carol's kitchen

Wednesday, January 31, 2007

laps

I push my way slowly across the pool; a slow, easy breast stroke in nineteen strokes on my first lap. The water temperature is a perfect 82 degrees. I’m thinking about what I will eat for lunch. I know what I’ll find in the refrigerator when I get home & I’m composing the menu. I reach the other end of the pool and switch to freestyle for the second lap. Slowly, I stretch one arm forward, then the other, while flipping my body side to side; my head comes out for air every other stroke. On good days I can do the length of the pool in 7 ½ strokes; today it takes me 9, but it doesn’t matter. Swimming for 45 minutes is all that matters. Poached chicken thighs, salad with green onion and red pepper, steamed kale.

The next two lengths are freestyle; my kick is slow, almost melodic; someone told me i swim like a mermaid. I follow the black line at the bottom of the pool. I’ll splash some olive oil on the kale & squeeze on some fresh lemon juice. For the fifth lap I flip over on my back for an easy back stroke. I push off with both feet and glide through the water working my knees, making my way up the pool while staring up at the ceiling. I can practically taste the tender chicken which I’ll heat in its broth.

Switch back to freestyle. I only do backstroke on laps that have the number 5 in them: 5, 15, 25, 35, & breast stroke on laps number 1, 11, 21, 31. When I swim a lap with the number 7 in it I turn to look at the mosaic tile design on one of the pillars beside the pool that says, “7.” I don’t know why it’s there or what it means.

My friend Patrick taught me how to swim 4 years ago & I'm eternally grateful to him for it. Friends are more precious than gold. Patrick's a good cook too & has great taste in restaurants. It’s not surprising that my friends’ eating habits are pretty much like mine. Not one of them eats fast food. We all buy fresh, cook at home & only eat in restaurants on special occasions. My friends & I love to cook for each other. A meal at any of my friends’ homes is better than any restaurant anywhere.

Moving through water is hypnotic, the strokes automatic; back & forth 40 times in the pool with nothing to do but think. I think of scooping up egg-less tofu salad with chunks of fresh, crisp red pepper, sprinkled with coarse salt & black pepper; a nice snack I can eat standing up. In winter I love crunchy curly endive salad with chopped green onion, good olive oil & a splash of balsamic vinegar. I don’t like winter tomatoes or cucumbers, though.

The 19th. length has some mystical meaning for me. It means I’ve done a good bit of swimming already, much more than I thought I could do when I first climbed down into the pool this morning & wondered if I could swim any laps at all. It’s always that way, & then 19 laps. Wow! Good for me.

The 36th. lap is a religious experience. Number 36 is the Hebrew equivalent of “life.” I think, when I complete it, I’ve done something wonderful that will guarantee a good life.

By now my pace has quickened; kicking is stronger, arm strokes longer; I glide more. On Friday I will go to the Korean market & load up on fresh vegetables & salads. Also check out the fresh fish. Last week I brought home a fresh steamed crab for lunch. Ate it straight from the plastic bag in which I whacked it with a hammer to crack the shell.

Was that lap 38? Already? It’s coming up now. 40 laps are on the way. So is lunch. I sprint across the pool in 7 ½ strokes. I’d like to bake some fresh mackerel this week, which I know they always have at the market. With sliced onions, stuffed with pesto and…



btw: this is NOT me, I assure you.
it's the guy in the next lane.


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Saturday, January 27, 2007

mealtime

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Tuesday, January 23, 2007

attention all publishers!

I just read a prize-winning blog by a woman who has seven kids; she cooks fabulous meals, writes her recipes, takes pictures of the dishes, writes fine, easy prose, manages her website, has all the latest blog site bells & whistles; she shops, cleans, takes the kids to the doctor, does laundry... She’s also working on another degree, &, I assume, finds time to enjoy her dear husband’s amorous affections. Blog or no blog this woman deserves a prize. http://www.cookingwithanne.blogspot.com/

There are rumors about people who get publishing deals based on their blogs. I want a publishing deal. I’ve got a knockout 335 page memoir ready to go. Its title: The Princess from Flatbush. I’ve even got an agent, but he tells me memoirs are in bad repute now, no matter how sexy & scandalous; we’ll try again when that aversion dies down. But who can wait? I’ve got to live long enough.

I should learn how to promote my blog so some good publisher will find me, call me, offer me a deal. How do you do that? I only get hit when I beg my friends to read this stuff.

In case you’re reading this, dear publisher, I’ve also got another book ready to go called, Confessions of a Macroneurotic, filled with amusing essays on lifestyle & food, with healthy recipes, macrobiotic style, & photos too, shot by yours truly in her kitchen.

Come on; let’s go!!!!

Meanwhile, I boil water, chop onions, poach chicken…

My friend Marcelina says it’s the season for oxtail soup & proved it the other day when she brought a huge, steaming pot full of it to a potluck dinner. Her soup was out of this world; she cooked the tail for hours, boned it, removed all the fat & sinew, produced a rich broth & added an array of fresh vegetables, including leeks, celery, onions, carrots, mystery herbs & spices... all the good stuff.

I wish i had a picture of Marcelina's soup, but failing that here's a picture of another cold-weather item i made recently: baked apples, sprinkled with salt & stuffed with peanut butter. Here they are going into my oven.

How d'ya like them apples!

Baked apples & Marcelina's s fabulous oxtail soup are 2 good things I can say about the cold weather in Los Angeles, while I’m waiting for the phone call from a publisher.

~~~

Sunday, January 14, 2007

raw

Yesterday, I stopped into one of Los Angeles’s healthy-food markets & found a mob scene pressed around a raw-food guru delivering a lecture on raw foods. The expensive tools of his trade were displayed on the table in front of him like icons: juicers, dehydrators, sprouters, water purifiers… The tone of his voice was evangelistic & looks on people’s faces were like those who are touched by grace.

I overheard some of his spiel, talking about chocolate as the healthiest food in the world. “You can live on it,” he said, sounding like Jimmy Swaggart.

That was the best news I’d heard in a long time. But, not for the likes of me, thanks. I’ve gotten over all the sensationalizing about "the next best thing" in nutrition. Raw foods can be delicious, I agree, but I’d rather eat caviar; it costs the same, & it’s raw, isn’t it?

All my life I’ve searched for a better way to live. First there was Adelle Davis, a lusty, gutsy California woman whom I worshipped & adored. For her, meat was king; couldn't eat enough of it. Then came George Oshawa & macrobiotics, which I studied & practiced religiously for more than 25 years. I preached as well as practiced; never got out of the kitchen; showed the way to all my friends & family; beat the drum & led the parade. Whoop-dee-doo. I had found the panacea in the teachings of skinny little Japanese men. I genuflected at the altar of yin & yang.

At the same time I closed my ears to the groundless promises made by the macrobiotic “healers” I'd met in the movement, most of whom I believed were soaking the sick for all they could get. I concentrated instead on the good stuff: whole grains, gomasio, miso, tamari, seaweed, tofu, tempeh, fu, beans, pickled daikon, root vegetables, green vegetables, chopped & sliced just so. 70% grains, 5% soup, etc. etc. etc., and watch out for those deadly nightshades. My wok & my frying pans never left my stovetop. I was slim & healthy (but I had started out that way!) and always a little bit hungry.

Then one day, about 12 years ago, I woke up starving for a steak. Not a mere whim or absent-minded desire, but a need. I wanted meat; red meat, charred on the outside, medium rare inside, & sizzling grilled to perfection. For one minute I considered that after 25 years of not putting meat in my belly the thing would kill me. But here’s what happened: I drove downtown to the Pantry & ordered a thick juicy filet mignon -- thing musta been close to half a pound -- & ate the whole thing; left the restaurant licking my lips, feeling great. I suffered not one whit of indigestion or guilt.

I was ready for change. It was time to strip off the yoke of obedience to macrobiotic principles & start thinking for myself. Whole foods? Yes. Meat? Sometimes. Fish? Often. Dairy? Occasionally. I became an omnivore. Chocolate returned to my life. And anything else I pleased – in moderation. I figured I was healthy enough to make good choices for myself, and none, not even one, for other people.

My best friend, a macrobiotic cook, stormed out of my house, never to return, because I put out a platter of chicken at a dinner party – along with the standard macrobiotic variety of dishes – to please my meat-eating boyfriend. I was hurt beyond words but recognized the self-righteous, macro-queen attitude I had shared with her, and those days were over.

Soon after, the boyfriend walked out on me too, but that's another story...

Anyway, what I’m trying to say here is that while the raw-food movement is interesting, I’m not joining. I’m running free now. I’m willing to taste, listen & learn but my years as a fervent follower are over. Food is no longer my religion – it’s my pleasure.

Gimme caviar!
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