Getting it done

I am sneaking a few moments to myself.  I just put some stuffed peppers in the oven for dinner and while I wait for them to cook and before I start the ironing (okay, in today’s world, why am I still ironing shirts every week for work?), I thought I would quickly share my progress.  At last count, I am up to 87 recipes transcribed for the cookbook and all the pounds to show for it.  Not surprisingly I have the most entries in my desserts section and frankly with the Christmas season coming, they are the most fun to make right now.  I have done some work on the soups, salads and appetitizers section, and some recipes in my “what to eat while the game is on” section but it is the main courses section that is falling down.  Oh, I have all my favourites I just haven’t seemed to get to them yet. 

I have to admit though I have a few piles sitting around on my desk like lonely forgotten toys trailing behind a toddler that I have to attack.  I have pulled the recipes out but they are just sitting waiting for me to get to them.  Fortunately, I am almost done all my shopping for Christmas already, well, maybe that isn’t fortunate, maybe it just shows that I am over the top, obsessive about getting things done in advance!  It will be my downfall on this project I can see that already.  I really do like to have things done in advance; it reduces my stress and lets me enjoy it more.  But life keeps getting in the way of my free time to get this cookbook done!  If only there wasn’t so much cooking to do every day.  Oh, wait a minute, it is my love of cooking that got me in this mess in the first place!  A vicious but delicious circle.

True to form, if I have my shopping and wrapping done early, I can concentrate on transcribing and testing recipes in December while enjoying the holiday season.  See always a plan!  We are making progress folks, hang in there, we will see this one completed!

Food to spice up your dating life!

So the other day I joked about how peeling a pomegranate can give you some insight into how much you love your guy or perhaps where you will draw the line.  It got me to thinking about pomegranates and how I know so very little about them, despite enjoying at this time of year, every year, my hands almost permanently stained red from the juice.  So I did a little research and here is what I have learned!

In the Hebrew mystical tradition called Kabala, the "wife" of God is conceived as a pomegranate.  Ah, does that make the “husband” a paring knife?

Persephone, the daughter of Demeter, the Greek goddess of spring, was once frolicking near the entrance to the Underworld. Its lord, Hades, enticed her to come closer and offered her to eat three pomegranate seeds. The myth has it that because of eating these seeds, she became permanently betrothed to him and was forced to endure living with him in his hot, lonely home.  Clearly girls, be careful what you order on a first date!

The ancient Chinese believed that pomegranate juice contained a "soul concentrate" which could confer immortality. The Babylonians believed that chewing pomegranate seeds before battle made the soldiers invincible.  I believe chewing pomegranate seeds just results in juice running down my chin!

Originating in Persia, the pomegranate appears in the folklore of ancient Egypt, where it was used in burial.  Really, how does one mummify a pomegranate I wonder?

Garnet stone– Named from the Latin word for pomegranate, commonly occurring deep reds to purple red, the stone of fidelity, passion, faith, strength, determination.  May someday replace diamonds in engagement rings, uhm, good thing I already have mine!

According to Judaic tradition, each pomegranate contains 613 arils, as the seeds are called, the exact number of good deeds a Jew should perform in a lifetime.   Certainly an easy way to keep track of your progress!

Some Christian scholars believe it was a pomegranate and not an apple that tempted Eve. Some Christians also consider the fruit a symbol of fertility, resurrection and immortality.  Believe me, if Eve knew how much work it was to peel one, she would certainly have chosen the apple!

Buddhists consider the pomegranate a blessed fruit. One legend explains that Buddha gave a pomegranate to Hariti, a demon who devoured her children, to cure her of her wicked ways.   I give them to my husband to keep him quiet!

To the ancient Romans, the pomegranate signified marriage and brides decked themselves in pomegranate wreaths.  I assume the leaves, carrying around all those round balls of fruit on your head would get heavy fast!

In Greek myth, Orion's wife was very beautiful, even rivaling the beauty of Zeus's wife, Hera. For her daring to compete with Hera, her children were killed and she was persuaded to believe herself the culprit. In agony, she threw herself from a cliff. The location of her blood was where the first pomegranate tree grew.  All I can say is, festive!?!

In the modern-day traditions of many Greeks, it is customary to adorn the holiday table with pomegranates. The Greeks consider the pomegranate to be a symbol of abundance; a fruit that spills over in plenitude and good luck. They are set out in honor of the fertile land and its bounty. Pomegranates also make an appearance during weddings,  funerals, and New Year celebrations.  Really, these are the same people who just pushed Orion over a cliff and now they set them out as symbols of good luck. Remind me not to ask a Greek for any ideas to improve my luck!

Pomegranates in China are associated with fertility. One of these fruits, shown half-opened, is often a wedding gift, it means a hundred seeds, or more completely, a hundred sons. The word for seed and sons in Chinese is "zi", it is also the word for "sons."  Again, remind me to be careful what I eat.  Can you imagine how big the rice pot has to be to feed one hundred sons!

Ancient Arab women used pomegranate seeds to predict their own fertility. The pomegranate was dropped on the ground, in the center of a circle. When it broke open, the number of seeds that landed outside the circle, was the number of children she would have.  All the more reason to be careful in the kitchen and never let your fruit drop to the floor!

All in good fun but I have to admit I found it very interesting when I was doing some research.  I can’t even imagine what I could learn next about, say, carrots?

What a bowl!

It’s Sunday morning and I am feeling much better.  The flu has only slowed me down and, although this might make you laugh, I spent an awful lot of time while I was lying in bed unable to sleep, my nose dripping, a headache pounding in the lower back of my head, my throat scratchy and desirous of some flat ginger ale, thinking about recipes and my cookbook!  I know writing this cookbook may not be healthy for me.  At the expense of all else, I seem to be always dreaming of this project!

I got out of bed this morning and walked straight into the kitchen and reached into my lazy Susan and pulled out my favourite crockery bowl.  Swear.  I know I am even smiling at myself as I write this and shaking my head, seriously they may be something wrong with me.  Quite soon I am almost certain, little men, not in stark white coats smelling slightly of bleach and hand sanitizer and offering snug fitting coats that clasp at the back but rather in my case the little men in stark white aprons smelling slightly of flour and nutmeg and offering the newest in Teflon coated, raised cookie baking sheets will come suddenly through my front door and escort me out and into a sparkling clean doughnut truck to take me somewhere quiet for a rest! Anyway doesn’t everyone get out of bed and walk immediately into their kitchen and pull out their favourite bowl and feel comforted and pleased?

So I did.  I pulled out my bowl and just held it and look at it all around.  I suppose I must have been dreaming about it or thinking about it as I awoke.  It was my grandmother’s bowl. It is a thick crockery bowl, medium to large sized, cream-coloured with two thick blue bands around its lip.  The finish has been muted, almost buffed natural, by the endless washing that poor bowl has endured over its life.  It has a soft texture, the inside scored gently by spoons pushing around its sides.  I am not sure where Grandma ever got the bowl, whether it was a gift for Christmas or she bought it at Sears or whether it was a found, for a nickel, on a church bazaar table nestled besides hand knitted mittens and tea cozies. My cousin Heather who sometimes reads this blog will know the one!

But I remember that bowl throughout my childhood.  Coming in off the hills outside her house, cold from riding our sleigh, it would be on the counter, Grandma making us tea biscuits and hot chocolate when we came in from the cold, hot biscuits covered in butter and honey emerging from that bowl, and served to us at the table to warm up.  I know she would have made pies and desserts, dinners and lunches in that bowl for my own mother when she was a child, Mom’s favourites emerging from that bowl.  Grandma’s hands would have washed it, standing at her sink looking out the window at the garden and the bush beyond.  My hands travel where hers once did as I clean it after feeding my guy.  My mother gave me the bowl when Grandma passed away. I had just left for university and I am sure my mother, ever practical, gifted me the bowl knowing that I would be setting up my apartment and, having nothing, needed everything.  But Mom gave me much more.  I have a piece of my history, my mother’s and my grandmother’s history.  I have a deep affection for that bowl, almost for the bowl itself.  I love each chip out of the crockery and the marks inside, the way the blue is fading.  I will almost always choose that bowl over any other even when it is the wrong bowl to choose by size or by design.  Some dishes you simply need a wooden bowl for in order to get the right roughness for blending ingredients, but even then, I will often choose my favourite and have less than perfect results.

Does it seem strange to be rising from my flu and the first thing I did this morning is walk to the kitchen and get out my bowl?  And now frankly I have talked about it for paragraphs!  Yes, something is deeply off centre in me!  Perhaps I just find the bowl comforting.  And in this world, I take comfort from what I can.  It makes me happy.  Hope you have a similar bowl.  

Sick, ugh

Well I’ve done it, I am sick.  The flu has me in its grip.  And the only consolation is that I get to reach for some homemade, butternut squash soup in the freezer and when I spread jam on my toast, I know I made it with my own hands.  It is incredibly important to me to know what is in my food and what I am feeding my guy.  I make all my own homemade jams and relishes.  I love the smell of a homemade soup on the stove simmering, promising relief and nourishment.  At this time of year, as the days are getting colder, nothing tastes quite so good as a big bowl of steaming soup and a thick piece of bread and cheese!  I am yawning as I write this so I will keep this one short.  I will be back soon; just have to fight off this pesky flu!

Do it for you!

The last couple of days at work have incredibly trying.  Last night I was so tired when I got home, I just ate something easy and then sat down on the couch and watched television, which is something I almost never do. Today I still feel exhausted.  It is just a really busy time of year at work with a number of things coming to an end but it is coupled with lots of pressure from other parts of the company and just the exhaustion of the end of the year.  I was sitting in a meeting yesterday at a round conference table.  I started looking at myself as a reflection in the window against the dark grey sky and realized, wait a minute, I am getting fat.  I actually tried to decide am I am getting fat or is it just the way I am sitting.  I think testing all these recipes is starting to show but in the end I was completely okay with the extra pounds.  Not that I won’t in a few weeks suddenly decide that it is a crisis and I need to lose the weight but right now I was perfectly happy with it.

It has become so clear for me over the last few days exactly how important this project is to me.  Work will always be work with its ups and downs, its stresses and rewards.  And work is important, good and a necessary part of anyone’s life.  But I realized this passion is just for me.  I will not make excuses for it but likewise, amid all the running around of the holiday season, the demands of work, home and friendships, I am always going to carve time out for my project.  It would be so easy to sacrifice it to the other demands.  But that is sacrificing something that is just for me, to give up what I love for every other priority, for something other.  I love what I am doing.  I hope others will enjoy what I have created when it is finished but first and foremost it is for me.  Something I am giving myself.  I want to do it just for me and if it feels selfish to demand that I make time for it everyday, then I believe it is a healthy selfishness.  I also realized I need to do this project.  It is my escape, my dream, my priority.  Of course I will have to figure out the balance.  I was angry the last two days that I didn’t have the time to dedicate to it but my realization this morning is that I gave away the priority.  I let others decide for me.  And I am taking it back.  I feel tired and probably sound tired.  But at least in tiredness I can see what gives me energy and chasing this dream and giving life to this passion is what will keep me interested, balanced, really my best me.  

Tea, cookies and the couch for me

What a craptacular day, a completely horrendous day today at work.  I was miserable all day and the grey, overcast gloomy day did nothing to improve my mood.  I walked in the door, pulled out my cream and blue crockery bowl and whipped up a batch of peanut butter.  I know peanut butter is pretty much taboo these days in a lots of place but honestly there is nothing like a peanut butter cookie.  I made some crunchy for tea and some soft and chewy.  My guy came home with our friend Carmela and we sampled them all.  It made the day seem a little brighter.  Otherwise I have done nothing on the cookbook today.  I think the rest of evening just looks like me sitting on the couch eating cookies!  

The pomegranate test!

Just a quick laugh, mostly tongue in cheek but perhaps also a little too true. Do you want to know exactly how much you love your guy, then offer to peel and de-seed a pomegranate for him!  I love pomegranates and it has become a tradition for my guy and I to enjoy them at this time of year.  But truly, standing in the kitchen de-seeding a pomegranate is like going through all the phases of dating and a relationship in the time it takes to prepare one!  You start off looking at it, admiring its rosy colour, its soft roundness, wondering where it came from and how it made its journey to you.  You cut into it and it sprays sweet juice all over the counter and your hands, giving you a chance to slowly lick your fingers and taste its promise.  And then the work begins.  You peel back the first layers of skin, exposing the seeds, but somehow you are always on the wrong side of the row.  You have to turn it around, and push them out with your fingers.  You start to get a rhythm only to come across a particularly thick-skinned area.  You start to get frustrated, wondering why you ever started.  You try not to glance at the other half sitting on the counter waiting its turn.  You back starts to twinge standing on the tile floor.  You recommit and keep at it.  You just focus on finding the right way to peel it.  One half done and you pick up the other piece.  You have learned how this one is set up and know where to attack the rows first.  This half seems easier; it is more familiar.  You don’t notice the time you are expending and somehow your back eases.  The bowl is starting to look full and you feel a sense of satisfaction at your progress.  You remember why you started, why you wanted to share it with your guy.  You are in the home stretch suddenly and you start to anticipate sharing the bowl together, your hands covered in a familiar sweet stickiness now, the bowl overflowing with promise.  You rinse your hands to say you are done.  Put two spoons in the bowl and walk to the living room to share the pomegranate, a smile on your face.  And you know you love him when he insists you take the first delicious spoonful.