The morning sky wore a flat, rock-gray expression that seemed numb and withdrawn - and yet it playfully spat showers down to earth every now and then, enlivening
the lake with dimples and redirecting my intentions for the day. I’d planned to clean flowerbeds outdoors,
but would end up spending the day in the kitchen.
First on the agenda: chicken soup. But it needed
to be atypical, I thought, not the predictable chicken-rice soup I’ve made
countless times. Something
different.
I chopped a couple of sweet potatoes, an onion, and a few
stalks of celery, then opened and drained a can of garbanzo beans. Next I thawed and pureed frozen zucchini grown
in last summer’s garden, cut a couple of handfuls of fresh spinach into tiny
pieces, cubed leftover cooked chicken, and rubbed a few sprigs of home-grown sage
into powder. All of these came together
to swim in a big pot of steamy, rich chicken broth.
As the contents of the pot simmered, the entire house filled
with heavenly scents slightly reminiscent of Thanksgiving, and yet unique. Soon
it was lunchtime, and I savored a bowl of my concoction while sitting before a
picture window streaked with raindrops that sprinted down the pane fast and
free. Those sprinters curiously reminding me
of our exuberant kids when they skedaddled without a firm destination (or a care in the world) down the length of our pasture: free spirits. And somehow I realized I was feeling a sort of freedom, too.
At exactly three o’clock in the afternoon Fritz had an
attack - a Snack Attack, that is. Poor dear, he couldn’t find a single thing in our overstuffed cupboard and
refrigerator he wanted to eat. Such is the
plight of those blessed with abundance.
“Where’s that recipe…the one for a single serving of cinnamon
cake you mix and bake in a coffee mug in the microwave? I’ll make it myself.”
I grinned at his offer to handle his craving
single-handedly, and flipped through my thick binder until I found the recipe. “Right here.”
He glanced at the page, reading the first ingredient. “Coconut
flour. So where do you keep it?”
“In the extra freezer – in the box on the left of the top
shelf.”
While he left to find the flour, I gathered the other
ingredients into a spot on the countertop, knowing it would be quicker in the
long run. He returned, measured everything
into the mug making sure to not confuse measuring spoons (it’s important, he
told me, to not confuse teaspoons and tablespoons), and with manly strokes, stirred
the ingredients briskly with a fork. His
project took only took two minutes to micro-bake, and soon a warm-and-steamy, spicy-smelling
cake was ready to eat. It didn’t last long!
A few hours later, our dinner plates featured wild Alaska
sockeye salmon generously smothered with arugula pesto from the freezer - some I made last summer with fresh arugula from the garden. The fish was accompanied by cauliflower fried
rice (an alternative to fried rice with no actual rice involved) and strips of fresh
zucchini topped with a mixture of nutritional yeast (a fun option for parmesan
cheese when you’re dodging dairy products), finely ground cashews, crushed beet/sweet potato/parsnip chips, grated onion, and pressed garlic. An accompaniment of fresh fruit provided
beautiful color and rounded out the meal.
Good eats for sure!
Finally it was time for the crowning glory of the day's culinary efforts:
a decadent frozen dessert made earlier in the day, between the soup and Fritz’s
cinnamon cake. I’m sure it could have
passed for some sort of mock cheesecake, or maybe a key lime pie gone
polar. In reality, a date-nut crust was
covered with an avocado-lime filling sweetened with a touch of agave nectar and
stevia. It earned a 10 on Fritz’s rating
scale of 1-to-10. Bravo!
This all brings me to the current moment. The rain has stopped, and the day is winding
down. My kitchen is dark and quiet. Dishes and pans are clean; they wait in their
respective locations behind cabinet doors for another round of food prep.
Leftovers are neatly packaged in the refrigerator and freezer.
It is time to be quiet, to cultivate stillness. I am satisfied, but not just physically, for more than my
stomach is full. My heart is full as well -
full of things that can’t be measured or shared, only known. Things like gratitude, gladness, and
peace.
“Lord…You have put
gladness in my heart…I will lie down in peace and sleep, for You alone, O
Lord, make me dwell in safety…Lord have mercy.”
- from the Prayer Book of Holy Protection Monastery, Colorado
