Things the Italians Have Taught Me.

cherry perogies

Child labour is an important element of Italy's economy

 1.  Breakfast.  Breakfast will never be the same.  I was raised with breakfasts that were generally cereal, bacon and eggs on special occasions, pancakes.  A certain Auntie (bless her heart) taught me that you can cook bacon in the oven, the thick, good stuff, and drizzle it with a shit-ton of maple syrup in the last 10 mins of cooking.  Et voila!  Maple bacon, caramelly and delicious.  This certain Auntie also introduced me to blueberry perogies from Krauss Berry Farms.  (Go to there, it is awesome.)  Which led to todays breakfast post:

drizzled with sour cream and brown sugar

Toothless McGee contemplates Maple Bacon, which must always be capitalized.

So, we have the kind of high-energy  breakfast that makes you want to curl up and have a 2 hour nap after.  So eff off, "summer".
2.  My other darling Auntie gave me the bestest tip on earth for spaghetti sauce which I am sworn to take to my grave.  And I will.  But it's a gooder.  Really.  Sorry for the tease.  (She also held me down before my wedding and fixed my eyebrows.  Truly, thank you!!!)
3.  There are many types of cheese, and I like them all.  My top picks:  Sheep's Milk Sardo (which, as does everything, tastes better in Italy), Casu Marzu http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Casu_marzu which I have eaten, as have all the Italians I know, and trust me, they do NOT burrow through your stomach and nobody knows anybody who has actually died from it.  The worms are intimidating, though.  Ricotta, homemade, is better and cheaper that all other ricottas, and apparently easy, though I have only witnessed it made and not attempted it myself as of yet.  Good Parmesan, the Grana Padano, is amazing in everything, especially cubed and drizzled with a mix of honey, black pepper and truffle oil.  (Thanks, Bob Blumer!)  And you save the rinds in the freezer to add to pasta sauces or soups!! Genius.
4.  Lasagna.  Not a meal.  A large, heaping plate of homemade lasagna to Italians is more often an appetizer or side.  We Canadians have been doing it alll wrong.
5.  You can have espresso after midnight and sleep just fine, if you treat lasagna as an appetizer at the beginning of 9 courses.  True story!!
6.  Mirto, a thick, syrupy alcohol in deep purple is made from alpine berries somewhere in southern Italy.  It is not to be consumed till inebriation, but if you do, you will never cough again.  You will, however, vomit.
7.  Cutting cheese and cutting yourself (accidentally of course, there are no emos in Italy) can lead to a horrific kind of blood poisoning.  Thought I'd share, because I for one am now much more careful with my cheesy knives.
8.  Ooh-  one of my favorite tips of all time, again from an Auntie:  Is it way too hot outside?  Got bosoms?  Shove a sprig of mint or rosemary or basil between those puppies, and you will sweat herbal deliciousness.  It was all I could do not to bury my face in them, which would have been hilarious, inappropriate,  and hilariously inappropriate.
9.  At Italian Catholic funerals that are open casket you have to kiss the corpse.  I have no issue with this, but someone should have prepped me.
10.  Pasta Puttanesca, whilst being a very good dish, translates roughly into "hooker pasta" as it is what the working girls threw together between clients.  This means that it's good, quick, cheap, and even you can do it.  Also, don't come to this realization in a fancy restaurant and ask the waiter about it.  He will bring out a very embarrassed, stammering chef.  http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Pasta-Puttanesca-242590  Ahh, there it is.  Ciao, Bella!

Moving on' Up!!!

So this is how last week went for me.  Thursday, panicky packing. Thursday night, way too much wine and scotch with our way too awesome neighbours from Venezuela.  (It ended with super clumsy Colombian salsa dancing in the living room.)   Friday, 7+ hours on the ferry there and back to ditch the kids with Grandma and Grandpa.  With a hangover.  (Thanks, guys!!)  Friday night more fevered packing, followed closely by too much wine, because we *thought* we were ahead of the game.  (El Idioto!!!)  Saturday morning, got truck, got friends, loaded truck, unpacked at new place by noon, and friends stuck around and helped unpack, some till 9pm!!  Then games and drinking.  Sunday morning, unpack, on and on and on... until the NKOTB and BSB concert

(stop looking at me like that!!) whereupon I shrieked like a 16 year old girl until I lost my voice, fall into partially assembled bed.  Monday, hubby goes off to class, week long buildup of hangover hits, and there is no food or liquid in the house except beer.  I cry some, unpack some more, and discover a great dim sum place close by.  Also, a friend visits and saves my sanity in a very important way.  Hubby comes home with the kids, we put them to bed, we unpack even more.  Tuesday, we take my son for surgery so he can have all of his baby teeth removed.  Tuesday night is panicking and setting up the kitchen so I can make pureed everything.  Insert somewhere in this timeline 2 trips to Ikea and much cursing and assembling of crap.  My poor boy looks like a redheaded hillbilly and -bonus- gets super hyper off of any medications that make other children sleep.  So I have a bleeding, drooling, hyper boy with bad balance from the general anesthesia who just wants to dance.     And he's at that age where he eats all day and never gets full.  Hard do do with soup, jello, creme brulee.  So, (deep breath) I can slow down right now.  And I dedicate this song to my son.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YWo1TJZdzqw&feature=fvst   I promise I'll get back to my entertaining self soon.  And I'll post pics as soon as I find my upload cords for the cameras.  And the hairbrushes and toilet paper.  Ciao!!

Blog!!

I'm moving, so I'm not blogging.  Because I have time for packing (no I effing don't) and child-rearing only. (ha!) And, as hubby points out, a blog isn't people.  People need things from me.  Like a lay. (Ha! Hahaha!)  Things I suddenly have time for now that I'm "packing":  reading that book I got for Christmas that I totes forgot about, installing hardwood flooring in my dollhouse (yes it's mine, don't look at me like that),  visiting friends (I'm moving 23 minutes away!!! On Saturday!! Get your time in now!)  Going to a burlesque show tonight (not dancing in one.. apparently they prefer you to register, have a costume AND have an act.. gawd, this "no fun" city) and over-plucking my eyebrows.  I have also taken a special moisture bath I have been waiting a long time for (okay, I just poured some milk in it and now I smell) and painted my toenails.  Clear.  But it, like, took forever to dry, okay?  Stop looking at me!!! 
     So, my new place is huge by VanCity standards, 2 floors, 5 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms.  It has a dishwasher older than my grandmother (remember the color before avocado?) and my children may well be learning Cantonese in school and I am happy.  Because I have windows.  And no bedbugs (yet.) And I plan to dig up the lawn and make a garden, and get a kitty and a puppy and redo the countertops.  (If my new landlords read this blog my next post with be about evictions, obvs.)
     So I don't have time for this!!!  Stop pressuring me!!! Hey, Game of Thrones?  You're fucking up my LIFE!!! (and you're awesome.  Don't stop being awesome.).  Gotta run. Sigh.

Feminism and the Housewife

I have the flu.  So does hubby.  Normally, that would not slow me down.  I have an incredible talent for getting sick when no one is available to help me out, in any way, at all.  This week I picked the only Saturday in memory my hubby had to attend classes all day.  This was not like the epic stomach flu I had a few weeks ago, whereas, retching and fainting, I not only goot the kids to their various schools and activities, but also fed and cared for them quite well.  This was an exhaustion flu.  I had to give.  I slept all day, finding out in my 1 hour awake periods that the children can make toast.  And jam.  3/4 of a large loaf of bread later, mostly consumed in the living room, I am now faced with rapture-like levels of destruction.  And all this when my vacuum is on loan to a cousin on the other side of the city.  I can weather sickness, filth, and childcare.  It takes a lot to knock me down.  I am, in some dubious way, a take-no prisoners, ultra-capable Mother.  And when the chips are down, I can really shine.
Last night with hubby, both of us dying slowly, we watched "I am Legend".  Normally I avoid scary movies, and most probably would not find this scary at all, but I had nightmares of stop-motion and cgi monsters throughout my fitful night's sleep.  This afternoon, in one of my hours up, I flopped on the couch and sent the kids outside to play.  I heard scuttling, barely audible, and blew it off as leftover movie audio-hallucinations.  (I really dislike scary movies, especially when I watched the ring at a friends house behind an old well.)  The skittering became more prominent, and I was faced with that moment when it became apparent my ears were not deceiving me.  That moment of clarity where your brain says, in order,  Cgi Monstrosity!  Rat! Skunk!  Prowler!  Hubby? (Not logical, this brain of mine.)  And then I saw it.  An adorable, tiny squirrel, discarded apple core in it's mouth, staring at me from the midst of my yarn corner.  Picture a kitten happily playing with a yarn ball.  Now picture a terrified squirrel tangled up in no less than thirty yarn balls.  Feminism be damned, I ran for the nearest set of testicles (some neighbor guy) who chased the vagrant vermin from my home.  I think.  Either that or critter is skulking under the china cabinet, where he will happily breed his family living off the discarded crusts of my own brood.  Fine.  Just keep the floor clean.

                                        I swear it looked just like this.   Damn you, Will Smith!

Hockey Night in Canada! (Yeah, I know that's copyrighted.)

When we watch games at my house, we win.  I'm not taking credit for the Canuck's behaviour, but I am.  My hubby's and mine pizzas were that good.  And our hosstessessing! And our brewskies.  Again, I don't care about hockey, much, but I'm starting to.  Because  a win would be AWEsome.  And a win would mean a party.  And I loooove a party.  I also love the colour blue.  And green.  And I hate the colour Bruins.  Because they suck.  I have more horrid food porn to add of our pizza night tonight but I'll do it later because the brewskies were juuuust fine.  And, my friends are awesome.  More awesome than the Canucks, even.  (Especially if the Canucks lose.)  Soon again, my friends, shall I carve out a precious pice of the day to assault your senses with useless ramblings full of viscous fluids.  But probably not during the playoffs.  Because we're house hunting.  In other new, I have found my swan song.  For realz, bitchez!!!
the best song in the world!!!   Because this is me.  Forever.

Things Life Has Taught Me.

Wearing smaller clothes actually makes you look bigger!! I don't know how, I don't know why, but I now know it's true.  Ten years too late.  For examples of how wrong this can go, please see peopleofwalmart.com .  The map is really fun to use, and the southern states are magnificent.

When you're 17 and camping with your family and a friend (We shall call her Kelly), and Kelly suggests filling a thermos full of one shot of every liquor in both your parents liquor cabinets, and it sits in a tent in August for 3 weeks before the coast is clear enough to drink it, and you do, and you pass out on the beach in the sun afterwards, it is a bad idea.  We're talking Baileys, all the clear liquors, many colours of schnapps, wine, brandy, overproof vehicles of death and destruction, and blue curaco.  (Thingy on the bottom of the "c"?  Anyone?)  The colour it turned upon further fermentation has not been named yet, and the resulting chunks in it should have been a sign... but heck, we were 17.  We knew everything.  I still chalk this up as one of the top 3 mistakes of my life.  (The other two involved a tattoo and a large snake, respectively.)

Silly Putty always, no matter what, bonds with the nearest high-pile carpet.  I truly believe it comes alive in the night and seeks it out, falls in love, and bonds with it forever.  Seriously, the stuff is worse than chewing gum.  It is now a "banned substance" in our home.  (Other banned substances include ant farms and rubber bouncy balls that seek out the china cabinet.)

Here's a good one... you have a lovely group of friends assembled for dinner, the sides are nearly ready, and the roast/chicken/meat course is cooking way to slow for some reason!   (The reason is life sucks sometimes.) You can shove that sucker in the microwave for 10 minutes.  I'm serious.  Then throw it back in the oven.  Crispy, juicy, and much less salmonella-esque!

Never cut your own bangs or the bangs of those you care for.  It's just wrong, unless you're a trained professional.

If you spill your purse or bag in front of someone who is attractive, tampons will fall out.  Even if you're a man.

Hugging a child fixes nearly everything in life.  (Maybe even everything, but I'm not about to go head to head with life just yet.  I know that bitch can hear me.)

Debt ceases to be a worrisome thing once you owe more dollars than days you've been alive.  Eventually you get so deep it becomes laughable.

Black food colouring is the most permanent dye on the face of the earth, and on that note, do not let your daughter scratch under her nose with some on her finger.  It looks bad, and even more so in a multicultural area.

Stolen cookies taste better than earned cookies.  Both taste better when dieting.

Nobody's face photographs well upside down after 30.

If the dress is tight before the 11 course meal, for goodness' sake, do not wear it out.

If you're drunk enough to think you're an awesome dancer, You Are Not.

Karaoke is not for the sober.

Wine tastes better in a darkened closet.

To consider yourself successful in life, one needs only to lower their expectations.  ( My impression of Confucius.)

If you think the milk might be bad, do not take a swig from the jug.  Even as I type this permanently to the internet, I know I will do this again and again throughout my life.   Slow learner.

The Facebook links with cute kittens, dads who walked in on their daughters, omg wtfs, etc, should never be clicked on.  It just embarrasses us all.  I mean, do you really need to know??? Do you?

I'm sure there's more things I have learned throughout my life, but I have forgotten them for now.  Until next time, my 4 dear readers! (lolz!)

Top Ten Reasons I Shall Never Have a Cooking Show

1. My kitchen is a tiny, ill-lit mess at the moment, and often.  Silverfish can die in my kitchen.  That's a bad thing.
2. I have no idea what I'm making until it's made.  If something I am making goes horribly awry, I add either ginger and lemongrass or chocolate, depending on the dish.  Sometimes all of the above.  Sometimes it works, more often not.  I have thrown out dishes that tried to climb back onto the counter after.
3.  I'm a bubblehead.  I microwave tin cans, forget to take cookie sheets from the oven before I preheat and then forget to put on oven mitts when I do remember to take them out, resulting in epic cursing and my "pain dance", which the children find Hilarious.
4.  I can make creme brullee beautifully from the recipe in my head, (how to you do the accenty thing on a keyboard, anyway?) but have been thwarted by brownies every single time save one, whereupon I was making them for a child's birtday cake but was so thrilled with them I ate them all, by the light of the moon, howling and smearing myself with chocolately rapture.
5.  I cannot afford the ingredients I want to use.  Sure, I live in the big city now and finally have access to kaffir lime leaves, fresh lemongrass, foie gras and sea asparagus, but holy crap does it add up fast.  Also, my pots are generally cheap and horrid for things like "blackening", "sauteeing" and "scalding". (Again, the accents, anyone?)
6. I am a horrible food photographer.

 You wanna make this dish now? This slimy, slippery, alarmingly flesh-coloured monstrosity? I doubt it.  FYI, it's my super awesome Thai chicken soup that garners rave reviews from all who touch it, yet alas, I only know how to use the "auto" setting on my camera despite many generous lessons from friends.
6. It would be very difficult to appear cleanly, orderly and organized on camera whilst battling children, telemarketers, my nervous twitch, and grabby hubbys.
7.  I have been known to throw together some pretty stellar 6 course meals, the menu planned months in advance, prep started a minimum of 48 hours prior.  When you add pressure, such as my husband's boss, friends I'm dying to impress, or intergalactic diplomats, it all goes so, so wrong.  Things I have made a thousand times before just flop, or catch fire, or -most often- turn inexplicably and offensively brown.
8.  I drink when I cook.  Like, a lot.  The first 3 courses are usually much better than the last 4.  I now try to end the meal with pre-prepped courses, but I have occasionally failed in that as well, such as the flambe incident of 2004.  Oh, and the bbq incident of 2006.  Oh, and the... well, you get the idea.
9. I don't really follow directions well, so recipes are kind of my mortal enemy.  I'll adjust this, omit that... and then get really, really pissy when it all (surprisingly) turns to shit.  (What do you mean it meant it when it said add an egg???)
10.  I suck at food allergies.  My neighbours son who is super allergic to tree nuts almost got a taste of my butter chicken, my vegetarian friends have all had chicken broth cubes in their meals.  (You're telling me there's actual chicken in those?  I'm not buying it.  Stop being so delicate.)

I'm adding an 11 for the hell of it... I would be so, so fat if I made something good every day.        So fat.
Let's finish off with another horrible food porn (like the stuff you get in a back alley in Japan.. not the food, the porn.).

                                                            Oh yeah.. that's the stuff.