Survived the 2nd or was it the 3rd Day in Beijing. The food and the company remained great, but the volume of things to absorb was enough to overwhelm the senses. Simply too much to see and do.
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Have you ever had the misfortune of tasting gravy that was bland, watery, or as starchy as dragging your tongue across a pile of raw flour? To say the least, it is not pleasant, and a far cry from serving its purpose: to enhance the food being served. To assist you in avoiding this mishap at your Easter dinner table, let us discuss the basics in perfecting gravy.
A very common question I get asked is “how to make a good soup from scratch without following a recipe?” Now, there are many types of soups, and endless ways to prepare them, but for the focus of this column entry I am going to concentrate on the common broth type soups.
Things were sombre around the debating table at the bakery in Rainy River the other morning. It started out when Cookie stormed out of the kitchen waving a handful of bills.
“Look at this crap! They've raised the price of coffee another two bucks a can and reduced the size of the container by five per cent,” she stormed, raising her voice a notch or two.
Pickle held out his cup and inquired if he might have his fifth 'free' refill. His timing couldn't have been worse.
Cookie took a swat at him and knocked his hat across the room.
There are a number of novelty consumables that consistently reappear in the marketplace during the days leading up to March 17. These will most undoubtedly include items such as green tinted beverages like beer and milkshakes for example. Although this may be an amusing way to recognize St. Patrick, the Patron Saint of Ireland, a culinary adventure of Irish cuisine would be more nostalgic, in my opinion.
When Pat, Roger and family moved into the summer cottage, converted into a year round house, a good portion of the local mouse population moved in as well. It's nearly impossible to make a tight, new home, mouse proof. An old house is like grand central station for the residents of Mouseville. To say these extra residents were straining marital relations was an understatement.
“Roger, you do something about these @#$% mice, or I'm leaving,” was the final ultimatum screamed by Pat when a mouse scampered across her leg as she relaxed on the couch in front of the TV one night.
It's ice fishing season. Have I got everything, rod, tip up, cooler, frost bite remedy, snacks, hand and foot warmers? Yeah that's about it!
No, wait - bait. What'll it be? Worms? The ground is frozen. Minnows? No money. Blew it all on beer. Time to get creative. Take a look in the kitchen and see what else might do.
Voila! Answer to both you and your wife's prayers.
A shrimp ring.
Like many people at the beginning of a new year, I started a new year's resolution to eat healthier and exercise more in 2020. Now, nearly 2 months in, I have pretty much cut out any alcohol, try to hit the gym at least 5 days per week, and have been maintaining a balanced diet. The word “diet“ has such a negative connotation to it, because automatically it translates as ”restricting foods”. However, I use the word in the context of what I eat on a daily basis: my diet of food intake.
It was bound to happen. Finally, my bathroom scale has had a nervous breakdown.
In the post-holiday season, as I started my annual lament on how my clothes were continuing to shrink, my good wife, the Pearl of the Orient, put things in focus for me.
“It's not your clothes, Elliott, it's your gut that the problem!” she stated firmly as she craned her neck and tried to peer around me to get a full view of the TV, and made another snide comment about me hustling my butt out of her line of vision.
At the Debating Table at the Bakery the other day Rick, the Mountie wannabee, was on a rant. Nothing unusual about that, but the topic was. Seems Rick's sweetie decided to clean out the freezer.
“There was so much stuff in there we had no room to store those prime chickens we raised,” grumbled Rick as he fished a stray spoon out of his coat pocket and glared over at Ziggy
“Store them?" I inquired, "I thought you raised them to sell.”