Beany Brownies & Minty Avocado Frosting

EEEUUW! Black bean brownies with avocado frosting? My reaction exactly when I googled "St. Patrick's Day recipes" and dialed in on "dye-free green food" and  this recipe appeared. We were invited to dinner, and our contribution was to be dessert following the traditional corned beef and cabbage fare. Gotta have green, right?

Of course the first recipes that appeared were for mint and chocolate swirl brownies with the full load of flour and sugar and green food coloring. No thanks. I'm ready to try something new. Black beans and chocolate had an odd appeal. Like, let's go on vacay in the kitchen and sample a different reality. 

PK was doubtful. He asked what we could bring as a back-up, and called me on my cell in the grocery suggesting I pick up some good ice cream and chocolate. He of little faith!

I made the brownie recipe exactly as directed. It is thin but moist and tasty. No beans can be detected. Next time I may add more chocolate. I made significant alterations to the frosting recipe, however. But still, to me it looked like guacamole smeared on a bean cake.

PK pledged not to divulge the key ingredients until after everybody had tasted. To our delight and surprise, the dessert was a hit! It was fun to reveal that beans replaced flour and that the green frosting was avocados. 

Don't wait for next St Pat's day to try this. It's easy and delish and gluten free, if you care about gluten. I think the frosting needs the powdered sugar, but the brownies could probably get by on Splenda or some other sugar sub. Have fun! And don't let the eaters in on the beans and avo secret until they're praising your culinary chops.

Beany Brownies 

• 1 15.5 ounce can black beans, rinsed and drained
• 3 eggs
• 3 tbsp coconut oil or butter
• 1/2 cup cocoa powder
• pinch of salt
• 3 tsp vanilla 
• 1 tsp baking powder
• 1/2 to 3/4 cup sweetener (I used half Splenda and half sugar to make a mounded 1/2 cup

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Spray an 8x8 square baking dish with cooking spray. 
2. Combine the rinsed beans, eggs, oil, cocoa powder, salt, vanilla, sweetener and baking powder in a blender and mix until smooth. The mixture will be thick.
3. Scrape into the prepared baking dish.
4. Bake in preheated oven until the top is dry and edges start to pull away from the sides. Check after 25 minutes.

Minty Avocado and Lemon Frosting

• 1 medium/large avocado
• 1 tbsp softened butter
• 2 tbsp (or more) softened cream cheese
• 1 tbsp fresh lemon juice
• 2 cups powdered sugar
• pinch salt
• finely chopped fresh mint to taste (1 tsp to mix in, the rest for sprinkling on top)
• a couple of whole mint leaves per brownie for garnish
• chopped nuts (optional)

Use a mixer with whisk attachment or an immersion blender (my choice) to mix the avocado, butter, cream cheese, mint, salt, and lemon juice. Add the powdered sugar slowly until incorporated. If the frosting is too thin, blend in more cream cheese. Remember the frosting will become firmer after refrigeration. Keep the brownies and the frosting refrigerated and separate until shortly before serving. Sprinkle with chopped nuts, if using, and mint. Serve with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. 

Girlfriends' Getaway to the Oregon Coast

Sunshine at the gorgeous Oregon coast with women who have shared decades of friendship celebrate birthdays (3 turn 60 this year) and the joy of life. Left to right, Nancy Fleischman, Marcy Landis, Paula Stone, Joanne Costantino, Gail Frank, Mary Walgrave, Dawn Welch, Chris Costantino, Pat Bange. In case you're wondering, I was behind the camera. But happily!

Girlfriends can be the healing balm for life's cruel wounds. Sob. They can provide shoulders for weeping, hands for holding, and ears for floods of feelings and fears. They will listen to your bitching, commiserate when you have woes, and nod in agreement when you need holding up. We need each other.

On the other hand, girlfriends can also be fantastic, crazy, epic FUN! I am so blessed with friendships, many of 30, even 40 years, duration. Too many girlfriends are far far away: Susan(s), Grace, Bev, Laurie, Patty, Terry, Jeanne, JoAnn, Michele, Margo—but I wish they all could have been along for the friendship ride the past weekend. Below are a few of way-too-many photos. If you want more, links to albums follow.

Making our way from our fantastic oceanfront rental near Bandon to our private beach. Actually, there's  no such thing as a private beach in Oregon because some long-ago visionaries, to whom we are forever grateful, went to the trouble to make sure nobody can "own" one. But access to this beach is limited, hence it was ours alone. The 30-second video below tells the tale. I haven't learned to edit videos, but most of it is lovely.

The HuffPost ran a recent blog entitled Five Reasons Why Every Woman Needs a Girls' Weekend.  The woman who wrote it is a lot younger, apparently, than our group as she included "boy talk" as a reason. We don't need no stinkin' men to have a great time, and we don't need to talk about them, either. (Ironically, many of us became friends because of our husbands' annual men's trip, going now on for 30 years! The same 10 guys. Remarkable, I think. I am so happy for PK that he has these long-term lifeline friendships. Just like most women I know.)

Friendship and fun. That's the story for the female flock pictured above. We had a couple new faces and were missing several regulars. (Don't worry. We toasted you all. More than once, I'm sure.) Speaking of toasting, we drink a lot of wine. One friend told about girl trips she's taken where the mostly retired-teacher participants drink very little. Instead they smoke pot. Ha!

Historically, this groups heads over to Mt. Bachelor near Bend, Oregon, to ski for a few spring days. But over the years, skiing became less attractive to some, and we shook out into two groups: skiers and shoppers. A coast trip brought us together. And then some.

Paula enjoys a little solitude.

Patty, Mary and Nancy yuck it up.

The Rental. Even better than it looks, and with a stunning ocean view.

Shore Acres state park is just down the road . We enjoyed the formal gardens and
the wave-lashed cliffs.

It was a jungle gym with little girls cavorting. Little girls ages 50-something to almost 70.

Gail had the idea for us to catch some Dungeness crabs with hopes of having a great appetizer, but no such luck. Lucky, however, for the two crabs of legal size that we  ended up liberating. 

Waiting to pull up the crab pots on a pier in the port of Charleston. A little beer and some really terrible but tasty junk food—jalapeno cheese crunchy thingies—helped pass the time. 

Patty's eye beams penetrate her sunglasses as she clutches her beer
and calls forth the crabs.

The Stone sisters check out the latest crabby bunch hauled up from the bay bottom. 

Just one steep slippery patch required we accept assistance at the bottom of the trail to the beach. Alpha women do not like to accept assistance. But it seemed preferable to a red-dirt butt.

Tossing a baci ball onto the beach for our upcoming game.

Throwing into the wind on a beach sloping to the sea complicated baci ball accuracy.

About 10 minutes of relaxation before moving on to the next fun thing. I think it was shopping.

Yes, we are women and we do shop. A group feeding frenzy in a chic boutique made for a happy shop owner and heated-up credit cards. There's something about trying on a garment that costs way too much, then parading before your friends to a chorus of ooooohhhhs and aaaaahhhhhs. Anyway. I have three new tops. I think I need to revisit the year during which I bought nothing new, except, of course, for food and sanitary supplies.

We made a haul shopping on a blustery afternoon at Devon's Boutique 
in Bandon, a surprisingly classy shop for a tiny coastal burg.

Learning the electric slide, one more time.

Gourmet meals are part of the deal in a take-turns cooking plan where two-person teams each plan and make one meal. This is a French fish stew called bouride. Fabulous. Thanks, Dawn and Patty.

The birthday girls in a blurry shot. Only a few days, weeks, or months
remain for them to enjoy being 50-something. Someone else is enjoying her last
months of separation from being 70. Moi. 

Frenetic game of pass-the-paddle ping pong. 

Gail was one of three birthday girls during the "year of the horse." 

Group dance to Mustang Sally made for lots of trotting action to Wilson Pickett's beat.

Wanna see more pics? Here you go.  And more? They just keep going. One more?  Clearly, I was out of control. 

Kale and Garlic Frittata Starring Yoga Eggs

Note: If you're reading this on email, everything looks better if you click on the blog headline to get to the website. Also, if you could care less about my ramblings and just want the recipe, scroll down about 10 inches and you're there: Kale and Garlic Frittata.

I didn't realize how much I missed my yoga teacher's eggs until I opened her egg carton this morning and cracked a smile that lit up the kitchen. Yes! A rainbow of farm-fresh eggs from Shanti's clutch of quirky hens fresh out of their winter slump. A couple years ago, when I first scored eggs from Shanti, she was selling them for $2 a dozen. What?! Too cheap, I told her. She said $2 was enough to almost break even, and that wasn't counting the hens' entertainment value. She finally came around to $3 a dozen, still a major bargain considering that hers are truly cage-free happy hens wandering her little farm hunting bugs and greens and eating organic feed and enjoying Shanti's admiration. Despite our recent cold, wet weather, her "girls" have responded favorably to longer daylight and are pumping out the protein. Cluck, cluck, such luck.

Shanti Chagnon, unconventional yoga teacher and
keeper of hens. This is what she
wears to teach kick-ass power yoga. Love her.

To show off the difference between eggs laid two days ago by happy hens and one that came in a $5 carton claiming it to be "all natural, vegetarian fed, produced without hormones or antibiotics, containing 350 mg of Omega 3." In addition to the paler yolk, the store-bought egg white is runnier. Even with the one anemic loser, these eggs made a fine frittata. (Yoga eggs are nice, but not required.)

Kale and Garlic Frittata

4 large eggs, beaten

5 ounces of fresh chopped kale (about three large handfuls, chopped. The kale, not the hands.)

3-4 medium-sized garlic cloves, minced

1/4 large onion, chopped

3 T olive oil, butter or coconut oil

1/3 cup shredded Parmesan, cheddar or other cheese (or more)

salt and pepper to taste

Two servings, low-carb, gluten-free.

Directions

Heat the oil in a small frying pan, if you're cooking for two. Add the chopped onion and saute over medium heat until translucent. Add the minced garlic and stir fry until fragrant, about a minute. Add the chopped kale, stir with onions and garlic and cover. Steam over medium-low heat for about 10 minutes, or until the kale has wilted. NOTE: I used Trader Joe's. kale-for-cooking, about half of a 10-ounce bag. It had some nasty chunks of thick kale stems, which I picked out and bestowed upon the compost pile.

Kale, onions, and garlic before steaming.

Beaten eggs setting up. At this point, it's good to gently turn them over. 

After turning, cook until the eggs are set, a minute or two, season with salt and pepper,

then add cheese. Turn heat to low and cover for a few minutes to melt the cheese. NOTE: I used a great product, chipotle finishing salt, from Salinity LLC. Check it out. They have lots of natural flavors. Made in Southern Oregon.

If you eat this nutrient-packed kale frittata, you might be able to do this!

At Sundance Healing Arts Studio.

Or this!

Shanti on the farm tractor, hens foraging nearby.

And now, what you've been waiting for, a cold frame update! I can bend over to work in the cold frame and lift its heavy cover more easily because of yoga.

Russian kale is starting to surge in the center while endive lettuce and puny spinach are wondering

if I forgot to add enough compost when I planted seeds in October. 

My favorite kale variety, lacinato, AKA dinosaur kale, is emerging in pots where seeds were planted a week ago. Yeah! Seedlings will be thinned to one per pot and transplanted to the garden in late March, early April.

 BE BRAVE ABOUT WINTER. SPRING IS ON ITS WAY. IN THE MEANTIME, DO YOGA. 

EAT KALE.  MAKE A NICE FRITTATA. 

Winter gardening? Not a lot of action...but some fun.

The resident wildlife enjoying his own shadow as he strolls past the cold frame.

I've been fixated on Africa posts, because, as you may have noticed, I gathered so much richness so quickly that I've  focused on digesting the African experiences with words and photos. I'm not finished. But ordinary life does intrude, and it is the predominant reality, and so it goes. While in Africa the lions prowl, the giraffes gambol, the elephants lumber, the springboks bok, and in Southern Oregon the gardeners twiddle their thumbs, mostly.

The January garden looks sad, even on a sunny day. There's no sense in working it until late February or early March. If then. The white cloth near the back protects overwintered chard. Sorta.

But time moves on, and my attention turns, briefly, to the garden. We've had a cold dry winter, despite one storm that blanketed everything with snow then slicked roads with ice for a couple weeks. Still, the seed catalogs arrive in their seasonal flurry and seeds planted in early fall are struggling in the cold frame.

Spinach, lettuce and kale in the cold frame are sulking. At least they survived our unusual single-digit winter temps.We'll be harvesting out of the cold frame in February. The shadow? The cat.

One garden chore that can be tackled in January is digging and separating leek bulbs. Somehow I like the mindlessness, the Zen, of crumbling dirt and pulling apart the bulbs, laying out the plants and separating into bunches, some to replant, most to give away. The earth's heady fragrance, the warmth of the winter sun, the chirruping of the birds at the feeders. All good. All these little starts came from one clump. I'll end up with enough to plant the whole garden in leeks, should I be foolish enough to do so. Separating and replanting the bulbs is tedious but I know what happens in June that makes the work worthwhile.

Here it is. Leeks in action! We eat few leeks, because onions are so much easier, but leek flowers?

They're major bee magnets plus they make great dried and cut flowers and are stunning three-foot tall additions to the garden. I know they're coming back. I can't wait.

In the meanwhile, we consider travel to South America and boogieing at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival. We also think about a new roof and replacing a deteriorating living-room rug. And also about leaving resources for our children and theirs. After 40 years of marriage, purchasing a headboard and a dresser for our bedroom also rears up. How boring. How to spend money when it is limited? Always a question, but I'm tending toward South America and away from a new living room rug. But on to January gardening.

  A geranium that loves winter. I almost threw this 15? year-old plant onto the compost, but I'm glad to have it as a mood booster. It is great to having something that loves winter. It lives in the solarium of our semi-solar abode. And we live in in our home of umpteen years in a semi-nomadic mood. 

Serendipity then and now

Serendipity officially means accidental good fortune. When I started this post, I intended to write about January gardening. That took me, somehow, to Africa and travel, and then to discontent with my ordinary life and then to childrearing, marriage, and the march of time. And back again. You'll find no gardening here.

 Serendipity—a pleasurable outcome of  brain exploration translated to fingers on the keyboard.  Writing.

 Ever since returning from Africa in mid-October, I've been discontented with ordinary life. No one is cooking for me. No one is driving me around. No one is concerned minute-to-minute with my entertainment. (Thank you, Kara Blackmore and TIA.) There are no giraffes, elephants, lions, gorillas, rhinos, impalas, springboks, cape buffalos, chimps, hippos, exotic birds or even crocodiles parading or posing for my enjoyment.

Oops. Forgot to mention zebras, who seemed eager to have their picture taken.

There's also a terrible absence of drifts of exotic flowers, and forests consisting of what look like giant houseplants. 

Pincushion proteas, indigenous to the Kirstenbosch National Botanical Garden in Cape Town, South Africa, is among 7,000 species thriving in one of the world's great botanic gardens. We spent nearly four hours exploring the eye-blasting magic at the foot of the famous Table Mountain.

Sometimes in Uganda or in South Africa—which I haven't blogged about yet —you can't decide where to look. There's so much to see, so much to do. And the people. Suffice it to say that ordinary life for most Ugandans is different from mine. Their realities make me embarrassed about the luxuries of my privileged never-had-to-think-about-food-or-water ordinary blue-eyed life. Also makes me ponder, what do we really need?

This beautiful Ugandan teenager is making her fifth one-mile round trip from her home to the Nile River balancing 50 pounds of water, which must be boiled at least an hour to be potable. Note that her balance is so good the jerry can lacks a plug. Such are the skills necessary for survival. 

Back in rural Southern Oregon in the dead of winter, I am having to work at being delighted, excited, awed or inspired, as if those are the states-of-being I expect or, more importantly, deserve. That's what Africa did to me. I got accustomed to daily delight, excitement, awe and inspiration. I can tell you, it's not a bad way to live.

Except for a couple spectacular days at the Oregon coast in mid-December, (photos here), dullsville is where I'm at now.  Usually, when returning from a "holiday" as vacations are called in South Africa, I am ready to be home. This time, not. I'm restless, resurrecting that irresistible urge to be on the move that spurred me back in the early 1970s, before babies and jobs and house payments tethered us.

 I say "us" because I've been partners with the same man for going on 41 years. We have our own early histories, but at this point, our shared time predominates. We've been together a couple decades longer than the ages we were when we met. Who knows when you commit to someone that this can happen? If you're lucky, it does.

In Mexico 2006

When our first child arrived in 1977, the itchy feet gave way to nesting and to kid-loving to the center of my being and back. The reason most parents can put up with sleepless nights and toddlers screaming in the grocery store, is that kid-love consumes them.

Chris, left, and Quinn Korbulic, 1999

I love our adult sons, but not as viscerally as when they were babies, toddlers, young children, and even despicable (sometimes) teenagers. They're cut loose and my oh my, who they have become pleases me so. How I adore them still. We won't even get into the grandchildren. Another time.

Back in the day, and besotted with kid-love, I was content with camping and rafting and the occasional two-week summer vacation along with the pleasure and pain of raising children, sustaining a marriage, developing a writing/editing career, and getting acquainted with the Earth in our backyard: the garden, the Rogue River and environs.

I often told myself, and others who would listen, that there's more than one way to travel. Explore your life and journey philosophically, if you can't get out there into the world geography. Having two kids, two jobs, little money, and two or three weeks vacation per annum, I embraced the philosophy route. Time flew. It flapped its wings and dive bombed year after year, pecking me on the head, "You're another year older!"

Now time is pecking me in the eyes, dammit. Get away! Slow the hell down!

Still, I don't regret any of it. I would never give up having raised our sons because both are gifts that keep on giving. And life has come full circle with me being the touchstone for my 98-year-old mom who is in assisted living one mile away.

However. I'm now thinking ours would be a great place to be coming back to. Someday. In the meantime, I will continue to appreciate the small things, and large, that have made this piece of ground home for more than 40 years. It won't be long before we'll be on road longterm and so glad to have a piece of the Earth to settle back into, as birds returning from migration.

Ironically, as I was working on this post, I excavated, from the bottom of a trunk, a diary from 1972. Here's something I wrote August 24 of that year... I was 28 years old.

Driving over the Big Horn Mountains. Stoned. Looking at cows through binoculars and talking about time. A little poem:  

I'll travel til there's no wind left in my soul. Then I'll be old. 

Well, now I AM old, so I'll say the same thing today except for one word:

I'll travel til there's no wind left in my soul.

 Then I'll be dead. 

Leeks in all their glory in our garden. What you can't see or hear are the bees. The bees. Hundreds of bees. Maybe as many bees as there are in all of Africa. Right in my own backyard. Just in case.