Blueberry Corn Muffins

Summery, fresh blueberry corn muffins- gluten-free.

August is fast approaching. I am trying not to think about it. I am baking blueberry corn muffins. Denial ain't just a river in Egypt. Or so I'm told. I am constructing my best defense to put off thinking about hauling our ocean-loving selves back to the dusty stoic hills of Ojo Caliente- 913 miles away from my sons, 915 miles from the sea.

Anyone out there want to buy a charming casita with mesa sunset views? Two kiva fireplaces. Saltillo tile floors. Vigas. All the rustic Southwest vibe you could ask for. Price reduced (thrice). To less than what we paid for it.

I don't pretend to understand the bigger picture, the honking beast of our lumbering economy. I'm no good at math- even when the economy is not melting down, humming along to its own sweet tune, nevermind comprehending the intricate ins and outs and ups and downs of depression economics and the breathtaking depths of Wall Street greed and extra sensitive interest rates that pout and pose and tease like strippers sending brokers into sweating Xanax popping frenzy. Not to mention, I cannot wrap my poetic visual brain around those epic taxpayer funded Wall Street buy-outs.

I'm an artist. I have always lived by the seat of my pants, without health insurance, without an IRA. I don't live by a plan. I live by intuition. Inspiration. I play with paint (not a skill valued by many people in our big screen spectacle loving culture). So I probably shouldn't have become a home owner. It was probably my fault. I should have known better. I've learned my lesson. I'm letting go. I'm saying no to mortgages. For now.

And I'm baking muffins.

I'm trying to practice my best Zen-Lebowski detachment (the waves help). And yeah. We still have three weeks. Miracles happen.

As always?

I'm hoping for the best.

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Vegetarian Puttanesca for Two

Easy pasta putanesca- gluten-free with rice spaghetti.

Oh, you paint, too? is the faint, flat interest we get, we artist's wives who paint. Inevitably followed by, Isn't that difficult? In fact, I assure them, it couldn't be easier. (Try being married to a real estate agent who sprays Sun-In in his hair, I want to say, but don't.)

The scene is my husband's art opening and I play my role with decorum, clutching my plastic cup of Australian Chardonnay.

Do you compete? Darling, this question says a lot more about you than than me. No, I always answer, trying not to audibly sigh. We mutually admire. Then comes the big one. The favorite question.

Does he influence your work? (The subtext being, of course, he is the man, after all.)

I influence his, I answer, slugging down the last warm drop of wine. They will smile their awkward smile at this and wobble toward the grapes and brie. The word tedious comes to mind.

I catch my husband looking at me through the peanut nibbling crowd. He raises an ironic eyebrow. I laugh. A sparkled perfumed woman leans in to him for a kiss on the cheek. He is polite. I will tell him later he smells like Bloomingdale’s.

At home he will make me an ice cold vodka martini. We will kick off our shoes and eat spaghetti to Chet Baker. So what's on your agenda for tomorrow? he will ask. Maybe painting, I will say with a yawn. Or blogging. I'm not just an Artist's Wife, you know. 

Nope, he always says. You're the cutest girl ever.

Yeah, I remind him, You're lucky I'm a new-school feminist.

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Quinoa Salad with Yellow Tomatoes, Kalamata Olives, Basil + Mint

A light and easy quinoa salad recipe with mint.

I've written about quinoa more than once, so I doubt, Dear Reader, you need me to list all the pro-quinoa reasons why you should try this gluten-free faux grain. You already know it's high in protein. You know how easy it is to cook. You are well aware that quinoa works as a salad- warm or cold- or as stuffing for big juicy mushrooms or rather unconventional stuffed cabbage rolls that might cause your Bubbe to sit up straight in her chair and say, Oy, have I never heard of such a thing! Where do you get these ideas, Shayna Punim?

So I'm not going to wax all educational on ya.

I'd rather wax philosophical. I haven't felt practical. Or pragmatic. Truth is, I sold off furniture to be here. To get out. It's been a long, dry three years in the desert, and living here in Santa Monica is like living inside an intricate dream. The edges here are soft. The colors are gauzy with the salt air. We walk the winding path in Palisades Park at dusk and pass by strangers who meet our eyes and smile- ever so slightly.

As if we share a secret.

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Egg-Free Olive Oil Mayo

How to make an egg-free olive oil mayo.

One truth about myself that I'm learning- more and more- is it's the little things in life that stick.

It's the small moments I remember instead of the big ones, the quiet tender gesture rather than grandiose theatrics designed to make you swoon. Big and blown out- for me- simply fizzles and dissipates. There are gaps in my memory that reveal this proclivity to live off to the side, observing the small and overlooked, wondering what all the mainstream fuss is about. So much of what parades by as important strikes me as a lot of loud and self conscious whistling in the dark.

I prefer and savor the simple pleasures in life. Hot water and soap. Holding hands. Opening a new book. The unlauded bite of a new recipe that works- especially if you missed a certain taste- a condiment taken for granted, a spoonful most Americans plop onto their turkey sandwich, or stir into crab cakes, potato or tuna salad with no more thought or effort than simply reaching into the fridge and opening a jar.

Yes, I'm talking about mayo.

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Quinoa Muffins with Pecans

High protein quinoa flakes make this gluten-free muffin yum.

Not since my Quinoa Breakfast Cake recipe have I enjoyed a morning treat more. I am seriously digging these cute little quinoa beauties. I started out imagining a quinoa breakfast bar, an easy to-go treat that might fuel my morning walks on the beach (I've been walking three miles almost every day- which is a minor miracle, for those of you who remember the trippy Richard Gere incident). I wrote up a recipe I thought might create a higher protein snacking bar I could munch with my mug of Irish Breakfast Tea as I browse, bleary-eyed and yawning through the morning chirps over at Twitter.

But it became apparent rather quickly this batter was born to be muffins. I could just tell. It had that perfect stretchy je ne sais quoi that I knew deep down in my private tiny girl heart would urge the dark chocolate studded dollops of earthy quinoa goodness to rise into tender golden domes like champs.

So I followed my intuition and switched gears and veered into Muffin Land.

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Gluten-Free Dark Chocolate Chunk Cookies

Gluten-free chocolate chip cookies with chunks of dark chocolate.

My Ode to Cookies

Quick question. Which camp are you in? The You Can Never Have Too Many Cookie Recipes camp- or the Enough with All the Cookie Recipes contingent? You already know which faction I belong to. I don't even have to say it. In fact, I might even rename my culinary caucus. Something like, You Could Never In a Million Spectacular Carbon Infused Star Struck Years Have Too Many Cookie Recipes, Goddess Forbid.

Why all the cookie love? Life is short, number one. And just because I have celiac disease doesn't mean I surrender to a life without chocolate chip cookies and coffee laced cookies and mint chocolate chip cookies. I'm not giving up on warm-from-the-oven melty chocolate goodness. I'm most definitely not settling for any month old pre-packaged gluten-free poor excuse for a cookie. No way. Not gonna happen.

Because a good cookie is no small thing.

A good cookie can make you smile, even after a long, achingly crappy day. A good cookie might even bring you a kiss. Or little arms of appreciation wrapped around your neck. A good cookie might make you a new friend. Or prove to the class that you're not a total, allergic freak living on weirdo food that you have to feel sorry for and throw bread balls at.

A good cookie can make you feel like you belong.

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Blueberry-Strawberry Cobbler

A vegan berry cobbler. Two berries are better than one.

Baking at sea level- in an unfamiliar oven- has been a challenge that has humbled your intrepid gluten-shunning goddess at large. My mojo is askew. All my old tricks and tweaks for high altitude baking are no longer required. It's like losing a third of your favorite play list. Or half your shoes. All the left ones. I have to realign my route. I must toss out all my assumptions (a favorite mid-life goal, anyway, so I may as well practice it).

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