Mrs. W's Mean Cottage Casserole

What makes our time here on earth have real meaning?  Whose lens do we look through when we take stock of a life well lived?  The lens of the public? Or the view from the family?  Too often we praise greatness for worldly accomplishments when one's home life was a crumbling inferno.  Perhaps that is greatness over acknowledged.  I for one, side with the view from the family.

March 2013 the world was a flutter about the New York Times obituary for Yvonne Brill.  Leading commentary referred to the fact that "she made a mean beef stroganoff" and was "the best mom in the world".  Both testaments appear to be attributed to her son, Matthew.

To the rest of the world though, Yvonne Brill was a brilliant rocket scientist and so says that NYT obit "in the early 1970s invented a propulsion system to help keep communications satellites from slipping out of their orbits."

Losing your mother is one of the most earth shattering moments in your life.  Many of us outlive our parents and must endure this pain.  This most certainly was real for Matthew Brill too.  Perhaps his mother's rocket knowledge was not foremost in his mind as he tried to soothe his broken heart.

My own mother has been gone now for more than a decade and I know in the darkest moments it was not my mother's 'accomplishments' that gave me comfort when I was pushed from my slumber with constricting grief.  For me, my days were made bearable by the tribute to her strong character, her unwavering ethnics, her sense of community, her sense of fairness, her tender caring, her highest priority to family near and far, and her genuine love for all.  For me, she was "the best mom in the world".

This past week one of my most special friends from school days lost her mother very suddenly at the age of 83.  She too lost "the best mom in the world".

Mrs. W had similar qualities to my own mother - though still quite a unique lady - which made spending time in their home such a pleasure.  I have a number of memories about her involving food. No surprise I guess.  Mrs W was active in the Scouting movement.  When I was still in high school I had the privilege to attend a Cub Camp weekend as the troop's Cook! 'Come and get it!' They ate well.

At one of the annual Scouting banquets (always catered potluck style) Mrs. W brought her Cottage Casserole.  It has a bit of an Asian flair. She had lived in Toronto before joining our farming community. This was pretty cosmopolitan cuisine for our meat and potatoes crowd and my father in particular was delighted at the new taste.  It was made many times over the years and has been adopted into the kitchens of my brothers and their children too.  Last week there was much talk of this casserole as we remembered a great lady in character but also in the kitchen.

Matthew Brill was lucky to have a very accomplished mother, who gave much to her field of science and to her country.  But, maybe more importantly, he can say "she was the best mom in the world", not to mention "she made a mean beef stroganoff"!

For Matthew, my dear friend, and me, to say we had "the best moms in the world" carries the day.  Good food was a bonus too. Rockets and the like, icing on the cake.

Although I never had Mrs. W's beef stroganoff, she sure made a mean Cottage Casserole.

MRS. W'S COTTAGE CASSEROLE
Servings: 8

2 Green Peppers, chopped
2 cups Celery, chopped
1 Spanish Onion, chopped
2 cans Mushrooms, with juice *
2 cans tomato soup, condensed **
2 lb Ground Beef
4 tbsp Soy Sauce
2 tbsp Worcestershire Sauce
Salt
Pepper
6 oz Chow mein noodles

Sauté everything together. Save 1/2 noodles for topping. Mix well and bake at 325ºF uncovered for 40 to 45 minutes.

Serve over rice.

* Real mushrooms were not so readily available at the grocery store back in the 70's.  I have moved on to the real deal in my kitchen now.  Although I made the recipe as instructed for this post,  consider replacing the canned mushrooms with 2 cups of sliced sautéed button mushrooms and 8 to 10 oz of unsalted beef, vegetable or mushroom broth.

** you might not be much into canned tomato soup but I offer no substitute.  It just wouldn't be a recipe from the 70's without it!!

Smitten Kitchen's Best Cocoa Brownies - To Heal The Broken Hearts

When I get bad news, my first instinct is to head to the kitchen to lose myself in a recipe. Or two. Or three.

And so it was when I got the call and the first words pretty much were, "Anne, he's gone." The gut punch.  I do the mental math and the months between our ages barely matter to any statistician.  In the sadness of it all, my own mortality blankets the scene. "It could just as easily have been me. Or my mister. Or my brother..."

I don't think I am terribly unique to find refuge in the kitchen as funeral plans are formulating around another kitchen table down the road.  The burners and ovens are blazing for the usual cast of characters.  Food that can feed plenty but also freezes well. Lasagnas, chickens, chilis, stews, casseroles.  Then there are the treats.  There is a bit of irony baking up a calorie laden, sugar and butter weighted treat on such a sorrowful occasion. But desserts are tradition.  There will be company and tea times.

So this time I hit the larder to see what I had on hand and I knew I could double up a batch of Smitten Kitchen's Best Cocoa Brownies.  Chewy, dense chocolate.  Its sweetness hidden behind the deep cocoa.  Its buttery-ness married with eggs, for a firm lava. No need for icing.

A gift for you to heal the broken hearts.  From my kitchen to yours.

SMITTEN KITCHEN'S BEST COCOA BROWNIES
Adapted from Smitten Kitchen who adapted from Alice Medrich's Bittersweet

Ingredients:
280 grams unsalted butter
500 grams sugar
130 grams unsweetened cocoa powder (natural or Dutch-process)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
4 large eggs, cold
130 grams all-purpose flour
1/2 cup chopped walnuts

Method:
Preheat the oven to 325ºF.  Lightly grease a 9"x13" cake pan and line with parchment that continues up the sides and over the edge.  The lightly greased pan will help the parchment stay in place and not fold in on top of the batter.  The overhang of parchment will help to lift the baked brownies from the pan.

Warm the butter in a heatproof bowl to almost melting using your microwave.  Add the sugar, cocoa and salt and stir. Place the bowl over a boiling water and stir the mixture occasionally until fully incorporated and the batter is quite warm to the touch.  The batter will seem somewhat grainy.

Using an electric hand mixer add the vanilla extract.

Let the batter cool to warm.  Then add each egg one at a time and use the hand mixer to blend.

Add the flour in three batches and use the hand mixer to blend.  When all the flour has been added, mix the batter for another 45 seconds on low.

Pour half the batter in one end of the pan.  Add the chopped walnuts to the remaining batter and pour into the other end of the pan.  This way your can keep your nutty fans happy and also the not so nutty.  Even out the batter with an offset spatula.

Bake for 20 to 25 minutes.  Place on a rack to cool.  Set the cooked brownies in the fridge or freezer.  When you cut into it, you will have clean edges.  Remove the pan from the fridge or freezer and remove the brownies from the pan by lifting on the parchment.  Trim the edges and then divide into squares.

The World's 1,170,001st Recipe for Banana Cranberry Pecan Bread - And The Best

When I searched the internet for 'banana bread recipe cranberry pecans', Google came back with 1,170,000 hits.  Make this recipe 1,170,001.  I didn't bother to read any of the other entries. I was just curious to see how ubiquitous the tried and true banana bread really is.

The foundation of this recipe starts from one that was shared with my mother by her maid-of-honour - a very special friend that had been in Canada only a few years before her but whom she counted on to show her the ropes in her new country.

Banana bread isn't very Danish from what I can tell. So it likely came into the repertoire as they began to channel Canadian and North American foods into their cooking and baking. In the very established farming community where I grew up, everybody had a family recipe for banana bread.  It was a casual cake to have on hand to serve to unexpected company and to bring to pot luck teas.  Banana bread was a classic church bread. (There are those that would confess that the best part of attending church is the food that seems to be shared a plenty.)

When I made this banana bread recently, I decided to clear out my remaining cranberries and pecans.  The end result was quite pleasing and it elevated this cake from casual to semi-formal!  I am not sure I will make it ever again without these two extra ingredients.  The cranberries really brightened the taste.

When I made the cake a second time it was to get the ingredients and method properly recorded.  There were a few requests for the recipe and I am happy to share.  Imagine! One million, one hundred and seventy thousand recipes for banana bread with cranberries and pecans and there were people that wanted mine.

BANANA CRANBERRY PECAN BREAD

Ingredients:
3/4 cup butter
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
3 eggs
3 to 4 large very ripe bananas, mashed (approx 1 3/4 cups of mashed)
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2  teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
3/4 cup pecans, chopped
3/4 cup dried cranberries
1/4 cup orange juice

Method:
Soak cranberries in very warm orange juice.  Set aside to steep and cool.

Grease and lightly flour a 11" x 5" loaf pan. (This loaf pan is quite large.  If you have a smaller loaf pan, consider making just two thirds of the recipe.)

Cream butter and sugar together.

Add eggs one at a time and beat well.

Sift dry ingredients together and fold into batter alternating with mashed bananas.  Drain the cranberries. Mix the cranberries and chopped pecans into the batter along with the last two tablespoons of the flour mixture.

Pour into the loaf pan and even the top with an offset spatula.

Bake for 50 to 60 minutes in a 350ºF.

The Healing Quiche

This week I went to visit a special friend who is in the fight of her life right now.  Her pain is excruciating, affecting her mobility. Although she wants to keep active and independent, she knows accepting help from friends will be a key strategy in dealing with her health crisis.

So she welcomes any and all food as it means less strenuous work time for her in the kitchen.  She figured out pretty quickly that she would eat much better this way than if left to her own devices.  This 'people person' confesses she loves the steady stream of company that have been around to support her. She lives alone and can't get out much as medication prevents her from driving right now.  It has been a constant state of 'Open House' and she is lapping up the positive energy that is coming with it.

I showed up for lunch with a quiche and a special hearty healthy salad ready to plate.  The four hours flew by.  She did pretty much all of the talking and I listened.  Probably the way it should be.  I didn't mind.  Her tales are always so animated. She has a way of keeping the sadness at bay.

Although her prognosis seems all too gloomy, we agreed it is just as easy to stay hopeful as it is to throw in the towel too soon. We don't have to predict the future and get it right, so why not take the path of brightness.

She is convinced a happy outlook will give her extra time, as will great visits and good food.  She may not be a doctor but I totally buy into her prescription.

Now onto the details of the quiche....

Quiche should be a staple in your repertoire of recipes for entertaining.  It is timeless and the kind of dish that can be showy if you want to put some artistic flair into how you finish it off.

A quiche is a very rich dish with its pie shell, cheese, and creamy filling.  You can cut back on the calories by using a lower percent milk and less fatty cheese in lesser quantities.  I counter the richness of this dish by dividing the pie into 8 pieces instead of 6 and rounding out the plate with a very healthy salad.

I like a quiche for both practical and economical reasons.  

It is the kind of dish that can have all of its individual ingredients prepared ahead of time, making the final assembly minimal before it hits the oven. Some like to make the whole thing ahead and reheat it, but my preference is to have it fresh and slightly warm.

It is also the kind of dish that can help you move along things lingering in your fridge or pantry. A chance to be creative and step away from the rigidity of a recipe.

I follow some basic rules when preparing my quiche.

I usually do a ratio of 1 egg to 3/8 cup of milk/cream.  So for 4 eggs I use 1 1/2 cups of a milk/cream combo. Ultimately how many eggs you use will depend on the size of the quiche pan or pie plate.  If you are unsure, you can always start with a 3 egg mixture.  I prefer 10% cream and use a 2 to one ratio of cream to milk.  You can go as low cal and as high cal as you like.  I am sure there is some chef somewhere boldly using all whipping cream for the liquid.  I dare not be so rich.

I use about 6 ounces of grated cheese and I take my lead from the other flavours in the dish.  My go to cheese is Jarlsberg.  But I also like Gruyère and chèvre goat cheese.  Sometimes I mix them.  Even cheddar could do if it was Old.  I find a harder cheese works best.  I avoid the more creamy cheeses like Havarti.

I like a bit of meat like ham or bacon or even lardon.  My preference is a crumbled bacon.  I use enough to cover the bottom of the quiche as my first layer. If I use ham I cut into cubes.

I use a good sized cooking onion,diced. I like to sweat it off and bring a little colour to it.  The cooked onions must be completely cooled before going into the quiche.  I do not use garlic but this time I added two ramps, known as wild leeks.  The bulb ends were sliced and sautéed with the onions. Then the rough chopped ramp leaves were added just to lightly wilt them.

If I add spinach, I steam it first and then wring it completely dry.  It too needs to be cooled.  It helps to rough chop it so it distributes evenly.  I like to toss it with the grated cheese before adding it to the quiche so I can avoid large dark green blobs presenting through the surface of the quiche.

You could also use mushrooms and red pepper but the key is to make sure they are cooked off well before using.  Any extra moisture coming from these additional flavour ingredients means that your quiche is at risk of not setting properly.  It will still taste great but it could end up being a mess on the plate.  It could also ruin the crust from baking properly.

Speaking of the crust, I make sure to chill it well after it has been put into the quiche dish and before loading in the filling. This will help to have a nicely browned bottom to your quiche. I find this saves me from blind baking it.

Some of the ingredients were sourced locally:
Spinach - Roots and Shoots Farm
Asparagus - Acorn Creek Garden Farm
Bacon - Lavergne's
Ramps - a secret place in the secret woods west of Ottawa


THE HEALING QUICHE
Servings: 6 or 8

Ingredients:
1 9-inch pie shell
1 onion, diced, sweated and slightly caramelized, cooled
2 ramps (prepared with the onions)
6 oz Jarlsberg cheese, grated
6 - 8 slices bacon, crumbled (just enough to cover the bottom of the quiche)
3 - 5 oz spinach, steamed, wrung dry, cooled
3 spears of asparagus, slightly blanched, cut on the diagonal
10 grape tomatoes, halved lengthwise
4 eggs
1 cup 10% cream
1/2 cup milk
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp black pepper
1/2 tsp dry mustard
1 pinch cayenne pepper

Method:
Sprinkle the crumbled bacon over the bottom of the chilled, pricked, unbaked pie shell.

Cover with the cooled sautéed onions and ramps.

Cover with the mixture of spinach and grated cheese.

Beat the eggs and add the milk, cream, salt, pepper, dry mustard and cayenne. Mix.  Then pour slowly over the ingredients in the pie shell.

Decorate the top of the quiche with the slices of asparagus and the grape tomato halves.

Bake at 375ºF for 45 to 50 minutes until lightly browned and firm.

Live Now

As sure as we know the sun will rise and set, we know we can count on the comfort of egg salad sandwiches in our time of sorrow.

While we sip our strong tea or drink that weak coffee, it doesn't seem to matter whether there are crusts, margarine vs. butter, onions and celery, mayonnaise or Miracle Whip, brown bread or white. It just matters that they are there and in abundance.

The trip last week was a hard one.  Although she was an Ottawa friend, the service and burial were back in her hometown, clear across the province.

As I struggled with making the trip, I wondered why, as I am a funeral person.  But for some, choosing to go to a funeral is fraught with dilemmas. How well did they know the one who passed. The disruption to their schedule. The time away. The cost. The awkwardness of death. The shear sadness of it all.

For me, funerals are for the living.  For a life taken far too soon and so tragically, families need all the reinforcements we can muster.

The 9 month journey to this final day has been filled with ups and downs. Hopes and despair.  As much as a family rides the ride in the front seat, friends too are caught in the wake.  We gather to give comfort and also get comfort.  To celebrate a special life.  To celebrate a special someone.

With a generous care package of egg salad sandwiches, I started my long journey home. A few hours in and I detoured into Toronto's west end to a small shop on Roncesvalles.  Green Light District, formerly from Ottawa, had posted a picture of an elegant white vase three weeks earlier that caught my eye.  I was keen to see it in real life.

There was my usual humming and hawing.  How do I buy another vase when I had just let 3 or 4 go?  It wasn't terribly dear.  The height seemed perfect.  I almost left empty-handed and then contemplated my potential regrets. In my head a little voice was softly squeaking, "Live now."

I decided I wanted this vase as my reminder of a great lady.  Someone who liked fine things.  A caring, tender-hearted friend who was full of love and compassion for others.

Those comforting egg salad sandwiches from last Friday are long gone. There are no cures for sadness. Though this special keepsake sure brightens the day.

GONE FROM MY SIGHT
I am standing upon the sea shore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says; “There, she is gone! ” “Gone where? ” Gone from my sight. That is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.
And just at that moment when someone at my side says, “There, she is gone! ”
There are other eyes watching her and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, “Here she comes! ”

And that is dying. 

* Many attribute this poem to Henry Van Dyke. I was not able to confirm this.

Who Writes Christmas Cards and Letters Anymore?

Today I put my last Christmas card in the post and I'm not feeling the least bit guilty.

I have given up on the December-something deadline because it is just an unnecessary pressure. Although I usually can get them all out 'on time', I don't sweat it if I don't.  We receive Christmas cards throughout January so I know I am not the only one liberating myself.

Christmas cards are a big deal on so many levels to me.

Symbolically, I slow down once a year to focus my thoughts on friends and family, to share news, to give care and concern for what has been unfolding in our lives.  No matter how brief the note, it is a gesture which says "you are someone important and precious to me".  In these hurried times, this maybe means more than ever before.

The special list I put together may include a neighbour I see each day, a friend I spend time with regularly, an acquaintance who has marked my life for life - like an old school pal, and most importantly my family - near and far.

On the lightest level, those cards of bright happy colours serve to decorate, and I hope you feel the same.  So even if I do know all your news and see you all the time, I so cherish your pretty card for what it does to make my home that much more ready for the season with all the red and gold and green.

Starting early December the cards trickle in.  I have seen elaborate ways to display cards over the years and we have tried them too.  The long string stretched across the living room wall for them to sling over. Special wire contraptions to tuck into.  Bookshelf space and end table space where they crowd out pictures and trinkets.

Although I drone on and on about trying to be more 'green', the physical Christmas card is something I am reluctant to give up.

The e-cards are coming to me now though.  As are the electronic newsletters.  Know that I am happy to hear from you, no matter how you send your love and care. But, I don't see an e-card future for me yet. Though never say never, I guess.

Each year I review the list to see who gets added and who gets updated.  It is always tough to say good-bye to sending out a Christmas card.  But when our connection is just a once a year thing as two people with bygone histories, I eventually with great reluctance let go. I do wonder. Did you go 'green'? Did you have a big life event? Has Christmas traditions changed for you? Do you feel sending all those Christmas cards has just become too expensive?

Today is also the day where I organized all the cards I received.  I reread the notes and letters. They were sorted alphabetically.  (I know, I know, I've have the OCD thing down pat.)  I put the list of who was sent and received on top and then they were parcel wrapped in butchers cord.  I keep my Christmas cards. Every single one of them.  I do go back to look at them, but it's rare.  So far they are well contained but when I am old and grey, you'll be calling me The Card Lady, not The Cat Lady.

Each year I ponder the future of the Christmas card.  It seems, fewer and fewer are sending them. With Canada Post's recent announcement of increasing postage from 63 cents to $1 for Canadian mail, I have to figure it will push others to close the chapter on a long held tradition. So far, I am not wavering.

I get my cards on super sale after Christmas.  They are cheery but by no means pricey, so the stamp is the biggest investment.

For now, I can say without hesitation, you are totally worth that one dollar to me.

Rest In Peace "Garlic Man" Ted Maczka

One of the highlights of the annual Perth Garlic Festival each August is dropping in to say hello to "The Garlic Man", Ted Maczka, holding court in the Commerce Building.

You had to wait your turn as he often attracted a crowd - dieheart garlic lovers and the to-be-converted alike - but he was happy to have you listen in as he evangelized the many redeeming qualities of the stinky rose. 

I was saddened to read today of Maczka's passing on Monday. He was only 83 years old.

Long before social media was a thing, the mildly eccentric Ted Maczka was a marvel at spreading the good news about garlic, elevating it as a worthy essential in our pantries and kitchens.

Stephanie MacLellan, Staff Reporter at The Star wrote a thoughtful piece about Ted Maczka in today's paper.

Rest in peace Ted. I'm thinking that heaven is smelling pretty good right now.

My Father - A Man Missed and Much Loved

For the past eleven years October 7th has been an autumn day that seems to trumpet the changing of the season.  On this day I see, hear and feel that shift.  Whether the rain is a bit colder, the wind a bit stronger, the sun a bit lower in the sky.

My last day with my father was at his bedside, embracing the family and waiting.  Waiting for his racing, heaving heart to end its marathon. He lay in peaceful comfort and was attended to with the greatest of care.

That sunny Sunday morning I plucked the only red leaf from a newly planted maple tree already bursting with yellow, orange and rust. Like my father, that one red leaf stood out among the others.

My father had many talents. I am particularly proud of his time as a Canadian farmer.  Besides the business itself, he and my mother architected a very large garden to provide for the family.

Although my mother tended to much of the planting and then preserving, I felt my father was more involved with the potatoes and carrots.  With his equipment and strong arms, we stored away countless 50-pound burlap bags of root vegetables to feed us through the winter.  He was always there with the tractor when we were harvesting the high hanging fruit from our abundant pear tree.

Perhaps his greatest gift to us was choosing to call Canada home.  Because of his courage to see Canada as his future, he enjoyed 48 years here and his growing family now lives in the finest country in the world.

That sad Sunday morning the lone red maple leaf was a last minute grab before heading to the hospital.  I wanted a little piece of the outside world to be touching my father as he lay sleeping in his windowless, sterile, high-tech setting.  As the hours past, the bright red maple leaf continued to shine like a badge against his blue gown.

When so many details of finality were looming large, in all the blur, I still somehow managed to bring the tired maple leaf back home.  A little bit drier and curled.  It lays tucked in the pages of my hymn book at song 67 - Silent Night. Perhaps my father's favourite hymn.

On this cold, sunny, windy, rainy day, I see the leaves glowing red again. A reminder for us of the changing season. A reminder for me of my last day with a very special man.

9/11 Memorial in New York City

Today is the 12th anniversary of the terror attacks of 9/11 on the USA.  I was in Europe at the time.  It was unsettling to be separated from my family.

Last month, while in NYC, I went to the 9/11 Memorial at Ground Zero.  The waterfalls and reflecting pools are meant to "convey a spirit of hope and renewal, and creates a contemplative space separate from the usual sights and sounds of a bustling metropolis.", says the memorial's website.  The twin reflecting pools sit within the footprints where the Twin Towers once stood.

The security to get into the plaza might suggest that things have changed for the freedom of movement of peoples in the US.  I showed my ticket (it's free) at three different checkpoints plus had my personal belongings run through a scanner. The area is heavily fenced and security cameras are prolific. It kind of kills the mood. Safety and security now trumps symbolism says a recent NBC News article.

Seeing what a huge production the memorial has become, it is a lot to take in knowing that there have been even larger acts of terror committed around the world.  It is a very different experience to life back home in little old Ottawa.

I read this in UK's The Week today regarding One World Trade Centre. "Although One World Trade Center won't be the first tower to open at Ground Zero it has the greatest significance for New Yorkers and Americans in general. When a spire was added to the structure in May it reached its "symbolic" height of 1,776ft, a reference to the year the US declared its independence."

I know he is safe, but I do feel a small twinge knowing that the mister is in NYC today. I wonder for those who live there if that feeling ever goes away.

No One Knows When You Cry In The Car Wash

The water in the car wash pounds down on the bones of my 4-door, cleaning off the trace evidence of the recent dirt road adventures. I am delighted to soon be clean.

As I cocoon safely from the harshness of my world, the bubblegum soap lays on a kaleidoscope blanket of yellow, pink, blue and green - quickly transforming from comfort to claustrophobic. I can feel my own protective coat is also being stripped away as the water jets release full blast in the "Touchless".

The sudden vulnerability startles me. My raw emotions win out and the crushy feeling pushing against my chest forces me to gasp a loud, moaning, helpless breath.

I just can't hold on any longer and I succumb to the realness that this is Day 17 for you laying peacefully in an unknown slumber. The tubes and wires continue sending out monotone but hopeful signs. Your future remains our mystery.

My eyes water and I channel my strength to push back the floodgate of tears. They well up against my will and break free - pouring out hard but just for a moment.

The hood-wide blower lowers and I slowly advance to the exit.  The seconds on the dryer's LED timer tick down.

As quickly as I entered, the car and I push into the sunshine of the late afternoon, our tough exteriors sparkling and dry.

The Gift of Friendship. Always Say Yes.

When someone calls up and asks if you have coffee, the answer is 'yes'.

Even if you haven't had your shower yet, you're in the middle of laundry, ironing, paying bills, reading a book, making dinner, getting the garbage out, gardening, there is always just a little bit of work to be done....

Never miss the chance for a visit. The dirt and mess can wait.

In the short time it takes for them to land in your driveway, you can get a quick wash, brush your hair and teeth, put on a clean shirt, slap on some lipstick and clear a spot at the table for a couple of cups and few cookies.

When you say 'yes', you're also shouting out, "Hey! You're number one."

Treasure the gift of friendship.

Always say 'yes'.

« I dedicate this post to Helen & Merrill. Wonderful friends who taught me to always say yes »

RECIPE FROM MARTHA STEWART CALLED CHEWY ALMOND ORANGE COOKIES

A Birthday Lunch That Celebrated Life

Our book club gals gathered today for a celebratory birthday.  We have no particular protocol in our informal constitution (there is no constitution) on how such events should unfold.  Sometimes a milestone year is a grand affair. Sometimes it commands a lunch out.  Sometimes it is a cake at a regular meeting and sometimes it is nary a whisper.  We are pretty free wheeling that way.

When we do congregate in the name of birthday milestones, it can often be just a side show to the whole outing. Our time together becomes more about sharing all of our lives.  The wonderful triumphs and crushing defeats.  Today we talked more about death than candles. For this group it is the topic du jour. Two had just lost fathers in the past week.  My uncle died just days ago.  Others had passings that they also wanted to share. We are at that age I guess.

Two blog posts I read recently resonated with me today as we confided and comforted each other at our not so birthday-ish lunch.

The first post is one I actually read often as a way of keeping my keel even when I know I need a reminder to stay caring, thoughtful and giving.  I hope you will enjoy it too.  It is by Darren Poke and is called Always Take The High Road.

The second post fresh off the press from Doris Belland is called What Do You Say And Do When Someone Dies?  I appreciated Doris' reminder "Food first, flowers later".

In some ways we are a disparate group with differences spanning age, religion, politics, means, family experiences, and hobbies.  Even our interest in books can be quite diverse. After 13 years together, despite our many differences, I continue to be reminded that I belong to a special group.

Again I came away refreshed and renewed. These outings force me to slow down, let time stand still and just take it all in. It is my chance to rebalance priorities and put people first. To quote the birthday girl, "Life is rich, and enriched with good friends.  Death is a poignant reminder of our transience on this planet."

Yes, in the glowing warmth of the tall, waxy candles, perhaps we did call it a birthday cake.  But in fact, it was a "life" cake.  Today we celebrated life.

“our life is a journey, and if we stop, things don’t go well.” - Pope Francis I

Childhood Days in the Garden

When I was a very young girl I would venture to the garden come harvest time, sit down in the dirt and eat right off the plants.

My favourite was the tomatoes and cucumbers. I would wipe them clean with my t-shirt first. Sometimes I brought the salt shaker to enjoy the tomatoes.

This heaping plate at yesterday's garden party brought back those big, bright, succulent memories.

Do you have any fond eat-off-the-plant experiences from yesteryear?

Under Your Hat

As I stood behind your chair, I looked down at you sitting with your back so straight and your shoulders so square. I saw a spot on the top of your hat. It was hard to tell if it was a fabric feature or maybe a stain, of all things, flung from enthusiastic food enjoyed by one of your beautifully talented five children.

Was that spot a blemish or just part of the hat's style? That hat becomes you. Like so many of your well-chosen wardrobe pieces, you carry colour and unique lines well on your petite, fit figure.

Your eyes seem a wee bit tired this day but your smile camouflaged whatever story they might be telling. Your 'always' smile says confident, calm and caring.

And then you show me under your hat. You tell me about your 'male pattern baldness' that may take as much as a year to push 'north'. You show me your crown of soft, sparse chick fluff. You do the reveal with your confident, calm and caring smile still spread wide.

When you lift your hat, some will see the uneven short, short hair. But what is really under your hat, dear friend? A head that is full of great knowledge and wisdom which continues to make sound judgements. Eyes that see the future bright and colourful. Ears that hear the constant chatter of many family and friends near. And not too far south, a strong beating heart both giving and receiving the richest of love.

When you show me under your hat, I see you.

Context Matters: Is The Bunny On The Menu?

Context matters.

I just received a dinner invitation to join good friends this weekend for dinner at Absinthe Café Resto Bar. As their guests. I couldn't be more delighted to be in their company, as her Italian mother is also joining us. None other than the celebrated Alberta, of Italian meatball fame - one of my most popular posts.

Attached to the email is a picture of a very adorable bunny and there is absolutely no explanation or reference to this wee lapin in the text. Only details of a dinner invitation. I am just wondering. Is my friend suggesting that he is on the menu?

I Love Food But I Love People More

I love food but I love people more.

For us, 2012 will be the beginning of a new normal. This year we have been touched by loss, as have people with connections to us - some very, very special.

When our dear loved ones leave us, they change lives. With 2011 hours away from drawing to a close, I reflect on the size of their wave.

To all of you facing new normals, our heartfelt wishes for good things ahead in 2012.

***

REST IN PEACE

Margaret - March 26
Minerva - March 27
Bryan - March 31
Ursula - April 25
Leona - May 3
Gary - May 19
Ruth - August 8
Willie - August 12
Brian - August 22
Lou - October 8
Donald Robert - October 14
Mary Jane - October 17
Donald Grant - November 9
Betty - December 25

Cottage Life - Tranquility Has Found Me

Day is done, gone the sun,
From the lake, from the hills, from the sky;
All is well, safely rest, God is nigh.

Tranquility presents itself in many forms. For some it exists only in a setting of deafening silence. Others need a tactile experience. A sense of pampering - spa-like conditions.

For me, I experienced tranquility on the July long weekend while cottaging on the south shores of a large lake a short drive from Ottawa. We visited for just 7.5 hours, with an action packed agenda.

It started in high gear with a quick tour of the rustic cottage, bunkie, vegetable garden and the beautifully manicured acreage pushing out onto a topographically notable large point.



Then on to the first order of cottage business. With chairs in lakeside formation, we quaffed happy-hour drinks and nibbled salty snacks. For the indecisive, it meant two fisting their 'balanced diet'.





The collection of young people congregated nearby to engage in the cut-throat card game, 'President'. They incorporated well-timed, relaxing intermissions.







Fully refreshed, we scrolled the cottage road to do the land-side tour. The brother and sister of our host also have cottages just doors away. With all siblings propertied on the lake, so close together, it symbolizes a family bond of 'compound' status. We neighboured in, the gathering grew and the visiting continued dockside. More refreshments, salty snacks and good chats.

Dinner beckoned us as we wandered back to the point. The many hands of the hungry pitched in.









The cool breeze gently shouldered us as we dined just feet from the rocky shore with the last warm rays of the afternoon sun buoying downward.



There was a rapid gesture at cleanup.

As dusk settled in, we took the requisite party boat ride around the waters, now touring the neighbourhood lakeside. I was already dreaming of a strategically placed For Sale sign pounded in on the shoreline somewhere nearby.

With the sun tucked away for the evening, we took in a colourfully home-choreographed display of fireworks. Surgically executed, with a strong support team of testosterone. Me, I was safe behind the screened in porch, far from the munching of sparrow-sized mosquitoes.

Some huddled at the cozy pit fire, in the pitch black of the night sky that held a scattering of diamond glittering stars.

The closing of the day was celebrated with Strawberry and Lemon Curd Smartie cake, plus 4-Biter World Famous Butter Tarts. For some, seconds of both.



To the observer it would seem we were going at breakneck speed, considering our short stay. But I just floated on the ebb and flow of activities knitted together like poetry in motion. I found my place in conversation, behind the camera, prepping food, serving, cheering pyrotechnics.

I was somewhere I had never been before. For a brief period my troubles were pulled out onto the waves and hidden in the darkness of the night sky. I was surrounded by that family's cottage life, including their family extensions. It was inviting. It was safe. It was beautiful. And for just a short time, tranquility found me.

Happy Mother’s Day – Or Not So Happy

Mothers Day. All so perfect and joyous and full of jubilation.

And why all this fuss?

Celebrating the miracle of birth and the power of parenting has been a Hallmark holiday for as long as I can remember. A big deal job by anybody’s standards. A time to show thanks and recognition. It is a day showered with gestures of pampering - starting perhaps with breakfast in bed, some reprieve from chores, and for the most lucky, flowers and gifts of sorts. In fact, some think of today as the most celebrated eating out day of the year.

The colours are spring-like in their hues of red, pink, yellow, orange and green. The colours of happy.

But for some women, today is a harsh reminder of a Not So Happy Mother’s Day.

They are women who longed for life in their womb and know they will remain barren.

They are women grieving the loss of a child, buried far too early into their short life.

They are women celebrating their own children but so missing their own mothers, who have since left this world.

They are women wondering who it was that gave them life, never to be connected with their birth mom.

They are women hoping that adoption really was the best choice, trying to visualize that happy, loving new home.

They are women wondering what went wrong and why they would be deserving of any praise, for surely they are to blame.

They are women who will not be hearing from their child today as they have chosen a lonelier life, estranged from the family.

Enjoy your very happy Mother’s Day, but know for some around you, they are marking the passage of time with a heavy, aching heart. For those women, I celebrate my special day with humility, respect and hopefully, empathetic understanding.

Farfalle Pasta with a Spicy Rosé Sauce, Pine Nuts, Parma and Pesto

Last night, listening to CBC Radio on the long, dark, lonely drive home, I heard the rebroadcast of a piece done on The Current.

It had this foodie's attention because it was about Ryan Stone, Canada's representative at the Bocuse D'Or competition in January.

The Bocuse D'Or takes place in Lyon, France every other year and is a prestigious world culinary competition.

One of the things that struck me was the level of his preparedness before the event. For his training, his team made the effort to recreate the work environment of the competition space right down to the layout of the kitchen itself, the size of the work surfaces and the positioning of the hard-wired installed equipment. Familiarity would be key to his success. Every surgically executed maneuver was calculated since they were critical to his outcomes and his time on the clock. He brought all of his own serving platters and specialized equipment to the competition.

I understood his strategy. How often in our own kitchen do our moves unfold without fully conscious thought? Our kitchen area just an extension of ourselves. Turning in the work space to the counter behind us. The number of steps to the sink. Our reach from our cutting surface to the cook top.

In a small way I could relate. I had just been in my brother's beautiful new galley kitchen and all those steps were foreign to me just by the configuration alone. My reach to the spices, usually extended me to my right, now had me reaching down in front, two drawers below. The spatula in my drawer to the left was now in a drawer behind me. A different grip and pressure on the garlic press. No familiar Microplane rasp for the cheese. For them, their kitchen is very functional; their steps committed to their subconscious. As a result, many wonderful meals come from this space.

As I took the lead on Saturday evening's pasta dinner, I found I needed to reprogram my kitchen dance moves. At least for that afternoon. Eventually I found my new familiarity. If only for a few hours. Thankfully it is a pure blessing how well we work with each other, like poetry in motion, to pull all the final aspects of the meal together in perfect synchronicity. My occasional awkward moments of two left feet went unnoticed.

At 5:55 pm, like a choreographed dance troupe, we sashayed in unison, with the plated dinner dishes in hand, into a very finely decorated dining room and took our seats. My afternoon in the kitchen was no Bocuse D'Or competition, but it was pleasing to know that in the end, the meal was reasonably stress-free, delivered on time and enjoyed by all.

(By the way, Ryan Stone placed 12th, midway in the pack. First place went to 3 time medal winner, Rasmus Kofoed from Denmark.)


Farfalle Pasta with a Spicy Rosé Sauce, Pine Nuts, Parma and Pesto
Inspired by a book club foodie friend, JK

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon butter
5 regular cooking onions, finely diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
28 ounce can whole Italian tomatoes
14 ounce can tomato sauce
1 tablespoon Italian seasoning
1 teaspoon chili flakes
1 teaspoon sugar
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon finely ground black pepper
1 tablespoon olive oil
6 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 cup grated parma reggiano cheese
1/2 cup toasted pine nuts
1 cup table cream
454 gr box of Barilla's Farfalle n° 65 pasta

Garnish:
homemade pesto
grated parma reggiano
toasted pine nuts

Heat olive oil and butter over medium heat. Add diced onions and sauté for 3 or 4 minutes until soft. Stir occasionally and control the heat to make sure they do not brown at all. Add the 3 minced cloves of garlic and continue to sauté for another minute until the fragrance of the garlic is released.

Add the tomatoes and tomato sauce. Briefly cut the tomatoes with the edge of your spatula to release their juices. Add the Italian seasoning, chili flakes, sugar, salt and pepper. Let it simmer very slowly for as much as 3 hours if you can afford that time. The tomatoes should fall apart. Cut them apart again if there still remains larger pieces.

Heat the olive oil and sauté the 6 cloves of garlic for about a minute. Make sure the oil is not too hot and that the garlic does not brown at all. Add to the sauce. Stir. Taste and adjust the seasonings.

Toast the pine nuts. Using a blender, loosely chop about 1/2 cup of the pine nuts. Add to the sauce. Also add 1/2 cup of grated parma reggiano. Stir. Remove 2 cups of the sauce and purée. Add the purée back into the pot. Stir. Taste and adjust the seasonings. Keep the heat on a low simmer. Just before serving, add the cream and stir. Make sure that you do not over heat the sauce once the cream has been added.

Prepare the pasta. I like to use Barilla's Farfalle n° 65 because I like the smaller bow-tie size and they also cook through consistently in about 13 minutes.

Stir a bit of sauce on the pasta and turn gently to coat. Place a serving of pasta in a pasta bowl and cover in sauce. Garnish with a dollop of homemade pesto, toasted pine nuts and grated parma reggiano cheese.

Serves 4 to 6.

Banana Bread with Blueberries and Walnuts

I often store over-ripe bananas in the freezer for later use. The bananas get extra smooshie while they thaw, giving a more even consistency during the mashing process. To me, they also seem more fragrant and flavourful. Our old family recipe for banana bread came from a dear family friend. I often change it up by adding extras. This time it was plump blueberries and lightly toasted walnuts.

The loaf was gifted to my special mother-in-law. She was happy for us to have a taste too.

Having a slice with a light spread of soft butter is pure decadence, considering how rich it is already. The only way to enjoy banana bread is with a good strong cup of tea.

Banana Bread with Blueberries and Walnuts
Inspired by Rita Klimek

1/2 cup butter, at room temperature
1 cup granulated sugar
2 eggs, beaten
3 large bananas, mashed
1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup blueberries, washed and sorted
3/4 cup walnuts, toasted and chopped

Toast walnuts in 350ºF oven for 5 minutes. Chop loosely when cooled.

Cream butter and sugar together. Ensure eggs are at room temperature. (You can put them in a bowl of warm water for 5 minutes if you forget to take them out ahead of time.) Add beaten eggs one at a time.

Mash bananas thoroughly with egg beater or in a blender.

Sift dry ingredients together and fold into batter alternating with mashed bananas. (Four parts flour mixture and 3 parts banana mixture.)

When the 4th part of flour mixture is almost all folded in, add the blueberries and chopped toasted walnuts so they are very lightly covered in flour. This keeps the blueberries and walnuts from sinking to the bottom of the loaf.

Put into a greased and floured loaf pan.

Bake for 45 minutes in a 350ºF. If it still appears moist along the center, cover loosely with foil to avoid further browning and bake for another 10 minutes.