No dress rehearsal, this is our life

September 2, 2016Jennifer Hess 1 Comment

We got back from Michigan a week ago, after a very short, very sweet visit with my grandma. Two days of driving for two days of sitting, talking, just enjoying being in her presence. It was lovely.

The kids handled the long drive surprisingly well, and were smitten with their Gigi, and I was thrilled just to be with her again for a while after nearly 3 years away. I’d do it again in a heartbeat, given the chance.

She’s 95 years old, so “next time” is not a given. But we hope.

I’ve had a whole lot of feelings to unpack around this trip, around family and life and balance and priorities, and not a lot of time or opportunity to do so until now. I jumped right back into work when we got back to Virginia, assisting with a trial and trying to tame a furious flurry of stuff that had come through on my other cases in my absence. I missed some bedtimes and morning kisses, but overall we got through fine.

It’s funny to think that after a year here, we are still adjusting to our new normal, but here we are.

And it has now been a whole year. That anniversary came and went this week, with memories popping up on social media of our Brooklyn goodbyes, our one-year younger kids curled up like kittens in the giant hotel bed, our stressed-out rants and the comforting words of family and friends, and then, the quiet slog of settling-in.

And now we are in September, which always feels big and important for the endings and beginnings contained therein, but which feels even more so this year. We’re on the cusp of one of the biggest transitions of our lives as a family: Kindergarten, the start less then a week away now. We have bus schedules and supply lists and weekly folders to pay attention to now, we will plan our lives around school schedules for years to come.

I’m thrilled for our boy but I’m desperately sad to be losing him to the education-industrial complex so soon. It feels like we held him for the first time just yesterday. I feel like I’ve missed too much of his life already. I want more time.

Our arrival in Detroit happened to coincide with the last show of the farewell tour of a longtime favorite band of mine. (One thing some of you may not know about growing up in Michigan, is that you learn to love a lot of Canadian music.) So after Mike and the kids were asleep, I sat on the edge of the bed in our darkened hotel room, listening through headphones as Gord closed out the show in perfect fashion:

First we’d climb a tree
And maybe then we’d talk
Or sit silently
And listen to our thoughts
With illusions of someday
Casting a golden light
No dress rehearsal,
This is our life

***

That song has always been a favorite, but it feels particularly resonant right now. I haven’t been able to get it out of my head since that night.

You never want to think that any given time that you see someone, when you hold their hand or laugh with them or eat a meal they’ve lovingly prepared for you, that that might be the last time. But last times are sneaky like that. You just don’t know when you’re in one until the moment has passed, and then it’s too late to do anything about it.

This was the first time in my life that I can recall that I visited my grandma and she didn’t cook for us. And at age 95, she has absolutely earned that right – I’m not mad or upset in the slightest. But I am sad that the “last time,” the moment, has passed, and we missed it.

When we visited 3 years ago, Julian gleefully tucked into a plate of grandma’s migas. Mirabelle has never tasted my grandma’s cooking, and likely never will.

So I am sad about that. And I’m sad that my biggest cooking inspiration and teacher, the person who taught me how to toast the rice in the pan before adding any liquid, and to cook the chicken until it looks drier than you think it should be because if you don’t, the tacos will be soggy, the woman who taught me the importance of sitting around a table and sharing a meal together, and who helped me realize the joy that could be found in the simple act of feeding people, has, for the most part, stepped out of the kitchen. She doesn’t have the energy to cook anymore, and she can’t eat a lot of the things she used to love, and I’m sad about that, too.

When we got back to Virginia, all I wanted to do was cook her food. I wanted to fill our kitchen with the smell of frying tortillas, onions and garlic toasting, chiles roasted until charred, their blackened skins rubbed away to reveal tender flesh. Pinto beans cooked in bacon fat in a black iron skillet, mashed to creaminess and dotted with cheese. Guacamole and pico de gallo and salty corn chips.

Beer to wash them down. Bourbon to numb my sorrow.

I often joke that my ability to cut onions without crying is my superpower, but that night, I was powerless to stop my tears. I tried hard not to let the kids see or hear me. I want the memories they associate with this food to be happy ones, of a table full of family, boisterous conversation, laughter, animated discussion, security, and love, not of mommy standing in the kitchen mourning someone who is not even gone.

I want to figure out how to find time to cook again. I need to keep her food alive.

I want my kids to grow up knowing this food, I want them to share this food with the people they care about, like grandma taught me to do.

I want more time to climb trees with them, to talk, or sit silently, or both.

I want them to hear the music that kept me going through my darkest times, and that I celebrated my triumphs and joys with.

I want us all to spend more time with the people we love while they are still here, while we still can. To appreciate the moments before they pass.

No dress rehearsal. This is our life.

What kind of life do I want it to be? And how do I make it happen?

(This post was originally published on jenblossom.com)

when October disappeared in a flash

October 30, 2015Jennifer Hess 6 Comments

Just in case the four of you who still check in here from time to time are wondering, we’re doing fine, slowly settling in and adjusting to our new home in NoVa. This has not been the smoothest of transitions for a variety of reasons, but after two months here, I think I’m finally getting to the point where I wake up in the morning and I don’t feel like I’m living someone else’s life.

My new role has kept me extremely busy – and even though I was warned, I had no idea just how busy I was going to be. More days than not, I see the kids for 10-15 minutes in the morning before I head out the door, and then if I see them at all when I get home in the evening, it’s for just a few minutes before their bedtime. As you can imagine, that’s been hard on us all. But our kids are nothing if not resilient, and we’ve been trying to fill our weekends with as much fun and together-time as we can muster.

As you can also imagine, our dinners have been, of necessity, as simple as possible. Mike has taken on the lion’s share of the cooking, and we’ve been the lucky recipients of a few edible care packages from my mom. But I’ve had a few chances to knock around in our new kitchen, and one recent dinner that elicited a lot of comments on social media was my tried-and-true sheet pan nachos. So for those of you who asked, here’s how I make them.

These are super easy and endlessly adaptable, and you can even prep most of the components ahead of time. I start by lining my pan with parchment (foil also works but isn’t quite as sturdy), and drizzling on just a tiny bit of olive oil. Then for each pan I’m preparing, I spread 1 can of refried black or pinto beans in the center, leaving maybe a 1.5 inch border around the edge (I’ve found one sheet pan serves 4 adults generously). I put a layer of chips around the edge, then scatter a cup or two of grated cheese all over (cheddar, Jack, pepper jack, mozzarella, or any combo works well). That goes into a preheated 350 degree oven just until the cheese starts to bubble.

While the tray is in the oven, I get the remaining layers together (amounts are per pan): a can (or 1.5 cups cooked from dry) black or pinto beans, drained; another 1-2 cups grated cheese; seasoned ground or shredded beef or shredded or chopped chicken (I cook mine with a mix of cumin and garlic and chili powders or paste, plus a little tomato – like so). Or skip the meat entirely and pile on some zucchini or corn or mushrooms. For the nachos pictured here, I had a container of peperonata to use up, so I put that on too – but plain roasted peppers and onions also work well.

All of that gets layered on to the beans/cheese, with some additional chips squished in (I sort of stand them on edge to they don’t get too soggy). Then it all goes back into the oven for about 10 minutes to warm through. I finish it under the broiler (did I mention our new oven has a broiler on top? We are SO EXCITED about this), pulling the tray out when the cheese is golden brown.

Then just before serving, add your cold toppings. I like to shred red cabbage and toss it with salt and a little fresh lime juice to scatter over the top, but shredded lettuce works just as well. Sliced or chopped avocado is great, as are diced fresh tomatoes, black olives, pickled or fresh red onions, scallions, pickled or fresh jalapeños, sour cream or Mexican crema or Greek yogurt, and of course your favorite salsa/hot sauce. And I always serve the nachos with extra bowls of chips on the side.

Oh, and if you happen to have leftovers, the “put an egg on it” rule totally applies. It’s nice to know that some things never change.

*****

A little shameless spouse-promotion: while we were in the midst of this major life upheaval, my dearest wrapped up work on his second book! Whiskey: A Spirited Story with 75 Classic and Original Cocktails is set for release in May of next year, and is currently available for pre-order. As if that weren’t enough excitement, that same day the revised and updated paperback edition of Shrubs hits stores, with a foreword by Imbibe executive editor, Paul Clarke. Both books feature lovely cover art by Vancouver photographer, blogger, and woman-about-town Kristy Gardner. Never a dull moment Chez Dietschblossom!

ain’t love grand

August 27, 2015Jennifer Hess 5 Comments

I moved to New York for love. And then I fell in love with New York, and more specifically, with Grand Central Terminal. The guy I moved here to be with didn’t seem to mind (he loves it, too).

We fell into an easy rhythm our first go-round in the city. On Fridays, after work and before hopping on a train home, I’d stop off at the Market Hall at Grand Central Terminal, grab cheeses and charcuterie from Murray’s, perfect produce from Zabar’s stand, bread from Eli’s, maybe a steak or chops from Ceriello’s, or some oysters or sea bass or sardines from Wild Edibles, and a bottle or two from Grande Harvest Wines, then schlep it all home to Brooklyn. The Market became part of our routine, a way to treat ourselves after a long work week, and to kick off our weekend with some indulgent treats.

Grand Central and its Market were so much a part of our lives, in fact, that when that guy and I decided to get married, we couldn’t imagine not swinging by for a few photos as part of our celebration.

When we moved back to the city after our years in Providence, Grand Central was one of the first places we visited. Julian has come to love the terminal’s soaring ceilings and bustling halls as much as we do.

As time and money have allowed, I have resumed our tradition of a Friday market stop, for cheese and charcuterie, tiny tomatoes and jammy figs, burrata and bread and sweet treats for the kids.

And now, once again, we are leaving.

I know, of course, that New York is not the only great food city around, and I look forward to exploring all that the greater DC area has to offer us, but I don’t know if any place will ever give me the same thrill as the one I get when I walk up from the 6 train and into the main concourse, or when I pass through the doors on Lexington Avenue into the cool, fragrant air of the Market.

soon

April 15, 2015Jennifer Hess

feeling saucy

March 9, 2015Jennifer Hess 5 Comments

As I write this, the temperature in Central Park is inching toward 50 degrees. But just days ago, we were still deeply mired in this nonsense:

Not exactly prime conditions for lightening up the old diet, but as the results of some of my recent medical tests begin to trickle in, I realize that the time for me to make these changes could not be better.

As it turns out, I was able to strike a pretty nice balance of plant-based goodness and familiar, comforting flavor on a cold and snowy winter’s night with this tempeh and mushroom ragú.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been very interested in exploring tempeh as both a plant-based source of protein, and as a gut-healthy fermented food. My initial foray into cooking with tempeh yielded some killer black bean and tempeh tacos, but for round two, I wanted to see if I could achieve the richness and depth of a long-simmered meat sauce, in a meat-free version.

My secret weapon: mushrooms.

In both fresh and dried form, they provided the savoriness that I want in a ragú of this type, without any animal protein. A bit of low-sodium tamari and double-concentrated tomato paste provided even more backbone.

While the texture wasn’t quite where I had hoped it would be, the flavor was right on the money, and as with any good meat sauce, it only improved overnight. I most certainly will tweak this recipe as I make it again, but this was a pretty fine place to start.

Tempeh and Mushroom Ragú

extra-virgin olive oil
½ medium onion, fine dice (about 1 cup)
1 small rib celery, with leaves, fine dice (about 1/4 cup)
1 small carrot, peeled and grated or finely diced (about 1/2 cup)
Kosher or sea salt
8 oz. crimini mushrooms, trimmed and finely chopped
½ oz. dried porcini mushrooms + 1 cup boiling water
8 oz. tempeh
2 oz. low-sodium tamari
1 tbsp dried oregano
1 large clove garlic, peeled and minced or grated
2 tbsp double-concentrated tomato paste
One 28 oz. can crushed tomatoes with juice
½ to 1 cup water or wine

For serving:

1 pound hot cooked pasta (I used rigatoni, but an spaghetti or pappardelle would work as well)
Finely chopped fresh parsley
Grated Parmagiano, or a similar cheese substitute

* * * * *

Add a glug of olive oil to a wide, shallow pan. Add the onion, celery, and carrot with a big pinch of salt, and cook over medium heat until softened. Make space in the pan and add the crimini mushrooms, cooking until they are well-browned.

While the vegetables cook, soak the dried mushrooms in boiling water until soft. Remove the softened mushrooms from their soaking liquid and chop them fine before adding to the pan. Reserve the soaking liquid.

Crumble the tempeh into a bowl, and add the tamari, oregano, and garlic. Toss well to combine, then add to the pan. Add a bit more olive oil, then continue cooking, allowing the tempeh to brown. Add the tomato paste and toss everything well to coat, then slowly add the reserved mushroom soaking liquid, leaving any grit behind.

Stir in the canned tomatoes, and continue to cook uncovered over medium-low heat for 30-45 minutes, stirring occasionally, and adding a bit of water or wine to loosen any stuck bits from the bottom of the pan. Toss with hot cooked pasta, and finish with a sprinkle of fresh parsley and your favorite grating cheese or cheese substitute.

bundle up

March 2, 2015Jennifer Hess 1 Comment

March! In like a lion, indeed. There’s been work stuff and health stuff and life stuff going on, and travel planned (San Francisco! Baltimore!) in relation to SHRUBS – it’s been a bit of a whirlwind in the Hess-Dietsch household of late.

I’ve made this Crispy Thai Pork With Cucumber Salad twice now in recent weeks, and it is incredibly delicious. It is also incredibly easy, which I desperately need these days. Just crisp up some pork and a handful of garlic in a skillet, douse it with fish sauce and soy sauce and chilies and stock, a spritz of lime and a little brown sugar, and let it all cook down to sweet-spicy-sticky goodness.

If you don’t eat pork, I suspect this would be equally delicious with ground chicken or turkey or even my new love, tempeh. And if you, like me, are absolutely over this cold, snowy weather, the fresh, bright flavors in this dish should be just what you need to pull you out of your winter funk.

The recipe is here, at Bon Appétit.

veggie tales

February 19, 2015Jennifer Hess 4 Comments

For those of you who are wondering, our meat-lite(r) regimen is going pretty well so far.

This week was a little challenging, what with Valentine’s Day, Mardi Gras, and a two-day loss of heat in our apartment building, but we still managed to find a good balance of foods that were hearty and comforting, while heavy on plant matter.

I made pizzas for the first time in ages using dough that Mike prepared in advance. One pie featured roasted broccoli, red onions, and fresh ricotta that Julian helped me make; the other a simple tomato sauce, stracchiatella (from Brucie, via Good Eggs), and piles of peppery arugula.

Lunches have mostly been bean & grain bowls, brightened up with pickled vegetables and hot sauce, and crowned with an egg or avocado or both.

Mike was inspired to warm our cold apartment by baking bread, these 4-hour baguettes, to be exact.

They were perfect with a smear of butter, as well as alongside this zippy Lemony Gumbo Z’Herbes – a light and lovely dish to celebrate Fat Tuesday (and to warm my belly at lunchtime on Wednesday).

I tried my hand at a Beet, Greens & Cheddar Crumble, which while tasty, could use some tweaking. We liked the dish enough to want to repeat it, though, and soon.

The highlight of this past week, however, was making Marcella’s lasagne for our Valentine’s Day dinner, and preparing it with my little kitchen helper.

I love that Julian is showing more and more interest in cooking with us, and I was delighted that he was so into helping me put together this meal in particular. Making a classic lasagne bolognese – from mixing and rolling out the fresh spinach pasta, to building the bolognese and bechamel sauces – is truly a labor of love, and I was so happy to share the experience with him.

He couldn’t wait for the finished dish, so I cut up a couple of our pasta sheets for him and tossed them with a little butter and cheese. He ate two bowls (!), giving me hope that this age 3 finickiness may be temporary after all. Here’s to the green stuff!

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