Thanksgiving

I am thankful for:

... A family who loves me even when my crazy comes out.

... Farmers who works hard.

... My new career.

... Knees that still walk for me, even if I can't ski, skate, or run anymore.

... Curious, feral daughters.

... Friends that stick with you.

... Indian Summer

... Our kids being at an age where they will disappear and leave you to have adult conversations with wine.

... Scotch and fat pants.

What about you? What are you thankful for this year?

Dirt in my Freezer

It might be the Ukrainian in me, but I am incapable of throwing away good food. And I feel inordinate guilt if I forget about leftovers or a head of lettuce in the fridge. That would also be the Ukrainian in me.

With a really good haul from our CSA this year I've been forced to face these issues head on. It's one thing to throw away grocery store produce that you paid pennies for and was grown and picked by a random stranger in Mexico. It's another thing entirely when you get the lettuce in your hands was placed there by a man with permanent dirt under his fingernails.  The same dirt that still graces your carrots, your onions, your greens.

* Aside - As I read that last paragraph it occurs to me that is just as bad to throw away the grocery store lettuce because there is still a person there with dirt under his fingernails. *

Our farmers, Jon and Andrea are such committed people. We light up when we see them at the market, where we pick up our weekly haul. The girls go running and asking after the horses and roosters, all while ripping greens with their teeth. We shoot the shit about the weather and yuppies and our egg man. And food passes hands.

Then we come home and I am forced to deal all that food. On a day when I'm just so damn tired I really don't feel like finding room in the fridge, grating zucchini, or freezing chard I sometimes leave the bag on the counter for hours, even a day. Then I remember the dirt. The dirt I'm invested in.  The dirt our farmers are invested in.  The dirt this food was grown in. So I sharpen my knives and set too. Far better to have trimmings in the compost pile than real food.

We clean, we store, we cook, we freeze, we eat. And so we will eat for another week, thanks to the phenomenally hard work of Jon, Andrea, their family, and their WOOFers. And in January, I will make another loaf of this zucchini bread, some swiss chard fricos, or a bowl of gingered carrot soup and be thankful for that dirt.

But now? Now I need to head back in the kitchen and make some beet leaf cabbage rolls.

In My Dreams

When I started blogging I had only in mind a medium in which to practice writing, something I hadn't done regularly since I was a teenager. My on-line presence was a chance to share my creativity, getting it out there in the hopes that someone else was inspired. 

About a year ago, however, things changed for me. Writing, creating, and thinking about those things became a compulsion. I attended the Okanagan Food and Wine Writers Workshop last September. And while I was blown away by the food and highly entertained by the company, the experience gave me a clarity and focus to my future. I was driven to find a way to change my life to make this my work, not designing energy efficiency programs. 

Today marks the first day of that life full-time. Over the past 8 months I've been building up a freelance writing base. Have you seen me at What's Up Family yet? Or at Simple Bites?  What about Babble? But it is time to do more, to be more. I've quit my job and my networking chops are already being tested. I will now call myself a freelance writer.

But not only this, I also be home with my girls. You could call me a work at home mom. (In all honesty, I hate that term.) In between bed time and morning, and during the naps that still occur you will find me writing, creating. When my girls are awake you will find us in the kitchen together, or around the table creating, reading, chatting, living.

To celebrate this momentous morning I turned to another of my dreams. Quite literally, this was a dream.  The more I've been on line the more I've found myself dreaming of people I've never met. It seems I'm some sort of unconscious stalker. The last dream I had involved Kim, her in-my-dreams-only rooftop garden in NYC, and these peach basil pancakes.

It seemed only fitting that I pull out everything from my dreams on a day when my dreams are becoming a living reality.

Peach Basil Pancakes

Makes 12 small/medium pancakes

3/4 cup flour

1/4 cup corn flour or light corn meal

2 tbsp brown sugar

1 tbsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

2 tbsp chopped basil

1 peach, peeled and chopped

2 tbsp butter, melted

1 cup butter

1 egg

1. Combine all the dry ingredients in a medium bowl. Toss the basil and peaches in with the dry ingredients.

2. Stir together the wet ingredients. Mix the wet into the dry. Stir until just combined.  Let rest while your griddle or frying pan heats up on medium/low heat.

3. Pour the batter into the griddle 1/3 cup at a time. Cook until the bubbles on the surface form and start popping.  Flip and cook on the other side for another minute or so.

4. Serve with cherries or syrup of choice.

Sigh

With more than a little impatience I've been watching the mailbox the last two weeks.  Well, watching isn't quite the right term since I'm at work when our mailman comes.  But the second my feet hit the ground out of the car I have a single vision.  Sadly, it is not to kiss my girls hello or pet the pooches.  Nope, I'm looking out for my last issue of Gourmet. Sigh. The last issue.

My Gourmet love started 15 years ago as an undergrad.  I started buying the magazine from The Daily Grind in Halifax on my way home from the farmers' market. It was perfect for my busy life - I could read it in snippets and it transported me from the real daily grind of life as a working student.

Since those days I've been a faithful subscriber - even when we were stone cold broke it was my one luxury.  I do indeed cook regularly from it.  Last year in a fit of purging I only now regret I shared my magazines with a worthy recipient, dear Julie. I kept some memorable issues and I will be hanging on to the two years worth that I still have. And now it is gone. At least Julie is promising to open a lending library out of her basement.  (Let me know if you need her address.) I still haven't stopped sighing.

I've also found myself defending the magazine to many. To the people who criticized the magazine as snobby, elitist, and catering to people with big gobs of time and money to cook and travel I say BAH!  Don't get me wrong, it did have some pretty fantastical stuff.  But it also had everyday recipes that included things like canned beans and frozen pizza dough.  In The Kitchen Notebook section it broke down ingredients and techniques, making them quite manageable for the home cook.  In the past few years Jane and Michael Stern's pieces were getting more and more play.  And finally, I loved, absolutely loved the Politics of the Plate pieces.  

Reading a magazine for me isn't about giving me 20 new ideas for a fast dinner. If I want that I can browse on-line or go to my mom's old Canadian Livings.  But sitting down with a beer or a cup of tea, or flipping through the pages on a road trip were part escape and part inspiration. I may not make my own demi glace (I know people who do) but maybe I'll tackle beef stock again. Reading a magazine was my own little vacation.

I would be hard pressed to find a single recipe that I could say is a favourite from the magazine, but there are certainly some memorable ones - the chicken cashew chili is a favourite of Hubby's. And I've been making braised swiss chard with feta and currants a lot.  On the list for the next dinner party is the apple pie with cheddar crust.  

One of the most formative recipes from the magazine is one I've only made once.  And that was a long, long time ago.  I'm picking this one to share because the first time I had it was at the house of the only person I know personally to have ever been published in the magazine. Friends of mine from journalism school lived in the same city as we did for a few years.  They had two adorable little boys that Hubby and I would frequently babysit.  They were writers and I adored them.  Valerie wrote a little piece about a fantastic bakery in Edmonton and Ruth Reichl published it.  I don't think we celebrated with this cake, but in my memory I am toasting both Valerie and Gourmet with it.

Coconut Cake with Lime Curd

(PS  A Mingling of Tastes is gathering Gourmet obituaries and musings.  Check them out!)