tuscan romance

Despite the title, I was going it alone. 

When I first got the gift certificates for my birthday, it never crossed my mind that I would be going to these cooking classes by myself. But as the hour approached, I couldn't shake the mental image of me sitting at a prep counter with several other couples on date nights, engaging in awkward conversation and getting the typical pity jobs in the kitchen. "Greg, while Chris and Amanda are caramelizing the top of this creme brulee, will you hand me a spoon?"

Thank God it didn't turn out that way. There were 11 of us in the class: a few middle-aged foodie couples,  two pairs of girlfriends taking the class for fun, and me to round out the group. I talked some with the couple at my table, and the conversation came surprisingly easy. We talked about the food at first, but then branched out to hobbies, family, life, dreams...

Ultimately, though, it was about the food. Each table took a course and our chef-instructor--Corie Martin, owner and chef of Pink Lady Catering--prepared the side dishes. She was wonderful, answering all of our questions, having fun, and even offering to send some of her other recipes to us. I would highly recommend her. Four stars.

The place was great, too. The Cook's Station hosted the class, and we were able to use all of their best equipment: subzero freezers, commercial gas ranges, convection ovens. It made me want to renovate a kitchen (with someone else's money, of course). This was one of my favorite pieces, though:

Breville mixer with digital timer. It's super fast, super quiet, and about the same price as a Kitchenaid. 

So here's what we actually fixed and ate, including photos of the recipes and instructions we received as part of the class (if you can read my handwriting, I also took notes):

I forgot to take pictures until after we had already had the appetizer and I had finished the entree. But here's what's left of the steak and root vegetables.

This was our table's creation: Dome cake (zuccotto) with chocolate ganache.

The outer shell is made of brownie, and the inside is two different flavored frozen whipped creams

Plated. Beautiful!

The food itself was unreal. And it seemed so easy to prepare! I walked away thinking, "I could fix this entire meal for the family and not go crazy trying to pull it off." For me, that's success. 

I think next time, though, I'll trade in my two remaining classes and get two spots in one class so Suzy can join me. That way, we can caramelize creme brulee while somebody else gets a spoon.

it's compost time?

It's compost time!

...I hope.

I've been thinking about starting to compost for a while. I remember my grandfather had a compost pile near his garden in the backyard, and we'd carry out leftover foods and scraps after meals. At Wadmalaw (see last post) I was the compost champ, diligently emptying the bowl once or twice a day. As one of our hosts, Trenholm, put it, "Isn't it cool to think that you're returning it to the Mother?"

...And it is. By composting, I participate in the natural cycle of death and life, consuming and producing, eating and feeding that which feeds us. There is definitely a spirituality in this process - a deeper recognition of our connection within Creation and with other created Beings.

Apparently, it is a spirituality that Suzy does not share.

When I floated this idea to her in the car, she was...hmmm...shall we say, less-than-enthusiastic? I believe her exact answer was, "Hell no. Look at me. (Remember: I'm driving the car.) Look at me. There is no way in hell you are going to put a big pile of trash in my backyard."

And no matter how much I tried to explain the process of composting, that it wasn't really "trash," and the benefits of composting, she wasn't going to hear of it. 

Maybe I can start a pile without her noticing...

Here's some info on composting.

EPA Flyer on Backyard Composting

Top 10 Composting Tips

How to Start Composting

If you know of other information or resources, or if you have any experience with composting - good or bad - let me know!

wadmalaw

After the end (kind of) of our Lenten journey, we took another journey - a vacation to Wadmalaw Island, South Carolina. 

Wadmalaw is a small, relatively unknown island near Charleston, population of less-than 3000, and the home of America's only working tea plantation and Firefly Sweet Tea Vodka. It's also the filming location of the popular rom-com, Nicholas Sparks' The Notebook.

The house we stayed in was right around the corner from Ryan Gosling's back

The house is the weekend house of our friend Emily's aunt (check out her amazing website here), and it was amazing!

The view from our room

Canoe, marsh, and spanish moss at sunset

The back deck

Seriously...this is what heaven should be like

But the company was even better! We got to spend the week with our friends from divinity school and their spouses (clockwise from Suzy): Stephen, Justin, Chrissy, Emily, and Josh.

But the best part of the week was the food. We spend most mornings drinking French press coffee and slow-cooking breakfast in stages.

One night we decided to do a lowcountry boil, and we all became a sous chef to our head cook, Emily's husband Josh. Josh has worked in "the industry" for a number of years and is now basically the second-in-command for The Comfy Cow, a local (but expanding) small-batch ice cream parlor.

So after we descended on the Piggly Wiggly like a swarm of locusts, we procured the necessary items and got to work. I'll let the pictures tell (most of) the story.

The table was set, including hand-woven fabric centerpiece from "magical" Aunt Susan. Also notice the screened French doors to let in the cool evening breeze. (*sigh*)

Prep work. The oranges were thrown in with the lowcountry boil. Never done this before, but will never NOT do it again. Adds so much flavor!

Mussels for the boil, and greens to saute.

Cooking it up. 

Notice the hushpuppies frying on the right. We had the oil already heated up, so we started frying other stuff: Potatoes. Corn. We even rolled some andouille sausage in hushpuppy batter and dropped it in, resulting in the most delicious corn-dog-esque food EVER! 

(And I feel very confident making that claim.)

 The finished product, complete with sauteed okra. Yum!

Josh even made us homemade cocktail and tartar sauce. They are surprisingly simple, and so much better than anything you can get in a jar. Here are the ingredients, and it is almost every one is simply "to taste."

Tartar Sauce
Mayo
Half white onion, diced
Dill
Ground mustard
Apple cider vinegar
Salt/pepper

Cocktail Sauce

Ketchup

Horseradish

Worcestershire sauce

Hot sauce

Lemon juice

Salt/pepper

We even got to compost our scraps, returning our food to its source (and feeding the crabs).

The last night we were all together, we went into Charleston to see Emily's aunt and uncle at their Charleston-style home. We sat on the porch, talked about life, and drank our house cocktails - pomegranate juice, selzer/tonic, and lime. A refreshing drink, and perfect for a warm afternoon on the porch with friends.

Suzy and our boy on the porch

I really cannot think of a better way to spend a vacation. Relaxing with friends, sharing great conversations about ministry, and taking our time together, making delicious food and sharing life together in the kitchen.

And the best part? We're going to make it a yearly tradition! I can't wait to see what we'll cook up next year...

day forty: (un)finished!

We're finished with our Lenten culinary care! Well, kinda...

The last day of our Lenten practice was a good transition. We helped serve a meal with others from our church at Triune Mercy Center, a non-denominational mission church that ministers to/with the homeless. We met at the church to prep the food (and talk and hang out), then we headed to Triune to serve.

Getting plates ready to serve

The dining room at Triune

We prepared trays of plates in the kitchen, and (and here's the great part) actually served people at their tables. This was no buffet line or take-out. The homeless and hungry of Greenville are able to sit down and be served. 

It was appropriate, then, that many of the people from our church serving were deacons. Diakonos means "one who serves at table." They were living into their title in a very literal way.

After we finished serving, we set up Triune's sanctuary for the multi-church Easter sunrise service the following morning. And as we left, I thought, "Well...we're finished."

But not quite...

The next morning, as I stood outside the sanctuary after the sunrise service and spoke to those who had worshipped, I found myself in a conversation with Eric, who was homeless and had come to the service. There were about 30 people who were going to eat breakfast at Tommy's Country Ham House next door, and I couldn't stop myself from inviting him to eat with us.

I went and sat down, and even then was thinking, "Why did I do this? I just want to have a nice breakfast with my church people, with Suzy and the baby. I just want to have a normal conversation. I'm finished with this Lenten thing...so why did I invite him over?"

I guess I wasn't finished after all. After forty days of practice and discipline, I don't know if I can just "turn it off." 

So I guess these forty days served their purpose. Culinary care has become ingrained in my life and lifestyle. It looks like I will never really be finished. 

Or, to put it another way, I will always be un-finished.

checking In

Sorry I've been MIA. Crazy Easter weekend and then vacation. I'll post day 40 by tomorrow.

day thirty-nine: addendum

This whole idea of God suffering with us and understanding our pain (and us understand God's pain) is powerful.

So here is a sermon and a blog post, both also powerful, on this very topic:

Diana Butler Bass, "Being with Jesus at the Cross," a Good Friday sermon.

Rachel Held Evans, "Women of the Passion, Part 2: Mary's Heart is Pierced (Again)," the Passion from a mother's perspective.

Enjoy!

day thirty-nine: empty

Twenty-four hours without food. 

My last meal was Jesus' last supper, the bread from last night's Maundy Thursday communion service at our church. I wouldn't eat again until after the Good Friday service tonight. Following in ancient Christian tradition, I was fasting on this holy day, allowing myself only water and coffee (and only two cups of coffee at that!).

I'd like to be able to say that when I felt the pangs of hunger, I would pray or read scripture. "Give us this day our daily bread..." or "Man does not live on bread alone..."

I'd like to be able to say that... But I can't. Because truth be told, I spent a large part of the day either pissed off, or thinking about a cheeseburger, or both, wondering why I had decided to do this. I LOVE food. That's one of the reasons I started this blog. So it seemed ridiculous that I would abstain from eating.

To make it even worse, today would be the day that I notice the new Bojangles near our house has opened; the day that I walk into my office to find that a church member has left me chocolate; and the day that I spend the entire afternoon at my in-laws while Suzy's mom makes homemade pizzas for dinner.

My gift from a secret parishioner.
The instrument of Jesus' suffering never tasted so sweet!

Here's what Richard Foster has to say about all this, though: "Anger, bitterness, jealousy, strife, fear - if they are within us, they will surface during fasting" (Celebration of Discipline, 66).

In a sense, that's the purpose of fasting - to expose that which fills us and to empty ourselves of it. I've heard someone say, "The problem with most of us is not that we are empty and need to be filled, but that we are filled and need to be emptied."

If nothing else, I realized today that I can indeed survive a day without automatically reaching for food. Usually when I get hungry, I just go to the vending machine or pantry or fridge or (horrors!) all the way to the grocery store. I'm not used to being empty.

But what about people that can't just get a quick fix? My grandfather used to tell stories about being in college, working two jobs, and sometimes only eating an apple for the entire day. He at least had the option to eat, though. He was just cheap. He wanted to skrimp and save every penny, still wanting to be filled up, just with something other than food. But what about the person who works a day's hard labor and goes to bed hungry, only to do the same the next day? What about the person who can't just open the fridge or stop by the store?

I'm not sure what any of this has to do with culinary care. I didn't really care for anyone today. My fasting did not help someone who was in need or hungry...it just made me hungry. 

But maybe I will now understand more fully and be able to identify better with people who are hungry, because I too have been hungry, because I have shared that experience. It's like the lesson that Gloria Clemente (Rosie Perez) tries to teach her boyfriend, Billy Hoyle (Woody Harrelson) in the 1992 cinema classic, White Men Can't Jump.

Gloria: Honey? My mouth is dry. I'm thirsty.

Billy: (Gets a glass of water) There you go, honey.

Gloria: When I said I was thirsty, it doesn't mean I want a glass of water. 

Billy: It doesn't?

Gloria: You're missing the whole point of me saying I'm thirsty...

...See, if I'm thirsty, I don't want a glass of water. I want you to sympathize. I want you to say, "Gloria, I too know what it feels like to be thirsty. I too have had a dry mouth." I want you to connect with me through sharing and understanding the concept of dry mouthedness.

If I'm going to begin to learn this lesson, it seems appropriate for me to do so on Good Friday, the day when God understands (and can be understood by) people who are suffering, because God shares that experience with us, suffering in Christ crucified...

"...who, though (because?) he was in the form of God...emptied himself...and became obedient to the point of death - even death on a cross." (Phil 2:6-8)

day thirty-eight: daily bread

The bag reads, "Handcrafted every day!"

Our organic grape juice and locally-made artisan bread for communion
(And I realize how pretentious that sounds. There's just no other way to say it.)

It is (quite literally) "daily bread" (Matt 6:11). And this day - Maundy Thursday in the Christian calendar, when Jesus shared his Last Supper with his disciples - it is his body, broken.

Suzy and I were planning on making bread for our church's Maundy Thursday communion service, but when she woke up sick, that plan went out the window. Instead, her mom picked us up two loaves of whole wheat Great Harvest Bread Company, a local business that makes fresh bread every day.

Talk about ordinary communion.
Pre-service, it sits in the staff kitchenette next to the coffeepot, sodas, and sugar packets.

I can't say that this benefitted anyone greatly. In fact, other than the staff of the church, I don't even think anyone knew that Suzy and I provided the elements and that they were fresh, organic, and locally-made.

I rarely (if ever) think about how what I eat impacts someone else. It's me eating it, right? It only really affects me...right?

But how does my buying a sourdough loaf from Publix affect some worker in a factory somewhere that packages that bread? Or if I buy Ocean Spray grape juice cocktail, what does that do to small-business grape farmers who aren't owned by the Ocean Spray corporation?

I know it sounds like a bit of a stretch, but it's true. In many ways what I buy to eat impacts those who sell the food, produce it, and grow it. What I buy to eat even impacts the environment. How foods are grown/produced can be ecologically harmful (i.e. pesticides, growth hormones, greenhouse gas emissions from livestock, etc.) or helpful (i.e. sustainable agriculture).

So as we shared in communion tonight, I thought about everything that went into this bread. There were bakers who made the dough and baked it. There were farmers who cultivated and harvested the wheat. The soil in which the crop grew had to be rich in nutrients. The rain had to fall on the fields, not in excess but not too little, either. The sun had to shine on the young wheat plant, giving its energy for photosynthesis.

Tonight, as we partook of a simple meal - an ordinary communion - I gave thanks for all of these, and for the goodness of God's creation that offers such riches to us.*

The words we so often just gloss over meant a little more today...
"Then he took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them..." (Luke 22:19).

Gratitude and giving, thankfulness and sharing. When we are grateful for the bread we have been given for today, it is easier to share it with others. That's what we do at the Lord's Supper: we give thanks, and we share.

And maybe one day, if we all share our "daily bread" with one another, no one will need to worry about where tomorrow's bread will come from.

*These thoughts came from my reading today of Brian McLaren's Naked Spirituality, chs. 6 and 7.

day thirty-seven: serendipity

A pleasant surprise. A happy accident. One person put it this way: "to look for a needle in a haystack and come out of it with the farmer's daughter." Or maybe going to a vending machine and finding that it's "preloaded" with money.

That was our gift today. The vending machines at St. Francis Eastside Hospital are in a small break room, so I went in, pumped dollar bills in all five machines, took a couple of pictures with my phone, and walked out. The lady eating her sandwich in there must have thought I was crazy.

Today's was a gift of serendipity - finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for; making fortunate discoveries by accident. (The technological equivalent is StumbleUpon.)

I don't know who will get their free Coke or candy bar. I hope it will be a pleasant surprise for someone whose family member is facing a medical crisis. Or maybe it will be a happy accident for a new father who just experienced the birth of a different kind of happy accident. Or perhaps it will be a nurse, tired after a long day, who discovers her Mountain Dew isn't going to cost her $1.25 tonight.

This Lenten journey has been serendipitous for me. I've discovered so much by way of happy accidents and pleasant surprises, even amidst the fatigue, frustrations, and failures. To me, that sounds a lot like God's work in my life and in this world - serendipitous grace.

Then again, could grace be anything other than surprising and still be grace?

day thirty-six: tuesday breakfast

I arrive about 7:25 a.m. and they're already at our usual table, halfway through their first cup. As soon as I sit down our waitress puts the once-white mug in front of me, stained from what must be decades of use. This is no coffeehouse organic fair-trade blend or skinny sugar-free soy cinnamon dolce latte. It's just coffee...black.

This mug is entirely too clean. Clearly this photo is from the internet.

I could order for them: two pancakes with two eggs (scrambled) and bacon for Larry; French toast for Paul; one egg scrambled with ham, grits, and a biscuit for Andy. If Margaret were here, she would have an omelet with sausage patties, no grits. What else could they order? This is Tuesday breakfast.

Ever since I started working at this church, for almost three years, I've held "out-of-office hours" on Tuesday mornings at a local breakfast joint. It's an idea I stole from my advisor and mentor in divinity school, Diane Lipsett. And I'm glad I did. I've gotten to know the 20-or-so people who have come over these three years in a way I couldn't have sitting behind my desk in my office. But I would expect nothing less when we sit down to share a meal together, to share life together.

Tuesday breakfasts not only feed my cholesterol levels and caffeine addiction, they feed my being. It's nice to just talk - no sermon, no lesson, no agenda - just talk. They seem less like parishioners and more like people. I feel less like a minister and more like a human being...just another person, eating bacon and drinking coffee, getting ready to go to work for the day.

How I feel on Sundays at church...priestly.

How I feel on Tuesdays at breakfast...human.

I picked up the check. "I've got it today guys." In other words, thanks for letting me be me and get to know you as you, even if it's just for an hour once a week.

day thirty-five: the homestretch

The straightaway on a track after the last curve, or the final stages of an undertaking, is called the "homestretch," as racers (or whomever) "stretch towards home."

I feel like our Lenten journey has entered the homestretch. We rounded the last turn. We're tired, but the finish line is ahead. We're in the homestretch.

This morning I volunteered at a place that feels like a home to me. I have two summers worth of memories there, walking the halls and working in the food pantry as an intern. And today, two of my former co-workers - Davida and Roz - played babysitter while I volunteered.

The packing list for each bag

The food pantry.
As you can see, there's plenty more room for donations (*cough* Donate food! *cough*)

I was a slow day and Suzy had to stay home this morning (not feeling well), so I only ended up staying for about an hour and a half. While there, I packed paper bags full of food for people in need. Our son, on the other hand, who had gone with me, never had the chance to do much of anything. The entire time he was held, played with, and loved by these two ladies.

Davida and Roz are special to Suzy and me. I told them when I was going to propose. We went by to show them the ring after we were engaged. They even came to our wedding! And now, the newest member of our family is as precious to them as they are to us.

It was a good reminder that I need to "stretch" my imagination of what "home" is. It is not just a building or a place to sleep. It is a community where you are loved and accepted, where you always feel welcomed and safe...and there are many more "homeless" in our world than just those who live on the streets.

Today, "home" for our son was in the arms of two middle-aged black women who work at a non-profit. "Home" for me was in an un-air conditioned room amidst thousands of non-perishable food items.

I know this idea of "home" seems like a stretch...

...it is.

sixth sunday in lent (day thirty-five?)

I know. I missed day thirty-four. But I've been busy...

I preached today, so I spent all week (when I wasn't sick and feeling like crap) preparing a Palm Sunday sermon on Jesus on the donkey entering Jerusalem and the Rider on the white horse from Revelation. Plus Suzy was in a wedding this weekend in Columbia, and we didn't get back in until the wee hours of this morning.

We stayed with our friends Ryan and Amy, who watched our sweet baby boy while we did wedding stuff. Saturday morning I got up early so I could pick up breakfast for the whole crew. I was planning on getting chicken biscuits from Chick-Fil-A...

...but then I saw this:

It's red, and red means "Stop (and get some doughnuts)."

And like a moth to a flame...

I got my chicken biscuits down the road and pulled a U-ey. I whipped the car into the Krispy Kreme lot and got my dozen hot original glazed doughnuts.

Now I don't know what happened between the Krispy Kreme place and Ryan and Amy's house, but somehow we only ended up with eleven doughnuts in our dozen by the time I walked in the door.

Fifth Amendment rights...

I think I blacked out at some point along the way, but I'm pretty sure a cell of terrorist raccoons were plotting an attack to strike fear into the hearts of doughnut enthusiasts everywhere, and my car was the target. Those heartless bastards stole one of my perfectly warm, gooey, melt-in-your-mouth treats.

At least, that sounds like the most plausible explanation that I can think of...

But the four biscuits and eleven doughnuts that did make it to the house were our culinary care for the day. We sat in Amy and Ryan's living room, eating and laughing and talking, nourished by their friendship much more than the heart-disease-and-diabetes-breakfast-of-champions were consumed.

In fact, they even did a little culinary care of their own: feeding our baby boy while we were at wedding events. I'll leave you with a picture Amy texted us while we were at the rehearsal dinner:

"He just dominated some sweet potatoes!"