Bread and Wine: Esquites

Hey everyone, how was the Superbowl yesterday? Did I miss anything?

I can't say that I actually ever "miss" the Superbowl (#notafootballfan over here), but usually I love the parties because, you know, food.

But yesterday we actually did truly miss it--everything. The babies were under the weather and after being up most of Saturday night comforting children and washing sheets, I thought it seemed like a quiet Sunday at home was what we needed.

It was a long day, definitely boring, but much needed.

After all of the sleep I lost, I also decided I needed to rest instead of write yesterday, so my pride ached a little over missing a day in the writing and cooking challenge. But really, coming to this next recipe and chapter, taking a day off is all that much more fitting, to remember what really, truly, actually matters-- boredom, sometimes, and definitely babies.

The Recipe: Esquites/Mexican Grilled Corn
Ingredients: corn on the cob, mayonnaise, Cotija or feta cheese, lime juice, cayenne, cilantro

If you've followed any of what I've written this week, I mentioned that I made this the night I also made Annette's chicken enchiladas and the toffee per Shauna's "Fiesta" menu suggestion at the end of the book. It was a full night of things having gone wrong most of the day plus my parents coming for dinner, my ambitious cooking undertakings, and a very cluttered kitchen. Never mind, it all got done, and we enjoyed the new flavors.

This recipes is definitely different for me. I don't cook with corn a great deal other than in a few soups or when I'm making a chunky cornbread, but this is a fun side to add to any standard Mexican food night, especially when you have company and want something a little more than just chips and salsa for sides.

We don't have a grill at the moment, so instead of grilling I seared the corn on a cast iron skillet. It worked great until I got involved in a conversation with my mom, paid less attention, and found one side of the corn burnt pretty well. Otherwise, when I was paying attention, gently rolling the ears back and forth over the pan on medium heat, the pan charred the kernels beautifully. I did keep the lid on most of the time.

I was also out of mayo, unfortunately (and seemingly impossibly, I mean, really, how does a Southerner run out of MAYO?) so when it came time to cut kernels and mix with the other ingredients, I was stumped. I added a little Greek yogurt, which added tang. It really just needs that thick something to hold everything together, kind of like potato salad.

My mom and I enjoyed it, though I'm not sure how soon I'll repeat this one. The kids weren't crazy about it, and my husband isn't a fan of many mayo salads (or yogurt). This might just be a company dish, which as I mentioned, can be handy.

The Chapter: "Swimming in Silence"
The recipe follows Shauna's description of a family vacation to Mexico, where they have the chance (and necessity) of unplugging for a week. It's a beautiful memory of lazy swimming, dazzling oceans, and of course all the gnoshworthy foods.

But more than merely a vacation, Shauna recounts how the unplugging did more than give her a break: it caused her to recenter and refocus, and challenged her to be present rather than choosing distractions back home.

I love this:

After a few days, I realized much I liked it [doing nothing]. How much silence sounded like music, and how much better I liked my own life in that silence. It's easier, of course, to allow yourself to be totally present when you're looking on the ocean or scanning the shoreline for whales--and admittedly when your phone doesn't work anyway. It's a lot harder when you're home, again; when you're with the kids, again; when they're not napping, again; and they're watching The Backyardigans, again. I'll do almost anything to not be completely present when I'm surrounded by laundry and the baby won't nap. I don't want to even be partially present when I'm staring down a deadline, shoulder muscles clenched, caffeine making me both blurred and twitchy. We fragment our minds for a reason, of course--because we like the idea of being sixty seven other places instead of the one lame, lonely place we find ourselves on some days (203).

And of course, this was me yesterday. Not writing, not doing anything. Just home. And oh, of course how I craved distraction. I didn't want to take care of a fever. I didn't want to make special foods for two kids who just really didn't want to eat. I didn't want to just putter around the yard with two very tired babies who just needed to putter. I wanted to run and go and do...or if I was going to putter, I wanted to do it alone, by myself, my own way.

But I couldn't, and I felt constrained. So I craved distraction: checking my phone, my mind wandering to all the things I'll do when everyone feels better.

It is laughable, I realize, that even as I'm tending the most important things in my life--my husband, my children, my home-- how often I look for that escape route into something more "fun", more glamorous, more...well, just more.

And yet, of course, ironically, I know everything I need--and more--is right before me.

I think this is another reason why cooking means a great deal to me. It tethers me to my home when I want to wander so hard. It connects me to those I love when I start thinking that somewhere else with someone(s) else is better. It reminds me of the fullness I have when I start thinking I'm empty.

It may be no vacation, but it is good practice in being present.

Shauna concludes:

I trust that some of what made [the trip] so magical had nothing to do with the lime and cilantro and the whales, and everything to do with the willingness to be entirely there. I practice, since that trip, being entirely where I am, glamorous or not, and what I find is that it's better to be in one place, wholly and full-heartedly, than a thousand splintery half-places, glamorous as they may be.