Karen, Author at Tasty Oasis

Coconut Maple Granola

February 4, 2015 By Karen

I bought mint chocolate chip ice cream last week. It’s something I rarely do, because I have no control over myself when it’s in the house. But I did. I bought it. The super premium, extra rich and delicious kind, that’s actually white, with tons of chocolate slivers. On Thursday night I had to go out for an hour, and when I walked back in the door at 8:30, I headed straight to the freezer. The kids were tucked in already, Brian was on Skype with a friend, and I just wanted to decompress. So I filled a small ramekin with my ice cream (proud of myself for attempting portion control,) and curled up on the couch. Intending to pull up Downton Abbey on the DVR, I turned on the TV and what’s on live but The Biggest Loser season finale. It’s not like I even watch this show, but it’s impossible not to get sucked in. There’s one incredible transformation after another, with stories to boot about the importance of making healthy choices so you can live a happier, longer life. So I watched… and ate my ice cream. And then there was a commercial, and because it wasn’t recorded, I actually had to wait for the show to resume. So while the participants changed into their “weigh-in” clothes, I went back to the freezer for what was now a heaping second helping of ice cream. And as I saw before and after images of 100 pound weight losses, I continued to spoon my ice cream in, fully noting the irony.

But that’s normal, right? Knowing logically what the smart thing is, the healthy thing, yet consciously doing the opposite? And when I say normal, I don’t mean that it’s something to be proud of, it’s just something that is. It’s reality. So that night I indulged myself with the ice cream, and then I did in fact watch Downton Abbey, and then I realized that the final episode Parenthood was on. And since I was already emotional, I knew that I would be guaranteed to have a good cry if I stayed up to watch it too, and so I did. (I stayed up, AND I cried. Did you see it? So good.) And none of those decisions were smart or healthy. I was still recovering from the plague that hit our house, and I had a full day on Friday, but I was up until almost midnight. There goes healthy choices…..

But I redeemed myself. While Thursday night was a wash, I knew I could start the next day with a clean slate. A smart breakfast with some plain yogurt, fruit and granola. …

The Simplest Roasted Broccoli

January 19, 2015 By Karen

A million years ago, (by which I mean August,) I posted a recipe for Spice-Crusted Roasted Salmon, and in the comments my friend Amanda asked about the broccoli that I served to go alongside it. In my response I told her that it was just the simplest of dishes: broccoli roasted at a high temperature with extra virgin olive oil, kosher salt and black pepper. I also promised I would do a post about it soon, even though it is so easy you don’t even need a recipe. But summer turned to fall, and fall to winter, and here we are. Better late than never, right?

And since it’s been a couple of weeks since my last post, I came to the computer tonight determined to get something to you, and quick and easy (in the cooking and the writing both) are my watch words. You see, my house has been under quarantine the last week and a half: like everyone else, we got hit by the flu, by bronchitis, by random fevers and by unending cacophonous coughs that make you want to cry. Sure we all had our flu shots, but as the media has reported, this year was a misfire on that front. So all four of us were home this week, looking and feeling as pathetic as can be, and cooking and blogging were the last things on my mind. But the fog has lifted, and we’re all heading back to school and work tomorrow. And healthy, bright and green seems a smart way to go. Oh, and did I mention quick and easy? Because that’s key….

Martha Stewart’s Buttermilk Pancakes

January 5, 2015 By Karen

Have you heard of the show Master Chef Junior? It’s a cooking competition show for kids ages 8-13 that airs on Fox on Tuesday nights. We missed the first season entirely, just finished the second season this weekend, and are so excited for the third season to start tomorrow night (Tuesday, January 6th.) If you haven’t seen it yet, pause what you are doing and go set your DVR. I can honestly say that it is my favorite cooking competition show of all time. While the grown-up versions are often filled with drama, pettiness, and conniving, self-absorbed chefs with more tattoos than compassion, Master Chef Junior is inspiring in every way. First of all, these tiny home cooks have more skill in the kitchen than I do, by far, and I am four times their age! Knocking out cream pies, smoked aiolies, breaking down giant Alaskan salmon, and frying up chicken, with knife skills and flavor pairings that have never crossed my mind, I learned something from every episode. And I’ve actually been moved to tears while watching because these children and judges are nothing but encouraging and supportive of each other. Gordon Ramsey might be foul-mouthed and mean as hell to adults that he judges, but here the man is like a good-hearted dad who speaks honestly and fairly to these kids, with the goal of building them up to be the best they can be. All of us should have such a mentor.

When we started watching this show together as a family, my big guy was on the edge of his seat. His jaw dropped as they wielded their knives, and he couldn’t get over how sophisticated their plates and palates were. When it was time for contestants to be sent home, he was anxious, and then upset that someone could “lose” with a dish that was so far ahead of anything he knew how to do.

But mostly, he’s been excited. While he stood by my side and mixed cookie dough and made muffins as a toddler, it had been years since he had any real interest in the kitchen. All of a sudden, that’s changed. “Hey Mom, Sean’s only 10! How can he do all that??!!??” was quickly followed up by, “I want to do that! Can you show me how?”…

Red Lentil Barley Soup

December 30, 2014 By Karen

Holiday cards. The last few weeks brought a slew of them to our mailbox, which I always look forward to. I love hearing from friends near and far, seeing the photos, amazed at how the years have passed. I especially love the notes on them, and make the effort to write something personal on each one that we send out. I spend a ridiculous amount of time designing ours, writing a family update on the back, with the intention of giving the people in our lives an idea of what the past year looked like. It’s the version that I want people to see. “Hey everyone! Look at all we did! Go us!” And yes, I am honestly so proud of our accomplishments and want to share that, but I can’t say it’s the full picture of the year. First or all, I’m wearing makeup and I actually used a hair dryer and put on earrings (at least on the front of the card.) Those who see me daily know that rarely happens, even though I feel better about myself when I do such things. But mostly, it’s the end results that we share, and none of the process. And often, the process isn’t pretty.

It’s the piles of laundry that overflow from hampers, that when washed remain in the laundry basket for days and even weeks before getting folded, let alone returned to drawers. It’s the fight with the front door, that is warped and should be replaced, but instead is patched and painted, and then warps all over again with the weather and is impossible to close. It’s the fact that I am the messy one, and I drive Brian crazy with the clutter that I leave everywhere, despite my endless promises to try harder. It’s the battle over lies that come from a seven year old mouth, that might seem harmless but need to be nipped in the bud. It’s the refrain “I’m bored….” which is uttered in the 90 seconds between waking up and walking into my bedroom, that really means, “Mom, can I play Minecraft?” It’s the tears of frustration and exhaustion at the end of a 15 hour day in a foreign country, when I feel like a fraud and a failure as an interpreter because 30 deaf people in a room with as many different language needs talking about terrorism is just not something I can handle well at 10 o’clock at night. It’s months of health issues that had me sleeping in my car during lunch every day so that I could make it through the afternoon, and it’s lying on the couch binge-watching trash television (yes, I’ve seen four episodes of Scandal in the last two days) until way into the night, despite the need to wake at the crack of dawn. It’s burning the candle at every end, so that the wick has withered away, and my body gives out and I have to cancel work, which makes me feel even worse.

It’s the conversation that happens as I try to get out the door….

Indonesian Avocado Shake (Jus Alpukat) with Kahlua and Godiva Liqueur

December 18, 2014 By Karen

I keep getting caught. Caught yawning. Shifting in my chair. Not by one person. Not by two, or even three or four. But by countless people.

Should I blame the weather? It’s been cold, wet and dark outside. Should I blame the alarm that routinely rings at 5:30am or even earlier? I set it after all, to go to perfectly decent days of work. What about my little guy who keeps tip-toeing in at 2am to ask to be tucked back into the covers that he kicks off? The poor kid’s cold, and he needs help. (But seriously, the kid has got to learn how to pull the damn covers up already.)

No, really, I take responsibility for my own glassy eyes and dark circles. Because night after night I stay up way too late, long after I should go to bed. Granted, I can be productive at times. One night a few weeks ago was turkey stock, started at the foolish time of 5 o’clock, so that it was midnight by the time it was cool enough to freeze in pre-portioned Ziploc bags. Another night was sorting and backing up all of the photos from the last couple of months. Especially important, since I just managed to completely lose three weeks of pictures this month. All my “before” kitchen shots would have been fun to share, but the bigger disappointment was erasing my husband’s birthday pictures. (Remember I told you my computer and technology skills were at least a decade behind when I started this project? Well, I’m learning, but I still managed to royally screw this one up. And no, they can’t be recovered. They’re gone. Yay me!) Then there was staying up at the kitchen table with my brother who lives 6000 miles away, or spending hours trying to figure out how to interpret jury instructions, also reading through a stack of new books I got at the library, and laundry. Endless laundry.

But there was one night a couple weeks ago that I got sucked into the internet, as I researched Indonesian drink recipes for our cooking club gathering that happened last week. I’ve had Malaysian food, Singaporean food, Thai, and Vietnamese, but I don’t think I’d ever had an Indonesian meal, so I certainly had no idea what a traditional drink would be. But as you all know, the internet can be a beautiful thing. And it can also suck your brain…. That night, it was a bit of both….

Thankful: Dorie Greenspan’s Maple-Cornmeal Drop Biscuits

November 27, 2014 By Karen

Thankful.

Lucky.

Waking up to a kid that calls out, “Mom, can I get up? My tummy is telling me I neeeeeed to dance.”

Finally finishing “The Princess Bride” with my big guy, and around 20 pages before it ends listening to him belly-laugh at the scene of the “mawidge.” Knowing tonight he’ll get to watch the movie for the first time ever, and in the company of his uncle and grandma, the latter who’s been saying to him “Have fun storming the castle” his whole life. Getting to watch it through his seven year old eyes.

Going out to dinner for the umpteenth time in three weeks, thanks to my kitchen being off limits, and not only having the ability to do so, but a great meal with my family, where nobody spilled the water on his lap, or fussed over the order. And having my own belly-laugh over a line my husband said. In public, laughing inappropriately, too loud, tears streaming down my face. And I couldn’t stop.

Health. My own. My kids’. My mom’s. My brother’s. My husband’s. His mom’s. His dad’s. His sister’s. Her husband’s. Their daughter’s. Our friends’.
…

Pear and Cranberry Crisp with Gingersnaps, Oats and Almonds

November 19, 2014 By Karen

Mom, will you die when I’m tall?

No sweetie, I’m not going to die until you’re very old and I’m very very old. Being tall has nothing to do with it.

But Mom, what happens when I die. What will I do then?

Well, when you die, you don’t really have a chance to do anything else.

That’s sad, Mommy. I’m going to be very sad when I die.

Oh sweetie, you don’t have to worry about that right now. It’s not going to happen for a really really long time. But you’re right, it is a super sad thing when someone dies, and crying about it is what people do. Just like I cry about Zayde sometimes.

Did Zayde know me Mom?

No. You were in my belly when he died though, and he knew you were on the way.

Four years ago, on the day after Thanksgiving, my dad finally let go after an eleven year battle with multiple types of cancer and all the complications that came along the way. Over the course of his illness he suffered much of the time, enduring a stem cell transplant, multiple rounds of chemo, radiation, and more pills and pains than anybody should have to. But here’s the amazing thing: during all that time he maintained an intense desire to keep going. To live. To be present as best he could, and to participate in and witness the big life events. He defied all the medical odds, and despite being told he may only have six months, he made it over a decade. They weren’t easy years. They were anything but easy. Yet whenever you asked if it was worth it, he always responded with, “Well it sure as hell beats the alternative.”

My dad didn’t die when I was tall (at 5’1″ I’m never going to claim that description,) and he didn’t die when I was old. By years, he wasn’t very very old either, just 66. But his health caused him to age too quickly, breaking his body down.

In the days leading up to Thanksgiving 2010, there was the same question there had always been: will this be his last? I was at my own home in New Jersey when the call came that it was time. Honestly, I can’t remember right now exactly when in the day I heard, but I was planning to have a house full of people that afternoon for dinner. I had already made the caramelized onions for the gravy, the cranberry sauce was chilling, the green beans were trimmed, and the cornbread was drying out for the stuffing. Should I leave the turkey in the oven and head to the airport immediately, or would there be enough time to wait until the morning?…

Honey Miso Chicken

November 14, 2014 By Karen

I haven’t cooked in six days. I haven’t made oatmeal, baked chocolate chip cookies, browned butter, or roasted a squash. I haven’t been able to go to my “happy place” because it’s been closed off. Literally, closed off and sealed up with plastic and painters tape. And it’s driving me crazy.

When we moved into our house eight years ago, we took one look at the kitchen and said, “Well, it has potential. We’ll simply knock down this wall, open it up to the dining room, move this here and that there and it will be perfect.” Ah, the naive new home owners…. I’m sure it’s taken you no time at all to figure out that those plans cost a fortune, and so we’ve still been living with our dated 1970’s dark faux wood cabinets, the ones with the chips in the laminate and the little accent buttons missing from half their holes. We did get rid of the pink and green rose wallpaper when we moved in, and have changed the paint color a couple of times, but the dark brown that covered most of the kitchen made it gloomy and a bit oppressive….

« Previous Page
1
…
3
4
5
6
7
…
9
Next Page »