shape

Rehearsals, rehearsals. The band has another concert date on the horizon (November 5th!) and so we are hard at work bringing the music together. This time is an even bigger musical variety than last time, and Uberguitarist has once again pulled seemingly disparate elements like Grieg and the Beatles together into what will be a fun music lineup.

 'Blank Page' will debut there, too. My new song born out of a friend telling me to be creative by starting with a blank page. I think I took it more figuratively than she meant, but hey, I'll take the inspiration I can get.

The process of taking a song from the bare words and chords and getting it performance-ready is like going from a blueprint to an actual building. The page gives the outline, the craft and execution makes it real and multi-dimensional. We worked through it last week to get the band familiar, but I still have ideas and fine-tuning that will make it be what I want. Ideas that make sense in my head don't always sound quite right when I actually hear them, and hearing something gives new ideas. It's a very organic process as it grows, changes, and adapts to itself.

It's been good to discipline myself to finish the songs that have been floating around, half-done. As I've encouraged our girls to bring their short stories to completion, I'm reminded that while I don't write stories, these song fragments are my equivalent. Giving them shape and structure lets them finally get out of my head. And really, there's enough clutter in there already...

daring cooks, october

This month I got to try a food I'd never tasted, only heard referred to in silly songs. And it was fabulous.

The October Daring Cooks' Challenge was hosted by Shelley of C Mom Cook and her sister Ruth of The Crafts of Mommyhood. They challenged us to bring a taste of the East into our home kitchens by making our own Moo Shu, including thin pancakes, stir fry and sauce.

A dish from northern China, Moo Shu is most commonly made with pork, and almost always contains cabbage and egg. It's basically a stir fry of thinly sliced vegetables and meat served on thin steamed pancakes with a complimentary sauce.

Pancake cooking- one of many.

The part of the recipe I thought would be the most tedious was the preparation of the little pancakes for wrapping the stir fry. I envisioned a long, drawn out process, but was pleasantly surprised at how easily handled the dough was, and how quickly I was able to cook the pancakes while working on the stir fry itself. 

To flour was added boiling water and a little oil. That's it. It was left to sit after mixing for 30 minutes to relax the gluten (thus making rolling them thin much easier), and the resulting dough after kneading was great to work with. Sections of the dough were cut and rolled out into thin pancakes which then cooked oh-so-briefly in the skillet before being set aside. They quickly stacked up on my plate, ready to be filled. 

Action shot! Stir fry in the works.

For the stir fry I did remember to cut everything beforehand, which made for a streamlined cooking process. Lean pork, napa cabbage, bamboo shoots, scallions, and shiitake mushrooms (the ingredient 'fungus' in the recipe was cause for some strange looks and giggles amongst my girls)  were all thinly sliced and tossed into the pan in turn to cook. Scrambled egg was added just at the end and stirred through the dish to complete it.


As for the hoisin, it seemed to go together easily - I don't have first-hand experience with it, because 11yo sous-chef M was very excited to have a part of the recipe to do on her own and so took over the preparation (as if I was going to argue with an eager young cook?). She dutifully mixed the ingredients, whisking and chatting and generally making things fun, and we both agreed that the homemade hoisin was much better than the store-bought. In fact, when we made it again the next week (a sure sign it was a hit), she immediately claimed hoisin-making as her thing to do.

Hoisin sauce - yummy.

As we sat around the table, spooning the moo shu into our pancakes, drizzling hoisin, rolling them up and enjoying them, it was great family time to share the events of the day and commenting on our new meal (all thumbs up!). We got to try something new and spend some focused time together, laughing and talking. 


And really, isn't that one of the best things about good food? 






(side note: I can't figure out why (a) I have to have the font this large, and (b) there are extra spaces between my paragraphs. There are only single spaces between until I post it, and the 'small' font will only print as teensy. Minor annoyance, and I do hope to figure it out. Visually, it bothers me.)

on guilt and looking forward

Eight years ago, JB left us. I still miss my nephew, my friend, my kindred spirit. And more than a few times in the intervening years, I've heard "won't it be good to see him again someday?" more often than I care to count. Yes, it's true. Yes, it's well meant. But selfish me wants him here, now - not there, later.

But it's true. I hold on to that hope. So I got the picture of getting to heaven and seeing Jesus, and seeing JB. And I will confess the latter had me more excited.

Enter a little good old-fashioned Sunday School type guilt. Shouldn't I be looking forward to seeing Jesus more? I mean, He is my Saviour, He died for me and makes this future reunion possible. It's Jesus I want to be more like: loving those society deems unlovable, caring for people - really caring - like He did, bypassing hypocrisy and religion for real, true life that makes a difference. The "correct" answer is, it's Him I should be looking forward to more.

Then I remembered something. My parents were coming to visit one time. And our daughter R, about 4 or 5 years old, was bubbling with excitement to see them. The window was covered with hand (and nose) prints as she strained for the sight of them. "When, Momma, when?" I was excited too, of course, but kept my excitement below her frenetic level as we watched and waited.

There! The car pulled in at the end of their long journey. My little one's bouncing echoed that of my own heart as she ran and threw open the door. We both went out and I smiled as she ran ahead, chatting and laughing as she hugged and was embraced in turn.

I stood back, myself so happy to see them, but rejoicing in the love of my daughter for her grandparents and they for her. I paused to capture the vignette in my mind as I moved forward for my own hug. I'm so glad you're here, we said, with a strong hug that was no less full of love for my daughter's usurping of that first contact.

It is that happy union that I look forward to. And someday, when I arrive home at the end of my own long journey and the door is flung open, I look forward to both hugs. R is a lot like her cousin JB, after all. Maybe, like her, he'll run ahead for that first hug. The first of many.

daring cooks, september

I'm late in posting this, and with my camera continuing to be disagreeable, it's lacking in pictures. Which is too bad, really, because this month's challenge had some very good visuals of before and after. The challenge was to make stock and soup, with the option of making a consommé.

Peta, of the blog Peta Eats, was our lovely hostess for the Daring Cook’s September 2011 challenge, “Stock to Soup to Consommé”. We were taught the meaning between the three dishes, how to make a crystal clear Consommé if we so chose to do so, and encouraged to share our own delicious soup recipes!

A word on consommé. I have a history with it. When a child of around 11 or 12, I opened the fridge one day to see a drinking glass of clear, dark brown liquid. "Coke!" I thought, "someone poured it but didn't finish it. A little drink? Don't mind if I do!", and proceeded to take a healthy swig of the stuff.

Beef consommé. Cold.

I wouldn't recommend it. I do recall a mad dash to the kitchen sink to spew out the surprise, and shuddering at the thought for some time after.

But, years pass, taste change, and consommé gets warmed up (much better than cold, trust me). Or in this month's case, made.

I make stock all the time. If any sort of poultry is roasted, the bones, skin, and some herbs and aromatics get tossed into a pot with some nice cold water, then simmered for hours to make some stock for soups or stews or risottos. Waste not, want not, right? The stock is strained, and used right away or frozen for later use. It's usually flavourful, reminiscent of the original meal: sometimes rosemary and lemon, sometimes sage and savoury, sometimes a hint of smoke and spice from the grill. 

But it's always cloudy. So, this month's challenge to make crystal-clear consommé was an intriguing one; accomplished through some simple kitchen chemistry, it appealed to the science-loving side of me too.

The cloudy particles in the stock, too small to be taken out with my sieve, could be caught in strands of albumen. So, egg whites (yes, really) were whipped up into a froth, then stirred into the warm stock. This simmered for about 45 minutes, the whites floating on top in what is aptly called a 'raft'. 

Sure enough, the liquid under the raft clarified and at the end of the time I was able to spoon out beautifully clear, delicious liquid. Care must be taken not to disturb the raft (or the particles will get back into the soup), but all in all it was a technique I'd definitely use again.

We enjoyed the chicken consommé simply, with fine shreds of carrot and chives floating prettily in the bowl. It's a beautifully elegant starter to a meal. Herb biscuits to go with? Of course! 

inspiration is a funny animal

Writing is a funny thing. And I don't speak here of those who craft plots, who create characters who draw us into their lives, their struggles, failures and triumphs. I am a pathetic failure at trying to do that. I am eternally grateful to those who do; to live among their pages for a moment is a rare and precious gift. Then again, maybe writing is funny to them too, but I just don't know about it.

I'm talking about the kind of writing I do.

For me, in my limited experience, some comes immediately, and some comes slowly and carefully. It reminds me of cooking sometimes, a thought I've already visited. Today, just now in fact, was a strawberries-and-balsamic moment (this will make sense upon reading that link). A lyric has been flirting with my mind lately, teasing it and jumping around just out of reach. I finally caught a couple lines of it yesterday, so sat down to type it tonight.

I wrote a complete song having nothing at all to do with that lyric. Not a bit. Not even stealing the concept and re-applying it. A complete new song sprang out of nothing more than a thought I had while I was hanging a shirt on the clothesline this morning (really, doesn't inspiration strike at the most mundane moments, sometimes?).

It's new, it's darker than some of mine. It's not an emotion I live with but one I visit from time to time. A complete song. Well, a lyric. Musically? I have no idea except to tell D "heavy, and minor."

And of course, the other lyric went skipping happily away, having eluded me for another day. I can hear it giggling.