by Krista | Jun 16, 2010 | Compatriot Wednesday
Sunday morning dawned brilliantly sunny in British Columbia at my Aunt and Uncle’s lakehouse. I awoke from a deep sleep and wandered groggily into the kitchen to hearty greetings from my kinfolk and the heavenly scent of my Aunt’s Cranberry Orange Scones. My Uncle poured me a steaming mug of coffee and we all visited while my Aunt dusted the scones with powdered sugar, whipped up honey butter and mixed fruit salad. Then with arms laden we trooped out to the sunshiny deck for breakfast. Delicious! 🙂
After such a lovely repast, Mums, my Aunt and I headed out into the warm summer air for a stroll through the hills. The sun hid behind the clouds but left its warmth behind. What a gorgeous day! The air smelled of wild Alberta roses and new leaves and tree sap, the wind sighed through the waving grasses and fields of wild flowers, and rustled the silvery leaves of the poplar trees.
Poplars and birches are my favorite trees in the whole wide world. They remind me of Canada and Russia and a childhood spent climbing them and imagining grand adventures running away from bad guys and rescuing those in distress. Isn’t this grove of poplars even more magical with those sunny Brown-eyed Susans blooming at their roots?
I love Canada. 🙂 Where is your homeland, dear ones? What bit of nature always makes you think of home?
This is my contribution to Wanderfood Wednesday hosted by the lovely Wanderlust and Lipstick. Pay them a visit to see all sorts of splendid travelicious foods.
Auntie Janet’s Cranberry Orange Scones
(From The Best of Bridge)
Ingredients:
3/4 cup buttermilk or plain yogurt
1 egg
2 3/4 cups flour
4 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 cup butter or margarine
1 cup coarsely chopped cranberries (fresh or frozen)
1/2 cup sugar
rind of 1 orange
1 Tbsp. butter, melted
1/4 cup icing sugar
Directions:
- Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.
- Beat buttermilk and egg in small bowl and set aside.
- In large bowl, measure flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.
- Cut in butter until mixture resembles small peas.
- Mix in cranberries, sugar and orange rind.
- Add buttermilk mixture and stir until soft dough forms. Using your hands, form dough into a large ball and place on floured surface. Pat out to 1″ thickness. Cut in 4″ rounds.
- Place on ungreased cookie sheet and bake scones for 15 – 20 minutes.
- While still warm, brush with butter and sprinkle with icing sugar.
- Makes 8 large scones.
by Krista | Jun 15, 2010 | Spring
The sun was still shining after we finished our delectable Bosnian feast in old town Mostar, Bosnia. Our whistles wet and tummies filled we joined the lovely man we’d met on our way in and he lead us around town with a steady stream of stories and history of his beloved Bosnia.
I was charmed by this stream, bricked in serpentine fashion as it splashed and gurgled its way down to the Neretva river.
Sunbeams warmed us on our side of the Neretva but storm clouds were brewing in the distance, looming closer and closer with ominous darkness.
At last we clambered down large concrete steps to the pebbled beach of the Neretva and gazed up at Stari Most, the Old Bridge. Built in the 16th century, it stood for 427 years until it was destroyed in 1993 during the Bosnian conflict. A massive restoration project funded by Spain, Turkey, Italy, the Netherlands, Croatia, and the United States allowed for the restoration of the bridge and surrounding historic buildings and neighborhoods. They did a splendid job.
It is a beautiful part of the city now, children race over the slippery stones of Stari Most, Muslims and Christians pass each other without incident. It’s hard to believe that only a few years ago the citizens of Mostar suffered mass executions, ethnic cleansing, and rape as their city was demolished by heavy artillery.
Now it’s the sort of place where you want to linger, visiting with locals in a cafe, sipping demitasse cups of Bosnian coffee, strong and black, sweetened with lumps of sugar.
(For more information on the lovely Bosnian coffee tradition, I found this post to be fascinating)
Bosanska kafa (Bosnian coffee)
(Inspired by Bosnian Recipes)
Serves Two
*traditional Bosnian coffee is made in a dzezva, but I do not have one so I used a small pot.
Ingredients:
3/4 cup water
3 Tbsp coffee, ground to fine powder
Sugar to taste
Directions:
- Fill pot with water and heat until it just begins to boil then remove from heat.
- Add coffee powder and stir until well mixed.
- Return pot to heat until foam rises, but doesn’t boil, and remove from heat.
- Spoon a teaspoon of foam into two demitasse cups, add coffee and sugar to taste.
- Let coffee sit a minute or two after stirring to allow coffee grounds to settle.
by Krista | Jun 14, 2010 | Bootstrap Monday
It was an idyllic summer morning when we arrived at my Aunt and Uncle’s lakeside home after a gorgeous drive through the mountains of Southern British Columbia. After a flurry of hugs we chatted up a storm while soaking up sunshine on the deck, then sat down to bowls of steaming soup and warm, grainy bread spread with butter and strawberry jam. Bliss.
After lunch my uncle came in and asked if I wanted to go four-wheeling up in the mountains with him. Did I?!! You bet!! I hustled to get ready, joined him in the truck and off we went down some back roads until we found the perfect ditch to unload the four-wheeler. I clambered on behind my uncle and we were off!! The sun was blazing down on us as cool mountain breezes fanned our faces and whipped my hair into an astonishing set of knots. I loved it! We tore along wooded trails, splashed through massive puddles, groaned our way up super high inclines and plunged down others so steep my heart was in my throat. A grouse flew up from the undergrowth right onto my head, batting me with her wings before she landed a short ways away and started running down the trail after us. We chuckled heartily and continued on our merry way.
Then, oh THEN we emerged from the woods into the most glorious alpine meadows.
Sunlight danced off waving grasses and illumined millions of wildflowers in vivid pinks, purples, and creamy whites. My uncle stopped the four-wheeler and we gazed in awe around us, listening to the wind in the grass and birds singing their hearts out. My uncle said it best: “It doesn’t get any better than this.” Grudgingly we got back on the four-wheeler and headed down the other side of the mountain, back into the sun-dappled forest, getting wetter and muddier with each gigantic puddle we forded, and not minding a bit.
As we turned a corner we were momentarily stymied by the sight of two large poplar trees fallen right across the trail. My uncle scoped it out and figured that with me alternately jumping on then steering while he pulled and lifted the tree trunk with his shoulder, we could, perhaps, shimmy it under both trees. So, with much grunting and groaning and hollers of “jump now! steer right! push hard!” we made it.
Feeling quite pleased with ourselves we motored down the trail only to be startled when a huge mother black bear came bolting across the trail while her cubs went darting up a tree on the other side of us. Hmm. You know that saying about never separating a mother bear from her cubs? Well, we had just done that. As we stared in shock the mother bear skidded to a halt and came barreling back looking for her cubs. As soon as he saw her, my uncle put the four-wheeler into reverse and we torqued back up the way we had come while I kept my eyes glued to the cubs and tried to catch a glimpse of the mother bear. Suddenly my uncle braked and decided that if the bear was going to come after us, he’d rather go straight down the mountain where we at least had a chance of getting away than get stuck back at those wretched trees trying to maneuver ourselves back under them.
Heavens.
So, with pulses racing (and every scary story I’ve heard about bear mauling rushing through my mind) I held on while my uncle whooped and hollered to warn the mother bear of our location, gunned the engine and sped right back down the trail. I saw the cubs slide down the tree and scamper off into the woods, but I couldn’t see the mother bear anywhere. While my uncle floored it, I kept watch all around us, ready to holler a warning if a large black bear suddenly bore down upon us. A minute or two down the trail and we came to ANOTHER fallen tree! GAH!! This one we couldn’t get under so I hopped off and climbed over it while my uncle drove into the woods, found a way around it and picked me up on the other side. Then we zoomed off again, bouncing over ruts, flying through puddles, whipping past low-hanging branches, not stopping until we were safely back at the truck. Lordy, lordy!! I tell you I was never so glad to see civilization.
Twas a grand adventure, though! I was super proud of my uncle’s quick thinking and my utter lack of hysterics.
by Krista | Jun 11, 2010 | Fabulous Friday
Hello, dear ones! Heavens, what a week! I’ve burned cake and spilled water and made my rent check out to the wrong people and nearly run out of gas and torn my skirt and if I do one more silly thing I’ll, well, hmm, probably just laugh, or cry, or, if I’m really feeling loopy, both.
I’ve also been dreaming. Dreaming of hot summer days, foreign climes, visits with new and old friends. This weekend I’m realizing two of those dreams with a quick jaunt up to Canada to visit rellies. Since Canada is my homeland I don’t know if it really counts as foreign, but I’m counting it!
Bright and early Saturday morning I’m picking Mums up and heading for the Canadian border where, after they let us in, we will stock up on our favoritest Canadian junk food: Orange Crush, Popcorn Twists and Hawkins Cheezies. If we’re feeling particularly wild, we may even eat Poutine for breakfast.
Then we’ll be off, chatting amiably, listening to books on cd, or singing along to favorite tunes as we drive along this crystal clear river…
…through this mountain pass…
…and this one…
…until we reach this gorgeous spot where we will unload our bags and hug oh-so-tightly my aunt, uncle and Grandpa.
For two whole days we will visit like mad, take long walks in the country, eat my aunt’s amazingly delicious food, and laugh until we’re weeping. I can’t wait.
In the spirit of all things Canadian, I’m bringing a container of Whole Grain Maple Shortbread Cookies. I would be bringing TWO containers, but they’re so darn delicious that I’ve been eating those buttery, maple-y morsels morning, noon and night and, well, there’s only one container left.
I hope you have a beautiful weekend, dear friends! I will see you Monday. 🙂
Krista’s Whole Grain Maple Shortbread
Ingredients:
2 cups whole grain pastry flour
3/4 butter, softened
2 Tbsp butter, melted
1 tsp maple extract
1/4 cup granulated sugar
Directions:
- Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
- Add maple syrup to melted butter and stir.
- Combine all ingredients and press into a square 1/2 inch thick.
- Cut into squares and bake for 20 minutes.
by Krista | Jun 10, 2010 | Literary Nibbles
The moon was high and the snow thick on the ground as Mr. and Mrs. Beaver, Peter, Susan and Lucy hurriedly shouldered their bundles and left the cozy dam. Edmund’s disappearance confirmed their suspicions that he was in league with the White Witch and they were in mortal peril. I remember willing Mrs. Beaver to hurry, HURRY, as the wolves sent to kill them got closer and closer.
At last they departed, the children following Mr. Beaver on a path that meandered next to the frozen river. I pictured that scene so many times, envisioning the white world glowing and magical in the moonlight. I imagined the slippery ice of the dam, the deep snow they trudged through, their much-too-big fur coats leaving a trail behind them. I thought hiking all night long must have been horrible, and felt their pain as their burdens felt heavier, their feet dragged and eyelids drooped.
Finally they stopped as Mr. Beaver veered off the path and scurried into a hole in a dense thicket. They climbed in after him, finding a snug little cave, dry and safe from prying eyes. It was cramped and the ground uneven, but with so many bodies (and a sip from Mr. Beaver’s flask!) they were soon warm and fast asleep.
They woke hours later as daylight glimmered through the opening, and were jolted into alertness by the sound of jingling bells. Fear gripped them as Mr. Beaver slipped out of the cave to see who it was, and their hearts leapt in fright as voices drifted down. Surely Mr. Beaver had been caught by the White Witch!
Within moments, however, Mr. Beaver was calling cheerily for them to come out and join him. So blinking and rumpled and dirty, they emerged from the cave and scrambled up the steep bank. There were reindeer and a sleigh and bells, but instead of the evil White Witch stood the massive, bearded, and red-robed Father Christmas. I remember thinking how lucky they were to meet him, how comforting that solid, beaming man must have been after their terrifying flight in the dark.
Father Christmas brought more than presents and jollity that day, he brought strength and a renewed hope that all was not lost. He bestowed gifts on them: a sewing machine for Mrs. Beaver, a mended dam for her husband, shield and sword for Peter, bow, arrows and horn for Susan, and for Lucy a small dagger and a vial of healing cordial.
Then Father Christmas produced a large tray laden with cups and saucers, sugar bowl, cream jug and “a great big teapot all sizzling and piping hot.” And with a shouted “Merry Christmas! Long live the true King!” he was off.
Before the men could get side-tracked examining Peter’s weapons, Mrs. Beaver gathered them round for bread and ham sandwiches and steaming cups of strong tea. What a lovely respite after much danger and tension.
But their adventure had only begun. 🙂
Krista’s Ham Sandwich
2 slices dark rye bread, sliced thin
sweet hot mustard
2-3 thinly sliced pieces of ham
1 large slice Havarti cheese
Directions:
- Spread bread with mustard and top with ham and Havarti.
- Place under broiler for 2-3 minutes until cheese is melted.
