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Green Smoothie Recipe

"Try it, you'll like it," my sister Laura urged. She handed me a little plastic container with thick green liquid in it. I opened the lid and sniffed. I've had green drinks before and they all tasted like dirt. I've also subjected myself to about every herbal elixir out there and every single one made me gag. Now if I need some herbs I take them in capsule form. Or I smoke them. (Just kidding on that last part.)  

But Laura's concoction actually smelled good. "It's a green smoothie," Laura said. She took a bendy straw from her purse and handed it to me. (That is so like my sister to think of everything, even the straw.) I took a timid sip. Then another. And I have to say that it was very yummy. Kind of green in a sweet way, with a bit of fruitiness that lingers on the tongue. It tasted more like a treat than a health food drink. And you know how I feel about treats.

"Hey, this is actually good," I told Laura. 

Laura smiled. "I told you so," she said. 

BEHOLD, THE RECIPE.  Note that this is a black and white photograph so as not to scare you too much. This is not the prettiest drink (although as Kayla pointed out, it is a perfect St. Patty's Day beverage--thank you Kayla!), but trust me, you can hardly taste the greens. 

I buy many of the ingredients for my smoothies at All Seasons Market on 700 East and 8800 South. The vegetables at All Seasons are tastier than what you get at a big chain store. The prices are great (99¢ each for a head of spinach, kale or collards), and the customer service is wonderful. Check out my post on February 12, 2009 for more about this amazing local market. 

Here goes:

1. Pour about 1/2 cup water into your blender jar. 

2. Wash some spinach, about two big handfuls of the stuff. Make sure your spinach is brilliant green,not dark and slimy. (Slimy stuff will make your smoothie taste like pond sludge.)

 

Take note: You can buy huge bags of prewashed spinach at Costco, but I have found that the spinach from All Seasons tastes much better. I used to think washing bundled spinach was a chore. However, if you fill a bowl with water and throw the spinach (ends chopped off) into it, the dirt sinks to the bottom. Drain and refill the bowl a couple of times, swishing the spinach a little. Voila! You have clean spinach. 

3. Wash a few leaves of collard greens. Rip off the lettuce-y part from the center rib and stuff the lettuce-y stuff into the blender with the spinach.

4. By now your blender might look really full. That's ok. It will all get chopped to bits and shrink soon. If you are worried about it, give the blender a couple of whirls. I have to stop my blender (from my Universal Bosch machine) and push down the ingredients with a big wooden spoon every so often.

5. Get your kale out. Wash a leaf or two and rip out the rib, keeping the frilly leaves to stuff in the blender. Beware that kale will absorb the toxins from your body and spit them out with nary a thought for your weekend plans. So go easy on it. 

6. Blenderize, baby. Mix it up until all of those greens look like a freaky juice for aliens. Do not drink it yet. You are not done. Now you have to make it taste good. 

7. Chop an apple in half, removing the seeds and stem. Leave the peel on. That's a good source of fiber. Throw all or some of the apple in the blender.

8. Chop a pear in half, removing the seeds and stem. Again, leave the peel on. Throw half or whole of that in the blender.

9. Throw in a banana (or half) if you want. A frozen banana will make it more creamy.

10. Add a handful of frozen or fresh blueberries.

11. Blend, blend, blend. 

12. Drink with a straw so you don't end up with a green mustache, which would be hard to explain.

13. Marvel that something so very good for you can be so delicious. You have just eaten more greens in one drink than most people eat in a week. Pat yourself on the back!

NOTE: This is a lot of fruit, I know. When I feel like my blood sugar is too spikey, I cut down on the fruit, sometimes to just the blueberries. Fiddle around with it until you find a combination that works for you. 

ANOTHER NOTE: This will make a Big Gulp sized smoothie. Some people drink the whole thing for breakfast. Some people drink it through the day in 8 oz. portions. You can also drink a little today and save the rest for tomorrow. It will still taste good.

ONE MORE THING: Don't add peanut butter. I tried that once and it was a big mistake. Yech. And don't try to make it into a soup by omitting the fruit, adding chicken, and warming it on the stove. That was an even bigger mistake.        

When I drink green smoothies my complexion clears and I feel healthier. They will do the same for you! Cheers!

 

Borscht Recipe

As an LDS missionary in the Ukraine, I ate borscht nearly every day for sixteen months, sometimes for three meals, depending on the number of appointments we had with babooshki, our Ukrainian grandmothers. Near the end of my stay, a friend of mine taught me how to make this soup. But as she had made it so many times that she could make it even if struck blind, her measurements were a little sketchy. "Just put a handful of potatoes in," she told me. She chopped some potatoes into cubes and threw them in the pot. Then she thought for a minute and threw some more in. "How much was that?" I asked in a panic. "A cup? Half a cup?"  My friend just laughed. I wrote down Two Luba handfuls on my paper. I just hoped I could remember how big Luba's hands were by the time I got home. 

Luba laughed and talked the entire time she cooked. In the whirlwind of conversation, I lost track of ingredients. So did Luba. I did my best to write down what I remembered seeing her peel, chop and shred. But when I came home and tried to produce an authentic pot of borscht, I couldn't make sense of my paper stained with beet juice, written half in English and half in Russian.

I looked in books and found a few recipes for "Quick Borscht" which called for canned beets and potatoes. That didn't even come close to tasting like what I remembered. Then I had kids and forgot all about borscht for many years and became a connoiseur of macaroni and cheese. Then I stepped into All Seasons Market and saw the beautiful deep purple cabbage and beets that looked like they had just been unearthed from the garden. Suddenly I had to have some borscht.

I called up my friend Christie who had also served a mission in the Ukraine. Luckily, she had a reliable recipe. And, combined with advice from allrecipes.com on the internet, I made a darn good pot of soup. 

One caveat: Every region and person has their own version of this recipe, so you can play with it and come up with your own personalized rendition. It also can be made with or without meat. No matter what, it will warm you up inside and out. 

Another caveat: Use good ingredients. Nearly everything I made my soup with came from All Seasons Market on 8800 South and 700 East in Sandy.

One more thing:

If possible, don't use canned beets. They just don't taste as good as fresh. 

Ukrainian Borscht

I'll be honest with you. You're going to have to chop a lot of vegetables. But once you're done, the soup comes together quickly. Add some good bread and you've got yourself a good winter meal, tonight and tomorrow night. (The second night it's even better!)

2 Liters water (I added more as I went along) You can also throw in a few cans of broth, chicken or vegetable or whatever you have on hand.)

Sausage (optional) (I used a pound of kilbasa sausage made by Colosimo's.) 

Red cabbage (in the summer we always ate Green Borscht made with green cabbage)

3 Carrots

3 Beets

3 medium Potatoes

1 Onion

2 Tomatoes (I used 3 ripe Roma tomatoes or you can use 8 oz diced canned, drained)

5 cloves of garlic

3 teaspoons sugar

salt and pepper to taste

sour cream, for topping

Crumble or slice sausage into a skillet and cook until no longer pink.

Fill a pot with the 2 liters water and set it to boiling. While you're waiting for the water to heat, chop up half a head of purple cabbage in thin slices. (You can shred it if you want, but I prefer nice long pieces of cabbage in my borscht.) When the water's boiling, throw in the cabbage.

Slice or shred your carrots and beets. (I julienned mine--well, at least my own version of julienning, which is to slice on the diagonal and then cut into little sticks.) Saute the carrots and beets in a bit of olive oil.

Thinly slice your onion and saute that as well. (I used a Vidalia, and though regular onions send my stomach into turmoil, the vidalia went down just fine.)

Peel and cube your potatoes. (I used Yukon golds purchased at the farmer's market in the fall from Jensen Farms. They are delicious, and I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that the Jensens don't use pesticides.) 

By now you have a counter covered in vegetables and a house that smells of sausage. The kids have come upstairs and asked, "What's for dinner?" twice already and you've realized that you're getting hungry too. No worries. You're almost done.

Take all of those beautiful vegetables and that aromatic sausage and add it to the pot. You might be thinking the water looks a little too sparse to handle all that stuff you put in. You're probably right. Add more water until it looks like there's enough to cover your ingredients. Bring the whole shebang back to a boil and then turn down the heat to medium or low--just enough to keep the bubbles going but not enough to make everything boil over-- so those vegetables will soften up. 

As the soup cooks, cut up your tomatoes. Mince your garlic. Listen to some music and drink some water. Throw the tomatoes and garlic in the pot. Give the soup a good stir with a big wooden spoon. 

When it looks like the vegetables are ready, toss in 3 teaspoons of sugar, more or less according to your taste. Season with salt and pepper. 

Now, this last part is vital: 

Ladle into bowls and serve with a dollop of sour cream (and don't get that fat free stuff). Stirred into the soup, that sour cream will transform the borscht into a pink bowl of creamy wonder, like so:

I had toyed with the idea of serving the borscht like this:

but that didn't seem right. My favorite memories are of sitting in a Ukrainian kitchen eating this soup, chatting with the cook as she took a large round loaf of brown bread from the bread box and cut it into thick slices. There are few comfort foods I like more than good bread dipped in even better soup. Borscht is not fussy food. It's down home cooking Ukrainian style. 

After the borscht: Of course I had to eat it when I was done photographing it!

  

Princess Di: A Thrifty Tale

1981

I’m nine-years old, wearing a flannel nightgown and staring at the television. It’s around  4 am and the house is so quiet I can turn the volume on the TV down to almost zero and still hear the funny accent of the man babbling on the program. Aside from the glow of the television screen, all the lights are off. I lay on the floor, my head propped up on a squishy pillow, hypnotized. I watch as a shy English girl named Diana walks down miles of red carpet in a real European cathedral. She wears a white satin wedding gown with an impossibly long train that reminds me of a bolt of fabric unrolling behind her, something I had seen many times while shopping at sewing stores with my mother. I picture Diana shopping for her wedding dress material. I hear the steady thump of the bolt of satin unrolling and unrolling with a steady thump, thump, thump, until Diana finally says, “Yes, that will do.”

 

On the television, Diana makes her way toward an old man with big ears, a stringy, sinewy guy that looks like the dud prince in a Disney cartoon. He is Charles, Prince of Wales, and I decide that he hasn’t yet changed from being a frog even though Diana must have kissed him by now. I wish that a more dashing young prince would burst through the church doors on horseback, declaring, “Come, my princess, my love, my reason for being, and we will live happily ever after,” at which point Diana would hop on the horse and ride into the afternoon sun with her real husband-to-be. And on the way out the door, she’d borrow the real prince’s sword and hack off that ridiculously long train. “Goodbye forever, Polliwog,” she’d call over her shoulder to the dud prince standing at the altar. But of course no one else shows up and Diana ends up marrying Charles. No matter, I tell myself, look at how beautiful she is. And just think of all the balls she’ll go to and the dresses she’ll wear, I thought with a sigh. Like all little girls, becoming a princess was a dream come true. Especially a well dressed one.

 

1987

My best friend Danielle and I follow British royalty like some girls followed teen heart throbs. Diana in particular enthralls us with her sophisticated yet shy demeanor. We have watched her grow from a naïve twenty year-old to a gutsy humanitarian who shakes hands with AIDS patients right on television. We follow Diana’s every move through magazines and TV specials about her. Princess Di, as we and the rest of the world start to call her, is more fascinating than any other Royal figure in the bunch.

 

But it isn’t her charity work that holds my interest. It’s her clothes. Princess Diana is a  fashion maven who wears sparkling evening gowns and dances with movie stars—without tripping. She looks good in everything from jeans to dresses. Her hair always looks perfect. She appears to be a real blond. She never gets zits from eating too many French fries. She’s slim and toned. She swims every morning for exercise (or so I read in a magazine). And she is stinking rich. In short, she is everything I am not. And she is everything I want to be.

 

And so I stop eating French fries (though to my annoyance the zits continue). I lose weight. I become slim and toned. I get a job at Hallmark Cards so I can have my own money. I work on my British accent, just in case I move to England some day. I have my hair styled short and feathery, just like Princess Di. But two things soon become apparent: 1. My hair grows too fast to do the Princess Di cut (it looks scraggly after two weeks), and 2. I will never be able to buy a designer gown on minimum wage. At least, not a new designer gown. And that’s when it occurs to me that I could buy nicer clothes if I bought them used. And so begins my adventures in thrift shopping.

 

1990

I’m in London as a student. I live across the park from Kensington Palace, although I’ve yet to catch a glimpse of Princess Di. In the evenings I wash dishes to earn spending money. On the weekends I hand wash a few loads of clothes to save a few more pounds (the money kind, not the body kind). And on Saturdays I shop for used clothing on Portobello Road.

 

One day I’m standing in the middle of a colossal pile of used clothes lying on the street.  I have just pulled on a corduroy skirt over my jeans when I hear Chad, a classmate of mine, call out my name. Chad wears expensive shirts and pants, always immaculately pressed and spotless. He brushes his hair into black shiny waves, trims and combs his beard into neat lines. Chad starts walking toward me and then stops. He looks at me with an expression I can’t quite place. I think he’s just noticed that these are used clothes I’m standing in. Chad looks away like he’s embarrassed, like when you wave to someone you think you know across the street, but when they get closer you realize you don’t know them after all and you’re stuck trying to pretend that you hadn’t waved. I want to hide, but as I’m in surrounded by boxes and clothes strewn across the pavement, there’s nowhere to go. Worse, there is also no way to disguise what I’m doing, which is essentially going through other people’s castoffs. Though I’ve always known I was not well off, at this moment I feel poor. Lesser. Lower. No matter how easy it would be for Chad to slip into and out of my world, it’s not so easy for me to do the same in his. It occurs to me that it probably never will be.

 

I wave with a limp hand and sagging smile. As Chad walks away I slowly take off the skirt, pay the vendor and slunk my way back up the street. Up until this moment I had been proud of my ability to get nice things even when it looked like I couldn’t have afforded them. Most of the time I don’t mind when the other girls on this trip bring home arm loads of new Laura Ashley dresses and leather bags from Italy. No matter, I’d tell myself. I can always buy those things used. But now I feel so tired. Of what, I’m not sure. Perhaps I’m tired of pretending that I can fit in with these kids. I realize that though I have been thrifting for years, this is the first time I’ve been caught at it. I feel exposed. Part of me wants to cry, while the other part of me, the shrinking part, knows that if I do, the effort will take too much out of me. So I do what I’ve done every night for the past three months. I go home to the dormitory, walk through the dining room to the basement kitchen and scrub the dirty dishes of my classmates.

 

Chad and I never mention the incident, though every time I wear the skirt I think of that day. I see him standing far from me, a wedge of sunlight spilling yellow on the street, Chad’s eyes wide and staring. And I see myself, surrounded by a jumble of used clothing, feeling naked even though I’m wearing a beige corduroy skirt over a pair of jeans from Goodwill. I wonder if Prince Charles would have proposed to Diana if he had seen her on Portobello Road trying on someone else’s clothes. Most likely not. He probably would have said, “Egad, Diana, step away from these people and get yourself something new.”

1991

Back home in the States I continue to wash dishes and live frugally. I manage to get back to London for a vacation. I decide that if it enables me to travel, I will thrift until my death, at which point I will specify that my casket be purchased used.  Upon further reflection I decide that a casket is one of those things, like mattresses and underwear, that should always be bought new.

 

 

2009

“If you write about shopping at thrift stores people will think we have to,” my husband complains when I tell him about my idea for this post. He believes in the philosophy that only when you lost your house and your job did you even consider shopping for used clothing. This explains why he looked just like Chad the first time I took him to our church thrift stores, called Deseret Industries, or D.I. for short. As I poked through a jumble of stuff on the shelves he stood behind me, refusing to touch anything, holding his arms close to his sides as if protecting himself from germs. After five minutes of this he declared the shopping trip over and went out to the car. Though I knew in my bones that there were treasures yet to be found, I followed him. Now I go to DI alone or with my sister.

 

But today I’m determined to explore this topic. I shrug my shoulders at my husband. “I’ll make it clear that we could buy everything new,” I say. “I just choose not to.” That seems to pacify him for the moment and he leaves me alone to my writing. He has come a long way from the early days of our marriage. Admittedly so have I. Now my husband has a list of gadgets and books he wants me to look for at D.I. or yard sales. And I’ve learned that you just can’t beat a new pair of running shoes or an occasional new dress.

 

Yet old habits die hard. I’m more likely to look for what I want at D.I. before scouring the mall. I’ve come to enjoy the idea of pre-owned clothing, pre-owned dishes, pre-owned books. Jeans that have already been broken in are far more comfortable than their new, stiff counterparts--not to mention cheaper. If your weight fluctuates like mine, it’s not a big deal to buy something that might not fit in a year’s time when it only costs four dollars. If your kid breaks a thrift store plate on his way to the table, it’s not a big deal. When you realize that whatever we buy could be outgrown, lost, broken, or eventually discarded, thrifting is really recycling at its best.

 

 

When I can’t come up with an ending for this essay, my sister and I go to D.I. in search of inspiration. Strolling through the glass cases where they keep the really valuable stuff, I find an old People magazine with Princess Diana on the cover, wearing a white strapless formal and a diamond tiara. Diana sits hugging her knees and smiling like she has just been laughing with a good friend. As I stare at the magazine, I remember a television interview with Princess Di from 1995 during which she discussed her failing marriage, deep depression, an eating disorder and crummy in-laws. Not once did she mention beautiful clothes. And then I thought of something else. A few months before her death, she auctioned off most of her evening gowns and gave the money to charity. Diana’s life hardly turned out the way I (or she) imagined it would, full of glamour and happiness. Even though she dressed the part well, in the end it didn’t matter what she wore. And now, somewhere in the world, women wear her used gowns to parties of their own.

 

In an instant, I’m back on Portobello Road. Hundreds of people are gathered in front of a boxy building with large windows displaying vintage clothing on faceless mannequins. I spy Chad across the street. I smile at him, looking him solidly in the eye. I’m wearing a huge poufy dress that I bought secondhand with satin shoes dyed to match. Apparently I’m presiding over the grand opening of the London Deseret Industries Thrift Store. Queen Elizabeth places a giant crown on my head and says, her voice booming over the noise, “I declare you Princess DI.” I wave with little circles of my hand. And the crowd goes wild.   

 

 

Running Meditation

I'm a fan of running. But now I'm kind of injured and can't run as far as I'd like, or as often. So today, I revisit my former self, the one who used to run all the time.  Here's a link to an essay published in Runner's World.  Tomorrow I'm posting a long piece about Princess Di. Stay tuned!  

In the meantime, here's the link to the Runner's World piece 

www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-369-374--12329-0,00.html

Enjoy!

A Beautiful Treat

A Classic Pearing

With how simple this is to make, it's easy to indulge in a naturally sweet, delicious treat.

 

Ingredients:

Ripe pear, any variety

Blue cheese

Toasted walnuts

To toast walnuts, throw a handful on a cookie sheet or pie tin and toast in a 350 degree oven until you can smell a comforting, nutty aroma filling the house, usually around 5-7 minutes. (If you keep your nuts in the fridge it could take a little longer.) Careful not to let them burn! You can chop them or leave them whole. It's up to you.

Blue cheese: any variety will do. I buy mine in bulk at Costco, cut the ginormous hunk into little cubes and then freeze in a ziplock baggie. I use a cube or two per pear for this treat.

Slice your pear and arrange it in a nice pattern. Crumble blue cheese on top. Sprinkle with your toasted walnuts. 

Voila! You have a nice sweet snack or light meal. I find that if I eat this for a meal on a regular basis, my pants get looser. Go figure. It's delicious, natural and healthy too! 

Bon Appetit!

Makeover Mama

My friend Annie called while I was making heart pancakes last week. She sounded like she was out of breath. "You can say no if you want to," she said first, which always puts me on guard. I imagined she was going to ask me to do something awful like clean a bathroom. Or make dinner. Or vacuum. Or weed a garden. Or change a tire. Or mop the kitchen floor--or worse--mop the bathroom floors. 

But no. Annie didn't want any of those things. "I just got a makeover!" she said. My guard immediately went down and I loosened my grip on my spatula. I eyed my pancakes, which were turning from a golden yellow to brown. Time to flip. 

"That's cool," I told Annie as I flipped a pancake. The pancake turned with a splat, spilling batter out of the heart cookie cutter I was using. The pancake looked more like a blob than a heart. I resisted the urge to curse.

"So I don't think I'll ever get my makeup like this again, or my hair, and I was wondering if you'd take my picture," Annie bubbled on. I understood. It's like when I used to get my hair done in high school and the stylist could always get my bangs teased way higher than I ever could, even when I used the good Paul Mitchell hairspray. I always wanted to go somewhere to be seen after my appointment. But I never did.

So I took Annie's picture. In about fifteen minutes. As the sun was going down and the wind picked up.  

This is what she looked like. 

Isn't she gorgeous? She had on this swingy skirt that looked highly twirl-able, so we had some fun with that.

AND she accessorized with these:

   

And these cool boots:

   

When she got home, her son didn't notice anything different, even after he was told that she just got this huge head-to-toe makeover. I mean, we're talking about a whole new outfit, completely different hair color and hairstyle, and he didn't notice! 

Contrast this to her daughter, who backed away from her and asked something like, "Who are you?" 

I think we all should get a makeover like this every once in a while. There's nothing like a new outfit and a new do to make you feel like a new woman. Or at least that's what I'm told!

Grandma Love

Who Loves you? Grandma!

Like I said in the Hearty Breakfast post, my mom knows how to make things special. Now that she's a grandma, she has turned her powers towards making things for the grandkids. She's always sending cute holiday things, usually handmade.  She is so creative. (She made me a complete Barbie wardrobe for Christmas one year--and I mean complete.  Jeans. Leather coat. Evening gown. The works.) I think my need for creative expression comes from my mother. Thanks mom! 

Aren't grandmas the best?  We look forward to packages from Grandma in California.  Thanks, Mom.

Valentine's Day Breakfast

A Hearty Breakfast

My mother is famous for making every holiday special. For Valentine's Day she would cut our sandwiches into hearts and serve pink milk with breakfast.  And of course, she'd always add a special note on the napkin. 

This year, I thought I'd try my hand at making heart pancakes, pink milk (add food coloring or buy strawberry mix), heart toast, and Brown Cow brand yogurt (with cream on top!) mixed with raspberry jam.  Oh yes, be sure to add strawberry syrup and strawberries cut into hearts. Your sweethearts will feel extra special with this nifty holiday breakfast.

PS

To save time you could make pink pancake batter and cook as usual. Instead of trying to cook your pancakes in a cookie cutter or one of those special pancake forms, cook as usual and THEN cut with a cookie cutter.  Much easier.  Trust me. 

PPS

You can also make eggs with the cookie cutter shape.

Local Shopping at Its Best

All Seasons Market 

8800 South 700 East, Sandy • 255-9995

The other day I was yearning for an experience food writer Ruth Reichl describes in her book, Garlic and Sapphires: The Secret Life of a Critic in Disguise.  The way Reichl writes about about shopping in New York's neighborhood markets made me want to move there.  And that's saying a lot considering the last time I was in New York City during the late Eighties, the subway terrified me and the city streets were so unkempt and creepy that I vowed never to go back. But the New York City Reichl describes sounds downright homey. The shopkeepers know their customers by name.  They offer fresh produce and local specialties. They suggest recipes to go with the goods. Reichl's shopkeepers care about the quality of their products and their customer service, not just the bottom line.  It reminded me of shopping in Europe at small corner shops and roadside stands, all within walking distance, and all locally owned. 

I finished Reichl's book depressed that I live in a big-box-store city bereft of any unique qualities.  I have gone to Wal-mart and Target in many cities and in every instance completely forgot where I was, which I guess is the point. Same merchandise, same store layout, same design. A Target in San Diego is just like the Target in Sandy, which is just like the Target in Orem. 

Then I happened upon All Seasons Market on 700 East and 8800 South here in my own little corner of Sandy. And suddenly, I found what I was looking for.  

Maybe it's because owner Vito Lema lived in New York City, but somehow stepping into this tiny grocery store made me feel like I live Reichl's world, in a place where the shopkeeper knows my name (he did by the time I left) and even walked my groceries to the car.  The fruits and vegetables were fresh and bright, beautiful to look at and even better to eat.  And the prices! After years of shopping Wal-mart and other grocery chains, I've been duped into thinking they always have the best deals.  Not so. Lema proves that smaller stores can offer quality foods at comparable--and even better--prices.  Take the organic broccoli I bought for 99¢ a pound, an unheard of price for organic, especially in the middle of winter.  Gorgeous red peppers sell for 50¢ (delicious roasted and added to spaghetti sauce or homemade pizza), and lush spinach goes for 99¢ a bunch. And if you like salad, you'll swoon over crisp romaine, red and green leaf lettuces at less than a dollar a head, long lovely stalks of celery and avocados packaged in their own plastic boxes for only 50¢ each. I'm not the most consistent cook in the world, but for some reason beautiful vegetables make me want to spend an entire day cooking. That's why when I shop at All Seasons I get in the mood to whip up salads, roast vegetables and juice some big, sweet carrots. During my most recent visit I developed a craving for borscht, which I haven't made for years. So into my basket went a deep purple head of cabbage, two big sturdy beets and a few onions. Then I spied some asparagus, which reminded me of spring, so I tossed those in my basket. Then collards that made me think of a green smoothie recipe from my sister.  Oh, and some kale to make a soup from my vegetarian cookbook, and an eggplant because I love eggplant Parmesan.  And two ruby red tomatoes that brought back a memory of when my mother visited from California and ordered a sandwich at Subway. When asked if she wanted tomatoes she stared at the pale slices still firm and green on the inside and said, "Ewww. Those won't taste good at all. Don't you know you're supposed to let those things ripen on your windowsill until they get a nice deep red?"  

And the list goes on. It just goes to show you that Vito Lema's store can inspire even the most reluctant of cooks, reminding us of how delightful it is to work with good ingredients. And just as a home cooked meal can nourish our spirit as well as our body, shopping at a charming local market like All Seasons can do the same.  

Lema stocks a good variety of fruits and vegetables at great prices.

____________________________________________________________________________

Have you ever bought a zucchini one day only to have it go moldy on you the next?  That doesn't happen when you shop at All Seasons. "Customers say that my produce lasts longer," Lema tells me as he carries my groceries to the car. As a former produce manager, he knows that bigger stores keep their produce in storage for days before they put it out for the customer. "I don't keep my produce in the back for a week before I put it out," Lema says. "I don't order too much and I put it out right when I get it."  You may not find a mountain of lettuce, half of which is wilted or slimy or rusty at the edges. But you will find a small display, carefully chosen and cared for, that is guaranteed to taste as good as it looks. 

 

Kiwis, asparagus, locally made tamales, and avocados priced right.

Karen is a regular at All Seasons Market."I try to buy all of my produce from Vito," she says. "I can get almost everything I need right here." That's my plan too.  I like the small town feel of the place--and the novelty of enjoying a conversation with a real live person at check out, not a machine. How many self check-outs will carry your groceries for you or throw in a lolly pop for the kids?  

Though Lema orders from other suppliers in the winter, in the summer he grows his own produce organically on land behind the store. 

          

 All Seasons Market also carries a large selection of locally        produced bread, milk, cheese, apple cider, and Colosimo's  sausage. Lema also makes sandwiches to order.  Call ahead and  he'll have it ready by the time you get there.

All Seasons Market is worth the trip! Not that it's much of a trip.  Located on 700 East and 8800 South, it's a mere five minutes from the big box stores.  But careful! If you drive too fast, you might pass it, not to mention the sign on top of the building might confuse you. For fifty years a man named Cy owned the place, hence the name. It looks like this:

 

But the current name is actually:

And the front looks like this:

 There's even a road named after Cy. The  market's parking lot is located directly  north of this sign. 

Bon appetit!  

Shop local and eat well!

Heart in Hand

Hearts Day Number 2.  

After a bumpy start, this turned into a good day.  When the snow let up, I went to my new favorite place, All Seasons Market on 700 East in Sandy. Shopping local is way more fun than going to a big box market. For one thing, local businesses treat their customers like friends and their merchandise is usually fresher and tastier, not to mention priced below or equal to the big guys.  I took some pictures at All Seasons (which I will post tomorrow) of gorgeous vegetables and fruits, all the while chatting with the very personable owner, Vito Lema. 

Then it was on to Deseret Industries, which always cheers me up.  Not only can I afford everything, it's just fun to make up histories for the merchandise.  Like today I saw a vintage yellow wool coat, and I thought of the old lady who might have once worn it, pictured her thin white hair piled on her head, sensible brown Nancy Drew loafers on her feet.  I saw her holding a purse the size of Kansas, one of those hard boxy ones with the skinny plastic handle, a giant knob holding it closed.  

And of course, as I walked in a sweet girl with long blond hair greeted me.  "Would you like a cart?" she asked. I said I would and she gently pushed one toward me and smiled.  As I shopped near where she stood, I noticed she was dancing to the music playing through the store, some 70's tune that did have a catchy beat, come to think of it.  She swayed her hips and shook her head side to side, happy in her own little disco of the mind.  In the dressing room, I overheard a woman speaking Spanish and though I don't speak Spanish I did pick up on a few words, enough to know she was saying things like, "Do these pants look ok?  Do they make me look big?  How much do they cost?" She must have had a big pile of clothes to try on because she kept asking these questions over and over.  Somewhere outside the dressing room door a baby cried and I was glad, as I'm always glad, that it wasn't my child screaming.  And I realized then that if I closed my eyes and listened, I could hear the whole world all in one store--the voices of children, mothers, fathers, teenagers, and old ones, the different languages, the broken dishes, the complaints of bored husbands and boyfriends, the kids laughing in the toy aisle, the mothers calling out "Settle down!", the beep of the cash registers, the faint musty smell of an old lady's house, it's all there.  The world in miniature.  

Sure beats the mall. 

PS

The next heart entry will be a page entitled:  Book of Love:  Craig and Jessica Hayward.  Look for it on the left of the blog, under pages.

Heart to Heart

I'm in the mood for Valentine's Day, aren't you?  Ok, so our Valentine celebrations aren't the most romantic.  We don't go to a fancy restaurant and eat dinner by candlelight.  Nor are we going to attend a Valentine's dance.  (As my friend Annie says, if it came between choosing bamboo shoots under his fingernails or going to a dance, her husband would have a hard time deciding. "I know exactly what you mean," I said in response, gesturing towards my husband.)  

That said, I do love Valentine decorations, especially hearts.  So I've decided to work on a little project this week.  One picture or more each day of hearts or the idea of love.  If you have any suggestions or if you have any heart stuff you'd like to bring to my house to be photographed, give me a ring or an email.  Or if you know a person who likes to get fully decked out in hearts, I'll take her picture.  Or if you've baked something heart-shaped, bring it over and I'll take a picture.  Or if you know two people who are crazy in love, I'll take their picture.  This is my idea of a Valentine's party.  Come celebrate with me!

    

  

Flowers in the Snow

I'm tired of winter.  This picture I shot of an amaryllis reminds me that it will be over soon.

Granola Bars

This recipe comes from Recipes from the Old Mill.  I altered it for those of us who can't tolerate too much wheat.  

1/3 cup brown sugar

2/3 c. crunchy peanut butter

3/4 c. honey

2 T hot water

2 tsp vanilla

2 1/2 c. rolled oats

1 c whole wheat flour (or spelt flour or white flour)

1/4 c wheat germ (or 2 T. ground flax seed)

1/2 c sunflower seeds or nuts (I like chopped almonds or pecans or a mix)

1 T. sesame seeds

1 c. chocolate chips

1/2 c. raisins or other dried fruit, chopped up into little bits

1/2 c. coconut (optional)

1.  Mix brown sugar, peanut butter, honey, water, and vanilla until well blended.

2. Stir in rolled oats, whole wheat flour, wheat germ, sunflower and sesame seeds, chips, raisins and coconut.

3. Press mixture into a greased 9x13 pan.

4. Bake at 350 for 15-20 minutes or until lightly browned.  Cut into bars while still warm.  

Yummy!

Heart Cupcakes

As Valentine's Day is around the corner, I rummaged through my books and pantry to find a good treat to make.  During a mega case-lot sale in October, I bought tons of yellow cake mix, assuming that my husband and sons would request yellow cake with chocolate frosting for their birthdays, a Hayward family tradition that can be traced back generations in the family food genealogy.  But they surprised me and asked for decadent raspberry chocolate cake (I've posted the recipe on this blog) instead.  "Box cakes just don't taste as good," my husband said.  And he's right.  But when the mood for cake strikes and time is tight, boxes work just fine. 

 

So with all those mixes and a craving for a treat, yesterday I decided to try something I'd read in a book called The Tightwad Gazette by Amy Dacyzyn.  This idea comes from a Gazette reader by the name of Nancy.  Nancy suggested using a marble to create heart shaped cupcakes that look like this:

© Susan Hayward Photography

Isn't that cute?  Using Nancy's idea, I'll show you how to make these.  With four dozen of these puppies under my belt, I can give you some pointers on what to do. (And what not to do!)

After you've made your batter, take a cupcake liner and fill it half way.  DO NOT FILL IT TO THE TOP. Trust me, if you fill it to the top you will not get the heart shape, just a blob.  AND TRY NOT TO SPILL BATTER DOWN THE SIDE OF THE CUP or you will be sorry.  I'll tell you why in just a minute.  I filled the liners in my hand before placing them in the pan to avoid spilling so much.  Place a small marble (not a shooter) in each cup, then place the half-filled liner in the pan, arranging the marble between the pan and the liner like this:

© Susan Hayward Photography

If you spill batter down the side it will bake around the marble and you won't get a nice clean heart indentation in the middle and it will look like someone gouged the side with her thumb.  Once you dig out the marble from the cake, you will end up ripping the top and creating an imperfect dip in the middle.  And that, my friends, would not be the Martha Stewart way, which is to make things practically perfect in every way.  Of course, if your philosophy is like mine, you reach a point when you just want to get things done, and if you end up with marbles attached to your cupcakes, no biggie. They will still taste better than the horrible supermarket bakery cupcakes  and any rough edges can be camouflaged with frosting reasonably well.    

Get the marble all the way down to the bottom of the pan, not resting on the edge of the cupcake liner.  The farther down you get your marble and the more careful you are to fill your cups half way or even less, the better the heart shape you will get.  Bake these as you would normally, without altering the time.  Oh, and make sure you use glass marbles.  The plastic marbles from that old Hungry Hungry Hippo game will melt!!

© Susan Hayward Photography

While the cupcakes bake, make your

frosting

I have found that if you add a bit of homemade frosting to a mix cake you can almost fool people that the whole thing is homemade.  I know that food manufacturers have led thousands of us to believe that a can of frosting is the way to go, but I'm here to tell you that canned frosting tastes kind of funny.  At first bite, it's good.  Then you realize the color's off a bit and there's a chemical lurking in there somewhere.  And you can't taste butter.  Please do not use shortening in frosting.  Just don't. Shortening is hydrogenated oil.  It is not butter.  And don't use margerine.  Use butter.  Not butter flavored margerine.  BUTTER.

I didn't have milk, so I substituted cream instead.  And it turned out just fine--although I could have used more butter!

2-3 cups powdered sugar

6 (or more) tablespoons butter at room temperature

5 tablespoons whole milk, or cream, or evaporated milk

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Mix it all together.  If your powdered sugar is kind of lumpy, stir it with a whisk for a minute before you add everything else.

I like to put my frosting in a decorating bag with a large-ish tip to frost cupcakes.  First I make an outline of the cupcake, then a few squiggles in the middle, and finally smooth it all out with a small icing spatula.  This method makes a clean edge and a creamy smooth middle.  When I've tried to apply frosting with a knife, it comes out looking choppy.  It also helps to keep a glass of hot water nearby to dip your spatula into every so often to keep it clean and to soften the frosting as you apply it.  You can add sprinkles or leave the tops naked.  

Bon Appetit!

© Susan Hayward Photography