A road trip and the easiest cookies ever

Flourless peanut butter cookies

G and I are heading to Montreal this afternoon and there's nothing I like more than a road trip.
It's about a 6 hour drive from Toronto to Montreal---not so long that you dread it, but long enough to justify packing some road trip food.
I've stocked up on water, apples, junk food (I won't pretend otherwise) and some Flourless Peanut Butter cookies. The recipe calls for the addition of chocolate chips, but as you can tell I opted to leave them out.
Just this time though.
Because I love me some peanut butter and chocolate.
And let me tell you that I have never put together a batch of cookies so quickly and with such little mess to clean up afterwards. Five simple ingredients (6 with the chocolate chips) and you're good to go.
So satisfying.
They're peanutty without being overly rich and they're perfectly moist despite the complete lack of butter.
It's like magic.


So, I've got cookies in hand, the GPS is in it's place on the dashboard and the Ipod is fully loaded. I'm ready to hit the road.

See you in a few days.



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Flourless Peanut Butter and Chocolate Chip cookies from Epicurious
If you've got a perfect peanut butter cookie recipe already, that's great. But I am always happy to find recipes that give good results for minimal effort. This is the kind of recipe you keep on hand in case of emergency. Sometimes an impending road trip (or a cookie craving) just doesn't want to wait for the butter to come to room temperature.
If you know what I mean.

Packing up. Again.

one of 7 apartments in the last 4 years..


By some unexpected turn of events G and I find ourselves not settling into a calm after the storm of a wedding and a honeymoon as we had expected to. Instead we are surrounded by boxes, to do lists and a general state of disarray.
Yes, people, we are moving. AGAIN.

But this time it's a little different. We aren't just saying goodbye to jolly old England. We are marking the end of our 4 year European adventure and are finally heading home.

Toronto, here we come.

Two months ago, we had no idea that this is what December would bring. But here we are. We are excited to finally be part of our family and friends lives again- not just in a long distance way, but in a real, everyday sort of way. In 4 years our nieces and nephews have changed so much and, aside from a once a year trip home, we've missed out on their lives completely.

At the same time, it breaks my heart to leave behind the wonder that is around every corner in Europe, the extended family that I have here, and the friends that we have made along the way. And let's not forget the milder weather.
People, I was born and raised in Canada. But I HATE the snow and cold.

So yeah, we're happy and sad at the same time. You know how it is. We're both different people than we were 4 years ago when we left Canada. Our experiences have changed us, without a doubt. Even when I look back at who I was when I started this blog, how I cooked, and how I related to food-- I am not the same person now.
I have learned so much.

It was almost 3 years ago that I wrote my first post-- we were in some little apartment in the middle of Heidelberg. We never really knew when things might suddenly change and we'd be moving again but we took it in stride. Sometimes it was smooth sailing, and sometimes it was all I could do to keep from pulling my own hair out. But it's been an opportunity of a lifetime, and we are grateful for it. If you were reading my blog around the time when we left Paris, I was so stressed out by that point that I actually gave up on the blog. I'm handling it much better this time, but phew, I hope I don't have to move again for a long time.

So our European dream is over. And you know what? Despite the suddenness of the decision, I think we're ready to go home. For 4 years we kept moving, and kept wondering what we were looking for. We kept hoping we would find that perfect city. We never found it. In the end we realized that no matter where we live that without your family and friends there will always be something missing.

So, this little expat is going home. She's taking all her experiences with her and every day that I cook in my new kitchen in Toronto I will be reminded of my travels. When I sip my Mariage Frères tea I will think of Paris, when I see that can of pimenton de la vera in my spice rack I will think of the Borough Market in London and when I sit amongst my friends and family I will remember the 4 years that I was gone.

Wow, people. I'm going home.




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We're heading home on January 8 and since I am in the process of packing up my kitchen please forgive me if I yap more about random stuff and less about cooking for the next couple of weeks!

Did I mention we saw the Pope?

Pope Benny all up there in his red outfit.


I mean if you go to Rome, and decide to wander up to the Vatican and you actually stumble upon the Pope giving mass.. well, that's pretty cool no?
I think so.

Rome. So much to tell.

Rome: just so darn pretty everywhere you look.


So let me get right to it. The wedding was fantastic and I think I was a rather calm bride if I do say so myself. Rome was the perfect place to unwind after all that craziness. I don't know if it was the time of year, but gee those Romans sure are laid back. You'd think that with all that super strong coffee there would be some kind of frantic buzz about the place. But there wasn't. And if there's anything that G and I love, it's relaxing. Rome is our kind of place, I tell you.


The Colloseum

I don't even know where to start. I could rant for hours about how much there is to see in that city and how beautiful it is. Then I would spend another hour or two telling you about the food we had: fabulous gelato, spaghetti all'amatriciana, arancini, and pizza bianca..
Oh dear.
I tell you, it's a good thing the honeymoon is AFTER the wedding because I would probably have trouble with the zipper on my wedding dress if it were the other way around.

Because I was so busy with the wedding stuff I really didn't take any time before our trip to do much research. I had a few things in mind, but as a backup I went to a trusted source and carried a print out of his Roman favourites with me.
So let's not beat around the bush here, the man knows his gelato.
San Crispino is so teeny tiny that you probably wouldn't even notice the door if you weren't actually looking for it. We circled the block about 10 times just waiting for the shop to open. G was a real trooper, and though he thinks I am nuts most of the time, even he had to admit that this gelato was definitely worth the wait. I mean really, meringue with hazelnuts? Have I told you how much I love hazelnuts? (a shot of hazelnut syrup in my coffee is one of my favourite indulgences.)


Gelato: Meringue with hazelnuts and a side of Chestnut


We didn't stick to the list for everything, sometimes you need to just play it by ear. Unfortunately, this resulted in 2 out of 4 of our pizza experiences being rather disappointing. I don't seem to have the luck that some people have where no matter what place they walk into they seem to stumble upon the best of the best. One pizza in particular left me with a bruised finger from pressing so hard on my knife just to cut through the doughiness of it. I walked around with that purple pizza finger for the next 2 days. But I'm such a sucker for a little candlelight and ambiance. Come on girls, you know what I mean, right? Thank god the wine was good (not to mention the super cute husband sitting across from me) because it totally made up for the craptacular pizza.

And then there was the coffee. Let me tell you! Those Italians sure know what they're doing when it comes to coffee.


The best coffee in Rome, or so they say. And roasted chestnuts from a street vendor.

With my trusty map in hand I dragged G to a cafe where the coffee is considered some of the best in Rome. And it was damn good, even if the location was a little dismal--off some side street with nothing to look at but the cars parked in front of you. Normally this ambiance loving girl would be deterred but since I had done my research we settled ourselves in and watched the excitement of parked cars while we enjoyed our coffee. (Nice rims. His tire is kinda flat. And so on and so on..)

I did have a redeeming pizza experience after a trip to a deli/food shop called Volpetti --a tiny little place that was filled with customers both times I went. The staff there are so charming even if your Italian is so bad that all you can do is point at what you want. I pointed successfully at the zucchini blossom pizza and we took it back to our hotel room with yes, of course, a bottle of wine. And I'm happy to report it tasted just as good as it looked, even if the picture does not do it justice.


Zucchini Blossom Pizza from Volpetti


Listen, all this talk of the fabulous food we ate in Rome is making me crazy. I need to take a deep breath here. There is just so much to tell I feel a bit confused about how to get it all in. I guess I'm just going to have to get working on a second post...


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Il Gelato di San Crispino
Via della Panetteria, 42
Rome

San Eustachio (for the coffee)
Piazza Sant' Eustachio, 82
Rome

Volpetti
Via Marmorata, 47
Rome

And then there was Paris..

So aside from all that tea business there is this matter of how I spent my time on my latest trip to Paris.
I had a whole list of things I wanted to do while I was there and aside from my trip to Mariage Frères, I didn't get a darn thing done. I made my way to L'As du Falafel and wouldn't you know they were closed for renovations for the week. I almost cried. Really. I know, a girl should not go to Paris with falafels on her mind but if you knew how good those things are you would completely understand.

In Paris, like everywhere, it's kind of hit and miss if you decide to just walk into some place you don't know and are hoping for a good meal. Unfortunately my friend Alisa and I, forced to abandon our falafel cravings, chose a serious miss. And although I did eat the potatoes off of the salad nicoise that I ordered, it wasn't at all worth speaking about.

Then there was an impromptu meet up at a cafe at about 4 in the afternoon* which did not end until midnight after much wine was consumed.
A girl cannot get things done when she just sits back and focuses on socializing.
But it's fun that way. And after living there for over a year and a half, it's just kind of how it seems to work out for me lately.

I came home, unloaded 120 pictures from my camera and people, I'm telling you, all of them are of friends, except for this shot up there of the drink of choice of those two that kept me so occupied* on friday afternoon. Oh and of course this guy who always seems to end up on my camera whenever I'm in Paris.


David: always fun at parties..


Then there was the party on Saturday night which my friend and I spent the whole day getting ready for: shopping for groceries, then lunching to recuperate from the shopping, then shopping some more. No there were no strippers at the party but there was a heck of a lot of food, wine, champagne, general chit chat and the obligatory 2 cheek kiss with everyone who comes through the door. A girl needs to keep her tic-tacs handy when she goes to Paris I tell you.
I did not climb into bed until almost 3am.

The next day, as you can imagine, was a total write off and then suddenly here I was back home again with nothing to show for it but some tea and the tail end of a 3 day hangover.

So this week the girl needs to detox. I bought some kale last night just for that purpose and promptly left it on the tube.
You see where my head is at.
This detoxing might take awhile.

___________
*Two of my favourite people, Melissa and her husband, were in town

Off to Paris. And sharing my tea love.

I can't seem to stay away from Paris for too long, so I am off to the city of lights for the rest of the week. The forecast seems to call for clear skies so I'm expecting to do a lot of wandering around. Nothing beats Paris in the Fall, partly because it gives you an excuse to bring all your girliest scarves, even if you are only staying for a few days.

This trip I seem to not be thinking all that much about the food. I'm really just looking forward to seeing friends, hanging out in cafes and just plain being there. And there is the small matter of my bachelorette party that must be seen to.

Yeah, you heard me.
Could it get any better?



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Tea Anyone?

You know how much I love my Mariage Frères tea. And I keep thinking that I would love to share it with some of you guys. I feel cheesy doing this as some sort of contest but I don't know how else to do it! So, here's what I'm thinking: leave me a comment if you are interested and I will put all the names (even if there are only 2 of you!) in a hat and draw for the person who I will send the tea to. When I get back I will announce the 'winner', who can email me with their mailing info. Sound good?

On Paris. And being a bit yappy..

Poilane brioche, an Ispahan Macaron from Hermé,
Lucy the cat, and a home-cooked dinner chez Lebovitz

Alright, alright. Maybe you are all completely bored with me talking about Paris. We drank wine, we ate sweet stuff.. yada yada, right?

My mom always did tell me that I talk too much. Although she often uses the same out of date example to make her point: "There was this time when you were 4 and you sat in the back of the car and talked for 3 hours straight.."

I was 4.. Surely I've changed somewhat since then, no?
Perhaps not, because it appears I'm still talking.
And I will admit that Cindy and I sat in our pjs until noon almost every day that I was in Paris drinking coffee and yes.. talking..
Then, you put two talky girls in a kitchen with Lebovitz- a marathon talker himself, and boy, that is some kind of crazy evening.

When I returned G asked me the usual questions.
G: "Did you have fun?"
Me: "Yes. Very much so. "
G: "What did you do?"
Me: "Talked. Alot."

He nodded, I think with understanding and probably some relief that I got some of the talking out of my system.

So yes, I'm back. I got some nice things in Paris including some Ispahan jam and some matcha truffles which I will tell you about soon.
Because well, you know, I like to talk.

Cindy and Michele do Paris...just like the old days..

On Monday I am on my way to Paris again for another week of fun. Cindy's in town so what better reason to go, huh? Well, that and the promise that I can go watch David "make tapenade".

But back to Cindy.

Remember when her and I were both living in Paris and then she left and I was sad?
Yeah me too.
Well she's back, just for July, and thus the reason for my trip.
We're going to take Paris by storm in our own low key sort of way.
And the first place we are planning to dine is a vietnamese restaurant called Le Bamboo.
I know, right?
But it's true.
Gimme some of that green papaya salad any day.
Other than that, a wine fueled picnic by the river and probably a lot of walking around.

You gotta love the Eurostar. I mean, sure it was sad when we moved away from Paris, but I feel like it's just a hop, skip and a jump away. Conceivably, I could take the train there in the morning, go out for lunch and be home in time for bed.
I probably would never do that, but knowing I could do it is kinda nice.

Anyway, I'll be back in 5 days. And when I return, if all goes well, Melissa will be coming through town and crashing at my place for a night.
I haven't seen her in forever either so giddy up.
It's going to be a good week.

See you when I get back!

Pints, more pints, and an impatient dog..

The pup cared very little about our hangovers..

The weather here has been so great lately, but I'm told it is not typical for this time of year at all. And here I was thinking "why is everyone always slagging British weather?"
It's only mid-April and it feels like we completely skipped spring and jumped right into summer.

G and I celebrated in true British style by spending the weekend with a friend who lives in a lovely little town called Leamington Spa.
There were outdoor patios, numerous pints and a Sunday morning spent dealing with a pounding headache.
Despite the fact that the 3 of us felt rather haggard and hungover we dragged ourselves out of bed on Sunday morning and took the dog for a walk. It was as English as it could possibly be--a ramble in the fields, an abandoned manor at the top of a hill, horses grazing off to the left, gunshots heard in the distance (skeet shooting perhaps?) and a greyhound racetrack that we passed by on the way back home.

I was hoping to see some stately fellow in wellies and a handlebar mustache with some freshly killed ducks slung over his shoulder. Only because that is what I imagine you would see if you looked up "English" in the dictionary.
After the walk, we were even treated to a homemade proper english breakfast.

English life I tell you, it may be bad for the liver, but it sure is good for the soul.

Lisbon. Oh Lisbon.

No, Lisbon didn't suck me up, spit me out onto the beach and leave me for dead. Though I can't say the same for that cephalopod (? what do I know) I saw floating lifeless in the shallow waters near the Tower of Belem.


R.I.P. whatever you are..
I call him Cedric.

We had a fabulous time in Lisbon--two days made for a painfully short visit. There is something so laid back about that city, you feel like you could just lounge around all day sipping on a cerveja or two. (Or three, if your drink is accompanied by a salty meal.)
But when you've only got 2 full days, you find yourself torn between wanting to explore it all, and wanting to just sit back, kick off your shoes and say "aaaahhh" while wearing a foamy moustache.



I had read before our trip that the light is somehow different in that part of the world. I figured I'd keep that little tidbit in mind and see if I notice it.
I look back now on my naivety and chuckle: "Oh, you silly Canadian".
As soon as we stepped out of our hotel room that first morning, there was no chance of not noticing how the light was different.
Excuse me for the series of rhyming words that is about to follow:
That was the most pure, bright, white light I have ever seen in my life.
And if you forget your sunglasses, never fear, because there are a million wandering sunglass-salesmen to keep your peepers protected.
It seemed like a totally different sun altogether, and even these two shade lovin' kids found ourselves basking in its warmth. The only way I could think to explain how it differed was this--it was like a putting a chicken for a long slow roast in an oven, warming it through to its bones without drying it out, whereas the sun that I'm used to is more like a quick sear under the broiler.
It was the kind of sun that I want in my life ALL THE TIME.

The city itself is stunning, brimming with art nouveau details that catch your eye at every corner. Even the sidewalks are worthy of a snapshot. After 2 days of walking around in that hilly city, our legs were stiff and sore. Had we had another few days to spend there, I think I might have been as sleek and toned as Madonna, without the leotard of course.


Lisbon sidewalk, I walked on that.

I fell completely in love with Lisbon. It felt so lived in, like your favourite leather jacket, that once cost you a fortune ages ago, but is now well-worn and softened, and fits you like a glove.

It's been 2 weeks since our return and I admit, I hesitated to write about it. I was so in awe of this city I almost couldn't find the words. And really, 2 days was not enough. We didn't see all that we wanted to see, we didn't eat all that we wanted to eat. What we do know though, is that we definitely want to go back.

Oh yes. We will definitely go back.

A hoover man and a weekend getaway.

After a week and a half of a nasty head cold, I am finally back to my old self. Sort of.

While I was lost in my own misery, the city seems to have come alive again. Everyone is back from their vacations and suddenly there are line ups at the laundromat, the dry cleaners, and everywhere else in between. There is nothing worse than lugging all your clothes to the laundromat and having to drag them all back, still dirty.

Even the street cleaners are back in full gear. The other morning I spotted a fellow on a scooter, darting madly around the sidewalks, narrowly (but expertly) missing the pedestrians. It wasn't until he went by me a second time that I saw what he was up to.
He pulled up beside a pile of dog poop, and with a swift motion he whipped out the hose that was attached to the back of his scooter, and sucked up those droppings faster than I could say "Am I on candid camera?"

He did it with such moxy, such flair, I almost didn't believe it was real. I couldn't help but respect him, despite the oddball nature of his work--riding around town hoovering up poop.
And then, I was struck with the following thought:
Man, I'd hate to be the guy who has to clean out the little compartment at the back of the scooter..

But I ramble.
In exciting news, G and I are off to Lisbon, Portugal tomorrow for the weekend.
This will mark my first visit to Portugal. A week ago I didn't know a lick of Portuguese. But now of course, I know how to ask for 'the menu', 'a carafe of wine', 'a beer', and 'the bill'.
Not forgetting all the crucial niceties such as 'excuse me', 'no problem' and 'good morning, nice day for a bike ride, wouldn't you say?'
Not sure I'll get a chance to use that one, but you never know.

I'm already dreaming of the famous Pasteis, or as I have always called them "custard tarts".. Toronto has a good sized Portuguese community and it was never hard to find these around town. I have always loved them and it has been a long time since I've indulged. Now I'm heading to the mecca of custard tarts and I'll be damned if I miss out on the opportunity.

I'll probably be the one on the plane back to Paris with a whole suitcase full of them.
See you when I get back.

Canada has nice goats.

A lousy goat.

It has taken me some time to build up the energy to post since I returned from our trip to Canada. I spent almost 2 weeks with family and friends-- breakfasts, lunches and dinners were booked solid with visits. Then we came back to Paris, G had to dash off to Dublin for the week, and I found myself in a very empty apartment. Completely quiet except for the sound of me feeling awfully sorry for my sad self.
And the odd toilet flushing now and again.
Oh and that barky little dog across the hall.
Ok, alright, there was some noise, but you get what I'm trying to say.

But dude you might be saying: "You're in Paris. Get over it already. "
And to that I say: "But dudes, I'm alone."
And I can hear you saying: "But dude, if you're going to be alone, what better city to be in than Paris."
And to that I reply: "Dudes. Shut up and let a girl feel sorry for herself for one second."

And then I read a story about David and his tight shorts dilemma and all was right with the world again. You see how I am easily amused.

Unfortunately all I've got to show for my trip when it comes to pictures, is this picture of a goat named Sophie. The camera stayed safely tucked in my purse for most of the trip because I didn't want to feel like a tourist-- I wanted to just be there, in the city that I used to call home. There are pictures of family and friends of course, but it wouldn't be prudent to put those pictures up on the web for everyone to see and perhaps penetrate our international spy ring by uncovering our true identities.
And so, Sophie makes her big debut.
Boris the goat is not at all happy about it.
But he's a grumpy old fart anyway.

It will be goat-free* summer in Paris and it promises to be a good one.
Despite the threat of tight shorts.


*the absence of goats does not imply that I will not be eating goat cheese this summer. Because I will. Lots of it.

Roots. And getting back to them.

Whoa, look at that. I almost forgot I had this little old blog sitting here. But here I am posting and there is not a recipe in sight. What gives?

Well..

G and I are off to Canada tomorrow for a ridiculously overdue visit with friends and family. It stuns me to think that I haven't been home in over a year and a half. Friends have had babies, others have bought houses, and to top it all off my mom's got a new hairdo. Well, it was new about a year ago, but like I said, it's been awhile since I've been home.

So, we're packing up for 2 weeks in Toronto, and I'm bringing my new Parisian inspired scarf fetish with me. Who cares if it's hot out, all the girls in Paris do it, and now I do too. Don't make me give up my flare. I'm going to wear my scarf proudly and get myself to a hot dog vendor fast. Because damn it, Toronto sure makes some good street-dog.

It's a vacation that is going to be rather emotional for me. Seeing faces I haven't seen in a while, and seeing streets and sights that were once part of my daily routine. Strangely, I think it's going to feel good just to flash my Canadian passport and know that I am home.

We've had the opportunity to travel and I love it-- we have no plans to leave Paris anytime soon, but nothing can replace that feeling of belonging, that feeling that you are no longer a visitor.
Gets me all teary-eyed just thinking about it.

Aww. I'm such a sap.
I need a hotdog.

Away from home

I am still alive. I find myself in the U.K this week: a little bit of London and a little bit of Sheffield.
For the first time in more than 8 months I am back in an English speaking country. Despite the difference in accent, I can understand what people are saying. I can express myself with ease, I can joke, I can be charming, I can carry on a long conversation if I want to. Oh the joy. The relief!
And yes, I've already been to Starbucks for my grande soy latte.
I've had pub food and enjoyed the clean air of a non-smoking restaurant.
I drank beer at lunch on Monday. Something that would make a French woman shudder.

At the same time, I've made an ass of myself with my enthusiastic hellos when walking into a shop and have had to resist what is now the natural habit of calling everyone sir or madame.

Paris, you sure like your cigarettes, and I wish there was less dog poop on your sidewalks, but I think you've spoiled me forever.
I'll be back on Sunday. See you then.