When The Universe Speaks In Riddles, And Good Luck, Godspeed Pizza

It all started on Friday night. Husband had come by my work to pick me up and the plan was that we were going to drive up to Sauble Beach for a much needed break. Husband had worked about eleventeen hundred hours of overtime and I was recovering from a week of working on my own at the front desk, hopelessly untrained and at the mercy of nervous pet owners. With my new job, our work schedules are now completely opposite. He comes home right when I'm leaving and by the time I get home, he's ready to go to bed. To say it's an adjustment is an understatement.

Fast forward to an hour outside of Toronto, a bit north of Vaughn which, as a non-driver, means nothing to me, but perhaps you know where that is. It felt like the middle of nowhere, except that there was a pit stop with a Tim Hortons to our right, which meant something to me because Tim Hortons is kind of like an Inukshuk for city people who feel entirely lost in the highway limbo that lies between city and cottage country; a gentle, doughnutty reassurance that we are indeed somewhere man has been before.

It was about here that it happened.
Husband: What's that noise? Is that the engine?

Me: What noise? (while being totally aware of the weird knocking noise that has suddenly come from our vehicle)

Husband: That one. There. Oh no. Shit. (clutter, sputter, knock, knock, whirrrrrrrr. Ka-CHUNK!) Okay. There goes the transmission. It's blown! Double-you The Eff!

We lurched violently forward as Heidi the Jetta shut down. With a deftness only a seasoned video gamer could demonstrate, Husband navigated the now-defunct Heidi over to the right shoulder of the highway and we absorbed in silence what had happened. It didn't take long though, because we already knew our weekend at Sauble Beach was done for. Eventually, the tow truck came, and we even managed a few laughs when my dear, sweet father came to pick us up in the backroads of sketchy Rexdale and joked about us having to wear bullet proof vests in case of shootings, which is probably all kinds of politically incorrect, but oh well.

We tried our best to salvage our weekend. But by Sunday, it was not to be. I, in full possession of a raging case of PMS, couldn't shake the feeling that the universe didn't want me to be happy. Husband and I went on a walk to get some candy at the bulk store, and just as I was starting to come out of my dark mood, just as I was noticing the sun-dappled trees and the delicate breeze and the honeybees, a cat ran out into the street in front of us and got hit by a car.

I screamed. It happened in slow motion. I could hear the sound of Cat making contact with Car. I covered my eyes and my legs turned to jelly. Miraculously, the cat sprung up and ran off, one of its 9 lives clearly used up, but the other 8 just waiting to get back to the catfight that had been taking place several moments earlier. My dark mood returned, full force. Somewhere between Heidi the Jetta, Reckless Cat and Hormone Fluctuation, I gave up on a relaxing weekend.

Husband had been making jokes earlier about being able to read braille on my forehead because of the rather alarming smattering of pimples that had settled on my face. I mused that if these had been freckles rather than pimples, I would be adorable. I was reminded of that old 'beauty trick' I used to see in Seventeen magazine:

"Got a pimple? Why not try dotting it with some brown eye pencil and turning it into a beauty spot?"

Genius!

The beautiful girl demonstrating this tip always seemed to have her fake pimple right above her lip, to the side, like Marilyn Monroe, or Cindy Crawford. It looked sexy. So I decided to give it a try.




















Hmm. I'm not sold on it.

Some days are like this. Some days can't be saved no matter how hard you try to see the silver lining. Some days, you'll come home from working at a job you're not sure you like, and you'll be so glad to see your dog and cat, your furniture, your purple bathrobe. You'll also be so glad that you had the presence of mind to make pizza dough the night before, so now, all you have to do is a tiny bit of prep with these; some chopping and slicing and grating...
















And then you get to release some pent-up frustration by punching the dough:














Satisfying. Then you'll spread it out on a baking sheet dusted with cornmeal that, in a certain light, looks like stars thrown across a night sky (like the ones we should have seen in Sauble Beach) and brush some olive oil on top. A gentle dusting of red pepper flakes and fresh ground pepper, and the lightest toss of coarse grain salt is all you need for the base:























Finally, you layer the grated, unnervingly orange cheese, apple slices, tomatoes and several basil leaves and you pop it in the oven for half an hour during which time you'll imbibe a beer or glass of wine...














And when it comes out, golden crusted and perfectly delicious, perhaps the best you've ever made, and you have a week's worth of Coronation Street waiting for you on the computer, then and only then will you realize that despite Heidi the Jetta, Reckless Cat and Hormone Fluctuations, there is still sweetness in this life. A dog and cat who gravitate towards me like I'm their North Star wherever I am; a family that will come and help me, no matter how old I am or how far away I may be; a Husband who puts toothpaste on my toothbrush for me each and every night - this is who and what I live for.

Okay, Universe. Message received, loud and clear.

Good Luck And Godspeed Pizza:

Basic Pizza Dough, from Martha Stewart's 'Fresh Flavour Fast '(and the BEST dough I've ever eaten)

1 1/2 cups warm water (115 degrees F)
2 packets active dry yeast (or 4 1/2 tsp, if using the jar)
1/4 cup olive oil, plus more for brushing
2 tbsp sugar
2 tsp salt
4 cups all purpose flour (I used half whole-wheat)
a pinch each of dried basil, oregano and rosemary (my addition!)

Directions:

1. Place warm water in large bowl; sprinkle with yeast. Let stand until foamy, about 5 minutes. Brush another large bowl with oil.

2. Whisk sugar, oil, salt and dried herbs into yeast mixture, then stir flour with a wooden spoon until a sticky dough forms. Transfer to oiled bowl, brush top with olive oil and cover with plastic wrap; let stand in a warm spot till dough doubles in size, about 1 hour.

3. Turn dough onto a well-floured surface. With floured hands, knead until smooth, about 15 seconds and divide into two equal balls. If only using one, freeze the other; it keeps up to 3 months in the freezer, just let it thaw overnight in the fridge in an oiled bowl when ready to use.

Pizza toppings:

1 cup grated old cheddar
1/2 large apple, sliced thinly into half-crescents
a handful of fresh basil leaves, coarsely torn
2 small tomatoes, thinly sliced

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Sprinkle a baking sheet with cornmeal. Spread the dough onto the sheet in a long, oval shape. Rub some olive oil onto the top of the dough and sprinkle with red pepper flakes, fresh ground pepper, and some coarse salt, if you have it.

2. Sprinkle the cheddar evenly over the dough. Add the slices of apple and tomato; top with the torn basil leaves. Bake in the oven for 25-30 minutes, or until cheese is all melted and crust is golden brown. Let sit for 5 minutes, then serve!

If Wishes Were Horses, Then Beggars Would Ride, And Apple Cake With Sad Bowl #15

As I was going through the mental list of all the careers I've tried on for size, all the dreams, both youthful and current, ridiculous and plausible, I came across a dusty old memory, filed under the category "Warning: Blush-Inducing." So of course, I had to open it up.

It was a ritual of ours, my sister, mother and I, that every winter Olympics, we'd sit down and watch the ice dancing together after dinner. Watching with my mother was always a tense affair; she would get so entirely invested in the competitors' successes and failures, you could feel her holding her breath as they leaped backwards into their spins. Those few seconds before knowing whether they'd land those jumps or not were excruciating for her. And when they fell?

"Ohmygod! Ohmygod!" She'd verbally and physically clench. We would tease her for getting so vexed about the jumps. But she still did it, every single time.

Despite the mental toll my mother's exuberant dismay took on us, we were still bewitched by the athletic excellence we'd just seen. My sister and I would go to our rooms after the program ended and shut the doors. Both of us (and I'm sorry sister, but I'm taking you down with me) would be harbouring dreams of being one of those ice dancers with tight, sequined costumes, extreme, mask-like makeup and the kind of crazy that makes you think it's normal to do gymnastics on ice wearing the equivalent of butter knives strapped to each foot. The music would be playing in our fanciful imaginations, we'd be blinded by (make-believe) flashbulbs and the energy of the (non-existent) crowds and, caught in the moment, an attempt at a triple sow cow would be made next to our beds.

Sometimes, we'd land those (half-single sow cow) jumps. And sometimes... "CLANG!" We'd hit a limb or some extremity on the low-hanging Ikea metal lamps we had in the center of our rooms and the scarlett tidal wave of embarrassment would rush in almost immediately. Because I knew what she was doing and she knew what I was doing. Our clumsiness (and lack of ice rink, ice dancing talent or skill) had betrayed the private lunacy occurring in our heads and rooms.

Years later, my floaty, intangible wants are a bit more attainable, and with less chance of injury to my person and dignity. Things that once seemed too hard, like starting a food blog and blundering around with HTML code, are now real. I can find recipes, like the Plum Skillet Cake Only With Apples Instead, from Martha Stewart Living, and make them taste good. Here, try some for yourself:




And when I dream up a recipe based on what I have in the fridge, most times, it turns out the way I'd hoped, sometimes even better, like this corn, pepper and sausage version of Sad Bowl.

Cutting fresh corn off cobs and chopping a small pile of red and green peppers? Easy!








Frying it all in some olive oil with green onions, preparing a couple of spicy Italian sausages and cooking some whole wheat couscous to make it more filling - nothing to it. And topping it off with a maple vinaigrette that is sweetly spicy is practically child's play. The result? A delicious, if rather less than stunning (I added the peppers on top to pretty up the weird porridgey colour) meal:




The wonderful thing about getting older is that wishes can either be realized for the delusions that they are, or brought down to earth and made real. Whether my hair will ever look like I've brushed it or whether I'll ever be a working writer; whether I'll ever launch into my jewellery design business or whether I'll ever be free from the self-critical monster inside my head has yet to be seen. But I do know that wishful thinking is a luxury item anyone can and should afford. Those cobwebbed memories of childhood embarrassments are entirely worth revisiting, if only to remind you of a time when everything felt limitless and possible.

And I feel fairly certain, nay, positive, that if there had been an Olympic category for 'Synchronized Fake Ice Dancing In A Confined Space While In Separate Rooms,' my sister and I would have brought home the gold. Or at least a bronze.

Plum Skillet Cake, From Martha Stewart Living, August 2010 Issue:

4 tbsp unsalted butter at room temperature
1 cup all purpose flour
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp cinnamon (if using apples)
1/4 tsp nutmeg (if using apples)
1/2 tsp salt
3/4 cup sugar
1 large egg
1 tsp pure vanilla extract (my addition)
1/2 cup buttermilk
2 medium ripe plums, or you can use apples, berries, peaches, just about any fruit you like.

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350-375 degrees F. Butter an 8" skillet or square cake pan and dust with flour, tapping out the excess. Slice up your plums or apples and set aside.

2. Whisk together the flour, baking powder and soda, salt and spices if using. In a mixing bowl, beat the butter and sugar on medium speed til pale and fluffy. Beat in the egg. Add the flour mixture in 3 additions, alternating with the buttermilk.

3. Pour batter into prepared skillet or pan and smooth top with spatula. Fan the plum or apple slices on the top and sprinkle with sugar. Bake until golden brown and tester toothpick/knife comes out clean, about 30-40 minutes. Let cool slightly.

Sad Bowl # 15:

2 green onions, finely chopped
1/2 a red and green pepper, finely diced
2 cobs of fresh corn, shaved naked of their kernels
2 tbsp olive oil
salt and pepper
1/2-3/4 tsp red pepper flakes
2 spicy Italian sausages
1 ripe avocado, cut into smallish cubes
Maple Vinaigrette (see below)

Directions:

1. In a medium sized skillet, heat the olive oil over med-high heat. Add the veggies, red pepper flakes, a pinch of salt and a hearty shake of fresh ground pepper and saute, stirring often, so they don't burn. Soften them, about 10 minutes.

2. In a separate pan, fry up the two sausages till well cooked. Slice them into half-moons and set aside.

3. Make whole wheat couscous, using about 1/2 cup dry to 1 cup of boiling water. Fluff with a fork and let cool a bit.

4. Assemble everything in a bowl and once it's all cooled down a bit, add the dressing and avocado, stir till well combined and eat immediately.

Maple Vinaigrette, inspired by Martha:

2 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp cider vinegar
1 1/2 tbsp maple syrup
2 tbsp grainy Dijon mustard
a small pinch of cayenne, approx. 1/8 tsp
1/4-1/2 tsp chili powder

Directions: Assemble all ingredients in a small glass or jar and whisk till well combined. Taste and adjust ingredients to your taste.

When Your Eyes Are Bigger Than Your Wallet, And A Roasted Broccoli Salad

I think it's fair to say that about 37% of my student loan was spent buying vintage clothing online. E.bay and various independent sellers profited from my pursuit of education far more than my brain ever did. The sad fact is that many of those clothes are gone; some donated because they didn't fit, some of them unspeakably ugly and never even worn. An amateur to vintage style, I fell prey to the assumption that if it looked good on the model, who'd been styled to bohemian perfection, it would look good on me too. Despite having an entirely different body type. Despite not having a designer haircut that implied insouciance and a lifestyle that included trips to Prague and frequent attendance at gallery openings. Despite not living in an enchanted forest.

(side note: seriously, why did so many online vintage shops have forests as their showcasing backdrop? What looks normal in a forest among tall pines and bluebirds often looks quite batty in a city, amidst 'office casual' and a strong impatience for whimsy. Like capes. Or Victorian collars.)

Is this a look we should bring back?






















There were also the unfortunate online spending sprees at Forever 21 that I embarked on while at a really boring job. These occurred when, having read through my lengthy 'blogs-I-love' list and checking my email and Facebook profile 17 times, I was near tears at the 4-plus hours that remained of my workday.

Oh Forever 21. Why you? Why you, when I didn't much enjoy being 21 the first time around, and would never, ever willingly sign up to repeat that age in perpetuity?

Here again, money, time and hope was wasted on impulsively bought clothing that really should have been tried on. It's easy to dismiss this wastage when it's a $12 polyester top; you just cut your losses. But when you are without a job and down to your last few dollars, as I currently find myself, waste of anything takes on a whole new significance. It becomes a personal shame.

In taking quick stock of what was in my fridge a few days ago, I was alarmed at the amount of food that had been forgotten about. An ear of corn. A foil-wrapped packet of crumbled old cheddar. Sagging Swiss chard. An entire head of lettuce. How could I let this happen? But I knew how. In my foodie enthusiasm, I kept trying new recipes that required me to buy little bits of this and that, and the actual contents of my fridge were being cast aside.

Determined to stop my wasteful ways, I decided to work with what near-perishing produce I had on hand for dinner last night. I wanted something light and filling, so I cut up some apples,













Rinsed off some broccoli,




And pondered whether I was dangerously nerdy or only endearingly nerdy for finding some beauty in backlit bacon.






















I cobbled together some kind of roasted salad with toasted cubes of time-ripened baguette and a honey-Dijon vinaigrette. It was a pretty delicious creation actually, considering its headlining ingredients were creeping towards their winter years.

'Waste not, want not' has surely been one of my life's most important lessons. It's taught me how to stretch a dollar well beyond its elastic limits. And just think; all I had to do was go to college, drop out of college and cripple myself with debt to learn it.

Hmm. Maybe I should reconsider being 21 again.

Moni's Roasted Apple and Broccoli Salad With Bacon And Croutons:

4 small apples, cut into smallish cubes
3 small heads/1 smallish bunch of broccoli
8 thin slices of double smoked bacon (deli counter)
1/4 baguette, cut into small cubes
1/2 tsp chili powder

Honey-Dijon Vinaigrette:

2 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp white balsamic vinegar (could also use apple cider vinegar)
2 tbsp grainy Dijon mustard
1 tbsp honey (could also use pure maple syrup)
salt and pepper to taste
a few dashes of hot sauce (I used a chipotle hot sauce to give a bit of smokiness)

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Toss apples and broccoli with a few splashes of neutral flavoured oil (vegetable, canola) and roast till softened and browned, about 40 minutes.

2. In the meantime, assemble the dressing, whisking all the ingredients till well combined. In a large skillet, lay out the bacon strips with a splash of water (helps bacon cook more evenly) and cook till well done and easily crumbled. Drain on paper towels, and if you want to be really decadent, pour the bacon fat onto the roasting broccoli and apples. Oh yes. I. Did.

3. Toss the bread cubes into a frying pan with a touch of oil and dust with chili powder. Toast them till lightly browned, watching carefully that they don't burn.

4. When apples and broccoli are ready, pour into serving bowl and add crumbled bacon. Add as much dressing as you like and then add the croutons, mixing lightly so everything is combined. Serve immediately!!