Creative Sanctuary

green living

Ginger Water

By Allison

I can easily drink tea all day long, but I like to have some caffeine-free sipping options on hand as well—sparkling water, a chamomile infusion, or ginger water.  Ginger water is new in my kitchen.  I make it by the liter and drink it at room temperature—plain or with a squeeze of lemon juice.  A splash of sparkling water is nice.  For a little sweetness, you could stir in a tablespoon or two of honey before the water cools.

So why ginger water?  It is tasty yet gentle, and I find it to be simultaneously soothing and revitalizing.  I rehydrate with a glass first thing in the morning, and I often have another in the afternoon.  Drinking ginger water helps me to feel healthy, but if it weren’t delicious, I wouldn’t drink it.  It’s my no-sugar ginger lemonade.

 

Inspirations

The Chopra Institute lays out the benefits of ginger here.

If you’re craving something sweeter, I recommend Chocolate and Zucchini’s recipe for ginger lemonade.

 

Ginger Water

Created by on May 5, 2018

More than a recipe, this is a method.  Use a little less or a little more ginger, more or less water.  You could also boil the water and ginger on the stove top for a stronger ginger flavor.  I leave the pitcher of ginger water on the counter during the day and put it in...

Ingredients

  • 3 inch piece of ginger
  • 1 L filtered water

Instructions

  1. Peel ginger with the back of a spoon
  2. Slice ginger and place in large bowl
  3. Bring water to a boil, and pour over ginger
  4. Steep until water has cooled to room temperature, about 45 minutes
  5. Strain through a sieve and pour into pitcher
  6. Drink at room temperature or chilled. Ginger flavor is more pronounced when water is at room temperature.

Lunch Strategy

By Allison

I am more productive and less grumpy when I take the time to orchestrate not sad desk lunches.  Last week I slipped and found myself scrambling in the early afternoons.  I ended up eating unmemorable and somewhat unhealthy food.

This week, I promised myself to do a little better, hence this Indian-inspired meal.  I make no claims to authenticity, but this combo and a few other add-ins will make this week’s lunches livelier and more nourishing.

 

 

Lunch components

Store bought naan bread

Red grapes

Red lentil stew topped with cilantro leaves—I used Mark Bittman’s recipe for Masoor Dal

Brown rice—cooked in the pressure cooker and sprinkled with green onions for color and health

Squares of dark chocolate

Not pictured:  a saag paneer (spinach and cheese dish) microwave meal that will be worked in later in the week

I messed up my kitchen a little bit cooking the rice and the stew.  But clean-up was quick and there will be no morning panic this week!  Also, as much as I enjoy doing everything from scratch, it’s jut not possible when I am busy at work.  I am bring realistic about time and priorities.  This week’s desk lunches will be more balanced and so will I.

 

Inspirations

Not Sad Desk Lunches from Food52

Shisho Delicious’ envy-worthy bento box meals

 

 

 

Embroidery

By Allison

Flea markets are therapeutic.  My eyes do the initial sifting as I make my way down the aisles and through the booths.  When I am drawn to an object—a hand-painted tray, a copper planter, a Limoges teacup—I approach for a closer look.  Where was it made?  What is its story?  Can I make space for this object in my little house?

The visual and tactile experience of an overflowing flea market allows me to move beyond my internal, distracting chatter.  Yesterday, in the company of a friend, this dainty needlepoint purse found me.  The handwork is intricate—much care and concentration went into this old-fashioned piece.  I wonder who made it and who carried it…

Embroidery has long been a form of feminine expression.  My self-taught needlework is precise but sporadic.  Usually, I choose to embroider through language.  Both written and spoken, words form my stitches.  Clean, fumbling, or elegant they lend texture to my creative work.  Pauses are perhaps more important than words.  Spaces of silence, they allow my chains of words to function as thoughts.  At the flea market, I sometimes find myself existing in the spaces between the stitches of everyday life.  The precious pause leads me to small treasures, sharpens my curiosity about their pasts, and inspires me to imagine new places and purposes for them.

Maximizing Summer

By Allison

My little patio garden is bursting.  Each year, I tinker with this square space off my kitchen.  I’ve learned that it’s too sunny for impatiens and that begonias thrive in the morning sun.  Potted herbs always take off, and so each summer I find myself swirling ribbons of basil into gazpacho, stirring mint into lemonade, and topping my green salads with chives.

Yet as much as I cook, I can’t possibly use all the herbs tumbling over the terra cotta pots!  The basil is blended into pesto, frozen in ice cube trays, and then transferred to freezer bags, to be popped out later in the year.  Last summer, I finally started drying sage, mint, thyme, and rosemary.  Why did I not think to do this before?

After snipping the herbs, I bring them inside and give them a good rinse.  I remove and discard all the yellowed or bruised leaves and thoroughly dry the rest. I lay them out on a big plate, and the drying process begins.  In the days that follow, I flip them, shift them, and watch their slow transformation.  As I go about my day, I may sense a hint of mint in the air; sometimes I’ll notice the sage leaves begin to curl.  I honor the humble beauty of a patio garden by preparing herbs for colder seasons.  I waste less of summer’s goodness.  And perhaps most unexpectedly, the weeks of herb drying become a meditative experience for me—one that requires focus, attentiveness, and care.

Each herb dries in its own time. As they are ready, I gently nestle them into the glass jars I’ve set aside and labeled.  Months later, I will reach for them to season a pot of lentils or bundle them into a bouquet garni.  These moments will bring me back to the summer fullness of my lively little patio and to the slow beauty of watching herbs dry.