Category: Random Stuff

Where the Crawdads Sing – A story of grits to polenta

Leave a comment

[spoiler alert: if you haven’t read the book or seen the movie stop now]

What if grits play the role of barometer for character development in the coming-of-age mystery drama novel (now a movie) Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens?

Following this suspicion, I searched the book’s index for “grits”: It shows up 52 times. This number includes the 2 times “grit” is referenced in her character. Seems poetically appropriate that Kya’s character of survival and self-preservation would reveal grit, through grits.

Let’s look at the story through the perspective of grits in 5 quotes…

“Kya was very hungry. For breakfast she’d boiled grits with soda crackers stirred in because she didn’t have any salt. One thing she already knew about life: you can’t eat grits without salt.”

Left alone at age 7 the challenge to feed herself fuels the story arc. Modifying the recipe for grits to include crackers with salt shows Kya’s resourcefulness.

“In a few days she got the hang of fixing grits, although no matter how hard she stirred, they lumped up some. The next week she bought backbones—marked with a red tag—and boiled them with grits and collard greens in a mush that tasted fine.”

Kya continues to adapt her grits recipe to become inclusive of any surplus flavor while working to smooth the texture.

“She lived on dried fish, mussels, oysters. Grits and greens.”

This menu defines Kya’s childhood between what she could gather herself and the grits she bought at the store. Her complete dependence on coastal North Carolina for food, safety, and learning makes her a creature of the marsh: the marsh girl.  

“Each morning they rose at dawn and, while Tate percolated coffee, Kya fried corn fritters in Ma’s old iron skillet—blackened and dented—or stirred grits and eggs as sunrise eased over the lagoon.”

Further along the storyline, her recipe evolves to include more ingredients and skills, as she shares her meals with Tate.

“Almost every shop had a special table displaying the books by Catherine Danielle Clark ~ Local Author ~ Award-Winning Biologist. Grits were listed on the menus as polenta in mushroom sauce and cost $6.00.”

Towards the end of the book, grits are no longer food for survival and becomes food for adoring fans and travelers to the area.

In contrast, notice the use of “grit” in the book to highlight a decisive moment of loss,

“Dug sweaty cheese from her bag. Then slumped on the floor and ate mindlessly, touching her bruised cheek. Her face, arms, and legs were cut and smeared with bloody grit. Knees scratched and throbbing. She sobbed, fighting shame, suddenly spitting the cheese out in a chunky, wet spray.”

Grit and grits, strength in the face of loss, and food for survival implicate each other in the book. Unfortunately, grits as a character barometer in the book Where the Crawdads Sing was lost in the movie.

Maybe have a bowl of grits to make up for the omission after watching the movie.

More about grits here: https://islandlifenc.com/a-guide-to-southern-grits/

Today is the first day of Hispanic Heritage, why not combine the stories of survival in a bowl?

Here is a recipe for creamy grits from one of my favorite cookbooks, Turnip Green and Tortillas: A Mexican Cook Spices up the Southern Kitchen.

1-quart heavy cream

1 cup quick grits (not instant)

¼ cup sugar

1½ teaspoons salt, plus additional as desired

Bring the cream to a boil in a large saucepan over medium-high heat. Watch carefully so it doesn’t boil over. While continually whisking, add the grits and cook, whisking, for 5 minutes. Add the sugar and salt and cook, whisking frequently, for an additional 5 to 10 minutes, until the grits are tender. Serve hot.

The cookbook also offers a lighter version and a blue cheese version. I know adding cream to grits can be controversial.

Make grits the way you want when summoning your grit. What food would you choose to be the barometer of your evolution?

Wishing you a full bowl,

Hungryphil

Owens, Delia. Where the Crawdads Sing. Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

Hernandez, Eddie; Puckett, Susan. Turnip Greens & Tortillas: A Mexican Chef Spices Up the Southern Kitchen (p. 175). HMH Books. Kindle Edition.

A watched pot (turtle nest) boils in Oak Island

2 Comments

A volunteer waved us left as we approached the tiny runway shaped to help guide baby turtles towards the sea. During our evening walks we noticed these small runways lined with green edges, centers brushed smooth carefully made ready for turtle nests incubating in the warm July sand past 50 days.  

“They’re coming. Please walk over and behind.” The excitement of new life. A small group of people composed of “nest mothers”, volunteers, and the vacationing and local curious was hovering over the patch of sand with a square grate the size of a doormat. The patch had a small crack where the sand caved in the size of my hand. This was an indication of restlessness, cracking, and movement below. The crowd of children, adults and more volunteers grew on either side of the runway as the sun began to set. We all waited. And waited. So did the turtles. They were waiting for the sand to cool as a sign of the waning sun that would make it easier to hide from predators. As the sun dipped, they rose and boiled like small dark shadows rising out of the growing hole in the ground.

Am I seeing this? The instinct is to shed light on this miracle. But light is exactly what they are avoiding. Light disorients budding life. They turn away and go in the wrong direction. “They have been listening to the ocean this whole time, they know to move towards the sound,” a volunteer explained while encouraging us to use our “inside voices” so the turtles can hear the ocean calling them. Or is it the magnetic pull? The ocean is like the mother’s heartbeat for a human baby emerging out of a uterine water sac. The baby moves towards the light, and a turtle also moves towards the moonlight on the water. Lights on the beach confuse them, they move in the wrong direction away from the water and into the grips of a predator. The beauty of turtles rising together. This I’ve learned affords survival of the species, many are sacrificed to predators so a few can live and serve a larger commitment to life. We humans have so much to learn from these tiny dark, squiggly, directed shadows. We can stand by, watch, guide, and mostly care enough to stay out of their way and keep other humans from staying out of their way…waving them to go around or stop shining light on the fragile eyes looking for the ocean. It is a practice of humble awe. A gentle suggestion that perhaps we are not the center of all life.

Sea turtles are a protected species. The Oak Island Turtle Protection Program is on a mission to monitor and protect the sea turtles and to foster community-based conservation…basically to wave us away from trampling the turtles and to welcome us to come close without shining light and with hushed reverence. In the three weeks of living here sitting on the sand alongside the turtle runway was the first and most satisfying sense of community I have experienced. No power, monetization, or exclusivity. The simplicity of a random community of curious humans channeling and watching small shadows scurry to glistening dark waves. It was magnificent.

The turtles are protected from industrial pollution and natural predators. We are among that list of natural predators. In my efforts to learn about the region I now call home, I researched a few cookbooks available at the local library. One of the cookbooks entitled “The Beachcomber’s Handbook of Seafood Cookery” by Hugh Zachary (1969) shares a Sea Turtle Stew recipe. The author prefaces the recipe with a story about gathering eggs from the beach, a culture of turtle hunting, followed by a plea.  He writes,

“I saw a couple of huge loggerheads that had been killed, wantonly killed, on Long Beach, not for their meat, but just for the fun of killing something so large, apparently. I like turtles. I like turtles better than I like some people – namely people who would kill a big loggerhead just for the experience. Loggerhead turtles are a vanishing breed. It’s fun to go turtle hunting during a full moon in a warm month on a nice night. It’s an interesting experience to find a big turtle on her nest and watch her lay eggs and cover them with her awkward, instinctive, and utterly laborious movements. My sympathy goes out to the big beast who comes out of her natural element to try to fight the odds against the survival of her species.

Let’s don’t eat loggerheads.”

Zachary, Hugh. (1969) The Beachcomber’s Handbook of Seafood Cookery. Kingsport Press: Tennessee.

On the margins of this recipe page, the library added a note about the law protecting sea turtles.

from the Beachcomber’s Handbook of Seafood Cookery (1969)

We humans can be both predators and conservators, vicious and curious. Sitting there watching the baby turtles a representation of life itself flapping, flailing, scurrying, blind and confused, I was reminded of the choice. As food curious as I am, I am okay letting turtle meat remain a mystery. I don’t know what my line is for eating other living beings, is it endangered animals? Or like Mr. Rogers who avoided anything that had a mother? Eat flesh out of necessity or politeness? Practice a generally plant-based diet? I don’t have my own answer, let alone have one for you. All I can say is that I hope to be aware of and own my choices today. Tomorrow may be different. Last evening it felt good to be among a community of humans who chose to stand together and aside watching life emerge out of a dark small crack in the earth.

Thank you baby turtles. I hope you live a long life and return to this beach as a place of safety and care. We’ll wait for you.

For lunch today, cereal with frozen blueberries sounds refreshing.

Wishing you thoughtful eating,

hungryphil

Three Bites of Welcome to Oak Island

Leave a comment

Our daughters arrive for their first visit to Oak Island this weekend.

Jim and I moved here three weeks ago. After all the unpacked boxes, wi-fi installation, acquiring new driver’s licenses, new “first in flight” plates, placing art on the wall, furniture in the rooms, filling the refrigerator and cabinets, their visit will make this a home, officially.

We are so excited to share and discover this new area with them. We want our kids to feel excited to visit and eventually find their own vacation rhythm here. There are so many delicious tastes to discover on the island. There is an assortment of Italian, Southern, and Asian food varieties. Ice cream, Italian ice, and desserts galore.

Here is a gentle start with three … (with more to come)…

Kai Joes

This is my place for shrimp (and tofu) tacos and tater tots and buffalo bites. Perfect uncomplicated tasty beach food. Flavorful sauces, crunchy fried treats, and a variety of tacos. Wait in line. Order at the window. Sit outside on a picnic bench. Enjoy the table of hot sauces. Watch out for the flies who like the taste too.

https://kaijoes.com/

Fixins

https://www.fixinsoki.com/

My place for a comforting bowl of greens, eggs, and grits. The potatoes (or sweet potatoes) add extra texture and flavor. I wasn’t sure about the double carbs…but it works, especially on a rainy beach morning. For sunny days, I would suggest one of the many biscuit sandwiches. We ordered take-out and enjoyed it on our deck.

The Lazy Turtle and Bar

If you are craving plump and juicy fried shrimp, sitting on a picnic table overlooking the ocean with your toes in the sand, this is the place. The half-eaten shrimp, hushpuppy, and crab sandwich speak for themselves. They (…ahem..me) couldn’t wait for the photo. Keep in mind, island time here (and serious challenges of understaffing) by the time the food hit the table, I was HUNGRY. The view and the food were worth the wait. And, enjoying good company does make the time fly.

These three bites offer orientation to the beach through seafood, handheld tacos and sandwiches, and Oak Island’s Southern heritage. In future posts, I hope to share the Asian food options here, as well as Italian. How does the beach get plated at these restaurants? More seafood options perhaps?

I am most excited about learning from these establishments and bringing these ideas home to my own kitchen. So far, I have celebrated seafood by cooking four dishes: Red Snapper with coconut milk, mustard seeds, and curry leaves, Grouper with ginger coconut curry, Black Seabass with sumac and zataar potatoes, and Teriyaki Mahi with grilled green onions and wilted spinach.

Red Snapper with coconut milk, mustard seeds, and curry leaves
Grouper with ginger coconut curry
Black Seabass with sumac and zataar
Teriyaki Mahi with grilled green onions and wilted spinach

I’m just getting started on celebrating coastal seafood. Send me suggestions. What are your favorite seafood dishes? Seafood recipe books?

Let’s keep eating, discovering, and celebrating familiar and foreign traditions.

Wishin you thoughtful bites and a happy summer,

Hungryphil

Eating Through Oak Island and Southport, NC – Part 1

Leave a comment

In preparation and eager anticipation for our move to Oak Island, North Carolina, my husband and I have been visiting the island, both on and off-season. The past week, mid-march was our third visit. The first was in last June when we fell in love with the place and bought our home. The second visit, in October, was the first time on the island as invested future residents. During these three visits, we have enjoyed a wide spectrum of tasty treats and meals.

The first lesson about Oak Island is that looks can be pleasantly and surprisingly deceiving. The unassuming appearance of a restaurant may not reflect the care and craft in the food. Like the Tardis, and my little house, things are more impressive on the inside. No unnecessary shiny, glitz, and glamor competing with the majesty of the beach, sky, and sea creatures. Oak Island accepts the beach as the main event and priority. And, it is worth the adoration.

The second lesson, for me, was that while options may be limited, most restaurants are kindly willing to explain the dish and hold an ingredient if needed. When in doubt, just ask. I did not miss pre-prepared fast food at all.

The third lesson, related to the second, is that there are so many temptations for someone watching sugar and dairy. Doughnuts, pies, cakes, and ice cream everywhere! Can’t say I mind. The honey butter with cornbread…decadent. This is a place of summer simplicity, celebration, and joy. Enjoy the cake! Especially the coconut-key-lime piecaken from Swains. Yum!

This quick post is limited to our last visit and stomach space. It also does not include the many very worthy restaurants closed for the season. Very much looking forward to continuing on this North Carolina food adventure.

So here is my incomplete list for now…with more to come…

Tranquil Harbour Restaurant – Oak Island
Cafe Koa – Southport
The Pepper Pot – Southport
The Saucy Southerner – Southport
Swains Seafood and Cut Restaurant – Oak Island
Moore Street Oyster Bar – Southport
Lil and John’s Sweet Treats – Oak Island
Southport Gourmet and Sushi – Southport
Inergy Market – Oak Island

Food Poem: Living in the Body by Joyce Sutphen

1 Comment

Body is something you need in order to stay
on this planet and you only get one.
And no matter which one you get, it will not
be satisfactory. It will not be beautiful
enough, it will not be fast enough, it will
not keep on for days at a time, but will
pull you down into a sleepy swamp and
demand apples and coffee and chocolate cake.

Body is a thing you have to carry
from one day into the next. Always the
same eyebrows over the same eyes in the same
skin when you look in the mirror, and the
same creaky knee when you get up from the
floor and the same wrist under the watchband.
The changes you can make are small and
costly—better to leave it as it is.

Body is a thing that you have to leave
eventually. You know that because you have
seen others do it, others who were once like you,
living inside their pile of bones and
flesh, smiling at you, loving you,
leaning in the doorway, talking to you
for hours and then one day they
are gone. No forwarding address.

Joyce Sutphen, “Living in the Body” from Coming Back to the Body from the Writer’s Almanac, 9/20/21

I eat a slice of chocolate cake every year to celebrate a loss I’ve had. This poem reminds me of living and of celebrating despite and because of loss. Some years I bake a cake to freeze slices to enjoy throughout the year. A way to keep both the sadness and the gratitude in my body.

The body is everything. Let’s promise to be in ours today.

With warmth,

Hungryphil

P.S. Next time I bake a cake for the occasion, I’ll have to take a picture to share. For now, I rely on stock photos online.

Food Poem: Breakfast by Joyce Sutphen

Leave a comment
My father taught me how to eat breakfast
those mornings when it was my turn to help
him milk the cows. I loved rising up from

the darkness and coming quietly down
the stairs while the others were still sleeping.
I’d take a bowl from the cupboard, a spoon

from the drawer, and slip into the pantry
where he was already eating spoonfuls
of cornflakes covered with mashed strawberries

from our own strawberry fields forever.
Didn’t talk much—except to mention how
good the strawberries tasted or the way

those clouds hung over the hay barn roof.
Simple—that’s how we started up the day.


Joyce Sutphen, “Breakfast” from First Words, Red Dragonfly. from the Writer’s Almanac, Monday 9/13/21

A simple start to the day with a loved one is so comforting. What is your favorite morning ritual?

Making space for mindful time in 3 simple steps

Leave a comment

Feeling rushed by obligations and buried in chaos?

Morning space and time may help you set a confident pace for your day. Crafting mindful mornings is an art that needs intentional space for full expression. As a loss and life adjustment consultant trained in architecture and philosophy here is how I make room for my morning mindfulness routine.

Step 1: Clear one seat. Not a room. Not a big space. Just one comfortable chair, yoga mat, bed, step, any place where you can get comfortable. Don’t get sidetracked into cleaning an entire room. This adds yet another obligation to your load. My seat is a simple orange upholstered wide sofa in my study that I try to keep clear and open.  

Step one is about identifying and giving yourself a space, location, and foundation for you-time.

Space for Time

Step 2: Clear space for one view. It can be a window, a picture, a candle. My window looks onto a suburban cul-de-sac, so I added little things I find beautiful, funny and calming on the window sill. Again, focus on just one view, spaces on your side and behind you can be filled with laundry, dishes, papers, toys, the mess of life. The key here is to curate a supportive perspective unique to you.

Step two helps you build emotional connections and boundaries, walls and windows that set and clarify your perspective from your chosen seat.

Constructed View

Step 3: Choose something to touch. Something soothing like a blanket, a pillow, or a stuffed animal.  Choose something to hear like music, wind-chimes or nature sounds. Choose a comforting smell like incense, perfume, fruit, candles. I keep jasmine incense, a soft pillow to hold, and bird feeder outside my window. All three remind me of my time growing up in Bangladesh. For me, holding the warm cup of tea on my soft pillow while incense swirls in front of the window and birds chirp outside is calming.

Step three aims to support sensory comfort and safety through your personal choices.

Something to hold

How would you design your space for time?

Try sitting in your space for mindful time for 21 days. See if you notice any shifts in your self-confidence and let me know.

In Defense of Discomfort

Leave a comment

The weeks leading up the U.S. election and following have been … uncomfortable. There is fear, distrust and hate all around. My readers know that I am a Muslim-immigrant South Asian woman married to a Caucasian man with two brown daughters and two white, working as a therapist in small community mental health facility in rural Indiana with clients who are mostly Caucasian Medicare/Medicaid/Disability recipients. I do this work because of my faith and because of my “bleeding heart liberalism.” A few clients, engaged over the phone, do not know what I look like and have not asked. The same clients may treat me differently outside the therapy office. Everyday I learn how the combination of trauma, abuse and poverty fuel fear and self-hate. It is uncomfortable to be in service and sometimes exposed to distrust.

I did three things since the day after President Donald Trump was elected. Never posted a single personal word (hair, weight, posture, clothing) against him. I did do the following:

  1. Read 5 newspapers everyday to get a broad perspective. BBC, CNN, FOX, Huffington Post and our local paper.
  2. In an effort to understand and alleviate the fear, hurt, anger, feelings of dismissal, being left behind, I worked to get a Masters in social work (I already have a PhD in philosophy) and started working in community mental health. I focus on grief/loss, trauma and anxiety.
  3. I vowed to support women as a reaction to Trump’s comments “grab her by the pussy,” “blood coming out of everywhere,” “nasty woman” etc. This I owe to my daughters.

So given all my effort to change in liberal recognition that my fellow citizens are deeply fearful of me and people like me, I was hurt, angry, resentful when I saw Facebook posts such these below. Both images were published the same day. Let me walk you through my thought process and my defense of discomfort.

This one is straight forward fear of the other cloaked in a Bible verse, divinely sanctioned hate. This to my experience does not represent Christianity. I was educated in Catholic schools for 5 years. I know better. It got more interesting when I considered the following image and quote.

The design professor in me, asks myself, to consider the pairing of these images, one white: who looks away dressed in black, a paragon of feminine virtue, while the brown one: looking forward, dressed in purple, in front of the capital steps, is an abomination. The quote that accompanied the dark dressed lady, reinforces the aesthetic.

The images above are united by divine imperative, making one the fornicator and other the lioness. These narratives are not accidental. I want all four of my daughters to have the choice to be the “first” or not, but never be denied the opportunity. This is why I worked to become an American citizen. No… I did not get my green card by marriage…but through work as a professor after proving that I’m not taking an American’s job away. It was a long, expensive, painful process. I’ve been here since age 2.

Four years ago, I would’ve simply stewed in my resentment and anger. Today I see the abject fear of dismissal, not feeling good enough, disguised as biblical righteousness.. “do not mistake meekness for weakness.” In the past weeks as a therapist I have met with clients with swelling anxiety and oozing fears of WWIII, loss of benefits, conspiracies of harm and dismissal. One therapeutic CBT technique, works to challenge negative thoughts,”how does the election affect you personally, what has changed from before to after the election?,” another, involves processing grief and loss, “This is a loss for you, what expectations did you have invested in Trump’s reelection?”, another, trauma focused therapy technique aims to increase a sense of safety and self worth, yet another technique (DBT), focuses on circle of control, communicating disappointment, boundaries with others etc. As a philosopher I was taught the art of dialogue. This is not the place for dialogue. This is trauma intervention before words. The words posted with images above are belated. They speak to the fear that being a woman who does not break glass ceilings is not enough, that a woman of color dressed in purple is enough to warrant biblical damnation, that diversity threatens a lack of control and safety.

We are all scared of each other. What we do with that fear sets us apart. This is what I want my daughters to know: have courage to reach out anyway, my beloved ones. The choice to react in anger just repeats and mirrors the rejection. Confront the discomfort, not other people. Notice and honor the discomfort so it may show you a path beyond the simplicity of unfriending, liking, disliking, or one sentence responding. This is not yet dialogue, this is a discomfort to be shared and felt as fuel.

For those who have posted these images, I hear you. I tried to avoid any names, as to avoid blame or shame. The remaining three names serve to identify copyright and authorship. No disrespect. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and challenging me in mine.

I will continue to serve, heal and support people I both agree with and disagree with. May you never know the difference.

With warmth,

hungryphil

After filling your cup

Leave a comment

“What does the opposite of a seizure feel like for you? What are you doing when you are comfortable?”

“I am sipping coffee in the morning. The kids are off to school and it’s quiet.”

“Do you have a favorite coffee cup? Tomorrow morning try holding your coffee cup in your lap, feel the weight and texture of the cup, focus on how warm it is. Notice the steam rising. Take a sip. Follow the sip down into your belly. Feel the warmth travel.

Practice digesting quiet and easy moments like these. Grow the small joys, like following a sip of warm coffee in the morning. ”

Sometimes tea for me

May you fill your cup and follow your warmth today,

Hungryphil

Inside/Out Self-awareness

Leave a comment

If self-awareness is a journey, insights are the “aha” moments along the way. They’re the fuel powering the souped-up sports car on the highway of self-awareness: with them, we can step on the gas pedal; without them, we’re stranded on the side of the road.

Eurich, Tasha. Insight . Crown. Kindle Edition.

According to Tasha Eurich, we learn from “alarm clock” events, situations that challenge us with new roles, rules, losses, trauma, as well as small mundane insights. These, “aha” moments or “alarm clock” events are life opportunities to learn balancing inside and outside self-awareness.

Doesn’t sound pleasant at all! Who likes alarm clocks??

Covid-19 is certainly an alarm clock event, a window of time that confuses our perspective on ourselves. We infect each other, not only with viruses but with joy and sadness too.

What does this alarm clock wake me up to? That I am connected to my neighbors more intimately than I ever imagined, I am vulnerable yet capable, isolated yet not alone, that I decide who I am every moment, with every decision to go for a walk, wear a mask or not, cook at home, order out, buy meat, read a book or binge watch cooking shows. This is partly why I am exhausted. Self-awareness, constant balanced decision making is tiresome. Awareness of the framed window of existence that I am is exhausting. This alarm clock event interrupts false comforts of regularity and certainty. I don’t know the “new” pattern. None of us know.

Because I don’t know, I have to look outside myself. Reach out to you, for example, reading this right now, passing by my virtual window, even though you don’t know. Solidarity in loss.

If we were are all windows. How easy it would be to just close the shutters! How horrible it would be to miss out on the view, sunshine, moonlight, noise, breeze, reflection, and connection?

I know this self-awareness/social-awareness is a luxury.

I don’t know what I’m learning right now, sitting here social distancing on a beautiful sunny Sunday, but somehow I feel that I’m learning something important. I imagine you are too.

May learn we about ourselves together as the alarm clock buzzes,

Hungryphil