SOUNDTRACKS

We hike up the hill towards the track, running shoes on, holding hands, pretending we're forest ninjas. 

Are pumpkins still alive after they're picked? Why have you been drinking so much tea? Who is this King Tut guy? This stick totally looks like a machine gun. I want a robot, don't you? Did I tell you I got a Kangaskhan card and it has 230 life? I don't think there's a God. I want a new dog and I will name him Biscuit. Oh my God, mom, look at that beautiful sky.

Swaths of orange and red blaze across the bay, a sunset so breathtaking that dozens of people sit in the bleachers, reveling, taking photos, leaning in towards one another. It would be so easy to join them.

Don't sit down. Don't sit down. Don't sit down.

Mom, are you talking to yourself again?

Maybe.

We shift. We smile. We feed on each other's hesitations.

Ready, mom?

Ready, Dash.

Set?

Set.

Go.

I don't go. Shit. I don't go.

He is halfway around the track.

I own a different body now. My breasts are three inches lower. My legs are three inches thicker.

He has almost completed a lap.

My abdominals are split open. My pelvic floor is a foreign country.

He swings by for lap number two, slows down, tries to grab me. 

Come on, mom.

He doesn't know that scraped out feeling. Always searching for the on button.

We're here to run.

He wakes up running. I wake up recalibrating.

Mom?

Bound by bound, breath by breath, I match his gait. My legs glide without effort. My arms pump. We move and move and move. Faster and faster and faster. He has me.

Dash. Oh my God. I'm running!

He gives me the I-love-you-even-though-you're-crazy look.

Dude, I didn't think I would make it more than ten steps. The last time I ran was on my wedding day. 

You mean you haven't run since way before I was born?

Nope, Dash. I haven't run for 13 years.

Up and down the attic stairs to fetch laundry, paper towels, dead rats. In circles. From the house to the car to the house to the car. Down the supermarket aisle to catch a tumbling bottle of wine, a jar of pickles, an avalanche of apples. Towards a choking child. Out of the house in anger. Into my husband's arms. Behind a child's teetering bicycle. Towards speeding cars, crashing waves, third story windows.

He stops to process. To catch his breath. To search for the moon. To be seven years old.

Mom, it's dark and I want to go home and I'm so hungry.

Dash, I want shakshuka more than anything.

I want mac and cheese more than anything. 

I chase my little running man down the hill, endorphins dancing around my head, superhero rocket jets still humming. 

I have let my stories get too big. 

What did you say, mom? Why are you smiling?

Dash, please eat shakshuka with me.

(recipe written up by Dash; layout inspired by Pokémon cards)

Shack shooka. Shakshuka. Shakshouka. Chakchouka. Many spellings from around my house. And from around the world. I understand it has Tunisian and Israeli origins. I have never followed a shakshuka recipe but I've been inspired by dozens of photos from all over the web. 

My Berkeley version involves a harissa-spiced tomato and onion sauce, dotted with feta, topped with baked eggs and chopped herbs. 

Scoop it up with grilled bread. Add white beans, grilled sausages, braised lamb, or cooked potatoes.

Add on. Take away. Make it your own.

Here's my shakshuka. Please tell me about yours. 

SHAKSHUKA
printable recipe
serves 4

The only thing you need to make ahead of time is the garlic confit. Or just skip it! 

You can make this a one-dish dinner by cooking the sauce in an ovenproof pan, adding the eggs, and throwing it into the oven. Or, make the sauce a a few days ahead of time and store it in the fridge. Or freeze it. You can make individual shakshukas. Or spoon the sauce into a large baking dish for 4 people. Or double the recipe and make it for 8.

Sometimes, I use my cast iron pan for this but some people swear you should never put acidic tomatoes into cast iron. I've never had a problem. Do this at your own risk. I think it might depend on the depth of buildup on the interior of your pan.

ingredients:
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 large yellow onion, finely diced (yielding 2 to 2.5 cups)
1 heaping teaspoon salt

8 cloves garlic confit, squeezed out of their skins
2 cloves garlic, peeled and grated

3 anchovy fillets, packed in oil

1 box or can of crushed or diced tomatoes, 26 to 28 ounces (avoid those with too many additional ingredients, salt and basil are fine)

2 tablespoons tomato paste

1 tablespoon harissa
1 tablespoon honey
2 sprigs fresh thyme
sherry wine vinegar, to taste

1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley

1/4 cup chopped fresh mint

1 tablespoon lemon zest (either stripped with a zester or microplaned)

6 ounces of your favorite feta (any kind is fine but I prefer one with a creamier texture)

4 eggs
1/4 cup garlic oil from garlic confit

directions:

Place medium-sized ovenproof pan on medium heat. Add olive oil and butter. Once butter is melted, add onions and salt.  Stir every few minutes until translucent. Turn the heat to a simmer  Cover. Cook for about an hour. Stir every 10 minutes or so. If it starts to stick, add a splash of water. It's okay if it browns a bit. This will just add flavor. It's done when the texture is creamy and the color is golden. Remove the lid and boil off most of the liquid (if there is any). Keep the heat on low.

With your mortar and pestle, make a paste out of the garlic confit, fresh garlic, and anchovies. Add to cooked onions. Cook for 30 seconds. Stirring constantly. Add diced tomatoes, tomato paste, harissa, honey, and thyme. Stir. Bring to the boil. Turn down to a simmer and cook for about an hour, stirring every 10 minutes or so. You want it to thicken and sweeten and intensify. Taste. Adjust. 1 tablespoon of harissa can be quite powerful, but add more if the sauce doesn't have enough kick. I usually add some more salt and a splash of sherry wine vinegar. Remove the thyme sprigs. At this point, you can cool the sauce and then refrigerate or freeze until needed.

When you're ready to eat shakshuka, preheat the oven to 450°F. Combine parsley, mint, and lemon zest. Set aside.

Either leave your sauce in your ovenproof pan or spoon the sauce into a baking dish that allows about 1/2-inch of room at the top. Crumble or cube the feta and press it down into the sauce. It's okay if some of the pieces are poking up through the sauce. Place the dish in the oven until the sauce is piping hot, about 10 minutes. Remove from the oven. With a spoon, make 4 circular holes for the eggs in the tomato sauce. Crack an egg into a bowl and slide it into a hole. Repeat 3 more times. Sprinkle half of the parsley, mint, and lemon zest over the surface. Spoon over some garlic oil.

Bake until eggs are cooked to your liking. It's okay for the top of the sauce to start browning a bit. Sometimes I find that the yolk is set before the white is cooked. In that case, the best thing to do is cover the dish or pan with a lid or tin foil for about 1 minute. Remove from the oven before it looks done because it will keep cooking. You can always throw it back in for a minute or two. Garnish with remaining herb and lemon zest mixture. Serve immediately with grilled bread and extra garlic oil.

FROM MY COLUMN AT FOOD52

A letter to my daughter. And some recipe ideas for the long weekend. I highly recommend pouring crème fraîche all over your pasta. And butterscotch sauce all over your caramel ice cream.

……………..

Dear Bella,  

This morning, you rolled over and yelled out, I want a grilled cheese with pesto in my lunch. And then you added, please. And then you said, but only if that's okay, mom, if not, just make me whatever is easiest. That's when I felt my heart grow too damn big for my chest. It pushed up and made a little lump in my throat. It made the back of my neck tingle.

And that's when I thought, hot damn. That baby girl of mine is going to be okay. I just need to keep letting go.

You probably don't remember, but I spent the first six months of your life holding your teeny screaming body to my chest. While bouncing vigorously on a massive blue exercise ball. Because you thought this world sucked. And you wanted back into my womb. The first time I could put you down without hearing a colicky wail, I sobbed with relief and accomplishment. As if, yes, I have arrived. I am done. I did my work.

But then I had to be brave enough to walk around the corner to make myself a cup of coffee and believe that you would still be alive when I came back.

Then I learned to let go of your hand. Your baby words. Your need to always be by my side. 

More and more, lately, I've been jumping ahead to the day that you move out of our house. I have so much more to teach you. How are we going to fit it all in?

So I've decided to start writing things down. Here's my first lesson. And surprise surprise, it involves the kitchen. Start here, and many other things will fall into place:

1. Freeze little bits of everything. Bacon. Tart dough. Half a cookie. Nuts. Coffee. A chunk of parmesan. Pesto. Tomato sauce. Baguette scraps. That way you can throw a dinner together in the middle of the night. You never know. 

2. Make your own crème fraîche. Once a week. It will brighten up everything. Your windowsill. Your chocolate cake. Your pancakes. Your pasta.

3. Put lemon zest in everything.

4. Learn to make empty-out-the-fridge pesto. Kale and almonds and manchego. Or arugula and walnuts and goat cheese. Almost any combination works. It is cost effective. It is versatile.

And someday, in your own kitchen, you will find yourself eating pasta with broccolini pesto, crème fraîche, and lemon zest. For breakfast. Like I did this morning. But until then, I will rouse you out of bed, help you search for matching socks, wipe the Nutella off your chin, and tuck your hair behind your ears. Until you slip slip slip out of my fingers into someone else's arms.

Love,

Mama

PASTA WITH BROCCOLINI PESTO AND CREME FRAICHE

ROMAINE AND AVOCADO SALAD WITH ANCHOVY GARLIC VINAIGRETTE

CITRUS SALAD WITH GOAT CHEESE-STUFFED DATES

ROMAINE SALAD WITH BACON, 5-MINUTE EGGS, AND PESTO DRESSING

BUTTERSCOTCH SAUCE

CARAMEL ICE CREAM

DIASTASIS

I agitate the custard and yell at my husband

though I don't even remember what I'm spazzing about

since it's the fight we've had for 23 years

so familiar it's built into our limbs and mouths

and then the custard fucking curdles and 

just so you know

my custard never fucking curdles

and I kick everyone out of the kitchen.

I put a hand on my belly

pinky on my belly button

thumb all the way up and under my front lower ribs

and I quietly blame everything on this abdominal split

(caused by the pressure of my in utero Dash)

because somehow someone something

must be interfering with my ability to

do good parenting and good partnering

and good handstands.

I chop the leeks and imagine

my sides growing back together

and I wonder what makes a frittata a frittata

and not a Spanish tortilla or an omelette

and I decide I don't care

and I just start busting them out

with creme fraiche and leeks and spring onions

and so much trendy kale

that my daughter will say she's going to puke

if she even has to LOOK at it

but i think I'm onto something

so I make one more

packed with purple potatoes and asparagus.

I tuck in my shirt and secure my hair

in what one of those magazines I no longer read

would call a sexy messy bun

place my hands on the floor

imagine my hands are feet

spread my fingers wide

but not too wide

empty my mind

exhale bend my knees

inhale float my legs up up up

until my toes point to the ceiling my two legs as one

and I focus

on weaving knitting soldering my abdominals back together

because that's what will make me a nicer

wife mother yogi cook friend lover person

and then I'm floating for the first time ever

on my hands

for more than one round of breath

with this crazy ass intention of bringing everything

back into my center
and crash
I'm down again.

I yell everyone back into the kitchen

away from Legos and wrestling and The Hunger Games
and a surprising amount of the crispy bubbling feta-topped egg cake
gets into their little bellies
so they earn their curdled custard ice cream
and then I set them free.

Glued to my seat and my wine
I manage to
look my husband in the eye and

I listen
roll my eyes
sigh

hold my breath
shiver
smile

as he tells me 

yes you're hormonal yes you're insane yes

you make me want to move to Los Angeles

permanently away from you

and I will take the kids and oh yes

you have a nice ass

and yes that was the best frittata I've ever had.

ASPARAGUS AND POTATO FRITTATA

printable recipe

serves 4-6

(My friend Erin and I have been chatting about frittatas. She can't stop making them either. She has been putting feta on top of hers. Genius. Now I am too. Check out her beautiful blog Yummy Supper. And she should have a frittata post up soon.)

You can pretty much throw anything into a frittata. Any cheese. Any (pre-cooked) vegetables or meat: peppers, cauliflower, sliced sausage, chopped crispy bacon, strips of cooked chicken breast. It's a great empty-out-the-fridge one-pot meal.  It can be beautiful to look at. It can also be funky and very green and super funny messy looking. In my opinion, it must have at least a few of the following toppings: sriracha, ketchup, chopped chives, avocado slices, lime, sour cream.

This recipe calls for potatoes and asparagus. But you can just as easily add finely chopped kale (or any combo of greens like chard, arugula, spinach) into the onions instead of the asparagus. Or add it along with the asparagus, though that would be a bit heavy on the greens (I love this, my kids do not).

It's best eaten right away. But you can also serve it room temperature. Or heat it up the next day.

ingredients

for the vegetables:

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 tablespoon butter

1/2 yellow onion, peeled and diced

2 large leeks, cleaned, trimmed of tough green part, thinly sliced

big pinch salt

pepper

10 small potatoes cooked in salty water until tender and then halved (purple or yukon gold work well)

8 spears asparagus, trimmed, quickly cooked in salty water but still crisp, sliced into 1 inch pieces

1 clove garlic, grated, chopped, or pressed

2 teaspoons lemon zest.

for the eggs:

12 eggs

3/4 cup creme fraiche or heavy cream

3/4 grated firm or semi-firm cheese (any combination of parmesan, percorio, manchego, gruyere, cheddar)

big pinch salt 

pepper

for when it goes under the broiler:

1/2 cup feta cheese (or goat), crumbled

1/4 cup parmesan, grated

crunchy salt

for the toppings:

sriracha

chopped parsley and chives

avocado slices

sour cream, creme fraiche, or yoghurt (another nice option is sour cream thinned with heavy cream)

directions:

Crank a 10 inch oven-safe pan (I use cast iron) to medium heat. Add olive oil and butter. When butter is melted, add onions, leeks, salt, and pepper. Cook, stirring often, until tender and starting to brown a bit (about 20 minutes). 

While onions are cooking, vigorously whisk together eggs, creme fraiche, cheese, salt, and pepper until well-combined and foamy. Set aside.

Preheat oven to a high broil.

Turn heat up to high under onions and toss in potatoes and asparagus. Add grated garlic and lemon zest. Cook, stirring entire time, for a minute.

Give the eggs one final whisk and then pour over the vegetables. Stir until all vegetables are coated with eggs. Turn down to medium heat. Then leave it alone to start to set. You can put a lid on it. Or not. Be aware of heat going onto bottom of pan and make sure it's not too hot. The eggs don't taste so good when they get too brown.

 Once the eggs are about halfway set, take off heat and sprinkle top with feta, parmesan, and some crunchy salt. Place under the broiler and don't walk away. If if browns too quickly, place on a lower shelf in the oven. Check for doneness after a minute by poking around in the middle of the frittata with a paring knife. An undercooked frittata is nasty. Try to find that perfect moment when the very center isn't quite set because it will continue to cook a bit after you take it out of the oven. 

While it's still piping hot, slide a knife around and dislodge the sides from the pan. Use a spatula and slowly slide it under the frittata. Do this all the way around, making sure you make it all the way to the center. You can serve it in the cast iron pan. Or you can flip it out on a plate. Just make sure you serve it crispy-feta side up.

Serve with toppings (see ingredients above for ideas).