This one is for Emily. Apparently it's possible for someone to love kale more than I do.

We met her for lunch yesterday at Skillet Diner. We split lunch, and she wisely chose the Kale Caesar instead of fries as our side. I was a little wistful--I've said no to fries maybe one other time in my life. But love demands sacrfice, so I went along.

Of course, it was no sacrifice. Curly, bright green kale with garlicky caesar clinging to the ridges, every forkful a hit of winter vitamins. I made the kids a giant vat of white rice for lunch today and got busy making this for myself. (White rice is like crack to them. If they have enough of it, I could probably sneak out of the house, go for a sauna at the Y, and come home before they'd notice.)

I'm tracking my calories lately, and apparently a plateful of this salad will deliver over 800% of your daily vitamin A. I know you don't need that fact to entice you, though.

P.S. I want this t-shirt. Kind of a friendly way to get up on one of my soapboxes?

 Kale Caesar with Rye Croutons
Serves 4. These days, I often have a bag of Trader Joe's washed kale around. When the farmers markets open, I'll commence with washing it again. If you have dino (aka lacinato) kale around, that's even more delicious here, but more expensive and a little harder to find. (Have I mentioned that our house in Bellingham is 5 minutes from Trader Joe's? It's rough.)

For salad
1 large head kale, washed, spun dry, and chopped
4 slices dense rye bread
olive oil
Parmesan or manchego cheese, shaved off with a vegetable peeler

For dressing:
1 large clove garlic
2 anchovies
1 Tb. dijon
1 Tb. worchestershire
1 Tb. mayonnaise
juice of 1/2 lemon
1/4 c. olive oil 
freshly ground pepper
pinch of kosher salt 

To make dressing, put all ingredients into a beaker and stick your immersion blender in there. (Or use a food processor.) Add more of anything to taste or thin with a little water if it's too thick.

To make croutons, heat a castiron griddle or pan over medium-high heat. Brush bread with olive oil and fry until golden brown on both sides. Cut into cubes.

Toss kale with croutons, cheese and dressing (maybe not all of it), saving a bit of everything for the top.

I dare you to sit in front of this muffin-faced rascal and feel blue.

Winter is doing a number on me. I've heard there are some people in the world whose sadness, madness, or darkness means they paint more. Or write more. Apparently, that's not true for me. I was just beginning to wonder if I'd ever log in here again when some universal promptings showed up. A comment from Grace Young, my hero of Chinese cooking and wok love. A nudge on Facebook. And finally, some little well in me beginning to fill up. Some quiet voice that said, "When you don't have anything to say, that's saying something, too."

In my professional life, I help individuals, groups, and organizations be appreciative as they go through change. Usually, I get helped too. Recently, I facilitated a retreat for a friend who's trying to discern what's next. We read this passage from William Bridge's Transitions:

One of the difficulties of being in transition in the modern world is that we have lost our appreciation for this gap in the continuity of existence. For us, "emptiness" represents only the absence of something. So when what's missing is something as important as relatedness and purpose and reality, we try to find ways of replacing these missing elements as quickly as possible. That state of affairs, we imagine, cannot be an important part of the transition process: we hope it can only be a temporary, if unfortunate, situation to be endured.

In this view, transition is seen as a kind of street-crossing procedure. One would be a fool to stay out there in the middle of the street any longer than was necessary; so once you step off the curb, you move on to the other side as fast as you can. And whatever you do, don't sit down on the centerline to think things over!

I'm on the centerline. And it feel dangerous! Moving from Seattle to Bellingham seemed liked a clear end and a clear beginning. But I forgot about the drab Neutral Zone. And then there's sunless days, two funerals in six weeks, and the little boy in Wyatt's class who said to Yancey, "Can I trade my dad for you?" 

I love Valentines Day. I always have. Especially those little white bakery bags, decorated with red and pink hearts, full of friendly messages. I remember keeping everything intact for weeks, taking the cards out, reading them, and putting them back in in their envelopes. You don't have to tell me twice to celebrate love. I'm all over it. And that makes me very open to sadness, too. Sometimes it finds me and it takes up residence, right there with the love.

Were I to relate this to food (not hard!), I'd say my New Year's resolve to take care of myself has been what's sustained me. I've been getting outside to run or walk, eating great, and doing crazy things like drinking kale smoothies. If I try, I can see this (mild) depression as a gift, getting my attention and maybe leading me deeper into love if I don't try to squirm out of it, if I don't try to get to the other side of the street too fast.

The photo is from Loretta's preschool valentine party today. 16 5-year-olds opening Valentines. If that isn't a cure for what ails you, I don't know what is. Wherever you are tonight, favorite readers, I hope you're reaching in and pulling out some love notes. Consider this one. xo

My wok will be 2 years old in April. I am pathetically keeping track, since 2 years is supposed to be the time when an often-used wok is finally seasoned perfectly. Sometimes I get it out, set it on the cooktop, and just look at it. It's getting so wondefully burnished and banged up. And, more importantly, absolutely nothing is sticking to its surface. 

I talked here about wok love and about Grace Young's book, The Breath of a Wok. What I'd add this time around is the following:

• If I'm making an Asian stir fry, I use vegetable or peanut oil. More and more, though, I'm using olive oil and getting very far away from traditional Asian combinations. The "recipe" here is an example.
• I've gotten discouraged a couple times when, just when my wok seemed to be developing the longed-for patina, it all disappeared because of enthusiastic vinegar use, wok cooking naiveté, or other mysterious reasons. My admonishment is Keep Going! The only way to really wreck a wok (say that 5 times fast) is to let it get rusty with standing water or to not use it. Continued use, even if it takes you 5 years, will pay off.
• It's really hard to experience what I'm talking about here if you have an electric cooktop. Woks need raging heat. 

And, wok cooking is a fabulous way to eat more vegetables in one sitting than you ever thought possible. The stir fry here is 80% cabbage, kale and brussel sprouts, with just a handful of cold brown rice thrown in at the end. That description sounds depressing, but it was DELICIOUS. And made my fiber and Vitamin A off-the-charts that day.

I'm starting out the new year realizing I've spend most my energy the past six months caring for others, and not enough caring for myself. Sound familiar, anyone? When I do that, carbs (empty ones, of course) somehow taste so good, show up everywhere, and supplant the vegetables my body really wants. I'm trying to change that, and trying again to move as much as possible, even if it's not the 60 minute workout I want. Wokking and Walking. You'll hear more about it in April, I'm sure, when I throw a little birthday party for the blasted thing.

New Year's Stir Fry
Serves 2. (If you want to serve 4 as a meal, you'll have to do this twice, since an over-filled wok just steams everything.) Thinly slice 1/4 head of green cabbage, a few cups of washed kale leaves (stems removed), and a couple handfuls of washed brussel sprouts. Mince 2 cloves of garlic, thinly slice 2 red Fresno peppers (red Jalapenos), and see if there are any stray bits of meat in your fridge. You can use ham, cooked or uncooked chopped bacon, proscuitto, etc. This is optional, but yummy. Heat your wok over high heat for about 15 seconds, then pour 2 Tb. olive oil in. Add garlic, stir, then add veggies. Fry over high heat for about 4 minutes, moving everything around quite a bit, and add kosher salt to taste. When everything's getting crispy/tender, add 2 handfuls of COLD cooked brown rice (or white rice or bulgar or quinoa or barley), fry for another minutes, then add 1 Tb. of white wine vinegar and fry for another minute. Dump everything into 2 bowls and top with some crumbled feta, if you like. Or a fried egg.

Happy New Year! Predictably, I've started out with a lot of health resolutions. Even I am not divulgent enough to display my little chart here, but some are easy, some are harder. And by "health," I mean it all--body, mind, spirit. Go overboard with fruits and veggies, send mail, get outside, sit up straight, meditate and read poetry more often. I've learned the hard way that it's not about conquering all those resolutions. It's about putting them out there. 

I've read a lot of poetry this week, remembering how its economy of words gives me something to hold onto when the day's anxieties hit. Coleman Barks, the preeminent translator of Rumi, relates this story:

Meditation, or any solitary practice (a walk before dawn, a poem every morning, sitting the roof at sunset), gives depth and expands the soul's action.

A man in prison is sent a prayer rug by his friend. What he had wanted, of course, was a file or a crowbar or a key! But he began using the rug, doing five-times prayer before dawn, at noon, mid-afternoon, after sunset, and before sleep. Bowing, sitting up, bowing again, he notices an odd pattern in the weave of the rug, just at the quibla, the point where his head touches. He studies and meditates on that pattern, gradually discovering that it is a diagram of the lock that confines him in his cell and how it works. He's able to escape. Anything you do every day can open into the deepest spiritual place, which is freedom.

I just love that--anything we do every day can open into the deepest spiritual place. And you know me--I put cooking into this category. Increasingly, cooking is something it's possible to get away from. You can do "food preparation" instead, removing things from boxes and warming them up. You can buy all your carrots already cut up or eat most of your meals out. But when we do that, I think we're missing out, not just on the health benefits, but on the meditative ritual cooking can be.

I paid $4.00 yesterday for a bunch of rainbow carrots grown in this county. Splitting the red one down the middle, I saw two more layers inside--orange, then yellow. A whole riot of color! Standing there with my knife on New Year's Eve, arranging those beautiful carrots on a platter, was another chance to be mindful, to think of the farmers that tended those carrots, to be grateful for this region we live in, and to enjoy the small movements of running the carrots under the sink, twisting off the tops. Of course I don't always slip into this state while cutting vegetables! But these moments aren't as accessible to me when I'm not in the kitchen. It's one of the places I feel most free.

And my kitchen always has a jar of granola in it. The kind I'm into lately is made with brown rice syrup, which makes it unbelievably clustered and shiny. Almost shellacked. This is the olive oil granola recipe I've been into for the last 18 months, just a bit different. Another health goal of mine is "Automate my breakfast." A jar of this makes that easy to do.

Hazelnut Sesame Granola Clusters
You can find brown rice syrup at good grocery stores, at a natural foods store, or even bulk at some places. This is the same olive oil granola recipe I've been wild about for the last 18 months, courtesy of Melissa Clark. As you're cooking this, it might look like you've done something wrong. The syrup will be bubbling up around the oats and it will look much more viscous than your regular granola might. Don't worry! Stir it every ten minutes, and let it cool all the way when it comes out of the oven. It will dry up nicely.

3 c. old fashioned oats
1 c. slivered almonds
1.5 c. hazelnuts
3/4 c. raw sunflower seeds
1/4 c. sesame seeds 
1 tsp. kosher salt
1/2 tsp. ground ginger
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
1/3 c. brown sugar
1/2 c. extra virgin olive oil
3/4 c. brown rice syrup
1 c. whole dried cranberries 

Preheat oven to 300 and line a baking sheet with parchment paper. (I wouldn't recommend doing it without parchment paper, a silpat, or something that will make your sheet non-stick, as the syrup acts like glue!)

Combine first 9 ingredients in a large bowl, then add olive oil and brown rice syrup, mixing until everything is coated.

Spread mixture out evenly on baking sheet and bake for 35-45 minutes, stirring every ten minutes and removing when mixture is an even golden brown. Granola will be wet when you remove it from the oven, and will stick together quite a bit as it cools. Once it's totally cool, break it up into chunks. You can, of course, break it up so it's quite loose. Whatever is to your liking. Add cranberries and store in an airtight container.

When I was little, my Dad used to ask me, "Are you feeling mad, sad, glad, or plaid?" I always said "Plaid," which meant, of course, that I couldn't pick just one thing to feel. I felt it all.

Emily will tell you that nothing's changed. 

Have you seen that bumper sticker--"If you're not outraged, you're not paying attention"? I agree. There are so many things to be outraged about. And I'm sure you could tell me about even more. And if we wanted, we could list them all--just today's flavors!--here together.

This photo was taken out my living room window yesterday morning. I feel a deep sense of well-being looking at it again today. The "plaid" means for me now that there are stripes of outrage, loss, and incredulity, but they're woven with stripes of a "peace that passes understanding." If I really want to LIVE this life, I've got to sign up for all of it. They go together.

The Happiest Man in the World (though he hates that title), a Buddhist monk named Matthieu Ricard, says part of the secret to being happy is embracing sadness. Don't you just love that? Happiness (which is a popular and distinct pursuit these days) isn't about creating the perfect life. Because even if you do, sadness will find you. And if you don't open the door for that guest, you can't be hospitable to the others.

At this moment, about to begin Christmas vacation with my family, our move finally over, and some good work waiting in the wings, I'm not feeling the outrage. I'm feeling the gratitude that favorite poet Jane Kenyon talks about. Forgive me if I've shared this poem with you before. It's part of me, so I probably have.

Friends, it could all be Otherwise. May you find contentment and purpose whatever your circumstances this Christmas. Deep peace to you.

Love Sarah.

Otherwise

I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.

At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table wtih silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise. 

Wow. I am really drowning in Christmas spirit around here. Emily was up for the weekend, and I could write about 2,000 entries about how much I need her, how sacred our time together was. But I could also talk about the Christmas Kitsch Explosion that went on. WAY TOO MANY ornaments were purchased. She said, "I just love animals with scarves on!." Pathetic. We should have taken our wallets away from one another. So we've got some more animals with scarves on around here, and Loretta has taken it upon herself to kitsch up the mantle. I don't have the heart to take anything down for the sake of style. Let's just say Dwell magazine won't come knocking anytime soon.

Last year, I posted this Christmas pledge, and I'm pretty sure I found it by way of Emily and a blogger friend of hers. These 5 little principles lit the way for me last year, and I've found myself returning to them. In particular, this bit about "rededicating myself to the spiritual growth of my family." I want my kids to understand how privileged their lives are, and that responsibility comes with that. I want them to slow down enough to absorb love and receive love. I want them to be kind to one another, to be still and quiet sometimes, and to be captivated by the idea that God comes to us in all sorts of surprising ways. I can't expect them to get those things if Christmas is just about consuming.

Am I excited about giving them gifts? Of course. Do I have a ridiculous number of lists going? Puh-lease. I am Queen of Lists. But wonder, stillness, and a holy sense of Other trump all that stuff. I've experienced two deaths this year--my Uncle Mike and a dear friend and mentor, Lynn. I was able to be with both of them in liminal hours, hovering between death and life. What I experienced then is the truth I want to remember now--All that matters in this life is the love we allow ourselves to receive and the love we bestow on each other. If you don't feel like doing a Christmas cookie exchange this year, don't do it. Light a candle and pray for peace instead. If you don't want to go to the mall, don't do it. Call your aunt up instead and tell her you miss her. 

Christmas, like every time of year, is a time when we can be transformed if we let ourselves. It's a time when we can quit with the cynicism and let ourselves be broken open a little bit. In the end, we'll wish we had. And this pledge helps me.

P.S. Yes, my annual baking day is coming up. Give that up?! Never. I'm relying on old standards this year--Spiced Nuts, Caramel Corn, and Hazelnut Toffee.

Christmas Pledge

• To remember those who truly need my gifts.
• To express my love for family and friends in more direct ways than presents.
• To rededicate myself to the spiritual growth of my family.
• To examine my holiday activities in light of the true spirit of Christmas.
• To initiate one act of peacemaking within my circle of family and friends.

So I'm a sucker for chocolate and peppermint. Sue me. 

And for all those folks who love to complain about Christmas coming too soon, you'd better start complaining about me, too. We already have our tree up. Me and Buddy the Elf are ready. It feels so good to be home, not in transition anymore, not living out of boxes. (Well, pretty much. Trying to be patient.)

I would rather die than go anywhere or purchase anything on Black Friday, but holing up in my kitchen or dragging out the art supplies is another matter. And my mom started a tradition, way back when, of always making some sort of special treat or cookie on tree decorating night. I come by it naturally.

There were many other things I should have been doing yesterday, but I spent a good portion of it getting ready for Tree Decorating Night. Vacuumed the rug, hauled out the plastic tote marked "Xmas," and had to go to two stores to get the ingredients for these little numbers. I was doing it all for Wyatt. Really. He goes NUTS over chocolate and peppermint. Like I've said before in your presence, there's nothing quite as motivating as seeing your kids love something you make. Wyatt really goes for it, too. He rolls his eyes, groans, get chocolate everywhere. It's pretty great. 

I'm keenly aware lately that these are the moments I will miss and romanticize as I grow older and into different seasons of life. Don't get me wrong--I'm dying to go to Greece and Morocco, sleep in every once in awhile, and actually get something accomplished during my day. But all of that is overrated. These moments, unwrapping all the Chrismtas ornaments or cleaning up the playdough, are the real ones. I'll miss the physicality of the kids' little limbs, the completely un-self-conscious way they love things like Christmas lights and peppermint bark. 

This is it, and it's breathtaking. I am blessed beyond belief.

Candy Cane Brittle
Adapted from Bon Appetit. I used to be down on BA after Gourmet went under. I didn't want to like it. But guess what? I can't help myself. The December issue got me out of a kitchen stupor. All of the sudden, I want to attempt everything and travel everywhere. And that inspiration is totally worth the subscription price. 

P.S. I get chocolate for stuff like this at Trader Joes. Their "Pound Plus" bars are the deal of the century. And apparently white chocolate is totally passé. So 1984. I actually had to look pretty hard to find some. I settled for a Godivia bar from the grocery store. I suppose you could go without it, but I like the contrast and the way it binds everything together.

1 lb. high quality bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, chopped
1/2 c. chopped candy canes, divided (I used 6 "regular" size candy canes, put them between parchment paper, and pounded them with a rolling pin)
1 c. chocolate wafer cookies (such as Nabisco Famous Chocolate Wafers), lightly crushed
2 oz. high quality white chocolate, melted 

Line a large baking sheet with foil. Stir bittersweet chocolate in a medium bowl set over a saucepan of shimmering water until melted. Stir in 1/4 c. chopped candy and all the crushed cookies; spread mixture over foil till it's about 1/4 " thick. Sprinkle the rest of the candy over, and drizzle with the white chocolate (which you've melted in the same manner as the bittersweet chocolate). Chill until set, about 30 minutes, and break into shards. 

Emily sent me more mail yesterday. The only good thing about being apart is that our voluminous mail exhanges are acutally justified now that more miles separate us. I knew we were going to be friends 10 years ago when, after having her over for dinner, I got more than one follow-up card. You locked me in, sister.

This time, her card included a thin strip from a fortune cookie. It said, "You will make a new friend." 

Liz and I went out for lunch, and if the parking meter and picking kids up from school hadn't been realities, we would have eaten a lot more charcuterie and drank a lot more beer. Bellingham friends, I'm thinking about getting direct deposit to Old World Deli. I love how everyone's having leisurely lunches in there on a weekday. 

And I was connected with a colleague up here. We had an animiated time over coffee and even talked about doing some work together.

Cry, and the milk will come. I'm finding it to be true all over again.

We've had seven nights in our new (unfinished) house. I'm learning how the light falls and when, swooning over the view of Bellingham Bay, trying to be patient with the months left of work to do, and feeling overhwhelmingly grateful to have landed. Eleven months ago, Yancey and I were in Vancouver for our annual getaway and decided it was time to move back to Bellingham. We came home, spent six months getting our house ready to sell, sold it, moved up here into a rental, and spent another 5 months fixing up this one. God. We are tired. And ready to focus on each other what else is going on in the world.

What about you, long-lost readers? I miss you! What are you grateful to have survived this year? I'm happy to be heading into Thanksgiving with you. I'll probably be making good old-fashioned apple pie, maybe these, and already starting to think about trifle for Christmas. Bring it on.

Yeah! I'm posting a favorite place in Bellingham! 

In this little town of 81,000, it's a little easier to keep up with what's going on. Like the opening of Dashi Noodle Bar several weeks ago. I've been by a few times and it was either closed or I was daunted by the line. But today, on my way to pay my second parking ticket as a Bellingham resident, I drove by just as it was rolling up its doors, and I would have stopped even if God herself had stood in my way.

You know me and my ramen obsession. Dashi isn't that. They have delicious homemade ramen noodles, but a traditional ramen shop would never put out green tomato kimchi, salted peanuts, and fresh jalapenos on a free-for-all condiment bar. And you can get Chinese or rice noodles, choose your protein (I got braised pork belly and a gingered soft boiled egg), and choose your broth. And I want to have an I.V. drip of that green tomato kimchi. I considered shoveling a bunch into my purse, but kimchi is one of those things that you don't really want anywhere but in your mouth.

I froze my *%# off, as the only seating is at a narrow bar outdoors. Good thing the soup was hot, the staff was super friendly (hi, Julia!), and I don't really care about the temperature when I'm buzzing over good food.

Remember when Oprah was championing the gratitude journal a few years back? I miss Oprah and her spunky outfits. 

In a shout-out to the gratitude journal, here are some things I'm thankful for today:

• Vivace Espresso beans, hauled back from Seattle whenever possible, and brewed in our trusty Nuova Simonelli machine. The crema on those shots is unbelievable.
• All the folks in my leadership class at a large healthcare organization. They engaged, laughed at my jokes, and are making the world a better place.
• My mom, who watched Lorettta during my doctor's appointment. It's sad that going to the doctor can be the most relaxing thing about your week. They even had the November issue of Real Expensive Real Simple.
• Wayne, my tireless father-in-law, who took the week off work to help us lay wood floors. Our family would have fallen apart with his help these last four months. Whenever I can, I appoint myself the Lunch Mistress. I've figured out his favorites--Haggen deli tuna salad, chocolate covered peanuts, carnitas, and cheesesteaks without the hot stuff.
• Kristen, who's taking Loretta some afternoons while I work, and Kelly who has rescued me from my schedule a million times lately.
• Friday Night Lights, the best show network television has ever produced. I've already seen all five seasons, but am watching them again while Yancey toils at the remodel. Eric and Tammy Taylor, you never get old.
• Emily, who put fruit in my lunchbox, made me popcorn, bought me dinner, and generally spoiled me during my work trip.

And, of course, YOU, who are sticking it out with me while my life is upside-down.