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Papadzules for my Punkins . . . instead of the Texas chainsaw massacre

      I love fall.  Even here in Alpine where the season is not marked with a gorgeous changing of color, but where the lack of color is compensated for by a lack, also, of the impending doom at an approaching long cold winter.  Maybe my love of fall plays a role in my tendency to use the nickname Punkin’ with my loved ones, husband and daughters alike.
     My oldest daughter, Jaime Punkin’, is visiting us this week, the week before Halloween. Because she and her boyfriend, Jason, are here, I have had the glorious opportunity to cook gluten free vegetarian dishes for an audience. Invigorated by the season, I have turned my attention to all things fall: pumpkin pie, roasted pumpkin seeds, butternut squash soup, spaghetti squash casserole . . .
Me and my “Punkins”
     Punkin’ is a somewhat diminutive nickname, which when used on my oldest daughter belies the fact that she is now 24 years old and visiting because of the chance to take a highly intensive First Responder’s Wilderness course aimed at people who may eventually become part of Search and Rescue teams.  My Jaime Punkin’, these days, is not a child being tucked into bed, but an avid mountaineer. In reality, I am the diminutive one, responding to her itinerary notifications about where she is going on the next snow covered alpine rock climbing adventure, with a plaintive “Okay, Punkin’. Have fun. Be safe.”
     Anyway, while they are here, everyday I anticipate the joy of thinking up and making dinner for them. One day, Jay says “Hey, why don’t you make Papadzules!” Papadzules? I think scanning my memory. Why, that’s perfect! Papadzules are a traditional Mayan dish from the Yucatan. They are essentially vegetarian enchiladas made with corn tortillas, hardboiled eggs and a pumpkin seed and tomato sauce—which easily fill all my requirements for the week:  a food honoring the season and the restricted diets of my Punkins.  Plus—they can’t help but remind me of some of my favorite memories and stories, for we first discovered these on our honeymoon.
     So settle in and let me regale you with a tale from my past. I’ll start by cluing you in: the only “Punkin’” in my life at this time, was my newlywed husband, Jay. I was 23 years old and we were on our honeymoon. We had planned two weeks away: one week scuba diving off Cozumel and one week driving around visiting the Mayan ruins of the Yucatan.  We were in the midst of driving around the bottom of Mexico near the Belize border where this story takes place.
     It was a dark and stormy night . . .
     No, really, it was.
     The wind was howling, and a tropical rain, common in that part of the world, was pelting us. Contrary to popular common sense, we were driving at night. More time to play and explore during the day, we reasoned. Still, I wasn’t sure it was such a great idea as I sat perched on my seat peering into the darkness waiting for whatever might suddenly appear:  a stray cow, a notorious “topes” (speed bump) found in the middle of nowhere along the highways of the Yucatan, or perhaps, even, an angry spirit from Xibalba.
     “Jay,” I said “Maybe we should stop somewhere.”
     “Where would we stop?” he said. “There’s nothing here! We are in the middle of nowhere! I don’t know how long it is back to civilization. No, we have to keep going.”
     He paused, then offered, “How about I tell you a story to keep you entertained?”
     “Yes!” I said brightening.
     “You up for a scary story?” he asked with more than a small amount of mischief in his voice.
     “Um, okay.” I said jerking involuntarily as a bit of foliage swept past our rain- splattered windshield, startling me.
“How about I tell you the story of the Texas Chain Saw Massacre? Have you ever seen that movie or read that book?”
     “No,” I said gulping. “I don’t know anything about it. Sounds scary.”
     “Oh it is,” he said teasing me. “Based on a true story too, or at least on a real guy.”
     He went on before I could object too much.
     “So there are these five young people who are driving on a back country somewhere off the beaten track.”
     I chuckle, “Kind of like us, huh?”
     He smiles. “Yep.”
     “So anyway, along the way they pick up a hitchhiker, who turns out to be super creepy and starts slashing at them with a large knife before they manage to throw him out of the vehicle, ” Jay starts.
     “Creepy,” I say as I remember the old Mexican guy we offered a ride to the other day . . . we pick up hitchhikers sometimes, I think.
     “Well, shortly afterwards, they realize they are running out of gas and . . . “
     “Hey, how much gas do we have?” I interrupt.
     Jay smiles, “Oh we’ve got a quarter tank or so. Should be enough to get us to the next gas station . . . “
     Should be?
     “Anyway, it turns out the gas station is out of gas but they can make it to an old homestead. There are two couples in the group and one guy in a wheelchair. The two couples in the group think it’s pretty cool to explore the abandoned house and nearby woods; One couple takes off to look for a swimming hole.”
     I think of my own love of exploring abandoned ruins and think—yep, that’d probably be me.
     “On the way to the swimming hole, the guy hears a noise like a generator and thinks maybe he can barter for some gas. They go up to a house and find a tooth on the porch.  He scares his girlfriend with it.”
     “Yeah, just like you would do,” I say.
     “They hear some weird noises inside and the guy decides to go inside to check but he tells his girlfriend to wait outside,”
     “Seriously?” I cry “Don’t ever do that to me, okay?”
     “Well the guy goes in and is attacked by a crazy guy wearing a mask made of human skins who smashes his head in with a sledgehammer.”
      I am still mentally the girl on the porch waiting for her boyfriend to come out. “What? He dies? Already?”
     “Yeah, and his girlfriend starts to get nervous waiting for him, so she goes into the house to look for him.”
     “No way—too creepy,” I say, but I wonder what I would have done if Jay didn’t come out.
     The road curves and winds now and there is still no sign of anyone else. No other cars, no other signs of life. My god I hope we don’t get stuck out here I think.
     “So the girl goes in and stumbles into a room filled with human and animal bones . . skulls hang from the ceiling and the floor is covered with bones and feathers.”
     My heart starts beating as wildly as the rain as I imagine myself to be the girl going into the house.
     “She backs up hurriedly and starts to throw up . . . when suddenly Leatherface—the guy in the human skin mask—comes out of nowhere and grabs her, kicking and screaming back into the house.”
     “Oh my god,” I cry.
     “She gets away, and for a second you think she is going to be okay but . . . ”
     Jay pauses, checking my reaction.
     “So, I prompt, what happens next?”
     “Well, he catches up to her and picks her up kicking and screaming again.”
     “Does she escape?” I ask still picturing myself as the protagonist girl.
     “Well, it’s pretty gross and scary, actually.”
     “Okay . . . go on . . . “I say tentatively trying to mentally prepare myself for the next scene.
     “Well he takes her into this room that is actually a frozen meat locker”
     My mind travels to my storehouse of memories and I think to myself that’s where they hang cow carcasses, right?
     “So . . .” he says, “he picks her up and hangs her on a meat hook right through her back , but it doesn’t kill her . . . as she is hanging there he takes up a chainsaw and dismembers the dead body of her boyfriend.”
     “Jay! Stop, stop! Oh my god, that is so gross. Now I am totally freaked out.”
     “Awww,” he says. “It’s only a story.”
     “I’m scared!” I cry.
     He says the universal magic words: “It’s okay. Come here, snuggle up with me.”
     I move to the left and he wraps his right arm around me and I try to relax keeping one eye on the road unwilling to leave his arm, but wondering if he can drive okay with only one hand on the wheel.
     “There,” he says. “Look! A sign to the next town.  Look it up in our guidebook. Maybe there is a hotel we can stay at.”
     I breathe a sigh of relief.  “Hey,” I offer. “How about instead of some creepy story about Chainsaw massacring serial killers, I read you from the guide book about this area?”
     “Sure,” he allows.  “That’d be great.”
     I open up our trusted Lonely Planet guidebook and dive into a safer subject:  Food.
     I read about how the peninsula’s unique cuisine derived its own character because of the Yucatan’s long-time isolation from the rest of Mexico. I read that the food is divine, and that sinking your teeth into Yucatecan favorites is one of the highlights of traveling the peninsula.  Take that stupid Chainsaw massacre story . . .
     I decide we have to try one of the classics, Papdzules, which I learn are diced hard-boiled eggs wrapped in corn tortillas and topped with pumpkin seed and tomato sauces. The guidebook recommended a restaurant specializing in them. The name of the restaurant and town are long gone, but the memory of that incredible meal remains.
     The next day, having found a place to stay that night and having recovered from my new husband’s tale telling, we set out to try Papadzules. Sitting in a dark tiny little restaurant in the middle of nowhere at a table with a plastic red gingham tablecloth and on simple metal chairs—no crazy chainsaw serial killers in site—we dove into this unique and delightful traditional Mayan specialty. What an unexpected treat!
     So, in honor of Halloween week, when it is okay to talk of ghoulish things, but more importantly in honor of two of my Punkins, I offer to you all a recipe fit for fall: hard-boiled egg enchiladas in a pumpkin seed sauce.
     I understand from Wikipedia that the word “Papadzules” either derives from a phrase meaning “food of the lords” or “drenched”.  Here is my recipe, then, which I think is both fit for lords and drenched . . . in love:

Papdzules

Egg enchiladas smothered in pumpkin seed sauce

Ingredients

  • 4 cups chicken or vegetable broth (or use water)
  • 2 cups raw green hulled pumpkin seeds
  • 1 bunch epazote (when I don't have this, I leave it out)
  • 2 tablespoons chopped onion (I always use sweet onions)
  • 1 garlic clove (minced)
  • 1 cup chopped onion
  • splash cooking oil
  • 8 hard-boiled eggs
  • 1 - 2 serrano chilies (use as many as you like)
  • 1 1/2lb tomatoes, quartered
  • 3 tablespoons oil (I use olive oil or coconut oil)
  • 1/2 cup water
  • 1/2 cup chopped onion
  • 1 garlic clove
  • 1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar

Directions

Tomato Sauce
1. Toss tomatoes with 1 Tablespoon oil and broil for 15 to 20 minutes
2. Blend tomatoes, water, onion, garlic, vinegar, chiles and salt in blender
3. Heat remaining oil in saucepan and cook sauce for about 10 minutes
Pumpkin Seed Sauce
4. Toast pumpkin seeds in a dry skillet over medium heat until seeds have expanded but not browned; cool
5. Coarsely chop 1/4 cup pumpkin seeds and set aside. Bring water, epazote, onion, garlic and 1 1/4 teaspoons salt to a boil
6. Blend this mixture with remaining 1 3/4 cups pumpkin seeds in 2 batches until smooth
7. Transfer to a saucepan. Season with salt.
Filling
8. Saute onions
9. Mix onions with hard-boiled eggs and hot peppers
Fry and Fill Tortillas
10. Heat oil in skillet and soften tortillas on both sides
11. Dip in pumpkin seed sauce (as if it was enchilada sauce)
12. Fill tortillas with egg mixture; roll up and place in a casserole baking dish. (Note: I usually add some sauce to the casserole pan under each as well.
13. Cover wrapped tortillas in any remaining sauce and then add tomato sauce on top (Note: alternatively you can serve the tomato sauce on the side)
14. Bake for about 20 minutes at 350 degrees
The Punkin who started it all

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Herbs for the Immune System, Hot Lipped Dilettante, and Cilantro Chicken Soup

secret books of my fancy

     I know how to wear a suit and manage a business meeting.  I am at home in the high technology world of telecommunications and can find my way through a brief full of legal jargon, but in my heart of hearts, I hanker to be a witch.  Not a Wiccan, per se, but rather a tarot-card-reading, crystals-in-the-corner, mortar-and-pestle-in-the-kitchen, herbs-and-tissue-salts, type of gypsy-shaman-witch.  My pantry holds the secret books of my fancy: Rainforest Home Remedies, Alternative Healing, The Yoga of Herbs, The Kitchen Witch Companion, New Holistic Herbal, Herbal Love Potions, and more.
     So, when someone gets sick in our household, the first thing that goes on the stove is homemade chicken soup, followed by a rash of supplements, homeopathic offerings, and lots of hot tea. This winter Jay got the crud bad, maybe the worst ever.  He was laid up for three weeks, re-discovering how bad movies and TV shows can get. This time, while I worked on revitalizing my knowledge of immune boosting supplements and folk cures, I also researched online for new chicken soup recipes. (Thank God my hankering to be a witch has coincided with the era of the internet!) Along with some of the other witchy and effective cold and flu fighting lore I have picked up over the years, I discovered one recipe recently I’d like to share with you all:  Immune Boosting Chicken Soup.  I found this pearl online at healthychefs.com It is a simple soup, with a bit of chicken, and lots of ginger, garlic, turmeric and cilantro, and beaten egg swirled in.  It is “mommy, I don’t feel good, but this tastes yummy” good.
     Now, about herbs for the immune system, I have some familiarity with that as well.  Almost twenty years ago, I took a class called—wait for it—“Herbs for the Immune System”.  It was offered at the Herbfarm in Issaquah, WA, which has some notoriety for its nine course dinners made by award winning chef, Jerry Traunfeld.  I never have dined at the Herbfarm (there tends to be a six to twelve month waiting list) but I did attend classes or visit from time to time, making me . . . dangerous.
     I wrote an article about the experience that I originally called “Just Call Me a Hot Lipped Dilettante”.  This was published and renamed “Home Remedy Makes One Hot Mama” in the Feb/March 2008 online issue of humorpress.com.   I offer it here as fair warning for any advice I am about to dispense.
Home Remedy Makes One Hot Mama
     By my own admission, I am a dabbler in life, filled with pseudo expertise, while totally lacking common sense. In college, I changed my major eleven times, until it dawned on me that honor grades alone would not produce a diploma. Now, as a married woman, raising kids and operating my own business, I still dilly-dally, vacillating from meditation to mediation to legal research to alternative health. The result is, I often know a little about a lot, which sometimes gets me into trouble.
     On the fated day, I talked to gynecologists, herb specialists, even Harborview Burn Center, all of whom admitted they had never faced such a problem. “You did what?” “Oh you poor thing,” they all whispered under their breath, while trying desperately not to say “how could you do something so stupid!” But there I was in excruciating, yes, worse than childbearing, pain. What had I done? It was simple enough. I tried to treat a vaginal yeast infection, by a rather non-traditional method.
     I had taken a class a few years back, you see, called “Herbs for the Immune System.” The teacher, I recalled, had espoused the marvelous benefits of a product called grapefruit seed extract. “Would kill anything,” he said, including, you guessed it, yeast infections. We happened to have some of this marvelous product in the house. (It really does tame a sore throat if you gargle with a few drops diluted in water—tastes like soap and makes you gag, but it works.)
     Anyway, I failed to read over my notes, which would have reminded me to use the product in a suppository form. I also failed to read the warning label on the bottle: “Avoid contact with eyes or skin at 100% full strength. Use sparingly due to extreme potency. Do not exceed three drops per usage.” Instead, I relied on my own expertise and inserted two droppers of the stuff. That ought to kill it, I thought.
     After a while, I felt some tingling down below. Great, I thought, it’s working. But it wasn’t long afterwards, the tingling increased in intensity. Soon I was in screaming agony. Nothing I did stopped the burning. It started to blister. I bathed in baking soda, douched with Acidophilus, applied ice. My husband and I huddled on the couch trying not to think of our future nights together.
     After all known home remedies to stop the burning failed, my husband took me to Virginia Mason Emergency.
     “What’s the problem, honey?” the receptionist asked sweetly as my husband wheeled me to the front desk.
     “I think I burned myself.”
     “Okay. What happened?”
     “Well, it was, um, from an herbal product,” I flushed, trying to avoid telling her the whole truth.
     “An herbal product? And, where is the burn?” she asked peering over the counter curiously.
     I gave up and told her the whole story. She listened intently, trying not to react, but I noticed she crossed her legs and wouldn’t look me in the eye after that.
     Several other hospital staff members somehow found reason to come check on me. I figured I was the latest coffee break story and they were all trying to get the facts straight. I remember one no nonsense nurse who came in to jot down a host of miscellaneous information. She hadn’t been briefed yet.
     “Have you had any medication today, deary,” she asked taking notes.
     “I’ve had two Percocets and a Tylenol with codeine,” I slurred.
     “Now, why have you had so much pain medication?” she challenged, mistaking me for a druggy.
     “Because I burned my vagina,” I said, by now enjoying the shock value and her momentary lack of composure.
     She gave a little “oh-my-poor-dear” gasp and hurried out of the room.
     Eventually, a female doctor examined me and deduced in hushed tones and a sympathetic voice that I had suffered second degree burns. She prescribed a soothing ointment and more pain pills, but explained the best help would be time.
     Whether this incident has curbed my dabbling streak, I can’t be sure. I am happy to report, however, that vaginal tissue has a remarkable ability to heal itself. My only remaining scar is a bruised ego and my mother’s words haunting me: “How can you be so smart and so dumb . . ?” which reminds me of the time when I was seven and tried to see if electric scissors, famed for being able to cut anything, would cut my tongue . . . but that’s another story . . .
     Still—despite my error in judgment the first time I used grapefruit seed extract, I still highly recommend this product for it really will tame a sore throat, if used diluted and sparingly. 
     Here is my gypsy/shaman/witch list of supplements and folk cure remedies that make my “remember to do or take when you get a cold or flu” list: 
·      Grapefruit Seed Extract
o   dilute and gargle for a sore throat
·      Andrographis Paniculate
o   not as well known as Echinacea and Astragalus, but Jay swears by it—and he is not nearly as gullible as I
·      Astragalus
o   associated with a significant age-reversal effect in the immune system, have seen it work for Jay
·      Oscillococcinum
o   (European homeopathic flu remedy) – Ever since I literally watched my fever begin to plunge and suddenly recover in the course of an hour after diligently taking this, I am a believer.  I always have it on hand. 
·      Vitamin D
o   enhances innate immunity and inhibits the development of autoimmunity, plus many of us are deficient
·      Drink lots of liquids, especially hot tea with honey
o   “Breathe Easy” for sinus congestion
o   “Herba Tussin” for colds and cough (my new favorite)
o   Coconut Water – I swear drinking a coconut a day in India kept me from getting sick from the very polluted air
·      Antronex
o   natural antihistamine for allergies
·      Vitamin C
o   especially EmergenC packets that you dissolve in hot or cold water
·      Rinse Sinuses with neti pot and sterilized water
o   this is hands down the most effective remedy for preventing sinus infections
·      Consider getting a chiropractic adjustment
o   it’s amazing how being a little out of alignment will keep you from getting better
·      Call Dr. Manlove or your favorite nutritional healing person
o   http://www.drmanlove.com/ – our secret health fighting weapon
·      Chicken Soup!
     The witch inside me says, whether you or sick or not, get those stovetop cauldrons boiling with a good fresh pot of Immune Boosting Chicken Soup.  It’s that time of year, after all.
Immune Boosting Chicken Soup (courtesy of The Healthy Chef): http://www.thehealthychef.com/2012/05/immune-boosting-chicken-soup/
Healthy Chef Version            :                                         My adaptations:                       
10 cloves garlic
2 Tbls finely grated ginger
1 Tbls freshly grated turmeric
 I didn’t know about fresh turmeric and am excited to look for it; I used ground turmeric
1 liter (35 ¼ fl oz) chicken or vegetable stock
I used two boxes of free range organic chicken broth instead of adding any water;  (sometimes I make my own chicken broth by boiling a whole organic chicken with carrots, onions, celery, salt and pepper)
Vegetarians can substitute vegetarian broth
1 liter (35 ¼ oz) water
(see above)
500 g (17 ½ oz) free range/organic chicken breast, cut into chunks
Vegetarians can substitute tofu
2 bunches coriander, chopped
This is what we call “cilantro”
¼ cup mirin or rice wine
(note:  not rice vinegar)
3 Tbls tamari soy sauce
2 eggs beaten
 3 beaten eggs
Cooked white rice (to make it a bit more filling); I use short grain sushi rice often
Optional:  additional vegetables:  mushrooms, spinach, kale
I added green beans on the second day
o   Combine the garlic, turmeric, ginger, stock, water and chicken into a large pot. (I have also sautéed the garlic and ginger for a couple minutes first.)
o   Simmer for 5 – 10 minutes over low heat until chicken is cooked through and flavors have infused into the stock.
o   Pour beaten eggs in a thin stream over the simmering stock
o   (Add rice)
o   Add mirin, tamari, and coriander just before serving
     Here’s to adding a dash of magic, a silent prayer, and a whole lotta love to your pots when caring for those you love this cold and flu season.


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Peasant Cooking, Storytelling, and Swiss Potato Soup

     I think of myself as a “peasant cook” –not really sure how I came up with the term, it just feels right.  I have learned since that there is an entire Facebook page dedicated to “peasant cooking”.  Well, for me, the term  captures the essence of using what is available, substituting liberally, usually ending up with a “one pot” meal (and a particular propensity for soups.) I think of peasant cooking as earthy, magical,  and messy rather than beautiful, refined,  and gourmet.   For me it is a hands on sensual art that reverts to simple tools, rather than technology. I think of my kitchen as my hearth – a place where people gather for warmth and comfort, for good nourishing food, and to swap stories – and I like that it contains the word “heart”  within it, because ultimately that is what cooking (and story telling) is for me–an expression and extension of love.
     Cooking wasn’t always this way for me.  When my children were younger I had begun to think of cooking as a chore–something that had to be done, rather than something I wanted to do.  Various members of my family had allergies, so it became necessary for our meals to be gluten free, sugar free and eventually vegetarian or at least optionally vegetarian.  At the time there was very little prepared food that met these criteria so I had to cook everything from scratch.  I realized one day that I had adopted an attitude that all the work involved in cooking was not appreciated (not that that was true . . . just what I thought . . .)
     I decided to offer myself encouragement–since it was obvious the need for cooking was not going to go away.  Every day that I set dinner down on the table I made a little proclamation “Oh my goodness, can you believe it!  I did it again – I actually made dinner and got it to the table!!”  This caused some giggling from the half pints and as I continued day after day to make these proclamations at dinner, the whole idea caught on.  Pretty soon, the kids were the ones who would say “Look Mom – you did it again!  You fixed us a yummy dinner!!”  That was the start.  Then I discovered that all the allergies I had to contend with were a huge blessing in disguise for it led me down avenues I never would have considered and forced me to research, to get involved.  I started investigating ethnic recipes – Mexican, Thai, Japanese, Ethiopian, Korean, Chinese, Latin American, German, Swedish, Dutch, Swiss — that focused on rice or corn or potatoes instead of wheat and bread; I wandered down health food aisles looking for alternatives to sugar, such as barley malt, fructose, cane juice and found also interesting grains like millet and quinoa, and vegetarian alternatives such as Quorn, tofu, tempeh.
     I began to look forward to cooking and started entering into the act of cooking with more intention and awareness.  At some point during the day I would peruse recipes to get ideas.  Then at 4 pm I would put on music, enter my kitchen and clean it – before I started cooking —  I would announce to myself (or others if they were around) that I had to prepare my temple.  What I found was that preparing myself and my kitchen this way helped me relax and really enjoy the task at hand. I noticed a gentle contemplative or musing (as opposed to frenetic) quality to my thinking; memories  mixed with imagination brewed harmlessly in the background just as the ingredients of my latest version of stone soup simmered.
     I learned things about myself, too. I discovered that I would much rather hand mince garlic than use a garlic press – and that I would rather individually chop my vegetables than use a food processor.  I liked the feel of the food in my hands.  I began to pay attention to the different spices called for in recipes and learned the joy of releasing the fragrance of fresh spices in a mortar and pestle (my favorite kitchen implement to this day). I noticed the colors in food and would create with attention to color as well as taste and smell.  In short, I began to feel like a kitchen goddess.
     So, without further ado . . . let’s begin.
——————–
     Today we are having Swiss Potato Soup.
     Just saying those words, brings a whole era to my mind and I think fondly of the many times I have pulled this recipe out.  I have included it here below in its original form, which I wrote 28 years ago, because the mottled, torn, well loved, imperfect, handwritten index card tells something all by itself.
     And as I sit here now, ready to explain more and recreate it in a more legible form, I remember the woman who gave me the recipe. . .
     She was my Greek and Latin tutor and at the time, I thought she was the coolest person I knew.  (I was 22 at the time;  she was about my age now)  She was super hip with short red hair, a dynamite figure and a flair for style. She was warm and engaging, and absolutely dynamic.  I wanted to be just like her when I grew up.  She taught me Greek and Latin in the evening at her house down the street from UCLA.  When I started taking her classes, she had just moved to a gorgeous little house on Westwood Blvd in Los Angeles. She gave me a little tour of her house and I remember being totally impressed that her four poster bed sat on hardwood floors in the dead middle of a sparsely decorated room that had a high ceiling.  Behind and to the side of the bed were giant tropical plants of all shapes.  The effect was like sleeping in the jungle.   I remember too that she told me how her first husband had died suddenly from melanoma.  The room was quiet and still when she shared that.  And in that singular moment, she taught me about reverance.
     She taught me about cooking too.  She sort of instinctively knew that I was struggling, living in my first little tiny house with my fiancé, on a budget and having to come up with dinners.  She announced to me that along with Latin and Greek lessons, she was going to share a recipe with me each week.  She said I should start with the basics, something simple and brought me into her kitchen and had me write down (on the index card you see below) her recipe for Swiss Potato Soup.
     So you see, whenever I decide to cook Swiss Potato Soup, as I do about 4 or 5 times a year it comes with the loveliest of baggage.  I can’t help but smile.  The memories of being a college student, of just starting life out, of the warmth and caring of others, they all come rushing back and I can’t help but think the soup is filled up with that too.
Swiss Potato Soup  (aka Potato Leek Soup):
Original recipe                                                            Substitutions
6 slices bacon         
Tempeh or chicken sausages (3)
3 (cooked) potatoes
2 large leeks (chopped)
1 turnip
I omit this, if I don’thave one
6 cups chicken broth         (free range organic—I like to think of happy, healthy  chickens)
Vegetable broth
2 cups minced onions
1 cup sour cream
1 cup nonfat greek yoghurt
Pepper, salt
Parsley
Often omit because I don’t have it
  • Fry Bacon or chicken sausage and set aside; retain grease.  (For tempeh, see recipe below)
  • Add leeks and onions and sauté in hot grease or olive oil (I add a little salt to the olive oil, if I don’t use hot grease)
  • Add to a dutch oven the leeks, onions, cooked potatoes (cut into pieces), turnips and broth.
  • Bring to a boil then simmer for 15 minutes
  • Puree mixture in a blender. (Careful!  I had this explode in my face once . . . but that’s another story . . .)
  • Return pureed mixture to Dutch Oven; heat back to boiling briefly
  • Stir in sour cream or yoghurt and bits of sausage, bacon or tempeh.
  • Salt and Pepper to taste – it will take quite a bit of salt
  • Use parsley, if you like, for garnish
Serve with bread.  I like to make a special loaf of Bob’s Red Mill Hearty Whole Grain (Gluten Free) Bread.  It is sooo yummy and goes well with the soup!
 ——
Tempeh (that tastes like bacon):
One package tempeh (I buy organic garden veggie tempeh from Lightlife)
Garlic
Wheat free Tamari (or soy sauce)
Olive oil – about 2 Tbls
  • Slice the tempeh into about 1/8th inch pieces
  • Fry in about 2 Tbls oil with 1 -2 cloves of minced garlic
  • Turn each piece over to brown each side
  • When brown sprinkle the tamari over the tempeh
  • Crumble the tempeh pieces up and add it to the top of the soup

Note this is a very handy recipe on its own–try making a BLT with it.  It’s amazing; it tastes just like bacon!  I learned with trick from a macrobiotic cook who lived with us for a while.  It’s one of those recipes we come back to again and again.

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