(Not So) Nice

Let me send out this invitation to everyone I know:  any time you'd like, you can come visit.  You can stay in our flat for free and eat our food with our kids and our dog, while Chris and I bugger off somewhere for a romantic getaway.

(This offer doesn't apply to strangers.)  (Strangers, you'll have to bring your own food.)

My parents came to visit at the beginning of April, just when the kids were off on Easter Break (yes!  another break! Only five weeks after the last time they had a two-week break!). This one, however, was two-and-a-half weeks long, which is, if you've been following along at home, one-and-a-half weeks past my breaking point.  SO, they came, they sight-saw (past tense), and allowed Chris and I a weekend-long hall pass to celebrate our anniversary.

We started looking as soon as we had their travel dates, and originally requested four days in Florence.  To which my father spluttered and declared that he wasn't coming all the way to London to babysit.  (I like to call it "spending quality time with your grandchildren".)  To which Fis spluttered and said, HOW long are they staying with us for free???  (I like to call it "spending quality time with your in-laws").

We found a happy medium by using up a whole lot of his points to book two business-class tickets to Nice, France, for two-and-a-half days of child-free bliss, sunshine, and wine.

Ah, yes.  The ironic souvenir platter.

A Pronunciation Guide:  Without exception, when I told anyone that we were headed to Nice (n-ee-ss), they would exclaim, "Nice!" (n-eye-ss).  And then I'd say, "No, it's actually pronounced, 'nice'" (n-ee-ss).  Also, without exception, nobody would laugh.  Not even once.

I digress.

We packed on a Wednesday morning, checked in online, sent the kids and parents off to the zoo, and took a cab to Paddington, then the Heathrow Express to Gatwick.

Just seeing if you're still paying attention.  We took it to Heathrow, of course.

We got there early and checked our two smallish bags. (Smallish is relative.  In this case, my smallish is about the size of everyone else on the plane's carry-on, while my carry-on was my little purse, containing my passport, wallet, and a book.  I was travelling so light that I didn't even have a little baggie of hand cream, chapstick and mascara!  (This becomes important later, when -- spoiler alert -- they lose my luggage.)  Chris' was smallish for him, which was a pretty big rolling suit bag, far too much for 2 1/2 days, but probably the lightest he'd ever packed, so, we encourage.)

We went immediately to the business class lounge, had drinks of the alcoholic variety and enough snacks to make it worthwhile, then meandered over to the duty-free shop, for the leisurely, romantic experience of testing and choosing a new perfume for me, since he has apparently never liked the perfume I've been wearing since 2000.  (Did I mention that this was our 11th-anniversary trip?*)  And I didn't really like the one he'd bought me in 2010 to replace it.  We strolled up and down the aisles, and sprayed two little pieces of paper each with the scents we liked, then switched, made faces at each other's choices (mine were too floral, his were too musky), then he glanced at his watch, panicked, and told me to "just grab something" because our flight was about to board.  So I grabbed a bottle that we had both passively liked, the first thing we smelled on the way in, and that was it.  Romance!**

We ran to the gate, stood around for a bit, and then boarded.  I'm not going to go into great detail about how we were seated in the aisle and window seats of the front section of the plane, where business class would usually be, but I think they expected that we'd see the empty seat between us as a luxurious amount of room, kind of like, oh, business class seats.  Which they were not.  But, the food was tasty, the bubbles bubbly, and it was fine.

We stopped in Geneva for two hours, lounged in the lounge (more wine and snacks), then got onto another flight to Nice.  This time, we were seated across the aisle from each other in non-business seats on an almost-empty plane, but there was another tasting plate and more bubbly.  All good.

We landed just before 8pm, and made our way to the baggage claim, where literally, eight pieces of luggage appeared, snaked around once, were picked up by their owners, and... "Um, where's your bag?" asked Chris.

Huh.  No bag.  Nice.

The optimist and realist in me both agree that it was far better that my bag was lost than Chris', but it still wasn't a good thing.  Also, the computer system was down, so the baggage agent wrote everything down on a piece of paper and stapled the carbon copy to another piece of paper.  She said that when the system was running again, she'd text me my tracking number.  She also said that instead of providing those handy little kits with toothbrushes and deodorant in them, they now just reimbursed the costs.  Huh.  Nice.

We left the airport in heavy rain, around 9 pm, while I tried repeatedly to get Uber to work on my phone, since every tourist site and every recommendation we had was to avoid taxis in Nice, especially from the airport.  It wouldn't work, over and over.  So, we took a taxi, who gave us a prix fixe (which in this case means literally price fixing - they are all in cahoots) of 40 euros, to drive us for 10 minutes.  He dropped us off about half a kilometre from the room we had found on Booking.com, and we walked the rest of the way, in the pouring rain.  Silver lining:  I didn't have to drag a bag, sooo... Nice.

The "Room With a Vue", which looked lovely on Booking.com, was situated right in Old Town, on top of a little cafe.  The website photos were of bright rooms, modern bathrooms and little balconies.  We had booked the studio, and were excited to drop off our bag (just one bag, now), buy me a toothbrush, and go out for dinner.  A waitress from the cafe showed us up to it, and... wow.  The "Vue" was either through a tiny window far above my eye level, or a little skylight directly over the bed, on a sharply-slanted, exposed-beam ceiling.  No balcony.  The bathtub was placed against another sharp slant, with a dormer bumped out so that you could stand upright in the very centre of the tub to use the handheld showerhead.  The kitchenette had a microwave (in the photo, not in real life) and a round table and four chairs.

We grimaced and went out to get a toothbrush, some wine, and had a lovely dinner of coq au vin and a potage de boeuf.  With wine.  We splashed back to our room and looked at it with fresh (slightly drunk) eyes.

In a romantic ideal, it was the perfect studio apartment for a starving poet.  It would be filled with dozens of cluttered bookcases and candles, and we'd drink cheap wine, and eat food with our fingers as we planned a revolution.  It's the kind of place I would have loved in university.

I am of two minds about that skylight.  It was well-placed, in that had it not been directly over my side of the bed, I would have bumped my head on the ceiling everytime I sat up.  However, in the interest of "staying asleep" and "keeping dry", it was not ideal, as the raging thunder and hail storms were very loud, and also, it leaked.  On me.

The next morning, we noticed a strong smell in the kitchenette, which had been apparently covered up the night before by the (suspicious) can of air freshener.  We opened a cabinet, and whah!  There was a plastic bin of vegetables-so-rotten-that-they-had-liquified, and a basket of -- searching for the word - not potpourri, but aha! -- "les onions pourris".  And the wifi no longer worked.  And the roof was still leaking. 

The wifi was important, as I needed to continuously check the baggage tracking app to make sure that I stopped shopping when my suitcase was found.  As it was, we waded out through torrential rain to the closest shopping area and bought new jeans (on sale!), a sweater (on sale!), two sets of socks and underthings (cheapest ones they had!), mascara (necessity, not luxury) and a pair of teenager shoes, these ones white floral and slightly too big because nobody makes shoes in my size!!!  All this while feverishly checking the app.

Fis' smile is looking a bit strained.

By the time we had lunch in a nice Nice cafe (Chris had a nicoise salad, I had a caprese salad with enough cheese to kill me), with wine, and sloshed back to the room hovel, we expected a nicer-smelling room... or a drier one... or one in which the wifi worked.

Alas.

Chris went for a nice long Nice run along the beach in the downpour, while I did calisthenics in my bare feet (and his t-shirt) in our room.  I also sent a nice long suprisingly-pleasant-under-the-circumstances email to the owner of the hotel.  By the time we went out for dinner (yes, still raining), I had a phone call back - we could move to another room, the rotten onions would be cleaned up, and was I sure the wifi didn't work?

No more attempted smiles for Fis.  I am probably drunk of a more cheerful disposition.

Upon our (soggy) return to the hotel, we were full of delicious food and wine, and much cheerier.  We moved our stuff (again, still just the one bag) to another room, and it had a view!  A beautiful view (true, it was a view of an extremely rainy street), but it had a balcony, and there were no liquified vegetables in sight or in scent.  Still no wifi.

The next morning, twenty minutes before check-out, the baggage tracker suddenly indicated that my luggage had not only been found but was out for delivery!  I panicked, but it showed up with five minutes to spare.  I had already packed my small amount of laundry, perfume and new toothbrush in Chris' bag, but I took my small suitcase, thanked the driver, and the rain stopped.  For all of our "issues", we were treated like royalty at the cafe, where Chris enjoyed a breakfast of Elvissian proportions, and they offered to watch our bags while we walked along the beach for the last hour of our vacation.

As we walked, the sun came out, and the aqua sea and brightly-painted old town were dazzling.  It was a glorious day, almost too hot within the hour.  The stones on the beach were worn smooth, and we managed to pick up some souvenirs for the kids before returning to the airport.

Would I go back?  If the last morning was any indication of the possibilities of Nice, then I would definitely give it another chance.  The staff, eventually, were nice to the point of ridiculousness, though whether it was because they felt bad about the rain/luggage/ruined romantic getaway/stinky-and-shack-like accommodations or because they hoped to avoid a poor review on Booking.com (I still haven't decided what to give them yet), I really can't tell.

Next time, however, I'm going to keep my mascara (and a pair of underwear) in my purse.

Sun, sea, and smooches.

* There is a difference between "11th anniversary trip" and "11th-anniversary trip":  the former indicates that there have been ten previous anniversary trips, while the latter, here, just means "a trip taken on or around one's 11th anniversary", because the last anniversary trip (for our first anniversary) was taken in 2008.  It's true.  Hey!  Guess what happened between then and now?  Children.  Children happened. 

** Ironically, Romance was my forever perfume*** when I met him.  His rejection of Romance should have been a red flag.

*** I'm totally not fancy enough to pull off a "signature scent", and a "me-smell" sounds not quite fancy enough.

Vegas, Baby!

Well, the V-man, who is already a seasoned traveller, got a chance to earn his first passport stamp last week! We flew to Las Vegas to visit his Grandma and Grandpa* (Chris' mom and step-dad), and spent a lovely and relaxing week in the 100-degree heat (aaaaaah).

He was spoiled rotten, of course, but was full of smiles, as was Grandma! It was a great opportunity for Chris and I to get to the local Gold's Gym every morning, while Grandma babysit the squirt.

Here he is in his big boy clothes, debating whether to roll over again. He rolled from front-to-back the day after we arrived, and the next day, travelled halfway across the living room like a little tumblyweed.

The shopping in Vegas is amazing. We were "smart" enough to have made a list of what we were looking for before we left, which unfortunately precluded buying too many extras, but I did quite well for myself. Grandma found this awesome suit on a sale rack, and we were all thrilled about it! Now I can have a little black cat again, and Chris can't complain about his allergies!

The highlight of our trip was probably the Wine Spectator Grand Tour, held at the Venetian. We got all dolled up on Saturday night, kissed Vaughn goodnight, and hit the town in style. (I got to wear my faboo Bebe dress, my new Fergalicious shoes, and my new Stuart Weitzman clutch...I felt like a supermodel!)

Rob and Lynda (and Laurel and Mike), stop reading now.

It was INCREDIBLE. There were about 200 wineries there, each showcasing their best wine. I was surprisingly sensible about tipping out, but being sensible only gets you so far when you're tasting about 50 different wines. Good thing we made notes.

We debated whether the length of the event - 3 hours - was too short or not, but I think it was a smart call to limit it, as almost everyone was staggering out when we left. Of course, Chris was the only staggerer holding a bouquet of flowers that was as tall as I was, in a huge glass vase... let's just say that we made friends with some of the Aussie importers.

The best wine that we've ever tasted (but will probably never taste again) was the 1998 Hardys Shiraz McLaren Vale Eileen Hardy. Yowza. Yum. There were several other delicious bottles, too - the 2004 Heath Shiraz Barossa Valley Southern Sisters Reserve stands out in my (hazy) memory, as does the 2004 Barossa Valley Estate Shiraz E&E Black Pepper. All of this, however, will just ruin us for other wines that we used to think were good, but now we know different.
Sigh.



Rob and Lynda (and Laurel and Mike!), you may resume reading. Just know that it would have been so much more fantastic with you two (four) there. And that we're definitely going to try to go to one of these again, so you'll have to join us next time, ok? And hey, you didn't have the stellar hangovers that we did on Sunday morning... anything? Anything at all?

We also went out for a lovely dinner, just the two of us, on Monday night. Great food, over-the-top service (which we're SO not used to anymore, living in the Hat), and lovely ambiance. The wine was ok, too, but since we're even more snobby than we were prior to Saturday, it would have been hard to impress us.

Back to the 100-degree heat.

As you may recall, last year, we flew south in mid-April, enjoyed a week of beautiful weather in California, but came home to find 3 feet of snow in the Hat. No chance of that this year! ha ha! By travelling in mid-May, there is absolutely NO chance that we would experience such a drastic difference in climate!

It snowed this morning.

Kaff.

*the term "Grandpa" is still being debated. I have suggested "Grunkle" as a nice alternative.

Long overdue post on vacation; Easter dinner still to come

With our dink-y, yuppie jet-set lifestyle, it's murder trying to find a minute to update this blog...or could it be that I'm just lazy and can't face the computer after a long day at work, and finally made a superhuman effort tonight...OR is it that the resident Guitar Hero just happens to be out tonight?

No comment.


San Francisco. Sonoma Valley. Napa Valley.








Three wonderful places to visit, and we made the most out of them in our 9-day First Anniversary Extravaganza! It started slowly, since I was recovering from a crippling bout with a sinus infection, a lung infection, and my personal favourite, pink eye (hot!), but I perked up fairly quickly once I had a sunbeam on my face and a glass of wine in my hand.



Note: due to the pink eye, I'm not wearing any makeup in these shots. You have been warned.


Above, this is me on our first day in San Fran. Notice the glowing whiteness of my upper chest. That soon turned an angry red, and peeled off a week later. Sure, it's no pink eye, but it's pretty attractive, nontheless. We bought sunscreen at the end of the day.









The hills there are CRAZY. Everything is on a steep angle, and the houses are packed so tightly together! I can't imagine what kind of settlers would have looked at this area and decided it would be a good place to build a home. Observation: San Franciscans have excellent calves. On the right is Lombard Street, which is serpentine -- it's too steep to drive straight down, and the sidewalk is a long flight of steps.




Aaah... this is what I remember from last year in Australia: gnarly dudes, the term used for mature grapevines. And another beautiful day.









This is Sonoma, a quaint, small town with amazing food (overall favourite meal was at the girl and the fig), beautiful picnic spots, and a fun farmers' market on Tuesday nights, where we mixed with the locals on the lawn of City Hall and partook of such gourmet delights as drinking a bottle of wine in plastic cups in public and eating corndogs.










Napa was gorgeous too, but much larger, harder to get around, and commercialized. Luckily, we had signed up for Platypus Tours (awesome FAQ, worth a read), and we were chauffered around with 4 other couples for two days. This is where it got slightly more silly than the corndog night. For your consideration:






Casa Nuestra, which was my favourite winery -- everything was delicious, the staff was amazing, the prices were reasonable, and best of all, there were pictures of Elvis on the walls -- was home to two goats (we bought a bottle of their Two Goats to drink with lunch...and on the coach...).










Now, after seeing the label on the bottle (let's
take a moment to look more closely, shall we?) I should have known better, but hey, this was the second winery, I wanted a picture with the goats, and...and one tried to eat my hair.

This was taken right after his first attempt. As you can see, neither of us is very impressed.








The next day ended with a tour of a winery in an amazing reproduction of a 13th- and 14th century Italian castle, Castella di Amorosa. Incredible architecture, beautiful designs, unbelievable view, just classic all around, and the perfect way to end the fourth day of wine tasting and touring. Really, it was stunning, and... hey Karen! Can you fit in that little hole?

To sum up: Awesome, fantastic, wonderful. Oh, and I'm continuing my aspirations as a tourism brochure photographer. Click on this baby. It's worth millions.




















And, of course, the homecoming. Booooo!











Who knows where the next trip will take us? Perhaps the exotic, far reaches of Red Deer...

Flashback to March: Easter Feasters!

In which the whole fam damily (cK and the K-rents - which, Dave Barry, would be an excellent name for a rock band) has many adventures, once Dad recovers a bit from the worst-sounding chest cold ever. Photo highlights include Games Night, in which everybody else obviously cheated at Scrabble, Cranium, cribbage, etc. and lots of DG-ing (and D-God-ing, too).


Easter Sunday started well.


I went out for a run through the coulee (quite unlike coulis, for those of you unfamiliar with Hatular topography), to the tepee and back, in wind so strong that I was tempted to walk/throw up/lie down/launch myself into the coulee on several occasions. I believe that it's about a 6km route, but it took me 40 minutes of intense exertion in order to return home, red-faced and nauseous. The joys of fitness, I know.


After a stretch, a heavenly shower, and a quick nap, I was ready to start cooking again.


Let me back up. The 'rents had arrived on Thursday night, and it was a fiesta for gourmets and gourmands alike, every night. After a long day of travel, my parents were treated to a nice little spread of cranberry-hazelnut rainforest crackers, cream cheese, and a cabernet paste, with scotch for the boys and wine for the girls, followed by Mom's chicken casserole, tweaked and en-healthened by me (less rice, half fat cream of chicken and celery, light mayo, potato chips crumbled on top... ok, I didn't en-health the chip topping -- it's too good!).


Good Friday got us up and moving with a nice hour-long walk through Kin Coulee park, then we took Dad, who suddenly developed a bad cough, home. Chris and I started on our Domestic Goddess- and God-ing; he prepared an amazing meal of salmon with marinated red peppers, olives and sun-dried tomatoes (he stuffed a chicken breast with the same ingredients, plus feta cheese, for me), while I started the prep for the previously-mentioned pork and beans chili mole, which apparently tastes better after sitting in a fridge overnight. Easy preparation, once you cut the pork tenderloin up. Luckily, I have a sous-chef, Christophe Encraque, to do that for me.




Meanwhile, we got Mom and Dad totally hooked (but no worse than we are) on Heroes. Chris went out for his run, and I made a warm potato salad (mini potatoes, a few hard-boiled eggs, some green onion, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, grainy dijon, and a touch of mayo) and a green salad. Appies of brie and Madagascar peppercorn cheese, as well as a nice PC pate started us off. Yum!




Let us now briefly discuss Games Night. Frankly, some of the "adults" participating in these games are too smug for their own good - you can't be a sore loser AND a poor winner! You just can't. That's all I have to say about that.

Saturday was the dinosaur day (from previous post), so I had the day off of cooking, aside from the cornbread to go with the chili. Chris, meanwhile, put the strawberry rhubarb tiramisu together, and made a little one for a "tester" with dinner. The chili was reheated, the cilantro and chocolate (the secret ingredient! shhhhh...) were added, and it was ladled into bowls, sprinkled with grated cheese, some green onions, some chopped tomatoes, and a dab of sour cream. We opened up a bottle of Ravenswood Vintner's Blend Zinfandel, which was paired with the chili in the magazine -- we figured that they probably knew best -- and had another amazing meal.

Before bed, we prepared everything we needed for a delicious breakfast casserole (sausages, hashbrowns, eggs, and gravy, in a crescent-roll crust)... it just didn't end!

Easter Sunday was nice - we started with brunch, then I don't believe we needed to eat again till dinner. We followed Chatelaine's Easter dinner menu, and ended up with a delicious glazed ham, roasted carrots and asparagus, and a dill-icious orzo and belgian endive salad. Somehow the chefs didn't kill each other throughout (a bonus of finally having a bigger kitchen!) and everything made it to the table at the same time.

Everything was absolutely delicious (Ok, the carrots were a bit crunchy, but that means they have more vitamins, right?), and we ate so well, had tons of leftovers, and still have half a ham in our freezer! Chris left early on Tuesday, and I didn't have to cook for the rest of the week!

More photos:

Dinner is served: Ooooooooh....Aaaaaaaaah...

Vegetarians, avert your eyes. I give you Ham!

We had a little adventure on the way to the Medalta Historic Pottery Site:

And what do I do with myself when Chris is away?

Hey, it still fits!

Girl's Wine Night

The fish and I had a great time. We both send our love to the Ottawa Girls for their virtual support on Saturday night...though they were no help with the bottle of wine! It was a rough go, but I finished the whole thing.

Go me.

Hic.

Ride a painted pony...

As they say, what goes up, must come down. In this case, what goes in the box in seemingly random groupings must eventually come out of the box, hopefully in the same number of pieces it went in with.


Finally found the USB cable. It took a lot of blood, sweat and tears, but there it was, in a box with my motorcycle helmet, a stuffed bunny, a teal cowboy hat, and some flip flops. I'm hoping this lostness isn't going to be a theme; I went out on Sunday to recycle (they don't have curbside pickup here... well, they do, but you have to subscribe and pay), and I couldn't find a directing sign, so I drove around and around and around... ok, enough with talking 'bout my troubles.



Without further ado, the photos!




Oh, hi Chris! Here, he paints our hallway with a lovely shade of torchlight over the yicky dingy grey-green.

It may seem, in the following photos, that he was doing all the work, while I was "just" the paparazzi. Not quite! I had the Very Important Job of taping and edging the low bits that I could reach (since it took us a little while to invest in a step ladder) and then recording the progress for all of posterity.








We were so excited to start on the back wall of the kitchen....until we applied the primer, a deeeeelightful shade of pink...yikes. This is when we started to get a titch worried about our colour choices.











Luckily, when we applied the ACTUAL paint, it showed us the colour that is real. Phew! The colour darkened with the next two coats. You can see the green wall in the background that was part of the original paint job. In real life, it's a very nice mossy green. We're keeping it.








Highlighted by the gorgeous deep red-orange wall, the beautiful plant and pot on the right was a housewarming gift from my parents. Thanks, Mom and Dad, for showing me that someone is waiting just for me, and for making me cry... for an entire day...


I'm feeling better now, honest.



Snif.





And finally, the might-as-well-celebrate dinner, since we're almost done! Complete with wine (Shotfire Ridge Quartage, which is a variant of what I drank to excess on Christmas Eve -- note: it's more fun on the way down), candlelight, and a partially-cleared kitchen table, I made Dilly Beloved Chicken (from Eat, Shrink and Be Merry) with roasted fingerling potatoes (with olive oil and garlic) and steamed broccoli. The DG is back!






Pop Quiz: what song's lyrics (and by whom?) pervade this post? Can you find all of them?

DG: A Weekend of Domesticking

DGK rides again!

This is written from one week in the future, I am very sad to say. I have no access to my blog from my new job. Or to my gmail account. Luckily, though, I am able to fill most of my work hours doing work, which is very novel to me, and kind of fun. For now.

But enough about that! What, you ask, has Karen-in-the-Kitchen been up to?

More than you could imagine, actually. I'm kicking myself for not photographing the Todd-and-Erin dinner of Friday night, in which I made a fantastic triple-veggie-cheese dip as an appetizer, chicken breasts stuffed with roasted peppers, zucchini, pesto, and mozzarella (His Huffness did the stuffing, but I did everything else, including the pesto, from scratch), roasted carrots, parsnips, and leeks; and Chris made this neat rice with pine nuts and spinach, which he also made for me on our 2nd official date (there was a bonus date between the first and the second, but we agreed that one doesn't count), in which he totally impressed me -- in fact, I was pretty sure that I'd marry him after that meal).

For dessert: individual molten lava cakes (another Donna Hay creation; buy the book), garnished with dark chocolate and raspberries, and looking pretty much like the photo from her book, right. I even impressed myself.

Until later that night, actually, when I slammed my thumb in a door, but then couldn't remember which door... mmm, wine. Lots and lots of mmm....wine.

Where was I?

Oh, yes. My weekend of domesticking.

Chris had to work all day Saturday, then had a mess dinner at night, so I thought I'd dedicate myself to practicing my new aerobics releases (they're awesome!!!) and cooking ahead for the freezer.

I give, for your consideration, a soup!

Saturday evening's first oeuvre is to the left. Rich and creamy (yet moderately low in fat), you see a velvety root vegetable soup with figs. Oven-roasted carrots, parsnips and rutabaga were pureed with some ginger, sauteed onion, a few figs and skim milk to create a delicious autumn taste. The finishing touch: a dollop of sour cream and some chopped figs as garnish. Magnifique! Chris has even approved it for the first course of Thanksgiving dinner next week.

Once this was cooling on the stove, I switched modes to Karen-the-Baker. I pulled out my Eat, Shrink and Be Merry cookbook, which I highly recommend. Not only is it full of puns and delicious, healthy food, but they promise to respond to every single email they receive. I checked it out for myself last year, when I made "Marla's Maple Pork" from their Crazy Plates; it was so good that I wrote them fan mail, and I got a response before the day was out! Incredible. Unsolicited sales pitch: for a taste of the background principles (and general silliness), click here. Then buy their books (available at all major book stores)!!! Ok, back to me. I made the Bran New World muffins. Yum again! However, a tip to fibre-challenged types: one a day is plenty.

Finally (it being a bit past 10 pm), I set to work prep-cooking. I trimmed the stew beef, cut up carrots, potatoes and onions, and mixed everything up in the slow-cooker, to be turned on, bright and early Sunday morning. Sunday morning I was neither; who am I kidding?

Anyhoo, I got up just before 10, plugged it in, added the tomato paste, beef broth, and bay leaf, and left it to do its thing till 6:30, when voila! A hearty meal of home-cooked stew, complete with whole wheat scratch biscuits.

My goodness, can it get any better?

Well, this Saturday, hungover, I made a beautiful chocolate brownie trifle for Nat-and-Mario's housewarming.

(But, you ask, how could you have constructed such a fabulous dessert with a nearly broken thumb, a pounding headache, and a queasy stomach?)

Easy, sez I. 'Twas but a trifle.

Last day on the job!

Saturday, September 22 was my one-year anniversary in the Public Service. Friday, September 21 was my last day at PCO. A new adventure starts Monday.

But, first things first: speakers on.

Good, now click here. You can do the walk if you want.

I enjoyed my last day at PCO immensely, aside from a few minor devastations. Friday dawned beautiful and sunny and warm -- surely a good omen -- and Chris and I slowly got ourselves out the door (I was well into my "what are they going to do, fire me?" mode), only slightly after 8 am.

We got to York and Byward when we saw the crowd; there were people on rooftops, in garages, and everywhere. Oh, that's right: Blue Rodeo was playing a street concert for Canada AM! From 6:30 am onward, they popped on and off the stage, playing some new songs. (http://www.ctv.ca/ - under "highlights - Blue Rodeo; I'm not sure how long it will be posted) We were standing just behind and to the left of the stage, when suddenly, Jim Cuddy walked up and stood two feet in front of us - very cool. There were a few hoots and hollers, but because the host wasn't yet finished interviewing Margaret Atwood (she was there too - how uber-Canadian can you get?), the production assistant shushed the crowd. They actually quieted down! Amazing. Jim was very friendly, posing for pictures and talked to the people in front of us (although I overheard the girls beside us taking a photo of his butt) - the most un-rockstarly rock star I've ever seen...I was impressed. We watched them play a beautiful new song (not one of the video clips, unfortunately), and then Chris and I moseyed on to work.

For a Friday, it wasn't too bad - they still expected me to work, for some reason (what the--), but I managed to slip out at lunch to complete the final step of the long, drawn-out, Huffification process - the new passport. I swung by the Cock and Lion patio on my way, to get Mat to guarantor-ee my gorgeous, gorgeous passport photos (kaff), and told him that I'd try to be back soon as I could, so save me some beer. As I had filled out my forms online again at Passport On-line*, I jumped to the front of the line, and got back to the patio just in time to watch him drain his glass. Boo. But whoa, it was quick -- and a much better experience than last time.

I had time to swing by the bank before deciding that I probably should go back to work, where I was put to work (gasp!) again. At 3, the farewell wine-and-cheese started, and this is where the smile started to freeze on my face.

In this case, Jeff and I were both leaving, so it was an extra big deal, with awesome snacks, a good assortment of wine, and two wrapped presents. It is custom for the Boss (nameless - you'll see why) to speak at every farewell. She started with me.

She described me as the "face of (department X)", as the first contact the public has, as an ambassador who gives the first impression of professionalism, helpfulness, and energy. It was a lovely speech for a departing receptionist, the one who answers the phones and greets visitors. How nice, I thought, followed by, does she even know what I DO around here? Apparently not.

This is the woman who looks right through me every time I give her a message, and doesn't even acknowledge that I've spoken. She is very charming and fit, a successful woman in her late fifties that everyone admires....but dear god, I swore then that I will NEVER be like her. I am quite sure that the soles of her stylish and very expensive shoes are marked by the many people she has stepped on, on her way up...but she probably didn't notice.

I know, I know, I sound bitter and angry. Really, she can't be that bad. After all, she gave me a warm and friendly smile when she shook my hand and handed me my farewell gift (a lovely globe paperweight, picked out by someone else).... and called me Vicky.

*I made another PSA about it at my class this morning - it's that fantastic. Seriously, saved me at least an hour - instead of waiting your turn in line, you get bumped to the next open window - awesome.

Adventures in Cooking: The Great Caper Caper

In my ongoing quest to epitomize Suzy Homemaker, I have been reaching for my cookbooks more and more often. My brief exposure to the Food network on motel cable has taught me that good chefs taste their food as they cook (so THAT's how they "season to taste"!) and that, more importantly, there are more interesting meals out there than grilled chicken and steamed veggies (I know! I was shocked too!)

Sunday's trip to the grocery store yielded some new ingredients. Turkey scallopini (which I think is Italian for "thinly sliced" (hey, I'm right!)) was on sale, so I thought, why not? We hadn't had Italian dressing, the easiest basic marinade ever, in the house for over a year. Wee little asparagi were well-priced, too, so I picked some of those up, as well. I had capers in the fridge from a previous foray into gourmet cookery à la Donna Hay. (Great cookbook from Ryan and Nouha!)

Back at home, I dropped the scallopini into a glass dish and drizzled in a bit of Italian dressing, turned to coat, then put it in the fridge. I ran out to the store to get a can of crushed tomatoes (I knew I forgot something), and rolled up my sleeves.

I sautéed half an onion and this really neat one-clove garlic (Chantal sent some home with me from Kelowna - it's very, very garlicky!) in some olive oil. I then added the can of crushed tomatoes and a splash of Tina's homemade wine (heh). It boiled for about 15 minutes, then I added a bay leaf, some oregano, ground pepper and a tablespoon or so of capers, and reduced it to a simmer. It sputtered away messily, spitting tomato bits onto my stove, walls, and floor for the next 45 minutes.

I put the giant pasta pot on to boil. Once the linguini was in and bubbling, I was in Go Mode*.

I used a close approximation of Mario Batali's roasted asparagus recipe (clip off the ends, toss with olive oil and salt, then roast for 10 minutes in a 500-degree oven), but made a few changes to the sauce (no hardboiled egg to mix in with the red wine vineger, olive oil, capers and green onion) and to the oven temperature, as I wanted to cook my (now breaded in "homemade" bread crumbs (I forgot those, too) with oregano, pepper and parmesan) scallopini at the same time (Chris is funny about frying stuff, so I decided to try to keep everything as low fat as possible) - so 450 it was.

To drink, I took the rest of Tina's wine, and mixed up what I fondly refer to as "Hooters Sangria" - wine, OJ and fizz (in this case, diet 7Up), plus a splash of Grand Marnier to classy it up a bit, and some ice.

Everything was ready at the same time. The linguini was drained and plated, then doused in the tomato-caper sauce and sprinkled with a bit of parmesan. The golden brown scallopini rested just beside the vibrant red sauce, and the dark green of the asparagi was sprinkled with the sauce for added texture. The asparagus had nice crispy ends, the flavours blended well together, and Chris toasted me with his crystal glass full of sangria.

Go me, I thought.



* Go Mode: For those that have ever watched me cook, this is the exact time that you do NOT want to watch me cook. If there is any kind of time limit or coordination of items involved, the kitchen is the wrong place to be for you; the adjoining room is also too close, in fact, and any comments, suggestions or "tips" should be kept to yourself. Consider yourself warned.

Back on the Wagon Again...

Ok, so after a fantastico week -- hubby was away on Tuesday, which necessitated a Girls' Wine Night (TM), Thursday was a Chez Lucien extravaganza with Danielle, Friday was dinner at E18hteen with Kris and Marc, Saturday was a night at the Ex, "now with more booze!", and Sunday, well, it was almost a day of rest (for my liver), except for the sangria -- I have decided to take a break from drinking.

Until tonight, that is....it's Monday Night Martinis and Manicures at the Collection!






Restaurant Review/Personal Account of E18hteen
E18hteen is known as a nice restaurant. Everything I'd ever heard about it was upscale and classy. Great, I thought - it will be a good place to take Kris and Marc, our good-yet-evil friends who bought us about 40 lbs of chocolate and a bodyfat scale as a wedding present. We owed them a dinner, so decided to try it out.

The evening started well, in our living room: I made an olive and walnut tapenade and peaches, wrapped in prosciutto, drizzled with a balsamic reduction, both for the 2nd time this week. First, because if it ain't broke, don't fix it, and second, because they're both deeeeelicious and easy to make... and impressive, too! We opened the bottle of Shotfire Ridge, one of our discoveries Down Under, that Rob gave Chris for his birthday, to raves. Yum.

We walked to E18hteen, about an 8-minute journey. They were expecting us, and gave us a great table, both by a window and by a fireplace filled with candles - gorgeous touch, and worth replicating... if we ever have a place with a fireplace, I mean.

First impression: well, the service was slow...but very polite. Very, very, v e r y slow, though. The very polite waiter took his time coming over to fill our water glasses, and then even more time before he returned with menus.

When he returned for a third time, quite a while later, we each ordered a different dish: Kris ordered the black cod, Marc ordered the scallops, Chris had the surf-n-turf, and I ordered ostrich... mmm, ostrich... without the mushrooms, of course.

It took 30 minutes (from ordering) to see the very polite waiter again. He came back to tell us that they didn't have the wine we ordered, and another 15 after that to get a bottle of another one (some South African Shiraz - quite good). We skipped appetizers, since we'd done that at our place already, and also because we didn't expect the wait to be so long, but woo, it took forever to get food. The bread came just after the wine (now 45 minutes since we ordered), and lasted about 3 minutes - it was delicious, though, and the caramelized butter was a lovely touch.

The food arrived after about an hour, and the first thing I said when I saw mine was, "I asked for no mushrooms" (there were about 200 of them sitting smugly on top of my ostrich). The very polite waiter took it away, and I encouraged the others to start without me. They refused, saying that their food was too hot, anyway.

My large, flightless bird came back quickly, mushroom-less, which makes me wonder if they just rinsed it off and replated it, but either way, yum. Ostrich is a very lean red meat, and this one was perfectly tender, with a delicious sauce, "cherries gastrique" and swiss chard (low-carb, too!). Everyone loved, loved, loved their food...so was it worth the slow service? Undecided. Either way, though, all four plates were pretty much licked clean.

We decided to order dessert - we were fairly full, but the warm chocolate cake with caramel gelato and marshmallow sauce sounded way too good to pass up - one for each couple. We waited...and waited...another 30 minutes... and when it got there, we looked at the giant plates with the itty bitty pieces of cake in the middle (I could have circled it with my thumb and finger) and an itty bitty scoop of gelato on top, surrounded by a pool of marshmallow sauce. Again, deeeeelicious, but microscopic. And, not to pinch pennies, but for $12, I expect more than a mouthful!!!

The very polite waiter, sensing the growing dissention at the table, finally brought the bill, and said that because it took so long to arrive, he didn't charge us for the desserts ($24 for two bites? I should hope not!!!), which was nice and polite and considerate of him.

Overall: the food was incredible. Super-fantastic. Excellent at its poorest. Even the vegetables were amazing. The servers were polite and knowledgeable. However, as we had been prepared for a nice, leisurely meal, it was shocking to find how much more leisurely the meal was than could be considered acceptable. One of the party (guess which one?) termed it as "brutal". I can't imagine how uncomfortable it would have been if we had been struggling to make small talk for two courses over three hours.

At least we had good company... and good food, eventually.

Wine, wine, wine

Our three days in the Barossa went so fast. We flew to Adelaide, stayed one night (nothing really of interest during that first night, aside from a nice dinner and a nice bottle of wine), then took a cab to the rental car company. Did you know that it takes an hour to rent a car in Australia?

The drive from Adelaide to the Barossa was quick - an hour and a half on the highway, then following signs through wee little towns till we got to the street the B&B was on. Then another 10 minutes, driving up and down it until we found L'Anzerac. We had a beautiful little suite in a carriage house, with a fabulous spa bathtub - amazing breakfasts in the main house with Zepp (a super-cute, super-friendly little terrier with a limp). Quite the dining experience! Zepp -- short for Zeppelin -- would sit at Chris' feet and look longingly up at him, until his plate was empty, when he'd shift to look at me. Suddenly, there was a terrible, loud banging and rattling from the double doors behind us, like some large and frightening animal was trying to get in. When we walked over and looked out the window, we saw that it was just Lucy (the goosey) asking for bread crusts, which were kept in a container on the bar, just for her.

Anyhoo, I digress - by the time we drove up to the L'Anzerac, Trevor was waiting for us with his beautiful 1935 Auburn all ready to go.

We went to the Rockford winery first, to their small, rustic little cellar door, and tried the first of (hundreds? thousands?) many, many wines. They showed us the container into which we could spit (ha ha!) and tip out (no way!), which we disregarded completely.

We were knackered by lunch, obviously. And our teeth grew more and more empurpled as the day went on.

The two days of the tour were incredible - very dreamlike, very "this is how a honeymoon should be", and actually quite "this is how we should be living" as well. If only we had some marketable skills to bring to the Barossa! There doesn't seem to be a large seat of the Canadian Government there... yet.

Photos? You bet!

A Parched G'Day!

Ok, this blog is going to be quite a bit behind... quick update: married now (will do the story/photo thing later, as with all of our Oz shots - "we" forgot the usb cable, so the pics will remain on the camera till we get home). Had a bit of a "whoa" moment just a few minutes ago when we checked into our hotel in Adelaide, and I said the woman behind the counter that I was waiting for my ... husband. That's a big word.

A few observations from our trip so far:

First, and most important phrase to learn when you're in Australia: Table Water. This phrase is useful for when you are thirsty and do not want to pay $3.50 (note that a cappuccino is only $3.00) for a glass of sparkling or still water. I don't know if it's because of the drought or because people just don't drink water, but it's at a premium here. "Table water" gets you tap water, very drinkable, sometimes in a recycled wine bottle, which I think is a very nice touch.

Second important phrase is "tipping out" - something very important to do when on two full days of wine touring and tasting in the Barossa Valley (in an absolutely GORGEOUS refurbished 1935 Auburn)(thanks, Rob and Lynda!). By "tipping out" your glass after you have a mouthful or two, you save yourself from being totally snackered by noon, a trick that I didn't fully appreciate till the second day, shinshe by the time I figured it out on the firsht day, it wash too late, and I shtill had another five vinyardsh to vishit. Also, by the time you get to dinner (lovely, at a place called Vintners), and your husband (there's that word again) orders a bottle of wine, you don't feel like dying before the first sip, and much worse after half the bottle.

Day Two of the wine tours started out badly. By badly, I mean that when Chris said, "all set for another day of wine tasting?", I whimpered and pulled the blankets over my head. But, I mustered up all my gumption, tipped out a lot, and was only a bit more charming than usual by the end of the day. Incredible scenery (will be revisited with photos, I promise), beautiful weather, incredible sights, and yes -- four skippies! Last night, the only big problem was the really purple lips and teeth. Rumour has it that professional blenders that taste 30-40 blends a day have to get new teeth, as the wine actually eats away at the enamel. I believe it. I think they're back to normal now, but that's only because I haven't had any wine yet today.

Oh, and for those that want to be even more jealous, it's beautiful here - we ran both Saturday and Sunday mornings, along roads lined with vinyards, in shorts and tank tops. Aaaaah....

Go ahead - try to convince me to come home...