Gluten-Free Shepherd's Pie Two Ways (one vegan)

Cooking light- gluten-free shepherd's pie with lovely gravy, two ways.

Gluten-Free Shepherd's Pie Two Ways (one vegan)

A cold rain is rolling through Connecticut, interrupting a whisper of mist with sudden bursts of stinging wet drops. The skies are wooly gray, gloomy and low. It's the kind of day that calls for comfort in the form of food. Something baked in a crock. Something piping hot and old fashioned. Something with mashed potatoes...

A savory pie, I said out loud, standing at the kitchen sink, listening to the staccato of rain drumming the skylights.

Don't tease me, said my husband, looking up from his latest screenplay.

I wouldn't joke about a thing like pie, I assured him.

Seriously. I'm thinking a shepherd's pie, I said. But not the usual shepherd's pie. No beef. No onion. No peas.

Please, he said. No peas.

You know, that could get you into trouble, I told him. Your pea prejudice. The foodie police will be at our door before you know it. Demanding equal time for peas. And I'm already in enough trouble with their ilk.

Their ilk? he asked.

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Sweet Potato Shepherd's Pie

Sweet potato topped shepherd's pie. Gluten-free.

A certain individual living by the mesa has some news. Can you guess? We sold the house. We're moving lock, stock and barrel (in reality, more like Macs, books and UGGS) to Los Angeles, packing up the Honda Fit again to head West and start our new life as Los Angelenos.

I am almost too wired to write.

The quasi-plan is to rent a furnished place for a month. In mid October. Once we're out there, we'll begin our search in earnest for a longer lease- a space we can call our own, not too far from the ocean, I hope. A place with a workable kitchen. Windows. Light. Simple criteria.

As I sort through art books to sell (all the impressionist/landscape books I once mooned over- like a school girl- no longer tug at my attention) I am imagining the new again. I am fueled by the scent of possibility and change and consumed with the urge for going. Three and a half years in the desert have inked their big sky imprint upon me.

I feel as if I sport an invisible tattoo.

Time and distance will reveal the wisdom gained here (if any is to be found). Time and distance will temper the losses. No doubt memory itself will soften the sharp hungers of the everyday isolation and doubt.

Some readers have asked me, What lesson did you need to learn? implying that there is a silver lining to every prickly, dark experience and that if we only embrace The Lesson, we'll be free.

Well, I can answer that. 

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Irish Cottage Pie | Shepherd's Pie

Gluten-free shepherd's pie, Irish style cottage comfort.

Old School Comfort

I have been craving comfort food and shepherd's pie- even though it's been a warm and breezy week here by the Chama River north of Santa Fe. The promise of Spring is tugging at our sluggish winter bodies, cracking and stiff and a tad thicker than one would care to admit. We are itchy to walk- just as the junipers are shedding pollen in curtains of dirty yellow. We walked and sneezed and rubbed gritty eyes.

For this we waited all winter? I complained.

It strikes us as ironic if not downright diabolical. Mother Nature is taunting us. The coyotes are laughing on the rim of the mesa. I listen and note they are closer than usual, emboldened by our wintery hibernation. The land belongs to them now. We're simply tourists.

This doesn't bother me. I'm just here in passing, on my way home. Taking the long way- dreaming of the west coast and waves of glassy blue-green curling in to shore. I'm an ocean girl, a beachcomber. A flip-flop wearer. Not a cowgirl. I've never ridden a horse in my life. Or handled a rifle (two skills highly valued in this part of the world). The desert does not feed me. She takes from me. Sucking every last drop. If I stay here much longer I fear you will find me as brittle and sun-bleached as one of Georgia O'Keeffe's bone paintings.

I'm not quite ready to give up on the juicy part of my life.

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