Omg! For months now, every time I’ve ventured into my spice cupboard I’d say to myself, “Fransi, you really have to go through this stuff.” Well, I finally chose last weekend to do it. I’m thrilled with the outcome, but what a time-consuming chore that turned out to be! Omg.
I know, I know, you’re probably sitting there saying, “spice cupboard???? How many spices could she (meaning me) possibly have?????” Well, how about an entire standard kitchen cabinet (3 fairly wide shelves)?
What can I say, I like to cook and I like to try different things. The problem is, as I’ve recently discovered, Continue reading →
It’s a miracle, I tell you. Believe it or not, the frying pan you see in this photo, is exactly the same frying pan that occupied this same space last week. In case you don’t remember, click here. Except last week it was charred beyond recognition. And here it is again, good as new.
I’d given it up for dead immediately. Then a few friends shared a secret “recipe” with me:
“Put some dish soap and water in the pan,” they said. “Then put one of those Bounce dryer sheets on top. Put the pan on the burner, turn on the stove, give it about a half hour — et voila!”
“And make sure you watch the damn pan this time!!!”
Except I don’t have any Bounce dryer sheets. I don’t use them because I can’t Continue reading →
… except this time it was me who was fiddling — with a blog post — and not paying attention to the frying pan on the stove. The All-Clad pan. I was cooking (obviously) and the recipe called for caramelized onions. They turned out fine, you’ll be happy to know.
It was after they were done that I ran into a problem. Because I’m lazy, I usually put some dish soap into the pan I’ve used, add water and put it back on to the stove briefly, just to loosen up all the bits so it’s easier to clean.
That’s what I did this time. It usually just takes a few minutes.
But inspiration struck. I got an idea for my next Huff Post blog. I’d been struggling with the idea all day. I couldn’t take the chance that I’d lose it, while I watched the pan. The heat was turned down very low, and all I wanted to do Continue reading →
My mother lived with me for the last several months before she died. I was working full time and ad agency life is not 9 – 5. Not even close, in fact, it’s more like 12 and 14-hour days and lots of weekends.
So a colleague of mine kept insisting I get two things she swore would change my life: A George Foreman Grill and a slow cooker (not what you thought I was going to say, is it?) I was skeptical but she refused to let up and eventually I caved and bought both.
Back in September I wrote about how I was finally attacking my closets and drawers and cupboards and pantries and shelves and papers. Long overdue it was.
Well I’m happy to say I’m done. Mission accomplished. And you may find this hard to believe but I actually enjoyed it. So much so I seem to have become obsessed with order.
I now wake up in the middle of the night and go through stuff and purge. While I’m watching TV or reading a book I suddenly get the urge to reorganize what I’ve just organized; and I do it! In slightly under two months I’ve gone from thriving in chaos to being OCD.
Clearly I am channeling my mother who is, of course, loving it.
I enjoy a good meal although I’m not sure I’d call myself a foodie. Maybe I am, who knows. What I do know is, I don’t often wax poetic about what I’ve eaten in restaurants, or cooked, in this blog. Having said that I do remember going into raptures about a peach back in 2012.
Ask anyone who knows me. They’ll tell you I’m not someone who often blows her own horn. But guess what? I am today. Unashamedly so, too. It all started with Tuesday’s WordPress Daily Prompt: “If a restaurant were to name something after you, what would it be? Describe it. (Bonus points if you give us a recipe!)”
Hands down it would be my bouillabaisse.
In case you’re not familiar with what it is, bouillabaisse is a traditional Provencal fish stew originating from the port city of Marseille. It’s made with fish and seafood and it’s ‘cooked’ in a broth. The Italians have a version called cioppino. And I’ll bet there are those who would say that a creole seafood gumbo is another variation.
What I make is is the French version. It’s my own recipe. I concocted it. But the ingredients are pretty
Do you ever get sick of all food? Have no cravings for anything? Stand in front of your fridge, staring into it, hoping for inspiration? Willing your taste buds to kick in? Flip through every cookbook you own, wishing something would cause your mouth to start watering?
Stare at menus, longing for something to jump out at you, screaming “Order me, order me, I’m really tasty, you’ll love me”?
It’s exactly where I’m at right now. Have been for a while. Nothing appeals. Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. I can’t get enough nectarines. Especially the white ones. And those strange-looking donut peaches. Gosh they’re delicious. I could eat them three times a day. For breakfast, lunch and dinner.
I do get urges for oysters and lobster. But not as often as I used to. I love vegetables; and the sight of red Continue reading →
A former client of mine has just started a blog here, on WordPress. It’s called tea & tamarind, and you should check it out. In all the years we worked together, I never knew she was a foodie. I knew she loved to travel, but had no idea there was more to the story. See, you do learn something new, every day.
So it turns out her latest post is the inspiration behind this story of mine.
Yesterday she talked about how her mother’s life-long love affair with food influenced her. And how the fact her mother is such a wonderful cook, was responsible for her own interest in cooking. At the end of her blog she asked, “What’s your favourite food memory with your mother?”
As I thought about what my answer might be, I realized I had far too many memories to leave as a comment on Continue reading →
I woke up yesterday morning with a craving. For soup. Really not surprising, given all the snow and cold weather. Of course by yesterday, the storm had passed; and I woke up to clear, sunny skies.
But it was still soup weather, as far as I was concerned. And what I hankered for was not out of a can. Not ‘dust’, from a just-add-water-and-stir box. Not store made. I wanted home made soup. Specifically, my mother’s chicken soup. She made THE best chicken soup.
Which meant a trip to the grocery store was in my immediate future. I looked outside and everything seemed to be all right. At least as much as I could see from fifteen floors up. So I fed the cats, had breakfast, read the paper, took a shower, emptied litter boxes; and waited to see if the urge would pass. It didn’t.
So I made a list of all the ingredients I’d need, and got dressed. And dicked around for a while. Much as I wanted the soup, I was in no rush to leave the warmth and comfort of my abode. But then I spoke to a friend and committed myself. Continue reading →