Peeling Horseradish

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment to pause, savor and remember. (from Soule Mama)

A Pie for Mikey

You start out with an idea, a concept of where you want to take it. A taste, a feel, a look. A finished product to be savoured and enjoyed. Something to share, to show off, to take pride in.

You gather the things to make it, and you bring them close. You handle them, you edit, you cut, you taste. Add heat, maybe some sizzle, and quite often a long simmer. At many times will you season, highlighting the flavours and subsequent adventure.

Usually it gets messy. You are either the type of person who cleans as they go or the kind that has a third hand following them washing and wiping as you move. It doesn't matter, as long as you address the mess at some point.

Eventually you sit to enjoy. It isn't necessarily what you expected it to be. Sometimes it doesn't work and you have to start over tomorrow. Quite often it's better. Much better than expected.

One day it explodes. The pleasure is insatiable. The joy immeasurable. On another day it is more subtle, simple. It is good, but not great. The pleasure and peace, however, is there. It's lingering and comforting. Perfect.

At least, this is how my marriage feels.

My husband is my best friend and an incredible man. Kind, generous, a little bit wicked. Committed, driven, and horribly sarcastic. He owns his own business and used to race mountain bikes. But I always thought I'd marry a professor or snooty intellectual. We'd live in an old house filled with books and no kids. Obviously that isn't what I've got.

My man in my life and our marriage came about like a farmers' market dinner. One day you find something that looks fantastic and you go with it. And so we have, experimenting along the way. Some days it explodes with pleasure and some days it is lingering and comforting. Perfect.

Imagining a life without my husband nearly stops my breath. Cold.

And now there is a colleague, a friend I met through blogging, who is living this fresh hell right now. Her husband, the father of her two little girls, suddenly collapsed and died last week. She is feeling the immeasurable pain of loss, the unimaginable.

This pie is for Mikey, for her, for their girls. This pie was his favourite and it deserves a celebration. As does he, as does the love he and Jennie shared. Their recipe gave the world this pie. Let's celebrate.

The food blogging community - including those who live close to Jennie and are lucky enough to share a drink and pizza with her - are gathering around her right now. This is community. Today we are making pie. People the world over are taking Jennie and Mike's pie and making it for their own loved ones. They are adapting the pie for themselves, making the recipe for their own loves. In doing so we celebrate a man, relationships, and the spirit of adventure in love, cooking, and life.

A pie for Mikey.

Seven Tips for Dining Out as a Family

The first meal out for our family after having a baby was sushi. Our newborn slept in her car seat and I gorged on the fish that had been banned from my diet during pregnancy. It was bliss for everyone. Our last venture to that same sushi bar (last month) was a bit more raucous, with the girls not so quiet now. But they sat at the bar, ordered their favourite sashimi, and flirted with the host who gave them candy.

We can't imagine our lives without the opportunity to take the kids out for dinner. If we didn't take them we might not go ourselves with limited babysitting in town! But if you want to take your kids to a restaurant, whether it involves a giant golden M or serves fois gras, there are some basic guidelines. These are guidelines for parents, not rules for kids.

1. Start at Home

If you want your kid to sit at the table, eat, and not run around and scream at a restaurant table then you need to expect that behaviour at home as well. I know many a parent who struggles to keep their kids at the table, regardless of where they are sitting. While I can't provide any tips for getting them to stay in their seat - other than expecting the behaviour and enforcing it - if your kid can't sit at the table for 20 minutes then a sit down restaurant isn't going to be a successful venture for you.

2. Revise Your Dinner Expectations

When you take your kids out to dinner with you then your experience will not be that same as dinner out with your partner. There is no lingering over dessert, conversations are not usually about politics or money, and you will likely eat pretty fast. Dinner out with the family isn't romantic, but it can be fun. Keep your expectations in check, as well as your timing.

3. It's all in the Timing

Knowing when your kids need to eat and when they'll crash is important if you choose to eat out. Don't arrive at the restaurant at 6 if they are used to dinner on the table at that time. Be prepared to order an appetizer or the entire meal when they come by to take a drink order. And ask for the check right after your meal is served in case you need to make a speedy exit.

4. Choose Wisely

There is no need to limit your family meals out to fast food or even chain restaurants. Steakhouses, greasy spoons, and yes, fine dining are all acceptable. Do not take your kids to the best place in town if all they've ever eat are chicken fingers, you need to work up to that. Consider going to a nicer restaurant on a weekday, not on typical date nights on the weekend. Preview menus on-line or with a drive by to ensure there is something your kids will likely enjoy. Try brunch instead of dinner, it's faster, more likely to have preferred options, and is a more casual environment - even in a fancier restaurant.

5. The Art of Conversation

I'm not a fan of bringing toys and such to the restaurant, but I can see the benefit for other families. A run of the mill restaurant will sometimes provide the menu that can be coloured, or you could bring your own colouring book. Books, a small doll, a random car, or even an electronic device might also be effective in occupying your kids while you wait for food. It should go away when the food arrives though. We take the time in a restaurant to have a conversation - as effective as that is with a 3 and 5 year old. I also don't want to set the precedent that toys are commonplace when you go out for dinner. Each family will have to decide what is appropriate.

6. Lose the Kids Menu

Even the fanciest of restaurants sometimes have a kids menu. Ignore it. It may be fine dining, but they are often dumbing down the food in addition to smaller portion sizes. Instead, look to the appetizer or soup/salad portion of the menu. Alternatively, you can order one main course and split it among two or three children. Do not relegate your kids to a diet of chicken fingers or grilled cheese sandwiches. Or at least, save those for the nights you stay home when you don't feel like cooking.

7. Be Prepared to Leave

Yup, be prepared to get up and walk out without dinner. If your kids are misbehaving, whining, or generally being bad or disruptive, be prepared to leave without eating. Aside from showing restauranteurs and other patrons that you have control over the situation, you are also showing your kids that certain behaviour is not tolerated. Whether you let them eat dinner at home after that is another matter. (I would not, but that's me.) If you want your restaurant experience to be successful and repeated, then you need to set the precedent.

On the recent debate on Q, with Jian Gomeshi, Emma Waverman, and Simon Majumdar, the host and guests talked about a ban on kids in restaurants. While I squarely believe in the comments made by Waverman, it was this quote from Majumdar that sums it up. Restaurants want to ban kids, primarily because of crying and bad behaviour, and that "Boils down to wretched parenting."

If you want to take your kids out of the house - and we all need to at times - then you need to step up to the plate, plan ahead, and be clear on your behavioural expectations with them. A restaurant isn't always a break at dinnertime, don't treat it that way unless the kids are at home with the babysitter. Dinner out with the family is an opportunity for exploration, conversation, and treats.

Enforcement

3 hours.

My 3 year old sat at the table an hour for every year the other night. Just because she wouldn't drink her milk. And because we told her she couldn't leave the table until she did just that.

She cried, she took a bathroom break, she fussed, she tried to play, she desperately worked us for conversation and entertainment. We continued on with our evening - working, cleaning up, putting The Monster to bed (even though she couldn't sleep because she is quite used to her sister in the room), and I even made caramel corn. For 3 hours she sat there. At that point I subbed out the milk with a cold glass. She spilled that one. I cleaned it up and gave her another one. With a nonchalance that belied the battle of wills she simply picked it up and drank it.

Right now you either think we are cruel parents or are filled with admiration for our stick-to-it-ness. Or you think we're dumb. I'm going with all three myself.

A rule is a rule. We don't care if they don't eat all their dinner. As long as they've tried everything on their plate, they can eat as much or as little as they like. But they have to drink their milk. (Very lovely goat milk, I might add.)

As for us parents, our rule is that if we start down a path we don't cave. If the other says something we don't contradict. So even though we had a pile of things to do and actually needed the dining room table, we worked around her. It was exhausting, I'll admit. I'm proud of all of us for sticking to it. And the caramel corn went really nicely with a scotch once it was all over.

(I used this recipe, but subbed the syrup for maple syrup, added pecans instead of peanuts, and crumbled in some cooked bacon with the popcorn.)

And don't tell the kid, but I'm impressed with her. That stubborness will do her well as an adult, if she makes it there.

What are some of your dinnertime rules? What's the longest you've had to go to enforce a rule?

Routine

When my father-in-law died seven years ago and we used a lot of humor to cope with our grief we would joke that we could say, "My Dad just died," and get what we wanted in any negotiation or to get out of something we didn't want to do. My girls are already picking up on this and when they cry because I won't let them have another Mini Egg they scream, "I'm just sad because Dido died." I can't help but laugh, then still refuse to give them another chocolate. I need to accept their own process of grieving and settling back home, but that includes losing the bad diet of our time away. Besides, Mama needs those Mini Eggs.

My Dad died and we buried him last week. After nearly 2 months of not being at home, of daily trips to the hospital, of more candy that I thought possible, of captured meals, of the chaos of 6 little cousins getting together more than they ever have before, of the comfort of cookie it is time to get back to a routine.

There is a lot to be said for routine and kids.

To be honest, though, I used to scoff at the parenting advice that practically shouted out the value of ROUTINE! for kids. Most kids are resilient and adaptable. Not all, but most. And I certainly didn't want to become a slave to my kids routine. Wake. Eat. Play. Sleep. Repeat.

Right now, though, we're craving routine.

We watch PBS Kids while we eat our bread with butter and honey, as we do every single morning. (Okay, so they did this at my parents' place every morning too.) Now we can stay in our pajamas longer. We can soak in the sun streaming through the windows. We can pet our dogs. We can peek out the front window and spy on the neighbours. We are home.

So long as there is bread, butter, and honey we can eat. We can be boring and routine.

Hot Dish at the Table

Ever had a Hot Dish?

You might know it better by its other name, a casserole. In honour of my week in Wisconsin, via Minnesota, I made Hot Dish for dinner. Specifically, Beef with Wild Rice, Almonds, and Roasted Tomatoes.

Hot Dish is basically any one dish meal that can be prepared in advance, even frozen. Rice or pasta with a bit of veg and often a lot of meat and some sort of sauce bringing it all together. Common at the potluck table, the neighbours kitchen counter after a rough week, or for Sunday dinner.

Not exactly a fancy Sunday dinner, I realize. My flight got in at midnight last night and I needed to spend the day in precious snow play and cuddles instead of cooking. Oh, and actually reading a book during to naptime to take advantage of the quiet of broken cable. Dinner needed to come without a trip to the grocery store and contain real food for the. girls. Too many cookies and treats over the weekend.

I bought this cookbook in the airport. Totally cheesy, I know. Once you siphon out the recipes that include a can of condensed mushroom soup and past Tuna Broccoli Brie Hot Dish, there are some nice dinner ideas. Perfect for days when you want to read The Cat in the Hat again and again instead of making a roast with popovers. Also perfect for make ahead recipes for the days you want to pass on a meal for comfort. I'll be making a few more from the book this week for friends.

Dessert also came from the book. Conveniently called Busy Day Cherry Cobbler. Conveniently made with my own cherry pie filling in the pantry.

My time away from the family was very busy. My friend, my host, has a great family and they were incredibly welcoming. We did not have Hot Dish, but I learn how to make tortillas and had my fill of Wisconsin Smoked Cheddar.

In truth, I desperately missed my family. All the chaotic energy and even the spazzing, but it's all my spazzing. Dinner tonight was perfect. The Monster chatted far too much about her first trip to an amusement park to be interested in food. Smilosaurus was copying her sister but spooning in the food with sincere pleasure. Hubby and I rubbed our eyes for the tiredness, tried to talk, and could only smile. It was all mine. It was our perfect Sunday dinner.

Hot Dish with Beef, Wild Rice, Roasted Tomatoes, and Almonds

Serves 4-6

1 pound ground beef

1 medium onion

4 celery stocks

1 tbsp olive oil

4 cloves garlic

1 orange

1/2 cup brown rice

1/2 cup wild rice

2 tbsp fresh thyme

3 cups chicken stock

1 dozen roasted tomatoes*

1 cup almonds or pine nuts

1. In an oven proof casserole or large pan brown the ground beef. While the beef is browning chop the onions, celery, and garlic. Preheat the oven to 325 degrees F.

2. As soon as the beef is browned, drain off any fat and push the meat to the side of the pan. Add the olive oil, onion, and celery. Cook over medium heat until light browned and soft. Add the garlic and saute for 1 minute.

3. Juice the orange and add the juice to the pan to deglaze.

4. Stir in the rices, thyme, and stock into the pan. Season with salt and pepper. Pour into a casserole dish, if necessary. Top with tomatoes and sprinkle the almonds over.

5. Bake for 1 hour.

*If you don't have slow roasted tomatoes on hand you could use a 14 ounce can of diced tomatoes. Cut the stock used to 2 cups and add the tomatoes, juice and all.

Picky Eaters are a Parent's Responsibility

There is no such thing as a picky eater anymore. Just selective or particular eaters. It's like the word picky got sucked up by the political correctness vacuum. Which means, of course, it must be replaced by something kinder that doesn't make a kid feel bad because they don't like green vegetables or meat that isn't chicken.

This is all simply ridiculous, I say, because ALL kids are picky eaters. The degree to which they pick and choose their food varies, but all kids are selective about what they will eat.

Take my kids, for example. More than once I've been told that my kids will eat anything, or that they are such good eaters. Um, not really folks. Sure, they love sashimi and will eat game meat even when we tell them what it is. The Monster, however, will not eat rice, mashed potatoes, the tops of broccoli, the bottoms of muffins, any filled pasta but one particular shape, and an egg any way but scrambled. It is a random day when Smilosaurus happily eats all her vegetables without any comment from me and she is rather particular about how things get cut and served.

That being said, I don't consider my kids picky. I consider them kids.

Kids are inherently fickle, most love a good routine and struggle with new challenges, and they respond to our lead like sponges wiping the kitchen counter.

I've said it before, I think picky eaters are made, not born. How we, as parents, approach food and feeding our children has more to do with your kids than anything. It starts right at the beginning when we give them their first soft purees. From the flavour to the texture we are indeed molding them. It's about more than introducing them to every taste in the book before they eat a chunk of food. It's about setting up the ritual of dinner - from the making to the eating.

When we give them their first chunks of fruit and grain we cut off the crust or the peels. We get into that habit and suddenly we have a 6 year old who doesn't eat the crusts. (Or you don't and they still don't eat the crusts, suddenly, one day after eating them for years!) We give them the choice of a rainbow selection of plates then have to deal with meltdowns when the pink one isn't clean. Before long and without intending to, many of us become short order cooks.

It sounds like I'm criticizing parents here, I understand that. I also make no apologies for it. We parents care about our kids and we should always take a critical eye to what we are doing. I include myself there too. I do think that a big part of picky eating is indeed what we parents do to create the situation.

The other thing we parents do is react to the situation. We worry that they aren't eating enough, they are eating too much of one thing, that they will never like the tops of broccoli, that somehow this makes me a bad parent... We often create a problem or think we have a picky eater because we struggle to get our kids to eat cottage cheese, not flavoured yoghurt. But this is OUR issue, not the kids.

There are great articles, resources, and tips out there to help you "break" a picky eater, banish picky eating, or even help a kid recover from picky eating habits. You can search on-line for days to get through all the tips. Seldom will you see the words Relax and Step Back. That is precisely what I suggest parents do.

Easier said than done.

Here are some tips to help you with that. These aren't about getting your kids to eat more foods or different foods, these are about accepting your kids as kids, regardless of how they eat. They are about accepting our role as parents without putting labels on them.

1. Kids don't need as much food as you think they do. One good meal every day or two can be good enough, augmented by some snacking.

2. Kids eat in cycles. One week they seemingly devour any and all food you can put in front of them, the next almost nothing.

3. Kids are fickle. One week they'll eat the crusts, another week they won't. And there is no explanation why.

4. Kids can indeed survive, in the short term, on odd diets like bread and butter with fruit.

5. You are in control of what food goes on the table. They are in control of whether they eat it or not.

6. It is perfectly okay to say no to your kids' requests for cookies for breakfast, a snack 20 minutes before dinner is on the table, and juice 24 hours a day. It is perfectly okay to ignore the tantrum that ensues when you say no.

7. Kids will not starve if they don't eat dinner. If they don't like what you are offering then don't offer them alternatives.

8. Shop, cook, and eat with your kids as much as possible.

9. Keep some guaranteed favourite meals in your back pocket and in the pantry. Pull them out on days when everyone is tired or when it's been a bit since they had a good meal.

10. Offer the best food you can. Focus on the quality of the ingredients even when they are limiting their diet.

It isn't political correctness that makes me want to lose the term picky, it's this notion picky eating is something to be tackled and eradicated like a disease. Kids are kids, and we need to respond to them like adults, not short order cooks or narrow minded politicians.

Merry Christmas

It seems rather obvious that most of us are gathering with family over the next few days. Whether family means the neighbours next door or the entire familia at your parent's house, there are likely to be a few familiar treat on the table.

For me that means a big Ukrainian feast, followed by Christmas Tree bun, a fantastic gourmet feast, and more hot cocoa than anyone possibly needs. Don't forget about the rogalki, the shortbread, the rum balls, and definitely the booze. (Have you ever noticed how Christmas is much more enjoyable now that you can drink in front of your parents?)

As a parent myself now I was fighting crowds and crossing fingers. There I was in Canadian Tire, not quite begging Santa to come through for me. The Monster asked for a water gun in her letter to Santa. A water gun, in December. While I waited for a very, very kind elf to check the basement of Canadian Tire for a random water gun I browsed the candy aisle. That's when I came across the Misty Mints.

These were a favourite holiday treat in my family. Only for Christmas. We hoarded our favourite colours, even though they all taste the same. They aren't even real chocolate, but are so tasty. And full of memories.

When the elf returned, miraculously, with a couple of soakers, I grabbed a few boxes of Misty Mints to share with my family. Santa will still be the popular guy with my four year old. And maybe my family peace can be negotiated with some pseudo chocolate. Merry Christmas.

What will you be sharing this week?

I'm taking some time off for the holidays. See you in the New Year!

Caught in the Act

Have you ever considered boycotting the entire notion of Christmas baking? Frankly, I'm sure most of us have at one time or another. We're so busy during December and stopping to bake a couple of dozen cookies for a swap, a party, or simply to steal from the freezer for the rest of the month is the last thing we want to do.

Then we see the covers of the magazines and every single one is a Christmas tree arrangement of glittery cookies tempting us back into the grocery store for butter and sugar. Our kids/partners beg for a batch of shortbread or some esoteric treat their mom used to make. Or the guilt hits.

Every year I swear I'm not going to do it. Maybe a batch of Chewy Chocolate Gingerbread or Peppermint Bark. But THAT'S IT.

And every year I bake 3 or 4 more kinds of cookies. Then I pretty much eat them all myself. What a Ninny.

So this year I vowed I wouldn't do it. I swore to my husband and my jiggly tummy that I wouldn't even buy the butter.

Then The Monster started prepping for the concert at school. It was all about The Gingerbread Man. In fact, a reenactment of the story. She's been walking around reciting the damn thing non stop. Then she asked to bake. I suggested gingerbread men. This brought on tears, full can't catch your breath sobs out of fear that our gingerbread men would run away after we baked them. We settled on gingerbread penguins and moose. Thank goodness there are no stories about runaway moose. At least none with catchy songs attached.

I pulled out the icing sugar, sprinkles, and ridiculously fake food colourings. It was craft time/kitchen time/treat time as far as the girls were concerned. It was a messy way to kill an hour. That's how I approached it at first. Still a Ninny.

The messier it got, however, the happier we all were. Grandma was visiting and happily iced the requested purple and pink penguins. We eventually laughed at the number of sprinkles underfoot, joking that one of us was going to wipe out like it was a pile of ball bearings and we were in a cartoon. My counters are stained and my kids ate more icing than cookies. There wasn't a single tantrum, by them or me.

No longer is Christmas baking about a pile of cookies in the freezer for the guests that might pop by. It isn't even about treats to share with the neighbours over tea. It is about process, the act of making. Baking and decorating cookies with the girls is like Jackson Pollack at a canvas.

Who cares that the cookies will likely not be eaten for lack of enough icing or the wrong sprinkles? They'll make me a little more Santa like, in spirit and with my jiggle.

For the record. We used this recipe from Julie for the cookies. The only change I made is that we cooked them for 10-11 minutes so they would be a bit softer.

Class

I promise you that I cooked. Aside from our regular Sunday jaunt to the market, I actually cooked nearly all day. Unfortunately, I can't share it with you.

Everything I made today was for one article or another. None of which are due to come out until the New Year at the earliest. That means I can only tell you that I made apple kugel, butterscotch pudding, blackeyed peas, cardamom cookies, potstickers, and something called sabzi polo. I can't share a recipe or a photo. I'm sorry. If it helps, we ate this very eclectic meal for dinner and we are very, very full.

This is one of the advantages and disadvantages of the food writing gig. Sure, dinner gets made out of your work. That means your groceries are, in part, paid for. But after a day of cooking you are left with this really odd meal that you are too full to eat anyway.

Full confession: I totally sat and read a book with a beer in my hand when the light went and my mother-in-law arrived for a visit. Thanks, Susan, for playing hide and seek with the dinosaurs while I did nothing.

Don't get me wrong. I am not complaining about this new life I've chosen. I am getting more writing gigs. Being on my own with Hubby away as much as he's been is much more manageable now... sort of. And, no offense to my old colleagues, I don't miss the desk job at all. If anything, the hard part is giving everything the attention it needs. That includes the girls.

Truly, though, is there a mother in the world who thinks she spends enough time with her kids? Okay, quality time actually paying attention to them and doing nurturing activities?

If you are one of those mothers then I'm probably not the writer for you. Smilosaurus is losing her voice with a never ending cold and the realization that she might not be able to talk tomorrow made me very happy. Ridiculously happy.

So the kids watch a bit too much PBS Kids when I have a deadline. I'm not losing sleep over it. I feed them, and I feed them well. Tonight was a perfect example of that. Of course, with all that food I made all they wanted to eat was the spinach salad I served on the side.

Then Hubby still needed a snack. "There is nothing that goes better with kubasa than beer." We are a classy bunch.

Gravy

It was the perfect Sunday dinner, minus the tantrums before hand. Roast beef, mashed potatoes, brussels sprouts and carrots. There was even chocolate cake for dessert. There was no gravy.

Half hour before we were to sit down Hubby informs me that he isn't feeling well. That perhaps it is now his turn with the tummy bug making its way through our house. Sigh. It was at that point that I nixed the gravy. Actually, I might have told the gravy to go do something else.

As I realized last week, Hubby really is my audience. The girls could have cared less about a big roast beef dinner. In fact, they only wanted the chocolate cake. But I made them sit with me while Hubby moaned in front of the hockey game. Only one of them ate anything, both spent the entire meal screaming or singing, and I fought tears of frustration over my now cold roast beef. There may have been a tantrum or two as well.

The frustration got to me. One was sent to her room, the other to a quiet spot by the front door. I spent 20 minutes cleaning up after dinner saying, "No, you may not come out yet." Bring on the therapist's bill if it turns out they are gay and I control their honesty by my need to do the dishes in peace.

Honestly folks? I'm just cracking. Too much stress, too much work, too much single parenting, too much whining (on everyone's part). I think it's time to regroup. Anyone have a Mexican vacation they want to give me? A cabin in the woods with a personal chef/masseuse? No? I guess I'll settle for a hot bath, a good scotch, and a trashy book.

It was a good meal. It really was. Maybe, just sometimes, I should give in an let them eat the damn cake and we'd all be happier.

Iron Will

He would have loved it.

Steak sandwiches with carmelized onions and radishes. Served on fig and fennel bread from The Bakery at the Market. The last of our CSA beets, roasted and tossed with white balsamic vinegar. Spinach salad with pomegranates.

Hubby is away again. Was he ever home? We all miss him terribly He misses us. Everyone is exhausted and cranky. We have to think big picture for this short term sacrifice of our normal family life. Dammit, it's hard. I was very tempted to serve popcorn for dinner again but steaks that I took out a few days ago needed to be cooked. And I thought we girls needed to sit down to a proper meal. Away from the TV, the computer, and a million library books.

So we sat together over some red meat and songs. And we talked about Daddy.

Browned Butter Sunday

After finishing 5 articles in a week (recipe testing included) and single parenting for most of that time, frankly, I didn't care much for Sunday dinner. The fridge was full of food, the girls spent the afternoon munching on late season strawberries, cheese, and a cantaloupe, and we were all getting downright cranky.

That left only one option for dinner - popcorn.

When I told the Monster that we were having popcorn and I would find us a movie to watch she got so excited that she literally burst into song. Then, on her own volition, she start cleaning up the living room to make it ready for dinner at the coffee table. Hell, if that's what it takes I'm thinking dinner like this everyday!

Not all was lost when it comes to a good Sunday dinner though. When we returned from the market and I went to refresh the fruit bowl I had some mealy peaches and sad looking apples and pears to contend with. Then there were the ripe peaches that didn't make it home intact from the market and a few half eaten apples courtesy of the girls. The only option was to make a fruit crisp.

The girls got grains and fruit for dinner. I am not a bad mom.

While cutting up the fruit (just a pile of what we had, peels and all) I had this notion to try browning the butter to the crisp first. I guess some part of me was still able to be creative. The butter melted and crackled away on the stove. Then it occurred to me that I never really know how brown is technically browned butter. Turns out I've not been browning enough all along. So I kept it on the stove and got to the lovely browned bits.

In the end, I could have left it a bit longer, I think, but it had that rich, nutty smell and some good colour. Even though I was making crisp, I must confess that the smell only made me think of lobster. I must still have Nova Scotia on the brain.

Once the butter cooled a bit I made up my regular crisp topping. Frankly, I could have eaten it straight, and did so for a few nibbles. It was rich with a butterscotch goodness and with a slightly lighter texture from using melted butter. I am never making crisp any other way, ever again.

And I refuse to feel bad about taking the time to treat the girls and sit quietly in front of the TV. Roasts and veggies are nice and all, but Sunday is also about family. After such a hectic and trying week sitting down together, this time with snuggles, was a much better option.

Browned Butter Fruit Crisp

Filling

4 cups fruit

2 tbsp brown sugar

2 tbsp flour

1 Tonka Bean/1 tsp cinnamon

Topping

1/2 cup butter

1/2 cup brown sugar

1/2 cup flour

1 cup rolled oats

1. Chop the fruit into 1/2 inch chunks. Peeling is optional. Gently toss with flour, brown sugar, and spice. Pour into an 8 by 8 baking dish.

2. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

3. In a small, stainless steel pot on medium low heat melt the butter. Then let it cook , swirling the pot every now and then, until it turns brown. As the colour starts to come to it, watch it closely. It can burn quickly.

4. Once the butter is browned nicely, pour it into your mixing bowl and let cool a few minutes. Admire the colour and dream of lobster. Then add in the brown sugar and stir. Once combined add the flour and oats.

5. Crumble on top of your prepared fruit, trying not to snitch too much along the way.

6. Bake for 30-40 minutes until the topping is crisp and more than golden and filling is bubbling.

Realizations

The Monster is a temperamental child. She will be fantastically fine, happy and cheerful 95% of the time. But then you tell her no to just the wrong thing and not only is she upset, like any 4 year old, but the world ends for her. It is infinitely frustrating and one of the biggest challenges of parenting for me.

Up until a certain point today we were all enjoying a lovely, late summer ease. A quiet morning with bread and jam for breakfast. Our normal Sunday morning jaunt to the farmers' market for coffee and a few groceries. The girls napped while Hubby and I sat on the porch swing chatting and petting the dogs. It was all good.

Then I had to go to the grocery store. And another, and another. And I spazzed, yelling at people in traffic and getting right cranky. Then I had a scary moment of clarity. The Monster is me. Yikes, I made her that way. (I'm sorry Mom and Dad.) 

I was still spazzing when I got home, but then I started cooking. I had tomatoes in the oven, slow roasting. I added some peaches, then popped a pork roast in. Smilosaurus helped me tear kale for kale chips. And my bad mood dissipated as quickly as it came.  Just like we send The Monster for a quiet time when she is being unreasonable, I found my quiet time in the kitchen, making Sunday dinner.

A little while later we welcomed an old friend to our home. We cracked some beers. We caught up on travels, the farm, and the challenges and smiles of parenthood. We devoured the meal in front of us. And when The Monster lost it when Hubby took away the cheetah babies after she hit her little sister with them all I could do was hang my head in laughter at the realization that I indeed made my kid.

Pork Loin Roast with Roasted Tomatoes and Peaches

2 pints cherry tomatoes

4 tbsp olive oil

salt and pepper

1 1/2 tsp coriander seeds

3 peaches

2 pound pork roast, boneless rib end

1/2 onion

1 tbsp fresh mint, chopped

1. Preheat oven to 275 degrees F.

2. Wash and dry the tomatoes. Cut in half. Place cut side up on a large cookie sheet. Drizzle with 2 tbsp olive oil and season well. Grind 1/2 tsp of the coriander seeds and sprinkle over the tomatoes as well. Place in the oven.

3. After an hour cut the peaches into quarters. Tuck them in among the tomatoes.

4. Pat dry your roast with paper towels, keep it tied up as you bought it. Season well with salt and pepper. Get the remaining 2 tbsp oil hot in a roasting pan or dutch oven. Brown the pork on all sides, leaving it for a couple of minutes each time to get good colour. Move the roast to the side, add the onions and remaining coriander seeds (left whole) to the pan. Cook for a couple of minutes, then move the roast back to the middle of the pan. Cover and put in the oven. Increase the heat to 325 degrees F. Roast for 1 hour.

5. Check the internal temperature of the roast. It should register at least 140 degrees F when you take it out of the oven. Keep it covered in the roasting pan, it will continue to cook a bit more as it rests.

6. Place the tomatoes and peaches on a serving dish, top with chopped mint. After the pork has rested 10-15 minutes remove strings and slice. Serve with tomatoes and peaches.

The Letter S

Pardon me while I get sappy.

You see, this week I've also been recovering from a medical issue. It's made me tired, shaky, and mopey. So this afternoon, after I put some tomato sauce in a slow oven to come together, I took a nap. Wrapped in the arms of my husband. It was the best nap ever.

So tonight's dinner was spaghetti and meatballs, and for dessert, strawberry ice cream. More specifically, strawberry sour cream ice cream. It was the slightly more elegant version of Baba's berries and cream. It was all comfort food.

The ice cream recipe comes from, who else? David Lebovitz. All the recipes in my books were custards and I didn't have many eggs in the house. So a little search led to many, many descriptions of this ice cream from The Perfect Scoop. It seemed like fate considering the pounds of strawberries I bought at the market and my own need for comfort. 

But no amount of comfort food can replace the love of your best friend.

Strawberry Sour Cream Ice Cream

(With great thanks, perhaps literally as I don't actually own The Perfect Scoop, to David Lebovitz.)

1 pound strawberries

3/4 cup sugar

1 tbsp vodka

1 cup sour cream

1 cup heavy cream

1/2 tsp lemon juice

1. Rinse, hull, and quarter your strawberries. Toss with the sugar and vodka. Let sit for an hour or so.

2. Add in sour cream, cream, and lemon juice. Blitz with a hand blender, leaving it as chunky as you want.

3. Chill for an hour. Process with ice cream maker. Freeze until ready to eat.

Aside

Well, this was no leisurely Sunday dinner. When Hubby got out of bed this morning he suggested a little day trip to Banff. His aching bones and sore neck were calling for a soak in the Hot Springs. And his tummy was calling for his favourite eggs benny at Bison. So I put my massive Sunday to do list aside and we loaded up.

Just one quick stop at the market for my special order Tonka Beans from Silk Road Spice Merchants! Oh, and mango lassi for the girls and coffee for him.

We had a great time! Brunch on the upstairs patio, a walk along the Bow River (and partially in it), and a not very leisurely soak in the pool. Hmm, the girls don't quite get the soak concept yet. It was a great day and certainly worth the frantic evening upon our return.

Thankfully, I did think ahead and took out some fish to defrost before we left the house. We picked up a box of fish from Dor-Bel Fine Foods when we went to the inaugural Kingsland Farmers Market. They sell all Ocean Wise fish from the West Coast. I didn't have a clue what Hubby actually took out this morning, so it was all a surprise. As we drove into town I took a mental inventory of the remaining groceries in the house to come up with something.

Hubby told me that it didn't have to be fancy. In my world this doesn't qualify because it took about 10 minutes, but it sure sounds fancy.  

Roasted Sablefish with Cherry Tomatoes.

Chop a clove of garlic, pick some oregano from the garden. Turn on oven to broil. Take a hot pan. Add a bit of olive oil. When the oil is hot add your fish, flesh side down. Leave it for a minute or two until it is sealed and you can easily flip it without sticking. Toss in the garlic, add the dregs of a bottle of white wine. Once that has reduced a bit toss in a pint of cherry tomatoes, the oregano, and season. Place it in the oven for 5 minutes or so. Serve with linguini.

Oh, and the rest of the family had some fresh peas with feta and mint, but I did not touch those. We know how I feel about peas.

If It Wasn't For Her

Today it is all about my Nanny. And in two weeks it will still be all about my Nanny.

It may come as a big surprise to you, but I am not so independently wealthy that I get to do nothing but make ice cream and write blog posts. I only wish. Alas, I am in the office 4 days a week, freelancing and teaching on the side, and oh yeah, raising my two little ones. I could not do any of this without my Hubby, of course. And none of it would be possible without our Nanny.

Emily watches the girls while I'm at the office.  She is outside with them everyday, regardless of the weather, she brings them treats like ice cream bubbles, she cleans the house (even taking out the garbage), and most importantly to me, she bakes. Not only am I happy that my girls get even more time in the kitchen, but it is glorious to come home at the end of the day and have fresh cookies waiting for you.

The two most used cookbooks for cookie recipes are good ol' Martha and, more frequently, Julie's One Smart Cookie. The girls are never afraid to try a new recipe, despite The Monster's usual request to bake chocolate chip anything. When I came home the other day though, these raisin cookies greeted me at the door. My first question was which book they came from?

No book, it was Grandma's recipe.  And Emily has made it so many times she has it memorized. She graciously allowed me to share it here.

To be honest, I'd never thought I would obsess over raisin cookies. But these are moist, sweet, and chewy, with a hint of spice. A chocolate chip fan myself, I can safely say these are one of the best cookies I've ever had. Thank-you Emily, and thank-you Emily's Grandma.

Ridiculously Good Raisin Cookies

makes 4-5 dozen

2 cups raisins

1 cup water

1 tsp baking soda

1 cup butter

2 cups sugar

3 eggs

1 tsp vanilla

4 cups flour

1 tsp baking powder

1 tsp cinnamon

1/4 tsp nutmeg

1/2 tsp salt

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

2. In a small sauce pan boil water and raisins together for 5 minutes. Cool slightly and stir in baking soda.  Set aside.

3. Cream together butter and sugar. Add in eggs and vanilla.  Combine well. Stir in raisins then add in dry ingredients.

4. Drop by teaspoonfuls on a greased cookie sheet. Bake 12-15 minutes.

Birthday Dinner

It's my birthday and I'll cook if I want to.

After last week's miss of a good Sunday dinner, I cooked dinner tonight, even though it was my birthday. Oh, and I also was the one who got out of bed with the girls in the morning too. And cleaned up after dinner.  Let the record state that I only wanted to cook dinner.

Dinner tonight was a simple roast chicken. I adore roast chicken. It is about one of the easiest things you can make. I mean that, it is so damn easy.

1. Take chicken out of plastic.

2. Rinse chicken under cold water and pat dry.

3. Fill chicken cavity with garlic, fresh herbs of any variety, and fruit (lemon, apple, grapefruit - cut in quarters).

4. Drizzle chicken with olive oil. Season with salt, pepper, or a spice blend.

5. Bake for 20-25 minutes per pound in a 350 degree F (preheated oven).

6. When the leg moves freely and the juices run clear when the skin is pierced near the wing the chicken is done. Let rest for 20 minutes. Eat.

Tonight I roasted my chicken with garlic, rosemary, and a grapefruit. (We're out of lemons.) And I rubbed the skin with an Ethiopian Berbere spice blend that Aimee gave me. Oh, yum. Served with a pile of Gull Valley tomatoes tossed with Fairwinds Farm Goat Feta and the first of the Edgar Farms asparagus it was an easy, tasty, and ridiculously local dinner.

Good food aside, it is my birthday, so cake was necessary.  Hubby was willing to bake a simple chocolate cake, but I convinced him to pick up something at the market today. A Caramel Chocolate Tart from The Bakery at the Calgary Farmer's Market. Love the Wacky Cake, Hubby, but that tart was definitely better.

So the drama of split milk and singing Happy Birthday later, we finished the night with the first backyard fire of the season. 

Now that's a Sunday dinner!

Birthday Treats

It was Smilosaurus' birthday yesterday. This daredevil, evil genius child of mine is now 2. I'm not at all prepared for it. I don't have a baby any more and that's kind of tough to accept. The only thing that keeps me going is the fact that she is an itty bitty thing, and the thought of cakes on birthdays.

We'd initially planned a low key day.  I was at a conference for work, running into doppelgangers of ex boyfriends and nervously parking behind Ferraris. Hubby was lost in a pile of wood and hardware, putting together our new swing set. But on the way home from work I felt like we simply needed a cake for dinner. 

This cake needed to be more than a carrier for icing. Yes, icing is really the best part, but I was actually craving cake and I was hoping to make the girls like it for once. Knowing that I'd preemptively bought cream so I could make ice cream this weekend I decided I would make a simple butter cake and serve it with cream.  Nothing fancy, but just the right amount of pomp befitting a two year old.

So I turned to a classic recipe in this house, one I've made a half dozen times in the year or so since I've had the recipe. Lemon Glazed Butter Cake comes from a treasured Gourmet before they folded. And yes, the girls helped me make the cake. Is it wrong that that kid had to make her own cake? Maybe.  But in my defense, she wanted to.

In my world, one of the best flavour combos is lemon and white chocolate. So I served our cake with white chocolate cream.

The Monster loved the cake so much she ate two pieces and left most of the cream of the side. And Smilosaurus merely played with her cake, rubbing it into her dirty, bare legs as if it was lotion.  So, I think she liked it too. Happy Birthday Baby Girl!

White Chocolate Cream

4 ounces white chocolate, finely chopped

1 1/4 cup heavy cream

1. Place chopped chocolate in a sturdy bowl.  Heat 1/2 cup cream on the stove or in the microwave until hot, but not scalding.  Pour over chocolate and stir immediately. Chocolate should melt with stirring.  If it doesn't, heat, in bowl, over a small pot of simmering water until melted. Let cool until room temperature.

2. When the chocolate mixture is cool, whip remaining cream with a sturdy whisk and bowl or an electric mixer. Whip until it starts to fluff up and the beaters/whisk leave marks in the cream. Slowly whisk/beat in the chocolate cream, beat until the cream reaches the desired whipped cream consistency.  Serve immediately. Alternatively, you can refrigerate it for a white chocolate mousse.

A Toast

This past year I've been asked the same question a few times: if you could have dinner with anyone, dead or alive, who would it be? Without hesitation, my answer is my father-in-law. I would do anything to have him meet The Monster and Smilosaurus and enjoy a raucous dinner where he would surely win the nightly roaring contest.

On this day, six years ago, he passed away. We, his family, miss him everyday. And this morning, I will raise a cup of tea to him. He made anyone feel at home, even if you spilled red wine on his pastel couch and carpet within ten minutes of meeting him. He even had the dad gene that allows a man to have a pre-dinner nap in the midst of kitchen chaos and grandkids climbing on him. He laughed every day and made the rest of us laugh too, even if it was at his taste in sneakers or his appreciation of a good deal. Doug was a man who treasured a good meal and cherished good company. He valued his friends and held his family close.

To Doug.