Butternut Squash-Zucchini Curry with Couscous or What is Home??

Last summer, when I began to make the first vegetable curries of the season, I was right here in our Colorado house up on the mesa.  I needed a quick dinner and had a bunch of vegetables lying around the counter--including lots of tomatoes.  A pot of rice was put to boil and I threw a bunch of vegetables and a little curry powder into a big skillet.  We ate quite happily very soon thereafter.

DISCLAIMER:  I'll freely admit I'm no authenic Indian cook; check out Just a Girl from Mumbai or The Lady 8 Home (two of my Ina Friday friends' blogs) for authentic recipes.  Or, for a general set of instructions, check out this post. 

Colorado kitchen

Last week, we moved permanently from Saint Paul back to Colorado into the house we've owned there for eight years by now.  To say it was or is a wrench is an understatement, because we love Saint Paul and I so loved my choir job at Prospect Park United Methodist in Minneapolis.  Finances dictated a change to owning one house only and here we are.  I'm still in the midst of figuring it all out and can't believe what an emotional upheaval it's been.  After all, it's just a house--right????

St. Paul backyard

Curried Peppers and Tomatoes on Rice with Grilled Chicken or Cooking in a Time of Grief

There have only been a handful of times in my life when I didn't want to cook.  This is one of them.  For a couple of days, we just ate out or ordered something sent over.   I did send up a big pot of chicken noodle soup to the family, because they wanted it.   I guess we had to eat, but I had no interest in figuring out meals for us or lighting the stove.   After a while we thought we'd better fix something, so Dave grilled some chicken and I rustled up a big pan of vegetable curry.  We ate it on trays in front of the tv watching "The Newsroom," my newest tv crush.

You've all been there sometime (or will be there); someone you love dies suddenly.  Incomprehensibly.  The shock's enough to make you ill.  And you are.  Loss is painful, hurting, ugly, even scary.  Our dear friend Rick Lester died last Saturday biking in the Courage Classic to raise money for Children's Hospital in Aurora.  He had trained, was in good shape, and was ready, willing, and able.  I can't say that we lost him because we don't lose people except for kids in stores; we lose keys, sweaters, wallets.  People--not so much. I'd rather say he crossed the river ahead of us.

                       I Get By With a Little Help from my Friends-- Joe Cocker version

I'm a faithful person; I make a living in a faithful church.  And have for a long time.  But I don't know about this stuff for sure.   I kept having odd thoughts, "Where IS HE?" Fearful crying jags were coming out of the garage where Dave, in a fit of pain, cleaned out, threw out, and scrubbed a place that has been a mess for eons. (It's in perfect order and terribly, sadly clean now.)  And Dave, ever thinking--always smart, said, "He's in Sandy, Alyce."  And I knew Dave was right. He's in Sandy, in the kids, in the old friends, in co-workers,  in Dave and in me.  A bright, shining, maybe exploded star that shared the light. He gave away a lot of himself.

 My reactions were first shock, disbelief (still disbelief), and horror.  Not being able to imagine my friend without her husband or her adult children and grandchildren without their dad and grandpa or Rick's parents without their son.  Next, I began to have flashes of my own life without this great encourager, who could also be cranky and hold a grudge like a precious stone.   He was sure I could do anything and let me know it.  If anyone ever believed in my abilities, it was Rick.  Of course I could cook anything; of course I could write a book.  He'd be one of the recipe testers--and he was.  He tested the chicken noodle soup I call, "I've Got a Spring Cold Chicken Noodle Soup," but which may now earn a new name.  He posted pictures of it around fb, saying it was the best chicken noodle soup he'd ever eaten.  See?

Years ago, when I decided to include the Vivaldi GLORIA in a concert my choir was giving, he was the first to say, "Sure! It'll be great!"  We hired strings from the local symphony, I kept the score and cds near at hand for months, and when the performance day arrived, Rick's comment afterward--delivered with a big hug and kiss-- was, "Incredible, Maestro!"  As Rick spent most of his adult life helping arts organizations, including symphony orchestras, figure out how to promote themselves ("putting fannies in seats," he'd say), he surely had heard a lot better renditions of the Vivaldi and both he and I knew it.  Still, he was there, and he helped make my day. The great encourager.

Emily and me at worship in Miller Chapel at Princeton Theological Seminary.

The year my youngest daughter was visiting colleges, he stopped by the choir loft one Sunday with a folder of photos, pamphlets, and fliers labeled, "Drury University."  Not much more than that. We spent the next four years ferrying her back and forth to Springfield, Missouri....to, you guessed it, Drury University. He came to her graduation.  Visited her at Princeton during grad school--which he knew well because his Dr. Mrs. Pastor Sandy received her own Mdiv right there, as well.  You begin to get the picture?

Third from the right and just to my left, Rick was the husband of one of my closest friends (Sandy--on his left--who married my son and his wife in 2002), and the instigator of the wine group pictured above.  Based on the premise  OPEN THAT BOTTLE (Don't let them sit waiting until it's too late...), we planned meals; he planned wine.  I cooked or we all cooked and drank.  We traveled to wineries for tasting (once 120 wines in three days), but Rick was the heart of the adventure, the original bon vivant.  He found the best restaurants, better b+bs, knew the winemakers, and made sure everything was always interesting, fun, and letter perfect for us.  Always dreaming up--coworkers nicknamed him "The Rainmaker"-- the next party ("Why don't we go to France next spring?" was a favorite), he was the consummate glass half-full guy.  In reality, he never wanted a half-full glass; he wanted not too awfully much wine at a time in his glass.  "Small pour, big nose," was his mantra.

The problem with sudden loss is the myriad of empty shots of the future that keep popping up.  Did I know that I hoped for meals, trips, talks for years to come?  Did I plan on mailing my published books to him?  I didn't know I planned on a future that included Rick Lester; I feel sickeningly unaware of my own dreams.  Because, you see, I think it's the future that I'm so very sad about.  I have no regrets (though I turned down  a chance to see him just two days before he died) about the past, except for being too busy.  But that's everyone I know.  Just too busy to see friends often or for very long at a time.  But the future hurts.  The idea of a life without my friend Rick shows events, dinners, holidays, wine tastings, and trips with  big, gaping holes in them.  There will always be an empty chair at my table.  At many tables.

Here we are at Soter Winery--just a glimpse of Rick, at rear, second from right.

Rick's favorite meal was hamburgers and french fries.  He was crazy about ice cream.  Had to ration it (Once, when he, his parents, and Sandy borrowed our house for a couple of weeks during a fire evacuation, I later returned to find no less than 3 or 4 kinds of ice cream stuck away in my little freezer.) He dressed simply in the dark suits needed for work or in plain old jeans and polo shirts or tee-shirts--a button-down oxford if it were an occasion.  He loved The Beatles. And Doctor Mrs. Pastor Sandy, as he called her. He didn't like olives...and could on occasion be selfish.  He read...lots of stuff. He once said to me (couldn't be true--but...), "I read EVERYTHING." Amazing.  (I was sometimes surprised to find he had read many of my posts, for instance.)  He was nuts about his grand kids and was ever in love with and proud of his two children.  Rick wouldn't drink out of a crappy wine glass and he'd drink Oregon wine whenever he could get it. He could be damned picky.  He was a tireless and talented writer, as well as a first-class storyteller. (Ok, some were yarns.)  He grew weary of classical music sometimes and rarely talked work with friends.  While he lived a decent lifestyle (when home, anyway--he traveled more than anyone I know), I don't think  money ever particularly was his thing.  Unless it bought better wine.  Or provided a spot for the kids to watch movies or have a bon fire.  Holidays?  A bigger Thanksgiving every year was likely his goal.  While an accomplished cook (I'll attest to that.), his family tried to keep him out of the kitchen sometimes because he made such a mess.  He dirtied every pot and pan available, they said.  (I watched Rick cook quite neatly many times.  Must have been only for company!)

              Wanting Memories--Cantus

The world is a big empty stage, a vast, unending void without Rick Lester, that Beautiful Dreamer, that lover of Pinot Noir and grandchildren. Nothing can fill it and that hurts my heart literally and figuratively.  The nasty saying goes that some people "suck the air right out of a room."  Rick opened the window and drew fresh air INTO the room. He enlarged the space available and did it all with a great big smile that created light and possibility. We didn't call him Mr. Entertainment for nothing.

Beat.

My last communication with Rick was a couple of days before the big race. He called to offer some free tickets to a show in Denver and we spoke briefly, talking over one another the way folks do who are in a hurry.  I texted him back to save time (shit) and to let him know we couldn't get up there on Thursday, but also cautioned him to be safe while riding the bike that weekend.  His last communication to me:

                "No worries."

...          ...             ... ... ...           ...           ...         ... ... ... ...        .. .. ...             ... ... ..           ... ...

When I finally cooked, this comfort meal was what we ate:

curried peppers and tomatoes on rice with grilled chicken
serves 4

• 3 cups cooked jasmine rice, kept warm
• 3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, divided
• Crushed red pepper
• 1 large onion, sliced
• 1 red bell pepper, cored, and sliced thinly
• 1 yellow bell pepper, cored, and sliced thinly
• Kosher salt and fresh ground pepper
• 2 garlic cloves, minced
• 2 teaspoons grated fresh ginger
• 2 teaspoons curry powder
• 3 tablespoons Balsamic vinegar
• 1 cup cooked thin green beans (haricots verts)
• 2 tomatoes, cored and chopped
• 2 large grilled chicken breasts, sliced thinly
• 1/4 cup sliced, toasted almonds

In a large, deep skillet, add 1 tablespoon of the olive oil and heat over medium flame. Add onions and peppers and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Cook until softened and tender--about ten minutes.  Stir in garlic, ginger, curry powder, the other two tablespoons of olive oil, and vinegar.  Let cook a minute or two to marry flavors and develop a bit of sauce.  If dry, add a tablespoon or so of water or white wine.  Stir in cooked beans, tomatoes, and grilled chicken slices and warm through for a minute or two.    Spoon curry over rice (3/4 cup per serving) and spoon a bit of sauce on top.  Garnish with a sprinkle of sliced, toasted almonds.
---
A couple of days after this, I was slicing eggplant:

Rick, whom no one would call an angel, is, I'm sure, flying high and very fast with the brightest and best.
Too soon.  Too soon.

Let me get a hamburger and ice cream post together, my friend,
Alyce

Lamb Chops in Curried Red Lentil Soup

I am both blessed and cursed to be forced to cook for just me on a regular basis.  My better half has always traveled, and while for years I cooked for the kids and me, the kids are off cooking for themselves now.  These days, it's often just "the babies" and me for dinner.

"The Babies"

Curried Cauliflower or I Can't Play my Piano

 At Thanksgiving, when cauliflower is so very dear (and it's supposed to still be in season), I'll wish I'd bought a few extra heads in September.  Made a little gratinee with lots of garlic, cream, and Swiss cheese.  Thrown in an extra casserole for Jeanne.  Maybe even made some cauliflower soup--even though it's so very easy and is even good made with frozen cauliflower.  Once in a while I get it all done, but not this year.  The basement freezer isn't bought, though it's on the list (after paying the floor guy and the radiator repair guy) and I expect  it's not too far in the future.  But right now, we're eating what I cook and not putting much away for the winter. I did sneak a big bag of blueberries into the side-by-side and have a couple of on sale whole chickens (for chicken noodle soup) down in the bottom.

Make-do steamer.

I'm not much for raw cauliflower.  I'm not saying I don't eat it from the raw vegetable platter; I do.  But the mealy, cabbagy sensation isn't what I'm after; it's not my favorite.  But steam it, stew it, boil it, roast it, fry it and I'm all over it.  I don't care if it's a bit crispy or grandma-done; I like it.  This curried dish is a mix of two preparations.  First you  briefly steam it. Next you saute some sliced onions and garlic with curry powder.

Then add the steamed cauliflower..

Stir and cook until quite golden and nearly tender. 

Curried Cauliflower

1 head fresh cauliflower, cleaned, cored, and cut into florets
2T olive oil
1 large onion, sliced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 tsp curry powder (Penzey's has a great variety; try a couple of different ones.)
Kosher salt, pepper, and ground cayenne (if your curry isn't too hot)

Steam cauliflower in a veggie steamer (or in the microwave) for about seven minutes, until just losing its crispness.  Meantime, in a large skillet, heat oil and saute onions for 3-4 minutes.  Add garlic, curry powder and sprinkle with salt, pepper and ground cayenne, if using.  Add steamed cauliflower and stir well.  Cook over medium heat, stirring often, until cauliflower is nearly tender.  Taste and adjust seasonings.  (To increase cooking speed, add a couple of tablespoons of water to the skillet and cover for a  minute or two.)  Serve hot.

---------------------

At least that's what I did.  And walked the five steps to the dining room to eat it paired with a little steak Dave and I had.  That's as far as we can go because the couch is in the dining room, too, due to floor repair and refinishing in the living room.  Where the piano is.

Can't get to the piano.  Or the bedrooms.  Or the front door.

You could call it cozy.

If I climb over the couch, and land in the perfect place, I can quickly scoot over and land on the piano bench.  If.  I haven't tried it.  If we didn't have dogs, we would be able to walk through the living room tomorrow.  If. But we do have dogs, so we're waiting until Wednesday.  Sleeping in the basement where we can watch tv lying in our great (no, really, it is) sofa bed.

Next they're tearing up the kitchen floor (6 layers?) down to the sub floor in order to lay a new wood floor.  And, yes, the stove and frig must come out for a two week period.  Ought to be interesting in our dining room; that's where they'll go.  I love fixing up old houses, don't you?

Two-Dog Kitchen and Around the 'Hood

Came home Friday to find Alvin running around the kitchen....

                          He jumped up in the window and I closed him in there.  Quick thinking, huh?   The floor guy, aka Bob,  had left the door open.  This chipmunk, aka Alvin, has been in our yard all summer, eating the painter's lunches and jumping out into the path, scaring the crap out of us.  Our painter and friend, Chris, kept telling us that chipmunk was too smart for his own good and was going to get in the house.  We laughed.  Until Friday.

Still, all was well.  We finally snuck open the bottom of the window, pushed the screen out, reclosed the window and went around outside to pull the screen out and watch him fly through the air into the still-blooming (really) day lilies.  None the worse for wear, he yelled as he passed my head, "Just wanted to see what you'd done with the house."

Still picking flowers from our yard.

Snuggin'

Not quite the last rose of summer, but nearly.

Meantime, come sing your heart out at Prospect Park United Methodist over in Minneapolis.  We worship at 9:30 am and have coffee and then Sunday School after that.  Wander over and see what we're up to next Saturday, October 1 at 7pm when we present "Pops and Pies," a toe-tappin' evening of music followed by scrumptious pie and, of course, coffee...

Pie, me oh my:  I love pie.

Sing a new song,
Alyce

Curried Cauliflower Soup or The Rite of Spring on Bach's Birthday

Hot lunch on a cold spring day

 Outside the window in the new/old (1915) St. Paul house, it's fairly gray.  Everything's gray, in fact.  Melting snow, sky, sun, trees...even the birds appear kind of gray.  But spring it is!

Jack Sparrow and Friend

When you've moved, the chores are myriad.  It seems you're always running to the hardware store for a light switch cover or to Target for garbage bags and peanut butter.  If you're not running, you're on the phone with the phone company or recycling folks.  If you're not on the phone, you're looking at paint samples or asking where the post office is.  (What happened to phone books?)

Sooner or later, plates seem to be on shelves and towels are clean and folded in the bathroom.  You know where to turn the light on for the basement and have figured out what that horrible sound is between the floors or in the walls. (Hot water pipes.)  You have the turn to your house memorized and don't have to count houses from the corner anymore.  And one day, you start making meals again--hardly noticing the skipped nights or that you're in a different kitchen.  Well, I wouldn't go that far.  I am definitely in a different kitchen, though I'm feeling the similarities as I get things squared away.

I had things to do this morning like

• clean the back porch
• scrub the basement stairs (honest-to-God linoleum)
• wash rugs and bathmats
• bleach down the bathrooms, one of which has an old-fashioned claw-foot tub

 Cool thing was, these are typical house chores--not moving chores.  We've been here long enough for the bathrooms to need a scrub.

So when I got done with the morning work-out, I wanted real food for lunch.  I was sure my hard-working husband wanted some, too.  Scouting out the frig and pantry (still not full, of course), a big cauliflower reared up its head called me by name.  A quick look around the counter and I located onions, shallots, garlic, apples and one lone pretty ripe pear.  I thought I'd throw most of it in the oven to roast while I did one last chore and then puree it all with some chicken stock and curry powder.  Here it is just for you.

As Dave and I sat down to eat, Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring" (1913) came on the local NPR and the day just came together.  A spring-like light, but warming soup with a kick.  I just couldn't figure out how Bach's birthday figured in, but it's today, too.  Happy Birthday, Johann.  And thanks for Bach, God.

Curried Roasted-Cauliflower Soup
1 head cauliflower, cut into florets
1 apple, peeled and cut up into eighths
1 large onion, same drill
4t olive oil, divided
Sprinkle of kosher salt and freshly ground pepper

1 shallot, cut in large pieces
1 garlic clove, same drill
1 small carrot, minced
1 stalk of celery, minced
1 ripe pear, peeled and cut up
1 t curry powder, divided
Pinch each cinnamon and crushed red pepper

1 qt chicken or vegetable stock
1/2 c each white wine and water (or 1 c water)
1/3 c parsley, chopped
1/8 t cinnamon
1/4 t kosher salt
1/8 t white pepper, ground


  Preheat oven to 350 F. On a large baking sheet, place cauliflower, onion and apple.  Drizzle with  2t oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper.  Place sheet in oven and roast for about 30 minutes.

 Meantime, in a small soup kettle (4qt),  saute shallot, garlic, carrot and celery in the other 2t olive oil about 5 minutes over low heat, taking care to not burn the shallot and garlic.  Add pear,  1/2 t of the curry powder, parsley, cinnamon and crushed red pepper.  Stir and saute another minute or so.  Add stock, wine and/or water, cinnamon, salt and pepper and stir.  Bring to a boil and lower heat to a bare simmer.

When cauliflower, apple and onion are roasted, add them to the stockpot and stir.  Bring soup up to a boil and lower heat to a slow boil.  Add rest of curry powder.   Let cook 5-10 minutes.  Puree with immersion blender or in batches in the food processor (carefully).  Taste, adjust seasonings and serve hot with a piece of buttered whole wheat toast.

 Easier yet:  Roast everything, add to stock and puree.  Leaving out fruit, celery, carrot, etc. will produce a more pronounced cauliflower-tasting soup, but also makes things simpler.

Now I'm off to Ace to buy a mesh strainer for the end of the washing machine hose.  Oh well.

Sing a new song or warm up your fingers and give Bach a whirl,
Alyce