food memoir: "my berlin kitchen"

even though we are nearing the first anniversary of our move, there still is quite a bit of adjustment to overcome. you may wonder how that’s possible given all of the months between then and now. how is it that my office is still in shambles or that our dining room table plays host to more bags than meals or that our guestroom is the only room that feels settled. i reckon the pause began when he opened a restaurant months after kai arrived, all the while still playing host to our current jobs that reside two hours away. oh, and then there’s this place too…

all of these distractions aside, what really bothers me is not feeling familiar with my kitchen. of late, all i’ve reached for are baby bottles, piper’s jar of peanut butter, and frozen kashi meals. feeling that i have much work to do on this house before it truly feels our home is one thing. nils may share the blame with me on that front. feeling a stranger in my own kitchen is quite another. that’s fully my fault. i’ve been skirting the issue for months — instead, retreating beneath the haze of my newfound life as a mum and all its distraction in caring.

now, as kai begins to settle into a routine that includes regular and lengthy naps(!), i am feeling the pull back to those worn utensils and scrappy pots and heaving dutch oven and cast iron skillet. i am also wanting to be here more, talking food and drink with you. writing. photographing. all of these interests are such a huge part of who i am and i shed them for awhile when this love took hold. now that i’m regaining clarity of mind, it somehow seems feasible to be in both places. and, i think it all begins in the kitchen, and with this book. 

i couldn’t help but feel a serendipitous nudge towards resuming my interests in food writing and photography while reading luisa weiss’s my berlin kitchen. weiss turned her whole life around to set at ease the voices of her deepest self when all simply didn’t feel right. what kind of mum would i be for kai if i didn’t listen to my own internal nag. it was kind enough to give me leave when i needed to be solely with him. now that’s he is taking his own charge — becoming this amazing lil man of ours — she’s returned with tugs towards the kitchen.

since i started reading my berlin kitchen, i’ve had reason enough to ponder which recipes i should return to not only the kitchen, but to you. what would entice me back? after a few chapters read in seemingly stolen moments throughout the days and evenings when kai was sleeping or being watched by his papa or grand mums, i knew i’d be hard-pressed to choose just one recipe.

you see, weiss plucks recipes from a life steeped in a variety of cultures. i imagined beef ragu or braised endives with omelette confiture or an apple tart as a harbinger of autumn. as the pages turned began to outweigh those left to explore, i started to grow anxious. too many recipes were dog-eared. i’d spent so much time not cooking that i was overly eager to return and cook it all!

i do, as my mum does, and tuck keepsakes between the pages of cookbooks. birthday cards. poems. photos. snippets of life that i hold dear and want to return to while in the kitchen. weiss’s book reminds me of this practice. the clarity of her memories reads like snapshots frozen in their primary focus and tucked away between meaningful recipes of recollection and comfort. although i’m sure it served a good summer read, i’d rather read it as the weather here prompts more time to be spent indoors resting upon the couch with feet propped on a partner’s lap or tucked beneath oneself. this is a focused and finely tuned read that shuttled me to her vivid scenes and left me looking forward to the next moment i’d be able to spend traveling through her words — seeing these places i have yet to visit, reflected in her memories.

so, i’ve returned to the kitchen with her book in hand. it’s been a clumsy start. a near miss finger slice. tools out of place. an electric oven instead of the familiar gas stoves of every city dwelling of my past. a kai crawling around the tiles and playing with a potholder or vacant tupperware tub. a piper shoulder-to-thigh with me, unfamiliar with my stance in the kitchen not leading to her mealtime. cooking not immediately following preparation, instead being postponed til the next morning, because kai’s eyes rim with blushing tiredness. then a morning spent hurriedly cooking before work fueled by strong coffee and a new mum’s adrenaline reserve, and loving every moment and aroma.

i’m back.

—

the two recipes i chose for this post are braised leeks and swiss chard and gruyere panade. after tasting, i thought immediately of thanksgiving. the panade is like a more refined stuffing with better flavor definition. salty and almost meaty. when i make it again for thanksgiving i will add a layer of butternut squash (as luisa mentions she’d like to) most definitely roasted. the leeks are silky and earthy. after braising them early in the morning in my new-ish kitchen, i must agree with luisa when she writes, “there’s nothing like a panful of golden, tender braised leeks to make a house smell like home.”

find these recipes on the wednesday chef:

braised leeks

swiss chard and gruyere panade

sisterly scones

Well, my friends, we did it. We made the move. The move to the seaside village that has held a special place in my heart and routine for awhile now. Somehow, the impending arrival of this baby is setting in motion events and decisions that have occupied (with indecision) the back burners of our life together.

Soon after I wrote here last, it was decided that we’d finally make the move to Mattapoisett from Cambridge. We had three weeks to prepare and pack. We didn’t have time for a nostalgic look back at our time spent nurturing our relationship in the fantastically urban landscape that is Boston and Cambridge. The decision was set in motion by a few factors and we in turn were on the go without precious time for thoughtfulness. Who knew a baby could make it all fall into place? I surely didn’t expect it.

I’ve moved plenty of times throughout my youthful city dwelling years. Never has a move meant so much as this one did though. This move is to our home. The home where our baby will be raised. A home with a yard for our pups. A home that I’ll work from. A home that will serve a base for us to reconnect and gather together at the end of the day even though our schedules are still opposing. 

Settling into a new space is both daunting and exciting. A clean slate brimming with expectations. And, when it’s a space that you plan to reside in, perhaps for forever, the imagination is sparked to whole new levels. Everything in its place seems so…permanent. Tack on the dressing of a room for your first baby and there’s much to consider.

With all of this unpacking and settling in provoking (probably too much) thought, a friend gifting you with a handful of freshly baked scones from a family recipe is a treat beyond all treats. When the kitchen has yet to be organized, these scones resting on the counter are golden trinkets of effortless snacking. They are crumbly. Buttery. Faintly sweet. Energy-inducing. Dunkable. Just plain what you need when life is tugging you in all directions and you need a good ole dose of carbs to keep moving.

True to most familial recipes, this scone recipe was passed along verbally and on scraps of paper that most appropriately go missing after a single floury handhold. It took days of doing for Sierra and her sister and Sierra’s boyfriend to track down the ingredients and method. Finally, all was gathered from texts, e-mails, and phone conversations.

While we gathered missing ingredients during a slight trip to the grocery store, she mused with a sigh about the impossiblity of keeping a hold on this recipe. That voiced concern, my friends, was how I’d found my in. What better reason for a blog feature than to offer her and her family a permanent residence on my site? She agreed. Phew, my plan worked.

We spent an afternoon baking then noshing then attending my surprise baby shower. What a splendid day!

Sisterly Scones (recipe shared by sisters Sierra & Kallista)
When Nils and I started dating, he’d come home with a maple scones every so often. I wondered who was wooing my new man with sweet treats. He’d brush away concern with claims that a friend, who worked at Starbucks, would bring them to him at the end of her shift — you know, whatever wasn’t sold that day and wouldn’t be good for the next day. In my mind, I referred to her as “maple scone lady.” Of course, she was on the other side, wondering about his new girlfriend was…Almost eight years later, here we are, baking scones together; that’s the beauty and humor of life, isn’t it? 

Her note: These are things you probably have lying around anyway, but here are the ingredients for the scones we’ll be making. They are seriously the best scones I have ever had. 

1 ½ cups flour
½ cup sugar
2 ½ tsp baking powder
¾ teaspoon salt
sprinkle of cinnamon
2-3 tablespoons cold butter, cut into small pieces
1 cup heavy cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
½ cup chopped walnuts
milk and sugar, for glaze

Place the rack in the middle of the oven and heat to 400 degrees. Grease an 8” circle in center of 9”x12” baking sheet. Combine flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon in a large bowl. Stir together.

Cut two tablespoons of butter into the prepared mix with a pastry blender or two knives until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs.

In a small bowl, combine cream and vanilla. Make a well in the center of your dry mixture. Pour a stream of the vanilla-cream into the well. Stir until the dough pulls together. If necessary, add a touch more cream until the dough pulls together. Sprinkle in the walnuts.

With floured hands, knead the dough three or four times in the bowl. Pat the dough into a seven inch circle. Cut into eight wedges, as you would a pie. Reassemble the slices in the center of the baking sheet, leaving a quarter inch in between pieces. Brush scones lightly with milk and sprinkle with sugar.

Bake until golden brown, approximately 16 to 18 minutes. Cool on a sheet for one minute, then remove and let cool completely on cooling rack. 

tides of life

As I stir this soup, inspiration bubbles through the haze of the broth’s steamy whispers. I have been wondering when I’d meet you here again. Although it’s been some time for sure, the pause is all for good, I swear.

Life sometimes interrupts our best intentions of creative productivity. A single decision, seemingly slight at the time will shift everything into a new motion. Take this decision I made a little while back:

We’ve named her Piper because she is adorably vocal even at the most sleepy and inopportune times. 

Did we need another dog? Perhaps not. We thought that she’d spark new energy into Sage. There is, however, another reason for her joining our family — but, more on that in a few paragraphs. For now, let’s just say, this lil miss keeps the spare time occupied. 

Back to this soup…I have a friend visiting in thirty minutes. I am simmering this soup for us because the “toss everything in without care” method is how I play it these days in the kitchen with two dogs at my feet, murmuring for an answer as to why this pot is being readied before their own meals. I also know this soup is just the thing my friend and I will savor over thick conversation much needed after the time that’s been lost bewteen our visits. She is soon to move and we must take in another evening just like most weekly visits we’ve spent together over the past few years. All must be effortless. Couch bound. Hearty grub. Much laughter. Some tears on occasion. Always conversation that remains in mind and heart. And, sometimes, we must fill the cracks with junky television shows. A ladies night with a bff just the way it was meant to be.

This soup recipe was passed to me by Nils’s mum. I wrote about it, wowza, two years ago! And, you know what?! Two years to the date. How’s that for serendipity?! I really had no idea!

Motioning onward, follow that recipe for the original version. Tonight I made a few changes according to cravings:

1 can of potatoes, sliced (pour the can’s water into the pot too)
1 large bag of frozen chopped spinach
1 large bag of frozen sweet peas
2 boxes of organic vegetable broth

I also omitted:

chopped onions
red kidney beans
water
bouillon 

As I write this post, the Dutch oven is simmering all to the delight of my nostrils and to the curious annoyance of the dogs’ attentions. My friend is soon to arrive. Wait, here she is…I leave this writing aside while we catch up with glances and words and draws of winding sourdough bread grabs through the warm and filling soup. There are many changes on the horizon for us both so the television remains cold.

I suppose now is the moment to share what we’re abuzz about. This recipe is perhaps a fitting introduction to my other bit of news. As it is a family recipe being handed down to me from Nils’s mum, it’s so much more fitting than any other recipe I could have chosen. You see, I’m carrying her fifth grandchild-to-be. 

That’s right! We have a little one on the way and that’s is the main reason for my lack of attention to this space reserved for all things food and drink. Now that I’m just days shy of the halfway mark (and I’ve officially told my boss) I have found my way back here to you to share our amazing news. 

We are not finding out whether it’s a girl or boy. I like surprises. I also like planning a neutral nursery. And, I like surprises…

I also jumped at the opportunity to join Piper to our family as well since I grew up with a puppy and I’d love for our child to do the same. Our child. [Insert giddy grin]

So there you have it. All of my news. Since the moment I sat to write this post, there have been many interruptions. Two potty breaks for the pups (make that three). One pause for puppy play. A few stirs of the soup. A puppy nap. A visit with my friend. And, the baby’s bubbly moves. These familiar moments are those that pepper my life these days. The tides are turning in a new direction and as they always have in my life, they turn with force all at once, affecting most aspects with intense change. Seven years ago tides brought me to Cambridge. To my bartender. To my Sage. To Mattapoisett (on the weekends). Now, more movement is afoot and I must listen and follow. I will be here more frequently when I’m settled. Until then, I will listen when the muse calls without effort and share what I may with you.  

p.s. - While reading for edits, I got teary-eyed and not in the I cry at everything cuz I’m pregnant kinda way. I felt such emotion from being able to share this news with you. Putting these words and feelings and images out in this space just moves me. Sharing. Life. Wonderful. Thank you.