One of my early favourites is actually not a cookbook but sits on the cookbook shelf, it's one of Peg Bracken's "The I Hate to Housekeep Book". My mom gave it to me years ago, I think she thought it would move me in the right direction, sadly it failed but it did interest me in cooking.
The recipes worked and one that I first tried was Little Chinese Meatballs:
1½ pounds of ground beef 1 tablespoon powedered ginger
½ cup soya sauce 1 crushed galic clove
¼ cup water
Mix together and roll into little balls, bake uncovered for an hour at 275 degrees.
So simple and when I served them up I decorated the platter with little orange Marigolds. Folks thought they were really getting something special.
Can also recommend Saratoga Torte and Add-A-Pound-Cake, in the margin I have written
Aug.5,1967 Fort Smith N.W.T. The recipes are simple, ingredients easy to obtain and results you can grin at.
Perhaps it is now time to try the housekeeping part...
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Paperwhite bulbs
In January Ottawa is blest with snow, covering the flower beds
where the bulbs are planted deep snow fast asleep and it will
be several months before we see them bloom.
However on our kitchen table in a clear glass cube sit four
Narcissus bulbs, a Christmas gift from my sister.
Growing bulbs in winter in glass or on pots has long been a
popular pastime,we have several blue or green rippled
sculpted glass jars that date back to the early 1900s the
we found in antique shops that were meant for the sole
purpose of growing Hyacinths. The bowl at the top of the
glass supports the bulb while its roots grow in the water
below.
The glass cube in the kitchen achieves this by having a three
inch bed of glass marbles filled with water, the bulbs resting
just above. We have been adding water to the cube as the
atmosphere is very dry and were pleased to see that roots
were reaching down into the water several mornings later
noticed leaves sprouting.
This morning while we were having breakfast was delighted
to find a bud showing amongst the leaves. Can hardly wait to
sniff the perfume of these Paperwhites.
Remembering too, a winter when we were living north of 60
on Broughton Island, now called Qikiqtarjuaq [Broughton
Island was the home of FOX-5, a Distant Early Warning Line
and now a North Warning System site] often called "the
iceberg capital of the North". All of our water used to come
from icebergs that floated past through the Davis Strait
between Greenland and Baffin.
That particular winter was long and dark as the sun
disappears completely for three months of the year.
With that hope that exists among gardeners I had 'planted'
bulbs in glass and was beginning to give up on them when
leaves started to appear.
It was late February and the first day that the sun came
back for a few short minutes when one of the bulbs bloomed!
Some forty years later as we check these Paperwhites and
find that there are now four buds showing. Spring is on
its way even though on the radio comes the news that the
Rideau Canal is open for skaters.
where the bulbs are planted deep snow fast asleep and it will
be several months before we see them bloom.
However on our kitchen table in a clear glass cube sit four
Narcissus bulbs, a Christmas gift from my sister.
Growing bulbs in winter in glass or on pots has long been a
popular pastime,we have several blue or green rippled
sculpted glass jars that date back to the early 1900s the
we found in antique shops that were meant for the sole
purpose of growing Hyacinths. The bowl at the top of the
glass supports the bulb while its roots grow in the water
below.
The glass cube in the kitchen achieves this by having a three
inch bed of glass marbles filled with water, the bulbs resting
just above. We have been adding water to the cube as the
atmosphere is very dry and were pleased to see that roots
were reaching down into the water several mornings later
noticed leaves sprouting.
This morning while we were having breakfast was delighted
to find a bud showing amongst the leaves. Can hardly wait to
sniff the perfume of these Paperwhites.
Remembering too, a winter when we were living north of 60
on Broughton Island, now called Qikiqtarjuaq [Broughton
Island was the home of FOX-5, a Distant Early Warning Line
and now a North Warning System site] often called "the
iceberg capital of the North". All of our water used to come
from icebergs that floated past through the Davis Strait
between Greenland and Baffin.
That particular winter was long and dark as the sun
disappears completely for three months of the year.
With that hope that exists among gardeners I had 'planted'
bulbs in glass and was beginning to give up on them when
leaves started to appear.
It was late February and the first day that the sun came
back for a few short minutes when one of the bulbs bloomed!
Some forty years later as we check these Paperwhites and
find that there are now four buds showing. Spring is on
its way even though on the radio comes the news that the
Rideau Canal is open for skaters.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
I-Pods and personal listening devices
Spring [of sorts] has arrived in Ottawa with Daylight Saving Time this past Sunday and folks were out and about enjoying the warmer weather - the store window celebrated with a collection of related books and a quote:
"Here and there a patch of snow,
Dirtier than the ground below,
Dribbles down a marshy flood;
Ankle-deep you stick in mud
In the meadows while you sing,
"This is Spring."
by Christopher Pearce Cranch - A Spring Growl
Walking towards the Market people I meet smile easily, whereas a month ago they'd be muffled in scarves, collars pulled up around their ears, heads bent against the wind. The exception to this openness are those plugged into their personal world, and I'm inclined to worry about them - you can see by their faces they are involved in a world apart from the street, not sharing.
I blew my top yesterday morning when our son confessed to listening to his I-Pod while walking his dog. Baer is a dig furry mongrel who found him and is devoted to him. He is young, only a puppy and very sensitive, so care must be taken not to frighten him. A broken glass caused him distress the other morning when a member of the family shrieked. He takes his dog biscuits in the other room so that our pack of three don't rob him - has yet to stand up to Lizzie the Rat Terrier even though he is ten times her size. With Baer I say “Excuse me” when he’s lying across the threshold, while the other dogs get “Shift”. He is a very sensitive dog.
I seldom see the young people picking up dog food from the store next to ours wearing earphones, occasionally one will walk by with their dog, listening to their music while their dogs walk on looking lost
Have even seen mothers with baby carriages listening to their I-Pods, wonder if they'll ever hear Spring birds...Both babies & dogs need personal attention.
Occasionally I have listened to audio books while driving; and am a devout radio listener and on Sundays play Seriously Sinatra in the bookstore, checking to see how many singer/songwriters there are - Cole Porter!
The rest of the week we play the classical music station on SIRIUS Radio.
"Here and there a patch of snow,
Dirtier than the ground below,
Dribbles down a marshy flood;
Ankle-deep you stick in mud
In the meadows while you sing,
"This is Spring."
by Christopher Pearce Cranch - A Spring Growl
Walking towards the Market people I meet smile easily, whereas a month ago they'd be muffled in scarves, collars pulled up around their ears, heads bent against the wind. The exception to this openness are those plugged into their personal world, and I'm inclined to worry about them - you can see by their faces they are involved in a world apart from the street, not sharing.
I blew my top yesterday morning when our son confessed to listening to his I-Pod while walking his dog. Baer is a dig furry mongrel who found him and is devoted to him. He is young, only a puppy and very sensitive, so care must be taken not to frighten him. A broken glass caused him distress the other morning when a member of the family shrieked. He takes his dog biscuits in the other room so that our pack of three don't rob him - has yet to stand up to Lizzie the Rat Terrier even though he is ten times her size. With Baer I say “Excuse me” when he’s lying across the threshold, while the other dogs get “Shift”. He is a very sensitive dog.
I seldom see the young people picking up dog food from the store next to ours wearing earphones, occasionally one will walk by with their dog, listening to their music while their dogs walk on looking lost
Have even seen mothers with baby carriages listening to their I-Pods, wonder if they'll ever hear Spring birds...Both babies & dogs need personal attention.
Occasionally I have listened to audio books while driving; and am a devout radio listener and on Sundays play Seriously Sinatra in the bookstore, checking to see how many singer/songwriters there are - Cole Porter!
The rest of the week we play the classical music station on SIRIUS Radio.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
ironing shirts
Ironing Shirts
There is something to be said for ironing, and the smell of
freshly ironed garments - but how many folks still iron clothes?
I was thinking of this yesterday, when I was small there was
a rhyme that went:
Monday: Wash Day
In the days before automatic washing machines we had wringer
washers, and putting shirts through the wringer one had to be
careful or the buttons could get caught and possibly tear the
fabric of crack. One summer morning I was watching to make sure
that the buttons were feeding through flat and managed to wring
my hand through along with the shirt - it was an electric machine
with a reverse on the wringer so I wrung my hand back through -
made a mess and I can still see the scar some sixty years later.
Tuesday: Ironing Day
Wednesday: Sewing Day
Thursday: Market Day
Friday: Cleaning Day
Saturday: Baking Day
Sunday: Day of Rest
Since it was Tuesday I had four shirts to iron. Starting out I
realized they were too dry and so I sprayed and rolled each one so
they'd be ready while I set up the ironing board and plugged in
the iron.
I remember visiting at the lake where my great-aunts used heavy
irons that they heated on the wood stove. When one iron would cool
off another would be ready on the stove.
Taking the first shirt and unrolling it out of the board, reach
for the collar (think small parts first) and carefully press the
collar.
Turn the shirt over and fold along the yoke line - this is a
man's shirt, press along the yoke and over the front of the shoulder,
both sides.
Sleeves are next, starting with the small part, the cuff - press
then along the sleeve smoothing out any wrinkles, turn it over
and press the other side. Proceed to the second sleeve.
N.B. A point to remember is that on women's sleeves there should
never be a crease, unlike a man's shirt.
Told to me by one of my elegant French ladies, who used to design
the costumes for the School of Ballet.
The first side to iron is the one with the buttons, the piece up
by the neck should already be ironed when I did the yoke, so carefully
down the front, move it over for full coverage.
Next - the back, starting up at the edge where the yoke line is -
press that out and watch for pleats or tucks along the lower side
of the back.
When the back is finished on to the last piece the button hole
side of the front, again the piece up by the neck should already
be ironed so the rest is easy.
Now carefully hang the shirt on a hanger and let it rest.
Mmmm... the smell of a freshly ironed shirt
There is something to be said for ironing, and the smell of
freshly ironed garments - but how many folks still iron clothes?
I was thinking of this yesterday, when I was small there was
a rhyme that went:
Monday: Wash Day
In the days before automatic washing machines we had wringer
washers, and putting shirts through the wringer one had to be
careful or the buttons could get caught and possibly tear the
fabric of crack. One summer morning I was watching to make sure
that the buttons were feeding through flat and managed to wring
my hand through along with the shirt - it was an electric machine
with a reverse on the wringer so I wrung my hand back through -
made a mess and I can still see the scar some sixty years later.
Tuesday: Ironing Day
Wednesday: Sewing Day
Thursday: Market Day
Friday: Cleaning Day
Saturday: Baking Day
Sunday: Day of Rest
Since it was Tuesday I had four shirts to iron. Starting out I
realized they were too dry and so I sprayed and rolled each one so
they'd be ready while I set up the ironing board and plugged in
the iron.
I remember visiting at the lake where my great-aunts used heavy
irons that they heated on the wood stove. When one iron would cool
off another would be ready on the stove.
Taking the first shirt and unrolling it out of the board, reach
for the collar (think small parts first) and carefully press the
collar.
Turn the shirt over and fold along the yoke line - this is a
man's shirt, press along the yoke and over the front of the shoulder,
both sides.
Sleeves are next, starting with the small part, the cuff - press
then along the sleeve smoothing out any wrinkles, turn it over
and press the other side. Proceed to the second sleeve.
N.B. A point to remember is that on women's sleeves there should
never be a crease, unlike a man's shirt.
Told to me by one of my elegant French ladies, who used to design
the costumes for the School of Ballet.
The first side to iron is the one with the buttons, the piece up
by the neck should already be ironed when I did the yoke, so carefully
down the front, move it over for full coverage.
Next - the back, starting up at the edge where the yoke line is -
press that out and watch for pleats or tucks along the lower side
of the back.
When the back is finished on to the last piece the button hole
side of the front, again the piece up by the neck should already
be ironed so the rest is easy.
Now carefully hang the shirt on a hanger and let it rest.
Mmmm... the smell of a freshly ironed shirt
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Birds, etc.
Since we've moved up to the lake, it's become a pleasant habit to feed the birds. There are three feeders for seeds, two with mixed seed and the black sunflowers seed preferred by the Chickadees, the third has Niger seed for the Goldfinches and Warblers, along with two feeders for the Hummingbirds.
As the young birds hatched, their parents would drop them off at the feeders, and it's been fun to watch them learning. In particular the young Hairy Woodpeckers who have a hard time perching on the feeder so they hang onto the edge of the feeder and fling seeds off in their search for the ones they enjoy. This is a bonus for the Chipmunks who scurry around like small vacuum cleaners scooping up the fallen seed.
I was standing watching this whirlwind activity the other morning when suddenly a pair of wings flashed past my nose. A Hawk had seen the Chipmunks as well and was intent on breakfast. There was a flurry as the small fury ones fled for cover and the Hawk took off in disgust; a chorus of angry warnings following him as the Chipmunks let the other creatures know to beware.
With the humming bird feeders I try to remember to remove them in the evening, returning them in the morning to be sure that the little birds won’t suffer from a chilly feeder. We use a four water to one ration of sugar and renew it frequently in warm weather.
Yesterday morning I went out to fill the feeders and realized I had forgotten to bring the liquid feeders in and the feeders were completely empty, one thrown on the ground, the other had been drained all the little yellow screens removed. There were strange footprints in the sand that John had been using to adjust the patio stones, these weren’t those of the Chipmunk tribe or those of Raccoons - consulting the Handbook of Tracks they looked very much like those of the Flying Squirrel Glaucomys sabrinus .
.
We have had at least one Flying Squirrel resident in the attic that we have seen while doing renovations, the noise disturbed their slumber and brought them out.
"Their fondness for maple sap has often led to their tumbling into sap buckets in spring and drowning."
It appears that they do have a sweet tooth - which may offer an explanation of what happened to the missing eight ounces of sugar water …
As the young birds hatched, their parents would drop them off at the feeders, and it's been fun to watch them learning. In particular the young Hairy Woodpeckers who have a hard time perching on the feeder so they hang onto the edge of the feeder and fling seeds off in their search for the ones they enjoy. This is a bonus for the Chipmunks who scurry around like small vacuum cleaners scooping up the fallen seed.
I was standing watching this whirlwind activity the other morning when suddenly a pair of wings flashed past my nose. A Hawk had seen the Chipmunks as well and was intent on breakfast. There was a flurry as the small fury ones fled for cover and the Hawk took off in disgust; a chorus of angry warnings following him as the Chipmunks let the other creatures know to beware.
With the humming bird feeders I try to remember to remove them in the evening, returning them in the morning to be sure that the little birds won’t suffer from a chilly feeder. We use a four water to one ration of sugar and renew it frequently in warm weather.
Yesterday morning I went out to fill the feeders and realized I had forgotten to bring the liquid feeders in and the feeders were completely empty, one thrown on the ground, the other had been drained all the little yellow screens removed. There were strange footprints in the sand that John had been using to adjust the patio stones, these weren’t those of the Chipmunk tribe or those of Raccoons - consulting the Handbook of Tracks they looked very much like those of the Flying Squirrel Glaucomys sabrinus .
.
We have had at least one Flying Squirrel resident in the attic that we have seen while doing renovations, the noise disturbed their slumber and brought them out.
"Their fondness for maple sap has often led to their tumbling into sap buckets in spring and drowning."
It appears that they do have a sweet tooth - which may offer an explanation of what happened to the missing eight ounces of sugar water …
Sunday, July 13, 2008
"The King's Breakfast"
We were reminded of A. A. Milne's poem "The King's Breakfast" in When "We Were Very Young" when the King hoping for breakfast and discovers to his horror that there is no butter for "The Royal slice of bread"
It has always been something of a Sunday morning ritual, Kippers [smoked Scottish herrings], with brown bread, orange juice and strong tea; if the dogs are lucky they'd get a sandwich of bread soaked in the Kipper juice.
Like the King wanting "A little bit of butter for My bread!" we had hoped for the juicy smoked herring fillets on our bread, but this was not to be,
The Kippers in question had been purchased the day before from our fish store in the Byward Market, but when I opened the bag found some strange long dark herrings and the label read Smoked Dutch Style, in truth they had
never been near the Netherlands.
A pan was found to accommodate them and when they were poached - they had curled up and looked even worse. John was to be the first to sample and pronounced them 'very salty' but did not sob, or whimper. Sunday morning's breakfast treat was not to be.
We tried our local Market grocer, then the up-scale grocery on Beechwood without success. About to give up, we told our Bulgarian family member, Mimi of the problem and she smiled and said ' The Super Store has them!’
Our next trip into town found us entering the Super Store and without much delay, discovered the fish counter and the packets of Scottish Kippers, delighted I bought five of the frozen Kippers. These are lovely little boneless, boil in the bag with a butter ‘flower’ imprint; when I was very young they came as FISH with bones and all, and it would take a good five minutes to remove the spine and all the bones buried in the flesh.
The following Sunday morning saw us seated at the table, with the sun’s reflection off the lake playing on the ceiling and a lovely breakfast of Kippers, brown bread , orange juice and tea; with three dogs waiting for their tribute of bread soaked in Kipper broth.
It has always been something of a Sunday morning ritual, Kippers [smoked Scottish herrings], with brown bread, orange juice and strong tea; if the dogs are lucky they'd get a sandwich of bread soaked in the Kipper juice.
Like the King wanting "A little bit of butter for My bread!" we had hoped for the juicy smoked herring fillets on our bread, but this was not to be,
The Kippers in question had been purchased the day before from our fish store in the Byward Market, but when I opened the bag found some strange long dark herrings and the label read Smoked Dutch Style, in truth they had
never been near the Netherlands.
A pan was found to accommodate them and when they were poached - they had curled up and looked even worse. John was to be the first to sample and pronounced them 'very salty' but did not sob, or whimper. Sunday morning's breakfast treat was not to be.
We tried our local Market grocer, then the up-scale grocery on Beechwood without success. About to give up, we told our Bulgarian family member, Mimi of the problem and she smiled and said ' The Super Store has them!’
Our next trip into town found us entering the Super Store and without much delay, discovered the fish counter and the packets of Scottish Kippers, delighted I bought five of the frozen Kippers. These are lovely little boneless, boil in the bag with a butter ‘flower’ imprint; when I was very young they came as FISH with bones and all, and it would take a good five minutes to remove the spine and all the bones buried in the flesh.
The following Sunday morning saw us seated at the table, with the sun’s reflection off the lake playing on the ceiling and a lovely breakfast of Kippers, brown bread , orange juice and tea; with three dogs waiting for their tribute of bread soaked in Kipper broth.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Critters
John woke me up last night about 2:30 a.m. to see the fireflies, the first of the season, they really were brilliant. He commented that the Moth Man was up as the lighted sheet was on.
Later in the morning after he'd left for the store, I was taking the dogs and saw Jim & Katherine coming down the hill, he was excited - it had been a bonanza and we had to see.
Stephen and I followed them and the sheet hanging just to the side of the patio door was covered with moths. Apparently conditions were just right - hot, humid, overcast sky - and he showed them off like a magician pulling tricks
The three large moths on the sheet the other night were:
Luna moth: http://moths.ca/saturniidae/pages/07758-actias-luna-A2.html
Cecropia moth: http://moths.ca/saturniidae/pages/07767-hyalophora-cecropia-A.html
Waved Sphinx moth: http://moths.ca/sphingidae/pages/07787-ceratomia-undulosa-A.html
They had put the light on at 12:30 then he checked it at 4:30 a.m. then pulled Katherine out to see, she said there were also 5 Ladyslipper orchids growing close by. Jim said he had heard gnawing under the cottage during he night and that he'd seen mama porcupine with her baby.
Have a feeling that they moved up under the shed as their original haunt, the Trout Cabin has been restored. Will have to check the tires on the Mazda in the shed as porcupine are fond of chewing them for the salt.
John has seen the mother Mallard Duck with 10 little fuzzy ones parading down the road. Raccoons are about [why do they have masks?] and some critter had eaten the Scarlet Bean seedlings I had started in the porch.
There are two Humming Bird feeders, and other seed feeders hanging in the patio so lots of bird life and a horde of Chipmunks picking up seed that drops - they are very friendly and will wait while I fill the feeders, scatter to safety if the dogs approach.
The first garter snake of the season appeared on the patio this morning looking bright and clean will watch to see if his 'shed' is nearby, I have one very long shed skin draped over the computer and it is so light that every time the computer turns on the skin jumps... We often have a large family of the snakes basking on the patio in the early morning sun, before they head off in search of breakfast.
Later in the morning after he'd left for the store, I was taking the dogs and saw Jim & Katherine coming down the hill, he was excited - it had been a bonanza and we had to see.
Stephen and I followed them and the sheet hanging just to the side of the patio door was covered with moths. Apparently conditions were just right - hot, humid, overcast sky - and he showed them off like a magician pulling tricks
The three large moths on the sheet the other night were:
Luna moth: http://moths.ca/saturniidae/pages/07758-actias-luna-A2.html
Cecropia moth: http://moths.ca/saturniidae/pages/07767-hyalophora-cecropia-A.html
Waved Sphinx moth: http://moths.ca/sphingidae/pages/07787-ceratomia-undulosa-A.html
They had put the light on at 12:30 then he checked it at 4:30 a.m. then pulled Katherine out to see, she said there were also 5 Ladyslipper orchids growing close by. Jim said he had heard gnawing under the cottage during he night and that he'd seen mama porcupine with her baby.
Have a feeling that they moved up under the shed as their original haunt, the Trout Cabin has been restored. Will have to check the tires on the Mazda in the shed as porcupine are fond of chewing them for the salt.
John has seen the mother Mallard Duck with 10 little fuzzy ones parading down the road. Raccoons are about [why do they have masks?] and some critter had eaten the Scarlet Bean seedlings I had started in the porch.
There are two Humming Bird feeders, and other seed feeders hanging in the patio so lots of bird life and a horde of Chipmunks picking up seed that drops - they are very friendly and will wait while I fill the feeders, scatter to safety if the dogs approach.
The first garter snake of the season appeared on the patio this morning looking bright and clean will watch to see if his 'shed' is nearby, I have one very long shed skin draped over the computer and it is so light that every time the computer turns on the skin jumps... We often have a large family of the snakes basking on the patio in the early morning sun, before they head off in search of breakfast.
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