40 Days of Macrobiotics: Day 9

The beet is the most intense of vegetables. The radish, admittedly, is more feverish, but the fire of the radish is a cold fire, the fire of discontent, not of passion. Tomatoes are lusty enough, yet there runs through tomatoes an undercurrent of frivolity. Beets are deadly serious.
~ Tom Robbins

Tonight's macro dinner brought to you by the lowly beet.  Actually, tonight's dinner was three shades of  purple now that I think about it.  Purple cabbage, red onion [which is really purple], and beets [which are red, I know, but purple-y red].  I mixed in spinach, garlic, the ever present yellow curry, and a couple pinches of salt.  The result was a lush, earthy mix that was also quite heavenly. 

Last night I soaked about 4 cups of black beans.  The ebony lovelies cooked up well in vegetable broth and spring water and a few cloves of garlic.  Once they were tender, I added them to a pan of brown rice ~ which I had cooked last night, and lightly stir-fried them.  With the purple veggie mix on top, it was just what the macro doctor ordered ~ and I didn't miss the meat this time.  Yay me!

I felt so great I hopped on the treadmill for a bit.  I have not developed the runner's high yet, so when I work out, I still get pleasantly stretched and sleepy.  Which is good, because I'm still adjusting to "springing forward!"

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

An Abbey Poetry Party

The act of putting pen to paper encourages pause for thought,

this in turn makes us think more deeply about life,

which helps us regain our equilibrium. 

~ Norbet Platt

It's a poetry party and you're inivited!  Christine Valters Painter at Abbey of the Arts is hosting a poetry party and you're invited!  I just discovered Christine's beautiful and peaceful blog.  It is like a virtual meditation garden!  Thank you for hosting, Christine!

My contribution to the party:

Green blades, tiny

Strong from the struggle,

the primal desire

to catch the caress of the sun

if only for a few hours,

finally push their way through earth’s jealous heart.

© March 2011 Mikaela D’Eigh

Happy [almost] spring writing!

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

40 Days of Macrobiotics: Day 8

What most moved him was a certain meal on beans.

~  Robert Browning

I have been seduced by the bean. 

Sitting at my desk with my lunch of last night’s brown rice, catfish and other various bits of macro edibles, I wondered why the passion was gone after only eight days.  I have no intention of leaving brown rice ~ I am fully committed to this relationship.  But for some reason, the catfish creation thang ain’t got that swing ~ at least not today.



photo from Indra at http://www.scribblingpad.com/

And then it struck me like a kitchen cabinet door left open.  No beans in this dish.  When I made dinner on Monday night, it was sublime.  There was no hesitation, no dutiful must-eat-to-stay-alive grimace ~ you dove right in for seconds.  And the only difference is that little dish had kidney beans and this little dish has none. Waah! So tonight’s dinner will have to include beans, most definitely.

And my CSA box is being delivered tonight ~ a fresh box of culinary possibilities.  Fresh squeezed orange and grapefruit juice for breakfast tomorrow ~ hurrah!

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

40 Days of Macrobiotics: Day 7

The trick is making memory a blessing,
To learn by loss the cool subtraction of desire,
Of wanting nothing more than what has been,
To know the past forever lost, yet seeing
Behind the wall a garden still in blossom.
~ Dana Gioia

Maybe it is the amount of brown rice I have been eating the past seven days. Or perhaps it is the act of writing about eating brown rice for the past seven days. Whichever it is, my writerly Muse is on a roll.  Today I followed some tips from my virtual mentors over at Write to Done and re-worked a poem I wrote a few weeks ago. 

My first exercise was to highlight all the nouns and verbs in any poem and replace them with synonyms.  I chose Dana Gioia's The Lost Garden because it is a favorite of mine.  It was a strange but interesting exercise.  It made me more aware of word choice and how important an extensive vocabulary is to a writer.  Then Sullivan suggested I change something in each line that shifted the focus of the poem.  By the time I was finished, I had a very cool poem about loss and decay [what can I say, I am a melancholic at heart] and also had several original lines and word couplings that I saved for future creative use.

So, thank you, faithful readers for embracing my Muse.  And thank you, brown rice, for waking her up!

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

P.S. Dinner was...dun du da...brown rice with catfish, kale, garlic, green onions and purple cabbage. Mmm!

40 Days of Macrobiotics: Day 6

Writing is a struggle against silence. 
~ Carlos Fuentes
Last month I confessed my obsession with the perfect phrase.  I resolved to write more, even if the end product was not as "perfect" as I thought it could be.  But like most sinners ~ or wayward writers ~ my good intentions dissolved and I fell into the two cardinal sins of writers: procrastination and laziness.

The only way to get over a bad habit [not writing enough] one must practice the opposite good habit [writing more] for at least thirty days.   For me, this means writing every day.  So six days ago, I embarked on a Lenten journey of eating only whole grains and vegetables and resolved to blog about my culinary adventure.  By doing so, I take my confession a step further.  Not so much by doing penance as making amends for all the posts, poetry, prose and lyrics that never saw the light of the computer monitor because they were not profound or perfect enough. 

My macrobiotic venture is about more than food or healthy living.  It is about being accountable: to both myself as a writer and to you, my readers. And being the lazy, procrastinating writer that I am means I need a good excuse to do that.  Hence, for the next forty days I have a built-in excuse. 

Perfect.

Except…..what in the world do I write about today?  I am not cooking tonight because I was so good and did most of my cooking yesterday.  Panic ensues.  Fingers freeze, waiting for brilliance to drip from my pen.  And only....silence.

Don’t get me wrong.  Silence can be healing.  A chance to grow closer to God [or whatever name you give to the Infinite Other or Higher Power].  An opportunity to dig deeper into why we do the things we do or react the way we do.  But the point of silence is growth outward. 

And then I remembered: another point of silence is patience.  Sometimes the fruit needs to stay on the vine a little longer for the wine to be sweeter.  In my case, I just needed to mull things over on the commute home and stand in my kitchen for a nano-second for the rest of this post to pop in my frying pan ~ literally.  Yes, I was good yesterday ~ I cooked enough for myself for the next three days. 

But I was going to my book group tonight and as everyone knows, you cannot read a book with a group of your girlfriends without having food be a part of the mix!  But now that I am macro, how was this going to work?  They were used to me bringing fried chicken and chocolate!  Even I have to admit that next to that, brown rice sounds as exciting as a trip to gastroenterologist. [Which you will have to do a lot of if you do NOT eat enough brown rice, by the way.]

In the end, I made a brown rice, kidney bean, garlic and onion dish with a dash of Cajun spices and yellow curry and let the dish speak for itself.  They oohed and ahhed over it and even my friend who is a picky eater went back for thirds.  They may grow tired of hearing about the macro way of eating, but they won't get tired of eating my macro creations!  Ahhh ~ it is good to know I have not lost my culinary "wow" factor.

Or the ability to make the ink dance across a page.

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

40 Days of Macrobiotics: Day 5

Cooking is an art, but you eat it too.
~ Marcella Hazan

Yesterday I was a busy macro chick:  buying medium grain brown rice, kasha, aduki beans, and black beans, along with kale, cabbage, fennel, onions and fresh fruit.  Mmmm!  I was also a little naughty: six bottles of wine from Best Cellars.  What?!  It goes well with whole grains! 

Sullivan also come by and we spent the afternoon writing, then it was off to a music jam party.  Music and writing ~ my two passions.  [Along with cooking of course.] It felt good to be using both talents again.  Hence, no post yesterday. 

Today's task was to make good macro food for the week.  First, I made a huge pot of brown rice.  Then I sauteed some fresh kale with garlic, green onions, purple cabbage, pepper, a dash of curry [one of my favorite spices ~ have I mentioned that?] and a little sea salt.  I also fried up some catfish [minus the breading] with fresh squeezed lemon and lime juice. 

In another pan, I browned chopped andouille chicken sausage for a special treat and mixed in some more kale, garlic and the now cooked brown rice.  Don't knock until you try it.  So mission sort of accomplished: enough for three lunches and one dinner.  Wednesday, my CSA box from Washington Green Grocer arrives, so there will be time to make more lunches and dinners fresh from the farm.  Yay!

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

40 Days of Macrobiotics: Day 3

I am nice.  I am. . . .rice.
~ Jessica Porter

Day 3 was not nearly as exciting as Days 1 and 2.  My rice and peppers lunch stared back at me soullessly.  I stared back, daring it to make my culinary heart go pitter-pat.  It did not.  Thankfully, I had just juiced some fresh oranges, grapefruit, and apples.  Ahhh! Bliss returns! And the organic sugar scrub I made from the pulp?!  Let's just say I had a great shower and leave it at that!

For dinner I added black beans to the mix and made a Cuban-style black beans and rice dish.  Much more exciting than lunch!  I think I failed to put enough spice in before.  I am not quite rice yet.  But then I am still struggling to figure out my place on this journey to more whole foods.  One change I have noticed already: I have not been tempted to eat out of mere boredom.  This is due in part to it being Lent, but also I am more conscious of what goes into my body.  I also felt more in tune with my surroundings today.  Cool.

* * * * *

Ugh.  I just found out that peppers are considered a deadly nightshade, along with . . . . potatoes?!?!  NOOOOOOO!!!!  What the heck?!  Must read more about this.  More later!

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

Prayers for the Victims of the Pacific Earthquake and Tsunami

Just wanted to add my words of support and comfort to all the victims of the tsunami in Japan and surrounding countries.

Our prayers are with you.
~ Mikaela

40 Days of Macrobiotics: Day 2

The greatest delight the fields and woods minister is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable.  I am not alone and unacknowledged.  They nod to me and I to them. 
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

I confess....to eating....white rice.  [Gah!]  But at least it wasn't pasta or ~ mortal sin ~ white bread!

Honestly, I was so sure I had another bag of yummy brown rice in my cupboard.  On the bus ride home, I thought it of sitting there, eagerly awaiting my culinary ministrations.  My body grew excited thinking about the wholesome grain-ness of it and my brain sighed a grand sigh for the energy and pleasure to come.  And then to come home and NO BROWN RICE to be found!  Oh!  The ever lovin' tragedy of it all!

My one saving grace was that I did have some white jasmine rice ~ evidence of my wild and crazy white-flour-energy-crashing-sapping days.  My culinary culpability was lessened when I chopped up some fresh mini sweet peppers, a yellow onion, 3 cloves of garlic and some fresh spinach and sauteed it in olive oil. [It's still winter....ish.  So oil is okay.]  Once the rice was cooked, I put some in with the now sauteed veggies and stirred it all together, added some yellow curry and voila! 

When I tell you this concoction was outrageously awesome, I know you won't believe me.  But you can ask my housemate.  She was in the kitchen juicing some green peppers, tomatoes, celery, and carrots ~ nectar of the gods! ~ and kept looking into the dining room and laughing at my moans of foodie rapture.  She finally asked to try some and could only say: "Oh wow.  That is some good stuff!"  I also had some chicken [free range of course] because it needed to be cooked, and a few spoons of lentils ~ also with a healthy sprinkling of curry and some sea salt. 

I cannot wait until tomorrow when I can have left over rice and rainbow pepper goodness.  And never fear, for my penance, a brisk walk to the grocery store for a huge bag of brown rice is in order so I can be a good little macrobiotic chick. 

Seriously.  You need to try some!

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

40 Days of Macrobiotics: Intro and Day One

Cooking is like love, it should be entered into with abandon or not at all.

~ Harriet van Horne

Well, that is how I am approaching my Lenten fast this year anyway.  A friend of mine lent [ha ha] a book on the macrobiotic way of eating.  A foodie with a gluten and dairy sensitivity is a sad foodie indeed, but I have to say I have learned to cope, and without feeling too deprived.  Indeed, I have discovered that there are many ways to make chicken, chili and even ice cream without leaning on the crutches of gluten and milk products.  [Although I have yet to tackle the goddess of all dairy-filled desserts: crème brulee.  I feel sure Brillat-Savarin would roll over in his grave if I did!]

But living on brown rice and vegetables for the next 40 days?  Mikaela, you must be crazy.  I know, dear reader.  However, I decided I had nothing to lose by trying this new way of seeing and eating my food.  Anyway, Jessica Porter's The Hip Chick’s Guide to Macrobiotics makes it seem like a real hoot.  [When one isn’t craving naughty things like crème brulee and pretty much anything else that’s tasty.]

Actually, scratch that last comment.  I love brown rice.  It has a nutty flavor and crunch that blah white rice lacks.  Not to mention that it’s more natural.  White rice is brown rice, by the way ~ but with everything exciting about it stripped away.

So for the next 40 days or so [heavy emphasis on the “or so” given my procrastination and abandonment track record here], I will let you know how my efforts to become a macrobiotic foodie turn out.  So check back often. [Or every so often...]

* * * * *

Day One – Ash Wednesday: Difficult today since really can’t eat much of anything.  This is more due to the fact that I did not plan well the night before and consequently only had a banana to eat for lunch at work [I gave up going out to eat too ~ restaurants are not known for serving brown rice dishes and organic veggies!  Except maybe Founding Farmers, but I digress…]

For dinner however, I bounced back with brown gaba rice, beautiful, fresh organic kale [thank you Washington Green Grocer!] and a couple of potatoes [I know! Sin!] in olive oil.  Not sure about that last.  Have to read Jessica more to see where she stands on olive oil.  Woo hoo!  Down 1, 40 more to go!

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

The Perfect and the Real

A man would do nothing if he waited until he could do it so well that no one could find fault.
~ John Henry Newman

What is it they say about good intentions? They make up the pavers on the road to Hell...yes, I know that one. Or maybe I am thinking of the best laid plans of mice and men? Well, anyway. It is always my intention and my resolution, to write more. Such a broad goal. What does it really mean, to write more? I certainly have been writing more personal letters and I journal quite a bit.

But usually when I state that I wish to write more, I mean in the public forum. Either here or having a fiction or non-fiction piece published. Yet weeks go by and there is. . . .nothing. Silence. A blank page. The pen waits to be picked up and goes dry in the waiting. Yet, like Lord Byron, I must write or go mad. So why the empty space?

Perfectionism is the mortar of writers' block. I do not obsess over proper grammar or words spelled correctly. Those are necessary to give form and structure to beauty and thought, but that is what Sullivan and other editors are for. Instead, I agonize over word paintings, the perfect analogy, a poetic turn of phrase, whether a line is a good "hook" for my readers.

Even more, I wonder about my readers. Will they "get it?" Translation: will they "get" me? As with all artists, the writer pours himself out in his art ~ there in bloody black and white for all to see. Once the words are on the page and published, there is no going back. Est quid est. Perhaps it is just me, but I believe that iNtuitive Feelers such as myself suffer more from this angst than other personality types. Somehow, we cannot divorce our art from ourselves.

This means that our art flows directly from our soul. It is real. It is painful. It is achingly beautiful. But it is truly our blood and bone, heart and sinew. And so if we fail to reach someone; if the observer fails to "get" us or the beauty or idea we are trying to convey, it is like singing in a darkened theatre. You put everything into your performance and the lights go on afterwards and instead of the attentive audience you thought was there, there is only empty space. Or worse, empty stares. I would prefer open and engaging criticism of my art rather than an blank indifference or mere tolerance. Neither engages the artist or the art he creates. It negates him and his gift.

Yet, for all that, to be real, to be authentic, is the most important thing for this artist. To shy away neither from the morbid, the painful, the brokenness, the wounds, nor the ecstasy, the joy, and the sheer love of being. And if some cannot understand, cannot hear the song or are indifferent to its beauty or obsessed with its imperfections, I cannot stop. I must continue to ply my art and hope that beauty that is real and imperfect and quirky will light the fire of warmth and illumination in some soul.

Here's to that great intention of writing more and overcoming my obsession with perfection.

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

I'm Dreaming of a Dysfunctional Christmas

Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childish days; that can recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth;
that can transport the sailor and the traveler, thousands of miles away,
back to his own fire-side and his quiet home!
~ Charles Dickens, The Pickwick Papers, 1836

One of the “delusions of our childish days” is that everything will remain the same: we will always have snow on Christmas morning, there will always be a freshly cut pine to decorate, the fire will always be lit, the ham will always be coming right out of the oven when we walk through the door and no one ages ~ the entire family will always gather together this time of year.

Then one day you realize that your parents have more white in their hair then you remember [and you have a few strands yourself!]. Your siblings cannot make it for Christmas because they live too far away or they have to work the next day. The Christmas tree is plastic because your father is frail and your mother is too tired. Christmas dinner has to be hosted in the city because your tired mother is terrified of being snowed in with your frail father with no way to get to the hospital in case of an emergency. And it hits you how precious and limited our time together is.

When I first began writing this post, I thought “what a strange time of the year to be meditating on grief and loss and the blues!” But given the huge burden that so many carry around during the holidays, it’s not so strange at all. No family is picture perfect ~ most are dysfunctional, if not downright psychotic! Yet a good many of us spend three hundred and forty-one days of the year either ignoring or denying that fact. Something inside of us hungers for the security and comfort of unconditional love and the warmth of human contact. The hunger is there all year long, lying dormant, controlled or suppressed. But it becomes unbearable during those twenty-four days in December leading up to Christmas Day ~ the season of unconditional love and family.

Grief is an awkward and ungainly emotion, no matter what time of year it is. And somehow our society has this mistaken notion that grief is related only to death. But there are many types of death and loss: the death of a relationship; of hopes and dreams; the loss of a job; the loss of normalcy; even the death of denial [which though painful, is healthy].

The family member of a dear friend of mine was a tragic accident a couple of months ago. He ended up losing part of his right leg. The family is now dealing with rounds of surgeries, decisions about long term care. And my friend is grief-stricken. She is mourning the loss of a normal life for her family and possibly herself. She is mourning the loss of a traditional family Christmas. Instead, they will be celebrating Christmas in the rehab hospital. And it’s all very well to say what a great miracle it is that he’s alive, etc, etc. There is still a loss to be mourned!

One of the biggest complaints of the grief stricken is that friends and family act strained around them, don't bring up the cause of the grief for fear of giving offense or making the grief worse, and some ignore them completely out of awkwardness. When one is grieving, just be there. Even if you do nothing but sit in silence with your friend, they understand and feel your care and concern.

Sometimes we get caught up in our Christmas dramas. We forget that one of the surest ways to assuage our own hunger for unconditional love is to feed someone else’s. [Therapy is another way, but more on that in a later post!] So in the midst of my grief that this might be my father’s last Christmas [although I pray it is not!], and my pique at not spending Christmas in the country with the entire family, I am going to see my friend. We will bake cookies, decorate a tree and hopefully bring some sanity to her insane world of doctors and rehab and family dysfunction. If there is one thing I have learned this year it is that unconditional love is the gift that eventually gets returned. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

May your Christmas be filled with joy, peace and unconditional love!
~ Mikaela

The Art of Letters

Because sending a letter is the next best thing to showing up personally at someone's door.
~ Brett McKay

Recently I joined The Letter Exchange. It has been a wonderful experience thus far ~ I have several new correspondents. This evening I was answering a couple of their letters and I casually browsed the 'net for more on my favorite subject. I came across two delightful websites, each with an old post about the lost art of letter writing. My dears ~ do visit The Art of Manliness and Red Ravine ~ both are absolutely inviting!

All I can say is that Kate McKay is one blessed lady! They do not make gentlemen like Brett McKay anymore. Well, actually, they do...for there he is! Are there any more like him out there? Good heavens, gents, stand up and be counted ~ and drop me a line! ;)

Now off to finish my correspondence.

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

It's a Commercial Christmas, Charlie Brown

Look, Charlie, let's face it. We all know that Christmas is a big commercial racket.
~ Lucy Van Pelt, A Charlie Brown Christmas

I think Charlie Brown would fall over in a dead faint if he could see how truly commercial the holiday season has become. Now I remember why I have avoided shopping malls for the past few years. I feel sorry for the sales people and am a push-over for a good sales pitch ~ a combination which puts retail companies in the black and me in the red. I should leave my wallet at home!

A friend and I were discussing how simpler Christmas shopping was when we were younger. Ten to fifteen years ago, there were only four large shopping malls to choose from here in the greater D.C. area, and most of our shopping was done at local stores in real yet quaint historic downtowns. And that was fine. We were satisfied. We didn’t feel deprived, we didn’t feel rushed and the gifts we gave and received were unique and personal; chosen with love and care and opened with genuine joy and thanks. [Yes, even the socks!]

Now, everything is gargantuan; the large shopping malls of fifteen years ago seem small and paltry compared to the ones that take up several city blocks. The stores have become like some macabre side show: each trying to entice shoppers with their Black Friday and Cyber Monday deals. “50% off!” “Free shipping today only! Buy now!” And all the commercial hoopla has increased at an exponential rate. Seriously ~ it really was not this harsh fifteen years ago. But what is truly frightening are the attitudes that have crept into our souls, in part, as a result of it.

For one thing, gifts are impersonal: “tell me what you want or I’ll just get a gift card so you can get what you want.” Not to toot my own horn, but most people enjoy my gifts because I take the time throughout the year to listen to them, dialogue with them. Inevitably I found out what their likes and dislikes are; what new hobby has intrigued them; what they wish they had. I listen and remember and usually I find something that is uniquely them [and within my budget.]

Not so with most people. There is no interpersonal dialogue. In our super-techie world, we have gained the ability to talk to anyone, anywhere and in a myriad of ways. But we have lost the ability to communicate, to connect, to be intimate. Technology is only partly to blame ~ the human psyche in pain will always find ways to hide, ignore or run away from itself and those that cause it pain, real or imagined. [More on that later.]

The second attitude is truly insidious: if you can’t find something at one store, you can drive all over creation to another big mall and look for it there. Even if you do find it, there is something inside that says: “I bet I could get it for less at such-and-such a place.” And the reason this attitude is so wretched is that it has crept outside of the retail boundaries and into our personal lives. “Well, this was fun, but you bore me now; I’m going to look and see if I can find a better “deal” somewhere else.” “Someone better might come along, so why commit now?” Or my personal favorite as a hostess: “There are so many events happening that day ~ I’ll wait to RSVP until I decide which one offers me a better networking / dating / fun venue.”

Both attitudes lead to dissatisfaction and aimlessness. At some point, you have to make a choice, you have to make a decision. If you keep wandering around looking for a better “deal” and never commit to anything, you wind up with nothing.

This holiday season, stop running around looking for “a better deal.” Unplug, unwind and truly listen to your loved ones. The gift of intimacy and reciprocity ~ your emotional and physical presence ~ is the gift that is wanted and remembered most.

And the one you need returned the most. :)

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

Heritage Turkeys: A Breed to be Thankful For

Cooking is one of the oldest arts and one which has rendered us the most important service in civic life.
~ Jean-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin

‘Tis the season for eating. Starting with today’s groaning buffet table ~ loaded with a perfectly basted turkey, butter and cream mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, bacon-sauteed green beans and pumpkin pie ~ there is something about this time of year that makes even this serious foodie extra gleeful.

And this in spite of developing an intolerance for dairy products of any kind! But just because I can’t eat it, doesn’t mean I no longer cook it. After all, a real chef does not live to cook just for herself ~ although I confess there have been times I have bought and prepared and eaten in luscious solitude some delectable items that most of my friends would not have appreciated fully.

Generally speaking, however, this time of year is about practicing the culinary arts in order to feed others. Honestly, I can’t get that excited over a melt-in-your-mouth tenderloin unless someone else is there to eat and moan over it with me. Good eating is a lot like love or sex ~ meant to be shared with someone in order to reach maximum pleasure and emotional health and growth. Doing either alone is just. . .well, sad.

So what did you serve today? Turkey? Ham? Roast goose? A Filipino friend of mine and his family had salmon for their Thanksgiving dinner. My family usually has both a turkey and a ham. As a foodie who is also into sustainable and organic living, I constantly research and read up on sustainable agriculture and what products to avoid in the supermarket when I can’t buy from local farms. This year, I found out some horrific facts about turkeys. And although you have already bought yours and are busy consuming it, I hope that you might think twice before cooking a turkey for Christmas.

Have you heard of Heritage Turkeys? Aha! Didn’t think so. Neither had I ~ until I read an article in the Boston Herald online. It profiled a couple of Heritage Turkey farmers in the northeast and provided some interesting and horrifying facts about the turkeys that will be gracing the majority of American tables today.

“The American Livestock Breeds Conservancy, an organization devoted to preserving historic breeds of farm animals, defines a heritage turkey as one that grows slower, lives longer and — perhaps most importantly — can mate on its own without human intervention, something the mass-produced turkey can no longer do.”

Wait. Did you just say that the turkey we are eating today can’t mate on its own anymore? That’s right. Since the 1960s, the Broad Breasted White turkey has been genetically engineered to produce large amounts of white meat in a short amount of time: Broad Breasted Whites mature in half the time of Heritage breeds. And since they are mass-produced, most aren’t organic or free range. Well, how could they be ~ they can no longer run or fly, much less mate!

Forgive me, I have a great respect for science, but not when it plays with my food. An animal whose very genetic make-up has been messed around with so that it is essentially trapped in its own body and can’t even reproduce on its own is just plain wrong, not to mention unpalatable. Fortunately, a stalwart minority of turkey breeders were rescued from the Matrix and are now working hard to bring back the Heritage breeds: Narragansett, Bourbon Red and the Standard Bronze to name a few. Because of them, these breeds are experiencing resurgence.

But the real test is in the eating. I for one will be ordering a heritage turkey for my 2011 Thanksgiving feast and I hope you will too. Visit Heritage Turkey Foundation, Heritage Food USA and the American Livestock Breeds Conservancy for more information.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

The Seventh Annual St. Cecilia Arts Festival: The Party's Over





St. Cecilia, Matthew Alderman



For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.

~ Romans 7:15
St. Paul was a smart cookie. The evil I did this morning that I did not want to do was wake up at 7am ~ after going to bed at 2:30am. How my exhausted body managed this feat, I have no earthly notion. Yet here I sit, a mug of spiced herbal tea in my hand, watching the sun pour his honeyed essence through the windows.

Last night was a great success. Over one hundred forty guests attended the Seventh Annual St. Cecilia Arts Festival in Old Towne Alexandria and we put on quite a show for them. Faure, Bach, Broadway show tunes, poetry readings, comedic monologues, Monty Python, even a couple of Polish nightclub art songs.

The highlight was our Featured Artist: Michelle Jacobeen. Not only does Michelle have an incredible voice -- strong, passionate, and lyrical -- but she has a wonderful stage presence and an engaging personality that reached out to the audience and won them over. My favorite was Taylor, The Latte Boy. While not a Broadway tune per se, it reminded me of Adelaide’s Lament from Guys and Dolls. "Bring me java, bring me joy!" Ah yes, young love. What a hoot!

Now, I see you tapping your foot and asking “That’s all very nice, Mikaela, but what food did you serve!?” Fair enough. Some of the recipes you are already familiar with: Bacon-Wrapped Dates, Rum, Whisky and Baileys Chocolate Truffles. They have become standards and I cannot escape from having to make them. I tried, but one of my volunteers refused to help out until I promised they would be attendance!

This year, we added chicken skewers. Every other event where I have had them the chicken was dry and almost always served with peanut sauce. Zzzzzzz. Oh, I am sorry ~ where was I? Oh yes, boring chicken. Well, this year I decided to make up my own recipe. I wanted to do a Southern Fried Chicken Skewers [with fried okra in between ~ mmmm!] but my Assistant Caterer laughed at me. Sigh ~ yankees will never understand the sweet siren call of okra!

Instead, I opted to cut up the chicken into bite-size chunks and marinate them in basil, tarragon and wine. In between I placed mushrooms, roasted red peppers, sun dried tomatoes and artichoke hearts. Heaven on a bamboo stick!

This year, we served our now traditional Cranberry Punch, along with Warm Spiced Cider. A new addition were four wines from Loudon Valley Vineyards. A few close friends and I had made a day trip out to Virginia Horse and Wine Country. One of the wineries we stopped by was Loudon Valley. The 2009 Route 9 Red was fabulous, as were the 2008 Classic White and the 2008 Viognier. And the 2005 Legacy after dinner wine is a luxurious mix of musty oak and dark cherries.

For dessert, in addition to the tipsy truffles and miniature pumpkin pies, my friend Leslie, who is an incredible baker, brought three delectable type of cupcakes: Lavender Lemon Vanilla Crème, S’Mores and Salted Chocolate Caramel. And no, she doesn’t bake for a living, so your only hope is to either be her good friend or attend next year’s Arts Festival. Mark your calendars now for 19 November 2011!

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

P.S. Seriously, I am going to make the Southern version just for myself this weekend! What do you suggest with the okra - hush puppies? Corn fritters? The possibilities are endless! Cheers!

The Seventh Annual St. Cecilia Arts Festival: Get Your Tickets Now!

Life beats down and crushes the soul and art reminds you that you have one.
~ Stella Adler

Only 24 days until the Seventh Annual St. Cecilia’s Arts Festival!! Broadway show tunes, classical harp, opera, original music, poetry, and of course, everyone’s favorite – Monty Python skits!

Joining us this year as our Featured Artist is Michelle Jacobeen. Michelle performed the much acclaimed Girl in 14G at the St. Cecilia Arts Festival in 2009 and is a gifted and versatile mezzo-soprano. She received a Bachelor's in Music from The Catholic University of America and has also attended the London Dramatic Academy. She has performed in many musicals, operas, choirs, jazz bands, a cappella groups, weddings and as a featured soloist at the Kennedy Center.

Thanks to Father Klienmann and Marianne Skees of the Saint Mary’s Young Adults for allowing us to partner with them again so we can bring this popular cultural event back to the St. Mary’s Lyceum, 313 Duke Street in Alexandria, Virginia.

Tickets are on sale now through November 12 at The Saint Cecilia Group.

Please note: Doors open at 7:15pm and the show begins at 7:30pm. Seating is on a first-come, first-serve basis; no seating before 7:15pm.

If you have any questions, please feel free to email the Artistic Director of The Saint Cecilia Group at Director (at) saintceciliagroup (dot) org.

Thank you so much for supporting local and regional talent! Your truly will be performing with a couple of English blockes and a dead parrot.

Looking forward to seeing y’all on the 20th!

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

Off the Shelf: A Thousand Days in Venice

When we no longer have good cooking in the world, we will have no literature, nor high and sharp intelligence, nor friendly gatherings, no social harmony.
~ Marie-Antoine Carême

Rain knocks insistently on my bedroom windows and thunder shakes the house. I curl deeper into the thick, cotton counterpane as lightening illuminates the pages of A Thousand Days in Venice. I had purchased it awhile ago until, distracted by life and other books, I put it aside and forgot all about it. Armed with more time and opportunity to read on my commute, and a kinder work schedule, I picked it up again and promptly fell in love all over again with Marlena de Blasi’s romance with Venice, its food and her life with a blueberry-eyed Venetian.

She writes with a comfortable passion ~ one that swells and sighs with the rhythm of every day life in Venice. Her description of the farmers’ market in Rialto is especially captivating. She walks “under a tunnel and out into the ruga, stepping directly into the dazzle of the market” and I step out with her, shielding my eyes against the morning sun. As she makes her way past the stalls, I feel the hot Venetian sun on my face and hear the sounds of the market all around me. The hypnotic rhythm of the rain outside my window fades into the background and I halt with Marlena

. . . in front of a table so sumptuously laid as to be waiting for Caravaggio. I move slowly, touching when I dare, trying a smile now and then. . . .I walk to the pescheria, fish market, a clamorous hall full of the stinging, dizzying perfumes of sea salt and fish blood. . . .I look in on the macellerie, butchers, who are cutting nearly transparent steaks behind their macabre curtains of rabbits, wild and tame. . . .

Earlier in the book Marlena talks about her frustration in understanding her Fernando and his Venetian ways: he cannot understand her need, her intense desire, to cook. After a scrumptious meal that includes batter-dipped squash blossoms, stuffed breast of veal braised in white wine, chilled yellow tomato soup with a wedge of Taleggio and a dessert of white figs and Maggion meringues, he says:

You mustn’t think I expect you to set a table like this each evening. . . I’m not telling you not to cook. . .What I’m saying is that your idea of everyday cooking is my idea of festival cooking. . . .Why is it so peculiar that I want to cook, really cook, every day?. . I cook because I love to cook. . . .

It has been months since I cooked a full five or six course dinner. Working a regular nine to five job and having a life just do not leave much time for “festival cooking.” And I certainly had not felt like cooking even a three course dinner for just myself.

Reading A Thousand Days re-awoke long buried desire. The very act of cooking brings me great joy, but in order for that joy to be fully realized, I have to cook for someone. My friend JB [a 3rd year law student] and his wife wanted to meet a UVA 1st year law student to swap stories and clerkship advice. Ah! A perfect excuse to cook! After much inner debate, I came up with the following Dinner for Eight:

Prosciutto & Melon
Feral Boar Prosciutto, local cantaloupe

Corn & Crab Chowder
Local sweet corn, Chesapeake Bay crabs

Heirloom Tomato Salad
Fresh, locally picked heirloom tomatoes, goat’s milk, pine nuts,
drizzled with lemon-basil dressing

Filet Mignon
Organic beef sautéed in a sherry and mushroom butter sauce, served with garlic mashed potatoes and asparagus

Lemon-Ginger & Mojito Sorbets
with ginger thins

All ingredients came from the local farmers’ market, Whole Foods, and America Seafood, a local seafood shop ~ all organic and fresh. The scent of the small cantaloupes was an intoxicating mixture ~ musky, earthy, sunny, ripe. The just picked heirloom tomatoes from Lois Produce practically burst their skin to get at the lemon-basil dressing I made from scratch ~ and no wonder! I have not seen basil plants grow so beautiful and bushy ~ especially amazing given how dry and hot this summer has been so far. I bought enough to make a mountain of pesto ~ my favorite summer dish. At the Mushroom Stand, I picked Honey Mushrooms purely for their looks [so shallow, I know!] and Maitake Mushrooms for their flavor and shock appeal.

Serving a different wine for almost every course would smooth the flow of conversation so that it was not all legalese: Northgate Vineyard’s Apple Wine with the prosciutto, Viognier with the chowder and the salad, Chambourcin with the filets and Fabbioli Cellars’ Raspberry Merlot with the sorbets from Sinplicity.

The last piece of china washed, the last wine glass gleaming, is put back on the shelf. The dining room table is returned to it’s usual table-for-four state. I crawl into bed, tired but happy. Another successful dinner! I fall asleep thinking that Marlena de Blasi would approve.

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

Writer's Block: Creating Inspiring Moments

The act of putting pen to paper encourages pause for thought,
this in turn makes us think more deeply about life,
which helps us regain our equilibrium.
~ Norbet Platt

Today I was leafing through random notebooks looking for yet another misplaced item, and I came across drafts of letters I had written about ten years ago. It was like bumping into a younger version of myself ~ both creepy and bittersweet. A part of me mourned the passing of the younger Mikaela: her hopeful dreams, romantic notions and at times, a naive yet sincere faith, along with the writing style and vocabulary that goes with such an interior.

The memory is such a mysterious muscle: usually it does not let us get on with life completely unfettered from past mistakes [our own] or traumas and hurts [other’s mistakes]. Yet it can also be quite faulty and forgiving ~ did I really make fun of my fifth grade classmate? Even if the memory forgets, the pen does not. And the written word, set down while the event is happening or is fresh in our minds. How else can one determine if one is progressing, regressing or simply surviving? Once it is there in black and white and in our own hand, it is more difficult to deny or simply forget.

As I read through the drafts [yes, drafts. Fine ~ I admit it ~ I am a tad finicky when it comes to hand writing letters ~ I like them to be blotch-free, coherent and readable ~ do you mind?], I envied my younger self at least one thing: the slow pace that afforded me time to pen such lofty thoughts and encouraging scribbles. A slow pace made possible by a practically empty social calendar [as most of my friends were either finishing up college or back home and out of state] and the enclosed garden-like atmosphere that permeated my home town.

Both of those ingredients have been lost to me ~ at least for now. But I realized that if I really wanted to reclaim some of that time and begin writing with a similar, if not identical, amount of creativity and production, than I would need to create those moments for myself ~ even if it means blocking out the time on my packed social calendar and setting an alarm!

The future me depends on it.

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

P.S. Do you make time for creative moments? How?

Responding to Ill-Mannered Boors

The everyday kindnesses of the back roads
more than makes up for the acts of greed in the headlines.
~ Charles Kuralt

Today, on the commute in to work, I saw witnessed two gentlemen [out of thirty men, sigh] offer their seats on the train to ladies standing in the aisle. I wanted to thank them even though I was not one of the ladies needing a seat. It was a great way to start the day with exampled of manly courtesy ~ because the day ended less than stellar. A man who I thought was a friend ~ albeit a casual one ~ said something to me that went so beyond the bounds of decency that I could only ignore him in shocked silence.

Perhaps, dear reader, you are tired of reading my complaints about our insufferable and ill-mannered society. At the same time, something must be done about this epidemic of ill-mannered boorishness!

Now, some of you will ask me why I did not slap my so-called friend. Saying nothing was actually a step up for me. Sad to say, I am not perfect in this regard ~ actually I am not perfect in most regards! At times, when confronted with rude remarks spoken either in front of me or to me, I have responded in an equally most ill-bred manner. There is of course, a time and a place to fight fire with fire. But when one returns a rude remark to a boor with another rude remark, it is safe to say that he will only continue to respond in kind. Furthermore, he will usually take vicious delight in escalating the situation, until one’s esteem lies in shreds around one’s pretty little ankles and later, in the privacy of one’s boudoir, to tears. [This is so much worse for us INFPs/ENFPs.]

However, dear reader, you are correct ~ one cannot just let such rudeness continue unchecked and unaddressed. So what is a civilized person to do? I am beginning to believe that the obvious must be stated. “Please do not say such uncouth and disrespectful things to me. I find it degrading and hurtful. Thank you.” I need to practice saying this in the privacy of home, because I would much rather grit my teeth and call into question his upbringing. I can hear my Southern mother saying: “His mama didn’t raise him right!” And it is certainly possible she did not, or it could be that the son refused to listen.

Whether this ladylike retort will have any effect on this particular boor, I know not. But I am convinced that refusing to stoop to a boor’s level keeps up at least a modicum of decency and civility. As they say: “Fake it until you make it!” Continued civility can only eventually beget civility.

What do you think? How have you handled rude remarks made about you, or in front of you about other people?

Hope you have a beautiful [and genteel] rest of the week!

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela