Plus Salads

I have been in a blissful state of living in a house I do not have to pay rent on and eating from a fridge I do not have to fill. In less than a week, I return to the real world.

I love the independence of managing my own budget, buying my own grocery, and deciding my own bedtime, though I must admit it's nice to get to put a few things in someone else's shopping cart once in a while, or hear a caring voice remind me around midnight, "You should get some sleep, Lael."

These are the benefits of hanging out at Mom's place come summertime and Christmas. These generous gestures and gentle nagging habits define my seasonal stays with her, plus salads. Lots of salads. My mom is a master at coming up with so many different salad recipes that I never ever get bored.

Salad was being dished onto my plate from as early as I could stomach it, and I remember that if there was ever a standoff between me, my brothers, or my sister and our vegetables, the vegetables would always win. My mom saw to it.

So give me a salad, and I'm a happy girl. (Just make sure the lettuce isn't iceberg and the dressing isn't Kraft.)

My mom made a salad this past week that made me particularly happy. It helped that the beans were crunchy and slightly sweet and there was plenty of fresh mozzarella. Add to that tomatoes, olives, Parmesan, and a mellow Italian dressing, and I like to think that my taste buds were welcoming these flavors by the age of three.

Italian Green Bean Salad
Adapted by Rachael Jewel (don't ask me where it from; as usual, it's copied onto an index card)

1/2 lb. green beans, barely steamed and cooled
1 c. grape tomatoes, halved
1 c. black olives
6 oz. fresh mozzarella cheese, diced
3 T. extra virgin olive oil
2 t. red wine vinegar
1 clove garlic, minced
1/3 t. salt
1/4 t. black pepper
Toasted pine nuts and Parmesan, to garnish

Toss all ingredients together, sprinkle pine nuts and freshly grated Parmesan on top, and serve.

A Good Idea

I was smitten from the start. When I saw him and knew I had to have him, my mom was easily swayed.

Okay, enough with the fake love story. I know if those few sentences had continued any longer I would be getting phone calls right and left from friends and family anxious to hear about how my status was, finally, no longer "single." Finally isn't really the right word, but neither is smitten, I'm just getting carried away.

However, that handsome carton of figs did immediately catch my eye, and my mom did readily agree to buy it, and I have been enjoying the little seedy fruits for a few days now, but that's the extent of the story.

Well, almost.

You see, as much as I love fresh raw figs (especially picked ripe off a tree), with the amount we brought home, I knew there would be plenty to play around with too. So I immediately started browsing around my usual recipe sites and blogs to find something that sounded just right. This was what I had decided on, but then a dear friend came into town and easily changed my mind with the proscuitto* and broil.

We were already thinking along the same lines, pairing the figs with goat cheese, and she had been dying to try a recipe her friend had shared with her. When I tried retracing the passage of the recipe through conversations, my friend said that it was likely from The French Market, a cookbook sold where she works, the glamorous and whimsical Anthropologie.

So, this simple appetizer is just too delicious to keep to myself. The concept isn't new, and the ingredients are not highly unusual, but everyone needs help with a good idea now and then. So here's one for you.

Broiled Figs with Goat Cheese and Basil
Adapted from The French Market by Joanne Harris

Turn on broiler.

Snip stems off figs (however many will fit on your cookie sheet). Slice each partially to the bottom to form quarters that create a flower-like opening in the middle. Arrange on cookie sheet.

Spoon a small amount of goat cheese onto the middle of each fig, and tuck one to two basil leaves between the cheese and the fig.

Drizzle desired amounts of balsamic vinegar and olive oil over cheese and into crevices of fruit. Season each fig with salt and pepper.

Broil in oven until cheese has begun to melt and tops have slightly browned. Remove and serve.

*We did not end up buying proscuitto. While the recipe turned out just great without it, I'm sure it would be a nice touch.

Blankets Instead of Tablecloths

I can't stay mad at Bellingham for very long. In fact, very rarely do I find any reason to harbor anger against this little eclectic city sandwiched between the Sound and the Cascades. But in June I found reasons for resentment because the brief one and a half weeks I spent here were freezing, literally sweater-and-slippers freezing.

Not any more.

The Northwest sun has been shining brightly almost the entire time I have been back and has provided fantastic picnic weather. After all, isn't that what summer's all about? No studying and lots of picnics.

Today included yet another picnic, and it was perfect in so many ways: the soft wedge of buttery cheese, the silly faux fur blanket, the nutty beer, the sea breeze mellowing the heat of the sun, and the fresh crab salad.

The cheese and beer automatically went in our basket when we were picking up picnic supplies, but the crab was a complete surprise. Generous friends shared their fresh catch with us, and just a few simple ingredients helped bring together a simple salad to pile on top of crackers or spoon into lettuce.

The delicious combination of chopped celery, minced white onion, cumin, paprika, mayonnaise, lime juice, crushed pepper, and sea salt mixed into a bowl with the crab meat made for a subtle flavor that played up the creaminess of the crab and did not smother its own delicate flavor. We really just searched through the refrigerator and spice cabinet for what was on hand, and this recipe could have gone a dozen different directions.

Whether or not you can get your hands on a crab or two, if you are in the northern hemisphere of the world right now, try to find a little corner of your outdoor world and enjoy a picnic! It makes even a peanut butter and jelly sandwich taste ten times better.

An Essential Ingredient.

Often the best recipes are the simplest. A few classic ingredients, of fine quality, with a single unexpected ingredient can be found utterly satisfying. For example, a lavender infused cupcake. Fennel in buttery cookies. Apples in a ham (and brie) sandwich.

The unexpected ingredient I have been delighted to include in so many memorable meals during my summer days in Bellingham has been good company.

This afternoon we took apples and cheese to the park, so the sweet yet crazy kids I was babysitting could cool off in the water.

Earlier in the day, I sat down for lunch with a lovely view of Bellingham Bay on my left and a dear friend across the table.

Last week we couldn't resist the waterfront either, so my sister and a friend and I went to Boulevard Park, carting along hummus, pita, a cucumber, and plums. The sun was so brilliant that every single picture was washed out, even for being taken at 6 o'clock, but that didn't affect the taste of the food or the enjoyment of the conversation.

Fortunately an ingredient like good friends can be found almost everywhere. Sometimes a person just has to look harder, but that's the wonderful thing about food...someone's always looking for a meal, and sharing one makes it taste twice as good.

Oh, and did I mention dinner tonight? It was one of my favorite simple dinners: homemade pizza. We sauteed mushrooms and layered them on top of pesto along with sun dried tomatoes and plenty of fresh mozzarella. The pizza dough was hurriedly picked up at Trader Joe's though my mom has a fabulous twenty-minute from-scratch recipe I often use. Nibbling at that pizza with an open bottle of wine and three lovely ladies around the table was a perfect finish to a sun-soaked summer day in the Northwest.

Fondue Fiasco

I wish you were looking out the same window I am right now. I wish the picture I'm about to paint for you through words could actually create the same hushed exhilaration I feel inside.

Beauty does this to me, and there's nothing more beautiful to me right now than looking at shades of blue and green taking the form of grass, mountains, and sky. I am staying at a friend's house just north of Bellingham, and one thing I love about this place is what exists just beyond its wraparound porch. Bushes and trees, many of which bear blooms, proclaim the richness of the soil and the generosity of the rainclouds in the Pacific Northwest.

I had to get away to realize this is not the norm everywhere, to learn how to respond when beauty isn't at my fingertips. It's a good lesson, and I'm still learning. But I do hate to leave this place.

And this particular place, this home, is one of my favorite places to visit since my parents sold our property in the country last summer. I've spent the last few days here helping transform the gardens into a wedding site. We set up and take down chairs, tables, umbrellas, tents, and arbors, and then squeeze around a cozy breakfast nook with plenty of cheese, crackers, wine, and chocolate.

Not too shabby, eh?

In fact, the latter makes the former hardly seem like work at all. Especially when our cheese obsession turned into a conversation last weekend about a fondue party, and we all marked our mental calendars for this past Friday, prepared to bring our contribution of pots, forks, or appetite (that was me, having never eaten fondue before and thus having no equipment to share).

So, Friday afternoon we saw that the bride and groom and their guests had happily transitioned into the reception portion of their celebration and then started our own party.

We had no idea that by the end of the night we would have a long list of "what NOT to do" when making fondue.

1. First of all, you are NOT supposed to light a foil tin of blue jelly type fuel without a cover to guide the flame and keep it from leaping beyond the bottom of the pot it is heating.

2. And you are NOT supposed to let cheese melt and then begin to cool (because pot has been removed from out-of-control flame) and then try to melt it again.

3. In fact, do NOT even expect a pot purely of shredded colby jack cheese to come out in proper fondue form.

4. And, lastly, do NOT simply melt down your chocolate bars and then add a splash of alcohol. Unless you prefer fudge.

My best advice is to do research. Obviously, with all these blunders, I need to gather some information before my next attempt. Have any pointers? Do you know any websites I must use as references in the future? I just searched "fondue" on epicurious.com and got twenty-nine results. That's a start.

This afternoon I told a friend about our fondue fiasco, and she was appalled and embarrassed for me. Thankfully her husband was not there, or he probably would have insisted we sit down right then and there so my image of fondue could be redeemed. These friends both have trustworthy palates, so I'm going to pass on a tip they gave me for when you're really in a fondue crunch...

Trader Joe's apparently has a delicious fondue available. All it requires is a microwaveable container and loaf of lovely bread. Even these self-proclaimed fondue snobs praised it! So until I find a fondue pot to borrow from someone, that is what I'll be trying.

[8/14/08] I must amend this post by saying that I visited Trader Joe's this evening to pick up fondue and was told that they no longer carry it! Maybe this is not the case in your neck of the woods, but, alas, I will have to continue to wait for smooth, creamy, gruyere-y fondue.

Trying To Hold On

I am sitting in my friend's double bed a little too awake for 12:45 at night, but in Japan it is 4:45 in the afternoon and my inner clock is still adjusting. My fingers are also adjusting to life back in the States as they struggle to find the apostrophe and colon on a non-Japanese keyboard.

But I will readjust my typing instincts soon enough, and I fear that as I begin to fall back into routine I will begin to forget as well. I will forget what it is like to be surrounded by signs I can't read because they are printed in an alphabet I cannot comprehend. I will forget what it is like to be the only white person in a room. I will forget what white rice tastes like first thing in the morning. As with so many events in life, these things will fade into memories that grow more distant and distant, but I know that the intangible experiences, thoughts, reactions, and reflections will embed something new into who I am. Another building block in life, and I intend to be better for it, taking the opportunity to grow in my understanding of the world and its individual inhabitants, including myself.

My last seven days in Japan were the perfect finish to my time. Amazingly, I found my friend Meiko in the crowds of Shinjuku Station in Tokyo within minutes, and we stashed my suitcase in a coin locker before finding a place for lunch.

It was a three hour bus ride into Ibaraki and Meiko's city. The temperature dropped notably in this time to a very tolerable level, and I couldn't believe it! With its ocean breeze and northern location, Hitachi made it difficult for me to believe that I had spent three weeks sweating away.

So many of the Japanese people I interacted with on a personal level proved to be very hospitable, and the case was the same with Meiko's family. Her cousin was getting married in Tokyo while I was there, so I traveled with her family to the wedding and was graciously welcomed as a member of the family for the day. The hospitality even extended into the next day, for we stayed in Hotel New Otani that night and took a train back to Hitachi around noon. I felt like I was in another life with the lifestyle I led those two days. The hotel was the fanciest I have possibly ever stayed at, and we ate dinner at a revolving restaurant with a three hundred sixty degree view of the city.

The rest of my nights were happily spent sleeping on a simple, comfortable Japanese futon in a room of tatami mats that were new enough to fill the room with a sweet, earthy odor that transferred itself onto my clothes and lasted my first twenty-four hours back in the States. Sadly, it is gone now.

And as the days continue to go by I know I'll forget more of the weariness, the sweltering heat, and hold onto the views of lush countryside, wild lilies along the road, women in yukata shuffling by in the subway station, people (both friend to friend and customer to salesperson) bowing to each other in greeting, and all things that made Japan unique and/or beautiful to me. I know in those four weeks, I only tapped into the outskirts of a culture entirely different from what I am familiar with. And that's why I am so very glad I went, at least for that tiny sliver of broader understanding.

Now I really should be kind to this body of mine and discipline it back into sync with the Northwest sun. Tomorrow I will finally be back in Bellingham after being gone a month and a half and am looking forward to a brief three weeks there before I head back to Texas for fall semester...my last fall semester! Maybe that will help me leave this place of tall pine trees, snow capped mountains, and herbal smelling local markets. If I must.

By the way, I have my camera back! I picked it up at the airport upon my arrival and will soon be in my mom's kitchen cooking and baking with her and my sister as much as possible. Please stick around, and thank you so much for following along as I took flight after flight, bus after bus, and every form of transportation in between, testing out too many mattresses to count along the way.

My Feet

I know a fourteen day gap stands between now and the last time I posted, and I`m not even going to attempt to summarize each of those days, but let`s see what I can do here...

Since arriving in Kyoto on the 10th, it has been difficult to get computer time beyond ten minutes here or there. But today I found myself with a whole day to work with. I woke up at 4:30 this morning to say goodbye to the group I have been traveling with. It was a sad time. In the last few days the subject of me transferring to Western has come up among my new friends and me, but　those of you who have watched me transfer (twice) already and stretch my college courses into five years do not need to worry. I`m returning to Abilene in the fall.

My overnight bus for Tokyo leaves at 11:30 tonight, so I am sitting cross legged on a chair at my hotel noticing how dirty my feet are. That`s what you want to hear about, right? The dirt in between my big toe from my flip flop strap? Well, here`s a more telling image about my travels...the slight imprint in these spongy flip flops I brought with me has increased over the last twenty days to a defining mold of each of my toes, my arch, and my heel.

We have done a lot of walking.

For the sake of brevity, the best way to give a glimpse of where my feet have taken me is to leave you with some highlights of my time in Japan. Here are a few of my favorite memories.

Time with locals. I got to spend two nights with my friend`s friend here in Kyoto. She showed us a wonderful time by taking us away from the group for two nights. One to go to a little Mexican restaurant for dinner and a place called The Smoke Room for dessert. I wish I knew the name of the Mexican restaurant because it was delicious, but definitely look up the Smoke Room if you come to Kyoto. It`s very small and has a great wine list with cheeses and sweets. The second night we were invited to her home for her mother`s cooking, and it was so nice to not eat out for a change. Equally as memorable was getting to celebrate the 92nd birthday of my professor`s adopted mother! My prof studied in Kyoto during graduate school and her "okasan" invited us all over for a sushi party one night.

Celebrating in the streets. We came to Kyoto just in time for the Gion Festival and the night before the procession the streets downtown shut down for pedestrians to come through and see the extravagant carts that will be pulled along the next morning and get street food and drinks. We found some good, cheap chu-hi.

Falling in love with the countryside. So far I can see myself living in Tokyo or Ohara, if I come back to Japan. Ohara is opposite Tokyo in practically every respect. It is small, populated with rice patties, indigo fields, and quiet homes with simple roof tiles, but in one life possibility, I can see myself settling here for a while, growing my own natural dyes and wearing indigo fabric from head to two.

Hanging out by the river. There is a river that runs through Kyoto, and our second night here we found a restaurant near it and afterward got some beers and popped them open along the unevenly paved boardwalk that parallels the river. People always gather down there at night, and that night there was a musical duet of a girl with an accordion and guy with a guitar selling their CD. Wish I could have gotten it. Today I found refuge from the sun at the river during mid afternoon with my back against a bridge`s cement pillar and my bare feet dangling over the stony slope. It was so strange to walk around the city with no particular direction I was going, no backs to follow, or clock to mind. I felt like a true vagabond.

Alright, I have overextended my time limit on this computer considerably. It`s time to get off and let another hotel guest have a turn.

I miss you all terribly, along with the taste of whole grain bread and spinach. Today I stood in front of a banana priced at 125 yen (about $1.25) and just couldn`t bring myself to buy it. Another thing I`m looking forward to when I get home.

Now please excuse me while I go wash these dirty feet.