More Why Some Days, You Just Shouldn’t Talk
So I was in the grocery store the other day with Pik, the youngest of my spawn, known collectively as “The Saffrines.” I brought her along for Sherpa duty… I mean, mother-daughter bonding time. Okay, to shut down the “there’s nothing to eat in this house” refrain.
It wasn’t going as well as I’d hoped. She’d brought her cell phone.
“Can you help me out?” I asked, trying not to sound petulant. “I don’t know what kind of cereal you want.”
“Sure, in a sec,” she said. She was ten steps behind me, texting madly, a pound of honey-coloured curls between her and reality. I rounded the corner. Any minute now, she was going to be run over, and I didn’t want to see it. Fine. She could eat toast.
In the baking aisle, she caught up with me, and I tried again. “Do you know if we’re out of baking powder?”
She lifted impossibly wide, blue eyes up at me.
“Huh?”
“Baking powder. Do you know if we’re out?”
She frowned. “What’s that?”
I frowned back. “You baked cookies yesterday. You use it all the time. Baking. Powder.”
“Mother,” she said. “I Don’t. Know What. That Is.”
I swung around to point at the shelves. “Seriously. Look at the container. You don’t recognize it at all??”
“Oh!” The light dawned over her gentle features. “Baking powder!”
“That’s what I said!!”
She laughed. “I thought you said bacon powder.”
Yep. True story.
Alive with Possibility
- At July 07, 2011
- By Roxanne Snopek
- In Life, Roxanne Writes On
- 0
I stood at my kitchen window this morning, waiting for my coffee, and was treated to an airshow. Swallows swooped between my rescued spruce tree and that darn cottonwood that will not be killed, sparrows fed on aurinia now gone to seed, hummingbirds dipped in and out of my hanging baskets, chattering and squabbling. Occasionally one perched on the supports against which clematis vines send their delicate tendrils. The scent of roses, planted and tended by my own hands, hung lightly in the morning air.
Butterflies drifted in and out of a patch of pink yarrow. Now and then, a robin flew in to break up a gathering, and deep within my heavily-laden currant bush, a pair of roufus-sided towhees scratched and pecked. As my coffee and toast got cold, I watched a group of little red-headed finches perch along my espaliered apple tree, six or seven amongst the four horizontal branches, each budding with a different variety of apple.
My yard might not be magazine-worthy; there’s whole patches that I haven’t dealt with properly yet. I plant things, only to realize that they would look better or be happier in a different spot. I build a terrace, only to decide a month later that it’s not quite deep enough, or needs more rock. Wild bunnies make lunch dates in my flowerbeds, and the deer sample pretty much everything, but I figure they were here first, the least I can do is be gracious.
So I move plants, redo hardscaping, dig, replace, adjust. Slowly but surely, I’m making headway against the invasive thorny weeds, but it’s a never-ending task, and I use Polysporin as hand lotion every night. I suspect the apocalypse will end with fleas, cockroaches, thistle and blackberry standing triumphant.
For me, gardening is – like so much of life – an ongoing project. Ideas sprout in me like scarlet runner beans, and I’m never happier than when I’m working on some new possibility, be it a book, a painting, a recipe or a new twist on an old relationship. But bringing ideas to maturity takes patience, thought, observation, more patience, and the willingness to try out something, even if it turns out to be wrong.
Or even if – especially if – someone tells me it was a bad idea.
More creative minds than mine insist that there are no bad ideas. I cling to this. Some ideas are better than others; some ideas are simply jumping-off points. But none are bad. The fifth try might be perfect, but you can’t get to five without going through four. Writers refer to this as the “shitty first draft” concept, which makes sense. Manure is fertilizer, after all.
So I shore up my shaky courage in times of creative drought and seek out warm shelter and support. I’ve found that gardens usually come back, when the season is right; life, it seems, is forgiving to those who keep trying.
So I’ve got flowers, animals, birds, insects, and even food. I’ve got stories, friendship, love, beauty, purpose. It’s summer, finally. My little bit of Earth is thriving …and nurturing my soul along with it.
Day 79 Cinnamon Buns, For Real!
Nothing makes yeast breads rise quite as nicely as potato water, and since I happened to save some after making supper last night, I was inspired to bake today. Once the thought entered my brain and set up shop, it didn’t really matter that I had several things to do after yoga; I began craving cinnamon buns, and that was that.
I used to bake a lot, part of my earth-mother persona, and I’m pretty good at it. It’s kind of a Mennonite thing. However, I’m what I call an extemporaneous cook, considering recipes more of… guidelines… than hard and fast rules. I’ll go off on a tangent, substituting hither and yon, cutting corners on overly complicated recipes and generally making stuff up as I go along.
The first thing my daughter asked when I told her I was baking cinnamon buns was, “real ones?”
“What do you mean, real ones?” I asked, affronted.
“No nuts or oatmeal or Splenda or-”
“Yes,” I snapped. “The real thing. All the sugar, all the butter, nothing healthy. Don’t worry.”
I didn’t tell her, but I’ve switched to a new flour, supposedly it has all the nutrition of whole wheat, but the look and taste of white flour. We’ll see.
“Don’t get me wrong, Mom,” she hastened to add, aware that as the main Food Provider, I’m also able to block access to the goods. “Your other ones were delicious too. They just weren’t… you know… cinnamon buns.”
Yes, I remember. And she’s being generous; they were horrid gummy tooth-breakers, not in the same class of baked item. As evidenced by the Canned Kale Pasta Debacle, not all my experiments are successful.
Well, I’m happy to say that, despite my lack of practice, today’s effort was worthwhile – and nobody even noticed that they’re not quite as white as usual.
If anyone’s interested, here’s the recipe. (I use skim milk, and cut the recipe so I can use my Bosch mixer. I also put brown sugar and raisins in the filling, but other than that, it’s the Real UBC Cinnamon Bun.)
UBC CINNAMON BUNS (TRADITIONAL METHOD)
These legendary cinnamon buns were first introduced to the University of British Columbia’s students in the early 1950s. The recipe has been printed numerous times in The Vancouver Sun and every year they still get requests for these light-textured buns. Although large, they’re not as rich and gooey as some cinnamon buns.
Dough
3 cups (750 mL) milk (2 per cent M.F.)
6 tablespoons (90 mL) butter
6 tablespoons (90 mL) granulated sugar
1 tablespoon (15 mL) salt
1 teaspoon (5 mL) granulated sugar
1/2 cup (125 mL) lukewarm water
2 (8 g) packages traditional active dry yeast
2 large eggs
9 cups (2.25 L) all-purpose flour, about
Filling
11/4 cups (300 mL) granulated sugar
2 tablespoons (30 mL) ground cinnamon
3/4 cup (175 mL) melted butter, divided
Dough: Scald milk. Stir in butter, 6 tablespoons (90 mL) sugar and salt. Cool to lukewarm.
Dissolve the 1 teaspoon (5 mL) sugar in lukewarm water. Sprinkle yeast over water mixture. Let stand in warm place for 10 minutes; stir.
In large bowl, combine lukewarm milk mixture and eggs. Stir in dissolved yeast. Add 4 to 5 cups (1 to 1.25 L) flour and beat well for 10 minutes. With wooden spoon, gradually add enough of the remaining flour to make a soft dough.
Turn dough out on to lightly floured surface and knead until smooth and elastic, adding additional flour as needed. (This is a soft dough.) Place in well greased bowl and roll dough over to grease the top. Cover with a damp cloth and let rise in warm place for 1 hour or until double in size.
Meanwhile prepare filling: In small bowl, combine sugar and cinnamon; set aside.
Punch down dough and turn out on to lightly floured surface. Divide dough in half.
Roll out each piece of dough into 18×9-inch (46×23 cm) rectangle. Brush each rectangle generously with melted butter. Place remaining melted butter in bottom of 161/2 x111/2 x21/2-inch (42x29x6 cm) pan.
Sprinkle an equal portion of sugar-cinnamon mixture evenly over each rectangle. Roll each dough rectangle up tightly like a jelly roll, starting from the long side; pinch seam to seal. With sharp knife, cut into 2-inch (5 cm) slices. Arrange slices, cut-side down, in prepared pan and cover loosely with greased wax paper. Let rise in warm place for 45 to 60 minutes or until doubled in size.
Bake at 350 F (180 C) for 35 to 45 minutes or until baked. Remove from oven and immediately invert on to serving tray.
Makes 18 large cinnamon buns.
Approximate nutritional analysis for each serving: 433 cal, 9 g pro, 14 g fat, 69 g carb.