A space of one's own and learning to love the little things

There are many days I bemoan the limited outdoor space we have to ourselves. Like many city dwellers, a small deck outside our kitchen is all we can claim as our own. I sit here at my parents' place in Missouri, envious of the open space that is their yard, especially as I watch my sons frolicking (yes, that must be the word) in the grass as if they have never had such an opportunity. Granted, we do live just four blocks from a lovely little beach on Lake Michigan, and our access to playgrounds and playlots gives my Missouri friends pause. But we can't help but long for the day we are able to have a space of one's own to play, to plant, to just plain live within.

But then I think again. During the last few years prior to the birth of my second child, I spent my career designing trade magazines for civil and structural engineers. One of the things I enjoyed most about the work was the not-so-simple challenge of being creative within the boundaries of space and expectation. Like so many trade magazines, one is fighting against the necessary advertising allocations and, obviously, the content itself, so the ability to splash beautiful images and large inviting typefaces, with enough white space to give breath to the words and pictures was generally not an option. I would page through design and art magazines at the nearest bookstore and drool at the audacity of photography spreads or wide-open fonts used solely for the purpose of introducing the article, not to mention those used later within the article themselves. We often would have two-to-three pages to introduce, use a few well-appropriated shots, and cram in the content and any graphs or supporting elements. And the paper we had to print on was not the stuff of legends. Even if we did have those awesome spread photographs, the paper would hardly do them justice. The odd thing is, I actually started to really love this game. We eventually got better paper, and my designers and I were able to re-conceive the design of the magazines to showcase more of the images and content. We kept things simple but, I hope, improved them overall.

This is not so different from our lovely little deck in north Chicago. We have yet to begin planting, as family circumstances have us away from home at this time, but we are excited to build our small garden with our herbs, tomatoes, a few peppers, flowers, perhaps more. Last year we got some woolly pockets, which we love, and this year we are even thinking of building a hanging wall garden from pallets such as this featured on Life on the Balcony. Our sons may not have a yard to play in now, but our choice to live in the city constantly gives them innumerable opportunities for exploration that few outside of a more urban setting can enjoy. I was recently reading an article in New York magazine called The Apartment: A History of Vertical Living, and I thought about an incident when, as a young child, I sat at the dinner table in southwest Missouri and announced to my parents that I would one day live in New York. I knew back then that I might just be more suited for the city life. I never have lived in New York, but Chicago has been home to me for thirteen years now, and I have only once had a bit of a yard outside our last six-flat apartment that I dared to claim as my own.

I am realizing, as I write this blog, that there is a reoccurring theme of making more out of less that swells beneath the current. I, by no means, claim to live the sort of simple life that I admire of so many, but I do value this sentiment above many others, even as I am tested by the weight of its reality. When I stomp my feet in frustration at my limitations, I at once am reminded of those friends of ours in Tokyo, New York, and elsewhere who make due with so much less than we, and the richness they enjoy without their cars or clutter.

And yet I do love these moments with all this open space. I hope my kids soak up every minute of it as I wave to them from the kitchen window. And when we return to Chicago, our little deck garden awaits our eager hands, as well as the wide open lake and urban space that is ours to inhabit, one walk at a time.

Things just [don't taste] the same without you

There is a story by Rosemary Wells that my son Ettu likes called "First Tomato." It is part of the three-story Voyage to the Bunny Planet, which tells the tales of small children who are transported from their mundane and solitary days to "the day that should have been." In "First Tomato," after a particularly bad day, Claire's voyage takes her to a vegetable garden, where she picks a ripe tomato at her mother's request. She so much wants to eat that tomato for herself but resists the temptation and brings it back to her mother who uses it to make her a delicious tomato soup. As she awaits the soup, she is transported back to her day, with a renewed sense of hope for the day to come. It is a lovely story and one that brings home the notion that our enjoyment of food is primarily due to the people with whom we share it. The simple act of a mother making a soup for her child comforts the child in a way that few things can.

Tonight I think of this while thinking of you, so far away from us here visiting in Springfield and you in India. I continue to roast tomatoes, prepare rice, and cook for our children, while you make food for your mother in her kitchen, so sick as she is yet asking for your kitchari to comfort and ease her hunger, if only through a few small bites. For years we always imagined you going back and showing your mother your facility in the kitchen, but it was always just easier to have someone cook for us when we were in India. And we rarely if ever did go into that kitchen. Now you are there, and the one thing, beyond your presence, that she wants most from you is your cooking. What a bittersweet feeling that must bring, since you know that even with this porridge, you aren't able to give her that day that should have been.

So here we are going about our day and eating our meals, and things just don't taste the same without you. But I know you are giving a gift that only you can give from one son to his mother, and like that first tomato, it is as precious as gold.

For the love of avocado

Okay, I admit it, I've got it pretty easy. Living in Chicago, I often take it for granted the amazing access I have to buy primarily organic and sustainable groceries and produce. I have incredible farmers markets (maybe not so much yet, since we do have quite the winters in this fair and windy city as you certainly know), several Whole Foods Markets, a handful of Trader Joe's grocery stores, not to mention many neighborhood organic food coops, including one a whole block away from my house. We may pay a little more for our food, but I seldom have to worry about pesticides or cruel animal treatment or preservatives. Traveling outside of this comfortable zone, I find myself having to think a little more about the food I am buying and where it comes from (not a bad thing to do even when we are shopping at Whole Foods, as I almost bought some lamb all the way from New Zealand the other day!).

When I don't have the luxury of choosing organic or local options for our produce, specifically, it is helpful to remind myself of the "dirty dozen" fruits and vegetables that are the worst in terms of pesticides. The Environmental Working Group has published this list for our collective reference, which I will repost now; however, you can find a wallet copy of this here.

12 Most Contaminated
Peaches
Apples
Sweet Bell Peppers
Celery
Nectarines
Strawberries
Cherries
Pears
Grapes (Imported)
Spinach
Lettuce
Potatoes
 
12 Least Contaminated
Onions
Avocado
Sweet Corn (Frozen)
Pineapples
Mango
Asparagus
Sweet Peas (Frozen)
Kiwi Fruit
Bananas
Cabbage
Broccoli
Papaya

This is an invaluable list in choosing the right food, and it can be reassuring to know that there are safer options when buying organic is not possible. The bigger hurdle comes when trying to buy seasonally or locally. Mangos and avocados are certainly not indigenous to Illinois, no matter the season, so my insane consumption of guacamole truly challenges this part of the equation. And I suppose moving to California or Mexico to ease these contradictions is not in the cards right now.

We have some close friends who are from New York City, originally, and despite of (or maybe because of) having grown up in environment that is as urban as it gets have committed themselves to living as sustainably as possible. They recycle; they compost; they garden; they shop for meat, eggs, vegetables, and fruits almost exclusively from local farmers; they can and freeze for the winter (no, they do not buy even a tomato from the market when it is not in season or cannot be obtained locally); they drink raw milk; they drink apple cider in season and freeze it for later; they rarely eat out and prefer to cook at home. Living in Chicago, this is a pretty daunting challenge, and yet, with the exception of buying bananas, the odd mango, and avocados (see!) every once in a while, they really are an inspiration. I don't think I am quite there yet, but I do value these goals and try to think about them when I shop. Do I really need that fruit from Chile; do I really need that lamb from New Zealand? Perhaps there are options closer to home that will do. Well, except for that avocado there. I just know it is calling my name.

These are a few of my favorite things (sung to the tune of, well, you know)

Photo by Nalin Bhutt

A blast-from-the-past photo from one of our lovely meals in Portland at clarklewis, back in 2008 (this was dessert). There with Sam Liu and an 8-month-old Ettu. Man, how time flies.

French crepes and the beauty of leftovers: an unlikely duet

Today was one of those sunny, crisp, early spring days in Chicago when you are dying to be outside yet still feel the bite of wind sinking its teeth into your still dry skin. Nonetheless, we bundled up in layers of sweatshirts and jackets, having optimistically put the winter coats away last week, and headed southwest to the Brookfield Zoo. Amidst the wind and chill, we all enjoyed our time, with Nooa beaming at the manic monkeys and sleepy tigers. On our way back into the city, the boys fell fast asleep in the back, and Nalin pulled over to check his iPhone for directions to a French bakery in Logan Square. He had received a Tasting Table update about this bakery and was interested in checking it out, since we were close by. La Boulangerie is a lovely French bakery, serving crepes, pastries, assorted breads, etc., with a bit of a French general store of jams, spreads, cookies, cocoas, and more peppered throughout the corner store. A tad hungry after our modest packed lunch of turkey and cheddar sandwiches and apple slices, which we gobbled at the zoo, I selected a Prairie crepe with brie, spinach, balsamic glaze, and pecans, along with a San Pellegrino Aranciata. With Nalin waiting in the car with the sleeping beauties, I browsed the bakery while my crepe was being made before my eyes. The long, thick strips of brie placed atop the chestnut-colored crepes got me thinking of an article Nalin sent me a few days earlier. In it, James Coomarasamy, BBC Paris correspondent, recalls how, during an early doctor's visit for his young daughter, his Parisian pediatrician gave him a "prescription" that suggested adding blue cheese to her diet. When he later asked the doctor about the specific medicinal qualities of the blue cheese, the pediatrician simply stared at him, stating that there was nothing medicinal, rather, it was to get her "used to the taste."

This is a fascinating idea, and one which seems to have such interesting cultural components. The concept of what one's child likes or doesn't like is highly random, or is it? Young mothers sit around talking about the fact that their love of watermelons or grapefruit during pregnancy must be the reason for their child's inordinate desire for watermelons or grapefruit (or, let's face it if we are honest about most pregnancies, french fries or milkshakes). I do believe, although I lack any scientific data (and frankly am lazy to do the research at this late hour) to back up this claim, that what we eat during pregnancy to some degree and what we expose our children to early at a larger degree does have effects on their taste. My sons have never been that crazy about cheese by itself per se (and Nalin and I devoured the delicious crepe before they awoke from their naps to taste it themselves), but when they have had cheese, it has usually been some form of sharp cheddar, gruyere, or triple cream cheese, which they happily eat in quesadillas, paninis, or fish stews. Again, I think the key is exposing them to the things that we eat and hope they will eat as they grow. One of my best friends, Heike, who is from Germany, has always followed this rule with her kids as well. Rather than going with a typically American "first food" regiment after six months of rice cereal, she incorporated a more German approach, introducing vegetables first in segmented color groups (greens, then oranges—I may have the order wrong, but you get the idea). Prior to a year of age, her daughter and son were both eating vegetables like crazy, along with snacks of rye bread with hummus, grapefruit and melon, and a variety of other wonderful foods. Her children who are the same ages as mine have a diverse palette because of this, I am sure.

Back home again and more than a little tired from a long weekend, I turned to the fridge to see what to make for dinner. Browsing the contents, I was relieved to see quite a few leftovers from the two to three previous days' meals: rice, dal, and potatoes from an Indian meal on Thursday night; tofu fried rice and massaman curry from Friday night's Thai takeout; Nalin's homemade congee from Thursday lunch. Plenty to go around for the four of us. I whipped up some simple guacamole with lemon, salt, and cumin from some nearly too-ripe avocados for the boys. As I sat there watching my sons eating their tofu and fried rice and guacamole with eager abandon, I could not help but compare their response now to earlier in the day with the turkey sandwiches. I had mentioned that "we gobbled them up," but by "we," I meant Nalin and I, mainly out of hunger. Nooa and Ettu were not that impressed. They always much prefer some variation of rice to any cold sandwich, homemade or otherwise. Perhaps this is their "taste." And one I never realized we had necessarily prescribed.

Thursday night dinner

Stone soup and other tales of plenty

Last year, for my son's first birthday, my mom bought him a copy of Tawny Scrawny Lion, the Golden Books classic by Gustaf Tenggren that tells the tale of the insatiable lion who suddenly becomes fat and happy after several bowls of carrot stew from his new found rabbit friends. So satisfied was he, that he was no longer interested in his hunt, kill, and eat sessions day in and day out. Reading this book to my sons, I had a tremendous sensation of deja vu, having read this book so often as a child myself. The colors and rhythms of the book jumped from the page in ways that made me ache with nostalgia. Interestingly, this time around, I was hyper aware of the violence of the story, as the lion makes his way through the tale killing and eating his prey and strongly desiring to eat the little rabbits who are being so hospitable to his scrawny self. I thought of editing the story as I read, but thought the better of it, as I myself was not spared these brutal realities when I was young. And I really cannot remember being troubled by it at all back then. And perhaps an edited version would only serve to downplay the tremendous turnaround that is the lion's, shall we say, redemption.

This story got me thinking later about other tales of food I read as a child that drew me in. The other memorable book that came to mind was Stone Soup, and, ironically, it is also the tale of how something magical can come from something so small and insignificant, such as a pot of water. As with the lion of the earlier tale, the villagers of Stone Soup slowly and unwittingly begin assembling the most amazing of soups, all thanks to a bit of cunning from the soldiers (like the rabbits) who have been rebuffed by them just moments earlier. A few veggies here, a little meat or fish there, a bit of grains as well. Some may say that curiosity killed the cat, well, in this case, perhaps it saved him. Soon there is a feast for all.

When I started to think about it more, I was a bit amazed that these two favorite books of mine as a child had so much in common, and that I had never thought about them in this way before (here's where my grad school degree in comparative literature comes in handy [insert wry smile here]). To this day, I am often in awe of the simple pleasures of making soups or stews. How starting with so little, a pot of water or broth, a few spices, some well-chosen vegetables, perhaps a little meat or milk, some rice or grains, can all come together to become the most satisfying of meals. It is magical.

I would love to hear some of your favorite children's books about food. In addition to the two mentioned above, I have compiled a list of a few on the top of my head that we have in our library, but I hope to keep adding to it going forward.

• The Gigantic Turnip
• The Very Hungry Caterpillar
• Walter the Baker
• Green Eggs and Ham
• The Tale of Peter Rabbit (the meal of berries and bread at the end of the book is always so inviting)
• Honorable mention: The Boy Who Ate Words (not exactly about food, but the metaphor is wonderful)

Happy eating, happy reading, and, most of all this night, happy sleeping.

Rule number 469

Photo by Nalin Bhutt

Nalin forwarded me this wonderful quote posted on one of his favorite blogs: 1001 Rules for My Unborn Son. I was just blown away, so I'm shamelessly reposting here:

"He didn’t come out of my belly, but my God, I’ve made his bones, because I’ve attended to every meal, and how he sleeps, and the fact that he swims like a fish because I took him to the ocean. I’m so proud of all those things. He is my biggest pride."  John Lennon

"...I've made his bones, because I've attended to every meal..." Isn't that one of our greatest gifts and responsibilities. I don't think I've heard it put any clearer. Thank you, Mr. Lennon.

Oh those sweet temptations

In his little three-year-old universe, about the best discovery Ettu has made is that of vanilla milk. I really tried for a long time to pretend that chocolate and vanilla milk did not exist, instead giving a "treat" of an organic apple juice box at the Starbucks when I was fueling up on my beloved caffeine (okay, not really, I still mostly drink decaf thanks to my ever-nursing son Nooa). But one day, after scouring the cold case at his eye level, he slips a vanilla milk box in my hand. "How about this today, mommy?" Perhaps I was tired and didn't want to go through the process of discussing why we weren't going to get this deliciously sweet and silky something (after all, what about all those hot chocolates I gave him over the winter; he is only three, but his logical abilities seem to outpace mine at times). Perhaps I was simply wanting to indulge him. Who knows. Nonetheless, we left Starbucks with him happily sipping his milk with wide eyes and a faint smile. Now it is a definite part of the vocabulary. Just today, he reminded me that it was probably time to go back to Starbucks for some more of that great vanilla milk. So here's what I did instead.

Homemade vanilla milk

• one small glass of milk
• one "guess at a teaspoon" pour of pure vanilla (preferably not imitation)
• one "not quite" teaspoon (or to taste depending on how sweet you want to make the milk; we opt for a little less sweet) of organic cactus honey powder (new discovery—check out the brand we use here)

Et voila! This is just one of those things, like any sweets, pastries, smoothies, etc., that you just feel better making at home, if at all possible. You can easily control the sweetness, the ingredients, and the portion. Don't get me wrong, I greatly appreciate that Starbucks has incorporated a no high fructose corn syrup policy for any of its food, and the vanilla and chocolate milk boxes they sell are organic. Everything is still just a tad too sweet, though. Not to say I won't cave in the future, but it is always nice to know there are other options (and by the way, we did do a lot of "less sweet" hot chocolates at home in the winter, made with unsweetened cocoa powder and a little sugar or honey to taste to keep the sugar intake a bit lower). When all is said and done, it never ceases to amaze me that just about everything is a little bit sweeter when it comes from the heart and your hands.

My love affair with roasted tomatoes (with a special thank you to Reenu)

I guess this posting should technically reside in the "Things that change the way I cook" segment, but for now I'll let it stand alone in all its glory. As you've probably gathered by now (or know simply because you are friends with or kin to me), I am an American woman from European heritage, born and raised in the Midwest, who happened to partner up with a pretty incredible guy from India. When I met him, he was already busy teaching himself the fine art of Indian cooking by infusing the techniques and ingredients of his motherland. Let's just say that I happily took a backseat to his culinary wisdom with respect to Indian cooking. And I've pretty much stayed there for the length of our relationship. Not to say that I never dabbled in Indian cooking. I learned how to make a pretty mean egg curry early on, and I got fairly competent in making dal without a pressure cooker, but for the most part I stuck to the things that felt more familiar and what I believed to be less time consuming. That is, until last summer.

Our friend Reenu from Palo Alto came out to Chicago with her son, Sahir, to hang out with us for a week or so. As is the case, it seems, with all of us parents with young children, our socializing as adults generally started in the evenings after our little ones were tucked in for the night. Although we had already started cooking earlier in the evening, so that the kids would have something to eat before bedtime, we would later get a bit more elaborate and more liberal with the spices. We would talk effortlessly about anything that popped into our minds: education, India, west coast versus east coast (and then where the Midwest fell in all of that), consumerism, politics. You name it, we seemed to cover it. And all of this talking would take place over the stove (a glass of wine in one hand, a wooden spoon in the other). We would then sink into our table bench and consume the bounty. That week, Reenu did most of the cooking, and there were some simple techniques she incorporated that have easily been responsible for my newly found courage in the art of Indian cuisine.

Some gorgeous onions from that day

The first Saturday she was with us, we went to the farmers market in Evanston, as we often do during the summers. The vegetables and fruits and breads we brought back between the three of us filled our counter tops and our kitchen table. We had piles of onions, peppers, radishes, greens, okra, eggplant, and tomatoes, oh yes, many tomatoes. Reenu came in with at least two to three huge bags of tomatoes, and I couldn't quite make out how we were going to eat that many tomatoes in a week. As we started to unfurl, wash, and tuck the veggies here and there, she asked for a large cookie sheet and started quartering the roma tomatoes and placing them one by one on the cookie sheet. When she had filled it to capacity, she generously doused the tomatoes with olive oil and set the baking sheet into the oven at around 300 degrees. After two to three hours, she took out the sheet and let the amazingly caramelized and shriveled tomatoes cool. After roasting a couple of batches, she then proceeded to puree them in the food processor. The result was the most lovely and thick roasted tomato sauce I've ever seen. This tomato puree was then used as a base for almost every dish we made over the next few days. Of course, every dish would taste completely different, depending on the vegetable, and whether it had tamarind, or cumin, or coriander, or yogurt added. But the unifying taste was deeply rich and a tad sweet, thanks to the caramelizing.

Unlike Reenu in California, we aren't able to enjoy the bounty of fresh, local tomatoes throughout the year here in Chicago, and I found myself toward the end of farmers market season scouring the farmers' tables for all the tomatoes I could find (seconds often were the best, since they could be as ripe as ever and still work great for roasting). I roasted a lot of tomatoes in those last weeks, placing Ziploc bags one after the other in the freezer. And during the winter, even though I would like to say I am always a local and seasonal  buyer, I did find myself bringing large bags home of tomatoes to roast and restock the freezer. This summer, I may just teach myself how to can, to preserve the flavor even better and have a much larger stash for the off-season.

So what did this simple but profound new discovery bestow upon me? Simply enough, it gave me the courage to cook more Indian food (as well as other things), since everything I started to make with these tomatoes began to taste divine (okay, so maybe I'm being a bit overconfident, but I was amazed at the difference). No more over-boiled or watered-down flavor from the fresh tomatoes added too early, too late, too wrong. And I've used these tomatoes in Italian dishes (in pastas and on pizzas), in salsas, as marinades, in soups, etc. It has been one of those things that has enriched my cooking in significant ways. And all from something that many Indian cooks would probably find to be a basic foundation (I never did ask Reenu where she learned this preparation). For this, I thank her deeply, for it is forever lovely the things we learn from others that become deep expressions of our day-to-day endeavors.

So perhaps I'll start a new segment entitled, "How simple ideas from friends have changed the foods I cook." I know then I would always have something incredible to write about.

Time, that elusive friend

I feel a bit obligated to write a little about time, since one of the most common complaints or excuses for not being able to cook or prepare healthy and diverse meals for one's family is lack of time (not to mention energy and creativity). I've thought about this a great deal, because, as the mother of two young sons, I rarely feel that I have any time for myself. The time I do have free is filled with endless laundry, cooking, cleaning up toys, washing dishes, trying to catch a moment on Facebook, and now writing this blog. And let's face it, I imagine I am not alone when I admit to being very resentful of this every once in a while. I do have an advantage in one area (as do many women my age). I have experienced the time crunch issue from three distinct vantage points:

1. As a married woman with a full-time job (this took up a good twelve years prior to having children)
2. As a married woman with a baby and a full-time job
3. As a married woman with two young children under the age of four who now stays at home with them, balancing childcare, freelance writing and designing, and managing a household 

Yes, I was single once, but I hardly count that in the equation, as I was in grad school and certainly not living any sort of typical lifestyle. We had some great potlucks back then, though! And the coffee was certainly plentiful.

I can easily say that although number two was a bit challenging, being a first time mother and all, the third vantage point has offered me a new appreciation for all those mothers and fathers who have stayed at home before me. It is exhausting! Okay, I admit, and great. But I definitely don't feel that this option has afforded me endless time for planning and preparing the most perfect meals for my family. (And before I go any further, I must confess to cooking maybe two-thirds of the time. My husband is an amazing cook and approaches his time in the kitchen with love and zest. He is definitely the better cook and is the Julia Child to my Rachel Ray — I never thought I would ever compare myself to Rachel Ray, but in the "time and preparation" category, I guess the analogy works. This, I know, is a key to our sanity. Before I stayed home after the birth of Nooa, and even up through Nooa's first six months of life, Nalin did most of the cooking, even with his full-time job and new parenthood status times two.)

One constant in all these vantage points, however, was our commitment to good food. We certainly didn't start out perfectly (and are far from perfect today). Like many others, we ate out too often when we were both working, spending way too much on take out and expensive meals with friends. One thing we did not do, however, was heat up a lot of prepared or frozen foods. Perhaps I was always a bit wary of all of the sodium, preservatives, and strange list of ingredients on many of these processed foods. And when Nalin first came to the states from India, he ended up in southwest Missouri, where, in the early 90s, there were few if any options for Asian cuisine outside of the fast food cashew chicken joints on nearly every corner (if you haven't heard of cashew chicken, check out this great article in the New York Times). He learned that if he wanted to eat Indian food, he had to cook it for himself. He would hitch rides with friends and drive three hours north to St. Louis to get spices and pickles at the Indian grocery stores, and he slowly and methodically attempted to recreate the dishes he grew up eating at his mother's table. As we started dating, cooking was an essential part of our relationship. We were both fairly broke, so we would try to eat at home as much as possible. I guess you could say that cooking became synonymous with courtship. Going forward another 15 years of our relationship with cooking would fill this blog space up pretty quickly, so perhaps I'll save some stories for other posts.

I wish I could say that there is an easy and immediate answer to this problem of finding time, but honestly, from my experience, committing to changing the way your family feels about food seems to come down to three important values:

1. Make cooking a priority above other things. And by cooking, I don't mean overly complicated and time-consuming dishes. Almost everything I cook usually takes less than a half-hour to prepare and then cooks by itself for another half-hour or so. And in this blog I will continue to give some ideas for quick meals and things to prepare ahead of time to have handy. Mark Bittman in an article on babble.com entitled 5 Tips for Family Dinner has some succinct (albeit unsparing at times) ideas for how to make the time to cook for our families.
2. Buy (or grow!) good food and learn to read labels. We love going to the farmers market every week during the summer and early fall and tend to make it a family outing (the kids love the fresh berries, smoothies, baked goods, cheese, you name it). Most recently, we have invested in a finding local farms where we can get eggs and natural or organic meats all year round. And you can keep that meat in your freezer for three months. We try to keep staples like rice, lentils, pastas, canned tuna, coconut milk, chutneys, Thai curry paste, and spices in our pantry, so that there is always something around to eat, even with the fridge is empty. There is no doubt that having a well-stocked pantry and fridge helps in time management. We have lived in small, medium, and large cities and have always found good farmers markets wherever we go. And although there is much talk of the increase in organic options in grocery stores and Wal-Marts throughout the country, those options certainly aren't always available or affordable for everyone. This is when reading labels comes in handy. If you can find more natural foods without preservatives, hormones, antibiotics, added colorings or artificial flavors, and high fructose corn syrup, you are going a long way to making better choices for your family. Choices that will taste better as well. My sister is in the process of expanding her garden this year, which also brings home the idea of growing more food together as families. And you don't always need a backyard to do it! There is a nice article on gardening with kids on babble.com as well.  
3. Diversify. Diversify. Diversify. One thing I learned early on in our marriage was that Nalin was not a fan of sandwiches. And what's easier or faster than sandwiches? Instead, I often take that leftover rice, some fresh veggies, a little soy sauce, and an egg from the fridge and make fried rice in a matter of minutes. Or, we scour the fridge for items to make an easy stir-fry or a quick Thai curry with coconut milk and some frozen shrimp and peas. Flour tortillas with some fresh chopped spinach, grated cheese, and some deli meat make great wraps or quesadillas. And our favorite simple meals are often Mexican (okay, so it helps to have some great Mexican grocery stores here in Chicago), since they are simple, fresh, and amazingly tasty. As I think I alluded to in a previous posting, guacamole is a favorite food of our sons. I remember years ago visiting my friend Joyce in St. Paul who whipped up a simple couscous with grapes, nuts, olives, and a few veggies. It took her only minutes, and it was so wonderful. I often recall that meal when I am searching for quick and easy options that defy tradition. I truly believe that the more you challenge your palette and your family's palette, the more receptive everyone becomes.

There is so much more to say on this subject, but I will end this for now. I look forward to revisiting this topic, though, even as a reminder to myself that the time we spend on food for our families is nothing but an act of love.

A little music for the day

This is a video that never gets old around our house. This chorus from PS22 in Staten Island is just about one of the most lovely things ever. Check out the faces of these kids. Our other favorite of PS22 is "One Day," which they sing with Matisyahu. Truly great. Enjoy.

The café is open for business

An empty box from an Amazon delivery and a few well-appointed chairs and stools provide endless fun and imagination. I, for one, really enjoyed my carrot cappuccino (compliments of the older chef)! We set this up so that I could have some time to cook myself. Worked out quite nicely until the food and dishes started getting thrown all over the room. Fun while it lasted. I guess "endless" might be a bit overstated.

Things that have changed the way I cook (part 1 of many, I'm sure)

Photo by Nalin Bhutt

Cast iron. We have two cast iron cooking pots/pans, and I can't imagine my life without them. One (a small/medium size stew pot) we bought at a Crate & Barrel outlet. The other (a flat pan) at a Mexican grocery store in Pilsen. I never thought I'd be able to make good eggs in anything but those non-stick skillets. Boy was I wrong. Okay, so you may have to use a tad bit more olive oil in the cast iron, so that the eggs don't stick. But that just makes the eggs oh so much better. We calculated the other day that we probably go through about two dozen eggs a week in our household. My youngest son Nooa could eat two-to-three eggs with runny yolks dripping down his face in one go. He is crazy for them. I have to give credit to two people who opened my eyes to cooking eggs in cast iron: the first being my sister-in-law, Madhvi, an amazing cook, who used our cast iron to cook eggs for her kids when she was visiting, and Reenu, our dear friend from Palo Alto, who did the exact same thing when she was in town. Of course, we do use this flat cast iron pan for more than just eggs. We heat up our chapattis or tortillas (the reason we bought the pan in the first place), make pancakes, and sear meat or fish. This is such a cheap item available in so many groceries or home stores.

Two winters ago, when we got our first cast iron pot, Nalin started making wonderful Japanese stews almost once a week. Sometimes he'd make it with chicken, other times with fish or beef (first browned in the pot before the other ingredients were added). He would always put in onions or shallots, carrots, potatoes, and often mushrooms. The seasoning would be simple with soy sauce, mirin, and saké. As it cooks, the darkness of the pot seems to seep into the food, creating a caramelized hue. The result would be the most lovely comfort food. He would give Ettu and I bowls filled with sticky rice and side plates with nori (thin, dried seaweed), and we would then use the nori to pick up the stew and rice (at that time, we would often have to feed Ettu from our hands, but he loved it all; to this day he eats at least a dozen nori in one sitting (the small sheets, but still!). Nooa is now trying to keep up with his big brother. This simple stew is one of the most enjoyable parts of winter, and something I always look forward to when the weather starts to chill.

Today I use that pot for just about everything: soups, dals, stews, curries, meats, veggies. Next to our Le Creuset (which I'm sure I will blog about later in this ongoing segment), it is just about the most important thing in our kitchen. You could almost say it has cast a spell on me.

Jai Hind (and an ode to our family so far away)

Tonight we went to India town to celebrate. India won the 2011 Cricket World Cup today, so Nalin was anxious to take the boys out for some snacks and a mango lassi. Of course, this excitement was a bit dampened by the cries of protest of Ettu and Nooa as we buckled them in the car. We struggled to impart the importance of this day to our toddler and 3-year-old who really just wanted to stay home and play soccer in the alley. These are the moments you find yourself missing the days when you could revel in your moment without the reality of a child's indifference to burst the bubble. Ah well.

So we eventually made it to India town and to the snack shop. The boys were much happier and soon found themselves sipping mango lassi and eating dal vadas (a crispy snack made of lentils and spices), soaking them in the sweet red chutney with pure delight. Nalin and I ate our samosa chaat quite contentedly with our lime soda, although today of all days we were wishing we were still in India. Nalin most of all.

When we got home, we put the kids to bed, and Nalin chatted with his brother in India, asking him what they were eating to celebrate. I love this. I remember early on in our relationship, Nalin would tell me that his family would cook special meals on our birthdays to celebrate the occasion. Chicken curry, lamb biryani, fried fish, etc. At first, this struck me as odd, considering we weren't there to enjoy or partake of the festivities, but then I got it. Preparing and eating these special meals was a way to connect with us, across thousands of miles, when a phone call, letter, or email message just wouldn't suffice. Good food is at the core of who we are and who we are in relationship with, in so many ways. It bridges the distance between us when a simple taste becomes a lasting memory of the people who shared in it. So as we sit alone tonight, drinking our Matilda ale and eating our gulab jamun, or run out to Hema's Kitchen for biryani tomorrow to prolong the occasion, we are really celebrating with you, our family. In the best way we know how.