It doesn’t even come close

He’s traveling on a plane. I am unsettled. I wonder if this feeling is what mothers and wives and other emotional human beings describe as worry. I am not worried. I am unsettled. Someone close to my heart moves from one situation into another. I don’t know how this will affect our contact. This insecurity alters my emotional landscape. We call the unsettling climate change initiated by someone else’s movements worry. But ‘this worry’ has got more to do with the alteration of prerequisites for my own emotional well being in the sense of security and balance then it being a reflection of care for my beloved ones. A hole carved in our protective and ‘secure’ wall by other people is what we conveniently call ‘worry’ and sometimes even ‘love’.

I love him. I am full of him. What does it mean that I feel good, secure, protected and the best version of myself when I am with him? I read about suffocating emotional ties, parents helicoptering their off spring, over protecting and I think about intolerant children created by anxious parents. I was brought up with the freedom to get bored, lost, hurt and scared. I was brought up to show just my positive stuff so that my parents didn’t have to worry (read bother) about me and could attend to their own affairs. All worrisome stuff imperatively went unnoticed, to not smash the crystal ball beholding my bright future.

Beetroot and broad beans didn’t enter our home. My dad didn’t like them. He detested them so much that at one time while we were having dinner in a restaurant and they served broad beans as a side dish, my dad politely asked us (three children sitting across from him) to put the little serving bowl containing the broad beans at another table. Considered rude? The smell of broad beans made him nauseous. 

The first time I dared to eat beetroot was after having a collegue chef stipulating into fine detail how he liked me to assist him preparing beetroot, shallot, balsamic vinegar and generous amounts of olive oil for roasting. The result is wonderful and I have seduced many people with it since, including myself. Thank you Joe Devine, you self proclaimed Misplaced Chef

The path leading to a blissful recipe this Sunday morning is not very straight and rather steep. Don’t give up. Bare with me while we tackle another road block called hummus. Several years ago hummus got in the spotlights. Restaurant menus being overwhelmed by entries that had chick peas as a main ingredient mixed and seasoned with all kinds of stuff. Places that served only hummus in different variations opened it’s doors. You remember mr Hummus? I experimented with raw hummus based on uncooked sprouted chick peas. Slightly bitter but sweet enough. Meanwhile hummus has gotten back onto a more original track with now and then a side step to replacing chickpeas with white beans or adding chillie pepper to spice things up a bit.

It brings me to the final chapter of this early Sunday morning blog.

We call it Beetroot Hummus 
(although it doesn’t even come close)

1 fist size beetroot, peeled, quartered and cooked in water seasoned with generous salt and a few pepper corns
1 garlic clove
2 tablespoons hazelnut butter
Zest and juice of 1 lemon
Pepper, salt
Olive oil and chopped parsley to garnish

Put it all together in a food processor blending it magically into a beautiful mellow purple consistency. Serve with anything. Raw spinach, sliced yellow capsicum (bell pepper) macerated in lemon juice, a secret poached egg (I am vegan since years) and dehydrated flaxseed crackers. 

Enjoy your Sunday.

Author: Reina Hoctin Boes

I rely on e-motion. It's not about the smileys. And yet we live in a digital era where our emotions seem to be annoying attributes to life. Restrained, carefully chosen events to move our senses, are okay. We like to buy our emotions: food, dating sites, concert tickets. The fair exchange for money gives a sense of control over our emotions. Because what if, we freely open up, expose our senses on a daily basis to all that comes around? It means vulnerability. Do we really want to go there? Or do we rather read or fantasize about it? The second part of my life I wish to dedicate to the senses. And as such I'll be re-exploring reality. We say this moment is our life. What is it that this moment beholds? I reckon we haven't got a clue to find out what this moment beholds other then our five senses.

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