I’ve been thinking a lot about work lately, mainly because both Sam and I are beginning to fall behind with our own work and trying to figure out how to Balance It All with a baby and a family and a mortgage and dreams of cabining in distant sunny valleys. Ha! I have a few wonderful employees so while I was away on maternity leave, everything at Marge functioned just fine, leading me to start asking some bigger questions of myself: where should I put my energies and time? How can I get to a point where I feel like I’m doing work that really helps others and makes a difference? What’s next for me? Many of us spend such large chunks of our days, weeks, and months at work that it makes sense to question some of these things. Are we doing good? Do we feel good? Are we being challenged, stimulated, excited? Right now, Sam and I are balancing childcare on our own: he spends two days of the work week with Oliver and I the other three. So the stakes feel higher for both of us; when I wake up and it’s my workday, it feels like the clock is ticking and it’s more important than ever to make it really count.
Making your time count – like a checkbook you hope will, despite previous experiences, somehow balance itself – is a tricky and occasionally anxious arithmetic. There’s this narrative in large pockets of our society that there’s something we’re all called toward or meant to do … and I think this really trips so many of us up. I’ve seen it with my employees; I’ve seen it with my sisters; I’ve seen it with myself. When I taught Freshman Composition at Boston College years ago we were required to hold office hours in which we’d see students and chat about the course and the college experience in general. I found we’d always get sidetracked into “Life Talks,” touching on what they were meant to do, what classes they should take to get there, if they were on the “right path.” There was such a fierce, underlying anxiety to it all and I’d constantly assure them that it would all work out just how it’s supposed to. When you’re 18 that’s a hard thing to hear, but maybe no less so – to believe as much as to hear – when you’re 28, or 38, or…
I recently had the opportunity to travel to Los Angeles for one night to be part of a panel at Expo West. It was my first time away from Oliver, hard-enough in its own right, but I had a hunch it was good for me to get out and talk about my work again. Before the panel, several of us were having breakfast together when one of the panelists started talking about her teenage son. She was concerned that he wouldn’t get into a good college – the problem, she said, was that he wasn’t particularly into school. I asked what kinds of things he was into, and she sighed and talked all about his proclivity toward skateboarding. He spends hours a day perfecting his skills, knows everyone at the local skate shops, has a big community of like-minded friends, attends skating events around the city, and has learned all about video production and photography … so he can document himself and others skateboarding. I listened to her carefully and, when there was a pause in the conversation, told her what I thought: she has nothing to worry about. It’s the kids who don’t have a passion or a fiery interest in anything that you’ve got to worry about. While she may not necessarily agree with what it is he’s excited about, I bet this kid is going to follow his passion somewhere pretty cool. It might not be in the hallways of academia or in the boardroom his mom may be envisioning, but such has been the case with so many influential, smart people we’ve all looked up to at one time or another. (Looking at you, Tony Hawk.)
A few days ago I came across Jeff Goins’s essay about this very thing and found myself lost in it, immediately sending it to my sisters. It made me think of the panelist’s son; it made me think of my past students, of myself at a younger age; if I’m honest, of myself now. In his piece, Goins talks about how the path and the clarity that so many of us seek is really a myth: “A calling is the accumulation of a person’s life’s experiences, skills, and passions — all put to work.” He gives an example of a woman he consulted with who wasn’t sure if certain ideas for a career path were her actual dream … or just another idea. Goins states, “The problem is we don’t often know what we should be doing until we start doing it. Experience leads to competence, and competence creates confidence.” His takeaway? You become what you practice: “you won’t find your dream by standing still.” I like this. If we all sit around and marinate too hard over what our true calling is, we’d never do anything. And as I get older I see, more often than not, that true calling (if it exists) is more often stumbled upon than assigned – we get there on our way to something else. Maybe so as long as we’re moving forward, we’re on our way.
Next week I’m traveling to Los Angeles again for another quick one night trip; it took me a long time to come around to this one as I questioned if I’d make connections while there, if it’d further my career in some small way, if it was worth the time away from Oliver. But it turns out these questions, much like the larger ones about your life’s work, can’t be resolved quickly. So instead I listen to the self that was giving advice to college kids all those years ago: it will somehow work out. And I’ve been trying to put some faith in Goins’ point — and what I imagine the panelist’s skateboarding son would say, too — that moving forward, just moving, is the work right there.
Speaking of work! I developed this tart recipe in partnership with Darigold using a few of their ingredients. We use their butter at home for baking, but I had yet to try their new white cheddar and we’ve been loving it sliced on crackers before dinner — or in recipes like this savory tart. You may recognize the crust recipe from the Smoked Salmon Tart in my cookbook; that recipe is still a favorite, so it was a treat to seasonally revamp it here.
Megan’s Note: Some of you have asked if you can just cook the kale along with the mushroom mixture to save steps / dishes. I’ve done it both ways and the reason I like the method below (even though it seems slightly fussier) is that it gives you the opportunity to really squeeze the moisture out of the greens, ensuring for a nice crisp crust. Worst case scenario if you want to cook the greens with the other vegetables is your crust will be slightly on the soft side. No big deal.
I have made this tart many times with all manner of ingredients for the filling, so feel free to use any seasonal vegetables you’re particularly excited about. The millet in the crust gives it an addictive crunch and while the ingredient list definitely doesn’t shy away from the butter, I feel slightly more virtuous since it relies on whole grain flour, millet and cornmeal. The crust is incredibly forgiving: I’ve made it with spelt flour and whole wheat pastry flour and it turned out fantastic with both, so feel free to play around here as well. The tart reheats beautifully in the oven (I avoid the microwave because I like the crust to stay crisp), and feels just fancy enough to serve to guests although we love to have it for dinner with a simple salad and enjoy the leftovers for a few days after that.
Prepare the Crust: Butter a 10 x 1 inch tart pan with a removable bottom. Using a food processor, pulse together the cornmeal, flour and salt. Add the cubes of butter and pulse until mixture resembles coarse meal (alternatively, you can use a pastry blender or your fingertips to work the butter into the dry ingredients). Add ice water and pulse until the dough starts to look like wet stand. Test to see if it’s done by gently squeezing a small piece between your fingers: you’re looking for it to hold together and not crumble away. If it seems too crumbly, add more water, 1 teaspoon at a time. Turn the dough out into a large bowl and mix in the millet using a fork. Press the dough evenly into the bottom and up the sides of the prepared pan. Chill in the refrigerator for at least 1 hour and up to 1 day.
Prepare the Filling: Preheat the oven to 375F. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and add the kale. Cook until just softened, about 1-2 minutes. Use a slotted spoon and transfer to a large bowl of ice water to stop the kale from cooking. Remove from the cool water and, using your hands, squeeze as much water from the leaves as possible, laying the greens out on clean work surface. They tend to clump into a ball when squeezed, so spend a few moments “de-clumping” and separating them.
In a medium sauté pan over medium heat, warm the olive oil and sauté the shallots until tender, about 3 minutes. Add in the garlic and sauté for an additional 30 seconds. Add the mushrooms, thyme and a generous pinch of salt and cook down until tender and fragrant, 5-7 minutes.
In a medium bowl, whisk together the milk, sour cream, eggs, salt and pepper. Fold in the grated cheddar cheese.
Place the prepared crust on a small baking sheet for easy transport to and from the oven. Leaving behind any cooking liquid from the pan (I use a slotted spoon here), spoon the mushroom mixture on top of the crust followed by the kale (arrange in an even layer). Pour the custard mixture on top of the kale. Bake for 40-45 minutes or until the top is golden brown and the filling is completely set. Let cool for 15-20 minutes, unmold the tart and serve warm or room temperature. Refrigerate, covered, any leftovers for up to 3-4 days.
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.
This past week we've had quite a heat wave in Seattle. I've been getting into the bakery early in the mornings so as to avoid the afternoon heat + hot oven combination, and it turns out the upstairs of our new house is quite a little hot box. I bought some aggressive blinds and a new fan and am hoping both will help cool things down a bit. The wool blanket is in the linen closet for the season, and Sam's been making iced tea like it's his job. Summer has arrived! A few nights ago, the thought of actually doing much real cooking seemed a bit overwhelming, so I figured it was time to dig out the ice cream maker and get to work. I'd wanted to do something with the beautiful strawberries we have in the markets right now, but it seems every time I get a little pint it's gone before I have the chance. They are just so incredibly sweet, and it seems a shame to do anything other than eat them right out of the container, preferably while sitting on the Moroccan picnic blanket you brought back from honeymoon on the lawn in your new backyard trying not to stress out about the incredible, insurmountable number of weeds. So. Many. Weeds. But cherries: somehow the bag of cherries made it safely through the weekend, so I set about to find a great cherry ice cream recipe.
When you have an eight month old baby, making social plans can be hard. Especially in the evenings. When I was pregnant, I read Bringing up Bebe and one of the big premises of the book is how the French feel strongly that babies and children can fit into your lives and that you shouldn't have to change and alter everything to accommodate them. I remember reading the book and thinking: YES! Life will be just as it was, except we'll have a small baby in tow. Obviously a few things would likely be different, but I didn't want to change our routines, change the way we cooked or approached time off together, or see our friends any less. Well of course I'm the fool. Or at the very least, I'm not as French as I thought I was. Today, we very much schedule things around Oliver's nap schedule and bedtime, but thankfully we have a lot of other friends with kids who get it. Friends who make homemade cookies, own ice cream businesses, and have really great taste in music. Friends who host the kind of occasion that warrants homemade hot fudge sauce and eating dessert first.
We're back! After a restful few days in Lake George, I ended up flying home while Sam spent a little time with his family in New Jersey and a few days in New York City by himself before taking the train all the way back to Seattle (a solid four day journey). If you know Sam, this isn't surprising; he loves trains. When he's gone, I quickly revert back to my single gal days of eating veggie quesadillas for dinner (over and over) and staying up working later than I'd like. We would talk on the phone often as Sam would narrate his very full days in New York City and the stops and layovers he had while on the train. After a few days of me lamenting the fact that I wasn't there to experience it all with him, he encouraged me to ditch the quesadillas and do something special for dinner. See a movie. Go to the museum for just an hour. In short: I needed to get better at dating myself.
I received The Sprouted Kitchen Bowl + Spoon cookbook in the mail not long before we moved to our new house, and I remember lying in bed and bookmarking pages I was excited to try but also feeling overwhelmed with where to start: the truth is that this summer has been a relatively low-inspiration / low energy time in the kitchen for me. I'd been chalking it up to pregnancy but when I think back and if I'm honest with myself, my cooking style tends to be very easy and produce-driven during these warmer months. I rarely break out complicated recipes, instead relying on fresh tomatoes and corn or zucchini and homemade pesto to guide me. But last night I cracked open Sara's book and pulled out a few peaches I've had sitting on the counter, fearing their season may be nearing its end. This morning as I was making coffee, I sliced up the peaches, toasted the pecans and churned away -- having a bite (or maybe two) before getting it into the freezer to firm up.