Artichoke virgin

February 29, 2012 by Beth Shepherd

I was a college student at Cornell University in the late 1970s, and lived in a hippie co-op. There were five of us, three women and two men, three girls from the U.S., one guy from Switzerland and one guy from Peru.

We shared cooking and shopping duties, and between the five of us we had a Moosewood Cookbook, a membership to the local veggie co-op and a desire to share meals together. It was in this house, that my view of food—and what it meant to enjoy meals in the company of others–changed radically.

One of my most vivid memories is of my first experience eating an artichoke. My roommates appropriately dubbed me an “artichoke virgin,” because I had never before partaken in the artichoke “experience.”

I quickly found out that lot of effort went into eating this grenade-like green vegetable (which, by the way, is really a member of the thistle family!). Getting to the…uh…heart of the matter was more complicated than simply lifting fork to mouth. But once you got there, for a few brief moments, you’d experience pure taste bud ecstasy.

To prepare our hedonistic feast, my housemate first cut off an inch of the artichoke’s stem with a knife and the tips of the leaves with a pair of kitchen shears. Then, the artichokes were plopped into a steamer with water containing the seeds from a few cardamom pods. Another small pan held a chunk of butter, ready for melting. As the artichokes steamed and the butter melted, a heavenly aroma filled our house.

Then, it was time. We sat down together, artichokes on our plates and a bowl of butter nearby. Slowly, leaf by leaf, we peeled our artichokes. Reverently, we dipped each leaf into the butter, until nothing was left except the stem and the heart topped off by a splotch of fuzzy “choke.” After scraping the choke away, only the heart and stem remained, which we slathered with butter, oohing and aahing all the while from the divine deviousness of it all.

To this day when I cook artichokes I still toss seeds from a few cardamom pods into the water. I still melt butter (although now I also mix in a bit of olive oil). And the result is still taste-bud nirvana…just like I remember it, 30 years ago.

How to cook an artichoke

Use a kitchen scissors to cut off the thorny tips of all of the leaves. This step is mostly for aesthetics as the thorns soften with cooking and pose no threat to the person eating the artichoke.

2. Slice about 3/4 inch to an inch off the tip of the artichoke.

3. Pull off any smaller leaves towards the base and on the stem.

4. Cut excess stem, leaving up to an inch or two on the artichoke. Some people find the stem a tad bitter. I don’t.

5. Rinse the artichokes in running cold water.

Insert a steaming basket into a pot with water at the bottom. Add the seeds from 2-3 cardamom pods. Add the artichokes. Cover. Bring to a boil and reduce heat to simmer. Cook for approximately 45 minutes or until the outer leaves can easily be pulled off. Note: artichokes can also be cooked in a pressure cooker (about 15-20 minutes cooking time). Cooking time depends on how large the artichoke is, the larger, the longer it takes to cook.

How to Eat an Artichoke

Artichokes may be eaten cold or hot, but I think they are much better hot. They are served with a dip, either melted butter or mayonnaise. My favorite dip is butter with a little bit of olive oil mixed in.

1. Pull off outer petals, one at a time.

2. Dip white fleshy end in melted butter. Tightly grip the other end of the petal. Place in mouth, dip side down, and pull through teeth to remove soft, pulpy, delicious portion of the petal. Discard remaining petal.

Continue until all of the petals are removed.

3. With a knife or spoon, scrape out and discard the inedible fuzzy part (called the “choke”) covering the artichoke heart. The remaining bottom of the artichoke is the heart. Cut into pieces and dip into butter to eat.

4. Revel in the ecstasy of your experience.

5. Share with others.

Want to experience more taste-bud nirvana? Check out Wanderfood Wednesday!

Ithaca is gorges

May 17, 2011 by Beth Shepherd

Big Papa and I spent the past week in upstate New York. We were there visiting my mother and my sister, who is ill with cancer. I knew that it would be a tough, emotional five days. So, at the end of our stay, we sought respite for two days in Ithaca.

It’s hard not to feel at peace with the world, when one is surrounded by dramatic gorges, waterfalls, gentle rolling hills, lush green fields and an abundance of wildlife. During the years when I was an undergraduate student at Cornell University, I used to marvel at how so much beauty could be packed into a thirty mile radius. Three decades later, I still do.

Back in my college days, if the weather was warm and classes were over for the day, I’d grab my bathing suit and head to the base of Cascadilla Gorge. I still remember how idyllic it felt to descend the stone stairs cut into the side of the gorge and enter into a mythical world which existed mere minutes from where I lived.

If I was lucky enough to find a friend with a car, my options for sybaritic pleasure increased exponentially: Ithaca Falls, Buttermilk Falls State Park, Robert H. Treman State Park, and Taughannock Falls State Park were an easy fifteen-minute drive at most. Even the mind-blowing Watkins Glen State Park, lies waiting only thirty miles away.

The famous gorges and waterfalls of the Finger Lakes region, where Ithaca is located, exist as a result of the interaction between the south-to-north running river valleys, which were gouged by glaciers numerous times over the last two-million years, and streams running obliquely to the glaciers, which filled with glacial sediment.

The story of the gorges began when the Finger Lakes were river valleys with small streams flowing in from the east and west. The valleys were repeatedly filled with hundreds of feet of glacial ice that originated from glaciers advancing south out of Canada, eroding the valleys deeper.

As the ice melted and glacial sediment dammed the river valleys, deep lakes formed and streams plunged as waterfalls from the glacially steepened hills. Then over time, as the lake levels dropped, a series of steps were left on the hillsides, like at the overlook at Taughannock Falls.

Big Papa and I crammed in as many scenic spots as we could manage during our trip. The places we went to were a feast for our eyes. And our time spent in the gorges of Ithaca was, as it always is– gorgeous —in every way imaginable.

Buttermilk Falls State Park

Lucifer Falls at Robert H. Treman State Park

Taughannock Falls State Park

Watkins Glen waterfall

Watkins Glen

Mushroom Barley Soup for the Soul

December 16, 2009 by Beth Shepherd

The last time I saw my friend Dee, she made Mushroom Barley Soup for Big Papa and me. I could smell its delicious aroma the minute I stepped into her home.

We’d traveled across the country, from Seattle to a town outside Boston, to visit Dee and her husband Gaylen. She had been hospitalized for several weeks due to complications from Stage IV breast cancer. I think she’d only been home for a couple days.

I wanted to see Dee like nobody’s business. Big Papa and I had gotten married just a few months earlier. Dee had hoped to be at our wedding. In fact, I’d asked if she would speak and offer a few words on what it takes to create a happy long-lasting marriage. I knew she would have done anything to be there and her absence told me how ill she really was.

It had been years, too long, since I’d seen her. Living on opposite sides of the country was a challenge, but we managed to keep our friendship going through cards and phone calls. No matter how much distance or time separated us, as soon as we started talking, I’d feel comforted by the familiar sound of her voice.

On this day, I wish I could have been the one making soup for Dee. When I wrapped my arms around her to give her a hug, I could feel her ribs. We stood there for awhile, just hugging, both of us with tears in our eyes. Then she ushered us over to sit at their table, trade stories and enjoy a bowl of Mushroom Barley Soup.

My memories of Mushroom Barley Soup and Dee go back thirty years to our days sharing a house on College Avenue while we were students at Cornell University. We both loved to cook something together in the kitchen of our little white rental house.

Recipes from Moosewood Cookbook were favorites of ours and, on the rare occasions when we could afford it, we’d go to the restaurant for a meal. Mushroom Barley Soup, in particular, was something we made frequently. You could almost say it was “our soup.” I know that I could never make that soup and not think about Dee.

Dee died on Saturday, December 20th last year. I got the news on Sunday morning. Seattle was knee deep in snow. The city was at a standstill. Buses weren’t running and driving was impossible.

I spent most of Sunday grief-stricken. I felt empty knowing Dee was no longer in the world. On Monday, I put on my boots and walked through the snow a mile or so to Essential Baking Company. I figured I’d treat myself to a cup of steamy Chai and spend the day being easy with myself.

Opening the door, I was greeted by a blackboard with the specials for the day written in chalk. Soup: Mushroom Barley. I walked up to the front counter and ordered my Chai. As I waited for the barista, the kitchen called out an order that was ready, “Sandwich for Dee.” I practically fainted from amazement and disbelief. A young girl came to the counter and picked up her order. I smiled at her, tears brimming in my eyes.

I’m not one to trust my belief in serendipity, though I should. It happens to me often enough. I know in that moment, Dee was smiling down on me to let me know that while she might be gone from this earth, she would never leave my heart.

It’s hard to write this story about a recipe I love, particularly when the memory reminds me of loss. Most times thinking about food and cooking is tremendously joyful for me. There is nothing finer than preparing and sharing a meal with those I love. But food is a source of comfort, in both good times and in times of sorrow.

So as soon as my kitchen is in working order, Mushroom Barley Soup will be one of the first things I make. While I stir the pot, I’m sure I’ll up the salt quotient with a few tears, and I’ll also remember Dee with love. Our friendship was strengthened over many a good bowl of soup. There’s nothing quite like Mushroom Barley Soup from the Moosewood Cookbook to soothe my soul.

Mushroom Barley Soup from the Moosewood Cookbook

Serves 8

Ingredients

1/2 cup uncooked pearl barley
3 tablespoons butter
1/2-1 teaspoon salt
3-4 tablespoons tamari or soy sauce
4 tablespoons dry sherry
6-1/2 cups stock or water
1 medium onion, chopped
2 medium cloves garlic, minced
1 lb fresh mushrooms, sliced
fresh ground black pepper

Preparation
Cook barley in 1-1/2 cups of the stock or water in a large saucepan or Dutch oven. Bring to a boil, cover and simmer until barley is tender (20-30 minutes). Add remaining stock or water, tamari and sherry.

Meanwhile, melt the butter in a skillet. Add the onions and garlic. Sauté for about 5 minutes over medium heat. Add mushrooms, and salt. Cover and cook, stirring occasionally, until everything is very tender (about 10-12 minutes).

Add the sauté with all its liquid to the cooked barley. Add fresh ground black pepper to taste and simmer, partially covered, for another 20 minutes. Serve with a slice of hearty bread. Add love.

Check out the WanderFood Wednesday series for more great food postings!

Smart cookie

August 27, 2009 by Beth Shepherd

Paperwork, official documents, a home study and a dossier are just a few hurdles we have to clear on our path to adoption. Our adoption to-do list also includes 35 educational credits.

In 2007, when the U.S. signed the Hague Convention Treaty on International Adoption a minimum of ten hours of parent education was required. Most adoption agencies increased the number of required hours to twenty. Hopscotch Adoptions, our agency, bumped their standard up to 35 educational credits. “The more you know, the more successful you will be,” is a quote from our agency.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m pro-education. My Bachelor’s degree is from Cornell University and I have a Master’s degree from Stanford University and the University of Washington. I spent over twenty years in the field of training and development. I worked at a community college for five years and taught a class at the UW for over a decade. And, I love to learn.

Study hall
That said, when I took a look at what was required of us, in addition to everything else we needed to do or collect, I felt a bit faint. First, Children’s Home Society, our home study agency required a two-day, ten hour class, ‘Adoption Orientation.’ Then, before we would be able to receive a referral and travel abroad, for Hague and Hopscotch, we needed to do the following:

Choose a pediatrician familiar with the care of internationally adopted children (1 credit)
Locate an early childhood intervention program or other services (1 credit)
Arrange appropriate child care, if applicable (1 credit)
Complete an infant/child CPR course (1 credit)
Join a local international adoptive family support group and/or an internet international adoptive family support group and/or meet with a family who adopted internationally (1 credit)
Complete the these online courses through Adoption Learning Partners:

Conspicuous Families (1.5 credits)
Let’s Talk Adoption (2 credits)
The Journey of Attachment (2 credits)
Finding the Missing Pieces (2 credits)
Cope with Grief and Loss (2 credits)
Adopting the Older Child (2 credits)
Medical Issues in International Adoption (2.5 credits)
Eyes Wide Open (4.0)

Read ‘Raising the Adopted Child’ by L. Melina (2 credits)
Read ‘Adoption is a Family Affair’ by P. Johnson (2 credits)
Read ‘I Love You Like Crazy Cakes’ by R. Lewis (1 credit)
Read ‘A Blessing from Above’ by P. Henderson (1 credit)
Read ‘Boyra and the Burps’ by J. McNamara (1 credit)
Read ‘Through the Stars and Moon and Night Sky’ by A. Turner (1 credit)
Complete culture and heritage education (3 credits) by doing any combination of the following:

Watch a videotape or movie about the country, history, culture (1 credit)
Read a book or take an online course on the country, culture (2 credits)
Study a language tape (1 credit) or take language lessons (2 credits)
Attend a class or workshop on the some aspect of your child’s heritage (2 credits)
If you have not before, attend a service of the primary religion of that country or your child’s religious heritage and talk with members of that group (2 credits)
If you have not before, attend a cultural or artistic event in your community related to the cultural heritage of your child (2 credits)
Make a visit to your child’s country (3 credits)

Dear reader, I’m willing to bet you skimmed through that full-page educational summary list, didn’t you? Completely understandable. As for us, skimming was not an option.

Teacher’s pet
We attended Children’s Home Society ‘Adoption Orientation’ in August of 2007. The training was held in Tacoma, about an hour south of where we live, so we turned the two day class into a mini-getaway and booked a room at the Hotel Murano. Hotel Murano had lovely glass art exhibits housed on each and every oh-so-sleek-and-hip floor. Big Papa and I took turns calling out a floor number on which to stop and explore.

There were four other couples at the class and we were the only couple not adopting from China. We did our best to be good students, listen closely and throw ourselves enthusiastically into the role play activities. The highlight for us was the one thing not stipulated as required on the course agenda, a visit from Julie and Patrick with their adorable two-year old daughter in tow. They’d adopted Devi a year ago from India. I tried to imagine, wistfully, that one day this would be us, sharing our trials and tribulations with other hopeful adoptive parents-to-be.

By the book
As far as completing Hague and Hopscotch requirements was concerned, locating a pediatrician and intervention services was a snap. Adoption support groups are in abundance these days. There is a Washington State chapter of FRUA-Inc (Friends of Russian and Ukrainian Adoption including neighboring countries) and our agency offers an invitation only Yahoo chat group. Reading the kid books was a fun pre-snooze activity for Big Papa and I, and while the adult books took a bit longer to read through, we managed to find our way from cover to cover.

The online classes were another story. While I want to believe we’ve finally entered the age of effective and interesting online learning, the reality is that many of these courses are a snooze. We did enjoy the personal stories from adoptive kids or their parents that were occasionally included, but for the most part, the material was anything but riveting. We let months elapse between the eight courses until finally we decided to power through the remaining few classes. Imagine our surprise when we discovered that ‘Eyes Wide Open,’ the last online class, was twenty chapters long…twenty nifty little courses rolled into one! Our eyes were indeed wide open and rolling up in our heads. After we finished that course, we broke open a bottle of champagne.

A+
I can finally say that the end is in sight and ‘graduation day’ is just around the corner. We’re signed up to take an Infant/Child CPR and First Aid class. By October 2009 we’ll be able to bandage an owie and pop a chunk of cookie out of a choking child, all important skills to be sure.

That leaves one last element to our educational journey, completing three credits of cultural education. We’re excited as all get out to check that off, since we picked the last option on the list, “make a visit to your child’s country.” Armenia, here we come!

Friends for life

June 1, 2009 by Beth Shepherd

Some of my earliest memories revolve around my friend Dee. I was six years old, living in a small town in upstate New York, when her family moved in across the street. My sister and I watched as they carried bed after bed across the lawn into their house. We were a family of four and they were family of 13, so we stared in amazement.

As young children, we were good friends. I remember building snow forts in the winter and riding bikes around the neighborhood in the summer. We played dress-up and went to each other’s birthday parties.

Dee and I were close for 44 years. We drifted apart for a time during high school, though we did have overlapping circles of friends. My senior year at Cornell University, after I returned from a semester studying in Amsterdam, we rented a house together. Our friendship as adults stood solidly from that point on.

My favorite memories are of meals we cooked together with ingredients from our local farmer’s market. Recipes from the Moosewood Cookbook, like Mushroom and Barley Soup. To this day, enjoying good food and making a meal to share, is a way I connect best with those I care about and an expression of love. Dee and I would sit at the table at our rented house on College Avenue and talk for hours. I learned so much from her and, over the years, could always count on her sage and to-the-point wisdom.

After college, I moved first to California and then Washington State. Dee moved to Vermont, then Maine, followed by Minnesota when she got married, and finally to Massachusetts. We kept in touch through letters and occasional phone calls. It was comforting to have a friend who understood me and knew my family history. Hearing her voice always centered and soothed me. She reminded me of what was truly important in life. Dedication to those you care about, deep friendships, and being true to oneself.

This weekend, Dee’s friend Kate was in town for work and we had an opportunity to catch up. Dee and Kate met in college. In fact, it was during my stint overseas that Dee transferred to Cornell and sublet my apartment. I spent time with Kate too, but she was Dee’s friend. Over the past thirty years, Dee helped us keep tabs on each other. She was the glue between her friends. She remembered the details in our lives and stayed connected with us, no matter the miles or years that came between us.

I really enjoyed the time spent with Kate, kindred spirits and a shared friendship with Dee. We might not have reconnected in this way, if not for the December memorial in York, Maine. Dee died a few days before Christmas after a decade-long struggle with breast cancer. Kate and I were both at the service, the first time in 27 years we’d seen each other in person.

I feel so blessed to have known Dee. Her friendship was one of the greatest gifts of my life. I am, without a doubt, a better person for having known her. I feel a profound sense of loss that she is no longer in the world.

So it was a great honor, though bittersweet, to have Kate here in Washington. She was able to meet Big Papa and visit the Urban Cabin. We gathered the makings for dinner at our neighborhood farmer’s market and enjoyed a good meal and even better conversation, on our deck. We laughed. We cried. We reminisced. Together, we shared the simplest pleasures in life, which was the essence of our friendship with Dee, and the memories we will always keep close to our hearts.