final winter recipes

I don't have any new recipes of my own to share. These days I'm either following recipes from others or just throwing things together without enough attention to write it down. Some of my standards are cooked greens and eggs (either scrambled or over easy), or a hearty grain like quinoa or farro with lots of veggies thrown in, and my most recent favorite is vegetarian nachos that have nothing to do with fake cheese pumped out of a metal box at a refreshment stand. But I've found some really good recipes lately and thought it would be worth sharing the links with you. Sadly, they seem to show that I haven't fully transitioned into spring. I blame it on mother nature of course, all this cold and rain and sleet we are still having has demanded a slow transition away from the warm comforting foods of winter. But the signs of spring are ever more common these days, and soon I'm sure I'll be eating nothing but salads and fresh veggie sandwiches.

Also, if you live in Chicago or happen to be visiting, you should definitely try the Little Goat Diner. They serve breakfast, lunch and dinner, bake their own bread, have awesome coffee, as well as cocktails. It's a great way to get a taste for the chef's style without the wait or expense of Girl & the Goat. I think you will love it.

• roasted cauliflower, chickpeas & harissa
• winter green galette
• roasted cabbage 
• flageolet beans with fresh fennel
• "eggs in purgatory"

still winter...

Remember last March?

With it's unseasonably warm days, bright blue skies, and sunshine. Well, it's not like that this year. It's still cold - freezing, even. When it rains, it's a mixture of rain and snow and sleet. And I have to keep telling myself that spring will come eventually. It must, right?

Any survival tips?

looking at art

A few weeks ago I went to the Chicago Art Institute. I always feel rejuvenated after visiting an art museum. It pulls me out of my head and distracts me from all the mundane things I worry about unnecessarily on a daily basis. This trip seemed long over-do, and somehow reflecting on it now makes me realize how much this past month was recovering from the prior five.

I began by studying some photographs, comparing the differences between printing and developing methods, reading the name of each artist, title, and materials. Then I set out through the contemporary building and decided that I was not going to read anything. Instead I would just focus on the painting itself – I could only take in so many words and changing my focus constantly was becoming somewhat dizzying. Often though, I couldn’t help myself and I needed the curator’s enlightening descriptions. I made my way through a few connected rooms and, quite pleased with what I had seen, stepped back into the hallway. Suddenly overwhelmed by how much was housed in a single wing of this building, I considered calling it a day - until I thought of all the beautiful paintings that would be in the next room over, so many artists I love. I decided that I had to walk through a few more rooms, just to be in the presence of such beauty and wonder. I stood to look at a painting, but rather than study it I let the whole room flood over me, with such richness that it far surpassed any one masterpiece.

Somehow my few hours immersed in artwork mirrored my recent experiences as a third year medical student, at least in sentiment. I have many stories to tell, each of them great on their own, but all together they make up something greater. Something I don’t yet have the words for and maybe never will. But it is wonderful, this mixture of excitement and anxiety, sadness and relief, complete engagement and detachment. And there has been an overarching sense of being overwhelmed. Not in the way I felt overwhelmed by the massive amount I had to learn in anatomy, not a sense of something being unconquerable or time being too short, but such a flood of experience that I will need some time to pull myself up out of the water before I can reflect on it all.

In contrast to all that, my few days of Christmas vacation have been so beautifully simple. I’m back in Texas, and I think that adds to the feeling, both for its reminder of my youth as well as the basic kindness of strangers that goes hand in hand with southern hospitality. I’ve been relishing in walks through the neighborhood, blue skies, green leaves still hanging to trees, and lazy mornings with my family. I think it’s the perfect transition into the new semester, with a new confidence that I know what I want to do with my future, and a renewed connection with the idea of becoming not just a doctor but a healer.

I saw some art again today. This time it was the Menil Collection, a much more manageable, focused collection of art. I walked through the naturally lit rooms, surrounded by beauty, and felt like I was able to take it all in and process it to some degree. My last stop was the Rothko Chapel, and left with a profound feeling of peace.

I hope you have all had a wonderful Christmas and are filled with love and joy as we begin to look towards the new year.

metamorphoses

Yesterday we saw Mary Zimmerman's "Metamorphoses", performed by the Looking Glass theatre. It was the best play I have ever seen, wrought with heartache and love and longing. I cried a good bit during a particularly heart-wrenching scene, and was so pleased with it at the end of the play that I almost began crying again as we applauded. I wanted to personally thank everybody who made those stories come to life. If you are in Chicago, or ever hear of this work playing in your city, you should absolutely go see it. I'll leave you with a beautiful passage:

“A: The soul wanders in the dark, until it finds love. And so, wherever our love goes, there we find our soul.
Q: It always happens?
A: If we're lucky. And if we let ourselves be blind.
Q: Instead of watching out?
A: Instead of always watching out.”

being present while cycling

 
One of the beautiful things about riding a bicycle is that you can't multitask. When I'm in the car, I feel the need to be talking on the phone or looking at something at every stop light. That's not really an option on a bicycle. So instead, I notice things like how the pink morning sky is so bright that for about 47 seconds everything glows neon, and the interesting combination of autumn's mums with the few choice rose bushes that have chosen to continue blooming, and a woman sitting on a balcony, playing with her granddaughter. People say hello when they pass by on foot or bicycle. And when I get to wherever I'm going, I feel like I'm ready to be there because I was really present throughout the journey.

the fifth season

Since moving up here from Texas, I have delighted in the changing seasons, and written about them quite a bit here. They change the way one experiences the world - looking forward to summer means something new entirely. It's not just time off from school, it's sunshine and greenness and fresh berries. Certainly this made my mother's childhood somewhat different from my own. Here, I savor the heat; back home it was something I tried to avoid. Well, I just want to add onto my other seasonal revelations that I have discovered that perhaps there are more than just four. I'm pretty sure there should be a 5th season: end-of-summer. It's still hot and the sun still hangs in bright blue skies, but when it sets things are a bit more golden, and you might notice a few leaves showing their spines or fading, ever-so-slightly, into yellow. It's a lovely time of year.

Here are a few photos from my end-of-summer. I've had a whopping 10 days off between surgery and medicine clerkships, and they have been glorious. There was yoga on the beach, camping, lazy pancake mornings, plenty of time for our new kitty, and a belated birthday party.

 

The party menu:

1. blini bar with crème fraiche, roasted onions, bean spread
2. heirloom tomato salad
3. zucchini salad
4. roasted carrots (recipe below)
5. summertime shandy/radler/clara [tasty by any name]
6. corn salad and amazing baked goods from friends!

It was a lovely evening, and I was so happy to be surrounded by so many great friends in my own home. Like I said, I need to cook for people more often.

Finally, a recipe! These roasted carrots are incredibly straight forward, but absolutely delicious. They are one of my favorites to bring to parties because they actually get people to want to put more vegetable on their plate. Even people who don't like carrots.

Roasted Cumin Carrots:

Preheat oven to 400 F
Wash and peel several large carrots. Cut them into french-fry size sticks.
Spread onto a baking sheet in a single layer.
Drizzle with olive oil and rub it around with your hands so that they all are well-coated. Sprinkle with cumin seeds and cinnamon.
Bake for about 40 minutes, until the edges begin to brown and caramelize. It's okay if they start to burn a teeny bit.

what to do when it's 80 in chicago in march

watch a movie on the lawn at night

play with shadows

eat lemon macarons

take a bike ride along the lake shore (my first time!)

 

watch the clouds drift by

listen to the birds chirp

bottle that feeling up

I recently read Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese. This novel did not receive very high reviews amongst the literary community, but it was strongly recommended to me by several medical students and physicians. Like them, I loved it. I suppose it stems from a love for the intertwining of medicine and art. Verghese is a physician who displays passion for pure, simple, hands-on medicine. He lauds the skilled physician who considers the whole of the patient and is able to diagnose with only his hands. Reference: "A doctor's touch" TED talk.

Throughout the novel he describes anatomy and disease processes in a clear and beautiful manner. Well, beautiful compared to a textbook. Apparently it's gibberish to the non-medical ear. Either way, I soaked it up and felt inspired to continue along this path to becoming a doctor. It made me want to really know my stuff - well enough to write about it without having to reference Netter's, well enough to feel minute but essential differences between radial pulses. (Shoot, I still get excited when I feel a liver edge.)What I'm about to say may sound crazy, but it was enough to make me think that studying for boards might not be that bad. Synthesizing all that I have learned the last 2 years, putting the pieces together and seeing the bigger picture of what all this time and discipline has really been about.

Wow. I wish I could bottle that feeling up and carry it around with me for the next 5 months.

Maybe a little Ethiopian food will help as a reminder. You see, most of the novel is set in Ethiopia and descriptions of the food sneak in every now and then. Of course, I became curious about sour injeera and garlicky wat. Finally, this weekend, we went to the Ethiopian Diamond with one of our favorite food-loving couples. To be honest, the experience itself was worth a lot more than the food. Don't get me wrong, it was tasty, but I don't think I would get excited about leftovers. The dinner itself was fabulous. The restaurant was filled with groups of people from every ethnic background imaginable, all eating with their hands, smiling. I love eating with my hands, like adding in that additional sense makes the food that much better. Ian had a bit of a cold, but medical students are pretty proud of their immune systems and nobody minded his hands in the mix. The sour injeera, salty meats, sweet honey wine, and friends to share it with all combined to make a beautiful evening.

the best kind of warmth

It is cold today. Right now it is 6 degrees Fahrenheit, to be exact. Growing up in Houston, my personal test of how cold it was, was whether or not I could see my breath. Now it's whether or not I can feel my face after walking across the hospital campus from my car. Why/how did people settle this land before heaters and fleece?

One good thing about ridiculously cold weather is that it makes me feel that much better about using both the stove top and oven at the same time. In my opinion, that is one of the best kinds of warmth. Second only to climbing back into bed in the morning to wake Ian up. A cold day, a warm kitchen, a hearty meal... that's a lot of encouragement to spend some time cooking. There was only one problem: studying. Ah, the life of a medical student. Fortunately, I decided that listening to recorded lectures, albeit somewhat passively, was good enough and set to work on a recipe that I tucked away a couple years ago.

I guess I was intimidated by this recipe. There are multiple steps, requiring multiple dirty dishes and a good bit of hands-on time. I found it on Orangette, one of my very favorite food blogs. She has some incredibly satisfying, self-standing vegetable dishes, delectable scones, lovely photographs, and a good bit of wit and humor thrown into each post. I mostly followed her recipe for Chard, Onion, and Gruyère Panade, which she adapted from the Zuni Café cookbook, but I took a few shortcuts, which I explain below.

I was a bit worried that the changes I made would take too much away from the texture and overall desired effect of soggy bread and gooey cheese. All I can say is that, while I have no point of comparison, the outcome was delicious. Warm and filling, a perfect balance of textures, flavors, and food groups. I added a poached egg on the side, but can honestly say that it didn't really add anything.

Next time I make this (and there will definitely be a next time), I plan to add more onion and make at least 3 times as much. I can't wait to eat my leftovers tomorrow.

Chard, Onion, and Cheese Panade Recipe:
I tend not to measure or keep time while I cook, so I'm just giving you some brief instructions, highlighting where my recipe differed from the original. If you prefer more guidance, I suggest you look at the original.

1 yellow onion, quartered and sliced (I plan to use 3 next time)
5 large cloves garlic, thinly sliced
2 bunches swiss chard (or other green)
about half a loaf of old bread, cubed
2 handfuls grated cheese - I used as mix of Emmanteler and sharp white cheddar
2 cups chicken or veggie broth
olive oil
salt & pepper

1. Caramelize onions
Heat olive oil over medium heat, add onions. Cook for a few minutes before stirring, allowing them to begin to brown. Stir in the garlic and a pinch of salt, and cook on low heat for another 30 minutes or so, stirring occasionally

2. Wilt chard
Remove the stems and chop them up into thin pieces, like you might with a stalk of celery. Cook these in olive oil over high heat for a couple minutes. Meanwhile, prepare the rest of the chard by rolling and slicing into ribbons. Add it to the stems and olive oil along with some salt & pepper. Allow this to cook about 2-4 minutes, stirring a bit so that it becomes uniformly wilted but still maintains good structure and bright green color.

3. Prepare bread
In a bowl, add some olive oil and about 1/4 cup of the broth to the bread and use your hands to rub it in.

Preheat oven to 400. Pour the rest of the broth into a small pot and bring to a simmer.

4. Layer
In a casserole dish, begin with a small scoop of the onion mixture. Then bread. Then more onions. Then chard. Then a handful of cheese. Repeat. Of course, the number of times you do this will depend on the size of your dish and the thickness of your layers. I only managed to get two in, and I had about a cup of chard leftover. As long as you finish with cheese on top you're fine.

Pour the rest of the broth over the panade, making sure to get it around the edges of the dish. Cover with a lid or aluminum foil and place in the oven. (I put a baking sheet underneath in case it bubbled over, but it didn't.) Cook at 400 for about 30 minutes. Lower heat to 325 and cook for another 30 minutes. Raise heat back up to 375, remove lid and cook for another 15 minutes so the top crisps up a bit.

When it's finished cooking allow it to cool a bit before serving.

Enjoy!

i am thankful for

hot coffee,

and warm hats.

crowded buses,

and nearly empty streets.

red balloons that make me think of Le ballon rouge.

turkeys of all kinds.

time  to  stand  still .

the way things go

It was a perfectly cool and sunny day and I was riding the train into the city, on my way to an art museum. I had been planning this day for some time. I would go downtown and walk through the crowds, observing, feeling both like I was part of the crowd and yet completely separate from everybody else. At the museum I would spend as much time as I wanted, alone, in front of each piece. Relishing the fact that I would take the whole day for myself, without obligations to anybody else or to anything else. Pausing to write or think, or stop thinking. In fact I was thinking entirely too much - about school, my family, what I wanted to do with my life, everything. Shortly before I got to my train station, where Ian and I would part ways, I told him that I couldn't decide if I wanted to sit and think about everything or not at all. His response? Either one would all be all right as long as I didn't think about thinking because, according to Aristotle, that's what God does. Well, then.

I got off at the wrong station, so that answered that question. It was a good answer. After walking and studying my map for some time (I'm somewhat slightly anti-GPS) I arrived at the museum and the first work that caught my eye was a film titled, "The Way Things Go". How fitting. I reflected on how I have felt so much gratitude recently for the way things go and the way that life sometimes seems to hand me exactly what I need, often without even knowing I needed it. Maybe I just take it and spin it this way in my head, but I feel no less gracious for it. Do you know what I mean? Things like seeing hundreds of faces that snapped me out of feeling sorry for myself, or a conversation with a friend about faith and hope that made me realize how special our friendship was, or something I read that encouraged me to write a little bit more often, just for myself.

How often do I miss the opportunity to see things in this light? But when I do realize what a blessing this world is, it is such a joy. Suddenly I am surrounded by a magical world with trains rushing by and people leaving work and children on their way home from school. In cars, on bicycles, walking, listening to headphones, carrying shopping bags. I see each of them as amazing individuals. I feel so blessed to witness these people in their daily routines, to glimpse their worlds as an outsider. It's incredibly beautiful.

What fills you with gratitude? Is there some little thing that reminds you that the world is full of beautiful things?

one year later

Last year, I often ended up parking on the top of a six-level parking garage, which was fantastic really. Six flights of stairs was sometimes the only exercise I got in a day, and I had a great view of the Chicago skyline. One night I happened to have my camera and decided to snap a photo. From then on I tried to get a picture every so often. Now, one year later, I have a nice progression of the seasons.

9/22/2010

9/24/2010

10/12/2010

10/22/2010

11/8/2010

12/4/2010

12/9/2010

1/26/2011

Are you getting tired of bare trees and gray skies yet? The play of light in different times of day might help to make it more interesting. Here's one in the morning... 

2/4/2011

...and in the evening

2/9/2011

2/17/2011

 It can be pretty windy up there.

2/18/2011

3/30/2011

4/6/2011

 Finally! some color!

4/11/2011

4/28/2011

5/6/2011

5/18/2011

5/20/2011

Today: 8/16/11

 

 

gray, gray, go away

Sometimes gray can be beautiful.

But not when it's like this.

Day, after day, after day.

Apparently my first spring in Chicago has also been one with very little sunshine on record. The bright side? The last few sunny days have been glorious! It's amazing to feel how much the weather actually affects my mood. I've never quite experienced this before. It's also fun to see how it affects everyone else. On Friday, everybody was hanging out in the atrium, where the glass ceiling allowed us all to get some much-needed natural light, stalling until the last second possible before shuffling into the classrooms.

flirting with spring

Chicago Spring is quite the coquette. I first caught a glance of her during a bike ride in January, when temperatures rose to 60 degrees for a few glorious hours and piqued my interested. For months, that brief beauty sneaked into my daydreams and my desire grew. When March came along Spring began to show herself every now and then. Her face shined through beautiful blue skies, but I stepped outside to find nothing but a cold shoulder. I searched for her almost daily, and found her lurking in the bushes and trees whose twiggy branches were changing colors and producing the beginning of buds.

I knew that others had already enjoyed her - my Dad sent me pictures from Houston. But that didn't matter to me. Her birdsong and sweet earthy smell, breaking through the frost, came to me each morning as I shivered out my back door. Signs of life began popping up everywhere, rabbits, robins, red tail hawks, and I knew it was just a matter of patience.

Finally she broke down, shedding April showers.

And now she is here and I can't get enough of her.