On a ski Sunday soon after discovering the 10in10 blog, I attempted to make soup. Specifically, I tried to make the cabbage soup that forms the foundation of the 10in10 diet. We already had all of the ingredients in the kitchen, with the exception of the vinegar, which I picked up at PCC after walking the dog in the morning. I also picked up a loaf of rosemary bread, to make sure we had something to eat just in case the soup turned out to be awful. (Or to fill us up if the soup left us hungry.) It was, as promised, a fairly simple recipe to follow. When Dad and Red got home from skiing, there were bowls of hot soup waiting for them. And it was, well, not delicious, but entirely edible. We ate a lot of it, and with some bread, it was enough for dinner and lunch for a couple days.
We agreed that it was worth making again, with some tweaking. Next time I would use less vinegar, less sugar, and more carrots. In fact, it would be worth experimenting with adding whatever vegetables were on hand. And I would measure the water, to see if I was actually making the same amount of soup the recipe was designed to make. Over the course of the week, we noted that the soup had a strangely, um, cleansing effect.
Although it was dubbed a success, we weren’t ready try again the very next weekend. After all, there had been a lot of leftovers to finish over the course of the week. And we were just trying the soup, not trying to make it the foundation of our diet. Plus, there was that um, cleansing, effect.
After another week, I had already kind of forgotten about learning to make soup. But the next weekend after that, I noticed some squash sitting on the counter that had been there for what seemed an awfully long time. So I pulled out The Bold Vegetarian and found a squash soup recipe. This one called for 3 specific kinds of squash and Granny Smith apples. I had two unidentified gourds, and had to go to the grocery store anyway.
The squash soup recipe was not as simple as the one for cabbage soup, and since it was not a ski day, I had two girls to juggle while I tried to make it. This resulted in a few awkward moments when ingredients I hadn’t chopped yet were supposed to be added to an already hot pan full of half cooked onions and other items. Daddy came home, not to hot soup, but to a trashed kitchen and a wife who needed someone else to stir the aforementioned onions and put the bread in the oven while she desperately chopped Granny Smith apples.
But the soup was good with chili flakes on top and warm bread and Elysian ale on the side for the grownups; with Trader Joe’s seaweed snacks on top and pink lemonade for Rose Red. Snow White (aka Goldilocks) proclaimed it too hot and refused to ingest anything but chochit milk, but who cares what she thinks. All in all, I think I could get the hang of soup. It’s a great way to use up a lot of fresh food, and relative to other foody endeavors, it’s pretty simple. It’s certainly more practical than last year’s attempt to learn how to make pie.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Bluebird Returns - More on Ariel Gore's Happiness
Another topic that frequently pops up in the book is the idea of a “happiness set point.” This is the idea that every person is born with a temperament that inclines them to a certain level of cheerfulness (or not) regardless of events in their life. Famous studies about lottery winners and car crash victims are cited. But so are less famous studies (that I can’t cite here because I already returned the book to the library) which indicate that the set point is not set in stone.
I am reminded of a lab from Bio 101 in which I first heard the term set point. Three beakers are filled with water. One is left out to reach room temperature. Another is heated, and the third gets ice. The budding scientist dips her hand in the tepid water – yep, that’s water. Then the hand goes into the hot water. Skin turns red, teeth grit, struggle to hold it for the 30 seconds or so required. Now back in the tepid beaker and hey! now it feels cold. Hand in ice water, shiver shiver, back in tepid, hey, now it’s hot. Set point – an adjustable sense of what’s normal, calibration of the human body to changes in circumstance. The reason you don’t notice your clothes all day long (unless they’re wool, in which case they scratch all day no matter what).
Gore’s point is illustrated in the beginners’ science lab. We all have a predetermined disposition to stay at a certain level of happiness. That is our nature. But we are all capable of resetting our level through nurturing the habit of happiness. Patch Adams aside, most of us probably can’t choose to go from cynical Gen X malcontents to Pollyanna. But we are not fated to cranky either.
The techniques supported in the book are for the most part fairly predictable, and occasionally squirm-inducing cheesy, too. Gore admits this. She writes several pages about how her daily attempts to journal gratitude devolve into complaints about unsatisfying childhood Christmas presents. But studies (which, like I said, she cites and I won’t) show that happy people are aware of a sense of gratitude in their life. They also show that if you’re not naturally grateful, keeping a (cough, sorry, hairball) gratitude journal can actually, over time, make you a more grateful person. I haven’t been quite able to bring myself to try it yet. But I have tried to muzzle the inner rosary recitation of daily irritations. And, I already had started to build up a handy mental reference list of things I love about each of my kids that I can pull out and recite to myself when they exhibit some of their less charming characteristics. (That was a trick from Raising Your Spirited Child- possibly more on that later.) I think it helps.
For the record, here are some of the other things that make for happy mamas:
I am reminded of a lab from Bio 101 in which I first heard the term set point. Three beakers are filled with water. One is left out to reach room temperature. Another is heated, and the third gets ice. The budding scientist dips her hand in the tepid water – yep, that’s water. Then the hand goes into the hot water. Skin turns red, teeth grit, struggle to hold it for the 30 seconds or so required. Now back in the tepid beaker and hey! now it feels cold. Hand in ice water, shiver shiver, back in tepid, hey, now it’s hot. Set point – an adjustable sense of what’s normal, calibration of the human body to changes in circumstance. The reason you don’t notice your clothes all day long (unless they’re wool, in which case they scratch all day no matter what).
Gore’s point is illustrated in the beginners’ science lab. We all have a predetermined disposition to stay at a certain level of happiness. That is our nature. But we are all capable of resetting our level through nurturing the habit of happiness. Patch Adams aside, most of us probably can’t choose to go from cynical Gen X malcontents to Pollyanna. But we are not fated to cranky either.
The techniques supported in the book are for the most part fairly predictable, and occasionally squirm-inducing cheesy, too. Gore admits this. She writes several pages about how her daily attempts to journal gratitude devolve into complaints about unsatisfying childhood Christmas presents. But studies (which, like I said, she cites and I won’t) show that happy people are aware of a sense of gratitude in their life. They also show that if you’re not naturally grateful, keeping a (cough, sorry, hairball) gratitude journal can actually, over time, make you a more grateful person. I haven’t been quite able to bring myself to try it yet. But I have tried to muzzle the inner rosary recitation of daily irritations. And, I already had started to build up a handy mental reference list of things I love about each of my kids that I can pull out and recite to myself when they exhibit some of their less charming characteristics. (That was a trick from Raising Your Spirited Child- possibly more on that later.) I think it helps.
For the record, here are some of the other things that make for happy mamas:
- Money does buy happiness (to a point). Heartwarming movies aside, not knowing where your next meal will come from or being able to pay bills on time is a significant predictor of unhappiness. Also, money well spent can buy things like art and tickets to places and events that will generate good memories that can buoy your spirits in challenging times.
- Take care of yourself. Get enough sleep, enough exercise and eat good food. If you let yourself be a martyr, you won’t have the energy to energy your good works.
- FACE YOUR FEARS. Those who follow their passion, even when they are scared and even when it doesn’t work out, are more likely to be happy. Playing it safe (avoiding pain) does not lead to happiness. Women, and moms especially, are vulnerable to criticisms of self indulgence when they pursue their own dreams and take risks that could affect their whole families. But if we are to keep that sunshine center glowing, the whole family has to support mom’s goals, too.
- And then there’s the meditating and the yoga and the journaling and all the other self-help-book-type stuff that can help, too. Apparently, even happiness can be improved with practice.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
10in10 Part 2
First, some history.
I am something of a foody. Trying new restaurants brings me great joy. I love to grow my own organic food. I am interested in the state of agriculture in America. I study the environmental impacts of various farming practices, follow food politics, read Michael Pollan, Barbara Kingsolver, and Tom Philpott. In college, I insisted on buying all our food from the co-op. In grad school I joined the P-Patch, and signed us up for Full Circle Farm’s CSA. I love to scan cookbooks and find recipes that match up with the fresh, organic produce we have on hand. But when it comes to actually cooking the food – well, for years we had a gourmet chef for a housemate. He owned his own restaurant. My husband learned from the master, and I, well, I didn’t.
My husband does all the cooking. I mean ALL the cooking. Even when I was a stay at home mom, he cooked. Even when he has class at the dojo and doesn’t have time to eat first, he cooks for us. I can make scrambled eggs when he’s not home. Like many people who singlehandedly manage a repetitive task required for their family’s survival, who seldom receive the level of gratitude deserved for the importance of the task and the level of effort required, my husband can be touchy about my suggestions for dietary change.
So when I sent him the link to 10in10, his initial reaction was, “Yeah, let’s quit our jobs and cook beans and cabbage all day long. That’s a great idea.” We went back and forth a bit, and I tried to clarify that my message was not to revolutionize our very tasty diet, or to put the kibosh on Thai take-out. But I thought maybe sometimes we could replace pasta and processed soy fake-meat with beans. You know, like once a week.
Well, he ran with it. Although dry beans and their soaking, planning-way-ahead requirements were still not on offer, hours were spent on internet bean research. Cans of beans were purchased at the grocery store – and not much else. Not a single package of soy-based protein made it into the basket. That week the grocery bill was almost 25% below average. Trader Joe’s white cannellini beans were a particularly happy discovery. We ate a different bean dish almost every night of the week. Sometimes beans and pasta appeared together so that the food felt more familiar and filling. But by the end of the week, a bean dish felt like a meal, and nothing seemed to be missing.
For a week we ate none of our standby dinners. We remembered that curry and falafel are made with beans. Every night we ate something new and interesting and delicious. With beans. He poured out the water from the cans and rinsed the beans and no, we did not all have gas all week.
The next week spaghetti and takeout slipped back into the mix. But the beans did not go (in fact, some showed up in spaghetti sauce – yummy). In one week of effort, a consistent, lasting change was made to our diet. We now rely far less on processed soy (which, I admit, is a bean, but is more problematic than most, especially in its processed forms – see here and here and here for starters). Our diet is a little healthier, a little lighter on the planet, and a little more interesting than it was just a couple of weeks ago.
The other day my husband mentioned that he can’t find his favorite beans - black eyed peas - at Trader Joe’s. He’s thinking about buying them dried, in bulk at the co-op.
I am something of a foody. Trying new restaurants brings me great joy. I love to grow my own organic food. I am interested in the state of agriculture in America. I study the environmental impacts of various farming practices, follow food politics, read Michael Pollan, Barbara Kingsolver, and Tom Philpott. In college, I insisted on buying all our food from the co-op. In grad school I joined the P-Patch, and signed us up for Full Circle Farm’s CSA. I love to scan cookbooks and find recipes that match up with the fresh, organic produce we have on hand. But when it comes to actually cooking the food – well, for years we had a gourmet chef for a housemate. He owned his own restaurant. My husband learned from the master, and I, well, I didn’t.
My husband does all the cooking. I mean ALL the cooking. Even when I was a stay at home mom, he cooked. Even when he has class at the dojo and doesn’t have time to eat first, he cooks for us. I can make scrambled eggs when he’s not home. Like many people who singlehandedly manage a repetitive task required for their family’s survival, who seldom receive the level of gratitude deserved for the importance of the task and the level of effort required, my husband can be touchy about my suggestions for dietary change.
So when I sent him the link to 10in10, his initial reaction was, “Yeah, let’s quit our jobs and cook beans and cabbage all day long. That’s a great idea.” We went back and forth a bit, and I tried to clarify that my message was not to revolutionize our very tasty diet, or to put the kibosh on Thai take-out. But I thought maybe sometimes we could replace pasta and processed soy fake-meat with beans. You know, like once a week.
Well, he ran with it. Although dry beans and their soaking, planning-way-ahead requirements were still not on offer, hours were spent on internet bean research. Cans of beans were purchased at the grocery store – and not much else. Not a single package of soy-based protein made it into the basket. That week the grocery bill was almost 25% below average. Trader Joe’s white cannellini beans were a particularly happy discovery. We ate a different bean dish almost every night of the week. Sometimes beans and pasta appeared together so that the food felt more familiar and filling. But by the end of the week, a bean dish felt like a meal, and nothing seemed to be missing.
For a week we ate none of our standby dinners. We remembered that curry and falafel are made with beans. Every night we ate something new and interesting and delicious. With beans. He poured out the water from the cans and rinsed the beans and no, we did not all have gas all week.
The next week spaghetti and takeout slipped back into the mix. But the beans did not go (in fact, some showed up in spaghetti sauce – yummy). In one week of effort, a consistent, lasting change was made to our diet. We now rely far less on processed soy (which, I admit, is a bean, but is more problematic than most, especially in its processed forms – see here and here and here for starters). Our diet is a little healthier, a little lighter on the planet, and a little more interesting than it was just a couple of weeks ago.
The other day my husband mentioned that he can’t find his favorite beans - black eyed peas - at Trader Joe’s. He’s thinking about buying them dried, in bulk at the co-op.
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