Food, football, friends — on an evening in summer

We had Cousin Dale (Estey) and his friend Lorna over last week. We were very anxious to meet Lorna and, of course, we wanted to make a good impression. We knew she had been a Shakespearean scholar at Cambridge and she’s a huge fan of football (footy! soccer!) and opera. We were pretty sure there would be no shortage of conversation.

With that in mind, I thought I should concentrate on the food. We had been having very hot days and I was pretty sure no one would want to sit down to a hot dinner. I knew for sure that I didn't want to cook a hot dinner.

I'm mildly obsessed with getting things done in advance. In fact, I've been known to go too far. Once, when we were serving a delicious pâté with crackers as an appetizer, I took matters into my own hands and before the guests arrived, I prepared a lovely plate of crackers with the pâté already spread. Don't try this. By the time the guests tried to pick up a cracker, they had all wilted like dead flowers and were just about as appetizing.

I've learned a lot since then and I'm pretty good now to know what can be done in advance. I started by making some beautiful lemony aïoli.

The recipe is from one of my favourite cookbooks which I wrote about here.

The aïoli can be made by hand, with a mortar and pestle and a whisk but, as you can see, I took the easy route and used the food processor.

At this point (above), the only thing left to do is add the lemon juice, to taste.

And there it is, in all its finished glory. I have to say, the garlic was very strong and when I took my first taste, I was quite impressed with the statement the aïoli made. It was hot but very tasty.

Because I stay up late anyway, I decided to cook into the night. I roasted some potatoes and barbecued some chicken to be ready for salad-making the next day.

Happily, everything was ready by the time our guests arrived and after a very short time, I think we all felt we'd known Lorna forever. As predicted, the conversation was wide-ranging and interesting.

Dan and I are not huge fans of football — he knows much more about it than I do — but we often like to share a broad global experience with others around the world so we did watch, on our giant TV, the final game of Euro 2016 between France and Portugal. The game was played at the Stade de France, the same stadium where terrorists had attacked just a few months before. France was a sentimental favourite. It was widely felt that a win would begin the healing process for the country which was still hurting.

I felt that way too and I was leaning toward France until Dan told me that this was Portugal's 30th appearance in a final and they'd yet to win. Oh dear. Imagine how those fans must have been feeling. I began to waver back and forth in my team favouritism and I realized at a certain point that I would happily accept either team as the champion. When Portugal won 1-0 in extra time, I was thinking of their fans and of their country and what it must have felt like for them.

I told Lorna this but she couldn't agree. Lorna and her sister had been watching the international friendly match between France and Germany on November 13, 2015, when the attacks happened. Like those who were in the stadium, people watching on television didn't know about the attacks until much later and by then, the extent of the death and destruction had become known. For Lorna, that game for France was very much tied up with that awful night.

This doesn't sound terribly cheerful but in general, our evening was fun and we discovered a lot about each other.

Our appetizer for this evening — which was assembled in advance and which didn't involve crackers — was smoked salmon and cream cheese on cucumber slices:

The aïoli and the roasted potatoes teamed up to make a pretty salad. . .

. . .and the barbecued chicken, in the company of prosciutto, olives, red onion, broccoli and tomatoes held its own.

I've spent a lot of time and space discussing the food and although food matters, the people we share it with are the most important element of a good evening. Making a new friend always feels good.

Flowers from Lorna. That's Her Majesty behind the flowers — solar-powered — waving in the window.

2. The intriguing story of how I spend my days

I made a start at telling you about some of the things I do during my day — what I'm reading, what I'm watching, what I'm listening to. If you missed it, it's right here. Here's some more of my day.

What am I cooking/eating?

I eat a fruit salad every morning with my second cup of coffee. Dan makes each of us a fruit salad every morning: oranges, grapefruit, apple, pineapple, grapes, a seasonal fruit — right now it's strawberries — and we add our own banana just before eating. This is not ours but it looks pretty close.

I used to make the fruit salad last thing at night but a couple of years ago, I had extensive dental surgery and was out of commission for a few weeks. Dan took it over and he's been doing it ever since. I've offered to take it back but so far, he's keeping it.

Over the winter, we get citrus orders through a fund-raising arrangement so we have particularly delicious oranges and grapefruit from November through April.

I like to cook, as you know, but I also complain a lot about being in a rut and being bored with my repertoire. When it gets too bad — my boredom and complaining — we order out. Most recently, we've ordered from Blue Olive, a Greek restaurant. I had Chicken Souvlaki which I almost always have. This image is taken from their online menu and I'd say it's a good likeness:

Succulent chicken on skewers with tzatziki, lemon-roasted potatoes, rice, Greek salad — a wonderful dinner and I didn't have to do a thing.

I do try to prepare and eat healthful things — we eat lots of vegetables (and fruit, of course!) and we try to abide by whatever food rules make sense to us, not necessarily the food rules that are in fashion at any given time.

I do have a couple of vices which I will confess to as they're quite small. In the late afternoon, I like a small bowl (I said small!) of potato chips — Lay's regular. I have them with a small glass of Italian lemon soda. And late at night, I like a small bowl of ice cream — always Sensations Caramel-O.

I said small vices. They could be worse, eh?

Dinner with HM: delicious, delectable, maybe Eggs Drumkilbo

The new month on the calendar that hangs over my desk looks quite delicious and delectable.

It's a Blackcurrant Sorbet, particularly fashionable during the reign of George IV (1820–30) but still served at Buckingham Palace today.

I picked my calendar up when we visited one of the palace gift shops during our trip to England last fall. The calendar is colourful and elegant, adapted from a recent royal cookbook — 12 gorgeous photos of mostly sophisticated dishes that are served at State Dinners but are also enjoyed by the family.

The cookbook and calendar both use the same cover — a photogenic rhubarb and white chocolate parfait. In some of my browsing, I read that it seems like an unusual combination but the tart rhubarb and the sweet white chocolate go very nicely together. We're always looking for new ways to use rhubarb so maybe I'll add this to the list.

Another of their pretty desserts is coming up in September and is called Sablé Breton with English Strawberries and Lemon Cream. It sure sounds good and if you make it at your house, it probably isn't compulsory for it to look like this:

It's not a terribly complicated recipe although it calls for 2 250g punnets of strawberries.

A punnet is a small box for the gathering and sale of fruit and vegetables, typically small berries. The word is largely confined to Commonwealth countries and is of uncertain origin, but is thought to be a diminutive of "pun", a British dialect word for pound, from the days in which such containers were used as a unit of measurement or from the name of Reginald Crundall Punnett (1875–1967), a geneticist and grower of strawberries who used to sell them in the London market in a small chip basket.

One of the more eccentric dishes showed up for the month of April. It's called Eggs Drumkilbo and I wasn't surprised to read that it was a favourite of Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother.

The story goes that one night, back in the 1950s, some guests arrived late at Drumkilbo House, long after dinner had been cleared away and the owner of the house, Lord Elphinstone, asked his cook to feed his guests with whatever she could put together.

In the fridge she found some leftover lobster, there were some eggs which she hard-boiled, prawns and tomatoes. However, with the addition of anchovy sauce, Tabasco, stock, gelatine and mayonnaise — a dish to be proud of was born. So much so, that Lord Elphinstone served it to his neighbour and aunt, the Queen Mother, who immediately got her chef to copy the recipe and include it within their repertoire of dishes.

Eggs Drumkilbo is a magnificent dish, combining Scottish seafood with haute cuisine, or to put it another way, it is like a posh prawn cocktail and egg mayonnaise all wrapped into one!

I can see that Eggs Drumkilbo might be quite tasty.

I had asparagus for dinner today. Ours was steamed until just fork-tender, then plunged into cold water so it would stay nice and green. It was then tossed with halved cherry tomatoes, minced garlic, a chiffonade of fresh basil leaves and a little olive oil. It was beautiful asparagus and I think Her Majesty would have liked it.

Hers, however, looks like this:

Her chef says it's a spectacular starter. It's made to look like a crown and the extra flavours added are crab and mango.

Another cook says:

The asparagus is lightly cooked and then lined into metal rings to create a crown like, circular shape. The middle is filled with crabmeat, mango, chives, lemon and lime before being topped with salad leaves dressed in a lemon vinaigrette. It’s lifted carefully out of the rings and tied together with chives.

I've only scratched the surface of the royal menus but as the months go by and I turn my calendar pages, I'll probably be inspired to return to this subject.

Lobster? Rhubarb? It must be a spring-time birthday

It isn't that we don't like the month of May; we definitely do. It's just that when it's over, we're surprised and thankful that we've survived it once again.

Just to remind you, here are the cards that have ended up on our mantelpiece over the past month:

Here's a different view, same cards:

And here's one, with Grizzly "helping" because cats always "help" in these situations:

We started with Mother's Day on May 8. We celebrated my birthday on May 14 — a lovely birthday.

We marked our 28th wedding anniversary on May 26 with a low-key enjoyable celebration.

And as the calendar ticked down, it was Dan's birthday yesterday. It was a milestone birthday and we had special friends join us to make a simple party fun and memorable.

Valerie tried to get Dan to make a speech; he didn't but he was gracious about it.

(Photo by Valerie Mansour)

Friends Claude (Goulet), Lynn (Stewart) and Douglas (Blackmore) listened politely.

(Photo by Valerie)

We had lots of cheese and paté and olives and crackers and some of Chuck Hughes' no-knead bread but even when you're keeping things simple, if you tell people there will be lobster rolls, that becomes the high point. Because I always like to have things done in advance, I spread the making of the lobster roll filling over a couple of days. Shelling the lobster is the most time-consuming so I shelled a bit on Friday and a bit on Saturday. It's hard work but someone has to do it.

The lobster rolls were do-it-yourself. Here's Lynn.

And while everyone likes a lobster roll, I thought the cake would be well-received also. It was made (by me) with luscious fresh rhubarb that Valerie brought from Amherst. Valerie is very generous with rhubarb throughout the season and it's become an annual challenge to come up with new recipes to enjoy the tart treat. We've made cakes and crisps and crumbles. We've made chutneys and savoury sauces and muffins. We've made jams and jellies. Pies, of course.

This was the latest creation:

William did the honours and we all sang lustily.

(That's William and I and Cousin Dale — photo by Valerie.)

And Dan took care of the candles:

He did a lovely job of cutting and serving:

Valerie seemed to enjoy her cake and Ann (Roman) opted for take-out. She was going to take her cake to work for lunch the next day.

And that's about it. It was a joyous occasion and I know we were all happy to fête Dan on his birthday. After the guests left, he decided that he might as well finish the Prosecco — a sparkling wine — because if he didn't, it would go flat. Then he listened to La Traviata from the Metropolitan Opera and he listened to it nice and loud.

So with the month of May once again behind us, we have a good six months to prepare for the next family birthday when William turns 22 in November.

Our Grizzly and other things that happened today

Our wedding anniversary — which I wrote about yesterday — was an interesting day.

I was left speechless by the bouquet; My Mother's Bloomers, with a bouquet called An English Garden, outdid themselves:

Dan also gave me a selection of coffee mugs, to see if one of them will suit me. I got in the habit of enjoying my coffee in one of the Christmas mugs and I've been using it ever since. Maybe there's an ancient belief that bad luck will befall the household if the Christmas mugs are used until well after Easter. Dan apparently wants to help me break my Christmas-mug habit so I'll try my best. The first one I tried was quite a tall designer mug from William Morris. It was nice. We'll see.

This, meanwhile, is Grizzly.

Grizzly has been feeling fine, eating, playing, having adventures etc. but has recently been having a problem with weight loss and hair loss. He's 14.

We put off taking him to his vet because it's such a nightmare to get him there. I had considered trying to get the vet to do a phone consultation. I thought about remortgaging the house to have a vet pay a house call but, in the end, Dan just phoned and made a straightforward appointment. We decided the day had come and today was the day.

I sat with my back to him and practically covered my ears while Dan and William imprisoned him in the carrier but, I'm happy to report, it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been or as it was last time. I could tell as soon as he was in the carrier because his voice changes and he makes a true sound of distress. We loaded the carrier into the car and off we went and the distress calls never stopped. The vet is only a few blocks away, thank goodness.

Grizzly got a lot of attention as we walked across the parking lot, into the lobby, up to the second floor. There was tremendous reverberation in there and Grizzly must have impressed himself.

To make a long story short, he's been diagnosed with hyperthyroidism and he'll start medication tomorrow morning. It's a liquid medication which led me to ask, why can't kitty liquid medication taste like tuna juice?

He behaved well at the vet and his doctor was very nice to him. She assured us that hyperthyroidism is not uncommon in older cats and she's hopeful that the treatment will be effective.

He's back to his old self by now and has probably already forgotten that he went to the vet!

After we got Grizzly home and settled in, we went out for dinner.

Ristorante a Mano has very good food and it's fun too. It's right at the waterfront and the patios were open back and front but it was breezy and not hot so we opted to sit inside. We had a table for two right beside one of the windows you can see in the picture.

I had some freshly baked flatbread with a dip made from roasted garlic, red pepper and eggplant. It was delicious. Then I had:

Pollo alla Parmigiana

Crostini crumb-crusted chicken scaloppine topped with tomato, prosciutto, fresh mozzarella

(not exactly as illustrated)

The ristorante is well-known for its homemade gelato and sorbet and I had the most amazing refreshing tart lemon sorbet. The perfect dessert.

(photo borrowed from the Internet)

And then we came home to the flowers. Here are some flower details:

Fiddleheads awaken memories of the farm by the Nashwaak

My mother was born and raised on a farm in Durham Bridge, New Brunswick. The farmland ran right down to the shore of the beautiful Nashwaak River, a fast-flowing, usually quite shallow stream that flows into the St. John River at Fredericton.

When we were kids, the farmland was still in the family; our auntie — Mum's oldest sister — and uncle lived at the top of the farm, near the road. By that time, our uncle had retired and the farm was worked and hayed by a neighbouring farmer but we were still allowed to roam the land.

We never visited our auntie and uncle without taking the walk down to the "old house." Just below our auntie's house, we climbed a fence and crossed the railway track. (At certain times of day — we listened for the whistle — we sat on that fence and watched the train go by. The engineer, the conductor, the porters — all the trainmen — waved to us and it was always a highlight.)

After crossing the tracks, we walked or slid down a small hill and crossed the brook that flowed through the property. There were stepping stones in the brook and you could see tiny fish swimming by as you crossed.

On the other side of the brook, it was just a few steps until we were in an open field. From there, we could see the old house, the barn and the big trees that stood between them. There was a hay-wagon track that we walked on, through the edge of the field and the purple vetch, clover, daisies, buttercups, dandelions.

This looks something like the barn from my childhood although it isn't it.

We used to go into the barn and up into the hay-loft but I think there came a time when we were warned the barn was no longer safe. I did love all that beautiful hay.

The old house was not the original house where my mother had grown up. That house had burned down after she'd left home but they rebuilt and this was the replacement. Mum didn't have a sentimental attachment to this old house and she was was always quick to point out that the original house was much grander. Although no one had lived there in many years, this house still had things inside — furniture, dishes, kitchen utensils — most notably, a pump organ in the living room that could still be played.

I can still smell the musty atmosphere in that house and we never stayed inside too long.

Right near the house, between the house and the barn, were two big trees with a hammock strung between them — not so much a hammock as a metal swing that would easily seat three people. It would need to be cushioned but we were little and happily sat on it and never noticed discomfort.

Off to the side, at the edge of the field was what Mum and her sisters and brothers called "the old line fence." I presume that was the boundary of their family's farm. There were trees and shrubs along the fence and we used to crawl under them to get some flowers: trillium, lady slippers and bloodroot grew under there. It was shady and cool and usually damp.

trillium

lady slipper

bloodroot

I wouldn't know the bloodroot by its flower but we did sometimes pull them up to see how they got their name.

bloodroot root

I was talking with some friends recently about memory. One of my friends remarked on some of the things I'd written about our nursing days — about psychiatry and the operating room — and said I had a remarkable memory. I think I do have a pretty good memory but I also think it's all in there, if only it's awakened. For example, today I began to think about picking fiddleheads in the spring along the banks of the Nashwaak River.

Photo by Nathan Wilbur

My mind was wandering as I cleaned a bowl of fiddleheads for dinner. I remembered exactly how it felt to look for the little ferns that were still tightly coiled and how they sounded when you snapped the stem. We always had rubber boots on because the fiddleheads grew where the river had overflowed its banks and then receded and it was always a soggy outing. We always filled several big paper grocery bags. Looking back, I presume when we got home, Mum would clean them (they're kind of a pain to get really clean), blanch them and put them in little bags for the freezer.

It was thinking about the fiddleheads that led me along all the other paths that I've described and once I started, the memories became as clear and sharp as if I'd walked that hay-wagon track just last week.

The brain is an amazing place.

And here are my fiddleheads, as I was cleaning them and just before I popped them into the pot to steam for dinner. To be served with a bit (or a lot) of butter and a generous squeeze of lemon juice.