Soup Challenge

It's taken over a month, but I finally feel like I've got my kitchen groove back.

Living alone this past year while in school I often had a bare kitchen. I love cooking, but I didn't have the time while writing my thesis. At Christmas break I thought maybe trying to make large batches and freezing portions might be a way to avoid those busy weeks where I don't have time for cooking and therefor eat out. Though well-intentioned, that plan didn't work out.

So the day before yesterday, feeling like I had nothing to eat in the house, I gave myself a what's-in-my-kitchen soup challenge. Kitchen Sink soups are great and I think I rose to the challenge quite well.

Food politics, as I call it, has been an interest of mine since I moved out in undergrad. Eating local in an environmentally sustainable way, but also in a way that recognizes that the cost of organic foods are not within everyone's reach. I currently live in a non-market rental situation in an expensive neighbourhood so my grocery store tends to be pricey. I prioritize what I buy organic using the Environmental Working Group's Dirty Dozen and Clean Fifteen lists (apples are the main thing I buy organic). A magazine article I read in 2009 even got me thinking about food waste beyond discovering something past its prime in the back of the fridge, but about the fact that many foods are still edible past their Best Before date.

I feel like I normally waste little food. I usually make trips to the grocery several times a week and buy only what I need for meals I have in mind. But with school and living alone this year, I've been a pretty bad offender. I've felt better about my food waste now that my building has compost because it's returning to the earth, but still (I'd been carting it to school in an old salad box to compost there during the fall term).

So what were the results of my kitchen sink soup challenge?

Chicken Soup-inspired Vegetable Soup
~3/4 of a red onion, diced
2-3 garlic cloves, minced
3+ stalks of left over, wilted celery, including leaves, chopped
half of a leftover zucchini, sliced
~1 bunch of parsley
~1 cup of frozen peas
1 carrot, peeled and diced
~1/4 tsp each of thyme, sage, rosemary
~ 1 tsp poultry seasoning
a few shakes of cayenne pepper
salt and pepper to taste

Chicken stock is usually my go-to for soups, but I didn't have any stock on hand. Instead I used of spices that google said are used in chicken soup, before remembering that I have poultry seasoning. I sautéed the onion and garlic in butter before adding the celery. After adding the other vegetables, I added enough water so that they were just covered, about two cups. Bring to a boil then simmer for 20 minutes. Taste and correct spices as needed.

I blended the soup. To serve, I stirred in one spoonful of Greek yogurt to give it a creamy taste.

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I think this soup challenge re-ignited my passion for cooking; now that I'm done school and it's not a functional chore, I can enjoy it again. Last night I made a Niçoise-ish salad for dinner (didn't have eggs), and tonight I think I'm going to try my hand at making a paella because I saw mussels were on sale for $2.50/dozen.

On Sexism, Sexual Harassment, and Misogyny

I don't usually post political things as I do plenty of thinking and discussing about such things in my offline life, but I can't help but feel really disturbed as I read about the massacre that happened in California over the weekend.

Though I've told this story to friends and acquaintances in person, I have never written about this on this blog because I didn't want to speak ill of France and give a bad impression the town I was staying in, my friends there, and my experience, but now I feel compelled to share.

When I was living in Saint Étienne in 2010-2011, I experienced nearly daily sexual harassment and sexism by men and boys hanging out in the streets. There was the time I wore red-orange nylons at American Thanksgiving and was chased after down the street by an adolescent boy shouting «Madame! Madame! Vous avez des belles jambes!» There was the time I was on my way to the gare early in the morning when it was still dark out and a man asked me if I wanted to «sucer» him. There was also the time I was out for a walk with a friend wearing the blue shirt (pictured in my American Thanksgiving post) and another adolescent made sexual sounds at me. There were other times too, that were less memorable because it happened so frequently. The men were persistent and relentless. Often they would engage you under the pretense of asking you a benign question. You were damned if you answered them and you were damned if you ignored them. It got to the point that at one point I decided to change my birthstone ring to my left ring-finger, recalling something my room mate had said about travelling in West Africa. But it didn't matter, the men would just say that well, your fiancé isn't here, right? I remember that time I ran to the Méliès café and hid out from that one aggressor. 

It also got more violent. A friend of mine was grabbed in the crotch by a complete stranger. One of my room mates was mugged by two teen boys. One time, a group of four of us was walking home when one of our friends walking home with us who is gay was threatened to have his eyes and tongue cut out. It had never occurred to me until that point that they would be armed. It got to the point where I was afraid to go out after dark, even in spring time. My fear of being out after dark persisted for a while after I returned home to Vancouver. I was particularly afraid walking home in the dark from the seabus, which is less than a 10 minute walk. It took me a while to feel safe again. But I still often look over my shoulder when walking alone at night no matter where I am. 

I tried talking to my colleagues at school about it. They sympathized. One said that his girlfriend got it worse because she was of North African descent, so "one of them," so they held her to a higher standard.

It got to the point where walking to the train station to head to Paris for the marathon I thought to myself "I'm dressed like a slut," when I was only wearing a modest dress without any nylons because it was a heatwave. The heatwave lingered, during which time I felt the need to wear jeans and a sweater in sweltering heat in order to try and avoid the harassment and nearly gave myself heat stroke.

Me, in Paris, wearing the dress.

This is in part why I think France is over-romanticized. But this is nothing particular to France, as we can see from the massacre in California, or the hundreds of missing and murdered Aboriginal women in Canada, or the suicides of Amanda Todd and Rehtaeh Parsons, or the 1989 massacre at École Polytechnique in Montréal.

I'm really shaken. J'en ai marre.

Spring!

The first flower in my balcony garden was this daffodil that bloomed March 8th (three weeks behind last year).












Spring has been in the air for a few weeks now, though today is the official first day. Last week it even felt warm enough to walk to the grocery store without a coat. It's interesting to think how warm even just 10°C feels now, when in in six months 10°C will feel cold. I'm sure there's a scientific explanation for that. 

My favourite thing about spring is the freshness. A few weeks ago I was down on myself for having let breakfast salad because I haven't been in the mood for it (this is a great blog post about why it's okay not to want to eat salad in winter), so I'm really excited to be craving fresh vegetables again.

Carte Postale: Back to School

After a three-year hiatus, I had my first day of school earlier this month (not counting when I was the on the other side as a language assistant in France). I can't believe school has already been in session for three weeks. So far grad school is exciting and is already becoming very busy so I'm not sure I'll have much time to post. The decision to go back to school when I had a job I love was a difficult one, especially when these last years have been so difficult for my demographic to find meaningful work that is related to their degrees. But ultimately I went back with the idea of furthering my career and am able to stay on part-time. It also happens that the school is on an urban campus and that my job is across the street.

This postcard Jacqui sent me while I was in France was a bit of an odd full-circle moment for me. The postcard looks west down Water Street toward the Harbour Centre. Her note was about how she had taught political science at the Harbour Centre campus when she was a grad student (the arrow she drew is actually pointing out the Lookout, the campus is obscured by the trees). It almost seems like the postcard was somehow foreshadowing because I am now a grad student there.

Les bleuets

bleuet (bluh-(eh)) : blueberry

Summer has set in, which means locally and seasonally available fruit. Peter eats apples daily and that they are not in season is readily apparent in the produce aisle: the apples on offer are either the rump end of the last year's harvest or flown in from New Zealand with a heavy carbon footprint.

A few weeks ago I went out to Westham Island and bought local strawberries from a farm stand. Strawberries' short peak season is drawing to a close, but blueberries are now coming into season. Last weekend's market had the season's first local blueberries for sale.

I have a very particular memory associated with blueberries. This particular childhood memory consists of visiting my Grandpapa in Québec during the summers in the 90s. I don't remember what kind of car her had, but it was an older model from the 70s or 80s and had the option of seating three in the front seat. My Grandpapa lived in the Québec countryside. Grandpapa, dad, my two sisters, two cousins, and I would pile into the car and drive up a gravel country road to our ancestral lands. I remember it was a bumpy ride and occasionally a small rock would ping the side of the car, as happens when driving on gravel roads. My Grandpapa would then lead the way and show us to where the wild blueberry bushes were and we would pick blueberries. Cueillir les bleuets. So many blueberries. This is one of my fondest childhood memories and I recall it whenever I eat plain blueberries.

But when I got to France, les bleuets were not les bleuets. Instead they were called myrtilles.

myrtille (meer-tee(l)) : blueberry

In France, bleuets were a type of flower. Basically indistinguishable to the average person, the blue berries called myrtilles and bleuets are related, but different genera of Vaccinium.

(photo of blueberries by Ashley of Hither & Thither featured on Cup of Jo; flower drawing by Carl Axel Magnus Lindman, public domain via Wikipedia)

Solstice Weekend Cleanse

Since my last cleanse in February, which left me feeling energized and renewed, I slacked in my eating habits and started to feel a little sluggish and gross. Counter-intuitive, I thought, given that we were just coming into spring and summer and all the fruits and vegetables.

I didn't want to commit to a three-day cleanse. Instead, I decided I just needed a quick reset to help me get back on track. So I decided to kick off summer with a one-day juice cleanse. I went with the Juice Truck's Pick and Mix and based my juice selection off of the third day of the three-day cleanse, which includes the Skin Deep strawberry-kiwi juice that I hoped would help set my complexion straight.

I chose to cleanse on Sunday, the first full moon after the summer solstice, because I'd recently read a Vidya e-newsletter about cleansing with the moon cycles.

I think I thought my full moon cleanse would feel more supernatural than it did, but it was a pretty quiet weekend. Saturday night I did yoga on my balcony by candlelight as the nearly-full moon was rising. I thought of capturing the moment, but I didn't want to interrupt my practice. The sky was clouded over on Sunday, so I didn't get to see the full moon.

Whereas I bounded out of bed and was full of energy the morning after completing my three-day juice cleanse, I didn't really notice any effect of a one-day cleanse. It makes sense that it would be less noticeable as it's not as long. I did enjoy the day and it felt good to be flooding my body with good stuff. I think I would consider quarterly cleansing, but I would probably opt for 3-days to really feel detoxified.

(Photo by me of a beautiful Ghanaian coffin I saw at the ROM in Toronto in March)

On the Road

There's another three weeks left until the solstice and the official start of summer. But I've been ready for summer ever since the weather started taking a turn for the nicer in May.

A few weeks back I was telling some friends about how I was listening to this episode of This American Life about a guy who decided to walk across America. Though I haven't been on a cross-country road trip, I remarked that whenever summer rolls around I feel compelled to read "wander literature."

I was given a copy of Kerouac's On the Road seven years ago by a now-estranged friend who wrote a lovely inscription in the front cover. I remember not really getting into the book until the third part and disliking the portrayal of the female characters. I'd love to re-read it and see if I still feel the same way. You can check out a variety of editions of On the Road front covers here.

This summer I think I might read Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath, the original Route 66 story.

What's on your reading list this summer? Do you find the seasons affect what you're in the mood to read?

(Photo from the film On the Road via Art Info)

Backyard Chickens & Chocolate Mousse

The weekend before last was long weekend and the weather was much nicer than forecasted. Saturday was our friend Henry's birthday and he hosted a backyard barbecue. Earlier this spring he built a chicken coop to house three Rhode Island Red hens. Being into what I call food politics and local eating, I was pretty stoked to check his operation out.

Henry said his chickens lay an egg a day. It was super cool to see the eggs he had collected in his fridge because they ranged in size from a small ping pong ball to the size of store-bought eggs. Not that I was surprised, but the contrast between nature's variety and the homogenous offerings in our industrial grocery stores was striking. He was generous enough to give me a half dozen eggs.

I was super excited because I had never had farm fresh eggs before. Right away I made knew what I'd use them for: Julia Child's chocolate mousse that calls for farm fresh eggs. The next afternoon I bought dark 75% cacao Ecuadorian chocolate and whipped up my first chocolate mousse ever. David Leibovitz shared a close adaptation of Julia Child's original recipe. It made quite a lot so I brought it to share at a beach barbecue that evening.

Peter and I ate the remaining mousse for dessert the next evening on our balcony, which he had finished re-flooring. With candlelight and a glass of beer, it made for the perfect ending to the summer's first long weekend.

(Photo of chicken by Henry)

Goldeen

When I was in Toronto, a glimmer of gold around my cousin Vivian's wrist caught my eye. She was wearing the Fishbone Malone bracelet by Toronto-based indie jewelery designer Ashleigh of Goldeen. I don't wear a lot of jewelry, but  I was really drawn to this piece.

I bought one for myself and have worn it every day since it came in the mail last week. What I like about the fishbone bracelet is that it's a naturally-inspired form that feels delicate and ladylike while at the same time being edgy. The San Jose Olé earrings (pictured center) featuring turquoise stones, have a beachy, bohemian aesthetic. Their name inspires dreams of travelling up and down the coast of California, as though a character in a Kerouac novel.

Nostalgia, which Ashleigh cites as inspiration, permeates the feel of Goldeen, including the handwritten tags. I asked Ashleigh a bit more about what inspires her: "I use a lot of vintage findings and try to add my own twist to them, like hand painting the chiefs or the bone earrings with enamel, or using them in an unexpected way."

Goldeen makes jewelry for women and men. Ashleigh also works with beads, gems, and semi-precious stones. You can see more of her pieces here.

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Disclaimer: Goldeen did not pay me to write this post. I did ask Ashleigh if I could blog about Goldeen and she included the earrings as an unexpected surprise. This post comes from me genuinely thinking she makes cool stuff.

Breakfast Salad

At the end of the first week of the new year, having been sick with the worst cold ever, I suddenly got this craving for spinach salad. Maybe it subconsciously had to do with balancing out the excesses of the holiday season. Whatever the case, I rounded up the ingredients, using Smitten Kitchen's recipe as a guide.

It was so good (I mean, it tasted like a classic spinach salad, but it satisfied a craving). I couldn't get enough of it. I wanted to eat salad morning, noon, and night. And why not for breakfast? Spinach salad has some of the constituent parts of the standard North American breakfast: eggs and bacon. It would also help me with my resolution to eat wheat free.

And this is how I started eating salads for breakfast on weekends. My standard breakfast salad is a variation on Smitten Kitchen's spinach salad. It tends to vary with what I have on hand, but it tends to include:

• a few handfuls of spinach (the one pictured above is with baby kale)
• a fried egg (why not?) - I like to do mine over hard
• red onion
• lots of fresh cracked black pepper

I put bacon in on occasions when I have it, but am happy to do without. I also really like to toss in some strawberry or cherry tomatoes.

For vinaigrette, Jane Hornby's has become my favourite:

• 1 clove garlic, crushed
• 2 tbsp light olive oil
• 1 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil 
• 1 tbsp red or white wine vinegar
• 1 tsp Dijon mustard

I tend to improvise in the kitchen. So for instance, I just use 3 tbsp of extra-virgin olive oil because that's what I have. I also just put a small spoon-tip of Dijon rather than a whole teaspoon as I found it to be quite hot with the raw garlic. I haven't yet tried it with white wine vinegar.

One thing I'm discovering is how simple it is to mix up a salad dressing from scratch. Until recently, I only knew of olive oil and balsamic vinegar. But now I've made Greek salad dressing from scratch. It tastes cleaner, probably because it doesn't have all those extra additives that store bought varieties do. I want to try and make my own Caesar salad dressing, complete with anchovies!

Springtime Weekend

My balcony garden blooms with daffodils and hyacinths.

The first day of spring was Wednesday, although it has felt like spring for a few weeks already. The weather this weekend was way nicer than forecasted. Friday we barbecued for dinner for the first time this season. Saturday Peter and I met up with our friend Charlotte for our first walk of the seawall this year.

Peter's foot has hurt for a few days so instead of going the long way around the edge of Stanley Park, we cut past Lost Lagoon and saw swans mingling with the Canada geese and ducks.

Waderlust Wednesday: Eat, Gay, Love

Having returned home nearly two years ago, this is admittedly no longer a travel blog. Instead, it's become an outlet of sorts for my travel-themed writings and ramblings.For this Wanderlust Wednesday, I thought I'd share about someone who is currently writing a travel blog.

I can't remember how I happened across Jason Hudson's blog These Roving Eyes (probably via Jeremy & Kathleen). When I caught glimpse of this proposed itinerary, I immediately wanted to follow along, and was awed at Jason and his partner's bravery to pack up their lives in Toronto for a year-long worldwide adventure in celebration of their ten-year anniversary (congrats!).

My wanderlust has had me daydreaming all across the globe, but Jason and Jeff will actually be living it. They've only just left a little over a month ago, so you can catch up and follow along if you want.

Bon voyage Jason and Jeff!


(Map illustration by Paul Dotey via Jason Hudson/These Roving Eyes)

Asparagus cuit à l'anglaise

For dinner this evening I had steamed Canadian asparagus for the first time this spring. It was from Ontario, so I can't exactly call it local, but at least it had a smaller carbon footprint than the asparagus imported from South America in the dead of winter.

My favourite way to prepare asparagus is simply steaming it. (Tonight it was a side to a cross between spaghetti carbonara and this recipe.) Although you can dress it in Julia Child's Hollandaise sauce, I think less is more. If you just steam it turns bright green and you have a crisp delicious springtime vegetable.

Ever since reading French Women Don't Get Fat (I was curious to learn if I had an inherent biological advantage), I am always reminded of Mireille Guiliano's annecdote about how asparagus was white when she was a child in France--apparently they were grown in the dark!

As I was checking the spears to see if they were ready, I was reminded of a phrase my mum sometimes says.

cuit à l'anglaise (kwee ah long-glaze) : literally, cooked in the English style

Cuisiner à l'anglaise means simply to boil (and boil and boil again) in salt water. In my family though, it seemed to have more meaning. My grand-maman would used the phrase to mean vegetables that were too hard because they were insufficiently cooked to her taste. I always assumed it was also a dig at English cooking and that it had a connotation of French/English tensions (especially historically in Canada) and that cooking the French way was the right way. But maybe I'm reading too much into the expression.

My asparagus tonight was a little cuit à l'anglaise because I forgot to set a timer (it typically takes 8 minutes or less). But that's okay because there is little less appetizing limp, mushy asparagus.

(Photo by Esteban Cavrico via 10:10)

How To Pack Like A Rockstar

That's my suitcase on the left, it's famous!

The weekend before last, I met my friends Charlotte and Katie for brunch. Having not seen Katie in months (she's in law school), she mentioned that she'd heard Peter on the radio. Though I have the CBC Early Edition on every morning, I actually hadn't heard it (I must have either been hitting snooze or in the shower). When Peter recorded it, he didn't yet know when it would air, and we kind of just forgot about it.

Shaun Huberts, a fellow bass player who has toured with Tegan and Sara, turned his wealth of experience packing into the book How To Pack Like A Rock Star. Shaun lives up the hill from us and Peter had been trying to catch him to buy a copy the book as a Christmas gift for his parents (his parents bring at least one large suitcase each when they come visit for a few days). They'd been trying to meet for a couple of days when Shaun called Peter to see if he could help do a radio interview about the book.

My favourite part of the interview is when Peter qualifies his level of packing experience as "for the purpose of this." You see, Peter has also toured as a musician and is pretty good at packing. But even so, he says he learned a few new techniques from How To Pack Like A Rock Star.

If you want to have a listen yourself, click here (the interview starts at 1:30:00).

(photo via CBC)

First Flower

This little iris bloomed Saturday.

Last year I bought a bunch of 4-inch springtime flowers: hyacinths, crocuses, tulips, daffodils and irises. I mentioned to my mum how lovely I thought the muscari I saw at the florists were and she gave me a bunch to plant. I also planted geraniums and marigolds in some other baskets we had. I planted nasturtiums before I went to Spain. When I got back they had sprouted leaves, but never bloomed. I continued to water them, but soon lost interest and instead tended to my potted herbs.

In January I noticed little green leaves starting to push back up through the dirt. I watered them diligently and patiently waited to see what they would turn out to be. On Saturday morning, I noticed that the first flower had bloomed, an iris.

Encouraged by this, and the fact that my mom mentioned that when she was over last week that it seemed that two of my geraniums had survived the winter, I bought myself a pair of gardening gloves. The gloves gave me the courage to weed out the dead, alien-looking stems that I didn't want to pull bare-handed because I'm a wuss. I also bought parsley to add to my herb garden and romaine lettuce seeds. I was at a backyard barbecue last summer and a guy had a salad from his balcony garden. He said that if you just pick the outer-leaves, the lettuce will continue to yield leaves all summer.

In the next few weeks I'd like to get a few long window boxes to hang off the side of my balcony. I think part of the reason my nasturtiums didn't do so well is because of lack of prolonged direct sunlight.

I'm excited to see my garden grow!

De vrais mensonges

When I was living in France, I had seen ads for De vrais mensonges (Beautiful Lies) on the side of trams and at bus stops, but I didn't see it in cinema. As Peter was in Portland for a friend's bachelor party this weekend, I took the opportunity to watch this French film I've been wanting to see on Netflix.

Set in lovely Sète--a town I've only known as a stop on the way to Toulouse--De vrais mensonges is a comedy both charming and witty, the type only French cinema can pull off. When Émilie (Audrey Tautou) receives an anonymous love letter she re-addresses and sends it to her depressed mom (Nathalie Baye) to cheer her up. What at first like a harmless gesture quickly turns complicated as Émilie tries to stage manage a fake relationship for her mum.

What is your favourite French film? Have you seen any foreign language films you recommend? (I always raise an eyebrow at this designation in Canada as French is an official language.)

Juice Cleanse

This past weekend I did my first ever juice cleanse.

As I mentioned previously, I had been thinking about doing a juice cleanse since about September as a way to break my taste for salt, sugar and processed foods and feel bien dans ma peau. I had looked into them but got a bit of sticker shock at first glance. So I got a hold of the juicer my mom's friend had given my sister and tried my hand at making my own juice. Just making one green juice was enough to convince me that $195 and no hassle with clean up was worth it (it also equates to about $9 per juice). Then winter settled and I didn't think the season of rich, warm foods and hibernating was conducive to doing a juice cleanse.

Then, with the new year and spring on its way, I found found renewed resolve to make changes to my eating habits. And why not kick it all off with a juice cleanse?

So how was it? A lot easier than I though it would be.

Day 1 (Friday). I woke up, had some hot water and lemon and my first juice. Mid-morning I noticed I had a low-grade headache. Either this was a coincidence, or I am more addicted to coffee than I had thought. I don't have it every day and don't find I "need it," so this was a bit surprising. I packed some celery as a snack in case I got hangry while at work, but I didn't need them. Peter had a rehearsal so he didn't eat dinner at home. I had forgotten about his rehearsal so I hadn't planned anything and instead dozed in and out of an okay movie on Netflix.

Day 2 (Saturday). I slept in a bit and awoke to sunshine. I had my first juice and went to the karma yoga class at the studio down the block. Later that afternoon we packed my juices in a cooler and headed to Commercial to check out Pasture to Plate. Then came my first: we visited a friend and I had to turn down chips and salsa (one of my favourite foods) and yummy looking endive leaves and dip. I started later in the morning so I was drinking juice until 1AM.

Day 3 (Sunday). My second juice was a pink strawberry-kiwi-apple-lemon blend, a welcome change from all four green-toned juices I'd been having each day. Sunday was also the super bowl. I thought about bringing those celery sticks I hadn't eaten on Friday, but Peter challenged me not to. To be honest, I wasn't even tempted by the Doritos, Lays or Sun Chips. I thought about how gross those would make me feel.

By the end of Day 3, I felt like I could have easily done another two days of juice cleansing. I thought I'd be hungry, but I found the juices actually quite filling. I wasn't more hungry between juices that I would be between meals. I didn't feel tempted and I don't even think it was because I had a particularly strong willpower. I think it's just that when you decide you're going to drink six juices and a protein milk per day the decision on what you're having is made for you. I could see the allure of drinking smoothies instead of meals. But I was looking forward to my first breakfast as I was gulping down the last Sleep Tonic.

Weight loss isn't the goal of this cleanse, but I do feel smaller (I don't know that I actually lost weight as I don't own a scale). This morning I woke up and felt reinvigorated. While I didn't need coffee, I did accompany my coworkers on their coffee break for the walk. I think the juice cleanse was a good idea before embarking on a Whole30 because even thought I saw all the pastries on offer, I didn't actually consider them an option.

I did the Juice Truck juice cleanse. For anyone considering it, I would encourage them to go for it. It was a good way to reset in time for spring.

Se sentir bien dan sa peau

(suh sawn-teer byeh(n) da(n) sa po): to feel comfortable in your own skin

The idiom in French, as in English, is most often used to describe one's self-esteem or mood, but is equally applicable to descriptions of one's physical well-being. The two are, after all, linked, right?

 

Me, soaking up the glorious springtime sunshine at the théâtre antique d'Arles in March 2011. I had just bought this skirt and felt oh-so-glamourous in it so I struck this pose in a few photos. (Photo by my friend and travel-buddy Emily, read her account of our trip to Arles here.)







 

When I got back from France almost two years ago, I realised that I didn't feel bien dans ma peau. I surprisingly didn't totally gorge myself on all the delicious cheese, bread and pastries.  I don't think it was until January that I bought a baguette and chèvre for dinner one Friday. For this reason, I don't think it was due to overindulging in France (although it would have been strange to come back from France without a few extra pounds), but rather different factors that had accumulated for almost a year at that point.

Caesars

The Caesar is a Canadian cocktail similar to the Bloody Mary. I actually didn't realise it was Canadian until Peter and I took a roadtrip to San Francisco and found them missing from the menus. Both Calgary and Edmonton lay claim to having invented the Caesar, but that may just be intercity rivalry. The main difference between the Caesar and Bloody Mary is the clam juice. That may not sound tasty, but the clam in clamato is a subtle taste--that noticeably lacks from a Bloody Mary.

Homemade Caesars are one of Peter's specialties. Usually we just buy Clamato, mix it with vodka, touch up the spices, and garnish with spicy beans. Lately, however, Peter's been tossing around the idea of making our own clamato from scratch. Tonight we tried just that.

To make the clamato shake together:

• 2 14oz. cans of claim juice
• 28 oz. tomato juice
• 1/4 cup lemon juice
• 5 dashes each celery salt, garlic powder, crushed red chili powder
• 2 "medium drops" of your favourite hot sauce (we used red El Yucateca Picante Habanero)

To make the Caesars:

• Rim a tall glass with celery salt
• Pour 1 oz. vodka (or to strength) over ice
• 2 drops "more than you feel comfortable with" of Worcestershire sauce
• Fill glass with clamato
• Tabasco sauce to taste
• Sprinkle 2 dashes garlic powder, and freshly ground black pepper (Montreal Steak Spice is also a good addition at this point)
• Garnish with spicy pickled beans 
• Remember to stir

These Caesars are a lot fresher tasting than using the store-bought mix that is chock full of salty seasonings and unpronounceable ingredients. Reading the label of the store-bought mix, you could add molasses or sugar to get an ever so slight sweetness. Making Caesars from scratch is more expensive, but considering the fourth ingredient is MSG, I think the few extra dollars you spent is worth it. Ultimately the Caesar is a drink you can adapt to suit your taste for spicy, Worcestershire-saucy, etc. I think for us the next step might be crazier garnishes.

Cheers!

Carte postale d'Athens

Shortly after I received Kathleen's postcard from Reims, Emily's from Athens, Georgia arrived in my mailbox. Loving travel trivia, I was delighted to receive this postcard about the Tree that Owns Itself. I meant to share it sooner, but instead it sat propped up against a teapot on a shelf in my kitchen. In the spirit of out with the old, in with the new, I am sharing it now.

According to the caption on the reverse, the Tree that Owns Itself is a "White Oak at the corner of Dearing and Finley Streets, the Tree was owned by the University of Georgia Professor William H. Jackson, who deeded it (and the surrounding 8 feet) to itself sometime before 1835."

Emily adds:

Alas, this postcard was the best Athens has to offer--no pretty cathedrals or striking monuments here:) The caption is actually a bit false--the original tree died 70 years ago, so this is theoretically one of its offspring.

How quirky!:)