On Life As A Picky Foodie

This is my baby girl just a couple of weeks ago: peaceful, at home in London, oblivious to the changes about to take place.  Although we made a book to explain that we were going to be moving, that we were leaving London for New York, I was well aware that it really was more for us grownups than for the sixteen-month old toddler who pointed out the big red busses and the airplanes in the photographs much in the same was she did in the street.

But the Grand Bus Rouge was replaced by the Grand Bus Jaune and I don’t know whether she expected everything to be so different.  I am familiar with New York, I knew what was coming, and the changes are still intense.  DW has been commenting about how different I am in the city.  Calmed somehow, he says, more at ease.  And bizarrely, I feel just as much at home here now, at age thirty-five, than I did the very first time I landed at JFK, over twenty years ago. 

We said goodbye to London in the best way we knew how: we walked through Hampstead Heath and to the Marylebone Farmer’s market.  We smelled the cheese at The Fromagerie one last time, we stopped by our favourite neighborhood café to swap general complaints.  There were people to take leave of and traditions to enjoy. 

But really, it’s the little things that make a place feel like home.  And wandering the streets of New York City, it becomes clearer with every step that London doesn’t feel mine – never has.  I loved it like a tourist on an extended stay, but I have missed the crazy fucking place that is New York.

When we were drowning in boxes, I couldn’t quite get past the questions of what we should keep, what we should sell, what should come on the plane with us, what we should leave behind.  It felt like an interminable list, constantly circling around in my head, piercing my brain like ice picks in the middle of the night.  What about the high chair?  What about the sofa bed?  What about the …?

October fourth, the day of departure, came way too quickly.  In about five seconds and after a hundred years.  I wasn’t ready.  I had never been more ready.  The taxi arrived to take us to Heathrow at 10:15 sharp.  We loaded our eight bags, the stroller, the car seat, the foldable cot – travelling light wasn’t an option this time.

The moment of realization had come earlier, as DW and I walked up the street to say goodbye to our friends at The Kitchen Table, where we spent gazillions of hours over the years.  On our way up the road, we had held hands, feeling each step in silence, knowing that we would not be making this silly little walk, which we had so taken for granted, again.  They had greeted us as they have every day for the past four years.  And we had said goodbye much in the same way we had so many times before.  DW and I laughed as we crossed the street and headed back home.  It all felt so… normal.

An hour later, the tears flowed. 

Saying goodbye is tough.  Because even if you return to the same places and see the same people, nothing will ever be the same. 

Someone else will be living in our house.  Another family will inhabit the walls where my baby girl came into the world.  They will cook on the incredible range, and take that same wander up the block to order sandwiches and fantastic coffee at The Kitchen Table.  They will live fifteen minutes from Hampstead Heath while we …

We are heading into this new chapter in our lives.  One in which nothing is clear or determined yet.  In the past few weeks, we have been in turn excited and terrified, elated and suspicious, relieved and regretful, sad and joyful and everything in between. 

As the taxi pulled out, a weight lifted off my shoulders.  I could do nothing more, even if I had wanted to.  What was packed would be packed, what was being shipped we would see again in a few weeks, what would be would be.  And if I wanted to avoid motion sickness, I needed to keep looking forward.

I don’t know if I actually laughed out loud, but I felt like doing so.  To go from being worried about what box contained my fermentation pot to not caring in the space of half a millisecond knocked me off balance enough that I was grateful to be sitting down.  The only thing that mattered wasn’t whether we should or shouldn’t take the furniture, or how many tea bags I should take on the flight – it was the two people sitting on either side of me, my husband and my daughter. 

And then, just like that, we find ourselves wandering the streets of New York slightly in awe, but also bizarrely at home already -- we know where we like to eat, where we like to shop for groceries, who we need to call, what we need to see, do, explore, experience.  Only unlike in the past, there's a little person involved and at the same time everything is new.  

Vida Lev is now toddling along, which means she has little time to be in her carrier or her stroller.  So we let her wander the streets of Manhattan and Brooklyn to her heart’s desire.  She waddles, holding her arms up on each side of her to keep her balance.  And then every so often, she squats down in a kind of downward dog to recalibrate before taking off again.  This child fits right in here: already she is in a hurry.  People wave, people smile, people ask whether her boots come in adult sizes.  If you think New Yorkers are rude or unfriendly, you should set a beaming toddler loose in the streets: never have I seen such love, enjoyment and pleasure in people’s faces as in the past few days with my little girl. 

On a final note, I will say this: we have gone from a four-bedroom house in London to who knows what in New York (though I know for a fact that whatever we find will be smaller than what we were in).  The stress, which was can I keep this?,  has now become why in the world did I hold on to that?

Life.  The jokes never stop coming.

Recipe: Breakfast for Globetrotting Parents 

When you're moving continents and running after a very energetic little girl, breakfast needs to power you through until God knows when.  This one might seem complicated and filled with scary, unknown ingredients, but people often ask me what I eat so I decided to share this latest favourite which has kept me sated, grounded and happy for many a challenging morning recently.  I won't lie, this is one greeeeen smoothie but it's choc-full of good fats, minerals, protein and awesome quality slow-burning fuel.  Plus, in my opinion, it's delicious though I am aware that my palate is greeeeener than most people's so consider yourself warned.  The great news is that all you have to do is blend so it's super simple to make.  And if you let the mixture sit for a few minutes, it will thicken up into a pudding.  I like to top mine with juicy berries and crunchy cacao nibs for something to chew on, and eat it with a big old spoon.

Ingredients:

1 T coconut butter

1 T hemp seeds

2 T chia seeds

1 t spirulina

1 t chlorella

1/8 t kelp powder

1 t cinnamon

1 t vanilla powder

1 dropper Oceans Alive

1 banana

3/4 c raspberries

1 dried fig

4-5 kale leaves, stalks removed

1 cup water

For the topping (optional): 

small handful fresh blueberries

a sprinkle of cacao nibs

Instructions:

Combine all the ingredients in the blender.  

Blend well -- you might need to add a little more water, depending on the strength of your machine.  

Allow to thicken for a few minutes.  

Top with blueberries and cacao nibs (optional). 

P.S.  Happy Birthday to ME!

For the past while, I’ve been reading (and drooling) about pop-up restaurants without being able to partake in this latest foodie fashion.  I cannot think of a less pleasant phone call to make than ringing a four-day passion project to ask whether they can do me a gluten-, dairy-, bla bla bla, everything-free version of whatever it is they have spent months agonizing over.  Not really my idea of a good time – not for them, not for me.

Until this week.  Thanks to the lovely Molly from The Particular Kitchen – my twitter friend who magically transformed into real-life bud – I found out about this place: Tolerance Restaurant 

Vegan and gluten-free – in London (England) -- huh?  Huh?  WHAAAAAT?

The last time I got this excited about food in London, it was served on a bus and the view was of hookers. (long story)

DW and I had a date-night planned for Friday, and seeing as cinema times are not really geared towards co-sleeping attachment-parenting Ima and Pappa of a toddler, we decided to check the place out.

Let me start with a warning: there are no pictures of the food.  I wanted to enjoy, relax and eat without stressing out about whether I had a good enough shot. 

We called to ensure that I could, in fact, eat their food and got a resounding yes.  Even when I called again, early Friday morning – the day of said dinner – to make sure there was no dreaded agave, the friendly Natalie who was to be our waitress, patiently and kindly liased with the chef to assure me.  Raw avocado chocolate mousse it was then!

DW and I sauntered through the streets of North London, holding hands, feeling strangely free and yet as if we’d – as DW said – “left a part of our hearts back home.”  It’s difficult to leave Vida Lev.  And wonderful to be alone with my husband. 

Like good parents on a ticking clock, we arrived early and chatted to the two women in charge – one of whom was the lovely Natalie from earlier.  The other was her equally gorgeous sister.  They made us feel welcome and comfortable, a detail that always has huge ramifications on my dinner – the attitude of restaurant staff is more often than not, reflected in the food, don’t you think?  Their charm lasted throughout the meal.  Really, truly, I could have sat there for hours.  I loved the décor, the lighting, the whole ambiance was wonderful. 

And now to the food.  This is trickier.  Let me start by saying that I did very much enjoy it.  The ingredients were fresh, and clearly a lot of love and thought had gone into each dish. 

Simply put, I’d give the Chef a 10 for effort.  I could tell he worked his ass off to provide a range of options showcasing his different talents as well as catering to us “healthy” “vegan” types.  Each course offered both raw and cooked options -- earthy roots, refreshing salads, great grains and healthy fats. 

For all three – the starters, mains and desserts -- DW and I shared a cooked dish and a raw one.  The cooked dishes were without a doubt superior to the raw though I feel a little guilty saying this as I’m so grateful that there was raw food to begin with!

Our starters were a salad with mandolin-thin sliced sweet potato and olive and tomato tapenade – richly flavoured, a great combo of sweet and savoury.  I happen to be very partial to mixing things like olives with sweet roots and was very happy with the results in this particular salad.  It was satisfying without being heavy.  The raw nori rolls, on the other hand, were surprisingly unconvincing.  They tasted like many a raw mock tuna salad I have had in the past – something I’m not all that keen on anyway.  But based on the description on the menu, I had expected a lovely, mellow vegetable roll, not the intense taste I was confronted with.  It didn’t feel as well thought out, as nuanced as the cooked salad (which did contain raw spinach leaves). 

For mains, we had the quinoa cakes and the raw stir-fry (which obviously wasn’t fried) with pine nut “rice.” 

I’m going to interrupt myself here to mention a pet peeve that extends to most of these places: please don’t call something by a more widely known name if what you’re delivering is completely different.  Don’t say “pizza” when it has nothing to do with the famous dish, or “meatballs” when there isn’t any meat for miles, or “stir-fry” when it isn’t fried.  OK, I feel better now.  Thank you.

When DW had his first bite of the quinoa cake with cabbage sauce, he pronounced it “bland.”  But lo and behold, by the second, third, fourth, twentieth bite, we were both wanting more.  I want it for my vegan Thanksgiving; or for Sunday roast.  Every week.  It was a warming, comfort-food type dish – not immediately impressive -- but it crept up and discretely turned wonderful.  In fact, we requested a takeaway sample for Vida Lev, which the chef kindly sent us up on the house.  How sweet is that?

Unfortunately, however, though the raw “stir fry” and “rice” wasn’t bad, it also wasn’t fantastic.  Here’s the thing about raw food: getting gourmet raw food right is harder than it seems.  Almost anyone can make a decent salad, but what separates a bunch of lettuce leaves from actual uncooked greatness is the same thing that separates a chef from a passionate cook.  Once again, however, I would have to give Chef Cooper a 10 for effort.

For dessert, DW had the chocolate hazelnut cake, which I tried a tiny bit of (it contained soy so I stayed away for the most part).  I found it slightly dry – personally, I’m big on icing – but DW would happily have enjoyed a second piece had his stomach, budget and ego allowed him to.  My raw chocolate mousse was good.  The chef made me a special agave-free version for which I was grateful.

What a treat to be able to spoon food off DW’s plate, to allow him to taste mine without having to request additional cutlery -- to eat and enjoy without worrying and wondering. 

I know this guy is going to make waves in London.  At least I hope he will.  Because I could taste his passion in every bite.  He still has a ways to go, but I applaud him.  Bring on the healthy, gluten-free, vegan pop-ups!

We enjoyed our experience at Tolerance so much that DW and I decided to stop by Oliver’s Café, where the pop-up took place to check out their regular service.  Again, lovely people, lovely ambiance.

“Where has this place been all my [London] life?”  I wondered out loud.

We had to laugh – ain’t it always the way?  Like when you’re about to go to the hairdresser and your hair looks perfect for the first time in forever. But hey ho, we leave for New York in a week!

That being said, I was chatting to the owner and the guy behind the bar about vegan food and raw food and how different people react to it.  I’m of the opinion that anyone who cooks special diet meals should be focusing on making their food exciting and delicious for everyone, not just people who choose to or are forced to eat a specific way.  Whether it’s gluten-free, vegan, raw, or all of the above, it needs to knock your socks off, even if you eat ham and cheese baguette every other meal of your life.

For example, some of the diners at Tolerance were turned off by the fact that the chocolate mousse was made with avocado.  My theory is that had they not known the strange and unexpected ingredient to begin with, they probably would have enjoyed it more.  Case-in-point: my raw chocolate banana torte.  The name doesn’t give anything away, nor do I tell people about the tahini or the avocado (unless, of course, there’s an allergy or intolerance issue) until they’re licking their fingers and plates clean – and, believe me, they usually do.  This recipe appeared in the second Leon cookbook, Naturally Fast Food.

Raw Chocolate Banana Torte

A great one to make a day or two in advance as the extra time lets the flavours meld together.  Trust me, if you can get past the idea of avocado in dessert, you’ll love it.    

For the Base layer

¾ cups almonds

6 dates, pitted

¼ cup melted coconut oil

1/3 cup sunflower seeds

pinch salt

For the chocolate layer

2 avocados

2 T tahini

6 T cacao

½ t vanilla powder

2 t honey

4 T water

For the banana layers                       

4 ripe bananas

It is important to start by making the base layer so that it has time to set in the freezer:

For the base layer:

Combine the almonds, dates, sunflower seeds and salt in the food processor.  Melt the coconut oil in a Bain de Marie to avoid overheating.  Once the coconut oil has liquified, pour into the food processor while it’s working.  The mixture should end up as more or less one uniform ball. 

Divide into two parts, one larger (about 3/4), one smaller (about ¼) and put the smaller one aside.  Press the larger part into an 8 inch round cake pan with the base of your palm until it is about half a centimetre thick.  Put in the freezer to set while you prepare the other layers.

For the first banana layer:

Mash up two bananas.

For the second banana layer:

Chop the remaining two bananas into even slices.

For the chocolate layer:

(This can be done by hand or in the food processor – the key here is to make sure that it is extremely well-mixed: you don’t want little chunks of avocado ruining the party.)

Mash the avocado.  Mix the tahini in very well.  Add the cacao and vanilla powder followed by the honey and make sure everything is well blended – it should look like and have the consistency of chocolate pudding.  At the very end, dilute ever so slightly with water.  

To create the torte:

Pull the bottom layer out of the freezer. 

Cover with the mashed bananas.

At this point, roll out the second, smaller chunk of base layer dough until it is about as thick as a pancake or a tortilla and gently place on top of the mashed bananas

Gently arrange the chopped bananas over the entire surface

Cover with the chocolate layer.

Keep Refrigerated until serving.

“It’s so nice to see you enjoy.”  Dw’s words were painful to hear.

Have I really been taking such little pleasure in my food lately?

The answer is yes.  Honestly, truly.  I wish it was different, but the reality is such that recently I have been cooking because my child needs to be fed, or as a way of procrastinating the mountains of packing that await me in every room.  Food has, in the past few months, become a chore.

Over the years, I have removed and reinstated countless ingredients: tomatoes, oats, tamari, potatoes (sweet and regular), aubergines (eggplants to the Yanks), to name a few.  Some have remained, some have been jettisoned again, while others come and go depending on how I’m feeling.  

Last March, I found myself depleted of energy, drained at all times, my thyroid was acting up, and I hadn’t been able to lose even a gram of the weight I had put on during my pregnancy.  The very talented Naturopath I saw recommended I remove all nuts (except coconut and some cashews and macadamias if necessary), seeds, pulses and grains.  We compromised on oats, which I happily ate for breakfast every morning and stuffed in every dessert imaginable (something had to replace all those nut-filled recipes!).  She also requested that I eat more meat – something I have been trying to remove altogether (since becoming a mother, I have found it much more difficult to stomach).

I agreed to try and within a few weeks, I was feeling a hundred times better.  My weight started to normalize, my skin, which had been red and blotchy for a while, cleared up, my mood lightened.  All was well.

Until it wasn’t. 

For me, food should be about enjoyment.  I love textures, colours, flavours.  I mix, I match, I test, I taste.  Since Vida Lev was born cooking has become even more important to me as often it is my only creative outlet.

My list was pretty stark:

Dos: greens, potatoes (which I can’t stand unless they are French Fries drowned in mayonnaise – yes, really), sweet potatoes, mushrooms, fruit, coconut, all meat, especially wild caught (ugh, yuck – sooo not into it right now), chocolate (ok, so I didn’t ask about this one.  Technically, cacao is a seed, but I played shtum and decreed it was “different” i.e. the only way to get through this)

Don’ts: gluten, dairy, soy, sugar (refined), flour, beans, nuts, seeds, aubergines. Peppers, grains and other nightshades (unless well cooked).

Green, yes.  But dull.  Dull.  Dull. 

At first, I was so happy to be feeling great -- I started working out again and revelled in my newfound vigour.  It was a hot summer and we spent three weeks in the Middle East where it was easy to stick to salads and fruit.

Upon our return, however, things started to change. 

I got bored.  Then I got angry.  Then the cravings started. 

Some people stop eating when they’re emotional.  Not me.  And sugar is my port of call.  I kept telling myself that it could be worse, that I could be eating a pint of actual ice cream instead of Choosing Raw's soft serve made out of only bananas (seriously, it's amazing all on its own but if you want to be truly decadent, try it on top of my Unreasonable Brownies -- just be sure to omit the cayenne).  But the body doesn’t care if you’re overeating on Carvel or Chiquita. 

So what if I was eating too much healthy food – it was still too much and I wasn’t feeling good.  Again. 

This week, I decided to start incorporating things back into my diet.  I wanted to rediscover joy in my meals.

This journey is exactly that, a journey.  And when I find myself getting too preachy either when I speak to people or when I’m writing this blog, my body finds a way to remind me that I too struggle on a daily basis with what is right for me, what is healthy in my life, what I need in order to feel my best.

By now, my palate has changed.  For example, I have no desire for, almonds, that powerhouse of plant-based protein I didn’t think I could live without.  On the other hand I find myself craving, chia and hemp seeds, which I didn’t care for in the past.

But really, what I’ve been missing most is bread.  It’s a texture thing: is there a more satisfying experience than biting into a good piece of bread?  Bread is such a basic part of my food memory, a constant in an ever-changing childhood.   I know I’m not the first to say this, but when I first went gluten free, the thought of living without bread was terrifying.  Thankfully, and again, I know I’m not the first to have this experience, we do have a myriad of wonderful options available to us these days.

In order to celebrate my return to joyful eating, I started back at square one, a return to basics if you will: I baked bread.  I made not one but two different kinds of bread – one raw and one more mainstream.  Usually, I reserve these posts for recipes of my own creation.  But I cannot claim ownership of either of these.  It’s been a while, and it was nice to be able to find inspiration out there in other people’s adventures.  Both breads came out wonderfully and there are no words to describe the pleasure I’ve been taking in every single bite.  

Two Bread Recipes

Raw Butternut Squash Flatbread (raw/vegan)

A friend of mine uses her oven pilot light instead of a dyhydrator.  I cranked up the dehydrator one last time before our big move. Note: when eating dehydrated foods - whether your own or store bought -- don’t forget to up your liquid intake.

(Adapted from Shazzie’s book, “Evie’s Kitchen, Raising an ecstatic Child.”)

Ingredients:

- 1 butternut squash, peeled, deseeded, roughly chopped

- 10 cherry tomatoes – I used a mixture of yellow and red.  They’re so sweet right now

-  ½ cup fresh parsley, roughly

- 1 t coconut aminos (or soy sauce)

- 3 T ground flax seeds

- pinch of sea salt (optional, to taste)

- ¼ t sweet paprika

- ¼ cup water

Directions:

Start by processing the butternut squash and tomatoes well.  Then add the water, parsley, flax, coconut aminos , paprika and salt and process again until a paste forms.  This could take a few minutes and you might need to add more water, depending on the veggies.

Then spread on teflex sheets and dehydrate at 105 Fahrenheit (40 Centigrade) for 5 hours.  Flip over and remove the teflex sheets and dehydrate for an additional 8 hours until they are hard but still flexible. 

Enjoy with avocado and sprouts or according to your personal preferences.

Pecan, Almond and Buckwheat Bread

They say when you’re adapting a recipe, the first thing to do is make it exactly as the original instructs.  Then you can play and change things from a clear starting point.  Until I baked this bread, I didn’t think I was physically capable of following a recipe.  Usually, I start to pour and mix and suddenly I’ll feel an overwhelming urge to change things, add an ingredient that I know will improve whatever it is I’m working on.  But this bread was so easy and simple that I just followed it without even thinking about it.  The only difference was that I used a rectangular baking tin because that is what I have.   

I will, however, be working on an egg-free/vegan version.

The original post is so beautiful and evocative (much like the rest of her site – definitely worth losing yourself in for as long as you can spare) that I’d rather you check it out
on La Tartine Gourmande's blog rather than copying and pasting it here.  This bread blew my socks off.  It's hearty and rich without being heavy.  Though I didn't know whether this strange new taste would stand the baby-palate test, Vida Lev gobbled up a couple of pieces with relish.  

Seven years ago today, the man I had just broken up with drove me down the PCH and dropped me off at the home of the man who is now my husband.

We didn’t know it then.  In fact, we had met two weeks earlier and knew very little about one another, seven years ago today.  We certainly didn’t know we were in love.

Seven years on, and we know so much more.  We know what we love deeper and what drives us mad, what makes the other who they are and what they wish they could change.

Seven years ago today, I sat on his couch and he said “I don’t know if you have plans for this afternoon, but I’m going to go look at some apartments on the beach.”

And I thought do I have plans???  I want to spend every second getting to know you better because if you’re as amazing as every cell in my body is telling me you are, then maybe you’re the man I want to be with.

Later on, we shared a salmon salad and walked along the ocean.  He pointed out where Dudley Moore used to live to impress me.  And in the evening, we had our first kiss and then he made up the sofa bed.

After seven years, I know he’s not perfect and he’s seen my flaws.  But we make it work in our own way most of the time.

Someone launched a fun idea recently: make July 5^th Pie Day.  So here is mine. 

It’s really a testament to my relationship with the man whom I eventually married.  Seven years ago today, the butterflies in my stomach told me he was someone special.

Of course, we have had to make our compromises.  This banoffee pie is a really great metaphor for ours.    

Like my husband, like marmite, like tea, banoffee pie is extremely English.  But seeing as I am intolerant to pretty much everything in it – sugar, butter, condensed milk, biscuits (gluten) – I made a version I could enjoy as well.

Raw, vegan, gluten-free, no refined sugar. 

It was hard work: I dehydrated the crust for 48 hours.  The Banana part took a few tries as did the toffee because the ingredients I use are so unlike what makes a classic banoffee pie in both taste and texture.  In fact I'm still tweaking, which is why I am not posting the recipe. (what can I say, it's all a work in progress)

The final product was, possibly comparable, possibly completely different.  Regardless, it was rich and decadent, much like its original inspiration.  Most importantly, it was delicious. 

Seven years ago today, if you’d told me that this would be my life – living in London, married to DW, mother of an amazing little girl, writing this blog, making raw vegan pie -- I wouldn’t have believed you.  And yet, we make it work, each one of us in the way that makes life as palatable and tasty as we possibly can.

This week, New York passed a law legalizing gay marriage.

Like most people I know and love, I am overjoyed.  But I also have a personal reason to celebrate.

When I was growing up, gay was weird, scary, a name the meaner kids hurled at you to indicate there was something wrong with you.

My father is gay.

He never came out to me.  Instead, I found out by accident, when reading a book – one of those teenage coming-of-age novels where the parents are divorced and the protagonist is trying desperately to figure out where she fits in.  The father in the book had a best friend who was always coming over – just like my Dad – and, much like my father’s buddy, the best friend was an excellent cook.  At the end of the story, the girl’s dad admits that Greg is more than just a friend…

I couldn’t just come out and ask him though.  My father wasn’t that kind of person.

Two years passed.  I studied every reaction, made note of anything that could hint at some kind of clear-cut answer.  Was that hug they shared a little too close?  Why was the best friend using his spoon to give my Dad a taste of his dinner?  As a child, I loved the Harriet the Spy series, and now I had a chance to use those skills for my own research. Sadly, Harriet ends up losing all her friends and as he felt me watching him, my father became increasingly uncomfortable.  Our relationship became fraught, difficult.  He blamed my adolescence but I know now that it was to do with the secret I was making it more and more difficult for him to keep.

(even today, as I write these words, I still feel a chill running up my spine)

Secrets were popular when I was growing up.  Around me everyone had secrets:  secret lovers in other cities, secret children with former flames or personal assistants.  Somehow, though, sexuality was different. 

“I wouldn’t talk like that,” a kid in my seventh grade class retorted when I told him to shut up, “if MY father was like yours.”

The rumour mill in my hometown is a Monster.  Created by bored housewives and perpetuated by their husbands and best friends, it has a life of its own.  Constantly starving for new prey, this Beast feeds off the weak, the deceived, the deceptions. 

My father, forbade me from telling anyone.  I was completely alone bar the one person I confided in.  When someone else hinted at it, I attacked my confidante thinking she had betrayed my trust.

Then there was the day I read a story in Time magazine, written by a girl my age who had sewn a square on the AIDS quilt in memory of her father.  It was a tiny sidebar, a barely noticeable post scriptum, but it changed my life. There were two of us!   

Growing up in a small community was hard for someone like me.  From day 1, I was an outsider – having moved at age six, there was only my mother, my father, my brother and I, when almost everyone else seemed to be related.  I didn’t fit in.  And then there was our family secret.  It took me a long time to find out that everyone knew because nobody talked about it.

The problem with secrets is that the people keeping them are always the last to know when it’s not longer a secret.  You are afraid of every word that comes out of your mouth, of even accidentally alluding to what you know you shouldn’t. You become obsessed with the one thing that’s off-limits. Everything sounds like it could be a tip-off.  

It’s so clear now how deeply this secret affected me and the course of life. 

Secrets are the opposite of healthy.  They sit like a knot in your stomach, clamping down on your digestive system and your ability to openly love. 

My first period, which I got while on vacation with my dad. The time(s) when my boyfriends were older than his. The tasteless meals, the charred BBQs, the people I met, the Thanksgiving when he wore a blue shirt with white stars and red and white striped suspenders. The words he uses when referring to my mother or women in general.  His obsession with cars and expressions like "you can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink." All of these things are about him, what kind of person he is, what kind of father he is. If you know my father, you know what I'm talking about. But none of this has to do with his sexual preference. And it's about time people realized it.

So I rejoiced this week for New York City.  Because allowing people to get married – regardless of gender, age, class, sexual preference -- is the right thing to do.  But also because I hope and pray that no one ever again needs to grow up with the burden of keeping the kinds of secrets I did, not for their parents, not for themselves.

I leave you with this celebratory green smoothie.

Pride Green Smoothie

Ingredients:
-  1 cup frozen raspberries
-  3/4 cup frozen blueberries
-  1 frozen banana
-  1 handful spicy rocket (arugula)
-  ¼ cup water or more (you need enough so the blender can do its job but this mixture needs to remain thick like ice cream so add 1 T at a time)
-  1 t cacao nibs and coconut flakes (to sprinkle on top, optional)

Instructions:
Blend greens and the water until completely broken down.  Then add the frozen fruit and blend until a thick ice cream like texture forms – you want to do this as fast as possible to ensure it will remain as cold as possible.
Sprinkle cacao nibs and coconut flakes if using.

Go outside, put your feet up, sit in the sun and enjoy with a small spoon, sloooooowly.

So I have a thing about textures.

I love watching my baby girl explore them with as much relish as I do. With "gentle hands," she timidly runs her fingers along rose petals, the patterns of our green sofa, my skin.  And so too with food.

In the beginning, I found it almost painful to feed her plain pieces of roasted sweet potato.  How plain, how goopy, how dull.  I want to scrape my tongue at the very thought.  But Vida Lev is still learning about the vast expanse of flavors, textures and food experiences there are to be had and she loves her sweet potato as is.  In fact, she is teaching me to simplify, enjoy, or at least taste things on their own before I add spices, herbs and other foods.

Textures and flavors - to me, both factors determine the quality of a dish.  When something really stands out, it is because a balance has been obtained between them.  Personally, I prefer stark contrasts – hot and cold, crunchy and chewy, sweet and savory, wet and dry.  Like fleur de sel on a good praline.  Or fruit in a salad.  

Next time you’re hungry and can’t figure out what you’re truly wanting, try closing your eyes and asking yourself what texture you desire.  Is it soft or hard?  Doughy or bitty?  Wet or dry?

When I was about thirteen, we spent a summer on Lake Muscoca up in Canada. And while I remember the trampoline and the rickety old diving board that felt as if it was going to topple every time one of us dared to scoot to the end of it, my most vivid memories have to do with food.

The popcorn my aunt would make, it's salty crunchiness that was unlike the kind we got at the movies back home (where they only sold it covered in sugar -- horrendous!).  A few moments after the inevitable bellow of the fire alarm, she would present the warm bowl of crisp, white kernels.  We would sit around grabbing handfuls as we looked up at the stars.  Being a city girl, it was the first time I had seen such the night sky so clearly.  And while I loved lying back on the recliner and calling out every time I glimpsed a shooting star, what I was most focused on was the popcorn in my mouth.  I loved dousing it in fake butter and popping each kernel into my mouth where I could maneuver it into the perfect position, with my teeth sunk in the cavity just below the sharper, popped edges and my tongue running along the rounder bit.

I remember the bacon, the likes of which I had never tasted before. It was fresh, crispier than potato chips and crackled vigorously in my mouth.

For years, I associated Canada with bacon, popcorn and beer coolers, which we stole sips of when the adults weren’t looking.

By far my favorite discovery, however, was the locally made Rocky Road ice cream.  The cottage my family had rented sat alone on a tiny island that was only accessible by boat.  Whenever groceries were needed someone would have to go to the mainland.

Even then, way before I had any interest in cooking or health, I loved supermarkets.  Especially that summer. Because tagging along with whomever's turn it was to shop meant a scoop of Rocky Road.

Growing up in Belgium meant that there was never a shortage of the highest quality sweet treats.  But this ice cream beat even the most prestigious chocolatiers.

Looking back now, I realize that what seduced me wasn't the sweetness or even wonderfully artificial flavors. It was the balance of textures: crunchy nuts, gooey marshmallows, sticky caramel, creamy ice cream.  Each one was present in just the right amount, and as a result, the flavors melded as if they weren’t meant to be enjoyed separately.

This past year, I really focused on nuts and seeds. Not because I love them (though I do), but rather because I craved their oily crunch.  Almost everything I made involved Nuts.

Then, when I decided to follow the Naturopath's suggestion and remove them from my diet, I panicked. That very night, I made a warm salad... Sans nuts. And it wasn't half bad.

Within about three days, I felt better than I had in months. I didn't feel as deprived as I had feared. In fact, I didn't feel deprived at all. The only thing I missed was the texture, the added kick in my mouth that balanced out chewy, stringy, dry or wet. But that too faded as I focused on creating and discovering new nut-free dishes instead. 

Textures have as much of an emotional component as flavours: like when I'm sad and crave doughy foods. I might want savoury - like bread - or sweet - like brownies. But really, it's the texture that I crave and find comfort in.

Way back when, before I could put words to these preferences, I sat on that dock many a time as the sun started to set, twirling my Tongue in my mouth like a dreamcatcher, angling for a taste of every sumtuous part of the magical combination.  Every bite had potential, and while I didn't know it yet, I had already embarked on my journey -- in search of that elusive perfect bite.

Coconut Squares & Jam (a raw recipe)
(adapted from the very awesome bonzaiaphrodite.com)

Been on a bit of a dessert kick lately – like for the past 30-something years!  When a couple of good friends had a baby this week, I figured it was the perfect opportunity to try these puppies out.  Of course, I couldn’t not tinker with it and add my personal touches.  As you can see from the name, however, in this house, food aside, we’ve got Dr. Seuss on the brain.   

This recipe is simple, quick and child-friendly.  Coconut oil is a thyroid booster, the dried fruit is sweet with a little tang.  Feel free to use any dried fruit, but make sure to adjust the amount of sweetener accordingly.

For the crust:
2 cups coconut flour
1 cup coconut water
1/3 x2 cup coconut oil
½   cup maple syrup
1 t vanilla powder
1/2 t cinnamon
pinch salt

Melt the coconut oil in a bain de Marie.  Sift the flour to remove any lumps.  Add the cinnamon, salt and vanilla.  Once the oil is melted, mix in along with the coconut water and maple syrup.  Use your hands to really create a beautiful robust dough. 

Line a cookie pan (8 ½ x 12 inch or 21.5 x 30 cm) with parchment paper.  Flatten the dough evenly.  Refrigerate.

For the jam topping:
2 cups dried, unsulphured apricots
1 cup dried sour cherries (unsweetened)
1/8 cup raisins
3+ cups water
juice of 1 orange
zest of 1 medium lemon

Combine the dried fruit in a bowl.  Cover with just enough water.  Allow to soak for as long as you have – fifteen minutes to make the crust, or overnight if you have the time. 

Once soft, put the fruit in the food processor, keeping the soak water to add as necessary.  Start with ½ cup of the water as well as the freshly squeezed orange juice and process until you’ve got the beginning of a jam-like texture.  Then add the fresh lemon zest and process until relatively but not completely smooth.

To make the squares:
Spread the jam evenly over the crust.  Refrigerate for a couple of hours at least.  Then cut into squares. 

Keep in an airtight container in the fridge.

This might sound a bit bananas.  Because by the time you’ve removed gluten, dairy, refined sugars and most nightshades from your diet, the last thing you want to hear is that there are more foods to take out of the rotation.  A couple of weeks ago, however, that is exactly what happened to me. 

Let me explain.  For the past few years, I have been successfully managing a hypo-thyroid condition with food and herbs.  During pregnancy and breastfeeding, however, many of the herbs I had been using were contraindicated and so off-limits.  Few people are aware that pregnancy often exacerbates pre-existing thyroid conditions, which is what recently happened to me.

After running the requisite blood tests, the doctor prescribed thyroid medication.  And why wouldn’t he?  For a moment, I got scared enough to consider taking it.  After all, what has worked for me in the past is not viable at the moment.  To be honest, I was also frustrated: I thought with all I do for my health, why is this happening to me? 

But I got over my self-pity and I gave my fear a good talking to.  Then I made an appointment with a Naturopath.  The way I see it, if the alternative method doesn’t work, I still have the option of medication.   But once I’m taking the pills, it’s much harder to wean myself off them.

The naturopath really seemed to know her stuff.  There was just one problem: she was asking me to radically change my diet. 

What qualifies me to do what I do are my studies in holistic health but also – or so I thought – the fact that I myself have been through a serious food makeover.  And it was hard.  But oh, how quickly we forget. 

When the Naturopath told me what I needed to remove from my diet, I asked her the same question I get asked by so many of my clients: What am I going to eat?

But I’ve lived to tell the tale and am feeling great.  So in addition to eating gluten-, diary-, refined carbohydrate- and sugar-free, I am not having beans, pulses, grains, nuts or seeds (except coconut and the occasional macadamia or cashew), or vegetable oils (though a little olive oil is OK).

What I am eating are a lot of vegetables, fruit and some animal protein.

It doesn’t sound like much, but it is.  And it’s forced me to go back to the drawing board and start getting creative in the kitchen again.  We’ve enjoyed curried veggie burgers and energizing smoothies, colourful salads and satisfying soups.

The Internet and its many food bloggers have been a wonderful resource, for which I am insanely grateful.  Some days you simply need a helping hand and a dollop of inspiration from others on similar journeys. 

Still, I waited to post this until I had a proper dessert.

People somehow assume that my desserts are healthy.  And while they are made entirely of whole, nutritious foods, they are still dessert – so to be enjoyed in moderation. 

But life’s too short to give up pudding.

Coconut Royals -- no oven necessary
(adapted from ohsheglows.com)

*  For the bottom layer:
-  1 ½ cup macadamia nuts
-  1 ½ cup old-fashioned rolled oats (I use gluten-free)
-  1.5 t salt
-  8 large medjool dates
-   ¼ cup coconut oil

*  For the filling:
-  17 large medjool dates
-  ½ cup water

* For the crumble:
-  ¾ cup crust mix
-  ½ cup shredded coconut
-  ¼ cup old-fashioned rolled oats

*  For the bonus layer:
-  a bar of 100% cacao chocolate (90 grams)

Line your baking tray with parchment paper (I used a 13.5 x 9.5 inch baking tray).

To make the bottom layer, process the macadamia nuts, 1 ½ cups oats and salt in the food processor until fine.  Then add the 8 medjool dates and process again.  Melt the coconut oil on a low flame and then add to the mixture and process until it becomes a more or less cohesive mass. 

Put ¾ cup aside and press the rest down with your hand on the lined baking tray until uniform and flat. 

Then process the 17 dates and the water until a paste forms.  Scoop and spread it over the crust layer using a flat spatula.

Finally, pulse the ¾ cup leftover crust mixture, the coconut and the ¼ cup of oats.  This needs to remain relatively crumbly.  Sprinkle over the top. 

And then we go over the top!  Melt the chocolate bar in a bain de Marie.  Drizzle over the mixture. 

Refrigerate for at least 2 hours, preferably overnight.  Cut into small (or large) squares) and serve straight from the refrigerator. 

Apologies for the change in post.  DWs guest blog will be up next week. 

This week, the kitchen felt more like a blank page when I have writer’s block than a place to come up with loveliness.

Usually, I cook to feel better, to distract myself, to be productive and have some play time.  Cooking is often my only creative outlet.  Best of all, I get to eat my “artwork” in the end.  Once in a while, however, the kitchen is the last place I want to be.  In those rare times, figuring out what to make is a real challenge. 

A lovely man passed away this week.  I didn’t know him all that well and yet I’ve known him all my life.  I have been lucky enough not just to know my grandparents really well, I was also raised around their friends.  This bunch of people have known one another since the nineteen forties.  They have lived through each others’ marriages, the births of their children, wars, farewells and reunions, illnesses, deaths, and everything in between. 

It is a real gift to know people of such a different generation as well as I do, and I feel my life has been immensely enriched because of it. 

A lovely man passed away this week.  He was a part of that generation and a great friend to my grandparents.  Chances are, you didn’t know him but this man had a way of making others feel special.  He remembered everyone’s birthdays.  He welcomed me every time I arrived in Israel.  He called my grandmother on Friday’s to wish her a Shabbat Shalom and every year on the day my grandfather died to say he was thinking of her.

On his death bed, he said “I never knew I was so important.”  Thankfully, people got the time to tell him he was.  Not that it makes his death any easier. 

Nine years ago, my grandfather died.  He went in an instant. Though he didn’t suffer, there were no warnings or goodbyes.  This man, on the other hand, went through universes of pain in the last month of his life.  But he got to say goodbye.  And those who loved him were able to tell him how they felt.

There is no “best” way to die, but there is a “best” way to live.  And this week, with my heart hurting, that is what I am thinking about.  So no, I don’t really feel like cooking.  Instead I want to go for long walks with my daughter and my husband, finish my novel, call the people I love, follow the sunshine.

Existential thoughts aside, however, dinner still has to be put on the table. 

If you read this blog then you know that one of the favourites around here is hummus.  Beans, however, haven’t been going over all that well lately.  In addition, I’m trying to create meals that can be adapted for everyone’s tummy – from the omnivorous Pappa’s, to the novice baby’s. 

I decided to adapt Matt Amsden’s recipe from his book Rawvolution.  The first time I made it, it disappeared like magic and was immediately requested again.  So I made it a second time.

For our supper, I used it as a thick dressing on top of a roasted vegetables and greens.  When guests came for lunch, I served it with crudités and raw crackers.  For my daughter, I mashed it with baked squash.

And the best part?  No soaking, no cooking, no farting. Just measure, chop, blend and serve.

Zuchini Hummus

(adapted from Rawvolution, by Matt Amsden)

-  2 zucchini, chopped roughly (the original recipe calls for peeling them.  I don’t.  It gives the hummus a light green hue, which be a consideration if you are dealing with colour-sensitive eaters) 
-  ¾ cup tahini (I use the unhulled kind due to its nutritional benefits)
-  ½ cup fresh lemon juice
-  ¼ cup olive oil
-  1 teaspoon sea salt
-  1 ½ teaspoon ground cumin
-  ½ cup fresh parsley, chopped and a little extra for garnish (optional – see zucchini comment)

Start by blending the zucchini with the lemon juice and olive oil.  Add the rest of the ingredients and blend well.  The result is a lighter than traditional hummus, both in taste as well as in texture.

Note: the original recipe calls for 4 peeled cloves of fresh garlic.  I don’t add any garlic at all, but many people love it in their hummus.  4 cloves is a lot, however.