Archive for the ‘In The Kitchen’ Category

I am reasonably certain this is the mug that started the whole thing:

 

#mugtag

I am outing myself here, but I saw this mug at our local thrift shop a couple weeks ago and it screamed a certain friend’s name to me, so I bought it, wrapped it in tissue and dropped it off at her workplace for her to find.

 

Who DOESN’T need a cat mug with a wee mousie hiding inside?

 

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Last July, my brother died.

I haven’t written much about him because I didn’t have room to explore those feelings when stressed over my pregnancy. I had to focus on putting one foot in front of the other and, sadly, grief can always wait. Since MissVee’s birth in February, they have been slowly coming to the surface.

My feelings take me by surprise — their ferocity takes my breath away.

I still can’t write about him. I’m not ready. Someday I will be ready, but that day is not today. That day won’t be tomorrow. I need more time to process the finality — the “goneness” — of his death and the impact it has on me.

What I can do is tell you a little story about some glasses.

These glasses:

These glasses have a story.

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This soup, adapted from the Best of Bridge series of cookbooks, was a staple when I was growing up. My mom used to make double batches and store the extra in 2L ice cream containers in the fridge, and we would happily live off leftovers until it was gone. When we were little, my brother told me that finding the bay leaf was lucky — that idea has carried forward into my family lore.

Hamburg SoupIt is a hearty, inexpensive meal — a great way to stretch the food budget a little bit further — and is quick to throw together. Just be sure to leave enough time for it to cook! I like to serve it with fresh bread — there are many no-knead bread recipes that can be prepared over the same time frame as the soup.

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Spring in Ottawa is a fleeting experience. Too soon, the cold of winter melts into the heat and humidity of summer, leaving a few short weeks of warming days and cooler nights.

The Springs of my Nova Scotian childhood were longer, damper, and a gently unfolding discovery of emerging bulbs, new leaves, violets and a hidden world slowly coming back to life.

Spring, in my mind, has a scent — wet mud with a tinge of cut grass wafting on a warm, salted breeze.

The aroma of Spring holds a high note of violets and lilac blossoms, and a bottom note of farmer’s fields.

Spring in Ottawa smells like this, too, for about a week.

It’s sandwiched between the “melting stage” (dog poo, vehicle exhaust, and skating rink) and the “cook an egg on the sidewalk” stage (chip truck, hot parking lot, splash pad chlorine).

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