It Must be the Ukrainian in Her

There are a million lists that circulate through inboxes that start with, "You know you are X when..." I must admit that I can identify with the ones that refer to children of the 80s, Ukrainians, and quilters. But nowhere on the list about Ukrainians does it mention wanting pickles for breakfast.

Mornings in our house are lazy affairs, what with me on mat leave and Hubby self-employed and not a morning person. The Monster wakes up, steals a few snuggles, aggravates her sister and sits down with a handful of raisins and Zaboomafoo while I nurse Little Miss Sunshine. Once the little one is fed I make myself some tea and try to convince the Monster to eat some breakfast. Like her Dad, she isn't much for eating early in the day.

Well, one day last week she made the particularly unique request for pickles for breakfast.

We had a jar sitting on the counter, waiting for Hubby to open. When my parents make pickles and my dad does up the jars with his beefy construction worker hands a special gravity is enabled, one that holds the lids on with particular force. Of course, old lids don't help and being the frugal Ukrainian that he is, he won't replace the jars. Opening his jars is a two person, hot water, wooden spoon, and damp cloth job.

So that morning Hubby and I tried struggled. We rinsed, we banged, we grunted, we braced ourselves and turned. Nothing was working. Hubby finally felt some movement so tried that extra bit harder. I could hear the crack in the other room. The lid came off - with the top of the jar. Definitely time to replace the jars, Dad.

After the Monster got over the shock of the noise and the short-lived drama of thinking she wasn't going to get any pickles, we opened one of the jars that my mom and I made while our playhouse was being built. The Monster got her breakfast of three little pickles, and a bit of cheese too. Off to daycare a happy little Ukrainian. Well, half Ukrainian with garlic breath.

Mine! Mine! Mine!

There is that moment in time that every parent dreads in the development of their toddler - the Mine! stage. When the fork you are using, when the book you are reading, when the toy the other little girl is playing with, or when the quilt on the bed is always "Mine!" to your kid. It's exhausting to chase them arround attempting to extol the virtues of sharing or explaining that other people need those things to eat, mow their lawn, or move. It's infuriating when they can't grasp it, even though we should know better and realize an 18 month old doesn't necessarily know any better themself. So we follow behind them, chastising them as much as we can and apologizing profusely to the man whose cane she tried to steal or the little boy whose cookie she took.

I will not, however, apologize for my upcoming bit of selfishness. You see, I am painfully addicted to my cherry jam. Rather, to cherry jam with ricotta on toast. I could eat this every day, two or three times a day. The only thing that stops me from doing this is supply.

Sure, you can get cherry jam in the store. Most of it is imported from Europe and is quite chunky and thick. I find it all rather cloying, but it will work in a pinch. This summer I was inspired and decided to make my own. So far I've made three batches and I still worry whether there will be enough to get me to the next cherry season.

Making the jam, while time-consuming - was actually quite easy. I even decided to try it without using the pre-made pectin. I thought I was rather brave, having used Certo my entire life. With a little bit of searching I came across a post by the ice cream guru David Lebovitz. It was all coming together.

Following his basic directions I pitted all my cherries (with my paring knife), cooked them down a little, measured, then added sugar and boiled away. Then I put them in my specially bought jars. (Smart me bought new jars of a different shape for all my cherry jam. That way there can be no mistake between the cherry I love and the strawberry for the Monster and raspberry for Hubby.) A half hour later I realized that the jam was not going to set. So I emptied the jars back into the La Creuset, quartered an apple for some added pectin, and boiled again. Success this time. So I tried again with cherries and peaches. Yesterday I decided that I didn't have enough in the pantry and made another batch of plain cherry.

Instead of rationing my supply, I will enjoy it all. The Monster and Hubby will not. They are not allowed to touch my cherry jam. And yes, I will have a temper tantrum if I see their fingers or spoons even in the vicinity of my cherry jam. Maybe the Monster will shake her finger at me and tell me to share, and maybe I will. Likely I won't. It is all mine, mine mine.

Pick, pick, pick

Lest you think my kid is some kind of glorious foodie that will graciously or voraciously eat what we put in front of her, I must set the record straight. On Wednesday night, all she ate was the above peach brown butter bliss cake. But only the cake, not the peaches. So much for her love affair with peaches. And this was after I made her chickpeas, a near constant favourite. Maybe it was the way I made them - roasted, with garlic and swiss chard - but she's never complained about any of those ingredients before. And last night she wouldn't touch her pierogies and kubasa (garlic sausage for the non-Ukrainians out there). Oh, and she would only eat the peaches, not the cake, after she ate a small bushel of peas instead of her Ukrainian feast.

Kids are fickle, and damn that is frustrating sometimes. We made a commitment early on that we would not make a separate meal for the kids once they were off babyfood. They eat what we eat. If they don't like it, then there is still fruit and anything that might be for dessert. We think that this will lessen any food issues and pickiness. I'm not sure where we got that idea because my parents made me eat everything on my plate and I was picky as anything until I started working in the food industry. On the flipside, Hubby's brother ate nothing and my mother-in-law will still cook separately for him sometimes (and he's in his 30s). Either way, it's what we decided and we're sticking to it.

Sort of.

I find myself caving a little by making sure there is a slice of bread with butter if I think she won't eat her dinner. And we almost never eat bread with dinner. I justify it by putting it on her plate as we sit down and not giving it to her after she's turned her head at the plate or spat out what she tried. She is a full-blown two year old and her attitude is not something I am pleased with. But really, am I surprised?

So we put some bread on her plate, and always a few peas in the pod. She is offered fruit and dessert, but she doesn't always take it. And I've stopped letting her eat after dinner. She has to learn that dinner is it. We hardly eat before 6:30 pm and bedtime is two hours later, she doesn't need a snack... unless we go raspberry picking.

Tonight I needed a break and cooked a guaranteed pleaser. Besides, I was at the dentist this morning and needed soft food. Quesadillas. A.K.A Exotic grilled cheese. Hey, I put diced tomatoes and chili powder in them! And I served them with my dad's famous salsa and the best side dish ever - guacamole. Seriously, I love guacamole almost as much as I love chocolate. Thankfully, the Monster does too.

Here is my recipe for basic guacamole. I have no idea if it would be considered authentic, but it tastes pretty close to what a Mexican friend makes. Personally, I prefer it a bit chunky so I chop half the avacado and add a chopped tomatoe. This recipe is a basic proportion, but it can easily be doubled, tripled, quadrupled...

The Easiest Guacamole
1 clove garlic
1 avocado
1/2 lime, juiced
1/2 tsp chili powder
Hot sauce to taste
Salt and pepper

1. Mince the garlic clove.
2. Mix all ingredients together with a fork, mashing the avocado to your preference.
3. Season with salt and pepper.

Lemon Water

Everyone knows the juice parents. These are the folks who will run across a room, throwing people and furniture aside in a slow-motion exaggerated "N-O-O-O-O-O-O!" if someone offers their kid juice. I have to admit that I used to be one of those moms. Then the Monster starting asking for apple juice. We were confused because we've never given it to her, let alone is it really ever in our house. How did she even know what it is? The joys of daycare. We asked, and sure enough, they often get juice at snacktime. We asked them to stop giving to her and they tried. But daycare isn't as strict as Mama.

Oh well.

Seriously, oh well. Is juice a battle we really want? We control most of what she eats and it's not like she walks around stuffing candy in her face while falling asleep with a sippy cup of pop.

This summer we've introduced her to lemonade or, as she calls it, lemon water. We always have a pitcher in the fridge and she is now allowed a very diluted sippy cup once a day. Come to think of it, we could probably just put some lemon slices in her water and she would be happy. Although, that would take all the fun out of it.

We are lazy lemonade makers. Yes I could squeeze lemons and make sugar syrup. But I have a toddler and a newborn and a need to spend my time on other things, like raspberry picking later today. Lucky for us there is a great local lemonade concentrate, Zora's Lemonade. Yum, yum, yum. It is a liquid concentrate so you can make your drink as sweet as you want. And for grown-up lemon water we find it goes nicely with vodka or gin and a bit of mint.

You can find Zora's at Cookbook Company Cooks or the Millarville Farmer's Market.

Speaking of local, the Calgary Herald's Green Guide has a great article today about the Innisfail Growers and yours truly is quoted in the article. The Monster got her picture in the paper too.

Sources:
Zora's Lemonade 403-246-2046
Millarville Farmers' Market
Cookbook Company Cooks
Green Guide