Seasoning with Silence

I have begun to think of silence as a seasoning - one that has a depth that infuses my soul  with Holy Presence and changes how I taste life. I can’t always define this ‘taste‘, that je ne sais quoi, but I feel it there and I long for it to my life hold an essence flavours actions and thoughts.  Those herbs or spices we add give us a beautiful flavour that we may not be able to identify but we know there is something hidden revealing a unique and even extraordinary presence.   While silence, the place of being still, at first may seem to have little connection to seasonings that release their flavours into food in the cooking process, for me they are inexplicably connected.   My heart longs for the deep places of silence where I “feel” the tangible presence of the Almighty,  my God who sees, knows and speaks to my deep longings.   My passion for cooking has me constantly searching for new ways to take an ordinary dish and let it become something grander through the addition of herbs and spices. 

Seasonings can be tricky ingredients - if you add too much it is overpowering.  Should you not add enough you may have a meal that is insipid, bland and unpalatable.   With most seasonings you add them in the initial cooking process so they infuse into the food and their flavour is expanded.   As flavours blend and meld together they become something more than what they would be on their own, and there is a richness to the flavours that come together.

There is that exquisite moment of silence at communion as I wait for that Holy moment when I receive the bread, am still, and then receive the wine.   It is a powerful potent life giving silence where we each partake of this sacred feast and in partaking of it we purpose within us once again to live, and love, as Jesus showed us.  I think it is a bit like adding precious strands of saffron and a pinch of turmeric to rice that will become the fragrant and vibrantly coloured bed upon which tender chicken pieces, spicy pungent chorizo sausage, salmon, prawns and mussels are combined to be my version of paella.  Paella symbolizes abundance, where this is enough for all at the table but we each must choose to partake of it and join in this ritual of eating together and finding life. The fine strands of saffron are highly flavourful and yet, by weight, they are one of the most costly spices, being harvested by hand, in the quiet of the day.  The moment of powerful inner silence waiting for communion, or the richly colourful and aromatic strands of saffron; both add a deep intense fragrance.   Seasonings such as cumin, curry blends, cardamom, or chilli, infuse colour and flavour and a glimpse of the exotic as they become one with  the foods to which they are added.

Silence can, and does, become a unique, even essential ingredient that moves my life more deeply into the space that gives a rich kind of aroma that feeds, nurtures, and transforms the inner part of us.   Those spaces within us where we let go and sink into the silence that changes the way  we view life, taste it,  feel it, mysteriously begin to ‘know’ how it flows and then trust the One who makes those spaces full of beauty. 

Benedictine monk, David Steindl Rast writes“Each one of us is called to become  that great song that comes out of the silence, and the more we let ourselves down into that great silence, the more we become capable of singing that great song.”

Silence has not always been my friend, just as it is not a welcoming friend to many of us.   Silence that isolates, humiliates and  can result in the destruction of another, is like a bitter herb, like seasonings that do not draw flavours together.   There are the spaces of creativity that go silent, and pieces of our heart retreat.   They may not be life giving spaces or they may be places of waiting and resting where the quiet inner work within us continues.  I am deeply grateful for those who have helped open spaces that have encouraged me to experience the sweetness of silence, a sweetness that has exchanged bitterness for gentle tender places that hold silence as a Holy place.   It becomes a place where our lament came become that great song that Steindl Rast writes of.

From a cooking point of view one could compare the exchanges to the sourness of the taste of lemon and yet if you finely grate some lemon rind, and add a touch of lemon juice into certain dishes, it will result in a gentle but noticeably exquisite flavour.  I have had the privilege of working with a wonderful Chef who creates amazing sauces by adding one or two special ingredients and then slowly and gently reducing the sauce until the flavours are not only perfectly intertwined but  have such a depth to them that they become extraordinary!

From a spiritual taste perspective, taking the painful places and sitting honestly with them in the silence of Holy Presence,  their bitterness can be exchanged with the love that we could not see within the stormy places.   If we are willing to allow it to take on a different form, it can be like the gentleness that has been hidden within the bitter places, the seasoning of courage and love that begins to change the flavour of those silent places.

Silence is a seasoning in my own life pilgrimage that walks my heart into becoming more spacious.  We experiment with seasonings to find new and rich flavours in the food that nurtures us.   As Macrina Wiederkehr writes, silence becomes our invitation to leap into the unknown mysteries that God holds out to us.

“Silence is like a river of grace inviting us to leap unafraid into its beckoning depths.
It is dark and mysterious in the waters of grace.
Yet in the silent darkness we are given new eyes.  In the heart of the divine we can see more clearly who we are.  We are renewed and cleansed in this river of silence.
There are those among us who fear the Great Silence.  It is a foreign land to us.
Sometimes it is good to leap into the unknown.
Practice leaping.”
Macrina Wiederkehr

“

"God of true abundance, in whom nothing is lost and all are fed: liberate us from meager rations of scarce and grudging love for which we must compete; show us another kingdom which stills our all-consuming fear and fills us with new hope; through Jesus Christ, the peace of creation. Amen"

The wind of the Spirit is speaking to my soul gently, constantly, about the fact that food, feasting, the banquet table is for all, not just those who can afford to eat well, but for all to eat well and for love and laughter to be a generous seasoning at the table.  I am listening, waiting, open, to understanding what action these words, this One asks of me. 

A beautiful liturgy that keeps whispering to me is:
"May we who have fed at Wisdom's table take her welcome out to where tables are reserved and doors are closed; may the Spirit drive us to bread our bread on the altar of the world."

Rainy Days, Memories and Cookies

Rainy days arrived along with autumn and we get out the clothing that goes with the rain and mentally prepare for this season where the sunshine is a very rare occurrence.  Dreary - just really dreary is how it feels when I look outside.   Then suddenly there are leaves fluttering down, gently waltzing their way down to the ground, becoming part of the new multicoloured carpet that covers the wet grass.  These are the days where the cold and damp makes me wish summer was coming soon when in truth it has only just left.  I have to confess that I am a warm climate person and love the hot summer weather but at the same time I love living in a place where we have the variety of the four seasons.    So along with the cool rainy weather I find myself craving comfort food, the slow cooked kind of food that fills the house with warm inviting aromas that hint at flavours to be savoured, and wanting to curl up by the fire and hibernate for the next number of months.

While rainy days of autumn and winter may conspire to keep one indoors,  I find these days open up my memories.  Most of those memories that awaken are comfort memories.   Comfort memories, for me, revolve around the preparation of food.   Our winter food is most certainly more of the comfort food variety.  The one who really taught me to cook is my maternal Grandmother.   She lived not too far away and so as a little girl I spent a lot of time there.  None of my Grandparents were financially well off but they had a wealth of time and love to share with us.   Whether my memories are of the kitchen in Canada or the kitchen in Ireland there are warm comfort memories of preparing food with both Grandmothers.   In fact, these “Grandmother” memories will have a lot to do with how my little Granddaughter and I spend time together in the future as she grows up.  

My husband is a great baker and I love leaving that task to him while I enjoy preparing the savoury side of our meals.   But I have to confess that  those old cookie recipes from Grandma’s recipe box that I have are ones I would love to teach my little Granddaughter.   Grandma had this one cookie recipe for Snickerdoodles.  They are a simple cookie rolled in cinnamon and just the name sounds fun.  This is a recipe that she used since I was a very little girl.  When our Granddaughter is old enough to stand up, together we are going to have a lot of kitchen time on rainy days.  

If it is a rainy day where you are, go ahead, get out the mixing bowls, make some cookies and  let their fragrance waft through the house.  May good memories be attached to this aroma.

Snickerdoodles

Mix together thoroughly:
1 cup soft shortening
1 ½ cups sugar
2 eggs

Sift together:
2 ¾ cups flour
2 tsp cream of tartar
1 tsp baking soda
½ tsp salt.

Mix dry ingredients with the shortening, sugar and egg mixture.  Chill the dough.

Roll the dough into balls the size of a walnut.  Roll in a mixture of 2 tbsp sugar and 2 tsp cinnamon.

Place about 2 inches apart on an ungreased baking sheet.  If you have parchment paper put that down on the tray first.  Bake until lightly browned but still soft.

These cookies puff up at first and then flatten out with crinkled tops.

Bake at 400F for 8 - 10 minutes
You should get about 5 dozen 2” cookies.
 

The Dance And The Tears Of Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving Monday morning this year was gray and overcast with a light rain falling as I headed out on a morning run.   Running along with the steady rhythm, the pace becomes a beat to an inner music.  This space of time brings a solitude that creates a place of meditation and reflection.  There were many memories that rolled across the screen within my mind and vision this particular day.  They became a collage of memories that brought a deep thanksgiving and gratefulness for those poignant moments that have danced into my heart, that have walked through my consciousness and left their prints and created spaces for seeds of life to be planted and grow within my soul.  I read somewhere that gratitude and thanksgiving opens us open to the good memories we hold in us.

Thanksgiving has brought back one strong memory - that of a young woman dancing barefoot through the aisles of a church in Bulgaria.  The floor was cold hard cement, the pews were benches with no back, high windows were broken and it could have used some paint on the walls.  Yet the beauty of this place was in those who had gathered to worship, to come away from their harsh life in a nation that was awakening from an anesthetized soul under a regime of control.  Watching our friend, this beautiful dancer, move through the room, very tenderly touching  the faces of many women who lived a difficult life in this place of a struggling, newly emerging society, gave a very visual reality to how tenderly and gently the Spirit moves with us, between us and around us.  This holy moment of beauty opened the space for tears of pain, tears from hearts that had been held tightly closed for so long.  Tears  flowed, were given permission to flow, from the barren places of the soul that had been denied their existence because simply to survive in the harshness of a difficult life feelings were repressed and tuck away.   As she danced the words of an ancient, yet very present blessing  flowed around us all.

    May the Lord bless you and keep you
    May the Lord make His face to shine upon you
    And be gracious to you.
    The Lord turn His face toward you and give you peace.

How is it that deep beauty and tears are such tender companions that we so often wish to keep apart?  Tears are the salt that heals us as we let them flow and they are the prism through which our eyes and heart will see new dimensions to beauty and to sorrow.  They are the very human way in which our joy, our pain, our brokenness, and our healing mingle tangibly, ever so gently, and persistently, inviting our emotions to rise to the surface and be set free.  

F. Alexander Magoun writes:   “Tears have a wisdom all their own. They come when a person has relaxed enough to let go and to work through his sorrow.  They are the natural bleeding of an emotional wound, carrying the poison  out of the system.  Here lies the road to recovery.”

Thanksgiving this year was more profound for me because sorrow and gratefulness have never been entwined so tangibly.  I think their dance together, this movement of beauty and grief, and the tears that flow for both, have brought a new aspect to ‘Thanksgiving’.    My morning running has been a space where I have held both the deep gratitude for all the gifts I have, including all the nieces and nephews that I have had the honour of loving and spent time with and a new granddaughter I will be spending time with.  The morning rain has mingled with my tears as I hold the deep sorrow of loosing a precious niece this summer.   I hold the sorrow that her parents and brothers feel - a sorrow I cannot begin to imagine.  Yet I also hold the deep gratitude that she was loved, and gave love in return, for all she gave to her friends and family and for the times I spent with her when she was little.   How do we continue this dance of life, the dance of a deep inner life, when pain is so deep and tears are abundant?  Perhaps the daily motion through that day, this day, is where movement becomes  a very slow dance, where the soul moves the heart even when it cannot consciously find the energy to do so.   This feels, for me, like the wind of Sophia, the wind of the Spirit, that moves me when I have no strength to hold on and I must lean into what I cannot see and trust the embrace. When I am urged to let go and lean into the place of not seeing and not knowing the road but continuing to believe that the road is still there and I am not alone, we are never alone.

As we gathered together after the funeral of this beloved young woman, a precious member of our family, we came together  for a meal my Mother had organized.   Another aspect of our life dance is the table where we gather to be nourished, to share and to sit close together creating a circle of love.   Grief and celebration both call us to the table.  Even as we are nourished by this necessary ritual of eating, we open space for conversation, honesty and yes, for tears to season and nourish the soul.   Mom had prepared an old family favourite, a chicken with rice dish.   It was real comfort food when we were children, and it is still a kind of comfort food now in adulthood. 

How can I continue to dance if I do not hear the deep mournful tones of the requiems along with the comforting tones of the cello that the musician holds in a deep embrace, or that quickening liveliness of classical guitar melodies that sing so clearly of exuberant life?  How can I keeping push through the struggle of those hills that slow down my run, if I do not exalt in the lightness that comes when the stretch before me is straight and easy?   How will I hear the music life offers and its invitation to dance if I deny the tears that wash across my heart, bathing the path with salt that seasons and heals my soul?   How will I sing in the morning if I do not also honour the time to wait and rest that the night offers?  How will I hear the harmony of community if I keep myself from sitting down to dinner with others?

Thanksgiving Day, the holiday is past and we enjoyed a wonderful meal with friends. Thanksgiving as a way of living is growing.  Within me is expanding a wider way to hold gratitude together with grief, loss, love and hope.   



Aproz Con Pollo - Chicken with Rice
Serves 12 - freezes well.

3 broiler chickens cut up or  enough chicken pieces for 12 people
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon sea salt
1 teaspoon pepper
1 teaspoon paprika

5 cups of chicken broth (use 2 McCormick chicken stock or veggie stock cubes)
¼ teaspoon of saffron
1 cup chopped onion
2 bay leaves,
1 tablespoon chopped parsley
2 teaspoons sea salt
2 cups uncooked rice
1 small package of frozen peas
8 oz of chopped green olives

Heat oven to 350F
- place the chicken pieces, skin side up, in a large pan or 2-9x13 pans
- brush the chicken with the olive oil and season with salt, pepper and paprika
- bake the chicken for 30 minutes

- bring the chicken broth to a boil and then add the chopped onions and the 2 tsp of salt..
- remove the chicken from the pan and drain off the oil
-add the rice evenly to the 2 pans or 1 very large pan. Put bay leaves in each pan.
- add the chicken broth and seasonings
- cover and bake the chicken and rice for 30 minutes or until the broth is absorbed and the rice is tender.

- cook the peas.

- remove the chicken from the pan, add the peas and stir into the mixture. 
- remove the bay leaves from the rice
- add the chopped olives and stir into the rice and pea mixture.
- place the chicken on top of the rice mixture
- garnish with the parsley and serve

Nourishing Stillness

I often wonder if we discount the nourishing properties of stillness.  There are those unexpected moments we are gifted with a feast for the eyes, the ears, the heart, and soul, and in order to enjoy it we only need to stop, to listen, wait and open the heart and receive it.

A friend and I had gone for a little overnight trip to The Painted Boat Resort up the Sunshine Coast.  When I awoke early in the morning all was still and quiet, and before me was this vista from the large windows in the room.  It was so still, and quiet, and as I wrapped my hands around a warm cup of fresh coffee,  I found myself leaning into this exquisite moment of solitude and stillness and the presence of the Spirit.   It was a banquet of peace, seasoned with some insight into current questions.  My whispered prayer "aprire l'occhi da mia cuore" - open the eyes of my heart, was heard and answered.  That is a tender sweet nourishment to the soul.

In the stillness I knew I had been fed with food I cannot buy, food I received with gratitude and joy.

Trying Out Black Quinoa

Quinoa is a grain that I have not had a lot of cooking or eating experience with.  The few times I have had this dish it has been a bit mealy in texture and its pale colour have not drawn me to working with it.  But, at a recent potluck there was a salad that really was tasty and completely different from what I expected from quinoa because it was black.   It is very fine in texture, with much smaller grains than the usual white quinoa I have seen in the grocery store and in salads.   Friends who are unable to eat wheat use this ‘berry’ in many of their culinary dishes.

Quinoa is not actually considered a grain or part of the grass family but rather it produces seeds which are called ‘berries’.  It is more closely related to the chard and spinach family than the grass/grain family.
The Incas used quinoa extensively in their food preparation.   This was all new information to me when I looked into it.

The black quinoa salad that I sampled recently was a lovely tender texture, that had a hint of curry flavour in it.  I began to wonder if this could be an addition to my summer eating that includes a daily salad of raw vegetables.  Could I blend the two into a salad?   Well, experimenting is huge piece of learning to cook and create, and always an adventure!   I experimented a lot when I was growing up and cooking for my family and  I am sure they bravely ate things that were not very tasty!     Now my husband bravely samples my experiments from the kitchen!   

I have been trying to eat more raw vegetables and have really been enjoying them.  Usually there are carrots, peppers, broccoli, cherry tomatoes, zucchini and cucumber in the fridge and they can easily be cut up into nice small pieces.  Toss them in a little olive oil and fresh lemon juice, season with a little sea salt and then crumble in some feta cheese and you have a healthy, hearty, and tasty lunch.   Sometimes it is nice to add a sliced apple or some blueberries to change it up.   Some fresh spinach leaves are excellent too.

How about blending the black quinoa and raw vegetable salad but letting it take on a Moroccan flavour?
Adding cumin and curry seasoning in the cooking of the quinoa and then once the salad was ready adding a chiffonade of fresh mint from the garden would accomplish this.

The quinoa is easy to cook.   If you use 1 cup of quinoa, use 2 cups of water.   Directions on the package are easy to follow - just rinse quinoa, then sauté in a bit of olive oil, add a little salt, then add your water.  Bring to boil then reduce heat and simmer until all liquid is absorbed - about 20 minutes.    To put a bit more exotic seasoning in, sauté onion and garlic in olive oil then add the quinoa.   Add about 1 teaspoon of cumin and 1 teaspoon of curry paste, season with salt and pepper,  and sauté for a minute or so.   Add the required amount of water or vegetable stock then bring to boil and simmer as directed.

When the quinoa  was ready I let it cool slightly and then added my chopped vegetables which was about 2 cups worth.  Adding the juice of one freshly squeezed lemon adds a great bit of flavour.    Finely chop about 10 good sized mint leaves and add to the salad and then crumble in about ½ cup  of feta cheese (more if you wish).   Adding raisins and toasted pine nuts would be nice too.

We really enjoyed this new dish and I think there will be many more variations on it this summer.

Rhubarb Time In The Garden

The rhubarb is up in the garden and it brings back so many memories of childhood.  In fact when produce begins to come to life in the garden I am always transported back to childhood in my Grandmother’s garden.   I think my love of fresh vegetables was produced and nurtured somewhere in the space between her garden and her kitchen table where we were fed simple fresh food.

While it is still early in the season here, and a late season at that, there are some things in the garden that are ready to be consumed and rhubarb is one of them.    I cut 8 stalks of rhubarb and cooked them up into a compote.   There were a few strawberries in the fridge so they were added to the rhubarb - strawberries and rhubarb are good companions and love to be set together.

According to The Rhubarb Botanical Compendium: “Rhubarb is a vegetable with a unique taste that makes it a favourite in many pies and desserts.   It originated in Asia over 2000 years ago.  It was initially cultivated for its medicinal qualities, it was not until the 18th century that rhubarb was grown for culinary purposes in Britain and America.  Rhubarb is often commonly mistaken for a fruit but rhubarb is actually a close relative of garden sorrel and is therefore a member of the vegetable family.   Rhubarb is rich in Vitamin C and dietary fibre.

Rhubarb and Strawberry Compote:

8 stalks of rhubarb cut into 1 inch pieces
8 strawberries, topped and cut into quarters
¾ cup sugar (more if you find your compote too tart)
¼ cup water
¼ teaspoon cinnamon
2 star anise

Put all the ingredients into a heavy pot.  On medium heat bring it to a boil and then turn heat down so it will simmer.  Cook it until the rhubarb and strawberries and soft and tender (about 20 minutes - 30 minutes).  Stir it regularly as it cooks.   Remove from the heat and when it is cool enough take the 2 star anise out and discard them.

When it is just warm you can have it topped with some nice creamy vanilla yogurt!

Warm rhubarb with heavy cream is something my Grandmother gave us for dessert or a bedtime snack.  Such good memories come along with this tart and tangy, oh so flavourful rhubarb.