"I Know When You're Cooking, You're Feeling OK!"

It has come to my attention that I have not blogged in a very long time. Too much has happened this year, far more than any other year combined, with too many life changes to even count. I neglected the food blog because I didn't honestly think I'd LIVE long enough to cook and blog about it. Not being dramatic. This year was intense. A diagnosis, a move home, a marriage proposal (!!!), a tree collapsing my family's house, dividing it in two, moving my entire family and myself into my fiancé's family's spare apartment (divine intervention and human generosity of its utmost nature), a vacation of solace in Maine, turning the last year of my 20s and still feeling 20, moving back to DC, this time with a fiancé, and then another move in October.

This year was the year of change.

Not to mention major life lessons learned along the way, and fears realized and confronted. My faith grew by leaps and bounds this year, as did my skepticism. I became a cynic. A doubting Thomas and a trusting devotee all in one. I'm grateful it's the end of 2012, truly, and ready to bury this year and wipe it clear off the calendar. Being diagnosed with a chronic disease and hearing the words "no cure, but manageable" and "late stage" and then getting a second and third opinion was a frustrating challenge...but it's December now and finally things are starting to fall into place. Really starting to feel like I'm finally turning a corner, as the toxins are exiting my body and the symptoms are dropping like flies with each new medicine. Progress.

However, you can read all about that subject on my Lyme blog. I intended on writing it about embracing a holistic manner of treating Lyme, but the first and only two posts deal mostly with the emotional processing of the worst point of my life. I over-share a few early days of dealing with the emotions of a diagnosis, and hope to give more updates at my individual progress (not only physical, but mostly mental and emotional progress in the understanding, acceptance and management of chronic pain) since March. Thanks to the support of my fiancé, family and friends and cheerleaders along the way, and of course, God's hand of healing and provision, my Lyme journey has turned a corner and my body continues on this path to full wellness of body and mind.

I guess it was in Maine this summer with my entire immediate family, which doesn't get together often with a sister and brother in law in Georgia, and my fiancé, where I realized what life is ALL about. It took a while to get there...and it's a continual journey. It's about health, yes, but when you're not healthy, or on the road back to wellness, it's about surrounding yourself with whatever brings you acute joy. For me, this undoubtedly means two things: family and food. In that order, but combined equals pure joy. When I am with my family, fiancé, and fiancé's family, I'm truly happiest. It is the reason that the happiest day of my life thus far was on June 19th when my then-boyfriend visited sick me living at home with my family, brought our two families together for dinner at his parent's new home, which I thought was a house-warming party, and PROPOSED! I have never been so shocked nor so ecstatic, and pure joy exuded that night. Sickness didn't matter and melted away as we started dialing our family (my sister had been waiting by the phone and was the first call I made) and friends, and I shed some tears of pure joy. We had a lovely dinner of grilled kabobs and blueberry cheesecake for dessert, followed by a champagne toast. In that moment, sitting next to my new fiancé, surrounded by those I cherish most in this life, and having spoken to my sister, I realized, this was all I needed in life, and could then die the happiest woman (I was sick, and still taken to histrionic thinking).

In Maine there was more time of culinary therapy and familial togetherness. The accessibility of fresh lobster didn't hurt. I can direct you to the best lobster shanty in southern Maine, and arguably the best lobster roll in all of Maine. In many moments sailing on that lake which honestly earlier in the year, I never thought I'd see again, much less sail across, there was a sort of emotional release which happened. The release of endorphins, for sure, but something greater, something on a deeper spiritual level. The presence of God and Health and Life and Healing. When those you love are all around you, you're regularly eating crustaceans fresh out of the sea that day and onto a grilled and buttered bun, glistening in lemon juice, and swimming in a lake with your mouth open and free, drinking in the pure water, the fears of life drift away.

One special memory I'll write about soon was of an engagement celebration dinner with my sister and brother in law. They generously had offered to take us out to a nice dinner when the four of us were able to meet up in Maine. It was the first time we four had mingled alone, and the first time we'd all seen each other since their recent nuptials. Unsure of where to go, having not really had the freedom of cars in Maine before, I was at a loss as to which restaurant to choose...we ended up on this sort of spiritual quest (lobster is a form of spirituality for we Maine lovers), navigating our way through shacks and seafood joints along southern Maine's main drag, making our way down to the coast and the great city of Portland. We decided upon the Old Port district and found an authentic seafood restaurant right along the water, surrounded by shops and taverns and little cafes. Foodie heaven, as my sister termed it. Jeremy and I were thankful to be in the midst of such great company, as our visits are few and far between, and delicious seafood like scallops, flounder, and oysters (of which my sister actually tried for the first time!) combined with some pretty stellar cocktails, and of course exciting conversation of wedding advice (we most definitely needed) and wedding planning details, and what the first year of marriage is like. That night will live on in my memory, even though some of the details have been misplaced in my brain. The wine might have had something to do with that. A walk along Portland's pier and glimpses of shop windows and cobblestone pathways lead us back to the car for our journey "home" to camp...but it was a night to remember.

Food has this unique way of curing any ailments when I'm alone, and I can groove to the healing properties of good ingredients slowly prepared, in a sort of epicurean prayer. For a lot of this year, especially the days and months since August and moving back to Washington, food has been my zen, my meditation, and the way I most see the reflection of God and experience the magnitude of Grace. Sometimes when the pain is too great I waltz (more like, limp) into the kitchen to sauté sliced garlic in olive oil, wafting the scent to my nose as I go and praising Grace and God and Benevolence for still allowing me my senses, of which are continuously affected, perhaps even more powerfully than before. With this new chapter of life comes a heightened sense of awareness and sensitivity, and, thankfully, this period of sensual stimulation greatly affects taste and smell. When I am in the kitchen I'm slowly feeling cured by each aromatic dish and when I'm sick and sad, the place I long for most is anywhere food is. Over a hot stove (our new place has a gas stove...my first, and I'm forever falling in love with this method of cooking. I feel like a cooking virgin. Hot hot hot!), choosing delectable fresh vegetables and fruits at the market, discovering new drinks I can actually enjoy (kombucha!) without my body wigging out for days, and the pleasure of slowness. The kitchen is the perfect, most opportune place for slowness. Food isn't meant to be rushed, not in the selection of ingredients, nor in the preparation of procedure, nor in the enjoyment of flavor. It's meant to be savored, and in turn, wholeness follows.

My soon-to-be mother-in-law has become accustomed to sending me encouraging texts should I send her photos of what I've made "in the kitchen", if I so get in there that day. She says, "I know when you're feeling well. When I get photos, I know you're cooking, and I know when you're cooking, you're feeling OK!" This is a beautiful sentiment, and one in which brings me more relief than I can explain. In all honesty, it's when I'm feeling the very worst that my body craves the feel of heat, my skin needs the texture of a raw onion, finely sliced, sautéed in olive oil, and then the aroma of garlic. Intoxicating. It is when I cannot cope with the pain any longer that I desire to become drunk on the senses of the kitchen. It is in the acknowledgment and embrace of pain that it can become diminished. A supernatural force drives my fatigued and aching body into the kitchen because the physical body knows therein lies the answer to wellness of mind and wholeness of spirit.

In the beautiful documentary, Bill Cunningham's New York, New York Times fashion photographer Bill Cunningham emotionally utters the breathtaking truth, "When you search for beauty, you will find it."

In the kitchen, my search is over.

"Did you see about Nora?"

June 26, 2012, 9:13 pm:

A text comes through from my best friend. "Did you see about Nora? Are you so upset? I'm so sorry."

Bewildered, I immediately dial Shirah, thinking, oh no, did Nora get fired? Is her new play gonna be a flop? No, not Nora! She'd never be a flop. The line rings, once, twice. "Hmm, maybe Shirah ran into her in Manhattan and she was terribly mean to her because she'd just been dumped. Maybe her husband left her! Oh no, what happened to Nora, my beloved writer, favorite filmmaker, most treasured essayist, dearest hero? Third ring. "Heyy......" Shirah's voice is sullen.

"Hey, I just saw your text...what's up about Nora? What did I miss?" my voice is casual and a tad indifferent. If Nora was fired, screw them. She'll be better off somewhere else. Omygod, what if she had a stroke? Is this why the text said, "I'm so sorry"??? She won't be able to write anymore, or make another film because the side of her face is sagging and her neurological disorder prevents her. Is this why my best friend, a New Yorker now, like Nora, immediately wrote me, her most dedicated devotée? Who already has her future baby named Nora, after the great Nora Ephron. I think back to Spring when Shi texted that she was in a café and saw Nora in a corner reading a paper. I wanted to book a flight to that café then and there. I've always dreamed of one day meeting her.

"She passed away....." Shirah's voice is crackly and breaks off. My world goes silent. My body is numb. I don't breathe or think. My face feels like it's falling. Salty liquid drags at my tear ducts, but I'm still silent and numb. "What?" is all I can muster up, thinking I heard her wrong. "Shannon she passed, I'm soooo sorry. I thought you knew?"

Numbness turns into immediate devastation. I can feel my face now. I can feel the liquid salt bursting to break free. I lose it. My bed is near, thankfully, and I fall into a million pieces. My body is heaving, I'm weeping and gasping and begging that this isn't true. I feel like my grandmother has just passed, not a stranger I only "know" through words. I start hyperventilating, but realize I'm also still on the phone and I stop hearing my best friend's voice, as I run to my iPad for confirmation. Maybe there was an error. In a brief memory flash I think back to Joe Paterno, and how CBS announced his death erroneously.

My fingers dance across the screen's Google bar. "Nora ephron"

Search.

"Nora Ephron dead"

I cannot exactly process what this death means for me. I have never met this woman. I always thought I would, and yet now that time has passed. I remember all of my favorite movie lines from "You've Got Mail", my all time favorite of hers and in general, and keep crying. Now I'm convulsing, which brings my poodle George walking cautiously into the room. He jumps up on the bed, licking my tear-stained shirt, licks up my arm to my drenched cheeks and licks the snot bubbles at my nose before I push him away. I don't even care that my face is destroyed. My heart is, at this moment, broken.

Shirah and I hang up, because I need to tell my mom, who is saddened but not in a crushing way that I am. I'm devastated. How many laughs and tears has dearest Nora brought into my world? From a young age, how many times did I doodle "Harry and Sally" in the margins of middle school looseleaf paper? How many times did I put the You've Got Mail VHS into our VCR, growing up in Florida? Or cry during Sleepless in Seattle, in that end scene when they FINALLY meet? I know every line of her films, yet in this moment of shock, can remember none. All I see in my mind is her characters, and her laughter in my heart as I grew up. Nora raised me. Through her charming and magical films, she reared an insecure doodler into a confident diarist. When grappling with a difficult situation and a conflicted heart, she gave me and countless other women the summons, "Write about it."

So write I shall. And my dear, precious writer, filmmaker, essayist and wishful friend, may you be forever writing your screenplays for all of heaven to witness and love.

Rest in peace, dearest Nora.

Spontaneous Farmer's Market Mini-haul!

So today, pretty late, we took a trip out into town and on our way there, stopped at the little Earlysville Farmer's Market. Not really looking for anything in particular, mom, little sis and I just were enjoying each booth.

I was intrigued by one booth in particular and got into talking about fresh beeswax lip balm with the owner, a young Joan Baez type. She was so artsy and cool and was telling me all about her family-owned business that sells really cool jewelry (they were featuring a "District Twelve" necklace!!!) and beeswax lotion. Very neat. A little vial on the table held fresh lentil beans. Awesome shop. We got into conversation about honey, and how she's a beekeeper and will be selling her honey in a few weeks. I was super into that prospect because I am a honey freak but have never had it raw. Usually it's too expensive.

I picked up her card then meandered over to another few booths, now on the search for some honey! I was at a booth smelling truffle butter when Mom and sis start waving. At their booth I found pure, raw honey! Just what I was looking for. The sweet old farmer even bagged the jar up for me, and I didn't have any cash so he said, get this, "hon you can just pay me next time". What??? I was incredulous by his generosity and such trust. Then he goes off and hands little sis a fresh apple out of a bushel on the table. Wow. That's country charm right there.

After our errands in town, including a stop at the bank for cash, we stopped back at the market. Sweet old farmer who I will affectionately call"Milton" because that's what he looks like to me, counted back my change for the raw honey THEN goes, "Here's some thing to snack on for the ride home." and dumps a carton of cherry tomatoes into a bag. Wow. I was gobsmacked by his kindness and will never forget it.

Mom also picked up some sugar snap peas and romaine lettuce! Check out our farmer's market haul!

Grill, Baby, GRILL

Over the past two days I've been experimenting more in the kitchen. For a quick update, I've moved home temporarily and have been diagnosed with Lyme disease. I have found a naturopath and have been following a holistic treatment plan. I'll never take good health for granted again!

So, 2 nights ago my dad, J, and I worked together in the kitchen.

I found a beautiful flat-iron steak in the refrigerator, and at 9pm, realized that I better get the dinner ball rolling. Everyone else was reading, watching movies, or gardening (my mom likes to do this late at night after the sun goes down) so I started snapping beans. These are long, French string beans my mom has always used for one of our favorite family recipes, Provençal Green Beans. They're always fresh, NEVER frozen. That's a big no-no. So, I readied the beans, enlisting the help of my little sis. She's usually eager to help in the kitchen, and during this time of being, for the most part, bedridden (Feb and March), I like to oblige.

We get a rolling pot of water boiling and toss in the beans. Parboil 8 minutes. I like the beans like my pasta- al dente, in between firm enough to snap slightly but soft enough to chew. Ok that made no sense. Whatever. I like them chewy-soft. I'm going to stop. And blame my vocabulary mind blank on Lyme.

After you parboil the beans, drain then shock them in cold water. I am no culinary school graduate, but this may be called "blanching"?

Next in a heavy skillet (I use cast-iron), drizzle 1 Tablespoon olive oil and turn on medium heat. Add beans, and stir constantly. I use 2 wooden spoons and toss beans. You want them to be nicely coated with the extra virgin olive oil. My boyfriend made both of our moms garlic-infused olive oil for Mother's Day preserved in old whiskey bottles, and I use this to drizzle into pan. It was a great touch, because then the next step is taken care of: add 1-2 cloves crushed garlic.

I omit this, since I am in a slight hurry, usually burn the garlic, and nothing tastes worse than burnt garlic.

Toss the beans until tender, about 4 minutes, turning heat up to 6 or 7. Slightly below highest heat.

Next, I enlist J's help. He's somewhat of a steak aficionado and I'm, well, not. I did prep the steak by salting it well, something I've observed my boyfriend do many times. I always think he is over salting it, but then I remember that he is the one who went to culinary school. He knows a thing or two about salt. And nothing he's made for me has ever tasted too salty nor too bland. So he knows what's up. Therefore I do, by observation. Then I generously pepper it. Then, I marinate it in the garlic-infused olive oil. And rub some across my lips for a special treat.

Did you know they do olive oil tastings in Italy? Like wine tastings here. My paradise.

J gets the grill fired up, and checks on the baked potatoes he placed in the oven about 25 minutes prior to my starting the beans. He cuts each potato in half to cook easily, and slathers them with olive oil and butter throughout the baking process, about every 5 minutes.

As we're watching the grill heat up, I'm given a tutorial on grilling. The 2 minute tutorial. I'm told by J that flat iron steak is great, because it's cheap, but also full of flavor. Much more flavor than a filet. I make a mental note of this, as I don't do much steak-eating in general. Usually too broke!

We place the flat iron right on the grill, and I'm also told to always coat the grill rack a bit with olive oil. Not sure why. Too hungry to ask. He probably told me. Lyme brain.

Next, close grill cover. Set timer for 4 minutes. Walk away. Back inside, the potatoes are ready. We pull them out, set the table, and wait. Various dressings are placed out. I'm an A-1 freak, so that comes out *gasp* then Worcestershire sauce and butter, then rice magically appears from microwave *double gasp* and soon enough the timer dings.

Back outside, the steak is turned over and grills another 3 minutes. I'm sure to snap many photos of the lovely grill marks, then Instagram a couple. My new obsession. Which inspires me to cook more, so it's actually been a productive thing.

(I will have to figure out how to upload Instagram photos to Blogger. Don't hold your breath.)

Another tip from the steak guru: always let the steak REST after removing from grill. It's juices need to settle. Turn grill off. I don't usually worry about this at home, since the bf and I have a little charcoal grill.

My favorite part comes next. The aroma. I love the smell of anything grilled. Sitting on the table ready to slice into, the steak smells like summer. I can practically taste it just by sight. Which makes sense, since you eat with your eyes first.

The scent of summer and sight of perfect grill marks diagonally positioned across the steak remind me of glorious summer cookouts past, and the dream of more ahead.

The flat iron steak is ready to be sliced into. The best way to serve this is by slicing it into fine pieces, then passing them around and loading your plate with veggies:in this case, Provencal green beans and baked potatoes.

Biting into the succulent, rich, medium-rare meat, I'm treasuring good days now and to come.

Be Merry,

S

P.S. A-1 was not consumed! The jus from the steak was heavenly enough and full of such robust flavor that no artificial flavoring was required.

Ah. The good life.

That's so GRANOLA

Allo poppets!

So today I tried a new breakfast. I hate breakfast but this is something I may start eating, because it didn't feel too breakfasty. Like pancakes. Or bacon. Which are both good. Just not for breakfast.

I had strawberries, 2 little yogurt cups of Activia light vanilla yogurt, and GRANOLA. The little plastic container with my writing on it says "organic granola flax seed" so I'm assuming I wanted to save space in our teeny pantry and wrote that on a little plastic bin and stored it away.

I usually don't eat yogurt. It tastes too healthy. So I'll have cheese instead. Love me some cheddar. But since I've cut out dairy ENTIRELY (not too thrilled about that), I have to eat yogurt. Which I don't think is dairy.

OMG is it dairy???

Anyway, I piled high the yogurt with freshly sliced strawberries in a pretty little handmade ceramic bowl that my mom gave me, and sprinkled in some granola. Here, see for yourself.

But THEN. I tasted and saw that the Lord is good (and so is granola) and did this.

I flat out dumped the rest of the granola into the bowl, mixed it all together, and then picked out some seeds from the pantry and threw them in too. Roasted pumpkin seeds? Sunflower seeds? Sure. Why ever not? If I can't eat a whopping grilled cheese sandwich right now, I guess this will do.

No but it was good. Delicous. And healthy tasting at the same time. I may have to ask Jer's mom where she got that organic granola. But it HAS to have the flax seed. Best part.

Geez. I'm so granolaaaaaa I should move to Berkeley.

Then, energized from my new breakfast that follows the anti-INFLAMMATORY diet, or as I now call it "the AWESOMENESS diet", George and I went for a long walk. He got in plenty of sniffs and tinkles (I lost track after 32...how can a dog mark THAT much territory, there were no drips coming out at the end?!) and I took a few photos playing around with my very first iPhone!

Then we took a little side street on our way home and stumbled upon this fantastic gem.

It's very Secret Garden. I love how the ivy covers up the numbers by the door. And the old brick and wood. I want to live there and host tea parties in my little ivy abode.

SIGH.

Then, I snapped a photo of this flower sculpture that I walk past at least twice a day but felt like I noticed for the first time, today...does that ever happen to you? (I think it's made from aluminum.)Thought I'd leave you with this pretty flower for Valentine's Day!

XOXO and Happy Valentine's DAY!

Shannon

the AWESOMENESS diet

Allo loves!

Why have I not written in like 100 days, you ask? Not really. Has it really been that long?

1) I am a procrastinator. Like the biggest procrastinator ever. Like a procrastinator that would win an award for..."best procrastinator". Or something.

2) I can't think of another reason besides "I'm the biggest procrastinator".

The truth is, I love to eat. And I love to write. And I even love to write what I EAT. But. I get lazy. Have too high of expectations (for myself and everyone else for that matter) and NEVER post on here! But I do have heaps of notebooks lying about, with scribbles and tattered pages and crossed out words about dreamy food....and then I read a blog. Like Smitten. And Orangette. Or Cannelle et Vanille. Or Cupcakes and Cashmere. And then do that thing I do on Facebook. Where I COMPARE my life to everyone else's. And my writing to the queen bees of food blogging. And then I slam-shut my little notebooks, and the words never get to meet this thing we call the world wide web. Sad. :(

But I have become re-inspired! Kind of by mistake. Or by Pinterest. Or by default. Because I just like to say "by default" in conversation. Somehow it makes me think I know what I'm saying. Which I don't. (but I like to think I'm a good pretender)

By default::

I had to change my diet. ComPLETELY. To the anti-INFLAMMATORY diet. Because my body is INFLAMED. Why does INFLAMED demand to be written so LARGE?

It began around Christmas. The next bunch of whack symptoms I've been having for years! My feet start tingling, I get really tired, I read webmd and 600 other websites and find out I need B vitamins. I buy out CVS's supply of B vitamins. And fish oil, for good measure (and Funyuns, prob not for best measure). I pop a couple B vitamins a day, b6 and b12 I think, or maybe b1? And Christmas goes off without a hitch. (I think my mom's eggnog had a lot to do with it) I come home from lovely Christmas break and then muscle spasms like whoa commence coarsing through my legs. Seizing up and cramping and making me want to take one long hot bath. which I now have taken every day since Jan 5. I call all my doctors and naturally freak out and think that webmd is right and that I WILL become paralyzed so I start ingesting bananas. Because they don't make your legs fall off. Which I think they're going to do. And then write about it on Facebook in some desperate attempt to heal my limbs and chill my muscles. Which doesn't help, but I do find out that I probably have Lyme disease, says a very helpful, lovely woman and mother of a friend. She had it as did her entire family and then their lives were changed by a Lyme specialist in DC. So I call the Lyme specialist and can't pronounce his name. But he is awesome. Because everybody else says so too. On the Internet. But I have a personal connection to him, so I call him and his secretary is very sweet and informs me the next appointment is in June-or-July and would I like to be placed on a waiting list? I wouldn't but I say I would. Because, I think to my desperate self, I'll probably be paralyzed by June-or-July or my limbs may fall off from one large spasm leaving me to hop around on one leg. Or in a wheelchair. Which definitely isn't happening. Dying sounds less embarrassing. So I make the appointment. Knowing full well I won't be here anyway. Then the sweet receptionist tells me that the first appointment is seven hundred and fifty dollars and no they don't take health insurance, and why yes dear, you do have to pay up front. A five hundred dollar minimum, cash or check. Sweeeet. Not only will I be paralyzed and dead come June-or-July, I'll be bankrupt,too.

After having sweet-receptionist-lady who seems like a "Dolly" but is probably more like a "Pat" pencil me in, I decide that I DO want to live. And that I won't be paralyzed or dead by June-or-July. And that I should probably read about what I should...wait for it...EAT so as to live come June-or-July.

And THAT is how the anti-INFLAMMATORY diet came barreling into my life!

(Actually, a wonderful former college Resident Director of mine recommended it to me, based on personal experience of its great help in her own life.)

So, THIS is what I have been eating for like 26 days now. Really. twenty-six DAYSSSSS.

Oysters on the half shell
With like seventy five squeezes of lemon, Tabasco AND champagne mignonette.
Green Chiles from New Mexico
(thanks Sam)
(and thanks Jeremy for being born in New Mexico)
(and thanks Jeremy's parents for going to college in New Mexico so Jeremy can be born there and introduce me to green chiles from New Mexico)
Sushi
Mussels
Clams
Good thing I like shellfish
Bananas
Kale
Crispy kale
Raw kale
Over-salted kale
(oops)
Over-olive-oiled kale
Yum
Strawberries by the 5 lbs
Blueberries
Blackberries
More kale
Burnt kale
Major fail
More sushi with lots of pickled ginger
Raw salmon in sushi even though I don't like raw salmon
(it's better doused with low-sodium soy sauce and pickled ginger)
Dark chocolate (which actually tastes better now)
Red wine
Shiitake mushrooms
Spinach
Loads of greens
Did you know there was such thing as mustard greens?
I'm kind of scared to try them.
Oh and every nut you can think of.


What I can't eat::

EVERYTHING GOOD

But I AM noticing a huge difference from the diet. And I'm pretty excited about that.

I forgot GREEN TEA!!!!! Gallons and buckets and every large quantity of volume that you like to use. Of green tea. I love the stuff, and it seemingly loves me back. Because I pee about 500 times. An hour.

Did I also mention I am a chief exaggerator?

More on the AWESOMENESS diet you WISH you were on.

Love,
Shannon

Who misses cheese. And Coca-Cola. :/

It's all Greek to Me!

Over the past few weeks, I have become inspired to mix up a LOT of Greek food. Greek salads, Greek frittatas, and EVEN started compiling Baklava recipes. My recent interest in Greek food and preparation styles comes from a blogging opportunity I've been given via Foodbuzz. Since I'm part of the Foodbuzz Featured Publisher community, Foodbuzz is offering an opportunity for a blogger to win a trip to Greece (!!!) sponsored by FAGE.

Greece has been on my wish list of travel destinations since I was a young girl. France, Italy, and Greece, because life along the Mediterranean has always appealed to me. Sun, sea, lemon trees, beautiful weather...the good life. Additionally, my boyfriend's cousin and his new wife honeymooned in Greece two years ago, and I barely knew them (having just met them at their wedding) but ogled over every last epicurean photograph from their honeymoon. I vowed that one day, I, too, would be eating gyros and octopus along the Mediterranean coast of beautiful Greece.

It wasn't until this opportunity, though, that prompted me to start exploring Mediterranean cuisine. I pored over way too many food blogs and maxed out my library card, wiping out my neighborhood library's Greek cookbook section in the process. I scoured FAGE's great website and searched their treasure trove of delectable recipes which highlight living "the good life" through Greek cuisine. At home, library cookbooks piled up on either side of the kitchen table, I began the journey into Greek flavor. In my quest for traditional Greek recipes with a modern twist, I started reading about old-style Greek foods. Fried Grasshoppers, anyone?

What I discovered was an abundance of organic, healthy cooking, with most dishes lavishly featuring fresh vegetables, simply prepared to keep all the vital nutrients preserved. Which made me think further: wouldn't it be great to start incorporating some of these ingredients into my daily life, thereby developing a more organic lifestyle? To me, adding lemon zest and feta cheese into my life can only be a good thing. Lemons, cucumbers, olives, feta cheese? Yes, please!

Equipped with a handful of Greek-inspired recipes, off to the grocery store I went. If a recipe calls for lemon, usually I will just buy a bottle of lemon juice. But for Greece, this simply will not do. So I purchased a bag of lemons instead. Where I may ordinarily get my cucumber fix through kosher dill pickles, this time I bought a couple whole cucumbers. And I don't think I've EVER considered feta cheese. Cheddar? Parmesan? A dairy staple in our refrigerator. Inspired by a list of traditional Greek Salad recipes and Greek Frittata recipes, I gathered all the tastes of the Mediterranean and some great olive oil and headed back to my Capitol Hill home kitchen, far from the Greek islands, to test them out.

Since a Greek salad is the heart of any Greek meal, I started with a Greek Garbanzo Bean Salad. Do you ever eat something and just feel immediately...healthy? Like you're filling your body with GOOD and bounty? This is how I felt, with one bite of the salad. The plus side? It TASTES amazing, too. Not only are you loading your body with fiber and feeling fuller than you would by consuming processed foods, it tastes like a day on the Mediterranean (or so I would imagine) with flavors like lemon and feta melding together perfectly, satisfying the taste buds with a tangy, tart, delicious snack, side dish, or full meal (my boyfriend happily devoured the entire bowl when he got home). It's not too acidic, not too salty, not bland at all. It's juuuust right.

Greek Garbanzo Bean Salad (adapted from this recipe):

2 (15 ounce) cans garbanzo beans, drained
2 cucumbers, halved lengthwise and finely sliced
15 grape tomatoes, halved
1/2 red onion, finely sliced
2 scallions, chopped
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 (15 ounce) can black olives, drained and sliced
5 oz crumbled feta cheese
1/2 cup vinaigrette dressing
1 teaspoon fresh Greek oregano, finely chopped
Juice of 1 lemon
Sea salt, to taste
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Combine all ingredients in order listed. Toss together and refrigerate 2 hours. Serve chilled.

A few days later, I was craving some more Greek flavor. So, I tweaked 2 frittata recipes and came up with this eggy delight, perfect for an afternoon in, curled up with The Iliad.

Ok, maybe not. Maybe My Big Fat Greek Wedding, but the thought was still there...

Greek Frittata (adapted from here and here):

3 Tablespoons olive oil
10 large eggs
2 teaspoons sea salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
5 oz baby spinach
1 pint grape tomatoes, halved
1 small onion, diced
4 scallions (white and green parts), thinly sliced
1 bunch fresh chives, chopped
1/2 teaspoon fresh Greek oregano, finely chopped
1/2 teaspoon fresh thyme, finely chopped
8 oz feta, crumbled

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Add olive oil to a 2-quart casserole and transfer to oven for 5 minutes. Meanwhile, in a bowl, whisk together eggs, salt and pepper until foamy. Add the spinach, tomatoes, onion, scallions, chives, Greek oregano and thyme and mix together. Gently stir in the crumbled feta. Remove casserole from oven. Pour the egg mixture into casserole. Bake until the frittata is browned around the edges and slightly puffed and a knife comes out clean, 25 to 30 minutes. Let cool slightly, then serve.


The Heart of the Artichoke

I was thrilled to find out that the steamed artichoke, a recent favorite snack of mine since discovering fresh artichokes last Spring, is quite popular in Greece. I like to steam a whole artichoke, then peel back the leaves (I like to call them petals) one by one, dipping each petal into a ramekin of freshly-drawn butter with a squeeze of lemon, pulling the earthy flesh of the petals through my teeth, whittling the artichoke down and delicately removing the choke until only the heart remains. This is the best part, worth the wait and work of removing each and every petal. In the heart of the artichoke you find one of the greatest gastronomical pleasures- a most tender, flavorful piece of meaty vegetable with a soft texture. I like to dip this final delicacy into the hot, lemony butter, then sprinkle a dash of sea salt and an additional squeeze of fresh lemon right overtop, then pop the whole heart into my mouth. One of the best food experiences I've recently found. I love this aspect of life; the small yet significant joys of a fresh vegetable, simply prepared, enjoyed down to the last bite.

How To Steam An Artichoke:

1 artichoke
1 lemon
1 bay leaf
1/2 stick unsalted butter
sea salt, to taste

Rinse artichoke. Leave whole. Cut outer leaves. Cut off 1 inch of tip. Cut 1/4 inch of bottom stem. Snip tops of leaves. Place in steaming pot with 1/2 inch water, lemon wedge, and bay leaf. Steam 30-40 minutes, until leaves peel off with ease.

Melt 1/2 stick unsalted butter until just melted, still with white foam (the Greeks like to use brown butter, but I like mine drawn with white foam), add salt to taste, squeeze of fresh lemon.

To eat, see above description, and prepare yourself for the most scrumptious vegetable feast of your life.


As part of the Foodbuzz Featured Publisher program, I have been entered for the chance to win a trip to Greece courtesy of FAGE. You too can enter to win one of three trips to Greece by entering the FAGE Plain Extraordinary Greek Getaway here: http://www.fageusa.com/community/fage-greek-getaway/

Crabbing in Wildwood

For the past 3 years I have had the pleasure and privilege of spending the 2nd week of August with Jeremy's family at Wildwood Crest, a vacation spot along the Jersey Shore. I have really come to love Wildwood, and the best part for me is family all being together, spending time at the large hotel pool and at the beach, walking the boardwalk at night, eating lots of pork roll during the day and corn dogs come night, watching boardwalk trends change from year to year (this year it was Angry Birds paraphernalia and fried Kool-Aid), and getting to take part in activities never experienced before.

Last year, the big adventure was going deep sea fishing. Unfortunately, we didn't catch any fish that were "of size" to take back to the hotel, but it was an unforgettable experience for all parties involved (Jeremy, his younger brother and two good friends, who we call "the three amigos", and myself). This year, the great adventure was CRABBING, something that I had never done before, and couldn't wait to try.

One fine afternoon when the sun was just setting, the three amigos and Jeremy's older brother set out for the essential supplies to ensure a successful crabbing experience. Items required for crabbing include: raw chicken used as bait, crab "nets" which act as traps, line, hooks to attach bait, plenty of beer (my boyfriend's donation) and a lot of patience.

Jeremy came up with the brilliant idea to ride our bikes over to the bay where blue crabs are known to hang, just before the bridge to Cape May, assuring me that it was "like a mile" from the hotel. There we would meet the rest of the crabbing crew. "What in the world am I getting myself into?!" is the G-rated version of the words hurling out of my mouth while bicycling at top speed, pedaling as fast as my feet could go, the wind slapping my face, beach mobiles whizzing past me, and my boyfriend at least a mile ahead. Eventually, Jeremy did turn around to see the blonde dot in the distance, wait for me to catch up, and probably wish he hadn't...what can I say, sometimes my Irish temper just has to come unleashed.

After threatening to never come to Wildwood again, never go crabbing again, never go bicycling again, never speak to Jeremy again (all things I couldn't live without, if we're honest), and literally spewing every four-letter word in the book, Jeremy turned back around, pumped his pedals a few times, and said, "Hey babe, I think we're here!"

Enthusiasm aside, I was relieved to see some familiarity in Jeremy's brother's car. Even more settled, to see the three amigos and Jeremy's older brother standing silently, knee-deep in murky waters, their hands tightly gripping a long line of string which ended about ten feet in front of them, awaiting the elusive blue crab.

At first I was a little skeptical. I can understand using little metal nets with long strings attached, but using raw chicken as bait kinda freaked me out. No way was I touching any. Lord knows with my luck (of getting sick about every 15 minutes), I'd get salmonella just by sight. So I cracked open a Bud Light, forgetting that I don't drink beer nor like the taste, sat on a little wooden ledge, and watched the boys at work. Ever want to see 5 early/mid-20s men keep quiet for hours on end? Just give them a net and a bay and voila! A perfect silence, and dinner, too.

"We" ended up with a haul of about 15 crabs that day before heading back...and only because it was turning dusk and Jeremy and I had a 6 hour bike ride ahead (ok not really but it felt like it and ask my dad, I am the queen of exaggeration). We set off on our bikes, at a leisurely pace this time thank God, and headed back to the hotel.

But 15 crabs wasn't enough for the boys. They were hooked. Pun intended. Yes, I'm corny and so what?

The next morning I awoke to Andrew, Jeremy's younger brother, coming into the room and summoning Michael, who was sleeping on the floor below me, to come with him to the store for another crabbing excursion. All I really remember from the conversation between the two was Michael slurring, "raw chicken and old bay, lots of it" over and over again, with Andrew repeating it each time. After about three times of saying "old bay Andrew, lots of it, lots of old bay" Andrew turned around and headed out. Man, we're gonna have a freaking feast! Is all that was going through my head, when Michael catapults from his makeshift bed on the floor to hastily getting dressed (I would assume, I was still sleeping, or feigning sleep so as not to be recruited into the early morning crabbing mission). Jeremy had long since been gone (for some reason when we're at the beach he becomes a morning person), I think it might have been my birthday (turning 28 this year was pretty rough for me and I kinda blocked it out) and I just wanted to sleep now, eat crab later.

The boys arrived a few hours later with an impressive fresh catch. 15+ blue crabs, to be teamed up with the catch from the night before...to become a seafood extravaganza for all who were up for it.

The process of cooking fresh, snapping crabs is fairly humorous. Grown men (namely my boyfriend) grab any tool handy and clutch the tool, forcing it in direction of crab, whose claws are snapping open and closed so fast that it's difficult to latch on. Once they do latch onto the tool, in this case Jeremy's knife, they are then clawing around with the full force of their tiny yet fierce bodies so frenetically, that all you can do is throw them in the direction of the big pot of boiling, Old Bay-seasoned water, and hope they make it in.

Once one crab makes it into the pot, you gain a little more confidence. You may go to grab a crab with your bare fingers, but the inch long slash on your (Jeremy's, I wouldn't touch those suckers) hand from the day before reminds you to practice a little discretion. Confidence can come later, when the crabs are boiled up and ready to crack open (also an adventure).

Once each and every last crab goes from fresh blue crab to boiled (red) crab, it's time to lay out the newspaper, grab some crab crackers and mallets-in this case, the bottom of Jeremy's huge knife, and get to work. Now, there is a very meticulous, intelligent way to eat a blue crab properly. In fact, if I can find the hilarious video I found on one of my favorite food blogs, I'll post. But honestly, who really cares? If you're hungry, and anxious to see what your toil and trouble produced, at the end of the day all you really care about is getting to the meat, any which way you can.

Which is what we did. It was messy. It was kinda gruesome. But the taste of the bay soon took care of any hygiene concerns, and that meat sure was sweet!

Reminisce

Delicate little lettuces laced in a light mustard vinaigrette...

Petite Syrah robustly paired with a lamb birria. The mouthwatering spice of guajillo chile and ancho chile. Spicy savoriness characteristic of this Mexican stew...

Rich, creamy chocolate espresso pot au creme paired with Port. Heavy cream, silky Swiss chocolate. A rich finale...

One unforgettable meal...

C&O Restaurant
Easter 2011

C&O Restaurant
515 East Water Street
Charlottesville, VA 22902

Details:
House salad- local Boston lettuce salad with Pommery mustard vinaigrette
Chocolate pot au creme topped with fresh whipped cream

Inspired

I had a dinner tonight that inspired me to start blogging again.

.....the refreshing crispness of a cool California Vermentino.

.....the sweet mousse of chicken liver toast and pickled ramps, impeccably finished off with the most tender of braised lamb shoulders and pappardelle pasta.

Firefly, my muse, thank you.

Firefly at Hotel Madera
1310 New Hampshire Avenue NW
Washington, DC 20036

Dupont Circle neighborhood

Details:

Vermentino, Uvaggio, Lodi, CA, 2009
Chicken Liver Toast- grilled baguette, chopped organic chicken liver, pickled ramps
Braised lamb shoulder and fresh pappardelle pasta- warm olives, sorrel, mascarpone


Reflections:

Standouts included:

Recycled wine bottles used as water glasses
Menus made from cork (!!!) and bamboo
Large tree in center of restaurant full of hanging lanterns and firefly ornaments
Gluten-free menu with a wide selection of items
Supporting local farmers and purveyors (especially happy about Cowgirl Creamery)
20% Kimpton employee discount
Sous-chef, Shane Graybeal, jovially greeted us after our meal, and chatting with Jeremy for a good 5 minutes all things Poste, Firefly, Kimpton, and delicious braised lamb shoulder.
(It is not every day that you receive such specialized treatment from a sous-chef of a fine dining restaurant in DC.)

Very impressive experience overall. No stuffiness. Great ambience. Natural decor. Love the trees.

Oh, and the check came wrapped up in the bottom of a lit-up Mason jar. Firefly, indeed!