This warm weather has me dreaming of the garden and all the easy summer meals we’ll have out there! My grandmother’s recipe for quick garden pickles is still one of my family’s favourite side dishes. They’re so easy, they come together in just five minutes – perfect for those busy days and hot nights when you really don’t feel like cooking at all. We all have nights like that, don’t we? Growing up, my grandparents had a large garden where we would play as children. There they grew many different varieties of cucumbers – Armenian, gherkins, lemon cucumbers – which my grandmother would combine when making these pickles. If you have several varieties in the garden, it’s fun to mix and match the colours and shapes, but if not, an English cucumber works perfectly well. Continue reading “Quick and Easy Garden Pickles”
People write blogs for different reasons. Some to make money, others to promote their business, many want to showcase their photography, and some simply have a story inside of them that needs to get out.
For me, the reason is simple. I use this space as my own personal cookbook. The process of cooking for me is very organic. I’m impulsive in the kitchen. I go with my gut, adding a pinch of this or a dash of that, all the while taking notes and writing down the steps as I go. Most of the time all this note-taking happens right here on the blog, in a new, unpublished post where I type while in the midst of cooking. If, in the end, the food is good, if the people around my table are happy and linger long, cleaning their plates with the last bits of bread, draining the last drops from the bottle of wine, laughing while they hold their full bellies, I’ll save the draft. If not, I just hit “Delete.” Continue reading “One hundred drafts, one meal”
The lake is changing quickly these days. Fall has stepped firmly into the spotlight . I always say, Fall arrives as a whisper. She is the Prima Donna of a grand opera. She arrives quietly through the back door and slips into her dressing room with nothing more than the rustle of her petticoats. In the theatre there’s a whisper of her presence, a rumor, an electricity in the air, and though no one has seen her, she is felt by everyone. She keeps it that way for a while, perhaps only for her own vain amusement, as Prima Donnas are known to do. She works on her own time, at her own pace, primping and prepping behind the scenes, and everyone follows suit. No one dares to question her punctuality as she waits in hushed wings, keeping her presence secret until she, and only she, is ready to step onto the stage. Her grand entrance is a crescendo of gold and bronze and brilliance and luster as she arranges herself in the centre of everything and all eyes fall upon her. Though she had been there all along, the audience watches in awe and stunned silence as the music begins to swell. Continue reading “Maple-Cinnamon Sweet Potatoes”