Yesterday after a morning of writing, I heated up my lunch of leftovers and drove over to my mom’s to sit on her porch in the sun and eat it. While I shoveled my spinach and rice into my mouth (first setting aside a sample for her to taste), she scurried around, collecting her lunch, making coffee, running back into the house for brownies and chocolate, shouting at my dad to tie Buster before he drove off, untying Buster after Dad drove off, and so on. We sat there on the porch for a long time, sipping coffee and running our mouths about all sorts of things: writing, books, food, friends, kids, the works. 

“You have to post about that spinach stuff,” she said when I was leaving. “And if you don’t post about it soon, please send me the recipe.”

Which was just the incentive I needed to get back to this space. Thanks, Mom.

I’ve made this spinach dish — saag paneer, but bastardized à la Priya Krishna of Indian-ish Cookbook fame — two times now. The first time I used whole coriander seeds, as Priya said, but they didn’t blend up in the food processor so it was like eating a delicious gravy that’d been mixed with dozens of little pebbles. The kids were not impressed.

But the flavor was good! So I made it again, this time using ground coriander instead of the seeds — much better. 

Spinach and Feta Cooked Like Saag Paneer

Adapted from Indian-ish by Priya Krishna.

To make your own ground coriander, toast a few tablespoons of coriander in a dry cast-iron skillet until the seeds have darkened a couple shades and are fragrant. Poor into a separate bowl and cool to room temp. Grind in a coffee grinder or blender. 

Also, I’m not convinced that the cumin needs to be cooked separately and added last, along with the red pepper. Why not toss them in at the beginning along with the coriander and cardamom?

6 tablespoons olive oil, divided

2 tablespoons ground coriander

¼ teaspoon ground cardamom

1 medium onion, rough-chopped

1 tablespoon (maybe more) fresh ginger, rough-minced

1-2 garlic cloves, minced

1 pound fresh spinach

1 tablespoon fresh lime juice, about half of one lime

1-2 teaspoons minced jalapeno

1 teaspoon salt

6 ounces feta cut into ½-inch cubes

1 teaspoon cumin seeds

¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes

Heat ¼ cup of the olive oil In a large soup pan. Add the coriander and cardamom and cook for 1-2 minutes. Add the onion, reduce heat, and cook for 5-8 minutes until soft. Add ginger and garlic and cook for one more minute. Add the spinach and cook until wilted. Turn off the heat and add the jalapeno, salt, and lime juice. 

Transfer the spinach to a food processor and pulse until nearly smooth (a little chunkiness is fine). Transfer the spinach mixture to a suitable kettle (the original one will feel much too big), add ½ cup of water, and gently stir in the chunks of feta. Cook on low heat for another five minutes, stirring carefully every couple minutes until the cheese has softened and everything is nice and hot. 

In a separate small kettle, heat the remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil and toss in the cumin seed. Simmer briefly, just until the seeds begin to brown, and then add the red pepper and pour the mixture into the spinach sauce. 

Serve with rice, dhal, pita, chicken, whatever. 

This same time, years previous: a hernia, hip-hip, coco, lemony mashed potato salad, what they talked about, nectarine bourbon pie, playing catch-up, regretful wishing, ketchup, two ways.

This same time, years previous: it all adds up, they’re getting it, the new bakery, walking the line, oatmeal jacked up, roasted tomato sauce, canned tomatoes, classic pesto.

My husband, three younger kids, and I left home for DC in the dead of night, arriving just as the sky was beginning to lighten. As the sun rose over the Potomac, we gathered with the other marchers to listen to a recorded message to our group from Al Sharpton, a spoken word piece titled Mississippi The Microcosm from Genesis Be, and a message from the pastor of St John’s Episcopal Church.

Then the group, now swelled to about a hundred, set off on the walking trail that would take us the eight miles into the city.

Once there, we went directly to Lafayette Park where we spent some time looking at all the wall of photos of Black victims of police violence on the fence along the perimeter.

Our group had had a permit to gather in the park, but then it was revoked at the last minute so we gathered on the street instead, just a half block from St. John’s Episcopal Church, which was also closed to the public.

Different church leaders spoke briefly, focusing specifically on Biblical texts about justice (of which there are no shortage). One pastor shared what had happened when she’d eagerly asked one of her staff, a black man, if he would like to join them on this march.

“He exploded at me,” she said. “He told me, ‘I’ve been doing this work, and I’m tired. Don’t ask me to do more. It’s your turn now.’”

A singer-songwriter from South Bend, Indiana, Daniel Deitrich, sang a song he wrote to the church of his childhood: A Hymn for the 81% — the eighty-one percent being the number of evangelicals who voted for Trump. It was beautiful and raw and painful, and listening to it I cried. I’m so glad my younger daughter had the presence of mind to record it.

The Walk the Walk presentation over, we split from the group and headed to the Lincoln Memorial. My husband and I estimated the crowds were about 90% Black, which surprised me. I’d thought there’d be tons of whites present to show solidarity, so their absence made me second guess our choice to be there — were we overstepping? But then I spied this sign:

This wasn’t about us, and yes, we were welcome.

The grounds were packed — after months of physical distancing, the precense of so many people felt almost surreal! — so we sat on a little knoll edging the reflecting pool.

Hungry and dehydrated (we had to ration out the last of our water and then crossed our fingers we’d be able to find more, hopefully before we perished), we dozed in the shade — oh glorious shade! —while people made speeches.

When the keynotes began, though, we all sat up. (We were far enough back that we couldn’t see the jumbotrons, but we could still hear.) Martin Luther King III, his twelve-year-old daughter, Al Sharpton, the family members of Jacob Blake, George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, and so many others. To have all those people gathered together in one place — so much pain, so much love and hope — felt momentous, was momentous. This week I want to re-listen to the speeches, and watch them so I can put faces to the words I heard.

For the actual march, we stayed on the edges as much as possible.

At the end of a long field, we happened upon a small group of people clustered in front of a stage. Minutes later, Al Sharpton appeared, along with Martin Luther King III and Representative Ilhan Omar. So we got to see some of the speakers up close after all!

And then we trekked back across town to join our group in front of the Federal Justice Building to protest the federal execution scheduled for four o’clock that day.

While the execution took place in a federal prison in Indiana, we kept vigil — people took turns speaking and singing — and then, once we received word that it was over, we climbed into shuttles and headed back to the hotel.

And just in time, too, because then the heavens opened and the rains poured down.

P.S. Here’s a sweet little video clip, with some familiar (masked) faces and sneakers!

This same time, years previous: at home, crunch week, chomper, the quotidian (8.29.16), the quotidian (8.31.15), peach crisp, bezaleel scenes, puppy love, chocolate yogurt cake.