A Zeal for Sweet Potatoes

     The side dish I created last night to go with the pepper stakes was to be mashed sweet potatoes.  It sounded great and in my head I imagined whipped, fluffy masses like little mountains towering above the beef in swirled gelato-like fashion next to a simple Caesar salad.  I mashed away at the boiled tubers and added a few shakes of smoked paprika, 2 generous pinches of sea salt, eyeballed a tablespoon each of half and half and unsalted butter and two good pinches of brown sugar.  I stirred it up and tasted the mush.  The flavor was acceptable for a weeknight sidedish but it lacked that meringue effect I was going for so I scraped it into the mixer and shifted that Kitchen Aid into high gear.
     Despite the whipping motion of the paddle no soft peaks formed.  The vision of the ruddy mush in the mixer evoked a jolt of creativity.  This could be bread.  And without a further thought two eggs dropped into the bowl.  Round and round went the paddle as the mash softened.  Within arms reach I always have my cooking reference compendium The Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook knowing it would have the fundamentals for a quick break recipe.  I looked at the ingredients and quickly calculated the ratios as applied to my sweet potatoes in the mixer.  It was going to be a matter of texture, palatableness and science.  I would create my own recipe because what I saw in the cookbook was a good skeleton but I needed to put the meat on the bones. Here is what I came up with.
Time 20 minutes for the potatoes to cook
10 minutes in the mashing and mixing process
60-70 minutes in the oven 

The Recipe for Sweet Potato Bread (exactly how I made it)

1/2 tsp Baking soda (note  I would probably increase this to 3/4 tsp next time just to see what happens)
1 1/2 Cup flour (note: I would probably increase this to 1 3/4 cup flour next time)

3 medium sized sweet potatoes skinned, chopped, boiled and mashed
A few dashes of paprika
A a couple of pinches of sea salt
1 Tbsp half and half
Two big pinches of brown sugar
1 Tbsp unsalted butter
2 eggs
1/4 Cup applesauce
1 Cup sugar (I may do a little more sugar next time)1 tsp vanilla
1/2 Cup chopped pecans
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Grease bread pan (standard sized) only half way up.
Mix flour and baking soda in one bowl and set aside
In the mixing bowl put the prepared sweet potatoes and add everything up through the butter and mix on medium until mashed.  You can also do that part by hand.  Pretty simple if your sweet potatoes have simmered for a while.  Next add the eggs mix medium high until incorporated.  Add applesauce, sugar and vanilla and mix.  Grab your bowl of flour and baking soda and add that to the wet ingredients and mix in slowly just until incorporated.  Do not over mix.  Then swirl in the pecans (just barely stir them in) and finally pour the mixture into the prepared bread pan.  Bake for 60 - 70 minutes (You know how ovens can be).
Set out on wire rack to cool. Take out of bread pan to cool after about 15 minutes. Eat how you want. 

A Patriotic Recipe for Sangria

As you know, one of the things I really love is food and sharing culinary ideas.  This provides a much better platform than Facebook to share these recipes.  The following is modified from a website called Recipe Girl.  I should link to it because it often has some good pics and ideas.  So here it is for your enjoyment.  Again, I didn't make this up but it was such a hit at the Fourth Of July BBQ that I would highly suggest making a double batch.  It does have alcohol in it and perhaps soon I will create a non-alcohol version for my teetotaler cronies.

1 bottle Pinot Grigio
 1/2 Cup triple sec
 1/4 Cup Berry flavored vodka
1/4 Cup fresh lemon juice
2 Tbs Agave Nectar
3/4 Cup Blueberries
3/4 Cup sliced strawberries
3/4 Cup raspberries
1/2 Cup pineapples (bite sized pieces or cut into shapes of stars... do you have time for this?)

 Stir the liquids together in a liter container and add fruit.  Stir gently and refrigerate. Serve over ice.

Enjoy your day and make sure you have a designated driver, a nice burger, and a comfortable chair with friends.

The Irreverent Musical and the Running Shoes

Cue the jackhammer one block down.  In come the beats from steps on the scaffolding two stories below.  Long honking sounds from yellow taxis, beeps from the NYPD, unforgiving sirens from an FDNY engine or ladder truck changing frequency with distance.  I miss my daily irreverent musical staged every morning outside the window I rented (attached to an apartment) on the corner of West End Ave and 103rd.  Though some of you thought I was going to discuss The Book of Mormon musical or even the shock-named Mother F**er With A Hat, I would rather leave those to others for now.
     When I peeked out from the west facing window the sun and shadows on the buildings indicated the time of the morning; the less glare the earlier it was, the better it was for me to run* and the simpler the sounds were outside.  From my perspective, the change in the sun's reflection and the sounds below were my cues.  Get up. Experience the day!
**********Note**************
     I ALWAYS make sure I pack running shoes and associated accoutrement when I travel. I make room in the suitcase for two pairs of running socks, a running outfit and my running shoes.  This is not easy for a woman who likes her high-healed shoes and flirty dresses but I will make the sacrifice. This time I brought two pairs of fancy-heeled party shoes, a strappy, white, low-heeled sandal, a pair of walking shoes (Toms are wonderful for that) and my running shoes; Brooks with about 100 miles on them.  I stuff the running socks in the trainers so they don't take up any space in the suitcase. 
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     While the girls slept in cool sheets, the city symphony outside the bedroom walls slowly waking them from a peaceful night's rest, I sipped some water, laced up the shoes, adjusted the footpod that recorded my pace, speed and other geeky, techno-bits about my running, walked out the door and started my Garmin training watch for Le Tour de la Ville.  I would go see the instruments in the morning orchestra that wakes me up each day. 
     There were hundreds of people going to work, walking dogs, pushing strollers, leading preschoolers to Riverside Park for Sesame Street-like playground time.  Black cars revved their engines to make the yellow light on their way downtown with their late clients.  I ran east  toward Central Park.  Friends called to each other, hobos slept on yesterday's paper up against the brownstones while others talked to themselves with an untamed waving of their hands: my orchestra director for the day I presume.
     Four blocks from my start point and I have run a varied  cross-section of socio-economic backgrounds from the desirable West End address through the Frederick Douglass public housing that touched the sky and on to Central Park-facing apartments where the real Jerry Seinfeld lives.  I jog around all the walkers on the sidewalk and, not waiting for the signal to change in my advantage (I was finally becoming a New Yorker!) I land in Central Park (http://www.birdsofcentralpark.com/index.php/map).  A world of green explodes in front of me.  The birds are singing in tune and there is a small brook where cobbles line a short waterfall. The water moves under a bridge.  Near "The Pool" some water fowl land with a slight splash and I hear it.  Impossible.  The jackhammers, food carts, taxis, are right behind me 50 yards, but 50 yards in front of me I hear the splash of water and the crunch of my running shoes on the dirt path.  I run for only 30 minutes in the greenspace since I have to still get back to the apartment after I leave the boundary of Central Park. We were leaving that day and I wanted to make sure we left the apartment in tip-top shape for the returning family.
     The dissonant sounds that filled the streets as I ran the four blocks back to my home from the park boundary was like the beginning of this Vaughn Williams Symphony (#4: movement 4) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I4vnLCm0qn4.  Some of the symphony feels like my run.  (A story for another day: how music makes the run.)  But it was pleasing to hear.  I welcomed my New York sounds.  Some were jarring and tuneless while others kept a funky beat.  I miss my morning melodies like a silly symphony, the irreverent musical.  These cacophonous hummings played in a socialized ipod.  Everybody who was "unplugged" to their own devices heard them. As I reflected on this I entered the apartment building and walked up the stairs.  I gain entree into the apartment and peel off my shoes.  I was full of endorphins, inspiration, aspirations and  I was thriving.  I had fallen in love with New York City in my running shoes.

Karma Isn't Instant

Me and my band of three merry teens proved that there is indeed a way to do so much in one day.  NYC today in sight-seeing included: Alexander McQueen exhibit at The Met --chilling--, a steamy stroll through the greenery of Central Park with a quick pass by the Dellacorte Theatre, a shoulder to shoulder march through Time Square, shopping and getting lost in the largest Forever 21 on the planet, a view of Times Square from high above the noise of the city streets, experiencing Harry Potter costumes and props through the years at the NYC exhibition--it's last stop in the US--, deli sandwiches and baklava, and  front mezzanine seats to Broadway's Catch Me If You Can.  We meandered back home to our temporary flat on the Upper West Side after climbing out of the subway tunnel.  It didn't smell like urine nor vomit tonight so we were off to a good start to our walk home. 
     There was a younger woman in her twenties, hair pinned up, car legally "standing" as she carried lamps and furniture into her house.  It was after ten o'clock as we walked passed her.  I felt a nudge in my head saying she needed some help, so I called to the girls and walked a few steps back to her with my small army . At first, she politely refused because she had friends coming, but after about 10 seconds she was gently coerced into letting us help her.  What would have taken her at least 15 minutes and a liter of sweat took us 30 seconds. We got chairs, a table, and a box of linens out for her as her friend walked up to help.  It was done. We got it to her stoop and  her friends could help get it up to the apartment. 
     It was a great way to end the day.  I reflected on how much we fed our own souls today.  Maybe we had a little moxie left over to give to this young woman so that she could thrive.  As we walked away I told the girls that it good Karma that we passed forward.  It felt good.  It may have lifted their step. They may have not even thought twice.  But someday they might want to do it again because of that little time we helped in New York.  Maybe the young woman will help someone else thrive.  Lessons and Karma are not instant.  Sometimes we have to roll them around in our mind for awhile.

What Is In a Title?

The Moxie to Thrive is the place where photos, stories, recipes, travel logs and workout advice will blend to inspire as many as it touches to find the vigor and verve to grow and develop.  There is so much to see, hear, touch, and feel. This space is dedicated to impressing on others the many benefits of finding a way to experience the world, creating a positive influence on those around you, and gaining an appetite for life.