Extraction Pains

"They've got to come out."

"Putting it off will only make things worse."

"It's not healthy in the long run to keep them."

"They desperately need space."

"It's time."

The dentist was talking about my son's wisdom teeth.

I was thinking about leaving my daughter on a curb at JFK airport with bulging duffle bag and a ticket to Africa.

He got ice packs and meds for his extraction pain.



I got to come home* and make milkshakes for both of us.

His recovery is going great, especially now that the freezer is fully stocked with ice cream**.

Me?
I'm still poking at the hole that was left behind***.

Sometimes you just can't bake it

There are times when life is good.

Work is interesting and productivity is high.  Your teenager smiles at you for real.  Your bank account balance is surprisingly fat, and your thighs are surprisingly thin*.

At times like these, one can tackle epic, multi-step dessert recipes with aplomb. Store-bought ice cream?  Caramel from a jar? Puh-lease! In fact, I'll just be making my own damn mascarpone cheese and zabaglione for that tiramisu, thank you very much.

Then there are times when life is just plan f$@%ed up.

People who are supposed to love you are impossibly cruel and the cat barfs on the carpet and despite your best intentions, your email box is the one on the right.

From this posting on Twitter

For those days, and for someone I love very much who is having a particularly cat-barf-y time of it right now, there are these No-Bake Chocolate Oatmeal Nut Butter Instant Happiness Treats.

I found the recipe online, and made a batch almost on a whim.  But the minute I took a bite, I was immediately transported back to a summer during elementary school.  I'd been sent away to a science and nature camp for city kids with a bunch of people I didn't know and they were all really mean to me.  I hated everything about it...the dingy bunks, the creepy-crawly woods, and the smelly labs, but more than anything, I loathed the girls I was grouped with. I was utterly miserable the entire time, except for one day, near the end of camp, when the cafeteria ladies served these exact same treats at lunch.  I vividly remember the taste and how happy I was, just for a minute, to be eating something so delicious in the midst of that horrible place.  I swear these saved me by making the experience, if not good, at least bearable.

I polished off my treat. Only the happiness and none of the hurt came back to me.  Life really is good sometimes.

Believe me, I do not wish the horrors of pre-teen peer ostracism or any other kind of emotional turmoil on anyone**, but just in case, it's good to be able to make your own instant ray of hope out of chocolate, peanut butter, and sugar***.   While you're waiting for the pain to fade away with time (and getting that inbox cleared out) these will definitely tide you over very nicely.

P.S.  If you are truly having a tough day, I found watching this video made me ridiculously cheerful.  As in, howling with laughter. Via Kottke.

Busted

Our annual visit to camp is in full swing.  The lake is crystal clear and the sky is impossibly wide and blue.  The fountain is cranking out mint chip milkshakes.  We've walked for miles with old friends, getting caught up as we tramped along pine covered trails.  We glimpse the kids from a distance, screaming and laughing and splashing around the place in packs.  Every child has a plastic cabin key hanging around their neck, symbolizing their new-found freedom to roam at will, and to pull every crawdad they can find onto the dock for closer examination.  The air is fresh and just exactly warm enough for reading the Sunday NY Times on the porch after breakfast.  There's ping pong and hat making, chanting and silly counselors and funyaks to paddle to the beach.  Soon there will be bingo and inner tubing and outings with lemonade and ice cream at the end.  Not to mention campfires with s'mores and guitars and singing with our whole family together as the sun goes down and thousands of stars come out in the sky.  

And yet, when my sister asked my niece what her favorite part of camp was, none of this came up.

My niece:  I like when we drive up there in Auntie Shar's car*.

My sister:  Really? Is it because you are with your cousins and you love them?

My niece:  No.  I like the part where we stop at the gas station.

My sister:  The gas station?

My niece:  Yes. When we stop at the gas station, everybody gets candy**.

Busted.

* She has clearly forgotten about this drive.  But then again, I'm trying to forget about last year.

** What my son said (after he stopped laughing):

"Completely true! If we drove to Burbank and I asked if I could get an Icee and a pack of Skittles, you would be like, um, NO. But if it's on I5 somewhere outside of Bakersfield...? No problem. Have two."

Yep. So busted. 

A good day at camp

When she got in the car, we asked my daughter how her day was.

Her:  I am NEVER going back to regular balsamic vinegar.  EVER!

We are all cracking up, but I am secretly thrilled.
Then, a few minutes later.

Her: Olive oil?  I just don't get it.

Baby steps.

photo credit: my daughter's phone

Note:  She is doing a teen cooking camp with Little Feet in the Kitchen.  Yesterday was a field trip to Ferrari Olive Oil Co. for a tasting lesson. Today is Iron Chef day, and tomorrow they go behind the scenes at Porto's Bakery.  Not only am I wildly jealous personally, I'm beyond impressed with what she gets the kids to eat.  This was another "is this really my child?" quote from yesterday:

Her: We made the most AMAZING risotto for lunch.  There were shallots and garlic and this mushroom broth...oh my god it was SO GOOD!

Hitting Black Bottom

Sleepaway camp.

For my daughter, it's a totally new experience this time around.
Intensive soccer training instead of arts and crafts, and nighttime yoga instead of campfires.
Nutritional workshops instead of goofy skits, and hyper-competitive athletes instead of cliques of camp veterans.
This is one serious place.
But she has her teammates as roommates, and a cell phone to stay connected*.
She'll be fine.

For me, it's the exact same drill as last year and the year before that and the year before that.
She's gone.
I'm a wreck.
The oven's on.
I'll be 10 pounds heavier by Friday.

What a difference a day makes

Why camp time makes me an emotional wreck.

We go from this....

To this:

In one day*.

Another Day, Another Way Pork Tenderloin
Since it's summer and it's BBQ season and I missed the kid like crazy, I decided to reinvent my son's Cuban pork dish for the grill.  It was EPIC!

3 pork tenderloins, trimmed of visible fat

8 cloves garlic

2 tsp. dried oregano

salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

2 bay leaves, crushed

1/4 c. fresh grapefruit juice (can also add a little lime juice if you like)

1/4 c. fresh orange juice 

1 c. red wine

A few tablespoons of olive oil

1 tsp. grated orange zest

In a mortar, combine the garlic gloves, 1 tsp. oregano, and 1 tsp. salt and mash into a paste. Rub the garlic paste all over the pork tenderloins, and place into a large non-reactive container. Season liberally with pepper, and sprinkle the crushed bay leaves on top. Combine grapefruit juice, orange juice, and the red wine, then pour the combined liquids over the pork. Cover and refrigerate for at least two hours, turning several times.

Combine remaining 1 tsp. oregano, 1 tsp. salt, 1 tsp. freshly ground pepper and the orange zest in a small bowl.  Remove pork tenderloins from the marinade, and pat dry.  Coat lightly with the olive oil. Sprinkle liberally all over with the oregano mixture, pressing to make sure the spice mixture adheres to the pork.  Cover with plastic wrap and set aside while you heat the grill.

Heat your grill to about 350.  Place pork on the grill, then cover and cook for 4-5 minutes.  Turn tenderloins over, and cook for another 4-5 minutes on another side.  Turn again, and cook for another 4-5 minutes.  This should take about 12-15 minutes total.

Remove to a rimmed baking dish and allow to rest for 10 minutes.  Pork will continue to cook, and will release some juices into the pan.   Slice and serve, drizzling pan juices over.  Delicious with Israeli cous-cous salad and fresh corn.  

Click to Print this recipe!

* To be fair, it took my son three days to go from these texts:

"Thank u for sending me to a camp where can't really make friends cause I can't relate to anybody.  Thank u for sending me to a camp where my counselor is a girl who talks like a stereotypical valley girl and works in the fashion industry. Really, thank u, this is exactly what I wanted to do with my summer.  I honestly can't think of anywhere else i would rather b. Also, thanks for sending me to a camp without wi fi. Ur the best mom, have a nice time without me in san francisco."

"i wanna be home. this sucks."

to these texts:

"Today was MUCH BETTER!  I hung out with these other guys and it was okay."
"hahahahahahaha went to the counter without you!"

And ten days to get to this report, when he got home last night:

"I actually really enjoyed it.  Thanks for sending me."

I'm exhausted.

Exposed

For the first time in living memory, thanks to overlapping sleep-away summer camps, we have a kidless house.

It's been liberating and thrilling and romantic.  We snuck away for an overnight date.  Took long walks and lingered over dinners in restaurants our kids would have hated.   There may have even been some mortifying pda involved, since it turns out that I have a very cute and cuddly husband.

It's also incredibly unsettling.  I'm vague and aimless and foggy.  I'm forgetting things* and driving in circles.  Losing sleep and making busy work.  This time around, I'm at such a loss that I can't even bake.

I feel exposed.

Like part of me is walking around here with nothing on, while the rest of myself is out there in the world, going it alone and unprotected.  Both parts are vulnerable and nervous, scared and excited, brave and capable, but nonetheless out there.  Apart.

Completely, terrifyingly, exposed.

I know this is what parenting is.  And what growing up is.  Me letting go.  Them leaving the nest**.

 
But I'd still rather expose a couple of pounds of potatoes to a hot oven, and have the whole family sit down together, at home, and eat them.  So I'll be making these as soon as the kids get back.

Mustard and Garlic Roasted Potatoes
The trick to great roasted potatoes is to maximize the surface area that gets exposed to heat.  That means both cutting the potatoes into good shapes, and giving them enough room in the pan.  This simple strategy will pay off, big time, no matter what you choose to do in terms of flavoring.  Feel free to try different herbs, melted butter instead of olive oil, different salts, etc.  The mixture below is one of our favorites, as the mustard gives the potatoes a nice little kick to go with the garlic and smoked salt.

2 lbs. small Yukon gold potatoes
1/2 c. olive oil
2 Tbs. Dijon mustard
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 tsp. smoked salt, if you have it, kosher salt if you don't
Freshly ground black pepper

Preheat oven to 400.  Wash and scrub the potatoes, but leave the skin on.  Cut into quarters, or even smaller wedges if some potatoes are larger than others.  Basically, try to have uniformly sized pieces, with a lot of sides exposed.

In a mixing bowl, whisk together the olive oil, mustard, garlic, salt and a generous grating of pepper.

Stir in the potatoes, until completely coated. 

Turn into a large roasting pan, much bigger than you think you need. Spread the potatoes out, so they have lots of room.  

Roast for 35-40 minutes, without disturbing them, until they are deeply golden brown, salty and crispy on the outside, and melt in your mouth soft on the inside.  Serve immediately!

Click to Print this recipe!

* My camera, under a museum bench.  And one of my online passwords.  The password was recovered.  The camera was not.
** Nest photos courtesy of my sister.  She and my niece found this robin's nest in a flowerpot on their porch.  But in their case, the mommy bird was there helping her kids learn how to fly.

The Lemonade Hike

It is a rite of passage at camp.   Described falsely at the front desk as "a moderate 2 mile hike" and accurately elsewhere as strenuous and steep*, it starts out almost quaintly with a hidden little trail post behind a tiny woodland church just off the shore of Fallen Leaf Lake.    As you pass quickly through ferns and lush trees, chatting amiably with your companions at how nice it is to be out of the city and away from it all in nature, the greenery suddenly drops away and you find yourself clambering up shale and slippery rock switchbacks in full sun.

Hike to Angora Lake at EveryTrail



Breathing becomes labored, despite weekly kickboxing sessions, and pleasantries go by the wayside.  Another switchback.  No shade.  Still climbing.  Man, this sucks.   Pant.  Pant.  Turn sharply.  Climb.  Wipe brow copiously.  Steal sidelong glances at companions to make sure everyone else is just as miserable.   Cover exhaustion quickly with call to admire view of the lake way below you, sparkling in the relentless sun.  Turn. Climb. Pant.  Now want nothing more than to reach shade of giant boulders and scrub pine far above.   Regret bacon omelet.  Reach shady part.  Rejoice fleetingly, as switchbacks continue unabated.   Recall too late that you are heading for Angora Ridge, and that the word "ridge" is rarely applied to gently accessible hilltops.  Another great photo op seems to be in order.   Pant.

Eventually, blessedly, the path levels out, trees thicken about you and a breeze springs up.   The crowd is once again conversational, almost jubilant with the achievement of gaining 1000 feet of elevation in about a mile and a half.   You are super hiking ex-suburbanites.   In fact, "mountaineers" might not be putting too fine a point on it.   Your steps are cushioned by a layer of pine needles and soft earth, comfy and cool.   The path curves, and abruptly opens out to reveal...

A parking lot.  A bathroom.  Toddlers with inflatable rings around their middles.   Dogs on leashes.  Couples with coolers, beach chairs and picnic baskets.    Something between blind rage and dejection brings tears to your eyes.

"People drove here?  Are you KIDDING me?"

One of the many signs of civilization you will see in the parking lot.  Probably the only U.S. Forest Service sign in the country to utilize the international symbol for lemonade. 

You cross the asphalt, joining the stream of families heading up the gently sloped sandy trail, feeling a bit ridiculous in your dust coated socks and perspiration-stained clothes.

But it hardly matters anymore...the switchbacks, the heat stroke, the oxygen deprivation all behind you now.   Just ahead is a gorgeous, deep blue alpine lake beneath a granite mountain peak.  A sandy beach with a few scattered cabins dotting the shore.   And a shingled wooden hut with a swinging screen door where a cheerful older couple greets newcomers with a smile.

"Oh, my!  Looks like you had a long hike.  Good for you.  So, will you be having a glass or a pitcher today, folks?"

A pitcher please!

The Famous Angora Lakes Lemonade

Sugar
Plenty of fresh mountain spring water
Lemons
Ice

Boil equal parts water and sugar together for 5 minutes in a small saucepan, remove from heat, and allow to cool completely.  This makes a simple syrup that can be used to sweeten drinks of all kinds.  Feel free to make ahead and keep a supply on hand in the fridge.  When someone wants lemonade, squeeze the lemons right then.    Strain, then combine lemon juice, simple syrup, and ice cold spring water.     The proportions will vary based on the number of servings you're making, the flavor of today's lemons, and your personal taste, but when you get the mix right, it will be the best, most refreshing drink you've had in a long time***.

To enjoy fully, drink when completely wiped out and elated at the same time, preferably at a lakeside table outdoors on a crystal clear day. 

* I quote: "Clark Trail. Strenuous. Elevation 6420' / 7470'  For the more adventurous, this strenuous hike can provide some solitude. Traversing through loose shale up a steep grade, the trail ends at Angora Lakes."   The trail is also next to last on a list of South Lake hikes "in order of difficulty."
** This year, I confess, we drove the kids up on our way out of camp.   Mother nature was not happy that we cheated, and made it snow just as we got out of the car.   In August.  We still drank every last drop of lemonade.

*** When we asked for the recipe, the Angora lady was kind enough to share their process with us, but she did insist that the real secret is the alpine water.   Unless you get your water from 7500 feet above sea level, results may vary.

Note: Image with view of Fallen Leaf Lake from this website.

Challah Back, Camelback Girl

Family camp in the Sierras.   A glorious day on the lake.   Toddlers are crawdad fishing on the dock.  The annual Yahoo vs. Midoree Capture the Flag grudge match, complete with war paint, is in full swing.   Hikers are heading out in groups, poles and packs at the ready.   Paddleboats and kayaks are bobbing about.  The tennis crew is warming up on the courts.   A few folks are reading the paper on the deck under the enormous fir trees.

Invigorated by the mountain air and hearty breakfast, we check out the list of available activities:

Waterskiing
Arts and crafts
Sailing lessons
Staff vs. Guest volleyball
Kids talent show
Nature walk
Challah making

Challah making?

Challah making.   The best thing to hit camp since wi-fi, yoga and the wine steward.

Sierra Camp Challah

Alisa, the wonderful counselor who put the event together, made all the dough by hand two days before we started braiding.   The recipe she gave us comes from The Children's Jewish Holiday Kitchen, by Joan Nathan.

Makes 3-4 loaves

2 scant Tbs. or 2 envelope active dry yeast
1 1/2 c. warm water
1 tsp. sugar
4 eggs
1/2 c. honey
1/2 c. vegetable oil
1 1/2 tsp. salt
9 c. flour
2 c. raisins, optional
sesame or poppy seeds

In a small bowl, stir together the yeast, 1 c. of warm water, and the sugar.  Set aside for 10 minutes until bubbling.   In a separate bowl, beat 3 of the eggs with the honey.  Add the remaining 1/2 c. warm water, oil, and salt.  Add the yeast mixture, beating well with a spoon.   Using 5 c. of the flour, add 1 c. at a time to your mixture, beating well with a wooden spoon after each addition.  The dough will be sticky.   If you are using raisins, add them now.    Add two more cups of flour, beating well with a wooden spoon until the dough leaves the sides of the bowl.

Shake an additional 2 c. of flour onto a smooth work surface.   Turn out the dough and knead until almost all of the flour has been absorbed into it.   Return it to the bowl, cover with a towel, and let rise for about two hours, until doubled in size.    Punch down.  [NOTE:  I think you can refrigerate the dough at this point if you like]

Divide the dough into three or four equal parts, and divide each part into three again for braiding.  Roll the dough into long ropes.  Braid three parts together, as you would hair.   Press down the ends.    You can leave the loaf long, or push the ends into a circle.  Place the loaves on parchment paper covered baking sheets, cover with a towel, and let rise about 30 minutes more, until almost doubled in size again.

Preheat the oven to 350.   Brush the loaves with the remaining egg mixed with a little water.   If you like, press sesame and/or poppy seeds onto the bread.   Bake for 25 minutes, until golden.