Saturday, January 21, 2012
Friday, January 20, 2012
On becoming domestic
EMC Editorial - If you've followed my writings for some time, you're probably aware of my incompetence in the kitchen.
Other than select varieties of cookies, cakes and pies, I've historically shied away from having to prepare anything more complicated than green smoothies or bagels with peanut butter and jam. On the few occasions that I have made supper for my family, it's almost always been some sort of breakfast-for-dinner type meal like pancakes, French toast or tofu scramble.
The mere thought of preparing things like vegetables, rice and potatoes stresses me out. Why, you ask? I guess the short answer is that I've simply never figured out basic rules like how long I need to cook things for and at what temperature. A few missteps which yielded unappetizing results like soggy, over-steamed zucchini and pots ruined by grains of reeking, burnt rice stuck to the bottom left me with a discouraged opinion of my abilities.
Thankfully, this has never been a problem because my husband adores cooking, and is extremely amenable to my desire to eat a mostly plant-based diet. The best part is that he's actually quite a good cook, and although I may on occasion be overheard complaining about his habit of using every single pot and pan we own to prepare one meal, or the way he piles all the vegetable scraps and peelings in the sink instead of the compost bin, I am nothing if not grateful for his efforts because I know I am the healthier for them.
If there is anything I find more daunting than having to prepare a proper meal, however, it's the long stretch of maternity leave I have coming up, and it is that which has inspired me to at last make a concerted effort to learn how to cook. I have never in my life not had school or a job to occupy my time for more than a couple of months, and during those stretches I was always at least looking for work - which is a full-time job in itself, to say the least.
I'm not trying to say that being a stay-at-home mom is not a full-time job - because I know that it is - it's just that I worry I will not "be the right fit" for this job because domestic tasks have never been my forte. (I am ashamed to say that my cooking failures are only the tip of the iceberg in this department.)
Now that I finally have a job I actually enjoy, having to simply walk away from it for six months makes the whole situation even more difficult to bear than it ever would have been in the past. What will I do all day if I can't be out in the community interviewing the good people of Kingston and Frontenac County and writing stories about local happenings? I fear the headline will read "fails miserably on the domestic front".
What I'm attempting to get at, in a very round-about way, is that I have made it my personal goal to try and cook at least two dinners per week until April, when my leave will start, at which point I hope to bring it up to four or five. Last week, I managed to throw together a half-decent stir-fry, which was quite encouraging. All the same, I know that some failures will be inevitable, and want to be able to push on in spite of them.
I hope that this goal will not only allow me to develop some much-needed domestic skills, but also present me with a somewhat enjoyable challenge to master while on leave. (Well, other than that whole caring for a newborn baby by myself thing - which terrifies me too much to even think about just yet.)
I suppose I'm telling you all this because nothing motivates me like feeling monitored. So please feel free to ask/text/tweet/Facebook me about how the cooking's going. The prospect that someone might bring it up will hopefully be enough to get me dicing up a carrot or two on a regular basis.
hpratt-campbell@theheritageemc.ca
Other than select varieties of cookies, cakes and pies, I've historically shied away from having to prepare anything more complicated than green smoothies or bagels with peanut butter and jam. On the few occasions that I have made supper for my family, it's almost always been some sort of breakfast-for-dinner type meal like pancakes, French toast or tofu scramble.
The mere thought of preparing things like vegetables, rice and potatoes stresses me out. Why, you ask? I guess the short answer is that I've simply never figured out basic rules like how long I need to cook things for and at what temperature. A few missteps which yielded unappetizing results like soggy, over-steamed zucchini and pots ruined by grains of reeking, burnt rice stuck to the bottom left me with a discouraged opinion of my abilities.
Thankfully, this has never been a problem because my husband adores cooking, and is extremely amenable to my desire to eat a mostly plant-based diet. The best part is that he's actually quite a good cook, and although I may on occasion be overheard complaining about his habit of using every single pot and pan we own to prepare one meal, or the way he piles all the vegetable scraps and peelings in the sink instead of the compost bin, I am nothing if not grateful for his efforts because I know I am the healthier for them.
If there is anything I find more daunting than having to prepare a proper meal, however, it's the long stretch of maternity leave I have coming up, and it is that which has inspired me to at last make a concerted effort to learn how to cook. I have never in my life not had school or a job to occupy my time for more than a couple of months, and during those stretches I was always at least looking for work - which is a full-time job in itself, to say the least.
I'm not trying to say that being a stay-at-home mom is not a full-time job - because I know that it is - it's just that I worry I will not "be the right fit" for this job because domestic tasks have never been my forte. (I am ashamed to say that my cooking failures are only the tip of the iceberg in this department.)
Now that I finally have a job I actually enjoy, having to simply walk away from it for six months makes the whole situation even more difficult to bear than it ever would have been in the past. What will I do all day if I can't be out in the community interviewing the good people of Kingston and Frontenac County and writing stories about local happenings? I fear the headline will read "fails miserably on the domestic front".
What I'm attempting to get at, in a very round-about way, is that I have made it my personal goal to try and cook at least two dinners per week until April, when my leave will start, at which point I hope to bring it up to four or five. Last week, I managed to throw together a half-decent stir-fry, which was quite encouraging. All the same, I know that some failures will be inevitable, and want to be able to push on in spite of them.
I hope that this goal will not only allow me to develop some much-needed domestic skills, but also present me with a somewhat enjoyable challenge to master while on leave. (Well, other than that whole caring for a newborn baby by myself thing - which terrifies me too much to even think about just yet.)
I suppose I'm telling you all this because nothing motivates me like feeling monitored. So please feel free to ask/text/tweet/Facebook me about how the cooking's going. The prospect that someone might bring it up will hopefully be enough to get me dicing up a carrot or two on a regular basis.
hpratt-campbell@theheritageemc.ca
World's Worst Canadian
EMC Editorial - It's that time of year again. That unpleasant stretch between New Years and the first signs of spring where everything is cold, gray, dark and icy. Where you have to leave your house 15 minutes earlier than normal to scrape inches of snow, ice and frost off your windshield, and where going outside even to simply walk from the house to the car seems like a daunting task due to all the extra clothing that needs to be tracked down and put on.
The general Canadian opinion of the dead of winter is, as a rule, quite reactionary - almost to the degree of distasteful defensiveness. Anyone who dares to complain about the weather is nearly always met with some version of "suck it up, it's Canada" or "maybe if you dressed properly for the winter you wouldn't be so cold."
Even television commercials love to champion "winter proud," jingoist messages, like how no self-respecting Canadian decides to wait for a warmer day to accomplish an outdoor task. I, on the other hand, avoid doing pretty much anything outdoors from late-October until about mid-April.
Other commercials do their best to promote the aesthetic beauty of run-down old arenas at 5 a.m. hockey practices for eight-year-olds. I have never been to a hockey arena at 5 a.m., rundown or otherwise. All the same, I think I can say with a good deal of confidence that to me, there would be absolutely nothing magical or aesthetically pleasing about such a place at such an ungodly hour.
I suppose that makes me the world's worst Canadian.
It is true, though, that there are many out there who do manage to genuinely enjoy winter, and even I have to admit that they can make the season look quite beautiful. A number of my Facebook friends seem to be avid skiers and snowboarders, and regularly post photos of themselves and their friends dressed in colourful, cosy-looking gear, riding gondolas up mountains then posing at the summits, presumably just seconds before gracefully gliding back down to the chalet where some well-deserved hot chocolate and snacks await at the après-ski.
A part of me longs to join their ranks. Then I remember that where there are mountains and snow there are likely also to be biting wind chills and dry, bitterly freezing air that make my nose bleed and the skin on the back of my hands crack and peel. My body, it seems, simply cannot take it.
Ottawa's Rideau Canal also photographs beautifully in the winter (or any other season, for that matter). I lived in Ottawa for four years, and admittedly did enjoy a number of jaunts up and down the world's longest skating rink.
Then on my last two visits, I managed to fall squarely on my left kneecap and tailbone, respectively. The only thing more painful than the first tumble was the second, and I've shied away from the canal ever since like the terrible, wimpy little excuse for a Canadian I am.
Not to mention, there really is no cold like an Ottawa cold, and my notoriously dry skin did a lot of premature aging during the winters I spent there - doing nothing for this vain creature's opinion of the season.
At least I've never been one to pretend that I shouldn't have been born in California or the south of France instead of Ontario. Alas, this seems to be where I've ended up, and likely where I'll stay for the rest of my life. I'll just spend my winters curled up on the couch with a book, or in front of the TV watching the entire series of 30 Rock for nth time, or wistfully viewing your winter-happy photos on Facebook as I sit by my block heater with a big glass of red wine (or this year, a mug of pasteurized hot apple cider). Which has its own, odd sort of beauty, I suppose.
hpratt-campbell@theheritageemc.ca
The general Canadian opinion of the dead of winter is, as a rule, quite reactionary - almost to the degree of distasteful defensiveness. Anyone who dares to complain about the weather is nearly always met with some version of "suck it up, it's Canada" or "maybe if you dressed properly for the winter you wouldn't be so cold."
Even television commercials love to champion "winter proud," jingoist messages, like how no self-respecting Canadian decides to wait for a warmer day to accomplish an outdoor task. I, on the other hand, avoid doing pretty much anything outdoors from late-October until about mid-April.
Other commercials do their best to promote the aesthetic beauty of run-down old arenas at 5 a.m. hockey practices for eight-year-olds. I have never been to a hockey arena at 5 a.m., rundown or otherwise. All the same, I think I can say with a good deal of confidence that to me, there would be absolutely nothing magical or aesthetically pleasing about such a place at such an ungodly hour.
I suppose that makes me the world's worst Canadian.
It is true, though, that there are many out there who do manage to genuinely enjoy winter, and even I have to admit that they can make the season look quite beautiful. A number of my Facebook friends seem to be avid skiers and snowboarders, and regularly post photos of themselves and their friends dressed in colourful, cosy-looking gear, riding gondolas up mountains then posing at the summits, presumably just seconds before gracefully gliding back down to the chalet where some well-deserved hot chocolate and snacks await at the après-ski.
A part of me longs to join their ranks. Then I remember that where there are mountains and snow there are likely also to be biting wind chills and dry, bitterly freezing air that make my nose bleed and the skin on the back of my hands crack and peel. My body, it seems, simply cannot take it.
Ottawa's Rideau Canal also photographs beautifully in the winter (or any other season, for that matter). I lived in Ottawa for four years, and admittedly did enjoy a number of jaunts up and down the world's longest skating rink.
Then on my last two visits, I managed to fall squarely on my left kneecap and tailbone, respectively. The only thing more painful than the first tumble was the second, and I've shied away from the canal ever since like the terrible, wimpy little excuse for a Canadian I am.
Not to mention, there really is no cold like an Ottawa cold, and my notoriously dry skin did a lot of premature aging during the winters I spent there - doing nothing for this vain creature's opinion of the season.
At least I've never been one to pretend that I shouldn't have been born in California or the south of France instead of Ontario. Alas, this seems to be where I've ended up, and likely where I'll stay for the rest of my life. I'll just spend my winters curled up on the couch with a book, or in front of the TV watching the entire series of 30 Rock for nth time, or wistfully viewing your winter-happy photos on Facebook as I sit by my block heater with a big glass of red wine (or this year, a mug of pasteurized hot apple cider). Which has its own, odd sort of beauty, I suppose.
hpratt-campbell@theheritageemc.ca
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