Life is Like a BOWL of Chocolate

A few weeks ago I was preparing some chocolate confections for a craft fair happening in the community. Since I work with chocolate semi-frequently, chocolate and I have come to understand one another to a degree. Chocolate is pretty temperamental (kind of like me, actually) so when it comes to a meltdown (literally), I have to keep a watchful eye. However this last time, I made a mistake that cost me a batch of what could have been sweet sustenance. 

In an effort to multitask, I walked away from my bowl of chocolate while it was melting. I wasn't stirring it constantly. I wasn't keeping it on a low heat setting. I wasn't even looking at it. Until... I returned and saw a scorched mess of sugary mass unfit for even the most desperate chocolate addict. It was ruined and I had to start all over again. In hopes to get more things done, I ended up being unfocused and wasteful.

And God spoke to me.

I thought about this chocolatey situation in light of life. We all have so many gifts, skills and passions. I believe we are called to use those to the best of our ability. But sometimes we find that we spread ourselves a little too thin... doing too much... multi-tasking... "getting more done". All these things are good things... but sometimes it's just best to say "no". Deep down, I struggle with letting jobs go 'cause for some strange reason I think that if I'm not the one to do it, I will have let someone down or the task simply won't get done. Or worse!! I think I'm the one that is capable of doing it the best, so why wouldn't I just do it?! The truth is, there are many people in this world way better than all of us. Taking on another task doesn't do anyone any good. We're stifling another's gift and clouding our own vision all at the same time. Bad, bad, bad!!

As this year comes to a close, I want to release this way of being. I want to focus on what needs to be focused on for me. I want to dedicate myself to the bowl of chocolate and make it the very best it can be. While I am a proponent of getting down to business and maximizing time... I am coming to see that working linearly, in a sense, can be more fruitful. So here's to 2012! May we take inventory of ourselves and grow & grow in the gifts knit within our being.

Oh and the end of my chocolate story goes like this...

(My choco-love booth at The Holiday Boutique)

I learned from my mistake that day, and the second time around the chocolate turned out perfectly melted. I stayed focused, even though it meant getting rid of some other components of my sugary confections. To be quite honest, I didn't need the other fluffy stuff. The lack of bells and whistles made my sweet treats shine more... the way chocolate was meant to be!

Let's grab hold of 2012 and shine like perfectly tempered chocolate. It's possible. We've got the Master Chocolatier working on us.

No American January

I never knew January 2011 in America. But that's okay... because... I was on the other side of the world!! A year ago I boarded a plane and headed to South Korea.

I was part of a team of Portlanders, a Californian, an East Coaster and a Illinoisan and we were commissioned to teach English to elementary and middle school students during winter English camps. It was a time of stretching and growth. Of breaking and bonding. And it was a fitting way to start this year of thoughtful transience.

We had a number of duties during our time abroad, including...



Yes, this happened and it was a pleasant surprise to be on a team that was capable of such a harmonious blend. What are the chances?

During my time in So Ko... I experienced a reunion (with a family who hosted me in 2007 in a town a few hours from where I was this time), sickness (for a few weeks... of all sorts... and I'll leave it at that! It was gross), encouragement, opportunities & obstacles. It was such a beautiful thing and I am forever grateful for the chance to have done this with such a great group of people.

One of the highlights was learning from the people on my team. Each person brought  a necessary element to our purpose. The group couldn't have been better.  I came home challenged and inspired.

Mary, Mary Quite Contrary

During this time of year I can't help but think about Mary... you know, Mary the mother of Jesus! I know every parent thinks their child is perfect... but to be the mother of the Son of God?! I wonder what it must have felt like.

Of course pregnancy is not something I am familiar with, but neither was Mary before that angel of the Lord shared some special news with her. It's funny, 'cause it's usually the other way around. The mother is typically the one that makes that announcement. But hey, there's nothing traditional of how this all went down!

I'm sure she felt opposing emotions. She might have had a mix of being excited/scared/proud/doubtful/ready to party/worried and every other emotion in between.

I was talking to one of my sisters about this yesterday. If that same thing happened in our time, I don't think I'd believe Mary when she told me she was pregnant without... you know. I just wouldn't believe her! I'd be like "Mmm hmmm... sure. God made you pregnant. 'Cause He does that all the time right Mary girl?? It's okay. God will forgive you and make this situation work out for His plan." My pride and my holier-than-thou mentality would be in full force. When all the while it's His plan from the start!! Well, shame on me! How dare I think I know better than God's way!?

But thank the Lord for grace. His grace and mercy can be seen all throughout this story. And it's beautiful. Still I can't help but place myself in Mary's thought life. She was carrying more than just her baby... she was carrying the baby. The One that the world had been waiting for. The One that would change the entire world and bring redemption. Perhaps she was thinking...

Why am I so afraid? How can I doubt the Name?
I feel You in me, though with my eyes I can't see...

The promise through the years, grace and mercy now are here

This love is growing more. Each day I trust You, my Lord.
You're the King of the world... the Rock of ages.
You're the One, the Messiah, Savior of all.
Love come down as a babe, born blameless and perfect
Forever remain my glorious God most high!

The doubt, fear, excitement and joy that Mary felt... I believe we may feel to a degree. Each day we must trust that what we go through is for a greater purpose. And while we have moments of worry, we know that love has come and because of it... we are saved! Though Jesus came down to earth as a babe, He has been and always will be our God most high. Let's celebrate love come down!

Mai Ka

Once upon a time I had a mighty grape of a car. Her name was Carl. Carl the Car. She was the sweetest drop of purple rain I've ever driven. She was the car I received as a high schooler and she lasted me a little over eight years. She was a faithful ride, quirks & all. But alas, our time together is no more...

The day she died, that fateful December day exactly a year ago, I was on my way to a Soup & Bread Fest with friends (with my West African Peanut Soup in tow... see previous post to understand my affections for this soup). I was at a stop sign and right as I lifted my foot from the brake the transmission went out. Forever. But for some odd reason, I felt okay. I think I just knew it was a long time coming... and I didn't cry. I merely sat there... stuck at a fourway stop... cars honking at me... and I wasn't upset. The time had come. So after the initial shock, and a couple dudes coming to my window and asking me what my dealio was, we got moving. They helped push my car to a more convenient location and I carried on with my night. A friend picked me up and I brought my pot of love to join the others for the wintery festivities.

(This is Carl the day after she died, I raided her of all the trinkets and toys I had stored in her over the years. This is where she died and this is where she remained... until the tow truck took her to a better place)

Now, I'm not saying it was a fun experience to lose Carl. Not at all. I did have my moment of tears in the days to come. But at the very moment she died, I felt a sense of peace. Is that weird? Perhaps. But you see my life with Carl was a thing of the past. No, I never dealt drugs or transported illegal weapons in her. She was a rather good car... very fitting for me. She was purple for crying out loud! But just 'cause something is good for a season doesn't mean it's meant for you for forever. Saying goodbye to Carl was almost like in The Lion King when Rafiki looked at the grown up picture of Simba and declared "It is time!". When Carl died, it was like Rafiki painted a mane on the lion cub-ishness of my transportation and told me to move on.

Sometimes, I feel like we wait for things to be in order before we're ready to move on. But I think there are times when we just need to let go before we can even have a glimpse of what is to come. And when that new thing comes, I can guarantee you it's not going to be a bed of roses forever and always. Let's get back to the story of my transport (or lack there of at this point in the plot line)...

When Carl died, I knew I had to find a replacement. However a couple weeks after all this happening, I ended up in South Korea for a month, which was actually a nice break from the stress of searching. But of course the moment I returned, the search was back on... full force. Tears and all. I can be extremely a little dramatic at times, so when I was having a difficult time finding a new car... I was less than fun to be around in my "moments". Until one day...

I got a call about a silver little cutie pie of a car that fit my requirements. I saw her, and decided she was mine. So I named her "Mai Ka" (like a mix between the name "Micah" 'cause I've always liked that name, and when someone says "hey, that's my caaaa!!")

Now the relationship between me and Mai Ka hasn't been smooth sailing by any means, but it works. And while I could do without all of the speed bumps we've faced together, she's what I need for this time of my life. I couldn't have predicted that I'd meet Mai Ka at the time I did, and I couldn't have foreseen the immediate struggle we'd go through (we've had several accidents in the short time we've been together), but somehow this addition of Mai Ka in my life came right when I needed her most and she's still here.

How long will Mai Ka & I be driving buddies? I can't say for sure... but I am learning that seasons are just that. A season... so I will embrace Mai Ka for this season, however long it may last and together we'll ride like the wind!!

Let It Simma'

Have you ever looked at a recipe that sounds delightful right up until the step that says something along the lines of "continue to cook, stirring frequently"? I do everything in my power to avoid such a step in the cooking process. I will conduct an intense google search to find a good alternative. But the truth is, there's only one way that leads to a delicious dulce de leche, silky smooth pudding or luxuriously thick béchamel. And that way, my friends, is the way of the simmer.

When I make lemon curd, I stand by the stove (whisk in hand) for quite a while before it's just right. And by just right, I mean spreadablely thick with just the right amount of temptressness to make you want to eat it straight from the container.

(I didn't make this, but I want to eat it right now)

But for every success, I've had many a failure. I've had plenty of experience making lemon curd where it's turned out absolutely wrong. I've taken it off the heat too soon and it's super soupy. I've resisted the constant stirring and it ends up a big ol' lumpy loo. Or worse... burnt bits sprinkled throughout! Yea, gross! I've turned up the heat to speed things along, only to create an unidentifiable flubbery object. I've cooked it too long and it becomes like paste. And lemon paste belongs on a child's church craft, not in a fruit tart. See the difference? It's gotz ta simma', yo.

How often do we rush the simmer of our lives? There's a grand richness added to us when we go through the heat of life with constant stirring. It's not something we can or should avoid. It's a part of life. Now, I'm not saying it's the most comfortable situation to be in. Goodness, I would much rather just be chilling in the chocolate-drawer than be cooking away for who knows how long! But the result of this process is worth it. Simmering gives substance to what was once watery and unappetizing. It takes time... it takes patience.

So when you're (and I'm talking to me too!) going through the fire, remember it's going to be alright. And in the end, you'll be even better than the center of a cream puff!

Bakesta Fo' Life

It's no secret that I love to bake. The holidays bring out the baked goods in me to the millionth degree. Not only do I enjoy sharing love on a plate, but I love the art of baking. Flavor combos, food composition, garnishes, there is just so much creativity involved and it's so fun! Baking is also one of my muses, from which I learn many lessons and draw upon for inspiration.

After a long weekend of baking and chocolatizing, I don't have many more words to type about the matter, so I'll simply leave you with this... (which, I do believe, expresses my sentiments rather well)

Grooving with The Groves

It was a cold, blustery night in Portland exactly one year ago. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground, which threatened my dinner plans because of the little grape of a Dodge Neon I was driving... but I made it. Over the river and through the 'burbs to the southeast side I went for a pho-licious dinner with a new(ish) friend.

Before I continue, I'd like to take a moment to back up and give you some history. For the sake of brevity (and trust me, this could be WAY longer), I'll limit it to bullet points. Paragraphical bullet points... and I promise they eventually tie together.

• In 2008, I met the above dinner date friend (Sunia) and her husband (Paul) on recommendation of another friend (Lori, who I am sure will be highlighted in blogs to come). My previous knowledge about them was 1) They were musicians 2) They came to Portland from the midwest to plant a church and 3) I'd really like them. It was kind of like a first date in the sense that you're trying to get to know the person in a very limited amount of time and all the while wonder if that other person likes you.
• Also in 2008, I started getting involved with a Portland community Bible study. (the same community group that led me to baking my first wedding cake, holla!)
• Fast forward to the very end of 2009. God started stirring things in my heart (as He does quite often). This time it was a sense of major change... and as you might have read from a previous post, I hate change. Especially change in a lifelong thing, like the place I attend church. I had been attending the same wonderful place my whole life, and while it's no big thing for a lot of people... it IS a big thing for me. It's hard to understand why a good thing needs to come to an end... and it would take an act of God to move me. So while it was uncomfortable, I started visiting other churches once every six weeks or so in hopes that God would show me the way. It kind of felt like going to the doctor. I didn't really enjoy it, but I knew it was the right thing for me to do.
• 2010 rolls around and as a result of my community group, I decide to organize a coffee shop concert in March to raise funds for Convoy of Hope's relief efforts in Haiti... appropriately entitled Hope for Haiti. I found a mix of local musicians, including (wait for it...) Paul & Sunia! They, along with two other musicians from the church they had planted, graced the shop with skillfully crafted tunes of hope, love & justice. I liked them. A lot... but from afar.
• Fast forward to the end of the summer, and I got a facebook message. (You were waiting to see how long it would take for me to start name dropping social network sites, huh?) It was from Sunia and she was asking me how I felt about putting together another benefit concert, this time for Pakistan. We called it Portland for Pakistan (I like alliteration, don't judge me) and set it for October. I was intrigued by this and decided I was interested in these people.
• Labor Day rolls around and of course that means BBQ time! Lo & behold my worlds collide and my Bible study people fuse with the people from this church plant (as a few of the Bible studiers overlapped with the church). I had a good convo with Paul about the church and what they were all about. I'm not sure if he knew I was secretly interviewing him. Heck, I don't know if I knew I was secretly interviewing him! After that I decided it was high time I checked these people out.
• So began my church dating relationship. We (me and the church) would "see each other" every three weeks or so. I was totally crushing but never would admit it. Come on now, I'm a lady! Plus, like I said, it would take a big thing for me to make a real commitment. I would bring friends with me every once in a while too to get their opinion (I guess you could equate it to having friends meet a boyfriend in hopes that they'll give you insight on whether he's a keeper or not). While people gave me the green light, I still wasn't convinced. And I guess that's okay. This is just how I am. My prayer life regarding this matter often would include questions like "God, I know You're moving me somewhere. Where?!" Aside from when I visited the Sunday service, I feel like I often would run into the church peeps at events & celebrations. Until one day, Sunia suggested we actually hang out. This brings me back to the beginning of this post... (goodbye, bullet points!)

We sat there slurping away and sharing bits about one another, vision, purpose, Portland, Jesus and how it all meshes... and stuff. Halfway through our dinner, Sunia said something to me. Something she promises she'd never said before. "I want to you pray & consider being a part of our church community". I am pretty sure I didn't really have much of a response, because I like to try and keep my thoughts and emotions at a simmer. But something sparked in me. Later that night and in the weeks to come I prayed harder and considered what was spoken so blatantly. I'd ask God "That's so strange! Why would she say that?" or "Can you believe that? God, that's so weird!" and I almost feel like God was looking back at me with eyebrows raised, like "Child, please. Are you serious?". But thank God for His patience and grace. If I were God, I'd have slapped my face. But He worked with my timing issues. He spoke sweetly to my soul and surrounded me with the right people to help a sista' out.

All that to say, I go to a church called The Groves. This post isn't even the "why" it's the "how", and seriously... even if I'm the only one, I'm amazed. Because it's totally not in my nature to be here. And there's no doubt in my heart and mind that God made this happen. God took randomness and made sense of it. The places I've been and the life I've lived are all a part of where I am today, churchiness and non-churchiness. The church I came from is a beautiful part of the story and where I go will be part of it as well. He took the bullet points of my days, the seemingly disconnected things, and brought them together. He does this with everything in our lives. He takes what we have, what He's given us... He takes what we see and can't see... and weaves it into a lovely little piece of art, which is our lives.

People say "when you know, you know"... and I guess it's not just true for lovers. 'Cause this is church... and while it took a few good God-nudges, I knew. God knew. He has me right where He wants me. He brought me here.

Treasures & Transformation

Change is not something I embrace, to say the least. It's been traced all the way back to me in the womb, as I was two weeks overdue. I mean, really, who naturally wants to leave the comfort and warmth of familiarity? So this way of being has carried through most of my entire existence. When changes come, I hold on for dear life. (I'm sure you'll see this echoed in blogs to come.) And while change isn't what I gravitate towards, I've learned that there are times when I just can't help but move. Why? Well, simply put. Because of God. He guides me... and while it's still tough, it gets easier as I come to grips with the fact that my life, in fact, is not my own. You know what else? Just because we move on from something, doesn't mean that what we left was necessarily a bad thing. It simply means it's time to move on to something different. Holding onto something that needs to be released is kind of like holding onto a banana. It's great at first and serves a purpose... but after a while, it gets rotten.

I wrote the following a year and ten days ago... and little did I know, the next year of life would prove, yet again, that this is truth! I thought it would be appropriate to re-publish it (and then some) on this newly formed bloggeroony.

One Man's Treasure, Another Man's Trash

One man's treasure, another man's trash-- I know, what a negative thing to say! But it's really it's not all that pessimistic, instead it's a matter of pride & perspective. 

Sometimes we cling to things that are kind of worthless. We pull a "Smeagol"... walking around and guarding our own little "precious" and all the while destroying ourselves. Then reality hits. Yes, the God-send of a person (or people) we have in our lives who is not afraid to let us know that our jewel is actually a cigarette butt. 

We hoard things... things that are actually quite useless. I might see a person, possession or situation through the prettiest of all  lenses. In reality, I have no business holding on to even the thought of it. I see a hotdog covered in relish & all the fixings. Blinded by my desperation for something... ANYTHING... I think it's the best thing for me when really there's a fabulous rib eye just beyond that silly little wienie. Why am I holding onto something that has no real value for my life?

OR!! What about this? One man's treasure is another man's treasure. "Whoa!", right? But I should say it more like "one man's "treasure", another man's TREASURE". We all live different lives and because we're human, nothing's perfect. A lot of times we think we've got things figured out only to have our world rocked. Can I get a witness?

We hold onto things that do not belong to us. Sometimes we live vicariously through someone else... whether it's realized or not. Holding onto the thought of something affects everything about us. The moment we look at another and wish their circumstances were ours, we've made their treasure our faux treasure. Do you see the problem? It's not ours! Or perhaps at a point in time, these things used to be our own. I wish I knew why things come and go... good things! God only knows the reason why people and circumstances ever enter the picture of our lives, and we have to be okay with not ever knowing the answer to the ever-haunting "why".

Every plan I made for me is gone in light of Him... Holding tightly onto these things, its worth now fades when I see all that He does. I've had enough of me; I give up. I want this to be my mindset. Giving up control is the first step. Change is something that will happen... voluntarily or not. How we react and proceed will determine the rest. I want to embrace the changes God brings my way and run in such a way that makes Him glow. 

Living in the treasures of yesterday will do us no favors. We've got to move ahead. I've got to move. And as we take those steps towards change, we'll be transformed into something even more beautiful. 

It's hard, but I believe totally possible. 

Oh Crepe!

I've literally had a crepe three weekends in a row. I know! What the crepe?! The first was with two lovely ladies at a yummy creperie on 23rd. The second was with two new friends at the carts at the Saturday market (on Sunday... yea I know, what?). The third was this morning with a sweet peach of a friend at Chez Machin. All three were pretty much a delight!

I mean come on, what's not to love about a crepe?! It's the perfect ratio of starch to filling. And I just love the fillings... oh the possibilities! Savory... sweet... veggie... meat. That rhymed. It's neat how something with the same "shell" can taste so different when the insides are changed up a bit here and there. A dollop of creme fraiche turns it into a luscious treat. A sprinkle of feta takes you to the mediterranean. Really, I could go on... however I'll spare you (but, just know, that in my head I'm still going).

I was pondering the crepe and all it's goodness. And God spoke to me.

If you look at a crepe (pre-filling) they all are the same. They're thin little pancakes made from the simplest ingredients... cooked to perfection by a watchful maker. Now let's just say all plated & filled crepes came unadorned. Well then, in such case they all look the same from a distance. But once you cut into them and take a bite, you see what they're made of. I imagine crepes have the capability of tasting gross too. There are not many foods that I dislike, but what if I filled a crepe with mayonaise, mustard & jam? It might look pretty with all the bright colors happening, but the moment you sink your chompers into that... oh man. And no, this is not an Iron Chef Challenge to see how good you can make those things taste when combined. Just take it for what it is. Here's a hint... it's gross.

I think humans are a lot like crepes. We're born into this creperie of a world. But as we grow, we're each filled with our own unique fillings. We're all walking around, doing our thing, living our lives. We experience things that shape us. Not every situation is in our control, but at the same time our reactions are! These reactions to what we live through produces fruit in us. These are the things that make us either a savory cheese filled wonder, a hearty bite of goodness, a berry sweet treat... or a mayo-mustard jam of disgust. Our "filling" is what gives us our flava'... and we either taste good... or the alternative. But trust me when I say that there is hope for the MMJ crepe out there... 'cause there's always the possibility of doctoring & transforming any mess of ingredients to make it much more palatable!

Yup. We're totally like crepes!

What's In A Name?

It's no secret that my sisters and I have nicknames for one another. Emphasis on the pluralization. There are some nicknames that are used merely a handful of times, and others that are used with quite a bit more frequency. The derivation comes from various sources, whether it's a middle name, a play on a first name, an event, a rhyme, or even a high school crush. The possibilities are endless! I'll give you some real-life examples.

My sister, Shauna, has a plethora of nicknames. In a given sentence I might call her a couple of the names. On a regular basis, I will refer to her as Shauncy... this came from a little preschool boy my mother used to teach Sunday School to a long time ago. Another is Nazanene... a long form of Nazzie, which came from Lazzie, which is the nickname of Shaunc's twin sister... and well, they're twins so matching nicknames are where it's at, right?? Nikko is also a name you'll hear her being called. Where did that come from? I'm not exactly sure. But the unspoken rule with her nicknames is that if starts with an "N" it's usually her nickname.

But more important than a nickname is a person's name name. A name is like a given birthmark... it's  a part of who a person is! Almost like the label that goes on a package.

When I was little, I didn't like my name. I thought it was weird. It was different and I didn't understand its meaning. To a little girl, what does "Of Good Character" mean anyway?! All I knew about the word "character" was associated with Disney or looney toons. I remember wanting a "normal" name like my friends at school. I wanted cool name plates & pencils with my name on it. Plus, it's not the most fun thing in the world when nearly every person you meet can't pronounce your name. Role call at school was pretty much the same year to year. The teacher would go down the list and I always knew when my name was about to be called, because there was a bit of a pause as the poor teacher (who was used to Saras and Joeys) had to attempt this new name. And yes, it carried into college. As I grew older, I got used to it and stopped correcting people. I allowed them to call me whatever interpretation of "Sunita" they could pronounce. It was kind of like a little game... for my entertainment only (I must say, one of my favorites was a guy calling me "Santini"... I'm still confused as to how he ever came to that pronunciation... in such cases, I just smile & nod).

I used to work at a bank, and that was certainly an experience in the name game, especially since I started out at a branch that was in a retirement area. Lots of Ethels & Henrys. However there was a sweet little old woman that would come through the drive through every now and then and make conversation with me. One day she asked me my name. I told her and she asked me to write it on her receipt. I think a month went by and she came through again. At the end of the transaction she handed me this...

I was pretty amazed. First off, because she found something with my name. Second, it had a radical, fresh take on the definition of my name. And thirdly, the verse is seriously something that I need reminders of daily... hourly... minutely. That was about six years ago. And as you can see, I still have it. It's by my bedside.

I don't know that I live up to my name as much as I should. But I do know that God has allowed me to have such a name for a purpose. I hope and pray by His grace that I can do it justice. Thanks to mis padres for giving me a unique name. They actually thought they made it up... and it turns out to be a real name... a real Indian name! I can't believe they did that! I'm the only one in my family with a really Indian name. Isn't that crazy?! Good crazy though.

I don't have kids, but I imagine one day the task of naming my son or daughter will be one of the greatest (and kinda freaky) honors EVER! After all, I'm essentially "branding" my baby!

What's in a name? A lot. Truth. Power. Identity. What does your name mean? And what does it mean to you? Like with products, the brand describes the product... but the product also helps define the brand. Your name not only shapes who you are... but you essentially shape the meaning of your name as well!

That's a big responsibility... a really beautiful one.

I Dream of Wedding Cake

I am a list person. I make lists almost everyday. Sometimes I make multiple lists in a day. I love outlining and planning and most of all checking things off! There's just something so satisfying about placing a check-mark beside an accomplished task. Sometimes I'll even write down something I got done that wasn't originally on my list, and then check it off with added flare, simply 'cause it feels so good!

A few months after the initial shock of turning 25, I decided to make a list of things I wish to do in the next 25 years of my life. The list holds monumental goals (like getting married or something craaaazy like that) as well as more fluid & continual goals (like growing in my artistry & such). One of the things I added to the list was one I envisioned happening in the latter part of my next 25 years. Make a Wedding Cake.

Little did I know, my goal would be reached over the course of my next year... three fold! (side note: I enjoy seeing how a couple's cake reflects them in some way, shape, or form... or taste!)

The first time I was asked, I was pretty amazed. Heck, all three times I was shocked. But the first time was like a punch unaware. A really sweet punch. Like a fruit punch!! It was for a fellow & his fiancee-to-be (for they had not even gotten engaged when I was asked!) in my community that I had grown to love and appreciate very much over the years. It was during my time with this community that my baking really flourished, so it was very fitting that my first wedding cake was for someone within that group. 

Now I don't know how you feel about it, but making a wedding cake is kind of a crazy experience... at least to me. It's not your typical easy-bake-oven-40-minute-stress-coping-mechanism. It's a process. A long one. I am still surprised that I said yes. More often than not, if a task seems even the tiniest bit beyond my capabilities, I treat the offer as though someone's offering me drugs and I just say no. But I think it was a combo of the list I had recently made along with the encouraging community I was surrounded by that compelled me to say yes.

So after hours and days and months of research I decided this puppy needed a trial run. So I had an open house shindig, which I appropriately dubbed "Let's Eat Cake!" I literally invited everyone on my facebook friend list to come over and eat cake. And the people came!! I was only left with a few pieces left, which were consumed by more cake lovers the following day.

("Let's Eat Cake!" Party... Bottom- chocolate peanut butter, Middle- cookies & cream, Top- champagne with raspberry and french butter cream)

Once I had my practice round, I was ready for the real deal. And let me just say that the toughest part about making a cake like this is the transportation. Every bump makes me wince and when I open the box at my destination I hold my breath. This one made it all the way to the coast... thankfully in one piece (well, technically three tiers... but later put together in one piece!)

 (I know it's a ghetto pic, but I really wasn't thinking to take a picture of it until I was already seated far, far away. Champagne cake with raspberry... so festive for a wedding!)

After checking that off my to-do list, I felt pretty good. But then!! Dun, dun, dunnnnn... I was asked again by another friend. This time double the guests. So this baby popped out (along with a sheet cake).

 (My first baking endeavor with foliage... their colors were fun! Plus we used their family's homemade raspberry jam in one of the fillings!)

And while this task was a bit more exhausting, physically... I was so excited to be a part of my friend's celebration in a yummy way!! That's pretty much the only thing that kept me going. And the fact that I couldn't really just show up without the cake. What kind of wedding would that be?!

Just when I thought it was time to hang up my baker's hat, a life long friend married his bodacious bride... and I got to make their cake!! Had you told me as a child that I'd be making the wedding cake for the boy who played Moses in the church musical, I probably would have stared at you and then laughed nervously (like I always did as a shy Indian child... I still do).

(I love the ribbon that the bride chose for this cake! Plus the pumpkin cake & cream cheese filling and dark chocolate mocha filled cakes... yum!)

The gifts & skills we have may not make a whole lot of sense at a given time, but every now and then the desires of our heart paired with our abilities super-align with the life surrounding us and things happen, almost out of the blue. We don't realize what's going on until we're in the thick of it. We take pictures because it's our passion and people smile at our work. We bake 'cause we love it and enjoy sharing it with those we love. We dance because we can't sit still. As long as we're using what we have, I think we're in a good place. You can't move forward unless you're moving to begin with. So move! Use those gifts. Bake that cake! Sing that song! Paint that wall! And when more opps arise, refrain from discrediting yourself immediately... ponder it, and if it sits right with you... DO IT! You never know what will come of it all.

I often joke about "how old" I am, but seriously it's so neat that I was given such an opportunity in the baking realm so early in life. The really cool thing is that I actually said yes and did them. That is a big deal. I'm glad it happened.

I'm super thankful & humbled by it all. Viva los pasteles!!

Fonduemental Lessons

Today I got to spend the afternoon with a couple of the sweet ladies in my life. We started with delightful crepes (that's another blog waiting to happen!) and then ventured to my favorite chocolate cafe for some fondue!

(the dippers: pretzels, marshmallows, shortbread, candied mango & biscotti)

I had won this as a prize for answering correctly in Friday Fondue Trivia... and let me tell you, it was worth every second (times a million) that I dedicated to searching wikipedia for the correct answer to "What is the traditional name for a fondue pot?" (fyi, the answer is "caquelon"). Apparently our chocolate selection for our fondue is both rare and delicate in flavor, not to mention a recent discovery. We were basically eating gold.

I love chocolate. Good chocolate. A couple years ago I made a resolution to never again eat mediocre chocolate. When I eat chocolate... I go for the good stuff, and today was no exception. Fondue is not only a sweet indulgence for the taste buds, but it is the most delightful experience for the soul. There is nothing quite like sitting around a pot of warm chocolate with friends!

Upon further reflection, there are a few life lessons I pulled from today's fondue fun... (just replace "fondue" with "life")

*Fondue with friends is way better than fondue alone. Fondue is meant to be shared.
*Sometimes it's okay to be a little messy (let some chocolate drip here and there every now and then) to experience the fullness of joy that comes from fondue. And tying this in with the above lesson... if fondue is a shared experience, it makes the "messes" so much more bearable!
*Various dippers (pretzels, marshmallows, etc) bring out different facets, notes & strengths of the fondue. It's okay to try different pairings and combos with fondue. We eventually get in the groove and figure out what suits our palate best.
*Sometimes we look at fondue and get so overwhelmed, excited and awed. We might feel a mixture of just wanting to drink it all up combined with not even knowing where to begin. But it's best to take it in slowly, bit by bit rather than spoon by spoon. There's a reason why we have little things to dip into it rather than a ladle to gulp it down with. Rushing a fondue experience is no experience at all.

There you have it. A taste of how I learn from everyday experiences... like a fondue day with the girls!

Comfort By The Bowl

Yesterday evening I polished off my favorite soup... West African Peanut Soup! It was the perfect, warm, hug-your-insides-until-you-smile soup for a rainy, fall day... and it was a contender in our community's comfort food challenge a few days ago. While it didn't take home the grand title of ultimate comfort food (the people at these food challenges can COOK!! See my friend Carissa's award winning recipe for Green Chicken Enchilada Lasagna), I'm certain it will forever remain a go-to for me when it comes to comfort food.

(dear soupy doo, I heart you very much)

What it did earn me was the Storyteller Spirit Award and well... for this reason alone I post this blog. And now, ladies and gents... I give you... my story of comfort (I hope to make you all cry by the end of this post... so grab a tissue)...

Comfort food isn't about getting as much butter into your body as possible... it's about love on a plate. I am a firm believer that food is a love language. It is my love language. So while I appreciate, admire and truly enjoy fine dining, I find that a home-cooked, love-infused meal has the ability to surpass any hundred dollar dinner!

I first became acquainted with West African Peanut Soup a little over a year ago at one of my favorite food places here in Portland. I was on my way to a rehearsal and I wanted something quick and simple. The woman at the register recommended the soup and, being an easy to please eater, I ordered a bowl to go. While waiting for others to arrive to get out music on, I sat in my car and began to eat. I stopped. I stared. I grabbed some focaccia bread and dipped it in for another bite. What. The. Delicious?! I ate a little more and had to stop again. I grabbed my journal, and started to write! Yes, it's true. I wrote a journal entry about soup! I had to. It was just so perfect. I even used the words "comfort food" in my description.

(this is real, people! I wrote about soup... SOUP!!)

After finishing my soup, I went to rehearsal. But I couldn't keep quiet about my dinner... I had to share my souper experience! The following evening I went to a Bible study and ended up talking about this ridiculous soup even more. I couldn't stop thinking about it... it was so delicious to me!

After leaving Bible study, I heard a voice from the depths of my stomach cry out "Make the soup! Make the soup!!" So before making it home, I stopped by the grocery store and grabbed anything and everything that I thought would match the flavor I experienced the evening before. I let my ingredients hang tight for a half a day longer while I went to work (my plan of action simmering in my foodie brain all day, of course). That night, two days after first contact, I created my own interpretation of the best soup ever! Over time it has undergone experimentation and modification and turned into a bowl of perfection.

And, with love, I have prepared and shared my West African Peanut Soup with people I take a strong liking to. It's just too good not to! This pot of love has made its appearance during many an occasion... whether it's a large family holiday fest or a best friend weekend. This soup will always be eaten when I am with the people I love... and I find comfort in that!

All that's left to do is share my recipe (straight from my cookbook and heart) and I will achieve the fullness of joy that only comes from sharing this soup with... the WORLD!!

West African Peanut Soup

Ingredients:
1 onion, chopped
2 clove of garlic, minced
1 tablespoon ginger, minced
2-4 teaspoon cayenne (or however much you can handle)
1 tablespoon pepper
1 carrot, grated
6 roma tomatoes, diced
2 to 3 yams or sweet potatoes
6 to 8 cups vegetable stock (water could work too) 
1/2 cup peanut butter
squeeze of half a lemonsalt to taste
cilantro for garnish 

My Method of Madness:
In a pot, cook onion at medium heat until translucent. Add garlic and ginger and cook until fragrant. Add carrots and peppers. Cook for a few minutes until softened. 

Add tomatoes and let cook down (about five to ten minutes). Add potatoes and stock; bring to a boil and simmer on medium-low for about 20 minutes. Add peanut butter and stir until combined (this really helps thicken the deal).

Continue to simmer over medium-low heat until potatoes are very super soft and it’s creamy & delicious (the longer it cooks, the thicker it gets)… and in this case, thicker = better! Once you've reached desired thickness, take a potato masher and mash away, but leave some chunks for pops of sweetness and texture (this isn't meant to be baby food, but it very well could be!). Stir in some salt and lemon juice to desired taste. 

Ladle into a bowl and top with cilantro (if you want even more creaminess, you can add a dollop of sour cream or yogurt too). Eat & fall in love with West African Peanut Soup.

In the Beginning...

I've never had an easy time deciding on one thing for my life. It's taken a while for me to figure it out, but I'm learning to try my best to use what I have. Otherwise I'll end up in the detrimental state of paralysis by analysis or in another cliche that translates to a standstill. So I do a little this, I do a little that. I sprinkle some of this and scrape off some of that. (you probably should read those last to sentences with a little bounce) And as time progresses, I see and experience the good that comes from moving forward. If things don't work out, at least I am using what I have.

In the latter part of elementary school, I was a part of a cute team that traveled around the state and competed against other teams in tournaments. What kind of tournaments? Bible quiz tournaments. And it was a big deal. We had team shirts, a study manual, and buzzers! That's right! When you knew the right answer, you buzzed in! It was legit. As a team, we'd hop into the travel vans and drive for hours to our destinations on any given Saturday. It was during this time that my introvertedness was shelved and I began to share myself in the best manner I knew possible. Stories!

At the end of the season we had a team party where we were given awards by our adult leaders. People got super fun awards, I'm sure. But the only one I remember (other than mine) was the ring a girl got, signifying the boyfriends she accumulated over the season. I wanted to be that girl. Instead, I was given a Winnie the Pooh book. But this memento went beyond providing entertainment to a girl who had "clearly" outgrown Tigger & Piglet (for the record, I still love me some Pooh). Instead this book came with a clear explanation of my award. Though I no longer have the book, the title of the award has stuck with me, haunted me, and become the very thing I have learned to embrace. The storyteller award.

Yes. I was, and always will be, a storyteller.

So as a preventative measure to talking a person's face off, I've started this bloggeroo. I learn through stories. All stories... my stories... your stories... food stories... song stories... I love stories! (I also love ellipses and I'm trying to cut back. Consider this fair warning) I sing, I cook, I communitize... which will make itself quite clear in the postings & stories to come. If I write a recipe, chances are you'll see a story behind it. If I sing a song, therein lies a story. How many times can I say "story" in this paragraph?  Whether it's a story of how a bowl of soup can make day or how the ugly can turn us into lovely... you'll find this place littered with stories. Sweet stories that I learn from daily.

So I will not hide it under a bushel. I will run with this story telling and translate it into a blog.

The end.

...or no, it's just the beginning!