While other people were leafing through garden catalogues this winter, deciding which heirloom tomato or radish seeds to plant in spring, I wiled away my hours making choices of a different kind. There wasn't a night I didn't hit up Trip Advisor, Farespotter and selloffvacations.com, in search for the perfect (and cheap) sun and surf vacation for my husband and me.
This is what I told myself: it will be good for my husband to take a relaxing (and restorative) holiday when he comes out of the hospital after the"procedures" he will be undergoing to correct a congenital heart condition (should it be of any interest, it's hypertrophic cardio myopathy).
Since neither of us are really the beachcomber kind of vacationer, I was looking for something with a little more oomph than an all inclusive somewhere. Eventually I found it. In the Dominican Republic.
From January through March each year in the Bay of Samana, 3 to 5 thousand humpback whales return to give birth and mate for the following year. "Listen to the male humpback's solitary courting song," a website told me, "and witness incredible displays of flippering, tail lobbing and breaching by the most active species of whale in the Atlantic." Frolicsome males vying for the attention of demure females also caught my attention. I was ready to book.
My husband's procedures were considered successful (yeah!), but the cardiologists needed to keep a close watch for one week in the hospital. A few days in, I realized I'll have to watch the humpbacks frolic some other year. We're not going anywhere soon. My husband needs to take it easy.
Ok, fine. No problem. So each night after I came home from the hospital I again hit up my trusty travel sites, this time looking up something in late April. In no time, I had another plan. We'll go hiking in England when the fields are covered with bluebells and wild daffodils. Before long, I narrowed down the search to the Cotswolds, found the perfect stone cottage to rent for a week and a cheap flight to London. My husband loved the new plan.
But the cardiologists didn't. They highly advised we don't go anywhere for at least a couple of months, then pointed out that we're not eligible for medical travel insurance for three months after my husband's discharge. That brings us to May 1. And as anyone who lives in our northern climes knows, spring will have just come our way. I wait all winter for May to come. The last thing I want to do is leave when my spring bulbs are just pushing up and the white-throated sparrows are singing outside my window.
So that's that for this year, I decided. I'm happy my husband's doing so well and ll have to find another way to explore the world. Lo and behold, I found it.
I'll be visiting all the great museums of the world right here at my desk through Google Art Project. www.googleartproject.com, the results of a partnership between Google and some of the greatest, most well-known museums in the world. Using Streetview technology (like Google Earth but better), I can visit the halls and collections of Versailles (and its gardens!), the Uffizi Gallery, the Tate, MOMA, the Met and Smithsonian...
I can zoom into Boticelli's Birth of Venus in Italy, and the brushstrokes of a Van Gogh in Amsterdam. Once you go to the site, there are explanatory youtube videos waiting to give you a guided how-to tour of the site. The quality of the images you'll find are staggering.
But before you head off to Rome or Copenhagen, I encourage you to look at some wonderful artwork being created in the here and now, by a friend whose work I am shamelessly promoting because it is so good, colourful, fun, charming and creative.
Feel free to tell me if I'm wrong. But to do so, you have to go first to frankmeyerart.com Then you can tell me if I gave you a bum steer.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Squeeze Me
I bought my first fine art photograph in 1976 for $75, a princely sum at the time, so much so, I paid for it in three installments. The image, by photographer Volker Seding, is a still life of a china water pitcher, two lemons, and a half-full water glass artfully arranged on a linen tablecloth.
The photo's exceptionality comes from Seding's delicate hand-painting of the lemons in a rich yellow, and the water pitcher in a pastel blue, layered onto a black and white photograph. The lemons initially drew me in.
I am not alone in my fondness for lemons. They often appear in Dutch Old Masters paintings as a symbol of life, sweet in appearance but bitter to taste. In the Court of Louis XIV, the women of Versailles used lemons as we use lipstick, biting into them to make their lips red.
But let's forget the lipstick and symbolic underbelly of the lemon. They were made to grace food, and that's where they shine (other than in my photograph), magically transforming food from the acceptable to sublime.
Preserved lemons are a staple condiment in North African cuisine, and halved lemons are omnipresent in Greece alongside fried, broiled, or poached fish, calamari, mussels, and grilled lamb, chicken, and kebabs.
But the fruit comes into its true glory in lemon meringue pies, curd and the French Tarte au Citron with its tangy filling and tender buttery crust. However, none are as delicious as the first and only cake made by my husband one year on my birthday in the form of a dense, moist lemon pound cake drizzled with lemon syrup.
Lemons are often on my mind, but my thoughts turned to them today because I just learned of photographer Volker Seding's recent death.
Perhaps it's an odd way to pay tribute to an artist, but I'm doing so with a recipe for a delicious Greek lemon soup (thanks Oprah) and kindly thoughts.
The photo's exceptionality comes from Seding's delicate hand-painting of the lemons in a rich yellow, and the water pitcher in a pastel blue, layered onto a black and white photograph. The lemons initially drew me in.
I am not alone in my fondness for lemons. They often appear in Dutch Old Masters paintings as a symbol of life, sweet in appearance but bitter to taste. In the Court of Louis XIV, the women of Versailles used lemons as we use lipstick, biting into them to make their lips red.
But let's forget the lipstick and symbolic underbelly of the lemon. They were made to grace food, and that's where they shine (other than in my photograph), magically transforming food from the acceptable to sublime.
Preserved lemons are a staple condiment in North African cuisine, and halved lemons are omnipresent in Greece alongside fried, broiled, or poached fish, calamari, mussels, and grilled lamb, chicken, and kebabs.
But the fruit comes into its true glory in lemon meringue pies, curd and the French Tarte au Citron with its tangy filling and tender buttery crust. However, none are as delicious as the first and only cake made by my husband one year on my birthday in the form of a dense, moist lemon pound cake drizzled with lemon syrup.
Lemons are often on my mind, but my thoughts turned to them today because I just learned of photographer Volker Seding's recent death.
Perhaps it's an odd way to pay tribute to an artist, but I'm doing so with a recipe for a delicious Greek lemon soup (thanks Oprah) and kindly thoughts.
Avgolemono Soup
- 1 quart chicken broth , preferably homemade
- 1/2 cup orzo or long grain rice
- 2 large eggs
- 3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (about 1 lemon)
- 1 teaspoon grated lemon zest
- Sea salt and freshly ground white pepper , to taste
- 2 tablespoons chopped dill or parsley
Directions
In a large saucepan, bring chicken broth to a boil. Add orzo; cover, reduce heat and simmer 10 minutes, or until orzo is al dente. (If using rice, add another cup of chicken broth. Simmer according to package directions, or until grains are tender.) Do not drain; set aside.
In a bowl, beat eggs until thick. Whisk in lemon juice and zest. Gradually add 1/2 cup hot broth from saucepan, whisking constantly. Add 2 more 1/2 cups of broth, whisking after each addition.
Pour mixture back into saucepan and reheat, stirring with a wooden spoon, until egg cooks and soup slightly thickens. Do not boil, or eggs will curdle. Add salt and pepper to taste, then sprinkle with dill or parsley. Serve hot or cold.
In a bowl, beat eggs until thick. Whisk in lemon juice and zest. Gradually add 1/2 cup hot broth from saucepan, whisking constantly. Add 2 more 1/2 cups of broth, whisking after each addition.
Pour mixture back into saucepan and reheat, stirring with a wooden spoon, until egg cooks and soup slightly thickens. Do not boil, or eggs will curdle. Add salt and pepper to taste, then sprinkle with dill or parsley. Serve hot or cold.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Snow Arrives (on silent feet)
The media pundits prepared us for the worst. "Snowmeggadon!" is coming, they said. Beware of tomorrow's Snowpocalypse! Watch out, Stormzilla! is on its way.
Taking the warning to heart, and before the snow even arrived, the public school board announced "All Toronto schools will be closed tomorrow." Well, tomorrow has arrived. And guess what. It snowed here. OMG, Snowapalooza!
You'd think we were in Miami or something. This video says it all.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tyZcwnO794k
Taking the warning to heart, and before the snow even arrived, the public school board announced "All Toronto schools will be closed tomorrow." Well, tomorrow has arrived. And guess what. It snowed here. OMG, Snowapalooza!
You'd think we were in Miami or something. This video says it all.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tyZcwnO794k
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Great Mid-Winter Meal in a Bowl
In his recent book, In Defense of Food, Michael Pollan wisely advises: "Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants." He also warns us to stay away from manufactured foods that have more than six ingredients, especially ones we can't pronounce.
Fortunately, this is not a problem for me, especially in summer. Nothing I love more on a hot day than a Greek salad (with extra feta); warm strawberry/rhubarb pie or fresh-grown tomatoes drizzled with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, fresh basil and kosher salt.
But in winter, something about the cold makes me crave foods that bring me comfort, and a slice of cool watermelon, as beloved as it is on smokin' hot day in August, just doesn't do it for me on a frigid January night. I need something, well...with a little weight to it.
So I thought of something else Michael Pollan advises: "Don't eat anything your great-great grandmother wouldn't recognize."
Unfortunately, I never met my great-grandmothers. The only thing I know is that they were poor and lived somewhere in Eastern Europe, maybe Russia. Still, I decided to imagine what comfort food they might have whipped up mid-winter that fit Pollan's requirements. And bingo! It's the cabbage borscht my mother made every winter which I now make for my own family.
I never before counted the number of its ingredients or plant content, but somehow, I think Pollan would approve of the surprisingly easy and delicious, thick, sweet and sour soup. I even think he'd agree when I tell you not to stint on the sour cream when you serve it.
My Mother's Sweet and Sour Cabbage Borscht
The ingredients and cooking times are approximate. My mother never wrote anything down. Play around with the recipe until you get it right. You'll know when that is.
1 large jar of sauerkraut (no cutting cabbages!)
3 onions, cut in quarters
1 - 2 pounds short ribs, "flanken" or stewing beef
2 large cans tomatoes
10 peppercorns, crushed
a big handful of brown sugar (to taste)
sour cream
In a large soup pot, cover the meat with water, bring to a boil, then simmer until the meat becomes soft enough for you to pull it apart.
Put the sauerkraut in a colander and rinse lightly with water (this step is important) to remove some of the brine. When rinsed, add it to the pot along with the cut onions, cans of tomatoes (with the liquid) and crushed peppercorns. Break up the tomatoes into pieces so they don't remain whole. Cook together for 1/2 an hour or more to blend the flavours and cook the onions. This is a thick meal-in-a-bowl soup, but if you need more liquid, add water (or another can of tomatoes if you like).
Now is the time for seasoning the soup to give it the great sweet and sour kick. Add the 'big handful' of brown sugar or to taste (it may need more than you'd think). The soup should have a nice strong pepper hit to it too, so you may want to add more pepper. Play with it to suit your own taste.
Serve hot with a big dollop of sour cream on top and thick slices of pumpernickel bread slathered with sweet butter. Have a bowl of sour cream on the table, just in case. Enjoy!
I'd love to know what your favourite mid-winter comfort food is
Fortunately, this is not a problem for me, especially in summer. Nothing I love more on a hot day than a Greek salad (with extra feta); warm strawberry/rhubarb pie or fresh-grown tomatoes drizzled with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, fresh basil and kosher salt.
But in winter, something about the cold makes me crave foods that bring me comfort, and a slice of cool watermelon, as beloved as it is on smokin' hot day in August, just doesn't do it for me on a frigid January night. I need something, well...with a little weight to it.
So I thought of something else Michael Pollan advises: "Don't eat anything your great-great grandmother wouldn't recognize."
Unfortunately, I never met my great-grandmothers. The only thing I know is that they were poor and lived somewhere in Eastern Europe, maybe Russia. Still, I decided to imagine what comfort food they might have whipped up mid-winter that fit Pollan's requirements. And bingo! It's the cabbage borscht my mother made every winter which I now make for my own family.
I never before counted the number of its ingredients or plant content, but somehow, I think Pollan would approve of the surprisingly easy and delicious, thick, sweet and sour soup. I even think he'd agree when I tell you not to stint on the sour cream when you serve it.
My Mother's Sweet and Sour Cabbage Borscht
The ingredients and cooking times are approximate. My mother never wrote anything down. Play around with the recipe until you get it right. You'll know when that is.
1 large jar of sauerkraut (no cutting cabbages!)
3 onions, cut in quarters
1 - 2 pounds short ribs, "flanken" or stewing beef
2 large cans tomatoes
10 peppercorns, crushed
a big handful of brown sugar (to taste)
sour cream
In a large soup pot, cover the meat with water, bring to a boil, then simmer until the meat becomes soft enough for you to pull it apart.
Put the sauerkraut in a colander and rinse lightly with water (this step is important) to remove some of the brine. When rinsed, add it to the pot along with the cut onions, cans of tomatoes (with the liquid) and crushed peppercorns. Break up the tomatoes into pieces so they don't remain whole. Cook together for 1/2 an hour or more to blend the flavours and cook the onions. This is a thick meal-in-a-bowl soup, but if you need more liquid, add water (or another can of tomatoes if you like).
Now is the time for seasoning the soup to give it the great sweet and sour kick. Add the 'big handful' of brown sugar or to taste (it may need more than you'd think). The soup should have a nice strong pepper hit to it too, so you may want to add more pepper. Play with it to suit your own taste.
Serve hot with a big dollop of sour cream on top and thick slices of pumpernickel bread slathered with sweet butter. Have a bowl of sour cream on the table, just in case. Enjoy!
I'd love to know what your favourite mid-winter comfort food is
Sunday, January 30, 2011
FASD Conference in March
I just learned of a symposium on Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder to be held on March 24, 2011 at the Royal York Hotel in Toronto. Aimed at social service workers, teachers, government policy makers and caregivers, it is the first conference of its kind to be held in Ontario.
FASD describes the full range of disabilities in a child caused by the brain damage incurred from prenatal exposure to alcohol. It is the leading cause of developmental disability among Canadian children. It cannot be cured; it is a lifelong disability. It is estimated that 1 in 100 babies born in Canada have FASD.
Until recently, FASD has been under the radar. Unlike autism and Down Syndrome, few professionals know anything about FASD and there are virtually no services or supports for individuals who have the syndrome. It's time for the severity and breadth of the disability to be recognized; for social service professionals to learn about the toll it has on individuals and their families; and for service providers and government policy makers to designate funds to help people in their communities suffering from this life-long, irreversible condition.
When my adopted son was born with what was then called Fetal Alcohol Syndrome (FAS),few doctors knew about the brain damage caused to the fetus by consuming alcohol while pregnant. Crack babies were making the headlines at the time, though it was later proven that crack does not pass through the placenta as does alcohol, and therefore causes negligible harm to the fetus.
My son had severe behavioural problems from the day we brought him home from the hospital at seven days old, but no one, including our pediatrician, had a clue why. Because our son's birthmother said she hadn't drunk any alcohol or taken drugs during her pregnancy, my husband and I assumed our son's problems were caused by bad parenting. Unfortunately, we weren't the only to think so.
When Michael was six years old, he entered the public school system. After three months, he he was 'expelled.' It was then our pediatrician decided it was time to have Michael assessed at the Child Development Clinic at the Hospital for Sick Children. After several days of testing, the verdict was in. He had Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. He was irreversibly brain damaged. The expected prognosis wasn't good: he would drop out of school, be unable to hold a job, live on welfare and be in and out of prison system. "However, with early diagnosis and intervention, you may be able to turn these expectations around."
Our son is now 23, a kind and shy soul. He did drop out of school, hasn't yet been able to hold a job, and fortunately, has had no trouble with the law. He functions poorly in the world, but has recently discovered that he has a gift for woodcarving, and is now producing some lovely pieces. It brings him a few dollars and a lot of pride. All good.
It is my hope that this upcoming conference will fulfill its expectations: to work toward a provincial FASD strategy; advance effective educational and service provider practices.
It's time.
Should anyone be interested in attending the conference on March 24, go to www.fasdontario.ca
Look under Events.
FASD describes the full range of disabilities in a child caused by the brain damage incurred from prenatal exposure to alcohol. It is the leading cause of developmental disability among Canadian children. It cannot be cured; it is a lifelong disability. It is estimated that 1 in 100 babies born in Canada have FASD.
Until recently, FASD has been under the radar. Unlike autism and Down Syndrome, few professionals know anything about FASD and there are virtually no services or supports for individuals who have the syndrome. It's time for the severity and breadth of the disability to be recognized; for social service professionals to learn about the toll it has on individuals and their families; and for service providers and government policy makers to designate funds to help people in their communities suffering from this life-long, irreversible condition.
When my adopted son was born with what was then called Fetal Alcohol Syndrome (FAS),few doctors knew about the brain damage caused to the fetus by consuming alcohol while pregnant. Crack babies were making the headlines at the time, though it was later proven that crack does not pass through the placenta as does alcohol, and therefore causes negligible harm to the fetus.
My son had severe behavioural problems from the day we brought him home from the hospital at seven days old, but no one, including our pediatrician, had a clue why. Because our son's birthmother said she hadn't drunk any alcohol or taken drugs during her pregnancy, my husband and I assumed our son's problems were caused by bad parenting. Unfortunately, we weren't the only to think so.
When Michael was six years old, he entered the public school system. After three months, he he was 'expelled.' It was then our pediatrician decided it was time to have Michael assessed at the Child Development Clinic at the Hospital for Sick Children. After several days of testing, the verdict was in. He had Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. He was irreversibly brain damaged. The expected prognosis wasn't good: he would drop out of school, be unable to hold a job, live on welfare and be in and out of prison system. "However, with early diagnosis and intervention, you may be able to turn these expectations around."
Our son is now 23, a kind and shy soul. He did drop out of school, hasn't yet been able to hold a job, and fortunately, has had no trouble with the law. He functions poorly in the world, but has recently discovered that he has a gift for woodcarving, and is now producing some lovely pieces. It brings him a few dollars and a lot of pride. All good.
It is my hope that this upcoming conference will fulfill its expectations: to work toward a provincial FASD strategy; advance effective educational and service provider practices.
It's time.
Should anyone be interested in attending the conference on March 24, go to www.fasdontario.ca
Look under Events.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
New Speak
My 21 year old daughter was telling me today how funny my 72 year-old sister's Facebook entries are. "She uses long sentences and writes in paragraphs," she told me. I had to laugh, because of course my sister uses long sentences and writes in paragraphs.
That's what she's been dong her whole life, like me and everyone else I know over twenty-five. And in my sister's case, no one's ever told her the fundamentals of writing on Facebook that I've gleaned from reading my much-younger "Friends" posts.
So when I talk to my sister next, I'll have to tell her: "Just give us the facts, ma'am, in the form of an overview. No details. Short, quick and snappy. If you can get rid of a verb or pronoun, do so. You had a good day? Don't tell us how and why. Just say, "nice day" and maybe another word or two so we get the picture."
But I'll miss my sister's long sentences and paragraphs. I'll have to tell her to email me, or do something really novel. Pick up the phone and call me.
That's what she's been dong her whole life, like me and everyone else I know over twenty-five. And in my sister's case, no one's ever told her the fundamentals of writing on Facebook that I've gleaned from reading my much-younger "Friends" posts.
So when I talk to my sister next, I'll have to tell her: "Just give us the facts, ma'am, in the form of an overview. No details. Short, quick and snappy. If you can get rid of a verb or pronoun, do so. You had a good day? Don't tell us how and why. Just say, "nice day" and maybe another word or two so we get the picture."
But I'll miss my sister's long sentences and paragraphs. I'll have to tell her to email me, or do something really novel. Pick up the phone and call me.
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