Spring has sprung. I am in awe yearly that the maple knows to wake up as a maple and the chives know to grow just for me and my scrambled eggs. Yes, I have studied enough science to know that the secret code is all in the DNA but who made the DNA? I remember doing a project on “what makes a flower bloom” in grade three and the grade three answers I found were no more satisfying than post secondary Bio-Chem. I prefer to think this plant renewal a miracle no less than the one of the birth of a child.

To take full advantage of the earth’s knowledge I have been working on my front and back gardens bit by bit, year by year, sale of plants (that are almost dead) by sale.  I have been careful to work in perrenial herbs and edible plants wherever I can but I am almost ready to start a Victory garden in my front yard.

I am as optomistic as they come but I do think that we will have a need to grow our own food in my lifetime. I was a huge Mad Max fan in my formative years and this world hasn’t gotten any simpler since then.  Chatting about such gardens with a client, she shared the story of a woman in Rosedale who did plant a vegetable garden in her front yard. Much to the suprize, chagrin and helplessness of her neighbors!

I want to meet that woman. The one who had the courage to buck the trend and do something sensible rather than simply beautiful. The one that the neighbors will be asking for help or advice when the garden produces. That woman who puts her own two hands in the soil to produce food that is more nourishing and delicious than anything she can buy at the grocery store. Does she wear high heels? Cause that’s another thing I’m working up the courage to change.

This year, I’ll grow my cherry tomatoes up the front trellis as I always do but I’m looking for things to add to my tiny space in subtle ways…blackberry bush? fruit tree? I suppose I’ll make my changes one at a time and hope that time is my friend.

I hate winter. The only thing that seems to cheer me up during the sub-zero, grey days of January is hot cocoa.

Now I am not talking about the trans fat laden crap that is available. I am talking about the stuff of the Mayan gods. Here is how I make it.

1 Tbsp cocoa powder *

2 tsp  maple syrup

6 oz boiling water

2 oz milk

*cocoa powder is dried ground dark chocolate if you buy the right one. “Dutch processed” means that it uses an alkaline to remove the bitterness. Guess what? The bitterness is the good for you part. You need to search to find a cocoa powder that is not Dutch processed. I found one and it isn’t the high end organic fair trade brand, it’s the no name brand. Go figure, the cheap one is better for me.

Use a whisk or a fork to blend together the cocoa powder and the maple syrup in a large mug. This step takes a little bit of work but it is crucial as it will make the final product frothy. Pour boiling water into the mug and stir. Stir in milk. 

Take mug in two hands (cause your fingers are freezing, too, admit it) and inhale. Take a break and enjoy knowing that you are doing something good for your body and soul. Then book a vacation to where the real Mayans lived if only in your mind.  

Ah, the day after Christmas, tea in hand, carnage behind and garbage underfoot. “Let’s just stay in our jammies and read the paper” “Oh shoot, is that the sound of garbage day?”

Out of his seat in a flash, dashing cross the lawn, green bin in hand. The sacrifice of modern husband whose morbid fear that anyone (other than I) should see him in pajamas long forgotten, this brave soul makes it in time to see the guy on the back of the truck just as it pulls away. Blessed must be this man’s heart for he waves with a work-gloved hand to said husband to a spot across the street where such bin may be safely laid for pick up on the way back.

Mortified is our teenaged daugther that a photo of her dad may end up on facebook or her mother may post the story for the world.  She was settled with a “hush now, dear” neither shall happen, there, there, put your earbuds back in, surely music will soothe.”

The garbage at the end of such a festive season used to signal  to me such waste, such North American blatant overconsumption. Until my Vietnamese Hairdresser (and trusted advisor) helped me see otherwise.  He, who floated amongst the dead and dying of his fellow refugees for days and days with nothing in sight but water. But, not unlike the story of Noah and the dove with the olive branch, one day, did arrive a sign.  A sighting of civilization so profound that it gave them hope.  A visual reminder that others did indeed live and may take them in. Finally….garbage. Floating upon the water, refuse, discard, junk. 

The sign that they had become close enough to the promised land to see another day was so simple as this. This stuff that my warrior ran to the man with the gloved hand who showed us where to leave our junk. This reminder that me and mine have lived another year as ecologically aware as we could be but still producing junk.  We are us, we are a civilization who have collectively, to varying degrees, generated our share. Thanks to the man with the gloved hand, we aren’t drowning in it. Thanks to the man with the gentle hands who makes my hair look pretty who helps me see that we may be doomed but it isn’t all bad. Thanks to the man in grey pajamas who carried it across the street. And, thanks to the holiday that is behind us. I shall read the paper in my jammies, now, and discard it later for recycling.

I recently had the pleasure of coaching a mom with twin 5 month olds. It only seemed natural to help her decide when and what to feed the twins when they were ready for food.  Before even thinking about what to feed these innocent angels, there ensued a discussion of when to feed them. Here are my points:

Baby Readiness Signs:

• Sits up well
• Controls head and neck well (can signal fullness by turning away)
• Controls tongue well (mastication and movement)
• Tracks spoon with eyes
• Grabs for your food on your lap
• Opens mouth when being fed
• Use adjusted age if they are premature (between 6 and 9 months)

What happens if you wait too long?: After 9 months may refuse textures.After 9-12 months need external iron source 

What can happen if you start too early?

Increased risk of choking, allergies, gas, reduces truly beneficial breast milk, increases risk of obesity. 

What time of day?

• Pick your baby’s “happy time” to start.

• Consistently use this “meal” as a learning, playing, exploring time
• Allow 1 hour but don’t expect to use the whole hour every day
• Mom’s job for the first month, anyone else’s after that
• After a breast feed (stop slightly earlier than usual so they are not overly full but the “edge” is of their hunger)

When deciding what to serve it helps to remember that these first few months are less about getting the nutrition from the food and more about learning to eat as well as eating habits. That said, I am not a fan of processed baby foods and fall more into the naturopathic and nutritional camp of fruits and vegetables first. The belief being that if we are teaching taste and texture, I want my kid to develop a habit of real and whole foods.  Encouraging a taste for a processed, dehydrated, re-hydrated product just doesn’t make sense to me. My 12 year, hopefully as a result of this approach, prefers collard greens and broccoli to just about anything other than the occasional loaf of fluffy french bread. 

I do fear buffet tables and the ensuing self loathing as much as the next gal. I don’t know why people think that just because I know about food means that I always get it right. It helps to have an arsenal of techniques to get through the  scene.

Here are mine:

·        Do not skip  meals nor skimp on the day of a party

·        Do skimp on the day after

·        Double up the psyllium (sil-ee-um) fibre for a week or two

·        Work out the day of

·        Bring a healthy snack for the hostess and insist that it go on the buffet

·        Eat a hard boiled egg and an apple before you go·        Go straight to the buffet; eat as many veggies as you can. Limit to 2 tsp of dip.·        Now leave the buffet·        Use a small plate and a tall glass·        Choose the protein options other than cheese·        Make a promise to yourself that you will not eat standing up!·        Drink 1 full glass of water before you have any alcohol·        Drink vodka and cranberry juice with lime or red wineo       No more than 1 drink per hour

o       Alternate with soda water with lime

 Do not beat yourself up! Get back on track the next day, nothing motivates more than guilt! But only for a day.

I have been engaged in developing recipes for the slow cooker and can’t imagine why this isn’t a central piece of gear in every kitchen.  It doesn’t take much to load it up with veggies and a hunk 0 some kind of meat and let ‘er cook.  Coming home to the comfort of food at the end of the day rather than the prospect of creating it is way better!

Here are some caveats…

1. Slow cookers don’t evaporate like stovetop or oven methods so reduce the juice.

2. Because they don’t evaporate, they don’t caramelize sugars, which is what develops the flavors. Many recipes replace this fact with salt and fat in the form of canned soups. Salt being the “silent killer” lets try to avoid this. You want to bulk up on dried herbs and garlic. Here’s how:

 Roast an entire bud of garlic right in the pot and squeeze its softness into the jus before serving. Now you have replaced the salt with cold fighting, antibacterial, way yummy garlic.

3.  Place 2 pounds of your meat of choice… turkey breast, pork tenderloin, beef eye of round on top of  a raft 3 inch pieces of your fav root veggies…carrots, parsnips, turnip, rutabaga and sprinkle with a dried herb that works. (Sage for poultry, thyme for pork and rosemary for beef) Top with a head of garlic as above.

4. The other thing missing with the lack of evaporation is the color. Sprinkle all meats with a mixture of 2 tablespoons of balsamic vinegar and 1 tablespoon of soy sauce just before you close the lid. This will fake a tan.

Truly a monkey could do it.

I was just with a group of women who all work from home and all have kids. Each agreed that they feel tired in the afternoon and have to grab a coffee, diet coke or other caffeine containing beverages. I don’t need to preach the dangers of caffeine here, you’ve heard it before. 

What you may not have heard is the other fatigue solution.  Vitamin B Complex.  I keep a bottle of the b’s on my desk, the formulation has at least 100mg of each B. This is a much needed and much safer way to get that energy boost for the afternoon.  Gotta B.  

It is a source of constant amusement to my family that I like crappy, grocery store birthday cake.  For all of my high falutin, foodie fetishes like salt from different places in various forms, I am a simple girl at heart. Sure, I love my darkest Belgian chocolate but when it comes to my birthday cake nothin but the worst will do.

It has to be chocolate cake with chocolate icing and it should come from Dominion, simply because it has since I was 8.  It will likely have the worst of the fats and the lowest of the grades of cocoa. It will be gooey and goopy and leave guk in my throat. It will be eaten with a cold glass of milk with 2 ice cubes.  If it can have those crusty cookie crumbs on the side that is a plus but not a must.

This year I will eat it with reckless abandon. I shall not monitor the pieces nor their size and I will certainly not feel guilty afterward.  The rest of my life is meted out in such careful and considered ways, this, at least with be mine. Not my conscience’s.  I shall lick the plate to soak up every morsel just as I do with all the other good things in my life. 

Why is there ordinary food and special food? What imparts the difference between two relatively common meals, one holds a higher place in our hearts than the other? Spaghetti and meatsauce vs Roast Beef with Yorkshire Pudding.  Tacos vs Barbecued Salmon.  The answer could lay in the cost of the food, or in the time it takes to make it or in the perceived difficulty level of preparation. But I don’t think that is strictly it.

For example: my birthday looms. My family would be inclined to take me out for a treat.  I don’t want to go to a restaurant for my birthday, I want it to be a private affair (this year!) I want to wear my fuzzy socks that make my feet so happy in the fall and curl up in a floppy T shirt on the couch with a glass of wine. Then I want a “special” home cooked meal.

For me that meal would be chicken and dumplings. Plain and home-y enough, so what makes it special? Is it special to everyone? It isn’t hard nor expensive. It isn’t fancy at all, quite the opposite.  It is directly from my mother’s repertoire, a childhood favorite, made in the fall after months of burgers and sandwiches.

Perhaps it is due to the flavours of all my fav’s put together, potatoes, carrots, parsnips, chicken, salty broth thickened with stodgy steamed biscuit dough floating atop. Perhaps it was the magic of seeing the dough go in wet and gloopy and exactly 11 minutes later puffing up to a glistening orb. Maybe it was the fact that we got to drizzle molasses ( sugar at dinner?) over our dumplings and I was a sugar freak.

All are pieces of the puzzle of why chicken and dumplings are special but the truth is it had more to do with the people.  My mother seemed happy when she made this dish.  She, too, was awed by the magic of the rising dough soaking up the excess broth. Her life was (it is much better now) one of work and strife and responsibility. Maybe it was a good month when we had the cash for a pot of stew. Maybe she knew that dad would be happy with this meal and therefore her too. One less stress?

Any way you slice it, this particular meal meant peace and comfort. Sure it was drippingly delicious but it also had a cottoning effect on our souls. I’ll have to ask my sisters if they feel the same way about it. I know my daughter does.

I shall make myself a pot of chicken and dumplings for my birthday and pass along the magic of my happiness to my family. (I’ll make it in the slow cooker so it won’t take up my whole day) Special food comes from special moments, not special taste buds.