TRYING TO FIND LIGHTNESS
AND TALK OF BURNED RICE & BLACK BEAN STIR-FRY WITH DUCK
Our delayed spring means the lilies of the valley are not yet out and we’re all still wearing layers of warm clothes outside, but gardens are greening up at last.
front garden down the street
This week brought us a brilliant full moon on May 1, a day to remember the labour movement and the work of humans of all ages all around the world.
after the farmer’s work comes the miller’s and the baker’s; mill and baking tools at Evelyn’s Crackers, Dawnthebaker’s bakery
Saturday I was awake early, in time to see the just-past-full moon, tinged with gold-pink, sliding down the western horizon. Heart-stopping.
The week before last I was home almost every day because Tashi’s older brother Dom was here and friends were coming by to visit. It was a treat to have a flow of people and conversation, embraces, talk of Tashi, and tears too.
I’ve realised in the days since Dom left that I’ve slipped back into the patterns I had last summer and fall, when Tashi’s friends, all our friends, were frequently here to see him. There’d be one or two or three or more extras for supper, or stopping by in the afternoon. I was always home. It was the place to be, where time with Tashi and others was precious, imperative. In those weeks it was hard to leave the house, except for necessities. And even then…
they look to me like they’re calling for help
The week of Dom’s visit somehow put me back into that pattern and that mindset. I felt an urgency about being here and present. Once Dom left, the feeling stayed. It was difficult to get myself out, except for pre-booked things (such as a wonderful pair of films at the Hot-Docs festival on Monday evening and another on Thursday evening). Dawnthebaker helped me break my cooking-supper mode by suggesting we go out on Tuesday night to a family-run Vietnamese restaurant on St Clair West called Tan Dinh Quan. And the next day we drove out of town to eat a leisurely late lunch at Fat Rabbit, a terrific restaurant in St Catherines.
at Fat Rabbit: lamb ribs, and on the right a brilliant version of beef tartar
All of which is to say that I’ve not been house-bound, in fact. But I am still mentally tied to home. It’s fascinating and a little worrying to see how easily I’ve fallen back into feeling I need to stay home.
In other eras I’ve been very prepared to walk out the door at any time of day. Now I’ve lost that unthinking lightness. I want to retrieve it. And I’m grateful to all my friends, who encourage me to come out and play, to break pattern, to loosen my tightened sinews.
The tightenedness is a ghostly holdover from last summer and fall, as Tashi was failing. I can still go out easily if I’m needed somewhere: an appointment to keep, a commitment to a friend. In other words, obligation will pull me out. But otherwise an unthinking sense of obligation tethers me here.
moon shadows on my balcony Friday night
I would like to feel less encumbered by dread. I can call it a holdover from the intense times of last year, but it feels active and powerful, not a mere echo. This is grief, grief that is very tangible and that has undeniable physical consequences.
As I try to find the words to describe all this, I am forced to look the situation in the eye. I have to admit that perhaps part of me fears unconsciously that if I let go of the sense of urgency I will lose touch with Tashi. I know perfectly well that he’s dead and gone. But his echo is everywhere. I think it’s difficult for me to leave the house lightly because I am physically still so tuned to listening for him.
I don’t want to try to shove these feelings in a cupboard. I want to live with them, acknowledge them, breathe with them. Surely they’ll eventually give me energy to move forward into new possibilities…
KITCHEN EXPLORATIONS with rice disgrace and black bean sauce stir-fry
I had another kitchen first this week, not a good one. I burned a pot of rice, an insult to rice farmers and to the kitchen gods.
It happened from inattention. In the middle of the afternoon last Thursday I thought I’d get a pot of rice made. For some days there’d been no rice leftovers in the fridge for me to top with fried eggs in the morning. I was going out for supper, but I planned to put the cooked rice in the fridge, ready for the next day.
full-moon bonus, a double-yolk egg, still cooking, with some spinach, for my morning meal
It’s foolish to start cooking rice and then leave the kitchen and get immersed in a book. I forgot all about the rice until I smelled toasted grain. Yikes! The small pot of brown basmati was burned underneath and dried out. I rescued the rice in the centre but had to throw out the scorched grains that were stuck onto the bottom of the pot and up the sides (wishing I had a pig or chickens to give them to). I put the salvaged rice in a glass container in the fridge (and left the pot to soak overnight).
The rice was going to need massaging in some way to be edible. What to do?
The next evening, with a large duck breast in the fridge, I made a quick stir-fry of sliced duck and chopped dandelion, with minced garlic and home-made black bean sauce. (I keep a big jar of it in the fridge, made from the recipe in The Miracle of Salt.) I added a little water to lengthen the sauce, so there’d be plenty of liquid for the rescued rice to soak up. But I thought the rice needed more help than that to be edible, so I threw some chopped small greenhouse cucumbers into a hot wok, then lowered the heat and added the rice and a generous splash of water. I hoped that the fresh crunch of the barely cooked cucumber would enliven the rice, and that the added water would soften it enough…
one of the quickest easiest dishes to make: stir-fried duck and chopped dandelion greens with black bean sauce; and the rescued rice looking a bit sad
The duck was delicious; the rice was passable. And the eternal truth is that you must never leave the kitchen for more than a minute or two when there’s a pot of rice finding its way to done.
forced rhubarb, glowing pink, in the raw, and gently cooked for an early taste of spring