Refurnishing Our Furnished Kitchen

Regular readers of my blog will know that I have certain… kitchen issues. For some reason or another, although I never scrutinize the cutlery in restaurants or at other people’s houses, when it comes to my own kitchen– the kitchen I am expected to cook in and eat out of on a daily basis– I prefer to use my own dishes. The special ones. And although I could care less about the bread pans used in local bakeries or whether the cupcake shop uses metal, glass, or plastic mixing bowls to whip up their confections, I’d be hard pressed to bake anything of my own using mixing bowls or baking trays that weren’t mine. You know… the special ones. (Thankfully, this peculiarity of mine extends only to the culinary domain. I am remarkably easy to please when it comes to bathrooms, bedrooms, and living rooms. Is it logical of me to protest drinking out of somebody else’s crockery mug but happily sleep in their bed? Obviously not, but they don’t call it an obsessive compulsive disorder for nothing.)

Anyway.

It goes without saying that, when we moved into our furnished cabin a month ago, I insisted on bringing our own “kitchen things” along. Both the landlords and the previous tenant here raved about how wonderfully stocked the kitchen already was, but I wasn’t convinced. Sure, there was a blender in the cupboard, but was it a Vita-Mix blender? Probably not. And yes, there were pots, pans, baking trays, and even a crock pot at our disposal, but were they dreaded aluminum pots? Were there remnants of other people’s food still crusted onto the baking trays and on the sides of the crock pot? Probably. Hence, I packed up our kitchen “essentials” and assessed the situation for myself upon moving in.

Sorry. Can't do it.

Inefficient use of cupboard space. Sorry. Can't do it.

Obviously, this wonderfully stocked kitchen did not live up to my impossibly stringent standards. (Greasy plates and suspiciously-spotted cups, as a rule, do not make the grade, even in a summer cottage.) I ended up photographing all of the cupboards and drawers as though I were fully documenting a crime scene, carefully removing all of the items from the shelves, lovingly (and thoroughly) cleaning the insides of everything with my special all-natural cleanser… and then putting my own dishes back in. All of the pre-supplied items– piles of plates, bowls, and saucers; extra lightbulbs; enough forks and spoons to last a whole year before washing; a popcorn machine; pyrex measuring cups; ice cube trays; plastic wine goblets; plastic-feeling dish towels; a lifetime’s supply of aluminum foil; aluminum-laden pots; scarily-encrusted baking tins; a sad little blender; barbecue tongs; and way more cheaply made fly swatters than I deemed necessary for the winter, fly-free months– were packed into boxes and tucked away in the deep recesses of the loft. (By the way? LOVE THE LOFT. We have turned one side of it into a gigantic storage area where things go to be forgotten until April. The other, secluded side of the loft has been transformed into a tranquil meditation corner.) When the time comes to move out again, I’ll use my photos as reference and arrange everything in the kitchen as though nothing had ever been moved, used, or even touched. I’m diligent like that.

I made one exception during the purge. Progress is progress, people.

For better or worse, I *MUST* have a hand blender, food processer, and a Vita-Mix blender in the kitchen, but a rice cooker has never appealed to me.

It took me a whole day of scrubbing, packing, cursing, arranging, and generally toiling to get the kitchen into its new order. (To put things in perspective, Marty managed to clean the entire rest of the cabin in the time it took me to get the kitchen up to (my) (ridiculous) par.) Everything was worth it, though. Sure, I don’t enjoy cleaning other people’s stoves and ovens, but it sure feels great cooking on a mostly spotless stove top or pulling a delicious Berry Oat Cake from the now-impeccable oven. Both Marty and I have remarked on a number of occasions how nice it is to be eating off our own plates and spooning soup out of our own bowls. (Perhaps these kitchen issues are contagious? If so, I fear for Marty’s sanity.) Making almond milk every week in our own Vita-Mix blender feels like a blessing. Everything feels right.

The figurative “icing on top” came on the day when I simultaneously discovered a small farm down the street selling free-range eggs (yes!) and a local kitchen scraps composting service (double geeky YES!). Once I get going in the kitchen– which is now– most of the “garbage” we produce is organic waste, so it feels awesome to have the kitchen scraps composted for a ridiculously modest fee ($6 for 48 Litres of kitchen scraps. Cheap!)

It feels like home.

Perhaps I should take some more "after" shots of the kitchen, no?

Good Intentions, Not So Good Results

I’ve appointed myself the Next Martha Stewart, at least when it comes to being creative and organized in the kitchen. I’ve taken to garnishing our homemade soups and salads with fresh herbs… just so they have that extra special aesthetic appeal. I’ve gone ahead and prepped certain foods in advance, storing them in airtight containers and arranging them neatly in the freezer– labels out for when we need them. My cupboards are virtual rainbows of teas, grains, legumes, and dried fruits. The dishes are always done promptly, despite the fact that there is no dishwasher in sight and my poor hands are becoming chapped from all the hot water. All in all, I am a Queen and the galley kitchen is my domain.

A freezer full of berries, energy balls, and frozen soups for rainy days

A cornocopia of mostly-organic abundance!

I am The Queen, and I even have a mug to prove it. The loopy cursive confirms it.

My new-found sense of royalty has gone straight to my head, so I seem to have taken certain, um… liberties in the kitchen that a regular peon– a miserable peasant with no god-given Kitchen Prowess– could not.

Case in point: I attempted to make almond milk again a few days after I posted about my trials and tribulations with the Nut Milk Maiden Voyage. The second go-round was quick and easy: I doubled the recipe, dumped my almond sludge into a reusable produce bag with a fine mesh (no cheesecloth for me, thanks), and hung the bag from my cupboard handle over a gigantic mixing bowl until all of the liquid had dripped down with the magical assistance of something called “gravity”. The whole process (not including the soaking time) took about 10 minutes. And the milk is delicious. So simple, so perfect, so indicative of my Inherent Kitchen Queenliness.

Well. The first time I attempted the almond milk recipe, I composted the leftover almond grits once I had my precious milk in hand jar. This time around, in the spirit of creativity and natural-born regal-ness, I decided to use them in a chocolate truffle recipe. What’s that old saying? Reuse, something something, reduce?

Recycling my already-soaked almond grits was a fantastic idea that produced less-than-fantastic results.

Normally, when regular dry almond meal is used in the recipe, the truffles end up having a firm texture– one that yields sinfully to a gentle nibble. This time, however, the almond meal was still a little wet from all that soaking and milk-making, so the truffles now have more of a mealy, crumbly texture. Blech. Even though they still taste great, I am all about the texture when it comes to food and picky eating tendencies, so these truffles get a giant FAIL in my books. (Even though, for the sake of full disclosure, I continue to eat at least one or two of them a day… every day. I’m just clearing the freezer out for future recipe WINS.)

So my Kitchen Cred isn’t exactly up to “Martha” levels at this stage in the game. At least I placed all of the truffles into individual red foil wrappers, though. That ought to earn me some CuisinART Points…

 

Freshly Pressed Changed My Life

You know the people who say, “Oh, winning the lottery wouldn’t change me at all– I would just keep working at my regular job until retirement anyway”? Or, “I would never let fame get to my head. I’ll always be a simple person living a simple life”?

Yeah. I am totally not one of those people.

Seriously. If I ever won the lottery, I would be traveling around the world before you could even say “letter of resignation”, and I’d probably deal with overnight success much like J. Lo did when she released her classic song and video, Jenny From the Block:

"I used to have a little, now I have a lot/ No matter where I go, I know where I came from..."

Me: [decked out in my purple, faux-snake skin boots] Don’t be fooled by the rocks that I got/ I’m still, I’m still, Dana from the block…. [cue the army of Vitamix blenders swirling around in the background and poor Marty being roped into the cheesy Ben Affleck role]

 

Ahem.

I went to bed on Wednesday night, a humble girl with a humble lifestyle. Then I woke up on Thursday and discovered (via my jam-packed inbox) that I had been Freshly Pressed. Excellent! Let’s review the hierarchy of writing awards and accolades quickly, shall we?

1. Nobel Prize for Literature

2. Pulitzer Prize

3. WordPress’ Freshly Pressed

4. Oprah’s Book Club

5. Best-written Bishop Essay in Your Grade 7 Religious Studies Class

My blog in lights!

Clearly, Freshly Pressed is a big deal. Bigger than Oprah, even! (Right?) So on that fateful Thursday morning, having been ushered into this prestigious literary community, I knew that things would never be the same for me again. It was time to let my almond-milky fame go straight to my head.

 

First things first: I needed a disguise.

I was pretty sure that the paps would find me rather quickly. It says right on my “About” page that I live in Victoria, British Columbia, and Victoria isn’t exactly the world’s biggest city. (Though finding me would require the paparazzi to come to Canada. This could be an effective deterrent, especially in March, and it could therefore buy me some extra time to get my disguise in order! Brilliant!)

I started out by washing my hair with actual shampoo and conditioner. Aha! That will fool them! Then I invested 10 solid minutes into blow-drying my hair and wearing it down all casual-like, instead of pulling it up into a greasy ponytail like I’m normally apt to do. I was going to go all out and apply some eyeliner and/or clear mascara (lipgloss, too?), but then I remembered that I was expected at my Turbo Kick class at the YMCA* within the hour. No makeup on. At least not yet.

*Speaking of which– Note to self: Hire personal trainer. No– New note to self: Hire personal assistant who can hire a personal trainer on my behalf. That’s better. Ah, fame!

At my Turbo Kick class, I made sure not to wow the fellow attendees with my killer ninja moves, lest anyone recognize the Freshly Pressed Writer by virtue of her outstanding athletic abilities. Alas. By the end of the hour-long class, I was dripping with sweat and had a beet-red complexion, which threatened to ruin my careful disguise. (I’m much more easily recognized with a sweaty face and frizzy hair, just so you know.)

With no place to hide between the Y and my ghetto apartment on the way home, I resigned myself to signing autographs for Freshly Pressed fans. I practiced my signature, just in case.

It sure is hard to master the art of loopy cursive when your hand is weighed down with semi-precious (or fake) jewels...

Luckily, I made it back home undetected (but just barely! I’m sure the woman who stopped to ask me for directions was secretly wanting an autograph.) By that point, it was time to get a nose job and some lip injections*– because all of Hollywood knows that those gossip magazine photos can be horribly unflattering… on purpose.

 

*I got a recommendation for a great plastic surgeon from Cher, who is most likely a Freshly Pressed alumna herself. See the networks that open up to you when you become Freshly Pressed? It’s incredible!

Post-surgery: Easy, breezy, beautiful Freshly Pressed Writer

Afterward, I wore an old relic from my days in frosty Alberta to hide the surgery scars in public. I’m pretty sure I still blended right in with the average, everyday, non-Freshly Pressed people at the park– what do you think? Marty thinks I look like Hannibal Lecter, but wait until he sees my gorgeous, Angelina Jolie lips!

Hair still frizzy... le sigh.

Anyway. Once my new face has healed and my new body has been whipped into shape by my new personal trainer, I’ll probably take my relationship with the paparazzi to the next level. I’ll start tipping them off myself, letting them know whenever I’ll be heading to the Farmers’ Market or working down at the Harbour. (Oh, who am I kidding? I’ll be jet-setting around the world! No need for any real job anymore. Goodbye, old life! Thank you, WordPress!)

 

On a slightly more serious note: I’d really like to thank WordPress for featuring my blog on their Freshly Pressed page, and I’d also like to welcome my new readers, even those of you who are more than perplexed by the notoriety I’ve gained from a random post about almond milk. (I feel your pain.) Finally, I’d like to give a heartfelt shout out to all the people who knew and supported me before I was famous. I really appreciate all of you reading and commenting on my blog, fame-by-proxy or not.

To conclude this post, I propose a toast: Here’s to dry sarcasm, witty retorts, animated discussions in the comments section, and many more awkward revelations to come! Thanks, everyone!

Crying (And Cursing) Over Spilled Milk

Have you ever saved your money for what felt like forever and a day and bought something that struck you as exquisite and extraordinary? I’m not talking about gigantic purchases, either– like houses or yachts or Ferraris– I just mean basic, everyday things like a laptop, new glasses, or (in my case) a kick ass blender. Yes? No?

Vitamix Blenders: Sweet dreams are made of these!

When I still worked at the Office Job, I had an automatic savings plan set up specifically for this fantasy blender of mine. Every paycheque, a small amount of money would be skimmed off the top and squirreled away into the “Vitamix” savings account. It took a long time to accumulate enough dinero for this blender, because they definitely aren’t cheap, but I did it and the Vitamix was finally mine! Come to mommy, little blender! The problem was, by the time I finally got my blender, I was too afraid to even use it, lest I blow the motor or otherwise ruin my Expensive Purchase right away. Totally. Defeating. The purpose.

I confess: Up until very recently, I had only used my Vitamix to make what amounted to two very expensive batches of Peach Bellinis. (So much for all those healthy Green Smoothies I had originally envisioned! ) I am a somewhat rational being, however, so I buckled down the other day and resolved to learn more about this Magical Blending Machine. I know that a Vitamix can perform virtual wizardry in the kitchen– nut butters! soups! bread dough! freshly milled flour! regular ol’ smoothies! delicious frozen cocktails!– and I figured that my reluctance to dabble in this black magic stemmed solely from my lack of practice in pushing the ‘On’ button. (Really, could it get any easier than ‘On’?) Time to break in my Vitamix, baby.

The first task I assigned for myself was to make almond milk for our tea lattés. (I know, I know– what a hippy-dippy mission for a bunch of boho punks!! Bear with me.) Marty normally takes rice milk in his morning coffee, and I drink my herbal teas straight– like the tough-as-nails badass I truly am– but both of us enjoy some vanilla almond milk in the occasional tea latté. (Speaking of which: if you have a Teopia store near you, totally get some Coco Caramel Rooibos tea and make an almond milk latté with it. Or order that tea online. It is to die for.) I figured homemade almond milk was worth a try, and I even found an encouraging recipe that said making almond milk from scratch was “easy”. What was there to lose?

It started out simply enough. I procured a cup of raw (not roasted) almonds and soaked them in a bowl of filtered water for about 8 hours.

The almonds softened and swelled up to nearly double their original size.

The almond on the top was soaked

After they had soaked for a nice, long time (8 hours or overnight– whatever works for you), I rinsed them thoroughly and plopped them into my Vitamix with 3 cups of water. (The recipe calls for 3-6 cups of water, but I decided to go with the thickest option for my first go-round.)

A quick flick of the ‘On’ switch and about 20 seconds of high-speed whirring later, I had a frothy blend of… um… almonds and water.

The next step was to strain this mixture through a cheesecloth into a new container, so I could separate the curds from the whey, so to speak.

Enter my first error. If you ever decide to make your own almond milk in the future, do not pull your cheesecloth taut over the opening of a pitcher and hold it into place with an elastic band (like I did in the very top photo). This will leave your cheesecloth flush with the brim of your container, and the almond mixture will spill over the sides of the pitcher in about .001 seconds, leaving you with a goopy mess of runny almond paste to clean up. Don’t do it!

Boo! Hiss!

Attempt #2 at straining almond milk: I rescued as much of my almond mixture as I could and cut a new piece of cheesecloth. Thinking I had outsmarted those sneaky, dripping almonds, I lined the inside of a large plastic funnel with the cheesecloth and placed the funnel at the top of my pitcher. Then I poured in my blended almonds.

You can barely see it, but my funnel is propped inside the pitcher. You CAN see the thinnest-of-thin stream of almond milk dripping down from the funnel.

Enter my second error. Trying to strain a bunch of blended almonds through a cheesecloth and a funnel requires patience. Lots of it. Filtered almond milk dripped from the bottom of my funnel at a painfully slow rate, which I guess makes sense when you think about it: Lots of almonds + Cheesecloth + A funnel with a small hole = Not a lot can get through all at once. I win basic physics! Or not.

I tried to expedite the process by giving my cheesecloth a little squeeze. This was not a fabulous idea and was actually my third error. I didn’t really secure any loose corners of the cheesecloth when I did this, so almond mixture oozed out over the sides of my cheesecloth and down into my funnel. Globs of almond grits then fell into the filtered almond milk before I could prevent it from happening, meaning that I had to start the process all over again. (Again.)

Ahem. Attempt #3 at straining my stupid almond milk: I lined the inside of a wire-mesh sieve with a new piece of cheesecloth. My sieve didn’t fit into the mouth of my pitcher (at all), so I had to play a little balancing game with it using one hand and pour my almond mixture into the sieve with my other hand.

Nice fit FAIL. The rubber handle on the sieve is relatively heavy, so it kept slipping down to the right hand side and causing general straining mayhem.

Using the sieve would have been the winning strategy if I had chosen a container with a wider mouth to rest beneath it. As it stood, straining the milk was STILL awkward because I insisted on catching the filtered milk with my cheap-ass, narrow-mouthed plastic pitcher. Heh. If you decide to make almond milk in the future, line a sieve with a cheesecloth and then just use a mixing bowl to catch your filtered milk! You can always put the milk into a pitcher afterward. (*She says, completely after the fact.*)

Things got easier after I squeezed the last few drops of almond milk out of the cheesecloth (and managed to avoid simultaneously squeezing almond meal into the precious filtered liquid). I rinsed my Vitamix container, poured the filtered almond milk into it, and added 1/4 cup of pitted dates, 1 Tbsp coconut butter, and 1 tsp of vanilla extract. (The recipe also called for 1 Tbsp of lecithin granules, but honestly: who has lecithin just lying around? Not even I do, and I believe that says something. I left the lecithin out.) Whir went my Vitamix at high speed, and voila! I had a pitcher half-filled with homemade almond milk.

This morning was the true test. I checked on my almond milk in the fridge while I was making breakfast, and I was disappointed (but not surprised) to see that it had separated out into three distinct layers. (That is where the lecithin would have come in handy.) Not to worry. I just shook it up and added it to my Honey Chai Tea anyway after breakfast. Some stray almond grits instantly floated to the top of my cup, making it look like I had added curdled cream to my tea, but the milk actually tasted really good. I enjoyed the thicker consistency of the milk and felt proud of myself for making this “easy” recipe from scratch!

The saddest/grossest looking cup of chai you'll ever see. I sprinkled some cinnamon on top, and then the mystery almond meal floating at the surface looked more deliberate. Heh. Despite its sketchy appearance, the tea and milk tasted really great. I swear!

I’ll most likely attempt this almond milk recipe again, and when I do– I’ll be sure to use a mixing bowl underneath my sieve for straining purposes. I’ll also add a tiny bit less vanilla, because (as much as I love me some bourbon vanilla extract), I practically got drunk off of it when I had a few tablespoons of almond milk in my chai latté. Even 1tsp was a lot of vanilla!

My next Vitamix task will be to tackle some sort of flour: oat, rye, or maybe buckwheat flour for pancakes. I bought both a ‘wet’ and a ‘dry’ container for my Vitamix, so I’m really curious to see what this baby can do with some ordinary rye kernels!