Sauci Bosner

What a strange place to host a women’s evening.

Sixty plus worn wooden steps winding their way to the top.

Cold to the touch,  blackened banisters offered some perspective

to these times of  global turbulence and cultural transitioning.

I felt a trespasser, rumbling through worn torn pockets

searching for rusted keys amid memories of exile and exclusion.

Makeshift  masculine madness has taken its toll .

Euros, eros and pounds of flesh have raised their mighty swords

crossing deserts, stone walled cities  and partitioned valleys

casting shadows on  even this neon shadowed balcony.

Carrying cellular echoes of lives past

I entered this stainless steeled white washed Ajaxed space.

Welcoming me into this colorful circle of swirling shawls

bejeweled and bejangled arms , hands and hearts,

I took the place which is mine alone to share.

Brown green and blue eyed beauties peeled through

herstorys and timelines, sharing tales of revolution and resolution.

Laughter washed time touched cheeks, lifting collective burdens

and highlighting individuale evolutions.

Tasty tidbits  fueled our bodies while our souls took flight,

settling in sacred spaces well traveled by wild haired wimmen.

What a perfect place to open our hearts once again,

in this Jewish Morrocan mokum.

I love pickles.  Pickled cucumbers, radishes, eggs, beets, cauliflower…anything that  could possibly get pickled does in mi casa.

I have indulged in Polish, Palestinian, Egyptian, Turkish , Mexican and  Dutch variations throughout my journeys and adventures on this planet. Some are sour, others sweet, garlicky, salty, spicy.Most of the time I have enjoyed the first crispy bites of pickled gems….and sometimes my disappointment registered in  burps and belly aches after the fact.

I realize that I am still looking for that ta’am shel pa’am ( taste of then), when eating tuna sandwiches on rye and gorging on dill pickles and sour tomatoes in tin roofed dinners on route 22, throwing quarters into table top juke boxes was the treat of the week. O the joys of coming of size in New Jersey and never ever making it to taste any of the food colored cakes, muffins and sugar drenched brownies XXXL…

I was at AH last week, reading labels and tracing global footsteps with two bags of string beans in my hands: haricot vert from Kenya and  green beans from Holland. The Dutch won.

Biking home I remembered enjoying pickled string beans in Amsterdam for the first time. My friend, a Jewish southern belle, always had jars of pickled string beans in her fridge.  I enjoyed them tremendously. She shared her secret brew one Sunday afternoon when we were prepping the dishes for another abundant brunch. The time has come to heart this knowledge forward.

What we need:

Two big  jars of pickles.

Lots of string beans

Open, serve and enjoy the pickles.

Save the pickled juice in the jars.

Boil water.  Make and enjoy a cup of tea.

Pour the rest of the boiling water over the string beans ( which are waiting patiently for this procedure in a stainless steel bowl)

Wait five minutes, drain the water and sprinkle with white vinegar and some sea salt.

Let the string beans cool off a few minutes.

Finish your cup of tea while waiting.

Put the string beans in the pickled juice jars.

Close the jar and return to the fridge.

Try to wait one day before crunching and munching your way to happiness.

Enjoy yourselves.  I am.

Shabbas treat :Brownies :-)Brownies

Ingredients

2 cups cooked black beans or canned no-salt-added or low-sodium black beans, drained

10 Medjool dates

2 tbsp raw almond butter

1 tsp vanilla

1/2 cup natural, non-alkalized cocoa powder

1 tbsp ground chia seed

Raspberries or other berries for topping

Banana Treat

Ingredients

2 frozen bananas

Handful of blueberries

A few walnuts

Directions

Preheat oven to 200° F.

Blend the black beans, dates, almond butter and vanilla in a food processor or high powered blender until smooth.

Add the remaining ingredients and blend again. Pour into a very lightly oiled 8 x 8 inch baking pan and bake for 1 1/2 hours.

Cool completely before cutting into small squares. Top with raspberries or other berries.

Blend bananas, blueberries, and walnuts in a high speed blender.

Pair the banana treat with the warm brownies and enjoy!

via (1) Sauci Bosner.

Ginger Peanut Pumpkin Soup

What we need:

Fresh pumpkin

fresh ginger

fresh garlic and shallot ( if the spirit moves you )

chili peppers ( that is why a balcony garden is handy)

fresh parsley, coriander or mint leaves

organic peanut butter

pressed coconut oil and coconut cream ( move to Hawaii)

veggie bouillion powder

salt , Maldon flakes or Himalayan (vacation plans)

Here is how I do it:

Wash the pumpkin and cut in chunks. If organic, I leave the

skins on.

Boil water with the veggie bouillon.

Place the pumpkins in the boiling water. If you want a very thick soup, make certain that the pumpkin is covered. If you want a thinner soup, add a bit more water.

Chop and fry the chills, garlic and shallot in coconut oil.

When the pumpkin is soft, blitz and/or blend in the pan. Tip:

Take off the burner when you do this and have paper towels ready to catch the splashes.

Place pan back on the burner, with a small flame.

Add peanut butter and coconut milk.

Taste and adjust spices to your liking.

Simmer for 15-20 minutes until the soup becomes thick.

You can always add more boiled water if it is too thick.

Add chills, garlic and shallots. You can scrap the coconut oil as well into the soup.

Chop and add the parsley, coriander and/or mint leaves.

Stir and add salt if needed. Tip: Maldon salt flakes are intense. Have a pinch should be more than enough.

Stir for a few moments.

Say your prayers, serve in large bowls.

Enjoy yourselves. I am.

via Sauci Bosner.

what to do with four baby eggplants, three tomatoes , two garlic bulbs and one lemon…

Slice eggplants lengthwise, salt and let them sweat out the bitterness for one hour
wash them on cold water and place in a pyrex baking dish
prick the tomatoes and place in another pyrex dish, with the two garlic bulbs
place in preheated oven ( first high then 160 degrees)
squeeze lemon juice, add a few spoonfuls of tachini, dried parsley, chili, pepper and any other herbs that call you at the moment

Thank you for surviving the summer storms and not turning into Tin Man.

Thank you for carrying my veggies fruits and toilet paper home today.

Thank you for having great brakes which stop  on a dime  and do not throw me for a loop.

Thank you for never complaining that you are working too hard.

Thank you for moving me forward when my past gets ahead of me.

Loving you helps me to love me more.

Letter to Shabbas Descending
This morning I awoke twenty minutes before the alarm was set.
Early morning breezes rushed honeysuckle and jasmine scents through the room.
I stood up easily, stretching my back and legs, making certain that every thing was still intact after yesterday’s
climbing of stone stairs and making my way through the all too familiar alley and walkways of Jerusalem’s Old City.
My bones ached and my feet were covered in dust and sand. when I got to my home, in what is called the New City.
I wanted to write up the impressions of the children’s day camp, enjoying the coolness of lebina with the lunch, the cool sweat of a can of diet coke on my forehead. As my grandma would say,-a mechiya-. I fell asleep at the computer and lucky me, fell asleep soon enough thereafter on clean for Shabbas sheets and pillowcases. Nothing beats getting horizontal on clean sheets.
Today when I woke up I knew that this would be a good day.
Showered and ready to start anew , I walked out to the roadside. Cafe Afuk and yogurt with muesli seemed a great way to celebrate being able to get up shower get dressed and take a walk in the neighborhood. Heading towards the organic market, I passed several familiar faces, smells and sounds…The Shabbas prep. So much more -hamish-here.
Shlepping bags of veggies and free range chicken, challes whole wheat and not, cola zero and diet creamy foamy delicious root beer throughout the day to my new home…then out again to get the papers and a shabbas book Anja recommended. Then putting away the shoppings and enjoying the fact that the fridge and the freezer are filled and I still have time to make dinner and relax. It is almost Shabbas.
The smells of foods cooking and cakes baking greet me now from every direction. The cars in the street are slowing down. I saw the dark haired girl from the mecholet walking down the road. Shabbas is descending in Jerusalem.
Good Shabbes Good Yom Tov.

Letter from this Balcony

Perched somewhat higher than
this o sing a song olive branch
casting early morning breezes on
cotton clad passer byers jogging over Jerusalem’s hills, nothing is heard but iTunes plugged into shut down ears.

These wild sage and jamine smells occupy Jerusalem throughout time,
overcoming radical survival challenges in this most hot spot.
Chassids clad in tallisim seek refuge under fur trimmed streimels, joggling Tehillim in hope of avoiding tan streaked boychicks and alte kake ladies going for a sivvuv before the rugelach.
Darked skinned male workers lie under the olive tree.
Dark skinned women wearing yellow dresses and pink pimped lips accompany Jewish elderly in and out of taxis.

I drink my coffee on this balcony.
In Amsterdam, Mokum Aleph
I would be perched behind the geraniums.

Letter to Al Tirah/Fear Not

‘Once upon a time, many stories  ago, neighbors used to pass by on the streets and memories of  our hearts.
They  greeted each other with Good morning, Boker or, shalom aleichem, salaam alekum, Kif halek, goedemorgen.

Mailmen were excited for you when a letter came from far away places.
Kids saved stamps to broaden their horizons and impress the neighbors.
Walls were built of stone and green trimmed hedges.
Doors were left open.
Just in case, there was always someone in the neighborhood to let you in.
Girls and boys played catch outside.
They hopped skipped and jumped their way to the finish.

Mothers always cooked too much.
You never know who might drop by with some gossip or news.
Nothing was wasted.
Nothing was thrown away.
Not even people.

Fear creeps in slowly, occupying cracked walls.
Doors shut down. Keys get thrown away.
Dreams slip through real and cyber space.
Mothers’ hearts are broken once again.
Sweets and savories lull us into sleepless awakening.
Living leaves some wasted while others enjoy the rush.
Cement walls and Ikea fences keep us on our tippy toes
while we could be sharing songs of freedoms.

Good Shabbas.  Good Yom Tov. Ramadan Kareem.