Posts Tagged 'winter blues'

cry uncle

I’m one of those people who genuinely struggles with winter. I like winter, and somehow I’ve managed to tackle 43 of them, but not without effort. I have all the prerequisite gear: sorels, skis, mukluks, snowshoes, down parka, yaktrax, thick woolly socks, a pom-pom hat, you name it.

But I also have Raynaud’s. Which means my blood vessels are prone to spasm. Spasms that cut off circulation to my fingers, toes, nose, ears, and yes, even my butt cheeks. More often than not, these extremities are in some crazy shade of blue or white and are pretty much numb. It can be a real buzz kill.

Still, I try. This year more than ever, I’ve made it a point to embrace the cold. When we got our first blizzard in early November, I took it as an opportunity to expand our snowshoe trails. When the thermometer got stuck below zero in December, I just quit looking and went outside anyway. And when we were dealt a long string of grey days in January, I donned my pom-pom hat and remained cheerful.


But this week? This week it’s all over. Winter has officially pinned me down and made me cry uncle.

It’s my own fault. I made a tactical error of spending a long weekend in California. California, where it was bright, and sunny, and warm. It only bothered me a teeny tiny bit that they are struggling through their worst drought ever and I was visiting in what should be the rainy season. Plus one for climate change. I came home with a stiff neck for how much time my face spent involuntarily craned towards the sun.

But I can’t pin my winter resignation solely on the sunny weather. The company had a hand in it too. Allow me to do the math. Five lifelong friends renting a beach house + 4 bright, sunny, warm days in an otherwise cold grey stretch = nothing can compare, so don’t even bother trying, and good luck getting on with the rest of winter. Sigh.

I spent my teenage summers with these four women, but we weren’t doing typical girly stuff. Instead, we were backpacking through the mountains via Camp Widjiwagan. Together we traversed the Bighorns in Wyoming, the Beartoooths in Montana, then northward to the Canadian Rockies, and finally, a six week trip (complete with 2 air food drops) to Kluane National Park in the Yukon.

Let me tell you when you spend 43 nights together in a tent, you get to know each other pretty much inside and out. And when you do things like break camp in the early pre-dawn to forge a stream that’s too raging to cross during the day because of glacial melt, certain sort of trust emerges.


I guess there is an inexplicable bond that forms when you make the choice to drop off the map together, into the wild with only yourselves to rely on. That’s the only way I can account for the five of us, living all across the country, leading very different lives, still being able to come together and instantly join at the hip.

What a relief it is to have people like this. You can check your back story at the door because they already know it by heart. These are the friends who you’ll stay up late with, spilling wine on your jammies. The ones you’ll stumble down to the beach with, hot coffee in hand, for some morning yoga. The ones whose job it is to restore you. The ones who will make you feel 18 and invincible.

Can you see how winter got the upper hand?

I arrived back in the land of cold and perpetual grey with a few bright reminders tucked in my carry on. Citrus from my friend Cari’s lemon and lime trees. I set my gems on the counter and fixated on them all week long. I grew overly attached. In the end, I more or less had to force myself to use them. I just couldn’t bear to relinquish their bright, sunny energy. Finally, reason kicked in and I understood that watching them gradually rot would be worse.


Which is how I wound up with three lovely little lemon loafs sitting on the counter instead. Not a bad trade-off. Because now, instead of putting on an extra layer to go out, I can just stay in and have another slice of encouragement. Uncle.

Lemon Cake
(adapted from Rose Carrarini’s Breakfast Lunch Tea)

This is a subtle, unobtrusive lemon cake, laced with almond flour. And like the book it originates from, it is absolutely perfect for breakfast, lunch, and tea.

1 cup butter, room temperature
1 cup sugar
4 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
juice and zest of 2 average size lemons
1 rounded teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup plus 1 tablespoon almond flour
1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour

For the glaze:
juice of 1 lemon or lime
1 1/4 cups powdered sugar

Beat butter and sugar until light and creamy. Add eggs in, one at a time, beating well after each. Add vanilla, lemon juice, and zest. In a separate bowl, mix dry ingredients together with a whisk and gently fold into the batter.

Pour batter into a well buttered pan (1 loaf, 3 smaller loafs, an 8-inch – whatever strikes you) and bake about 35 minutes. Your choice in pans might affect baking time, so watch closely towards the end and don’t over bake, leaving you with dry cake! Top should be golden and a toothpick should come out clean.

Let cool, remove from pan, and drench with the glaze (which is simply well combine lemon (or lime) juice and powdered sugar).

disected lemons

root redemption

Well, it’s happened. I’ve reached the stage in winter where I simply can not bear all the layers I put on to keep warm throughout the day. This longing to shed my wool tights and polypro zip-ups for loose, flouncy clothing crops up every year. But this year’s feeling of bulky, confinement has arrived substantially earlier than usual, which is troublesome. There’s a lot of winter left up here in Northern Wisconsin. This past week has left me desperately rooting through my wardrobe for signs of hope. My kingdom for something gauzy and peach.


On Saturday I took my gloom into the kitchen and decided to rummage through the crisper drawer instead. I was reminded that it can get pretty bleak in there this time of year too. My hands had landed on a couple of castoffs. Two large, lumpy softball size rounds of celery root. They’ve been loitering in there far too long. One arrived in December and the other made it’s way into the drawer in early January. Both came as part of our monthly winter CSA share from Hermit Creek Farm. I keep meaning to shred them up for the crown jewel of a wintery salad, but somehow they’ve eluded me. I displayed them on the counter for inspiration. That’s when it hit me. All these confining layers and lack of sunlight. I feel just like a piece of celeriac. Bulky, pale, gnarled, and in the case of these two particular roots – dejected.

I could overcome this, I thought. It was -12ºF after all. What else did I have going on? I turned to scan my cookbook shelf. I pulled out a few dead ends before my eyes landed on Vedge – a relatively new book in my collection given to me by my friend Julie. An exciting and appropriate addition to my shelf as I reembark on vegetarianism. Written by the owners of the of the Philadelphia based restaurant of the same name, the book is filled with  wildly stunning combinations. There is no doubt that Rich Landau and Kate Jacoby are passionate about their vegetable. Vedge offers up no less than four celery root recipes.

celery root

I decided on Celery Root Fritters and Rémoulade – two vastly different preparations of the same vegetable. I was intrigued. It sounds fancy, and it even looks fancy, but it was a cinch to prepare. The recipe makes an insane amount of rémoulade (a classic French mayonnaise based sauce) but I was okay with this. I put it on everything for the next three days – toast, mashed potatoes, giant white beans, I even crowned a wintery salad with it. The rémoulade was such a bright addition to my winter staples. I’d make this recipe again in a heartbeat (more celeriac please, Hermit Creek Farm!) and I wouldn’t adjust the quantities one bit.

Be warned however, that even after you free the celeriac of its knobbly exterior, you’re still left with a pretty sad looking vegetable. I was feeling dubious at best. But I forged on, encouraged by the gorgeous photos in the book.  I served our fritters over a bed of wild rice (also courtesy of our Hermit Creek Farm winter share – have I mentioned how much I love my farmers?) with some simple greens. I sat down and lit the substantial pillar candle that graces our winter table for months on end. And I felt redemption. If a lumpy, dull celery root can undergo such a worthy transformation, isn’t there hope for all of us? Perhaps there’s more significance to the need for endless layers than meets the eye. Let’s hope.


Celery Root Fritters and Rémoulade
(From Landau and Jacoby’s Vedge)

2 cups peeled, grated celery root (1 pound)
(a shredder attachment on a food processor works great for this)
1/2 cup mayonnaise (vegan or regular)
4 cornichons
2 tablespoons capers (salt brined if possible)
1 tablespoon dried dill (or 2 tablespoons fresh)
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
2 tablespoons shallots, chopped

Blanch the grated celery root in a pot of salted, boiling water for about 5 minutes. Drain well, squeezing out any excess moisture as it cools. Meanwhile, combine the remaining rémoulade ingredients in a food processor and pulse to combine into a chunky, but creamy mixture. Transfer to a bowl and stir in the cooled celery root.

2 cups celery root, peeled and diced (1 pound)
1/2 cup onion, chopped
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 teaspoons salt
2 teaspoons black pepper

Combine and roast on a sheet pan in a 300ºF oven for about 20 minutes until tender. Remove and let cool slightly. transfer mixture to a food processor and blend until it forms a chunky paste. Form into 4 or 5 balls and flatten into discs about 1 1/2 inches thick. Set the fritters onto a piece of parchment as you go.

Mix 1/4 cup chickpea flour (or substitute any other type of flour, but the chickpea adds great flavor) and 1 teaspoon Old Bay Seasoning (a favorite that I personally think no spice drawer should be without!) on a plate or shallow bowl. Dredge each fritter in the flour mixture and return to the parchment.

Heat 1/4 cup peanut or canola oil in a frying pan over high heat until the oil starts to ripple. Carefully place the fritters in the oil and brown each side for about 2 minutes. Once the fritters are golden brown, gently remove to a paper towel.

Serve immediately with a generous spoonful of rémoulade atop each fritter. Lovely over a bed of wild rice.



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