In Honour of National Hot Chocolate Day (Da Local Chef)

 Not too long ago, a good friend was kind enough to give us a bottle of Bacardi Oakheart Spiced Rum. One evening, I decided to play bartender. It was like playing with a new ingredient in the kitchen! And the rum was fantastic! My favourite drink that night was a Mexican hot chocolate that really blew me away. I sent a message to an old friend, who works for Bacardi in the U.K. and told her about my discovery. 


This morning, that same friend sent me a message that today is National Hot Chocolate Day. (Not sure where, but who cares!!) So Jazzer...this one's for you!!!

The ingredients are really simple. You need 1 block(about 90 grams) of Mexican chocolate(my fave is Abuelita), 2 cups milk and 3 ounces of Bacardi Oakheart Spiced Rum. (You could use another spiced rum, but I can't say how it will turn out. The Oakheart is amazing!!) That's it. Nothing else.


One word of advice. Don't try this with regular chocolate. It's gotta be the Mexican stuff. It has a great cinnamony flavour and is totally unlike any other chocolate out there. Soooo good!

Put the milk in a pot and place over medium heat. Add the chocolate and stir until the milk is hot and the chocolate has almost completely melted.

At this point you need to grab an immersion blender. (AKA The Stick) Start whipping the mixture over the heat until it becomes rich and foamy, Stir in the rum and whip for a little longer, until steaming hot.

Ladle into mugs and you're ready to serve. It's hot, spicy and definitely sure to curl your toes on a cold winter's night. And if you feel the need you could always gild the lily a little with a touch of vanilla ice cream on top.

So, enjoy National Hot Chocolate Day, wherever you happen to be!!!

Da Papoose (DaLocalWife)

Like I've said before, my favourite thing to crochet is something that someone dear to me (or with lots of money :P) has seen/thought of/wants/needs.  A high school friend dinged me on Facebook a few weeks ago and asked if I could look at some pictures and come up with an idea that would suit her needs.  C wanted a papoose or a hat or a combination of the two that depicted a bear.  Made out of Teddy Bear-like yarn.  Seems her little (I use this term very loosely here because I have met him and he is NOT small) brother and his wife (with the coolest name ever), who live in Ireland, are expecting their first baby.  They affectionately call Junior "little bear".  Oh, and really?  It needed to be done within two weeks.  Creative juices flowed.

This is what I came up with:

(pardon Grover)

(notice the Canadian content)

When I sent C the pictures of the finished project, she seemed pleased.  But, as is usually the case, her daughter's eagle eye spotted a glaring omission.  I made the appropriate change:



I hope the little Irish/Canadian bear loves his/her little cocoon of fuzzy.

Night Time (Da Local Chef)

For as long as I can remember, I have been one of those annoying night people. No, I'm not talking about some freaky vampire crap. I'll leave that for the cheesy movies with their disco-ball night creatures. I'm that annoying person who is just getting fired up as everyone else is ready to fall asleep. 


As a chef, this nocturnal nature has been a great help. (As long as I wasn't working the early morning breakfast shift!!) Finishing a busy night, riding the adrenalin buzz could often take me to 2 or 3 in the morning without any trouble. It made for a great many memorable nights, most of which would not be appropriate to discuss here.


Last night, I headed out to walk the dog around 11:30. I put on the I-pod and headed out, leash in hand. It was an amazingly still night, and there was not a soul to be seen anywhere. I settled the headphones on my ears, pressed shuffle and headed off. At times like this, I just let my mind wander. I feel that I get some of my most creative ideas that way. Within 20 minutes, I had 3 dishes bubbling through my brain, that if no-one had been at home I probably would have stayed up until morning cooking. They will come to life over the next few days, to be sure. But then, a song came on that stopped me dead in my tracks.

"You're The Boss" Brian Setzer and Gwen Stefani. Such a cool track. And before I knew it, I was singing along with the song and dancing. Yes, for those of you who know me and are now staring dumbly, I said dancing. It was amazing. The moonlight shining down. The gentle glow of the street lamps. The dog staring at me like I'd lost my mind. I was in the middle of hundreds of houses, most quiet and dark. And unlike all those people, I was alive and just buzzing. It was incredible. As though I was the only person on Earth. The song ended. I straightened my coat and set off on my way, both dog and I perfectly happy to pretend the impromptu dance session had never happened. But it wasn't over.

Marc Cohn, "Walking in Memphis" This song has always had the ability to grab a hold of me, but last night was something different. Within a few bars, I was singing at the top of my lungs. And I don't sing, at least not when people can hear me. It's not that I'm embarrassed by my voice. I just have too much respect for other people's eardrums to subject them to my caterwauling. But it didn't matter. The music just flowed through me. And on that quiet, still winter's night, I sang so freely that I cried. It was incredibly liberating and freeing. Luckily, I had a Milk-Bone or two for Drako. He really didn't know what to make of these strange noises. Hopefully, he's not too traumatized.




When I got home, I sat down and wrote out half a menu worth of recipe ideas. The power of the night had lifted me up and energized me beyond belief. When I finally lay down to sleep, I was just vibrating with that energy. It took a half hour for me to finally fall asleep. And as I dozed off, a lyric came floating through my brain that summed it up so perfectly.


"Working late night, not that we hate light
Just feels right, that's when tracks come out tight
Thoughts start creeping, people are sleeping
Pull words out of the dreams, it's the deep end
It's the deep end, people are sleeping
Pull words out of the dreams, it's the deep end
Keep in mind, it's not that we hate light
Just feels right, that's when tracks come out tight"
"Deep End" - Swollen Members

The Why of my Squishy Flea (DaLocalWife)

THAT'S why.

(could you just squish him?)

Is It Weird? (DaLocalWife)

Is it weird that the chef and I can fit all of our clothes (summer, winter, crocheted etc) into one small closet?

Is it weird that Drako's crate is approximately half the size of our bed?

Huh.  Didn't think so.



What is it you do, exactly? (DaLocalWife)

I f someone asks me this question, I generally take a deep breath. 

 I raise kids.  In my opinion, that alone earns me a medal since none of them are felons and they all still love their Momma. I keep them clean and healthy, happy (weeeeell, mostly) and amused.  I don't feed them.  They'll thank me for that one day as the chef is much better qualified to do this (and my time is best spent NOT smashing kitchen appliances in frustration). 


 I raise pets. Since I am responsible for their numbers I find it only fair I do most of the work.  Flea, a 14 year old beige tabby cat is the regent supreme. He has been with me since the first day of his life and I raised him by bottle. This resulted in a cat who thinks he is human. Most people agree with him. If they don't, he persuades them.

 
Drako is a GSD from a breeder in North Bay  http://shepherdpups4sale.gotpetsonline.com/ , beautiful to behold, comical to watch once you know him.  He has come a long way in a short time and is an integral part of this wacky family.

PJ and Chocolate, the two guinea pigs.  I love guinea pigs, I think it's their lips.  I also enjoy rustling bags and opening the fridge...the resulting cacophony of fweeps never fails to amuse me.

I keep the house and yard.  Some say I'm a wee bit obsessed with order and cleanliness.  They have been silenced and no one will find them.  I'm a great gardener, ever wonder why the plants grow so well and I keep adding beds?

I am a warrior.  Can't help it, must be the fact that my Grandma's maiden name was Krieger.  (German for ...you guessed it)  I declare war on incompetence, stupidity and ignorance.  Chef has a small fortune saved in case he needs bail for my release. 
Most importantly, I am a warrior in my son's stead.  I fight Prader-Willi Syndrome every day of his life.  T was diagnosed 20 months after his birth and his struggles are only outweighed by his successes.  He is brave, persistent and my lil hero.  Go T!  Down with PWS!!  If you don't know it, look it up.  http://www.fpwr.ca/about-foundation-prader-willi-research-canada/ You'll come across it again.  Kick it for me, will ya?


I crochet. LOTS. I have a bigger stash (of yarn) than anyone I know (outside of the yarn stores). I sometimes get paid to create specific projects, and that's my favourite part. It seems to make itself and gives me great satisfaction.

Often my own designs haunt me until I have to make them.  I love the design part, frequently falter on the completion of said design.  *sigh* In the next few days I will post some pictures of what I do with (or to?) yarn.  People seem pleased when they buy stuff, or I give them stuff...or they can talk me out of stuff because I have been drinking red wine.  The red wine part is a rare occurrence, I swear!  No one around to contradict, cuz that's how I roll. And I have a wonderful garden.

Lastly, I help out with the care of my Oma (grandmother), who will turn 93 on Valentine's Day.  My Oma is the epitome of who I want to be. She raised a bunch of us, had her hand in the development of several generations. Can always count on her.  For wacky advice. Sayings. Predictions. Home remedies. Support. A wooden spoon on the heinie. Every day she slips away a little more.  Mentally - that's the hardest.  Physically - that I can help with.  It's why our family moved only 10 mins away from my parents' house.  I want to be her rock, like she was mine, for however long she needs me. I also like helping my parents.  With the house.  With the property and gardens. With their sanity. Sometimes, due to this, my sanity suffers.

So, that's kind of what I do. 

I HATE BRUSSEL'S SPROUTS (DaLocalChef)

Horrible, nasty, mushy, smelly mutant children of the cabbage world.

Growing up, there was no food I feared more than the dreaded brussels sprouts. Dessert was always conditional in our house. Finish your dinner and dessert was your reward. If I came home from school and saw a cheesecake or bag of Oreos on the kitchen counter, I knew that my mom had pulled out the big guns. And that meant there was something nasty coming for dinner. And the king of nasty....was brussels sprouts.


Then, a few years ago I came across the technique of separating brussels sprouts into individual leaves before cooking. It was in a cookbook by Alfred Portale from his New York restaurant, Gotham Bar and Grill. All of a sudden, brussels sprouts were a revelation!! A quick blanch and chill and next thing you know, you have an amazing ingredient.













Tonight, it was time to try something new. A quick hash of fingerling potatoes, onions and celery made a great start. A couple of slices of left-over roast beef were diced up and set the stage for adding the final ingredient; those beautiful brussels sprout leaves!

Last but not least, a couple of over-easy eggs to finish the dish. It looks good, but believe me....it tasted so much better!!!

What Not To Do at 11:30pm on Christmas Eve! (DaLocalChef)

I'm sure that this could be a long list.

• Don't decide to take up chainsaw juggling.
• Do not paint yourself blue and go door to door as Santa Smurf.
• Do not use your wife`s Epi-lady to trim your beard.
• etc..................

However, I have learned from experience that one thing you should definitely not do at 11:30 P.M. on Christmas Eve is decide that you want to revive the family tradition of cinnamon buns on Christmas morning. While a nice and generous gesture, it needs to be reserved for a more appropriate time! Or so I found out........ the hard way.

It was late on December 24th, fresh from the traditional German Christmas Eve celebration at the in-laws, and stuffed full of knackwurst and potato salad, that I found myself craving something sweet. A quick trip to the kitchen revealed a world of sweet sticky choices, but none were what I wanted. Then as I brushed by the fridge, my eyes lit on one of the spice jars attached to the freezer. CINNAMON! Of course. Suddenly, all the memories came flooding back. Christmas morning, with mom pulling the hot, bubbling tray of cinnamon buns from the oven. That wonderful smell of sweet yeasty happiness flooding the house. That was it. I had to make cinnamon buns. It can`t take too long, can it?

Within a few minutes, thanks to the joy that is my heavy-duty KitchenAid mixer, I had a ball of sweet yeast dough proofing in a warm oven. Within 45 minutes it had puffed up light and fluffy and I had the rest of my ingredients ready to go.

I glanced over at the clock, somehow expecting it to be 12:30. maybe a quarter to one. Ummm, no. It was already 1:30 and I wasn't even close to being done. SO I put my head down and got to work. I rolled out the dough and brushed it with a generous(read excessive) amount of softened butter. Next came the brown sugar and cinnamon mixture. The smells were already transporting me, and I hadn't even turned the oven on yet! A quick roll and then I sliced them up and transferred them to the pan I had prepared for them. A wrap of cling film and into the fridge to rise overnight.

Time for one last check of the clock, on my way to bed. It couldn't be later than 2, could it? 2:27!?!?!? You gotta be kidding me!!! I crawled into bed and settled in for what I hoped would be a good night's sleep.

That plan for a good night's sleep failed to take into account Christmas morning, excited children and an equally excited German Shepherd. At 6:45 I crawled out of bed and pulled out the buns for a last rise before the oven. They smelled so good, even cold from the fridge. But that was nothing, compared to the smells that filled the house as they baked. And when they came out of the oven, I was taken back to those Christmas mornings I missed. It took every ounce of self-control I had to let them cool, before grabbing the first of many I ate that morning.

As I stood in the kitchen, watching my wife and kids licking happy cinnamonny goodness from their fingers, I knew that the late night had been more than worth it. I had been able to conjure up the magic that my mother had brought to every Christmas morning, and then shared it with those that I love.

We celebrated our first Christmas in our new house this year. It was a magical time. We began what will become our own family's memories and traditions. What my mother started has now become a part of my family's traditions and hopefully will someday pass on to my kids' families as well.

But from now on, I'm getting a much earlier start!!!

Dinner From Inspiration to the Plate (DaLocalChef)

You never know where the idea for a dish will come from. A whiff of brandy and duck fat from the foie gras at the next table. The jewel-like sheen on a mound of salmon caviar. The ginger-tinged memory of a grandmother's special molasses cookies. Inspiration can be found anywhere, if you let it.

For this meal, the inspiration was....a casserole dish.


Ever since my days at the Cordon Bleu, I have loved enamelled cast iron casseroles. You know the ones. Heavy, solid, strong. Just picking them up brings to mind the wonderful dishes they are so perfect for. Coq au vin. Beef bourgignon. Dishes that speak of warmth, of comfort and of home. A few weeks ago, I bought a beautiful one. 5 quart. Deep garnet red. I brought it home. I washed it. I placed it on a shelf, where I saw it every day. But I didn't use it. The time may not have been right. Maybe I just didn't have the right ingredients. Perhaps I just wasn't ready. But when its beautiful colour caught my eye this morning, I knew it was time. I looked through my freezer, fridges and cupboards and the dish began to take shape in my head.


Turkey sausages from the freezer. Flavourful, while still being low in fat. (Even inspiration can have some practicality!) A can of chick peas from the pantry. Onions and garlic from their wooden cabinet. A trip to the store brought peppers, zucchini and eggplant. Bay leaves and the last of the summer's basil, nearly forgotten, tucked away in the back of the freezer. And of course, a bottle of Italian red. Well, half a bottle at least. Just enough for both pot and cook to get their due.

With all the instruments assembled, it was time for the music to begin. A slow browning of the sausages, then to be removed as the vegetables took their turn. But not the garlic of course. Not yet. As the juices began to flow and the onions started to caramelize the garlic joined in. Just a brief moment, until that beautiful odour began to fill the room. Then a flood of crimson wine, dousing the garlic and at once raising it to another more intense level. As the wine reduced, the chick peas tumbled over themselves into the dish. The sausages returned, along with stewed tomatoes, the bay leaves and basil. The satisfying weight of the lid covered all and for the next two hours the oven held all within its loving heart.

In that time, all was transformed. The vegetables melted into sweet richness. The sausages played give and take, spreading their meaty goodness while being infused with the accents of wine and herbs. Chick peas lapped up all the flavours, becoming butter-soft pearls. The aroma was of all those ingredients and at the same time of something else. Just as separate instruments come together to change sound into music, so too did all the components produce a scent that was, at once of them, and yet beyond them as well. A dusting of grated parmesan to finish and it was done.

A frame of simple buttered pasta. Nothing more to say.

In Memory (DaLocalChef)

Three and a half years ago, my Nan, Esma Wilson passed away. Not a day goes by without me thinking of her. When faced with moral decisions, I still say to myself, "What would Nan do?" She was an amazing lady. Tough when she needed to be, but filled with more love than I ever thought possible. I miss her, and I always will.


As a child, I knew that my Nan was magic in the kitchen. I loved everything she cooked. But above all things, I loved her molasses cookies. Deep brown, crisp and ever so slightly salty. They were the best cookies in the world. And there was always a big pickle jar of them sitting on the kitchen counter.


Last winter, my Aunt Karin gave me a little plastic bag of cookies when I came to visit her. She had made Nan's molasses cookies. The sight and smell of them was enough to start me crying. I took one bite, and I was in the old family house on Champlain Street, sneaking cookies out of the jar as the family listened to my cousin play the piano. And there was Nan, catching me with a quick stare, and then shaking her head when I moved to put the cookies back.


I came home, and tucked the few remaining cookies away in the freezer, grabbing a half-cookie when I felt in need of a pick-me-up. Last week, I ate the last 2 cookies. Then I asked Aunt Karin for the recipe.


I never expected to feel as nervous as I did when I began the recipe. These were NAN's molasses cookies. Messing them up was not an option. I took my time, and hovered over them like a mother hen as they baked. Once they were done, I sat down with a small stack of them, and a glass of milk. They were just as I remembered them. And I wasn't in my Nan's house.


She was in mine.

Because THEY said so (DaLocalWife)

I have a head full of cotton and my best friend, the kleenex box, mocks me with it's emptiness.  I am also unsure if we are adding to our merry band of insanity by one dog.  As I'm waiting to hear if we will invite Anna (who would then be the other blonde female...a female...in MY house of men!!!), a white GSD cross, into our little wee house....and I'm honking into tissues and coughing in a most non-fem way...I thought to start writing a blog.  ME, the great resistor of technology (who married a social media whore, but that's another story) will blog.  About my insane life.  About my pets and most especially Fleazel the fat DSH cat, who has his own modest following.  I will likely innundate you with yarn.  Because I love the yarn.  I occasionally stick a hook in it and make something but really...it's all about the yarn.  I suppose I could let you have some of the stuff I make, we'll see.

Oh, it just occurred to me I should mention my cohort.  Steve, also known as lemons, the chef, dalocalchef or in my house: oi! Yeah, you!, will be writing in blue, on his days, when I don't hog the blog (like that?) about cooking-like things, I would imagine.  Because that's what he does, cooking and ...uhm...cooking.  Ohohoh, he also walks the dog, Drako.  A beautiful GSD who looks regal, but is a monumental goof.  I'll tell you about him sometime.  We are scoring a girlfriend for him...see the start of the blog.

I have no idea what I'm doing but they (the sage group of THEY) said I should write one.  To show off my crochet.  To talk about Fleazel.  To go on and on...cuz that's what I do.  Like right now.  See?  *coughsnot*  Yep, it's a stellar time to invite you into my life.  And oi! Yeah you! (whom we will affectionately call chef from now on) made us do the Twitter.  WE'll see how that goes cuz we (the Twitter and I) DID NOT get along the last time I tried.  Digression.  That's me.

Kk.  We'll see how this puppy works out.  Also, if you have questions, I'll answer them.  I may not know what the hell I'm talking about, but I'll answer.  Do you like guinea pigs?  WE have those too.  I love opening the fridge just to hear them fweep.  It is quickly becoming a hobby.  For now, I'll go back to waiting for a YES YOU CAN TAKE MY DOG INTO YOUR LIFE AND MAKE HER SLIGHTLY WEIRD BUT THAT'S OK BECAUSE YOU GUYS ARE WEIRD BUT EVER SO WONDERFUL.  And laundry...I should do that too.  *sigh* not a fan of the laundry. 

DISCLAIMER: I am not responsible for what the chef writes.  I may be married to him but eh, this is an open forum.  He of course is TOTALLY responsible for any crap I cause.  It's the way it works in our life and we'll continue it into this little beauty, shall we?  Right then, toodles, maybe I'll have something to say next time. 

Or not.

AMAZEMENT (DaLocalChef)

6 months ago, if someone had told me that Kris and I would start writing a blog together, I would have called them crazy. And I would have been wrong. I am the official "social media whore" in the family. I'm always on Twitter, or Facebook, or blogging. But, that said, I'm not half the writer that Kris is. If you don't know that already, you will soon.

Between 2 full-time kids, 2 kids that are here less than we'd like, 1 dog(soon to be 2 we hope), 2 guinea pigs and a magnificent cat, we've got a pretty busy house. Add to this Kris' crocheting and crafting, my cooking (both at home and at work), plenty of assorted characters wandering in and out(our family and friends are wonderful and are most definitely characters!) and everything else swirling around us and you have quite the life. Things are rarely boring or quiet, and are always interesting. Somehow, amid it all, we find time to write. Maybe it will help keep us sane. (Maybe it's too late already!)

Welcome to the madhouse. We're happy to have you.