All posts filed under: failure

marmalade: must we? | new post on a raisin + a porpoise

haul pass

In reversals of fortune of any scale, there’s a tension for me between giving myself a break because I’m going through something difficult and doubling down because the work is unfinished. And as long as we’re on this side of the grass, the work is unfinished: the work of grief, or recovery, or redress, or of just attending to life in general.  Whatever work there is, it certainly gets an assist from rest and recharge. But the personal ‘by’ is tricky tool to employ well. There’s a big risk of letting the self miss important opportunities. There’s no shortage of fresh horrors to compound the political news that seemed to reach its apex on November 9th, but re-grouping from the wallop of the election results is not something we can really afford, as citizens, to drag out. Because that wasn’t the apex. It was the opening bell of the next round. Good people are out there doing the work of resistance, and they need help. [If you have not already done this, please click here …

cookie or good for you? caramelized puffed millet go-bars from A Raisin & A Porpoise

nut job

I set out to make the weekly snacking bar, my usual Sunday activity, but my mind wandered as I both eyeballed the proportions and switched up the ingredients.  They looked really mushy even after they were baked, so I taught them a lesson or two by baking them some more, until they really quit squealing–almost burned them, in fact, like the chef in the restaurant when you say your meat is a little underdone.  I was reasonably sure I had an epic fail on my hands. My daughter ate three, pretty comfortably. What is this? asked her friend, when I handed her two of them. I’m not sure, I said. What were those? asked the friend’s mom a few minutes later. They’re gone? I asked.  I think they are sort of like those lunchbox bars I make, I said.  I am going to make more, and I’ll give you some. This is not a bar, said my friend Julie.  This is a cookie. What’s in it? Oats, millet, nuts, coconut sugar…I said. Sweet!  See?  Ha! …

good to the last drop

After I made that lemon mousse the other day, I kind of got mousse on the brain. It’s comfortable there.  Right at home, you might say.  Among other things, I have always been perfectly content to eat a bowl of whipped cream when I had the chance; as a child, the task of licking the beaters and the bowl were my exclusive domain, and my college roommate used to take me right smartly downtown for a large creampuff when I showed signs of extreme distress, so clearly I failed to grow out of the fondness. Having tackled the lemon, I set my sights on a coffee mousse.  Drinking coffee is one youthful habit I have surrendered; though I love the flavor of it, I abused its powers so severely during the last two years of high school that I hung up my mug of my own volition, alarmed by the jitters and headaches that went along with the admittedly delightful aspects of the ritual.  I consigned the use of the cup of joe to medically …