Garden Dinner

It’s chard cakes for dinner and I’m enamored by the candy-cane striped stalks.

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved
Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved

Jeb recites multiplication facts – the 5’s – while I chop.

Friends join us for a simple meal (thanks to Mary’s garden, the Bohemian’s garden and inspiration from the Plenty cookbook).

Chard cakes with herb sauce and fresh tomatoes, basmati rice, and kale salad. Chunks of extra dark, Swiss chocolate for dessert.

Kale Salad

curly kale
olive oil
lemon or lime juice
sea salt
pink grapefruit (peeled and sliced)
purple onion, sliced thinly
pistachio nuts, shelled
arugula
random garden herbs

Wash kale and pull from the stalk, breaking bite size pieces into a bowl. Squeeze lemon or lime over leaves. Douse with olive oil. Work (or “massage”) lemon/lime and olive oil into the kale with your hands until it becomes soft.

Add sea salt to taste.

Toss in any chopped herbs from the garden (basil, green onions, cilantro, etc.). Add bite size pieces of arugula and toss.

Sprinkle with purple onions, add pink grapefruit pieces and top with pistachios.

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved
Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved

As for Plenty’s “Chard Cakes With Sorrel Sauce”, I adapt the recipe to what’s in the larder. Toast macadamia nuts instead of pine. Add romano cheese instead of kashkaval. I have no sorrel for the sauce, so I improvise with fresh marjoram and garlic chives.

Plenty is a fantastic cookbook, but for me, best approached with a willingness to substitute. It’s filled with delicious vegetarian recipes, though they often feature ingredients (saffron, for example) that I just don’t always have handy in the cupboard.

The New York Times reprinted Plenty’s chard cake recipe and here’s the link.

Bon appetit!
Na zdraví! (Czech)
To Health!

Enjoy!

Letting the Soft Love What it Loves

The moon rounds to fullness, which is why, perhaps, I’m roused at 3am.

I am fine to find myself wrapped in the warmth of jersey sheets, my husband sleeping next to me, my own eyes open in the dark.

It’s time to read Mary Oliver. This is the whisper heard upon my waking.

So by 3:11, I’m barefoot with a cardigan in the kitchen. Making coffee and lighting patchouli incense in the stove top flame.

A line of fragrant smoke streams, coffee cup steams, and laptop computer keys are traced by fingers following a thread.

I find Wild Geese. High and soaring.

Feel the soft animal of my body, so close and tender.

Such relief to find myself just nestled. Letting in the sweet space.

Loving what I love.

 
Wild Geese

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 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 ~

photo courtesy of Sean Roger's1
photo courtesy of Sean Roger’s1

Remnants

Nearly two months after our wedding day, I finally soak our whites. Work at the bright purple stains that had dropped on the Bohemian’s shirt from the surrounding java plum trees. Gently massage the dust and grass out of the hem of my dress.

Hanging to dry, side by side in our living room, they seem to have some life left inside the fabric.

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved
Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved

This pair seems happy. Shoulders rubbing, his sleeve resting at her hip. Formal wear, yes, but these threads are relaxed. Just hanging out…but they’re ready.

Ready for what occasion, I don’t know. The Bohemian’s practical, he’ll wear that shirt again. Me, I love that dress, but I’m not sure when I’ll find an instance when I could slide it on again.

Tying up more loose ends from our wedding day. His shirt goes in the closet with everyday wear. My dress, it’s zipped up tight in its own special bag, still scented in rose and lavender sachets.

Preserving the remnants while we stitch new days. As usual, I’ll be following the Thread.