Nitrogen Song

As nature shakes winter's sharp sting,
this protean poem unfurls into broad notes of spring.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One thing broke me;
         two built me back.

Fall in FScN 4612, Human Nutrition,
each lecture softening the edges of my circumscribed truth.
Studies strive for stolid statements,
         but humans refuse to cooperate.
We fictionalize what we ate yesterday,
we guess at how often we eat fish,
we tick the same box for grass-fed beef,
         for venison,
         for McDonald’s Hamburgers.

I crumbled under the weight of peer-reviewed articles,
at odds with each other,
squinting their way to the truth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What is protein?

Amino acids line up according to ancient instructions,
attract and repel each other,
furl into microscopic protein machines,
group and grow to make
this protein machine,
complex
and
communal.

Slow-Cooker Lentil Lasagna

At the beginning of January, I heard about slow-cooker lasagna twice in the same week. Baader-Meinhoff phenomenon, a sign of the season, ooooooor do I just spend too much time on social media platforms?

@Fruits_Veggies A1 just made Lasagna in my slow cooker it was sooo good #SlowCookerCreations

— Rita (@TommiesMommy14) January 6, 2016

The idea simmered in my mind as I worked my way through two pans of disappointingly dry experimental manicotti, and came to a full boil this disruptively snowy day in February.

Piles of white dwindle in the kitchen as the white piles grow outside. #prepday #slowcookerlasagna #minnesnowta

A photo posted by Hannah J (@jastrd) on Feb 2, 2016 at 1:41pm PST

I found a recipe on Real Simple, and then modified it to include more veggies and one of my favorite legumes. "It's edible," my dad said, his standard line for any dish containing beans. Tastes better than my li'l Samsung camera phone makes it look. And is not at all dry.

A photo posted by Hannah J (@jastrd) on Feb 2, 2016 at 5:17pm PST

Slow-Cooker Lentil Lasagna

Ingredients. 

•  2 28-oz cans diced tomatoes, drained 
• 6 cloves garlic, finely chopped 
• 1 tsp dry oregano and 1 tbsp dry basil, or whatever combo strikes your fancy
• salt and pepper 
• 1 15-oz container ricotta 
• 1 tbsp parsley
• 1/2 cup grated Parmesan or Romano cheese
• 8 oz standard lasagna noodles (not no-boil) 
• 1 1/2 cups frozen spinach
• 4 small carrots, grated 
• some amount of cooked brown lentils*
• 8 ounces mozzarella, grated

* I cooked a pound, dolloped away, and froze the rest. You could also use red lentils.

Directions.

1. In a medium bowl, combine the tomatoes, garlic, oregano, basil, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1/2 teaspoon pepper. In another medium bowl, combine the ricotta, parsley, Parmesan or Romano, and 1/4 teaspoon pepper. In yet another medium bowl (sorry!), combine the spinach and carrots.
2. Spoon 1/3 cup of the tomato mixture into the bowl of a 4- to 6-quart slow cooker. Top with a single layer of noodles, breaking them to fit as necessary. 
3. Add half the spinach/carrot mixture. Dollop with a third of the ricotta mixture, a third of the remaining tomato mixture, and some amount of lentils. Sprinkle with a third of the mozzarella. 
4. Add another layer of noodles and the other half of the spinach/carrot mixture. Repeat the dolloping procedure with the other ingredients. 
5. Finish with a layer of noodles and the remaining ricotta mixture, tomato mixture, and mozzarella. Set the slow cooker to low and cook, covered, until the noodles are tender, about three hours. Let rest 10 minutes before serving to your parents and housemate.

Have you made slow-cooker lasagna? 

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

Land, food, and life — it's a broad theme. "It has to be," I wrote six years ago.

I usually write about how the land produces food, how the food we choose affects our lives as individuals and as fellow biospherians, or how excited I am about nerdy food system things.

This week, the connections between land, food, and life take a new configuration: I recently backpacked across a section of land by the North Shore of Minnesota with what I thought was adequate food and supplies to sustain life for a weekend. At the trail head, I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

Much akimbo very backpack wow
Photo credit: Arthur Aaberg

"Adequate food." "Sustain life." "Always look on the right side of life." Sounds so simple. And of course it never is.

Three-quarters through a supper of seriously salty vegetarian chili reconstituted with melted snow (fingertips shoved under the bowl to capture fleeing warmth), I asked my trail buddy how he would feel if we cut the trip short.Visions of pancake breakfasts and mini sardine pizzas had darkened and slipped away as quickly as the southern sun below the piney horizon and the circulation from my becottoned fingers.

A photo posted by Hannah J (@jastrd) on Dec 20, 2015 at 2:03pm PST

I knew I needed to avoid cotton, but didn't actually do it. Never again.

Even in the dark, I looked on the light side of winter camping (aka upsides).

Upside: No bug bites.
Downside: Frostbite.

Upside: Your food won't spoil.
Downside: Your food will freeze.

Upside: Snow-covered paths are easier on your feet.
Downside: You don't know what that snow is covering.

Upside: No other people around to distract you from the wilderness.
Downside: No other people around to extract you from the wilderness.

Did I miss an upside? A downside? Let me know.