The Spicy Samosa - A Little Taste of Nirvana

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!!

"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

"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

"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

"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!

"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!!

"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