Baby Steps

I’m intimidated by homemade ravioli. They look so pretty and dainty on other people’s blogs, and if you know me at all, you know that pretty and dainty aren’t really my forte. Rolling out dough of any kind is liable to induce a barrage of cursing and possibly crying.

That’s why I’ve been avoiding making these ravioli since October. However, I’ve managed to be on call for the past 3 days without being called in for an excruciating 8 hour Dachshund disc surgery or to extract socks from a Labrador’s bowels, so I had some time on my hands for the first time in months.

These were far less tedious than I anticipated and more delicious than expected. There wasn’t even any swearing involved, promise! (Except when a horrid choral version of “The 12 Days of Christmas” interrupted my instrumental Pandora station).

P.S Bragging about not getting called in is the surest way to hear your phone ring. Get rid of your metal lawn edging, people. It slices up your dog, and then I get called in to sweat in the OR instead of sipping eggnog on Christmas.

Pumpkin Ricotta Ravioli with Sage Brown Butter Sauce
Barely adapted from savorysimple.net

This recipe made 20 large ravioli with leftover filling. You can either double the pasta, roll it thinner than I managed, or save the remaining filling for another meal.

Filling:
1 tablespoon butter
1 shallot, diced
2 cups pumpkin puree
1 cup ricotta
1/2 teaspoon salt (3/4 tsp if your ricotta is really low sodium)
1/4 teaspoon dried sage (I added 2 T of fresh as well)
fresh grated nutmeg
pinch of cayenne

Fresh Pasta:
up to 2 cups all purpose or cake flour
1 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
1 tablespoon olive oil

Sage Brown butter sauce:
5 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/4 cup chicken stock
1 T chopped fresh sage
Salt and pepper to taste

Directions:

Make the filling:

• Sweat diced shallot in butter until soft. 
• Combine all ingredients in a bowl. 

Make the pasta:

• Make a well with 1 cup of the flour and salt. 
• Beat the eggs and olive oil in the well with a fork and begin slowly incorporating the flour with a swirling motion. Start forming a ball with your hand and squeeze the dough together with your fingers. You want the dough to be a bit "tacky.” You don't want it too dry. Add flour as needed, up to 2 cups total. 
• Once the dough is formed, wrap it in plastic and allow it to rest in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes. 
• If you don't have a pasta machine, you can use a rolling pin, but a machine will make the job easier. I rolled my dough by hand, like a boss. 
• Sprinkle some flour onto a cutting board to prevent the pasta from sticking while assembling the ravioli. 

Assemble the ravioli:

• Egg wash one sheet of pasta. Drop filling by tablespoon, evenly spaced on pasta sheet. 
• Bring a second sheet of pasta over the first, slowly pressing the dough around the filling and removing the air. 
• Cut ravioli to desired shape with a knife or cookie cutter. Hand press or fork press the edges, and allow to dry for a bit before cooking. 
• Drop into simmering water for 2-5 minutes, depending on size. 

Make the sauce:

• In a saucepan over medium-low heat, melt butter and then slowly brown the milk solids. This will take about 5 minutes. 
• Once the milk solids begin to brown, add the chicken stock and reduce the heat, allowing the sauce to simmer and thicken a bit. 
• Add sage and salt and pepper to taste

Breathing fear

As I step out of the teaching hospital into the crisp night air, I contemplate how long I’ve been afraid of the dark.

I live in the darkness this time of year. Get up in the dark, run in the dark, bike in the dark, stay sequestered under artificial light indoors all day, and contemplate my career choice in the dark while shoveling in some nutrients before tripping into a dark bedroom to sleep.

The motivational signs on the bike paths (you can do it!), for whatever reason, have recently morphed into lurking rapists.

That, coupled with my extreme fatigue, has been motivating me to drive more frequently. Trouble is, I don’t have a parking pass. I park on a road about a ¼ mile from the teaching hospital, so I’ve taken to running to my car. I tell myself that it’s to get home more quickly, but truthfully, it’s because I’m scared.

Clutching my car keys splayed out like brass knuckles, I shoot out the barn door, around the flower beds of the diagnostic lab, through the parking lot for richers with parking passes, across an unlit road and bridge, through the unlit university tennis court parking, across the rotting plank spanning the gully entering the field, and faster through the field until I finally pop out on the lighted road parking.

My wobbly platformed Dansko shoes occasionally betray my ankles. My heavily laden messenger bag flops painfully against my ribs. But when I reach the light, I smooth my crumpled up clinic smock and pretend I’m a normal person. One who doesn’t work 12 hour days and 80 hour weeks for no pay. One who doesn’t cry in the bathroom when her equine patients tear themselves apart in the recovery stall. One who isn’t eating white rice for dinner, again! One who remembers what it is to stand in the light of day.

I don’t consider myself to be an especially fearful person, but I’ll admit that I tend to become especially preoccupied by my fears. As much as I try to play this routine off as a casual jaunt, there’s no denying my breath is unusually quickened, and my ticker is rhythmically pulsing on my sternum.

Yet by the time I reach the field, a subtle shift has occurred. My fist unclenches, my vital signs return to this atmosphere, and my arthritic jaw pops back into its rightful locale.  As soon as I allow the fear to wash over me, I am able to embrace it as an ally.

By the time I reach my car, I’ve forgotten what all the fuss was about and wish my car were miles away, so that I might continue to level my head.

P90X and Insanity

In the past year, I’ve had the opportunity to try both of these Beachbody programs. Here are my candid impressions.

In general, I loathe jumping around my basement covered in sweat when I could be outside enjoying the fresh air and scenery. However, I do believe these programs benefit people who need their workouts to be rigidly structured. I think it’s easier for exercise newbs to push play on their DVD player and be told exactly what to do in the comfort of their own home.

P90X helps keep me honest about how often I’m weight training, and I do enjoy modest changes in muscle tone from the videos. Insanity is more cardio focused, but I didn’t see any benefit of using these videos over my normal running routine.

Overall, if you’re already comfortable in a gym, own some free weights, and have your cardio routine down to a science, don’t bother with either of these programs. If you struggle with motivation or have never regularly exercised, they might be worth a shot.

P90X

Pros: the form demonstrated is good, and tips are given to reduce possibility of injury. Focus is toning muscles through free weights. Tony Horton is somewhat irritating and a total meathead, but he’s somehow still likeable. Good variety within the program.

Cons: Cardio portions of program are very basic and easy for someone of reasonable fitness. If you already regularly lift free weights, there isn’t much benefit from this program. The warm-ups in some videos are tedious. Need some equipment.

Insanity

Pros: solid cardio workouts. Most people find Shaun T to be inspirational (but I found his commentary to be completely inane).  No equipment necessary.

Cons: poor form demonstrated by many individuals in the videos. Lots of high impact—which was fine for me, but I honestly think this is too much strain on joints of people who are overweight. In my opinion, if you’re overweight and not used to strenuous exercise, you’re just asking for injury. The videos are all very similar. The warm-ups include a lot of running in place, which I found to be frustrating (if I want to run, I go outside).

In the kitchen:

I made a huge batch of injera bread, which kicked off a flurry of curries in the past few weeks. Injera bread is a sour, yeasted flatbread that is served under many Ethiopian dishes to be used as the utensil. I had a failed experiment with this bread last year using buckwheat flour, so I looked around town for the traditional flour—Teff. For those of you in FTC, I found it at the Indian market at the corner of Drake and Shields.

 

Injera can be very sour, so if you’re not adventurous, I’d recommend sticking to something a little tamer, like naan.

3 cups teff flour 

3 cups lukewarm water

1 tsp. salt

1 tsp. yeast

Combine ingredients in a large bowl, cover, and leave on the countertop for 3 days. You could feed this like a traditional sourdough starter, but I didn’t.

On the 3rd day, pour off the sour smelling liquid that has collected on top. Add enough white flour to make a firm dough. Knead for 10 minutes, return to bowl, cover, and leave overnight.

In the morning, add enough lukewarm water to the dough to make a very thin batter—like crepes. It should coat the back of a spoon. If it’s at all chunky (mine was), run it in batches through a blender or use an immersion blender. The yeast should still be working, but if it’s not, you may add a sprinkle of yeast at this point.

By the evening, the thin batter should be bubbly again. Using high heat and a non-stick skillet, sprinkle a little pinch of salt in the bottom of the pan. This helps form the bubbles and prevents sticking. When pan is hot, swirl enough batter in pan (again, kind of like a crepe) to cover the bottoms of the pan. For my 12 inch skillet, I used about ½ c batter. Immediately cover with a lid, and allow it to cook for 1-3 minutes (depending on heat and thickness). They’re done when the edges start to lift off the pan and the center is just set. They get tough and chewy if overcooked.

Repeat for remaining batter and serve with your favorite curry. This recipe made a very large quantity of injera, so we ate various curries all week. 

First, we started with doro wat, the Ethiopian spicy chicken and egg stew. The spice mixture in this dish is called Berbere. You can find recipes to make it yourself, but you can also buy a really nice mixture at Old Town Spice Shop.

Next we made an eggplant and red bell pepper curry. The main seasoning in this was garam masala.

Potato curry was last on the list, featuring light coconut milk (99 cents at Sunflower) and green curry paste.

Stay back!

Recently, Cooper and I were just finishing a long downhill section in Horsetooth Mtn Park when a young male runner approached us. When we’re running on singletrack, I often have Cooper run behind me, so I can see the ground and hopefully circumvent me lying bruised and broken at the bottom of a hill somewhere. Knowing the trail was narrow and wanting to avoid tripping this poor schmuck with my giant dog, I told Cooper to “stay back!” The man immediately stopped, put up his hands in an “I’m innocent!” fashion, and slowly backed away.

This is not the first time a dog command has created social awkwardness for me. Our slow down cue while running is to say, “hold up!” Numerous times, I’ve said these words in the presence of a fellow runner or walker only to have them hesitate and turn in my direction with a perplexed or expectant look.

A well-intentioned cue to calmly meet a stranger also blew up in my face when I calmly announced, “say hi!” Cooper obediently sat for his greeting, but the stranger looked confused, and stuttered, “Umm…hi.” Yeah, dude, I was talking to my dog, but thanks for being polite.

We abandoned the “say hi” cue shortly thereafter, which may explain why greetings have a propensity to devolve into getting whipped to death by Cooper’s exuberant tail.

Unwittingly, I’ve created the perfect “attack” cue, as several men have indicated that his tail is decidedly nut height.

In the kitchen:

Hummus 

This is a very basic recipe. It’s a great base for any other flavored hummus you can imagine.

1 can (15 oz) chickpeas, drained and liquid reserved
2-3 cloves garlic
3 T olive oil
2 T lemon juice
3 T tahini
Salt to taste

Place chickpeas, 1/3-1/2 cup of reserved liquid, garlic, lemon juice, and tahini in a food processor. While processor is running, add olive oil until desired texture is reached. Add salt to taste.

All ingredient quantities can easily be adjusted to taste.

Multiple Choice Hell

This is a bit belated now that I'm in my 4th year.  We no longer have exams--just long shifts and oral rounds for clinicians to evaluate our knowledge.  Last year, though, these were my feelings precisely.

I am the quintessential product of the American school system, for better or for worse. I am not particularly innovative, but I can follow directions like no one’s business.

And I excel at taking multiple choice tests.

Filling in little bubbles was the only thing I could handle with aplomb as an awkward child. My ITBS scores were peppered with little graphs that clearly illustrated my superiority.

Naturally, I enjoyed these exams. They were easy, garnered much-desired praise, and stroked my burgeoning ego. I’d sit, pencil poised, ready to conquer the world.

I could ace those puppies in my sleep, and my continued academic success made my study habits rather complacent. I got slightly more ambivalent in high school and nearly apathetic in college. I studied less and less. The exams were progressively more difficult, but my grades never dropped. I guess my memory is just photogenic enough to scan through my notes to find enough key words, eliminate enough distracters, and prevail with the correct answer. If I heard or read it at least once, I can sit quietly, often tugging at my right eyebrow, and the answer will come to me, as if it’s highlighted on the page.

I hate this skill. Abhor it.

It made me feel like a fraud.

It’s kind of like doing a stupid party trick hasn’t been funny since you drank your first beer, but you’re compelled to whip it for the amusement of others because the routine is firmly ingrained in your psyche. But secretly, you wish you’ll choke on it, so you have an excuse never to perform again. You are a freak show at best.

I do feel deserving of my grades now that I have been forced to study in vet school. There are often hundreds of pages of notes for each exam, and every exam past the 2nd year is essentially cumulative. I can’t memorize every page of my notes anymore. I drink obscene amounts of coffee and jiggle my feet compulsively to keep my body seated in front of my notes while every neuron in my brain resists being held captive. Still, my multiple choice skills are serving me well. But I don’t get that warm, fuzzy feeling of accomplishment during the exam. I actually feel physically ill. Not nervous (although I do sometimes wryly think that missing one question will probably drop my class rank 10 places because many others in my class possess a similar talent), just like I’m gonna hurl. Actually, on second thought, that part probably comes from the pot of coffee I drink on test mornings…

Mostly, I’m just really tired of taking exams. I’m 26. I might be 34 by the time I’m completely done with school, and I’m a little bitter that my ovaries might be sad, shriveled little marbles by the time I even have a real job. I don’t suppose parenthood comes in a multiple choice format?

For today's pure randomness and nostalgia, here's my dog howling at me playing the clarinet last winter and me charmingly yelling at him.

Tough Mudder and my heavy ovaries

Obstacle races punctuated with copious volumes of mud have swept the nation. Colorado can also heighten the stakes with a hefty dose of altitude. I’m a tepid fan. They get a few more people off the sofa, but they tear up a bunch of land with massive swarms of runners, and many people are barely in shape enough to walk the course. Nevertheless, we made our way to Copper Mountain ski resort for the Warrior Dash last year, and we ended up at Beaver Creek ski resort this year for the Tough Mudder. Tough Mudder is a little different because it emphasizes team work. Many obstacles would be exceedingly difficult to scale without a helping hand.

It was about a month after Quad Rock, and I hadn’t run much in the meantime, so this was one to let out the steam. I felt amazing. My lungs and legs cooperated, and I felt like I could go for miles more. When the trail headed directly up a ski run, my heart plodded along, completely content to allow my head to enjoy the wildflowers. When the scheduled 10 mile race suddenly turned into 12, it rolled right off me. It didn’t matter to me whether the race were 5 miles or 20. I was just having fun, reveling in the capability of my body and mind. I did derive some additional satisfaction by making it over every.single.upperbodystrength.obstacle without falling in the water.

A coworker of Jason’s had put the team together, and several of his non-running friends had also come out for a celebratory weekend of drinking and sitting by the hotel pool. They had all brought their wives, and I started to become painstakingly aware that I did not fit in with these women in the slightest. I was the only woman on our team, which I hadn’t thought of until I saw their blonde wives in high heels that probably don’t run, get dirty, or drink beer.

I asked Jason if he wished I would stay on the sidelines and drink prim cocktails with the girls instead of plowing my way through the mud with my legs that hadn’t been shaved in a few days. He grinned and followed my gaze to the women daintily dipping their manicured toes in the pool. “Those guys are fools.” Yup, reason 1251 why I’m marrying this man.

So several rounds in, I was the last woman standing. To be fair, many of their wives left to attend to their kids. But others left in a snit, annoyed their husbands were ordering another round and flirting with other men during their grand exit. I found myself talking to a guy I don’t know, a friend of a friend, who has been giving me an incredulous, inquisitive glance all night.

As we peered at each other with the frankness that can only come from drinking heavily with a complete stranger, he leaned in with a familiarity of someone about to take you deeply into their confidence.

“You know,” he said, shaking his head, “I still can’t believe you kept up the boys!”

Though my senses were slightly dulled, I couldn’t keep the smirk off my face. I had just enough self presence not to unleash a diatribe against someone who had just bought a round of drinks for the entire group. Practicing my maturity and sangfroid, I did NOT say, “Yes, my ovaries are extremely heavy and often hold me back from the men’s pack, but today, I managed to tuck in my enormous breasts and keep up.” Instead, I just said, “Well, the boys helped me over some of the tall obstacles. But we run on this kind of terrain quite a bit. It wasn’t too bad.”

I neglected to tell him that I was honest-to-god hungover at the starting line. Like, elephant sitting on head, sun hurting my eyes, wish I were still in bed, kind of hungover. But the pace was slow enough the entire race for me to clear my head and enjoy the run. In fact, those boys, except Jason, were dragging at my pace mightily.

I’m sure he meant it innocently. I mean, let’s face it, the women’s times in speed events are almost uniformly 90% of the men’s times. But those are elite athletes. Among the average Joes with beer guts, particularly as someone with no athletic inclination as a teen, it was strange to be suddenly fitter than guys who likely enjoyed celebrity status as high school athletes. I kind of missed being nearly the slowest runner on a course like at Quad Rock. That felt real. I earned that. Tough Mudder was a fun time, sure, but I left it hungry for another “serious” trail race. So I signed up for the Blue Sky marathon in October. I’m already preparing to be humbled.

Heirloom tomatoes are easily one of my favorite things in the world.  That is all.

Inaugural Quad Rock trail race

Two months ago, Jason and I ran our first marathon. It was a trail marathon that ascends 5500 vertical feet. Technically, it was 25 miles, but the course was a little long, and we ran ¼ mile to the starting line from our car, so we’ll call it 26.2. This was perhaps not the ideal choice as a first marathon. Without a doubt, this was the most challenging run I have ever attempted, and at times, my body was wracked by the most intense pain I’ve ever experienced. It wasn’t pretty, but I finished!

Stones left purposefully unturned are laid bare by the miles and the hours, forcing you to examine the deepest, ugliest parts of yourself as you wade through the mental gymnastics necessary to cajole your legs into moving. The mind is very vulnerable at this point, yet malleable. Despair can swiftly turn to elation, and humor bubbles up unexpectedly.

After a close save involving my toe and a root, I thought to myself, “Boo-yah, I am a mountain goat!” Several miles later, as I stooped to fish a rock out of my shoe, I was crippled by muscle spasms, leaving me flopping at the edge of the trail, valiantly attempting to maneuver myself into an upright position. Ever seen a video of myotonic/Fainting goats?  It looked pretty much like that.

The race was well organized, and the trails were fantastic (and familiar, since this was on our home turf). Once again, I am amazed by the talent and generosity of the Fort Collins trail runners. I look forward to this race becoming a local staple!

In the kitchen:

Veggie burgers



Recipe adapted from Ohsheglows.com

These put those nasty frozen patties from the grocery store to shame. Makes 6 large or 8 smaller burgers.

-1/2 cup onion, diced
-3 large garlic cloves, minced
-2.5 tbsp ground flax + 1/2 cup warm water, mixed in bowl (could use 1 egg, instead)
-1 cup oats, processed into flour
-1.5 cups bread crumbs
-1 cup grated carrots
-1 cup cooked black beans, rinsed and roughly pureed or mashed
-Heaping 1/4 cup finely chopped parsley (or fresh herb of choice)
-1/3 cup almonds, chopped
-1/2 cup sunflower seeds (I used toasted, unsalted)
-1 tbsp. Extra Virgin Olive Oil
-1 tbsp soy sauce
-2-3 tsp chili powder
-2 tsp. cumin
-2 tsp. oregano
-Kosher salt and black pepper to taste (I used about 1 tsp salt)

Directions:

1. In a large skillet, sauté onions and garlic in 1/2 tbsp oil. Mix the flax and water together in a small bowl and set aside for at least 10 mins while you prepare the rest of the ingredients.

2. Place all ingredients (except spices and salt) into a large mixing bowl and stir very well. Add seasonings and salt to taste.

3. With slightly wet hands, shape dough firmly into patties

4. Cooking methods: You can brown the burgers in a bit of oil on a skillet over medium heat for about 5 minutes on each side. If baking in the oven, bake for 25-30 mins (15-17 minutes on each side) at 350F, until golden and crisp. For the BBQ, pre-bake the burgers for about 15 minutes in oven before placing on a pre-heated grill until golden and crisp on each side. I thought they were great in the skillet!