new year, new soup

In the before times, I would kick off the new year with so many resolutions. Dive deep into how I’m going to better myself for the sake of growth, emotional health, world peace. Chasing that elusive self-care dragon. If I cut off my family from refined sugar in January certainly that means my kid won’t listen to “Baby Shark”. If I wake up at 5:30AM everyday and use the Peloton, deny myself a glass of wine at night, I’ll have that Rosie Assoulin dress I’ve been coveting by March. That’s how it works, right? A myriad of “self-care” resolutions that inevitably result in a return to the status quo by February because that’s how normal life works. We all do it to some degree the last few days of the year. Assess, review, make promises.

Not in 2021.

no resolutions for 2021. no diets. planning more cookies and more joy where we can grab it.

no resolutions for 2021. no diets. planning more cookies and more joy where we can grab it.

This year, for the first time, I’m not resolving anything. Not because I didn’t do a yearly self-assessment. I certainly did. In fact, I assessed so hard I cleaned the house top to bottom, reorganized the kitchen, all the things to “start fresh”. I even bought a new day-planner because this year will definitely be the year I write in one. For sure. But here’s what I realized while moving the glassware from one cabinet to another identical cabinet across the kitchen: last year was self-care. Not in the form of diets, more exercise, more reading. None of the usual suspects. In fact, we probably ate more refined sugar. But we also played more, walked more, talked to each other more. 2020 was rooted in self-care because I finally learned to accept things as they are and learned that how they are is good enough.

We just wrapped up one year of a global pandemic while rolling straight into a new year of the same. We don’t need to take on anymore. I don’t need to change a damn thing because the woman who did all that stuff last year? Mistakes, blow ups, stress spirals… she’s fine. 2020 wasn’t just a test, it was life in overdrive. Maybe I didn’t pass with flying colors but that’s OK. Getting straight A’s or a gold star doesn’t teach you anything. The real lessons come when you fall flat on your face, get up, make more coffee, and keep going. The goal is to fall forward and that’s exactly what I’ve done.

2021 is the year of saying no to resolutions. No plans for self-overhaul, definitely no new diets. I don’t want to lose weight. I don’t want to read 15 more books than last year. I don’t want to learn how to crochet. I don’t want to be influenced to think I should be better. I want to keep moving forward and to be able to find and actually appreciate joy where it pops up. We could all use more joy after the last year.

So, if you’re feeling like me and the idea of self-improvement in this moment makes you want to scream, please join me in resolving to not resolve. Instead, let’s make soup. Why soup? Because it’s calming to chop vegetables, soothing to mash tomatoes in their juices, it’s a release to bring something to a boil then down to a simmer. It’s healthy and easy and if you’ve been cooking non-stop for 10 months but still somehow have unused vegetables, this is a great way to clear out space. After all, isn’t a clean and organized fridge one of the tentpoles of a healthy self-care routine? Also, if you have a family this will be dinner and lunch for a few days and it freezes super well which is always a win.

it’s a vegetable soup

Ingredients

  • 2-3 sweet potatoes, peeled and chopped into cubes

  • 3 carrots, same as above

  • 1 butternut squash (you can omit if you don’t have it but I always have one sitting around this time of year)

  • 1 large yellow onion

  • 2 cloves garlic, minced

  • 2 cans white beans, rinsed and drained

  • 1 can whole tomatoes, with juices

  • 2 .5 cups kale or spinach, rough chopped

  • 6 cups chicken stock, veg stock, wouldn’t recommend water but… whatever.

  • 1 rind of Parmesan, if you have it. If you have another rind of a similar cheese, add that instead. I’m not here to judge what kind of rinds you save.

  • 2 sprigs thyme

  • 1 sprig rosemary

  • 1 bayleaf

  • 1 tbsp paprika

  • 1 /4 tsp cloves

  • salt, pepper to taste

Directions

  1. Using a heavy bottom pot or Dutch oven, sauté onions until translucent and aromatic.

  2. Add garlic and stir one minute more.

  3. Add carrots, squash, sweet potato, tomatoes. Smash the whole tomatoes with the back of your cooking utensil (wooden spoon, I’m guessing you’re using a wooden spoon).

  4. Add some salt and pepper.

  5. Add paprika and cloves.

  6. Add fresh herbs.

  7. Add stock of choice.

  8. Drop in rind.

  9. Bring to a boil then down to a simmer and let it go for 15-20min.

  10. Come back, add beans and kale. Let everything cook together for another 5-10min.

  11. Let it sit for a little bit. it’s better once all the flavors really have a chance to hang out.

Serve with some grated Parmesan or whatever cheese you like. This is not the time to stop eating cheese. This is a time to put cheese on all dishes. Dip crusty bread in it, too.

HOT TIP: Take out the fresh herbs and cheese rind before you serve it to your loved ones. There’s nothing worse than hearing, “That soup was good in theory but I got a mouth full of Parm rind and now I can’t taste anything else.”

Happy New Year!

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adaptation

It’s hard to believe we are wrapping up this year. I haven’t written since May, for a variety of reasons, most of which I’m sure you can guess. But 2020 is closing. This feels like the right time to write out and weave together all the threads I’ve been spinning for months. As fun as it is to experiment and share simple recipes, I haven’t been in the mood for much of that. It has been a long and introspective year for all of us. For me, it would feel disingenuous to not address and then come back a few months later with a recipe for roasted squash or something.

Emotionally and in many ways physically this year has been a complete upheaval. Even those of us blessed to have work and some semblance of normalcy - you would have to be super insulated to not feel something different in this environment. To not pause and take stock. I don’t often write about my thoughts on politics or culture in this space or social media, nor do I intend to start. I prefer to keep these conversations personal where dialogue and eye contact play more of a role than “commenting”. But, I would be lying to not admit that the last few months haven’t been full of reflection and asking many questions. Both of those around me and even more so, of myself.

Specifically, in light of the political climate, I ask: What does it mean for me to be an American? To feel “American”.

There are days when I look in the mirror and feel what is probably best described as a physical cognitive dissonance. On the outside, I see the epitome of an American middle class suburban mom. One who has gone through many iterations over the last few years but nevertheless, I fit the mold now. Athleisure, top knot, organic milk in the fridge, fixed 30 year mortgage… I check all the boxes. If you run into me on the street you would never think twice that I fit into a very specific demographic. A lifestyle.

On the inside, there’s a disconnect. A huge one. I always smile when people learn that I am a first-generation, political refugee to this country. I don’t fit that image, my face is not what’s reflected when the words “refugee” or “political asylum” flash across the screen on CNN. In fact, the color of my skin, my parents' education, a myriad of factors contributed to my adapting into the American fold so seamlessly that sometimes if I really work at it, I can forget. There is nothing about me on the outside that would give away my background, my culture, the years of persecution, the oppression, the genocide my family faced for generations so that I can be the first to feel safe walking into a Target.

I imagine that many first-generation children in this country have this feeling. Even though on paper we are American, in our mind and soul it feels like standing between two worlds. In my case, one foot in one world which is long gone (on paper and otherwise) and another which is continuously shifting and asking me to rapidly adapt with it under the other.

This December marks 30 years since my family immigrated to the United States. Every immigrant child tries to adapt quickly to their situation, fit into the mold. What I've realized is: I never stopped. The programming to “fit in” doesn’t just leave you as an adult. I can push away the voice in the back of my head that tells me “Don’t stand out. Don’t eat food they don’t know. Don’t look different. Don’t speak Russian too loudly, they’ll notice.” The internal monologue goes on and on and on. At 35 years old, with my American husband and American home and American grocery list, I can sometimes shut that voice up.

But what’s come up for me over the course of this year is the question: Do I still want to?

To be frank, I'm not sure if I will ever have the answer. Moving to this country as a child, no one holds your hand through the process of being thrown head first into a different culture. Being a child with parents from the former Soviet Union, it’s not just a different culture, it’s a different planet. Freedom of speech, freedom of movement, freedom of choice, freedom of feeling yourself an individual are not concepts anyone in my family before me had ever been allowed to experience. Add on top of that generations of Jews systematically, culturally being kept out of society and forced to erase their heritage - you can guess the impact. A people in diaspora forever in flight to the next temporarily safe plot of land.

Until now? Until me? I will never forget a conversation I had with my grandfather when I was seven-years-old, just a few years after moving to the United States. I was recently gifted a Star of David and proudly wore it every day.

Deda looked at me and said, "Don't let that fall on top of your clothes. Don't wear it outside of the home. Don't let people see."

"Deda, you don't have to be afraid here."

He smiled, "We have to be afraid everywhere. Especially when we feel that we are safe."

At the time I couldn't process the level of trauma and fear behind his words. Today, there is not a single day that I do not think about them. How lucky, how blessed I am that my ethnic background for the first time in any generation of my family or any Soviet Jewish family we know, does not factor into my everyday life. Reading the news lately, I realize how right he was and how quickly that can change.

Do I still want to fit in? I'm not certain it's completely up to me. Due to many factors, whether I want to or not - I already do. What I do know is that I've put away the childhood part that pushed me to stand back, be quiet, not be too seen. I stand between two histories, on the shoulders of people who were silenced. 30 years in the United States and I realize that blending in is no longer a choice, it is an impossibility. I may look and sound like a demographic but underneath I am an anomaly. The first of many. There is no hiding that.

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Wilted Produce + Easy Fridge Jam

Let me start by admitting something I’m really embarrassed about. As a thirty-something, educated, local food, organic loving, Top Chef watching, Birkenstock wearing, suburban liberal - I only truly started paying attention to our food waste during the pandemic. As in, really putting energy and effort into not letting things go bad in the fridge. Opening the refrigerator door to wilted spinach, mushy carrots, potatoes that have started to grow second potatoes. I recycle and use reusable water bottles and even consider composting… sometimes. What is wrong with me?! I know, I know, I should’ve been better way before we were locked in our homes and grocery store trips were limited to once every two weeks.

Now that I’ve admitted my shortcoming, let me explain.

You know this meme? Always thought I would be belle but I’m actually this lady.

You know this meme? Always thought I would be belle but I’m actually this lady.

I love grocery shopping and loathe putting grocery lists together. I want so badly to be one of those moms with the cute list and meal plan. You have no idea how much I covet being that woman. The graceful glider from aisle to aisle. Checkin’ out the produce, fingering through the nice cheese. Instead? I’m usually the frantic one, shoving things in my cart, speeding through the aisles. Always forgetting something right when pulling into the check out line.

Weirdly though, going to the grocery gives me so much joy. My biggest serotonin hit? Sale produce. Bags of celery on sale? Suuuure. 2 for $6 blueberries??? Gimme. 4 for $5 avocados?! YES. Never mind my husband is allergic to avocado. We’ll definitely eat them all, Ben and I! (We won’t.) While the rest of the country has been hoarding toilet paper, cleaning wipes, paper towels - I’m over here filling my bag with as much on sale lettuce and strawberries as can fit.

Long story short, we’ve always had food waste. Not a ton, but more than I’m proud of. Take one well-meaning -but-can’t-control-herself grocery shopping mom + full time working dad + my work travel schedule of leaving the country every two weeks = produce wilts, carryout gets ordered.

It doesn’t help that for the first time in over a decade I have two fridges. Long gone are the days of playing tetris with small Brooklyn refrigerators. Will totally admit to going wild with how much I can store during our first few months in North Carolina. (By the way, you know you’re firmly in your mid-thirties when your trigger for “going wild” is food storage.)

Then, quarantine happened. No carryout, no easy jaunt to the store. Instead of looking for an easy delivery fix for “nothing to eat because the kale is wilted and carrots went soft”, I shifted focus to using every single thing we have. Does cooking the vegetable that’s about to go bad next count as meal planning? If it does, that’s what changed things. Well, that and multitasking during 30 person consultant conference calls. Sometimes it takes a conscious mental shift to change a bad habit, sometimes it’s a global pandemic.

I’m pretty freaking proud because 9 weeks into quarantine and I haven’t thrown away a single piece of produce. Do things in the fridge still go forgotten? Of course, we’re human. What’s changed is I am now spending the time to use them when they’re on their last legs. (Does this count as a hobby?) Berries, especially, I’ve discovered are super easy to save. You can bake them into things, freeze them for smoothies, or make jam. Honestly, preserves still turn me off because every recipe sounds super involved. Jars, sterilizing, cool, dry place (sorry my wine is there), probably an apron, a hair curler, etc. When there’s caring toddler and a full day of work involved, there literally aren’t enough hours or energy in the day.

A few weeks ago I started experimenting with quick jam recipes and as per usual, landed on my own. It’s sugar and thickener free and doesn’t feel like a project. Reuse an old pasta jar to store in the fridge for up to two weeks, but ours never lasts that long.

If you have any produce life extending tips, share in the comments! I’m going to compile them all into a post. In the meantime, save your berries. Make this jam!

Strawberries before i forgot about them.

Strawberries before i forgot about them.

strawberries destined for the garbage? no! make jam.

strawberries destined for the garbage? no! make jam.

easiest strawberry (or any berry) jam

ingredients

  • 2-3 cups berries. I used 2 cups strawberries and about 1/2 cup blueberries.

  • 2 tbsp honey

  • 1 tbsp cinnamon

  • 2-3 tbsp chia seeds, you can skip but the jam won’t be as thick. I love the texture they give so highly recommend.

  • scrape of vanilla pod or just a splash of vanilla

*The above is the basic proportions for the recipe. Double or triple if you have enough fruit. Since I usually make this to save the sad looking berries, it makes roughly half a quart or so.

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  1. Wash strawberries and cut off the stems. Rough chop the big ones.

  2. Pour all the berries into a small pot on medium heat.

  3. The fruit will start to bubble and release a lot of juice. Let it do this for about 5 minutes while stirring.

  4. Once there’s a lot more liquid in the pot, reduce the heat to a simmer. From here out, you’re cooking on very low.

  5. Add honey, cinnamon, vanilla and give everything a good stir. Keep on low, steady heat for another 10 min.

  6. Add chia seeds and let everything simmer for another 5 minutes.

  7. Keep stirring. I know I said low effort, this counts as that. You can stir and listen to a podcast or sit there if you have a stool. I dialed into a conference call with 30 people where I literally never have to speak. Another 10 min since the last 5 have passed. Your kitchen smells so good now.

  8. At this point, the berries will have broken down. You can mash them up if you like a smoother jam. I like my jam like I like my decor: rustic.

  9. Let the jam cool and chia seeds absorb for about 15-20 min but obviously give it a taste because why wouldn’t you.

Serve it on anything you would eat jam with. Or, give your toddler a taste then hear the words, “Mama mooooore pease. Mama, peeeease. Peeease. Peeeease.” Give in and let him eat it straight out of the jar while jotting down notes from aforementioned conference call.

Wake up the next morning. Sneak downstairs at 5:30AM. Make coffee, smother biscuit with jam, read the Fiona Apple profile that’s been saved for weeks in total silence. Mama quarantining during quarantine. If you know, you know.

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