Author: Nina Planck

God willing, I’ll be sober today. Tomorrow? We’ll see. I decide one day at a time. In the last couple of years, I’ve decided that I don’t identify as an alcoholic, but I do know that for me alcohol is habit-forming and a downer, so I treat it with respect and take it in small doses. Mindful drinking has been good for me. But I could not do it on willpower alone. I pray to stay sober. Even though I drink sometimes, I still go to AA meetings. But I’m not following the path of lifetime abstinence, so I try…

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Tell a story. Witness her story. See your stories in a new light. Hidden Roots gathers women in a circle for authentic storytelling and deep listening. The circle allows each woman to speak, to witness, and to reflect. There is no need to prepare. Just come ready to listen and to speak from the heart. Hidden Roots is named after the interlocking roots of trees, which share nutrients with other trees. When we know another person well, hidden roots connect us. After sitting in a circle for just two hours – even with women who were recently strangers – we…

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More good news about the power of raw milk! In 2017, I was pleased to be invited to speak at Rutgers University as part of their Bryne Seminar program. I met a professor there, Joseph Heckman, Ph.D., who is a specialist in soil fertility. He’s recently has a paper published by Cambridge University Press on the challenges faced by the organic and raw milk movements. He writes about the benefits of raw milk produced on small farms — improved health and enjoyment for consumers, along with soil fertility benefits for agriculture in general. It’s a fascinating read. “Securing Fresh Food…

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My weaning tale for toddlers — illustrated by your toddler! “Bye Bye Baba: A Weaning Tale” is a picture book about weaning when the right time comes. For now, it’s a DIY drawing or coloring book, text on the left page and a blank page on the right for you or your child to create your own illustrations. My kids love adding art to this book. I’m actively seeking an illustrator for the next edition, tweet me a link to your portfolio if interested.

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With Dan Barber, Marcus Samuelson, Mario Batali, and others, my cheesemonger husband, Rob Kaufelt of Murray’s Cheese, is one of the food pioneers on this iconic “Greater Food Culture” map.

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My long-time favorite cheese: Chiriboga, a soft, spicy blue. Better than the best cheddar: Pleasant Ridge Reserve. My new favorite cheese, Kunik, especially when it’s warm, warmer than room temperature. By the way, do you see the salt grinder? It’s always on the table. Salt is good for you. It contains not only essential sodium chloride, but also other trace minerals from the sea, if it’s unrefined. I salt our food when cooking, salt when seasoning, and salt my food at the table. I like, approve of, and use salt. And yet, when we eat at a restaurant, I spend…

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Local food at PS 41. Kids will eat vegetables, even new and exotic ones, when they are fresh and served with fats. See the kids below wiping up balsamic dressing with local spinach and tatsoi leaves on farm stand day in the school yard. Our PTA buys local food and resells it on Tuesdays. We break even rather than make a profit, in order to serve our school and neighborhood eaters. Blonde-haired, blue-shirted Jacob, a New Amsterdam kid, was visiting big brother Julian’s school on farm stand day. Here’s what I wrote in Real Food for Mother and Baby about…

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Chicken soup from roast chicken is richer, more robust, even slightly more bitter (from the twice-cooked herbs, spices, and potatoes), and more buttery — see how the chandelier shines back in the photo — than soup made with a fresh raw chicken. I roasted two chickens, so we didn’t quite finish them. Post-roast chicken dinner, I pull off the nicer breast and dark meat and set it aside, then simmer the still-meaty bones, including some of the pan vegetables and herbs. In a fresh pot, I sauté fresh diced onions, carrots, and parsley, add the shredded chicken, and pour the stock…

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At eleven weeks pregnant, I had a miscarriage. I began bleeding on Good Friday and on Easter Monday I lost our baby. This was fitting, as our son Jacob had named the baby Jesus. Though I’d felt the sense of an ending over the previous four days, the actual event — I was standing in the cold rain, buying an ivory ostrich egg — was pitilessly clear in its finality and meaning. Our little baby could not stay with us in this life. In the following weeks I pursued grief in every dark corner, on every flower petal, in any…

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