"Better than Timmy's" Ginger Molasses Cookies

The Domestic Goddess hands the Baking Baton over to the Junior DG 

Chris liked the size of my cookies.

Unlike what seems like 99% of the world (on social media, at least), I have been baking and cooking less during this lockdown. With everyone being at home all the time, and my homeschooling three kids at the dining room table every day, I have less time than usual to bake and make dinner, probably because I get my most productive work done after 3:30, when the kids are "finished school for the day" and I can "work because they are finally in a different room". And also, "please can they go back to school now?"

But, I digress. Ailsa loves to bake. My Junior DG desperately wanted to make sugar cookies "you know, the kind you roll out, cut out with cookie cutters, then decorate".

These are my worst nightmare.* Don't get me wrong; I love eating them, and make them twice a year (Halloween and Christmas) then watch in horror as my kitchen explodes into flour, icing sugar and sprinkles. Also, I usually pop a scrap or two of the dough between each rolling-out, so I end up with a tummyache by the time they come out of the oven.

I much prefer one-bowl recipes that don't require any rolling or shaping, that can be mixed and baked in thirty minutes or less. (I still have the dough-eating tummyache issue, though. Maybe it's me.)

SO, when she found a recipe for Ginger Snaps, I wasn't sure... I love ginger molasses cookies (the soft ones, not the crisp ones), and this one was billed as "light and crispy" and involves rolling the cookies into balls and rolling them into sugar. But we did it anyway, adjusting the ingredients, temperature and timing as we went, and you know what? 

It was delicious and fun. Ailsa did all the measuring and mixing, then the two of us scooped, rolled and rolled again.

The result was an amazingly flavourful, spicy-gingery, crispy on the outside/chewy on the inside cookie. Dare I say, the perfect ginger molasses cookie? Either way I highly recommend (even if I have a tummyache).

Ginger Molasses Cookies (makes 2 dozen)

3/4 cup butter
1 1/2 cups sugar, divided
1 egg
1/4 cup molasses
1 tsp finely grated fresh ginger
2 cups flour
2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
5 tsp ground ginger, divided
1 tsp cinnamon

Preheat oven to 350. Line baking sheets with parchment paper.

Topping: In a little bowl, combine 1/2 cup of sugar and 2 tsp of ground ginger. Set aside.

Cream butter and remaining 1 cup of sugar in a large bowl until smooth. Add in egg, molasses and fresh ginger. Beat. Set aside.

In a medium bowl, combine flour, baking soda, salt, remaining 3 tsp ground ginger and cinnamon until blended. Add half the dry ingredients to the wet, mix, then repeat.

Scoop out a generous heaping tablespoon of dough, roll it between your palms to make a ball, then roll it in the topping. Space balls evenly on the baking sheets.

Bake for 10-15 minutes, or until the top cracks. Let cool for 10 minutes on the sheet (don't eat them yet!), then remove to a rack to finish cooling.

Enjoy with a cuppa or a big glass of milk.



* Aside from Nightmare Cookies, that is. We had a bad run with Nightmare Cookies, a three-ginger cookie, about ten years ago, and are still shaken. Ask me for the recipe if you dare.

DG Presents: Tea Lattes at Home

The Domestic Goddess takes a victory lap after creating the perfect tea latte at home

Branding matters: Should I call my shop Starhuffs? Huffbucks? 

As a freelancer on lockdown, I not only struggle with having my family underfoot All The Time, but also with missing my real office, Starbucks. I guess I'm saving money by making my own tea, but tea is tea, and I miss lattes.

Remember when I had the darnedest time trying to find someone who even knew what a London Fog was? (because it's "only a thing" "not in London"?) Well, one of the baristas had heard of one, and shortly after that post, she generously taught the local team how to make them for me. I feel seen.

But, now I'm at home, and Starbucks is closed for the foreseeable future. 

So, I undertook the challenge on my own! After several internet searches (and a lot of trial and error), I've found the technique that works best for my tastes, resulting in a smooth, silky, not-too-sweet latte, easy to make at home without any special equipment. (I almost bought a milk frother, before discovering that a 9-year-old with too much energy is an even better solution.) (Also, vanilla syrup is available pretty much everywhere; I picked mine up in the impulse-buy aisle of TK Maxx.*)

I present to you:

Le London Fog à la DG

Earl Grey teabags (2 per person)

Vanilla syrup (1 Tbs per person)

Milk (1/2 cup per person)

Step 1: Brew your tea strong. Pour 3/4 c of boiling water over two teabags, cover (I used a plate) and let steep for 4-5 minutes.

Step 2: Pour the milk (I use semi-skimmed) into a large jar with a tight-fitting lid. Add the vanilla syrup (mine is some kind of natural, low-sugar substance), close tightly, and shake for 30 seconds till it's all frothy and has doubled in volume.

Step 3: Remove the lid and pop the milk into the microwave. Heat it on high for 30 seconds.

Step 4: Remove the teabags from your mug, then pour the sweet, frothy milk over top.

Enjoy!

I made a delightful Chai Latte the same way, substituting chai tea for Earl Grey (der), and replaced the tablespoon of vanilla syrup with a teaspoon of vanilla syrup and a teaspoon of sugar.

*Fun British Fact: TK Maxx/Homesense is the British version of TJ Maxx/Winners/Homesense. Same company, slightly different name, for no apparent reason. Odd.

DG presents a Brilliant Hummus Hack

A colourful new take on (non-vegetarian) hummus

Jamie Oliver has given us so much.  By "us", of course I mean our family, which has enjoyed several recipes from his 5 Ingredients cookbook (except for one -- spoiler alert, it is not fabulous).

One of our favourite "company dishes" is his Moroccan-inspired lamb shoulder, which is easy, delicious, fancy, feeds eight, and, because it cooks for six hours, I get serious cred and kudos, even though the actual work part is about 15 minutes. We pair it with couscous (preseasoned, just add boiling water) and either a (very) simple, parsley-based salad or, last time, another five-ingredient recipe (which I reduced to four by omitting the broad beans) - a nice minty-yet-spicy dish of peas.

The only drawback: not enough lamb and too many chickpeas
Each time, the lamb is a hit, the chickpeas underneath are tender and tasty (Ziggy agrees), and we end up with leftovers: usually enough lamb for one or two people for lunch, and enough chickpeas to feed all five of us for a week. If we ate only chickpeas.

So good. But so, so much.

So, I took my classic Yummus!(TM) recipe and gave it a twist.

Warning: this is not for vegetarians.

By taking the leftover chickpeas, tomatoes and preserved lemons (which, as you recall, have been slow-braised in lamb fat for six hours to make them extra succulent), and whirring them in the blender with some lemon juice (fresh is best, but any port in a storm, no?), peanut butter (aka "the tahini of my kitchen"), two cloves of garlic and a handful of fresh parsley, I have transformed "leftovers" into "even more delicious yummus than usual".

Ta-dah! 

The Hufflings adored it, even though it was a "funny" colour.

Try it, and let me know what you think!

If you want something done right...

(Alternate title: Bunnycakes: the stuff of nightmares) (now with a nice lemon buttercream)

The Domestic Goddess doesn't suffer fools /is a rock, she is an i-i-i-island sometimes knows her limitations.

Please note:  although I refer to myself as a domestic goddess, it is firmly tongue-in-cheek, and I am not really a perfectionist.  But things usually turn out pretty well, especially decorated baked goods (even when I'm hiding zucchini in things) (shhhh).

The other morning, I was rushing around, getting ready for an Easter potluck lunch, because Fis had signed me up for both a savoury and a sweet contribution.

Thanks, Fis.

It was Saturday morning. 

I got out of bed first, and fed the Hufflings with fresh-from-the-oven hot cross buns.  (They were store-bought then popped into the oven - I'm not insane.)  I then got to work making a dillicious (...because it has dill in it...) orzo salad and bunnycakes.

Bunnycakes, if you don't know, are bunny-shaped cupcakes and are absolutely adorable.  They're quick, easy to make (with a cake mix), easy to decorate, and you can keep the so-precious Easter theme going with using the rest of the batter to make bunny-bum cupcakes.  Brilliant.

So cute, right?  Perfect just the way they are, right?

I had a box of rainbow-bit cake mix in the cupboard, so I greased the bunny tin, put paper liners in the cupcake tin, and mixed it up.  I poured in the batter, they all (bunnies and bums alike) went into the oven, baked up nicely, and I even remembered to turn them out after 10 minutes, which I honestly almost never remember to do, resulting in bunnies-stuck-to-the-pan, deformed bunnycakes, and SNBs.  But I did it!  They looked great!

I let them cool while I made a quick lemon buttercream (butter, icing sugar, milk, lemon zest and some lemon juice), then iced the cupcakes first.  I left the centre of each bare, dipped each in a plate of desiccated coconut (fur!), then had my wee Helper Huffling dip mini marshmallows in the frosting and stick it in the middle.

Wait for it...

I present:  bunny bums!  

(Note:  this is a multi-holiday baked good.  For example, you could serve these at a midwinter feast and call them yeti nipples, too.)

But, I digress.

I was still running around like a madwoman, chopping salad fixings, blanching peas, grating parmesan (it's a great salad), and still had the six bunnycakes to frost.  As I started them, Chris came in from a run.

Yes, he signed me up for a potluck, slept in, then went for a run, leaving me with all the food prep and three children.  He did that.  To me.

He possibly felt a bit bad (because I told him that he should).  He watched me dip the last two bunnycakes in the coconut.

"What can I do?" he asked.  My first suggestion -- that he invent a time machine and not do any of those things that he had done -- was not well taken, but I said, "You can figure out candies for the bunnies' faces."

Let's be clear about this.  I accepted his sweet, sincere offer of help, knowing that I was overwhelmed and that the "hard part" was done, and that we had to leave in less than 30 minutes.  I ran off to get in the shower.

I came out of the shower, dressed and got ready to go.  I took the salad out of the fridge, then went to pick up the cake carrier.  The things inside of it stared at me.

...

You know when someone tries to do something nice for you and you just can't tell them that they failed hard and that they're an idiot for what they did because they were honestly trying to be nice even if they ruined everything?  I tried not to say anything.  I was actually speechless.  Chris was standing there with half of a yay-I-helped and half of an uh-oh-something's-wrong-but-I-don't-know-what-it-is look on his face.

I walked over to the bunnycake pan and picked it up to show him.  Remember?  It looked like this.  (There are, in my (ok, perfectionist, if you must) mind, two distinct areas:  the ears area and the face area.  That eyes would be placed onto.  Am I alone in feeling that some truths are self-evident?)

He immediately looked even more uncomfortable.  I could sense that his mind was clicking into the area of, "Yes, that is something that I should have done" or getting closer to, "What I did was not that" and even a little bit of, "Oh dear."

This is what he made:

Dear Lord

Now, he did offer to help.  And he was super creative in cutting those gummi hearts to make both the teeth and the nose, and each ...uh...thing... had different-coloured skittles eyes.  It was not the end of the world and he was trying to help.  And I really need to let these things go.  (I repeated these to myself several times.)  But those are not bunnycakes.

However, not all was lost.  The DG has learned a valuable lesson.  Not to get up earlier, manage her time better or supervise all helpers closely even if they're 45.  No, she learned that the bunnycake pan can also be used to make FiscakesTM, which would fit right in on a buffet table with yeti nipples next winter.  Am I right?

The Domestic Goddess Bakes a Potato

The Domestic Goddess has been quiet for a while.  The DG still (sometimes) cooks lots of delicious food, and, in fact, made lasagna for Fis for the First Time Ever last week.  She just hasn't been bragging about it.

About the lasagna: it's been a bit of a sore point for him for the last, oh, fourteen years or so, as I often tell the story about the time a coworker actually got down on one knee and proposed to me after having a bite of the lasagna I had made for myself. In 1998. We've had lasagna often, though -- every time it went on sale for less than $12 at the grocery store -- even though it wasn't made by me.  But yeah, we'll have been married for twelve years next week, and I had never made lasagna, though he proposed to me anyway.  (Two separate boxes of increasingly-heirloom lasagna noodles have moved with us four times, however.)  

So, last Friday, it was time.

I made lasagna; it was good.  Not quite proposal-good, but good enough to quiet him down for another fourteen years or so.

But that's not what this is about.

Tonight, I made baked potatoes -- nay, jacket potatoes -- properly, for the first time in my life.  And they were AMAZING.

The only thing missing from this photo by Lars Blankers on Unsplash is
me, rolling around in the potatoes with a stick of butter in my teeth.

I love potatoes.  I have always loved them, and really should be at least twice my weight, considering how much I love them.  I love them steamed, boiled, roasted, mashed, smashed... I do my Irish heritage proud.  I don't skimp on the butter-and-milk part of mashed potatoes, and when I fully load my baked potato, it is Fully Loaded.  When Fis buys "light" butter and "low fat" sour cream, I just put twice as much on.

So, tonight, with three starving kids coming home from sports camp (and no vegetables in the house except for a sad-looking courgette*), I decided to make sausages and jacket potatoes, hoping that they'd be delicious enough to compensate for something green on the plate.

Usually/often, we have baked potatoes... well, nuked potatoes.  You know, you wash them, wrap them loosely in paper towel, and either stab them with a fork (if Fis is watching) or don't (if you're staging a passive-aggressive campaign against Fis), and pop them in the microwave for 5-7 minutes.  But tonight, oh, tonight was different.

Extraordinary Jacket Potatoes Extraordinaire 

(so good, it needs saying twice)

First, I preheated the oven to 200 degrees Celsius**.  I washed five "British jacket potatoes" and patted them dry with kitchen towel.***  Next, I rubbed them with olive oil and sea salt, and popped them into the oven.  Twenty minutes later, I lowered the oven temperature to 170 and let them bake for another full hour, then turned off the oven while I cooked the sausages.

Oh.  My.

Crispy skin, soft and fluffy interior.  So flavourful, so perfect.  We added (full fat) butter, (full fat) sour cream, grated mature cheddar, and "homemade" spring onions**** -- aha! Something Green! -- and man, were they amazing.

The DG tonight proved that simple can be good, and that vegetables are not even missed, even when the kids have had them as part of their meals every single day for their entire lives (humble brag!). If there's anything else you take away from this post, it's this: if I can't have hummus as my desert island food, it would be potatoes, jacket potatoes, from the recipe I've recorded here.

SO good.

Glossary of Terms/Fun British Facts for those not in Britain

* courgette = zucchini

** everything here is in Celsius, grams, and mL for baking.  Body weight is in kilograms.  It's all very metric, except for distances, which are measured in miles.  It is pretty much the opposite of Canada, which I think they're doing on purpose.
*** kitchen towel = paper towel

**** spring onions = green onions, which we grow in our windowsill herb garden, alongside (as the song goes) parsley, sage and the withered corpses of so many basil and cilantro ("coriander") plants.

I eat, therefore I am (no longer hungry)

Disclaimer:  Unsolicited, unpaid testimonial follows.  (Don't get me wrong -- I would totally accept payment for the following, preferably in food... )

Soooo, my friend Mel, who has four kids and somehow also manages to look well-groomed and run a successful business*, sent out a post on Twitter recently.

So, I did. 

Well, to be precise, I responded with a "hand-raised" emoji. 

And then she responded with "Click the link, woman!" 

So, because I follow directions well, and she scares me a little, I clicked the link.  I bought everything on her shopping list (except for chickpea pasta (subbed pasta), tamarind (soy sauce) and nutritional yeast (parmesan)), including salmon, which everyone who knows me knows I don't eat because it's "fish" and therefore "icky". 

(Chris is encouraged to eat as much seafood as he can when he travels, because a) then I don't have to make it, and 2) I don't ever need to be around his fishbreath.  We even have a little saying:  "Boys who eat fishes don't get kisses.") 

The kids, of course, like fish, for the most part, especially fish and chips, which is pretty much the lowest form of the healthiest food on earth, but meh - at least I don't have to make it.

I digress.

The chili-garlic salmon and bok choy (pak choi, here) was actually good.  I was going to make something else for myself, but then figured that I should actually set an example and try a little bit, and I managed an entire serving.  I even enjoyed it, when I wasn't thinking about how I was actually eating fish for the first time in 30+ years.

(True story:  I grew up mostly in Halifax, as a Catholic, so fish was on the menu every Friday for sure, and often other days, too.  Tartar sauce (which, I have pointed out before, is ratrat spelled backwards) made it bearable, but never good.  My mother finally gave in when I was about seven, and decided that she'd rather not waste perfectly good lobster (we'd sometimes have my own personal hell -- lobster boils -- in the summer) and also have to watch me try to choke it down, thus ruining the lobsterrific goodness for the rest of them.  After that, when seafood was for dinner, I was allowed to make a peanut butter sandwich.  And everyone was happy.)

I digress again.

It had an almost chicken-y texture, and wasn't fishy at all.  But my brain, my god.  I kept having salmon flashbacks for the rest of the night.  Folding laundry:  I ate fish.  Watching TV:  I just burped salmon.  Despite it tasting good and being SO healthy (30-year mantra:  I wish I liked fish!  It's SO healthy!), it was surprisingly, emotionally hard to come to terms with.

Does this mean I can no longer tell restaurants that I'm allergic? (Of course it doesn't!)

Does this mean I have to eat fish again?  (Of course it doesn't!)

How much smarter would I be now if I had eaten fish twice a week for the last 30 years?  (Fis can barely handle/accept my Supersmarts! (TM) as it is, so the world probably wouldn't be able to either.  It's totally for the best that I haven't.)

Anyhoo, all these existential questions aside, I salute Mel, whose recipes are delicious and whose motivation and organization is inspiring.  Years ago, BK (before kids) and WOOK (with only one kid), I would sit down on Saturday nights with a glass** of wine and cookbooks, to plan the meals for the week and write my shopping list for Sunday mornings.  It was sensible, civilized, organized, and... gee, I really should start doing that again.

OR, I could just cycle the Balanced Plate recipes for a week or two more.  We also ate cast-iron steak with sweet potato fries and a garlic-rosemary mayonnaise (my new, savoury spoon food, for when I find Nutella a bit too much), a burst-tomato pasta (with chicken, because no chickpea pasta) and a slow-cooker yellow split-pea stew, which made enough that we're having leftovers tonight.   Tomorrow will be the pork tenderloin... looking forward to it!


... and seriously, go check out the Balanced Plate Nutrition website or Twitter feed.***




* In case you're wondering, I manage neither.
** Technically true:  bottles are made of glass.
*** Just imagine how great this testimonial would be if I was actually being paid to write it!   (Mel -- call me! ;) 

DG Explores British Cuisine to Mixed Reviews But Mostly Shock and Horror

When in Rome, as they say.  (For some reason.) (Even when they're not in Rome.)

But, I digress.

With the convenience, wonder and confusion of online grocery shopping a weekly challenge, I have discovered that:

1. Everything you order is much smaller than you think it will be.  Teeny tiny, in fact.  We went through a jar of mustard in 3 weeks, somehow.
2. When you think you ordered something, you probably ordered something else.  Like, you wanted pickles to go with your sandwich and you ended up with that dreaded "sandwich pickle".* And/or
3. It just doesn't look/smell/taste right.  Like yellow mustard.  Even though it's a familiar brand (Heinz), instead of being a bright...well, mustard yellow, it's a pastel, and therefore suspect.  And Quaker Instant Oatmeal:  it's different.  Different flavours, different texture, but you get past it, because meh, it's oatmeal.
4. You will forget at least 3 critical items, but can't just order them separately because there is a £40 minimum. So you have to wait until next week, or find £40 more worth of stuff to buy.  (However, as you can order wine, beer, and liquor in the same order, it's doable.)
5. There are some things that you just can't get here.  Like chili powder.  No, I don't want "powdered chillis", nor will I spell chilli with two Ls, dammit.  Or seasoned salt, the "spice" we sprinkle on our macaroni and cheese.  Or, for that matter, decent macaroni and cheese, which is PC White Cheddar Deluxe Macaroni and Cheese, although there are several (unspeakable) varieties of canned mac and cheese available...  I shudder.  

SO, if you're looking for an appropriate housewarming present or care package, maybe it should include any or all of the following:

But, I digress again. This is a cry for help!

Now being just the Domestic Goddess and literally having nothing else to do and intensely interested in providing only the best meals for my family, I have started watching cooking shows here and there instead of day drinking.  So far., and have been inspired by up-and-coming local legend Jamie Oliver to try a few recipes (or "receipts", as they call them here). (No again!) (see also, there is only one damn L in chili.)

On Tuesday night, fresh from Vaughn's first kickboxing class (so many pushups and burpees!  I gotta say, the kid held his own... must be from all that training at home**)... um...where was I?  

Oh yes, I made lamb koftas.  Ground ("minced") lamb is very easy to come by, and is a common food.  The kids have adapted already, even the squidgy little one who wasn't keen on the idea until she ate some on a pizza with arugula ("rocket").  (Lamb pizza!)  I had to improvise a bit with the ingredients, adding za'atar (which contains sumac, so was close enough), tomatoes for extra colour and taste, and using both mint and parsley from my kitchen garden***.   It was a hit!  

Last night was not as much of a hit, according to the peanut gallery. I made cauliflower cheese, which I had never even heard of until I saw Jamie's show.  But, why not?  It's essentially everyone's favourite food (cauliflower) baked in a roux that is green from everyone's other favourite (pureed broccoli) and a sprinkling of cheese, bread crumbs and almonds...and thyme from my kitchen garden!  Who wouldn't like that?

Everybody but me, it seems.  Humph.  The important thing was that I liked it, and it's good I did, because that's going to be my lunch for the next four days.

Onward!  Next stop, Coronation Chicken?

Hey, where did everyone go?

* Sandwich pickle, in fact, has grown on me.  On a sandwich with "mature" cheddar and "french-style" mustard, it's quite tasty.**** 

** in our house, if you say a naughty word (from "stupid" and "butt" on up), you have to do one pushup for every year of your age.  So, if Tamsin calls Ailsa stupid, she does 4 (excellent) pushups.  If Vaughn, for example says, "Daddy said f&%$!" then he has to do 8 pushups!  And Fis has to do 44.  We are very fit.

*** Which I also ordered with my groceries!  And it's been a week, and it's still alive!*****

**** The kids and Chris still hate it.  More for me!

***** Update:  except for the chives.  They didn't make it.  I repeat, the chives are dead.

Week one: done!

Well, we have started checking off items on our To Do in London list.

• Buckingham Palace - check!
• Rode on the Tube and Returned Home With As Many Children As I Started With - check, check and check!
• London Zoo - check!
• Free Museums - check, War Museum!
• Live Theatre - check, The Hunting of the Snark!
• Noticing More and More Super-Weird Things About England - ongoing

The Zoo is walking distance from our flat - sure, it's a long walk, but our "walking legs" are getting stronger by the day.  We checked it out on Saturday.

Fun British Fact:  English zoos don't just have protected and endangered species, but extinct ones, too!  There is actually a time-travel portal, which takes you back to the time of the dinosaurs...hey, I was skeptical too, but they were very friendly and rideable.

Raarrrrr.

Although these pictures, I suppose, only show that the zoo has statues of animals, there were also real, live animals, all very active and healthy-looking.  It started off slowly, though - we went to a "Lunch with Otters" presentation, and they decided to stay in their little cave, snoozing, instead of participating with the zookeeper.  She did a fairly entertaining talk anyway, and the crawfish that she was going to feed to the otters became the stars of the show - they kept escaping from the bowl and menacing the children with their wee little claws.  

Saturday was, amazingly, the first real rainy day we've had, but of course I didn't check the weather ahead of time.  Chris did, and brought an umbrella along, but the kids only had baseball caps on (their t-shirts dried quickly), and I just got frizzier.  It was a nice day at the zoo, actually - not too warm or cold, just sort of drizzly in spots.  At some point, Chris' umbrella fell out of my bag.  Whoops.

Side note:   Since we're still living out of our suitcases, I couldn't remove the old, chipped polish from my fingers or toes.   Knowing that my nail polish remover would be arriving within the next few weeks (oh please oh please oh please), I found a Groupon for a mani/pedi in a neighbouring....er...neighbourhood.  

Now, SOME people might waste their money on buying another $3 bottle of nail polish remover, but I decided to be less wasteful (don't even try to make me understand the math).  Anyhoo, by happy accident, my fingers and toes match the Tube exactly.  

The kids had their first English Play Date on Monday with kids they had met at the park -- a boy Vaughn's age and a girl right between Ailsa and Tamsin -- and went over to their new friends' house, just a few blocks away.  It's a tiny little house, slightly smaller than our old one, but with a tiny little garden -- I'm so envious!  We joined them on Tuesday, as well, at the War Museum.  The kids had a great time, but it will be an uphill slog to get them to fully adopt Proper British Decorum.  

I expect, in fact, to die trying.

Today was even rainier than Saturday, so it was good luck that the day's adventure was to go to the Theatre!  Chris is off for the next two weeks, to help unpack and set up our flat (would be more helpful if we had anything to unpack or set up...am getting tired of the same clothes), so we looked up deals, found a fun one for the kids (we were inspired by the book Aunt Tracey gave to Vaughn for Christmas last year!), and were taken on a musical romp to Snark Island.  It was hilarious (for me), and I will be humming the songs from now on...and telling the jokes (to the kids' chagrine - they have an excellent awareness of what "funny" is, and I, very often, fall short on purpose, just to get The Look from Ailsa*).

The curtain is about to go up, and everyone is dressed and ready with snacks!

Fun British Fact:  Hot beverages, like coffee or tea, are not allowed in the theatre, but you can buy drinks, candy and crisps to bring in with you.  

Aside:  I would like to point out to Grandma and Grandpa that we made it two full weeks without taking the Hufflings to McDonald's.  Personally, I think we can go much longer (what with no pesky grandparents about to take them to The Bad Place), but we were in a rush as we left the theatre, and needed to get to an appointment at the bank, so popped in for some Happy Meals.  Ailsa ordered chicken McNuggets, which came with dipping sauce, of course.  BUT WAIT!

Yep, you can dip your chips in curry sauce, even at McDonalds.  IT IS AWESOME!

She stuck with the Sweet and Sour sauce, but come on!

We bought Fis a replacement umbrella (thus turning him back into Chris... at least for a few minutes), and bought one for Tamsin, too.  At dinner, she enthusiastically exclaimed, "This is the best day ever!  I got my own umbrella!"

She and Ailsa were so good about sharing.

DG note:  Dinner tonight was chicken drumsticks with garlic stuffed under the skin, sprinkled with salt and pepper and mixed herbs, frozen peas, and some kind of microwave rice thing.  The chicken was a hit, anyway!

* The teenage years are being foreshadowed already.  So far, they're hilarious.

TDGIF

To quote Maya Angelou, I know why the caged house bird wife sings drinks.

Pardon me to anyone who has children, and (for some reason) chooses to watch them herself.  And apologies to Miss Kat, Mme Zakia, Whitney, Pri, Amanda, and Ruby -- the wonderful people who, over the years, have watched our children when I was working.  (I should probably apologize to Maya Angelou, too.)  In my defense, though, I'm both 1) unskilled and b) doing this for free, but honestly there is no amount of money and/or training that could make spending this much time with my children ok.

I will perhaps feel better after (another) glass of wine.

True, we are new to a city, we are still jet-lagged (but I think this is the last day to coast on that one), none of our stuff has arrived, so we are essentially squatting in what is basically a large hotel suite with a kitchen, and our indoor time is limited to reading books, colouring, and playing snap and Spot It.  But I feel that we have been spending so much time outside that they should be starting to appear as regular children, instead of as rabid werewolves.  Who are jet-lagged.  And who get up multiple times a night with nightmares and to pee.

I have always admired the expectations that the British hold for their children, in books, at least.  They are expected to be cheeky and impudent on command, and politely quiet to the point of being subdued the rest of the time.  British literature has led me to believe that joyful shouts come from brisk exercise on the moors, and that otherwise, children generally are exceedingly well-behaved yet rosy-cheeked, or dying of consumption with a stiff upper lip; those that are petulant have a reason:  they're dying of consumption.

It doesn't help that literally EVERY CHILD we have seen out and about, both walking and at various parks, is polite, respectful, and kind, but jolly.  I saw an 11-year-old boy leaving a park, saying, "Thanks Mum!  I quite enjoyed that!", and a 10-year-old boy today called out to Ailsa, who was (of course) climbing a tree, that she "ought not to climb so high, because she might worry her mum". Note, these were both boys.

Hufflings and assorted cherubic playmates in tree, circa 2017

I suppose the kids we've played with are only a small subsection of "British Children", but overall, they are exactly what I want my kids to be:  active and cheerful, but when a smaller child joins the game or steps onto the equipment, they slow down to include them.  In contrast, mine just seem loud, bossy, screamy, loud, undisciplined, loud...  I'm extremely worried that the other parents will just assume that they are -- gasp! -- American.

This seems awful to write, I know, but the answer is simple.  All I need is a governess.  In return, I will... hmmm.  Ok, I can't pay someone until I have a job myself, but maybe they can do it as community service?  All I need, then, is a Feloness.  Apply here!

All this aside, we had a not-too-bad day today.  We started at a park, met up with some kids they had played with yesterday, and traded info for a playdate - this is a Big Deal, the first step towards making friends.  We came back home for an early lunch of my famous scrambled eggs, toast, and salsa, jam and "sandwich pickle"* as condiments, then headed out to our first foray on the tube.

I didn't need to bring my map of London with me, because I had my cell phone!  No problem!  GPS works so well!  ... until you're in a tube station, or on a tube, and you don't know which stop to get off at, and you can't get any cellphone service, and also you're an idiot.  We were debating going to London Bridge instead, because the stop is actually named, "London Bridge", but luckily, we were going to a popular destination, and the friendly announcer announced it in a friendly way (as friendly announcers are wont to do):  "Green Park.  This stop also for Buckingham Palace."

Buckingham Palace is just across Green Park.  First, we had to find our way out of the tube station and into Green Park, which was a lot more complicated than it seemed, mostly because the person holding the cell phone was still an idiot.  After walking one block the wrong way, turning around, walking two blocks the other way, crossing the street, and walking one block back (now standing exactly across the street from the tube station we had come out of, only twelve minutes before), we saw the entrance to Green Park, and in we went.

We saw police horsies!  Not quite as handsome as our police horsies, but still quite handsome.

It was yet another beautiful park, which, quite frankly, are getting rather tiresome.  But yes, it's green, it's lovely, it has trails and paths and beautiful old trees, neat little lawnchairs you can sit in for only 1.60 pounds sterling per hour**, and at the very end of it you could see majestic wrought-iron gates topped with gold.  In any other place, I would assume that it's just gold paint, but I'm pretty sure that wouldn't be fancy enough.

Here we are in front of the gates, and the Queen herself is inside!  I'm sure she would have come out to say hello had she known that we were there.  Also, somebody please teach me a better angle for selfies.

The Union Jack was flying, which, as Tamsin explained to me (again), it means the Queen is inside.  It was surprisingly exciting for all of us!  We're going to try to take a tour of the palace on another day, to see the inside, but the outside was very impressive.

The giant Victoria monument was spectacular.  Every angle was beautiful, and I had fun trying to explain what "allegorical" meant to a 7-year-old.***

What good is a beautiful, gold-topped monument if you can't scale it?

We walked back through the park, stopped to climb another tree, and stopped for a snack (Starbucks #3!) before we ventured back underground.  The trip back seemed faster than the trip out, and we headed home for some big glasses of wine water.

Up...up...up... back out of the tube station.  The kids suss out the theatre posters.

I decided to trade 45 minutes of television for the kids if I could have 34 quiet minutes of yoga for me.  During their 45 minutes, I made another alsational German Shepherd's Pie from scratch, using just salt and pepper as seasoning as we have nothing else.  After browning it, I slow-simmered the meat with the carrots and onion for about 30 minutes, adding some of the water from the potatoes as a thickener.  I put it in the oven at -- who knows, it's in Celsius, and it hurts my brain -- for about an hour and twenty minutes, to further let the flavours deepen.  And...wow.  Aside from having to spend time with my children, I'm rocking this Domestic Goddess thing.

But back to that bargain I made for yoga:  during my time, guess how many minutes I got?

Two.  I got two measly minutes of peace and quiet before Ailsa hurt her foot on the wall of her bedroom - when I followed her in, More Stressed and Less Relaxed than I had been just two short minutes ago, Vaughn was standing on a couch, and Tamsin was in the middle of throwing stuffed animals off her bunkbed.

Seriously, interviews for Felonesses start tomorrow.  I'll even feed you!

* Good God, London!  "Sandwich pickle", indeed.  What fresh hell is this?

** There were about 30 chairs, only one of which was occupied - everyone else was sitting on the grass around the chairs.  I can't make this up.  I assume that they are carefully monitored and that you get a withering glance if you sit in a chair for free.  It is so freaking civilized here, I could pee myself!

***I suppose it would help if I knew what it meant myself.  Oh well.

Neighbourhood exploration continues: Two Starbuckses Found

We're slowly trying to get our bodies and minds on London time.  Although we haven't officially left our neighbourhood yet, we've been hoofing it all around to different (amazing) parks until we ("we") are mentally able to handle the thought of taking the tube with three wild animals.  

(Chris has been going to work since Monday, so he's already a pro, but he has left me with three Crankipus Hufflingius Jetlaggii.  Today, I took the extra precaution of containing them (and a small furry decoy) as iconically as possible, for the greater good.)

"Let us out!  It's stinky in here!"

"Come on... we promise we'll be good.... pleeeeeease?"

About four blocks one way, there is a beautiful church garden/park/playground, full of nature, cool climbing equipment and really old graves.  They have an Outdoor Gym that the kids want to use every day to, and I quote, "get fitter".  They do all the stations, and the number of reps to beat, so far, is 16.  The playground is always full of cheeky English cherubs, who sound delightful as they crow things like "Brilliant!" and "Flipping hell!".  

There is another, larger space, about a 20-minute walk in the other direction, just past a Starbucks (yay!), with running trails and fitness stations, several off-leash dog areas (Ziggy was in heaven, and made tons of friends, human and canine alike!), and another outdoor gym.  There was a personal trainer at one of the stations, and a Very Serious Strollercise group in a gazebo... I will be spending a lot of time there once the kids are safely ensconced in school.*

On our street, between our flat and a Starbucks (yay!), is a public library, for which we got cards yesterday.  The summer reading challenge requires that they each read six books by the end of August.  Vaughn told the librarian that he could do it by Friday, but she didn't believe him.  Ha!  She will learn.  We popped in for a mask-making workshop after our groceries were indeed delivered (success!).  Vaughn created a gold monkey mask with giant claws.  Ailsa's was a dog mask, with long eyelashes and a gold hat.  Tamsin's mask was a dog wearing a mask - very meta.  Mine started out as a lion but ended up looking like David Bowie if you squint. 

Regarding the groceries, it seems that doing a "full shop" is very different if you already have staples.  I bought a full load of groceries, making sure to cover off every food group and healthfully, too!  SO, last night, the Domestic Goddess made our very first home-cooked meal in our new home.  It was a traditional house-warming meal of pan-seared chicken finished off in a cream-of-chicken-and-leftover-shashuka sauce, with a hint of Laughing Cow cheese thrown in for that je ne sais quoi, served over wilted spinach, a quick tomato-and-cucumber salad (tossed with lemon juice, salt and pepper), and wee little charlotte potatoes, which, it turns out, are wee little potatoes.  I learned that 1) I apparently depend on spices and condiments -- which won't arrive for at least another two weeks -- to make good food - who knew? and 2) despite having to improvise wildly and having no idea how to use the wall oven-slash-microwave, I still rocked it.  Ba-BAM!  And self-high-five, besides.  

Today, however, my cold has enworsened, I've lost my voice, and I am barely upright (we don't have cold medication, so I am having another glass of wine, which was also delivered yesterday morning, thank-you-very-much), so we had takeaway curry, and confirmed what we already thought:  "fairly hot" in Ottawa is child's play compared to "fairly hot" in England.  Despite watching both of her parents and both her siblings scream in agony, then chug water and raita after a tiny mouthful, Ailsa decided to slowly chew up a green pepper from her Gosht Kaila.  Silly, silly girl.  Even before she started, I said, "That will be so hot it will make you cry."  And Chris said, "You'll literally burn your face off."  Yet, like someone else we know, she decided to find out for herself.

Silly girl.

Update:  Chris found a capsule of Tylenol Cold PM mixed in with his vitamins, which I have washed down with wine.**



*At the park, not at strollercise!  Please!
**Ba-BAM!

DG Rises to the Occasion (out of spite, but still)

Once upon a time, years and years and years ago, I dated a nice young man named Chris.  He was tall, fit, handsome, and blind as a bat without his glasses.  He decided to undergo eye surgery.  I had gone through it myself four years earlier, so I knew that he would need help for the first day or so until the fast healing process finished.*  Because he was so nice and I was so nice, I moved into his apartment for three days to cook for him and make sure he was ok.  And that's when I met Fis.

This was at the peak of my fitness training and his marathon training, so I cooked and ate very healthfully.  EXTREMELY healthfully.  So X-TREMELY healthfully TO THE MAX that there were no seasonings, sauces, or flavour, but I didn't know any different.  Hey, food is fuel!  So, when I cooked a nice dinner for my new boyfriend (Foreman-grilled chicken, steamed carrots, and 2 baby potatoes), and he choked it down and asked for more, there was an awkward silence because there WAS no more.  I mean, I gave him TWO whole baby potatoes because he eats carbs for his long-distance running.  How could he still be hungry?

Right, so I moved in and fed him healthfully and well for three days.  I made him protein pancakes (oats, splenda, egg whites and protein powder), my grilled chicken/carrot/potato specialty, and an amazingly delicious, flavourful casserole of spinach, boiled chicken, cottage cheese and lemon juice, to which I added pasta for, you know, his needs.  This was early enough in our relationship that he really should have been nicer about the whole experience.

To this day, he complains about those meals.  Thirteen years later.

The protein pancakes, he says (STILL), were poorly named.  With the consistency of a dry, hard tortilla, and the flavour of...nothing, really, they were Not Pancakes, and they were Not Good (in that order).  He didn't appreciate my efforts for a healthy breakfast.  Or with the grilled chicken.  But the worst offense (and he truly was offended) was making him the casserole.  I mean, I admit that the pasta really sucked the flavour out of the casserole (which I honestly believed was delicious), but it wasn't offensive.

But I digress.  Thirteen years have passed since then.

Last Friday was my last day "off".  I walked the kids to school with the dog, went to the gym, had lunch with friends and their baby, then went home to do my nails and watch a movie on NetFlix.  I was having a nice, selfish day, and was planning on throwing dinner together quickly and cleaning up the breakfast dishes at the same time.   Chris came in at about 5, on the way to pick up the kids at aftercare, saw the state of the kitchen and the lack of anything simmering on the stove, and told me that I could NOT feed them meatballs (I had stopped at IKEA on the way home) and that he wanted something healthier.

I was angry.  It was my Last Day, dammit.  I wanted to be selfish.  On the best day, I don't do well being ordered around by my husband, and ... no, wait.  I'll show him!  I'll make him something healthy.  

I found 2 chicken breasts in the freezer, which I popped into a pot of water with a splash of lemon juice and garlic powder, still frozen.  Yeah, boiled chicken is healthy, you jerk!  We had 1/2 a container of cottage cheese (healthy!) and frozen chopped spinach (so healthy!... moo-ha-ha-ha!).  I also found some black bean pasta I'd been holding onto.  OMG, Revenge Cooking is the Best!  I chopped the chicken, mixed up the casserole (also contains 1 tablespoon of light mayo, more lemon juice, and a bit of parmesan) and popped it in the oven.

I boiled the pasta (added the same amount of whole wheat pasta), then added a tablespoon of olive oil, 2 chopped garlic cloves, and two frozen cubes of tomato paste, sizzled it together, and voila, health on a plate, dammit.  As ordered, you dictator.  Take that!

Well, Vaughn loved it so much, he gave me a high five.  The girls said it was really good.  And Fis (who was out in full force), said, "Not bad."

So, yes, it was delicious.  Yes, I stepped up and pulled together an amazing, tasty, healthy meal in 30 minutes.  But where was the revenge???  Fis has still not had his comeuppance (though he might argue that 13 years with me totally counts as punishment enough), but although revenge might be a dish best served cold, I reheated it and had it for dinner tonight.

Yep, still good.





* This was before I found out how much worse Man Surgery is and how much longer and more painful Man Recovery is.

I'm aliiiive!

Alternate title:  Insulate good times, come on!  Install some insulation...  by Kool (in my mudroom) and the Gang

(apologies)

Ok, ok, I know I've been completely incommunicado lately.  And by "lately", I mean "since February".

This blog tends to quiet down when there is too much stuff going on in my life.

But!  Now that the aforementioned "stuff" is over, there will be more writing, blogging, witty-joking, and updating on my extremely fascinating life!

For example, guess what I did this morning?  I insulated the crawlspace over the mudroom!

In May, our home inspector pointed out that the mudroom was "built on a concrete slab" and "had no appreciable insulation overtop", so would "probably be extremely cold".  And it is.  It's been on my list since we moved in August.  However, due to physical issues and extreme unwieldiness, it has been impossible to do until now.

I've had 2 weeks to recover from my 2am trip to the hospital on Halloween (and subsequent, wonderful 2-day vacation), and have been venturing off my couch two to three times a day to slowly walk our newest family member.  I even tried to jog down my street this morning.

Too soon.

Introducing our newest bundle of teeth and fur:  Ziggy, with his best friends

But, DG responsibilities can't be shirked forever, so I hauled the giant ladder out of the storage room (please send email reprimands directly to Fis), lifted off the panel in the roof of our carport, and changed into fibreglass-friendly sweatpants tucked into my socks, long-sleeved shirt tucked into my sweatpants, work gloves and a festive blue bandanna to cover my hair.  No, there are no photos.

I can almost stand up in the highest point of the space...which didn't need insulating, unfortunately.  I had to squeeze between framing that was about 3 feet high (but sloping down to the floor) and 18 inches wide, balance on joists 18 inches apart, and somehow roll pink insulation along, bumping my head on the sloping roof beams and coughing up a great deal of what I hope was dust, but was probably fibreglass.

The recurring thoughts I had during the whole 45-minute ordeal were:

• I've missed my calling!  Tiny people like me are perfect for crawlspace insulation jobs.  (Much like my plan to man the subs of the Canadian Navy entirely by people of my size, which was thwarted in 1998, 1999 and 2001 - your loss, Canadian Navy!)

• It must suck to be normal sized.

But, now that it's done (and I'm showered), I look forward to reaping the rewards of my work by feeling an almost-noticeable temperature change in the mudroom.  The next project, of course, involves weatherstripping the front door!  SO FUN!

Also, I think I can totally justify doing absolutely nothing for the rest of the day.

Party of Five...Halloweenies, that is!

Of COURSE the kids love Halloween - they're 50% Halloweenie, after all!

This year was no exception - the kids chose their costumes fairly early on (two of them "may" have been helped along with subtle hints, as it would be a shame to have, say, a beautiful, hand-sewn lion costume only worn by one Huffling, or a princess froggie only worn by one ... um.. my niece).

Harry Potter was a given for Mr. Vaughn, as he is keenly into the 4th book, and is eagerly looking forward to watching the 3rd movie (trying to deflect that one as long as possible - they start getting scarier and scarier).  He knows quite a few spells, and I am never safe from someone sneaking up behind me and yelling "Expelliarmus!"...which inevitably makes me jump and drop whatever I'm holding... because it's magic, duh.

I, as usual, completely missed the point of Halloween, which is apparently to dress provocatively and live out one's illusions of sexiness.  I was a ... um... sexy?... killer whale, posed here with a priest.  Note that I was not convincing enough in pushing my old nun costume on Chris, which would have entailed showing a good expanse of ankle.  I also wanted him to wear lipstick.

He said no.

"I don't want to dress up like a woman," he said.

"You wouldn't be dressing up like a woman," I insisted.  "You'd be a man in a nun costume wearing lipstick, which is much funnier."

I

Because Halloween was so hectic, with trick or treating and, well, trick or treating, we waited till the day after to make our Halloween Feast!   The Domestic Goddess resurfaced quietly to impress the kids, the husband, and horrify the poor, unassuming houseguest, Uncle Rob.

First, I slayed a monster, and cut off his feet at the ankle:

"Feetloaf AGAIN?"

THEN, I cooked his brains until they were a nice medium rare.

Mmmm.... brains.  This was surprisingly hard to cut into, emotionally.  Tasty, though.