Bouillabaisse

I love when my inlaws, Susan and Angus. Erik and I make fantastic dinners when they are here. We plan all of our menus, especially at Christmas. They have traditions that we keep, like making lasagna on Christmas day and drinking bloody mary's. The bloody mary's are kindly made by our friend, Becky Biles using her husband's hot sauce, Ass Burn. The mix is spicy as hell, and true to it's name, but addictive.

We also started to create new traditions. For instance, this year I made bouillabaisse for Christmas Eve dinner and on Christmas Day I made a delicious egg torta for brunch. We eat, drink lots of wine, and talk into the night. It is always easy and comfortable, even in our small bungalow house.

I thought bouillabaisse was a fantastic idea for Christmas Eve dinner. Before Erik and I moved to Houston we took a trip to Provence and the French Coast. We decieded not to stay in any of the touristy places like Nice. Instead we stayed in a little port town called Cassis. Cassis is known for their calanques, rock formations in the water. They are stunningly beautiful and stark white rocks that jut out of the bright blue water. Cassis is close to Marsaille (a nasty, dirty city we unfortunately got lost in...). In Cassis there are fish restaurants that line the harbor. Fishing boats line the dock, and bouilllabaise is on every menu. Our dinner that night was one of those memorable meals. We ordered a bottle of the local, white wine that is made up in the hills above the town. It tasted like the sea, in a really good way and went perfectly with the bouillabaise we ordered. Initially, when the waiter came over were confused. The meal was 60 euro, and all he brought out was soup, toasts, and rouille. I remember thinking "that was some expensive soup!" Then, he brought over a platter of fresh fish that almost looked like a rainbow. The harbor, the wine, the food, and Erik...it was one of the best meals of my life.

I thought it would be great to replicate the dish for a special occasion like Christmas. Plus, I love the fact that it is a take on the whole Catholic seven fishes thing. Sam, my trusty fishmonger, and I had a great time picking out the fish (He gave me a holiday music cd. How cool is that?). We used monkfish, cod, sole, salmon, trout, and snapper. It wasn't exactly seven, but it was close at six different fishes. I tried to make the fish low in mercury because of the whole boob-feeding thing.

I used Julia Child's recipe from her, Mastering the Art of French Cooking book. The stock was sublime, heavenly actually. I used the heads and guts from a few fresh red snappers, saffron, leaks, fresh tomatos, and thyme from my garden and boiled it down for about 30 minutes. I did not even think it needed any extra salt and pepper. It was super easy to make and really flavorful.

The hardest part of making the dish was creating the rouille. Rouille is a stong, garlicky red pepper sauce that gets added in while you are eating your bouillabaise. Basically, it is mashed garlic, red pepper, oil and potato paste that gets passed at the table.

The fish get added in at the end for about 5 minutes or so, until cooked through. You also serve the yummy stew with some toasted baguette that gets nice and crunchy brown in the oven. The dish was a hit. Everyone, loved it. In fact, there is only a minute amount left over (always a sign of a good meal). We had it with Gordo rose (ode to me...Gordo, Gordon...you get the drift), which was eh...I think a rose from Provence would have been better. It really was a great special occasion dish.

I actually decieded to make the stock again using the same bones and guts (economical huh?). The second stock was also fantastic. I cannot wait to defrost it, add a couple of boiled potatos, some poached eggs, and a bit of chopped red pepper for a warming, flavorful soup on a cold, lazy Sunday.

Sleep...argh.

It seems I have forgotten how to sleep. Before there were babies in my life I slept fine (well kind of). Right before school would start I could not sleep because I was excited for the new year. I guess it was the before school jitters. I had 'em just like a kid. Sometimes when I was depressed or if I could not stand my job (like when I worked at Washington Township, and they said that I smelled...but that is a whole other blog/story) I could not sleep. In fact when I was working at Township teaching that last year I went to a healer to help me through those last few months.

Nothing prepared me for the lack of sleep that would occur after I gave birth. The adrenaline must have kicked in, or perhaps it was all the friggin nurses knocking on my door for my pressure or whatever, but I did not sleep in the hospital. I mean I was wired. When I got home the lack of sleep thing continued. I probably only slept for a few hours. Oh, and it had nothing to do with the fact that I had twins, nothing at all. When I would try to sleep I'd get a song in my head. I still cannot hear "No one" by Alicia Keys or P. Diddy's, "Every Breathe You Take"; that shit was on rewind and play in my head for nights. It was truly hell. It was almost as if I was trying to conquer sleep. I swear no one tells you about that shit. Baby blues is way too nice and sing song for the cluster fuck that happens to women after they give birth. Baby blues my ass...

When I asked my doc about what the hell was happening to me he just said, "the harder they come, the harder they fall". My response was, "Isn't that a friggin Grateful Dead song? Fuck". Well, I did not really say fuck, but I thought it, a lot.

Erik got me sleepy bath salts at Kohl Linscomb (a fabulous fancy place to get amazing beauty products) and some lavender lemon grass serenity tea. I did deep breathing, gave myself Reiki...all the Zen shit I could think of. Sleep would not come. I got to the point where I had to tell the night nurse to bottle feed Maya and Amara, so I could get some rest (which became another kind of hell afterwards when they had nipple confusion).

Ever since then I have had problems sleeping. Sometimes, when I try to go to sleep, I cannot stop thinking, even if it is just stupid shit like what I am going to do the next day. I toss and turn violently. Erik says it is because I try to hard. He thinks by trying to sleep I simply cannot. I just need to let go (an ongoing theme in my life)

Poor Erik does not get to sleep either. Sometimes I wake him up to hold me because I think I am going crazy. It gets to the point where I actually contemplate smashing my head against the wall, but that would wake the babies up...no, but really, it truly sucks.

A few months ago I started to go to acupuncture for it. The doc, who I love, thought that maybe it was my hormones or the severe upheaval and change of having two children at once. I think he was just being nice. The acupuncture has helped kind of. Now, I go to sleep easily, but instead I wake up at 2 in the morning and go through the whole tossing and turning thing.

What I hate the most about it is that I know what I have to do. I should take a bath, drink some herbal tea, and try to relax before bed, or maybe I should drink a bottle of vino and just pass the hell out...The doc says I need to have some place to process my thoughts. I think too much, but I have ALWAYS thought too much. It never seemed to be a problem before (at least not when it came to sleep). Anyhow, I continue to go through phases with this whole lack of sleep thing. It could be weeks, then boom, no sleep. I think I get scared of what happened after I gave birth. I am frightened of loosing it, of teaching myself how to sleep again, and of feeling THAT way. I thought women were supposed to forget about all this shit, so they want to have other babies...

Rant Part I and II: Stay at Home Mom

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Affirmations

This is who I am, who I want to be, and who I will be. My version of praying...



I love and respect myself. I only allow people in to my life who love and respect me. Erik and I have an intimate, connected, and loving relationship. I am kind to Erik and help him in being his best self. He helps me be my best self. I am present with Maya and Amara. I understand their needs and connect with them on all levels. I am willing to let go of the anger I have towards my brother. I am willing to understand and accept him for who he is. My mother and I talk to each other. We understand where the other is coming from. My father I let go of my need for approval. My parents and I create a new relationship based on love and understanding. They have a wonderful relationship with their grandchildren. My grandmother comes to visit. She is healthy and able to take care of herself. I am open to meeting new people. My friends understand and love me. I understand and love them. I keep in touch with the people that matter. I can trust my friends. New friends who I can connect with enter my life.



I am mentally, spiritually, and physically healthy. Erik is healthy. Maya and Amara are developmentally, physically, and spiritually healthy. I sleep soundly and peacefully. My shoulders, back and neck let go of the pain. I am balanced. I have the same body as I did before I was pregnant. Maya and Amara are great eaters. My food digests well. I begin yoga. I do my affirmations and Reiki a few times a week. I remember my self.



I write on my blog weekly. When I write on my blog I do not write for others, but for myself. I use it as an outlet for creativity, through the blog I find my writing voice. It is beautiful. I have Reiki clients. I teach Reiki to Erik. I am an amazing mother to Maya and Amara. They are incredible, good people who have abundant, blessed lives. I remember myself. I continually grow and learn spiritually and psychologically. Eventually, when I am ready, I find a wonderful job filled with abundance. I am a caring, loving wife to Erik. Erik and I have a strong marriage based on mutual trust and understanding. We have great abundance and the universe provides us with all that we need (and then some, so we can take travel and maybe even save some money or get a new house). Oh, and I am a kick ass cook and baker. I find time in the day to do all that I want.



My life is full of adventure and wonder.



I remember who I was, who I am, and continue to grow in to who I will be with grace and beauty. I am so thankful to the universe for giving me so much wonderful abundance. I am aware of the signs that the universe gives to me, so that I may learn the lessons I am meant to learn in this life. Through out life I remain positive. I am willing to let go of criticism and judgement, especially towards myself. I remember to be kind to myself and others. The universe continues to bless me with abundance and love. I am so incredibly thankful. Watch over us and keep us safe. Thank you, Namaste.

My last entry got me to thinking about other women that I know and their birth experience. Many of my friends have gotten c-sections. Actually, most of them have gotten c-sections for one reason or another. Almost all of them had epidurals. I have two friends that had their baby naturally. One of my friends, Rosie, did not mean to her kid naturally. Jackson almost fell out of her after 15 minutes...it was her second kid.

I love to hear women's birth experiences. When I am at play groups I always ask the new mommies what their labor was like. It seems as if so many women feel sad or guilty about their birth experience when things did not go the way they wanted them to. Labor is a rite of passage for women, and like most important life experiences incredibly important and memorable. It sucks if there is sadness surrounding something so incredibly special. Most women's labor does not go according to plan, just like everything else in life.

Everyone's birth experience is beautiful, no matter what. At the end of it all as long as you have a healthy child, who really cares? Each birth experience is unique, wonderful.

I was shopping at Whole Foods last week and a man commented on how amazing Maya and Amara were. He asked me if I had them in a hospital. I said, "Yes, but naturally". He replied, "good for you". After our exchange a woman came up to me with an "Obama Mom" sweat shirt on and told me not to feel guilty for my birth experience. Who was feeling guilty? After thinking about it, I guess on some level I was. He did not need to know I had them naturally, who really gives a shit?

A lot of women feel guilty or ashamed about how they gave birth to their babies. One of the women in my mom's group was telling her birth story. She seemed so sad and disappointed because she had to get a c section. She had a doula, was a hospital nurse, and read and did everything she was supposed to do in order to have natural childbirth. It seemed as if she felt like she failed on some level because she did not have the birth experience that she wanted. My friend Sarah also wanted natural child birth, but was unable to have it because the umblical cord was wrapped around her son's neck. Her baby is almost 4 months old, and she is still upset about it. I have heard so many stories similar to my mommy friend and Sarah.

We put so much pressure on ourselves to be perfect. Birth is a big deal. We want experience to be amazing and everything we dreamed of. We want our kids to come in to this world on our terms, but things do not always work out that way. Some babies end up in the NICU, does that mean that the mom did something wrong. Should she have not taken out the kitty litter? Was it the sushi she ate, the chocolate, the coffee? Or perhaps it was all if that excercise or the lack of. We drive ourselves crazy with guilt.

People do not help either. Society puts all this pressure on us to have the perfect child, which translates in to having the perfect labor. All labors are perfect. I wish my mommy friend was not so sad about her birth experience. She has a beautiful little girl. In the end that is really what matters. The birth part, that is just one day (or two, if you are in absolute hell maybe three). Isn't it funny that it was a man who asked me if I had the girls in a hospital? Yeah, buddy I had them in the hospital? I also shit on the table about three times. What's it to you?

Birth Experience

When Erik and I found out I was pregnant, I became committed to having natural childbirth. In fact I wanted to give birth at home. We even met with a midwife and had an appointment to tour the local birthing center. When we found out I was having twins we did not let this put a wrench in our plan. Birth is the most spiritual experience one can have; it is life. Life is painful. Labor is work, the hardest, most beautiful work we can do. It is messy, scary and it hurts like fucking hell and that is because it SHOULD. Life is scary, messy, and it also hurts like fucking hell. I wanted to feel every part of birth. Fuck epidurals if I did not need one. Let me feel my children coming out, let me do the work, and let me be a part of the experience. As a woman it is my honor (and some would say my lot). Home felt safer than a hospital, so did a birthing center, but with twins they won't take you. I had to find a doctor in a hospital who was open and willing to allow me to give natural child birth to our twins. This was not easy, but I did it. I also gave birth to Maya and Amara totally naturally. You can call it luck or you can tell me it was because they were small (weighing in at 4.12 and 4.5), but I think it is because of all the crap that I did.

I understand that shit happens. I mean lots of shit when women give birth. If I needed the epidural because labor was not moving, so be it. If I needed a c-section because my life or the babies' lives were in danger, cut me open. If I am in labor for a friggin day or more, by all means end my misery, but please let at least let me try it on my own first.

I have issues with control. Shit, we all have issues with control. The way I choose to control birth is through learning as much as I could about it. I even wrote a paper about hospital practices in America. The irony here is that it did not matter how much I knew about pitocin or vasectomies or doulas, because what I needed to practice was letting go. Birth was the greatest lesson in letting go. All that research and reading taught me was that I had to let go on every level, mentally, physically, and most importantly, spiritually.

To prepare for laborI meditated, I did Reiki, I got massages, and at the end, I put down those books. Erik even gave me perineal massages. Perineal massages are when you get rubbed between your asshole and your vagina. It is uncomfortable, but the idea is that so is labor, times a hundred.

Labor started at about 7:30. I called Erik (as I did for about 3 days prior), and told him I thought I was going in to labor...but I was kinda like the boy who cried wolf on that one. When the contractions/pain kept on rolling in I told him to get his arse home (I was really not that tough, but it sounds good though right?). I decieded to take a shower. Showers always calm me. They are my safe place. There's nothing like hot water pounding on your skull to give a bit o' clarity. Erik came home when I was in the shower. I remember blow drying my hair which was a waste of time because after the shower I went into the bath. It was as if I craved water. Erik called Sally to come over at that point.

When I got out of the bath we went for a walk. During the walk I remember having some killer contractions. Sally was at our house when we got home. I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for energy. Sally check my cervix, and we went to the hospital. The ride there SUCKED ASS. I was writhing in pain.

At the hospital they asked me a lot of dumb ass questions, considering I really could not speak, nor think, and basically just wanted to shoot somebody. My nurse just so happened to be a midwife when she lived in England. She was a great help. I remember that freakin' baby monitor sucking. When the monitor is on you cannot move, and when you have a contraction all you want to do is uhhh...move! My nurse was cool and after awhile of me ignoring her she pretended to have it on. At some point I got naked, at another point my bare ass was up in the air. When the nurse finally got around to checking me, she broke my water. When my water broke, the crap really hit the fan. I did not know it, but I was screaming (all the nurses said they heard me). There was some annoying woman saying, "focus, focus", over and over. My glasses were off. My doc, Guilliams, was running. I thought, "Why is he running? We have time..."

Next thing I knew there was a light and lots of people surrounding my girly bits. I screamed and told everyone to stop. It hurt so much. I thought I was going to loose it. I mean really loose it. In my mind I was cursing myself for ever thinking I could do this. The nurse looked at me. She told me to suck in as if I was a turtle going into my shell. She told me to only look at her. The nurse brought me back. I was almost there. Then I pushed with all my might. Out came Maya. They tried to put her on my belly, but I told them to take her away because the next one was coming. I pushed again. Five minutes later Amara came out. What a relief. I kissed her, getting blood on my face. I gave birth to two babies, no medication, nada. Maya and Amara were welcomed to this world. I was in labor for about 5 hours total. It was over. I did it.

Like mother, like daughter

I am kind of obsessed with Thanksgiving. I love choosing the menu, leafing through all of my magazines, cookbooks, and folders, choosing new dishes, and making my cornbread stuffing (it is so friggin good). It is a holiday dedicated to food, in my opinion. Food and being thankful for all that is good and abundant in my life--what more can I ask for. Plus, I love left overs.

Erik love starting Thanksgiving traditions. When we lived in Phillly we'd have a dinner party right before Thanksgiving called the un-Thanksgiving. I wish we knew more people in Houston...perhaps we'd do it again...We would make sure that turkey was NOT on the menu. One year we had duck and almost burnt the apartment buliding down with a grease fire (the duck was slightly charred, but extremely and surprisingly succulent), and the year after we made a Mario Batali lamb dish (which kicked some serious ass). When we made the lamb the pipes flooded and our tub became the sink. We were throwing our garbage out in the doggy park next door to where we lived (oye). Anyhow, I digress...

Thanksgiving at my parent's house was equally nutty, but in a very different way. The nuttiness was a la Rene (my mother). Thanksgiving is the ONLY time she cooks these days. Granted, she is a damn good cook; she just gets...shall we say crazy? I think it is because she decieded that her one day to cook is for about 12 people, perhaps cooking her annual meal for two people or even four would be much easier. Initially we'd have so much fun. The two of us would sit at the kitchen table looking through old cooking magazines and cookbooks discussing and planning the menu.

She'd delegate the crappy jobs to me like chopping onions and peeling carrots. There was always a spill, screams, and envitably a fight where I'd throw in the towel and stomp off to my room like the little brat I used to be (isn't it funny how going home brings out the best in us?). Thanksgiving became a hell of a lot more pleasant when I'd make the dessert. Mom thinks making a dessert is silly because you could just buy the darn thing, but I wholeheartledy disagree. There is nothing like a fresh baked cake or pie, and it makes the house smell completely fabulous.

When Erik and I got engaged we started to have Thanksgving at our house. Like mom, I started to collect Bon Appetit and Food and Wine Thanksgiving issues. Slowly a collection started to form. Erik and I cook the meal together. Ironically, I became well...my mother. On Weds and Thursday I start to tweak out. I delegate and boss around whomever comes in the kitchen. Envitably, there is a spill, a scream, and a fight. The two of us have learned to take on our own dishes instead. Erik usually takes the mashed potatoes and the pumpkin pie. I do the stuffing and veggies. We both take on the turkey. Doling out who does what makes for a much more pleasant kitchen, sometimes.

In my trusty T-Day folder I have several pumpkin recipes. There are at least 7 or 8 pumpkin recipes (with streusal, mixed with pecan, mascarapone, ginger, honey, or butterscotch). Additionally, there are several pumpkin recipes that are more modern and fun. We have pumpkin trifles (I say that because there are a couple), pumpkin cheesecakes (again several), pumpkim tiramisu, and two pumpkin cakes. Every year I try to convince Erik that we should make something other than pie. "How about cheesecake?" He hates cheesecake. "Look at this beautiful trifle." What the hell is a trifle?

The end result is that I can make something else, but he will still be making his pumkin pie. Who wants two pumpkin desserts, BORING. Instead I try to make something from the folder before Thanksgiving. The problem is Erik does not eat sweets (though he really does), and I am not supposed to eat sugar (though I kinda do), so how am I supposed to make all of these fabulous new recipes? Playgroup! I had a play group this year with about 10 women and their children. I had to make something for them to nosh on...pumpkin cake with cream cheese frosting it was...They loved it.

This is a recipe fom Food and Wine Magazine's 2007 Thanksgiving issue. It was originally a carmel cream cheese frosting with an amber color, but I screwed up and did not cooking the carmel long enough, so mine was white. The frosting still came out great, though I think if it was carmel frosting it would have kicked even more serious ass. It is great served straight from the fridge or at room temp. It is also heavenly with a hot cup of carmel cream roobis tea. also, try to use organic products when you can, even though this cake is not thinning, good products are healthier for you and the environment).

Frosting:
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup water
1/2 vanilla bean, split and seeds scraped
1 1/2 sticks of unsalted butter, softened
2 tablespoons of heavy cream
1 pound of cream cheese (a package of philly) cut into 2 inch cubes

Cake
2 cups of all purpose flour
2 teaspoons of baking powder
1 teaspoon of salt
1 teaspoon of ground ginger
3/4 teaspoon of freshly grated nutmeg (always use fresh and get yourself a microplane if you do not have one!)
1/4 teaspoon of ground cloves
1 1/4 cups of light brown sugar
4 large eggs
3/4 cup of vegetable oil
One 15 ounce can of pumpkin puree (I got the already spiced kind by mistake and just used less of the spices as to not over power the cake)
1/2 cup of milk

Frosting:
In a medium saucepan, combine the sugar, water, vanilla bean and seeds. Cook over high heat and stir until the sugar dissolves. Once the sugar has dissolved cook over moderate heat for about 7 minutes or longer. Do not stir it. Making the carmel is the hardest part. You really ned to watch the stuff. You can use a pastry brush to wash down crystals from the side of the pan, but there is really no need. Watch it closely. If it burns you will smoke the house out and have a hard candied brown blob on your hands, and if you do not let it get to that darkish amber color it will not be carmel (I did this). It is all about timing. When you see it getting darker wait a few minutes and take it off before it burns. When it turns darkish amber remove it from the heat and immediately stir in the butter and heavy cream (do not worry if the butter separates). Discard the vanilla bean.

Transfer the carmel to a large bowl with a standing mixer with a whisk. Beat at low speed until the carmel cools and comes together, about 5 nminutes. With the machine on medium speed, beat in the cream cheese, 1 cube at a time. Beat well between additions, until silky. Transfer frosting t o a bowl and put it in the fridge for about 6 hours (I had it in over night)

Cake:
Preheat oven to 350
Butter and flour 2 eight inch cake pans. In a medium bowl, whisk the flour with the baking powder, salt, cinnamon, ginger, baking soda, cloves, and nutmeg.

In a separate bowl beat the brown sugar with the eggs until fluffy, 3 minutes. Beat in the oil and the pumpkin puree, then beat in the milk. Add the dry ingredients in small batches to the wet ingredients (about 3 batches). Beat well between additions, until lumps are gone.

Por the batter into the pans. Bake for 40-45 minutes (depending on your oven). It is done when a toothpick comes out of the middle of each cake clean. Cool on a rack for 20 minutes. Take the cakes out of the pans. Continue to cool about 40 minutes..

Place one layer of cake on a plate and frost the top (use about a cup). Place the other cake on top and frost the top and sides with the rest of the fristing. Put it in the fridge for about 2 hours before serving.

You can garnish it with candied pecans.

You can make the cake 2 days ahead of time and keep it in an airtight container in the fridge.

The Beginning

I love the start of things. When something new begins it is unknown, scary kinda like change---it is the leaping over the cliff into the unknown. When I was a teenager I called it the abyss. The abyss is the vast nothingness before what is. What "is" has not begun yet, but it will. The beginning alsways makes me nervous. When I was a teacher (I taught English for 6 years) I would go to sleep early before the first day of school with the kids, but I would never fall asleep. I would be super excited and anxious for what was to be. What is so nerve wracking about first days I think is that unknown the starts when new things are beginning. Yet once it starts your there.

I dreamt of being a writer most of my adult life. I have kept a journal since I was 12. As I got older, the entries became more sparse. Sometimes I would not write for months, then I got guilty, wrote about the fact that I was not writing. Lately I only write during times of CRISIS and DRAMA (you will probably notice I have lots of DRAMA).

I have never journaled on a computer. Somehow writing on this thing makes it feel more real---I cannot blunder or use the written word to just complain. I have wanted to make my words mean something...I feel as if I have something to say (even though I am not sure what th hell it is just yet). So, here I am at my new beginning. The beginning of my blog.

I am not sure what will become of the blog. For instance, I am calling it The Kitchen Table because that is where the family gathers, and at the moment, my life is filled with my family. The kitchen table is also where we eat, and I LOVE to talk about food and all things food related. Anyhow, even though it is called the kitchen table I am not quite sure which way my writing will turn. I may talk about food, or I may talk about my children. Shit, I may talk about sex or my issues and family angst. That is the thing about beginnings---one never knows what the hell is yet to come, though one can always guess.

The unknown is scary. On the first day of school all is new. I'd wear a new outfit, buy notebooks and folders that will soon be filled. The first day I'd try to learn the students names, but it would usually takes a few weeks. I'd feel out the kids that I will connect with...map out what I want to teach, but in the beginning I have no clue what will be. So, this is a new beginning, exciting, scary...

I have found in my life that I learn the most and grow when I just leap off that cliff. When I jump into life is when I reap the most reward. It is when I stop thinking and start DOING. Perhaps that is why the universe chose to give me two babies at once. I knew nothing about motherhood or children. Before Maya and Amara (my daughter's names...I love saying that, "my daughter's") I knew nothing about babies. In fact before I had children the only contact I had was small stints with my niece, Isabelle, and nephew, Evan, for long weekends (and when Isabelle was very young I was afraid to even hold her).

When Maya and Amara were born I was literally thrown into motherhood. Now, having had two, it is like an old hat. Hopefully writing becomes an old hat too, that fits my head perfectly.