Pretty, pretty peppers

It's been so long since Ben and I made these awesome vegan stuffed peppers that I can't even remember the ingredients. Aren't those peppers gorgeous, though? You can even see the absolutely wonderful reduction Ben made with it.

Acrylic, pastel, and Photoshop

Lunch in a box: more bentos

If you're not really into the art of packing a beautiful lunch in
an Americanized Japanese-style lunchbox (but really, who isn't?!),
let me assure you that it is not as time-consuming as you probably
think. I make batches of cold salads and other nutritious things
that can be enjoyed cold or at room temperature (the containers
are microwavable, but we don't generally bother with that), and
just throw them into the bento boxes the night before. No big.
Oh, and I freeze a few cupcakes or cookies every time I bake;
those are perfect for lunch, and are always thawed and yummy
by lunchtime. Below, a few recent lunches.















Above: couscous-spinach salad, miniature chocolate cupcakes, half a kiwi, and Thai summer rolls with spicy peanut sauce. While preparing this lunch, I ate the other half of the fruit and discovered the hard way* that I am suddenly allergic to kiwi. Having eaten kiwi hundreds of times in my life, I was more than a little surprised when my throat began to constrict and I couldn't swallow without pain or, due to the sudden heaviness of my chest, lie down. Weird, right? And my mouth was painfully tingly, but that I could have lived with. People can suddenly develop allergies for no discernible reason; I'm just glad mine is not an allergy to, say, dark chocolate or mashed potatoes.

* and perhaps the only way.















Above: Couscous salad, pistachio cake, half a kiwi (this lunch was actually from before the awakening of the new allergy), and homemade orange hummus with carrot sticks.














Above: green salad with oil and vinegar, a chocolate chip muffin, oven-baked sweet potato fries, and couscous salad with green peas.















Above: fresh veggies, homemade hummus, a mini-cupcake, some walnuts, and pasta salad with red wine vinaigrette.

P.S. More bentos here and here, or click the blue "bento" label below for MORE BENTOS THAN YOU EVER NEED TO SEE!!!!!

Supping on tofu

Lately I've been really sweet on tofu cutlets, a variety of which is shown here with sweet potato homefries and a big helping of cauliflower and broccoli. Ben and I prepare our cutlets in a few different ways: baked or sautéed, and either breaded or unbreaded. The delicious cuties shown here were breaded (that is, dredged in a flour/cornmeal/nutritional yeast/salt/pepper/basil/oregano/cayenne mixture), then sautéed. If we have any nuts on hand, a tablespoon of ground almonds or pecans in the flour mixture adds special flavor and texture.

If I bake the tofu cutlets instead of sautéeing on the stovetop, I tend to go unbreaded. I just slice up the tofu and place it in a large Pyrex with a whisked-together mixture of olive oil, soy sauce, sesame oil, Sriracha, a bit of water, and whatever spices I'm feeling. It bakes at 350 degrees, covered, for 20-30 minutes, then uncovered until the edges dry out just a bit.

These are also lovely with mashed potatoes and mushroom gravy, and a side of fresh spinach cooked down with a bit of garlic, olive oil, Balsamic vinegar, and salt.

On Edna and "Love Is Not All"

A recording of the poet reading this poem moved me to tears (twice) today. If you can get your mitts on volume one of A Century of Recorded Poetry (try the library... as if you hadn't thought of that already), do it. The recording of this poem is nicely sandwiched between some Marianne Moore and a bit of e. e. cummings. Reading the sonnet, which you are perhaps about to do, is quite nice--but listening to Millay read it will bring tears to your eyes.

Love Is Not All
Edna St. Vincent Millay

Love is not all; it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain,
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink,
And rise and sink, and rise and sink again;
Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want, past resolution's power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.