Time Out for Tea Time

Published in The Packet

I’ve had tea on my mind lately. I’ve been invited to several tea party-themed baby and bridal showers, I’ve recently visited London where it is said that tea is as much a part of the national identity as the British accent itself, and a few days ago, I discovered a lengthy social studies paper I wrote when I was eleven called “The Domestication of the Tea Plant.” I’m fairly certain my teacher stopped reading after page twelve, but that big red A still fills me with pride.

My family’s version of teatime was an informal, but nonetheless ritualized social experience shared by my mother, grandmother, and myself after school. Unfortunately, I only learned how to make a cup of tea to suit my tastes (green tea with honey and some freshly grated ginger). Trying to order tea at a café or serve tea to someone other than my mom has always left me befuddled. I was given a beautiful tea set as a gift, but I haven’t the faintest idea how to use it. I was fed up with my lack of knowledge, so I channeled my eleven-year-old self and set out to determine what a person meant when they said, “one milk and two sugars.” I felt pretty stupid when I realized the unit of measurement left unspoken was the obvious teaspoon.

Here are some other fun facts about tea I learned.

After water, tea is the most widely sipped beverage in the world. The Chinese invented tea and historically drank tea directly from the spout of the teapot. Tea is considered one of the seven necessities of Chinese life along with firewood, rice, oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar.

Anna the Duchess of Bedford started the traditional English teatime in the early 1800s, when it was common to only eat twice a day. She was tired of feeling irritated from hunger pangs between meals, so she began having tea and a snack in her bedroom every afternoon secretly. Over time, she invited friends and acquaintances to join her, and the teatime practice took off.

Early European teacups were originally made of soft-paste porcelain that had a tendency to crack. Milk was added to tea in Europe to temper the cups. Eventually, Europeans brought the Chinese technology of hard-paste porcelain to the continent, but the milk habit stuck.

The phrase, “I’ll eat my hat” comes from the 1700s when sugar cubes were cone shaped, resembling a witch hat.

A traditional tea service includes a teapot, cups and saucers, sugar bowl, creamer, teakettle, waste bowl, and tray. To make tea, first warm the water in the kettle. While this is happening, scald the teapot and mugs, and add teabags to the empty pot. Add hot water to the pot and wait three minutes. Stir clockwise three times. Serve those who like a weak cup of tea first, by pouring their cup half full of tea, and then topping it off with hot water. Pour tea for those who like it stronger next. Once everyone is served, add more hot water to the pot.

Traditionally, the teapot spout faces the hostess. A guest indicates they have had enough tea by placing the teaspoon on the saucer. The hostess signals the end of tea by picking up her napkin.

The six different types of tea (white, yellow, green, oolong, black, and post-fermented) are made from the same leaves. They are just processed differently to create the different tea flavours.

Here in Newfoundland, the Labrador Tea plant grows wild in woody, damp areas. The plant grows over a foot tall, is woody-stemmed, and blooms small white flowers in June. It is said to have sedative effects, but should be consumed in moderation because the plants toxins could cause cramps, stomach issues, and headaches. 

The Taste of Summer

Buttermilk Strawberry Ice Cream with strawberry compote and chocolate fudge

Published in The Packet

I blame the ever-lovely Barn Loft for my recent culinary obsession. My family loves the amazing homemade ice cream they serve for part of the year, and we despair when the ice cream season is over.  The store bought kind cannot compete to the Barn Loft’s creamy fresh goodness. With this in mind my husband bought me an ice cream maker as an anniversary gift hoping we could recreate some of that magic for ourselves when their season ends. This may be both the best and worst purchase he has ever made for us.

I find myself making ice cream once a week. Once you get the hang of the ice cream maker and you find an ice cream base recipe that isn’t too icy or cloying, whipping up a quart is an addictive and satisfying endeavor with endless possibilities.

For a Mexican themed barbecue, we made dark chocolate cayenne ice cream. For the first few seconds, the ice cream tastes familiar and sweet, and then as you swallow it the flavour is tingly and spicy. We made the creamiest buttermilk strawberry ice cream, when Sobey’s had strawberries on sale a few weeks ago. Yesterday, I found corn on the cob I’d meant to grill and somehow lost in the back of the refrigerator. It quickly became sweet corn and blackberry ice cream. Looking at the abundance of basil leaves growing on my windowsill, I’m thinking those leaves will get chopped up and thrown in the ice cream maker this weekend.

My favorite resource for ice cream making is a book called Jeni’s Splendid Ice Creams at Home by Jeni Britton Bauer. Not only are her recipes both foolproof and interesting, she does an excellent job explaining the science behind how ice cream works. Thanks to her I am constantly thinking about how each ingredient effects an ice cream’s taste, texture, consistency and finish, which Bauer defines as, “the flavor the butterfat releases as it melts on your tongue and blooms into your nose.” I also appreciate her encouragement to experiment with new and unexpected flavours like coriander, Gorgonzola cheese, beets and sweet potatoes.  

The problem with all of our ice cream making is, of course, all of our ice cream eating. According to a 2011 article by Chloe Gibbs at The Examiner, if you eat a bowl of ice cream every night for the entire summer you’d gain eight pounds of weight in fat alone. To burn off a single 300-calorie scoop of ice cream would require a brisk hour and fifteen minute walk at four miles per hour. Ironically, that is the same amount of time it takes to mix a batch of ice cream together.

If you have time to exercise all your ice cream calories off, or you have one of those marvelous speedy metabolisms that keep weight loss, diabetes, and heart disease at bay, an ice cream maker is a fun purchase to consider. Or you can keep going to the Barn Loft until the season is through. A walk there and back should kill a few of those pesky ice cream calories, and when their ice cream season ends you’ll have all winter to fantasize about the creamy scoops that give summer it’s magical flavour.

Neighbourhood Friends and Family Resource Center

published in The Packet

Every evening my husband asks me what I did all day. My answer to that question can be dull. I know my husband won’t show nearly enough enthusiasm about my recently organized and alphabetized spice rack, or the fact that I’ve figured out how to make scrambled eggs in the microwave. I’ve come to dread answering that question, unless I have an unusual answer to give. 

What did I do today?

Today I went to a pajama party, had a picnic lunch on a hockey rink floor, and tried to keep our toddler from stalking a person in a giant bear suit.

I have the Neighbourhood of Friends Family Resource Center to thank for this.  Today was their Family Fun Day at the CEC. They invited families from their centers in Clarenville, Southwest Cove, Swift Current, Come by Chance, Arnold’s Cove, and Random Island for a day of kid-friendly pajama-themed activities.

The children decorated pillowcases, played I-Spy in the sand box, frosted cookies to look like cookie monster, had their faces painted, and their bodies temporarily tattooed. They pranced around in their pajamas (Spiderman pajamas are really hip with the kiddos these days), played with hula-hoops and giant blocks, and were treated to a concert by Terry Reilly. Parents were given identification kits for their children sponsored by the Eastern Region Committee Against Violence, and a chance to suggest a name for the new childcare centre currently being explored by the NFFRC. The children also got a free book to take home with them and story-time at the end of the event.

My daughter’s favorite aspect of the event was Lil’ D, a gigantic teddy bear some poor, sweaty soul was dressed as to take pictures with the children. My daughter wasn’t a fan of pictures with Santa, so I wasn’t sure how she would react to a seven-foot bear. After scoping him out from a distance, shaking hands with him, and cuddling on his lap for a picture, she decided Lil’ D was her new best friend.

After meeting Lil’ D, she wanted nothing to do with any of the other activities.  She’d say bear, rush across the arena to the photo area, and barge through the line of kids waiting to get their pictures taken, so she could introduce herself to Lil’ D again. I’d snatch her up before she photo-bombed some one else’s family picture and try to distract her with another activity, before the whole process started all over again. This went on for over an hour. Once Lil’ D was gone, she’d forlornly walk around the rocking chair he once sat in whispering, “Bear?”

We were both exhausted by the end of the event, but all in all, it was a wonderful day. 

The Neighbourhood of Friends Family Resource Center is an incredible organization. I think their community outreach, their passion for children, and their accessible programming is a tremendous asset to the community. There are few free programs like these where I am from. I’ve added it to my list of awesome Canadian things I think the United States could learn from. It’s right up there with Canadian maternity benefits, chips on credit cards, and gravy on French fries.

52:51

Newfoundland is

looking out for Capelin fish

and finding other things to do when they don't show up.

This is what we thought we'd see,

but I think we missed it this year. They come to shore to spawn by the thousands. 

Oh well. Maybe next year.

Jayme Bugging Out

Published in The Packet

I tend to be Ms. Suzy Sunshine when I’m around other Americans living in Newfoundland. Whenever anyone complains about the weather, the shopping, or anything, really, I make a counterargument about why our lives in Newfoundland are wonderful. I can’t get over the feeling that we are guests in this province and we shouldn’t be rude, even if it is just to vent amongst ourselves.

Consequently, my American friends find me annoying and unsympathetic. My Canadian friends wonder why I’m so gushy about puffins and moose burgers.

One afternoon, a homesick and frustrated American friend called me and said she couldn’t imagine how anyone could live here forever. Before she could continue, I launched into part four of my aggressively cheerful monologue series, “The Things I Love about Newfoundland!”

“Hey! Did you know there are no snakes in this province?” I asked. “Yup. No snakes at all. In Florida, we have pythons that people kept as pets and then released into the wild when they grew too big. Since they have no natural predator, they are taking over and eating even the alligators! I’m so glad I live in Newfoundland where I don’t have to worry about that kind of thing.”

My friend was silent and a bit bewildered by the shift in topic.

“I love not worrying about snakes, alligators, fire ants, cock roaches, or any of the million creepy crawlies that live where it is hot and tropical,” I continued. “Newfoundland is a paradise! A pest free paradise!”

My friend mumbled something about another call coming through and hung up.

Over the course of a month, my pest free paradise became riddled with pests.

First came the carpenter ants. I did my best to ignore them, because they weren’t biting us or eating our food, but I did not appreciate their invasion into my kitchen.

Next came the black flies, which feasted on my daughter’s neck whenever we tried to play outside. Now, the second she comes indoors she goes straight to the medicine cabinet, and waits for me to unlock it and slather her in Afterbite cream.

I know a few bug bites are to be expected in the summer. At least I don’t have to worry about alligators eating my pets.

Just eagles. 

My Fish and Wildlife Enforcement pal told me they recently found a felled eagle nest with six cat collars in it. 

Yikes.

Lucky for me, I have no cat. I have a dog that loves the water.

But after reading a May Telegraph article by Josh Pennell about giant water bug sightings, I’ve been keeping my eyes peeled for the enormous creatures, dubbed “toe nippers” by locals. Pennell wrote that water bugs rarely bite. Still, I wouldn’t put it past my curious dog to investigate and end up an exception to the rule.

Picture by Josh Pennell. 

Then came the spiders. I’m generally okay with spiders because they eat those dreaded black flies. I am not okay with them having babies all over my stroller.

If I had seen one baby spider, I might have smiled, showed my daughter and even called it cute. But hundreds of wriggling baby spiders trailing threads of web over every inch of the stroller’s wheels, tray and seat was something out of a nightmare. It was more than I could handle. I needed to share my revulsion and vent about the bugs that are driving us crazy this summer.

I called my friend.

“You know what I love about Newfoundland,” I said, brightly. “I’m learning so much about nature. Particularly, arachnids.”

Part four of the “The Things I Love About Newfoundland” monologues is under revision.

52:50

Newfoundland is

escaping the rain and going to Africa.

Thank goodness for Netflix. Even Kirby was relieved to see something new and get a break from this week of down pours.

Hoping the last two weeks of this project will give us the opportunity to actually get some pictures of Newfoundland that aren't my house or back yard.

Love Letter to The Bonavista Social Club

Published in The Packet

This week’s column is a love letter to my favorite place in Newfoundland. There are very few experiences in my life that make me feel poetic, but every time we visit the Bonavista Social Club in Upper Amherst Cove, I feel positively bard-like. The entire dining experience is sensorial bliss.  Last year, we ate lunch there five weekends in a row despite the fact that the restaurant is over an hour away.

It is no easy feat driving over the bumpy road for that long with a baby who hates the car seat. We leave Clarenville desperate for fresh, flavorful, fried-free food that we didn’t cook ourselves. Forty-five minutes into the trip, we’re hungry and wondering if the trip is really worth the gas and time.

The answer is always YES. Everything we’ve eaten there is consistently tasty.

I rally when we see the tiny hand-painted arrow sign directing you down the hill to the restaurant. We park and feast on the view of lush gardens, the gorgeous bay with playful whales, the happy goats that seem to take their spectacular vantage point for granted. We haven’t even entered the small restaurant and my heart is singing every cliché of pastoral poetry.

The restaurant is beautiful in its simplicity. The carved wooden beams, mismatched handmade napkins, green glass bottles of cold water, and baskets of crusty bread complement the flavorful food. My husband always orders a crispy, garlicky pizza that he devours in minutes and then reminisces about as he waits for me to finish my meal. Last time, I was there I had the most delicious lamb and fresh papperdelle dish. I felt like crying when it was finished- it was that delicious. The baby gums basket after basket of the bread, still warm from the amazing wood-burning oven. We are fans of the bread, too. When they were closed for the season, we enjoyed five of their loaves, which we stowed in the freezer and warmed up when we needed some comfort food.

We speak highly of our dining experience at Bonavista Social Club to anyone who hasn’t gone. This backfired on us one weekend, when we arrived and found three of my husband’s coworkers there out for quiet lunches with their wives. My husband’s enthusiastic recommendation inspired them to check the restaurant out, but since the dining area is small, we were all within hearing distance of each other, leading to a slightly awkward meal of sometimes talking across tables to his colleagues and then self-consciously talking quietly to each other. Nonetheless, the food was divine.

The menu and ingredients vary depending on what is in the garden. On their web site, the restaurant credits the hard work of their volunteers from World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms (WWOOFers), for allowing them to serve the freshest produce available from their gardens. WWOOF is an educational and cultural exchange where volunteers from around the world spend time working with organic farmers and growers to learn more about sustainable stewardship of food. Volunteers come to Upper Amherst Cove from April to October.

I love the rural authenticity, the commitment to local fresh food, the attention to detail, and the overall vision of this restaurant. It is unlike anywhere else I have eaten in Newfoundland, and we’ll continue to trek out to Upper Amherst Cove on weekends to experience the beauty and revitalization that comes from surrounding yourself with nature while eating something wholesome and sustaining. Thanks Bonavista Social Club for being my happy place in Newfoundland!

52:48

Newfoundland is

rainy days.

My Mini United Nations

Published in The Packet

I expected my world to contract when I moved to Clarenville. Isn’t that a side effect of living in a small town? I hoped to meet Newfoundlanders, and gain appreciation for the culture of this province, but I didn’t expect to find much exposure to other cultures. How wrong I was!

Tomorrow my home will be flooded with 16 children (ages four and under) and nine moms for our weekly playgroup. These children will communicate with each other in English, Greek, Italian and Norwegian. Their families represent Newfoundland and Labrador, Ontario, the Southern and Midwestern U.S., Greece, France, Belize, the Philippines, Norway, Italy, and Croatia.  We are a mini United Nations of moms and kids joining together to achieve one common goal- a long, afternoon naptime caused by rambunctious international play.

The group grows as we meet new families entering the community. It has become my favorite resource for parenting information. We have fun sharing best parenting practices, commiserating about baby sleep schedules, discussing food and travel, and learning about the Town of Clarenville together.

Each week, a different mom hosts the group. The kids get a chance to socialize, eat healthy snacks, and play with someone else’s toys. The moms gab until around noon, when the advent of naptime approaches and the kids get sleepy and irritable.

Watching how these moms parent, talking to them about their experiences, and discussing cultural differences have been one of the highlights of my time here in Newfoundland.

I’ve learned that it is popular for babies and children in Nordic countries to nap outside, even in winter. Their moms believe kids will be healthier if exposed to fresh air and sunshine during sleep, no matter the temperature. I love this tradition. My daughter naps in her crib still, but it has encouraged me to open her windows more often and get her outside as often as possible.

I learned about another type of snoozing, this one spelled snusing, which is the act of placing a type of moist Scandinavian snuff under the upper lip. The nicotine is absorbed into the user’s blood through mucous membranes in the lip, and because the snuff isn’t spat or smoked, no one even knows if you are using it. I’m not about to start snusing, but the mom who does this talked about how difficult it was to quit when there is no social pressure to make you stop, because no one sees you doing it. I identified with this completely, when I thought of the stash of chocolate chips I keep hidden around the house for when I need my own secret fix.

The moms in the group often discuss the importance of balance. The subject surfaces when discussing the work hours our husbands keep. The work hours of the Canadians and Americans are much longer than the hours kept by the Europeans. Do long work hours signal dedication and hard work, or an unhealthy relationship with your family? Do shorter hours signal shiftlessness or a sign that happiness, health and family are higher priorities? Who knows? It is an interesting topic to mull over while your kids jump themselves to oblivion on a trampoline.

Perhaps the most important lesson I’ve learned from watching other moms interact with their kids is that my daughter is capable of more than I believe her to be. Many moms in the group were comfortable letting their kids wander at least 3 meters farther from them than I was comfortable with. Their kids were carried less, allowed to use a knife, encouraged to go down the eight-foot big kid slide, and to whirl on the merry-go-round. To me, these activities seemed inappropriate for a fourteen month old, but the kids in the group around her age managed these tasks (with supervision, of course) and did so without cutting or breaking any body parts. These kids are self-reliant and independent. I am willing to have a few silent heart attacks, while my daughter climbs to higher heights on the playground than I think she is ready for, because I know both she and I will be the better for it.

I am so grateful for my Clarenville mom group, for the wisdom and cultural exposure they impart, and for the little town that brought us all together.