flavourphiliac

Grad School Madness

2009-01-04T11:33:00.008-04:00

No one in our little blogosphere seems to be writing much these days - click those links to the right, and you'll find very few updates. We seem to be transitioning, in one way or another, into this gross "real world" place. Is the shock of adulthood getting to anyone else?

Here I am: beached, borrowing internet, stealing hummus, dreaming of chutney, procrastinating online, and paralyzed by the terror of grad school applications.

It really is a horrible process. I have to construct three concise Statements of Interest that will hopefully seduce one academic adviser or another - but I have no idea what I want to do with my life. Or rather, there are too many things that I'd like to do, and making choices - narrowing scopes - makes me bitter (and a little insane).

The "big question" keeps changing. Growing. Becoming more impossible to contemplate:

"What do I want to do next year?"

"What do I want to do in the next ten years?"

"What do I want to do with my career?"

"What do I want to do with my life?"

"What do I want from life?"

""WHAT IS THE MEANING OF LIFE?"

Oh, COME ON!

It's been hard enough trying to narrow my scope of study (my career?) to one discipline, one stream, one topic, and finally one research plan. Now, the meaning of life?!!

It's time to struggle back to square one. Where I can continue to gouge Statements of Interest from the mush of my brain. Select potential advisors based on the colour of their shirts. Remind myself: it's only one year. The opportunities for future choices, terrifying moments of paralysis, and identity crises are practically endless and certainly inevitable. Get a grip.

Right now, I'm thinking that fieldwork in India might be nice - but maybe chutney for lunch is all that I need.

My Writing's Filled with Profanities

2008-10-06T20:40:00.002-04:00

One of the places I've applied to work has requested some writing samples - and it was difficult to scrounge them up. That made me sad about how little writing I actually do. Of course, I have oodles of academic papers on file - but some diversity would be nice, and something to show that I can operate outside the ivory tower (even if I can't).

In the end, I took something from this blog and tweaked it to make it more employer-friendly! Hurray for the blog!! Hurray for possible employment!! Tomorrow I have another interview scored through the Jess connection (thank you Jess!).

As for the pickling, that predictably didn't happen. But I did successfully adopt some old-school shelving units, AND I made an extremely satisfying mission to the Indian Spice Store. Yummmmm.

Next Stop: Parent's kitchen.
Mission: Commandeer canned goods.

:(

2008-10-06T09:11:00.001-04:00

I don't want to clean!!!! I want to make pickles!!!!!!!!! :(

Dying Days of Basil

2008-10-05T22:24:00.004-04:00

I missed La Nuit Blanche for pesto.

The days have been cold, crisp, beautifully autumn. At night, my breath coalesces in fleeting mists, not quite hanging in the air - not yet. My landlady has already turned on the heat, cranked the furnace with such Venezuelan vengeance that my first night in my new apartment was a thick and sweaty one.

I had to come back to London to get another truck-load of stuff. This move has been casually gradual, with the knowledge that London is only a couple of hours away. I don't have to fit my life into suitcases - I have weeks to pack it, bit by bit, into my parents S.U.V.

I have no deadline for the move, but the pending frost added urgency to my trip. "Don't freeze," I prayed to the weather gods. And on Friday, I raced back to London in time to save the basil, the peppers (I recently learned that green peppers are under-ripe orange, red, and yellow ones), and dozens of green tomatoes. I may have missed La Nuit Blanche - but I made six batches of pesto yesterday, and my dreams of pickled green cherry tomatoes are solace enough.

Realistically, my pickling dreams might die in the flurry of packing and cleaning that's left to be done. But in the very least, I'll be eating fried green tomatoes tomorrow night.

Gardens are delicious. I don't have space for one at my new place, but I know a few boys with a patch of grass awaiting garden love.

BBQ Song

2008-08-11T11:16:00.006-04:00

Here's a pretty sweet little food-inspired song, "The Barbecue Song" by Rhett & Link & The Homestead Pickles:

I wanted to post some footage of the propane fire in Toronto too, but as my brain draws connections between barbecues and propane, I realize that the "Barbecue Song" might not be the most appropriate partner for footage of the explosions. Or perhaps it is appropriate, but entirely without tact.

Forgive the lack of tact then, and the coincidence of my discovering these videos, because these explosions are simply too mad to miss (skip to the 1:50 mark for a truly crazy scene):

Moustache!

2008-07-28T08:06:00.005-04:00

Occasionally, when it's not masturbating over the recent union of Tim Best and Mayor Anne Marie DeCicco, the London Free Press writes something worthwhile: moustache! The online version of this article is significantly less thrilling than the hardcopy, since it lacks the priceless photos of moustache greats that caught my attention in this morning's paper.

For many years, I ceased bothering with the LFP; but I've returned to its world of journalistic mediocrity and depressing Letters to the Editor (these are the opinions of my city-compatriots?!!), because I have to wait half an hour after taking my garlic pill before I can eat breakfast. Yes, I could be doing something more productive in that half-hour - but to be perfectly honest, I'm useless before food. I'm useless; the London Free Press is useless - we make the perfect pre-breakfast union.

Consider the opening paragraph of the paper's article on yesterday's Pride Parade (which I'm very confused about, since various city events listings had cited pride as happening a week ago - sabotage??):

"Londoners Grace and Neal Vangalen stood in silent witness as a parade of tattooed and tarted-up humanity passed by them on Dundas Street yesterday."

Oh, London...

I sadly missed the Pride fun, due to my confusion over the dates. I did make it to the Indian Festival at the Market on Saturday, where I was tempted by many forbidden treats. I managed to resist on Saturday, only to succumb to an Indian lunch buffet on Sunday. Needless to say, the results were vomitrocious. Eventually, the pain of eating Indian food might beat-out the joys. Certainly, this weekend's gastrointestinal revolt has inspired the planning of a homegrown Indian feast, slotted for sometime this week. Bhajis in the deep-fryer, veganized gulab jamun - what more could this girl ask for?

Aside from the ability to grow my own rockin moustache.

Tom

Rollie

2008-07-20T10:22:00.003-04:00

I'm chewing on a mouthful of stale marshmallow, warding off morning hunger pains until my family leaves for a stomach-stretching brunch mission at the Delta Armouries (my favourite brunch destination of all time - freaking delicious).

Afterwards, my mom and I are driving to The Pinery to camp until Thursday. I'm looking forward to some peace and quiet among the trees, some time for decompression, with my hermit-sensibilities of the past year struggling to adapt to my return home. I was hoping to find some calm in Manitoba - but that didn't pan out; I played entertainer and playground to my cousin's 3- and 5-year old girls, shaping them into pretend pizzas, pancakes, and cupcakes, lifting them in and out of pretend ovens over, and over, and over again; my arms were never still, my lap was never empty. I couldn't keep up with their fruit-snack, juice-crazed sugar highs; I couldn't cope with their veggie-less, fibre-light sugar lows. Note to caregivers everywhere: Ketchup (with every meal) shouldn't replace vegetables.

So, I'm looking forward to a good old fashioned camping trip, where I don't have to lock myself into a bathroom for a moment's relaxation. And I'm looking forward to the flavours that a campfire adds to camp food. Our cooler is full of fixings for foil-dinners, banana boats, fire-grilled quesadillas, and hummus with everything. Delicious indeed.

Goodbye Bananas

2008-07-18T09:41:00.004-04:00

Reading through my weekly dose of foodie e-mails and updates, I came across this article about the banana and its impending demise.

The banana industry, from what I know of it, epitomizes corrupt and irresponsible food cultivation on many levels: banana companies have long pillaged the environment, exploited their workers, and developed techniques of cultivation that are thoroughly unsustainable.

Bananas offer a perfect example of what can go wrong when commercial interests trump sustainability and food diversity. Although many, many species of bananas exist, a single species - the Cavendish banana - has been developed for sale in North America. Unfortunately, since the Cavendish banana is seedless and cultivated with clippings (a practice that produces clone plants), there is insufficient genetic variation among Cavendish trees to provide protection against evolving pests and disease.

Panama Disease - a fungus that enters plants through their roots and cannot be eliminated with pesticides - is rapidly spreading among Cavendish banana trees. In all likelihood, Cavendish bananas will cease to be economically viable within a decade or so. No economically viable alternatives currently exist.

Sure enough, my Dad came home from the store yesterday, disappointed: "They had no bananas." Today, he made a trip to a second store and came home with two - the last two.

Well, not the LAST last two... but soon. What will life taste like, without bananas?

Manitoba, Gluten Free, and Mel

2008-07-09T00:55:00.005-04:00

I'm on my way to Manitoba with my mom tomorrow, to visit my Granny, aunts, cousins, and wee little second cousins. We'll be staying at the cottage on Lake Winnipeg. I'm excited to see everyone, and I'm excited to escape the humidity of Ontario, which feels all the more oppressive after my brief hiatus from this dense, liquid atmosphere. With the awesome but overwhelming resurgence of people and happenings in my life, I hope this trip will offer some time and space to think. There's the return to London to think about, and all I've left behind.

It will be tortuous forgoing Granny's pierogies, with their butter-fried onions and sour cream toppings. Morning milkshakes, gumdrop cookies, butter tarts with carefully counted raisins, homemade buns, and meatballs sauced in gravy - the flavours of Granny-visits that will be dearly missed. But Dan and I hunted down some gluten-free goodies today, a tricky quest in London, and my luggage includes GF oats and ginger snaps, chickpea flour, vegan margarine, and tahini,. I also found some exciting vegan, gluten-free shampoo and conditioner - it might be overkill on the allergy front, but it's made from 100% organic and Canadian ingredients!

On another note, I'd like to congratulate Melon, my dear friend and hero, for making news in the London Free Press when she's living in faraway India. In all her magnificence, she's won a grueling competition of Hole-in-the-Wall, inspiring me - and the world - once again!

Toronto & Sunfest

2008-07-07T08:38:00.003-04:00

I went to Toronto with Grayday this weekend, to visit some much, much-missed f(r)iends, and we brought Christy home with us. Thus, I had an enthusiastic bean-sharer for all of my Sunfest feasting needs. And feast we did.

Between the two of us, we put away one tortilla-bowl of fried ice cream (clearly, all her), one cup of jugo de tamarindo, one plate of Nicaraguan food, one jumbo cup of lemonade, one onion bhaji, one fresh Vietnamese spring roll, one vegetarian sope, one churro (note to the brave: you can cram them full of caramel), and two real-fruit popsicles. What kept us from wetting ourselves with too much lemonade? Undoubtedly, the vast quantity of liquid required by our digestive systems to combat the abusive amounts of food we dealt them.

Mmmmm. Sunfest is insanely awesome and delicious.

Sadly, I'll be missing Bluesfest and the Caliente Festival Hispano this coming weekend, when I fly to Manitoba with my mom. Happily, I'll be home in time for Afrofesta, the Home County Folk Festival, and London Pride. All things considered, London offers a mighty decent summer spread.

The Taste of Home

2008-07-03T11:13:00.007-04:00

While we were sitting around our empty dinner plates, with the remnants of my dad's culinary wizardry before us (along with some mighty-fine tofu), my parents made these rather redundant observations:

Dad: "I guess I really like food."
Mom: "I think we all do."

Hmm, really? Anyone who explores our house should come to that conclusion immediately. Amid the horrendous clutter and mess of the kitchen, there lies a treasure trove of deliciousness: things purchased, things made, and things waiting to be made.

Coming in the door on Monday night, I was soon rifling through the contents of my fridge and pantry - not because I felt remotely hungry, but because the abundance was impossible to resist. It gets a little gross and excessive at times and returning to the nest, I feel the strain of a too-full and too-messy cooking area. But that strain has all the counter-balance of feasting.

The foodness I miss:

- Having organizational control over the cupboards, fridge, and counter-space of my kitchen and all the foods that nestle there. Mission Immediate: Convert my family to organics, destroy all plastic containers, and cut our hoard of food in half.

- Organic produce, vegan goods, and gluten-free options in every supermarket; specialty stores within easy walking-distance. London grocers suck.

- Nuba, The Red Sea Cafe, Khai Thai, Maurya's lunch buffet, The Granville Island Market, cheap sushi, soy gelato, and The Sweet Cherubim Bakery.

The foodness I love returning to:

- Ontario strawberries

- Ontario asparagus

- A kitchen that lacks only a rice cooker. Stainless steel pans, copper-bottomed pots, Henckel knives, a salad spinner, a steel-lined electric kettle, a pizza stone, an intense blender, a classic Cuisinart, an immersion blender, a stand alone mixer, an espresso machine, a waffle iron, a deep fryer, a bread maker, and a dehydrator and sprouting set to fuel my every raw-food fantasy. And of course, the food, the food, the overwhelming food.

- A compost pile.

- Ben Thanhs, Barakat, The Covent Garden Market, El Ranchero, SUNFEST!! (this weekend!), Wonder Sushi, The Tea Haus and Everything Tea, perfect onion bhaji, and the forbidden temptation of Tony's panzerotti. The proximity of Toronto's tasty places too (Fresh, I thought of you with every disappointing Naam venture).

- A father that procures everything I can eat to make up for the things I can't.

- Brothers to influence me into risky Indian food ventures.

- A mother that provides a decanter of wine to wash it all down.

"This might not be quite ripe," my dad says, passing me the first of our garden's raspberries as I finish my spell checking. It tastes good to be home.

Boxed Wine

2008-07-01T19:09:00.005-04:00

I'm home again, and since I haven't felt like thinking about it too much, the idea of "home" remains uncomplicated. Drinking wine with my mother at lunch, sitting on the patio, surrounded by her ever-expanding gardens - it's something to be appreciated as long as possible, without the pesky intrusion of my twenty-something identity crisis.

I was surprised to find myself drunk after only a glass and a half of wine. And that's a normal sized glass; not a Fran-sized goblet. It's the first alcohol I've had in a while, and I'm daring the digestive gods to retaliate. My mother and I are flying to Manitba to visit granny & the aunts next week, and I have to get myself back into wine-drinking shape. Ontario, represent!

I'm working on glass three, while four 'steaks' of tofu marinate in the fridge. I might not like Canada Day very much, but I DO love barbecues. I'm eagerly exploring the smoky potential of my lapsang souchong tea and celebrating the return of balsamic and maple to my life, with a marinade that promises to please. Who knows how long this sugar binge will last - into glass four, no doubt, at the very least.

For those of you in Ontario, I'm excited to see you soon. For Rachael abroad, I'm missing you this Canada Day, even if I'm happy to avoid the height and smoke of roof-top fireworks. For my family, I love you and it's good to be home.

Finale

2008-06-30T10:41:00.002-04:00

Well, this is it. I have one, final carry-on bag to pack, some bottles to rinse and recycle, and various packages to deliver to the curbs and alley-ways of the people without. I have one more cup of tea, one more bowl of porridge, and one more Black Top cab ride to go.

Adios Vancouver. It's been a trip.

The Verdict

2008-06-27T14:21:00.005-04:00

So, gluten-free, vegan pizza from The Joint Pizzeria proved too much to resist - twice, in fact. We ate it for dinner two nights in a row, and I'll cherish my pizza reunion for months to come. Peppers, roasted garlic, caramelized onions, pesto - does it get any better than that?

For our last lunch in Victoria, we went to Mo:le, a vegetarian-centric restaurant on Pandora Street, which showcases Victoria's commitment to beautiful tattoos and good (if expensive) food. I had a salad and tofu saute, which was totally delicious in a Thai-spicy way. Dan had a curried tofu scramble and pesto breakfast potatoes: Oh, if his parents could see him now!

Mo:le gets gold stars. Green Cuisine, on the other hand, gets no stars. It was very disappointing - bland, over-cooked, over-priced vegan food, sold by the weight, buffet-style. It does get some points for its extensive gluten-free desert section; it loses points for the general meh-quality of those goods. The strawberry and apple crisp, I'll admit, approached orgasmic.

Green Cuisine is heralded as one of Victoria's top vegetarian-eateries, and my disappointment with it felt all too familiar. It was the same sense of bewilderment I've struggled with here, trying to understand Vancouver's Naam-devotion.

I've given The Naam a very fair chance. I've eaten there again and again, compelled by one zealous recommendation after another to return, despite disappointment. After all, any good restaurant can produce a bad dish, once in a while.

Well, I've given up. The Naam is NOT a good restaurant. I suspect that it was, at some point - it must have been, to secure the adoration and fidelity of so many eaters and restaurant critics.

The food isn't terrible, and it is nice having an entire menu of vegetarian dishes to choose from - but ultimately, the dishes lack both intensity and subtlety. The flavours blur more than mingle, the textures tend towards mush, and the ingredients are robbed of their potential to impress with careless composition. Every dish tastes a little too much like the last - it's the flavour of laziness and stunted creativity. Like Green Cuisine, The Naam is taking its success for granted, while other, much tastier restaurants are denied their due.

Fuck The Naam, and fuck Green Cuisine. They give vegetarian food a bad name.

Other food highlights from our trip: a soy matcha latte from The Solstice Cafe, and its cold, fast-food Starbucks cousin (mm, melon syrup); Boylan's Gingerale and Root Beer; the perfect afternoon snack, a "Monster Pickle" from a cafe on Government Street; and the exciting purchase of smoked Lapsang Souchong green tea (wiki that madness) from Silk Road.

Food Quandry

2008-06-25T12:35:00.003-04:00

The food options in Victoria are simply too numerous to make decision-making easy on such a short visit. We were in town for no more than five minutes when we spotted The Noodle Box and knew we had to break for lunch, hungry or not. Eating Noodle Box on the steps of the inner harbour, with the beautiful Victorian legislative buildings for scenery, is a pivotal Victorian experience, one I've had before, and a good way to commence our trip. I was disappointed to discover that the Spicy Peanut and Teriyaki boxes contain gluten, even when rice noodles are substituted for wheat; but no Noodle Box is a bad Noodle Box.

With boxes-full of noodles under our belts, it took several hours of walking and a lot of mental preparation to convince ourselves that we were ready for dinner by 8 o'clock, when we headed to ReBar for another classic Victorian feast. ReBar existed in my imagination long before I'd ever set foot in Victoria. Returning from business trips, my dad would bring me stories of ReBar's tasty treats and, eventually, a copy of the restaurant's recipe book.

Sadly, my one previous trip to ReBar was rather disappointing. But since I've liked every recipe I've made from the book, I was ready to give it a second chance. My disappointment was not repeated. I had a tasty wild rice & quinoa salad and an order of their superb yam fries with basil aioli; my glass of apple, strawberry, lime, and ginger juice was phenomenal.

We finished the day with over-priced, delicious gelato (thank goodness for dairy-free sorbetto) and a couple of stomach-aches.

This morning we ate breakfast here, at our B&B, with our jolly British hostess. The problem, of course, remains: how do I pick today's food destinations? What shall it be?

A pizzeria offering vegan and gluten-free pizzas?
A Mexican joint with cheap and tasty tacos, on all-corn tortillas?
All day breakfast, with West Coast twists?
Or any number of hippie-oriented restaurants and cafes, serving vegan, raw, and gluten-free goodies?

Sigh. I wish I had more stomachs.

Commercial Drive

2008-06-24T01:25:00.010-04:00

Today Dan and I walked 89 sidewalk blocks together. Trekking across two of Vancouver's most walkable neighbourhoods, we dedicated our day to exploring Commercial Drive and seeking some of our favourite spots in the West End. It was a beautiful day for urban explorations, with sun, warmth, and a breeze keeping the air fresh and cool.

I've long suspected that had I moved to Commercial Drive & Broadway, I would have liked this city from the start. Admittedly, I had little basis for that suspicion; it developed from things read and things heard from others, and before today, I had never actually explored the area. A deplorable blotch on my Vancouver record, finally set right - and my suspicions were vindicated.

53 of the blocks traversed today were in the Commercial Drive area, and I made sure I snacked my way through most of them. Commercial Drive is lined with one coffee shop after another, one tempting ethnic eatery after another, one organic co-op and specialty food store after another. We sipped tea from The End Cafe, ate vegan Indian food from Desert, found local dairy-free chocolate at the East End Food Co-op, and (best of all) I discovered the bakery case at Sweet Cherubim Organic and Natural Food store, filled with raw desert bars, vegan everything, and more gluten-free baked goods than I've ever seen before (the disgusting excuses for cookies in the grocery aisles do not count). I've been experimenting with sugar in my diet again (this could be restated: I've fallen off the sugar wagon...), and the vegan, gluten-free nanaimo bars and date squares were too tempting to resist. The plate of chocolate-dipped, cashew-studded halva will have to wait until another visit, if one can be had in our last week here.

The food in the area is amazing, but the real draws are the beautiful, heritage houses that line each cross-street; the maturing trees, leafy green horizons, and inviting parks; the people who smile and talk to each other, as humans should; and the good vibes that this enactment of humanity creates.

I should have visited sooner, and I should have lived there all along. At least I have a backpack full of food and another long day of travel ahead of me, rife for snacking. Tomorrow Dan and I are heading to Vancouver Island to spend a few days in Victoria. Hooray for Victoria, and its West Coast loveliness!

Crookedleg's Hall

2008-06-19T21:22:00.007-04:00

I must admit, I feel pretty ashamed of myself for misspelling my own cat's name. I hesitated - I wrote Odin first... and then Oden... and then both of them together, so I could examine them side by side. I waited for that twinge of 'right,' trusting to a sense of spelling that has strangely declined over the years (I considered googling it... I was too lazy). I chose wrong.

All hail Odin, then. And check out my brother's new blog: Crookedleg's Hall. Call me crazy, but if he works at it, I think there's market potential there. There are enough viking-fiending, fantasy-dreaming metal heads (okay, me too) looking for another reason to choose e-lives over real lives. Hit the WoW market Dan, hit them hard.

In his first post, my brother has linked a wonderful animated video. It's inspired me to link this sweet gem (which declines at the very end, but stays strong until then), and to urge you all, once again, to watch Chinese Translation (beautiful).

CBC's inspired me to link this. It's been determined that the 6th foot found on a B.C. shoreline was, in fact, a hoax (making the first 5 feet no less creepy). The coroners service feels that foot-hoaxes waste "valuable investigative time and resources." I'm sure that's true - especially when it took "the coroners service, a forensic pathologist and an anthropologist" to determine that "a skeletonized animal paw was inserted into the shoe with a sock and packed with dried seaweed." I guess that might hard to call, without a second opinion.

Personally, I'm just happy we're not onto the 6th Epochal Era, while I'm still settling into the 5th.

It will be strange to return to Ontario, where toxic waste and biohazards wash up on shore, but no feet.

Lastly, another bit of breaking CBC news.

Measuring Time by the Foot

2008-06-17T13:40:00.005-04:00

How should I measure my time in B.C.?

By days, weeks, or months? By seasons? By the rare sunny hours?

By jobs? Paychecks, T4s, resignation letters? Apartments? By maladies? By visits to doctors and to the E.R.? Dollars spent on prescriptions, supplements, homeopathic cure-alls, gluten-free goods, forbidden treats? By goals achieved, goals discarded, mind-fucks, revelations, or pots of soup? "How about love"?

Or should I measure my time here in the number of feet that have washed up on B.C.'s southern shores?

Yes, today we enter the Era of Foot Five: isn't it majestic?

2008-06-17T00:19:00.011-04:00

My younger brother is currently taking a few intersession courses at U.W.O., trying to recoup some of the grades he lost to a year of heavy tranquilizers, and hoping to accomplish his goal of one day becoming the best Viking banker in the country. I'm not sure he's realized that double-pronged beards are somewhat incompatible with the accepted image of a financial ethics expert... but I suppose that's irrelevant, since his philosophy skills are significantly less patchy than his meagre stubble. Besides, all will be forgiven when he convinces the money dealers that top-down plundering is a-okay. Plunder away.

If he doesn't become a banker, he'll probably devote himself to unearthing Viking ruins and building replica long ships. For this reason, he's taking some anthropology courses, along with his ethics training. So tonight I had the pleasure of editing a take-home mid-term exam, which was e-mailed to me an hour before it was due (fitting with his typical "Heath, can you edit my essay?" method) and returned to him with two minutes to spare (our shared "how to complete an essay" method).

I enjoy editing any paper. When the topic is first year anthropology? Pure pleasure. A nostalgic reminder of the ideas, lectures, stories, and texts that have blown my mind, and integrally influenced the ways in which I view the world and myself in it. Anthropology is a trippy, sweet discipline, in so many ways. And for the sake of this world, I think we all need a little anthropologist in us - something to temper the complacent acceptance of things that are and things that should be.

(psychedelic drugs might work too...)

But no discipline is perfect, and no discipline is complete. As I consider what step I want to take next - in my education, in my career - I resent the concept of 'discipline' and the ways that we've compartmentalized and codified knowledge. A favourite prof urged my class to see anthropology as an anthropologist - know that it's just an institution, a "contagious idea." That doesn't mean it isn't "real" - but it does severely challenge the certainty of "truth."

It frightens me that so many academics, researchers, thinkers, and doers believe so deeply in their chosen disciplines and fields (perhaps including myself, in spite of myself). This is how we exclude knowledge, this is how inaccuracy, insufficiency, and inequality become entrenched as "truth."

And to shift topics once again, this is why I value so many of my relationships. I'm glad that my friends and family are thinkers and talkers. I'm glad that we argue, blather, ramble, and rant together. It comforts me, as I think about my future plans, to know that most of you will challenge me at some point, in those moments of self-righteous certainty.

I look at the now defunct costume blog and see a marvel of interdisciplinary majesty: a psychologist and anthropologist, bred to be enemies, but bringing the love.

Finally, let's come full circle, and end this lengthy post with an important survey. Anyone who'd like to see my brother start a Vikings blog, all say "Hail Oden"

Damn it Dan, I want to know what Vikings ate.

Indian Cooking

2008-06-13T23:41:00.004-04:00

Last night, I created an epic meal, my first real foray into Indian cooking. I've made my share of curried soups and fusion creations, as well as some delicious naan and pakoras - but this was my first attempt at a multi-dished Indian feast.

After consulting Melon - who's currently living, working, and eating in Mumbai - and my various recipe resources, I settled on a menu of peas pulao, channa dhal, spiced potatoes, and veganized matter paneer. I also had some pre-packaged pappadum on hand, from my last trip to the Punjabi Market, which crisped up decently in the microwave.

The meal wasn't perfect. I lose "authenticity" points for using brown rice in my pilaf, and tofu instead of paneer. There were no chapatis or naan at my wheat-free table, and (worse!!) there was no chutney. Plus, I lack a pressure cooker, that ubiquitous feature of the Mumbai kitchen, as indespensible as rice cookers in Vancouver.

Still, it was one tasty feast. I was especially excited with the matter "paneer", and with the discovery that soft tofu makes a great substitute for the delicious, mild, squishy cheese that has "real" matter paneer relegated to my dietary blacklist.

Sadly, my camera was absent from the party, so I have no pictures to share - making this a barely bloggable event.

In other news, Fox describes Barack Obama's wife as "Obama's baby mama", scientists grow a date palm from 2000-year old seeds (COOL!), and activists in Manitoba are combining two of my favourite things: car-hating and nudity.

The world is, as always, a spicy and interesting place.

Small Talk, Weather Talk

2008-06-11T19:52:00.004-04:00

As I close my window and grab another blanket, I think about my friends and family out east, sweating their way through 30 degree days, drowning in Ontario's humidity, wheezing through London's smog. Here, brief interludes of sun and warmth get Vancouverites' hopes up - before long stretches of wet, cold days convince them that another horrible summer, like the last, is on its way.

I'm torn. On the one hand, I like walking in the rain, I'm breathing easy, and I feel like a good environmentalist with no temptation to air condition. A rare day passes when I can't see my breath in the morning - but I'm convinced you can see your breath in higher temperatures here, and it's not really that cold. It's nice weather for walking around the Lost Lagoon, with the ducks and swans paddling calm ripples in a palette of gray.

On the other hand, I respect the extremes of Ontario's weather. I missed them in the winter, I miss them now. Yes, it's easier to like the extremes from afar - when I'm not walking through knee-high snow, when I'm not peeling sweat-slicked flesh from hot car seats. But I'm pretty sure I'll savour the heat when I return... for a day or two, at least. That's what hammocks are for.

I hear you've seen funnel clouds out there. Well, colour me jealous, and save some wonderful storms for my return.

Here, the farmers are getting worried, as the weather threatens more than my hikes in the foothills.

2008-05-14T21:15:00.004-04:00

As I plan my imminent return to Ontario, I struggle to come to terms with too much, too many thoughts, feelings, and aspects of The Vancouver Experience. That's a term that was born of itself, somewhere along the way. Those words - The Vancouver Experience - are packed with meaning and significance for Grayday and me. It's how we summarize the things that we've lived and felt. It's how we acknowledge that everything's been epic, except in translation; when it comes time to talk about life to friends and family, that epic-ness dies among the mundane details. When I think about the past months and my current days, I am sometimes confronted with a sense of nothingness: nothing done, nothing accomplished. And so we know that The Vancouver Experience is as meaningless as it is mind-blowing. It's been a year of nothing and too much, and I don't think I get it yet. Surely, ideas of failure have no relevance to it all; that will probably sink in, with time.

We were talking about silent readers a few days ago, and the slightly jarring but ego-feeding experience of having someone mention your blog, when you didn't know they were reading it. The non-comment leavers (Hello out there!!). I like that as far as I know, the number of people reading this blog is small. It leaves me feeling okay about writing self-indulgant, personal passages like the one above. It makes narcissism a little more comfortable. Yes, readers might feel a little nauseated at times - but it's all cool. Most of you are used to the rambling.

Hey Dekes, if you don't blog about Honk for Fonk soon, I'm going to steal your prime material.

Human Again

2008-05-13T20:45:00.002-04:00

A couple of friends of mine - both law schoolers - have admitted to resenting birdsong. It's a shockingly unpoetic admission for two erstwhile students of literature to make, and they don't seem very bashful about their bird-rage. The bitterness, I'm told, arises from sleep deprivation and the hideous ordeals of first-year law programs. One too many almost-all-nighters, and the birdsong registers as a painful reminder that morning is fast approaching. Chirp - only a couple of hours before first class. Chirp - have fun in today's lecture on property annuities. Chirp - you still haven't formatted your footnotes; set the alarm clock back a couple of hours, sucker.

I understand their bitterness (living with law-schoolers gives you some insight into their pain, whether you want it or not). But last night, as my sleeplessness rounded the 4 a.m. mark, I welcomed the morning calls of the gulls, herons and crows. When a 5 a.m. crow began to caw outside my building, I felt the first stirrings of sleep. The rasping croaks released me from insomnia, with that crow-beauty that emerges from beyond the aesthetic, a beauty of mythical resonance. I love the morning birdsong. I love Vancouver's crows.

Of course, it helped that I had a morning of unemployment ahead of me, and an afternoon made for napping. Ironically, I woke up before 10:00 and felt more human and energized than I have all month.

Across the city, Grayday was wide awake too, watching Cops and musing on the wonders of bonobos. When I read some of his night-time writing today, I laughed at the following line: "Squeaking dog?"

"4 a.m.?" I asked. Yep. I heard that squeaking dogbird too.

2008-05-12T12:58:00.008-04:00

Another morning spent in search - where are the warm spots on these sheets, these too-thin blankets? - and then I look at the wall and see a thermostat, mocking me for my week of chilly nights and freezing mornings. I still have some settling-in to do here (the thermostat can join the unpacked boxes in the evidence pile).

I moved into a new place last weekend, after Jenna moved to Toronto for the summer. She's traded in my homemade soups and incomparible company for the chance to participate in corporate domination, and I'm okay with that. For one thing, it's inspired me to trade in the chaos of construction-demolition and the confines of a closet-bedroom for early morning birdsong, night walks on the beach, and a neighbhourhood of people who aren't quite so terrified and bitter with each other. Leaving downtown was a very good choice for me. The West End is key.

I wanted to take some pictures of the cherry blossoms this week. They began to fall last Sunday, and drifts of petals briefly blanketed the sidewalks around my building. It's been pretty cold here, with any warm days sandwiched between frigid nights - but the air still smells like nectar, and the flowers have been blooming for months. I anticipate days spent reading and writing by Beaver Lake. I want to chill with Stanley Park's bearded herons.

The cherry petals didn't last long beneath the assault of damp and footstep, meeting the same rapid demise as the autumn leaves. Now, an orangeish brown pile of crisp and rot dominates the pink, and I never did take those pictures. Damn - sometimes I really don't get anything done.

In lieu of new pictures, I'll post some old ones.

Here are some from Stanley Park in a different season:

2008-04-18T02:25:00.003-04:00

I got my hair cut a couple of weeks ago, after putting it off for months and months and months... The longer I put it off, the less I wanted to make the appointment. There was an element of Dentist Effect at work - the same feelings of shame, guilt, and resentment that I used to suffer before an appointment with my dental hygienist, when I knew I hadn't been flossing enough, and I knew she'd be able to tell.

Yes, I was feeling pretty ashamed of myself as I stood in that obnoxiously trendy Yale Town salon, unwinding my crispy curls from their chlorine imprisoned braid. Yes, it was the grossest hair that salon has seen for a while; I knew it, my hair dresser Karen knew it, all the sleek yuppie power women knew it, smirking in their foils.

"What do you want?" Karen asked me. "Anything," I answered, and when she expressed some disbelief at the creative license I was granting her, I assured her: "Do whatever you want to it. I've never had a haircut I've liked before - so, do whatever you think would work."

It was an act of faith, but I'd done my research. I knew she specialized in curly hair, I knew she left her blogging patrons happy, I knew she had the most beautiful head of curls I'd ever seen (which, I later learned, she cuts herself). Also, aside from all those years of puffy, uninspired haircuts that you've all seen and loved (can I get a shout-out for bangs?), I've also survived an utter hair distaster. I've learned the hard way that it's just hair - it eventually grows out, and the scars left by an above average awkward teenagehood fade with time. I might not be the person I am today if I didn't graduate from the eighth grade looking like a mom.

So, Karen went to work, cutting each curl according to its character.

At the shortest parts, I lost almost a foot of hair (I know - gross - why did I let it get that long?), and pounds were shaved from the back in a massive thinning project. "This is the funnest cut I've given all year!" Karen told me - I had redeemed myself for the chlorine and split ends.

And now I'm looking sassy, and I have the first hair cut I've ever truly enjoyed. I offer a snazzy Mac photo booth shot as proof:

In the early days, Dan made a shocking discovery: "Oh my god... I can run my hand through your hair!!!" And the best part was yet to come: the realization that it only improves the longer I go without washing it. How amazing is that??? Yet another incentive for personal hygiene lost...

As an aside, it's interesting to note that my hair was once quite straight and quite blonde - and I had a mullet.

Another aside: I started my Renew Life CandiGone & CandiZyme regimes yesterday, a 15 day course of candida-fighting capsules and drops. I held off on starting the naturopathic adventure earlier, not willing to endure extreme die-off symptoms on top of my chlorine rash, and fearing that the antihistamines would mess up the process somehow (I like to imagine a naturopath in my head sometimes, when I'm trying to make a candida-related decision, and the imaginary naturopath says: "Antihistamines?!! Good lord, nooooo!!" before advising daily colon flushes for all of my woes).

A Morning at Lynn Valley

2008-04-16T00:17:00.009-04:00

Yesterday, Dan and I made a morning trip to Lynn Valley. We've been needing some wilderness in our lives. Vancouver does that to us - through the high rises, I see slices of mountain, unreal; and I know that when Dan gets home, he leans out his window to watch the pulsating lights of North Van below the darkened peaks; we see the mountains, but we don't believe in them. They exist for postcards and tourists, skiers, snowboarders, people with cars and people with money.

And then we went for a walk in Stanley Park on Monday morning, and it reminded us that there is beauty here, countless places accessible by bus and sky train and seabus, where the sound of construction fades, even if the sound of traffic remains. Places where the wind is sensual and intoxicating as it moves across my face, no more street-funneled blasts of pain. There can be paths and other people, Dan says, and it's still enough. We still feel like we've escaped. It's depressing that our time with the trees will be cut short by his 2:45 Starbuck's shift; but it's wonderful that we can sit in the sun for a morning, and walk back to reality.

We chose a destination a little further off yesterday - Lynn Valley is something of a Meadway Creek for us out here, a place to go back to, to watch through the seasons. Of course, the seasons bring less change here than in Ontario; but I noticed something different. Not just that the waters were a little higher, the falls a little louder, fed with melt water from those unreal mountains (and not just that the mountains did seem more real there; they were closer, I could see the shades and shapes of the trees on their slopes, and the Baden Powell trail - which is rocky and sometimes steep - winds through Lynn Canyon on its way up Grouse Mountain). I noticed that for the first time, the sun felt warm. Before, the creek-side rocks have always remained stubbornly cold, resisting the dispersed, blue light of the temperate Vancouver sun; but yesterday, even the rocks felt a little warm. I stayed after Dan left for work, hiking along the Baden Powell trail to the suspension bridge and Twin Falls.

When I was talking to my mom on the phone a few hours later, she asked me how the job hunt was going. "Fine," I lied... It was a shitty lie, because she'd probably love to hear about my hike. I haven't given my parents the link to this blog yet - I reserve the right to be scandalous.

Some Days Off

2008-04-14T13:43:00.003-04:00

I have some time for culinary creation over the next couple of days.

Last Friday, I reached the end of my rope with painful, itchy, disfiguring rashes. Against my better judgement and the advice of the internet candida gods, I tried using prescription strength antihistamines to get my skin's uncomfortable condition under control and to prevent new rashy outbreaks: I took 2 drowsy-fying, dizzy-fying, mouth dry-ifying tablets before each shift, giving fair consideration to the prospect of working medicated, indefinitely. "If these don't work, I'll quit," I promised Grayday, whose worry was mounting daily. "Or, if the antihistamines make me tired or sick, I'll quit," I added.... "Or, maybe I should just quit?"

Quiting was an undesirable tactic in my mind. It would mean giving up a relatively high-paying job that I didn't hate, in exchange for the stress of job hunting, with the likely outcome of a new job that paid less and offered less enjoyment. Plus, I'm plagued by some twisted, employee loyalty disease, and I felt perversely guilty about the whole situation.

In the end, the decision was made easy: the antihistamines didn't work, the rash reached new, epic proportions (3-days pool-free, and I'm still struggling to reign it in), my eyes burned red and gooey from dawn until dusk, and the meds triggered symptoms of candida revival. So, I quit.

I'm taking a couple of days off, to encourage my body's recovery.

So, what do you do with a day off and a kitchen full of random ingredients? Hmm, a peak into my fridge reveals a bowl full of white beans, left to soak; some red peppers, roasted last week and stored suspended in fridge-clotted olive oil; and an impressive collection of cucumbers, carrots, and daikon radish.

Roasted Red Pepper Bean Dip + Veggies for Dipping = a Fantasy Soon to be Realized

Ode to Cucumbers

2008-04-14T00:26:00.011-04:00

My contentment in the kitchen can be measured by cucumbers. Normally, cucumbers don't make the cut - they break the $1 mark, they enter the realm of "moderately priced vegetables" - they're rare treats, in the company of red peppers and zucchini; they're only a step away from fennel and cauliflower. They're saved for special occasions, sushi nights, and the times when Jenna buys the veggies.

But, oh.

H-Mart!

Bringer of all things beautiful!! How I worship thee and your bounty of cheap Asian produce. Two weeks ago, you blew my mind. Was it for me that you staged the world's greatest cucumber sale? 5 English Cucumbers for $1.99? Oh, YES!!

Hastened by the need to eat my 5 cucumbers before they went bad and by the slim hope of finishing them before the sale ended, a cucumber-a-day habit soon held me in its refreshing grasp. Cucumbers for breakfast, cucumbers for dinner, cucumbers every step in between - and I loved it.

Of course, it couldn't last. The H-Mart's wonders are often fleeting - a weekend of pluots, a single afternoon of half-priced zucchini... these things whet the appetite and breed discontent for non-Asian competitors, but they don't last.

Luckily, there was consolation to be had. When I finished the last of the five cucumbers and returned to the H-Mart, the dream sale was over; but cucumbers were still discounted at a mere $0.99 each. So, I cut back to 1/2 a cucumber a day.

And today, as the last nubbin remnant of my 99-cent cucumbers lay wrinkling in the crisper, I got my fix. Great Two Supermarket - my Asian grocery home away from home - had a crate of cucumbers on sale for $0.49 / each. So, my crisper is full for another day, and so is my belly. For dinner, I cubed some cucumber, cooked up some soba noodles, mixed some tahini with lemon juice, oil, and seasonings, and tossed it all together with some fresh cilantro, sunflower seeds, and a good dose of black pepper. Delicious, nutritious:

I am content.

Haha, check this out.

Black Bean Brownies

2008-04-09T13:18:00.005-04:00

I've been experimenting more with candida & elimination diet-friendly baked goods. With my lack of experience and knowledge in gluten-free baking - and my refusal thus far to invest in the many flours, starches and gums called for in most gluten-free recipes - most of the results have been crumbly and dense affairs, at best. Edible, always - even tasty, usually - but often not as satisfying as a plain, old apple for dessert.

By far, my most successful creation has been the tray of wheat-free, sugar-free vegan brownies that I demolished in days this week. I used one of several brownie recipes floating around out there that call for black beans. It sounds disgusting to Western dessert sensibilities, but my fiending of Asian treats (with their heavy use of sweetened bean fillings) and general openness to odd-sounding recipes left me hopeful. The result was a healthy-tasting but delicious brownie treat, yummm. You can taste the beans, but only if you're looking for them, and the flavour is delicious anyways. Given its ingredients, I felt pretty okay about eating the whole batch in such short order.

Of course, tweaking shall be undertaken. The original recipe called for carob, but I used cocoa instead; I think I'll pick up some carob for my next effort, as well as some coconut oil and/or coconut milk.

The food highlight of my week: discovering that coconut is exempt from the "no tropical fruit" rule, because it contains caprylic acid, an anti-fungal that is helpful in the treatment of candida. YEAH!!!! I love coconut!!

These Black Bean Brownies have got me thinking: White Bean Blondies? Pinto Bean Spice Cake? The possibilities are endless.

For now, here's the recipe I used:

1. In a bowl, combine the dry ingredients: 2/3 cups quinoa flour (this is really expensive to buy, so I just blenderized some whole quinoa; the recipe said whole wheat flour could be used for a non-gluten-free version), 1/3 scant cup cocoa powder (I used about 2/9 of a cup), 1 generous tsp. stevia powder, 1/2 tsp. salt, and 2/3 cups walnuts (could use other nuts or coconut instead).

2. In a food processor, blend the wet ingredients until smooth: one can of black beans, drained and rinsed (next time, I'll use the bean liquid and omit the water); 6 tbsp. water; 2 tsp. vanilla; 1/3 cup vegan margarine (I used slightly less vegetable oil).

3. Combine the wet and dry ingredients, and spread the batter in a 9 x 9 inch pan (the batter will be quite thick). Bake in a 325 F oven, for 35-50 minutes, until a toothpick comes out relatively clean.

A few of these entered my system topped with almond butter and coconut - mmmm.

Yet, my spirits are high!

2008-04-08T17:44:00.005-04:00

I've had a busy couple of weeks. I've been looking for a new apartment and trying to lease my current place, while doing my best to respond to new developments in the land of bodily discomfort. Yep, it's another "ew gross" blog entry... (sorry). I won't include pictures - as much as I enjoy google imaging medical disorders, I have no wish to contribute to that vast bank of hideousness (note: if you're prone to queasiness, avoid "candida" - it's no "gangrene," but it's pretty unappealing).

Self-indulgent sharing, a blogger's tic:

I've developed an itchy, painful rash of tiny blisters on my torso, arms, and - most recently - my face, and I wake up to pink eye-esque symptoms on most mornings. The timing and location of these newest developments leave me with little doubt of their cause: after five years of working in aquatics and 24 years of loving the art of swimming, I seem to have developed a nasty allergy to chlorine. Or, as I suspect, this new sensitivity has arisen from a number of interacting factors - the warmth of the water at work, which opens my pores; the length of time spent soaking in the water (yesterday's 8-hour shift involved 6.75 hours spent in the pool); and the current immuno-depressed state of my body system. Also, most candida gurus suggest that candida can not only be caused by food allergies and sensitivities, but it can in turn cause new sensitivities to develop; I imagine the same may hold true of chemical sensitivities. So, I'm putting chlorine and wheat in the same hope chest of things to be enjoyed again in the future.

For now, I'm off to the walk-in clinic down the street, and I hope they'll deny my suspicions! I make sweet bucks at this job, and I often enjoy it! I don't want to find another!! First the Candy Store and now this - hmm, perhaps what my body is REALLY allergic to is work!

I'll end with my manger's inspiring words of comfort to me: "Don't worry. One of our staff had a rash like that a few years' back, and she thought it was from the chlorine. She had some tests done, and it turns out she was just a celiac!"

Nope, wheat wins.

Sweets

2008-03-26T13:29:00.006-04:00

I had a superbly lovely birthday yesterday. Grayday and I spent the afternoon window shopping at over-priced vintage stores and visiting the Art Gallery. Although the Vancouver Art Gallery is relatively small, touring the whole thing at once is still beyond my abilities. We focused our attentions on the 2nd floor Tree exhibit and finished with a taste of Kutlug Ataman's "Kuba" and "Paradise" video installations.

The Ataman installations were really interesting, with rows of T.V.s and chairs inviting spectators to watch a number of personal interviews. The "Kuba" installation explores the lives of 40 residents of a shanty town in Istanbul, Turkey. The "Paradise" installation explores the concepts of utopia held and lived by 24 southern Californians. Although I watched a handful of the Kuba interviews, my ravenous hunger only allowed me to watch one Paradise interview - choosing at random, I had the luck to discover an anarchist artist who supports himself through the sale of homemade autofelatio videos. It's hard to dismiss someone who's brought masturbation to a whole new level of wow.

Afterwards, Grayday and I grabbed some dinner at Nuba, a Lebanese restaurant that I've been meaning to try for a while. Spotting one of my favourite lentil & rice dishes on the menu, I had the mjadra plate. It was utterly sublime, with crispy caramelized onion threads and the creative addition of avocado; add to that a side of garlicky hummus, some sumac roasted potatoes, and a whole load of lemony-dressed salads, and I was one happy eater.

The night ended with flour-free, sugar-free birthday "cake" and a viewing of The Hours. Hooray for days with contours such as these.

Heather's Flour-Free, Sugar-Free Oat Cake (a work in progress)

Combine 2 "flax eggs" (or real eggs, etc.), 3/4 - 1 tsp. powdered stevia, 1/4 cup margerine, 1/4 cup peanut butter, 1/4 cup cashew butter (no birthday cake should be too healthy), 1/4 - 1/2 cup rice milk, and 1 tsp. vanilla in a bowl. In a separate bowl, combine 2 1/4 cups oats, 1/2 cup walnuts, 1/2 tsp. salt, 1 - 2 tsp. cinnamon, and 1 tsp. baking soda; add to the wet ingredients.

Spread in a 9x9 inch pan and bake at 350 F for 10-15 minutes.

This is a work in progress. The results were tasty and satisfying, although not very sweet. Next time, I'm going to play around with alternative flours (oat flour, rice flour, almond flour) and I'll add some pumpkin puree in lieu of some of that nut butter. If only the candida allowed, this would taste nice studded with fruit chunks and topped with jam or honey.

Birthday Reconfigured

2008-03-25T14:20:00.005-04:00

The day has finally arrived. March 25th, bringer of things beautiful.

This was the first year of my life in which I engaged in any sort of birthday count-down. Only 37, 36, 35 more sleeps until Marble Slab, until bread, until sushi, Asian baked goods, prepared condiments, tea, wine, bananas, chocolate, coconut milk, eating out. All things in moderation, of course.

But sadly, some birthday wishes don't come true. Was it the wine I shared with my mother two weeks ago? the whole wheat products I re-introduced in March (is this whole affair symptomatic of an underlying wheat allergy? what a hideous thought...)? or the cheating nibbles of sugar-laden foods that I failed to resist during Chinese New Year, my brother's visit, my parent's visit, Easter season? Most likely, it was the sum total of these things - and my optimism that four months of abstinence would suffice, despite most sources citing 6 months as the requisite candida murder span. In any case, symptoms have returned, candida reigns supreme, and Marble Slab will have to wait.

My long hiatus from blog-writing has been due in part to a flurry of family visits, the follow-up period of napping, and general laziness. And I blame the return of candida for this writer's block too. It's hard not to feel alienated from my body when it maintains such a commitment to discomfort, it's hard not to feel betrayed when a former eating machine of unmatched prowess degenerates into a weakling system of botched digestion and itchiness. It's hard to update the blog of a flavourphiliac when I'm missing so many flavours in my life.

And then I remember what candida has done for me this year, and the painful cravings for freshly churned ice cream become endurable. If ice cream was allowed, the joys of chickpea flour, unsweetened yogurt, oatmeal sans brown sugar, cinnamon consumed with abandon, "Four O'Clock" brand Chocolate Spice Tea, apple cider vinegar, homemade crackers, and green chutney slathered on anything and everything might remain unknown to me. The as yet unexplored realms of raw food, sprouting, and fermentation might remain unexplored! The necessary task of diminishing my cupboards' stock of dried grains and legumes (presuming I find one, I'm moving to a new apartment in May) would be complicated by the temptation of Khai Thai, The Naam, Steam Rollers, Red Burrito, dim sum, T&T Supermarket, Vera's, indian lunch buffets, all things sushi.

Enter 24: The Year of Flavour Balance.

2008-03-04T18:32:00.003-04:00

It's my day-off today, and what better adventure to undertake than a mission to Metrotown?

Kick Some Kiddy Ass

2008-03-01T06:25:00.004-04:00

My brother and his girlfriend are pretty big internet fiends, rounding out their WOW time with Dr. Tran and intense bouts of "Would You Rather" - of course, humble luddites that we are, Grayday and I gained exposure to many new web phenomenon over the course of their visit. Grayday was somewhat put out by the results of one particular online quiz, which purportedly determined the number of 5-year olds one could take in a fight. Grayday swore he could take fifty, but his quiz results (which "are based on physical prowess, training, swarm-combatting experience, and the flexibility of your moral compass") did not support his claims.

He maintains that if he were placed in an enclosed area the size of a basketball court, with a protective cup but no weapons, he could take on fifty 5-year old children intent upon killing him.

Obviously Grayday has never tussled with a 5-year old, let alone multiple 5-year olds. He's never felt the intensity of their pinches, the wiliness of their limbs, which can cling, claw, and climb all at once, intuitively evading adult intervention. Before you know it, an ankle-biter has elevated herself to the status of head-squatting neck-breaker, scaling the body in seconds, leaving scars and wounds along the way. And those are the friendly 5-year olds, the ones who have no intention of killing. Those are the 5-year olds who like and possibly love you. They're just using bites, scratches, and gut-aimed sucker punches to express their fear of water, soccer balls, spiders, summer camp, etc. and often their affection. "I'd just kick them in the head," he says, with naive confidence. Try it, with six hanging from one leg and seven from the other. It's one of their favourite maneuvers.

Not only has he failed to take his tendency towards concussion into account, but Grayday is also ignoring the signs and symptoms of 5-year old abuse that weekly pepper my body.

The test quiz suggests that I could take on more 5-year olds than he could. Considering he's just about as gimpy as me, but lacks my years of experience in 5-year old defense and counter-attack, I trust the results. Nah nahhhhhhhhhh!

Money Talk

2008-03-01T05:45:00.004-04:00

This week, I had the first-time experience of receiving a paycheck that will cover my entire month's rent. In one fell swoop, one two-week pay period, I have conquered the rent demons. It feels incredible. I also got to take over another employee's lesson load after she quit in a somewhat spectacular fashion. For me, that means no more training in the ways of swim instruction, no more thirty-hour weeks of shadow instruction; I have finally escaped the cycle of redundancy and have my own classes again - AND, I get a pay increase. Damn, I have never hated or wanted money so much.

I also discovered that I have two potentially workless weeks in March. The pool ends its current session of lessons before March Break, and it doesn't start the next until after Easter - giving me two weeks of lesson-free time-off. Upon making the discovery, I realized that it's possible my tutoring job will be put on similar hold. On the downside, I'll have two workless, payless weeks, and the benefits of my sweet paychecks are, for the immediate time, somewhat negated. All extra pennies earned must be saved against the upcoming wage hiatus. Damn school-aged children. On the upside, I might get a March Break - clearly sweet, on a number of levels.

My brother and his girlfriend are wrapping up their more adult version of March Break, the under-appreciated and much taken for granted "Reading Week". It's been wonderful having them here, and I will be sad to see them go. My digestive tract will likely fiend the break - I've feasted beyond imagination, for days upon days now. It's been delicious.

March 1st heralds the next phase of candida re-introductions - scheduled: test body's tolerance for wheatier goods. If all goes well and my body does not rebel, I'll be enjoying Marble Slab in just 25 days... mmmm mmmmm delicious.

I want to be a Manatee Druid

2008-02-27T01:35:00.002-04:00

Aside from feeling full and bloated all day, every day, Dan and Kayla's visit has been lovely. They seem to love it here, a lot - "We have 3 feet of snow at home", they say, and their Vancouver-crush suddenly makes more sense to me. Not only will my younger brother win millions in the lottery one day, but when he does, he'll buy a home in North Vancouver - these and other plans fill our conversations and serve to emphasize his budding love for this city. I'll admit, even I dream of a life in North Van.

Today we spent the afternoon on Granville Island. I spent a lot of money I didn't have, on a new knit hat, a hugely discounted butterfly calendar, and a container of "rustic Tuscan yam salad" from the market's Italian deli. I also had a cup of delicious Peach Apricot Honey Bush tea, yum yumm.

Then we met up with Donna, one of Dan and Kayla's friends from the World of Warcraft. She doesn't look like a Paladin in the real world - at least I don't think she does. I don't know what a Paladin looks like. I felt lost throughout much of the night, offering confused looks in exchange for WOW banter. Don't think I didn't enjoy it - it was a lovely night out. Plus, if I interpreted correctly, I heard that one can achieve "sea cow" capabilities in WOW, spending the rest of one's cyber days in manatee bliss. It's the first and only time I've been tempted to join.

Neptune Sharkfin Seafood Restaurant

2008-02-25T12:56:00.004-04:00

I woke up this morning with a massive, hideous food hangover. The stretchy pant solution is an ongoing necessity, as my over-filled stomach continues to push my ribs upwards and crowd its peeved organ neighbours into uncomfortable abdominal corners. Hey, that poor squished liver is just trying to do its part, stomach - let's be respectful of each other during this time of digestive chaos.

Serves me right. The feasting got wayyy out of control last night. In part, I can blame the arrival of my younger brother and his girlfriend and the impetus they provided to keep the party going long after I got home from my work dinner. I'm not the only eater in this family, and "party" is synonymous with "food".

However, that lame excuse obscures the fact that late-night binge eating is a regular occurrence around here and requires no inspiration aside from my everyday gluttony.

If I'm going to blame any factor outside of my own lack of will-power, it has to be the epic feast that constituted last night's work dinner.

Traveling to Richmond, a predominantly Chinese part of town, with Eric, my Chinese boss, and over 15 Chinese co-workers, I expected to get some good, "authentic" Chinese food. What I didn't expect was the never-ending food adventure that awaited us.

If my memory serves me correctly, we ate 13 courses. It was a set menu, a copy of which Eric passed around when we all arrived - since it was written in Mandarin, I was left to wait and wonder. The food arrived one dish at a time and was placed on a Lazy Susan in the middle of each table, allowing us to serve ourselves as little or as much as we liked. In my naivete, I didn't realize what was coming and chose "as much", whenever possible. There were some options that didn't seem too hideously candida-promoting, although vegetarian tidbits were in the vast minority. I ate around some meat and I'll admit, I also tried some tasty non-vertebrate morsels.

Here's a list of every dish I can remember, although I didn't eat all of it:

-"Appetizer Platter" - I don't know if that's a culturally accurate description, but it's a comprehensible way of describing a big plate of wee things: sauteed jelly fish, prawns, cuttlefish, thin beef slices, fried been curd, and egg rolls
-fried crab balls
-sauteed broccoli, mushrooms, prawn, and scallops
-fried crab chunks
-garlic steamed crab legs
-bird's nest and shark-fin soup
-fried chicken with shrimp crisps
-abalone with mushrooms and cabbage
-steamed fish
-longevity noodles
-fried rice
-sesame balls and red bean pastries
-tapioca pudding

I definitely did not eat the bird's nest and shark fin soup, although I'll refrain from embarking on that particular eco-rant for now. The soup was, however, a clue to the decadence of this feast, along with the abalone, which I was told is a rare treat and a sign of wealth and prestige. I have no doubt that my boss dropped hundreds and hundreds of dollars on this meal - quite possibly over a thousand dollars - and not because a small tutoring business in the east end is a particularly lucrative enterprise. "It's good luck for a boss to take his employees out for New Year's," one of my co-workers told me. Damn, I am so happy to have shared in that tradition.

I wish I knew some of the names of the dishes we had, as well as some photos. It sounds like a lot of the foods and dishes also hold symbolic significance, which I would love to learn more about.

Gung Hei Fat Choy everyone! Year of the Rat - that's me! Again, I wish I knew what that meant... if only my knowledge of Chinese calendars wasn't solely of the paper placemat genre.

Waves & Rashes

2008-02-23T15:20:00.003-04:00

A week of Safety Days has drawn to a close, and I'm ready for a break.

On Safety Day, swimmers learn the ins and outs of boating safety, PFDs, swimming without goggles, and swimming in waves. The first time I got to make waves, I loved it. Push, pull, push, pull, watch in glee as the turbulence of your flutter board stirs dozen of children in a sea of almost-drowning.

Five days later, my puny, ineffectual arms cry out: "Never again! Safety Day, NOOOOO!!" The ache of waves lingers in my arms and pectorals. I've received more than my usual week's allotment of punches, pinches, and twists of flesh, as goggle-pampered children whine, struggle, and freak-out in their novel state of goggle-free blindness. And, inexplicably, after five years of aquatic employment, my skin is rejecting chlorine. It looks like I've been working at an outdoor pool, with patches of chlorine burns tracing my bathing suit lines and mimicking the sensation and appearance of an angry sunburn.

Still, I'm happy to have this job. The time goes by not too slowly, the people are chill, and when my skin adjusts to burnt sensations, it feels like my workday is spent in a bathtub, the water is so warm. It may be the first time - EVER - that hints of muscle definition are infiltrating my thighs. And Granville Island is only a short walk away. It was a miraculous 14 degrees here yesterday, and Grayday and I spent my last hour before work sitting outside, eating market food, watching birds, and listening to a mellow-voiced homme sing French jazz songs in the spring-tempered sun. Sometimes, I understand why people live here.

Tomorrow, my brother and his girlfriend - Dan and Kayla - arrive for a visit, spending their reading week in west coast exploration. I'll be spending my day off in preparation for their visit, and for my parents visit shortly thereafter. I also need to brainstorm ways in which I can offer Alex some love and assistance from a distance. Alex, it's ridiculous for me to complain about chlorine rashes and sore arms. Thinking about you, homedawg.

Crap on periods - who needs 'em?

2008-02-20T12:00:00.007-04:00

Here are a couple of writing samples from my Sunday tutoring classes. I'm not sure if it's ethical to post these or not, but realistically all of my kids are too busy playing Maple Story to ever read a blog. I find these samples really amusing, interesting, and daunting, all at once. Amusing in a make me laugh every time kind of way. Interesting, because they offer insight into the minds and language processes of two Mandarin-raised ESL students who are struggling to learn English. These students challenge me to view my own language from a very different perspective - how can I teach English to someone for whom intuition offers no guide? There is no "Does this sound right?" for these kids. How do I approach my native language from a foreign perspective? And of course, that's the daunting part.

The first is from a grade 4 student. He's an ESL speaker, but he's been living in Canada since he was quite young and speaks very well. Aside from struggling with verb conjugation, most of his issues are essentially those of an English speaker who just can't write:

Hello.

My name is Jason I like my little brother he's kinda nice. But sometimes he gets mad when I beat him in a fighting game. He scratch alot and bite too. When he gets mad he scratches and it hurt alot it's like getting shoot in the heart. Sometimes he crys when he's alone if he's alone he's gonna play with me witch is bad cause I play computer when he plays he push me off of the chair and scratch me and play 2 player games.

Good work Jason. This activity was the follow-up assignment to our lecture on sentence structure and using periods...

The next one's really interesting. It's from a grade 7 student, Simon, who can make himself understood orally but is relatively new to English.

Today, I went to visit my mom and I were got the mom surprise. I got her rose to celebrate mother's day. Then my father were diver us to cousin because there have a mother's day party and a lot of people were in there include our family. instead, I boght every mother gift. Now is every father got a surprise for the wife.

I've never wanted to know Mandarin more in my life.

I have a staff meeting this Sunday, and for the location my Chinese boss has chosen a Chinese restaurant in Richmond, a predominantly Asian part of the city. In other words, it should be the best Chinese food of my life, and I can't wait. Keep your fingers crossed for vegetarian, candida-friendly options.... and that's the kind of optimism that allows me hope that I can do something for Jason and Simon.

Procrastination, The Grown-Up Edition

2008-02-17T02:33:00.006-04:00

I have transitioned seamlessly, from the student who starts assignments the night before they are due - to the teacher who starts lesson planning the night before class. And, in both cases, completing these neglected tasks on the morning of seems to be the sad, sleep-depriving norm. *SIGH* It serves me right.

One of the greatest perks of this tutoring job, aside from the fact that it is neither candy store retail nor swim instruction, is its close proximity to a wicked awesome Chinese grocery store. Every week, I come home with a sack of fruits that have been massively discounted for small bruises, tiny scratches, and harmless colour blotches. As if I can afford to be so picky. What's that? Discounted mangled carrots?! Awesome!!!

I picked up my chayote squash at the same grocery store. As per an earlier blog challenge, I did manage to eat my squash, fennel, mint, and beets before they turned to rot. The squash and fennel were particularly delicious. I sauteed the squash according to this scrumptious recipe, serving it with black beans (mmmm, droooool, make them) and spanish rice. Then I ate the left-overs:

The squash was similar in taste to a zucchini, but it was sweeter, crisper, and generally more appealing to my taste buds. It looks slimy in this photo :( but it wasn't. It was so delicious that I bought another one last week for the delectable price of $0.68!

Hurray for Asian grocery stores and the squashy goodness they provide! I bought a korean squash from the H-Mart earlier this week. It was even closer in nature to a zucchini, but again, tastier. Apparently this post is all about discrediting zucchini. Maybe we can blame it on differences in climate and growing seasons...

Also, up yours blogger. You never load photos when I want you to.

Pudding Experiment: Citrus Yields Desired Results

2008-02-13T18:16:00.004-04:00

It's citrus season, hurrah! I'm happy to report that my second Pudding Experiment was more successful than my first, although it got off to a rocky start. I made the mistake of combining silken tofu with large quantities of lemon and orange juice - yes, despite Grayday's constant vows that I am a "wizard," I continue to reveal my amateur status in the kitchen. Not surprisingly, the tofu immediately curdled, and I had a soupy pot of chunky liquid of my hands - hardly a pudding success story.

However, with the addition of thickening agents, lots of heating, blenderizing, and refrigerating, I came out of the ordeal with a bowl of pretty citrus pudding, which didn't taste half-bad. The lemon juice lost its zing with all that heating, and I should have added it post-thickening. I'll do that next time, adding some lemon zest at the beginning and omitting the orange juice altogether. I only used 1/4 tsp of stevia, and that made it sweet enough.

We ate the pudding with a few raspberries and cashews (man, my food photography skills are hurt for cert'):

If you're looking for a simpler citrus treat, try this recipe (pictured in my last post):

Baked Grapefruit

1 grapefruit

2 tsp. maple syrup or honey

1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon, or more (as usual, I prefer obscene quantities)

1. Half the grapefruit and remove the pith (if you can - those piths can be stubborn). Use a knife to separate the sections, especially if you are sadly grapefruit spoonless, like myself.

2. Drizzle the grapefruit halves with maple syrup or honey, and sprinkle with cinnamon.

3. Bake in a 375 degree F oven for 15 minutes.

I made Jenna and Dan's with maply syrup, but I had mine sans sweetener and it was still scrumptious. I plan to try this recipe again with oranges. It's a nice change, although in the end, raw juicy citrus fruits - with or without a sprinkling of cinnamon - probably win out for me. If you see Jay Oranges (Vancouver Asian grocery store staple), pick some up - they're my new favourite.

Pea Soup

2008-02-12T00:11:00.000-04:00

I haven't been cooking quite as much lately as in my recent days of unemployment, but my new work-lite schedule still allows for tasty undertakings. If my hours increase (and let's hope they do), I'm sure that cooking and eating will be the last things to go, well after personal hygeine and housework. As I type this, a pot of split pea soup is simmering on the stove, offering its steamy rebuttal to the rain gods and to their gentle mists of wrath. I arrived home from the pool damper than when I left it. On the upside, as the mist erased the mountains from my Granville Bridge perspective, it also softened the edges of urbanity, and colonies of high rises sacrificed their angles of glass and steel to a curtain of gently dispersed grey light. It was a wet walk, but a beautiful one.

Before and after weekday swimming lessons, amid weekend tutoring, I'm trying to learn more from the recipes I follow, so I can improve upon the recipes I invent. It's impossible not to improve upon disaster, and consistent edibility is a victory for which I've worked long and hard. Next goal: more frequent deliciousness. With the expectation that invention will always involve failures.

My dairy-free, stevia-sweetened attempt at chocolate pudding? A very pretty looking, less than delicious failure. Edible, but not delicious. Better when stirred into yogurt - in no way better than yogurt on its own. BUT! that particular failed undertaking followed a more successful campaign to create a dairy-free, stevia-sweetened recipe for hot cocoa. And mmmm, what a delicious work in progress it is.

I'm not ready to give up on stevia pudding yet. I have some hesitancies about stevia. I also have occasional urges for decadence that apples with nut butter can't quite quench. So, after I publish post, Dan and I are braving the mists and seeking lemons. Citrusy goodness meets Pudding Experiment #2. Hypothesis: Success...

Dedicated to Chloe & Steel Cut Oats, Bringers of Joy & Merriment

2008-02-06T01:17:00.001-04:00

I'm through the mint, the chayote's half gone, and the beets remain - but all of that must wait.

Today I take a detour in honour of my friend Chloe, an inspiring, beautiful creature, who is celebrating her 22nd birthday.

Chloe may be the busiest, most ambitious person I know, and with her apparently unending stores of energy and talent, it's not surprising that she's also one of the most accomplished. She is many, many wonderful things, and she has many wonderful virtues.

But alas! No one is perfect, and there is at least one category in which Chloe falls short: Oatmeal. Despite its ranking among the world's greatest foods, poor Chloe just can't stomach it.

Chloe, I know you regret your distaste for oatmeal almost as much as I do. Hopefully today's entry can offer you some inspiration, and in the future we can share a hot, steaming bowl of filling, delicious goodness together.

I get into breakfast grooves, fiending the same morning meal for weeks, often months at a time. Lately, I start every day with a delicious feast of oatmeal.

I use 1/3 cup of dry oats, or 1/2 cup if I'm really hungry. Double this, if Daniel's stayed the night (scandalous).

I used to rely on standard quick oats, but I've recently switched to steel cut oats, a move that I highly recommend to any oatmeal fans or fans-to-be out there (Scottish & Irish oats are tasty too). If you like your breakfast cereal to have a really creamy porridge texture, the steel cut oats do require some preparation time (up to 20 minutes of simmering); if you prefer your breakfast cereal to have some chew to it, like I do, then you can cut the simmer time of your steel cut oats to little more than 5 minutes. Even that may seem excessive in the world of rushed mornings, but the oats require little attention, and you can work away at other morning tasks while they simmer on the stove. For added nuttiness, dry roast the oats in a hot skillet or pot before adding your chosen liquid. Or, keep it all very easy and stick with the quick oats.

For every 1/3 cup of oats, I add about 3/4 - 1 cup of water. Sometimes I use soy or rice milk (dairy also works), and if juice was in the budget, I'd try that too (apple juice seems like a good bet). Combine the oats and liquid, bring to a boil, lower the heat & simmer until the desired consistency & moistness level are achieved.

For flavouring, I go where my mood takes me. Add some spices, add some fresh fruit, frozen fruit, dried fruit, nuts and seeds (toasted or raw), nut butters, yogurt, milk (dairy or other), brown sugar, maple syrup, honey (honestly? with all that other goodness thrown in, I don't miss the last few).

Here are some of my own recent concoctions:

My regular: oatmeal + 1/2 apple, sliced (not pictured here, but Granny Smith is my favourite) + ground flax seeds + whole flax seeds + walnuts + nutmeg + ginger (used dried here) + LOTS of cinnamon + yogurt, mmmmm

This one came out a gorgeous purple colour: oatmeal + frozen mixed berries + flax seeds (whole & ground) + lots of ginger (this time I squeezed the juice out of fresh ginger, using my garlic press) + lots of cinnamon + almonds (+ post-photo yogurt)

Think pumpkin pie and sweet potato casserole: oatmeal + 1/2 sweet potato, mashed + flax seeds (whole & ground) + pecans + ginger + nutmeg + cardamom + cinnamon + yogurt (and it would probably be stellar with maple syrup...)

The tastiness potential is limitless. Go forth Chloe, try a bowl. As wonderful as you and oatmeal both are, you deserve each other. And if you still don't like it? Well, nobody's perfect...

Chayote, here I come...

2008-02-02T14:50:00.001-04:00

While making various grocery missions throughout the week, I often find ingredients that intrigue or excite me. Invariably, I'll pick up an item that I've never heard of, something I've heard of but never seen, or something that I've been meaning to buy for a while.

My fridge is currently overflowing with such ingredients. Thus, this week's food mission is simple - use the following miscellaneous products before they turn to rot and compost in my fridge:

- 1 chayote squash, found at a Chinese grocery store in the neighbourhood of my new tuturing job

- 1 bunch of mint, purchased to quelch the mint cravings of my erstwhile fasting days

-1 bulb of fennel, purchased when I finally found fennel on sale at a reasonable price

-2 beets, fiended because recent recipe finds have suggested potential for beets in their raw form

Since the number of recipes I've flagged, bookmarked, copied, or e-mailed myself has become astronomically unreasonable, this ingredient-centric mission should provide a means of organizing this week's food ambitions.

In other news, I landed a second job yesterday. I'm returning to the world of aquatics as a swimming instructor. I might be somewhat bashful about the return, if I weren't making more as an instructor here than I did as a supervisor in Ontario. Sweeeeeet.

Huzzah!

2008-01-31T17:02:00.000-04:00

Today is a day of celebration!

Above all, it marks the one-year anniversary of an incredibly awkward talk with an incredibly loving, supportive, creative, intelligent, beautiful & brilliant boy, Daniel le Dekes-A-Lot. Dear Grayday, thank you for returning my affections with equal awkwardness twelve months ago. We make a beautiful couple.

The anniversary reigns supreme in this day of celebration, and by no means do I intend to minimalize its significance with the inclusion of secondary points of excitement. That said, let's add some icing to this cake...

- I got a job today! I'll be working for an after-school education company, tutoring and instructing English for a few hours / week. I start this weekend, completely and utterly unprepared for what awaits me. (I still need to find more jobs, but it's a solid start...)

- I discovered the wonder of food processor + cabbage! Never again will I coleslaw by hand - my days of shunning cheap & healthy cabbage out of anticipatory laziness are over

- I found wheat-free soba noodles!!! In all honesty, this probably beats the job for excitement points, meriting a rarely allotted third exclamation mark. Bringing to close an ancient quest, this discovery promises deliciousness for eons to come.

What a glorious day indeed. I have one more interview to go, and then I'll swing the night into feast mode.

Farinata Genovese

2008-01-30T15:37:00.000-04:00

If there was ever a reason to love chickpea flour, I'm holding it:

Buy some chickpea flour, find a recipe for Ligurian pancake / farinata, make it, feast upon it, beach. You won't regret any of these decisions, and you'll be happy to steep in massive quantities of olive oil for the rest of your evening.

I used another one of Mark Bittman's recipes, "Farinata Genovese", from The Best Recipes in the World (yes, it really was one of the best recipes in the world). It called for a pizza pan or oven-proof skillet, but I used a square cake pan in nomadic student style. E-mail me if you want the recipe. Oh motherload of tasty....

In the world of brown rice flour, I tried a new bread recipe last night, found randomly online: Almond and Rice Flour Bread with Poppy Seeds. I didn't have poppy seeds, but I followed my current pattern of adding flax seeds for texture.

It was quite dry and dense, although not in a bad way - more like a scone than a fluffy sandwich bread. It could definitely be improved upon, but it was more than good enough to trigger bread-starved binging at dinner last night - and since the meagre leftovers have just provided me with my first breakfast of toast & peanut butter in a longggg time, I can hardly help but appreciate it.

massive quantities of bread + massive tub of soup + massive pile of salad = massive need to beach

Now, I have just enough time to sweep up the bread crumbs before getting ready for my first job interview. If this week's worth of interviews is any indication, the world of aquatics is the only world that wants me. Whatever happens, I don't relish the inevitable exchange of foodery for wages.

The Flour Files

2008-01-29T14:57:00.000-04:00

Depending on whom you ask, the restrictions of candida dieting vary quite widely. Some specialists recommend eating whole grain products only, while avoiding all refined "white" products. Some counsel the more extensive [CANDIDA X-TREME] elimination of all glutinous grains (barley, wheat, spelt, rye) and the elimination of white rice and all corn flours. Still others fall someplace 'in between,' banning some foods, allowing others.

For me, the best results have come with the elimination of all wheat from my diet. For the love of all things wheaty, I hope this candida-thing is not symptomatic of an underlying wheat allergy. In any case, I'm currently following a schedule of extreme-transitioning-to-moderate elimination.

If all goes well, I'll reintroduce some glutinous grains on March 1st, adding spelt and kamut to my list of eatables. Until then, I dedicate myself to the world of non-glutinous grains, a world explored by countless celiacs and candida-freaks before me.

The Flour Files

a glimpse of carb-fiending in the alternative,

a catalogue of bread-like items I've been eating

Chapter 1: Buckwheat Flour

Pity him or envy him, Daniel Dekes is inescapably involved in an ongoing series of buckwheat breakfast experiments.

So far, we've tried two 'crepe' recipes (or recipes adapted to be crepe-like) using dark buckwheat flour.

For the first recipe, I combined 1 cup of buckwheat flour, 1 beaten egg, and 1-2 cups of milk (I used soy). The crepes tasted pleasantly earthy, with a dense texture, and they showed potential as future accompaniments to savoury curries and stews (mmm, dreaming of ratatouille). I'd like to play around with the recipe to make it a little more interesting. Flax seeds, a current kitchen obsession, will undoubtedly make an appearance, and I'm getting pretty curious about oat flour.

I adapted the second recipe from a blini recipe on Bob's Red Mill website, adding enough soy milk to the batter to make it crepe-suitable. The recipe used brown rice flour and flax seed meal, along with buckwheat, and these crepes had a lighter taste and texture than the first recipe. Although not quite flexible or durable enough, they're a step in the right direction towards finding a wheat- and corn-free burrito wrapper.

Between the two of us, Dan and I tried both recipes with a variety of fillings. According to Dan, both were good with maple syrup and cinnamon, while I liked sauteed spinach and been sprouts with mine. MMM, and green chutney too!

A Whole Lotta Food Talk

2008-01-27T00:48:00.001-04:00

Here are some photos from this week's cooking adventures. The first represent my amateur entrance into the realm of deep frying!!

Candida may prevent me from gorging on tempura, mozzarella sticks, and beer battered mushrooms, but the world of Indian-style fritters remains open to me, thanks to the wonder of chickpea flour. So, as an atrocious means of reintroducing solid food on Wednesday night, Dan and I raided my roommate's vegetable supply and fried up some sloppy but delicious vegetable pakora, using a recipe from wonderful Mark Bitman's The Best Recipes in the World, mmmmmm.

I got lazy, and instead of dipping the vegetables, I mixed them in the batter all at once and fished them out with tongs. Not very elegant, but it worked. For the vegetables, we used broccoli florets, whole snow peas, chopped onions, chopped green pepper, and baby spinach - all of which were great, except the peas, which were good but got a little slimy. The whole project was incredibly easy, and life doesn't get much better than fritters fresh-out-of-the-oil.

Dan ate his with sweet Thai chili sauce, while I took the opportunity to down large quantities of glorious green chutney, one of my all-time favourite condiments.

On Thursday night, I made a grab-bag assortment of dinner feastables, including a pot of basic vegetable soup, a really refreshing Moroccan carrot salad, and Baked Sweet Potatoes with West African Tsire, a recipe from Chris & Carolyn Caldicott's World Food Cafe 2: Easy Vegetarian Recipes From Around the Globe. I liked the soup and loved the salad, but I wasn't so keen on the tsire (a spiced peanut sauce), which was altogether too rich and too clove-y for me. Also, the flavours of the soup didn't meld so well with the other dishes, which will teach me to match my spices and cuisines better in the future.

Friday night consisted of Middle Eastern take-out for me, sushi for Dan, and episodes of The Office: Season Two for all. Saturday night saw one of my favourite meals go down: spaghetti squash with tomato sauce.

For anyone who hasn't tried spaghetti squash, pick one up some time. It's cheap, delicious, and easy to make: simply preheat your oven to 375 F, poke some holes in the squash with a fork, and bake it whole for 1 - 1 1/2 hours, until the flesh is tender. Then, cut the squash in half, scoop out the seeds, and use a fork to shred the squashy goodness inside. The flesh will form into amazing spaghetti-like strands, which are a perfect pasta alternative - in fact, I prefer spaghetti squash to spaghetti: it's crisp and refreshing, and I can gorge myself without feeling like beached pasta death in the long-run.

Along with the squash, I made a batch of homemade tomato sauce, sauteed spinach, my first attempt at meatless "meat balls", and a vegan Parmesan alternative. In my opinion, it was one of my most satisfying and successful meals to date!

For the vegan Parmesan alternative, mix equal parts of toasted sesame seeds and nutritional yeast with a dash of salt, and process in a blender for a few seconds. It doesn't really taste like Parmesan, but it manages to accomplish the same flavour effect - I didn't have the highest expectations, but I was really pleasantly surprised.

Recommended Taste Bites: Pakora, Morrocan Carrot Salad, Spaghetti Squash, Vegan Parmesan Alternative

Today's Project: Buckwheat Crepes!

Settling In Again

2008-01-25T00:02:00.001-04:00

Dan and I have been cooking up a storm these days, proving that there's nothing like a) coming off a fast, and b) returning to my own fridge, my own dishes, and my own beautiful gas stove to inspire a cooking frenzy. Unemployment doesn't hurt either.

Sadly, until I load the appropriate software onto my sexy new computer (fuck yes - goodbye Gateway!!), my tales of feasting must remain photo-less.

After dinner, we watched a screenplay by Douglas Coupland called Everything's Gone Green. I'm not sure what my final opinion of the film is - it fit pretty well with my yeah-meh feelings towards Coupland's writing in general; but its treatment of setting was breathtaking. With shots of intense and ambivalent beauty, the movie traced a shape of Vancouver that I found incredibly moving. There were moments of resonance that had something to do with my current experience of 'returning', and with my recent discovery that there are things here to be missed. In stretches of seawall, in metal cranes stilled on Sundays, I'm finding the beauty.

And on a note more grounded: I've updated the link to Dan's blog - select "Dekes" without fear of steroid assault.

Master Feaster

2008-01-23T23:00:00.001-04:00

Don't tell, but I've been eating rice crackers all night.

Over the holidays, I learned the shapes and tastes of self-control. I survived Christmas gatherings, restaurant rendezvous, and my family's well-stocked pantry and rich culinary traditions - breaking my candida diet less than a handful of times. Shocking, unprecedented, and not nearly as painful as I might have expected.

Let's not get too smug. I more than made up for lost sweets with treats less forbidden (note: less forbidden), and studies have shown that I ate my weight in all things fried-potato. Fearing the effects of this starchy goodness on any remaining candida populations, and appreciating the symbolic and psychological significance of marking the "new year", I decided to kick-start my return to Vancouver with an introductory romp in the world of Master Cleansing.

My goal was unextreme, by alternative health buffs' standards: follow the cleanse for a minimum of 3 days.

Well, I succeeded, and it may be a tribute to my new powers of self-control (sounding pretty eating disordered here...) that it wasn't very hard. I never felt hungry, and food fantasies were few. As early as Day 2 and well into Day 4, I was prepared to take the fast 'all the way,' contemplating 10 days of drinking cayenne-spiked lemonade, herbal laxatives, and brackish water, and dedicating the effects to porcelain gods everywhere. So why am I sitting here, with a jar of almond butter in one hand and a brown rice cracker in the other?

Despite claims of increased-energy levels that supposedly accompany the cleanse, each day has been marked by aborted walks, abandoned missions, forsaken outdoor adventures, and exhausted couch-seeking. Check out the past week's weather forecast for Vancouver; compare this to Vancouver's winter weather statistics; consider why I might resent a sunny afternoon spent napping.

Aside from exhaustion, I haven't suffered the usual detox symptoms of nausea, headaches, body aches, etc. These harassed my every early attempt to abandon sugar, so the fact that I've been feeling okay this week may suggest (is it obvious?) that my candida dieting has been detox enough.

No detox symptoms. What I have been plagued by are visions of withering muscle mass and an amino acid-starved body, turned cannibalistically against itself in the quest for protein. And thoughts of booty shrunk to nothingness, scrawny arms turned scrawnier, tummy sadly lost. And then there's the rage... pity Daniel Dekes, for the monster I've become.

Basically, I'm unconvinced that the health benefits of such an extended cleanse outweigh its detriments. I respect that cleansing has its place in the pursuit of physical, spiritual, and psychological health, but my own body-sense suggests that 10 days is excessive.

Maybe I'm just making excuses for myself. Maybe I miss the joy of cooking. Maybe I just want to eat.

In any case, here I am, with crumbs on my keyboard and cravings on my mind. I'm only supposed to be on the 'broth' step of fast-breaking, with the re-introduction of solid foods scheduled for Friday. Sadly, I have even less patience for fast-breaking than for fast-making. Falafel, anyone?

Blog of the Week

2008-01-03T11:33:00.000-04:00

If you haven't seen them already, check out the changes that Dekes has made to his blog. Stylistically breathtaking!

Merry Christmas!

2007-12-25T10:27:00.000-04:00

For those who dig it, Merry Christmas!

I've made it home, and I'm eating solids, and I'm back on the candida wagon, just in time to say no to the delicious piles of cookies that were cooling on the counter, fresh out of the oven, when I walked through the door. That may not sound celebratory, but believe me, it is.

My bags haven't made it yet, but that's okay. No one around this household puts much stock in gift punctuality anyways. For now, it's time to whip up some fun and exciting homemade presents to stick under that tree. Some people may already be unstuffing stockings - my mom's downstairs looking for the stockings. My younger brother is lurking outside my door, waiting to ask me to wrap his presents for him. My Dad may not be far behind him. My older brother hit me up last night. I love my family.

It's only 6:35 a.m. B.C. time - gross.

Here's the Skinny

2007-12-22T14:33:00.001-04:00

My past few entries reveal a blog that is characterized less by flavourphilia and epicuriosity than by the sharing of grotesque bodily details and intensifying patterns of unhealth. And although I haven't made it my mission to write about food and flavour exclusively, the themes of 'life in general' and 'random thoughts' seem to be lost in the ill-fest too. Maybe it reflects the psychological impact of denying a life-long obsession.

Lately, a slice of whole wheat toast with jam sets my skin itching, and now 400 mL of water, drunk too quickly, sends me to the E.R.

So maybe 'life in general' is the topic here, and 'life in general' gastronomically sucks.

Each new bodily setback is accompanied by a list of don't-eats and don't-drinks, exclusive to itself, contradicting the list before. I've successfully convinced myself that some of these challenges should be appreciated as the impetus to establish a healthier lifestyle and to explore new foods and ingredients. That said, my cupboard was already stocked with ancient grains and legumes, and my fridge with more fresh produce than many twenty-somethings see all year. Despite occasional guilt-free feasting, I thought I had a fairly healthy lifestyle. In fact, finding flu-friendly products has involved more grocery missions than candida ever did.

I'm now on a liquids-only diet, slowly letting sips of sugar-laden juices and sport drinks enter my war-torn stomach, taking lengthy breaks at the smallest gurgle of protest. Vegetable broth may still prove too much. Dehydration is the constant, urination a distant memory (in keeping with new thematic shift, some aspect of private function must be shared). I'm waiting to introduce saltines and pudding, so I can get on with cutting them out again, and start over with low-carb undertakings.

I worry and expect that the impact of all this will be a little too lasting. Will any future foray into the realm of refined foods be felt as a fatal lapse (with gastric failure offering the only valid excuse for straying)? I foresee wholefoodist nightmares induced by each bite of pad thai or panzerotti. Where is ice cream at the end of all this?

A food obsession is fine, as long as it's on the right side of disorder.

Friends, I'll join you at Ben Thanh, Tony's, and the market this Christmas, but don't judge me if I only order salad. It will be nice just to be back on solid ground.

2007-12-21T23:29:00.001-04:00

Its name is gastroenteritis.

Peanut Butter Banishment?

2007-12-19T18:01:00.000-04:00

The flu is incompatible with candida dieting, as I struggle to replenish electrolytes in the short, unpredictable periods between regular purgings. Complex carbohydrates take too long to hit the blood stream, and the last thing my tortured stomach hungers for is high-fibre nutrition. I crave ginger ale and saltines and (blame the sugar addiction) chocolate frosted brownies. I settle for whole wheat Triscuits and spelt biscuits, prepared by Dekes (nurse extraordinaire). I call my mom, and she tells me to drink Gatorade - it's the first dose of refined sugar I've had in a week, and the flavours of orangeade and fruit punch tantalize my tongue - my body is too drained to rise to sugar high. My vomit flows in electric colours, tangerine, red, chartreuse, mingling with the dregs of last night's wild rice-heavy dinner.

I still can't get the taste of peanut butter out of the back of my throat. It was the last thing I ate before the nausea hit, savoured straight from the spoon, in a heaping, indulgent dose. It was the first thing to come back up, and still it lingers...

Five years ago I enjoyed an 8-month long stint of salmonella poisoning, picked up in Morocco. Wandering through the souq of Rabat, it was impossible to resist the sacks of clementines sold for cents - unfortunately, the first few days of salmonella ensured that four years would pass before I could successfully swallow another clementine (any blend of green and mint teas remains off-limits to this day). Should peanut butter meet this same fate, it may result in a major identity crisis.

Ode to Jam Jams

2007-12-16T21:05:00.000-04:00

There remains one more Jam Jam in the freezer.

My parents left three days ago, but Jam Jams don't last long. My mom and dad were here for just under a week, before moving on to the land of ice and snow, and Christmas baking topped our list of things to do.

For all the reasons I hate on Christmas, there's a delicious holiday cookie to cram in my mouth and shut me up. My parents go all out with their Christmas baking, making hundreds of cookies, trying a new recipe now and then, and never missing these family favourites: gingersnaps, pfefferneuse, pecan crescents, raspberry squares, lemon squares, rosebud brownies, assorted biscotti, chocolate pinwheels, peppermint pinwheels, thumbprints, hazelnut stars, and Jam Jams. For as long as I can remember, Christmas baking with my family has been my favourite part of the season, topped only by Christmas feasting.

A Jam Jam is a beautiful thing:

I ate one, bending the rules of candida dieting for the sake of tradition and amazing deliciousnous. The rest were left to my roommate and Dekes to rapidly destroy.

There's only one Jam Jam left in the freezer.

I asked my parents if they'd be making the usual round of Christmas cookies this year, and I was sad to hear: "Probably not, since you won't be able to eat them all." Don't worry friends and fiends, I don't believe them for a second. Drop by and eat cookies sometime this holiday. I'll be home on the 24th...

The Confessions of a Candida-Ridden Sugar Addict

2007-12-05T14:11:00.000-04:00

To share or not to share? The irrelevance factor of the question grows as I consider this blog's readership, which I expect consists entirely of people I know. Lazy, infrequent posters must make poor fare for random voyeurs.

Full disclosure: I've been struggling (in order of least oppressive to most) with post-nasal drip, generalized skin itch, unquenchable dehydration, daily headaches, bouts of extreme bloating, chronic fatigue, and a never-ending soul-sucking yeast infection for over a month now. I challenge readers to be appalled by the vaginal details of my life! I guarantee your discomfort falls short of my own.

One trip to the walk-in clinic, hours spent in personal research, and several consultations with my homeopathically experienced roommate have led to the diagnosis of candida. Candida is a genus of yeast that typically occupies the human digestive tract. Yep, you've got candida too... but yours may be less glutinous and sleazy than mine.

Typically I would opt to keep such personal and graphic medical details to myself, but I've decided to sacrifice privacy for the sake of this blog's thematic integrity. Because currently the overgrowth of candida that inhabits my body is making it extremely difficult for the flavourphiliac to take advantage of all the flavour opportunities in her life.

Undoubtedly, it was the candy store that got me into this mess. Excessive sugar consumption has thrown-off the balance of my body systems. Now, the smallest (deliciously candy coated, chocolaty, creamy, crispy, crunchy) malt ball triggers promiscuous candida reproduction and the subsequent return of any once-vanquished symptoms. Full-out feasts and falling-off of wagons may be occasionally inevitable, but they are always disastrous and regrettable.

Having lost faith in the anti-fungal prescriptions of the mainstream medical world, I'm seeking health through food. I've found some variance between sources in my research of candida diets, but all sources suggest that I need to eliminate the following items from my flavour repertoire:

-all refined sugars (and initially: honey, maple syrup, and agave nectar too)
-artificial sweeteners
-all refined flours (i.e. white wheat flour, white corn flour, white rice flour)
-white rice
-fruit juices
-tropical fruits (i.e. bananas, mangoes)
-cooked carrots
-dairy (with the exception of probiotic yogurt, which I'm eating by the tub-full)
-black tea, coffee, caffeine, alcohol
-potatoes (restricted but not eliminated)
-artificial preservatives, artificial flavouring, etc.

Several sources suggest that I also eliminate the following:

-all fruits, with the occasional exception made for green apples and berries
-all glutinous grains (i.e. no wheat at all)
-corn, peas
-tofu, edamame, soy sauce (sob!!!), soy in general
-vinegar, with the exception of apple cider vinegar
-spicy food (wh-wha-what????)

Basically, after years of scorning the Atkins and South Beach hordes, I'm engaged in low-carb dieting.

I've only recently acknowledged how frustrating this experience has been for me. I hate having my flavours restricted.

But I'm also realizing (despite the frustrations and new-found expenses of grocery shopping, despite the multiplicity of cravings, despite the daily tortures of working in a candy store) that this experience - like any stage of epicurean-existence - has its upsides too.

It forces me to cook, despite the effects of chronic fatigue. The world of prepared foods and eating-out is simply unsuited to vegetarian, gluten-avoiding, sugar-avoiding low-carbers. In my cooking, it forces me to explore new ingredients, new methods of preparation, new modes of seasoning.

More than anything, I appreciate the necessity of giving up sugar. As much as I would love to feast on Wonka Bars, Paydays, and Turkish Delight all day, I would rather feel healthy and return to my pre-candy store habits of wholesome (most of the time) eating, when my body wasn't ruled by its sweet tooth (a cute euphemism for a dreadful sugar addiction). In fact, the candida diet is undoubtedly healthier than anything I've followed before, with its restrictions on refined foods and toxic elements of modern cuisine. Yes, I wish I could sample every new bulk item that arrives with today's Christmas shipment... and because of that, perhaps candida should be welcomed as an ally in my fight against future Diabetes.

So here's to snacking on almonds, lentils, and carrot sticks all day long! Here's to the healing properties of probiotic yogurt, and the necessity of healthy colons! Here's to succumbing to the world of naturopaths, homeopaths, and whole food advocates (what's next? raw foodism? well, actually....).

And here's to fiending another appointment at the walk-in clinic, demanding swabs, demanding blood work, demanding any test that will prove it isn't candida at all! Give me mono, I say! And let me eat cake!

2007-12-03T14:11:00.001-04:00

When I have no readings, no classes, no papers to procrastinate from, thinking itself becomes the abandoned undertaking. It was never my intention to stop thinking...

Hints of the outside: I would like to welcome two close friends to the world of blogging. Rachael and Chloe, let me offer you the humble gift of a hyperlink!! You put me to shame with your commitment to creativity in times of insane workloads. I like your comma useage. Reading your posts both soothes and stimulates the ongoing process of 'missing'.

X-TREME SPORT: There seems to be a lot of intensity around these days. Do you notice it in your own life, and in glimpses of others? Does it hover in silences and infiltrate your dinner dates? So even uneventful days have qualities of the absolute about them. How are you finding this intensity? Is there any discomfort, pain, or itchiness involved? Redness, swelling, fatigue, constipation, bloating, blurry vision, heartburn, or headaches? Are you suffering from depression, euphoria, or moodswings? Delirium?

Vegetarian Mumbo Jumbo

2007-10-10T01:22:00.001-04:00

It's been a while since my last post, and many delicious experiences have come, gone, and lingered since then. It's nothing I can sum up with a few flavour-centered phrases, but that won't stop me from trying. Add some chillin, some stressin, some job-hunt angst, some job-failure jokes, and expect all of the H-Mart gaps to soon be filled (yes, I have kept up with my pledge to buy and eat mysterious things), and you can let your imagination sketch the contours of my life here. What follows are merely the musings of a contented digestive tract.

I've eaten a lot of Thai Food since my move. The Pad Kee-Mao, a spicy rice noodle dish, from Khai Thai has opened my eyes to the amazingness of basil. I'm not sure if Thai cuisine uses the same type of basil as Italian, but I aim to find out. Once, my roommate went away. When she returned, our own little friend Basil was dead. Sadly not on account of my homicidal pesto urges. He's the only plant I've ever remembered to water, but it looks like I went too far. R.I.P. Basil, killed with kindness:

After the discovery of Pad Kee-Mao, before the death of Basil, I made a feast for our Secret Spy housewarming party. Rachael helped bake cookies, the party was strange, the feast was delicious.

Soon, a little late on account of UPS, Grayday sent me love and a carepackage. The star arrival was my Jasmine Dragon Pheonix Pearl green tea:

I am deep in lust with the honey steam plumes of jasmine. One teaball, four steeps later, Grayday was here in person. We did what we always do. We fiended, we frolicked, we feasted.

Noodles, sushi, pizza, cookies, cookies, stuffing. Details can wait.

Happy Thanksgiving!! The London ex-pats gathered, and we celebrated my favourite holiday in feastish style (mom would be proud):

My mom sent me sharp knives:

And today, a new flavour adventure began. After weeks of searching, I have finally found a job. It might not be the research position I'm still searching for, it might not pay more than minimum wage, it might not offer the kind of hours I need to pay rent, but it's hard to be too disappointed. I stand before you, proud in the knowledge of future cavities and waist-line issues. I, Flavourphiliac, am officially the happy new cashier of a candy store. And I can eat all the candy I want.

Tonight I adopted Deke's lame tactics for naming blog posts.

Skyline

2007-09-25T22:53:00.001-04:00

The view from my balcony can be chaotic, it can be interesting, it can be gray, it can be dismal sparkling depressing intriguing ugly (downright hideous). And then sometimes...

Kabocha stew pleaasssse!!

2007-09-25T01:08:00.000-04:00

Tonight I spent about an hour in the H-Mart, exploring its goods in greater detail, paper and pen in hand. Here are some of the labels that piqued my interest:

-garlic stem
-nagaimo
-soybean sprouts
-persimmons
-lemon grass
-lotus root and lotus seed
-sesame leaves
-dinosaur plum
-kabocha
-gobo
-daikon
-taro
-many, many types of seaweed, dried, frozen, and pickled
-narutomake aka
-korean sweet potato
-burdock root and burdock weed
-furikake
-rackyo
-acorn pudding

These are only some of the exciting goods up for exploration. Some will undoubtedly be purchased and consumed by me in the coming months. I've heard of many; I've eaten some; others are complete mysteries to me ... narutomake aka, anyone?

Tonight I bought a mix of new and old. For a taste of the familiar, there was pickled ginger, nori, and a yam. For something new, I picked up soba noodles (which I've encountered many times but never actually eaten), miso paste (which I've eaten tons of times but never really cooked with), endamame (which I've eaten once, with mixed feelings... time for another go at it), and frozen melon bars. Dekes is going to wet himself when he sees the beverage aisle.

I'm still on the lookout for a South Asian specialty store. The H-Mart (which I've learned is a Korean chain, although it has products from a lot of Asian countries) has failed me in my quest for large-ball tapioca, tamarind, and lychee-flavoured candies.

Treat yourself to something delicious. Here's a photo from the recent past, dedicated to Dekes and his return to Canada:

The Flavourphiliac takes on Vancouver

2007-09-21T14:55:00.000-04:00

Now, to get back to the important stuff and elaborate on just how deliciously I'm situated. Living in the heart of downtown has its downsides - noise, lights, people - but it also has its perks. Mainly, copious quantities of exquisite eatables.

I have thai, I have sushi, I have burritos, I have curry, I have falafel, I have noodle bowls, I have rare and imported beer and wine, I have local cider, I have Starbucks pumpkin muffins, I have umpteen coffee shops, I have organic groceries, I have nearly everything my tastebuds could crave within a two-block radius of my new home.

Currently, I'm wooing the H-Mart, a large Asian grocery store located in my building. I want to make sweet love to it, carressing its aisles of noodle products, its dozens of tofu options, its stacks of miso varieties, its wall of soy sauce, its selection of sashimi grade seafood that makes this vegetarian quiver with craving, mmm, and so much more. I'm talking sensory overload, bank-breaking stomach-bulging temptation.

So! Among my many goals for this year of independant adventure and personal pursuit, I add the following: Each week, I will buy something exciting and relatively unknown from the H-Mart and will attempt to transform it into something edible and hopefully delicious. Yeahhh!!

So far, I've cheated this week, buying frozen spring rolls and instant miso soup. Not very unknown, but suitably comforting in a time of moving stress. And there's always today.

Every Hermit Needs One

2007-09-19T13:57:00.000-04:00

My cosy little cave:

After eating out with my mom all weekend, I made my first real meal in the apartment last night. It's officially a home.

Welcome to the Coast

2007-09-18T12:19:00.000-04:00

I'm sitting in a small apartment filled with Ikea boxes, some empty and some awaiting my newly acquired assembling skills. I've transformed my futon from bed to sofa and emerged from the closet I call a bedroom, drifting into the kitchen, feeling domestic as I see my roommate off to work, plug in the kettle, and plan this day's worth of errands and cleaning. The wavering whistle of steaming water heralds another dose of tea. It adds a touch of soprano to the noises of construction and traffic below, the urban soundscape of downtown Vancouver. And when I open the silver blinds, I'll see grey skies, high rises, electric buses, department stores, restaurants, flashing electronic billboards, construction vehicles at work in a fantastically gaping pit across the street, trees, banners leading pedestrians to new exhibits at the Vancouver Art Gallery, people walking by wearing coats that make an Ontarian wonder in this mild weather. It doesn't sound beautiful, and it isn't really. But so far, I like it.

Medway Creek

2007-09-03T10:32:00.000-04:00

An entry for all the beauty of August.

A few weeks ago, Dan and I went hiking along Medway Creek.

We turned back too late and eventually the world got reeeaal dark. Round and round, we found ourselves walking in broad circles, retracing newly unfamiliar paths in darkness and catching our toes on invisible roots. Plagued by mosquitos and fearing dangerous bunny creatures, we finally broke free, stumbling through the thin veil of trees separating sparse wilderness from suburbia.

And then there were four...

2007-08-10T13:57:00.000-04:00

The scene was set. We had candy, we had beer, we had bellies full of Thai food. A splendid evening awaited us, filled with moments of music...

intimate betrayal...

and tuneful reconciliation.

Freed from censure, people gestured with reckless abandon:

And showed their true feelings:

When the scene got sad, we deked.

All seemed well on the outside...

But ALAS! The wrath had found us, and the stench of cruel bloodthirst boiled our blood.

A mysterious violence was born and cast down upon poor Eric:

Make love, not war. Hoedown time!!

Later in a park, I took some really shitty pictures:

But I had an excuse:

THE END!!

Onwards and Upwards

2007-08-09T14:58:00.001-04:00

Friday morning, we packed our bags and said goodbye to that hallowed place of tacky pilgrimage, setting our sights on Toronto, land of shenanigans.

We took the scenic route, touring Mississauga and all its beauties. Dan showed me his old house, his earliest alma mater, and the historic site of his first concussion.

Eric was MIA when we arrived. We successfully kidnapped Christy and retreated to the Toronto Islands.

Pillaging by ferry:

Christy and Dan overcame their hesitations and swam in Lake Ontario - I was proud of them! I went swimming too and was pressured into keeping my head above the water (although I still got water in my mouth - flavour report: Lake Ontario tastes like dirt).

None of us suffered from skin itch. Take that schistosomes!!

Stay tuned for more antiheroic adventures...

A Voyage

2007-08-07T12:20:00.000-04:00

Last Thursday, Dangerman Gray and I embarked on an epic journey, traversing vast reaches of territory in search of the exotic, the erotic, the mythical, the mystical: twas adventure she craved, and the young man couldna resist.

For the first time in 18 years, I returned to the epicenter of majesty, of mist, of monstrosity in metal and fibreglass:

Yes sirreee, Niagara Falls, Ontario. Ugly to the left of you, lovely to the right.

The city is, without a doubt, the ugliest and tackiest place that I've seen in Canada, while mysteriously and disappointingly lacking heart-shaped beds.

But the falls were beautiful, and the trip was beautiful.

"Cheese", Cheese.

Awwww

My camera has mad zoomin skills.

Dangerman Cheese is zoomin you...

It is unsafe to climb over guard rails, fall down cliffs, and drown in waterfalls.

The shot.

Maid of the Mist, you aint no ship.

The top.

Word.

WORD.

Awww deux.

To be continued...

The Photos of a Cat Lover

2007-07-31T10:59:00.000-04:00

My new camera has successfully passed the cat compatibility test, which all potential lovers must inevitably undergo. No cat-hating fiend shall be admitted to the inner sanctums of my heart.

Loki, who typed his own name and ravaged my keyboard:

Odin, who has fallen in love with an unlikely Frog Prince:

Moggie, who suffers from nerves (and possible mental disturbance):

The night-time ramblings friendly cat, who fiends our company and fears no dogs:

The light of my life, Tasselhoff, has remained elusive in the early days of my Nikon affair. As with any newcomer, he undoubtedly fears and resents its appearance in our home.

PRIDE

2007-07-30T11:06:00.001-04:00

Yesterday afternoon, Gay Priders paraded through the downtown streets of my city. I'm proud to support and celebrate the beautiful diversity of human sexuality, and I'm proud to identify as a member of of the LGBTQA (LGBTTTIQQA*) community.

In truth, I'm currently falling in love with a genderless, inanimate object named Nikon. Grayday has been very understanding, and if all parties are open to the idea, polyamory is not out of the question.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

* LGBTTTIQQA is quite an inclusive mouthful! I hope I've got this right: lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, transsexual, two-spirited, intersexed, queer, questioning, asexual (or an A for straight Allies!)

Game Over, Tetris

2007-07-28T11:03:00.001-04:00

I've beaten the addiction!

Technically, I've only had one Tetris-free day... but after yesterday's success, I'm confident that the hold it had on me - like the hold of minesweeper, spider solitaire, and facebook before it - is broken. Why? Because I've finally returned to the world of literature.

My summer has been near perfect, but for one guilty blemish: for months I've ignored the cries of unloved books, of a collection built over the course of four school year's in hungry anticipation of school's end. Volume after volume abandoned for the brassy wiles of flashy cyber-games and the vices of mental lethargy. No more, I say!

Salman Rushdie's an asshole and a misogynist, but I suspect he may also be a genius. I never got through gigantic Midnight's Children when it was assigned for English 253, but I return to it now, looking for a good dose of magic realism, dense metaphor, and pickled spicy goodness.

"...Rising from my pages comes the unmistakable whiff of chutney. So let me obfuscate no further: I, Saleem Sinai, possessor of the most delicately-gifted olfactory organ in history, have dedicated my latter days to the large-scaled preparation of condiments... I am not, you see, one of your 200-rupees-a-month cookery johnies, but my own master, working beneath the saffron and green winking of my personal neon goddess. And my chutneys and kasaundries are, after all, connected to my nocturnal scribblings - by day amongst the pickle-vats, by night within these sheets, I spend my time at the great work of preserving. Memory, as well as fruit, is being saved from the corruption of clocks."

In other news: I deactivated my facebook profile yesterday, I just got stung between the toes by a wasp, and I'M GOING CAMERA SHOPPING IN FIVE MINUTES!!!Yeahhh!!!!

Tetris

2007-07-19T17:45:00.000-04:00

Tetris online is just as addictive as Tetris in video form. Getting to level 50 left me with more of a sense of accomplishment than graduating from University did. I may be developing a problem.

My Mom is My Boss

2007-07-08T14:18:00.000-04:00

When July arrived and I was still unemployed, I began to accept my Teletech servitude as a dreaded inevitability. Call centers in general, and Teletech in particular, were shuffled into the 'last resort' pile during the early days of my job hunt. Months later, with no interest from potential employers, a bank balance of less than $200, and a collection of expired qualifications preventing my reluctant Aquatics return, it seemed that 'last resort' was here.

You almost had me Teletech. But not quite.

My parents - feeling unnecessarily sorry for me, discouraged by the ransacked appearance of our house, and wanting me around in anticipation of my upcoming move - have offered to 'employ' me for the summer. They'll help me with first and last month's rent if I help them with their impressively daunting 'to do' lists.

I was hesitant to take them up on the offer, which was characteristically generous and supportive, but in the end, it was too good to resist. I'll be spending my 40 hour work week helping my mom clean, plant, weed, carpet, and renovate - much more challenging but significantly less tortuous work than that of Teletech. The hours are flexible, I can plan adventures with Grayday and fiends galore, and the bosses regularly make me lunch. I am a very lucky woman - or in these circumstances, a very luck girl. Any unexpected extension on childhood is a welcome one.

Have you seen this bunny?

2007-07-05T21:55:00.000-04:00

The Untalkative Bunny is a cartoon series that aired on Teletoon 'back in the day.' Each episode is only a few minutes long, following the random adventures of a very untalkative bunny. It's Canadian/UK co-produced, and according to the expertise of Wikipedians, the setting is modeled after Ottawa. I love the show for so many reasons - for the Untalkative Bunny's hilarious facial expressions; for the Untalkative Bunny's sassy squirrel partner; for the show's jazzy music; for its ambiguous treatment of gender; for a billion reasons, perhaps.

Christy recently opened my eyes to the wealth of U.B. episodes available online. Here's the first one that she re-introduced me to (it's one of my favourites) - "Animal Music":

As an eerie collage of urban sound pollution hums outside my window, I wish I could join the Untalkative Bunny on her/his farmland adventure, although I too am not a friend of goats.

the sweet tooth sunsets forgets tonight

2007-07-03T20:49:00.000-04:00

This week's food discoveries:.

1) I've always figured that graham crackers are randomly titled. In reality, they're named for their primary ingredient, graham flour. It's a whole wheat product, but unlike whole wheat flour, the components of the kernel - the bran, germ, and endosperm - are ground separately. The endosperm is ground finely, the bran and germ are more coarsely ground, and the components are recombined to create a coarse-textured flour. Cool.

2) The simple combination of flour and water can produce several delicious items. With whole wheat flour and water, you can make chapatis. With gluten flour and water, you can create your own seitan (aka, gluten), although it's tastier when seasoned.

3) To get many of the nutritional benefits of flax seeds, you need to grind the seeds before eating them, or chew them really well. Note: you can use flaxseeds as an egg-replacer in baked goods (1 egg = 1 tbsp of ground flax seed + 2-3 tbsp of water, simmered together for approximately 5 minutes and cooled).

4) Nobody spreads beans better than Bean himself. Thanks Bean

food mission for this week: conquer the mystery of quinoa, with the aid of Dangerman Gray

----------------------------

Look at those buggers who are looting the crash site,
Taking the ring off your sweet little finger
That I gave to you when we got married.
You're under water now, you're back where you came from.
No stealing of beauty that would naturally flow
From the center of all that you are, all that you are.

I'm facing a bit of a dilemma. This weekend I could join in a venture to Orillia for the Mariposa Folk Festival, enjoying good company, camping, special baked goods, Gordon Lightfoot, Hawksley Workman, Amy Millan.... On the other hand, a weekend full of good friends and good times is shaping up in London, a delicious combination of Sunfest and people who will soon be going in different directions. I guess it's the best sort of dilemma to face.

Your beauty must be rubbing off,
Your beauty must be rubbing off on me.
Your beauty must be rubbing off,
Your beauty must be rubbing off on me

The Heatbag Formerly Known as 'Gimp'

2007-06-29T13:50:00.001-04:00

No matter how tough they start out, gimpy people often devolve into the greatest of wusses.

It's not that they can't take pain anymore, it's that they learn to distrust it and their own sense of injury. They learn that there is no simple relationship between pain, swelling, bruising and the nature of breaks, strains, and sprains. And they learn that despite the street cred that comes with badass casts and visible bone deformities, soft-tissue injuries sometimes hurt more and linger longer. X-rays become routine, as the roster of fractures sustained lengthens, the number of mis-self-diagnoses grows, and injuries that a gimp may have previously walked off and ignored become causes for paranoia.

In grade 6 I broke my first bone - my scaphoid, a bone in the wrist. My gym teacher made me finish the relay race, and I ignored it for over a day, until my fingers went numb and my hand turned blue. That kind of deformity garners intense coolness points in any grade 6 classroom, and I was at the top of my game.

Having lost count of my fractures since then, I've come to terms with my gimpdom. My wussdom, on the other hand, remains a sore point. Misdiagnoses, for better and for worse, have been plentiful, and I now have a deeply entrenched x-ray addiction. I hope that any arising mutations result in powers of catastrophic climate control.

This entry follows another afternoon spent at the Urgent Care center, where I discovered with relief but a certain degree of self-contempt that nothing is broken.

My gimped spirits were easily set right again by a feast of Tony's pizza. Yes, I finally - after many, many years of trying - managed to resist the panzarotti in order to try the pizza. Banana peppers and broccoli, on a cheesy crisp crust with homemade tomato sauce - I was not disappointed. Mmmmmmm. The doctor recommended a cocktail of Advil and Tylenol for pain. Experience says food works better.

National Day of Action

2007-06-28T10:50:00.001-04:00

The canoe.ca poll question posted in today's paper:

"Should Aboriginal Canadians be allowed to disrupt your Canada Day weekend with their day of protest?"

allowed??

75% of the respondants answered 'no' to this question, reflecting in part why I am less than eagerly Nationalistic and dislike Canada Day. 6% answered 'yes' and 19% answered 'as long as it is non-violent.' What an interesting third option to include, canoe.ca, since Aboriginal protests usually are non-violent until someone somewhere decides they are no longer allowed to go on.

Tomorrow is the National Day of Action, a day of protest against Canada's (and Canadians') cultural genocide and ongoing oppression of Aboriginal people. Please join the minority of Canadians in supporting Aboriginal rights.

On the morning of June 21, National Aboriginal Day, the community of Kitigan Zibi Anishinabeg woke up to find their recently built Cultural Centre looking like this. Courtesy of someone in that 75%.

Fugitive Pieces

2007-06-27T12:04:00.000-04:00

On a note related to my last post, this morning I got an e-mail from Janina with news of the upcoming film based on Fugitive Pieces.

Fugitive Pieces is one of my favourite works of Canadian literature. It's a novel written by Anne Michaels, whose experience as a poet comes through in her incredibly sensual and beautiful prose. The Toronto International Film Festival will be opening this September with the film adaptation, directed by Jeremy Podeswa, of the same title. Whether you're interested in seeing the film or not, I definitely recommend the novel.

Someone out there, I don't remember who... If you're reading this with my copy of Fugitive Pieces next to you, please enjoy its deliciousness, and don't let me forget it when I move out West!

"Important lesson: look carefully; record what you see. Find a way to make beauty necessary; find a way to make necessity beautiful." - A. Michaels

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audiosnack: "Harvest Moon" by Neil Young, featured in the film Away from Her and snacked upon in honour of Canadian artists

Away From Her

2007-06-26T12:01:00.000-04:00

Last night I saw Sarah Polley's new film, Away From Her. The film is an adaption of Alice Munro's short story "The Bear Came Over the Mountain" (which appears to be posted on The New Yorker's website here). Alice Munro is one of my favourite authors, and I loved the film. With wonderful actors and beautiful imagery, Sarah Polley did an excellent job of preserving the narrative genius of Munro while bringing her own directorial touch to the story. If you're looking for something that fits the bill of 'beautiful and devastatingly sad,' maybe this will do it for you. Plus, it had a great score and soundtrack, Julie Christie has only gotten more beautiful as she's aged, and you'll be supporting a lot of Canadian talent. There, that's my plug for the day.

Flavourphiliac Trivia: Alice Munro's Who Do You Think You Are? ranks among my top 5 favourite works of fiction

The Wiki Powwow

2007-06-24T21:47:00.001-04:00

Last weekend I drove north to Manitoulin Island, accompanying a very good friend of mine to a powwow on the Wikwemikong reserve. The trip had personal significance for my friend, the intensity of which was at times uncomfortable to witness and experience. Along with this, there was a new and uncomfortable awareness of being in the minority, a sense of intrusion permitted, of consistent but not uncomplicated welcome. Along with the stresses of the trip, the beauty of the island - the trees, the gulls, the dragonflies, the fireflies, the deer, the clear waters of Lake Huron - the many hours spent sitting in the sun, the music and dance of the powwow, and the people we met made for a patchwork of emotions and sensations. It was an interesting, enjoyable, stressful, beautiful, and exhausting weekend.

We camped in a tent pitched on the powwow grounds. At night, fireflies crawled across the fly, casting drifting constellations above our beds.

Mosquitoes were killed in nightly rituals, without remorse, but every spider was spared. Caterpillars spun flossy webs on our tent and on grass-strewn artifacts left untouched for an hour.

If someone can tell me why we need mosquitoes in the world, I might hate them less. I think bats could find another bug to eat, don't you?

Vegetarian offerings were limitted, and I practically lived on fry bread for the weekend. Alternately called "scones," they were bannock-style biscuits fried into golden puffs of deliciosness. I was curious for the taste of buffalo burgers and blanketdogs, but wild rice, lemonade, french fries, pie, and shortcake cut through any fry bread boredom. I also tried some dubiously vegetarian corn & bean soup, which would have been fantastic, if not for salt pork suspicions. Props to the ingenious innovators behind the "Thai Indian" (Indian in sense of Aboriginal, not India) tent - yeah fusion cuisine!

We were the only campers left by Sunday night, and I woke up just after five on Monday morning to the wailing of gulls gorging on the leftovers of festivity.

On our way home, I went a little nuts in the Tobermory Sweet Shop. My favourite purchase was a handful of "Blackcurrant Licorice" candy. I wasn't sure if I was buying a blackcurrant licorice-style candy (i.e. a blackcurrant Twizzler-esque chunk) or a blackcurrant flavoured black licorice piece. The reality was beautiful: a blackcurrant hard candy with a chewy center of black licorice toffee. I love blackcurrant candy, I love black licorice toffee, ergo TASTY TIMES A MILLION!!! Google research suggests that a) this is a pretty popular style of British candy (see...); and b) blackcurrant Twizzler-style candy does indeed exist (see...). "Turtles in the Tub" fudge offered a close second in the Tobermory deliciousness battle.

Driving south, we stopped to visit Cape Croker, one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen. If anyone doubts Ontario's outdoor offerings, show them the Niagara Escarpment. If anyone craves the Bruce Trail, give me a shout and we'll plan a backpacking adventure.

I've spent this past week gorged, not on fry bread and fudge, but on pad thai, fried rice, and Indian food (in sense of India, not Aboriginal). Mmmmmm! Note to India: you make good cheese. The End.

Ask Mr. Owl

2007-06-22T23:09:00.000-04:00

A classic!!

This post was inspired by a Friday night trip to Sugar Mountain. Best purchase of the night: Lemonhead Candy ("Made with REAL LEMON JUICE") Yum, another delicious classic.

Berries and Cherries - What's Being Said

2007-06-14T01:24:00.001-04:00

Hmm, they're really starting to push the Ontarian strawberries out there, but I remain skeptical and patient! I see evidence of a lot of stealth techniques being used (shady secrets of the produce world) to hide under-ripeness, with basketfuls of orange and yellow berries sprinkled with a handful of ruby reds. For shame, strawberry pushers! Wait, and your time will soon be here. Personally, I'm going to hold out for the perfect basket of red.

In the meantime, cherries have appeared! It seems insanely early to be biting into cherry flesh. Are you from far away, my cherry friends? Another Californian freak species? Mmmm, you are delicious, whomever you are. I can't wait for cherry season.

Banana Break

2007-06-12T17:38:00.000-04:00

As a fan of peanut butter and banana sandwiches, peanut butter spread on banana bread & muffins, peanut butter and banana milk shakes, etcetera, etcetera!! and as a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup fiend, I was excited to discover that Reese's newest peanut butter cup creation involves bananas.

I have my doubts: I like bananas, but loathe artificial banana flavour. Plus, after trying many Reese's Peanut Butter Cup variations, I still prefer the original (although any King Size manifestations are also welcome). The good news? Along with artificial flavouring, the banana cream of the new cups includes real banana flakes - so there is flavour hope! Hopefully these morsels make it to Canada, and SOON!

On a different note, I indulged in the richest of decadence today, starting my day off right and kicking my arteries into a whole new world of blockage. After taking a lovely 24 hour vacation from our hectic hectic lives, Dan and I went out for breakfast at the newly opened Cora's. Quebec travelers out there might recognize the name, since the first Chez Cora opened in Montreal in the 1980s (one of my favourite pictures of Alex involves an epic Cora's fruit plate and one happy vegan camper).

I've spent years fiending out Chez Cora on my Montreal road trips, and I was amazed to discover a location so close at hand. Although the set-up of the restaurant is significantly less fun and funky than the Montreal locations, the menu is the same. For a vegetarian breakfaster whose used to limited options, the Cora's menu offers a bewildering array of delicious choices. It specializes in crepes, omelets, and fruit combos.

I was tempted by a brie, mixed nut, maple melt, accompanied by a mile-high heap of fresh fruit, but in the end I took a trip down memory lane, opting for the first Cora's dish that ever coated my palate, several years ago: What do you get when you wrap a spinach cheddar omelet in a crepe and douse it all in Hollandaise sauce? A Spinach Cheddar Crepomelet au Gratin! A.K.A. the richest mess in breakfast land that you can imagine! Not a dish to be undertaken lightly, not one to be eaten on a regular basis, but the perfect choice for my inaugural visit. Raspberry Crepe Lucie, you're next on my hit list!

P.S. Don't miss the strawberry wagon! Although the delicious little, bright & bold Ontarian strawberries are still to come (you can buy them in the grocery store, but the baskets look to be a clever mix of ripe and unripe berries right now), we've finally arrived at the time of year when the ginormous GMO mutant California variety don't taste like nothing anymore. That's right! So if you're not too afraid of their freakish size and questionable genetic material, grab some while they actually have flavour - they'll tide you over until the Canadian berries are ready for feasting.

No Thanks to DUDES

2007-06-11T12:22:00.000-04:00

"Okay, it's house number 235, so it should be coming up..."

"Uh....What the hell??"

"That CAN'T be it...."

"It IS the right number."

We slowly roll past the house in question, peering out of the Pontiac's windows. Park on the lawn, our directions say, but that's not really an option. A group of shirtless, tanned DUDES have set up camp in the afternoon sun, milling around a large piece of plywood: 'HONK AND WE'LL DRINK'. This is a foreign species. Dudes, Duderinos, I know - but these DUDES hail from the ranch. They wax their chests, they have less body hair than me.

Turning around, we pull into the driveway alongside the action, hysteria held barely in check; when you wish to keep your cool, it is best to avoid eyecontact with shirtless, waxed men. It turns out that Jenna and Janina are subletting from several Laurier hockey players, one of which is still living in the house for the summer. The advent of grad has brought slews of hockey and other athlete types back to the premise, and a kegger is in the works for the night.

"Matt, these are our friends from London who are visiting us for the weekend."

"Cool. We thought they were just random babe-os, coming to check us out!" Random Babe-o, indeed.

By the time we return from a gelatto run, the party is already swinging into full gear. Keggers are a Kitchener-Waterloo staple, with Laurier's business students and Waterloo's engineers stuck in summer classes. To avoid police interference, it's best to start drinking by 4:00 and kill the kegs by midnight.

The number of shirtless DUDES has increased, but only a few girls have joined them. It's already clear that a massive "sausage fest" is in the making (Note: Gatherings of Duderinos rarely, if ever, become sausage fests; libidos have no place, for example, in a country session or a 7-11 run). It's clear to us that this is hardly the place to sip wine, hit a sesh, and catch up on our lives. Grabbing some food, we head out back to lusher pastures.

After a while, DUDES peeing in the backyard discover us. When we go out front to use the barbecue, the grill guy seems offended: "Why don't you girls join us??" A DUDE is sent out back to retrieve us. Okay. We'll try to be social.

We move out front. The DUDES transition seamlessly from offended to offensive.

"Are they HECKLING someone??!" Christy asks. A woman walking on the other side of the street has attracted the attention of a dozen shirtless DUDES. Meanwhile, two of the few girls on this side of the battleground are enclosed in a circle of jeers and sexual baiting.

I want to say something. I feel complicit. I'm unreasonably shocked that this is happening; I've stayed away from this scene, I've insulated myself, I've never witnessed the harassment from an insider's perspective. I'm afraid that if I say anything, the violence will be drawn down on us. Fuck this. We leave.

We have a great evening, stretched out on the grass, relatively DUDE-free.

Later that night, after we've moved into the closed world of Jenna's bedroom, DUDE after DUDE intrudes. The sense of entitlement is obscene, our space is continually violated. When we respond in less than warm fashion, our intruders become more persistent, rather than less. They stop hovering in the hallway, they push their way into the room. They open the door when it's closed. DUDE after DUDE.

Fuck you DUDES. You're redundant.

Shortly after midnight, after the partiers have dispersed to the bars, two men come upstairs looking for Matt, who's gone downtown. They apologize for coming in without knocking - "I'm sorry we just walked into your house like that. And your room." - and then they won't leave. They try interest, flirtation, anger when the interest is unreturned. We are a roomful of women, on the bed, on the floor, on chairs, listening to music, talking, sitting in comfortable silence. No man, no man, and - reprehensibly? incomprehensibly? - we want none. Not right now. Where is the threat in that?

"Oh, I get it. Fucking Lilith Fair in here. Is this fucking Lilith Fair? Are you fucking drunk? Are you all tanked? Passing the bong around? Wooooo!!! Lilith Fair!!"

"Say hello to Sarah McLachlan for me!! And Ellen! Ellen DeGeneres! Say hello to Ellen and Sarah McLachlan for me!"

I had a great weekend in Waterloo. I had a great weekend with wonderful, passionate women. I loved it, no thanks to DUDES.

mmmmm. breakfast

2007-06-09T12:31:00.001-04:00

I love M. Ward, and this video is beautiful:

What an exquisite work. It's animated by Gene Blakefield and Darin Bendall and directed by Joel Trussell and Eric Johnson. If you'd like to view it in its full screen form, check it out on YouTube.

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Before heading off to Waterloo for a girls' weekend of barbecues, wine, and sunny summer sessions, I'm enjoying an afternoon breakfast of instant organic oatmeal, flavoured with:

-half a banana, mashed
-a hearty pinch of cinnamon
-freshly ground nutmeg
-soymilk
-pecans

Yummmmmmmmmm!!! (potassium is good for bloating!)

E-stranged

2007-06-07T15:50:00.001-04:00

With the arrival of spring and the leisurely lifestyle of unemployment, the once bright wiles of Cyberland seem dim and brassy. Internet addictions that snared me with irresistible temptation have fallen by the wayside. Lacking the lure of procrastination, they've been replaced by hammocks, suburban campfires, epicurean delights, hikes and rambles, sex, backyard bird watching, and chilling in good company. My e-libido... is dead.

Am I off of Internet for life? Is this it for me and my wireless mistress??

I doubt it. I'm luxuriating in a much needed hiatus, a post-university respite from the computer screen and the keyboard and the thought process of Boolean searches. It's enjoyable, it's refreshing, it's liberating, but it's probably not permanent.

I'll return to faithful old e-mail, and I'm not ready to uninstall MSN messenger just yet. But what about the frills and fads of the cyberworld? Like facebook - how will it fare?

Released from its iron grip, I'm suffering from acute facebook disenchantment. My main symptom = increasing dissatisfaction with the plague of fiends from past and present that dominate my 'friends' list. I've tried rejecting people and I've leaped into the world of deletion, but somehow that still isn't enough. There are always people who don't seem to deserve the harshness of facebook rejection but will never be 'friends' in any real sense. The contours of awkward reunions have been remodeled. Once squeamish about bumping into erstwhile friends, uncomfortable acquaintances, and ex-partners in malls and bars, I'm now ensured, courtesy of my facebook 'homepage', regular encounters with people I don't really know or care about.

Yes, facebook has a lot to offer, including the presence of many desirable types fa'bookin about. I just don't know. Can I 'Limit Profile' my way out of this feeling of Hermitdom Invaded? Add the lurking presence of employers, family members, and police on the prowl (never mind the predators, watch out for The Man), and I've got a thriving case of Orwelian paranoia on my hands.

Where will my changing relationship with the Internet lead me? How will my cyber-persona appear in the days to come?? What about this blog? Will it gasp its last dying breaths in the frenzy of hackneyed rants and rambles? Or is there a place for blogging balderdash in this born-again Luddite's life?

It feels nice to be a little more unplugged.

Flavour attack!! what I'm currently drinking.... mmmmmmgahhhhhhhhyummmmm

Picnic Season

2007-05-20T12:59:00.000-04:00

Picnic in the park, this Tuesday, DELICIOUS.

My favourite picnic foods:

-Greek Salad, skimpy on the tomatoes, generous with the olives
-Peanut Butter & Dill Pickle Sandwiches
-Devilled Eggs
-Cucumber and Sweet Onion Salad
-Hummus and Veggie Sticks
-Peanut Butter or Oatmeal Raisin Cookies
-Cherries and Grapes
-Iced Tea

What are your favourite picnic items?

I hate geese.

Broken Hearted

2007-05-19T11:20:00.000-04:00

I found the information, I pursued the dream, I discovered that the bee handling job lies kilometers outside of my city. Sadly, I don't have a car. :(

Long Post, Little Import (of course!)

2007-05-17T18:54:00.000-04:00

I forgot to continue my job hunt. Shit and YEAHHH.

I am casually job perusing. My employment snobbery and laziness has ensured that I'm unwilling to work most jobs encountered so far, and thus I remain pleasantly unemployed. As time progresses, my wish to be 'eventually employed' will shift into an increasingly urgent 'need for employment.' I predict my elitism will evaporate and you'll soon find me flipping burgers or providing on-phone technical help with all of my fellow English grads.

For now, I'm being productive in other ways. I've developed a love affair with the hiking trails of Medway Creek (if you live where I live, go there - it's beautiful, it's surprising, it's peaceful). I've spent innumerable hours cleaning every nook and cranny of my room. As the nooks and crannies get excavated, cleaned and repopulated according to new organizational schema, the more visible planes remain mysteriously, horrendously messy and dangerous to the limbs. I've chilled a lot. I've eaten a lot. I've developed and cherished new pinch-fulls of flesh, curves, and dollops from all that chillin and all that eating. I've watched The Big Lebowski a few times because despite feeings of content, there's a voice that sometimes tells me the bums will always lose. I've built a cozy nest on my bedside table for my egg shaker, facilitating impromptu solo rattle jam sessions. I've engaged in important debates (my point of view: scenester is not synonymous with emo, bangs or no bangs).

No, I haven't given up on the bee handling job. I've just lost all of the contact and website information provided to me by the Job Connect people. Although I'm currently no closer to being pleasantly stung, sticky, and paid, I continue my quest for the lost information and hope that no other eager job hunters have snatched up that particular post yet. Did you know that you can quickly develop an immunity to bee stings? Eventually your stings will no longer swell and plague you with pain for the typical 1-3 days experienced by normal non-superhumans; however, those initial 10-20 seconds of intense sting pain can never be eluded. I do not want to be stung on the eye, but rumour has it that's the way it goes.

Job Hunt

2007-05-10T17:28:00.000-04:00

I've been unemployed and unschooled for three delicious weeks. I think I could stay in this state forever without getting bored. I'm not built for boredom; I'm built for lazy days and gluttony and potentially pointless personal pursuits. I fantasize about embracing Dudedom, but I'm afraid that in the end, I won't be brave enough to go through with it.

These days of leisure are where it's at. There's no arguing with that. I've been spending my days on hiking trails, in parks, on the beach, at the bog, at many many fine eateries, in bed, and in a cool and calming cave in Oakridge land. But I'm moving out West in the fall, and if I'm going to earn the money for airfare and rent and all the fixin's of grown-up living, I need a job. In other words, I'm rejecting the Dude life, at least for now.

After a few days of unsuccessful individual job hunting, I signed up with a local 'Job Connect' program. I had my registration interview yesterday, and it went something like this:

Me: "I don't want to work for a call center, but that seems to be the only thing I'm qualified for."

Job Connect Woman: "Well, there's this one call center, Teletech, which is awesome... awesome... Teletech yeahhh!!... awesome awesome delightful... you'll love it... awesome possum... awesome. JOIN TELETECH! Seriously, it's good."

Me: "Ug.... what are my other options?"

JC: "Well, how do you feel about bees?"

Me: "Bees??"

JC: "They're looking for bee handlers west of of the city. Hahaha, yah right - good luck with that, bee farm."

Me: "Really?!! A bee handler?!!! I could do that!!"

JC: ".... you would rather be a bee handler than work at teletech?"

Part of my brain is saying: "Don't do it. You'll get stung a lot." But another part of me is drawn to the ability of bee handling, which seems superhero-esque in its daring and potential uses. The job would require me to overcome some moderate bee fears, but who knows - one day I might be able to wear a bee beard. It's a tough call.

Hiatus

2007-05-08T23:41:00.001-04:00

Temporarily wordless...

Tidy and Tasty

2007-04-29T11:44:00.000-04:00

This month's focus of food fanaticism: The Bento Box

What is it about a vegetarian bento box that has left me jonesing for one daily?

Is it the miso soup, so hot and cloudy? The omniscient tofu, delicious, fried, and smooth? The tempura (mmmmm, those sweet potatoes)? It's one thing, it's everything, and no two bento boxes are exactly the same.

Undoubtedly, the presentation factor is a major contributor to my current obsession. My childhood aversion to the mixing - or mere touching - of foods is gone(ohhhh, the horrors, THE HORRORS of a stray pea). Some foods now begged to be mixed. On the other hand, I'm still one to eat a breakfast platter bit by bit, giving my fried potatoes the single-minded focus they deserve. The bento box's neat and tidy compartments are not only visually appealing and interesting, making for a typically stunning presentation; they also encourage one's focused attention to the taste and texture of each item. Sure, alternate a dumpling with a bite of sushi if you wish; even if you don't eat your meal one compartment at a time, the awareness of crossing that porcelain (or plastic) boundary will ensure an eating experience that is never haphazard.

Did I mention the sodium? Mmmmm, pass me the Kikoman please, my blood pressure is soaring.

Random Fact: Japanese food was always the final goal, the test of success in my "introduce Dan to the world of flavours" mission. Although I love it, Japanese food holds no special position in my flavourphilia. It became a goal and mark of achievement because Gray Day seemed particularly hesitant about the challenge it posed to his "Subway can't be beat" mentality. Well friends, the test has been met. Yeah!! Congratulations Gray Day, on no longer being a complete food chump.

Here Comes the Sun

2007-04-25T10:48:00.000-04:00

As of last Thursday, I am officially DONE my undergraduate career AND my employment with CoL Aquatics. Wowww!!!!

In celebration I headed east, meeting Ann and Vanessa, my roommates from Class Afloat, in Montreal. Many good times were had, with talking, laughing, walking, eating, drinking, and sweet sisterly loving. We finished our reunion in the girls' home state of Vermont, where the largest "city" has a smaller population than my university, and the mountains are everywhere. It was beautiful. We got to see an essentially private performance by Sonic Liberation Front for only $3, and we spent our last night in Stowe, dizzy from wine, a power blackout, and an excess of nostalgia.

An Old Quote

2007-04-16T13:11:00.000-04:00

"It's the oddest thing... whenever I spill food, it always falls on my erogenous zones." - the Deke Artist, March 21/07

heatbag... quit your heatbaggery

2007-04-13T15:32:00.000-04:00

Some useful definitions to know:

Heat Bag:

1. A person who attracts attention from the authorities.

2. Heat bag ...to act all stoned and such and be really obvious that you are ...laughing.. super redeyes and such bringing the heat and teachers and shit to ask you "Are you alright or sick or sumin your eyes are really red" or not being able to hide that stoned smile after a sesh. then you get called a heat bag by the burnouts...... thats what a heat bag is.... its good if you can cover it up when the heat comes down on ya'

"Hey heatbag" (heatbag being a nick name)
dont heat us out and be all heat...heatbag...quit your heatbaggery...but your comin out to hit that zong tommorrow right heat bag? "

(source: the Urban Dictionary)

Note: As a regional variation, "Heatbag" may also refer to any individual who is particularly "heat" (i.e. lame, uncool, the lees chill)

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Heat Bagel:

= more disturbing than I originally anticipated.

Joy

2007-04-13T09:38:00.000-04:00

Four days ago, I submitted the last paper of my undergraduate career, and it felt great. That same day, the professor of my fourth year English seminar asked the class: "What are you all going to read after you graduate? That's when I launched into my cultural theory stage, yahhh, Claude Levi-Strauss. And I got really into Simone de Beauvoir, Anais Nin... you should check out their memoirs."

It was pretty clear by the resounding silence and looks of wary discomfort that few of the class planned to dig into Levi & Friends after exams. A couple of people threw out names that could pass the respectability test: Watership Down, Ayn Rand, Satanic Verses. Eventually, inevitably, talk of Harry Potter grew from a bashful murmur to an engaged discussion of whether or not it was necessary to reread the whole series before reading the newest installment. (I still haven't read the latest book - does anyone have a copy that I can borrow?)

When my turn came, I lied. "Hunter S. Thompson - I just got Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas for my birthday." I did just get Fear and Loathing for my birthday, and I do plan to read it in the near future, along with a million other books, coveted and not yet dreamed of (any suggestions are welcome - really welcome). But still, it wasn't quite the truth.

The truth is, along with Thompson, and Ray Bradbury, and several greatly appreciated gift cards from various book retailers, I also got the 75th edition of the late great Irma Rombauer and Marion Rombauer Becker's Joy of Cooking for my birthday.

Based on the seminal 1975 edition, the 2006 publication (edited by Marion's son Ethan) includes 500 new recipes, bringing the total to 4500 recipes (!!!!) PLUS an excerpt from Stand Facing the Stove, a history of JOY by Anne Mendelson, PLUS sections on entertaining, wine and beer, and "Cooking Methods and Techniques," PLUS a chapter titled "Know Your Ingredients," PLUS instructions for canning, salting, smoking, and drying, ETC. ETC. ETC.!!

So chances are, before I read Thompson, Bradbury, Chomsky, Foucault, or Gibran; before I reread Richler, Atwood, or even Levi-Strauss (okay, that's probably never going to happen); before I even make it to the book stores, the library, or various online treasure troves of great book deals, I will be working my way through 1132 pages of pure Joy. I can't fucking wait.

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excerpt from Best Loved and Brand New: 75th Anniversary: Joy of Cooking, by Irma S. Rombauer, Marion Rombauer Becker, and Ethan Becker

Afternoon Tea

Like the sit-down luncheon, the tea party might seem to some unsuited to the modern world - too time-consuming, too much of an air of the raised pinkie about it. The truth is, though, that offering guests a well-brewed pot of tea is almost as easy as pouring them mugs of coffee. A proper afternoon tea is served between 4 and 6 P.M. Set a tea table as you would a buffet table, putting out cups on their saucers and teaspoons to one side, along with small cloth napkins. No other silverware should be necessary unless you are serving jam, butter, or clotted cream to accompany scones or other baked goods. This may be the time to present butter molded into attractive designs [fo sho!!!]

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PS - I owe Alex, myself, all of you, and the world of deliciousness a post on Dark Chocolate. After spending a couple of days plagued by the flu, I'm going to give my stomach and taste buds time to recuperate before launching into such a delightful project.

HAPPY FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH!!

100

2007-04-12T06:24:00.000-04:00

this is my One Hundredth post

"Suprise! I suck!" - My Kinder Rant

2007-04-11T10:28:00.000-04:00

The Ferrero company's Kinder Egg, also whimsically known as "Kinder Surprise," is an inferior candy product. A bold statement to make, I know, but it's one that I stand by. Let me explain.

Firstly, the Kinder Egg chocolate is of low quality, with far too much milk flavour and not enough cocoa. I don't care if it looks cool and two-toned; it's waxy and it leaves a sickeningly sweet aftertaste in my mouth. It's gross.

Although I'm not a big fan of any Kinder product, the Egg is the least delicious of all that I've tried. For example, the Kinder Bueno, a chocolate bar with hazelnut cream filling, is a superior tasting Kinder item, and even its greatest asset is its hilarious name. It is infinitely less delicious than many of Ferrero's other products (consider the Ferrero Roche, with its excellent taste and texture, or - if we dare to leave the realm of chocolate for a moment - the ever-alluring and aesthetically appealing Tic Tac).

In fact, the low calibre of the Kinder Egg chocolate may be a boon, considering how little of it is involved in each egg. After a measly few millimeters of chocolate, you've already made it to the plastic capsule within. DAMN that plastic capsule. How many times as a child did I wonder, "Will I get better at opening this thing as I get older?" No. I still have to crush it between my teeth, popping the two halves apart with pressure and risking dental injury in the process.

Chocolate, capsule, and finally toy. Clearly the focus of the product is on the toy. That might be excusable, if the toys weren't so consistently terrible. However, not only are they frequently marred by production flaws (how many times have I received the wrong set of stickers or found that even the greatest Kinder enthusiasts couldn't make my toy work as promised?), but even at their best they're of lower quality, functionality, and over-all appeal than your average McDonald's happy meal toy. What does that say??

How often have you actually liked your Kinder toys, after the initial "Surprise!" and assembling process were over? Have you played with any of them longer than the time it took for the gross 'chocolate' aftertaste to fade away? I don't know about you, but in short time, all of my Kinder toys joined their foil wrapper and plastic capsule friends in the garbage heap. Actually, I think I got longer lasting pleasure out of the capsules, shooting them at my brothers as projectile weapons. And if it's the joy of assembly that people like, why not buy a package of good tasting chocolate* to eat while tackling a jigsaw puzzle or an Ikea bookcase?

I get it - theoretically, candy + toys = cool. But when both the candy and the toys suck? It's just not rockin.

I know that this rant probably won't change the minds of any Kinder Egg lovers out there, and maybe that's a good thing - maybe it's wrong to crush such Kinder joy. But don't think you can ever win me over. I've known from day one that Kinder Eggs just aren't the eggs for me.

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*Despite my previous post, which focused on milk chocolate and "chocolate flavoured" confection, I'm with The Unbelievable in arguing that generally the deliciousness and over-all quality of chocolate is directly related to the percentage of cacao products it contains. Thank you T.U. for bringing such an important argument to the Easter issue. I believe that dark chocolate is hugely under-represented in all holiday seasons, and Easter is no exception. I realize in sad retrospect that I have contributed to the systemic exclusion of dark chocolate. My own stomach, taste buds, teeth, and saliva glands have been craving dark chocolate through every low-quality (but I maintain still tasty and very nostalgic) Easter binge that I've undertaken this week.

I ain't no chocoholic, but...

2007-04-10T11:02:00.000-04:00

This post has been inspired by a weekend of excessive chocolate consumption and cavity discovery. Let's embark on a sugary adventure that is intensely nostalgic, yet forever current. Ohh, the sweetness of Easter.

I'm going to start with five classic Easter treats and spin off from there.

1. Go big or go home, chocoholics. Let's start with the best of the best:

Cadbury mini eggs are without a doubt my favourite Easter treat. In fact, they may be my favourite mass-produced chocolate item of all time. The ratio of crunchy candy shell to dense milk chocolate innards is perfect.

There's no improving on perfection, but that hasn't stopped Cadbury from getting creative with their goods. This year, I woke up to find a bag of "Popping Mini Eggs" on my bed. An intriguing mini eggs / poprocks hybrid, they don't beat the original, but they're interesting and tasty. I like their snap, fizzle, *pop*. I like it when I can listen to my food.

Rumour has it that there are dark chocolate mini eggs out there too, awaiting my consumption.

2. Rabbits don't lay eggs.

For me, the greatest appeal of the basic Easter egg is its sparkling foil wrapper. Neither the taste nor texture of the chocolate holds great delight for me, although that hasn't stopped me from purchasing vast quantities of marked-down Easter eggs in the past, or from accepting an egg on the street this weekend in the name of Jesus ("Jesus loves everyone" - I love chocolate). I also like the shoddy chocolate seams on these basic eggs, which provide a fun focal point for my tongue.

Of course, the basic egg has many tasty relatives. Nowadays, giant hollow eggs are mass produced by various candy companies and filled with treats, like mini-chocolate bars, smarties, etc. However, I still prefer the giant eggs of my childhood, which were lovingly personalized, emblazoned with my name in tasty sugar icing. Like this:

There is also a wide variety of small chocolate eggs available, all of which easily outstrip the basic variety in my opinion. Lindt's Lindor eggs are every bit as "irresistibly smooth" as advertised. The milk chocolate variety is an incredibly rich bit of melt-in-your-mouth indulgence, and I would go great lengths for one of their dark chocolate eggs. There are small Cadbury Caramilk eggs for the having, which are good, but they can't compete with Reese's chocolate peanut butter eggs. With a soft chocolate shell and Reese's peanut butter cup filling, these are my favourite small chocolate eggs of the 2007 season.

On a related note, I must give Reese's mini eggs a thumbs down. When I first saw them, I thought: "Mini eggs meet Reese's peanut butter goodness? Ohhh...!!" Unfortunately, the taste and texture of the candy shell just doesn't mesh with the peanut butter centre. It was a nice thought, Reese's, but stick with the basics.

3. The egg that deserves its own egg category:

As a mark of distinction, I'm going set the Cadbury Creme Egg apart from the previous egg category. As I've grown older, I've found that my cravings for ridiculously rich and sugary diabetes-inducing foods have greatly decreased in frequency and intensity. However, the Cadbury Creme Egg will always hold a place in my heart. Again, there are many other varieties out there these days, including a Turtles Creme Egg, Caramilk Creme Egg, Mars Creme Egg, and Wonderbar Creme Egg, but as far as I'm concerned, none of them beat the pure candy goodness of the classic Creme Egg.

4. "I keep drinking malted milk, trying to drive my blues away"

I've never been a huge fan of malted milk balls, especially the candy coated ones that come out at Easter (I definitely prefer the basic chocolate coated variety). This year, however, has seen a delicious development in the malted milk world: Strawberry Milkshake Malted Milk Balls (or "Eggs" for the Easter season). These horrifyingly chemical little lovelies combine the fun and exciting texture of an ordinary malted milk ball with the strawberry taste of a pink wafer cookie. Definitely worth trying.

5. Last but not least, it's the man with the plan, the head honcho himself....

Sometimes hollow, sometimes solid, sometimes classy (a la Lindt), sometimes trashy, sometimes big, sometimes small, sometimes somewhere in between, sometimes positively miniature and wonderfully shot through with crisped rice, sometimes filled with fruits and nuts (Mr. Fruit & Nut is my own sweet love), sometimes real tasty, sometimes a little too partially hydrogenated palm kernel oily, but almost always a hit at the party, it's the chocolate Easter Bunny!

Mr. Solid may be the funniest thing to ever happen to Easter:

Washboard abs, luscious curls, and a wimp of a squirrel wing man - he's got it all.

This post was obscenely long, and I didn't even touch on the joy of jelly beans. I'm going to go reboot with 350g of "Milk Chocolate Flavoured Confection" (I pulled out all of the stops with my choice of chocolate bunny this year - classsssy).

The Gazette is the Waaoorst Student Newspaper

2007-04-08T11:38:00.000-04:00

Every year, the University of Western Ontario's student newspaper - the Gazette - runs a "spoof" edition on April 1st. One of the articles from this year's edition has garnered a lot of attention on and off campus. "Jennifer Ostrich" - whose vagina is taught a lesson in a dark alley - and "Katie Conservative" are identifiable as a vocal members of Western's WIN (Women's Issues Network).

Criticisms leveled against the article have called it misogynistic, homophobic, and pro-violence. The Gazette's response to such angry reactions? "Get over yourself. Ninety per cent of satire will offend someone." They claim that the article is satire; in my opinion, successful satire requires incredibly clever writing and skills of social deconstruction - neither of which is demonstrated in this article. Instead, the article comes across as mocking and violently attacking an annual march that protests violence against women, minority rights and activist groups, freedom of gender expression and self-identification, etc. It portrays the rape of a women's right activist by a law enforcement officer who wants to teach her a lesson. You suck Gazette. For anyone who's interested in reading some appalling social commentary and downright terrible writing, here's the text of the article:

Labia Majora Carnage

Last night, local women hit the streets for the first ever Take Back the Nightie march [note: play on London's annual "Take Back the Night March," a protest against violence against women].

The march was led by members of Western's Women's Issues Network, who, for the first time all year, left their circle in the University Community Centre, where witnesses claim they perform tribal dances and yell alienating slurs about pussies and cunts.

The march was organized because women were sick of wearing uncomfortable, soul-crushing lingerie for their boyfriends, lesbian lovers and partners whose genders weren't identifiable.

"My vagina told me she hates thongs...they're far too restrictive," said Jennifer Ostrich, a vocal WIN member. "And what my vagina wants, my vagina gets. Nighties are far more comfortable and practical. They let my vagina be free to the world so she can speak out and say whatever she wants."

Katie Conservative, another WIN member, said the march also aims to reclaim nighties from cross-dressing men who have bogarted white, crocheted, old-fashioned nighties for far too long.

"My vagina told me that for too long, men have taken things that are rightfully ours," Conservative said. "Tonight we take back nighties just like we took back hairy armpits and stilettos, even though trannies are still trying to steal them too."

Near the end of the march, chaos broke out when Ostrich's vagina crawled out from under her flowing white nightie, stole a loudspeaker and went on a rampage.

"How dare you act like you know what I have to say," the vagina screamed down Richmond Row.

"You don't know me, bee-otch," it squealed. "You can't even see me through all this hair you've let overgrown. Think of me. I can't even breathe down here!"

Upon seeing the chaos, London Police Chief Murray Faulkner stopped greasing his nightstick and intervened.

He grabbed the loudspeaker from Ostrich's wild vagina and took it into a dark alley to teach it a lesson.

To Ostrich's dismay, the vagina followed, giggling as it said, "I love it when a man in uniform takes control."

Women were delighted to see groups of men standing on the sidewalks in support.

"It was so great to see men supporting us in our nighties and helping us to spread vagina peace and love," Conservative said.

One man held a sign that read, "Yeah baby, I'll take back your nightie anytime!"

What the marchers couldn't see was that the men were using their signs to cover their penises as they beat off to the women in their long, flowing garbs.

"It takes a little imagination, but once you picture them without the nasty dreadlocks, the hideous piercings, the hairy pits and the beards, some of them are actually kinda hot," said Cocky McFratboy, while taking a break from masturbating.

The event ended when a man sent WIN into a screaming, tribal frenzy by yelling, "You want an opinion! With a push-up bra, you could actually have a nice rack of lamb going on there!"