Yesterday, Wednesday, nearly a year after my physical and unexpected confrontation with the underside of a car, I finally got back on a bike. Good times, although I needed to re-adjust the height of the seat, and I need to get used to these newfangled gears. But wow, who knew how quickly you can accelerate on an aluminum/carbon-frame bike.
Also yesterday, after many failed attempts by friends and family, and again nearly a year of gathering dust (don’t judge me), our home theatre is finally (!) hooked up. And all it took was a call to Geek Squad. Unfortunately, it being a Sony system, there’s naturally one speaker that doesn’t work. Regardless, we can now watch videos, listen to music and, most importantly with the little guy coming, use headphones.
But, oh, what made yesterday especially happy was a little line that I read in National Geographic Adventure: “Pale ales lower cholesterol and fight cancer, researchers find.” Were finer words ever written?
So, my secret honey (well, in her mind anyhow. For me it’s no secret), is back to visit me (and only me) on July 9 at Théâtre National.
However, the little guy is expected to make his appearance only a couple of weeks beforehand, so I’m not entirely sure that I will have either the time or the energy for Beth and I to meet up and consummate our imaginary love.
Of course, being the brilliant and logical fellow that I am, my solution would be to swaddle up the little bundle of joy, pack up some mother’s milk, put him in a maya wrap, and bring him along. This way, we get to continue our father-son bonding, he gets a head start on folk pop appreciation, and it gives the milliner a couple hours rest.
Strangely enough, not everyone sees the brilliance in this plan.
We’ve gotten into this slightly strange craze of, whenever we go to Loblaw’s, picking up some of their gadgets. We’ve gotten Henckel knives, an immersion blender (way cheaper than the Cuisinart piece of crap that I unfortunately bought for too much coin last year), organic cotton baby clothes, a kettle with shiny lights, etc., etc. Anyhow, I had had my eye on a Belgian waffle iron for awhile, and succumbed to my desires last fall. I don’t make waffles too often, about once a month, and we usually invite folks over to have these with us because, even halved, the recipe below delivers just too much goodness for one seating.
Bacon, of course, was home-cured. Happily Michael Ruhlman confirms that immuno-suppressed folks like myself can get away with enjoying this salty goodness. Granted, I have a biopsy next week, so we’ll just find out about that, won’t we?
Modified from various recipes.
- 4 eggs, separated
- 2 cups buttermilk*
- ½ cup melted butter
- 1 tsp vanilla
- 2 cups flour
- 2 tsp baking powder
- 1 tsp baking soda
- ½ tsp salt
- 1 tbsp sugar
* I never have buttermilk hanging around, nor do I feel like paying for a litre and having to throw out half. So, to make a quick buttermilk substitute: mix 2 cups of milk with 2 tbsp of lemon juice. Set it aside for about 5 minutes. Voilà.
Heat oven to 250°F.
Beat the egg yolks in a bowl. Beat in milk, butter, and vanilla.
In another bowl, sift together the dry ingredients and add to the liquid, beating well.
In a separate bowl, beat the egg whites until you get stiff peaks, and fold (carefully) into the batter.
Make the waffles according to the iron’s instructions. BUT! Here’s the trick, after each one is done, place it in the oven, straight on the oven rack, for about 5 minutes. This crisps ’em up beautifully, while leaving fluffy goodness inside.
By the way, no waffle iron? No problem. This recipe also makes great pancakes.
Yes, I’ve made these before. Now, I’m not going to try every recipe in the French Laundry cookbook, like a certain blogger, but because we’ve hit our stride with this dish, the milliner has me make it for her as often as she can figure out a reason to do so.
So, having made these several times, there really isn’t any reason to add another post about it. Oh, except for this:
I swear, I didn’t plan for this to come out like a happy face, but I do enjoy the look. Also, because of the little bun in the oven, I used chives rather than pea shoots. No need to add E. coli or salmonella to the meal.
Oh, and because we had already introduced Frances to crustaceans, it was only fair that we do the same thing with Daisy (Daisy Adair).
Gotta love this press release.
It finally happened. After 30-cough cough cough-years, the milliner finally broke down and had her first ever poutine. I’ve been trying, though not really applying any real pressure, to get her to try that cholesterol bomb for years, and on Holy Friday, she finally agreed. So, off to La Banquise we went. And no, we didn’t see a film crew with Anthony Bourdain there.
I think she liked it.
Go ahead. Try it. I’ll just wait here.
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Just received a notification that Paul Weller is touring. Sweet!
I look at the cities and dates. Um, not so sweet. Touring in the UK? What about here? I’m sure there are enough aging punk rockers and lovers of the Jam/Style Council to fill the venues.
Heck, if need be I’ll even share my Geritol with ya.
Edit: As it turns out, ol’ Paul will be playing in Toronto on September 7. Guess I need to find a babysitter.