Of Eggs, Forks and Comfort 2 comments

I ate breakfast late today. I know I’m not supposed to do that, but … there it is. I had a big pub outing after hockey last night and just felt unable to introduce more protein until after noon. Today’s egg creation involved frying mushrooms, onions, red peppers and ham together and then dumping eggs beaten with many kinds of cheese and a few dashes of Worchestershire sauce on top, stirring until set. The WWBA and I call this “Scrambled Eggs with Stuff”. The radio was on as I was doing this and Stuart McLean was reading one of my favourite Dave and Morley stories, Holland, about when Dave and Morley met.  In that story, Morley made her version of “eggs with stuff” and they were not to Dave’s liking, nearly contributing to the end of their very young marriage.

Somehow, I’ve acquired two small kitchen whisks in the past number of years and I’ve started to use them, exclusively, for whipping eggs for “eggs with stuff”. That is what they are for, after all. Whisking things. Usually, I plop the eggs on top of some cottage cheese and maybe some romano, pelt the mixture with some Worchestershire sauce and get the whisk going. It sounds like it does on the cooking shows. Busy and thoroughly important, accented with high tinkly sounds of the metal strands hitting the glass. Today, however, I had a sudden aversion to making one more kitchen implement dirty for this task and, instead, used the fork that I’d already used to dish out the cottage cheese. My mother never had a whisk, after all, and this is how she whipped eggs for the pan. For that matter, this is how I did it until I got all cityfied and started using a whisk.

Beating eggs with a fork, in a glass mixing bowl, sounds totally and completely different than beating eggs with a whisk in a glass mixing bowl. I’d forgotten. There is a deep, gurgling, plopping sound caused by the fork lifting and dropping the mixture that is missing from the more treble sound of the whisk. There is still metal on glass, yet it sounds somehow more aggressive and forceful with a fork than with a whisk. It is, for me, a nostalgic sound, reminding me of my mother being both consciously instructive with me in the kitchen (“watch for egg shells in the mix, here, use a spoon to get that out.”) and unconsciously instructive as she tried to do as much as possible as quickly as possible. Scrambled eggs with stuff was fast, nutritious, cheap and tasty. Thus, also popular.

On a day like today, after a week like this week, the simple sound of eggs being whipped in a bowl to create “eggs with stuff” was profoundly grounding to me. A short plane ride away, a scene of unimaginable devastation is unfolding as a bottleneck of well-intentioned assistance sits, waiting to be deployed. It is gut-wrenching.

At work, the results of a mid-week strike vote have definitively answered precisely nothing, for anyone, on any side of the table.

As privileged and fortunate as my life is – and it is – I am aware that I am powerless in both of these situations. Once the donating and the voting is done, there is nothing I can directly and personally do to affect either of these outcomes. Sometimes I catch myself imagining jumping on a plane and taking control of the airport, directing the flow of traffic, or building quick on-the-spot teams for aid deployment. Or, bursting in on the negotiating teams with some new revelation that will solve all the threads of distrust and mis-information that have sprung up over years between management and the union. But, wistfully, I put those things away back when the day came to put away childish things.

So, I make eggs. And I remember that my good fortune springs not from my “stuff” or acquisition of “stuff”, but from all that I have learned and continue to learn, and all the mistakes I’ve made and continue to make. And I hope for the best. For everyone.

Tetrazini 3 comments

My mother had to feed 12 people three meals a day on a rather skimpy budget. When I think back on it, this was really quite a feat. Although I learned a lot from being in the kitchen with her, I wish I’d paid a little more attention to her creative resourcefulness in stretching her food budget, keeping food interesting/healthy, and not being wasteful.

It was a big deal for me, last Christmas, to feed eight people in my small abode. That one meal took a lot of planning, and I got a lot of it wrong. I had enough food for an army, as it turns out. An army considerably larger than eight. There were leftovers.

Mom was creative with leftovers, or whatever was at hand. Part of the trick was, of course, making sure that the right basic stuff was on hand. And, honestly, when feeding 12 people, casseroles made from opening a tin or two of this or that never did generate complaints. Therefore, one of the “must have” cooking ingredients was a supply of Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup.

Food snobs poo-poo recipes that include the instruction “Open a tin of Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup” as being well below acceptable standards of cuisine. On most days, I consider myself a bit of a food snob.* Except today. And, wouldn’t you know it, I didn’t have a can of Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup on hand, just when I needed it.

Usually, Sunday dinner involved a large, roasted dead creature. My father, a Brit and a butcher/farmer by trade, would call any roasted dead creature “a joint” and I, for the life of me, couldn’t figure out why. Most popular beef roasts do not involve a part of the anatomy anywhere close to a joint. When the “joint” was not beef or pork, there would be poultry – either chicken (several) or a turkey, which was my favourite.

Turkey was my favourite primarily because turkey leftover options involved a few of my all time leftover favourites, all of which also involved Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup. Something heavenly happens when you combine leftover turkey gravy with Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup. These favourites included:

- turkey a la king (creamed turkey with veggies, served on toast)
- turkey pot pie (my all time, bar none, favourite leftover meal – essentially, turkey a la king in pastry)
- turkey tetrazini (somehow different than creamed turkey on toast and I’m not sure why)

So, tonight, staring at a fridge filled with well-enjoyed, but nearly about to go off meat and veg, I embarked on a slightly more health conscious version of tetrazini, which I dubbed “Three Pork Tetrazini” or by its Swedish name “Pork Pork Pork!!”

First, I had to go to the general store to fetch the requisite tin of Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup. I spotted a coyote on the way back from the store. I am, truly, where the wild things are.

But, I digress … the rest went as follows:

1. Boil water for whole wheat pasta of choice. Prepare to desired doneness. Drain.

2. While the pasta is doing its thing, chop four slices of bacon into one inch squares and toss in fry pan @ medium-high. Follow this with:
- garlic
- chopped onion
- chopped peppers
- mushrooms (lotsa mushrooms)

3. Stir the fry pan mixture around a lot. If bacon isn’t providing enough grease, add oil of choice – either butter or olive oil will do.

4. Pour glass of wine.

5. When the bacon is looking almost done, add chopped leftover pork loin and chopped lean ham. Keep stir frying.

6. For heaven’s sake, don’t over cook the pasta!!!

7. Add several handfuls of baby spinach carefully picked over for mushy leaves and those weird skinny non-spinach leaves that always seem to sneak in. Keep stirring this up.

8. When the spinach has “melted” and incorporated into the mixture, add the tin of Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup. Stir to blend in and let heat through.

9. This recipe has both BACON and tinned pseudo-food. DO NOT add more salt at any time. That is just silly.

10. While the soup heats through and blends in, grate some old cheddar. Sprinkle that on top and stir until incorporated. The whole mix may take on a brownish tinge. This is desireable.

11. Add the drained pasta (hope you started with a big enough pan!) and keep folding until the pasta is fully covered in the sauce.

12. Pour another glass of wine. Serve.

The observant amongst my readers will note that this recipe does not have to be made with pork or, indeed, any dead creatures at all. Any combination of stuff stir-fried in garlic and oil, coated in Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup and glued together with old cheddar and served over pasta is going to be pretty yummy.

And it was. AND … if you serve it with enough wine and call it “tetrazini”, your guests may just believe you!

*I was called a “coffee snob” the other day. I can’t imagine why.

Curses … My Cunning Little Plan … Foiled! Click Here To Comment!

So, here I am up at this cottage. For about 10 days in a row, eight of them on my own entirely. Well, except for the sweet, elderly/ailing and lonely neighbour who wanted me to come to “the hall” with her tonight and play euchre. And the bears. And the fish.

I had this idea that I wanted to bring everything with me in one go so I wouldn’t have to make any trips into Lakefield, this nearest town of any size. This includes food, of course.

In the back of my mind, I thought – this is it. My diet is going to veer entirely and utterly off the rails now. I stocked up with everything I shouldn’t have. Mostly carbs. Potatoes. Pasta. Rice. English muffins from St. John’s Bakery. Kraft dinner. Popcorn. Chips. Pancake mix.

And bacon.  And cheese.

AND – the cottage owner’s parents dropped by yesterday with freshly baked cookies and apple cake. (Free cottage AND freshly baked goods … how the universe does look after me when I ask … but I digress …)

I remember how I used to eat. Three substantial meals a day, mostly carbs. Grazing/snacking in between. Minimal fruits and vegetables.  Minimal physical movement. Here I am, in the perfect environment to return to my old self. There sure isn’t a lot to do up here, physically, and I’m virtually surrounded by carbs.

The thing is … I can’t do it. Not like I used to, anyway. I needed some exercise today and tried to get some by walking from this cottage to the main road, about a three kilometre round trip, I’d guess. I really enjoyed the walk to the main road and the tour of the general store but was thwarted on the return leg by the presence of one or more bears. I was scooped up by some cottagers who didn’t want it on their conscience that they saw bears and didn’t escort me safely back to my doorstep. My attempt at at least SOME activity … foiled …

But, in terms of eating … I just can’t do it like I did before. Sure, I’m having more carbs. But, somehow, a lot of vegetables snuck in and I’m eating those, too. So, the balance is different. But, the big thing is quantity and paying attention. I cooked for the cottage owner before she left – lamb chops on the bbq – and I made some yummy new potatoes. In my old frame of mind, there would be no leftover potatoes from the first meal. Now, there were enough to sautee for the following night’s dinner.

Also, my meal times are all off, so I’m just asking myself if I’m actually hungry. If the answer is no, I busy myself with something else for a while. Yesterday, I did something I’d been planning to do – made a big tray of nachos – yum! This was mid-afternoon and I enjoyed them while watching a movie. Filled me up entirely. I didn’t eat dinner and I had a few crackers and a bit of kohlbassa before bed. No more with the three huge meals, etc.

Today, I skipped breakfast (wasn’t hungry), tried to walk (see above) and then deeply and thoroughly enjoyed my extremely rare Kraft Dinner treat for lunch. (Did you know they have a three cheese version now? I’m not sure what that means since it looks like powder to me, but I digress yet again …) I mean, I really enjoyed it. Maybe my pseudo-bear encounter made me appreciate the pseudo-cheese more fully. Then … almost eight hours later … dinner, which was a salad. Spinach/arugula base, a layer of alfalfa sprouts, chopped peppers, a peach, tomato, thin sliced sweet onion and a dollop of cottage cheese. I topped it with sauteed ham and mushrooms, drizzled with light balsamic dressing. Mmmmmm … I’m totally full now.

I’m sure not going to lose weight out here. But maybe I won’t gain quite as much as I thought I would when I arrived.

Intense 3 comments

My March break is ending now, just as so many other people are starting theirs. It has been a pretty intense couple of weeks, actually, including the so-called “break” week. It didn’t feel much like a break to me, between stacks of grading, meetings, and quick turn-arounds on proposals and such. At least I managed to keep up with hockey and gym commitments.

Speaking of which, I was really pleased to learn my BMI has shifted considerably, even though my weight has not dropped since before Christmas. I’m actually okay with staying exactly the same for almost three months in a row. It proves that I can maintain a weight once reached. I have 21 more pounds to go to my target weight. Anyway, in terms of my BMI, I’m down three units of whatever-those-units-are since last time this was done, yet I believe my actual weight is close to the same. This means that fat tissue has been converted to muscle, which is very encouraging indeed.

So, in periods of intense and demanding activity like this, I have these little recurring mental motifs, like little pieces of toilet paper stuck to my shoe. I’m going to take a few minutes to jot them down here so maybe they’ll stop bugging me. My life is about to get even more intense, so this may be my only chance for a while to be in a blogging kinda mode.

Where Did All These People Come From?

I’ve said this before, out loud, many times. It always takes me by surprise how many damn people there are in the world. How can I walk around downtown, through familiar streets, and not see a single person I know, and yet pass literally hundreds of faces? I just returned from a trip out to Brampton to watch a hockey game and there were still more strangers there!!! How is this possible??? I bet if I went to any one of the hundreds of small towns and cities across Canada to watch hockey games, THOSE arenas would be filled with still more people I’ve never seen!

Of course, I’m being facetious, sort of. It really does take me aback how we can float through our lives, essentially surrounded by strangers with whom we have no connection. Yet, we count on them not to drive across the yellow line in the road and hit us head on, to keep a civil tongue in their heads in public, and to fly planes that we trustingly board.

It is a little weird when you think about it.

Molasses

Me’n’molasses go way back. On the farm where I grew up, there was a barrel of molasses sitting by the outside corner of the barn, near the entrance to the silo. It was used as an additive to the silage (corn stalks and field corn cobs and other materials left in the silo to “mature” as feed for the cattle) to aid its fermentation. But I loved to dip my fingers into the molasses as I walked by the barrel, if no one was looking. I just love the stuff.

My mom and I used to make popcorn balls as treats, especially around Hallowe’en. Our recipe involved boiling molasses, corn syrup and a dollop of vinegar until the medium ball candy stage. Then you pour the mixture over a bowl of popcorn, slather your hands with butter, stir the mixture around with your hands and then form popcorn balls. If you can keep yourself from eating the stuff, that is. Can you imagine? Two of my favourite things in one place – popcorn and molasses … HEAVEN! So much fun for kids to do, this recipe. I remember one year, grade seven or eight, I took popcorn balls to class for the Hallowe’en party. The teacher somehow dangled a row of single popcorn balls on strings from the ceiling. I think this was offered as an alternative to dunking for apples ~ we had to race to eat the popcorn balls, no hands. That was fun.

I haven’t had any molasses on my shelf for ages. This past Christmas, when I was doing all that baking, I saw a jar of blackstrap molasses at my new favourite bulk food store and it somehow fell into my cart. Molasses is an excellent source of a wide range of minerals, most especially iron and calcium. So, once or twice a week I’ve been enjoying a teaspoon or two as a treat. Yum.

I sense popcorn balls in my future.

Construction Zones Not Good For Tires

In order to get to the entrance to the underground garage for my building, you have to turn down one of two lanes. Each will take you by a construction zone.

In the past three months, I have had three “soft” tires, each turning out to have been punctured by a screw or a nail.

Hm. It is getting expensive to be living beside active construction projects. Add this to noisy and dusty and one could get quite irritated by it all. I am endeavouring to be zen about it rather than irritated. Four could send me over the edge, though.

Too Many Things

I still own too many things. I have felt strongly about this for a while now. I keep giving things away, or leaving them for others to use in the recycle room downstairs. Yet, I had a bout of consumerism this week, resulting in a new hockey bag for my gear, and three new small appliances in the kitchen. I couldn’t get the boxes and old appliances out of my place fast enough for my taste. It feels embarassing to feel like I “need” things like a griller with removable plates, or a slow cooker that I can actually clean properly. Yet, I crave pot roast. What’s a girl to do?

One of the tasks that I had hoped to do this March break, but did not get to due to the unforeseen intensity of the week, was a pass at removing yet another sweep of clothing from my closet and drawers. This kind of purge always feels wonderful, and it is easy for me to do as some stuff just doesn’t fit anymore. There is a clothing drop off for students this week at my college. They are looking for business type clothing that students can wear on job interviews. I hope I can get this done in time to drop some clothes off for this effort.

How To Poach An Egg (a.k.a. How To Get UnSettled In Your Ways) 2 comments

I have always been a good poacher of eggs. A properly poached egg is a thing of beauty. Fully set white, very runny yolk on buttered toast with salt and pepper. A perfect breakfast that seems decadent in its rich flavours and textures but is actually fairly healthy. (The butter won’t hurt ya, really …)

My former egg-poaching methodology involved any old pot with boiling water that has a dash of salt and a splash of white vinegar. (The vinegar helps the whites set without as many stringy bits.) I’d crack the eggs directly out of the shell into the water and then stand over them until the exact right moment, usually about two or three minutes. I also had an method of using a frying pan to boil the water, and now I see that is just WRONG. I remember my brother also enjoying poached eggs and using the heel of a loaf of bread to drain them first before transferring them to his toast. The heel would get tossed.

My ex says I make the best poached eggs. I have them most mornings for breakfast.

My friend Miriam and I talk about poached eggs a lot. She shares my love of the perfectly poached egg. Ever helpful, Miriam sent me a video a while back on how to poach an egg. This arose out of her disdain for the idea of putting a splash of vinegar into the water, which I do understand.

For weeks after I watched this video, my poached egg mojo was totally messed up. I couldn’t get it right as I was trying some combination of my old method and this new method and just getting it all wrong. After years of getting it mostly right, new information totally threw a monkey wrench into the works. The guy in the video leaves out some important pieces. How hot is the water when you start? Do you leave it covered or not? What do you mean, leave the egg in for TEN MINUTES???

Experimenting with this new method of doing something I know so well has taught me a lot. For example, the pot matters. If you are going to leave the eggs sitting in water, they have to be completely covered in water, and the pot needs to be heavy and able to hold heat for some time. My thin-walled small saucepan is a bust. My larger thick-walled saucepan rocks, but only if it has enough water in it to cover the eggs.

I have finally got it right.

How To Poach An Egg Perfectly Without Vinegar and Without Standing There And Staring At It and Fussing Over It

1. Select a heavy pot and put enough water in it to cover the eggs. Add a few pinches of salt and bring to a boil.

2. Crack the eggs into a cup, carefully.

3. Put some bread in the toaster.

4. When the water is boiling, stir the water in a circle in any direction you care to.

5. Carefully drop the eggs in one motion into the centre of the vortex and immediately cover the pot. Turn the heat off. Set your timer for three minutes.

6. Whistle a happy tune. Maybe pour a cup of coffee.

7. When the timer goes off, butter the toast. The eggs need the last 30 seconds or so.

8. Remove eggs with a slotted spoon onto toast. Decorate with salt and pepper. Enjoy!!

Is Chinese Food Like Re-Purposed Blog Content? Click Here To Comment!

Possibly. I’ll let you decide.

The CheapEats Toronto Blog (go there NOW if you are even remotely interested in food in Toronto) recently re-purposed some content from another blog. Specifically, a TED presentation, about 16 minutes long, about the history and evolution of Chinese food in the United States. I’d love to see a Canadian analysis along the same lines someday. Funny and fascinating.

Fluffy Mackerel Pudding, Anyone? Click Here To Comment!

In case you missed it on FaceBook, here is a snippet and link to a wonderful tour of Weight Watchers Recipe Cards, circa 1974. These recipe cards, and most particularly the commentary provided by our tour guide, will have you in hysterics. Don the Depends … the Fluffy Mackerel Pudding represents, well, three words I wouldn’t have expected to see in the same sentence. Fluffy. Mackerel. Pudding. However, the one that has me clutching myself, repeatedly, is the commentary/photo for Chicken Liver Bake.

Christmas Present – 2008 4 comments

November 28 – 30, 2008

There are a few threads of tradition starting to emerge around the Christmas season. The earliest is that my friend, Amy, comes to visit the last weekend in November. It feels like a transition time, from the regular day-to-day trials and tribulations to a more special time. We don’t get to see each other enough, Amy and I, so we have set aside this weekend for what we call “Cottaging in the City”. My place turns into a cottage, sort of, without the sun, the lake and the mosquitos. But it does have quiet time, the reading of books, possibly puzzles and lots of good food and wine. We schedule this to coincide with the Women’s Blues Revue. The concert in 2008 was, if possible, even better than the previous year. I can’t wait for next year’s show!

We shopped a bit so I could drum up a particularly yummy breakfast on Sunday. Mmmm…

Friday, December 12, 2008

There was a lot going on that week – exam week where I teach. This particular Friday, as I recall, looked something like this:

6:00 a.m. – Get out of bed NOW …

8:00 a.m. – .. because you have to help Patricia supervise an exam.

10:30 a.m. – Meeting with Dean

12:30 p.m. – Lunch, off campus, with colleagues

shopping and errands

6:00 p.m. – Squash (we played for an hour)

So, at this point, I was invited to a birthday party. However, I’d been upright for 13 hours and it had been an active busy day. And, I needed a shower. So I went home and cleaned up and pondered the wisdom of going out. Because, at age 45, the idea of going out at 9:00 or 9:30 p.m. doesn’t hold as much appeal as it once did.

Then, Cate showed up online. And we talked, as we do. And suddenly it was 10:00 p.m. Something about talking to Cate invigorated me, I guess, because I got my second (or was it third?) wind and headed out the door to Rochelle’s birthday party. I appeared just in time for cake! What wonderful luck!

Friday, December 19, 2008 – STORM DAY!

Grades had been submitted on the 17th, perfect timing for a snow day! In anticipation, I made sure I had all the right supplies on hand to bake up an equally wicked storm in the kitchen. The weather gods did not disappoint, with “snowmaggedon” arriving, on schedule, during the morning rush hour. I purposefully kept all media off – no radio, no tv. In fact, for the record, I believe this is the day I called to cancel my cable subscription. In any case, I started baking and I had a really good time, either chatting with friends on the phone while baking, or listening to Christmas music.

Mostly, I had a good time re-acquainting myself with my Mom’s recipes and her baking equipment. It is all essential. First, the recipes …

The box is chock full of them, including a recipe for “stain for kitchen cabinets”. I guess there is only ONE stain for all kitchen cabinets, at least in my Mom’s world. Mom had a particular idiom for recording her recipes and thank goodness I baked alongside her for quite some time and learned the patois of her instructions. Measurements are missing and, often, she will put ” , as in, “refer to above” … but, there is no “above” to refer to.

There is one recipe that I come across everytime I go through this box. It always gives me pause and causes me to furrow my brow. Most of the recipes are written on 3 x 5 recipe cards but this one is on a slip of green paper. And, actually, this one looks like it is in my brother’s handwriting, not Mom’s. I must remember to ask him about it. Here is the recipe – it has no title that indicates what it might be, just ingredients and instructions:

4 cups tomato paste

4 cups sugar

Stir to keep sugar from burning. Boil for exactly 25 mins. Add 1 large pkg Jello. Raspberry or strawberry.

That’s it. What the hell …?

Anyway, on storm/baking day, I made short-bread, orange/date/coconut chews and protein powder peanut butter balls. Okay, admittedly, my Mom didn’t use protein powder in her recipes but she *did* make peanut butter balls. I have the proof as she has about three different recipes for them right here in this box. However, this recipe was passed on by the WWBA who seems to be in favour of me upping my protein intake. Something about muscle re-construction … but I digress … the orange/date/coconut chewie squares are such a total nostalgic blast for me. I made them using my Mom’s mixing bowl. I think this bowl was standard issue to housewives in the 1950′s. I’m kinda precious about this bowl. Believe me, it does not have “microwave safe, oven proof and dishwasher safe” stamped on the bottom.

Here is the bowl with aforementioned batter. My Mom was famous for her “squares” and I’m sure that at least half the recipes in this box are for “squares” of various descriptions. I told J that I was going to make Mom’s orange/date/coconut squares but all she heard was “Mom’s … date … squares” and got apoplectic with joy. Everyone loved Mom’s date squares but they weren’t my fav. It’s the orange/date/coconut chewie squares that totally have my heart.

So, the storm stormed away outside, and I did my thing in the kitchen, totally into the groove of Christmas, connecting with my Mom, and baking delicious treats. And, then it was time to go meet Cate for dinner. Having not listened to ANY media, and having only the view from my windows to go on, I pictured a city blanketed quietly in snow, shut down to all activity, peaceful. Feeling a somewhat nostalgic, romanticized mood, I thought that walking across the downtown core for dinner would be a swell idea, especially if I took my camera. A city peacefully asleep under snow, is what I pictured in my mind’s eye. I bundled up and jammed my camera in my pocket.

Like New York, this city does not sleep, especially on the Friday evening the week before Christmas, snow or no.

I think this video, with the University of Toronto bells in the background, has a certain Edwardian quality to it. (That was for wizzy, if she is still reading The Handbasket.)

I made it over to Harbord House in surprisingly good time and we had a cosy little dinner, Cate and I. She threw her wool on the floor a lot while knitting and I don’t think you are supposed to do that. Here, she displays her latest work in progress.

The temperature dropped about 10 degrees while we were eating, I think. It was much colder when we left the restaurant then when we arrived. I walked down to College with Cate and we passed many sweetly decorated houses on the side street. I particularly liked this tree and, although it is hard to photograph Christmas lights, I think you get the idea.

(Why are there so few green Christmas lights? Inquiring minds want to know … )

Saturday, December 20, 2008

The hockey game was good fun, with a hard-won 1-1 tie. A hard-headed win, as it were, as I managed to whack my helmeted head pretty hard against someone else’s helmeted head. I appear to have all my faculties still. Thankfully, it was an early game as I had to rush home, shower, and head to a party! Rhonda and Mary-Ann were hosting a Christmas gathering and, sadly, it sounds like a bunch of people wimped out due to weather and various flu and cold bugs that seemed to be cutting people down prior to Christmas. However, those of us who braved the elements were treated to marvelous food and great company. We even persuaded Mary-Ann to play the piano while carols were sung.

This was, in fact, almost two parties. I’m not sure you can see Party #2 taking place in the background here. The beautifully rendered lines of “O Come All Ye Faithful” and “The First Noel” were punctuated by delighted giggling and shouts from Party #2, consisting of Rhonda, Don and MA’s four charming off-spring. A good time was had by all.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

First, another birthday party – this time a brunch. I had to whip up another batch of shortbreads for this …

Christmas birthdays are hard. My Mom’s birthday was December 24 and I remember her day always getting swept under the carpet. I think Moms’ birthdays do, anyway, as they are usually the ones in charge of remembering everyone else’s birthday – who is in charge of remembering hers? Well, Bev was the birthday girl, and birthday mom, on December 21 and we celebrated!

Next, I had to re-stock some baking supplies. I’ve found a terrific small-chain bulk store for this at Pape/Danforth. It is a bit messy and disorganized, but the young people who work there (they all look about 12) seem to know their stuff. It is called Strictly Bulk, on Danforth, North Side, just West of Pape.

It seemed that my friend Nancy, a.k.a. Trix, was going to arrive from Ottawa by bus much later than originally anticipated. I had thought she might enjoy the Kensington Winter Solstice Festival of Lights, followed by Chinese food with friends. Alas, the bus strike in Ottawa, and adverse weather, all conspired to make her later than she anticipated. So, it was on to Kensington to meet-up with LA, friends and wee ones. The meeting-up happened but the solstice did not. Or rather, I’m sure that solstice occurred because, well, it just does. But the Kensington solstice event did not. Why it did not remains a mystery.

Chinese food DID happen, with much joy and rapture, as per usual.

Someone in the crowd at the solstice non-event slipped me a bottle with some gin and lemonade in it. It would have been rude to turn it down, of course. And, I’m Canadian and NEVER rude …

After dropping folks off at various spots in the core, I beatled back to the bus station to wait for Trix, thinking she’d be about another 45 minutes and that I could amuse myself for that time period.

It was cold and damp. It was an hour and a half before the bus pulled in. Felt like three hours, my legs all restless, alternatively twitchy and crampy. I’ve never been so glad to see a greyhound bus in my life.

Monday, December 22, 2008

Trix and I designated this as another baking day, along with some decorating. I needed some pastry for the future tortiere so we worked on that first.

Then, I got to making some of Grandma’s Cookies, which is how my brothers and I refer to them. Grandma’s Cookies could also be called “kitchen sink cookies” because they have a bit of everything in them, from corn flakes to candied fruit to pecans to coconut. These are my brother David’s ulitmate cookie Nirvana and it was my plan to present him with some to take home on Christmas Day. It chokes me up a bit when I see my Mom’s recipe card for this which does not read Grandma’s Cookies. It reads “Mom’s Cookies”.

Behold, my Mom’s vintage 1950′s MixMaster. It still knows how to make cookies!!! It is impossible to estimate how many batches of cookies, cake batter, potatoes, and a myriad of other concoctions have been whipped together by this machine over about a 40 year period. Still works. When I was big enough, it was my job to set it up and use it. I still have a scar on my left index finger from the time that I plugged it in without checking to see that it was turned off and my hand got chomped in the beaters. Ow. I think I was about 10.

After baking, Trix and I sorted through decorations and tarted the place up a bit, including placing the cedar boughs over the door and on the “mantel” of the fireplace. Can a drywall box be called a “mantel”?

I dropped Trix back off at the bus station in the late afternoon – a short but sweet visit. It was then time for a pre-emptive visit to the gym.

I tried to take photos of the fireplace but, again, it is hard to capture the glow of the lights and the fire with no tripod and a rather limited piece of equipment.

Monday night was “tortiere filling prep” night and it was a divine way to spend my time, the smell of all those spices filling my place and, I’m told, the hallway outside my door and my neighbour’s place as well.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

I FINALLY made it to Tuesday morning shinny and it was a blast. I had every intention of attending the Christmas shinny brunch that followed but, alas, my penchant for panicking over simple household matters chose that moment to rear its head. Long story. I didn’t make it to brunch.

I did, however, manage to pick up most, but not all, that I needed for the rest of this food-crazed holiday, including a 19 lb free range, organic, non-medicated, non-hormoned, non-GMO, etc. etc. turkey. I think this creature attended Montesori and spoke seven languages before they snuffed it.

More baking and cooking followed, along with several re-arrangements of the fridge to fit everything in.

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

This was my primary “veggie prep day” yet, I needed guitar strings and cheesecloth. When a girl needs guitar strings and cheesecloth, stormy icyness and snow squalls cannot stop her. Veggies can wait.

This was the morning that the City of Toronto called to confirm, absolutely, that they owed me a refund on my taxes. Not only that, they didn’t really require the paperwork they asked for before. Merry Christmas, me! Furthermore, the store where I bought my last telephone headset honoured their warranty to replace the headset regardless of what happens to it. Even though I’d tossed the headset three weeks ago and was supposed to bring it in. Hey – Santa brought me a new headset for Christmas!

This was such a fun morning of errands. Feeling rather jaunty after my phone call with the City, I headed out with my Santa hat on. This made everyone smile. I had a huge list of errands – drop off cookies to my weight loss team (some kinda irony there …), LCBO, dollar store, electronics store, guitar string store, grocery store … and it all went smoothly and with a lot of that Christmas-y smiling at/with strangers kind of interaction. I’m glad I left a few things to the last moment. Found parking everywhere, paid for none of it, found Every Single Thing I needed in the dollar store, and chatted with at least half a dozen strangers in the grocery store.

Then, in the afternoon, it was serious veggie prep time. Chop cauliflower. Trim broccoli. Peel/boil potatos. Peel/boil turnip. Roast garlic. Mash turnip/potatos/garlic yogurt together. Press into baking dish and seal with cling wrap. I opted to take a short-cut with the carrots and just make due with baby carrots.

I left the tortiere assembly to the end. This was a mistake because it was now, oh, 4:30 or 5 and I was due at Gail and Sonja’s at 6:30 for Christmas Eve dinner.  I had taken the pastry out of the fridge, the pastry Trix had so lovingly prepared a few days earlier. The stuff looked and felt perfect – for all the world, perfect pastry. Trix has made pastry for me before so she knows what she is doing. Either I left it in the fridge too long, or I simply lack my Mom’s pastry “chi”, but I could not get that stuff to roll out. No way, no how. I did manage to get a layer of pastry in the bottom of each pie plate but they each looked like they’d been through a war. In trying to get it right, I added water drops, creating an instant glutenous mass. I then tried to balance with flour which, in my frustration, I spilled all over the counter and floor. I tried not to look at the clock.

Giving up at about 5:30 and now dangerously close to running late, I dashed upstairs to shower off the flour in my hair, after checking with Rabba’s to see if they carried frozen pie crust. The man with the undefinable accent wasn’t sure what I meant by pie crust exactly, but was 100% certain that he carried it. Right.

Off to Gail and Sonja’s for a gorgeous evening that included prime rib, asparagus, and squash.

There was a lovely cranberry fruit pudding/cakey delight for dessert, with a caramel sauce. I took great pleasure in demonstrating that it is possible to set your dessert on fire with either Canadian Club or Jamaican Rum. Sadly, there is no photographic evidence of this demonstration, but there were witnesses.

And, there was still the matter of the tortiere pie crust to resolve. The gang at dinner were all going to the MCCT service and I was more than happy to offer them a lift to Roy Thompson Hall. They assured me, before we left the neighbourhood, that the tiny-looking Mom/Pop store at the corner would have frozen pie crust. I admit, I was skeptical as I picked my way carefully through the icily treacherous sidewalk path to Stephen’s Convenience. Not only did Stephen’s have pie crust in the quantity that I required, they had – as a back-up – pie crust mix in a box! I bought it all, no longer leaving anything to chance. I was clearly so relieved the lovely woman gave me a small poinsetta plant as a Christmas Eve gift.

What a lovely day that was!

Thursday, December 25, 2008 – Christmas Day!

I was up and on my feet by about 8:30, with a long list of things to do. Tortiere to assemble. Stuffing to make. Turkey to “dress” (what a funny term) and get in the oven. Chairs to fetch from the amenity room with my illegal key. Last minute decorating and cleaning up. Boxes to shove into closets to make room for the family to descend. I decided that I was going to eat enough that day, and nibble enough throughout the food prep, that I wouldn’t eat a proper meal until Christmas dinner. This was probably a mistake as when Ben arrived around 2:00 p.m., I was starving. He brought a bag of kettle corn (sweet and salty popcorn) and I put out some of the appetizer cheeses, olives and dips and we fell into it all.

I’m not sure how to summarize this day other than to say that the stuff that I expected to go “wrong” didn’t (family stuff) and the stuff that I have much confidence in and had prepared for did not go off as I’d wish. The oven didn’t heat up as much as I would have wished and the turkey took too long. The veggies couldn’t go into the oven until the turkey was out … the whole meal took longer and, in spite of my best efforts, didn’t get coordinated to be all ready at the same time.

Other than the bulk of the family being late and arriving in many more vehicles than I could have anticipated, it was so nice to see them. Seriously. Nieces and nephews have grown into interesting, three dimensional people. Nephew’s dog is a cutie. Both brothers’ were helpful and respectful. Sis-in-law, as always, a delight. Lots of chatter and such a high degree of comfort. Wow – very nice indeed. No one will remember the turkey issues.

After all that work, the tortiere was a hit. (phew) Both brothers, sis-in-law and a niece interested in the recipe.

The traditional (I’m serious) family poker game broke out after dinner, over mincemeat pie and apple pie. There was no clear winner, we each seem to hold our own, but my nephew Wes seem to rake in quite a haul in the last hand.

I hope my brother David sends me some of the photos from the dinner as I had my hands a bit too full to manage snapping shots. Given the look on his face when I handed him his box of Grandma’s cookies, I think he might make the effort.

Seems to me I managed to finish cleaning up all but the roasting pan by about 1:00 a.m.

Friday, December 26, 2008 – Boxing Day!

In the UK, the serious celebration and socializing day is Boxing Day. Everyone goes out, not necessarily shopping, just out visiting and, in our case when I visited the cousins, strolling the pier and the boardwalk along the shore. I seem to have captured a bit of this because I tend to want to have people over on Boxing Day as well. This year, I invited people for a Boxing Day leftover open house/drop-in featuring “no forced conversation”! As many as 25 – 30 people indicated an interest in coming by with their leftovers (yikes) meaning I had to do some serious re-arranging of furniture. However, a few seemed to get way-laid and, in fact, it was more like me and 15 people in total and that was perfect. What a nice evening! Except for the part where I did try to burn the place down a few times with candles. Oops. No permanent damage done, although one wall may need a wee bit of re-painting after I remove the wax. ’til then, nice evidence of a swell party, si?

I’m hard-pressed to explain why a coconut bra carries the spirit of Christmas, but you’ll have to trust me that it does.

I lost my picture taking momentum right about here and failed to snap shots of Jan, Ruth, Rhonda, Mary-Ann, Kristin, Catherine, Brandon, Cory and Danielle and Andrew. Nor did I capture the candle holder going up in flames, or the chorus of mmmm everytime someone tried tortiere for the first time, or sampled one of Kristin’s brownies. I note that god’s refrigerator still contains rather a lot of mix.

Boxing Day wound up the “official” Christmas stuff that I’d planned for and, not surprisingly, at the end of the evening, I found myself back in the kitchen again. Apparently, I am somewhat rooted there.

I hope everyone’s Christmas has turned out as delighfully as mine. I thought I’d feel out of sorts without a big trip or a really “big” event planned but, to the contrary, I’m totally “at one” with this holiday season. Brilliant. Now – what am I going to do with all this food and mix?!?

Too Good To Be True 2 comments

As I sit here at lunch, dutifully consuming my homemade channa masala, brown rice and spinach salad … and lamb curry … I stumble across a description of a bacon chocolate bar.

Seriously? You can do that?

Hm.

I think I want one. Just one. Or, just a taste. A teeny tiny little taste … just to see …

Eggplant Sandwich 3 comments

Earlier today, I ventured out with my friend Veronica to the St. Lawrence Market.  I will say again the same phrase that I’ve said many many times: the St. Lawrence Market is my favourite place in Toronto.

Sure, the Brickworks Organic Market is charming, aloof, unregulated, rough-around-the-edges. Great burritos. Great vibe. Love it. Today is opening day for a new market near Wychwood Park, so must check that out. Kensington Market has its fervent and vocal supporters.

I’m a St. Lawrence Market kinda gal, though. It is in my blood. I’ve been going there for 15 years now and I know it like the back of my hand which is comforting. I know where to find the cheapest yet best olive oil in the city, the best granola in the city and which puveyors of cheese excel at specific cheeses. (Don’t get me started on cheeses, especially since I can’t eat many cheeses right now!)

Oddly, I never seem to enjoy it as much alone as when I can go with a friend, so I was pleased when Veronica said she’d be into making the trip.

The St. Lawrence Market has the Eggplant Sandwich to end all eggplant sandwiches. No, no … not the one in the basement slathered in tomato sauce and fried green peppers, served on foccacia. No. Blech.

The “death row” Eggplant Sandwich is available only here. At Future Bakery, upstairs, smack dab in the middle of the market. It is near and dear to my heart, this sandwich. My friend Amy and I have been eating this sandwich, and waxing rhapsodic over it, since we worked together on Front St. in 1993. 15 years I’ve been eating this sandwich and, remarkably, it hasn’t changed.

This sandwich is on a fresh Italian roll, buttered, slathered in Dijon mustard, delicately garnished with roasted red peppers, hot banana peppers, lettuce and tomatos. And olives. Lots and lots of olives. Hold the cucumbers. The eggplant itself is heated and has melted swiss cheese on it by the time it makes it into the sandwich.

I have been known to call ahead to Future Bakery to suggest (demand?) that they have eggplant on hand if I know ahead of time that I’m going to be there on a Saturday. Sometimes, you see, they run out. And this is bad. Very very bad.

So, in case I haven’t made myself clear, if I manage to wind up on death row someday and require a last meal, it is this sandwich, exactly as I have just described. Hold the cucumbers. Cucumbers would be bad. Very very bad.

Next weekend, November 28-29-30, my friend Amy, the original eggplant sandwich sharer, is coming into town and we are having our now annual “girls’ cottage weekend in the city”. We put the fireplace on, drink wine, eat good food and read books. We listen to music and gossip. We go to St. Lawrence Market. We attend the annual Women In Blues Revue. We eat some more. (uh oh) We pretend we are cut off from the rest of the world … but we might go shopping. It is a pre-Christmas distraction for both of us.

I see another eggplant sandwich in my near future (bakery). Yum .