Explore MOROCCO: Chicken Tagine

•September 7, 2014 • 2 Comments

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What do you think of when you see the word Morocco? Desert, perhaps? For me, it’s tile.

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I can’t get enough of the eye candy color combos, intricate patterns and textile interweaving of lines and shapes. So, I thought, how about a foray into the historical realm of Moroccan cuisine? And what better way than trying my hand at Chicken Tagine? If you’ve never made this dish before, I recommend starting with a spice mix, allowing the professionals to blend them in just the right amounts and ratio. The result – you can put this dish together in about 40 minutes start to finish. Here’s the one I used: Urban Accents Moroccan Tagine, containing a sensory overload of coriander, cinnamon, cardamom, garlic, red pepper, black pepper, basil, cumin, you get the picture.

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Start with boneless, skinless chicken breasts and cut them into cubes. Brown them in a skillet with olive oil and chopped onions. Next, add the spice mix, chicken broth, and dried apricots and simmer for 30 minutes. The spice mix contains a recipe and ingredients list for reference. Serve the dish over a bed of cous cous and sprinkle with slivered almonds and fresh mint leaves. OMG!! So good.

So the word ‘tagine’ not only refers to a Moroccan tagine stew (which can be made with chicken or lamb) but also a piece of cookware historically used to slow-cook the stew.

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The terracotta earthenware tagines are made for slow cooking tagine stew over an open fire. And then some are decorative serving pieces. I cooked my dish in a stainless steel skillet and served it out of a beautiful cobalt tagine.

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Like Tony Bourdain, I like to study and reflect on the social and cultural elements that influence the food I love – in this case, Berber culture.

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There’s so much more I’m hungry to learn. But for now, I’m happy with tonight’s small mastery. Bon Apetite!

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Crazy About Pi

•September 2, 2014 • 3 Comments

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Curious about pi and jealous of your geeky math-adept friends who have the first forty decimals memorized? This is an awesome video I discovered that provides just enough detail to be interesting:

The Infinite Life of Pi by Reynaldo Lopes

But my deepest Pi passion belongs to Darren Aronofsky in his legendary 1998 masterpiece “Pi” starring Sean Gullette as the tortured, genius mathematician Max Cohen.

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From Pi the movie: “Personal note, When I was a little kid, my mother told me not to stare at the sun. So once, when I was six, I did. The doctors didn’t know if my eyes would ever heal. I was terrified, alone in that darkness. Slowly, daylight crept in through the bandages and I could see. But something else had changed inside me.”

Max is a solitary number theorist frantically searching for a numerical key that he believes will unlock all of the universe’s mysteries. This 216-digit number key, spit out by his computer just before it crashed, could just as easily decode stock market patterns as it could be the name of God. 

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Chased by paranoia, hallucinations, and social anxiety disorder, Max unravels further when he is pursued by Wall Street agents showing a more than casual interest in his work.   

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Meanwhile, Max meets Lenny Meyer at a coffee shop, a Hassidic Jew who also studies number theory in the context of the Torah. He shows Max the relationship between the Hebrew alphabet and numbers, and his theory that these numbers are messages sent to the Jewish people by God.

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Max finally realizes that he doesn’t need to search for the elusive number. He knows it, he feels it, it lives in his head. And it’s killing him.

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Aronofsky shot the film on high contrast black and white reversal film for a stark, edgy feel that leaves you asking more questions than you had to start with. For the intellectually-curious, that’s a good thing.

“One: Mathematics is the language of nature. Two: Everything around us can be represented and understood through numbers. Three: If you graph the numbers of any system, patterns emerge. Therefore, there are patterns everywhere in nature.”

If you love math, number theory, and you frequently ponder the nature of the universe, you will love this film.

Watch the trailer here

 

 

Untitled poem by Lee Towles

•June 22, 2014 • Leave a Comment

I’m posting this poem written by my husband this morning, because he has that rare poetic gift of not writing but more like channeling completely finished poems from his internal reservoir of art.

 

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It was so much better back then
When there were no fences or defenses
When the light of the stars was young
And the songs of all creatures were sung

It’s so much better now
That we can live our lives through devices
And have a pill for every crisis
With every mystery solved
And every sin absolved

It was so much better back then
When late night stories were told
And we let the magic unfold
When our ancestors would smile
At the birth of every child

It’s so much better now
That there’s a solution to every threat
The entire agenda is set
Where convenience is on parade
Because our lives are readymade

It will be so much better when
We rediscover the enchantment within
When we listen to the infinite songs
That have been playing all along
When the light of the stars now old
Tells the story that can finally be told

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Death vs. Sabotage

•May 12, 2014 • 1 Comment

Every few days, I pull weeds that grow under the branches of my buddleja davidii or Butterfly Bush. I want the lush, purple flower clusters to grow and thrive because they attract butterflies, hummingbirds, and bees and are a beautiful reminder that our world is made of more than just steel and concrete.

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Some of the fiercest of nature’s organisms are weeds. Unlike the comfortable trappings of our glossy, climate-controlled industrial world, nature is brutal. For animals and plants, you somehow find enough food, water and warmth or you die. There are no savings accounts, pantries, or root cellars to store canned peaches during a brutal winter. In the game of Darwinian survivalism, you’re either fit, strong and cunning, or somebody else’s lunch.

In my ongoing efforts to slow my pace and pay attention to things that matter, I noticed today the raw brutality with which I approached the weeds in my yard. Before now, I never really stopped to observe my disdain and unchecked violence against these quiet strangers growing in the earth, wanting nothing more than to exist like everything else on our planet. Some of them are spiny, nasty vandals that stick on my face, in my hair and on my skin when I yank their roots out of the dry soil. But that’s no excuse and I’m ashamed that I’m only just now aware of this inequality. With all my online activism about Nigerian girls, gay marriage and treatment to animals, I am Attila the Hun to the California weed population.

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Many have commented on the usefulness of hard labor to calming the emotional mind. And today I see a strong parallel to my gardening practice and the conscious landscape. If weeds are thoughts, maybe it’s perfectly okay to pull things out of the ground that I don’t select for growth and cultivation. After all, does every thought in my head turn into a usable idea? More like 20%, maybe less.

One particular weed in my yard has smooth enough stalks to pull up without gloves, delicate round leaves and the roots lift easily from the ground. I was shocked to discover, today, an eight or nine inch specimen which, when I began pulling, revealed a tap root the girth of my forearm and was easily eight feet long. I held these massive roots in my hands and studied them, squeezed them, measured them and observed their details, wondering about the thoughts and ideas in my head that I ignore, don’t water, inadvertently step on or purposely destroy.

And I realize that this, too, is a form of survivalism. In a world that now moves at such velocity, pruning the thoughts in my head, through meditation or yoga, keeps me sane. Meditation is not intended to remove thoughts – more like helping you make friends with them. And yoga quiets thoughts by aligning movement with the breath. They’re all forms of weeding, and though in some cases might be viewed as sabotage, this practice creates more space for our juiciest ideas to flourish into fruition.

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Driveway Reflections

•February 11, 2014 • 1 Comment

Who does the laundry in your house? And is it the same person who takes out the garbage? Just curious.

Two people live in my house and the chores are, by and large, assigned according to whoever has more time to do them. Tonight I chose the chore of taking out the garbage and dragging the bins out to the curb.

As a practicing Buddhist, you would think mindfulness would be almost second nature to everything I spend my time on. Let’s just say I’m a work in progress. But tonight I had a different experience performing a chore I’ve done thoughtlessly 100x before. What changed? I paid attention. For some reason, I gave importance to details that had been, in the past, meaningless.

After five days of blissful rain, I drew in the pungent scent of damp earth. Pulling my hands off the garbage cans, I closed my eyes and sucked it deep into my lungs. And I stayed there, in this odd spot on the edge of my backyard, sniffing the air. Minty wet eucalyptus leaves, wood burning from a neighbor’s fireplace, pine needles, grass. I must have looked like a displaced mental patient.

As I began to wrestle the heavy plastic bins across the driveway, I noticed the deep cracks and crevices in the concrete. Not from looking at them, or even from walking over them, but from the sound the rubber wheels made as they lumbered over the clunky surface. The thick webbing of clouds was beginning to disperse and I could see a thin stripe of night sky dotted with stars. But the sky’s a no-brainer. Who wouldn’t want to pay attention to that? The real training in mindfulness, I surmised, was in my driveway.

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I live in a house built in 1933. It survived Loma Prieta and probably hundreds, if not thousands, of lesser quakes since then. We’ve patched cracks in the walls, ceilings, last summer we painted the exterior, replaced the forty year old windows. It looks solid and cared for, considering its age. But the raw truth of what this house has seen in 81 years is visible in the patchy swag of broken concrete we drive over twice a day. What else has that driveway seen? What human dramas have passed across its surface, what emotion has seeped into its skin? “I see you,” I said to my driveway tonight. “And I notice your scars.” This gives me hope, makes me wonder what I’ll notice tomorrow…

Some driveway-themed songs for further contemplation:

Italian Food What’s That

•November 25, 2013 • Leave a Comment

The time has come to dispel a few common myths.

Admittedly, the meal I was forced to endure last Friday was the proverbial straw, and from one of the most highly rated dining eateries in one of the country’s most foodie cities. Go figure.

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How could this be, I wondered, that a San Francisco venue labeled “Italian” has but one pasta dish on the menu, a lone salad, and pizzas with toppings chosen with the sophistication of a four year old.

Let’s start with the basics: tomatoes. They’re predominantly red, technically fruit, should NEVER be refrigerated, and are the starting point for most Italian dishes. In other words, if you’ve got nothing on your menu that contains some kind of marinara sauce, you’re not an Italian restaurant.

Bread. I shouldn’t need to specifically ask for it. It’s an absolute staple of Italian cuisine and should magically appear on the table in crusty form with top notch EVOO.

Pasta. You must have more than just one such dish on your menu, preferably made with different species of pasta, some vegetarian, some meat/fish, and at least some of them with red sauce. Please review the definition of al dente first.

And finally, if it’s topped with things like walnuts and lemons, IT’S NOT A PIZZA!! Throw some red (or white) sauce on it, a little garlic, some kind of cheese, and then feel free to experiment to your heart’s content.

Of all the Italian food I’ve searched out lately, very few actually make the cut. Not because of food quality or ill preparation either, but because of slightly-too-innovative pairings, odd food choices, and the menu at large. I admit, I’m a bit provincial and am no Anthony Bourdain. On a rough day, what really puts my world back together is a plain old bowl of spaghetti with marinara. Not deep fried olives.

My #1 San Francisco Italian choice, not surprisingly, is in North Beach: Caffe Macaroni on Columbus. Excellent bread, insane garlic dipping sauce, 5 or 6 salads, and the best pasta dish San Francisco has to offer: spaghetti alla pizzaiola. It’s a bowl of al dente spaghetti tossed in olive oil, garlic, basil, and diced tomatoes. Simple. Savory. Perfect.

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Thanks for listening. Buon Appetito!

 

 

 

 

 

What time of year is it again?

•May 14, 2013 • 2 Comments

For those of us in Northern California, March through May is called “Summer” and it will last till roughly the end of this month. Next – June Gloom, often referred to as Fall in other parts of the country. Winter in the Bay Area is typically 50 – 60 F. degrees and rainy. This year, it was more like 65 – 75 and dry. Crops, wildlife, and wine growers will no doubt be paying for that freakish spell for the next twelve months.

Volcanoes mysteriously awakening across the globe. Giant ice boulders plotting a Michigan invasion, not to be confused with the ice tsunamis attacking Michigan and Canada. (Ice tsunamis??)

A google search on weird weather evokes everything from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change to UFO Digest. So I’m left thinking, well, I don’t know what to think.

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weird weather, scary clouds

I keep returning to the Japan tsunami/earthquake/nuclear meltdown of January 2012. It seems more than just possible that the ripple effect of three weather-related ecological catastrophes could, essentially, break weather in the rest of the world. I know Mother Nature prides herself on capriciousness, and weather is full of cycles. But this is different.  Look at Greenland. Not even 5 months after Japan, 40% of Greenland’s polar ice sheet spontaneously melts in a matter of days.

The butterfly effect, a component of chaos theory, suggests that one single action or movement can affect something much larger many miles away. Like a hurricane’s formation depending on the flap of a butterfly’s wings… weeks before, and from a thousand miles away.

I’m not necessarily saying that Japan’s earthquake is the cause of every freak storm around the globe – just that all these events are connected, and we are undeniably connected to them. It reminds me to use care in what I say and do, and how I treat people. Regardless of how random or trivial a word, text, tweet, or reaction might seem, you never know when you might unwittingly cause a hurricane.

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Thanks for listening – your comments are always welcome!

Relativity Girl  : )

 
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