her real world

Corn on the cob

Apologies for not having a more recent photo of corn, but the ones I took today at the farmers market (yes, I went again) haven’t been uploaded yet and I’m actually writing this as my corn cooks in its hot tub of goodness.

Corn on the cob is one of my favourite things on earth. Soon you will find out that I have many favourite things and most of them are food.

Corn on the cob evokes a number of memories for me, I can close my eyes and be husking corn in the shade of the trees in front of our trailer and looking out over the huge garden that we kept. If I explore the memory deeper, I’m probably sitting there complaining to myself about how much my Mom makes me work and how come we need all this stupid corn husked anyways. Oh god I was probably quite sick of corn, and the husking of it, and the cutting of it off the cob. But in the winter I’d be eating the frozen corn with the margarine already added and enjoying myself.

As I dig further into my self, I realize how grateful I am that I grew up with a farm family who struggled to make ends meet. I never had the newest clothes or the fanciest toys or anything. But I was raised on really excellent food. Food I took for granted. Food that was a hell of a lot of work. Food that fed a whole family for not a whole lot of money.

In the city I’m struggling to feed myself. Today I visited a farmers market, a local butcher shop, and a specialty food store that sells organic produce and dairy. I bought enough food for the week and I spent my usually horrendous lunch budget times two. Which I guess doesn’t seem like a lot in the grand scheme of things, but I could have bought a lot more food if I wasn’t being picky about what I put in my body.

The food I will eat for the next week will flood me with memories and longing. And then it will make me a bit angry, knowing that it’s the fact that I make enough money that allows me to eat like a queen.  For the first phase of my life I ate like a princess and I’m grateful every day that I was able to experience what not so many kids get to experience anymore. Which is part of why I’m writing this down.

One of my favourite memories associated with corn on the cob is my grandfather. My mother’s father. The town I went to school in has a yearly Corn and Apple Festival. There is a parade, and a midway, and a whole bunch of shopping stands. And free apple cider. And free corn on the cob. The line to get free corn on the cob is always very long, and my grandfather would spend all day waiting in line, getting his corn, and then eating the corn while he waited in line for another piece.

So tonight when I eat my corn on the cob, I’m thinking of you grandpa.

Handmade pasta with baby summer squash

Sadly this is one of my weekends not in Toronto and not having him here in Ottawa. Honestly this is an okay thing for the operational part of my life as if I’m on the road too long or have company, I don’t do the little things like all the laundry or grocery shopping. I was speaking to a colleague today who is in a similar situation and he too feels the distance between Ottawa and Toronto spreads him a little thin and requires that he eat a lot of takeout.

My process post on this dish will follow (it’s just a fresh pasta recipe and pan fried baby summer squash) as it was my first time making pasta, but I couldn’t wait to share with you the result of a huge farmers market score and a night of hard work. The photo was rushed, I couldn’t bother getting my tripod out as my dinner was getting colder by the second. But this is quite possibly one of the most amazing things I have ever made myself. And sadly I didn’t share it with anyone as my default dinner date is in Toronto and I didn’t plan far enough ahead to invite someone over.

Which is kind of okay too, only because the two very generous servings I made will go to good use. The pasta recipe made enough pasta for four servings and I only cooked two this evening. I plan on seeing if I can find a farmers market tomorrow to find something to go with the rest of the pasta. One portion I ate, and god was it delicious. And the second portion is sitting in a lovely container in the fridge waiting to be devoured Monday for lunch.

Today I splurged and got a whole darn bunch of sushi that I couldn’t finish. It was a bit of an adieu to a way of life that I’ve become really accustomed to while working. I get lazy, I don’t make lunch. I spend 10-15 dollars a day on really sub-par food (the only easy option at work is a cafeteria that serves what I lovingly call “slop”), money that I could be spending on lovely fresh groceries and little treats like a block of Parmesan cheese. Which is totally what I did for tonight’s supper.

So here is to hoping that I don’t snarf down all the food I make this weekend for lunches next week.

The One

Today the Globe and Mail asked me: Do you believe in ‘the one’? I’m sure that the answers I gave them will be part of a future article that I won’t read.

Regardless of the results of that survey, the gist of it is: yes.

I believe in the one…
…who I want to spend all of my time with.
…who I immediately want to tell all of my news to, good or bad.
…who I want to ensure is the happiest person on earth.
…who is in my thoughts as soon as I wake up, all day, and before I go to bed.

Back when I wrote about why I wasn’t blogging in January, I didn’t have the one. I had been assured by friends that the one was still out there and that the one I had thought was the one really wasn’t. This is a good story that I think I’m ready to tell, because honestly it’s about time.

I believe that there is one person out there for you that will be your best friend till the bitter end and not give up on you when even you’ve given up on yourself. I don’t believe that this person is predestined to be with you or that you’ll even meet this person. I believe that some people have to try and fail a number of times before they find that person. I believe that some people are lucky enough to find that person right away. I believe that with love and patience and effort, anything is possible.

I just got off the phone with the one as I wanted to make sure that he was okay with me talking about this online. I told him that I thought he was the one, and he was okay with that. So he’s the one that I want to spend all of my time with and all that jazz. Even though I wasn’t very good at blogging regularly before him, it certainly has been more difficult after him. Not that I’m blaming him or anything. Ahem.

I asked my ex once if he believed in “the one”. We were sitting on the futon and it was facing the big windows in our apartment and he was sitting straight and looking out towards the windows and I was sitting facing him. His answer was a flat out no, which immediately made me feel bad for suggesting such a silly thing. This should have been red flag a bajillion and two. But at the time I loved him more than anything else believed he was the one, and I fought hard to keep him. And it turns out he was right, he didn’t believe in “the one” and left me rather unceremoniously. And if I’m honest with myself I knew that he wasn’t the one a long time before I found that note taped to my wall with duct tape.

It took me over two years to muster up the courage to give my heart to someone, over two years of thinking and creating standards for myself and listening to those around me and not just rushing in head first and making more mistakes than I had time to fix. I thought I was broken beyond repair and that I’d never find anyone, let alone ‘the one’. Luckily I had people (especially V) who didn’t let me think that way all the time.

But then one night I decided that I would peel myself out of bed, put on some nice clothes (blue jeans, cute blue shoes with flowers on them, brown t-shirt, black shawl, gold necklace from my grandmother, brown beaded earrings from E.), put on some makeup (the usual black mascara, black eyeliner, sparkly bronze eyeliner, shiny lipgloss), walk outside and buy a birthday card and attend the birthday celebration of a friend of mine. It was a supper at Café Paradiso followed by dancing at The Rainbow and I had convinced myself that I would go to the supper and not drink too much and go home early.

And then my world changed.

After an evening of gorgeous food (I had the vegetarian salad, it was one of my first meals out as a flexitarian. He had the lamb. I was really jealous) and loud funk music, I knew that I was on to something good. I stayed up really late and got really drunk.

And really, that’s probably all you’re going to hear. Unless of course the one and I decide that I can tell the Internet more stories about us.

Until then you’ll have to look at all my random food photos and hear me rant about various topics.

Oh look, there goes my navel.