Sunday, May 18, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

Cauliflower has been on sale at 2 lbs. for $1 recently and I just can’t resist it. I know many people who think my love of cauliflower is bizarre and tell me so. When I ask them why, they always say that cauliflower has no taste.

Oh, but it does. The problem is that most people tend to think of it raw on a relish platter where the only flavor comes from the yogurt-dill dip in the center of the plate.

That is not what I have in mind. My maternal grandmother, Julia Urban, made a side dish she simply called “breaded cauliflower” and it was one of my favorite foods as a child.

Wedding photo of Joseph and Julia (Sinkovich) Urban.

We ate dinner (meaning lunch) at her house every Sunday, and on the Sunday nearest a family birthday we would celebrate by turning Sunday dinner into a “birthday dinner.” At a birthday dinner, not only was a homemade dessert guaranteed, but the person celebrating their birthday would get to choose an item for the menu.

You could choose anything, anything at all. My mom always wanted stuffed chicken breasts, which my grandmother deemed such a hassle that she would only make them for a birthday.

I always wanted breaded cauliflower. Every year, my grandmother would look at me quizzically and say, “Is that all?” She thought of it as just a side dish. And really, truly, it was all I wanted. I would just tell her, “You can pick the rest.”

I loved it so much that I didn’t really care what else was served. I was a glutton for the subtle creamy transition the cauliflower made as it roasted slowly in the oven. What a contrast to the buttery, crunchy toasted bread crumbs. Heaven!

I had made breaded cauliflower such an event in my mind over the years that I expected it would be involved when I got around to looking for a recipe. But it is very simple, with few ingredients and not much fuss. My grandmother never wrote this recipe down, as far as I know, but I was fortunate to get verbal instructions by phone from my mom. So we don’t have any exact measurements. No matter.

Julia Urban’s Breaded Cauliflower

Submitted by: Julie Cancio Harper

1 head fresh cauliflower (or 1 lb. frozen cauliflower)
plain bread crumbs
butter
salt & pepper to taste

1. If using fresh cauliflower, remove the leaves and cut the cauliflower into florets. Parboil in salted water for 10 minutes. You do not want the cauliflower to be fully cooked at this stage, or the final result will be too soft. It should still be firm, but not crunchy. (If using frozen, just snip the bag and pour the florets into the boiling water. Frozen cauliflower will only need about 5 minutes to parboil.)

2. In a large skillet, melt 1/2 stick of butter on low or medium-low heat. Strain the cauliflower from the boiling water, and transfer it to the skillet.

3. Add salt and pepper to taste and then turn the cauliflower in the pan until it is fully coated with butter. You can add more butter to the skillet if necessary — the bread crumbs tend to soak it up. This is all approximate and you can’t ruin it or anything, so give it your best guess. It’s going to taste great.

4. When the cauliflower is coated in butter, start with 1/2 cup of bread crumbs and sprinkle them over the cauliflower in the pan. Keep stirring and turning the cauliflower over and over until the crumbs are distributed evenly and they begin to soak up the butter.

5. Keep adding more crumbs in small amounts and stirring them in until you have the desired level of breading. Some like it light, some like a lot more crumbs. I like a lot of crumbs, so I probably use 3/4 cup or more by the time I’m satisfied.

6. Once the cauliflower is coated, pour it into a casserole and bake at 375 degrees (Fahrenheit) for 45 minutes or so. It will be hot, bubbling, and nicely browned.

Posted in recipes, weekend recipe collective, youngstown, cooking, love, nostalgia, celebration | 2 Comments »

Wednesday, April 30, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

I did not start cooking with dried beans until I moved to Los Angeles, and for the last two years I’ve been trying to make up for lost time. Until I cooked dried beans, I never knew beans could have so much flavor, intrigue and nuance.

Yes, I said beans have intrigue and nuance. They do. There are so many varieties of colorful, provocative legumes. They are satisfying. And they’ve become a staple in my diet, because I’ve discovered that not only can I eat them all the time without getting bored, but I crave them. I need more beans.

With the disrupted plumbing issues of the past two weeks, I’ve fallen out of the one-soup-per-week practice and Eric and I have suffered for it. I’m getting back into the swing now, and I’ve made a direct beeline for the beans. I want 3-bean chili.

Step one is today, and it so easy: prepare the beans for cooking tomorrow.

1. Choose the beans. When I make 3-bean chili, the bean assortment varies. Today, we’re using black beans, Great Northern beans (white), and pintos. They’re so beautiful!

2. Measure the beans. I like to have one variety that’s more prevalent (2 cups) than the other two “supporting beans” (1 cup each). The “star beans” today are black beans, so I measured out 2 cups of them, and they’re being supported by 1 cup each of white beans and pintos.

3. Sort through the beans to remove any debris like tiny rocks, then placed them in a colander in the sink. Rinse them with cold running water from the tap, then place them in a bowl. The bowl should be twice the size of the amount of dried beans.

4. Fill the bowl to the top with water, seal tightly so the water doesn’t spill out, and set the bowl in the fridge so the beans soak up the water overnight.

Why Bother Soaking Dried Beans Before Cooking?

An overnight soaking allows the beans to absorb water before they’re cooked, which results in a shorter cooking time. Plus, I feel like I’m getting away with something if I can have the same delicious chili and also keep the cost of gas for cooking as low as possible. Why pay more for the same great food?

Posted in soup, los angeles, recipes, cooking, love, enthusiasms, beans, brain food | 2 Comments »

Saturday, April 26, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

Well, yesterday was our first full day with water! Hallelujah!

There are still holes in the ceiling with sawdust and wood chips everywhere. But I refuse to complain about that. The water is on!

And because it’s Saturday and there is currently no plumbing emergency, there are no plumbers on-site today and we are experiencing the blessed quiet. What relief!

My schedule is not very compatible with plumbers. I usually wake up at about 10 a.m. to start my freelance workday. (Don’t hate me — I don’t have kids yet, I know this won’t last.) For two weeks now I’ve been forcing myself to stay asleep in spite of all the racket that usually begins at 7 a.m.

Thursday morning was a bit more than I could take with a smile and an even temper, though. I was rousted from my bed just before 8 a.m. so that plumbers could saw holes in my bedroom ceiling and route pipes through. It would not have been so horrible if we had been warned ahead of time. But no one ever mentioned they’d need access to our bedroom, let alone at a time of day when I’m very actively using it.

I finally got to sleep in today. It gives me the feeling of life getting back on track, at least a little.

On the bright side, we were cheered by our neighbors across the courtyard this week. Mr. & Mrs. B brought us lunch one day: spinach pie with corn and potato kugel. Bless them twice! All I had to do was heat it in the oven in the aluminum foil it came in. I’ve been pushing hard to keep up with all of my freelance work in spite of the loud distractions and their special lunch delivery was a miracle to me.

The B’s are retired and since Eric and I work from home, we often get the chance to chat with them about what’s going on. And sometimes Mrs. B will drop by with some kitchen talk.

It’s nice to have good neighbors like this and it is one of the things I was looking for when we moved to Los Angeles — a neighborhood with people who interact with one another.

My grandparents had this type of neighborhood, and I practically grew up at their house. And ever since I finished college and moved out into the world, I have wanted to live in a place with good neighbors.

The B’s celebrated Passover last week and they attended a dinner at Mrs. B’s sister’s house. Mrs. B volunteered to bring the Potato Kugel. But she was missing one important thing: she does not have a food processor or other electric grinder to pulverize the potatoes.

Since I’m the only other cook, she was not surprised to find that out of 11 other apartments in the complex, I’m the only person with the appliance she needed.

So, she scheduled me — a month in advance! — to come over with my Kitchenaid stand mixer with food grinding attachments to grind all her potatoes and onions for the kugel. That was on Friday, April 18. It was a delight to help out and it was even better to get to sample the results. Simply delicious — and I will make it myself soon.

I was fortunate to get a copy of the recipe:

Mrs. B’s Potato Kugel

10 large baking potatoes
2 onions
6 eggs
2/3 cup matzo meal
3/4 cup vegetable oil
2 teaspoons salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1 teaspoon baking powder

1. Peel and slice the potatoes to fit into your food grinder chute (or, if you’re lucky, a 14-cup food processor — it’s faster). Process potatoes until ground. If they’re very watery, drain out the water using a strainer.

2. Peel and slice the onion into wedges to fit into your food grinder chute (or food processor). Process onions until ground.

3. Beat eggs in a large mixing bowl. Add all remaining ingredients, including potatoes and onions and mix well.

4. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees (Fahrenheit).

5. Liberally grease a 9″ x 13″ casserole or pan with vegetable oil and preheat the empty pan in the oven.

6. Once the pan is hot, spoon the potato kugel mixture into the hot pan. Bake a 400 degrees (Fahrenheit) for one hour until firm.

Posted in los angeles, balance, making do, recipes, cooking, attitudes, pie, sleep, love, freelance, miracle foods | 4 Comments »

Tuesday, April 22, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

In the midst of the plumbing craziness, I’ve received an equal and opposite jolt! Today Lori Cates Hand, who blogs at Publishing Careers, has directed her readers to Learning To Eat — and with glowing praise. Thank you, Lori!

In her post, Lori mentions that Learning To Eat is mostly a food blog, and I would agree. But food comes in many forms. Finding your True Work and doing it with all your might brings a very wholesome sense of joy, just like preparing and eating a homecooked meal. It fills you up and makes you hungry for more.

Working from home integrates my work life and home life into one giant 24/7 occupation 365 days a year. And at times it will look on the page to be about two parts food to one part publishing. As we dig into the busy season in the coming months, the balance will shift towards publishing shop talk. And then back again towards food toward the end of the year.

This is the annual cycle of my life as a freelancer. And the cycle of learning to find work, do work, get paid for the work, pay the bills, buy the groceries, keep myself motivated and working and growing forward — this is what I mean by Learning To Eat. I’m only just starting and the scope will unfold as I blog along.

I thank you all for reading and for your comments. And I especially thank Lori as one of my earliest inspirations and supporters for sharing my freelance life through this blog.

Posted in balance, blogs & blogging, publishing, attitudes, editing, love, energy, freelance, celebration | 4 Comments »

Wednesday, April 16, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

I finally made that pie I dreamed of. And it was better in real life.

It’s the pan. I know it’s the pan. I’ve baked dozens and dozens of pies and this is the first time I have ever inspected the crust and the word “perfect” left my lips in a whisper. It was evenly golden brown from the crusty fluted edge to the center of the bottom.

No dark spots, and no vaguely overbaked too-dark aftertaste. Also, no soggy part there in the middle because you took it out early worried that the edge would char.

And I did not shield it while it was in the oven — neither with one of those aluminum shields nor with foil. I didn’t need to because the stoneware pan baked the most fantastically even crust. I’m not going back. Not ever.

The photo above is of the first pumpkin pie in the Pampered Chef Stoneware Deep Dish Pie Plate in Cranberry. I made a second one this past Sunday when I had out-of-town guests stop over for dinner. It was as perfect as the first. Yes, I know that may be difficult to believe, but you’ll either have to trust me or get a hold of one of these pans and test it yourself. (If you need a PC consultant, I can refer you to mine. Just drop me a line.)

There has got to be a lot more pie now. Not only because I loved the fantastic results from the first two pumpkin pies. But also because baking pies this past week reminded me how easy it is to make something that improves my life by leaps and bounds.

I know there are people who fear pie baking because the crust makes them nervous. I think pie baking has a lot to do with confidence. And if you’re not confident from the start when you’ve made your first few pies, you need to keep baking more pies until you earn that confidence. It will come. And in the end you too will get fantastic results.

I’m fortunate to have learned pie baking at the elbow of two fine ladies – my maternal grandmother and my step-mother – and neither of them had any pie fear. Both made the crust by hand by cutting vegetable shortening into flour with a pastry blender or with a fork. Both got delicious results.

I’ve done it that way and I’m nostalgic about the method because it’s what I first learned. But, in my adulthood, I’ve been fortunate to receive a KitchenAid stand mixer as a gift and I recently have used it to blend the fat into the flour. It is very fast and thorough, which is especially good when you’ve got more on your to-do list today than “bake pie.”

My current pie pastry recipe contains all butter (plus flour, salt and water) and comes from Rosie’s Bakery All-Butter Fresh Cream Sugar-Packed No-Holds-Barred Baking Book by Judy Rosenberg (see the recipe on page 175 for Basic Pie Crust 1). I have also enjoyed using a crust based on vegetable oil, which I learned in my home economics class in the seventh grade. I think that there are lots of good crusts out there and I don’t think any are inherently better than others since taste and preferences are very personal.

But I tend to go back to the all-butter crust time and again because (1) it’s butter, and butter tastes better to me and (2) I have such excellent results rolling out this crust. I place the refrigerated disk of dough on waxed paper or plastic wrap, and I roll it out with my rolling pin using no additional flour. As long as it stays reasonably cold, it does not stick to the pin. If you need to work very slowly, just slide it gently back into the fridge when it starts to stick. Slide your hand under the waxed paper or plastic wrap and the gently turn it dough-side-down into the pie plate. Then gently peel away the paper or plastic and guide the dough to fill all corners of the plate. Fancy up the crust with your favorite design — I prefer crimping by hand.

For the pumpkin filling, I did a search through my recent favorite cookbooks. I did not want to trudge up to the store just to buy the evaporated milk that is an ingredient in many pumpkin pie recipes. Instead, I found a lovely alternative in From Amish and Mennonite Kitchens by Phyllis Pellman Good and Rachel Thomas Pellman.

Their recipe on page 212 contains the usual ingredients with the addition of one tablespoon flour (as a thickener, I think), one tablespoon molasses or King Syrup and one tablespoon of browned butter. Where they called for one half cup each of milk and cream, I substituted one cup of whole milk. I spiced it with ground ginger and cinnamon and left out the nutmeg because I’m running low and needed it for my secret ingredient in mashed potatoes.

This is a fantastic pumpkin custard — so delicious, soft and smooth. Once again, I’m not going back to the old way with the canned milk. I like this better. It is simpler because I often have milk in the fridge but have to buy evaporated milk just for pumpkin pie. What for? No reason, it turns out. It seems like lots of interesting things happen when I make do instead of buying ingredients just because they’re listed in a recipe.

I had been putting off pie baking for months, as I mentioned in my post about Pie Dreams, and as I slid the first pumpkin pie into the oven, I thought, shame on me! This was not some sort of difficult project to dread and delay. It was easy and fun. But I let myself get too busy and forget.

It’s amazing how finally doing something you’ve had on your mind opens the world up to you. I need to start baking pie all the time; weekly, at least, because I need to solidify my relationship with it. So I’m adding that to the cooking plan. My last pie was this past Sunday, so I need to get another one in by the end of the weekend. I’m going to go for the other dream pie: Amish-style oatmeal pie. Then we’ll see where the wind takes me.

Posted in change your mind, energy, attitudes, nostalgia, cooking, love, pampered chef, celebration, pie, dreams & dreaming, books, enthusiasms | 7 Comments »

Tuesday, April 8, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

I’ve been a freelance permissions editor for eight years now, except for four months last year when I worked full-time as a permissions editor for SAGE Publications, Inc. When I decided to return to freelancing, one of several factors affecting that decision was food.

With the long commute and the rigid schedule required by office work, I could not seem to get any cooking done. It was a high-stress position, and I used each weekend to recuperate from the past week and get ready for the next.

Somehow I could not scrounge up any creative energy or joy to plan new meals, restock the pantry, and cook to fill the freezer. I hoped that over time it would get easier, but months passed and it didn’t. Eric and I ate through our stockpile of frozen, pre-made and portioned foods and then turned to take-out in desperation.

I live in Los Angeles, and everyone here seems to eat out as the solution to finding food on a busy schedule. But I have trouble feeling satisfied with take-out. When it becomes a habit, it tends to make me feel dull and listless. I can never answer the question, “What do you want to eat?” when handed a fistful of take-out menus.

I guess I get confounded by take-out because what I want is usually found in a home kitchen. I want variety and convenience. I want high-quality, inexpensive, home-cooked food. I want to eat an incredible soup and sandwich combo ten minutes from now for under $1. I want an organic omelet with eggs laid by happy, vegetarian chickens living la vida free-range.

Again: variety, convenience, high-quality, inexpensive. I want all of it together, and it’s not really out there. It’s in here, in my own kitchen.

Perhaps most people don’t find cooking at home to be convenient. You’ve got to have the right ingredients on hand and they need time and attention, and then don’t forget all those dirty dishes at the end.

Sure, that’s true. But I have a basic pantry of dry goods. I keep a small array of veggies on hand (onions, peppers, carrots, celery, potatoes, cabbage), and since I’m cooking every day it’s easy to eat things before they expire. I keep some meat in the freezer. And I strategically selected this apartment because it’s walking distance to three major grocery stores: Trader Joe’s, Ralphs, and Gelson’s. There is also a small produce market nearby. If I really want something else, I just need to put on my walking shoes.

The time and attention that go into cooking are an important draw to get me away from this computer screen, which I would otherwise gaze into all hours of the day. And the dish washing doesn’t bother me. I do most of it in the morning while I clear the sleep from my mind, plan my important to-dos for the day, and get that breakfast oatmeal on the burner.

I don’t have a rigid cooking plan because I don’t respond well to rigid anything. I would only cause a mess by planning a week full of square meals because I would start with good intentions Sunday and by Tuesday be angry that I was stuck with all these square meals. It doesn’t matter that I chose them myself before shopping carefully on Sunday — by Tuesday I would feel penned in, not liberated. Sometimes you have to anticipate your failings and plan to succeed around them.

My cooking plan instead involves loose cooking practices. I started with a small one, the oatmeal habit (see my first post, Donut Consequences, for the origin story). That is my breakfast default. If we have a box of celebratory donuts on the counter, then I can choose to go ahead and eat one. Or, if it’s the weekend, I may splurge and make a special cowboy breakfast of fried eggs, hash browns, beans, toast and coffee. But if I wake up and have no clue what I want for breakfast, I put on the oatmeal. It keeps my brain from starving on days where I need to stay focused on work (all of them, really).

Next, I rely heavily on soups. I make a giant vat of some new soup each week, store four or six portions (where a portion equals one meal for two adults in my household) in the freezer for later use, and then serve the remainder of the soup with different accompaniments for lunch all week. Some soups are vegan, some are vegetarian, some have meat or meat stock.

There are a few favorites that I keep on hand almost always. I have a standard all-vegetable soup based on cabbage, carrots, potatoes, and kale in a tomato broth. It’s vegan, incidentally, and homey and delicious. I’ve fiddled with the recipe, but it started as Southern Vegetable Soup from Victor-Antoine D’Avila-Latourrette’s Twelve Months of Monastery Soups.

I made it yesterday, in fact. It goes with toasted cheese one day, then fresh hot cornbread the next, then whole-wheat crackers, then a fried egg on toast. On day five, Eric and I discuss: “Should we go back to toasted cheese or make more cornbread? We haven’t made bean and cheese quesadillas yet . . . ooooh, that’s it!” It stays interesting this way. And honestly, I love that soup so much that I could eat it alone every day for a very long time without tiring of it. It is homemade and it is mine.

I love to keep a pureed pinto bean soup that also doubles as an excellent dip when boiled down with shredded cheddar melted into it. I made this one last week. It starts out vegan (before you add dairy to garnish it) and is fantastic paired 50/50 in a soup bowl with cooked brown rice. Garnish with salsa, scallions, cilantro, a squeeze of lime, sour cream, yogurt, cheddar, whatever you have.

Again, I was inspired by a cookbook and then altered the outcome according to what I had on hand. See page 53 of Vegetable Soups from Deborah Madison’s Kitchen for the original Pinto Bean Soup. I tend to add carrots, celery and green peppers where the recipe suggests only onions, garlic and chiles. I like adding more veggies to this one especially because they add complexity to the flavor when I use the soup as a dip, which I do often. It also converts quickly to refried beans (remember cowboy breakfast?) or a filling for quesadillas and tacos.

As I prepare for a busy spring and summer I will stay diligent, cooking and freezing portions of a new soup each week. I want to cook far enough ahead so that when I am hungry I can heat up something great without needing any more brain cells than boiling requires. As I mentioned before, by the time I’m hungry my IQ has dropped considerably. And I need to eat, get smart, and get back to work!

In a way, the freezer becomes a kind of freelancer security as the schedule fills up. It keeps me eating well when I’m under deadline pressure. And hitting those deadlines keeps the grocery money flowing in. When the system is working, it’s all one complete circle. And when it’s not — like last summer — I feel lost. I seem happiest when my life, work, and universe revolve around one small apartment kitchen and the tiny, cluttered desk parked near it.

Food and work are the center of my life. They feed each other. And they feed me.

Posted in cooking, editing, soup, los angeles, balance, copyright & permissions, freelance, energy, enthusiasms, brain food, beans, books, love, oatmeal habit | 4 Comments »

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 »