Not my best effort, but the arugula hid the worst of it. Gotta like greens for that sort of thing.
Not dignifying this with a photo, either. Well, ok, here is a shot from above.
I burned the pizza last night. Both pies.
In my defence (not that it helped much at the time and the failure does still sting, a little) I was cooking them over a charcoal fire in a thin metal kettle barbecue. It’s all we have here at the lake. I do have a pizza stone, though. We aren’t savages.
My technique is pretty crude: light a bunch of coals in the kettle, get them going really well, drop in the pizza stone, wait half an hour or so and then cook the pizza.
This time I used lump charcoal, rather than briquettes. Man, that stuff burns hot. Like really hot. Like hotter than I expected. Ergo, the first pizza, as I was trying to get some heat on top (which, in retrospect, was just not going to happen in a contraption like that) burned rather badly. It was still really tasty, just, as my mother would say, “Crispy”.
The second pizza was better, but the same thing happened again – a moment of inattention and it was black. Talk about a testament to the triumph of hope over experience. That annoying “Fool me once, won’t get fooled again” quote would also suffice.
There is only one solution; try again. I’m getting better with barbecue pizza, but there is work yet to be done.
On a positive note the customers weren’t too fussed. They ate it and didn’t give me a hard time. It’s nice when family is like that. In fact, they told me to stop beating myself up – that they enjoyed it and I should move on.
My wife brought up this post I showed her a while back. Apt.
https://dontcrowdthepan.ca/wp-content/uploads/2020/05/Dont_Crowd_Logo_new-1.png00Alastairhttps://dontcrowdthepan.ca/wp-content/uploads/2020/05/Dont_Crowd_Logo_new-1.pngAlastair2020-07-16 11:29:582020-07-16 11:59:25Failure. Even if my family didn’t see it that way.
Best I could come up with. The Perk coffee pot photo seems to be unavailable.
There is one place I’ll consider drinking coffee out of a percolator. Well, maybe two places but the second place is generally the basement of a church, somewhere, and let’s not discuss that any more.
The one place is the lake, or as we know it, The Lake. The Lake is Christina Lake, just north of the Canada/US border above Spokane, Washington. My in-laws have a cabin at Christina. It is a lovely spot, and it is boat access and decidedly off-grid. On a good day I’ll have 2 bars of LTE cell service which is just enough to be incredibly maddening when trying to pick up email or do a blog post. We have propane for a fridge and a water heater and we have a lovely set of deep cycle batteries and solar panels that require near-constant attention.
The coffee has been a source of great discussion, as one might reasonably expect – and as evidenced by other posts on this blog. We have a stove-top espresso machine, a Moka pot, which makes a decent cup of coffee. Aeropress is in regular use – always good coffee there – and there is the perk pot from, oh, the 1960s? Maybe the 1970s. This is my mother-in-law’s coffee world and she makes the perk coffee. In fact, there is even an extra pot in reserve lest something untowards happen to the pot in regular rotation. Woe betide the fool who decides to move to a different coffee option. Well, I’m still alive, but I think it’s noteworthy to point out that the perk pot is still in constant use and there is, literally, a collection of other, unused coffee options in the cupboard. All have been tried, and all have failed. Only the Corningware option remains. Shelly would probably have something pithy to say about that, “Look on my coffee options, ye mighty and despair!!”
Percolator pots are annoying and time consuming. They have to be watched as if you were boiling an egg. Bring to the boil, wait 7 minutes, enjoy! But it is boiling the coffee and having it drip through the grounds. Not my first choice for coffee…
But enjoy we do. Well, my older daughter was complaining it was a bit watery, but her young taste buds just need some mellowing.
What would barely pass muster in any other environment is rather tasty at the lake. My mother would insist it’s the water we use and she may well have a point. But I think that there is some coffee magic in this place. Makes every cup taste better, even the coffee made the old fashioned way.
Unless we try the coffee left from the year before. No amount of wizardry will allow that to pass muster.
https://dontcrowdthepan.ca/wp-content/uploads/2020/05/Dont_Crowd_Logo_new-1.png00Alastairhttps://dontcrowdthepan.ca/wp-content/uploads/2020/05/Dont_Crowd_Logo_new-1.pngAlastair2020-07-15 16:07:032020-07-15 16:07:04Perk. 33 and 1/3 percent more perk.
One of the many coffee options at the lake. The Bialetti Moka pot makes a great cup of coffee, but it does take a fair amount of work. Strange how often that dichotomy appears in life, let alone in food preparation.
The idea is rather ingenious. Water in the bottom is forced up through coffee grounds when it comes to the boil. It goes up through a stack on the top and collects in the upper chamber. It’s a perk pot where the water only passes through the grounds once, as opposed to continuously, for 7 minutes.
The base is rather small and it takes forever and a day to boil the water in there. So one needs a kettle to get the water scalding hot before the contraption is assembled. As a consequence, a towel to keep your hands from burning is a must, as is a way to keep the funnel of coffee upright before it goes into the base. I should do a video on how this all fits together.
Story of my coffee life. I always seem to make everything more complicated. Makes for great coffee, but there is a real dance to it all.
That said, the results are worth the effort. Lovely, strong espresso-like coffee. I mix it with hot milk and it is great.
I often take it down to the dock and enjoy it in the sun – except for today, where the clouds are stubbornly keeping the sun at bay. There are all these spots of blue sky but none seem to be able to find their way in front of the sun. Oh well, it’ll happen soon enough. Any time now. Waiting. Ahhhhhh. Much better.
My mother-in-law has this vegetable garden. I built her some raised beds a few years back. When I say ‘I’ what I mean is there was a crack team involving my brother-in-law who can actually build things and myself, doing a lot of the ‘support’ work. Like hauling seemingly endless yards of dirt.
My mother-in-law fills them with the most amazing collection of produce.
Including Arugula. It grows rather slowly in those boxes we built, but she has lots of room and as a consequence there is plenty to go around. Over the last few days it has been on pizza, in several salads and eaten straight. It has a lovely, soft flavour. What is even more galling, from a fellow gardener’s point of view, is that she has plants that are volunteers from the year before. And that arugula is amazing as well. I struggle to get anything going in my garden.
The produce is nothing like what you would get in a box. Not that there is anything inherently wrong with buying arugula from a store. In fact, I find it incredible that they can pick it, wash it, package it and move it hundreds of miles and it’s still fresh. But I do wonder if they grow a varietal that’s is prone to last, rather than taste good. Or I wonder if sitting in a truck for a few days would take the edge off of pretty much everything.
Regardless, it is amazing how much better it tastes fresh from the garden. I feel very lucky that we have access to it. And to her, too. My mother-in-law is a lovely woman. Her daughter is nice, too.
My dad makes the best mashed potatoes. When he comes for dinner and mashed potatoes are on the menu, he is deputized to do the work. My children insist.
He does it with aplomb, and uses only the most basic ingredients. I’m always trying to get him to put in some white pepper or sour cream… He just uses a bit of butter, some milk and maybe a pinch of salt.
No gooeyness, no lumps, it’s amazing how he can get them just right. Much as I try to compete, I’m always outgunned. But in the hierarchy of mashing potatoes, at least I’m ahead of my siblings. I remember a story about my younger brother, mashing potatoes with a hammer, as he didn’t have a proper masher. Apparently the pot was saved only because he had overcooked the potatoes and a protective layer of starch had been cooked to the bottom of the pot. Lucky guy. I understand they weren’t much good, but the tools do make a difference.
Here’s the irony. Well, maybe not an irony, per se, but an interesting situation. I hate to tell too many tales, but when I was a kid my mom would rice potatoes for us. She would boil them up and then put them in a ricer (basically a huge garlic press) and we would then have this dry, nearly unpalatable mound on the plate, along with whatever was being served that evening.
We would beg for mashed potatoes. My mother would refuse, insisting that mashed potatoes were, ‘denatured’. And then she would remind us that in Ireland they had a potato ricer mounted to the countertop in some homes. As if, somehow, that made any difference to me wanting mashed potatoes. It wasn’t my fault the Irish have strange kitchen conventions.
I remember, even as a young kid, thinking that some academic level mind-bending was going on here. For goodness’ sake! It’s almost the same thing. And then once we slathered them in butter it really made no difference.
But alas, it was not to be. The best potato masher in the family had his skills ignored for years. They were brought out only at holiday meals when the extended family – those for whom mashed potatoes were a regular table occurrence – had us over for turkey dinner. It was only later that I guess my mom had her Damascene moment and allowed mashed spuds at the family table again. I wasn’t around to see it, but I do remember being served mashed potatoes at their house one day and thinking to myself that an earth-shattering moment had happened. I just wish I had been around to witness it.
Regardless, the net effect was just fine with me and my kids, as my dad hadn’t lost any of his skills in those fallow years.
It’s actually pretty tasty if you enjoy this sort of thing.
So the fellow who introduced me to oysters also had me try mussels at some point later in our culinary excursions.
I don’t enjoy them as much as I do oysters. Well, I shouldn’t say that, a pot of moules frites is a delight, but not for the reasons you might think.
This is a traditional pot of mussels, complete with an incredible collection of green things – in this case, green onions, leeks, celery… Probably some shallots and some onions.
And then the whole thing is cooked in butter, garlic and white wine.
Throw in some mussels, steam to perfection and hey-presto, lunch.
But for me the best part isn’t the mussels. They’re great and everything, but the best part is scooping heaps of the greens on a piece of grilled sourdough. Which I did with abandon. I don’t think anyone noticed how enamored I was with the part of my lunch that wasn’t the main attraction. Well, if they did they didn’t make any mention of it, which is just as well.
Without a doubt the tastiest and best part of the meal. I wonder what would happen if I ordered a pot of mussels, and asked them to hold the mussels.
Despite a nutritional value in the negative digits (or perhaps because of it), pancakes hold a position of great regard in our home.
I have probably made them a couple hundred times over the last few years. My technique is constantly evolving, as it is for everything I make, but I have this recipe down pretty much flat. Pancakes are one meal that everyone happily eats. We do have fundamental differences over syrup – my self and my younger daughter enjoy pure maple syrup; my wife and older daughter, in what can only be viewed as a purely passive-aggressive stance, enjoy cane syrup. We are using up the last of a bottle of Aunt Jemima syrup which only adds to their transgressions.
Yes, white flour. Yes, sugar. Yes, devoid of any real nutrition, and then you slather on some butter and douse them in syrup.
…but you can put raspberries on top. Or strawberries. Or some huckleberries. It probably doesn’t really do much for the overall nutritional value but it doesn’t hurt.
Having teenagers as I do is a full-throttle journey into the world of carbohydrates. These pancakes tick every box on Planet Starch and as a consequence are met with adulation. I would love to get more protein and fat in the meal – yes, I know that is what bacon is for, but hopefully something a little less processed. At least there is some fat in the butter.
The plate of flapjacks sits out on the stove after breakfast is over. Yesterday there were 6 extra pancakes. This morning there was an empty plate.
As much as I know they’re really not that good for anyone on any level, making a meal for my family that is met with cheers is as much about me feeling good as a provider as it is about me feeding the family.
I just sometimes wish they would show as much enthusiasm for a salad.
Right, the recipe.
2 cups flour
1 tsp salt
3 tsp baking powder
2 Tbsp sugar
2 eggs separated
2 cups milk.
Mix dry ingredients. Whip egg whites in small bowl. Mix egg yolks and milk in another small bowl. Combine milk mixture into the dry ingredients until just combined. Fold in egg whites. Cook in oiled pan until cooked through.
https://dontcrowdthepan.ca/wp-content/uploads/2020/05/Dont_Crowd_Logo_new-1.png00Alastairhttps://dontcrowdthepan.ca/wp-content/uploads/2020/05/Dont_Crowd_Logo_new-1.pngAlastair2020-06-29 13:17:492020-06-29 13:20:50Keep this up and you’ll kill the family.
Bananas, Cuba. Where everything is a proxy for something else.
I was chatting with an old friend over a beer last night. He works with the Government of Canada in the Foreign Service office. Well, everyone was repatriated so he’s now home. Living with his folks, because his house is rented out to a very nice family who expected he wouldn’t be needing it for another couple of years. His wife and daughter are also with his folks. Good thing it’s a big house. It’s my understanding that as wonderful as that situation might be in an abstract form, it sets up many opportunities for interpersonal friction.
Our conversation was wide-ranging, as they always seem to be, but he did comment on something that has me thinking: He brought up the notion of food being a proxy, as he had been spending a fair amount of time in the kitchen, cooking for his own family and his parents.
A proxy is, according to dictionary.com:
proxy [prok-see]
noun,pluralprox·ies.
the agency, function, or power of a person authorized to act as the deputy or substitute for another.
the person so authorized; substitute; agent.
a written authorization empowering another person to vote or act for the signer, as at a meeting of stockholders.
an ally or confederate who can be relied upon to speak or act in one’s behalf.
I saw these definitions and I thought, “Oh boy, where to start?”
Thankfully, it was a lighthearted conversation we were having, but his thesis was that in cooking for his family (and especially his parents) and in making food that they were obliged to eat, it set up a power dynamic that caught him off guard.
On the one hand, it’s dinner. We all have to eat.
On the other hand if you’re cooking for another, what is the message that the food is replacing?
Man, now I’m in way over my head. There are two issues here. One is what is the food acting as a proxy for in terms of inter-personal relationships? The other issue is what the food is saying? Or what the creation of the food is saying.
I’m staying with the first one for this post.
Thinking about myself, because that’s what I do so well… There are a few people in my life where food has played a major part. And in every one it has been (as far as I can tell) positive. No one used food as a weapon. No one used it as an improper tool to control a young, foolish boy. (Well, except when it was something like profiteroles or a nice piece of perfectly cooked salmon and then it was decidedly Pavlovian, but let’s agree that was done in the name of science and just move on.)
For me, food really isn’t used as a proxy, as far as I can think. It is used to communicate. I’ll deal with that in a later post.
But as a proxy? I don’t think so. But I can see how you could use it as such – there was an anecdote I read about years ago: A young woman was returning from her studies in Canada to her European home at Christmastime – I can’t remember specifically where it was. As she stepped out of the taxi in front of her childhood home, both of her parents greeted her with their own, individual, versions of the same dish. Jetlagged and exhausted, not to mention freezing, they insisted she try both versions then and there on the front porch… …and then decide which of the two was better. Can you imagine being welcomed home by that?
The food was acting as a proxy in that story, for sure. But I shudder to imagine what role it was actually playing. I prefer my food to be a proxy for just how much I enjoy my family and how much I appreciate them. There is no better way to show how you feel about someone than by cooking them a meal they will love.
https://dontcrowdthepan.ca/wp-content/uploads/2020/05/Dont_Crowd_Logo_new-1.png00Alastairhttps://dontcrowdthepan.ca/wp-content/uploads/2020/05/Dont_Crowd_Logo_new-1.pngAlastair2020-06-26 17:36:552020-06-26 17:36:56Food as a proxy.
We have this unwritten rule in our house – if it’s in the garden, you can eat it.
Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that. If you tear out half of the pea plants getting a pod of peas, you’re going to have to answer to someone. And if you dig up an entire head of lettuce to munch on, one of the adults in the house might have something to say about it.
But that’s really about it. We don’t really have too much in our garden that you can eat this year. We didn’t do sugar snap peas; instead we have sweet peas because the flowers are just so pretty. We have some lettuce in the ground but it’s taking its own sweet time getting going.
There are tomatoes, as well. And, of course, my cucumbers.
These raspberries are from my mother-in-law’s garden, where she grows them, literally, by the bucketful. The kids have always been allowed to go and eat as many as they want. Help yourself.
It isn’t really junk food in the traditional sense. Yes, they probably don’t have much in the way of nutritional value, and yes, they have a bunch of sugar in them… But there is also some fibre in there, somewhere.
But that’s not the point. As far as I’m concerned eating out of a garden is one of life’s most underrated pleasures. The produce always (and I mean ALWAYS) tastes miles better than what you can buy. Aside from water and seeds, it’s free.
And the berries are always so succulent. Sinful, even.
Now, there are a couple of caveats:
Better wear some shoes because it really hurts if you step on a hornet that is grazing on a cherry from the tree. Personal experience in this case.
Better wear some shoes because sometimes bears come through the property and, well, they don’t really spend too much time considering where they might relieve themselves.
Further to this point above, take a good, hard look around when you go to the garden at dawn or dusk, because the only thing worse than getting too close to a bear is getting too close to a surprised bear.
If anyone ruins their dinner because they stuffed themselves with cherries, raspberries and various other garden produce we will let it pass with no small amount of parental pride.
https://dontcrowdthepan.ca/wp-content/uploads/2020/05/Dont_Crowd_Logo_new-1.png00Alastairhttps://dontcrowdthepan.ca/wp-content/uploads/2020/05/Dont_Crowd_Logo_new-1.pngAlastair2020-06-25 14:01:402020-06-25 14:02:51If it’s in the garden, it’s allowed
What do you do if you’re out of ideas? When your kids eat an endless supply of junk food that appears, seemingly, out of nowhere? When you just don’t have the ability or the energy to do something about it?
Or when you’re out of ideas for helping kids with anxiety, or with migraine headaches. Or both. Or Math homework. Because the parent in you wants to tell them to just get a good night’s sleep and eat some healthy food. Hey, it might not solve everything but it’s a start. Generally comments like that are not welcome in conversations with teenagers. Who knew?
Breakfast used to be pretty good. We had a system down. Mondays were this, Tuesdays, that. Wednesdays were these great egg sandwiches I would do with English muffins. But then my wife started fasting in the mornings, and the kids can barely get themselves out of bed on time, and it has descended into something really not worth doing. And a certain someone (not me, my goodness, no) was grazing on the English muffins so when I reached for them they were unavailable. It’s hard to cook when you don’t have all the ingredients.
One kid leaves the house, always late, always hungry. The other leaves the house on time but with not nearly enough food to keep her going through the day. And now that no one is going anywhere in a hurry due to COVID, it’s even more chaotic.
Then they come home and have a huge snack, or eat when they arise – some time in the mid-afternoon – and they aren’t hungry for dinner.
They’re getting to the age where they can’t be punished. Heck, they’re well past that age. I’m totally out of ideas. I want to say, “here, eat! It’ll cure what ails you.”
But to no avail. Oh well. What is it they say about ‘fighting the good fight?’ Is that a timely thing to say or think? I hope so. Gotta be something in that box that Pandora opened.
https://dontcrowdthepan.ca/wp-content/uploads/2020/05/Dont_Crowd_Logo_new-1.png00Alastairhttps://dontcrowdthepan.ca/wp-content/uploads/2020/05/Dont_Crowd_Logo_new-1.pngAlastair2020-06-24 11:51:002020-06-24 11:51:01Of all the best laid plans…
