Ahhhhhhhh

Sunday morning.  I’m up early, thinking.  Yesterday we celebrated a milestone birthday for a great and life-long friend and it was great fun.  I made a double layer cherry chip cake with vanilla and coconut frosting and we enjoyed a great meal of turkey, stuffing, tones of vegetables including squash baked with maple syrup that I adore.  It was a great time, noisy, lots of laughter and love at the party.

Old friends are dear to me.  During the hectic activity of the party, I was deeply aware that I was celebrating a friend that I have know since university, that has seen me struggle with career, relationships and the many changes that happen during your adult life.  I know that those eyes have seen me at my strongest, my most hopeful, my most despairing, have seen my eyes cry with hurt and disappointment and have also seen them shine with anticipation and joy.  Those eyes without speaking give me encouragement to pursue my dreams and to keep moving forward.

I have to admit I have been feeling anxious about the cookbook these last few days.  I tend to set artificial deadlines for myself, which I suppose is my nature, but then I feel the very real stress of trying to meet those deadlines.  I have been lazy.  I have procrastinated.  I suddenly feel very behind in developing my cookbook and it is all my own pressure.  But for me, it is no less real.  I keep thinking suddenly of all I have left to do.  And today, as well, we are going to have a great day with family.  And yet I feel a misplaced guilt that I am not working on the cookbook.  I keep re-negotiating with myself on how many recipes to transcribe and how to get them finished by December so I can start working on the next phases.  I keep reminding myself to take a breath.  This adventure is supposed to be fun!  Sometimes I really feel like I am going in circles on this book; who knew it would be this crazy.  And I feel like a crazy person at times lol  I have to remind myself to take a breath.  You know what, easy solution, go find some breakfast!

Food fixes everything

Ugh, what a day at work!  The smooth, warm feeling of the honeymoon is wearing off fast!  Work has accelerated and now feels like a tsunami of deadlines, meetings and work washing over me.  I was so rested and relaxed coming back to work and to be honest I keep that feeling right up to 11 am this morning.  Then I could I could start to feel it slipping away like the edges of a pleasant dream in those first few moments after you wake.

Time to take a quick day dream vacation back to a glorious day in Split, Croatia on our honeymoon.  I had no expectations of Split, knowing nothing about the city or even the country of Croatia and, wow, what a great surprise.  We spent the morning in a small, medieval town about thirty minutes outside of Split named Trogir.  How wonderful to wander around the tiny medieval streets, slipping on cobblestones, walking in and out of the bright fall sunshine with my guy.  We had a great time and of course took the chance to stop and buy some cherry and cheese pastries.  We took them over to a little café beside a marina of sailboats bobbing behind us, ordered coffees and enjoyed nibbling away the morning.  I spotted over my guy’s shoulder a local grocery store and always one who finds wandering the aisles of foreign grocery stores more enjoyable than any local tour off I tottered to have a look around.  Once I had passed by the café, but before I reached the store on the other side of a busy thoroughfare, I found myself in an outdoor local farmer’s market.  I was in heaven.  I walked up and down the aisles looking at the produce, the fruits, honeys, strings of drying garlic, cheese mongers and deli meats on display.  I went back and got my guy and showed him all my great piles of carrots and cabbages that had made me so absurdly excited.  

Next we visited an old water powered mill and sampled some local wines, cheese, freshly baked bread and prosciutto.  We sat outdoors, by the rushing water, and enjoyed our selves, throwing the leftovers to the patient geese on the millpond.  Finally we found ourselves back in Split where we spent a lovely afternoon wandering the streets, talking with vendors in the fish market, examining the remains of Diocletian’s palace and most importantly eating more crème filled desserts on the promenade.  The sun was bright on the Adriactic, the wind fresh, and we sat on benches, flakes falling from our mouths to our shirt fronts, amid palm trees, white marble walkways and travelers from around the world.  It is so etched in my mind that day, a perfect day for relaxing and desserts.

And these memories are keeping me from working.  Here I am at work bludging and not doing what I should be and thinking about holidays. And I have been a bit lazy as well transcribing recipes.  I need to get myself back in the swing of things and hard at it.  Wishing will not make it so and I have lots ahead of me to finish.  It is going to be a busy couple of months with the cookbook.  I am going to meet with the photographer hopefully next week to talk about concepts and I have been thinking I should probably develop a website for the cookbook as well.  See I can add to my own personal to do list of work while my boss adds to mine at work!  I better run and stop wasting company time writing this note. Hunh, just talking about food and travel has relaxed me.  Better get back to work!

Lest we forget

Today, on Remembrance Day, I have been thinking about the sacrifices so many have made for our country and our freedoms.  

Even at home, our lives were changed by the war.  Did you know that whipped cream became unknown from 1939 to 1948 as well as chocolates and cakes with rich crèmes?  Coffee became unavailable and most people created a substitute from roasted ground down barley seeds and acorns.  Many people kept rabbits at home as meat became scarce and almost everyone had a Victory garden for their own vegetables.  Citrus fruits and bananas were rare; in fact, any oranges sold were intended only for children.

Soldiers always had an emergency ration called a D-ration which included a highly caloric and energy boosting chocolate bar that was so hard some troops had to soak it in hot coffee or water in order to eat it or use a bayonet to cut it.  Rationing caused long lines at shops.  The first foods to be rations included bacon, sugar, tea, butter and meat.  One egg a week was the ration in 1941.  With eggs rationed, people used dried egg powder.  One packet of egg powder was equal to 12 fresh eggs.  With the introduction of tinned meats like Spam, breakfast could be scrambled eggs from powder eggs and fried Spam.  More likely, it was dinner. 

In so many ways, the sacrifices of those who have gone before have provided our freedoms and rights, our way of life and, in countless, small, unacknowledged ways, have ensured that the little luxuries which add comfort to our lives are available to us.  The extent of the gift they have given us should give us pause.  Thank you.  Lest we forget. 

Life is for living

So here it is, lunch hour, and I am sitting at my desk, day dreaming about Greece.  It wasn’t long ago that my guy and I were in the shade of an ancient olive tree, happily slurping on our ice cream treats.  From our vantage point, I could look up at the Acropolis where we had just spent the last three hours.

I studied classical civilizations as my major at university and to have the chance to visit the Acropolis and see and touch the Parthenon was truly amazing to me.  To imagine the effort, intellect and determination that was required to build that perfect edifice and to keep a group of people focused for forty years on its construction spoke to me of our capacity to create, to dream and to make our dreams reality.  It is a testament to what we can achieve when we set our minds to it.  Awesome.  Inspiring.  Motivating.  I have friends who have done the Ironman or cycle for charity, who paint or sing or dance, who build with their hands or minds: so many friends who in their own ways have found their inspiration and chased it.

And sitting there, in that sun-dappled shade, eating my ice cream and looking at the Parthenon, I was reminded to keep chasing my dream.  But only for an instant, because honestly, I was caught in the spell of Greece, the olives turning purple above me, the light of the stones, the absolute blue sky framing the temple, the warm sun, the cool breeze and my lover at my side.  It wasn’t long before we got up, ambled down the road, and eventually found a sticky, sweet piece of baklava to share.  Sometimes life is not for thinking, not for planning.  Sometimes life is just for living.   

Souks, sweets and supper

One glorious afternoon, we got to wander slowly through the souk and ancient Jewish market in the Old City of Jerusalem.  Passing through the Jaffa gate was like stepping back into a forgotten time:  narrow, cobblestone streets worn smooth by the endless feet of pilgrims from three faiths journeying through the city, loud vendors calling their wares, dust, donkey dung, incense hanging in the air, flowers blooming riotously on the old walls.  We tread slowly through the souk, the bright autumn sun almost completely shut out by the stalls of merchants selling everything from radios to leather goods, from bras to sweets.  I was assaulted by the smells from the spice merchant, cardamom, cinnamon, peppers, nutmegs, cumin, coriander, herbal teas, salad spices, each one filling my nose with promise.  Bakeries with olive pizzas and manoush, flat breads covered with zatar, a spice mixture of oregano.  I could pick my way through piles of dates, pistachios, dried nuts, apricots, figs, mangos, kiwis, sample halwa, sesame snacks with pistachios or fruit in them or leisurely choose loosely-piled candies of every sort.  No plastic wrappers here: simply dig and select. 

There is something about shopping in a market that has stood for thousands of years, and something else again to shop in the market, aware of the thousands of pilgrims, Crusaders, defenders, thieves, adventurers, poets and families that have come for evening dinner through the centuries.  I fell in love with Jerusalem, with its three great faiths shouldered one against the other, its storied walls, narrow streets, surprising squares and history everywhere you turned. In a little shop, on a well-trodden side street, I stuck my pinkie finger into date honey and fell in love.  Date honeys are also mixed with caramel or sesame and deliciously spread over toast in the morning with strong coffee.  I felt as though I had stuck my pinkie finger into Jerusalem and got the most fleeting but sweet taste of the place. 

We ate later that day at an Armenian restaurant, aptly located in the Armenian quarter.  We nibbled on appetizers of sour cabbage, pickled carrots, potato salad, cucumbers, beautiful hummus and freshly baked pita breads.  A cold local beer, a breeze from the backyard patio through the open window, the cool of the stone-vaulted roof overhead and lunch with new friends was underway.   I understand completely now the ancient Jewish saying, next year, Jerusalem.  I fell in love with the place.  All my senses were afire there: the hue of the light, the multi-coloured goods in the souk, the call to prayer, the bells, the singing wailing wall in your ears, the feel of history underfoot, the texture of the walls, streets, water splashing over your hands in fountains, but more than all, the smells of spices, sweets, meats, bread, life in the air. 

Mouthfuls of history

Egypt, fabled land of pyramids, camels, the Nile, souks and donkeys.  Egypt was the first stop on our honeymoon cruise and I was filled with anticipation to finally see the land that I had studied, imagined and re-created in my day dreams.

I just loved seeing the food in Egypt.  As we would speed alongside a dusty, sluggish canal, traveling to an ancient site to see pyramids or mastaba, I was fascinated by the irrigated fields flashing by.  Rows of date palms stood in orderly rows for miles like sentinels on watch. Cabbages, grain or beans lay lush between well-ordered fields, the eternal sun glinting off the water in the ditches.  Groves of fruit trees shouldered against the canals, pomegranates ripening in the sun.  Everywhere, I saw history living out its endless cycle.  It is an ancient land filled with ancient food. Whenever we stopped to eat, I could taste the history.  I was struck by the continuity of this cuisine, food that has nourished this people for over five thousand years and continues to strengthen arms and fill stomachs. 

It was a land of contrasts for me.  Chaotic, bustling cities filled with people bumping against each other like so many balls in a pinball machine, each bouncing from one to the next in an endless sea of movement.  Quiet, eternal countryside, reminding the city dwellers of the changeless nature of Egypt, of continuity, of patience, of calm.  Restaurants with cuisine from around the world, the ubiquitous Chinese restaurant, English breakfasts, French pastries, and there, nestled proudly among these visitors, rich, garlicky hummus, stewed lentils, crisp greens with chickpeas glistening atop, sticky date pastries, rich in your mouth and warm in your hands.  It was for me an endless opportunity to watch trucks and donkey carts scamper past filled with dates, cabbages, grapes, pomegranates, chickens and goats, heading to markets and ultimately someone’s counter in their kitchen to be transformed into the evening meal.  Feeding their guy.  The same eternal cycle played out in a different kitchen but animated with the same love. 

Egypt, at first blush, was shocking to me, vastly different, rapid, noisy, dusty, demanding.  But under the surface, I saw home.  I saw the same love of food and family.  The same tastes that I enjoy in restaurants were here commonplace, ancient and available.  In the early mornings, the smell of warm bread often filled the air while the call to prayer sounded above the city.  There was a feeling of history that seems soaked into the land and the cuisine was no different; a stew of lentils that graced the tables of nobles in pharaoh’s Egypt was found for me on buffet tables and sidewalk restaurants.  The food had that the flavour of time, of olive oil, dates and chickpeas, of Nile fish, lamb and fowl.  Egypt that began so alien to me ended as a lesson in history, in continuity, in the power of food to define us and give us a place in our own histories.

Hello dear friends

We are back!  I have so much to tell you and can hardly decide where to begin, Oh the sights, the wondrous food, the drinks, the Mediterranean sea at sunset, the salacious details of our private life that I dare not reveal here for fear of dull, grey-suited censors with sharp red pencils. We had a glorious time on our cruise of the Holy land.  And like a fine Venetian pastry, we finished off our time away with a few amazing days, alone in Venice, free to discover the city and ourselves slowly. 

Our holiday was also a time of confirmation for me.  As we visited each of the amazing destinations on our cruise, I found myself sampling the local cuisine, inquiring into how it is prepared, thinking to myself that I would have to share this insight or recipe with you, how I could incorporate this new flavour or technique into my own cooking or considered whether it should be included in my cookbook.  I found myself seeing the world around me through the prism of this adventure I am on.  To be fair, I often laughed at myself for my seemingly obsessed view of food but it confirmed for me that writing this cookbook is exactly the right thing I should be doing for myself at this time.  The journey to write this cookbook is becoming an opportunity to reflect on my marriage and on my life through a passion for food.  And I decided I don’t need to apologize for it.  Candidly, I did as forecast, I over-ate, and over-indulged, and basically made a pig of myself.  But I could hardly stand not to do so.  After all it is food!

So here I am back, among my favourite recipes, sitting at my desk, staring down the instruction manual for InDesign that remains to be tackled, and my yellow stickie notes strewn across the desktop reminding me of the next things to do.  And I am happy.  Very happy.  I feel calmer about writing this cookbook.  Well at least for today.  I think I can do it.  And perhaps in the future, should not even a single copy sell, it will still have been an amazing journey for me.  It is time to go and wander around in my kitchen and say hello to my favourite pans and sniff the spices in the cupboard.  It is time to be home.