Monday, March 31, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

The first thing that Eric ever cooked for me was Chinese pie. When he described what he was making, I said, “You mean shepherd’s pie?” And he said, “I guess, if that’s what you’d call it.”

Back then we were still sorting out our regional differences — which mostly had to do with having different names for the same thing. I grew up in Youngstown, Ohio and Eric grew up in Dracut, Massachusetts. No one told me until I went to college that I was from the Midwest. I grew up with an extremely liberal father and had always felt as though I belonged to the East coast cultural experience. We make maple syrup, they make maple syrup. How different could it be?

I was visiting him at his dad’s house one summer and was baffled by long conversations the two of them would have each night before we’d go out to dinner.

His dad would ask him, “Are you wearing dungarees or chinos to dinner?” And Eric would say, “Well, where are we going?” And they would discuss the restaurant options, and for anything that wasn’t a pizza parlor, his dad would say, “Maybe I should wear chinos.” And Eric would say, “No, no people wear dungarees in there all the time. Chinos are too formal.” And his dad would say, “Are you sure? I usually wear chinos.” To which Eric responded, “You dress too formally. I’m sure dungarees are fine.” And this would go on and on as they tried to get dressed.

I was already starving and ready to go, sitting in the parlor and thinking that I wished they would sort out the apparel debate so we could get out the door. But I couldn’t offer help because I had no idea what they were talking about.

I knew they were talking about pants. But I couldn’t figure out what KIND of pants.

Growing up, there were no restaurants that I ever went to that had any sort of dress code — implied or spoken. As long as you wore a shirt and shoes and bottoms of some kind (pants, skirt, shorts, etc.) you were in the clear. So I had no idea why Eric and his dad were so troubled by the formality of their outfits. And, dungarees and chinos sounded like cowboy words to me.

Not wanting to sound like a rube by asking, I kept my mouth shut and puzzled over it myself. Eventually I figured it out: dungarees are jeans, chinos are khaki pants.

So what about Chinese pie? Is it just another term for shepherd’s pie?

Not quite. It has similarities: a layer of ground meat is topped with mashed potatoes and baked until golden brown and bubbling. But Chinese pie has a middle layer of corn (either canned, creamed, frozen or a combination) between the meat and potatoes. The meat — usually ground beef — is sauteed with onions, and sometimes green peppers. Each family recipe differs slightly, but Eric’s experience and Wikipedia agree that Chinese pie is a valid term with origins in the New World.

Chinese pie is a nostalgia food for Eric. He does not make it often, but when he does it means more than dinner. It is one of the dishes his mom used to make, and since she died when he was 16, cooking Chinese pie is a way for him to get back in touch with what dinner and family meant to his mom.

I’m a tinkerer. And when Eric’s not in the mood to make strait-laced Chinese pie, I offer variations.

We once made a “Tex-Mex” Chinese pie where one pound of organic ground beef was cooked with cumin and garlic, the mashed potatoes were full of sharp cheddar, and the corn layer was similar to Mexicorn® (corn with peppers), which is a registered trademark of General Mills and which I ate often when I was a kid. This gave me the chance to feel nostalgia connected to the Chinese pie experience, too.

Since I had the separate ingredients on hand and lacked brand-name Mexicorn®, I prepared my version of the corn layer from scratch: dice one onion, one jalepeño, half a red bell pepper; sauté in butter; add frozen corn, salt and pepper to your liking; cook through until hot.

It was very tasty.

I also have visions of an Irish-style pie where the mashed potato layer is replaced by colcannon. Perhaps the corn layer can be replaced with cubed carrots? Or parsnips? I haven’t decided yet — this one’s still in development.

Well, all the tinkering over time inspired Eric last Saturday. While I sat at my computer typing away, he sneaked off to the kitchen. It was not long before I peeked my nose around the counter to ask, “What is it that you’re cooking?”

It was a new Chinese pie. The organic ground beef was sautéed with one-inch slices of onions and diced green bell pepper. There was cumin and garlic and . . . something else in the beef. I wasn’t sure. It smelled exotic. “Cinnamon,” he said, and smiled. Whoa! A curveball from the traditional New Englander!

We made the mashed potatoes with non-fat yogurt (32 oz. on sale for $1!), a bit of cheddar, and a drizzle of olive oil to smooth them out.

“It’s my best Chinese pie EVER,” he said. I think and hope he meant “so far.” We don’t know what to call this one, but it doesn’t matter. The food, the enjoyment of cooking, and the memories of home, family, and love are all evolving each time.

Posted in cooking, youngstown, new england, trademark, nostalgia, love, dealings w/feelings, pie | 5 Comments »

Tuesday, March 25, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

Yesterday I spent nine hours editing Eric’s résumé.

Editing other people’s résumés is a special sort of hell. Because it takes a unique type of energy from me, a nurturing all-seeing eye combining the forces of empathy and sharp arrows. I interview and dig and coach and prod. I intuit, I guess, I try, and sometimes undo. I review and rewrite and reformat, squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Perhaps everyone’s résumé needs this kind of deep attention, but many cannot afford to pay what would be a fair price for the effort. And it’s a misery to be underpaid for grueling work. So I only do it for love, never money.

I spent a bit more time tweaking it this afternoon, and I’m at the point where I know it’s not Perfect but it is definitely Very Good. I think I can let it go out into the world.

But there’s always that bit of worry. If it’s not ready, not good enough, then tens of thousands of dollars could be riding on it, opportunities lost because of my choices and advice. Or maybe not. I possibly take it too hard. But I’ve got to treat all the details seriously, rabidly, just in case.

I like to be kept up to date when they go out: Did you get the job? Which one? Did they mention liking the resume? Congratulations! (*breathing out* Thank God it worked — they liked my baby!)

Argh. So you see why I can’t offer this type of skill as part of my for-profit business. It’s too much of an emotional roller coaster. And while being in business by yourself, for yourself (sole proprietor) naturally feels a bit personal at times, I try to keep my work emotions as steady as possible.

Still, it’s difficult to stay in balance all the time when offering services. Interesting opportunities arise and I have to accurately evaluate: Do I want that experience? And also, am I up to the challenge at this moment?

Timing is everything because the gauge on my creative reserves is fluctuating daily. All sorts of variables change how much of me is available for tackling new projects: Am I sleep-deprived? Did I just come off a doozy of an assignment that drained my brain completely? Do I have important appointments or errands this week or can I hunker down in my apartment and commit to working so deeply that I experience time loss?

If something sparkly and new has popped up in front of me, out of optimism I can commit to a project that I don’t have the energy reserves to complete with feelings of power and joy.

No one else knows when this happens to me because for some reason it does not show on the outside. Sometimes my husband cannot tell. I will seem perfectly fine and happy, my work output and performance will be top-notch as always. But I will no longer be having fun. I will not feel satisfied with my work, no matter how good it is. All I will feel is that I can’t wait for the project to be finished so I can run away and recharge before someone notices I am cracking up.

And of course, I know that not all work can be done while I ecstatically resonate energy with feelings of power and joy. But isn’t that a neat goal to shoot for? Isn’t the possibility of striving for happiness and satisfaction one of the big reasons that I face the many challenges of freelancing for a living?

When I catch myself feeling like everything is dire and I’m at the end of the rope holding the last knot with sweaty palms, I use a trick I call “Change Your Mind.”

To change my mind, I think of all the things that are wrong and list them (in my head or on paper). Recently the list looked like this:

• This short film shoot was supposed to be 5 days and we’re on day 14 now, with no set end date.
• The honorary token flat fee for this indie project currently amounts to just over $1 per hour and with each day gets lower still.
• I have to put off or turn away editing gigs until this film is completed and it irks me to be losing so much opportunity for making money.
• I’m worried that my editing clients will notice I’m gone and get gone themselves.
• No one is taking the time to explain to me what they need and why, so I can solve the problem quickly.
• This project is understaffed so we’ve all been sloppy at organizing the equipment which makes it impossible to find what I need.
• I’m afraid my work performance on this shoot is suffering because conditions are even tougher than usual.
• I’m hungry.
• I’m tired.
• I have cramps.

Then I take a deep breath and ask myself: “When you started this project, did you say yes for love or money?”

In this case, the answer was love.

My next question: “If you take your money worries out of the equation, can you still persevere and do a good job — for love — here?”

And the answer was yes.

My attitude changed in that moment. I felt better and realized I could make it through the hard circumstances because my original objective was still being met. I wanted to do the film for the experience, because it needed me, for love. My basic problem was really that my exhaustion caused me to feel horrible and it messed up my viewpoint. To be happy again I had to “change my mind” by reviewing my original motivations and realizing that I was achieving what I started out to.

Today I finished a resume for love. And after writing this, I finally feel satisfied with it because — even though it took much more time and effort than I had expected — I succeeded in what I set out to do.

Working for money is another story for another day . . .

Posted in dealings w/feelings, change your mind, attitudes, balance, editing, freelance, sleep, love, energy, film | 3 Comments »

Saturday, March 22, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

A good rest for me is nine or ten hours and includes dreams I can remember when I wake up. Freelancing allows me to get this much sleep every few days. Call it my bonus for not having a long commute, or a trade-off for a lack of paid vacation.

I think of my dreams as belonging to groups or categories. For example, one group would be “recurring themes.”

I call another group “pacing” or “speed” dreams — these feature a lot of stuff that happens so quickly that I can’t get a grip on any narrative or story. I usually interpret speed dreams as messages that I’m afraid my life is going too fast (or too slow) and that I need to slow down (or speed up) to feel better.

I have “everyday” dreams where what I am doing and saying is very much like my real life. I have a conversation with my husband or I go get the mail. They reaffirm feelings of satisfaction, that the status quo is pretty good (for now).

Then there are the “metaphors,” which can be whole stories or short bursts of loaded images that I need to dissect when I wake up thinking, “Why on earth would I dream about THAT?” A big proportion of my dreams lately have been metaphors.

This week I dreamed of pies. Two specifically: pumpkin and an Amish-style oatmeal (like pecan pie but with oatmeal instead).

Why pies?

Pumpkin pie is by far my favorite pie. It means safety and comfort to me. And while I have not yet made or even tasted an Amish-style oatmeal pie, I have been reading and thinking about it for a long while, maybe years. I could taste it very clearly in the dream.

I have thought of baking both these pies more than once in recent months. It started back in September. I hosted a Pampered Chef cooking show when my dear friend Christina became a consultant. Because I wanted to try one of Pampered Chef’s well-reviewed stoneware baking dishes and because I have always loved pie, I bought the beautiful Deep Dish Pie Plate in Cranberry.

I LOVE this pie dish. It heats and bakes very evenly — better than any glass or metal pan I own. I have used it many times — for apple crisp, brownies, even a lovely lemon cake. I get better results than I expect with each new trial. But for some reason I have not gotten around to baking a pie in the pie dish.

No pie. This is strange because I am a pie enthusiast. I have a pie background. When I was 17, I spent an entire day picking sour cherries from my grandmother’s two trees, half a day pitting and preparing them, and the following two days baking cherry pies from scratch. I made 19. It was July in Ohio (humid), my mother’s house had no air conditioning, and the oil-based dough that made my favorite crust back then practically melted into each pan. It must have been 100 degrees (Fahrenheit) in the kitchen. The pies were lattice-topped and I crimped the edges pretty, too. No shirking.

Why have I not made pie?

I have meant to, and I certainly have the ingredients for both a pumpkin and an oatmeal pie. In the fall of 2006 I went to Costco and did a serious stock-up on canned pumpkin. And thanks to the oatmeal habit and my love of apple crisp, I keep both steel-cut and olde-fashioned oatmeal on hand as pantry staples.

I have lots of recipes to choose from because I seriously love cookbooks. I flip through them at night to help me relax. In preparation for testing the new pie pan, last fall I bought and read Pie by Ken Haedrich, which I adore for its depth and variety and think of as “The Pie Bible.”

I’ve recently been cooking from the earthy and homespun From Amish and Mennonite Kitchens by Phyllis Pellman Good and Rachel Thomas Pellman, and they have a perfect, simple oatmeal pie on page 220.

There appears to be no other reason for not baking pie besides irrational pie block. I think that I have both a literal and figurative need for pie. I am putting off pie for later when today and every day is a great day for pie.

This is definitely a metaphor dream. I think my pie block may have something to do with a wrong idea. And that wrong idea whispers in my ear: “You don’t have time.” Or: “You should be working.” Maybe even: “You don’t deserve it yet.”

But would baking a pie keep me from doing good work? No, I know it wouldn’t. Would joy contribute energy to the work in front of me, this week and month and year? Oh, yes.

This is why I need that sleep to pay attention to my dreams. Because without them I can mess up for a very long time — by not baking pie or by missing some other vital aspect of life. I never forget work and deadlines and clients and bills. But I do forget to nurture myself, sometimes for months.

I’ve got some correcting to do this weekend. I’ve got to go bake a pie.

Posted in pampered chef, balance, sleep, books, pie, dreams & dreaming, oatmeal habit | 4 Comments »

Thursday, March 20, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

I think I might as well just start where I am. I ate a donut for breakfast today.

This is very un-normal for me. Normal is a long-cooked bowl of steel-cut oats with soy milk and a shot of ground flax seed. Which sounds as appealing as gnawing on branches if it is not what you are accustomed to. But I am. I love it. I crave it, usually.

I didn’t start out that way of course. The oatmeal habit started back in 2000. It was a result of two unlikely forces colliding in my life. First: my dad and step-mom started yet another diet-slash-new-eating-plan-for-life (not uncommon). Second: I was returning to my blissful home office after two treacherous weeks shooting a short film in the desolation that is Cisco, Utah.

Note: No one eats properly on an indie film shoot, even if everyone is trying to. You eat what you can get your hands on when you can get it. Your focus is on trying to continue working without falling over dead. I have never seen so much beef jerky consumed per capita (and by professed vegetarians) in all my life. May the angels save us.

So, strung out from the road, I returned home and phoned all my parents (who live in another state) to report on my safe flight. What news have you, good parents? I ask.

The Word is oatmeal. Oatmeal, my dad reports, will save us from our ills. My dad is not a religious man, per se, but he is delightfully prone to enthusiasms. I get this from him. Enthusiasms come on like fevers. They overwhelm your sense of sight, taste, and smell. You touch nothing, hear nothing else.

I do not generally like food fads or believe in miracle foods. But what I needed at that moment — after all the film food — was a high-fiber enthusiasm. So I took his advice and ate it, every day.

Right away, my life improved.

I’m a driven freelance editor. And in the first few years I worked at home I had trouble remembering to eat. I would wake up every morning, turn on the computer and get crackin’. Until I noticed a few hours in that I had become stupid. And then it was too late to decide what to eat — can’t think, brain broken.

Many, many hours of productive work were lost because I was not smart enough to keep my blood-sugar up. And once you get a decent meal in you, you never fully recover your brain-power that day. You’ve got to start over again tomorrow and . . . it’s pretty darn hard to break the cycle once you’ve started.

The oatmeal mandate solved this. Before turning on the computer each day, I would put on the long-cooking steel-cut oats. By the time they were done, I had realized I was hungry because I could smell their steamy oatmeal invitation wafting into my office from the kitchen. A perfect system.

So then why break a perfect system by eating a donut today?

Because they were on sale. Because they were the lovely olde-fashioned kind that Eric and I love best. Because it is my birthday month. Because I’ve been very good. Because my happiness requires some variety. Because we worked on a film shoot last month and I did not get nearly enough donuts. Because I’m still learning to eat.

All of that is true.

Some days joy is worth a little lost productivity. That is my best reason to start this blog.

Posted in enthusiasms, celebration, balance, miracle foods, brain food, film, oatmeal habit, junk food | 6 Comments »