#03: For the love of lentils
A nourishing lentil recipe, the Highlander Center and a history of resistance, plus a new song cycle about the internet and connection
some days you have a stuffy nose and you don't care to taste anything particularly mindblowing. you want something cozy and nourishing. you want to hold a bowl in the corner of the couch and watch howard's end. at least, this was me this week. this recipe reminds me of home, where there's always a bag of lentils. like humble beans, they don't promise much, but they always deliver.
about a year ago, my dad called me and told me he tried toasting his dry lentils in his (and my) favorite olive oil before adding the broth or water. he claimed it made the end result nuttier and more flavorful. suspicious that he was moonlighting as a lifestyle blogger, i tried his method, and he was super right. after toasting my lentils first, i'll never go back. in a sense, the process is not unlike searing a steak before letting it cook through—it forces out a richer, more savory flavor than the typical pot of lentils.
tossed and toasted lentils
you'll need
1 cup of dried lentils (one cup of dried lentils yields about 3-4 servings—a heaping bowlful for dinner and 2-3 easily re-heatable dishes—depending on your appetite)
3 cups of water (a 1:3 lentil:water ratio will do with generally any lentil recipe)
1/4 yellow onion for adding to the pot (i tried this recipe with red onion cooked-in, and it was also good, but it yielded less aroma and didn't go as far).
1/4 red onion for finely dicing and topping (if you're particularly into the taste of raw yellow onions—hi, Dad—you can certainly use them as a topping, but the flavor of fresh red onion works better both texturally and aesthetically, in my opinion, because let's face it: lentils need some aesthetics.)
3 bay leaves (I go all out on bay leaves—nothing to lose, you guys.)
an old parmesan rind (or any old chunk of dried-out parmesan you may find idling in your fridge)
1 tbsp of thinly diced red onion for topping or to taste
1 dollop greek yogurt for topping (Fage brand, which I always say is great for dips, is also great for dollops)
coarse black pepper and kosher salt, to taste
over medium heat, cover the bottom of a medium-sized pot with olive oil. shave garlic and white onion overtop, being careful of any splashback of hot olive oil. if you have chunks of garlic or onion leftover, feel free to toss 'em in rather than grate too close to your fingers—they'll only add to the flavor.
pour in a cup of lentils, and toss for a generous minute. the goal is to coat lentils on all sides and toast as evenly as possible. if you pay close attention, you'll notice a distinct (good) change in smell. add three cups of water, three bay leaves, and parmesan rind. bring to a boil (typically takes about 10 minutes for me), and then reduce to a simmer for about 20 minutes—or until you've reached a desired consistency. i secretly love to forget about my lentils and cook them down to a pseudo mush, which is probably a terrible word and terrible advice as the person who's sharing this recipe, but it's actually kind of a nice mush. i promise. add salt and pepper to taste.
either serve as is or with a dollop of greek yogurt, fresh parmesan, and finely diced red onion, depending on how fancy you feel. a friend popped in on my cooking during an evening run. mid-conversation, i asked her to taste the lentils, and she obliged. as she was leaving, we realized we had forgotten to consider what her opinion was. "i forgot to taste them," she said, and i had forgotten to press her. she tried them again, confirming that they were just fine. in the end, they'll taste like lentils—but good lentils—even if they're forgettable. sometimes that's how it is and how you want it to be.
your workhorses
dried lentils | they last forever, they're cheap, and they're very good for you. they're worth getting a hang of, and they come in unsurprisingly handy when you want a simple, nourishing dinner without of a lot of fuss. a plain old bowl is a nice constant. the toasting method, developed by my dad—who always cooks a pot of something nourishing on the stove even on the nights when bringing home takeout pizza—ups the umami factor, on top of which fresh parmesan and a poached egg is surprisingly luxurious.
parmesan rind | ever since i saw where bon appetit recommended adding a parmesan rind to a broth recipe, i gave myself authority to try the same method with my lentil water. i never have chicken broth on hand, so the brininess—and nuttiness—of old parm is a genius flavor hack. some of it always tends to melt off into the lentils. yum.
soundbites
appetizer: soundcloud
dessert: spotify
piece of power
On a recent trip to San Francisco, I made a trip to the Prelinger Library, a private collection of periodicals, rare books, and other ephemera. By the curious "geospatial" cataloguing system that governs Prelinger's collection, I picked up an old copy of now-defunct Southern Exposure Magazine featuring a lengthy article about the Tennessee trial of the Highlander Folk School and local Tennessean Myles Horton.
Founded in the 1930's by Horton, the little school in the Tennessee hills started as a rural hub for adult education. But in the 1950's, because it was one of the first places in the south where integrated meetings—or integrated anything—could take place, the institute shifted its focus from adult education and labor to race relations and civil rights. Eventually, 100,000 attendees moved through as activists and leaders of the Civil Rights Movement, including Marion Barry, Robert Bevel, Diane Nash, and Rosa Parks, among thousands of others.
Through its years in action, Horton and Martin Luther King Jr. networked closely, exchanging letters and support, establishing an early relationship that likely set the stage for King's visit to Highlander for the institution's 25-year anniversary. In his keynote speech at the intimate anniversary meeting,"A Look to the Future", King invoked the arc of the moral universe nearly 8 years before his speech on the Alabama capitol steps.
It wasn't long after this that Tennessee law enforcement staged a raid on the school. Finding a small amount of alcohol in Horton's house on grounds, the state used this as means for arresting Septima Clark (Director of Education at Highlander) and others. While charges for Clark and her colleagues were dropped, Horton found himself—and his school—on trial for "communist" teachings. The trial did not go well. In 1959, Myles Horton sent a letter to Martin Luther King, updating him on the case. Personal charges against Horton had been dropped, but the Highlander Institute would soon be closed.
And so in 1961, four years before the march from Selma to Montgomery, the state of Tennessee officially revoked the Highlander School's charter, citing, ever-so-loosely, communist thought and organization. It's amazing to imagine the work that was done there, including programs developed and spearheaded by Clark, Esau Jenkins, and Bernice Robinson, that would become the foundation of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference and voting rights programs throughout the southern states.
A few decades later, I grew up snugly sidled up to the same Tennessee/Virginia mountains that hugged Monteagle. Not once did I learn about the integrated mountain school that had grown, succeeded, and found itself erased—silently, swiftly, and institutionally. And to consider how Myles Horton, a white man, got lightly hushed by law enforcement, his school boarded-up, living to be 84, when just a few years later and a couple hundred miles away, nearly on the same degree of Tennessee latitude, Martin Luther King Jr. was shot in Memphis.
As I read more about Highlander, patching a punctured gap in my understanding of common southern history, I learned that "The Highlander Folk School" was actually rechartered in 1971, and now exists as the Highlander Center: a retreat for today's grassroots social activists and leaders, located in New Market, Tennessee. Here's its mission, today, according to the website:
Highlander serves as a catalyst for grassroots organizing and movement building in Appalachia and the South. We work with people fighting for justice, equality and sustainability, supporting their efforts to take collective action to shape their own destiny. Through popular education, language justice, participatory research, cultural work, and intergenerational organizing, we help create spaces — at Highlander and in local communities — where people gain knowledge, hope and courage, expanding their ideas of what is possible. We develop leadership and help create and support strong, democratic organizations that work for justice, equality and sustainability in their own communities and that join with others to build broad movements for social, economic and restorative environmental change.
p.s.
My friend, NYC singer-songwriter Keren Abreu, writes songs that make you feel like you've swiped right on your very own ears and heart and brain and dancing feet. One of the first songs I heard her perform was about meeting someone at a party, falling in love with their Facebook profile, and never seeing them again—which has to be at least 75 percent of us, at least once. I can't wait for From A Distance, an original song cycle about how the internet connects us, often shaping the nature of our interpersonal relationships. Debuting at FringeNYC in October, the team has already met their funding goal (they're that good), but you can still support them here—or follow at @fromadistance_fringe to stay in tune.