HARSH ENDING

My last post, just yesterday, talks a lot about Toronto and about all that we have to learn from each other here.  There's also a quick mention of the Tamil grocery stores along Parliament Street.  But these days the word Tamil means suffering.  This week we have all been reminded of the pain and suffering of Tamils in Sri Lanka.  You may think the Tamil Tigers are too extreme or you may agree with them completely, but either way it's unarguable that many non-militant people have been caught in the cross-fire and have suffered, and continue to suffer because of the war in Sri Lanka.  

Here in Toronto the Tamil community, along with others who support them, was out in force for demonstrations calling on the Canadian government and the US governmment to broker a peace, so that the killing could stop.  I saw a man swearing at to a middle-aged Tamil woman who was carrying a "instead of one country at war, why not two countries at peace?" sandwich board.  The man was angry because he'd been inconvenienced by the protests, as had many others.  I intervened, told him to stop speaking so roughly and rudely to her.  And I said "she has a right to protest; her rights are your rights"  But the guy said, "It is on the other side of the world.  It has nothing to do with me.  They should just all go back to Sri Lanka."  So then I repeated "Her rights are your rights."  

But the day the Singhalese Army declared victory, every Tamil I saw (so many people from the community work in restaurants like those down the street from us) looked sombre.  All that death and suffering, all that effort, and in the end the hope is steam-rollered by the Singhalese military.  Heartbreak.

PostScript:  There's a comment just in on this post, asking why we always seem to sympathise with those who want to separate but oppose separatists in Quebec.  I don't necessarily agree that the Tamils should have a separate country, I don't know enough, but I do agree that there has been murderous bloodshed and there have been horrible acts committed by both the Singhalese army and the Tamil Tigers.  The result is that many civilians have suffered.  And that's what the post is about, the harshness of the siffering.  The same goes for my post a long while back that mentions the murderous situation in Gaza.  War is always hardship and murder and devastation, especially for the civilians caught in the cross-fire.

ENGAGING WITH THE WORLD AT HOME

Heat at last, promised for today and tomorrow, hurrah!   I was up in Grey County on the weekend, and only two nights ago there was frost, and then gleaming frosted grasses in the early morning, until the sun reached them and turned them bright green again.  Perhaps with the promised heat, the basil plants that are shivering here in the back garden will at last start to thrive.  Can't wait!

Our young friend Melissa is here from Chiang Mai visiting for several months.  She is a great addition to the household.  And she's wide-eyed out in the city, amazed at chilly rain (rain in Thailand comes after hot season, so it's far from the European style chilly spring rains we have had this month); at the tulips, now finishing, and glorious flowering trees of May (the ornamental plums in King's College Circle at the University of Toronto, just up the street, are in full magnificent deep pink bloom right now); at the pleasure of treasure-hunting for used clothing, in shops and in friends' piles of cast-offs...   

We are delighted Melissa is here, for we get to see everything freshly through her eyes.  And I love coming across pink (pink shoes, pink computer cover, pink socks, etc) in the house.  Pink is usually in short supply in this household of male people.  It feels like another kind of springtime.

May has also brought a nice surprise: we are one of the entries in the wide-ranging list of "Fifty Things We Love About Toronto" that is the cover story in the May issue of Toronto Life magazine.  For the magazine there's a nice cross-connect between our books' exploration of food cultures in ASia and elsewhere, and the food cultures in Toronto.

I've always felt so lucky to live here, and one huge reason is the richness of the culture here, multi-layered, and constantly evolving.  Of course that complexity and creativity is echoed in the food culture, which means I am always a beginner, always coming across foods I don't know in my local Chinese and Vietnamese groceries, or in the Ethiopian store in Kensington Market, or the South American stores along Augusta.  All those are within ten minutes' walk of the house.  It's hard to feel a need to go further afield, but when I do, to say, the wonderful Tamil shops along Parliament, I find lots of familiar produce and products, and again, also often feel like a beginner, ignorant of so much that is there.  (And notice that I haven't even mentioned, let alone described, the extraordinary food culture maps of the inner and outer suburbs here.)

What a luxury, to be reminded every day of how much there is to understand and of how little I still know.  And how lucky to be able to learn every day from my neighbours!  

So it's not just Melissa who is walking around amazed and pleased in Toronto...

PS A friend I ran into the other day at Wychwood Market (Saturday mornings near Christie and St Clair) told me she and her family had been very sick after eating undercooked (they wanted them crunchy) fiddleheads.  Then they googled and it turns out that the Ministry of Health says we should all know that fiddleheads must be cooked through (steam them, cook them in a little boiling water...).  So resist the impulse make them al dente.  Save that for carrots or broccoli or zucchini. 

CELEBRATION

Out shopping in Kensington Market yesterday, I stopped in at 4 Life, at the corner of Augusta and Nassau to say hi to Potz and have a look for some rhubarb.  I had to pick up some apples (fuji's) instead, because there was no rhubarb left (it's just newly arriving here, like the local asparagus)...  

The fruit was for a tart, using the second half of some extremely short pastry I'd made the day before.  The first half did turn into a rhubarb tart with some rhubarb I'd found earlier.  The tart was open-faced, and firmed up with a little custard poured over near the end of baking.  I made it at my friend Pattie's house, baked it in her convection oven.  I've never baked in a convection oven before.  Is it better for pies?  Or is it just generally faster? or?  The pie, improvised, as ever, turned out beautifully.  Last night's, all apples, was melty and delish, the apples still slightly resistant to the bite, which I love.  I had a small bowl of it left over for breakfast this morning.

But I started talking about Potz at 4 Life for another reason.  I told him yesterday that I was planning to grill the wonderful-looking steak I'd bought from him ten days ago (frozen; and at the time he didn't remember the price of the cut, so though I had it in my freezer for a week, it was only paid for on Friday!).  Potz put a generous handful of wild leeks in my hand.  "If you're grilling meat, just put these on the grill alongside," he said.  I did, after brushing them with a little olive oil.  They were gorgeous, beautiful on a yellow Fiesta ware plate, and a delish treat seasoned with a sprinkle of Malden salt.

And the beef?  Well that too was delish, local pasture-fed Ontario beef.  I sliced it thinly, then made a simple "yam neua", Thai grilled beef salad, with just slices of shallot (Asia purple ones), generous garden mint and some store-bought Thai basil, tossed with a lime juice-fish sauce dressing.  I left out chiles because our friend Dina stops breathing if she has any chile (very inconvenient, a sensitivity to capsaicin!) and even in this altered version the salad vanished.

There was a small crowd of friends here yesterday evening, eating and drinking and talking.  The excuse (do we ever really need one?) was that Dom has finished his undergrad, Ian is leaving tomorrow for Thailand, and Melissa has just arrived from Chiang Mai, so we thought we' d pause to enjoy the moment.  It was a kind of improvised celebration, I guess you could say.  (Yesterday was also mothers' day.  Every day is mothers' day, of course.  I find I can accept the Hallmark thing though, because it is a good idea that at least once in a year people get formally reminded of mothers' essential role in the universe!  Don't you agree?)

And what better way to celebrate all good things than by hanging around with friends, being warmed by the extended family?  I can't think of anything I like more.

and for those who want more about the food people brought:

there was prosciutto with sliced figs and lots of lime wedges [I originally wrote "lemon wedges" and then was firmly corrected by Trisha "I ALWAYS use lime wedges, if I have them, with prosciutto!"]; there was a pile of grilled chicken wings from Kung with her fabulous nam jeem (hot and sweet and tart dipping sauce); there was another Thai beef salad from Ben and Susan; an asparagus salad from Emily; a beet and endive and onion salad from Hilary; two great dips from Anne: a hummous and a tapaenade; a Thai red curry with fried tofu, shiitakes, and green eggplants; a plain cake; a huge tin of chocolate chip cookies made with chopped good chocolate; the apple tart; a ricotta galette from Dawn; a huge lasagna from Ethan; and wine of various descriptions from many people.  Warm thoughts and thanks to all...

DANCE OF BALANCE

The large crabapple tree that shelters the front of the house from the street is coming into radiant white bloom, and underneath it the lilies of the valley are slowly starting into flower. Spring springs!

Last night had a lovely pair of phone calls:

The first was from Fern, a good friend from Thailand who lives in Chiang Mai and who was the lynchpin of our immersethrough week in February.  We couldn't have done it without her; and the out-of-town cooking took place at her very beautiful farm near Fang.  Fern was calling because her nineteen-year-old daughter Melissa is flying to Toronto this week to stay with us for the summer and Fern wanted to touch base about some last-minute things.  

Melissa is going to find it chilly here until summer heat arrives, but then she prefers cool to hot, even though she was raised in Thailand.  We are so looking forward to having her here, watching her get comfortable in this very different place and culture. 

The second call was from Tina Ujlaki, a good friend,  who gave me news and then passed the phone on to Jim Oseland, the wonderfully quirky editor of Saveur and fun guy to travel with.  They were with our editor Ann Bramson at the Beard Awards last night. It was Ann's phone, in fact.  They were all three happy to give us the news that Beyond the Great Wall had won best International book.  Delightful!  (Yes, one of us should have gone, but suddenly the trip seemed expensive and too much to squeeze in; lovely Ann Bramson was stuck with having to accept for us and stand up and speak.  Thanks Ann!)   

Later we learned that Jennifer McLagan's FAT! had won book of the year (as well as best SIngle Subject book).  Publishers were very unimaginative about the book, reluctant to consider it, until finally M&S, here in Toronto, and Ten-Speed joined forces to publish it.  As a result, Jennifer, Liv Blumer (her agent and ours), and all those of us who always thought Fat was a great subject, are feeling victorious and vindicated.  We all get to share in the win, in a small way.  

So today is very different from yesterday for Jennifer...

And for all of us, life changes every day in big ways and small.  Tashi had his last exam yesterday and became a free man.  How lovely!    

This talk of change reminds me of a conversation I had via email with a close friend, Lillian, a wise-woman.  She came up with the phrase "the dance of balance"  which is a wonderful way of expressing the dynamic moving-target essence of life (and of relationships too, such a big subset of life).  We try for equilibrum, but everything is changing around us, in happy ways and harsh ways, but always changing.  So it's a dance, a dance of balance.

In this springing early May time of year it's easier to feel light on my feet, as I dance this dance (or perhaps I should think of it as a dance composed of many smaller dances?).  And if ever I am feeling heavy-footed, it's up to me to lighten myself, energise upward, take on and work around the gravity of gravity.  

How about you?

CHANGE AND ATTACHMENT: THOUGHTS FROM TUCSON

I am in Tucson, sitting outside in clear dry air and brilliant sunshine, hearing birds singing in the trees.  In a few hours there's a plane to catch back to Toronto (via a stop in Denver's surprisingly dreary airport, alas!) but for now I'm loving the feeling of warmth (even in the early morning it's soft and warm here) and the unfamiliar southwestern scents in the air.

Last night we gave a talk and slide-show at the Center for Creative Photography.  It was fun and very engaging, because the audience and the venue were terrific.  We love being invited to university events; the people who come are generally very curious and interested in wide-ranging discussion.  And so it was last night.  (We also had the deep pleasure of seeing old friends again: John and Tilly Warnock, whom we know from Laramie, now live here and came to the talk.  Fabulous to reconnect with them.)  

Thank-you Tucson, and Arizona U, and in particular, thank-you to Cass Fey, who has taken great care of us throughout the planning and our time here,  and to Britt, whose idea it was to invite us in the first place.  

We had the usual messing around with projectors, of course.  Cass kept her cool, and finally the third projector, not without some last-minute hiccups, did a wonderful job (though needing the occasional manual adjustment to the auto-focus, thanks to a patient student intern!). 

Now that projectors are not being made any more, we know that our days of showing slides are numbered.  And we know, too, that for people in charge of these events, the end of slide- shows will be a relief.  Digital projection is now the standard and feels less tricky to everyone but us! 

BUT:  I love the way light passes through film and arrives on the screen.  I love the idea that the film, that actual piece of film, was exposed to the light in, say, a village in India, and has travelled all the way to, say, an auditorium in Tucson, so that light can pass through it onto a screen and project an image of that woman's face, or hand, or...  It's magical.  And somehow I can't get as entranced by the idea of an electronic image being brought back, tidied up, and re-projected.  It's perhaps a childish attachment, my love of the concrete thing-itself?? Nonetheless real for all that!

I am sitting outside here in Tucson, using my laptop, thanks to a cafe with wi-fi.  Lovely and lucky to have technology, that makes communication portable, and the whole world accessible. I am grateful, truly.  But I can't help mourning the passage of older technologies, like slide projectors...  Life being made easier, in other words, isn't always life being made better, right?  

Perhaps the important thing to remember is that we do have choices.  For example, I can choose to write with pen on paper; I don't have to be typing and looking at a screen.  I don't have to feel enslaved by the computer.  If I do, it's up to me to shift the way I relate to it.  

Similarly, if I am prepared to travel with my own slide projector, I can go on giving slide shows. And on the other hand, if projecting slides places too huge a burden on others, I can scan the slides and show them digitally.  The trade-offs are there, each time, to be weighed.  

The main thing I try to remember about this tech change, (and other changes and challenges too, of course) is the old rule: no complaining!  no self-pity!  Figure it out for yourself, I say to myself (frequently, these days).  Change the way you do things, if you can; roll with it when you can't; and try to do it all with grace...

LIVING & WORKING WITH IMAGES

A grey drizzly day. No seeds or starts in the ground yet (our last frost can be as late as mid-May in downtown Toronto), but the ground is dug up, darkening in the soft rain, and looking expectant! I should get the snow peas in this week ... hmmm

It's perhaps predictable by now that these posts I'm writing weekly (more or less!) almost always seem to start with garden and weather updates. What is that? I wonder. Could be that old English thing of beginning conversations with the weather? I prefer to think that it's a way of anchoring where I am, what environment I'm in as I write. I know I like to picture where friends are when I am talking to them on the phone, or when they send an email. That's perhaps because my imagination is not abstract, but works with images, just like my memory.

How do we store these images? Somehow the brain sifts and sorts, by story and context, I guess. All that mental "muscle" will presumably start deteriorating with age (must have already, let's admit!). But there's still a remarkable amount in storage, and accessible.

I've been reminded of all these questions about memory and image in these last few days as I've been pulling photos for a talk and slide show at the Center for Creative Photography in Tucson. Jeff and I are speaking there this Thursday, April 24. We're delighted to be invited and to have a chance to see the Center. The images we'll show are all from the Indian subcontinent, from India as well as Bangladesh and Sri Lanka, Nepal and Pakistan. They glow on the light table as I look at them, each a reminder of the art and beauty there is in everyday necessity in the subcontinent.

As I troll through our slides (yes, we are showing slides rather than skanned images), peering at them through the loupe, each one I look at (really it's more like looking "into" the image) transports me to the place and moment when I "made" the photo. And I know which ones are Jeff's without looking at the label because I know I didn't take them. How is that possible, to remember each one so confidently, after all these years of photographing? The brain is a remarkable gift! And it all happens without conscious effort, this storage and recall.

The same cannot be said for the process of organizing digital images (originals or skans). And that is the task that lies ahead in these coming months: Now that my cousin Jennifer Read has set me up with books and patient instruction, it's up to me to develop reflexes and work my way into feeling comfortable and somewhat confident working with Photoshop and Lightbox. Argh! is my reaction right now.

I'm going to work with my laptop (the little Mac that I am writing on right now), but, on Jen's advice, with a large screen when I am doing photo correction, and using a hard drive connected by a firewire (the laptop is a little small so it's better to have the space on the hard drive for working with these layers of image, etc). The raw photos straight from the camera, and also the tidied ones, need to be stored on another hard drive for backup, and also on DVD's. It all feels cumbersome, as anything does when we have no reflexes.  

I've also been very encouraged by what I've heard from Barcelona-based Jeff Koehler, who writes imaginatively and engagedly about food and is a fine photographer too. He's the only person I know of who works in the same way we do. (Check out his website at www.jeff-koehler.com and his first book: La Paella; his second, which should be fabulous and useful, exploring unsung corners of the Mediterranean through couscous, pasta, and rice dishes, is due out this fall.) He has just switched to digital, last August, and already seems to be well launched. He too uses the firewire with external harddrive to sort and work on his images. I'm so grateful to have his advice too, because it gives me some confidence that I will eventually make the transition without too much crazed-ness!

So here goes!

GLIMPSES OF BEAUTY IN SMALL THINGS

Crocusses are bright spots in the dull earth, but otherwise spring feels pretty stalled here.  There are buds on the trees, but they don't dare fatten, with overnight temperatures well below freezing.  Yikes!  Can this possibly be mid-April?

I was reminded this evening as I was cooking about how the normal or everyday can suddenly enchant or delight when we see it with fresh eyes.  It was Dom's turn to cook, but he had asked if I would trade with him (he has several huge papers due and exams next week and wanted a long uninterrupted work time at the library).  So I made beef stew (starting by heating olive oil in the large Le Creuset, then tossing in mustard seeds to pop, and some nigella, before adding onion, and then the beef, cut fairly small).  The meat comes from an organic farmer named Gerald, whose family farm, Twin Creeks, is near Owen Sound, about three hours north of here.  He brings his meat down biweekly in winter, but weekly to the Trinity Bellwoods Market in summer (late May to late October), where he also sells vegetables and delivers CSA baskets to subscribers.  The meat is wonderful; his vegetables too.  Can't wait.

Anyway, not to go on and on about the meat (or local food issues!), once the stew had simmered itself into tender doneness (there were carrots and potatoes in there too, and some red wine, and a touch of soy sauce for extra depth), I put on the rice.  (Yes, I know, with potatoes in the stew, why another starch?  but rice is a wonderful absorber of flavour, and anyway, most of us in this household don't feel we've eaten unless there's rice.)  

A few minutes later I went to check if it was at the boil, and got caught by the lovely quivering look of the surface.  Some foam had collected there (I had rinsed the rice pretty thoroughly, but perhaps it could have done with more?) and at the edge in one or two places, the water was just beginning to bubble.  The movement sent tremblings across the surface.  It became tender and alive, a lovely hesitant being, in those moments.

I can't remember ever seeing just that effect before, though I have looked at rice coming to the boil almost daily.  Perhaps this time I had an eye for detail rather than "fact".  Usually the question in mind is "is it boiling so that I can cover it and lower the heat?" or "not yet?"  This time, rather than answering that question, I luckily somehow just got caught up in looking.

This all leads me to wonder whether there are magical sightings, brief glimpses of loveliness, to be had all over.  And I am sure the answer is yes.  I can already name a few:  There's the way an egg flows over a hot cast-iron pan as it's put on to fry... gorgeous, and not just because of the eventual deliciousness that the cook might be anticipating in his/her mind's eye (or palate).  There's the instant that garlic turns tan in the hot oil in a hot wok, click!, with little bubbles of oil beside it, and a gleaming tightening of the surface as it shifts to beige.  And, and...

But most often I don't notice any of these treasures, because I am intent on the next step, or thinking about the end result, rather than being in the moment.  And also I am usually not looking at the details, but at the whole process, so I miss the small lovelinesses.

Have you had these glimpses?

And out in the world: It's Thai New Year (the festival is called song kran, April 14 and 15), and a terribly troubled time in Bangkok.  At the moment ex-prime minister Thaksin is inciting instability from outside the country, using his tremendous wealth to buy trouble.  Our fingers are crossed that the political situation stabilises without violence and that the country can move forward out of the Thaksin era...