Archive for the ‘Food’ Category

29 Days


Happy birthday, Dad!

Father and daughter
xs and os
Sitting in the car,
stopped in traffic,
they marked grids
on the fogged-up window,
it was a mystery to her
when she was very young
the way he failed to gain a row
the way she always, always won.
-Aifric Mac Aodha



29 days of self-portraits in the advent of Leap Day

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Rosh Hashanah


May you be inscribed and sealed for a good year

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Jiblet burrito


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Feast of Sacrifice

Eid al-Adha,
Bakrid Mubarak

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Checking in on the windowsill garden

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soon, tofu


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M14: Food

I took lots of pictures of food while in Morocco and these days I’m taking lots of pictures of food while home in Ottawa for the holiday.
There is no shortage of subject matter in either location.

Here is a sampling, mostly of Morocco (so far Ottawa’s been pretty heavy on the cookies)…

Indulging is a delicious aspect of holidays, home and abroad.
xo to you all this Christmas.


The whole album!
Let’s spend an hour together, shall we?

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I had kept an apartment on William Street in Kingston, where I had been living for just over five years; at first as a student and then, following my graduation, while working several uncertain and part-time jobs. Days were lazy and vague in the cloudy year that followed my convocation. Things had begun cheerfully enough in the summer with a contract at the university. I had been given a small office where there was a little square window out of which I could see children playing on a nearby hill. I used to smile to myself when I would see these children chasing after a soccer ball tipped over the edge of the hill, and gather such momentum that they would end by rolling down in the tall grass. I thought that I would be okay, there, with my bookshelves, the radio, and views out the window.

The friend I remember most from my time on William Street is Ida. Ida and I had not known one another well while we were students, even though we were in the same course. When we lived in residence, friends of Ida’s would sometimes ask me if I wanted to walk with them through the snow to get something to eat. It was in that way that we originally came to know one another. At dinner, Ida used to look at her food with great intensity, and one night Leila, a friend of hers, said ‘Ida: oh-my-god if you keep on playing with your food I’m going to think you’re, like, totally gross.’

The summer I graduated, I met Ida on the street and she said to me, ‘Sean! Eva told me where you’re living now and – guess what – we’re neighbours! We totally have to be best friends!’ Her eyes widened in a way that suggested she was half being ironic. Matching her tone, I said:

‘Oh my God! I know!’

‘Great!’ She said, ‘I love it! I’m going to call you!’

One evening that summer we made dinner together and ate it on the roof of her apartment. I climbed through the window above her kitchen counter and she passed food and cutlery to me. For a table cloth, we unfolded a blue and white striped bed sheet upon the black shingles of the roof and pinned it down at the corners with condiments and a salt shaker. We sat barefoot on the cotton eating roasted chicken and sipping cheap wine. At one point, I crawled down to the edge of the roof and looked at what was below: you could see the alleyway that snuck around the back of the old four-storey limestone building she lived in, and into the ground floor window of a building behind hers. There was nothing that you could see through the window, however: covering it were a pair of cheap, plastic blinds that had begun to crack and bend from having been pulled up and down too many times.

‘What can you see?’ Ida said, licking her fingers as she delicately handled a leg of the chicken.

‘Well, nothing, really. Nothing that you wouldn’t expect to see.’

‘It’s so beautiful here. Sean, let’s do this everyday,’ Ida said, and then she let out a short laugh.

* * *


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I wanna jam it wid you

So, there are these trees here. And every spring they sprout fruit like a rash. The first time I saw one of these trees was when E and I were strolling through a Montmartre neighbourhood alley. We first thought the tree was an apricot, and, being the people we are, plucked a handful of fruit and continued on our stroll. NOT apricots. BUT: marvelously delicious. We were curious.
Fast forward 2 years and here we are again, faced with these trees. Quick research enlightened us: Loquat.
In true Southern California fashion, it is normal to just leave the fruit hanging on the tree in your yard while you go to the store or market to buy that exact same fruit.

When life hands you loquats, get jammin’!
I followed loosely the instruction for this and swapped honey with agave.

I blanched the skins off

and peeled and seeded each fruit. This took two hours!

Then, mashed it all together in the pot, boiling and simmering at the right times for the agar to activate…

and jarred it up.

No, I didn’t boil my jars. I have tonnes of information on sterilising jars and frankly I was scared. These be freezer jams.

Soooo yummers on some brown rice toast!

Here’s a raw jam recipe I’ve been meaning to make since viewing the video a few months ago. I love Julie Morris and I have chia at home in Toronto. It is so on.

Jam’s about my pride and truth I cannot hide
To keep you satisfied.
True love that now exist is the love I can’t resist,
So jam by my side.

-Bob Marley

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Sometimes, lemons look like things.

Snout lemon

Flight of the Navigator

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