erin mccarthy

sorting

Sun, 16 Jun 2013 19:51:15 -0400

this weekend I cleaned out my freezer; it was a no mans land, filled with leftover tops of leeks, fronds of fennel and bags of mysterious powders —

bean flours.

I filled a big pot with these wilted vegetables, some old dried mushrooms that had been lingering for too long on my shelf and some frozen shitakkis that i never should have bought (frozen mushrooms, ew, but for whatever reason i gave them a try). i let it bubble for about an hour. i had been saving all of that old veg for such an occasion and it finally arrived, last night, when i was home early, on my self-imposed mission to sort, sort like Psyche did when Aphrodite gave her her first task.

Aphrodite led Psyche to a large store room full of grains and beans and demanded that she sort all of it by type before dawn. Ever since I came across Goddesses in Every Woman by Jean Bolen, I’ve been thinking about this task — how I’d be so defended against it, how I’d try to distract myself out of it. Sorting a room of beans — or clothes or shoes or cans for that matter — would not qualify as interesting work, maybe even possible work, for me in this lifetime, at least according to me.

I imagine Psyche felt quite the same way. In love with Eros, Aphrodite’s son, she had to reckon with scorned and jealous Aphrodite, who had given her tasks to complete that were far beyond her ability. Trapped in a room full of poppy seeds, barley, corn and, dare I say it, quinoa (?), tasked with sorting the pieces into piles by dawn, Psyche despaired but began to work. In time, she noticed that little ants were helping her sort the grains. She finished before dawn, surprising Aphrodite, who then gave the next task.

I know some Jungian analysts, including Bolen, view Psyche’s tasks as developmental stages in the formation of the feminine archetype.

My freezer was almost as bad as the grainhouse — filled to the brim with things I’d stuffed in, saving for some future cooking project or simply from decay. But for whatever reason, last night was the end of the dis-order. I removed everything, wiped the freezer clean and rearranged the packages. I plopped the veggies in the pot and soon after inhaled the savory aroma of mushrooms and leeks. I defrosted four overripe bananas, found three bags of semi sweet chocolate chips and this morning made banana chocolate chip yogurt cake… which I will bring to work tomorrow to share with my new colleagues. And this evening, I used the savory broth and a New Belgium summer ale to create an asparagus and edamame risotto.

And while I haven’t consciously noticed any ants, I know they’re around. They were more visible last summer in Nicaragua, where they tried to sort me, climbing over my skin at night. Comfortably in Washington, DC, this summer, I am thankful for their invisibly visible efforts in helping me to sort.

you must work really hard at that

Tue, 01 Jan 2013 22:11:08 -0500

I saw a little girl in my yoga class yesterday - probably about 4 or 5 years old. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen a child of this age in an adult yoga class. I wondered how she’d handle the 75 minute class. Her age predisposes her to a lack of attention and focus that most people find pretty normal in a child. But while her movements were unorthodox and sometimes she just lay on her stomach to chill out, she followed the class and did many of the poses. She barely made a peep.

Countless articles on child development/psychology and the way in which we raise and teach children have made their way into my consciousness, and I’ve read that the way girls and boys are complimented make a difference in how they perceive themselves.

Girls are so pretty. Very nice. They’re naturals — success comes effortlessly. They’re sweet. They’re good. Compliments directed at girls are more about BEING than doing.

Boys are strong. They work hard. They are tough - ready to face whatever situation comes.

I rationalized for awhile just because I wasn’t good at something naturally that it wasn’t really worth my time. My basement room in college comes to mind — I didn’t have a closet, so I just never put clothes away. I’m not good at organizing, so I won’t do it or dedicate any time toward it. This has been a difficult stance to maintain, not just for me, but for many of my roommates who have had to deal with my laissez-faire attitude. Nearly 6 years later, I find cleaning and organizing no less frustrating and boring, though I do live by myself now so as to not inflict my attitude on others. I do enjoy a clean and clear place though, so I’ve just spent the last few days cleaning my apartment, little by little.

Learning and playing the guitar also comes to mind. I spent quite a few guitar lessons gabbing with my 27-year old instructor, partly because it was fun and partly because it was better than exposing the minimal progress we were making given my lack of attention toward practice. It takes immense focus for me to learn something new on the guitar and play it for more than 15 minutes. It wasn’t until this past summer, in Nicaragua, bored out of my mind, that I finally learned and practiced and performed some new songs on the guitar.

It wasn’t until this past summer, consumed with anxiety and irritation and frustration, that I took the time to make some intricate, gorgeous drawings, feeling those feelings and expressing them on the paper with color and line.

My writing and sitting area is now swept and clean. It’s been painful, doing it. I’ve rationalized, felt depressed about how messy I am, felt proud about how good I’m doing, felt anxious and avoidant about continuing. Lots of thinking. But now, as I sit in my little area free of clutter and dust and trash, I feel so peaceful as I gaze upon my clear table. I worked really hard on this.

Today I also learned a bit of Sufjan Steven’s version of Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing, which resonates with me and is a beautiful, classic, almost mournful tune. My mind wandered often, but I brought it back to the task at hand. Rewarding.

After yoga class, the little girl received many compliments from other participants. She’s so cute! She’s adorable! She’s so good! And while she is all of these things, I’m sure that staying quiet and attentive for a full yoga class was hard work.

“How did you get so good at yoga?”

Her mom said, “Oh, she’s a yogi. She loves it.”

Being rather than doing.

I responded, “Wow, she must work really hard at that”.

She looked at me shyly.

”Yeah, she does,” said her mom.

my favorite song of the year.

Tue, 01 Jan 2013 15:18:04 -0500

my favorite song of the year.

holiday reflections

Sat, 29 Dec 2012 10:09:51 -0500

These dark, cold days are made for reflection. We try to brighten them with lights and warmth and smells and tastes, but there is something real about the barrenness of the chilly grey sky. I intend to savor it. In these days, I seek natural light, which, if it deems the day worthy enough to appear, filters itself through the clouds. I rise early.

After opening gifts on Christmas and drinking a worcestershire spiked bloody mary, I convinced my brother to accompany Daisy and me on a long walk to the Point of Stone Harbor. Daisy needed no convincing of course. The feeling of walking in the cold is so energizing to me. The cold air enters my lungs and cleans them out. My face flushes.

We ran to a cliff in the distance, formed by absence of the sand taken by Hurricane Sandy. I saw other evidence of the storm in bilingual Department of Mental Health posters at the Arc, a thrift store and community organization. One night I decided to climb the broken stairs to the Pavillion on 101st street beach and upon deciding to descend found the path back more difficult — the wood steps had washed away. It’s a steep climb to get off the beach, the difference between the dune and sand significant. Daisy and I run up the small hills.

On Christmas, recent tides had brought a rich collection of shells to the beach. I lay down my scarf on the ground and collected some of the most beautiful specimens… perfect swirls and curves, so perfect other small mollusks had latched on, densely packing the inner entrance to the shell. Looking at them, fiercely attached like that, gives me goosebumps.

When the days started to get dark, I remained actively detached from the holiday season. I’ve never enjoyed Christmas decorating, a sore spot for a family obsessed with holiday splendor. Setting up rows of nutcrackers and porcelain houses and dolls just is not what gets me going, at all. I even take issue with the sacred beef tenderloin for Christmas dinner. So I maintained my distance. I’ve never been the instigator of holiday pomp, though I am a thankful recipient.

I surprised myself, then, when I walked into Whole Foods in early December and bought a Christmas rosemary bush and followed that up with a trip to CVS for small white lights. I set them up on my little table and enjoyed their glow in the dark mornings and evenings of the past few weeks.

I had never taken a walk on Christmas before. I felt dazzled by the beauty of the winter beach, with its small flocks of shorebirds and the ocean’s icey-blue water reflecting the sun. The gift of nature is freely given, expansive.

I’ve been reading a lot of Mark Epstein’s writings on desire - musings on the objectification of others to fulfill our own deep desire for one-ness, how that gap between what we wish to be and what we are is deeply unsatisfying. We aim to fill the gap with maneuvers, materials and substances. In the face of this pervasive unsatisfactory quality of life and habitual reactions to it, I find consolation in the present. In the bright sunlight, the shorebirds, the broken steps being a little bit scary, the glow of cheap plastic lights and the saccarine sweetness of a sugar cookie. In the snowy winds outside my apartment. In music and singing.

I have begun to enjoy poetry in the past year, and I received a copy of Mary Oliver’s A Thousand Mornings for Christmas this year. I read the first poem … I’ll share it with you here:

I Go Down to the Shore

I go down to the shore in the morning

and depending on the hour the waves are rolling in or moving out

and I say, oh, I am miserable,

what shall —

what should I do? And the sea says

in its lovely voice:

Excuse me, I have work to do.

My brain says to plan and plot what work I have to do. I have some small goals for the next few weeks. But the sea doesn’t plan — it just does. So that’s what I’ll do. That’s what I’m doing.

There’s a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how...

Tue, 11 Dec 2012 14:33:45 -0500

There’s a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in. -Leonard Cohen

“You see this goblet?” asks Achaan Chaa, the Thai meditation master. “For me this glass is already broken. I enjoy it; I drink out of it. It holds my water admirably, sometimes even reflecting the sun in beautiful patterns. If I should tap it, it has a lovely ring to it. But when I put this glass on the shelf and the wind knocks it over or my elbow brushes it off the table and it falls to the ground and shatters, I say, ‘Of course.’ When I understand that the glass is already broken, every moment with it is precious.”

- Mark Epstein
Thoughts Without a Thinker

ai weiwei - sunflower seeds

Mon, 12 Nov 2012 19:15:21 -0500

ai weiwei - sunflower seeds:

the power of art.

i tore out a page of an art magazine over a year ago, it was a picture of a pile of porcelain sunflower seeds.

what i liked about it was that each sunflower seed had been made, one by one by one by one by one. that kind of small, consistent effort made a difference. ai weiwei, artist, coordinated the efforts of the making of the seeds and then displayed all of them in a big pile at the tate modern.

i saw his exhibit in dc today and it was truly inspiring. i found his use of his body as a source of art fascinating/revealing, his making-remaking-destroying “historical” objects standpoint delightfully irreverent.

here’s a movie he made about the making of the sunflower seeds

new recipe - cauliflower chickpea quinoa with peanut chili sauce

Mon, 08 Oct 2012 20:57:45 -0400

this is a recipe for a cold evening in which you return home relatively early from obligations, not too hungry because it takes some time.

1 large cauliflower

1 can chickpeas

1/2 large yellow onion (i found a beauty in my fridge!)

cinnamon

sumac or paprika

sriracha or korean red chili paste (I used the latter)

peanut butter

3/4 cup dried quinoa (i approximated)

1 - preheat oven to 400. my oven doesn’t notify me when it is preheated, adding a bit of delightful indifference to this and any other instruction that demands preheating.

2 - break down cauliflower. chop in half and then pull the florets away from the center manually. break down the florets so that they are bite size. place in large roasting pan (in this case, beautiful sturdy deep roasting pan my mom gave me) and drizzle with olive oil. don’t be stingy. or more positively, be abundant.

3 - roast for 45 minutes - 1 hr, stirring periodically. i took this time to make some yogi “calming” tea and read some articles for school.

4 - when the cauliflower has shrunken to half its size, condense it to half the pan and add a can of cooked, rinsed and drained chickpeas to the vacant space. season with a mixture of cinnamon and sumac. be generous! stir.

5 - in the meantime, in a large cast iron skillet, saute the thinly sliced 1/2 onion in olive oil. one thing i’ve learned is that spices benefit from cooking. I added a tablespoon of korean chili paste and 2 tablespoons of peanut butter and let them cook for a bit with the onion. I then poured in a good amount of quinoa, stirred, and added a wine glasses’ worth of water. Bring the whole thing to a boil, and then add more water when the existing water evaporates before the quinoa is finished. At this point, I turned off the oven but left the cauliflower/chickpeas inside.

6 - When the quinoa is tender, add the cauliflower/chickpea mixture. Combine everything! And you have a spicy, creamy, delicious curry-like veggie dish for dinner (I enjoyed with arugula salad and a glass of wine) and two lunches this week. By you I mean me.

the hustle

Tue, 04 Sep 2012 18:33:36 -0400

I’ve been helping friends and family with college applications, job applications, resumes, essays and personal statements for as long as I can remember.

My friend Rob recommended that I make this service public to the world! I do love doing this work, and as a full-time graduate student, I’d appreciate the additional income.

I’m a Georgetown graduate in International Affairs (lots of writing) and a social work graduate student at CUA. I was able to successfully apply and work in two positions in political advocacy in DC. I know my way around a sentence, and I also know what employers are seeking. I know how to emphasize your strengths in an elegant, compelling way.

If you’d like a pair of trained eyes to look over your writing and make it work for you, get in touch.

the middle

Thu, 05 Jul 2012 20:50:00 -0400

for me, nothing’s better than the beginning. all open roads and possibilities — my energy and ideas flow like fast moving water, spilling over into other areas of consciousness, sometimes forcefully.

upon arriving here in nicaragua, i found a wide open space. I brought no previously formulated plans or goals, just myself. I built my work plan according to the needs I saw and heard articulated, combined with my own talents and interests. Everything was new, from speaking Spanish each day to learning all of the children’s names. Even though I missed home, I was fully occupied by all of the newness of my surroundings, inspired by the possibilities before me.

And now, I find myself in the middle of my work here in Nica. My Spanish, after improving for weeks, now has seemed to stagnate. The kids were so excited to try out for the play, and now getting them to come to rehearsal every Tuesday and Thursday requires powers of persuasion. The food is healthy and flavorful, but bland. I crave Thai and Indian spice, my curry powders and pastes, sriracha and soy sauce. Fresh summer tomatoes and corn, basil and fresh ricotta cheese. I miss laughing with my friends. I find myself looking at the calendar on my phone, seeing just how much time remains.

This is the middle. I still have five weeks here. I feel this way in the middle of my yoga practice, in the mornings. The beginning is sweaty and heating, the end, relaxing and opening. The middle — that’s where it really gets deep. Sometimes I can’t access some of the poses. I feel bored and frustrated. When will it end? I fight not to look at the clock.

Today I woke up with a sinus headache, fallout from the terrible cold I caught last week — the “gripe” of the rainy season that has afflicted students and teachers alike. The pressure above my eyebrow throbbed, especially as I found my way into downward dog. Ouch. In a new house this week (we moved, mostly inexplicably, last week, and while it’s all lovely, I still haven’t unpacked), I make coffee that’s newer and not as good and find a new spot for yoga. I’m not feeling this whole work thing today, but I ride my (newly lent) bike to school, ignoring the whispers, catcalls of “chela” and gaping looks and honks from cab drivers. Yeah, I’m riding a bike. Yeah I’m white and a woman and wearing a skirt. Deal with it.

But today ended up being really fun. I met with my English small group, a favorite therapy student and celebrated the birthday of the security guard, Salvador, who now guards my bike during the day. I went to the farmacia with Doña Leo, and learned that the best deals come to those who wait with a straight face. No I will not go to the hospital for a consult, please just give me the antibiotics, I have mucos verdes. No, I don’t have $300 pesos ($12) — do you have anything cheaper? Ok, $75 pesos — $3? Yeah I can do that. The play is really starting to come together — the kids are gaining more confidence and having fun, even though the one hour practices and re-running of the scenes produces sighs and complaints. I try to ignore them. After the afternoon English class, I tell my story of the “bandita” pharmacy lady, and group of boys howls with laughter. Bandita was a winner word to learn. Then, on the way home, I found a newer, smoother bike path to cruise.

These poses are not the ones that produce as much sweat or heat. They might be a bit more boring- not as sparkly, shiny or new. But they’re worthwhile. They’re deeper. And sometimes, when I get them, I can’t help but feel proud.

write me letters

Wed, 06 Jun 2012 00:28:04 -0400

Erin McCarthy
c/o familia Blandino
Reparto Cascada del Bosque, ubicado del Colegio Centroamerica 4 Km. Al Sur a mano izquierda (Casa que se encuentra en el costado norte de la Fuente que esta en la Entrada).
Managua, Nicaragua

i’ll love ya forevah

poems by mary oliver! inspired by the wedding and love

Mon, 14 May 2012 00:46:21 -0400

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

- Mary Oliver

whoa, so i saw that quote on twitter and it spoke to me, and now i’m in a mary oliver rabbit hole… she’s amazing! here’s a few more…

“When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it is over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.”
― Mary Oliver

AND

“My work is the world. Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird - equal seekers of sweetness. Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums…”

― Mary Oliver, Thirst

AND

“Still, what I want in my life is to be willing to be dazzled—-to cast aside the weight of facts and maybe even to float a little above this difficult world. ”
― Mary Oliver

and finally…

“Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?”
― Mary Oliver

OoooO. in this time of shifting change, mary oliver is speaking to me. less than 3 weeks to nicaragua.

quick thoughts on saturday

Sun, 15 Apr 2012 08:48:42 -0400

yesterday i woke up and meditated and drank coffee

worked on a process recording (remembering/re-experiencing a therapy session from last week)

ate a veggie burger, eggs and some eggplant dip for breakfast

the eggplant dip, from sundevich, almost looked like it had chicken in it. what a terrible idea. i checked online and it was just egg. phew.

chris and jess came over, and we took the 90 bus to anacostia for LUMEN8Anacostia, huge public art opening day festivities. i forgot my phone for the journey and so spent a lot of spacious time staring out the window, observing, walking around, immersed, talking to people. i knew a lot of people there which was fun.

i introduced myself to marion barry when he happened to walk up to where i was sitting. i congratulated him and told him i worked at ketcham and we talked briefly about schools in ward eight. “we won’t stand for it”. keep on fighting!

i wasn’t sure what lumen8anacostia would be like. a bunch of smug white people bringing art to the ghetto? a bunch of local black folk viewing and dismissing me as just another ignorant gentrifier? both groups were definitely represented there, but they weren’t the majority. my hopes that the collective purpose of renewal and audacious art exhibition would bring people together seemed to be largely realized. kind of like an awkward party or gathering, smiles and proclamations of how beautiful everything was smoothed over the interactions. Events like this encourage us to transcend those tired ways of DC being that still radiate and resonate today — honestly the clash of cultures is inevitable in a segregated city… but my inner idealist and optimist that hoped that this event would include representation and participation from whoever wanted to participate was pretty satisfied.

the event was large, ranging from mapplethorpe-redux male nude photos to vintage shopping to large, experiential structures on a rooftop that recalled helio oiticica — no tv inside though (what would it be tuned to here?) — to storytellers, crafters, with corner stores selling their fruits and snacks outside on tables and local families exploring the scene. i wonder what everyone was thinking/feeling on the inside.

on the whole, the event was IMPRESSIVE, expansive, inspiring, thorough and participatory. i am not sure who did the logistics, but props to them and props to all who showed up as participants and observers.

the weather was spectacular, as well!

came home, reclaimed my phone, made a millet spicy salad for tara’s potluck

sesame mushrooms with garlic, chopped

candied walnuts

spicy corn, brussels sprouts and peas, sriracha and korean chili flakes

dried coconut

millet (a grain, kinda like couscous but firmer)

finely sliced scallions

all mixed up!!!

lovely potluck at tara’s and some ill chillin with fleck and chris back here, late night ish. and that was my wonderful saturday!

days off + bodywork musings

Thu, 05 Apr 2012 11:05:21 -0400

yesterday I had a blissful day off, uninterrupted by any obligation.

i slept til 11 am, went to yoga in the hood

made and ate a peanut butter and banana “quesadilla”

rode my bike to eastern market to receive a massage from Beandrea. saw some cute chow-chow’s (LION DOG), pretty flowers, happy neighborhood sites on the way.

massage was blissful. a perfect challenge: to remain mindful, to bring my mind back to the breath from whatever stories popped up. No, so-and-so, you cannot share my massage with me! Beandrea is very intuitive and warm - highly recommended for a relaxing massage for self-care.

When i speak about massage, I’ve heard some friends who are convinced they “should” get a massage but that they think that it would really hurt because they are so unbelievably tight. Massages feel really good, as does the thought that you are spending your hard earned money on YOU. So does reiki, acupuncture, yoga - all forms of body work that access the subtle body of energy… something we really can’t cognitively get or understand, only experience.

I first came to body work while experiencing pain in my knee in 2010. I definitely couldn’t “figure it out” — sometimes it hurt, sometimes it didn’t. When I thought it would hurt, it didn’t, and when it did, it often surprised me. “But I didn’t even walk to work today!” I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to practice yoga and that it would get worse.

Having experienced a very nice massage at Healing Arts of Capitol Hill in 2009, and loving the feeling of the space, I called Mary Reiger, their acupuncturist, and saw her monthly for one year.

I felt like a battery being charged by the universe… being tapped into energy sources that allowed me to rest and relax, come to stillness, a dreamlike floating state of consciousness. For the rest of the day, after acupuncture, I would take life just a bit more slowly…

And almost inperceptively, my knee pain has gone away. It just doesn’t exist anymore. I’ve slowed down a bit in daily life, stopped elliptical-ing like a hamster in a wheel, pounding the pavement walking 2.5 miles to work and sitting for 8 hours straight - uneven efforts. I ride bikeshare now, less impact. I have continued and deepened my yoga practice. I’ve continued to receive body work, in the form of in home reiki from Marissa, my incredible body scrub in Korea [one of the weirdest and most blissful experiences ever] and now my massage with Beandrea.

But that taking of time, that intentional using of resources (often perceived to be scarce) on my own body is such a tangible action, communicating to me that this body is worth my attention and time, not just putting it through the paces, inciting it to burn off energy and wanting results from my actions, but acting with love toward it as my vessel here on Earth without any wanting attached. At Filter we warm the vessel before pouring the drink inside of it.

After the massage, I luxuriated in Eastern Market, grabbing a cappuccino at Peregrine Espresso, browsing the Market itself and finding scallions, brussels sprouts, more coconut milk and kimchi at the first booth. Kamsahamnida, Korean immigrant shop owners. They recommended I make kimchee fried rice. Okay! I also got coconut brownie from the sweet store.

I biked home in the sun. I hosted Jamie for a dinner/organization exchange (and philosophizing-fest). I made pumpkin red curry, cilantro polenta and brussels sprouts/carrots while she organized my space. It’s outrageous how good Jamie is at something I am just naturally not inclined to do, do not like doing, feel sad doing, get distracted doing and that just generally takes me a long time. Jamie has a vision. My floor is now free of objects, more things have a place — and my tiny living room is just a bit more tranquil. All in exchange for a meal that I really enjoyed making!!

Today I woke up at 9:30 and have cleaned a bit more and drank coffee and listened to Andrew Bird. I’m off to Whole Foods soon for a secret mission. Have a wonderful day, friends!

Love and Disease

Sat, 31 Mar 2012 22:24:47 -0400

Being in love (l’amour fou) a pathological variant of loving. Being in love = addiction, obsession, exclusion of others, insatiable demand for presence, paralysis of other interests and activities. A disease of love, a fever (therefore exalting). One “falls” in love. But this is one disease which, if one must have it, is better to have often rather than infrequently. It’s less mad to fall in love often (less inaccurate for there are many wonderful people in the world) than only two or three times in one’s life. Or maybe it’s better always to be in love with several people at any given time.

- Susan Sontag (via sunday nytimes, duh)

today's cooking journeys

Sun, 25 Mar 2012 23:04:53 -0400

today i forced myself out of bed at 6:45 AM. I finally feel “back to normal” after Korea, putting an end to most of those 2 hour, passed out completely, naps taken under the guise of being jet-lagged - though I suspect that last week they were actually just naps, cause I am tired. I took one on Thursday evening before going out to see BOMBA ESTEREO and easily made it to last call at the Black Cat.

but anyway, I had cleaned my apartment last night and gone to bed early, so the repeated journey from my bed to the alarm clock was clearer and more serene then usual. i meditated and wrote my morning pages.

two days ago, pre black cat-nap, I made black lentils somewhat absent-mindedly. I sat on my roof drinking a beer and watching traffic while they bubbled away, and upon coming in threw way too much hot spanish paprika and korean chili flakes on them at the end of the cooking process. the overwhelming taste and aroma was smoke. toooo smoky, but whatever, it happens. and while it was fine, just fine, not my best work but good enough, i peered at the pot lingering this morning in my fridge and knew i had to get rid of them today. i decided to attempt to rectify my lazy effort from thursday.

late night on friday night i had made some with an egg, which was pretty fine as well, and i decided to recreate that concept, seeing as it was breakfast. first, though, i added water to the sort of dry, stupidly spicy lentils, and put them back on the stove. they boiled and all of that extra spice rose to the top. i added some berbere (which i should have done originally) and adobo spice with cumin, and tasted. now too smoky AND too salty. added more water and continued to let them cook.

beat 2 eggs, set them to cook at a low heat, stirring semi-constantly (supposed to be constantly), and they came together quite nicely. tasted what was now lentil soup. better. flavorful, spicy, salty, again, better than good enough. poured the steaming soup into my pretty glass bowl that turned up near my mailbox one day.

eggs finishing up, i chopped my remaining cilantro from last week and stirred it in. and i had a quite nourishing breakfast. with coffee of course.

after work, i stopped by the japanese store, hana, on 17th and U street. i enjoy walking around and taking in all of the weird products, and i also enjoy their helpful signs (produce from ‘suzuki’ (?) east coast farms comes in one day, produce from west coast japanese farms comes in on thursday). it’s a small operation i am proud to support, especially on U street. packed into the two aisles are wacky ramen bowls, white jellied yams, pickled squid, 15 different kinds of soy sauce among other foreign delights. i picked up a salmon onigiri (little rice triangle with salmon inside, with nori on the outside, japanese fast food, yum, for $1.50 - they also have plum and meat ones), 3 asian eggplant, enoki mushrooms, cilantro, 2 sweet potatoes (with individual price tags: 1.00 and $.85), soy sauce (mid-range, no english on the bottle) and a bottle of sriracha.

individual yogurts make me happy, cuz i can take them all round town, so i then went to YES! organic market to grab whatever was on sale (Liberte mediterranean yogurt, lucky me). i also got a cabbage, a bag of apples, some bananas, twin oaks tofu, tortillas and tempeh. #help - but have to say, i’d rather spend $40 on groceries that fuel my creative fires than 10 bucks each time i have to consume nasty Subway in Anacostia/”lunch” at the food court at CUA.

I was a little scared of the cabbage, but Martha Rose Shulman wrote such nice things about them this week that I thought it would be worth trying, especially as they are green and good for you. I have previously depended on pals Dan and Caitlin and their love of cabbage to provide me with copious amounts of chopped cabbage, namely in the form of light, tasty slaws. I perceived slicing the cabbage thinly as a difficult task. But after yoga this evening, I did some cursory googling of cabbage curry (did it exist? it could be good) and came up with recipes from two trusted sources: Francis Lam, and through him, Molly from Orangette. Lam’s recipe was a riff off of Molly’s, so I decided to combine them both. Thinly sliced the cabbage (wasn’t that hard after watching a minute-long youtube video), fried the enoki mushrooms, removed, added the cabbage, stirred around til it browned and wilted AS INSTRUCTED, then added harissa and sriracha, finished off with new soy sauce. in the meantime heated up a tortilla and snipped at some cilantro. so in the end, spicy-hot cabbage with enoki mushrooms and cilantro in a tortilla. wow. cabbage. i was really happily surprised by how simple and flavorful this dish was. our future together looks bright.

now i’m going to do dishes again and go to bed. i’ve wanted to talk about the existential crises i go through while washing dishes. honestly it seems like the worst possible things that could ever happen, or the worst possible way of looking at a situation, or the saddest thing i could possibly originate in my mind emerges when i am washing dishes. my current rationale for a long avoidance of dishwashing. you know how the yogis and buddhists say something you reject will keep coming back your way until you work with it? i think that’s washing dishes for me. working at filter is a constant practice of washing dishes. orange cappuccino cups, black demitasse cups, brown mugs, delicate glass carafes, big, cumbersome press-pots, orange, black and pink plates. the way they feel in my hands, in the soapy water, gives more meaning to washing dishes. and at home, i bring some of the techniques to my own tiny sink — rinsing, soaping, rinsing, putting away. so listen up, universe: i’m working with this whole washing dishes thing. feeling the hot and cold water run over my fingers isn’t so bad, after all. and when i catch myself in those strange, depressing thought patterns, i sometimes can laugh about it. oh, you, again, dish-washing mind monster.

preparing

Thu, 01 Mar 2012 00:31:36 -0500

what do i want to do in seoul? get lost, possibly finding one or more of the following places/things…

- see Bridget

- vegan temple cuisine and bibimbap

- Jiha Moon exhibit at arario seoul

- awesome coffee shops from which to procure beans for my filter-ites (Coffee Lab Frshgrnd?)

- mountain climbing (hikes?)

- yoga

- yummy spice blends and pastes

berbere + smoked paprika

Sat, 18 Feb 2012 23:34:30 -0500

if i’m aware of the moment, and not lost in the alluring past/future, i smell the air when i am around 9th st nw, little ethiopia… the spicy air, you see, is unmistakably linked to those unctuous stews that — over the last 9 years — have become my idea of comfort food. maybe someday all of this will change and then i will be able to remember what it smelled like when i lived in shaw in 2012

about a year ago i bought a container of berbere at dukem’s incense-saturated take out market. i think i paid $9 for it, semi begrudgingly… but you know what they say, how spices lose flavor, must buy new spices all the time? it’s still damn good.

some time later, i found myself at whole foods market, luxuriously browsing the spice aisle. perhaps you remember my post about disliking “smoked” items - smoked tofu, namely… well i definitely don’t hate pimenton de la vera, smoked spanish paprika. it came in this appealing little tin and i decided to give it a try.

and lately i’ve been combining those two spices (berbere is a spice mix, actually) in delightful ways

good with those grotesque black lentils

good for cooking with onions and chickpeas mixed into leftover rice (+ a splash of imperial ipa, beer is so great for making things more saucy and not watery) from my delightful meal at himalayan heritage thursday evening (they like black lentils too) (if you haven’t been to that restaurant you really ought to go! kind people and out of control veggie momo)

the combination of these international flavors brings a spicy, smoky, intensity to anything you make. highly recommended!

lunch for the next few days

Mon, 13 Feb 2012 22:22:42 -0500

roasted cauliflower

brussels sprouts with hazelnuts

twin oaks italian herb tofu

millet

oh and coffee lots of coffee diet coke coffee coffee caffeinate + be happy

so good + popular on tha tumblr right...

Sat, 11 Feb 2012 23:31:06 -0500

so good + popular on tha tumblr right now…

jakefogelnest:

Whitney Houston’s isolated vocal track on “How Will I Know.”

RIP

Yes.

i have to say...

Wed, 08 Feb 2012 21:45:50 -0500

the political arena has gotten a lot more fun these days

obama gave a swift kick to the patriarchy with his decision on contraceptive coverage at religiously affiliated universities and hospitals and organizations… i love how all of the old white dudes are just squirming with outrage. women are second class citizens in this country and to be able to claim our rightful place alongside men as full participants in public life we are claiming the right to regulate and monitor our own fertility.

social media really seems to be coming into its own as a tool to incite real change and open things up, both politically and privately (the personal IS political)

and santorum just won 3 states! wowzer