Crepe Batter with Soya Milk

Crepe Batter with Soy Milk
testing its viscosity

Alex has been asking me for crepes for a number of days.  On each occasion I explain my reticence to make them, for he wants them created out of eggs and soya milk.  No flour.  I ask him why the soya milk and he says it is because it is good for you.  But he is not interested in crepes made with flour.

Two days ago I told him to go out to the internet, find a recipe for crepes that take eggs and soya milk and will do the work.  He thinks that just doing it is easier than going to find a recipe, so I obliged today – an egg crepe.  The recipe was 3 eggs, 1 tablespoon of soya milk, and pour the batter into a pan that has about ¼ of an inch of oil in it.  I do this for eggs strips that go into deluxe fried rice – why not for him.  After sprinkling freshly grated cheese on the crepe, I rolled it and offered it to him.

Whoops!  That is not what he was wanting and he would show me how to make it himself.

Rebecca and I have discussed her kids in the kitchen.  We decided that it is better to experiment with eggs, maybe make a few mistakes, than to trouble ourselves about having them turn out a perfect project.

So I stood back.  Alex put one cup of soya milk in the 12 inch skillet (no oil, for that was part of what I did wrong – too much oil).  He let it boil.  Then cracked an egg in and added a lot of cheese.  Then, stir, stir, stir.  Then try to flip the product over – which was a couple of inches high – the cheese stretching out as he stirred.  He went to the strainer, trying to correct something – though he did not know what.

Finally he put it into a bowl saying it didn’t really work out as he had planned.

I tasted some.  “Mmm.  Good,"  I said.  Who wouldn’t like all of that cheese melted and soft .  What he had created was a delicious sharp cheese fondue.

... Alex rescuing the crepe batter by
putting it through a strainer...

“Do you want to finish it off,” he asked.

“Too much fat for me.  I would gain weight and weight is too hard to walk it off,” I sorrowfully replied.

Thus ends the tale of crepes made from a cup of milk, 2 cups of cheese and one egg.

Arta

Theatre Treats

Tickets for Wicked, anyone?

In the first film course I took, the instructor told us that we should come to the film viewing, readying to enjoy the whole experience, and to bring along our drinks, our popcorn and our treats.

I thought the professor was just making a joke.

But I have come to know that part of the filmic / theatre experience involved snacks and pre-theatre drinks.

Ice Cream at MacDonalds
the non-drinkers option for pre-theatre drink

In fact, most of the musical theatre shows begins with a voice remind the audiences that no photography is permitted, that they should turn off their cell phones, and that their sweets should be unwrapped now instead of during the performance.

Wyona has been a good example to me.

She thinks far ahead on the subject of treats and has the soda cold and in one corner of a bag that is just the right size for sweets, and the other treats are unwrapped in separate zip lock bags and portions for the number of people accompanying her to the theatre. There is a bit of heart failure at the door when an usher asks to look in the bag, but apparently we pass the test, for there is no alcohol content in our purses. In fact, one usher asked to look in Zoe’s bag, Zoe opened it up and the usher said, “Great snacks!” and motioned her on.

Duncan and I have been attending West End performances and varying our sweets. Last night we had Starbursts, Cadbury’s Bits Wispa, Cadbury’s Crunchie Rocks, Cadbury’s Caramel Nibbles and Cadbury’s Milk Chocolate. We entertained ourselves on the tube ride there, by reading the wrappers of the Starbursts.

1. Balance a Starburst on your nose.
2. Balance three Starbursts on your finger (it doesn’t designate which finger)
3. Keep quiet for one minute. NO giggling.
4. Make a noise like a pig while hopping like a kangaroo.

Duncan shared the treats with Thomas Ten Cate and Makmiller Pedroso, who had tickets on the front row with us. We had enough treats that we could have shared with all 20 people on the front row. All of this to say that I learned something else last night.

... the day after ...
a chance to retrieve Starbursts from melted chocolate

When the treat bag sits on the lap of a warm eleven year old, this is what the treats looks like at the end of the night.

We left it in the fridge all day and tonight we tried to mine the Starbursts back out of the chocolate rock.

Arta

Wicked, Encore

 ... the only musical still running 10 years later ...

Duncan and I went to Wicked last night.

I lined up at the theatre doors at 9 am to get two £27.50 tickets on the front row – a bargain.

Duncan likes to sit beside people he knows at the theatre.

Or perhaps have an empty seat between him and the next person – that will do also.

... Duncan getting Glindafied ...

But we were in a sold out house last night. The next best alternative was that my old boarder, Thomas Ten Cate, was there.

I had explained to Duncan that Thomas works for Google.

“How can that be? How can a person work in virtual space where there is nothing,” Duncan wanted to know.

“It is not exactly like that,” Thomas said.

... so much construction it is hard to find your way
through the maze and into the theatre ...

Duncan also wanted to know, “Can you get into people’s accounts and see everything when you work at Goggle?”

Oh, the mysteries of life!

Thomas explained that no one has powers that great – that he works with Google Calendar, just a small piece of Google.

I don’t know which held more of the evening’s fun for Duncan.

The play?

... on the steps of Google ...

Or going over to Thomas’s office afterward (a five minute walk away), sitting on the steps of a building that has high security, and imagining what must be going on inside while Thomas went in to retrieve some luggage for us.

Yes.

There are chances to imagine even more in the line of mystery, than what we saw on stage – the changing of a man into a scarecrow, a woman who can defy gravity, a goat who is a professor.

OK.

Maybe some things are easier to imagine that others.

Arta

Verlaine Carter - Grandmother Extraordinaire

The day before Verlaine died, I spent the afternoon and evening in London with our shared grandson, Duncan.

As he and I were running through the tube, trying to catch the next train to an evening of musical theatre, we came upon three sets of escalators:  one going up two stories, one coming down two stories and then between them a set of stairs that commuters can use going either way.

Duncan and I jostled each other, taunting one another about who should take the stairs.

He said, “No, we are taking the escalator, for you will not be able to do all of those stairs ... like my other grandmother can."  Then part way up the ascending escalator he got my attention, pointed downward and said to me, "Grandmother Verlaine would be keeping up with us, even if she were going up the stairs.  But you?  You would be down there only ¼ of the way up and puffing, not able to go any further. You are weak.  She is strong."

She died the next day, in Duncan's mind, still a star in hospital bed.

I am used to that kind of banter.  I have been second to Verlaine for as long as Alex and Duncan have been born.

To begin with, the “other” grandmother was always younger than me. I am 18 years her junior.  Still, incontrovertible truth to them, she was younger, and this could be proved by hair colour. Her hair is red. Mine is white.

"You are older," they would say.

I would reply, “But think about years; I think she is still a little older than me.  Look closely at my face.  Please tell me she has just a few more winkles than I do.” The reply was always, she is the red-headed grandma and younger.

The second point that I was to learn right from the get-go is that Verlaine was incredibly generous.  Hers were the best gifts at birthdays and Christmas.  Someone has to be second.  But in our cases, it was never Verlaine. She was always first.    “This was from my other grandma,” they would show me with pride. I looked carefully.  Her gifts were carefully chosen and came in big packages.   Her only fault,  Duncan told me, is that she couldn’t hide gifts very well.  I asked Duncan how he could find what she had hidden for Christmas Day.  He said, “Easy.  Just look behind the shower curtain.”

Verlaine was a better cook than I.  I didn’t even contest this point.  I had been invited to her house over the Christmas holidays, and eaten the home made squares on the plates from her kitchen, and I knew they were the result of hours of work.

Verlaine was a good model for me, in ways that the boys will never know.  She raised her first family – Bob.  Then she started on her second family – Steve. 

Then the grandchildren came.  Kelly and Brian, had a joy few kids in the world can boast of – they had their own bedroom in their grandmother’s house. 

Verlaine was devoted to her loved ones in ways that cannot be measured by the size of gifts at Christmas or by the differences in our ages of the colours of our hair.   When she was alive, I did not know how to articulate to her my admiration, as I watched her model how to get older with grace and dignity.

This post has been about saying that thank-you publicly.

Good-bye, Verlaine.

I am glad I knew you.

Arta

Finchely High Street Friday Market

Glen and Janet provided some lovely meals while they stayed here.  Glen bought his fish at the Finchly High Street Market. He made BBQ-ING look so easy the Rebecca decided to try it.  She brought home some beautiful salmon and some briquets from the local convenience store.

She read the instructions on the package.

1. Put the briquets in the middle of the BBQ.
2. Start the bag on fire.

She did both tasks. Duncan was thrilled and and ran into the kitchen, asking me to come outside and take a look.

I did.

What I couldn't figure out is where we were going to put the salmon. Usually I would think that the hot coals should be below the grate, and not sitting on it.

BBQ-ing is not that easy, contrary to how Glen makes it look.

Arta

Walk to Golders Green

I have been here a little over two weeks now.

I should be accustomed to the walk to the Woodside Park High Road by now.

But the foliage keeps changing character.

lilacs .. the scent is divine

It is not so much that there is a new For Sale sign next door.

Houses come and go.

What is new are these lilac bushes, now in full bloom.

The wind was moving the blossom.

I kept trying to capture an image that was just right.  I couldn't do it.  That is because I was trying to catch the smell in the picture as well.

Dollis Valley Green Walk
 ... North to Moat Mount...
 ... via Barnet Playing Field ...

I am taking a different route now, than the Dollis Valley Walk that goes toward Moat Mount, the beginning of the little stream that I like following.

But when I look at the images I have captured along the way, I wonder why I would change routes.

Everything looks graceful to me.

The shape of the boles of the trees.

The water that shimmers along the brook.

The reflection of the trees in the water.

... a perfect place for hide and seek in the park ...

I walk by trees, the size of which I have never seen in Alberta.

I go under the branches, point my camera up through them, and then I notice that they are always moving -- that slight breeze that never goes away.

On today's walk, I wondered if I should turn back.

At each step I could feel just the smallest bits of moisture -- not enough to put up an umbrella, nor to turn back.

Hard to believe I get all of this ... and a walk in besides.

Arta

Walk to Golders Green, III

Along the walk there is not a place where I do not want to stop.

Right now the sudden surprise of a burst of colour stops me.

Or the scent of the lilacs, a variety I don't know -- one that Rebecca calls the Victoria lilac, since Victoria is the first place where she saw them.

The yards I see are small.

The apartments are small, as well.

The one that we live in is split in two on the other side of us, and multiple families live there.

Some of the yards are well tended.

Other have a casual character.
I am not a skilled gardener yet, but I know that the casual-looking garden is as well tended as the one with straight edges and well clipped hedges.

When I go for the casual look at home, all that happens is that the weeds overtake plants that have come from the nursery.

Close to the end of my one hour walk there is a meadow – I came upon that spot just before the huge automobile interchange that marks Golder’s Green.

Cows were huddled at the corner of the fence when I walked by there yesterday.

Today they were further away – the seen looked idyllic – a small meadow of buttercups.

I wanted to get yesterday's shot of them huddled against the fence, but they walked up and down the meadow.

I left when I realized how ridiculous I must look with my camera, running along side the fence, taking cow pictures.

Arta

Walk to Golders Green, IV

...succulent blackberries ...

I start my walk early, wearing a sweater, a coat, a scarves and having gloves on my hands.

By the time I am coming back down the High Road, all of those are off, and I am thinking about the warm shower at home that will wash away the beads of sweat that I can feel.

Each time I am out for this walk, I forget something – my camera, money, my ID – one out of the three is not with me.

... a huge papaya ...

What I needed the money for today was the Dollar Store which has a great fruit and vegetable market along the street, and another isle that t’s the first along the street, drawing me inside to see what other kinds of produce they are selling.

The skin on the eggplant was a glossy purple colour.

I could smell the coriander that was housed in a bushel carton.

... fresh is best ...

Today I saw a papaya that I knew I shouldn’t buy.

The boys are not going to eat it.

Why should a person always live with self-control, I thought, and the shop-keeper helping customers on the street , on my suggestion, slipped it into my bag along with some strawberries and black berries.

 Sweet treasures for less than £5.

Three cheers for brisk walks.

Arta

Walk to Golders Green, II

Yazgi Supermarket ... Halal Meat and Oyster Passes

Someone stopped me on the street and asked if I knew the way to the North Finchley Bus Station.

Today I could say, yes, stay on this side of the street and keep walking about long five blocks and you will be there.

A better truth would have been 15 minutes down this road and you will be there because I have taken to measuring space by how much time it takes me to walk through it.

HO LOK -- Chinese Take Away

I had to stop someone ask my way home a few days ago.

I was walking one hour down the Dollis Valley Greenwalk, and coming home I got lost in one of the residential areas that connects large segments of the walk.

A shop keeper gave me good directions after I failed to get answers from a school girl and from some workmen on the street.

The shop keeper also offered me a bottle of water. I can look pretty tired when I forget to apply my 3 pm lipstick.

Cafe Tuck In

I love the rural character of the walk along the Dollis Creek on its way to the Thames – the playground where the children can climb and jump from a fallen log – one about as big as the one down on Sandy Beach.

I stop to look through the fence at the community gardens, people out in the rubber boots, moving the dirt a bit and sinking seedlings into the ground.

Then the walk turned rural again and a person would not know that they are in the middle of London, walking alongside a brook.

Yahe Garden -- Chinese Sit Down

I feel I was born and raised a city person but maybe that is not true for in my childhood backyard were shooting stars, pussy willows, gophers, and fire flies.

Still, I am happy walking along the cement pavement and looking at the character of the residential districts.

 My new walking plans is to stick to one side of the street for as far as I can go in an hour, and then taking the return trip on the other side of the street.

At least that is the plan as long as I can remember which city I am in. I don’t need any more shop keepers offering me water.

Kopernik -- Polski Sklep

I was out just after 7 am this morning.

In front of a shop called On Board, I saw a small pile of clothes -- a shirt, some jeans, a pair of shoes, just as though someone had stepped out of them at that spot.

On the door to the store was a sign, “Do not leave clothes outside. They might be stolen.”

On Board -- on the sidewalk, really

Rebecca told me that a number of charity stores operate along the High Street – Bernardo Homes, Cancer Research.

That is where she purchased her red leather gloves.

And she has a bag at home, into which she is slipping everything the boys have grown out of, things she does not want to pack home.

Azerbaijan Restaurant
Would love to look at the menu there!

I was thinking about that sign, which even suggested you call the store and they would do a pick-up.

It might be just as powerful to have the clothes picked up by someone who needs them than to have them go from one person to another, but have a cash transaction in between.

 I guess both ways are good.

Bronze Sign:  Landlady, Lucy Burch
...on the door of the Elephant Inn ...
 ... I want one of those signs on my front door ...

The streets all look the same to me, so I took along a map yesterday and started to memorize street names.

Anything to keep my mind off of the fact that I am really exercising. Now I am starting to see where the tube signs are.

La Rugoletta --Ristorante & Pizzeria

And today I can see that the High Street is really broken into segments, just like the brook was.

The High Streets are signed: West Finchley High Street High Street, then Church End High Street.

And more importantly, I am learning how to get across the streets, when to watch for traffic lights, and when to do a shoulder check far over my right shoulder to see if a car is coming.

The Elephant Inn -- Thai Kitchen

I am always alert to the cuisine in London – fries and battered fish is standard.

 But on one end of the High Road, leaving this little hamlet and getting into another was a series of shops that made me pull out my camera.

 How could that many ethnic shops be situated on the same block, I asked myself: Polish, Azerbaijan, Thai, Chinese, Italian, Jewish – a world of adventure in one block!

Arta

Byrons

... resting on a ledge in Seaworld ...

Duncan and I have been having some crazy days on the town.

This was the first of them.

Rebecca set us up to go to Seaworld.

 But we had other tasks to do as well.

We were to pick up a CD of Chicago for her, and after our walk around Seaworld and our trip along the South Bank, both of us had aching feet – his more than mine.

... this fish would fit a square serving plate ...

He is good on the tube.

I am also able to make my way around though I am judged by him to be mediocre.

That is because on my winter trip, we did loose each other in a tube stop at Covent Garden.

Now when we get off at that station, he makes me take his arm. I try to get off there often with him. To speed up our chores we decided to take a couple of tube stops to make our journey to the theatre faster.

 On the train was the cutest little girl ever. She found a little nook at the corner of the train, one that had once held a fire-extinguisher, and now the cartridge was gone but the unit that held it was still in on the floor. She had backed her way into it, sat down and was sitting on her little haunches. I said, “Look, Duncan, did you ever see anything so cute.”

We were enjoying her. When I looked up, even if I am not that good on the subway, I could tell we were two stops past our destination. He blames me for distracting him so that he watched passengers instead of the map.

... this fish kept circling the tank ...

We spent a lot of our time laughing. I went to buy the CD at the box office, and the clerk there told me that he doesn’t sell them. “They are only on sale before and after the performance.”

“And,” he said, “you will find them much cheaper in an ordinary music store.”

 Duncan’s eyes grew wide when he heard the clerk say that.

Looks like Writing-On-Stone, but no, ... it is a real fish!

Our supper stop was to be at Byrons.

Steve and Rebecca have taken the family there before.

Duncan wanted a return trip.

Since this is a high-end burger franchise, there was a store right there by Chicago.

No, he had to go back to the store up by Seven Dials, so away we went on the tube again – him telling me that he will be able to find it when I walk him by the musical, Rock of Ages.

Well, a musical-theatre loving Grandmother can do that, and yes – on that street, I could find the theatre and he could find the restaurant.

... just give me a bun, burger, bun ... cooked medium, please ...

Duncan’s allergies have kept him pretty much eating the same food since he was small – his order is always, “A hamburger – bun, burger, bun”.

There must be enough orders given to waitresses like that, for back it came, simply a bun, burger, bun.

We discussed filling out the comment card. Duncan thought the restaurant could have more variety in their burgers.

“Yes?, said I. “What will you order then?”

“Bun, burger, bun,” he said.

Arta