Six Week Project: When Things Get Random

This blog post is going to cover days 14, 15, 16, 17 and 18. That's Thursday through Monday. Here's what happened...

If you follow this blog, you know that I've kind of been losing weight. Like, a lot of weight. A lot of weight as in a hundred pounds in two years. It hasn't been easy, but I made it to that bench mark in January. As that was my goal, I assumed it'd get easier. I was wrong. WAY wrong.

Over the past 2 months I've (as Nathan Lane in The Birdcage would say) "Yo-Yo-ed" between 185 pounds and 192 pounds. Trying to balance what I eat with how much I exercise, while also enjoying life and the food I love has been quite an uphill battle. After hitting a low point last week, I decided this weekend that I really need to eat as though I'm still trying to lose weight again. That is how my body feels the best, and while I don't care if I lose a significant amount of weight from this point, I do care that my body feels healthy, happy and balanced. Therefore, my eating has fumbled a bit over the past five days, trying to get back on the bandwagon that was steadily chugging away from me.

So, here's the low down. I'm eating less, again. I'm eating when I'm hungry, and only if I'm hungry. I can't eat as much bread as I want to, I just can't. I'm going to try to eat larger meals in the middle of the day and smaller dinners. I don't need the energy provided by 3 whole grain pancakes at 6pm. I need it at 10am when I'm dragging. Any processed foods that found their way into my diet this past weekend I spent at home will be cut out. I even bought local, organic cream to make my own butter. I am a locavorian queen with "Organic" at my right hand, and I will strive to keep my throne. Therefore, I have to say, this blog may not be as interesting, as my dinners have been sparse and somewhat boring. However, I made a commitment to finish, so I will.

Day 14: Banana Crunch Pancakes and Scrambled local eggs (inspired by the chitter chatter over these on Facebook)



Day 15: Left-over stuffed peppers, and a salad at my Mother's house

Day 16: Burger, oil and vinegar slaw and oven fried potatoes at my Mother's house

Day 17: A bowl of Kashi Honey Sunshine and a banana

Day 18: Half a cup of low-fat Greek Yogurt with 1/4 cup of pumpkin seed granola, a drizzle of honey, and dried tart cherries, a handful of Kashi crackers, and half an organic pink grapefruit

Tomorrow will be more exciting, I promise. I made vegan chili today, of which I am fairly proud. I bought organic avocados to eat with it, so at least there will be pretty pictures and a recipe. In the meantime, thanks for reading, and always remember to buy local and eat well.

Six Week Project: Salads

My dinner on days Twelve and Thirteen both consisted of salads. Day Twelve (Tuesday) was a tossed salad, just to use up some ingredients I'd had laying around (Roasted Red Peppers, Spinach, Carrots, Arugula, Mixed Mesculin, Organic Raisins and homemade honey mustard dressing). It was nothing exciting and therefore will not be getting its own special post.

Day Thirteen (Wednesday) however, was another night of using up ingredients, but was far more exciting and a new Queen Honeybea favorite. I've been consuming a ton of carbohydrates lately. I don't really think there's anything wrong with this, other than it's been mostly in the form of bread or some relative of bread (pasta and pancakes). I decided at work this morning that I wanted to make something with brown rice. I love brown rice, it's so, so good for you, and it's filling and a good way for us carb lovers to consume our beloved starchy goodness. I've also been craving some more lean protein in my diet, and a can of wild caught, sustainable Alaskan salmon did the trick for that. So this is what I concocted over my lunch hour: Queen Honeybea's Brown Rice Salad with Salmon. Enjoy, and always remember to buy local and eat well.


Queen Honeybea's
Brown Rice Salad with Salmon
Serves 2 with a few leftovers

1 1/2 cups brown rice
2 TBS. extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 a red onion, diced
1/2 cup chopped red bell pepper
1 clove of garlic, minced
2 cups of chopped fresh spinach
1 tsp. ground ginger
1 6 oz can of wild caught, sustainable Alaskan salmon, chunked
2 large carrots, shredded
2 TBS. low-sodium soy sauce
1/4 cup rice vinegar
1 TBS. local, raw honey
1/2 tsp. sriracha (Korean hot sauce)
a pinch of salt
a pinch of black pepper
a pinch of garlic powder
Two large hand fulls of shredded mixed mesculin greens
Extra sriacha and soy sauce for serving

1. Cook the brown rice according to the package directions. This should yield about 2 cups of cooked rice. Set aside.

2. In a large skillet, heat the olive oil over medium high heat. Saute the onion and red pepper until soft and beginning to brown. Add the garlic, and stir constantly for thirty seconds. Add the shredded spinach, ginger and salmon and cook until the spinach is wilted, about two more minutes. Remove from the heat and set aside.

3. In a large bowl, toss together the rice, cooked vegetable mixture and the shredded carrots.

4. In a small bowl, whisk together the soy sauce, rice vinegar, honey, sriracha, salt, pepper and garlic powder. Pour over the warm rice mixture and chill for at least 4 hours, over night would be ideal.

5. Place a handful of lettuce in each of two serving bowls and top with scoops of the rice salad. Serve with extra sriracha and soy sauce.

Six Week Project: Day Eleven

For the past two weeks, since my girlfriend and I meandered around the West Side Market in Cleveland and spotted heavy bundles of coiled pappardelle pasta at Ohio City Pasta, I have craved nothing but that. I love pappardelle pasta. It's like sheets of lasagna that have been cut into thick strips, then usually smothered in something delicious, saucy and full of Italian love. Pappardelle and I have had a date on the horizon for some time.

For dinner tonight, I decided to saute, in olive oil, the very last of a bunch of Green Edge Organic's Swiss Chard I bought three weeks ago (this stuff lasts, it's amazing), along with some carrots from the Athens Farmer's Market, some local red bell pepper I've had chopped and tucked away in my freezer, and some local green beans which have been living next door to the red bell peppers. I added some roasted garlic, dried basil and oregano, white wine, organic-free-range chicken stock, and some cooking water from the papperdelle until I was happy with the taste and consistency. Once the pappardelle had been cooked, I tossed the pasta in with this mixture and served it topped with slices of Norwood Cheese from Kenny's.

It hit the spot. The thick pieces of homemade, whole-grain papperdelle were velvety and filled every crease and crevice of my mouth as I tried to eat them whole. It was a pasta experience of a repeat, which may very well happen. I don't know how many people take the time to make their own pasta, let alone on a week night after working all day, but let me tell you: it's worth it. Enjoy, and always remember to buy local and eat well.

Six Week Project: Day Ten

While I know this project was meant to showcase every dinner I eat for the six weeks of which Lent consists, some days dinner just doesn't happen. Sundays have a tendency to be those kinds of days. Unless I have an immaculate dinner planned already, the highlighted meal of my Sunday often turns out to be breakfast.

Sunday is my splurge day on breakfast. I eat a serving size of measured out Kashi cereal, a cup of coffee and sometimes a banana every single day of the week, except Sunday. Sunday is fun day, if you will. I love to cook breakfast, and have found myself recently in posession of company on Sunday mornings, for whom I cook breakfast and we lounge on the couch and enjoy each other's company. I know, pretty much my domestically inclined dream.

Therefore, as my "dinner" turned out to be chips and guacamole this night, I'm going to share my breakfast recipe with you instead. And if you're anything like me, breakfast for dinner (as in at 5 or 6pm, not ten am when we ate it) is also a fabulous treat. My health-i-fied version of a dish I order at First Watch Cafe in Cleveland was on the menu for this Sunday morning: Queen Honeybea's Whole-Grain Banana Crunch Pancakes. Enjoy, and always remember to buy local and eat well.


Queen Honeybea's
Whole-Grain Banana Crunch Pancakes
Serves 4

2 local, free-range eggs, beaten
2 cups local, organic skim milk
1/2 cup lowfat organic plain yogurt
1/4 cup local, pure maple syrup
1/4 cup vegetable or canola oil
1 TBS. pure vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups whole-wheat flour
1 cup white whole-wheat flour
1/2 cup oat flour
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking soda
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
2 large bananas, sliced into 1/4 inch slices
1 cup of crunchy, organic granola of your choice

1. In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, yogurt, maple syrup, oil and vanilla. Set aside.

2. In a medium size bowl, mix together the whole wheat flour, white whole wheat flour, oat flour, salt, baking soda, baking powder, and cinnamon.

3. Grease and heat a large griddle pan over medium heat, until water droplets sizzle when dropped onto the surface. All at once add the dry mixture to the wet mixture, folding until just combined and still lumpy. Pour out your pancakes using a 1/2 cup measuring cup. On each pancake, place banana slices and sprinkle some of the granola. When the edges are turning brown and the top is covered with bubbles, flip the pancakes until just browned on the opposite side. Serve hot with butter, pure maple syrup or organic peanut butter.

Six Week Project: Day Nine

"It's my observation that when Italian genes are present, all others duck and cover."

This sentence by Barabara Kingsolver reminded me immediately of myself upon reading it. I am American by birth, and half Italian-half Slovenian by blood and heritage. As many people observe of me and others like me, our Italian sides seem to be so over developed that they have a tendency to smother and conquer any other hint of ethnic heritage found within us. My Italian pride is infalted, period.

Saturday night, my girlfriend was privy to a feast of great proportions, accompanied by Italian Folk Songs (Finiculi, Finicula and Santa Lucia and the like), fantastic organic wine, and my Italian charm and ego. My own personal version of machismo has a tendency to shine in such instances, and this past Saturday, while my house might be situated in South Eastern Ohio, we were dining in Tuscany.

I even eat like Italians, as Barbara later describes in the same chapter as the quote above. She says of Italians, "Watching Italians eat (especially men, I have to say) is a form of tourism the books don't tell you about. They close their eyes, raise their eyebrows into accent marks, and make sounds of acute appreciation." After reading this chapter about a month long tour of Italy, about courses, agritourismos and pasta, I decided we needed to bring Firenze to Morgan County. I decided to make one of the four courses of traditional Italian meals: the antipasto. This is what became of that ambition:

Marinated Chickpeas in vinegar, oil and herbs
Mediterranean olives
Kalamata olives
Slices of rolled capicola
Norwood Cheese from Kenny's in Kentucky (it tastes similar to parmesan)
Betty's Favorite Cheese from Laurel Valley Creamery
Roasted Red Peppers
Black Figs stuffed with Chevre (from Integration Acres) and wrapped with prosciutto
A steamed artichoke with roasted garlic, lemon, and dijon mustard dipping sauce
Roasted cherry tomato, rosemary and goat feta (from Integration Acres) crostini
Marinated, pickled eggplant and arugula (Green Edge Organics) crostini with Norwood Cheese
Grilled slices of French Gallette from the Village Bakery

An organic sauvignon blanc, by Neuvo Mundo in Chile ($14.99 @ the Village Bakery)
(This wine was fabulous!)

Six Week Project: Day Eight

Friday nights are one of my favorite times of the entire week. To me, five o'clock on Friday is the beginning of the end of the work week, and the official start to the weekend. My fondess for Friday nights goes far beyond work, however, I imagine. I've held that particular evening dear to me ever since I was a teenager in High School, and Friday nights during the Fall meant marching band, football games, and sharing time with my good friends. This has grown into a desire for fun on Friday nights, and as of late, fun has become food. I love to make and eat fun food on Fridays. Pizza is a fun food, chili is a fun food, burgers are a fun food, and as I make these things myself I can craft them so that they fit into my locavorian-seasonal-natural food culture. This weekend, I managed to add another "fun" food to this list: Sushi.

My friend Michael and I had been planning a sushi-making session for several months, and this Friday we were finally able to get together and "roll," if you will. We decided that because the raw fish availability in the Mid-Ohio Valley might be questionable at best, that we'd make one of our mutual favorites: California Rolls. California Rolls are seaweed wrappers stuffed with sticky sushi rice, and wrapped around avocado, cucumber and imitation crab. Now, this meal did not, in any way, fall into the parameters of my local-seasonal-natural philosophy, but it was fun and every once in awhile I splurge and buy a cucumber in March!

I just have to say that we made some damn good sushi. Our sushi rice was superb, sticky and perfectly cooked. Our rolls were tightly wrapped and easy to slice. We spent a good portion of the end of our meal with tears welling in our eyes, laughing at one another as we suffered through our love of pungent wasabi as we tortured ourselves with every green bite. It was a fun. Period. Enjoy and always remember to buy local and eat well.

Michael is working the Rice Vinegar into the rice. It became translucent and sticky and we were so very proud.

Michael rolling the second roll.

Six Week Project: Leftovers

Days Six & Seven
As I don't want to bore you with repeated recipes, or more information than you really need about "Chick-a-strone" Soup, I thought I'd just post these two days together and suffice it to say I ate leftover soup both of these nights, with toasted whole grain bread from Crumbs Bakery in Athens. It seemed to keep getting better the longer it sat in the fridge, ending with a mug full yesterday which my girlfriend eagerly slurped down.

In the meantime, I spent the early week making Whole-Wheat Irish Soda Bread and Whole-Wheat Cut-Out cookies to send to a few of my loves for St. Patrick's Day. Below are some photos of the cookie-making process. This is the first time I'd made them with Organic White-Whole-Wheat flour instead of all-purpose. I heard they were delicious. I've given up dessert for Lent, so these little lucky gems made it in and out of my kitchen without managing to make their way into my mouth. Enjoy. The recipe for these cookies can be found in my blog titled "Milk and Cookies" from May of last year. Simply sub White-Whole-Wheat Flour for the all-purpose to make them this way.

Always remember to buy local and eat well!

Six Week Project: Day Five

Just a quick post tonight sharing my "on the fly" meal with you. It was damp, chilly and rainy here today. As my girlfriend walked out the door this afternoon, I said quickly as it crossed my mind, "How about breakfast for dinner?" This is one of her favorites and mine as well, so she eagerly agreed that would be a wonderful way to cap off such a day.



I scrambled us some local, free-range eggs from Blue Rock Station with a hunk of Laurel Valley Creamery Cheddar. We had toast made out of Birdseed Bread from Crumbs Bakery, and a bowl of organic oranges from Whole Foods tossed with dried cranberries. I par-boiled some whole redskin potatoes from the Athens Farmer's Market, then quartered them and sauteed them in olive oil with garlic salt, pepper and parsley. Our toast was topped with local Amish butter and my homemade strawberry and black raspberry jams. It hit the spot.

Always remember to buy local.

Six Week Project: Day Four

Anyone who knows me well knows that I don't just throw food away. For example, I am a perpetual maker of soups after crafting large meals that involve any sort of usable scraps. Not wasting food is a core tenant of my food ethics. This is something that is difficult to unlearn and to then relearn in a healthy, conscious way. While it was never explicitly said to me that I'd face consequences if my plate was not clean after dinner as a child, I knew that we didn't waste food. I was a clean plate club kind of a girl, a second helpings kind of a girl, and as a result (in conjunction with many other factors) I was a big girl as well. It has taken some restructuring of the way I think about food to get over the "clean-plate" syndrome, and truly believe in my mind that it's okay to leave a few bites of food on my plate, if those few bites mean the difference between satisfied and uncomfortably full. However, that being said, the best remedy I've found for this syndrome is to start with less in the first place. Serving for myself a smaller, healthier portion of food to begin with has helped my brain and my stomach to both feel good. One fabulous way I've learned to fool my brain into thinking it's eating more is to eat soups that are packed with nutrients and are considered meals in themselves.

In the spirit of not wasting food, I made a big pot of what I've dubbed "Chick-a-strone," as it is an Italian flavored soup that is like a Minestrone with chicken. After finishing up the Greek Pot Roasted Chicken last night, I quickly threw the chicken carcass in a large pot with chunked carrots, garlic, parsley and some dry chicken bullion. I added enough water to cover the carcass, brought it to a boil and simmered it uncovered for at least 2 hours until it had reduced and the whole house smelled like warm broth. I strained it and refrigerated it overnight, and the next day before making the soup itself, I strained off the solidified fat, making it a bit leaner. Then it was ready to make a deliciously simple, rustic, homey dinner. This soup recipe will serve four as a main dish.


Chick-a-strone Soup
Baguette

8 cups freshly made chicken stock (or an all-natural, free-range chicken stock)
2 large organic carrots, peeled and sliced into 1/8 inch rounds
1/2 a yellow onion, chunked
4 large Swiss Chard Leaves, slivered
1 15 oz. can of organic Cannellini beans, drained and rinsed
1 14.5 oz. can of organic Fire-Roasted diced tomatoes, drained
2 cloves of local garlic, minced
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. black pepper
1 TBS. dried oregano
1/2 TBS. dried basil
1/2 tsp. dried rosemary
1 cup of cooked whole wheat pasta, kept separate (I used baby seashells)
2 cups of cooked chicken pieces

1. In a large soup pot, bring the chicken stock to a boil. Add the carrot slices and onion chunks. Boil for five minutes. Add the slivered Swiss Chard leaves, beans, diced tomatoes, garlic, salt, pepper, oregano, basil and rosemary. Return the pot to a simmer and simmer uncovered for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally.

2. Add to the pot the cooked chicken pieces, and simmer for 5 more minutes or until the chicken pieces are warmed through.

3. Into serving bowls, scoop 1/4 cup of cooked pasta. Top with ladles of soup. Serve with crusty bread.

Six Week Project: Day Three

Just once in my life have I had the privilege of diving, submerging myself into the pristine blue waters that ebb and flow through the Mediterranean Sea, gently massaging the gray and white beaches, the ancient jig-saw like shoreline of Greece. If I never make it there again, my memory of that experience, of swimming through the deep blue with an ominous black aquarium below, the salt and the sunshine, the feeling of running my hand like a rudder through magical waters once navigated by King Menelaus, upon which Helen’s face launched a thousand ships will last me the rest of my lifetime. I surely hope, however, that it won’t come to that. Tonight, while my girlfriend and I shared our meal together, I was momentarily taken back to a cafe near the sea where I was served steaming hot moussaka and crisp wedges of bursting pink watermelon on a dry, hot night in the briny air of Corfu.

When I make food for the people I love the most, I am compelled to implore all of my food ethics, philosophies and inherited traditions so that like a bubbling risotto, the deepest feelings in my heart will be absorbed into everything I lovingly prepare. This was on my mind when I was crafting the menu for Sunday dinner. Like many American families, mine has a bit of a tradition of having Sunday dinners together, therefore causing this day’s meal to take precedence over all other eating engagements throughout the week. This particular Sunday I had an opportunity to share love and food with someone I love immensely, and therefore my menu had to reflect that.

What I settled on was a Mediterranean Pot-Roasted Chicken and Greek Salad, with a baguette from the Village Bakery. It has never been put past me to toot my own horn and so I will do it without hesitation. This chicken was phenomenal. I wish I could’ve fed the entire block, because I’m fairly certain the aroma from my house probably spread that far. It began to fill the house just moments after putting the hefty pot into the oven, and by the time it was finished, it smelled so good it was almost unbearable. When my girlfriend emerged from the shower just before dinner was ready, she commented that the worst part about being in the bathroom for that half an hour was the fact that she couldn’t smell the dinner. This meal was so easy, will feed four, and is healthy and heavy with local ingredients. While we were eating, we decided that this meal would be one of my signatures, in so much as it will be one of the things that will invoke the plea, “Honey, will you make Greek Chicken tonight?”


Queen Honeybea’s Greek Pot Roasted Chicken
Greek Salad
Baguette

1 small, local, free-range chicken (I have no preference between fryer or roaster, to be honest)
1 clove local garlic, minced
2 TBS. chopped fresh parsley
2 TBS. dried oregano (or fresh if in season)
1 TBS. dried thyme (or fresh if in season)
1 TBS. lemon zest (about half a lemon)
2 TBS. extra-virgin olive oil
Salt and Pepper
1 lemon
½ yellow onion, divided
2 cloves local garlic, roughly chopped
2 TBS. chopped fresh parsley
1 TBS. dried oregano
Six small to medium size local red potatoes, peeled and cut into long wedges
¼ cup sun dried tomatoes, cut into slices
¼ cup pitted kalamata olives
2 TBS. chopped fresh parsley
1 TBS. dried oregano
Salt and pepper
1 cup dry white wine

1. Pre-heat the oven to 425 degrees. Prep the herb paste, cavity stuffing, and vegetables to go along with the chicken. First make the herb paste: In a small bowl, mash together the minced clove of garlic, 2 TBS. chopped fresh parsley, 2 TBS. dried oregano, 1 TBS. dried thyme, 1 TBS. lemon zest, and 2 TBS. extra-virgin olive oil. Set aside. Next, halve the lemon. Quarter one half (the half you just zested for the paste), and slice the other half into thin slices. Place the quarters in one bowl and the slices in another. Halve the ½ an onion. Sliver one half into slices and set aside with the lemon slices. Chunk the other half and set aside with the lemon quarters. In the bowl with the lemon quarters and onion chunks, add the chopped garlic, 2 TBS. chopped fresh parsley, and 1 TBS. dried oregano. To the bowl with the onion and lemon slices, add the potato wedges, sun dried tomatoes, olives, 2 TBS. chopped fresh parsley, and 1 TBS. dried oregano. Now you should have 3 bowls prepared: one with the herb paste, one with the chunked lemon and onions to stuff into the cavity of the chicken, and one with the lemon slices, onion slices, and potatoes to place around the chicken in the pot.

2. Prepare the chicken: Rinse the chicken well and pat dry. Set it breast side up into a lightly greased Dutch Oven with a tight fitting lid. Generously salt and pepper the chicken cavity. Add the chunked lemon and onion mixture to the cavity, stuffing it full. Now, use your finger tips to gently pull the skin away from the breast without tearing it. Stuff the herb paste between the skin and the breast, spreading it evenly on both sides. Brush the chicken with a little bit of olive oil and salt and pepper it generously. Add the potato wedges, sun dried tomato slices, olives, parsley, and oregano mixture around the chicken in the pan. Place the lemon slices on top. Pour the cup of dry white wine over the bird and vegetables.

3. Fit the Dutch Oven with its lid and bake the chicken at 425 degrees for one hour. Turn the oven down to 400 degrees and bake for one more hour, basting every 20 minutes. The thickest part of the chicken breast should register at 180 degrees when the meat is done. Remove the vegetables to a serving dish and keep warm in the oven. Remove the chicken to a cutting board. When cool enough to handle, carve the chicken and serve with the sauce that is left in the Dutch Oven after cooking.

Note: I believe this would be delicious with boneless, skinless chicken breasts, which would also be a bit leaner and would take less time. Omit the herb paste and cavity stuffing. Combine 4 local, free-range boneless, skinless chicken breasts with the potato/vegetable mixture in the Dutch Oven. Bake at 350 degrees for one hour, basting every 20 minutes. I haven’t tried this yet, but in my head, this would work.

For the Greek Salad:

4 cups of mixed mesculin greens, roughly chopped (Or a head of local romaine, chopped)
Two handfuls of organic cherry tomatoes
1 cup of drained, pitted kalamata olives
½ cup of crumbled goat feta (mine is from Integration Acres in Athens)
Greek Vinaigrette Dressing (recipe follows)

1. In a large salad bowl, toss together the greens, cherry tomatoes, kalamata olives and goat feta.

2. In a mason jar, shake together ¼ cup red wine vinegar, 2 TBS. lemon juice, 1 tsp. Dijon mustard, 1 TBS. dried oregano, 1 tsp. dried basil, ¼ tsp. salt, a dash of black pepper and ¼ tsp. garlic powder. Dress the salad, toss and serve.

Note: When in season, a nice addition might be diced cucumber, or slivered red onions.

Really, this was just superb. The chicken was fall off the bone tender, juicy and absolutely permeated with the flavors in this dish. It was a triumph. Enjoy, and always remember to buy local.

Six Week Project: Day Two

Do you ever have a day when you just feel old-timey? An early spring day warmed slowly by the sun, when a still chilly wind blushes your cheeks and the light dawns, blanketing the hillsides covered in budding deciduous trees, when the smell of thawing soil swirls about your nostrils and a morning trip to the Farmer’s Market makes for heart-panging nostalgia and a hearkening to a time when those hillsides were dotted with log cabins, small Appalachian farms and hard-working pioneers. My day today was swollen with such feelings. I spent the day flitting about Athens, Ohio, with the sunroof open and the windows down, soaking up an abnormally warm Saturday in March. At the Farmer’s Market I scooped up some fresh Swiss Chard from Green Edge Organics, and Betty’s Favorite cheese from Laurel Valley Creamery. These two items, along with an outstanding egg from Blue Rock Station, and stone ground cornmeal from Rio Grande made for a dinner that sang like Bill Monroe’s fiddle—to my ears, at least.

Tonight’s dinner was reminiscent for me of the American South, the Appalachian foothills, and using my own (or rather someone else’s very local) food. It was a dinner that could’ve easily been prepared a hundred years ago by someone in this area. Healthy, fresh and local, tonight’s dinner of sauteed Swiss Chard, onion and black eye peas, cornmeal cake, and an over easy egg was the perfect cap to a lovely day in the foothills of Southeastern Ohio, when spring was calling and bringing the past back to life, like the green leaves of resurrecting tulips, made the day magnificent. This recipe makes enough for one serving.


Sauteed Swiss Chard, Onion and Black Eye Peas
Cornmeal Griddle Cake
Over-Easy Local Egg

1 TBS. extra-virgin olive oil
4 large Swiss Chard Leaves with stems, chopped
¼ yellow onion, slivered
½ cup cooked black eye peas (I use organic canned peas)
½ tsp. garlic powder
Salt and Black Pepper to taste

2 TBS. whole-wheat flour
¼ cup stone-ground cornmeal
½ tsp. baking powder
pinch of salt
1 TBS. low-fat yogurt
½ cup local skim milk
1 TBS. local honey
1 tsp. extra virgin olive oil
1 TBS. shredded local cheese (I used Betty’s Favorite from Laurel Valley)

One local, free-range egg
Salt and Pepper

1. In a large cast iron skillet, heat the 1TBS. olive oil over medium to medium low heat. (A cast iron skillet will get hot and stay hot, and food will burn easily) Add to the warmed oil the slivered onion and the chopped chard stems. Saute for five minutes, stirring often, until tender.

2. Add to the skillet the chard leaves, black eye peas, garlic powder and salt and pepper. Turn the heat to medium low, and saute stirring occasionally while you prepare the cornmeal cake batter.

3. In a small bowl, whisk together the flour, cornmeal, baking powder and salt. In a small liquid measuring cup, mix together the yogurt, milk, honey and olive oil. Stir the liquid into the dry mixture, and fold in the cheese just until everything is moistened.

4. By this point, the chard and black eye peas should have cooked down, the greens should be wilted and the onions browned. Turn the heat on the skillet back up to medium, and use a spatula to move the chard mixture off to one side. Pour the cornmeal batter onto one corner of the skillet.

5. Crack the egg into the remaining corner of the skillet, and salt and pepper it to your liking. When the cornmeal cake begins to brown on the edges and bubble, loosen it with a flat spatula and flip it over. When the egg whites have cooked through, flip the egg and cook it for about a minute. Remove the egg to a plate, and when the cornmeal cake is browned on the bottom and feels solid, remove it and the chard and peas as well. Spread the cornmeal cake with butter and serve hot.

Enjoy! Always remember to buy local!

Six Week Project: Day One

Stir-crazy. Yep. That is the perfect expression to describe my emotions, my mind and my spirit as of late. It's nearing the end of winter, we've all been trapped indoors in close proximity to one another for the past four months, and burn-out is imminent. I've been eating rutabagas, turnips, cabbage, potatoes, and apples for what seems like an eternity, and I'm ready for some asparagus spears to pierce the surface of the soil so that I may roast and delight in them. When I get this way, I know exactly how to solve it. A project.

Many people have asked me over the course of the past two years how I've changed my diet, what I eat, or what I've done to lose weight. I try to explain it, but often it seems like there's so much to say that I never manage to convey everything I'd like. I decided tonight, while scooping a spoonful of barley onto my dinner plate, that I ought to share my meals. What better way to explain a diet or a way of eating than by sharing meals with someone? Therefore, I'm going to share my meals with all of you for the next six weeks. This is a little Lenten project that will hopefully also help me stay on the healthy eating bandwagon and not have a thousand calories worth of just peanut butter for dinner anymore. Yes, yes there can be too much of a good (and healthy) thing.

Each dinner I eat, from now until Friday, April 22nd will be posted on this blog, along with how I made it or where it's from if I've eaten out. Any of my Facebook friends are probably aware that my last project, "Photo of the Day," died several weeks ago when some extra activity was added to my life and I simply lost the time to keep up with it. That will not be happening to the Six Week Project. From now on, you'll be privy to a glimpse of how this natural, organic, seasonal, local eater dines every night. We'll start with tonight...

Last Tuesday, my girlfriend and I cooked up a bag of fresh fettuccine she'd bought from Ohio City Pasta at the West Side Market in Cleveland. She bought regular semolina and basil. Wanting to get the most out of the pasta as possible, I decided to whip up some quick marinara sauce with some veggies for added nutrition. There was a big bowl of said sauce leftover after we feasted, so tonight I decided to enjoy it over barley instead of pasta.

A cup of cooked hulled barley constitutes 54% of your daily fiber requirement. Just like oatmeal, it's fabulous for your heart, and cholesterol levels. Remember to buy the hulled barley, as it is considered a whole grain, whereas pearl barley is not. I try to consume as many whole grains as possible, and very little to preferably no white flour. Thus inspiring the use of barely for me and leaving the leftover fettuccine for my girlfriend.


Quick Vegetable Marinara over Barley with a
Small Tossed Salad

2 TBS. extra virgin olive oil
1 large local garlic clove, minced
Half of a local onion, minced
2 large carrots, peeled, halved and sliced thinly
1 cup diced green bell pepper (mine were local, chopped and frozen from the summer)
1/2 cup dry red wine
1 14.5 oz. can of organic fire roasted diced tomatoes (no salt)
1 14.5 oz. can of organic fire roasted crushed tomatoes
1 cup water
1 tsp. dried oregano
1 tsp. dried basil
1 tsp. organic evaporated cane juice (Florida crystals)
a pinch of hot red pepper flakes
salt and pepper to taste

1. In a medium size sauce pan, combine the oil and the garlic while you chop the rest of the vegetables. Heat the oil over medium heat and add the onions, carrots and peppers. Saute, stirring frequently, until tender (10 minutes).

2. Add the red wine, and simmer until the wine is reduced by half. Add the diced and crushed tomatoes, the water, oregano, basil, evaporated cane juice, and red pepper flakes. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer at least 30 minutes, stirring often. Taste for seasoning, and add salt and pepper to your liking. I simmered mine for about an hour, until it was thickened.

This is what I ate over my cooked barley, topped with chickpeas for protein, and I made a small salad with mixed mesculin greens and micro greens from Green Edge Organics, a shredded carrot and my typical mustard vinaigrette. When I make salad dressing I usually combine 2 TBS. of some kind of mustard (Dijon, whole-grain, Honey, etc.) with 1/4 cup of vinegar (usually balsamic, apple cider, or rice), some salt and pepper, 1 TBS. honey, onion powder, oregano and 1/2 cup of extra virgin olive oil in a mason jar and shake. I switch it up depending on my mood, and just keep replenishing the jar as I use it.

Day One, down. Enjoy. Always remember to buy local.

100 Miles or More: Part Four

Eating is a two-faced, back-stabbing best friend. While it reminds you constantly with stomach groans and hunger pains that you need it to stay alive, it in turn wreaks havoc on your body in so many ways if you don’t do it properly.

March 8, 2011
Fat Tuesday

It has officially been two years, to this day, from the moment I decided I wanted to be a happier, healthier person. When I began writing this blog series I had good intentions of outlining how I did it, the nitty-gritty details if you will, but still in the form of a story. Because I am a naturally reflective, thoughtful person, I am having a hard time making it that simple. Drawing on the specifications, the exact changes I made, the foods I ate and the exercise I undertook is far too watered down for what it is I want to share with anyone who has known me for any amount of time and is reading this blog. If you’re one of those people, you know that change has become a facet of my day to day. You know that I now embody an entirely different person: physically, mentally, and emotionally. After spending a weekend at my mother and father’s house in Cleveland, seeing people I love and have known my entire life, I can only imagine what your perspective of me has become. It would also be completely unfair of me to omit certain portions of my experience, including what I am going through now: the struggle and heartbreaking difficulty of maintaining. Given my deeply embedded sense of nostalgia, of memories and of allowing the romance of the past woo me into the future, reflection will be the theme of this post. This is a glimpse into the day that began this journey, in celebration of the second anniversary of the first step.


Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Shrove Tuesday has always been one of my favorite days of the year. Beyond its more religious title it is nicknamed for a more cultural attachment which is spelled out for us in three letters given to this particular Tuesday—fat. A day of socially approved gluttony was like a gift from Heaven, literally in this case. This particular Fat Tuesday was beginning normally, like any other day in late February in Athens, Ohio.

Out the expanse of picture windows which glass plated the front of our house I could see drifts of snow sloping, heavily blanketing the stiffly frozen blades of green and brown grass left helpless from autumn. Large, puffy flakes were falling fast from the endless mass of heavily soaked gray clouds that hung wet above our home. That sense of nostalgic comfort that accompanies a blizzard like this in early December, anticipating the familiarity of another Holiday season, had long since passed and we were approaching the chorus, melodically speaking. We were entrenched in the bleakness of midwinter. Being a culture of people who always wait for the next big thing, getting through the slump of hibernation inducing winter weather isn’t easy. The day after Christmas is always anti-climatic, as the road that leads to Easter is long, and one could easily be lulled into believing, like Robert Frost, that there is no way out and perhaps laying down to sleep in pillows of snow will prove too enticing. These are the months we spend watching blizzards and ice storms come and go, knowing that an early, warm spring day will come, but with no guaranteed arrival date. So as I was on this day, we gaze out our frostbitten windows at the barrage of heavy, matted snowflakes crashing into the windshields of our cars, frozen in our driveways, and we wait.

However, thanks to some strategic spiritual planning, we have Fat Tuesday, stuck like a pin in a country road on the map between Christmas and Easter. Warming my fingers around a mug of freshly brewed coffee, snuggled comfortably in the aroma it sent creeping throughout my house, I looked down at the front of my neon orange hooded sweatshirt, marked in chocolate brown block by brilliant advertisers with the words “Cleveland Browns,” and like every other day, I acknowledged my more than average, too "uncomfortably full" to be "pleasantly plump" body. It was a given for me at this point. The world around me existed, literally, around me. There was nothing about my body image that touched fluidity, but rather rigidity in physical boundaries. My body required more space than other people's bodies. It had a greater presence, setting its own limits. In one of the cozy armed chairs in the front living room of our home, I pulled my feet up underneath me, curling and tucking my way into the warmest position I could endure. The lowest folds of belly fat careened over themselves and pressed deeply into my thighs as my body curled into the roundness that is required to imprison its own heat. Looking down at myself, thinking nothing exceptional of my body, but rather accepting it as known to me, I gently tapped my fingernails rhythmically against the coffee cup and tried to decide what to make of this day.

Our house on Columbus Road was very, very blue. The blue stretched from the room in which I was contemplating the morning, through a wood paneled door frame which led to a hallway, past and into a bathroom and around a corner to the sleepy blue, and cocoa brown bedroom where my partner was still tucked under the covers, asleep and unacknowledged of bitter chill. I’ve always been a morning person, and rarely did a day pass when she would wake to find me at home. She was typically greeted with a note, and a ceaselessly warming pot of what would be stale coffee by the time she roused to the kitchen. I had a pattern down, a sequence memorized, of where I could attempt to stealthily place my feet on the wooden floorboards so as not to evoke a creak or stir the furniture into the thunderous rumbling that would occur when I walked normally through the house. When I reached my side of the bed, where my clean clothes were stacked almost unrecognizably from my dirty clothes in the heap of a wardrobe that had developed on the floor, I swapped my love of the Dawg Pound for a slightly more fitted, certainly more insulated sweatshirt advertising the mighty terriers of Boston University. I left my sweatpants where they had been pulled off from my legs, and donned a pair of what I lovingly called “comfy” jeans, some heavy socks and my "way-past-their-expiration-date" Vans sneakers. My clothing reflected my body in shape, fit and my regard for them. T-shirts, hoodies, "comfy" jeans and worn out hipster shoes were normal, fitting loosely over me so the only confinement I felt came from the stretched surface of my own skin.

The decision I made while brewing over coffee and blizzards was to go to Kroger. Being unemployed, it was difficult to entertain myself while also feeling productive and spending the least amount of money possible. We did things like splurge on the larger cable package, play endless hours of board games and cards, and place food consumption and therefore also food preparation in a place of high importance to help with this constant dilemma. Food consumption was a major part of our day, not just because I loved to cook, but because we both loved to eat. Eating is a two-faced, back-stabbing best friend. While it reminds you constantly with stomach groans and hunger pains that you need it to stay alive, it in turn wreaks havoc on your body in so many ways if you don’t do it properly. For two unemployed people, my partner still being a college student, spending money on food was an easy justification. We needed to eat, or we’d die. Therefore, trips to Kroger were almost a daily occurrence, and spending guilt amounted to almost none. Being the consumer of culture that I was, I decided that being Fat Tuesday, we really ought to celebrate. I remembered that Kroger sold boxes of Paczki each year, and that is precisely what I wanted to plop in my cart, along with some fixings for Jambalaya, and indulge in upon returning home.

My family has had a Shrove Tuesday tradition that paints my memories as far back as they go. I have the fondest, warmest, treasured thoughts when I remember those snowy, dark nights that dot my past every year on Fat Tuesday in the dead of Cleveland’s often viscous winter. I yearn now for the feeling to which I had grown accustomed with my family. Those Fat Tuesdays were always so familial and communal, as we’d crowd together around a hexagonal shaped kitchen table, with fruited Spode place mats, and a rustic chandelier flooding the table in muted yellow. This was my Aunt and Uncle’s house, and every year they’d drive to Garfield Heights during the day to get a dozen tender, perfectly fried Paczki to share with our family.

I suppose this story begins with my Uncle George. While my Uncle George was an import to my family, gaining status as uncle, brother, son and friend when he married my Aunt Liana, he was never an import to me, as I was born many years after they’d been married. In my mind, he was nothing other than my Uncle, and when I was five years old, I believed that we shared the same blood, the same breath, the same inherent structure. This is what constitutes family to me. What I would come to learn and understand later is that my Uncle George was Polish, and Jewish, which meant little to me, because in my heart he was just Uncle George and I loved him, which in turn helped me think nothing of and love the differences between myself and others in my future. Our differences, however, are not the point of the story, for we shared far more similarities.

My Uncle George loved food and culture, and was broad minded enough to embrace and experience multitudes of both of those things. Being Jewish, my Uncle didn’t observe the religious tenants of Fat Tuesday, but being Polish, it was probably nearly impossible for him to escape the cultural tenants that anchor that holiday to the calendar. Even though Polish Jews didn’t eat Paczki on Paczki Day (Fat Thursday, or the last Thursday before Lent) or Fat Tuesday, they make, fry and eat them during Hanukkah, to honor the tradition of eating foods fried in oil. Paczki are Polish, period. They are essentially glorified donuts, round and fried, filled with fruit and dusted with powdered sugar or glazed. They have a historical purpose. They were made to use up the sugar, lard and fruits kept in the house, so that deeply devoted Catholics would not consume those foods during the Lenten fast. My Aunt and Uncle would go to Charles Peters Bake Shop in Garfield Heights, after having ordered them at least a week in advance, take a hand written number from a flimsy nail in the molding of the door frame, and stand in the line that often extended to the sidewalk, down the street and around the corner. They’d bring the boxes home, and that night we’d gather.

I remember my mother bundling me up, and together we’d climb into the car to often brave snow and wind, up and down what seemed like treacherous country roads at the time, on the fifteen minute trek from our little white house in the suburbs to my Aunt and Uncle’s cedar sided home, tucked deep in the woods down a long and winding driveway. While it was familiar and felt like home to me, it was also always an adventure and I’d often imagine for myself stories of the creatures that lived in those woods, the ghosts that dwelt within the pines, and the characters that inhabited such a different place than what I knew at our own house. Through the darkness we’d be warmly greeted by mellow garage lights, and a forest green door that inevitably yielded a welcoming Golden Retriever or two upon opening, and either my Uncle George or Aunt Liana, smiling and asking for our coats to hang. Below our feet was a grid of red clay tiles, grouted in dark gray, puddles from melting snow collecting in the grooves between them. The colors in the long kitchen reflected the surrounding nature, the forest; deep shale blue, gray, hunter green, Terra cotta, and deep walnut, all draped in the warming glow of the chandelier, and deeply set pot lights above the kitchen counters. The surfaces were decorated with Fitz & Floyd, and Spode ceramics, where vegetables had been turned rigid and glazed, and suddenly a bundle of asparagus would dust black pepper when overturned. It was in this place, the uniqueness of it, where I felt so unconditionally loved.

Here, around this table, my Aunts, Uncle, Mother, sister and I would sit. The Paczki each had been cut into quarters, revealing a great mystery of what filled each round, and we’d share, taste, talk, and laugh over pieces of tender fried dough smeared with prune, apricot, lemon, apple, custard, poppy seed, and raspberry fillings. We weren’t really preparing for Lent as much as we were celebrating one another’s company, our shared fellowship, our bond as family and lovers of culture and food. Thus began my love affair with prune Paczki, and with food, and specifically with the cultural relevance of food in general.

Being reared around such people, I could not escape this binding tie with food preparation and food culture, with love from my Mother’s kitchen, with trips to the West Side Market with my Aunts, and with sharing those experiences with others. That’s how I knew, on that day when I came home from Kroger with my half dozen of prune Paczki and then decided to throw them in the freezer, giving up dessert for Lent, that walked the path which began to lay out before me wouldn’t be easy. Sitting in the chair in my living room on that snowy day, I felt stuck, stationary and wedged into a life that didn’t really belong to me. There had to be more than the day to day living, more than the folds of fat that weighed heavily under my skin, the board games, the occupancy of time wasted. I lost my Uncle George in August of 2006 to leukemia. My beautiful family had spent too much time, too much energy expended, too much love given for me to sink into that sea. I was too smart and possessed too much burning potential to allow my feet to submerge any further into the wet concrete of my turbulent early twenties. No more looking out the windows, no more waiting for the next big thing. I had to save myself.

March 8, 2011

I thought re-creating that day might help inspire me. I have hit, without question, the hardest part of the process I'd outlined in my mind, thus far. On January 8, 2011, I stepped on the scale and saw the number 186 for the very first time. I had lost 101 pounds. One hundred was my goal, and I went flailing about my apartment, dancing up and down the hallway, clapping my hands and yelling for joy when I read it. That was the peak for me. Suddenly the anxiety and heavy burden I'd been carrying of working constantly on a seemingly impossible goal for almost two years had melted away. I'd made it. I had been anticipating this moment.

What I wasn't expecting was to gain back five of those pounds in the two months following that blissful day. While five pounds may seem like nothing to the average person who hasn't embarked on a weight loss journey, let me tell you, it's a source of major anxiety and disappointment. Many times in the past several days, I've thought to myself that I've created a monster. The diet and exercise I've incorporated into my life are my new sense of "normal," and no matter how much I want certain aspects of my old life back, I cannot have them without consequence. I have created a monster and now I have to live with it, and perhaps even more challenging, I have to love it.

While many people view great achievements as having a price, I simply can't look at it that way. I will learn to love this monster. Giving up my old food philosophy, my slothful habits and my need to cling to the familiar has not been a price paid, but rather a change that was necessary, a change that occurred and now it is a part of my life-a real transition. We spend our entire lives fearing change, then being flung to emotional, mental and physical polarities when we are faced with it. What I tried to do, and am still trying to do, is embrace change and learn how to manage it well, because at the end of the day, it is now and always will be a part of my life. Why have I gained back weight it took me two months to lose? Because change is inevitable and welcomed, and because learning how to balance the many facets of our lives is the moral of the story.

Learning how to maintain my weight where I have felt the happiest (between 185-187) is going to be a continual challenge for me. Over the past two years I've become intimately familiar with my body, scrutinizing it daily in the mirror, while changing my clothes, or sitting at my desk. I am keenly aware of it's shape, it's boundaries, it's nuances. I knew I'd gained weight back, even a pound or two, without ever stepping on the scale. My physical awareness is heightened, but that was necessary in order to overhaul myself into a healthy human being. I am working on finding a healthier way to look at my body again, without sliding back into an oblivion of hopeless obesity. I am slowly, painfully coming to terms with the fact that I will probably spend the rest of my life balancing in order to maintain. Some days that is a daunting thought, and others I try to remind myself of how far I've come, that I've done it before and I can do it again. I believe it will get better.

Where I find myself today is so drastically different than the story I told of this day (Fat Tuesday) two years ago. The person who wore that Browns sweatshirt, staring out the picture windows is a ghost that dwells in the dark spaces of my heart. Today the light is shining. Today I am in love: new love. Today I deeply know those I love and defend, and who love me deeply in return; they are no more than a handful, but I hold them tightly in my palm. Today I use my mind, my soul and my kindness on a daily basis to help others. Today I have a plan, I have ambition and my path will always lead to other paths. Today I am open-ended, I am eager for new experiences and the ability and desire to change and grow flows through me every single day. Today I am the healthiest I've ever been in my life. Today I have done everything I can to live. Today has never felt so good. Tomorrow awaits and I am more ready than ever for all of its magnificent glory. Amen.

Amitié

The thin, beadboard like hardwood floors of the hallway that leads from my bathroom to my bedroom radiated the warm, steamy fragrance of the crushed lavender blossoms that had been steeping in my bathwater. The floorboards almost bowed under my feet as I sunk into the cozy sauna that had been created in my half of a big white house on a charming village street. Every once in awhile, when I fall off the face of the Earth for an indefinite period of time, I need a little bit of genuine, self-inflicted comfort to help bring me back to life, awaken my senses again, and remind me that I still exist within the comings and goings, the business, the activity of every day life.

This particular night I had chosen lavender. If you hadn't noticed, I have been away from my usual blogging, from my weekly routine for a few weeks. If I have learned anything in my short twenty-four years on this Earth, it's that life happens and we must let it. In fact, there are times when we welcome life's arrival, because it means greater happiness, fulfillment and joy within our lives. The interruptions incurred on my usual schedule have been welcomed with open arms over the past six weeks. Exhausting? Yes. Procrastination? A definite result. Worth it? Undoubtedly. I decided last night that lavender was going to help bring me back down, to re-ground me and make me focus again.

The name lavender comes from the Latin verb "lavare" which means "to wash." Biblically it was known as "nard," and is mentioned in one of my favorite books, of which I've written before--The Song of Solomon. The Romans began the transition from nard to lavender as it was used commonly in their baths, as it was realized that lavender is good for the skin. I am a firm believer in the power of the mind, and the romance that lies in the connotation of lavender is right up my alley. Thoughts of it immediately draw up soothing sentiments, the smell of warm herbal tea, and for me, of onions and carrots sweating and softening in perfectly warmed olive oil, and the aroma of crushed Herbes De Provence seeping into the walls of my home. My soothing lavender bath, where I got back in touch with myself was an appropriate precursor to conjuring a big pot of French Lentil Soup, Queen Honeybea style, heavily seasoned with Herbes de Provence and reminiscent of friendship.

I have this friend, see. She's one of the best I've ever had. She is a self-identified Francophile, and for some time now I've been wanting to make this soup for her, after a candid discussion of Herbes De Provence over some dusty old books in a kitchy thrift store. Herbes De Provence is a simple mixture of some fabulously French and Mediterranean flavors: savory, fennel, basil and thyme. I learned recently that the addition of lavender to the mixture is purely an American nuance. I found that to be only appropriate for making this soup for my friend. French flavors with a little American twist; as if I stirred a portion of myself into the soup, which is always my goal when sharing my food with others. While I've been fairly preoccupied with the happenings of my own life lately, this friend always reminds me that I am cared for greatly.

It amazes me how taking time for myself actually makes me realize my humble place in life's greater picture. When I was finally presented with silence in the darkness of a warm bath, and my mind was free to relax, my thoughts went immediately to those I love. I haven't had much time to think about them lately, outside of work and life and life's little wonders and the stress of straining to see the future. Then I found myself alone, thinking of my dear friend who had just so happened to text me and say nothing more than "What happenin ladyyyy," which led to an entire conversation about the things that were making my life chaotic. She reminded me that I have human obligations to my friendships and my family, and that they aren't obligations, but rather privileges and blessings. So I steeped in lavender and thought excitedly about crafting my French Lentil Soup for her, and for me and for the people we love; about sharing fellowship and friendship, laughing and knowing we have more than just our own two feet with which to walk through life. Lavender and friendship have pulled me back to Earth for now, but I'm not so naieve as to miss chasing clouds when I can. I can only hope they will always lead me to vibrant purple fields of lavender, to friendship and to love. Bon Appétit.

Queen Honeybea's
French Lentil Soup
(Serves 6)

1 lb. of Organic French Green Lentils, sorted and rinsed
Boiling water
3 TBS. extra-virgin olive oil
1 large organic yellow onion, chopped
2 cloves of local garlic, minced
5 large organic carrots, peeled and chopped into 1/4" half circles
1 tsp. dried ground cumin
1/2 tsp. dried ground rosemary
1/2 tsp. dried thyme leaves
1 TBS. dried Herbes de Provence (with Lavender)
1 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. dried black pepper
2 quarts organic, free-range, low-sodium chicken stock
3 large local red potatoes, peeled and diced to 1/2" pieces
1/4 cup dry red wine
Salt and Pepper to Taste
Extra-virgin olive oil for serving

1. In a large bowl, cover the lentils with at least 2 inches of boiling water. Let sit for 15 minutes, then drain. Set aside.

2. In the meantime, in a large stock pot, heat the olive oil over medium heat and add the chopped onion. Cook stirring often until onions are tender, translucent and sweating, about 10 minutes. Add the minced garlic, and cook stirring constantly for 30 seconds. Add the diced carrots, cumin, rosemary, thyme, Herbes de Provence, salt and pepper. Cook stirring frequently until the carrots are lightly tender and the entire house smells delicious, about 10 minutes.

3. Add to the pot the chicken stock and prepared lentils. Increase heat and bring to a boil. Lower heat and simmer aggressively for 30 minutes, stirring every so often. After 30 minutes, add the potatoes and the red wine. Taste for seasoning and add salt and pepper as needed. Simmer for 30 more minutes, stirring occassionally.

4. Serve piping hot. Drizzle additional extra-virgin olive oil over each bowl and serve with crusty French bread (baguette or galette).