Category Archives: food
From the beginning, I was a Daddy’s girl. My little brother and my mom were close, and my dad and I had a special bond I was his Princess.
I inherited many character traits from my father but being a foodie wasn’t one of them. Rather, I helped make him a foodie with some of my adventures.
When I was a kid, we ate simply. Both my parents were from the Prairies where meat and potatoes are the norm. Exotic spices were not a part of our pantry until my teen years. A fried egg sandwich was a funky dish.
The most unusual childhood dinner I remember was finan haddie, from a can. It was served with toast, and canned tomatoes in a bowl on the side. My dad liked it. I thought it was fun – different tastes and textures than meat and potatoes. My mom told me years later she was embarrassed to serve it, because it was mostly out of a can.
Back before there were so many snack choices, it was easier to have a favourite. We made popcorn in a pot on the stove, shaking it so as not to burn the kernels. To this day I don’t go to the movies without having popcorn. Our other favourite was Cheezies; when I spent a year in France during my university studies I was over the moon when my dad sent me a bag of them in a care package.
Gradually our tastes expanded. I learned of many new ingredients and techniques from my European travels, and my dad sampled new dishes as my mom expanded her cooking repertoire and they ventured out to different restaurants. By the time I was a young adult, my dad was even cooking meals.
Some of my best memories with my dad were our Friday night dinners when we both lived in Vancouver. I would go to his apartment and we would whip up whatever new dish he had discovered. I would bring wine and dessert, and we would talk till the wee hours, trying to solve the problems of the world.
I wish we had more Friday nights. I wish I had been able to have coffee with him more often. I wish we could still go to a movie and share popcorn. But most of all I just miss his company.
At least I have all those memories. Every time I eat all those foods, I smile and think of all the times we shared.
Happy Father’s Day, Daddy.
When I was a kid, I was weird.
- I liked wearing a flowery embroidered purple tunic with just about anything (it was my favourite top).
- I wore horizontally striped socks with skirts.
- I carried a book bag years before any of my schoolmates. What I thought was cool never synced up with what was considered cool.
- I was a complete clutz, not coordinated at all.
- I was taller than most of the boys in my class, and I didn’t wear a bra until senior high school.
My mom always let me be me. She would check with me as I got older sometimes, maybe offering another alternative for consideration, but she supported my final decisions.
Mostly, I liked being weird. I have always enjoyed quirky things, new adventures; they attracted me. It’s a lot of why I became such a foodie, wanting to try new tastes and understand how to incorporate them. Becoming a sommelier was a perfect fit – it’s a bit of a nerdy pursuit, learning all that history and geography and tasting wine but then spitting it out.
When I took up gardening, I found another weird way to express myself. Just like that embroidered top, the flowers that attract me are unique:
For some people, all this is just too much of a difference. It can scare them away. I have been very fortunate to find some wonderful friends over the years, but often I’ve encountered folks who just don’t know what to do with me, or how to respond to all my weirdness.
I remember asking my mom one particularly tough day at about the age of 15, “All of this is just a phase, right? It will pass, I’ll grow out of it, won’t I?” Without hesitating, she answered, “No dear, it’s not a phase. You’ll have to learn to live with it.”
I think back then I figured she was kidding. It took me another few years to realize that I was born NOT to fit in. The more I tried to be a part of the cool crowd, the more they disliked me. I should have connected the dots, knowing that my tastes were different. Once I understood that others who had similar (equally weird) tastes were my tribe, then I stopped trying to explain the differences as a way of being accepted.
On this Mother’s Day as I strolled through my garden, and as I crafted the olive-wood smoked oil & vintage balsamic vinaigrette for our salad with dinner, I was thinking of my mom and her encouragement of my true self.
She was always a traditional Mom, making great cookies and putting notes in my lunch and sewing my Hallowe’en costumes… but the best thing my mom did for me was help me understand who I really am.
Thanks, Mom. Cheers!
Easter is a beautiful celebration, full of colour, warmth and love. The decadence of spring signifies the transition from the bleakness of winter just as Easter brings the end of Lent. People seem to breathe more deeply at Easter.
This year with Earth Day following Easter I felt a certain symmetry. My reverence for life was reaffirmed in my love for our planet.
At Rabbit Hollow we have a natural affinity to Easter – bunnies are our thing. Beatrix Potter’s Peter is the perfect mascot, with a sense of spirit and (once learned) a sense of responsibility.
Rabbits are a good symbol for us – we are all about foraging, nibbling a little here and there, and enjoying the love and abundance of family and the community at large.
We don’t have the wild bunnies here anymore that lay around when we first moved in, but our friendly sentinels greet me daily in our garden. I honour their presence every Easter. How? Well, with chocolate of course!
Especially with it being Earth Day, I wanted to honour all creatures. Ella and I had extra outside time today. I planted more bulbs and watered the early seeds, all the while thinking nurturing thoughts. I was thrilled to see a coyote out midday, cruising the field, and we spotted two deer in the orchard. Everyone was making the most of the day.
This evening as we sat down for our tea and a wee treat, I turned to my Easter chocolate. Are you like me – feet first? My Foodie book of etiquette says it’s disrespectful to eat a bunny’s ears first.
It was a lovely day, a wonderful weekend. I look forward to more warm spring days, so the bees can keep working and the blossoms can bring fruit. There is much to do if we are to help keep our planet going, and the renewal of spring is the perfect reminder to inspire me.
May your garden grow well, may the sun warm your face and may you have time to stop and smell the flowers.
Believe there is a great power silently working all things for good, behave yourself and never mind the rest. – Beatrix Potter
I love bread. I find it satisfying, intimidating, humble and rewarding, all at the same time. As a young person cooking, bread was a daunting chapter in any cookbook. It was not until recently that I screwed up the courage to take on that food central to survival for so long; the staff of life.
In my teen cooking years, I was thrilled to discover I could veer onto the side road known as “Quick Breads”, and worked up my confidence with Soda Bread, Zucchini Bread, Baking Powder Biscuits and cornmeal muffins.
One of my childhood friends was German, and her mom did a lot of hearty baking. She had an old family recipe for bread rolls that she made once a month. If the universe was smiling on me, I would happen to be stopping at my friend’s house after school, and we would be allowed to have a warm bun with butter. It was my first taste of Nirvana.
I have been working with my sourdough starter for a year and a half now, and I am still humbled every time I make a loaf. Just when I think I am the master, the starter behaves differently or the weather changes or the flour combination seems not work as well… it’s all edible, but I am far from the works of art I see on Instagram and in my cooking magazines. Those elusive bubbles and the intricate scoring patterns are like a foreign language – one in which I have only learned a few greetings and a few cuss words, like any other novice.
Yesterday, though, I think I got back to the heart of the matter. I made a recipe that I turned into a sort of pull-apart loaf and some rolls, and it was divine. It was an enriched yeast dough that I just happened to add some starter into, so it was truly a mish-mash of ingredients and techniques. But never mind, it worked. It tasted good. Even my chef hubbie said so!
I think perhaps that my interpretation of bread being “the staff of life” involves a more complex sort of survival than just sustenance. The shared experience of breaking bread is truly part of the magic for me. The love shared for the meal is also something I crave. (Like they say, we cannot live by bread alone.)
So I’m rejuvenated for another day, another effort, another bake. Leaving more crumbs, in case there is someone else out there, struggling along the same road. I posted my Kindred Spirit Milk Rolls, as a record of my progress and a message for those souls who want a taste of the magic.
Grey days. Cold winds. Snow drifts. Slippery sidewalks. Expensive lettuce at the grocery store. These are all reasons I don’t like winter.
The good thing about winter is that I have time to do more cooking and baking. I read cooking magazines and try new recipes. I bake bread more often. Perhaps because it seems to be a winter theme, all this foodie time can be a slippery slope – one needs to also work out more often if one is going to eat more often. Otherwise one could end up like Winnie the Pooh at Rabbit’s house, stuck with legs being used as towel hooks.
The one thing I’ve discovered about the plethora of food information available online is that much of it is not to my taste. Some of it I would say is even inedible. I once made an olive oil cake posted by a spice company that has great products, but their recipe turned out horribly. The cake was like an oily hockey puck. That was an expensive effort, I’ll tell you. And, I ended up with nothing to have beside my coffee! Talk about NOT curing the blues.
This past weekend I made Alton Brown’s chocolate chip cookies. I had seen not one but 2 posts about “the best chocolate chip cookie” and figured I was armed with all the necessary ammunition to really knock one out of the park. I blazed a trail, and I’m here to tell you that it took some perseverance but I was able to come through the other side and offer up a possible solution for those winter blues.
First, trusting the article that said “don’t use chocolate chips as they don’t melt well; use chopped semisweet chocolate instead”, I bought some quality chocolate.
I looked for New Zealand butter as well, as the article also informed me that Canadian butter has a lower fat content and so less of a rich flavour. I’m afraid that $15 per pound was out of my budget, so instead I decided to brown the butter in the recipe (this works well for a brownie recipe I love.)
Vanilla extract is the other ingredient that has become more dear in recent months. I use it more sparingly now, so I planned for just a wee bit to heighten the chocolate taste, and then a good sprinkle of cinnamon to carry the cookies all the way to the finish line.
Loaded with good ingredients, I set out to bake. The other article had tested cookie recipes from various famous chefs, and Alton Brown’s recipe was voted unanimously as the winner. So, I downloaded a copy and got out my equipment. I’ve watched Mr. Brown’s Food Network show about cooking techniques and he seems like a knowledgeable and trustworthy fellow…
Well, perhaps his scribe is hard of hearing or can’t read Alton’s writing. I used my instinct and cut down his 1 teaspoon of kosher salt to 1/2 tsp. Turns out that probably 1/4 tsp would be plenty with a coarse salt. The butter is to be melted, so browning it didn’t change much in the recipe. However, I found that creaming the butter and sugar only happened once the butter had cooled a bit. I put my mixing bowl’s bum in a bigger bowl of cold water to make that happen as I mixed it.
One thing I’ve learned over the years – that was not mentioned in either article – is to make the best cookies of any kind is to shape them and freeze the dough. Then you can bake a few whenever you want them, and have them still warm.
(My chef hubbie is quite a discerning cookie eater; he doesn’t like “leftover cookies”; I’ve tried warming them up and they often end up drier and a bit overdone, even. Word to the wise: save yourself the disappointment and cook them fresh. You can probably even do it in your toaster oven, instead of using the full oven and all its energy.)
I posted my adapted recipe for future reference – Almost Alton Brown’s Chocolate Chip Cookies. I like texture in my cookies, so I added nuts and candied fruit, but if you’re a purist I won’t hold it against you.
My mom used to say there wasn’t much a cookie couldn’t cure.
On our return from our winter holiday in Jamaica, we had to layover in Toronto due to weather delays. The Doubletree Hotel at the Toronto Airport gives out warm chocolate chip cookies when you check in; I have to tell you that cookie went a long way to ease my disappointment from the day. Their marketing manager must be a Mom.
Here’s hoping you have access to a good cookie if your winter is making you blue.