Lapsang Hot Cocoa & Thoughts About Vulnerability

Many years ago, when I was a graduate student in psychology, I read about the work of the Italian researcher, Alessandra Piontelli, who had done ultrasound scans on mothers of fraternal twins. A number of times, she watched as one particular set repeatedly pushed against the thin membrane that separated them, reaching toward one another. 

Piontelli visited the various mothers and twins a year after they were born, including that specific brother-sister pair. She observed the now toddlers playing a game where they stood on opposite sides of a curtain, pushing against it with their hands, trying to locate one another. 

Though many years have passed, this is an image that still suddenly pops into my mind. Each time, I am surprised by the emotion that wells up in me. It feels like yearning, perhaps a simple recognition that the image has everything to do with the human impulse to be connected to another person -- an impulse so basic that it can appear even when we are in the womb.

The image also makes me think about vulnerability, which is essentially a reaching out toward another. This is not always an easy task and can stir up many emotions, including anxiety.  It can feel dangerous, an act of exposure. Yet, making yourself vulnerable and being willing to reach toward someone else without knowing what will come back to you is also the best way to ensure a deep connection to another human being.

I did just that a few nights ago, reached out, when at a post-New Year's get together with my writing group, I shared a personal essay. I was nervous because it was about some traumatic things that had happened to me as a very young child, not things either easily shared or taken in. Over time, though, it has seemed increasingly important to write about and share these experiences with people in my life.

As I began to read aloud, I knew that I was among sensitive souls with whom I felt safe. So I continued on, until I reached the bottom of the second page. My words and everything they embodied were accepted with empathy and kindness. 

I was grateful. The experience made me consider how vulnerability goes together with authenticity, being willing to reveal to others the truth of who you are. It felt good, a relief, to do this with my fellow writers. Afterward, I felt more solid in myself. Less a pile of wobbly little pebbles, more a mound of stones that mostly fit together without rolling away at the slightest touch.

By making yourself vulnerable, you give others the chance to feel what it is to stand inside your experience. It can feel a little strange and contradictory -- to feel more real, more anchored inside yourself, the more you are exposed. 

But this, I believe, is what we need more than ever -- to be willing to allow others to know what it is we know and feel, in order to create a world of greater compassion and understanding. 

This new year, let's not make generalizations about others or act in the belief that we already understand all there is to know about the world. Let's listen to what the people around us far and near have to say. Let's dare to open ourselves up. It's not impossible. Perhaps a first step can be taken by sharing a meal, a cup of hot cocoa or even a simple sip of tea.

Lapsang Hot Cocoa
I know it might sound weird to some of you, but the smokey taste of lapsang souchong is so delicious with the richness of chocolate. If you aren't familiar with it, lapsang souchong is a Chinese tea that has all sorts of myths and lore attached to it. It is essentially a black tea that is smoked over pine needles, absorbing all the aromatic flavors. If you want the smokiness to be stronger in your beverage, let it steep longer. I like mine to have a good balance between the tea and the cocoa flavors, so five minutes works just right for me.

Makes enough for two.

Ingredients
1 teaspoon Lapsang Souchong tea (loose leaves)
2 cups whole milk or milky beverage of your choice
4 tablespoons sugar
4 teaspoons high-quality cocoa
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
pinch of ground cinnamon
pinch of salt

Instructions
Heat milk in a saucepan until hot. Place tea leaves in a tea ball/strainer and steep in the milk for five minutes (more if you like a smokier taste). Remove tea then whisk in sugar, cocoa, vanilla and salt until everything dissolves and is slightly frothy. Divide between two cups and serve with a long conversation.

It's Alive! A Basic Ginger Kombucha

Everyone has their ways to stay balanced, sane or to even feel truly alive. Mine is to make things.

Over the years, I've developed the belief that it's crucial to make at least one thing a day. It can be anything. A pie, a blog post, a tiny paper flag on a toothpick (we've been making a lot of these for Kingston's mini-race tracks).  

You can even do as my friend Rowan does, which is to make piles of leaves and twigs and other organic detritus to fend off the woods and hold the perimeter of her five-acre property. It's her ongoing art project. The piles somehow eventually dwindle down then disappear completely. But where do they go? We can only wonder.

As humans, we're just meant to make things. It's the so-called "creative impulse." The stubborn pushing back against mortality. It's the effort that matters more than any actual final product. To care enough, as the poet Dylan Thomas put it, to "Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

I've been doing my share of this lately and happily making plenty of things. One of them happens to be kombucha, a slightly fizzy, fermented tea that may have its origins dating back centuries, to Asia. 

Recently, our family friend, Ralph, gave me a baby SCOBY (AKA a "symbiotic culture of bacteria and yeast") birthed from the "mother" of his continuous-brew kombucha. I took it gratefully and following his instructions, managed to turn it into a sweet and tart, living fermented product. 

I don't know about you, but for me, there is nothing that gives me more joy - that pure, kid-like glee - than making something out of what seems like not that much of anything. In this case, a few teaspoons of tea, sugar, water, and a floppy white alien being-thing with yellowish strands hanging down from the edges of it.

"That stuff's yeast," Ralph said, smiling at me.

Maybe it's something like when as a kid you would take some clay or sand and water, some paint or crayons, fling it around, and vóila! The stuff was transformed into a new universe filled with strange creatures or maybe just every kind of dog or cat or candy that you ever wanted. 

Remember those moments?

There's something especially magical about shoving an adult-version of clay and water, in this case, my gallon-size jar of sweet tea and SCOBY into a warmish, dark corner for 10 days knowing that it will become totally altered. I keep trying to forget about it. Meanwhile, I keep wishing I could shrink myself down to nano particle size in order to jump in, swim around and see what's really going on in that brew of mine. 

I know it's not possible. But still. 

Making stuff yourself is a big part of the culture up here where we live. It's part of why I like it so much. Turn in any direction and you'll run into makers and producers of everything from goat cheese and Ethiopian Doro Wat to "new" clothing made from old.

We have brewers of all sorts of things. Yes, there's  mead, kombucha and craft distillers of eau de vie, vodka and gin, but beer is especially big one here. In fact, for a town of our size we have our more-than-fair share of two things: microbreweries and bike shops. 

It seems that most of the people I know here in town have a crock or mason jar of some sort of living fermented thing going on in the hidden recesses of their homes. Now that I've gotten to know kombucha-making, I can understand why.

The stuff is alive, feeding on the sugar added to the brew. It's full of organic acids and B vitamins. Homebrew also changes from batch to batch, according to a lot of different factors (length of fermentation, type of tea used, flavor additions during a second fermentation) so that it can come out slightly different each time. It's fully satisfying project for the type of person who likes to make things. 

I encourage you to try this one out and play around with the flavors and brew times. Watch those SCOBYs multiply. I'll admit that it can feel a little freaky. After all, it's alive!

A Basic Ginger Kombucha (Batch Method)
This is the version I ended up with after guidance from Ralph and Kombucha Kamp. You can make kombucha from black or green tea. The green tea offers a cleaner, lighter taste, which I prefer. 

Makes 1 gallon, from which you'll save your new SCOBY and 1 cup starter liquid.

Ingredients
4 organic green or black tea bags (or use 4 teaspoons loose green tea as I did)
1 cup organic evaporated cane sugar, plus extra for the flavoring stage
Filtered, non-chlorinated water
1 healthy SCOBY plus 1 cup starter liquid*
1 gallon brewing vessel made of glass or ceramic
A cloth cover or coffee filter
A rubber band

A few inches of fresh ginger, cut into small pieces
A second bottle, such as a large growler or glass bottles with flip tops

Instructions
Before you begin, make sure everything is clean - any utensils, the area you're working in, and of course your brewing vessel and bottles. Very important: Clean only using hot water and/or vinegar. Soap can introduce unwanted bacteria or mold into your brew.

Place tea in a tea pot. Bring 4 cups of water to a boil. Pour water over the tea and allow to steep for 5 minutes. Add sugar and stir to dissolve. Pour the hot, sweet tea into your brewing vessel (I used a 1 gallon glass jar) then add enough cold water to fill the container about 2 inches short of the top.

Allow liquid to cool to at least body temperature or cooler. Place SCOBY into the liquid. It will sink toward the bottom, but will eventually rise to the top. (For my first batch, this took a full 7 days.) Cover the top of your brewing vessel and secure the cover using a rubber band. Place your brew in a dark place that isn't too cool and where air can circulate.

Allow to ferment, undisturbed for 7-10 days. After that time, scoop a bit off the top (leaving the SCOBY alone) to taste. If it seems too sweet, allow it to ferment another day or too. If it is too tart for your taste, keep this in mind for the next batch and ferment for a shorter period next time.

Flavoring your kombucha:
Decant kombucha into clean bottles using either a funnel or a large measuring cup. Push pieces of ginger into the bottleneck. Put as much as you'd like. Add 1/2 teaspoon of sugar. This will provide a bit of extra "food" for the good bacteria and yeast in the brew to feed on, which promotes carbonation. If you want even more carbonation, add a bit more sugar. 

Allow your flavored kombucha to continue fermenting for another 3-5 days. Burp the bottles at least once each day to avoid explosions. Yes, the carbonation can get that strong! At the time of your choosing, start enjoying your delicious fermented drink.

To make a new batch, follow these steps all over again.

*Note: Always use a SCOBY that is fresh and has never been refrigerated or dehydrated if you want optimal results. Starter liquid is the liquid from the batch of kombucha from which your SCOBY originated.

The Lost Chihuahua & A Summer Cocktail

There's the saying that we should "pay attention to the signs." And then there are young children like my son, who are fascinated by the familiar, yet not always recognizable squiggles, lines, and edges written on an actual sign.

Two weeks ago, as we were driving past the lake by our house, Kingston pointed at a sign and asked, "What that say?"

This was one of several large yellow posters placed high up on telephone poles in the near vicinity. I'd seen them but hadn't given them much thought once I'd driven past.

I explained to Kingston that the sign in front of us was for a lost dog. Someone, maybe a family, had lost their chihuahua. Of course, I then had to explain what a chihuahua was, since he had never met one.

Over the following days, he became fascinated by the idea that a little black dog cherished by someone was gone, and that there was a person, perhaps an entire family, searching for it. 

He entered into this thought with the innate enthusiasm that is common to most three-and-a-half-year olds. For instance, he began to make up songs about the chihuahua and sing them loudly, not caring one iota where we were -- next to the dog treat section of Trader Joe's, in the library, at the park. Every version naturally included a rousing chorus that went, "Lost chihuahua, where are you?" (repeat at least twice)

Then, a day or two after his musical efforts began, Kingston informed us that he was a dog and that we should call him not by his given name, but by "Dog." As in, "Good boy, Dog," which we should say as we patted him on the head.

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Bedtime was also overtaken by the lost chihuahua, as together we wove ever-more elaborate tales about the poor, lost dog who was heartbroken over his separation from his beloved family, especially the boy who would snuggle with him every night in bed. How he missed his boy!

Such enthusiasm. What was it all about? What did it mean? 

Then last week, I was reading Maria Popova's wonderful, Brain Pickings, which featured a piece on the writer, Neil Gaiman. His insight on stories about animals and why children are drawn to them, resonated with me:

“Animals in fiction … are your first attempt to put your head into the “other” and to experience the other, the idea of another…

The most important thing that I think fiction does [is that] it lets us look out through other eyes … but it also gives us empathy. The act of looking out through other eyes tells us something huge and important, which is that other people exist.

[…]

One of the things that fiction can give us is just the realization that behind every pair of eyes, there’s somebody like us. And, perhaps, looking out through animal eyes, there’s somebody like us; looking out through alien eyes, there’s somebody like us.”

— Neil Gaiman

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Other people exist. There's somebody else like us. What Mr. Gaiman posits seems absolutely spot on.

I can't help but think of Kingston's fascination with the lost dog and the way he has taken to calling it the "poor, poor chihuahua." 

What if we could see the world as children again? Would we foster more empathy within ourselves if, as adults, we regularly practiced being a horse, a cat, or even...a black chihuahua? Would we end up being more loving, more fully realized human beings?

Could be. I say we give it a try.

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The Lost Chihuahua
My own imagination took over as I tried to think more about the chihuahua as a child might. The poor dog, separated from the people it loved needed a bit of comfort. Silly as this might sound, I thought it might like a cocktail to soothe its frazzled frou-frou soul. 

I thought it might find something bubbly like prosecco a suitable choice. Prosecco mixed with something fruity, maybe since it was living in this (our hippie) town, something "alive," possibly fermented. Maybe it would like a touch of an herb, say, a sprig or two of mint. 

This is how the Lost Chihuahua was found in the form of the perfect summer drink. While you are enjoying this light and fizzy beverage, don't forget to make a toast to the real lost chihuahua. Cheers!

Makes two drinks.

Ingredients
1/4 cup, homemade berry shrub (or substitute a purchased berry kombucha)
1 1/2  cups (14 oz.) Prosecco
two sprigs of mint, for garnish
a few berries of your choice, for garnish (I used alpine strawberries from my backyard)

Instructions
Pour half the shrub into each double-rocks glass already filled with ice. Add half the Prosecco to one glass, then the other half to the next glass. Give each drink a stir. Garnish with sprigs of mint and berries. That's it!

Roasted Blueberry and Lemon Balm Ice Cream

Blueberries are the friendliest and easiest to love of all the berry types available to us here in Western Washington. Sweet, slightly tart and free of tiny seeds or pits, when the blues are plentiful, we snack on them all day. 

We freeze pounds and pounds of them every summer. Usually they lasts us until about February, March if we're lucky.

Last August, Kingston and I were down at Bow Hill Blueberry Farm picking enough beautiful organic fruit to keep us happy through the cold months.

After our busy morning, our trunk packed with fruit, we paused for some ice cream. Kingston hopped around on the bench out front, eager for us to dig into the single-serving container. Together, we scooped up the creamy goodness with tiny wooden spatulas. 

The ice cream was made by a certain San Juan Island purveyor. It was just the right temperature for cooling off on an already warm morning. We both certainly enjoyed it a lot. But as I was eating it, I kept thinking that I wanted more of that spark of cheerful blueberry flavor.

So, when we opened this week's box from our CSA to find the first of this season's blueberries, last summer's blueberry ice cream at Bow Hill popped into my mind. A note in the CSA box suggested that we make blueberry shortcakes, but I had other ideas of course. Ice cream!

And off I went.

Inspired by my favorte ice cream maker, David Liebovitz, I drizzled Lyle's Golden Syrup over the berries and put them in the oven. After half an hour, the downstairs of our house smelled intensely like blueberries. The extra water content in the berries had oozed out and evaporated, leaving behind a thick purple syrup alive with berry flavor.

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A bunch of lemon balm was also in our CSA box. I tore off a leaf and bit into it to discover a deep lemony aroma with strong floral notes. Blueberry and lemon are ideal partners. The lemon balm, which contains both herbaceous and floral scents, would add a citrusy quality with undertones of more.

This is an ice cream with deep blueberry flavor. Each bite is full of the whole, roasted berries which are both toothsome and fruity.

Kingston and I served this to his Dad and his Uncle Jack, who is also a Dad, for Father's Day. The guys ate everything without uttering a word. 

"Does it taste blueberry-ish enough?" I dared to ask while they were still eating.

Silence. Then, nods all around. 

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Blueberry and Lemon Balm Ice Cream
A perfect treat for Father's Day, Midsummer's Day, or any time, really. It's for anyone who loves blueberry flavor, plus more.

Adapted from David Liebovitz.

Ingredients:

For the roasted blueberries:
1 lb. blueberries, fresh or frozen
2 tablespoons Lyle's Golden Syrup (or substitute honey)

For the ice cream custard:
1 3/4 cup whole milk
1/2 cup (100 g) sugar
2 teaspoons finely chopped lemon balm
3 strips of lemon zest
1 cup heavy whipping cream
5 egg yolks

Instructions:

For the blueberries:
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Place blueberries in one roasting pan (use two if needed) large enough so that the berries remain in a single layer. Drizzle the Golden Syrup over the berries. Place in the preheated oven and roast for 30-35 minutes, stirring at least once. Roast until the berries have given up some of their liquid and a thick, purple syrup has formed. Place berries in a container and set aside to cool.

Blueberries may be prepared up to three days ahead.

For the ice cream custard:
In a large bowl, prepare an ice bath. Place a smaller bowl in the ice bath and set a fine-meshed strainer on top. Pour heavy cream through the sieve into the bowl.

In a small saucepan, combine sugar and milk. On medium-low heat, warm the mixture. When warm, add the lemon balm and lemon zest. Turn off heat, cover with lid, and allow flavors to infuse for 30 minutes.

After the 30 minutes, reheat the milk over medium-low heat until it is hot, Stir together egg yolks. Add a few tablespoons of milk to the yolks and stir quickly. Add a bit more milk and stir again. This warms up the egg yolks and prevents them from curdling.

Pour the yolk mixture into the heated milk-sugar mixture and stir quickly using a heat-proof spatula. Continue stirring and scraping the bottom. This will prevent lumps and clumps from forming. As you stir and scrape, you will eventually notice that the bottom is becoming easier to scrape. It almost feels silky, as if the spatula is gliding across the bottom of the saucepan. This is a sign that your custard is nearly done. It is fully done when the mixture coats the spatula.

Pour the custard through the sieve and into the bowl of cream. Mix quickly and vigorously so that everything is combined and cools slightly. Cover the bowl and place in the refrigerator to cool completely. Overnight is best.

When the mixture has thoroughly cooled, place it in your ice cream maker and churn according to manufacturer's instructions. Once you have started the churning, add the blueberry mixture. When done with churning, place the finished ice cream in a freezer-proof container and put in the freezer for a few hours to harden a bit more.

Serve plain or with some fresh berries, and garnish with lemon balm leaves.