And Just Like That, It's Soup time in December

     I don’t mind when the sun paints my face, with thick broad gentle strokes, forcing me to recognize it, which I do.  It reminds me that I should focus on the now, the present.

     At this very moment, it’s all about today. Focusing on the elements around—the feelings, paired with sounds, sights and smells, has a balancing effect. My mind is racing elsewhere: thinking of the books I’m listening to, the wonderful big band music I saw and heard on Friday night, the headlines slapped across this morning’s newspaper, the dinner I will make tonight, the work I need to do, the nostalgia for family no longer here, one that profoundly infuses me this time of year. The elements, and the rhythm of my feet below, ground me and push me forward as I run.

     My mind goes back, as it so often does, to the recipes. The weather’s chill has me thinking of soup. And though I could rifle through my collection of saved NYT cooking recipes, or the many books that I still have (even after unloading hundreds haver the move!), I am set on one: carrot soup from Moosewood Cookbook. 

     And this is what brings my after-run steps to my book shelf, and right over to one cookbook in particular, to a page I have marked from long ago.

     

     Moosewood Cookbook, the original, was one of my first on-my-own cookbooks.What I mean by that is that I always had my mom’s recipes, yet I searched for those recipes I could adopt and call my own. Moosewood, at the time, was my great resource. 

    Moosewood was also the first cookbook I ever endeavored making just about everything from. The book itself, now decades later—food stained and a bit unsteady in keeping all the pages together— represents a period of time, my twenties, when I expressed a lot of my independence and creative energy through food. (Wait, am I still doing that?!) 

     This carrot soup offers the balance of two flavors I love combining:  sweet and salty. But as I sit to write this blog, I recognize that you might not share my passion for cooking. Still, I’m guessing you probably share my joy of eating.  It’s funny how when I teach, I touch on the topic of food and almost all my students have a positive reaction; though they are still struggling with English, their second, third, and even fourth language, food remains a first language. They wax nostalgic about their grandma’s cooking, dishes that say “home” to them. Food is their common ground…our common ground. This is why I still say if we could just all sit down and share a meal, we might have peace in this world.

       In the meantime, now and in the next year, I will continue my ever-expanding exploration of dishes (so many recipes, so little time!), as well as travelling, dancing, reading, writing, teaching, and of course enjoying the many meals I look forward to composing, creating, and consuming with family and friends. 

     With these thoughts, and this note, I wish you and yours lots of peace, and many many delicious soups and other dishes with loved ones during this holiday season, and in the year to come.

      

Carrot Soup Garnished with Roasted Apple, Toasted Almonds, and Parsley

 

 

In Walks September

 

“Is this the writing class?” A twenty-something, light brown-skinned woman asks  me in a slightly marked  accent as she steps into the doorway. “Can I come in?” she adds. It’s about 8:50, and class will begin at 9.

She’s slight, bespectacled, and smiling broadly, though I hear some nervousness in her voice. She sits right in the middle of the u-shaped  tables that face the front of the room. She’s the first of my 16 students to arrive.  I welcome her in, and she tells me she’s from Ecuador, from Cuenca.  I want to tell her that my son lived in Ecuador, but I save that.

“Yes! This is the writing class” I declare, and welcome her into the room. “Please tell me your name.”

“Alejandra,” She announces. “But you can please call me Alex.”

“Okay, Alex,” I say as I scan my roster and tell her, “My name is Arlen. And wow, Alex! You are the first to arrive!”

 “I like to be in time,” she proudly announces.

“I do, too!” I say.

Prior to that morning, I had seen all my forthcoming students' names on my roster, and considered how those names would “translate” into actual people, and how these same type-written names will look differently on that page after today, the first day of class.  

It’s the same feeling I’ve had for years: the anticipation, the excitement, and even some of the nervousness on the first day of school. All of my white board markers are ready, I’ve written the date and my plan on the board, along with a “Welcome!” I’ve played with the colors of the markers so that—I think—the board is visually pleasing. I like to alternate between colors, at least a bit. I’ve got my folders with handouts, and my pads with paper, in case someone needs paper.

Several students follow Alex's lead and enter the classroom. I welcome them in,  and ask their names, trying to commit them all to memory.  They unpack their bags, reveal new notebooks, pens, and sharpened pencils. We are all poised, ready—and so we start a light conversation.

“Probably some will be late today, but let’s get started!”  I declare. They nod, albeit nervously—not knowing what to expect.

And so, it’s September. A time I’ve always embraced as a new beginning. Whether it’s in my classroom—or my kitchen—it’s a time to start something new, I think.

I play with my lesson plans, just like I play with my food. I try to find something new—something that will inspire. Something that sparks interest. Something that will resonate with my students. 

At home, I look for something that will resonate with my dinner guests.

Appetizers for an End-of-Summer Dinner 

For now, I’m still enjoying the farmers’ market bounty. Tomatoes are still out. I’ve even got some green beans from the community garden that Seth, my husband, tends.

I put all the ideas together, and come up with a fresh version of perhaps a dish I’ve enjoyed before. Building—or scaffolding (as we say in the ESL teaching world) so that one idea or dish flows into another. 

The beach is still fresh and welcoming. Pumpkins are out.  September has walked in. 

 

Living Art at the Beach

Pumpkins on Display