Life These Days.

The Grand Tetons

It feels like life these days is a series of snapshots, moments, that I play back in my mind, looking back and wondering how in the world it is that it goes by so quickly in the long-run, and yet so slowly in the moment.  The rollercoaster of daily chores, the beastlings, the random outings and busy-ness we create for ourselves revolve around routine meals interspersed with playtime and children's shows.  If Matt and I can get in a good conversation, have a laugh, a drink and get in an episode of a fun show, I call the day a success.  This is not the wild adventurous life I imagined for myself, in plain terms.  It is intense in very different ways than I'd thought it would be (everyone chronically underestimates the utter madness and reciprocating joy of parenthood).  But it's wonderful.  Better in so many ways than I ever thought.

Despite this, up until about six months ago, I clung to the absurd tendency to construct my views of what my life should be like based on the idealized life of 26-year-old-me: newly married, adventurous, unfettered and with decent amounts of disposable income to fulfill my dreams and whims (generally interchangeable).  So many of those things are no longer true, sadly in two cases and happily in all the others:

- I'm so glad to no longer be a newlywed despite the happy expectation, promise of that time period in my life.  

- I'm still adventurous despite having very different outlets for that personality trait than I did ten years ago.  

- I am quite fettered - this we know, and we love (though they may drive me crazy half the time).  

- And the disposable income, while not overrated in its ability to add to the quality of life, it is neither here nor there in this rumination, really (except that I will say that it is shockingly expensive to raise three kids).  

Six months ago a bubble burst.  I had to redefine those stubborn, outdated "perfect life" terms as something more realistic based on what I needed, and not necessarily what I wanted.  That didn't sit well with me and I fought it, with frustration, desperation, jealousy, annoyance and denial.  There were so many things I wanted - and why shouldn't I have them?  

- I wanted to travel as much as 26-year-old me.  I can't. Not yet anyway. 

- I wanted to live in a very specific beautiful place that I love - my living, breathing watercolor, as I like to think of it; a place that inspires me daily, despite my husband having little chance of finding a good / fulfilling job in that place, and despite it being a somewhat arbitrary obsession.  I can't.  

- I wanted to be independent, not have to lean on people like family or friends.  I can't.  

I desperately need the support of my family and people I care about, in ways I never knew or admitted before.  And it seems that for ten years I've refused to admit that until that need literally grabbed me and shook me and looked me in the eye and said, "Why are you still pretending you're not desperate to go home? Why are you still pretending you don't know where home is?"

I don't know.  I don't know why I do that.  It makes no sense.  And so this impending manifest destiny leading me home has washed over me like a warm, unstoppable wave.  At first I was dragged, kicking and screaming, until I saw that it was inevitable.  Suddenly, the reality became a positive one; rather than fighting the current, I went with it and actually found I was excited.  Right now, I'm at the crest of the wave, happy but impatient because I am waiting to crash down into a whirlpool of change and upheaval, with only the promise of landing on a distant but familiar shore at the end.  At lease there will be many familiar hands waiting to lift me up when I do, unlike every other time I've ever crashed into a new life.

I am trying to enjoy the view, enjoy the feeling of being suspended in the air, on a beautiful ride.  I'm looking around, trying to absorb what I see and experience and feel from this perspective that will soon be gone.  It feels good to accept this new reality, finally.  There's not much to let go of, practically speaking, here in Utah.  And there is charm and magic in suddenly taking on an adventure I never foresaw wanting to take on.  But it's hard and it's frightening and I oscillate between excitement and being overwhelmed. One day I'll look back on this first voyage of my life as grown-up-me and think how beautiful it was, with all its stops and wanderings, and amazing discoveries (no matter how much I hated or complained about them in the moment).  I'll think of all the interesting things we did, and how lucky we were to do them.  Because one day soon, I'll be in my cozy new house on that new shore, finding new things to be inspired by.  But this time, I won't be on an island.  I'll be surrounded by familiarity and people and that will make all the difference.  Because a life worth living is a life shared with those you love.  It is neither here nor there - it's not any "where."  It is in the moments and memories and happiness suspended between you and the many souls that love you - an invisible tie that doesn't bind.

*  *  *

Here are some impressions of life over the past six months in random order.  It has been busy and beautiful but I'm ready to leave Utah when the time comes!

Antelope Island views

Sparkly little birthday boy.

Impressionistic Bison.

Ogden Valley sunsets never get old.

Needs, not wants.

The world did not end that day.

Happiness.

Hygge Home.

Frozen salt flats.

Snow swimming.

Peachy porch time.

Millions of peaches.  Peaches for me.

Unidentified beautiful sky.

The serendipitous discovery of pop cream / ice corn at the zoo.

Big western sunrises too.

Yellowstonin'.

Remembering the Old and Appreciating the New: Berenjena (Eggplant) en Escabeche

Cooked eggplant

This summer almost killed me.  Yes, more in a figurative way than anything, but it almost killed me nonetheless.  Nearly ten years of life-changing occurrences happening over and over again, almost always in groups of two or more finally culminated this summer in the unholy trifecta of having a baby / selling our house / and moving to a new state in a two-month period.  It sucked.  I won't rant at length on the shock to the system - even for a relatively organized person - that suddenly having three children is, two of them under 2 years of age.  I've finally gotten over leaving our dear Casa Liberace in Denver, the first house we ever owned and the place that our family grew to be what it is today (we closed on Liberace the same day we finalized Alexander's adoption, Roman started kindergarten there, Linus was born into it, our unexpected, miracle baby).  Nothing against Utah, but it may literally be the last place I ever thought I'd live (because things like moving to Alabama or Mississippi are simply too unspeakable to even entertain in the realm of possible "last places you'd ever end up").  And yet, here I am! In a beautiful mountainside town which quite literally lives up to its name of Pleasant View, right smack dab in the (northern) middle of Utah, wrestling with settling into a new house, new town, new society (sometimes it feels like another planet, if I'm being honest) and relearning how to be a mother because this whole three-kid thing is freaking crazy.  So much adjustment. So much newness.

So yeah, this summer almost killed me.

I'll tell you what saved me, though - and it wasn't really any one thing so much as lots of little things: mostly it was remembering the past.  But also appreciating the present.  It helped remembering random things from my childhood - things my parents did for us, things they cooked, and then contextualizing them into the life I have now and the things I do and cook for my own kids.  Those memories and thoughts are infinitely comforting when you're in a new and unfamiliar place and feeling like you pretty desperately need your best friend or mom or sister to come over and listen to you complain, or have a glass of wine, or just hang out and try that new recipe with you.  They somehow shed a new light on the present newness and make it more exciting, because this is, in the end, my family's adventure - the memories my children will one day draw from when they are lonely or homesick too.

In a moment of nostalgia, and to relax in my favorite way (cooking), I decided to make something I knew my family and friends would appreciate if they were around.  Something I'd serve if I could have them over for dinner on a random weeknight, something that was interesting and different enough that it would delight me to immerse myself in it for just a little while, take my mind off all the newness, but familiar enough that it would take me to a place of comfort and company, as all the best food does.

the finished dish

Luckily, just before we left Colorado, Matt's friend and colleague and his wife had us over for dinner. He is French and she is Argentinian and so, needless to say, their food is always delicious.  Apart from the perfectly grilled buffalo meat and watermelon salad and homemade chimichurri, she served a delicious pickled eggplant dish - in Spanish,"Berenjenas en Escabeche." It immediately piqued my interest for two reasons: 1. I remember my family marinating / pickling vegetables in Mexico in a similar way (mostly jalapeños and carrots and cauliflower if I recall correctly) and 2. I don't really love eggplant, but I could not stop eating this one.

It was the most deliciously incredible eggplant I'd ever had. An oily mix of salty and sour and Oregano-y goodness laced with spicy memories of childhood. I had to replicate it as soon as I had a spare minute in my new Utah kitchen.  And so I did.  I'm glad to have a new food I genuinely like.  A metaphor for Utah?  I hope so.

Here's the recipe I settled on. It's a bit of old and a bit of new - just the right kind of comfort food.

*  *  *

Berenjenas en Escabeche

Serves 4-6; two jars worth

"Escabeche" is a marinade of European origin - especially common in Spain and France - that eventually made its way to the new world.  It was and is used to marinate or pickle many things but especially fish and vegetables.  The item is left in the fridge overnight or longer and then served directly from the fridge or at room temperature.  This version obviously uses eggplant but you can substitute other veggies - just make sure that when you cook them, they don't get too mushy.  I'm going to try this treatment on some chicken soon as I found an interesting looking recipe for that recently as well. 

The recipes I drew from were largely Argentinian - much like the friend who introduced me to this dish - so I'm guessing it's common there which is unsurprising given the strong Spanish and Italian influences in Argentina.


Ingredients

1 large eggplant, sliced into short strips about 1/2 inch thick
10-15 bay leaves (whole)
3-4 cloves garlic, lightly crushed (not minced)
1 cup extra virgin olive oil
2 cups white vinegar
2 cups water
1 tbsp dried oregano (Italian not Greek)
1 tbsp crushed red pepper (or the Argentine aji molido if you can find it)
1-2 tsp whole pepper corns (or about 20-40)
coarse salt
2 1-liter jars with lids



Method

1. In a bowl, layer the eggplant, putting a generous amount of coarse salt in between each layer.  Allow it to sit for at least one hour, maybe more.  This draws out the bitterness and extra liquid from the eggplant.  Drain any liquid accumulated at the bottom of the bowl and lightly rinse or shake excess salt off the eggplant.

2. In a pot, bring water, bay leaves and vinegar to a boil.  Add the eggplant and cook, simmering, for 10 minutes or so - until the eggplant is soft and somewhat translucent but not falling apart.

3. While the egpplant is cooking, mix the remaining ingredients as well as salt to taste in another bowl, creating the marinade.  A lot of this depends on your taste - adjust the pepper, red pepper, bay and dried herbs to taste.  That said, I like the quantities listed above :)

4. When the eggplant is cooked, drain about half the vinegar and water, add the marinade and mix well.  Separate into jars, making sure you get bay, garlic and peppercorns into each jar equally and then cover with the marinade.  Refrigerate for at least several hours or, better yet, overnight.  Serve by bringing to room temperature an hour or two ahead of time. 

Serve with: grilled meats or sausages; delicious in a hot pasta dish; use the marinade and chop it up into a cold pasta salad with nice tuna fish; the possibilities are endless!


Please note: This recipe keeps well in the fridge for about one to two weeks but not much longer than that, so use it up!  We did not seal these jars or can this to preserve it so don't keep it on a shelf or try to use it for next summer.  Ain't nobody got time for botulism. :)

The Escabeche

Life's Parentheses.

The continental divide.

Funny about life.  Certain things are clear question marks, periods, or even exclamations.  Even ellipses, with their mystery, loudly make it all more interesting. 

But then there are other things.  Things and experiences that are as important as the declaratives, but maybe you just don't want to - or can't - say them out loud.  They are worth mentioning, knowing, absolutely worth remembering, learning from, even treasuring, but they need to be kept apart -- apart from the life that's lived out loud.  Kept forever inside a pair of parentheses.  A worthwhile, notable, pause right in the middle of life's story.

They are forever inside of the private, whispered little treasures of your heart and mind, indelibly a part of who and what you are.  But they need to be given a little private space of their own, held between your arms softly, quietly, and simply kept close to remember, remember, remember.

*  *  *

Parentheses

By: The Blow

Some philosophies fuel a belief in the self
Constructed to keep one's goods on one's own shelf
Built well you're a strong letter I
With the feet on the ground and the head to the sky
Now and then you can bend
It's okay to lean over my way
You fear that you can't do it all
And you're right
Even diligent day takes relief every day
From its work making light from the night

And when you're holding me
We make a pair of parentheses
There's plenty of space to encase
Whatever weird way my mind goes
I know I’ll be safe in these arms

If something in the deli aisle makes you cry
You know I’ll put my arm around you
And I’ll walk you outside
Through the sliding doors
Why would I mind?

You're not a baby if you feel the world.
All of the babies can feel the world.
That's why they cry.

*  *  *

May Day! May Day! Roman is 3!

Two little frogs.

With another May Day comes another similar, and ever-so-tangentially-connected-with-the-ancient-Romans, celebration of life: Roman's birthday.  Three-years-old and ever-growing.

This year we had a week-long celebration, it seemed.  My mom and step-dad were in town so presents flowed freely - not to mention the packages that kept coming from friends and family all over - and then at the end of the week, on Sunday, we had Roman's birthday party at a local gymnasium where the kids jumped in a bouncy castle, flung themselves into a giant foam-pool, and dazzled us with their giant parachute skills.  

Roman & his Pablo

It was a wonderful way to start a new year and new phase in Roman's life - enjoying more special moments with his best school friends and making more memories of Portland, the first city he is fully conscious of living in (and which he told me he "want[s] to stay FOREVER" in), before we move in June.

Roman's first three years have been a mix and mingling of many cultures, many impressions and many experiences.  While I am kind of resigned to the fact that he will only ever think he remembers most of those (for example, he claims he can remember all his friends and his house in London - you know, back when he was six months old!), I am also so glad that we have been able to document those moments and have them for him so he can know what an exciting and interesting and open life he has had the chance to lead so far.  But as he grows and becomes more independent and thoughtful, I face having to leave all those experiences and choices more and more up to him.  Sometimes he doesn't want to go to or do the things we want for him, and I suppose as a parent that struggle will probably continue forever and anon. Guidance and hope in equal measures are the tools of a good parent.

To that effect, I was struck by a quote I saw the other day, which encapsulates not only a theme but an aspiration I've held dear in my life and which I hope my son will one day ponder and find meaning in for himself:

"I always wonder why birds stay in the same place when they can fly anywhere on the earth. Then I ask myself the same question." Harun Yahya

Two weeks ago I was talking to a fellow parent about how wild these past several years of our lives have been: from University to New York City to Londontown to Abu Dhabi to Portland, ME (!) and now heading to our next (and hopefully long-term) adventure in Denver.  I think a lot of people think we're crazy for moving around so much - they certainly show shock and semi-hidden disapproval when I tell them we're moving again! - especially with a young child.  But I was telling him that because we have every intention of staying in Denver  long-term, I feel no qualms about having moved once every year of Roman's life up until now.  Because while others might see instability and constant change, I see opportunity within the comfortable confines of a stable family unit. Aside from the stability we will provide in his life as a family unit, what I want most for my son is the ability to be flexible, open, and adventurous in his life.  To allow life to come at him and be fearless in trying the things others might find too difficult or inconvenient or out of the norm.  I want to model a life for him that screams out "Go get your dreams!  Even if you don't know what they are, go out, don't be afraid - go find your life!"

Blowing out his candle at his party the other day.

This child of mine who some might think has been pulled to-and-fro at the whim of his parents "obsessed with moving" (can't tell you how many times I've heard that one put into euphemisms), with seeing the world, has seen, done and been exposed to so much beauty, culture, adventure and so many different mind-sets and beliefs.  We have always tried to show him that different is normal, that uniqueness can be a privilege, not a burden, and that to truly be happy, you must, somewhere deep inside, plant and grow the seeds of true acceptance, true curiosity and true love of world and mankind.  

Eating ice cream at Smiling Hills Farm in Maine

Before he was born, Roman had already swum in the Aegean, ridden mopeds all over the Greek Islands and traipsed about on the Tube all over London. 

Before he was one he had ridden through the Chunnel, traveled cross-Atlantic a handful of times, and had more stamps in his passport than I had until I was nearly twenty.  He played in English gardens, eating British strawberries and having clotted cream. 

Before he was two, he had played with camels in the world's largest expanse of desert, had friends from New Zealand, England, Syria, the UAE and Australia, and had Dairy Queen ice cream in Muscat, Oman.  He loved to eat dates, Labne for breakfast, and watched cartoons in Arabic every morning. 

Cape Elizabeth

 And in his third year, his first ever lived within the confines of his own home-country, he has become a lover of beaches, an eater of Lobster, an explorer, a runner, a cape-wearer, a puddle-jumper and player.  He has caught frogs and tadpoles, he has ridden through the snowy, Maine wilderness in a personal sleigh (being pulled by his father no-less), frolicked on the beaches of Ogonquit and Kettle Cove, screeched on his own race-track (the sidewalks of our neighborhood), and he has had the opportunity to become close to his grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousin.

Cavenders in Dallas, TX with Ava

And yet, most days, he will sit in the living room and thumb through our picture album books, reminiscing about his "Abu Dhabi friend" Olivia and her brother Munch, or about his "London house" which he is insistent we go back and visit, or about the time we went to the desert and saw camels or about his "old school."  Those memories which he may or may not even know he had, are now there in his mind and heart as reality.  And much to my amazement and joy, he feels proud!  Proud of the crazy-back-and-forth life we have shared for these past three wonderful years.
And inevitably he will continue to ask: "Mommy can you read me the Abu Dhabi book again?"

I am so proud of him and who he is becoming.  He still mostly refuses to speak Spanish, but he will eat lobster, parmiggiano and fiddlehead ferns so I guess I can give him a break on the language thing.  :)  What an interesting little person Roman has turned out to be - I feel so lucky to be his mother and I can't wait to see what this fourth year has in store for us.

*  *  * 

Lobster Fra Diavolo And An old Italian DB.

My take on an old Italian-American favorite: Lobster Brotha' Devil

 Lobstermania is in full swing here in Maine, which is partly why I've been MIA.  I've been shamelessly sampling the goods since the day we arrived into Portland back in April, when I had my first Maine-style (cold meat, mayo) Lobster roll at The Dry Dock.  And I continue to sample the goods, for the sake of amateur Lobster research. 

Lobster is not a food that featured heavily in my diet until we moved to Maine.  It's expensive and kind of rare in, oh, you know, everywhere.  In fact, I could count the number of times I'd had a whole lobster in the shell before I got to Portland on, well, one finger. :)  I'd had lobster tails or lobster meat in pasta dishes maybe 5-10 times other than that, and therefore, having lobster has always had an absolutely mythical excitement surrounding it to me.  I remember almost every single lobster meal I've had pretty clearly.  And I am sure by now you know that I am a meal-remember that can hang with the best of them.

As a small homage to my past lobster experiences, several weeks ago I recreated one of my favorite Lobster dishes in the world - a dish that has special meaning to me because I've always eaten it at great restaurants and on memorable occasions: Lobster Fra Diavolo.  The ensuing lobster murder (because I decided to cut it in half while alive rather than just boil it whole) was semi-traumatic, but not traumatic enough to stop me from eating lobster again (and again).

With its spicy tomato sauce, Lobster Fra Diavolo can be a highly messy affair if the lobster does not come a) already picked for you or b) sliced in half lengthwise, which isn't ideal given that it's an expensive dish generally served at expensive establishments, which means you're probably dressed up when eating it.  As far as life experiences go, leaving a restaurant with a stained dress and garlic/lobster breath is a small price to pay as far as I'm concerned. :) 

Now this is also an interesting dish because it's technically considered more Italian-American than Italian-Italian as a dish.  The name "Fra Diavolo" means "brother devil," with the brother referring more to a monk or religious brother than the kid your mom also gave birth to.  I am not certain whether there is a connection or not but, tenuous as it is, there was also a crazy Neapolitan guerrilla leader named Michele Pezza back in the early 19th century who was nicknamed Fra Diavolo because he was such a brat as a kid.

From his photos Mikey looks like kind of a DB; I'm not gonna lie.  And I therefore am going to go ahead and un-claim any possible, tenuous connection he might have to the nomenclature of this favored dish of mine.  Someone who looks like that just doesn't deserve the honor:

If you want to make Lobster Fra Diavolo, I highly recommend Deborah Mele's recipe on Italian Food Forever. My modifications: use spaghetti, omit the basil, add more garlic, and add a generous helping of chopped fresh italian parsley and fresh lemon juice as a final garnish.  Don't forget an extra plate for the lobster shell bits. :)

And now the list of the day.

* * *

My Top 5 Lobster Meals Ever.
So good the devil may actually care.

5. The First: The first time I ever had lobster was in college at a no-name place in Cambridge, MA with Matt.  We got two 1lb lobsters for $20 and I was traumatized by the sheer quantity of butter Matt consumed in one sitting.  Ah, the college days.

4. The Last: The last time I ever ate at Steak-n-Ale was on my 1st anniversary with Matt in South Bend, IN.  I foolishly ordered the surf-n-turf and it was...pretty bad.  Mental note: they don't serve seafood often in the Midwest for a reason.  Still, great time. :)

3. The In-Laws: A few months before we got married, in March or April 2006, our parents met for the first time and had lunch together at Patsy's in the Upper West Side.  I boldly ordered Lobster Fra Diavolo.  It came out in all its glory on a huge platter, pre-cracked claws and lobster body.  To this day I maintain that everyone had entree envy. 

2. The Roll: A year ago or so I wrote about the best lobster roll I've ever had.  It was at the Lobster Landing in Connecticut and since then I've had a lot more lobster rolls here in Maine but none have ever compared.  I am not a fan of mayonnaise on seafood, which is the Maine-style of Lobster roll.  I want the hot meat, hot roll and hot butter poured all over it.
 
1. The Utter Madness: The second best Lobster Fra Diavolo I've ever had was at Cafe Tacci in New York, a place that no longer exists in its original form.  It was a small restaurant in NYC where professional opera singers would come to sing on a tiny wooden stage in their own time, while you ate and chatted.  The food was great and the ambiance was nothing short of total madness with Bolero! being belted out, the table shaking, and the tiny restaurant reverberating under the weight of the hefty voices.  Amazing.