March is one of those months that’s all over the place: warm, windy and dry one day, cool, cloudy and damp the next.  Back and forth it goes much like that of a fickle friend.  And somewhere in between it all, spring slips in dragging winter along with her for one last hurrah.  I’m not complaining in the least. I welcome chilly gray days especially when they are accompanied by the sound of raindrops tapping on my windows – somewhat of a rare occurrence this year.

And oh how I’ve missed those days.  The ones where I cozy up next to the fire with no ambition other than to watch the rain poke holes in my to-do list.  It’s natures way of reining me back in to regroup and come up with another plan for the day.  Or not.

It’s a perfect reason to make soup – as if I really need a reason.

For me, making soup is soulful, contemplative and solitary – just me, alone in my kitchen with a beautiful mess of vegetables, a bunch of thoughts needing resolution and no distractions other than the intermittent sounds that go along with stormy weather.  The repetitive patterns of chopping, scooping and dropping – handful by handful – somehow helps me when my mind is heavy and introspective as it lately has been.  The process of trimming something large and breaking it up into more manageable pieces is so comforting and appealing in its own way.  But being able to put a lid on the pot – and lett everything simmer together for a while – without having to tend to it too closely has more of a purpose than just for making soup.

There’s an easy-going approach to making soup that I find liberating.  A few mismatched vegetables – too few to make a proper side dish – find their way into the soup pot just as easily as a beautiful head of escarole does after enticing me at the farm stand.  There are no hard and fast rules with soup, just a pathway and the comfort of knowing that I can make a turn at any point and not get lost.  And when wisps of steam begin to swirl from the gaps between the pot’s rim and lid, it’s a silent signal that leads me to a bowl and ladle.

Soup is slow and you can’t rush the rhythmic crackle of crusty bread or faint whistle that comes from gently blowing on it anymore than you can rush the storm outside.  But with each warming spoonful, everything seems to come back into alignment inside and out.  It just takes a little time.  And within a matter of hours the clouds will likely clear and spring will have left winter behind.  For the time being.  Just like the fickle friend she is.

As a home cook, there are times when I find myself challenged in the kitchen.  Fancy techniques and tricky recipes occasionally lure me in when I have the time and am feeling adventurous.  But this recent challenge isn’t about being adventurous in that way.  It’s about creating a recipe to satisfy two middle-school-aged kids and their ever-hungry tummies.  Between school and sports and adolescence, my kids are forever rummaging through our pantry and refrigerator (creating chaos in those areas, I might add).  So when the lovely folks at Peanut Butter & Co. and Bob’s Red Mill reached out to me and asked me to develop a recipe for their Nuts About Oats Recipe Contest and Sweepstakes, I knew it was a situation where necessity met opportunity.  And I needed to create a breakfast recipe that would be nutritious, substantial and occasionally portable because let’s face it, sometimes we need to eat in the car.  But most important of all, it had to be something my kids would want to eat.

Friends, I’m not really into shameless self-promotion, but I have to say I think I nailed it on this one.  The Peanut Butter and Oat-Crusted Breakfast Pizza covers all the prerequisites and it’s really good without being a sugar-laden breakfast food.  Everyone who was tasting for me on this recipe development journey loved the combination of chewy peanut-butter oat crust and creamy peanut butter spiked Greek yogurt.  There’s a hint of sweetness and cinnamon running throughout and the surprise of chopped peanuts and golden raisins in the crust.

Please don’t let the forks in the picture fool you.  They are merely props.  This is a pizza in every sense and is best eaten out of hand.

To get the recipe you will have to visit NutsAboutOats.com.  While you’re there, I would LOVE it if you’d vote for my recipe (by voting you’ll have the chance to win something too as there are 5 $100 prize packages up for grabs).  It would mean so much to me if you did because the competition is really tough.  I’m up against some very talented food bloggers and they all brought their A-game to this contest with some incredible breakfast and brunch recipes.  Wow!

Thank you to Peanut Butter & Co. and Bob’s Red Mill for inviting me to participate in this contest.  I received free products to use in my recipe testing and a small honorarium for my participation.

There’s a time of day when the intensity of midday light finally subsides and the sun slowly lowers itself in the sky creating a wash of warm light bathed in a soft, golden glow.

Shadows stretch wider and longer with a playful seriousness.  Mountains take on new dimension with angular light that catches and hides their peaks and folds.  Green leaves gently flutter in the breeze and shimmer in the golden light.

It’s the golden hour.  The last hour of sunlight in the day when the sun casts a golden hue on everything in its path, and the sky warms with splashes of orange and pink.  It’s a prelude to silhouettes shaped once the setting sun slips beneath the horizon.  A daily occurrence.  A visual cue to begin winding down my day.

The golden hour is a part of the day I relish yet fail to enjoy as often during the months of the year when darkness sneaks up far too quickly, seemingly just as the door closes and homework begins.  But the days are beginning to lengthen, moving the golden hour to a time when it doesn’t have to compete for my attention.

As winter fades into spring, I know warmer days are ahead.  And I anxiously anticipate the time when the heat of the summer sun finally eases up a bit and my backyard patio becomes the center of my home replete with chatter, clinking cocktail glasses and laughter.  I love the way the golden light spills onto the space filling it with it’s charm; it’s the guest I never want to leave but when it does I can’t wait for its return.  The golden hour invariably lightens the mood, pulls the indoors out and brings everyone together again at the end of the day.  It’s a favorite time to entertain, but really it’s the golden light itself that does the entertaining.

Unfortunately time moves too quickly during the golden hour, and there is so much to take in: the way the golden light highlights the rim of every glass, accentuates the point of every leaf, and illuminates the edge of every petal.  Everything has it’s own wonder and attraction shifting in the ever-changing light.  If I gaze too long in one direction, I’ll have missed something in another.  I try to take it all in before it quickly disappears leaving a watercolor sky that fades incrementally into darkness.

Inspired by a completely unloved neighborhood lime tree heavy with fruit, the unique beauty of blood oranges, the incredible California sunsets, and this picture I saw on Pinterest, I created Lime Sorbet with Tequila-Marinated Blood Oranges to enjoy as a refreshing adult dessert or cocktail. Everything about it reminds me of the golden hour and the vividly painted sky that often follows it.

Over the past five months or so, I’ve watched the angle of the summer sun flatten and slowly lose its dimension until the earth lay silent and still under the graceful shadow of winter light.  It’s an expected, anticipated cycle that comes with the passage of seasons.  A time to move slowly finding comfort and renewal indoors instead of out.

But in the garden, especially for the roses, these are the days when I move with intent.  Taming the prickly canes that have stretched to seek sunlight amidst the blur of winter’s shadow, removing the weathered, brittle leaves that barely cling from summer past, tending to the damp blanket of leaves that has accumulated beneath the rose bushes most sheltered from the whipping winter wind.  It’s a lot of work to restore order to 40 rose bushes, but it’s part of the cycle that continually circulates like a wheel bringing about growth, change and renewal with great certainty and predictability.  I enjoy the hope that it brings.

The garden, now pruned and formal, remains dark and quiet.  But ready.  Ready to receive the emerging spring sun.  Ready to become light and full of possibility.

The cycle is repeating, dictating every change with its movement.  Each hour, each minute different than the one before.  And waiting for the next is often the hardest part.  But there is no way to rush or cut into the cycle, to pick one part over another and leave the rest.  No.

You must savor each slice and enjoy each part of the sequence.

From the moment I start cooking something for a blog post, I begin to think about how I want to style it, often sketching out something onto the recipe itself or on a separate piece of paper if room doesn’t permit.  And while I’m making pictures along the way, words and snippets of thought to be included in the post freely move about in my head like internal dialogue in a comic strip.  I’m so in the moment, trying to achieve the shots I want, that I don’t take time to jot down my thoughts.  Multi-tasking while in my creative mode isn’t something I’m particularly interested in.  I’ve come to realize this isn’t the best way to roll because days may go by before I’m able to sit down and actually write the post.  It’s often hard to get that word mojo back while trying to connect the thoughts that linger in my memory.  Of course this is with the assumption that the words and snippets are still there and haven’t been replaced by a million and one other parcels of life that have been grouped under the heading of “distractions.”

Quite often I wish to be the kind of person capable of keeping the spigot at an even flow, accruing things in a manner of degrees rather than all at once.  But I’m not that kind of person.  And I’m not so naive to think that I really have all that much control over the majority of what is often perceived as being thrust upon me – that which makes me choose between this blog and my family. There really is no choice as far as I’m concerned, just a commitment to act as quickly as possible and get back to where I left off.

So I look to my photos for inspiration and try to recover my misplaced direction.  It also really helps to step outside on a winter day and be greeted with near 80-degree temps.  Typically this kind of summer-in-winter weather pattern disappoints me but some days it appears as a gift, especially when I need to be reminded of the warm, distraction-free days of last October when all that stood between me and relaxation was paradise and a small bag of Hawaiian coconut candy.

I’d love to say that our unseasonably warm weather along with the photos brought all of my thoughts right back where I’d left them, but they didn’t.  Too much time has passed and too many life circumstances have directed me elsewhere.  All I am left with is the memory of sweetened, caramelized, crunchy coconut shavings  – any remaining bits of which have also disappeared with the passage of time.

So rather than fight time I’m going to surrender to it, accepting that it is better to pick up the other coconut that sits on my kitchen counter and get back to where I left off .

I consider it the sweetest of all distractions.

Emerald Bay, Lake Tahoe, California

I have been unsuccessful with roasted cauliflower.  And I don’t know why.  Maybe I skimped on the olive oil needed during roasting.  Maybe I didn’t roast it long enough or at a high-enough heat to get that characteristic roasted nuttiness.  Maybe I didn’t break up the florets to the right size so they’d roast evenly.  Who knows.  But I’ve never been able to achieve that same roasted flavor or texture I experienced when I roasted asparagus, broccoli or green beans.   Cauliflower is definitely different than those other vegetables and it doesn’t have much flavor on its own, but it didn’t seem impossible.  Yet after a few mediocre results (even when I added Parmesan cheese to it), I gave up on it for awhile thinking my expectations may be a bit lofty for this vegetable.

But on a recent trip to the farmers market, I came across purple, green and orange cauliflower all stacked together, and I couldn’t resist.  The bright colors leaped out at me, and I knew I needed to get to the bottom of this desire for roasted cauliflower once and for all.  I was envisioning nutty, roasted cauliflower with crispy bacon and little bits of Gorgonzola cheese to serve alongside beef or chicken.  So I set out to give the cauliflower a head start with a flavor boost from a quick trip into a pot of chicken stock.  I let it boil for a few minutes before I quickly broke it into florets, tossed it with olive oil and put it under the broiler to get as much color on it as possible without turning it to mush.

I put the cauliflower into a bowl and used a knife to cut the florets into bite-sized pieces, added some crumbled bacon and Gorgonzola, and some thinly sliced shallots.  From the outset I had my doubts thinking the step to add flavor may have made the cauliflower softer than I would have normally enjoyed.  But I went with it and added a some seasoning.

It was just okay and I was somewhat uninspired at that point.  I resigned myself to thinking it wasn’t going to be the way I had hoped and I had other things to get to, so I put the cauliflower into a smaller container, drizzled some olive oil, red wine vinegar and a squirt of lemon over the top, covered it up and stuck it in the refrigerator until the next day when I would have more time to figure out what I was going to do with it.

But when I tasted it the next day, it tasted just like potato salad.  I was actually kind of surprised that it tasted as good as it did considering my lackluster impression the day before.  After a quick Google search, I saw that I was not the first one to make this low-carb discovery. There are many variations on cauliflower faux potato salad, and I was obviously late to the party.  But that didn’t stop me from wanting to share my colorful version, which I think really helps to make it more appealing.

You could add some of the more typical additions like mayonnaise and hard-boiled eggs, but I left it as it was to keep the flavors intact and the calories manageable. And honestly, I didn’t miss the mayo at all.  Think of it like a colored cauliflower chopped salad with all the flavors of potato salad minus the hefty calorie count.  I know this will be a definite make again salad especially in the summer when warm days call for lighter fare.

I know we’re all supposed to be starting the New Year off right with a renewed sense of mindful eating and physical fitness, and here I am showing up with an ice cream post.  In January no less.

But I have a pulse and feel it’s more important to not deprive oneself of the little joys in life.

So when someone in my household, who shall remain nameless,  leaves the cookie jar open and turns the last remaining box of my beloved Trader Joe’s Peppermint Jo-Jo’s (a slightly better – and by that I mean I can pronounce the ingredients on the label – holiday version of and Oreo)  into a slightly stale and less-than-appealing snack for a mint-chocolate lover such as myself,  I am left with no other choice than take matters into my own hands.

Since I couldn’t let the last of these seasonal triumphs go to waste, I did what needed to be done without any regard for those who may actually follow the New Year’s rule:  I made ice cream.  Glorious, homemade creamy peppermint cookies and cream ice cream.  Studded with crushed candy canes.  Candy canes, I might add, that I may have borrowed without asking from a certain nameless member of my household.

So turn away if you must;  I’ll completely understand.  But moderation is definitely where it’s at.

A straight-out-of-the-camera shot taken just outside of Independence, California along Highway 395

© 2010-2012 Lemons and Lavender

I have always been a very cookbook-dependent cook.  And like so many others, I too have spent countless hours reading cookbooks like novels, familiarizing myself with recipes to the extent that there are no questions when I set out to make them.  I enjoy it and have been doing so since I was a kid.  My mom had a series of thin kitchen encyclopedias that I would periodically grab and thumb though before going to bed.  That pattern hasn’t really changed much today and my bedside is like a mini library that is continually rotated between the cookbooks I move down to the kitchen and those that I take up to bed (when I can actually stay awake long enough to read).

I enjoy the challenge of being able to recreate a recipe I’ve had at a restaurant or heard about without seeing a recipe.  It builds up my kitchen confidence a bit, and I’ve been doing it more and more.  It’s also a really good exercise in paying attention to the flavors that cross your palate, picking up on the subtleties of certain components and using your kitchen know-how to bring it together.

It’s liberating to cook without a recipe, and a struggle at times to remember to stop and write it down as I go.  I don’ t always do that when I’m throwing dinner together.  And wouldn’t you know, when I go back and recreate one of my own creations, I can’t get it to be as good as it was the first time I made it.

That wasn’t the case with this dish.  And in all honesty, I had a bit of a leg up on this one.  A friend of mine had something similar at a restaurant, recreated it and made it for me last Superbowl Sunday right after I created a  Shredded Brussels Sprouts with Lemon, Walnuts and Shaved Parmesan salad.  Wanting to make it right away, I held off until Brussels sprouts came back into season.  Whether it be an appetizer, a light lunch or a side dish with dinner, this Charred Brussels Sprout Leaves and Almonds recipe has been getting a lot of play at my house lately.

It’s a healthy recipe that hits all the right buttons in the flavor department.

The key is to peel off the leaves of the Brussels sprouts – you won’t be able to get them all, so focus on the outer leaves and stop when you’ve reached the yellow center of the sprout – and then saute the heck out of the leaves until they’re charred in spots.  (I prefer mine to be charred more than the images show.) Add in garlic and slivered almonds along the way, but don’t burn them because that would turn the beautiful nuttiness you’re achieving into a bitter disappointment.  The addition of lemon zest and juice at the end brightens everything up and really rounds out all of the flavors in the way that lemon always does.  I added the pomegranate arils more for visual effect and to pretty-up the darkness of the dish, but I admit that I kind of liked the pop of their sweet-tartness.

Have fun with this one.  And try it out on those who say they don’t like Brussels sprouts.  It’ll take some creative talk on your part, but I bet they’ll change their mind after trying this.