“In every job that must be done, there is an element of fun. You find the fun and—snap!—the job's a game!” - Mary Poppins

Friends, it was a sh*tty weekend. [It was a great, beautiful, tiring weekend…with lots of literal poop in it.]

-Heather Maloney, No Shortcuts

I’ve been taking the scenic route back from yoga and meditation lately. Those of you who have an idea where I live might be thinking, “wait…isn’t is all scenic route?” And you wouldn’t be wrong. If I take the “fast” way, I turn from my nearly quarter-mile gravel driveway onto a bumpy private road, then a slightly bigger road, before finally getting to first one windy two-lane state road, then another.

The back way skips the center line completely, commanding the full attention of the driver. Meeting an oncoming car means both of you slow down, scootch over a little, give a courtesy wave, and drive on.

The “fast” way saves me about five minutes on a good day. The scenic route invites me to really take a good look around. To slow down and enjoy the journey. Road names like State Route 55 are replaced by signs that say things like “Parker Hollow.” You’ll pass more than one country church, too many cows to count, little streams. It may actually take a bit longer than that “extra” five minutes because the temptation is so strong to pull over and take a few photos. And really - why not?

I wish I could say that I started taking the back way out of a primordial pull toward calm and ease, but what really prompted it was a traffic accident on the main road that almost caused me to be late one day. Taking the “slow” way home actually saved me a few minutes - and was so much more pleasant that I continued to go that way, not always, but often. It was a nice reminder that faster isn’t always faster.

It’s been a year now - Earth Day 2025 - since I left my federal job and dug in to my “dream vacation”, which in my case looks like a wild garden patch of homesteading, health coaching, teaching yoga, cottage baking, logging some paid hours in front of spreadsheets (I did not, apparently, quite reach escape velocity from all aspects of my former work), and somewhere in there finding time for all the other things that nourish me.

I had big plans for this anniversary post. In one version, I’ve found my way to a soft life where I earn six figures in exchange for four hours a week of work. The growth gurus promised that could happen if I just manifested hard enough. I’ve discovered something weird, though, something that I think probably makes me a bad capitalist (but hopefully a good farmer): I seem to enjoy work, independent of the financial rewards (although this is probably a great time to note that you’re always welcome to throw something in the tip jar.)

A couple of weeks ago, I sat down with three friends who had also taken a version of the federal “Fork”, departing their careers sooner than expected, for a wide-ranging, hilarious, and soulful conversation that I plan - just as soon as I get to editing it! - to share with you all. Since I’m a much more enthusiastic interviewer than audio editor, all I can do for the moment is tease the highlights with a spoiler: turns out, none of us regrets the decision or wants to go back. Instead, we’ve been enjoying the surprising things that show up when every day is allowed to look slightly different. We’ve also all developed mild-to-severe allergies to being boxed in. And all of us are, in one way or another, taking the scenic route to whatever comes next.

This spring has been full of good reminders about the futility of taking shortcuts. The weather has continued to ping-pong hot to cold and back again. Trees that blossomed too early, responding to that first warmth, aren’t doing as well as those that held on a bit longer, biding their time. In my greenhouse, tomato and peppers impatiently begun in February now wait another few weeks - average last frost is May 11th, and setting them out too early would likely mean three months of wasted effort. A new rooster introduced to the flock with more haste than planned caused some temporary chaos before harmony was restored.

Taking my cue from the spring, and from the scenery along the back road, I too am meandering, biding my time, working to release attachments to “my” timing and plans and instead really watching to see what appears around each corner. A year out, I occasionally still wonder whether the main road might not have been a bit smoother, a little more direct, maybe even reduced wear and tear on my vehicle. But the thing is, I’ve stopped believing in direct routes. The time you save always disappears somewhere else. And the drive is much more fun when you don’t have to focus on staying between the lines.

One small salvation for me: a weekend of yoga classes and bread deliveries and various farm errands meant several hours in the car, sitting (a small luxury), simply taking in the view, listening to my audiobook (the un-soothing Midnight in Chernobyl, if you must know), and watching as the landscape turned ever-more technicolor shades.

When I wasn’t sitting in my private viewing gallery, I was: repotting tomatoes and clearing the wreckage from the blown-down coop and picking up a new rooster and cleaning the garage of winter detritus and baking and bulk-prepping dog food and checking on the sheep and visiting with neighbors and laying out garden beds and making another run into town for supplies and…

In lieu of a long post, I’m leaving you here with some snapshots and a 21-minute yoga nidra. After a very full weekend, what I really need is a nap. Maybe you do, too.

Below: 21-minute yoga nidra for finding stillness in springtime.

A note about audio content: I love Substack best for its long-form written-word posts, such a rarity these days on the internet, and usually listen in other places. If that’s you, too, you can also find some of my recordings on Bandcamp, Insight Timer, and YouTube.

Other signs of our progressing Appalachian spring this week:

* The Pink Moon on April 1st was true to its name: although I haven’t spotted any moss phlox, our woods and fields are full of other pinks and purples: Virginia springbeauty; purple dead nettle; apple, cherry, and peach blossoms; even a few shy bulbs I’d forgotten that I planted. Joining them soon: the dogwoods are beginning to bud, and - if I neglect my pruning - the multiflora rose, that I was so charmed by when we moved out here but quickly learned is a trickster who will gladly take over your garden and fence line, will be not far behind.

* The weather continues to alternate between “perfect San Diego beach temps” and “another round of freeze, haha suckers, you didn’t plant those peas yet did you?” In preparation for this week’s chill, we’ve moved a small heater into the greenhouse - after coddling 104 tomato and pepper seedlings for almost two months, and optimistically setting in some lavender, marigolds, and basil, this is not the week I prefer to start from scratch.

* The Illicit Ramp Guy is back. In my part of the country, one delicious thing to look forward to each spring is the arrival of ramp season. Ramps are a type of wild spring onion found in Appalachian forests, and this time of year they start to appear in butters and salad dressings and pestos and marinades all over. If you don’t have a good ramp-picking spot, you may have to find a guy willing to sell what he forages. Ours parks his truck below the underpass on the way to Walmart and puts out a cardboard sign with “RAMPS” sharpeed on it. The whole thing feels extremely shady, but you do what you must.

In my kitchen, the season’s offerings are still mostly confined to eggs - so many eggs. Thanks to the flock and a fondness for potatoes, we’ve been eating a lot of tortilla española. This week, an abundance of sweet potatoes on the counter (left over from our spoiled dogs’ breakfasts and dinners) and the appearance, not of ramps, but of wild chives in the yard inspired us to mix things up a bit. Below, my version of a sweet potato and wild chive tortilla, with a couple little tricks to make things less fussy. Unfussiness is, in my view, one of the beauties of a tortilla - just a few simple ingredients come together to make something greater than the sum of its parts.

Speaking of fussy - have you ever watched a goose prepare to lay an egg? Our Chinese white, Sasha (appropriately for a flock guardian goose, her name means “protector”), has an entire production. First, she enters the sheep barn, announces her presence, and evicts everyone - including the sheep. Then, she goes to her favorite corner and begins nudging around bits of straw, setting things up just so. Finally, she takes a proud seat, perfect posture, and waits. I’ve begun giving amazed friends the occasional goose eggs, which have unbelievable heft and really feel almost like a unit of currency. It’s funny, one mused, “goose egg” is vernacular for zero, nothing…but if you’ve ever held a goose egg, you know that makes absolutely no sense.

For my tortilla, I used a combination of goose, duck, and chicken eggs - when you have a mixed flock, a kitchen scale becomes very useful in cooking and baking - but you can of course use whatever your flock offers or you find at the store.

Classic tortilla española may or may not include onion. Here, I’m including onion and wild chives and garlic and pepper - partly because I apparently have no respect for tradition, and partly because the sweet potatoes want, in my view, to be offset by a little pungency, a little spice. You are welcome to scale back any of the seasonings to your taste.

Finally - classic tortilla is cooked on one side, then flipped and cooked on the other, and then flipped back onto a plate. This is a lot of high-stakes egg flipping, so I prefer to simply cook on a stovetop to set the bottom and sides, then transfer to an oven for the remainder of the cook. Just one flip, to serve - although if you’re flip-shy you could certainly serve the thing right-side up, right out of the pan.

Sweet Potato and Wild Chive Tortilla Española (serves 6-8)

Ingredients

* 8 large chicken eggs, or about 16 oz of whatever eggs you have (I used 1 goose, 2 duck, and 2 chicken…)

* 2 lbs sweet potatoes, peeled (about three medium sweet potatoes)

* 1 lb yellow or white onions (about three small onions)

* Generous handful of a fresh spring onion - ramps, wild chives, or green onions in a pinch, minced

* 1/4 cup olive oil

* 1 t salt

* 1/2 t coarsely ground black pepper

* 2 garlic cloves, grated (optional)

Instructions

* Thinly slice the sweet potatoes. A mandolin can help greatly with this task, but watch those fingertips and knuckles!

* Peel and thinly slice the onions, about the same size as the sweet potatoes.

* Steam the sweet potato slices: add a couple inches of water and a steamer basket to a large pot, then the sliced potatoes. Turn the heat on medium-high, cover, and cook until just tender, about 15 minutes.

* While you’re steaming the potatoes, sauté the onions. Use the full 1/4 cup of oil in a 9-inch cast iron pan (or your preferred nonstick oven-safe pan). Turn the heat to medium and cook the onions until translucent and tender.

* While the potatoes and onions are cooking, crack the eggs and add 1 t salt, the onions/ramps/wild chives, the pepper, and (if desired) the garlic. Whisk until eggs are light and frothy.

* Remove the cooked onions from the pan with a slotted spoon, reserving remaining oil and ensuring it thoroughly coats the bottom and sides of the pan.

* Allow sweet potatoes and onions to cool slightly, then add to the egg mixture and stir to combine with a rubber spatula (you want to leave the sweet potatoes as intact as possible.)

* Heat the skillet you just used for the onions over medium heat, ensuring the pan is nice and hot. Add the egg/potato/onion mixture, pressing the top with a spatula.

* Cook until the bottom and sides are set, about 10 minutes. Periodically use your spatula to pull egg away from the sides of the pan - you’ll know you’re ready when the egg comes away cleanly.

* Transfer to a 350-degree oven and bake until the egg is set through - about 20-25 minutes. Use a toothpick to check that you don’t have a runny-egg-in-center situation.

* Remove from the oven and find your most reliable heat-proof pair of oven mitts. Invert a plate over the top, pick the whole thing up, say a little prayer, and flip the tortilla onto the plate.

* Perfect tortilla? Congratulations! Imperfect tortilla? You will probably find that it still tastes great.

* Enjoy hot with spring greens…or cold the next morning right out of the refrigerator. Just, whatever you do, don’t make eye contact with the goose.

Be well,

Havala

p.s. - Here looking for yoga or health coaching? You can find my current schedule and offerings on my website.

p.p.s. - Contemplating that fall beach retreat? Early interest has been strong - just 10 spots (7 shared/3 private rooms) left! Early-bird rates are available for those who book by May 15th.

Below: a PDF of this recipe for your files. :-)

If you’ve ever walked with an off-leash dog on a country road while distracted, you know that they are excellent at noticing that your attention has been diverted. One minute you’re composing a letter to your member of congress - the next your pal is a quarter mile away chasing a groundhog or, better yet, rolling in skunk poop.

Saturday, with an empty battery and a full mind, I left the phone at home and undertook the novel task of just walking. Instead of trying to capture a photo, I looked. Instead of trying in vain to make a sound recording, I listened to the gorgeous music of the thawing countryside.

Phones are garbage at discernment. In particular, I’ve noticed that every time I try and make a sound recording, no matter what sounds I’m trying to capture, the main thing I catch is the two-miles-away freeway which, even though lightly trafficked, has an unmistakable roar. Sure, the problem could be solved with better technology, but I have a suspicion that a giant bag of recording equipment and an enthusiastic 2-year-old lab might be a tricky combination.

Humans, on the other hand, are fabulous at what science calls “auditory selective attention” and frustrated partners the world over call selective listening. The good news is that we can choose what we tune out - and to what we tune in. Put the phone down on a walk and take a listen for a moment and you may notice that you can pick up small, distinct sounds: the rustling of leaves, the trickle of a small stream, individual bird calls. Once you try it, it’s a fun game:

What’s the farthest sound you can hear? What about the closest? Lowest? Highest? Fastest? Slowest? How many different sounds can you pick out?

Maybe you can’t get out of the house today, or your mobility is limited. You can still play - either by simply opening a window, or by putting on headphones and choosing any piece of music at all.

My favorite music of all, this week, has been the sudden, joyful chorus of wood frogs waking up from their long winter’s nap, signaling, unmistakably, the arrival of the season of stirring and rising sap and song.

Take a walk, go to your window, put on a piece of music you love. What do you hear?

In “Well Rooted Readings”, I’ll be digging up a collection of public-domain nature and garden writing and reading it aloud. You can expect to find fiction, nonfiction, and poetry, held together by the simple thread that I find it beautiful.

It is a great delight to read these texts, both in their similarities to, and differences from, our current sensibilities. A gardener in 1906 was, like a gardener in 2026, both an observer of nature and an agent of creative disruption; a partner to the landscape and the aspiring master of it. This much is the same. What is most different is the language, worlds away from our current fetish for brevity and efficiency. Instead, we find lush, evocative passages, nimble and humorous turns of phrase, deliberate pacing.

We begin the series with “The Garden, You, and I”, a 1906 work in 19 chapters (plus an epilogue) written by Mabel Osgood Wright (pseudonym “Barbara”) a writer and conservationist who was the founder and first president of the Connecticut Audubon Society. I love the playful, yet respectful, relationship between gardener and natural world described here, with an emphasis on learning from, rather than controlling, one’s environment. I hope you, too, are charmed by Ms. Wright’s prose.

Read here: The Garden, You and I, Introduction and Chapter 1, by “Barbara”, Mabel Osgood Wright. New York, The MacMillan Company; London, MacMillan & Co, Ltd., 1906

Inspired to read more? You can find the full text of this work, along with a vast library of other public-domain writing, at Project Gutenberg: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/17514

Did this reading help you feel more Well Rooted? Your subscription means the world. Free subscribers are warmly welcomed; paid subscriptions help keep the teapot warm and the bird-feeders full.

Too many subscriptions, but enjoy seeing this content in the world? I also gratefully welcome one-time contributions to my

Despite these cheerful little flourishes, the general mood is definitely less exuberant, echoing the landscape outside. And even if my taste buds - or are those the whispers of my Eastern European ancestors? - insist that four months of fortification with bread and cheese is the right move as I hunker down for cold weather, the rest of my body is asking for a little more green, please.

Enter this soup: almost zero effort, absolute Hulk shades of green, and loaded up with more than your RDA of vitamin A and 20(!) grams of fiber per serving. Split peas, a whole lot of kale, and immodest quantities of celery go into the pot along with some herbs and broth and emerge as the humble winter dinner hero you didn’t know you needed.

I began this month (just ten days ago!) thinking that I may offer a big, festive recipe here. But honestly? During the holidays, with their cookies and cheese balls and turduckens, it can be lovely to have a few no-fuss, comforting, soothing, and nutritious recipes in the back pocket. In the spirit of yin season, this soup is a little invitation to go gently on both the kitchen labors and on the digestive system.

And maybe, while you gaze into your green, green bowl, to daydream about spring salads.

Pea Soup with Greens (serves 6)

2 cups dried split peas

6 cups broth or stock of choice (I used water + 2 T Better Than Bouillon concentrate)

2 bunches kale (or other dark leafy green of choice)

8 celery ribs (about half of one stalk)

1/2 t fenugreek powder

1 t curry powder

3 whole cloves garlic

1/2 cup grapeseed oil

4-5 scallions

1/4 t chili flakes

Fresh herbs to garnish - parsley, mint, and/or anything else you prefer

Salt to taste

Directions

* Wash kale and celery thoroughly; chop into small pieces (you can include the kale stems and the celery leaves!)

* Add the split peas, broth, kale, celery, 2 of the garlic cloves (whole is fine - they’ll break down!), fenugreek, curry, and garlic in an Instant Pot. Set to pressure cook on “high” for 20 minutes.

* Note: you can also do this the longer way on the stovetop, about 45 minutes to an hour, stirring frequently to ensure the bottom doesn’t burn.

* While the soup is cooking, prepare the scallion oil: slice the scallions and add to a small pot with grapeseed oil, chili flake, and the other garlic clove (smashed). Allow to simmer for about 30 minutes, until the scallions begin to brown, and then strain the oil.

* After the pressure has naturally released, open the pot and give everything a good stir. Your soup should be very green; the vegetables and split peas will have broken down slightly.

* Serve with your choice of toppings. Recommended: a dollop of Greek yogurt; scallion oil (you won’t use all of it - save the rest for another occasion); fresh herbs. Get as much green in there as you can!

Nutrition information (without scallion oil or other condiments. Estimated - this information is not FDA-evaluated. Actual nutritional content can differ based on ingredient brands, specific quantities used, and preparation methods.

188 calories; 47 g carbohydrates; 0 g fat; 20 g fiber; 15 g protein.

This week begins a new feature on the Well Rooted Being blog. Over the last few months, interspersed with yoga videos, guided meditations, recipes, and sunrise photos, I’ve found that it brings me particular joy to share stories of this wild and wonderful (the tourist brochures have it right in this case) place I call home. I am particularly inspired by the people - both generations-deep and transplant - who are around just about every corner making art, building businesses, growing food, maintaining traditions, raising families, cultivating community.

I’ll be releasing episodes of this podcast each month, interviewing folks in and around my community out here in West Virginia who inspire me and help the place feel a little more like home.

Up first: Dr. Antonia “Tona” Allison, a mom, new farmer, West Virginia transplant, entrepreneur, and Executive Director at Hampshire County AI, a technology initiative focused on Hampshire County youth. We talk about building community, buying land, taking risks, creating opportunities for rural youth, the doorman fallacy, and whether artificial intelligence is coming to replace us all.

If you’ve ever wondered whether the farmer and the techie can be friends, Tona proposes something far more radical: the farmer should be the one making the development decisions. She envisions a technologically-democratized future where control rests with the people who have their hands in the soil, doing the work - and believes rural youth hold the key to this transformation:

“People in West Virginia are brilliant. The kids out here are brilliant. They’re very connected to the land. They’re grounded in their community. They have a strong faith and strong purpose. So if anyone’s going to come up with an idea that’s worth a million dollars, I think it would be our kids here.”

At the end of the day, says Tona, despite the many hats she wears, “I only do one thing. I only raise my kid.” She envisions a world where - far from the dystopian future many of us fear - it is “the kids right here in Hampshire County, more broadly in West Virginia”, who will write the script for the world we’ll be living in.

Although I’ll freely admit that I run in the “tech skeptic” pack, Tona’s optimism, energy, and sense of wide-open possibility gave me a glimpse of what might be possible. You can learn more about her work at HampshireCountyAI.org, or via this short video.

I hope you enjoyed this first episode of Well Rooted Radio! I’d love to hear what you think - is there room for optimism in AI? What are some other ways that we can ensure the prosperity and sustainability of our rural farming communities? Drop me a note in the chat below!

Until next time - stay rooted, and be well,

Havala

Want more movement practices, mindfulness, recipes, and stories about the amazing place I call home? I’d love it if you wanted to…

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I, too, am doing my best to rein in the (welcome) chaos of my first-ever adult summer without a day job (I continue to joke that I no longer work full time - I just work all the time) and ease into a gentle seasonal rhythm. It’s not easy - doshically, I’m a down-the-line Pitta, all activation energy, prone to crankiness when stuff isn’t getting done efficiently enough for my liking. I’m a Capricorn and INTJ too - chilling is not my natural resting state. I’m working at it, though:

* It’s been two weeks since my last caffeinated cup of coffee or tea. Ayurveda strongly recommends that people with my “fiery” disposition avoid heating, acidic, pungent, and sharp foods, and caffeine is at the tippy-top of that list. I’m also one of those lucky creatures known as a perimenopausal woman, and studies suggest caffeine may worsen hot flashes and night sweats. And - I did a little math recently and realized that I’ve had at least three cups of coffee or tea almost every day for the last twenty-seven years. It felt like time to see if I could still exist without chemical assist. So far, I’ve noticed that I was definitely depending on that little serotonin and dopamine kick to manage the lower end of my mood spectrum. The good news: I’m headache-free and beginning to see my energy levels normalize. Still, periodic wellness checks are welcome. Turns out I really was good and addicted to the stuff.

* I’ve been lighting candles in the morning for some quiet pre-dawn contemplation and natural IR light therapy. You can get infrared light outdoors from the sun, particularity in the morning and evening when it’s low in the sky, but winter’s reduced daylight hours can make this a little bit challenging. In contrast, most modern light bulbs - as well as electronics - emit blue light, which can be disruptive to your circadian rhythm. It’s made a huge difference in the quality of my morning to get out of bed and ease into light, letting the sunrise take over gradually.

* Starting this month I’ll also be changing up my posting rhythm. While I’ll still be sending out yoga practices, guided meditations, and recipes, these will come at a cadence of one offering per week - one of each per month. This month’s yoga and meditation practices will continue our trajectory up the chakras - appropriately, we’ve landed at the third eye, or ajna, center of intuition and deep inner knowledge. Expect quiet, contemplation - and yes, a little yin.

Also new this month: this blog’s first-ever episode of Well Rooted Radio, a monthly podcast featuring interviews with folks in and around my community who inspire me and help the place feel a little warmer and brighter. One thing that brings me great comfort and joy is sharing stories of the place I call home and the amazing people I meet here. This month’s episode, I Only Do One Thing, is a wide-ranging trip through farming, raising kids in a small rural town, AI (spoiler: my guest doesn’t think the robots are inevitably coming for us all), and building community by getting in where you fit in. I hope you’ll tune in!

Stay warm, and be well,

Havala

p.s. -

I’d love to hear about the practices you’re embracing this winter! What are your body, mind, and spirit telling you that they need in this slower, contemplative season?

I do occasionally get up to a little bar-kitchen mischief, throwing a vegetable-filled special on the menu to mix things up, adding a little relief for the palate from jalapeño poppers and Old Bay wings. Last week, I was in a soup mood, so I assembled an easy mix of sweet potatoes, lentils, and collard greens. My husband came down to check out my work. “How’s the soup?” I asked him. “Familiar,” he replied, as someone intimately familiar with my abiding love of garlic and smoked paprika. And honestly - that’s exactly what I want in a soup. Comfort, familiarity…and maybe, because reminding people about colon health is one of my favorite forms of evangelism, a little dietary fiber.

This soup takes about an hour and a half all in, but most of that is simmer time. Serve it with some cornbread and get nice and cozy.

Lentil, Sweet Potato, and Collard Green Soup (Serves 6)

2 chopped onions

2 chopped celery stalks

2 cloves minced garlic

2 T olive oil

2 T tomato paste

6 cups vegetable (or chicken) stock - sub bone broth for more protein

3 sweet potatoes, peeled and cubed

1 cup dry lentils (any kind you like)

1 bunch collard greens, washed and coarsely chopped

1 t smoked paprika

1 t garlic powder

1/2 t black pepper

Salt to taste

Saute the onions and celery in the olive oil until translucent; add garlic and cook a few minutes more. Add the stock or bone broth, peeled and cubed sweet potatoes and lentils. After a half hour, add the collard greens. Simmer until lentils and sweet potatoes are soft, about an hour total. Stir vigorously - the sweet potatoes will break down a little into the broth. Add seasonings and salt, adjusting to taste. Serve with your favorite bread or over rice.

Nutrition Information per serving (with vegetable broth): 249 calories, 5.4 g fat, 11.6 g protein, 40.8 g carbs, 7.9 g fiber

Since encountering a Yotam Ottolenghi-inspired whole roasted cauliflower years ago, somewhere in the wilds of the internet, I’ve served the dish dozens of times - for family at the holidays, on a weeknight, for retreat guests. Every time, it’s a showstopper - and every time, my diners request the recipe. I finally went searching for the original and, although I found many variations on the theme, I turned up nothing that really resembles what’s now my standard version. So I suppose the recipe I present below is “mine” now, as inevitably happens when food preparations are handed down and along.

I love this cauliflower because it does such a glorious job of showcasing one of the most humble vegetables. Poor cauliflower gets made into “rice” and “pizza crust” and “mashed potatoes” and “buffalo wings”, but rarely gets its own moment in the sun. This presentation changes that completely, letting everyone’s favorite carb substitute have its supermodel moment.

A coaching client recently asked me if I had a nutrition reason for suggesting this particular recipe. And although cruciferous vegetables, including cauliflower, have a wide array of health benefits, the real answer is no - I love this recipe simply because it’s beautiful and delicious. A slightly longer answer might circle back to yes - because if you can find it in your heart to love a cauliflower dish, I have confidence I just might sneak some kale into your lunch next.

All that said, this is more method than recipe. My proportions are probably a little different every time, and I hesitate to even give measurements - please feel welcome to play around to suit your taste and what’s in your refrigerator. Who knows - maybe after a dozen or so dinner parties you’ll find yourself sharing “your” roasted cauliflower recipe!

Whole Roasted Cauliflower a la Ottalenghi

Serves 2-4

1 whole cauliflower

2 T olive oil

Salt to taste

1/2 c tahini

2 T white miso

1-2 cloves garlic (fresh or roasted)

Juice of 1 lemon

1/2 t smoked paprika

1/2 c minced fresh parsley

1/4 c pomegranate seeds (here’s an Intractable on cutting a pomegranate, or just buy the seeds)

2 T pine nuts

1 oz (or more) crumbled feta

* Preheat oven to 425 degrees

* Clean and steam the cauliflower: remove outer leaves and leave head intact. Insert steamer basket into a pot and heat an inch of water. Steam the cauliflower for about five minutes, until just tender.

* Carefully remove the cauliflower to a baking sheet (or use a Pyrex/oven safe bowl that you will serve in.) Rub with olive oil and sprinkle lightly with salt.

* Bake the cauliflower at 425 until tender and browned, about 20 minutes.

* While the cauliflower is baking, prepare the tahini sauce: add tahini, miso, minced or pressed garlic cloves, lemon juice, smoked paprika, and salt to taste. Stir with a fork, adding warm water a little at a time until you reach a pourable consistency.

* When the cauliflower is cooked, remove from the oven. Leave in dish or transfer to a serving plate.

* Garnish lavishly: first, pour the tahini sauce on top. Then, sprinkle with parsley, pine nuts, feta, and pomegranate seeds.

* Cut into halves or quarters and serve, sprinkling additional sauce/toppings on to your heart’s content.

* Watch your dinner guests swoon over cruciferous vegetables.

Serving and substitution suggestions:

* This whole sauce-and-topping combo also makes for a luxurious baked sweet potato, if you’re not feeling the cauliflower. Or, chop up a sweet potato (smaller is better here), toss in some olive oil and salt, and roast with the cauliflower!

* Whole cauliflower too fussy? Roasted florets are just as tasty, and might even have an advantage in the cauliflower-to-topping ratio department.

* This would be lovely served on a bed of a cooked whole grain like farro or bulgur.

* Use any nut, herb, or cheese your heart desires in place of the ones suggested here. Pumpkin seeds (pictured below), walnuts, parmesan, goat cheese, chopped green onion, cilantro…

* The pomegranate seeds are, I suppose, optional, but they do make the whole project look extremely festive. Which is kind of the point.

Starting this month, I'll be posting movement, mindfulness, and food content to this site; your subscription would mean the world to me. I’m excited for another forum to share some of what has nourished me throughout several changes of season - both literally, and metaphorically.

Thanks for being here with me! More to come.