So here is Jessica Porter's Official Defense of the Current Royal Family:  

1. Yes, the monarchy get some $ from the people, but it amounts to one dollar per year per person. The vast majority of royal wealth is from landholdings of the Queen's. And hey, owning property is the American way, no?  If you'd like to to know more about where the royals get their money from and how it's used, they are completely devoted to transparency and have this website to explain it.  And by the way… How much are you and I paying for Iraq?  More than a buck, I'll bet. 

In terms of the wedding itself, it was a private affair and the only charges made to the public were for security and police… No one's quite sure how much the Queen shelled out for the gig, but what we do know is that Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End cost $300 million.  No matter how many funny hats are worn and profiteroles served, I think the wedding worked out to a weeeee bit less than that.  Funny we get all Spartan when it comes to a royal wedding while we turn a blind eye to our own excesses.  

2. Since 1993, the Queen has been paying taxes. Up to 200 million pounds per year. That's WAY more than they're getting from the taxpayers (38 million pounds). So they don't seem to be a financial drain on the system. In fact, they support the people in many ways, including not only taxes but all the revenue generated around their appearances, souvenirs, etc.

3. So we sit in judgment from a country where our "royalty" is Charlie Sheen, Lindsay Lohan and politicians who are totally owned by corporations. Although it is a democracy, our votes mean less and less against big business dollars since we've decided corporations are individuals… And yet we indulge in a weird haughtiness about one family, who happens to be rich… but isn't the accumulation and display of wealth basically an American ethic? Don't we normally worship the rich?  The Kennedys?  Martha Stewart?  P. Diddy?  Yes, but not if they're British and inherited it… Huh.

4. Unlike our King Charlie, British royalty does not spend $500,000 a week on cocaine.  Between the members of the Windsor family, they do upward of 3,000 acts of charitable and community service per year. In fact, they live lives completely devoted to public service.  Their endorsements and visits generate untold revenue for local and global charities.  Not such a bad thing in a David Cameron economy.

And unlike American celebrities or politicians, the Royals are not owned by big business, so they can do what feels right to them. That's refreshing. Diana showed the world it was okay to hold the hand of a person with AIDS, back when they were social pariahs and dropping dead like flies. She also championed the landmine issue in Cambodia. Prince Charles was into organics and the environment before ANY famous Americans were… like in the 70s. All the royal men serve in the military.  These people are far from layabouts. In anything, they are more like rich servants to the public. We just get our panties in a twist that they wear expensive clothing.  As they say in England "it's a bit rich" that we feel entitled to judge them from the comfort of our increasingly materialistic, soulless culture. 

5.  BTW, they have absolutely no political power anymore. Many people don't know that. They are simply figureheads.  They aren't oppressing anyone.  That's why this is a defence of the Current Royal Family.  Can't speak for the past…

6. These days I think the wedding was just positive hypnosis in a dark world. Those two 29-year olds who got married today are ten times more mature and responsible than, well, I certainly was at their age.  I found it lovely to see them stand up straight and be counted.  And their lives will actually be about something more than video games and the rat race.  What's so wrong with that?  And of course, some of that is because they're wealthy, but Kate Middleton comes from very hardworking parents who earned every cent of their wealth… they have lived the American dream, UK-style.  So our future Queen Kate will bring new blood to the mix.  Hurrah.  

In a world full of very serious problems, it was really nice to see two people come together and remind us all of halfway-decent behavior. The service was about God, and love, and serving something bigger than oneself.  And 2 billion people watched, which almost never happens anymore… the whole world getting together and tuning into something more beautiful than a mass killing and more  meaningful than an Oscar speech. I think that rules.  Pun intended. 

Finally, I haven't been blogging lately because i'm writing a new book.  It's really hard to do both.  Please bear with me. 

Jessica

You see, I went to Israel in December and had one of the best times of my life.  Between the landscape, the history, the people  and the classes I taught , it was an incredibly rich and layered experience. 

Hence, the blogstipation.  There is just too much to say. 

So, after ruminating on the topic for a while now, I have decided to distill the Israel experience down to its most meaningful element and the one that has lingered the longest; friendship.

I was invited to Israel by two friends, Sheldon and Ginat Rice .  They are both American Jews who moved back to the Holy Land and currently live in Jerusalem.  They are also both macrobiotic; Sheldon got into it over 20 years ago in order to dissolve a tumor discovered in his abdomen, and Ginat had stumbled upon macrobiotics in her early 20s… being a groovy, hip chick… and even ran a macro restaurant in Boston in the '80s. 15 years ago, Sheldon, being single after a long first marriage, and father to three daughters, held a macro potluck at his home in Jersalem.  Ginat showed up and the rest is history.  He proposed within a month !

Together Ginat and Sheldon have helped nurture a small but vital macrobiotic community in their area.  They work under the name of The Rice House and for years they have given lectures, classes and held potlucks.  Recently, they've decided to start importing teachers from the rest of the world… Michael Rossoff  had been over to give consulations and lectures… Christina Pirello  had a cooking class tour… and last spring, on the Taste of Health Cruise (coming up soon on Feb. 27th–JOIN US!), Ginat and Sheldon invited me to be the next to come to Israel.  I was overjoyed at the invitation and extremely excited about the trip.

For the next nine months, Sheldon and Ginat went into preparation mode.  They are both extremely detail-oriented people and Ginat even signed a recent email "The Ginorganizer" .  Together we figured out topics for the classes, recipes and did some press to get the word out, but behind the scenes, S and G handled everything else.  Not being much of a Jessorganizer, I will be forever grateful to them for that.

I arrived in early December and had a couple of days to just hang out, see some sites and get over the jetlag.  I camped out in their guest bedroom.  Now it's all very well to be a guest in someone's home for a weekend, or maybe 4 or 5 days maximum, but Ginat, Sheldon and I co-existed very happily and peacefully for SIXTEEN DAYS!  And not only did we share space, we managed to pack, shlep and set-up equipment and food for 12 different cooking classes (some of them at great distances), followed by the breaking down, schlepping back and putting away of said equipment after each class.  And, honest to God, we laughed throughout most of it.  

To what do I attribute this peace and general jolliness?  You guessed it: The Food.  Of course, Sheldon, Ginat and I are all basically good people; none of us is hysterical, histrionic, evil or insane.  Well, okay, maybe insane, but who isn't?  But even amongst good people, there are edges that get rubbed, buttons that get pushed and darkness tends to emerge.  But two important factors were in play here:  First, we had all eaten macrobiotically for a number of years.  This means that really old emotional sludge has been addressed or even eradicated.  In a very real way, the energy we were bringing to one another was quite clean.  Second, we ate well while we were together.  Sheldon was in charge of breakfast, Ginat Ginorganized lunch and I generally taught a cooking class which became dinner.  So as we moved through the stresses of co-habitation, work and play, our blood sugar remained level and we floated on a wave of wellbeing together .  When issues did arise, we each had a stable self to reflect upon and respond from.  There was no slinging mud .  Well, most days.   We were careful and kind. 

(By the way, Michio Kushi refers to all macrobiotic people as "friends".  When I first heard that, I considered it sort of kooky and hippy-ish, but it actually points at a very real truth; by eating natural foods, we begin to vibrate together in a peaceful, joyous way.) 

It was from this lovely, loving platform that we could–like three giggling children–enjoy our experiences.  The classes went really well (there is a recipe below).  Ginat and Sheldon made sure to show me lots of Israel, like the Negev desert , The Dead Sea , Old Jerusalem , The Sea of Gallilee , and Tel Aviv .  In those sixteen days, I also had the luck to meet all three of Sheldon's beautiful daughters… each a unique and powerful spirit.  While we traveled in the car, passing camels  and Bedouin neighborhoods , we discussed politics, religion, and history.  Neither Sheldon nor Ginat ever shyed away from some of my difficult questions, both of them attempting to answer them from a unified, macrobiotic perspective.  More on the politics next week…

There were so many layers of this trip, and I will continue to blog about it at least once more… but I wanted to begin with this simple, lovely layer of relationship.  I was amazed and delighted by the glue that arose between the three of us… the affection and caring that presented itself… I know that in those sixteen days, I secured friends for life. 

Recipe (adapted from Meg Wolff's new book A Life in Balance):

Sweet Potato and Arame Salad with Asian-Style Tartar Sauce

2 large sweet potatoes

2 parsnips

2 T olive oil

pinch of sea salt

black pepper

1 cup dry arame, reconstituted

1 T shoyu

1 T mirin

1 teaspoon toasted sesame oil

salad greens, such as arugula or watercress, to serve

toasted sesame seeds

Tartar sauce

½ cup vegan mayonnaise

1 T minced pickled ginger

½ teaspoon wasabi paste

1 small shallot, finely minced

1 tsp ume vinegar

2 T minced cilantro

big squeeze of lime juice

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees

Peel the sweet potato and parsnips and cut into bite-sized chunks. Steam the chunks for about 5 minutes, until they just start to soften up (you can do this in a steamer basket set over boiling water of by simmering in a small amount of water).

In the meantime, pour the olive oil onto a baking tray and let it heat up in the oven.  Transfer the potato and parsnip chunks to the over-warmed tray and sprinkle with salt and black pepper.  Toss to coat the vegetables evenly with the oil.  Put on top shelf of oven and bake for about 20 minutes, until they’re tender when pricked with a fork.

While the veggies are baking, prepare the arame and tartar sauce.  Measure out the arame dry, then soak in a bowl with enough water to cover for 10 to 15 minutes.  Drain and simmer the arame in about ¼ cup of the soaking water—drizzle with the shoyu and mirin while cooking.  After about 10 minutes, turn the heat up a bit to cook off any excess liquid and drizzle with the toasted sesame oil.  Mix together all the tartar sauce ingredients.

To serve, arrange the salad greens on plates or a serving platter, and top with the arame and sweet potato mixture.  Add a big dollop of the tartar sauce and sprinkle some toasted sesame seeds on top.

Variations:  You can use other veggies such as sweet squash or pumpkin, in place of the sweet potato.  You could also add corn, zucchini, or other vegetables. 

If you don’t like the tartar sauce too spicy, omit the wasabi.  Instead, add other ingredients like minced capers, chives, parsley, or minced dill pickle.

I’m not going to name names. It freaks me out to go public with something so private. Neither Facebook nor my blog are appropriate for that. Plus, he was one of the few internet holdouts… preferring to connect face-to-face with the rest of the world… when he wanted to connect.

And frankly, his name only matters to those of us who knew him.

But let’s put it this way; this person didn’t fit too well in life. I mean, life wanted him—he was loved by his family, and many friends. He was good-looking, charming, funny and fit. And even more than that, he had a special soul-level quality that was unstoppably loveable… inexplicable, really, considering he could also drive us all nuts. But at the end of the day–and usually somewhere before noon–we loved him, and extended our hearts and hands to him with ease.

But it wasn’t enough. Not because we didn’t try, but because he, and life, were just not a good fit. It’s as if the limits and rules of 21st century existence were just too much. As if duality had too tight a squeeze on him. No matter how hard he tried, a strange and ugly foot would emerge from beneath him and trip him up until he fell, again and again. It was more than addiction. More than stubborn pride. I’ve seen those things trip people up before. It was as if a deep wiring… perhaps from a childhood brain injury… just kept zapping him from the inside, striking him down, again and again. And falling doesn’t feel good after a while. Because people notice. And he couldn’t help but notice… and he began to judge himself. And it is that awful, final, human judge—the one inside—whose gavel hits the hardest.

About eight years ago, I drove him to a hospital because he wanted to hurt himself. Before getting in the car, I said I understood what it was like to want to fall asleep and never wake up again. It would be like going back home. Like taking The Big Nap. I didn’t think it was crazy to feel the pull to go back to that peaceful place—the Big Yin– but that I wished he would stay with us and try to figure it out. That I would try to help him touch The Big Nap from this side without hurting himself.

I was thinking: Meditation. Eating better. Maybe going to a meeting.

But those just weren’t his things.

M tried for eight more years. He duked it out with duality, while holding in his chest a secret, dark desire to get the hell out. He was a brave, brave man for simply fighting that battle for such a long time. It must have been brutal. It was so easy for us—for whom life fits comfortably five days out of seven—to watch him from the outside and feel his unstoppable loveliness coming at us. To be the recipients of his jokes, or his tenderness, or his photos of funny dogs he saw, or little kids he knew. It was easy for us to say “it’s gonna be okay”.

But it wasn’t okay for him. It just wasn’t. For whatever reason, his drive to get out—to take that Big Nap—finally won.

I know we’re supposed to abhor a suicide. That’s just the Judeo-Christian way. But this lovely, lovely man… who touched my life in such beautiful ways… and whose struggle I was privy to… I refuse to judge his choice. I just refuse. Judgment was his problem on this side.

I love him. And I will miss him terribly. And I’m glad he's finally free.

Roughly ten years ago, word got out about her skills and Mayumi went off to cook for a singer named… um… oh yeah, MADONNA. She spent seven years chopping and sauteeing for the Material Girl and her ever-expanding brood. That gig bounced her around from New York to London to LA and on tours  around the world. If you think Madonna looks pretty good for her age, Mayumi, and the macrobiotic diet, have had a lot to do with it.

Here's what Madge has to say about Mayumi:

"In the seven years you lived with us and cooked for us, your amazing food helped me to be a happier, healthier person, balanced in body and mind.  I feel better than I did twenty years ago.  I am very grateful to you for this."   Yaayyyyyyyyyy!!!!!! I love macrobiotics!!!!!!

Because my mother lived in London, I got into the habit of seeing Mayumi whenever I was over there. We would meet to have tea at some fancy department store… sticking with the green tea and fruity desserts, of course.

Then, when I moved to Los Angeles, we bumped into each other here, and gossiped over agave-sweetened chocolate cake at Real Food Daily  in Santa Monica.

A couple of years ago, Mayumi moved back to her homeland of Japan, where she hasn't lived in 20-odd years. I figured I would help her adjust by making her take me out for lunch in Tokyo. We bonded over the totally macrobiotic lunch (designed by LA's Nadine Barner) at the Peninsula Hotel… SWANK!! Mayumi designed the macro menu there last year, so she knew the ropes.

Finally, last week, I giggled over soba and yuba with Mayumi at Souen in New York City . She was there to visit her daughter, who lives in Brooklyn.

I say all this because Mayumi has also written an amazing cookbook , which finally came out in English and which I highly recommend.  It's call Mayumi's Kitchen: Macrobiotic Cooking for Body and Soul.

It contains a great ten-day detox plan and a ton of wonderful recipes, including this one, great for fall:

Brown Rice Mochi Crepes with Stewed Apricots

1 tsp rapeseed or sunflower oil

2 cups grated brown rice mochi

Stewed Apricots

10 dried apricots, quartered

1/3 cup spring water

pinch sea salt

1. Make the stewed apricots: Combine the apricots, spring water, and salt in a small pot and bring to a boil over high heat.  Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer for 15 minutes.

2.  Heat the oil in a frying pan and sprinkle the grated mochi in an even layer so as to form a thin pancake.  Cover and cook over low heat until the mochi melts.  Do not turn over.  Make 3 more in the same way.

3.  Serve the mochi with the stewed apricots rolled up inside or spread on top, or both. 

Mmmm…  Enjoy!

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Japan is full, brimming over actually, with the weirdest stuff.  There are remote controls for the toilets  which will spray your butt, air dry your butt, and make a noise to cover up the noise your butt makes doing what your butt is designed to do.  There are ferris wheels on buildings, cat cafes , maid cafes, crazy arcades , Love Hotels, disposable underwear, individually-wrapped marshmallows  and plastic cases to keep your banana unbruised.  I could write five full pages about all the strange stuff before even mentioning the Ice Cream Museum, the English malapropisms on the T-shirts (I heart my coquetry) and the capsule hotel we stayed in that made me feel stuck in a Stanley Kubrick movie. 

Oh yeah, and the food is unbelievable.  Although it’s been a challenge (one I’m not winning) to find macro staples like brown rice, Japan is exploding with food; ramen, sushi, soba , tempura, yakitori, and take-away bento boxes are all available everywhere.  Every train station is full of places to eat, every department store also laden with good restaurants.  We haven’t even touched the high-end places because they’re not within our budgets, but there has not yet been one unforgettable meal.  Even convenience stores carry rice balls and side dishes like hijiki.  Yes, it’s white rice and the hijiki probably has sugar in it, but it’s all there.  And if you’re a dessert person, this is the country for you.  In the basement of many department stores are basically what we could call food courts but the similarity ends there–I’m talking ACRES devoted solely to sweets:  Jellies, dumplings, cookies, cakes, candies and other cavity-making delights, all presented like fine works of art .  There’s even green tea chocolate painted with gold.  Oh my. 

But none of that will give you a real sense of Japan.  I think it needs to be experienced, because it is Japan’s vibe which is truly lovely.  It is one of the most un-frenetic places I have ever been–massive throngs of people and high-pitched salespeople yelling “irashymasay” notwithstanding.  Every time Emily and I stood on a street corner staring cluelessly at our map, a stranger would arrive and ask if he or she could help us.  But more than that, the stranger would make sure we found our destination; there was a certain pride mixed with kindness in the gesture. 

At a traditional hotel in Kyoto, we were treated like princesses, served a fourteen-course dinner in our robes and footie socks by a lovely kimono-clad woman. I then went downstairs for a bath in a big cedar box, which spilled onto the cedar-slat floor exactly the amount of water my body displaced.  The sound of the warm water rushing over the side was both a sensory pleasure and a symbol of the abundance I was experiencing.  As if the bath itself was saying “your cup runneth over”.  It was a soul-expanding moment of luxury. 

Japan is full of those moments.  In fact, it’s all about them.  Every thing, every experience, every interaction, is designed to be beautiful.  Attention is paid to every detail.  Nothing is Japan is done without a refined consciousness that I imagine was cultivated originally in the exquisite temples of Kyoto… where the wind whistles over the tatami mats… surrounded by natural temples of bamboo… ahhh.

It is a country that still honors its craftspeople and their wares.  In a Kyoto department store, one whole floor was devoted to a recent celebration of local artisans; devoted laquer artists, leather workers, umbrella-makers, glass-blowers,  brush-makers, basket-weavers, print-makers, statuary sculptors… you name it, they were there, doing their thing.  And this not at some crafts fair, out in an abandoned parking lot.  It was taking place on the top floor of a high-end department store.  It seems the Japanese respect beauty and the work that goes into creating it.

Frankly, it makes the rest of us look like boors. 

But before I apply to emigrate, I must remember what George Ohsawa said: “Everything that has a front has a back”.  And of course, after only 14 days here, I am seeing Japan’s front; I am a visitor, who speaks no Japanese, so my impressions are relatively superficial. I don’t pretend to even think that I have touched upon anything but an initial layer; every culture has its complexities, its texture, and its contradictions. I am sure Japan has depths and quirks I will never get to know. But for right now I feel like a kid who has discovered a gem the size of my fist—no wait–my head,and I am truly dazzled by its sparkling facets.

Arigato

P.S. It's taking too long to upload all the pictures… I will fill them in when I get back to the States.  Damn Japanese wi-fi!  I guess nothing is perfect. 

I know.  JAPAN!!

I guess I never thought I would actually get here… it's funny how we carry around whole worlds in our heads–our future, goals, prejudices, fantasies–and then we get confronted by reality.  And reality is always SOOO different from these cities in our minds.  Different color.  Different feeling.  Different everything. 

First, let me say, I'm loving it here.  Even though Tokyo was hotter than hell, and moved at a ridiculous speed, there is a strange peace within it all.  It seems like there is a poise in the Japanese character that is inherently soothing.  It lets you relax.  It makes me realize that, in North America, many of us wear our personalities on our sleeves, pushing pushing pushing our "selves" into the public domain, dirtying up the collective with our ego pollution.  Japan is quieter than that.  You don't hear loud conversations on the subway.  You don't even hear cell phone calls–they're not acceptable.  Everyone basically keeps to themselves, whether that means playing a game on their phone or sleeping on the train, they are just a quieter, more polite crew. 

I'm old enough to appreciate that.  Maybe we should all spend our twenties in New York, and our sixties in Sapporo. 

I feel like a slob here.  EVERYONE dresses like they care.  It's strange–there doesn't seem to be one pervasive style (although "cute"–"ka waii" in Japanese–is a very big word here) but no one gets up in the morning and just throws on a layer of clothing mindlessly.  Like some redheaded macrobiotic bloggers do.  Everyone seems to have made conscious choices, whether it's the salary men in their suits, or the "rebel" setting his perfectly tousled hair, or the woman in the kimono, there is a certain yang committment to every choice .   

I've eaten some good food.  Not just the Japanese fare–excellent ramen, killer sushi–but I've been to a couple of macrobiotic restaurants that left me singing with joy.  There's nothing like a long flight, bad jetlag and 95 degree heat to make me appreciate the power of healthy food. 

We are now in Hokkaido, the big island to the Northeast of the main island.  We caught this evening's sunset from a huge ferris wheel.  Which happened to be on the roof of a department store.  A department store that included a bowling alley.  

I would post photos but my computer doesn't seem to want to do that right now. 

More to come… 

I just don’t understand Strawberry People .  I just don’t.  I don’t GET wanting to eat a berry that makes me feel like I’m French kissing a cat .  Call me crazy.

This time of year is so hard.  My beloved raspberries  come out to play and I am once again reminded of just how deeply and purely I love them.  And then my ugly prejudice against Strawberries rears its head . 

I can’t help it.  Strawberries get soooo much attention.  We’re just expected to love them, without question. Strawberries dominate the berry world like an arrogant, strutting bully.  Dare I suggest we live in a veritable Strawarchy? The dominant ideology of our culture is inherently pro-Strawberry and yet this discourse is rarely challenged.  So here goes:

Strawberries are the anti-Raspberry!  Whereas seeds cover the outside of the Straw, they are neatly and modestly tucked away inside the sexy, juicy bulbs of the Raz.  Whereas the Straws are firm and dry, a lovely Raz is soft and fuzzy.  Where Straws have this woody, white interior, the elegant Raz is brilliantly empty like Nature’s cute little thimble .  Just the right size to fit the tip of one’s tongue .  HOW CAN YOU GET BETTER THAN THAT???

I know this isn’t cool. Or PC.  I know it’s not all balanced and macrobiotic, in which the thinking is to accept BOTH, as the yin and yang to one another.  BUT I JUST CAN’T.  Strawberries are… wrong.  There.  I said it.  And the people who eat prefer them to my precious raspberry should be put in Strawberry Jails.  Guarded by thousands of Strawberry Shortcake dolls  .  And a lifetime supply of strawberry-flavored lip balm .   And their cell mate?  That’s right. … Darryl Strawberry. 

Teehee.  When I pull my tongue out of my cheek, I will stick it in a… you guessed it… raspberry.

My advice to my fellow Raspberry People is to do the following.  Place half a cup of our ripe loved ones in a bowl.  Add a tiny pinch of salt.  Massage until about most of the berries become mushy (you need to get to the Raz juice to really enjoy the Raz).  Add 1 teaspoon of brown rice syrup and stir it in thoroughly.  Raise a spoonful to your nose… mmm… close your eyes… place this bright red nectar-of-the-Gods in your mouth and enjoy your inherently superior taste. 

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When I was a kid, being curious  was the gold standard in my father’s house.  "He’s a nice guy, but he’s just not… curious" my Dad would say, about my, or a sister’s, prospective boyfriend.   That was the kiss of death.  He could be ugly, unemployed, a fascist… but lacking curiosity??? A dealbreaker.  

I would always sit there, listening to this complaint about others and felt I should quietly stick up my index finger and interrupt: "Um… excuse me… I’m not exactly CURIOUS myself."  But of course, I didn’t do that.  I feared expulsion from The Curious Family.  But I KNEW that I was not willing to haul myself up from the TV  to the reference library just a block away from my house  to get answers to any questions bobbing like apples in my head.  I wasn’t going to seek out some obscure text book  to satisfy some mental itch.  I mean, this was the 70s .  You had to put a little elbow-grease into information-gathering back then.  I was perfectly satisfied to build my mental world given the information afforded me by ABC, CBS and NBC .  I just didn’t go around bragging about it.

But you see, these days, with the internet, I’ve come to realize the truth.  I AM CURIOUS!!  I AM A FULLY-FLEDGED MEMBER OF THE CURIOUS FAMILY!!  I BELONG!!!!  I mean, I will leap up in the middle of a dinner party (mine, not someone elses–that’s rude) and google a factoid we’re all slobbering after.  I routinely hide my iphone under the table during a meeting to find out how old Ben Affleck is .  I can’t go to sleep at night until I know where Micronesia is .  I CARE ABOUT THESE THINGS.   And these days, all my little mental itches get scratched!   HEY DAD, I AM FREAKIN’ CURIOUS!!!

So I guess I judged myself wrongly all these years.  I was brimming over with curiosity! 

I was just lazy . 

I say all this because I’m blogging today about my friend Neil’s dog-training classes on DailyOM.  They’re called "How to Speak so Your Dog will Listen".  I’ve written about Neil before and I really believe very deeply in what he does.  It’s like macrobiotic thinking applied to dogs!  And as I was giving this post a title, I thought "I wonder where the term ‘dog days of summer’ comes from?"

Why?  Because I’m… that’s right… CURIOUS. 

And not only did I learn that we are smack dab in the middle of said "Dog Days" right now, but that they are called that because the brightest star of the Constellation Canis Major (Big Dog) , which is called Sirius (not the radio) is up to something a little tricky… get this:

"In the summer, Sirius, the ‘dog star’, rises and sets with the sun.  During late July Sirius is in conjunction with the sun, and the ancients believed that its heat added to the heat of the sun, creating a stretch of hot and sultry weather.  They named this period of time, from 20 days before the conjunction to 20 days after, ‘dog day’ after the dog star. (from http://wilstar.com/dogdays.htm).

As Paris Hilton , who often carries a dog in her purse, would say:  Hot. 

Check out Neil’s classes at DailyOM and enjoy these Dog Days. 

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Every year, around this time, a bunch of macro freeeeeeeeks get together to talk shop.  15 years ago it was in Vermont , at Green Mountain College in a little town called Poultney.  There was a big ole tire swing that dunked hot macros in a cool swimming hole.  There was bulghur wheat and fruit spritzers  and talk talk talk about brown rice and beans and vegetables. 

The conference has moved around a bit in the last few years, but it’s finally settled in Palisades, New York at a lovely conference center  which actually has AIR CONDITIONING , which anyone on the East Coast will appreciate right about now.  I know it’s not the most environmentally friendly thing to flaunt, but there ain’t no swimming hole… although there are lovely views and walks, and the bulghur’s still good and the spritzers are cold and the beds are much comfier  and the talk talk talk has remained the same as always; mind-blowing, inspirational and life-changing.  I took my friend Hiram this year and he’s still buzzing from it.   

It’s a stellar macro line-up this year:  Tom Monte , Martha Cottrell, David Briscoe, Christina Pirello , Lino Stanchich, Ed Esko, Denny Waxman, and Michio Kushi himself .  The Big Kahuna.  And that’s just naming a few.  

I will be teaching Healing with Hypnosis and a Macro BBQ Cooking class.  It’s not too late to join: It starts July 22nd. Click here to register. 

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I had some friends over for dinner last night and served two of my favorite dishes–Mock Tuna and Quinoa Salad with Hazelnuts. They’re both from The Hip Chick’s Guide (although one I stole–with permission–from Christina!) so if you’ve made them ten thousands times, forgive me.  If you have not, now’s the time to throw a dinner party and serves these summer lovelies:

Mock Tuna 

 No, you’re not making fun of a fish. This recipe is for those of us who had a very intimate relationship with little cans in our cupboards and who miss the idea of opening them regularly. Tuna is very yang and contracting–considered too strong an energy to take in regularly, especially for a woman. Ditto salmon. Macrobiotic recipes generally stick to white-fleshed fish, which are lower in fat and more easily digestible. Therefore, to imitate the sensual pleasure of tuna fish, we use tempeh.

1 8-ounce package tempeh

1 tablespoon umeboshi vinegar

1/3 cup Tofu Mayonnaise (see p.123 or store-bought)

Black pepper to taste

Any spices you desire–cumin, curry, paprika, saffron etc. (optional)

1 celery stalk, diced

1/4 red onion, finely diced

Steam or boil tempeh for 20 minutes to make it more digestible. Break apart with a fork until you get smaller-than-bite-sized pieces. Sprinkle the umeboshi vinegar onto the tempeh, mashing it in with a fork until you get a tuna-fishy saltiness. Mix “mayonnaise”, pepper and any other spices you enjoy. Mash into tempeh. Add vegetables. Serve or refrigerate–it tastes even better the next day.

Makes 4 servings.

Quinoa Salad with Hazelnuts

1/2 medium red onion, sliced fine into half moons

4 radishes, cut fine into half moons

2 Tablespoons each of ume vinegar and brown rice vinegar

1 1/2 cups quinoa

3 cups spring water with 1/4 teaspoon sea salt

2/3 cups hazelnuts

1/4 cup chopped parsley or chopped mint

1/2 cup raisins, washed and drained

Mix the onions and radishes with both vinegars.  Place a plate and weight on top and press for 1 hour to pickle. Wash quinoa thoroughly to remove the bitter saponin on the outside of the grain.  Roast in a dry, heavy-bottom fry pan until dry, stirring constantly until grain begins to turn golden and puff up a little.

Bring water and salt to the boil in a saucepan, stir in quinoa, cover and bring back to the boil.  Turn the flame down low and simmer until all the water is absorbed (about 20-25 minutes). Remove from heat, fluff with a fork, remove from heat and return into a mixing bowl to cool. Wash and roast hazelnuts at 325 degrees until nuts are golden and skins crack and loosen.  Rub the nuts in a dry dishcloth to remove any loose skins. Chop roughly. Mix hazelnuts, quinoa, pickles, herbs and raisins together, including pickling liquid.  Serve garnished with chopped nuts and sprigs of parsley or mint.

Makes 4 servings.

Variation:

Yummy if not yummier. Substitute pearled (polished) barley for quinoa (cooks 2-1 like quinoa in about 30 minutes). Replace hazelnuts with toasted pecans, use dried apricots that have been soaked and chopped instead of raisins, and add fresh chopped dill at the end to replace the parsley or mint. You still use the red onion and radish pressed with the vinegars.

P.S. In the photo, I’ve included an arame dish, a golden beet, and greens with cilantro/mustard/ginger/rice syrup dressing.