Tell Me A Story...

Nothing like the first fragrances of spring to inspire the creative juices. The fresh breezes and warm sunshine have everyone clamoring for water gun fights. Kill joy that I am, I'm making them wait until the breezes are a little less, um, fresh for that to happen. I am Mother, hear me kill...joy.

Along with spring breezes comes spring cleaning. Yeah. More kill joy stuff. That water fight is starting to sound better all of the time. But when one lives with Hobbits in a Hobbit-sized hole, one must be stringent in the discipline of one's use of space. And so begins the biennial task of cleaning, dejunking, and reorganizing and reuse of space. Not to be confused with the daily task of cleaning, dejunking, and reogranizing and reuse of space. I'm considering hiring St. George for this task. You know the guy. The dragon-slayer? All I'm saying is that I hold myself indemnified regarding what's in my basement...

This spring, in the midst of the 27 Fling Boogie, Dog unearthed a blank bound book. His eyes gleamed. I know that feeling. The call of the blank pages. The crisp edges of a professionally bound book. Oh, the possibilities...

He petitioned for custody and was awarded sole care of the treasure. I haven't been able to pry him out of its pages ever since. Much to the annoyance of Tool Guy, who is dragging Dog through the final laps of the final book in that dreaded, terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad curriculum that they chose. Can't say I blame him. I'd take a blank book over that any day and twice on Sunday.

He's doing a surprisingly good job at dialog and plot flow. The chapters are a bit brief, but the story is rather credible. For science fiction. Every day or so, we get to hear the newest twist of the harrowing tales of the anti-hero who still hasn't figured out what he needs to do in order to stop the spiral of catastrophe as it spins recklessly out of control. I'm a little piqued, however, since he scorned my title suggestion: The Perils of Pauline. Philistine.

Bug was similarly inspired and has launched into his own adventure series. He almost got bogged down in spelling and mechanical technicalities, but I encouraged him to ignore such trivia and let his imagination run wild. And run wild it has. It was endearing to hear him describing his story and apologize for the brevity of his chapters, but amended his statement by assuring the listener that they would get longer, since he had some ideas for reworking them.

Good job we subscribed to unlimited long-distance because the grandparents aren't to be neglected in the sharing of these flights of fancy in a style entirely new. In daily installment. None of this Dickensonian wait for the next week's issue to hit the press! We live in the communication age, right? Grandmere et Grandpere are, of course, duly appreciative and encouraging. (I think Bill Cosby had it right, though; these are old people who are getting ready to die. They're polishing their halos.) I probably need to slip them some chocolate.

For my own part, I'm turning my creative bents toward playing with buckwheat some more. I decided to try a dish that I first sampled in my herbal apprenticeship. It's a simple kasha recipe. When I asked for the recipe, the chef replied that it was the one that came on the box. Weeeeell, I'm the one who buys such things in twenty-five pound bags. Quelle dommage. I decided to play with it and figured that anything worth cooking was worth sprouting before cooking. So I did.

Sprouting is very simple. Soak groats for about an hour or so. Empty groats into colander and rinse thoroughly, allowing to drain. I usually leave the groats in the colander until sprouted, rinsing four to five times a day. As I said, they tend to be very viscous, so they need to be completely rinsed every time. They'll be ready in 2-3 days. The amount of sprouts this recipe calls for is about 1 1/3 cups raw groats.

Buckwheat Kasha

2 cups sprouted buckwheat groats
2-2 1/2 cups water or broth
1/2 tsp. salt (or less if using salted broth)
1/2 cup diced shitake mushrooms
1 T olive oil

In cast iron skillet, dry roast groats until brown. In heavy sauce pan, bring broth or water/salt to a boil and add oil and groats. Simmer on low for 10 minutes or until water is absorbed. Cover and allow to steam for another 10 minutes or so.

As a newly-minted seven year-old, Princess is not to be left behind in all of this composition. She's dragged out a few notebooks and began copying a book. Then she began working on an original piece herself. It's rather amusing--though I'm not sure she means it to be so--and largely involves a boy and girl on adventures in which the dialogue is characterized not by "he said/she said," but the two of them "shouting" to each other. I imagine this is to lend excitement and suspense to the tale. Amazing what dramatic tension one can conjure from detecting the owner of a wayward kite. Oh, to be seven again...

Her best works, though, are the stories she tells me when I'm brushing out her very, very long hair. It's never been cut and is almost down to her knees now. That's right; I'm raising Crystal Gayle. So everyday, we brush out her old braid and plait a new one. There's always a surly collection of knots in one particular spot. Tender-headed, she has dubbed this snarl "Mr. Big Knot." As I brush her hair, she tells me about the exploits and derring-do of Mr. and Mrs. Big Knot. As I work my way down to the lower reaches of her hair that aren't so stubborn, we only encounter the less aggressive knots that are easier to defeat. She has deemed these Mr. Big Knot's "minions." Minions. I ask you.

Drowning in juvenilia. It's time for Tool Guy and Bug to build us some more book cases...

Another Brick in the Wall

It feels appropriate to say that food is now my calling. I've felt that way for quite a while now. It gets me some strange looks from people, though. Well, among the other strange looks that I somehow manage to earn. People aren't used to thinking of food in those kinds of terms. At least most people aren't. Some folks get it. Sharon gets it. She recently said this in an email exchange and I haven't been able to get it out of my head: "I find it impossible to separate my food life from my spiritual life. For me, they are the same." Bingo.

I think that the reason some have difficulty with this idea is that we've bought into the idea of a demarcation between the "sacred" and the "secular." Certain jobs are sacred and certain jobs are secular, right? It would follow that our being is divided up, then, into sacred (the spiritual) and the secular (the physical). I've seen a lot of folks use this kind of parsing to dismiss their food choices. It really doesn't matter what we eat, because that's only temporal, right?

For some years now, I've developed an increasing belief that the small and insignificant jobs that consume my day have a spiritual significance. An aura of the holy. I've wondered, from time to time, if this wasn't just a grasping search for meaning in a life mired in the mundane details of drudgery. And some days, I'll admit, it did and does feel that way. But I keep coming back to this core sense that this is what I'm called to do. And even though it doesn't earn me much respect, if any, and probably would earn me contempt from any movers and shakers that might happen to glance down and notice my existence, it still returns to me that this isn't trivial. These are the bricks upon which all is founded.

I've been doing a great deal of thinking about Nehemiah...the guy who was called to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem. Who gave up a cushy job as food-taster (there we go...food again!) to go and stand on the rubble with a trowel in one hand and a sword in the other, to re-erect the walls that had lain in ruins for 150 years. Sounds like a secular job, right? Eugene Peterson, author of The Message, maintains that "work, by its very nature, is holy." Otherwise, why would it matter to God whether or not there were walls around a city? This was a holy calling.

I'm reminded of a conversation I was engaged in a few years back. The mom was consulting a noted nutritionist for her children. Her daughter had eczema and other symptoms that weren't responding to the usual treatments. The nutritionist pointed out the breakdown in the girl's digestive processes. "L's having trouble with her 'walls,'" she said. Indeed. Lots of us are having trouble with eroded walls and we are being called to rebuild them. Our contemporary food supply isn't designed to do that. We're going to have to do that on our own. Time to pick up a trowel and sword and put another brick in the wall.

The biggest stumbling block in this food issue is bread. I have acquaintances, even relatives, who won't consider making changes despite all of the indicators because of that one block...that one brick...bread. The most trafficked recipes I have are the bread ones. And the most requested of the Hobbits are bready things. It's a foundational food in our lives, even though we can live very healthy lives without it...sometimes even healthier lives without it. But it still comes down to wanting good bread.

The latest that I've been twiddling with is tortillas...working on achieving the penultimate tortilla. I'm getting closer. I noticed that the oh-so-delicious-but-ever-elusive-and-yet-corntaminated Food For Life rice flour tortillas have rice bran in them. So I acquired some rice bran and am now stalking their achievement...my own perfect tortilla. One step closer.

Grilled Tortillas

1 1/2 cups rice flour
1/2 - 3/4 cups tapioca starch flour
2 T rice bran
2-3 T melted lard
3/4 - 1 cup warm water
2-3 t guar gum
1 t salt
Extra lard for cooking

In mixer, using a dough hook (one of the rare times that gluten free baking requires a dough hook), mix the dry ingredients with the melted lard and slowly work in the water until incorporated. The dough should be dry enough to work with your hands. Break off a ball of dough and roll into a ball. Using sheets of baking parchment or wax paper, flatten in a tortilla press or roll out with a rolling pin.

On a grill preheated to approximately 400*, gently lay tortillas and grill about two minutes per side, with the lid closed.

Nehemiah left a legacy that he restored the walls of Jerusalem and made it a safe place for a culture to flourish again. That's how I want to be remembered. As someone who made food something that nourished my children again so that they could flourish and become all that they can be.

1 Corinthians 10:31 says, "Whether therefore you eat, or drink, or whatsoever you do, do all to the glory of God."

Time

One of the things I love most about homeschooling is time. As busy and sometimes harried as my days may be...or at least feel to me...we still have so much time.

Since we don't have to get up and go anywhere on a daily basis, we have time in the mornings. Time to let a baby sleep in without invading her warm, cuddly space and pull her out to brace against New England winter mornings. Time to let a highly distractable pre-schooler develop executive functioning skills without the daily harassment of getting badgered into shoes in less than 20 minutes. Time to answer half of the twenty million questions that a deep-thinking adult in little boy skin has to ask. And to have an extra cup of coffee.

Most of the time, my days are unbelievably busy. Even my mother-in-law says so. But she's always been the best of mother-in-laws, has never criticized a single thing I've ever done, and has been unfailingly supportive. I want to be my mother-in-law when I'm a mother-in-law. So she might not be the best person to critically analyse my sense of the industrially hygenic. And even though I get a lot done with a lot left undone, there's still time.

There's time to have conversations with Dog, the oldest, about which came first...iconic characters such as the Eastern cultures use and the Egyptians left for us to see or phonetic-based alphabets and how the age of global networking affects languages that are still character-based, if any. Or to analyze the exploitative motives and techniques of any given commercial hawking the latest groove that is absolutely essential to happiness. Or discuss Smeagol's motivations in the beginning, middle, and end of the journey. Or theorize exactly how many times a sword can be folded in crafting as the Samauri did. Or just listen to him wax enthusiastic about an outstanding sequence in TMNT. Some things you don't have to share an absolute appreciation for. Just nod.

There's time to make an apron for Bug, who is starting to end up in the kitchen, wanting to wash dishes and help cook. Time to discuss the compatibility of being an artist and a chemist at the same time. To analyze the chemistry of baking, of seeds sprouting, of fermented foods. When I said to the van occupants in general, "Remind me to buy some salt and nutmeg out of the co-op cabinet when we get to church today," it was Bug who answered, "Oh, so you can make muffins, right?" Six years old and he has my recipes down.

Yep. There's still time. Time to find that narding control to my pressure cooker that lay nestled at the bottom of the snow drift. Don't ask. I don't want to talk about it.

There's still time to discuss the comparative merits of pink and purple with Princess, my youngest, who is starting to also express profound thoughts of her own that have nothing to do with regency matters or color coordination. Time to help her swaddle her babies and tuck them into her sling so she can get on with the business of her day while nursing her babies. Or set her up with water colors and let her imagination run wild.

All of these things happen while my hands are busy. Busy cleaning. Busy cooking. Busy prepping. Busy redirecting conflicting personalities, highly convinced that their view of the situation is The Only Way it can be resolved. But there's still time.

And I'm always looking for time-savers. Fast Food is out for us, so I'm always looking for ways to make "fast food" versions of scratch food. Fried chicken fingers/nuggets are probably the quintessential fast food and my little philistines have no less love for them than other kids their ages. There are some things that I make that I never worry about appealing to anyone outside of my family and my "chicken sticks" are one of those things.

Chicken Sticks

Chicken breasts
1-2 cups tapioca starch flour
1-2 tablespoons seasoned salt
plastic bag
squirt bottle of water
1 lb lard or palm shortening

In plastic bag, mix up starch flour and seasoned salt. Slice breasts into medium thin fingers. Dump the fingers into plastic bag and shake until well coated. Remove and lay out on large platter or baking tray. Spritz with water bottle until the surface of the flour is damp and pasty. Refrigerate strips for a few hours or overnight; overnight is better since the final product will be crispier and less soggy.

Heat oil to frying temperature and deep fry strips for 3-4 minutes, depending on crisp preferences. Ready for Hobbits of all sizes to enjoy. No one misses trips to the Golden Arches, unless it is to rhapsodize about the playscapes.

The beauty of this recipe is that chicken breasts can be pre-sliced and frozen in meal-sized proportions and defrosted as needed. They can be prepped ahead of time to be pulled out later in the day and a meal is ready in five minutes. My version of fast food and time-saving cooking.

That leaves more time in my day. Time enough to instill what we believe and what we value into our children. These days, Dog does things like pick up someone else's mess or give his brother a dollar out of his own wallet for spending while Bug is having some quality time out with Dad. Or voluntarily owning up to a wrong-doing. Bug gives me hugs when things get too much and I sit down and cry. And Princess remembers to ask for prayer in Sunday School for her uncles with terminal cancer. That's when I'm really thankful for the time we have.

Time enough to bop through the house, plugged into my CD player, and polishing my ASL interpretation of Chris Rice's "Nonny, Nonny" while thrilling to the idea of this life being just the first sentence of eternity.

Bug was exploring the dynamics of magnets the other day. Holding his huge horseshoe magnet in his hand, he sucked up all of the widgey bits into mid-air. He turned to me and said, "When Jesus comes back to get us, He's going to use a magnet just like this."

That's exactly right, Sweetie.

I'm acutely aware of it washing away from me, this time thing, but I'm glad I still have so much more of it to look forward to.

The Year of Cooking Dangerously

Digging around through the archives of my core email lists sure brings back memories. They are to us what the letters and diaries of the Regency gentlefolk were to them. And they hold as significant a place in history for our children as those old letters and diaries do for us now. At least, as long as Yahoo's servers don't crash. Which is looking chancy these days. Still, it is illuminating to go back to watershed points in our lives and measure how far we've come since those days.

I remember when we were first notified that my oldest, whom I occasionally slip up and call Dog--much to his preteen annoyance, is gluten intolerant. That was a pretty momentous moment. I think that the next pivotal moment brought even more upheaval. Six months into our oh-so-free lifestyle--gluten-free that is--we began seeing "gluten reactions" even after eating foods that we'd eaten before and knew to be gluten-free. It was a desperate time, casting around in the dark and frantically trying to apply our new gluten-free rules in a situation where it seemed that the rules were changing on us. And our doctor couldn't tell us what the new "new rules" were because he was as untutored as we in all of this. The best answer he could give us was to suggest we see a specialist.

I thank God for the internet. Literally. Because a mom on one of my parenting lists was going through, in her parallel existence, the very same situation. We consequently branched off together in a foodie email list where yet another mom educated us on IgG-mediated reactions. The Reader's Digest version is that IgE antibodies create "classic allergies" of the rashes, hives, and anaphylactic sort that we're all familiar with; IgA antibodies are associated with mucosal tissue, like the intestinal tissue that generates IgA antibodies in response to gluten in the intolerant; and then there are the IgG antibodies that create reactions that aren't necessarily IgE in style and, instead of appearing within an hour or so, manifest themselves past several hours, days, or even as long as two weeks later. (There are other antibody reactions, but I've not researched those.) The IgG savvy mom suggested going to Optimum Health Resource Laboratories, then known as York. Our results from their lab were later endorsed by our allergist.

The test results were both relieving and devastating. Relieving because now we knew what the new "new rules" were. Devastating because almost all of their favorite foods were on the list, which I've since learned is a very common dynamic in intestinal hyper permeability or leaky gut syndrome. The initial loss was 19 different foods, which later cascaded to consume entire food groups, some of which we still have not recovered. My first response was, "Oh, my God, what are they going to eat?"

And this began what I started calling "The Year of Cooking Dangerously." It set the trend for me that in moments of dietary crisis, I would retreat into the kitchen to experiment without regard for effort, waste, or whether anyone outside of our family would like it. Just desperate to find replacement foods that approximated what was lost without using the ingredients that would trigger another reaction episode. It was during those times that I learned what each and every ingredient brought to the recipe and what things might bring similar characteristics as substitutes. A hands-on crash course in the chemistry of cooking. If it hadn't been such an emotionally charged time, I might have been able to segue it into scientific unit studies for the children, but I didn't have the poise to pull that off. As a result of that year, I've been left with an unbreakable habit of tweaking recipes even though I don't have to so much anymore; R from Down Under calls me "Tweaker."

From a "pumpkin brownie" recipe that was making the gf/cf/xf food list circuit at the time, my cosmic twin tweaked a recipe from which I've tweaked my current pear butter muffin recipe. It became the foundation for my "baking" during the grainless years. It is one of those recipes that can be yanked in a million different directions and still come out edible. Okay, maybe only edible to my kids. They eat things that amaze onlookers. Like spoonfuls of ghee. They line up like little birds for this. Tool Guy watches and shudders. I've made this recipe so many ways...without eggs...without grains...without eggs and grains...that it typifies for me the art of Cooking Dangerously. Reckless experimentation within narrowly constrained parameters.

Egg is one of the most difficult ingredients to lose in baking. Easier to lose grain than eggs. It brings to the recipe both binding and leavening elements. Flax seed boiled in water can help replace the binding and for those who are seed-free, a teaspoon of gelatin in a cup of hot water will act similarly. The grain-free, egg-free pumpkin brownies turned out sort of what I'd imagined a baked pudding to be like. As my children adjusted to their reduced choices, this became the favorite snack and they even requested that I freeze it, sliced into cubes. They'd then help themselves to a cube when in the grasp of a Hobbit moment. Bug, then 2 years old, called them "tump'in brownies."

Grainfree, Eggfree, Pumpkin Brownies

1 cup pumpkin/sweet potato/yam/butternut squash puree

3 t ground flax seeds mixed with 1/2 cup water or 1/2 cup gelatin water

3/4 cup vegetable oil

2 t vanilla

1/2 cup tapioca starch

1/2 cup arrowroot starch

1/2 cup potato starch

1/2 cup acorn starch

(Starch flours can be tweaked to any combination of at least two of these, as long as the total amount equals 2 cups)

1 t guar gum

2 t cinnamon

1 t nutmeg

1 t cloves

1 t allspice

2 T featherlight baking powder

1/2 t salt

2 cups sugar or equivalent sugar substitute

In mixer, blend wet ingredients. In bowl, mix dry. Slowly blend dry ingredients into wet ingredients for two minutes. Spread into 15x10x1 baking pan and bake for 20-25 minutes at 350 degrees, until it passes toothpick test.

Since eggs and grains have come back into our lives, so has the loft in our baked goods. These days, I'm baking muffins now and serving them hot out of the oven. Looking back, the basic recipe isn't so very different, but what a difference a little difference makes.

Pear Butter Muffins

1 cup pear butter (sweet fruit puree of any stripe will do)

3 eggs

1/2 cup olive oil

2 t vanilla

1/2 cup tapioca starch

1/2 cup potato starch

1 cup gluten free grain flour

1 t guar gum

2 t cinnamon

1 t nutmeg

1 t allspice

1 T cream of tartar

1/2 t baking soda

1/2 t salt

1/2 cup date sugar

squirt of stevia

In mixer, blend wet ingredients. In bowl, measure out dry. Mix dry into wet ingredients, only mixing until fully incorporated. Put in baking pan or muffin forms and bake at 350 degrees for 40 minutes for pan or 15-30 minutes for muffin or until dry toothpicked.

It definitely warms my heart to see this recipe that, in all of its incarnations, has been with us for four years, will now, even when there are more novel foods available, still inspire squeals of delight. It still sends Bug, who is never the soul of discretion, nor can ever keep any good thing to himself, through the house, shrieking, "The muffins are ready!!"