It’s not out of life’s character to move quickly, to come and go while often leaving a path of destruction not unlike the upended houses and thrown cars that get in the way of a tornado. Right now emails are coming in faster than I can respond to, we’re signing my little girl (my baby!!) up for preschool, I’m tripping over clean clothes spilling out of the confines of the basket and the dishwasher is loaded and unloaded more times that I can count in a day.

“In our next house I think we need a bigger dishwasher.” Gabe said while unloading yet another round. We’re both trying to seek some sort of sense in a season that has us both gasping for air.

These things happen. I’ve seen seasons come and go numerous times, particularly while being a parent. Just when you think you have a schedule figured out – baby is sleeping through the night, we’re getting three healthy meals on the table a day and we’re able to rest at the end of day – then suddenly something shifts and the new schedule that we took great pride in is pointless. Then in struts a new season without warning.

In our house we’re experiencing some shifting, a new busy season, and it’s provoked many moments of Gabe and I sitting on the couch staring blankly at the google calendar trying to make sense of the week. Nothing about these changes are bad – it’s multiple birthdays that call for multiple parties, book writing, new job opportunities, the start of wedding season, travel – but it’s enough to fill up the moments in our day and have us needing to seek out our priorities that don’t always get a time slot on the calendar.

The to-do list was growing by the minute last week and the 50 unread emails in my inbox were taunting me with their bold type but I knew we needed dinner. The sort that has food setting on multiple platters along the table. The kind of dinner that we ask the kids to set the table, with napkins even. They may be paper but even so a folded paper napkin with a fork and knife resting next to its crease somehow elevates the meal beyond the harried throw something on a plate because the kids are hangry dinners. Those happen too. But this time I was seeking the sort of dinner where we sit around the table and linger until the conversation dwindles and even then Gabe and I stick around for awhile while the kids carry their plates, with much of dinner still on it, into the kitchen then run off to play.

It seemed such a simple thing, in fact it was. Dinner was little more than braised chicken thighs with a bright white bean salad speckled with fresh mint, salty feta and peas that burst with spring. But sitting down to dinner reminded me that in the midst of chaos and new seasons it is vital that we stick to the routines that bind us.

It’s for this reason that our date nights are scheduled. If they weren’t their absence would go unnoticed until Gabe and I realize that something isn’t right in our marriage. These weekly nights that breed connection are like our preventative medicine – as exercise builds a strong body better ready to fight when sickness comes – our marriage is the stronger for our weekly dating exercise over a sprightly cocktail and satisfying meal.

The same is true for family dinner. I don’t want to communicate to our kids that we only have a nice meal together when there’s time. No, we make the time for it. And while I know the reality is that some nights we just can’t all linger at the table together, it’s important for our family that it’s most nights.
As we sat around the table over dinner I remembered the days when I longed for family dinners around the table. Baron used to sit in a little seat with an attached tray on the floor in our kitchen as he mumbled his way through black beans and purees of all kinds. Then when he was finally able to sit at the table with us for dinner, Roman had his turn in the little chair. We’d just sit down to dinner when suddenly Roman would start to cry and moan and demand something other than the mashed banana I was feeding him. I would leave the table with Roman while Gabe and Baron enjoyed dinner.

“When will we ever be able to eat as a family?” I lamented longing for those idillic dinners that I so eagerly wanted with our growing family.

Then came Ivy and again our meal time was split between a preschooler eager to talk about his day, a potty training and not eager to sit still toddler and a baby who didn’t want to sit on the sidelines or sit (unless in someone’s arms) in general. During those days it felt like dinner would never happen around the table. We ate in shifts and in between messes.

And then it happened, really without me even noticing. Sometime last year we were all sitting around the table.

“How was your day?” I asked Baron excited to hear about his day at school while at the same time remembering how often I was asked that question at the dinner table.

His generic response was the same as mine often was, “good”. Soon the conversation expanded beyond one word answers and we’d have to remind the kids to actually eat their food in between sentences.

Even still our dinners rarely last longer than 10 minutes, are often met with moans from all the green stuff I’m serving and much of the time is spent cleaning up spilled milk and sticky fingers. But it’s happening. We’re around the table most nights creating the habit and building the ritual. If we don’t build that into our schedule, regardless of the season we’ll one day realize that our opportunities for those dinners have passed. How terribly cliche of me but I’ve come to realize a new cliche – the cliches are true (and now I shall not say that word again because I really don’t like it).

While the romantic in me doesn’t like the need for “scheduling” time together – whether it’s date night or family dinners – the practical side of me, albeit however small that part is, realizes that in order for these times of connection to happen they need to be scheduled. The importance of those times outweighs my disdain of scheduling.

White Bean Salad with Peas and Mint
serves 4 as a side

1 15 oz can or 1 1/2 cups white beans, drained and rinsed
1 cup peas (fresh or frozen)
1/2 cup chopped fresh mint
1 scallion, thinly sliced
1 teaspoon ground coriander
zest and juice from half a lemon
1/2 cup crumbled feta
olive oil
salt and pepper

Combine everything in a bowl. Add just enough olive oil to coat and season with salt and pepper, lots of pepper, to taste.
If you are making this ahead combine everything except the mint as fresh mint tends to wilt and turn black once cut. Stir in the mint just before serving.
I like this with a bit of bread for a light lunch or served alongside chicken as a main course. Makes a great, easy picnic side dish.

*This post was inspired by the new book from Gluten-Free Girl and the Chef, called Gluten-Free Girl Every Day. It’s simple weeknight cooking centered around the family and dinner together. The recipes are simple yet creative and enticing. I can not wait to try the zuchini noodles with pesto.

*Recently I did an interview with Saveur. Check it out their site. And while you’re clicking around hop over to Bon Appetit where I took their new grilling book for a spin. *Spoiler* I LOVED it.

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Before we get any further I wanted to say a couple things. Over the last week or so I found myself sitting at the computer with the intention of responding to your comments from the last post and I couldn’t do it. Everything I tried to write seemed too trite and wasn’t able to capture how grateful, humbled and encouraged I am by your support. I’ll read all of those comments over and over throughout the process when I need a little boost. So thank you, thank you, thank you.

Also, and I can’t even believe that I get to write this, I was nominated for a Saveur award in the Best Cooking Blog category. I’m shocked, happy beyond belief and to be perfectly honest, would love to win. If you have a moment I’d LOVE if you could hop on over to their site and vote. There are so many great blogs in the running. I’m happy to have discovered a few new ones and to be among some great friends. Thanks, again.

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In one of those fits of luck where things align too perfectly for it to be a mere coincidence I find myself listening to Dearie, (Julia Child’s biography) and I’m just at the point where she is deep into writing Mastering the Art of French Cooking while I’m at the beginning of my own recipe testing and development. Her kitchen is littered with stacks of chicken stock splattered pages and she is spending hours a day in the kitchen working tirelessly to get her recipes perfect. I can relate.

As far as things go with my book I feel as if I’m just starting to build momentum and the process seemed that so foreign and daunting just a couple weeks ago is starting to feel doable, possible and even more thrilling than I had anticipated. It’s the sort of thrill that makes my entire body scream in unison, “this is what you are meant to be doing.” In fact that’s exactly what I texted to Gabe while I sat in the quiet of my parent’s house working on some of the narrative for the book. For me it’s more common to say to myself, “What am I doing?!” So I relish that moment when all seems right. I’ve bottled up some of that goodness and am reserving it for when my most harsh critics – the voices in my head – are at their worst.

Let’s get back to Julia – this is what happens when I ramble write, I forget where I was going. Actually to be perfectly honest I’m not sure where I’m going but I do know that I wanted to write something about her process. To learn about others’ process is like peering in through their living room window and at the risk of sounding like some sort of creeper, I love that. I’m fascinated by the process and how others have worked out their own systems in order to create and live out their passion. I’ve learned so much by the vulnerability of others and their willingness to let me peer into the way in which they work and I feel like I’m sitting at Julia’s table watching her work while I’m listening to this 30 hour tome of her life.

She is fastidious, passionate and incredibly focused on creating the best possible recipes for the american home cook. It’s as if Julia sees herself as a missionary with the purpose of sharing the wonders of French food in a way that is approachable and exact. She’s thinking of her reader constantly while revising again and again her method for mayonnaise. When Julia made batch after batch of an oily beurre blanc nantais (a simple sauce of butter, shallots, wine, vinegar and salt and pepper) she set out on a reconnaissance mission to a favorite restaurant that had the sauce perfected. By the end of the evening Julia had charmed her way into the restaurant’s kitchen and watched the sauce being made while she took copious notes for the book.

Mastering the Art of French Cooking took years of hard work, hundreds of pounds of butter and an incredibly supportive husband. But in the end the book is not only highly functional but her passion made it a work of art. I’m humbled by her pursuit to create such a book and find myself in the kitchen with a cake close to perfection but not quite and ask myself, “what would Julia do?”

She’d do it again and so will I.

One can imagine that our need for vegetables is high while our counters are continually littered with cakes, cookies and the random batch of cinnamon rolls I decided to make Sunday afternoon. While it’s easy for me to be okay with variations of a salad for many meals, my children and husband aren’t. So creativity and wooing comes into play. When it comes to food it’s easy to woo with say, chocolate but cauliflower is another thing. That is until you serve a crisp – actually, practically charred, entire head of cauliflower. It’s grand and serves as a blank canvas for those of us who like to improvise and create recipes from little bits of the pantry here and there.

I served whole roasted cauliflower at my birthday dinner this year. I’ve been meaning to tell you more about that night so I’ll save the details except that I wanted those that I was feeding to feel lavished. So there was whole roasted cauliflower (also, homemade sausage and that ice cream cake I already told you about). For the birthday cauliflower there was a simple lemon vinaigrette with capers (fresh and fried) and parsley. This time around I went with sun-dried tomatoes then took it a bit further with feta and mint. Landing a plate on the table with an entire head of cauliflower, crisp, sweet and topped with a vibrant red crown of sun-dried tomato vinaigrette makes one quickly forget that it’s actually cauliflower. I mean until a few years ago I thought cauliflowers greatest achievement was being next to the ranch on a vegetable platter. This is no vegetable platter.

It should also be noted that this simple vinaigrette of only four ingredients is also great with eggs, stirred into pasta and combined with white beans, olive oil, chili flakes, garlic and the pureeing power of a food processor to make a very fine dip of sorts.

Whole Roasted Cauliflower with Sun-Dried Tomato Vinaigrette

1 whole cauliflower, leaves and tough core removed

Drizzle the cauliflower with a bit of olive oil and salt and place on a baking sheet. Roast in a 450 degree F oven for 1 – 1/2 hours until charred in parts and tender throughout. Pierce the cauliflower with a knife to check the tenderness.

Meanwhile prepare the vinaigrette.

Sun-Dried Tomato Vinaigrette

I’ve left my vinaigrette be less of a dressing and more of a condiment. If you want it a bit thinner and to dribble down the dimpled florets of the cauliflower just add a bit of water at the end.

1/4 cup sundried tomatoes (about 6 large halves)

1/4 cup olive oil

3 tablespoons lemon juice

salt

Combine everything and adjust the seasoning to your liking. If you want a thinner vinaigrette add a bit of water a tablespoon at a time until thinned.

The cauliflower is a wonderful and impressive side dish on its own with a generous supply of feta and fresh mint or you can serve it with a simple kale risotto as I did. The sun-dried tomato vinaigrette loves this risotto almost as much as cauliflower.

Kale Risotto

1 cup water

1 cups chicken stock

1 large onion, diced

2 tablespoons butter

1/2 cup white wine

1 cup arborio rice

1 bunch kale, roughly chopped in 1 inch ribbons

1/4 teaspoon fresh ground nutmeg

salt

In a small saucepan heat the water and chicken stock to a simmer. Continue to keep it warm while making the risotto. This speeds up the cooking time and makes the rice creamier in the end.

Saute the onions with butter in a medium saucepan over medium high heat. Add a large pinch (about 1/4 teaspoon) kosher salt to the onions to help them break down and soften. Cook until the onions are tender and cooked through and just starting to turn golden around the edges, about 5-7 minutes.

Add the rice and stir to coat with the butter and onions. Pour in the wine and stir until the wine has been absorbed.

Add 1/2 cup of the warm water and stock mixture. Stir the rice until the liquid is mostly absorbed. Continue this process until the rice is tender with just a faint bite to it, similar to al dente pasta.

Turn down the heat to low and stir in the kale allowing the residual heat to wilt the greens. Stir in the fresh ground nutmeg. Remove the risotto from the stove, taste and add more salt. I stir in cheese at this point also. If I’m serving this with the cauliflower I add a bit of feta now and then more just before serving. Parmesan, ricotta and/or goat cheese are all good options as well. Consider your cheese choice when salting the risotto.

Serve with:

1/2 cup crumbled feta

fresh mint

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It’s time for me to rediscover my love of salad. It is definitely not a hard relationship to rekindle but I’ve somehow lost sight of it’s flare as I’ve been distracted by cocktails, making homemade sausage, cheese-laden pastas and hearty roasts. But this week Gabe went ahead and said it, “We need to eat healthier.” Gah. Of course he was totally right but I wasn’t ready to admit it publicly.

Our eating habits go through fits and spurts with some seasons having more green on our plates but then there are the weeks of traveling, busy schedules and exhaustion that keep us from wiping the dust off the juicer or reaching into the crisper where the vegetables have since withered and died. The unhealthy streak putters on until one of us cries uncle and declares a change. And that’s when I rediscover salad and fall madly in love with it’s creativity, color and diversity again.

This time I’m starting with Fattoush. Mostly because I love to say the word, “Fattoush” but also because we’ve been on the sort of Mediterranean kick where mint, lemon and greek yogurt are key players. Fattoush is essentially a chopped salad with endless variations. It’s the sort of salad where I imagine every grandma in Arabic countries has their own recipe and deems it, “the best”.

Now I have my own version which is based off of the one found in the book, Jerusalem. I reach for this book often when I’m looking to get out of a certain cooking rut and enter into a world of foreign spices, creative recipes and gorgeous images of countries I long to visit. The Fattoush instantly caught my eye as I stared at the vibrant ingredients and it had those three ingredients – lemon, mint and greek yogurt – that I just can’t resist.

Essentially Fattoush is a bread salad. Stale or crisped naan (or pita) is mixed with a variety of chopped vegetables, handfuls of herbs and a light dressing of yogurt, lemon juice, a bit of oil and sumac. Sumac is the ground fruit of a Sumac tree. It’s tart and almost lemon-like in flavor with a stunning reddish purple hue. You can find it online or at spice shops. If you simply can’t find it you can use more lemon juice and a bit of zest in its place although I do recommend you seek it out.

This is the sort of salad that makes eating healthy seem incredibly easy and exciting. The bright bite of the herbs excite in a way that heavy foods just can’t and yet you feel sort of indulgent as the yogurt creates a rich and creamy dressing. It’s the perfect salad to lead us back into healthier eating, that is, until I decide to make another batch of cookies. As Julia Child says, “Everything in moderation, including moderation.”

Fattoush

serves 6

4 cups torn naan or pita

1 cup Greek yogurt

3 tablespoons lemon juice

3 tablespoons olive oil

1 tablespoon sumac

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

2 garlic cloves, minced

1/2 cup chopped parsley

3 large tomatoes, chopped

1 cup thinly sliced fresh radishes

1 cucumber peeled and chopped

2 green onions, sliced

1/2 cup to 1 cup fresh torn mint

In a skillet with a bit of olive oil or in a oven, crisp the pieces of naan or pita until golden and crisp on the outside dried throughout. You could also just use very stale bread.

Mix together the yogurt, lemon juice, olive oil, salt and sumac in a bowl.

Combine the remaining ingredients in a large bowl and toss with the yogurt dressing finish with more sumac if you’d like.

For a heartier meal serve with grilled chicken, steak or an oily fish.

*I realize last week I teased you with bacon and now you come here and I’m talking about salad?! I’m terrible. But I promise, bacon is coming. Eat some salad first in preparation.

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Could it be that there is actually something good to be said of fear? It turns out that the emotion that I’ve dreaded and relegated to being “wrong” and “unhealthy” might possible be an indicator of exactly what I should be doing.

Let me back up for a moment. This past week I read, or listened to (audiobooks are the book-loving busy mom’s dream), the book, “The War of Art”
by Steven Pressfield. In it he basically gives us creatives, who tend to drag our feet in the mud, a swift, yet encouraging kick in the backside. A kick that puts us at our chairs where we must sit and actually do the work. But the work is hard and is surrounded by fear.

In this book, Pressfield asks, “Are you paralyzed with fear? That’s a good sign. Fear is good. Like self-doubt, fear is an indicator. Fear tells us what we have to do. Remember one rule of thumb: the more scared we are of a work or calling, the more sure we can be that we have to do it.”

I make excuses all the time for why I can’t sit and write everyday, for why I shouldn’t pick up my pencil and sketch. As those excuses crumble the roots are exposed and fear is revealed. So yes, I am paralyzed with fear and apparently that’s good. This understanding is helping me not to fear the fear, makes me not feel incompetent for feeling it but rather turns it into a motivator.

I am plagued with fear around writing, succeeding and acting out the goals I’ve made. If fear surrounds what our calling is then it is now the fear that motivates me to just keep at it. Much of the time I question my direction, wondering if these things I fear are really even worth time pursuing but now I see, yes it’s worth it to fight through the fear as fear itself is the indicator that I’m on the right path.

The more I think about it I realize it’s not just in our work where this is true. Let’s be honest, being a mom is terrifying. These little people depend on me for so much. I do what I can to love them well but everyday (many times a day) I’m faced with my own fallibility and I let them down. And I will continue to do so because I’m human and imperfect and so are they. Because there is fear there doesn’t mean I shy away from the task. The fear reveals my love, passion and desire to mother them well.

This isn’t exactly where I intended this post to go. I’m here to talk about ricotta but actually fear isn’t that far off. Seeing recipes for homemade ricotta I envied the results but the process scared me. The heating, curdling then cheesecloth-using put me off for a time until I decided to face the fear of the thermometer (which it turns out you don’t even need) and try making my own. I did and now have done so dozens of times.

When Summer was in its prime along with red tomatoes heavy with juice and peaches so sweet you could smell their perfume before they were in sight, I was making fresh ricotta weekly. We’d make meals of it with bread and just sliced produce. And now that I’ve been making bread with a light and bubbled interior and a crisp, deeply golden exterior nearly daily, the ricotta has returned.

Sitting next to me as I type this are the few remains of lunch: two thick slices of bread baked last night with more than a smear but less than a dollop (although not much less) of ricotta, a bit of olive oil and flakes of crunchy sea salt scattered on top. Last week there were warm and buttery melted leeks resting on the ricotta. A few chile flakes gave a bit of heat to the simple tartine and the bread was crisped in the pan with olive oil.

One thing I have learned about fear is that the completed action that was once cloaked in it is so much more satisfying when conquered. Each batch of fresh ricotta is a reminder of a fear smashed, smothered and beaten up. And each time I sit down to write – be it 5 minutes of pure scribbles and mumblings that will never be seen – I become a bit more brave and sure that yes, this is exactly what I am to supposed to be doing.

Melted Leek and Ricotta Tartine
With such a basic recipe as this one adaptations are welcomed and encouraged. Replace the leeks with fennel, greens, carrots or tomatoes. Add fresh herbs, spices or bits of bacon. Of course as is this tartine, splendid in its simplicity, made for a lovely lunch.

Homemade Ricotta

adapted from Ina Garten

I’ve been making ricotta for quite awhile now and have played around with the combination of milk and cream. It can be done with all milk but as you can imagine, cream makes it better. Ina goes as far as to add 2 cups of cream to 4 cups of whole milk and she’s got a good thing going. If I’m feeling rather indulgent that’s the version I use. But now it’s a weekly staple and this version is a bit lighter, cleaner and somehow makes me feel a bit better about slathering it atop crusty, warm bread. You can also pour a bit of fresh cream into the strained cream to add some extra richness and for an incredibly smooth ricotta. The point is it’s quite easy and adaptable so find the version that works best for you.

3 cups whole milk
1 cup cream
2 tablespoons vinegar (I’ve used distilled or cider, you could also use white wine vinegar)
salt

In a large pot combine the milk and cream and bring to a boil. Watch closely as it can boil over quickly and is a terrible pain to clean, spoken from multiple experiences.
Once the milk has come to a boil turn off the heat and add the vinegar. Give a quick and gentle stir before letting the mixture rest for 1 minute. You should notice almost instantly the little curds begin to form and separate from the whey. You’re making cheese – how crazy is that?!
Line a strainer with two layers of cheesecloth and place over a bowl large enough to catch the whey. Carefully pour the hot curds and whey over the cheese cloth. Let this drain for about 20-25 minutes or until it is the consistency you desire.
Add a bit of good quality salt. You don’t need much, if any, if you plan to use it for sweet recipes.
Before you cover and refrigerate your ricotta make sure to take a bite while it’s warm. There’s really nothing better.
Refrigerated this will keep for one week.

Melted Leeks

1 large leek
2 tablespoons butter
pinch chile flakes
salt

Thinly slice the white part of a large leek. If you happen to cut where the white gradually transitions to citron I wouldn’t mind.
In a skillet melt the butter then add the leeks. Add a pinch of salt and cook on medium-low until the leeks soften, become translucent and just start to caramelize.

Top a crisp piece of bread with fresh ricotta, warm leeks and a bit of chile flake.

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At the end of all the holiday activity I had carved out a day to go see Les Miserables with a couple of friends. The previews alone were enough to fill my eyes with tears so I knew well enough to grab a couple extra napkins to sop up my tear-stained cheeks but what I didn’t know was that it was through watching the movie I would pick up a sentence that I now hope to be my theme for 2013.

First let me tell you briefly of the story – enough so that you see the power in these words but not enough to spoil it as you really must see this film. It’s a story of redemption. For stealing a loaf of bread to feed his nephew, a man named Jean Valjean toils in prison for over 20 years working tirelessly and endlessly cast down with shame. In the end he skips parole and spends the rest of his life running from the law. Along his journey he meets a priest who sees him not as a criminal but as forgiven and free from the shame that he had carried with him as a heavy burden. He struggles with his identity until he understands his forgiveness and finds peace in that freedom. Jean Valjean’s freedom allows him to love others and care for a child that is not his own. He overcomes shame and alters the lives of others through his love.

These few sentences don’t do the film nor the book any justice but it is this picture of grace that always speaks to me most clearly when watching this story.

In one of the final scenes (I promise, I’m not giving it away) the words “to love another person is to see the face of God” ring throughout a candlelit chapel. With tears streaming those words rang in my ears and have not since left.

I have a few goals for the new year. I’ve already begun the annual call for health by supplementing all the cookies and fondue I ate over the holiday with greens; loads and loads of greens. Also, I’m allowing Jillian Michaels to kick my butt by way of the 30 day shred. I’ve even made the doctors and dentists appointments I’ve been putting off for months. There’s talk of tighter budgets and bigger homes. We’re thinking about travel plans and garden plans. And I’ve been thinking a lot about the blog – how I want to be a better writer, photographer and recipe developer, but most importantly I just want to be here more. Even when the words are fumbled and the images aren’t perfect I just want to be here. Because of course we all know reality isn’t perfect and I’d rather you know more about the real me than see me as something that I am not.

I’m not setting a lot of specific goals this year but with the ones I do make I am I’m holding them with an open hand. The idea of creating a goal is not to create anxiety along with it. To rob my year of peace in order to live a year devoted to doing a lot of “things” is actually exactly the opposite of what I want. Which is why everything I do put on my list of “goals” or to dos for the year must first pass through the filter of “to love another person is to see the face of God.” That’s what I ultimately want. To get a glimpse of glory by loving those around me.

I want to love my husband better. To enjoy him more freely and to be less selfish in my love for him. And my children. It’s so easy to go throughout our hectic days and miss the opportunity to pause and look them in the eye and remember that they aren’t just little ones clamoring for more of this or more of that but they are individuals each with their own needs, desires and gifts. I want to know them more and love them as who they are more effectively this year. And myself. I want to stop fighting to be some sort of image of who I think I should be and really enjoy who I was created to be. To not make excuses for what I have deemed weaknesses but to live fully in all of myself – forgiving and asking for forgiveness often and laughing at myself the hardest. And my community. The one closest to me and the one beyond – which also includes you all. I feel so loved by you and it’s quite humbling in that I’m not sure how to return the favor but I do want to share more, show more and eat more so I do hope you’re okay with that.

After many days of very few vegetables, we are loving our bodies a bit better by upping the salads and decreasing the sugar. I love vegetables but it’s still hard to make that transition after cookies, candies, cakes and cocktails became the norm for a few weeks so I make it a little easier on ourselves by making a delightfully creamy dressing to coat our greens. The thing is though, that although this dressing is creamy and as satisfying as the one found in the Hidden Valley it’s made from plain yogurt instead of the usual mayonnaise and sour cream. It’s tangy with a bit of garlic bite and the sort of freshness that you think is only possible in the summer.

It seems silly to talk of dressing while at the same time speaking of love but ever since I’ve had those words stuck in my head it helps me give intention to my actions. It helps me prioritize and simplify. My life is filled with purpose and joy – even in the little things, like a green salad.

Yogurt Ranch Dressing

After a holiday party where fresh vegetables were served with a classic Ranch dressing I knew I had to recreate that nostalgia with something a bit lighter. Since then our carrot sticks have never looked back. Feel free to use whatever herbs you might have. I used fresh but dried would work too – just not too much as dried packs more punch than fresh. And of course real garlic can be used instead of the garlic powder but for the sake of nostalgia I went with the powder.

½ cup whole milk plain yogurt

¼ teaspoon garlic powder

2 tablespoons chopped fresh herbs (dill, parsley, basil, chives, thyme – whatever you have)

salt & pepper

Combine all ingredients. Taste and adjust to your liking.

If you think the dressing too thick you can add a bit of milk, water or olive oil.

Spoon on top of clean, cool greens.

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