by Jess Riley
When she finished she was surprised to see not two but four sandwiches lined up on the cutting board. She stared at them dumbly for a moment, then tucked each into a wax paper envelope.
She packed the picnic hamper with the kale salad and taro chips and sandwiches for the Westfields … and an insulated cooler with the other two sandwiches and a separate container of salad, another bag of taro chips and another Thermos of iced hibiscus tea.
Her heart stutter-stepped while she zipped it shut, because she was really going to do this, before she lost her nerve. It was a spring day you couldn’t deny, practically begging you to be brave, to surprise yourself, because by some strange miracle related to the axis of the sun or the weather or the new pollen in the air, your soul was actually younger than it had been in January. Robins trilled in the trees and ran determinedly across lawns, stopping now and then to cock their heads and tug long, pink worms from the earth. It wasn’t yet cottonwood season, when the air was thick with fluffy white detritus, but bits of dandelion fuzz caught the wind and swirled around her while she carried her bags to the car.
Harper hadn’t seen him all week at the corner of Franklin and Elm. Every empty morning without him cast a wistful shadow on her heart. Later, she’d walk into rooms forgetting why she’d gone into them. She grew embarrassed at how often she had to ask people to repeat themselves on those afternoons, frustrated at her inability to focus, re-reading the same paragraphs in her textbooks over and over.
A blast of explosively hot air took her breath away when she opened her car door. It wasn’t yet eleven in the morning and the molded plastic dashboard was warm and pliable, probably off-gassing strange, chemical fumes that were at that very moment tying her fallopian tubes into bows. She’d heard of people baking cookies in their cars on sunny days and made a mental note to try that on a hot, sunny day when summer had arrived in full. She turned on satellite radio and cranked her window down, pulled out of the parking lot, a feeling of anxious optimism churning in her stomach. The sky was free of clouds, and everyone seemed to be out today, riding bikes or walking rambunctious puppies or simply driving with the windows down, blissed out on the day. After a few blocks she turned right when she should have turned left if she were heading straight to the Westfields. Just a little detour, she told herself, smiling. When she reached her destination, her heartbeat doubled. She slowed down and tried not to look too obvious as she craned her neck for a better view.
But the parking lot of the single-story brick building was empty, except for the blue Tubes and Hoses pick-up truck and a few scraggly dandelions sprouting in cracks in the pavement. A CLOSED sign hung on the glass front door, and her heart sighed. Well, it was a long shot, and it was a Saturday. And even if they had regular Saturday hours, it was too beautiful a day to stay indoors—who could blame anyone if they played hooky today?
She pressed the gas pedal again, inhaled and exhaled deeply to shake the disappointment off. There would be other days, she supposed. She had a delivery to make, and she could save the fourth sandwich for lunch tomorrow. But in a tiny corner of her mind, she knew this about those other days: it might be raining, or cold, or gloomy. The birds could be gone, nobody flying kites or picking tulips for a bouquet. And on those days, surprise picnics would be that much harder to come by.
Zach
THE SUN WAS blazing today—a hot, white orb that made you wonder where your bathing suit was, or maybe how long it would take for your pale, winterized skin to develop the first sunburn of the season. It actually hurt his eyes when he walked out of Target into the parking lot, bags swinging against his thighs. Back at the car, he cleaned the lenses of his sunglasses with the edge of his shirt and put them on. It was one of the first gorgeous Saturdays of the year—sixty-eight degrees and not a cloud in the sky. Too nice to clean indoors, really. Maybe he’d go to the park with a paperback, read on a blanket by the water unless the grass was still too wet or there were too many seagulls shitting all over the place. He decided to drive a bit more, maybe even stop by the Humane Society to see if there were any small, apartment-friendly dogs up for adoption. It was the kind of day where anything felt possible. He rolled his window down and cranked WOZZ—they were on a real Tool kick lately, but right now they were playing “Ballroom Blitz.” He left it on anyway, but turned the volume way down. It was nice to hear the birds singing. He became a tourist in his own city, driving aimlessly through the streets—left turn here, right turn there. He passed the stately Victorian homes on Washington, admired the old architecture of the downtown buildings, considered stopping for a sandwich at The Blue Moon.
And that was when he saw her, slightly ahead of him in her blue Kia Rio, turning right on South Main, sunlight flashing from her back window. He scanned the radio to find a better soundtrack and reluctantly settled on “Rocky Mountain Way” by Joe Walsh because every other station was playing Bruno Mars or a commercial for Kessler’s Diamonds.
She slalomed around a mini-van and he temporarily lost track of her, so he nudged the gas pedal to catch up. He didn’t want her to see him, but he didn’t want to lose her at a stoplight. Well, what are you going to do if you catch up? She’s going to think you’re stalking her! a small voice told him. This was the same voice that also reminded him to take a multi-vitamin, wash his bedding every other week, and pay the balance of his Visa off in full each month. It embarrassed him to acknowledge that yes, this probably did qualify as stalking, but he wasn’t embarrassed enough to stop. He passed the mini-van, but she was nearly two blocks ahead by now, in front of a white Honda Civic.
After a few more blocks, past the Dairy Queen and Tew’s Two Sporting Goods, the city fell away and you got a great view of the lake to your left. South Main turned into what most people simply called “The Lake Road,” which hugged the western shore of Lake Winnebago and offered a more scenic route to Fond du Lac than Highway 41. It was almost lake fly season, and yes—there they were, massive black clouds of them in atmospheric patches above the road. Railroad tracks ran between the road and the lake for a stretch; he heard the distant whistle of an oncoming train and stepped on the gas again, not wanting to get stuck at the crossing near Ardy & Ed’s Drive In, which always made him think of Ed Hardy T-shirts. It was open again for the season, the girls in their carhop outfits skating to and from cars in the parking lot, balancing trays of food. He considered stopping in for a coney dog, but it wasn’t as much fun to eat there alone. The boat landing across the street was packed with the trucks and trailers of early season fishermen.
At that moment the lights at the railroad crossing began to flash; he watched her Kia and then the Honda zip over the tracks just as the gate swung down. The freight train blew its horn again as it reached the crossing, and the endless procession of connected boxcars blocked any view of his mystery girl, who was sure to be long-gone by the time the caboose came on scene. And then The Fox began to play “High and Dry” by Radiohead, which felt strangely perfect and profound. He shifted into park, listening to the train’s soothing clickety-clack, clickety-clack on the rails, the familiar DING-DING-DING-DING of the warning bell, and laughed out loud. Because life could be so absurd. Most of the boxcars and shipping containers were decorated with colorful graffiti, which he tried to read: large, boxy lettering that didn’t make much sense but made him think of the opening montage to Soul Train. Pops of light flashed between each passing boxcar; he had to look away because it was starting to give him a headache. A line of vehicles began to pile up behind him, and he debated turning his engine off to save gas.
Over the din of the train he heard a faint prehistoric rattling overhead and leaned out his window to see what it was. Sandhill cranes. A pair, flying north, ready to start their summer together. They flew neatly above a flock of pelicans, cruising in a solid, low V-formation over the lake like a squadron of bombers.
Ah, shit. How could you be frustrated on a day like this?
The boxcars clickety-clacked, clickety-clacked, until finally the last one
cleared. The red lights stopped flashing and the striped gate shuddered, began to rise.
And there she was. Parked down the road a bit on the gravel shoulder, leaning against her car with her arms crossed, waiting for him. Smiling in a faded denim skirt, green peasant top, and cowboy boots, her hair held back by a clip—the prettiest person ever to wait for a tow truck, to hitchhike, to patiently and bravely wait to introduce herself to the boy whose Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays she’s been brightening for the last few months.
For the rest of his life, he’d remember what was playing on the radio at that exact moment (“My Heart” by The Perishers). And he’d remember the pelicans, and the sunshine glancing off the lake, and her smile, of course. And that he finally understood how it was possible for the human heart to feel both wide open and utterly full, all at once.
THE END
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THE RECIPES
Ten of my most popular vegetarian recipes, inspired by Harper and just in time for CSA season. (They are most popular with me and my imaginary friend Geraldine.) Big T means tablespoon, little t means teaspoon. It’s fun to have a secret code together, isn’t it?
Unstuffed Grape Leaves
Serves 6-8
This recipe, adapted from Vegetarian Times, is perfect if, like me, you love stuffed grape leaves but you’re too lazy to make them and too cheap to buy them. Since I live in a city that will not carry brined grape leaves except under penalty of death, I substitute kale—but feel free to use whatever fresh greens are available (spinach, collards, beet tops, etc.) If you can find brined grape leaves, by all means use them, since that would be in keeping with the title of this recipe. I make the entire dish in my Dutch oven, which I cannot say without giggling like mad.
1 bunch kale, stemmed and roughly chopped
2 T extra-virgin olive oil
1 large onion, finely diced (2 cups)
1 cup brown rice
2 cups low-sodium tomato juice
1/2 cup chopped fresh parsley
1/2 cup chopped fresh mint
1 cup dried currants
1 cup blanched almonds, chopped
1/3 cup capers
1/4 cup lemon juice
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Heat the oil in your Dutch oven (heehee), and sauté the onion until soft and beginning to get brown and crispy on the edges. Add the rice and 2.5 cups of water—bring to a boil, then lower heat to med-low, cover, and simmer for 35 minutes. Remove from heat; stir in tomato juice, almonds, parsley, mint, currants, capers, kale, and lemon juice. Season with salt and pepper. It’ll be a bit sloppy, but half an hour in the oven (covered) will firm things up. I like to drizzle mine with balsamic glaze. Then, do the Mexican Hat Dance and enjoy!
Jamaican Jerk Chili
Serves 10-12
We have a dear friend who throws an annual ChiliFest party. This was my 2006 contribution; the instructions are like a little time capsule from the night.
One 14.5 oz can of diced tomatoes
Two 14.5 oz cans kidney beans, rinsed & drained
One 14.5 oz can tomato sauce (can substitute spaghetti sauce)
1 pound red potatoes, diced
1 large onion, diced
8 oz. extra-firm tofu, diced
1 T brown sugar
1 T Jamaican Jerk seasoning
2 T red wine vinegar
1/2 cup water.
Combine all ingredients in a crock pot and cook on "high" for about 4 hours, or until you've drunk much more than you should have and begin to accost a fellow partygoer because he looks like David Cross. Later, continue to express your amazement that he doesn't know who David Cross is. Call it a crime. Fail to realize that you're being completely annoying. Wander around, interrupting random conversations. Tell some people about your book (or children; this is an acceptable substitute). Make yourself another drink and rescue the little dogs placed high on a desk by children you don't know. Watch a cute adopted child learn to do the rock n' roll devil's horns with his hands for the very first time. Laugh at this and say, "Aawww!" Finish your drink and pour yourself some red wine. Check on friend who is vomiting on the gnomes from the front porch. Now, you're done! Time for some chili.
Loaded Miso Soup
Serves 4-6
This is such a perfect soup to make when you have a cold. The shiitakes, miso, garlic, ginger, bok choy—all of these ingredients love to kick some viral butt. So the minute you notice that scratchy feeling in the back of your throat, get those wheat berries soaking!
1/2 cup wheat berries
2 T organic canola oil or extra-virgin olive oil
1-2 cups shiitake mushrooms, stemmed and thinly sliced
10 cloves garlic, minced (I know! We are going to sti-ink, but it will be worth it)
1/2 to 1 T grated fresh ginger (depending on your taste; my husband is not a fan, so we use less)
1/2 cup rice vinegar
6 cups vegetable broth
2 baby bok choy heads, diced
1/2 cup edamame, rhymes with Mommy
1/2 cup (They call me mellow) yellow miso
Day one: Dress the wheat berries in tiny bikinis and give them a relaxing overnight soak in a big bowl of water. (Ah, isn’t that lovely? It’s spa day for grains!)
Day two: When you’re ready to roll, heat the oil in a 2 quart minimum stock pot over medium heat; add your shiitakes and sauté until they start to get a bit crispy on the edges (5- 8 minutes). Add the garlic & ginger and sauté for another minute. Add vinegar and simmer until it nearly evaporates, scraping brown bits up from the bottom of the pan, because who doesn’t enjoy a good, crunchy brown bit? Drain wheat berries and add to mushrooms, along with veggie broth, arame, edamame, and one cup water. If you find any other ingredients in your kitchen that rhyme with arame and edamame, add those, too. (Not really.) Simmer 20 minutes and add bok choy. Simmer another 5 minutes and remove from heat before the bok choy goes from a bright green to a muddy one. Gently stir in miso until it blooms. Isn’t that fun? Top with your favorite things: diced green onion, a few squirts of Sriracha, more rice wine vinegar, a few drops of toasted sesame oil, brown paper packages tied up with string (again, not really) … and kick the shiitake out of that virus!
General Tsalmost’s Tofu
Serves 4
Like the take-out version, but without the apocalyptic remorse afterward. First, a note on tofu. I always buy extra-firm water-packed tofu. Never, ever buy firm tofu in the shelf-stable aseptic boxes, unless you actually like milk-flavored Jell-O. That stuff’s really better-suited for puddings, pie fillings, spackle, or alienating meat-loving friends and family. I like extra-firm Westsoy Organic tofu in the blue package.
Unsolicited tip: When you get your tofu home from the grocery store, throw the entire unopened package right in the freezer. Once it’s thawed, slice the whole package in half and gently squeeze the extra water out. So much easier than pressing between plates, which is about as tedious as preparing your own taxes.
My favorite way to prep tofu for stir-frying is to first shake it in a sealed, plastic Ziploc bag of cornstarch—maybe 1/2 cup—completely coating the cubes (“It’s Shake ’n Bake, and I helped!”). Sift the excess cornstarch from the cubes in a colander over the sink, unless you like fried blots of cornstarch. I get about 2 tablespoons of coconut oil nice and hot in the wok, and then stir-fry the starchy tofu cubes until they’re golden. Remove with a slotted spoon or spatula and let those crispy little babies rest on some paper towels while you get to the veggies.
If your tofu sticks to the wok like crazy, try using your non-stick electric skillet.
The Usual Suspects
1 package extra-firm tofu, cut into 1 inch cubes and dusted in cornstarch per the directions above—BUT add 1 teaspoon Chinese five-spice powder to the bag before shaking. That’s the secret ingredient.
2 + 1 T oil (coconut, extra-virgin olive, or canola—chef’s choice!)
5 cups broccoli florets (from 2 good
-sized heads)
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 cup brown rice, cooked according to package directions
The Sauce
1/2 cup water
1 clove garlic, minced
2 T tomato paste
1 T tamari or soy sauce
1 T rice vinegar
1 T hoisin sauce
1 T chili-garlic sauce
1 T sugar
1 t toasted dark sesame oil
1 t cornstarch
You’ll want to start cooking the rice about 30 minutes prior to prepping the rest of the ingredients, so everything is finished together. Whisk the sauce ingredients together and set aside while you heat the oil in your wok or skillet. Stir-fry the cornstarch-coated tofu until golden on all sides. Take it out of the game and bench it for a few minutes on some folded paper towels. If the wok is dry, add another tablespoon of oil; wait a minute (until the oil is nice and hot), and add the broccoli florets—stir-fry for a minute or two. Add 2 tablespoons water (Whooo, steam!) and the 2 cloves minced garlic, and keep stir-frying until the broccoli is bright green but still crispy. Return your tofu to the pan, pour in your sauce, give it a few tosses until the sauce starts to thicken, and serve over rice. General Tso would be proud.