Looking for a light in the darkness on Election Day 2020.
It’s Election Day, 2020, and things couldn’t be more uncertain. The only thing that is crystal clear is that this day is going to last longer than 24 hours – Maryland alone has until DECEMBER 8 to count all of its votes.
So it’s crucial to mind our central nervous systems and practice some deep self-care. These are my plans for today and the rest of the week:
I have deleted the Instagram app on my phone for the next few days.
I will take a daily walk in the woods.
I have already done an hour of yoga (and will do an hour of yoga every morning).
I am on a technology fast for 12 hours a day, every day, in perpetuity.
I am planning on cooking deeply comforting foods today: crispy quinoa, African* peanut stew, and an apple galette. Tonight I will have pizza, my favorite.
I have selected a non-election-related documentary (Spaceship Earth) for election night and am busy lining up more for the rest of the week.
There is no certainty in the outcome of this election, and when that is the case the whole world seems to be tilted sideways. Add to this the crazy wind (blowing in some change? Is it a metaphor?) and the end of Mercury in retrograde (but still in restroshade for two weeks) and things are bound to feel unsettled.
How will you care for yourself on this day? What do you need, and how can I help?
Crabcake egg rolls in collaboration with spicy pineapple dipping sauce. And yes, my crabcake recipe is the best one. #IYDKNYK
Collaboration is a funny thing. Everyone claims to want to do it, but in reality, the bare fact of working with another person to create something together is infinitely challenging. This applies to everything from creative work to child-rearing; it seems as if in collaboration, there is always the potential for someone to feel like they have not been heard, respected, or valued in a partnership.
KWeeks and I are trying to feel our way into creative collaboration. It makes sense that this is a step we would take. Even if our respective creative practices are quite different, many of our sensibilities align, and where they don’t it’s possible to find some fertile ground.
Our first “collaboration,” of sorts, was building a camping platform in New Brunswick, Canada – a bit of a struggle until we figured out that one person needed to be in charge each day. In the end, the final product is something we are both proud of, even if the road to it was sometimes rough.
And now we are feeling our way towards a new collaboration, a creative one, that is embryonic and still being negotiated and not even more than something ethereal. It feels good to think this way, in love and creative partnership with my person. I am most grounded when I have found a home in someone, and KWeeks feels like that.
The idea of “home” comes up frequently in our conversations. KWeeks isn’t exactly nomadic, but he has managed to move at specific times in his life in a way that prevented him from ever feeling too attached to one place.
I, on the other hand, spent the first 25 years of my life in Maryland. I camped every summer in Assateague and roamed the mountains in western Maryland for my formative years. I am attached to this region in a way that is cellular, and much of this is grounded in food of this region, particularly the beautiful swimmers – Maryland blue crab.
It has been two years since I have had crab, and those who know know that fall crab is the best, fatter than the lean crabs of spring and early summer. Years ago, right around this time, I did what was long overdue and created my own crabcake recipe in the form of Maryland Crabcakes With Green Papaya, Carrot, and Jicama Slaw With Pineapple Vinaigrette.
This past weekend, KWeeks and I had a brief sojourn at John Cage Memorial Park in Chance, Maryland, continuing to feel our way towards a potential collaborative project. We picked up two pounds of jumbo lump crab from a roadside stand called How Sweet It Is on the way home, and this recipe is a result of that sweet, delectable bounty from the Chesapeake.
Eating these crabcake egg rolls is a bit like coming home for me – sweet, fresh crab barely held together with minimal binding and just a hint of Old Bay, wrapped in a gluten-free rice wrapper and fried. The spicy sweetness of pineapple and chili complement the crab and the crispy wrapper.
Ultimately, the goal in this life (and the search for home in food, in people, and in place) seems best summed up in a quote from John cage himself:
“Our intention is to affirm this life, not to bring order out of chaos, nor to suggest improvements in creation, but simply to wake up to the very life we’re living, which is so excellent once one gets one’s mind and desires out of its way and lets it act of its own accord.”
Crabcake Egg Rolls With Spicy Pineapple Sauce
(makes 10 spring rolls)
Khristian – not a native Marylander but a smart man nonetheless – reminds me that your crabcakes are only as good as your crab. Make every effort to find local crab, caught in the Bay and picked on the Shore. You’ll be very glad you did.
Ingredients
2 teaspoon Old Bay
¼ cup chopped fresh parsley
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 slice bread without crusts, torn into small bits (see Recipe Notes)
1 tablespoon mayonnaise
1 egg
1 pound jumbo lump crab
10 spring roll wrappers (rice)
½ cup fresh pineapple
½ cup chili garlic sauce (see Recipe Notes)
¼ cup water
Method
Start with the crabcake mixture. You can make this a day ahead if you like, but fresh is best.
Combine Old Bay, parsley, mustard, bread, mayonnaise, and egg in a large bowl. Stir well to combine.
Add crabmeat and mix with your hands very, very gently until the mixture is completely combined. Keep in ‘fridge until ready to make the spring rolls.
For the sauce, combine fresh pineapple, chili sauce, and water in a saucepan. Heat to a simmer, then pop in a blender and blend until smooth. Set aside.
There are multiple ways to fry these. If you have one of those countertop fryers, have at it, and follow the directions for that.
I used a wide, straight-sided saucepan and about two inches of oil. If you are following this method, use a splatter guard, and heat your oil to 350 degrees before you fry.
While your oil is heating, prepare the spring rolls.
FULL DISCLOSURE: My technique SUCKS. It’s ok, because I don’t do this very often (fried or unfried spring rolls), but the more you do it, the better your results will be. So practice by making lots and lots of these.
Grab a wide bowl of hot water. Place the spring roll wrapper in the hot water until it softens – probably not more than 30 seconds. Lay the wrapper on a flat surface, and spoon a generous two tablespoons of the crab just inside the edge closest to you. Roll away from yourself once, fold in the sides, then continue rolling. Tight spring rolls = less chance of bursting and more even browning.
Keep rolling until all the crab is used. Don’t let the spring rolls touch each other while they wait for the frying pan – they will stick and tear each other and then you’ll just have to eat crabcakes.
When your oil is ready, slip spring rolls into their bath, only as many as you can fry at once without them touching. Fry for about five to seven minutes total – until the outside is golden brown.
Remove to a plate covered with paper towels and allow to drain.
Serve HOT, with spicy pineapple sauce on the side.
Recipe Notes
Real Maryland crabcakes use white bread or saltines as a binder. I am a born-and-bred Marylander who happens to be gluten-free, so I used gluten-free bread, and it worked just fine.
You could definitely get high-tech and make your own chili garlic sauce. I chose to leave that to the professionals and used Huy Fong Chili Garlic Sauce, which is delicious and perfect.
“So often in life, things that you regard as an impediment turn out to be great, good fortune.” Ruth Bader Ginsburg
Edited to add: When I wrote this, Breonna Taylor’s murderers were let off the hook. More protestors were arrested than murderers of Breonna Taylor. Two cops in Louisville were shot the night of this announcement, and Kentucky law enforcement vowed to find and prosecute the killers. Until we value Black lives. Until we show our love with justice. Until we recognize the enduring legacy of enslaved people. Until we change. Nothing is good. Nothing is worthy. Nothing is real. We cannot continue in this country the way we have for the past 400 years. Revolution is coming. The uprising will not be peaceful, and no one will be spared. Choose now which side of history you want to be on.
In a desperate attempt to find an unbiased source of news, I signed up for The Guardian’s daily digest.
Although I remain unsure of its neutrality, this morning I got the most glorious story in my email: it’s all about a tree.
Apparently, The Guardian does a little feature called “tree of the week.” Readers snap a picture of a tree and nominate it, sort of like a vegetal popularity contest.
We should all be so persistent and hardy in these times.
To help, here’s a little lunch.
May you grow strong and tall through the cracks of your life. That is, after all, how the light gets in.
Broccoli and Bacon Salad with Grilled Chicken (serves 4)
In addition to being a powerhouse of nutrition, broccoli has medicinal properties that support the body’s transition into fall. It regulates water circulation in the body and boosts qi, making a great option for a satisfying lunch that leaves you full but not weighed down. You can use leftover chicken and make the salad ahead of time – it stays delicious in the ‘fridge for 3 days.
Ingredients
4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (see Recipe Notes) 2 tablespoons olive oil Salt and pepper 4 cups broccoli florets 1 cup shredded carrot (about 2 carrots) ½ medium red onion, sliced thin ½ cup chopped walnuts, almonds, or pecans ½ lb cooked bacon, crumbled (see Recipe Notes) 3 tablespoons apple cider vinegar ½ teaspoon mustard powder ¼ cup olive oil Salt and pepper to taste
Method
Place chicken breasts in a sealed plastic bag and use a rolling pin or heavy pan to pound them into a uniform thickness. Place chicken breasts on a wire rack set over a baking sheet, salt both sides, and place in the ‘fridge for 30 minutes.
While your chicken rests, get started on the broccoli salad.
Blanche your broccoli florets: Bring a large quantity of salted water to boil (prepare another bowl with ice water). When the water boils, add broccoli to it, cooking until just tender/crisp – about 2 minutes. Remove from boiling water and place in ice bath to stop the cooking.
Drain broccoli completely (a salad spinner helps to get all of the water out). Place broccoli in a large bowl with onions, walnut, and crumbled bacon.
Make the dressing: Combine apple cider vinegar, mustard powder, and olive oil and whisk to combine. Pour over broccoli salad and mix to combine. Taste and adjust for salt and pepper.
When your grill is hot, brush chicken with olive oil and season with pepper. Place on the warmest part of the grill for 3 to 5 minutes, looking for grill marks and nice browning. Flip and grill the other side until the chicken is cooked through. If you find the chicken is getting too brown before it’s cooked through, move to a cooler part of the grill. Remove from grill and let rest before serving.
Recipe Notes
• Feel free to substitute a different cut of chicken if you prefer. Simply salt and let rest in the ‘fridge, then grill. The safe cooking temperature for chicken is 160 degrees, but there is some carryover cooking, so removed it from the grill just before it reaches that temperature for juiciest results. • Bacon can be cooked on the grill right along with your chicken, but it will take longer, so plan ahead. Use heavy-duty aluminum foil or an oven-safe pan and cook bacon just as you would in the oven, flipping once and removing to paper towels when crispy. At 400, crispy bacon takes about 15 minutes.
I have forgotten what day and week of social isolation/distancing we are in. I am reminded it is April 1st, only because Instagram tells me so, but my normal markers of time are all thrown off. I rely on KWeeks and his schedule to let me know when the weekend is, but in the words of Morrissey, every day feels like Sunday.
But, shockingly, I believe in dreams. In my very best moments, when I am not beset by the constant thrum of anxiety, I like to imagine and plan and design and create.
Side note: all of the posts talking about how you should stay busy and MAKE THE BEST WORK OF YOUR LIFE can fuck right off, though. Right now I am just trying to find my ass with both hands, and that’s the best I can do most days when so many uncertainties are afloat.
But I digress.
If I can, for just a few moments, put aside the facts of the day, the very horror that is not only this lurking virus but also the dawning realization that no one in our government gives a rat’s ass, so long as we KEEP SPENDING MONEY, then I can magically transport myself to sunnier times.
Like this.
And so it begins.
This is the basic floor plan of the house that we will build in Canada. We taped it out at Khristian’s studio this morning, against official orders to stay at home. This was not a strictly essential trip, as the state defines it, but we saw no one and properly sanitized ourselves before, during, and after our foray.
The cabin will be hand-built and 144 square feet. To the right, between the two unconnected taped lines, there will be a large glass window overlooking the Bay of Fundy. All of the other necessaries are there, too (bed, kitchen area, wood stove), and we will eventually build a walkway to another platform so we can watch the seals and pilot whales as they rest in the Bay.
For now, it was enough to get the outline of the place and to imagine drinking coffee, overlooking our foggy spot, or falling asleep to the glow of the stove and the light of the moon.
One day, Canada will open back up to filthy Americans such as ourselves, and we will travel gratefully north to start construction.
The state of Maryland may not feel that today’s trip was essential, but for me it was. It was essential to remind myself that there is work to be done, things to create, and lands to see.
I cannot decide if this is a good sign or a bad omen.
As I write this, it’s nearly 2020, the last Saturday night of the decade, to be precise. I am alone, lying snugged under a blanket and biting my fingernails to the quick as I alternate between watching season three Better Things and scrolling through Instagram.
It’s not an unusual way for me to spend a Saturday night in general; the only thing that sets this one mildly apart is an unusually strong craving for a brownie sundae and the fact that this is right around the time when I think of the upcoming year.
I do wish, just once, that the end of the year found me looking back with warm contentment at the preceding 12 months, not white-knuckling it into the next year. This past Thursday night, a friend of mine was attacked by 15+ kids and beaten, sent to shock trauma the day after Christmas on what should have been a fairly routine Thursday night reading of Gertrude Stein’s The Making of Americans at Khristian’s studio in the CopyCat building.
We were waiting for our friend who had just texted that he would be at the door in a minute. When he didn’t arrive after texting, a quick glance up the street at the police cars and ambulance told the story – just a block away and a minute or two after his text, he was knocked off his bike and set upon by a roving group of kids with nothing better to do and a whole lot of despair to expel.
He is better than he might have been had it not been stopped so quickly. Quick intervention by a mail carrier, concerned neighbors, and an uneasy feeling from Khristian meant that from beginning to end the whole incident lasted about ten minutes. Enough time to shove him around and shatter an ankle, but thankfully not much more (other than the trauma of the attack, which I am certain felt like a lifetime).
Seems odd, maybe, but this incident got me thinking again about home.
I have been back in Charm City for almost six years now. I grew up in western Maryland and went to college at UMBC, spending several years in Fells Point when Harbor East was a wasteland of abandoned warehouses and Druid Hill Park was still a place you didn’t go after 5 pm. I was once pinned down in a rowhouse by gunfire in my capacity as a counselor for women in transitional housing, and I saw my first dead body on the sidewalk in front of The Buttery (the restaurant featured in the movie Seven and has now been replaced by what is referred to as the “Ouija 7-Eleven“).
The city has always been dangerous.
But this feels different.
When Sicily and I came to visit after Dane died in 2013, we felt like we were coming home, but since I have been here it hasn’t fit quite right.
I love my house. I love my street. I have built a community here, in my neighborhood and among the people I have met. I have been lucky in my work and in the friends I have cultivated.
But it doesn’t feel like home.
I thought Baltimore would be the place where I would feel settled, and although there is a familiarity about it, and it is more home than anywhere else I have been, it’s not quite the comfort I have been seeking. I don’t feel held in the bosom of this place as much as I thought I would.
In this city that could be so great, with so many brilliant people from all walks of life and such a perfect location and size, there is so much daily desperation and pain that I find it hard to leave the house some days.
Is this the midlife crisis, the actual one instead of the one brought on by Dane’s death, where I make bad choices and rash decisions?
Super possible.
Fast forward four days – it’s New Year’s day, and I have been awake since 4, out well before midnight. I have already walked the Loch Raven Reservoir (found the new friend in the picture above), painted, edited some poetry, and felt regret for a decision I made last night. Khristian always says you feel lighter if the decision is a good one, but I don’t feel light. I am not sure if it matters.
The tone of the post is rambly and ranging – from New Year’s resolutions (eat more Daim cookies) to brutal attacks to what makes home and now finally bad decisions.
I don’t know what to say, but I feel compelled to write, and as this is my party, I will cry (write) if I want to, platform be damned.
I do wish everyone the happiest of new years. Hopefully, it’s a damn sight better than the last one.
