Soup and muffins

Making soup and baking stuff satisfies my need to create, at least during winter. Long ago, I got my fix by playing music and making crafts and writing poems, and now I lock myself in the kitchen, one hand clutching a whisk and the other a stack of stained recipes, a paranoid look on my face. It's a weird, nest-y phase but I'm going with it.

This morning I threw ingredients into the crock pot, and then started on a batch of Oatmeal Muffins with Dates, Raisins and Almonds.

- You can't see the chia seeds but they're there. -

The soup - actually it's a chowder - is in its infancy after just two hours of cooking (out of an expected eight). The potatoes are just starting to look tender instead of crisp and attitudinal.

   

No more scratching

He's been hitting the exercise mats regularly to work out with the P90x DVDs, and occasionally I jump in too. I'm selective, though: I pass on the cardio and wait for days that target back, tris, and abs - areas I'd like to improve in. Running is fantastic for lots of things but it can't strengthen my shoulders or obliques. We pumped things up yesterday when we met the training expectations for the day, then threw in a tad more, and today I'm experiencing twinges in the back of the shoulder when I raise my hand to scratch my head - not necessarily a bad thing but indicating what I'll lightly call progress. I'd been meaning to do exercises for these areas for years! but had no trouble finding loads of excuses to avoid them until, as luck would have it, the very exercises I need presented themselves in my living room, accompanied by my very own training partner who I know pretty well and am fairly comfortable with them knowing that one-arm pushups are not my thing. So for now, I'm keeping my hands down and trying to heal enough to partake in the next dose of pre-packaged pain.

Longer time no write

Wednesday was a snow day. We were pummelled all day. By the evening, the skies had cleared. The temperature was most agreeable and I decided that a run on the path was just what I needed.

A real run outside! With wind in the face and all the exhilaration of being outside near dark. I followed the mini-snowplow that lumbered like a beneficient bear along the path, clearing a wide berth for me and the...cyclists? I saw a couple of dog walkers, two cyclists and no runners at all.

Long time no talk

Livin' on a prayer

I couldn't run today because I was feeling under the weather, so here is a good old fashioned food post.

The fella and I ran out this afternoon and came back with a car trunk stuffed with bags of food. We trucked in so many edibles that the cupboards and fridge had to cleared out before we could safety stash our finds in suitably cool and dark areas of the kitchen. And what a blitz it was! A dizzying number of containers holding bits of previously-tasty meals forgotten and left to spoil had to be sepulchered in the trash can. A moment of silence....

(A ten-pound bag of potatoes and another of beets! We'll be eating borscht until christmas.)

One leftover item I refused to toss was a couple of large sweet potatoes roasted to even sweeter perfection during their short but stellar career as holiday side dish. Maybe you've heard of them? They were quite popular in these parts about a week ago. Anyway, they were waiting for me to repackage their has-been careers into a Vegas-y show a la Bon Jovi and with help from a few carrots and some Thai red curry paste I made their dream come true. OK, it was my dream. 

PS> This recipe uses raw sweet potato, but if yours are cooked as were mine, slice them and add to the carrots with the Thai curry paste. 

   

Carrot and Sweet Potato Soup

serves 4-6

• 3 carrots, chopped
• 2 large sweet potatoes, peeled and cubed 
• 4 cups vegetable broth
• smashed ginger and garlic to taste (I added a heaping teaspoon of each) 

Combine these items in a large pot and cook, covered, until carrots and potatoes are pierceable with a fork, about 20 minutes. 

Add:

• 2 tbsp Thai red curry paste
• 1-2 tsp honey

Cook for 5 minutes, then blend it up and add salt to taste. If too thick for your liking, add a half cup of water and blend again. 

Return to the pot and cook on medium heat until bubbly and hot. Serve garnished with cilantro, roasted squash seeds, and a few cranks of the pepper mill. And a bottle of pinot noir.

Man on a bike

One of my favorite places to run is a path along the river heading east. It's popular with people who live close by and enjoy strolling with their dogs on Sunday mornings. Some with fishing poles scramble down the rocky embankments to the water's edge beyond the tall grass and short trees. That's on the river side. The other side of the path is forest, or what counts as forest in a city. A small patch of land heading uphill, dense with trees the colour of flames.

A perfect aspect of this place is the affordability of quiet. You can leave the city behind. You can rip your ear buds out and jack in to peacefulness: gentle waves; the scuff of your shoes against gravel; the absence of traffic noise. Even the blue sky emits a serene vibe.

My head was probably swimming in my own Universe of Nat at the very moment when the man on the bike rode by. His horn startled me,  It was a clown's horn - honka!-honka!-honka! - and I glanced up to see a man with white hair and mirrored glasses. On the back of bike two large flags were somehow secured and they bobbed with his pedal strokes. Not a smile escaped his lips.

I think that he honked that hilarious horn to make me laugh. And he succeeded!

Also: I tested a weird gel. It was oddly delicious.
20k.

Hiking the hills

I'm crouched over my laptop at an Edmonton Starbucks, sucking back coffee and wifi. There's a scent of homeless man around, and I think it's coming from the table behind me. A smallish man is quietly reading a paper to himself and coughing into a napkin. I may relocate even though he's respectful (re: use of napkin). Wow, the frosty streets of Edmonton are a far cry from the beauty of Banff, which is also cold - colder in temperature and cooler in attitude.

The bus pulled into the station at 6:00, and my flight leaves at 16:00, so I'm dawdling in the most pleasurable way under these circumstances by drinking coffee and writing. Yesterday I stored my luggage at the hotel (which was much classier than my hotel in Ed last week) for the day and set off for the hills to do some hiking. Yeah, "hills."

But first, Banff. A resort town nestled between looming, snow-capped mountains, where streets are named after wild animals (Buffalo, Elk, Wolf) and lined with boutiques, cafes and chain stores. On the sidewalks groups of people walk about looking happy. Without glancing at the grey skies and snowy mountains behind them, you might guess from the contented faces that these people were vacationing at a beach in 35 degree weather. Or maybe you wouldn't, because these people, dressed in fashionable fall jackets and gloves, appear happier than those at beach resorts. There is no rush for buffet food or drinks in this place. Here, few people compete for many resources (for sale), which is to say there seems to be a lot to go around (like hotels and restaurants). The air smells fresh and pure. Judging from their accents, most service staff are far from home: I heard Japanese, Aussie, Kiwi, British accents, and many other languages spoken. Mornings start out cold and warm up around noon, then the chill deepens in the afternoon and in the cozy caffeine shops Lululemon- and Sorel-wearing families decompress over chai lattes after shopping for skis for the kids and before dinner at The Keg.

HA! But that's just the external expression of spending habits, and who gives a North Face about that, really. I encountered lots of friendly folks while hiking in the woods. And I was in them thar hills (wearing all of my sweaters like Heidi in all her dresses) for hours. I climbed upwards, past crystal clear turquoise streams and towering pines, not knowing my direction or what to expect but admiring everything around me, and after a few hours I turned on my heel and started the tramp downhill, giving my calves a break. I followed up with a huge dinner with wine in anticipation of a long bus journey. Which started with a half-hour wait in the cold wind, put out like a dog for the night because the bus station manager was closing up. The small inconveniences of a small town.

My affair with Banff was over in a lover's heart beat. I'll be back.