Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category


I got a little crazy in the baking department this weekend.  There was a baby shower for a good friend of mine planned (god bless her precious little socks) and I got myself up to my elbows in cake for the occasion.  I thought, momentarily, about making the ever-appreciated chocolate cake, a safe bet for people whose tastes you don’t quite know.  And I thought about a Victoria Sponge too for it’s crowd pleasing qualities.  And then I thought about the friend whose baby we were showering and about how I just know, deep down, that these good folks would want their precious bebe well versed in the language of foods, various, exotic and experimental, and I knew I had to offer a few flavours not always found on a party board.  Now, if you haven’t already met her and found out for yourself, there really is only one place to go for inspiration for a splendid, voluptuous, mouth-watering Bake of some kind. Dear Debs at Smitten Kitchen has the trump up her sleeve every time.  Having scoured the ends of the earth and the bottom of every food magazine pile and waded her way through a sea of recipes she finds the best, the most sumptuous, simple the most mouth-wateringly delicious cakes out there.  This time, after an hour or so having to dab delicately at my mouth to keep my salivations from the keyboard I found a masterpiece of baking: a Pistachio Petit Four cake.  My dear friend, Ms A, is of a Persian bend and I thought that the pistachio, apricot and almond trio were a perfect tribute.

Having overwhelmed my senses at Deb’s place, I thought I’d leave some space for some other inspiration and dawdled over to Bea’s at La Tartine Gourmand.  Bea has an ability to wave her magic French wand over everything she does and give it that certain je ne sais quoi. I fell in love, instantly, with her Lemon Yogurt cake for a few reasons, not least of which was that it was her dad’s favourite.  I’m a bit of a dad-o-phile myself here and it tugged somewhat on my homesick/family-sick heartstrings.  Also, it’s kind of like a cheese cake, but much lighter and it comes in a pastry.  Pastry?  I’m in!

For the third plate I stayed a little closer to home.  I did a gorgeous walnut banana bread, which I sliced in half through the body, scooped a little bit out of the bottom half and filled with dulce de leche.  So there you go, ma petite belle bebe S: something from your home, something from my home and something half way between the two.  May your life be beautiful and delicious.

Okay, I promise that this is the last catch-up-on-summer post I’ll put out here.  It’s nearly December, for goodness sake, and I’ve a plethora of Autumn cooking to catch you up on and I really don’t want this to end in the Summer next with me still waffling on about Christmas baking.  But how, I ask you with cake in my mouth, could I not tell you all about this?  Look at it, don’t you just want a piece?  And, to be honest, with the November rain-snow-yuck glooming down all around us at the moment a little bit of sunny coloured apricotiness can’t do too much harm.


Apricots are something I actually seldom buy, perhaps only once in the season.  The reason is that they are such a sensitive, delicate little fruit that by the time they get from the tree to the store they always seem to have lost their lovely, translucent glow and their flesh turns to powderiness or mush far quicker than is convenient.  Growing up in South Africa meant, among other things, having access to very fresh, delicious fruit and I can’t help but compare the apricots I’ve bought here with the firmer, juicier ones I remember from childhood.  Nonetheless, there are times when, luck in hand, I run into a crop of apricots so blushing, so sunny and full of optimism that I simply Must Have Them.  This particular lot were simply lovely, a rare treat in a rainy summer.  And having bought far more than I knew we’d manage to eat before they tipped over on to the other side of ripe I knew the best way to use them up would be in a tart. I thought a great compliment to the tartness of the apricots would be the delicate fragrance and flavour of almonds  I achieved this not only by using almond flour in the pastry, but also by fashioning new stones for the halved fruit out of marzipan.  It not only looked quite precious, it tasted, let me tell you, Delicious.


Almond Apricot Tart

For the pastry:
1 cup plain flour
⅓ cup quinoa flour (or use more plain four to the same value)
¼ cup almond flour (ground almonds)
⅓cup demmerara sugar
¹⁄⁄₈ tsp tumeric powder
big pinch salt
⅓ cup canola or vegetable oil
⅓ cup cold water

12 apricots, halved and stoned

60g marzipan

2 Tbsp honey
¼sp ground cardamom

– mix all three fours and the sugar, tumeric and salt.

– add the oil and mix until the mixture is crumbly and looks like oats and wet sand

– add the water and combine to form a dough.

– rest at room temperature for one hour

– preheat the oven to 375˚F

– roll out the pastry and line a greased pie dish with it, trimming the edges.

– arrange the apricot halves, skin side down, in the pie base

– pinch of marble size pieces of marzipan, roll between your palms to form a ball and place in the centre of each apricot.

– warm the hone a little over a low heat, add the cardamom and drizzle over the apricots.

– Bake for about 35 mins until the pastry is golden and the liquid from the fruit and honey is bubbling.


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A nice big fish is something I will eternally associate with Summer chez moi.  I have brilliant, sparkly memories as a child of going on summer holiday to the ocean and over dosing on good sea food.  South Africa has, if you ask me, some of the best sea food in the world and I look forward with glee to a trip back to my birth country and a seat over looking a pounding surf with a plate of fresh fish and chips.

One of my favourite fish to cook at home is a snapper, preferably whole.  Now, bear in mind that this is a bony little sucker, so I wouldn’t necessarily recommended it as a first date type affair. There’ll be plenty of sucking and plucking and chucking with this on the plate.  But a whole fish is still a great way to go for a barbecue, or in the oven, as convenience allows.

Getting your fish from a fish monger is the beat way to go, if you can.  You can pick the best fish and have it cleaned and descaled while you wait.  Fish doesn’t last, even in the fridge, so either freeze the sucker or eat it same day.


Preheat the oven to 400˚F

Start by rinsing the fish, inside and out, and pat dry with a paper towel.  Rub a little olive oil on the skin and season with a bit of salt.

Lay a piece of parchment paper large enough to completely wrap the fish in on the counter.

Slice up a large onion and place half of it on the middle of the parchment.

Chop up 5 or 6 sun dried tomatoes and throw these on top of the onions.

Now grab a handful of fresh herbs, what ever you have.  I used a big bunch of parsley, some basil and tarragon.  Mince a big clove of garlic, chop the herbs up, mix the two and put half of this on the onion tomato base.

Put the snapper on top of this mix and repeat the layer: onion, tomato and herbs. Drizzle the whole shebang with olive oil.

Wrap the fish up in the parchment, securing with some string, and bake for about 15 to 20 minutes until the flesh is just flaky.  Let the fish sit for a couple of minutes before serving with a good garden salad.

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Oh, don’t shoot me.  Another recipe I diligently wrote down while making and have since misplaced somewhere in the maelstrom of my kitchen notes over the last few months.  Listen, people, do as I say and not as I do.  If you’re going to be making up recipes and fabricate wonderful new concoctions in the kitchen, keep a whole notebook, bound and sturdy and without loose pages in which to write said culinary experiments.  Do not, as I do, keep a post-it pad in the cutlery drawer on which to scribble, somewhat illegibly and often covered in some un-named sauce, your moments of cuisinary Eureka.  So bear with me here as I try to back track in my mind and remember what went into this little morsel of yumminess you see before you.

The shell, I remember well, is a simple shortcrust.  No difficulty there.  If you need a recipe, this is a good one, but make only half the required amount as you don’t need a lid for this pie.

The filling was a pint, at least, of dark, almost black, Bing cherries; pitted and halved, or halved and pitted whichever order you like to do that in. 

Next would have been a little bit of flour and a little bit of sugar.  Again, I can’t give you exact measurements, but I’d estimate ⅓cup sugar and a ¼cup plain flour. 

Then a generous amount of dark chocolate, cut into chunks.  Hmmm.  Lets guess at 100g, 70% cocoa.

Of course, the rest seems fairly simple.  Preheat the oven to, oh, 375˚F.  Line a springform cake tin with the pastry and chill in the fridge for 10 mins.  Fill the shell with the cherry/chocolate mix and bake for about 30 mins, or until the pastry is turning a golden brown and the filling is bubbling merrily away.

Chill for about 10 mins outside the oven before removing from the springform.

Brilliant eaten still warm with a good dollop of vanilla ice-cream.

Good luck!  And please, if anyone can see a major blup in my thinking here, shout shout shout.


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On a balmy, sensual, early summer night in the season now past the dashing Mr P and I were invited to a dinner, eaten out doors in the charming garden on a very good friend.  She asked for a dessert for 6 and, it being the season of all things fresh and lovely, what better than an ensemble exploding with fresh strawberries.  Now, I’m not going to give you an ingredient by ingredient recipe for these little tarts. It’s simply a version of a typical little fruit tart, not dissimilar to these, or these, using a pate sable and a type of nut custard, like frangipane but with pistachios instead of almonds in both cases.  I love including a fruit in puddings, as you’ve no doubt noticed.  I tend to keep the sugar content a bit lower on the rest of the dessert and rely a lot on the sweetness in the fruit instead.  I think the ultimate difference with these tarts is that the tart shell is baked with the pistachio-cream, then when the tarts are cool the fresh strawberries are added on top.  Somehow, a fresh strawberry is infinitely better than a cooked one on a hot summer evening, don’t you agree?

*note: if you’re battling to get the strawberries to stand nicely on the cool tarts, heat a little strawberry jam and use as a type of glue between the fresh strawberry pieces.


Strawberry Pistachio Tarts

for the pate sable:
200g butter, softened
pinch salt
⅓ cup icing sugar, sifted
⅓ cup shelled pistachios
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla essence
400ml plain flour

for the pistachio cream:
½cup shelled pistachios
1 egg
⅓ cup sugar
60 ml unsalted butter, softened

Punnet fresh strawberries
3 or 4 Tbls strawberry jam (preferably an all fruit jam)
¼cup shelled pistachios, finely chopped

– first, grind or blend or process the pistachios, in two separate batches for the pastry and the creme, until they are very fine (think ground almonds)

make the pate sable:

– beat the butter with the ground pistachios, salt and sugar until creamy.

– add the egg, vanilla and 1 Tbsp of the flour and beat until smooth.

– add the rest of the flour and combine to form a sticky dough. Wrap in plastic and refrigerate for at least 1 hour

make the pistachio creme:

– beat ground pistachios, egg, sugar and butter until smooth. Refrigerate 10 mins until firm.

– preheat the oven to 375˚F

– grease and flour 6 individual tart tins (about 5″ diameter) or, alternatively, one large 9 or 10 inch dish.

– when the pastry is well chilled, roll it out on a floured surface to about 5mm thickness.  Line each tine with pastry, trimming away excess. Keep combining and re-rolling the scraps of dough until all the tins are lined.

– prick the bottom of the pastry with a fork a couple of times.

– divide the pistachio creme between each tart Shell and smooth out.

– bake for about 20 mins until the pastry and the top of the pistachio creme is a lovely pale gold.

– allow the tarts to cool for 10 mins before removing from tins.

– wash, hull and halve the strawberries. Gently heat the strawberry jam.

– when the tarts are completely cooled top with halved strawberries.   Brush a little jam onto the berries of each tart. Top with a sprinkle with the chopped pistachios.


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A Forgotten Lemon Pudding


I still have a few recipes in my archives from the Summer months to share with you, and, remembering how much the diligent Mr P and I enjoyed this, would love to tell you all about this little lemon pudding.  But, the chaos that has been my life these last months, I’ve managed to misplace the recipe.  Now, as far as I remember, I don’t think this was a recipe I made up myself.  It may well be, in which case we’re really out of luck, but my tummy tells me that this was made following another recipe, lying somewhere out there in the ether of the internet, forgotten but missed none the less. So, if anyone recognizes the look of this pudding, minus the blueberry, which I’m absolutely certain was my own addition, Yell!  Scream! Shout! it out and let me rest a little bit more easily at night.  All I remember with out doubt was that it is a custard type pudding, baked in the oven.  It’s somewhat lemon curdy, but creamier and lighter and altogether easier to eat as a pudding on it’s own.  And I can tell you for sure that it was simply lovely as a cold pudding on a hot summer’s day, the tart of the lemon combining perfectly with the somewhat velvety sweetness of the blueberries.


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Ye olde cottage pie is a favourite in our household.  It’s one of the ever culinary Mr P’s signature dishes and as such I usually don’t go near the making of them myself.  I wouldn’t dare.  He has been know to whip up a cottage pie, impromptu, on a chilly autumn evening that makes the child in me weep with joy.  But one evening, with a bumper load of Summer produce in the fridge, a package of minced beef ready to use and Mr P working rather later than usual, I decided to tread on his territory a little and rustly up dinner loving.  He didn’t really seem to mind too much, so I know it’s not half bad.

This is a great dish to make as the weather turns a little nippy and you want to use up some Summer produce still kicking around.

Incidentally, does anyone know the difference between Cottage Pie and Shepherds pie?  I’ll give you a hint, the reason is in the name!


Summery Cottage Pie

2 Tbsp Olive oil
1 stick celery, chopped
1 large carrot, chopped
1 large onion, chopped
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1 lb/ 450g minced beef
2 Tbsp tomato paste
1 ½tsp balsamic vinegar
1 Patti pan or zucchini, coarsely chopped
6 or 7 chard leaves, chopped
1 cup red wine
1 cup beef stock
salt and pepper to taste

2 large potatoes, peeled and coarsely chopped
3 Tbsp Olive oil
splash of milk
salt and pepper

– put a pot of water on to boil.  When it’s boiling add the potatoes and lower the heat.  Cook for about 10 or 15 minutes until done (when a fork slides easily into the potato chunks). Drain and reserve.

– preheat the oven to 350˚F

– over a medium heat, saute the celery, carrot, onion and garlic in the olive oil for about 5 minutes

– add the beef and cook until browned, separating the little clumps with a wooden spoon as you go

– add the tomato paste and balsamic and caramalise for a couple minutes

– add the Patti pan, chard, wine and stock and simmer for about 10 minutes, until the liquid has reduced and the mix is thick and yummy

– mash the potatoes with the oil, salt and pepper to taste and enough milk to give a silky but firm texture

– half fill a casserole with the meat mixture, top with the potato mash and bake for 25 – 30 mins, until the top is browned and crisp.


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No, you are not imagining things and I have neither moved to the Southern Hemisphere, where peaches are undoubtedly about to come into a gorgeous new season, nor have I lost my love for all things seasonal.  This is merely another of my catch up posts for the recipe’s I never got around to posting over the Summer here in Toronto.

At the St Lawrence Market there is a produce stall on the upper level where, from the end of June, you can see people poking there noses around, lowering their glasses to read the hand written signs on the fruit displays, sighing a little, disappointed, and carrying on with their shopping.  They’re waiting, you see, for The Peaches.  The Peaches I speak of are no ordinary peaches.  Ontario abounds with peaches from it’s Niagara Region through the Summer, but this little, owner run stall in the market has found peaches of such good, consistent quality that they have people asking for them specifically.  And when the famous Peaches do eventually arrive, in baskets and boxes, they are pounced upon (gently, of course, to avoid any bruising) and bought in hoards.  People can be seen leaving the market, one hand weighed down by pounds and pounds of peaches, the other delicately eating a fresh, ripe peach right on the spot, juice running down their chins and a happy, far away glint in their eyes.

What to do with such peaches?  They seem to lovely to be turned into sticky jams and are far best eaten just like that, with the aforementioned juices running down the chin.  But sometimes one likes to, uh, tart a peach up a little, if you know what I mean.  This is a great way to make the best of the season’s hero’s while delivering a dessert that smacks just enough of glamour and decadence.

One of the best things about serving fruit for dessert is it’s ease of preparation and this little gem is pretty darn simple.  Other than a little whipping for the meringue and a little stirring of the custard there’s really not much to making this.  I must add here that I’m using the word “Custard” rather loosely since there’s neither milk nor cream in the mix.  But it turns out so creamy and velvety in any case that I couldn’t think of anything else to call it.

*note: I baked this for two, hence the 1 large peach, halved.  Multiply for more people. Also, I know it’s not always that easy to get great quality juice in North America. I use Ceres fruit juices from South Africa, available all over the place here, but alternatively you could juice a fresh peach.


Baked Peaches with Meringue and Peach Custard

For the Peach:
1 large, ripe, white peach, halved and stoned
1½ Tbsp Vanilla Sugar
Drizzle of Basalmic Vinegar per peach

For the Meringue:
1 egg white
2 Tbsp caster sugar

For the Custard:
½ cup peach juice
1 tsp corn starch
1 egg yolk, beaten
1 tsp vanilla extract
pinch of salt
1 Tbsp butter

– Preheat the oven to 300˚F

– Place the peaches, cut side up, on a baking tray.  Sprinkle the vanilla sugar and balsamic vinegar over them.

– Whip the egg white untill stiff, then add the sugar 1 Tablespoon at a time, beating between each addition.

– Top each peach with the meringue mixture.  Bake in the 300˚F oven for 25 mins, then lower the temperature to 250˚F and bake for a further 10 mins.

– To make the custard, stir the corn starch into the cool peach juice.  Add the yolk, vanilla and salt and mix well.

– Over a moderately low heat, stir the peach custard untill it thickens and coats the back of a wooden spoon.

– Before serving, stir the butter into the warm custard until melted.


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As our temperatures here in Toronto start to dip and dive again in the face of Autumn I keep thinking about all the gorgeous food I cooked up over the Summer and never got around to sharing with you.  So, over the next little while, you’ll have to bear with me as I turn an uncharacteristically unseasonable page back to the hotter months and post some of the recipes and cook ups that got lost in the comings and goings of all the travelling I did over that time.  Hopefully I’ll manage to get up to speed with the backlog before the glories of autumn are over with, or I’ll find myself a season behind when spring finally comes around and I’m still stuffing butternuts and mulling apple cider.

A lot of the time in Summer the last thing you want to be doing is keeping an eye on a slow cooking stew or spending hours in the hot, sticky kitchen.  Summer over here at Lick Your Own Bowl is often a casual, quickly thrown together meal of the season’s freshest produce, herbs from the garden and a long, candle-lit evening sitting outside in the garden with the scent of flowers and barbecue in the air.  There’s not much too say about this Summer-Coloured meal.  A quick sticks pasta, with sauteed onions and garlic, sundried tomato, fresh Ontario corn and peas, lightly cooked and deglazed with a dollop of white wine and then plucked up with a bit of white tuna and washed down with an ice cold lager and a side of fresh salad is just heavenly.  Then sit back and listen to the crickets and the laughter of neighbourhood kids still playing street hockey in the road.

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Home Coming

I finally find myself safely, warmly and dryly ensconced back in my little home, with the ever attentive Mr P administering foot rubs, hot cups of tea and home cooked meals.  For a bit, I’m quiet happy to let him have the reign of the kitchen while I slowly digest this last month of grand exploration, vast vista’s and living out of a car.  It was, as they say, a journey of a lifetime and it would take another month here on Lick Your Own Bowl to explore it all with you again.  I’ve driven over 12 000 kilometers of road, climbed mountains, walked on beaches extending as far as the eye could see, through rain forests dripping with moss and across lava fields running through magical mountain valleys.  My lightbox is a-clutter with roll upon roll of film, the sorting and selecting of which is in itself a mountainous task.

I came back to Toronto via a road lined with Maple trees standing like soldiers in their finest uniforms of vermilion and red and flaming orange, seeing me safely into a new season filled with squash and yams and hot apple cider.  I can’t wait to get stuck in there and let the aroma’s of autumnal cooking go wafting through the house.  Watch this space!

The trip itself is something that will linger in my head for a long time, to be mulled over and sifted through and sorted into some sort of order sooner or later.  There was something Grande and Forever about a month spent driving, alone and content to be so, across this vast country I find myself living in.  South Africa, the place I grew up and the land that gave me my own personal idea of a land’s proportion and scale, seems easily conquered in the shadow of this silent, heavy, giant country that, in my mind now, stretches away in an infinity of trees and lakes and plains on either side of me.  It took me 6 days of solid driving to go from the centre of Toronto to the middle of Victoria, Vancouver Island.  I had no time, then, to stop and stand on the edge of a sea-sized lake or linger in the shadow of a mountain or stretch my face to the blue, endless skies of the prairies.  I was on a deadline, of sorts.  I was trying to catch a boat.

The Northern Adventure runs the length of the Inside Passage, an impressive passage of water stretching from Port Hardy on the northern shore of Vancouver Island to Prince Rupert, an old fishing town sitting snugly under the Southern point of Alaska.  The ferry, which takes 15 hours to complete it’s journey, runs in daylight hours only until the end of September and if you’re not on it, well, the Northern Adventure waits for no man.  Or woman and her dog.  In the mean time I wanted to make sure I had time for unseen adventures on the Island before boarding the ferry.  I spent some magical time on the Pacific Rim National Park and stopped in towns like Tofino and Ucluelet.  The trees that grow in the temperate rain forests or the Pacific Rim National Park are, reportedly, of the Old Growth variety.  These giant, almost godly Red Cedars and Hemlocks tower enormously above you as you walk slowly and meditatively through the damp, moss covered forests.  It’s easy to see how magic and folk lore abound in these area’s.  If you’re quick enough you can almost, very nearly catch a glimpse of an elf, a fairy, a gnome peeking it’s head out of a fern grove.

From Prince Rupert I began my slow, winding journey eastwards again, although, passing by a sign indicating Alaska to the North proved far too great a temptation for my adventurous frame of mind and so I spent a couple aimless hours, singing “Anchored down in Ancorage”, driving steadily north into the somewhat more remote wilderness of Northern BC.  After a couple of hours, the only other traffic on the road being the odd, beat up old pick up truck with Hunting-Orange clad drivers and the occasional cargo of fresh moose on the back, I stopped the car in a dusty, down-trodden town of only a few dilapidated houses and a gas bar and an astounding collection of ancient totem poles, standing like sentinels to the gods, along the side of the road.  The sudden and surreal appearance of these old symbols of a civilization almost gone and vastly changed from those glory days gave the day a somewhat somber atmosphere and I drove back south again, quiet and thoughtful, through the rolling, yellowed hills soaked with an unmentionable history.

The Yellowhead highway is a long, meandering, mostly single lane highway that carries you, in Northern BC, through some of the most beautiful, majestic, and sometimes unbelievable landscapes I’ve yet been allowed to see.  There is so little of Man there, and yet so much of man’s history.  Between the towns of Terrace, Hazelton and Prince George, the wilderness of hills and mountains, rivers and lakes fills in like a vast ocean lapping at the shores of little islands.

From Prince George the Yellowhead runs straight into the Rocky Mountains, where jutting, gesturing mountains cut north-south through the land with their lakes of almost unreal teals, blues and greens; their glaciers and ice fields; their low-slung, gurgling rivers and their moody, unpredictable weather.  The Icefields Parkway runs only 230km, from Jaspertown to Banftown, but one could easily take 5 days to travel it if one were to explore it thoroughly.  Unfortunately I was by now without the luxury of infinite time and had to limit myself to but a few hikes and ganders.  And yet I was left, by the end of my couple days in the mountains, in a mood of wonder and awe.

After the mountains, which receded in my rear view mirror at 100km an hour, sitting like a fat, jagged ribbon on the horizon, and the previous days of close fitting wilderness, trees and lakes, the endless space and air of the grand prairies, stretching away on either side to a horizon line impossibly straight and far away, was like a new, clean thought in a muddle of confusion.  I felt the weight of geographic tons of granite and ice lift off my shoulders and was left with a freedom, a lightness of being that made me want for nothing but to stand in the wind, spread my arms, lift my face to the sun and breath in the fresh air.  The wind, almost always present, blows the prairie grass in an infinite and sensual dance across the plains.  With names like Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump, Swift Current, Moose Jaw and Medicine Hat sitting side by side on the map, this sounded to me like the place adventures are made of.  I would have loved to linger longer here.  I would have loved to walk a bit and stand a bit and feel the wind in my hair a bit.  I would have liked to sit on a clear night and see the stars, unimpeded by geography’s interruption, stretching away all around me to infinity and darkness.

Alas, that will have to wait for another day, another adventure.  I’m back now, home again, showered and fed and rested.  And ready to cook.

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Hello. Wow.

I thought, since I am in an environment for the first time in almost two weeks, that has an actual, man made, solid and dry, carpet under my bare feet and the joys and wonders that are wireless internet, that I’d drop a little line and let you know what I’ve been up to.

I’m about half way through a trip that has taken me across nearly 6 000 kilometers of road; good and bad, wet and dry, paved and dirt. Alas for you, foodie fanciers, the heights of this adventure have been more mountainous than culinary and the only whole-wheat I’ve seen has been sown in the prairies, not the bread basket. My meals have come mostly out of a can or a box and my kitchen has consisted of a small propane stove, two bashed up little pots, a bucket and a wooden spoon. But people! I’ve been taking photographs! In keeping things as low to the ground as possible I’ve been using all my old film format camera’s, and so I’ve nothing to report but some snaps from the roadside. For the rest, you’ll have to wait a good, old fashioned amount of time. Oh my, the places I’ve been the adventures I’ve had and there’s still an entire Canadian continent to cross. This is a turning point, you see. I awake in Prince Rupert this morning, in northern BC, and it’s here that I turn my minivan-cum-home around, point east again and head back to my beloved, my endearing and enduring, my magnificent Mr P.


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