A Business Idea

My brother and his wife, and numerous friends of mine are fantastic with their kids' birthday cakes.  I default to cupcakes, but these folks are producing cars, trains, pirate ships, teapots, and yes, a box of crayons. Yes, I am jealous.

So my new business idea - feel free to steal it as long as you promise to give me royalties for life - is a bakery that specializes in kids' cakes.  This isn't Ace of Cakes perfection.  This is stayed-up-til-midnight-dotting-buttercream-on-cake-mix love. Someone should be baking and selling cakes that look like mom and dad made them the night before, so mom and dad can pass them off as homemade - to their kids and their friends.

Again, all I ask for is royalties.

The above cake was another homemade masterpiece by my brother and sister-in-law, in celebration of this little blue eyed wonder.

In Honour of Poo

Gee, you would think I'm trying to get caught in some interesting searches.

It's Earth Day today.  There are a million and one posts out there about eating organic, the 100-mile diet, plant based eating and so much more.  For a dedicated foodie, reader, and magazine slut (yes, I am one of those too) none of it is particularly eye-opening for me.  Interesting, but not mind-blowing. Lately, the people I've met are the ones that blow my mind, not what I read. I probably won't blow your mind here, but maybe a simple poem can.  And when you take me out for beers I promise to blow you away, or at least get you drunk.

The Princess and the Pea Mama

Growing up I never ate lima beans, lamb, or lobster.  I never ate peppers, raw tomatoes, liver, broccoli tops, cauliflower, and peas either.   In the case of the latter, it was because I thought they were disgusting.  I never ate the former items because my mom didn't like them.  If she didn't like them we didn't eat them.  I'm with her on the lima beans, but I sure missed out of lamb and lobster.  Hmm, maybe she just hated food that started with the letter "L"?

I'm doing my damnedest to not do that to the girls.  Of all the foods I hated as I child I now eat almost all of them, except peas.  Peas are seriously the most vile things on the planet.  They stink and they taste like mud.  Eating a pea is akin to popping a bubble filled with mushy sewage.  

Hubby likens me to The Princess and the Pea, except that I can tell that there is one pea in an entire dish of shepherd's pie.  Or that the samosas do indeed come with peas without even opening one.  Okay, the last one is generally a given.  But the foul odour of peas is distinct and I can pick it up despite pastry or potato coverings.

As I said, though, I am trying not to pass on that dislike to the girls.  I plug my nose when I defrost the frozen peas, scrub my hands with smelly soaps when we go pea picking, and make Hubby feed Smilosaurus dinner if peas are on the menu.  So far I've been successful, both girls love peas.  The Monster will eat them fresh or frozen, raw or cooked.  And Smilosaurus practices her pincer grasp at least once a week with a bowl full of peas.  Good for them.  

But they better not ask me to make split pea soup, ever.

On Apple Cake and Race

"What colour this, Mama?"

So asks The Monster on a regular occassion. She might be asking about the colour of a toy, a bird, a carrot, or a person. In all but the last case we hapily give her the answer in detail - aqua not blue, chartreuse not green (I am a quilter, after all). But when she asks about people I struggle to answer. I feel the weight of race relations on me. I feel like that moment will define how she approaches people who look different than her.

Yup, I know I'm over-thinking it. But on today, of all days, it's at the forefront of my thoughts. We watched a bit of my show - the inauguration - before she left for the day, after I convinced her to turn off Sesame Street, of course. Hubby and I tried to explain to her what was going on, but I think the significance was lost on a two and a half year old. But tonight we'll be reading stories and she'll ask me what colour Dick and Jane are and then what colour are Pam and Penny.

Hubby is straightforward about things, but I'm not comfortable with that. He and I debate over the best approach. We were both raised without much of an issue over race. Here in Western Canada we just don't have the race issues of the US, at least as we see it. It is a product of our own suburban upbringings and the exposure to so many cultures along the way. I prefer to focus on exploring cultural differences, rather than race. But that still doesn't answer the Monster's questions.

And when I cook her coconut curry or spaghetti and meatballs or pierogies or suya she will learn about the world in a way that our travel budget just doesn't allow. Will that teach her about race and different cultures? Perhaps. But in the coming eight years both our girls will grow up with the memory of their first US President and not even understand what the big deal is.

To change the topic slightly, I've been thinking about what it would be like to live in the White House as a young family. What if Michelle and Barack want to make pancakes for breakfast? What if Malia and Sasha want to bake cookies? Is there a special family kitchen in the White House? There must be, otherwise it would feel like living in a hotel. That's got to wear on anyone.

I'm hoping to keep tabs on things by faithfully reading Obama Foodorama. And today, in honour of the inauguration I'm baking this apple cake. It isn't the recipe from the luncheon, but it looks beautiful and honours the food of the day.