Eggs, Part I

     Michigan winters can be bleak. I heard once that Michigan actually has less sunny days than Seattle (which, it is widely known, has a reputation for its drizzling grayness). I wasn’t surprised. When it gets cold here, it becomes gray, and things slow down. People bunker down. The view out of my window makes a pretty snapshot: stillness, in black and white. It is during these times that we come together to feast.
     There aren’t too many fresh, local finds available here this time of year. The food in our grocery stores gets shipped in from places like Guatemala, Ecuador, Florida and California; the Farmer’s Market invites its bravest of souls, bundled in hats and scarves and downy coats, to peruse its arts, crafts and root vegetables. The most we can hope for is a warm, crusty loaf of bread from a local bakery, slathered in butter and served with a chunk of local cheese on the side. But then, there’s the egg.
     I am a Michigander, thankful for fresh eggs. At a time when the options seem minimal, an egg transforms our possibilities to multiple! Eggs are fun and useful: they can be used in innumerable ways and add nutrition and flavor to anything. Cookies, cakes and pies, Eggs en Cocotte, Huevos Rancheros, Bi Bim Bop! And an egg can stand alone: scrambled, fried, baked, poached, boiled! Thus begins an ode to eggs, a seven-part piece about anything egg.

for Matt and Kelly
Happy Hen, a poem
From forth the backened yard of city folk
Bobbles a happy hen! who,
Despite the raging cumulus above
Was lying gladly under a lamp’s heat,
Nestled in a loving home
Built from a neighbor’s plaything.

Gregoire

The first time I ventured to the west coast was in 2003 when I was an undergraduate. I found myself with an afternoon free to explore the town of Berkeley. I took public transportation to the downtown exit and, not knowing anything about the city, resolved to walk in the most beautiful direction. So, I pursued a mesmerizing landscape of green rolling hills, unknowingly, walking in the direction of what the locals call, the gourmet ghetto. After awhile hunger overcame me and my eyes turned to food. Simultaneously, I found myself at a cross section, to the left of which was a narrow hilly street with an inviting little food place. Everything about the place seemed special. It was a tiny white nook with a welcoming blue awning that hung over a large store front window. The closer I got, the more inviting it became. The wooden framed windows were wide open so that you could look into the kitchen and greet the cook if you like. A striking young girl stood the cash register just inside the door and cozy wooden benches were occupied by patrons just outside the door. Upon entering and reviewing the menu I discovered that the place was a classical French cooking lunch, dinner, and catering shop. People could eat at the counter over the stove, at the table outside, or pick up items on the go. The menu was small but packed with delicious sandwiches and, curiously, a whole section dedicated to various potato plates. On that warm sunny day, I chose a tuna melt and ate it on the bench outside, next to the window, with the cook bustling next to me, the blue awning over head, and the green rolling hill in view. I was in communion with the world and thrilled at the lucky happenstance I had gotten myself into.

Coincidences

     I’ve been reading about coincidences, how a person will say something or make a decision to do something and then slowly begin to experience these coincidences, a series of related and relevant events that happen one after another that tie back into their original conversation or decision. Ever had that happen?  
     At the start of this calendar year I began to give some real thought into what direction I want to take my life. I could stay in the same field or try something completely new. I started writing about it a lot and as I was going about my business, I began to receive signs from the universe. I suppose all sorts of signs exist, and maybe I was just looking for what I wanted to see, but it felt like more than that—a friend told me out of the blue that they thought it was great I was following my own path; the woman on my yoga video said to let go of all things that don’t serve my truth; my massage therapist said to take the time to figure things out, not to rush into anything; it might sound silly, but none of these conversations were prompted by me and they all happened, one by one, within days of each other.

Road Feast

While Ricky and I were gearing up for our trip across the country we encountered many a weary friend who warned us of the barren food-scape along I-80. So in preparation we researched all the cities we would likely stop in and developed a list of potential restaurants to visit. One site was particularly helpful, www.happycow.net, which provides a list of vegetarian restaurant options for locations around the world. Upon our departure, we had pages of dining options.

Our trip turned out to be the exact opposite of what we had been warned about. We didn't have a bad meal the entire way. We were privy to local brews, vibrant ethnic cuisine, local traditional, homemade dishes, and friendly, well-informed service at every stop- our first being Lincoln, Nebraska, a college town with a respectable city center. It had a small-town feel yet there were large buildings and young people scattered about. We dined at a Thai restaurant called the Blue Orchid where the food and ambiance were sophisticated and delicious. We ordered an exotic cocktail made with a hot red pepper infused vodka, grapefruit juice and lemon grass. Each sip evolved from an ice cold, citrus fresh, thirst-quenching spirit into a spicy, fire-breathing swell of the mouth with a picante finish. It was the kind of drink that snuck up to you from behind and made your tonsils do back flips. What’s more, the somewhat intimidating drink became more delicious and inviting when drank in combination with our spicy entrees. Though we went through many glasses of ice-cold water during the meal, we were enlightened and pleased by the experience. We then stopped at Lazlo’s Brewery and Grill where we were greeted by a friendly bartender who encouraged us to taste all the local beers and gave us a thorough explanation of each.

My Career!

     In the past five years I’ve come to terms with the fact that I will probably never follow a traditional career path. If I imagine my work life as, literally, a path or a trail, I picture myself walking into the woods, clearing branches along the way. There’s a light up ahead but I can’t see just how to get there; I only know I am headed in the right direction when I can see that light, beaming from afar like the North Star. (When I say “right” direction, I mean right for me, in accordance with my truth, my goals.) I have a feeling I’ll never get to the light—and I guess that’s sort of the point, right?—but that it will always be there to set my compass towards.

     I do find her enviable, the person who can say “this is what I want to be” and can look ahead at a neatly mowed stretch of path in front of her. Certainly, life will still surprise this person in ways she’d have never expected, but at least she knows she needs to do this, this and this to get where she wants to be. I’ve struggled in the past few years with trying to figure out what I want to do for work. I realize now that this was difficult for me to resolve because there is not just one thing that I want to do!

     I’m a romantic, to my core. And that part of me, which has most often proved itself more influential than my desire for security or acceptance, finds this groping along enticing and a thrill! I have groped and forged and everything in between and have found myself at this point: ready to piece together the collage of my career. And so, a 360° look at food…

Grown In Michigan

This is my brother Jon. He loves to eat. He once stuffed an entire hamburger in his mouth and finished it without skipping a beat. When he did that we were up at our uncle’s cottage on Burt Lake (near the tip of the mitten, ay!). Jon’s favorite food is Pizza, although now after having lived in China for two years and settled down in the Bay Area, his food preferences have likely evolved. In this picture he doesn’t know anyone is watching. He probably doesn’t much notice or mind that he is wearing red overalls with copper buttons, knee sox and red buckled shoes. He has no idea that the whipped cream he is dipping his delectable strawberry into matches his clean white t-shirt. He also doesn’t realize that the juicy Michigan fruit he is about to consume will give him the energy and nutrition to build him into the vibrant person he is today.

Jon is an engineer and does transportation technology research. He traveled down the California coast in a fuel cell powered car and did his dissertation on electric bikes in China. He is also an eccentric, even though he wasn’t trying to be in this picture. He always makes the funniest faces in pictures, like here his chubby cheeks and curious stance reveal how consumed and lost he is in his world of delicious whipped cream strawberries.

My Love

     This morning I awoke craving cheese. I wasn’t thinking of any cheese in particular but just the thought of preserved milk, of solid dairy excited me. My body wanted to feel the full satisfaction of protein, the complexity of flavors from animal and pasture. I do have a unique perspective on this, having worked at a place whose self-prescribed requisites for choosing food to sell include “full-flavored” and “traditionally-made;” I wasn’t about to bust into my neighbor’s refrigerator just to nosh on some orange processed stuff (which, I have to say, is tasty in its own right). It was 4:30 in the morning and my favorite place to buy cheese doesn’t open until 7:00 (although I do have an “in;” I probably could have gotten a taste around 6:30 if I had wanted it badly enough). I began to daydream –and probably doze off a little—about my love of cheese. I had a little brainstorm in my mind…