It's a cloudy Easter Sunday here in Toronto. I'm just back in from my run, a longer leisurely one that's left me sweaty and happy. Funny how getting the blood moving usually gets the happiness current, the emotional qi, flowing too.
We had a celebratory supper last night, early because there was a small person E with us. The guys lit the Weber and we grilled bavette and then lamb, each drizzled with fish sauce and a little olive oil first. The lamb was in "steaks", cut from a leg, so there was a round of bone in the centre. It's a great cut, recommended to me by Dawnthebaker and her partner Ed. I'd also bought merguez from Sanagan's Meats. Those went on the grill and then we cut them up and dressed them with lime juice, fish sauce, and chopped shallots, making a kind of Thai salad, with mint leaves too, for colour and freshness.
I can imagine you thinking "that's a lot of meat!" Well, yes. Some of us like all of it; my kids don't love lamb, so the beef was aimed at them; and one friend can't eat chiles, so she had to skip the merguez. But we all had appetite.
As for the other elements: There was sticky rice, some black mixed in with the white so it was a lovely purplish handful, handy for scooping up a slice of lamb or beef or a piece of merguez with shallot. We oven-roasted beets and served them coarsely chopped, unpeeled. Jerusalem artichokes from QUebec roasted up quickly, and went out plain, looking like oddly shaped small potatoes. I made a sprout etc stir-fry, a made-up dish of chopped potato fried in mustard seed and turmeric oil and then joined by shiitake mushrooms from Ontario, and sprouted chickpeas and a new kind of sprouted seed combo now on the market here: fenugreek, lentils, and something else. It's a wonderful blend of soft (spud) and chewy, with great depth of flavour, especially when heightened with a splash of wine near the end.
At the sweet end, a friend D brought a chocolate pound cake she'd made with creme fraiche, that went quickly, thanks to the four twenty-somethings at the feast. Dawn had made a tart, a cross between cheesecake and custard, with ricotta, mascarpone? I think, and eggs. Delish. She put out a jar of poached apricots and we just balanced the fruit on the slice we were eating, each of us. It felt very sunny and Easter-renewal-ish that tart, and indeed the whole meal.
New sprouts, eggs, lamb, garlic chives from the garden that I chopped into a kumquat chutney, all these symbols of new life and springtime are heartening. But they'd have been a little sad and lonely if the weather had stayed as grim and chilly as it's been for most of April.
We got lucky yesterday though, with bright sun and temperatures at 19 or 20, T-shirt weather! I gardened in the back, cleaning up leaves and branches and packing them into recycle bags. It was too hot out there for clothing, so I worked in my jogging bra and pants, feeling the intense April sun beaming into me. Yes yes I need to be careful about UV on my skin, mustn't overdo it and all that. But oh the tonic of spring sun!
No wonder we had appetite last night for a good meal with friends and long discussions into the night. The other end of the evening came after midnight, when the Russian orthodox church down the street had its annual Easter Saturday procession: candles, priests in golden vestments, a huge crowd of people walking past carrying candles and icons and singing in Russian.. We stood by the edge of the road watching as they walked by, children and grandparents and everyone in between. Another year, another marker...
One of my kids asked me if I ever wished I believed so that I could take part in rituals like the one we were witnessing. "Not at all!" was my answer. It's remarkable to see people acting in concert, with an apparently common mind, but it is also at some level disturbing, don't you find? The coercion of the crowd is powerful and potentially very oppressive.
So, no thanks!
But a huge "YES" to spring and birdsong and short sleeves and bicycling, and children playing in the park, and strolling people chatting late at night in soft warmth.
Bring it on!
Showing posts with label lamb. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lamb. Show all posts
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Monday, April 26, 2010
SPRING ARRIVALS AND DEPARTURES
At this time of year it feels like every day is filled to bursting with life and events, and takes up more space than a normal day, making the weeks huge too.
Full moon comes the day after tomorrow, so we have another day of waxing moon to do some early planting of lettuce and brassicas etc. (They say the waning moon is less good for planting, less encouraging for growth.) Perhaps it's the full moon, or maybe it's just the arrival of May, a breakpoint in the calendar, but whatever the reason, it feels as if these coming days are full of departures and arrivals and more departures. It's as if the planets are shifting in their orbits, or life is moving to its summer schedule.
We're ready for this change, after the early bursting forth of trees and blossom, tulips a rich red or yellow, daffodils nearly over, and trees in new sparkling leaf. The dark pink, nearly purple, blooms on the large ornamental plum trees at the university are just coming out, almost pompous in their statement of "look-at-me" glory. They're spectacular, but not heartwarming in the way that more delicate unfoldings can be.
When I've been out for my small morning jogs in the last few weeks I've noticed the sharp shadows of the tree skeletons on the road and sidewalks and greening grass. Now that clarity and structure have gone, blurred by leaves and blossoms, not to return until the last leaves have fallen in late November. These markers feel significant every year. Maybe that's why churches and religions of all kinds have such an attachment to the calendar of festivals, the ritual passing of each day of the year, each season of the underlying story. It's a way of marking time and committing to each day.
Our early ancestors must have marked the seasons and subseasons carefully, for sure. It's essential to survival in a pre-industrial situation, and it may yet be essential even to those of us living in modern post-industrial environments. But even if we don't NEED to tune in for our immediate practical survival, surely, in my attachment to these seasonal markers, to knowing the phases of the moon and being attentive to natural cycles, I'm connecting to some atavistic need for a sense of order, trying to find coherence in a chaotic world.
But back to the departures and arrivals schedule for a moment. We have friends leaving tonight for a wedding in Isanbul; another arriving tomorrow from Budapest after a vocanic ash delay. In the next week friends are heading variously to Merlefest (bluegrass etc music in North Carolina); Paris; Berlin; Shanghai; and Minnesota. Finally, looming large and happily, is Tashi's departure on Sunday for seven weeks away in Greece and Italy.
I am thrilled that he gets to have that out-on-the-road feeling of exhilaration mixed with a little anxiety. Yes it's a tired metaphor for life, but still a useful one. These days there may be email access in most places, and ATM's are where money comes from (rather than a tattered roll of AmEx travellers' cheques), and phoning internationally is easy, but still, an open-ended trip to places far away is a huge adventure. Tashi has had his head in the ancient world for a number of years now, though this year has been the most intensive, with courses in Ancient Greek and in Latin. So he has a long list of places he'd like to see and places he can already imagine.
When I went to Greece long long ago I was pretty ignorant of Greek mythology and history. (I still am, rather disgracefully so.) Instead I was curious about daily life, loved the olives and the fresh tomato and feta salads. The first salad I ate, near the Corinth Canal the evening of the day we got off the ferry at Patras, was stunning. There was souvlaki too, tender little pieces of lamb grilled over a simple open fire. No later salad or souvlaki on the trip could match the heart-stopping deliciousness of that first Greek meal eaten on Greek soil.
For Tashi, lamb and tomatoes and olives are foods to be avoided or navigated around, rather than relished. So I guess he'll be eating a lot of yogurt and bread... as he walks a lot of miles in antique shoes.
By the time he's back in eight weeks we'll be almost at the solstice and yet another full moon. Time enough to think of summer. For now it's the green of spring, the promise of tender asparagus and ramps (I stir-fried chopped ramps with some crisp local black kale the other day, a real spring-on-a-plate kind of dish that went beautifully with grilled pork sausage and grilled local lamb), that fills my imaginative horizon and puts a lightness in my step and a smile on my face.
Oh, and do remember to have a look at the moon, a long oval this evening, and soon to be roundly full, marking our time in our place.
A POSTSCRIPT: There's an article in ZesterDaily (do you know it? if not, have a look, a weekly online newspaper of good solid and interesting food journalism) by Robyn Eckhardt, with photos by Dave Hagerman, about the threat to Chiang Mai's Gat Luang, the amazing market, alive at all hours, in Chiang Mai. Anyone who has spent time living in Chiang Mai knows it and loves it; many people rely on it for their livelihood. On the first night of immersethrough, we head there to eat Kanom jiin, and then later we shop there in the daytime, always a knockout experience for people. Here's the link to Robyn's article: http://zesterdaily.com/shopping/473-endangered-thai-treasure
Full moon comes the day after tomorrow, so we have another day of waxing moon to do some early planting of lettuce and brassicas etc. (They say the waning moon is less good for planting, less encouraging for growth.) Perhaps it's the full moon, or maybe it's just the arrival of May, a breakpoint in the calendar, but whatever the reason, it feels as if these coming days are full of departures and arrivals and more departures. It's as if the planets are shifting in their orbits, or life is moving to its summer schedule.
We're ready for this change, after the early bursting forth of trees and blossom, tulips a rich red or yellow, daffodils nearly over, and trees in new sparkling leaf. The dark pink, nearly purple, blooms on the large ornamental plum trees at the university are just coming out, almost pompous in their statement of "look-at-me" glory. They're spectacular, but not heartwarming in the way that more delicate unfoldings can be.
When I've been out for my small morning jogs in the last few weeks I've noticed the sharp shadows of the tree skeletons on the road and sidewalks and greening grass. Now that clarity and structure have gone, blurred by leaves and blossoms, not to return until the last leaves have fallen in late November. These markers feel significant every year. Maybe that's why churches and religions of all kinds have such an attachment to the calendar of festivals, the ritual passing of each day of the year, each season of the underlying story. It's a way of marking time and committing to each day.
Our early ancestors must have marked the seasons and subseasons carefully, for sure. It's essential to survival in a pre-industrial situation, and it may yet be essential even to those of us living in modern post-industrial environments. But even if we don't NEED to tune in for our immediate practical survival, surely, in my attachment to these seasonal markers, to knowing the phases of the moon and being attentive to natural cycles, I'm connecting to some atavistic need for a sense of order, trying to find coherence in a chaotic world.
But back to the departures and arrivals schedule for a moment. We have friends leaving tonight for a wedding in Isanbul; another arriving tomorrow from Budapest after a vocanic ash delay. In the next week friends are heading variously to Merlefest (bluegrass etc music in North Carolina); Paris; Berlin; Shanghai; and Minnesota. Finally, looming large and happily, is Tashi's departure on Sunday for seven weeks away in Greece and Italy.
I am thrilled that he gets to have that out-on-the-road feeling of exhilaration mixed with a little anxiety. Yes it's a tired metaphor for life, but still a useful one. These days there may be email access in most places, and ATM's are where money comes from (rather than a tattered roll of AmEx travellers' cheques), and phoning internationally is easy, but still, an open-ended trip to places far away is a huge adventure. Tashi has had his head in the ancient world for a number of years now, though this year has been the most intensive, with courses in Ancient Greek and in Latin. So he has a long list of places he'd like to see and places he can already imagine.
When I went to Greece long long ago I was pretty ignorant of Greek mythology and history. (I still am, rather disgracefully so.) Instead I was curious about daily life, loved the olives and the fresh tomato and feta salads. The first salad I ate, near the Corinth Canal the evening of the day we got off the ferry at Patras, was stunning. There was souvlaki too, tender little pieces of lamb grilled over a simple open fire. No later salad or souvlaki on the trip could match the heart-stopping deliciousness of that first Greek meal eaten on Greek soil.
For Tashi, lamb and tomatoes and olives are foods to be avoided or navigated around, rather than relished. So I guess he'll be eating a lot of yogurt and bread... as he walks a lot of miles in antique shoes.
By the time he's back in eight weeks we'll be almost at the solstice and yet another full moon. Time enough to think of summer. For now it's the green of spring, the promise of tender asparagus and ramps (I stir-fried chopped ramps with some crisp local black kale the other day, a real spring-on-a-plate kind of dish that went beautifully with grilled pork sausage and grilled local lamb), that fills my imaginative horizon and puts a lightness in my step and a smile on my face.
Oh, and do remember to have a look at the moon, a long oval this evening, and soon to be roundly full, marking our time in our place.
A POSTSCRIPT: There's an article in ZesterDaily (do you know it? if not, have a look, a weekly online newspaper of good solid and interesting food journalism) by Robyn Eckhardt, with photos by Dave Hagerman, about the threat to Chiang Mai's Gat Luang, the amazing market, alive at all hours, in Chiang Mai. Anyone who has spent time living in Chiang Mai knows it and loves it; many people rely on it for their livelihood. On the first night of immersethrough, we head there to eat Kanom jiin, and then later we shop there in the daytime, always a knockout experience for people. Here's the link to Robyn's article: http://zesterdaily.com/shopping/473-endangered-thai-treasure
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
OUT LIKE A LAMB AND LAMB CELEBRATIONS, AND LOSSES TOO
Ah, the last day of March, sliding past lamblike, on sunny warming feet - skipping past might be a better way to put it. There's a dense little patch of brilliantly purple crocuses in the back yard that open and glow in the sun; as shade reaches them in the afternoon they retreat into almost-anonymity.
Last Sunday as I had hoped I spent the afternoon making matzoh with Dawnthebaker. We made it from spelt and all-purpose (local organic unbleached, natch!) and flavoured it slightly with a touch of maple syrup and some lime juice. Delish! and not at all kosher for Passover, but fine for those like our friends who are attentive but not following strict rules.
We also made kibbeh for a crowd, nearly thirty servings, for the next day's seder. Kibbeh is a brilliant combo of lamb and grain and more lamb. It is usually made in round or in long bullet shaped patties. The outer shell is ground lamb and soaked bulgur in almost equal proportion by volume, salted and with some onions, kneaded into a firm dough. (We added a generous amount of lemon zest to give the bulgur-lamb mixture a lift.) The inside can vary wildly. For specific instructions on kibbeh have a look at Claudia Roden's classic Book of Middle Eastern Food, or another solid eastern Med cookbook, say something by Anissa Helou.
Our fillings were two, because Dawn had planned to use chopped almonds but then learned that one person at the seder was allergic to all nuts. So we made the non-nut ones first. The filling was ground lamb, sauteed chopped onion, tea-soaked prunes coarsely chopped, sumac powder, lemon juice, salt, and lots of chopped fresh mint. It was NOT precooked. The other filling had cinnamon and allspice in it, as I recall, and ground lamb and plenty of onions, and chopped almonds, all gently cooked beforehand.
You take about a golf ball-sized batch of bulgur mixture, shape it into a ball or bullet, poke a hole in it with your finger or thumb, fill the hole with filling mixture, seal it over, and set it on a baking sheet. When all the non-nut ones were done, we fried them in oil, oil deep enough that they were nearly covered. Dawn's lovely man Ed did the frying. The shell turned a warm brown with a firm crisp texture; the insides were moist and aromatic. The next day, just before the seder, it was easy to preheat them in the oven and serve one of each kind on a plate with a little glazed carrot....
Having promised in my last post not to go on and on about restaurants or food, here I am giving you detailed instructions! But I thought the kibbeh was so special that it deserved to be passed on. And this weekend a lot of people will be eating lamb for Easter. What better idea than kibbeh as another approach to honouring the wonderfulness of lamb?
The week is momentous for many people, with Passover and Easter following the full moon. But for some the momentousness comes another way:
Since I last wrote there have been two deaths of parents in my circle of friends: the mother of one good friend and the father of another, both beloved, both far into their eighties. The loss of a parent, at no matter what age, is so momentous that it's as if the world stops. It does stop in fact, as we slowly try to breathe outselves back to life, a different life now that the sheltering idea of that intimate lifelong relationship has turned into history and a memory. It doesn't matter that perhaps the parent has dementia or is being cared for by the child. The loss is still so profound that the planets shift in their orbits and the world is a changed place, changed forever.
And both my friends are valiant and wonderful women who will be enriched even as they grieve. I feel so lucky to know them...
Last Sunday as I had hoped I spent the afternoon making matzoh with Dawnthebaker. We made it from spelt and all-purpose (local organic unbleached, natch!) and flavoured it slightly with a touch of maple syrup and some lime juice. Delish! and not at all kosher for Passover, but fine for those like our friends who are attentive but not following strict rules.
We also made kibbeh for a crowd, nearly thirty servings, for the next day's seder. Kibbeh is a brilliant combo of lamb and grain and more lamb. It is usually made in round or in long bullet shaped patties. The outer shell is ground lamb and soaked bulgur in almost equal proportion by volume, salted and with some onions, kneaded into a firm dough. (We added a generous amount of lemon zest to give the bulgur-lamb mixture a lift.) The inside can vary wildly. For specific instructions on kibbeh have a look at Claudia Roden's classic Book of Middle Eastern Food, or another solid eastern Med cookbook, say something by Anissa Helou.
Our fillings were two, because Dawn had planned to use chopped almonds but then learned that one person at the seder was allergic to all nuts. So we made the non-nut ones first. The filling was ground lamb, sauteed chopped onion, tea-soaked prunes coarsely chopped, sumac powder, lemon juice, salt, and lots of chopped fresh mint. It was NOT precooked. The other filling had cinnamon and allspice in it, as I recall, and ground lamb and plenty of onions, and chopped almonds, all gently cooked beforehand.
You take about a golf ball-sized batch of bulgur mixture, shape it into a ball or bullet, poke a hole in it with your finger or thumb, fill the hole with filling mixture, seal it over, and set it on a baking sheet. When all the non-nut ones were done, we fried them in oil, oil deep enough that they were nearly covered. Dawn's lovely man Ed did the frying. The shell turned a warm brown with a firm crisp texture; the insides were moist and aromatic. The next day, just before the seder, it was easy to preheat them in the oven and serve one of each kind on a plate with a little glazed carrot....
Having promised in my last post not to go on and on about restaurants or food, here I am giving you detailed instructions! But I thought the kibbeh was so special that it deserved to be passed on. And this weekend a lot of people will be eating lamb for Easter. What better idea than kibbeh as another approach to honouring the wonderfulness of lamb?
The week is momentous for many people, with Passover and Easter following the full moon. But for some the momentousness comes another way:
Since I last wrote there have been two deaths of parents in my circle of friends: the mother of one good friend and the father of another, both beloved, both far into their eighties. The loss of a parent, at no matter what age, is so momentous that it's as if the world stops. It does stop in fact, as we slowly try to breathe outselves back to life, a different life now that the sheltering idea of that intimate lifelong relationship has turned into history and a memory. It doesn't matter that perhaps the parent has dementia or is being cared for by the child. The loss is still so profound that the planets shift in their orbits and the world is a changed place, changed forever.
And both my friends are valiant and wonderful women who will be enriched even as they grieve. I feel so lucky to know them...
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