Favourite Kitchen Tools: wooden spoons

Lia's spoonsmWe have a good half dozen wooden spoons sitting in the crock on the kitchen counter. They are some of the most heavily used tools in the kitchen, and the first thing I reach for whether I’m stirring pasta, potato soup, or sizzling onions.

The very best spoon is the one my daughter carved for me. Its smooth finish, beautifully rounded bowl, and attractive handle speak to her perseverance and attention to detail. It is a lovely, functional piece of art, and it makes me smile every time I use it. Can’t ask more of a spoon!

Welcome to the feast

100_3248 copyMy daughter wanted me to blog about Lego today.

“It’s gotta fit the 365 Days of Food theme,” I said. “Make a Lego feast, and I’ll blog about Lego.”

The result was a creative combination of preformed Lego food and her imagination, and reflects some of our favourite foods.

Bread, of course, is a central part of the feast. Sliced, in this case, with a sword, because Lego does not provide bread knives.

Flat round plates serve as pancakes, one of our common Sunday breakfast foods.

A Lego turkey, complete with dagger as carving knife, is a response to the fact the kids have several Lego turkeys. My daughter has, in fact, never eaten turkey.

Lego carrots are common, so naturally there is a bowl of carrots on the table.

A bowl of small red bricks represents balsamic glazed tomatoes—a lovely part of any feast.

There’s plenty to eat. Come join us at the Lego feast!

Be a Greenhouse Maker

100_2519smThis afternoon when I went out to the greenhouse for tomatoes, I got to thinking about the protection that a greenhouse offers. The more I thought about it, the more I realised that we all use greenhouses, and the best of us create them.

The greenhouse is a refuge for those tropical plants we love so much—tomatoes, peppers, and basil. My unheated tunnel can’t protect the plants from a hard freeze, but it protects them from frost and gives them just enough extra warmth to ripen up those last autumn fruits. It also protects tender seedlings from fickle spring weather.

Not everyone has a greenhouse for vegetables, but we all make use of metaphorical greenhouses.

We provide greenhouses for our kids. We try to protect them just enough to give them extra time to grow and mature until they’re ready to brave the elements alone. We provide them a refuge—a place where they are loved, accepted, and safe from emotional and physical harm.

But it’s not just children who need metaphorical greenhouses. We adults need them, too. Yesterday, my son interviewed me for a school assignment about the factors that help us to be resilient in the face of adversity. It struck me that a large part of being resilient is having a refuge, a “greenhouse” that will take the edge off harsh conditions.

We can make greenhouses for others. When the earthquakes struck in Christchurch, neighbours created greenhouses for one another by pitching in wherever they could—shovelling liquefaction, sharing food, and offering shoulders to cry on. My husband has provided a greenhouse of unwavering support as I muddle through my current emotionally fraught career change.

We can make greenhouses for ourselves, too—places (physical or mental) where we allow ourselves to rest, where we cultivate things that bring us comfort.

When we make greenhouses for our kids, our friends, and ourselves, we all take shelter in them. So go ahead, be a greenhouse maker.

 

Need your help and your vote!

Hey everyone! I generally don’t go in for these public voting things, but my daughter’s painting has made it to the finals of the Selwyn District Library card design competition, and we need your votes for her to win. She worked hard on her entry, and I would love to see her rewarded for it. It would be such a boost to her fragile confidence! So if you’re willing to take a moment and vote for her design HERE, we’d be thrilled. Thanks!

Food Therapy

Peanut butter and Jam--mood enhancing drugs.

Peanut butter and Jam–mood enhancing drugs.

My latest novel, The Anti-Mage, virtually wrote itself. Vastly better than previous novels, this book is saleable, I’m sure.

As the rejections pile up, though, I begin to doubt. I doubt the book’s merits, my wisdom in making this leap of faith to writing, and my fundamental value as a human being. Did I make a huge mistake in shutting down my science outreach business in order to write? Have I made myself nothing more than a chauffeur, gardener and cook for my family? Have I fallen into the stay at home mom role I have striven all my life to avoid? These questions haunt me more with every rejection, with every day I troll the Internet for new agents to approach.

Despair, like the cat curled up under my desk, lurks at my feet. It raises its head now and again to stare malevolently at me, dismissing my efforts to be something as nothing but bothersome noise.

I know there is nothing for it but to soldier on. Decisions have been made, and cannot be undone. I must carry on as though I have faith in my books and myself. And so I resort to food therapy.

No, I don’t go on a chocolate binge—I know it will leave me feeling worse than I started—but I choose food that makes me happy. It could be comfort food, like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch. It could be food that is pretty, like a salad sprinkled with bright nasturtium flowers. It could be food that takes skill to make, like tortillas. Or it could be food that I know will make my family happy, like spaghetti with tofu meatballs. Whatever the food is, I choose it to make me feel better about myself and my lot in life.

Does it help?

Well, a plate of food is never going to sell a book, no matter how pretty or comforting it is, but it does make it easier to manage the daily grind of criticism and rejection. To be able to step away from work and focus on something as simple and fundamental to life as food can be a profoundly centring activity.

And a little chocolate now and then doesn’t hurt, either.

Mother’s Day

DSC_0006 copyHappy Mother’s Day to all the mothers out there!

I have difficulty with Mother’s Day, and so I’m glad that my family allows me to observe it as I wish, by forgetting the day entirely. The ‘traditional’ breakfast in bed for Mom on Mother’s Day would just about kill me. I’d have to stay in bed two to three hours longer than usual in order for them to bring breakfast to me there, and the thought of eating in bed is completely unappealing; bed is not a place for food. More than that, I always make a cooked breakfast on Sunday mornings. I do it because I enjoy it. I do it because that way I get exactly what I’m craving every Sunday morning (though I do occasionally take requests). Why would I give that up for Mother’s Day?

And doing my chores for me, so I can sit around and eat bonbons all day? Are you kidding? If I have to sit still more than twenty minutes I go stir crazy. That wouldn’t do at all for Mother’s Day.

So this morning, we had lemon blueberry muffins. In a nod to the day, I made up the batter last night, so all I had to do was scoop it into the muffin tin and throw it into the oven this morning.

I also cleaned the house yesterday, so I could do outdoor chores today, which I vastly prefer to scrubbing the toilet. Much better to do work I want to do, that to do nothing at all!

So, however you like to spend your day—eating bonbons or digging ditches—I hope you enjoyed your day!

Organising the Tools

DSC_0008 smAs my husband’s new shop takes shape, I am gradually moving my gardening things into their new home in the old shop. Yesterday, my daughter and I arranged the large hand tools, each with its own spot on the wall of the shed. She even drew each tool on the wall in its designated spot, so that they would always be put away in the right places. It is the first time I have ever had my tools neatly arranged, so they aren’t snarled in a hopeless tangle of rake tines whenever I need something. Of course, it only works if the tools are put away. Now, where did that sword go?…

Not Yo Mamma’s Mac and Cheese

DSC_0005 copyGrowing up, I remember macaroni and cheese as something that was bright orange and came out of a box. Of course, I loved it. But as an adult, I have a hard time serving that sort of stuff to my family.

So, I started making mac and cheese using Joy of Cooking’s Baked Macaroni recipe, but there’s not much in it—it’s good, but not terribly interesting or nutritious. I began tinkering, and came up with Not Yo Mamma’s Mac and Cheese. My kids, of course, point out that it is their mamma’s mac and cheese, but the name stuck anyway.

This recipe makes a generous meal for our family of four, with lots of leftovers for lunch the next day.

500 g package elbow macaroni

2 large carrots, diced

1 ½ cups fresh or frozen peas (thawed if frozen)

1 ½ cups fresh or frozen corn (thawed if frozen)

1 onion, diced

2 stalks celery, diced

¼ cup chopped fresh parsley

1 ½ cups grated cheese (pick your favourite)

3 eggs

1 cup milk

bread crumbs

butter

salt and pepper to taste

Cook the macaroni. While macaroni is boiling, boil the carrots until just tender. Sauté the onion and celery in olive oil or butter until the onion is translucent. Add vegetables and cook just a few minutes longer, until everything is warm through. Mix in the parsley, and salt and pepper to taste.

Scald the milk, and beat in the eggs.

In a well-buttered casserole dish, layer macaroni, vegetables, and cheese, ending with a layer of cheese. Pour the egg mixture over the top. Sprinkle generously with bread crumbs and dot with butter. Bake at 190°C (375°F) for 30 minutes, until the egg is firm in the centre.

 

Stormy Weather

For the record, peri-menopause sucks. You know, for the first year of it, you think you’re just going mad, and wonder when’s a good time to call a psychiatrist. Then you figure out you’re just hormonal, and you can start to laugh it off. But the problem is that it keeps changing the rules without consulting you. Just when you think you’ve got the whole thing under control, it finds some new way to torture you. After eight years of it, I thought I had it pretty well sussed, but I’ve had some doozy hormonal storms lately. My goal is always to appear normal during them, but it’s not always possible with these super-storms. Here’s a little reflection on my day today…

 

 

Rage.

Pure,

White,

All-consuming.

I force myself to polite distance.

I do not look into

Anyone’s eyes.

I speak in short words.

I eat little,

Taking small bites,

Chewing slowly.

 

I am afraid

The rage will burst out

If I open my mouth.

If I allow myself to feel

Anything.

 

I scream

All day

Behind closed lips.

Only the straight jacket

Of iron will

Forcing me to smile

And speak softly

To the children.

 

I wait,

Knowing the rage is not mine

Knowing it will burn off

In a hot flash

Or dissipate

While I have my back turned.

Leaving me wasted,

Fragile,

Supported only by the taught nerves

It left behind.

Dining Room Bustle

Meet me in the dining room for a game of ping pong.

Meet me in the dining room for a game of ping pong.

Our house is small, and most rooms do double duty. None more so than the dining room. The dining room table serves as a place to eat, of course, but it is also a desk for homework, an art table, a staging area for bread on baking days, a games table, and, with the addition of a ‘net’, a ping pong table.

With the only floor strong enough, the dining room also holds the piano, so serves as the music room. It is also the main entrance to the house, a cloak room, and a hallway between the bathroom and the rest of the house.

So much bustle for such a small room!