The Charlotte Jewish News- February 2026- Page 28

By Elizabeth Johnson

I learned something unexpected recently: octopuses like to cuddle. I also didn’ t know they can change colors up to 170 times in a minute, solve puzzles, or quietly slip out of tanks when no one is looking. I learned all this not in a marine biology class, but on a yoga mat in New York City.

Recently, while visiting New York City, I practiced each morning at a small studio on West 20th Street. The instruction was thoughtful, the pacing steady, but what I loved most were the reflections woven into each class. Our teacher was reading excerpts from the book“ The Soul of an Octopus” and, for sixty captivating minutes, she shared stories. Octopuses that played jokes. Octopuses that recognized their caregivers. Octopuses that felt, somehow, like more than just sea creatures.

“ In the Big Apple, everything moves quickly,” she said as the class came to an end,“ but sometimes, the lesson is simply to stop and observe. Just notice.” I carried that line out the door with me.

Octopuses blend, adapt, and surprise. In their own way, so does life. We move fast, we multitask, we rush to the next thing, and then something small invites us to see differently.

On the same visit, I made a trip to Ottomanelli & Sons Meat Market on Bleecker in the West Village, my father’ s favorite butcher in the city. Watching 80 + year old Gerry cut steakswith such great care is hypnotizing. His movements with a 10-inch curved blade are precise, calm, and unhurried. This reminded me again of that yoga class. Craft, patience, attention. Whether you are cooking, writing, participating in sports, engaging with people or simply moving through the world, care shows.

These small moments stacked up: yoga, the octopus stories, the quiet choreography of a butcher’ s hands. None of them were dramatic, yet each one nudged me toward the same realization: wonder is still everywhere if we slow down long enough to look for it.

And maybe that’ s the invitation. Not to conquer more, but to notice more. To be curious. To ask questions. To let ourselves be surprised. Because sometimes the most meaningful discoveries arrive not with a crash of cymbals, but with a quiet, thoughtful whisper encouraging us to pay attention as there is more here than you think.

On this same trip, alongside our New York Strips, I prepared the following. The perfect accompaniment to any“ cusp of Spring” main entrée. Bon Appetit.

Snap Peas and Green Beans with Arugula-Mint Pesto

Ingredients ½ cup whole raw almonds, toasted 4 garlic cloves, chopped

4 cups arugula 1 cup mint leaves, plus extra for garnish ½ cup shaved Parmesan, divided ½ cup olive oil, plus more for finishing 12 oz. snap peas 12 oz. green beans Juice of two lemons, divided Zest of one lemon Pinch of red-pepper flakes Kosher salt and freshly groun d pepper Maldon salt, for finishing

Directions 1. Toast the almonds.

Warm a dry skillet over medium heat. Add almonds in a single layer and toast, stirring often, until fragrant and golden, 5 to 7 minutes. Watch carefully as they can burn quickly. Cool slightly, then roughly chop. 2. Make the pesto. In a food processor or blender, combine ¼ cup of the chopped almonds, garlic, arugula, mint, half the Parmesan, zest of one lemon, juice of one lemon, and olive oil. Blend until smooth, thinning with 1 – 2 tablespoons water if needed. Set aside. 3. Cook the vegetables. Steam the snap peas and green

beans separately until crisp-tender, about 3 minutes each. Shock in ice water, then drain well and pat dry. 4. Toss. In a large bowl, gently toss the vegetables with 5 tablespoons of the pesto( or more), the remaining lemon juice, salt, pepper, and red-pepper flakes. 5. Finish and serve. Transfer to a platter. Scatter with remaining almonds and Parmesan, garnish with mint, drizzle with olive oil, and finish with a pinch of Maldon salt.

Serve chilled or at room temperature. It travels well, feeds a crowd, and tastes like sunshine on a plate. Sometimes wonder arrives in big moments. Sometimes it shows up in yoga class. And sometimes, it is simply what happens when vegetables meet good pesto and we slow down long enough to taste it.

Not every recipe comes from a cookbook. Many are saved in folders, envelopes, saved emails and slips of paper passed from one kitchen to another. The Recipe File gathers the dishes that hold memory along with the stories that stay with them. If you have one to share, write to elizabeth. johnson @ jewishcharlotte. org.