Egg On My Face

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Although my client, Rhama, and I both agree that the secret to clear skin is good nutrition, especially raw fruits and vegetables, we, like women of all ages, are always on the hunt for an anti-aging facial treatment.

Here is a recording of Rhama, who at 94 years old still has lovely, smooth skin. She dishes on how to keep surfaces, her skin and cooper pots, shiny using common household items.

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Rhama’s Home Remedy Secrets

As a proponent of waste not, want not, I have been saving my eggshells (drying in oven and then powdering in blender) for a calcium garden amendment, but it never occurred to me that I could take it a step further, and save a little albumin on the inside of the shell for my face.

This week, I tried Rhama’s beauty secret and can report that while the albumin (egg white) was drying on my face, I felt a tightening, as in toning, sensation.  After I washed it off, my skin felt satiny and was left with a soft sheen.  Is it actually tightening my pores or ridding me of wrinkles? I’m not sure, but I can tell you I like how it feels so I’ll keep doing it.

The best part about putting egg on my face is nobody has to know. In the past when I walked around the house with other facial masks like clay, blended cucumber or sake lees, little dried flakes or wet chunks would plop onto my breakfast plate or onto the floor, triggering my husband to want to know, “What is that crap on your face?”  Now with a clear transparent glaze of egg whites on my face, my secret vanity will not be betrayed by its subtle sheen.

 

 

Nukazuke (Rice Bran) Pickle Recipe

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There are some foods that are just too damn exciting, and not just to the palate.  Nukazuke, rice bran pickles, fall into the “I wish I would have done this sooner” category.  Not only are they crisp, their flavor is subtle, but with a complexity unique to each vegetable’s qualities. And, just as significant, the fermentation process for making them is very simple and downright entertaining.  My own definition of what cures me is any activity or experience, which engages, vitalizes, and catalyzes healing.  It might be hard to imagine that a traditional Japanese pickling process could elicit such fizz in me. But it does. I always pay attention when any food processing activity excites, or as my friend Danny says, gives me juice. We all know this…if what we do gives us energy then we must be on the right track.

I found out about nukazuke pickles in the most traditional way — from my neighbor, Stewart.  He borrowed one of my most cherished books, The Art of Fermentation, by Sandor Ellix Katz, made a batch of the nukazuke pickles, and then gave me some samples. In due time, he offered me a lesson on how to ferment vegetables using this method.  Because Stewart has spent significant time in Southeast Asia and had previously tasted these pickles at their source, he was drawn to making them.

Stewart warned me that recipes for making these pickles vary widely, but since it’s a no-fail kind of process, he advised doing my own research and experimenting since ingredients were cheap.  That’s exactly what I did so the recipe that follows is a composite recipe based on The Art of Fermentation’s instructions, Stewart’s recommendations and my own google searches. I offer it as a guide, and like Stewart, encourage readers to try out their own versions, becoming their own resident authority on a method that they can share with neighbors.  One reason I love live culture foods is they survive because they are passed from organism-to-organism, household-to-household, and generation-to-generation.

In this fermentation method, we bury any and all types of vegetables in a rice bran and salt paste with a consistency like wet sand.  Depending on the ambient temperature, vegetables can pickle in a matter of hours or overnight, retraining their crispness. If you like a stronger, more sour taste and softer texture, the vegetables can be left in the rice bran for a few days or even months. This method of fermentation is reliant on a continuous supply of lactic-acid producing bacteria colonies, which comes from the surface of our bare hands and the skin of fruits and vegetables.

It is important to stir the nuka pot (crock if you have one) everyday with your hands to keep the healthy bacteria alive and to prevent mold.  Since this is a live culture, it emits an earthy almost nutty scent.  It can also be refrigerated if ambient summer temperatures become too warm (which might sour your nuka-bed), or if you go away for any length of time.

The reward for getting your hands nuka-covered everyday is finding your vegetable treasures buried in the nuka pot.  To my husband Craig’s delight, I’ve been serving a different pickle delicacy with dinner every night.  He exclaimed after sampling the kohlrabi, “This is sooo good.  You are really on to something!”

 Nukazuke Rice Bran Pickle Recipe

1. Use two pounds of rice bran. Use a glass or ceramic crock for your nuka pot.

I bought rice bran in one pound packages at our local Japanese food store (Uwajimaya).  If you can find fresh bran (wheat or rice) that is more ideal since bran can go rancid over time.

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2. Roast the rice bran until slightly darkened and gives off a roasted aroma.

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3. Make a slurry of 6 cloves of garlic and a big chuck of ginger in the cuisine art and add it to the bran. Optional:  red chili peppers with seeds removed.

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4.  Add 5 – 6 Tablespoons of salt to 6 cups of boiling water. Recipes vary greatly regarding salt content. Sandor Katz reports that recipes range from 5% – 25% salt content to the weight of bran so use your judgement and taste preferences. Chop up a piece of kombu seaweed and add to salted water.  Let water cool and then add salted water and kombu to rice bran until you find a consistency you like.  Some people prefer a wetter mixer.  I like a wet sand consistency, using only 4 1/2 cups of water.

5.  I added a cup of starter from Stewart’s batch however, if you are starting your culture from scratch you can add a piece of soaked bread, crushed dried eggshells, apple peelings, beer or sake to get the ferment going.  Again, recipes vary greatly as to whether you need any of these additional microbial prompts or not.

6.  After washing hands, stir nuka with your hands, aerating it well.  Bury a variety of different vegetables in your culture every day and remove them the next.  Some people salt rub their vegetables to stimulate the breakdown of vegetables, but it is not necessary if you want less salt.  Gradually, the vegetables start tasting more and more pickled.

On the fourth day I used a gnarly looking old kohlrabi that had been overwintering in my garden. I peeled and cut it into pieces, and buried both the leaves and root in the nuka pot.  Vegetables can be put in whole or sliced in the pot.

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7. Wipe away any residual bran from the sides of the vessel and pat surface down smooth after covering vegetables.

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8.  Cover pot with a clean cloth and use an rubber band to bind it.

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9.  The next day, remove the vegetables from the nuka pot, wipe off excess nukazuke paste into the pot. Wash off vegetables with cool water.  Occassionally add more rice bran and salt to your pot.

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Enjoy the nuanced taste of your nukazuke pickle as an appetizer or an ingredient in a salad.

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I look forward to the taste sensations my buried treasure brings me each day. I’ve tried cauliflower, red pepper, bok choi, daikon radish, red radish and celery. According to Craig, they have all been, “painfully good.”  Traditionally, eggplant, cucumber and cabbage are pickled.  If you start a nuka pot, please share your experiments with me.

On Good Shoes

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I love my shoes. Seventeen years ago, I ordered a pair of these custom made shoes at Michigan Women’s Music Festival, and have enjoyed both their durability and perpetually hip style all these years.  Currently, with these shoes and my black skinny jeans on, I fashion myself as one of the original albeit unrecognized Beatles. I love you ya ya ya.  Maybe it’s because I love them so much that I started fearing their inevitable break down, and so three Sundays ago, I went in search of new ones at the DSW (Designer Shoe Warehouse) store in Tukwila with best friend Anna who was on her own shoe hunt.

After entering the store, I initially felt confident I would find something with aisle after aisle of shoes and boots awaiting me. But, I wasn’t in the store more than ten minutes before I starting seeing all the single shoes on display more like cheap chess pieces than footwear.  I had the sick-in-my- gut feeling that if I bought a pair, I would end up being the pawn, the loser in this consumer game.  Upon inspection, and after trying on different shoes, I started feeling even more revulsion creep under my skin.  All these made in China shoes, even the brands I preferred like Keen or Merrells, were cheaply fabricated at a not-so-discounted price.  It was probably the sheer volume of shoeboxes that reminded me that every square inch of the store was designed to capture my money. Regardless, we both left DSW without spending a dime and feeling strangely vacant, at a loss for how to fulfill the longings which brought us there in the first place.

Which is why I redirected my attention and gave my old favorites some love this weekend.  I brought them to a shoe repair store for new heel plates (only $4.00), bought some soft insoles (only $3.95) for added comfort and then gave them a shine at home.  Taking good care of these well-crafted (and repairable) shoes reconnected me to their integrity and value.  With good maintenance, they could probably serve me for another ten years at least.

When I was in acupuncture school, I learned about the significance of taking care of one shoes during a session with a middle-aged man who came into the student clinic. He was an unusual patient because unlike most other patients who dressed casually, he came dressed in a nicely pressed suit and tie. I remember when the other intern and I sat with our supervisor discussing our observations and diagnosis, and she asked, “Did you notice his shoes?”  In fact, I did.  His shoes were old, worn and scuffed, and not at all in keeping with the rest of his expensive outfit. She reminded us that the state of his shoes suggested a kidney deficiency pattern because he was not taking care of his root, his feet. Other symptoms like fatigue, back and knee pain also supported this diagnosis.

I am reminded time after time that doing basic maintenance, whether it is on my car, body or shoes, always makes me feel more secure, well rooted, and self-valuing.

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Garlic Soup Recipe

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Getting on an airplane to visit my mother tomorrow night prompted me to begin preparing my body for the trip by making a pot of microbe killing garlic soup. I’ve had one too many upper respiratory infections after airplane flights so going on the defensive seemed like a reasonable preventative measure. Just thinking about all the bacteria and viruses waiting for me on my seat or tray or in the collective bathroom is enough to make me sick before even boarding.

I figured I couldn’t lose with this recipe.  After all, 52 cloves of garlic, ½ cup of ginger, onions, lemon, cayenne and thyme are classic phlegm busters, and are capable of driving most pathogens out of the body. Was it overkill?  Maybe. When I made the soup, I wasn’t really thinking in terms of taste, I was thinking in terms of potency.  And I can assure you; this hot, pungent soup will send out a major warning to any microbe whose vector pathway might cross mine. Unfortunately, Craig, usually an adventurous gourmand, could only stomach four bites.  I ate my whole bowl with the curiosity and stamina of a seasoned traveler in a foreign country.  I can honestly say it was good…..very, very good for me.

Anyways, It’s my version of a flu shot, just way spicier, and likely more effective. If you have a cold, this soup might be just the thing to rid your body of the crud.

I followed this recipe:

In my batch, I also grated in some tumeric root for extra protection.

Modified Garlic Soup Recipe

Serves 4

26 garlic cloves (unpeeled)

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 tablespoons (1/4 stick) organic butter

1/2 teaspoon cayenne powder

1/2 cup fresh ginger

2 1/4 cups sliced onions

1 1/2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme

26 garlic cloves, peeled

1/2 cup coconut milk

3 1/2 cups organic vegetable broth

4 lemon wedges

Preheat oven to 350F. Place 26 garlic cloves in small glass baking dish. Add 2 tablespoons olive oil and sprinkle with sea salt and toss to coat. Cover baking dish tightly with foil and bake until garlic is golden brown and tender, about 45 minutes. Cool. Squeeze garlic between fingertips to release cloves. Transfer cloves to small bowl.

Melt butter in heavy large saucepan over medium-high heat. Add onions, thyme, ginger and cayenne powder and cook until onions are translucent, about 6 minutes. Add roasted garlic and 26 raw garlic cloves and cook 3 minutes. Add vegetable broth; cover and simmer until garlic is very tender, about 20 minutes. Working in batches, puree soup in blender until smooth. Return soup to saucepan; add coconut milk and bring to simmer. Season with sea salt and pepper for flavor.

Squeeze juice of 1 lemon wedge into each bowl and serve.

Can be prepared 1 day ahead. Cover and refrigerate. Rewarm over medium heat, stirring occasionally.

 

 

 

Minding Myself, Minding Others

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Besides the Zen meditation retreat I attended last weekend, I also had two mindfulness experiences last week that reinforced the value of my training.

In Janurary, I took a 6 session online webinar for facilitator training from the Prison Mindfulness Institute called, Path of Freedom, a mindfulness and emotional intelligence training for incarcerated youth and adults. As part of the curriculum, we, the facilitators-in-training, were taught about the concept of holding your seat, taken from the horse training sport of dressage.  Basically, the idea is to not let your mind or emotions drag you around like an out-of-control horse; instead, keep your center (hold your seat) as you ride through all your mental and emotional fluctuations.  For homework, we were asked to write about situations where we had to hold our seat within ourselves or with others.

Well, that week, I didn’t particularly have any triggers so I was worried I wouldn’t have anything to write about, but after going on a series of errands, I found I had plenty of material.  My first stop was to my local natural food store (PCC).  Even though I am ordinarily triggered by their high prices, on that day, I put items in my basket with relative equanimity.  It wasn’t until I was waiting in line to check out that I was challenged to hold my seat.  You see, the woman in front of me had some indecipherable issue with her debit card.  It was the kind of issue where back and forth communication between her and the cashier seemed to go on and on.  All customers have an intuitive sense of the amount of time that simple questions like, “Do you want cash back?” or “Did you bring your own bag?” should take, and this interaction was definitely taking too long by my clock. At the same moment my internal sensor was alerting me that I was in the wrong check out line, I decided to try the hold your seat exercise. Instead of focusing on the cashier, I focused on my breath and stilling my mind.  It’s not that I didn’t notice her inefficient use of time, or her poor spatial organization when she bagged her customer’s groceries; it was that I was relaxed and easy with it.  Just as I was settling into taking whatever time it was going to take, I noticed at the edge of my periphery vision, a cashier at the next register opening her drawer. I made a beeline to that register, beating out other customers to be the first in line.  Holding my seat didn’t mean I needed to stay frozen in an unwanted situation. Instead, by centering myself, I was able to relax and keep my awareness open and alert so I could fluidly move out of stasis.

My next stop was to get gas at the Safeway gas station on Rainier Avenue S. When I opened the door to the cashier’s kiosk, I had an instant flash of irritation, an inner harrumph, as I was once again at the back of a long line of customers waiting to pay while a man at the front of the line was raising his voice with the cashier.  “Not this again,” I thought to myself.  This time, the tension wasn’t all within me, although I did have my own fair share given that the Safeway on Rainier Avenue is the epicenter of gang-related violence in South Seattle. I was all too aware that an angry man could turn into a dangerous man in this setting, but I decided to focus on holding my seat, rather than entertaining random fear.  Ordinarily, in this kind of situation, I would be primarily focused on listening to my own internal annoyance, but as I stilled my mind, I started listening, really listening, to the biracial man at the head of the line.  Apparently, he did his own calculations and the amount printed on his debit receipt was inaccurate.  After the cashier asked the man to step aside for a few minutes so he could take care of the other customers waiting in line before attending to his issue, I made eye contact from my place in the line and said, “You did the math, eh?”

“Yep, and this receipt says I saved 70 cents but actually I only saved 45 cents.   It’s wrong.”

“They (meaning The Man) count on us not doing the math, on us being stupid.”

“You got that straight,” he agreed.  Two African Americans in line in front of me also turned toward me, and nodded, adding to the consensus.

“Thanks for speaking up,” I said.

“You GOT TO!”

“Yep, I learned something real important today.”

After I paid for my gas and started walking towards the door, the formerly angry man, now the acknowledged man, said, “You have a real nice day, Miss.”

Being mindful doesn’t mean just being exclusively focused on yourself, and your own internal experience.  No, being mindful means opening up your whole sensory body to really experience what’s happening, both inside and around you.  If we practice mindfulness every day, and have the discipline to hold our seat, we might become enlightened in every ordinary situation.

 

Working For The Cookie

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I’ve done some arduous things in my life; like memorizing all the points and meridians when I was in acupuncture school; like being a caregiver for my paralyzed mother for two years; like walking through the wilderness with a heavy backpack on, in all kinds of weather, on all kinds of terrains.  All these experiences taught me the same thing:  I can tough it out.

So when my best friend Anna and I sat for a three-day Zen meditation retreat last September, I expected I could handle the long twelve-hour days of sitting, walking and eating in silence.  And, in fact, during the first day of sitting, in between all the thoughts and emotions circulating through my head, there were moments, maybe just seconds, when I experienced an exquisite sense of stillness, a deep emptiness, an unexpected peace.   And there were other moments when I felt a profound sense of widening, as if my own molecules were pushing outward and disappearing into the collective molecular mix of the room.  That’s all really great, really profound, but that’s not all I experienced.

You see, by the end of the first day, when the the twelve hour day was two hours away from being over, I couldn’t get my mind off the tea and cookie that would be served at the closing of the sit.  More specifically, my mind wrapped itself around the cookie as if it was the fortune I had been seeking my whole life.  I just really, really wanted a cookie.  Can you relate?

Indeed, the end of the day did arrive at nine o’clock and I got my cookie, and yes, I enjoyed it immensely. As soon as Anna and I were in the privacy of my car as we began our drive home, I said with total clarity, “Anna, all this work, it’s all about the cookie.  I’m working for the cookie.”   Understanding my irony, she laughed because she also spent the day watching her mind spin out on her own wild preoccupations.

The next morning as we drove to the retreat together, Anna confessed, “I don’t know if I can keep it together today thinking about you working for the cookie. That’s so funny to me.”

The day unfolded precisely as the day before; we cycled through chanting, dharma talks, silent sitting, silent walking, and silent eating.  At dinnertime, Anna and I silently walked by each other with eyes cast down, and both at the same time glanced at the box of cookies on the table. Knowingly, we smiled at each other.  Unbeknownst to me, however; the tea server for the evening had asked Anna to help him serve the cookies at the end of the day.  A few hours later, when it was time for the tea service, which is enacted with a graceful series of bows, teacups raised and lowered, and cookies offered one at a time, I was surprised to see Anna following the tea server with a plate of cookies in her hand. I couldn’t help but smile inwardly, so proud was I of her as she bowed at all the appropriate times with total sincerity and accuracy. You see, Anna was raised in an orthodox Jewish household, but as an adult, she was no observer of any disciplines or traditions, which made her sincerity all the sweeter.

After the tea server bowed to me, I raised my teacup to be filled; afterwards, both the tea server and I bowed to each other once again.  Anna followed right behind and bent down, offering me a cookie with all the ritual correctness she could muster, and even though she said not a word, I could hear her saying to me telepathically, “Here’s your cookie, Joycie!” In the next moment, we both burst out laughing, not in light chuckles or even suppressed giggles; no, we lost all control. Tears streamed down our faces, our noses dripped, and when we tried to hold it back, we erupted all over again into spasms of laughter.

Through all the years of our friendship, we have had many gut busting crackups, but always in our own company, and never in the middle of a collectively maintained shrine of stillness. While we were in the middle of our own Lucille Ball skit, the others in the room sat silent as stones patiently waiting for us to calm down.  Eventually we did quiet down, but not without spurting out a series of last laughs. It was the ultimate inside joke.

The next day, I asked the teacher, “So, what is the cookie?  What am I really working for?”  He answered, “To know your true nature.”  Oh, right.

Tomorrow I’ll begin four-day sit.  I’m really looking forward to the cookies!

 

Miso Soup Recipe

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During the winter, chickpea miso soup is my comfort food.  It’s my Asian style version of chicken soup with its light, yellow, salty broth. Because miso is fermented, it delivers beneficial bacteria and enzymes, which aids in digestion, strengthens immunity and increases vitamins – B12, B2, K and E, amongst other benefits like cancer prevention. I never seem to drink enough fluids in the colder months so miso is one of my primary hydration allies when I have a bowl for lunch and before dinner.

The traditional Japanese way to make miso is to simmer wakame seaweed before dissolving the miso paste and then adding little cubes of tofu and scallions. Margaret (or better known as Marge in my blogs) introduced me to a non-traditional, but equally delicious method, of adding a variety of raw vegetables into the miso broth. Chinese medicine dietary advice counsels against eating too many raw foods, especially in the winter, because it can generate dampness in the body; however, adding grated ginger and red chili pepper sauce balances the raw vegetables perfectly. I use a mandoline called benriner cook help slicer to make spiraling thin slices of root vegetables, which resemble transparent rice noodles.

For the last year, I have been making my own chickpea miso, which is made by fermenting a mixture of garbanzo beans, salt and koji with a fungus Asperigillus oryzae.  It’s simple to make and I will share the details in a future post, but you can also buy unpasteurized miso at all health food stores.

Miso Soup Recipe

Heat water to near the point of boiling but not quite because boiling water will kill the bacteria and enzymes in miso.  Put a ½ cup or so of water into a bowl, add two tablespoons of miso, and using the bottom of a tablespoon, dissolve the paste into the water.  Add grated ginger.

Add thinly sliced vegetables of your choice. My selections include: cabbage, radish, sprouts, peppers, celery, shredded turnips, dried tomatoes and mushrooms.

For a hot and sour miso soup, I add sauerkraut and 1 tsp. of red chili pepper sauce.

Depending on the saltiness of your miso, add salt or soy sauce.

 

 

 

Tea Time

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Yesterday, my friend and neighbor, Jackie, knocked on my door to drop off a little bag of Souchong tea.  The day before she sat at my kitchen counter drinking ginger green tea while we shared very wifey topics like roasted chicken recipes and kitchen remodeling ideas; she also listened to me make a vow to use up and/or throw away all the packaged tea in my cabinet before committing to a very few selections of loose herbal and black tea.  In turn, she made some black tea recommendations, and generously followed up by giving me this sample to try.

Our conversation about tea went something like this:

Me:  “I’m sick of looking at tea bags at the bottom of cups – they’re so ugly – like afterbirth.”

Jackie: “Yeah, they kind of look like an herbal tampon.”

Aesthetics is part of the reason I want to make this change. Saving space is another. Probably the most important reason is because my cabinet of teas has become one of those messy bulging avoidant areas, usually found behind doors or in drawers, which has become dreadfully stagnant. I’m not sure why I’ve had such a block to throwing out those 3” by 5” boxes, which neither I, nor my guests, ever choose.  Maybe it’s because all those colorful boxes give the illusion of having choices, and I’ve been choosing illusion over reality.

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As I write this post, I am sipping on the Souchong tea and it’s good, I guess. I have to admit: I’m not very discerning when it comes to tea. If a tea has a medicinal benefit then I usually can convince myself to like it but I’ve never had strong preferences based on taste alone.  I know I don’t like fruity teas but beyond that I couldn’t even pretend to have an opinion on a tea’s qualities, never mind its aroma.  Which is probably why I have been buying packaged tea.  And I must admit the teas I buy are usually geared towards what’s on sale versus its ingredients.

As I begin the gradual emptying of my tea cabinet, I’ll also have to ready myself for filling the void. Probably the only way for me to feel more connected to my teas is if I actually grow, harvest and store the leaves and flowers in glass canisters of my choosing.  That’s a lot of work.  And so is cleaning out a teapot every day. But that’s how I roll. I suspect my lack of involvement in my tea collection has kept me indifferent and distant all along.

A few years ago, my friend Lizzie actually gave me the tea plant, Camellia Sinensis, which grows well in the Pacific Northwest, but I wasn’t ready for it then and sadly, it didn’t survive.  I’ll have to try growing it again, and perhaps start foraging for other tea ingredients, but in the meantime, come on over for tea.  Right now, I have quite a selection!

Doggie Daily Self-Cure

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When Craig comes home from work, he opens the door, and before greeting me, he first gives attention to our beloved companion dog, Golda, who awaits him every day. After setting down his shoulder bag he puts on a rubber dog-grooming glove, and with all the care of a skilled masseuse he gives her a vigorous skin brushing. The glove is dimpled, similar to those old-style doormats that are emblazoned with the word “welcome. Should Craig be distracted momentarily from this duty when he arrives home, Golda follows him around the house, nudging him with her nose as a gentle reminder that he has a job to do. When he gets down on the floor with her, he makes sure to brush not just her torso but each armpit and leg too.

It’s this act of doggie daily self-cure (and her daily raw chicken liver with kibble) that I believe has kept our arthritic Golda on her paws.  It’s also an act of daily self-cure I personally  partake in because in both humans and animals alike, skin brushing stimulates blood and lymphatic circulation. For an old dog like Golda who is no longer active, and cannot scratch or self-groom, this kind of friction massage is very therapeutic.

In all the seventeen years she has lived with us, veterinarian visits have been very few and far between. Now, besides diminished hearing and vision, her back legs sometimes fail her when she mounts steps and she often struggles when both getting down and rising from the oak floors so we occassionally give her a lift.  Our old gal has had a few fast growing growths that were removed from her paws and larger undiagnosed tumors remain in her abdomen.  She sleeps for most of the day, but still looks forward to her daily walks, two bowel movements, supper, and of course, skin brushing.

A few months ago, after Craig built a ramp so she could still get in and out of the dog door on her own, we knew we were entering into doggie end-of-life care. Our Golda, even in her old age, is still a beautiful and serene creature.  Through the years, we have covered a lot of ground, and gone the distance – together.  Her comfort is our comfort.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Massaged Raw Kale Salad Recipe

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Yeah, it happened to me too at the end of the year-I couldn’t resist eating the homemade goodies that arrived in little cellophane gift bags tied with pretty ribbons.  Full disclosure: I could resist most cookies but not the homemade almond roca or the toffee.  So, as the New Year begins, I am sharing my antidote for replacing the sweet taste that might still be clinging to your palate, and derailing your healthy food choices too.

At Parsley Farm, lacinato kale, or commonly referred to as dinosaur kale, is our primary winter food crop.  All the cruciferous vegetables grow well in the Pacific Northwest climate, but kale, in particular, seems to thrive. And if it thrives, we thrive.  Unlike cabbage, broccoli or Brussels sprouts, which mature for a one-time harvest, kale, a plant that keeps on giving throughout the seasons, will continue to generate growth when some of its leaves are picked as it develops. If you start your plants in the spring, by fall they will mature into big leafy plants, mighty manufacturers of nutrient dense nutrition for picking throughout the winter.

Kale is a medicinal money tree as far as I’m concerned.  With many large plants growing in my garden, I feel rich. In Chinese medicine, we view kale as slightly bitter which benefits the liver and heart.  All dark green vegetables nourish the blood, but kale also has a detoxifying effect, which can be helpful for anyone with cancer thus my strong attraction to this plant. It is also helpful for lowering cholesterol.  Besides being rich in vitamins such as Vit A, C and K, it is also a good source of iron, magnesium and calcium.

Massaging raw kale is my favorite way to prepare it because by manually breaking down the cell walls, we render it into a tender, digestible and delicious dish.  The shiny deep dark green leaves seem to transform into something more akin to seaweed with all the nutrient richness of chlorophyll coming to the surface, but with none of the fishy taste. Below is my basic recipe because I like the simple, clean taste of the kale itself with a little red onion, but it can be fancied up with red pepper, olives or sprouts, or whatever else you might imagine.

Parsley Farm

Massaged Raw Kale Salad

Ingredients

1 bunch kale

1 – 2 tbsp balsamic vinegar (or, any other acid: ½ lemon or lime; rice vinegar, apple cider vinegar)

1/8 cup extra-virgin olive oil

2 pinches of sea salt (adjust to taste)

¼ cup red onion sliced thinly

First, cut the stems out of the kale.

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Roll up a few de-stemmed leaves at a time and then slice them into narrow bite size pieces.

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Put all of the sliced kale into a bowl, add 2 pinches of salt and drizzle olive oil over the greens.  After washing your hands, massage the kale with your hands for 2 -3 minutes until they soften and wilt, and become visibly darker.  Add your vinegar and stir.  Add sliced red onion, and any other additions such as red pepper, olives or sprouts.  Toss, serve, and eat ALLOT.