Uncertainty Soup

Uncertainty Soup

I hate waiting, don’t you? I like to know what’s what.

Do you spend your whole life trying to rule out uncertainty and pin everything and everyone down? Are you unhappy until you have all the information at your fingertips and you can plan? I know the feeling. But sometimes we can’t plan. Sometimes we are dependent on the will of others, or the gods and doesn’t that feel all wrong? Uncertainty is so uncomfortable for our minds to live with that they begin running round in circles trying to bring it to an end by anticipating. They try to imagine the future in all its outcomes and prepare us for each of them. They try to have the experience in advance to get it out of the way.

Does this work? Not really and often something actually happens that we haven’t thought of anyway. Trying to anticipate the future like this is exhausting and there are some things out of our control.  We cannot bring the uncertainty to an end by sheer force of mental effort. Then we are left with the horrible feelings, the mental anguish. What to do then? Aargh!

Usually we don’t feel the feelings. We get a whiff that they might be in the air and we spend all our energy running away or trying to fix the world so that we don’t have them. When we only glimpse feelings out of the corner of our mental eye, they appear enormous, overwhelming, fatal like being chased by a man with an axe.

Try doing the counter-intuitive thing. When we stop running away from them, come right up close and shake those feelings by the hand, they turn out to be smaller than you thought. Yep, they sure are ugly and they don’t feel good (fear, anger, panic, no-one signed up for those). Can’t deny that. But hang on. They are not actually killing you after all. They are just horrible and unpleasant. That’s it. That’s all that’s happening. They are horrible and unpleasant. Are they really huge up close? Not so much.

Next time you’re waiting for that magical person to call you back, for the waiter to bring the glass of wine, that train to arrive, that bell to go, why not have a dip into those feelings. It’s good practice for when we are waiting for the more difficult things (the diagnosis, the interview, the exam). Make friends with those feelings, look them in the eye. What’s so scary? Boredom, yes it’s dull but so far you haven’t died of boredom after all. (Your mother was right. Again.) Frustration (is a polite word for anger) and it’s an energy in the body that feels like you will burst but actually you won’t. Just feel the energy and see how that goes.

While you’re waiting you can make use of the time and get a lot done! Clean out the cupboards. File those papers. Go for a run. Practise the piano. In fact you can live your life while you’re waiting. Imagine that!

Here is some soup you can make which is super healthy and a fabulous colour, like molten lava. It is chock full of beetroot and fresh turmeric which give it the outstanding radioactive colour and you can throw in any other vegetables you have to hand. The beetroot and turmeric and non-negotiable. After that it’s up to you. Carrots, courgettes, parsnips, turnip, potatoes, celeriac. When it’s done add some lemon juice to brighten up the taste and some cream or yoghurt to bring out the colour and soften the texture. Do not eat this soup off your best tablecloth. It’s a killer.

Uncertainty Soup (because you don’t know what’s in it)

IMG_1929At least two beetroots, peeled and halved (or more)

Three or four pieces of fresh turmeric, peeled and cut in four (remember latex gloves will protect your hands when dealing with the astonishing colour of raw turmeric and beetroot)

A bunch of carrots, peeled and halved

Two onions, peeled and halved

Garlic and ginger peeled and chopped (to taste)

Other root vegetables you have going spare (potatoes will make it much more calorific). Save your spinach and broccoli for a green soup otherwise you will muddy the colour.

The juice from one lemon or a tablespoon of lemon juice from a bottle

A tablespoon of olive oil (more if you are not trying to control calories)

 

  1. Preheat the oven to 180 degrees.
  2. Put all the prepared vegetables into a heavy roasting pan which you have brushed with olive oil and then brush the vegetables roughly with the rest of the olive oil. (If you’re trying to cut back on calories using a pastry brush is really helpful when dealing with olive oil). If calories are no concern then be generous with the olive oil.
  3. Season with salt and pepper
  4. Roast in the oven for an hour
  5. Let them cool and then liquidise with plenty of water. If you want a smooth soup you will need to be patient and do this in batches so you can add plenty of liquid.
  6. Pour back into the pan and check the seasoning.
  7. Add the lemon juice and check again
  8. Heat and serve with a dollop of Skyr, Greek yoghurt, sour cream or a drizzle of double cream

Life may be disappointing, soup never. And remember that every time you cook something for yourself from scratch you are building healthy self-esteem.

 

The Quiet Desire for a Boiled Egg

The Quiet Desire for a Boiled Egg

Everyone else in my autograph book was related to me or lived within walking distance but the highlights were shyly proffering it to Morecambe and Wise after the pantomime and Frankie Vaughan (you may well ask) when he opened the youth club. The smack of their living and breathing reality was a shock after the safe distance of the black and white TV screen. Their autographs were hot currency. Even adults wanted to look.

Back in the dark ages when an autograph book was something a child might have each adult was expected to have ready a little witticism or pebble of wisdom to add, in addition to a signature. Neighbours and relatives signed in copperplate Quink ink. The coalman, the milkman or the window cleaner for whom I had lain in wait behind the garage, visited from the exotic reaches of the outside world where you were allowed to sign in loopy biro. And so I accrued what passed for wisdom. ‘Look before you leap’, ‘Pride comes before a fall’, ‘A change is as good as a rest’ and other ‘I-told-you-so’ s. I got the picture even if I didn’t like it. The meanings were transparent.

But there were a couple of sayings that had me stumped. ‘Be good, sweet maid and let who will be clever’ was the injunction from the great aunt who had given me the book and kicked off the first page. This little homily defeated me at seven. ‘Let who will ...’ what did that mean? She had signed the page Elizabeth Hand as if she had forgotten her name was Aunty Cis. I didn’t know any maids except the ones in Upstairs Downstairs (forerunner of Downton Abbey). The whole thing was a mystery. and I was sure I was supposed to understand it so it never occurred to me to ask. When I eventually penetrated the grammar a few years later and the meaning was revealed I felt uneasy and then cross. I felt someone I had trusted was having a go. From the safe haven of old age my relative was sniping at youthful voyagers who might fall foul of Scylla and Charybdis or wanting to be right and wanting to impress. 

‘Enough is as good as a feast’ was another one that left me blank. As a young person with unlimited appetite and, of course, the incomparable bounty of being immortal, it was a conundrum. Back then there was nothing like enough of things I wanted, let alone a feast. Things look different now. These particular sayings, the ones I couldn’t make head or tail of were (of course!) the very ones with something to teach me.

I am not a girl for holding back or abstinence even today as you will have observed, but the quiet and urgent desire for a boiled egg is creeping up on me after the feasting of Christmas and God help us it is only Boxing Day. (NB ‘Enough is as good as a feast’ does not claim that enough is better than feast.) A spot of brown bread and butter and a boiled egg would be just as good as the several more days of feasting to come, beginning tomorrow and stretching ahead to New Year’s Eve.

Next year, no really, I will plan it differently and serve some plainer food in the days leading up to Christmas. Fewer cakes might be a kindness. Fewer bottles of wine. Start later in the season and finish a little earlier maybe? Enough is as good as a feast but what is enough for a feast? Maybe that’s the tricky bit.

Meanwhile … I am recycling my Christmas tips because I’ve just benefitted all over again from implementing them.

Christmas Tips from a pro.

  1. Hire an extra fridge if you can find an undercover spot outside to house it.
  2. Hire a hot cupboard if you have room.
  3. Make the gravy ahead of time and freeze it. This is a new one. It has changed my Christmas dinner experience from frantic to festive.

The peace of mind that comes from knowing you are not going poison anyone with left-overs that have gone off for want of fridge space is well worth the price of an extra turkey which is what 4 days’ hire of the fridge cost me. The hot cupboard gives you much more leeway with cooking times and similarly relieves the brain. The gravy is a no-brainer but it has taken me forty years to get it.

Beetroot – great tidings of comfort and joy!

My first day at school introduced me to two things I immediately fell in love with. My Kindergarten teacher Mrs Heilbron who smelled of Yardley’s Apple Blossom was the first object of my adoration. Unlike my precarious relationship with my mother, she was predictable and easy to please. Sadly Mrs Heilbron with her exciting name and her delicate beige shoes for difficult feet of a certain age passed out of my life at the end of the year when I moved up to Transition. (Enter Miss Mainwaring, another name that fascinated me but not an easy woman to fall in love with which sadly, may be why she remained grey-haired but unmarried.)

What mysteries and surprises it brings, one’s first adventures away from home. There was another girl called ‘Elizabeth’ for starters! And then there were the biscuits. My mother’s kitchen ran to fig rolls (my mother’s favourites), Nice biscuits with their coating of sparkling sugar crystals, custard creams, malted milk and (high days and holidays) Huntley and Palmers milk and honey which were exotically oval and had not only a dab of cream like the custard creams but a window in the top filled with honey.  At four and a half I thought I had biscuits covered. But no! When break time came we all headed for the little cloth pockets on the wall with our names on where we put our biscuits on arrival. Bourbons, digestives, biscuits in foil wrappers, pink wafers, chocolate fingers emerged from other children’s pockets – a whole world of biscuits I had never seen.

 

 

But what about the beetroot? Get to the point, woman. Thank you, I’m coming to that, as advertised, never fear. Now I cannot share with you the kindness of Mrs Heilbron but the second revelation of that long-ago day was beetroot. In my school lunch I tasted my first beetroot in tiny delicious cubes and was bowled over by the fabulous new taste and the memorable colour. Since then I have of course encountered beetroot in other places but it’s never tasted the same as I remembered. I will draw a kindly veil over the mistake that is beetroot in vinegar. I mean, really. Vacuum packed, pre-cooked beetroot was okay but very messy and unexciting in taste. Once transported to a kitchen of my own complete with recipe books and the choice of what to eat I tried beetroot again. This time I fell prey to cooks who recommend baking beetroot in the oven and then ‘sloughing off the skin with a paper towel’. LOL. Great way to burn your fingers and stain everything within reach. The beetroot tasted okay but it simply isn’t worth it. I resigned myself to a beetroot-free life.

Step up Nadine Redzepi once more. (Yes, you’re sick of hearing about her but I’m not done yet.)  Her recipe for sweet potato cakes with cumin beetroot and salted yoghurt revealed to me that you can perfectly well eat beetroot raw and it tastes the way I remember it all those years ago.  It’s probably even better for you as well and oh boy, you won’y believe how good for you it is. You can add the cumin and olive oil and lemon juice that the recipe requires – or not. It’s delicious either way and now I discover it has its own website AND its benefits include the following :

  1. Lowering blood pressure
  2. Preventing or slowing the progress of dementia by increasing blood flow to the brain
  3. It contains a powerful antioxidant and antioxidants prevent against heart disease and stroke, slow the growth of cataracts, slow ageing and generally turn you into a bionic human being
  4. antioxidants are anti-inflammatory so good for infections and all kinds of inflammation
  5. It acts as a natural viagra by increasing blood flow to the genitals
  6. It actually makes you run quicker

I mean what more do you need? It’s not even expensive and you don’t have to buy it online from specialists. Finally this is how you prepare it without staining your hands. Peel with a potato peeler and grate or chop wearing, Ta-Da! disposable gloves. These are also invaluable for peeling and grating raw turmeric, celeriac, stoning damsons and anything else that stains.

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So I shall be introducing beetroot into every week’s menu and trying out the Beetroot and Chocolate Cake recipe on the beetroot website. I shall report back, natch. I am a great fan of things that taste great and do me good and I’m adding raw beetroot to the precious hoard.

 

 

 

Colds and flu

Colds and flu

Miserable winter ailments call for direct action and no action is more direct than this amazing tea I just made myself : ginger and turmeric.

ginger and tumeric tea

Here is a use for the peelings and odds and ends from your cooking with fresh turmeric and ginger. I was making a carrot and butternut squash soup with ginger and turmeric and amassed a panful of peelings and offcuts which I boiled up with water for 20 minutes or so. It takes on the amazing colour quite quickly but keep tasting to make sure it really has infused.

Then add honey to taste! It’s that simple and the taste is so powerful you just know your cold or flu is on the wane as soon as it hits your throat. It taste nice too!in the cup

 

 

Now for a super cheap and delicious supper dish which you can tweak as you will. This is another one from the Redzepi cookbook I have been banging on about. Basically blanched greens topped with mashed potato with as much butter as you can force the potatoes to absorb. On top you pop a poached egg and some fried breadcrumbs.

mashed potato, egg and greensI used this new method for poaching where you tie your egg in oiled clingfilm and simmer for 4 minutes. It worked but it made the egg very small … Anyway, the dish is comforting and might benefit from a little more excitement in the form of bacon crumbled from the grill, chilli or anchovies. Or you can have it as a side dish with fish ir meat.

Redzepi suggests shavings of truffle which, guess what? I did not have to hand but would probably be pretty good if you did. I might try with truffle oil next time.

Christmas

Sorry I got a bit overwhelmed with things and have failed to post for a while. What better day to set that right than Christmas Day itself. Whatever you are doing this Christmas I want you to consider this : that whatever you feel about it is exactly, EXACTLY, what you should be feeling. Even after all these years I realise that I call my feelings into question all the time and how exhausting that is. Maybe you do too. It is enormously relaxing to stop doing that for a moment even when you don’t like the feelings you’re stuck with. Christmas can make the most confident of us feel inadequate and many of us are not that confident to begin with.

So here’s a suggestion. Imagine that whatever you feel is just absolutely the right thing for you to be feeling right now. Maybe you have mixed feelings or conflicting feelings? No problem. Imagine there is space for all of those feelings and you don’t have to choose. Imagine your feelings do not have to fight to the death or argue with each other. Relaxing around this can allow what a client called ‘new ways of being’. And surely if Christmas is about anything it is about new ways of being? What can be more wonderful, more transformative, more liberating than that? I wish you all a wonderful Christmas and a 2018 full of new ways of being.

So here’s to an appropriate recipe. My new favourite cookbook – and I’m giving it to everyone this year – is called Downtime : Deliciousness at Home by Nadine Ledy Redzepi, wife of the chef at Noma. This book contains truly transformative recipes and I’m going to share just one with you today. More to follow because they’re irresistible..

Porridge with Wild Mushrooms and Eggs

This is a twist on a Danish tradition of serving grains at the end of a meal. Redzepi suggest wild mushrooms pan fried and topped with a fried egg but she adds you can use just about anything – scraps of bacon or ham, greens, fresh herbs etc.

I tried this for supper with kale cooked with chilli, caramelised carrots and spring onions. I recommend when you need a break from Christmas richness, this is a really novel way to feed yourself. More from Redzepi to follow. Meanwhile I wish you a blessed time when you may find some intimacy with yourself.IMG_0941

Kindness and IBS

Irritable Bowel Syndrome may begin with your bowels but in my experience it makes the rest of you pretty irritable before long. We sufferers experience discomfort, sometimes severe discomfort. From time to time your clothes don’t fit and your exercise regime no longer appeals. It’s problematic to enjoy food or your favourite activities and quite quickly your life can feel out of control. This is a vicious circle as we do less of what we enjoy and limit our diet. The more it doesn’t get better the more we search the internet for cures and causes and beat our heads against the indifference of the medical profession.

So I am here today to tell you that IBS can also respond, like the rest of us, to kindness and attention. Imagine your IBS is a friendly message from your gut trying to take care of you.  IBS is a symptom not a disease and it is usually a symptom that we’re overdoing it on an emotional front. It is a message from the gut to the rest of us to lay off the accelerator and stop trying to push through stress.

Sadly when the IBS plays up we treat it like an enemy that needs to be defeated.  When we are suffering we can get caught in an endless round of looking for ’causes’ and things to blame. ‘Maybe if I stop eating wheat? Maybe if I give up meat?’ Before you know it you have a long list of good things that you are not ‘allowed’ in case your IBS plays up. IBS then feels like an enemy – we make an enemy of our own nervous system!

So here’s my suggestion as a fellow sufferer : Try it the other way round. Do the things you like, eat what you like and if you notice your tummy is sending you warning messages, take a little extra care of yourself by making a risotto or a bowl of porridge or some other food that soothes you. This pro-active but positive approach can work absolute wonders and sidesteps the self-punishing avoidance diets that many of us in desperation adopt.

The kind approach is to stop looking for the villains of the piece (so called trigger foods) and to start looking for things that help. If you can feel into the difference in that approach you will already feel the sort of kindness that can help you. One way we feel under attack from within. The other we feel we need to listen a little more to our insides.

What can we do about the stress? Just accepting that something is stressful and that you are not to blame can reduce the symptoms substantially. When you’ve chosen a new job or a new partner or another exciting development it can be easy to blame ourselves when we find it stressful … and the blame adds another layer of stress. My last bout of IBS was associated with moving house and once I’d identified it as IBS (not the 4am bowel cancer) it responded very nicely to a little love and kindness. In fact it responded immediately to the realisation that it was probably about the traumatic business of losing one home and making another. I simply allowed myself to know that I was finding the experience stressful – even though I was moving somewhere wonderful that I had chosen.

So if you are suffering from chronic or acute IBS start by making a friend of your tummy. You are both on the same side! If there are difficulties in your life (if!) start by allowing that they are there and that they are causing you stress. Do not deny yourself things but make sure you do things that you know can help. But it is the allowing that really makes the difference. If you do a yoga class or take a massage to help with the stress it will help immensely if you don’t regard it as a deal : I have to stop feeling stressed after this. Keep an open mind. Allow your body to process all your feelings and your food in its own good time. It has its own wisdom. Treat it with respect and kindness. There is no limit to the amount of kindness you are allowed to give yourself.

Tomorrow a recipe for pasta with broccoli with blue cheese! Watch this space.

 

The Search for Honey

This is another story that tells of turning away from our habitual defences and the courage of trying something new. See what happens when we tread a different path : this is really the whole of psychotherapy.

 

At last I can wait no longer and I put on layers of clothing and open the door. I have to take off my gloves again to force the door which sticks and I hurt my hand getting it open. The wind near tears the door off and outside the bleak landscape is uninviting. My mouth is full of yearning and cursing; the hunger is insatiable now. My house was built long ago with wood from the tree of wilfulness and I leave it as little as I can. The tree still grows outside my door. Its fruits are bitter but I use the wood for the fire. It makes a poor fire but the wood is plentiful.

I venture out onto the hard beauty of the tundra and after a wearisome walk of some hours, encumbered by the thick clothes woven from pride, I find a small parcel of honey in a ruined building. I hurry back to the safety of my mean home where I give the honey to the children of my need and take some myself. The sweetness of giving the little ones honey gives way, when they are asleep, to the relief of filling my own mouth with what is left. The small fire has gone out. I fall asleep in the cold, bundled in most of the clothes I own, with sugar on my lips.

But sooner or later pride and wilfulness are not enough to keep the need at bay and I must brave the journey once more. Each time I must go further. Each time there is the fear that all the honey is gone. Each time the children cry harder.

And then, after years of such journeys a different thing happens. One day the needing takes me further from home, further into the cold than I have ever been before. The fear is great. I may freeze before I get home again to the cold comfort of the drafty hut and the smokey fire. I worry even more about the children.

My steps are heavy in my old boots and I pass the many ruined buildings where I have found sweetness in the past. These ruins are my friends and lovers of old and I pass them quickly for they hold nothing for me now. Their sweetness is exhausted.

After miles of slowgoing I can see another barn or such like ahead. Out here I am so far from the settlement that it is unlikely already to have been raided and my spirits lift with unbearable hope. My breath is short and my steps quicken. I do not feel the cold; I can see already the smiles of my children as I hand them the honeycomb later tonight; I can feel the stickiness on my tongue, the fullness in my mouth, the brief orgasm as I swallow. Don’t think about that.

And I am in luck. In a forgotten corner of this hay-barn is a jar of the sweetness I so badly need, the sweetness I do not know how to make. There is a relaxation within as I know that the need will shortly be assuaged, that my mouth will be full. I secure the jar in my top coat, tighten my scarves around my face, put on my gloves and step outside once more.

This way lies home. But see, the other way, the snows of make-believe autonomy and wilfulness run out and the bare earth is showing. I have never seen the earth before lying naked and unprotected by the snow. Here it is not frozen to stone as it is where I struggle every year to plant the terrible vegetables we must live on. Here there is mud instead. I am fascinated and I walk a little further away from home to see what I can find.

But the mud turns to mire. A man-made hell of unwanted rubble and shit emerges. Junk lies in dark oily puddles and there is scarcely anywhere to put one foot after another. I will never get my boots clean again. This is where I keep my blackest thoughts, thoughts of shame and murder and revenge and hope and self-harm. It is ugly here beyond imagination. This is why I live in the pristine snow where the suffering is less. 

I am pondering this long-forgotten decision when, beyond the mud, I see a fence. It has no doors or gates in it but it is a temporary fence such as builders erect around their work to keep out trespassers. The panels of the fence are not solid, nor are they heavy but every metre or so they are held in place by metal blocks of unimaginable weight. Each panel bears a picture of me and in every weight I see a refusal to forgive. I stand in the black mud and worse and contemplate the fence. Each weight had to be forged from the metal of unforgiveness and dragged into position. I remember each instance with an effort, each instance where I closed my heart with deliberation and turned away from forgiveness, away from the awful suffering of compassion. 

The sad work of erecting that fence took years and I called it growing up. 

Eventually I think to lift my eyes from the ground at last and I am overwhelmed to see, above the fence, the pink and gold domes of San Marco. The warmth, the pleasure, the plenty of Venice awaits there, within sight. I can hear music and laughter, like a party. Venice is like a party and I recognise that this is my heart, my journey’s end. The pink and gold domes sparkle in the sunlight with an inexhaustible supply of honey and I remember that within it is dark and private. Inside the cathedral there is the glimmer of the everlasting flame reflected in the ancient, gold mosaics which celebrate the deeds of the saints. There is the jewelled altar screen and an eternal holy singing and the smell of incense as the Blessed Sacrament is offered for adoration.

I begin to pick my way through the mire towards the singing.