Gloria usually posts book reviews, but this time she has a surprise for us and it sounds delicious - I will be making it.
Winter is the best time to be baking bread. I love the aromas that come from the oven and fill the house with the promise of great eating to come. Of course, before that can happen, I need to find a recipe, get inspired and actually go through all the steps necessary to get that loaf into the oven.
The first step is to comb the recipe books for just the right bread. Anything needing a starter is out at the moment as the cupboard is bare on that front. Likewise anything with olives or exotic cheeses or unusual flours or oils will not be considered. Do I want a flat bread, a peasant bread, rolls, baguettes, a braid, or a nice pan loaf? Oh the decisions that must be made sometimes can stop a good intention right in its tracks.
Once the hurdle of making a choice is over and the ingredients and equipment are assembled, the process begins. Measure, mix, let rise, punch down, shape, rise again, bake and voila! There it is in all its glory. I stand holding this wonderful piece of work with a big smile on my face. Dinner will just be an accompaniment to this centerpiece.
My latest endeavour was a banana yeast bread. The day I made this we had Chicken Korma, steamed cauliflower, squash, rice and green beans to keep it company. Great meal and the bread was delicious. It turned out just a bit crusty, nicely rounded and deep brown in colour. Inside there was that distinctive yeast-produced airiness to the texture but still some moistness from the bananas. Very yummy later on as toast with honey.
For any of you who want to try it…
2 ½ c. whole wheat flour
1 c. white flour
1 tsp salt
1 tbsp dry skim-milk powder
1 tbsp sunflower seeds
1 tbsp sesame seeds
1 tbsp cracked wheat
2 tsp instant dry yeast
Mix all this together in a large mixing bowl. I have a Kitchenaid stand mixer with a dough hook.
Combine in a 2-cup measuring cup
2 mashed ripe bananas
2 tsp liquid honey
Enough water to bring the measure to 1 ½ cups
Pour this into the dry mixture and mix very well. Knead for 7 to 10 minutes. If it seems too dry or too wet (bananas vary in their moisture content) then add water or flour, depending, a tablespoon at a time until the dough is easy to knead. It is better for it to be slightly sticky than for it to be really dry.
Let rise covered until double – about 1- 1 ½ hours. Punch down and shape into two balls. Shaping two balls instead of one encourages rising. Place in a greased loaf pan, cover and rise another hour until doubled.
Bake in hot 425 F for 25 – 30 minutes. If the top gets too brown for your liking, cover loosely with foil.
Bring out the butter and enjoy.
Biddy Gloria
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
Vancouver and All That: The Lost Car
I stayed with my son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter Vera, while in Vancouver, and discovered that Vera had very little in the way of books to read. Apparently her books were left in the Philippines because transporting them by air was a no-go due to weight. So, I promised Vera that I would buy her some new books when I went out on Monday.
Monday afternoon found me in the children’s book department in Chapters, Metrotown.I had a wonderful time, but unfortunately my legs were causing me problems because of all the packing and cleaning over the weekend, so I had to keep resting. Sitting down was what I was going to do anyway, because I had arranged to meet second son and ex-husband in Metrotown and they were never on time. We were going to younger son’s condominium for negotiations on the purchase of the property.
Of course, they were late and late and very late, so I decided that the best thing for me was to return to downtown Vancouver as it was getting a little late for a meeting. Off I went to get the car, but upon arrival at the parking place there was no car. Around the mall entrance area I walked a couple of times, getting more panic stricken because in the trunk of the car was a fair amount of cash which I was to give someone downtown. Finally, on legs which would hardly carry me I made my way to the mall administration office to enquire whether any cars had been towed. No, they had not and it was suggested I see security right away.
Following their directions to the security office I couldn’t find it (typical), and almost in tears, I made my way back to Chapters to sit for a while. Suddenly, manna from heaven – a security guy appeared walking out of Chapters and I immediately flagged him down. Unfortunately, he didn’t represent the branch of security I wanted, but he did kindly offer to have a rep from traffic security come to me, so I wouldn’t have to walk.
The traffic security rep arrived five minutes later, seemingly quite enthused about assisting a doddery old woman who had lost her car. He told me how, quite often, people lost their car in the parkade, because they couldn’t remember where they had parked it. I vehemently denied that this was the my case. I was always attentive as to where I parked my car in parking lots and parkades, so there was very little possibility of me having forgotten where I had put the car.
At his request, I gave him all the details, took his duly offered arm, and rode the escalator down to the next floor. We went through the same procedures as I had done when I came to look for the car, and nothing was to be found. Finally, as we walked back into the building again, he turned and asked me if I had checked the lower floor!
Ding dong! Acute embarrassment swept over me because I hadn’t even thought about the lower floor. However, the embarrassment was tempered by the excitement of possibly finding the car and the money. Down to the next level we went to find the car. As we came out of the building doorway and turned in the direction of the parking spot, there gleamed a touch of bright red front car body belonging to my rented car. I could have jumped for joy.
The security rep couldn’t have been nicer in the face of the chagrin felt by yours truly. When we arrived back at Chapters, he even offered to go and find my son who was hopefully looking for me just outside the main entrance of Chapters. When they arrived back, I knew by the look on Michael’s face that it would be a while before I lived down that experience. I had hoped it would be over and done with that day. Fat chance!
Monday afternoon found me in the children’s book department in Chapters, Metrotown.I had a wonderful time, but unfortunately my legs were causing me problems because of all the packing and cleaning over the weekend, so I had to keep resting. Sitting down was what I was going to do anyway, because I had arranged to meet second son and ex-husband in Metrotown and they were never on time. We were going to younger son’s condominium for negotiations on the purchase of the property.
Of course, they were late and late and very late, so I decided that the best thing for me was to return to downtown Vancouver as it was getting a little late for a meeting. Off I went to get the car, but upon arrival at the parking place there was no car. Around the mall entrance area I walked a couple of times, getting more panic stricken because in the trunk of the car was a fair amount of cash which I was to give someone downtown. Finally, on legs which would hardly carry me I made my way to the mall administration office to enquire whether any cars had been towed. No, they had not and it was suggested I see security right away.
Following their directions to the security office I couldn’t find it (typical), and almost in tears, I made my way back to Chapters to sit for a while. Suddenly, manna from heaven – a security guy appeared walking out of Chapters and I immediately flagged him down. Unfortunately, he didn’t represent the branch of security I wanted, but he did kindly offer to have a rep from traffic security come to me, so I wouldn’t have to walk.
The traffic security rep arrived five minutes later, seemingly quite enthused about assisting a doddery old woman who had lost her car. He told me how, quite often, people lost their car in the parkade, because they couldn’t remember where they had parked it. I vehemently denied that this was the my case. I was always attentive as to where I parked my car in parking lots and parkades, so there was very little possibility of me having forgotten where I had put the car.
At his request, I gave him all the details, took his duly offered arm, and rode the escalator down to the next floor. We went through the same procedures as I had done when I came to look for the car, and nothing was to be found. Finally, as we walked back into the building again, he turned and asked me if I had checked the lower floor!
Ding dong! Acute embarrassment swept over me because I hadn’t even thought about the lower floor. However, the embarrassment was tempered by the excitement of possibly finding the car and the money. Down to the next level we went to find the car. As we came out of the building doorway and turned in the direction of the parking spot, there gleamed a touch of bright red front car body belonging to my rented car. I could have jumped for joy.
The security rep couldn’t have been nicer in the face of the chagrin felt by yours truly. When we arrived back at Chapters, he even offered to go and find my son who was hopefully looking for me just outside the main entrance of Chapters. When they arrived back, I knew by the look on Michael’s face that it would be a while before I lived down that experience. I had hoped it would be over and done with that day. Fat chance!
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Vancouver and All That….. The Skytrain
My next adventure in Vancouver, following the shock of the parkade rates, was an incident the following evening.
I had been working non-stop packing and cleaning at the condominium and decided to call it a day at about 10:00p.m. Son number one called me from downtown and offered to come and collect me from Burnaby in the car. I assured him there was no problem and he could pick me up at Burrard station downtown from the Skytrain.
Off I went with friend Bob who drove me to the Metro station and I boarded the Skytrain after just a few minutes wait. Settling myself down in the middle coach, to the rear, I took out some reading material (don’t even remember what it was).
At the following station a couple of men boarded the train. One was tallish, a little on the chubby side with a round face and totally out of it – drunk as a lord. The other was much quieter but seemed prepared to follow up on any remarks that came non-stop from the drunken one.
When they stepped onto the train, the first thing the drunken lord shouted was “Well, there’s grandma and how’s grandma this evening? I nearly died, but I am not sure whether it was because of fear or outrage. Outrage that apparently I looked my age – how dare they! Hadn’t I been told dozens of times that I didn’t look my age? The lesser drunken lord made his way to behind my seat and sat down to peer over my shoulder to see what I was reading, while there was a stream of unending grandma remarks coming from the drunken lord who had parked himself, thank goodness, by the door. There were no abusive remarks uttered, but I slowly started to get quite concerned because I was not sure where it all would end.
I sat rigidly staring at my book, not giving them the satisfaction of even recognizing the grandma tirade and I could see the three young girls in front of me showing a bit of concern.
Having received no joy in getting any reaction from me, the two men suddenly disappeared down to the other end of the car, and started on another subject. I relaxed a little, but not for long, because they soon came back and started on about grandma again. All of a sudden, one of the young girls sitting opposite to our drunken lord let him have it.
“For f…….. sake why don’t you just shut up?” she yelled at the top of her voice. “Leave her alone”. (Grandma, that is).
Just as she was about to hurl further rage in his direction and I think, if necessary, get up and hit him, we drew up at a station, the doors opened and there was a couple of Skytrain policemen. Never was I or anyone else in that car so thankful as they yanked the drunken lord out of the car onto the station platform.
The young girls in front of me immediately turned to make sure that I was OK, and I assured them with a forced smile that I was a tough old bird and would survive. They were not to know that I had a very heavy handbag at the ready at all times, and would have lashed out with all my strength if the drunken lord and his mate had approached me physically.
We concluded that, unbeknown to us, someone at the other end of the car must have called for help and there was definitely a communal sigh of relief when the closing doors shut out our intruder.
What a journey. Obviously I had been living in the past and had expected the journey to be calm and uneventful. Fat chance!
I had been working non-stop packing and cleaning at the condominium and decided to call it a day at about 10:00p.m. Son number one called me from downtown and offered to come and collect me from Burnaby in the car. I assured him there was no problem and he could pick me up at Burrard station downtown from the Skytrain.
Off I went with friend Bob who drove me to the Metro station and I boarded the Skytrain after just a few minutes wait. Settling myself down in the middle coach, to the rear, I took out some reading material (don’t even remember what it was).
At the following station a couple of men boarded the train. One was tallish, a little on the chubby side with a round face and totally out of it – drunk as a lord. The other was much quieter but seemed prepared to follow up on any remarks that came non-stop from the drunken one.
When they stepped onto the train, the first thing the drunken lord shouted was “Well, there’s grandma and how’s grandma this evening? I nearly died, but I am not sure whether it was because of fear or outrage. Outrage that apparently I looked my age – how dare they! Hadn’t I been told dozens of times that I didn’t look my age? The lesser drunken lord made his way to behind my seat and sat down to peer over my shoulder to see what I was reading, while there was a stream of unending grandma remarks coming from the drunken lord who had parked himself, thank goodness, by the door. There were no abusive remarks uttered, but I slowly started to get quite concerned because I was not sure where it all would end.
I sat rigidly staring at my book, not giving them the satisfaction of even recognizing the grandma tirade and I could see the three young girls in front of me showing a bit of concern.
Having received no joy in getting any reaction from me, the two men suddenly disappeared down to the other end of the car, and started on another subject. I relaxed a little, but not for long, because they soon came back and started on about grandma again. All of a sudden, one of the young girls sitting opposite to our drunken lord let him have it.
“For f…….. sake why don’t you just shut up?” she yelled at the top of her voice. “Leave her alone”. (Grandma, that is).
Just as she was about to hurl further rage in his direction and I think, if necessary, get up and hit him, we drew up at a station, the doors opened and there was a couple of Skytrain policemen. Never was I or anyone else in that car so thankful as they yanked the drunken lord out of the car onto the station platform.
The young girls in front of me immediately turned to make sure that I was OK, and I assured them with a forced smile that I was a tough old bird and would survive. They were not to know that I had a very heavy handbag at the ready at all times, and would have lashed out with all my strength if the drunken lord and his mate had approached me physically.
We concluded that, unbeknown to us, someone at the other end of the car must have called for help and there was definitely a communal sigh of relief when the closing doors shut out our intruder.
What a journey. Obviously I had been living in the past and had expected the journey to be calm and uneventful. Fat chance!
Friday, January 15, 2010
Vancouver and All That………..
It’s a New Year – 2010. However, it is a disastrous New Year for all people living in Haiti, and our thoughts and prayers must go out to these people facing a seemingly non-existent future, based on a very poor foundation of a past.
Welcome back to my Blog, to which I have returned with a multitude of New Year resolutions, knowing full well that practically none of them are going anywhere. That sounds like a bit of positive thinking, doesn’t it?
Thought I would write a few short blogs during the next couple of weeks about some very recent, unplanned and unwanted experiences on a trip to Vancouver. My mission to that fair city was to provide some help (mainly cleaning) for ex husband who was moving out of his condo, and to see my lovely granddaughter.
Instead of going on the ferry as a foot passenger, this time the mode of transportation was via rented car because I had to take some household items to my son and daughter in law, who had just moved into an apartment after arriving back from a sojourn in the Far East. They had not a stick of furniture or anything else for that matter, so the cry went out to family members and I volunteered to do my thing.
For me, driving in Vancouver is a bit of a nightmare, but I managed quite well until I arrived on the corner of West Georgia Street and Burrard. Here I had to find a parking place in order to meet an old friend for lunch, who I hadn’t seen for about four years. I must have been out of my tree if I even vaguely thought (which indeed I did), that there would be a parking space waiting for me to install my car. Fat chance! After doing the grand tour of the vicinity for about half an hour I was resigned to going into a parkade.
My friend and I had a wonderful lunch and a great catch up session, both of us ruing the difficulties of living at opposite ends of this vast country of ours. After about two and a half hours, she went her way and I went mine, back to collect the car. Not having a clue about the cost, I had my ten dollar bill ready to hand to the attendant, but was informed that the cost was $21.00! I had to ask him for a second time because I simply didn’t believe what he said; I had a heck of a time composing and reminding myself that the parking attendant had nothing to do with setting the sky-high rates in the parkade. After taking time to retrieve the additional payment from my bag, I reluctantly handed over the money.
With the stress caused by this exorbitant bill, it took me a while to set the car on a straight course to my son’s apartment which was not that far away, thank goodness.
Ah, well, more next time on this trip.
Welcome back to my Blog, to which I have returned with a multitude of New Year resolutions, knowing full well that practically none of them are going anywhere. That sounds like a bit of positive thinking, doesn’t it?
Thought I would write a few short blogs during the next couple of weeks about some very recent, unplanned and unwanted experiences on a trip to Vancouver. My mission to that fair city was to provide some help (mainly cleaning) for ex husband who was moving out of his condo, and to see my lovely granddaughter.
Instead of going on the ferry as a foot passenger, this time the mode of transportation was via rented car because I had to take some household items to my son and daughter in law, who had just moved into an apartment after arriving back from a sojourn in the Far East. They had not a stick of furniture or anything else for that matter, so the cry went out to family members and I volunteered to do my thing.
For me, driving in Vancouver is a bit of a nightmare, but I managed quite well until I arrived on the corner of West Georgia Street and Burrard. Here I had to find a parking place in order to meet an old friend for lunch, who I hadn’t seen for about four years. I must have been out of my tree if I even vaguely thought (which indeed I did), that there would be a parking space waiting for me to install my car. Fat chance! After doing the grand tour of the vicinity for about half an hour I was resigned to going into a parkade.
My friend and I had a wonderful lunch and a great catch up session, both of us ruing the difficulties of living at opposite ends of this vast country of ours. After about two and a half hours, she went her way and I went mine, back to collect the car. Not having a clue about the cost, I had my ten dollar bill ready to hand to the attendant, but was informed that the cost was $21.00! I had to ask him for a second time because I simply didn’t believe what he said; I had a heck of a time composing and reminding myself that the parking attendant had nothing to do with setting the sky-high rates in the parkade. After taking time to retrieve the additional payment from my bag, I reluctantly handed over the money.
With the stress caused by this exorbitant bill, it took me a while to set the car on a straight course to my son’s apartment which was not that far away, thank goodness.
Ah, well, more next time on this trip.
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