The green green Ontario countryside is unrolling outside the window as this train I'm on speeds toward Toronto in the golden late-afternoon light. The half-full moon is up and there are wispy trails of cloud gauzily draped across the blue sky, catching the late light.
I've been on the island of Grand Manan this week, a completely transporting trip to another world, it felt like. The drive across small roads in Quebec's Eastern Townships, huge swoops of hills, was great, and a reliving of drives I took as a kid with my parents, though now those roads are paved, not dirt. Northern Maine is as pine tree-lined and dark as ever, with beautiful salt-box houses and outbuildings, sparely elegant. But it was Grand Manan, with its steep sandstone cliffs on the west coast, and curving small harbours on the other side that was the new pleasure.
My friend Lianne and her husband have a small house just near Castalia Marsh, on the north end of the island, with a view due east across the water, Nova Scotia out of sight across the blue of the Bay of Fundy. The tides weren't as huge as usual this week, because the moon is not full, though they were still remarkable compared to the tides in most places. The weather was changeable, so skies were dramatic.
On the food front, we went each day to the terrifically good (we have nothing near this quality in Toronto) artisanal bakery, North Head Bakery, not far from Lianne's house. The St John's River breads, multigrain, au levain, with a wonderful crust, were stunning, and so was the Old French Raisin bread (even though I don't usually love raisins in bread). The bakery alone is worth the trek to Grand Manan, seriously. (It's open from May until Canadian Thanksgiving, in October, five days a week.)
We had other luck too: there were fresh scallops at the Kwik-Way one evening, so we bought a pound of them and cooked them lightly and quickly in a little oil with some fresh local garlic. We ate them over fresh rice, with tender salad greens and yellow cherry tomatoes from a wonderful local garden in Whale's Cove. Instead of salt, I sprinkled my rice and tomatoes with dulse flakes - a great condiment from Grand Manan. Lianne and I are hoping to do a three day immersethrough session at this time next year on Grand Manan, probably the week after Labour Day. Now I've seen for myself how much food and culture there will be to explore with people. ANd then there's the whale-watching too....
We stopped in at a dulse-selling place and learned a little about how dulsing works, and about the other seaweeds/algaes that are gathered in Grand Manan. Talk turned to the perils of fishing: a few days ago a scallop boat with four aboard went down in the Bay of Fundy. There's no explanation for it, but the boat has gone. The men at the dulse shop talked about another boat that went down suddenly recently: something important (I don't remember what, the rudder? or?) broke or popped, making a large hole, but in that case the men were luckier, there was a lifeboat and they realised in time to get it launched and save themselves. I had thought that weather was the big risk, but really, it was a reminder that nothing can be taken for granted when you depend on the sea.
My small bag of clothes from the trip is impregnated with sea-aroma, the taste of the wild deeps, for I've brought bags of dulse back with me to Toronto. That haunting iodine-iron-salt-and more scent brings with it the reminder of our fragility in the face of mother nature's power. And it also reminds me of our ongoing debt to those who fish and grow and gather food for us.
Showing posts with label train travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label train travel. Show all posts
Friday, September 17, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
COLD & HOT, FAST & SLOW, AT THE CHANGE OF SEASON
What a packed week! All over the city the children have made it to school and now this coming week the young adults start back to university, with hopes and fears and edginess and optimisim.
And to keep them company in all those contradictory feelings, the weather has alternated between chilly and damp, and sunny and intensely warm. So we dress in layers and adapt minute to minute, (a good description of what life demands generally, don't you think? ). This is the season when some are still wearing flip-flops and others are already in tall leather boots. The cityscape is a treat these days, is I guess what I am saying.
This weekend I went up to Grey County to stay with friends. The smell in the air when I arrived was pure autumn, that sweet smell of drying starting-to-decay leaves. It seemed strange, since the trees are still green green. But the chickadees are already fully into their winter chickadee-dee-dee song, and in some places a few leaves are starting to turn colours, so it's time to admit that this wonderful summer is really and truly winding down. We had a sauna, in the evening after supper, as the rain dripped down in cold drops. It was especially wonderful to get heated through, snug in the scent of hot cedar, and then sit outside in the chill and damp, billowing steam, impervious to the cold, sauna-invincible for the moment!
I'm off to Ottawa on the train, rushing through the countryside under a huge cloudscape of a sky, white billows riding in the blue in all directions. Tomorrow I'll make the long drive to Grand Manan with my friend Lianne, who has a house there. I've never been to this storied island in the Bay of Fundy, a ninelty minute ride from southern New Brunswick. It'll be a bit of a marathon, but fun too, to cut through Quebec and across northern Maine, all in one day. I haven't travelled that route since driving to Maine with the kids in a little Honda Civic seventeen or eighteen years ago. I'm due back late Friday (it really is a quick trip!).
Right now the passengers in this train car with me are mostly sleeping, deep breathing on all sides, secure. I was talking the other day with Lillian about my grandparents, who ranched in northern British Columbia and didn't have a car until 1959 or 1960. They travelled everywhere in a cart or a buggy or sleigh, or else on horseback. By choice, they had no phone. So distances were entirely different from how they seem to us these days. The train then represented travel to them, the way they could get from where they were to Vancouver or to Eastern Canada, a rare treat. I find myself trying to imagine the state of mind that that situation produced in them. Perhaps, in the same way that radio is more exciting than television, because we visualise situations rather than passively receiving them on the screen, living in relative isolation meant that books and visitors became more vivid, more precious, richer in many ways. What do you think?
I know that when I am rushing (actually, or in my head in anticipation) from the email world to the telephone to chatting with a friend who has dropped by to writing a blogpos, something is lost, a deliberateness perhaps, and a rounding out of my thinking. And when I listen to the radio in the morning, which I enjoy, it does indeed scramble me a bit, sending me off on thoughts of this and that, so that I need my run to get me back into thinking in an extended way about a piece of writing or another creative idea.
Has this blogpost gone from the idea of the start of the school year to musings on relative technologies and how they affect our state of mind? It seems so. I'm not writing as a Luddite here: I would not want to live as my grandparents chose to. I love the comings and goings with friends on the internet and the phone and in real life. I thrive in the social vibrancy of the city. But I do wonder at the difference s between my rippled mind and the calmer stiller pool that the mind of a contemplative or a person living less socially must be.
In the course of last week, because it was chilly and there was a Rosh Hashonah meal out and another celebration, this one a birthday supper, I ended up making five skillet cakes in the space of seven days. Hilarious when I look back on it. And they each vanished, down various happy gullets. One had a thick coating of wild blueberries on it, others had cooked chopped purple plums, one had the end of the peaches... and all of them were tender because they were made with mostly pastry/cake flour, usually whole wheat, and only a little all-purpose.
Another cooking note: I cut some corn kernals off the cob the other day to add to a simmered combination of chopped end-of- season vegetables, all local, including okra and dandelion greens, a little tomato, tomatillos, zucchini, patty-pan squash, and garlic. The combo, slow simmered in olive oil (the non-local ingredient I love) was just delicious, the sweet of the corn balancing out the bitter of the dandelion, etc.
That led me a couple of days later to cut kernals off and add them to a hot wok as part of a quick little vegetable stir-fry. What a mistake! I mean, the result was delicious, but I have to warn you NOT to stir-fry corn kernals at high heat, at least not tender moist ones. They exploded with a lethal pop and spatter in the hot oil, one by one by one, like little grenades. I moved the corn up the sides of the wok so I could fry my morning egg in the centre, as and I broke the egg into the pan, ZAP!! a double hit of exploding corn kernal sent hot oil spitting up onto my wrist. I am fine, not noticeably burned. But it felt very violent! So my final word on this is, please be cautious with corn kernals and hot oil!
And to keep them company in all those contradictory feelings, the weather has alternated between chilly and damp, and sunny and intensely warm. So we dress in layers and adapt minute to minute, (a good description of what life demands generally, don't you think? ). This is the season when some are still wearing flip-flops and others are already in tall leather boots. The cityscape is a treat these days, is I guess what I am saying.
This weekend I went up to Grey County to stay with friends. The smell in the air when I arrived was pure autumn, that sweet smell of drying starting-to-decay leaves. It seemed strange, since the trees are still green green. But the chickadees are already fully into their winter chickadee-dee-dee song, and in some places a few leaves are starting to turn colours, so it's time to admit that this wonderful summer is really and truly winding down. We had a sauna, in the evening after supper, as the rain dripped down in cold drops. It was especially wonderful to get heated through, snug in the scent of hot cedar, and then sit outside in the chill and damp, billowing steam, impervious to the cold, sauna-invincible for the moment!
I'm off to Ottawa on the train, rushing through the countryside under a huge cloudscape of a sky, white billows riding in the blue in all directions. Tomorrow I'll make the long drive to Grand Manan with my friend Lianne, who has a house there. I've never been to this storied island in the Bay of Fundy, a ninelty minute ride from southern New Brunswick. It'll be a bit of a marathon, but fun too, to cut through Quebec and across northern Maine, all in one day. I haven't travelled that route since driving to Maine with the kids in a little Honda Civic seventeen or eighteen years ago. I'm due back late Friday (it really is a quick trip!).
Right now the passengers in this train car with me are mostly sleeping, deep breathing on all sides, secure. I was talking the other day with Lillian about my grandparents, who ranched in northern British Columbia and didn't have a car until 1959 or 1960. They travelled everywhere in a cart or a buggy or sleigh, or else on horseback. By choice, they had no phone. So distances were entirely different from how they seem to us these days. The train then represented travel to them, the way they could get from where they were to Vancouver or to Eastern Canada, a rare treat. I find myself trying to imagine the state of mind that that situation produced in them. Perhaps, in the same way that radio is more exciting than television, because we visualise situations rather than passively receiving them on the screen, living in relative isolation meant that books and visitors became more vivid, more precious, richer in many ways. What do you think?
I know that when I am rushing (actually, or in my head in anticipation) from the email world to the telephone to chatting with a friend who has dropped by to writing a blogpos, something is lost, a deliberateness perhaps, and a rounding out of my thinking. And when I listen to the radio in the morning, which I enjoy, it does indeed scramble me a bit, sending me off on thoughts of this and that, so that I need my run to get me back into thinking in an extended way about a piece of writing or another creative idea.
Has this blogpost gone from the idea of the start of the school year to musings on relative technologies and how they affect our state of mind? It seems so. I'm not writing as a Luddite here: I would not want to live as my grandparents chose to. I love the comings and goings with friends on the internet and the phone and in real life. I thrive in the social vibrancy of the city. But I do wonder at the difference s between my rippled mind and the calmer stiller pool that the mind of a contemplative or a person living less socially must be.
In the course of last week, because it was chilly and there was a Rosh Hashonah meal out and another celebration, this one a birthday supper, I ended up making five skillet cakes in the space of seven days. Hilarious when I look back on it. And they each vanished, down various happy gullets. One had a thick coating of wild blueberries on it, others had cooked chopped purple plums, one had the end of the peaches... and all of them were tender because they were made with mostly pastry/cake flour, usually whole wheat, and only a little all-purpose.
Another cooking note: I cut some corn kernals off the cob the other day to add to a simmered combination of chopped end-of- season vegetables, all local, including okra and dandelion greens, a little tomato, tomatillos, zucchini, patty-pan squash, and garlic. The combo, slow simmered in olive oil (the non-local ingredient I love) was just delicious, the sweet of the corn balancing out the bitter of the dandelion, etc.
That led me a couple of days later to cut kernals off and add them to a hot wok as part of a quick little vegetable stir-fry. What a mistake! I mean, the result was delicious, but I have to warn you NOT to stir-fry corn kernals at high heat, at least not tender moist ones. They exploded with a lethal pop and spatter in the hot oil, one by one by one, like little grenades. I moved the corn up the sides of the wok so I could fry my morning egg in the centre, as and I broke the egg into the pan, ZAP!! a double hit of exploding corn kernal sent hot oil spitting up onto my wrist. I am fine, not noticeably burned. But it felt very violent! So my final word on this is, please be cautious with corn kernals and hot oil!
Sunday, June 6, 2010
LOCAL TRAVELS AND GREEN MAGIC
I'm sitting on the train...in the rain.... heading west, from Montreal back home to Toronto.
I never made it to Grand Manan Island. My friend’s car sprouted serious bearings problems and we got squeezed for time. Instead I had a couple of days in Ottawa, time to see my aunt and my cousin Jennifer, and to swim in the Gatineau River, hurrah! on June 2, almost a record (but not in fact very brave, given the early warmth this spring and the resulting relative kindness of the river’s temperature), as well as to spend good time with my friend Lianne. We talked a lot about our plans for an immersethrough session on Grand Manan in September. After that I had more than twenty-four hours in Montreal. Most of that was spending time with an old friend who is not well, but I also got to Fromentier for the first time, the arguably best bread bakery in Montreal, and to Kouignaman, a charming bakery-cafe.
I wanted to take care of my friend in the short time I was in Montreal, do something to help her feel better or to distract her. Food is a nice tangible offering, so that's where I headed, that and conversation. On the food front, my friend yearned for green vegetables but how best to do that? She has some swallowing issues and also can’t handle strong flavours or acids such lemon or lime juice or vinegar, and avoids most meat. She needs to put on some weight and gain strength. I wanted to make food for her that I could freeze in small batches, so she would have fall-backs on days when she had no-one around to help with cooking etc. I made a simple risotto with chunks of sweet potato and a little mushroom and some sugar peas, for supper. Alongside was a simply poached piece of organic salmon, tender and delish. But that was just one meal, not for pantry loading.
For the longer term I made a large batch of masur dal (easy to freeze and to flavour later but edible as is, with just salt and olive oil) and also a puree, a kind of thick soup, of assorted greens. I made two versions and now realise how forgiving the whole concept is. I started with olive oil in a wide cast-iron skillet, into which went minced garlic and ginger and some onion too. Then I added slices of sweet potato and portobello mushroom and when they were softened a little, in went a lot of chopped arugula, spinach, watercress, and dandelion greens, and some chopped sugar peas. Seasoning was just a little salt and a splash of fish sauce. Once the greens were well cooked (with the addition of a little water or stock), I poured them into her sturdy old osterizer and whizzed the whole thing to a thick gorgeous puree. With the second batch I added a small chopped avocado and whizzed it again.
That magic green puree was delicious, both versions were... (especially eaten over a few slices of slippery tender Shan tofu “noodles”; I made a small batch of “Shan tofu” while I was at it, experimenting a little more with the recipe and discovering how forgiving it is). So don’t worry about proportions when making spring greens puree, just go try your own version. It’s like spring in a bowl. The sweet potato isn’t necessary of course, but its sweetness was a nice little balance with the dandelion greens. You could instead use extra minced onion...
Along with cooking and conversation with friends, this short trip was also a reminder, yet another, to count my blessings. How wonderful to be able to take a train and go to visit friends and family and revisit childhood memories. How wonderful to walk through parts of Montreal that I don’t know well, discovering new places I want to return to.
And now, some hours after I started writing this, I can say, as I sit at midnight in the familiar warmth of my own kitchen, how wonderful to be able to return home...
I never made it to Grand Manan Island. My friend’s car sprouted serious bearings problems and we got squeezed for time. Instead I had a couple of days in Ottawa, time to see my aunt and my cousin Jennifer, and to swim in the Gatineau River, hurrah! on June 2, almost a record (but not in fact very brave, given the early warmth this spring and the resulting relative kindness of the river’s temperature), as well as to spend good time with my friend Lianne. We talked a lot about our plans for an immersethrough session on Grand Manan in September. After that I had more than twenty-four hours in Montreal. Most of that was spending time with an old friend who is not well, but I also got to Fromentier for the first time, the arguably best bread bakery in Montreal, and to Kouignaman, a charming bakery-cafe.
I wanted to take care of my friend in the short time I was in Montreal, do something to help her feel better or to distract her. Food is a nice tangible offering, so that's where I headed, that and conversation. On the food front, my friend yearned for green vegetables but how best to do that? She has some swallowing issues and also can’t handle strong flavours or acids such lemon or lime juice or vinegar, and avoids most meat. She needs to put on some weight and gain strength. I wanted to make food for her that I could freeze in small batches, so she would have fall-backs on days when she had no-one around to help with cooking etc. I made a simple risotto with chunks of sweet potato and a little mushroom and some sugar peas, for supper. Alongside was a simply poached piece of organic salmon, tender and delish. But that was just one meal, not for pantry loading.
For the longer term I made a large batch of masur dal (easy to freeze and to flavour later but edible as is, with just salt and olive oil) and also a puree, a kind of thick soup, of assorted greens. I made two versions and now realise how forgiving the whole concept is. I started with olive oil in a wide cast-iron skillet, into which went minced garlic and ginger and some onion too. Then I added slices of sweet potato and portobello mushroom and when they were softened a little, in went a lot of chopped arugula, spinach, watercress, and dandelion greens, and some chopped sugar peas. Seasoning was just a little salt and a splash of fish sauce. Once the greens were well cooked (with the addition of a little water or stock), I poured them into her sturdy old osterizer and whizzed the whole thing to a thick gorgeous puree. With the second batch I added a small chopped avocado and whizzed it again.
That magic green puree was delicious, both versions were... (especially eaten over a few slices of slippery tender Shan tofu “noodles”; I made a small batch of “Shan tofu” while I was at it, experimenting a little more with the recipe and discovering how forgiving it is). So don’t worry about proportions when making spring greens puree, just go try your own version. It’s like spring in a bowl. The sweet potato isn’t necessary of course, but its sweetness was a nice little balance with the dandelion greens. You could instead use extra minced onion...
Along with cooking and conversation with friends, this short trip was also a reminder, yet another, to count my blessings. How wonderful to be able to take a train and go to visit friends and family and revisit childhood memories. How wonderful to walk through parts of Montreal that I don’t know well, discovering new places I want to return to.
And now, some hours after I started writing this, I can say, as I sit at midnight in the familiar warmth of my own kitchen, how wonderful to be able to return home...
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