Tree of Knowledge

Tonight, weary from 10 hours at work and the constant stream of demanding customers on this rare, freezing snowy day, I walked through my door and yelled and screamed and stomped my feet. I took out all of my anger, anxiety, grief and suffering on the room full of friends that I hardly knew that my roommate had gathered to watch a movie. They seemed entertained, but I was not. I just stormed through the room, throwing layers of damp clothes as I went. Grabbing a bottle of Kahlua and the carton of Almond milk from the fridge, I began my preemptive strike against further explosions. I heated the almond milk to just below a boil and mixed it with pure, organic cocoa and a dribble of honey, then in went the Kahlua. About a shot or so. Just to mellow the tone quickly settling into my bones.

It had the desired effect and I began work on a quiche I had promised to make for my friend's birthday brunch. It did not take long for me to release the tension and sink into the task at hand.
There is something about dough, ANY kind of dough, that makes me into a different person. The most basic of baking knowledge is required to make dough. It is less skill, more experience. KNOWING when you have too much or too little flour. KNOWING the consistency of a hearty protein loaf as opposed to the tender flake of buttery pie crust. I long to work with all kinds of flour and and yeast. Nuts, seeds, honey, berries, apples, cheeses. I NEED to bake, to cook, to create and re-create.

I am not much of an artist and I have very few ideas that are original, most being the same recipe my mother used or my mother's mother and that I know by heart. I cannot come up with incredible new ideas or recipes, but I can tweak and perfect oldies.

Being gluten-free has been quite a challenge. I can no longer sample the warm zing of my favorite Jalapeno Cheddar bread or crunch on the floury dust of a pumpkin pie crust dipped in coffee. I have found ways around these sad fates and I still bake these timeless classics of mine for others, but I am determined to find a way to make gluten-free cooking and baking just as delicious as regular baking. I know it will be near impossible, seeing as how almond, tapioca and rice flour just don't fluff, but I will find a way and I will share my journey with the rest of you...it's only fair.

So...I made a gluten free pie crust for my quiche...clumsily working about my kitchen with a fuzzy head and slightly unbalanced feet. I did not burnt it and it smells very "normal." The proof is, indeed, in the pudding...or the quiche. Tomorrow will be the reveal and I will come back to tell you all about it!

Ain't no shame...

...in feelin' that way...

It is bitterly cold and I have spent my morning mucking stalls and trudging through the snow. Such a strange thing that just a week ago I was dismissing the snow in my mind and wishing it would stay. Now that it's here, I want nothing more than for it to leave. Or at least to give me a chance to enjoy it when I do not have to work alongside it.
Perhaps that is why it has been so difficult. I am working against it, rather than WITH it. Nature commands that we listen and work, covered in it's control.

I, who have been working in the elements all of my life, seem to always forget this little detail.
Nature and nurture, I am a product of both and now I must nurture through nature. When I tend to the fields of horses and break the ice on their trough, I get reward when as I watch them drink greedily.

This year began in a wicked way and it has a been a rollercoaster since, but it is only January and I trust that it has decided to get the worst out of the way before the month is up. I trust that the rest of this year will be spent in splendor and growth and realization.

My wish extends to you all.

Tuck tuck tuck tuck churp churp

I nest.
Horsehair here, little feather down there...
ribbons tied about door handles,
yarn strewn from the beams,
paper stars on the windowsill...
I nest.
nest nest nest.

Don't we all want someone for whom to build a nest?
Someone to flitter to the brim and peek in and say, "Churp cheep, what a sweet little nesty nest! How precious and silly your little bits of home are!"

silent shroud...

It is the middle of January and I am sitting crossed legged on my bed, playing guitar and watching the snow sift gently to the wet ground. It will not stick...not today, not enough cold and not enough snow. But the way the flakes lazily drift and dance is so beautiful, I don't mind the lack of snowball fights or canceled work. I am enjoying the beauty of something much bigger than my job or play. The beauty cast down in nature.

Of course, secretly, I want it to stick. To stay around for a day or two and let us enjoy ourselves merrily in it's white blanket. Children will dirty it with their excited and naive feet and those of us old enough will tread lightly, trying to preserve the few hours of purity and cleanliness left by the grey sky.

Welcome to the daily musings, cooking adventures and confusion that is the mind of Beatrice Rose. Through this blog I endeavor to reach out to those who may find themselves on my plane of thinking for the day and will benefit from feeling a mite less alone. I hope to also release some of my own bottled up emotions to a computer that cannot possibly understand how a human lives, but is supportive regardless.

I will do my best to be a light.

Namaste and Cead mile failte!