Well, it is official.  Unfortunately, we did not hit our minimum enrollment target to make our sojourn to Tuscany a reality.  The vistas of purple hued rolling hills and golden valleys will still be there when we plan our next trip to Italy.  Of course I was already dreaming about and tasting the fine wines and the mind-blowing food! But the vinters and the chefs will also wait for us.

As is often the case for D and I, we consoled ourselves very successfully.  We spent this weekend celebrating our recent wedding anniversary.  We sat in cozy beach chairs and consumed a lovely bottle of Riesling while surveying the sunset on Friday evening.  We ate mussels poached in coconut milk, garlic and cilantro while watching the last couple of episodes of House of Cards.  The night was warm and clear, so we pulled cushions out onto the deck and gazed at the northern sky for hours, guessing which lights were planets or satellites and shouting out when we saw falling stars.  The next day, after D kept his weekend tennis date, we walked to a secluded area of the beach that we share only with very special people.  We basked in the sun and did the crossword puzzle together.  We walked along many kms of almost empty, glorious sandy beach until we came upon a huge group of kite board surfers.  After perching in the sand and marveling at their antics, we headed back in the other direction.

True to form, we started discussing and planning our next trips.  We have decided to take in Canadian wine country and will spend some time in Niagara on the Lake, one of the homes of Jackson Triggs, which my good friends know is my favourite Merlot.  We will look up old friends that own and run a successful restaurant in the area.  Our intention is also to head to Stratford, where another set of long-time friends run a B&B.  We intend to take in a couple of plays of the Stratford Festival and the chances are very good that we will drink and sup well there too.

Most excitingly, we are planning our next trip to Europe to coincide with next year’s anniversary-our 30th.  We have great fun discussing our options.  Perhaps we will include Praque and Poland where my Dad and his family were from.  Perhaps Greece and Sicily so that we can visit again with good friends and explore the east side of the island.  Perhaps the Isle of Skye and the Isle of Man, where my Mom’s family originated.  One thing that we know for sure.  We will fly through London.  We were astonished by how affordable airfare is (especially when compared to Canadian fares), once you are in Europe and departing from one of their air hubs.  So London will definitely be part of our itinerary.

We think that the research that you do before a major trip is a great part of the fun.  We get out our laptops together and start poking around in order to sketch out an itinerary.  We also love getting deals on hotels.  Luxury is not important to us as we literally only sleep and shower there, but location is very key.  When we travel, we love to live like locals, not tourists, and so a residential neighbourhood amidst local shops, pubs and cafes is our preference.  We have been having fun searching through London Hotels.  We can refer to maps of the city and the various neighbourhoods of London.  We can even limit our search by budget which will come in handy.

Will we make it to Tuscany eventually?  Oh, I am sure that we will.  But in the mean while, our next adventure awaits.

Kath’s quote: “Oh, the places you’ll go!” -Dr. Seuss

Love-that is all.

Even though my gang is long out of grade school, I still I am both excited and apprehensive on this day.  The jitters that the kids would have, would always be passed along to me and I would wonder about teachers and bullies and besties.  I would hope that they didn’t mind that although their clothes were clean and they had every item on their school supply list, that they would mind (or notice) that their new lunch kit was gifted to me at a golf tournament and that their gym shoes were actually one size too large because they were the only size left on that shoe sale.

My greatest anxiety was typically about their school lunch.  I dreaded the task because no matter how much effort went into it at my end, the bags and Tupperware found in knapsacks, would tell the true tale of what had been considered delicious, let alone appealing.  There were a couple of years where J1 traveled across town to school and then would stay in EK for dance classes in the evening and so lunch and dinner would have to be sent.  I was a dreadful failure at this, believing that he didn’t mind the packaged pasta package that I would send with him, thinking to myself “he’ll need the carbs” for his workout.

Suffice it to say, I am glad that my lunch making days are behind me.  Well, not quite.  This Friday, a friend of the Frenchman moves in with us for the fall and he has requested room and board.  I am relieved because there is no way that I could make the space for his ingredients in my weenie kitchen or overstuffed fridge.  I will be responsible for providing lunch “ingredients” so that he can pack a lunch for himself.  I think that I can pull that off.

I see photos of packed lunches on the Mommy blogs of compartmentalized boxes filled with fresh, nutritious and clever food.  And I think, boy those kids must be so loved that their Mom’s would go to that much trouble.  I hope that mine know that with working outside the home and scheduling extra-curricular activities for them, as well as trying to keep a house and take care of my hard-working husband, I did the best that I could manage.  I also hope that in spite of mediocre lunch bags, they were/are loved more than words can say.

Love-that is all.

Marsha Mehran escaped the Iranian revolution and the heroines of her stories have done the same.  I was drawn to this book and it’s sequel (unfortunately I read them the wrong way around) initially because of the culinary theme but found many other connections to the narrative.  Both stories are about three sisters and their sometimes opposite reactions to the same circumstances of life.

They run a little cafe together in a community in western Ireland, a place that I fell deeply in love with when we traveled through it a couple of springs ago.  Our most northern stop was Galway which is still south of County Mayo where the action takes place.

But wandering the streets of Galway and experiencing their commerce and culinary scene has allowed me to create what I think is a realistic mental picture of life for the sisters.  Here are a couple of my favourite excerpts from the first of the two novels.

Chapter 4, page 62

At only nine in the morning the kitchen was already pregnant to its capacity, every crevice and countertop overtaken by Marjan’s gourmet creations.  Marinating vegetables (torshis of mango, eggplant and the regular seven-spice variety), packed to the briny brims of five-gallon see-through canisters, sat on the kitchen island.  Large blue bowls filled with salads (angelica lentil, tomato, cucumber and mint, Persian fried chicken), dolmeh, and dips (cheese and walnut) yoghurt and cucumber, baba ganoush, and spicy hummus), which, along with feta, Stilton and cheddar cheese, were covered and stacked in the enormous glass-door refrigerator.  Opposite the refrigerator stood the colossal brick bread oven.  Baking away in its domed belly was the last of the sangak bread loaves, three feet long and counting, rising in golden crests and graced with scatterings of poppy and nigella seed.  The rest of the bread (paper-thin lavash) crusty barbari, slabs of sangak as well as the usual white sliced loaf) was already covered with comforting cheesecloth to keep the freshness in.  And simmering on the stove, under Marjan’s loving orders, was a small pot of white onion (not to be mistaken for the French variety, for this version boasts dried fenugreek leaves and pomegranate paste), the last pot of red lentil soup and a larger pt of abguhst.  An extravaganza of lamb, split peas, and potatoes, abguhst always reminded Marjan of early spring nights in Iran, when the cherry blossoms still shivered with late frosts and the piping samavors helped washed down the saffron and dried lime aftertaste with strong, black Darjeeling tea.

And then just further along on Page 64

So this was how love was supposed to feel, Layla thought, like the ecstatic cries of a pomegranate as it realizes the knife’s thrust, the caesarean labor of juicy seeds cut from her inner womb.  Like the gleeful laugh of oil as it corrupts the watery flour, the hot grease blending the batter to its will and creating a greater sweetness from the process-zulbia, the sugary fried fritters she loved so.  Falling in love was amazing.  Why hadn’t anyone ever told her so?

Kath’s quote: “And beneath upon the hem of it thou shalt make pomegranates of blue, and of purple, and of scarlet, round about the hem thereof; and bells of gold between them round about: a golden bell and a pomegranate, a golden bell and a pomegranate, upon the hem of the robe round about.” –Exodus 28:33-34

Love-that is all.

D and I are currently on our annual two week stretch at our little beach house on Lake Winnipeg.  The days have a lovely familiarity: in the morning the sun works its way over the thick, tall pines and starts to filter through the poplar leaves.  In the first sun of the day, D and I enjoy coffee together on the deck before he leaves to meet the guys at the tennis court.  On these mornings, I go back to bed with my second cup of coffee and read.  After the dog is walked and last night’s dishes are placed in scalding, sudsy water, (so that I do not have to work very hard to wash them), I write.  As my reward for getting some work done, I will go for a bike ride and perhaps collect heart stones on the beach.  In the afternoons, various projects are accomplished or persons visited.

When I plan our menus, I try to keep the new harvest of garden produce in mind and things that will make great leftovers and picnic lunches.  D doesn’t mind what I have planned as long as he gets to cook it on the barbeque.  For him, the routine of choosing a beer and firing up the grill, is an integral part of our lake life.

We have tried everything on the barbeque from a rotisserie turkey to seafood pizza with varied success. In the end, our greatest achievements are vegetables and chops of some description. We recently enjoyed Certified Angus Sirloins, grilled mushrooms and tri-coloured peppers.  About a month ago, I received a lovely wine package, which we strategically hid away to be packed up for our time at the lake.  That evening we opened a precious bottle of Montecillo Reserva Rioja.  It is clean and brilliant and went beautifully with our grilled steaks.  Crafted from tempranillo and viura grapes and oak-aged, the multiple award-winning Bodegas Montecillo wines are wholesome, well-balanced and fruity with a touch of oak.  We long to travel to northern Spain where the wine originates.

Another evening we paired a wine appropriately called Place in the Sun Sauvignon Blanc with Thai Grilled Coconut Chicken.  The South African wine originates from Stellenbosch, a place that we know much about even though we have not visited.  Daughter #2 and The Frenchman have had the pleasure.  She has photos of the vineyards and of their wine tastings.  Surprisingly, Place in the Sun Sauvignon Blanc, is only available only in Manitoba.  With an upfront aroma of passion fruit and tropical notes, and a palate that’s crisp with a hint of pineapple, the sauvignon blanc was perfect with our tropical chicken but would also work well with green salads, fish and pasta dishes made without cream.

Last evening we uncorked the Place in the Sun Cabernet Sauvignon which is also only available in Manitoba. It is a big-hearted wine with a refreshing juicy berry palate tempered by gentle oaking.  The cabernet sauvignon has an aroma of succulent red and black berries.  It paired well with our flame-grilled pork chops, pita bread and hearty Greek salad.

We are heading into the city for a family celebration dinner tonight but will drive back out this evening so that we can start the familiar days all over again.

Kath’s quote: “Tell me what you eat and I will tell you who you are”. -Anthelme Brillat-Savarin

Love-that is all.

Hello Readers.  I have some lovely news: our first grandbaby was born this past weekend and life seems to have an entirely different meaning as a result.  The Wee One burst into our lives with an urgency which had me thinking all about food: “What will we serve the family members that are coming over for a impromptu celebration?” and “Do I have enough groceries to get cooking for the freezer?”  But most importantly, I was praying that the Wee One would learn to latch and would be a good nurser.

While pregnant, J2’s tummy went straight out in front and many of us concluded that she was carrying a sturdy little boy.  The opposite turned out to be true.  Wee One has the littlest face and a long, strong neck. I have yet to see her legs totally unfurled and they seem impossibly long.  It is no wonder that J2’s tummy entered a room ahead of her, as those legs and knees have been pointing the way.

Whenever I think of her feet, I have to suppress a little giggle because they seem almost as long as mine are now.  I have ridiculously short feet.  D often refers to them as my “Yubba Dubba Do” feet because they look like I used them to stop Fred Flintstone’s car!  Wee One has the graceful feet of a dancer, just like her amazingly beautiful Mom.

I have yet to hear about what her second night on this earth was like.  Her first night though was a long one for her and her Mommy and Daddy.  J1 was so exhausted that he managed to sleep in spite of the ruckus that Wee One was making to exercise her singing voice and make her presence known.  I understand she and J2 finally slept at 6 am and that all she wanted was skin to skin contact with her Mom and to nurse all night long.  In spite of J2’s own exhaustion she lovingly accommodated.

Here she is telling me a thing or two!

Last evening when we went back to the hospital and got to hold the little miracle again, we heard her piercing cry in full force.  J2 has trying to get a little bit of rest behind a drawn curtain, but giggled every time Wee One squawked, sounding like an exotic bird.  I would not be surprised if J2 spent another long night, giving literally of herself to Wee One.  If there was ever a more natural Mommy and Daddy and this earth, I have yet to meet them.  J1 and J2 are approaching their exhaustion with good humour and tenderness for each other.

I could sit here and enjoy my first thoughts on this, but there is so much to do: stock the fridge of the new parents, keep on cooking for their freezer and ensure that all that they have to be concerned about is giving the Wee One as much nutrition and love as she can absorb!

Kath’s quote: …a little child, born yesterday, A thing on mother’s milk and kisses fed… –Homer

Love-that is all.