This poor, poor blog! So few posts compared to the halcyon days of yore. And yet, I can't stop won't stop. I won't give up on blogging. Not now, not ever. I will hold true. There is room for the long-form reflective written word and this is my space. You can't supplant it with all the Snapchats and Instas and FBs and Twitters...you just can't.
What have I been up to? ONLY HAVING THE TIME OF MY LIFE. The weekend before this past one was literally insane in the membrane. That's the technical designation for what I did.
Friday was my day off and I spent the day running around like a maniac. I helped out at the book fair, went back to the Big Yam's school to do sub lunch, did mad errands, and that night I met my friend M in Kensington and then had tortas from Torteria San Cosme which were DELICIOUS. We split the chicken milanese and the cubano, and I also bought a cochinita pibil one for home. The sandwiches are priced at around $9, which is kind of pricey, but they're substantial and so well made and they griddle the bread, which is key. It's a nice touch. I'm of the belief that hot sandwiches should be served on buns that have been kissed with some kind of fat and then burnished on a flat top - it provides a texture barrier and just ups the general ante. Anyway, the space is super-cute - it looks like a little cafeteria lunch counter with excellent floor tile work. I'm a little in love with it.
That Friday was one of the nicest spring days we've had yet, and I was running around in my very ancient, vintage Mexican embroidered shirt that I've had for over 10 years. The moms at the Big Yam's school were going apes**t and one of them asked me if I got it from Anthropologie. There's been a lot about cultural appropriation in the media of late (see: Justin Bieber's dreads) and I was like, damn, am I culturally appropriating? Should I not be wearing this shirt? Then at Torteria San Cosme, one of the Latin American women working the grill (and it was super-amazing that the whole crew behind the counter was women - assuming they also have a say in the means of production), pointed at my shirt and mouthed the words, "I love it." That made me feel a little bit better, but also: am I just being lazy and relying on a "native insider"?!? WHO EVEN KNOWS ANYMORE. The point is, those sandwiches, that I might have zero business in the world eating, were freakin' delicious.
Then we saw a Frida Kahlo documentary that was meh. It was very "classic documentary" which meant long, still shots of the light on a wall and the sound of birds chirping. It was about this Japanese photographer who went to Kahlo's house and took photographs of Kahlo's stuff and then they framed it by also interviewing women in Oaxaca who produce the embroidered clothing (it was just a random coincidence that I wore my shirt that day, I swear) that Kahlo wore. I get what the documentary was trying to accomplish, linking Kahlo's embrace of her Mexican heritage and work as a woman artist with the traditionally female craft work and domesticity, but it was a bit of a slog and the thesis could have been tightened up a bit.
Saturday we played in the Regent Park playground with the Wonder Twins and then followed that up with dinner at Bar Isabel with Dr. Rei and Hanbo. Such a fun time. I love those guys. My mum watched the kids and was hilarious about it.
Sunday was Mother's Day. Mother's Day has been AMPED UP in recent years. My FB exploded with heartfelt and sentimental tributes to all mothers...it was a bit much for me, to be honest, but the Dotytron was lovely and took the kids away for a couple of hours so I could work on a quilt. Then we went on a nature walk, and then Momma D came over and watched the kids so we could have dinner at A3 Napoli (one of my favorite restaurants) with JJ and S and then we went to see the Noma documentary at Hot Docs, Ants on a Shrimp.
This documentary felt like a slog, to be honest. It's ostensibly about the time the chef, Rene Redzepi, packed up the whole restaurant and transplanted Noma to Japan, for a 3 week engagement. What emerges is this slavering fanboy flick that doesn't critique anything. You don't get any sense of the thought processes that go into the dishes, what they're after, how the dishes taste, what the reception of this endeavour was...basically, as a viewer, you're supposed to take it on faith that the stuff tastes good. It was very acritical and all I got out of it was flashbacks of my time on the line. There was also all this hyper-masculine, macho stuff: the film opens with the chef de cuisine and the sous chef charged with conceptualizing the menu, both of whom are heavily tattooed dudes, and are shown in the opening scenes of the film doing weird cross-fit type stuff like pull-ups and working on rowing machine until they get blisters. Just, ew. Get over yourselves, stupid macho kitchen mentality.
The Don is so magical
Comic book nerds are also magical
Some of the awesome stuff I picked up. Love that Prince and Bitch Planet poster!
This weekend we had my friend C64 and his partner over for dinner on Friday, then on Saturday we went for a rainy walk in the Don Valley with the Wonder Twins, and hung with SMckay that night. The Dotytron went to see Lee "Scratch" Perry and on Sunday, SMckay and I hit up the Toronto Comic Arts Festival. I dragged the Big Yam which was, in retrospect, a bit of a mistake. Although I was gazing longingly at some of the other parents who had children, seemingly younger than the Big Yam following them throughout the crowded halls, with their noses buried in comics. Really want to share my nerd interests with my kids, yo.
That being said, the Big Yam has been hilarious. A few week's ago we went to see Peppa Pig at Boston Pizza. They were blasting Peppa Pig on the screens and Peppa came around to all the tables. At a certain point, as she was making her way, the Big Yam craned his neck to see, and announced: "Peppa Pig is coming! ... Jesus." LOL!!! He's so funny. The other night, we had our neighbours over for dinner and were having a big conversation about wants versus needs. I asked him, "So, can you think of something that you really need, versus just want?" and he said, "Ummm...wifi?" Touché. Can't really argue with that, can we?
Some snaps from around here, lately:
Sleepiest bubbies
B-b-b-b-bath time!
These two. Finally starting to get along and be friends. They're doing more collaborating and colluding and are frequently in cahoots. During their increasingly fraught nap times, I'll hear Quincess test the door knob of their room (we have one of those door-knob protectors which means they can't turn the knob), and report back to Twin B, "It's locked." So cute.
Eats around here, lately:
Company dinner: tagliatelle with radicchio and bagna cauda, with a poached egg and crispy croutons
Made a pretty kickin' chicken biryani with green beans thoren. There are some refinements to be made, but it's definitely a good foundation. Next time I might add some plumped raisins and will make some extra rice.
Saw some stunning artichokes so we roasted them, I made chorizo potatoes, and seared some ling cod and served everything with romesco. GAH! Love romesco so damn much.
I'm INTO a lot of things, lately, and as it goes when you're a modern day Renaissance woman with too many interests surrounded by inspiring, brilliant people, the things I'm INTO are varied and range from the profound to the frivolous.
1) This exchange between Roxane Gay, Tressie McMillan Cottom, and David Simon on the barring of journalist Tim Tai's from the University of Missouri's student activist tent city. It happened on Twitter. It is electrifying reading. Gay and Simon I knew already, but Tressie McMillan Cottom is new to me and she is everything. Razor sharp, eloquent, invested. Remember when thinkers would debate each other and it was televised? I kind of want to go back to that time. The fact that this happened on Twitter is a sign of the modern era, but imagine what it would have been like to have these three in the same room together? Without the constraints of Twitter? I know Twitter is what facilitated this spontaneous conversation, but I want to go back to the time when you could turn on the TV and see Michel Foucault debating Noam Chomsky:
Anyway, David Simon gets served and is STILL AT IT. Some of McMillan Cottom's responses are the best. Like this one:
Insert me doing a million "OHHHHHH, S**T!!!* motions. David Simon gets pwned all over the place and comes off looking really grasp-y and petulant and unhinged in the process, when all it would take is a simple acknowledgement of "Yes, I can see how the media can be a tool for mis-representation and oppression." At one point, Cottom is like, "I can't believe I have to explain this to the guy who wrote THE WIRE." and I'm like, damn right. Simon is also getting pwned because he doesn't know how to work Twitter properly, but he's so fixated on his ideal, that he's not looking at the actual situation, or acknowledging how contingent that reified ideal is.
2) On a (slightly) less heady note: I'm all about this coat from Madewell.
I bought some shoes from Madewell last spring and they didn't fit so I returned them for store credit. This fall, after I got my new job, I invested in some pieces and splurged on a coat (a hella splurge, considering the abysmal state of the Canadian dollar) that is a step above my usual fare. It's sleek, modern, blocky and bulky enough to be proportionally balanced against my skinnies and tights, and elevates my weekend slovenly jeans-based outfits and finishes my more polished weekday work wear. It's a lady coat and I love it. I love the high collar, the slightly oversized cut, and the small details (zippers on the sleeves, deep pockets). Anyway, because I bought it with store credit, I managed to get a few pieces for what felt like much less, even though I was spending money I had already spent. My next lady coat purchase will be a mid-calf length bulky duster/cocoon type, assuming it doesn't make me look stumpy.
3)
The new John Mulaney special on Netflix, The Comeback Kid. I first experienced Mulaney as one half of the "Too Much Tuna" duo on Nick Kroll's Kroll Show. Then a friend mentioned his special New In Town (also on Netflix) and the Dotytron and I watched it and died laughing. Seriously, nothing has hit us this hard since we stumbled upon Kevin Hart lo' these many years ago. Something about the humour, the references, the wit...it all really connected. Mulaney is "coming back" from a disastrous rapidly-cancelled sitcom that was called Mulaney. I never watched it, but I know that he's funny (Wikipedia tells me he wrote on SNL for 6 years and won Emmys) and I highly recommend his stuff.
I generally can't with a lot of stand-up because I find it can veer into basic bro territory really quickly. This is very much not that.
4)
So old, right? I know, I know. How dare I talk about something that was binged-watched two weeks ago?! The point is, this show is amazing. It's basically tailor-made for my peer group, amirite? It has heart, it's sincere, it talks about being a first-generation something with immigrant parents, it has a multi-ethnic cast that isn't token, or special. They're just people living their lives in an urban setting and it is so sad that this is a thing that's worthy of note. Like, things have gotten better for people of colour, but Fresh off the Boat and Blackish are all about the playing off of being different from the American "norm" and using that for laughs, which, don't get me wrong, is also moving in the right direction, but the characters of Denise and Dev are just people, and they're not defined by their sexuality or colour status and that is so freaking amazing. Or, when they are defined by it, it's in the service of talking about racist casting in Hollywood (see the stand-out episode, "Indians on TV"). I want a world in which niche markets aren't the only place for black stories (e.g. Tyler Perry movies). I want a world where shows like A Different World can exist alongside Fresh off the Boat and a scripted series from Wong Kar Wei or whatever and it's just part of the amazing smorgasbord of television available. The show is funny and has a killer score with loads of classic hip hop and class Aphex Twin (lol!) and I can't love it more.
5) This podcast:Pop Rocket. I went on a new podcast tear a while ago looking for new road trip material for me and the Dotytron, for the rare minutes when we're not blasting the Pirates of the Caribbean theme for our young 'uns. We tried a bunch of different ones, some for a second time: Radio Lab, Love & Radio, All Things Considered, and Pop Rocket. Now, all we want to do is listen to Pop Rocket. I would listen to it when I would run, we listened to it in the car on our way down to visit my sister. Now that we've finished Master of None and the new Mulaney stand-up and we're generally uninspired by TV, we've contemplated just listening to podcasts while we stretch (which is possibly the dorkiest combination of activities, ever). It is that good.
Here is (are) my problem(s) with Radio Lab and others: 1) NPR voice. Is there no diversity in the world of podcasts universally beloved by white people? Do they teach nebbishy voice in public-radio school? I hate the sound of the voices because they're all such a thing. Pop Rocket has people who sound like themselves. That being said, I CANNOT HANDLE John Oliver because I hate his voice and his face. I also don't like someone screaming at me all the time? Sorry?! 2) No perspective. We listened to a Radio Lab episode on Patient Zero and one on the Galapagos, and look - I'm a generally interested person. I like stuff, okay? My interests are far-reaching. HOWEVER, I want you to have a perspective on the stuff. Don't just report to me, because not all of the topics are fascinating enough in and of themselves. I need an angle. FRAME THE ISSUE. On Radio Lab, they say stuff like, "Wow. That is so weird." "Isn't that crazy?" and it's literally the blandest, most obvious reactions. If YOU are not invested in the topic, how am I supposed to be???
I have more points, but let me tell you about why I love Pop Rocket. The core people are amazing - Margaret Wapler is a writer - former arts writer for the LA Times. Oliver Wang is a DJ and academic. Wynter Mitchell is a digital strategist, who came up with the "Straight Outta..." meme for Straight Outta Compton. Guy Brannum is a writer and comedian who is currently working on the Mindy Project. These people KNOW their shiz. They know so much about popular culture and they have thoughts and ideas and Guy Brannum is a brilliant, smart, interested in all things commentator and I can't love it enough. It's so good. Their interests are so wide-ranging and the things they have to say and how they agree or disagree with each other is fantastic.
6) My kids. I freakin' love my kids! We had a crazy weekend that was jam-packed. Friday I had the day off and took the twins to my work where they wreaked havoc and hugged my executive director and then I took them to the ROM where they were claimed to be scared of almost everything but in reality, weren't. Then that night we got a sitter and the Dotytron and I went to try Brando's Fried Chicken which is a pop-up fried chicken place. There was nowhere to sit so we took our chicken to go and sat in the car and ate it while listening to Pop Rocket. We were still hungry and had a million hours to kill so we went and had a second dinner at Porchetta and Co (more fried chicken). Then we went to my brother's belated birthday celebration which was archery tag (more like archery dodgeball) and it was fun and we got home late and it was life-affirming.
The next day we were hosting Friendsgiving, which is 15 adults and 6 kids in our little mouse house. It was such a fun night. We provided turkey and stuffing and I made pies and other people brought more deliciousness and there was a signature cocktail and we talked and laughed and I marveled at being around the table with this group of people, the core group of which have known each other for over 20 years. It is incredible and heartening and I love my beautiful, diverse, talented, funny, accomplished friends with all my heart. I love them. That was another late night.
Sunday was about running a million loads of dishes and then going out to dinner with our friend A and his wife C who were in town from NYC and seeing A's gig, which meant the third night in a row that I didn't get to put my kids down to bed and I felt it keenly. I'm craving it. I love these little nuggets.
Language acquisition for the twins is proceeding at an epic clip and I feel like Lindsay is losing his fat toddler belly and it pains me. Just this morning, I came down from getting dressed and he was in his high chair and he said to me, "Hi, mama. I'm awake now," and I died. DIED. DEAD. GONE. He sleeps on the floor on a pile of blankets in their shared room even though we have a perfectly good crib mattress two feet away. Quincess is still in his crib and he goes down with an arm around a mouse, a moose, and insists on his clutching a book which means that his arms are full.
The Big Yam is a sweet little nut and I love his butt so hard. The other day, he had wandered off and when the Dotytron went to find him, he discovered that the Big Yam had found the iPad, closed our door, and was illicitly watching Team Umi Zoomi. This is the first time we've caught him doing something overtly sneaky and the Dotytron impressed upon him how serious an infraction it is and told him he was supposed to come down and tell me what happened. After 10 minutes, I went up to find him, and he was sitting on the corner of our bed in the dark. READ THAT SENTENCE AGAIN AND TRY NOT TO HAVE YOUR HEART BREAK INTO A MILLION PIECES. I pretended I didn't know what had happened and was like, "Hey buddy, it's dinner time, whatcha doing?" and at first he said, "Nothing," but he stayed where he was. I asked some gently probing questions, "Is there something you want to tell me?" and after a few nos, he broke down and started bawling. Like, those great, hiccuping, gasping sobs because he felt so bad. Genuine kid tears from sadness (as opposed to kid tears from frustration at not getting something, or tears from being a flop when your sibling taps you) will end you.
The other day I came home and the Big Yam was on the couch, looking miserable - he was upset because he couldn't get his piano piece down (!!!!!). I mean, c'mon!!! I did what any self-respecting parent would do, and I put on an OG-Sesame Street video with Don Music:
I'm also into the following meals we've had lately:
Pulled pork sandwiches, made with pork shoulder braised in the slow cooker with apple cider, brown sugar, a bit of soy, and some bourbon. Served on pretzel buns with a bit of my homemade chipotle barbecue sauce, with mashed sweet potatoes and a brussels sprouts and apple slaw.
Freezer rice, minced ginger, garlic, a jar of chopped kimchi, frozen peas, soy, rice wine, sesame oil, a bit of sugar, and shrimp. Topped with a fried egg. That night I was convinced I had norovirus because I felt like I was going to barf on the streetcar - after punishing a bowl and a half of this stuff, realized that I was just hungry.
Freezer eggplant orzo with mozzarella which the kids hated, but which I loved because it was Thursday hell night.
Soup + bread is one of my meal templates. My kids loved orange/red pureed soups so this was a roasted tomato soup pulled from the freezer with leftover pulled pork, sliced apple, and aged cheddar grilled cheese sandwiches. HUGE.
Loblaws sells T&T's coconut bread in a loaf and they'll slice it on site for you. I turned it into French toast and won the hearts of my goon squad for all eternity.
Biscuits from the Ovenly cookbook. Recipe copied below. These have honey in the mix and are brushed with a warm butter-honey mixture (supposed to be hot honey, but I didn't have it, but just imagine!) and then baked a bit more. These were insanely, insanely delicious.
Great Nany Doty's pasta with rosé sauce, and a salad of roasted buttercup squash on a bed of spinach with a lemon tahini dressing and toasted pine nuts.
Smitten's cheddar broccoli soup (which is so much better than my usual recipe), with feta-basil-scallion muffins from the Ovenly cookbook. These muffins were another huge hit. Definitely work making a double batch and then freezing the rest...if I had an inch of extra space in my freezer. Which I don't...because I'm a psycho prepper. I'll post the recipe for the muffins tomorrow.
Annual fall risotto - kale, roasted squash, and bacon with sumac roasted heirloom carrots.
We recently did a Yummy Market run, which means part of the reason I'm out of freezer space is because it's stuffed with pierogies. I always serve them with caramelized onions (pierogies are parboiled and then roasted in the oven with the onions), and the fullest fattest sour cream I can find (Pinehedge Organize 18% for the win!). My local butcher who is a 3rd generation, anti-hipster type, makes very weird, very soft, very onion-y German sausages which are strangely delicious even thought they have no right to be, and the combo of the 'rogies and the sausage made for a killer meal.
Friendsgiving turkey - a full 20lbs. I did the turkey flip thing this time around because I find the air circulation is never good enough to get that full expanse of juicy thigh meat skin properly browned. It worked really well overall, but the flipping process was a mite precarious/fraught.
Smitten's baked ziti, which is basically like my skillet lasagne/regular lasagne/every pasta bake but I made it with Barilla's super skinny penne rigate noodles which made for a high proportion of crusty edges. I am not the kind of parent who is above telling my kids that they "won't like" the layer of bronzed, chewy cheese on top and denuding their portions of it accordingly.
Listen, Smitten Kitchen's Deb Perelman is a freakin' culinary, home cooking saint, and she is justifiably beloved in the food blogging world. She just KNOWS WHAT REGULAR PEOPLE WANT TO EAT AND HOW THEY WANT IT TO TASTE. Which is why her recipes are featured so heavily. She's good for some inspiration and for dialing in exactly what you want. I made her pecan pie for Friendsgiving and people: IT IS SINE NON QUA. Go out and make this right away. Her recipe comes down to two parts: toasting the nuts (why didn't I do this before?! AM I NEW?!?) and replacing the cloying, gummy corn syrup with golden syrup. If you've ever tasted golden syrup (and this was my first time) it has a roasted, toasted, barley-ish depth to it that highlights the nuts, whereas the corn syrup just kinds of drowns the nuts in sweetness. The texture of this pie was divine - mostly nuts mixed evenly with this round, caramely filling. So often when you get pecan pie, it's a thin layer of pecans sitting atop an inch of goo. This was so good.
Still trying to get back into the regular swing of blogging. BUT IT'S ALMOST XMAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
1 t. chopped fresh thyme (I didn't have any, so I omitted)
5 T. hot honey (I just used regular honey)
2 c. cold buttermilk
- Standard biscuit procedure. Mix dry ingredients together in a big bowl. Cut 15 T. of the butter into dry ingredients until the butter is in small, pea-sized pieces. Mix 3 T. of the honey into 1 3/4 c. of the buttermilk (reserve the 1/4 c. in case you need it if the dough is dry) and stir into the dry ingredients until the dry is incorporated.
- Turn the dough onto a flour surface and pat it gently into a 1/2" thick rectangle (approximately 12" x 6"). Fold dough into thirds (like a letter) and then pat it down again so it's 3/4" thick throughout. T
- The recipe says to cut the dough into 8 rectangles, but that's insane. I made 12 and they were hefty...you could probably get away with 14.
- Put the biscuits on a greased baking tray and bake in a preheated 400F oven for 18 minutes. Remove from oven.
- Mix together remaining 2 T. of honey with 1 t. chopped fresh thyme (if using) with the remaining 3 T. of butter (melted). Brush over the tops of the biscuits and reduce oven temperature to 350F. Bake the biscuits for an additional 10 minutes more until they are a burnished, deep golden brown.
The Dotytron has been obsessed with Beck's new album, Morning Phase lately and I wasn't feeling it as a whole - it's too sad and wintery and morose for me, but one of the songs that immediately grabbed me is Blue Moon. So gorgeous. Perfectly encapsulates this never-ending winter and grey days slowly bleeding into more sun and slightly warmer temperatures and green shoots in our garden and the promise of bike rides and beach picnics and shorts and low tennis sneakers. I will say that the album makes for good listening while sitting on the couch at night with a quilt piled on your lap hand-sewing binding on. Maybe the Dotytron is wearing me down? Sewing binding on a quilt is one of my ALL TIME favorite tasks. It makes you feel like SUCH a pioneer (and y'all know how much I love playing at pioneer life).
Guys, I just bought a jean shirt and it's CHANGED MY LIFE. Summer uniform! I'm going to wear it as a jacket over all my hippie sundresses and love life. I also bought these sneakers:
I'm picturing a summer uniform of jean shorts, t shirts, and one of my many billion summer dresses all paired with these. They're pretty cute, I must say, and I like that you can throw them in the wash.
I'm not ready to say goodbye to winter foods (I never am), but I am ready to stop worrying about losing gloves and putting a billion layers on squirmy babies.
This braised barley dish with fried eggs & parm is exactly the kind of winter food I don't want to say goodbye to, just yet. Adapted from this recipe, and made slightly less virtuous with the addition of crisped pancetta cubes and the use of frozen beef braising liquid to cook the barley in. So good! I love kale.
Sour cream peach pie. A little watery from the frozen peaches, but I still ate the whole thing (not the slice, the whole PIE) because I'm not one to look a gift pie in the plate (new expression, trust).
My mom and youngest bro's birthday cake - a golden cake (from Smitten Kitchen, here) and a salted caramel Swiss meringue buttercream.
Friday night was crunch wrap night and we all couldn't have been happier. Especially the Wonder Twins, who acted like they had never tasted food before.
Sunday morning breakfast was my long longed-for blintzes. Served up very non-Kosher with English bacon.
The other night, while I was gently enforcing the rules of the memory game I was playing with the Big Yam, he gave me this exasperated sigh and said, "Ugh, you're such a B, mama! Why are you such a B!?" It was hilarious. He thinks he means the insect, but this means we really have to start censoring ourselves. For real. This time, it's serious.
Lately the Big Yam has been practising being "annoyed" or "upset" or saying stuff like, "are you playing a trick on me?" or "you're mean." This all came to a head on Monday morning when we were doing our morning cuddles and he asked if he could have breakfast at home. I said, no, you have breakfast at Miss J's house. "I don't want to go to Miss J's house." Okay, fine. I asked why. "Because she hits me." !!!!! Note: he said the same thing about me a couple of weeks ago. Knowing full well that J doesn't hit, ever, I asked some probing questions. The troubling thing is he came up with a whole story about it! Granted, the story devolved after two sentences into some altercation between two of his daycare homies that was completely unrelated to the initial part of the story of J hitting him. The cheek! And this is why children make unreliable witnesses, people. I didn't really know how to handle it. I obviously want him to feel comfortable telling me when someone for real hits him, but I also want to gently impress upon him the seriousness of making up libelous and slanderous accusations like that. What it comes down to is that he's super-obsessed with eating peanut butter on toast every morning and J doesn't let him have it every single day of his life. Oh the indignity.
That being said, he's also been the sweetest. We've gotten into the habit of indulging "sleepovers" (where one of us, usually me, sleeps in his bed with him) during the week. When it comes time to break it to him that he won't be getting a sleepover, he gets all distraught: "But I'll miss you! Whyyyyy?" and when I tell him that I'm going to have a sleepover with Baba, he says stuff like, "No! You're not allowed sleep-overing on a school night! You're supposed to sleep all alone!" The logic is sound. My neighbour was telling me about her friend's son who said something along the lines of: "How come you're so big and you get to sleep with someone else but I'm the smallest and I have to sleep all by myself?" You make a lot of sense, random kid I don't know. Parents are the worst! We know how good it feels to sleep next to someone you love and yet, we insist on making our kids sleep alone, especially during the years when they're starting to be more aware of their surroundings and start having legitimate fears. We've talked about it, and neither of us thinks it's a big deal to get some extra smooshing in with our eldest - he's not going to want physical displays of affection forever, so why not get your hugs in while you can?
We recently watched the newest Disney animated movie, Frozen and he's been all over it. He loves the songs and he loves pretending to be the main princess character, Elsa. It's so freakin' cute.
In Wonder Twins news, they are the cutest. Cutting their first tooth. Babbling away (Leonard), hissing in a combination of Parseltongue/Mogwai (Quincess). Eating a tonne. I'm starting to get legit scared about our future grocery bills when the boys are grown. We're totally going to need a second fridge. Leonard has started this annoying thing where he's literally turning his nose up at purées I give him that aren't seasoned. He does this dramatic head turn that is simultaneously the most aggravating thing and yet also, quite endearing. He's a pig. He can't fist food into his gaping mouth fast enough and usually starts bawling in between spoonfuls. The limiting factor is how fast you can scoop more food out of the bowl and back into his mouth. Leonard also likes to treat the Quincess' tray as an extension of his own. So he'll finish his portion and then start surveying and pawing around Quincess' tray, often grabbing food right out of the Great Gazoo's hand. He also makes a mess of everything, whereas the Quincess is so dainty. Quincess opens his little rosebud mouth just the teensiest bit, and will sit and masticate each bite for a good minute or two before swallowing. Couldn't be more different. Couldn't be more adorable.
How much cornbread should a baby eat?
We've had a couple of low-key weekends. Last weekend Dr. Rei and Hanbo came over for an edition of 80s Settlers, Chicago style deep dish pizza, and the ongoing tradition of Hanbo making critical decision-making errors early in the game. This weekend is pretty relaxed and wide open. I'm liking this pace. It gives me the option of watching True Detective during the day instead of at night (and thereby reducing the possibility that I will contract a bladder infection from being too paralysed with fear to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night) and perhaps carve out some crafting time. I need this level of restoration. It's done wonders for my mind set and helped pull me out of my overwhelmed, anxious state that I was in a month ago.
The Big Yam is way better at controlling his emotions now, as are we. He's started talking back, which I think is normal, and while it does initially put me into a murderous rage, I'm better at just staying calm (but shrill!) and he's usually brought back into line with the warning of time out and by the stern (and shrill!) impression upon that such behaviour is unacceptable and will result in the loss of privileges. I really feel like age 3 was a huge turning point, and it's been so much easier since then.
Looking very similar
Love the Big Yam's expression in this cousins shot from the Family Day long weekend! He looks like a little man!
I made moussaka for dinner and it was a huge hit. Ground lamb-tomato sauce mixture spiced with cinnamon, oregano, chili flakes, layered with pre-broiled, oiled, salted eggplant slices, sliced potato (that could have used a quick par-boil), and topped with a bechamel studded with crumbled feta and baked. So very delicious!
The Chicago deep dish with Dr. Rei's ceasar salad
Homemade sausage & egg mcmuffins. I used a greased mason jar ring to make the round egg and it was a turning point in the Dotytron-Lagerfeld breakfast sandwich idiom
Cheddar broccoli soup and this delicious toast. Basically: Ace bakery garlic oval, sliced, spread with my garlic butter and toasted on high heat until it's crisp on the edges but still chewy in the middle. Spread with basil-scape pesto from my freezer, and white beans that I mashed with lemon zest, roasted garlic cloves, and some fresh rosemary. Topped with a drizzle of good olive oil and some sea salt. Delicious!
Praise be the higher power (if they exist), our daycare provider is back from vacation! Regular life resumes! This is negative for me because it means I'm back on duty getting the Big Yam ready in the morning, but good for the family as a whole because it means we don't have to keep patching together a network of care. Plus, it's just nice to be back in the regular routine of life, with an orderly schedule and whatnot. It's good for everyone, but me in particular, because schedules and order are my talismans against the capriciousness of living.
We couldn't possibly have had a better weekend. It was soooo nice. Four day weekends are bliss piled upon bliss. They are especially so when your family obligations are neatly wrapped up on the first day (we had dinner with Momma D and my mum decamped to do some cross-border shopping in the States so we were off the hook with my family) and you have nothing but aimless days filled with some household chores and some dinner preparation and some friend visiting (but not too much). It was perfect. We cooked and cleaned and napped and relaxed. There was a flurry of activity yesterday, spurred by my receiving my weekly pregnancy-email update. According to Baby Centre, at 23 weeks the twerps are now considered "viable" (that is, if they were born now, they would be disgusting jellybean quarterly baby Voldemorts, but have a high statistical probability of survival). The word "viable" resulted in me yelling at the Dotytron and rhyming off a nonsensical list of tasks great and small that I, in my fevered nesting state, would like to see accomplished. The list included everything from doing something with the speakers and bass bin that had been plopped unceremoniously on top of my cherished rosewood buffet, to buying the minivan, to like, remortgaging the house, to cleaning the basement, to organizing extra cables and labelling them. I went cuckoo, admittedly.
The Dotytron was a peach and tried to stem the tide of hormonal anxiety by writing up a list of things to do, which culminated in "contract gonorrhea."
We got a good chunk of business done and reorganized the basement some more and put things away so that they made sense for access. The speakers and bass bin (what I jokingly refer to as the "Valve Soundsystem") have been rendered slightly less unsightly in a show of compromise between the Dotytron's quest for audio fidelity and my quest for harmonious living room aesthetics.
The Big Yam got (another) ear infection. At least now he can tell us, although I'm not sure that hearing him plaintively cry, "My ear hurts, my ear!" is an improvement because it kind of breaks your heart. He was a trooper though. We pulled him in for Sleep Away Camp and dosed him with painkillers until we could see our doctor and he rallied enough to participate in the Annual Street Easter Egg Hunt. This year we ramped it up. I made breakfasty/sweet bread/snacky type things and someone bought coffee from Starbucks and someone else brought fruit and juice and cups. The hunt was over in about half an hour, but we got an awesome group shot with all the kidlets on the street and then everyone stayed outside for another hour or two while the kids rode their bikes and the adults chiefed it up. So cute!
We went to our friends' house for a tapas meal (I think there were like, 10 different dishes? And cava? And red and white wine?) and caught up with our amazingly talented, interesting, intelligent, and engaged high school cronies. Sometimes, when I take a look around at all the amazing people in my life, I feel so incredibly lucky to be able to count so many smart, talented people as friends - old and new. As someone who thrives on conversation, debate, philosophizing, and taking the world apart and (trying) to put it back together again in a way that makes sense and is reflexive, honest, thoughtful, and conscious, gatherings where hours of wide-ranging conversation disappear in what seems like minutes are the stuff that I live for. We came back from that lunch feeling very lucky, very loved, and very, very full.
The Big Yam is so so so delightful right now. Basically, if he's not whining, everything he says/does right now tears us to pieces with cuteness. A small sampling:
- Washing the dishes from dinner, over the sounds of the tap and the suds, the Dotytron and I heard a very grave, "Mama, I'm not happy with you" from the Big Yam, who at the time was preoccupied with hopping on the couch in his jammies.
- He likes to put me to bed on the living room couch, which includes pulling a blanket around me, singing "Blackbird," and more often than not, him climbing up on the couch to snuggle in next to me with a: "I want to be cozy" or "I want tickles."
- There is lots of dancing, all the time, and the newest iteration of his dancing style is hilarious.
- "Mama, can I have butter on my bread?" "Yes, I'll give you some." "I want aaaaaaaaaaaa-lot."
He really is the best. I was tired yesterday and fell asleep and missed the bedtime routine, despite the Big Yam's exhortations that "Mama, come!" I just couldn't move from the couch. Then when I finally roused an hour later, I felt so guilty. It was definitely hormonal but I was so sad. I know you love all your kids (hopefully?) but there are times when I can't fathom loving the twerps as much as I love the Big Yam. Or at the very least, I don't know where the extra love comes from. I'm also trying to be very conscious that our time together where it's just us and him is limited and soon he's going to have to share us and we'll have to share ourselves and him with his siblings and it's going to be so different. I don't know how you pay attention to all the little details of your kids when you have more than one. I don't know how you find the time to give them the love and support and learning opportunities that make them grow when you have more than one.
I don't know the twerps. I know the Big Yam and I find myself being hyper-protective of our relationship. I don't really know how you find the time/energy to make more than one kid feel special and awesome. Two at the same time? How the heck does that work? I know this is something all parents with more than one kid grapple with. I also know that this is me being a hormonal mess. Still, it eats away at me a bit each day that goes by as we move closer and closer to imminent twerp arrival, especially when I'm reading stories to and being cozy with and planting kisses on my sweet little Boobla.
'Twas a weekend of good eats:
Saturday morning breakfast - oat & whole wheat scones with Devon cream & my concord grape jelly.
The craving for crispy fish & tartar sauce continues apace: sweet potato oven fries, a dilled cucumber salad, and a panko-crusted salmon burger with arugula, tomato, and tartar sauce on a buttered toasted bun (you'll notice my attempt to be low-carb by only eating half a bun). This recipe for sweet potato oven fries produced the best version we've ever had. All you have to do is soak your cut sweet potatoes in advance (to take out the extra starch, I'm guessing) and then drain them and dry them on a towel. Then you put them in a paper bag with some cornstarch, shake it around so they get all coated. Toss the coated fries in a bowl and toss with oil. Season and bake in a 450F oven until crispy, turning halfway through.
You'll then notice how I completely went ultra-mega-carbs by making Bouchon Bakery's TKO's - their take on the Oreo cookie, aka the most sinfully delicious, salty-sweet, rich thing in all of existence. I dream of this cookie. I rolled my dough out a little thick, but with a cold glass of milk, there are few things better.
My new favorite healthy lunch, inspired by some cheap brie I scooped with Dr. Rei on our lunchtime travels last week - pan-toasted sourdough bread, with my homemade tomato jam, some sliced red onion, some avocado, and melted brie on top. Sided with more cucumber salad.
We closed out the weekend with breaded cod sandwiches, sweet potato latkes with apple sauce and chili mayo, and a broccoli, red onion, and almond salad.
Tonight we had Spanish style braised tripe with chickpeas and chorizo, served with warmed crusty bread for dipping. I love me some tripe and it was nice to have the day off yesterday to prep it so it only had to be reheated today. Recipe below.
2 links semi-cured chorizo (not completely dried, not the fresh kind either, I get mine from Segovia in Kensington)
1 large Spanish onion, sliced thin
4-5 cloves of garlic, minced
1 T. Spanish smoked paprika
pinch saffron
1/2 can of tomato paste
salt and pepper to taste
- in a fairly large pot, put the tripe, the vinegar, and just enough water to barely cover the tripe.
- bring this to a boil, then skim the scum off the surface and drain the tripe.
- heat enough olive/canola oil to cover the bottom of a heavy dutch oven and sauté the chorizo over medium-high heat until it starts to render.
- add the onions and sweat, add the minced garlic, the spices, and the tomato paste and cook out.
- add the chickpeas and tripe and about 4 cups of water.
- bring to a simmer, reduce heat to a bare, bare simmer and cook the mixture with the lid on for about 3 hours, or until the tripe is tender, stirring occasionally. Add water as needed to reach desired consistency (I like it to be a mostly thick stew with just a bit of extra gravy). Season to taste with salt and pepper.
my name is karl lagerfeld. i'm a lucky button, buckshot shorty, and an industrious pig. i write about food, popular culture, film, books, politics, theory, and the ephemera of my life. a can of chinotto once ruined my night. the rest, as they say, is history.
Tressie Mc 
