School's out for summer...

....and so am I.
Taking a break, and hoping to be back soon!
Thank you all for taking the time to read my musings.
Barbara

Happy Birthday to You!

To tell you the truth, I didn't expect to write anything at all this week. I was ready to take the week off...until just now. I started to think about my daughter's birthday, which is today, and then my mind went to...birthday cake.

Is it just me, or does birthday cake have to taste mediocre to be really good?

I was raised with a mother and grandmother who could bake the best of the best. We had 3 desserts every night at dinner (I swear, I'm telling the truth here...dessert was always and still is quite revered in my household). There was never a bad dessert that passed my lips. They were always homemade. Except for birthday cakes. We kids deemed that they HAD to be bought, because to us, bought cakes were decadent.

I have many fond memories peering through the window of the bakery at Dominion Store (do any exist anymore, anywhere in Canada?) as the brilliant ladies decorated birthday cakes. They glopped white icing on sheet cakes, added piping and coloured flowers faster than I could ever imagine. These were works of art! There was no such thing as Cake Boss back then. It was white or chocolate glop on a cake, with maybe a plastic something stuck on top. THAT was a birthday cake. And to me, it still is.

So, I didn't make my little girl a birthday cake today. She only gets the best from me...the best of the bought...glop and all!

Happy Birthday to you, my baby girl!

Embrace Your Banana!

I have never been an athlete. When it comes to moving, I subscribe to the 2000 Year Old Man's (Mel Brooks in famous interviews with Carl Reiner) explanation (well, one of them) as to his longevity. In order to live a long life, he believes one should 'never run for a bus. There will always be another'. I heartily agree, and so it is for that reason, plus not enjoying sweating that I do not run.

And I hate swimming. When I was a kid in swimming class and couldn't swim far, my instructor would step on my hand as I'd reach for the pool ledge. I can swim, but I don't enjoy it.

To quote my late father, "I hate the winter so much, I hate it from last year", so there goes all winter activities (although I have tried snowshoeing and enjoyed it, but that's an anomoly).

I do not play any sports. The only thing I really love to do is walk. I can walk long distances and truly enjoy it. And hiking. That's fun, too.

Now, enter New Hubby, the 'anti-me' when it comes to all things outdoors. He's a tri-athlete, which means he can swim, bike and run long distances. He has run marathons. He's even done Iron Man Canada--twice. He has also participated in the Princess Margaret Ride to Conquer Cancer every year since its inception.

For two years, I watched him train for that 200k ride, taking him from Toronto to Hamilton on Day 1, and then Hamilton to Niagara Falls on Day 2. I would meet him in Hamilton and then again at the finish line. It's quite impressive. And it's all for a good cause. I don't know what got into me, but last year when he finished the ride, I told him that I would do the ride with him this year, but with a catch--we would do it on his tandem--a bicycle built for two (I ain't getting on no bike myself...gave that up when I was twelve). The deal was simple; he would ride, and I would sip pina coladas and wave. He accepted, and I forgot all about it....until February, when he reminded me of my promise.

And so, we began to train. We started indoors--hated that. He tried so hard, letting me watch the Food Channel while we pedalled away. Anything to get me pumped. Didn't work. Still hated it.

Finally, the weather warmed up enough to start biking outdoors. Slowly, slowly I began to build up my strength and stamina. He took me on rides with beautiful scenery to make it interesting. He didn't overwork me. He gave me the 'spa' treatment...I didn't even have to fill my water bottle or get the snacks. He did it all. All I had to do was ride.

Before I knew it, I was conquering one challenge after another, training for the big day. First, I began building my stamina. Next, I attacked some pretty steep hills, including the dreaded (in my mind) Niagara Escarpment. I even succeeded riding through cold and wind. It seemed that I was almost ready for the Ride, until I had to face the final, unspoken personal challenge. I had to get through eating a banana.

As a child, my brother used to sing a little song to me, "Bananas are my favourite, because they have a-ppeal'. Well, not to me, they don't. I don't like them. I don't like how they smell and I don't like how they taste. The conundrum is however, that bananas are the absolute perfect cycling food.

Yes, bananas are considered a super-food for athletes. They contain three natural sugars, glucose, fructose and sucrose which provide enough carbs and sugar to fuel the ride. Also, they have lots of fibre, to keep you feeling full. Thjey are healthy, natural replacements for gels and drinks and such that athletes tend to use all the time. They just smell and taste gross.

So, it just so happened that we had some fairly firm, unripe bananas in the kitchen. New Hubby decided to take two of them on our last practice ride. When we stopped to snack, I downed half of my homemade granola bar, and thought we were done. That is, until the banana appeared. New Hubby peeled it and offered me some. I hesitated, but then imagined all of the other hurdles I had managed to conquer. I took a deep breath, took off a chunk and popped it into my mouth. And I am proud to report that it tasted......

....like a banana. But at least it wasn't too ripe, so it was okay. Another challenge ticked off the list.

Well dear readers, the only challenge that remains is the Ride itself. It takes place this weekend, June 9th and 10th. As I've said to all the wonderful donors who have sponsored me, none of what I'm doing compares to the challenges that cancer sufferers endure each day. New Hubby and I will put in the hours, climb the hills and brave the winds.

And maybe, I'll eat a banana or two along the way!

Aow, would it really be loverly?

Ok, here's the train of thought...

I am here at the computer trying to avoid noshing something else before dinner. As I daydream about what I would like to eat, I am taking a mental inventory of what is in my 'candy cupboard'. It is fairly well stocked right now, as my daughter and I recently visited our favourite bulk food store. In my mind, I am surveying the land, vacillating from from milk chocolate almonds to dried veggie chips and back to dried fruit, when all of a sudden in my sweet/salt stupor I'm stricken with the strangest thought: When did I start liking these foods? Have my tastes changed over the years? Since I know that I will never be what one might call 'sophisticated', have my tastes arrived before the rest of me?

In the years that it was on TV, I got a huge weekly kick out of watching the fictional Frasier and his brother Niles on, Frasier. These gastronomic geniuses knew their food and wine as well as any of the editors or columnists of Gourmet. And while we're on the topic of food snobs, I must admit, there is something really admirable about those judges on TV shows who can discern certain flavours, and compare one dish to another so expertly. I think it's really cool that some people have vast knowledge of different foods. Especially cool are those who know their spices. I'm galaxies away from being one of those people. Those are sophisticated people, with sophisticated palates.

So here I salivate, thinking about the snacks in my cupboard and wonder, what happened to Cheezies? Have I 'grown out of' Fritos Corn Chips? Does the term 'developing world' now refer to people's tastes in food?

I am going out on a limb here to say...no. People might like dried this and that, and yogurt covered you-name-its, but they still love chips and pretzels and cheezies. And here is what I'm basing it on. Bar Mitzvahs. Bear with me while I explain...

A sit down Bar (or Bat) Mitzvah meal in North America is usually one of beauty. Guests are served their beef, chicken or fish (or combination thereof) on a bed of something or another. There is almost always some jus de je ne sais quoi poured over the main, as well as a 'medley' of vegetables, served either beside or tucked underneath the star food. The presentation is always lovely. The guests ooh and aah, nod to their tablemates and then begin to tuck into their meals. For a few moments, all is well. But things change quickly. Before you know it, all heads begin to turn toward the kids' tables.

While the grown ups are being served their gourmet fare, the tots and teens are, more often than not, chowing down on chicken fingers or wings and french fries. As the meal progresses, the adults, who until now have been alternating between lively conversation and longing glances at the kiddie table, begin to conspire with the others at the table. The brave, designated adult gives the beckoning finger to their children from across the room. No, they don't want a hug, or even to say hi. All these parents really want are some of the chicken fingers and the french fries, and they want their children to fetch some for them. Sometimes surreptitiously, other times blatantly after the children refuse to comply, the grown ups make their way from their tables to their children's. The phrase, 'you're not going to eat all of these, are you?' is whispered, and so go the spoils.

You now ask, does anything change when it's time for dessert? The answer is simple. No, it does not. The fancy mousses are always traded in for the (pareve) ice cream sandwiches. My point here is clear; we may pretend that we like to eat fancy things and that our tastes are sophisticated, but when both options are put before us, the call of the basic and simple remains strong.

So, go ahead; tell me how wrong I am. You can say what you want, but this Eliza Doolittle won't hear you, because she's scrounging for goodies. Mmmmmm, Lots of choc'lates for me to eat.......

A Simple Pleasure if you Dare

This blog posting is coming to you late. To tell you the truth, I'm in a funk. I'm afraid that my Shavuot is not going to be the one I expected. Why, you may ask? It's Dare's fault.

Every year since I was a child, Shavuot meant Zebra cake. My mother would take her grey Melmac plate out of the cupboard. She would begin with chocolate wafer cookies and then alternate them with whipped cream. It was amazing how the plate was the exact right size to use up all the cookies. When the log was done, she would slather the whole thing with more whipped cream and some chocolate sprinkles on top. It would then go into the fridge overnight. Poof! The next day when the beast was cut in a slant, we would have the perfect Zebra cake.

I have enjoyed this cake every year since I was a child. I make it for my children (ok, it's as much for me as it is for them) using Dare's Simple Pleasures Chocolate Wafers. But not this year. I can't find the cookies.

I know they exist. I checked on the website, but I've had no luck. I have been to four or five grocery stores (and in different cities) looking for the cookies. Oh, I can find plain ones, and oatmeal ones. I'm sure they're tasty, but they are not chocolate. And I REFUSE to use those gawdawful chocolate petit beurres. They're too thick and not chocolatey enough. Besides, they are the absolute wrong shape.

I had hoped that this posting would have a happily ever after element to report. I was hoping that I could end this telling you that I found the cookies at the one place I had forgotten about. Alas, this is not to be.

I do have a few hours left. Maybe they'll magically appear..............Guess I'll be stuck eating rich, yummy cheese cake. One must always make sacrifices.
Wishing you all a wonderful Shavuot.

I need a ...something

The other night, I had made a simple dinner...gazpacho, smoked lake trout, fresh ciabatta buns and a platter of cheeses. One would think that after that, I would have been sated....but I wasn't. I wanted...a something. But what?

I went to my goodies cupboard, flung open the doors and stared at the shelves hoping that something would pop out at me, like magic. What was it that I could possibly want? Some dried fruit maybe? No...that wasn't it. A cookie? Nyaaa, not really. Some chocolate? Okay, why not? I took a piece of a chocolate bar with almonds--dark chocolate and nuts, two healthy alternatives in one treat! It was yummy, but no, I said to myself, licking my lips, that wasn't it, either.

Maybe the 'it' wasn't in the cupboard, I wondered. Maybe 'it' was in the fridge. Let's just say you can read the above paragraph and apply it to the refrigerator, except that there was no chocolate in there.

Sadly, there wasn't anything in the freezer that would help me with this problem. In the end, I made a cup of tea, ate an apple, turned on some country or another's Idol, cracked open a few pistachios (I don't know why anyone would eat pistachios already shelled...the action of opening those little guys releases a heck of a lot of tension) and eventually forgot about my plight, kinda sorta.

I started wondering, is there a particular element that is needed to make a treat the perfect something? Is it better if it's crunchy? Chewy? Cold? Hot? Smooth in texture? Dense (thinking cheese cake here)?What about salty, or does the word chocolate (or caramel, or a combination...) just do the trick?

One of the reasons my cookie jar is devoid of cookies at the moment is because my daughter has informed me that although my Ginger Snaps are yummy, they, so she says, are winter cookies. I must come up with a spring/summer one (suggestions anyone?). Perhaps her 'something' must be seasonal.

I'm not so sure of what elements might make up the perfect snack that could satisfy everyone. I suppose that's why the snack aisle at the grocery store is so enormous.

All I do know is that I'm in the mood for something.......

I'll have the Caesar Salad

When I was growing up, Airplane in the Hangar was a very popular game at the family dinner table. My brother was the designated stunt pilot. His mission was to coerce me, Miss Very Picky Eater, into finishing my meal. I was forever the reluctant diner. I maintained that food was simply a necessary waste of my time. However, in as much as I was completely disinterested in eating, my brother was sufficiently entertaining so as to get me to comply. He would fly that food-filled fork around in dizzying circles before landing it into my mouth. Needless to say, getting me to eat was a chore...except when we went to a restaurant.

It always baffled my mother that I never needed to be coaxed into eating when I was dining out. I would pleasantly chow down my food until there was nothing left on the plate and still have room for dessert. Now, one could understand this behaviour had my mother been a lousy cook; but that was not the case. Still, the one thing she knew for sure was that if she wanted me to eat, all she had to do was to take me out for a meal.

A couple of weeks ago, I was dining at a restaurant with New Hubby. As we were eating, I realized just how happy I was being out to dinner. Yes, of course, the company was fabulous and that most definitely helped to make the evening fantastic, but I needed to figure out where the giddiness was coming from. What makes restaurants so alluring? I decided to poll a few people and see what they thought.

The first answer was completely practical; restaurants mean no cooking, serving, and best of all, no cleaning up afterward. One simply sits down, eats and leaves. This reason makes a lot of sense, but begs the question, do people who have live-in help doing all of the food preparation, therefore erasing the need for any of the above chores, lack the desire to go to a restaurant? I'm not so sure about that one.

For some, going out to eat is about eating different foods than you get at home. I for one tend to order food that I usually don't make in my own kitchen. I find it a luxury to eat gnocchi, Pad Thai or something else that I consider too patchkadik to make.

New culinary experiences are always great reasons to visit a restaurant. Here in Greater Toronto, we are blessed with so many different and diverse cultures. Our city boasts many recent immigrants, so they as first generation Canadians bring their culture's authentic cooking to the city. It's a treat to explore the world through food right at home.

Another reason to eat at a restaurant is to enjoy a private conversation (even with yourself. Don't knock dining alone. I was never good at it, but I think it's an art when done well). One of my favourite quotes from The Great Gatsby explains this perfectly: "And I like large parties. They’re so intimate. At small parties there isn’t any privacy.” The busier the restaurant, the more private the conversation can be.

Although the above are all valid reasons, for me, going to a restaurant is all about the experience itself. The excitement begins with the anticipation of going somewhere different than home. It could be somewhere familiar, where I know what to expect, or perhaps somewhere where a new culinary adventure awaits. Walking in the door of a restaurant is akin to entering a new world, with different people, different sights and unique aromas and tastes.

And then there's my favourite thing: the menu! The menu offers treats of all kinds. I love reading menus, and imagining how the description of a particular food item might translate into what will eventually tingle my taste buds. I love that there's a choice of what to eat, and that I get to choose what I want to eat. I think choosing what you want to eat is pretty decadent, don't you?

Once the meal is ordered, all that's left is the anticipation of the meal itself. I wait, hoping that what I have just ordered will be exactly what I had expected. That gamble, that little bit of the unknown adds to the suspense and eventual surprise as the meal arrives in front of me.

Of course, all of the other reasons mentioned come into play to make restaurant eating a wonderful way to spend some time. And if the meal turns out less than stellar or the service isn't what had been expected or the couple at the next table were acting in a ridiculous manner, it all becomes a topic of conversation which still provides entertainment.

And doesn't everyone likes a bit of entertainment now and then?