Cleaning House

After a blissfully uneventful drive, I rode into Homer yesterday afternoon to find most of the snow cover gone, bright sunshine, and temperatures dropping rapidly as the huge, early-hanging moon approaches fullness.

What this meant in practical terms, as I knew, was that the path down to our cabin was a 40-yard sheet of the sheerest ice that runs right off the edge of the bluff if you don't choose to stop at the cabin door. It was twilight, so any water molecules were packing in tight for bed, and for maximum slickness. Even with the best ice cleats, nigh-crampons, I could barely stand up in certain places. The fact that I didn't fall on my butt multiple times says more about my good balance than about the conditions! Favorite moment: sliding the cooler, which weighed probably 40 or so pounds, all the way down the path, sometimes pulling it like a sled dog, sometimes gingerly steering it from behind as the musher, ready to yank back should it start to run away with me.

And then I got home. When my friend Lynn asked me what I was most looking forward to about getting home, my answer was "getting it cleaned up." It's not that I love to clean: the mess that is the cabin, especially with me having been gone for a week unexpectedly over the break, had really gotten on top of me. 
Mitigating circumstances: 
-Two somewhat clutter-tolerant people in a 16x20 cabin. 
-A dirt path to the cabin--dust and grime in the summer, sand and grit in the winter, dust all the time, all making their way in. 
-No running water since our pipes froze around Thanksgiving, so water always feels limited and hauling six-gallon jugs down above-mentioned ice-run is more arduous than rodeo.
-Even with no bathroom (or perhaps especially with no bathroom), things seem to get dirty faster than I can keep up.

With all those excuses, this person who is unashamed to confess to unpleasant habits is not comfortable showing a picture of the mess she walked in on.
I'd prefer to show a view from just north of Anchorage, one of the many vistas here that invite you to imagine going away, away, away into space forever opening.

 Just an example, though--"my space" where I typically work up at the counter. My space is the inevitable explosion of pens, papers, books, literary magazines, augmented by holiday cards, some of them unopened, unread, unwritten, unsent (yes, I missed the holidays). Additionally, a vial of homeopathic pills, a bottle of herbal supplement, four small pills in a white dish: a potent antipsychotic I'd pretended to take but hadn't taken in the place of no shoelaces. Two Styrofoam bowls from the same place 'just in case' for traveling (as if; they're going straight in the trash). Many many beautiful rocks, some of them donating sand--they don't all need to be right there. A mostly used-up aloe vera leaf. A mug-warmer. Various distractors-from-picking-myself-apart that I've been completely failing to use--my fluffy duster, my squishy lion, my worry beads. 
Add to this the fact that the whole mess spills over onto the floor, spills outward beyond "my space," that my space is commensurate with my dining space and, well, it just doesn't get better. And that's not even to mention all the other spaces--the floor, Phil's areas, the kitchen, the sleeping loft...

So here I am writing about it rather than cleaning up??
No, I'm sharing the situation, and inviting clarity and (self-)compassion to myself.
Storage space to tidy away is an issue; water for cleaning is an issue. We had started to semi-wash dishes to conserve water, I'd quit using my Vita-mix, had been fixing food that minimized water use and dishes. Many dry-cabin-dwellers do all these things, but to most people this is gross. 
Just like with my car, I want to facilitate openness and tidiness, space in which things may manifest; space to see what's already there. 

Space to see what's already there. Clean space that motivates getting all sweaty hauling lots of extra water so I can wash better, and going to the laundromat more often so I can change out my clothes more frequently, before they get stinky (please love me anyway).  
Cleaning beckons. 
These dolphins in the park in downtown Anchorage are pretty awesome.   

A Load of Rhubarb (Rhubarb Curry?!) and Cabin-et-ry

I told you we lived in a small cabin...

 ...So small, it's actually a cabin-et! OK, I made that up. But I did get back to kitchen construction today: the cabinet is 8 ft tall and 15 inches wide (which means barely 13 inches on the inside, above). It had to go in this space:

 And I had this much space to put it together.

 We took the pic of me inside it before I put the shelves in!

Some more drawers to go in, but a good start, and suddenly our storage potential in a tiny space is amplified and magnified. Phil's back is so much better, and mine, which had gone on the fritz in sympathy, bore up, so I was definitely glad of his help as we danced that gangly, heavy baby around.

OK, Rhubarb! People usually set rhubarb up for downfall by calling it a 'fruit,' which is kind of like presenting carob as 'chocolate:' with that kind of fanfare, it's never going to live up to the billing. (Imagine: I read in one low-carb cookbook that rhubarb was a great substitute for peaches! I'm sure the author had only ever eaten peaches from a can.)

Actually, the stalks of rhubarb are not a fruit, but are thick stalks that support leaves, just like celery stalks or cardoons or...chard. A lady I know and love very much, who loves rhubarb, once received some red chard stalks, assumed that they were rhubarb, and made "chard stalk pie." Apparently not the best ever. She wasn't far wrong, though, because rhubarb and chard are in the same family: the same family, too, with spinach, beets, dock, amaranth.

Now, I have no qualms about using spinach juice to color a dessert recipe, or using beets in a chocolate cake, but not everyone is that way inclined! When most people think of this family of foods, they consider them vegetables and use them as such.

Like the other members of that family, rhubarb contains abundant oxalic acid and thus an abundance of tartness, and requires a lot of sweetening if used in desserts. Given its taxonomical spot, it does make me laugh that most of the recipes I see for it are as pies, jams, cobblers, crisps.

However, I'm going to indulge that tradition myself here with a bread recipe and a couple breakfast ideas. But then, I present Rhubarb Curry, and I think you'll see why I'm proud of it.

Rhubarb Bread
I made some rhubarb bread that was very well liked, thrice, and failed to photo it at any point. I adapted it from a recipe in Cooking Alaska with enough tweaks that I feel comfortable sharing what I did. It's super simple and quick.
Grease 9x5 loaf pan, get oven to 350.
Sift together:
1 1/4 cup flour (if gluten free flour, add 1 teaspoon xanthan gum)
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
Add to that:
2/3 cup sour milk (which can be dairy, or nondairy milk plus some lemon, or kefir whey, or...)
1/3 cup vegetable oil
1 egg (or 1 tablespoon flax and 3 tablespoons water: gives a great depth to the texture)
Stir until just mixed, then add in:
1 cup diced rhubarb
1 cup chopped nuts

Bake in the preheated oven for about 50 minutes (check at the 45 mark). Even when it's fully done, it will still be very moist.
I didn't taste any of the versions, but they went fast: I was impressed that Phil, who is not a rhubarb lover and is not impressed by gluten free flours, ate about half the gluten free one at a sitting!

And hey, if you don't have rhubarb, you can use chard stalks! No wait, I mean you can use zucchini.

Breakfast Ideas
Again, I haven't eaten any of these, but they've gone down well. Sometimes, I make Phil oatmeal for breakfast. Lately, it's been 'oatmeal' made out of kamut or barley flakes, because he's been discerning a lack of feel-good after eating oats.

Sometimes I've been cooking in some rhubarb with the oats, adding a little sweetener and coconut oil, serving with some almonds on the side, and leaving him to dollop his strawberry jam liberally, as he does no matter what's for breakfast.

 Once, I put frozen blueberries in to thaw with the cereal and rhubarb, and it all turned a pretty purple. At least, I thought it was pretty, but Phil really prefers cereal (and food in general) to look the color it's 'supposed' to look. My habit of dyeing things green with spirulina or purple with beets or berries is quite appalling to him sometimes, I think.

But what of the potential of rhubarb as a vegetable?
I had to try it out--and I was pretty pleased with the results, as were the four other people who enjoyed it!


Rhubarb Curry
Cast: Onion, garlic, ginger, cauliflower, potato-broth, rhubarb.
Crew: Coconut oil, mustard seeds, curry powder, coriander powder, cayenne powder, salt, black pepper, turmeric powder, goji berries, coconut cream.

disclaimer: I'm no photographer. this was gorgeous

Step 1:
Chop: (keep all the vegetables in 1-2inch pieces but mince the garlic and ginger)
1 small onion
half a cauliflower
3 cloves garlic (or to taste)
1 inch ginger (or to taste)
2 stalks of rhubarb

Melt a teaspoon of coconut oil in a three-quart heavy-bottomed pan, add a good sprinkle of mustard seeds. When they start to pop, add:
the onion
a tablespoon of curry powder
a teaspoon of coriander powder
a shake of salt

After a couple minutes add the garlic and ginger too.
When the onion has softened, stir in the cauliflower. Cover, and cook for around 7 minutes. Add a few drops of water if it seems too dry.

Meanwhile, mix together about one cooked, chopped potato with a cup and a half of the water it was cooked in. (This happens to be what I did: if you don't have cooked potatoes on hand, use a quarter cup of potato flour or other starch with warm water). Often, I would use the immersion blender to make this smooth: this time, I just used a fork, so it was slightly chunky.

 Add this to the pot and bring to a boil. When it has been simmering for a couple of minutes, add in the rhubarb.

Stir in thoroughly, add a teaspoon of turmeric and a shake of cayenne. Bring to a simmer and cover until all the vegetables are cooked. Check for seasoning and adjust to taste. Grind some black pepper over the top, add a handful of goji berries. If you'd like it creamier, add about a quarter cup of coconut cream.

The rhubarb goes in last so that it holds its integrity and stays in chunks rather than going to mush.

This was so tasty! The one taster who was a little 'weirded out' by rhubarb in a savory dish ended up loving it and going back for thirds.

There was barely a cup of this creation left, and the next day, that cupful was transmogrified into the basis for my dinner. Yes, like Gena, I love to transmogrify leftovers.

And yes, I turned it green.

I added in a bunch of sauerkraut, some corn kernels, some coconut kefir, some nutritional yeast, some more cayenne. And spirulina, obviously. The potatoes and purple potatoes look pretty as a border, but of course they got mashed up in there too. Some of it even got squished into a nori roll!

Have you ever cooked with rhubarb? Have you considered treating it as a vegetable?