There's a great deal written about convincing children to eat their vegetables, but what if your picky eater is an adult male in his forties who just refuses to enjoy the delights of garden?  That's my fella!

Chef B has a list of the most hated items in the produce isle they include the innocent looking carrot, parsnip, beet, rutabaga and turnip, sweet potato and yam the delightful pepper, eggplant, celery and most varieties of squash as well as the ripe juicy goodness of watermelon.  To be fair he loves some things most people loath, like cabbage and brussel spouts, he's mad about legumes and he a big fan of fungus in all it's forms.

My list of things I don't eat that comes from the dirt is short incomparision:  lima beans and durian.

At times this creates tension in the kitchen when all I want is steamed, fresh & green or bright, ripe & roasted stuff that he hates, resulting in separate meals or at the every least, separate side dishes.  What works with kids - bribery, coercion, trickery, negotiation, reward structures -  doesn't work as well with adults.

I'm not his mother, he's a grown-up he can choose these things for himself, nagging is tedious work and really not my style so I gave up my "eat your veggies" commentary some time ago.  Sometimes, change happens when you release your need for it.

This week, he shopped in a health food store, created a vegetarian burger and grilled 25 pounds of vegetables, including many on his "list of enemies".  Why the sudden change of heart?   Partly working in a new, healthy environment, sourcing menu items for his new kitchen and... part of it might be my influence... and the promise of sexual favors.

It's a win-win situation.  I now have a BIG bowl of fresh, grilled vegetables in the fridge and he's now considering going vegan, if foie gras is considered a vegetable...

Chef B, surrounded by garden goodness in the Gypsy Kitchen!

January 3rd, in the year of our Lord, 2012; woke up to a puddle of water on the floor and the contents of my fridge/freezer lukewarm and thawing.  Panicked phone calls ensued, the contents of said appliance were quickly shuffled to avoid spoilage.

Mother Nature cooperated with -20*C temperatures and the great outdoors quickly becomes a giant freezer while Chef B found his refrigerator filled with items rarely seen in his abode: vegetables.   The compost bin bulged and we awaited the arrival of a shiny new refrigerator to replace the now decommissioned appliance in the Gypsy Kitchen.

Flash forward to January 4, 2012.  The delivery that was promised the day before finally arrives.

As the cardboard is stripped away I say with some dismay: "oh, it's smaller".  Delivery guy retorts in a know-it-all tone:  "more cubic feet though."   Wait... what?   Don't mess with a gal with math skills, mister.  It's shorter, not as deep and not as wide, if something is SMALLER on the outside it is IMPOSSIBLE for it to be BIGGER on the inside. OK?  Maybe that works with your girlfriend but that doesn't work with me.  

Note pad and calculator in hand, I calculate the volume of said appliance(s), grade 9 math pays off at last.  "Look... old fridge = 18 cubic feet, new fridge = 16.6 cubic feet, which is LESS volume.  Ergo, NOT BIGGER, but S M A L L E R."

Apparently the overt use of math (and logic) confused the dude, perhaps if I'd made my case in bacon measurements. ‎"1.4 cubic feet is roughly 50 packages of thick cut bacon.  So the new fridge holds LESS bacon that my old fridge."

Use of slowly pronounced words and sarcasm are lost as Delivery Dude appears to take the whole thing personally. "It only LOOKS smaller."  What?  No, we just covered that.  Ohhhhhh, maybe it's just smaller because it's cold.  Fridge shrinkage.  OK, don't feel bad, it could happen to anyone.  It'll look bigger once it warms up.  (sarcastic font in use)

It was right about this time I made the decision to relinquish my need to educate (read: be right) and shifted to a sense of gratitude for new (smaller) fridge.  After all, it works, it's clean and the new (smaller) size will encourage more strategic use of (less) space.   Possible future posts include: Fridge Gone Mad Stew & my soon to be famous Fridge Soup.

After all, it's not how big your fridge is it's how you use it.

The old one needed to be cleaned anyway. Instead of cleaning things just buy new ones, I like it.

Thursday night and the phone rings, a familiar voice from the past and a local phone number. OH MY GOD, you're in town?! Come on over, I have Boeuf Bourguignon in the oven!  Best impromptu dinner party line ever, and something I’ve never said in my life, before last night.

There was a time when French food was intimidating, a time when a recipe with more than five steps and two hours would have me turn the page, but that was before a semester at ‘Fancy French Cooking School’.  Now a moment or two between the pages of 'Mastering the Art of French Cooking' with Julia Child and a glass of wine to steady the nerves, I’m a braising fool.

‘Fool’ truly is the operative word here. You’re either brave or foolish if you tackle a recipe you’ve never swung at in your life (and never had the pleasure of consuming by-the-way) as a Thursday night surprise for your Honey.  Your French Honey.  Your French-Chef-former-Cordon-Bleu-Instructor-born-and-raised-in-Burgundy-where-his-Grandmother-was-a-Chef-and-this-was-her-signature-dish Honey, Chef B.

Reviewing Julia’s recipe, glass of wine in hand, I learn that Boeuf Bourguignon is beef stew made with red wine, in ten easy steps.  Ha, piece of cake!  I’m part Irish, Russian and Romanian I have stew in my blood.  My people were making stew out of the Romans before the French even thought of adding wine!  Pfffffftttttt.  Bring it. (Bravado compliments of wine.)

"Life itself is the proper binge." ~ Julia Child "I'm in!" ~ Gypsy

I announce my intentions via social media, friends gasp and hold their collective breath. “You’re BRAVE” says Nikoo. “What?! It’s STEW” says I (fortified by wine).  So begins the braising, sautéing and transferring of things in and out of a pot and that pot in and out of the oven, back and forth off the cook top.  In general the French complicate a great many things, can’t argue with the results though.

Flash forward three hours.

Friends, Tom & Cindy arrive and more wine flows.  In town to secure visas for their annual buying trip to the Far East, Tom McCai and Cindy Wilson operate one of Nova Scotia’s little treasures:  Far-Fetched Antiques & Art Gallery in Annapolis Royal.  Antiques, furnishings, art, collectables, anything that tickles their fancy, or is sufficiently shiny (read: jewellery); they truly are Gypsy kin (and responsible fore some of my favorite, HEAVY pieces).  Magnus, the bulldog, dances with delight to see familiar faces as I finish mushrooms in butter.

Tales are told, gossip is exchanged and merriment is made until (finally) dinner is served.  We dine fashionably late.  Chef B is home with a sick little girl and so his dinner is delivered to his door (surprise!) and I am back to my guests.

Tom & Cindy: “We should recommend this place on Trip Advisor!”

Ummm... OK, just make sure you get the apartment number right, my neighbor really IS a mad scientist.

Chef B’s adjudication (via facebook): "So, my Coco decides to surprise me with Boeuf Bourguignon (for those of you who do not know, I'm from burgundy), almost on the same day, two years after the passing of my Grandmother (which to my eyes will always be the Queen of Beef Bourguignon), and I must say that if Coco is simply willing to adjust a few things, and who can blame her, it probably was her first attempt, we just might have two Queens.  All that to say, very good My Coco. Thank you !!"

He had been a bit blue of late, thought a taste of home might lift his spirits. (SUCCESS.) I gather there are notes, wonder how much his Grandmother's recipe will differ from Julia's.  (Do you get notes on dinner at your house?!) Julia's recipe is widely published, and linked above, her method is clear and concise.  I was out of pearl onions, I'm sure that will be reviewed in my forthcoming notes from my Technical Adviser.  Note from the Gypsy Kitchen: Don’t be intimated by French food, dive in and have fun.  The best food is simple food (in ten easy steps) it’s JUST STEW.

Next up: Conquering Cassoulet.  What?  It's BEANS, sheesh.  (Note to self: buy wine.)

Even (badly) turned the potatoes. Now THAT is love...

I'm still HOT! ~ Betty White

Still hot after all these years, Betty White continues to reinvent and entertain.  Now she's rapping, about her hotness and cheesecake.  In her latest effort, Betty pairs up with British techno-dance-rapper Luciana for a bit of fun.  The video had me giggling for an hour.  Had to share.  Never mind that its a commercial, it's funny.

"I rock the world with my cheesecake"  --- pure poetry.  You absolutely must watch to the 3:33 point, the outtakes - stuffing cheesecake into model-thin Luciana makes me laugh my head off.

"Oh no, I'm on a diet..." - Luciana 
"...a CHEESECAKE diet." - Betty

In praise of women over 40 who still got it; humor, beauty, wit and guts.  It takes alot to be HOT.

Happy Fun Food Friday. 

Betty, you're white hot!

Photo credit:  Top photo  www.bakerella.com
and her wicked post, backstage at the Emmys. Something tells me she rocks the world with her cheesecake too.

The phrase "bringing home the bacon" has become synonymous for bringing home a paycheque and holding down a job, a modern twist on the original saying which was all about household harmony.

In the twelfth century, a church in the English town of Dunmow promised a side of bacon to any married man who could swear before the congregation and God that he had not quarreled with his wife for a year and a day.  A husband who could bring home the bacon was held in high esteem by the community for his forebearance.

Source: Bacon History

Pretty much the same today fellas, a happy woman won't complain about how much bacon you eat.   So stop arguing with her, she's probably right anyway.  (Am I right Ladies?!)

Try the Bacon Weave; cook to halfway (350* in the oven on a rack like you see here) then sprinkle with brown sugar and pop it back into the oven to finish.  What to serve it with?  Hello... bacon goes with everything.  (*rolls eyes*)  Work with me.   

Good Morning Foodie Gypsies.  Happy Bacon Sunday.  

Have a slab of religion.

“Apologies, we appear to be out of soup, can I offer you something of a more philosophical nature?” ~ Corifucius

LIFE is an extraordinary journey.  A little over a year ago I let loose a powerful freedom in my life as I sold my home, my business, my car (and my television) and walked, head up, eyes clear, into adventure.  I decided to allow myself everything I desired; travel, adventure, visits with people I love, education, new vocation and re-location.

I lived like it was my last year on earth.

30,000 miles later, in my new life, I found myself in a hospital with an earnest looking young Doctor saying “Miss Horton, you realize you are in very critical condition, right?”  No, of course not.  "This is NOT what I ordered!” I said.

I know what I ordered, I ordered HAPPY with a side of giggles and extra rainbows.  Don’t remember “sudden-death-due-to-exploding-minor-organs” even being on the menu, so I sent it back.  (It's not the first time I've sent back a medical diagnosis.) Yet another lesson in “be careful what you wish for”.

“When one lives as though one is dying, one may find themselves facing death.” ~ yup, me again.

Thing is, I haven’t always been happy.  Suffered from varying degrees of clinical depression for large chunks of my life, much of it self induced.  I had a serious case of Trytooharditus as well as a nasty bout of Imsoimportant and the side effects of Imustbeperfectateverything.

I'm fortunate to have found a cure for all that... it’s called... HAVING FUN.  I (re)learned it from the great keepers of wisom on this planet, people under the age of seven.

When well meaning friends talk about nuclear fallout, evil conspiracies and doomsday prophecies I counter with: “Ahhhhhhhhhhha, WE’RE ALL GONNA’ DIE!  Oh, wait...”

I’m pretty comfortable with death.  Not ordering it, but very at peace if that’s what I find on my plate because I've really LIVED.  I have had brilliant days and terrible days and love and heartache and passion and deception and if so I slip on a banana peel and go skidding sideways into at the path of an oncoming bus I hope my last thought is: “Hey, is that a shiny dime on the sidewalk?!”

We are all organic bits of flesh, just as sure as that peach in my fridge has a shelf life --- so do I.

So, while I’m here, I choose laughter.  I choose adjectives.  I choose far too many exclamation marks!!!!!  I choose loud singing (slightly off key) in public places and frequent bouts of spontaneous dancing.

I choose to get up early - or late.  I choose quietly sitting in the backyard in the evening watching wild rabbits hop by without fear.  I choose to listen while others are speaking.  I choose to be accountable for my actions.  I choose to love friends and family even when they disappoint.  I choose chocolate and bacon and butter.  I choose not to watch commercials.  I choose to fill my mind, my home and my LIFE with beauty.  I choose all these things because, they make me SMILE.

Some call me naive. (Some have called me worse.)  Oh well.  Don’t see them breaking into spur-of-the-moment fits of giggles, so who’s naive now?

When I take a deep breath and look out the window all I see is miracle after miracle.    And I just... smile.

“There are two ways to live: you can live as it nothing is a miracle; or you can live as if everything is a miracle.” ~ Albert Einstein

I’m gonna’ go make a peach, melon salad now (with a little lime juice and cilantro) I hate to see a peach live an unfulfilled life.

*insert cheesy smiley face emoticon here*

PS:  I feel great!

Kirk Franklin - I Smile

... all of which involve wine.  Hmmm.  Curious.

The long summer days will soon come to an end as nights get cooler and leaves change colour and neighbourhood children go back to school in new, squeaky shoes.  Don’t waste a minute of time worrying about that, instead join the new movement... EVERYBODY’S HAPPY!

All it takes is five easy steps and happiness is yours.

• Step 1:  Buy Wine
• Step 2:  Open Wine
• Step 3:  Pour Wine (*glass preferred)
• Step 4:  Drink Wine
• Step 5:  See Step 4

Euphoria should commence within ten to fifteen minutes, beginning with a slight sigh and a smile. 

These steps are best undertaken in the company of friends.  If you are not in a position to buy your own wine, many have found that others (ie: aforementioned friends) will buy it for you - in the short-term.  It is considered best practice to reciprocate in due course.

Naturally one should obey all local bylaws when consuming wine and this means being sneaky when drinking wine in public parks, on subways and under bridges.

Happiness.  It’s everywhere (there's wine).

Note from our legal department: Must be of legal drinking age.  Please drink responsibly. Do not drink if you are pregnant, or think you are pregnant, this goes double for men.  Don’t drink and drive.  Ever.  Drink and walk or take a cab or fall asleep on the couch with the TV on.  That is all... just be HAPPY.

Asking the really important questions...

The stomach is a sensitive organ, our source of digestion and nourishment, but let's face it, it doesn't get very good press.

If you are having difficulty with something you "can't stomach it", if you're feeling poorly people promoting pink liquids sing about "upset stomachs", if you can eat anything you're a "garbage gut", if you're nervous you have "butterflies in your tummy". 

What I wouldn't have given these past few months for a few little butterflies.

Instead, I found myself flat out on a hospital bed, not once but twice for a multi-day, multi-hospital tour of the Ottawa healthcare system as my appendix first burst - then (six weeks later) this past Friday, was removed. 

Spare parts, who needs 'em!

Along the way I found myself with a great deal of down time, and in very capable hands.   I even got to take a ride in an ambulance, it was FUN!  (May it be my last.)

To my mind, attitude is everything in life, and along the way I took great care to be grateful for small kindnesses; the extraordinary life I have lead,  and all the truly wonderful people in my life.  What good is creating an extraordinary life if you never give thanks for it?  I do... and often.

Thank you to all those who inquired as to my health and laughed at my quips as I lay there:

"They would not give it in a jar.  They will not let me go too far.  They like me oh so very much.  They are keeping me 'till Monday's lunch." ~ Gypsy Seuss

And made me laugh in return:

"I'm glad that you are feeling well!  Feeling ill's akin to hell.  And soon you'll be as good as new, cookin' bacon as you do!

The time is nigh for you to heal, regain your strength, refuel your zeal.  And to the kitchen you should run--a Gypsy's work is never done!"  ~ KJ Seuss

(Wine blogger extraordinaire, currently propping up the wine industry on my behalf.   Bless him. http://wowinecraft.com/ )

And laugh...

"I do not like it where I am.  I cannot work here on my tan.  For my own home I am achin'.  Where I'll commence with cookin' BACON!"  ~ Norm Seuss

(Fellow bacon lover, posting in my stead when I did not post in Seuss rhyme, shame on me.  Dude.  Really. Wicked. Meds.)

Laughter is the best medicine.

And finally, to the physician that wrote a script that forced me to eliminate all dairy from my diet:  "I curse you with mosquito bites, BIG ONES, on your ankles."  It's a short prescription, so not a horrible Gypsy curse - not as bad as say boils or fleas or --- earwigs.

A BIG "Thank You" to all those who read Food Gypsy, the numbers swell and I am delighted.  We have a few (super) exciting changes coming our way.  Some interesting stories to tell and more eye-popping, tummy-rumbling, life-giving sustenance to shoot.  (I'm in the mood for All Day Breakfast - who's in?)

And back to the business of food and smatterings of gallivanting, and please, oh please, let there be wine again.

"Fan the sinking flame of hilarity with the wing of friendship; and pass the rosy wine." ~Charles Dickens

I'll drink to THAT.

One minute, you're a shining star, the golden one. 

The next, you're in the stew. 

Thanks for the chocolate...

Would Monsieur like fresh, ground pepper with his pasta & cheese sauce?

"To all those cash challenged young peeps - enjoy the KD and Hamburger Helper.  One day your significant other will tell you that you can't have that anymore and you will be sad." ~ Peter Priestley Wright

Recently my friend Peter lamented that his darling spouse Diane, was restricting his diet (somewhat) by limiting his choices.  Knowing Peter as I do, this will (no doubt) be an excuse to buy more expensive wine.  We all have our way of coping with those things our significant others request of us... out of love.

But I couldn't help wondering what is it that bring us back to that box?  Thus this little journey of the soul --- indulgence and redemption.

Some might call this using my Food Porn abilities for evil.  Some may turn away in horror and some may cringe, but one thing is for certain, we all have those guilty food pleasures that are not adult, not good for us, and yet they feed us in a way nothing else can.

It is a connection to nostalgia, when we ate right from the pot (because we had little else) and we made what we had we turned into feasts of debauchery.  We added things.  It was probably a late night cooking frenzy, fueled by alcohol (or other substances) wherein your ultimate recipe for your particular 'box-o-food' evolved to 'epic' proportions.

In your mind at least.

And in that moment... with neon cheese sauce on your lips, you were happy.  (And then you passed out...)

In North America, the contents of this box was likely one of the first things you cooked on your own. Back when you were first permitted to boil water, it was a right of passage. If you're American it's "Kraft Macaroni & Cheese" and if you're Canadian it's "Kraft Dinner" or "KD".

In shooting this little ode to things-we-keep-at-the-back-of-the-cupboard/in-our-tool-box-so-the-spouse-wont-find-it, I was momentarily bored so I read the box. (We writers call this 'research'.)  Kraft, in its wisdom, now has two options for sauce on the box - 'Sensible Solution Cheese Sauce' (1 Tbsp margarine, 1/3 C skim milk) and 'Classic Cheese Sauce' (3 Tbsp butter, 1/4 C milk).

Call me crazy, but if I were being 'sensible' I might not be consuming foods that bear colours not found in nature.
What can I say, I went 'classic' on the 'sauce'.

No matter how far we go in life, there are always those guilty pleasures that we only allow those closest to us to see.  The tuna casserole made with a can of mushroom soup, the cup-o-noodles, the hot dogs with yellow mustard, the processed-cheese grilled cheese sandwiches on white bread, the (giant bag of) ripple chips, the chicken noodle soup from a box that is yellow... in an unearthly way.

Let us not forget the dips/spreads and other assorted goo straight from the jar... with a spoon... or a finger.  Peanut butter.  Cheese Whiz.  Chili con queso sauce.  Pickle chip dip.  Nutella.

So for those whose budget confines their choices, I say...

"Eat well, live large, enjoy life and learn to cook 'outside the box'."

And for those, now comfortable in life, whose indulgences are now overseen by those who love us, I say...

"What happens at the cabin, STAYS at the cabin."

Live. Love. Eat... well.

No, that is NOT ketchup. That is ORGANIC ketchup and Sriracha hot chili sauce. Just call me "Betty Cracker".