we needed that almost as much as the roast chicken, soups, homemade pasta sauce, and pints of gelato. In the midst of the insular, exhausting and all-encompassing weeks of caring for a brand new baby and trying to care for ourselves, we needed to see our friends, some who had had kids and understood what we were going through and others who could relate to just generally feeling overwhelmed and not quite yourself. I was so glad we’d said yes to it all.
Those that know me very well know that I can be a little controlling when it comes to food. Maybe I haven’t spoken much about that here — while in my teen years and my early twenties that manifested as more of an eating disorder, now it looks much more like a general concern that most meals be well-rounded. Or at least that the day as a whole looks this way. If we have a heaping stack of pancakes for breakfast, I’ll try to make a big salad for lunch. If Sam makes pasta for dinner, I try to sneak in something green to go with it. Maybe even some protein. It’s all quite mundane to talk about, really. I even bore myself in thinking too hard about it let alone writing about it here, but after I had Oliver I realized how deeply ingrained this had become in my day to day life. All of a sudden I wasn’t able to control what we’d eat or even when we’d eat. The meals were definitely not always well balanced. Breakfast often consisted of a few leftover holiday cookies or half of a burrito from the night before. It was more survival mode than leisurely meal planning.
I remember breaking down sobbing one night as I sat eating while Sam rocked the baby across from me, his plate of food sitting on the coffee table getting cold. I worried it’d be months (years?!) before we got to sit down at the table and actually eat dinner together. He assured me it was just temporary. That we were eating together, just not taking bites at the same time. Things were different. Things are still different and will be for a very long time. Mostly in good ways, of course, but also in ways that have taken some getting used to. Oliver is two months old today and has graced us with big toothless smiles and occasional six hour stretches of sleep (!!!). Lately he’s also graced us with good chunks of time where he’ll lounge on his funny elephant pillow on the kitchen floor and just hang out listening to A Boy Named Charlie Brown while Sam and I sit and eat dinner together. It feels like a coup.
I recently wrote about Alana Chernila’s newest book, The Homemade Kitchen and in it she has a chapter on feeding people in your life when they’re sick or there’s a death in the family or a new baby. Of this she says, “It can be easy to talk yourself out of bringing dinner. Particularly when there’s a birth, death, or illness, walking into someone else’s experience can feel awkward. We want to give space … But on the whole, we usually think people want more space than they actually do. You don’t have to visit, or to fill the house with conversation. You only have to bring dinner. The presence of that little box, the pot, the food into which you put care — it will remind them they should eat, and it will make them feel taken care of when they need it most …When we bring dinner, we say: I’m your community. I’m here for you. Eat.”
When I think back to why the meal train felt so significant, it really came down to this: feeling cared for by our community. On days when we wouldn’t leave the house and would be lucky to shower, it made us feel less alone. And it also allowed me to completely focus on the task at hand — Oliver — and relinquish all cares and thoughts about the smaller, more mundane parts of the day … like whether or not we’d have a green vegetable for dinner. I didn’t know what dinner would be until it arrived on our stoop. Or even when it would arrive. But all of a sudden, it really didn’t matter.
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As with most things related to pregnancy and babies, there is a wealth of advice online about what foods to bring to families after they have a baby. Some of the advice is good, some not as much. I really like this Kitchn post because it touches on other elements of a meal or parts of a day beyond casseroles and soups. There were a few friends who would throw in a little something extra for a snack, and others who sent a favorite breakfast treat. When our families weren’t in town, getting to the grocery store was a challenge so fresh snacks and fruit were really nice, too. And cookies. It was certainly the season of cookies and they never seemed to get old.
And as it happens, these cookies from Samantha Seneviratne’s book The New Sugar and Spice are the first thing I’ve baked for us “just because.” After flipping through the book for a few minutes, I was immediately intrigued with her focus: in short, she discusses how so many American sweets really rely on sugar for flavor, resulting in overly sweet cookies, cakes, breads. Samantha has long been really interested in the way spices amplify flavor in baked goods, so she set out to create a baking book that experimented with bold spices and less sugar. Of these cookies, she notes “They are unique enough to be strikingly delicious and familiar enough to please the staunchest traditionalist.” And while we really loved them, I decided to bring a plate to my book club earlier this week to share. It was cold and rainy and the first time I’ve left Oliver to do something social on my own. I showered and actually put on jeans. And as the night ticked on, I looked around at our growing group of ladies, all sharing cheese and wine and lentils and cinnamon rolls and cookies and all manner of conversation not related to the book we were supposed to have read, and found myself thinking again about my community here. It really, truly feels like a coup.
I was intrigued by these cookies when I noticed that they call for coconut oil instead of butter. This makes them a little lighter than a traditional chocolate chip cookie. I made a few tweaks, using half spelt flour and turbinado sugar instead of granulated sugar. Certainly use all-purpose flour and granulated sugar if you’d prefer. But I think these cookies are pretty forgiving and a good chance to experiment with a whole grain flour if you’d like. If you don’t have pistachios, any nut would be great here. I’m aiming to make these again with walnuts or pecans and an additional handful of coconut.
Slightly adapted from The New Sugar and Spice
Preheat the oven to 350 F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.
In a medium bowl, whisk together both flours, baking soda, and salt. In a large bowl, using a wooden spoon, combine the coconut oil, brown sugar and turbinado sugar together until creamy. Stir in the vanilla extract and the egg. Add the flour mixture to the coconut oil mixture and stir to combine. Fold in the chocolate, pistachios and coconut.
Scoop the dough in 2-tablespoon scoops and place on the prepared baking sheets, at least 2 inches apart. Sprinkle each cookie with a bit of flaky salt. Bake until golden brown, 12 to 14 minutes, rotating the sheets halfway through. Let the cookies cool on the sheets on racks for about 5 minutes. While these cookies are best eaten the day they’re made, they can be stored covered at room temperature for up to 2 days.
Winter Comfort Food
I intended on baking holiday cookies to share with you today, but when I sat down to brainstorm all I could think about, truly, was the morning porridge I've been making and how that's really what I wanted to send you away with. The holiday season always seems to zoom on by at its own clip with little regard for how most of us wish it would just slow down, and this year feels like no exception. We got our tree last week and I've been making a point to sit in the living room and admire the twinkle as much as possible. I have lofty goals of snowflakes and gingerbread men and stringing cranberries and popcorn, but I'm also trying to get comfortable with the fact that everything may not get done, and that sitting amongst the twinkle is really the most important. That and a warm breakfast before the day spins into gear. This multi-grain porridge has proved to be a saving grace on busy weekday mornings, and it reheats beautifully so I've been making a big pot and bringing it to work with some extra chopped almonds and fresh pomegranate seeds. While cookies are certainly on the horizon, I think I'll have this recipe to thank for getting us through the busy days ahead.
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).
If I asked you about what you like to cook at home when the week gets busy, I'm willing to bet it might be something simple. While there are countless websites and blogs and innumerable resources to find any kind of recipe we may crave, it's often the simple, repetitive dishes that we've either grown up with or come to love that call to us when cooking (or life in general) seems overwhelming or when we're feeling depleted. While my go-to is typically breakfast burritos or whole grain bowls, this Curried Cauliflower Couscous with Chickpeas and Chard would make one very fine, very doable house meal on rotation. The adaptations are endless, and its made from largely pantry ingredients. I never thought I'd hop on the cauliflower "rice" bandwagon, but I have to say after making it a few times, I get the hype.
People describe raising young kids as a particular season in life. I hadn't heard this until we had a baby, but it brought me a lot of comfort when I'd start to let my mind wander, late at night between feedings, to fears that we'd never travel internationally again or have a sit-down meal in our dining room. Would I ever eat a cardamom bun in Sweden? Soak in Iceland? I loved the heck out of our tiny Oliver, but man what had we done?! Friends would swoop in and reassure us that this was just a season, a blip in the big picture of it all. They promised we'd likely not even remember walking around the house in circles singing made-up songs while eating freezer burritos at odd hours of the day (or night). And it's true.
Oliver is turning two next month, and those all-encompassing baby days feel like a different time, a different Us. In many ways, dare I say it, Toddlerhood actually feels a bit harder. Lately Oliver has become extremely opinionated about what he will and will not wear -- and he enforces these opinions with fervor. Don't get near the kid with a button-down shirt. This week at least. He's obsessed with his rain boots and if it were up to him, he'd keep them on at all times, especially during meals. He insists on ketchup with everything (I created a damn monster), has learned the word "trash" and insists on throwing found items away on his own that really, truly are not trash. I came to pick him up from daycare the other day and he was randomly wearing a bike helmet -- his teacher mentioned he'd had it on most of the day and really, really didn't want to take it off. The kid has FEELINGS. I love that about him, and wouldn't want it any other way. But, man it's also exhausting.
We recently had our favorite day of married life yet. When I tell you what it consisted of, you may worry or chuckle. Sundays used to be sacred in our house in the sense that it was our one day off together. We'd often read the paper, get a slice of quiche at Cafe Besalu, or take walks around Greenlake or Discovery Park. But now Sundays are generally when I work the farmers market for Marge Granola, and Sam helps me set up and take down each week, so they've taken on a very different feel, one more of work than leisure. So a few months ago, after mildly panicking that we no longer had any routines or days off, we reclaimed Saturdays as 'the new Sunday' and last weekend set the bar pretty high. The day began really cold: in the high 20's and graduated, eventually, to the 30's. We decided it'd be nice to just stay inside; Sam had a little work to do and some letters to write. He had a few articles he'd been wanting to read. And I'd been thinking about this lasagna recipe, so I puttered around the kitchen roasting squash and slicing garlic. The afternoon ticked on slowly. Sam made us baked eggs for a late lunch and I tried unsuccessfully to nap. I think it was the calmest we'd both felt in a long time. I'm lucky to have found a man who loves spending time at home as much as I do. While we both love going out to see friends, traveling, and having people over to our place, we also gain the most, I'd say, by doing simple things around the house -- straightening up, making a meal. organizing records or books or photos. Especially in this season of cold temperatures and early-darkening skies, it's what I crave the most. And last Saturday closed in the best of ways: we opened a bottle of "wedding wine" (thanks to my neurosis and fear we'd run out, we over-ordered wine when planning for our wedding) and dug into generous slices of this very special vegetarian lasagna, a hearty layered affair with caramelized onions, a sage-flecked tofu ricotta and a simple, savory butternut squash purée.