September is forever a chaotic month in our house. I try to prepare myself in August, to note that as the nights get shorter and the month comes to an end, so too does our laissez-faire summer lifestyle. I offer myself a gentle reminder that soon I’ll be trying to get three kids organized for a new school year, that my husband will resume a more intense work travel schedule, and that dinner might not be the same relaxed affair we’ve enjoyed over the break. And yet, inevitably, there comes a mid-September night  when I flop back on the couch, wild-eyed and somewhat dishevelled, surrounded by laundry, homework and a neverending to-do list and consider if perhaps we could survive on frozen pizza alone for the next month.

Even if you aren’t in the back-to-school grind like me, the beginning of September can often bring a change of pace, new routines, and a distinct lack of energy around dinner time. The eternal kitchen conundrum - we don’t want to spend forever cooking, but we do want the comfort of fresh, homemade meals. With this in mind, and hope in my heart for calmer days ahead, I have gathered together four delicious and satisfying meals we can pull together without too much fuss. And if all else fails, there’s always frozen pizza.
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“But while we have no control over time itself, we do have a choice in how we orient to it, how we inhabit the moment, how we own the past and open to the future - a choice that shapes our entire experience of life, that ossuary of time. And just as it bears remembering that there are infinitely many kinds of beautiful lives, it bears remembering that there are infinitely many ways of being in time.” - Maria Popova, The Marginalian 

‍Change of environment

I put on my ski gear, and pull my boot bag up on my back. Covered head to toe, I step outside. My skis are perched on my left shoulder, and my poles are in my right hand. I walk carefully down the snowy path and up through the village to the lift. It’s a sacred ten minutes of meditative rhythmic walking to warm me up for the day ahead. 

New snow has fallen – about twenty centimetres. The snow cats have groomed the mountain during the night. It’s early and I'll be on the first lift up to the slopes. 

This is the change of environment I crave the most at this time in my life. The movement from posed stability to energetic vulnerability, from the familiar to the serendipitous unknown, from the routine to the spontaneous. Here on the mountain I feel like I live life to its fullest. I feel more alive here than anywhere else. Curiosity is my catalyst — I could rest today, I could contemplate other days gone by, but I'm curious:  What will the snow be like? What will my balance and form be like? What shapes of clouds will appear? What breeze will freeze my nose? Where will the trail take me? It is ski season; adventurous, mysterious and invigorating. It provides another form of lifestyle filled with the sort of vulnerability I love.

Of course everyone knows that change is constant, but there is nowhere else in the world where I see, feel, hear, touch and taste this truth more clearly than here on the side of my favourite mountain.

This magic mountain that I've skied for years and years changes all the time. It's ironic really, as it is made of stone and rock, ice and dirt  - elements so strong and stable, so unmoving and unbudgeable, so unforgiving and invincible, yet it is forever changing. Of course everyone knows that change is constant, but there is nowhere else in the world where I see, feel, hear, touch and taste this truth more clearly than here on the side of my favourite mountain. Such a curious phenomenon — this alpine environment that moves and changes constantly, just like me. The weather forecast looks good today, colder than yesterday, but mostly sunny in the morning with the wind rising in the afternoon. Of course, this could change too.

‍Letting change flow

Arriving at the base of the mountain, I put on my ski boots, tuck my shoes away for the day, and once again perch my skis on my shoulder. I use my poles to help me navigate the steps up to the gates; it’s the beginning of the season and this morning routine of getting to the lifts still has me feeling a bit winded as I get used to the altitude. My friend is waiting for me. She and I smile brightly at each other and, seconds later, the buzzer goes off and the gates are activated. We are the first ones through, proud of ourselves for our early rising and excited to experience the thrill of another ski day together. We banter about the beautiful day ahead, our slight aches and pains and need for some stretching.

My friend is confident and bold — an expert skier. Me, I am not as confident and I am no expert. But I am bold, and she inspires me. Most of all, I am grateful for the change of scenery, communing with nature and the joy of being together again on the mountain.

Tensing up in anticipation of a coming bump or turn will surely cause a fall. The key to serenity on skis is letting change flow, becoming one with the change, and then being the change.

As we descend each run at our own pace, our skis pushing us beyond our unique comfort zones, we each experience individualized moments in the quiet rhythm of skiing. Every day on the slope is different, every turn of every carve into the snow is different, at times smooth and other times choppy. At all times, our minds must stay connected to our bodies. It is invigorating and mystifying, as we must disconnect from all worries and all other actions and stay absolutely present. Tensing up in anticipation of a coming bump or turn will surely cause a fall. The key to serenity on skis is letting change flow, becoming one with the change, and then being the change. 

After a few hours of skiing our favourite trails, I tell my friend I want to stop at a lookout spot, not because I’m tired but because I want to breathe in my surroundings. She says she’ll let me have a bit of alone time and we decide she’ll do another run and meet me back here. The sky is vast and filled with a multitude of blue hues, the clouds are fantastical and bright white. The fresh cold air is thinner up here; it smells minty as it passes through my nostrils and it tastes minerally as it drips down my throat. The steam rises from my scarf as I breathe in and out, feeling the warmth of my body. This change of environment is essential to my well-being. It’s not just any change of environment though. 

‍Chrono-diversity

It’s being up at altitude that thrills me most. The physicist Carlo Rovelli in his book “The Order of Time” captures the essence of my pause at the lookout spot. He writes, 

“I stop and do nothing. Nothing happens. I am thinking about nothing. I listen to the passing of time. This is time, familiar and intimate. We are taken by it…. Our being is being in time.”

I lived and worked in this village just below the slopes for ten years, all through my thirties, and now that I am retired, I return here as much as possible. Initially when I moved away, down to sea level and no longer at altitude, it took me a long time to adjust and to adapt to being in a different time zone, but not just a different chronometric time zone, but a different “chrono-atmospheric” time zone. 

I am fascinated by the way Rovelli explains how altitude changes time. He writes, “Let’s begin with a simple fact: time passes faster in the mountains than it does at sea level…

I am fascinated by the way Rovelli explains how altitude changes time. He writes, “Let’s begin with a simple fact: time passes faster in the mountains than it does at sea level… This slowing down can be detected between levels just a few centimetres apart: a clock placed on the floor runs a little more slowly than one on a table. It is not just the clocks that slow down: lower down, all processes are slower.” 

When I read this, I started to understand and accept why I had found it so challenging to transition from life up on the mountain to life in the valley. All of my processes had to become slower; my mental and physical, even spiritual relationships towards time had to change in order for me to adapt and to adjust to my new surroundings. It was a very unnerving time at first, and I found myself longing to return to the mountains. Despite the fact that I enjoyed my new job, raising my children and making new friends in a different culture, my personal processes, like my coping mechanisms, had slowed down and I needed to give myself time to accept the newness of this “chrono-diversity” at sea level.  

Some consider winter a time to slow down and rest, imitating elements of nature that hibernate and tuck in to escape the cold. But for me, it is this change of environment, this other way of being in time, this speeding up and expanding of time, that I long for in the winter months.

During those years, my friend stayed in the mountains; she never returned to life in the valley. And I believe this makes us different in the way we now measure time. Maybe her time does actually pass more quickly than mine? She is a speed queen and can get a million things done in one day. She thinks faster than I think, and certainly skis faster than I ski. 

Some consider winter a time to slow down and rest, imitating elements of nature that hibernate and tuck in to escape the cold. But for me, it is this change of environment, this other way of being in time, this speeding up and expanding of time, that I long for in the winter months. It’s the rigour and rhythm of mountain time. Rovelli writes, 

‍“Two friends separate, with one of them living in the plains and the other going to live in the mountains. They meet up again years later: the one who has stayed down has lived less, aged less, the mechanism of his cuckoo clock has oscillated fewer times. He has had less time to do things, his plants have grown less, his thoughts have had less time to unfold ... Lower down, there is simply less time than at altitude.” 

I guess the proof is “in the physics.” As I’ve learned, it is the changeability of time in the mountains that keeps me skiing through life. Even if it seems a bit ironic and mysterious to me, I imagine I will always feel this type of change to be constant in my life. Though I suppose, that could change too.

Za’atar spiced beef with roasted cauliflower, and cucumber and tomato salad 

Dairy-free | Gluten-free

This recipe is such a lovely mix of textures and flavours. The Middle Eastern za’atar spice, usually made with oregano, thyme, sumac, and toasted sesame seeds, brings depth to the dish and works nicely with the velvety hummus and crunchy salad. You could make your own hummus, but on a rushed week night, store-bought is the smart way to go. Serves four.
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Ingredients

For the cauliflower

1 medium cauliflower, cut into medium sized florets 

1 Tbsp za’atar spice

1 garlic clove, minced

1-2 Tbsp olive oil

Salt and pepper

For the beef

500g lean ground beef

2 Tbsp za’atar spice

1 cup hummus 

Salt and pepper

1 cup pomegranate seeds (optional)

½ cup fresh parsley, roughly chopped

For the salad

1 english cucumber, medium diced

1 pint of cherry tomatoes, halved

2 Tbsp olive oil

1 Tbsp red wine vinegar

½ cup fresh parsley, roughly chopped

Salt and pepper

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• Preheat the oven to 450°F (230°C) and line a baking tray with parchment paper.
• Toss the cauliflower florets with the olive oil, za’atar spice, garlic and pinch of salt and ground pepper.
• Bake in the oven for 20-25 minutes, until browned and fork tender. 
• Meanwhile, add the cucumber, tomatoes, and parsley to a salad bowl, drizzle with olive oil and vinegar, and season with salt and pepper to taste. Set aside.
• Heat a medium pan on medium-high heat and add the ground beef, za’atar spice, a pinch of salt and ground pepper. Cook the beef, breaking it up with a spatula or spoon, until cooked through and no longer pink. Check the seasoning and add more salt and pepper if desired.
• To assemble the meal, spread the hummus on two thirds of a serving platter. Top the hummus with the cooked beef, adding the roasted cauliflower to the remaining third of the platter. Sprinkle the beef with fresh parsley and pomegranate seeds, if using. Serve at the table with the cucumber and tomato salad on the side.

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Oven roasted lemon chicken wings with napa cabbage salad

Deb Perelman’s Smitten Kitchen is one of my favourite sources for delicious and interesting meals. She also has three wonderful cookbooks that offer inspiration when you’re just not sure what to make but need something wow-worthy. This chicken wing recipe is adapted from her latest cookbook, Smitten Kitchen Keepers and is accompanied by my mother-in-law’s go-to salad for a hungry crowd.  Fair warning: the crunchy ramen topping is addictive. Serves four.
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Ingredients

For the wings

3 Tbsp unsalted butter, melted

1 ½ tsp dijon mustard

1-2  garlic cloves, minced

2 tsp kosher salt

1 tsp ground pepper

2 lemons — 1 thinly sliced and 1 whole, zested and juiced

2 lbs split chicken wings

For the salad

½ napa cabbage, roughly chopped

4 green onions, diced

½ cup fresh parsley, roughly chopped

1 packet of ramen noodles, broken up and seasoning packet removed

¼ cup sesame seeds

½ cup slivered almonds

1 Tbsp salted butter

For the salad dressing

5 Tbsp vegetable oil

1 Tbsp soy sauce

2 Tbsp rice wine vinegar

1 tbsp granulated sugar

½ tsp salt

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• Preheat the oven to 450°F (230°C) and line a baking sheet with aluminum foil and cooking spray.
• In a large bowl, add the melted butter, mustard, garlic, salt and pepper. Mix well before adding the zest of one lemon.
• Add the chicken wings and lemon slices to the bowl and toss to coat using tongs before spreading them out evenly on the baking sheet.  
• Roast for 20 minutes, flip the wings and lemon slices over and roast for another 15 minutes, or until the wings are a golden brown and the lemon slices are caramelized.
• Whilst the wings are cooking you can make the salad. In a medium pan, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the uncooked ramen noodles, sesame seeds, and slivered almonds. Stir frequently until golden brown. Set aside to cool. 
• In a jar, add the salad dressing ingredients. Shake vigorously until well mixed.
• Add the napa cabbage, green onions and parsley to a salad bowl, top with the ramen mixture and drizzle over the dressing. Toss until well combined. 
• Slice the zested lemon in half and squeeze one half over the wings. Cut the remaining half in wedges. Serve with the salad and lemon wedges on the side.