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Beet Week Day 5 – Let’s Spice it Up

хрін (khrin)

In Ukraine, this spicy sweet condiment or salad called khrin (хрін) is a traditional Easter dish, but it is known and used throughout the world under a variety of names and for a variety of purposes.   In the US, it is commonly referred to as Red <Beet> Horseradish and its bright pink color makes it an interesting addition to more typical condiments.

Ingredients

  • 2-4 stalks of fresh horseradish, grated
  • 1-2 raw beets, peeled and grated

Procedure

  • Peel and grate raw beets. Let them sit for a little while and then squeeze the juice out.
  • Grate the horseradish and put into a bowl (note: the grating of the horseradish releases an enzyme that creates its spiciness.  As the grated horseradish sits,  it will become spicier – to a point – however if left too long, it will lose that pungent flavor and become bitter).
  • Add the beet juice to the horseradish and mix (note: adding the beet juice counteracts the enzyme and stops the spiciness from perpetuating.  Additionally, the beets add a sweet flavor which further mellows the horseradish)

Khrin is a delicious accompaniment to any sort of cooked or cured meat.

On that spicy note – Happy adventures in Ukrainian cooking-with-beets! Leave a comment if you have other favorite beet-related or Ukrainian recipes.

Смачного (smachnoho)!  ~Tammela~

Other names this (or a similar horseradish) dish is known by:

Central and Eastern Europe – khreyn or keen.

Poland  – ofchrzan

Czech Republic – křen 

Lithuania – krienai

Russia – хренkhren 

Hungary - torma

Romania – hrean

Bulgaria – хрян,khryan

 Slovakia – chren


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Beet Week Day 4 – Cupcakes

If You Can’t Stand the Beet, Get Out of the Kitchen

I know what you’re thinking…beet cupcakes?! Sounds pretty crazy, huh? For a beet hater like myself, I’ll openly admit to my skepticism. To me, beets are sickeningly sweet, but when they’re baked into pretty little treats, they can actually taste amazing!

You’ve probably passed beets in the supermarket without giving them the time of day and I can’t really blame you, but what you might not know is that beets are actually an incredibly healthy food – super foods in their own right. Joining garlic, green tea and flaxseed, beets can help prevent cancer. They have no trans fat, no saturated fat, are low in calories, and are a great source of iron.

The perfect beet is hard to come by; it should be deep red with roots extending from the bulb. Crisp greens are also a good indicator that your beets are fresh. You’re going to cut these off for your cupcakes (trust me, I tried it, they’re disgusting in cupcake batter and frosting batter.)

Follow the steps to make beet puree  from the beet margarita recipe (Beet Week Day 3). In a nutshell, you’ll be roasting 3-4 beets wrapped in foil at 400 degrees for about 45 minutes. Unwrap, run under cold water and peel the skins off…they come off extremely easily.

Cut the beets into quarters (maybe smaller depending on the size of your beets), and put them in the food processor or blender.

3-4 beets will yield about a cup of beet puree. Set this aside.

Here’s your Beet Cupcake Recipe:

½ C Sugar

1 ½ C Flour

2 tsp Baking Powder

½ C Butter (1 stick)
2 eggs

½ C Milk

2 tsp Vanilla

1 C Beet Puree

Depending on how big your cupcake pan is, this recipe creates about 12 cupcakes.

First, combine the dry ingredients in a bowl (sugar, flour, baking powder). Cream the butter in a mixer; if you don’t have access to a mixer, soften the butter in the microwave for 10 seconds and use a spoon to soften it up for your cake batter.

Whisk your eggs in a separate bowl and add the milk and vanilla to it. Slowly add the dry mix to the wet mix and stir continually.

Once your batter is nice and creamy, fold (mix) in the beet puree.

Use a ladle or spoon to portion your batter into your cupcake pan and bake at 350 for 25 minutes.

And remember, a cupcake is nothing without frosting.

Vanilla Cream Cheese Frosting recipe:

½ C Butter (1 stick)

8 oz Cream Cheese (1 package)

1 C Powdered Sugar

2 tsp Vanilla

Cream the butter and cream cheese together in a mixer until malleable. Add the powdered sugar in SLOWLY; you don’t want it to splash back in your face. Finally, add in the vanilla and let the mixer go for 30 seconds or so. It sometimes helps if you take a rubber spatula and scrape down the sides so all of the deliciousness is contained.

I realize not everyone has pastry bags to pipe out their frosting (I’m lucky; my mom’s a chef!) Be resourceful though…plastic freezer bags can act as pastry bags. Put the icing in the bag using a rubber spatula.

Zip the plastic bag shut and squeeze the frosting down to one end. Hold the bag in a diamond shape so one of the tips is pointing down like this:

…and snip the tip off! Once your cupcakes are cooled, you can make them look pretty.

I bought all of my beets from local farmer’s markets. You might have one near you too! If you’ve never been to a farmer’s market, it’s a really cool place where you can buy fresh fruit, vegetables, and other goods to support your local farms.  As an added bonus, the  produce is usually much cheaper and fresher at farmer’s markets.  In Cleveland, (as in other places – see below* for a sampling) you can find them listed on one site: localfoodcleveland.org.

Enjoy your beet cupcakes! Please comment with pictures of your own cupcakes or other beet concoctions (:

-Rebecca-

*Many states, regions and cities have sites listing farmers markets- here are a few examples.

California

New York City

Chicago

Denver

Minneapolis/St. Paul

 

ps – during our experimentation with different recipes, we also tried these cupcakes with a canned chocolate frosting.  We found this to be a respectable (and tasty) alternative.

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Beet Week Day 3 – Happy Hour

BEET MARGARITA – SO WORTH A TRY!

We first discovered this margarita at Light Bistro  in the trendy Ohio City  in Cleveland, Ohio.  There were two of us – one a beet lover and one – well – not so much.  The consensus?  DELICIOUS!  Sweet and Tangy and smooth as could be.  This could be a game changer for folks who’ve always hated beets.

Beet Margarita Recipe

1.5 oz Tequilla (they used Jose Cuervo – but we love Leyenda del Milagro Select Barrel Reserve Silver)

.5 oz Triple Sec

1 oz Roses Lime Juice

.5 oz Lemon Juice (increase/decrease lime and lemon juice to taste)

.5 oz Roasted Beet Puree (see recipe below)

Mix ingredients in a shaker with ice and pour directly into a martini glass.

Note:  Other recipes call for orange juice, cilantro syrup, muddled oranges and agave nectar.  Some use a salted rim and some a sugared rim.  Some serve the margarita in a traditional glass over ice.   Be brave – be bold – be beetiful!

Roasted Beet Puree

Preaheat oven to 400 degrees

Using Fresh Beets:

Remove greens (cut them off close to the beet)

Wash beets to remove any loose dirt

Wrap each beet in foil and place in 400 degree oven

Cook beets for 45 minutes

Remove the foil wrapped beets and let them cool to the touch by running them under cold water.  Skin should peel off easily.

Discard skins and use a food processor or blender to puree the beets (as smooth as you can get them).

If you are adverse to beets, be sure to use cheese cloth or a chinois strainer to drain juice and avoid beet particles in your cocktail.  If you’re a beet lover, you might enjoy the little bit of thickness from the puree, especially if you are pouring your margarita over ice.

Follow recipe above and mix, pour and drink.  BEETlicious!

 

 

 

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Beet Week – Day 2 “Salat” Recipes

The BEET goes on in Tammela’s Ukraine kitchen…

As you all may know by now, I’ve been living in Ukraine as a Peace Corps Volunteer since September 2010 and thus have had plenty of time to taste – and sometimes cook – many traditional Ukrainian dishes. A lot of these dishes include the staple (mainly root) vegetables that grow so easily and abundantly here in eastern Europe: potatoes, carrots, onions, cabbage, and beets. It is amazing how many different combinations and variations one can create from just these five vegetables.

Most people are quite familiar and comfortable with cooking and eating potatoes, carrots, onions and even cabbage. But I have found that beets challenge and puzzle many cooks. They are a funny shape, have a thicker skin than potatoes or carrots, and are (usually) a deep red-purple color that stains almost everything it touches.

How the heck does one cook and eat a beet?

That is what I am here to tell you!

I developed a passion for beets several summers ago while shopping at farmer’s markets in the States. That first summer I experimented with beet preparation: I roasted, boiled, and sautéed beets, sometimes alone and sometimes with other root vegetables. Some dishes turned out well and some failed. Living in Ukraine for the past year and a half has expanded my how-to-prepare-beets horizons.  Following your introduction to Borscht, I shall now introduce you to some other classic Ukrainian dishes that feature beets.

These beet-sporting Ukrainian dishes, which are often made for holiday meals but are equally as good for regular consumption include salat vinehret (салат вінегрет), one of my favorite salads; and salat shuba (салат шуба; shuba means “fur coat”), which is a bit of an acquired taste.

Hope you enjoy!

Tammela

 салат вінегрет (salat vinehret) 

The vegetable proportions are generally about equal, but feel free to add more or less of anything, to your taste.

Ingredients

  • 1-3 small-medium potatoes, peeled
  • 1-2 medium beets
  • 1-2 medium carrots
  • 1-2 medium dill pickles (preferable homemade ones), diced
  • 1 medium onion, diced
  • Oil, to taste
  • Salt and pepper, to taste

Procedure

  • Boil whole potatoes, beets, and carrots until cooked through. The beets will take the longest to cook – 45-60 minutes – so put them in first.
  • Meanwhile, dice the pickles and onion and put them in a big bowl.
  • When the root vegetables are cooked, peel the beets and carrots and let cool. When they are cool enough, dice the potatoes, beets, and carrots.
  • Add diced root vegetables to the bowl and season with your preferred amount of oil, salt, and pepper. Mix, and enjoy!

 

салат шуба (salat shuba)

If you are a mayonnaise lover, you can add it in between every layer. But if you’re like me and are slightly mayo-averse, feel free to only add it to the top layer.

Ingredients

  • 1-3 small-medium potatoes, peeled
  • 1-2 medium beets
  • 1-3 medium carrots
  • 1-2 cups pickled herring, diced
  • Mayonnaise, to taste

Procedure

  • Boil whole potatoes, beets, and carrots until cooked through. The beets will take the longest to cook – 45-60 minutes – so put them in first.
  • Meanwhile, dice the herring and spread it out on a large shallow platter.
  • When the root vegetables are cooked, peel the beets and carrots and let cool. When they are cool enough, grate the potatoes, beets, and carrots but keep them separate.
  • Spread the grated potatoes over the herring, smoothing them into a nice, flat layer.
  • Spread the grated carrots over the potato layer.
  • Spread the grated beets on top of the carrots. Add a couple of tablespoons of mayonnaise and spread it around evenly, letting it mix a little with the beets.
  • This salad looks beautiful when served in clean-cut slices that reveal the colorful layers.
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Beet Week – Day 1 Ukrainian Style

Adventures in Ukrainian Cuisine: Beets

I have been living in Ukraine as a Peace Corps Volunteer since September 2010 and thus have had plenty of time to taste – and sometimes cook – many traditional Ukrainian dishes. A lot of these dishes include the staple (mainly root) vegetables that grow so easily and abundantly here in eastern Europe: potatoes, carrots, onions, cabbage, and beets.

I have found that beets are the biggest challenge. They are a funny shape, have a thicker skin than potatoes or carrots, and are (usually) a deep red-purple color that stains almost everything it touches. Living in Ukraine for the past year and a half has expanded my how-to-prepare-beets horizons.

Even if you know nothing about Ukraine or eastern Europe, you have probably heard of borscht, beet soup (or stew, as I prefer less water-to-vegetables ratio). Borscht is healthy, offering many nutrients and antioxidants and protein in its meat and/or beans.

There are two main kinds of borscht: green borscht and red borscht. As far as I can tell, the main difference between the two is the green borscht’s lack of beets and slightly different ingredient set (additions to green borscht include preserved young cabbage, dill, and hard-boiled egg). Red borscht is what probably comes to mind when a non-Eastern European thinks of borscht: that rich, reddish-purple soup set off by a dollop of bright white sour cream.

It’s important to note that every borscht is different. Every Ukrainian has her own recipe and it rarely turns out the same twice. Borscht gets better with age; third-day reheated borscht is, by far, the tastiest.

Український Борщ (Ukrainian Borscht), Tammela’s Version

Ingredients:

  • Meat of choice (I used two chicken drumsticks), or beans, or no protein at all
  • 2 medium onions, sliced thinly
  • 3-4 small-medium potatoes, peeled and diced
  • 1 large carrot, peeled and grated
  • 1 large or 2 small-medium beets, peeled and grated
  • 1-2 small-medium tomatoes, grated or chopped
  • 1-2 tbsp tomato paste (depending on how tomatoey you want your borscht to be)
  • ½ head of green cabbage, sliced thinly
  • Oil (Ukrainians use sunflower oil, but canola/vegetable oil would work fine)
  • Salt and pepper, to taste
  • Fresh dill, chopped
  • Optional: bunch of green onions, chopped
  • For serving: dollop of sour cream; hunk of brown bread; peeled raw garlic clove(s)

Procedure:

  • Bring water with meat to a boil, and simmer until it’s mostly cooked (cooking time will depend on the kind of meat you use; chicken cooks fast)Partway through, add the sliced onion to the water.
  • When meat is mostly cooked, add diced potatoes and keep simmering until potatoes are cooked, 10-20 minutes.
  • Meanwhile, grate the carrot, beet, and tomato, and sauté for a few minutes in a pan with some oil.
  • Add sautéed vegetables to the pot and throw in the cabbage, too.
  • Salt and pepper to taste, stir in some tomato paste, add the dill and/or green onions, and let simmer for as long as you like.
  • Serve borscht with a dollop of sour cream (сметана, smetana), a hunk of brown bread (чорний хліб, chornyy khlib), and (if you’re really brave) a clove or two of peeled raw garlic.

If you are not up for trying your hand at borscht, there are a few other beet-sporting Ukrainian dishes, which are often made for holiday meals but are equally as good for regular consumption.  You can check them out here over the next few days as BEET WEEK continues!

~Tammela~

Ready for more delightful beet recipes from the Ukraine?  Click here

Martin Examines Hops

Foraging For Hops

Sadly, I’m not a big beer drinker.  And I say sadly, because I seem to be surrounded by people who really know and love their beer.  My sister’s fiancé, Joel, is a brewer at the one and only Great Lakes Brewing Company, and my good friend, co-filmmaker, and current roommate, Alex, is experienced in the art of home brewing- he even took an online course.  So between them it is as if I’ve been adopted into beer culture.

For the most part this has worked out well enough. They’ve been able to get past my comments such as “I think my favorite beer is Coors Ice- Coors Light poured over a big glass of ice,” and I’ve been able to ignore their Indiana Jones like reactions in beer shops to a rare “one of a kind” find.  But this weekend a connection was made – I have now become a beer “forager.”

It all started a few years ago- Alex had discovered wild hops growing near Colorado Springs.  He had seen it for a few years and after many smell tests found when it would be most ripe for harvest.  It just happened to coincide with this past Saturday, so Alex, Maddy (Alex’s girlfriend), Dan (another beer advocate) and I hopped into the car.

We arrived at a familiar running spot, and started hiking up the road keeping our eyes peeled for what I perceived to be these “illusive” hops.  On the way, I found my eyes (and mind) wandering away from the task at hand, to the crags and rock walls along the path, wondering which I could climb.  I pointed an especially nasty looking one out to Dan, (an experienced climber) wondering if I’d be able to attempt the route while being securely roped up.  Reading my mind he declared: “That’s about the limit of what I’d do without a rope!”  Instantly I was in disbelief and awe for it was 100 feet of near vertical and overhanging rock. We continued on, me pondering Dan’s skill level and the rest of the group searching for the still undiscovered hops.

The trip was not without treasures. We did stumble upon a rare squirrel that looked like a cross between a bunny and the devil.  We photographed the demon and moved on.

Throughout the search, I was completely ignorant to what hops looked like and imagined us gathering long stalks of brown wispy wheat-like plants.   Our prospects weren’t looking too good until finally Alex spotted the “elusive” hop.

I could not have been more surprised.  Rather than brown, tall and thin, it grows as a vine and has little buds ranging from ½ to 1 inch long.  We smelled them and were mildly impressed but moved on to see if there were more.

BOOM- we found the bumper crop.  A small pine tree was covered in them.

This bunch smelled different and we all went back and forth, on which we liked more.  In the end we gathered half a plastic bag full of both varieties and headed to the home brew store.

 

 

And despite the excitement of our find, I was still pondering Dan’s declaration about the rock climb, so before we reached the car I convinced Dan to try and “free solo” (climb unroped) his peak, except that I was horrified when he actually took up my challenge and started up.  I thought my stupid dare was about to lead to the witness of my friend falling onto the sharp rocks below.  Luckily, fear or reality got the better of him and he decided ascending in sandals sans rope was not the best plan.

The adventure continued as we drove way out east of the mountains to the plains.  The homebrew store was a combination of a warehouse and bar.  Across the street was a strip club.  We entered the store and Alex and Dan rummaged around, selecting their special ingredients (malted barley extract, yeast) and tools (tubing, buckets). Alex and Dan already had much of the gear but after two batches of last year’s brew had resulted in explosions, Alex wanted new tubing to prevent another round of infection, which he speculated might have been caused by wild yeast entering the beer.

The owner rung us up and delighted in informing us that tax was only 4.7% – we were out of the city now where tax was 9.8%!

“Gotta love being right on the border” he joked.  “But the winter was a drag, snow plow didn’t even plow the street.”

“But you gotta love that tax,” I told him, “hell, I bet you’ll put the plow on your truck and make your own path.”

He gave a hearty laugh, it appeared I hit the nail on the head.  (I wondered if he had a deal with the strip club guy).

Fast-forward to the next day and our cottage was transformed into what could easily be mistaken for a meth lab.  Tubes, and buckets everywhere with a big vat of wort (beer before it has fermented) on the stove.

 

The smell was… interesting, but it grew on me and over all the hops smelled great.

Alex and Maddy did most of the actual brewing, while I hung around on the sidelines, watching in wonder.  Now, after all the excitement and activity, for once I can honestly say that I’ve never been so excited to crack open a beer.  I’ll let you know how it goes in 4 weeks!

~Martin~

 

Tri biking

Crazy – Part 2: Race Day

Trying a Triathlon, Part 2: Race Day

(Cont’d from Part 1) The morning of the race was clear and cool. Since it was August, the race started at a pleasant 8 AM. I was up at 4:45, already chugging water to stay hydrated. The night before, a friend had helped me clean up my bike, greased the gears and pedals, pumped up the tires, even adjusted the stem. Its beautiful drop-down handlebars were freshly wrapped. I felt like a jockey before a big race, patting my trusty mount.

When I arrived at the race area, I got my race number (25! A good, solid number, I told myself) written in black permanent marker on my arm, thigh and shin, so I could be identified both in the water and on land. I quickly realized I never wanted to wash that number off again. I jogged around to warm up, shakily swigging water, my stomach fluttering.

As one of the younger participants in the race, I was in the first wave of swimmers. About fifty other women and I lined up on the beach in our red swim caps (“free” race swag!). The gun went off. And so did we!

Swimming in a pool is one thing. Swimming in a lake surrounded by bodies while being kicked in the face is another.

Months earlier, when some of my female coworkers heard I was doing an all-women’s triathlon, they thought it was so neat. “Oh, it’ll just be so nice, having other women there to support you as you go along,” they told me over our microwaved lunches. I nodded politely. It was nice, wasn’t it?

That was not the attitude I decided to take. I’d dropped nearly half a grand to get to this race. I wasn’t here to hold hands and braid each other’s hair, thankyouverymuch. Anytime someone kicked me, I pushed back, jostling for space, and, as people began to feel the swim halfway in, I began picking off the enemy, one by one.

With a final stroke, the swim portion was done. We lurched out onto the sand, ran past the lines of screaming fans (screaming, I tell you!), and up into the Transition Area.

The Transition Area in a triathlon is hallowed ground. Only tri participants can go in or out; spectators are banned. Each racer is assigned to one lane, and that lane consists of a metal sawhorse of sorts, on which you prop your bike, and a very small area near to it, where you put your shoes and socks, towel, and water bottle. Transitions between the races count toward your total time, so the name of the game is speed. I’d practiced transitioning a bit in my backyard, aware of how silly I must look to the neighbor cats who watched me from their window perches, and now was my moment. I ran in, dropped my goggles and cap, shakily got on my socks and shoes, threw on my helmet and away I went. Transition 1, done.

Next was the bike portion. This was by far the biggest part of the race at 15 miles in length. I let Ol’ Blue stretch out her legs and we were off.

The bike portion was along the Mississippi River, on both the Minneapolis and St. Paul sides. Since I lived nearby, I’d spent many Sundays biking the course and beyond.  My main concern for this part of the race was the no-drafting rule. Drafting is when you follow closely behind a biker, using that person’s slipstream to your advantage. There was a strict no-drafting rule, which meant you had to stay a minimum of three bike lengths behind a biker. If you wanted to pass, you must do so in 15 seconds or risk a time penalty.

I’m not sure how seriously the rest of the women interrupted this rule, but for me that meant that, if I were at all able to, I needed to pass anyone in front of me as quickly as I could, every time I saw her, or risk breaking the rules, something I’ve been afraid to do basically since birth. Midway into the bike race and my legs were shaking. Perhaps I’d gone a bit too hard. Perhaps this rule wasn’t meant to harm me.

“It doesn’t matter!” I egged myself on, sipping my Gatorade-water mixture to help me through.

The second half of the bike race proved to be a bit harder than the first half, mostly because the wind had picked up. Dramatically. We made it over the bridge near the Transition Area all but wobbling on our bikes in the gusts. I dismounted and ran my bike over to my lane. Propping my bike up on the sawhorse and throwing down my helmet, I jogged off in a minute flat. Transition 2, done. Now only 5k left to go!

There is a phrase in triathlon-speak called “bricking.” Bricking happens when you get off your bike and try running immediately afterward. It feels, appropriately, like your thighs are made of heavy bricks. Try (tri!) as you might, you can barely lift them. I’d practiced doing this, too, some that summer, but my quads were screaming from the bike race as I started out around the lake.

“Go go go!” my fans shouted at me. I lugged my body along, wind whipping my hair.

I was a mile in to the five kilometers when my shoe came untied. I ignored it. I was hardcore. I was a racer. I was doing a triathlon. A little untied shoe was not enough to make me stop!

A half a mile later and it was all I could do to keep running. It wasn’t that I was feeling sick or tired, at least not so tired that I couldn’t continue. It was that I had never had to pee so badly. Ever. All that hydration, all morning, all during the bike portion, and at each transition…all of it had backfired, big time. I willed myself to just…go…as I kept running. My shorts were black; no one would notice! And I could just jump in the lake right afterward. No big deal! But, like rule-breaking, peeing on command has never been something I’ve been good at. I was doomed. It was all I could think of, with a mile and a half left into my race, the race I’d been training for for months, when I should be thinking about picking it up, picking off people one by one, as the minutes clicked away on my time. All I could think of instead was…water.

I rounded a curve in the path. A water stop was up ahead. I was definitely not interested. But just beyond it…What was that there? Could it be…? Yes! A port-a-potty! I was saved!

And yet: Should I risk my victory for this pit stop? Was I such a fool? I looked around. The race was so spread out it was impossible to tell who was my competition and who had started minutes after me (the swim waves were staggered) and was therefore so far ahead of me, time-wise, that there was no way I’d beat them.

I stopped at the port-a potty, anything for some relief. An older couple out on a morning walk had stopped just ahead of me. I bounced around impatiently as the woman used the toilet. Breaking all rules of Midwestern propriety, I pleaded to the gentleman to let me go before him.

“I’m running a race,” I explained, pointing unnecessarily at my race number. “And I really have to go!” I hopped from foot to foot.

He rather begrudgingly agreed to let me cut, and, once his wife eased her way out of the stall, I bolted in. I relieved myself, tied my shoe, and, liters lighter, zoomed off after my opponents.

A mile left. My feet pounded on the pavement.

Then half a mile.  My lungs ached. Now was my time to go, this was it. This was it. I rallied, willing my legs to turn over faster. They shouted in protest, reminding me of the fifteen miles I’d just biked, and all a bit quicker than they’d been promised.

A third of a mile.

I could see the finish. Just around a curve, down the stretch, and I’d be there.

A quarter of a mile.

There were other women ahead of me, exhausted from the morning, like me. We could all just jog in together, nice and easy…

300 meters.

“Now!” said a voice in my head. “Now’s your time! Think of all the workouts, all the sweat, all the pain it’s taken to get here. Now go go GO!”

200 meters.

I lifted up my head, picked up my legs and pumped my arms down the last stretch. And when I crossed that finish line, I became, officially, a triathlete.

I can’t wait to do another one.

~Megan~

Megan has just returned stateside after a year of living and teaching in China.  Any guesses whether there’s a Triathlon in her future?

The symbol for triathlon in the Olympics

You Don’t Have To Be Crazy But…

Trying a Triathlon: Part 1: Preparation and Training

The symbol for triathlon in the Olympics

I decided to start training for a triathlon in my rather dusty office cubicle in February of 2010. My office was in St. Paul, MN, at a public university, where I worked as an Americorps VISTA volunteer, helping expand the nursing programs to increase healthcare access to low-income patients, including setting up a community clinic. That last venture had completely stalled in contract negotiations with the local community center, and, since it was to be the vast majority of my job, I was bored. Underutilized, and bored. Left to my own devices, I spent a lot of time trolling the Internet, looking for random healthcare funding (that my school inevitably didn’t qualify for) and reading articles about healthcare on the New York Times webpage (that’s work, right?).

I needed direction, in or outside of the office, it didn’t matter. Having graduated from college the previous spring, 2010 was the first time in my life that I didn’t have any direction, didn’t have a clear syllabus with assignments carefully outlined. I found I missed it.

Since my cardiovascular-heavy semester in Eastern Europe (See Running 5 Polish Miles), I’d maintained an okay workout regimen of five days a week running, biking or swimming. Yet I just didn’t feel any spark in any of my workouts. I’d slog off a handful of miles on a treadmill or sweat away on a stationary bike while watching re-runs of Top Chef at the gym after work, then shower up and go eat dinner. Who cared.

And then it struck me: Since I was already running, biking and swimming, why not combine all three? Swim + bike + run = A triathlon! Hey! That was something!

I began cruising the Internet with a purpose. The length of these races was incredibly daunting at first, even the so-called “sprint tris,” which quickly became the only ones I was looking at. Sure, I could run 5 km or bike 15 miles or swim however many laps but combined? Um…

The second thing that concerned me was the price. Triathlons are no picnic to organize, I’m sure. They have to block off roads and beaches and parking lots. They have to hire lifeguards, police officers, and medical teams, and all the myriad of other things that goes into planning not one, but three races. And all that costs money, honey. As was quickly obvious by the registration fee for most of the tris I was finding: between $75 and $125. For one (three-in-one) race. Oi.

Let’s pause here for a moment to review a few facts. 1) I’m a recent college grad (two words: student. loans.) 2) In 2010, our country was—and still is today—recovering from the greatest economic recession we’ve had in years. 3) At the time, I was an Americorps volunteer. This last point is the most important, because Americorps volunteers get paid a very measly living stipend…a figure that puts them at the poverty line of wherever they’re serving…a figure so small I qualified for (and used) food stamps (A fact I always thought my alma mater probably wouldn’t be too eager to include in their latest admissions brochure: “Come to our college! When you graduate, you can get on food stamps only a few months later!”). Basically, it boiled down to $100 for a registration fee being a bit nuts for my monthly budget.

I sat on the idea.

Work stalled. Working out stalled.

Spring rolled around. I couldn’t take it anymore. Encouraged by my boss, a recent fitness convert (Don’t you love when someone can so utterly transform their lives, right in front of your eyes over the course of one short year? That was my boss during my year of Americorps service.), I looked up triathlon races again. The price had gone up.

I looked at my bank account balance, bit my lip, and went for it. A few minutes later, the confirmation email swept into my inbox. I was officially signed up for the YWCA Minneapolis Women’s Triathlon  on August 15, 2010.

The spring and early summer went by in a blur. Suddenly bent with purpose, I increased my workouts to six days a week. I ran around a track in blistering heat, swam between buoys at the lake nearby, and biked for miles on my old purple mountain bike, which dated all the way back to my junior high years.  I felt awesome! I was training for something! I was an athlete!  And yet…

That bike was going to be a problem. In all of my visions of triathlon glory, of me flying through the water like Michael Phelps and peddling the course at, like, 500 miles an hour, and leading the pack—no, breaking ahead of the pack!—during the road race, the bike was not in them. Its clunky gears, its thick and gawky wheels, its upright handlebars, its too-small frame…none of them were synonymous with my sure victory.

It had to go. Now bikes, as many of you may already know (and as I did not at the time), are really expensive. What’re a few gears and some rubber tires doing costing hundreds upon hundreds of dollars? I ask you. New bike, out. Used bike, in! I found one, a women’s Schwinn road bike that’s probably older than I am, at a used bike store in south St. Paul. I broke up with my purple mountain bike on the spot, and biked the blue one home.

Next stop, race day!

~Megan~

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Hey, Chickpea

Another dive into my pantry this winter has uncovered my favorite bean: the garbanzo, otherwise known as the chickpea. In Italian, the word for this little member of the pea family is ceci pronounced “che-chi”. “Garbanzo” comes from the Spanish calavance or garvance. Why a simple pea has so many different names is beyond me, but needless to say it’s delicious.

Traveling to Crete this past spring on a high-speed ferry, I sat in a stiff chair with a blazing three-aspirin headache, wondering if I was going to make it to the island before I started feeling like the Cyclops from the Odyssey. Fortunately the ferry arrived to the island in the same time it took the aspirin to do its job. Getting off the boat, I stumbled onto solid land at the Irakclio dock in woozy post-headache relief, just as the sun melted behind a line of dark blue Cretan mountains into a pool of neon pink. 

Walking onto the street with my giant pack, I was greeted by a street vendor who’d stacked bunches of brilliant green stalks atop milk cartons beside his cart. Walking closer, I discovered that the stalks were in fact in the pea family, and that this vendor was selling fresh chick peas on the stem.

I suppose there should be a unique category of euphoria for discovering the tastiness of something fresh and raw that previously you’ve only known as cooked or dried. Imagine only knowing a raisin and then discovering a grape. Or only eating prunes until someone presents you with a plump, ripe plum.

Upon discovering the fresh chickpea, whose flavor has even more depth and richness than an ordinary fresh garden pea, I thought to myself: “why aren’t we eating these all the time?”  The answer being that it’s a lot of work to shell these little guys. After buying a bunch of stalks from the vendor for 1 Euro, I headed to a youth hostel with my friend and traveling companion, Tamara, and the two of us sat on our beds and shelled and ate chick peas for close to an hour. It was like eating candy. The fuzzy pods contained generally one or two chickpeas, and sometimes squeezing them to extract the peas would make them fly out of their pod across the room. The peas were bright green and firm and would’ve been delicious in a rice salad with sun-dried tomatoes and olives. But alas, we were at the mercy of traveling and when we’d found all the peas we could, we looked around at the mess of empty pods and leaves on the beds and realized we were still hungry. Despite their divine sweetness and crunchy texture, a bunch of raw chickpeas doesn’t make a dinner.

But a bunch of dried chickpea does. When you’re not on the island of Crete but rather navigating your way through a cold, snowy winter, chickpeas can either be bought dry by the bag like other beans, or pre-soaked by the can. Buying them by the bag is certainly more economical, but it takes the foresight to soak them overnight.  Still, some things are worth the foresight, and it’s a lot easier than shelling them from the pod.

The versatility of this pea is astounding. Chickpeas can be added to stews or baked on a cookie sheet as a snack or pureed into a spicy soup or combined with tahini to make hummus. Its richness and cooling character make it a wonderful base for herbs and spices, which is why it can be found as an ingredient in a variety of cultural dishes from Italy to India.

One of the most delicious recipes I’ve found for chickpeas is an Italian style salad that makes a great dish to bring to a dinner party or alternatively, makes an easy lunch to bring to work. This recipe is very flexible, so if you want to add other veggies or olives or spices, go for it. The dressing is carefully crafted though, and worth the measurements.  If you have fresh herbs, all the better, but I’ve listed amounts for dried ones since it’s wintertime.

Don’t use dried parsley though if you can help it. Fresh parsley is readily available and makes all the difference. Store it like fresh flowers  in a vase and it will stay fresh for two weeks.  Annie suggests serving this with grilled eggplant and big, flat croutons. Yum!

-Claire-

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Chick-pea and Sun-dried Tomato Salad

Adapted from Annie Somerville’s Fields of Greens
Bantam, 2003

 Serves 4-6

 1 1/2 cups dried chickpeas, about 9 oz soaked overnight

1 bay leaf

1/2 tsp dried sage

1/2 tsp dried oregano

1/2 tsp dried red pepper flakes

1/2 cup frozen or freeze-dried green peas

1/2 small red onion, diced about 1/2 cup

Champagne vinegar

1/4 cup red wine vinegar

1 garlic clove, finely chopped

Salt and pepper

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

2 sundried tomatoes packed in oil, drained and diced about 1/4 cup

2 tablespoons chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

Drain and rinse the chickpeas, place in a large saucepan and cover generously with water. Add herbs and bring to a simmer. Cook for 50-60 minutes.

Meanwhile bring a small pot of water to a boil, add the onion, and cook for 15 seconds. Drain and toss with a splash of Champagne or white balsamic vinegar. Combine the red wine vinegar, garlic, 3/4 tsp salt and few pinches of pepper in a bowl. Gradually whisk in the oil.

When the chickpeas are tender, add the green peas and cook for 1-2 minutes more. Drain, then toss immediately with the vinaigrette, onion, and sun-dried tomatoes. Marinate for an hour, toss in the parsley, and serve.

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<3 At First Bite

 

“Just made brownies.” 

This fb post set off a string of comments (not to mention a couple dozen “Likes”)

–Mmmmmmm.

–YUMMY!

–On my way over…

–Wish I were there

–Need to make some NOW too!

–WOOT!

— <3

So what is it about brownies that make them so evocative?  Let’s start with the smell.   If you’ve ever baked brownies (or been in the kitchen of someone who has) the aroma is unmistakable and almost universally appreciated.  That sweet smell of cocoa lingers in your mind long after the last brownie has been gobbled up.  In fact, the smell is so appealing that in some ways, it surpasses the actual brownies themselves! (in some ways!)

Then there is texture and style.  Brownies can be cakelike or chewy!  They can be loaded with nuts, m&m’s, caramels, marshmallows, coconut, chocolate chips, toffee, butterscotch and/or vanilla morsels, to name a few.  They can be served frosted, double frosted, powdered sugared or straight from the pan.

And they can be dressed up or down, depending on the occasion.

Take Valentine’s Day.  Brownies are a perfect alternative to the traditional box of chocolates.

Why?  Because they are delicious and because presumably, someone went out of their way to make them. 

Ironically, it doesn’t take an expert baker to produce good brownies.  The best advice for novices – buy a box mix!  Pillsbury, Duncan Hines and Betty Crocker haven’t spent decades perfecting their recipes for nothing!   A couple of eggs, half cup of oil, quarter cup of water – good to go.  How easy is that?

Their recipes are so fool proof that even accidentally switching the measurements for oil and water still yielded tasty (not to mention low fat) brownies! (hey – not necessarily recommending it – just sayin’!)

Load them up with goodies; suddenly they become “gourmet.”  Decorate them with colorful candies, like hearts for Valentine’s Day, and voila – instant holiday fare.  Get creative: avant garde artiste.   Few foods offer so much opportunity for this kind of freedom and still come out delicious.

Given the assignment to “bring something to share” to a party or picnic, brownies are a sure winner!  Unlike cookies, they are quick and easy to make – throw them in a pan and bake for half hour and you’re done.  And unlike their close cousin – cake – they are easy to eat. They don’t require silverware, leave many crumbs, or make fingers sticky. Even if several other people show up with brownies in hand, by the end of the night, no one is taking them home.  Plus they don’t spoil, so if by some chance they are left over after sitting out for hours, that’s just a bonus because they only get better with age (at least for the first few days after they’re baked).

That’s not to say  they can’t be served formally.  Decorate them in the pan and throw on a few candles; you’ve got a birthday cake!  Add a scoop of ice cream, a spoonful of hot fudge, caramel and/or chocolate sauce and a dollop of whipped cream, toss on a few slivered almonds and you have now created a gourmet dessert worthy of the finest restaurants.   Talk about versatile!

-Nancy-

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