where I succumb to the power of suggestion

The other day, Nora posted a picture on her blog. It was an innocuous photo, that had nothing to do with her post. She did mention to me that she had thought of me as she put it in her post after I wrote to her saying I now needed to go out and buy the product. The picture was of a litre carton of a Dutch custard called vla, nicely place in a lush green field. (I'd also like that green field, but apparently a snow storm is on its way). Vla comes in various flavours, like chocolate and banana, but by far the best flavour is vanilla.

I was introduced to vla when I lived in Holland many, many years ago. The family I was billeted with for for my first six months introduced me to many of the common Dutch foods, which had I been staying on my own (as I was for the rest of my time there) I would never had known about. Every night they had yogourt for dessert. every freaking night. This was back in the late 1970s and yoghourt was not as much of a staple food yet. It was also very different than any yogourt that we had in Canada. This was plain yogourt and not sweetened in any way and it had an entirely different consistency. We added our own sugar, which were large granules. Having been used to only refined sugar, these granules were a wonderfully tasty novelty and I added lots of them to my yoghourt. Then, one night a boat of this custard appeared on the table along with the bowl of yoghourt. Not being sure what the custom was, I watched as everyone spooned up the yoghourt into their plates (I seem to remember we used plates instead of bowls) and then poured a dollop of this custard on top. Then they gently swirled it all together. I followed suit. Yummy. Or to use the Dutch vernacular, lekker. Who would have ever thought of mixing custard and yoghourt together? The correct proportion of vla to yoghourt will yield a delectable flavour burst of tart and sweet.

It has become comfort food to me now, second only to warm rice pudding.

But Nora also asked, ever so innocently, in her email if, when I went to the Dutch Shop, I would also buy hagelslag, which are chocolate sprinkles. I hadn't planned on it. I have almost gotten myself sick of chocolate and Nutella over the Christmas season.
But then, I thought about how good that would be, on fresh, white bread with a thick layer of butter holding all the little sprinkles in place....






except I came home and realized I only had rye bread. and no plain yoghourt.

no worries.

I've been under the weather, I deserve comforting

thanks, Nora.

now I will just try to not think about how much I paid for this treat
(4.47 euros - go ahead, break my heart and tell me how much it really costs)




I tend not to look at too many of the items in this store since everything but the fresh foods is imported, it tends to be rather expensive. And pretty much everything of the other kitchen supplies you can now get here and not only in Europe. Except for this one thing I have been searching for in vain for years.

and there, on top of the deli counter, for some inexplicable reason was a jar full of these.

This must be the best kitchen utensil since the spoon - a flessenlikker, literally a bottle licker.






And on the link I added for the wikipedia explanation of vla I discovered that this implement was actually designed to get all that liquidy goodness out of the tall glass bottles it originally came in. Unfortunately, vla now comes in cartons which still makes getting all of it out difficult. Apparently it is almost unknown outside the Netherlands. I can't wait until I need it to scrape the sides of the Nutella jar.

pb&?

There was a a discussion around the table the other night that got a bit heated. Everyone had an opinion and in the end no one seemed to be persuaded to the other side. At least no one was left with hurt feelings or a bad taste in their mouth.

Who knew there were so many wrong ways to eat peanut butter?

At the most basic level was the brand - around these parts, Kraft vs Skippy vs a store brand. Then there was the natural vs the processed. And let's not forget smooth vs crunchy. But, really, just because it says 'butter' in the name, does not make it a replacement for butter. Butter enhances the flavour of the peanut butter.

First, and perhaps foremost, without the creamy smoothness of the butter, there is a good chance the peanut butter will be sticking to the roof of your mouth for hours. If you are making a peanut butter sandwich, you need to put something on the other slice of bread. And if you are adding another condiment, then the butter acts as a barrier so that it doesn't soak into the bread and make a soggy sandwich.

An unscientific study says that honey is the peanut butter sandwich adornment of choice for Canadians over the American preference for jam or jelly. Personally, I like banana. Or, if I am feeling particularly decadent, Nutella. Peanut butter and bacon makes a nice sandwich, too. Interestingly, my brother and I came to this discovery independent of each other and were the only ones at the table discussion who had thought to try the combination.

So, where do you weigh in on this?

market day

a foray to the market brought home a plateful* of goodies (and more)

what do you think I ate first for breakfast..................?

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*not meant to be consumed at one sitting

In an effort to regain a semi normal sleep pattern, I have decided to forego coffee.

It has been 78 hours.*

There may be periods of irritability.


that's 78 hours since my last cup of coffee, not sleep.


If you are visiting from the black box, drop a line in my comments box and say hello. I'll likely still be awake.

shoes and cheese

Normally I do not enjoy shopping. I will put it off for as long as possible. Which is why I was frantically seeking shoes for the wedding I was to attend the day before my flight. I went into the other mall in my town, the one with the better shoe stores, and found a nice pair of strappy sandals at the first store at the top of the escalator. So, having time to kill before meeting my friend for coffee, I kept wandering to the other shoe stores, just in case, y'know. And found these
They are NAOT. The photo doesn't show off the lovely 'burnt copper' colour, which looks more burgundy to me. They are absolutely the most comfortable shoes I have ever worn in my life. It was like walking in my slippers. They were just as comfy with or without socks. I hiked up and down hills and around the streets and through the tourist sites and to various groceries, galleries and gardens...my feet blissfully unaware they were being made to work. They almost made me want to walk even more.

To walk around shops in Britain is much more fun than doing so in Canada. Don't know why, but when I am on holiday I love to shop. I could happily spend an hour in a grocery store admiring the different products, the packaging, the prices! And everything looks so different in the dress and decor shops - well they would, wouldn't they? Since I only had carry on luggage I was severely restricted in my purchases.

Which, in the grand scheme of things was fine as I was really spending all my money on things like coffee and food. Everywhere seemed to be busy with prospective buyers of whatever was available, though I am not sure how those Brits manage with the prices of everything. An example was one treat of a light snack of 2 coffees, 1 tea, and 2 muffins which came to a not unusual grand total of 8.25 BPS that translated to 18.15 CAD.

I fell in love with something called a Love Bar from Pret-a-Manger - eating my way through 6 of them while in Bath. I didn't even try to calculate the calories or the cost of the small but yummy bar. I pretended the almonds, pistachios and vanilla pumpkin seeds made it healthy.

I then moved on to devouring as much smoked salmon as I could. Which was no difficult chore. It was everywhere. In my scrambled eggs at the hotel, in the take out sandwiches at Pret and Marks&Spencer. In every restaurant and pub we visited, there it was on the menu just as if it were an everyday ordinary thing to include in a sandwich or salad like, say, tomato. Or cheese. Oh, and the cheese they offer? Not Swiss or Cheddar or Havarti. No, it would be Brie!

And then there is that little joy of buying wine in a Marks or Tesco's...

So, my shoes were the best investment I made.

palace soother

A refreshing drink on the balcony watching the sun set.
Feeling slightly calmer. Slightly less stressed.
Still worrying. Still feeling so *%$&! stupid.

I was so positive that my passport expired in October that I never bothered to check. So when I did and saw the date 1 Aug 08 ... well you can imagine the sinking feeling. The horror. The panic.

Today I drove down to St Catharines so I could get into a less busy passport office without having to endure too long a wait. That part worked very well. Before I even had a chance to sit down my number was called. But because I didn't have my plane tickets yet, they cannot expedite the process. There's always the chance it could be ready to be picked up by next Tuesday but they can only guarantee 10 days. That's 10 business days. We have a holiday next Monday. That puts it to Aug 13th. I fly out on the 14th. I can still work myself up into anxiety mode a little. Imagining all kinds of silly things that could go wrong. Like, I misspelled my name on the form. Or I put in a wrong number somewhere. Or they cannot contact either of my references ... silly, I know. My body is listening to the words of friends and the voices inside my head that vascillate from "don't worry, it'll all work out fine" to "omg, I would just be freaking the whole time". I will not completely relax until I have that little blue book in my hands.

In the meantime, I made one of these. Then another.


Palace Soother

Fill a cocktail shaker with ice.

Add 1 1/2 oz blended scotch,

2 oz each mango juice, passion fruit juice and orange juice

and shake sharply.

Strain into an old fashioned glass filled with ice and garnish with a fresh mango or orange slice.

bees knees

It seemed such a lovely way to spend an afternoon. Sitting by the water partaking of the Strawberry Social. My friend Jan was even willing to share most of the cream in the bowl of strawberries and cream we had together. She ate her tart on her own. Now, I know that I am allergic to strawberries, but have managed to be able to eat maybe two or three at a sitting if each bite is surrounded by cream or yoghourt or, my personal fave - custard. But not this time. This years crop is not liking me as much. I haven't felt like this since the summer of 1994, when even a hint of a strawberry, or tomato, or kiwi would set my mouth on fire with tiny pimply boil like eruptions. Most unpleasant, to put it mildly.

I am feeling better today. Less fire, but certainly a lot of tenderness. The roof of my mouth and the insides of my cheeks and my lower lip are a bit raw. I thought the yoghourt would help. It seems to have the most pleasing consistency to gently coat and cool and soothe. Then I got hungry and last night thought maybe some honey would be good. After all it is good for sore throats.

Big mistake. Having it on a slice of freshly baked, very soft bread with 1/4 inch of butter also a mistake. Sigh. I was really looking forward to that.

Honey slides down your throat much easier than off the roof of your mouth.
I tried to move it along with my tongue, which only moved the pimply skin on the roof of my mouth - agony. Next instinctual move is to SUCK it off the surface. So now I am pulling all this tender, loose, pimply skin. I held my face in one of those isometric exercises for as long as I could until the suction finally released and I fell to my knees. I found a hand mirror to check that I still had skin on the inside of my mouth. It was not a pretty sight. All white and puffy. I felt very sorry for myself.

But it made me think about honey. Anything to distract. Another blogger mentioned that her son was taking a beekeeping class. Sounds intriguing. Then I read about a truck that turned over on a highway in NB spilling its load of 12 million bees. The bees were being shared by Ontario to help pollinate their blueberries as there are not enough around. And there is the Honey Moon Suite on top of the Royal York Hotel that is now home to 3 beehives after a bit of a struggle with the city. There are various laws that govern keeping hives within certain distances of residential areas, even at 16 storeys above. You wouldn't think there'd be enough for the bees to live on, but along with the rooftop garden for them to play in, there is a buffet feast in the ravines and the islands for them to gorge on. I've learned that bees travel about in 12 km range, so whatever is grown in that specific area is found in the honey they produce. You cannot get more local than that. And I'll bet most people walking along Front, or King or Queen or coming out of Union Station aren't even aware of them.

I used to drive past an apiary almost every day when I lived farther away, and I loved to stop by their roadside stand and try out their different honeys. When I was growing up, we only had Billy Bee Honey. Usually creamed. Sometimes, if my mother felt adventurous it might be buckwheat honey. What a sheltered life we had in the 60's. The first time I ever tasted anything more decadent than Clover honey was in New Zealand - their honey rivals their ice cream and would warrant a return visit just for that if my carbon footprint wouldn't put the buying spree through the roof. Now it is possible to find honey of many hues and textures and flavours. From many different countries. Local is good. But so is honey from every part of the world. And, amazingly, honey is one product that can be made naturally in every climate. Every jar is subtly different. Every taste an experience like no other. What I have in my cupboard now is a Blueberry and a Pear Blossom. At $7.95 a jar it is not to be wasted.

Therefore, I sucked all that honey from the inside of my mouth and shed a tear.

doleful cows

Ben & Jerry's is on sale!


and what is everyone's favourite flavour?
(does anyone know where Vermonty Python slithered off to? haven't found it in a long time)

New 6 week diet starts tomorrow.

what is in my fridge

I have always wanted a Smeg Refrigerator.

I don't believe I have ever seen one in real life.

But every time I see one in any of the UK design magazines I am addicted to, I drool.

Swoon, even.

And dream.

My small windowless kitchen would be transformed with such an aesthetic beauty gracing the corner.

Its rounded curves and luscious handle, its sleek 50's design would be perfect for a 1962 kitchen.

However, I do not have one of these.

I do at least have a frost free model with a separate freezer.

And it was desperately needing a bit of a clear out I realized, when I bought a tub of ice cream that wouldn't fit in the freezer even after the bag of chicken legs fell out. And those three cartons of juice that were on special? Not a chance unless the containers of unidentified fuzzy stuff were removed, along with the carton of eggs I'd completely forgotten about. There's more, but I won't bore you, or demoralize myself with the details.

I do believe you can tell something about a person by what is in their fridge. Some people are very private and do not like you helping yourself. Me, I love to snoop.

So one hour later all is in order.

What is left is the following:
1 litre of milk
3 750g containers of yogourt
1 tub cream cheese
1 jar mayonnaise
2 1lb butter
1 lime shaped bottle RealLime 1 lemon shaped bottle RealLemon
1 container store bought salad
6 small packets salad dressing
2 pints raspberries (each partialy eaten already) 1 pint blueberries

9 strawberries
1 jar Presidents Choice Butter Chicken sauce
3 1.89litres of Tropicana Juice (on sale 3/$5)
1 bottle V8
1 bottle POM juice (like the glass, hate the juice, saving to offer guest?)
1 jar peach preserves, 1 jar grapefruit marmalade
2 bottles flavoured maple syrup (blueberry, apple)
1 jug Brita water
1 jar pesto, 1 bottle HP sauce
1 bottle pomegranate paste, 2 jars curry paste
1 jar mango chutney, 1 jar banana chutney
2 red peppers, 1 head broccoli, 3 carrots
1 package Olivieri pasta
1 container freshly made tuna salad

2 tetrapak of wine (individual servings, so cute, so perfect)

And the Tupperware containers are soaking in the sink.

For another day.

I'm having ice cream.

And marinating chicken legs.

I am distracted so easily

I saw these new bags from ESPE and fell in love. Again. Every season they bring out a new whimsical style. And I think I must have one. Again.

Now, my cell phone pleaded for its own little purse, but I held my ground.
And bought one of these instead.

Just to keep my credit cards from crying.

peanut butter days

I know what it is I have to do.

The sun is shining, the lake is shimmering, the door is open and the curtain gently blowing in the breeze.

Yet, somehow I cannot make myself do it. I cannot make myself do anything.

For several days (or weeks, actually, if I were to be completely honest) I have been living within myself. Within my pyjamas. They are comfy enough for lounging in so if I absolutely do not have to go anywhere I will not bother getting dressed. If there is still peanut butter in the house and bread to put it on (soft, fresh light rye) I do not need to eat anything else.

It starts with a craving. Then extends to beyond the craving to simple inertia.

A little while ago I was reading another blogger who referred to her "peanut butter days" and I sat up immediately and thought: that is me, that describes my days right now. Her meaning of peanut butter days was different than mine, but I have had those kinds of peanut butter days, too. Oh my, yes. Scary, frustrating, impotent, totally stressful crunchy peanut butter days. But this, this is more like smooth peanut butter days. Pure comfort food.

I know that if I force myself to go for a walk I will feel better. If I phone a friend and meet up for coffee or a stroll through the gardens I may feel refreshed. I sometimes do that. And I do feel better. Alive. But it is a fleeting feeling. It lasts moments, then suddenly I am wearied of it all. I fake the gaiety. The smile becomes forced. I start to become impatient, and slightly ill-tempered. I long to get away. To be home. To be alone. How to explain this? How to deal with the fact that this company, this activity which had been enjoyable moments ago is now, inexplicably, overwhelmingly burdensome.

So, if she will allow me to borrow her phrase... I have read her posts (all of them by now, although I have not commented on any - I will, sometime) and I have read of the horror that she has gone through. The pain that she still endures.

What I am going through is no horror. It is not even really painful. It is ... spiritless.

These are my peanut butter days.

my brain says:

The cat had been sleeping on my chest again. So I woke up, moved and choked on a cloud of cat hair. My brain said something unpleasant followed by something that sounded an awful lot like "coffee". I could be wrong about that, but that's what I chose to hear.

I didn't want to get out of bed, but since I was awake, and since I had nothing pressing to do today (hooray!) and since it looked to be a lovely day out, I did the usual things to make myself less depraved looking and headed out on the bike path towards the local coffee house (LCH). The 'bike path route' is a bit of a misnomer as only about 100 yards is actually a path before heading through parking lots and sidestreets. Still. The other option is the 'Lakeshore Route', which really is just the name of the street as the actual bit that goes directly along the lake shore is beyond the LCH.

This is how my mind has been working lately. A bit scattered, a bit semantic.

About two and a half blocks before getting to the LCH, I pass by the local public house (LPH). Now pubs are not known for good coffee, but it did have a patio with all the necessary accoutrements: namely tables, chairs and unfurled umbrellas. And a server. I hesitated. Offered up a Good Afternoon to the server.

The blue sky, the white clouds, the pink cherry blossoms, the yellow forsythia, the red and purple tulips, the lime green of the new leaves against the gold of the church dome. And the amber glow of the lager. Altogether a colourful afternoon. Perfect.


Came home to find the cat sleeping on the pillow. Not quite so perfect.