Blog Birthday #5!

“Kill two birds with one stone.” It’s a common expression and I use it without thinking, although I don’t really want to kill any birds – they have enough problems.

In this case, “two birds” refers to one blog post with two goals – wishing you a belated Happy New Year and wishing Kitchen Bliss a Happy 5th Birthday!

As you may know, the restaurant review gig has hijacked parts of my life and although I managed to post some recipes in 2019, the last “blog post” was “Happy 4th Birthday” – good grief. I have continued to work on perfecting a few more Hungarian recipes and they sit on my shoulder begging to be added to the site.

I wonder if you noticed that in the Resto Reviews I have enjoyed cuisines from many parts of the world – but not Hungary! Locally there is no Hungarian restaurant (though there were a few when I was younger). I have no idea why that is, but a recent Bloomberg article called “How Food Will Change in 2020”, listed one trend as “Central European Cuisine Heats Up”. They offered the example - “In New York, Stephen Starr’s new Veronika restaurant will highlight Hungarian and Viennese food, two areas that haven’t seen major play in the city for decades.”

We need that trend to move north! I know, you’re going to tell me about a Hungarian restaurant in Toronto – but in truth I am not over the moon about that place.

One Hungarian place worth a visit is the Budapest Bakeshop in Niagara on the Lake (NOTL). Their main (only) feature is the Chimney Cake (Kürtőskalács). It’s been a while since we visited Hungary, and of the many times we did, these were not yet a “thing”. They were popular in the Romanian–speaking parts of Hungary and now seem to be everywhere – there is even a Chimney Cake Food Truck in Hamilton! The NOTL location is charming, as are the owners. The savoury versions use Hungarian salami and sausage, and the sweet versions include cinnamon and walnut. You’ll love them!

Meanwhile, while hoping for a Hungarian restaurant to open, I cook Hungarian at home. Family Day is around the corner – and that’s our sausage-making day with best friends, using equipment crafted by my Dad. Just after NYE, Mr. KB once again made Kocsonya – a pork stock gelatin that surrounds delicate pork meat. His results are far more gourmet than what my parents/grandparents used to produce. Very flavourful though I have not yet warmed up to that dish. If it had the fancy name “aspic” would I be more inclined to eat it? For now my gelatin preference seems limited to fake red stuff that tastes like strawberry - though I haven’t had that in this century. Nonetheless, the Kocsonya recipe will one day go on the blog for the benefit of family and friends.

You never know who will use blog recipes. My blog averages 80 visits per day and last November I got a traffic alert that over 180 people has visited on a single day. What were they looking at? Liver Stuffing!! (this was close to American Thanksgiving). For those who made it, I hope they enjoyed it. I have to say that if, on Xmas day, I had to eat only one thing, it would be that stuffing. Last February 250 people visited on one day searching for Gingerbread Cake – and I must say that cake is out of this world. Try it soon!

New Year? No resolutions – especially about food since I am now paid to eat (too much) every week. And last week I went to three bakeries – prepping for a Valentine’s Day column. (Happy V Day BTW.)

2019 was a year with a few “milestones”. We went to a Pink Martini concert and were startled to learn it was their 25th Anniversary. Lordy – have we been fans that long? Even worse – we saw the Chieftains perform – their final tour after 57 years. I don’t know what to say. We weren’t on the bandwagon right away, but jeepers – where have the years gone? When again will we tread the “Rocky Road to Dublin”?

Another milestone was the end of Star Wars with the last film – The Rise of Skywalker. We clearly remember the experience of the first movie in 1977, and continued to be part of this unprecedented phenomena of following a series for decades - dragging family along on the adventure. So, no more Star Wars? One consolation prize is the return of Star Trek’s Captain Picard. And Star Wars has joined the TV world offering Mandalorian.

And that brings me to my new love of 2019, a character in the Mandalorian – Baby Yoda. The Mandalorian production company clearly figured out that some of us are suckers for “big eyes” – a characteristic shared by two of my other loves – Luka and Dusty.

I’ll leave you with thoughts from one of my favourite writers – Nora Ephron.

As a side note, in recent years I have returned to using the library. When I updated my card, all the librarians gathered around ogling my old card - they had never seen one of that vintage. I was on a wait list for Ephron’s book - “I Feel Bad About My Neck”. Then a strange thing happened - a “good as new” copy showed up at the book-share space at the Senior Centre where I volunteer as a tech tutor. It felt like it was meant for me. On the inside were the words “Mom, from Mary. Xmas 2006”. I can’t help wondering if “Mom” was decluttering or if “Mary” was emptying her house. I’m sure they’d both be happy to know the book found a good home - until I declutter.

The book is a collection of essays on topics from wrinkled necks, to parenting, to decluttering, and dying - and was published in 2006, six years before her own death. An excerpt:

“Here are some questions I am constantly noodling over: do you splurge or do you hoard? Do you live every day as if it’s your last, or do you save your money on the chance you’ll live twenty more years? Is life too short, or is it going to be too long? Do you work as hard as you can, or do you slow down to smell the roses? And where do carbohydrates fit into all of this? Are we really going to have to spend our last years avoiding bread, especially now that bread in America is so unbelievably delicious? And what about chocolate?”

I eat too many carbs – yet still maintain that bread (and butter) would be my choice for my last supper. I also wrote about overcoming my fear of yeast and making my first bread in 2015. Now, I not only love bread, but love making it. I think it’s not too late to declare 2020 “My Year of Bread”. (Watch for some new recipe posts on that! In fact I’ve already posted a great recipe for a Cannoli Quick Bread.)

Carbs? Damn the torpedoes! Happy Birthday to Kitchen Bliss and Happy 2020 to you. Life’s a bit scary these days. Eat bread - maybe even cake! Hugs!

P.S. I have been slowly posting reviews of my favourite restos on the blog.

Blog Birthday!

Neglected… that’s how my little blog has been feeling. No “stories” since August and the last new recipe was in November! Most readers will know that is because of my new gig as restaurant reviewer for The Hamilton Spectator.

I’m determined to get back to blogging and this entry is prompted by a special occasion. February 7 – Kitchen Bliss is 4 years old!

In four years Kitchen Bliss has shared 162 recipes and 51 stories. A year ago many of you had great comments on my Dinner Party reflections. Two years ago it was all about the secrets to happiness with reference to social media being dominated by the hashtag #f*ck2016. (Really!? We thought 2016 was a bad year?)

This is a terrible time to be a political junkie. Humour may be the best antidote.

This post will also have to serve as a (belated) Happy New Year greeting. The year flew by – they all fly by. 2019 will mark seven years since I retired – not hard to remember that number - it has also been seven years since my Dad died. He’d be 92. He always liked “a good feed” and it would have been fun if he could have been my dining date for a restaurant review!

Resto reviewer sounds like a dream job – the fun of eating out and reconnecting with friends who offer to be dining partners. But, true to form, I have stepped up to the plate and proved that for each weekly review I can make the work expand to fill more time than one would imagine, or hope for.

I have to figure out where to go – aiming for some balance of resto type and location. Do some research on the resto and the chef or owner. Drive and dine. Do a post-dining interview, and then write. In the words of the Food Editor – “Just barf out the first draft and go from there.” So, that’s kind of what I do and I always end up with 1200-1400 words which must then be cut back to 800. All those lovely words falling to the floor… I’m learning to not become too attached to any of them. Then there’s photo editing and the paper trail to keep myself organized. It’s been a “full circle” life activity. I am back to earning 75 cents per hour – my wage when at age 15 I first began working as a “duster” in Sherwood Drugstore. (Do they even hire people to be dusters anymore??)

I have passed my probation period and have no idea how long this will last. I already know that once it’s over the best part will have been the people. It is startling and heartwarming, week after week, chatting with young entrepreneurs who love Hamilton and see it as a thriving, happening kind of place. So much of my life has focused on Burlington, Oakville, Toronto and New York. Now I am re-discovering my hometown at a time when there are exciting changes.

If you’ve read any of my reviews you’ll know that each week I hunt for the story behind the restaurant. I love stories, and story-telling. In The Faraway Nearby, Rebecca Solnit says “We tell ourselves stories in order to live… We think we tell stories but stories often tell us, tell us to love or to hate, to see or to be blind.” Telling stories about food - and those who passionately prepare it - is often about love and seeing things anew.

The unexpected resto gig has helped me keep on track with many of the so-called secrets to successful retirement. Stay busy, be a lifelong learner, give back, get social. A world that was shrinking has suddenly become bigger – eating out weekly, exploring new places and cuisines, sometimes re-connecting with people I’ve not seen in years, and forging new relationships with people of varying ages. Inter-generational experiences are, as promised, good for you. Researching for some reviews sends me down rabbit holes learning new things. And opportunities for giving back pop up. Just this week I was a judge for Hamilton’s 17th fundraising SoupFest. Fun – but after tasting 20 soups I don’t want to see soup for a wee bit.

I remain humble about this role as a reviewer, and hold no illusions that I personally am “an influencer”. But people do seem to read the GO section of the paper and more than one resto has been in touch with me saying that they have had their best day, or best month ever of sales. That’s got to be a good thing, right?

Let me take this opportunity to thank all who have sent along kind words about the reviews. That’s always appreciated – though never consider it a compulsory reading assignment!

One last bit of trivia. There is little room in this house for another kitchen toy, but… we just got one. No, not an Instant Pot – so far, resistance on that front has not been futile. With our annual sausage making day coming up, we got a vacuum sealer to prevent freezer burn on the frozen sausages - or any frozen thing - because… well… check out the cartoon. Say no more.

I always end a blog with a recipe. Here’s my recipe for the famous, iconic Hungarian confection – Zserbó Szelet. In all honesty, I suspect few of you will make it, but it will be waiting online for the day that someone else in the family wants to re-create this sweet that has been part of Xmas memories.

[PS. I have been sharing links to the resto reviews via my newsletters. Subscribe to them here. I promise one day soon I’ll add links to the Resto Page in my site – another section that has been neglected.]

There are blossoms on the west coast – 40 days to Spring!

Finding the Farm

The road of life. So many twists and turns. So many “what ifs” that affect the course of our stories.

A key moment in this story was in 2001 - December 13. An ominous number if you believe in omens. My Father was in need of important surgery. I assumed the role of “fixer”, helping to secure the date for surgery, offering assurances that all would be fine - joking “After all, it’s not brain surgery”. Except that it was.

There was nothing planned for the day before the surgery. It would have been a perfect opportunity to take my Dad for a drive and get him to navigate to the location of my Grandparents’ farm in Wellandport. He might have loved it, but I was ambivalent. Since a 1:1 outing with me would have been unusual, I feared that he’d take it as a sign. That he’d give me that look and say “This isn’t going to end well, is it?” He would have been right. To keep his spirits up, we behaved like it was any ordinary day. No father-daughter outing. An opportunity lost. From December 14, 2001 “Where was the farm?” became a mystery.

I don’t know if my paternal Grandfather was happy to be a farmer, or was even a good farmer. As a peasant in a Hungarian village, he was enticed to come to Canada in 1927.

Just now, immigration values and issues are in daily headlines, but at the turn of the last century Canada had thrown its doors wide open. Starting in the 1890s, an organized, aggressive and expansive immigration marketing campaign began, luring settlers to Western Canada with the promise of free land. To be exact, 160 acres – a “quarter section” (a quarter of a square mile). Pamphlets and posters appeared in dozens of languages, distributed all over Europe. I have seen these at Pier 21. Here are some examples.

Being gifted free land turned out to be no picnic. I recall my Father relating a story about a sod house. It seems they were not uncommon. Whether family myth or true, the story I heard was that 15 months after arriving, my Grandfather made his way to town to post a letter telling my Grandmother not to come. That very day, she was stepping off the train, with two wee kiddies in tow – the youngest being my father. [Read more about my Grandmother here.]

It seems that by the time they joined him a log house was in place. His Naturalization papers reflect the big picture. By 1933, six years after "going west young man", he owned two cattle and two horses. The horses undoubtedly had helped him break and crop 28 of his 160 acres. His assets included a log house valued at $350, a log barn ($50) and a log granary ($100). 

The Spiritwood, Saskatchewan chapter of farming life included the deaths of two infants and (for reasons I will now never know) ended with a move to Wellandport, Ontario and a dairy farm. That chapter ended with the tragic death of my young uncle, and the move to Steeltown / Hamilton. All three boys born in Canada died. It might have grown to be a huge family, but today, ninety years after arriving, this branch of the family tree consists of only ten of us.

The farm. The house with a big wood-burning stove. The oil cloth table cover. Learning to recognize the unique ring pattern on the “party line” phone. The stairs leading to the second floor trap door. The chickens, the well, the windmill. Sandy, the dog. There were several Sandys – oddly each had a penchant for running into the road to meet their end. Sitting atop bales of hay as the hay wagon swayed and bounced through the fields – surely a feat that would not, today, get child safety approval. And the cows – always one named Diane. To this day I have high tolerance for barnyard fragrances.

I have many memories of time spent on the farm – but where, exactly, was it? Last year I emptied my parents’ house and found no hints. 

Then the magic began. A clue. I got a hold of a few photos. A good friend showed these to her son who turned out to be an amazing “detective”. His job gave him easy access to aerial photos. He matched a curve in the road and my reference to a creek at the back of the property to aerial photos and maps and came up with a guess – one that proved to be correct! 

This was the summer of the "Find the Farm" expedition. We discovered that every building on the property had been demolished.  But "magic" was soon followed by fun! The highlight of the expedition was meeting the extended family on the neighbouring property who had farmed their land for several generations. They remembered my Grandparents, my Uncle, my family.

As we chatted, one of them disappeared and returned with a gift. Last year they went for a hike in the bush and found an old milk canister. They rescued it and gave it a lick of paint. It was stamped with my Grandfather’s name, and they insisted that it now belonged to me. One of those crazy spooky moments in life. Not to mention – how had that container survived over fifty years in the bush!?

The neighbours raised chickens, but were mostly dairy farmers. We reminisced about cows and I mentioned we had seen documentaries about modern dairy farms. They said theirs used modern technology! We got a tour! 

Modern dairy farms use free stalls and voluntary milking systems (VMS). Their farm was not massive, used only one VMS and overall had a nice non-industrial vibe. Watch this short video of a similar farm. It explains how the cows are in open stalls, moving and eating freely – and let’s not overlook the “massage station” where they cozy up to a yellow massage brush. They choose when they will be milked and enter a robotic device that washes their teats, latches on and then milks them according to accumulated data re their normal production.

The neighbours reported that in my Grandfather's day trucks used to stop at every farm along the road to pick up milk. Not today. In Niagara, over the last 10 years, the number of milk producers has fallen from 61 to 44. [Source] But fear not! Today, milk production has actually increased. Some farmers increased their herd size and milking methods have improved.  [Source}

I am a member of Food Bloggers of Canada (FBC). They do much to support bloggers in connecting with local food producers. Even if you have no family farm memories, the connections you can make with farmers – who tend to welcome your interest – actualizes and personalizes the work and the issues. Right now, dairy farmers have grave concerns about possible negative outcomes from the current Canada / USA trade talks. I have known folks who cross the border for cheap milk and butter. I never have and never will. The bounty our local farmers produce is worth every penny. 

Well, that’s the "Finding the Farm" story. I’ll end this post with a recipe that replicates the sweet bun staple made by my Grandmother – I think of her as the Kalács Queen! Click here for the recipe for Sweet Buns with Ricotta.

Do you have any stories about farms? Click on the word "Comments" below. And/or leave a "Like"! Can't wait to hear from you!

P.S. In case you want a quick sweet read while eating sweet buns - here's a delicious story about how a Cornwall community helped a family get back their farm.

Please may I leave the table?

Recently, something triggered this childhood memory. 

At the conclusion of family meals, we had to ask to be excused from the table - something like -  “May I please be excused?” I find that to be so odd. It was a blue collar family with no aspirations to be anything more, so what was that table manner ritual all about? Was it simple decency or “hoity-toity”?

You could scold me for implying that good manners are linked to family income or social status (more on that later). In other respects, there was no “hoit” or “toit”. The dining table was in the kitchen, covered with a plastic table cloth. We used everyday dishes and cutlery, and always carefully placed the Tupperware salt and pepper shakers where elders could easily reach them. (There were, of course, nicer tablecloths, and crystal salt and pepper shakers for special occasions.)

Surely I must have got an A+ on this!

In other respects, I don’t recall a table manners “curriculum”, as in “elbows off the table, no slouching, no leaning back in your chair, don’t chew with your mouth open, don’t talk with your mouthful,  don’t gang-plank your knife, wait for others before starting…” Oddly, since this list comes from memory and not research, someone must have been drumming that into me.

Perhaps the “drummers” were my home economics teachers? It was there, after all, that I learned how to set a table. 

Again, where did this stuff come from? Fortunately, some culinary historians have tackled the history of table manners and claim that the Industrial Revolution (1760-1840), the emergence of a middle class, and the Victorian Era were responsible for the more widespread adoption of manners that might previously have been observed only in high society [Source].

There is also some claim that learning table manners was indeed "hoity-toity" and linked to optimizing performance ratings if one had opportunities for social climbing. Not so hard to believe. "Pygmalion" (the inspiration for '"My Fair Lady") may have been published back in 1913, but even today image consultants have plenty of clients.  (One story line in China Rich Girlfriend focuses on a "disruptive" being coached to fit into Hong Kong high society!) As always, manners are part of the game, unless you have enough charm or other assets to get away with being a disruptor.

Another viewpoint was that the teaching of social graces had less to do with upward mobility and more to do with “democratic levelling”. Etiquette “books had always been popular in America: the country’s exotic mix of immigrants and newly rich were eager to fit in with the establishment. Men had to be taught not to blow their noses into their hands or to spit tobacco onto ladies’ backs. Arthur M. Schlesinger, who wrote 'Learning How to Behave: A Historical Study of American Etiquette Books' in 1946, said that etiquette books were part of 'the leveling-up process of democracy,' an attempt to resolve the conflict between the democratic ideal and the reality of class.” Crikey! A bit of a powder keg if we start to unpack that. [Source]

In my family, growing up, we did at least eat together. When I emptied my parents’ house last year there were three sets of TV tables, but during the time I lived in that house they were seldom used for family eating in front of the TV. My mother would never buy us TV Dinners. I am aware that, today, families may struggle to eat together. Kids may come and go from the table and even when remaining at the table, digital distractions often result in people “virtually leaving”.

I (lovingly and respectfully) ponder that being held hostage at the dinner table might also have been an exercise in old-fashioned parental power. A daily reminder of “who’s the boss”. You leave the table when I say so, you thank your mother (yes, always the mother) for dinner, and even if you momentarily escape to another room, you come quickly back to clear the table and do the dishes.

Social graces, respectful civility and a power play all in one.

Will have to quiz my own kids about their dinner time etiquette memories :-))

No etiquette book surfaced when I emptied my parents’ house, so where my parents sourced the “manners curriculum” remains a puzzle. Today you need only search on “table manners children” and you’ll get over 2 million results!

One source is from the Emily Post site. She wrote an etiquette book way back in 1922 and for decades after promoted the topic, speaking on radio programs and writing newspaper columns. The Emily Post Institute continues to this day offering their version of the top thirteen table manners for kiddies.

Wade through those internet search results and you can make that list of manners even longer! And/or read this brief, fascinating history of table manners.

A counter-point to asking to leave the table is asking to join the table. I recently enjoyed a podcast about journalist Jane Cunningham Croly who in 1868 was not permitted to attend a dinner honouring Charles Dickens. Why? Because women were not permitted to dine publicly unless they were in the company of a man. The setting was the famous NYC restaurant Delmonico’s - established in 1837 and still open today. They offered to let her into the room if she agreed to dine behind a curtain. She did not. What she did do was to found a women’s club and convinced Delmonico’s to host their meetings. [More on this story...]

This past April 2018, a luncheon of 150 women marked the 150th anniversary of that event. [Use your favourite tool to find and listen to that podcast - "A Taste of the Past", April 20, 2018; episode #297.]

Before closing, I invite you to use the Comments Tool below to share your past or present table manners stories!

Let’s end this blogpost with a recipe as usual. Every mannerly dinner should end with dessert and lately I have been craving cake with icing. Here are my three favourite options – which one shall I choose?

Do you have an iced cake recipe you’d like to recommend?

Carrot Cake

Gingerbread Cake (best icing!!)

Grandma Cake

P.S. Permit me to add a sad postscript about other types of leaving. Anthony Bourdain has also excused himself from the table. Had he asked our permission, the answer would have been a resounding no.

Treasure all with whom you still break bread. And maybe don't be in a rush to leave the table.