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| My giant press, or as I like to call it, "my medieval tofu tower"! |
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| The tofu press that drarfs all others |
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
The mother of all tofu presses.
When my family eats tofu, we eat tofu. As a result, the internet-bought tofu press I'd ordered from England just wasn't cutting it. Don't get me wrong, the tofu tasted fine, but there just wasn't enough of it for four bean curd enthusiasts. In comes MHH (My Hot Husband), my resident McGiver. After a thorough explanation of the problem ('honey - if you want tofu, you gotta build a contraption to press the stuff that comes out of the soymilk maker') MHH got to work in the shed. Wonderful things had come out of the shed before, so I had every reason to believe that this time would be no different. And sure enough, with the help of four wood planks, a couple of nails and an electric drill, MHH's creative talents gave birth to a new, family-size (okay, giant), tofu press!
If you peruse the internet for tofu press making instructions, you'll notice that one can get very fancy (notice I didn't say anal, but I could have), but I assure you that, aesthetics aside, my rustic-looking barely-sanded-down suitcase sized press works like a charm. In the photo, I made a rather small hunk of tofu, using only 4liters of homemade soymilk, but I have in the past made twice the amount in one go. The end result is so delicious, I can leave the tofu out on a plate with a salt shaker and a knife nearby, and my five year old bimba who normally pecks at food like birds do, will walk by and help herself to a big chunck. You know you're doing something right when your kid chooses tofu over cookies :)
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, and bimba's birthday !
Who said French TV sucks? Well, it actually does blow 99% of the time, but tonight after flipping channels for about an hour I stumbled on an interview (in English, to boot) of cutie pie Adam Levine. For those of you who don't know Adam (yes, we're on a first name basis) he's lead signer of Maroon 5. There's something addictive about this guy and it's not, I swear, his jewish-ness. I guess I have a thing for tall, self-deprecating, five o'clock-shadowed pop stars. And listening to him talk on the TV as I write this, the boy actually has some depth - can I have an order of brains with that sexy swagger?
On another note, the day kind of got away from me today, especially in the afternoon when MHH and I resolved to go to the local toy store looking for Hanukkah presents for the kids. Whether it was the toxic paint fumes emanating from the discount section or my brain going into overdrive on its own I'll never know, but within twenty minutes of perusing the shelves, I started feeling seriously overwhelmed by the bright colors, flashing lights, and belligerent parents aggressively trying to grab the last bag of banz (les banz, as they call them here). Luckily this was one of those days where the shopping stars aligned - the right toys almost chose themselves and landed in the cart, and in the end we picked some good stuff ... a guitar, Lego, and rollerblades for bimbo and a princess keyboard and assorted stuffed animals for bimba. She lives for anything fuzzy. We also got them walkie-talkies, but come to think of it I wonder if they'll get much use.
So tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I've decided to make an attempt at celebrating it. It'll be the first time since moving to Provence. The past couple of years the idea of cooking a whole bunch of food for just the four of us (and bimba eats like a bird, so she almost doesn't count) was too daunting. Plus with Whole Foods gone there also went the Tofurkey. And if that wasn't enough, I am an very disciplined eater these days (more on that on a subsequent post), so I'd be essentially cooking for MHH and bimbo, the two men in my life.
Truth be told, Thanksgiving did not make the top of my favorite holiday list even when we lived in Florida. We mostly celebrated it because MHH's elderly aunt lived nearby and would be lonely if we didn't have her over. For me, the highlight was reading 'T Was the Night Before Thanksgiving to the kids, and oohing and aahing over the photos of the turkeys we adopted that year from the Farm Sanctuary.
This year the vibe is different. Come to think of it, I think I've changed. I've become compulsively addicted to reading vegan food blogs online, and marking off dozens of inspiring recipes. So now I have long list of recipes I want to try, and a good number of them are Thanksgiving favorites. I'm not sure the kids will like sweet potato pie (can't find canned pumpkin here anywhere, so that pie's out), but I'll keep you posted. For dessert I'm branching out (when in Rome...) and will be trying out this mille feuilles from an amazing new French site I found, Ma Cuisine Vegetalienne.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
On another note, the day kind of got away from me today, especially in the afternoon when MHH and I resolved to go to the local toy store looking for Hanukkah presents for the kids. Whether it was the toxic paint fumes emanating from the discount section or my brain going into overdrive on its own I'll never know, but within twenty minutes of perusing the shelves, I started feeling seriously overwhelmed by the bright colors, flashing lights, and belligerent parents aggressively trying to grab the last bag of banz (les banz, as they call them here). Luckily this was one of those days where the shopping stars aligned - the right toys almost chose themselves and landed in the cart, and in the end we picked some good stuff ... a guitar, Lego, and rollerblades for bimbo and a princess keyboard and assorted stuffed animals for bimba. She lives for anything fuzzy. We also got them walkie-talkies, but come to think of it I wonder if they'll get much use.
So tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I've decided to make an attempt at celebrating it. It'll be the first time since moving to Provence. The past couple of years the idea of cooking a whole bunch of food for just the four of us (and bimba eats like a bird, so she almost doesn't count) was too daunting. Plus with Whole Foods gone there also went the Tofurkey. And if that wasn't enough, I am an very disciplined eater these days (more on that on a subsequent post), so I'd be essentially cooking for MHH and bimbo, the two men in my life.
Truth be told, Thanksgiving did not make the top of my favorite holiday list even when we lived in Florida. We mostly celebrated it because MHH's elderly aunt lived nearby and would be lonely if we didn't have her over. For me, the highlight was reading 'T Was the Night Before Thanksgiving to the kids, and oohing and aahing over the photos of the turkeys we adopted that year from the Farm Sanctuary.
This year the vibe is different. Come to think of it, I think I've changed. I've become compulsively addicted to reading vegan food blogs online, and marking off dozens of inspiring recipes. So now I have long list of recipes I want to try, and a good number of them are Thanksgiving favorites. I'm not sure the kids will like sweet potato pie (can't find canned pumpkin here anywhere, so that pie's out), but I'll keep you posted. For dessert I'm branching out (when in Rome...) and will be trying out this mille feuilles from an amazing new French site I found, Ma Cuisine Vegetalienne.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
Monday, November 22, 2010
What did this smoothie ever do to you?
Hi everyone! This is the first entry on my new blog, and I figured I should write something - anything - to ease into it. I'm calling this blog Vegan Voilà because once you go vegan, there you are - voilà! I could also tell you that choosing to be vegan (almost ten years ago) nourishes my sense of connection with my surroundings, my universe, and my soul, but although that's true, it's too a tad too deep for a casual blog about a vegan chick who recently moved to Provence and wants to tell you about her trials and tribulations!
Speaking of challenges, my five year-old bimba comes downstairs for breakfast this morning, and although her mood had been fine up until that point, takes a sip of MHH's banana-date-homemade-almond-milk smoothie (the same one he makes EVERY day), and says : "yuck! this is disgusting!". When MHH points out that this is the same smoothie she happily drinks every morning , all hell breaks loose. Next thing we know she's screaming, thumping her foot, fists clenched. She just won't have it. Her exact words were "I CAN'T HANDLE IT!"
At this point, both MHH and I felt we should let the proverbial door hit her in the --s, but who wants to start the day like this? So the next twenty minutes are spent trying to convince bimba that yes, she has to drink her smoothie and yes, she has to go to school today and no, she can't have a lollypop at eight o'clock in the morning. Isn't she too young to behave like she going into hormone-induced self-combustion? Isn't that MY hard-earned right?!
Of course, guilt sets it the moment she left my sight, pulling her giant backpack up the stairs at the local village school she attends here in Provence, where we've lived for two years now. All thoughts of smoothie-bashing dissipate as I drive off, overcome by a sense of pride for this little girl who is now in first grade in a regular French school, where two years ago she'd never even heard of a country named France. I think back to two years ago, to the first day we dropped her and bimbo off at their new pre-school, the only school in the tiny countryside village of Provence where we'd just moved. They could not've stood out more if they'd tried. American, Jewish, Vegan, Nudist children. Oh, and did I mention they didn't speak a word of French?
A big part of me seriously wondered if they'd come out of the experience alive, and the doubts kept building up in the days to follow. As the novelty gradually wore off, the reality of their situation became clear. Their old friends from Florida were gone and would be hard to replace, the weather was shitty and cold, the teachers might as well have been speaking Chinese. We went through a tough six weeks. The kids would cry miserably at drop off every day, and I would cry in the car on the way home. And then one day, bimbo made a friend. Samuel was the only other jewish kid in the entire school, so it was doubly cook that they should connect.
Fast forward six months (how long is that in "kid years"?), and they're both speaking French. Not fluently yet, but damn! They're holding their own at recess, no longer bullied and traumatized and come home with new words every day. Finally, light at the end of the tunnel. What a relief that was!
So my reminiscing this morning really helped put things in perspective. Bimba's been moody lately, and often downright rude, and although I shouldn't condone it, I also realize that we all need to blow off steam once in a while. I know in my heart that my job as a parent is to respond with kindness and love. The journey is always, always more important than the destination, and it feels like the decision to trade our fast-paced career-oriented life for one where on any given afternoon you can find bimba, le chien, and I wondering around the provencal country side gathering pine cones and kindling for the fire was in alignment with everything that I've come to believe. The quality of the attention we give the present moment as it unfolds is the very best way we have as human beings to carve a balanced and peaceful future. Even if it means that smoothies are out.
Speaking of challenges, my five year-old bimba comes downstairs for breakfast this morning, and although her mood had been fine up until that point, takes a sip of MHH's banana-date-homemade-almond-milk smoothie (the same one he makes EVERY day), and says : "yuck! this is disgusting!". When MHH points out that this is the same smoothie she happily drinks every morning , all hell breaks loose. Next thing we know she's screaming, thumping her foot, fists clenched. She just won't have it. Her exact words were "I CAN'T HANDLE IT!"
At this point, both MHH and I felt we should let the proverbial door hit her in the --s, but who wants to start the day like this? So the next twenty minutes are spent trying to convince bimba that yes, she has to drink her smoothie and yes, she has to go to school today and no, she can't have a lollypop at eight o'clock in the morning. Isn't she too young to behave like she going into hormone-induced self-combustion? Isn't that MY hard-earned right?!
Of course, guilt sets it the moment she left my sight, pulling her giant backpack up the stairs at the local village school she attends here in Provence, where we've lived for two years now. All thoughts of smoothie-bashing dissipate as I drive off, overcome by a sense of pride for this little girl who is now in first grade in a regular French school, where two years ago she'd never even heard of a country named France. I think back to two years ago, to the first day we dropped her and bimbo off at their new pre-school, the only school in the tiny countryside village of Provence where we'd just moved. They could not've stood out more if they'd tried. American, Jewish, Vegan, Nudist children. Oh, and did I mention they didn't speak a word of French?
A big part of me seriously wondered if they'd come out of the experience alive, and the doubts kept building up in the days to follow. As the novelty gradually wore off, the reality of their situation became clear. Their old friends from Florida were gone and would be hard to replace, the weather was shitty and cold, the teachers might as well have been speaking Chinese. We went through a tough six weeks. The kids would cry miserably at drop off every day, and I would cry in the car on the way home. And then one day, bimbo made a friend. Samuel was the only other jewish kid in the entire school, so it was doubly cook that they should connect.
Fast forward six months (how long is that in "kid years"?), and they're both speaking French. Not fluently yet, but damn! They're holding their own at recess, no longer bullied and traumatized and come home with new words every day. Finally, light at the end of the tunnel. What a relief that was!
So my reminiscing this morning really helped put things in perspective. Bimba's been moody lately, and often downright rude, and although I shouldn't condone it, I also realize that we all need to blow off steam once in a while. I know in my heart that my job as a parent is to respond with kindness and love. The journey is always, always more important than the destination, and it feels like the decision to trade our fast-paced career-oriented life for one where on any given afternoon you can find bimba, le chien, and I wondering around the provencal country side gathering pine cones and kindling for the fire was in alignment with everything that I've come to believe. The quality of the attention we give the present moment as it unfolds is the very best way we have as human beings to carve a balanced and peaceful future. Even if it means that smoothies are out.
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