Squash about!

I think my favorite thing about autumn, other than woolly jumpers and more trips to the pub, is squash!  And no, I'm not talking about orange juice or that fast-paced racket ball sport.  I'm talking about the vegetables belonging to the genus Cucurbita: pumpkins, butternut squash, acorn squash, and zucchini (courgettes).  Coming from America, I used to think squash were pretty boring--yes, they were cool because they were one of the 'three sisters' planted by the Native Americans--but couldn't they be just a little more exotic and exciting?  Well, there's nothing like living abroad to re-orient your world view, and apparently, at least for me, that includes re-defining the vegetables you cherish.

Squash, a relatively non-prevalent vegetable in food retail in England (with the exception of zucchini), holds a more exotic and novel place in the English consciousness--it is a posh vegetable whose unique varieties, like onion squash, are typically found only in specialist greengrocers.  As an American, living in a place where squash is less ubiquitous has made me realize just how lovable and versatile (and essential) squashes are to the spirit of autumn.  After five weeks of moving all over London and finally becoming a bit more settled, I have re-entered the kitchen and been banging out the squash recipes to really feel settled into autumn.

A mushroom sage risotto gets stuffed into a roasted acorn squash and then inundated with parmesean cheese.  Later in the week, an onion squash soup gets spruced up with cannellini beans, chard, and mushrooms.

And tonight, a two-hour oven-roasted ratatouille with a separate tomato, herb, wine sauce convinced me that this is the one and only way to make ratatouille in the future.  Squashes not only add contrasting shapes and color to your autumn meals, they fortify you for the cold, darker days ahead (and are an overwhelming source of vitamin A!).  

 

Come the end of Halloween, if you have two many pumpkins, don't throw them out!  Turn them into pumpkin soup or pie, or even better, share them with a friend.  Our chickens couldn't get enough of this seasonal treat!  

Everyone loves a pumpkin!

Slowing down to cross the finish line

It's been a busy year for London and a busy year for me; there must be something in the tea.  Where have the last six months gone?  Since April London has been pulsating with preparations and celebrations, from the Diamond Jubilee to the Olympic and Paralympic Games.  The energy and genuine goodwill produced by all of the activity and celebration has rubbed off on everyone.  London feels vibrant and optimistic; life is bustling and it is all happening here.

Parmesean stall at Borough Market

But it is happening too fast. I remember the emotional intensity with which I watched the 100m final on the big screens at the Southbank Centre.  After all the build up and years of training that go into it, the race is over and decided in under ten seconds.  While exuberant, I felt a bit robbed at the end of it.  I watched the replays in slow motion over and over again from all camera angles, hoping to satiate my hunger.  

The last six months have been a bit of a 100m final for me. As Ryan and I are nearing the end of our time in England, my internal motto has been to 'maximize what time I've got left'--which in Emily-speak translates into overloaded busyness.  It's been an incredible six months, but I've quickly gotten over the novelty of having three part-time jobs and working six days a week.  I've finally realized, either out of maturity or exhaustion, that experience is not somthing that can be maximized with more experiences; experiences can only be 'maximized' by a prescence of being, which usually requires...slowing down.  

Webster the duck

I remember, on a visit to a tiny hilltop Tuscan village a few years ago, being completely bemused by the old men who would congregate in the town square everyday around dusk.  They would sit next to each on benches or wooden chairs and say nothing.  With crossed arms propped on their pot-bellies, not a word would pass between them.  They just sat and watched--watched the rest of village life going about its way.  I remember being so wholly enchanted by this idyllic scene of pot-bellied Italian men congregating in the town square.  But the point that enchants me now is how they sat in silence, doing nothing.  No chess game?  No backagmmon?  No sudoku?  No stories or jokes?

It is very easy for me to work six or seven days a week, to have three or four jobs, to overcommit, overplan, and overdo, making lists for the future, thinking I'm achieving something in all that efficient planning and maximization of time.  It is much harder to sit.  To wait.  To watch.  To not demand or control how time passes but to patiently await it.  While I have been good at filling up time the last few months, I haven't been as good at maximizing it.  Fortunately, working with children and animals quickly reminds me how little control I have over time and that the quiet, unplanned moments tend to be the ones filled with the most meaning and gratification.  My time at the farm has taught me to be patient--to absorb life rather than orchestrate it.  Which is why I couldn't be happier to be spending the last five months of my time in England entirely at the farm. One job. Five days a week. I'm slowing down as I near the finish because I won't be getting any slow-motion replays to satiate me.  I'm satiating myself with the present.   

Spring has Sprung!

Day old chick

The Legbar chicks are hatching.  The Indian runner ducks and call ducks are too.  The lambs are bleating and ungracefully guzzling their bottled milk.  Spring has sprung and so has the next adventure in my life.  The period of winter waiting has dissipated and the path ahead of new growth has sprouted.  In possession of a work visa and several new exciting food jobs, I couldn't be happier!

Since March I have been joyfully spending my days as an educational worker on a one acre city farm in the heart of London.  I take school groups of primary school children (ages 4-10) on tours of the farm and lead workshops on where food comes from and how food is made.  I have never before mucked out stables, picked up a gobbling 40-pound turkey, walked a massive, head-butting heifer across a city road, put a head harness on an alpaca, chased and caught giant English hares, or had my wellie boots nibbled by Kunekune pigs from New Zealand, but for some strange reason, I feel right at home on this London city farm.

Two week old orphan lambs

The city farm is a magical place.  Everyone who comes to the farm, be it families, school groups, or business men in suits on their lunch break, is enchanted.  There's something about engaging animals and the outdoors that equalizes and affirms our humanity.  In sharing in the shrieks of amazement of city children who have never seen or touched a farm animal before, in seeing the wonderment of autistic children watching a chick hatch, I have learned that animals are an incredible medium through which children (and adults) can learn about the world around them while also learning about themselves--gaining confidence, knowledge, and a sense of responsibility.  It has been a powerful experience getting to share the farm with people--sowing seeds, collecting still warm eggs, bottle feeding orphan lambs, pond dipping for mini beasts!  And the power of it seems to come from its simplicity, the joy of experiencing the basics of nature and life.  It is plain old-fashioned fun.

Saturday, the Polish cockrel

The past month has been an exceptionally fulfilling (and exhausting) experience.  Being outdoors all day, working with animals, and mostly, getting to share animal and food knowledge with children, has proved to be one of the most rewarding work environments I have worked in. I feel very fortunate to have this opportunity and hope that I can continue along this path of outdoor education and food education.  I am currently developing workshops for the farm that include hands-on cookery sessions making bread.  We're also working to create more workshops for older children (ages 14-17) that engage debates surrounding current food production systems.  What a dream it would be to create something like this in the heart of Los Angeles!

Meanwhile, as the days get longer and warmer and green buds begin to sprout around London, I am learning more and more about animals, food, people, and myself.  Happy Spring!

Reflections for 2012

2012. A new year. I haven't posted on my blog since August and I don't really have any excuses. I submitted my dissertation mid-September and am officially a master in the Anthropology of Food. Yay!  Incredible knowledge gained, experiences had and friends made?  Check.  Incredible sense of accomplishment, satisfaction and inspiration?  Check!  So what now? After transitioning into student life and life in a new country in 2010 and 2011, I am now trying to figure out the next transition.

What happens now? Most of my fellow students have returned to their home countries. My coveted cache of London library cards are expired. I now pay council taxes.  I am no longer a student.  So what am I?  I'm still in London. I am currently working at a posh food shop, gaining experience in retail and artisan food products, which has proven educational and delicious. I'm also in the process of applying for a work visa to enable me to stay in the UK beyond my student visa while Ryan finishes his PhD. Both the job search and work visa processes have been tests of patience and fortitude.  Job applications and the UK Border agency's paperwork have left me feeling very small in a big world of bureaucracy and shrinking economic opportunities.  So I have felt very uninspired the last several months, feeling unsure about how everything will fit together.

Life slows down when the path ahead is unknown.  But this allows time to think, time to reflect--something we unknowlingly need to do in order to go forward.  I volunteer once a week on the heart ward of a children's hospital in London. This past week I went into the ward itching to get down to work and ready to have a profound experience.  I paced up and down the ward several times.  Many patients had been discharged, some were getting ready to go for some scans, others were sleeping.  "Ugh," I thought, "it's slow, they don't need me, I should just go home."  But then I reminded myself to not be so impatient.  So what did I do?  I went to the staff room and made a nice cup of tea and waited.  The most important lesson I've learned in England is that there's nothing a cuppa doesn't sort out.  Waiting for the kettle to boil, waiting for the teabag to steep, the conversations shared over the hot beverage, all enables you to slow down.  And by the time my tea cup was empty, several needs on the ward became apparent, little things--helping with lunch service, sitting with some new admits--but things that were needed.

As the end of my day on the ward neared, I had a little girl waiting for a heart transplant sit on my lap while the nurses changed her sheets.  We pretended to eat cookies and fed her dollies cookies.  Her blue eyes melted me.  En route to work afterwards, I walked slow, even though I was running late.  I wasn't in a hurry.  In sharing pretend cookies with dollies, I was reminded that I needn't be in such a rush to accomplish things or to know what the next step leads to.  As I go forward in pursuit of a career dedicated to food, I cannot lose focus of what has inspired me to pursue food: the everyday.  It is the everyday meaning of food, the centrality of food in our lives that reminds us that life is about the living and not the planning.  Life is about the meaningful relationships and connections we make in the process of being in this messy, unsure and bureaucratic world.  Food, even pretend cookies, is often the mode of that connection.  What 2012 will hold remains unknown to me but I look forward to the meaningful exchanges and meals that will punctuate the transitional and unknown spaces.  And the many cuppas to boot!  Cheers!

Enjoying haggis in Edinburgh