a cup of comfort

The following article first appeared in the Daily News Record on February 15, 2012.

 

Lately, it’s been all stuffy noses, glassy eyes, coughs, earaches, and sore throats around this joint. The hot water bottle is in use night and day, and appetites come and go on a whim. My husband bought another dozen cloth hankies to add to our already rather large stash and we still manage to run out with alarming frequency. Somehow, though, despite all the germs swirling through the air, I’ve remained cold-free.

Last week, with a trip to New York City in my immediate future and a panicky fear of getting hit with the sniffles mid-flight, I decided preventative measures were in order. I certainly didn’t want to spend my few precious days in big-time civilization with my nose swelled to the size of an apple. So I fixed myself a quart of ginger lemon tea. I drank the first batch right up and promptly made another, this time doubling the recipe. I made it to NYC and back with nary a sniffle or sneeze, thank the tea, or my lucky stars, or both.

Though not particularly well-versed in the health merits of foods (I eat for flavor), I did know that fresh ginger, honey, and lemon boast a goodly amount of Vitamin C, as well as antioxidant, antibacterial, and anti-inflammatory agents. Furthermore, the convenience of a large jar of tea, always at the ready in the middle of the cold season, couldn’t be underestimated—all I needed to do was zap a cupful in the microwave and the restoring comfort was mine for the savoring.

The other night after the kids were tucked in bed, I poured two large mugfuls—I was on my third batch by now—and my husband and I sat down in front of the fire to toast our piggy-toes. I slurped my tea down straightaway, but my husband let his cool a bit first. He’s kind of a wimp that way.

“This is good,” he said, which was high praise coming from him, a non tea drinker. “It warms me up.”

He was right. The tea is warm, and not just from the temperature. The ginger gives it a zip that starts your beleaguered cells to tingling and sets you a-glow from the inside out. The lemon puckers the mouth a tad, and the honey mellows the tea just enough. The tea manages to both relax and energize.

Which is, I might point out, most pleasing in the dead of winter, cold or no cold.

Ginger Lemon Tea
Adapted from Recipes for a Postmodern Planet

Feel free to swap lime juice in place of some of the lemon, and agave syrup for the honey. If you’re suffering from a cough, a splash of whiskey is a profitable addition, or so I hear.

Fresh ginger can be found in the produce section of any grocery store.

a 1-inch knob of fresh ginger, peeled and finely grated
1-2 lemons, juiced
1/4 cup honey
pinch of salt
4 cups water

Pour the water into a saucepan. Add the ginger and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat, add the lemon juice, honey, and salt, and simmer for five minutes. Strain and serve.

Variation: Fizzy Ginger Tea
Make a concentrate by using only 1-2 cups of water. Mix the chilled concentrate with 2-3 cups of club soda. Serve over ice.

a quest for salad

The following article first appeared in the Daily News Record on February 1, 2012.

One evening, depleted after running a bunch of errands, I stopped by a new-ish restaurant. I was looking for something healthy and wholesome to fill my tank—not my standard starchy choice of bread and coffee—and was delighted to discover a whole case filled with portable and affordable salads. I chose the wheat berry salad—plump grains tossed with fruit and drizzled with an oil and vinegar dressing. It was so satisfying that on my return trips I’ve never even bothered to sample their other offerings.

Every time I’ve eaten the salad (and it’s probably only been three times, but it feels like all the time since I so rarely eat out), I think to myself, “Self, you have got to learn how to make this,” and then I spend a few minutes wondering if I should try to slip a wad of cash to one of the employees in exchange for the recipe. But bribery feels too complicated (not to mention unethical), and besides, the salad, loaded as it is with nuts and dried fruits, seems a bit extravagant, not like something I’d make at home just for any how.

But then, just a couple weeks ago, I bought the salad again, and this time I happened to glance down at the lid where, lo and behold, an ingredient list was printed, plain as day. The solution to my “problem” was so obvious that I may have, there in my van all by my salad-eating self, cackled with glee.

Back home, plastic lid in hand, I trolled the Internet and flipped through cookbooks, and soon I had a rough draft of a recipe. On the first try, the salad was tasty, but the wheat berries were too tough. For round two, I used soft winter wheat instead of hard spring and went out of my way to buy the ingredients that I had mistakenly thought I could do without—wild rice, green onions, dried cherries—and the salad improved dramatically. (Leaving the cherries out, in particular, was a rather foolish thing to do, especially when the word “cherry” had a prime spot in the salad’s title.)

My recipe isn’t exactly like the restaurant version, of course, but it’s pretty darn close. The salad is sweet and tangy, chewy from the fruit and grain, and with a bit of crunch from the nuts and apple. It’s filling, too, and now when I head into town for an evening of errands, I can carry my fortification with me.

Wheat Berry Salad
Inspired by A Bowl of Good’s Mary, Mary, Berry con Cherry Salad

1 cup soft winter wheat berries
1/4 cup wild rice
1 crisp apple, unpeeled, chopped fairly small
½ cup each, dried cranberries and chopped almonds
1/4 cup chopped green onion (or two tablespoons minced onion)
1/4 cup each, dried cherries and currants
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
1 tablespoon each, canola oil and olive oil
½ clove garlic, minced
1 teaspoon brown sugar
½ teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon black pepper
3-4 tablespoons orange juice

Put the wheat berries and wild rice in a pan with a quart of water. Bring to a boil and then simmer for an hour, or until the grains are tender. Drain.

Put the still-warm grains in a large bowl and add the apple, onion, dried fruits and nuts. The steam from the hot grains will help to soften the dried fruits.

In a small bowl, whisk together the remaining ingredients. Pour the dressing over the salad and toss to combine. Add more orange juice or vinegar as needed. If not eating immediately, store in the refrigerator. It will keep nicely for at least 3 days.

a simple lunch

The following article first appeared in the Daily News Record on January 18, 2012.

It was two days before Christmas. I was up to my eyeballs in sugar and butter, and nothing was coming out right.

There was my homemade mozzarella cheese made from not-quite-spoiled milk that tasted like not-quite-spoiled cheese. There was the pretzel crack—an addictive salted caramel chocolate affair—that didn’t crack, so the chickens ate it, along with some butterscotch caramel bars that resembled something straight out of your Great-Aunt Mildred’s attic. (Obviously, caramel is my nemesis.) There were the orange chocolate chunk cookies that spread out thin as pancakes, the eggnog that tasted flat (perhaps because I left out the rum?), and some peppernuts that weren’t peppery enough.

Lunchtime came, and, discouraged, frustrated, and in desperate need of real food, I set about fixing myself a simple lunch from a bag of fresh greens from my parents’ West Virginia garden and bit of cornmeal that was hanging out in my freezer.

I brought some chicken broth to a boil and sprinkled in a little cornmeal and a pinch of salt. The polenta simmered until thick, at which point I whisked in a small handful of Parmesan to finish it off. While the polenta was cooking, I tore several enormous, dark green collard and kale leaves into pieces and tossed them about in a hot skillet until they were soft, glossy from butter, and slightly blackened in places. I piled the greens on my plate alongside the puddle of polenta, vigorously peppered both, and, practically shaking with excitement (and sugar overload), I dug in.

Oh my. It was the best thing I had eaten all day—bracing, clean, comforting, the perfect counterpoint to all the sweet. The greens were sharp and slightly bitter, the polenta was nubbly with bits of corn and salty from the cheese and broth. With each bite, I felt calmer, less irritable, nourished.

The most amazing part? The simplicity of real food—and that it took all of ten minutes to prepare. My day was redeemed.

Cheesy Polenta with Sauteed Greens

Sauteeing results in firm, full-bodied greens. If you prefer them softer, steam them instead, and be sure to finish them off with a drizzle of brown butter.

the polenta:
1 cup chicken broth or water
1/4 cup coarse cornmeal
a generous pinch of salt
2-4 tablespoons freshly grated Parmesan cheese

Bring the broth to a boil. Sprinkle in the cornmeal, whisking steadily. Stir in the salt. Reduce the heat to low and allow to simmer, stirring occasionally for 8-10 minutes, or until thick. Stir in the cheese and taste to correct seasonings.

the greens:
2-3 cups torn hardy greens, such as kale, collards, mustard, etc., tough stems removed
1 tablespoon butter
pinch of salt

Melt the butter in a skillet, and add the greens and salt. Using a fork, toss the greens until they have brightened in color, softened, and slightly blackened in places.

Spoon the polenta into a bowl, mound the greens on top, and sprinkle with freshly ground black pepper.

making breakfast

The following article first appeared in the Daily News Record on January 4, 2012.

“I want mine with yogurt and jelly,” my five-year-old announces. “But I want to stir it in myself.”

He vigorously slaps his spoon around as he beats in the jelly, creating a sort of thick milk soup. I hand him a scoop of granola and watch as he carefully sprinkles it on top. Another stir, and he starts to eat.

My children all have their particular way of eating their granola. The youngest two like it stirred into jelly-spiked homemade plain yogurt, while my older daughter prefers hers with milk and whatever dried or frozen fruit is on hand. My older son eats his straight up, with milk—a man-sized bowl filled to the brim with toasted oaty goodness.

This morning, as the rest of the bleary-eyed children shuffle into the kitchen and gather round the table, I eye the large granola jar sitting on the counter—we’re almost out again. It’s high-time I relinquish the granola making to one of the kids, I think.

I can hardly bring myself to buy boxed cereals anymore. My kids love them, of course, and my husband and I used to talk over multiple bowls of milk-doused, crunchy, fluff-o-nothing after the kids were in bed at night. But boxed cereals are expensive, not to mention a waste of calories, so I’ve taken to buying oats in 50-pound sacks and mixing up my own version of breakfast.

Later that morning, I walk my older daughter through the ingredient list, making sure she understands the difference between quick oats and rolled and showing her where I keep the raw wheat germ and the cracked wheat. I watch closely as she measure the salt and sugar—stop tasting it!—and then, after she’s added the water and oil, I demonstrate how to stir with a chopping motion so all the oats get equally moistened. Together, we divide the granola between the two pans and slip them into the oven.

The following day she practices making the granola again. I quiz her to make certain she grasps the procedure, but I keep my distance while she measures and pours. The next time around, she’ll do it all on her own.

Sooner or later, I’ll teach this task to the rest of my children, and before I know it, they won’t be just eating their breakfast granola—they’ll be making it, too.

Basic Granola

While this granola is inexpensive and nutritious, uses common pantry ingredients, goes with anything (milk, yogurt, ice cream, pudding), and pleases a wide range of palates (no nuts or dried fruits to rebel against), you can, of course, change things up to make it as expensive, fancy, and complicated as you like. Add nuts or spices to the raw ingredients, use honey instead of the sugar, or stir in some dried fruit when it has finished baking. Granola is meant to be tweaked, so play with it until it suits your tastes.

7 cups quick (not instant) oats
7 cups rolled oats
2 cups raw wheat germ
2 cups whole wheat flour or cracked wheat
2 cups white sugar
1 tablespoon salt
1 ½ cups flavorless oil, such as canola
1 3/4 cups water

Stir the dry ingredients together in a large mixing bowl. Add the wet ingredients and stir to combine. Divide the granola between two large, ungreased, sided baking sheets (I use jelly roll pans). Bake the granola at 250 degrees for 2-4 hours, or until golden brown and crunchy. During baking, rotate the pans and stir the granola every half hour to break up the large chunks and allow for even toasting. Let the granola cool before storing in an airtight container at room temperature.

reading lessons

The following article was first published in the January-February 2011 issue of 

Home Education Magazine.

***

 
One of the first chapter books I read to Jonathan and Rebecca was The BFG by Roald Dahl. It scared them senseless. Jonathan was age 4, Rebecca 3. It didn’t help matters that I was reading the story at night, right beside a large picture window—even I could sense the child-chomping giants lurking outside, waiting to snatch us from our cozy little loveseat and gobble us up.

Our entire family loves stories, and as a result, bookshelves—both freestanding and built-in—line the walls in the living room, bedrooms, quiet room, even the kitchen, and there’s still an overflow of books. Without my really intending it, our days are arranged in such a way that leaves ample time for reading. I read to the children weekday mornings, a hodgepodge assortment that includes books about historical figures such as Harriet Tubman and Helen Keller, as well as straight-up educational books like the atlas and the Bible, and books of poetry; or they’ll plop down on the sofa or the dilapidated swivel chair, all of their own accord, to browse the stacks. For an hour or two after lunch, I banish the kids to their rooms where they may read. Then in the evening I read chapter books to Jonathan and Rebecca while John entertains the younger two children, Nicholas and Caroline, with picture books.

It’s the evening read-aloud that I like best. We’ve delved into classics such as Heidi and The Hobbit—the children also love run-of-the-mill material such as the Treehouse series—and the most exceptional sagas entice us to stay up later than is healthy. Holes, by Louis Sachar, is normally introduced to kids in middle school, but I decided to push the envelope and see if they could handle the tale. Once I started reading it, we couldn’t stop. Or maybe I should say I couldn’t stop. Some nights instead of making the kids beg “Read more, read more!” I simply plowed ahead, ignoring the fact that there existed such a thing as chapters. I found myself gripping the book extra tightly during the scary parts and reading super fast—so fast, in fact, that I sometimes had to put the book down in order to catch my breath. At one point the story got so intense that Rebecca had to get up from the sofa and go stand in the doorway to put some distance between herself and the danger. Despite her terror, she adored Holes, carting it around with her and showing it to anyone who walked into our house.

Jonathan re-reading Holes to Rebecca

The thing is this: despite the profusion of words, words, words, Jonathan and Rebecca have not demonstrated early aptitudes for deciphering for themselves the English language.

I worked with Jonathan occasionally, maybe starting when he six. He could figure a few things out here and there, but even at eight he was still addled. Then at nine he discovered Harry Potter and whizzed through the series, probably not even understanding half the words. He read those books over and over. I’m still not quite sure how he figured it all out. He’ll need to mature a bit more before he can find the same satisfaction with less riveting material, but in the meantime he thoroughly enjoys hanging out with his literary heroes and savoring the rush that comes from the well-crafted plot.

When I thought Rebecca might be ready to learn, we started in on Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons. We plodded through at least a third of the book, but nothing clicked. She couldn’t even remember basic words—“and,” “it,” “is”—from one line to the next. I grew frustrated; she grew sullen. 

In a last-ditch effort, I made flash cards to help her memorize the simple articles and pronouns. She immediately threw a fit. Hello, I thought. This is not working. Time to change tactics. 

I paused for a moment, taking in the angry, sobbing child, her strawberry-blonde hair obscuring her face, before I delivered my verdict. “Honey, you are a smart girl. You will learn to read. In fact, I bet you can teach yourself to read. I have some ideas of ways to help you learn when you’re ready, but if you don’t want my help, that’s fine, too. However, if you decide you need my help, you’ll need to listen to me. Got it?” Case closed, and life moved on sans those dreadful reading lessons.

Sometimes I’d feel a little panicky when I heard her peers reading fluently. I’d see Jalyn, two years younger than Rebecca, reading stories to her, and feel sorry for my daughter, The Illiterate One. But, amazingly enough, she didn’t seem to mind. She was always delighted, also, to curl up alongside another friend, Kerinna, and listen quietly as she droned on and on.

Rebecca, Queen of Play

Rebecca, I decided, was having a true-blue childhood, free from the worries and obsessions of the academic world. She was washing dishes, gutting chickens, playing the piano, picking potato bugs, building forts, acting out Shakespeare, dreaming about Narnia, babysitting her baby cousin, and baking. How, exactly, was she “behind”? At her own pace she would learn to read, unimpeded by the judgements of others.

Now, at Rebecca’s behest, we have once again started lessons in grammar and handwriting. She eagerly pores over her workbook pages, her lips pressed together as she concentrates. Sometimes, upon completing the assigned pages, she begs to be allowed to do more. I have secret fantasies of her learning to read in just a couple months’ time, but I know better than to hold my breath—we tend to progress in fits and starts.
               
Maybe if I’d plopped her in kindergarten at age five, she would now be zipping through books, pleased as punch at her accomplishments. Or maybe she’d be carrying around a learning-disability label, shame and embarrassment clouding her mind and lowering her self esteem. I’ll never know. What I do know is that she’ll put together the puzzle. While we wait for the letters and sounds to click into place in her sharp little mind, I’ll keep reading to her a wide variety of literature: James Herriot, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Madeleine L’Engle, Frances Hodgson Burnett, Edgar Allen Poe, Thornton W. Burgess, L.M. Montgomery, E.B. White, Lynne Reid Banks, and Beverly Cleary. We will savor our time spent together, the gentle slish-slish of the pages turning, the words swirling around us as they weave magical stories and teach an oh-so-important lesson: that reading is fun at any stage of the game.