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Mindful Shopping

Megan — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 14:00:23 +0000

We returned to Texas on Monday, after two very long drives and a little over a week in the Twin Cities. I had promised myself that I wouldn’t do any work while on this vacation, and it was a little strange to have time to just read and hang out with the family. I didn’t even cook much, only making a dessert for Christmas dinner and chili a few days later. It was good to be away, but by New Year’s Eve both my son and I were itchy to be home again with our old routine.

On Tuesday I went to work reassessing our food stores. Throwing food away always makes me feel like a bit of a failure in the cooking department, but it’s hard to salvage two-week-old organic produce. As I surveyed my practically bare refrigerator, I realized that in a way I was being given a gift.

While I try to plan out our meals and use everything we buy, our family is still guilty of quite a bit of food waste. Because the bulk of our food comes from the farmers’ markets, including charcuterie purveyors, seasonal selections call out as you walk past. Hydroponic strawberries don’t care if you have a big bag of tangelos in the fridge already, and Brussels sprouts have been waiting so long to be adored that they’ll kick anything else out of the crisper drawer.

One of my food goals for this year is to not be tempted to buy foods without a plan. To think hard every time I pick up an emerald head of broccoli or find my nose leading me to a second breakfast at the charcuterie stand. We often don’t have a need for the extra food we buy, whether it comes from a local farm or the grocery store. While our intentions might be noble when grabbing another bunch of greens, it’s time to be honest with ourselves about our food intake.

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Read the rest of Mindful Shopping (622 words)

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30 Days 2011: Day 5

Megan — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 19:14:28 +0000

Day 5: Breathing Room

When I was working outside the home full time, I felt like I never got a moment to myself. Eight hours a day of work, plus four hours a day of feeding-dressing-entertaining, plus at least an hour attempting to work on my freelance projects, including this blog, doesn’t leave much time in the day. While I freely admit that I love being busy, there is something to be said for the quiet, quiet time I get twice a week after the boys leave for the day.

I am still working on getting my schedule figured out – after all I still have to be productive. Staying at home is not a vacation, to be sure. But for now I am going to relish having these moments to just stop.

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30 Days 2011: Day 4

Megan — Sun, 04 Dec 2011 16:04:35 +0000

Day 4: Musicality

I was in choir growing up, and my husband was in band (later moving on to turntables). So it’s not that much of a surprise that R has gravitated toward musical instruments wherever they pop up. He’s a booty shaker too, and insists that I must dance if he is playing at his keyboard. Someone needs to dance, after all, and he hasn’t quite figured out the technique of grooving while pounding on the keys.

Singing in the car is a staple, and I’m trying to remember to play music more often around the house. Just having that beat underneath seems to calm all of us, and makes for a more cheerful day. I’ve yet to meet an angry toe-tapper.

For Christmas I picked up a recorder for the boy. I bet there will be plenty of times I regret it, but that kid really loves to go make music. Rock star is right up there in career goals, between fireman, superhero, and cooker man. I think I’m good with any of those.

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30 Days 2011 – Day 3

Megan — Sat, 03 Dec 2011 15:52:17 +0000

Day 3: Generations

I don’t get to see my grandpa much, but this past spring we were in town for my friend’s wedding, and I made sure to make time to have my grandpaand son meet for the first time. It took a little bit for R to warm up to him, as it does with everyone he meets, but soon they had connected, and there they were. Sitting together just as my grandpa and I did when I was the same age. I regret not snapping more photos.

I don’t know when we’ll be able to be in the same place again, but R still talks about that visit and the small lights they played with (my grandpa does beadwork). That will keep me warm through the rest of the month.

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30 Days 2011 – Day 2

Megan — Sat, 03 Dec 2011 00:45:33 +0000

Day 2: Curious Friends

That isn’t a great photo up there in terms of things like focus and light, but I like it anyway. It’s from a sausage party I went to last month. As in, sausage making. There weren’t any sausages of that kind in attendance. Only one of us had made sausage before, but that wasn’t really an issue. We wanted to learn how to do it, so we did it. We forged ahead with our mistakes, jokes cracking the entire time.

That same spirit was present in a canning party I went to earlier in the year, and again during the tamale party I hosted on Black Friday. Sure, we’re all women, but we aren’t into DIY because of that. We’re into it because making food and learning new things is awesome.

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30 Days With a Grateful Heart {Day 1}

Megan — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 18:07:01 +0000

Last month was National Blog Posting Month, wherein you post to your blog every single day, but considering I participated in National Novel Writing Month (also November) for the last nine years I took a break from doing a month of anything each day. I mean, aside from eating. Because I like food.

But I couldn’t pass up this month. Jote, who creates the lovely blog Bless Her Heart began 30 Days With a Grateful Heart in 2009 as a way to end the year focusing on the wonderful things in life instead of the stresses of the season. Considering so much has changed in my life this year, I knew I had to join in.

Day 1: This One

It would be hard for me to come up with a list that didn’t include my son. His giggles are infectious, he gives the absolute best hugs, and he reminds me to slow down. I adore sharing the world with him, even when he isn’t grateful in return for the homemade dinners or afternoons spent completing projects. I’m so lucky to have my time with him.

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My Eyes on BlogHer 2011

Megan — Thu, 18 Aug 2011 21:41:25 +0000

My friends were slightly confused when I told them I was going to BlogHer this year. Colorful stories abound about the conference, and given my reluctance to be known as a “mom blogger” or take part in many, many branded events and promotions, the highly sponsored conference was not exactly the most logical choice for someone like me. Still, I had to see it for myself. After all, one does not proclaim love for oysters without letting them slip past the tongue. (For the record? Except for the oysters Octavia at Jeffrey’s, the flaccid little things can slide on by.)

As soon as my plane arrives I’m off to The Hopping Pig with Robyn and her daughter Gillian. We walk in with high hopes, based on our online menu sleuthing and anticipation of seeing a few more friends. Amanda and Marie join us there, as did Kelly and Andrew, all four fresh off an olive oil tasting. We laugh over beer and poorly cooked pork belly. The time is over too quickly, but we’re all tired and the conference starts early.

Back in my hotel I light a fire in the fireplace (it’s there, so why not? Plus they have the AC set to 67), snuggle under my covers, and try not to think about the hordes of women I’ll be among tomorrow.

The first day of the conference flashes by quickly. Every person you sit next to says hello and digs out a business card. It’s exhausting by 11 a.m. I sneak off to lunch at Cucina Urbana with Jessi and her colleagues, loaded down with selective swag but not feeling like I’ve learned much. Aside from think that 3,000 other women are very, very peppy.

We eat our way through the menu at Cucina Urbana, delighting in each dish more than the last. I try to commit each flavor to memory, knowing there’s no way I will be able to properly translate them to words. Sherry marinated beet salad with fenacho cheese? Refreshing and unexpected. Dreamily smooth chicken liver pate with brown sugar shallots? No wonder the kitchen offers it in to-go jars. Goat cheese and mascarpone ravioli? Surrounded by fresh garden peas and carrots, it’s the epitome of cheese ravioli. I’m pretty sure I moan while eating it. If not then, it was certainly during dessert, as we close our eyes on each bite of strawberry tart with pistachio ice cream.

Leaving lunch, in that eclectic and comfortable space, is such a disappointment when thinking about the caverns of the convention center. But we return, for a humbling panel on the future of food for kids. “We need to defend the kids that don’t have access,” says Mrs. Q when speaking of fresh food. I write the statement down and underline it three times.

Robyn and I head to a party at the San Diego Museum of Contemporary Art, eager to see the works on display and have some nibbles. We see no art, and eat no food. Sparklecorn, the official BlogHer party is next, and I force myself to eat a questionable hot dog because I’m starving and they gave me 20 drink tickets to use. We dance for two hours. You can’t say no to ‘80s music.

Saturday morning is a breakfast where we talk about menstruation. I’m not kidding. The breakfast, provided by the Omni, is good. It helps erase the memory of the cold eggs and sausage at the convention center the day before. Most importantly, there is coffee, and it helps me overcome the desire to ditch the convention, buy a swimsuit, and hit the beach. I accept that if the Padres had been in town, the day would have been devoted to baseball.

I make connections. I eat a forgettable lunch at the convention. I tease my husband via text about being able to look at all the new phones. I wonder if the Brazilian pedicab driver from the night before can tote me around the convention center.

Jessi comes through again and sends me recommendations for dinner. Robyn, Gillian, and I only get slightly lost trying to find Craft & Commerce. It’s worth it. The waitress gives me an honest recommendation on drinks, and we eat bacon-wrapped dates that must have sailed in from Atlantis, they’re so good. The caramel corn comes with Marcona almonds and crisped bits of pork belly. The macaroni and cheese might be the best I’ve ever had.

We head to the final BlogHer parties but don’t last long. I’m tired of people and talking and giving out business cards. We squeeze out of the sardine can and I gratefully fall onto the bed. I don’t even bother trying to look up all the people I’ve met that day.

Final morning. Everything fits neatly into my suitcases. I have amassed an astonishing number of packaged snacks. I check out, leave my bags, and head to brunch with Robyn and Kate.

At Searsucker, we accost the poor, adorable busboy (they’re all good-looking here, clearly brought in to match the decor and intended atmosphere) to find out what’s in the butter. “It’s whipped butter,” he says, and we all shake our heads. We’ve been tasting the butter for ten minutes, trying to place the flavor. When our waiter comes by we send him to the kitchen, and he comes back with an answer: whipped sweet cream butter, powdered sugar, and vanilla. We still suspect some level of cream cheese to account for the tang, but we put the staff out of their misery and stop asking questions.

Tucking into our meal, we can’t help but notice how sad the bacon is, especially when it seemed so full of promise on the menu. Something described as “slab o bacon” should be at least bear some resemblance in structure, and not be a few paltry slices in a saucer. Still, Kate’s shrimp and grits was full of flavor, the hash brown potatoes were cooked perfectly, and the company was why we were really there in the first place.

My take on BlogHer? Everything you’ve heard is true. You’ll get out of it what you put into it, for the most part. Skip any “how to” panels unless you’re very green at blogging. Go offsite for food. Surprise yourself in some little way. Don’t be afraid to leave where you are and find some place better. Some place better might mean pinkberry with a friend. And really, who would pass that up?

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The Moment

Megan — Tue, 02 Aug 2011 21:42:02 +0000

Did you just hear a big gust of wind? That was me, exhaling.

Conference recap posts always fill me with dread. So much happens in a span of a few days that the task of qualifying the experience with words is like trying to get your child to eat more than three bites of dinner. (Not that I would ever know about that.)

The thing is, Big Summer Potluck was two days of hanging out. It was more like a retreat than a conference. Yes, we had some people speak, but it wasn’t really about that. Any conference worth its salt knows that the people who connect there are what make it. But most of the other conferences lure with PR panels and swag promises. I went to BSP because Chris and Karen were going. And Brian and Ken. And Aimée and Marisa.

A couple weeks ago I almost backed out of going. I was feeling unsure of and sorry for myself, and I blurted all of it out to Ethan over Twitter. You see, as an introvert, large gatherings are actually very, very hard for me. Although I knew a few people heading into the weekend I was fretting that it would all just go very poorly and I’d have to hide in a corner. Thank goodness for Ethan talking sense into me.

The main thing that happened this weekend? What I’m going to call a Refresh. The sixty of us talked, and listened, and just were. It was like we had all been picked up and the cobwebs in our heads were shaken out. My friends know that I am a cynic. My extreme emotions the past few days since leaving rural Pennsylvania should let give you a clue that I have nothing to be cynical about when it comes to my experience. Even as I write this my heart aching from the knowledge that I won’t be seeing these dear people for quite a long time. Traveling from Texas has its downsides.

I hate to call out more people for fear of forgetting someone I adore. And it’s not that “what happens at BSP stays at BSP” (except maybe that thing with the coffee pot) but its something you had to be there for. Writers and artists have been trying to capture inspiration and love for as long as we’ve had the creative spark. And even looking inside me, mulling the weekend over, all I can do is borrow from a TV show and apply it to my life.

Clear eyes, full heart, can’t lose.

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Small Bites: July 28

Megan — Thu, 28 Jul 2011 18:22:30 +0000

Small Bites is a new series for posts that will highlight some of the goings-on in my life.

* Big Summer Potluck is tomorrow! When tickets went on sale I impulsively bought one even though I was already scheduled for another blogging conference the next weekend. But who can really blame me? This intimate gathering in Pennsylvania will have some of my favorite blogging friends in attendance, including many I have yet to have the pleasure of meeting in person.

* In stark contrast, four days after I return from BSP I’ll be heading to the opposite coast to attend BlogHer. It already seems quite intimidating, considering the activity happening on the hashtag and the volume of e-mails I’ve been getting from brands. I’ve never been to a conference this large, so I’m thankful a few of my friends will also be in attendance to keep me grounded. We’ve also made plans to have brunch at Top Chef cheftestepant Brian Malarkey’s restaurant on Sunday, which will be a great way to remind myself that I’m about food, not getting caught up in brands. (Also, I can’t say Malarkey without giggling, so brunch should be amusing for all.) If you’re going to be at BlogHer, let me know and we can try to meet up among the masses!

* On August 14 I’ll be at the Highball, participating in the Slow Food Austin Quiz Bowl with my teammates Melanie, Kathryn, and Jodi. We’ll be representing the Austin Food Blogger Alliance and hopefully getting a few questions right as we face off against teams representing the best restaurants and grocers in town. Intimidating? Just a tiny bit. But you can come cheer us on! Tickets are $15 each and include nibbles and drinks. This is the annual fundraiser for Slow Food Austin, and it promises to be fun. Get tickets here. If you would like to donate to our team (proceeds go toward a local food charity) head on over here!

* Finally, if you hadn’t heard, I’ve been contributing to Simple Bites for a few months now. If you aren’t familiar with Simple Bites, this is a great time to start reading – we’ll be starting a Canning 101 series soon, in addition to lots of other great posts.

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Cherry

Megan — Wed, 15 Jun 2011 02:47:22 +0000

When was the last time you contemplated the food you were about to eat? More than just noted its existence, but sized it up, examined it, and checked under the hood. We are a nation (and fast become a world) of mindless eaters. For those of us who take pleasure in the weight of a cantaloupe in the hand or the whiff of fresh basil, there are ten more pushing Cheezy Poofs down their gullet as they watch TV.

Many of us forget to notice the beauty in the simplicity of life – after all, most things are more complicated than they appear at first glace. Botany is an amazing field, and if I hadn’t been so enveloped by a cloud of boredom in my math classes I might be a scientist today. No matter, though. It doesn’t take much to look past sweet or salty, vibrant green or dull brown. And maybe science is partly to blame for our food blindness these days.

The cherry is a simple fruit that somehow has devolved into the flavor “red”, only passing through our lips in artificial form or gloppy pie filling. This is a disservice to the little orb. After all, the best cherries can hardly be placed into the category of “red”, instead showing us a depth of color that ranges from bright scarlet to earthy burgundy to the deepest, darkest, sexiest hue that might best be described as the color of sex. Fitting for a cherry.

Cherries enjoy a short flirtation with our local grocery stores, resulting in a flurry of excitement at their bin by those who know the glop is heresy. In true flirt fashion, the cherry is a bit of a mysterious fruit. True, the general flavor has reached ubiquity, but the actual fruit – well, something amazing is hidden beneath that taut skin. Not like a strawberry, where the fruit is so eager to please it keeps its seeds on its sleeve.

Many people lump cherries in with berries, but they are actually stone fruits. This is obvious if you eat as many peaches as we do here in Texas. The flesh of the cherry is not unlike a peach, though firmer and not requiring as many napkins as a fully ripened peach does. The juice that escapes the fruit and your lips gives your fingers a watercolor bruise, and it makes one wonder yet again how this little thing ended up known as “red”.

The old adage states that “life is a bowl full of cherries.” A bowl of beauty, mystery, and sweetness?

Yes, yes it is.

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