We made it through two weeks of homeschooling, two weeks of working from home with two kids around, two weeks of The Spring of the Virus. Even if the Shelter in Place order lasts into summer, into fall—God forbid—it will be springtime in my mind when my future wise self and I look back on this global Coronavirus pandemic. Covid19 shut us all down right as the tulips and asparagus burst forth. The other morning, eerily quiet since traffic has so slowed and Bart is running shorter hours and fewer trains, I heard a flock of Canada geese flying over the house. Heading North for summer? Choosing a different path in quieter skies? It was nice to hear them.
Things at our house are going better than expected, much better than I’d feared. When we made it to last weekend, I could even say, honestly, that we were doing okay. This after a desperate and depressed couple of days; the shops were overrun with people (but devoid of toilet paper), and I ran into a teacher from my son’s school and we both burst into tears. Governor Newsom had just announced that our kids might not go back to school this year, and that was the reality that hit me the hardest both personally and globally: all these children, for whom school is structure and lifeline, are now floating, aimless, free. My son’s got his best teacher so far, and as Ben put it, we wanted the whole year with him—we needed the whole year!—and we don’t get it. It’s hard not to feel betrayed and devastated.
Except that my kid is, basically, fine.
At ten, he’s both sensitive and oblivious, and nothing if not an introvert. He admitted last week that he’s not much missing anyone, and he’s happily reading, doing his math, shooting hoops, and driving us nuts. The three-year-old seems to be thriving, too, which is confusing to me since he loves his preschool so very much. But he’s easier to be around, less exhausted, more cheerful, sleeping better, and thriving on our makeshift routine: every day at ten, when the morning work shift (mine) ends and I start on kid duty, we cook something together, then have experiential learning time (the endless project of making an Ancient Rome diorama) before family lunch. PE is every day from 2:30-4:00: we scooter, or we bike ride, or we meet up with friends outside and keep a careful six feet away. Or we trek up to Indian Rock and climb around.
The running underlying thread of dread. The confusion and guilt of doing okay: am I faring better than some of my colleagues, than some of my friends? Should I feel bad about this? Is this time the calm before the storm, before the colleges and non-profits close and our income disappears? Will all of our favorite businesses go under? Are the kids who thrived on the routine of school going to back-slide during this time and be forever behind, perpetuating the achievement gap in our city? Will we plummet into a global recession that has consequences so long-lasting my kids will feel them in their early adulthood? And will we get and survive this thing? What about our loved ones?
It’s almost unnecessary to outline these fears. We all have them. Even on the good days, they’re there. It’s like this brilliant quote from that show “The Good Place,” when the Eleanor character is trying to describe what it’s like being human to someone who’s immortal. “We humans know about death,” she says. “So we’re all always a little bit sad underneath.” We humans know about Coronavirus, so we’re always a little bit sad underneath. None of us will ever be the same after this spring of the virus.
“It’s good to keep knowing yourself,” says Alicia Keys in this delightful video. The strangest/most magical part of The Spring of the Virus? Really seeing the four people who make up our family in clearer ways than usual. When all the schedules are wiped clean, when we’re the only people we see, somehow I know us all better, and differently. L is shyer than I remembered, and consistently happy to entertain himself. Ben takes deep solace in growing things. I’m alive if I’ve got my early mornings and a cup of tea, writing poems. And little S thrives on being needed, on being cherished, more than ever.
Sending love and light, readers, for your Spring of the Virus. We’ll get through this.
High, Low, Buffalo, similar to Rose and Thorn, is a dinnertime game that was introduced to me by my friend An Honest Mom. Over dinner, you share your day: the high, the low, and the magical, or strange, or odd thing you’re still mulling over: the buffalo.
Need some recipe ideas while you’re stuck at home? Check out:
**And remember that it’s very likely that your local, independent bookstore is doing online orders. Mine is! Amazon will survive this crisis. Your local bookstore might not. So buy your books indie, friends.
Didja notice I skipped a week of Vegetarian Dinners That Don’t Suck? Forgive me. It’s summer, and we wrapped up the school year with a two-night camping trip in the Sierra foothills, came home for two nights and went camping again. So last week was a wash. Camping with two small kids is no small feat, it turns out, and the first trip was sort of medium successful. S. loved the tent, but also decided to wake up at two a.m. and harass me and his brother for three hours the first night. We managed to pick the noisiest campsite on the entire gorgeous lake. The people next door were jerks. Etcetera. But it was still lovely to swim, and the days were hot and dry and spectacular.
Funny story: we rented a Jetta to get up there, since our car is on the fritz, and we had so much stuff that the kids could barely see out the front. There were duffels and coolers and sleeping bags at their feet and between them and everywhere. So when we arrived and B was hauling things out of the car, he asked, “what’s in this giant bag?”
By the second trip, we had our systems down (Read: brought fewer stuffies) and it helped that camping up in fancy Healdsburg on a friend’s parents’ property was more like glamping. A pool, a lot of floatation devices, some imbibing, kids running wild—it all made for better sleep, easier days, and more fun. And we had really delicious, easy food both nights, big old communal dinners that are just what summer is all about.
Herewith, my last vegetarian dinner that doesn’t suck, a delightful and easy summer meal that’s always a crowd pleaser.
This recipe is a combo of something I’ve been making for years and an amazing uncooked sauce my sister-in-law J—yep! The one with the chickens and the Gado Gado—made for me once.
3 very large ripe tomatoes (heirloom or beefsteak), or the equivalent (several different colors looks nice)
1 cup or so beautiful sweet yellow or orange cherry tomatoes
1 bunch fresh basil, chopped
2 T. capers
1-2 cloves of garlic
1 container little fresh mozzarella balls or equivalent amount of another melty cheese you like: ricotta salata, brie, etc.
A fragrant peppery green extra-virgin olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste
Maple syrup, agave, honey, or sugar (optional; see Note)
Grated lemon rind (optional; see Note)
1 pound of pasta, gluten-free or regular (fresh pasta would also be divine)
Chop heirlooms into various sizes and shapes (all within the realm of bite-sized) and place in a bowl. Halve the cherry tomatoes and add them, too. Squeeze through a press (or mash with the side of a knife) the garlic and add that, along with the chopped basil, the capers, salt and pepper to taste, and a generous glug of olive oil. Toss gently, let sit for 15 to 20 minutes, then taste again. You want a nice mix of garlicky, salty, tangy, and sweet. If the tomatoes are too tangy, you’ll need to soften the flavor with a little bit of sweetener. If they’re very sweet and you want more tang, go ahead and grate in some lemon rind.
Add your mozzarella or cheese of choice, sliced in half, and let marinate for another 15 minutes or while you’re cooking your pasta.
Cook pasta until al dente in salted water. Toss with a bit of olive oil and your sauce. Correct seasoning and serve.
Note: You can actually marinate the tomato mixture for hours on end and leave in on the counter with a cloth over the bowl. I would still add the cheese towards the end, but do give the cheese a little time to absorb delicious flavors. This can, of course, also be made without the cheese for a vegan dinner.
A word on gluten-free pastas, for they are not created alike! Hands down, the best one is Jovial brand. That is all.
We went to Ben’s sister J’s last weekend in the 90 degree heat to check in on her beautiful and quirky property in Sonoma. We met her in Santa Rosa at a farm where a lovely woman named Vivian raises chickens. Little Sammy immediately availed himself of the flock, grabbing whichever bird would let him near. That kid is so fearless—at two, Leo sure wasn’t picking up any chickens (he wasn’t even at nine). Emus ran around the back of the farm and we bought two dozen gorgeous pastured (chicken! Not emu!) eggs to take home.
At J’s, there were fawns to feed with bottles, more chickens, including three temperamental and hysterical roosters, a pond with bright little fish, and a hose—oh my! Sammy watered for hours on end, and since their property is fed with a spring, we didn’t even feel too guilty about it.
And there was Gado Gado for lunch.
I already had Gado Gado on the brain. I was thinking how all of my recipes so far have been pretty homey, not “company stuff,” as they say. But with its gorgeous layers and colors, the Indonesian dish Gado Gado is the kind of vegetarian dinner you could serve when you want to make a big deal out of someone. Gado Gado is versatile, it feels a bit exotic, it’s a great way to put to use any veggies you’ve got, and it’s delicious. It’s also gluten-free (as have been all of my recipes so far) and good for vegans if you omit the eggs.
Note that my interpretation of Gado Gado is probably not authentic. (Someday, I’d like to go to Indonesia and eat the real thing.) And like last week’s recipe for tofu, this recipe is more of a concept than a firm list of ingredients and techniques. But that’s what I love about it: the possibilities really are endless.
A note on amounts: I’m sorry not to be firmer in the amounts below, but this dish depends a lot on how many are coming and how big their appetites are, as well as on what’s in your fridge. If I only have three potatoes for my family, I’ll supplement heavily with a sweet potato and a few carrots. Half a cucumber is fine if you also have some beautiful spring onions and a handful of cherry tomatoes. Etc.
A variety of cooking vegetables, chopped into large-ish bite-sized pieces (potatoes are classic; I have also used sweet potato, carrot, cabbage, greens, etc. Try for a mix of colors and flavors. At J’s we did potatoes, purple sweet potatoes, and large chunks of green and purple cabbage)
A variety of raw vegetables, including cucumber, lettuce, tomato, bean sprouts, green onions, green beans, pickled anything, more cabbage, etc., chopped into large-ish bite-sized pieces (at J’s we had tomatoes, cukes, lightly dressed baby bok choi, pickled carrots, green onions…)
Rice (traditional is sticky rice in a banana leaf! I always just make a pot of jasmine in my rice cooker and call it a day. J made a brown sticky rice, which was delicious)
Baked or fried tofu or tempeh (a block/package will serve four; you can also buy already marinated, seasoned tofu and use that—or, omit it altogether)
1-2 hard boiled eggs per person
Peanut Sauce (recipe below)
To make Gado Gado, prep your veggies: cut everything into bite-sized pieces and get the steamers going. Note that while it’s tempting to just throw everything together, the beauty in this dish is when all the vegetables form a mosaic on your platter. So resist the urge to skimp on pots and pans and neatly separate all your veggies. (This way, too, you’ll be sure that your sweet potatoes are not mushy while your carrots are still hard.)
While your potatoes and similar are steaming away, beautifully wash and prep your raw veggies. Boil your eggs, fry your tofu, and prepare your peanut sauce and rice.
When your cooked vegetables are cooked and your raw vegetables are beautifully chopped, get out your most beautiful platter and arrange everything. I like to pile like with like around the plate, making a rainbow of colors. Serve your rice on the side. You can either drizzle over some peanut sauce (and pass more at the table) or serve the sauce in a pitcher for everyone to help themselves. Either way, be sure to have plenty of peanut sauce.
As J says, without the sauce, it’s just a pile of vegetables.
Serve with hot sauce, too, for those who like it spicy!
Peanut (or Almond) Sauce
This is a recipe I love from Cynthia Lair’s fabulous cookbook Feeding the Whole Family. I *always* double it.
¼ cup creamy peanut or almond butter
2 teaspoons maple syrup
2 Tablespoons tamari or soy sauce
1 Tablespoon rice vinegar
1 teaspoon or more grated fresh ginger
1 teaspoon sriracha or similar hot sauce (or to taste)
1/3 cup of water
Put all ingredients in a saucepan over low heat. Whisk until the sauce is smooth and warm. Thin with water as necessary.
Love peanut sauce? Make Bathing Rama, too: noodles or rice, fried tofu, a big pile of spinach or other cooked greens, all drizzled with the sauce. Yum.
Meal planning, let alone cooking delicious vegetarian dinners, has been the last thing on my mind. In these parts, we’ve been eating a lot of toast.
It’s been a minor doozy of a few weeks. I finally got rid of my two-week cold only to throw my back out, only to receive word, early last week, that one of the kids from Sammy’s daycare had likely brought in Norovirus. One of the caregivers went home sick, daycare closed for two days, and then Sam had it. Even though he never slowed down for one minute, him waking up covered in vomit on Sunday morning kiiiind of seemed like an indicator that our house was a big virusy mess.
Ensue Papa Bear in bed for two days with nausea and aches and Sammy home indefinitely until, well, his poop firmed up. Me? I had some vague nausea that, fingers crossed, seems to have passed, and yesterday I finally sent Sammy back to school—only to get a call later asking me to pick him up.
It’s been a week of hot-water-washes, incessant hand washing, bleached everything, and the sensation that this thing just won’t release its grip on us. Norovirus, if that’s what this is, seems to impact everyone differently, but its main claim to fame is just how very contagious it is.
Anyway, this morning, in addition to a bolstering bleach-wash of every Lego Sammy has ever touched, plus some more laundry, I’m turning again to thinking about great vegetarian dinners.
I know, I know: if you’re a real diehard meat fan, you don’t think you can get behind tofu, that bland white block of meh. That’s the thing, though. Most people don’t know that tofu is spectacularly tasty when you do it right. As a friend of Leo’s said once, when she stayed for dinner, “I LOVE tofood!” Me too. It feels nourishing and satisfying in a way that even meat-lovers should be able to get behind. In fact, tofu truly makes a vegetarian dinner that doesn’t suck.
Tofu Two Ways
1-2 blocks extra firm tofu (we now make 3 in our house, with a slim chance of some leftovers for the next day! #growingkids)
Lots of soy sauce or Bragg’s Liquid Aminos Freshly grated ginger Coconut oil, sesame oil, or both Neutral oil for frying (see below) Garlic, minced Nutritional yeast
Whichever method you choose, you need to get excess water out of your already extra-firm tofu so as to be sure it’s firm, firm, firm. You can either wrap it in paper towels to blot the excess moisture or stick your tofu between two plates and stack several heavy cookbooks on top for 20 minutes or so. Drain off the excess liquid, and chop it into bite-sized cubes or rectangles.
Method One: Stovetop
This is Ben’s method, which was actually passed down from his dad. (We might even call it Eichentofu.) Basically, in a hot frying pan, you heat some neutral oil and sauté 2-5 minced garlic cloves—how many is up to you, but Ben likes to do more than seems right for polite company.
Add your tofu, and allow it to cook on one side until it develops a crust, much like searing meat (in other words: don’t flip it too early!). Once it’s getting crunchy, browned, and awesome, you can flip it gently, then add soy sauce and nutritional yeast to taste. Cook those cubes for a while in that salty, yeasty mixture—maybe 20 minutes. Taste occasionally to be sure you’ve got the right saltiness (add a splash of water if you’ve overdone it on the soy). The tofu pieces should become almost caramelized, crunchy on the outside, chewy inside, with the most umami spectacular deliciousness ever.
Method Two: Oven
Arguably less awesome, but requiring almost no babysitting, is baked tofu, which has become my go-to because most nights I need a quick and easy protein to do its thing while I ignore it. Heat your oven to 400. In a large lasagna-type pan, melt a couple of tablespoons of coconut oil (stick it in the oven for a minute and take it out) and then swirl it around to coat the pan. Meanwhile, toss your firm tofu cubes in a bowl with freshly grated ginger, sesame oil, and soy or liquid Aminos. You’ll need quite a bit of flavoring for baked tofu, so use a heavy hand. The grated ginger is delicious and arguably makes it more digestible, too. Bake for 20-30 minutes, tossing once or twice, until browned and awesome, tasting occasionally to be sure you’ve got the right saltiness and intensity.
Either kind of tofu is best devoured with a giant pot of rice (white or brown) and a green side, like sautéed greens or roasted broccoli (so easy! So good! Just adjust your tofu temp up or your broccoli temp down to do them at the same time) or even a steamed artichoke from the garden. Make sure the table is liberally set with condiments like more soy, Aminos, nutritional yeast, and hot sauce, even if it would make your proper mother cringe.
Or you can serve it like we did in the photo: with a quinoa salad and slaw. —- NOTE: While I really do adore tofu, I DON’T adore the plastic it comes in. It’s also, compared to beans, a relatively processed food that uses a decent amount of energy (on par with eggs and chicken, I think). Seek out bulk tofu where and when you can, and make it a once-weekly treat.
While the Indian food we white people make at home isn’t quite as spectacular as what we get from Vik’s or Udupi Palace in Berkeley, nonetheless we make a respectable Indian meal in these parts. The foundation? Dal. It’s delicious, it’s easy, it’s cheap, and even the kids will eat it, especially if you allow them to tailor their own with condiments. This dal recipe doubles beautifully, which makes it a great candidate to freeze for another meal.
Indian food is so vegetarian-friendly! Here’s an easy recipe for dal, which is a vital part of a kid-friendly, vegetarian Indian feast.
Very slightly adapted from Sundays at Moosewood Restaurant
1 1/2 cups of red lentils (you can choose a different kind if you like, but these are readily available and cheap, and they cook quickly)**
4 cups of water
½ teaspoon of turmeric
Salt to taste
½ teaspoon cumin seeds
2 T ghee, vegetable oil, or plain old butter
1 cup chopped onions
1 teaspoon grated fresh ginger (you know about freezing your ginger, right, for long-term keeping? Just grate it with a microplane for this recipe and others)
1 teaspoon garam masala
Fresh lemon juice to taste
Spinach or other greens, or tomatoes, or a can of coconut milk
Chopped cilantro, to serve
**My mom just reported that the mobile version made “1 point 5” look like 15. One and a half cups, people!**
Rinse your lentils and add them to a pot with the water, turmeric, and about ½ teaspoon of salt. Bring to a boil, quickly reduce the heat (lentils love to foam all over your stove), and simmer, stirring often, for about 20 minutes until soft.
Meanwhile, melt your butter or oil (I wonder whether coconut oil would be good in this—likely), add the cumin seeds, and stir for 15 seconds or so until they’re fragrant. Add the onions and cook until they are soft and beginning to brown, 10-15 minutes. When the lentils are soft and the onions are done, stir the onions and all the deliciousness from the frying pan into the lentils along with the garam masala and the greens or tomatoes. Cook until the greens are wilted, salt to taste (I find I need a generous pinch, and that the lentils go from meh to amazing with the right seasoning), then brighten the pot with lemon juice to taste. Garnish with chopped cilantro.
Notes: If you want to add some coconut milk, add it just at the end and lightly warm it so it doesn’t curdle. Probably skip the lemon juice. I always add greens to this. My kids like these served with basmati or jasmine rice, with yogurt on the table. My husband adds all kinds of spicy pickles we get at Vik’s. We also buy papadums at Vik’s, and on a good night, fry them up to go with. They’re greasy, salty, and perfect with some mango chutney.
But second of all, I’ve been in a bit of despair lately about climate change. If you haven’t been paying attention, climate change has begun to be called “climate chaos,” and the new reports from almost everywhere are just really, really, bad. One night a few weeks ago, Ben told me he’d read an article that suggested that we may be headed for total societal collapse in a decade.
It’s a lot to process. It’s terrifying. But it’s also made me really believe that even though the government is sticking its head in the sand that there are small changes we can all make that, when they add up, can have a big effect. And as you can see from this handy chart, besides deciding to have fewer children (oops), and changing some of our transportation habits (try it!), one major thing we can all do is eat. Less. Meat.
That’s not all: we also need to drastically reduce our food waste. According to a great presentation I went to recently, a third of all the food in the world goes to waste. It occurs at the site of production in developing countries, and at home in developed countries. Here’s a helpful article about that.
And so, because I know that plant-based cooking flummoxes a lot of people (“It’s not satisfying!” “My kids won’t eat it!” “It tastes like cardboard!”), I thought I’d post five weeknights’ worth of vegetarian recipes—the kind that use up leftovers, too!—over the next five weeks, along with notes and suggestions for ways you can adapt them to fit YOUR family’s tastes.
MONDAY: THE GORGEOUS BEAN SOUP MEAL
Adapted from a recipe for Pasta e Fagioli from Claire’s Corner Copia Cookbook.
Approx. 1 pound of dried Great Northern or other pale-colored, fleshy beans, preferably heirloom, soaked overnight with a pinch of salt, then drained and rinsed 1 cup of chopped parsley 6 cloves crushed garlic A small handful fresh basil, chopped 2 teaspoons fennel seeds 1 tsp. crushed red pepper flakes 1 bay leaf As much olive oil as you can spare (1/3 cup is a good start) One 28-ounce can tomatoes, crushed Two carrots, scrubbed and sliced Half a bunch of chard or kale, chopped small Some cooked GF or regular pasta, small shapes
Put the beans, parsley and basil, fennel seeds, red pepper flakes, and bay leaf in a pot and cover with plenty of water. Claire says 3 quarts. Bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer, and cook for at least an hour, stirring frequently, until the beans are approaching done but not there yet. Add the olive oil, carrots, and tomatoes and simmer an hour longer, until the beans are soft (Tamar Adler says to test three beans, and if one isn’t ready yet, back into the pot they go) and the broth is thick and stew-y. When it’s about done, add your chard or kale and cook until it’s soft. Stir in your cooked pasta to warm it. Season generously with salt. At the table, pass the black pepper, some parmesan cheese, and more olive oil. Delicious served with bread for dunking.
Notes: Where I live we can get these gorgeous heirloom beans in bulk. I choose a speckled cranberry bean-type bean for this soup (in a reused plastic bag, of course) though a classic Great Northern or Navy would be good, too. The heirloom beans are better because they retain their shape beautifully and when they break down they seem to become more than the sum of their parts. You can also make this with pre-cooked beans from your freezer or even a few cans. Just cook them for way less time, but they’ll still absorb these good flavors. Also: have some potatoes or sweet potatoes that need using up? Great—throw them in towards the end in lieu of the pasta. Have someone in your family who categorically won’t eat a vegetarian meal? You could brown some chicken sausage in a separate skillet and add it towards the end. This is one of those recipes that is infinitely adaptable, and always good.
Tried it? Have a comment? I’d love to hear from you.