#ate jamaican curried potatoes

[pallas-cat]

my body better thank me for having a rare HEALTH moment when it comes to meals

[goodnewsjamaica]

Jamaica Ya Man! Travels to The Land of Bob Marley

New Post has been published on https://goodnewsjamaica.com/travel/jamaica-ya-man-travels-to-the-land-of-bob-marley/

Jamaica Ya Man! Travels to The Land of Bob Marley

Negril, with the longest, continuous stretch of white sand beach in Jamaica, is where the ganja cookie crumbles at a laid-back pace. My husband and I flew into Jamaica’s Montego Bay airport and drove to Negril, about two hours away. Adult-only hotels are tucked into rocky overlooks. Nudist beaches make suntans seamless. Smooth sands give silently beneath bare feet for miles and miles. The white velvet spreads into the ocean where fish dart around in the warm, clear waters. Music drifts down the beach like ganja smoke filling the lungs. Euphoric Negril is a playground of the true lover.

We stayed in the Charela Inn, that is situated right on the beach – one that the owner and hotelier Daniel Grizzle has zealously safeguarded.  Together with his wife (now deceased) the couple forced the Government to shelve plans to mine peat in the Great Morass area in the 1980s, which, according to scientists, would have ruined the legendary seven-mile beach and turned the area into a desert.  

The Charela Inn itself is very attractive and in the center of all action. Each room has either a private patio or a private balcony. Our room overlooked the freshwater pool. The white sand and crystal-clear waters of Negril’s beach, which made it to underwater photographer Tanya Burnett-Palmer’s Top 10 List for CNN Travel, were just steps away.

The best snorkeling spots for beginners are offshore and not accessible from the beach. As someone who cannot swim, I was worried as I scrambled into Captain Mike’s glass-bottom boat. We zoomed to the middle of the [sea] where the live corals sway and Captain Mike led me gently into the waters. As we floated together, he pointed out brain corals and sea urchins. Angelfish, boxfish and goatfish nibbled at my fingers as they ate the breadcrumbs offered to them.

I could have snorkeled for hours enjoying the stunning underwater landscape made by the coral in a rainbow of colors. Some of the most common coral and reef species include green- and purple-base anemone, red cauliflower-, flowerpot-, star- and bubble coral.

Is Life a Jerk for the Vegetarian?

Much to the delight of my vegetarian husband, we discovered that Rastafarian food is Ital or vegetarian, with lots of green vegetables, no milk, no meat and no salt. Perfect at breakfast is ackee, a fruit that obligingly pops open when it is ripe. Ackee looks and tastes like bhurjee or soft scrambled eggs when cooked with onions and tomatoes. Collard greens look-alike callaloo, and doughnut look-alike “festival bread” or dumplings complete the breakfast.

An experience in color and flavor is created by combining bright orange squash, with yellow curried ackee, and yellow plantain.  Scallion, thyme, garlic, onion, pimento, tomato and curry powder are all common seasonings in Rastafarian food.

For meat-lovers, jerk-seasoned grilled chicken, pork and fish are served with a spicy sauce. Fish prepared escovitch-style is seasoned, fried and marinated with a peppery, vinegar-based dressing made colorful with julienned bell peppers, carrots and onions. Goat and other meats are curried too. Beans cooked with coconut milk and vegetables are served with rice. Standard sides include steamed plantains, yams, sweet potato and breadfruit.

Fruits are plentiful in this tropical paradise. We sampled a variety of mangoes at the local market.  In addition to a local one called “Julie” there were East Indian varieties. Sadly, a mango called “Bombay,” which we were told was the sweetest of them all, was not available. Nesberry, familiar to us as sapota or chickoo, also made a delightful snack.

Red Stripe beer, brewed in Jamaica, and rum are the alcoholic beverages of choice on the island. A number of souvenir shops offer rum tastings. “The locals have small shots of rum through out the day,” said the shop assistant at one, where we stopped for a sample. Soursop, a member of the sitaphal or custard apple family, added tang and smoothness to a cocktail with rum and coconut cream. We washed our day down with chilled coconut water sipped from the shell and sugarcane juice freshly squeezed by the roadside.

MONTEGO BAY

We drove back from Negril to Montego Bay where we stayed in “Polkerris,” a well-appointed and luxurious bed-and-breakfast, owned by the Bennetts.  Jeremy Bennett came to Jamaica in 1962, fell in love with the island and his partner Clarissa, whom he married in 1970. Needless to say, he never left. The Bennetts host guests in their beautiful country house, which is just a ten-minute stroll from the restaurants and clubs of the Gloucester Avenue Hip Strip, Doctor’s Cave Beach and the Aqua Sol Theme Park. As a guest put it, you really will feel like you are visiting your rich relatives in Jamaica.

Tale of the East Indian and the Rastafarian

The National Museum West in downtown Montego Bay is a treasure trove of information about the history and culture of Jamaica. With respect to the Rastafarian story however, the Museum tells an incomplete tale.

Classified as both a new religious- and social movement, the Rastafari culture developed in Jamaica during the 1930s when Ras (Chief) Tafari was crowned the King of Ethiopia. The Indian cultural influence on the Rastafarian movement is undeniable. A Kingston couple Laxmi Mansingh and Professor Ajai Mansingh outline the connection between the Rastas and the Indian culture in Home Away From Home: 150 years of Indian presence in Jamaica. The Rastas are vegetarian, family-loving people, who worship the Goddess Kali. They wear their hair like the sadhus of India (devotees of Lord Shiva) and like them, smoke marijuana, which the Rastas also call ganja.

The first Rasta, Leonard P. Howell, took the spiritual name “Gong Guru” or Gongunguru Maragh (Gangunguru Maharaj), say Stephen Davis and Helen Lee in their book The First Rasta: Leonard Howell and The Rise of Rastafarianism. The name Gongunguru is a combination of three Hindi words – gyan (wisdom), gun (virtue), and guru (teacher). Howell started a community called the “Pinnacle,” which was especially known for the cultivation of cannabis, which has religious significance for the Rastafarians.

In the early to mid-nineteenth century, the British recruited Indians – from the tribes in the hills of Eastern India and from the Central provinces of Bihar and Uttar Pradesh – into the sugar colonies. For the indentured black population, the new Indian laborers seemed kindred spirits; their struggles had the empathy of the Rasta. Solidarity was soon established between the communities, both of which were brutalized economically and politically. The Rastafarian culture appears to be a result of the synthesis of these cultural interactions.

The Jamaican dancehall music – which also reflects the merging of East Indian and West Indian influences – is based on themes of survival, suffering and struggle, that inner-city black Jamaicans face on a daily basis, albeit in a more aggressive idiom than the Rasta-inspired reggae. Songs such as “Suhani Gyul” bring a smile to one’s lips as they seek their inspiration from old Bollywood songs and produce a Chutney remix – Arti & Zoelah’s Wine Up on Me.

The Jamaican motto is: Out of Many, One People; unfortunately, both Indo-Jamaicans and Rastafarians downplay each other’s influence, as they look outside the borders of Jamaica towards their mother countries – India and Africa.

Interestingly Edwards, the black security guard outside Ivans Bar, who after careful consideration, decided we were Indian, went on to share that his great-grandfather was Indian.  He proceeded to tell us the story of Bahubali and so immersed was he in the whys and wherefores of the movie that when our taxi came Edwards was very disappointed to see his audience leave.

How to Speak like a Jamaican

English is the official language of Jamaica, but the majority speaks a form of English Creole or “Patois” (pr. patwa). Patois was derived out of a need to communicate between peoples who did not share a common language, the English masters and the slaves.

Here are standard greetings that can be heard around the island:

Waa gwaan? –     What’s going on?

Waddup”       –     What’s up?

Yo                 –      Hey!

One love       –      An expression of unity, love and respect for all. One love, my brudder. One love, Sistreen!

From the time Christopher Columbus first set foot on Jamaica on May 6th, 1494, the island has seen increasing traffic year after year. All-inclusive hotels attract tourists in large numbers. “Enjoy the white beaches and chilled attitude before the island is run over completely,” says our driver Phillips as we head back to the airport, “Fo you can be shore that is coming.”

Yaw so nice, Jamaica!

~To book your room at the Polkerris in Montego Bay, please visit: www.montegobayinn.com.

~Guha Shankar’s book “Imagining India(ns): Cultural Performances and Diaspora Politics in Jamaica” provided good insight.

~Phillips, our fabulous driver in Montego Bay, can meet you at the airport and drive you around.  He can be reached on Whatsapp at 1 (876) 447-0904.

By: Ritu Marwah

Original Article Found Here

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[passportrequired]

A Valentine Cheer in Europe

I decided on a solo Europe trip because I wanted to do what I CAN’T call Eat Pray Love BECAUSE I still have yet to watch this movie. However, after the senseless murder of my niece on Valentine’s Day a couple years prior and my mom’s lost to a battle with cancer a year after, I figured V-Day needed some coloring.

I decided on a flight to Istanbul that would transfer to Milan and then EasyJet from Milan to Paris and then to Barcelona and back to Milan and jump back on Turkish airlines to Istanbul and finally home to Dulles.

When I told my family I was heading to Europe alone, they asked if I didn’t see the movie Taken. I told them no one is taking a big boned black girl. What I was really saying is no one will stop me from traveling solo in search of a valentine cheer.

My niece was stabbed over 20 times. The guy got 60 to life. But how do I look at Valentine’s Day the same? My mom cried. The next year she died. She chose not to do the 50 to 50 chance surgery. I wrestled with that. Why did she choose to die and not to fight? But I realized now she wanted to go on HER terms. Death is something that the living has to deal with. We are left to grieve and miss and yearn.

My trip was to live like they had not. Do things that they couldn’t…

I arrived in Istanbul on a six-hour layover. When I touched down on the tarmac, I remember thinking it looks just like the hallmark card my friend had given me for my birthday in January. I started my EAT’ing. Opened faced smoked salmon sandwich with eggs sunny side up. Delectable for airport food. I pictured my niece Tiana and my mom Valeria sitting across from me. Enjoying. Complaining about the runny eggs. Laughing and ready to explore our first leg of the trip.

The Coconut Curry Chicken (or Shrimp). INGREDIENTS: Organic Chicken from Whole Foods or bag of shrimp from Trader Joes. Trio pepper, red onions, scallion, thyme, habanero skin, garlic, turmeric, paprika, ground cayenne (optional, but good for spicing up your life), black pepper, sea salt (or salt), Basil (fresh or dry), one canned Trader Joe’s organic coconut milk, olive oil, one small sweet potato or Irish (russet) potato. Add olive oil to pan with fresh and dry seasonings. Stir on high heat and add canned coconut milk. Add peeled and cut (tiny pieces) of potato to pot. Let it boil on medium for 30-45 minutes until desired taste. If using shrimp, add shrimp at end and let cook for 15-30 mins until desired taste of shrimp and sauce. If using chicken, add chicken to beginning prior to adding coconut milk. Once cooked, enjoy over bed of Whole Foods basmati or Trader Joe’s jasmine rice OR with some fresh naan.

The Rice. INGREDIENTS: Basmati white or brown rice OR jasmine white or brown rice. Irish / Icelandic butter or olive oil. Sea Salt. Place rice in pot with one-inch water above rice level (use finger tips to judge), stir in salt and butter or olive oil. Cover rice and let come to a boil on high fire setting. As soon as it boils over, turn fire on lowest setting and let sit for 30 minutes then turn stove off.

My mom probably made curry differently. But I added my twist. Let the EAT’ing begin.

ENJOY.

I people watched in that Istanbul airport until I cracked myself up. A couple smooching, others rushing. I wonder where they are heading. Maybe they are off to someplace romantic. To celebrate. An engagement or an anniversary or maybe it’s new love or young love. Perhaps the Maldives or Fiji. I made up stories about strangers and laughed with my mom and Tiana until it was my turn to head someplace. Milan in particular.

Industrial and not what I expected. I used to read my sister’s romance magazines. Soap opera in a book. Lancio published them. Those cute Italian boys were in Milan. I figured I would find cheer there. But instead I found the Duomo. When I walked inside, a feeling came over me. Like God had reached out and grabbed my soul, telling me it’s okay. I know you lost your sister, Brenda years earlier to a routine knee surgery. I know Kenneth, Nicole and Dwight are gone too and I know you lost mama (grandma) and Lattie and more recently, your sister, Luna, niece Tiana and mommy, Valeria. But I’m here now. It was either that or a memory of a Catholic Church in Morant Bay, Jamaica. Either way, something inside the Duomo moved me. I felt it and I sat on the church bench, PRAYed and made the sign of the cross against my chest. A sign you couldn’t forget even if you left the church behind.

I could hear Ave Maria in my head. Maria Ferrante singing by Franz Shubert. I have it on my playlist. “Ave maria, äiti maan lapsien, taas meihin katsoo suojellen, kun poika syntymäpäivä on…” I sat in the church and quietly recited, “Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.” I used to hear my dad praying this prayer often. How many Hail Marys do you need to cleanse your soul of its sins? I didn’t want to imagine the sins of my father.

I walked out of the Duomo and took a long trek back to my hotel room. Quietly. I felt my mom and Tiana on the walk back. It wasn’t creepy. It was all LOVE.

Prior to the Duomo I took some photos of the church from the Museo Del Novecento. Museums give me a sense of peace. Perhaps because it’s a quiet observance. No need to discuss in the moment. Just observe and soak it in.

I felt snow on me and knew something was brewing. Later, I was stuck at the airport. EasyJet put us up near the airport with food vouchers and free hotel. I almost got rerouted to Germany. I didn’t take it. I stayed in Milan. Stuck in the hotel room and eating breakfast, lunch and dinner with complete strangers. I had to walk a scary dark walk for dinner. I chatted with some of the strangers so I didn’t have to walk the dinner walk alone. No dinner was served in my hotel. When I couldn’t find a stranger, I said a few Hail Marys and walked the walk to have decent Italian food and frizzante. Every time I tried to have a croissant it was filled with something. I don’t like fillings, but Europeans do. I do; however, like cappuccinos and I had good coffee there. I decided to write and think while waiting for the snow to clear. Two days later I ended up at Charles de Gaulle and got to my hotel a few minutes before midnight. My flight for Barcelona was leaving the next morning.

I arrived at the Le Meridien bummed that I wouldn’t see Paris. But my friend, Jessica from Scotland had been there waiting for me. She had already gotten a chance to see it and decided to give me the midnight tour. I tucked mommy and Tiana away and me and Jessica walked the streets. On our walk I saw a prostitute on the side of the street down on her knees with a client. Paris is gangsta. I watched the Eiffel tower’s lights go dim and I took pictures at the Arc de Triomphe.

I wanted to be up close and personal but not on this trip. The chef opened the kitchen to serve me creme brûlée. I talked with Jess and ate the best creme brûlée I’d ever tasted. If only I had gotten to go out and about, I’m sure there’s better crème brûlée in a small Parisian bakery. We decided to forego sleep. I hadn’t seen Jessica in years. It was good to see her and touch her and talk with her. We had so much to talk about. We didn’t let the sleep in our eyes stop us. We talked and talked and talked and talked. I grabbed a quick breakfast and hugged Jess goodbye. I was going back to solo’ing in Barcelona.

No plane issues this time. I waited for my flight and met two Parisian girls who thought it was cool I was on a solo trip and from America. We chatted and laughed and swapped stories. I thought Parisians were snobby. Not these two. Friendly and sweet. We took pictures and said a proper goodbye.

I arrived in Barcelona and in LOVE. I couldn’t stop staring out the window of my transport on the way to the hotel. Another Le Meridien hotel. Thanks to my sister Colleen’s discounts. I was on a budget in a fantastic Starwood hotel. It was in the midst of La Rambla. I didn’t waste a minute in Barcelona. I took to the streets and spoke as much Spanish as I could remember. I ate a burger and fries and drank local beer in a small friendly bar. After beer two I packed up and went to an art museum where the guard asked for my hand in marriage. I laughed and continued my quiet observance of the Barcelona Museum of Contemporary Art.

That night I watched a Spanish jazz singer over dinner. I had a chance to meet and chat with her. She flirted and I blushed. I told her I’m straight and kissed her on the cheek. My valentine cheer was coming in little packages. I imagined Tiana in full Spanish mode. Her mom, Kathy is Puerto Rican. She was enjoying Barcelona. Swinging her hips and trying to teach me salsa and mommy laughing. When she was younger her favorite thing from grandma was Jamaican fried dumplings. My mom made it so good. I wasn’t yet there in America. But when I came, she was older. I met her and she still wanted fried dumplings from grandma. Had there been fried dumplings in Barcelona I would have had some just for her.

My best friend Misha loves this soup. She had been asking for the recipe for years. I told her I didn’t know how to write recipes. But this one, you can EAT with LOVE. Just don’t forget to PRAY before you eat. Wait don’t we drink soup. Yeah, but don’t mess with my EAT, PRAY, LOVE vibe. I think that was Tiana correcting me. I’m sure it was actually.

One canned coconut milk. More coconut milk. It reminds me of the million ways my mom used coconut. Curry Rundown: made from freshly grated and squeezed coconut juice (milk). Rendered down to base of almost oil with Saltfish inside (boiled and strained of all salt). Serve with fried or boiled dumplings. Coconut Cake: made from the coconut trash (grated) with sugar and fit for a dessert. OR coconut diced into tiny pieces, again with sugar. Another dessert, same name. Wait that’s not the soup.

Soup With No Name: INGREDIENTS: one canned Organic Trader Joe’s coconut milk. If you have time on your hands, go to the Asian market, buy a coconut, grate, squeeze and make fresh coconut milk. Sweet potatoes, bok Choy, spinach, white beans, Grace Cock Soup packet (best to put it in at the end, not sure why, this is just what Jamaicans do. Cho, stop yuh noise mek mi cook nuh). Trio pepper, red onions, scallion, thyme, habanero skin (the seeds are too hot), garlic, turmeric, paprika, cayenne (NOT optional, spice up your life), black pepper, sea salt (or salt), Basil (fresh or dry). Add water to a big pot and coconut milk and all dry seasonings. Go light on turmeric. It’s just cause I love the yellow color for this soup. Add scallion, garlic, onion and thyme along with trio pepper and habanero. Boil for 30-45 minutes. Add chopped bok choy, whole spinach (nuh chop it up mahn) and sweet potatoes (cut up in cubes). Add seafood mix and Grace Cock Soup. If using chicken add in the beginning with coconut milk. Taste. Add sea salt if additional is needed. Serve hot. PRAY.

ENJOY.

There was an ice cream truck outside the hotel. I had Nutella and vanilla swirl and chatted with the ice-cream guy. I can’t remember his name. He was sweet. Super nice and the ice-cream was great. Europe loves Nutella.

The next day I spotted a robbery as I was about to jump on the metro. I stood and watched. Three men with sheets over their shoulders running. Filled with clothes from a nearby department store. The cops showed up and jumped out the car and ran after them. Why oh why didn’t they drive after them? They didn’t catch them. Barcelona is also gangsta. My sister Michelle would worry if I told her about the gangsta shit. She was the one who asked me if I didn’t watch Taken. I bought little gifts from different places. I was on some street I can’t remember. I wondered if anyone noticed I was alone or could they see mommy and Tiana?

I arrived in Milan on my last leg. I had taken risks and seen things that made me realize solo travel is better. You get to notice every stranger. You meet people from all over and you really connect without distractions. I wrote, I thought, I laughed, I cried and I imagined I had my eat, pray, love moments. I still have to watch that movie.

On my way back to the airport I decided to ride the train from Milan. I lugged my heavy ass suitcase and got confused about which train to take and how to buy my ticket when a stranger rescued me. Though I didn’t need rescuing, this man was seeing me as a damsel in distress. His name eludes me, but he was from Georgia. No not Georgia USofA but the country. He showed me how to buy my ticket, lugged my suitcase on the train and sat next to me. Maybe for protection. He shared stories of his childhood in Georgia. And I equally of Jamaica. We laughed and talked and parted ways in Malpensa. I felt a little guilt that I forgot about mommy and Tiana.

I made my way to Istanbul and then touched down on the tarmac in Dulles. As I rode the transport back to Rockville, I couldn’t stop thinking about my trip. All the details, the quiet moments, the conversations. But mainly I felt I got just what I went looking for. I see now that today – on V-day, there’s more to remember. Not the tragedy of loss, but great memories and positive light. Not the blackness the man doing 60 years to life tried to give us. But the light that was left behind to shine.

“Alvin, I know today is a tough day but Tiana was very brave even though she knew she wouldn’t make it, she made sure the Devil got caught… so Live, Love and Laugh on her memories. Happy Tiana Notice Day.” – Colleen Burgher.

“To my family, each and every Valentine’s day my heart is torn apart. However, I have to come to the fact that life must go on and Tiana’s memories will forever live on. With that said, tonight at 9:42 pm please stop what you are doing and give a moment of silence to Tiana Angelique Notice. Tiana’s work will never be done, may her soul R.I.P.” – Alvin Notice (father of Tiana and my brother).

“A moment of silence for our dear Tiana. Love always. ♥” – Marceen A. Burgher

para mi madre y mi querida sobrina dulce – from Barcelona with love.

per mia madre e mia cara dolce nipote – from Milan with love.

pour ma mère et ma chère douce nièce – from Paris with love.

annem ve sevgili yeğenim için – from Istanbul with love.

…for my mother and my dear sweet niece – from Dulles with love.

–          Marceen A. Burgher

A Valentine Cheer in Europe was originally published on Passport Required

[gardencityvegans]

Weekend Reading, 9.17.17

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Happy Sunday, friends. Hope the weekend has been good to you.

My big news this week is that my new cookbook, Power Plates, is officially available for pre-order whenever books are sold!

The on-sale date is January 23, which seems far away now, but the time will fly, and it’s incredible to me that it’s all becoming real. At this time last year, I was still in the thick of the recipe testing process, my kitchen a perpetual gauntlet of dirty dishes. It felt as if the recipes would never be complete, and while I could probably have allowed myself to tinker with them forever, I’m happy—and a little nervous, of course—that they’re now making their way out into the world.

The premise of the book is that it offers up 100 nutritionally balanced, one-dish vegan meals. If you’re wondering what the nutritionally balanced bit means, it all grew out of this post about covering one’s macronutrient bases within meals—that is, making sure to include a good source of plant-based protein, a source of healthful fat, and a source of complex carbohydrates.

My intention, both in that post and also with this recipe collection, isn’t to be prescriptive or overly precise with macronutrients. I don’ think there’s a magic ratio we should all be aiming for and don’t recommend tracking or counting. Rather, I’m suggesting that thinking about the three groups can be a useful means of creating satisfying, grounding, and diversified plates of food.

Quinoa Bowls with Braised Red Cabbage, Tofu, and Brussels Sprouts. Photo credit for this and all book images to Ashley McLaughlin Photography.

The book grows out of personal experience. As straightforward as it might seem to get protein and carbs and fat within meals, it isn’t always intuitive or easy, especially if one is newly adjusting to a meat-free diet. After all, many of us were raised on plates of food that typically included an animal protein, starch, and vegetable: knowing how to replicate balance without the animal protein can take some time and practice.

This was definitely true for me. Many of the meals I ate in my early vegan years were rich in fat and full of vegetables, but they skimped on plant proteins. Or they didn’t have enough complex carbohydrates to keep me full and energized for long stretches of time. As my diet evolved and became more inclusive, I found that thinking about the three macronutrient groups helped me to fuel myself so much more efficiently than I had been before. It’s a process I’ve watched many clients go through, too, and nowadays macronutrient balance is one of the main objectives I work on in my nutrition coaching.

Winter Salad with Bulgur, Radicchio, and Toasted Almonds

With all of this said, Power Plates isn’t a nutrition book. It’s a cookbook, and while the recipes were crafted with the three macronutrients in mind, my main goal was for these meals to deliver big on flavor and satisfaction.

Baked Potatoes with Lemon Garlic Broccolini and White Beans

The book contains 100 breakfasts, meal-sized salads, soups, bowls, baked dishes, and skillet or stovetop meals. No appetizers, desserts, or small plates here: just whole meals, many of which lend themselves to adaptation if you’d like to make them your own.

Gentle Morning Kitchari

The book wouldn’t have been possible without Ashley McLaughlin, who brilliantly styled and photographed the recipes. Last summer, I spent a week in Denver with Ashley, marveling as she made the food come to life. We spent the next five months working together closely—through the final weeks of her pregnancy!—and I really couldn’t have done it without her. She’s to thank for all of the beautiful images you see in this post, and the many dozens that line the pages of the book.

Curried Jamaican Stew with Kidney Beans

This is the third book I’ve worked on, and it’s the one that feels the most “like me,” if that makes sense. It captures a way of eating that has become second nature to me as a home cook, and creating the recipes felt a little bit like throwing open my kitchen doors.

Beyond that, the book got written over the course of an unintentionally challenging and tumultuous two years. It’s poignant for me to think about the fact that Steven tasted every single one of the recipes along with me, and by the time the book is published we’ll have both moved on to very different places in life.

It’s equally moving to think about the other shifts and changes that were taking place as the recipes were coming together, personal developments that I’ve chronicled in my weekend reading posts this past year. In some ways, I’m surprised that anything creative emerged from this period of my life, and in other ways, it makes a lot of sense.

In any case, the book will always have a special place in my heart, not in spite of but because it came to life during such a complex juncture.

Protein Packed Caesar

You can pre-order a copy of Power Plates now through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or IndieBound, or you can keep a lookout for it at your favorite bookseller in January. I’m excited to share more about it as publication time draws near, including some of my favorite recipes and highlights!

Thanks for letting me share the news. Now it’s time to share the recipes from friends and fellow foodies that caught my eye this week, as well as some reads that grabbed my attention. As always, I hope you enjoy them.

Recipes

Alexandra has me feeling all sorts of excited for fall with her carrot, red lentil, and spinach soup. So hearty and nourishing, plus simple to make and freezer-friendly. My kinda meal.

Looking for back-to-school lunchbox inspiration? The Hungry Herbivores have three awesome sandwich ideas, all of which are off the beaten path. I’m hungry just looking at them.

Pita, romesco sauce, roasted vegetables, chickpeas: these are all a few of my favorite things. I love how Alexandra puts them together in this recipe.

Erin’s recipes are always so bold and flavorful! I’m currently loving on her Gobi Manchurian, a crispy, spicy cauliflower dish that could be served with rice, baked tofu, or any number of other, tasty vegan accompaniments.

Finishing with a healthy dose of chocolate. Sophie’s double chocolate macaroons look so rich and delicious, and they’re no-bake, to boot.

Reads

1. A fascinating, probing, and comprehensive article about efforts underway in the medical community to better understand and gauge pain—a sensation that is notoriously difficult for patients to describe and communicate.

2. One of my readers sent me this article, which touches on how rising carbon dioxide levels in the atmosphere may be altering the nutrient density of foods. She asked if I’d come across the research in my program, which I haven’t, probably because it looks to be in a fairly nascent state. But it’s really interesting information, and I’ll be curious to see how the body of evidence shapes up in the coming years, along with so many other things we’re learning about how climate change impacts the world around us.

3. Another potential danger of climate change: the die-off of parasites. We often think of parasites as being dangers or pests, but as this article makes clear, we live symbiotically with them, and their demise could be disastrous for us.

4. This week, New York City finally unveiled universal free lunch for public school students. It’s a major win, though much work will need to be done to continue combatting the social stigma associated with the meal, which often prevents kids from partaking. The Atlantic‘s Gastropod podcast examines some of the history and issues surrounding the fight for universal free lunch in our era of rampant food insecurity.

5. I recently read Samin Nosrat’s Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat, and I learned so much about cooking along the way. I really enjoyed her recent article on long-cooked vegetables, those that become “overcooked” in such a way that turns them into a sweet, flavorful, and tender stew.

Enjoy the articles, enjoy your evening. I’ll be circling back tomorrow with a new favorite recipe for vegan pizza margherita!

xo

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