Becoming Mothers

"Well here's to you.. Mrs. Robin..son. Jesus love you more than you will know.. "

Where does the instinct to mother come from? A mother robin builds a fine nest in a bird feeder, quite smartly with windows on three sides and a safe opening. She will sit there most of the time waiting for her little blue eggs to hatch, unless she needs to fly away to feed herself occasionally or perhaps sip water from the stream. I'm curious about natural inclination.

As I watch my 6 year old granddaughter grow, I am struck by her female core of emotion. When her 4 year old younger brother is sad or crying, she sings sweet songs to him. She has just enough of a melancholic strain that she seems genuinely feels the suffering of the world.

Just the other day her mother and father both had the flu. I told her we needed to make them some chicken soup. She ran and got her apron. Makena is not a big eater and certainly not adventurous, but she is curious and likes to do things. I was surprised that she took to chopping vegetables with a cumbersome knife so quickly and willingly. I showed her how to hold the knife steadily, how to bend her non chopping hand a certain way to keep her fingertips back and hold her vegetable firm, so it wouldn't slip around when she was chopping. She first started with a small knife, which made sense, but was not really getting the job done. So, we graduated to a larger more serious one that at least sliced. A dull knife is more dangerous than a sharp one of you don't know what you are doing. She impressed me with her attention and skill. I was not overprotective and enjoyed watching her. She chopped and talked as if she had done it all her sweet life.

As she chopped she said, "Grandma,  I like to focus when I'm making medicine. "

Culinary Travels in India: Devigarh

Devigarh, my favorite place aesthetically, is an 18th century Palace fort that royally commands the valley, looking out over the Aravalli hills. Bo-chic in style, the interiors are minimalist yet traditional, leaving more out than put in. An awesome aesthetic, if you like austere five-star elegance—a bit "Indian Zen."



The surrounding natural landscape offers solace. The colorful village below, with intermittent baby blue houses, offers charm. The color motive is two-fold. It keeps insects and bugs away and praises lord Krishna at the same time.

The lifestyle of the villagers has not changed much, at least to the western eye, in what seems an eternity. Barefoot shop owners sit before scales on old wooden counters or on the floor. Some are turbaned, some are not.

Men sit on stoops, children run around, women carry food or water jugs on their heads and glide gracefully in their saris, sit as vibrantly colored as the fruits and vegetables they sell. Brahman humped cows wander the streets freely. Elders seem to indulge their children with laps and caresses rather than candy and material goods. The village astrologer sits on the corner, dressed in red next to a sky blue wall, waiting for a consultation. Carts of vegetables display simple local fare with names like "lady fingers" and "gentleman’s thumbs."

We followed some of the women through one doorway and found an old man making terra cotta pots used to store cool water. White hair and beard, he stooped and twirled his wheel with a stick. Once it got going to the speed he was happy with, he threw some clay in the middle and started molding. Three small pots were produced within minutes.

From what I could gather, the small village flowed from Muslim to Hindu, Jain to Tribal, although it was predominantly Jain. Extreme vegetarians, they wear no leather and avoid killing anything that moves, even going as far as to not eat roots, but only what grows above the ground. Their business is business—noted to be some of the wealthiest in India. They compensate this fact by giving back and supporting schools and communities with various projects. Visiting a temple on the way out, an old woman blessed us and helped us with an incense offering. The village and the gods are well looked after.

Back to Devigarh, we entered another dimension—simple, yet lofty luxury. In my room, a palace suite, a painting of a large lotus unfolded over the whole wall. The stunning countryside view was central to the bed rather than a television. The bathtub was full of rose petals, which I let lay. An aryavedic massage had left me with oils that I didn’t want to wash off.

  

Dinner was served in the "airy chamber;" a small room that extended from the wall of the fort with small open windows—candle-lit and cool. We ate thali and drank a glass of Indian Viognier. My friend Shoba and I discussed arranged marriages in India. What it was like to live in a large household with no privacy and the new wave of working women in India.

Our conversation was carried around the empty rooms of the Palace to the left and to the right, on the notes of water music—bowls of water with varying levels, played with sticks.

Getting into the kitchen the next morning, after a tasty mango lassi (yogurt drink) was a honor. Chef Manish Upadhyay was shy to show me a few of his favorite dishes, but we became fast friends. I marveled at his show of spices. He showed me a few south Indian dishes, with shrimp and coconut milk, but it was the makai pudina ki tikki (corn fritter) with mint and green chili sauce, that was my favorite. (I have made that dish several times now for friends and family. One restaurant owner wants it on his menu.)

 

We left reluctantly. Driving away, not half a kilometer, was a living scenario from 1,000 years ago. Women in typical Rajasthani red, orange and gold saree’s, were walking down the road with silver water jugs on their heads, headed towards a small well that was pumping water from oxen power. An old man sat on the back of small wooden-wheeled buggy driving them around and around, while an old water wheel scooped the water into strapped-on terracotta jugs and poured it into the hands of the villagers who were bathing and washing clothes. Bits of color bent and bobbed in the background. Women were gathered in the distance thrashing wheat.

Learn more about our 12-day culinary program in India. 

Cooking with Fire: Outdoor, Open-pit cooking from around the world.

Baking bread in a Tashlhit bread oven. Tnine, Morocco

This labor day, have a cookout. Whether you are headed for the hills or staying at home, you can travel the open road camping and cooking around a cozy campfire or turn up the heat on your back yard grill. Or set up an outdoor kitchen and cook for 30 like Veronica of Meadowlark Farm Dinners.

Veronica of Meadowlark Farm Dinners

You might not realize you are globally connecting, not just with your ancestors, but with most countries outside of the western world in present day.

I love the portability of a makeshift kitchen. In Asia, India, Africa, for example, gas is still a luxury and electricity is still scarce in some parts. They can feed themselves as well as make a buck if they set up their kitchen in the marketplace or on the side of the road close to where they live. Some of the best food in the world is street food. I think in some ways it can be more hygienic, rather than some establishments where cleanliness and refrigeration are questionable. Street food is fresh everyday. You can eat cheap and well, using your discreet, intuitive eater-meter, of course.

Sardines grilling in the port. Essaouira, Morocco

Making a fire doesn’t mean you have to grill meat. In Laos, they heat a pot of water for noodle soup with fresh greens and sprouts. Some friends and I took an eight hour drive over the hills from Ventienne, the capitol, down to Luang Prabang, a world heritage site city with 70 temples. We passed dozens of Hmong villages on the way. Children had been out gathering fire wood with their mothers. They weren’t much taller than the sticks they were carrying, but were running around smiling. Their loads were not heavy. They looked like walking porcupines. Some children had babies on their backs and some had sticks. They were involved in the survival of daily life, which afforded them the appetite to sit and enjoy a meal cooked with wood they gathered themselves.


Village cooking in Lao

Most cooking vessels are earthen. Usually constructed in a mound, they have openings like an arch as the doorway, where they can build a fire and then cook what might be sitting on top of the mound, or something cooked inside. Bread and chapati’s are cooked this way, with the stretched out dough actually slapped on to the wall of the oven and them peeled off when golden.


Tannourt. Tnine, Morocco

In Morocco, they not only have earthen ovens, they also have the tagine. A conical shaped terra-cotta lid that sits on a flat terra cotta bottom. This ‘top and bottom’ sit on a base called a majmar, an unglazed brazier full of hot coals that cook the tagine slowly. In the markets, tagines are lined up with all the various styles; vegetarian, fish with potatoes, chicken with olives and lemon, or lamb with prunes, to name a few. This dish is a crowd pleaser with an intoxicating aroma.

me with yummy vegetable tagine




Now, everyone is crazy about wood-fired ovens for pizza. The Italians have perfected a good thing. Every farmhouse in Italy has it’s own oven. The fire is built in the center and when the top of the oven turns white, you scoot the coals over to the side and the small flames lick up the side and over the dome. You need a hot oven for pizza. It cooks in two minutes. As the fire dies down, you can put other things in there, like setting a grill in the middle and scooping up some of the coals to put underneath. You are now ready for grilling chicken, studded with garlic and rosemary, or a variety of vegetables.. You have to use long mits to check for doneness, or you might lose a few arm hairs! Most items can be tested for doneness with you nose and your eyes. No doubt it’s an art to how learn to gage the temperature of your oven. Italians test everything with their finger and see if it the meat bounces back just right. Have you ever noticed that about the time you smell the cake, it’s done?

Carla, la fochista~ La Cucina al Focolare

If you are unconfident with this measure, Mugnaini Imports, a wood-fired oven Import company out of California has the exclusive on the temperature gun. It can shoot a laser dot into the center of the oven and tell you exactly what temperature it is. If you wanted to bake cookies at 350F.. you can. If the temp starts to lower, you just throw in another piece of wood. I still vote for learning how to ‘feel’ if it’s done. Otherwise, we can’t tell how our own inner fire is cooking. Fire is transformation whether it’s making food more digestible, or whether we are trying to turn the temperature up on our own lives, living the way we want to live in our lives~ feeling alive. No doubt spiritual masters have developed their own laser dot, to check if we are ‘cooking’ hot enough. Those eyes penetrate right through as if to say..’hmm..you need more heat on your ego, you’re only at 375!’

Lori de Mori, with her hand built oven in Tuscany.

A person might ask, why should I cook like that or even want to, if I don’t have to. The answer is, you don’t have to. But if you are into cooking and using your imagination, you can entertain yourself, your palate and your friends with surprising them with something ‘unexpected and unusual.’ Wood fire gives a special flavor. It also gives a different energetic quality to the food. They say that cooking on fire is the most beneficial for building ones chi (life force) . It’s hot but mellow. In Oriental medicine five -element theory, the heart is the most active and joy is the emotion.

Working with an international theme is always fun, because you can build on it. You can stage an entire experience on a certain theme or blend the best of your progressive world with the influence and authenticity of other cultures. So, wherever you are, honor it’s patron saint. Light up your life with the fire element. It’s good for the heart!