UPDATE: FOOD RHAPSODY

The Vegetable Stirfry with Tofu Croquettes was delicious. My sous chef says that I put in too much corn and carrots but what does he know? I'm a better cook than him.

Tomorrow: Egg Mess and Toast! Yum.... My food critics adore this hardy staple of very few ingredients and non-meat protein. For the vegans out there who think of eggs as meat, pffft. You aren't getting enough B12 for your brains so you can't appreciate the value of eggs.

All this cooking has me jazzed. I'm currently revising a children's picture book about Canadian animal life. I figure if deer can eat eggs (and sometimes birds), then nothing should prevent me from eating chicken eggs. Will post how the cooking (and writing) progresses.

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MORE FOOD RHAPSODY

I have been taking a hiatus from the blog to work on culinary skills. I find that if I can't work with writer's block, then a little innovation in other areas helps.

Canadian Thanksgiving was superb. I made vegan gluten free dressing with brown rice bread with almond and cashew nut butter gravy. My sous chef made homemade chips. There was a bowl of canned cranberry jelly, and pears for the sides.

Tonight I made Bean without Bacon soup, a vegan spin on a classic fall comfort food. Served again with more cranberry jelly, and potatoes, it was a comforting rustic meal.


Tomorrow, I make my standby Vegie Stirfry with Tofu Croquettes.

All this has inspired me to send out an article on Plains Native American tribes to a history magazine geared toward middle school grades. Will let my readers know if my conquests as a culinarian translate to the published page.

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ça m'amuse

A struggling author, David Lassman, recently proved how difficult it was get published as a first time author. He submitted chapters of Jane Austen novels to various literary agents and publishers (including some very big names) and all but one rejected the manuscripts.

Well, who wouldn't reject a manuscript from Jane Austen? Despite the Beeb's television series, the various and sundry movies of her novels and about her, Jane Austen is dull. She is overly mannerly and correct. There are no surprises or major conflicts in Austen novels, just irritating lapses in etiquette. Charlotte Brontë described Austen's petit point screeds in accurate terms.

Letter of April 12th 1850 to W.S. Williams:

"I have likewise read one of Miss Austen's works,Emma -- read it with interest and with just the degree of admiration which Miss Austen herself would have thought sensible and suitable -- anything like warmth or enthusiasm, anything energetic, poignant, or heartfelt, is utterly out of place in commending these works: all such demonstrations the authoress would have met with a well bred sneer, would have calmly scorned as outré and extravagant. She does her business of delineating the surface of the lives of genteel English people curiously well; there is a Chinese fidelity, a miniature delicacy in the painting: she ruffles her reader by nothing vehement, disturbs him by nothing profound: the Passions are perfectly unknown to her; she rejects even a speaking acquaintance with that stormy Sisterhood; even to the Feelings she vouchsafes no more than an occasional graceful but distant recognition; too frequent converse with them would ruffle the smooth elegance of her progress."

Charlotte, be it noted, grew up with a kickass younger sister. Emily could shoot a pistol. The more youthful Brontë also made a tidy livelihood from railroad stocks. None of your mincing, faint-of-heart Austen mollycoddles for the Brontë clan when they wrote of their heroines. The sisters gave literature Catherine Earnshaw and Jane Eyre. Both characters had more spirit than, well, I can't recall any of Austen's lead women. They are not memorable as the plain Jane with her mysterious Rochester or Catherine with the brooding Heathcliff. Perhaps, someone ought to try the same experiment with a Brontë novel and see if publishers recognize such.


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POEM OF THE WEEK

If my words, like leaves,

should scatter through the world,
would that I might leave behind
the name that was mine
in the unforgettable days of old.

---Lady Daibu

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SUCCESS!

As chronicled in YUM!, I have been trying to perfect the art of drying tomatoes in the oven. Well, they were delicious! Roma tomatoes with parsley, rosemary, and thyme with a bay leaf (for scent) under the metal cooling rack that I used for the dryer. I have been inspired. I had the dreaded writers' block. My brain was lint fuzz. I already finished writing a 105,010 word manuscript and my mind went blank. I spent most of a day tending the tomatoes and had my reward. Sweet, although I prefer black tomatoes. When I first had this type of tomato, my first thought was "pasta sauce". A subtle flavour, smooth without the harsh citric taste.

Um, okay, where was I? This is supposed to be on a blog about writing. I'm working on the sequel to my missive and I've broken through my writer's block. Hmm... something about my affinity for the nightshade family may have helped. I have also been indulging in my favourite nosh, chips and mayo. Good food always helps. I can think straight if I have a bowl of hot freshly dished popcorn. Be that as it may, I'm plonking through novel #2 and am happy, almost, to have the confidence to send out the first manuscript to a publisher again. Until then, bon appetit!
UPDATE: This has turned out to be, with revisions, a 140,950 word manuscript.
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POEM OF THE WEEK

I Am

I am! The ages on the ages roll:
And what I am, I was, and I shall be:
by slow growth filling higher Destiny,
And Widening, ever, to the widening Goal.
I am the Stone that slept; down deep in me
That old, old sleep has left its centurine trace;
I am the plant that dreamed; and lo! still see
That dream-life dwelling on the Human Face.
I slept, I dreamed, I wakened: I am Man!
The hut grows Palaces; the depths breed light;
Still on! Forms pass; but Form yields kinglier
Might!
The singer, dying where his song began,
In Me yet lives; and yet again shall he
Unseal the lips of greater songs To Be;
For mine the thousand tongues of Immortality.


- Voltaraine De Cleyre

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YUM!

Like many people, I have comfort foods for when times are difficult. When I've received a rejection letter or have had to visit with pesky relatives who make me feel like I'm a burying beetle in a clatch of mice. My last two weeks of summer vacation. We won't go there for the tale would be too long in woe. And I want to get to the truly good part. Comfort food.


For some, comfort food means a chocolate bar or a sub sandwich, or a simmering macaroni and cheese casserole.

Naw.

I crave homemade British style chips with mayonnaise. I made some, recently (Friday last) with red potatoes simmered in canola oil. I did not have my favourite brand of olive oil so had to content with what was available. Oh, and how content it was for my palate.

British style chips with mayonnaise, hard boiled eggs with mustard, and green and red tomato slices fried in the red potato oil. My taste buds were happy. The simple meal was a great success.

Not so proud were my attempts yesterday to make oven dried tomatoes. I rushed the drying by turning up the oven heat too high. However, those that survived being crisped, were sweet to the taste on a homemade pizza with red porcini mushroom sauce, fake soy cheese (can't have dairy),and olives. The meal ended up to be edible and that is all I could have hoped for with my experiment.

I was a little bit disappointed in my culinary prowess but ,as a writer, you learn to take the lumps. Even if the bumps are the charred remains of once plump tomatoes.


Ever the optimist, I later consumed pretzels and nuts for a snack. Okay, and the four vanilla cookies and some decaf white tea. I won't keep track if you don't. And I'm thinking of topping it all with some hot almond milk before I go to bed.


'til then,

Anne

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