LadyBug Lunch

Lady Bug Caprese Salad - cherry tomatoes, black olives, basil leaves, and mozzarella

Posted by Greens First on Thursday, March 19, 2015

  Omg, these are the cutest things! Take salad to new heights with these scrumptious little ladies. I just might have to make these for a summer salad or to a backyard barbeque...

"Who invited the ladybugs to lunch?"

It Was Me All Along

It Was Me All Along, by Andie Mitchell, © 2015, Clarkson Potter Publishers

Back in November I found myself a winner to one of Read it Forward's book giveaways. I enter their contests most weeks and this is the second book I have won. What with Christmas slowing down transport, I didn't receive the book until into January, but I was pleased to receive it nonetheless. As nonfiction has been tempting me as of late, I decided to move Andie Mitchell's book to the top of my TBR pile.

It didn't stay there long.

I cracked the book last week and finished it this morning over coffee. And as much as I have never personally struggled with weight issues, I really enjoyed this book. Mitchell draws in the reader with her candid stories and uncompromising accounts of her struggles with obesity. By the time she was 20-years-old, she weighed a staggering 268 pounds. It was her tipping point.

What she didn't realize though was that weight loss was far more than just losing a few pounds. Well, over a hundred points is more than the average dieter, but there was more to it than that. For her, the journey was about looking at the patterns of her eating and the why of it. We all have skeletons in our closets and hers turned her to food to comfort herself from them.

I couldn't help but think back to high school as I devoured this book. I was the skinny girl in my group of friends, surrounded by several overweight girls. I bet three of them were over 200 lbs and a few more were also big girls. We all went out for coffee, fried food, and other unhealthy options that didn't make a dent on me, but certainly didn't help my friends. Listening to Mitchell's tale, I suspect that her struggles were possibly similar to theirs.

The similarities didn't end there. When Mitchell decided to tackle her weight, she didn't anticipate her new struggle with food and her new image of herself. I remember one of my friends who lost a similar amount of weight trying to wrap her head around people all of a sudden "seeing" her for the first time. She was no longer the "fat" girl, but didn't know how to react to the way people treated the new person she turned into. Transformations can be incredibly hard, especially when you don't know who you will be at the end. Mitchell's story gives hope to anyone facing weight loss issues, but even more so to almost anyone who has struggled to figure out who they are, where they belong and how to get from here to there intact.

A great first novel and a story that reminds us we are all in control of our destiny. Thanks again to RIF for sending me a copy!

The Wine Glass

words on the page
time to get them down...

f i s h
swimming downstream
in my gullet
with a magic bullet
of lemon pepper sansal,
coriander sprigs
and of course fresh lemon 
circling round 
these taste buds of mine
with a glass of wine
the only kind;
white...

now fire bright
as I read by its light
before chasing my children
and their paper minions -
groundhogs 
marked by kid's claws
I only say, because of ruined sofas
not forgotten in day's past skirmishes

Yet those groundhogs with kids in tow
tomorrow will surely show
that delightful smiles they still sow
on faces broad, mine & those
of grandparents that bestow
love through the ages; it forever goes

now back to my book
and my warm nook
with dinner forgotten
and drink transporting 
this idle lass
to Russia's morass
during Catherine's governance
perhaps with a topped up wine glass...

Image Source RGBstock.com; courtesy melodi2

Daa Lobstah

We went to daa coast foa vacashun
We were on daa search foa some lobstah!
Daa craving was East Coast lobstah rolls
and daa place to find em was Baa Haba
only Baa Haba lobstah rolls would do!

We tasted daa sea on our cheeks
We touched daa ocean wid our toes
We ate every morsel of lobstah
from daa lobstah rolls at daa lobstah pound
and den went back for one moe...

Now my belly, she is round
And I fear daet I cannot eat even one moe bite
But daer is still anotha day close to daa ocean
And daa lobstah she does call me in the night
oh, daa lobstah, she does call me in the night.

Fresh Maine Lobstah!

A Feast For the Soul

The sun shone brightly, beckoning us to step out of doors. Scorchingly hot weather had subsided, taking the humidity with it, but not the pleasant reminder of summer. It was a perfect day to attend a festival and I was not one to pass the opportunity up. So, off to the International Food Festival we went.

Now we have been to the Food Fest before. We have attended pretty much all the major festivals that stop in London over the summer. Some are better than others, but the Food Fest has rides. That makes it a favourite with the girls. Plus, they have barker-style games that are oh so tempting. Who can beat a midway? For my girls, not much.

As for me, I love the fact that we can all order food from around the world and eat it while watching belly dancing. At least that was our entertainment today. It is a beautiful art form, and the girls were enchanted. Not quite enough to get them up to shake their hips with the ladies on stage, but still enough to draw their attention with the colourful costumes and tinkling coins around their waists. And it went well with tacos el pastor, quesadilla, a spring roll, chicken balls with chow mein, pineapple on a stick and juice boxes. Yum.

I have to say though, that this year I was a little disappointed. Every year there is a wide plethora of food to choose from. We can order Thai, Korean, Jamaican, Greek, Ethiopian, Canadian (pizza anyone?) and so much more. But the other part of the festival is the vendors and this year they were sorely lacking. Normally Victoria Park is fairly bursting at the seams with vendors hawking jewellery, t-shirts, dresses, belts, knick-knacks and more. There was that, but at a fraction of the amount that is usually there. Or maybe I just forgot and am thinking that all the festivals were packed with quaint vendors selling instruments, internationally carved wooden statues, sarongs and other chachkies, when really that is more akin to Sunfest? Now that is a festival not to be missed, but sadly this year I shall. Bah!

As we wandered from the food booths, a tinkling sound drew my ear though. I looked around to see what was creating the musical interlude and spied this delightful machine!

Dutch Street Organ

What was it, I wondered, as I watched toddlers rocking back and forth on chubby ankles along with the music. Well, I don't believe I have ever seen one before today, but this incredible instrument is a dutch street organ, owned and operated by Henk and Irene Noordermeer. I dare say, I shall never see one again either, but this fantastic machine is located just up the road in Mount Brydges. Way cool!

As I stood listening to the tunes tinkling, I couldn't resist drawing closer to get a better look at it. The fair maiden in the middle waved her baton to the music and the two damsels at her sides chimed their bells in quite a pretty fashion. Its a shame that I cannot reconstruct the music for you, but let me just say that there were smiles on everyone's faces that walked by.

Scroll on right-hand side 

The closest I can get to reconstructing the music, is to tell you what instruments belted out the merry tunes. This scroll helped me to identify some of the instruments, namely snare drum, cello, violin, trumpet, wood block.

View of Percussion
from side of trailer

In fact, peering around the side, I discovered the percussion section thumping out tunes. No little men in this wagon (a laptop programmed the tunes)!

As I stood gazing at this fabulous instrument, none other then Irene approached me with a smile on her face. I believe she was loving all the attention that her unique street organ was garnering. She freely told me about the construction of it (it was made in Holland and took two years to complete) and how they toured around to local venues to show it off. Watching parents point and smile and children clap with glee was pretty good payment, as far as I could tell.


Before we shuffled off to find some cotton candy, my youngest tugged at me to get my attention. Look at her shoes! Across the crowd, I could see that Henk had an orange pair on himself. Authentic through and through.

Irene's Dutch Clogs

Doesn't that beat all! Thanks for making my day Irene!

A Stolen Heart

“Sheets,” I exclaimed. “Look, there is actual sheets on the beds!”

“And mosquito nets too,” I added, fingering the delicate gauze material that hung from the roof of the thatch hut.

“Pretty sweet mate,” Brett nodded as he dropped his back pack onto the matching twin bed on his side of the hut.

A man materialized at the door with the lemonade we had requested.

“Thanks Joey,” I said as he placed the tray on the sturdy wooden table and set the two tall glasses down.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked yet again. We had been here a handful of  minutes, yet Joey had already taken our dinner orders, retrieved pillows for our luxurious looking beds and shown us every courtesy he could. I could tell that our 50 kwacha a night was going to be the best money I had ever spent.  

After double checking that we had everything we needed yet again, Joey bowed, then quietly walked back in the direction of the kitchen. I caught sight of the swish of a colourful sarong disappearing around a corner, then turned back to our room.

“This is going to be awesome,” Brett declared as he bounced on the bed with a laugh. “What should we do first?”

“I need to jump in the lake,” I declared.

The sparkling lake beckoned just a stone’s throw from our hut. Brett stepped onto the porch to give me a minute to change, then we headed down to the beach. Dropping my towel, sunglasses, journal and pen, I ran to the lake’s edge and splashed in to my thighs, before diving head long into the warm waters of Lake Malawi.

I burst through the water’s surface and smiled my face up to the sun. In a pure moment of joy, I kicked out and drifted on my back gazing at the Malawian sky that surrounded me. The sandy beach lay behind me, with its cluster of neat little huts tucked amongst green palm trees. Looking further out into the lake, I saw men in mokoros fishing for the myriad of fish that called this place home. I idly drifted my legs back and forth to gently propel myself along and luxuriated in the moment.

There was no place I had to go. There was nothing pressing that I had to do. I did not even have to worry about what to scrounge up for dinner, as Joey was presenting us with seafood crepes that evening. Later, he would trek across the sandy expanse from the kitchen to our hut, with delightful home-made cuisine on a covered silver platter, but right now there was just me and a serenity that I cherished with all my heart. The warm heart of Africa had stolen mine.

Joey’s Seafood Crepes (for one)

·         2 small eggs

·         ¾  cup flour

·         Pinch of salt

·         ¾  cup  milk

·         1 tsp baking powder

·         1 Tbsp oil

*Beat the eggs until smooth, then add flour and salt stirring

*Add milk and oil until smooth

*cook crepes and set aside

Filling:

·         Cut-up pieces of kampango or chambo (fish)

·         1 clove of Garlic

·         1 cup of milk

·         1 Tbsp of cheese (white sauce)

·         1 ½ Tbsp butter

·         1 medium onion

*Fry fish and set aside(can substitute chicken or meat)

*Cook remaining ingredients, then add fish back in and simmer for 10-15 min

*pour filling onto crepe, wrap it up and serve

Delicious!

Walk This Way

Brett was sitting at a table with a ridiculously huge grin on his face and a beer in front of him.

“Hey Mate!” he exclaimed, as he weaved his way to standing to give me a hug. “Good ta see ya! I’ve been to the Carlsberg Brewery.”

The crooked smile on his face gave proof that the tour had been a good one. I couldn’t help, but laugh. I ordered a beer and sank into the chair across from him to hear what he had been up to since I saw him last a few days ago. The 14-hour bus ride slowly slipped off my shoulders as I watch him giggle and titter. He was pretty soused and very willing to talk. Not sure if it was his silly grin or just being off the bus in general, but I was pretty happy to see him.

“…and then I jumped up on a chair and was just grabbing handfuls of them. The other bloke was waving a net around and catching mitt-fuls of ‘em! It was awesome!” he spluttered.

“Grasshoppers?” I queried. “Why? What were they going to do with them?”

“Why, eat ‘em of course!” Brett laughed.

My face contorted in a grimace and I could not be help but exclaim “ew”

He cackled and slapped his knee. He really was quite drunk and funny to watch.

Brett went on to explain. “They come across the lake this time of year and people go bananas! It is a feast for everyone. They scrape the little buggers off the walls, and floors, and wherever, then toss them into a little oil to fry‘em up.”

“Blah!” I exclaimed, as he shook with laughter again. “How many did you catch?”

“Hundreds of “em mate!” he said. “They were everywhere! It was excellent fun.”

I shook my head and smiled at his enthusiasm.

“Tomorrow, I will take you to the market so you can try some,” he said.

I wasn’t so sure I was interested in trying grasshoppers, but replied “we’ll see” to appease him. We sat in the bar until Brett’s stories became illegible and I had a pleasant glow on. He kept on rambling on about this and that until I had to pack him up and take him back to the hostel. I promised him that I would try grasshoppers when we went to the market the next day, still shaking my head at his animation. The way he talked, they were like manna from heaven, but I would find out for myself.

Oh, and really, they aren’t manna at all. While I did pull off their wings, I was not instructed to pull off their legs, so couldn’t get beyond them “walking” down my throat. Yeah, not my idea of a delicacy I’m afraid. You should try it if you get a chance though. They are a great source of protein! You might like it. 
Blah…

Shared Meals

Lobster tails

Oh, yummy reminders from Christmas! Delicious, and all the better for me not having any part in making them. I was spoiled over the holidays with so many wonderful meals being made for me. The one above was Christmas Eve, complete with Prime Rib, mashed potatoes, some other veggie matter and  bottle of Vino to wash it down with complements of my step-brother. Felt like a queen!

You all can probably guess what the next night's dinner was. Yup, the all-powerful image of Christmas and families coming together over the piping hot bird brought forth from the oven; Turkey! I love me some turkey, with all the fixings. Ohh, dressing and mashed potato, cranberry sauce and brussel sprouts, plus my Mom's famous icky orange stuff (carrot, squash mix -always different, but good!). I love it all, especially the camaraderie of family laughing and sharing around the extended table. Plus my dear, sweet aunt made a point of separating parents and children from each other. So yes, I did not have to sweat about whether my dear R ate a bite or not (The best part? hmm). And no, she ate almost nothing, but I didn't have to witness it directly, so it was all good. 

Of course, not everyone loves turkey...

The Carcass

After sweating all day in the kitchen and smelling the turkey roasting away, my aunt is almost loathe to even sit at table with the blessed offering. She tries every year to convince us to cook anything but turkey. No turkey, no family though. We cannot help, but rub it in afterwards though. Mean, but what the heck!

And New Year's just kept that good food coming. We dined on yummy Ecuadorian food at my sister's in-laws, with a little more turkey thrown in for good measure. Midnight came and champagne helped toast in the year to come with glee and bliss. After dancing the night away until the very wee hours, we finally crashed where we dropped. And not a creature was stirring, not even the kids!

My last decadence was the very next day. As dawn came much too soon, energy levels had not a chance of renewal. We managed a meal or two for the sake of the little ones in the house, once we returned to my sister's. By dinner, Chinese was in order though. Ah, Chinese food; the salvation of lazy cooks everywhere! 

So why am I re-hashing all this? Well, food jags are not a new thing in my house. My littlest one gives me a run for my money most nights around the dinner table. Since the holidays have ended though, I have had a bit of a respite. I don't want to speak too quickly and jinx myself, but I think (please!) that maybe she is getting it. I have tried to make meals that have appealed and stuck to my guns on taking food away after 30 minutes. She in turn has been excited to show me an empty plate, or at least not crushed when the timer beats her  and dessert is denied (bribery you say? Why, yes!). I think I have also chilled out a little, what with having helping hands and smiling faces of other adults to carry the load. Bliss!

I think that I will close by putting out the invite to any of you delightful folks that wander through my pages, to please, please, please stop by for a meal or two anytime. I usually have a bottle of wine kicking around somewhere or other, and we love the company! It makes for a better day for us all...

Soup's On!

After dropping the kids off at school this morning, I had an appointment downtown. Upon leaving my meeting, I found myself walking right into my favourite Farmer's Market. Not one to pass up on the colourful bounty of Fall, I hummed and hawed over the produce and picked up some fixings for soup. With the brightest colour of the garden patch catching my eye, I decided upon Borscht for lunch. Sweet fall beets are yummy in my books (and with my children being at school I don't have to listen to them moaning that they "don't like it!"). While I sometimes follow recipes, when it comes to soup I wing it, so here is today's take on it;

Thursday's Version of Borscht

So you start with some beets. I picked these up at the farmer's market this morning. Can we say Fresh!

Cut up for the soup pot

and then you chop up some carrots (also purchased at my favourite farmer's stall last weekend)

Onions and garlic add to the flavour as well, so get them in there! I bet you can guess where the onion came from (Yup, farmer Rick again! Geez, you're good) That pile of garlic is purely home grown though. I pulled up a bunch of my garlic about a month ago and have been drying it outside. Into that pot you go! No, I am not using all the garlic on the right hand side (Vampires begone!). Just three little ones will do.

All chopped  and ready to go

Don't forget your bouquet garni. Here I have used thyme, parsley, oregano, a sage leaf and a bay leaf. It is all from my garden, but the bay leaf. I do have a Bay tree that I have brought inside for the winter, but there were some dried bay leaves handy, so I am using one of those up today. If the term "bouquet garni" is unfamiliar to you, essentially it is a collection of fresh herbs tied with string and thrown into your concoction for flavouring. It is removed prior to consumption, but flavours your soup, stock or sauce that you are making without leaving behind visible traces of it. Wikipedia has an entry here. I try to use them as often as I can (cus I love feeling foie de foie) when I have fresh herbs available. This time of year my herb garden is chock full, so herbs go in everything I cook. Nuff said.

Thyme, parsley, sage, oregano and bay

Voila! A bouquet garni.

Throw them in a pot with stock and simmer. Sprinkle in some salt and turn the pepper mill over the soup pot a few times. Stir it up. Now go write a blog post or something, as it needs to burble for a while.

...
...

oops, don't forget to smash disconnect the smoke detector while your soup is boiling away. Mine goes off if I look at it for two seconds (freaking sensitive piece of @#$!%#@). I have just turned the fan on myself, so as the neighbours don't call the fire department (again - oops, last house and another story).

As an afterthought, some of the beet leaves got washed and tossed into the pot too. Mmmm, it is starting to smell good now! Tummy is rumbling, but the beets aren't cooked through yet. Run a load of laundry downstairs to fill a few minutes.

...

...

Ok, it's got to be ready by now! I'm starving. Pull the sour cream out of the fridge. It is the traditional addition to borscht and I just happen to have some handy. 

Now,

Leave me be so I can eat my soup!

Happy Thursday all :)

Sunshine in your hands

Delicious berries

ripe on fingers and wet mouths

Don't weigh us on scales

Strawberry short cake

dessert made for whipped cream queens

sunshine in your hands

Red, red mess of jam

success triumphed together

stirred with pride and love

today work away

 frozen berry daiquiri

rewards tomorrow

Greek styles

   Oh I am feeling fine today! It being Thursday, I have my regular dinner party this evening with N,D & E. It is always a great evening for a bottle of wine with friends and a play date for the kids. Tonight, dinner is at my house. So "hmm, what to cook?", I asked myself early in the week. Requests for french toast went out for the kid"s table. Duly noted and I will oblige. For the adults though, we try to pick foods that we figure the little ones will not appreciate as much as ourselves. Sometimes we serve up the easy fair of burgers to please everyone, but this week I am trying something different. 

It started with parsley. 

Then an onion got chopped. 

Out to the garden for some oregano. 

   Rummage through the cupboards for the olive oil, salt and pepper. Sorry, no freshly squeezed lemons today. The lemon juice comes from a bottle from the fridge. And the recipe calls for Worcestershire, so in it goes (yeah, I am using a recipe. I never do, but am making an exception today). What else? Oh, don't forget the garlic. Lots of garlic. Now that is freshly pressed and I even grew the garlic myself. I am down to the end of last year's crop though, so maybe not as much garlic as would otherwise go in. We are amongst friends though, so no need to make enemies with over-powering breath. 

  Now where are we? Yes, the meat. Can you guess what the menu is yet? The ingredients are all mixed together in one container and the meat cubed and thrown into a bowl. Oh, this is going to be good. The critter of choice today is pork, despite suggestions of lamb from the recipe. I just do not appreciate the fluffy little baa-baas. My house, my decision. 

   So, pull the sleeves up and prepare to get dirty. Let's mix 'er up! Oh, doesn't that look good! Well, maybe not to you vegetarian folk out there, so perhaps I will throw some tofu on the grill for you. I play that way too and there is some handy, so why not. Well now, we have to let all that goodness soak in. Marinate, if you will.

Tum-te-dum

Beginning to salivate.

Perhaps I should go do something while I wait.

Cut the grass?

Spread grass seed?

Mop the floor?

Ah, I have waited long enough!

Let's get these bad boys on skewers!

And voila!

We have souvlaki. 

Accompaniments will be greek salad a la Nancy, rice, tzatziki and  pita bread.

And of course some wine.

There is lots, so don't be shy about wandering by.

The grill should be fired up by around 6:45.

Enjoy.

Jo'Burg Jaunt

   Despite suggestions by Weppie of flying to Johannesburg, I loaded up my backpack and headed to the bus stop. He made promises of cheap flights with the connections from his job at the airport, but I wanted to see the countryside, if only from the flight of an Intercape Mainliner. I waved goodbye to Uncle Jock and Aunt Elsa and settled into the posh seats of the double decker luxury bus. We were offered beverages shortly after we left and I was introduced to coffee the African way; sweet and white. No questions of how you took it (I was used to black at that point, so almost choked on first sips). The chicory blend had nothing on Tim Hortons, Canada’s national coffee emporium. If I wanted a coffee, I had to suck it up though and learn to get over it. It was a 15-hour bus ride and Timmies was nowhere in sight. The South African landscape was what was on offer and I had no choice but to sit back and enjoy the ride.

   While I did thrill in the adventure of finally being single, mobile and free, the bus ride quickly lost its appeal. The red soil of the surrounding countryside fascinated me, as I could not mesh the idea of crops growing in it, versus the rich brown humus of home. Soon enough my mind’s eye was focused on the future though. I shifted my weight from butt check to butt check and imagined what Botswana would hold. Flyers of Victoria falls in Zimbabwe lay across my lap, as I gazed into the pictured possibilities in my head. Eventually my tortured posterior gave up caring about tomorrow and the adventures that would unfold and screamed at me to get over the adventure of today. With Johannesburg finally coming into sight, I breathed a sigh of relief for cramped muscles. The bus ground out a final goodbye and with the applying of brakes gave blissful release into my cousin Naude’s waiting care. I would spend the next few days with him toodling around and even getting a chance to explore Sun City. Sadly, I  found even more barbed wire in Johannesburg and many heavily gated communities. I did discover their savoury pies though. They came in a multitude of flavours, like our chicken pies back home, but also spinach and feta, cheese, pork pasties and a delicious assortment of others. The most important event of my time with him though was a trip to the airport to pick up his wife. A surprise that I never would have anticipated was to greet me with unforeseen consequences.

I'll just have a water please

   As the burbles slowed, I looked out into my new world again. My eyes finally adjusted to the strength of the sun. I opened them onto adventure. I was ready. Just one more glass of water. Sip.

   “Now I can stand. Now I can run!” I thought to myself.

   Reality answered, “ Well, maybe jog a little”.

   I still felt weak as a newly hatched bird, but a smile returned to my pasty face. What adventures could I conjure up?

   My first adventure was with food again. I hear you groan, but this time I was gentle with myself. I was about to meet my father’s eldest sister’s side of the family now and they wanted to take me to brunch at the “club”. There were golfers aplenty on this branch of the family tree, so a lovely posh brunch buffet was my fair. Normally I am one of those people with no sense of the true size of my stomach and heap a plate three times over, just to sample all the goodies spread before me. Today, my stomach had shrunk to the size of a dried up cumquat. I took a humble plate with a scant few items, nothing too racy and nothing with a hint of acidity. Good natured teasing and concerned eyes accompanied me as I nibbled away at my offerings. I am happy to report that I kept it together though. No raced trips to the WC (water closet or bathroom for my Canadian readers) to say goodbye to brunch. A crooked smile wavered across my cheeks as I wove tales of home, family and Canada for my aunt, uncle, cousins and second cousins. I was treated to a tour around the golf course with Greg and Richard, second cousins that were the first people I had met close to my own age. My delicate constitution held back the reveries of hanging out with a younger sub-set too terribly much, but we did discuss possibilities of outings. An errant bubble curtailed thoughts of it happening immediately, but I yearned for it in the future. As much as I loved getting to know all the relatives, I was only 22 years old. I craved conversation that held less purpose and more spunk. It was time to gather the backpack and hit the dusty road.

Blame the Cumquat

   The first few days in South Africa were a barrage of experiences. I fell in love with the belly laugh of my Uncle Jock and felt at home in his warm presence. He wandered me around in his back garden showing me his strawberries (that I devoured), cape gooseberries (that I had never seen before, let alone eaten) and other plant life. He loved his fruit, eating several pieces every day after dinner and I was introduced to paw paws (like papaya) and oranges like I had never tasted before. They were so sweet and juicy! The food did not stop there. My Aunt Elsa was a lovely woman that cooked new and intriguing dishes for me to discover. I tried skulpakie (liver wrapped in fat and braaied), rooi hakskeentjies (translation: small red heels - pickled onion dish), home-made rusks(dried crusts of bread), bobotie (curried meatloaf with egg topping), brawn (gelatinous curried sandwich meat made of calf’s heels and pig’s trotters) and of course was introduced to a braai (a barbecue on a specially built outdoor hearth where a coiled sausage was the headliner amongst several other meats).

   Not only did I have food to discover, but a whole new language to discern; Afrikaans. I thrilled at this new   language and tried to take baby steps at learning words of objects around me.

   “Chicken - hoender. Meat – vleis. Katjie- kitten. Hond- dog.” I stated.

   “Een, Twee, drie… One, Two, Three,” I intoned to the mirth of watching relatives.

   “Dankie,” I beamed to their claps. “Baie dankie”

   Yes, thank you. Thank you very much. My pronunciation was horrible. They were happy to teach me about their culture and world though. Initial introductions were filtered through a foggy brain, but I was keen to learn as much as I could. I took notes on pronunciation. I read books written by local authors, including one relative Uys Krige. I plotted out a family tree to help me figure out who I was meeting and how they were related to me (the first day alone I met 2 aunts, my uncle, my cousin, her husband and one of their children). I listened to tales of my relative’s adventures while visiting in Canada many years before. I shared tales of my own of my country, culture and familiar family that was so far away. And of course I asked questions, questions and more questions. It was exhilarating. It was also exhausting. I made it to 7:30pm the first night and slept straight through to 10:30am the next morning. It is a wonder I had the strength to breathe, I was so tired.

   After about a week in the country, I slowly got over my jet lag. I added another uncle, cousin, her spouse and two children, and another second cousin Francoise to my list of relatives. I ventured out on my own one morning for a walk to the store and took my life in my hands attempting to cross the street. Again I was confounded by transit driving on the other side of the road. Look right, look left, look right, start to cross, and jump back as a car approaches with haste from the wrong direction. It took a lot of getting used to. The experience was empowering though and set me on a path for the independent travel that was to come.

   I also continued to experiment with new food and slowly began to regret it. One too many cumquats pushed me over the edge. The first tentative soft bowels were soon replaced by a full-on case of Traveller’s Trots. It had nothing to do with poor sanitation or contaminated water. It had everything to do with my love of new foods and lack of forethought by ingesting mass amounts of fruit to a body still thinking it was going into the hibernation of winter. Nothing stayed in me and I dropped over ten pounds in less than a week. My aunt fretted that my mother would be horrified by their lack of care of me in such a short time. As I pushed away dried toast and desperately tried to keep down sips of water, I thought again about what a journey I was on. The sounds of bubbles shifting around in a tummy racked in digestive distress did not celebrate the adventure I heralded. This too would pass.

Stop Playing with your Food!

The morning passed pleasantly in pretend play for my girls.

I was inspired to do a little creativity myself.

And hoped that it would inspire a pleasant eating experience.

It worked for me.

Happy eating!