Sunday Paper Recommends

At The Sunday Paper, we want to inspire you to gather at your table…virtually or with friends and family…and open your heart and mind to conversations that will move the needle. After all, the dinner table is where we connect on topics and map out the changes we can all make that'll really move the needle.

This week, to encourage your conversations, we recommend checking out the following:

Cookbook author and culinary TV host Pati Jinich's new book, Treasures of the Mexican Table. (Read on for a special recipe from Pati's book!)

 

The Beatles: Get Back. This new three-part docu-series pulls on our nostalgic heartstrings as it takes you in the recording room with the iconic Fab Four.

 

Dr. Andrew Huberman's podcast 'The Huberman Lab' that takes listeners through the latest science-based tools to enhance everyday life.

 

Stephen Mitchell's new book, The First Christmas, an enchanting and vivid reimagined look at the story of this holiday. (Read on for a beautiful excerpt from Stephen's book!)

 

And lastly, Poet Laureate Amanda Gorman's stunning new book, Call Us What We Carry. We are captivated.

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Pati Jinich's Barbacoa de Borrego

Serves 10 to 12 Although barbacoa is traditionally made in a sealed underground pit, you can make a version at home that is just as good. This recipe, which I've tweaked over the years, is inspired by both my mother's barbacoa and one from El Caballo Bayo in Mexico City, where it was a specialty. I use a meaty leg or shoulder of lamb, bone-in, and a large roasting pan. I rub the meat all over with a thick marinade made with guajillo and ancho chiles, wrap it in banana leaves (or foil), and roast it over vegetables in the foil-sealed pan. There is a lot of food to share here, making this is an especially welcome dish for a cold winter night or Super Bowl Sunday. FOR THE MARINADE: 8 dried guajillo chiles, stemmed and seeded 8 dried ancho chiles, stemmed and seeded 1/3 cup apple cider vinegar 1 ripe tomato, quartered, or 1 canned tomato 2/3 cup coarsely chopped white onion 4 garlic cloves, peeled 1 tablespoon dried oregano 1/2 teaspoon ground canela or cinnamon 1/2 teaspoon ground allspice 2 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt, or more to taste 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper 5 cloves, stems removed and discarded 3 tablespoons vegetable oil FOR THE MEAT: 8 pounds bone-in lamb (such as a combination of leg, shoulder, and/or ribs) 1 pound banana leaves, rinsed (optional) 6 dried avocado leaves FOR THE VEGETABLE BASE: 2 white onions, coarsely chopped 1 1/2 pounds carrots, peeled and coarsely chopped 1 1/2 pounds red potatoes, peeled and cubed 1 1/4 cups garbanzo beans, soaked for at least 4 hours, or as long as overnight, in water to cover by 2 inches, then drained 3 cups water 1 1/2 cups beer of your choice (preferably light) 3 bay leaves 1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt, or more to taste FOR SERVING: 4 limes, cut into wedges Warm corn tortillas Raw Salsa Verde (page 120) and/or Drunken Salsa (page 136), or other salsa(s) of your choice To make the marinade: Heat a comal or large skillet over medium-low heat. Add the guajillos and anchos and lightly toast for 1 to 2 minutes, turning them as they darken and begin to release their fragrance. Transfer the chiles to a medium saucepan, cover with water, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium and simmer for 10 to 15 minutes, until the chiles have softened. Transfer the chiles and 2 cups of their cooking liquid to a blender. Add the vinegar, tomato, onion, garlic, oregano, canela or cinnamon, allspice, salt, black pepper, and cloves and puree until smooth. Heat the oil in a large saucepan over medium heat for 1 to 2 minutes, until hot. Add the chile puree and cover partially, as the sauce will splatter dramatically. Let the sauce simmer for 10 to 12 minutes, stirring often, until it deepens in color to a darker brown and the flavor intensifies. It should be thick, almost pasty. Remove from the heat. To marinate the meat: Place the lamb in a large bowl or roasting pan and completely cover with the marinade, rubbing it all over the meat with your hands. Cover and refrigerate for at least 2 hours, and up to 24 hours, the longer the better. To make the vegetable base: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Arrange the onions, carrots, potatoes, and garbanzo beans in a large roasting pan. Add the water, beer, bay leaves, and salt and stir. Place a roasting rack on top of the vegetables. To cook the meat: Unfold the banana leaves, if using, and layer a couple on top of the roasting rack, leaving a generous overhang for wrapping the meat. Place the meat on top of the leaves. Arrange the avocado leaves, if using, on top of the meat. Fold the banana leaves over and around the meat to make a neat package. (If the overhang is not large enough to enclose the meat, use additional leaves.) Alternatively, if you don't have banana leaves, wrap the meat in foil, poke about 15 small holes in the bottom of the package with a fork or knife, so the meat juices can drip onto the vegetables, and set on the rack. Cover the whole roasting pan with heavy-duty foil, preferably from a 24-inch-wide roll (overlap two sheets if they are 12 inches wide), crimping it along the edges of the pan to create a seal. (Double the sheets if you don't have heavy-duty foil.) Place the pan in the oven and cook for 41/2 to 5 hours, until the meat is so tender it is falling off the bone. Remove the pan from the oven and allow the meat to rest for 15 to 20 minutes in its package. Be careful when you remove the foil, as the steam will be very hot (I wear oven mitts). To serve, unwrap the meat and remove and discard the avocado leaves, if you used them. Using your fingers or two forks, pull the meat off the bones and shred. Arrange the vegetables on a large platter (discard the bay leaves). Top with the shredded meat and drizzle some of the flavorful broth on top. Set out the cut limes so people can squeeze fresh lime juice onto their meat if desired, warm corn tortillas so they can make tacos with the barbacoa, and the salsa(s). Cook's Notes: You can make the marinade a day ahead, if you wish; cover and refrigerate. There will be a lot of broth. If you wish, serve small bowls of broth first, or serve on the side (my preference) with the barbacoa. Excerpted from PATI JINICH TREASURES OF THE MEXICAN TABLE: Classic Recipes, Local Secrets © 2021 by Pati Jinich. Photography © 2021 by Angie Mosier. Reproduced by permission of Mariner Books, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers. All rights reserved.

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The Ox Though I am someone who enjoys his solitude, I am a sociable fellow by nature. Happiness loves company, as they say misery does. So when my master opened the door and brought in two humans and a donkey, I was delighted. I lowed with pleasure. This may have seemed rude, but I couldn't help it. My master was out the door in a trice, letting in another blast of cold air. The man paused for a few moments, then brought the donkey into the stall next to mine and walked back to the woman. I poked my head over the partition to get a better look at my new neighbor. She was a jenny with a coat of lovely light-gray hair, quite young…five years old was my guess…and nine or ten hands high, which is on the short side for our region. She seemed friendly enough. She lifted her head toward me, and we touched muzzles in fellowship. But she was obviously exhausted, and after that brief acknowledgment she moved over to a corner of the stall, lay down, and fell asleep. Donkeys have the reputation of being temperamentally difficult, but I have never found that to be so. Of course, I have never plowed with one of them, since that is forbidden by law. But I have seen quite a few pass through the inn during my many years here, and on the whole they have seemed to me exemplary creatures: patient, industrious, and uncomplaining. Now some of you, I am sure, assume that my attitude toward donkeys would be rather condescending. I would be entitled to that, you think, because first of all I am so much bigger and second, even more importantly, I am kosher and they are not, since they neither have cloven hoofs nor chew the cud. But you would be jumping to an unjustified conclusion. I pride myself on my tolerance. I am large not only in body but also in mind, and I believe I am being accurate in stating that I have never held a prejudice against unclean animals. As a matter of fact, the issue of ritual cleanness doesn't enter my consideration at all when I judge someone's character. I can think of a number of particularly foolish cows and sheep that I have turned up my muzzle at, while on the other hand some of my fondest acquaintanceships have been formed with donkeys and with the occasional camel or dromedary who has lodged here. (I haven't met any pigs, but I like to believe that I could keep an open mind even toward them, despite their appalling reputation.) I couldn't help thinking what a pity it is that donkeys have never learned to chew the cud…nor have humans, for that matter. It's difficult for me to imagine what life must be like without it. Extremely stressful, I would think. We ruminative animals have been particularly blessed in our capacity for calm deliberation, and I have often thought that this is what distinguishes us, in terms of spiritual maturity, from other creatures. If you spend many hours a day chewing things over…not just reflecting on the events of your day but breaking them down into their constituent parts and truly digesting them…there is not much in life that can disturb you. People say that in India we are worshiped as gods or as manifestations of the supreme Lord. This should surprise no one, since India is a land of great spirituality, and it is only natural that humans who meditate should honor animals who ruminate. In any case, whether or not our spiritual qualities are recognized, we are, generally speaking, as mature a species as any I have encountered. Humans can be cruel, camels foul-tempered, sheep flighty, donkeys raucous, horses high-strung, and pigs– well, I won't even go there. But there are no creatures so dependably placid in any contingency as we oxen are. Now it is true that bulls have a justifiably mixed reputation. If you get a bull riled up, beware! But you must understand that bulls have a difficult set of expectations superimposed onto their essentially peaceful nature. They know that their livelihood and their very existence depend on their ability to generate offspring. If they fall short, the ax awaits them, and the butcher's block. And with all that testosterone coursing through their limbs, it's no wonder that they can be aggressive when challenged. Every day I thank my lucky stars that I was castrated in my youth and was spared not just the impulse toward dominance but every kind of sexual frenzy. All that snorting and bellowing and pawing and thrusting: who would want to live a life of such unremitting ego? Of course, bulls would be far worse off if they didn't have their cud-chewing to fall back on. I am not trying to malign them…on the contrary. To my mind, however, the combination of great physical strength and sustained calm is something that belongs only to the ox, and in my humble opinion, as the epitome of imperturbability, we are one of the sovereign miracles of God's creation. But I digress. I stood watching the jenny as she slept, and I watched the two humans, and I thought how cozy it was to ruminate inside the stable with my new neighbors. There was hardly a sound…just some rustling of the straw across the aisle and the snow falling steadily and softly on the roof. Then the rustling stopped. The humans were asleep, the donkey was asleep, and only I was left to watch over them. I chewed my cud slowly, savoring the ambrosial paste, and in the torchlight I could see the clouds of my breath float up and disperse in the frigid air. And so it continued for an hour or two. A pleasant, uneventful night, I thought: a silent night, a night of companionable peace. But what can we ever know? If I have learned anything during my many years of contemplation, it is that the future always eludes our grasp. Sometimes a surprise is waiting for us at the emptiest corner of the field. And what a surprise this was! All at once the woman began moaning. I recognized that sound. It was not a distress call exactly but the sound of great effort and pain. Before I came to live here, I lodged in a stable with many cows, ewes, and nannies, and I heard hundreds of births take place. The memories came back to me in a flash. Those pitiable moos, bleats, and baas were like the sounds the woman was making: the price of motherhood. I am grateful that I never had to go through that kind of pain myself, but what male could be so insensitive as not to feel his heart quiver in sympathy? I expected the woman to be finished in less than an hour, as with the births I had witnessed, but the moaning and screaming lasted much longer than that. The man sat beside her, wiping her brow, holding her in his arms, talking to her, singing to her. His voice was deep and comforting. Finally, she pushed her child out into the world. It was a tiny creature, its skin dark red, almost purple. For a few moments I was concerned that it might not be breathing, but even as I chewed on that thought, the child broke into a lusty howl. The man picked it up and held it to the woman's breast. I was sorry to see that neither of them licked its body clean; but oh well, human ways are not our ways. The child continued to wail. After fifteen minutes or so it wore itself out, poor thing, and fell asleep. I had never seen a human birth before, and this one moved me deeply. The donkey saw it too; she had found it impossible to stay asleep amid the uproar. So the two of us watched the two of them, and then we watched the three of them. I don't know what the donkey was feeling; she knew the man and the woman far better than I did, of course, but I can't imagine anyone being happier for them than I was. Joy took the shape of my body and filled it from my hoofs out to my tail and the tips of my horns. There is an old prophecy among the humans here that someday there will be no more suffering in the world. There will be neither predators nor prey: wolves will dwell in peace with lambs, lions will eat hay just as we oxen do, leopards will lie down with kids and not ever be tempted to turn on them with their murderous teeth and claws. Personally, I can't imagine how this will happen; lions, for example, don't have the internal organs that would allow them to digest hay. But people say that what seems impossible to us creatures is possible for God. They also say that a little child will lead the wolves and lambs, the leopards and kids, the calves and the lions. I would like to see that parade. I would like to meet that child. Perhaps someday, in spite of common sense, it will happen. In the meantime, I am glad that God has given me two sharp horns. I feel very protective toward the child who was born here tonight. If wolves or lions come here to harm him, I will chase them away, peaceable fellow though I am. I will stand in front of the child with lowered head, to show them that I mean business. If they come any closer, I will gore them and toss them over my shoulders. No one will harm this child…not if I have anything to do with it.

Stephen Mitchell was born in Brooklyn in 1943, educated at Amherst, the Sorbonne, and Yale, and de-educated through intensive Zen training. His many books include the bestselling Tao Te Ching, Gilgamesh, The Gospel According to Jesus, The Book of Job,The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke, The Second Book of the Tao, Bhagavad Gita, The Iliad, The Odyssey, Beowulf, and The Way of Forgiveness. He is also the co-author of three of his wife Byron Katie's bestselling books: Loving What Is, A Thousand Names for Joy, and A Mind at Home with Itself. You can read extensive excerpts from all his books on his website, www.stephenmitchellbooks.com.