Jam and Idleness–all over teh interwebs!

Good afternoon, my darlings. Just a short post to let you know that I have written a thing about salad, and how much I used to want to punch it in the neck. It is up over at the lovely Food Riot, which I hope to be writing more for in the future. Since we’re…

The importance of eating pancake(s)

When I was a kid, one of my most yearned after life events was a trip to Smitty’s (a local pancake hut/chain, similar to Golden Griddle here in Ontario or IHOP in the USA). Smitty’s pancakes, as I recall, were giant, perfect (to a 7-year old who’d never seen an orange that didn’t come out…

Sammich!

Back in the late 80s or early 90s, I began ironically referring to sandwiches as “sammiches.” It seemed to me that “sandwich” was entirely too posh and tightly laced a word for what I meant and wanted from meals comprising two or more pieces of bread and delicious fillings of various sorts. A really good…

Chickpea love

I’ve written here before about my uninspiring beginnings as a food-eater. Given that I was unable to pick garlic out of a lineup up until my 24th year on this beautiful earth, it shouldn’t surprise you at all to learn that chickpeas weren’t in my culinary lexicon either. I believe my husband introduced me to…

Brussels sprouts: redemption and reconciliation

As a child of the 70s and 80s, as a child of the east coast, as a child of people who thought vegetables grew conveniently in either cans or freezer bags, there was no threat more terror-inducing, no promise more likely to inspire nausea, than Brussels sprouts being served for dinner. Before circa 2010, I…

In memorium: soy and a soup pot

I lost two of my most favourite things recently, one under mysterious circumstances, the other because of a stove top mishap for which I take complete responsibility. My guilt and irresponsibility first: Once upon a time, I got married. My husband and I decided against all the frills and floomph and icing that often characterizes…

Garlic: a love story

Once upon a time, I was 23 years old. I was about to begin a Master’s degree at an excellent university, but at a university located in the town in which I’d grown up. A town which hadn’t acted upon my psyche to make me extremely adventurous or open-minded or charming. This is important to…

Peanut butter toast

The first meal I ever made myself was peanut butter toast. Likely, it was some shitty white bread, and likely it was that sugary slop that contains peanuts and is called, by some, peanut butter but isn’t actually peanut butter. Also, there was lots of butter beneath the “peanut butter.” An inauspicious beginning to my…