On hardy winter carrots

As winter takes its last few roars before slinking into the shadows, I think it is a good time to give some love to carrots.  And not the pretty slim carrots, all fresh and new with springy, curly tops and possibly available in a rainbow of colors.  Those are, of course, wonderful.  But those are a discussion for another day.  I am talking about those strong and hardy ones we have in winter. Possibly available by the kilogram in plastic bags.  Those ones.

Winter can be a haunting time.  Some days, the world becomes alien and unfamiliar.  Color is drained from the sky, the forests, and the earth, leaving behind only a scale of gray.  Darkness lurks behind every corner.  And sometimes, it drags a bit of sadness with it.

Fun rituals can help, however.  Every Wednesday we have "Super Cozy Science Happy Hour," in which we try new beers, light candles, and watch astronomy/physics shows on YouTube.  Tackling a new project also helps - I am currently trying to needlepoint a table runner with constellations. Because dork.  And food definitely helps.  Definitely.

Almost all of those warm and comforting foods - the meals that are a refuge for a winter-weary soul - start with carrots. From beef bourguignon to spaghetti bolognese to shepherd's pie to coq au vin - those classic dishes all have carrots.  Those long, thick orange root vegetables, once cooked, become the basis of winter's sanctuary right there in your own kitchen.  Their buttery soft, orangey sweetness becomes part and parcel to home.  A beacon of hope and love in the darkness.

On clementines

It has been said that beer is proof that god loves us and wants us to be happy.  Perhaps so - as an agnostic, I suppose I could find the reasoning compelling!  But if it is indeed true that there is a god, then I submit the existence of clementines as proof that said higher power has a profound appreciation for beauty.

The clementine possesses an exquisite beauty - so wonderfully deep and orange and vibrant (especially when one finds them with the leaves still attached), standing as a contrast to the season's quiet darkness.  Amidst the fog and the mist and the snow and the darkness, these small orbs of joy remind us that color and sun will be returned to us.  It is this contrast of life and stillness, color and lack thereof, joy and sedation that makes one convinced that it had to be planned.

Clementines not only possess beauty, but taste and ease and portability.  Only a perfectly ripe clementine can give one that delicious rush of sweet and sour juice, a most energizing and invigorating force.  And it arrives in its very own packaging, it is so easy to peel and take anywhere without worrying about it becoming mush at the bottom of your purse - this is, without a doubt, a most special kind of fruit.

A world without clementines would be a bit dimmer, a bit less vibrant, a bit less delicious, a bit less marvelous.  At the end of the day, I can't actually know that a higher power exists just based on the presence of clementines in our world.  But I like the idea.

On walnuts

Most food is background noise to us.  We have our favorites - the foods that get us excited, that remind us of previous moments, that make our bellies full and happy (oh hello there pan-fried dumplings!).  Then there are the foods that we hate - that we have become trained to avoid for whatever reason - distaste, disgust, allergies, sensitivities, etc (I am, unfortunately, looking at you olives, garlic, and onions!). We tend to focus on our friends and enemies of the food world, while our acquaintances fade away, garnering little attention from us.

Every now and then, however, an acquaintance moves up to a full-fledged friend.  We spend a little more time together, discover previously unknown qualities about them, and then suddenly the kitchen needs to make room to store more of this new friend.  

I have recently gone through this leveling up of friendship with walnuts.  I hadn't been anti-walnut, previously.  Just a bit meh about them - only using them when it seemed necessary.  Now I am bringing home bags chock full of them and dumping them into the large bowl that has now been converted to full-time nut holding and taking up valuable kitchen space.  I can't get enough of their sweetly bitter, fatty taste.  I love that satisfying feeling of successfully cracking open that hard shell.  I love the sound of the shell breaking.  And I especially love excavating that craggy, brain-like nut meat.  I love it all.  I'm sad that I missed out on valuable walnut time for so long, but I have been busily making up for all that lost time together.  I do believe that my new-found friendship with walnuts will be a long, fruitful one.