the world's fare

Pasteis de Nata/Portuguese Custard Tarts

2010-07-14T17:06:00.001-07:00

"Life is uncertain.
Eat dessert first."

-- Ernestine Ulme

I found the last month or so to be a lot of fun with all of the excitement over the World Cup. I am not a soccer fan, personally, although I have quite an appreciation for both the skill and passion that is the sport. Basically, I just enjoyed feeding off the enthusiasm of others and that is always a good spirit-lifter. Besides, such an international spectacle makes for very easy banter at coffee break.

But, which team should I cheer for, to make it more interesting? Canada wasn't even close to being in the competition and I had no ties whatsoever with any of the countries who were involved. However, on a sunny Saturday afternoon, just as the World Cup was beginning, my dilemma was suddenly solved.

Mark and I had taken a break from gardening and were cooling off on the front porch with a cold beer when my next door neighbour, a Portuguese gentleman, sauntered over. He was carrying a flat of tomato plants and--even better--a bottle of nice, red Portuguese wine. We welcomed him gladly. He simply wanted to thank Mark for cutting their front lawn each week and told him how much he appreciated this kindness. Mark has always cut their lawn when he does ours as that is the only small patch of lawn they have; the entirety of their large back yard is a vegetable garden. Apparently this is a very Portuguese thing to do.

Our neighbours straight across the street are Portuguese as well. Two older women live on the main floor of the house and a couple and their young son live in the basement. I have yet to figure out what the relationships amongst them are. The man, I believe, is a baker-- probably at a Portuguese bakery--as he leaves for work about 11:00 at night dressed in whites and returns early in the morning. The older ladies across the street spend all of the warm months sitting on the sofa and chair on their front porch. When I told my friend, Dan, of their seemingly constant porch-sitting, his reply amused me to no end. He said, "Of course they spend as much time as possible on their porch! They're 'Porch-uguese'!" Wonderfully witty is Dan.

Well, with all of these very likeable neighbours around me, I felt I should throw my support behind Portugal. I was really hoping they'd do well. I think they did OK, but not nearly as well as their neighbours.

I was thinking of all of these kind people again this weekend when I went to Sunfest. There is always such wonderful food there and it is a big part of the weekend. And I was delighted to find an abundance of a particular food at the Portuguese booth, from the "Aroma Restaurant" here in London. What I saw was 'pasteis de nata' or Portuguese custard tarts. As you can see in the photo, these absolutely delectable tarts are beautiful to look at, but trust me, they are even more magnificent to eat.

The puff pastry is cooked perfectly until it is just slightly crisp, giving it a tender flakiness. And the custard itself is so soft and creamy that the mouth-feel is absolutely heavenly. Honestly. You have to close your eyes and sigh when you bite into one. They were selling 'like hotcakes' and it is easy to see why.

I am not a dessert lover, and really don't have a sweet tooth any more. But what I love about these tarts is that they are not very sweet at all. They are delicious, that's for sure, but it's not just sweetness. It is layers of delicate flavour and such a luscious texture, with a perfect caramelization that brings everything together into bliss.

I am giving you an easy recipe for these custard tarts, courtesy of Ms. Faiza Ali, who writes an excellent food blog ("Faiza Ali's Kitchen") as you will see. (Photo courtesy of her blog, as well.) I hope you will take the time to make these for a special occasion.

http://faizaali.blogspot.com/2010/01/pasteis-de-nata-portuguese-custard.html

Your friends and family will be so impressed that they will throw up their hands and exclaim loudly what a great baker you are! They will embrace you heartily and kiss you on both cheeks from pure joy, and you will feel you have been swept away to Portugal. How could you not enjoy that?

Cheers!

Diane

Oh, The Lazy Days (and Meals!) of Summer....

2010-07-07T14:16:00.000-07:00

"Summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language."

-- Henry James

Summer, glorious summer. We wait so long for it to arrive, and then we start complaining. Not hot enough/much too hot; not enough rain/much too wet. We want to spend as many hours as possible in air-conditioning and whinge pathetically when we must go outside.

For the past while our temperatures here in London have been either approaching or over 30 degrees. This week, we have been sweltering in the extreme humidity with the air outside closer to 40 degrees. Because this isn't a tropical country and we haven't built up a tolerance to such intense weather, we sound a lot like the wicked witch from 'The Wizard of Oz' crying, "I'm melting! I'm melting!"

Nothing like extreme temperatures to dictate your menu options. Suddenly, soups and stews, casseroles and pasta dishes seem way too heavy, way too hot, and way too much effort. We want to conserve our energy, not expend it. We look for simple, quick, fresh and cool foods that can be prepared and eaten with a minimum of fuss.

I can so clearly recall the very hot summer days of my childhood - most especially Sunday afternoons. That was when my Dad would typically gather up the kids and take us on some kind of outing, and they were always outdoors. Sometimes he took us for hikes in the woods, or for walks along a beach. He was also very fond of driving in the countryside until we spied some nice cows, horses, sheep, or donkeys to watch. I can't count the number of times we drove to a little pond on a country road and stopped to throw pieces of stale bread to the voracious ducks and geese. Occasionally, though, a swiftly moving fish would leap out of the water and snatch the morsel out of the air. What a lot of fun I had, and yet it couldn't have been a simpler pastime.

When we got home, we'd be quite hungry and Dad would invariably decide it was a great day for a barbeque. Of course, I thought he meant we'd be eating right away, and I felt just as ravenous as the waterfowl we had just been feeding. My dinner, however, never came quickly enough for my satisfaction; there was always a 'process'.

First of all, Dad would get out our round tub of a barbeque and the giant bag of charcoal, then he would carefully light the charcoal, making sure to get the flame just right. Then, he would crack open a cold beer, grab whatever book he was devouring at the moment, and sink down into a lawn chair to relax and wait for the charcoal to burn down to perfection. He worked hard all week and spent Saturdays cutting our large lawn, tending the fruit trees, as well as weeding and maintaining our vegetable garden. I think Sunday was the only day he ever felt relaxed.

Meanwhile, Mom would be at the kitchen counter, making hamburger patties by hand, husking corn, scrubbing baby potatoes, and cutting up tomatoes - all of the vegetables having just been picked from our garden. Once the charcoal was deemed perfect, Dad sould begin to grill the hamburgers. The wait always seemed impossibly long to me but, eventually, to my great delight, it would all come together.

We would all sit outside at our wooden picnic table near the cherry trees and enjoy our very summery meal: barbequed home-made hamburgers, with boiled sweet corn and baby potatoes, and thickly-sliced, juicy red tomatoes. Everyone in the family loved butter and salt on the corn, and everyone enjoyed salt and pepper on the tomatoes, except for Mom. She preferred a sprinkle of sugar on her tomatoes, which I felt was very strange indeed. She said it was a Scottish thing.

I was looking for a modern twist to this long-ago meal and I found the perfect recipe: 'Grilled Corn Salad'. It has scrumptious grilled corn, luscious fresh tomatoes, and peppery arugula. It has terrific colour and texture and a nice, smokey, layered flavour. Easy to make and yummy to eat. It looks like the weather is going to stay hot for awhile so I believe I will whip up this salad and serve it along with tasty veggie burgers, cooked to perfection over charcoal in my cute little tub of a barbeque.

Thanks for the great memories, Dad.

Cheers!

Diane

This week's photo and recipe are courtesy of "The Neelys", featured on The Food Network:

http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/down-home-with-the-neelys/grilled-corn-salad-recipe/index.html

"Summertime...and the livin' is easy..." (and thirsty!)

2010-06-29T15:27:00.000-07:00

"When one has tasted watermelon he knows what the angels eat."

-- Mark Twain

Here in Southwestern Ontario, summer has hit with full force. We have already had so many very hot and humid days that it makes many of us wonder how on earth people living in the tropics ever survive. It's hard to find the energy to get anything done, our appetites look to simpler and cooler foods, and we are always thirsty.

I can remember the hot, hot summer days of my childhood and how we spent much of it looking for shade, or a breeze, or something cold to drink. As my parents were dead set against 'pop' or soda, that was never an option. I could count the number of glasses of pop I drank as a child on my fingers and I think there would be some left over. (I was grateful for semi-indulgent grandparents.)

Our main source of hydration back then as good old-fashioned tap water. I'm sure we wouldn't have believed that water would one day be bottled and sold in stores! If we ever had fruit juice, I don't remember it, and I'm pretty sure we didn't.

However - how exciting!- we generally had a glass jug of 'Freshie' in the fridge. 'Freshie' was the Canadian equivalent to the American 'Kool-Aid' with which we are all familiar today. Poor old 'Freshie' went by the wayside decades ago, but we loved it back then. It came in five flavours: orange, grape, cherry, lemon, and lemon-lime. I seem to remember orange more clearly than the others, so perhaps that was my mother's favourite choice. Maybe she had an idea that it was more nutritious because of its orange-juice-like colouring. Who knows? It was hardly that, with at least a cup of sugar for every quart of water.

Sugar is still a big problem when it comes to summer hydration. Sodas and energy drinks, and even natural juices, contain a lot of glucose. And as for the ever-popular iced cappucinos, I don't know how people can drink them and stay conscious.

Well, this past weekend, Mark and I were doing a lot of gardening and it was hard to stay ahead of our thirst. Water got to be pretty boring after awhile. Fortunately, I remembered a drink from an old cookbook called a 'Pink Poodle'. Our neighbours may have thought us reckless, stopping every hour or so to drink cocktails on the front porch. But, no, even though we served them in elegant martini glasses just for fun, we could have happily served one to a small child.

To make a 'Pink Poodle', you simply chop a seedless watermelon into cubes and pop them into a blender with a couple of ice cubes or crushed ice. Whip it up until it is nice and smooth and pour it into an elegant glass. What a delicious, refreshing drink it is! Lightly (and naturally) sweet, and full of nutrients and anti-oxidants, and very low in calories, as well as being extremely thirst-quenching. And for young children, what a great way to let them enjoy watermelon without getting all sticky.

While thinking about watermelons this weekend, I came upon an even more elegant, yet still refreshing, drink which I call a "Parisian Pink Poodle". Simply put 2 cups of watermelon chunks into a blender and add: 1 cup of crushed or cracked ice, 1/2 cup of plain yogurt, 1-2 tsp. of sugar, 1/2 tsp. fresh ginger, and 1/8 tsp. of almond extract. Blend it all up and enjoy in a tall glass through a straw. Delicious!

So, when the 'dog days' of summer threaten to wilt you, go buy a seedless watermelon. It will set you back only about $2-$3 and you'll have cold, refreshing, nutritious drinks for the family all weekend. It's a smart way to slake your summertime thirst. And, as a bonus, you'll cut a better figure on the beach.

Cheers!

Diane

(Photo courtesy of "www.sailusfoods.com" - thank you!)

Cool River, Warm Evening, Hot Pizza

2010-06-23T15:01:00.000-07:00

"There's a pizza place near where I live that sells only slices. In the back you can see a guy tossing a triangle into the air."

-- Stephen Wright

I love weekends, I really do. And they are never long enough. Even the long weekends somehow fall short. We try to make plans in advance so we can get the most out of these precious days. But we also don't want to be such slaves to our plans that we miss out on a chance for some fun.

This past Saturday it was supposed to be very hot so we planned to do housework in the morning, errands and shopping in the early afternoon, then gardening in the cooler late afternoon, followed by a BBQ dinner outdoors and relaxing in the garden afterward. But it didn't happen. Not even close.

Even the morning was so extremely hot and humid that it was hard to summon up the energy to work. And so, we were sitting on our rather kitschy front porch (which we have dubbed 'our cottage') when my son, Daniel, called from Goderich. His older brother, Ben, wanted to take him to a Detroit Tigers' baseball game, but Daniel didn't have his passport with him.

We originally offered to drive to Grand Bend to meet them with the passport, then Mark suggested that, instead, we simply meet them at the border in Sarnia, then slip across to Michigan to do a little shopping. I thought this was a great idea as I needed a dress for an upcoming wedding, and because I enjoy grocery shopping there.

We sat under a large tree just before the bridge and waited for the guys to appear. It was very, very hot and we were extremely thirsty but there was wasn't a drop of water in sight. So, as soon as we had given Daniel his passport and headed across the bridge, we drove immediately to The Thomas Edison Inn - a charming old inn on the St. Clair River, right by the Bluewater Bridge. The lounge area was nice and cool and relaxing and we felt even better once we had got ourselves around two very cold and refreshing pints.

It was really quite late when we started shopping - about 5:00, I think. We made a lot of stops and had a great time, even though I couldn't find a suitable dress. As we left the last store we were shocked to see that it was already dark. Where had the time gone?

We were absolutely starving by then as we hadn't eaten since breakfast. And because we had just spent so much time indoors we didn't want to go to a restaurant. Fortunately, we had noticed a "Hungry Howie's" pizza place earlier. We had had their 'thin and crisp' pizza before and loved it, so we made our decision and hurried over to the shop. We ordered a mushroom, green olive, pineapple, and jalapeno pizza and then tried to calm our growling stomachs while inhaling the tantalizing aromas of the pizzeria.

Finally, it was ready, so we grabbed some napkins (very important!) and the pizza box, jumped into the car and drove over to the river. We lost no time in diving into the wonderful, tasty pizza while watching the boats on the river, as well as all of the people sitting, walking, biking, and fishing along the waterfront. It was amazing that there was so much outdoor activity so late in the evening. There was a great energy present, though - a real old-fashioned summery feel.

After we had eaten all that we could manage, we went for a stroll along the river since we just weren't ready to leave. We were delighted by the friendliness of these Michiganders - so many strangers along the waterfront were quick to smile and to say hello that we almost felt we had been transported back to a gentler time.

In the end we had to get going so we headed back to the bridge. It was nice and quiet and there were only a few cars waiting to cross. We casually pulled up behind a car, then Mark suddenly noticed that, amazingly, that in that car were none other than Ben and Daniel - heading home after the ballgame in Detroit. What a coincidence! I just love stuff like that.

In the end I'm glad that we had been willing and able to go so easily to "plan B". We helped Daniel out and allowed him to have a great baseball experience with Ben. And we also got to have a really fun day in another country, with "Hungry Howie" cooking up a delectable dinner for us. What a great way to kick off the summer....

Cheers!

Diane

http://www.hungryhowies.com/menu/ourpizzas.aspx#

Fabulous Falafels!

2010-06-17T15:33:00.000-07:00

Homer Simpson (on the phone): "I was wondering, do you deliver falafel to the top of Mount Zion? Great. I'd like a large falafel with pepperoni, sausage, and extra cheese. Yes, I do know what a falafel is."

--"The Simpsons"

Earlier this week my son, Daniel, had an appointment at the Sport Medicine Clinic here on our university campus, so I walked over with him. The appointment was for 12:15 but it became obvious that he would be waiting quite awhile. Because it was noon, Daniel was starving. Actually, because he is a 17-year old boy, Daniel is always starving.

I knew that there was a small food court a couple of buildings away, so I decided to walk over there quickly and pick up something for the lad to eat. As I glanced over the various menu boards, I saw all of the 'usual suspects': pizza, sandwiches, wraps, burgers. Ho hum. But my decision was made immediately when I saw one of my very favourite fast foods: falafel.

As we saw in the above quotation, Homer Simpson quite clearly doesn't have any idea what a falafel is, but I expect most of you will. And you've probably enjoyed a few as well - in a mall food court, or at a festival, or a fair. And those of you who have travelled to the Middle East will know that they are ubiquitous over there; falafels are by far the most popular street food.

For those of you who aren't familiar with this delicious item, they are basically a sandwich in a pita. The pita is cut across the top, filled with shredded lettuce, chopped tomato and cucumber, with a tahini (sesame seed) and yogurt sauce. But the most important ingredient of all is the 3 or 4 fried falafel balls. These are made from ground chick peas, mixed with garlic, onion, parsley, cumin, and lemon juice - formed into small balls, then fried in vegetable oil.

When you bite into a falafel, you immediately taste the warm smokiness of the chick pea balls, along with the cool crunchiness of the vegetables, enhanced by the velvety earthiness of the tahini sauce. This really is a perfectly well-balanced summertime meal that you can eat with your hands. And who doesn't love that?

I was pleased that Daniel really loved his falafel. I think he was quite surprised that it was vegetarian since the chick pea balls really are so earthy and 'meaty' tasting. I had to laugh to myself because I had the same reaction to my very first falafel. I was 19 years old and my friend, Bernie, had taken me to 'The Jerusalem Restaurant' in Toronto and had ordered falafels for both of us. He promised that they were vegetarian and that I would love them. When they arrived, however, I became somewhat suspicious of the 'meatiness' of the falafel balls, so Bernie (outrageous guy that he is) went back and got the chef to come out and swear to me that they were indeed 'kosher'.

The traditional recipe calls fo soaking dried chick peas in water for 24 hours before grinding them up. So, I have included a nice recipe from 'Canadian Living' (photo as well) for those of you who are keen to try this out. And I have also decided to give you the recipe for 'Lazy College Kid's Easy Falafel' in honour of my two (non-lazy!) nephews - Mark and Owen - who have just become our family's newest university graduates. (Congratulations, guys!)

This latter recipe really is quick and easy and healthful and I hope you will try it out on a hot summer day. And you can use the time you will save to simply stop, and breathe, and revel in this wonderful time of year. Enjoy!

Cheers,

Diane

http://www.canadianliving.com/food/mini_falafel.php

http://vegweb.com/index.php?topic=22060.0

When Life Hands You Lemons.....

2010-06-09T16:07:00.000-07:00

"When fate hands you a lemon, make lemonade."

-- Dale Carnegie

"When life gives you a lemon....squeeze it, mix it with six ounces of distilled water and drink twice daily."

-- Jethro Kloss: 'Back to Eden'

I have been thinking about lemons a lot lately. For one reason, last week I suffered from a very sore and swollen throat and for several days I lived almost entirely on lemon herbal tea. I found it very soothing to my poor throat, and also very tasty.

Of course, I have always loved lemons - even if not always in their purest form. In particular, I have a very fond memory of my mother making lemon meringue pies. As a young child I was enchanted by the way the simple mixture of egg whites and sugar could be transformed into such billowy mounds of meringue. And I was also very impressed with Mom's ability to cook the meringues (so effortlessly!) into such a golden brown perfection.

Speaking of my mother, she apparently experienced an insatiable craving for lemons while she was expecting me. And, curiously enough, I had exactly the same cravings with all of my children.

Although lemons grew first in India and China, and then in the Middle East, it was in Italy in the 1400s that they became widely cultivated. And so, the existence of lemon groves in the Americas is largely due to the expansive efforts of Christopher Columbus.

It is really quite a blessing that lemons do grow so well here on our side of the world because their use has become ubiquitous. It would be rare indeed to watch a Food Network show where the flavour of lemon wasn't used at least once. Because of these shows I now know that to get the maximum juice from a lemon, you must roll it back and forth on the counter; that an average lemon contains about 3 tablespoons of juice; and that the addition of lemon zest (but never the white pith) adds a big burst of intense flavour to any dish.

In my reading I have also learned that, apart from being a delicious ingredient, lemons have so many astonishing therapeutic qualities. Lemon juice is apparently a tonic for the liver and digestive system, nourishes the brain and nerve cells, eases rheumatism and gout; and treats sore throats (as I discovered last week). As well, I was pleased to learn that the regular intake of lemon juice during pregnancy does wonders for building very strong bones in babies. (Thanks, Mom! And I hope my four wonderful children will read this blog and thank me, too!) ("The Amazing Health Benefits of Drinking Lemon Water" by Ann Heustad, R.N. http://www.quantumbalancing.com/news/lemon%20water.htm)

I don't know about you, but I'm going to start incorporating the drinking of lemon water into my daily routine: half a lemon in water upon rising, and again before dinner. I am fascinated to see what amazing benefits lie ahead for my health. I could use some help with my rheumatism, that's for sure; and I'd be quite happy to avoid any more annoying sore throats.

On top of drinking lemon water, I am also going to use even more lemons in my cooking. In fact, this weekend is supposed to be extremely hot, so I am going to make a large batch of 'Quinoa Tabbouleh'. This dish is based on a traditional Middle Eastern recipe, but uses quinoa instead of bulgur wheat. This way, you can enjoy a tasty cold salad which provides you with not only lots of vegetables but protein as well. And, oh, yes, let's not forget the lemon juice!

http://allrecipes.com/recipe/quinoa-tabbouleh/detail.aspx

Cheers!

Diane

Bodacious Bite-Sized Burgers

2010-06-02T16:16:00.000-07:00

"You don't have to cook fancy or complicated masterpieces - just good food from fresh ingredients."

-- Julia Child

I absolutely love watching The Food Network. It is, in fact, pretty much the only TV I ever watch. Some of you may remember back when - just prior to commercial breaks - the TV announcers would warn viewers: "Don't touch that dial!" Well, that pretty much sums up my position.

I don't like to watch everything on the channel, however. I am not a big fan of all the competition-type shows. I don't like programs that feature a lot of screaming, swearing, and berating; they just jar my senses and leave me feeling anxious in empathy for the victims. And, as a vegetarian, I really dislike the plethora of grilling shows because of their almost sole devotion to the barbecuing of large slabs of meat.

Speaking of such things, I am really surprised that the Food Network executives have yet to come up with a vegetarian-themed show. The numbers of people following such diets is increasing constantly and it is also clear that even omnivores are consuming more vegetarian dishes than ever before.

There are many programs, of course, that feature all types of food and they often include vegetarian offerings. But is it so annoying when I am curled up on my couch, relaxing and enjoying one of my favourite programs when suddenly they choose to prepare something atavistically meaty. After over 40 years of vegetarianism, meat simply does not appear to be food to me.

So, I was really quite surprised last weekend when I started to feel a strong craving for one of the foods I saw being praised to the heavens on 'The Best Thing I Ever Ate.' The show's topic was 'food you can eat with your hands' and the most appealing item was called a 'slider'. They cooked up tiny little meatballs, squished them together and topped them with fried onions and a host of other possible toppings, then popped them into a tiny bun. Each order contained four of them and the chef eating them (and praising them) simply couldn't resist their allure.

Later that afternoon we were shopping for dinner at 'No Frills' and everything I looked at seemed to fall flat. They were all things I enjoyed, of course, but that particular day they just wouldn't do. I knew I had my dinner chosen when I spied the cutest, thin little President's Choice 'slider buns' in the bakery section.

The rest was easy. I picked up some old cheddar which happened to be on sale, and also a small tin of pizza sauce. Then, I scuttled over to the frozen section and tossed a box of President's Choice 'World's Best Meatless Meatballs' into my cart. I could hardly wait to get home.

I was really, really famished when I arrived in my kitchen, so I was thankful that the sliders were so amazingly quick to prepare. The meatless meatballs are pre-grilled so they need only about one minute in the microwave. But before putting them in the oven, I set 6 balls on a small plate - three sets of two, nestled together. Over each set I spooned a little pizza sauce, and over that I grated a little old cheddar.

When I took them out, the meatless meatballs were cooked through, the sauce was hot, and the cheese was nice and bubbling. I then scooped up each set with a spoon and placed them on the three little buns I had separated beforehand. They smelled amazing and they tasted so earthy and scrumptious. I treasured each and every bite and afterward I licked my fingers.

Were they 'the best thing I ever ate with my hands'? Well, this week, with this wonderful memory still so present, I would have to say they are a serious contender. As Rachel Ray is so fond of saying, "Yum-O!"

Cheers!

Diane

I hope you will try these little delicacies some hot summer day when you crave something more substantial than a salad but don't want to turn your stove or oven on.

There are SO many more great products and ideas on the 'President's Choice' website:

http://www.presidentschoice.ca

Personally, I have never met a PC product I didn't love!

Don't Mess With Breakfast!

2010-05-26T18:03:00.000-07:00

"All happiness depends on a leisurely breakfast."

-- John Gunther

How often have you heard that breakfast is the most important meal of the day? Do you believe it? Are you someone who religiously abstains from food in the morning? Or are you someone who relishes the first meal of the day?

If you are, in fact, a breakfast eater, then I would be willing to bet that you tend to gravitate to certain dishes or even foods as a default setting. Most likely a nice, hot cup of coffee is high on your list. Then, maybe toast, bagels, or muffins; maybe oatmeal or cold cereal; maybe an egg or two, a bowl of fruit salad, or even a protein-enhanced fruit smoothie.

It is also highly probable that you enjoy one type of breakfast on early and rushed weekdays, and quite another on more leisurely weekend mornings. But within each setting I expect your choices don't vary too much. I know mine don't. I can't count the number of times I have oohed and aahed over a delectable breakfast menu in a restaurant and then gone ahead and ordered my 'usual' -- two eggs scrambled dry, rye toast (also dry), and peanut butter. It is, unfortunately, completely predictable; my only hope for excitement is if the coffee turns out to be especially good.

Over the years I have had endless food-related chats with people from all over the world and I have learned several very interesting things. For one, people will often eagerly try out a new recipe or perhaps a new type of ethnic restaurant for dinner on the weekends when time seems more expansive. But at breakfast time, even the most liberal cooks and diners tend to be more conservative.

People seem to crave comfort in the mornings and few things can comfort us in the way that familiar foods can.

Now, exactly what those foods are will depend on your country of origin, or even your family's homeland. It is a given that people from all over the world love to drink coffee in the morning. It is after the beverage is looked after that the variety begins.

In much of Asia, breakfasts of rice, vegetables and a little meat are the most common. Indians enjoy rice as well, however it is often given a very creative twist as in the case of 'idlis'. Idlis are absolutely scrumptious little puffy cakes made from a fermented mixture of rice and split peas which are steamed to perfection and served with an incredibly earthy and tasty sauce that is so amazing I simply can't find words to describe it. (To be completely honest, I am describing my Indian friend Winona's idlis, as they are they only ones I've ever tried; and why would I ever try any others?)

Europeans for the most part like to eat sliced meats for breakfast, along with boiled eggs, cheeses, and an abundance of fresh breads and rolls along with jams and honey.

Middle Eastern breakfasts lean toward beautiful and very sweet pastries of all descriptions, but also consist of boiled eggs, cucumbers, tomatoes, and fruit.

In Britain, morning 'fry-ups' are quite common. Here you will find eggs, bacon, sausages, tomatoes, potatoes and even bread, all fried up to the max in bacon grease. On top of this, in Ireland you would get some Irish soda bread and jam as well; and in Scotland you would find oatcakes, scones with jam, no doubt some nice, thick oatmeal and a few kippered herrings. Of course, the kippers would be fried.

Things are a little more relaxed in Greece where you would be served a breakfast of bread, cheese, fruit and coffee. And they are even simpler in Italy where you could sit at an outdoor patio, enjoying a tasty pastry along with a steaming cup of cappuccino while you read the paper and get a start on your day.

All of these very different breakfasts have something in common; they are all highly comforting to those people who find them familiar -- maybe even something that takes them back to their childhoods.

But I have to wonder this: why is it, exactly, that we all seem to crave such comforting in the mornings? Why not turn this desire on its head and start each new day celebrating the simple, yet amazing, fact that we are alive to the experiences of a new day? As we all know too well, one day (far off in the future, I hope!) this will not be true. But why wait? The time to celebrate is now. And what better way to celebrate than to branch out a bit and try something different for breakfast? You'll do nothing less than broaden your horizons. And who knows? You might even just feel a little bit more alive.

Cheers!

Diane

Both the photo and recipe this week are from a very interesting and fun blog entitled 'Siri's Corner':

http://siri-corner.blogspot.com/2009/07/potato-chip-frittata-muffins.html

When I came across this recipe, I knew it was just the whimsical breakfast treat I was looking for. It is vegetarian, nutritious, and low carb. It also looks exquisitely tasty!

My partner, Mark, is a very big fan of President's Choice ketchup potato chips. And since he worked very, very hard last weekend, and will again this weekend on our latest decorating project, I am going to make these for him. And I expect they will make both of us very happy indeed.

Luscious Asparagus! A Sure Sign of Spring

2010-05-19T15:08:00.000-07:00

"The world's favourite season is the spring. All things seem possible in May."

-- Edwin Way Teale

The summer my sister, Kathie, and I turned 17 and 20, respectively, we enjoyed a brief but fun holiday together in Wasaga Beach, a small town on the south shore of Georgian Bay, here in Ontario. It was a lively little summer beach town with lots of sun, sand, clear blue water, and plenty of youthful energy crackling in the air.

During our stay, we happened to meet a very pleasant older gentleman who told us he was an asparagus farmer. Looking back, I have no idea exactly how old he was; in fact, he may very well have been only in his thirties! Anyway, he was very proud of his asparagus farm and quite charming in his passion for the vegetable itself. He seemed shocked to learn that I had never ever eaten asparagus and he said he would love to give us some of his crop so we could experience the wonderful flavour. That, however, was impossible as it was now August and the asparagus season is most definitely in the spring.

Well, the very next year, my brother, Bill, celebrated his 16th birthday at the beginning of May and as I was working full-time and earning some money (for the first time), I wanted to treat him to a fancy dinner. Normally our small town and environs had pretty slim pickin's in fine dining, but, fortunately, a new place had just opened its doors. That was 'The Benmiller Inn', a very old former woolen mill on a winding river just east of our town, which had been painstakingly renovated and reborn as quite a posh inn. It also housed an upscale dining room! It was the finest dining establishment in our whole area and everyone was all abuzz about it.

I made reservations way ahead for just Bill and me. Because I was a vegetarian, and so was Bill at the time, I made sure to request special dinners for us when I called. This was back in the mid-seventies, after all, and there wasn't a chance in the world that there would be any vegetarian options on their rather chi-chi (i.e. catering to the 'big city folk') menu.

I wasn't even daring to hope for something delicious. Not back then. I was quite accustomed to being served either a boring garden salad or an even more pedestrian plate of raw vegetables as a main course in restaurants while my table mates got to enjoy the tasty dishes. I was more focused on soaking up some of that rare atmosphere.

I'm sure you can imagine our absolute delight when the very courteous waiter set down before us two absolutely gorgeous warm plates of various coloured and cooked vegetables along with the most perfect rice, all lightly drizzled with delectable French cream sauces.

Now, so much time has gone by since that evening that I no longer remember the exact items that were served. It is a lovely (and precious) memory, of course, but the picture has become quite fuzzy over the years.

What I do remember quite clearly, however, is the asparagus! Both green and white. So delicate! So tender! So 'melt-in-your-mouth with buttery goodness'. I had absolutely no idea whatsoever that a 'mere' vegetable could be so outstandingly delicious. Wow!

At that time of my life I was really, really fond of desserts, especially anything of the chocolate variety. But, incredible as it may be, I retain no memory at all of the particular decadent dessert I enjoyed that night. Over time, most of the details of that birthday dinner have been erased.

But, my oh my, do I ever remember that asparagus!

Cheers!

Diane

For this week's recipe I am giving you "Lemon Asparagus Risotto". This is a beautiful, creamy Italian rice dish which in this case was prepared by a French chef. Both photo and recipe are courtesy of Laura Calder of 'French Food at Home' on the Food Network.

http://www.foodnetwork.ca/recipes/Side/Rice-Grain/recipe.html?dishid=9130

I promise you that when you eat this lovely dish, you will taste the flavour of spring.

When the Ordinary Becomes Extraordinary

2010-05-11T17:39:00.000-07:00

"Food is not about impressing people. It's about making them feel comfortable."

-- Ina Garten
"The Barefoot Contessa"

It will come as no surprise to you that I love to watch The Food Network. Just this past weekend I happened to see part of a program about the creation of a gourmet supermarket in Toronto. It appears to be enormous in size, that's for sure, but since it is still under construction I can only try to imagine what the finished entity will be like, or what products will be proudly on display.

After all, there already seems to be a plethora of up-scale supermarkets just bursting at the seams with exotic grocery items. And, honestly, even the most basic stores now carry a vast array of foods and products that our mothers (or grandmothers) would never have dreamed of finding on the shelf.

I know that my own children's concept of 'ordinary food' would have seemed outrageously exotic to me as a child. Our small town in rural Southwestern Ontario was pretty much cut off from the delights of international cuisine. Except, of course, for the obligatory Chinese restaurant uptown (always 'uptown', never 'downtown') which sported the not-so-traditional Chinese name, "The Esquire Restaurant'. Even so, dining there would no doubt have at least opened up my mind and my taste buds just a little, however we never ate there. No, my parents were pretty solid on the idea that eating in restaurants was horribly wasteful and needlessly extravagant. Eating was what you did at home.

Flash forward a few decades and my kids grew up thinking nothing of eating Chinese stir-fries, Mexican tacos and quesadillas, Italian lasagne and other pasta dishes, as well as the big favourite - Indian curries. These dishes are so familiar to them that they take them as common and ordinary and not in the least exotic. And I expect the astonishingly extensive offerings of today's supermarkets must seem pretty commonplace as well.

But the world I lived in as a child in the late fifties and early sixties was a very different world indeed. For instance, I spent my entire childhood never once having seen the inside of a supermarket. I had, in fact, never even heard the word 'supermarket' and I'm not sure it even existed back then. What we had in our town was one, and only one, 'grocery store'. It was small, it was plain, it didn't carry any 'fancy-schmancy' foodstuffs; and it was owned by a local couple whom everyone who shopped there knew personally.

So why wasn't I familiar with this essential town business? Because not only did I never have occasion to visit there, neither did my mother. How could that be? Well, my mother never did learn to drive and had five children at home, so her solution was to simply write out a shopping list during the week and then phone in her order on Friday mornings. Then, each Friday afternoon a truck would pull up in front of our house and a delivery man would drop off one, or maybe even two, boxes of groceries.

Our meals were quite plain and extremely predictable. Certainly no herbs or spices were ever used and never, ever any garlic. They were really such a far cry from most of the dishes I enjoy today. But, even so, we always seem to have such an incredibly strong and comforting connection to the foods that fueled our childhoods. I hear this over and over again from all sorts of people, no matter where in the world they grew up. It seems to be a universal truth.

Last week my sister, Sandy, mentioned that she was planning to make an old-fashioned meatloaf recipe that she and Mom had made together about 20 years ago when Mom had travelled to northern B.C. for a visit. Sandy said it had smelled wonderful while cooking and then tasted even more delicious. Plus, it had the extra appeal of reminding her of long-ago childhood meals. Sandy liked it so much she continued to make it over the years, although since she became vegetarian she has used "Yves Veggie Ground Round" instead of the ground beef.

Last Friday, the temperature suddenly plummeted and it was raining as well; a dark and gloomy day more like mid-November than the beginning of May. After work, I knew Mark would be heading out from Goderich to my place in London, through this wretched weather - and on his motorcycle. I knew he would be needing something nice and hot to warm up his frigid bones.

I decided to shop at a supermarket on the way home and pick up the necessary ingredients for Sandy's recipe. When I got home, Mark had just arrived, so while he changed into dry clothes and tried to get his circulation going again, I busied myself with cooking. In no time at all I had whipped up the veggie 'meatloaf', some creamy mashed potatoes with vegetarian brown gravy, some mixed vegetables with cheese sauce, and a bowl of fresh cole slaw. Mom would have been proud!

And, my goodness, it was wonderful! Mark felt warmed and rejuvenated and my son, Daniel, pronounced the loaf delicious and actually surprisingly 'meaty'.

As for me, just before sitting down to eat, I looked out of the dining room window at the cold and the rain and the wind and I shivered. Then, I began to eat my steaming hot and homey dinner and I felt a familiar warmth washing over me. This was comfort food at its best; I just loved it! And although I could still hear the noise of the swirling winds outside, I also came very, very close to hearing the sounds of my dear mother, bustling away happily - way, way back in my cozy childhood kitchen.

Cheers!

Diane

Here is a link to my sister, Sandy's well-used recipe, compliments of "Uncle Ben's".

http://www.unclebens.ca/en-ca/Recipes/RecipeFinder.aspx#RecipeID=2245

I think it would be much, much better with "Yves Original Ground Round", but that's only my opinion. (And Sandy's!)

Life is Just a Bowl of Cherries

2010-05-05T15:19:00.000-07:00

"He who likes cherries soon learns to climb."

-- German Proverb

If you could suddenly transport yourself to Japan this week, do you know what you'd most likely end up doing? Probably a good deal of exotic 'sakura hanami', and loving every minute of it.

No need to blush, now. In fact, if you happened to bring your children along for the trip, they could happily participate as well.

'Sakura' is the Japanese word for cherry tree and 'hanami' means blossom viewing. I think it's quite lovely that the Japanese have a specific word devoted to the concept of taking the time to enjoy the beauty of cherry blossoms. Their incredible beauty lasts only such a short time that it is considered vital in Japan to stop everything and simply observe them carefully, allowing the joy of the experience to deliciously wash over you.

According to an observer, "The Japanese cherry does not have to produce a market crop because it is a born aristocrat and its single mission is to be beautiful. But it does render a very useful service to the people." (www.canada.com)

Shizuko Mishima (www.gojapan.about.com) writes: "Hanami and cherry blossom festivals are held all over Japan in spring. In hanami parties, people have fun, drinking, eating, and singing during the day or night. It is like a picnic under sakura trees. Usually, people bring food, do BBQ, or buy food from vendors for hanami parties."

Well, I have never been to a hanami, but I do have some amazing memories of our family's own 'cherry blossom festival' back when I was a child.

We lived in a small town at the end of a very long street, in a home that happened to have quite a bit of property. And we were fortunate enough to have had five beautiful cherry trees in our yard! Four were in the back yard, and one - the biggest and the best - was at the far corner of the land extending from the side of the house to the road.

We never ate BBQs, or picnics, or even snacks under our cherry trees. As they were prolific producers of baskets and baskets of fresh, ripe, red cherries, we kids just did the sensible thing. We climbed up into the trees and ate cherries.

It was so much fun! Sitting up on branches in the trees, legs dangling from tree limbs, chatting away and laughing with siblings or friends while picking and eating cherries and spitting the pits onto the ground. It was like a private, cool, leafy tree-house - a wonderfully fun and private 'kid world' all our own.

My Dad always looked after the trees; carefully pruning away dried bits and keeping them safe, and healthy, and looking their best. He knew very well that our family could never hope to consume all of the fruit produced and that it wouldn't take very long for the birds to discover such bounty. He encouraged us to eat as many cherries as we liked, and he was also kind enough to encourage the neighbourhood kids to help themselves as well.

In those days, it seems we were outside as much as possible, roaming around the neighbourhood and exploring, making up games and pastimes as we went along. It wasn't unusual for kids to be yelled at by adults for 'trespassing' on their property and one of the games was certainly seeing just how far you could go without being caught.

But my Dad was never like that and I was awfully proud of him for that. He was so kind and friendly to the neighbourhood kids, and welcomed them to climb the trees, eat the cherries, and even take all they could back to their mothers so they could make cherry pies. I could tell the other kids were a little surprised, but absolutely delighted, by the silly things he would say to amuse them. Like: "Now, if you fall out of that tree and break your leg, don't come running to me!" That always produced a roar of laughter.

In the years since my Dad has been gone, I have had several occasions where people have approached me and told me that they were one of those kids back then. And they have invariably gone on to say how much Dad's kindness and generosity meant to them. And that made me feel even more proud.

I mentioned cherry pies just now, and I couldn't possibly end this post without telling you that my Mom made absolutely the very best and most perfect cherry pies in the known universe. That's a fact. I can so vividly remember her standing at our kitchen counter, whipping up the flakiest, most delectible pastry ever, in no time at all. What a fantastic memory! In my mind's nose I can still smell the intoxicating aroma of her cherry pies baking in our oven. Absolute heaven. I never eat cherry pies now. Why would I? The memory is enough.

Cheers!

Diane

As a child, every year at this time the cherry blossoms would bloom - exactly at the time of my brother Bill's birthday - May 5th - which is today. For as far back as I can remember, whenever I think of cherry trees, or cherry blossoms, I think of him. Happy Birthday, Bill!

And now I have a new person to think about as well. My dear friend, Winona, has a lovely daughter, Melanie, who is turning 10 today. Double digits! Cause for a celebration. Melanie is a bright young lady and a very gifted writer. Keep on writing, Melanie! The world needs to hear your voice.

This week's photo and recipe are courtesy of:

http://allrecipes.com/recipe/dried-cherry-cake/detail.aspx

It looks like a fantastic cake and I am keen to try it. My long-time friend, MaryAnn, has shared her absolute passion for dried cherries with me and I have to agree wholeheartedly. They are fantastic! And so, for Bill, and Melanie, and MaryAnn - this cake is for you. I hope you enjoy it!

"And Now for Something Completely Different!"

2010-04-27T16:13:00.000-07:00

"It all comes back to the basic. Serve customers the best-tasting food at a good value in a clean, comfortable restaurant, and they'll keep coming back."

-- Dave Thomas

It seems to me that people tend to spend their lives walking a figurative tightrope between two extremes: comfort and adventure.

Some of us absolutely crave excitement and consistently shun the comforts of life in order to chase yet another adrenaline-charged thrill. And for others, the mere thought of such risk-taking behaviours gives us not a thrill, but a chill down our spines.

Between these opposites, I would imagine that the majority of us spend our lives somewhere in the middle; being seduced by the soothing comfort of familiar faces, places, and routines. But every once in awhile, we feel a desire to (however mildly) shake things up a bit.

Well, anyone who knows me personally at all will have no trouble choosing the category in which I feel the most comfortable. And for those of you who have yet to meet me, I have just given away the answer. I put a great value on safety, calm, and comfort, but as I said earlier, sometimes I pine for "something completely different."

This past weekend, Mark and I drove to Port Huron, Michigan, for an outing, really, and to do a little shopping - mostly grocery shopping. We headed out early (for us) on Saturday morning, stopping to pick up a take-away coffee before leaving the city. It was a pleasant drive and it was mid-morning when we arrived, at last, in Port Huron.

We found ourselves very hungry for breakfast by then, so naturally we wheeled straight in to the parking lot of the 'Daybreak Cafe' which I lauded in an earlier post. We were scarcely able to find a parking spot and we were worried that this was not a good sign. It was, in fact, a good sign for the Cafe as the restaurant was completely full and there was a line-up right up to the front door. It seemed as though the wait would be quite long and we would have been happy to endure it, but the woman ahead of us was so heavily perfumed that we just couldn't manage it.

Once outside, we decided that maybe we should, after all, be a little more adventurous and try another restaurant. We spied "Ted's Coney Island Diner" just down the street, so we set off optimistically. It actually sounded kind of cool. As we walked to the main entrance, we looked through the windows at the practically empty restaurant, and our optimism began to fade a bit. And when we walked inside and were greeted by a theatrical exhalation of smoke by a leathery-faced woman, we both turned and quickly walked out again without saying a word.

What should we do now? Well, there was a "Big Boy" restaurant across the street so we waited for the traffic to die down, then trotted across. It didn't look very appealing. And when the hostess asked us if we preferred 'smoking' or 'non-smoking' we hesitated, then chose 'non-smoking' and sat down with sinking hearts. We didn't like the fact that people were smoking just around the corner and it was a little unsettling. But when the waitress told us that there was, in fact, no breakfast menu, but a breakfast buffet over in the 'smoking' section, our decision was made for us and we quickly scurried out the door.

Back over to the 'Daybreak Cafe' where we found the line-up was gone, and we were seated right away. Ah! Familiar surroundings! Familiar great food! Warm and friendly staff! All that and fresh, hot coffee being constantly topped off. A little bit of breakfast heaven.

The rest of the long day we spent browsing through various stores and doing some shopping and were so busy and having so much fun that we didn't as much as stop for a drink of water. By dinnertime we were both feeling dehydrated and hungry and looking to sit down and relax a bit before organizing all of our purchases and heading home.

It was funny, but as much as we both wanted the comfort of the 'Daybreak' at breakfast, we both craved to eat dinner somewhere new. Somewhere different. Somewhere a little more exciting. And we both had the same idea at once. (As we so often do.)

About a year or so ago, when we were staying in Port Huron for the weekend, we had gone out for dinner at an Italian Restaurant on the Saturday evening, and had gone for a long walk afterward before heading back to the hotel. On the walk we happened upon "The Raven" - a coffeehouse, a pub, a restaurant - and it looked wonderfully appealing. We were delighted with the decor, the ambience, and the soft jazz music and were hoping to linger awhile over exotic coffees and soak in the atmosphere. Unfortunately, they were closing soon and not accepting any new customers. We walked out disappointed, but knew for sure we'd be back one day.

And that day was last Saturday. 'The Raven' is an amazing place! The owner took an old, broken-down building from the Civil War era, completely gutted it, and painstakingly transformed it into a 'magical' place that feels somewhere between an ancient pub in a quaint British village, and a cool, hip coffeehouse/restaurant somewhere in Greenwich Village. and it is, blissfully, smoke-free.

This is how their lovely brochure describes the atmosphere: "Adding to the richness of the interior decor are the stained glass facade windows....These are set off by the colorful tiffany lighting, eye-catching gargoyles and statuary, a virtual library of antique and classic books and dozens of eclectic photographic and poster art prints, secured from the poster galleries of Manhattan.....These elements are tied together by architectural designs incorporating an array of angles, elevations and special spaces, including an upper balcony level with a rear outside deck providing a view of the St. Clair and Black Rivers."

They have a seven page menu featuring real food!! Fresh local ingredients served in interesting, creative, and delicious ways. And they don't even have a deep fryer. Hallelujah!

Mark and I had a wonderful time at 'The Raven'. It was absolutely one of the most memorable places I have ever dined. It was incredibly interesting - so much to look at and talk about. Our waiter was superb; perfectly gracious and seemingly relaxed and in such a good mood, even though the place was hopping and he was seriously busy. And the food was absolutely exquisite. Even now, several days later, I can't stop thinking about our visit to 'The Raven.' It was fun, fun, fun!

I think Dave Thomas knew what he was talking about. 'The Raven' seems to be doing everything right. It is like nothing I've ever seen or experienced before. I strongly encourage any of you who are able to go there, to go. You will be enchanted. I know we were. And we simply can't wait to dine there again. And the next time, we will plan to stay over so we can dash back in the morning for breakfast. Sorry, 'Daybreak', but we're on a roll.

Cheers!

Diane

For my meal, I enjoyed a "Grilled Hummus Veggie Wrap". Now, having been a vegetarian for over 40 years now, I have eaten my fair share of veggie wraps, but nothing else could compare with the sheer deliciousness of this one. I don't have an actual recipe, of course, so I can only share the description on their menu:

"Your choice of our traditional or roasted red bell pepper hummus (my choice) with leaf lettuce, tomato, onion and cucumber in our sun dried tomato tortilla." They don't say, but my guess is that they also added salt and pepper and some chopped fresh cilantro. The wrap is all folded up nice and neatly, then grilled to perfection. The tortilla has slight char marks making it extra tasty, while the inside stays nice and chilled and crisp. A wonderful combination. I certainly plan to try it myself. And soon!

Please check out 'The Raven's' website for more information, and for more inspiration to make a trip there:

http://www.ravencafeph.com

This week's photos and recipe are courtesy of "The Raven", Port Huron, Michigan.

(The expression, "And now for something completely different" is, of course, from Monty Python's Flying Circus. Now, these were certainly lads who knew how to keep expanding their horizons!)

Sitting at the World's Table

2010-04-20T18:09:00.000-07:00

"Everything you see I owe to spaghetti."

-- Sophia Loren

For the past six years, since I moved to the city, I have spent most Monday evenings volunteering to help new immigrants practise speaking English. It has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. Each week I have the opportunity to sit around a table at the Central Library and talk, listen, and laugh with an ever-changing group of people from all over the globe.

Over the years, I have noticed the differing patterns of immigration to London. In the early years, most of our newcomers were from Colombia; that was a very broad wave indeed. There are, in fact, so many Colombian immigrants here now that London has earned the nickname "Londombia." French may very well be the other Canadian official language, but you won't hear much French spoken on the streets of London. Our second language is Spanish.

Other years there have been more newcomers from Africa and the Middle East. There are always quite a few Asians, especially those from South Korea. And a few years ago, we enjoyed a large number of highly energized and hilarious young men from Japan. We don't generally have many Europeans, although at the moment we have a couple of great young European women.

I smile whenever I remember a particular European woman who decided to shake things up a bit and move to Canada from France. She had originally moved to Quebec so she could continue speaking her own language but she was quite shocked to find that the Quebecois spoke a very different sort of French. In fact, in her opinion, it was an inferior dialect so corrupted that she had a hard time listening to it without becoming intensely annoyed. She steadfastly refused to speak that way, held firmly to her Parisian French, and as a result succeeded in really annoying the Quebecois in her life who felt she was deliberately trying to sound 'uppity'.

In the end, she decided to solve the problem by moving to Ontario and learning English. At first it was practically impossible to converse with her because she knew so little English, and when six months went by and we hadn't seen her, I thought perhaps she had given up and moved back to France. But, no, she hadn't. She reappeared one Monday evening looking very bright and happy AND speaking English so well it was mind-boggling. I immediately asked her what on earth she had been doing to have achieved such an incredible improvement. Her eyes began to sparkle as she rather coquettishly replied, "O! Mon Dieu! I 'av foun' a English boyfren!"

It truly is a remarkable experience to be able to sit and talk with people who have come here from all over the earth. Every week the mix changes and that really makes it interesting. It feels something like a mini-U.N., but on a very casual and friendly level. It is a wonderful opportunity to explore a bit of the world without having to leave town.

The purpose of our 'Conversation Circle' sessions is simply that - to enjoy conversations with each other. And these conversations are a lot like our lunchroom chats at work. The topics vary widely and they constantly bounce all over the place. There is, however, one topic that pops up again, and again, and again, and never fails to elicit enthusiastic participation. And that is the subject of food.

Everyone loves to eat, and many people love to cook as well. It doesn't matter where people have come from, they always seem to become more passionate in their speech and their mannerisms when talking about their favourite foods and dishes from their homelands. We learn a lot about different food traditions, listen to stories about special occasions or humorous events - all revolving around food.

Sometimes recipes are shared. And on occasion, a few of us have had to dash upstairs to the cookbook section of the library to track down a dish that a newcomer loves dearly and wants to tell us about, but is unable to come up with a description in English. I have also had several participants bring me gifts of traditional foods and that is always a wonderful treat.

Two weeks ago I was at the table with the two lovely young European women I mentioned earlier. Adriana is a Hungarian formerly living in Slovakia, and Alessandra is an Italian, but very proudly from Sardinia. As usual, that evening we talked a lot about food. And what a fun conversation that was! Adrianna and Alessandra are very charming women whose extremely positive energy is quite a joy just to be around. They each have such a sparkling wit - even while speaking English! - that we spend a lot of time in thralls of laughter.

This particular evening, Alessandra was telling us about a traditional Sardinian dish - 'linguine al pesto' - and she was making us all very hungry with her description. She wondered if she could buy a pot of basil to grow at her apartment so she could cook with it, and make this dish. I told her where I had recently seen such pots of basil for sale and then another woman suggested that she could just buy pesto from that very supermarket. To be polite, I turned to Alessandra and agreed that, yes, she could indeed buy ready-made pesto at that store.

Alessandra then opened her eyes very wide in mock horror, and with a smile on her lips she playfully punched me on the arm. And then, with the well-known sweeping arm gesture of dismissal that her compatriots are famous for, she responded. "I would never buy pesto!!" she cried. "I am Italian!" Point taken. Point taken, indeed.

Cheers!!

Diane

This week in Alessandra's honour, I am giving you a recipe for 'Linguine al Pesto'. Alessandra strongly suggests that a peeled and chopped up potato be cooked along with the linguine as it apparently makes all the difference in the taste and texture of the dish.

This post's photo and recipe are courtesy of:

http://recipes.howstuffworks.com/classic-pesto-with-linguine-recipe.htm

I hope you will try it and enjoy the beautiful, fresh, springtime taste of the homemade pesto. And don't, for heaven's sake, even THINK about buying it!!!

The Spicy Samosa - A Little Taste of Nirvana

2010-04-13T11:31:00.000-07:00

A yoga master stepped up to a samosa stall and said: "Make me one with everything." The vendor fixed a samosa and handed it to the yogi, who paid with a $20 bill.

The vendor put the bill in a cash drawer and closed the drawer. "Where's my change?" asked the yogi. The vendor smiled, "Change must come from within."

-- www.hinduismtoday.com

Last week I celebrated the 7th 'Annual Samosa Day' in style. I even dedicated a full four days to the event rather than the customary one. And, on top of that, I was celebrating well over two months early.

If you are scratching your head and wondering how this food festivity had slipped under your radar, don't worry. You will never have heard of it. To be honest, I, myself, represent half of 'Annual Samosa Day' celebrants. Let me explain.

Back in July of 2004, I began my current position at the university here in the city of London although I was still living 100 km away in a small town. I had been invited to come down for a morning, have a tour of the area, and meet some of my future colleagues. At the time I was very busy trying to keep my house presentable in the hope of selling it quickly, as well as getting rid of a lot of 'stuff' and trying to get organized enough to move. It was so much work! And I'm sure many of you can relate.

My plan had been to zip down to London on the sunny morning of June 23rd, have the tour, meet some folks, then head back a couple of hours later. I wasn't going to take the time for lunch. In fact, I was so stressed out in those days that I rarely ate at all! I had brought along a protein bar and felt that a quick stop at the mid-way Tim Horton's for a coffee would be enough to hold body and soul together.

As it turned out, a very warm, friendly, and funny professor named Dan (now a very close friend) showed me around the place and made all sorts of very gracious introductions. It was a little overwhelming, as it was such a big place with so many faculty and staff about, but I was encouraged by all of the kind smiles.

Suddenly it was noon, the tour was over, and I was all set to leave. Then, Dan suggested that we go to the 'Grad Club' for lunch with some others as it was right across the street from our building. I didn't know what to do! I had slipped only a five dollar bill into my wallet that morning as my only planned purchase was a cup of coffee.

I was a little (OK, a lot) intimidated by Dan's lofty status and I didn't want to be so bold as to ask him if he were footing the bill. I knew I had only $5 and I couldn't imagine what sort of paltry lunch item could be bought with that. I surveyed the menu board carefully and was absolutely thrilled to see this entry: "Samosas - 2 for $3". Great! I couldn't risk a beverage, what with taxes and all, so I opted for tap water.

Well, we ended up sitting on the patio and having a fun lunch, chatting with some other people and having some laughs. It was a very enjoyable time and it became even better later on when Dan, bless his heart, didn't even bat an eye at my $3 lunch and very handily picked up the tab.

Somewhere around mid-June of 2005 I felt comfortable enough with Dan to tell him the samosa story. We had a good laugh at the memory and decided that we should declare every June 23rd 'Annual Samosa Day'. The celebration was really nothing more than enjoying a pint at the 'Grad Club'. And occasionally we even had a samosa, too. I can scarcely believe that the 7th one will be coming up soon.

And now, back to last week. My son Daniel's friend, Richard, and his mother, Christine, were coming to stay overnight last Thursday. They were planning to have dinner at home before leaving, but I wanted to give them something interesting and tasty as an evening snack. I was thinking of samosas because earlier the same day, Winona, an Indian-Canadian friend from work, had brought some in for us to share. They were delicious. They are a wonderful Indian snack food - generally a nice curry of potatoes and peas wrapped in pastry and deep fried. I love to eat them, but I had never made them before.

I looked for a recipe on my favourite Indian food blog (see below) and found a great recipe for baked samosas made with wonton wrappers. I was pleased because it seemed they would be easy to make, much lighter and more delicate, but would still be intensely flavourful. I was right.

Daniel helped me put them together and we had quite an efficient assembly line going on. As we worked, we got talking about all kinds of topics, as we often do. Before we knew it, we had 5 dozen samosas sitting before us. Mind you, the kitchen smelled marvellously aromatic as they baked, and afterwards it was like samosa heaven.

In the end, Christine and I each enjoyed about 2 or 3 little samosas each, along with a nice glass of wine. And the boys, I believe, ate only 1 apiece before disappearing into Daniel's room to play guitar. That left quite a plethora of samosas yet to be consumed.

On Friday, I had samosas for lunch. And, when my partner, Mark, came down to London on Friday, we had samosas for dinner. We had them again for lunch on Saturday, though we did switch it up a bit Saturday evening by having just the (leftover) samosa filling over rice. I decided to freeze the remaining samosas on Sunday as I just couldn't face any more. And today my daughter, Abby, came to visit, so when I got home from work, I whipped up an easy chick pea curry and rice and baked up the remaining samosas.

I have to tell you, I'm actually pretty glad that the 7th 'Annual Samosa Day' is more than two months away. As much as I adore scrumptious samosas, I think it may take every one of those days to rekindle a fitting appetite for them.

Cheers,

Diane

I hope you will try this great recipe. It comes from a fantastic blog featuring Indian vegetarian cooking called "One Hot Stove". The writing is excellent, the photos wonderful, and the recipes more than tantalizing. Enjoy!!

http://onehotstove.blogspot.com/2005/02/experiment-baked-wonton-samosas.html

The wonderful photo collage is courtesy of "www.samosa-connection.com".

A Montreal Bagel? Merci Beaucoup!!

2010-04-05T17:53:00.000-07:00

"The smell of good bread baking, like the sound of lightly flowing water, is indescribable in its evocation of innocence and delight."

-- MFK Fisher
'The Art of Eating'

There wasn't much of a selection of bread when I was a young child back in the Fifties. Not like today when a person could spend a good half hour in a large supermarket's bakery section just trying to make a decision. No, we had no such choice. There was sliced white bread only, which was pretty boring indeed. But the cool thing was that we didn't have to venture out to a supermarket to buy our bread. Back then, our bread came to us.

Every day our family sat down at the kitchen table and had lunch together. And every week day at that time, a white van would pull up in front of our house. The van door would quickly open and shut and then we would see 'the baker' (as we kids erroneously called the bread delivery man). He would always come trotting up the walkway carrying a tray of bread, then would pop open our front door.

His name was 'Harold' and I remember his name so clearly for a reason. Each and every week day, Harold would burst into our kitchen with a big smile and bright attitude and call out to my Dad, "Hello, Harold!" To this, each and every time, my Dad would return, "Hello, Harold!" I remember thinking it was quite funny that they shared a name and I looked forward to this daily ritual.

When I was a young teen, our family suddenly went wildly crazy and we switched to 'brown' bread. It wasn't 'whole wheat' or 'whole grain' back then. It was simply 'brown'. So, really, living in a very small , very non-ethnic town, I had no broader knowledge of bread or bread products than this. Very, very narrow, I'm afraid. And it wasn't until I was 18 that my knowledge was cracked open a little wider.

That year I had become friends with Barb Samuels, a Jewish girl, who had been raised in Mount Forest, another small town in Southwestern Ontario. Because she was the first Jewish person I had ever met, and because I was curious about Judaism, I plied her with all kinds of questions and always got a blank stare in return. She had never even been to a synagogue. Living in this little town all her life had certainly not exposed her to any Jewish culture or community.

One summer day I planned to visit her and so I borrowed my Dad's car and drove to Mount Forest. Unfortunately, Barb was out doing some errands when I arrived, but her mother, Mrs. Samuels, very warmly welcomed me inside. I can still recall her kind, happy smile and her gracious hospitality.

She brought me to the living room and led me to a comfy chair. Next, she asked me if I'd care for a cup of tea. Absolutely. She bustled away to the kitchen to put on the kettle and soon returned with a nice steaming cup. As I sipped the hot tea, she continued to smile. It was obvious that she enjoyed visitors. Then, she startled me with a question that I did not understand. "Would you like a bagel?"

Such a simple question! It seems incredible to me now that I had no idea what she was talking about. She asked me again and I was still none the wiser. I was terribly shy in those days and quite reluctant to speak up. Plus, a few years before I had become a serious vegetarian and I was cautious about what I ate. At last I knew I just had to say something, so I ventured a very timid, "Ummmm......I wonder.....is a bagel.....ummmm.....meat?"

I thought poor Mrs. Samuels was going to fall down from her gales of laughter. She kept dabbing her eyes with the edge of her apron and every time our eyes met she laughed even harder.

Eventually she recovered sufficiently to head back to the kitchen to toast up a bagel and spread it with luscious cream cheese. (I did eat cheese.) I laughed myself when I saw what it was and then we both laughed some more. What a lot of fun, and all from a simple bagel. No, wait, I won't say 'simple' because it was a very special bagel, as Mrs. Samuels explained to me. It was a Montreal bagel - the best bagel of all.

For many, many years there has been a great rivalry between New York bagels and Montreal bagels. I don't even need to describe New York bagels to you at all because they are ubiquitous in these parts. Indeed in most parts.

But in the Montreal-Ottawa area they are precious commodities and many thousands of bagel lovers sing their praises. And rightfully so. Montreal bagels are almost always rolled by hand and before baking are boiled in bubbling cauldrons of water sweetened by pure honey. Then, they are brushed with a light sugar syrup, topped by either sesame seeds or poppy seeds (and, more recently, additional toppings), and baked in large, rustic wood ovens. The flames of the wood ovens cause the bagels to brown in a slightly uneven fashion and this adds a lot of interesting colour as well as flavour.

Montreal bagels are smaller, flatter, with a larger hole and a more irregular shape than the New York bagels. They are also much chewier with a delectable 'mouth feel' and flavour that will make you want to close your eyes and sigh. It's a texture and a flavour that you will remember and that you will crave. What is it exactly that makes a Montreal bagel such a magnificent creation?

Well, the method of preparation described above certainly does contribute to a scrumptious baked good. But anyone who has had the pleasure of tasting one will know that there is something else as well. It's definitely a little touch of 'je ne sais quois'. Of course it is! It's a Montreal bagel, after all.

Cheers!

Diane

Both the photo and the recipe are courtesy of "sevenspoons.net". Thanks to "Seven Spoons" you don't have to worry and fret that you live so far away from Montreal or Ottawa. You can put on an apron, roll up your sleeves, and bake yourself a batch of Montreal bagels in your own kitchen. Even if you don't happen to have a wood oven. Enjoy!!

http://sevenspoons.net/2009/07/not-moments-hesitation.html

As Southern as Pecan Pie

2010-03-29T15:02:00.000-07:00

"I just clipped 2 articles from a current magazine. One is a diet guaranteed to drop 5 pounds off my body in a weekend. The other is a recipe for a 6 minute pecan pie."

-- Erma Bombeck

About a decade ago, and just about this time of year, I spent some days having an adventure in the American South. Oklahoma, to be precise. I was there with a small group to attend a business conference. Well, unfortunately, the business never did pan out for any of us, I've completely lost contact with all but one of my fellow travellers, and I don't remember a single thing about the conference. But the rest of my springtime trip to Oklahoma is still a delightful memory.

And speaking of memories, the very first thing we did upon our arrival in Oklahoma City was to visit the Oklahoma City National Memorial and pay our respects. It is a beautifully and sensitively created and well kept site - a very serene and elegant tribute. Although the Memorial was outdoors, as we approached it, it felt as though we were entering a majestic cathedral and it was impossible to speak above a soft whisper.

Next we took a bus trip to view the company's future building site. This was a little underwhelming as it was simply a chunk of land in the distant countryside. And, at least from my perspective, the 'rolling green hills of Oklahoma' were neither very green nor very rolling.

Well, after the 'viewing' we were all bussed to a large facility of some sort - like an enormous catering hall filled with simple tables and chairs. Along one wall was the bustling open kitchen with a long counter running across in front of it.

We all stood in line with thick paper plates and each server would ladle out a portion of the various food items. It will come as no surprise to you that the number one item on the menu was 'barbecue'. Great steaming mounds of saucy barbecued pork covered about three-quarters of each plate. That left a small space to be filled with creamy potato salad and bright green cole slaw, along with a soft plump bun slathered with butter.

I found myself suddenly at the end of the line, still with an empty plate in my hands. As a vegetarian, the barbecue was, of course, off limits to me. And as a perennial (although not wildly successful) weight watcher, I didn't fancy the potato salad or cole slaw with all that mayonnaise. And a white bun covered in butter? No, thanks.

A woman at the counter apparently noticed my plight and called over to me, "How're y'all doin' there, honey? Can I get y'all some barbecue?" I asked her if there were, by any chance, a vegetarian option? Well, quite clearly, this was a question she had never been asked before. She turned around to face the kitchen and called (very loudly): "Hey! Billy Bob! We all got us a veg-e-tar-i-an here!!" Suddenly about half a dozen kitchen workers dropped what they were doing and stepped a little closer in order to better eye up such a strange creature.

Some folks around me were chuckling, but my face was as red as the ubiquitous barbecue sauce. In my embarrassment at being centred out in this foreign environment, I found my decision-making skills being sharpened up quickly.

I immediately opted for the boring and horribly fattening meal of potato salad, cole slaw and an enormous white bun with its lashings of butter. And I can't say I enjoyed the cup of coffee in the styrofoam cup that came at the end of the meal.

However, I did rationalize that since my diet had been blown completely, and I was there to experience what I could of the Southern culture, I was jolly well going to have dessert. And it turned out to be a very good decision.

The kitchen ladies served up hearty slices of homemade pecan pie. Deliciously golden slices with the creamiest filling and freshly roasted pecans which had been picked from local trees. It was a little slice of pecan heaven right there in rural Oklahoma.

As far as I'm concerned, the "Okies" can keep their barbecued pork and their various side 'fixins' all to themselves. But I really would enjoy another slice of that wonderfully sinful pecan pie. I may never get back to Oklahoma but I'm hoping to visit South Carolina before too long. I will definitely have to keep my northern eyes open for a sighting of this truly decadent Southern treat. And then I'll be looking for a nap.

Cheers!

Diane

After reading this story, you may just have a craving to cook up a nice Southern pecan pie. But since it's the end of March here in Canada, why not add a little northern touch and make this luscious "Maple Pecan Pie". I hope you enjoy it!

Today's photo and recipe are courtesy of "about.com: southern food":

http://southernfood.about.com/od/pecanpies/r/bl51122b.htm

OPA! My Big Fat Greek Weekend

2010-03-23T16:14:00.000-07:00

"In many ways we are all sons and daughters of ancient Greece."
-- Nia Vardalos (author and star of the wonderful film 'My Big Fat Greek Wedding')

Over the past weekend the weather was quite a bit cooler than the incredible May-like temperatures we enjoyed last week here in London. Perhaps it was a gentle reminder from Mother Nature that it is, after all, still March - and this is Canada. But I didn't care. I spent the weekend in Greece. Well, sort of.

On Saturday, my partner, Mark, and I enjoyed a delightful evening celebrating the 60th birthday of a colleague from my work. About two dozen of us - coworkers plus partners - met a a wonderful restaurant in the heart of London. It is a Greek restaurant. But please do not spend even a second imagining the typical 'Greek restaurant' that is ubiquitous in small town Ontario. My first job, in fact, was as a waitress at the age of 16 in such a restaurant. And when I remember this brief, hideous experience, a lot of colourful adjectives come to mind. But none of them, I confess, would be 'Greek'.

Thankfully, this place is nothing like that. It is 'Mykonos', a charming island of exotic Greek cuisine in the city of London. 'Mykonos' started off as a humble fish and chip restaurant, opened about three decades ago by Greek immigrants Heidi and Bill Vamvalis. Heidi has become a very visible persona to their many loyal patrons. She embodies such a warm, magnetic personality and she radiates such positive energy as she navigates through the restaurant shining her considerable light on all the fortunate diners.

How can I describe the atmosphere at 'Mykonos'? It is quaint and interesting with an almost completely blue and white decor. As soon as you walk through the door you can feel yourself being transported from a spot midway between Lake Huron and Lake Erie over to the fabulous Mediterranean Sea. You feel as though you've stumbled upon a charming family restaurant on a delightful Greek island where, although you are a tourist, you are made to feel completely at home.

Upon our arrival, we mingled and chatted with the others - reconnecting with those familiar and introducing ourselves to those previously only heard about and imagined. Very soon the time came for all of us to become seated at our very long table and await the entrance of the clearly surprised (and apparently delighted) guest of honour and his lovely lady.

Very soon the table filled with platters of assorted appetizers: feta cheese, olives, roasted red pepper dip as well as the famous tzatzkiki, a fabulous and delicious spread made from butter or lima beans called 'gigantes', along with a dazzling mashed potato and garlic spread served along with sliced of fresh baguette and pita triangles. Delicious!

And as if that weren't enough, later on several servers suddenly appeared with plates of saganaki cheese which they very dramatically doused with shots of Ouzo and immediately set aflame. Wow! That cheese was astonishingly good. Heaven! Oh, my.

For my main course I enjoyed Spanakopita with a Greek salad. Creamy, tangy, spicy deliciousness. Just imagine two dozen entrees coming out one just barely behind the next. My goodness, these people have it all together. Whereas a few minutes before I had been listening to the cacophony of animated conversation, suddenly and swiftly there was close to a zen-like silence as everyone began to dedicate themselves to their main courses. The many full plates became starkly white again, and the various wine bottles and carafes stood empty, leaving the celebrants relaxed, fulfilled, and happy. What a night!

The evening was so much fun that upon our arrival home, Mark and I were inspired to watch the movie 'Shirley Valentine' for about the hundredth time. Always a sheer delight.

And it didn't end there. Our connection with the spirit of Greece was still palpable on Sunday. So I created a Greek-inspired menu and Mark and I went shopping. Later on, Mark and I and Devin (my daughter Eliza's friend) cooked up a tasty dinner: lemon/garlic/herb/almond chicken breasts and vegetarian 'chick'n breasts', roasted lemon-dill potato cubes with chopped red and green peppers, orange ginger carrots, cucumbers and tzatziki sauce along with pita triangles. Yum! This delicious dinner prompted me to remember all things Greek stored in my memory, and I was happy to succomb.

Two summers ago I was visited by both a long-time Israeli friend, Orly, and a new-found Chilean friend, Alejandra. We three went to the cinema together to see "Mamma Mia" and enjoyed it so much that we made a pact to focus on the dream of vacationing together in Greece. What a dream!

Well, a couple of months ago I received a voice message from Orly in Israel. In her thick Israeli accent she said, "Diana. We talked about meeting one each other in Greece and I wonder if you are still planning this trip?" Orly is such an optimist! I love it.

Still planning? No. Not exactly. But still dreaming?? Absolutely! And I sincerely hope this dream will come true. But until it does, there is always 'Mykonos'. It has long been, and remains, a vibrant touch of Greece in Southwestern Ontario. 'Efaristo (thank you), Mykonos!!' Efaristo, indeed.

Cheers!!

Diane

The recipe this week is for the wonderfully delicious appetizer, 'Gigantes'. Believe it or not, I heard several people say this was their favourite dish of all that night. Both the photo and recipe are courtesy of Food Network star, Rachel Ray.

http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/rachael-ray/baked-gigantes-beans-recipe/index.html

The Wonderfully Wide World of Blogging

2010-03-16T16:30:00.000-07:00

"Blogging is using a new medium for what it is good for - connecting and interacting."
- George Siemens

"We bloggers live for comments."
- Shelley Long (www.forestcityfashionista.blogspot.com)

Everything is energy. Everything. Even us. And we are fed by, and thrive on, the positive energy given out to the world by the natural world, animals, plants, and other people. That's what quantum physics tells us. But you don't have to be a quantum physicist to intuitively understand, and feel, how true this is.

We recently had the exciting experience of watching the Olympic athletes perform the most exquisite physical feats. What a thill! Over and over, the athletes were saying how great the energy was just being around the other athletes and their boisterous fans as well. It would have been amazing to have been there in person, but the positive energy was so intense that it could easily and strongly be felt by even the TV audience.

Of course, this phenomenon doesn't just pertain to athletes; it is a reality for all of us. And bloggers are no exception. We are generally people who love to write and who get a real kick out of it. But, really, just sitting at home writing about this and that without anyone to read one's words would be terribly unsatisfying. It is our readers who give us feedback - either in person, by email, or in the form of cherished 'comments'. And this positive feedback is one of the things that feeds our creative energy.

Ever since I started blogging, I have found it so rewarding to connect with my readers. In the beginning they consisted of my family, my close friends, and certain work colleagues. But as a stone tossed into a pond will cause a series of outgoing ripples, the circle has been constantly expanding. My family, friends, and colleagues began to share my blog with their families, friends, and colleagues. And then, two weeks ago I received my first comment from a total stranger, a woman from New Mexico, and that was such a surprise. And it just keeps getting better.

I hope all of you read (and enjoyed) my post last week on rutabagas. I was happy to see that it inspired all kinds of rutabaga conversations at work and amongst friends. My sister in BC contacted me to say she was about to make 'hot cross bun muffins' last weekend and when she glanced at the ingredients on the container of chopped glazed fruit, she was astonished to find that the first ingredient was, incredibly, chopped rutabaga. HA! She thought the Advanced Rutabaga Studies Institute (ARSI) would just love that.

I expect they would, indeed, but what I DO know is that they found out about my blog and took the time to send me a comment. And that was a very, very exciting moment for me. Here it is:

"Diane: You have a terrific blog -- I linked to your entry on rutabagas and made a comment (included here). Thanks for bringing the ARSI site to the attention of our local newspaper...
As Official Mouthpiece of the Advanced Rutabaga Studies Institute here in Forest Grove, it pains me to admit that I grew up in a New England family that mistakenly referred to rutabagas as "turnips". So you're totally forgiven, and your eloquence in praising this humble root vegetable makes up for all past sins. Also, please visit our blog (where I'll be adding a link to your page) at http://rutablogger.blogspot.com/ I look forward to having you join our celebrations during this historic year. -- Michael J. O'Brien, Forest Grove, Oregon"

I hope you will all check out this very interesting site where you can see my name and link, and also see the link to The Oregonian newspaper which initially ran the piece. How cool is that, my friends??

I can feel the palpable energy coming my way from all of those Oregonian rutabaga-loving folk. My goodness, how I would love to travel to Oregon and meet them all. And join in all of the festivities. And eat rutabagas!!

And if I were to meet them, I would also tell them that about 20 years ago there was an annual Rutabaga Festival in Blyth, a small village in Southwestern Ontario. Apparently it was a lot of fun, but the festival eventually folded due to a lack of volunteers. Sigh. I wish I had known! I would have volunteered. (http://www.northhuron.on.ca/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=417:rutabagas-and-blyth&catid=68:blyth&Itemid=87)

So, many thanks to Michael O'Brien of the Advanced Rutabaga Studies Institute for putting my name and my blog 'on the map' of Oregon. I feel both privileged and thoroughly delighted. And special thanks to all of my readers who have shared both their positive energy and their comments with me all this time. It's a great feeling! And I just never know when a new comment will 'turnip'. (Sorry, Michael!!)

Cheers!!!

Diane

PS: Unfortunately, this post does not come with a new recipe. So, just amuse yourselves by eating more rutabagas!

Instead of a photo this week, I have created a 'beautiful word cloud' through
"www.wordle.net" (TM) which was developed by Jonathan Feinberg.

Rutabaga! Rutabaga! Rah! Rah! Rah!

2010-03-08T12:07:00.001-08:00

"So many people confuse rutabagas with turnips. They're not alike at all. Rutabagas have a pleasant yellow-orange color, large friendly-looking leaves, and a smooth dense texture. Turnips are fish-belly white and purple on top like a bad bruise and have hairy leaves and taste brackish, like swamp water. Rutabagas are the root crop that any sensible person would prefer."

---Garrison Keillor in "Prairie Home Companion" Radio Program

Wow! That's a whole lotta love for a common root vegetable. I bet not too many of you have ever felt such adoration for a rutabaga. Oh, I expect you've eaten your share of mashed rutabagas at any number of Thanksgiving dinners, but to most people the roast turkey is the star of the show whereas mashed rutabagas (even spruced up with melted butter, salt and pepper) remains an insignificant side dish.

But not to me! I have always loved rutabagas and was always excited to eat them at holiday dinners, even before I became vegetarian. I haven't eaten turkey for over 40 years now (although that figure is hard for me to believe!), but I have continued to relish the humble rutabaga.

The rutabaga is a cruciferous vegetable, believed to have evolved from a cross between a wild cabbage and a turnip. We know they existed in the 1600s in southern Europe, but because they grow so well in colder climates, they became extremely popular in Scandinavia - particularly in Sweden. This is why one of the early names for this vegetable was "swede'. They are called "neeps" in Scotland and I can remember my Granny telling us about one of her favourite dishes - "neeps and tatties" which was simply rutabagas and potatoes cooked and mashed together with butter, salt and pepper. They have often been called "turnips" as well, but (as we have learned) that is an egregious error.

It pains me to mention this (after reading the above quotation), but in our family we always called rutabagas 'turnips'. I didn't know any different. And even after I grew up and was in charge of my own grocery shopping, I continued to call them turnips even though the sign was clearly marked 'rutabagas'. I'm sure this piece of information wouldn't bother most of you at all. But it would no doubt seriously provoke the members of ARSI - The Advanced Rutabaga Studies Institute.

The ARSI is located in Forest Grove, Oregon, a town which has considered itself "The Rutabaga Capital of the World" since 1951. This will be an especially exciting year for the ARSI members as 2010 has been declared "The International Year of the Rutabaga." The good news is that it is only early March and we all have time to plan some appropriate activities to celebrate (as our friend, Garrison Keillor says) "America's most under-appreciated vegetable."

As I mentioned earlier, rutabagas were never under-appreciated by me. I tend to enjoy sharper tasting foods so was easily drawn to loving them. In fact, I preferred a dish of mashed rutabagas over the mashed potatoes! All my life I associated rutabagas with festive occasions and fun holidays because we never ate them at any other time.

I had an impression that their great expense was the reason they were reserved for only the most special dinners. Can you imagine my shock and surprise when, on my first grocery shopping trip, I saw a large bin of waxy rutabagas along with a sign saying, "15 cents each"? What??? How could this be?? It was clear that anyone could afford to eat rutabagas - every day if they liked. And I smiled to myself with the notion that I might do just that.

This notion lasted until, oh, when the time came to cook the rutabaga. I wasn't prepared for such a difficult task. I was a young and inexperienced cook, didn't have proper knives, and had no technique. I spent a good bit of time trying to chop away at the poor vegetable - hacking and sawing away like mad. After I got the thick waxy skin off and had sawed it into slices, it still had to be cut into cubes and boiled for a long time before mashing. Whew! It was then that I decided to forgive my mother for serving rutabagas only at festive meals.

Some of you will remember the sudden emergence of microwave ovens in the mid-eighties and all of the surrounding hoopla about how they were going to revolutionize cooking and baking and make our regular ovens obsolete. Well, quite clearly this did not happen and microwave oven cookery has been largely underwhelming. But when it comes to rutabaga preparation, the microwave is a brilliant device.

I was so excited when I learned this technique and I think it will make your rutabaga-eating life much easier. Simply hold your rutabaga firmly and stab it thoroughly on all sides with a fork. Then, wrap it up with several layers of paper towel - be generous. Put it on a plate, then pop it into the microwave for about 5 minutes, depending on the size of the vegetable and the power of your oven. It will be done when a sharp knife can pierce through the flesh with little resistance. Let it cool for a bit, then carefully peel off the paper towel. Now, it will be so easy to slide the thick skin off, to slice it, and chop it into cubes. Plus, it won't take as long to boil in a pot of salted water.

So there you are. You can enjoy delicious, nutritious (and inexpensive) rutabagas whenever you want and however you want. Here are some ideas from today's aficionado - Garrison Keillor: "Rutabaga - it's suitable for any occasion. Rutabagas' firm yet impetuous flavor goes well with Bordeaux, Chablis, or even Champagne. Use julienned rutabagas to clear the palate before dessert. Stir-fried rutabagas can bulk up any Chinese dish. Or how about rutabaga ratatouille? And instead of an olive in your Martini, why not try a rutabaga wedge?"

Well, perhaps some of you more adventurous souls may want to go to a bar and request a rutabaga wedge in your martini, but I expect it would be a small group. And since most of you have made, or at least eaten, plain mashed rutabagas with butter, salt and pepper, to give you such a recipe would be too boring.

And so, I've opted for the middle ground and today's recipe will be using rutabagas in a slightly adventurous, but also very cozy and comforting way. It is a "Rutabaga Spice Cake" and it may resemble the ubiquitous carrot cake in flavour, but it seems much less rich and sweet. And as you nibble on a piece of cake with your coffee or tea, or for dessert, you can tell yourself that you are eating your veggies and you will be able to just relax and enjoy. I hope you do!

Cheers!

Diane

"Rutabaga Spice Cake"

http://www.foodland.gov.on.ca/english/vegetables/rutabaga/recipes/rutabaga-spice-cake.html

Today's photo and recipe are courtesy of "Foodland Ontario" - Thanks!

The Maple Leaf (and Maple Syrup!) Forever!!

2010-03-01T18:29:00.001-08:00

"I think there's going to be a lot of maple syrup in Vancouver.....it's got medal written all over it."

-- Craig Buntin

(Craig Buntin of Vancouver and his partner, Meagan Duhamel, were the silver medalists at the Canadian Figure Skating Championships in 2009.)

Craig Buntin uttered the above words back in 2006 and he couldn't have been more prophetic. What a fantastic couple of weeks it has been here in Canada!

What fun it has been to switch on the TV and always find some incredible Olympic event going on. Staggeringly brilliant performances across all events. Many were nail-biting experiences, many were breathtaking, many were heart-stopping and one in particular was heartbreaking.

I also really enjoyed the 'water cooler' conversation at work. I love it when there is such a common bond amongst people; it's such a great 'connector'. I especially noticed it today (Monday) when several times I found myself in an elevator or corridor or office with someone I did not know and it could have been an awkward situation. Not today, my friend, not today. All I had to say was, "Did you see The Game yesterday?" and the conversation was off and running. Sweet.

And speaking of sweet, what is sweeter to a Canadian than our very own maple syrup? Although my sisters in Saskatchewan and British Columbia have pointed out that they don't have maple trees (pity), I think they would have to agree that the maple tree and leaf and syrup are Canadian icons.

I know it's really springtime when our retired colleague, Ron, comes to campus with a box full of mason jars containing 'the real stuff' - maple syrup from his own maple bush. It is so wonderfully delicious and the supply is so limited that people are practically knocking each other over to lay claim to a jar. (Make sure I'm near the top of the list this year, OK, Ron?)

I remember so well a high school bus trip from Quebec City to a town further north when I was fifteen. Half-way to our goal the bus turned in to a quaint Quebecois farmhouse. It seemed rather odd to us at the time, until we realized these people ran a thriving business and were delighted to see us pull into their lane way.

My goodness, how I can still smell the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked bread which filled the country kitchen and swirled around us, pulling us in like a trawler's net. Big hearty slabs of soft, warm bread, the crusts perfectly chewy and slathered with golden hand-churned butter. Heaven! And as if that weren't a perfect treat for a band of hungry teens, there was hot maple syrup poured into trays of pure snow and rolled up with sticks into little morsels of maple ambrosia. Before we left the farmhouse, we had filled our pockets with a wide variety of maple candies in order to face the remainder of our journey with the security of a stash of sugar. HA. To be young again!

But, honestly, the young are always hungry but they are not always adventurous. I know this from experience. Back when my eldest son, Ben, was 13 his hockey team invited a Danish team over to Canada for some competition and camaraderie. We hosted two young men and it was really a great experience. Although it was often a challenge when it came to food.

One young fellow, who was staying with another family, became so excited when he realized that he could buy a case of 24 cans of Coke here in Canada for the same price as a 2 litre bottle back in Denmark, that he scooped one up and in his enthusiasm, he drank the entire case in one day! The poor lad had to be hospitalized because of the caffeine overdose, so it was probably a good thing that Coke was so expensive when he returned to Denmark.

"Our" boys didn't have any such traumas, although there were some funny incidents. I thought I was going to have to buy pickled herring for them as it is ubiquitous in Denmark, but fortunately for me, they despised it. Whew! They were also appalled at our Canadian cheese and refused to eat it. I never really understood why. I know I asked them, but maybe their English wasn't fluent enough, maybe they were just too young, or maybe they just weren't about to articulate their feelings in any language being 13-year old boys.

The most amusing thing I remember about these boys was the time I made them a very nice (if I do say so) Canadian breakfast of homemade pancakes and real maple syrup. I wanted so much to give them a taste of Canada - something that they wouldn't get in Denmark. I thought they would love them and gobble them right up. But, surprisingly, they would have none of it. They turned up their noses and crinkled their brows and, for whatever reason (who could know?) they refused to eat the pancakes. It's a mystery to me still. They didn't know what they were missing.

But, oh, we know. We know so well. Both as a decadent delight and as a metaphor. Craig Buntin couldn't have known how right he was in predicting that "there's going to be a lot of maple syrup in Vancouver", but he was right on the money. Our Canadian athletes surprised us, amazed us, delighted us, and thrilled us. Oh, yes, there was plenty of maple syrup at the 2010 Olympic Games in Vancouver. And we Canadians savoured every last drop.

Cheers!

Diane

Today's photo and recipe are courtesy of "allrecipes.com" - a great site featuring terrific recipes from A-Z. I have chosen, of course, a recipe that features maple syrup. I know you can all make pancakes and maple syrup, so this is a nice twist: "Sweet Potato Mash with Cinnamon and Maple Syrup". It's a nutritious and delicious dish and it's oh so Canadian. Way to go Canada!! Woo hoo!!!

http://allrecipes.com.au/recipe/7983/sweet-potato-mash-with-cinnamon---maple-syrup.aspx

True Grits!

2010-02-21T15:45:00.000-08:00

"Corn provided infant America with a backbone while it was developing the use of its legs. America was growing, quite literally, up the cornstalk." Dorothy Giles

Many Canadians travel south in February and the U.S. is a popular destination. My partner (Mark) and my kids (Eliza and Daniel), and I decided to go "Stateside" as well, over the recent Family Day Weekend. Only we travelled due west instead - to Port Huron, Michigan.

It seemed amazing that after only a 90-minute drive we found ourselves crossing the Bluewater Bridge and arriving at the U.S. border. After arriving there so quickly, we had a 90-minute wait at the gate. I guess a lot of Ontarians had the same idea! It's pretty exciting to suddenly find yourself in another country after having simply crossed a bridge. The signage is all different, the shops are different, the money is different, and the food is different. And speaking of food, that is all we could think about, having had to wait so long for our breakfast.

For this first meal of the day we went where we always go when we visit Port Huron - The Daybreak Cafe. It is a very homey restaurant on the busy main street and it is always very busy inside, as well. They say you should always go where the locals go to dine and this is so true in this case. The place is bright and clean and airy, the service is quick and friendly, the prices are excellent, the portions are very generous and nicely presented, and (the best part of all) the food is delicious. Check out the menu:

http://www.menupix.com/menudirectory/menu_link.php?mxresto_id=1000249&url=http://www.menupix.com/menupdf/daybrkd832newmenu.pdf

You really know you have crossed the border when you read this entry on the breakfast menu: "Breakfast Feast - Hope you're hungry! Two eggs any style, meat and toast with potatoes or pancakes. Also includes biscuits and gravy which can fix any of your cravings." Wow!

After our fabulous breakfast we all waddled out of the restaurant to do a little (OK, a lot) of shopping. We went to a big grocery store to buy some "Quorn" products which is a line of vegetarian meat substitutes which have a very high reputation in Europe, but which are not allowed in Canada for some obscure bureaucratic reason. (http://www.quorn.us) This sounds like it may be made from corn, but it is not. But if you do want corn, you have come to the right place if you are in the U.S..

In the U.S. corn is the number one field crop, by far. And you can really see this in the supermarkets where there are oodles of corn products. Tortilla chips are more popular than potato chips, all manner of Mexican-inspired foods using corn are seen including corn breads and corn bread mixes with "Jiffy Corn Bread Mix" seeming to be the most popular. (http://www.jiffymix.com/)

A couple of years ago Donna, my very dear friend from Alabama, sent me a recipe for "Jiffy Corn Casserole" which is hugely popular in the South. I couldn't find it anywhere here in London but Mark was able to snag some up while in Michigan. I decided to make a Southern-themed dinner and I have to say this corn casserole was a hit. Very delicious! I must make it again soon as it is such a comforting dish on cold winter night.

One of the most favourite uses for corn in America, especially in the Southern States, is "grits". Grits are made from dried corn (or maize) kernals which have been soaked in a lye mixture to remove the hull and soften the inside of the kernal, then ground up to become "hominy grits". They are somewhat similar to polenta, but not as stiff. It is more like a sort of porridge. Wikipedia says, "Grits can be served hot or cold and as a base for a multitude of dishes from breakfast to dessert, depending on the additives. Additives can include salt and butter, meat (especially shrimp on the east and Gulf coasts), and rarely vegetables. It is common for people above the Mason-Dixon line to have sugar with their grits."

Being Canadian, I have, of course, had very limited exposure to grits. But I do have a funny memory associated with the above reference to Northern grit-eaters. A few years ago I was talking with my wonderful friend, Donna, and she just couldn't believe I had never even tried grits. She couldn't imagine such a thing, being an Alabama Southern Belle. So straightaway, she went out and bought me an enormous bag of grits! Then, she mailed it to me. It probably cost her ten times more to mail it than it did to buy it. I laughed when the package arrived. What a woman!

Well, I really didn't know how to prepare grits, so I read the instructions carefully. I decided that beginning by having them for breakfast would be the best way to go. After all, the photo on the package reminded me a lot of a thicker version of cream of wheat and I'd always liked that. I cooked up the grits, then tasted them and was surprised at the extreme lack of flavour. So, I fixed the problem by adding a nice bit of pure Canadian maple syrup. A bit of 'Great White North meets Dixie'. Later that day I emailed Donna to thank her and to tell her I'd had my first grit experience. She was very pleased that she'd been able to expand my culinary horizons. That is, until I told her about the maple syrup. She was shocked. "You're a YANKEE!!!!!" she exclaimed.

I think Donna has forgiven me for this Southern "faux pas" as we have remained very close friends. So, I think - as a tribute to my remarkable Alabama pal - my recipe this week will be for the "Jiffy Corn Casserole" instead of a dish containing grits. The recipe I've chosen is from Paula Deen, the queen of Southern cooking and whom you've no doubt seen on the Food Network. I hope you'll make it and enjoy it. Maybe invite some friends over and have a Southern menu. After all, wouldn't it be fine to bring a little Southern warmth and hospitality to our frosty Canadian days??

Cheers, y'all!!

Diane

This week's photo and recipe are courtesy of Paula Deen:

http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/paula-deen/corn-casserole-recipe/index.html

Memories of Peanut Butter

2010-02-08T12:56:00.000-08:00

"Man cannot live by bread alone; he must have peanut butter."
James A. Garfield

One of my earliest memories involves eating peanut butter. In my very first posting I mentioned having always had a penchant for snacks, and right from the beginning, peanut butter was at the top of the list.

During the year that I was four years old I religiously followed a pre-lunchtime activity which involved tasty peanut butter sandwiches. And because I subsequently attended kindergarten in the afternoons only, I was able to carry on this tradition for the next year as well. In the good weather, anyway.

Most days I would enjoy the adventure of walking down to the corner to watch for my Dad who would be coming home for lunch. Because it seemed so far away to me, and the length of time was so hard to judge, apparently I was a little worried that starvation might set in before I could return home. So, my mother very kindly always made me a peanut butter sandwich - one slice of Wonder bread spread with peanut butter, then folded over, cut into two squares, and wrapped in wax paper. No Zip-Lock Baggies back then.

My Dad worked at the Sheaffer Pen Company and he always came home for lunch. Except, in those days we called lunch 'dinner' and dinner we called 'supper'. And lunch/dinner really was our dinner- it was the biggest meal of the day. We would always have some kind of meat, potatoes (boiled, baked, mashed, or scalloped), and a tinned vegetable such as peas, green beans, corn (or creamed corn), and sometimes beets.

Always potatoes. Never rice. Never pasta. Back then these dishes would have been way too exotic to have been considered. Although I do remember Mom getting a very cool 'potato ricer' once. Probably as a Christmas or birthday present, as Dad was big on the small appliances. It was a manually operated stainless steel gadget; you put peeled and boiled potatoes into the ricer then pulled down the handle and a flat paddle pushed the potato out through a multitude of small holes and into a serving bowl. And - voila! How exciting! You had the best of both worlds - you got to experience a new dish (eating rice for dinner) and also the deep seated comfort that came from really eating potatoes.

OK, so back to my pre-lunch tradition. Every warm and dry day I would head out about 11:30 and walk all the way from our house (at one end of our block) to the corner which was at the very far end of the block, to wait for my Dad. And when I say 'far', that is from my four year old self's perspective as the block consisted of about 7 small houses with a vacant lot in the middle of it. Although, it really did seem like quite a hike for me at the time.

And it wasn't without risk that I made this daily journey. The third house on the block had an extra door on the front whch had been boarded up for some reason and, naturally, we neighbourhood kids terrified ourselves by believing that a hideous witch lived behind that door. So I walked leisurely down the street each morning, observing what was going on around me, but sprinting madly past the 'witch house'.

It was always a thrill to get past that house, of course, but even better still because then came the vacant lot because quite often there were horses or ponies walking around, munching away on the long grass. You see, the house on the other (and safer!) side of the lot was owned by a man who kept and raced horses. It seems so strange now to imagine such a thing, but this was a small town in a rural area, and in the late fifties it seemed quite normal.

The next three houses had young children like myself so I had to allow for spontaneous play times. Because as long as the weather was good, children played outside. There were no 'play dates' or being driven hither and yon by parents. No way. Your only choice of friends was the kids on your own block - like them or not. And it does seem unusual now to imagine mothers urging very young children to 'go outside and play', but that is the way it was back then. We really had complete freedom to do whatever we wanted, as long as we didn't leave the neighbourhood. That was understood. We just went out, met up with the other kids, and then used our vivid imaginations to create fun games. It was an unwritten rule that we would report back home at meal times, and when the street lights came on in the evenings. But the rest of the day was ours.

And speaking of mealtimes, what great memories I have of those peanut butter sandwich fuelled morning adventures. At the end of the long and fascinating trek to the end of our block, I would sit down on the grass of the boulevard and open my little packet. I would sit there and quietly nibble away on my little sandwiches while staring down the street for the first sighting of my Dad. It always seemed to take so long! But, eventually, I would see his blue Studebaker swing onto the street. He would approach the corner slowly, always smiling and waving to me. Then he would stop the car and let me hop in, and drive us both back home for our hot 'dinner'.

Since then I have probably eaten about a million peanut butter sandwiches, either plain or toasted, or on a crusty roll. Or enjoyed peanut butter on crackers, in celery, in stir fries, in Pad Thais, or in cookies or various chocolate bars. And one very memorable time, back in the seventies, my friends - Joyce and Peter - entertained me on a warm summer day in their home by the beach. They had made a beautiful peanut butter cake from scratch and had served it quite generously along with a large pot of the most perfect, piping hot tea. Now, that was an experience to remember.

But I would have to say that my very best memory is of carrying those little packets of peanut butter sandwiches all the way to the corner, and of all those fun (and scary) adventures I had along the way.

Cheers!

Diane

Recipe for Peanut Butter Cake

Because I doubt you'd be very excited about duplicating my little sandwiches, I am giving you a recipe for a Peanut Butter Cake. I can't imagine that it could possibly equal Joyce and Peter's amazing cake, but it seems far less decadent and more in keeping with our current times. Personally, I am going to whip up this cake, along with a couple of handfuls of chocolate chips on top, and enjoy it with a nice, hot cup of tea.

http://www.dairygoodness.ca/recipes/peanut-butter-cake?Wt.srch=1&gclid=CIKeqduk5J8CFd4D5QodJUJFGg

(Both this week's photo and recipe are courtesy of "dairygoodness.ca". Thank you!)

Yo Quiero Taco Pizza!

2010-02-01T14:40:00.000-08:00

"Without question, the greatest invention in the history of mankind is beer. Oh, I grant you that the wheel was also a fine invention, but the wheel does not go nearly as well with pizza." -- Dave Barry

Feeling hungry for the taste of your favourite pizza? Well, you're in luck! Pizza just happens to be one of the most ubiquitous dishes around. No doubt there are several pizzerias nearby, but if not, there are countless varieties of frozen pizzas, packaged pizza mixes, and ready-made pizza dough if you are keen to make your own.

Almost everyone loves pizza. From guys watching sporting events, to teenagers hanging out on the weekend, to families settling in and relaxing with an easy meal on a Friday night. In fact, a recent study showed that children aged 3-11 preferred pizza by far over all other possible dinner choices. And what about the people who are lucky enough to have friends who will help them move? No need to even think about what to feed these generous friends. It's pizza and beer. Always.

Apparently the first pizzeria in the U.S. was opened in New York City over 100 years ago and it is, remarkably, still open for business today. (http://www.firstpizza.com/) But it was when American soldiers returned from WWII service in Italy, missing and craving the pizza they had enjoyed there, that pizza really took off in a big way. And its popularity has grown by leaps and bounds ever since.

But the 'pizza craze' took a little time to reach my very small home town of Goderich in Southwestern Ontario. I was nearly 10 when the first pizzeria opened there in 1964. It was called "The Pizza Patio" and I remember it well for two reasons: my elder sister, Lori (then 16), got her first job there, and I celebrated my 10th birthday by eating this new and exotic food. And I loved it! Absolutely loved it. My two friends, however, were not as adventurous and could hardly be persuaded to try it. My Dad had taken us there, to "The Pizza Patio", and he was quite disappointed that the girls were so mulish. After all, he was one of the very few people in our rural area to have ever tried pizza before.

Some years before, probably in the late 50's, my Dad and his brother-in-law had gone on a rare trip to the big city of Detroit, Michigan, to see a ballgame at Tiger Stadium. It was quite a big event for them and they had a great time. All the excitement of the day apparently gave them an appetite so they decided to dine at a local restaurant before heading home. This, again, was very unusual as eating in restaurants was very uncommon back then - at least for our family!

Well, Dad and Uncle Charlie got settled in and were looking around, checking the place out, when they noticed many signs and posters advertising the new rage in food dishes - "Pizza Pie from Italy!" The waitress strongly suggested it and touted its incredible popularity saying, "Everyone loves it!" She tried to describe pizza to these two Huron County men who had probably never eaten a meal in their lives that didn't contain both meat and potatoes. She eventually gave up the description and told them to just go ahead and try it. And so they did.

They had no idea what to expect but were clearly feeling excited about trying something so new. The waitress asked them if they wanted a small, a medium, or a large and that perplexed them as well. It was so hard to know, as they had no idea what they looked like. It seems that Uncle Charlie puzzled over the decision for a bit and then said, "Well, I'm really feeling hungry so I think I'll get a large one." And then (somewhat surprisingly) my Dad, a slight man with a notoriously small appetite, agreed that he'd have a large one as well.

Dad told me later that they both nearly fell off their chairs when the two enormous 'pizza pies' arrived. Their eyes were practically as big as the great wheels of food filling up their table. He said they gave it their all, but between the two of them they were unable to finish even one. But it certainly made a good story for Dad to tell his family and friends. He had fun describing this amazing new dish with his arms spread wide as if telling a 'fish story'.

Since my first taste of pizza at age 10, I went on to see and to eat many more pizzas of astonishing varieties. But I was surprised last week when my daughter, Eliza, said that her meal of choice for her 21st birthday was a pizza I had never even heard of - a "Taco Pizza".

So, we headed out to shop for the necessary ingredients: pizza crusts, taco sauce, refried beans, salsa, a variety of sweet peppers, a red onion, corn niblets, and a slab of marble cheese. These ingredients were assembled in layers (see recipe below), then the two pizzas were cooked. (We had planned to make three, but wisely settled on two.) Once the cheese was bubbling and looking very fine, we topped the pizzas with shredded lettuce and drizzled them with sour cream. Amazing.

We quickly found out that taco pizza is delicious! Eliza, her brother, Daniel, her boyfriend, C.J., and her friend, Devin, and I enjoyed our thick, tasty, and hot slices enthusiastically. But in the end, our meal bore quite a resemblance to Dad's and Uncle Charlie's long-ago 'pizza pie' experience in Detroit. Because even with five hungry diners at our table (including three young men!), try as we might, we couldn't finish even ONE taco pizza!

Cheers!!

Diane

Recipe for Taco Pizza

1 pizza crust (any kind you like)
1 can refried beans
1 small can taco sauce
1/2 cup salsa (mild, medium, or hot - your call)
1/2 red onion, diced
2 sweet peppers, diced (any colour)
1/2 can corn niblets (drained well)
2 cups shredded marble cheese
2 cups shredded romaine lettuce
1 cup sour cream, thinned with a little milk or cream (placed in a squeeze bottle)
Black olives, optional (We didn't use them because Eliza despises them.)

Mix refried beans and taco sauce and spread on pizza crust. Spread salsa over bean mixture.
Top with onion and peppers and corn.
Top all with grated cheddar.

Place on a pizza stone (preferrably) or a pizza pan. Bake at 400 degrees for about 20 minutes.
(Or until the cheese looks perfectly done to you.)

Remove pizza from oven carefully and place on a serving plate. Cover with shredded lettuce and drizzle with the sour cream. Slice pizza and serve immediately.

Wash down with a cold 'cerveza'. (Muy importante!)

"If it's nae Scottish, it's cr@p!"

2010-01-25T15:58:00.000-08:00

"What children need most are the essentials that grandparents provide in abundance. They give unconditional love, kindness, patience, humor, comfort, lessons in life. And, most importantly, cookies." -- Rudolph Giuliani

I've been thinking a lot about my grandmother these days. Actually, 'Granny' was what we affectionately called her. She certainly provided all of the above 'essentials' - in spades. And although, to my knowledge, she never baked a cookie in her life, she could certainly find her way to a shop or a bakery.

Granny was a very funny lady, although I don't think she would ever have described herself that way. She had so many little sayings that she repeated so often that they became solidly entrenched in our family's lexicon. For example, whenever we dropped in for a visit, we would be promptly offered a hot cup of coffee and some kind of (purchased) baked good. And if we declined because of our waistlines she would invariably reply, "Ach! They're fresh! They'll do ye no harm!" So, apparently it was only stale cakes and cookies that put on weight!

This is certainly one of the expressions that has carried on in my life as well as with my siblings. In fact, we have clearly used them so much that they have been picked up by various friends and colleagues. It always sounds so funny to hear other people repeating Granny's words. But maybe that's because they must be said with a thick Scottish brogue to be accurate.

Yes, Granny was a Scot through and through. Born in 1901 in Uddingston, Scotland, a satellite town south of Glasgow. The men in her family had been hardworking coal miners who rarely saw the light of day, let alone their families. They lived in 'council flats' which provided the most basic housing needs, but not much more than that. But even so, she always spoke fondly of 'the old country' and continued to enjoy many of the Scottish foods that she could find here in Canada.

Like Robertson's Golden Shred Orange Marmelade, McVitie's Digestive Biscuits with milk chocolate, Walker's Assorted Shortbread, and Walker's Highland Oatcakes.

I always have a laugh when I see a package of these oatcakes as it takes me back to my twenties - to a shopping trip with Granny to the Marks and Spencer here in London at the old Wellington Square Mall. She loved that store! I can see her now, bustling about, filling up her basket with Scottish goodies. But she stopped in her tracks when she realized that they were out of her favourite red-tartanned Highland Oatcakes.

I was sent to seek out a salesperson to inquire if there were, perhaps, a stash of them hidden in a back room. The clerk apologized for the lack of stock, but very graciously pointed out another shelf which was packed full of green-tartanned packages of Irish oatcakes.

I can still recall the perplexed expression on the young lady's face when Granny responded by saying, "Ach! Nae! These won't do." Said the clerk, "But, as you can see from the box, they are the very same thing! They simply come in a green box rather than in a red box." I could definitely sense some exasperation coming through, but this was totally lost on Granny.

"Nae, nae," she replied. "Nae. I'll just have tae do without and come back another time when you have the Scottish oatcakes in."

At this point I tried some gentle cajoling because I knew it would be either myself or my sister, Kathie, who would be driving her back to Marks and Spencer (a 200 km. round trip). And, besides, I knew how much she enjoyed an oatcake with some Robertson's marmalade, or a bit of cheese with her favourite beverage - a cup of coffee.

But she wouldn't budge an inch. Granny was like that. Absolutely immovable once her mind was made up. I tried everything I could think of to convince her that these Irish oatcakes were absolutely the same product, produced by the same company, in fact, and that the only difference was the green vs red box.

I was unsuccessful. "But why??" I wanted to know. "Why won't you just try them?"

"They're Irish!" she replied. And that was that.

And so, in memory of Granny and that memorable trip to Marks and Spencer, I am giving you a recipe for 'Irish Oatcakes' this week. I'm sure they will be delightful with marmalade, or a bit of cheese, or whatever else may take your fancy.

And I'm kind of hoping that from 'across the veil' I can make Granny smile. Or maybe even chuckle. Because that would be really funny.

Cheers!!

Diane

This week's photo and recipe are courtesy of "wholefoodsmarket.com". Thank you!

http://www.wholefoodsmarket.com/recipes/recipe.php?recipeId=2616

You can't eat there just once!

2010-01-18T16:21:00.000-08:00

"I have the simplest tastes. I am always satisfied with the best." - Oscar Wilde

I live in London, a city of over 350,000 inhabitants who are catered to by hundreds of restaurants, bistros, and eateries representing cuisines from all around the globe. Although I rarely dine out, this week I had the delightful opportunity to do so - not once, but twice. And I chose the same restaurant both times!

"The Vietnam Restaurant" is located on Dundas Street, right across from the enormous Kellogg factory. And with a massive landmark like this, it's easy to remember just where to find it.

This restaurant can be found in an unglamorous part of the city, in a rather industrial neighbourhood. The front of the building is nondescript, the signage quite plain. But when you walk through the extremely modest front door, you will breathe in the tantalizing scents of warm, spicy Asian dishes and your taste buds will begin to dance in anticipation.

When you walk in, you will no doubt be greeted by the friendly owner, an originally Vietnamese gentleman who has worked hard and put all of his children through university here in Canada. He has smiled warmly and welcomed me every time I have been there - no matter what the day or the time. I'm sure he has a home, but it seems unlikely that he spends much time there.

Once your senses have taken in the incredible aromas, your focus can then shift to the decor which is, well, rather outlandish and yet plain at the same time. The tables and chairs are simple and understated and arranged in perfectly ordinary rows. But the walls are painted in a shocking "Pepto-Bismol" pink and here and there will find gold-coloured frescoes of ancient Asian elephants marching the troops off to a faraway war. (When my young son first saw this, his comment was, "Wow! Now, who wouldn't love this??")

As soon as you are seated, you will be presented with a pot of hot green tea and enough tiny cups to go around. As well, you will be given a very extensive menu with each dish nicely described, and a book of photos of some of the more popular dishes which can be quite helpful. You will then write down the numbers of your chosen dishes on a slip of paper and then the menus and photos will be swept up and your choices delivered swiftly to the kitchen.

You can then sip away at your tea and chat with your dinner mate(s) while waiting for the succulent dishes to appear. It is hard to wait, but the reward is great. Everything I have ever seen looks wonderful. The food is presented in a very appealing fashion, without being at all pretentious.

My very favourite dish is the "spicy rice noodles with tofu and vegetables". The rice noodles are cooked perfectly, the tofu is cooked beautifully as well, and the dish contains lots of other thinly sliced veggies, crispy bean sprouts, and crunchy chopped peanuts - all coated with the most tasty, spicy peanut sauce which delights the palate with layer upon layer of flavour. It also comes with a slice of fresh lime which, when lightly squeezed over the noodles, really brings out a "popping" brightness to the dish.

I always eat this meal with chopsticks because it tastes so much better that way. I always have plenty to eat, and I invariably leave with a takeaway box for the next day's lunch. And all this for less than ten bucks.

I would encourage anyone to dine at "The Vietnam Restaurant", but if you don't happen to live in this area, this is a dish you should definitely try at home.

This is an easy, economical, nutritious, and tasty dish to make and the flavours will transport you to another part of the world. I was searching around to find a great recipe that would incorporate all of the above adjectives and I found the perfect one in the most unusual spot.

And I think when you see the website this recipe came from, you will understand why it seemed to be clearly the very best choice.

Cheers!

Diane

This week's photo and recipe are courtesy of "Kellogg" - thank you!

http://www.specialk.co.uk/recipes/28337_spicy-tofu-pad-thai.aspx

Starting the New Year Off in Hot Water

2010-01-04T17:11:00.000-08:00

“The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears, or the sea.” -- Isak Dinesen

For the first two decades of my adult life every New Year's Day was spent in exactly the same way. There was never a decision to be made. It was carved in stone. And it was wonderful.

As I generally stayed up quite late on New Year's Eve, it was natural to want to sleep in a bit. Then, I spent the rest of the morning taking down the Christmas tree and putting away all of the festive decorations. Then it was time to get dressed nicely and head over to the cozy home of my ex-husband's Trinidadian godmother, Ramah. As the years went by, four children were added to our family and four as well to my brother- and sister-in-law's family. My brother-in-law, when he was young, had coined a phrase for these special New Year's Day visits - “Tasty Times” - and that was indeed an understatement.

The whole family and some of Ramah's close friends would arrive in the early afternoon and would greet each other and chat very animatedly over drinks for the adults and a sparkling tropical fruit punch for the kids. And as we talked, our taste buds were tantalized by the incredibly rich aromas of the Indian feast which awaited us.

There would always be two types of curried meat, delicious vegetables, flaky paratha bread (roti), salads and raitas (cucumbers and yogurt), and my personal favourite, chana masala, along with fragrant rice pulao. There was always so much food on the table and it was always incredibly delicious. And Ramah, generous woman that she is, always plied us with the gift of leftovers to take home at the end of the day.

It has been many years since I've had the joy of a New Year's Day feast at Ramah's, but the memories I have are good and warm and rich. And because she so kindly taught me how to cook some of her Indian dishes, they have remained a big part of my family's cooking traditions.

Now, over the past decade and a half, our New Year's Days have been spent in a wide variety of ways, but never more delightfully exciting than this year's experience. My 20-year old daughter, Eliza, had to work on the weekend, so she stayed at home, and my 16-year old son, Daniel, was out of town at his friend's. And so, on New Year's Eve afternoon, my sister, Kathie, and my partner, Mark, and I travelled up north to the city of Collingwood on Georgian Bay to celebrate.

We were fortunate to be able to stay at my nephew's condo on the Bay as he and his girlfriend are currently vacationing in her native Australia. It is a beautiful home and it was very cozy – especially with a nice fire crackling away in the fireplace. We enjoyed a very subdued evening; we ordered pizza and had some drinks and conversation by the fire. Very relaxing indeed. Or so we thought. But the next day would take the concept of relaxation to all new heights.

We spent the better part of the day at “Scandinave Spa” (www.scandinaveblue.com) – an amazing “four season relaxation experience”, as their brochure explains. We found this to be entirely true because as the afternoon wore on, the weather worsened considerably with the temperature plummeting, the wind picking up wildly, and the snow falling incessantly. And yet we spent our time there mostly outside in the elements, and yet feeling very, very comfortable indeed.

The Spa consists of the following experiences: Finnish sauna, eucalyptus steam bath, thermal and Nordic waterfalls, three different and very large hot baths(about 40ºC.), and icy cold plunge pools (about 12ºC.) The idea is basically that you enjoy each possibility in a prescribed sequence. First, you warm up in a hot pool (apparently salt water) or the sauna or steam bath, then you plunge into an icy pool or under an icy waterfall, then get warm again, then relax quietly in a solarium, or by the outdoor fire pit, or in a hammock – though that would be best in the warmer weather.

It is astonishing how rejuvenated this makes you feel! By the end of our time there I felt at least ten years younger. And it was so much fun. Honestly. It is incredible how enchanting it feels to be relaxing in a very hot pool in the midst of a growing winter storm. It is an amazing feeling – the mists swirling around you, the snowflakes settling onto your face, the lights from the ski runs twinkling softly on the mountain. It was a slice of heaven. And the perfect way to begin a new year.

After dark, we very reluctantly packed up and left the spa – still feeling a delicious core warmth despite having to drive through the storm.

We were feeling ravenous by then and far too relaxed and mellow to want to cook, so there was a unanimous decision to stop at the local “Tandoori House” and pick up some Indian food. Mark chose chicken Madras with basmati rice and chapati bread, and Kathie and I shared a mushroom biryani (a lovely rice dish with mushrooms, toasted cashews, and raisins), saag paneer (Indian cheese cooked with spinach in a tomato gravy), and – my favourite – chana masala (curried chick peas and potatoes).

We gathered up the takeaway curries and scurried back to the condo. We put on the fire and set the table for our Indian dining experience. It was all absolutely delicious. After our meal, we relaxed in the living room by the fire, sipped on some drinks and relaxed even more. It was the perfect ending to an excellent beginning of the new year.

And as I wallowed in all of this mellowness, I was also revelling at the day behind us – a brand new, totally different experience which turned out to be incredible. But I also felt a nice warmth because the day had included a delicious Indian meal which so wonderfully recalled all of the New Year's Day meals I had enjoyed so consistently for so many years. So I raised my glass of wine and deep in my heart there were these words: “Thank you, Ramah. For all the great meals, for all your hospitality, for all your love. And Happy New Year!”

Cheers,

Diane

I hope you will try to make Chana Masala. I have chosen this recipe because it is very easy to make. It even has a non-threatening English name, Chickpea Potato Curry. It is a delicious, nutritious, and inexpensive dish that smells amazing as it is cooking. It is the perfect dish for starting a new year or, well, any time at all. Enjoy!

http://simplyrecipes.com/recipes/chickpea_potato_curry/

Photo above and recipe courtesy of “simplyrecipes.com”. Thank you!

A Shopping Storm Before the Christmas Calm

2009-12-29T12:03:00.000-08:00

"The best of all gifts around any Christmas tree: the presence of a happy family all wrapped up in each other." -- Burton Hills

For a terrible moment, I feared that my family would have only oatmeal for their Christmas morning breakfast, and left-over Tofu Pad Thai for Christmas dinner. I was all set to let panic overwhelm me when suddenly I thought: Why not do something different and take some action?

It was Christmas Eve, last week, and my two youngest children, Eliza and Daniel, and I had been busy doing our final gift shopping across the busy city. In the mid-afternoon we realized that we had better abandon the stores and drive immediately back to the centre of town if we wanted to watch the Olympic Flame being run into Victoria Park. Which we did.

Not surprisingly – 8,000 other people also thought this would be a grand way to spend the afternoon before Christmas. We eventually, and gratefully, found a parking space some long blocks from the park and we had to walk as quickly as possible to get there on time. Or, rather, the kids walked quickly on their very long legs, and I trotted along, gasping for breath, several paces behind them.

Well, the crowd was very dense, packed all along the walkway where the runners would be coming in, but we did manage to see the flame as it was run exuberantly into the park and up to the main stage. Eliza and Daniel were even able to get their photo taken with a flame runner holding an unlit torch. It was fun, but, unfortunately, we didn't have time to hear the speeches. We still had our grocery shopping to do and time was running out.

I've become a little spoiled by the city and have come to expect stores to be open quite late (by small town standards). I realized that they would close early on Christmas Eve, so I was thinking that I had until probably 7:00, or at the very least, 6:00. It was after 4:00 before we could push our way out of the crowd, then we still had to trek to our car and drive to the grocery store that is nearest to our house, though not, sadly, 'near' to it.

I was feeling quite prepared for the shopping, though. I had made a complete list of items needed, then I had rewritten the list into appropriate categories as I would normally walk through the store. Produce, deli items, frozen desserts, dairy, dry goods, and so on. But, still, I was counting on the kids to help me out by being 'runners' as we passed through the various sections. As a team, I felt we would be able to get in and out of there in pretty good time.

However, as we pulled into the grocery store parking lot, I looked across the street to see a store Eliza and I had been in the day before. I knew Daniel needed one more gift and I thought there was a good chance he'd find something there. So, I suggested that they hop out and dash across to that store, try to find a gift, then dash back to find me in the grocery store. They asked me if I'd be all right and I answered: Yes, of course, you'll be back quickly; I'll just get a little start on things.

I parked the car, hopped out, grabbing some cloth grocery bags, and then a cart and walked through the door. As I was immediately in the produce section, I pushed the cart to the right and began to choose the best red pepper. And then, suddenly, and shockingly, I heard this loud and shrill announcement: “Attention Shoppers! This store will be closing in 15 minutes. Please make your final selections and make your way to the cashiers.” My reaction? Well, as the young people of this passing decade have learned to text - “WTF”???? 15 minutes??? How can I possibly do this??

How could it be that we would have no special Christmas breakfast or dinner? How disappointed would the kids be? So, I decided right then and there that I had no time to shop the way I usually do – pondering each purchase carefully, weighing up sizing and pricing and competing brands. I didn't even have time to consult my list!

Fortunately, I had read through my list several times and so basically had it in my head. I started pushing my cart quickly and deftly around the perimeter of the store, trying my best not to knock over the other panicking shoppers. Peppers, cole slaw, potatoes and sweet potatoes – check. Bread. Sliced ham for breakfast and a turkey breast. Imagine that, a turkey breast, something I have never purchased nor cooked before, snatched off the shelf without even considering the price. (Well, maybe a quick glance.) It was a whirlwind!

I was in the dairy section choosing eggs and cheese for the breakfast menu, but couldn't find the Pillsbury Crescent Rolls which were essential to the main dish. Just at that moment, a store clerk appeared and pointed me in the right direction. I was all set to go on to the next section when I realized with some alarm that I had forgotten to get veggie bacon and vegan cheese – absolutely essential since over half the family is vegetarian. So, I had to turn back! And backtracking was wasting previous time – not what I needed right now.

I had, quite surprisingly, made it all the way to the frozen section when the “5 minutes remaining, shoppers” announcement came bursting through the speakers. Yikes. I grabbed up some frozen peas and hash browns, then remembered the few packaged and canned items I still needed. Suddenly, around the corner appeared Eliza and Daniel at quick pace and eager to help. Quick! Quick! Run over to the corner over there, choose a frozen dessert, and meet me at the checkout.

While they ran off to choose dessert, I pushed my cart at full speed to the interior isles in search of water chestnuts, mandarin orange slices, and shredded coconut. The shrill admonishment of “Attention Shoppers, our store is now closing. Please make your way to the cashiers” was in my ears just as I wheeled up to the checkout lanes. Wow. Then, the kids came running over with a lovely Tiramisu that was the perfect choice for dessert.

While we were waiting in line, I surveyed my cart, scanning quickly and urgently to see if anything important had been forgotten. Oh, no – turnips! It wouldn't be Christmas dinner without turnips. So, I sent the kids off and running back to the produce department where they had some trouble as the sign in front of what they perceived as turnips, said “rutabagas”. After a speedy consultation with the produce clerk, they bolted back to the checkout.

Once we were back in the car, heading home with our groceries all packed up and safely in the trunk, we began to laugh and high-five each other for our astonishing success. What a relief!

And we were all comforted by the knowledge that whatever gifts we would find under our tree on Christmas morning, we knew we would be enjoying the warmth of having our family all together – with nowhere to go and nothing to do but enjoy each other. And, oh, yes – we would be relishing the abundance of our hastily purchased Christmas meals, as well.

Happy New Year, Everyone!

Cheers,

Diane

Featured Recipe: "HG Egga-Pinwheels"

http://www.hungry-girl.com/girls/biteoutdetails.php?isid=1916

We have experimented with various Christmas morning breakfast recipes over the years, and I would say that these were really a big hit. We couldn't find any "Pillsbury Seamless Dough Sheets" here in London (probably only available in U.S.), so we just used the regular "Pillsbury Crescent Rolls" and pushed the seams together to form a rectangle. This worked well. We made two batches: one with thinly sliced ham and grated cheddar, and one with Yves veggie Canadian bacon and shredded soy cheese. Some chose ketchup to dip them in, and some chose maple syrup. There were none left, so that's a good sign.

(The photo above and the featured recipe are courtesy of the wonderful food blog "http:www.hungry-girl.com". Just sign up for a free membership and you will receive countless recipes and tips for losing weight while eating tasty food. And what a perfect time of year for that!)

A Heartwarming Christmas, A World Away

2009-12-21T11:17:00.000-08:00

"Mauritius was made first, then heaven was copied from it." - Mark Twain

When I was a child, our family followed very specific Christmas traditions that I enjoyed so much I still follow many of them to this day.

We children (ultimately five of us) would wake up early on Christmas morning as excited as it is possible to be. Absolutely bursting with anticipation. But, did we run madly down the stairs to see what Santa had left for us? No. We did not. We waited at the top of the stairs until our parents gave us the go-ahead to come down.

And how amazing all the gifts looked under our tree! The night before there had been only a few wrapped packages but in the morning there were so many presents that they spilled out from under the branches. They looked wonderful and they stayed looking that way for as long as possible.

We were allowed to open our stockings and one gift each – one at a time – and then there was a break for breakfast. At the time it seemed an impossibly long interruption, but it really was a great way to increase our already sky high levels of excitement.

After breakfast we would scurry eagerly back to the living room where our Dad would hand out one gift at a time and we would all take the time to really notice and appreciate each and every present.

Having had such great memories of Christmas morning, I wanted to create the same for my four children so we followed the same tradition of gift opening. And ever since he was 14 years old, my elder son, Ben, has donned a Santa cap and carefully handed out the family’s gifts one by one.

Except for last year. Ben and his girlfriend, Kim, spent last Christmas in a tropical paradise. They travelled to Mauritius, a tiny island in the middle of the southern Indian Ocean – an island bursting with vibrant colours both from plants and from paint. And what a Christmas Day Ben had! So completely different from any other Christmas including seeing skinny Black Santas in shorts and enjoying an exquisite open-air dinner at a restaurant on the pristine, sandy beach.

Well, back here in London, we were having our traditional day with my younger son, Daniel, filling in as Santa. In the mid-afternoon as I was relaxing between the gift opening and the dinner preparation, the phone rang. It was Ben. Instead of the usual greeting exchange he quickly said, “Please write down this number and call me right back, OK? I’m at someone’s house.” Then, he gave me the number, I wrote it down, and we hung up.

I called him back right away and his ebullient positive energy flooded right through the phone lines to me. His extreme happiness was palpable and contagious. What a treat.

Apparently Ben had bought a long distance phone card so he could call us on Christmas Day. But later in the evening when he tried calling from a pay phone, the card would not work and the operator said he would have to call from a land line.

So, Ben went off on a mission to find a phone and was feeling highly determined to succeed. While walking down a random street, he happened upon a Creole-speaking extended Mauritian family celebrating Christmas with a festive party in their front yard. (Not a very common occurrence in Canada!)

Fortunately, they knew enough English to understand Ben’s request. He wanted so much to call his family on Christmas Day and he had a calling card but just needed a home phone.

They immediately took him inside to their phone, but refused to let him use the card – even though he was a complete stranger of another race and culture who was planning to call a place half-way around the globe.

Once I had called Ben back, he recounted some of the details of his day, then he suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, wow! Thank you so much!” He couldn’t believe it, but the man of the house had just handed him a whisky on the rocks, accompanied with a very big smile. After just a few minutes, he paused once again for some more exuberant thank yous as they had brought him a plate of delicious, spicy Mauritian food.

So, we talked for a bit longer and Ben spoke with his siblings, then we wished each other a Merry Christmas and he was invited to join the party with his new-found Mauritian friends. He says they went far, far beyond hospitality. The entire family, in fact, focused their entire concentration on him and treated him like a king.

Astonishingly (as always) the year has slipped by far too quickly and we are once again approaching Christmas. And this year – whether with snow or without – it will most certainly be too cold for our family to do any celebrating on our front lawn. But this week, as Ben puts on the Santa cap and hands out this year’s presents, we will remember to send some good vibes to a generous family in far-off Mauritius whose pure and genuine kindness to a stranger gave Ben an amazing Christmas gift that will never, ever be forgotten.

Mauritian Mocha Spice Squares

Mauritius is a very multicultural island which has created very diverse and delicious culinary traditions. France has had a strong influence on their desserts and many contain such island staples as vanilla, cinnamon and rum. This recipe contains all of these items plus other spices, coffee and chocolate. How could it be anything other than delectable? Since it's the holiday season, I think these squares would be just perfect with a hot mug of coffee topped off with a little Bailey's. Enjoy!

http://www.theworldwidegourmet.com/recipes/mocha-spice-squares/

Merry Christmas, Everyone!

Diane

Friendship is a Many Layered Thing

2009-12-14T19:22:00.000-08:00

" Remember, the greatest gift is not found in a store nor under a tree, but in the hearts of true friends."

- Cindy Lew

My friend, Deborah, has the most infectious laugh I've ever known. Back in the eighties, we both worked in a small hospital in separate departments, but across the hall from one another. Quite often I would hear the lilting melody of Deb's hearty laughter as it wafted across the corridor and into my ears. This sound would always cause me to smile broadly, no matter what thoughts had been in my mind previously.

Deb is a successful business owner, an amazing designer and decorator, a talented artist, a lover of nature in general and, in particular, extremely bird crazy.

One of Deb's favourite things to do is to walk through a forest or sit down along the river and quietly observe and photograph the birds and other creatures in their natural habitat. She has also designed and created the most enchanting garden where in moments of relaxation she can enjoy a little birdwatching from the comfort of her own back yard.

One hot July day this past summer, Deb and I spent most of the afternoon sitting in our respective back yards, each nursing a cold beer and talking our hearts out over the phone. We were remembering, encouraging, laughing, and also describing to each other the various birds and butterflies that were soaring above us and around us as we visited. Even as engaged as we were in conversation, Deb would never fail to notice and appreciate a bird.

This brought to mind the times, years ago, when we had travelled together to Toronto along the hideously busy highway, the 401. Deb would always drive. She would be zipping along, chatting away, while enormous trucks thundered along on either side of us, behind us, and ahead of us. And then, as I sat stiffly with all of my muscles clenched tightly with fear, she would suddenly trill, "Oh, look over there! There's a grey crowned rosy finch!" or "Hey! A chestnut-collared longspur!" Invariably these spontaneous ornithological sightings would cause my already high anxiety level to ratchet up yet another notch.

But after we had arrived safely back home and I was feeling quite a bit more relaxed, Deb's enthusiasm became so contagious that I soon found myself on another road trip with her - this time on a mission to buy birds. I purchased a very pretty little peach-faced lovebird and a rather smallish cage, and Deb bought a couple of very tiny finches and a much larger cage. Well, although my new pet was called a "love bird", the wee finches were much more deserving of the title. It soon became very apparent that they had an insatiable desire to 'be fruitful and multiply.'

Before long, Deb was off to buy an even bigger cage, and then a bigger one still. But the flock of finches kept on proliferating. It came to the point where Deb had an enormous wooden cage constructed in her living room; floor to ceiling and the entire length of one wall.

Now, Deb is very social and enjoys entertaining. I can recall so clearly her New Year's Eve party that year. Her living room was full of nattily clad guests, drinks in hand, unable to focus on anything other than the astonishing 'Wall of Finches'. It was the master of all conversation pieces.

It was only when people realized there was a delicious array of party food spread out on the kitchen table that they allowed their stomachs to tear them away from the tiny birds.

I remember that the most popular dish was the "Mexican 7-Layer Dip" and everyone was enjoying it so much that the party could not possibly be moved back into the living room until every speck had been devoured.

So, now, as the holiday season quickly approaches, I will spend a good deal of time considering all of the many incredibly kind and loving people who have graced, and still grace my life.

And I believe I will whip up a "Mexican 7-Layer Dip", crack open a Corona, and raise a toast to my wonderful friend, Deborah.

(Merry Christmas, Deb!!)

This holiday season, treat your friends and family to a "Mexican 7-Layer Dip" and they will be very happy. The Canadian Living Test Kitchen says they first published a recipe for this dip way back in 1988 and they are STILL receiving requests for it. Say no more.

This week's recipe and photo are courtesy of "SimplyRecipes.com". Thank you!

http://simplyrecipes.com/recipes/7_layer_bean_dip/

Cheers!

Diane

The Great "Pie by the Mile" Fiasco

2009-12-03T15:57:00.000-08:00

Back when I was about 7 and my sister, Kathie, was about 4, we went to our grandparents' place in Hamilton for a week. During that time, our very Scottish Granny invited her friend, Rosie, over for a visit. Rosie was a Romanian immigrant and we had heard many stories about her over the years. But this was to be the first and only time I ever met her.

We were told that Rosie wanted to show us how to make a famous Romanian dessert which she called 'pie by the mile'. The dish had earned such a title because it involved the laborious rolling out of pastry into a very large and extremely thin sheet. (Thin enough to read a newspaper through it, apparently.) Can you imagine how excited we were? Granny's European friend letting us help her make a fancy pie with such a great name? We were hopping up and down with the very thought of it.

We were so excited, in fact, that we just couldn't wait for her to arrive and we wanted to go down to the street to wait for her. Mind you, our grandparents lived in an apartment above a dry cleaners on a very busy downtown city street and we were small town kids, but we were keen to do it. Amazingly, Granny let us go out, and she would peer down from the window every few minutes to check on us.

Well, we watched and watched and watched every woman walking down the street to try to catch a glimpse of Rosie the Romanian. This was extremely challenging because we had no idea what she looked like. So, here we were, two excited little girls, standing on the edge of the sidewalk, getting jostled by the crowd, on a mission to greet this exotic European woman.

All of a sudden, out of the blue, a rather largish, brusque woman walked up to us with a very stern scowl and a raised finger, shouting, "Get away from those filthy garbage cans, you little street urchins!!" Then, suddenly, she disappeared into the crowd. Of course, we were horrified to have been spoken to in this way, so we ran as quickly as possible back to the stairs and bolted right up them to tell Granny all about it. (And to ask her what 'urchins' were, I imagine.) Our little hearts were beating very fast but, honestly, they nearly stopped when we burst through the apartment door and saw Granny chatting away with that horrible woman. It was shocking and unbelievable to us that this 'nasty old witch' was Granny's friend! How could we tell Granny now?

Well, Rosie surely wasn't about to tell her either! In fact, she glared at us at regular intervals to ensure our silence. And so it was that our exciting adventure in European pastry making ended up becoming an afternoon filled with liberal helpings of nervous tension, coupled with a generous portion of fear. I didn't want any part of it. I can clearly recall eating only the most minimal piece of the much ballyhooed 'pie by the mile' and even that tasted bitter on my tongue. But it's a dish I've never forgotten!

Romanian 'Cere du Mere', or 'Apple Strudel', or (for nostalgia's sake), 'Pie by the Mile'

Fortunately, you won't have to suffer through the tedious process of rolling out pastry to a paper-thin consistency because phyllo pastry is easily available and easy to use. Trust me, you'll feel yourself transforming into a European pastry chef. Romanian, or otherwise.

Please try the recipe below and enchant your family, friends, and coworkers. They all need a treat!

http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/sara-moulton/apple-strudel-recipe/index.html

Recipe courtesy Robert Bleifer. Photo (above) and recipe description courtesy of Sara Moulton.

For an endless supply of amazing recipes, tips, and tantalizing menu ideas, please check out:

http://www.foodnetwork.com

Cheers!

Diane

An Egg-cellent Twist on an Old Favourite

2009-11-26T18:00:00.000-08:00

"Remember, people will judge you by your actions, not your intentions. You may have a heart of gold, but so does a hard-boiled egg."

-Anonymous (unfortunately!)

Some years ago, back in Goderich - my very small home town in Southwestern Ontario - I found myself seated amidst a group of strangers, at a long wooden table, in the basement of a church. We were all there for the 'lunch' following the funeral of an elderly woman we had known.

Now I can't speak for the rest of the world, but I do know that in small towns in Southwestern Ontario, the funeral lunches put on by the 'church ladies' seldom varies. There is coffee and tea served in dainty little tea cups, plates of plain celery and carrot sticks, a variety of small sandwiches (egg salad, tuna, and ham - all cut neatly into triangles) and a few trays of assorted cookies. Maybe even some gooey squares if the church ladies were feeling ambitious.

Well, we had 'enjoyed' our meager lunch and had endured the post-funereal chatterings with total strangers and yet, somehow, it felt a little rude to simply leave. And so, probably more out of boredom than hunger, the older woman across from me said - to no one in particular - "Welllllll.........I'd really like another ham sandwich, but I just don't feel like walking all the way across the room for one." At once, the very gentlemanly gentleman to her right chirped up. "Oh! I have an egg salad sandwich here which I haven't even touched and I would be happy to give it to you." "Why, thank you," replied the woman politely (but with a slight grimace), "but I just hate egg salad sandwiches."

But then, judging by the look on her face, she must have mentally heaved her body off the wooden chair, shuffled clear across the room to the food table and back, and had simply found it far too great an ordeal. She sighed a great sigh all of a sudden, then turned to the generous gentleman with a coy smile and said, "Ohhh.....maybe just a half!"

In many a church basement I've enjoyed those little sandwiches myself, and that is a very good thing because as an almost life-long vegetarian, they are always my only choice. But, I have to say, with all modesty, that the church ladies' offerings could not hold a taper to the deliciously upgraded version which I just recently created.

One evening last week I had made some hard-boiled eggs and decided to save two in order to make egg salad sandwiches for my lunch the next day. In the morning I started thinking about what I could add to make the sandwiches a little more nutritious and a little more interesting. Suddenly I remembered that I had some shredded carrots (about half a cup or so) left over from another recipe. I thought that sounded tasty and would add nice colour and texture as well.

But carrots are a little sweet and mayonnaise is rather sweet so I needed something that would add a bit of savoury zing. Well, fortunately my partner, Mark, always keeps a stash of olives in my fridge so I was happy when I saw the jar of queen-sized pitted olives stuffed with pimentos. What a nice combination, I thought; these will be delicious sandwiches. And indeed they were!

Because these delightful, crunchy sandwiches contain the addition of both green olives and shredded carrots, I have coined the name "Oliot". And whenever I say that word, my mind's ear hears only the highly memorable voice of "E.T." calling stridently for his earthling friend!

I hope you will give this recipe a try and let me know how you like it. This is what you'll need to do:

RECIPE FOR OLIOTS (Makes 2 or more, as you wish....)

2 hard-boiled eggs
1/2 cup shredded carrot
6 queen-sized pitted green olives stuffed with pimento
mayonnaise to your taste (always use real mayonnaise, the results are superior)
prepared mustard to your taste
season with salt and fresh cracked pepper, to taste

Place 2 eggs in a saucepan half-filled with water and place on high heat. Add 1 tsp salt and 1 tsp vinegar to the water. Watch the pot carefully until the water begins to boil, then turn the heat down to medium. Now it's time to watch the clock - for exactly 15 minutes. Then, remove the pot from the heat, place in sink and run cold water into the pot until the water in the pot has become cool. Leave the eggs alone for at least 15 minutes. Then, crack the shells and carefully peel them off, placing the hard-boiled eggs into a bowl. Mash them up finely with a potato masher and/or a fork.

Mix the rest of the ingredients into the eggs with (preferably) a wooden spoon. Spread some of the mixture onto a slice of nice, fresh, whole grain bread. Season with additional salt and pepper to taste. Top with fresh alfalfa sprouts (more nutritious and more flavourful than lettuce) and another slice of bread.

These tasty Oliots can be served two ways: either spread quite liberally on thick, rustic bread to make 2 large deli-style sandwiches, or spread thinly (conservatively?) on more delicate bread and cut carefully into cute little triangles that would make a church lady proud.

Cheers!

Diane

PS: Please check out this "egg-cellent" site for wonderful egg recipes and so much more:

http://www.getcracking.ca

Will there be snacks?

2009-11-21T09:46:00.000-08:00

"There is no love sincerer than the love of food."
- George Bernard Shaw

One of my very earliest memories concerns food. Or, rather, the unfortunate lack of it. I was about four years old and it was a warm and sunny autumn day. I think it was early on a Sunday afternoon. I was playing in the back yard of our home when my Dad called out to me saying he was going to take our dog for a walk in the woods and asking if I would like to come along.

I can remember so vividly wondering where these woods would be - how far away from home? I guess I was imagining various children's stories with 'the woods' as a backdrop. None of them was very comforting. So, I paused for a bit, then asked him in a rather quiet, hopeful voice, "Will there be snacks??" He smiled kindly. Then, he looked at me with his ever-so-patient manner, and replied, "Nooooooo, Diane. There will not be any snacks........ It's a forest."

What a pity! And here, now, from so far away in the future, I can remember my disappointment so clearly. No snacks. Hmmmm. The excitement of going for an adventurous walk in the woods was instantly diminished by the very thought of being so far away from my food source.

I find it somewhat amusing to realize how early in life so much of my personality was formed. Although I've always been fascinated with other peoples' adventures, I've gone on precious few adventures of my own. In the end, apparently, I've always somehow defaulted to choosing the comforts I know.

Like food. I really can't remember a time when I wasn't obsessed by food. Either thinking about it and revelling in it, or trying not to think about it and abstaining from it. But in either case, there is no doubt food has been a constant focal point in my life.

For years now, I have longed to become a food writer. But I could never decide how to go about it. I have no professional training nor special knowledge. I'm simply a person who loves food and the emotional world that accompanies it, and I am also a person who loves to write. How often have you heard that to be truly successful in life you must do what you love? A lot, right? So I'm going to do just that. I'm going to write about food.

I have no idea how many people will join me in this adventure, or if anyone will. But it will be a very exciting, challenging and fun adventure for me. And the one thing that I am completely sure of is this: There WILL be snacks!!

Cheers!

Diane