ECLECTIC WRITER

Sunday, November 9, 2008

A taste of Honey
Story and Photos

by:

Drizzle. Baste. Slather. There are an incredible number of ways to use this sweet concoction .

Honey is a sweet and viscous fluid produced by industrious honey bees who must make about 1,600 foraging flights just to produce an ounce of it.

Sometimes called the "nectar of the gods," honey was mentioned in Babylonian cuneiform writings and the Hittite code dating back to earlier than 2000 BC.

There are many different types and flavours of honey, depending on the geographical region and the honey bees' floral source. North America and China are the largest producers of generic honey, obtained by mixing the nectars from several flowers.

In other parts of the world, honey production is more specialized and honey tasting can be as sophisticated as wine tasting.

Honey's natural high sugar content inhibits bacteria growth. Consequently, not only does it have a long shelf life, but also - according to the Honey Council of Canada - it can be used as a bactericide and a healing agent for minor cuts, burns and intestinal upsets.

The French value honey not just for its flavour and gourmet applications but use different varieties for their specific health-giving properties. For instance, they take lavender honey to ward off respiratory ailments, while chestnut honey allegedly improves circulation. Heather honey is said to be good for the urinary tract.

As a natural, organic alternative to processed sugar, honey is adaptable to all cooking and baking. Because it is twice as sweet as sugar, use half the amount to sweeten drinks.

Many people reach out for processed sugars in snacks and foods to satisfy their sweet tooth, unaware that they are ingesting empty calories devoid of nutrition. Honey contains no cholesterol and, depending on which flowers the bees pick, it has vitamins and minerals as well as protein.

When you buy honey, remember that darker ones - such as buckwheat, chestnut or avocado honey - contain more nutrients and have deeper flavors.

Because of its sweetness and distinct flavor, honey is often used in salad dressings and baked goods. Cakes, breads and pie dough made with honey retain their moisture and elasticity. Honey also harmonizes well with spices such as cayenne pepper, cinnamon, curry and saffron, as well as flavoring ingredients such as lemon, lime, vinegar, garlic and mustard.

Liquid honey does not spoil. If it's kept in a tightly closed jar away from direct sunlight, honey can last indefinitely. But if you see that the contents of the jar have turned cloudy, it means the sugar content has crystallized. This is a natural process. You can restore honey to its liquid form by placing the open jar in the microwave for 15-20 seconds or by heating it gently in a pan of warm water and stirring while you heat.

The fresh taste of honey lends itself to many dishes.

Asparagus with Honey Lime Butter Sauce ~ Serves 4 to 6

500 grams fresh asparagus
2 tsp. sesame seeds
2 Tbsp. butter at room temperature
juice of 1 fresh lime
1 Tbsp. liquid honey

Toast sesame seeds in a dry frypan over medium-high heat until lightly golden. Set aside.

In a small bowl, combine butter with honey until smooth. Whisk in lime juice.

Wash asparagus and trim the ends. Steam over salted water until tender but still crisp. Toss cooked asparagus with the honey-lime butter. Sprinkle with toasted sesame seeds.

Serve with chicken or pork and brown rice.

The following cake recipe brings fond memories of my carefree childhood. It is also found in Jewish cooking under the tirle "Ugat Dvash"

Daisy Honey Cake

1/4 cup vegetable oil
2 cups plus 2 tbsp. all-purpose flour
1/3 cup golden seedless raisins
1/4 cup chopped candied orange peel
3 large egg yolks
3/4 cup honey
1/3 cup sugar
2 tsp. freshly grated lemon rind
1 Tbsp. instant coffee, dissolved in 1 tbsp. hot water
1 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. cinnamon
1/4 tsp. allspice
1/4 tsp. cloves
1/4 tsp. salt
3 large egg whites
1/4 cup blanched sliced or slivered

Butter for the loaf pan

Butter the bottom and sides of a 9 x 5 x 3 inch loaf pan and sprinkle with 1 tablespoon of the flour, tilting and tapping the pan to cover the bottom and sides.

Combine the raisins, lemon rind and candied orange peel in a small bowl and toss with the other tablespoon of flour, mixing thoroughly. Set aside.

In a mixing bowl, beat the egg whites until they form stiff peaks. Set aside.

In a larger bowl, beat the egg yolks until frothy. Add the oil, honey, sugar, dissolved coffee, and stir to combine. Combine remaining 2 cups flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, allspice, cloves, salt and sift them into the egg yolk mixture about a cup at a time, beating well after each addition. Stir in the raisins with lemon and orange peel. The mixture will be thick.

Fold beaten whites gently into the batter. Pour batter into the loaf pan, spreading it out evenly. Decorate the top with sliced almonds, forming daisy shapes on the top, and a stripe border at each end.

Bake in the middle of a preheated 325 F oven for 60 to 70 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in the centre comes out clean. Cool in the pan for 5 minutes.

Run a knife around the edges and turn the loosened cake out onto a rack to cool completely.

Pressed Petals

Text and Artwork

Drying flowers is a rewarding experience because it is easy to do, most flowers dry remarkably well, and they last for many years. Blooms and foliage can be preserved in several different ways, by hanging, pressing or with various drying agents.

The renaissance of country decorating has brought with it the return of the romantic art of drying flowers, making flower preservation an increasingly popular hobby. Whether they are used in potpourri, bouquets, pressed flower pictures or wreaths, preserving flowers can allow us to capture the elusive loveliness of Newfoundland summers and its variety of wildflowers by recreating a gentler time of beauty and elegance.

Even with the popularity and life-like appearance of artificial silk flowers, many still prefer the real blooms preserved in a life-like manner. Flowers such as buttercups, wild irises, roses, bellflowers, bunchberry flowers, brown-eyed Susan plants and Queen Ann's lace are readily available in green spaces and the countryside all over the Island; and the costs of materials needed for drying them are relatively inexpensive compared to those of other hobbies.

Many summer flowering annuals are also excellent for drying. Marigold, salvia, cosmos, zinnia, coreopsis, pansies and gloriosa daisy may be among the more popular flowers to decorate our gardens, however, ageratum, dahlia, calendula, chrysanthemum, dianthus, aster and daisies also make fine dried specimens.

The inspiration to grow and use dried flowers is as close as your own backyard, window box or the garden centres around town. Many of the common annuals like zinnia and marigold are readily dried. Look for transplants of everlasting flowers such as globe amaranth, cockscomb (both crested and plumed), statice, baby's breath, dollar plant, Chinese lantern, and bells-of-Ireland. These are the ones most often used in dried-flower crafting. They're so easy, they almost dry themselves. The various ornamental grasses, love-in-a-mist seed pods, blue sage as well as its white-flowered variation, and larkspur, can also be dried easily.

All of these flowers and plants are air dried, which basically involves cutting them when the dew is gone, tying several stems together with string or pipe cleaner after the leaves are removed, and hanging in a cool, dry, dark, well-ventilated place. Drying times vary; check how they feel after a week or so. When they feel crisp, take them down and store in paper bags or boxes.

Most of these flowers can be used just as they are, but some may need wire stems to use them in bouquets. To wire, cut off the flower stem and thread a length of 20-gauge florist wire through the centre. Make a two-inch hairpin bend at the top, and pull it gently through the centre of the flower. Wire the new stem with floral tape to cover.

Preserving other garden flowers like roses and peonies requires a drying agent. Sand, fresh kitty litter, a white cornmeal-and-borax mixture are all common, household materials used for this purpose. But for best results use silica gel. This compound has the capacity to absorb large quantities of moisture and can quickly dehydrate cut flowers. Roses and peonies shrink somewhat when they are air-dried, but their rustic looking elegance is, nevertheless, uncompromised.

In selecting flowers it should also be noted that blue and yellow flowers (hydrangeas, yellow mums) retain their colours when they are air dried, whereas pink flowers fade.

Flowers, stripped of their leaves, are buried in the gel in a closed container and left for about a week. Silica gel is sold under various commercial names usually available at florist or hobby shops and it can be used over and over by re-drying the gel in a warm oven.

Picking flowers in the middle of the day ensures the petals are fully open and the morning dew has dried. Select blossoms that are at the peak of their colour. Cut stems to three centimetres long and remove any leaves. Fill the bottom of a flat dish or cardboard box with 3 centimetres of the drying agent and place the flowers in.

After you've dried your flowers, put a strand of No. 2 florists’ wire through each flower's head, securing the wire by bending it into a hood at the flower-head end. The final step is to wrap all wire with green floral tape and you're ready to create a unique bouquet.

Flowers like calendula, marigold, mums, star aster, hydrangea, and zinnia with many petals fare better if they are placed facing up. Experimenting is the key to success. Spikes of flowers like snapdragons and scarlet sage are placed horizontally, carefully adding more drying agent until the flowers are completely covered. The drying time varies, but check after several days. Dry petals should feel like paper. Store dried flowers in boxes with a little silica gel to absorb moisture in the air. If they are being used in arrangements, wire the stems to keep them upright.

Flat- faced flowers such as daisies, pansies, petunias, and forget-me-nots, as well as fern fonds and variegated leaves are excellent to press and use for decorating stationery, bookmarks, or place mats. Arrange three or four flowers, face down, between sheets of blotting paper and place between the pages of news print or an old telephone book. Check after a week, as drying time may take anywhere from a week to four weeks.

When you use them for making greeting cards or bookmarks, it is best to place the flowers in various compositions and attractive arrangements before deciding on the most pleasing composition. Once you have picked the arrangement you like, then you can laminate the dried blooms, laid out on the stationery or construction paper, for creative and one-of-a-kind bookmarks or special occasion cards.

Potpourris are created by drying petals on screens or trays in a dehydrator, a gas oven with a pilot light, or an electric oven on the lowest setting. Rose petals make up the bulk of the scented mixture, with other flowers, herbs, spices, and citrus peels exuding additional fragrance and colour. Add ten to twelve drops of an essential oil like lavender, cinnamon or citronella to enhance the fragrance; and three tablespoons of ground orris root (a common ingredient in talcum powders) to each quart of dried material as a fixative.

Whatever flowers and whichever method you choose, the use of dried flowers for permanent arrangements or colourful crafts can be rewarding as well as surprisingly inexpensive; and they are a joy to give, or a pleasure to keep.

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Kiss of the Butterfly

Dedicated to Phyllis Levitt, my Baci.

She called me her "delicious dumpling"; I nicknamed her Baci- after the exquisite Italian chocolates offering wisdom on slivers of paper enclosed in their wrapping. Such were our terms of endearment. I liked being called a dumpling because when she said it, the words sounded so warm and genuine and filled me with an unfamiliar tenderness.

My Baci was quite a character. She was exact in her tastes. Purple was her colour and butterflies- her objects of love. Dazzling butterflies of all sizes decorated her large living room. She had butterfly shaped place mats and butterfly napkin rings. Purple and white butterflies hung from the mirror in her dining room, their numbers augmented by their reflection ; another trio looked from her bay window out onto a church across the street. Dainty butterflies clustered on the African violets in terra-cotta pots on both sides of the purple velvet sofa dominating the living room.

She could read tea leaves from a certain type of small leaved, loose tea. On one occasion she told me that I was torn among distractions. She saw in my cup that I was being pulled in several different directions- one way by my sense of duty, in another by my desire to start a new life away from the hurtful memories I had left behind, in yet another by financial realities.

I was at a tumultuous period of my life then, on the heels of an affair that ended abruptly. Thus, validation in any form was welcome. But then, how many affairs can boast of happy endings? Aren't passion and pain often mutually inclusive?

Baci was psychic. She could perceive an aura from some of the people she encountered. Not from everyone though, which made it feel more like a privilege to be read by her. I introduced her to some of my other friends who had by then heard so much about my unconventional cohort who loved the colour purple, and dressed in solid colours from top to toe.

When Baci got her psychic inspiration flowing, she’d raise her index finger in the middle of a conversation, lift her chin up, close her eyes and declare "Hold it, wait! I’m getting some vibes from you, dear.." The lifted index finger with its painted finger nail was our cue to stop in mid sentence to hear what she might divulge.

Once, she had told a married friend of mine that the latter did not seem to be all in her space as if she was distracted by something, like a marital quarrel or something. I had known for a while that Agnes and her husband didn’t see eye to eye on many things.

Agnes was ticked off; I could tell. First of all she was rather cynical about auras and fortunes and people who claimed to be psychic. Secondly, I don't think she had really warmed up to Baci right from the start. But then, Baci could have that effect on some. It was easy to misinterpret her prescient words and dramatic gesticulations as being phoney. But she was not.

My first encounter with her occurred in the produce isle of Sobeys. I was trying to decide between two shiny, large eggplants for a new recipe I wanted to try .

"Forget the one in your right hand, sweetheart. Females are full of bitter seeds."

I turned around to see who called me sweetheart. She was tall and statuesque with silver hair gathered under a rimmed felt hat, attired in beige from her purse to her slacks to her fringed poncho. The only other colours on her were her bright pink lipstick and the enormous purple and gold butterfly broach pinned on the upper left of her rather large bosom.

"How can one tell if an eggplant is male or female?" I asked, bemused.

"The correct name is aubergine, dear. Look at the ends. Not the stem, the other end. See how the one in your right hand has an indentation and one in the left slightly protrudes? The protruding one is the one you want. Has far fewer seeds."

Yes, indeed. They were just like she said, indented and protruding. Intrigued, I placed the unwanted female back.

"Is that for moussaka or aubergines au gratin?" she continued.

"Neither. I was going to try something new, eggplants New Orleans style," and immediately realised I should have said aubergine instead of eggplant.

She put up her arms like an opera diva, her palms turned upwards, her large purse dangling from her elbow. "

"Oh, oh! Don't tell me- another gourmet cook! I could feel your vibes all the way from the fruit display. "

After our chance encounter before the aubergine stand of the supermarket, Baci and I became friends. For a while, until I got to know her a little better, I didn’t know how to take her. She was everything my much coveted anonymity warns me to avoid: flamboyant, vocal and picky.

Whereas I would settle for what was offered by the merchant just to avoid confrontation at the cheese or the meat counter of the market, Baci would insist on exactly which salmon filet or what fried chicken piece she wanted even if it exasperated the people serving her.

She managed to draw attention to us wherever we went. For her, it was a matter of principle to get the quality for which she paid, and as such a very natural behaviour to return a dish because it lacked the amount of spices indicated in the menu, or if its temperature was not warm enough for her.

Unless one knew her well, it was difficult to size her up and decide whether she was the truly refined lady as I got to know her, or simply an arrogant eccentric. In any case, she was to me like the mother I lost when I was barely eight years old. A mother figure and a jovial friend all rolled up in one. What more could one ask for?

She knew St. John's like the inside of her palm. Although she was born and raised on the mainland, she had lived here over thirty years . That was more than half of her life, and almost all of mine! When I picked her up from her house on Patrick Street to go out, she became the navigator. My terrible sense of direction and unfamiliarity with the city at that time disappeared when she sat next to me. She knew every point where a street changed name and which lane I had to keep in order to follow a road. She also knew the few good bakeries in town as well as all the coffee shops on Water Street.

In her prime, Baci had catered for weddings, bar mitzvahs, and office parties. She was a first class cook and she knew how to select the finest ingredients. It was so nice to know someone who understood gourmet terms such as deglaze, blanch, sear, and so on. I treasured exchanging recipes with her and my joy was immeasurable when she tasted a sampling of my cooking and closed her eyes in ecstasy. "To die for!" was her term for approval.

I loved to pick her up just to go to the Avalon Mall on weekends or sit in her parlour and chat with her over tea. She was open minded and understanding. She always cheered me up even when my life seemed to be in pieces. Her positive outlook flowed through her words when she started by, "You know dear, we are so blessed with good friends and..." Her life, as I pieced it together over time, had not all been a bed of roses.

After she lost her husband in the plane crash at Gander, she had given up the idea of retiring in a warmer climate for her arthritis. Over the years seeing her friends succumb to various illnesses and mortality had made her more determined to live her own life fully, reaching out to others with a pleasant word or a thoughtful gesture.

Sometimes, when her pain was unbearable, and she could not sit or stand, she'd remain in bed, legs raised on a fat pillow and she’d ask if I could keep her company after I got out of work. I remember our laughter as I lay on my belly at the foot of her king-sized bed, my palms supporting my chin, reading out sentimental stories, or leafing through a book of Pratt or Monet with her.

On the Mothers' Day following our first encounter, we packed sandwiches, some fruit and a thermos full of tea for a picnic in Bowring Park. She was dressed in chartreuse in honour of spring. After we found a parking space and were ready to seek out a nice spot, it started to rain.

We scrambled back into the car and waited for the rain to stop and the sky to clear. Watching other people scamper to find shelter diminished our hopes. So we decided to enjoy our bounty inside the car. I wonder if things could have tasted better that day had we eaten them sprawled in the shade of a tree facing the ducks and the swans.

As I wiped the steam of our breath fogging inside the car windows, I pointed to a white butterfly that alighted briefly on the rear view mirror Baci told me that was a good sign. According to her if the first butterfly one saw in spring was white, that meant a year of happiness and joy. A speckled one was a sign of success and adventure. A blue butterfly symbolized freedom. I was intrigued.

"What about a yellow butterfly?"

She looked a little anxious at my question.

"That signifies illness and death. Don't seek them out; you won't see them often," she snapped. I felt awkward because, in all likelihood, I had touched a sore spot in her memory. Sensing that, she had already changed the topic.

Baci and I greeted four springs heralded by white and silver-speckled butterflies; summers with infinite patches of pink and purple lupins covering the hillsides; autumns with pumpkins and home-made chutneys.

We spent winters mostly indoors by the fireplace talking or reading books. I sent her birthday cards and friendship notes in purple envelopes. She shared with me her partridgeberry pies and stories of her youth growing up in a place called Tamworth in Ontario. I felt so at home in her cozy house with high ceilings and hardwood floors, and with Felix the ginger cat napping on a window sill.

One Saturday morning in June I went to pick her up to go to the farmers' market at Churchill Square for local strawberries and bakeapple. We were planning to make jam and the strawberry mousse she saw in a Canadian Living magazine.

When she opened the door, I saw that she didn’t look her usual chirpy self. She was trying to hide her pain, but I knew right away that her arthritis must have been acting up.

She said she didn't feel like going out after all, so I thought I’d stay and keep her company. She wanted to take a nap while I offered to make lunch. I cooked fresh green beans in olive oil and plum tomatoes-- the way she liked them. I made some chicken noodle soup, sliced the bread and set the table.

Just before peeking into her room to see if she was awake and ready for lunch, I threw a final glance at the table to ensure her approval. The setting lacked her unique touch, but it was acceptable. At that instant a movement at the window of the dining alcove caught my eye. I approached to investigate. There was a saffron butterfly caught between two windows, its velvety wings worn out by futile attempts to break out. I opened the outer window quietly and waited for it to flee, but the poor moth remained motionless on the dusty windowsill.

Baci's words resonated in my ears : "A yellow butterfly signifies illness. . . "

I felt a queasiness in the pit of my stomach. I picked up the lifeless butterfly gently and took it out to the back yard. There, under the curious supervision of Felix, I dug a little hole by the blue corn flowers and buried it.. Then I washed my hands and went to knock on my friend's bedroom door.

Baci had already gotten up and changed into her silk dressing gown. She looked rested and in less pain, although I could not be sure since she always managed to hide her distress .

"Hello, my dumpling," she said when she saw me. "That bit of rest was just what I needed. Something smells good. What goodies did you make for lunch?"

First I hugged her and then led her to the table. She looked pleased when she saw the plate of green beans.

"Baci.." I started, but my words were interrupted by the shrill alarm of a fire truck summoning drivers to yield.

A mellow, afternoon breeze filled the room swelling the lace curtains like the sails of a boat.

"Baci, do you remember what you had said about butterflies?" I helped her ease into her chair.

"What, M’love?"

"About different coloured butterflies symbolizing different notions?"

"Of course, dear. But what makes you think of that ?"

"Well," I avoided a direct answer. "I think the yellow ones stand for faith and hope." Before she could speak further, I hugged her again inhaling her familiar lavender scent, and continued. "Because, just a while ago, while you were napping, I was kissed by a yellow butterfly. And it revealed to me that miracles do exist. We must have hope and never undermine the power of faith."

"Well I can drink to that!" Baci raised her water glass with ice cubes and fresh lime slices waltzing in it.

"Me too! Here is to our friendship, and love, and faith, and spring, and . . ."

".. and — to butterflies of all colours," she summed up my thoughts.

That night when I finally got into my own bed I thanked to a power, unseen and unknown. Just when I thought I'd lost my dear friend, she’d come back to me again like a butterfly just out of her cocoon. And I promised to myself that I’d celebrate every minute of her life even after she flew far away. Because that would be her will and greatest legacy.

Copyrighted Material ~ Copyright © 2006 All Rights belong to Füsun Atalay

Friday, November 7, 2008

What's in a Name?

an anecdote

My Turkish name, Füsun, translates into the word "fascination" in English. My parents didn’t anticipate the misery it would bring me in my youth when they selected this name which, most people I meet now consider to be so unique and lovely. It’s one thing to have a name that's difficult to pronounce. But a name that's mispronounced and ridiculed by her school mates can be traumatic for a young child.

And one would think that I would’ve known better when I became a mother myself. !

When his dad and I decided to call our son Ersin, a name my father had cherished for the son he never had himself, it was to honour my father by naming the first grandson born into a family of three daughters.

Ersin means "man of his word", and that is the covenant by which my son grew up. Honest, sincere and punctual almost to a fault. He was a happy boy, unaware of the mean world of peers out there until he started grade school. His name, of which he’d been so proud, started becoming a source of embarrassment and cause for anxiety for him.

Children teased him, calling him Erin, Erskin, Earskin, Arson, even Airhead. He patiently corrected them, enunciating the syllables, spelling, if necessary. After all, it isn’t rocket science to pronounce two syllables first of which first was akin to the French pronunciation of the letter 'R' and the second, just like 'sin'.

In a day when so many youngsters change the spelling of their names for a little bit of individuality, a slight variation and uniqueness, I wonder why those with different names are mocked ruthlessly.

I’ve seen many different spellings of Meagan, Kim or Monica, with a 'k' or 'y' . I never know if Dwayne is spelled with a 'u' and no 'y', or a 'w' and a 'y' Letters get added, dropped or favoured over others all the time. So, what’s the big deal with an already different name?

Ersin’s grade school years were miserable not only for him but also for his father and me. It was impossible to make him see how silly children could be, as he was a child himself. And how could we answer his question, "Why didn’t you name me Mike or Tim so they wouldn’t laugh at me?" to his satisfaction?

At such times, I often told my son a personal anecdote which helped me when people messed up my name too. He would listen with interest and then I think he usually felt a little lighter in his innocent heart.

. . . . .

When I lived in Newfoundland many years ago, I had participated in the Valentine’s Day "Decadent Sweets and Love Readings" presented by the Writers Alliance of Newfoundland and Labrador of which I was a member. We contributed cakes and took part in reading our favourite love verses. The sweet entries, among which were donations by well-known caterers, were to be judged during the intermission.

Each contributor named her entry and wrote her name below it. My rum-laced chocolate-vanilla -pecan cake looked rather unpretentious next to the professionally decorated, multi-tiered structures around it. But it was the spirit that mattered for me, and in the same fun-loving, happy spirit, I named my cake "Felix Culpa" (Happy Sin) and signed my own name without the umlauts which I’d compromised a long time ago.

The judges, Honourable John Crosbie and his wife Janet Crosbie would declare the winner at the end of the readings.

The evening flew by with a silent auction, followed by more poetry and selected prose on love. Then Janet Crosbie took the microphone and announced that the sweets were all very good, and making a selection was a very tough choice. But in the end, they had to go by taste, "... and thus,"she said, " the Fun-Sun cake by Felix Culp, in our opinion, deserves the first place."

After a few seconds of puzzled silence, applause and cheers rose from my fellow writers who collectively shouted the correction, "It’s Füsun’s cake! The name is Fü-sun ~ few- soon !"

Now, I don’t remember what the first prize was. In my excitement I don’ t even remember if I shook hands with the Crosbies. The sweet price of victory, for me, was the recognition and acceptance by my peers in less than the six months I had lived in St. John’s, Newfoundland. My writer friends had not only accepted me, but also learned my name and pronounced it correctly which made me feel that I belonged with all of them.

But when Ersin asked me what I had won that night, I always showed him my Roald Dahl collection. At the tender age of eight, he wouldn’t have quite understood the grown up values. He did, however, love the quirky stories of Dahl, full of imagination and fantasy. He related to Danny, champion of the world in the novel by the same title. He loved living vicariously through Danny and bringing the antagonists to ultimate justice.

Ersin will turn 25 in two weeks. He survived the teasing and the jeers about his name. He did not surrender his calm, easy going nature in order to fight the bullies in his school yard. Occasionally he got support from school, but more often he did not. He found his strength on his own. In the process, I believe, he developed his self confidence and his unique sense of humour.

Today if you ask him what’s in a name, he’ll answer without hesitation, " At times a lot of heart ache and tears, but mostly your real, true self."

Rising to the Occasion

Don't be intimidated by soufflé's touchy reputation !

Soufflés look impressive - elegant, light and puffy brought steaming from the oven. Unfortunately, they have a reputation for being complicated, difficult and downright temperamental.

But it's just not true !

If you have ever whisked up egg whites for a meringue or whipped cream to top your strawberries, you can make a soufflé. Granted, the process requires a little more attention, but the results will be well worth it in the end.

Soufflé literally means "puffed up." A flavoured sauce base and stiffly beaten egg whites are the basic components. But there's a third ingredient in baked soufflés which is not mentioned in many recipes - air. It's the air trapped inside the soufflé that causes it to puff up. This is why most baked soufflés must be served straight from the oven. Otherwise, the escaping air will cause the soufflé to deflate, making your worst culinary nightmares come true.

The savory soufflé is a combination of egg whites folded into a white (bechamel) sauce, combined with egg yolks and other flavourings such as grated cheese, vegetables or ham.

Dessert soufflés can showcase fruits, liqueurs or chocolate.It's as important to pay attention to the preparation of the soufflé dish as it is to preparing the soufflé itself. Whether you're using individual ramekins or one large dish, you must butter the bottom and sides generously.

As for eggs, fresh is not always the best for a successful soufflé. However, temperature matters. Bring eggs to room temperature before working with them.

Egg whites increase their volume most when they're whisked at room temperature.Use an impeccably clean, dry bowl and check to see that there is no trace of yolk on the whites. With an electric beater, start on slow speed until whites begin to foam and increase the speed gradually.

Stop beating when the whites look shiny and smooth, and hold soft peaks when you lift the beaters. At this stage, add sugar (if called for) slowly and continue beating until you get peaks which are stiff but not dry.

The yolks should be whipped separately to a ribbon state. That means when you lift the beaters over the bowl, you should see pale yellow ribbons forming a trail.

Now you can combine the flavour of your choice with the base. If you're using fruit puree, be sure the puree is not too wet.

If you're making a chocolate soufflé, the melted chocolate should be cooled enough so it doesn't cook the yolks or deflate the beaten whites whenit's folded into them.There are no secrets to making a soufflé.

Once you master the principle behind it you'll probably agree that soufflés aren't half the challenge many fear they are. In fact, one of the best things about a soufflé is that it can be prepared, assembled and frozen for up to a week, and then placed right into the oven as your guests sit down for dinner.

By the end of dinner, voilà: a warm, towering finale that commands "Oohs!" and "Wows!"The simple steps for making a sweet or savoury soufflé are outlined by Madeleine Kamman (author of "When the French Women Cook") and James Peterson (2003 James Beard Award winner, "Glorious French Food").

Preheat the oven - Peterson suggests preheating the oven to the desired temperature 15 minutes before using and as soon as the soufflé is in the oven, raising the temperature by 25 degrees to give the soufflé a little "push."Butter the soufflé dish - Sprinkle dish with breadcrumbs or sugar, depending on the recipe.

Cook the base, usually a white sauce (bechamel); add egg yolks one at a time, whisking well.Adjust seasoning. Base should be highly seasoned as the egg whites are quite bland.

Beat egg whites and fold one-quarter of them into cooled base to lighten it. Fold in remaining whites carefully.

Bake soufflé on the lowest rack of the oven.If you own a convection oven, turn off the convection option. The circulating warm air will cause the soufflé to rise initially, but it will flatten long before it's cooked properly.

There are no secrets to making a soufflé. Once you master the principle behind it you'll probably agree that soufflés aren't half the challenge many fear they are.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

The wonderful World of Herbs

Text and Photos

The aromatic journey of herbs begins with early tribal campfires, where the burning of resinous perfumes to entrance and captivate. It continues with Qwoods created an uplifting olfactory sensation and brought harmony to the tribes.

It continues with the legend of Venus, first to use ueen of Sheba bringing exotic resins to King Solomon; the Magi bringing fragrances of enlightenment to the infant Jesus; and Cleopatra havingthe sails of her barge soaked in her favourite perfume, Cyprinum, to charm Anthony.

Herbs have not only been used for their fragrances and for medicinal purposes, but also for flavouring dishes throughout the ages. The sweet, sharp smell of basil blending with garlic in olive oil, chive butter drizzled on steamed vegetables, sprigs of rosemary on sizzling lamb, the sweet aroma of cardamom or cinnamon in baking are just some of the ingredients that heighten our anticipation of culinary pleasures to come.

The most popular herbs used in Newfoundland, as well as in other Canadian kitchens, are easy to grow and, used wisely, they can turn any type of cooking into a special event.

Rory MacPherson, executive chef of the Fairmont Newfoundland Hotel in St. John’s, says he uses fresh herbs in a lot of the dishes he serves, because “they give so much more to a dish. Herbs add a freshness and flavour, plus more vitamins to the dish as well.” He will use any herbs he can get his hands on, including parsley, basil, tarragon, dill, rosemary, savoury, cilantro, lemon verbana and chives.

Among my personal favourites is basil, an essential in Italian cooking, sauces and tomato salads. I prize chives for their extensive culinary applications as well as their beautiful silhouettes in the garden. One of my year-round favourites, cilantro, is used extensively in Indian, Chinese, Thai and Mexican cooking. Last but not least, I could not imagine my kitchen without parsley, mint and oregano — fresh or dried.

Growing herbs in attractive beds in your garden is not only convenient for picking to add to special dishes, but it can also provide an enjoyable setting for dining al fresco during the much anticipated but short-lasting summer.

An ever-growing range of fragrant leaves and petals which survive in the Newfoundland climate can also turn salads and garnishes into a gastronomic adventure. Chives, dill, honeysuckle, nasturtium, rose, rosemary, sweet pea and sweet violet offer edible flowers which can add visual and textural pleasure to our palates. One can always experiment and move from the familiar to more exotic and complex tastes.

“I use edible flowers — nasturtium, pansies or chive flowers. They are available locally in the summer,” says MacPherson. “This time of year, they are brought in from California usually, so it’s a costly venture to acquire these items in winter.”

He has a word of advice, though. “Always add flowers and herbs last to a dish; this will give an added flavour. The longer you cook an herb or flower, the more flavour that you will lose. And, whenever possible, take fresh over dried herbs, as they add more of a natural flavour.”
• • •

In addition to their enriching flavours, certain health claims are attributed to herbs. For example, chives are not only a good source of calcium, but they are believed to strengthen nails and teeth and improve digestion.

The Roman scholar Pliny maintained that tarragon prevented fatigue, inducing pilgrims to place sprigs of it in their shoes before setting out on long journeys.

Mint has its many uses, including herbal teas that help digestion and cure an upset stomach.

Several culinary traditions offer a final dish which includes aromatic seeds with digestive properties.

In England, caraway seeds were served with apples and cheese at the end of a meal.

Many Indian restaurants offer a mix of roasted seeds to nibble after a rich meal, which also serves as a breath freshener.

Whether they are used fresh or dried, herbs add more flavour and excitement to our food and supply our bodies with valuable nutrients.
• • •

Chive Cheese Butter

1/2 cup butter at room temperature
1-1/2 cup blue cheese or cream cheese
2 tsp. fresh, chopped chives

Blend butter, cheese and chives thoroughly. Shape into a roll on waxed paper. Refrigerate until ready to use, allowing about one hour to harden. Use slices of this butter on new potatoes, tofu, and steamed vegetables.

Dill and Mustard Dip

1 cup good mayonnaise
2 Tbsp. sour cream
1 Tbsp. coarse mustard
several dill fronds, chopped finely

Stir all together until well combined. Chill. Goes well with hard-boiled eggs, smoked fish, cold chicken and pork.

Chicken with Fresh Dill

2 cups plain yogurt
2 cups fresh snipped dill
4 scallions, sliced thinly
1 tbsp. finely grated, peeled ginger root
1-1/2 Tbsp. ground cumin
1-6 fresh hot peppers (to taste)
3 tbsp. lemon juice
2-1/2 tsp. salt
8 chicken breast halves, skinned
5 Tbsp. vegetable oil
1-inch cinnamon stick
6 whole cloves

In a bowl, whisk the yogurt well. Add the dill, scallions, ginger root, cumin, hot peppers, lemon juice, 1/2 tsp. salt and black pepper and combine well.

Sprinkle the chicken on both sides with pepper and salt. In a heavy, large, deep skillet, heat the oil over moderately high heat until it is hot but not smoking; add the cinnamon stick and cloves and cook for 5 seconds, stirring. Brown the chicken in the spiced oil in batches, transferring it, as it is browned, to a bowl. Return the chicken to the skillet with any juices that have accumulated in the bowl, add the yogurt mixture and bring to a boil.

Cover and simmer the mixture, stirring occasionally, for 20 minutes. This dish may be prepared up to this point 2 days ahead and kept covered and chilled. Remove the lid and boil the mixture uncovered for 5-10 minutes or until liquid is reduced to a thick sauce. Serves 8.

Source: Gourmet Magazine, March 6, 1989

Herbed Carrot Cornmeal Loaf

1 cup cornmeal
1 cup flour
2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
1 cup grated carrots
1 Tbsp. chopped fresh parsley
2 Tbsp. chopped chives
1/2 tsp. dried marjoram
1 cup sour cream
2 eggs
1/2 cup melted butter

Combine the first five ingredients in a bowl. In a separate bowl, mix the rest of the ingredients. Make a well in the centre of the dry ingredients and pour in the carrot mixture. Stir together quickly just until all is moistened (do not overmix).

Spoon into greased and floured loaf pan and bake at 350 F for one hour or use a greased 8-inch square pan and bake for 25-30 minutes. This tastes even better the next day.

Aniseed Cookies

Made with half the sugar of regular cookies, these biscuits are also excellent as an accompaniment to a cheese board.

7 Tbsp. butter, cut into small pieces
2 Tbsp. super fine sugar
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 Tbsp. cornstarch
1 tbsp. finely ground almonds
1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
2 tsp. dried ground aniseed (or poppy seeds)
1 egg

In a food processor, cream butter with sugar until smooth. Add the rest of the ingredients and process just until dough comes together. Dust the dough with flour, wrap in plastic wrap and chill for half an hour.

Sprinkle work surface with flour and roll dough to 5 mm thickness. Cut out 5-cm circles and place on a baking tray. Whisk another egg in a small dish, brush the tops of cookies with this glaze. Bake in a preheated 375 F oven for 12 to 15 minutes. Allow to harden a little before removing to a wire rack to cool completely. Yield: about 18 cookies.

Fearless Warrior

Being born into a family of artists, inherent creativity and a deep- rooted longing to express herself came naturally at an early age to Meranda Squires, a certified teacher of Advanced Studies in Yoga Sciences in St. John’s. And growing up in a lighthouse on the East Coast of Newfoundland certainly was no hindrance to her inspiration and appreciation of nature, and her search for truth.

"Living at the Ferryland Lighthouse, I was surrounded by vastness," she recalls. " The ocean, the sky, the land. I was alone a lot in nature. Meditation was natural there. I watched my mother meditate there. I longed for discipline and instruction. The physical vastness made me hungry for knowledge and truth and for development of my mind."

Daughter of the well-known Newfoundland painter Gerry Squires, and pottery artist Gail, Meranda was born in Toronto and moved to Newfoundland at the age of 5. While her sister, Esther, grew up nurturing her talent in music and singing, she became interested in dance.

"Art creates room for the soul to speak. My up-bringing prepared the ground for my future lifestyle," she says.
Her destiny was to take her back to Toronto at the age of 15, where she went to the Shyam Space Ashram for yoga classes and where she met some of the disciples of her guru.

Discovering her Self

"My lifestyle was fulfilling me, and I wanted more. I was discovering my Self in a way that was not available to me back home," admits Meranda. " I was looking for Enlightenment."

How does she define Enlightenment?

She explains. "When a person first becomes interested in their spiritual nature, some of the questions that arise are, ‘Who am I ?’ and ‘Why am I here ?’ These are questions of the Truth, and Truth can only be experienced by you directly. A direct experience of the Truth is an enlightenment experience."

Thus, she decided to seek her own Truth, and left for India at the age of twenty with the hope of finding what she was looking for.

In Kullu, Meranda met her guru, Swami Shyam. That meeting was the beginning of her life spent in India for the next seventeen years, with occasional visits to Canada for visa renewals.

She remembers that a typical day in her life at that time started by waking up in her room by the Vyass river, overlooking the Himalayan mountains. She would prepare herself for the morning 'satsang' ("company of Truth") session by doing her yoga and meditation before going down the hall where satsang was held with Swamiji at 11 o’clock.

Satsang sessions comprised of philosophical discourses by Swamiji from the Gita, Patanjali (Yoga for stilling thoughts of human mind leading to experience of calmness, peace, serenity, tranquility and spiritual knowledge), or other scriptures. Sometimes the Swamiji would call speakers from the group to talk to their peers as part of their training towards becoming communicators and speakers of the truth.

"I (and all other students) would have to always be ready to go up and speak. I would speak about my internal perceptions and revelations of the Truth that life situations taught me," says Meranda.

They also sang Hindu songs and chants to create what she refers to as "a space for meditation". Meditation lasted usually an hour and sometimes more. She recalls her life in India as a "luxurious lifestyle of free time to ponder life's greatest mysteries, and fabulous spiritual company to discuss these mysteries with."

These discussions followed the satsang, after which she and her peers would go for a walk or take a dip in the river. Evenings were devoted to socializing with friends over dinner, and reviewing points that were discussed during the day’s satsang.

Living seventeen years of her still impressionable life in a setting of calm, meditative learning and a disciplined practice of her principles have prepared Meranda for the practice of her passion today. She sees Yoga and meditation to be her lifeline. "It's like brushing my teeth daily," she says. "I can't live a day without these practices."

Ready to come home

Having specialized in Meditation, Somayoga and the Yoga Philosophy, she felt that she had earned everything she neeeded from her guru and the environment.

"I felt I needed to communicate and teach now," she says. "So I left India in 2000 and traveled and stayed in all the big cities in Canada to see where I should plant myself."

She visited Newfoundland during the Christmas of 2000-2001, and "...totally fell in love with the people and the land again." Thus she started her Spiritual Center in the fall of 2001 in St. John’s.

Oldest system of personal development

Yoga deals with one’s whole being. It is a complete science of life that originated in India thousands of years ago. It is known to be the oldest system of personal development in the world as it encompasses the entire body, mind and spirit. It is the union between a person's own his universal consciousness.

Ancient Yogis had a profound understanding of man's fundamental nature and of what he needed to live in harmony with himself and with his environment. They perceived the physical body as a vehicle- with the mind as driver, the soul as man's true identity, and action, emotion and intelligence as the three forces which pull the vehicle. In order for all of these to be integrated, the three forces must had to be in balance.

They formulated a unique method for achieving and maintaining such balance while taking into account the interrelationship between body and mind. Yoga combines all the movements with the Breathing and Meditation techniques for physical health and peace of mind.

Thus Yoga has been growing in its popularity, and it is accepted as a form of exercise that adapts to one’s needs and abilities so that it can be done not just by young people, but even by senior citizens as well as pregnant women.

Meranda admits that she gets students of every age to whom she offers everything that she knows. She believes that one needs training in watching and studying her own mind for many years before she can be qualified for teaching yoga.

"Yoga is a huge subject," states Meranda. "It only starts with physical yoga. Enlightenment is the real treat that awaits all those who live the yogi life to its fullest. Developing a sense of honesty and acknowledgment of what actually is arising from within the mind takes years of real, sincere desire for only the naked Truth".

She continues with the balance, serenity and the inner peace of one who, after her long personal journey, has found Truth and Enlightenment: "The ego does not like this journey and will fight all the way. So one has to be a warrior to take this path all the way to Enlightenment. I have chosen this path and I am walking it with a full warrior heart. There is nothing more satisfying. Really!"