Home

Home Sweet Home (for now).
(Image credit: author's own.)

What does it mean to you?

Home is a concept that most people understand, but it's not the same for any two of us. Whether it's where you hang your hat, where your favourite people are, or the house that you've lived in forever, such a familiar term has a different meaning to everyone.

As an expat that will be returning to the motherland this year (fingers crossed!), to a house and a street that I barely got to know before we left, but to a city where friends and family are close by, my own concept of home will be shifting again soon. 

Until I turned 15, I moved every two to three years, so home was wherever my family lived at that time. When people ask me where I'm from, it's easier to just say I'm nomadic, a navy brat: I was born on one coast, spent six years on the other (in two, three-year intervals), and have bounced around in the middle the rest of the time. But where am I really from? Where's home? I settled in my adopted hometown when I was 15, and my parents are still there, though they left for a while when I was in university. I lived there for 15 years in a row, but left it again as an adult with a family of my own, twice now. I hope to return there this summer. Forever? I'm not sure.

Precious memories have travelled with me and hold a place of honour in each of my homes.
(Image credit: author's own)

I've had so much time to consider home over the last two years of writing and editing Ground Control. My protagonist, Sarah, is trying to come to terms with leaving. Earth -- the largest concept of home possible right now -- but also her house (that she'd only lived in for two years), and her parents, who still live in the house she grew up in, in another city, a home that she really left fifteen years before. 

She thinks about herself, but mostly about her kids, and how she wants them to have a home. She looks back to her own childhood and the joy she remembers of riding her bike and feeling the wind in her hair, playing outside on summer nights till the lights came on, climbing trees, and spinning round and round until you fall down on the grass and the whole huge sky whirls around your head. These are things her children will never know on Mars. She struggles with which mementos to bring along, collections of photos, trinkets, tastes or memories that recall the places she's left behind.

My guitar, my candle, my lip balm always make my office more mine.
(Image credit: author's own)

Her journey, and mine, when I think of it, follows the change that happens when you get ready to leave a home: from loss and regret, to the thought of adventure and a new life, to acceptance that wherever you end up, in whatever becomes your community, eventually becomes home again. 

These themes also come to play in my next novel, which is underway, where the elements of Cate's home -- family, friends and community -- are far different than they first seem (but stay tuned).

...and a recipe for 70s-style chicken casserole

Right then. For me, home needs to involve the concept of a somewhat 70s-style childhood, and fond memories of 70s food. I present my mom's chicken casserole. It doesn't sound like much, but it tastes like home. My kids love it. Hey, even Fis likes it.*

Mom's "That 70s" Chicken Casserole

2 cups boiled chicken, diced (off to a promising start! Of course, you can use grilled or roasted)

1 cup chopped celery (the "vegetable" element of this balanced meal)

1 cup almonds, sliced or slivered

2 cups cooked rice (it was the 70s, so white rice is de rigeur, but you can enhealthen it by using brown)

1 cup mayonnaise (please use light -- or lite. And yes, Miracle Whip works too)

2 tbs. onion, finely chopped (I tend to use a 1/2 onion, for, you know, flavour)

2 cans cream of chicken soup

2 tbs. lemon juice 

2 chicken OXO cubes dissolved in 1/2 cup water

Pepper to taste (my recipe calls for salt too, but it does NOT need any added salt)

... Potato chips, crushed, to cover (this is what you came here for)

Preheat the oven to 400 F/200 C. Mix everything except the potato chips in a casserole dish. Crumble the chips over top, and bake, uncovered, for 40 minutes. Let sit for 10 minutes before serving.

It's even better the next day.

*high praise

**Is this whole recipe just a vehicle for potato chips? Well, what of it?

***Vaughn slid by as I was writing this and was all, "Wait. Are you making that chicken casserole tonight?" He was disappointed when I said no. Looks like I'll have to make it tomorrow!

"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.

I review The Hairy Bikers' One Pot Wonders

It's a Crossover! The Cranky Book Reviewer and the Domestic Goddess work at cross-purposes together for a combination book review and meal attempt

(Image courtesy of www.hairybikers.com)

As a thoughtful Christmas present this year, I bought Fis a copy of The Hairy Bikers' One Pot Wonders by Si King and Dave Myers. 

Their show is delightful; they're like two sweet (yet hairy) old ladies who have known each other too long, encouraging each other and bickering as they put together meals. Chris appreciated their humour and facial hair stylings, there was a new cookbook coming out, and Tsaketa! Christmas solved.

He made one recipe, mid-way through January.

I let him have his time, but last week, the Domestic Goddess took over.

The DG weighs in on the recipes

I flagged a few tasty-looking recipes and got to work. Of course I didn't follow the recipes exactly. I substituted where I needed to (didn't have the ingredients/didn't have enough/had the ingredients but they were expired), but they still turned out remarkably well.

Their Chocolate Brownie has hazelnuts (but I didn't, so I used almonds) and glace cherries. They're a one-bowl deal, and came out moist and chewy. Thumbs up from everyone except Tamsin, who didn't like the cherries.

Brownies with cherries (and almonds) (image: author's own)

I also attempted the Roast Vegetables with Chickpeas and Halloumi. I know the kids don't love halloumi; they find it too salty, but thought I could sneak it by them it with a mint halloumi (which the Hairy Bikers recommended), which in retrospect was a really terrible idea. Everything was ok, except for the halloumi, which the girls actually refused to eat after the first three bites. Vaughn liked it, though.

Delicious vegetarian food (image: author's own)

For my third attempt, I made their Winter Chicken Bake. Unfortunately, I didn't have the skin-on, bone-in chicken thighs that the recipe called for, so the chicken breasts that I cut down to size ended up dried out, but tasty. Somehow, everyone enjoyed the mix of leeks, parsnips, carrots and brussels sprouts -- it was a reach, but it was flavourful and SO GOOD.

A few days after that, I made their Biker Goulash. Yum, but not enough to feed five, let alone six, as the recipe says. However, I maybe used less meat than was called for, and didn't have any suet (suet!) to make the dumplings, so that probably explains that.

Yesterday morning, in time for Second Breakfast, their Belting Banana Bread was a hit with every member of the family. Not one exclaimed, "Why are there raisins in banana bread?" I see that as a victory.

And yesterday night, I made their Spinach, Ricotta and Parma Ham Lasagne ("It's an assembly job really and a cracking good dish"), and it was, even with less than half the required cheese, and that half being cheddar instead of mozzarella. (Sincere apologies to Messrs. King and Myers.)

The Domestic Goddess is obviously compensating for something. But, it was half term, her bootcamps are off this week, and it was a great opportunity to try out her new digital food scale, which works like a dream. (Get it? Weighs in!)

Is it my turn yet? (image: author's own)

Lies, all lies!

The Cranky Book Reviewer jumps in here to say that I think it's fair to say that I've given this book a chance. The food is flavourful and somewhat easy to make (no weird, advanced cooking techniques), but the idea of this being "one pot" cooking is a sham -- a sham, I say!

Most of the dishes required mixing ingredients in a separate bowl, or browning ingredients and "setting them aside" (not just in a pile on the counter, but in a separate dish). There were always several dishes to wash, not just the one, and to that I say humph.

The CBR also found it upsetting to say the least that there were rarely any leftovers. "Serves four" means "serves four." And, while I appreciate correctness and accuracy, I also want leftovers to eat the next day for lunch.

Joint recommendation

Aside from the misleading title, it was great. Lots of variety, interesting combinations of foods, and the writing - warm, conversational, witty - I felt, was the best part.

"Dead easy this and so good."

Just for that, the book is worth a buy.

Have you tried it out? What did you think?

Adventures in Dinnertime: Chicken Surprise

The Domestic Goddess has been quiet for a while.

Perhaps it's because she is exhausted; from mid-November to mid-January, there is a LOT going on, food- and mommying-wise.

These goings on include, but are not limited to: the ramp-up to Christmas season, the 3rd Huffling's birthday, the countdown to Christmas, that fun space between Christmas and New Year's Eve when you have to spend every day with your children  (remember? you love them), to the 1st Huffling's birthday. All of this involves a lot of baking and planning and grooming and cleaning up (before and afterwards). It's exhausting.

So, last night at 5:30 pm, the DG realized that, not only had she not planned dinner, she hadn't even taken anything out of the freezer to thaw. And the fridge was pretty empty of anything that could be eaten for dinner. This, of course, is different from "the fridge was pretty empty". No, our fridge still looks full, but it's full of condiments, wine and yogurt, while containing no actual food. See Figure 1.

Fig. 1. Fridge full of not food. (Image: author's own)

I pulled some frozen chicken thighs from the freezer (the DG is suddenly too tired to refer to herself in the third person), and popped them into a nice warm-water bath in the sink. While that was thawing (sort of), I chopped an onion, three past-their-prime carrots, and some very wan, floppy celery, and sauted them with a bit of oil.*

At this point, the chicken was (sort of) unfrozen, and easily hacked chopped into bitish-size pieces, sprinkled with mixed dried herbs and S&P, then added to the mirepoix** to brown. Once the meat was sealed, I added about a tablespoon of Hidden Valley ranch dressing mix and glooped in about 1/2 cup of salsa, and covered to let simmer for about fifteen minutes. Et voila.

I gave each kid a scoop of egg-fried rice (leftovers that Chris made from his new cookbook) and topped it with this concoction.

The kids peered into their bowls, suspicious.

"What is it?" they asked.

"Chicken Surprise," I responded.

Tamsin blew on hers and ventured a small bite. She sat up taller and shot me a thumbs-up.

"It's really good," she said. The other two agreed.

I did jazz hands. "Surprise!"






* Fun British Fact: Canola Oil, as it is known in Canada, was actually rebranded from the British Rapeseed Oil. Same oil, different name. (I assume there was a focus group.)

** Fun French Fact, taken word-for-word from Wikipedia: "Though the cooking technique is probably older, the word mirepoix dates from the 18th century and derives, as do many other appellations in French cuisine, from the aristocratic employer of the cook credited with establishing and stabilizing it: in this case, Charles-Pierre-Gaston François de Lévis, duc de Lévis-Mirepoix (1699–1757), French field marshal and ambassador and a member of the noble family of Lévis, lords of Mirepoix, Ariège, in Languedoc since the 11th century. According to Pierre Larousse (quoted in The Oxford Companion to Food), the unfortunate Duke of Mirepoix was "an incompetent and mediocre individual ... who owed his vast fortune to the affection Louis XV felt toward his wife and who had but one claim to fame: he gave his name to a sauce made of all kinds of meat and a variety of seasonings.""

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.

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!

Pond-hopping Huffs

Well, it’s out there in the public consciousness now, with special thanks to Chris (not Fis-Chris, but Fitness Chris) who announced it with a microphone at the gym a few weeks ago, when I wasn’t there (who does that?), and then I knew I had to tell work: 


We are moving to London.

 

Naturally, “London, Ontario?” is the first question that anyone asks.

 

Ummm…London, Ontario… I mean, you’re a nice city and all, but… no.  I was there for the Ontario Provincial Fitness Championships, way back in ’01 and ‘03 (winning in ‘03, thank-you-very-much-please-see-photo-of-when-I-was-awesome) (I had A VEIN ON MY ABS), and it seemed…nice.  I was there at some other time to visit Sean for his birthday (maybe in ’02?).  Great city, sure.

 

Photo of when I was awesome, circa 2003.  Sigh.

But no, we’re not going anywhere that convenient, close (everything is relative), or safe.

 

By “safe”, I mean, “what I’m used to” or “a place that I am employable in my comfort zone”.  Like – and I can’t believe I’m saying this – Medicine Hat.

 

The second question that everyone asks is, “But isn’t this the year that ‘nothing was going to happen’?” 

Yes, yes it was.

 

Last year, just in the span of four months, we bought a house, Tamsin started school, we got a dog, and I had somebody’s baby.  The years up to that involved scrambling with three babies/toddlers/preschoolers/kids, taking on more responsibility (and prestige!) at work, Chris being away for days/weeks/months at a time, recovering from basement flooding and renovations, having umbilical hernia surgery, and travelling to see family in Las Vegas and Halifax, while playing ball hockey, teaching fitness classes, and trying to remember not only what my husband looked like, but why I was married to him in the first place.  This was supposed to be the year that we just LIVE without having any kind of major change. 

 

Speaking of segues, the key -- if I may give out unsolicited advice -- is to be very careful and judicious when writing your wedding vows.  These are capital-V Vows, made out loud in front of a whole crowd of people that you know well enough to call you on it later, even if you don’t remember what you said, didn’t mean it, or wish you hadn’t said it.  On top of the ominous echo of “the rest of your life” that looms over every wedding day (can’t you hear it???), I made the grievous mistake bold move of publicly promising to not only love, honour and humour Fis (see?  I was thinking for that part, although I honestly didn’t realize how hard it would be to even humour him, sometimes*), but also to “follow him wherever his ambition takes us”.  Since that one sentence landed me in Medicine Hat, eight months after the wedding, you’d think that I would have asked for a re-do.   

 

But, 10 years later, here we go. 

 

The kids are all keen – for the few months before it became official, we talked up Quality Street, Cadbury, and Harry Potter.  We looked at Google Maps and wondered out loud how much we could travel, if only we lived over in Europe (aside:  does England still count as Europe?  Did you know that England is an island?  And do people still call it “England”?), and they were sold.  They even jumped up and down with joy when we told them.  They are already enrolled in a nice little school, and it sounds amazing.

 

Chris has a great job that is taking us there, and I have… the opportunity to do something new, “whatever I want”.  I will be cleaning my own (damn) house and walking my own (damn) dog.  I will continue to try to turn Ziggy into a well-behaved little mutt (or one of us will die trying).  Who knows, maybe I’ll even style my hair on a regular basis.**  I have certifications in fitness that are, I think, useless in the UK.  I have mad managerial and paralegal skills that are appreciated here in the Federal Government, but possibly/probably don’t translate into the work available at the Embassy… or maybe I don’t want to do that kind of work for a while.  I could write (for whom?  About what?).  Sightseeing, hosting visitors,*** dog-training, and Domestic-Goddessing the crap out of my household might hold me over for a while, but I can’t see me lasting for long without my own thing. 

 

If only I knew what that was.

 

So, what would you DO (not just “do”, but “DO”) if you were me?  I am open to any and all suggestions - email me or call me with them, and I'll seriously consider every one.**** 

 

 

 

* Also, he points out that this blog doesn't exactly "honour" him.  Piff.

** Well, probably not, but I could.

*** Guest room/pull-out sofa in living room.  Nuff said, come visit.

**** Submissions so far include "French training" in England, a Master's degree, and "Finishing School".  Humph.