True Story: I was going to do a post about how I'm afraid I might be a racist but instead I am going to talk about food

A while ago, I saw this video called "what kind of Asian are you?" It made me angry. This is partially because it made me worry that the Asian people I know think I'm racist. See, I ask literally everyone where they are from -- Asians included. I don't think this makes me a racist. To prove it, I wrote a rambling 6 paragraph post about social justice, racial profiling and how I am not a racist for being interested in everyone's geographic and ethnic origins. However, as I read my post it sounded like maybe I was kind of racist and even if I wasn't, like I had no idea what it must be like to be something other than white in America. This annoyed me even more.

Then it made me feel embarrassed, so I erased it. Then I decided to post a recipe because everybody loves food. That's actually not true. But everybody needs food. Just like we need racists. No. Wait. That came out really wrong. I am so confused. . .

I will now lock myself in a room for fear someone might think I am racist. 
What I have been enjoying during mealtime this week ...

See, I love all different colors and kinds of food. Legumes, citrus, leafy greens, pungent dairy, stale bread, I love them all for their different flavors, colors, textures and what they bring to the salad that is unique. Color love not color blind. 

citrus lentil and avocado panzanella slaw

3-6 pieces citrus fruit, I used tangerines, oranges and mandarins

2 cups french or green lentils, cooked al dente

one small head red cabbage

kale

crusty, stale bread

1 large onion

feta cheese

ripe avocado

olive oil

balsamic vinegar

salt and pepper to taste 

1. dice onions

2. cover pan in olive oil and salt. 

3. Add onions and leave to caramelize

4. shred cabbage and kale

5. Once onions are caramelized, add kale and cabbage

6. cut citrus into rounds

7. Break apart bread

8. place cabbage, onions and kale in salad bowl

9. add lentils and bread.

10. toss with balsamic vinegar and olive oil

11. add citrus rounds and feta cheese

12. Just before serving, chop and add avocado.

Serve warm or cold. You can swap smoked fish for feta. 

Notes from Montreal

I lose stuff.

A lot on my mission. Like really a lot. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's this giant coat that I wear all day every day, maybe it's because I'm just a little distracted all the time (thinking about peoples' eternal salvation seems so much more important that making sure I put the keys back on their hook ;). Anyway, it happens a lot. And this last week things took a turn for the worse. I lost our phone. Here's the thing, I lose our phone all. the. time. I leave it in the snow. In our apartment. In our car. Lots of places. But we always find it - mostly because my companion usually realizes I don't have it soon after I lose it. But last week I reallly lost it. For the realz. And by the time we realized it was gone it was late. We had been in a lot of places. And...as missionaries, we don't even have another phone to call our lost phone. Or a computer. Or any important numbers! JUST KIDDING WE ALWAYS WRITE DOWN REALLY IMPORTANT NUMBERS BECAUSE WE'RE TOLD NOT TO RELY SOLELY ON THE MEMORY IN OUR PHONES.....what I just typed may or may not be true. 

Aaaanyway, I lost the phone. It was late. And dark. And crazy windy, and frigid. Like -25. But we went to look. We retraced all of our steps. And went back to everyone's house. And used people's phones to call our phone. And nada. And then we digged (dug?) in the snow for a while. But nothing. So we went to bed. And I don't know why, but my mission seems to have sucked all of the anxiety that may have ever rested in my body out of me. Really. I can't get anxious about much of anything. It's awesome. I slept like a baby. And then, when we woke up, we realized we probably had to do something. So. We got dressed, and we prayed. And we both realized where it had been lost. We had picked up a member to come to a lesson with us and when I got out of the car to open the door the phone fell. So we went back to see if it was still there. But the snowplows had come, so our searching was a little wetter than we might have hoped. And we looked crazy. Like misled little squirrels digging for invisible and non-existent acorns in massive heaps of snow. And so we stopped. And we went to a member's house to call our District Leader. It was early (8:30am), so we were a little hesitant about knocking on this couple's door, but we didn't really have a choice (we didn't actually have the elder's number ourselves....). We knocked, and were welcomed in with more love than I knew what to do with. This couple is amazing. We've always loved them, but they were just so kind. They were so happy to see us - they made us breakfast, and set my companion up on the computer doing genealogy while I made the calls. And It was such an example pf Christlike love. We had made a mistake, we were bothering them early in the morning to help us fix the mistake, and they were thanking us for gracing them with our presence. It just made me think of how Christ and God are always waiting for us - with extended arms - no matter how surly or uncharitable or disobedient we are. Aaanyway, I called the elders, and then I called our phone. And someone answered! It was a woman - and she had found our phone exactly where we had thought it had fallen! And we met up with her and were so very grateful and then wrote down some numbers.... :)

In other news, I ate one entire fish. I almost died. For the realz. It was too much. There were eyes. And so many bones. And I didn't know what to do - or how to eat it, and I really felt like I was going to pass out. And then this sister took the head off - only to reveal all the meat I had been secreting inside so I wouldn't have to eat it. It was a very bad moment indeed. And then they expected me to finish it. And uughghghgh. Yerk. Yuck. I only like shrimps. 

Smooches,

Peanut butter jelly time!!!!

I first discovered this recipe during my seduction of one P. Trivedi. I was sad and uninterested in my studies. What I was interested in, were baked goods and a boy. Every few days I'd whip up a batch of whatever, and share about half of them with those around me. In hindsight, I know that this obsession was unhealthy on so, so many levels. Then again, I think the end result was far more positive than not. Yes, I gained 20 pounds, yes I could have been more diligent in my school work, and yes, I was filling a void with sugar and butter. But I also gained a trove of fantastic recipes and the gratification of doing something really well. Finally, the fact that I was constantly bringing over immaculate sweets certainly didn't hurt my budding relationship with the young Dr. P, without whom I don't know if I would have ever emerged from that dark place. (Oh, and the weight? It vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared.) There are flavors that take you back to a certain place and time. Toasted English muffins, spread with margarine and marmalade will forever remind me of my great grandmother Mamsci's glamorous flat in Vancouver. Ritz crackers are grandmother Marjorie Dick, who lived with our family until she was nearly 104. And these peanut butter blondies, take me back to the earliest days of my relationship with Premal, when we both had very little to offer each other, and yet what we had was just what the other needed.Be warned, these babies are just about perfect. They taste like I always hope peanut butter cookies will--crisp on the outside, rich caramel-chewy within--but seldom do. The batter is really more of a dough, and needs to be patted into the corners of the pan. Finally, make sure your thumbprints aren't too deep, otherwise the blondies will swallow up the preserves (note: this is still very delicious, it just may not be what you were originally going for). 

Peanut Butter Blondies

1½ c. flour

1 t. baking powder

½ t. salt

4 T. butter

¼ c. peanut butter (heaping)

1 c. packed brown sugar

½ c. white sugar

2 eggs

1 t. vanilla extract

fruit preserves and chocolate chips (optional)

 Preheat oven to 350. Line 8 in. square pan with parchment. Cream butter, peanut butter, sugars, eggs and vanilla. Add dry ingredients, and mix until combined. Spread dough to edges of pan. Make heart-shaped thumbprints like so, and fill with preserves and chocolate chips. Bake 30 min. If using chocolate chips in your hearts, you might need to swirl them a bit with a skewer after removing the blondies from the oven.  

P.S. These keep really well. Making them perfect for mailing, bake sales, or eating for an entire week.   

Make Cake, Not War.

Did you know World Nutella Day is a thing? Honestly, I wish I didn't. But since my cousin clued me in and had a party and invited me to come, I couldn't very well feign ignorance. Given the auspiciousness of the celebration, baking a cake seemed like a perfectly reasonable way to spend a blustery Saturday. And I knew just the cake for the occasion.

Hungarian nut tortes are really nostalgic for me. They remind me of every golden afternoon I ever spent in a sun-drenched café on the Duna Corso. Momo made one for my 22nd birthday that BLEW MY MIND -- particularly because my little brother sneaked in to hand deliver it at the Missionary Training Center. (For those of you not Mormon enough to fully understand this -- imagine Jason Bourne breaking into the boys camp in Moonrise Kingdom, and then singing like the nuns in Sister Act. With a chocolate cake. It was just like that.) It's been a few years, so I think it's finally safe to tell that story....

This isn't a particularly complicated recipe, but it does have a lot of steps. And if you're completing each of these steps with the not-at-all-able assistance of six small hands that each need to be rewashed every time the attached child decides to lick a finger or pick a nose (not necessarily belonging to that same small child), it can easily occupy you and your tiny sous chefs for an entire afternoon.

Aaaaaanyway. This is an awesome cake. It's gluten free, but just because it's always been that way -- no weird chemistry or strange ingredients required. Traditionally, these are also dairy free, but they can also be a little dry. As I contemplated this dilemma, while looking at my beautiful batter that I really hoped would bake into a moist, fragrant cloud, I asked myself, "WWJD" (which, in my kitchen at least, means "What Would Jutka Do?"). I closed my eyes, reverently reflected on the principles of Hungarian cookery for which my ancestors died (Or nearly died -- Didi had a quintuple bypass, people!). Then, I reached for the sour cream. Obvi.

The result is light and moist, elegant and a little different. It's also super-flexible: delicious with fresh fruit and simple whipped cream, or it can hold its own with a more robust frosting like this one. Whipped egg whites folded into the batter give it a marvelously light, airy texture, but it's sturdy enough to withstand a solid drizzle of liqueur or syrup. I have a hunch you could turn it into a wicked tiramisu. You get the idea....

Hungarian Hazelnut Torte
with Mocha-Nutella Buttercream

Little House in the City: a love story

“Love makes you do crazy things, insane things, can't help it…”

-The trailer to Wicker Park

This wasn’t how I pictured it. Lying on the bathroom floor in my underpants as winter shook his angry fist outside. I was sweaty and confused, clutching an overheated hairdryer and I hadn’t slept in 30 hours.   

---

I saw her picture online, and I wanted her. I stalked her. Waited outside her door for hours. I watched as others came and left, hungry for what would be mine. I finally left my perch when the neighbors started to ask questions, but not before I slipped a note to her, careful so that no one else would see.

There was something about her. She wasn’t as tall as the ones I’d usually go for, nor as glamorous. And, she was very (how to put this delicately?) old. But it was love. I knew it, because I’d never felt anything like it before—and there had been many, many others.

This was it, and when I’m ready to commit, I’m ready. And so it was that six-weeks later, she was all mine. The first months were pure honeymoon—intimate dinners, candlelight, and long bubble baths. It was dreamy, and I loved her more and more each day.

But then, the weather changed, and so did she. All that was warm and good and right was GONE. Poof! Like that. One day, we were enjoying some reads in the tub, and then, the next morning, at 5 a.m. –when Premal had to leave for work – she turned off the tap—the hot water tap.

But in all seriousness, love is not easy. Be the object of your affection grown or infant, animate or . . . not, there are times when you have to remember why you got into this mess in the first place, and then, armed with that knowledge, work yourself out of it. That’s where I found myself last week when our pipes froze over. It was awful. I was a wreck. And, for a while, I rued the day we decided to become homeowners. But with luck and tenacity, we worked through it.

So, on this St. Valentine's week, remember the things that make this crazy thing we call love worth it. Remember the feelings, and drive, and safety that make love feel like home.

Happy Valentine's Day Y'all! 

Bitter about Valentine's Day? Guess who else is...

Oranges. Seriously. Their peels are bitter, as is chocolate.

Citrus is winter's gift to the hungry masses. After I made a delicious orange salad, I had a mountain of beautiful peels. They were so fragrant and flavorful, it felt wrong to throw them away. Instead, the peels were given a chocolate bath and now are elegant little chocolate covered orange peels. They are deliciousness will go into my own not-so-little moving landfill (called my belly) instead of going into the trash.

So here's a way to make bitter things sweet this mushy holiday season and to put trash where it belongs: In our bodies.

Here's what I did:

1 cup water
1 cup sugar
200 grams chocolate, I prefer dark chocolate with a cocoa content of over 70%
A miniature mountain of orange peel

1. Preheat oven to 250
2. Boil sugar and water together for five minutes.
3. Add Orange Peel with most of the pith removed.

4. Boil for 5 to 10 minutes -- until peels look slightly translucent
5. Remove peels and reserve syrup.*
6. Place peels on an oven safe wire or a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper and place in oven for 30 minutes or until oranges are dry to the touch.

7. Melt chocolate in double boiler.
8. Dump peels in chocolate, coat and remove with tongs.
9. Dry on parchment lined pan or wire rack.

10. Give as gifts, serve with ice cream or dessert or just eat them. If you like chocolate orange, they taste pretty good.

*Add a half a cup of lemon juice, 5 pods cardamon, 2 star anise and 15 crushed pepper corns. Continue to simmer til syrup thickens. Store in a bottle or jar in the fridge. Fantastic as a sauce for sweet or savory things.

Frozen: a neurotic mom's self-indulgent review

I think Hettie was probably the last 5-year-old girl in America to see the movie Frozen. You try sitting quietly in a dark theater with my busy little people for over an hour. Regardless of how captivating the on-screen diversion, how tightly sealed the sippy cups, how equitably divided the popcorn, how recently emptied the bladders... something always turns into an earsplitting crisis that leaves me with an entire auditorium of people wishing I'd just been a little patient, stayed home, and rented it on Amazon.

But this weekend, Dave was out of town and the kids had been really good and it was awfully bad weather and I desperately wanted to get out of the house but I really didn't feel like trying very hard to wrangle or entertain once we got wherever we were going. So I took a deep breath, sent a quick message to a pal (because everything's better with backup a friend!), and took the kids to the movies.

And, miraculously, there was no crisis. We watched an entire movie and nobody in our company hit/bit/stole/screamed/peed/pooped/spilled/barfed/stripped/ran away/became hysterical when a perfect stranger chose not to relinquish a silo-sized Mountain Dew. It was awesome. And so was the movie. I absolutely loved it. Also -- who knew Kristen Bell can sing?! She held her own in a duet with Idina Menzel, for crying out loud. If I had a tiara, I would tip it in her general direction.

But as we left the theater, with the lovely songs and sisterly affection and fairytale Scandinavian snow all swirling around my head, something nagged at the corner of my mind. And I couldn't pin it down. And it's been bugging me all weekend. And I think I've finally got it.

What bothers me is this: Somewhere between saving one daughter's life and teaching their other to suppress and hide her remarkable gifts, two loving parents -- a king and queen, no less! -- screwed up their kids so badly that the consequences nearly destroyed not only their family but their entire world.

We all know that every Disney movie has a subversive subtext. This one just happens to feature one of my own personal demons.

Because it's true, right? No matter how well-intentioned we are, no matter how blessed our circumstances, no matter how tireless and tender and well-researched our nurturing, no matter how much love and care and hard work and faith and sweat and passion we pour into our kids, no matter how we exhaust ourselves trying to do everything right, we won't. Even the very best parents with the very best luck are still going to screw up their kids.

And then, we will die and leave them alone.


Ouch.

But there is hope. Because all this goes down in just the first 20 minutes of the movie. Isn't parenting kind of the same way? All this stuff that seems so incredibly important happens right at the beginning of their precious, perfect little lives. And it is important. But it's also just prologue. History and scripture -- and Disney! -- have shown that their little spirits are stubborn and resilient. They have an innate spark that no horror, and no rotten parenting, can extinguish completely. They are blessed, as we all are, with the power to make their own choices. They write their own stories, fight their own demons, sing their own songs. And it's terrifying. But also a little bit freeing.

We can -- and we should! -- wear ourselves out in this epic adventure of parenting, helping our little heirs in every way that is healthy and possible. And then we have to, uh...

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go build a snowman.

St. Polycarp's Day

So, Valentine's Day.

I feel like people have been super into it this year. I started hearing festive murmurs more than two weeks ago, which is keen for Christmas or Flag Day or something really important like that, but strikes me as premature for V-Day. Don't misunderstand me -- I'm not one of those people who can't stand the thought of other people having a special time to show love for each other. In fact, I actually like the idea of an entire holiday dedicated to a special warm feeling!

I'm just not sure about the choice of special warm feeling.

I mean, love is swell and all, but does it deserve a day -- practically an entire month -- when all the other feelings don't even get two moments of silence to rub together? We need a bit of diversity in our emotionally motivated feast days, by jove!

"But Glorianna," you may object "you can't make all of these excellent points and then run off without offering some sort of solution!" That is why I am officially proposing a new holiday -- one to celebrate all of those people who really don't like other people at the moment.

I propose we call it Saint Polycarp's Day.

Mr. Polycarp was a 1st century Smyrnish (ean? (off?)) martyr. He is also the patron saint of earaches, which inspire a dull, constant, boring pain in your head similar to that experienced around people you don't like. The holiday can be today (7 is a prime number and has always struck me as nice and moody), and we can appropriate a lot from it's fuzzier cousin a week nigh: the cutesy color scheme; the excessive amounts of chocolate; I've even mocked up a couple of Polycarp Day cards to distribute to your least favorite people.

I don't know about you, but getting a couple of these in the mail every February 7th would just about ruin my day. And that's a beautiful feeling which should be treasured and celebrated.

So I invite y'all to join with me (but, like, not really) in wishing all of those special people you really despise an extra miserable St Polycarp's Day. (I made a card for that, too:)

It might not change your life, but then again...

I never know what is life changing for other people and Instagram totally changed my life. 

Speak of the devil...

FIVE joined instagram! We'll still be here, but now there's just more of Five to go around. Find us at @fivetdsisters (who would have guessed THAT name, right!?

...And a happy (lunar) new year!

Well, hello, friends! Remember me? I used to blog here. My babies ate my computer a couple months ago -- which made it a bit cumbersome to share their antics here. But I'm back and I'm wired and I'm awfully glad about it. I've sincerely (mostly) missed sharing.

The mostly part is kind of interesting. I'm undeniably a writer and a talker. I love parties and people and personal association, and I really love this little blog. But, from time to time, I find all that connection ...exhausting. And, even though I think of myself as a generally social and congenial lady, I also really enjoy peace and quiet and the agreeable company of my own weird thoughts. Which brings me to our topic for this evening: The delightfully self-indulgent universe of personality tests. So fun, right?

Most people are familiar with the Myers-Briggs test, which is amazing and occasionally creepily accurate. My type is XNFP. That unusual X means that I am neither an Introvert nor an Extrovert -- or perhaps more accurately, that I'm seriously moody and capricious when it comes to my people skills. I think it makes an awfully convenient scapegoat for these months of radio silence, no? Sorry about that.

But enough about me. Go check out my favorite personality test ever. I found it as a newlywed in an issue of The Oprah Magazine. It honestly transformed the way I understood pleasant similarities and striking differences in how my husband and I looked at the world. Nearly *NINE* years later, I'm more in love than ever -- and still find these insights helpful.

Finally, you may have already seen this, but HuffPo took the Myers-Briggs personality types and matched them to famous literary characters. I love it to pieces, but mostly because it says that (at least half the time) I'm Anne-with-an-E married to Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. <<swoon>>

Talk about living the dream.


PS -- I finally joined Instagram a couple months ago. How come nobody told me it's where all the cool kids hang out? Check out the FIVE feed for fun pics, too. But not if you're hungry. Seriously...

Football Fries

Pull Apart Football Fries with Maple Garlic Glaze and Siracha Mayo

1 large yam

(If you want to be a real bronco fan, use a mix of blue potatoes and yams with the same preparation.)

3 tbsp olive oil

1 tbsp maple syrup

1 large clove garlic

A generous pinch of each:

Smoked paprika, salt, freshly ground pepper and turmeric

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees

2. Slice yam 10x long ways and 5 x cross ways without cutting through the bottom skin (see photo).

3. Slice garlic -- I used a carrot peeler.

4. Mix olive oil, maple syrup, garlic and spices.

5. Place potato in baking dish with a lip -- I used a bread pan, but if you make more than one, use something bigger.

6. Pour oil mixture over the top, making sure the garlic is equally distributed and the oil and spices coat each fry.

7. Sprinkle with a little brown sugar, sorghum or honey.

8. Place in oven and cook for 40-60 minutes, depending on how big your yam is. Once half way through cooking, spoon oil mixture over potato again.

Meanwhile...

Mix

1/2 cup mayo
1 tbsp Siracha sauce

Remove football pull apart fries from oven. Serve immediately. Serves 1 or 2.