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.

Easter: A Huffstory of Deceit

Warning:  Completely disillusioning and probably blasphemous.

Following on the Easter Candy post, I thought I'd break down our annual Easter festivities for those that want to live vicariously through me the morbidly curious.

Wait...WHO's not real?

Every spring, we try to recreate the magic of Christianity by channelling a giant, mythical bunny that breaks into our house and leaves behind chocolate for all children great and small, without even requiring good behaviour.  (This was a huge oversight from Marketing, btw.)

Easter of Years Past

Easter used to be a... if not simpler, then healthier process in our home. On Easter Eve, I sit down with a giant box of reusable plastic eggs (the kind that are hollow and pop apart) and put some Corn Pops in some, and Froot Loops in others, and maybe two or three filled with a few Smarties or jelly beans.  On Easter morning, the children wander through the house, so very excited to find these filled eggs on windowsills and bookshelves.  They dump the contents into their little baskets, munching away happily -- because Froot Loops!!! -- and the plastic eggs quietly disappear over the next few days.

April 2011: simpler times, when I only had a two-year-old and a 10-month old at home.  (yikes)

Of course, we'd tell the kids the Bible story, too, but as they get older, the questions got so much harder to answer. A few years ago, I bought a copy of Jesus Christ Superstar, which, although it's amazing and wonderful (oh, his voice!), brings up even more questions that I am utterly ill-equipped to answer.

The traditional foods of Easter

We do a simple breakfast (hardboiled eggs that we paint then place in egg cups, with hot cross buns.  Then Chef Encraque prepares a feast resplendent with ham and potatoes, while I prepare our Easter salad.

Enough of that.  Back to the candy.

Over the years, my large assistant man-Bunny has tried to help out by acquiring the egg fillings.  Always Froot Loops, of course, but more recently, more chocolate and more candies.  And last year, it was only chocolate:  Eggies, M&Ms, chocolate eggs... You know that I'd have to be fairly desperate if I begged for jelly beans to add "balance" to Easter.



Another year, not long enough ago, Chris was away.  I was hard at work filling the eggs, but because of the Eggstreme Eggcitement of Easter Eve, the Vaughnster, who was probably 7 at the time, couldn't sleep.  He kept coming down the stairs in a panic every 15 minutes or so and telling me to go to bed, because if I didn't, the Bunny wouldn't come.  Each time I had to stop what I was doing and hide the evidence.

This started at 7:35, and continued until 11 pm, with increasing degrees of hysteria on both sides.

It is to my everlasting credit that I didn't break down and scream back at the angry, frantic, sobbing kid, "The Easter Bunny can't come yet.  And if I go to bed, he won't come at all, BECAUSE I AM THE F@#$%ING EASTER BUNNY!"

In fact, I dedicate this "Mother of the Century" award to that superhuman restraint.*

(Also, it may be time to sit the now-ten-year-old down and give him some hard truths about giant rabbits.)

But I digress.


But anyway, a few weeks ago, the whole family was out together at Costco, stocking up on canned goods and bottled water in preparation for the inevitable post-Brexit apocalypse. (kaff) And then we saw them:  giant Cadbury eggs.  Giant Cadbury Fruit & Nut eggs.  The top of the Costco warehouse opened up, a beam of light shone on the display, and a choir started singing somewhere.

Right.  We obviously couldn't buy one, because the kids were with us, and it would be tantamount to announcing that we had lied to them about the Easter Bunny for their whole lives...which would probably open up a giant can of worms that contains not only canned worms but Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy.  And tears and therapy.

So I said I'd go back and buy him one another day.

And I did, Monday.  But!  The next display over had giant Kinder Surprise eggs.**  For £13.99 each.  Now, I haven't lived in London so long that I've completely lost my mind (completely), but £14 is approximately $25 to me.  And we have three kids, who each would absolutely love a giant Kinder Surprise egg for Easter.

Note:  the night before, Fis emerged and told me that we (but mostly I) had been spending too much lately, and we (but mostly I) had to be much more careful with money.

So, I texted him, said that I saw these eggs, but that I wouldn't, in good conscience, spend $75 on Easter eggs.

He told me to do it anyway.  This is the logic of Fis.

I said, no, and stuck by it.  But, I bought him his £7.99 ($12!) Easter egg, and drove over to IKEA for meatballs, because I have to survive a(nother) two-week school break starting tomorrow. For some reason, I reached for meatballs instead of All The Wine.  (This will change as the week progresses, of course.)

In the food section, I found not only the meatballs and "gravy", but lingonberry jam (as one does), and those flat-pack chocolate bunnies!

IKEA, you brilliant bastards!

I didn't have to think.  They were reasonably priced and super fun.  So, I picked up one for each Huffling, and hopped happily out of the store, secure in the knowledge that I could serve very-easy dinners to applause and acclaim, AND put off having to tell one of the kids that they wouldn't get to go to university because I overspent on Easter chocolate.

(Hint:  it's the one(s) that kisses the dog on the mouth.)

Now all I have left to do is pick up some Froot Loops.  And jelly beans. And Creme Eggs.  And Eggies.

Sigh.

* but honestly, it was an honour just to be nominated.

** I was with a friend from Texas, who asked if we had Kinder Surprise in Canada, because they're still banned in the US.  They're considered too dangerous, because a kid once ate the toy inside and choked.  I responded with, "But you all have guns!"  We laughed and laughed.

The Mommy Diet: Eat Like Your Kids Eat

Published on Medium.com:

Know Yourself, Trick Yourself

Published on Medium.com:

Small Changes, Big Results

Published on Medium.com:

(And why yes, those ARE my abs.  Fourteen years ago.)

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.

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.

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.

Rematch: Zu-quinoa Soup

Check and mate!

The alterations made a huge difference to last week's creation, and tonight I ladled up four bowlfuls of sweet, fragrant, mildly spicy deliciousness.  I think Tamsin ate more than the rest of us put together!

With it, we had cheddar and apple muffins (I played with that recipe, too, but the "healthening" of them rendered them a bit drier than I'd prefer.  So I buttered them.  :)

Nom nom nom.

DG of Quinoa? Qui, moi?

(apologies for the lame title)

As I have finally driven Chris away,* I now get to make vegematarian meals more often for the Hufflings.

My latest oeuvre** was -- and really, the name is inspiring by itself -- Curried Carrot Apple Zu-quinoa (Zucchinoa?) Soup.

Ingredients:

1 tbs butter
1 onion, diced
3 carrots, diced
1 apple, diced
1/2 a ridiculously massive zucchini, diced
not enough curry powder
3/4 c quinoa
3 c homemade turkey broth (it was in my freezer)
salt and pepper, not quite to taste
goldfish crackers (to add salt/flavour)

Saute all the veggies in the butter, add the curry powder (but use more than I did... I'd recommend at least 2 tsp or 1 Tbs), add the quinoa and broth, let it simmer for... I don't know... a while... and add salt and pepper.

It was fairly bland, but I was coasting on the healthiness of it, and the goldfish really brought it to life... as long as you had a goldfish in every bite.  The next day, however, it had thickened up considerably (the quinoa was looking squiddier than the night before), and the flavours had improved.  It had redeemed itself enough to make me want to try it again, but with the following adjustments:

- 2 apples
- more curry powder and 1 Tbs lemon juice, added to just the onions before adding the rest of the veggies
- using a more flavourful broth, as the turkey was pretty bland (possibly even -- gasp! -- bouillon cubes)

I'm making it again this week, so we'll see how it goes.

Tonight, however, my esteemed colleague Chef Ailsa Encraque helped me make deeeelicious Creamy Green Spaghetti.  She picked lots of fresh basil from our garden yesterday, peeled 2 cloves of garlic, poured in some parmesan, some toasted pine nuts (I did the toasting, of course), and some olive oil,  cracked in a bunch of pepper, and then whirred them around in our little handy blender.  Today, she chose whole wheat spaghetti noodles at the store, and I boiled it up, added (the shame!) 1/2 a packet of white cheddar cheese sauce mix, some milk and butter, and stirred in half of the pesto.  I sprinkled on the extra pine nuts and served it to the critics.

Vaughn took one bite and actually shouted, "I LOVE IT!"   He is insisting that we make it again for Chris when he comes home next.  Awww.  "Ailsa, it's really good," he repeated.  What a good big brother!  Tamsin liked it too, as indicated by her kicky feet and eyes keenly watching the fork's trip back and forth between her bowl and her mouth.

And now, for a whole weekend with no lunches to make.  And peanut butter at every meal!  Huzzah!


* Literally.  I drove him to Toronto.  Ok, it's only for 10 months.  With many, many weekend visits.  But still.

** note to self:  look up "oeuvre" and make sure it means "extremely mediocre dish, lacking in flavour"

DG Sets Fires, so Kidlets Take Over

To be fair, this was my first fire ever.  (And now that I've posted that, I'll be keeping a box of baking soda next to the stove at the ready!  Karma enjoys me.)

But, in my defence, how many people out there would expect that an IKEA meatball can go from frozen solid to a mass of tupperware-melting flames in less than 2 minutes????  I was getting Tamsin's dinner ready, changing her, and corralling the kidlets with a youtube video of a Stampede Princess with a lasso*, when Chris shrieks into the house after seeing the fire in the microwave, and panics.

I don an oven mitt, grab the glass plate from the microwave, and take the smoking remnants outside, to spread their noxious gases to the world.  We open every window, every door, and... nothing.  It is so stinking hot and humid here that there is no air movement at all.  At 6 pm, it's so hot that I have to double check that there isn't some kind of wiring fire behind the wall... nope, it's just that the kitchen window (no longer even in the sun) is open.  Ye gads.

But I digress.  I set up a fan, lit some candles, and ... well, I took a walk with Ailsa.  I would have brought Tamsin with me, but she was stinky.  And Vaughn was finishing a youtube segment.  Backing up a bit, I was taking Ailsa for a walk because she wasn't allowed to watch any more computer because of poor behaviour, and for some reason, I thought a nice after-dinner walk with Mommy would constitute a punishment.  Toxic fumes possibly clouded my judgement.  

Anyhoo, we had a lovely explore around the block, smelling flowers, watching squirrels, doing urban gymnastics, and generally getting all hot and sweaty, then returned home 10 minutes later for a nice cool bath before bed.  We opened our front door, to be hit in the face with a nice (but horribly stinky), cool blast of 24-degree air.  Home stench sweet home.

So, from now on, I'll be passing my Domestic Gauntlet to the kidlets, who are showing themselves more than worthy.  Some photos as proof:

We often make deeeelicious smoothies.

Sonny Bono sez:  "I like it too!"

We work together to measure and stir cookies and muffins.

(The key to taking great candid shots of kids cooking together is to take them quickly, before the bloodshed, bowl-flinging and wooden spoon wars)

This recipe, made yesterday, is "watermelon pizza".  They loved making it... and eating it too!

Nothing funny happened.  They did a great job!

* Princesses and cowboys?  Two birds with one stone!

The Domestic Goddess is Suddenly Keen on Quinoa

A delicious, nutritious blog I follow just happens to be written by one of my Very Talented Cousins.*  Amy is a professional dietitian and a personal trainer, and has tons of great ideas on how to use any healthy ingredient in a multitude of ways.

Last night, I was flipping through it and saw a recipe I simply had to try:  Quinoa Granola Bars.  Technically, Amy took the recipe from another blog, but as she credits it, I feel that I don't have to.  Nor do I need to post the recipe.  This will possibly come across as lazy, but time spent cut-and-pasting recipes takes away from time spent eating quinoa granola bars.

I digress; not only did I have almost all the ingredients already in my pantry, but it would also help me use up some of my soon-to-be-heirloom quinoa.

Let's face it:  quinoa is great in soup!**  Great in salad!***  Great FOR you!  But I have a hard time getting past how it looks.  To me, a non-kalamari-eater, it just looks sort of ... squiddy.  Maybe that's just me.

But, as I inherited a monstrous bag of organic quinoa when our friends moved to Canmore a year ago, I had nothing to lose!  I also had some almonds, raisins, dried cranberries and agave nectar kicking about (as one does), and just had to buy some flax seeds**** to round it out.

Ailsa was my deputy DG today, as Vaughn seemed to have no interest in the kitchen, choosing instead to pore over his flyer for the Star Wars exhibit at the Aviation Museum.  Again.  Anyhoo, she was a great help in measuring, scooping, and dumping the dry ingredients into a big bowl, while I mixed the wet ingredients in a pyrex measuring cup, mixed it all together, and smooshed it over and over (as recommended by Amy) onto a cookie sheet lined with foil.  It baked for possibly five minutes too long, as Ailsa decided that she didn't like the brown edges, but the middle bit is incredible.  I cut them into 1-1/2 inch squares (which held together really well, probably due to the extra smooshing), and Vaughn kept asking for more.  I suggested that we bring a few to his daycare to share with his best friend, and for the first time ever, he said "no."

Now, this is a boy that has insisted I pack up a tupperware full of "Indian food" to share, a thermos of Faux Fraser soup (complete with dixie cups for sharing), and every cookie we've ever made, ever.  But these are apparently too good to dole out to his friends.  High praise, indeed!  Not to mention the incredible healthfulness of all those superfoods crammed smooshed into one big pan.  I feel virtuous in having a second helping.  And maybe a third.

Nom nom nom.



*  There are far too many of us to name, but we're all spectacular.

**  Ok, I made one great soup with quinoa, involving a mirepoix base, chicken stock, and diced tomatoes, but it was completely legendary.  

*** Or so I've heard.  My one attempt at quinoa salad had my ratios woefully off.  

**** As the recipe calls for ground flax seeds, I recommend that you purchase your flax seeds whole, and grind the quantity you want, as needed.  Ground flax seeds are vacuum-packed for a reason; once you open the bag and expose them to the air, they denature incredibly fast.  Also, keep your whole flax seeds in the freezer, with all your nuts, to preserve the flavour for longer.

Perfection? No.

I feel that I should check in and reveal my results from my Eat Like A KidTM eating plan.*  I would grade it a (qualified) success:  my mom went on her cruise yesterday, so I hopped meself onto the scale, sucked in my stomach, and... well, I'm down 4 lbs. 

My goal was an 8-lb loss, but I didn't take into account adding muscles back onto my frame.  I am slowly regaining my former shape (a figure competitor at the gym complimented my arms last week!).  My strength has skyrocketed in the past month; this morning, I squatted 95 lbs (that used to be my warmup!), did 12 bodyweight dips, and did three sets of 20 pushups, no problem at all.  I've taught 5 Attack classes, and although I sucked wind, felt nauseous, and ended up showing low options a great deal, I survived, and the progress over the 5 classes was somewhat heartening. 

The "regime" involved eating the same breakfast as always (oatmeal, half a banana, cup of milk, large glass of water), and making sure I snack with the kids (always with protein/carbs/fat:  ie. babybel and fruit; peanuts/cranberries/raisins; crackers, veggies and dip; etc.).  This way, I don't get too hungry, or forget to eat, and I avoided...ok, reduced the intake of Easter treats that are everywhere, trying to foil me.  I didn't manage the protein shake more than twice, however. 

So, I returned all of my maternity pants from whence they came (Value Village)!  My Last Remaining Pair of Pants fits me again, and I have two other pairs of Normal Pants that, although they cause a bit'o'muffin toppage, are just fine if I remember to hold in my stomach...which, since I got out of the habit again when I was smuggling the last Huffalump around, is harder than it sounds. 
I still have a ways to go to get back to my former fitness level, and I'm not quite ready to go shopping, but with the results I saw over the past 6 weeks, I know that it will come back if I keep working hard.  No excuses!

Ok, maybe one more Creme Egg.



* Note that this will only work if you don't feed your kids crap.

I'm waddling off the rails of the gravy train

Apologies to Ozzy.*

Anyhoo.  Let's just say that nine months of eating for two, 11 weeks of bedrest (instead of intense daily workouts), the holidays, and of course the awesome legendary Huff Candy Basket (which is still overflowing from Christmas) have done nothing for my fitness level, mood, or ability to fit into pants. 

I have, literally, 3 pairs of sweatpants and 2 pairs of maternity jeans that I wear.  It's not good.  There is, let's say, more of me to love.

But, 11 weeks or so after the birth, I'm starting to feel pretty good about my back-in-shape efforts...after about 5 weeks of 3-times-a-week workouts (a combination of Kinect, Jillian Michaels** and a less-than-triumphant return to weight/cardio intervals at the gym), I'm gearing up to teach my first Attack class at the end of the week.  In that vein, I thought I'd attempt some non-stretchy pants. After all, I was getting stronger! Slimmer! Less cuddly!  I decided to start with what I liked to call my Last Remaining Pair of Normal Pants - the last ones that fit before I was fully into maternity clothes.

Urk. 

Ok, ok, so it's been, oh, 22 weeks or so of poor eating habits, with a 16-week stretch of no working out whatsoever.  Not to mention that my "good metabolism" was apparently actually the result of eating well (plus chocolate) and hardcore dedication to the gym, 5 days a week.  Dammit.  I thought I could coast on the losing-weight-by-breastfeeding propaganda, but the scale says no.  Also (and here's where the excuses begin), I have been afraid to clean up my diet or work out too hard, since Tamsin has required supplementation with formula - I didn't want to jeopardize my milk supply even more. 

But again, with the return-to-GoodLife looming (and the image in the mirror depressing), I've decided that I'm getting back on track.  I've been still eating pregnancy-sized portions - like at Montana's the other day (kids' choice, I swear), when I had the quesadillas (with water, thank you very much), and shared one of my triangles with Ailsa... and then was still starving after eating the other three.  Um, usually I'm stuffed after two.  It was a bit of a wakeup call.  Also, true confession time, I don't usually snack with the kids, preferring to grab a cookie, or chocolate, or (gasp!) PopTart instead, when they're napping. 

So, the plan goes a little something like this:  Although I can't commit to increasing the frequency of workouts right now, I'm adding more snacks in... snacks with the kids, that is, morning and afternoon.  The days of eat what I say, not what I eat are over (wine, aside, of course), so I'll be increasing my fruits and veggies (with a bit of protein in the form of yogurt, cheese, nuts-and-seeds or milk).  No more crap-on-the-couch every night (note: wine is not "crap").  I'm also going to add in a protein shake with breakfast to up my protein intake further, and increase my water intake exponentially.

The goal?  Losing 8 pounds by the time my mother goes on another cruise.  (Don't ask).***

And, of course, fitting into my damn fat pants. 


* And I apparently have to start avoiding the gravy boat, as well.  Boo.
** Yep, still hate her.
*** It's on.

Whole Sort of General Mish Mash

There IS more to come for February-June (honest!), but in the meantime, here's some quick updates of "recent" "excitement" in Huff House East.

The Domestic Goddess gets herself into a pickle...

Inspired (ordered?) by sous-chef Encraque, the DG blended up a quick white bean dip (with fresh lemon, sundried tomatoes, and basil from our garden...the part that the squirrels and too-hot weather have left alone), fenced in by carrots, with non-prickly, pickly cactuses (cacti?) standing in them.  The salt and tang of the pickle really went well with the mild bean flavour.  Olé!

Snugglebugs. 

This photo shows off not only the ridiculous snuggliness of the Hufflings, but also my new, improved teeth.  The braces have come off, and I'm just left with a nice smile.  And 6 more months of perpetual retainer wear, followed by nighttime use for the rest of my life.  Worth it.

Um, newsflash... ish.

After an afternoon of fabric painting, the Hufflings proudly showed off their creations...with a twist.

So, yep, it's happening again.

  20 weeks along, today.  Yahoo?  More, of course, to follow.

When I get around to it.

Let Me Eat Cake!

A very tardy update on the Lemon Cake-off and cake decorating course:

I like cake.

My test pigs (#1 and #2) gave completely opposing reviews of the Lemoniest Cake Ever, and I have to say I agree with them both. TP#1 found it too sweet, too tart, and WAAAAY too lemony (it was a lemon sponge cake, with a lemon curd filling, and a lemon icing), while TP#2 just thought it was great. We all agreed that the cake itself was fantastic, moist and delicious, but perhaps I went a bit gung-ho on the lemoniness. The next time, I plan on de-lemonating it a bit by using a cream-cheese icing. Next Easter.

My associate, above, also likes cake, but doesn't get it very often... but when he says, "Pleeeeeeease".... well, what am I, made of stone?

As for the competition, well, we have no reliable results, as one of my esteemed competitors fired both of her test pigs (her 3-year-old daughter and her own mother - now that's harsh), and the other one made a second cake because the first didn't work out. Which obviously means that I won. Go me!

The next cake, the first one done in my course (fantastic course offered at Michael's - I highly recommend it for those who enjoy eating a cake a week) (and who enjoy drinking the Wilton (tm) Kool-Aid), turned out beautifully, but I brought it in to work for Paul's birthday before I took a picture, so you'll have to take my word for it - it was beautiful.

The NEXT cake, done the next week, could have been lovely, except that I overdid it at circuit training at lunch, and I was unable to walk from my car to the store (pubis symphysis issues - SO lovely), so I sat down at the kitchen table with my manual and my icing and practiced on my little test cards. And then decided that my hearts needed work, so came up with this:

Stunning, non? It was tasty, anyway - I used butterscotch pudding as filling. Nom.

The final cake of the class was gorgeous, and lots of fun to make. We finished the "Wilton Rose" (tm), made sweetpeas, learned about ribbons, and...um, well, that took a lot of time, but voila!

Oooooooo.....aaaaahhhhhhh.....

And lastly, the cake that is still sitting on my counter right now: I was forbidden (by TP#1) to post a photo of it, for career-limiting reasons, but here's the detail that I can share - my twist-drop flowers, beautiful leaves, and whimsical stems...

Too bad, really, since it's a really, really funny story.

And delicious, too.