The Patience of Ordinary Things

It is a kind of love, is it not?
How the cup holds the tea,
How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare,
How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes
Or toes. How soles of feet know
Where they're supposed to be.
I've been thinking about the patience
Of ordinary things, how clothes
Wait respectfully in closets
And soap dries quietly in the dish,
And towels drink the wet
From the skin of the back.
And the lovely repetition of stairs.
And what is more generous than a window?

by Pat Schneider from Another River: New and Selected Poems

Sweet Potato Cannellini Soup with Sage Pesto

Serves 4 – 6

INGREDIENTS:

SOUP:
2 teaspoons of extra virgin olive oil or walnut oil
2 cups thinly sliced leek (about 2 medium)
2 garlic cloves, minced
4 cups chicken broth
2 cups (1/2-inch) cubed peeled sweet potato (about 1 medium potato)
6 cups chopped Swiss chard (about 1 bunch), chop off bottom of stems
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 (19-ounce) can cannellini beans, rinsed and drained
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice


PESTO:
1/4 cup (1 ounce) grated Pecorino Romano or Asiago cheese
1/2 cup chopped fresh basil
1/4 cup toasted pine nuts
2 tablespoon chopped fresh sage
2 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil or walnut oil
2 garlic cloves, peeled
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon freshly ground pepper

DIRECTIONS:
1. To prepare the soup, heat a Dutch oven over medium heat. Coat pan with oil. Add leek and garlic to pan; cook 8 minutes or until tender, stirring frequently.
2. Stir in broth and bring to a boil. Add the potato; cook about 9 minutes or until potato is tender.
3. Stir in chard, pepper, salt, and beans; cook about 2 minutes or until chard wilts. Remove from heat; stir in lemon juice.
4. To prepare the pesto, combine the cheese and remaining ingredients in a food processor; process until smooth, scraping sides of bowl occasionally. Ladle soup into bowls and top each serving with a generous tablespoon of pesto.

***North Carolina is the leading state in sweet potato production.
**Many people use the words sweet potato and yam interchangeably, but they are really two completely different tubers. The trouble started when orange-fleshed sweet potatoes were introduced in the southern United States. Producers and shippers wanted to distinguish them from the more traditional, white-fleshed types. Then, slaves in the American South called the orange sweet potato nyamis, because of its similarity to a vegetable of that name that they knew from their homeland. Quickly, Americans adopted the name yam for their orange-fleshed sweet potatoes. This African word, also meaning "to eat", brought the two root vegetables together, despite botanical differences. As aforementioned, there are two popular types of sweet potatoes available in most U.S. markets. The first type is paler and somewhat yellow-skinned with light yellow flesh. This first type is not very sweet and has a texture similar to a white baking potato. The second type of sweet potato is usually labeled a "yam". This darker-skinned variety has a thicker, dark orange to reddish skin with orange, sweet flesh. When cooked, these "yams" (actually darker sweet potatoes) have a more moist and stringy interior than the first variety.


*True yams are also tubers. However, they grow from a tropical vine (Dioscorea batatas) and are not even distantly related to the sweet potato. They are slowly becoming more common in U.S. markets. True yams are more popular in the tropical climates in which they thrive: primarily in South America, Africa, and the Caribbean. They are generally sweeter than the sweet potato and can grow over seven feet in length! The yam tuber has brown or black skin which resembles the bark of a tree and off-white, purple or red flesh, depending on the variety.


Recipe by Cristina Paul

Blah-Blah-Blahg: Food For Nought

We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light. 
— Plato

Poem of the Week

when one is taken with another,
where does one go?
lying on my side,
with only a window pane to separate me from the trees,
can’t tell if they’re blowing, or the house is moving
maybe the trees are just bending down for a kiss
if I were a tree who would I kiss?
if I were me?
what is subtracted from the equation?
in the economy of love,
how does a sapling grow?
do we (n)ever not get what we didn’t pay for?

by Cristina Paul

Crispy-Skinned Roasted Lemon Chicken

Serves 3 to 4

Use fresh lemon juice to achieve true lemon flavor for the delicious sauce that accompanies this dish. The baking soda mixture that is rubbed on the chicken’s skin will produce a wonderful crispiness. A sharp pair of kitchen shears will make removing the backbone of the chicken easy. Use a non-stick aluminum roasting pan for best results.

INGREDIENTS:
2 ½ teaspoons table salt, divided
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon ground black pepper
3 tablespoons grated lemon zest, plus 1/3 cup juice from 3 lemons
1 teaspoon sugar
1 whole (3 ½ - 4 pound) chicken, butterflied (backbone removed)
2 cups chicken broth
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
2 teaspoons minced fresh parsley, savory, or thyme

DIRECTIONS:
1. Adjust oven rack to upper-middle position and heat the oven to 450 degrees. Combine 1 1/2 teaspoons salt, baking powder and pepper in a small bowl; set aside. In another bowl, combine the remaining teaspoon of salt, lemon zest, and sugar and set aside.
2. Place the chicken breast-side down on a work surface. Using kitchen shears, cut along both sides of the backbone of your chicken to remove the backbone. Flip the chicken so the breasts face up and press down on the chicken breasts with your palm to somewhat flatten the chicken. Trim any excess fat.
3. Pat the chicken dry with paper towels. Using fingers or the handle of a wooden spoon, carefully separate the skin from thighs and breast. Rub 2 tablespoons of the lemon zest mixture under the breast, thigh, and leg meat. Now, rub the chicken skin with the baking powder mixture, coating the entire surface evenly. Using a metal skewer, poke 15 to 20 holes in fat deposits on top of breast halves and thighs. Now place the chicken in a roasting pan. Combine the broth, lemon juice, and remaining zest mixture and pour around the chicken.
4. Roast until thigh meat registers 170 to 175 degrees, about 40 to 45 minutes. Transfer to a cutting board and let rest for twenty minutes.
5. Meanwhile, transfer the pan juices to a saucepan, whisk in butter, and parsley, savory, or thyme; and cook over low heat. Pour the sauce around the chicken on a serving platter. Garnish with lemon wedges and herbs if desired. Carve and serve the chicken.

***Butterflying the chicken helps it cook more evenly and quickly than a traditional roasted chicken.
**Baking powder is the ingredient responsible for the crisp skin of this chicken. Like baking soda, baking powder is a leavener (containing sodium bicarbonate) but it also contains a drying agent.
*Baking powder and baking soda are often used in baked goods. Baking soda alone can create a bitter taste unless countered by the acidity of another ingredient, such as buttermilk. Baking powder contains both an acid and a base and has an overall neutral effect in terms of taste.

Recipe by Cristina Paul

Blah-Blah-Blahg: Food For Nought

I recently stayed at a bed and breakfast and realized that there is a funny etiquette that operates when you enter into this world of doilies and daisies. I loooooove B&Bin' it - and not just because I get to use the abbreviation as a verb. I have a strange addiction to the conversation at the communal breakfast table. A B&B is a whimsical mingling of people in close quarters, friendly innkeepers, and the serendipity of finding yourself amongst other curious travelers that have chosen this same slice of American pie. When I make may way to the breakfast table, I cross my fingers for a small number of guests so we can most effectively talk at each other. I don't care what type of cable-sweatered, weary traveler fate plops into the wooden chair across from me. The B&B beckons me to ¡EMBRACE! my fellow wanderers/wonderers - to tell them about the book I never wrote, my first crush, explain why I don't take sugar with my coffee but will add it to my tea, marvel at the local discoveries that I have or haven't yet made, realize that I REALLY like the fuddyduddies or freaks sitting within spitting distance. After an hour or two of relaxed rambling over fresh plates of fruit, I exchange emails with the honest intention of keeping in touch with these people who seemed to be so different. Now I feel irreversibly bound to my unlikely friends. If the vicissitudes of fate dropped me down on a plane seat next to this traveler, or my love of sending postcards miraculously brought me to the same post office, I would expect them to greet me by name and introduce me to a loved one. I really and truly believe that anyone I meet at a B&B will name their firstborn after me or at least beg their sons and daughters to do so.


Things I saw during my most recent travels:

The loveliest bird feeder ever
















                A happy bush

















Elephants on parade

Evolution in Indiana

I thought that species took ten thousand years
to gradually evolve new strategies
to deal with shifts in climate or environment,
but after two snow-free years in a row
the local robins all at once decided
to winter here instead of flying south.
I watched them pace my lawn in late November,
debating like small Hamlets with their instincts:
"It's way past time to migrate; why haven't I?"
Since, every fall, a few old feeble ones
decide they'd rather risk starvation here
than drop off dead of fatigue in Alabama,
at first I thought it was their kind I glimpsed
rummaging discarded Christmas trees
for grubs and squabbling with the greedy squirrels
stealing birdseed from my neighbor's feeder.
But then, one drizzly January walk,
I spotted dozens, looking sleek and healthy,
plucking worms who'd washed up on my sidewalk.
Why here, where I was forced to grub for money
all winter long, when they could fly away,
I wondered as they hopped out of my path.
Does flying hurt so much they'd rather shiver
and see the sun once every other week
than perch in palms swayed by an ocean breeze?
If I had wings, I'd use them…and on and on
I muttered as I trudged around the block
in pointless circles, just for exercise,
hands thrust into my pockets, arms tight to sides,
like some huge flightless bird, while overhead
the most successful members of my species
winged effortlessly southward in high Boeings
invisible from our side of the clouds —
we well-fed and hard-working flock of Dodos.

by Richard Cecil from Twenty First Century Blues