The Art of Eating

"One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well." ~Virginia Woolf

On a recent business trip to Spain, Catalonia to be exact, it became painfully obvious, that living in America where "eight out of ten people eat at a fast food restaurant at least monthly, with almost half of them saying they eat fast food at least weekly" (http://www.gallup.com/poll/163868/fast-food-major-part-diet.aspx), I had forgotten what eating really is, even though I belong to the mere four percent who say we don't eat at fast food restaurants.

In Catalonia, eating is taken to a whole different level:

Breakfast. Desayuno is divided into two meals (just that is genius in and of itself!): Easing into the day, we start with café con leche and something, anything, to dunk in it: typically a croissant; plain or filled with chocolate. Late morning, breakfast part two consists of a simple sandwich of freshly baked bread, like a small baguette, with cheese and/or ham and cheese. Nothing revolutionary yet, right?

But lunch. Hold on! This is not the time to get disinterested...  So much more than what you are thinking... unless you are lucky enough to be able to relate. Lunch. Take the word in your mouth; roll it around a number of times; taste it. What do you taste?

This incredible meal is as important in Catalonia as it was for Catholics going to church in Italy every Sunday 100 years ago. Working though lunch, hunched over your desk is not an option. No, not even for you. It is a meal over which you connect with business partners and coworkers, family and friends. Starting around two o'clock, taking place over at least two hours, it entails a first course, a second course, dessert, inclusive of wine, water, ending with café. The most common is to order the menu of the day - a selection of three starters, three main courses and three desserts. Since this menu highlights the house specialties it is going to be freshest, and thus, will be my recommendation to you.

"La cena" e.g. dinner is another important meal (are we catching on yet to the fact that every meal is important?) but much more modest than lunch, and eaten late, usually after 9 pm. I am convinced it is slated so late in the day only so we can fit another meal into the day:  la merienda (snack). Or perhaps it has to do with the heat. But does it really matter when it gives you an excuse to have bread so fresh out of the oven that it is still warm, with chocolate on it? Or perhaps jamon iberico and fresh cheese is more to your liking?

Whatever suits your fancy, enjoy! Eating is sharing so much more than food. It pleases more senses than taste and fills more than just your stomach. Eating is an art. Eating is joyful, Eating is relaxing, Eating is a ritual. Eating is cultural.  Done right, it fills your soul!

¡Buen provecho!

Season Opening in the White Mountains 2012

North Conway is a quiet little town about three hours north of Boston. Each summer its 2,400 residents are driven mad or out of town by the droves of tourists who flock here to camp on the shores of the Saco River, drift lazily in a canoe, shop the many outlet stores and bring their children to the crazy attractions they are sadly brought up to crave: Santa's village, Storyland, indoor water parks, and some nutty monkey-banana themed zipline place.

The Other Season attracts winter hikers, alpinists, climbers, and skiers. People who prefer short days, freezing temperatures and clear, crisp air with endless visibility to ferocious bugs, crowds and hazy humidity which forces you to process the thick, heavy air for oxygen, like plankton whales sieve water for food.

After six months of saltwater and triathlons, I was totally stoked to return to the White Mountains, the most rugged mountain range in New England for the start of the winter hiking season. Using both carrots and sticks I coerced a few people to bag Monroe (5,371'), Franklin (5,003') and Eisenhower (4,780'), a hike of approximately eight miles and a total elevation gain close to 4,000 feet. Pretty ambitious for a warm-up but I was as excited as a child waiting for Christmas morning. We would take the short but very steep Ammonoosuc Ravine Trail up to Lakes of the Clouds Hut, gaining approximately 2,800 feet in elevation in the first 3.1 miles and pay our respects along the way to Herbert J. Young who died here of exposure in 1928, before heading south on the Crawford Path, the oldest, continuously maintained, hiking path in America, originally built during the 1800′s and used as a horse trail, across the open ridgeline up and over Mt. Monroe and Mt. Franklin, continue south to the saddle between Franklin and Eisenhower before heading over its summit. From Eisenhower we would descend Edmands Path which, according to one trail description is "fairly steep, but gets you down fast". How? I wonder.

A friend had offered us to stay at her house, a treat instead of driving six hours in one day to hike for six hours which I'd normally do, and treated us upon arrival to an evening of story telling (read: local gossip) around the fire pit. Dressed like Michelin men, in down jackets, hats and mittens, we sat with new friends and crazy canines (or perhaps it was the other way around?) under a sky the color of charcoal, the orange blaze of the dancing fire bringing us closer together.

The fire petered out and with the aid of headlamps, as much a part of your clothing up here as undies, we fumbled our way back into the house. Laden with an earthy scent of smokehouse, or as they say up in North Conway, "stinky like a local", I stuffed the next day's clothes in the sleeping bag and crawled in like a butterfly stuffing itself back in its cocoon, smiling from ear to ear, snug as a bug in a rug.

The forecast for the higher elevations, received live and direct from the roommate who works at the Mt. Washington weather observatory, was bleak even with optimistic standards: 40 mph winds with gusts of 50, heavy fog and mixed precipitation. When our hostess, spoiled and picky since she lives there and can be spoiled and picky, called us nuts and refused to go (partially because she knows everyone on the search and rescue team and it would be a huge embarrassment to get caught out in the elements) I reconsidered. I always listen to locals. "We should stay south of the Notch where the chance for good weather is best" she said. We settled for a south - north Moat Mountain Range traverse, a 9.7 mile moderate hike with sweeping views of the Mount Washington Valley, covering three peaks: South (2,270'), Middle (2,805) and North Moat (3,196). Despite a sting of disappointment about the re-routing, I realized this was probably a wiser choice for the start of the season. Besides, a traverse is always fun.

At last, we had ourselves organized, with one car parked at Diana's Baths and another at Dugway Road. Three women and a mutt who just met set out under cloudy skies at the crack of 10 am.

Trail conditions were great, a little slick in a few places, but overall, the trail was bare and dry. By south Moat, we'd covered all the peripheral conversations and realized we didn't only have in common a love for the mountains... but for spur of the moment adventures too, with comparable histories of related injuries and scars.

Between south and middle Moat Mountain, where the trail runs mainly on exposed granite, clouds gave way to sunny skies and  presented us with sweeping views of Mt. Chocorua, Mt. Washington and North Conway. From middle Moat, the trail is not very well marked, but well traveled, and meanders through thick forest, destroyed by hurricane Irene in 2011, downed logs everywhere around us, before spilling out into Diana's Bath, a waterfall with perfect pools carved out in the rock, perfect for cooling off in the summer. Not today. The water was ice cold. 

As the sun set, we walked out the last mile as the best of friends.

Thanksgiving

Not dismissing the importance of Thanksgiving to many families, but for me, Thanksgiving is not holy in any way, shape or form. I'm not originally from here, nor am I truly fond of big dinners where you stumble away from the table wishing you had wheels to cart you off to a horizontal position. Add to that, bumper to bumper traffic and crowded airports, buzzing loudly like bee hives interrupted only by announcements and irritated parents. Are we having fun yet?

Then come the countless reports of over-eating and epic family arguments, made even better by everyone being liquored up. Being a fly on the wall, I see the sad parody of it all: people running around trying to fit too much into too little time, only to be exhausted and edgy when the time comes to sit down and enjoy family and friends.

The past several years I've been lucky to be able to do some amazingly fun, healthy holiday hopping (no, not s-hopping), visiting friends - coffee here, a long walk there, a slice of pie elsewhere, and a good dose of relaxation and pottering about on a day when streets are deserted and shops are closed. The people you meet are friendly and wish you Happy Thanksgiving. It's been a wonderful tradition.

This year will be different. This year I will forgo visiting the warm homes and hearts of the families that have adopted me for the holidays for taking care of a friend's dog, a beautiful, bouncy bully-mix. This year I'm packing all my favorite foods: root vegetable chips, the creamiest of Bries, chocolate chip protein bars, smoked salmon from a tiny smokehouse in Nova Scotia only locals know, fresh bread from A & J Kings Bakery, and pounds and pounds of mixed nuts and dried fruit. This year I'm making crepes with peanut butter and bananas and drinking Swedish mulled wine. This year I'm going to lose myself in the raw beauty of the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Who needs turkey?

Happy Thanksgiving.


Eva Mossberg
http://evamossberg.blogspot.com

Triathlon Epilogue

Triathlon: a trilogy of sports totaling sheer madness ranging, in order of madness (worst to least): Ironman, Half Ironman, Olympic Distance, and Sprint. The sport is said to have originated in the 1920's France even though the name comes from the Greek words trei (three) and athlos (contest). I'm not sure how the French ever agreed to the name being Greek.

Competing in a Tri was never on my list of things to do, especially as I considered it having become something people did to be hip. Didn't feel the need to prove anything. I was quite happy with my routine of cross training, and my body seemed to agree.

People asked what I was training for, what my goal was. Truth is, I always trained because it makes me feel good both physically and mentally. My goal? To feel as good as possible without getting injured (a historical snapshot of my life indicates I have a special knack for this).  But one after one, they asked "Why don't you do a Tri? You already run, bike and swim." My answer is noted above.

Then I came across a Sprint Tri advertised in the next town over from where I live. The date was in three weeks. Being fitter and more cross-trained than ever before I was admittedly tempted. I wouldn't have to train any more or drive three hours to get there. I routinely did more than the 1/3 m swim, 14.5 m bike, and 5k run. Just hadn't put it all together yet. This was a little too close in time and distance to pass up...

However, I did not lose sight of my goal of not getting injured so I asked an equally motivated and life embracing friend to do the run. He needed little convincing. We registered as the relay team "Never Too Late" because in our minds it's never too late to starts something new.

Once or twice before the race, I combined swimming with biking, roughly the distances required for the race, but absolutely without applying scientific methods. This race was going to be fun, not overwhelming. I was thrilled that someone else was going to do the race with me and as an extra bonus relieve me from the pressure of having to do the run. In fact, the week before the race I got sick and focused more on sleeping than training but as someone who tends to over-train I believe it worked in my favor.

4:30am Sunday morning. A knock on my door tells me I'm actually committed. To a Tri. I consider the fact that people who go to the early Sunday service don't even get up that early!

Bike strapped down sideways on my roof rack (bike racks are overrated), and helmet, fairy shoes, sunglasses, gloves, towel and running shoes accounted for, we drive down to Nahant for the First Nahant Annual Sprint Triathlon, September 9, 2012. Both giddy, laughing at the madness of it all. Two peas in a pod, disguised as a red VW Golf GTI.

The air has a definite chill to it but I know from an ocean practice swim I did a few days ago that the tropical storm brought along some pleasant, warm water. The reports said 65 degrees. Tropical indeed.

Registration and marking first: entry number on left shoulder and age on right calf. (A revolutionary thought enters my mind: dating would be an easier process if everyone always wore their age and marital status inscribed on their body for everyone to see.) In the transition area, competitors lay out a towel on which they carefully organize their two pairs of shoes, helmet, running bib, lucky charm... you get the idea. I follow suit, minus the charm. I wear mine around my neck.

The sun rises over the horizon and chases the night's rain clouds away as we make our way down to the start of the race. Upon arrival I notice that all but five participants are wearing wet suits. I'm one of the five and not one of the "better insulated" participants.  They are all in fact, wearing wet suits.
The pre-race meeting is brief and soon enough the first wave of competitors throw themselves into the wet. I place myself on the outside of my field to avoid getting caught up in the sea of madly swinging arms and kicking legs which is where, I learned in a swim race last year, contact is the rule rather than the exception. This turned out to be a good strategy and soon enough I am out of the water and on my way across the street to the transition area, happy to not be twisted up in a wet suit: Sixty-five degrees is not cold when you have 125 psi of adrenaline pumping steadily through your system.

With soaking wet and sandy socks, fairy shoes, bike shorts and helmet I mount my Cannondale and embark on part two. We'd checked out the course a few days before the race so I know the rolling double loop by heart: 1 km in to the course, we are sent straight up a hill that rises up steeply, immediately after a 90 degree right turn.  No cruising speed to help you up there.  Carefully navigating the wet leaves that had been knocked down overnight I push through as hard as I can, cheered on by onlookers and police, wanting to set free the chained cheetah waiting eagerly to run. Damn this is fun!

Back in transition I throw my bike on the ground, hand off the timing chip and wow I'm done. Now it's up to my teammate who takes off like a rocket and keeps the tempo up all the way to the finish which helps land us in second place out of eleven teams with a total time of 1.17.09. Not too shabby for a pair of first timers. We are on the moon, jumping with joy and adrenaline proudly wearing our medals to the post race breakfast, complete with beer, eggs, and live music.

A few days later I mention there's another Tri in Rye, NH in two weeks. We enter as individuals this time... hooked.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

I don't like e-cards. I really don't. I think they are impersonal beyond belief, but here I am... "Why?" you may ask. Well, there are about ninety-five of you on my Christmas card list and sending an e-card instead of a traditional card this year enables me to donate $146 to a charity of choice (last year I donated to Doctors without Borders). Enough said.

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Eva

A brief synopsis: 2011 brought many changes to my life, and with them, opportunities to grow (and at times curl up in a ball and cry...).

In January 2011, having just returned from my second Christmas in 18 years with my family in Sweden/France and about to head to South America for two + weeks (great trip!!!), I got laid off in one of the tightest job markets since the great depression. But change is good: I used this as an opportunity to re-educate myself to enter a very different field of work for a second career, one that would be sustainable on a personal level for a longer time than being beaten up by horses: Higher/International Education. I started as a part-time, unpaid summer intern at a language school in Boston in April, got put in charge of the kids' camp in June, obtained my certificate to teach English as a Second Language in October, taught for two months and landed a full-time position last week...  :) .  Eight months from start to finish! Thanks to the many of you who supported me in my quest. Not to mention those of you who planted the seed years ago by shipping me out of Sweden.

I also made it to the west coast for the first time ever, where I celebrated my 40th birthday. Spent a wonderful week in San Fransisco with a great friend, her family and a new friend. When one door closes, try another... :)   I surfed for the first time, kayaked a lot, became a contributing writer to ecology.com and learned how to restrain lobsters. I started running again.  I made more new friends from around the world. I also want to point out that I had no unforseen injuries this year... just a knee surgery. Is the tide changing? ;) 

Best wishes for a fantastic 2012!
Eva

Winter of Discontent Leads to a Spring of Opportunity

http://ecn.ecology.com/2011/09/28/winter-of-discontent-leads-to-a-spring-of-opportunity-all-part-of-carving-a-new-path/

Local Travel to a Place Far Away - My Other Space...

Local Travel to a Place far Away

Testing the Waters

Asking me if I want to go sailing is like asking a puppy if they want to go for a waaaalkiiee, and it is only through extreme self control, and fear of being locked up in a padded room that I keep myself from running in circles hollering "When? When? When?".

The morning was sunny, hot and humid, with not a puff of air. We were intent on sailing, and knowing that the sea breeze would kick in at 12:30 pm as it does almost daily, a result of warmer inland air rising as hot air does, sucking in the cooler ocean air as replacement, creating an on-shore breeze for the afternoon, we began what would turn into a cartoon-like adventure on, in and out of the water and on, in and out of the boat: a quick little 13' Sunfish. The Sunfish is known for being incredibly responsive to the elements. If you don't sail, think race car, not truck...

We gathered the colorful Bermuda-like rigging, centerboard and tiller and hooked the boat up to the golf cart used to get around the farm. The boat "trailer" was the kind you typically seen pulled by hand: two wheels with tires (in our case, broken) on a frame that fits into the centerboard slit. Down the bumpy, dirt road we went...  chased and tagged by our tow.

A short ride later we arrived at the water's edge where we were instantly attacked by incredibly fierce, flying cannibals equipped with shark teeth. Since we were carrying the boat down a rocky, slippery path, they had a clear competitive advantage, that is, until we pulled out the D.E.E.T. bug spray... Death BY green-heads or death TO green-heads?

We had agreed to also use this morning to train for an upcoming ocean swim race, so as soon as we had the boat and all rigging by the edge of the water, we hopped into the beckoning bay where we swam, laughed and frolicked like little kids. We hooked onto a "no wake" buoy and talked about nothing for awhile but soon realized our boat was floating down the river two hundred yards away...  And we even KNEW the tide was still coming in...  Fighting fits of laughter, I put my swim-skills to use and caught up with the bobbing boat. Boat in tow, I swam back to - oops, there's the centerboard, and... a shoe (mine), and ugh the tiller too - shore, where the rest of our belongings were gathered and hung up to dry.

Round two with the green-heads.

Sails hoisted, we pushed off into the vacuum of dead air. And drifted. Eventually, we found a pocket of airwhere the wind filled our sail - we even created a small wake. Before long, a shrill whistle interrupted the silence, followed by someone hollering "Are you racing?" Seeing the irony in the situation we could only reply, smiling, "Does it look like it?" A nice reach took us to the other side of the bay - the one closer to the ocean and since we were now desperate for a steady breeze, we decided to go around the point and test the boat in the Atlantic Ocean.

Hogging the tiller and sail (you almost have to do both in a Sunfish because of how she sails), I gained more confidence and ability with every tack, and we had a lot of fun whipping up and down in front of the beach, dodging power boats and jet-skis. The change came about as we started to head back in through the mouth of the basin, with shifty winds, and an outgoing tide, which means less water and more sand bars to contend with. Approximately eight feet of water travels through this narrow opening over six hours, so the current gets strong...

Having tacked four times, ending each port tack by a moored blue hulled power boat despite pointing as high as we could, we reluctantly threw in the towel, beached the boat and began a determined trek back to base, fighting the strong current in waist-high water, a workout worthy Rambo VII. Where there was a good line for us to sail (and more importantly, water), we would perform a flying start, with me sliding onto the deck as soon as the sail filled with wind, laying on my stomach with the tiller in my hand, ready and able to jump into the water and onto the boat as needed. Talk about the feeling of being one with your boat...

Two hundred yards from our desired destination, at this time primarily towing the boat, half swimming, half pulsing through the water, we got hung up on the aforementioned "no wake" buoy. So close, yet so far away. We felt like a tourist attraction with all of the Sunday traffic going by on their way home...

Finally three girls in a power boat asked if we needed help. Hooked together we began our journey toward rest, food and cold beer. Putt, putt, sputter, sputter, putt, silence, the unmistakable sound of no gas. What was once two girls and one boat in need had multiplied to five girls and two boats, drifting across the channel towards an unavoidable collision with a sand bar. Captain Power Boat tried the can once more and shook enough drops into the engine to get her started and once again, we were on our way back to base. About to detach, a giant, two-story power yacht went by and with its wake, landed us both on the sand bar. Plop. At least we were back where we needed to be.

We pushed the power boat and sent her on her way downriver, and dragged the Sunfish the last twenty, very muddy yards back to base, where we took on the green-heads in round three. Our feet got sucked deep into the mud as we carried the boat up above the high-water mark. On the last trip down through the mud flats to collect the sails my feet totally slid out from under me, like Bambi. SPLAT! And there I sat, laughing. I had been foolish to think the adventure was over...

Later, I was told that today's was the best journey she'd ever experienced.

Summer Solstice Celebration 2011

http://evamossberg.wordpress.com/2011/07/28/summer-solstice-celebration-2011/ 

Green Business Best Practices Workshop: Go Greener in Salem!

As most people were probably at home drinking coffee and reading the paper this morning, twenty-five like-minded participants and I attended the "Green Business Best Practices Workshop", an interactive workshop organized by City of Salem, Salem Chamber of Commerce, Salem Recycles and the North Shore Transportation Management Association.  

Industry leaders, including a bicycle commuter of nineteen years (!) shared resources, tips and tools on how we can save money by greening our businesses and homes, from conserving water by changing spray nozzles on our garden hoses to recycling construction waste and qualify for tax credit programs. Most of us knew of course that the city has a curbside recycling program, but did you know that if you use a private trash service, you can still use the city's recycling program? Did you know that North Shore Recycled Fiber, located right here in Salem, is open to the public and will shred sensitive documents for you and recycle your boat's shrink wrap? Were you aware of what happens if you put plastic bags in your recycling bin? I thought not: during processing your bag wraps around inside the machine and forces the entire system to be shut down for an hour so the bags can be cut off! A dripping faucet? At a rate of one drop every ten seconds, you are wasting almost 26 gallons per month! http://www.gdrc.org/uem/water/drip-calculator.html

Luckily, help is only one click away!  http://www.salem.com/pages/salemma_webdocs/greenbusiness
This site, developed by City of Salem gives you immediate access to over fifty websites, from recycling programs and construction waste management to buying guides and alternative commuting ideas and resources.

Remember what matters is not that you can do it all, but that you do all you can.



My new shower head.



Dates to remember:

• Saturday April 24: Household Hazardous Waste Day in Beverly, open to Salem residents. 8 a.m. to noon, at Beverly High School, rain or shine.There is a $20 co-pay to help the city offset the cost of putting on the event. Proof of residency is required. No commercial waste will be accepted.
• Saturday May 7: Clean Salem, Green Salem. 8:30 am start.  Salem Common. http://salem.com/Pages/SalemMA_EventsCal/S02F37BE4-02F37E06?formid=161
• Saturday May 21: 4th Annual Living Green and Renewable Energy Fair. 10 am - 3 pm. Old Town Hall, Salem. Green industry professionals and consumers from the Greater Boston & North Shore regions will discuss products, services and information that encourage healthier, more sustainable consumption and lifestyles for businesses and families.  http://www.salem-chamber.org/livinggreenfair34.html

 

Whirlwind of Joy and Love

Twirling, swirling, thrown about, floating. Swallowed up in the whole, yet adding to the mix my own chemistry, slightly changing the tint, simultaneously being modified to a different temperature. Like a butterfly fluttering, touching for a moment, a fleeting kiss, a beautiful moment. My Fairy dust a part of the Whirlwind of Life, touching people, being touched. Losing track of up and down, what is real and what is imagined. Whirlwind of joy and love.

The center is quiet. From here, you can regard the chaos, the multifaceted, crazy, orbiting nothings that make up the whole.  Your core.

Happiness Defined

Happiness is nothing but a by-product of the ability to recognize, enjoy, and be thankful for what comes our way.

Passing Time

Being able to simply pass time is not simple at all. In fact, it is probably one of the most difficult things one can do. The value of passing time tends to go unnoticed and is quickly becoming a lost art. Lost. Lost between shuttling children to and from games, grocery shopping, cleaning the house, working, training...  running around being.... lost.

Passing time. Drifting. Pondering nothing. Finding your mind empty, yet receptive on a very superfluous level. Fleeting feelings floating through your mind. Subconsciously processing nothing. Things falling into place. Suddenly.
I plug into my MP3 player and close my eyes. I disappear from the outside world, from the cafe and the six or so twenty-year olds discussing... who cares what? To my ears it is just babble. I tap the rhythm with my foot, moving my body to the music. Passing time. In my own world. I don't know, nor do I care, if people are watching me. They are not a part of this. It is my experience. My place. There is no door to pass through to get here, but few people make it, mainly because they don't take the first step. There are no directions. Only one way will get you here. Yours. One step at a time.