Living With Poetry | Burning Your Fingers

Living With Poetry is an occasional series where we explore how poetry infuses our everyday lives. Catch up with past features here. Interested in sharing your own story about how poetry inspires you (in the kitchen or otherwise)? Contact me.

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The day after my birthday, our little pup Emma wasn't feeling well, and we decided to take her to the vet on Saturday morning. Walk-ins began at 7:30 am, so we woke early, got dressed (translation: I threw on yoga pants and a hoodie), and wiped the sleep from our eyes. It turned out she was just fine. Whatever bug she had went through her system (I'm convinced she swallowed a piece of her chew toy), and with her energy back, we decided to treat ourselves to a croissant at a new bakery in our neighborhood.

Chaumont Bakery is a little Parisian-style spot serving simple egg dishes, sandwiches, and French breakfast items like a baguette with butter and jam. We sipped on tea and coffee, pulled flaky layers of our croissants apart, and talked the morning away. It was a perky start to the day.

Around 11 am, we had watched a few episodes of Parks & Recreation and were feeling almost hungry for lunch, so I decided to make a frittata.

As any cook will tell you, sometimes things burn. I have a scar on my left forearm from an oil splatter, a faded scar on my hand from something I can't remember, and now, a bruised ego and a glossy finger from reaching for a hot pan.

If I pull a cast iron skillet out of the oven, I always cover the handle with a towel to remind myself (and anyone else nearby), that it's hot. But I forgot my own rule, and wanting to transfer the frittata to a cutting board, turned from the sink and picked up the pan with my right hand while setting a wooden spoon down with the other. It took all of two seconds for my body to register the heat, and I quickly ran my hand under cold water in the sink. I proceeded to hold an ice cube for the rest of the day.

All in all, my middle finger survived. The burn wasn't serious, and after the skin glossed over for a day or two, the pain went away and my finger is back to normal now. But incidents like this remind me that cooking plays an ever-evolving role in our lives, and just when we think we've got something covered, we're surprised. 

That same day I was browsing through Elizabeth Bishop's Collected Poems again. I still had the book by my bed from reading it the day before, and I landed on her poem "Going to the Bakery," written when she was living in Brazil. It reminded me of our morning, the quietness and hopefulness of it all. 

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"The bakery lights are dim. Beneath
our rationed electricity, 

the round cakes look about to faint--
each turns up a glazed white eye.
The gooey tarts are red and sore.
Buy, buy, what shall I buy?" 

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Chive Frittata

8 eggs
¼ cup grated Parmesan cheese
¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes 
Salt and freshly ground pepper
2 tablespoons butter
Salt and pepper
1 bunch of chives, minced

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Whisk the eggs, Parmesan, red pepper flakes, and a pinch of salt and pepper in a medium bowl. Melt butter in an oven-proof sauté pan.  then gently pour the wet ingredients over the butter. Scatter the chives over the eggs and cook for just 1-2 minutes, then transfer it to the oven for 15-18 minutes, or until the frittata has puffed and is just cooked through. (If it's slightly underdone, best to take it out and let the residual heat finish cooking the eggs. There's nothing worse than an overcooked frittata.) Using a towel or kitchen mit, carefully slide the frittata to a cutting board to slice and serve.

Why a Three-Day Distraction Cleanse Will Jump-Start Your Writing

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Today I'm guest posting over at Positive Writer, and I have some tips on jump-starting your next writing project. Here's a sneak peek! 

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I don’t have time.

Have you ever used this excuse to avoid pursuing a writing project?

We live in a distracting world, and can easily get off track despite our good intentions. As relaxing as it might be, we don't need to watch the latest singing competition. As tempting as it is, we don't need to check our Facebook feed to see pictures from our high school best friend's summer vacation. Distractions simply pull us away from the real work of writing.

Instead of confronting our distractions head on, we lie to ourselves. I don't have time. We blame our lack of writing on other obligations. I have to go see a movie this weekend. I have to meet my co-workers for a drink tonight.

These are merely choices we make. We often choose mindlessness over creativity, and although that’s fine once in a while or after a rough day at work, if making excuses becomes a habit, we’ll never carve out time to write.

To read the rest of this post, visit Positive Writer. 

"Cooking for One" by Jake Young + Spaghetti with Garlic and Anchovies

On the rare occasion I find myself alone for dinner, I usually reach for one of the two ingredients that my husband finds most unappealing: anchovies and sardines. I'll happily eat sardines on toast for dinner. It's even better with smashed avocado or summer tomato slices dusted with Maldon salt. I'll make a ferocious caesar salad, adding more anchovies than when we're eating together. But there's also something else I love to eat alone, and it involves a heavy hand with garlic. 

My instinct for any pantry meal, cooking-for-one meal, or dinner that I don't have to think about is almost always a variation of pasta. For this Italian, it's part of my bloodstream. Rather than fight it, my stomach tells me to give in, simmer garlic in a pan, smash the anchovies, squeeze the lemon, grate the Parmesan, and enjoy every bite. 

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Cooking for One

by Jake Young

I crush the garlic with the flat of the blade, 
drive the heel of the knife 
down in rapid strokes.

Garlic dropped in olive oil hisses, 
the kitchen 
pungent with the scent. 

I down my drink, chew the ice. 
A barred owl calls me to the open door 
where streetlamps

lluminate waxy leaves. Who-who, 
who cooks for you? she asks,
the garlic burning in the pan. 

Reprinted with permission from the author. Check out Jake's wine blog, True Terroir.

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What strikes me most about this poem is it captures so well the intensity of being alone in your kitchen. Sometimes the kitchen is bustling with little ones or friends, or you're just not having an inspired moment. It's command central, not a retreat. You're just cooking to get something on the table, not to soothe your soul. But there are nights, especially when I'm alone, that cooking can truly inspire.

We are fully present in the first two stanzas, listening to the stroke of the knife and the triumphant hiss of the garlic and oil simmering. We're living moment to moment, savoring what it means to take one ingredient and transform it into a gratifying meal.

The owl in these lines is an honest touch, and makes the poem quite relatable. It's honest because we're all guilty of talking to ourselves (or a bird, or the dog), when we're the only people in the house. It's ok to nod you head here. These are the moments that we can connect with cooking again and remember why it burns our soul like garlic in a pan.

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SPAGHETTI WITH GARLIC AND ANCHOVIES

I know it doesn't look like much (beige on beige never does), but this is one of those dishes that tastes infinitely better than it photographs. At first glance, it's simply a bowl of slippery noodles, but the spaghetti is drenched in a salty, herb-laced sauce that you'll just have to take my word for.

I find the use of anchovies to be a very personal decision, so use an amount you're comfortable with. If you're unsure, start with less. You can always add more. I've also taken quite a liking to grating my garlic so it infuses better with the oil. It also avoids the problem of biting directly into a piece. 

Serves 1 very generously, or two, less so

Exra-virgin olive oil
2 garlic cloves, grated
4 anchovies
Pinch crushed red pepper flakes
1/4 cup lightly packed parsley, chopped
Squeeze of lemon
Parmesan cheese
6 to 8 ounces spaghetti

Bring a large pot of water to a boil and salt it generously. While you wait patiently for the water to heat up, warm a few tablespoons of extra-virgin olive oil in a pan over medium low heat. Add the garlic, anchovies, and crushed red pepper. After a few minutes, give the anchovies a nudge with your wooden spoon, and you'll find that they'll start to dissolve completely into the oil. Let everything simmer for a few minutes more, until the anchovies are completely dissolved. This is a good time to add a pinch of salt. Then toss in the parsley, a good squeeze of lemon, and a handful of Parmesan (which has a nice thickening effect on the sauce). 

Once the water is boiling, toss in your pasta and let it cook for about 6 minutes. Drain, but reserve some of the cooking liquid. Place the spaghetti back into its cooking pot, and pour the garlicky oil over the top. Pour a small amount of the cooking liquid, too, and turn the pan up to high. Let the spaghetti finish cooking in the sauce, and while it's doing so, give it a taste to see if it needs any more salt. I also add another sprinkle of Parmesan, too. When the pasta is perfectly al dente, turn off the heat and swirl some into a bowl.