Love is all you need: Ruby Red Juice

I used to think that love is all you need. Love was enough, would fix anything, transform, nurture, save and secure. Love conquered, rescued, nursed, took care, listened, asked and held. Love could envelop, wrapping you in cotton wool while setting you free at the same time. What a magical world love lived in.

As a kid, I thought these things because it's what princes did in cartoons and Fred Astaire did for Ginger Rogers. I'd watch the longing and the bliss play out on screen as she carried out all the tap shift moves he did, only backwards. As a teenager, I read books about protagonists searching for something in themselves, in their lives, overcoming battles in their world and in their minds and understood that it was love for their beliefs, for another, for their country or for themselves that drove them beyond fear and into courage. I listened to music that stirred feelings in my soul of the joy and pain that love caused in and out of daily routines, how it led to Bon Iver hiding away in a forest for a year only to burst out of the woods reborn with a new voice, pain and joy hand in hand. I listened to JJ Cale and BB King and Nina Simone, Fleetwood Mac and The Frames. They all taught me the shifting waves and tides that were inherent in the concept of love.

I understood, even then, that love wasn't as simple as two red curves dipping to a sharp, singular and well directed point at its end. It wasn't soft, precise perfection. Love had folds, curves, hidden angles and unexpected lulls. And love hurt. I knew that it hurt the most when it was unrequited. I clearly remember studying a Shakespearean sonnet at school, aged fourteen and learning the word, though I already knew what it meant. Unreturned, unloved, uncared for. It's what all those blues songs I listened to were ever about. It's all I ever worried about.

My definition of love was always manifold but my definition always pertained to my perspective. You see, my definition was everything I was willing to give a person I loved. I give everything of myself to those I love because I don't know any other way. It comes naturally to me to be that loving and caring. I feel empty when I don't. The problem is when I give so much to others to the point where they start to think my reserves are everlasting, that the love I have to give to friends, family and a partner are limitless, the reserve magically ongoing. So it came as a surprise to many when I would simply shudder, stall and stop, like a tired old van. Stop interacting, feeling, giving, loving. I'd gather my resources quickly so I could continue to support, care, listen and help so that they would all feel incredibly loved again.

I repeated this pattern because I was proud to be all about the love. So why was the one thing that I did naturally, with enthusiasm, pride and great energy, slowly but surely bringing me down? I've floated the idea around in my murky mind a lot in the last few years and always swam up to the surface, out of breath and without any answers. Until last week.

Writing my post last week, admitting to myself and everyone I love the true details of my depression and anxiety gave me the answers I was looking for to the great blue debate going on in my head. For so long, everything was about fear. Fear of unrequited love, misunderstanding, lost friendships, isolation and loneliness. By clicking the publish button, I challenged my biggest fear of all; telling people I loved the true extent of my problem. This act transformed and elevated the level of love I have in my life. Friends, family, workmates and travel buddies got in touch from near and far, publicly and privately to tell me how much they loved me. I received one message, call and text after another and two words shone through each and every message: brave and love.

And then I realised. I understood what had been bringing me down. I had been ignoring two basic needs: to admit to my friends how much their voicing of their love to me was important and how much I had neglected to love and appreciate myself. I would listen to the black king on his throne residing in my mind; the voice of unreasonable and cruel reasoning who told me no matter how much love I sent out, it would be unrequited. No matter how much I created, it wouldn't be good enough. No matter how much I cared, it wouldn't make a difference and no matter how much I tried to truly believe that I was worthy, loved, appreciated, cared for and unique, I was not good enough.

There is no way that I would ever speak to another person I love the way I allow that voice to speak to me. I would defend a loved one with my life if another spoke to them in that way, with those words and those sentiments. So why would I not encourage such praise and love and respect to be directed at me? Why would I not put the same thought, energy and care into myself and the unique person I am? Why wouldn't I just be myself?

The beautiful words of love I received from all over kick-started something unexpected. I'd like to get to know myself again, to learn what animates me, makes me smile, sing and create. I'd like to become friends with myself. Love is not just about prince charming or your passions. Each love quote is not about the other man or woman in your life. It starts with you. I don't think it's about finding a man I can lose myself in when I look into his eyes for a sense of recognition, understanding and acceptance. It's about looking at myself in the mirror and recognizing and embracing the person looking back at me. The black and the white. The dark and the light.

Today's recipe is about embracing that love. Beetroot looks like a forbidding, hard and unwelcoming vegetable but when eaten fresh, it has the most beautiful and earthly sweet and fragrant taste. The juice always looks so vibrant and energizing. It's like the perfect mix of masculine sturdiness and feminine vibrancy. Before the frost arrived, I dug up the last of my beetroot from the garden. Dark, rustic, ruby red, covered in wholesome clay, all the growth and energy that they had absorbed from the damp clay and the sunshine of the summer was captured in each round. I made this juice to capture the last of the autumn and to remember that energy comes from the sun and the air but also from below the surface, in the darkness and when mixed, the combination is vibrant and electric. Something to remember.

Ingredients:
Serves 2
1 fresh beetroot
2 apples
1 large chunk fresh ginger
1 pear
1 lemon

Method:
Wash all the fruit, peel the beetroot and chop them into manageable sizes for your juicer. Juice, add ice, serve and relax.


To everyone that sent their love my way, thank you x

Find your space: Beetroot and pistachio salad

Writing each day about positive mental health has been good for my own. It's only day 3 and already this morning, I could feel the benefits. I took my time this morning. As I pedaled my bike out the door, I realized that despite the blue sky and clear sun high in the sky, there is a September chill in the air. I was kidding myself wearing flip flops. I couldn't resist and compensated with the toasty warm blanket scarf my sister got me for Christmas. Wrapped up in the green gorse colored shawl, I set out and dedicated the morning cycle to work to being calm and listing the things I am thankful for.

The blue sky. The fresh air. The time in the morning to cycle. The bright morning. The delicious breakfast. The calming cup of meadowsweet tea. The fact I was feeling better, more energized then the day before. Finishing work at 2.30 pm. Falling in love with Steinbeck again by picking up a copy of Cannery row and, by association, falling in love with reading again. There were more. I didn't have to struggle to think of the positives. It felt good.

The last few weeks have been a bit hectic with extra hours at work and a silly chest infection that wouldn't go away. Today was the day I also renewed my connection with the Iveagh Gardens, a little park near St. Stephen's Green but far quieter and calmer than it's big sister. Relaxed and reserved and hidden away, when the weather was warm I spent hours there after work each day. It was my little space. I even had a special spot I would lie down on, knees bent, feet kicked in the air, hair to one side scooping down my shoulder to shade the page in the book. Today, I hid under a tree waiting for the rain to stop and listened to the birds chirping and the sound of droplets of water dripping their way from one leaf to the next until they were carried down with a final splash around the outside of the canopy. Then the sun came out and for that brief hour, I couldn't have been more thankful for that time in the sun. Shoulders touched by speckled light and bare feet softened by the grass. Bliss.

I realized when I got home that I was craving some last bit of summer food before I can no longer get away with it. I also realized that I had just the right ingredients to make one of my favorite summer salads, perfect for a vibrant lunch tomorrow.

Beetroot, apple and carrot are a winning combination. The textures all seem the same but once prepared differently, each ingredient takes on a bite and taste all on its own. Prepared the night before, the beetroot colors the apple bright pink with shades of snow white still evident. Carrot ribbons hold all the dressing and have a completely different texture to simple strips. The honey and soy dressing it a little bit heavier than a usual vinegar and oil version but suits the salad perfectly, especially combined with the smokiness of the toasted pistachios. Put simply, it's pretty awesome.

This is a recipe for one. Make it special, especially for you X

Ingredients:
1 large beetroot
1 large carrot
1 apple, preferably a sweet one like a pippin but any crisp one will do

1 large handful pistachio nuts, shelled
1 Tbs sunflower and pumpkin seed mix

1 Tbs soy sauce
1 Tbs apple cider vinegar
1 Tbs olive oil
1 tsp honey

Optional: Serve as is or with greens from the garden/salad leaf mix right before eating. Just make sure to toss through and add a little more dressing right before you devour it.

Method:
Top and tail the carrots and beetroot and peel them. Wash apple and core and quarter. Slice the beetroot in three and then into small, thin, rectangular(ish) strips. Using a peeler, peel the carrot length-ways so you get carrot ribbons. Slice the apple thinly along the quarters. Put in a bowl.

Heat a small pan and add nuts and seeds. Sprinkle with a generous pinch of sea salt and toast until lightly browned. In a small jam jar, mix the dressing ingredients. Pop the lid on and shake well. Pour half the dressing on the vegetables. When seeds and nuts are done, toss through the salad while still hot (this will flavor the salad and dressing)

Keep in fridge, ready to be mixed with salad leaves before serving. Goats cheese is also very yummy with this.

Enjoy X

Remember, find your space, that place that gives you time to wonder, think, stare, zone out, snooze, relax, be you in your own world for a while.

Breakups & Beetroot: Beetroot and ginger juice and fresh starts

Breaking up is hard to do. There are no two ways around it. Avoidance feeds the ugly void within. Keeping busy merely to avoid thoughts, emotions and memories is a waste of time. The simplest of triggers come crawling back in to the psyche and settle there for a period of time of its own choosing. There is no great sense of control or time or calm after a break up. It is what it is. An unholy mess.

I've never been good at them, even though I've had limited practice, meaning two previous breakups in total. The first was a best friend from teenage years, though looking back, can two horny teenagers ever really be best friends and not be thinking about getting together in their minds? When we broke up I was crushed and put energy into being angry for quite a while. It was only when I was setting off to New Zealand for the first time that I realized life was too short to hold a grudge and so went all-out Irish and sat down and had a cup of tea with him. That started the resolution. When I came back from NZ, I realized a more concentrated effort was necessary. In the space of a few hours we were laughing our asses off at our naive teenage selves and admitting that neither of us had a clue what we were doing when we were younger, much less now. I heard the words I needed to hear from him. The first was "I may have been 18 but I didn't have a clue how to be a man, never mind a decent boyfriend". The second was "even though you were younger (by two years) you knew more than me about relationships". The third but by no means less important, was "I'm sorry". He meant it and we've been honest, trusting, joking, caring friends since. The second relationship was just plain awful, something that should never have begun in the first place.

This breakup will have been my third. August bank holiday last year. It feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago and a parallel existence mixed together in some dishwater mess that struggles to go down the sinkhole drain. I've been happily busy, genuinely, for the last few months. The struggles that I've gone through have tapered off and I'm enjoying life with a renewed sense of vigor I can't remember having before I was ten years old. I've fallen back in love with my passions, built a sense of community around me and focused on the now rather than worrying about the past and being anxious around the future. I'm far happier in myself these days. All positive, tick-the-box moments.

Then there's this weekend coming up and the inherent realization that a full year has gone by. It's over. It's been over and that time is gone, he's gone. That's tough. It doesn't seem real. It's something I never wanted. Living in Dublin for the last year has meant flashbacks from various points around the city, places I skillfully avoided by cycling detours around them to avoid seeing them so as not to get upset. Trinity Gates and the Spire were the meeting points before a date. The Bernard Shaw was our Friday pizza meet up at the end of my working week and the beginning of his. The canal is where we finally got to relax with a few beers after work, the swan gym the place where I'd meet him before or after a swim in the pool. Boojum Burritos was the holy grail of takeout. He would even bring some back to Sligo when he came back from working in Dublin. The Grand Social was where we went to various gigs and the Cobblestone was where we cheered on our friend in her Blues Grass band. The front steps of my work is where he'd meet me some days at 6 pm. O'Neills is where we had that fight out of the blue about travelling. Temple Bar is where I cried and Dame Street is where he got on the bus and I waited for him to turn around and say it was all a mistake and he didn't. It wasn't until a few months later that we both realized we had both looked back to search for the other's forgiving eyes. We just hadn't seen the other looking. We stopped making each other's hearts go boom in that beautiful way love encourages lovers to do.

A full year of changes and memories, good, bad and ugly. A full year of challenges and doubts and new friends and new experiences. A full year from forcing myself to write a blog post about renewing my blog and fresh starts. Even in the chaos of the aftermath of a breakup, I still managed to redesign my entire food blog and mean it. I have spent the last year applying baby steps to changing things in my life for the better and it worked! Life is better. Life is fresher, friendlier, more interesting and much closer to the type of life I wanted because I went with what felt good, what my gut and my heart felt right with. I learnt so much about myself. I learnt to forgive. I learnt just how far my love goes for someone I truly care about and love. I learnt to love myself more too.

What does any of this have to do with food then? Again, small steps. This time last year, I had spent what felt like an eternity neglecting myself; emotionally, mentally and physically. One major booster of energy, enthusiasm and emotional and physical stability for me is good food. It was one of the key reasons I set up the blog and the main reason I wrote that post this time last year to take the food I consumed seriously and realize just how much good food affects me.

The first step I took to looking after myself was increasing my intake of colorful, beautiful, glossy, sunshine glasses full of juice. I had taken to making juices for my Mam, constantly thinking of better, healthier, tastier versions of vibrant juices for her but of course, didn't think about myself. Juicing, when balanced with a healthy diet literally re-energizes and re-invigorates your body like no other food I've come across. By taking the small step of aiming to have one juice a day, I've felt healthy, energized and alive.

Taking care of yourself when you are used to taking care of others or going through an emotional time seems insurmountable. It seems that way but it's not. Taking time out to make a juice and feel better by seeing it's healthy glow and then drinking it down each day makes a massive different to your health and happiness. When bad days, break ups, illnesses and shitty days are weighing down on you, honestly, making a juice is the difference between another shitty next day and a real goodie.

So many people ask me what they can do to 'be healthier'. I generally say, cut out the crap and get more veggies into you. I never thought to say "drink more juices", so I'm saying it now. Incorporate it into your daily life. Here's a great one to start. It looks beautiful and healthy and despite what you might think about the ingredients (really, let's be real and state the obvious, it's the beetroot, isn't it?) it tastes AMAZING.

Ingredients
1 beetroot
1 pear
1 apple
1 carrot/orange/a few mandarins (if using oranges/mandarins, remove the peel first)
1/2 lemon
1 chunk ginger (about the length of your thumb nail)
handful of mint

Except for the oranges and mandarins, the peel/skin/core of all the other ingredients can stay on

Method
Wash all your veggies and fruit. Using your juicer, blend the juice in the following order: (gets the best out of your ingredients and the juicer) Beetroot, lemon + ginger + mint, pear, carrot, apple.
Add a few ice cubes, stir and drink slowly.

Enjoy every last drop and remember, baby steps and be good to your amazing self. It may lead you to have the energy to get up and go, despite the breakup, to places where you can see views like those below in person and not just trawling through facebook feeds :) Views and feelings and passions of different sorts that make your heart go boom in another beautiful way.

Happy Friday. Now get juicing.

Celebrate local

It's been too long since my last post. I know. I have good reasons, I swear. I've been through more whirlwind changes in this little life of mine and spent the last five weeks working two teaching jobs so that I can get travelling back to beautiful New Zealand. It's been a struggle. The return to teaching has meant more income. The money for rent was actually in my bank account, for the first time in many, many years. It was astonishingly surprising that money made me happy since I've done so well without it but working all those hours was worth it for the money and now the dream of travelling again is becoming a reality.

Unfortunately, all other pursuits in life during the week had to go by the wayside, which not only included blogging but to my dismay, the willingness, drive or energy to make myself a decent meal at all. No more taking loving photos of the step by step phases of my cooking experiments. Wilted, dazed and incomprehensible to myself, let alone others, my breakfasts have been the same every morning for five weeks. My dinners have consisted of Asian noodles 'fecked' into a frying pan with some greens and soy sauce or (the horror) plastic packets of fresh pasta with a jar of red sauce thrown on top. Arriving home exhausted and hungry, I barely tasted the flavours of the meals I've made.
All struggle is necessary though. If I hadn't undergone food boredom, I would not have been so blissfully elated to finish the five week madness with a bank holiday three day weekend. I would not have delighted in the idea of going to the veggie market again for the first time in months or having the time and energy to photograph it all.

 

Having faced dinners that did little to inspire anyone for the last while, I was over the moon to have the chance to wander around Temple Bar on a sunny Saturday morning and chat with the vendors, smell the smoky, bitter, sweet and fresh smells and get an automatic and much needed fresh food feeling lift. If you think about, you know what I'm talking about. Eating packet pasta, its stodginess and bland colours merging into a gelatinous mix of feed is one thing. It fills a hole but that's about it. Fresh vegetables lovingly wrapped in crinkled brown paper bags, rubbing fresh herbs between your fingers to catch the smell of lemon balm or mint, seeing the purple chalkiness of bunches of black kale and hearing positive, friendly communication between vendor and customer. It's all a wonderful, intoxicating, colourful and alive anti-depressant and it all makes me feel very good.

This blog is a revival, a celebration of a renewal towards balance in my life again and making space for what's important to me. Food, real food with all it's freshness, beauty, healthiness, love and reality, makes me very happy indeed. The blog has had a lift and I'm no properly happy with its appearance. In my neglect of posting on the blog, I have still managed to accumulate plenty of ideas and recipes I'm very excited to share. This blog is a recognition of the unnoticed work I've put into food, even when I didn't have the energy. Now the energy is coming back, trickling slowly into this new river I've found myself on. Another journey. Let's see where this one takes me.