Whenever a blog post is created, it is numbered and so I knew that this milestone has been coming for a couple of months. I wanted this post to be monumental in some way.  I have created more than one draft and then known that it was not what I wanted to say. In the end, it all comes down to this: love. Hokey, I know. But “love” is what I want to share and celebrate on this frigid day. In no particular order, this is what I love:

I love all of my in-laws.

I love to read. I love The Number One Ladies Detective Agency, The Mitford Books, everything by Marlena de Blassi, culinary fiction, anything about Mexico, Italy and France.

I love to curl up and watch TV with D: the Jets, Survivor, Amazing Race and Amazing Race Canada, Suits, Newsroom, Downton Abbey, Call the Midwife, Homeland, House of Cards and House Hunters International (actually I watch this last one after D has instantly fallen asleep).

I love artichokes, eggplant, potatoes, crusty bread, pork chops, lime, cilantro, truffles and  feta cheese.

I love the people (friends) that I work for and with.

I love to travel and am looking forward to one day seeing Prague, the Isle of Man, Tuscany, Spain and returning to Italy, Greece, Israel and France.

I love my husband. After 30 years, I still get excited to know that he is on his way home from work. He kisses me every morning as he gets out of bed even when I am still asleep and he kisses me each night before he instantly falls asleep. He writes me love notes and works diligently so that I know that I am cherished.

I love my daughter and son-in-law and their parents and their siblings.

I love the Wee One. Oh. how I love her! I have known what fierce love is like before but the love of a grandchildren is a wonderful mystery that I am still coming to understand.

I love my Mom. I love her sense of humour. I love the pleasure that food gives her. I love her pride and passion for her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren.

I love my sisters. They are and always have been, my best friends. They know everything about me-warts and all. They have helped us raise our family, traveled with me and share my passion for food.

I love my brothers and miss the one we lost on earth, each and every day.

I love that my siblings all still live in the same city and that their children and grandchildren live here too (with one exception but I love her just as intensely). I love that we want to be together at Lester Beach or on Isla Mujeres.

I love Lester Beach. I love collecting heart shaped stones on the beach, sipping wine whilst watching the sun set, the communal bonfires, happy hours, dinners shared, eating freshly caught pickerel, walking in the woods, riding my turquoise bike, enormous breakfasts shared on the deck, the crackling fire in the woodstove and the cooling breezes which blow across our bed.

I love Isla Mujeres. I love that it is a single plane ride away and that I can leave in the early morning and be there by lunch time. I love watching the sunrise over the water from my bed or wrapping up in a pareo, grabbing a cup of coffee and sitting to wait for its appearance. I love the locals and the fellow travelers that I have met there. I love a particular Mexican family that we have befriended. I love that they invite us to their home. I love Isla’s food! I love escaping to the warmth. I love collecting beach glass and the crashing waves. I love that the constellations look different there. I love the familiarity of being on the little island; of knowing where to fetch the staples for our temporary kitchen, which market stall has the best avocadoes and limes, where to buy the cheapest cervesas, Kahlua and rum. I love the turquoise sea.

In fact, I love everything turquoise.

I love my five Godchildren.

I love my bestie M, who does not live in Winnipeg but who whenever I speak to her or see her, feels like she is still just down the block.

I love the Media Mavens-a group of woman, some of whom I have worked with for over 20 years.

I love my foodie friends, in Manitoba, throughout Canada and the US.

I love my church and my church family. I love the twenty year history that we have shared together, experiencing each other’s victories and defeats.

I love my neighbours. We watch out for each other and share our joys and tough times.

I love my neighbourhood. I love the exceptional restaurants all within walking distance: Fusion Grill, Saucer’s Café, Kudara, Inferno’s, Pizzeria Gusto, Bonfire Bistro, Chew, Enoteca, Mona Lisa, Bernstein’s Deli.

I love my city. I love the rivers and the parks and trails that lie adjacent to them. I love walking over the Provencher St. bridge, past the Canadian Human Rights Museum and into St. Boniface to hear French spoken and eat its amazing food.

I love our little house. It is not luxurious, it is not pristine, it is not new. But it is cozy, comfortable, warm and well located. There is lots of room in the yard to host summer gatherings, tend to my perennial garden and have a little pond.

I love this country. I love our gentleness, dignity, loyalty, diversity and how great we play hockey.

I love our children. I love that they love to be with us. I love that they all live within 10 minutes of us. I could fill an entire blog post with all things I love about them but I will leave that for another day.

One thousand words in this 1000th post. Thank you for reading and your continued support.

Love-that is all.

Many years ago, 21 to be exact, we were told by good friends about a unique ethnic restaurant on Sargent Ave. where they serve a soup with a crispy shrimp pancake floating on top. That was enough incentive for us to make the visit back then and sure enough, the Hu Tieu Nam Vang is still on the menu today. We appreciated the silky broth dotted with fresh cilantro leaves. The shrimp pancake satiated both my love of crunchy food and my passion for potatoes. The pancake was close to a potato pancake or latke. In addition to this treat, there were slices of pork, crab, more shrimp and satisfying rice noodles floating in the broth.

Speaking of noodles-have you ever wondered why Asian cuisine refers to the fine rice noodles by an obviously Italian name? Vermicelli literally means “little worms” but generally refers to the size of the noodle being thinner than spaghetti. Vermicelli in Italy is made from wheat flour whereas in Asia, it is fashioned from rice flour. In Vietnamese cuisine, the noodles are called “bun”.

Therefore, when we selected a bowl of noodles with pork balls, spring roll pieces, shrimp, crispy pork slices, shredded lettuce, bean sprouts, julienned cucumber and mint, it too was called “bun”-in this case “Bun Thap Cam”or Deluxe Vermicelli. This is my favourite Vietnamese dish which I order whenever I get the opportunity, sometimes as a cool, summer lunch.

We got somewhat adventurous with our third selection, choosing shrimp (again) sautéed with onions and carrots in coconut juice and fiery spices. The shrimp was perfectly cooked, that is just slightly so that it retained a satisfying crunch when bitten into. The sauce was so divine that had we a basket of bread, we would have torn off pieces to soak it up. Rice also does a great job of absorbing sauces and so we employed the bowl which had been delivered to the table earlier.

We discovered as we settled our bill that the original family whom owned Viva on our first visit in 1993, still owns it today but is has been passed along to the next generation, namely amicable son Phuong Nguyen.

Whilst searching for a “noodles” quotation, I found this one regarding “nincompoops”.  The latter was one of my Dad’s favourite expression when we ( his kids) weren’t behaving….

Kath’s quote: “….it is possible to exaggerate and to be duped by gastronomic nincompoops who write of gourmets with a sense of taste so refined that they can tell whether a fish was caught under or between the bridges, and distinguish by its superior flavor the thigh on which the partridge leans while asleep.”-Angelo Pellegrini

Live simply, laugh often, love deeply.

D and I have spent more than 30 Christmases together.  For many reasons this Christmas was the one that we have always dreamed of spending together.  December 25ths were fun when our brood were growing-up but they were hectic with trying to be everywhere that we were expected to be and melt-downs would occur as a result of naps missed and too many sweets consumed. D in particular, has worked very hard to ensure that we have a time just for our immediately family in spite of the fact that we both come from very large extended families.  This year, for the very first time in many decades, we had five glorious hours together on Christmas day.

In spite of the pile that you see here, we were reminded again this year that it is not all about the gifts. In fact, we try to give our family experiences rather than things, but sometimes “things” provide the way to great experiences. Case in point, we gave the Wee One a mini version of an upholstered easy chair with tiny plaid cushions and a fuzzy throw so that she could enjoy hours of reading her books until she outgrows it.

J1’s special gift was a pot, not just any old pot but a specially designed one so that he can carefully hone his beer making passion. Well, you get the picture. In truth, the Wee One grew frustrated with the process of opening gifts and reminded us anew that it is hugging a familiar teddy, or reading a well-loved book that brings real joy.

We have rarely been able to fit around our small dining table and I loved being able to fancy it up with second hand china, D’s Grandma’s napkins, some pops of colour from the dollar store and Christmas crackers, a must-do since Sister #3 introduced them to us, years ago.

The table was laden with a conglomeration of traditions and favourite foods:

The Frenchman contacted his mom for her tortiere recipe, a French Canadian tradition that is now a part of our dinner repertoire. I knew that I had to make “Green Bean Casserole” that is an old family favourite but I have invented a modification that no longer calls for a can of cream of mushroom soup.

Sister #3 who joined us when we called everyone to the dinner table, contributed her Duchess Potatoes-a heavenly concoction of potatoes, egg yolks and nutmeg.

There were plenty of fresh green veggies and a kale salad because we understand the art of a balanced diet.

The piece de resistance was D’s roast crown of pork. It is called a crown because it is a rib rack that is bent into a circle and then tied together with kitchen twine. If you tie two racks together there is enough room in the centre of the circle to pack it with your favourite fruit stuffing. Inside this single rack were the meatiest portions of the loin with no room for stuffing. You typically have to special order one from a butcher shop but I was in luck, when just before Christmas, I walked into my neighbourhood Sobey’s and sought out the butcher to place an order. He replied saying that he had one already made up and it was exactly the size that we required for our gang. In the morning, D had made a variety of deep slits into the meat where he inserted plenty of shards of garlic. He then pressed fresh rosemary into the crown and allowed it to be permeated by the flavours while we headed out for Christmas brunch. It slow roasted while we were opening gifts and filled our home with the most amazing and festive aroma.

He allowed the crown to “rest” while we put the finishing touches on the rest of the dishes and then “frenched” the roast by cutting it into single pork-chop looking slices-exactly what they are!

I was able to talk a chef into sharing his restaurant’s recipe of real ginger bread with a salted toffee sauce. Made with pureed ginger and lots of cloves, I can’t say more, except that it return on next year’s table.

What made this particular Christmas so special? we are healthy (physically, mentally and spiritually), we are happy and we are prosperous, that is if you consider “prosperity” to mean “flourishing” with time to spend showing each other how much they are loved.

Kath’s quote: “Fall on your knees! O hear the angel voices!” (from ‘O Holy Night’)

Hearing this each Christmas gives me the shivers (more so if Josh Groban is singing it)-the idea that a moment is so divinely profound that it literally sends us spiralling to the ground! The phrase describes a pulse-racing moment, and creates the same reaction in me.

Love, came down from heaven.