Book Review: the Birdy version

So, I know I'm remiss here in my continued non-posting of the promised "Mama Lunch" column, but: I have to write instead about what Birdy and I are reading, because these are simply some of the best books there are. Period. And, oddly, they're all by authors who are much more famous for other books: Roald Dahl for his full-blown ogre-addled magic-infused fantasy fiction; Madeleine L'Engle for her incomparably riveting, weirdo-buoying, sci-fi Wrinkle in Time series; and Joan Aiken for the villain-and-orphan-filled Wolves of Willoughby Chase series which, more than any other books, best represent the time in my life when all I wanted to do was curl up with a book. (Which is different from now how? I guess I mean the very profound 12-year-old version of that.) But these are kinder, gentler books--books perfect for younger kids who are, yes, reading mostly on their own, but who still like to curl up in an arm crook for a pajama-clad cuddle and a chapter or two aloud at day's end. I mention that because these are books that an 8-year old could read alone, but they're strangely tricky in that British/weird-humor/old-fashioned-language way. I recommend reading at least the first two chapters aloud, to acclimate them--by which point you'll be fully engrossed anyways and will want to keep reading.

Danny the Champion of the World by Roald Dahl. A boy and his dad plotting to steal some pheasants really might not sound like your ideal plot, and I understand. But this is a lovely and wonderful book--about a parent and child, about loss, and about the nuanced complexity of right and wrong. "Who are the actual bad guys?" Ben wondered, when he and I read it years ago--but he already knew.

Meet the Austins by Madeleine L'Engle. This is such a delightful, gentle book, and it's got this fantastically smart and observant girl narrator, which I love. An orphan, slow-paced family drama, nice kids, deliciously excellent writing--all the makings of a perfect reading experience, if you ask me. The others in the series are a little "grown-uppy," but I'm sure they'd be great for older kids.

Arabel's Raven by Joan Aiken. A young girl adopts a badly behaved bird named Mortimer who loves diamonds and guitar music and the stairs, which he eats. It's a little like the Paddington series, in terms of wacky misadventures and hilarious hijinx, but it is so laugh-out-loud funny that Ben is always putting his own book down and creeping over to listen. I love reading it because the language is great, the absurdity and chaos are pitched just right, and I am never, ever bored. There are more of them, and I bet they're all good, but we're just finishing this first one right now.

And now: share away. I have *so many* books on my library request list thanks to all your fantastic recommendations last week. I am thrilled. Thank you, as always.

TGIF, darlings.
xo

Sort of Saag Paneer

Thank god for our friend Jagu, and his sometimes feeding of us (oh, Jagu's lentil fritters!), because we do not eat Indian food out very often, which is sad, because I love to eat out, and I love Indian food. In fact, when I say to Michael, and I say this often, "If we had a lot of money, I'd want to live exactly the same way we live now, just without worrying all the time," he always says, "Well, not worrying, and also eating out every night." Which is so true. I love to cook, but eating out might be my very favorite thing to do that you have to pay for.

And when we do go out for Indian food, I like to establish immediately how we're going to order: Are we sharing everything? How many entrees are we getting? Who doesn't like what? That kind of thing--so that I can figure out about the saag paneer. Not whether or not we're going to order it, because we are going to order it, but how much of it I'm going to get to eat. (Don't you wish you were going out to eat with me?)

Saag paneer is a puree of spinach or other greens, with cubes of delicious, creamy, fresh white cheese nestled in it. (Ew. I've just become like one of those restaurant reviewers I hate who use the word "nestled.") I realize that if I were selling it that way door to door, you'd slam yours in my face, but really: it's crazy good. I like it even when it's kind of bad, with grease pooled visibly on its surface and the spinach tasting not unpleasantly like it came out of a can, or even the kind that comes in a plasticky metallic envelope from Trader Joe's. But when it's good, it is ethereally good: outrageously rich, subtly spiced, emerald green, and deeply satisfying. Which this recipe is. It's based on one from Deborah Madison's This Can't Be Tofu! cookbook, which is not exactly my kind of cookbook, given that of course this can be tofu, silly, but still. The idea here is that you substitute tofu for the paneer, and I don't know why it works so well, but it does. Which is a great thing, given that Anni, bless her, tried to make paneer twice, and one time the paneer ended up in two-inch layer of blackness on the bottom of the Dutch oven, and another time the paneer turned out, mysteriously, to be wadded up in the elbow of the kitchen drainpipe, which we'd unscrewed because the sink had stopped draining.

Still, even with the easy tofu substitution, I need to confess to you that this is a somewhat involved recipe--not difficult, just, kind of, multi-faceted and pot-dirtying. I wouldn't feel the need to apologize if what you ended up with was a tray full of baby-back ribs (This Can't Be Ribs!), but given that the final dish is green and tofu-studded, well--you're going to have to decide for yourself. It's a no-brainer for me because everyone around here completely loves it, and so I am rewarded for my efforts by clean plates and lip-smacking. If you are more likely to be rewarded by "What's that funny smell?" and people pushing things around with forks and grimaces, then think twice.

Saag Paneer (more or less)

Serves 4-6

Total time: 45 minutes

A couple of things. One is that I've made this with both fresh and frozen spinach, and it is so much better with fresh, that I wouldn't even mention frozen, except that sometimes I really do happen to have spinach in the freezer and a carton of tofu in the fridge, and so voila, dinner. The frozen spinach doesn't lend the final dish the same brilliant shade of green and silky texture--picture something darker and stringier--but it does make a perfectly fine meal. Also, the spices: I've upped the spices here, adding both curry powder and garam masala, which is a spice mix you can find in the bulk spice section of any natural foods store. Substitute as you like or need to. Finally, that yogurt sauce is my concession to keeping the dish milder for the children; it adds a little tangy heat, which we love. Ironically, the kids now end up adding it to theirs too.

1 carton firm or soft tofu (I've used and liked both; I'm using firm tofu here)

Kosher salt (or half as much table salt for any given amount)

1 large bunch spinach, well washed (or, less ideally, 1 bag frozen spinach, thawed)

1/2 jalapeño chile, seeded and coarsely chopped (or more or less or omit altogether)

1-inch knob ginger, peeled and coarsely chopped

3 garlic cloves, coarsely chopped

1 cup diced onion

2 tablespoons butter

1 1/2  teaspoons ground cumin

½ tsp curry powder

1 teaspoon garam masala

1/8 teaspoon each nutmeg and cayenne

½-1 cup half-and-half

1/3 cup yogurt (I like Greek yogurt for this, and everything else, really)

For topping: ½ cup yogurt whirred in a food processor with 1 tablespoon of jalapenos, ½ teaspoon kosher salt, and, if you have them, some fresh mint leaves.

Dice the tofu into half-inch cubes. Bring 6 cups water to a boil, add 2 teaspoons salt and lower the heat to a simmer. Add the tofu, turn off the heat, and leave it for 5 minutes. Pour it into a colander to drain. (If you've used soft tofu, remove it with a slotted spoon so it doesn't break apart.) Set it aside.

Steam the spinach until wilted (I do this in the same pot I cooked the tofu in), then remove it to a cutting board and chop. When cool enough to handle, squeeze out the excess water.

Put the chiles, ginger, garlic, and onion in a food processor, and process until finely chopped. Heat the butter in a nonstick skillet, add the onion mixture, and cook over medium heat, stirring frequently, for 5 minutes.

Now add 1 teaspoon of salt, all the spices, and 1 cup of water. Simmer for 5 minutes, then return the mixture to the food processor (don't bother washing it in between stages), add the spinach, and puree until smooth.

Return the mixture to the skillet, add the half-and-half and the tofu, and simmer for about 5 minutes (start with the smaller amount of half and half, then add more until it seems adequately rich and creamy). Turn off the heat and stir in the yogurt. Taste for salt and re-season, then serve over rice with the yogurt topping.

I Can't Believe It's Not Pork Ribs Tofu! Oh, wait, yes I can.

You know about spinach, right? How you start with a bag that needs to be strapped to your roof with bungee cords.

And there's so, so much spinach, it has to be crammed into a ginormous pot.

And steamed, after which

you will wonder where it all went.

Onions, garlic, ginger, jalapeno.

They get whirled up in here.

And fried up in here. Yum. The cooking jalapeno burned my eyes in a good way, since it took my mind off of my eye-burning allergies. Kind of like digging a fingernail X into your mosquito bites.

Spicy!

The simmered, spiced aromatics get their turn, along with the spinach.

And then it's back to the pan with you!

I was telling Ben about the recent gender hullabaloo--those photos of the J. Crew designer's son painting his fingernails. Ben can be beautifully outraged about stereotypes like nobody else--what with his gentle convictions and compassionate wisdom--and I was looking forward to his reaction. But this time? You could just see the apolitical light-bulb over his head, you could hear the waah-waah-waah he was hearing--the sound of me still talking--and he waited patiently for me to finish before saying, "People. Sheesh. Anyway, can I get out the fingernail polish?"

Birdy's full bowl. . .

and empty bowl. I'm not kidding about how good this is.

Springing Out All Over

Lilacs, dogwood, violets, ornamental quince, snakes, peepers, bees, morels, asparagus, chives, lemon balm. Mud. Peonies pushing up out of the ground like something being born hands first. The air blowing over us all night through our gloriously pried-open windows. Long evenings that expand my personality such that instead of 45 minutes after dinner in which to be cranky before I hustle everyone to bed, I have 3 hours in which to unfurl into the season of delight. Which is spring. It just is.

For Mother's Day, I wanted to share this photograph

of my mother, who continues to be a tremendous beauty. And me, who continues to be chubby-chinned, baffled, and listing off to the side.

And these books, which I have loved of late. Please share yours too, okay? 

I love Meg Wolitzer. Her book, The Position, for example, which is a fictional account of the children of the original Joy of Sex models--those hirsute pen-and-ink drawings that you probably knew pretty well at some point. This new one, The Uncoupling, is about a town whose high school puts on the Greek play Lysistrata, about women refusing to have sex until the war ends, and how all the women in town end up refusing to have sex. (I'm not sure why I wrote that like it was a fourth-grade book report. My book was called The Uncoupling. . . ) If it sounds like you won't like it, you might not. Here's this, about twin toddlers following their mom into the bathroom: "As she sat on the toilet, both boys observed her from a critical distance of a few inches. Brant  turned to Ryan and said, "Mama sits down when she wees. She sits down." "Why?" Ryan asked. "Why you sit down, Mama?" He stepped closer and placed an open hand on her bare thigh, peering into the shadowed slice of toilet bowl between her legs. ..The boys solemnly stood and listened and appraised her wiping style, and looked between her legs like grim nineteenth-century consulting gynecologists." Just retyping that made me laugh again.

I am halfway through In Zanesville right now but I also just read Jo Ann Beard's earlier book, The Boys of My Youth, while I was waiting for In Zanesville to get to the library, and not a page went by when I didn't say, "This is the best book I ever read." "You just said that about the Meg Wolitzer book," Michael reminded me, the same way he reminds me every morning that just the day before I observed that that was the best fried egg I'd ever eaten, so what can I say. But seriously? Both books--and they're similar, in a good way--are among the truly very best books I've ever read in my whole entire life. Here's one line from the new one: "In retrospect we probably should have quit band after the parade instead of during it." Oh, wait, now I'm adding this too: "My mother's own bras are large quilted things that I used to think were funny. Now when I see them on the laundry table, one cup folded into the other, I have a sense of impending doom. It's like being on your way to the Alps and knowing that when you get there you have to wear lederhosen." She does teenaged girlhood better than anyone else I can think of--and the stuff she remembers reminds me of all the stuff I've forgotten.

Speaking of which, there's this awesomely nostalgic anthology, Crush, that you should read while listening to ACDC or Pat Benatar or Men without Hats. Not to be coy, or anything, but I have a piece in there that my editor at Ladies' Home Journal said they couldn't run because it was "way too dirty." I'm just saying.

Happy Mother's Day, oh mothers of children and pets and brilliant ideas, oh daughters and sons of mothers everywhere.

xo

Mmm Sauce

Birdy and I were in the tub recently, and she was lying lengthwise next to me, studying us. I was braced for one of her inadvertently damning bits of commentary ("My body looks like a seal's body, and yours does too, but kind of more like the grandma seal.") but instead she was wanting simply to note how her yoni crack looks just exactly like the letter Y. "But yours," she observed soberly, "looks like a martini glass. A martini glass filled with hair."

Cocktails, anyone? Mmm.

I think that ridiculousness is kind of running in the family. Michael came home from work the other day, and even as he was still staggering in through the door with all his gear, the kids and I were already gushing over the dinner we'd put aside from him. "You're going to love it!" the kids kept saying. "It's got yumm sauce and it's so, so yummy." When Michael finally took a bite and said, "This is good. Wait. What's yum sauce?" I had to explain that, well, it's based on this sauce that everybody loves at this café in Oregon, the Yumm Café, where they serve it on Yumm Bowls (hello, tarted-up beans and rice!) and, well, sure, I've never actually eaten there, or actually even heard of them before today, but my friend Katy Killilea posted a recipe on facebook and it looked so good. "Your friend Katy who?" "Oh, well, she's not, like, a real friend. I mean I don't actually know her." Which does not stop me from being entirely convinced that I would like her copycat sauce recipe from a café I've never been to.

Oh.

This is, I know, like the opposite of the chocolate cake--a recipe that is so beyond tried-and-true that I could make it in my sleep. This is instead something I made once, and loved, and then made again a few days later. Yesterday, in fact. But not until after some engrossing internet research. "OMG!" writes everyone who's ever been to Café Yumm. "We are all completely addicted to that sauce!!!!" Everyone agrees that there must be something they're doing wrong, that there must be some secret ingredient they're missing (meth?) because the sauce they're replicating is good, very good even, but not snort-it-through-a-rolled-up-dollar-bill good, even though they have the ingredients list right there. But you know what I think? One of the ingredients is "soybeans," and even though folks are soaking and boiling soybeans, folks are opening cans or steaming edame, I think that "soybeans" is code for miso. Which is where the addictiveness starts. This is my hunch, and who would know better than a person copying a copycat recipe from a friend she doesn't know who either has or hasn't been to the restaurant in question? I rest my case. There is nothing like blindfoldedly leaping on a bandwagon without an instrument.

And not only that: this is also, to be a frank, a recipe you might not like, even though I love it. It's like a cross between hummus, curried salad dressing, and a dairy-free cheese sauce: a little funky, a little strange. But it makes a perfect dinner topping and a perfect dip. And if you go to the Yumm site, you'll wonder why you didn't open your own rice-and-beans restaurant so that you, also, could be laughing all the way to the bank. Which is not to demean the project: I love rice and beans, and I love finding fantastic new ways to spin it. The Mmm Sauce does just that, making the humblest meal feel like an adventure in luxury. I put out rice and pintos, raw baby spinach and pickled jalapenos and Mmm Sauce (the sauce is so rich, I didn't feel like we needed cheese), and I let the kids top their own bowls, which they happily did. If I'd had avocado or good salsa, I would have put that out too, but still. Mmm.

Mmm Sauce

Make about a cup

Total time: 10 minutes

The web is full of attempts at this recipe, along with notes about the success (or absence thereof) of these attempts. And here's what I gather: many folks are using the wrong kind of yeast! They're using yeast yeast--the bread kind. "The top popped off the container, and the sauce foamed out all over the fridge!" they're writing. "It puffed up really huge, and I had to put it in a large bowl!" Egads! Nutritional yeast, if you've never had it, is a yellowish flaky powder sold in the bulk foods section of stores like Whole Foods, and maybe prepackaged in the natural foods section of the supermarket. It is crazy nutrient-dense (protein, B vitamins) and tastes like parmesan cheese crossed with soy sauce crossed with a multivitamin. I know. That's not the most compelling case, but there it is. Suffice it to say: if I don't feel like sharing my popcorn with Michael, I sprinkle nutritional yeast on it, and I enjoy it very much. Another note: chickpeas is an official ingredient, but I used pintos one time (I pulled them straight from the dinner we were about to eat) and white beans another. I don't think it matters very much.

¼ cup whole, raw almonds

¼ cup very hot tap water

2 tablespoons nutritional yeast

1 tablespoon mellow white miso

1 garlic clove, smashed and peeled

¼ cup lemon juice plus ½ teaspoon finely grated lemon zest

¼ cup flavorless vegetable oil, such as canola

¼ cup canned or cooked beans, drained (white beans, pintos, garbanzos. . .)

½ teaspoon kosher salt (or half as much table salt)

¼ teaspoon curry powder, plus more to taste

Soak the almonds in the hot water while you assemble and prepare the rest of the ingredients. Now whirr everything together in a food processor, running it until the sauce is very smooth. Taste for seasoning: it should have a lemony kick, a salty richness, a faint whiff of curry and a big hit of more more more (aka umami) from the miso. Serve as a sauce, salad dressing, or dip.

These are some of the ingredients.

Also these. I thought soaking the almonds would make the sauce creamier, but it is not a scientific study as there was no control group.

Beans. Nothing like a bean sauce for topping beans. Ha ha.

Miso. I think that red miso would be too strong for this. If you don't have miso, use soy sauce and see how it goes.

Curry powder. Even though all the online approximations of this recipe call for it, I was kind of dubious. But when I tried omitting it the second time, the sauce didn't taste as good, so I put it back in. Yumm fans allege that there are green specks in the Yumm sauce, but I did not add any herbs to mine.

The Lemonator.

Before mxing. Note the flakey nutritional yeast.

And after. The texture is great: silky and creamy, and just a little nubbed from the almonds.

Mmm Bowl fixings. Mmm.

And fixed. This is not a beauty shot, but it still appeals to me.

Yummy Kid #1, eating.

And Yummy Kid #2, with dinner and pink monkey.

Last night I made this to bring to dinner with friends, and there was not a single yummy drop of sauce left afterwards.

ChopChop Winner and Morning Song

Dear Ones,

I know I don't need to tell you how that flood of ChopChop subscriptions made me feel. You've got my back is all I can say. Thank you--for your faith and your gladness and your investment and also your delicious feistiness. "Some of your readers already wrote to me," my new editor told me, and I had to laugh. "I know," I said. "They're like that." I love that. I'm going to start writing some Cooking with Ben columns over there soon, and I'll post links here. I'll still be doing Monday food here too. But blah-blah, you're thinking, did I win or what? And if you're craftsister, well then, yes, yes you did. (I did random number generator, which is always fun.) But, dear craftsister, what is it that you would like to win? Email me your address and your wish, and I will get right to it. Thank you all so much for subscribing. ChopChop was seriously impressed by the ferocity of subscription orders.

Now, Morning Song.

This is my friend Susan's book, and it's a poetry anthology for new parents, and it came out just this week. It is such a heartbreaking, breathtaking collection--you will just die, even if "new" does not best describe your relationship to parenting. (God, what was it, a million years ago that Ben was born?) It's got Billy Collins and Emily Dickinson, Sharon Olds and Kevin Young, William Blake and Patti Smith, among scores of other old favorites and new-to-me wonders. I loved it--as I mentioned exceedingly effusively in my blurb, which runs {modest shrug} among blurbs by Richard Wilbur, Tracy Kidder, and Mary Oliver. Seriously. I kind of think that consistutes my ten minutes of fame, even if it's just the teensliest bit vicarious. Susan's daughter is one of my best friends from college, and I have quite robustly insinuated myself into their family in the way of wannabe children everywhere, so when I saw Susan last night, and gushed not about her incredibe new book but instead about my own fame-by-blurb-association joy, her eyes crinkled up with maternal love, in just the way you'd want the eyes of an editor of poetry for new parents to crinkle up.

Mother's Day. Baby Showers. I'm telling you. We've got our new perfect gift. There are so many poems in the book that kill me, and maybe it's because Birdy is 8, but this one is especially killing me right now.

To a Daughter Leaving Home
by Linda Pastan

When I taught you
at eight to ride
a bicycle, loping along
beside you
as you wobbled away
on two round wheels,
my own mouth rounding
in surprise when you pulled
ahead down the curved
path of the park,
I kept waiting
for the thud
of your crash as I
sprinted to catch up,
while you grew
smaller, more breakable
with distance,
pumping, pumping
for your life, screaming
with laughter,
the hair flapping
behind you like a
handkerchief waving
goodbye.

Enjoy your weekend, darlings.

xo

Ocular Proof

Wow. I wasn't kidding about our history with that cake. I flipped through an old photo album, and found these. The backwards Act-Up baseball cap makes me think 1994--I'm not sure why I'm being presented with half a cake, but something tells me we'd already eaten the other half. And then the other one's got to be 1999, since I'm pregnant with Ben. Hello, ancient Brazilian Chocolate Cake relics!