Resourcefulness is an Artform

My dad said something to me yesterday on the phone that resonated (it also must be noted that I love living in Africa because people, not only my father, now feel obligated to talk to me when the situation presents itself...yay Africa!). Anyways, I can't remember the context but my dad said something about "it's not convenient..." and I responded with, "Well, my life here isn't really built for convenience..." This had me thinking about my first week in Ifrane. Most of the people I talk to have made comments about this seeming like a lot of fun. I walk to the various market stalls almost daily and I'm able to pick up fresh produce, freshly baked bread, and freshly butchered meats. Although I don't speak the language(s), I'm able to navigate my way downtown and have brief interactions with the people around me (whether it be a smile and a nod, or Thursday when a very upset baby dropped his ball and I handed it back to him). To my friends back home this sounds like a fun adventure, and I must admit I'm enjoying myself profusely, but I am enjoying this because I like a challenge and I LOVE testing my own resourcefulness. It is a constant joy to know that no matter what happens I am able to survive based solely on my own ability to adapt to any given situation. 

Nine years ago, I moved to Central Square in Cambridge. When I signed my lease, I has a great job as a secretary at Suffolk University Law School, and so I moved to a new apartment significantly closer to my job. It was the first time I had moved out of my childhood home, and I was 23 at the time. About three weeks into living in Cambridge, I was fired from my job at Suffolk. I still remember sitting in the conference room and being told that it wasn't working out. The pit in my stomach, the panic, and most importantly, the seething, angry pride that welled up inside of me that said to my anguished mind, "Don't you dare let the bastards see you cry!" So I rode the elevator down with my (now former) boss, shoulders back, head held high, my jawline hardset (for those who know me well, you know my angry jawline face). So I lost my job and I now I had an apartment I had just moved into. Within three days, I was working with a temp agency and doing odd jobs here and there, but I was surviving. This was one period in my life where I learned how to use every single piece of the food that you buy. I learned to buy a large bag of rice and knew that would feed me for a while. To use beans as my source of protein because they were cheaper than meat and I could subsist on beans and rice for as long as I needed to. Around June, I was walking through the Star Market (a Boston area staple) and turkeys were on sale. So I bought a 20 pound turkey for around $7-10, because it was a good deal for that amount of meat. In the dead-heat of summer, I cooked a turkey and the following day, I proceeded to boil down the carcass to make a turkey stock that would last me the rest of the summer. It was crazy hot in my apartment, but I had meat and stock and all kinds of possibilities for a small amount of money. 

When I lived in the Pioneer Valley, I cultivated this newfound talent for thrifty resourcefulness. Every Thanksgiving, I would take the turkey carcass and make a stock that would last me almost for the rest of the year. At first it was just because I hated the idea of wasting it, but then it became a passion project. For those of you who have never boiled a stock, it is the easiest thing in the world. You add the turkey carcass to a very large pot, cover it with water, and add roughly cut veggies that you don't even have to peel, 2 bay leaves and a few peppercorns and you boil it for as long as you feel the need to (the longer you boil, the better it is). The first stock I made, I bought the cheap veggies and used those. Then I started building a "stock bag" all year round. Everytime I cooked, I would take the ends of the onion/carrot/celery and add it to a bag that lived in my freezer. By the time Thanksgiving came and making stock was imminent, I had a bag of veggie stuffs. This became one of my yearly adventures and I found myself asking, "What can I add to the stock bag this year?" excited for the possibilities. It also became a challenge of how delicious I could make the stock each year, a constant contest with the broths of yesteryear. Last Thanksgiving, I literally slept on my couch, waking every hour to stir it, while the stock boiled away for a full 24 hours. By the time it was done, it was a deep, DEEP, golden color. Instead of a light, yellowing liquid, this stock was the color of goldenrod or amber. I don't think I will ever be able to beat that stock...this was a stock of legend. 

While my friends back home keep saying this sounds like an adventure, I find myself wondering how many of my friends could adjust to this lifestyle. I never fully understood just how easy life can be in the U.S. Right now I'm buying all of my produce from stalls, that buy it from small vans that are clearly delivering from nearby farms. However, what will I have access to in the winter? In Ifrane we're 5,000 feet above sea level, so despite being in northern Africa, it snows. I've read that when the weather is bad, all of the roads into Ifrane close down (and for good reason...I'm used to twisting, terrifying New England roads, but the road to Ifrane had me white knucking my seat while my driver whipped down it at around 60-70 km/h, roughly 37-43 mph). So while I was used to having access to pretty much any food I wanted to cook in the U.S., now I have to work with what I have. This is something I've been thinking a lot about, too. 

My mom trained me to cook from a young age, not by force but because I was always so curious and wanted to help. We started by being her "gophers" and grabbing anything she needed from the fridge/cabinets/etc. Eventually we were old enough to actually be near open flame, and we started to learn the basics. By the time I was a teenager, I could make a whole meal on my own. By the time I was in college, I could orchestrate the entire Thanksgiving dinner by myself. The big thing I learned was how to cook with whatever we had and not follow a recipe. Granted, it's not like we didn't use recipes. Right now, probably sitting on my sister's counter in Brooklyn is my cookbook, complete with classics from my mom as well as three fantastic creme brulee recipes of my own creation (I went through a phase...or rather an obsession). However, we never required a recipe. Especially during my college years and beyond, I would buy whatever produce looked good, grab some form of protein, and just cook it. I had a plethora of spices in my cabinet, but I always fell in love with a few and used them like it was my job. Tthyme and sweet Hungarian paprika were my absolute go-to's. I also had a deep-rooted love for aromatics, and I believe there is no better smell in the ENTIRE WORLD than onion and garlic being sauteed in butter (although, maybe bacon wins that title as best smell...) So I have a lot of practice using whatever I have on hand to make something delicious. 

Cut to today, and I had a handful of random produce, some soft cheeses, milk, pasta and cheeses. Previously, when I went grocery shopping I would make a list and tell myself to stick to the list, mainly because if you go off list at an American grocery store, you are in for a rude awakening at the register. Here, I have a bag full of groceries and it costs me around 100 Dirhams, about 12 dollars. So far this week, with 2 cucumbers, 2 carrots, an onion, a clove of garlic and 2 potatoes, I have been able to make the following dishes: a creamy, cheesy pasta primavera, a cheesy vegetable fried rice, mashed potatoes, homefries and cucumber & cheese sandwiches. They all have the cheesy thing in common, but in general I've been feeding myself and have been happy enough just to be able to cook myself a decent meal. I can make and be happy with almost anything I make, which brings me to one thing that I miss deeply and have not seen yet: butter.

Now, I have been to various markets since I've been here, but I have yet to see butter. This to me is deeply disturbing and a mission that I must partake in, because this lady loves her butter. This sentiment brings me to a thought I had earlier: "Well if I can't find butter, I can keep my eyes open for heavy cream and just make my own." That's right, ladies and gentlemen, this lady can make her own butter. Along with learning how to cook, my mother was a master of teaching her kids weird talents and knowledge. For one of my birthdays (I think I was like, 11 or 12?) the activity we did at my birthday party was literally making butter. My mom collected baby food jars and then filled them all with heavy cream and had a bunch of little girls shaking these damn jars for as long as it took to make our own butter (and they got to bring it home!) When I was younger I would pick on my mom for this activity because it is kind of a weird thing to do for your kids birthday party activity (for the record, I still think it's kind of weird). Other kids had bouncy houses, pony rides, pin the tail on the donkey, musical chairs (?) but not me, we made butter. Now, I can't thank my mom enough for giving me the weirdest set of skills humanly possible for a person living in the 21st century. Around 5-6 years ago I was laying in bed during my summer vacation and saw an ad for jalapeno cream cheese. I thought, "Well it won't be spicy enough....I wonder how you make cream cheese....That's it? I SHOULD MAKE CREAM CHEESE!!" That was my actual thought process. So that day I picked up whole milk and a lemon, followed the instructions and made my own cream cheese. Later that week I thought to myself, "What about goat cheese?" Same thing, and that night I had homemade goat cheese. 

When we returned to school for professional development, we had a team building exercise and the gentleman running it asked questions and we were supposed to wander around and find people with the same answers (grew up with one sibling, grew up in a small town, have been to a farm, stuff like that...) Then he asked what we like to do for fun. I stood on my own, inside I was standing with my arms akimbo like Wonder Woman, knowing full well that I would have the oddest hobby in the bunch. They went group by group and the answers were predictably boring: We like to watch movies, We like to read, We enjoy playing with our pets! Finally the gentleman got to me, standing alone, "What exactly do you do for fun?" A huge grin on my face as I said, "I like making cheese!" and the entire faculty burst out laughing knowing that I was a ridiculous human but also knowing that it was true because I always had weird hobbies. I grinned as I thought to myself, "And the cheese stands alone..." 

SIDE NOTE: I have been waiting to reference the cheese standing alone joke for the past 6 years...now my life is complete and I can die a happy human...you're welcome world!

That last story really gives me strength right now. I am entirely alone, but I realize now that I've always been alone. I'm the kind of person who can be surrounded by people and still be entirely by myself. I didn't realize what an introvert I actually was until I moved here. I spend around 95% of my time by myself, and the weird thing is I don't feel lonely or deprived. I feel calm and relaxed. There's no pressure to do anything I don't feel like doing. I can actually live my life, focus on my career and not feel the pressure to fit into a box that I don't feel like squashing myself into. I don't belong in a box. I belong on top of the box, standing akimbo, screaming to the world that they're just not ready for me yet. I'm excited to use my resourcefulness and all that I've learned over the last 31 years to create something beautiful for myself. I have no idea where my life is going, but I know where it is right now And right now it feels pretty damn good to know that I can always make my own butter, instead of waiting for someone to provide it.