not my kettle

Have you ever loaded your dishwasher
and straightened up
and glanced about the kitchen
and realized that it didn't look any better than when you started?

I've been sick AND busy.
Now that is a lethal combination.
My housework has suffered right along with me.
My appliances have been left to their own devices.
Well, most of them.
Not my kettle.
I've been trying to drink myself back to health.
Mostly hot water but some apple glog (don't you love that name?) and tea of various poorly brewed strengths.
It hasn't worked.
I'm off to the doctor reluctantly today.
Perhaps I am teetering on the edge of wellness and am about to 'turn the corner.'
"Turn the corner' as opposed to 'turn up my toes.'
I'll know soon.

month of wonders

Isn't a parcel in the mail a thing of delight?
Last week I received box number one from The Well Seasoned Kitchen.
Box number one with five more to go.
Each month for six months, I will be plucking a nice big package filled to the brim with kitcheny goodness from my mail box.
Winning a contest is heady stuff.

My September box contained-
1. Marich Premium Chocolates- Natural Coconut Curry Cashews
Roasted cashews coated with a blend of white chocolate, curry and coconut. Haven't opened the package yet but they look intriguing.
2. Glazed Maple Oat Scones dry mix by Sticky Fingers Bakeries. Just add water to recreate their ultra-popular scones at home.What a brilliant idea. I'm really looking forward to trying them out.
3. Sea Salt with Red Wine grinder. My sister has been enjoying salt from a grinder. She says it adds a little crunch. Just the perfect bit of crunch. I'm pretty excited about trying this too. Perhaps it will be as big a revelation as freshly cracked black pepper.
4.Garlic and Rosemary Infused Oil. I love fresh dressing for salad. Just a dash of oil and vinegar and maple syrup. That is the destiny of this lovely oil.
5. Bengali Panch Phoron by Monsoon Coast.
A blend of five seeds; cumin, black mustard, fennel,fenugreek, and nigella. I love East Indian flavours and will bravely attempt the included recipes.
6. PapaJohn Dolmadakia. Tender grape leaves wrapped around rice in a seasoned oil. Now this I opened right away. So addictive. They would be a wondrous addition to a platter of smoked meats and cheeses and pickles. They were pretty wondrous on their own.
Oh, and I got recipes and tips too.

I absolutely loved my September box.
So many new things to try.
A month of wonders.

thinking big

Some people are organized. Their cupboards and closets are an outward reflection of their inner quietude.
I am not one of those happy people.
I did rearrange my pantry this year though, and I must admit that I feel positively virtuous. It's so easy to find things now too. No more searching amidst the canned tuna for a jar of marmalade. No more stale crackers languishing behind the linguine. It has added such a shot of joy to my daily toil that it makes me want more.
More order.
To transform my pantry I used a very simple principle. Put like with like. It seems so logical but had completely eluded me.
There is a variation of 'put like with like' and that is 'put it all together in one place.' That change has made Tax Time terror a thing of the past and wasn't hard to do at all.
One drawer.
I whip it open and drop in the goods.
Then at Tax Time I just divide and conquer.
It's a small, faltering step, but change is good.
I'm thinking big but starting small.

best before

Nothing makes time go faster than having leftover tomato sauce in the fridge.
Before you know it you are standing in the kitchen with a cold jar of Newman's Own clutched in your hand, mentally walking backwards through a week of supper menus.
I suppose I could jot the Date Used on the jar with a felt pen or use one of those fancy left over containers that have a Dial the Date top. Probably not. I know myself.
Why don't I turn to the freezer with a glad sigh?
It would seem such an obvious solution.
I think it is because I am sure I will use my leftover sauce any moment now.
That a soon to eat supper depending entirely on tomato sauce is just waiting in the wings.
It seldom seems to work out that way though and underlines a fatal flaw in my thinking that applies to more than tomato sauce.
Time will swirl by.
Out of sight can be out of mind.
Without a plan things don't necessarily happen in a Best Before sort of way.


We are having pasta with tomato sauce for lunch today.

seizing control

As my daughter opened the freezer compartment of her fridge, I could see orderly stacks of zip-loc containers filled with soup and packages marching row by row, and frozen lemonade standing at the ready single file.
I was suddenly filled with a resolve.
I would seize control of my own state of affairs.
The freezer compartment of my fridge has taken on a life of its own.
Chaos reigns.

I was soon standing before my opened freezer compartment.
Identities were masked in some cases but an investigation yielded fruit. Good, that could stay.
A few items were swiftly dispatched, and the rest settled down into peaceful co-existence.
It was worth routing out the frost bitten and stale and strange.
The state of my fridge is now as serene as a state of mind.

self cleaning

The smoke alarms piercing notes brought everyone on the run.
"Supper's ready," I sheepishly announced.
Laughter followed.
A self cleaning oven doesn't really clean itself. It is forced to toil away amidst the grime and ash like Cinderella, poor thing, until a fairy godmother waves her wand, or pushes a few buttons.
I once had an oven catch on fire during a self clean cycle and I've felt a little gun shy ever since. I suppose if I didn't wait until the fire department needed to be on stand by, it would help.
My grandmother and mother both used wood stoves to prepare meals. Self cleaning was an unheard of luxury. So was a dish washer for that matter, or a bread maker, or food processor. Women used to double as kitchen appliances apparently.
Now I just need to push a  few buttons and of course, have the fire extinguisher at the ready.

indulgence

I absentmindedly grazed on two slivers of farmer sausage out of the fridge this evening. Then I followed up nicely with a decadent chocolate which I ate by cutting thin slices off, as though to fool myself into thinking I was just going to eat a little piece. Mmmmm.
I'm not really much of a snacker, especially in the evening, but it's fine to break our own rules from time to time I guess.
The guest speaker at Quilt Guild tonight celebrated breaking rules. She endorsed creative freedom. She urged thinking for ourselves. She shared her passion and motivation.
Quilting is for many of us, an indulgence. A sweetness we savour. A treat.
But its also a path we travel. A way of viewing life. No guilt, no rules.

suddenly silenced

My mothers has always thought "green." Unfortunately, fruit flies think green as well, and they had gained a toe hold in the ecology of her kitchen. She appealed for help, and I consulted the source of all information, the Internet. There we found not only information on fruit fly traps, but also several methods of catch and release. Catch and release!? For a fruit fly??!!!
I've practiced catch and release while fishing. We use the term as a euphemism for fish that shake the hook free when they spot our boat.
Mind you, I once caught and released a mouse, and I have to admit, spiders and bumble bees have been spared, and lived to see another day.
My husband once made the mistake of stepping on an ant while my grandson was with him. I rushed out to sobs. "It was my favorite ant," the little boy offered by way of explanation.
There's a scene in Star Wars. A planet has been obliterated, and a Jedi, sensing tragedy says ominously, "It's like a great many voices cried out in terror before being suddenly silenced..." This is how I sometimes view the insect world. I wish fruit flies no ill, I just wish they weren't in my mother's kitchen.

brushed steel

It seemed a pity to put our old, scratched, dull sink into our new kitchen. It would be akin to dirty sneakers with a white dress. Picking out a new one seemed simple enough. Stainless steel, two basin, how hard could that be. Standing before the sink display I felt the first flicker of doubt. Still, a decision was made and a youthful lackey was dispatched to the warehouse to retrieve the winner. Time passed. He eventually returned with a tattered opened box. Parts seemed missing. A second clerk braved the warehouse. More waiting. Ahhh, success. I joined a long queue. My plan, pay and run.
The next morning, the sink was wrestled from its factory sealed box and we were astounded to discover that the box and contents were complete strangers. A phone call confirmed that a distant location still had two sinks available. No, it could not be put on hold, store policy, but there were two after all. Back into the car, back in to the store, back in to the warehouse. A lengthy wait ensued. The computer was consulted. Amazingly, the last sink had been sold just moments before. One remained on display but couldn't be sold. Store policy. I joined a long queue to return the misboxed sink.
With a sinking heart ( sorry about the pun) I drove despondently to Home Depot. I dreaded starting over. I dreaded comparing prices and features. I dreaded waiting. I was met as I entered by a young worker. Could he help me find something, he queried. " Sinks, please," I said wearily. "Follow me," he said gaily. We were before the sinks in a moment. "Pick this one," he urged. "It's my favorite." It became my favorite too. He escorted me to a til, bearing the sink before us and placing it on the counter. A new clerk sprang to my aid.
I recalled with resignation, the sale priced sink of the other store. "I don't suppose you'd want to match the sale price," I sadly mused, more to myself than anyone else. "It's not even the same brand...." "Sure, why not," the clerk enthused, waving his arm in a grand, sweeping gesture. Twenty nine dollars was duly removed from the bill. It turned out to be the perfect sink. The brushed finish did mean we had to exchange the faucet we had painstakingly selected, for one with a matching brushed finish, but, in for a penny, in for a pound. I love the new faucet even more than the first one, no flicker of doubt about it.

flood, the sequel

A quavering scream hung in the air. I had no trouble recognizing the voice, because it was my own.

We have been in a state of limbo following an overnight water leak in our kitchen. The trauma has left my husband a little gun shy when it comes to water pipes and hoses. He has been nervously monitoring the dishwasher, and turning water off over night, until renovations replace the existing system. This past Saturday marked the infamous two week anniversary. Then, as is so often the case with letting down one's guard, disaster struck. The dishwasher inexplicably blew a water line. The result was quick and catastrophic. Hot water gushed across the kitchen floor, swirling up to the edge of the hardwood floor. It found in a moment, every route to the lower floor, and poured through a light fixture into my parent's kitchen, and formed drip lines in an adjoining hall and room.
Once the screaming died down, I was giddy with relief.
-We were home and awake when it happened.
-Our new kitchen cupboards haven't been installed yet so we only redamaged the old.
-We knew where to rent a fan in a hurry.
-My husband has become my hero.

it's about time

Last weekend, in an attempt to still the clamour in our minds, we composed a LIST. Out of town family would soon descend upon us to celebrate my parents anniversary.To our dismay, we discovered that we would need to tick off a minimum of six items each day for six days. We jogged on the spot mentally, and sprinted off. We were able to take in stride a few late additions to the LIST, hurtling successfully over them. Tick, tick, tick, tick, half a tick, and then came Wednesday. We had penciled in Ikea in the morning, leaving after the morning rush hour. We parked close to the door and hastened in. We climbed the escalator two steps at a time. We took all the shortcuts to the kitchen area. We honed in on an available computer and logged in to our preplanned kitchen. Ahhh, now we were ready to order. It was just after 11. So far so good. But, staff were busy with others. A wait seemed inevitable. We huddled over the keyboard and moved cupboards around. The air conditioner's frosty breath swirled around our stools. I began to shiver. A bathmat from a display made a shawl of sorts and I clutched it tightly around my shoulders. Time trickled by. A line of stone faced shoppers grew. Twelve o'clock came and went. One o'clock as well. Waiting can be mind numbing, but my mind wasn't the only thing in danger. The host of the kitchen area suddenly appeared at my side with a fluffy red afghan from a display to replace the bathmat. Warm at last. Where's a hot flash when you really need it? Eventually, we were the next in line and our order was checked and tweaked and printed out. Now we were off to pay. We checked our watches. Finally, after two, but nearly finished! "It will take about 45 minutes to fill your order," we were advised. Lunch seemed wise. The pick up area was swamped. Our order was eventually wheeled out on six carts. Packing wasn't straightforward. Strategy was involved, and sweat. At least we were finally warm. We pulled away just after 5. Six hours at Ikea. We had entered a black hole in time. So much for the list.
The wonderful compensation was... time. Time to reevaluate our kitchen plan. Time to peer in cupboards and spin lazy susans. Time to tweak our order and get what we really want and need.
Tomorrow is day six. We've run the race, at a pace I wouldn't want to have to keep up but I'm feeling thankful. The LIST is almost finished. Less than six items remain. What a time we've had.

mopping up

A week and a half ago, our kitchen succumbed to a watery grave. When my husband awoke and went to brew our morning tea, he found water bubbling up around the cabinet bases. "We have a problem," he called out. The problem had seeped to all four edges of the kitchen, and was threatening the hardwood floors beyond. My husband dove into the cupboards and turned off the water.
The fridge was hastily emptied into coolers and shifted onto the sun deck. The stove and dishwasher followed. And then, the pantry, oh the pantry. Winners of a timed shopping spree couldn't have bagged with more passion. The floor in an adjoining room was soon covered.
We fell upon the computer and desk, and bore it off disembodied and sadly, disconnected. Then up came the flooring, one layer, two layers, three layers, four. Wet, wet, wet, and wet. Fans and mopping filled the afternoon.
My father's birthday supper was transferred to a restaurant down the street.
That evening we went to clean our church. When we opened the front door, a roar as from a jet engine assailed our ears. Running towards the sound, I leapt down the stairs. Pausing only a moment to gain a bearing on the noise, I dashed into the ladies washroom. Water, water everywhere. "We have a problem," I called out. My husband dove under a toilet and turned off the water. We knew where to find the mop.