Living With Poetry | How Simple, and How Profound

---

Living with Poetry is an occasional series where we explore how poetry infuses our everyday lives. Catch up with past features here.

---

It seems the simplest of things: flour, water, yeast. But bread can be an intimidating creature. It feels as if you need a full day simply to tackle even the idea of homemade bread. Perhaps an entire weekend even, and finally on Sunday night you resolve that the following weekend you'll give it a go. 

The following weekend turns into the following month, sometimes. It did for me, but I've found bread to be something that simply waits for you. It doesn't pester you with text messages or late-night email reminders. It doesn't tug at your shirt like a toddler learning to stand. It doesn't beg. Bread does not boast that it is easier than baking muffins or making soup. It says nothing until releasing slow breaths while rising on the counter.  

For months I had bookmarked Alex and Sonja's bread recipe, by way of baker Zoe Francois. It reminded me of one of the favorite loaves I've been ordering from Good Eggs lately, and I had an itch to make it myself when I had a spare moment. Over the holidays, that moment arrived. Bread was one of the many things I cooked in my kitchen in December while catching up on Downton Abbey and leafing through Neruda's odes yet again. (Never mind that it's taken me this long to write about it.)

Bread, 
you rise
from flour, 
water
and fire.
Dense or light,
flattened or round,
you duplicate
the mother's
rounded womb,
and earth's
twice-yearly
swelling.
How simple
you are, bread,
and how profound!

-from "Ode to Bread" by Pablo Neruda

I'm always grateful of the reminder that such plain ingredients can do their magic with hardly any fuss. And in case you're missing out on bread's transformative powers because of fear or past failures, it's worth noting that I'm not a master bread maker. Not even close. I'd say my odds are about 50/50 that a loaf comes out just right, but the fact is that even a disappointing loaf of homemade bread, with a soft chew and yeasty perfume, tastes better than anything you can buy. Just slather with butter and sprinkle with Maldon salt and it will be very, very good.

How simple, and how profound. Neruda has it right. 

---

Ready for your own baking experiments? Visit A Couple Cooks for the recipe. 

Welcoming 2015 + Sweet Potato Muffins

I'm a week late to the intentions/goals/resolutions discussion that ensues this time of year, but my word for 2015 is open. 

I arrived at this word after several weeks of mostly casual pondering, then when I started reflecting on everything that occurred in 2014, halfway through December I decided. Open was the word. 2014 was a big year in ways that might seem small from the outside, but now I'm ready to go deeper and bring the concept of openness into my daily life. Open to opportunities, possibilities, joy, peace, people, conversations, grace, etc. It's not always easy for me, so I take this as the very best kind of challenge.

To welcome the year, I made muffins. I also made eggs, toast, and bacon, but it's really the muffins that most captured my attention. When I first received Good to the Grain for Christmas several years ago, I devoured it in one sitting. I had been itching to expand into whole grain baking, and Kim Boyce's cookbook was a wealth of knowledge about how to make tasty treats more wholesome.

Before the first pass at this recipe, I noticed a small note that mentioned it could easily be turned into a coffee cake. I love this batter as a coffee cake. Love it. But this year I was feeling the muffins. It might have had something to do with the fact that I FINALLY remembered to buy baking cups at the market, and I needed a reason to use them. Or perhaps I needed to be open to the idea of trying the recipe in its original state. I can't be certain. 

What I am certain of, however, is that if it doesn't challenge you, it won't change you. Without question these nine words defined 2014 for me. I know I'm better for it. I prefer the person I am today than the person I was a year ago, and the growing pains were worth coming out the other side with more clarity and conviction. 

One of those convictions was the importance of writing and poetry in my life. As absence tends to make the heart grow fonder, the times when I most wanted to write and read last year but didn't have the time or energy only served to remind me how valuable these gifts are. I continue to be overwhelmingly grateful for all of you who share part of your day with me whenever you stop by. 

I hope Eat This Poem and my letters continue to provide inspiration as the new year unfolds.

Onward.

---

SWEET POTATO MUFFINS

Slightly adapted from Kim Boyce, Good to the Grain

Embrace the bowls here. There are several components involved in bringing this batter together, and you'll be in wonderful shape if you're thoughtful enough to whisk the dry ingredients together the night before and bake the potatoes well in advance. 

I've made a few changes over the years, like using spelt flour and turbinado sugar, and can't resist a nutty, crunchy topping, either.

2 small sweet potatoes (about 3/4 pound)

Dry Mix
1 cup spelt flour
1 cup whole-wheat flour
1 tablespoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

Wet Mix
2 ounces fat (I used half butter and half coconut oil)
1/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup raw turbinado sugar
1 egg
1 cup whole milk or buttermilk
1/2 cup greek yogurt
6 large Medjool dates, pitted and finely chopped

Topping
1/3 cup turbinado sugar
1/3 cup mixed nuts, chopped (pecans, walnuts)

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and prick the sweet potatoes all over with a fork. Roast for 1 to 1 1/2 hours, until tender when pierced with a fork. When they've cooled, peel and leave them whole.

Lower the oven to 350 degrees and put 12 paper liners in a muffin tin. 

Sift the dry ingredients into a large bowl. In a small bowl, whisk together the buttermilk and yogurt.

Add the butter and sugars to the bowl of a standing mixer. Attach the paddle and mix on high speed until the butter and sugars are light and creamy, about 3 minutes. Scrape down the sides of the bowl with a spatula, then add the egg and half of the sweet potatoes. Mix on medium speed for 1 minute more, until thoroughly combined. Scrape down the sides of the bowl.

On low speed, add the dry ingredients and mix until partly combined. Add the buttermilk and yogurt and mix until combined. Next, toss in the chopped dates and the remaining sweet potato; mix until barely combined and pockets of sweet potato can be seen in the batter.

Scoop into muffin cups, then make the topping. combine the sugar and mixed nuts, then sprinkle evenly over the muffins. Bake for 35 to 40 minutes, rotating the pan halfway through. Serve warm with jam or butter, if desired. 

Preludes and Pasta

Our sense of smell can be transporting.

Years unfold.

We tumble back to childhood. 

On the second day of fall, I was making soup. It was still a pot of ingredients—celery, onion, crushed tomatoes—when I walked outside with Emma where the air had started to feel different. September is often our warmest month in Los Angeles, and even though the temperatures hadn't dropped significantly, the sun was shifting. 

By dusk or just before, a crispness emerged. Not cold or brisk, just a whisper of the cooler days to come, when the sun lets us down gently that soon it will set at the unfortunate hour of 5 pm. 

Out of the blue that afternoon I'd suddenly craved spaghetti and meatballs. It's a quintessential fall dish, and for this Italian, something of a comfort food. Who am I kidding. It's the comfort food. But I had no spaghetti and no pork and no beef. I wasn't prepared for this fierce a craving, so I went on making another Italian comfort food, the minestrone I've been making for the past couple of years with chard and plump white beans. Sometimes squash or sweet potato. 

There I was outside, letting my dog sniff the grass and search for pinecones, sorting through the long week, hungry for pasta. When she pulled me back inside (and she has this habit of pulling down the hall only on the way back, like she can't wait to get home) I started smelling something familiar, perfumes of the Italian restaurant I grew up eating at, and very specifically of their minestrone. It was composed of a thin broth with translucent onions and soft carrots gathering at the bottom of the bowl that I used to dip saltine crackers into and tentatively take small sips of from a silver spoon. 

When we arrived at our door, I realized I had been smelling my soup the entire time. Not a neighbor's dinner as I had assumed, but the one I'd put on the stove and poured homemade beef stock over and slipped a Parmesan rind into before slipping outside. I somehow managed to comfort myself that night, in the simplest yet profound way. 

But I still needed the meatballs and two days later, the kitchen filled once again with the scent of tomatoes and garlic and parsley and meat simmering away in a sauce laced with butter and onion. 

And it happened that I read T.S. Eliot's preludes that morning, as delivered from The Poetry Foundation to my inbox. I couldn't deny the timing, and the fierce connection I felt to the poem with its "smell of stems in passageways" and "burnt-out ends of smoky days." If there were ever a perfect meal (and poem) to usher in the new season, I believe I have found it.

---

I

The winter evening settles down
With smell of steaks in passageways.
Six o'clock.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days.
And now a gusty shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves about your feet
And newspapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On broken blinds and chimney-pots,
And at the corner of the street
A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.

And then the lighting of the lamps.

-T.S. Eliot, from Preludes

---

Spaghetti and Meatballs

Adapted from Molly Wizenberg's recipe. (Serves 6)

A few notes.

• Definitely chill the meatballs. They'll be slightly damp beforehand and will need the chilly air to firm up before forming.
• I doubled the recipe, making approximately 22 golfball-sized meatballs, offering plenty to freeze for later.
• I followed her sauce recipe, too, a version I make often, but added a Parmesan rind to the sauce as well. If you have one on hand, slip it in for added depth of flavor.

For the sauce
2 28-ounce cans crushed tomatoes
4 ounces unsalted butter (1/2 stick)
1 onion, peeled and halved through root end
3/4 teaspoon salt
Parmesan rind (optional) 

For the meatballs
1 cup fresh breadcrumbs
1/3 cup whole milk
8 ounces grass fed ground beef
8 ounces ground pork
1 cup finely ground Parmesan (plus more for serving)
1/3 cup finely chopped Italian parsley
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper
2 plump garlic cloves, grated
2 eggs
1 pound spaghetti

To make the sauce, combine the tomatoes, butter, onion, salt, Parmesan rind (if using), and 1 cup water in a heavy stockpot. Bring to a simmer over medium heat. Reduce heat and simmer uncovered for 45 minutes, stirring occasionally. Season with more salt and freshly ground pepper if needed. 

While the sauce bubbles away, start on the meatballs. Combine the breadcrumbs and milk in a small bowl; stir until well combined. Let stand 10 minutes.

Dump the beef and pork into a large bowl. Add the Parmesan, parsley, salt, pepper, and garlic. Whisk the eggs, then pour into the bowl. Use your hands to squeeze milk from the breadcrumbs, then add them to the bowl. This is when the real work starts. Dig your hands into the bowl and quickly and gently mix until all ingredients are evenly combined. Chill for at least 15 minutes. 

Turn the sauce onto low heat. While it warms up, roll clumps of meat into golf ball-sized balls and arrange them in a single layer in the pot. Cover and simmer for 15 to 20 minutes, or until the meatballs are cooked through. Use a slotted spoon to transfer them to a bowl. 

Cook spaghetti in a large pot of salted water until al dente, about 7-8 minutes. Drain, reserving a bit of the cooking liquid. Add spaghetti to the sauce, along with a bit of the reserved water, and stir to coat. Divide pasta among plates and top each serving with meatballs and a sprinkling of Parmesan cheese.