Ode To The Artichoke
The artichoke
With a tender heart
Dressed up like a warrior,
Standing at attention, it built
A small helmet
Under its scales
It remained
Unshakeable,
By its side
The crazy vegetables
Uncurled
Their tendrills and leaf-crowns,
Throbbing bulbs,
In the sub-soil
The carrot
With its red mustaches
Was sleeping,
The grapevine
Hung out to dry its branches
Through which the wine will rise,
The cabbage
Dedicated itself
To trying on skirts,
The oregano
To perfuming the world,
And the sweet
Artichoke
There in the garden,
Dressed like a warrior,
Burnished
Like a proud
Pomegrante.
And one day
Side by side
In big wicker baskets
Walking through the market
To realize their dream
The artichoke army
In formation.
Never was it so military
Like on parade.
The men
In their white shirts
Among the vegetables
Were
The Marshals
Of the artichokes
Lines in close order
Command voices,
And the bang
Of a falling box.
But
Then
Maria
Comes
With her basket
She chooses
An artichoke,
She's not afraid of it.
She examines it, she observes it
Up against the light like it was an egg,
She buys it,
She mixes it up
In her handbag
With a pair of shoes
With a cabbage head and a
Bottle
Of vinegar
Until
She enters the kitchen
And submerges it in a pot.
Thus ends
In peace
This career
Of the armed vegetable
Which is called an artichoke,
Then
Scale by scale,
We strip off
The delicacy
And eat
The peaceful mush
Of its green heart.
Pablo Neruda
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Saturday, April 17, 2010
For Becca and Claire especially
Stalking the Poem
I.
Only one word will do. It isn't on the tip of your tongue, but you know it's not far. It's the one fish that won't swim into your net, a figure that hides in a crowd of similar figures, a domino stone in the face-down pool. Your need to find it becomes an obsession, singleminded and relentless as lust. It's a long time before you can free yourself, let it go. "Forget it," you say, and think that you do. When the word is sure you have forgotten it, it comes out of hiding. But it isn't taking any chances even now and has prepared its appearance with care. It surrounds itself with new and inconspicuous friends and faces you in a showup line in which everyone looks equally innocent. Of course you know it instantly, the way Joan of Arc knew the Dauphin and Augustine knew God. You haven't been so happy in weeks. You rush the word to your poem, which had died for lack of it, and it arises pink-cheeked as Lazarus. The two of you share the wine.
II.
You've got the poem cornered. It gives up, lies down, plays dead. No more resistance. How easily you could take it into your teeth and walk off with it! But you are afraid of the sound they will make crunching the bones. You are afraid of the taste of blood, of the poem's dark, unknown insides. So you stand above it, sniffing its fur, poking and pushing it, turning it over. Suddenly you see that its eyes are open and that they stare at you with contempt. You walk away with your tail between your legs. When you return the poem has disappeared.
III.
The poem is complete in your head, its long, lovely shape black against the white space in your mind. Each line is there, secure, recallable, pulled forth by the line before it and the one before that, like a melody whose second part you can sing once you have sung the first, but not before. All there, all perfectly linked. But when you pick up the pen, the shape dissolves, pales, spreads into slovenliness. You feel the poem escaping; you can't write fast enough. By some miracle you recover all the bits and pieces, and you manage to put them in their proper order. You have been saved, you think. But the poem is not the beautiful figure you held in your mind. It is gawky and gaptoothed; its arms are too long for its body; its clothes don't fit. It looks up at you from the page accusingly. "Look at the mess you've made," it says. "See what you can do with me. Last chance. Don't blow it." Filled with gratitude, you roll up your sleeves and go to work.
- Lisel Mueller
I.
Only one word will do. It isn't on the tip of your tongue, but you know it's not far. It's the one fish that won't swim into your net, a figure that hides in a crowd of similar figures, a domino stone in the face-down pool. Your need to find it becomes an obsession, singleminded and relentless as lust. It's a long time before you can free yourself, let it go. "Forget it," you say, and think that you do. When the word is sure you have forgotten it, it comes out of hiding. But it isn't taking any chances even now and has prepared its appearance with care. It surrounds itself with new and inconspicuous friends and faces you in a showup line in which everyone looks equally innocent. Of course you know it instantly, the way Joan of Arc knew the Dauphin and Augustine knew God. You haven't been so happy in weeks. You rush the word to your poem, which had died for lack of it, and it arises pink-cheeked as Lazarus. The two of you share the wine.
II.
You've got the poem cornered. It gives up, lies down, plays dead. No more resistance. How easily you could take it into your teeth and walk off with it! But you are afraid of the sound they will make crunching the bones. You are afraid of the taste of blood, of the poem's dark, unknown insides. So you stand above it, sniffing its fur, poking and pushing it, turning it over. Suddenly you see that its eyes are open and that they stare at you with contempt. You walk away with your tail between your legs. When you return the poem has disappeared.
III.
The poem is complete in your head, its long, lovely shape black against the white space in your mind. Each line is there, secure, recallable, pulled forth by the line before it and the one before that, like a melody whose second part you can sing once you have sung the first, but not before. All there, all perfectly linked. But when you pick up the pen, the shape dissolves, pales, spreads into slovenliness. You feel the poem escaping; you can't write fast enough. By some miracle you recover all the bits and pieces, and you manage to put them in their proper order. You have been saved, you think. But the poem is not the beautiful figure you held in your mind. It is gawky and gaptoothed; its arms are too long for its body; its clothes don't fit. It looks up at you from the page accusingly. "Look at the mess you've made," it says. "See what you can do with me. Last chance. Don't blow it." Filled with gratitude, you roll up your sleeves and go to work.
- Lisel Mueller
Friday, April 9, 2010
this is a book for you laura! HERE is the website link (we know and love this woman)
and here's a recipe from it (i'm on a peanut butter kick! check out the picture!!):
Peanut Butter Chocolate Pillows
makes 2 dozen cookies
Chocolate dough:
1/2 cup canola oil
1 cup sugar
1/4 cup pure maple syrup
3 tablespoons non-dairy milk
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/3 cup unsweetened dutch processed cocoa powder
2 tablespoons black unsweetened cocoa or more dutch processed unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
Filling:
3/4 cup natural salted peanut butter, crunchy or creamy style
2/3 cup confectioner’s sugar
2 to 3 tablespoons soy creamer or non-dairy milk
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
In a large mixing bowl combine oil, sugar, maple syrup, non-dairy milk and vanilla extract and mix until smooth. Sift in flour, cocoa powder, black cocoa if using, baking soda and salt. Mix to form a moist dough.
Make the filling. In another mixing bowl beat together peanut butter, confectioner’s sugar, 2 tablespoons of soy creamer and vanilla extract to form a moist but firm dough. If peanut butter dough is too dry (as different natural peanut butters have different moisture content), stir in remaining tablespoon of non-dairy milk. If dough is too wet knead in a little extra powdered sugar.
Preheat oven to 350°F. Line bakings sheet with parchment paper.
Shape the cookies. Create the centers of the cookies by rolling the peanut butter dough into 24 balls. Scoop a generous tablespoon of chocolate dough, flatten into a disc and place a peanut butter ball in the center. Fold the sides of the chocolate dough up and around the peanut butter center and roll the chocolate ball into an smooth ball between your palms. Place on a sheet of waxed paper and repeat with remaining doughs. If desired gently flatten cookies a little, but this is not necessary.
Place dough balls on lined baking sheets about 2 inches apart and bake for 10 minutes. Remove sheet from oven and let cookies for 5 minutes before moving to a wire rack to complete cooling. Store cookies in tightly covered container. If desired warm cookies in a microwave for 10 to 12 seconds before serving.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
spring! spring!
Let the Wind Recite
1
If I could write you
A poem of summer, when reeds
Spread vigorously, when sunshine
Swirls around your waist and
Surges toward your feet
Standing asunder, when a new drum
Cracks in the heat; if I,
Rocking gently in a skiff
Immersed to the twelfth notch,
Could write you a poem of autumn,
When sorrow crouches on the riverbed
Like a golden dragon, letting torrents and rapids
Rush and splash and swirl upward
From wounded eyes; if I could write you
A poem of winter
To finally bear witness to the ice and snow,
The shrunken lake,
The midnight caller
Who interrupts a hurried dream,
In which you are taken to a distant province,
Given a lantern, and told to
Sit quietly and wait,
No tears allowed;
2
If they would not allow you
To mourn for spring
Or allow you to knit,
If they said,
Sit down quietly
And wait --
A thousand years later,
After spring
Summer would still be
Your name --
They would bring you
Back, take away
Your ring
And your clothes,
Cut your hair short,
And abandon you
By the edge of th persevering lake --
Then you would belong to me at last.
You would belong to me at last.
I would bathe you
And give you a little wine,
A few mint candies,
And some new clothes.
Your hair would
Grow again, back to the way it was
Before. Summer would still be your name.
3
Then I would write you
A poem of spring, when everything
Begins anew.
So young and shy,
You would glimpse a reflection of the mature you. I would let you shed tears freely;
I would design new clothe and make a candle for your wedding night.
Then you would let me write
A poem of spring on your bosom
In the rhythm of a heartbeat, the melody of b lood,
With the image of the breasts and the metaphor of a birthmark;
I would lay you on the warm surface of the lake
And let the wind recite.
- Yang Mu
trans. Michelle Yeh
1
If I could write you
A poem of summer, when reeds
Spread vigorously, when sunshine
Swirls around your waist and
Surges toward your feet
Standing asunder, when a new drum
Cracks in the heat; if I,
Rocking gently in a skiff
Immersed to the twelfth notch,
Could write you a poem of autumn,
When sorrow crouches on the riverbed
Like a golden dragon, letting torrents and rapids
Rush and splash and swirl upward
From wounded eyes; if I could write you
A poem of winter
To finally bear witness to the ice and snow,
The shrunken lake,
The midnight caller
Who interrupts a hurried dream,
In which you are taken to a distant province,
Given a lantern, and told to
Sit quietly and wait,
No tears allowed;
2
If they would not allow you
To mourn for spring
Or allow you to knit,
If they said,
Sit down quietly
And wait --
A thousand years later,
After spring
Summer would still be
Your name --
They would bring you
Back, take away
Your ring
And your clothes,
Cut your hair short,
And abandon you
By the edge of th persevering lake --
Then you would belong to me at last.
You would belong to me at last.
I would bathe you
And give you a little wine,
A few mint candies,
And some new clothes.
Your hair would
Grow again, back to the way it was
Before. Summer would still be your name.
3
Then I would write you
A poem of spring, when everything
Begins anew.
So young and shy,
You would glimpse a reflection of the mature you. I would let you shed tears freely;
I would design new clothe and make a candle for your wedding night.
Then you would let me write
A poem of spring on your bosom
In the rhythm of a heartbeat, the melody of b lood,
With the image of the breasts and the metaphor of a birthmark;
I would lay you on the warm surface of the lake
And let the wind recite.
- Yang Mu
trans. Michelle Yeh
Monday, March 15, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
sharing sharing
two things:
one, this is an amazing list of musicians. i've listened to stuff by 5 or 6 of them and really like all of them!
and HERE is a pretty little video from Lisa Mitchell. Watch it and smile!
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Monday, March 1, 2010
muffins! hooray!
Last night, after a weekend of storing other people's food in our fridge and letting other people shower in our shower, I was doing my painting homework, all spread out on our tiny kitchen counter painting the dishes in the dish drainer. The whole apartment had that lovely, oil-painty smell, and then Ransom and I decided to make dinner- rice and curry. So the place filled with perhaps my two very favorite smells and I got to paint and cook almost simultaneously- it was lovely. But it made me remember a recipe that I meant to share with you all. It's a muffin recipe, and it's extremely plain but very tasty, and the nicest thing about it is that you can add whatever you want. They're not vegan but they easily could be. So here you go. Something to make when the power returns. Or now.
Basic Complementary Muffins
1 2/3 cups whole wheat flour
1/3 coup soy flour (or you can substitute another 1 2/3 cups wheat flour if you don't have soy, which I didn't)
1 tbsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 egg, beaten
1 cup milk
1-4 tbsp oil
1-4 tbsp honey
Anything else you feel like adding!
Mix the dry ingredients together first. In a separate bowl, beat the egg with mild, oil, and honey. Make a well in the dry ingredients and pour the liquid in all at once; stir just enough to moisten all of the ingredients, but don't worry about a few lumps. Fill oiled muffin tins 2/3 full. Bake at 400 for 25 minutes, until well browned.
Basic Complementary Muffins
1 2/3 cups whole wheat flour
1/3 coup soy flour (or you can substitute another 1 2/3 cups wheat flour if you don't have soy, which I didn't)
1 tbsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 egg, beaten
1 cup milk
1-4 tbsp oil
1-4 tbsp honey
Anything else you feel like adding!
Mix the dry ingredients together first. In a separate bowl, beat the egg with mild, oil, and honey. Make a well in the dry ingredients and pour the liquid in all at once; stir just enough to moisten all of the ingredients, but don't worry about a few lumps. Fill oiled muffin tins 2/3 full. Bake at 400 for 25 minutes, until well browned.
Friday, February 26, 2010
power outage!
hello hello cousins (and sister) - i am in panera right now and it's packed. a panera without bagels, a panera without fruit cups, a panera that is the only restaurant with power in 10 miles!!!
last night our power went out. we lit some candles and huddled by the heater (which isn't electric, so that's great). the rain was torrential. we were actually a little scared, especially with the flickering candles, the howling wind, and our graphically active imaginations. i wondered aloud what it would be like if we went to bed and woke out with our whole big old mansion floating out on the atlantic ocean. i said it would be frightening. hannah agreed.
"at least we wouldn't be alone, we'd have so many neighbors!"
"right, maybe a catastrophe like that is what it would take for us to meet them all."
this morning our power was still out. while i was washing my face i heard hannah talking to our neighbor, Deidra. Deidra is a airline stewardess with a rasping voice who keeps odd hours. it turns out she is also a TV commercial actress. in her 40s or so, she is very friendly and reminds me a little of a cricket. anyway, she had gone out to get coffee. as had Jen and Garry, our landlords. you can't make coffee without power! they were gathered around our doorway.
"the power's out for miles!" Deidra exclaimed.
"i'm just going down to the basement to check for flooding." Garry said, and tromped downstairs. seconds later Hannah said she heard him swearing. not good.
pulled on my flannel shirt and met them at the door. we chatted for a while before each going back to our breakfasts.
"hey, we actually did meet our neighbors!" Hannah laughed.
our classes were canceled for the day but we were desperate for power to do our ever-pressing homework. we went to panera. after waiting and waiting we found a booth that an older couple was just vacating. we chatted with them as they left (glaring askance at the other table-hunters pressing in). it turns out they had come all the way down from ipswitch (about 15 miles away) to find a place to get breakfast and coffee. now they were heading out to take a walk on the beach and see what was open in rockport. the power-outage has swept over the whole seacoast. we wished them luck and they left me wanting to go to the ocean.
people continute to crowd into panera even as i sit here. a group of high-schoolers just pushed by, laptops and a power strip in hand! a little group of heavily-accented older women with powdered hair and zippered bags paused beside me while looking for a table.
"maybe you think everyone has come here from the cold to get-a warm?" one of them wondered. they found a spot near me near an indian couple and a frazzled baseball capped mom of three that took one of "our" tables earlier and nearly exploded when she found out they didn't have bagels. just now the gordon students are trickling in (they are out of power too), also clutching laptops, looking a little frantic (i'm glad i powered mine last night). everyone's here sharing their power tales. some have lights but no phone or TV, some (like us) are relying on candles and flashlights and wondering whether they have enough batteries to make it. i'm sitting sipping my 1/2 decaf 1/2 regular coffee with soymilk (panera has soymilk if you ask!) watching people and wondering what your storm stories are? write a post and tell us!
last night our power went out. we lit some candles and huddled by the heater (which isn't electric, so that's great). the rain was torrential. we were actually a little scared, especially with the flickering candles, the howling wind, and our graphically active imaginations. i wondered aloud what it would be like if we went to bed and woke out with our whole big old mansion floating out on the atlantic ocean. i said it would be frightening. hannah agreed.
"at least we wouldn't be alone, we'd have so many neighbors!"
"right, maybe a catastrophe like that is what it would take for us to meet them all."
this morning our power was still out. while i was washing my face i heard hannah talking to our neighbor, Deidra. Deidra is a airline stewardess with a rasping voice who keeps odd hours. it turns out she is also a TV commercial actress. in her 40s or so, she is very friendly and reminds me a little of a cricket. anyway, she had gone out to get coffee. as had Jen and Garry, our landlords. you can't make coffee without power! they were gathered around our doorway.
"the power's out for miles!" Deidra exclaimed.
"i'm just going down to the basement to check for flooding." Garry said, and tromped downstairs. seconds later Hannah said she heard him swearing. not good.
pulled on my flannel shirt and met them at the door. we chatted for a while before each going back to our breakfasts.
"hey, we actually did meet our neighbors!" Hannah laughed.
our classes were canceled for the day but we were desperate for power to do our ever-pressing homework. we went to panera. after waiting and waiting we found a booth that an older couple was just vacating. we chatted with them as they left (glaring askance at the other table-hunters pressing in). it turns out they had come all the way down from ipswitch (about 15 miles away) to find a place to get breakfast and coffee. now they were heading out to take a walk on the beach and see what was open in rockport. the power-outage has swept over the whole seacoast. we wished them luck and they left me wanting to go to the ocean.
people continute to crowd into panera even as i sit here. a group of high-schoolers just pushed by, laptops and a power strip in hand! a little group of heavily-accented older women with powdered hair and zippered bags paused beside me while looking for a table.
"maybe you think everyone has come here from the cold to get-a warm?" one of them wondered. they found a spot near me near an indian couple and a frazzled baseball capped mom of three that took one of "our" tables earlier and nearly exploded when she found out they didn't have bagels. just now the gordon students are trickling in (they are out of power too), also clutching laptops, looking a little frantic (i'm glad i powered mine last night). everyone's here sharing their power tales. some have lights but no phone or TV, some (like us) are relying on candles and flashlights and wondering whether they have enough batteries to make it. i'm sitting sipping my 1/2 decaf 1/2 regular coffee with soymilk (panera has soymilk if you ask!) watching people and wondering what your storm stories are? write a post and tell us!
Thursday, February 18, 2010
can we do this please?
Monday, February 15, 2010
a little poem...
for my poetry class we literally have to crank out poetry. this on might still be in transition (actually, it definitely is) but i thought i'd share it anyway:
Grounded
I used to let the ocean take me,
out to sea with the prickly urchins
and the stinging jellyfish
that rise, unafraid, to the top
top of the tide.
Today I am grounded
on the cement wall, eyes
for nothing but the water,
willing the wonder of a million miles
to come (as once it did) and rest
beside me, a small hope of more
crusted in salt and sand.
Now - a damp cement smell mixes
badly with the bitter taste of seaweed.
I dropped my fistful of shells
broken, years ago when flip-flops,
sand-filled, were left beside a trusting stone
and I walked (eyes torn
between the stretch of the sea
and mystery of the treasure-filled sand)
with wonder.
Today the molding wet sticks
to my soul. Foot-print free
it catches and dries, too heavy
to rinse off in the coming waves.
Grounded
I used to let the ocean take me,
out to sea with the prickly urchins
and the stinging jellyfish
that rise, unafraid, to the top
top of the tide.
Today I am grounded
on the cement wall, eyes
for nothing but the water,
willing the wonder of a million miles
to come (as once it did) and rest
beside me, a small hope of more
crusted in salt and sand.
Now - a damp cement smell mixes
badly with the bitter taste of seaweed.
I dropped my fistful of shells
broken, years ago when flip-flops,
sand-filled, were left beside a trusting stone
and I walked (eyes torn
between the stretch of the sea
and mystery of the treasure-filled sand)
with wonder.
Today the molding wet sticks
to my soul. Foot-print free
it catches and dries, too heavy
to rinse off in the coming waves.
Friday, February 5, 2010
a truly lovely advertisement (really? do tell.)
this is just an advertisement for a stupid tv, but it's really beautiful and fun to watch. someone showed it to me yesterday and i really liked it. they really did this in san franscico.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
un-cooking
thursday night was dessert night at my place: lots of lovely friends and one very yummy torte: here's how:
crust:
1 tsp veggie oil
1 c raw almonds
2 T raw honey
1 T raw peanut butter
1/2 tsp cinnamon
filling:
2 c raw cashews
2 tsp vanilla
2 T water
2 T raw honey
4 very ripe strawberries
a pinch of salt
1 tsp nutritional yeast
1 tsp melted coconut oil (optional for thickening)
topping:
assorted chopped strawberries and blueberries
for the crust:
in a blender grind the almonds into a fine meal. pour into a bowl. add the honey, peanut butter, and cinnamon and mix well until it's a sticky ball. press the pie-crust "dough" into the bottom of a lightly oiled glass pie pan.
filling:
rinse the cashews and soak for 5+ hours. rinse again.
blend the cashews with 2 T water, stirring frequently. add the other filling ingredients and blend well. it should be a thick pudding consistency. scoop into crust. top with chopped berries and refrigerate overnight or freeze for 2 hours.
enjoy!
this was a HUGE hit at my place. it slices so beautifully and tastes sooooooo good.
crust:
1 tsp veggie oil
1 c raw almonds
2 T raw honey
1 T raw peanut butter
1/2 tsp cinnamon
filling:
2 c raw cashews
2 tsp vanilla
2 T water
2 T raw honey
4 very ripe strawberries
a pinch of salt
1 tsp nutritional yeast
1 tsp melted coconut oil (optional for thickening)
topping:
assorted chopped strawberries and blueberries
for the crust:
in a blender grind the almonds into a fine meal. pour into a bowl. add the honey, peanut butter, and cinnamon and mix well until it's a sticky ball. press the pie-crust "dough" into the bottom of a lightly oiled glass pie pan.
filling:
rinse the cashews and soak for 5+ hours. rinse again.
blend the cashews with 2 T water, stirring frequently. add the other filling ingredients and blend well. it should be a thick pudding consistency. scoop into crust. top with chopped berries and refrigerate overnight or freeze for 2 hours.
enjoy!
this was a HUGE hit at my place. it slices so beautifully and tastes sooooooo good.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Recipes...
So, this is manly for Becca but obviously because I'm posting it on here it's for any of you..
This is my recipe for the week, Rebecca. Sorry I didn't post one last week. It's very simple, very loose, and very versetile.
1/2 of an onion, chopped
1 can of chick peas, almost completely drained
1/2 - 3/4 of a cup of chopped up brocoli (there's really not much measurement as far as the brocoli goes...)
1/2 tsp. ground cumin
1/2 tsp. curry powder
a small dash of crushed red pepper (only a very little bit of this...alittle goes a long way...)
a handful of peanuts
oil for cooking
salt and pepper to taste
In a frying pan, cook the onions with a minute or two, then add the brocoli and the peanuts. Cook for another 3 minutes or so, or until the vegetables are starting to get soft. Add the spices, cook for a few seconds then add the chick peas with their liquid. Cook until chick peas are done, the vegetables are soft, and almost all the liquid in the pan is gone. Add salt and pepper.
Now, like I said, you can switch this up alot. Add more or less spices as you like it, cashews are good if you don't have peanuts (although I really prefere peanuts). Change it up to fit what you want at the moment. I like this alot because it's reallly simple, the taste isn't hard to get, and it's really just the two flavors but mixed together they make one yummy dish.
Enjoy this! I have a really good recipe for a chocolate-cinnamon cookie which is really just chocolate cookie dough rolled in cinnamon sugar. They make delicious chewy cookies I just have to vegan-proof the recipe before I share it with you.
I hope you have a great weekend!
This is my recipe for the week, Rebecca. Sorry I didn't post one last week. It's very simple, very loose, and very versetile.
1/2 of an onion, chopped
1 can of chick peas, almost completely drained
1/2 - 3/4 of a cup of chopped up brocoli (there's really not much measurement as far as the brocoli goes...)
1/2 tsp. ground cumin
1/2 tsp. curry powder
a small dash of crushed red pepper (only a very little bit of this...alittle goes a long way...)
a handful of peanuts
oil for cooking
salt and pepper to taste
In a frying pan, cook the onions with a minute or two, then add the brocoli and the peanuts. Cook for another 3 minutes or so, or until the vegetables are starting to get soft. Add the spices, cook for a few seconds then add the chick peas with their liquid. Cook until chick peas are done, the vegetables are soft, and almost all the liquid in the pan is gone. Add salt and pepper.
Now, like I said, you can switch this up alot. Add more or less spices as you like it, cashews are good if you don't have peanuts (although I really prefere peanuts). Change it up to fit what you want at the moment. I like this alot because it's reallly simple, the taste isn't hard to get, and it's really just the two flavors but mixed together they make one yummy dish.
Enjoy this! I have a really good recipe for a chocolate-cinnamon cookie which is really just chocolate cookie dough rolled in cinnamon sugar. They make delicious chewy cookies I just have to vegan-proof the recipe before I share it with you.
I hope you have a great weekend!
Thursday, January 21, 2010
new favorite
so all of alexi murdoch's music is great, but this one...this one, song for you, is very precious. just thought i'd share...
http://www.lala.com/#search/Alexi%20Murdoch
http://www.lala.com/#search/Alexi%20Murdoch
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
a recipe
sweet and salty staple: granola
preheat the oven to 250
mix together a baking pan:
3 T honey
2 T oil
1 tsp cinnamon
1 T brown sugar, crumbled
1 tsp freshly ground sea salt
2 tsp flax seeds
1/4 c nuts (optional)
add 3 C rolled oats, mix very well
bake for 45 minutes, stirring every 15 minutes.
mix in 1/2 cup raisins (optional)
bake another 15-20 minutes, until the oats are golden brown and crisp.
enjoy warm or store in an air-tight container and sprinkle over chopped apples, bananas, soymilk....
this has been my staple for the past two weeks. the sea salt is delicious.
preheat the oven to 250
mix together a baking pan:
3 T honey
2 T oil
1 tsp cinnamon
1 T brown sugar, crumbled
1 tsp freshly ground sea salt
2 tsp flax seeds
1/4 c nuts (optional)
add 3 C rolled oats, mix very well
bake for 45 minutes, stirring every 15 minutes.
mix in 1/2 cup raisins (optional)
bake another 15-20 minutes, until the oats are golden brown and crisp.
enjoy warm or store in an air-tight container and sprinkle over chopped apples, bananas, soymilk....
this has been my staple for the past two weeks. the sea salt is delicious.
Monday, January 11, 2010
love and kisses, from the icefloat
i miss you all!
thank you for the wonderful splendid stool and delicious cooking times. the little stool looks so pretty in my apartment. you should all come visit it. and me.
love love love,
becca
thank you for the wonderful splendid stool and delicious cooking times. the little stool looks so pretty in my apartment. you should all come visit it. and me.
love love love,
becca
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