Tales from the Granola Box

I’ve been tweaking and perfecting my bread recipe for months now, and I’m rather proud of what I’ve come up with. I decided I wanted to share it.

The original recipe comes from the Little House Cookbook, but I’ve played with it so much that, except for the technique, it’s not really the same recipe anymore. So here it is:

Start by setting a sponge the night before. In a large bowl, mix two packages (or 1 1/2 tablespoons) of yeast with a cup of warm water. Let it sit for about five minutes until the yeast has proofed.

Add another cup of warm water and four cups of whole wheat flour. Cover it with a plate and let it rise overnight. Lately, as it’s gotten cooler, I’ve been leaving the bowl on the counter overnight, but in the summer it’s better in the refrigerator.

In the morning, let the sponge come to room temperature if it’s been in the refrigerator. Otherwise, add one cup of warm water, one cup of whole wheat flour, and one tablespoon of salt to the sponge. Mix well.

Gradually add three cups of unbleached white flour (I use bread flour, but all-purpose is fine). Mix well and turn out onto a floured board.

Knead until the dough is smooth and elastic, adding enough flour to prevent sticking. Place dough ball in a large, greased bowl, turning to coat the dough. Let rise, covered, in a warm place for about 1 1/2 hours.

When dough has doubled in size, punch down and divide into two or three portions. I usually only make two loaves, but that’s because we like nice, high loaves for sandwiches and toast. If you don’t mind smaller slices, go for three.

Shape each portion into a loaf, the let rise, covered, in loaf pans for 1 1/2 to 2 hours.

Bake at 400F for 15 minutes, then reduce heat to 375F and bake for about 35 minutes. For a softer crust, brush the loaves with melted butter when you take them out of the oven. Turn out onto racks and let cool completely.

Eat them and enjoy!

I am a perfectionist. I am also a procrastinator, and if there was ever a combination guaranteed to drive you to the loony bin, it’s that.

I either put off things and hate myself for not being able to get them perfect when I rush to do them at the last minute, or I never bother to do them because the results can’t possibly live up to my standards.

This sucks in so many ways. My housekeeping is lousy, the quality of meals is unpredictable* (some days I can happily whip up a three-course, gourmet dinner, other days it’s mac & cheese out of a box or take-out), and I go weeks without updating this blog because I think my writing is awful.

I know that this is stuff that all mothers go through (except maybe the crappy writing part), but I have a really hard time accepting this part of myself, and it often leads to a lot of frustration and tears.

Right now, C is away on a two-week business trip. I have been alone with a two-year-old for seven days now and I still have seven to go. It’s been tough, but at the same time it’s been helping me deal with some of this perfectionism.

I’m beginning to realise that the only thing that matters right now is getting through these two weeks. I’m tired, I’m sick, and Monkey Boy is missing his daddy terribly. If we eat out more times than I’d like and watch more television than usual, so what? If the house is a disaster and the laundry builds up, who cares? (Okay, the laundry might become an issue.) We’re getting through and that’s all that matters.

And when C comes back, while I’ll have more time and energy to get stuff done, is it the end of the world if I don’t? Of course I want to be better about eating and cleaning, but if I don’t clean one day or if we end up eating out, it’s not the end of the world. I just need to try again the next day.

I’m new to this self-acceptance stuff and I’ll probably still get frustrated because I can’t be perfect. But that’s okay because I’ll just try again tomorrow.

(* Can someone who is better with grammar than I am please tell me whether ‘meals’ or ‘the quality’ is the subject of that sentence, and therefore whether I should be using ‘is’ or ‘are’. I think it’s ‘the quality’ but this always confuses me.)

Monkey Boy and I drove out to the Farm this afternoon to pick up our vegetables (couldn’t go on Tuesday). We walked out to the car, I lifted him onto the seat, and he crawled into his car seat. It was then that I noticed it.

No shoes.

I forgot to put shoes on my kid.

Now he’s going around telling everyone he has dirty socks because mommy forgot his shoes.

C, Monkey Boy and I did our civic duty and voted this morning. Well okay, C and I did. Monkey Boy got to put our voter cards in the box for shredding. We called that voting and he was utterly satisfied.

I have been looking forward to this day for awhile. Not because I think there’s any chance of a change in government unfortunately (millions of dollars spent and we’ll probably end up with EXACTLY what we’ve got right now), but because I am so sick of all the partisan crap. Seriously, I don’t know how you folks in the US put up with this for over a year. Our election campaigns last about a month and that’s just about all I can take.

Anyway, to all my fellow Canadians, get out and VOTE today. If you want change, you’ve got to make it happen.

Scene: SemiCrunchyMom is on the upstairs landing packing old clothes away. C is cleaning the downstairs bathroom. Monkey Boy is looking at his books in the living room.

Monkey Boy: Daddy look! Boobies! Boobies!

SemiCrunchyMom: Huh?

C: What?

MB: There’s boobies, mommy!

SCM: What is looking at and how did he get it??

C: I don’t know and don’t look at me!

SemiCrunchyMom goes down to investigate.

MB: Look at the boobies, mommy!

SCM: Oh. OH. Yup, those are boobies all right. Have fun!

I love a child’s imagination. Every day I’m amazed by the extent of Monkey Boy’s. Remember Bidgie? Well Bidgie is still hanging around, and has been joined by Babo, Petey, DeeDee and Mabou. I have no idea where these names come from (except the last one…it’s a town in Cape Breton that he apparently loved the name of), but they play with Monkey Boy every day. He’s always eager to tell us what his friends have been up too.

Today he was chasing me with a dragon puppet who was going to bite me. I asked who was going to save me from the dragon, and he produced his rubber ball that lights up (named Apple) and announced that Apple was going to save me.

He has a toy broom that he loves to help me sweep with, but it’s more than just a broom. It’s his guitar, and he’ll strum it while he sings his favourite songs. He can turn just about anything into a guitar. People have suggested we buy him a toy guitar, but my answer is always ‘why?’ He’s perfectly happy strumming his broom.

I want to encourage this wonderful imagination, and I think the best way for me to do that is to leave it alone. Sure I play with him, but I also let Monkey Boy play by himself a lot of the time. He comes up with the greatest ideas, and they come from him; they’re not something I’ve suggested to him.

I love his imagination and I can’t wait to see where it takes him.

One of the best things about late summer/early fall is plum season. And one of the best things about plum season is a chance to make plum torte! I have no idea where this recipe originally came from, but my mom has been making it for years and a couple of years ago she passed the recipe on to me.

Plum Torte

1/2 cup sweet butter
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
1 cup sifted flour
pinch salt
1 tsp baking powder
24 halves pitted plums (the best ones are the Italian ones…prune plums I think they’re called)

Topping: sugar, lemon juice, cinnamon

Cream butter and sugar together. Add eggs, beat well. Add baking powder, salt, and flour, mix well. Spoon into greased 9-inch springform pan*. Arrange plum halves on top of batter, skin side up. Sprinkle lightly with lemon juice, sugar, and cinnamon. Bake at 350F for 1 hour.

*Note: since I don’t own a springform pan, I just use an ordinary 9-inch cakepan. It works fine.

Yesterday a friend came over and we spent the day canning a bushel of peaches. Yes, an entire bushel!

It took awhile.

A couple of weeks ago I spoke to a vendor at our local market about canning, who offered me his peach ’seconds’ at twenty dollars a bushel. Can’t beat that price! And the end result? 9 1L (quart) jars, and 27 500mL (pint) jars. Even once they’re split up we’ll have lots of peaches to store for the winter.

My mom used to can peaches all the time, and I’ve always wanted to do that. Part of me wishes we’d invited her to join us, as she might have been able to give us some advice. For example, how do you cram enough peaches in the jar so that they don’t float and leave three inches of space after they’re processed, without turning them into peach mush?

Our peaches aren’t the most aesthetically pleasing ever; they certainly won’t be winning any blue ribbons at the Fall Fair. But I bet they taste delicious! And they’ll be very much appreciated to brighten up our diet of root vegetables come the winter.

Next up: tomatoes! And maybe applesauce.

I have missed our farm fresh veggies so much over the last two weeks. And for more reasons than just taste. If I ever needed proof of just how far we’ve come in changing our eating habits, the two weeks in Nova Scotia were it.

We stayed at my in-laws, and their cupboards look like your average North American’s. Now, my mother-in-law is a great cook, don’t get me wrong. She makes fabulous cabbage rolls, soups and many other things. But, like many other people, she buys tons of processed foods. Miracle Whip, margarine, pancake syrup (15% real maple syrup!), frozen waffles, cheese slices…I could go on.

Now, I’m not picky and I was brought up to be polite. At my mother-in-law’s I will eat whatever she puts in front of me and I will not complain about the food she buys. Unfortunately, there are consequences. This diet is so far removed from what we eat now that our bodies couldn’t handle it and our digestive systems went right out of order. I won’t go into details. Suffice it to say, C and I have both been feeling lousy, and poor Monkey Boy had the runs for a few days.

It feels so good to get back to our own house, our own kitchen, and our own food. I practically drooled when I picked up our veggie box this week.

This week’s farm share: lettuce mix, chard, kale, celery, carrots, beans, tomatoes, sweet peppers, summer squash, kohlrabi, potatoes, onions, garlic, and herbs.

Well, we’re still in Nova Scotia and still having a great time. We spent four days in Cape Breton, which was fabulous. I don’t think I’ll try doing it with a two-year-old again. Far too much driving. Might be possible if we only drove every other day, instead of every day though. Poor Monkey Boy. On the last morning he burst into tears at the sight of the car.

This week has been much slower. We spent a day at the beach in huge waves, and we’re planning another one before we go. Tomorrow we’re hopefully going to Halifax to see some of the older houses.

(Okay, confession: I love the Anne of Green Gables series. In Anne of the Island she goes to school in Kingsport, Nova Scotia, which is actually Halifax. I found a website that has identified some of the places L.M. Montgomery mentions (by different names) and that’s what we’re going to see.)

As much fun as this trip has been, though. I’m looking forward to going back. I miss my home. And though I love my in-laws, two weeks with them is about all I can handle (to be fair to C’s parents, two weeks with MY family would drive me crazy too).