A number of weeks ago, at a baby shower at church, one of my friends and I got to talking about food (no surprise there). Many years ago, this friend asked me to watch her toddler son for her. Now I don’t remember if I watched him a number of times, or just once, but what I do remember is the lunch(es) she packed for him: containers full of curried lentils, cooked baby carrots, whole grains. The food was homemade, well-seasoned, and loaded with veggies. The kid scarfed it down.

I was impressed because:
a) she worked full-time and prioritized home-cooked meals
b) she cooked real real food, and
c) her food choices demonstrated complete disregard for pickiness, go Mama.


Ever since then, I’ve enjoyed hearing what she’s feeding her family.

So  that Sunday afternoon, while stuffing my face with candy corn and pretzels, I plied her with my whatcha-been-makin’ question. She listed off the old regulars (can’t even recall what they were, they were so ordinary—probably chili or lentils), but when she mentioned a Thai chicken curry that her whole family loves, I zeroed in.

She rattled off the ingredients—boneless chicken, peanut butter, fish sauce, cilantro, coconut milk, Thai curry paste, etc.—and then the cooking method which couldn’t be more simple: just three hours in a crock pot, bam. I was sold.

That night I typed “Thai chicken curry” into Google’s search bar, skimmed through several recipes, selected the one that sounded the most similar, and then sent my friend the link. “Is this it?” I asked. 

“Yes,” she said.

“I’m doubling it,” I wrote back.

I’ve since made the curry twice. The first time I thought it too saucy, so last week I made it again, this time with half the coconut milk and none of the broth, and it was just right, hip-hip!

On  Saturday afternoon, while a couple college students perched on kitchen stools and regaled me with their adventures, I heated up individual bowls of rice, curry, and roasted veggies for a photo shoot.

It’s rare that I photograph food out of context—ie, without intending to immediately eat it afterwards—but now that darkness comes early, natural light is in short supply. But then, whaddya know, the girls agreed to share the food so the photography shoot wasn’t out of context after all.

Thai Chicken Curry
Adapted from the blog Show Me The Yummy.

I’ve recorded the recipe as we like it: doubled and with the adjusted quantities (more lime juice, no broth, less coconut milk, more meat, etc).

The sauteed red pepper is a wonderful addition. This last time I roasted it, along with a head of cauliflower, and served it alongside the curry.

½ cup each creamy peanut butter and fresh lime juice
¼ cup each fish sauce, brown sugar, and red curry paste
8 cloves garlic, minced
1 14-ounce can coconut milk
1 teaspoon ground ginger
½ teaspoon red pepper flakes
4-5 pounds boneless, skinless chicken thighs and legs
required (don’t doubt!) toppings: fresh cilantro, green onion, chopped peanuts
optional (but highly recommended!) topping: sauteed red bell pepper

Measure everything (but the chicken and toppings) into a bowl and whisk to combine. Pour into a crock pot. Add the chicken. Cook on low heat for 3 hours (it seems like it can’t possibly be enough time, but it is—any longer and the chicken gets mushy), stirring once or twice.

Remove the chicken from the crock pot, cut into bite-sized pieces, and return to the crock pot. Taste the curry, adding salt and black pepper, if you wish.

Serve the curry over rice and pass the toppings.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (11.16.15), I will never be good at sales, gravity, refrigerator bran muffins, the wiggles, why I’m glad we don’t have guns in our house, the quotidian (11.16.11), and chicken salad.

Tuesday night I went to bed at 9:30. I woke up at 2:30—my husband’s side of the bed was empty. I found him in the kitchen, sitting in the computer’s blue glow. He looked like someone had died.

Back in bed, I forced my body to hold still, my eyes to shut, willing sleep to come. But my hands kept clenching and my racing, totally irrational thoughts (at least I hoped they were irrational, oh, pleasepleaseplease) ricocheted wildly, completely out of control, until, shortly before five, I gave up.

As I showered, I racked my brains, trying to reorient myself. What to say to the children? They’d be crushed. How to give perspective? How to speak with love, kindness, and respect when I felt none of those things? I needed a level head, my two feet firmly planted. But on what?

The water poured over my face and then it came to me: kindness. Yes, that was it. I’d tell my children to be kind. Respectful, too. I would not—must not—be ugly about this. There would be no name calling, no bad mouthing, no pointing fingers.

Downstairs, I lit a candle. When my older son walked into the room and asked quietly, anxiously, “Is it as bad…,” I put my head down and cried. And then, a little later, processing it with the rest of the children, I broke again. One child stomped to the bathroom and slammed the door. The other two sat hunched—one in the swivel chair, the other on the sofa—their faces twisted.

As my son headed out the door to his 12-hour shift, I said, Be extra kind to people today.

I know, he said. I will.

What was there to do? Something, anything.

I fetched three butternuts from the back hall and sliced them, laying the pieces on a tray before slipping them into the oven to roast. I mixed up a batch of granola. That afternoon I bought groceries, and then dropped the kids at the library before meeting with my writing group. For two blessed hours we rearranged words, ate chocolate, laughed.

Such balm, that laughter.

My thoughts have been all over the map. Sometimes I think, Oh what’s the big deal. Life happens, we’ll move on, some good might come of this, blah, blah, blah. Other times I get flashes of anxiety so searing my gut heaves.

On social media and the radio, the voices blare. There is so much anger and hurt. Listening for too long, I feel I’ll drown.

So instead, I hunker down, focus on the tangible, the ordinary. I go on runs. I visit with the college students who crash at my house. I make my kids rehearse their choir music. I speak at a fundraiser dinner for an organization that partners with at-risk and homeless mothers. I see a play. I help sweep up the glass from a dropped pan. I wash the horrifically dusty stairs. I fold laundry. I tease my husband. I make supper.

For now, that’s all.

For now, that’s enough.
xo

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (11.9.15), George Washington Carver sweet potato soup with peanut butter and ginger, for the time change, the quotidian (11.10.14), maple roasted squash, pumpkin cranberry cheesecake muffins, mashed sweet potatoes, and my apple line-up.

This same time, years previous: musings from the coffee shop, awkward, “How are you different now?”, bierocks, let me sum up, laid flat, crispy cinnamon cookies, and brown sugar icing.