The Furious Spinner

On Thursday, I had my third and final cooking lesson with my friend Michelle. The door to her cottage out in the country was wide open. Inside, parts of her life were packed into boxes, slung over chairs, tipped out onto the floor. It felt like controlled chaos to me; to her, it felt as though everything was spinning out of control. Still, we made the kitchen our refuge while we cooked. We made an onion and rainbow chard frittata and a blueberry, plum, and raspberry crisp. No gluten, no sugar, no dairy, no frying. We went out into the sun to her garden and picked greens for a salad. Later we sat at her picnic table in her front yard, under cottonwood shade, and talked and ate and talked and found refuge in each other's company and our food. Before we knew it, five hours had passed. She had to continue packing, and I had to get home. But first, she asked me to make her a cake for her birthday and going away party on Saturday. The caveat was that I had to make a cake that I could eat, too. How could I refuse?

Friday night I only slept four hours. I got up early and began creating a feast. The party was a potluck and Michelle was worried there wouldn't be anything nourishing for her to eat, so I decided I would make a main course in addition to the cake. (The night before I had soaked cashews, quinoa, and pinto beans. I had also added a bit of lemon to the quinoa and pinto beans.)

As I was figuring out where to begin, I thought of Sister Ruby Rosarita Mermaid from Church of the Old Mermaids and Vesta from Coyote Cowgirl. They both said it was important to talk to the food and the spirits of othe food. So I did. Unfortunately, I couldn't smell a thing on Saturday. I was so disappointed that I wouldn't have that particular sensual experience while I created this feast. I made pinto beans with carrots and onions and all kinds of herbs. I cooked quinoa and made a lime and herb sauce to put over it. Later I made carrot cake. I used a recipe I found in the Blossoming Lotus cookbook as a starting point. Then I talked to Michelle about it, and she came up with some ideas to make it gluten and sugar-free and still taste great. When I put the ingredients for the cake together, it looked a little soupy, so I added more flour. (I milled quinoa and millet in my spice grinder to make the flour.) After the cake was cool, I made a cashew frosting, spread it on the cake, added some toasted coconut, and we were ready to go. This all sounds easy, I know, but I worked almost nonstop for nine hours!

When Mario got home from work, we drove to Michelle's house. Out front were the remnants of her garage sale. Party goers sat around a low table under the cottonwood tree. I got out of the car and carried the cake to Michelle while singing happy birthday. Michelle wasn't feeling well, but she introduced us to everyone—they were all strangers to us. We put the beans and quinoa on the table, and I explained what it was. Besides Michelle, no one had heard of quinoa. Michelle and I explained what it was. Gradually several people tried it. I waited for Michelle, My Kitchen Sage, to tell me what she thought. It was like my senior project, after all. She liked it, she really liked it, although she thought it could use a little more salt. I never used to put salt in anything, but Michelle has shown me that it enhances the flavor of so many foods. Still, I hesitate to use it. I've been brainwashed for twenty years that it's bad for me. Is it? Isn't it? Who knows.

For the next couple of hours Mario and I talked with her interesting friends: about Old Mermaids, garlic, food, art, broken cars, and many other things I can't recall right now. I met a garlic farmer, a glassblower, a fixer, a sailor....I went into the kitchen and put on "my" apron and washed dish after dish so Michelle wouldn't have to wake up to them. Later I packed up and put away containers of food for her in the fridge, so she wouldn't have to cook the next day. I didn't think her illness was major; I assumed once her birthday had passed and she had spent these hours being loved and cared for, her sickness would pass.

Much later, we sang happy birthday and Michelle cut up her cake. I was nervous. I hadn't tasted the cake ahead of time. I had no idea what it would taste like. After all, Michelle and I had essentially made up the recipe. She passed pieces of the cake out and we began to eat. I said, "We're eating this cake together which means we are now a part of each other forever." Several people came back for seconds. They cheered me and the cake. Michelle said it was great. Yeah!

Later Mario and I took leftovers, packed some of the things Michelle was selling into the car, and hugged Michelle good-bye. It wasn't the last time I'd see her, but it still felt poignant, sad. And joyful. It felt good to have one of my friends moving away to a new adventure in Santa Fe instead of dying! This was a good thing.

As we drove away, I rolled down the window and called out, "Revolution!" They all roared agreement. Of course, probably most of them were drunk.

In the morning, Michelle emailed me that she was feeling much better. She thanked me for the food and for my "grounding" presence. She said was the best birthday cake she'd ever had—and I probably shouldn't have added the extra flour. What a good teacher she is. She also mentioned that for so many years living here she hadn't thought she had community or friends, and now that she was leaving, she saw that she did.

Funny. She and I are alike in this quest for community, for home, for a refuge of sorts. She tries to create it in her paintings. I end three or four novels with the word "home" until I realize I'm doing that. For a long time, I felt like I had community as long as Linda was here. As if she were the thread that was holding it all together. With her gone, it feels as though the whole tapestry has unraveled. Or as though it never really existed. Just something in our imaginations.

Or maybe community is something different from what I keep looking for. Perhaps refuge is right outside my door. Inside my door too. The moon, the stars, the Old Maple and Old Oak across the street, the German Shepherd Carly next door, the hummingbirds who come to my feeder, the rosemary bush and the sage bush next to it and the lavender bush next to it, the poppies, my own sweet man upstairs, my friends asleep and awake all over the world.

Hush, babies. Breathe deeply. Here. Come here. Stay here. You are welcome. You are so welcome, in all your tones. I am so glad you are here, so glad you are there, so glad we are everywhere. Sing, babies. I am grateful to hear your voices, so happy to imagine your songs. Dance, babies. Boom Chick-a-boom-chick-a-boom-boom-boom. Move that body. Eat, babies. Here, eat of this body the Earth. Nourish yourselves.

It's all love, babies. All love.

May You Know Refuge All the Days and Nights of Your Life!

Recipe for Michelle's Cosmic Carrot and Cashew Frosted Birthday Cake!

Dry

1/2 c arrowroot
2 3/4 cups quinoa/millet flour mixture, freshly milled
1 T baking soda
1 T fresh cinnamon
1/4 tsp sea salt
1/2 tsp fresh allspice
1 tsp powdered ginger
1/4 tsp grated nutmeg
2 cups shredded or grated carrots

Wet

1/2 cup agave syrup
1 3/4 cups fresh carrot juice
1/2 cup water
3/8 cup olive oil
zest of one lemon
2 T lemon (a little more won't hurt)
2-3 inches ginger, grated
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 egg (whisked)

Mix the dry ingredients together EXCEPT FOR THE CARROTS. Mix well.

Mix the wet ingredients in a separate bowl. Mix well.

Add the wet to the dry. Then add the carrots.

Bake at 350° for 60 minutes or until knife comes out dry. (I think I baked mine 40-50 minutes.)

Frosting from Blossoming Lotus' Vegan World Fusion Cookbook, except for the coconut at the end; I added that.

1 cup cashews, soaked overnight
2/3 coconut milk
1/3 chopped dates
1/2 t vanilla extract
1/8-1/4 cup shredded coconut (optional)

Put cashews, date, and vanilla in a blender or processor with 1/2 c coconut milk and process until smooth. Add more coconut milk as necessary. (I only added a tiny bit more.) Mixture should be smooth and thick.

Put in refrigerator for as least 20 minutes.

Preheat oven to 350. Place coconut on a baking sheet or pie pan. Stir every 30 seconds, more or less, until lightly toasted.

Frost cake when it's completely cooled. Sprinkle on cooled coconut.

Voilà!

The framed picture is in our kitchen above the stove. Michelle gave it to me. It shows a woman making chocolate the old-fashioned way. I'm sorry, but I don't know the artist.

Labels: community, food, recipes

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Sunday, June 03, 2007

Refugio, Part One