Diversability

A young lady with Down Syndrome named Kate would change the course of my life as a freshman at Georgetown. She smiled at me from across Healy Lawn and I found my home in Best Buddies and I found my solace in her, her infectious spirt, her inviting nature and supreme goodness. And if Kate showed me the way to my vocation and calling, Tiffany Yu continues to show me how to act on my sense of urgency to empower and include. 

I will be joining Tiffany's organization, Diversability, as a Community Manager and Digital Associate. In her own words, "my story begins almost 20 years ago when I was involved in a car accident that left me with a disability, but the real turning point was in 2009. I was participating in a conversation on diversity in my final year at Georgetown University, and noticed that disability was missing from that conversation. That's when I started Diversability, a movement dedicated to raising disability awareness and reshaping conceptions of ability..."

“People with disabilities are more than just ‘people with disabilities.’ We are entrepreneurs, executives, whatever we want to be. We are people with diverse abilities.”

— Tiffany Yu

While my responsibilities will span community management, collateral design and website management I look forward to getting immersed in this vibrant culture. No stranger to anxiety, I have Pure Obsessional OCD so the stigma surrounding mental health is a myth I fight to dispel. I aspire to become better acquainted with the topics within this diverse space that keep you showing up and persevering despite the barriers that may lie in your path.

This was a blooper that turned into something beautiful. I didn't adequately separate the cupcake liners so a few were doubled up, I gently pulled them apart and made flowers. Wasteful? Perhaps. Lovely? Indeed.

Thank you to my classmate, Tiffany, for conceiving of and growing this beautiful community and its critical discourse, and for this opportunity. And to my peers, thank you for your support as I get up to speed. I leave you with her words below. May they be as formative to you as they were to me. I also welcome you to join me, and speak up about your diverse abilities. Our voices are louder together. To contribute your perspective or to get involved yourself, please get in touch. 

Jack and me

He sat alone, a crinkly paper in his hands. His pants were pressed, shoes shined, a brightly colored cap that read USMC atop his head. The barista rattled off the names of fancy overpriced beverages in rapid succession. He looked up each time someone came close enough to glance his way, to see him- really see him.

A large majority of hip youngsters were glued to their devices, clutching for dear life, scrolling feverishly to feel connected. They hadn't noticed the gentle invitation that rested in his green eyes. I accepted because I can sometimes be the person obsessively checking, comparing, feeding on distractions desperate for affirmation. I met his gaze, my husband a Marine serving as the perfect pretense to engage him. I had work to do but I pushed my computer aside; it could wait. 

He served in peacetime as a pilot, having decided to join the ranks of the United States Marines because he loved the sharp green color of the uniforms. Stationed in San Diego, life felt like a grand vacation he confessed. His days consisted of studious practice, taking off and landing on a narrow air strip three days a week. After four years he retired a Captain and went on to excel in the world of business. He and his wife had nine children, six of them physicians, one sweet youngster, Jimmy, gone too soon at just six years old to Leukemia. I am certain a tear flirted with his green eyes, pain of this loss as raw as if it was yesterday not some forty years prior. My eyes welled up too. 

A massive heart attack cut his career as a CEO short as he welcomed retirement at 55 years old. Later in life he would also survive breast cancer. Although his compensation package would carry him through the rest of his days, retirement felt like a slow death. Morning mass, breakfast, the Price is Right, Repeat. To the sick and elderly he brought communion. I knew he was Catholic and likely Irish with nine kids. But those were not the reasons for his considerable tribe. He and his wife had wanted each and every child. From his wallet a tattered photo folded in thirds. His children, their spouses, and twenty-four grandchildren surrounded Jack and his wife on their 50th wedding anniversary. They were beaming. How some can be so abundantly surrounded by love and others never feeling its warm embrace I will never fully understand. But within each of us lies the opportunity to welcome someone in. Jack welcomed me in, a stranger in a suburban Starbucks of all places. His tall delicate frame wandered off. I closed my eyes and saw a vibrant young pilot boarding a plane in Marine green. 

Happy Veterans Day to the men, women and canines who have served and are currently serving. To the families that support them, to the civilians that are indebted to them, to those who will serve, and to the world that is so fractured- let's be nice to one another. 

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Two words. Well, proper nouns: Sarah Kieffer. Over time I have become transfixed by Sarah's words and her confections. I am simply delighted to have in my possession her first book. Each page teems with love, and light. An affinity for pumpkin and chocolate, I am sharing her pumpkin pound cake below. Make it, buy her book, read her words. 

To Prepare Sarah's Pumpkin Pound Cake with Chocolate
 

• 3 cups all purpose flour
• 2 teaspoons baking soda
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
• 3/4 teaspoon ground ginger
• 1/2 teaspoons grated nutmeg
• 4 large eggs
• 1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
• 1 1/2 cups packed brown sugar
• 3/4 cup canola oil
• one 15 ounce can of pumpkin
• 2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
• 8 ounces chopped bittersweet chocolate
• confectioners' sugar for dusting

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour a Bundt pan. Whisk together flour, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg.

In a stand mixer, fitted with paddle, beat the eggs until pale yellow and doubled in volume, 4 to 5 minutes. And the granulated and brown sugars and mix on medium until combined. Add oil, pumpkin, and vanilla and mix on medium until completely combined. 

Add the flour mixture and mix on medium until smooth. Stir in chocolate. 

Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake 45-60 minutes until a wooden skewer or toothpick comes out clean. Let cool on a wire rack for 20 minutes and then invert the cake onto rack for cooling. Dust with confectioners' sugar before slicing. 

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A Call to Action on Veterans Day

Lastly, if you know of any individual serving in the military who could use a greeting card and care package during the holidays, please complete the form below. I am partnering with a local organization in my town to gather names for their upcoming mailing. If you rather send something on your own to commemorate Veteran's Day, visit Operation Gratitude. 

The Tahini to my Chocolate Cake

A year ago today, by the time most of you will read this, James and I walked down the aisle in a quaint little church on a crisp afternoon. The sun smiled down on us, brightly colored mums lined the pathways and nearly everyone we love was there. It's uncanny to imagine a year has passed since our wedding day, but I knew we would be coupled well before that day. On our very first date which was a camping trip in the Shenandoah Valley, I know, what was my mother thinking letting me go camping with a man a decade my senior in another state far from the reach of her grasp, it was immediately apparent that he and I would make fitting partners to navigate this world together. It was not something the storybooks convey as love at first sight but rather a divine mandate: he will need someone like you, and you will need someone like him. James is the tahini to my chocolate cake.

I had the pleasure of meeting one of my very favorite food writers, Molly Yeh at the launch party for her book Molly on the Range in the dwelling of all decent food dreams, Food 52. I gave her a chicken I made from nails and baker's twine in the fashion of her beloved farm friends, Macaroni. She was warm and as whimsical as her prose, and it was a significant moment for the fan girl in me. I colored a beautiful layer cake next to her mama, another woman genuine and kind. My mama joined me that night and we nibbled on decadent macaroni and cheese, hummus, and brussels sprouts rosti. We got temporary tattoos- a cheeseburger for me, a sugar beet for mama. Molly demonstrated the frosting of a layer funfetti cake, and small cupcakes were whisked around the room by sharply dressed individuals who were equal parts cool and unpretentious. Each bite a burst of nostalgia. Molly's book is an exceptional recount of her unlikely life on a farm spoken with wit and sophistication, and balanced by humility and candor. It is a treasure and worth adding to your collection. 

One recipe spoke to me in that it is an unexpected union, Chocolate Tahini Cake with Tahini Buttercream. As we near our anniversary, this cake inspired in me feelings of the beauty that arises when unlikely companions finally come to rest with one another. When I was in elementary school, James was enlisting in the United States Marine Corps. While he was guarding the US Embassies in Jerusalem and Paris, I was struggling through the high school dating scene but thriving academically. I played the clarinet in the marching band and swam on the swim team. He had three varsity letters. Nearing the end of my studies at Georgetown I had a difference of opinion with a colleague at an early childhood learning center where I worked, and in the heat of the moment I decided to quit entirely. I wandered down M Street with a resume in hand and walked into Filomena's Ristorante hoping to land some sort of income to fuel my Ben and Jerry's habit. I was hired by Dino, everyone knows Dino, and began work as a hostess. A man in chef whites with sad droopy eyes was sitting at a table with one of the managers. Our eyes met briefly, and then I think an entire month passed until I saw him again. I remember wanting to understand what made his eyes so very sad. 

“Chocolate cake and tahini go together fantastically, but not like bacon and eggs or peanut butter and jelly... So when the two come together and chocolate cake is able to shine her absolute brightest thanks to the strong support of the smooth nutty tahini, an X factor happens that makes this pair one of the best in the world.”

— Molly Yeh, Molly on the Range

One evening I was confirming reservations and this mysterious man walked past me carrying a strawberry. He said it looked like an elephant, mumbled a few more indiscernible words and strode off in his kitchen clogs. Fast forward to graduation from Georgetown and I moved back home to New Jersey after performing at the Vatican with my school choir. I received an enigmatic email of just a few words from Chef James, my James, inquiring if I had pictures from my trip. He loved religious history and wanted to share in my experience. Emails became texting, and texting became calling. Calling became weekend camping trips, campfire hotdogs, sinful whoppers after working a double, and train rides home to New Jersey. I worked briefly at Simon and Schuster, during our courtship if you will call it that. Very briefly. I was tasked with faxing paper orders day in and out, and on the sixth day after a reasonably unpleasant commute, I walked out and did not return. I moved to Washington DC the month following. I think I had missed Chef James. The tahini to my chocolate cake, the strong foundation to my fleeting fears. The suck it up to my there, there dear, be still. The line dance to my ballet lesson, and the Jack to my coke. This past year has not been without challenges, both of us flawed and complex. But the challenges we encounter with grace, and the joys we encounter with wonder. I've grown very fond of this cake. 

Ingredients:

Icing

• 1 cup unsalted butter at room temperature
• 1/2 cup tahini
• 2 cups powdered sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract 

Cake

• 1 3/4 cups sugar
• 1 3/4 cups flour
• 1 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
• 1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
• 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
• 2 large eggs
• 1 cup whole milk
• 1 tablespoon vanilla extract
• 1/2 cup vegetable oil
• 1/2 cup tahini
• 3/4 cup boiling water

To Prepare:

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Grease and line the bottoms of two 8-inch cake pans.
2. In a large bowl, whisk together the sugar, flour. cocoa powder, salt, baking powder, and baking soda. In a medium bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, vanilla, oil and tahini. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and stir to combine. Whisk in the boiling water.
3. Pour the batter into the cake pans and bake until toothpicks inserted into the center comes out clean or about 28 minutes. 
4. Let the cakes cool in the pans for 10 minutes and then remove to a rack to cool completely. 
5. For the frosting, mix together the butter and tahini until creamy in a stand mixer with a paddle attachment. Gradually add the powdered sugar and mix to combine. Mix in the salt, cinnamon and vanilla.
6. Level the cakes and stack them with a layer of frosting in between. Frost the top and sides of the cake and finish with sprinkles.

#Blessed

I'll be the first to say I read too deeply into things. I over analyze with the very best of them. I painstakingly try to even out the dissonance in my brain, to account for unspoken intentions and hidden truths. Within the confines of a concrete way of looking at situations, there is little room for overlap, for the gray. Angry feelings percolate in my belly, anxiety creeps up my spine and I make a sweeping conclusion. But these polarizing opinions are provocative, and well nothing considerable was ever accomplished from being too neutral… So let's delve into being #blessed.

What we share with the world.

What really goes on...

Social media likely originated with the purpose of connecting people. By that connectedness meaningful dialogue might be born, relationships nurtured, and useful information shared. That or some really bright people were just bored and wanted to stir up the social fabric of our society as we know it. Since then though social media has deviated from this once noble path. It's become a playground for airing what is wonderful and discarding what is fallible. We carefully curate a version of ourselves that is deemed acceptable for others to witness, and we discard or conceal the elements that make us most human. Affirmation is sought from people we may not even know mindlessly scrolling and tapping, scrolling and tapping.  

Enter the blessings and the squad goals. This concept of being #blessed is tossed around, and a set of criteria exists to alert the general population when you have been inducted into this desirable club. Some conditions for admission include a house in the Hamptons, a healthy, beautiful child, a prestigious career, a storybook romance. Do not misunderstand me, these are swell things to have and likely many people covet them. I do in one way or another, but not even because I want to. I feel like I should, because it is desirable in the social sphere's collective eye. I admire from afar the little family that appears to have it all together. I tell others who have what seems to be a fruitful, happy life that they are so blessed. When my own family is gathered around the table, and things are going right, then I feel like we are blessed.  I might even envy others who make it look easy. I post manicured images of food such that people might find them beautiful and think me capable, and talented. Dear world, tell me I am worthwhile, confirm for me that I am #blessed. I promise I will work diligently to maintain the illusion of togetherness. 

But it is all nonsense, plain and simple. Straight bullshit. 

(from atop my soapbox)

Is not our mere existence a blessing? Is the child in the inner city who struggles to learn and lacks any familial support not blessed?  How about the individual who cannot verbalize his or her preferences? The refugee, the single parent, the victim of abuse or bullying. The person who conceals his or her innermost self so as not to alienate loved ones. The child with visible differences who is not represented in mainstream media. The rejected, the cast aside, those whose bodies have betrayed them, riddled with illness. 

We yearn to be deserving of the status of being blessed, of being the chosen ones. In a book I read recently this entire line of reasoning was debunked in that from the moment we are conceived of we are already enough, without ever having to prove anything. With this in mind can we collectively find the courage to share what is not likable, or pretty? Can we acknowledge that the suffering that marks our human condition is itself a blessing albeit wrought with struggle and pain? What will it take to cast feelings of resentment and inadequacy aside?

Here is where the seas part. Some of you will say  what is this chick even talking about? She should just scroll and like yet another picture like the rest of us, and then cast judgment the next moment, or start dieting, or talk behind that girl's back. 

The others among you might acknowledge that deep down you feel something like what I feel. Not necessarily the exact same sentiment because I take introspection to a devastating level. Or maybe this vulnerability is more common than I envision but it's the world's best kept secret. People are hesitant to share what is realistic about their lives unless it is to garner attention or pity as the spectrum in the social sphere spans between narcissism and self loathing.  If gloating serves to erect a fortress around this exclusive club that not everyone can join, then pity is not helpful either. Progress and connectedness happen somewhere in the middle. To me that would be a place void of overt #blessings and #goals. 

If I have offended you, I encourage you to get back to a routine that is comfortable. I would not want to disrupt anything you have grown accustomed to. This discussion is not meant to shame or judge either although I admit this reasoning gets close to feeling like a judgment. We are all susceptible to the desire to be perceived as noble, or somehow enlightened it seems. 

But if somewhere in the pit of your stomach you feel the same way, I hope you might know that you are as blessed as the next person. I promise to do my part by thinking twice before concealing my burnt scones and dirty dishes. I will try to encourage and empower others. I will use discomfort as an opportunity for personal growth. I will try not to judge for fear of being judged equally harshly. 

#blessed

Salt and Light

It is commonplace for me to draw attention at meal time.  One such time I can vividly remember, I was eating a dish of pasta with much fervor. Subtle groaning sounds, chewing, and the slur of adjectives like beautiful and gorgeous left my lips. It wasn't a beautiful creature in front of me that illicited such a reaction. It was simply carbonara, crusty bread, a glass of wine. My fork clanked on the table. I longed for the plate to replenish itself. Some sort of miracle to negate the calories, conjure more. I wanted to begin again. I felt gawking eyes. They were wondering what the big deal was I suppose. They had no idea the pity I felt for them. That they might not know the joy of being infatuated with meal time, or realizing the true gift it is to have and relish in food that nurtures, that sustains. 

Elevate dessert presentation by offering up a label that matches your guests' personalities. All you need are labels, a sharpie and a little twine.

We liken ourselves to food so frequently.  Stop for a moment and think about it. If you disregard context, it's difficult to determine if we are talking about a dish of pasta or a human being. She is saucy, him sour, her quite bland. But that one. That's one tough cookie. You should stop being such a couch potato. She has an apple shape. I'm more of a pear. What a lemon. It's easy as pie. Gosh her zest for life is contagious. You are the salt of the Earth. 

I don't think this is a coincidence. I think the food we eat captures where we come from and who we are. It encompasses our struggles, our weaknesses, and our motivation. It is as essential as the air we breathe. Food is a life source and tells a story- a colorful, vibrant story. It highlights conversations, gathers us in to be with one another, and the lack thereof can bring us to our knees. We strive to be as hearty, as robust, as reliable as the stew our Grandmother made.

“You are the salt of the Earth. You are the light of the world.”

— Matthew 5:13-16

While many foods have rich meaning, salt carries with it immense symbolism in historical and religious context. It waged wars, preserved civilizations, and continues to flavor our daily lives. To be the salt of the Earth connotes an enviable quality, to be unpretentious but certainly valuable. To be common perhaps but ever worth while. I love topping sweet treats with salt. I found a recipe for chewy salted chocolate chip cookies via Cooking Light and made just a few changes. They are well, gorgeous.  

Ingredients 

• 1 cup packed dark brown sugar
• 6 tablespoons vegetable oil
• 6 tablespoons butter, softened
• 2 tablespoons honey
• 1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
• 1 large egg
• 1 cup all purpose flour
• 1 cup whole wheat flour
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 3/8 teaspoon salt
• 3/4 cup semisweet chocolate, chopped
• 1/4 cup shredded coconut
• 1/4 cup chopped walnuts
• 1/2 teaspoon coarse sea salt

To Prepare

1. Preheat oven to 375°

2. Place dark brown sugar, oil, and butter in a large bowl and beat with a mixer at medium speed until well blended. Add honey, vanilla, and egg; beat until well combined.

3. Spoon flour into dry measuring cups; level with a knife. Combine flour, baking soda, and salt, stirring with a whisk. Add flour mixture to sugar mixture and beat at low speed until almost combined.

4. Add chocolate, walnuts and coconut; beat at low speed just until combined.

5. Drop dough using a melon baller onto a parchment lined cookie sheet or use a non-stick mat. Sprinkle course sea salt over each cookie and press down gently. 

6. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes or until edges are barely browned.  

7. Cool cookies on pan for 3 minutes; place on a wire rack to cool.