One Year

I can usually hear the footsteps the second the feet hit the ground. A tiny body sliding out of her giant bed, stepping around the dog sleeping on the floor, blankets and Tiger in hand. She sometimes opens the blinds, the creak of the roller a dead giveaway, just to make sure it's morning. Then she stomps down the hall. It sounds like stomping, even though she barely weighs 30 pounds. Her hand grasps the knob on the door to my room. A short turn and she peeks in. If she sees me awake she quickly pops in the room, slams the door behind her, props her crap on the bed, and climbs in.

She usually doesn't say a word. Not until she is settled and snuggled beside me. Her face is glowing with a morning smile and she practically purrs with delight. We lay like that for a what is probably only seconds. Then she pops her head up.

"Mama, can we bake today?"

*******

One year ago I marked my first day as a stay at home parent. My husband left for work, to return more or less almost 4 months later. I was thrust into the role of full-time parent with no regular paycheque. It was an initiation, almost hazing, that no college student would ever survive. 24 hours a day, alone, with my kids.

Being home with my kids was never a reality I imagined. I was going to either save the world or make a lot of money working hard. For a while I thought I could combine the two. Then these little creatures emerged, growing with me, and encouraging a sense of self I never knew was there. Our family changed and the needs of the whole outweighed my desire to save the world. Instead I needed to work on just saving us.

So, here I am. A year in. Much calmer now - most days - and still working on keeping us all sane. I've had to revise my own expectations about what can be achieved by the family and by me, in our time. I've also blown apart my own thoughts about the pleasure this would bring me and the peace it gives my husband. I still wonder what the hell I'm doing and I don't love it every day. But I like it. A lot.

In this past year I've developed a whole new relationship with the girls, worked to define this new thing with my husband, and searched for a balance to my own desires and goals. It's been HARD. And that's not counting the disappointments, struggles, grief, and disorder that the last year also brought.

And I wouldn't change a thing. As hard as this life is, it is better. Much, much better.

*******

Peach pie, lemon cupcakes, muffins, scones, cookies, bread... We're baking it all. Practically something new every day.

The Monster isn't as thrilled with being in the kitchen as she used to be. If there is the prospect of chocolate she will join us. Otherwise, The Evil Genius pulls up her bright orange chair, rifles through the cupboard for her apron, and says to me, "So, what should we bake today, Chef?"

With the Monster starting Kindergarten this morning I see even more baking in my future. That kid will have the best snacks in her heart covered backpack. Full of love and most likely chocolate.

Nectarine, White Chocolate and Cardamom Scones

(adapted from the basic English Cream Scone recipe in the original Five Roses Flour cookbook)

Makes 16-18 kid-size scones

1 nectarine, chopped into 1/2'' chunks

3 ounces white chocolate, roughly chopped

2 cups flour (you can mix whole wheat with regular, but don't go 100% whole wheat)

1 tbsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 tsp ground cardamom

1/4 cup cold butter

2 eggs

1/2 cup heavy cream

1 tbsp sugar

Preheat oven to 450 degrees F. Line a cookie sheet with parchment or a silicon mat.

Make sure your nectarine and white chocolate are chopped. Set aside.

Combine the flour, baking powder, salt, and cardamom in a large bowl. Cut the butter into the flour. Frankly, we use our hands. 3 years olds are very, very good at this. You could also use a pastry cutter. Stir in the nectarine and white chocolate

Reserve 1 tbsp of egg whites in a small bowl, then beat the eggs with the cream. Add to the dry ingredients and mix well. The dough will be wet and sticky. Drop by heaping spoonfuls onto your prepared baking sheet. Leave 1'' between scones.

Brush the tops with reserved egg white and sprinkle with the sugar. Bake for 10-13 minutes until lightly golden.

A Pie for Mikey

You start out with an idea, a concept of where you want to take it. A taste, a feel, a look. A finished product to be savoured and enjoyed. Something to share, to show off, to take pride in.

You gather the things to make it, and you bring them close. You handle them, you edit, you cut, you taste. Add heat, maybe some sizzle, and quite often a long simmer. At many times will you season, highlighting the flavours and subsequent adventure.

Usually it gets messy. You are either the type of person who cleans as they go or the kind that has a third hand following them washing and wiping as you move. It doesn't matter, as long as you address the mess at some point.

Eventually you sit to enjoy. It isn't necessarily what you expected it to be. Sometimes it doesn't work and you have to start over tomorrow. Quite often it's better. Much better than expected.

One day it explodes. The pleasure is insatiable. The joy immeasurable. On another day it is more subtle, simple. It is good, but not great. The pleasure and peace, however, is there. It's lingering and comforting. Perfect.

At least, this is how my marriage feels.

My husband is my best friend and an incredible man. Kind, generous, a little bit wicked. Committed, driven, and horribly sarcastic. He owns his own business and used to race mountain bikes. But I always thought I'd marry a professor or snooty intellectual. We'd live in an old house filled with books and no kids. Obviously that isn't what I've got.

My man in my life and our marriage came about like a farmers' market dinner. One day you find something that looks fantastic and you go with it. And so we have, experimenting along the way. Some days it explodes with pleasure and some days it is lingering and comforting. Perfect.

Imagining a life without my husband nearly stops my breath. Cold.

And now there is a colleague, a friend I met through blogging, who is living this fresh hell right now. Her husband, the father of her two little girls, suddenly collapsed and died last week. She is feeling the immeasurable pain of loss, the unimaginable.

This pie is for Mikey, for her, for their girls. This pie was his favourite and it deserves a celebration. As does he, as does the love he and Jennie shared. Their recipe gave the world this pie. Let's celebrate.

The food blogging community - including those who live close to Jennie and are lucky enough to share a drink and pizza with her - are gathering around her right now. This is community. Today we are making pie. People the world over are taking Jennie and Mike's pie and making it for their own loved ones. They are adapting the pie for themselves, making the recipe for their own loves. In doing so we celebrate a man, relationships, and the spirit of adventure in love, cooking, and life.

A pie for Mikey.

Fireside Pyrohy

Glamping it ain't.

We went camping on the weekend. Our first time with the girls. A stunningly gorgeous spot in the mountains, right above the river. No facilities. That is - no water, no outhouses, no nothing. And it was awesome.

We had a chainsaw, bacon, kids, dirt, fire, toilet paper on a tree, fleece, and more bacon. Not much more is required for camping in our books.

Now we can also add fireside pyrohy to our camping must-haves. Boil the pyrohy at home. Toss with some canola or vegetable oil to keep them from sticking. Pack in the cooler, along with some chopped onion and perhaps a mess of swiss chard or kale with some garlic sausage. At the campsite it all comes together.

Because there is no camping without bacon, there will be bacon grease. In our case I was frying away for the little kids. Instead of dumping the bacon grease in the firepit I tossed in my onions and chard. After a minute I added the pryohy and sausage to fry up for colour and heat. Then I served it on my daughter's Lightening McQueen plate.

Good fuel for hiking, throwing rocks, and all the fun stuff on a camping trip.

Just Icing

Icing on a spoon.

Having been to my fair share of preschool birthday parties this year I've noticed that very few kids eat the cake when served to them. Sure, they are beyond excited when you take them away from their play with a call for cake. They eagerly sing Happy Birthday and watch the star blow out the candle. Then using fingers or fork or just their tongue all the icing disappears from the cake. All that's left is a soggy, messy pile of crumbs.

It doesn't matter that you stayed up until 2 am to make them the princess or pirate cake they begged for. It doesn't matter that you baked a gorgeous vanilla cherry cake with a recipe from Martha or Dorie Greenspan. All they want is the icing, or frosting, if that's what you call it. And then it doesn't matter if it is a gorgeous buttercream or from a can.

Instead of having wasted cake, get proactive. Just give them the icing on a spoon. Trust me, everyone is happy with this solution. Well, except maybe some parents who get worked up about sugar. But they are counterbalanced by those who are eager for a spoon of their own.

You might still need a cake because I haven't solved the problem of where to put the candles. Besides, they'll always be that one kid who hates icing.

With great thanks to some of my Twitter pals for the influence and egging on my icing only idea.

And Happy Birthday to my Mom, Brother, Brother-in-Law, and Sister-in-Law's Mum this week!

Happy Foods

Comfort Food gets all the attention. The creamy, cheesy, starchy, and heavy food that we seek when it's cold, when life is hard, when we need a bit of love and a set of arms to hug us isn't around. There comes a point when comfort food isn't enough or it's become too much. That's when we have to pull out the Happy Food.

Happy Food is the food that we love to grow, pick, cook, and eat. It gives us pleasure in thought, touch, smell, and taste. When you think of Happy Food you can't help but smile. In a way it is comforting, but instead of hiding in relief it bursts through you with peace or joy.

It might seem that Happy Food is seasonal. The snow finally melts, green things poke up from the ground, calves are suckling on the ranches. So we start thinking of the ease of warm weather and the fresh food that comes with it. We dream about sun-warmed tomatoes and fresh asparagus. The stews, baked pasta, and spices of winter kept us warm but they need to be put away for at least a few months.

I would argue that we need to find the Happy Food regardless of the time of year. Feed yourself to nurture the joy in your soul, not the pain. Feed yourself the food that fills you with pleasure long before one taste reaches your mouth. Feed yourself happy.

These are the things that feed me happy.

Tomatoes, warm from the bush, salted on toast with aioli, or slow, slow roasted and eaten like candy.

A good burger, preferably my husband's, or a thick, medium-rare steak.

Raspberries picked from the bush, and hopefully made into gecko fingers, and eaten one at a time.

Fresh peaches.

Ice Cream, of pretty much any flavour like Mint Chocolate Chip, Salted Caramel, or Strawberry.

Carrots thick with the flavour of the stock they flavoured in a long, slow simmer.

Poached eggs, peppered and placed on hash, last night's veggies, or sauteed greens with feta.

Maple syrup.

Brussels Sprouts. Roasted is the best way, but I'll take them any way I can get.

Pink Grapefruit, eaten in sections on cold, cold winter days. Best with company.

What about you? What are your happy foods?

Hot Dish at the Table

Ever had a Hot Dish?

You might know it better by its other name, a casserole. In honour of my week in Wisconsin, via Minnesota, I made Hot Dish for dinner. Specifically, Beef with Wild Rice, Almonds, and Roasted Tomatoes.

Hot Dish is basically any one dish meal that can be prepared in advance, even frozen. Rice or pasta with a bit of veg and often a lot of meat and some sort of sauce bringing it all together. Common at the potluck table, the neighbours kitchen counter after a rough week, or for Sunday dinner.

Not exactly a fancy Sunday dinner, I realize. My flight got in at midnight last night and I needed to spend the day in precious snow play and cuddles instead of cooking. Oh, and actually reading a book during to naptime to take advantage of the quiet of broken cable. Dinner needed to come without a trip to the grocery store and contain real food for the. girls. Too many cookies and treats over the weekend.

I bought this cookbook in the airport. Totally cheesy, I know. Once you siphon out the recipes that include a can of condensed mushroom soup and past Tuna Broccoli Brie Hot Dish, there are some nice dinner ideas. Perfect for days when you want to read The Cat in the Hat again and again instead of making a roast with popovers. Also perfect for make ahead recipes for the days you want to pass on a meal for comfort. I'll be making a few more from the book this week for friends.

Dessert also came from the book. Conveniently called Busy Day Cherry Cobbler. Conveniently made with my own cherry pie filling in the pantry.

My time away from the family was very busy. My friend, my host, has a great family and they were incredibly welcoming. We did not have Hot Dish, but I learn how to make tortillas and had my fill of Wisconsin Smoked Cheddar.

In truth, I desperately missed my family. All the chaotic energy and even the spazzing, but it's all my spazzing. Dinner tonight was perfect. The Monster chatted far too much about her first trip to an amusement park to be interested in food. Smilosaurus was copying her sister but spooning in the food with sincere pleasure. Hubby and I rubbed our eyes for the tiredness, tried to talk, and could only smile. It was all mine. It was our perfect Sunday dinner.

Hot Dish with Beef, Wild Rice, Roasted Tomatoes, and Almonds

Serves 4-6

1 pound ground beef

1 medium onion

4 celery stocks

1 tbsp olive oil

4 cloves garlic

1 orange

1/2 cup brown rice

1/2 cup wild rice

2 tbsp fresh thyme

3 cups chicken stock

1 dozen roasted tomatoes*

1 cup almonds or pine nuts

1. In an oven proof casserole or large pan brown the ground beef. While the beef is browning chop the onions, celery, and garlic. Preheat the oven to 325 degrees F.

2. As soon as the beef is browned, drain off any fat and push the meat to the side of the pan. Add the olive oil, onion, and celery. Cook over medium heat until light browned and soft. Add the garlic and saute for 1 minute.

3. Juice the orange and add the juice to the pan to deglaze.

4. Stir in the rices, thyme, and stock into the pan. Season with salt and pepper. Pour into a casserole dish, if necessary. Top with tomatoes and sprinkle the almonds over.

5. Bake for 1 hour.

*If you don't have slow roasted tomatoes on hand you could use a 14 ounce can of diced tomatoes. Cut the stock used to 2 cups and add the tomatoes, juice and all.

Kind of Numb

For the first time in 7 years we watched the Oscars.

When we last watched this gratuitous display of celebrity, film, and fashion it was shortly after my Father-in-Law died. A few days after our frantic drives through winter streets to rescue, to say goodbye some of the family gathered for dinner. We went for Indian food and came home to the TV staring at us in its temporary living room home of my in-law's home. Without thinking we sat and stared, numb at the pompous and posh party in front of us.

It kind of felt that way tonight too. If you can subtract the chaos of little girls who literally demand you watch them jump on the couch and pretend you need to be rescued.

After a weekend in Edmonton, learning the secrets of my Dad's famous salsa and coming together with family, we arrived home exhausted. Frankly, I'm so drained right now that the emotions boiling through me seem to cancel each other out and that numbness wins.

That means leftovers and the Oscars are what won tonight.

A steak never eaten because we were too tired turns into beef stroganoff. Comfort food in this family. Carrots steamed and glazed with honey and balsamic vinegar. Salad made from anything green in the fridge. A perfectly ripe winter pear next to some okay 1. 2. 3. bite brownies from Wild Earth.

Now, a beer, laundry, and packing. There is no time to process, to celebrate, to cry. I'm off again tomorrow. Leaving the girls and my man for the first time in forever when all I want to do is gather them all around me for snuggles and debates about whether there ever was such a thing as a carnitore. So tonight we gathered at the table and tried to selvage a moment that gave us all comfort, albeit brief, the ritual of dinner together.

Less Talking More Eating

It's been months since I ate a cold meal.

Parents often say that they miss hot meals once they start having family dinners. Too much time spent cutting, feeding, cleaning, and cajoling and not enough time enjoying their own food. In our house we have the opposite problem. Hubby and I finish our meals before our children have even started eating and it's getting damn frustrating.

We always eat together. I dish up the same food for everyone, a little of this and a little of that. Everything must be tried, but not necessarily eaten if you don't like it. A glass of milk on the side and maybe, just maybe, a treat or some fruit after dinner. The girls, like most kids, don't like hot foods. I serve them first and we cut it all up, as necessary, as Hubby and I serve ourselves. Then we all sit down and should be able to enjoy a pleasant meal.

Should.

Meals are anything but pleasant these days. Hubby and I will chit chat while we eat, with the girls coming in every now and then to tell us to only talk one at a time or "less talking more eating!" By no means are we inhaling our food, but almost every night we'll be half done before the girls have taken a single bite - if we're lucky.

That picture up there? Our lovely bison stew (a family favourite, made this way) and some olive oil bread (courtesy of Martha Stewart). I snapped that of The Monster's meal when I was already half done mine.

Dinner tonight took 45 minutes! I'm all for leisurely meals, lingering over wine and great conversation. Or even milk and knock knock jokes. I am not, however, down with reminding my children to actually take a forkful of their food and watching them chew everything 50 times, every single bite. Every single bite. Or repeat that there that there is no singing at the table and they are the ones that need "less talking, more eating." (Oh, how my parents are laughing now.)

It isn't even a battle about whether they like it or not. It's the same regardless of what we eat, but definitely worse if it is something they are iffy about.

By the time the girls finally finished tonight and I offered up some grapefruit and vanilla bean panna cotta they, and we, were done.

What would you do when faced with this?

Gingerbread Cake

This is the cake that very nearly saved my life. Not changed my life, saved my life.

I have a very bad habit of waking in the middle of the night and snacking. I totally blame the tiny bladder I was blessed with, it wakes me and I'm left with nothing to do but snack before I try and get back to sleep. One April morning I awoke and tried to talk myself out of the extra ten steps to the kitchen for a piece of leftover gingerbread cake. I have no will power when fully awake, let alone at 3 am.

There I found myself, a piece of cake in hand and staring out the window when I noticed an orange glow. It took a few seconds to register that the glow wasn't actually supposed to be there. And a few seconds longer to realize that the glow meant fire.

Hubby's car was parked behind our garage on a parking pad. The car was the 1975 Triumph TR6 he bought a decade before. For years it had been in need to repair. In our garage sat the engine and an extra transmission. We'd moved 6 months earlier and he borrowed a flat bed to transport it all 3 hours down the highway. He knew exactly what he was going to do to the fix that car.

Having it lit on fire wasn't part of the plan.

In that eventual moment when I realized the car was on fire I screamed for him. He came running out, yelling at me to pick up the phone and call 911, then raced outside to grab the fire extinguisher from our daily driver in the garage. The garage two feet away from the burning car. I'm freaking out while the 911 operator is quite calmly and kindly reminding me that cars blow up and perhaps we should not be standing in front of the windows, let alone trying to put it out ourselves. That's when Hubby reminds me that there is no engine in the car and the gas tank would be empty. I'm obviously not very smart when faced with fire.

Fire trucks come and with very little ceremony the flames are doused in just minutes. The facts all point to someone having thrown accelerant on the hood of the car and tossing a match. By the time I'd discovered the fire there wasn't much left.

The garage was also hot and had to be hosed down on one side, siding eventually replaced. If the garage had gone up we would have lost our other car, the one with a full tank of gas, and who knows what else. As sad as Hubby was at losing his car, we were thankful that that was all we lost.

We came in the house as the sun was coming up and cracked a beer, a bit charred ourselves. When I went to put the bottles away I noticed the cake. One piece of cake fallen on the counter, with a single bite taken.

Peterson Gingerbread Cake

This is the recipe of my sister-in-law's mother. Their family likes it with Bird's Custard Sauce or even cream cheese icing. I'm partial to it with some maple butter. It is moist and heady with gingerbread.

1/2 cup shortening (I use butter)

2/3 cup brown sugar

1 egg

1 cup molasses

2 1/2 cups flour

1/2 tsp salt

1 1/2 tsp baking soda

1 tsp ground ginger

1 tsp cinnamon

1/4 tsp cloves

1 cup hot (not boiling) water

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Grease an 8'' by 8'' baking pan.

2. Cream shortening/butter. Gradually add the sugar, then the egg. Beat until light and fluffy. Add the molasses.

3. In a medium bowl whisk together the dry ingredients. Add to the batter, 1/2 cup at a time, alternating with 1/4 cup water. Beat until smooth after each addition. Pour into pan.

4. Bake for 45-50 minutes, or until a tester comes out clean.

1 cup molasses

Love = Chocolate Chip Cookies

For the record, a chocolate chip cookie is not just a chocolate chip cookie. Put aside the preferences for chewy or chunky, nuts or pure, cocoa or not. A chocolate chip cookie at its most basic is pretty much love.

Growing up they are the special treat doled out by Mom, whether she made them or not. Our first forays into adulthood are filled with Mom's replacements where we can get them on the occasion of loneliness, break-ups, girls' nights, and stress. When we get our own kitchen we bake them for our boyfriends and girlfriends and friends to give them comfort and happiness and a morsel of love wrapped in chocolate in butter. Then we have kids and we start the cycle all over, baking together and for them to pass on the love.

No one ever answers cinnamon pinwheel when asked what kind of cookies we should bake.

When the controversy over this post, by a pastry chef no less, blew up on my Twitter Feed all I could think about was chocolate chip cookies. It seems other felt the same way too. Check out this post from Abby Dodge, one from Gail at One Tough Cookie, and another one from Jennifer Perillo.

For days all I thought about were chocolate chip cookies. But Mama's had a bit too much love lately, if you know what I mean. Then Jennie responded and I couldn't not make cookies. And if you're going to to do it, then do it with this recipe and do it a few times.

I've been meaning to test out this concept of letting cookie dough rest since the original New York Times piece came out. Frankly though, there is never a world where I can make cookie dough and not bake it right away. Mama needs her love, as do little girls who helped make the cookies and fully expect one RIGHT NOW.

So, I planned a little experiment. One night, after the girls were asleep, I made the cookie dough, using this recipe from Jennifer Perillo. By far it is the best recipe I've ever made and she's happily letting me share it here.

All but two chunks went into the fridge for their little rest. Seriously, who can make dough and not eat a cookie? Waiting is the hardest part of baking chocolate chip cookies. I baked off two chunks for a late night snack.

Those two cookies, however, were not going to be enough to let me know the difference between a fresh dough and one that has rested for 36 hours. But they were tasty! That meant another bowl of dough was made. I used the exact same recipe and made them the exact same way. The only difference is that I had a 2 year old helping me the second time.

While The Monster was at preschool we baked trays and trays of cookies. I was worried about telling them apart, but it turns out that isn't a problem. The rested dough gets more golden in the oven and doesn't spread as much as the fresh dough. Difference #1.

Now I certainly don't need 6 dozen chocolate chip cookies in my house. We took most of the cookies to the playground for an after school treat, and an experiment. I walked around to all the parents and the teacher, asking them to try one of each cookie. I wanted to see if they could taste a difference and if so, which one they preferred. (The kids got some too, but they didn't care at all which bag they came from.)

The first surprise to me was that everyone could tell a difference between the two cookies, by taste alone. It was a subtle difference to me when the cookies were warm, at home. At the park, however, the difference was more pronounced. The fresh dough cookies taste sweeter. Difference #2.

People were trying to guess the difference and the guesses ran from the addition to honey or more sugar to potentially more butter in the freshly baked dough. The people who preferred these ones all thought they tasted more rich.

The people who preferred the rested dough cookies, however, often called them more decadent or gourmet. Personally, I found the difference was the cloying sweetness and that the fresh dough was almost a bit acidic, tasting it at the back of my tongue more than anything. The flavour, overall, of the rested dough is more sophisticated and frankly, mature. Difference #3.

What makes them technically different? Resting allows the liquids in the dough to be better absorbed. This results in a drier, firmer dough that bakes better. Hence, less puddling in the rested dough cookies. And a better texture overall when you bake the cookies to a precise just underbaked. It also encouraged better caramelization of the dough.

The remaining dough in my fridge (from both batches) was baked off the next day, topped with a sprinkling of fleur de sel. By far, my favourite version.

It's winter here now, I'm single parenting again, and I already have dough resting in the fridge for some post school and snow romp love.

Jennifer Perillo's Very Best Chocolate Chip Cookies

Makes 36 3 inch cookes (or 4 dozen slightly smaller ones)*

4 cups flour (18 ounces)

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp salt

2 sticks butter, softened (8 ounces butter) (1 cup)

2 cups sugar (15 ounces)

2 tbsp molasses

3 large eggs, room temperature

1 1/2 tsp pure vanilla extract

12 ounces bittersweet chocolate discs (or chocolate chips)

In large bowl whisk together the flour, baking soda and salt. Beat butter, sugar and molasses until light and fluffy. Add the eggs and vanilla extract. Beat until well mixed. Add the flour mixture and mix until just combined. Stir in the chocolate discs (chips). Let sit in the refrigerator overnight before baking, and may be stored this way for up to two days. Yes, I realize this is the very hard part.

When ready to bake, preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Line baking sheets with silicon mats or parchment paper. Gently form dough into 1 1/2 to 2 inch (1 to 1 1/2 inch) balls and place 2 to 3 inches apart on prepared baking sheet. Bake for 15 minutes (13 minutes in my oven) on middle rack. Remove from oven and let cool on pan for 2 more minutes. Transfer cookies to a rack to cool completely if you have any will power left.

*The notes in italics are my personal changes due to ingredients on hand, preferences, and my oven.

For an Audience

Love stories are as varied as the people that make them. We didn't have farts at our engagement, but there was a fair amount of bird poop. Hubby proposed on an outcropping of rocks on the Ingonish beach. What's a few dead crab shells and a pound of poop to commitment?

I've spent the last few days devouring Gluten Free Girl and The Chef. More than a cookbook, it reads like a romance novel, minus the bad hair, pecs, and euphemisms. The subtitle does refer to the love story, and it is. A love story between two people, a love story of food and cooking. It is captivating, very funny, and full of the romance we all need in life. Even if you don't cook you want to read this book. Ask my girls, they've been flipping the page exclaiming YUMMY! at every turn.

Hubby has been home for 2 days now. That's 2 days of not working, a first for the last 6 weeks. This means he's exhausted and cranky. I'm bursting with the desire to talk about home renos, preschool gossip, and bedtime routines. Oh, and trying not to run screaming from the house to take a break. What we are doing is retreating, sleeping, and trying to find a little bit of rhythm again. Until he leaves again in another day.

One thing I've realized that with cooking for just me and the girls is that I really, really like cooking for my husband. He's an eater, not a cook. He's my audience.

When I can fill his belly with a warm meal that he didn't have to get from a crappy, small town restaurant I feel great. It isn't about being a good wife, I've already got that down. Food is love and I am totally guilty of showing my love with food.

Inspired by Shauna James Ahern and Daniel Ahern I decided to spend the weekend in the kitchen. Bolognese and cookies yesterday. Sunday, a Braised Pork Stew with Cabbage and Caraway from the book. I followed the recipe exactly this time - not something I do often - thus I'm not comfortable sharing it here. We were all filled with love, or just some lovely herbal, mustardy, and nourishing comfort.

If you want the fart reference and the recipe, then you best buy the book.

More Pyrohy

Pyrohy, I've decided, are a perfect Sunday dinner. The main reason for this is because Sunday morning many of us think to make bacon. Then we are too lazy to do the dishes before the birthday parties and errands so that pan with bacon grease is still sitting on the stove when the pyrohy are ready. And that pan is begging to be reheated and filled with just-boiled pyrohy for dinner. Yeah, Sunday.

Of course, I had to make the pyrohy first. Thankfully today I had company and a really well-timed nap from the girls. Andree and Gwendolyn came over for a little, old fashioned pyrohy bee. Well, really, I got the games started by making the dough then put them to work making pyrohy. And they were stellar for their first time ever!

We stuck with traditional fillings of mashed potato with cheese and bacon, plain mashed potato, and sauerkraut. Potatoes from our CSA and sauerkraut courtesy of my parent's suburban kitchen. I prepped it all this morning. And taking a cue from the lady's at my parent's church - home of a ridiculously large bimonthly pyrohy supper - we scooped and rolled our mashed potatoes ahead of time. Makes for faster and easier folding of the pyrohy.

(See the play by play here.)

Andree said that my babbling and instructions was like watching a cooking show. Minus the couch and red wine! I was a little chatty with pyrohy stories, who knew I had so much to say? Of course, that may have more to due with being surrounded by the kids for weeks now with little adult company than my extensive knowledge of pyrohy.

Did I mention the single parenting? That would also be why I needed pyrohy for dinner, with kale on the side, roasted carrots, kubasa, and the cookies both Gwendolyn and Andree brought us (chocolate chip with bacon and shortbread). And now I shall sit on the couch and drink my wine, with or without a cooking show.

The Letter S

Pardon me while I get sappy.

You see, this week I've also been recovering from a medical issue. It's made me tired, shaky, and mopey. So this afternoon, after I put some tomato sauce in a slow oven to come together, I took a nap. Wrapped in the arms of my husband. It was the best nap ever.

So tonight's dinner was spaghetti and meatballs, and for dessert, strawberry ice cream. More specifically, strawberry sour cream ice cream. It was the slightly more elegant version of Baba's berries and cream. It was all comfort food.

The ice cream recipe comes from, who else? David Lebovitz. All the recipes in my books were custards and I didn't have many eggs in the house. So a little search led to many, many descriptions of this ice cream from The Perfect Scoop. It seemed like fate considering the pounds of strawberries I bought at the market and my own need for comfort. 

But no amount of comfort food can replace the love of your best friend.

Strawberry Sour Cream Ice Cream

(With great thanks, perhaps literally as I don't actually own The Perfect Scoop, to David Lebovitz.)

1 pound strawberries

3/4 cup sugar

1 tbsp vodka

1 cup sour cream

1 cup heavy cream

1/2 tsp lemon juice

1. Rinse, hull, and quarter your strawberries. Toss with the sugar and vodka. Let sit for an hour or so.

2. Add in sour cream, cream, and lemon juice. Blitz with a hand blender, leaving it as chunky as you want.

3. Chill for an hour. Process with ice cream maker. Freeze until ready to eat.

Cookies, Cookies, and More Cookies

You might not consider it a downfall, but one of the downfalls of freelance food writing is developing stories totally out of season. Today I made a spider cake for Halloween, sugar cookies, meringue cookies, and hot cocoa with marshmallows. On at +25C day. Good times.

In truth, dinner was a plain old cheese quesadilla and a handful for cherry tomatoes to soak up the sugar. Despite all those cookies though, I reserved a few of these for a post-the-girls-finally-fell-asleep-and-I'm-exhausted-after-two-weeks-of-single-parenting chocolate chip cookie snack.

These are the first things I ever learned how to make. I may have been about 9. My mom worked fulltime and we three kids were competitive swimmers. Food was about fuel - how much could we get in at any one point, how much could mom buy and cook to hopefully get us through the week. Fed up with purchased cookies I asked if I could make cookies myself. No clue who found the recipe or where it came from. But I was left alone in the kitchen.

I found the entire experience both comforting and empowering. Woohoo, I was in the kitchen and left to my devices! There was butter and chocolate involved. It was the start of something great.

From that point on these were my go-to cookies. My go-to sleepover cookies. My go-to watch TV in the rumpus room cookies. My go-to console a friend whose boyfriend dumped her cookies. My go-to chick-flick cookies. My go-to rainy day and single parenting cookies.

At 35 I have to find people to share these with - I do not need a cup of butter to myself. Thank goodness my kids are happy to help me with that. Now they've become my go-to get in the kitchen and bake with the girls cookies.

Chocolate Chip Slab Cookies

Makes 1 9 x 13 pan

1 cup butter

1 cup brown sugar

1 tsp vanilla

2 cups flour

1 cup chocolate chips.

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Grease a 9 x 13 pan.

2. Cream butter and sugar. Add vanilla. Stir in flour and chocolate chips. Press dough in pan.

3. Bake 2-25 minutes until lightly browned. Cool slightly, but cut when still a bit warm. Cool some more before you dig in.

(This post is also a part of Gluten Free Girl's round-up on the first foods we learned how to make.)

Maintaining the Idea of Spring

Biba Caggiano taught me how to make risotto when I was 19. It was summer break during university. In between multiple jobs to save for tuition I found the time to watch PBS on Saturday afternoon. "Biba's Italian Kitchen" was always on. So I would sit in my Dad's office, taking notes, and watching Biba on a 12 inch screen.

When I went back to school and suddenly found myself alone in a basement suite, craving something more than a hearty salad I always turned to risotto. It was the comfort food that got me through my last year of university, in between thesis writing, working, and running a muffin business.

People are always so scared of risotto.  I blame the recipes for this.  Read a recipe for risotto and it is enough to scare off anyone - they are always so wordy and make it sound complex.  But risotto is not complex. Nor does it require endless stirring.

Tonight we returned home from a weekend away, visiting family.  We stopped at Edgar Farms on the way home for Asparagus Fest.  There was a break in the rain and snow, so it worked out perfectly. We caught up with Doug, Elna, Keri, and Randy of Edgar Farms. We chatted with Wade and John. We ate, we pet animals, we jumped in puddles, and we definitely grabbed some asparagus. First from the field and then my mother-in-law treated us to a few bundles to take home (awfully generous of her since she also babysat for us last night!)

When we walked in the door at 6, everyone was exhausted from a busy weekend and an afternoon outside.  To be honest, I was real tempted to give in to Hubby's request for the pizza man delivery. Then I decided we needed to eat more asparagus, but we also needed something warming. Something to fill our bellies but still feel light enough to remind us that it is indeed still spring. Risotto! Lemon Asparagus Risotto to be specific.

I'm not going to give you a recipe. Risotto, I think, is more of a basic technique than a recipe. Now, I've never served to an Italian grandmother, so mine could totally suck.  But we all love it. In fact, risotto is the only way The Monster will eat rice. So, don't be scared, here is my technique for risotto.

1. Finely dice a small/medium onion. Toss in a tall sided frying pan with a generous swig of olive oil or knob of butter. or both. Sweat them out on medium heat.

2. While the onion is cooking mince a couple of cloves of garlic. Add to onions and stir.

3. Immediately add your Arborio rice (available in most grocery stores and definitely in an Italian market). I use about a handful a person. Stir in and get the rice coated with the oil/butter.

4. If you happen to have wine in the house, pour a generous slosh of it in the pan and let it reduce. No wine? So what.

5. Once your wine has reduced, if you've used it, start adding in hot chicken stock, veggie stock, or water.  Yes, I think it is okay to use water, you will just have to season really well at the end. Add in the liquid about a ladle at a time.  Stir well before and after each addition.

6. Add a ladle of liquid every few minutes or so. The goal is to have the liquid be absorbed slowly. So when it looks like you have little liquid, add more. After about 15 minutes, start tasting. Risotto should have a bit of "tooth" to it. In other words, you don't want it mushy, but it should be creamier than regular rice.

7. When it reaches the right consistency, turn off the heat. Stir in some more olive oil or butter - whichever one you used with the onions - another good swig or knob. Also stir in some cheese - parmesan, manchego, asiago - a grated hard cheese is my preference. Serve immediately.

Tonight I also stirred in some asparagus that I blanched for a bit and some lemon zest. Another night I might stir in roasted butternut squash, or sauteed mushrooms, or maybe peppers and zucchinis. Cook's choice. I just recommend that you cook the veggies separately so they don't get overdone or mushy in the cooking rice.

Okay, now that I've written that out it does seem wordy and complex. Trust me, it's not.

After a quiet evening of movie watching we then had a pre-bed snack with the girls.  I also picked up some rhubarb at Edgar Farms so I made this lovely Rhubarb Upside Down Cake.

Atrophy

It seems that your quads are the first muscle to atrophy when you wreck your knees. Despite the layers of insulation covering those large muscles of mine it is quite noticable that they aren't so large anymore. Neither are my calves. But sadly, my ass is still as big as it ever was. Needless to say, ice cream is probably the last thing I need right now.

But oh how I need ice cream. The last 6 weeks have certainly screamed out for comfort food. My mom make us pyrohy, we've eaten countless bowls of pho after The Monster's dance class, managed more than one batch of cookies, and indulged in a heck of a lot of beer during the Olympics. Not once, however, have I been able to convince Hubby to buy ice cream. Bloody diet nazi.

So I added heavy cream to the grocery list. Ha Ha! Combined with the very large bar of bittersweet Bernard Callebaut chocolate in my cupboard and I got him back. The girls and I set out to chop chocolate, dissolve cocoa, cook a lovely custard, and anticipate the ice cream. They were diverted from cooling time and the churning with snow play.

I did save the first taste of ice cream for an Olympic hockey game.  At least my brain hasn't atrophied. Kids and a bowl of cold ice cream means nearly a period of peace for Hubby and I. It worked so well that we used it repeatedly throughout the Games. Minus the bowls I snuck for myself.

The recipe I used was absolutely phenomenal.  It was so decadent and rich, and just perfect. In truth, it was exactly like a frozen pudding. With a bit more effort on my part I could have enjoyed it with a brownie and salted caramel sauce. The knees however can't hack that much work yet. And my ass can't handle that much in the absence of a good workout.

With thanks to David Lebovitz and The Perfect Scoop.  I followed the recipe word for word and it was perfect. And thanks to Tara at Seven Spoons for the photo inspiration on that top picture.

Chocolate And Friendship Day

We've never been huge Valentine's Day fans in this house.  Well, that's not 100% true.  I adored Valentine's Day when I was single and wistfully dreaming of a lover to buy me flowers and spoil me with treats. But when I met my husband and the reality of a relationship and my man's opinion of V-Day hit me I realized that I would be lucky if he even remembered the day. I also realized that I am damn lucky to have him, every day of the year.

After a hellish month, however, I'm looking for any small amount of comfort and love. Today that came in the form of a quiet afternoon writing and visiting with a friend while we sipped garam masala hot cocoa and she gave me a reflexology treatment. It was simply so nice to be spoiled. And to enjoy some company with my friend.

I'd been waiting to try this hot cocoa until she came to visit. Although she is originally a farm girl with a Metis background, she has surrounded herself with East Indian friends and boyfriends. I knew she would appreciate the spice of this cocoa better than Hubby.  I was right. It was rich and warming, with hints of spice and the Indian coast. It doesn't seem like the flavours should go well together, but if you think of Mexican hot chocolate with its chili heat, this isn't far off. But there is something exotic about it and so comforting.

Sitting with her this afternoon I felt my spirits lift, old friends have the power to do that. So does chocolate and a foot rub, but not as well as friends can do it. If only I could ask her to move in, or at least to this city.

I made this with the Garam Masala mix from Silk Road Spice Merchants, ground in my brand new grinder. Keep in mind that you will want a fine grind with this.

Garam Masala Hot Cocoa

Adapted from Arvinda's recipe

1 cup milk

1 tbsp cocoa

1 tbsp brown sugar

1/2 tsp fresh ground Garam Masala

1. Heat milk.

2. Combine cocoa, brown sugar, and garam masala in a small bowl. Stir in a few tablespoons of milk until you have a runny paste. Whisk cocoa paste into milk. Serve hot.

Thanks to Mary Luz Mejia for sending this recipe my way.

Soup Kind of Days

Nothing particularly bad has happened in our little house lately - unless you count completely forgetting to give my mother-in-law her Christmas present. Thankfully she's forgiven us and we've promised her a CSA membership. And just in time because she offered us a weekend sans kids for skiing and relaxing as our Christmas present. Hubby and I are escaping to Banff this weekend while Grandma and her girls have some serious bonding time.

Sadly, she won't be serving soup. Well, she can grab some but good luck trying to get the girls to eat it. No Borscht, no Chicken Noodle, not even Mama's Tomato Soup. I have no idea what their issue is with soup. From 9 months on they've insisted on feeding themselves and even The Monster hasn't mastered her knife or spoon skills. That might be it, but heaven forbid you try to feed them!

Soup is my go-to meal for a bad day, for providing a meal to a sad friend or new mom, for bread day from Aviv, and for the days that I feel fat or cold. Maybe because toddlers and preschoolers don't have days like those that's why they don't like soup.

Tomato, Bacon, and Blue Soup

Makes 7-8 cups

4 slices bacon (not maple flavoured)

1 small onion

1 garlic clove

2 28 ounce cans whole tomatoes (preferably San Marzano)

2 cups water or stock

1 bay leaf

3 ounces blue cheese

1/4 cup heavy cream or whole milk

1. Chop bacon cross-wise. Saute in pan on medium-high heat until just starting to crisp up. Remove 2 tablespoons cooked bacon and reserve for garnish. Pour off almost all the grease left in the pan.

2. While bacon is cooking finely chop onion and garlic. When bacon is cooked add the onion and garlic to the pan. Saute until the onions are soft.

3. Add tomatoes with liquid. Stir in water or stock and bay leaf. Turn heat down to medium and simmer for 20-30 minutes.

4. Puree with an immersion blender, food processor, or in a blender. Be careful when blending hot liquids.

5. Stir in blue cheese and cream/milk. Season well.

6. Garnish with reserved bacon and crumbled blue cheese, if desired.

Death By Food - Not Quite

The first time I invited Hubby over for Christmas Eve dinner he fully expected to die from food poisoning of the Ukrainian variety. That is, too much starchy, heavy food that includes grains that were either sickly sweet or mushy. And don't get me started on the pickled fish or sauerkraut and peas.  Death by Food, that's what Hubby called it.

Then he ate the meal, all 12 courses.  Ate would be an understatement.  Devoured is more like it. And he lived to tell the tale. Rather, he lived to tell me that I was crazy and that Christmas Eve dinner was a fantastically delicious meal.

Christmas Eve dinner always starts with Borscht - that classic red beet soup. The next few dishes are, well, something I can't stand (Kutia and Kasha), but the borscht always made me happy.  Except when we ate my Baba's soup and she put peas in it. In honour of Ukrainian Christmas on the 6th I wanted to share this recipe.

This recipe does not include peas.  Thank goodness for that.  Borscht is essentially a beet based vegetable soup.  You can add in other veggies, but I stick to adding beets and a few carrots to onions, celery, and garlic. A browse through any Ukrainian church cookbook will turn up a variety of recipes claiming to be Russian style or Dukhobor style.  I can't speak to them, but potatoes do not belong in borscht as far as my family is concerned. My Baba also often made hers with a ham bone, but to this is easily kept vegetarian by keeping the bone out.

Then there is the issue of exactly how to prepare your beets.  Pre-cooked versus raw in the soup? Chopped, grated, shredded, or sliced? I've settled on roasting, then peeling my beets. And I am firmly in the camp of slicing my beets into matchsticks. It provides a bit of toothiness to the soup, but not as much as you would get if you diced the beets. Yes, it takes longer, but it is a perfect Sunday morning activity with a three year old and a butter knife by your side.

Borscht (Just like my Baba's, minus the peas)

(8-10 cups)

3 pounds beets (6-8 medium)

1 medium onion

2 celery ribs

1 tbsp vegetable oil

4 medium carrots

8 cloves garlic, minced.

19 ounce can diced tomatoes

6 cups water/stock

ham bone (optional)

leaves from one bunch celery

1 tbsp chopped fresh dill

1. Heat oven to 350 degrees F.  Trim ends from beets, toss with a little bit of vegetable oil, salt, and pepper.  Roast in oven for 1 and 1/2 hours. Let cool completely.

2. Peel the beets. Julienne into 1/8 inch sticks, about 1-1.5 inches long. Do the same to the carrots. Set aside.

3. Finely dice the onion and celery ribs.  Saute with vegetable oil until soft.  Add in garlic and saute an additional 30 seconds. Stir in beets, carrots, tomatoes and their juice, and 6 cups water.  If using the ham bone add it now. Let simmer over low heat for about 2 hours, covered.

4. Turn off the heat, stir in the celery leaves and dill. Season well with salt and pepper. You can serve it immediately, but borscht benefits from sitting a day or two.

5.  To serve, garnish with a dollop of sour cream or creme fraiche.  Alternatively, drizzle with some heavy cream.

Blizzards, Banana Cake and Builder Men

December 4th and we're finally getting a good snowfall.  Indeed, it is a full on blizzard of white out there.  The weather folks might call it a winter storm, but we all know that the wicked wind, sandy snow, and a cold that makes you never, ever want to leave your house means that it is a blizzard.  If you're me that means you bake.

Today's recipe comes to you courtesy of The Monster.  When I suggested we bake she informed me that we must bake a birthday cake.  Today, however, is not the birthday of anyone on this house.  That perfect three year old mind remembered that it was her cousin's birthday a few days ago and therefore we must make him a birthday cake.

Now, I have no idea what kind of cake my nephew would have liked, but The Monster decided he wanted a peanut butter cake.  I talked her into a banana cake with peanut butter icing. So we dug through the cookbook shelf and found a recipe for banana cake in the Favorite Family Recipes of Holy Cross Parish cookbook. It's one of those cookbooks where everyone submits the pride and joy of their kitchens. That means it is really hit or miss depending on the recipe instructions. We got ourselves a hit here!

The girls got aproned up, we turned on the Toopy and Binoo Christmas album (oh, thank-you Grandma), and we set ourselves up for a messy old time.  We mashed bananas, creamed butter and sugar, sifted flour, and licked, licked, licked everything. You know, I'm convinced that if I put liverwurst in the Kitchen Aid they would devour it.

This is your basic cake recipe.  There isn't anything fancy about it except for the fact that it calls for the baking soda to be added to the wet ingredients. It bakes in a classic 9 by 13 pan.  In reality it is a simple weeknight dessert.  It isn't overly sweet and it is wonderfully moist, with a good crumb as they say.

While the girls napped I set to making the icing. I'll be honest, it was a bit of a challenge because it turns out I need a few groceries. Did I mention there was a blizzard going on? So I hoped for the best with the bit of peanut butter and icing sugar I had.  I had my fears, but damn, it is good icing! Not at all sweet and as creamy as it can be when you only have natural peanut butter in the house. And just the right amount for a sheet cake.

This is the kind of cake you want after trudging home from a day at school (or work).  It is a cake that makes you feel loved.  It is a cake that mom can feel pretty good serving and also enjoy with a cup of tea.  Ahem, let me refresh my cup.

And tonight it will also be our dessert as we treat our builder men, as The Monster calls them, who've been helping Hubby out with digging, pouring concrete, and framing in the basement. Sunday dinner on Friday night.  Mayhem, new friends, and cold weather comfort at the table.

Banana Cake with Peanut Butter Icing

Makes 1 9x13 pan

Banana Cake

1/2 cup butter, softened

1 cup sugar

2 eggs

1 tsp vanilla

2 cups flour

1 tsp baking powder

1 tsp salt

2 large, ripe bananas

3/4 cup milk

1 tsp baking soda

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F and butter and flour a 9x13 pan. 

2. Cream together butter and sugar until fluffy.

3. Add eggs, one at a time, and vanilla, mixing well after each addition.  Scrape down sides.

4. In a separate bowl sift together flour, baking powder, and salt.  Set aside.

5. Mash bananas well.  Combine with milk and baking soda.

6. Add 1/3 of the banana mixture of the butter/sugar/eggs.  Add 1/2 flour mixture.  Continue alternating wet and dry ingredients, ending with wet. Mix until smooth.

7. Pour into prepared pan and bake for 45-50 minutes. Let cool completely.

Peanut Butter Icing

1/4 cup softened butter

1/2 cup peanut butter

2 cups icing sugar

5-6 tbsp milk

1. Cream together butter and peanut butter.

2. Add the icing sugar, 1/2 cup at a time.  Alternate with a tbsp of milk until all the sugar is incorporated.  Mix well until light and fluffy.  If you want a softer icing add a touch more milk.

3.  Frost cake and enjoy.