Prepared to have your mind blown.

Caramel Praline Matzoh? What could be better!?  Turning it into an ice cream sandwich.

Yes. You heard that right.

Gourmet ice cream sandwiches have been an obsession of mine for about 4 years now. I thought of starting a business, but it was too cumbersome. So my dear readers and friends, on this blessed celebration of Passover and Easter, I give you a celestial dessert. It reminds us that we were brought out of slavery and fast forwards to all of that milk and honey. Yay for milk and honey. So here's what to do:

2 cups Soft Ball Caramel
1/2 cup creamy nut butter (Peanut, Almond, Hazelnut, Cashew, whatever you've got)
1/2 cup nuts, crushed
Bananas
Vanilla Ice Cream in square carton
8 pieces Matzoh
Sea salt (optional)
Parchment paper

Make caramel. I am in love with my recipe. I also thought honey caramel might be really fun. While it bubbles, spread two sheets of parchment paper out: One onto large cookie sheet and the other on a table.

A note on parchment paper: I used to think it was only for Martha Stewart types and now it is my best kitchen friend. It has changed my cooking world.

Back to the recipe .... Place 4 matzoh in pan and four on paper on table. When caramel reaches soft-ball stage, drizzle 1 cup over over matzoh. Add peanut butter to remaining cup of caramel. If it's think enough, drizzle on top of matzoh. Otherwise, use a sandwich bag with the tip cut of and pipe onto matzoh. Sprinkle with crushed or chopped nuts.

You can stop here. These are delicious on their own and keep well. They won't melt, so if you're going to a Seder across town or in another city, this is the way to go.

But ... ... ...

Such glamorous mazoh! People will think you are so gourmet because you are. But you will have lingering guilt for not continuing to the next step because you KNOW it is the most delicious.

If you want your mind blown, continue to the next step.

Make sure matzoh in pan is touching edges. Slice ice cream into 1 inch slabs and place on top of matzoh in pan. Cover the ice cream with sliced bananas. Place other matzoh on top and press down with parchment paper. Freeze in a cold part of the freezer overnight. Slice before serving with a sharp knife. Happy Pesach!

Suddenly, you'll want to be kosher for Passover ALL OF THE TIME! Just as long so these are served at every meal.

Zion's Walls

We recently added a "blackboard accent wall" to our kitchen. It broadcasts my to-do list to any soul who enters our home. The space isn't huge, and I had hoped its modest size would limit the number of tasks I would accumulate. Unfortunately, it's just helped me master my minute-chalk-script. Some chores (taxes) I

think

 I've completed, but somehow I keep sticking them back on, unsatisfied by the results of my efforts. Others (gardening), taunt me with the idea of the satisfaction they are sure to bring--after I put in the requisite research and prep-work. Currently there are eight

starred

'priority' items on my board (down from 12 yesterday [Yay for me!]), with another 12 'lesser' duties. Times like these can only be described as drudgery. 

So, it should come as no surprise that when Premal suggested that instead of his flying to San Diego solo for a short blip at a medical conference we road trip out together, I jumped at the notion. Working from home can be isolating, but the freedom to wander about as long as I get my projects done does a lot to lessen the monotony of life in general. 

True to his form, Premal meticulously mapped out our route. And true to my form, I considered his plans more of a loose suggestion. We ended up spending a day en route hiking Zion National Park, and it turned out to be just the break we both needed. The sun was warm, the air was crisp, and we couldn't have been a merrier couple trekking through one of the most glorious corners of the earth. 

Life is life. At times it is mundane, at others it's exhilarating. But really, it is always magical. Our jaunt in the desert woke me up to the wonders of our life at home. And that's the glory of it all. Every little thing we do is a miracle in and of itself, whether it be hiking a mountain, doing ones taxes (online!!!), or simply waking from a dream on a weekday morning. I am so grateful to have be roused--for now--from my apathy at the awesome world around me. And here's to hoping that next time I get mired in the lists of life and such and so-and-so, there'll be another impromptu road trip to wake me up. 

Old American Songs, Vol. 2: 2. Zion's Walls by St. Charles Singers, Elgin Symphony Orchestra, Robert Hanson on Grooveshark

How to take young children anywhere

Mimo and I have a regular date on Fridays. Usually, we take the kids to visit a museum or paint pottery, or we drop by Union Market for smoked fish and ice cream. But last week, when I got to her house, she was sitting in her favorite chair, surrounded by a mountain of photo albums. We spent the whole afternoon pouring over pictures from her amazing life. Our grandpa, Didi, was elected to congress the year that I was born, and spent the next 28 years dragging me and the rest of his grandchildren to completely inappropriate places. For that brazen disregard of protocol and better judgement, I will be eternally grateful.

These days, my kids and I don't have occasion to crash state dinners, but I do look to my fearless grandparents as inspiration when deciding whether to get a sitter or bring the team. If you're feeling bold, Here are my top 5 tips for bringing your kids anywhere...* 

*I also feel I need to insert a disclaimer for anyone who has been to church with my kids. I don't know what it is -- maybe the hyper-familiarity of once-a-week worship with so many of their best little friends? But my tricks don't seem to work there. Once we walk through the chapel doors, it's kind of in God's hands....

- Dress the part. I know it's shallow, but people, especially strangers, are more likely to tolerate a pint-sized entourage if it's absolutely, irresistibly, you're-a-bad-person-if-you-don't-want-to-kiss-this-baby cute. And, no matter how precious the raw material, adorable duds are non-negotiable. This is particularly true for those of use whose children continue to give the impression of baldness well into the third year....

- Prep your posse. Let your kids know what to expect. If we're going to a speech, I like to read them a book or let them watch a movie about the speaker. If we're going to a gallery, we'll learn a little about some of the artists whose work we'll see, or a bit about the history of a particular style or period in art history. If I don't plan well enough in advance to get a children's bio from the library or Amazon, putting Wikipedia into language they understand does the trick.  I try to let them know about how long they have to behave, and keep them updated as the event progresses. I also believe unapologetically in strategic bribery. If the kids know that their good behavior is going to be rewarded with something specific that they really want, they're pretty good at trying their best.

- Make them work. Give kids a job to keep them occupied. I like to let Phinny and Hettie push the stroller through museums. Once or twice in my life I've been organized enough to have some sort of event-specific Bingo game or scavenger hunt, which motivates them to really pay attention to what's going on around them (though -- word from the wise -- be sure to warn them in advance NOT to yell "Bingo!" at the top of their lungs in a crowded auditorium. Quiet victories, friends. Quiet victories...). Amazon has a great collection of historic, scientific, artistic and geographic coloring books, as do many gift shops at museums and National Parks. Sometimes, it's as simple as a pad of paper to draw pictures about their feelings during a speech. I prefer to make the task somehow related to our situation, however tangentially, rather than merely distracting.

- Brace yourself. People disapprove of children. Not all people, thankfully. But a lot of them. You WILL get dirty looks from strangers who think your kids are their business -- even in completely child-appropriate situations, even when your kids are behaving perfectly. Some people are just ruffled by the existence of small humans. That's not your problem. When those looks inevitably come, remind yourself that everyone was once a kid. And I promise you that every single child that ever existed -- including the one that grew up to be the sour-faced meanie who was obviously, aggressively disgusted by my children sweetly frolicking at the pool -- has gotten on the nerves of some grown-up stranger at least once or twice. So, just prepare yourself for some disparaging glances and possibly snide remarks, and take comfort in knowing that the disdainful stranger was once the small person acting out and getting on other people's nerves. Also, make sure you really appreciate all the incredibly kind strangers who will go out of their way to compliment your monsters and remind you how precious and fleeting this time with your wee ones is.

- Always have an exit plan. Quit when you're ahead -- which usually means leaving before you're really ready to go. If all else fails, cut your losses and RUN, don't walk, as soon as you realize your kids are DONE. Practically, this means a few things. I try to schmooze right at the beginning, so the key people at any function know how glad I am to be there -- and that I might need to make a quick exit. I try not to buy tickets that are so expensive I couldn't bear leaving at intermission. I aim for seats on the aisle, and case the nearest exit before festivities begin. I try not to carpool unless it's a) in my own car, and, b) the other party has another viable option for getting home if I need to bail early. My sisters can attest to this, since I've abandoned them at venues all over D.C....

It's All Greek to Me

Around the corner from my office in DC there's a tiny storefront restaurant called, quite simply, "Greek Deli". It would be easy to miss, were it not for the long serpentine queue stretching all the way to the pavement, then turning 90-degrees and continuing on for a good distance more. Unsuspecting pedestrians are often corralled by the hungry ranks, eyeing the potential interlopers with suspicion as they push through towards their intended destination. You might think foul weather would dampen the resolve of the masses, and sometimes it does. But there are days when the promise of a carton of lush avgolemano soup is the only thing that gets you through the dull, grey drudgery of life in the city. And so you wait.

You take the full hour for lunch, and you spend most of that hour outside in the drizzle, the collar of your wool-coat hiked up and itching your neck because you left your scarf at home again. By the time you make it to the door, your coat smells, and you hate every person ahead of you. You stare at them through the stenciled door, they're smug and cozy, and also idiots. You didn't think this was possible, but you actually hate them more as they bumble through their orders.

And then, the door opens. A rush of warm air, saturated in olive oil hits you, and suddenly the last 40-minutes spent shivering in the cold are forgotten. The space is packed tight to the counter with customers. Behind the glass stands Kostas Fostieris. He looks like the captain of an old dory, with his fisherman's cap, leathery skin, and a beard as full as his belly. You watch him age through the pictures and news-clips crowding the walls. You're shocked by how little has changed. Aside from the color of his beard and the style of the suits, the scene around you perfectly mirrors the ones on display. Does he notice it too? Finally, it's your turn. But you were distracted by the photos and the baklava. "MEEEEEESSSS! MEEEEESS?" barks Kostas, and you realize that you haven't decided what to order. Now you're the one staring into the case of steaming lamb and salmon and brisket and spanakopita and moussaka and orzo and white beans and green beens like a tongue-tied nincompoop. The woman behind you sighs heavily, and someone from the back of the shop hisses "you've gotta be kidding."  Suddenly you're very warm, you blurt out a list of six different items. Because overcompensation? Azzad is at the the register, more relaxed than his employer, he sneaks you a wink and a smile along with your giant white sack of food.

By the time you make it back out into the rain you're late for work. You take the shortcut through the alley, and a driver blares his horn at you for blocking his way. That girl across the hall gives you the stink eye as you slink into your office, and you can't really blame her. The conference call you were supposed to be on has already started and you hope no one notices the 'bloop' announcing your arrival. They say something about slide five, you mute your line. You, are very, very hungry. You rip open the sack, it's oil-stained now and making an even bigger mess of your desk. You start to ask yourself why you keep going there anyway, but the first bite of warm bread shuts you up before you can finish the thought.

The below is my rendition of one of my very favorite dishes from the Greek Deli. I've added kale to make the dish a bit more substantial, and would not be against throwing a fried egg on top for good measure. Serve with crusty bread.

Rustic Gigantes Beans with Kale

---

3/4 lb. dried large white beans

1/2 c olive oil

1/2 large sweet onion, diced

4 cloves garlic, diced

1/2 c white wine

2 t fresh dill

1 16 oz can good Italian tomatoes, whole

2 c kale, chopped

2 oz Greek feta

Cook beans in salted water according to your preference until just shy of done. For me, this means a "power soak," followed by about 20 min. in the pressure cooker.

While beans are cooking, prepare tomato sauce. Pour tomatoes (including their juices) into a large bowl, and squish to break up into a nearly uniform consistency. Heat 1/4 c olive oil in a large sauté pan, cook onion until translucent, add garlic and cook 2 more minutes. Add wine and tomatoes, fill can half full with water to rinse out any additional juice and add that as well. Cook over high heat until reduced by almost half (you can always add water if it gets too concentrated, sauce should still be a bit soupy). Add beans, kale and dill, and season to taste, then stew until beans are tender. Stir in additional 1/4 c olive oil, and top with crumbled feta.

Why do I judge you? Because my brand of feminism is better than yours.

We like to talk about food a lot on this blog. I hope that doesn't diminish our feminist credibility, because in the next weeks, you can expect a few posts on the topic.

Which track to take? That is the question. Next question? How I can make the woman who took a different road feel bad about herself. Actually, maybe that shouldn't be the question at all.

I was 18. It was midnight and my best friends were over. Katie, Ruth and I were an ambitious troupe with very clear goals. Ruth wanted to be a mother and musician. Katie wanted to be an academic. I loved opera and writing, but all I really wanted to do was go on a Mormon mission. We were eating frozen fruit as I read the central thesis of my newly written, favorite college paper ever. It was a magnum opus on a coming fourth wave of feminism that would broaden the scope of a once, narrow idea of female empowerment. The paper was good; it got an A. But the gathering foretold truths about modern womanhood that I would have never anticipated.

Today, we're riding that fourth wave of feminism I wrote about in 2002. From Hillary Clinton to Sherry Dew, Sheryl Sanberg to Sarah Palin, Susan Patton to Anne Marie Slaughter, Beyonce, Lena Dunham, Jezebel.com to FeministMormonHousewives.org, there seems to be a renewed understanding of the realities of womanhood. But it feels like the world of feminism is all Lean In vs. You Can't do It All, Ordain Women vs. I-Don't-Want-The-Priesthood, or Professional Lady vs. Parenting Warrior. In my life, the issue isn't either/or, it's achieving excellence and happiness in my path while experiencing joy in the roles of others.

I don't know of many people who stayed home with their kids while running a super successful business who became pop stars, politicians, gagillionaires, best-selling authors, astronauts, Olympians, scientists and concert pianists at the same time. Maybe I am alone in this, but if I want to be truly excellent in one thing, I need to focus. One of Paul's epistles says each of us are given different gifts. He goes onto enumerate some of the gifts: languages, healing, faith, knowledge, wisdom, discernment, the list goes on and on. I don't think this epistle was reserved for men.

Women are finally coming to terms with the vast number of acceptable and valuable occupations open to us. There are many noble professions, parenting being just one, incredibly valuable option. Happiness becomes much more difficult when we are preoccupied with expecting others to have the same skills, talents and gifts that we do. In my never-as-humble-as-it-should-be opinion, true feminism is about fulfilling our potential and encouraging others as they do the same -- regardless of their gender.

Take me and my sisters. We have as similar of a baseline as possible: same parents, same city, same gene pool and similar educations. But we're all different. Kimber is a full-time mom. I'm an artist. Liberty is a young professional. Mercina is a missionary. Glorianna is a student. I could envy Kimber's stable income, fabulous aesthetic and perfect children, Liberty's rational professionalism and effortless style, Mercina's work ethic and perfect chic, or Glorianna's Yale education, brilliance and self assurance. Sometimes, I do. But more often than not, I feel blessed by their different gifts.

Within a few years of that late night in Denver, me and my friends were living out each other's dreams. Katie was getting married. Ruth was going on a mission and I was at a top music school. It would have been easy for jealousies and envy to get in the way of friendship. Instead, something wonderful happened: I learned to experience vicarious joy in a way I never knew was possible. These days, Katie is being an amazing mother to her four kids, Ruth is a respected researcher and I am making music. We're still friends and I continue to receive a great deal of satisfaction from their successes. When we stop judging one another and focus on doing our best in the life we're living, we can experience the satisfaction that comes from doing it all without doing everything by ourselves.

What do you wish was part of the current discussion of women, womanhood and feminism?

What do you think is being overlooked? We'd love to hear your thoughts here. We might even write a post about them. Whether you're a lady or man-type, thank you for reading! We <3 you! 

Things impressed upon me from a young age, in no particular order:

Respect older people, those in positions of authority, and everyone else too.

Always say ‘please’, ‘thank you’, and ‘hello, you’ve reached the Tillemann-Dicks' residence. How may I help you?’

Cucumbers should be planted in small mounds.

You should not consider yourself superior to anybody else.

Appearances are important.

Appearances mean very little.

Read.

You are in no way obliged to do things how other people do them.

Privacy from family is not a right – some would prefer to abolish it all together.

The American flag should never touch the ground.

You are capable of hard work, and you have very few good reasons to avoid it.

Manners are an important thing for a young person to have.

Wash the dishes when a guest in someone’s home.

Screaming won’t kill you.

Most things won’t kill you.

Emotional trauma is largely avoidable.

You are capable of figuring out when to go to bed by yourself.

Water is delicious and good for you.

The easiest way to impress anyone.

Can you poach an egg? Neither could I. That is, not until this morning. I'd heard all sorts of things, from using vinegar to sliding the egg directly into the water to straining the egg. But every time I tried, the results were downright embarrassing.

Then this morning, I decided I was going to try a hybrid. The results were nothing less than HAmazing.

No stringy mess. No gross looking, contorted, semi curdled egg. Just poached, eggy perfection. Try it out. It will blow your mind and bring fancy brunch home to you whenever you want it.

So here's what you do:

Bring water to a gentle boil with a tablespoon of white or white wine vinegar and a dash of salt.*

Take a fresh egg.

Gently crack and slide into your hands or a mesh strainer, allowing the more watery part of the white to drain into a bowl or the sink.

When you have the more viscous part of the white and yolk, place in a bowl or directly into boiling water.

Allow to cook until white is firm but yolk is still soft.

Douse in cold water.

Serve.

*for the heart conscious out there, the salt is entirely optional,