When life gives you mutton, make muttonade?

For those of you not familiar with the term, mutton is a lamb that is over 2 years old. Typically, regular lamb is under one year of age at the time of slaughter.  Baby lamb is between 6 and 8 weeks old, and Spring lamb is usually 3 to 5 months old.
Some people don't like lamb at all.  Its rather strong flavor seems to be unbearable for a number of folks.  For others it's the peculiar smell that does it.  But a large number of us think it's absolutely delicious, and I can't tell you how many times I randomly crave the beautiful juicy lamb chops from Kokkari restaurant in San Francisco. 
That being said, I have never really craved mutton.  For a while I wasn't even sure what it actually was.  The french word for sheep is mouton, so I figured it was at least the same animal.  After some research, mostly verbally questioning my friend Courtney, who works at a lamb farm and has a small heard of sheep that she keeps for dairy, I became familiar with the word and it's definition.
So on Monday afternoon, when I got a message from her about how the mutton they had brought over for their dog Lucy and forgotten in our fridge was totally edible, I got pretty excited.  I thought there were just bones and had been planing on making stock out of them.
She rambled something about how I might think it was gross to eat mutton : why would I think it was gross if I had never had it before? She assured me that it was safe to eat and USDA inspected: why would I think anything fresh from the farm was any less safe than all the stuff we buy at the supermarket not even knowing where it comes from? And since when does an inspection by any US government agency (specially the USDA and the FDA) mean anything anymore?
She also mentioned, and this did mean something, that because this mutton had been raised on grass, grazing on pasture the way that nature intended, it mostly tasted like regular lamb, instead of having mutton's much stronger flavor.
  She suggested I braised it being that it would be rather tough since it was an older animal, and not raised in confinement. The more they move, the leaner they are, the more muscle they have, the less tender their meat is.
So yesterday afternoon, I got to work.  I inspected the meat, as it had been in the fridge for a week now.  It was originally vacum packed and frozen when they put it in the refrigerator. We agreed that since there was only a tiny opening on the seal of the plastic, not enough oxygen could have gotten in there to spoil it, plus we considered the time it must have taken it to defrost inside the cool fridge.  Sure enough, it smelled and looked beautiful. Nice and red.
  I dried them well and seasoned them generally with salt and pepper.  I seared them until a nice golden brown on all sides, and then threw in some onions, carrots, gypsy peppers, and herbs from the garden. Then some wine, and a few spices and garlic. I opened a jar of crushed tomatoes I had preserved last summer and added that as well. Mixed, tasted, re seasoned, and put the meat back in. Into the oven for a few hours. In the meantime, I cooked some white rice. I also made a glaze out of a little vinegar and some cherry jam I had purchased at the Auburn's farmer's market, where this mutton came from.
 Once the meat was nice and tender, I took it out of the sauce, skimmed the fat, glazed it with the jam, put it back in the oven on a sheet tray for a little while, and then added it back to the sauce.
At the last minute, I threw in some zucchini to the mix, poured a hefty serving over the rice, and we sat down to enjoy our dinner.  Needless to say, it was delicious. It has been rather cool in our valley in the evenings so it was the perfect dish for the weather.
 As we savoured every bite, I wondered how many people would have just thrown it away, the minute they realized it was in there.  We thought they were bones and we still kept it!
 I was taught by my parents not to waste food. As a little girl, if I didn't eat my dinner I would have it served for breakfast the next morning, and consecutively until I ate it. As an adult, I have always been very respectful of food, my main argument being that millions of people don't have enough of it, or sometimes any at all. Coming from a country where you meet those people on a regular basis, it's hard to not think about it. Even scraps should be saved, as they are very useful for compost, and then you are giving back to the land, instead of just taking all the time and not giving anything in return.
Then there is also the fact of how much it takes for our food to be produced: how many people's work is involved. How much patience for it to grow, how much time, money, effort.
 Most people don't think about any of this anymore, and it's not necessarily their fault. Our food system is out of control with imports and exports, processed chemicals that are sold as food, and air conditioned supermarkets with neatly packed aisles of millions of items. If you ask any child right now where milk comes from, chances are the answer will be: from the supermarket, if not from the refrigerator!
 This mutton didn't come from the refrigerator. It was once a live animal, who gave its life. It was the fruit of at least five people's hard work. It was at least 2 years old, therefore, it had at least 730 days of hard work, 17 500 hours of hard work. Throwing that away is not an option for my husband and I.
 Instead, we were nourished by it. We mindfully ate the food that was the result of time and effort and a sheep's life.  I took pleasure in preparing it, we took pleasure in eating it, and we raised our glasses to Lucy,  Courtney's dog, whose dinner we were having.

Yoga and Enlightment

Early last week, my dear friends (the bycicle giving ones) came up for a visit.  They are very familiar with the Northern California region, yet had never been to Sonoma proper.  We spend some quality time at our home, I showed them my favorite thrift shop and Mexican restaurant, and then we went to check out  the plaza.
They recently found out they are having a baby. As we browsed in one of the shops I decided to gift my friend a Prenatal Yoga video to help her overcome some anxiety that she is experiencing as a mother to be.  As I was getting ready to pay, I spotted the last issue of Yoga Journal Magazine and quickly grabbed it and added it to my purchase.
I am a subscriber to that publication, and every month, I eagerly await its arrival.  I never know when exactly it will show up, so it's always a pleasant surprise, and I cherish my time to read it, reflect on some of the articles, or even practice it's monthly "home practice" routine. Yoga Journal is part of my practice, and in lots of ways, it's my therapy.
With our move to the West coast, there was a gap in my delivery service, and I hadn't yet received this issue, and was not positive if it would actually arrive.
Being that my husband and I are on a rather tight budget, buying a magazine that I might actually receive in the mail is not very sensible, or something I would usually do.  But my peace of mind had been shaky lately, and my worrying voice had been way louder than usual, so I was yearning for those therapeutical readings and practices, and decided it was worth the risk.
That night, I started reading. I hadn't even gotten past the first pages, the editor's letter, when I was already gaining so much from this issue, I realized it was worth the few dollars extra it cost me. As she spoke about being grateful for life itself and everything that we get with it, she wisely made reference to the fact that if we really think about it, "the stuff I sometimes complain about "having" to do,  is actually the stuff I "get" to do."
It was a giant slap in the face. As the active person that I am, there is always something I have to do.
My husband often jokes with me by calling me a hummingbird or a bumble bee. Even though I enjoy most of the things I self appoint myself to do, I sometimes find myself dreading the fact that I never have time to do nothing.  Even now that I am unemployed.  Reading that letter I realized that I have just been looking at it in the wrong light.  I don't have to do these things : I get to do them. I went to sleep that night a little more at peace than the night before feeling grateful for everything I had/got to do.
The next morning, I decided to switch up my practice and try out the home practice from this issue.  As I prepared for it by reading the suggestions on what to do before and after the session, I read : " Set your intention to trust that everything unfolds as it should when you loosen your grip and allow yourself to be open". WOW! As my worrying voice had been nagging me lately, I tried to remind myself to trust with breathing exercises and friends and family's pep talks. This was the final straw.  I read the words again, this time focusing on them as well as my breathing, and immediately felt my muscles relax and my worries dissolve into the realization that I do trust, that things will work out, that I have to loosen my grip and allow myself to be open.  It is usually not possible to be open if we are tense and preoccupied in an active manner.
Definitely worth the extra couple of bucks.
That night, calm and relaxed, I read the mantra section of the issue: "When you recognize the power of Sri within you, it leads to contentment no matter what your circumstances. (...) No matter how much time, money and love you have, you will always feel as though it's not enough until you can evoke and honor the sri within you. When you do this, what you have feels like more than enough."
 Again, so worth the extra bucks.  I work very hard on quieting my inner chatter: I meditate, I practice asanas, I breathe, I read and write, I cook (which to me is the best therapy in the world), I talk to friends, I vent, I think, and lately I even garden. But sometimes, everybody needs a little extra help to get things done. This issue of Yoga Journal Magazine, was my little extra help. 
I am eternally grateful for that snap decision, that made me quiet my worries about money, and reach for that collection of shiny pages on the stance. By quieting my negative thinking for a few seconds, I got the tools I needed to quiet them for a longer period of time.  As with everything, practice makes perfect, and although perfection in yoga is kind of an oxymoron, by practicing regularly, I can see the benefits slowly but steadily open themselves to me, as I allow to open myself to them.
Oh, and by the way, I never got that issue in the mail!

How can silence be so noisy?

We have been living in Sonoma for a month today. In our house for three weeks.  So far it has been wonderful.  We have been really enjoying our yard, living in a smaller community, and above all, being back in California.
Most people who know my husband and I well enough, will undoubtedly describe us as city folks.  We love walking as our main method of transportation, we love cheap ethnic eats, people watching is one of our favorite hobbies, and the conveniences that most cities have to offer, as well as their diversity, are just priceless to us.
However, the truth is, we are both country folks at heart.  We have been patiently waiting for the opportunity to have a garden.  To hear the birds singing, to hear the crickets at night.  To see the stars, to go fishing, to take an afternoon hike: to be outside.
We both love nature, we are kind and compassionate towards all animals (with the exception of cockroaches for whom I have absolutely no sympathy whatsoever), we are respectful of the land and of everything that grows in it, and we always literally take the time to admire and smell the roses.
 However, I hadn't had one good night of sleep since we moved here.  As I lay in bed at night, listening to said crickets and the silence that is a background to their song, I somehow managed to be disturbed by every little noise that arose.  I hear the wood expanding. I heard random "bangs" downstairs.  I heard our very large cat's footsteps on the carpet, coming up the stairs, going down again, his tail thumping on the floor, or his loud meowing whenever he heard or saw any other animal outside.  I heard EVERYTHING.  And everything kept me awake.  When I did manage to engage in some pranayama (breathing exercises) and put myself to sleep, I was quickly awaken by the next note of the night's orchestra.  I heard something strange in my husband's breathing, or the cat snoring, or something unrecognizable that prompted an unfamiliar fear in my gut, and in that fashion, the night would go by while I listened to it.
Mind you, we used to live in San Francisco.  The level of noise pollution in that city almost counteracts the beauty of it. The  bells of the charming cable cars will quickly get on your nerves when you have to listen to them day after day, the fog horns, the MUNI buses, the loudest fire trucks and ambulances you will ever hear, let's just say, not very relaxing.  I slept just fine there for six years.
We also lived in Boston for over a year.  Our apartment was in the North End, the historic Italian neighborhood.  Not to be stereotypical but  Bostonians are not the quietest type, and when you add the Italian element to their heritage it gets exponentially louder.  I slept just fine there as well.
 So what is it then? Or I should say, what was it? Last night I finally slept.  I slept well.  I feel rested this morning for the first time in weeks. Unfortunately it will not be easy to figure out what the problem was since there were five variables in question.
Trying to set myself up for success I decided to switch sides of the bed with my husband.  I had been sleeping on the left side for a long time, but when we travel, I usually choose the side based on which one is closer to the bathroom.  I had made the same choice in this house, so I decided to give my old regular side a try.  However, a few other things happened as well: my husband fell asleep on the couch, so for the first part of the night, I had the bed to myself; the cat didn't make a peep all night long; I didn't change our pillows when I changed sides so I ended up sleeping with a different one than usual; and last but not least, I had a job interview yesterday. 
So... Was it just one of them, or a combination of all that finally allowed me to sleep?
It's hard to say. But the more I think about it, the more I have to wonder how much of my subconscious was at play all those restless nights.  When I heard noises, I didn't wake up and worry about money, or about being unemployed, but as I said, I did have an unfamiliar fear in my gut.  Maybe that fear was prompted by my daytime worries.  Maybe I couldn't relax at night because I spent the day tense.  Maybe our emotions affect us more than we care to give them credit for, and they become a vicious circle. The more I worried during the day, the less I slept during the night.  The less I slept during the night, the crankier I got during the day, and the more prone I was to negative feelings and emotions. 
I didn't really think about it.  Even now as I reflect on it, I'm still not positive.  It was just an interview.  I still don't have a job.
Even though I am not 100% on what the main factor that made it happen was, I will cherish all of them.  I will change our night stands today and appropriate myself of the left side once again.  I will keep my new pillow.  I will put the cat in the garage if he wakes me up at night, and I will even have my lovely husband fall asleep on the couch if I have to.  But most importantly, I will give some credit to my emotions, and I will work on practicing a little more meditation and yoga, to calm myself not only on the conscious level, but  on the subconscious one as well. Maybe the noise wasn't really outside, but in my own head after all.

My first set of wheels

Last Thursday I met a young couple from Kansas.  I don't remember where he is originally from, since he moved around a lot as a child.  His lovely wife is from Idaho. He is in the army and they now live in a small military community.
We got to talking about our new life here in Sonoma, and he was baffled to learn that we don't have a car.  As the conversation went on, he was even more shocked that I have never owned a car.  When I divulged the fact that I have never actually had a driver's license, he almost fell back in awe.
His world would be impossible to live in without a car to get around in. 
The truth of the matter is, lots of people react the same way.  People who have known me forever don't get it. 
It wasn't something I planned for.
 When I was a teenager -overachiever at heart- I decided I couldn't drive unless I knew how to fix my car in the event of a breakage. Then I got over that, but I was in a time in my life in which the French Education I was pursuing forced me to study for several hours a day, after several hour long tests after several hours at school. Learning how to drive was not a priority.
 Once I graduated I got a permit and  started to learn manual, since the overachiever was still in there and I didn't want to learn just automatic. 
For anyone who has not been to my country, I shall let you know that driving there is not as simple as it is here.  Learning was a bit harder than I anticipated since you have to watch out for cars and motorcycles coming at you from all directions, legal or not,  physically possible or not.  Before I knew it, I left for the States and I still hadn't secured the license.
At school I relied on my friends and their driving.  At one point I tried to get a permit, and at the DMV in Poughkeepsie, NY, they wanted me to provide them with a ridiculous amount of identification, which of course had to be all legally translated into English, which is a costly and annoying process that did not seem worth it to the 18 year old version of myself.
From there I moved to San Francisco, where, lets face it, you don't need a car at all.
I had always loved to walk, and after living in that beautiful city for a while, it became a part of me more than ever. I returned for a year to the Island, and cultivated my hobby of walking, surprising friends and family alike, since it is not customary for anyone to get around walking in that city.
 Then I returned to San Francisco, and from there somehow ended up moving to Boston, where, again, you don't need a car.
Now we live in Sonoma, where you obviously can't live without a car, right?  Wrong. 
As we first arrived back in California, I was sharing with my friend Eric my plans of purchasing a bike as soon as we got settled.  He had bought his girlfriend, my dear friend Courtney, a bike about four years ago for her birthday, which she had somehow never used.  He offered it to me, she approved, and I inherited a brand new, if a bit weathered, Giant mountain bike.  It even came with a wicker basket!
It's not the bike I had pictured I would get for myself, but it actually turns out to be so much better this way, since I can go on rough roads and mountain paths in it.
I have been using it as my main mode of transportation.  I get our groceries in it, I run errands in it, I made friends with the owner of the local bike shops  and the the guys who work there because of it, and I have explored the area around our new home extensively in it.  That's before getting to how good of an aerobic exercise it is to ride my bike around town.  And how much fun and therapeutic it is as well.
As we debated on what car to get,how much we want to spend on it, what our needs are as far as a vehicle is concerned, I realized a few things.
The first one was that even though we don't have children, we actually need a back seat for all of our little friends that we have around here.
The second, that right now, we don't really need a car per se. Right now, a car would be a great convenience, but it would be more of a luxury than a necessity.
The great Mexican band Molotov, states in one of their songs that since we were not born where there is nothing to eat, we don't have to ask ourselves what we are going to do (" porque no nacimos donde no hay que comer, no hay porque preguntarnos como le vamos a hacer").
My bicycle and lack of car made me realize, that sometimes, when we are fortunate enough to have lived a life full of necessities and luxuries, at whatever level those may be, we tend to forget the difference between need and want.  For those less fortunate than us, who have lived with a lack thereof, the line is much clearer.
A car would get us to the city to see our beloved San Francisco, and our dear friends.  A car, would get us to Petaluma, and Point Reyes, to go to the beach, to explore northern California. A car would get us to Auburn, to spend time with my bike-giving friends. A car, would make it much easier and faster to get downtown to get food. It would get me to the chicken man, to buy the chickens I yearn for to have fresh eggs everyday. It would also get us an ironing board, which would make it a lot easier to  iron my husband's work shirts on (I can imagine my sister in law and my friend Natalie cringing in disbelief that we still don't have one). 

Sure, it will be great to have. But as long as I can bike to town, and he can walk to work, we don't really need it, and I am proud to know that we accept that, and are doing just fine without it.
My grandfather once questioned me about the reason why I had never gotten my license. We where in Seattle, on our way to Alaska. As I told him the story I have written here, I realized, that for someone who has never driven, I have gotten pretty damn far....

A lesson in Patience, and it's little sister Impatience.

We are finally settled in our new home. We really did live in Boston, and we really did leave Boston. I am currently not working, and although as my husband says, I am a darn good "housewife" I have started to get impatient about finding employment.

I didn't even realize it. All of a sudden, this terrible feeling had completely taken me over. It was on my skin, in my blood, in my every thought and action. I was going a million miles an hour and had absolutely no time to waste. I also had no idea.
That's the thing about impatience, sometimes it just creeps up on you, without you noticing it. It starts very slowly, ironically enough with lots of patience, so as to acclimate itself to your being and you to it. Then one day, it's there, a part of you. And it has completely changed you. That is unless you take the time to scan yourself regularly for behavior changes, in which case you will eventually spot it. Everywhere.
I spotted it this morning, as I was getting ready to go out for breakfast with our friend Ray. He had come to visit from the city, as we have still not made it down there. I was trying to pick out the right outfit, then put on makeup, matching jewelry, and then I went downstairs and realized it was so much colder than I thought it was. So, I should go change since I was wearing a summer dress. No, I shouldn't! It will be fine...I have a jacket. I don't have time to change! He will be here any minute!
 Well, it took him longer to get here than my impatient self had thought it would. So I waited, still in my summer dress, still cold.  Then he got here, we went out for breakfast, and I remained cold. Stubborn, impatient, and cold!
We had a lovely visit, and he was kind enough to drive us around to do some errands since we still don't have a car. One of those errands consisted of getting a few herbs to perk up our yard.
This is my first attempt to keep a garden. When I got home with my compost, my potting soil, my herbs and some larger pots for existing plants, in my same impatient manner, I immediately got to work.
I turned the soil, I shoveled, I raked, I sweat. I planted the little purple flowers that we choose as ground cover. I scavenged around the yard for more rocks and made a little fence for our newly planted area. I read somewhere that peppermint likes part shade so I planted a few of them as well in that space.
 I replanted the hot pepper. I filled an old half wine barrel with soil and planted thyme, basil, sage, lemon verbena and oregano in it.  Time went by and I was completely unaware. I was being as present as I could. Gardening away.  Thinking of how I had never done this before. Of how great it was. Of how amazing it was that I had found all those stones right there in our yard. And then it hit me. I had to be patient now.  This was as much as I could do. How slow or how fast the little purple flowers were going to take to cover that area was entirely up to them.  And there is nothing I can do about it but enjoy every step of their journey.
In the same way, how long it will take for me to find a job is out of my control.  I look everyday to see what's out there.  I apply to everything that I feel I can do. And I have no choice but to wait.
My lesson in patience comes with the realization of what I can and should do with my time while I wait.
So I cook everyday and enjoy the bounty of delicious fruits and vegetables that are available right now all over California.  I do Yoga for longer than I'm used to, and mostly in the yard. And I have decided I will also write. Maybe once I am so comfortable in my routine that I have forgotten that I was looking for a job, a fulfilling job will find me.

We're going home! (not really)

Day one.
The first box is officially packed. Closed. Full. A few cookbooks (those always come with us), a few sheets, two picture frames, both with girls in them. One of them has a picture of Laura and I, in Florida, my skin so tanned I look like someone else, as it glistens on the developed photo with an almost copper tone to it. A flower in my hair, Laura smiling next to me. I wonder how many times her and I have been smiling next to each other?
The other picture frame has a little girl sitting on a beach. Her back to the camera, her perfect soft brown skin glowing in the sun, the mustard colored sand underneath her, and the perfectly blue Caribbean sea almost reaching her feet with its bubbly white foam.

Now they're leaving Boston. As are we. Relocating to California, I wrote on my reason for leaving in my resignation letter. Then I held it in my hand as I waited for the elevator, and I looked at it, the perfect curves of the capital C, followed by the a and the l, then the i and the f, effortlessly drawn onto the white paper, then the o, the r, n, i again and finally a. As I smiled at the word a thought slowly took over my brain: we are not going to San Francisco, we are going to California! Yes, Sonoma is right around the corner, but we're not really going home. This is another new adventure.
Day one of packing, slowly but surely, every single object in this apartment will go into some sort of container, and then into the back of a truck, and onto the great American highways.

About three or four hours later, one and a half boxes are now packed. You might say I took a very long break. As I tried to concentrate into what else I might want to neatly place inside that box, I couldn't shake the thoughts of fried chicken sandwich out of my mind.
In the kitchen I had some chicken thighs in some rock salt that had to be taken care of. So I stopped packing for a few hours, and took care of it. Now that the chicken is waiting for me swimming in a buttermilk, Chile powder and garlic pool, I can try to go on with this packing party.
The biscuits are also done. And in the oven there are some heirloom tomatoes baking with some rhubarb for a crisp. I macerated them with some lime juice and zest, Serrano chiles, ginger, lemongrass and agave nectar. Then I added some flour and threw a star anise and about a third of a whole vanilla bean in there. It's in our green le creuset baking dish that Kevin gave us. The plan is to top it with a cornmeal streusel.

Kevin showed up with two six packs: Anchor Steam and Razor 5, both from the Northern California area that we are moving to.
I made some coleslaw with some thinly sliced cornichons, some guacamole, smothered the biscuits with bacon fat and built our sandwiches. Although the chicken was a bit too salty from sitting in the rock salt for too long, the sandwich itself was delicious. We watched "Big trouble in little China" on Blue Ray, with a commentary from Kurt Russel and the director.
Time goes by so fast. I still remember that night at No 9's kitchen, when Ben and Kevin started arguing about the Big Trouble Little China DVD and I realized that Kevin was gonna stay with us just like the cookbooks.

Perspective

Everyday, once a day, try to look at life from a different perspective. From whatever different perspective.
In any aspect of life, minuscule or ginormous, just for a moment, be present enough withing yourself, as to wonder why you feel a certain way about something.
Then think, what is another point of view?
And look ahead at what you might learn, or mabye even discover. About yourself, about your place, about someone else, or somewhere else, far away.
If you normally sey yes, just say no. If you normally find excuses, just do it already.
If you always take the same walk to work, or the same drive back home, just today, take a different path.
If you always start your morning with coffee, try some tea. If you, like me, almost always sleeps in, today, just today, wake up early.
If you don't ever drink, sip a glass of wine.
If you don't ever run, go for a short walk.
If you always worry, don't give a damn. If you always gossip, shut up.
You won't change who you are. It's just one time. You will however, get to know your true self, so much better. The more you do it, with different things (again, it's just one time), the clearer your path becomes ahead of you. You can almost see the road...
The clearer you can see your road, the easier it is to take it.

It's easier to fly it. To sail it. Or maybe to drive it. Perhaps to bike it.

Getting to see your road so clearly could potentially even make you realize, that you might be able to just walk it.