A snack for Peter Rabbit: Asian tofu, edamame, radish, and avocado salad

12 Apr

Purple Bunny was my best plush friend for a long time. Given to me at birth by my grandfather, Purple Bunny, or just Purple for short, was an unrealistic-looking, lavender-colored, stuffed animal rabbit. He (gender assigned arbitrarily by yours trulyThe Tale of Peter Rabbit) had stubby legs and arms and was only capable of sitting upright with all four limbs pointing forward. The only feature that identified him as a rabbit was his set of long floppy ears. Purple came with me everywhere and was the ring leader of the rest of my troop of stuffed animal friends, even into his old age when his fur became a soft gray after too much loving and one too many cycles in the washing machine. Together, we were a cute pair.

The other rabbit in my life was Beatrix Potter’s Peter Rabbit. Peter was the star of The Tale of Peter Rabbit, a children’s book I liked for my parents to read to me before going to bed. I loved his sisters – Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail – because their names were fun to say, and I admired Peter for his rebellious streak that led him to Mr. McGregor’s garden, ignoring his mother’s warnings. Continue reading →

Tags: , , , , , ,

Honey balsamic brussels sprouts with plums

31 Mar

Insects were my earliest predators. As a preschooler, the majority of my outside time was spent in backyards and neighborhood playgrounds. My little friends and I invented ‘make-believe’ universes and spent afternoons cooking invisible pancakes in our invisible kitchens, bossing around invisible students in invisible classrooms, and performing carefully choreographed dances for invisible audiences in invisible theaters.

Juicy plums waiting to be sliced

My favorite character to play regardless of the scene was a puppy (though one time I took it upon myself to be a blind cat, and it didn’t end well. I’ll save that for another post.) How, you might wonder, does a puppy wind up in a kitchen? In a classroom? In a theater? I don’t know, and it never seemed to matter. For some reason, I liked the idea of not only pretending to be a human in another context, but embodying a cute animal that got to have just as much fun. Continue reading →

Tags: , , ,

Backyard pesto and hand cut pasta

25 Mar

Every year on the first day of school, my brother, my dog, and I posed for the camera. Early in the morning before heading to the bus stop, we went outside with our backpacks already on, held up our fingers to demonstrate the grade we were each entering (4 fingers = 4th grade…the dog refrained from this part), and smiled as my parents took our picture to commemorate the day. To me, the photo signified the beginning of a new year, and I remember the pride we took in the outfits we had chosen for that first day and the worry we felt about the unknowns of our new teachers and routines.Backyard pesto

This annual photo op always took place in the backyard in front of our small family garden. Usually by September, the bed was in full swing – tomato plants too heavy for their own height, zinnias reaching higher and higher for the sun, and a jungle of basil fending off the native army of mint. While simple, it reliably produced ingredients for our summer cooking needs.

My favorite warm weather food was my mom’s pesto. I remember smelling the basil as I rode my bike up our driveway on my way home from our local swim club and running into the kitchen to see the pesto in the making. My mom’s version is creamier, nuttier, and more garlicky than the traditional Italian type. With only a few ingredients and 2 steps (blend, add oil), it was ready in a snap. The most difficult part was knowing how much oil to add; the sole instruction was to slowly add the oil to the spinning food processor until the pesto looked ‘right,’ which I learned meant smooth, not too stiff, and not too runny. Continue reading →

Tags: , , , ,

← Older Entries
Newer Entries →

%d bloggers like this: