Ever Green
January annually arrives with good intentions. I have heard they are used to pave the road to the hot place, but every year they end up on my front doorstep, usually covered in snow. We confer a lofty title upon these frail creatures: resolutions. We mean to keep these commitments yet all too often approach them with something less than what could be considered resolve. The nobler among us pledge themselves to grow spiritually, mentally, emotionally. For most, the more pedestrian goals of reducing, eating healthier, or getting more exercise, carry the tangible attraction, and the inevitable curse, of measurable results. Yet January’s frozen aspect beckons me to partake of comforting meals, to recline near a fire with a book and a full-bodied glass of deep red, or curl up catlike in a favorite chair to watch the snow fall.
When I get around to turning over the healthier leaf I committed to in earnest, my thoughts always come in shades of green. The whole cruciferous family comes bearing so much nourishment for so little caloric coin. A collection of baby lettuces glisten from a kiss of freshly prepared vinaigrette. I plop a fried egg on top and dig into delight. Roasted Brussel sprouts, enticing as suntanned beauties on a beach, naked but for the barest covering of olive oil and a bit of sea salt, are caramelized to perfection. Broccoli spears, steamed to tender-crisp, present themselves on my plate like tiny trees about to leaf in the spring. Spinach folded into parmesan risotto with toasted almonds, or tossed with a bowl of sausage and pasta, immediately bestows redemption.
Why do I respond so readily to these green things? I could catalogue the technical health benefits, of course, but so many others do and for so many reasons. I just know that I feel better knowing these things exist to make me feel better. They could have been any color, of course; healthy, delicious foods come in a veritable rainbow array. The color green, though, is symbolic of life and rebirth. Despite Jadis’ January spell, the trees, skeletal and shrouded in white, await their annual resurrection, and the bulbs sleep in the earth against the day their sprouts reconnoiter the promise of new life. All creation longs for the coming spring whose heraldry bears verdant hues that embody the returning sun. Darkness is pushed back not just with each dawn, but with each day, reclaiming territory lost as the dying summer yielded to autumn’s golden reign.
“I’m just familiarizing myself, you know, with the vegetables and such.”
Tuesday morning found me clearing the remains of a recent snowfall in order to free my transportation so that I might join a couple of friends that evening for discussion of the deeper things of life, the baring of souls amongst trusted sisters. It occurred to me in the midst of my exertions that even as my body needs green things to eat to be its best, my heart and mind need proper sustenance as well. What I feed my head matters as much or more than what I feed my body.
On the heels of such an unrelenting year of harsh uncertainties, loss and pain, these first days of the new year offered at best bitter herbs of lessons learned, though hard won. The escape to be found in binge-watching old movies or favorite television series was satisfying, even comforting, but numbing, too—like consuming pints of ice cream to soothe a broken heart. All the distractions that offered me temporary comfort gave me a brain freeze of a creative sort. With the joys of spring and the chance to plant, to tend, to wait for growth to lead to harvest, seemingly a faraway dream buried under snow and ice, where could one go to find the serving of greens for the soul?
On the evening of this latest snowfall, my fellow searchers and I had discussed the need for perspective. To realize that we were not really in control of much at all and too small in the grand scheme of things to change that fact did not need to be cause for fear or despair. In the acceptance of this truth grew tender shoots of freedom. We shared readings, attesting to the marvelous beauty of creation. While I know that not all believe in a creator, to study nature, even the merest vestiges that still surround us amidst the manmade bastions of the urban and suburban, reveals undeniable artistry. Therein was to be found sustenance for the soul no matter the season of nature or life.
“I am better off with vegetables at the bottom of my garden than with all the fairies of a mid-summer night’s dream.”
Returning from a thrifting excursion with my sister the day after that night of paradigm shifting discovery, I reflected on the shared commitment to be more aware of everyday wonders. Glancing at the western horizon as I sped along the freeway, I beheld a skyscape shining like the shores of heaven itself, cosmic coastlands aglow in the waning winter light. Waiting at a stoplight, I glimpsed between the slim waists of a stand of birch trees, to see ducks bobbing and dunking on the river, rippling silver defying the sub freezing cold.
I turned down a less travelled road, hoping to avoid traffic as I still needed to stop at the grocery store before heading home. On the crest of a hill a stand of pine stood silhouetted against an opal sunset, the remaining strands of light streaming between the branches. The hurry and scurry I had felt, with miles to go before I slept, melted away despite the chill. My hungry heart was satiated, filled with hope spring green.
M. M. Kiehn’s Parmesan Risotto
w/ Toasted Slivered Almonds and Spinach*
Ingredients:
6 cups stock, chicken or vegetable, heated through and kept warm on low
3 Tablespoons butter
2 Tablespoons olive oil
1 shallot bulb, peeled and minced
2 cups Arborio rice
1 cup of dry white wine such as a Sauvignon Blanc
¼ teaspoon of nutmeg
¾ cup grated parmesan cheese
½ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon pepper
¾ cup of toasted slivered almonds
5 ounce package of fresh baby spinach
Directions:
Toast the slivered almonds in a 350 degree oven until light golden brown, Set aside.
In a large sauce pan or Dutch oven, melt 1 ½ tablespoons of the butter with the olive oil over a medium heat. Add the shallots, nutmeg, salt and pepper.
Once the shallots are translucent, increase the heat to medium high and add the rice, coating thoroughly and stirring constantly for about two minutes.
Reduce the heat to medium and add the wine and continue stirring until it has all been absorbed.
Keep the heat between medium to medium low, and ladle about a half cup at a time of the stock, stirring the rice until absorbed fully before adding the next ladle of stock.
Continue until all of the stock is used and absorbed, and the rice is al dente tender.
Stir in the parmesan cheese and the remaining butter. Cover and let stand off the heat for 10 minutes. Stir in the almonds. Fold in the spinach right before serving so that it is slightly wilted but retains some of its shape. Adjust seasoning to taste.
Garnish with minced parsley and lemon zest if desired.
*Tips borrowed from Martha Stewart’s recipe
